curiouswombat: (Tindome 2)
[personal profile] curiouswombat
Nearly there - one, or at most two, chapters to go on this one - then I'll go back to the Winter Tale.


So - Chapter Thirty Three.
Word count; 5,350
Rated; 15.
Previous chapters in Memories.



Chapter Thirty Three


Tindómë’s afternoon was very pleasant. Rumil solemnly walked her back to her room, through a strangely quiet Citadel, and then simply walked in with her and locked the door.

He slowly and carefully removed all the flowers from her hair, dropping occasional kisses on her neck and throat as he did so, and then took the time to put the flowers into water.

She was torn between wanting to grab him by the hair, rip his clothes off, and ravage him on the bed, and wanting to take it slowly and savour every moment. When Rumil reminded her that, when they had last joined in Legolas suite, she had said that they could “take hours, and go for the slow burn version, next time…” the choice was made.

He ensured that she was totally satiated, enough to make her drowsy, and encouraged her to sleep for a while so that she would easily stay awake all night.

She awakened later because he was playing with her hair. For the first time since he had been, to quote Álith, ‘so grievously slit’, she woke with her head cushioned on his lower chest.

Without conscious thought she reached a finger to the, now pale pink, line that ran across him still and was amused to see his grond respond with a slight twitch.

“It is still very sensitive, meleth,” he said, sounding equally amused, “but there is no more time for such pleasures. Come, we will wash and dress, ready to enjoy the evening.”

Rumil suggested that she wear a dress that she would not be upset to find stained, or torn, during the night; one that the flowers would still compliment.
He re-braided his own hair, and then replaced all the flowers in Tindómë’s – and now it looked as if she had sat carefully all afternoon, head kept still, until she changed her dress. Nothing suggested that she had been kept teetering on the edge of flight for ages, and then brought to orgasm more than once before she slept… clever ellon!

He returned briefly to his own room to change into a smart, thigh-length, tunic; the Elven equivalent, Tindómë had decided, of ‘smart casual’, if you thought of their long formal robes as a tux.

Then he walked her, most decorously, to where food was laid out in the King’s private dining room. Orophin was there already, talking to the twins, but when he saw Rumil and Tindómë entering he came to join them.

Since he had politely pointed out to her, at the Hornburg, that whether he had been having sex with someone was his own affair, so to speak, unless he chose to discuss it, Tindómë made her mind up not to mention the middle-aged lady with whom he had left the lunch reception. She need not have bothered.

“Are you refreshed, my brother, little one?” Orophin asked.

“Thank you, yes,” Rumil answered solemnly, “Tindómë slept… once I helped her to relax… And you? Did you rest?”

“There was some riding first. There is often relaxation to be found in the right type of exercise…”

A fleeting grin lit Rumil’s features. “And did she ride you well?”

Orophin’s grin was wider. “Oh yes – once she got used to the breed of the stallion and became comfortable riding bareback!”

Well, that answered the question about the woman.

When she had first known them they were both still shocked by the death of Haldir and, even had there been any such banter, it would have been in Sindarin which she did not, at that time, understand.

Once they were back in Caras Galadhon their lives began to return to normal and, as she began to understand their language better, she came to appreciate their senses of humour – Rumil’s even dryer than Orophin’s.

But there had been little discussion of sex – at least in front of her. Then, more recently, the two had been less close than usual and Orophin had been more and more isolated. The banter had really only begun again after that night of terrible mourning, and intimate comfort, at the Hornburg.

To hear them as they had been earlier in the day, or now, was a real pleasure; even if they could make it difficult to keep a straight face. Fortunately there was no-one around, presently, to require public solemnity.

Tindómë was about to ask if, in view of their conversation, she should presume that they had suddenly turned into members of the Rohirrim, when Legolas entered, deep in conversation with Gimli.

‘Well,’ she thought, ‘unless he’s got stranger tastes than I thought, if Legolas spent the afternoon with Gimli, the chances are it was not doing what we three have been doing!’

She glanced towards the twins… ‘Or, probably, we five.’

In fact as the King and Queen, accompanied by their Steward and his wife, entered, all slightly aglow, she thought ‘Maybe make that we nine…’

She began to look, suspiciously, at each newcomer – Erchirion probably had a lady friend or two, but she wasn’t sure if Lord Erkenbrand and Lady Wilflede still did that sort of thing… or Lord Geoghel and his wife. No, surely not.

But then she thought of Rumil. Enjoying ‘the desires of the flesh’ was really cool. She didn’t think she would get bored, or want to give it up, anytime in the next thirty or forty years; what was it Rumil had said? ‘I cannot imagine, even after a yén of yéni, that there will be a time when I do not desire you.’

Orophin didn’t seem to have been put off by that woman being ‘middle-aged’ – come to think of it the woman obviously thought she was still quite able to join, too. Aragorn wasn’t all that young, either.

Hmm, she thought, maybe she didn’t just have to learn to look at things like an Elf – maybe first she needed to stop looking at them like a sixteen year old Californian…

She found that she had missed a chunk of conversation and Arwen was now looking at her questioningly.

“Oh, uh, I was miles away, sorry.”

“My brothers tell me that you have still little more than an elfling’s capacity for wine, and it would be a shame to drink too much and fall asleep…”

“Uh,” Tindómë was embarrassed – the Els shouldn’t have said anything about that! “Uh – I hadn’t ever had any until I… uh… arrived in Minas Tirith. But, but, I’m getting better! Honestly!”

“Oh, please, don’t worry,” Arwen said, “I was not thinking to restrict you! There is something rather pleasurable about the sense of dizziness and the need to smile at everything. No, I was going to suggest that you start the evening with some of this instead of wine.”

She gestured towards some flagons at the end of the table.

“It is sent from Lossarnach; a cordial of elderflowers that is full of bubbles. Legolas hopes to be able to make some in Ithilien soon. I think it might be also very good if it was alcoholic – but this is not.”

Hmm, Tindómë thought, that sounded interesting; a sort of ‘non-alcoholic champagne’.

“Cool! Yes please,” she answered with some enthusiasm.

“It is a good night to go out into the city,” Arwen said, as they both sipped the ‘bubbly’ and nibbled tiny pastries filled with soft cheese, “Estel and I have sneaked out these last two years, after the celebrations up here, for an hour or two before dawn. We changed into simpler clothing and it occurred to no-one that we were the King and Queen. But this year I think we will stay in the Citadel – I need to nurse Gilraen in the night.”

“Really? You just sneaked out without any guards or anything? And how weird is that – that you two have to sneak out like a pair of children when you are the King and Queen? I used to do that…”

One of those fleeting expressions, which she was learning to spot, flashed across Arwen’s face – a warning? Ah, yes, Éowyn was approaching from behind Tindómë.

“You are a heroine, Tindómë,” Éowyn said. “Everyone thinks it is very brave of you to be anything other than a gibbering wreck! Simply being able to ride into the city yesterday and walk around calmly today, rather than having to be carried to your bed and spend days there, seems most heroic to much of the court.”

Just as Tindómë was trying not to say ‘being carried to my bed and spending days there sounds like a plan – depending on who does the carrying,’ whilst trying to ignore Arwen’s quick upsweep of the eyes, the Elven equivalent of winking, Elladan joined them.

“I think you are very mean, tithen maethor, to walk around the Citadel when there are many who would happily have carried you to your bed and kept you there for days…”

Éowyn looked slightly shocked.

Arwen didn’t even turn to look at him. “Elladan. Behave yourself.”

He looked suitably contrite. Inside her head, though, Tindómë heard his mental voice.

“Erchirion, Éowyn’s two Riders, and most of the males of the court, would simply have had to join the queue behind an ellon or three…”

Out loud he said, “But you, too, are a heroine, Éowyn. Of course you already were – but some seem to have chosen to forget that – however, now, many speak of how brave you were to ride with us to help rescue Tindómë.

“That this included getting very little sleep, and that on the hard ground, or that you rendered one of the corsairs unconscious is not being remarked upon… yet.”

“Will it soon, Elladan?” Tindómë asked, remembering the conversation over lunch.

“Oh yes… I rather think that it might.”

“Soon,” said Arwen, changing the subject, “we will go outside and Estel will light the first of the midsummer fires.”

“In Rohan,” Éowyn said, sounding a little wistful, “the fire is lit by the lady of the house – we take a branch from the hearth and light the fire, before putting out the hearth fire. Next morning we take a brand from the embers of the midsummer fire and light the new hearth fire. But, in Gondor, women have only to watch the men and to dance.”

“Éowyn,” Arwen said, “we cannot change everything. But, if you wish that to be the tradition in Ithilien, you must make it so.”

“Perhaps,” Éowyn went on, thoughtfully, “Faramir and I could light it together…”

She turned to Tindómë.

“Who lights the midsummer bonfire in Lothlórien?”

“Uh… we don’t have one.”

At least, if they did, Tindómë didn’t know about it.

Arwen came to the rescue.

“Trees, Éowyn, there are a lot of trees. A midsummer bonfire is not a good idea.”

Legolas approached, opening his mouth as if to speak, and then closed it as if thinking better of whatever he was going to say. Tindómë would realise why later.

……………………………………………………

The King and Queen led the way, out through the courtyard, to the area outside the Citadel. Many of those who worked or lived in the Citadel were already assembled there; not just the members of the court but maids, footmen, clerks and guards – all dressed as if for partying.

Tindómë looked around, surreptitiously, trying to see Nessy, or possibly Anarion, if he was well enough to make it; if midsummer kissing was the norm then he really deserved one.

Instead her eyes were drawn to someone who had fallen into place behind Legolas as he walked through the gates.

Legolas, like the Galadhrim brothers, wore a thigh length tunic, in soft silk, with leaves embroidered around the collar and cuffs. His hair was decorated only by the fine metal clips at the end of each of his braids.

The figure behind him wore a tunic of a similar length and shape but there the similarity ended; it looked to be made out of pieces of four or five different fabrics, silks, lace, velvet perhaps, in shades of brown and red. His hair glinted in the glow of the setting sun – not just because of the copper tint it usually had, but because it was worked into many braids, and each braid was threaded through with ribbons of red, green and a dark metallic gold. Then as his head moved Tindómë could see not just beads, but… feathers? There were other metallic glints, too, that moved independently of the braids and so not just beads braided in…

Galanthir looked… amazing! Amazing and totally ‘other’ amongst the men and women gathered around waiting for the King to light the bonfire. If she had once thought of Legolas as ‘surfer dude’ then Galanthir was, certainly, ‘hippy dude’.

She glanced at Legolas – either he hadn’t noticed or didn’t find it unexpected. Then she glanced at Rumil and Orophin and caught Rumil’s eyes; she looked at Galanthir and back to Rumil, who nodded slightly, but said nothing.

She found her gaze drawn back to Galanthir again. This time he noticed and ‘winked’ at her before he made a tiny, fleeting, movement with his lips – it was definitely a reminder of his message sent via Legolas earlier. She tried to look suitably expressionless but she found herself thinking that, actually, he had very kissable lips.

Éowyn and Arwen had described what would happen to get the evening’s entertainment underway and so the presence of a large, unlit, bonfire where there had, certainly, not been one earlier didn’t surprise Tindómë.

A guard passed a flaming torch to Aragorn, who made a brief speech, and then set light to the bonfire. This would be the signal for others to light their own bonfires in squares, streets, and gardens, all down the levels of the city, and out across the Pelennor. A tradition that had existed, in one form or another, in Gondor, in Rohan, and amongst the Dúnedain, for many, many, years; now with an added significance since the lighting of the beacons.

Soon everyone began to form circles around the bonfire. An inner one of men (and ellyn!), then two circles of women, and a final, outer, ring of men; Tindómë found herself in the inner female circle between Arwen and Lady Geoghel. Musicians struck up a tune, at a fairly fast tempo, and the circles began to dance around; men clockwise, women counter-clockwise.

After a few minutes there was a clash of cymbals, at the end of a verse, and the circles of men turned to face the women and tapped the nearest on the shoulder. The men took the women by the arm, or the waist, and everyone danced around the bonfire in two circles of spinning couples. Tindómë found herself partnered by Faramir, who was careful to hold her only by a light grip on her arms.

Another clash of the cymbals and they went back to four circles around the bonfire again. This pattern continued. Tindómë found herself dancing with Orophin, followed by a middle-aged man she didn’t think she had ever seen before, and then Éowyn’s Rohirric ‘bodyguard’ Egric.

By the fourth change back to single sex circles it was clear that, as the music approached the ‘pairing point’, the circles were speeding up in places, slowing down in others, and Tindómë realised that people were attempting to manipulate who they would get a chance to dance with. She, however, found herself paired, very decorously, with someone she recognised as a Citadel guard.

On the fifth change from single sex circles to pairs Tindómë felt herself being claimed by a hand on each shoulder. Looking to the person whose hand had touched her first she saw a fairly young man in what passed in Gondor for stylish clothes. He flashed a triumphant look at the other person, slightly behind Tindómë, but then, almost instantly, dropped his hand from her shoulder and backed off!

Tindómë’s first thought was that it must be Legolas, acknowledged as her brother, or Rumil; except that she could see both of them with partners already. She turned and was immediately swept into the dance by Galanthir; he clasped her firmly by the waist so that as they turned he actually swung her feet right off the ground.

As he spun her round she found herself grinning broadly; she hoped this was acceptable public behaviour in the circumstances. She caught sight of Orophin, who was dancing almost as enthusiastically with a young woman Tindómë vaguely recognised as a servant; he grinned back at her briefly.

M’kay… smiling must be all right tonight.

Galanthir’s hair flew out behind him, a whirlwind of colour, as they spun around. Just as the music was about to change he whirled her right out of the circles of dancers so that when the large circles reformed the two of them were not included.

“Come and look,” he said, and steered her towards almost the same point on the Citadel wall where she had watched Éowyn ride out the week before.

Beneath them red and orange points of light marked bonfires on every level of the city, and out across the Pelennor; she could see showers of sparks rising from those on the nearest levels.

“Cool!” Tindómë said.

“It is a little different to having a midsummer bonfire amongst the trees,” Galanthir said, “isn’t it?”

“Do you have bonfires then? They… uh… we… don’t in Lothlórien.”

He moved slightly so that he was looking at Tindómë, rather than the city.

“How, then, do the Galadhrim celebrate midsummer?”

“More quietly,” she answered.

To be honest, celebrating midsummer was not a big thing in Lothlórien as far she was aware. But then the days had an almost dream-like similarity in the Golden Woods – the only major celebration she could really think of was her own Coming of Age.

Galanthir was talking again.

“I suppose, although we are both peoples of the trees, we have different ways and traditions.”

“Mmm…” She looked with fascination, again, at his clothes and his hair.

“Would all your people look so colourful for a celebration, or is this just you? I mean Legolas looks… well… more like one of the Galadhrim.”

“Legolas is here as a vassal of King Elessar, whether his father would want to believe that or not; he is dressed more for court, by our standards. If we were at home in Eryn Lasgalen, or at home in Eryn Ithil, he would be less formal.”

“Would he have ribbons and feathers and…” she paused and studied Galanthir’s hair, “metal leaves?”

There were small bronze and copper leaves on tiny chains, visible here and there throughout his hair and also as… earrings? Some of the Galadhrim warriors had pierced ears and wore studs, or tiny cuffs on the outer edge of their ears, but Galanthir had copper leaves in his ears.

“And more.”

Before Tindómë could wonder what more there might be he swept his hand in a gesture from his hair to his feet.

“This is for joyful and wild celebrations, like midsummer, certainly not for formal events. Do the Galadhrim never dance wildly and drunkenly? What a shame!”

He grinned, and didn’t wait for an answer but continued, “I would guess they have been more influenced by Lady Galadriel’s Noldor upbringing. Even Lord Celeborn is Sindar nobility, I think, and although the Sindar are not as formal as the Noldor, they have always regarded the true wood elves as a little wild and uncivilised! And there have always been as many Sindar as Sylvan in Lothlórien, or so I have been told.

“In Mirkwood, when King Oropher arrived, he brought some Sindar nobles – but they were trying to live a simpler life – and the Sylvan always outnumbered them eight or nine fold. So the Sindar became more like the wood elves rather than the other way around. King Thranduil may only rarely carouse drunkenly with the rest of us – but he has never stopped his son behaving like a wood elf…”

Well, that was a whole new take on Legolas.

Galanthir had looked quite serious, as he had considered the differences between the elves of the two great forests, but now he smiled again.

“Last year was our first midsummer in Eryn Ithil, and there were still only a few over fifty of us. There would have been more ellyth to kiss this year – but I am here, and so… I would claim a kiss from you! I am told even the people of Gondor will not refuse a midsummer kiss…”

His hand came up to her chin and tilted her face so that she was facing him and looking at his, very kissable, lips. When she made no objection he dropped his head to hers.

She expected a polite peck but, as the curtain of beribboned and decorated braids swung down to hide their faces from anyone, his lips met hers and lingered. It was certainly a very serious kiss, which went on to involve tongues touching and tasting, and it lasted for some time.

When Galanthir lifted his head Tindómë was quite sorry. Galanthir smiled.

“If you want more, you will have to come to Eryn Ithil…”

She wondered if he meant another kiss, or ‘more’ as in making out, but he didn’t elaborate.

He held her at arms length and studied her for a moment, pulled a gold ribbon from one of his braids and tied it into Tindómë’s hair, then took one of the rosebuds from hers and, with a grin, tucked it into one of his own braids.

“Soon,” he said, “I think I will go down into the city. No-one expects someone as obvious as me to be listening to them… especially if I am carrying a flagon of wine and am happy to drink it, or share it. Also, I think it might be quite easy to claim kisses by looking wistful and saying ‘kiss?’ Collecting kisses requires little conversation!”

Tindómë wasn’t sure whether to laugh or glare at him.

In the end she smiled when he went on, “This was the one that I wanted – the others will be bonuses!”

“And was there money on this one?” she asked.

“No. I did not think to wager. But then, anyone who knows me knows that I am so charming that you could not resist…”

Even wood-elves from Eryn Ithil understand someone sticking their tongue out at them.

Before they rejoined the dancers Tindómë looked around those standing outside the circles until she saw the face for which she had been searching.

“Over there, Galanthir, walk with me, please.”

Anarion was no taller than Tindómë. He looked slightly surprised as she approached him, with her hand on Galanthir’s arm, and even more so when she smiled, leant forward to touch the scarred side of his face so that he couldn’t move his head away, and kissed him gently on the lips.

“A kiss for midsummer,” she said, “and my thanks for trying to stop my kidnapping.”

“It is not deserved,” the young librarian answered, “for I failed.”

“I kiss where I wish,” Tindómë said seriously, “and it is totally deserved. Without you the ellyn would not have know exactly what had happened.”

Remembering the flower Galanthir had plucked from her hair she reached up and took another rosebud, tucked it into Anarion’s coat, then kissed him briefly on the cheek.

Remembering that Galanthir ‘did not speak the common tongue’ she spoke to him in Sindarin.

“I think I will go and look for Rumil now.”

…………………………………………………………………………………………………

After a little more dancing around the bonfire Rumil, Orophin, and Tindómë decided that they, too, would make their way down into the city.

“Return for sunrise,” Arwen said, “when the fire will be dying down and the men will ‘leap’ it.”

“Leap it?” Tindómë asked.

“It is a competition of daring – who will be the first to attempt to leap over the, still-lit, fire? They were prepared, the first year, to wait for it to die down to let the King leap it first and without danger.

“They were most surprised when he leapt it before any of them would dare, without waiting for it to be nearly cold! The Dúnedain compete the same way and he was well practiced.”

Elladan was standing beside Arwen. Tindómë looked at him, questioningly.

“”We will jump it – but we will be happy to let our brother go first – just!” he said.

Legolas joined the conversation.

“If Galanthir can find a way to make wagers without using his knowledge of the common tongue, and he finds men who have drunk a little too much to think straight, he will return with a pocket full of gold. He is one of the best fire-jumpers in the Greenwood, and there will be people jumping all the bonfires throughout the night…”

Tindómë could almost hear Orophin thinking how often they would get away with such a wager before it occurred to the men that they could jump higher and further by far.

“Come back, though,” Arwen said again, “to jump this one so that I can cheer you.”

Gimli approached and Tindómë had a sudden mental image of him trying to leap a bonfire.

“Gimli is more built for the drinking contests,” Legolas whispered in her ear – he must have known what she was thinking.

Then, his head still by her ear, he said, “Ah – I see Galanthir has claimed his kiss!”

Before she could say anything he turned, with a slightly exaggerated movement, to Rumil, and then back again. “And I see Rumil was not jealous…”

She wondered how he knew Galanthir had kissed her – he sounded quite sure.

She asked him. His hand went to the gold ribbon in the back of her hair.

“Being a good fire-jumper wins him many kisses at home – he usually ends the night with no ribbons left.”

“Oh!”

Another tradition in Eryn Lasgalen that they didn’t have in Lothlórien. She would find out the details tomorrow, tonight was a night for enjoyment, but she couldn’t resist one question.

“Do you usually end the night with no ribbons too?”

“Oh yes. Every time. And before you ask, nethig, I start with at least as many ribbons!”

He grinned fleetingly and ducked back into the dancers.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………

In the streets of the city people walked, danced, sang; it was as busy as the middle of an ordinary day and more festive.

The taverns and eating places were all open, and doing a busy trade, and there were also small stalls all around the streets selling wine, beer, and food. They had eaten at the Citadel, and Tindómë thought the chances of food poisoning from some of the stall were high – then remembered that none of them were likely to suffer such a thing – they were elves. Or two elves and not-quite-an-elf.

As she pondered the thought Orophin peeled off briefly and returned with a flagon of wine and… fudge? It looked like fudge. It tasted like fudge too – yay! He passed the flagon to Rumil, who took a swig and then nodded.

“Acceptable…” he said solemnly, and then passed the flagon to Tindómë. She took a careful mouthful; it was rather nice, but she still couldn’t drink as much as the ellyn, or as much as Boroniel or Eriathwen, for that matter – possibly not even as much as Éowyn.

“If we think you are likely to vomit when we get back,” Orophin said, “we will call for a lady-in-waiting for you…”

As the threesome made their way through the crowds they received nods and smiles from many people. The ellyn nodded back solemnly; Tindómë gave the occasional serene smile. She wasn’t sure how well eating fudge and drinking wine from a flagon fitted with being serene, but the ellyn seemed to be managing.

A young girl of about twelve, her eyes firmly fixed on the ellyn, bumped into Tindómë. She was carrying something greasy and rather oozy – Tindómë realised how right Rumil had been to suggest a dress that she was not too worried about.

“Oh, sorry my lady, begging your pardon, my lady,” the girl said and then stopped, looked at Tindómë open mouthed and asked, “Oh! Are you the lady elf that was captured by the pirate?”

“Uh, yes.”

“Oh, my lady! Wait till I tell my friends that I met you! And did Lord Faramir and his wife really come and rescue you?”

“Uh, yes. Not just Lord Faramir and Lady Éowyn, though. The Queen’s brothers, and Prince Legolas, uh, Lord Gimli, some Riders from Rohan, and uh, other elves. Oh – and Prince Erchirion from Dol Amroth, with his ship.”

“And these elf lords?” the girl looked slightly open mouthed at the brothers.

“Yes.”

“Oh… gosh! My brother will be so jealous when I tell him that I met you.”

The girl dashed off into the crowd. Probably to find her friends… or her brother.

Around another corner and there was a group of people around a fairly small fire. They were urging a young man on. “Jump! Jump!”

He took a few steps back and then launched himself over the flames – just clearing them. On the other side of the fire another young man gave him a few coins.

Orophin and Rumil looked at each other and nodded.

Of course they cleared it easily. The light catching their hair and the embroidery on their tunics made them look… magical and, somehow, primitive.

The young men held out coins, but Orophin said “No – we had not made a wager. But some of your wine would be most acceptable.”

In no time they were passing more wine, and possibly beer, around the group. Rumil looked at Tindómë slightly apologetically – it seemed as if the wine was only going around the men – but before she could decide whether she was going to object, or stand by in serene elleth mode, the young girl arrived back with a small group in tow.

“…and the pirate ship was going to sail right up the river and then the pirates would have come all over the city and gone right up to the Citadel to capture the King. And pirates might have captured us all and taken us off to be slaves of the Haradrim! And they all carry knives in their teeth!

“Lord Faramir and a whole lot of the Rohirrim and twenty or thirty elves went to sea with the Prince of Dol Amroth and killed all the pirates and rescued the elf princess. This very elf princess! And these are the elf lords that were in charge of all the elf army!”

Well – that had grown a bit in the telling!

“Go on! I don’t believe you. I bet she’s not an elf princess at all.”

“Is! She is so!”

They were now all facing Tindómë.

“Aren’t you an elf princess, lady? The very one that the pirates took and that was rescued?”

Hmm – she really didn’t want the girl’s friends and her brother to think the girl was lying. Even if she was embroidering the truth.

“Yes. I am Tindómë, Prince Legolas’ sister, and distant cousin to the Queen. Uh – and yes – I was held captive by a Corsair who had been spying on the King.”

Behind her, she could feel the two ellyn had glided into place. They must be looking at their most impressive, if the faces of the other children and teenagers were anything to go by.

Half a dozen of the children suddenly started bowing and curtseying! Tindómë decided the only answer was to make a quick getaway. Once again she took one of the rosebuds from her own hair and this time she tucked it into that of the original young girl.

“We really just want to enjoy ourselves tonight like everyone else,” she said, “could you keep our secret and not tell everyone that we are here?”

The children looked at her, then at Rumil and Orophin, and all nodded solemnly.

“That’ll last at least ten minutes, guys,” Tindómë said in Sindarin. “If we don’t want a large entourage we’d better get away from this bit of the city pretty darn fast!”


....................................................................................................


The BtVS characters do not belong to me, but are used for amusement only. All rights remain the property of Mutant Enemy, Joss Whedon, and the original TV companies. The same is true of the LotR characters for whom all rights remain the property of the estate of JRR Tolkien and the companies responsible for the production of the films.


If you go and look in this picture on my photobucket you may find something to make you think of Galanthir!

Date: 09/02/2010 05:47 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] sammywol.livejournal.com
Joyous! So nice to see some side of Gondor that does not make me feel claustrophobic too.

Methinks Galanthir has a good chance to returning to the Citadel bald as well as ribbonless. He's going to be VERY popular.

I find myself fascinated by this stage of Tindome, where she still has strong traces of California Girl but a good few layers of elleth on the top. So sad that the story is so close to completion but then 'all good things' ...

Date: 09/02/2010 06:34 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] curiouswombat.livejournal.com
It would be easy to just keep going - but I find stories that have reached chapter 103 and are still going a bit off-putting! So, this story will end - but there will be others.

Writing her at this stage is such fun, though.

I have a face in mind for Galanthir - although, had I found the face before the first ever description I would have said he had copper coloured hair, rather than a coppery tinge - what do you think? (http://media.photobucket.com/image/bartek%20borowiec/Jossalynn_1987/30167762_5mo1.jpg?o=35)

Date: 10/02/2010 04:13 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] sammywol.livejournal.com
Wow! Not what I had quite visualised but yummy. I think I had not seen him as quite so young looking and a good deal more mischief in his eyes. I can so see this young lad with the hair ornaments though and swapping kisses all through the city (or the Greenwoods).

Date: 10/02/2010 05:49 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] curiouswombat.livejournal.com
Actually, that is a rather young picture of him, now I look at it again!

I think Galanthir looks a little older - probably, like almost all the elves, he would look in his early twenties to us. And with more humour some of the time, certainly.

There are a few other pictures around of this young man looking a little older - but equally likely to be able to collect a lot of kisses. His name is Bartek Borowiec and he is a model - if you feel like a quick Google!

Date: 11/02/2010 10:50 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] sammywol.livejournal.com
Will have to, if only to see if he is always redheaded. It pains me to see how thoroughly redheads are being airbrushed out of public life these days. I always love red hair!

Date: 11/02/2010 11:16 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] curiouswombat.livejournal.com
I always love red hair!

Me too - which might be why that young man caught my eye when I saw a picture of him!

Date: 12/02/2010 01:47 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] ningloreth.livejournal.com
I made an icon of that model a few weeks ago!

Image



Date: 12/02/2010 10:23 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] curiouswombat.livejournal.com
Pretty! He is very much an elf, I thought.

Date: 09/02/2010 06:53 pm (UTC)
syderia: lotus Syderia (Default)
From: [personal profile] syderia
Great chapter !

Date: 09/02/2010 07:11 pm (UTC)

Date: 09/02/2010 08:32 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] ffutures.livejournal.com
Nice to see them all relaxing after all that trouble. I was half expecting Tindómë to try jumping the fire, but probably not practical in party clothes.

Date: 09/02/2010 08:49 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] curiouswombat.livejournal.com
She might have been tempted - but is still trying to behave the ways that are expected of her - almost...

Date: 09/02/2010 11:15 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] petzipellepingo.livejournal.com
“There was some riding first. There is often relaxation to be found in the right type of exercise…”

A fleeting grin lit Rumil’s features. “And did she ride you well?”

Orophin’s grin was wider. “Oh yes – once she got used to the breed of the stallion and became comfortable riding bareback!”

Well, that answered the question about the woman.

"snorfle"

King Thranduil may only rarely carouse drunkenly with the rest of us – but he has never stopped his son behaving like a wood elf…”

Well, that was a whole new take on Legolas.

True, but not really surprising I would think.

Date: 09/02/2010 11:36 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] curiouswombat.livejournal.com
I'm glad that bit made you smile - it did me when I wrote it!

As for wood elves celebrating and carousing drunkenly - this observation has some bearing on why I decided to come back and finish this before I went any further with The Winter Tale...
(deleted comment)

Date: 10/02/2010 10:37 am (UTC)

Date: 12/02/2010 01:40 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] ningloreth.livejournal.com
The figure behind him…

For a moment, I had the terrible feeling that Galanthir was going to be sacrificed on the fire, LOL.

I really liked the scene in which Tindómë kissed Anarion. And I felt sorry for Eowyn, wishing she could light the bonfire. (I do think you might have given her a kiss from Legolas, though ;-)

Date: 12/02/2010 10:17 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] curiouswombat.livejournal.com
Ah now - the Gondorians are much too civilised to sacrifice people like that!

I think that next year, in Ithilien, Éowyn will light the bonfire - or at least share the role with Faramir - and it will be lit from 'the hearth fire' and be used to re-light the hearth fire too - as Arwen points out, as the Princess of Ithilien she can change things if she wants - she doesn't have to conform to what the Gondorians expect...

I'm glad that you liked the kiss with Anarion - I like to tie up my loose ends, so to speak.

And as for who got Midsummer kisses from Legolas - I wouldn't be surprised if they included Éowyn! Although in the next chapter - written and about to be beta'ed - Éowyn is having 'thoughts' about Elves in general and possibly not coming to the same conclusions that 'your' Éowyn would come to!

January 2025

S M T W T F S
   1234
56 7891011
12131415161718
19202122232425
262728293031 

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated 11 Jul 2025 09:54 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios