Continuation of Bainith's saga
Sep. 13th, 2011 08:59 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
zhieI know some parts are skipped and I need to collect up everything (I need to collect it all, get it organized on the Haven site set up for the kinship, like I said I would a month ago.... which would include all the other kin characters fics, like Isbothad, Skaldrin, Ellonur, Gwyndir, Yucca, Bandoras, Siltho, etc etc etc)
-A Second Bottle of Blueberry Ale-
Following the events of the previous night, Bainith awoke earlier than his counterparts and sneaked out of bed to reach the post office early. As much as he would have enjoyed a lazy morning curled up between Gwyndir and Ellonur, his stomach was still in knots and he desperately wanted to be sure that Siltho had not spoken to anyone in Michel Delving.
It turned out that while some people had passed by the residence in the early hours, none had actually seen who was in the hammock, and assumed that it was the pair who had recently acquired the large house at 2 Chalk Road. Bainith spent the day listening intently, and nearly spilling all the sorted mail from Evendim when he saw Bounder Hemming enter and saunter up to the counter, engaging in conversation with his father.
The entire time Siltho was present, ladies in line to send their packages of mathoms to family and friends gossiped about the happenings in the homesteads, and the pair of queer fellows who had moved in, and the display of fireworks in the early hours. Siltho kept shaking his head, clicking his tongue, and every now and then catching worried Bainith's gaze.
"Obviously a pair of irresponsible homeowners," he declared at last. "Good thing I was not there, for their sake. I would have arrested them for disturbance of the peace on the spot! Fireworks without a permit -- something the Servant of the Process will see to, I am sure." He glanced to Bainith for confirmation, and the Elf meekly nodded his head. "There, now, see, the Elves could learn a thing or two from Baynor here," he said as he walked over to the side of the lobby, where Bainith arranged the outgoing letters with shaky hands. "Good ol' Baynor Proudfoot -- respectable as the day is long, my gaffer might'in say," added Siltho, gazing up knowingly at Bainith.
"That's me boy, Baynor," tacked on the postmaster, thumping his fist twice on the counter. "A good-hearted, respectable, honest lad!" He winked at Bainith, who blushed. "Oh, now, not so modest, me boy, not so modest! Proud-feet, proud-hearted," he said in his booming voice. Bainith nodded, and scuttled off to tend to the rest of his duties. "A bit skittish as of late..." mused Postmaster Proudfoot.
"Oh, my, perhaps the weather or the overwhelm of all of the Elves that have shown up over the last year, practically overnight," Siltho reasoned as he watched Bainith disappear into the sorting room.
Later that afternoon, Bainith spent the remainder of his shift alone at the desk, during the slow part of the day. He tried not to jump every time the bell rang at the door, but could not help it, and paled when he saw a familiar Elf with a distinctive crown saunter into the office. "Lord Eledu, h-how nice to s-see you," he stuttered, pulling out the receipt book. "H-how can I h-help you."
Eledu tilted his head to the side. "Goodness, Little Proudfoot, you sound like a carriage wreck. What happened?"
"N-nothing sir," he said nervously, then lowered his voice so that no one in back would hear. "Ask Gwyndir, or I can tell you later. And Siltho is still lurking about."
"Who?" Eledu shrugged. "Anyhow, I cannot stay -- I just returned from Rivendell, and I've business in Bree. However, I found this in my bag as I was clearing it out and thought you might get a chuckle from it, all things considered." He handed over a letter, the pages stained blue. "Enjoy. See you later." As almost an afterthought, he leaned over the counter to give Bainith a peck on the cheek. "Take care of my Tato while I'm gone." The door opened with the ringing of the little bell, which faded once the door was shut again.
Bainith unfolded the sheets, peering over his shoulder, before he began to read.
/Beauuuuutiful Gwyndir,/
Bainith folded the letter back up again. He really did not think it appropriate for him to read a love letter that Eledu had written for Gwyndir. The stained sheets smelled of liquor, and Bainith wondered if Eledu was still drunk at the moment, to pass along love notes so casually. He was about to tuck the item away to hand awkwardly to Gwyndir later, but then decided that Eledu must have had a good reason to share the note. He unfolded the letter again.
/you're such a lovely friend! I just found your letter again and I thought to send you a pie but then I remembered that Bainith didn't like my pies and what if you don't like them either? So here is somre of the beer I brewed, I know you don't drink much though you should because you are so adorable when you are drunk/
Bainith paused and reread from the beginning. He knew that Eledu farmed on occasion, but was unaware of any cooking the Mirkwood Elf did. Perhaps Gwyndir was teaching him. Pie was a bit more advanced though, when getting the consistency right, and Bainith could only remember making pies for Eledu, not the other way around. He was also suspicious of Eledu brewing beer -- it seemed none would be left to share if that were the case. He read on.
/and so forward even though you still blush when I suggest that you and your husband enjoy Bainith, or me, or me and Bainith, and anyway I tasted all my beer, do you know I have made six different sorts of beer, and they all taste great? Because they do, they do, all of them, and I think I will go and taste them again to make certain that what I send you is the good stuff, and if you don't want it I think your husband might, and didn't you tell me Mirkwood warriors aren't shy?/
Suddenly, it dawned on him, and Bainith folded the letter again hastily. Making beer, eyes on all -- Gwyndir, himself, and Gwyndir's husband -- there was only one answer to the riddle. He blushed and swallowed hard, and looked around to make sure he was alone. The temptation was too much -- now he understood why Yucca looked at letters with his father through their envelopes, and he unfolded it once again.
/Because I like that, not Mirkwood warriors, even though of course I like them too, I like them just fine, especially if they aren't shy and you are all going to go swimming with me, aren't you, please please please, because I really think I will enjoy that and you are so lovely and I am sure your husband is too, and wouldn't it have been fun if Bainith had been there too, because he would have looked so lovely, just imagine that, all that beautiful, naked skin glistening in the sunshine... And not just sweet Bainith but you too, you and Eledu, and I am certain you would look so lovely too, and I so love beautiful things, and do you imagine too what it would look like, the four of us, or I guess now the three of us since sweet Bainith seems so determined to stay away from any pleasure? And you knew what he was up to, you knew it, didn't you, and you enjoyed it too to hear him keep telling me no?/
A soft sigh escaped from Bainith as he turned the page over. He closed his eyes and recalled the evening a few nights ago. What had been an attempt to restock the larder turned into a very different event. He shuddered as he recalled it, and his eyes opened lazily, tempted by the letter.
/You are such a cruel man, my lovely friend, so, so cruel, and unfortunately so beautiful too, and did I ever tell you that I like a bit of cruelty in my lovers, because I do, and when Eledu said that he explained to Bainith about ropes and other fun stuff did that mean that he likes that kind of thing, because that would be fun to imagine too?/
Bainith blushed though alone, readjusted his stance, again checking the lobby, before reading quickly through the next part.
/Ohhh, that would be so much fun, and I so like to imagine it, almost as much fun as going swimming with you and Bainith and Eledu because that would be even better with everyone wet and naked and I really, really would like that, really really really sooooo much, because I've thought of touching Bainith a lot and of how good he would look and feel but you are really beautiful too and anyway I never even got to kiss Bainith and I really should kiss someone soon and I think I would enjoy getting to touch you too or your husband or the both of you and do you think about what it might be like to touch me as well?/
There was sudden laughter from the sorting room, and Bainith panicked and dropped the letter. He scrambled to retrieve it, and when he was certain that no one was in the room, he let one hand wander down to touch the bulge that was forming in his trousers, hidden barely by the counter which was high for hobbits, but only reaching to Bainith's waist. He looked back down at the letter again.
/Oops I hope you don't mind if the letter is blue because I've jsut pushed my bottle og blueberry beer over but don't worry I have more of it here is some of it it tastes really good and sweet probably like kissing you or sweet Bainith would be like I imagine and I feel really really miserable right now actually because I never even got to kiss him you know, only of course he might reconsider don't you think igf I wait he might want to kiss me in a year or in ten years?
Love yous oooo much
Ellonur/
Bainith looked up from the letter with hooded eyes, and was startled at what he saw. Standing silently at the counter was Bounder Hemming, looking at him oddly. The letter was still clutched in one hand, and he lowered it down quickly, moving the hand that was out of sight before Siltho did something unexpectedly expected, like come around to the other side of the counter, then ring the bell at the door to announce that the postmaster's son was standing at the mail desk with an uncontrolled erection.
Siltho sniffed the air. "Something smells boozey. Are you drunk on the job?" he demanded.
"Not yet. I mean, no, sir. Probably just someone sending some to someone, sir. Maybe a bottle broke. It happens a lot. Lots of packages from Rivendell and Mirkwood like that."
"Damned Elves. Be better when they all get on their ships and sail west and stop nosing their business into everyone's business," grumbled Siltho. "I need stamps."
"Stamps?"
"For mailing things. You do sell those, right? You are a post office, correct?"
"Certainly, sir," answered Bainith as he began to sweat. "What denomination would you like?"
"Give me a dozen of the fifty coppers and four of the silvers. Make it an even six silvers," he amended as Bainith fished them out from behind the counter, tossing the letter onto one of the shelves so that it was out of his hands. "Little jumpy today, are we?" observed Siltho as Bainith counted out the stamps unsteadily. "Might want to stay off of any hammocks. Might fall off of them. Been a bit of that going around."
Bainith nodded his head rapidly as he scooped up the money Siltho placed on the counter, not bothering to count it. "Thank you! Please come again!"
"Of course, my boy, of course. Michel Delving has one of the best posts in the Shire." He stood at the counter then, and continued to slowly and carefully address each letter he was sending out, licking the stamps with great pauses to assess his work and squint at the placement with his good eye. "Take care, now, lad," he said finally, reaching out to pat Bainith's elbow.
It was unexpected to Bainith that the hobbit then grabbed hold of his arm and gave him a strong tug downwards, peering into the Elf's eyes with his one. "Baynor Proudfoot, you listen to me lad, and listen well. I never, ever want to see or hear of 'that Tall-fellow' doing anything unseemly again. You hear?"
"Yes, Mr. Hemming," answered Bainith quickly.
"You find yourself a nice... someone... and settle yourself down in a respectable neighborhood. Away from *them*."
Bainith nodded noncommittally.
"Or you take your galavanting to Rivendell in the day hours and keep your shenanigans here underground and keep yourself from being seen coming and going from *that* house. Because next time, you will not have to worry about your father finding out from me, because everyone will know from the town gossips. Mrs. Bolger is keeping and eye on the place from the west, and Ms. Pennywhistle in the south. You would do well not to go riding around where you can be seen, and certainly no more antics outside, dark or not. How old are you now, forty-seven?"
"Forty-nine," answered Bainith meekly.
"Still a tween, for an Elf. From my experience, no child is too old to be spanked, least of all naughty tweens." He pulled Bainith's arm out in front of him, and struck Bainith's wrist. Not so hard to leave a mark, but hard enough to sting. "You remember that, next time your judgment tries to cloud itself, because if your father does learn of your coming and goings, *lad*, my very serious solution will be a public whipping with a switch from the birch tree out back to make an example of you!" He let go, leaving Bainith to nod guiltily and rub his wrist. Reaching up, he patted Bainith's cheek. "But I am certainly sure it will not come to that, because Baynor Proudfoot is a respectable, good-hearted, honest boy. Good day, lad."
Bainith mumbled a good day as the door opened and closed, the bell ringing this time. He absently retrieved the letter and tucked it away in his pocket, looking forward to the end of his shift and a cold bottle of blueberry ale.
-Love Letters-
Bainith sat down at the desk, a blank sheet of paper before him. He began to write the familiar greeting along the top of the page.
Dearest Valanyonnen,
He stopped and stared at it for a while. Every day, another letter written, and when he would drop it off to be delivered, he would be handed one a few weeks old, the customary red X stamped across the front, the sign of undeliverable mail. He had a collection now, letters sent and unreceived, the postmarks showing their travel throughout Middle-earth. Blue and red and green ink, denoting places he had not yet been to in some cases - the silver ink of Lothlorien, the deep green of Mirkwood, and the blackish purple of Moria. They were confirmation to him that Valanyonnen was beyond these places or something worse; little comfort to a worrying mind.
So often the letters were speckled with the stains of tears, cried as he wrote his messages, emotions poured out on paper. Sometimes wishing, sometimes pleading, sometimes with a hint of anger, but always signed with devotion, love, and hope.
Now he stared down at the blank page, the early hours of the morning casting both light and shadow on the page. Far off, he could hear the notes of a harper, and he drew back the curtain to search for them on the horizon. A lone figure, dressed in black, lithe and silver-haired. The curtain was dropped back in place with a sigh.
Each minstrel he passed in Rivendell made him think. Valanyonnen had told him that his father was a minstrel as well, and in Rivendell if he was recalling correctly, but it seemed they did not get along very well. He wondered if he should inquire or no; he had not to this point, too fearful of additional rejections and shunning.
Over his shoulder he glanced, to the sleeping form in the bed. He watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the peacefulness in his features. Something in his heart ached -- to want them both was wrong in the eyes of so many; to love them both the way he did was almost blasphemy. And yet, he reflected: Would he feel any better if it were Valanyonnen in the bed, and Ellonur who was desperately lost?
With a sigh of confusion, Bainith folded the page and slipped it between pages of his journal, which was getting quite tattered and well-read. He thumbed through the pages, landing on the only one written in an hand other than his own, and traced the numbers and letters with his finger, recalling the first night he had met Valanyonnen. When he could no longer bear the memories, he closed the book and set it aside, and retrieved a fresh sheet of paper.
He paused several times as he tried to decide how to begin. How formal or familiar -- his letter thus far had been lacking in emotion, timidly written, always with his conscience whispering words like 'adulterous' and 'infidelity' into his burning ears. He dipped the quill into the ink, and tried to drown out the invisible voices with the scratching of the nib on the paper.
Beautiful Ellonur,
As I find myself here, watching you sleep, I cannot help but make a confession to you. Last night, before I slept, I thought not of him as I have every night since I met him, but of you, dear, sweet Ellonur. Not thoughts of lust for the sake of pure fornication, but thoughts of the desires I have to be joined to you, to feel the dancing of our souls as you know I have felt once with another. It excites me, brings to me such thrill as I have not felt in many, many months, but so, too, does it bring to me great fear.
I wish I could say these words to you directly, but as you have taught me, it can be easier to make these admissions in writing, left to be discovered as I slip away unnoticed, to avoid those awkward pauses and stutters. I love you so much, it would ruin me to make a decision between the two of you. I need your touch, your companionship, your laughter and your compassion. Is it possible for a fea to be ripped twice, three parts seeking each other out? I wonder this constantly, and hope that answer is yes.
I yearn to see you again, to be held by you, to dream with you. May your day be filled with light and laughter, and your night with me in your arms.
Love,
Bainith
He stared down at the letter, the one he had put off writing, with words he had longed to say but never found the right time for. After the 'meeting' with Eledu the day before, he feared what might happen when Valanyonnen did return, but he feared more what would happen if he never made his admission to Ellonur.
A quick look over his shoulder told him that Ellonur was still asleep. Bainith lifted the letter, kissing the page as he had done only once before. Here there was no shy courtship, no secreted meetings. Everything was out in the open, and he knew that Ellonur deserved the letter he now sealed and left on the pillow beside him. He bowed his head and kissed Ellonur's lips gently, not enough to wake him, but enough to bring a soft smile to his lips. Bainith lingered another moment, then grabbed his mailbag and satchel of stones from the desk. With one last look he departed, confused, yet content for the moment.
Britt and I are still in the midst of cleaning up the 'naughty logs', because as can obviously be figured out, there was *something* that went on before the above fics happened...
-A Second Bottle of Blueberry Ale-
Following the events of the previous night, Bainith awoke earlier than his counterparts and sneaked out of bed to reach the post office early. As much as he would have enjoyed a lazy morning curled up between Gwyndir and Ellonur, his stomach was still in knots and he desperately wanted to be sure that Siltho had not spoken to anyone in Michel Delving.
It turned out that while some people had passed by the residence in the early hours, none had actually seen who was in the hammock, and assumed that it was the pair who had recently acquired the large house at 2 Chalk Road. Bainith spent the day listening intently, and nearly spilling all the sorted mail from Evendim when he saw Bounder Hemming enter and saunter up to the counter, engaging in conversation with his father.
The entire time Siltho was present, ladies in line to send their packages of mathoms to family and friends gossiped about the happenings in the homesteads, and the pair of queer fellows who had moved in, and the display of fireworks in the early hours. Siltho kept shaking his head, clicking his tongue, and every now and then catching worried Bainith's gaze.
"Obviously a pair of irresponsible homeowners," he declared at last. "Good thing I was not there, for their sake. I would have arrested them for disturbance of the peace on the spot! Fireworks without a permit -- something the Servant of the Process will see to, I am sure." He glanced to Bainith for confirmation, and the Elf meekly nodded his head. "There, now, see, the Elves could learn a thing or two from Baynor here," he said as he walked over to the side of the lobby, where Bainith arranged the outgoing letters with shaky hands. "Good ol' Baynor Proudfoot -- respectable as the day is long, my gaffer might'in say," added Siltho, gazing up knowingly at Bainith.
"That's me boy, Baynor," tacked on the postmaster, thumping his fist twice on the counter. "A good-hearted, respectable, honest lad!" He winked at Bainith, who blushed. "Oh, now, not so modest, me boy, not so modest! Proud-feet, proud-hearted," he said in his booming voice. Bainith nodded, and scuttled off to tend to the rest of his duties. "A bit skittish as of late..." mused Postmaster Proudfoot.
"Oh, my, perhaps the weather or the overwhelm of all of the Elves that have shown up over the last year, practically overnight," Siltho reasoned as he watched Bainith disappear into the sorting room.
Later that afternoon, Bainith spent the remainder of his shift alone at the desk, during the slow part of the day. He tried not to jump every time the bell rang at the door, but could not help it, and paled when he saw a familiar Elf with a distinctive crown saunter into the office. "Lord Eledu, h-how nice to s-see you," he stuttered, pulling out the receipt book. "H-how can I h-help you."
Eledu tilted his head to the side. "Goodness, Little Proudfoot, you sound like a carriage wreck. What happened?"
"N-nothing sir," he said nervously, then lowered his voice so that no one in back would hear. "Ask Gwyndir, or I can tell you later. And Siltho is still lurking about."
"Who?" Eledu shrugged. "Anyhow, I cannot stay -- I just returned from Rivendell, and I've business in Bree. However, I found this in my bag as I was clearing it out and thought you might get a chuckle from it, all things considered." He handed over a letter, the pages stained blue. "Enjoy. See you later." As almost an afterthought, he leaned over the counter to give Bainith a peck on the cheek. "Take care of my Tato while I'm gone." The door opened with the ringing of the little bell, which faded once the door was shut again.
Bainith unfolded the sheets, peering over his shoulder, before he began to read.
/Beauuuuutiful Gwyndir,/
Bainith folded the letter back up again. He really did not think it appropriate for him to read a love letter that Eledu had written for Gwyndir. The stained sheets smelled of liquor, and Bainith wondered if Eledu was still drunk at the moment, to pass along love notes so casually. He was about to tuck the item away to hand awkwardly to Gwyndir later, but then decided that Eledu must have had a good reason to share the note. He unfolded the letter again.
/you're such a lovely friend! I just found your letter again and I thought to send you a pie but then I remembered that Bainith didn't like my pies and what if you don't like them either? So here is somre of the beer I brewed, I know you don't drink much though you should because you are so adorable when you are drunk/
Bainith paused and reread from the beginning. He knew that Eledu farmed on occasion, but was unaware of any cooking the Mirkwood Elf did. Perhaps Gwyndir was teaching him. Pie was a bit more advanced though, when getting the consistency right, and Bainith could only remember making pies for Eledu, not the other way around. He was also suspicious of Eledu brewing beer -- it seemed none would be left to share if that were the case. He read on.
/and so forward even though you still blush when I suggest that you and your husband enjoy Bainith, or me, or me and Bainith, and anyway I tasted all my beer, do you know I have made six different sorts of beer, and they all taste great? Because they do, they do, all of them, and I think I will go and taste them again to make certain that what I send you is the good stuff, and if you don't want it I think your husband might, and didn't you tell me Mirkwood warriors aren't shy?/
Suddenly, it dawned on him, and Bainith folded the letter again hastily. Making beer, eyes on all -- Gwyndir, himself, and Gwyndir's husband -- there was only one answer to the riddle. He blushed and swallowed hard, and looked around to make sure he was alone. The temptation was too much -- now he understood why Yucca looked at letters with his father through their envelopes, and he unfolded it once again.
/Because I like that, not Mirkwood warriors, even though of course I like them too, I like them just fine, especially if they aren't shy and you are all going to go swimming with me, aren't you, please please please, because I really think I will enjoy that and you are so lovely and I am sure your husband is too, and wouldn't it have been fun if Bainith had been there too, because he would have looked so lovely, just imagine that, all that beautiful, naked skin glistening in the sunshine... And not just sweet Bainith but you too, you and Eledu, and I am certain you would look so lovely too, and I so love beautiful things, and do you imagine too what it would look like, the four of us, or I guess now the three of us since sweet Bainith seems so determined to stay away from any pleasure? And you knew what he was up to, you knew it, didn't you, and you enjoyed it too to hear him keep telling me no?/
A soft sigh escaped from Bainith as he turned the page over. He closed his eyes and recalled the evening a few nights ago. What had been an attempt to restock the larder turned into a very different event. He shuddered as he recalled it, and his eyes opened lazily, tempted by the letter.
/You are such a cruel man, my lovely friend, so, so cruel, and unfortunately so beautiful too, and did I ever tell you that I like a bit of cruelty in my lovers, because I do, and when Eledu said that he explained to Bainith about ropes and other fun stuff did that mean that he likes that kind of thing, because that would be fun to imagine too?/
Bainith blushed though alone, readjusted his stance, again checking the lobby, before reading quickly through the next part.
/Ohhh, that would be so much fun, and I so like to imagine it, almost as much fun as going swimming with you and Bainith and Eledu because that would be even better with everyone wet and naked and I really, really would like that, really really really sooooo much, because I've thought of touching Bainith a lot and of how good he would look and feel but you are really beautiful too and anyway I never even got to kiss Bainith and I really should kiss someone soon and I think I would enjoy getting to touch you too or your husband or the both of you and do you think about what it might be like to touch me as well?/
There was sudden laughter from the sorting room, and Bainith panicked and dropped the letter. He scrambled to retrieve it, and when he was certain that no one was in the room, he let one hand wander down to touch the bulge that was forming in his trousers, hidden barely by the counter which was high for hobbits, but only reaching to Bainith's waist. He looked back down at the letter again.
/Oops I hope you don't mind if the letter is blue because I've jsut pushed my bottle og blueberry beer over but don't worry I have more of it here is some of it it tastes really good and sweet probably like kissing you or sweet Bainith would be like I imagine and I feel really really miserable right now actually because I never even got to kiss him you know, only of course he might reconsider don't you think igf I wait he might want to kiss me in a year or in ten years?
Love yous oooo much
Ellonur/
Bainith looked up from the letter with hooded eyes, and was startled at what he saw. Standing silently at the counter was Bounder Hemming, looking at him oddly. The letter was still clutched in one hand, and he lowered it down quickly, moving the hand that was out of sight before Siltho did something unexpectedly expected, like come around to the other side of the counter, then ring the bell at the door to announce that the postmaster's son was standing at the mail desk with an uncontrolled erection.
Siltho sniffed the air. "Something smells boozey. Are you drunk on the job?" he demanded.
"Not yet. I mean, no, sir. Probably just someone sending some to someone, sir. Maybe a bottle broke. It happens a lot. Lots of packages from Rivendell and Mirkwood like that."
"Damned Elves. Be better when they all get on their ships and sail west and stop nosing their business into everyone's business," grumbled Siltho. "I need stamps."
"Stamps?"
"For mailing things. You do sell those, right? You are a post office, correct?"
"Certainly, sir," answered Bainith as he began to sweat. "What denomination would you like?"
"Give me a dozen of the fifty coppers and four of the silvers. Make it an even six silvers," he amended as Bainith fished them out from behind the counter, tossing the letter onto one of the shelves so that it was out of his hands. "Little jumpy today, are we?" observed Siltho as Bainith counted out the stamps unsteadily. "Might want to stay off of any hammocks. Might fall off of them. Been a bit of that going around."
Bainith nodded his head rapidly as he scooped up the money Siltho placed on the counter, not bothering to count it. "Thank you! Please come again!"
"Of course, my boy, of course. Michel Delving has one of the best posts in the Shire." He stood at the counter then, and continued to slowly and carefully address each letter he was sending out, licking the stamps with great pauses to assess his work and squint at the placement with his good eye. "Take care, now, lad," he said finally, reaching out to pat Bainith's elbow.
It was unexpected to Bainith that the hobbit then grabbed hold of his arm and gave him a strong tug downwards, peering into the Elf's eyes with his one. "Baynor Proudfoot, you listen to me lad, and listen well. I never, ever want to see or hear of 'that Tall-fellow' doing anything unseemly again. You hear?"
"Yes, Mr. Hemming," answered Bainith quickly.
"You find yourself a nice... someone... and settle yourself down in a respectable neighborhood. Away from *them*."
Bainith nodded noncommittally.
"Or you take your galavanting to Rivendell in the day hours and keep your shenanigans here underground and keep yourself from being seen coming and going from *that* house. Because next time, you will not have to worry about your father finding out from me, because everyone will know from the town gossips. Mrs. Bolger is keeping and eye on the place from the west, and Ms. Pennywhistle in the south. You would do well not to go riding around where you can be seen, and certainly no more antics outside, dark or not. How old are you now, forty-seven?"
"Forty-nine," answered Bainith meekly.
"Still a tween, for an Elf. From my experience, no child is too old to be spanked, least of all naughty tweens." He pulled Bainith's arm out in front of him, and struck Bainith's wrist. Not so hard to leave a mark, but hard enough to sting. "You remember that, next time your judgment tries to cloud itself, because if your father does learn of your coming and goings, *lad*, my very serious solution will be a public whipping with a switch from the birch tree out back to make an example of you!" He let go, leaving Bainith to nod guiltily and rub his wrist. Reaching up, he patted Bainith's cheek. "But I am certainly sure it will not come to that, because Baynor Proudfoot is a respectable, good-hearted, honest boy. Good day, lad."
Bainith mumbled a good day as the door opened and closed, the bell ringing this time. He absently retrieved the letter and tucked it away in his pocket, looking forward to the end of his shift and a cold bottle of blueberry ale.
-Love Letters-
Bainith sat down at the desk, a blank sheet of paper before him. He began to write the familiar greeting along the top of the page.
Dearest Valanyonnen,
He stopped and stared at it for a while. Every day, another letter written, and when he would drop it off to be delivered, he would be handed one a few weeks old, the customary red X stamped across the front, the sign of undeliverable mail. He had a collection now, letters sent and unreceived, the postmarks showing their travel throughout Middle-earth. Blue and red and green ink, denoting places he had not yet been to in some cases - the silver ink of Lothlorien, the deep green of Mirkwood, and the blackish purple of Moria. They were confirmation to him that Valanyonnen was beyond these places or something worse; little comfort to a worrying mind.
So often the letters were speckled with the stains of tears, cried as he wrote his messages, emotions poured out on paper. Sometimes wishing, sometimes pleading, sometimes with a hint of anger, but always signed with devotion, love, and hope.
Now he stared down at the blank page, the early hours of the morning casting both light and shadow on the page. Far off, he could hear the notes of a harper, and he drew back the curtain to search for them on the horizon. A lone figure, dressed in black, lithe and silver-haired. The curtain was dropped back in place with a sigh.
Each minstrel he passed in Rivendell made him think. Valanyonnen had told him that his father was a minstrel as well, and in Rivendell if he was recalling correctly, but it seemed they did not get along very well. He wondered if he should inquire or no; he had not to this point, too fearful of additional rejections and shunning.
Over his shoulder he glanced, to the sleeping form in the bed. He watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the peacefulness in his features. Something in his heart ached -- to want them both was wrong in the eyes of so many; to love them both the way he did was almost blasphemy. And yet, he reflected: Would he feel any better if it were Valanyonnen in the bed, and Ellonur who was desperately lost?
With a sigh of confusion, Bainith folded the page and slipped it between pages of his journal, which was getting quite tattered and well-read. He thumbed through the pages, landing on the only one written in an hand other than his own, and traced the numbers and letters with his finger, recalling the first night he had met Valanyonnen. When he could no longer bear the memories, he closed the book and set it aside, and retrieved a fresh sheet of paper.
He paused several times as he tried to decide how to begin. How formal or familiar -- his letter thus far had been lacking in emotion, timidly written, always with his conscience whispering words like 'adulterous' and 'infidelity' into his burning ears. He dipped the quill into the ink, and tried to drown out the invisible voices with the scratching of the nib on the paper.
Beautiful Ellonur,
As I find myself here, watching you sleep, I cannot help but make a confession to you. Last night, before I slept, I thought not of him as I have every night since I met him, but of you, dear, sweet Ellonur. Not thoughts of lust for the sake of pure fornication, but thoughts of the desires I have to be joined to you, to feel the dancing of our souls as you know I have felt once with another. It excites me, brings to me such thrill as I have not felt in many, many months, but so, too, does it bring to me great fear.
I wish I could say these words to you directly, but as you have taught me, it can be easier to make these admissions in writing, left to be discovered as I slip away unnoticed, to avoid those awkward pauses and stutters. I love you so much, it would ruin me to make a decision between the two of you. I need your touch, your companionship, your laughter and your compassion. Is it possible for a fea to be ripped twice, three parts seeking each other out? I wonder this constantly, and hope that answer is yes.
I yearn to see you again, to be held by you, to dream with you. May your day be filled with light and laughter, and your night with me in your arms.
Love,
Bainith
He stared down at the letter, the one he had put off writing, with words he had longed to say but never found the right time for. After the 'meeting' with Eledu the day before, he feared what might happen when Valanyonnen did return, but he feared more what would happen if he never made his admission to Ellonur.
A quick look over his shoulder told him that Ellonur was still asleep. Bainith lifted the letter, kissing the page as he had done only once before. Here there was no shy courtship, no secreted meetings. Everything was out in the open, and he knew that Ellonur deserved the letter he now sealed and left on the pillow beside him. He bowed his head and kissed Ellonur's lips gently, not enough to wake him, but enough to bring a soft smile to his lips. Bainith lingered another moment, then grabbed his mailbag and satchel of stones from the desk. With one last look he departed, confused, yet content for the moment.
Britt and I are still in the midst of cleaning up the 'naughty logs', because as can obviously be figured out, there was *something* that went on before the above fics happened...
