Strawberries

Mellow Soulmate AU.  A second chance at romance.  Mixture of Quenya and Sindarin names used (Celegorm = Tyelkormo, Caranthir = Carnistir, Finrod = Artafindë).  Obviously Lúthien would know him by his Sindarin name, but Celegorm is unlikely to think (and therefore refer to himself) in Sindarin, so he calls himself Tyelkormo.  This is, of course, related to "Mellow" and all relevant stories, but takes place between "Open" and "Dust".  Takes place in the Gardens of Lórien (they are reborn at this point) in the Second Age.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Silmarillion

Pairings: Celegorm x Lúthien

Characters: Celegorm, Lúthien (mentions Nerdanel, Fëanor, Finrod, Caranthir, Thingol, Melian and the Valar)

Warning: non canon compliant, non-canon relationships, fluffy romance, moderate sexual undertones, past affair, kissing, pokes slightly at war, insanity and torture, elven culture and prejudice discussed

Song: A Flower Blooming in the Slums

Words: 1,752
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strawberry (noun): the juicy edible usually red fruit of any of several low-growing temperate herbs (genus Fragaria) of the rose family that is technically an enlarged pulpy receptacle bearing numerous achenes on its surface
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/strawberry

"You have never tasted a strawberry?"

He honestly didn't know why he was so shocked, except that he'd had his first strawberry barely out of the cradle and couldn't imagine a world where one could reach adulthood without trying one.  Nerdanel had loved the little red fruits and had been sure to always have fresh strawberries readily available, even more so when she was pregnant and craving them wildly.  Much to her husband's annoyance, every single one of the seven brothers had inherited a liking for them (their father blamed the cravings), and they became a permanent fixture, both inside the house and in the gardens and on the grounds.

Tyelkormo had been no less enthused by the taste of the fruit than his mother or siblings.  He remembered munching on them with his brothers in the afternoon, dripping juice all over and trying to wipe it away, only to end up with a sticky face and sticky hands and sticky hair.  Remembered hunting the plants on the ridges near the estate where they were wild and overgrown, and picking the fruit relentlessly, carrying as many as he could manage in his cradled arms.  Remembered eating so many that he (along with all of his brothers) was sick to his stomach and went without lunch, but still repeated the process over and over again the next few days until all the wild strawberries had been filched from their blossoming plants.

They were positively heavenly.  Even though he didn't remember much from before the wars and the insanity, he did remember that.

But the strawberries that grew in the Gardens of Lórien were to regular strawberries as a king in his most ostentatious finery to an impoverished, dirty peasant in rags.  Just tasting one was like consuming a small slice of the purest, most beautiful part of the Song, languishing in its divine chords and trills.

And Lúthien--sinda that she was--had never eaten a strawberry.  Not even a wild strawberry.  Even though Tyelkormo knew they had brought the plants over from Valinor on the ships (much to his father's chagrin) and had planted them in Mithrim, managing to grow some (slightly subpar) fruits in the southern parts of the territory.

They had grown much better in Nargothrond.  And he knew some had made it to Doriath.  Knew enough about his cousin Artafindë's trading logs to be certain that strawberries--amongst many other fruity delicacies and sugary confections grown or created uniquely in Valinor and supplied only by the Exiles--had been very popular even with the Sindar, who usually turned up their noses at anything that so much as brushed Noldorin hands like it was diseased.

In retrospect, he shouldn't have been that surprised, but...

No strawberries?

And his voice had sounded so shocked and skeptical.  Maybe a bit pitying.  Like it was the worst fate imaginable, to miss out on strawberries.  Personally, Tyelkormo could think of many, many worse fates, but he would have missed the red fruits had they not made it across the sea.

"My father didn't approve of them," Lúthien admitted, giggling softly at his reaction. "He thought they were too foreign.  He almost banned them, actually, like he banned Quenya, but Naneth liked them.  Nevertheless, he refused to allow me to try them.  Said that they were probably poisonous or otherwise deformed and not fit for consumption."

Tyelkormo turned to face his companion, now finished chewing the berry that had been (mortifyingly) half-consumed when he had spat out his surprised question in response to her polite inquiry.  She was beside him in the grass, her waves of dark, silken hair loose and tumbling about her back and shoulders as she lay on her stomach and kicked up her slipper-less feet.  Before them, of course, was a strawberry plant heavy with fruit, one of which had just been plucked and promptly devoured with glee before the woman had asked "What do strawberries taste like, Celegorm?" and left him sputtering and trying to hide the fact that some of the juice had backtracked a stinging trail up his sinuses and out his nose.

"A shame," he finally choked out. "My mother fed us strawberries as soon as we were old enough to eat solid food.  I loved them as a child."

"So they are good then?" Lúthien looked at the oddly-shaped berries dubiously.  Admittedly, they perhaps did not look that attractive, but Tyelkormo had never found himself particularly caring how aesthetically pleasing his food appeared before it was chewed to pulp and digested in his belly.

"Here," he muttered, plucking another one free and shoving it towards her in offering. "I mean, if you want to try one, that is..." He didn't want her to think he was forcing her to...

But she thankfully didn't seem offended by his brash manners.  Instead, she offered him a smile that had his insides fluttering, like an adolescent flirting with a girl for the very first time.  How she always managed to make him feel so unbalanced, Tyelkormo would never know, but he resolutely reminded himself that she wasn't interested in romance, that that had failed once before, and it was better to stay nearby as a friend and confident than to be thrown aside entirely and never get to be near her at all.

Certainly, it hurt.  Made it a little harder to breathe and to think.  But seeing her like she was now, all laughter and brilliance and glowing eyes, was worth a little bit of pain.

And then she bit into that strawberry.

He wondered if she knew that those kind of pleased, half-moaning noises sent bolts of pure heat shuddering straight through his entire body.  Clearly, she appreciated the fruit, for she devoured the rest in a second bite, the juice dripping down her slender, perfectly sculpted fingers and dying her already deep and full lips an even darker and lusher red.

Her tongue darted out, lapping at the soft petals (he remembered vividly just how soft their cushion was against his searching mouth), leaving them glistening tantalizingly in the golden light.  And then her mouth opened and she began on her fingers, slowly laving at the stickiness left behind, a pleased noise bursting from the back of her throat as the tip of her tongue slipped between her fingers and curled and... and...

And Tyelkormo knew he was frozen and wide-eyed.  That he must have looked like an idiot staring the way he was in shocked silence at her unladylike (and seductive) behavior.  That his cheeks were probably so flushed that they put Carnistir's infamous ruby red blush to shame.

But all he could think of at that moment was that... that he really wanted to kiss her...

That he loved her.  And that she was the most glorious creature to ever grace the face of Arda.  More so even than any one of the Ainur.  Especially whilst enjoying strawberries.

"Celegorm?"

And she just had to say his name, her lips still flushed and seemingly swollen.  Was it any wonder that he could not resist kissing her?  Could not resist relishing in her startled little squeak of pleasure as their lips connected or indulging in running his tongue over the contours of her mouth?

She tasted like strawberries.  Valar damn him to the Void, he was doomed.

They parted, but the taste was still there on his lips.  Sweet and heady, mixed with something purely her that was indescribable.  And she was looking straight at him, eye-to-eye, her face surprised, brows raised and mouth forming a perfect little O.

"Forgive me," he said quickly. "I did not mean to... to offend..."

For a moment, he actually thought she was going to stand and walk away.  That his chance at even a friendship with her was completely lost (because of one strawberry), but calm settled over her features, coolness instead of the blaze of white-hot anger or the sickly jade hue of disgust.  Pale fingers rose, still glistening with saliva, and brushed across her lips as though checking the reality of their state.

And then she smiled.  And he melted.

"Worry not," she said. "I am not offended, Celegorm."  Her fingers fell back to earth, stroking over his hand where it lay limply in the grass. "I am not offended at all."

He kept his mouth shut.  Letting loose the lovesick "Really?" that bubbled up from his vocal chords would just have sounded even more pathetic and desperate than he already appeared.  It was obvious enough without further mortification that he was completely infatuated.

Clearing his throat, he glanced up at her, only to find that her lashes were lowered as she looked straight back, purposefully and playfully.  She looked sultry in the fading afternoon light, her skin softly glowing in sharp contrast with black hair and dark, dark eyelashes on damask cheeks.

"W-well?  What do you think?  Of the strawberry, I mean..."  Really?  You could think of nothing better to ask than that?  Could you be more blatant, I wonder?

The amused look he received told him that she was onto his real question.  Those lips (that he really, really would have liked to kiss a second time) curved upwards and revealed the dimples on her cheeks with which he had always been enamored. "I think it was lovely," she replied, and her voice carried that tone of mischief that both set him on edge and drew him closer in curiosity. "Would you give me another?"

Another kiss?

He wondered if he was redder than the strawberries yet.

"Another strawberry, this is."

"O-of course..."  And the inevitable crushing defeat.  He tried not to let the disappointment show, even though his shoulders noticeably drooped and his eyes remained averted in humiliation.  He had known it was coming, but still--

"And maybe another kiss, too."

It was shameful how happy those five words made him in all of three second flat.  How easily she had him wrapped completely around her finger in an endless prison of a loop.

But he did kiss her again.  Quite (embarrassingly) eagerly.

And she still tasted like strawberries.

He was never again going to be able to look at a strawberry--let alone eat one--without blushing from the roots of his hair to the tips of his toes.
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So I decided that I was going to write something cute and cuddly for this prompt after a couple of days of pure angst and tragedy.  Besides, it was really hard to think of a reason to make the prompt "Strawberries" sad, and I was feeling lazy today, so I went with what I had originally planned.  Besides, I've been waiting to continue this pairing, since there's still a huge (but slightly smaller now) gap between "Open" and "Dust" that needs filling.

As for the elven culture, I figured why not?  Thingol did ban the speaking of Quenya on lands that he governed (how likely it is that the Noldor listened to him is, of course, questionable), so why wouldn't he put bans on other "Noldorin" things just purely out of spite.  I know lots of people idealize elves and say they would never do that, but we're talking about the guy who purposefully sent Beren on a suicide mission to fetch a Silmaril as a bride price because he (naturally) did not want his baby girl marrying some random, smelly mortal boy.  I don't think it's beyond him to take one look at delicious strawberries and say they must be horrible because nothing Noldorin could be good.  And yes, in my story strawberries have now originated in Valinor.  Frodo and Sam should be grateful that they spread to Eriador.

As for the song, I picked something sweet.  A Flower Blooming in the Slums is, technically, probably just Takeharu Ishimoto's arrangement of the original Pure Heart a.k.a. Aerith's Theme composed by Nobuo Uematsu, but it's still a lovely interpretation.  It makes me think of cute romances (because Zack and Aerith in the church and yeah!) and the colors red and pink.  It just occurred to me yesterday that it would, therefore, fit this marshmallow of a prompt fill.  Hope you enjoy.

PS: personally, I hate strawberries.