Arda's not safe either!
Jul. 6th, 2003 01:45 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
vulgarweedBecause it is also ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
deborah_judge's birthday, and she asked for slash with theological themes. I hoped to have this finished. 'Fraid not. WIPs and chains, my doomed darlings, WIPs and chains. But here's a teaser for her slightly blasphemous birthday fic, "All That's Best of Dark and Bright":
"Far be it from me to cast aspersions on the hospitality of the Noldor, but..." said the unwelcome guest.
The son of Finwe still wore his battered work gloves, and the soot of the forge still streaked his face. He had been interrupted. "Hospitality," he hissed. "That means I must pretend to welcome you. I am sorry that deceit is not my talent."
"No, that is true," said the amused Vala who walked in a handsome form, though he had dimmed down his aura of power and dressed simply in robe and cloak, with long dark hair tied behind him. "I have met none yet who can match my skill in that realm."
Was that intended to be disarming, Feanor wondered as he turned his back and headed back into his rough house, leaving the door open behind him. Melkor followed, and nearly walked into Feanor's back as the Elf stopped short. "Did you think I would lead you straight to them?"
He was close, too close.
"Do you think I've come to steal them?" Melkor said quietly, smiling, joking with himself.
Feanor said nothing.
"They are only jewels," said Melkor.
Feanor seethed.
"You think otherwise. Even if one of my kind were to ask it of you, you would not yield them."
"No," Feanor said flatly, watching the planes of the Vala's face shift slightly. "No, because no other has claim to them, and much of myself is in them. I am no godling, but--"
"Like me?"
"No! What am I? Of my kind, if we manage to make some great work once.....and once only..." he said, his voice trailing off. For the flame that had entranced him then was visible again.
"Once you managed," said his guest in his deep chanting voice. "I know what you touched once, and once only. Have I not hunted it for long Ages, in the dark reaches beyond the world? Have I not given my all to sing its freedom into being, and found myself cast out for my trouble? Do I not recognize it when I see it worked, and do I not know hands that have worked it?"
Feanor felt it waking in his fingertips and recognized its earliest flickers of touch upon his mind. Half-aware that its stirring was because of the light stroke of the Vala's fingers upon his own, he cared not, entranced by its brightness. For it was a new creature with a hunger of its own, a fire-babe, and he weakened himself again to nourish it, grateful for the wall that supported his back. The voice was in his ear now, warm and low: "Have you not longed for more? Do you not tire of toiling for crumbs?"
"In my dreams I have often thought - I have seen the Source as a River, with its water free to all -"
"As have I, Feanaro," whispered the voice, steaming against his neck. "As have I. O, if only. It is guarded so jealously, how can we lesser not crave the merest taste?"
This is not right, said a voice in his head. Well, never mind.
"I have not come for the jewels," said the greater voice in his ear, belonging to the breath that brushed the soft lobe. "I have come for the jeweller. For in his life is the Fire."
"You seek to slay me, then?" asked Feanor, realizing at last that his hands clutched strong arms, that a scent of cold sky filled his lungs and the body of the Vala leaned in close to his own, bringing his spirit to the surface of skin ripe for pleasing or plucking. Only jewels--but no. He thought in despair of losing the places he went when he became lost in them, the only places where his spirit was at home. There were waterfalls and blooming flowers of flame; there was light that ran warm and light that flashed cool. There were frozen feathers of stone and caves within caves, royal palaces built of the earth's own flesh and alive with the earth's own mind. Leaning in and letting all else fall away, he could hear voices singing to him barely on the edge of audibility, promising him peace and joy and a shimmering throne worthy of a great maker. An entire city of luminous beings dwelled within each jewel's heart: a world of its own as big as everything and so impossibly tiny and sealed within its hard shell. The maker had been walled off forever from touching its secret treasures. He could only adore from a distance, lest he shatter the casing and dispel the enchantment forever.
The pressure on his own shell was Melkor, and Feanor cursed his own spirit-light for rising to his summons.
"Do you not understand," came that whisper, stepping free of its cloak of power, nearly pleading, "how difficult it is to step outside that Design? For even my part has been written. Yes, even the accursed Song---thinking for only a moment I did my own Will, I did His, and came to know it even as the notes left my throat. To the Void and back I have flown to get a moment's freedom from His plan, from that Almighty world-wreaker who has already scripted my destruction and yours, the better to display His glory against our ruin."
"You are lying," Feanor said softly; only simple words slipped through the hands that cupped his face, long fingers along his temples.
"I am an excellent liar, my flickerling. It would be far too easy if I did not sometimes speak the truth."
Feanor's mind was silenced from thinking when Melkor's mouth claimed his own. So alert and tingling were the flamelets that danced along the jaw where the Vala's touch stroked him. Bitter the taste was at first, but Feanor parted his lips for more, thirsting for something he knew not what, welcoming at length the questing feel of Melkor's tongue on the tender insides of his lips, against his tongue, between his teeth. Within his closed eyes, the flame blossomed.
I seek only to taste, echoed a voice in his mind. Feanor knew that to be a lie. But that did not stop his hands, rising to clench the rough cloth of Melkor's cloak and tangle in his dark hair, pulling strands unbound -- for everywhere he touched it was as silver curving beneath his tools to bend and bloom, and within his own body was metal aflame, rapidly heating enough to yield to shaping.
Had he expected something like this? Yes, in his secret mind, seen it glimpsed in that insolent gleam, that there was nothing of his that was safe from this being. But had he examined it he might have thought that Melkor would threaten with his might; Feanor might have thought to imagine himself forcefully ravished, able to at least keep shredded honour with satisfyingly bloody if hopeless struggle til body and spirit were torn at last asunder. But this - this was far better, and therefore far worse. For he was complicit in this crossing and therefore lost utterly, giving forth no sound but a breathy sob as the Vala's graceful hand worked down his back, settling strong agile fingers at the base of his spine beneath the ties of his leather smith's apron.
deborah_judge's birthday, and she asked for slash with theological themes. I hoped to have this finished. 'Fraid not. WIPs and chains, my doomed darlings, WIPs and chains. But here's a teaser for her slightly blasphemous birthday fic, "All That's Best of Dark and Bright":"Far be it from me to cast aspersions on the hospitality of the Noldor, but..." said the unwelcome guest.
The son of Finwe still wore his battered work gloves, and the soot of the forge still streaked his face. He had been interrupted. "Hospitality," he hissed. "That means I must pretend to welcome you. I am sorry that deceit is not my talent."
"No, that is true," said the amused Vala who walked in a handsome form, though he had dimmed down his aura of power and dressed simply in robe and cloak, with long dark hair tied behind him. "I have met none yet who can match my skill in that realm."
Was that intended to be disarming, Feanor wondered as he turned his back and headed back into his rough house, leaving the door open behind him. Melkor followed, and nearly walked into Feanor's back as the Elf stopped short. "Did you think I would lead you straight to them?"
He was close, too close.
"Do you think I've come to steal them?" Melkor said quietly, smiling, joking with himself.
Feanor said nothing.
"They are only jewels," said Melkor.
Feanor seethed.
"You think otherwise. Even if one of my kind were to ask it of you, you would not yield them."
"No," Feanor said flatly, watching the planes of the Vala's face shift slightly. "No, because no other has claim to them, and much of myself is in them. I am no godling, but--"
"Like me?"
"No! What am I? Of my kind, if we manage to make some great work once.....and once only..." he said, his voice trailing off. For the flame that had entranced him then was visible again.
"Once you managed," said his guest in his deep chanting voice. "I know what you touched once, and once only. Have I not hunted it for long Ages, in the dark reaches beyond the world? Have I not given my all to sing its freedom into being, and found myself cast out for my trouble? Do I not recognize it when I see it worked, and do I not know hands that have worked it?"
Feanor felt it waking in his fingertips and recognized its earliest flickers of touch upon his mind. Half-aware that its stirring was because of the light stroke of the Vala's fingers upon his own, he cared not, entranced by its brightness. For it was a new creature with a hunger of its own, a fire-babe, and he weakened himself again to nourish it, grateful for the wall that supported his back. The voice was in his ear now, warm and low: "Have you not longed for more? Do you not tire of toiling for crumbs?"
"In my dreams I have often thought - I have seen the Source as a River, with its water free to all -"
"As have I, Feanaro," whispered the voice, steaming against his neck. "As have I. O, if only. It is guarded so jealously, how can we lesser not crave the merest taste?"
This is not right, said a voice in his head. Well, never mind.
"I have not come for the jewels," said the greater voice in his ear, belonging to the breath that brushed the soft lobe. "I have come for the jeweller. For in his life is the Fire."
"You seek to slay me, then?" asked Feanor, realizing at last that his hands clutched strong arms, that a scent of cold sky filled his lungs and the body of the Vala leaned in close to his own, bringing his spirit to the surface of skin ripe for pleasing or plucking. Only jewels--but no. He thought in despair of losing the places he went when he became lost in them, the only places where his spirit was at home. There were waterfalls and blooming flowers of flame; there was light that ran warm and light that flashed cool. There were frozen feathers of stone and caves within caves, royal palaces built of the earth's own flesh and alive with the earth's own mind. Leaning in and letting all else fall away, he could hear voices singing to him barely on the edge of audibility, promising him peace and joy and a shimmering throne worthy of a great maker. An entire city of luminous beings dwelled within each jewel's heart: a world of its own as big as everything and so impossibly tiny and sealed within its hard shell. The maker had been walled off forever from touching its secret treasures. He could only adore from a distance, lest he shatter the casing and dispel the enchantment forever.
The pressure on his own shell was Melkor, and Feanor cursed his own spirit-light for rising to his summons.
"Do you not understand," came that whisper, stepping free of its cloak of power, nearly pleading, "how difficult it is to step outside that Design? For even my part has been written. Yes, even the accursed Song---thinking for only a moment I did my own Will, I did His, and came to know it even as the notes left my throat. To the Void and back I have flown to get a moment's freedom from His plan, from that Almighty world-wreaker who has already scripted my destruction and yours, the better to display His glory against our ruin."
"You are lying," Feanor said softly; only simple words slipped through the hands that cupped his face, long fingers along his temples.
"I am an excellent liar, my flickerling. It would be far too easy if I did not sometimes speak the truth."
Feanor's mind was silenced from thinking when Melkor's mouth claimed his own. So alert and tingling were the flamelets that danced along the jaw where the Vala's touch stroked him. Bitter the taste was at first, but Feanor parted his lips for more, thirsting for something he knew not what, welcoming at length the questing feel of Melkor's tongue on the tender insides of his lips, against his tongue, between his teeth. Within his closed eyes, the flame blossomed.
I seek only to taste, echoed a voice in his mind. Feanor knew that to be a lie. But that did not stop his hands, rising to clench the rough cloth of Melkor's cloak and tangle in his dark hair, pulling strands unbound -- for everywhere he touched it was as silver curving beneath his tools to bend and bloom, and within his own body was metal aflame, rapidly heating enough to yield to shaping.
Had he expected something like this? Yes, in his secret mind, seen it glimpsed in that insolent gleam, that there was nothing of his that was safe from this being. But had he examined it he might have thought that Melkor would threaten with his might; Feanor might have thought to imagine himself forcefully ravished, able to at least keep shredded honour with satisfyingly bloody if hopeless struggle til body and spirit were torn at last asunder. But this - this was far better, and therefore far worse. For he was complicit in this crossing and therefore lost utterly, giving forth no sound but a breathy sob as the Vala's graceful hand worked down his back, settling strong agile fingers at the base of his spine beneath the ties of his leather smith's apron.
