Twelve Days of Hrive 'Isia Ch. 01

"Then it is settled. Your mother will find the offer of Madrician becoming Círdan's sister's companion a wonderful trade for what I could have done to her," Turgon replied.

Gilraen smiled at both men. "I am forever in your debt, both of you."

"Come Gilraen, show me to your chambers and I'll deal with your injuries. Since we will wed in a matter of days, no one will question my being within the walls of your room." Turgon thanked his friend, placed his arm loosely around the Princess's waist and steered her in the direction she indicated.

They reached her rooms with no outward stares of hostility or shock. Her mother must have done as she was told, and begun to prepare the keep for the upcoming ceremony. Hrive 'Isia was now not only a celebration of Winter and of the Earth sleeping, it was of their King's eldest daughter making a union with one of the wealthiest of their people.

Gilraen entered first, paused and turned to face Turgon. "My sister Madrician," she stepped back, swept her hand out and motioned for the young elven girl to come forward, "It seems she has already taken it upon herself to aid me."

Turgon lifted a brow, bowed to the young Princess, and smiled warmly at her. "Then I will leave you. Please though, if it would not cause too much harm, would you use the medicines I have gotten from Círdan?"

Madrician chewed nervously on her lip, before taking the offered pouch. She peeked inside, breathed deep the earthy aroma and smiled. "Stay and help," she whispered, before taking her sister's hand in hers and leading her to the bed.

Gilraen was surprised by her sister's soft demand, but grateful that she'd made it. She was not quite ready for Turgon to leave. "If you'll wait over by the window, I will change into something else so that my sister can attend me."

Turgon moved to stand at a window that faced the mountains of Lúinwë. He listened to the muffled curses of Gilraen and knew the stinging bite of the cane was the cause. The rustling of a dress being pulled from her lithe figure, made his mind take flight. He recalled her pale skin, the beat of her pulse that morning when he had gripped her wrist, the way her hair had become loose from her braid; an image of the scars on her back brought a frown to his otherwise handsome features. Her mother would never lay a hand on her again. Turgon sighed heavily as he thought of the young girl who had lost her champion and had gained an enemy all in one day. "You lost your childhood, little one," he whispered to the scenery before him.

"Lord Turgon."

Turgon turned around at the soft call of his name. "Princess Madrician, I see you're ready to begin." His gaze settled on Gilraen. She lay on her stomach, arms under her head, propping up her chin. Her back was exposed; a thin silk cloth lay across her hips, covering her bottom, thighs and legs. Turgon's body responded to her vulnerable state. His stomach tightened as his eyes ran across her shoulders, down her back, along the promising roundness of her ass. He noticed the span of her waist, as well as the small swell of her breast that were pushed into the thick covers of the bed.

"Lord Turgon," Madrician's voice again woke him from his musings, "did my sister not inform you of my gift?"

Gilraen chuckled. The young man tilted his head. "No, she merely mentioned that you had had a fever once when you were small and ..."

"I am slow," she finished, "but the fever left me with the ability to read other people's thoughts." Turgon's brows shot up, his skin turned red, and he found himself at a loss for words. "So, if you don't mind, please allow me to tend to my sister without your thoughts of your wedding night floating around in the air."

"Madrician!" Gilraen shouted, turned to reprimand her sibling, and then whimpered at the answering sting.

"I will do my best, Your Highness," Turgon promised. Mentally he told the girl, that he would most likely fail. He noticed her smirk, wink and shrugged shoulders.

Turgon said nothing as the youngest Lúinwë woman rubbed a thin coating of salve across the freshly broken skin of her elder sister. He took note of the care as Madrician worked, as well as how the soft whimpers of Gilraen slowly began to ease into relaxed moans. Herbs were crushed by tiny fingertips, and sprinkled across the sticky substance, that seemed to slip slowly into every torn crevice. "You have a gift," he whispered to the healer, taking note that Gilraen had fallen asleep. "Is it too from your accident?"

"No, I've healed all my life. Little things, bugs, rats, birds, and these," she indicated the welts. "I cannot remove the scars, but I can ease her suffering."

"And the other," he tapped his head.

"It was frightening at first, seeing everything people were thinking. It wasn't until I felt I was not losing my mind that I tried to control myself. At first I would manipulate people," she turned her head away, showing shame, "but soon I could take no more, and so I confessed to Gilraen, who took me to Huro. With his help and with the help of prayers answered by the goddess, I am more in control of my gift."

"Does your mother know?"

Madrician shook her head no. "If she were to discover this -- I don't know what sort of trickery and evil she would make me do. I strive hard to stay perfect in her eyes," she paused, gnawed on her lip and looked over at her sister's sleeping body, "is it wrong? Wrong to protect myself, while she suffers?"

The Lord of Celebrindal felt the weight of the little girl's words heavy on his mind. "No, I have a feeling your sister expects it of you. She is strong, and has suffered greatly by your mother's hands, and that suffering she does for you, just as much as she accepts for her herself."

A deep and heavy silence seemed to fill the room. Turgon would have given anything to break it, so he chose to offer the position in Círdan's house as his sister's companion. The grin that spread across the cherub features was all the answer Turgon needed. "Then you and I will go now, and discuss this with your mother. Your sister will rest." He felt the slight invasion into his mind. "Another gift I see, but yes, I will place two guards at her door. You are right your mother will blame her for my taking of you." The two royals left the sleeping woman, her back exposed to the air and her mind heavy with a healing sleep that Círdan's potions had led aid to.

On the second day of Hrive 'Isia

"I cannot believe you slept the entire day and night away!"

Gilraen flexed the muscles in her back, marveling again at the freedom of pain. Whatever medicines Círdan had brought with him were unlike any her sister had ever used. "I apologized to our guests, and have already made amends to both Lord Turgon's parents, promising his father a dance, and his mother a song."

"And the man himself? What promises did you make him that would give him the authority to demand the only one I love?" Eáránë sneered. The rise of her brow and look in her eye told Gilraen what she already thought.

"To marry him of course," Gilraen answered back, refusing to allow her mother a chance to ruin the activities of the day.

"Your Highness -- Princess Gilraen"

The two women both dressed in gowns of milky cream and littered with various gems, looked at the young man who had greeted them. "Sir Círdan," Eáránë curtsied, as did her daughter.

"Excuse me Queen Eáránë, but the Princess's future father-in-law wishes to claim his dance." He took Gilraen's hand, tucked it into the hook of his arm and led her toward the crowd that wove their way across the ballroom floor. "Here you are Your Lordship," he whispered before passing her hand over to another gentleman.

"Thank you Círdan."

Gilraen felt the strong touch of Turgon's father on her fingers. She smiled up at him, blushed a pale shade of pink as he pulled her close to him. "My sources tell me you're not familiar with dancing. A shame, for we do it quite often in our lands."

"My mother felt it was unnecessary. After my father's accident, revelry and celebration were limited to only the coming and going of the seasons, and even now -- had it not been for the betrothal agreement I would not be dancing this evening."

"Turgon has shared with me your mother's demeanor, and I am sorry that you have suffered. Rest assured that ends now; you are a part of our clan, as is your sister, and any others you find favor with."

Gilraen's blush deepened. "Thank you."

A soft gruff was her only answer to her words. "It seems you've been spotted and I'm about to lose you."

"Oh?" Gilraen turned her head, noted how the other dancers cleared a path for whoever sought her out. Her skin brightened. She licked her lips in anticipation; her pulse raced. Turgon reached her side, took her hand, thanked his father and circled her waist with his arm. He pulled her tight against him, and grinned down at her startled expression.

"I felt it best to rescue you from my father, before I found myself challenging him."

"He was a perfect gentleman and as you can tell," she nodded toward her former dance partner, "he only has eyes for your mother."

Turgon followed her gaze. "True, but there are others here, that would be more than willing to pry you away and steal you for themselves."

"Then it is fortunate that I belong to you." Her words surprised them both.

He held her closer, twirled her around the room, never once losing the rhythm that the musicians provided. In time he steered them both outside, and the night air kissed their flushed skin. "You do belong to me Gilraen," Turgon whispered. He pressed her back against the castle wall, their bodies hidden by well placed shrubbery and the darkness. "But why, why so eager to accept your fate - because I have sworn to protect you and your sister?"

Gilraen shook her head no. "There is more. You and I were not able to speak much today, but I did observe you. You spoke to men and women of varying stations with the same respect as you have shown me. Your kindness toward my sister, you're willingness to ease both our suffering is only a natural thing for you. You embrace life and the thought of wedding you sits much easier on my mind."

He trailed a finger across her jaw, and down her neck. "And?" Turgon watched her swallow, and dipped his head down to kiss her throat. "Is there anything else about me that you like?"

She blinked several times, and tried to breathe as if nothing was happening. Desperately she fought to ignore the soft touch of his lips, the feel of his body pressed into hers, and the seductive whisper of his question.

One of his hands moved down her side, it rested there before gliding back to settle between the rounded cheek of her butt and the cool rocks of the castle wall. She moaned softly as his fingers massaged the tender flesh. "I do -- I do like other things about you."

"Oh?"

"Yes," she moaned again as his lips trailed tiny kisses up her neck and to her ear. "I like, mmm - - I like you're friends."

Turgon chuckled. "I like my friends too, not nearly as much as I like you and I promise I never seduce my friends at least not my male friends."

"I don't know why I accept our union so freely, but I do. I think I always knew I would belong to you, long before I met you. I fought it, at least inwardly, but that day, the day you saw me on my knees - - I knew then there was a man before me that I could count as my equal and would protect all that was his."

"And do you love me Gilraen?" Turgon paused in his ministrations. His lips hovered over hers. "Hmm?"

"Love?"

"Yes, Princess -- love?" He stepped back and eyed her. "I can see you are not ready to embrace that word."

She shrugged her shoulders. "I like you Turgon. I like you very much. But love? It is only the second day of our meeting and I -- are you saying that after this short a time you love me?"

Turgon smiled. "It matters not if I love you Gilraen, but I demand it of you. It is your love that will keep you faithful to me."

Gilraen's eyes grew wide; she stepped away, putting several feet between her and Turgon. "Demand it?"

"Yes, I am the Lord of my people, or will be upon my father's death or earlier if he requests me to take his place. A Lord needs the love of his Lady. He cannot worry about her bedding another, fathering children not of his seed, and-"

"So, I am to confess love you to you, remain at your side, give my body only to you, and you -- what is expected of you?"

Turgon frowned. "This doesn't seem to be going as I planned," he muttered, more to himself than to Gilraen.

"I'm sure it isn't."

"Princess, you are to do all those things and as long as you please me, then I shall rarely if ever leave your bed to seek the pleasures of another."

Gilraen's fingers curled into tight fists. "I believe we are done for the night, Lord Turgon and if you believe our betrothal arrangement is continuing under these circumstances you are wrong. I will still wed you, you offer too much freedom for not only me but for my sister, but I will bed whomever I wish -- perhaps even this night." She turned to leave, only to be brought up short against his chest.

"If I so much as catch you with another -- he will die."

The Princess jerked away, pushed her way back through the crowd of dancers and merriment makers, and then took to her rooms. On the way she passed several of Turgon's men. She glanced briefly at the one that made eye contact with her. Círdan was a good looking elf and would serve her purpose quite well. Tomorrow she would begin her pursuit of her first lover. If her husband-to-be could have a score of females at his beck and call than she why couldn't she have an equally number of males?

Turgon let her go. His gaze followed her through the ballroom. His expression was a mixture of disbelief and anger. He'd told her the day before that he would bed only her if she provided enough sport for him. He knew his father did not take lovers, but he was an exception to the rule. His father loved his mother. They had chosen each other, they had not been thrust together -- a contract their binding agreement. He knew in time he would grow fond of Gilraen, in that he had no doubt, but love her? The idea had never really occurred to him. He and his men had lain between many a woman's thighs and not one had he ever loved. Gilraen was just another woman. Her appeal only added by the weight of her purse and the lands she brought.

The Lord of Celebrindal shook his head, chuckled softly at the notion of bedding only one female. He left the ball room, discovered Círdan as well as a few of his other friends. "Come let us find some sport," he bellowed.