As I approached the solitary house I felt a nervous thrill course through me. Anmordian lived in that house. The man I loved, the one man who I did not wish to love. And the one I could not have. Sternly, I told myself to stop thinking about it and to try to act normally inside. I would never be able to bear my life if Anmordian discovered my hidden passion.
Hesitating only a moment, I raised my hand and knocked on the plain wooden door. ‘I come,’ called a voice I knew to be Anmordian’s, accompanied by the sound of a chair being moved on the floor. I closed my eyes, trying vainly to block out the pain that came with the sound of that voice, that would come even more when I came face-to-face with Anmordian. Then the door was swung open and I saw him.
He looked the same as always. A tall man, though not so by Dynmeire standards, he wore a plain linen tunic that hung loosely on him, and a simple pair of black pants. His long, mousey-brown hair still grew down to where his belt would have been had he worn one, the two tiny braids he wore at the front hanging slightly apart from the main mass of his hair. A delighted smile grew on his pleasant face as he saw me. ‘Mannon!’
My throat had gone uncomfortably dry, but I managed a return smile, and, after a moment, speech. ‘Hello, Anmordian.’
‘It’s wonderful to see you again! Come in, come in!’ He stepped aside and motioned me through, taking my traveling sack from my hand as I passed him. ‘Sit anywhere you like.’ He gestured to the numerous chairs placed about the room as he shut the door with his free hand. I took my seat on the nearest chair and watched Anmordian as he limped over to the table that sat near the merry fire crackling in the hearth and placed my sack on it. Gods, he made even that limp of his look graceful. Anmordian made everything look graceful to my love-starved eyes. When we had first met, he had looked graceful falling out of a tree. I hastily averted my eyes before my mind could take Anmordian’s body any further. It would help me none.
Anmordian returned to me quickly; his limp, received in some magical horror he’d suffered before, slowed him not at all. He pulled up another chair and sat down. ‘So, how have you been?’
‘In good health, thank you.’ In poor spirit, but he didn’t need to know that.
‘Good; and your brothers?’
‘They’re very well. Lannon’s convinced he’s getting a beard, but he hasn’t reached thirty yet, so I doubt it. And what of yourself?’
‘As well as always.’
‘How is your... your wife?’ Oak, but it hurt so much to say that. But wed Anmordian was, and it could not be helped. Besides, Erandale was a fine woman for Anmordian.
‘Doing well.’ He paused a moment. ‘And I think she would like to know that you’re here.’ He turned his head and called in the direction of the stairway at the back of the room, ‘Eran! We’ve got company.’
A few moments later, Erandale appeared at the top of the stairway. Clad in a neat white dress with her golden hair glimmering by the light of the fire, she was one of the prettiest women I had ever seen. And yet I had eyes for her husband. The shame of it was almost too much to endure. She saw me then. ‘Mannon, you’ve come back!’
Anmordian smiled up at her. ‘He’s come for a visit.’
‘Well, I’m very glad to see you, Mannon.’ She hurried down the stairs and placed a light kiss of welcome on the top of my head. Then she looked at Anmordian. ‘Have you offered him something to drink?’
Anmordian clapped a head to his forehead. ‘No, I forgot. Forgive me, Mannon. What would you like?’
‘Some wine would be nice, if you have it.’
‘I do.’ He rose and fetched a bottle and three goblets from a cupboard. He passed one of the goblets to me, another to Erandale, and kept the last for himself. ‘I hope you don’t mind red.’ He poured and we drank deeply. When Anmordian lowered his goblet, wine had dampened his upper lip, smoothing away any roughness it had borne, and- I forced myself to look away, to smile at Erandale instead.
‘It is excellent wine,’ I heard myself saying.
‘Thank you. I’m glad you like it.’
Anmordian set his goblet down, unfinished, on the floor. ‘Mannon, if it isn’t too much to ask... Could you give us a song for dancing? I would dearly love for a Makeire’s voice to bless this house.’
‘Of course.’ Anything for Anmordian. I set my goblet down as well and began to mark out a beat with my hands. Anmordian set Erandale’s goblet beside his own and gathered Erandale into his arms as they waited for the song to begin.
As I sang, I watched Anmordian dance. Despite his crippled leg, he danced well, supple and fluid in his movement. He whirled effortlessly through the steps of the dance, hair flying behind him then falling into his face for an instant as he changed direction. The firelight sparkled in his grey eyes- gods, I loved those eyes-, cast shadows on his handsome face or threw it into sharp profile as the dance went on. Anmordian was laughing, a rich and wonderful sound; to me, far greater music than what I was singing. His muscled shoulders flexed as he lifted Erandale into the air, solid hands holding her slender waist with a strong tenderness.
Then, with a final clap, I ended it. The dance was done. Anmordian, still laughing, set Erandale gently back on the floor, then brought his lips down to meet with hers. My throat caught inside me then; what I would not have given to be Erandale at that moment! The woman was far luckier than she could ever know. She had Anmordian. Then Anmordian finished his kiss and returned to his chair. ‘That was beautiful! You have a fine voice, even for a Makeire, Mannon.’ Suddenly, he stopped and looked at me with concern, sobriety replacing the laughter on his face. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes,’ I replied, trying to master both myself and the sharp pain that had suddenly returned to my chest.
‘You look pale.’ Staring intently into my face as if trying to discern from it what ailed me, he put his hands on my shoulders, sending a chill through my body. He had no idea what that gesture of worry meant to me. I was as close to him now as I would ever come...
‘I’m tired,’ I invented, ‘from the journey. I’ll be fine, don’t worry.’
But Anmordian did. ‘You should get to bed, then! As a matter of fact, we all should.’ He stopped and glanced at Erandale. ‘We only have one bed...’
‘I’ll take the floor; it is no matter.’
‘I meant to offer it to you, Mannon. Eran and I-’
‘Can sleep in the bed,’ I finished, determined to see this through. ‘Truly, I do not mind.’
‘If that is what you want, then so be it. But I will take the floor as well; no guest of mine shall have worse than I.’ He rose and placed an arm around Erandale. ‘The bed is yours, my lady.’

I was yet awake long after the other two were asleep. Sleep simply would not come to me. It had been wrong, I knew now, to come here; being near Anmordian had not satisfied my love for him, merely inflamed it more. I could not restrain my emotions, it seemed, to my great frustration.
I glanced at the still form that was Anmordian, some few paces off. He lay on his side, his back to me. Longing choked up my throat once more, and I wrestled with it, tried to force it back down. I failed. Then, slowly and silently, I began to crawl towards Anmordian. It felt evil, what I was doing, and it was, but I thought I would die if I did not. Beside him I stopped, then extended a trembling hand and ran it gently along his side. Beneath his shirt, his skin was slightly rough from scarring that marked his whole body save his head and hands, gained at the same time as his limp. Even in sleep his muscles were hard, born of a lifetime of wandering. Frightened suddenly by what I was doing, I snatched my hand away and retreated to where I had lain before. For a long time then, I sat staring at it. It was foul, of course, to touch him like that, yet that self-same touch was almost sacred to me, and I needed it.
How was it possible for a thing to be so tainted yet so pure at once?