Ithriel burst into her sister's room without a knock with the force of a hurricane, a storm in human form. Her cheeks were flushed and her breaths came in rapid bursts, signaling urgency of her arrival. Silmeriel, who had been lost in her own world, was taken aback by the sudden intrusion, her curiosity piqued by her sister's erratic movements.
"Ithriel, what's happened?" she asked, her voice laced with concern. "Is everything all right, sister?" she got up from her chair and moved closer.
A playful glint shone in Ithriel's eyes despite her breathless state. "Silme! You won't believe it! It finally happened! Salmar… he… he admitted it!" Ithriel replied, her words tumbling out in a rush.
Silmeriel took a step back, trying to process the information. "Admitted what?"
"His feelings! He loves me!" she hugged her sister tightly and started jumping, as a whirlwind of unbridled happiness. Ithriel's hug was tight and full of glee, her arms squeezing her sister as if never wanting to let go. Her hands trembled with happiness, her fingers tingling as she stood on a cloud of euphoria. Girl's face was lit up with a radiant smile, her eyes sparkling with joy. The room seemed to glow with the light of her emotions, vibrant and alive. Silmeriel could see the excitement bouncing off her sister's every move as she paced back and forth, unable to contain her happiness.
"I am so... unbelievably happy! And... and we kissed! Can you believe it? Oh, Silmeriel, it was beyond magical. Utterly unreal. It was better than anything I had ever dreamed! It felt as if time had come to a standstill, and in that moment, all the stars in the universe burst into a brilliant symphony of light," Ithriel's voice was a breathless cascade of words, each one tumbling over the next. She paced back and forth with a lively energy, her hands clasped tightly together as if trying to contain her excitement. "He finally gave in, you know? After all this time!"
Silmeriel's expression was a mixture of awe and a frown. It was a shock to her system, and she was not sure, should she be happy or afraid. "I… I'm glad for you, Ithriel, but—"
"And, my dear sister, this feeling was so overwhelming. I didn't want it to ever end. I truly desired to… to go further," her cheeks flushing a delicate shade of pink that crept up her neck like a blossoming sunrise. "But he wouldn't. So righteous and prim, as usual, like a steadfast guardian of propriety. I know he wants me too, I could feel it! But he insists on everything being proper, making me wait in this antagonizing limbo."
"Ithriel! What are you saying! Surely you can't just…" Silmeriel's blush was noticeable, fleeting though it was. This level of candidness was unusual even for Ithriel. "You will have to get married first, if Father ever to allow such a thing! I am afraid for you, and for Salmar! You are rushing into… things."
"Promise to me you will say nothing to anyone!" Ithriel demanded, her tone suddenly serious, her earlier exuberance fading. She stopped pacing and looked intently at Silmeriel. "To Father, especially. Nor Mother, for he can see everything in her mind."
"Sooner or later he will return and see things for what they are anyway. You know, nothing is hidden from him for long. What then?"
"Once the time is right, Salmar will talk to him, and explain everything. But until then... You have to swear, Silmeriel. Swear you won't tell."
Silmeriel met her sister's gaze. The gravity of Ithriel's request was apparent. "I… I swear."
Ithriel visibly relaxed, a small smile returning. "Thank you. I… I trust you."
Salmar paced restlessly in his chambers, his mind a tempest of conflicting emotions. The events of the day replayed in his mind, each moment etched with vivid clarity. Ithriel's lips on his, the softness of her skin beneath his fingers, the intoxicating scent of peonies in her hair - it was all he could think about. Yet, intertwined with the euphoria was a gnawing sense of dread.
He ran his fingers through his hair, which seemed to ripple like disturbed water with each agitated movement. His storm-gray eyes darted about the room, unable to settle on any one thing for long. The usually serene Maia felt anything but calm.
"What have I done?" he whispered to the empty room. The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of their implications. Now, in the aftermath, a cold dread settled in the pit of his stomach.
Salmar loved Ithriel, of that he had no doubt. But the consequences of their actions loomed over him like a gathering storm. Mairon was not a being to be trifled with, and Salmar knew all too well the wrath the Maia was capable of unleashing.
He moved to the window, gazing out at the tranquil gardens below. The contrast between the peacefulness of the scene and the turmoil in his heart was stark. "You should have been stronger," he murmured to himself, his forehead resting against the cool glass. "You should have resisted. Lied."
But even as the words left his lips, he knew they were hollow. The truth was, he had wanted this for so long. Every moment having her close, and yet so far, was an agony. He tried his best, he truly did. But the dam of his restraint had finally broken under the relentless tide of Ithriel's love and his own longing.
A soft knock at the door startled him from his reverie. For a heart-stopping moment, he feared it might be Mairon, somehow already aware of what had transpired. But when he opened the door, it was Silmeriel who stood before him, her azure eyes filled with concern.
"Salmar," she said softly, "we need to talk."
He hesitated for a moment, then stepped aside to let her enter. As she glided into the room, her golden hair catching the fading light, he felt a pang of guilt. Silmeriel had always been a voice of reason, a calming presence. Now, he feared he had dragged her into a storm of his own making.
"I assume Ithriel has told you," he said, his voice low and tinged with resignation.
Girl nodded, her eyes searching his face. "She did. Salmar, I... I'm worried. For both of you."
Salmar's shoulders sagged, the weight of his actions pressing down on him anew. He moved to a nearby chair, sinking into it with a heavy sigh. A silence fell between them. It was Silmeriel who finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I understand that you love my sister," she said. "And that she loves you. But Salmar, she is too impulsive. And the consequences—"
"I know," he interrupted, his voice tinged with frustration and fear. "By the Valar, I know. And believe me I tried my best to keep my distance. But I couldn't... I couldn't deny it any longer. Deny her. Deny myself."
Silmeriel knelt beside his chair, taking one of his hands in hers. "I know how Ithriel can be. It is hard to say no to her. And I don't judge you, Salmar. But we must think of what comes next. Father will return soon, and when he does—"
"When he does, I will face him," Salmar said, a steely resolve entering his voice. "I will admit and explain everything. I will accept whatever punishment he deems fit."
"And Ithriel?" Silmeriel asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "What of her? If anything were to befall you, her heart will be broken."
Salmar's face softened, a look of pure adoration crossing his features. "I will protect her, Silmeriel. With everything I am, I will protect her."
Silmeriel nodded, a small smile gracing her lips. "Then you have my support, for what it's worth. But please, be careful. Both of you."
As she rose to leave, Salmar caught her hand. "Thank you," he said earnestly. "Your kindness... it means more than you know."
Silmeriel squeezed his hand gently before slipping out of the room, leaving Salmar alone with his thoughts once more. He turned to the window, gazing out at the night sky. "Valar grant me strength," he whispered to the stars. "For the storm that is to come."
In the days that followed, Salmar found himself caught between his resolve to maintain a respectable distance from Ithriel and the magnetic pull of her presence. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't bring himself to stay away entirely. Their stolen moments became precious, fleeting instances of joy amidst the growing tension.
They took to going on walks and rides together, him always insisting that Silmeriel accompany them as a chaperone. But the young elf, understanding the depth of their feelings, would often lag behind or find excuses to give them privacy once they were out of sight of prying eyes.
On one such afternoon, Salmar and Ithriel lay side by side in a secluded meadow, watching clouds drift lazily across the sky. The grass beneath them was soft, the air sweet with the scent of wildflowers. For a moment, it was easy to forget the complications that awaited them.
"Look," Ithriel said, pointing upward. "That cloud looks like a ship sailing across the sea." Salmar smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. There was a tension in his body that Ithriel couldn't miss. "What troubles you, my Ocean?" she asked, propping herself up on one elbow to look at him.
Salmar sighed, his storm-gray eyes meeting hers. "I've received word," he said quietly. "Mairon and Galadriel are on their way back home."
Ithriel stiffened, her eyes widening as she looked up at him. "When?"
"Soon," Salmar replied, his voice tight with anxiety. "Within a fortnight, I'd wager."
Ithriel sat up, her gaze searching his face. "You're worried," she stated, not a question but a fact.
Salmar nodded, unable to hide his concern. "I am. Mairon... I've seen him in his wrath, Ithriel. When he learns of us..."
"He'll understand," Ithriel insisted, though her voice lacked conviction. "He must. I will make him."
Salmar said nothing, simply pulling her close and pressing a kiss to her forehead. As they lay there, the weight of their uncertain future hung heavy in the air.
The day of Mairon and Galadriel's return arrived with an air of trepidation. The entire household was abuzz with nervous energy as servants scurried about, preparing for their masters' homecoming. Ithriel and Silmeriel stood side by side in the grand foyer, their postures tense as they awaited their parents' arrival.
When the massive doors finally swung open, Mairon strode in first, his presence filling the room with an almost palpable intensity. His eyes, gleaming with barely contained frustration, swept over his daughters before settling on Salmar, who stood a respectful distance behind them.
"Mairon," Salmar began. "Well met again, my friend. I hope your journey was—"
"Spare me the pleasantries, Salmar," Mairon cut him off, his voice sharp. "We have matters of grave importance to discuss."
Galadriel entered then, her serene countenance a stark contrast to Mairon's agitation. She embraced each of her daughters in turn, her touch lingering as if to reassure herself of their well-being.
"Come," Mairon commanded, already striding towards his private chambers. "We must speak at once."
As they gathered in Mairon's study, the tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife. Mairon paced back and forth, his movements fluid yet filled with barely contained energy.
"We were unable to apprehend Tindómë, She managed to slip away yet again!" he began without preamble, his voice tight with frustration. "But we managed to capture some of her servants."
Galadriel, seated gracefully in a nearby chair, picked up the narrative. "They revealed that she is moving south," she said, her melodious voice tinged with concern. "Closer to our kingdom."
"What are your orders?" Salmar asked, pushing aside his personal concerns in the face of this larger threat.
Mairon turned to him, his gaze piercing. "We must prepare. Strengthen our defenses, increase patrols. I want eyes and ears everywhere, Salmar. Nothing must escape our notice. And the girls, they must not wonder alone."
Salmar nodded, "It will see to it immediately." As he turned to leave, he stopped in hesitation. "Actually," he said, "There's something I need to talk to you about…"
Mairon's eyes narrowed, searching Salmar's face. For a moment, it seemed as if he could see right through him, into the very depths of his soul where the secret of his love for Ithriel lay hidden. But he did not.
"Not now," Mairon snapped, his patience clearly wearing thin. "Whatever it is, it can wait. We have more pressing concerns."
As Salmar rushed down the corridors, his mind occupied with the matter in hand, Ithriel caught up with him, grabbing his arm. "Well? Did you?"
Salmar's eyes darted around nervously before meeting Ithriel's intense gaze. He shook his head slightly. "I... I couldn't. The timing wasn't right. Your father is preoccupied with another matters. It wouldn't have been appropriate to—"
"Appropriate? But you promised, Salmar," she hissed, her voice low but intense. "You said you would tell him as soon as he returned."
Salmar reached out to take her hand, but Ithriel pulled away, hurt and anger warring in her expression. "My Moon, please try to understand. Your father's mood is... volatile right now. His mind is busy with something else. And I tried, truly I did. But the timing... it wasn't right. If we approach him about us in this state, it could end disastrously."
Ithriel took a step back. Her eyes, usually so full of warmth when they looked upon him, now held a cold disappointment that pierced Salmar's heart. "And when will the timing be right?" she demanded. "When will you find the courage to face him?"
Salmar reached out to her again, but she pulled away. "Ithriel, please understand. I'm not doing this out of cowardice. I'm trying to protect us, you."
"You're always trying to protect me," Ithriel interrupted, her voice bitter. "But have you considered that perhaps I don't need protection? I need you! But you are keeping me in suspense. Perhaps, you don't desire me, after all. And how long are we supposed to hide our love like it's something shameful? I won't do it, Salmar. I won't."
With that, she turned on her heel and stormed off, leaving Salmar standing alone in the corridor, his heart heavy with the weight of their unresolved conflict. This girl had too much power over him. She could make him happy or miserable with just one look, and he was at a loss, for the first time in eons of his existence, of how to handle this. Maia stood frozen in place, his heart aching as he watched Ithriel's retreating form. He wanted to call out to her, to explain, but he knew that would only make things worse right now. With a heavy sigh, he turned and made his way to his chambers, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.
Next day Ithriel did not speak to Salmar, avoiding him. He recognized full well that she was punishing him, manipulating him on the way. But she was right, he could not drag it any longer. Steadying himself for what's to come, he went to seek Mairon. He found him in the throne room, talking to an officer. As the guard retreated in a rush, following some urgent orders, Salmar said, "Mairon… We need to talk. There is an important matter we must discuss."
Mairon looked at him, studying his face. "All right. What is it?"
"While you were gone—" Salmar tried to steady his breathing. All the speech he'd prepared in advance, suddenly evaporated from his mind, leaving him grasping for words.
"Well? What is it?" urged him Maia, that now seemed terrible in his power.
But he wasn't allowed to continue. His next words were interrupted by the group of the guards dragging young elf into the hall.
"Hold on, Salmar," Mairon said. "There is something I must deal with first." With that he approached a kneeling elf and threw a piece of parchment in his face.
"So," he addressed him with the coldness of the winter winds. "Writing letters in secret to my daughter? Does Silmeriel even know your name?"
Young elf seemed terrified. He did not dare to meet the gaze of his terrible king. Salmar watched in stunned silence as the scene unfolded before him. The boy trembled visibly, his eyes fixed on the ground as Mairon loomed over him. The Maia's presence seemed to fill the entire hall, his anger a palpable force.
"I... I meant no disrespect, my king," the elf stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I only wished to express my admiration for Lady Silmeriel's beauty and grace."
Mairon's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Admiration?" he spat. "You dare to think yourself worthy of my daughter's attention? It seems that a lesson is in order. Now tell me, you fool, do you prefer to burn or be tied to the horses and torn into pieces, like this miserable parchment that you dared to pass?"
Salmar felt a chill run down his spine. If this was Mairon's reaction to a mere letter of admiration, what hope did he have for acceptance of his relationship with Ithriel?
With a flick of his wrist, Mairon turned to the guards. "Take him to the dungeons," he commanded. "Let him contemplate the folly of his actions in darkness and solitude, while I decide what to do with him."
As the young elf was dragged away, his pleas for mercy echoing off the stone walls, Salmar felt his resolve crumble.
"Now, Salmar," Mairon said, turning back to him as if the somber scene never took place. "What was it you wished to discuss?"
Salmar swallowed hard, his resolve shattered to pieces in the face of Mairon's wrath. "I... it can wait. Perhaps another time would be more appropriate."
"Are you sure? You said it's important. What is it with you lately? You are not yourself. And pale as a wall. If you were not Maia, I would think you'd fallen ill," he asked.
"No, I am perfectly well," Salmar feigned a smile. "Anyway, I'll leave you to it."
As Salmar left the throne room, his heart heavy with guilt, he knew he had failed Ithriel once again. The weight of their secret pressed down on him more than ever, and he wondered how much longer they could keep this charade going before everything came crashing down around them.
Ithriel found herself in Celebrían's chambers, pacing back and forth as she poured her heart out to her confidante.
"I fear Salmar may have lost his nerve," Ithriel confessed, her voice tight with worry. "He speaks of waiting for the right moment, but what if that moment never comes? What if he's simply too afraid of Father's reaction?"
Celebrían watched her sister with sympathetic eyes. "Salmar's caution is not unfounded, dear sister. Father's temper is legendary, and this news... well, it will not be received lightly."
"But we cannot keep living like this!" Ithriel exclaimed, throwing her hands up in frustration. "Sneaking around, stealing moments... it's not enough. I want to be with him openly, without fear or shame. I want to wed him!"
A determined glint entered Ithriel's eyes, one that Celebrían recognized all too well. It was the same look Ithriel got before doing something rash and potentially dangerous. "Ithriel," she said warningly, "whatever you're thinking—"
"What I am thinking, my dear sister, is that I am not ready to give up. Salmar may be afraid, but I am not. We are meant to be together. And I will make sure that he has no choice but to speak to Father." With that, refusing to give any more explanations, she stormed off to her bedchamber, leaving Silmeriel to wonder and worry.
As night fell over the kingdom, Ithriel's resolve only grew stronger. She paced her chambers, her mind racing with plans and possibilities. With a deep breath, she made her decision. If Salmar wouldn't take the initiative, then she would force his hand. Quickly and quietly, she changed into a thin nightgown, its delicate fabric clinging to her curves, and slipped out of her room and into the darkened hallways.
Her heart pounded in her chest, a mixture of anticipation and nervous energy coursing through her veins. She moved like a ghost through the halls, her footsteps silent on the cool stone floors. At last, she reached Salmar's chambers. She hesitated for just a moment, her hand hovering over the door handle. Then, drawing a deep breath, she pushed it open and stepped inside.
Salmar was seated at his desk, poring over maps and reports. He looked up, startled by the sudden intrusion. His eyes widened as he took in Ithriel's appearance, her beauty illuminated by the soft candlelight.
"Ithriel," he whispered, his voice a mixture of longing and fear. "What are you doing here? If someone sees you—"
She crossed the room in swift strides, pressing a finger to his lips to silence him. "No one will see," she murmured, her eyes locked with his. "I couldn't stay away any longer, Salmar. I can't wait. I need you."
He stepped away, placing a chair between them to create a much needed distance. "No! My Moon, please, you need to leave."
Ithriel's eyes flashed with determination, as she moved away the chair forcefully. "I will not leave, Salmar. Not this time." She said, closing the distance between them. She reached out, her fingers trailing along his jawline. "I love you, and I know you love me. Are you not?"
Salmar's breath caught in his throat as Ithriel pressed herself against him. He could feel the warmth of her body through the thin fabric, smell the intoxicating scent of hers that was driving him mad. His hands moved of their own accord, settling on her waist. Before he could protest, she leaned in and kissed him deeply. Salmar's resolve crumbled in an instant, his both arms encircling her waist and pulling her close. The kiss was passionate, desperate, filled with all the longing they had been holding back.
When they finally broke apart, both breathless, Ithriel began to undo the fastenings of his tunic. Salmar's eyes widened as he realized her intentions.
"Ithriel, are you mad?" he said, his voice strained. "Stop! We can't!"
"I don't care," she replied fiercely. "I love you, Salmar. I want to be with you in every way and I offer myself to you. Are you really going to reject me like that?"
Salmar's last shred of resistance dissolved. He lifted Ithriel into his arms, carrying her to his bed. As he laid her down, their eyes met, a silent understanding passing between them. There was no turning back now. His voice of reason was drowned out by the roaring of his blood, the intoxicating feel of Ithriel in his arms.
Just as Salmar's hand began to slide up Ithriel's thigh, their kisses becoming more urgent, the door to his chambers burst open with a thunderous crash. They both froze, turning in horror to see Mairon standing in the doorway.