Eressëa Mindon: Lonely Tower

Posted: July 2004
Title: Eressëa Mindon: Lonely Tower
Author: Orchyd Constyne
Type: FCS
Characters: Manwë/Ingwë
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I do not own LotR or any characters, lands, or items from the Tolkien world. They belong to their respective copyright holders.
Beta: Fimbrethiel
Author's Notes: This is a companion piece to the story I wrote a while back called "Fair Shall the End Be". You do not need to read FStEB to understand this one, but this has been floating about in my head for some time now. It is also dedicated to Maya, who encouraged this fic and poked at me until I wrote it. Melanyel, melindo.

Summary: Ingwë comes to visit the Lord of the Valar as he has for centuries uncounted, but Manwë offers more than his counsel.

*****

Ingwë slowly walked through the vast halls that comprised the mansions of Manwë and Varda. Over the many, many years, Ingwë had come to the Lord of the Valar's home seeking comfort for his loneliness and a soothing word for his heartache.

Of the three who had set out from the Waters of Awakening so long ago, only Ingwë remained unwed. His heart had never quickened in love; his soul had never called out the name of its mate. He was alone. His own great halls echoed when he walked them. Indis and her daughters dwelled with him, but they were their own family. Though the ruler of the Elves had family he could spend many hours with, he still returned to his cold bed each night, his arms empty and aching.

But, as the years had passed, Ingwë had found himself more and more often visiting Manwë when the loneliness became too much for him. When the tears would pool and his throat close up, he would bid his sister goodbye and come to Manwë's side. Though he was the Lord of the Valar and doubtless could occupy himself with a myriad of trivialities, Manwë would rather stop and sit with Ingwë, speaking with him long into the night. They would walk the gardens, speaking of all things and of nothing, and Ingwë's sorrow would lift for a time. He would leave the great mansions and return to his own home, his eyes bright and his heart light once more.

The suffocating loneliness, though, would always return. And Ingwë would travel to Manwë and seek some relief, as he did this day.

Ingwë knew that the spirit of Fëanáro had passed into the Halls of Mandos. Finwë would again see his son, and Ingwë was happy for his friend. But, the harms Fëanáro had brought upon the Elves, and the sadness Ingwë would see each time Finarfin would speak of his departed family, did not allow Ingwë to feel any peace. Finwë's eldest had passed into the realm of the bodiless, but the scars were for the living to forever bear.

He never knew just how he found the Vala. He simply did. Ingwë would walk through the rooms, somehow knowing where Manwë waited for him. In all the Ages that had passed, and all the visits he had made, Ingwë still found rooms in Manwë's home that he had yet to look upon. This day was one. His feet carried him across the marble floors, beyond pools of steaming water and carefully cultivated greenery, deeper into the dwelling and farther from all he knew.

It did not take him long until he stood before a tall intricately carved door depicting the Two Trees in all their glory.

The doors opened enough for Ingwë to slip through; the doors shut almost as soon as he stepped inside the room. "My Lord?" he called, squinting in the darkness.

"I am here, Ingwë."

The Vanya's eyes darted around the room as candles sprung into life, illuminating a large, richly decorated space. At the center of the room stood Manwë, dressed in leggings and an understated tunic. The material shimmered in the soft light and was sapphire, as vibrant as the Ainu's eyes.

"My Lord," Ingwë said quietly, bowing slightly. He felt very overdressed, clad in his silver-grey robes.

Manwë crossed the room, holding out his hand to his friend. The Vala was tall, taller than Ingwë was, and his hair always reminded Ingwë of the light of Laurelin. Manwë was pale, slender, and his smile always made happiness and peace bloom in Ingwë's breast. "Have the ghosts of the past come to haunt you, laurëa? Or has the loneliness pressed your spirit so terribly that you seek my company?" (golden one)

Ingwë took Manwë's proffered hand, the warm weight of his friend's presence soothing him already. "Both, I am afraid," he said wearily. Manwë led them to a wide, deep bench covered with pillows and fabric, drawing the King down beside him.

"Tell me of your heartache, nildonyë," Manwë prompted, brushing back a strand of golden hair from Ingwë's face. "What darkens your heart?" (my friend)

The Vanya sighed heavily, turning his haunted eyes to Manwë. "Fëanáro has come home."

Manwë smiled sadly. "Aye, he has."

"Does he find peace with Námo?"

The Vala smiled mysteriously at Ingwë. "Aye, he has."

Ingwë nodded absently. "Good. Perhaps his spirit will heal and he can find some measure of happiness." Silence fell between the two occupants of the room, and that was when Ingwë realized just *where* they were. "This is your sleeping chamber, is it not?" he asked in a stunned voice.

Manwë lips twitched as he gazed quickly about the room. "Why, so it is."

Ingwë shifted on the bench, unsure of how to respond. He cleared his throat and said the first thing that came to mind. "We have never been so informal, my Lord."

"Nay, we have not. I have chosen to alter the formality of our relationship. You have confided to me all the fears and desires contained in your heart. We have spent countless years sharing philosophical views as well as simply enjoying one another's presence." Manwë's lips curved into a small smile. "Would you prefer that we moved to one of the receiving rooms or perhaps a salon?" When Ingwë shook his head, the small smile blossomed into a grin. "Very well, then. Let us forget the setting we are in and discuss why you have come to me."

The Vanya, deciding informality was a welcomed change, unbuttoned his heavy robes. He slid the thick fabric from his narrow shoulders, revealing loose trousers and a pale, flowing under shirt. Ingwë could feel the Ainu's eyes upon him as he crossed his legs and folded his hands in his lap. Manwë reclined against the back of the bench, quietly waiting for Ingwë to begin.

"I begin to wonder if I have missed the mate of my heart. I believe I shall forever be alone, coming to you every few years for solace and companionship," Ingwë said softly.

Manwë seemed to think for a while before he spoke. Ingwë closed his eyes and allowed the warm, rich tones of Manwë's voice to wash over and soothe his aching, parched soul.

"Love is an elusive thing, nildonyë. To look for it usually means you shall never find it." (my friend)

Ingwë sighed. "And yet Finwë was blessed twice in his life. Six children and two wives; he led a long and happy life, full of love and joy."

The Vala leaned forward, turning on the bench to look into Ingwë's eyes. "You believe Finwë's life to be far less lonely than your own? And why? Because he had many people about him?" Manwë shook his head. "Finwë was alone, laurëa, even when he lay in the arms of his wife. His dearest son, in whom his wife imparted all her strength, scorned his weakness as a man; the children he sired with your sister were resentful of Fëanáro's hold in the heart of his father, far more than their own; and his footsteps were haunted by his long-dead wife's misery. 'Twas not much of a life, though he did his best to find what happiness he could." Manwë reached out to stroke a finger down the soft cheek of his companion. "But you, laurëa, have you no happiness in this life?" (golden one)

They gazed at each other, the azure eyes locked together as Ingwë thought on the question. Finally, the Vanya nodded once. "Aye, there is a measure of happiness."

"And do you find no pleasure in that joy?"

"Aye, I do."

Silence fell between them again, and Ingwë let his mind wander. Manwë was right, he realized. Those small moments when he would laugh with Indis or spar with Finarfin or sit in companionable silence with Manwë were joys, no matter how they compared to what he *longed* for. His reverie was broken when Manwë chuckled. "Why do you laugh, my Lord?" he asked, smiling in spite of his melancholy.

"I was thinking that I should take my own counsel; I should be content with what I have and not desire for more."

Ingwë looked to Manwë with shock in his eyes. "But, you are a Vala, my Lord! What is there in this world you helped to create that you cannot possess?"

Manwë bent closer to the Elven-king, his full lips curved in a smile. "Have you not figured that out, nildonyë? Why, it is you I cannot possess as I so desire." (my friend)

"What?" Ingwë's brow furrowed and he tilted his head in confusion. "I am here, my Lord, with you now. What more could you want?"

"I desire the same type of companionship you do, Elf-king. To know your body as well as your heart."

Ingwë felt his breath hitch in his throat as he took in the raw desire in the Vala's eyes. "My Lord! You are wed!"

Manwë pulled back from the Elf and stood. "Marriage among the Valar is not as it is among the Eldar, Ingwë. Varda is my spouse because we compliment one another, not because we are bound in the same manner as you consider it. We are all the children of Eru, after all, and so Varda is more of a sister to me than wife. It would be improper for she and I to act otherwise. Have you never wondered why none of the Valar ever bore children?"

The Vanya thought for a moment, mulling over Manwë's words. It was true; none of the Valar had borne children. He turned his gaze up to the Ainu and looked at him with new appreciation. His throat was suddenly very dry, and his ears rang slightly as he asked, "What is it you want from me? What *exactly* is it you desire, my Lord?"

"What do I desire?" Manwë knelt on the floor before Ingwë, resting his warm palms on the Elf's thighs. "I want you on my bed, nude, and spread out, hungry for my touch. That is what I want, laurëa." (golden one)

His voice was nothing short of a whisper. "How many others have agreed to give themselves to you in such a manner?"

"None, melda. You are the one my heart calls to, the one I have desired since you first stood before me." Manwë reached up and cupped Ingwë's cheek. "Your loneliness all these years has cleaved at my very being, but I would not take you to my bed until I was certain you had every chance at a great love among the Eldar. I can wait no longer and now ask you into my bed." (beloved)

"Have any of the other Valar taken lovers as you wish to?"

Manwë nodded. "Fëanáro now lays in the arms of Námo, content and at peace. Will you allow me to offer you the same?"

They sat as still as stone statues, looking into each other's eyes as Ingwë struggled within himself. "I have never..." he said, flushing with embarrassment.

"I know," Manwë said, bringing his face closer to Ingwë's. "And the innocence you would give to me will be a treasure I will hold tight to my heart."

To his surprise, Ingwë felt tears prick at his eyes. Here was his dearest friend, and powerful god, asking him -- *him* -- to be his lover. Asking him to give what no other had ever taken. "I am afraid," he choked out.

Manwë smiled serenely. "I know." He closed what little distance was between them and brought their lips together. Ingwë's heart raced to feel the soft lips press against his. Panic swelled within him as well; he had never been kissed or touched as his Lord was now.

He gasped with surprise when Manwë's slick tongue swept out to taste him, and then slipped inside the slightly parted lips. Ingwë felt desire uncurl slowly in his loins, and his cheeks became warm as Manwë deepened the kiss.

The Vala tasted of icy winds and fragrant fields; Ingwë was soon returning the kiss as ardently as Manwë gave it. He brought his hands up to tangle in the long golden locks, so much like his own, and slid forward on the bench seeking more contact from the Ainu. Manwë gave him what he sought, wrapping his long, powerful arms around the slender body of the Elf-king. Ingwë shivered when those wide hands slipped under his shirt, lightly teasing the skin on his back. He gasped into the kiss, opening his eyes to look at his soon-to-be-lover.

Manwë's eyes were closed, his dark lashes resting on the pale pink cheeks. Ingwë did not think he had ever seen a sight more beautiful that his Lord. The cool hands roamed over his body, moving from back to front, fingertips dancing over firm belly up to tight, peaked nipples and back down. Ingwë felt as if Manwë had kindled a fire in his soul; he could swear he was being consumed by the intense desire to be loved by the glorious Vala.

The kiss broke, leaving Ingwë with stinging lips and panting for breath. Manwë's lips were swollen and deep red, and the Vala grabbed the hem of Ingwë's shirt and lifted it over the Elven-king's head. Ingwë felt himself blush as Manwë's eyes raked over his exposed flesh. "My Lord?" he said hesitantly, gripping the edge of the bench with nervousness.

"You are beautiful," Manwë breathed, raising his eyes to Ingwë's. "I want to lay you upon silk and satin, your golden hair fanned out around you and your eyes shining with happiness." The Ainu took one of Ingwë's hands and stood, bringing Ingwë with him. The Elf-king's robes and undershirt remained discarded on the bench as Manwë guided Ingwë to the large bed in the center of the room. Manwë bent down and drew Ingwë into another kiss, this one slower, allowing him to explore the depths of Ingwë's mouth. Ingwë whimpered and melted against Manwë's taller, broader body, his hands resting loosely on Manwë's hips.

Manwë moved one of his hands between their bodies and glided it across a trembling thigh until he reached the proof of Ingwë's desire. He stroked his fingers over the straining fabric of Ingwë's trousers, and seemed to delight in the moans and cries the simple touch elicited from the Elf-king. He pressed Ingwë back until the Elf had no choice but to sit upon the bed. Ingwë stared up at Manwë, breathless, flushed and frightened.

"Lay back, melindo," Manwë said softly as he divested himself of his tunic. Ingwë did as he was bid, lying back on the cool silks of the Vala's bed. His heart raced, but the throbbing need between his legs pushed the fear back. He gazed in rapt attention at the play of muscle beneath the porcelain skin of his lover as Manwë crawled onto the bed. More kisses to bruised lips, teeth raking over pebbled flesh and muscle tensing in anticipation. Ingwë closed his eyes when Manwë untied the sash of his trousers. "Lift up," came the gentle command and Ingwë arched off the bed as Manwë slid the soft fabric from his body. (lover, male)

And then he was bare to Manwë's gaze, spread over silk with his golden hair a halo about him on the bed. The fear was back, clutching at his heart as Manwë encouraged him to spread his legs and settled between his thighs. Ingwë closed his eyes tight, fighting the urge to flee, holding onto the burning lust in his body. He felt the tips of Manwë's hair brush the tops of his thighs, tickling the sensitive skin, and then there was hot breath on his arousal. "Manwë!" he cried out, his hand flying to the head that rested just above his length. "You cannot, my Lord," Ingwë said quickly.

"I can," Manwë replied before taking Ingwë's shaft between his lips, suckling on the head and lapping at the clear fluids that wept from the small slit. Ingwë moaned loudly as his shaft was slowly engulfed from tip to root, the Vala's tight throat surrounding the Elf. He whimpered as Manwë moved languidly up and down the column of flesh, his hands twisting in the silken bed sheets.

Ingwë had brought himself physical relief many times, late in the night with only his hand for company, and could feel the tingle begin as his climax built. "My Lord," he panted, barely able to form coherent thoughts. All he knew was that, if Manwë did not stop what he was doing, he would find his release in the Vala's mouth. And he could not do that to the Lord of the West. He fought back the waves of climax, sweating and writhing beneath his Lord's ministrations. But, he could not stave off his completion forever and with a pained shout, he bucked up into the pulsing throat, and his seed was swallowed greedily.

When next he opened his eyes, the sapphire regard of Manwë stared down at him. "You are sweet, like drops of dew upon honeysuckle." Ingwë felt his cheeks color, and he looked away from the warmth he saw in his Lord's eyes. "I wish to possess you now, King of the Elves." The fear rolled over him in a smothering blanket. Now that the sexual euphoria had passed, he was afraid, terrified of what Manwë was asking of him. "Tell me 'no', and I shall retrieve your clothing and we will not speak of this again, laurëa." The offer was made, the Vala's tone mild and understanding, but Ingwë's heart tore at the thought of leaving his Lord at this moment.

"No," he managed, touching Manwë's cheek with a shaking hand. "I desire you to have me. Ease this loneliness that is heavy in my being."

Manwë nodded, reaching to a small table beside the bed. Resting upon the polished wood surface with a phial of thick liquid that Ingwë assumed would aid in the act they were about to perform. Though he had never been intimate with anyone, he knew the method by which males coupled. The prospect of being taken in such a manner was daunting, but he ignored the rising dread. Manwë settled between Ingwë's quivering legs, whispering to the Elf-king words of beauty and adoration. "I want you to bring your legs up and rest your feet on my shoulders, melda," Manwë instructed, and Ingwë complied with the Vala's request.

He knew how vulnerable he was now, his most intimate of places bared before the sight of his Lord. His sex was lax, nested in the pale yellow curls, and he could not foresee arousal coming again. He expected pain, not lust, and braced himself for what was to come.

The Vala brought a slick finger to the virginal opening of Ingwë's body and pressed gently, easing the slender digit into the Elf's body. Ingwë hissed at the burning intrusion, focusing his eyes on the tender light in Manwë's eyes. "If I could ease the pain of our joining, melda, I would, but this is how it must be." Manwë bent down and kissed Ingwë sweetly, teasing the Elf-king's lips with his tongue and teeth as he moved his finger in and out of the tight passage. (beloved)

Slowly, the burning subsided and Ingwë relaxed into the internal caress, tasting the Vala while stroking the pale skin of Manwë's chest. Manwë pulled his finger from the Elf's body and coated his dark, glistening length with the oil and pressed the head against Ingwë's backside. "It is best to simply take you and not draw it out; the preparation will do little to alleviate the pain and I see it as a needless step. Look into my eyes, Ingwë, and do not turn your gaze until I am seated deep inside you." The Elven-king nodded, his fingers clenched on Manwë's shoulders.

Manwë pushed forward, breaching the tight passage and sliding himself inside Ingwë in a long, steady thrust. Ingwë let out a pained cry, his body tensing against the foreign column invading his body. His eyes did not waver, though they filled with tears. Ingwë thought he was being torn in two; the burning was acute and sharp, the overly full feeling spreading the further Manwë slid into him.

The harsh sound of Ingwë's breathing was all that could be heard in the room when Manwë stopped moving. He was buried to the hilt inside the clenching, tense body of his lover and Ingwë wept quietly. Manwë's lips touched Ingwë's damp cheeks. "Hush, melmë. No tears; the pain will pass just as a summer storm passes. Take deep breaths; aye, good. Allow your body to uncoil, the tension to bleed from your limbs. Aye, like that. Very good." (love)

Ingwë's tears stopped, and he blinked several times as he willed his body to do as the Vala said. The first withdraw and thrust forward of his lover pulled a moan of pain-tinged pleasure from Ingwë, and the second erased the pain altogether. It did not take long before Ingwë eagerly met each push into his body, gripping Manwë's shoulders and sides, encouraging him to move faster, deeper inside him. His shaft filled again with Manwë's intoxicating kisses and the wonderful feel of connection.

"Manwë!" he cried, throwing his head back in pleasure. The Vala's lips trailed fire along the pale length of his neck, stopping halfway up. Ingwë gasped, his fingers digging into the fair flesh of Manwë's back as Manwë drew on his neck, sucking and biting at the skin. "My Lord..." Ingwë mumbled, delirious and drunk with passion. The loneliness was chased away with each stroke, each possessive touch upon his body by the sapphire-eyed Ainu.

The Vala shuddered, releasing the bruised flesh of Ingwë's neck. He pounded into the willing body beneath him, and Ingwë thrashed on the bed. Manwë shoved forward once more, lifting his head to sing his release to the heavens. As he felt the warmth of Manwë's seed flood his passage, Ingwë knew he would never be alone again. The last notes of Manwë's song faded and the Vala looked down upon the ravaged Elf in his arms. He brushed the hair back from Ingwë's face and bent down, kissing his tenderly. "Melanyel," he whispered into the cavern of Ingwë's mouth. (I love you)

Ingwë shifted, his arousal still heavy against his belly. His heart and soul were warmed by his Lord's words and he smiled up at Manwë. "Melanyel." Manwë brought his hand between their bodies, taking Ingwë's length in his hand as he started to withdraw his softening member from Ingwë's sore backside. "Nay!" Ingwë protested in a strangled voice. "Allow me the connection as you bring me to my release," he said, his eyes pleading with Manwë. The Vala nodded, kissing Ingwë again as he stroked the hot shaft in his hand. (I love you)

It did not take much for Manwë to have Ingwë arching off the bed, begging for an end to the sweet torment. With Manwë's soft sex still embedded inside his body, Ingwë spilled himself over the Ainu's hand, singing his own joy at finding the mate of his heart.

*****

Ingwë slowly walked through the vast halls that comprised the mansions of Manwë and Varda. Over the many, many years, Ingwë had come to the Lord of the Valar's home seeking comfort for his loneliness and a soothing word for his heartache.

Now he came for something more. For though he would never leave the halls of his palace, Manwë's mansions had become a second home for him. His love for Manwë had grown, and displaced the loneliness in his heart. He no longer came seeking solace or respite, but now seeking that which Manwë freely offered: his love.

*****

THE END

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