Immigrants. Chapter 7.
26 Apr 2012 07:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
curiouswombatHere is chapter seven of the tale of the first few months of life 'in the West' for Legolas, Tindómë, et al.
Immigrants, Chapter Seven.
Word count; 2,400
Rating; 15.
Chapter Seven
A week before midwinter a storm blew up overnight and high winds whipped the sea into angry looking white crested waves that assaulted the land rather than gently caressing it.
Many of the Wood Elves simply stood and watched it; the wildness appealed to them. Tindómë joined Rumil as he stood on the rocks, within reach of the spray, the wind tossing his hair so that it danced around him as the small boats nearby danced at the ends of their mooring ropes. Orophin stood nearby, laughing, as did Legolas; no fear now of the dreaded sea-longing. But Tindómë could feel the mixture of sea-spray and rain making her not-quite-elven hair frizz, and she felt cold as her leggings got wet and clung to her; she could hold her cloak closed but the wind kept pushing it away from her legs. Eventually she left her husband, and the others, to drink in the storm as she drank tea with Lady Celebrían.
Master Elrond had smiled at her description of the Wood Elves soaking up the storm, like lizards soaking up the sunshine, admitting to having done likewise the first few times the high winds roared along the coast after his arrival. He had, after all, been a child of the sea-shore so very many years ago, and his father Middle Earth’s most famous mariner. But now, he said, he enjoyed watching the weather from the comfort of his library – where Tindómë’s daughter was currently curled in a chair, reading; clearly, he added with a smile, standing in the teeth of the gale was a male pursuit.
It was good, Tindómë thought, to see him smile. He had been so solemn when she had met him in Minas Tirith and, more recently, deeply saddened both by the absence of his sons from the passenger list of The Heart of Eryn Ithil and by the news of Arwen’s death. That both Tindómë and her daughter had been delighted to be invited to make use of his library seemed to have pleased him.
When her husband left the room Lady Celebrían poured more tea and then began to talk about what she had observed of Ithilienne. Tindómë reassured her hostess that Ithilienne’s parents were well aware of their daughter’s feelings for Legolas.
“Actually,” Tindómë said, “she really has always been… aware of him. When I was only about halfway through my pregnancy with her, and we had not yet told anyone that the baby was female, Legolas put his hands on my bare stomach when we were bathing to ‘say hello’ to the newest member of his community. He got this dreamy look and then said that he thought she must like him as he could feel her smiling.”
“Ah,” said Celebrían.
“And,” Tindómë continued, “although I could easily settle Haldirin as an elfling, Ithilienne could be more difficult. But if Legolas came into our home she would curl up against him and be asleep in no time. For her it has just been a natural progression to adult desire.”
“And to him?” Celebrían asked. “Do you know?”
“It’s been harder for him to acknowledge the possibility – and I think that’s really my fault; he couldn’t believe that he could desire the daughter of someone he calls ‘nethig’. I think he’s more at peace with himself now, not only because he is rid of the sea-longing, but he is beginning to accept that there is no reason to feel guilty about finding her desirable; after all no-one could be further from blood-kin than him and me. And it’s not as if he can just turn off any feelings for her. ”
“Are you happy about it?” Celebrían asked.
And Tindómë explained, again, her mixed feelings which had resolved to a recognition of what was. She described her conversation with her daughter on the evening of Legolas official welcome by King Olwë, and the more recent one – well, apart from the details about Celebrían’s sons.
Tindómë described the joking agreement between mother and daughter that, as Tindómë had been very sure of her own feelings for Rumil before she came of age and Ithilienne seemed to be likewise, it might be that Legolas was the one who was too young. Celebrían smiled; a very particular smile. Tindómë waited.
“Elrond was exactly the same,” Celebrian said. “He was begot many years before me and felt guilty that he desired me when I was less than a yén of age and the daughter of… my parents. Just as Legolas worries that Ithilienne is your daughter. Elrond seemed to firmly believe that my feelings were not important – or that I was too young to be sure of myself – and that he could, in some way, discipline himself out of his desire.”
Tindómë had a sudden mental image of a naked Elrond beating himself with a horse-whip and, even though she was pretty certain this wasn’t what Celebrían meant, got the urge to wash her brain with bleach.
The conversation turned to other things, although Tindómë had a feeling that that unwanted, and probably inaccurate, image would keep coming back to her – and she so must share it with Rumil, and with Orophin and Lithôniel, for that matter.
Almost as if her thought had conjured her husband, Rumil entered the room. The rain had stopped, the wind was dying, and he was going to look, with a few others, for newly washed up driftwood. Would his wife like to join him?
‘Perhaps not quite starlight bathing, meleth, but I would enjoy your company…’ Tindómë heard the thought as he stood behind her chair with his hands on her shoulders.
“Ithilienne is happy enough in my husband’s library,” Celebrían said, with a knowing smile, “she may stay here, or make her way home later.”
Soon Tindómë was walking down to the bonfire site, her arm around Rumil’s waist, so that his cloak wrapped around her over her own.
“The ellyn who showed us the best place for the fire were right,” he said. “The sea did not touch it, and it will have dried from the rain ere next week. We thought to walk the tide line and collect any good wood that washes up. Walk with me?”
Tindómë snuggled closer. “A slow walk?”
He stopped and turned to hold her, kissing the tip of her nose, “Slow is good… let us leave our boots near the fire.”
They had learnt, very quickly, that salty, damp, sand stained the leather.
The sky was clearing, the night was already dark; the only sources of light were the rising moon, a scattering of stars, and Alqualondë a little way away. The stars were different here. In time they would look familiar, Tindómë presumed, but just for now she would ignore them and look instead at their reflection deep in Rumil’s eyes.
She never had worked out why Elven eyes seemed so much deeper than those of other races – somehow, on nights like this, she could see further into her husband’s eyes than the size of his head should allow – perhaps a puzzle to discuss with Master Elrond.
“You are deep in thought, meleth…”
“I am admiring the stars in your eyes,” she said, thinking that sometimes the whole truth was too much information, and pulled his head down until their lips met.
They continued to stroll, slowly, along the sand at the edge of the sea. Tindómë was beginning to think that it was not really too cold to consider removing more clothing than her boots – as long as Rumil did likewise – when a familiar voice called their names, and looking up she could see the moon glinting off hair as white-blond as Rumil’s. And it was most certainly not Lady Celebrían.
“Brother, little one, there is almost a whole tree carried here on the storm! But it did not come quite ashore before the tide turned and now it is likely to be washed back out – unless we wade out and haul it in.”
And, sure enough, there was not only Orophin but Lithôniel and Galanthir standing with an elleth Tindómë did not know. The ellyn were both busy stripping off their clothes.
Rumil looked at Tindómë questioningly. “Go on,” she said, “You know you want to. But there is no way I am going out in that water to rescue a tree trunk; it will be cold. I’ll go sit up the beach by the woodpile and look after the clothes.”
Lithôniel joined her; the other elleth, presumably a local, waited up to her knees in the sea.
It took the three males a few minutes to reach the tree – clearly further out than Orophin had suggested, as swimming was involved – but soon they had it on the sand, no longer floating, and laughing together brought it up above the high tide mark to dry.
Galanthir nodded at Tindómë and then rejoined the other elleth at the water’s-edge. She did not really see where he went, as both husband and husband-brother had thrown themselves down on the blanket Lithôniel had spread out.
‘Well prepared,’ Tindómë thought, ‘she knows her husband all too well.’
‘And his brother,’ she decided, as Rumil pulled her towards him.
“Warm me, meleth…”
“You’re an elf – you aren’t meant to feel the cold!” she retorted, as she had many times before when he had made a similar request, “and you’ll get my clothes all damp!”
She could feel the smirk before he began to pull her leggings off her, and soon, despite trying to bat his hands away, she was as naked as he was. Pausing only to twist his damp hair out of the way, he began to nibble his way down her neck, as she heard Orophin and Lithôniel laughing.
“You two are no help!” she gasped.
“We could be…” Orophin’s voice still held laughter, but was slightly husky, and then there were three mouths kissing and nibbling, three bodies around and over hers.
“We would not want you to get cold…” Lithôniel’s voice came from somewhere near Tindómë’s breast, before she returned her warm tongue to it.
She could feel Rumil laughing inside – she reached out to him but could only snag a hand – she pulled it to her mouth and sucked his fingers.
“You taste of salt…” she said.
“You don’t…” the voice was Orophin’s. He sucked on one of Tindómë’s toes, and then spoke again. “Or perhaps you do…” and he licked in one long movement from the toe to the top of her thigh and then swirled his tongue around her tuiw. She bucked. At least she would have, if someone had not put a hand on her hip to hold her down.
As Orophin lifted his head a little to say, “Just a little, but probably less then we do…” Rumil’s internal voice said ‘My brother looks better with all his teeth,’ leaving no doubt as to whose hand was on her hip!
The other three could move, and did, but Tindómë was between three elves and the hollow her body had formed in the sand beneath the blanket; she could touch and taste only what came within reach. She tasted Rumil’s ceryn and his grond – both salty, gloriously salty – but he twisted away; Lithôniel’s mouth and breasts, less salty; then, after she had flown at the tip of his tongue, Orophin’s mouth, warm, salty, undershot with the familiar taste of herself.
A grond slid into her and she knew it to be Rumil. Then Orophin shuddered where he still kissed her – Lithôniel had brought him, too, to flight. Minutes later she heard Lithôniel cry out, but Tindómë had lost track of who could have brought her brother-wife to that point. By the time Rumil flew within her, Tindómë had reached the same point several times, and lay, beneath her blanket of elves, unable to do anything but giggle with the pleasure and the joy of it all.
………………………………..
Tuiw – ‘bud’ – clitoris
Ceryn – balls
Grond – ‘club/ battering ram’ – penis.
………………………………..
Legolas was surprised that Celebrían was so insistent that Ithilienne needed someone to walk home with her along the path above the beach, but it was no hardship to comply. Almost unconsciously he found they were walking hand in hand. Perhaps, he thought, they could go down onto the sand, throw stones into the sea, or even simply sit and watch the moonlight glisten on the waves; but nothing more. No, nothing more for the foreseeable future. There was plenty of time before he should think of anything more with her – time for her to gain more experience, time for him to devote himself to Gimli and the hobbits – and, if he became frustrated in the meantime, there were always willing ellyth…
But then he heard muffled laughter and, looking towards the still-growing Solstice bonfire, he could see the moonlight glinting, instead, on two heads of white-blond hair, and three – no, four – pale bodies, entwined. In an instant he knew who it must be – although other ex-Galadhrim had sailed with him, none had quite that colour hair, bar two…
Better not to go down to the beach then, at least not here, best to hope Ithilienne had not noticed for she might be shocked; best to hope that she did not notice, either, the tightening in his leggings where his own grond thickened. Huitho! That surprised him, too, as he had never, ever, thought of Tindómë that way. Nor did he now – but they did look most erotic… and sound it.
Beside him Ithilienne spoke. “It sounds as if Naneth is having a lot of fun.”
Whilst Legolas was still wondering whether he ought to try and stop her, she moved around him so that she could see down to the beach.
“It is a good thing,” she said after a few moments, “that Adar, Orophin and Lithôniel are remembering to keep Naneth on the bottom because she really does tend to feel the cold…”
Legolas silently agreed – whilst trying to decide how to answer her.
She grinned, and then began to walk away. She looked back over her shoulder at him and said, “Come on, we will certainly be back at the house before them.”
Legolas was not sure whether he was meant to hear her muttered, “Although I don’t suppose we will be having any such fun when they get home…”
Neither was he sure whether he hoped Haldirin was in, or not, when they got there.
………………………………..
Huitho! – Fuck!
………………………………..
Disclaimer: The characters in this story do not belong to me, but are being used for amusement only, and all rights remain with the estate of JRR Tolkien. And Joss Whedon if he ever recognises his Key...
Immigrants, Chapter Seven.
Word count; 2,400
Rating; 15.
Chapter Seven
A week before midwinter a storm blew up overnight and high winds whipped the sea into angry looking white crested waves that assaulted the land rather than gently caressing it.
Many of the Wood Elves simply stood and watched it; the wildness appealed to them. Tindómë joined Rumil as he stood on the rocks, within reach of the spray, the wind tossing his hair so that it danced around him as the small boats nearby danced at the ends of their mooring ropes. Orophin stood nearby, laughing, as did Legolas; no fear now of the dreaded sea-longing. But Tindómë could feel the mixture of sea-spray and rain making her not-quite-elven hair frizz, and she felt cold as her leggings got wet and clung to her; she could hold her cloak closed but the wind kept pushing it away from her legs. Eventually she left her husband, and the others, to drink in the storm as she drank tea with Lady Celebrían.
Master Elrond had smiled at her description of the Wood Elves soaking up the storm, like lizards soaking up the sunshine, admitting to having done likewise the first few times the high winds roared along the coast after his arrival. He had, after all, been a child of the sea-shore so very many years ago, and his father Middle Earth’s most famous mariner. But now, he said, he enjoyed watching the weather from the comfort of his library – where Tindómë’s daughter was currently curled in a chair, reading; clearly, he added with a smile, standing in the teeth of the gale was a male pursuit.
It was good, Tindómë thought, to see him smile. He had been so solemn when she had met him in Minas Tirith and, more recently, deeply saddened both by the absence of his sons from the passenger list of The Heart of Eryn Ithil and by the news of Arwen’s death. That both Tindómë and her daughter had been delighted to be invited to make use of his library seemed to have pleased him.
When her husband left the room Lady Celebrían poured more tea and then began to talk about what she had observed of Ithilienne. Tindómë reassured her hostess that Ithilienne’s parents were well aware of their daughter’s feelings for Legolas.
“Actually,” Tindómë said, “she really has always been… aware of him. When I was only about halfway through my pregnancy with her, and we had not yet told anyone that the baby was female, Legolas put his hands on my bare stomach when we were bathing to ‘say hello’ to the newest member of his community. He got this dreamy look and then said that he thought she must like him as he could feel her smiling.”
“Ah,” said Celebrían.
“And,” Tindómë continued, “although I could easily settle Haldirin as an elfling, Ithilienne could be more difficult. But if Legolas came into our home she would curl up against him and be asleep in no time. For her it has just been a natural progression to adult desire.”
“And to him?” Celebrían asked. “Do you know?”
“It’s been harder for him to acknowledge the possibility – and I think that’s really my fault; he couldn’t believe that he could desire the daughter of someone he calls ‘nethig’. I think he’s more at peace with himself now, not only because he is rid of the sea-longing, but he is beginning to accept that there is no reason to feel guilty about finding her desirable; after all no-one could be further from blood-kin than him and me. And it’s not as if he can just turn off any feelings for her. ”
“Are you happy about it?” Celebrían asked.
And Tindómë explained, again, her mixed feelings which had resolved to a recognition of what was. She described her conversation with her daughter on the evening of Legolas official welcome by King Olwë, and the more recent one – well, apart from the details about Celebrían’s sons.
Tindómë described the joking agreement between mother and daughter that, as Tindómë had been very sure of her own feelings for Rumil before she came of age and Ithilienne seemed to be likewise, it might be that Legolas was the one who was too young. Celebrían smiled; a very particular smile. Tindómë waited.
“Elrond was exactly the same,” Celebrian said. “He was begot many years before me and felt guilty that he desired me when I was less than a yén of age and the daughter of… my parents. Just as Legolas worries that Ithilienne is your daughter. Elrond seemed to firmly believe that my feelings were not important – or that I was too young to be sure of myself – and that he could, in some way, discipline himself out of his desire.”
Tindómë had a sudden mental image of a naked Elrond beating himself with a horse-whip and, even though she was pretty certain this wasn’t what Celebrían meant, got the urge to wash her brain with bleach.
The conversation turned to other things, although Tindómë had a feeling that that unwanted, and probably inaccurate, image would keep coming back to her – and she so must share it with Rumil, and with Orophin and Lithôniel, for that matter.
Almost as if her thought had conjured her husband, Rumil entered the room. The rain had stopped, the wind was dying, and he was going to look, with a few others, for newly washed up driftwood. Would his wife like to join him?
‘Perhaps not quite starlight bathing, meleth, but I would enjoy your company…’ Tindómë heard the thought as he stood behind her chair with his hands on her shoulders.
“Ithilienne is happy enough in my husband’s library,” Celebrían said, with a knowing smile, “she may stay here, or make her way home later.”
Soon Tindómë was walking down to the bonfire site, her arm around Rumil’s waist, so that his cloak wrapped around her over her own.
“The ellyn who showed us the best place for the fire were right,” he said. “The sea did not touch it, and it will have dried from the rain ere next week. We thought to walk the tide line and collect any good wood that washes up. Walk with me?”
Tindómë snuggled closer. “A slow walk?”
He stopped and turned to hold her, kissing the tip of her nose, “Slow is good… let us leave our boots near the fire.”
They had learnt, very quickly, that salty, damp, sand stained the leather.
The sky was clearing, the night was already dark; the only sources of light were the rising moon, a scattering of stars, and Alqualondë a little way away. The stars were different here. In time they would look familiar, Tindómë presumed, but just for now she would ignore them and look instead at their reflection deep in Rumil’s eyes.
She never had worked out why Elven eyes seemed so much deeper than those of other races – somehow, on nights like this, she could see further into her husband’s eyes than the size of his head should allow – perhaps a puzzle to discuss with Master Elrond.
“You are deep in thought, meleth…”
“I am admiring the stars in your eyes,” she said, thinking that sometimes the whole truth was too much information, and pulled his head down until their lips met.
They continued to stroll, slowly, along the sand at the edge of the sea. Tindómë was beginning to think that it was not really too cold to consider removing more clothing than her boots – as long as Rumil did likewise – when a familiar voice called their names, and looking up she could see the moon glinting off hair as white-blond as Rumil’s. And it was most certainly not Lady Celebrían.
“Brother, little one, there is almost a whole tree carried here on the storm! But it did not come quite ashore before the tide turned and now it is likely to be washed back out – unless we wade out and haul it in.”
And, sure enough, there was not only Orophin but Lithôniel and Galanthir standing with an elleth Tindómë did not know. The ellyn were both busy stripping off their clothes.
Rumil looked at Tindómë questioningly. “Go on,” she said, “You know you want to. But there is no way I am going out in that water to rescue a tree trunk; it will be cold. I’ll go sit up the beach by the woodpile and look after the clothes.”
Lithôniel joined her; the other elleth, presumably a local, waited up to her knees in the sea.
It took the three males a few minutes to reach the tree – clearly further out than Orophin had suggested, as swimming was involved – but soon they had it on the sand, no longer floating, and laughing together brought it up above the high tide mark to dry.
Galanthir nodded at Tindómë and then rejoined the other elleth at the water’s-edge. She did not really see where he went, as both husband and husband-brother had thrown themselves down on the blanket Lithôniel had spread out.
‘Well prepared,’ Tindómë thought, ‘she knows her husband all too well.’
‘And his brother,’ she decided, as Rumil pulled her towards him.
“Warm me, meleth…”
“You’re an elf – you aren’t meant to feel the cold!” she retorted, as she had many times before when he had made a similar request, “and you’ll get my clothes all damp!”
She could feel the smirk before he began to pull her leggings off her, and soon, despite trying to bat his hands away, she was as naked as he was. Pausing only to twist his damp hair out of the way, he began to nibble his way down her neck, as she heard Orophin and Lithôniel laughing.
“You two are no help!” she gasped.
“We could be…” Orophin’s voice still held laughter, but was slightly husky, and then there were three mouths kissing and nibbling, three bodies around and over hers.
“We would not want you to get cold…” Lithôniel’s voice came from somewhere near Tindómë’s breast, before she returned her warm tongue to it.
She could feel Rumil laughing inside – she reached out to him but could only snag a hand – she pulled it to her mouth and sucked his fingers.
“You taste of salt…” she said.
“You don’t…” the voice was Orophin’s. He sucked on one of Tindómë’s toes, and then spoke again. “Or perhaps you do…” and he licked in one long movement from the toe to the top of her thigh and then swirled his tongue around her tuiw. She bucked. At least she would have, if someone had not put a hand on her hip to hold her down.
As Orophin lifted his head a little to say, “Just a little, but probably less then we do…” Rumil’s internal voice said ‘My brother looks better with all his teeth,’ leaving no doubt as to whose hand was on her hip!
The other three could move, and did, but Tindómë was between three elves and the hollow her body had formed in the sand beneath the blanket; she could touch and taste only what came within reach. She tasted Rumil’s ceryn and his grond – both salty, gloriously salty – but he twisted away; Lithôniel’s mouth and breasts, less salty; then, after she had flown at the tip of his tongue, Orophin’s mouth, warm, salty, undershot with the familiar taste of herself.
A grond slid into her and she knew it to be Rumil. Then Orophin shuddered where he still kissed her – Lithôniel had brought him, too, to flight. Minutes later she heard Lithôniel cry out, but Tindómë had lost track of who could have brought her brother-wife to that point. By the time Rumil flew within her, Tindómë had reached the same point several times, and lay, beneath her blanket of elves, unable to do anything but giggle with the pleasure and the joy of it all.
………………………………..
Tuiw – ‘bud’ – clitoris
Ceryn – balls
Grond – ‘club/ battering ram’ – penis.
………………………………..
Legolas was surprised that Celebrían was so insistent that Ithilienne needed someone to walk home with her along the path above the beach, but it was no hardship to comply. Almost unconsciously he found they were walking hand in hand. Perhaps, he thought, they could go down onto the sand, throw stones into the sea, or even simply sit and watch the moonlight glisten on the waves; but nothing more. No, nothing more for the foreseeable future. There was plenty of time before he should think of anything more with her – time for her to gain more experience, time for him to devote himself to Gimli and the hobbits – and, if he became frustrated in the meantime, there were always willing ellyth…
But then he heard muffled laughter and, looking towards the still-growing Solstice bonfire, he could see the moonlight glinting, instead, on two heads of white-blond hair, and three – no, four – pale bodies, entwined. In an instant he knew who it must be – although other ex-Galadhrim had sailed with him, none had quite that colour hair, bar two…
Better not to go down to the beach then, at least not here, best to hope Ithilienne had not noticed for she might be shocked; best to hope that she did not notice, either, the tightening in his leggings where his own grond thickened. Huitho! That surprised him, too, as he had never, ever, thought of Tindómë that way. Nor did he now – but they did look most erotic… and sound it.
Beside him Ithilienne spoke. “It sounds as if Naneth is having a lot of fun.”
Whilst Legolas was still wondering whether he ought to try and stop her, she moved around him so that she could see down to the beach.
“It is a good thing,” she said after a few moments, “that Adar, Orophin and Lithôniel are remembering to keep Naneth on the bottom because she really does tend to feel the cold…”
Legolas silently agreed – whilst trying to decide how to answer her.
She grinned, and then began to walk away. She looked back over her shoulder at him and said, “Come on, we will certainly be back at the house before them.”
Legolas was not sure whether he was meant to hear her muttered, “Although I don’t suppose we will be having any such fun when they get home…”
Neither was he sure whether he hoped Haldirin was in, or not, when they got there.
………………………………..
Huitho! – Fuck!
………………………………..
Disclaimer: The characters in this story do not belong to me, but are being used for amusement only, and all rights remain with the estate of JRR Tolkien. And Joss Whedon if he ever recognises his Key...
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no subject
Date: 26/04/2012 07:45 pm (UTC)He's so sweet!
A lovely chapter, with lots of atmosphere -- the rough sea, the sand, the moonlight glinting on hair and skin... All very visual.
no subject
Date: 26/04/2012 08:09 pm (UTC)He's so sweet!
Well - some of the time, anyway!
In the next chapter there is a little more insight into why he feels how he feels. But, as even Celebrían is now also plotting his downfall, he is certainly becoming outnumbered!
no subject
Date: 27/04/2012 09:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 27/04/2012 10:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 28/04/2012 07:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 28/04/2012 08:45 pm (UTC)Currently Tindómë wants to know why she just can't kill her mother-in-law and send her back for another lap of Mandos Halls, Legolas is digging his heels in and refusing to have sex with someone in particular and then wandering off and shagging members of King Olwë's court, and Gimli is refusing to tell me whether or not to allow any of the Telerin ellyth, who have money on it, bed him! This is without Sam trying to give me recipes for really good banqueting food!
I think this gives you a taste of the, half written, next chapter of this...!!
(Except Legolas actually wandered off to shag a random elleth in an Alma Tedema picture, probably this one (http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/1/13/Alma_Tadema_Silver_Favourites.jpg/220px-Alma_Tadema_Silver_Favourites.jpg) a couple of chapters ago.)