The Winter Tale Chapter Seven.
16 Mar 2010 06:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
curiouswombatHere is chapter seven - in which we start straight after the snow-ball fight, and finally reach the stronghold in Eryn Lasgalen, formerly Mirkwood, where Tindómë gets to see some of Legolas family.
Previous chapters are here
Chapter 7
Rated - 15
Word Count - 3,000
Chapter Seven
They were in bed. Haldirin was tucked into a small bed, at the foot of theirs, made many years before for their hosts’ elflings.
Rumil, as good as his word, was doing his best to warm her with his body wrapped around hers and, now that Haldirin slept, with a little vigorous exercise.
She lifted her hips to meet each thrust, looking into his eyes where the moonlight was reflected, as she felt his desire in her fëa as clearly as his grond in her body. He twisted his hips a little each time now, increasing the pressure on her most sensitive places, and she pushed her hips higher to meet him, reaching for the point of no return; she could feel that they were almost there and brought her hands from his shoulders to his head, pulling him into a kiss that stifled the sounds of both of them taking flight.
They lay contentedly, still joined together.
“What do you feel, meleth?” Rumil asked her.
“Warmer.”
“And?”
“Comfortable,” she thought a little longer, “and loved.”
“Loved?”
“Well yes – I can feel that you love me and that you are not worried, or angry. And why are we speaking out loud?”
He didn’t answer that, but instead she felt him smile before she heard him inside her head.
‘Reach a little further – what else can you feel?’
‘Well, Haldirin, of course. He is asleep, and not frightened – he’s not dreaming of giant spiders, for sure!’
There was a tiny stab of triumph through her bond with Rumil.
‘So! Would you have felt anything apart from warm and comfortable if you had been sharing this bed with one of the men from the other place, or one of the Rohirrim, or a man of Gondor? Would you have thought to have a conversation with one of them without using your voice?’
Before she had a chance to answer his inner voice continued.
“You are certainly not a mortal, and you are not quite an elleth, but you are a completely proper Key. Even though you are unique it is very clear that you were created to be amongst the edhel or, much though I love you, you would be as deaf to my feelings, and my mind, as Aragorn is to Arwen.
‘I would feel something of you, as she does of him, but you would not have the reassurance of that link to me or Haldirin. Never doubt, beloved wife, that you are where you belong!’
Oh how she loved this ellon – he never made light of her worries.
‘I guess… but I kind of worry that Elves who don’t know me might think I don’t belong.’
She had a few particular Elves in mind, but kept those thoughts deeply hidden; instead she continued, ‘I think that’s why it upsets me when I keep not thinking like an Elf.’
Rumil moved a little, adjusting the way they lay, before he answered her. Now they were no longer joined, but her head was on his chest; his steady heart beat a comfort.
For a second she thought, ‘Poor Buffy, it’s sad that Spike can’t warm her up in bed, or that she can’t feel his heart beating in time with hers…’ But then Rumil ‘spoke’ inside her head again.
‘When I said that you had adapted quickly, and you answered that it did not feel quick to you, I was reminded that time is not easily measured, no matter what men, or dwarves, might think.
‘When we brought you home from that place I remember saying that, as time is measured in days passing, you had been away a little over a season; yet it was both no time and a lifetime.
When I think of life in Lothlórien it is past and gone – as if a lifetime away – and yet I have trouble adjusting to Lord Celeborn not being My Lord. In some ways Elves adjust to change and challenge in the blinking of an eye; in other ways we are slow to change course – rather like an oliphaunt, perhaps.’
She could feel him smile at the last image. She said nothing, still digesting what he had said.
Then he finished, ‘I think in this, you are almost exactly like an Elf.’
‘I am so not anything like an oliphaunt!’ she said, almost automatically.
She was still thinking about the particular Elves that had triggered off the distress…
‘You are still worried.’
Yep – that was why she’d kept that fear buried – he knew straight away, so close to her, when she poked the emotionally tender spot.
‘I… it…’
M’kay, own up time.
‘What if Legolas father is angry at Legolas ‘cos he ‘adopted’ me when I’m not a proper Elf? What if he’s horrible to Legolas? Or to you, or even Haldirin, because he’s been kind of forced into having me as family and I’m not a proper elleth? Or if Legolas’ brother feels like that?’
Rumil did not answer straight away, but she was used to the way that he weighed things up carefully; she waited.
‘Meleth, little one…’ he stopped.
She turned to look at him and, sure enough, he was grinning at her.
‘Meleth, you know that although Legolas has taken you as kin it does not link you to his father. That really is how it is. King Thranduil will not feel that you have been thrust into his family. Believe me.
‘Also, if he did not want us as guests in his Hall he would not have invited us. I do not think that you need to worry.’
She went to sleep trying to be unworried.
………………………………………………………………………………………………..
Not far away someone else was having not dissimilar thoughts. When he had returned to the Greenwood, after the Ring War, he had known that his father would be both happy and relieved to see him – but he had wondered about his companion.
They had agreed only to travel to Fangorn and the Glittering caves together – but it had made sense for Gimli to return to Erebor, to his own folk, by travelling with Legolas as far as Mirkwood.
King Thranduil had grasped his son’s arm as one warrior to another in public – the tight embrace to his father’s heart had come later, in private. As had the questions about ‘That Dwarf’.
It was a good thing that Gimli had been given a guest room on the very fringe of the royal wing, and that he slept soundly, as King Thranduil had neither lowered his voice nor minced his words. It had been difficult for Legolas to walk a fine line between respectful younger son and newly-famed warrior.
The conversation had lasted for some time but here, now, in the snow-covered village, Legolas remembered how it had ended.
“He watched my back.”
“Only up as far as your buttocks. Although I suppose we can be grateful that, from what I have learnt of dwarves over the years, he would have had no ulterior motive in keeping an eye on those…”
“Adar!”
They had glared at each other and then, simultaneously, laughed.
Not that his father had ever become fond of Gimli, but he was tolerated, and treated with all due respect on the few occasions that friend and father had met.
Explaining that he had taken as kinswoman an under-aged female who looked like a mortal, had been found at the point of death on the battlefield, had, apparently, come from somewhere that was neither Arda nor Valinor, was actually an immortal, and whose very existence was the work of the Valar had been fairly straightforward after that.
This invitation for Tindómë and Rumil to come to Eryn Lasgalen as guests of the King had been issued in much warmer tones than any invitation to Gimli would ever have been and, when he had said that his father would love Haldirin, he had meant it.
No – this visit held no fears; and the presence of extra guests, and the elfling, might well distract his father from the subject of eligible ellyth.
………………………………………………………………………………………………..
Despite the snowfall they had ridden on again the next morning – the path was sheltered by trees and, although progress was a little slower, they had remained more or less on schedule. The snow now lay in small patches here and there; the air was cold, but still.
Tindómë knew that their passage through the forest, on this last stretch, was being telegraphed ahead from guard to guard but Rumil said that even the trees were passing along the message that their prince was on his way home.
They rounded a curve in the path and there stood a single horse and rider.
The dark haired ellon looked vaguely familiar and, as soon as he spoke, she realised why.
“Honeg!”
She knew the word well; it was one of the elfling names for fingers – where nethig was the little finger, honeg was the middle one. But amongst elves, just as ‘nethig’ was ‘something an elf might call his small sister’, then ‘honeg’ was something he might call his small brother.
This must be Ardoron; Legolas’ elder brother. Somehow it hadn’t occurred to her that he would be anything but blond.
“Atheg!”
And that was, by the same token, what an elfling might call his thumb; but also his elder brother. No fear that these two were anything but close, even though Legolas said little about his brother – to use such a diminutive in public spoke of real affection.
“Adar is waiting inside the gate – but I thought to reach you first and chose today to inspect the inner ring of guards.”
Legolas grinned, reached out his arm and clasped his brother’s, and then one or two others greeted the elder prince by name as he fell into place beside Legolas at the head of the column.
“Nethig,” Legolas turned and gestured to Tindómë to come forward.
She didn’t really want to leave Rumil’s side but he nodded her to go forward.
“Ardoron, my brother, this is Tindómë, of whom I have spoken,” Legolas said as she reached them.
Ardoron greeted her formally, hand on heart, addressing her as ‘My lady Tindómë.’
“My lord Prince.” She could be just as formal.
“My brother has told me much about you; it is a pleasure to meet you. Welcome to Eryn Lasgalen.” He paused and then, just as she was about to reply, he added, “Welcome, indeed, back to Arda.”
Well that answered some of the questions, about how much Legolas had told who, anyway.
“Thank you, my lord Prince. I cannot even begin to explain how happy I am to be back.”
“We must find time to speak of it whilst you are here – my brother seems to have ventured much further afield than I have.”
Legolas gave a slight smile and a slight shrug at this.
“I am less necessary to the Greenwood, my brother. Sometimes there is benefit to being the second son!”
The answering smile gave the impression that this was not new ground.
“Now, brother,” Legolas said, “you must also meet Tindómë’s husband and their son. Adar will love their son.”
As Legolas waved Rumil forward Tindómë studied Prince Ardoron. His facial features were not unlike Legolas – the similarity was clear once you got used to the dark brown hair. He had a certain natural air of authority – but then so did Legolas when he was ‘Lording’. She had tried to give up thinking about how old elves were; although conversations remembered suggested that he must be somewhere between 1,500 and 2,000 years old… No! Stop thinking of numbers; he was Legolas’ ‘big brother’ and that would be enough to ‘place’ him.
“He has a real feel for the trees already,” Legolas was saying, and Tindómë realised that he was talking about Haldirin, as he went on to describe the elfling’s behaviour with the mallyrn.
As Rumil, and Haldirin, joined them Legolas introduced them to his brother and then spoke to the elfling.
“We will be there soon, Haldirin. Just as we met the mallyrn in Lothlórien, where your Ada grew up, so these are the trees that I knew as an elfling.”
Haldirin nodded. “They keep saying hello to you,” he said. “I think they like you.”
Legolas shot a glance at his brother, who nodded.
There was, Tindómë thought, something under the surface that she could almost make out, like a small fish in a sun-dappled river, but, like the fish, she couldn’t quite grasp it. She would ask Legolas about it, in private, later.
The sound of a river ahead became clearer and soon the great gates of the Stronghold of the King of Eryn Lasgalen were right in front of them.
Around her elves were singing again and this, thought Tindómë, was a moment to savour. Although there would still be a small niggling worry or two until she met…
The King. Aran Thranduil Oropherion stood as an island of stillness in the centre of the busy courtyard. The figure could be none other.
This, Tindómë thought, was how she had expected Legolas’ brother to look – only more so. Her ‘human eye’, which would place Legolas in his early twenties, would put this person in his later twenties, probably, but her ‘elven eye’ told her that this was someone with authority and wisdom. Authority, wisdom, and his younger son’s blond hair and build, but with slate grey eyes where the two princes had blue ones; mainly, though, he looked seriously important.
Legolas dismounted, bowed to his father, and addressed him formally as “My Lord King”. His father, as his brother had, clasped his arm saying “Welcome my son.”
No big show of public affection then… but the King’s gaze never left his younger son; he made no effort to see who else had come to Eryn Lasgalen for mid-winter, simply saying, “Come, Legolas, leave the others to their greetings. Bring your guests. They will stay in your wing.”
There was a flurry of activity; everyone else was dismounting and greeting friends and family. Luggage was being gathered, horses being led off; Orophin had disappeared with Lithôniel; Tindómë was slightly lost. Rumil stood beside her, Haldirin in his arms, but Legolas, despite his father’s instruction to bring his guests, seemed to have disappeared without them.
Galanthir approached them.
“Come, Tindómë, Rumil – I will show you the way, as Legolas will have been swallowed up by father and family.”
He took some of their bags, gestured for them to follow him, and set off along corridors, up staircases, and through door after door. The whole building was very, very, different to every other Elven building Tindómë had ever seen. It reminded her more of the King’s House in Minas Tirith – all stone and little natural light. She wondered why she had ever heard people say that Legolas was uncomfortable in caves…
If they lost track of Galanthir, she thought, she would have to rely on Rumil’s memory and sense of direction or she could be lost in this amazing, maze-like, place for ever. Then Galanthir stopped at a pair of ornate doors with two ellyn standing guard outside them. They found themselves passed first to a guard, who chased Galanthir off to his parents, and then to a housekeeper.
Up another corridor and then, as they rounded a corner, they almost ran into Prince Ardoron.
“My apologies, Rumil, Tindómë, Haldirin. I had meant to wait and walk with you but,” he touched his chest briefly, “my wife needed me.
“Although when my lord Adar realises that you were left abandoned, as he hurried Legolas off as if he had not seen him in two yéni rather than in less than two years, he will be annoyed at either himself or me.”
He assured the housekeeper that he would care for his brother’s guests and then waved at a nearby door.
“Legolas’ suite,” the prince said, then, “and here is yours.”
He opened a door and they were in a large sitting room which was lit by natural light streaming down from above – they were high enough up in the stronghold to have a skylight. Tindómë could feel Rumil relax slightly and savour the softly filtered sunlight.
There was a bedroom, with a smaller room off it containing a small bed, and on the other side of the sitting room a door led into a bathing room. ‘Like the King’s House,’ Tindómë said silently to Rumil.
“Down, Ada. I can walk now.”
Rumil complied. “Of course, go and see your bed.”
“Toys! There are toys!”
Prince Ardoron smiled, “My lord Adar has kept toys that were both mine and Legolas’. Also there are some that my son Cîrdoron has outgrown…”
Tindómë knew that Cîrdoron had been born just a little after the Battle of the Five Armies, so he was …um… about one hundred, a fairly young adult… like herself.
“Thank you, my lord Prince,” she said.
“Ardoron. Within the family wings I am Ardoron to you; just as Legolas would not expect you to use his title.”
As if in answer to his name Legolas whirled in; moving so quickly that his hair seemed to be flying behind him.
“Nethig, Rumil, small one, my apologies – Adar still treats me as an infant sometimes – I think he just needed to see that I am eating well…” he swept Haldirin up and held him high above his head, “and make sure that I have washed behind my ears!”
Haldirin giggled then said, “Nana washes behind my ears.” He looked suddenly serious. “Is your Nana here too, Legolas?”
‘Bummer,’ thought Tindómë, remembering how reminders of their mother’s death could upset Rumil and Orophin, ‘not the most tactful of questions!’
The princes exchanged glances.
“No, small one,” Legolas said, bringing Haldirin down so that they were eye to eye, “my Nana died and her fëa went away; a very long way away.”
“My Nana went a long way away – but she is here now.”
Tindómë felt her heart jump and felt that Rumil was almost as surprised. Haldirin had not mentioned her absence since the day after she had returned; she thought he must have forgotten, and had been glad.
Legolas’ expression hardly flickered.
“That is why,” he said, “your Ada does not have to check that you have washed behind your ears…”
………………………………………………………………………………………….
Odd bits of Sindarin.
Aran - King
Adar – father, Ada – daddy
Naneth – mother, Nana – Mummy
Legolas’ brother’s name – Ardoron means ‘noble oak’ – the symbol of the Royal house is the oak. His son Cîrdoron’s name means ‘new oak’.
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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.
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On to the next chapter
As usual comments and feedback greatly appreciated, and do point out anything my beta and I might have missed.
Previous chapters are here
Chapter 7
Rated - 15
Word Count - 3,000
They were in bed. Haldirin was tucked into a small bed, at the foot of theirs, made many years before for their hosts’ elflings.
Rumil, as good as his word, was doing his best to warm her with his body wrapped around hers and, now that Haldirin slept, with a little vigorous exercise.
She lifted her hips to meet each thrust, looking into his eyes where the moonlight was reflected, as she felt his desire in her fëa as clearly as his grond in her body. He twisted his hips a little each time now, increasing the pressure on her most sensitive places, and she pushed her hips higher to meet him, reaching for the point of no return; she could feel that they were almost there and brought her hands from his shoulders to his head, pulling him into a kiss that stifled the sounds of both of them taking flight.
They lay contentedly, still joined together.
“What do you feel, meleth?” Rumil asked her.
“Warmer.”
“And?”
“Comfortable,” she thought a little longer, “and loved.”
“Loved?”
“Well yes – I can feel that you love me and that you are not worried, or angry. And why are we speaking out loud?”
He didn’t answer that, but instead she felt him smile before she heard him inside her head.
‘Reach a little further – what else can you feel?’
‘Well, Haldirin, of course. He is asleep, and not frightened – he’s not dreaming of giant spiders, for sure!’
There was a tiny stab of triumph through her bond with Rumil.
‘So! Would you have felt anything apart from warm and comfortable if you had been sharing this bed with one of the men from the other place, or one of the Rohirrim, or a man of Gondor? Would you have thought to have a conversation with one of them without using your voice?’
Before she had a chance to answer his inner voice continued.
“You are certainly not a mortal, and you are not quite an elleth, but you are a completely proper Key. Even though you are unique it is very clear that you were created to be amongst the edhel or, much though I love you, you would be as deaf to my feelings, and my mind, as Aragorn is to Arwen.
‘I would feel something of you, as she does of him, but you would not have the reassurance of that link to me or Haldirin. Never doubt, beloved wife, that you are where you belong!’
Oh how she loved this ellon – he never made light of her worries.
‘I guess… but I kind of worry that Elves who don’t know me might think I don’t belong.’
She had a few particular Elves in mind, but kept those thoughts deeply hidden; instead she continued, ‘I think that’s why it upsets me when I keep not thinking like an Elf.’
Rumil moved a little, adjusting the way they lay, before he answered her. Now they were no longer joined, but her head was on his chest; his steady heart beat a comfort.
For a second she thought, ‘Poor Buffy, it’s sad that Spike can’t warm her up in bed, or that she can’t feel his heart beating in time with hers…’ But then Rumil ‘spoke’ inside her head again.
‘When I said that you had adapted quickly, and you answered that it did not feel quick to you, I was reminded that time is not easily measured, no matter what men, or dwarves, might think.
‘When we brought you home from that place I remember saying that, as time is measured in days passing, you had been away a little over a season; yet it was both no time and a lifetime.
When I think of life in Lothlórien it is past and gone – as if a lifetime away – and yet I have trouble adjusting to Lord Celeborn not being My Lord. In some ways Elves adjust to change and challenge in the blinking of an eye; in other ways we are slow to change course – rather like an oliphaunt, perhaps.’
She could feel him smile at the last image. She said nothing, still digesting what he had said.
Then he finished, ‘I think in this, you are almost exactly like an Elf.’
‘I am so not anything like an oliphaunt!’ she said, almost automatically.
She was still thinking about the particular Elves that had triggered off the distress…
‘You are still worried.’
Yep – that was why she’d kept that fear buried – he knew straight away, so close to her, when she poked the emotionally tender spot.
‘I… it…’
M’kay, own up time.
‘What if Legolas father is angry at Legolas ‘cos he ‘adopted’ me when I’m not a proper Elf? What if he’s horrible to Legolas? Or to you, or even Haldirin, because he’s been kind of forced into having me as family and I’m not a proper elleth? Or if Legolas’ brother feels like that?’
Rumil did not answer straight away, but she was used to the way that he weighed things up carefully; she waited.
‘Meleth, little one…’ he stopped.
She turned to look at him and, sure enough, he was grinning at her.
‘Meleth, you know that although Legolas has taken you as kin it does not link you to his father. That really is how it is. King Thranduil will not feel that you have been thrust into his family. Believe me.
‘Also, if he did not want us as guests in his Hall he would not have invited us. I do not think that you need to worry.’
She went to sleep trying to be unworried.
………………………………………………………………………………………………..
Not far away someone else was having not dissimilar thoughts. When he had returned to the Greenwood, after the Ring War, he had known that his father would be both happy and relieved to see him – but he had wondered about his companion.
They had agreed only to travel to Fangorn and the Glittering caves together – but it had made sense for Gimli to return to Erebor, to his own folk, by travelling with Legolas as far as Mirkwood.
King Thranduil had grasped his son’s arm as one warrior to another in public – the tight embrace to his father’s heart had come later, in private. As had the questions about ‘That Dwarf’.
It was a good thing that Gimli had been given a guest room on the very fringe of the royal wing, and that he slept soundly, as King Thranduil had neither lowered his voice nor minced his words. It had been difficult for Legolas to walk a fine line between respectful younger son and newly-famed warrior.
The conversation had lasted for some time but here, now, in the snow-covered village, Legolas remembered how it had ended.
“He watched my back.”
“Only up as far as your buttocks. Although I suppose we can be grateful that, from what I have learnt of dwarves over the years, he would have had no ulterior motive in keeping an eye on those…”
“Adar!”
They had glared at each other and then, simultaneously, laughed.
Not that his father had ever become fond of Gimli, but he was tolerated, and treated with all due respect on the few occasions that friend and father had met.
Explaining that he had taken as kinswoman an under-aged female who looked like a mortal, had been found at the point of death on the battlefield, had, apparently, come from somewhere that was neither Arda nor Valinor, was actually an immortal, and whose very existence was the work of the Valar had been fairly straightforward after that.
This invitation for Tindómë and Rumil to come to Eryn Lasgalen as guests of the King had been issued in much warmer tones than any invitation to Gimli would ever have been and, when he had said that his father would love Haldirin, he had meant it.
No – this visit held no fears; and the presence of extra guests, and the elfling, might well distract his father from the subject of eligible ellyth.
………………………………………………………………………………………………..
Despite the snowfall they had ridden on again the next morning – the path was sheltered by trees and, although progress was a little slower, they had remained more or less on schedule. The snow now lay in small patches here and there; the air was cold, but still.
Tindómë knew that their passage through the forest, on this last stretch, was being telegraphed ahead from guard to guard but Rumil said that even the trees were passing along the message that their prince was on his way home.
They rounded a curve in the path and there stood a single horse and rider.
The dark haired ellon looked vaguely familiar and, as soon as he spoke, she realised why.
“Honeg!”
She knew the word well; it was one of the elfling names for fingers – where nethig was the little finger, honeg was the middle one. But amongst elves, just as ‘nethig’ was ‘something an elf might call his small sister’, then ‘honeg’ was something he might call his small brother.
This must be Ardoron; Legolas’ elder brother. Somehow it hadn’t occurred to her that he would be anything but blond.
“Atheg!”
And that was, by the same token, what an elfling might call his thumb; but also his elder brother. No fear that these two were anything but close, even though Legolas said little about his brother – to use such a diminutive in public spoke of real affection.
“Adar is waiting inside the gate – but I thought to reach you first and chose today to inspect the inner ring of guards.”
Legolas grinned, reached out his arm and clasped his brother’s, and then one or two others greeted the elder prince by name as he fell into place beside Legolas at the head of the column.
“Nethig,” Legolas turned and gestured to Tindómë to come forward.
She didn’t really want to leave Rumil’s side but he nodded her to go forward.
“Ardoron, my brother, this is Tindómë, of whom I have spoken,” Legolas said as she reached them.
Ardoron greeted her formally, hand on heart, addressing her as ‘My lady Tindómë.’
“My lord Prince.” She could be just as formal.
“My brother has told me much about you; it is a pleasure to meet you. Welcome to Eryn Lasgalen.” He paused and then, just as she was about to reply, he added, “Welcome, indeed, back to Arda.”
Well that answered some of the questions, about how much Legolas had told who, anyway.
“Thank you, my lord Prince. I cannot even begin to explain how happy I am to be back.”
“We must find time to speak of it whilst you are here – my brother seems to have ventured much further afield than I have.”
Legolas gave a slight smile and a slight shrug at this.
“I am less necessary to the Greenwood, my brother. Sometimes there is benefit to being the second son!”
The answering smile gave the impression that this was not new ground.
“Now, brother,” Legolas said, “you must also meet Tindómë’s husband and their son. Adar will love their son.”
As Legolas waved Rumil forward Tindómë studied Prince Ardoron. His facial features were not unlike Legolas – the similarity was clear once you got used to the dark brown hair. He had a certain natural air of authority – but then so did Legolas when he was ‘Lording’. She had tried to give up thinking about how old elves were; although conversations remembered suggested that he must be somewhere between 1,500 and 2,000 years old… No! Stop thinking of numbers; he was Legolas’ ‘big brother’ and that would be enough to ‘place’ him.
“He has a real feel for the trees already,” Legolas was saying, and Tindómë realised that he was talking about Haldirin, as he went on to describe the elfling’s behaviour with the mallyrn.
As Rumil, and Haldirin, joined them Legolas introduced them to his brother and then spoke to the elfling.
“We will be there soon, Haldirin. Just as we met the mallyrn in Lothlórien, where your Ada grew up, so these are the trees that I knew as an elfling.”
Haldirin nodded. “They keep saying hello to you,” he said. “I think they like you.”
Legolas shot a glance at his brother, who nodded.
There was, Tindómë thought, something under the surface that she could almost make out, like a small fish in a sun-dappled river, but, like the fish, she couldn’t quite grasp it. She would ask Legolas about it, in private, later.
The sound of a river ahead became clearer and soon the great gates of the Stronghold of the King of Eryn Lasgalen were right in front of them.
Around her elves were singing again and this, thought Tindómë, was a moment to savour. Although there would still be a small niggling worry or two until she met…
The King. Aran Thranduil Oropherion stood as an island of stillness in the centre of the busy courtyard. The figure could be none other.
This, Tindómë thought, was how she had expected Legolas’ brother to look – only more so. Her ‘human eye’, which would place Legolas in his early twenties, would put this person in his later twenties, probably, but her ‘elven eye’ told her that this was someone with authority and wisdom. Authority, wisdom, and his younger son’s blond hair and build, but with slate grey eyes where the two princes had blue ones; mainly, though, he looked seriously important.
Legolas dismounted, bowed to his father, and addressed him formally as “My Lord King”. His father, as his brother had, clasped his arm saying “Welcome my son.”
No big show of public affection then… but the King’s gaze never left his younger son; he made no effort to see who else had come to Eryn Lasgalen for mid-winter, simply saying, “Come, Legolas, leave the others to their greetings. Bring your guests. They will stay in your wing.”
There was a flurry of activity; everyone else was dismounting and greeting friends and family. Luggage was being gathered, horses being led off; Orophin had disappeared with Lithôniel; Tindómë was slightly lost. Rumil stood beside her, Haldirin in his arms, but Legolas, despite his father’s instruction to bring his guests, seemed to have disappeared without them.
Galanthir approached them.
“Come, Tindómë, Rumil – I will show you the way, as Legolas will have been swallowed up by father and family.”
He took some of their bags, gestured for them to follow him, and set off along corridors, up staircases, and through door after door. The whole building was very, very, different to every other Elven building Tindómë had ever seen. It reminded her more of the King’s House in Minas Tirith – all stone and little natural light. She wondered why she had ever heard people say that Legolas was uncomfortable in caves…
If they lost track of Galanthir, she thought, she would have to rely on Rumil’s memory and sense of direction or she could be lost in this amazing, maze-like, place for ever. Then Galanthir stopped at a pair of ornate doors with two ellyn standing guard outside them. They found themselves passed first to a guard, who chased Galanthir off to his parents, and then to a housekeeper.
Up another corridor and then, as they rounded a corner, they almost ran into Prince Ardoron.
“My apologies, Rumil, Tindómë, Haldirin. I had meant to wait and walk with you but,” he touched his chest briefly, “my wife needed me.
“Although when my lord Adar realises that you were left abandoned, as he hurried Legolas off as if he had not seen him in two yéni rather than in less than two years, he will be annoyed at either himself or me.”
He assured the housekeeper that he would care for his brother’s guests and then waved at a nearby door.
“Legolas’ suite,” the prince said, then, “and here is yours.”
He opened a door and they were in a large sitting room which was lit by natural light streaming down from above – they were high enough up in the stronghold to have a skylight. Tindómë could feel Rumil relax slightly and savour the softly filtered sunlight.
There was a bedroom, with a smaller room off it containing a small bed, and on the other side of the sitting room a door led into a bathing room. ‘Like the King’s House,’ Tindómë said silently to Rumil.
“Down, Ada. I can walk now.”
Rumil complied. “Of course, go and see your bed.”
“Toys! There are toys!”
Prince Ardoron smiled, “My lord Adar has kept toys that were both mine and Legolas’. Also there are some that my son Cîrdoron has outgrown…”
Tindómë knew that Cîrdoron had been born just a little after the Battle of the Five Armies, so he was …um… about one hundred, a fairly young adult… like herself.
“Thank you, my lord Prince,” she said.
“Ardoron. Within the family wings I am Ardoron to you; just as Legolas would not expect you to use his title.”
As if in answer to his name Legolas whirled in; moving so quickly that his hair seemed to be flying behind him.
“Nethig, Rumil, small one, my apologies – Adar still treats me as an infant sometimes – I think he just needed to see that I am eating well…” he swept Haldirin up and held him high above his head, “and make sure that I have washed behind my ears!”
Haldirin giggled then said, “Nana washes behind my ears.” He looked suddenly serious. “Is your Nana here too, Legolas?”
‘Bummer,’ thought Tindómë, remembering how reminders of their mother’s death could upset Rumil and Orophin, ‘not the most tactful of questions!’
The princes exchanged glances.
“No, small one,” Legolas said, bringing Haldirin down so that they were eye to eye, “my Nana died and her fëa went away; a very long way away.”
“My Nana went a long way away – but she is here now.”
Tindómë felt her heart jump and felt that Rumil was almost as surprised. Haldirin had not mentioned her absence since the day after she had returned; she thought he must have forgotten, and had been glad.
Legolas’ expression hardly flickered.
“That is why,” he said, “your Ada does not have to check that you have washed behind your ears…”
………………………………………………………………………………………….
Odd bits of Sindarin.
Aran - King
Adar – father, Ada – daddy
Naneth – mother, Nana – Mummy
Legolas’ brother’s name – Ardoron means ‘noble oak’ – the symbol of the Royal house is the oak. His son Cîrdoron’s name means ‘new oak’.
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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.
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On to the next chapter
As usual comments and feedback greatly appreciated, and do point out anything my beta and I might have missed.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 16/03/2010 08:35 pm (UTC)“Only up as far as your buttocks. Although I suppose we can be grateful that, from what I have learnt of dwarves over the years, he would have had no ulterior motive in keeping an eye on those…”
"snorfle"
This is going to be quite the family reunion! "rubs hands together"
no subject
Date: 16/03/2010 09:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 17/03/2010 12:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 18/03/2010 03:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 18/03/2010 05:05 pm (UTC)Dashes off...
no subject
Date: 14/04/2010 04:00 pm (UTC)I loved the ending, too:
Legolas’ expression hardly flickered.
“That is why,” he said, “your Ada does not have to check that you have washed behind your ears…”
Good old Leggy! You've got me worried with the eligible ellith, though :-/
ETA: Only as far as your buttocks, LOL.
no subject
Date: 14/04/2010 05:12 pm (UTC)I'm glad you liked "Only as far as your buttocks!" - it gave me the giggles myself when it came to me that it was exactly the retort to follow "He watched my back!"