Immigrants, Chapter Ten
29 Jun 2012 08:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
curiouswombatThis story of adjustment to life in The New World is nearly finished, honestly.
Chapter Ten
Legolas distinctly remembered thinking at the last turn of the days, the summer solstice half a sun year ago, that there was some sort of understanding between himself and Ithilienne. Back then, in Eryn Ithil, he had expected that in time they would explore the attraction between them – maybe in half a yén or so – when she was older and they were more settled in Valinor.
He had reminded himself, only yesterday, that he should not even think of the desires of the body in relation to Ithilienne at the moment. That he should concentrate on the time he had left with Frodo, Sam, and Gimli; that Ithilienne was little more than an elfling yet; that he had seen too much of death and destruction to think of himself as young in the same way.
He had, he decided, been wrong.
Brethiliel, on her brother’s arm, was little more than an elfling; Ithilienne was, most definitely, a good deal more than an elfling. And she looked beautiful as she walked, with Tharhîwon and Frodo, down the path towards the shore. Legolas had thought, perhaps, to ask her to start the dancing with him but she seemed to be firmly with Frodo and his son.
If he had not got money on Gimli asking Her Ladyship to dance first, he might have asked her… He would ask whoever was near him, when the time came, he decided.
Slowly everyone assembled on the sand. The great stack of wood that had been gathered over the past weeks, since the decision was made to celebrate in their own way, looked as if it almost touched the near cloudless sky. It was not quite like the bonfires back in the woodlands of Ennor – the salt-soaked wood had a different scent and all the piled-up branches were totally bare of leaves – but it would make a good blaze, and doubtless still burn sufficiently to be jumped over in the first rays of grey dawn.
Legolas waited, the others leaving a space around him, until Orophin and Saeldauron approached carrying lit torches. They then led the way, as Legolas walked slowly towards the unlit fire, a path forming for them as they went. There was no formality expected, no speech to make. Just as his father did and, from what Tangannel had said, his grandfather before that, Legolas took the torch from Orophin and thrust it into the heart of the bonfire.
The kindling there was aflame quickly and the branches piled above soon began to burn too, smoke and sparks beginning to rise and turn the blackening sky red, dotted with tiny, ephemeral, gold-red stars.
Around him he was aware of the others – his people. Well, mainly his people, there were some Telerin elves who had joined newly-made Silvan friends, Master Elrond’s household, Lady Galadriel somewhere, and the three other surviving members of the Fellowship.
He felt a hand on his arm and turned to see Tindómë, her other hand linked with her husband’s, smiling at him.
“This is totally of the good, atheg. You promised us a bonfire to jump at midsummer and, hey! Here we are all organised a whole half a year early. Although I do sort of feel we should be cooking fish on sticks over it…”
Legolas did not immediately answer. He was thinking that his ‘small sister’ had solved the problem of who to ask to start the dancing, as she was right here beside him, when Sam’s voice, clear to elven ears, said something so similar to Tindómë’s own words that all three burst out laughing.
“You know, Mister Frodo, I reckon it would be a shame not to put a few spuds into the embers as this dies down. Shame not to cook a few fish over it, too…”
Then, just as Legolas was about to nod towards the musicians, and ask Tindómë to dance with him, there was a loud clap of sound that did not come from any of the drummers. Above the gathering the sky blossomed in a shower of colour.
“Gandalf!” Frodo’s voice rang out.
And surely he must be right. That would explain why the Maia had been missing from the feast, even though he must have known he was invited. Especially as he had made sure that Tangannel’s group knew of it.
Another flash and there was a trail of green, across the sky, that turned to shades of orange and bronze and slowly fell like Firith leaves. Now the sky was full of blue light with small flashes of silver that whirled and seemed to dart amongst the blue like fish in the sea.
“Elo!” Tindómë’s voice was full of wonder; she really did sound like a very young small sister. But then she had only ever seen Mithrandir’s fireworks once before and, if Legolas’ memory served him right, she had probably had too much wine that night for the memory to be anything other than hazy.
Other voices could be heard with similar exclamations of delight and surprise – which reached a crescendo with the final wonder as the great tree and silver moon, the banner of Ithilien, hung for long seconds in the sky above their heads before fading so that the only light was, again, the stars and the bonfire. This was a wonderful, and unexpected, welcome to the West.
……………………………………………………….
The fireworks were fantastic. Tindómë thought there must be a little magical enhancement, as well as black powder and metal salts, at work. She finally understood just why Merry and Pippin had lamented that they would never see one of ‘Old Gandalf’s displays’ again. She wondered where the wizard himself was – probably up in the grounds of Lady Celebrían’s home, she thought; perhaps he could be persuaded to dance later, as she was sure he had done so at her coming-of-age party back in Lothlórien.
As she thought of Gandalf, dancing, the first beat of a drum sounded and Legolas offered her his arm.
“Dance with me, nethig?”
As she accepted, and he moved with her to the centre of the large area from which all the stones had been assiduously swept, she mentioned that she had thought he might start this celebration, as he had their last in Middle Earth, with Ithilienne.
“I expect she has promised her first dance to Tharhîwon – they look happy together. But…” a fleeting grin crossed his face and he spoke as if to a fellow conspirator, “I will wait until much later to ask her to dance with me…”
‘And about time!’ Tindómë thought, realising that, at least for a minute or two, Legolas was thinking much more of her as his sister than as ‘mother of someone I fancy’. For dances later in the night had a habit of being closer, and a lot more sensual, than these early ones.
She changed the subject slightly. “And have you reminded Gimli how much you think he should ask Her Ladyship to dance? Does he know you have money on it?”
In the firelight Legolas managed to look totally innocent – years of practice, Tindómë thought.
“Money? And, even if I had, I would not try to influence the outcome…”
“Huh!” was her only rejoinder, and the corner of Legolas’ mouth quirked upwards just a little.
Other couples began to join them on the ‘dance-floor’. Oddly, not Tharhîwon with Ithilienne; she was certainly dancing – with one of the Telerin ellyn – but Tharhîwon was standing, near the path down from the gardens above, talking to the dwarf in question.
Galanthir was dancing, now. He held Brethiliel as if he was afraid she might break or be snatched suddenly away from him. Tindómë wasn’t sure how it must feel to have remembered, for so long, your younger sister and then for her to be back in your life more or less as you remembered her. Mind you it must be just as odd, or odder, for the young elleth.
Before she could get any deeper in thought, Legolas interrupted to point out that Lady Galadriel, with her daughter and son-in-law, was coming down the path to the beach. Tindómë was pretty sure that Her Ladyship must be aware of the interest this was causing. As the Lady of the Galadhrim she quite probably even understood why it was causing such interest…
Gimli looked up and Tindómë could see, as Legolas spun her around, the Dwarf saying something to Tharhîwon who reacted by taking a step forward. Aha! Tindómë wondered who might have money on Tharhîwon.
But before he had taken more than a couple of steps a tall figure, dressed all in white shot through with silver, appeared behind Galadriel. The newcomer took the Lady by the arm and swept her, already dancing, towards the centre of the ‘floor’.
Legolas and Tindómë stopped. They looked at each other and then burst out laughing.
“Gandalf!” she exclaimed. “Did anyone have money on Gandalf, or are all wagers void?”
“I really do not know, nethig,” Legolas answered. “But I do wish that it had occurred to me…!”
The dancing continued. Tharhîwon asked Tindómë to partner him and, as they danced, he told her, with a smile, that Gimli was not sure whether to be annoyed that he had lost money on the outcome, or to be pleased that Her Ladyship had not been embarrassed by ellyn vying for her attentions but had had a suitable dance partner.
Just as she was beginning to wonder how she might feel if her Winter Elfling should claim a kiss, and offer her a ribbon, there was a voice behind her.
“May I steal your partner, young elf?”
Tharhîwon smiled briefly, and turned Tindómë within the dance so that she faced the owner of that very recognizable voice, before releasing her to this new partner.
“Gandalf! It’s so good to see you. The fireworks were wonderful. And it was so funny when you swept Her Ladyship out into the dancing.”
“Funny?” he asked.
“Funny,” Tindómë confirmed. “C’mon, I would be prepared to wager that you knew very well there would wagers on who would be brave enough to ask her to dance.”
Her new partner simply smiled. Tindómë looked at him as the light from the fire caught his face. His whiter-than-white hair was held back from his face in one thick braid that hung down almost to his waist, his clothes were very like those of the Elves in style, and there were glints that spoke of jewels at his waist and wrists.
“You,” Tindómë said, “are growing younger. You’ve always moved better than any man your, apparent, age would – so the fact that you are dancing as enthusiastically as any young ellon doesn’t surprise me – but there are less wrinkles. And the beard is shorter. More like pictures I’ve seen of Cirdan…”
“Vanity, I fear,” Gandalf replied, with a slight smile. “I am no longer tied to this body in the way I was back in Middle Earth; it is more like a cloak that I can put on and take off. And I am able to choose the cut and the fabric, so to speak. But I would not want to change dramatically, because that would distress Frodo and Sam, in particular, and Gimli. Legolas too, I think, at this time.”
“M’hm… me too, maybe,” Tindómë said slowly. “I kind of see you as a grandfather. And I know Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn are grandparents – well great-great grandparents, as well – but you know what I mean. Given time, though, as long as you keep doing it slowly, I think I might like the idea of you looking the same age as the rest of us… Will you keep the beard?”
“Probably, although it is easily changed…”
Suddenly it seemed to Tindómë that the person she was dancing with was clean-shaven, smooth-skinned, and yet, somehow still Gandalf. But this impression lasted for only a split second before he looked as he had before. And then he smiled.
Tindómë smiled back. She had a feeling she had just seen something few of the others had. “I think I will live with that version, when the time comes,” she said.
No sooner had Gandalf escorted her to the edge of the ‘dance-floor’ than Tindómë was claimed by her husband, then by one of the ellyn who had arrived that day, followed by Orophin, and another partner or two. A few times she caught sight of Haldirin, clearly already with fewer ribbons, and of Ithilienne. Ithilienne seemed to have no shortage of partners and there was no sign that she was trying to attract Legolas’ attention as she usually did at such celebrations. Perhaps, Tindómë thought, he is going to have to join the queue…
The drums continued to beat out their rhythm, with regular changes of players, and various musicians took turns to join them. But Tindómë realised, as she danced now with Galanthir, that there were new instruments and new tunes. One of the Telerin ellyn was playing some sort of bagpipe – Tindómë thought she had seen such an instrument being played by one of the Northern Dúnedain she met once in Imladris – which he did not need to blow by mouth, but had a bellows under his arm.
“I want to learn to play those pipes,” Galanthir said. “They sound right, here beside the tide, but I think they might sound as good, or better, played amongst our own trees, when we find them.”
Tindómë cocked her head to one side, pausing in the dance, and really listened.
“You are absolutely right,” she answered. “They would sound wonderful amongst trees.”
“Perhaps,” her partner said, “I will find out not only how to play, but how to make them…”
In Tindómë’s mind, so clearly that it was as if she was briefly there, came an image of Galanthir crafting Telerin bagpipes under tall trees. Perhaps he might not miss being a warrior first and foremost after all.
Without stopping dancing, Galanthir led Tindómë towards the bonfire, before halting, his arms still around her. His kiss was very thorough. It always was. As he lifted his head, but kept her held close, it was clear that the evening was heading for the stage where there would be definite making out going on. The few elflings had been gathered up and taken off to sleep until it was time to jump the fire in the morning light.
“Where is Brethiliel?” Tindómë asked.
“Lady Celebrían has invited her to spend the night in her company – they have already left,” Galanthir replied, his mouth almost touching Tindómë’s ear. “As, I think, has Master Elrond. But Lady Galadriel dances still – and Gimli and the hobbits are still awake, and enjoying themselves, as well.”
Tindómë was not at all surprised that Celebrían had gathered up Brethiliel for the night; she seemed to have a natural desire to ‘mother’.
‘The sooner the Els get their asses into gear and over here, to look for suitable ellyth,’ Tindómë thought, ‘the better!’
Galanthir’s voice interrupted her thoughts on the need for the twins to provide Celebrían with grandchildren.
“Would you rest a little from dancing, and admire the bonfire with me?”
“Mmmm – that seems like a good idea…” she agreed, knowing just what she was agreeing to.
Galanthir began to nibble her ear then stopped, briefly, and took her by the hand so that they were behind the bonfire and less visible to those dancing. Now he stood behind her, and pulled her back against himself, before returning to her ear again.
“And now,” he said, “to see if we can make Rumil lose his step…”
His tongue caressed her ear from tip to lobe, he sucked the lobe… and then his tongue dipped into her ear, an echo of the joining they would not indulge in, as she was bound to Rumil.
Tindómë shivered.
Galanthir pressed against her buttocks and, through the fabric of her dress, she could feel the swell of his grond. She moved her hips, swaying in time to the all-pervading beat of the drums, knowingly. Galanthir laughed a little, and moved his attentions to her other ear, whilst one hand cupped a breast, and the other moved down to cup her cumb, her mound, so that as she swayed her hips she moved against that lower hand, too.
“More?” he asked.
“Umm…”
He bit hard on her earlobe, whilst pressing harder on her cumb, and she felt the shiver of the small flight – the fleeting orgasm, unlike the flight that soared and brought long shuddering cries – the small flight that made her gasp quietly with pleasure. Galanthir laughed, a low laugh still with his mouth to her ear, and held her against his chest until she turned around and smiled.
“And how much was wagered on you making Rumil lose his step?” she asked. “And who is the wager with?” For both of them knew that Rumil would have been aware of Tindómë’s mounting desire, now partly assuaged, and he was very likely to have lost his place in any dance, at least briefly.
“It is complicated,” Galanthir said, “involving me, Rumil, Orophin… suffice it to say that that was at least as much for the pleasure it gives me to hold you close and hear your sounds of pleasure. And I hope to give, and get, at least as much pleasure from Lithôniel sometime this evening…”
Tindómë shook her head, but smiled, and then reached up to undo one of Galanthir’s braids and claim the copper coloured ribbon. Before he tied it into her hair for her, he reached up and took one of the small copper leaves that also decorated his own hair, and fastened it into hers. That, she thought, was probably part of the wager, too, but she certainly wasn’t going to object.
He took her arm to escort her back towards the tables that had now been carried down from above and laden with food and drink. They passed one or two other couples, who had ‘stopped to admire the fire’, and Tindómë noticed very familiar hair – the colour of a chestnut highlighted by moonlight, as Rumil said. The blue/green dress, with its fastening of pearl buttons down to the buttocks, was also very recognisable. The male whose hand was currently gripping those buttocks firmly was less so. The head still decorated with many ribbons declared him a single Silvan male, but quite who Tindómë was unsure.
“Aldwith, Eldroth’s brother,” Galanthir answered Tindómë’s unspoken question. “He came with Tangannel. I remember that he rarely had a ribbon refused by any elleth with whom he danced.” He suddenly grinned. “I do not think they will make Legolas lose his step, not yet. But in a yén or so… yes, in a yén or so that would certainly make our Prince lose his place.”
Before Tindómë could think of a suitable retort, Galanthir turned her in a different direction.
“Look!”
She looked. Frodo was dancing, sedately, with an elleth that Tindómë recognised from the meal in the Telerin palace. The height difference meant that his head came up only to a point between her waist and her breasts; they should have looked silly, Tindómë thought, but they didn’t.
But of even more interest was the couple a little further away. Gimli was also dancing – with a dark haired elleth who Tindómë could not quite place – and he was looking up into her face, apparently listening to her with rapt concentration.
“Oh my!” Tindómë said. “Who’d have thought it? I wonder just how far anyone has to go to win the wager?”
“I know not,” her partner said. “I am not party to it. Although if I had thought I had a chance of winning…! But I was certain I was not his type. She, on the other hand, just possibly might be.”
“Honestly?” Tindómë had been sure it was a completely unwinnable wager. “I am sure I’ve seen her somewhere, but I can’t quite place her.”
Galanthir was smiling broadly. “She is part of the household of Master Elrond and his wife. But not often seen around the house… Naltatamë is a smith.”
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Chapter Ten
Legolas distinctly remembered thinking at the last turn of the days, the summer solstice half a sun year ago, that there was some sort of understanding between himself and Ithilienne. Back then, in Eryn Ithil, he had expected that in time they would explore the attraction between them – maybe in half a yén or so – when she was older and they were more settled in Valinor.
He had reminded himself, only yesterday, that he should not even think of the desires of the body in relation to Ithilienne at the moment. That he should concentrate on the time he had left with Frodo, Sam, and Gimli; that Ithilienne was little more than an elfling yet; that he had seen too much of death and destruction to think of himself as young in the same way.
He had, he decided, been wrong.
Brethiliel, on her brother’s arm, was little more than an elfling; Ithilienne was, most definitely, a good deal more than an elfling. And she looked beautiful as she walked, with Tharhîwon and Frodo, down the path towards the shore. Legolas had thought, perhaps, to ask her to start the dancing with him but she seemed to be firmly with Frodo and his son.
If he had not got money on Gimli asking Her Ladyship to dance first, he might have asked her… He would ask whoever was near him, when the time came, he decided.
Slowly everyone assembled on the sand. The great stack of wood that had been gathered over the past weeks, since the decision was made to celebrate in their own way, looked as if it almost touched the near cloudless sky. It was not quite like the bonfires back in the woodlands of Ennor – the salt-soaked wood had a different scent and all the piled-up branches were totally bare of leaves – but it would make a good blaze, and doubtless still burn sufficiently to be jumped over in the first rays of grey dawn.
Legolas waited, the others leaving a space around him, until Orophin and Saeldauron approached carrying lit torches. They then led the way, as Legolas walked slowly towards the unlit fire, a path forming for them as they went. There was no formality expected, no speech to make. Just as his father did and, from what Tangannel had said, his grandfather before that, Legolas took the torch from Orophin and thrust it into the heart of the bonfire.
The kindling there was aflame quickly and the branches piled above soon began to burn too, smoke and sparks beginning to rise and turn the blackening sky red, dotted with tiny, ephemeral, gold-red stars.
Around him he was aware of the others – his people. Well, mainly his people, there were some Telerin elves who had joined newly-made Silvan friends, Master Elrond’s household, Lady Galadriel somewhere, and the three other surviving members of the Fellowship.
He felt a hand on his arm and turned to see Tindómë, her other hand linked with her husband’s, smiling at him.
“This is totally of the good, atheg. You promised us a bonfire to jump at midsummer and, hey! Here we are all organised a whole half a year early. Although I do sort of feel we should be cooking fish on sticks over it…”
Legolas did not immediately answer. He was thinking that his ‘small sister’ had solved the problem of who to ask to start the dancing, as she was right here beside him, when Sam’s voice, clear to elven ears, said something so similar to Tindómë’s own words that all three burst out laughing.
“You know, Mister Frodo, I reckon it would be a shame not to put a few spuds into the embers as this dies down. Shame not to cook a few fish over it, too…”
Then, just as Legolas was about to nod towards the musicians, and ask Tindómë to dance with him, there was a loud clap of sound that did not come from any of the drummers. Above the gathering the sky blossomed in a shower of colour.
“Gandalf!” Frodo’s voice rang out.
And surely he must be right. That would explain why the Maia had been missing from the feast, even though he must have known he was invited. Especially as he had made sure that Tangannel’s group knew of it.
Another flash and there was a trail of green, across the sky, that turned to shades of orange and bronze and slowly fell like Firith leaves. Now the sky was full of blue light with small flashes of silver that whirled and seemed to dart amongst the blue like fish in the sea.
“Elo!” Tindómë’s voice was full of wonder; she really did sound like a very young small sister. But then she had only ever seen Mithrandir’s fireworks once before and, if Legolas’ memory served him right, she had probably had too much wine that night for the memory to be anything other than hazy.
Other voices could be heard with similar exclamations of delight and surprise – which reached a crescendo with the final wonder as the great tree and silver moon, the banner of Ithilien, hung for long seconds in the sky above their heads before fading so that the only light was, again, the stars and the bonfire. This was a wonderful, and unexpected, welcome to the West.
……………………………………………………….
The fireworks were fantastic. Tindómë thought there must be a little magical enhancement, as well as black powder and metal salts, at work. She finally understood just why Merry and Pippin had lamented that they would never see one of ‘Old Gandalf’s displays’ again. She wondered where the wizard himself was – probably up in the grounds of Lady Celebrían’s home, she thought; perhaps he could be persuaded to dance later, as she was sure he had done so at her coming-of-age party back in Lothlórien.
As she thought of Gandalf, dancing, the first beat of a drum sounded and Legolas offered her his arm.
“Dance with me, nethig?”
As she accepted, and he moved with her to the centre of the large area from which all the stones had been assiduously swept, she mentioned that she had thought he might start this celebration, as he had their last in Middle Earth, with Ithilienne.
“I expect she has promised her first dance to Tharhîwon – they look happy together. But…” a fleeting grin crossed his face and he spoke as if to a fellow conspirator, “I will wait until much later to ask her to dance with me…”
‘And about time!’ Tindómë thought, realising that, at least for a minute or two, Legolas was thinking much more of her as his sister than as ‘mother of someone I fancy’. For dances later in the night had a habit of being closer, and a lot more sensual, than these early ones.
She changed the subject slightly. “And have you reminded Gimli how much you think he should ask Her Ladyship to dance? Does he know you have money on it?”
In the firelight Legolas managed to look totally innocent – years of practice, Tindómë thought.
“Money? And, even if I had, I would not try to influence the outcome…”
“Huh!” was her only rejoinder, and the corner of Legolas’ mouth quirked upwards just a little.
Other couples began to join them on the ‘dance-floor’. Oddly, not Tharhîwon with Ithilienne; she was certainly dancing – with one of the Telerin ellyn – but Tharhîwon was standing, near the path down from the gardens above, talking to the dwarf in question.
Galanthir was dancing, now. He held Brethiliel as if he was afraid she might break or be snatched suddenly away from him. Tindómë wasn’t sure how it must feel to have remembered, for so long, your younger sister and then for her to be back in your life more or less as you remembered her. Mind you it must be just as odd, or odder, for the young elleth.
Before she could get any deeper in thought, Legolas interrupted to point out that Lady Galadriel, with her daughter and son-in-law, was coming down the path to the beach. Tindómë was pretty sure that Her Ladyship must be aware of the interest this was causing. As the Lady of the Galadhrim she quite probably even understood why it was causing such interest…
Gimli looked up and Tindómë could see, as Legolas spun her around, the Dwarf saying something to Tharhîwon who reacted by taking a step forward. Aha! Tindómë wondered who might have money on Tharhîwon.
But before he had taken more than a couple of steps a tall figure, dressed all in white shot through with silver, appeared behind Galadriel. The newcomer took the Lady by the arm and swept her, already dancing, towards the centre of the ‘floor’.
Legolas and Tindómë stopped. They looked at each other and then burst out laughing.
“Gandalf!” she exclaimed. “Did anyone have money on Gandalf, or are all wagers void?”
“I really do not know, nethig,” Legolas answered. “But I do wish that it had occurred to me…!”
The dancing continued. Tharhîwon asked Tindómë to partner him and, as they danced, he told her, with a smile, that Gimli was not sure whether to be annoyed that he had lost money on the outcome, or to be pleased that Her Ladyship had not been embarrassed by ellyn vying for her attentions but had had a suitable dance partner.
Just as she was beginning to wonder how she might feel if her Winter Elfling should claim a kiss, and offer her a ribbon, there was a voice behind her.
“May I steal your partner, young elf?”
Tharhîwon smiled briefly, and turned Tindómë within the dance so that she faced the owner of that very recognizable voice, before releasing her to this new partner.
“Gandalf! It’s so good to see you. The fireworks were wonderful. And it was so funny when you swept Her Ladyship out into the dancing.”
“Funny?” he asked.
“Funny,” Tindómë confirmed. “C’mon, I would be prepared to wager that you knew very well there would wagers on who would be brave enough to ask her to dance.”
Her new partner simply smiled. Tindómë looked at him as the light from the fire caught his face. His whiter-than-white hair was held back from his face in one thick braid that hung down almost to his waist, his clothes were very like those of the Elves in style, and there were glints that spoke of jewels at his waist and wrists.
“You,” Tindómë said, “are growing younger. You’ve always moved better than any man your, apparent, age would – so the fact that you are dancing as enthusiastically as any young ellon doesn’t surprise me – but there are less wrinkles. And the beard is shorter. More like pictures I’ve seen of Cirdan…”
“Vanity, I fear,” Gandalf replied, with a slight smile. “I am no longer tied to this body in the way I was back in Middle Earth; it is more like a cloak that I can put on and take off. And I am able to choose the cut and the fabric, so to speak. But I would not want to change dramatically, because that would distress Frodo and Sam, in particular, and Gimli. Legolas too, I think, at this time.”
“M’hm… me too, maybe,” Tindómë said slowly. “I kind of see you as a grandfather. And I know Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn are grandparents – well great-great grandparents, as well – but you know what I mean. Given time, though, as long as you keep doing it slowly, I think I might like the idea of you looking the same age as the rest of us… Will you keep the beard?”
“Probably, although it is easily changed…”
Suddenly it seemed to Tindómë that the person she was dancing with was clean-shaven, smooth-skinned, and yet, somehow still Gandalf. But this impression lasted for only a split second before he looked as he had before. And then he smiled.
Tindómë smiled back. She had a feeling she had just seen something few of the others had. “I think I will live with that version, when the time comes,” she said.
No sooner had Gandalf escorted her to the edge of the ‘dance-floor’ than Tindómë was claimed by her husband, then by one of the ellyn who had arrived that day, followed by Orophin, and another partner or two. A few times she caught sight of Haldirin, clearly already with fewer ribbons, and of Ithilienne. Ithilienne seemed to have no shortage of partners and there was no sign that she was trying to attract Legolas’ attention as she usually did at such celebrations. Perhaps, Tindómë thought, he is going to have to join the queue…
The drums continued to beat out their rhythm, with regular changes of players, and various musicians took turns to join them. But Tindómë realised, as she danced now with Galanthir, that there were new instruments and new tunes. One of the Telerin ellyn was playing some sort of bagpipe – Tindómë thought she had seen such an instrument being played by one of the Northern Dúnedain she met once in Imladris – which he did not need to blow by mouth, but had a bellows under his arm.
“I want to learn to play those pipes,” Galanthir said. “They sound right, here beside the tide, but I think they might sound as good, or better, played amongst our own trees, when we find them.”
Tindómë cocked her head to one side, pausing in the dance, and really listened.
“You are absolutely right,” she answered. “They would sound wonderful amongst trees.”
“Perhaps,” her partner said, “I will find out not only how to play, but how to make them…”
In Tindómë’s mind, so clearly that it was as if she was briefly there, came an image of Galanthir crafting Telerin bagpipes under tall trees. Perhaps he might not miss being a warrior first and foremost after all.
Without stopping dancing, Galanthir led Tindómë towards the bonfire, before halting, his arms still around her. His kiss was very thorough. It always was. As he lifted his head, but kept her held close, it was clear that the evening was heading for the stage where there would be definite making out going on. The few elflings had been gathered up and taken off to sleep until it was time to jump the fire in the morning light.
“Where is Brethiliel?” Tindómë asked.
“Lady Celebrían has invited her to spend the night in her company – they have already left,” Galanthir replied, his mouth almost touching Tindómë’s ear. “As, I think, has Master Elrond. But Lady Galadriel dances still – and Gimli and the hobbits are still awake, and enjoying themselves, as well.”
Tindómë was not at all surprised that Celebrían had gathered up Brethiliel for the night; she seemed to have a natural desire to ‘mother’.
‘The sooner the Els get their asses into gear and over here, to look for suitable ellyth,’ Tindómë thought, ‘the better!’
Galanthir’s voice interrupted her thoughts on the need for the twins to provide Celebrían with grandchildren.
“Would you rest a little from dancing, and admire the bonfire with me?”
“Mmmm – that seems like a good idea…” she agreed, knowing just what she was agreeing to.
Galanthir began to nibble her ear then stopped, briefly, and took her by the hand so that they were behind the bonfire and less visible to those dancing. Now he stood behind her, and pulled her back against himself, before returning to her ear again.
“And now,” he said, “to see if we can make Rumil lose his step…”
His tongue caressed her ear from tip to lobe, he sucked the lobe… and then his tongue dipped into her ear, an echo of the joining they would not indulge in, as she was bound to Rumil.
Tindómë shivered.
Galanthir pressed against her buttocks and, through the fabric of her dress, she could feel the swell of his grond. She moved her hips, swaying in time to the all-pervading beat of the drums, knowingly. Galanthir laughed a little, and moved his attentions to her other ear, whilst one hand cupped a breast, and the other moved down to cup her cumb, her mound, so that as she swayed her hips she moved against that lower hand, too.
“More?” he asked.
“Umm…”
He bit hard on her earlobe, whilst pressing harder on her cumb, and she felt the shiver of the small flight – the fleeting orgasm, unlike the flight that soared and brought long shuddering cries – the small flight that made her gasp quietly with pleasure. Galanthir laughed, a low laugh still with his mouth to her ear, and held her against his chest until she turned around and smiled.
“And how much was wagered on you making Rumil lose his step?” she asked. “And who is the wager with?” For both of them knew that Rumil would have been aware of Tindómë’s mounting desire, now partly assuaged, and he was very likely to have lost his place in any dance, at least briefly.
“It is complicated,” Galanthir said, “involving me, Rumil, Orophin… suffice it to say that that was at least as much for the pleasure it gives me to hold you close and hear your sounds of pleasure. And I hope to give, and get, at least as much pleasure from Lithôniel sometime this evening…”
Tindómë shook her head, but smiled, and then reached up to undo one of Galanthir’s braids and claim the copper coloured ribbon. Before he tied it into her hair for her, he reached up and took one of the small copper leaves that also decorated his own hair, and fastened it into hers. That, she thought, was probably part of the wager, too, but she certainly wasn’t going to object.
He took her arm to escort her back towards the tables that had now been carried down from above and laden with food and drink. They passed one or two other couples, who had ‘stopped to admire the fire’, and Tindómë noticed very familiar hair – the colour of a chestnut highlighted by moonlight, as Rumil said. The blue/green dress, with its fastening of pearl buttons down to the buttocks, was also very recognisable. The male whose hand was currently gripping those buttocks firmly was less so. The head still decorated with many ribbons declared him a single Silvan male, but quite who Tindómë was unsure.
“Aldwith, Eldroth’s brother,” Galanthir answered Tindómë’s unspoken question. “He came with Tangannel. I remember that he rarely had a ribbon refused by any elleth with whom he danced.” He suddenly grinned. “I do not think they will make Legolas lose his step, not yet. But in a yén or so… yes, in a yén or so that would certainly make our Prince lose his place.”
Before Tindómë could think of a suitable retort, Galanthir turned her in a different direction.
“Look!”
She looked. Frodo was dancing, sedately, with an elleth that Tindómë recognised from the meal in the Telerin palace. The height difference meant that his head came up only to a point between her waist and her breasts; they should have looked silly, Tindómë thought, but they didn’t.
But of even more interest was the couple a little further away. Gimli was also dancing – with a dark haired elleth who Tindómë could not quite place – and he was looking up into her face, apparently listening to her with rapt concentration.
“Oh my!” Tindómë said. “Who’d have thought it? I wonder just how far anyone has to go to win the wager?”
“I know not,” her partner said. “I am not party to it. Although if I had thought I had a chance of winning…! But I was certain I was not his type. She, on the other hand, just possibly might be.”
“Honestly?” Tindómë had been sure it was a completely unwinnable wager. “I am sure I’ve seen her somewhere, but I can’t quite place her.”
Galanthir was smiling broadly. “She is part of the household of Master Elrond and his wife. But not often seen around the house… Naltatamë is a smith.”
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