Men believe the strangest things...

Faramir and Erchirion stood together on the rear deck of the Corsair ship as the sun rose. Éowyn had chosen to sleep on deck and, now awake and brushing her hair, she was just waiting for someone to suggest she go down below to whatever-they-call-a-boat’s-kitchen and produce breakfast.

“One of those sailors is the cook,” Gimli’s voice broke into her thoughts, “I’ve told him to cook breakfast.”

Éowyn resisted the urge to hug the dwarf.

Faramir and his cousin were looking at the body of the dung-beetle.

“It is a pity,” Faramir said, “that we couldn’t take him alive, but once he threatened Tindómë it was inevitable that one of the bowmen would shoot as soon as the line of sight was clear.”

“I completely agree,” Erichirion said, and then went on, “However, there may be some who will ask questions.”

He knelt and looked at the body more closely.

“For instance, how do we know for sure that he was threatening to kill the young lady? And,” he had pulled back the cloak that wrapped the body completely, “if the warrior who was at this end of the deck put his sword down to prevent antagonising the man, where did this wound come from?”

He pointed to the wound in the lower abdomen.

Éowyn and Gimli looked at each other.

She stalked down to where the two cousins stood.

“Should anyone ask those questions seriously, I will certainly stand up and answer them.”

Faramir stood back a little; he was almost smiling.

“I heard him threaten Tindómë. He said ‘Drop your weapon, elf, or I will slit her pretty little throat’ – that sounds like a threat to me.”

Before Erchirion said anything she continued.

“And as for where the wound in his abdomen came from – Tindómë did it. I rather think you could justify it as self-defence.”

“Tindómë did it?” The two voices were more or less simultaneous and Éowyn realised that Faramir had been unaware that the girl had not just been a passive captive.

“With her boot knife.” Gimli entered the conversation.

“Her boot knife?” Erchirion echoed, sounding genuinely puzzled.

“Don’t think I’ve yet met an elf that doesn’t have a sheath for a knife inside at least one of their boots,” Gimli answered him, “and the man obviously didn’t think to search her boots for weapons.”

Éowyn could almost hear the dwarf thinking ‘and I bet you wouldn’t have either.’

“And if either of you even appear to be thinking ‘but she is a female’,” she said, “I will… I will…”

“Hit you with an oar,” Gimli finished for her.

Erchirion covered the body and stood up. “She is quite tall…” he said thoughtfully, “and I know that male elves are stronger than they at first appear…”

“And,” Éowyn pointed out, with some glee, “they realise that a female might need to defend herself. When they travel Tindómë carries her own bow and sword. And the name the Queen’s brothers use for her means ‘little warrior’.

“In fact,” she continued, “I would be very surprised if Queen Arwen can’t wield a knife, or a sword, or use a bow!”

Leaving the two Gondorian men to consider that, she swept off to see what the cook was readying for their breakfast.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

All the horses had been cared for and the bags packed. Six stern faced warriors, still wearing swords and knives but bows and quivers simply at hand, stood at the riverbank. Tindómë, just behind them, had thought they would need to row out to the ships, as they had the small boat, but Erchirion, Faramir, Gimli and Éowyn were now coming ashore in another rowing boat –presumably from Erchirion’s ship.

Legolas stepped forward and clasped Erchirion’s arm in greeting. Formalities completed, the entire party relaxed and Éowyn edged past the males, heading towards Tindómë or, possibly, the horses.

Tindómë greeted her formally, Elven fashion with hand on heart, before thanking Éowyn for packing clean clothes.

“The ellyn were too focussed on rescue to think far past it. I really, really do appreciate being able to put clean clothes on last night.

“Especially as it was you that packed them, not one of the court ladies,” she added, looking down at her clean leggings, “they would probably have sent formal dresses.”

“There is a divided skirt in the pack,” Éowyn said. “One of mine, in case you wish to appear more feminine to Gondorian eyes when we reach the city.”

“Éowyn, you are a star! You are so right!”

They walked amongst the horses in companionable silence until Legolas called.

“Tindómë, could you come and tell us what you learnt whilst on board the Corsair ship?”

“Of course.”

“It will not bother you to speak of it?” Éowyn asked.

“Nah. Uh, no, not at all,” Tindómë answered, and was both amused and gratified by Éowyn’s admiring expression.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

“Is there anything important that you should tell us about your captor, little sister, before we begin to make our way back to Minas Tirith?”

Elrohir was amused by Legolas’ use of ‘little sister’, in the Common tongue, rather than his usual ‘nethig’ in Sindarin. ‘Nethig’ implied kinship to an elf but he was making it clear, this time to Erchirion, that Tindómë was kin.

“Well… obviously his name wasn’t Lord Lomion, but I don’t know what it really was, and he was from Umbar just as Rumil said. But you’ll probably get more information from his sailors about who he really was.”

“You are unhurt?” Erchirion asked.

“Well, apart from a sore head… but Elladan gave me something for that and it feels better. And my pride… imagine letting myself be kidnapped!”

Erchirion’s expression was openly admiring – Tindómë was collecting a string of human admirers. Rumil remained expressionless but he had clearly seen that admiring look.

Elrohir knew, from a conversation with Orophin, that only weeks ago such admiration would have worried Rumil, in case it caused Tindómë to reconsider her place amongst elves, but the flash of amusement he had spotted in Rumil’s eyes reassured Elrohir, again, that this was no longer a problem.

Tindómë was still talking. “He was stirring things up as, like, revenge. His brother was killed when you guys, and the Dúnedain and the dead guys, took the Corsair ships. And he was trying to increase his standing with his own lord, who’s pretty new to the job too.

“It’s surprising how often people get all big with the Evil Overlord-age and tell you things, to totally try to impress you, when they think they’ve won and got you captive. ‘Specially if you, like, make with the big eyes and look all worried. But most of it will keep till we get back to Minas Tirith.”

The elves were all more or less used to Tindómë’s slightly odd version of the Common tongue – and her equally eccentric use of Sindarin on occasions – and Faramir looked as if he had understood most of that, but Erchirion looked to be at least two sentences behind…

“I was a little worried,” she continued, “in case he was just going to, like, throw me overboard or something. It would have been cool if he’d done that in the river, ‘cos, you know, good swimmer here, but if he’d done it out at sea, if you’d not caught us up, I wasn’t sure how far I could swim.

“But then I found out that he was so totally not going to do that… he was taking me back to his own lord so that he’d not get it in the neck for Aragorn still being king.”

“You were to be a gift to his overlord?” It was Faramir who asked the question.

“Well, I never was really, I knew Ru… uh, Legolas and the others would rescue me well before then. But it’s why I was totally safe while I waited. Uh – but it’s a bit more complicated. I have so got to tell you, though,” she said, waving a hand at the ellyn as a group.

“If it is personal…” Faramir began.

“Uh, well it won’t embarrass me, but it is about, you know, joining…”

Gimli began to look a bit red in the face – the bits of face that were visible.

Rumil remained completely calm – when she had said that she had been safe, she had clearly meant it; had there been any sort of joining forced onto her Elrohir was sure that Rumil could not be unaware.

“It’s just that he told me one of those other really weird things that men believe about us…”

‘How easily,’ Elrohir thought, ‘she reinforces the impression that ‘men’ are ‘other’ to her, she really does think of elves as ‘we’. Grandfather, in particular, has done a very good job with our little Key.’

None of the ellyn looked at Éowyn.

Gimli looked pointedly out at the river.

“He wasn’t going to give me to his own lord just as, uh, a plaything.”

The back of Gimli’s neck, where visible, was a deep red.

“He was going to give me to his own lord so that he could use me as a clincher in a deal with some Haradrim guy. I was going to be, like, gift-wrapped and handed over because,” she paused, “get this… the Haradrim believe that if you are the first person to join with an elf, to break their gweneth… uh… virginity…”

(Gimli’s ear tips were glowing red – his whole body probably was. Faramir was managing to remain straight faced; Erchirion was beginning to blush too…)

“Yeah, virginity,” (Elrohir wondered if she repeated the word purposely to see how red the non-elves might get…) “you get to be immortal! I mean, how ridiculous is that? So I was, like, totally safe, because he wanted me to be all shiny and new…”

There was a moment’s silence in which none of the ellyn said ‘Wouldn’t it have been too late?’

Legolas broke it. “He thought what?”

“Well, he didn’t really. He just thought that the Haradrim believed that being the first person to join with an elf made you immortal.”

She managed to make this ridiculous statement appear completely matter of fact.

“If you… if a man… an elleth’s gweneth… it makes him immortal?”

Legolas sounded quite stunned. But Elrohir knew him well enough to realise that he was working at not laughing.

“Yep! Like it’s, you know, catching or something.”

Tindómë looked around at the whole party. “Isn’t that just the most amazingly stupid thing that you have ever heard?”

The ensuing silence was finally broken by Orophin.

“Had I known this in time I could have made a fortune by selling mine…”

“Tough,” said Tindómë. “Anyway, I think they only believe it about ellyth…”

Legolas finally gave in.

“Nethig! Oh, nethig! I am so sorry Faramir, Erchirion, but men can be very strange sometimes…!”

His words could only just be made out as he laughed. Éowyn and the two men still looked somewhat shocked but, as all the elves laughed, they too began to smile.

After a few minutes Gimli’s voice cut in. “Well, that’s as maybe, but we had better make a shape to get ourselves back to Aragorn. Can’t stand around here laughing all day.”

………………………………………………………………………………………………

They mounted quickly to ride back to Minas Tirith. Erchirion’s sailors would take back the rowing boat to the village and then see to sailing both vessels back up the river to Harlond. There was no need for the sailors to be back in time for the beginning of the midsummer festivities, but Erchirion would join those on horseback.

“The horses are well rested; we can ride with little break,” Legolas decided. “We can be back by mid morning tomorrow, which will give us plenty of time to inform Aragorn, and prepare for the festivities the next day.”

Tindómë was quite glad to see Sidh amongst the horses. Éowyn, she was told, had made sure Sidh was included in the string. It was a pity, she thought, that she would probably never see much of Éowyn again after this visit.

There was, at least, time to stop for breaks. After a few hours they reached a village where there was an inn; sprung up since the great South road was safe to travel again. There was ale, and wine, but Tindómë decided it was safer for her to stick to water – especially as there seemed to be a well, so it wasn’t straight out of the river. Immortal she might be, and seemingly pretty much elfishly immune to disease, but she still wouldn’t have fancied drinking the river water.

The inn-keeper offered them food and, when they realised there was smoked fish available, Legolas and Galanthir accepted with enthusiasm – persuading the other elves to try it as well. The two Riders looked at it somewhat askance and seemed pleased to find there was also cheese or ham.

The fish was very good. As Rumil and Galanthir both, unselfconsciously, wiped the last scraps from their plates with bread Tindómë noticed Éowyn watching them with a slightly amused expression. She raised an eyebrow questioningly – it was perfectly acceptable Elven behaviour, and she was pretty sure she’d seen the Rohirrim do exactly the same thing.

Éowyn blushed. “It is just… the hobbits always say that elves don’t eat much. I think even Sam might be heartened to see that they mop their plates with their bread.”

“We don’t eat much if there is not much to eat,” said Elladan. “We can survive much longer than a hobbit on short rations, longer than a man, too. So,” he glanced briefly towards Legolas, “in a mixed party, the elf would have left more food for the hobbits.”

He paused before continuing, “And we carry lembas for long marches because it weighs little yet sustains us well. But our guest at Imladris, Mr. Bilbo Baggins, will tell you that we do have enough food to sustain a hobbit for years…”

Before Éowyn could say anything Elladan went on, more to Tindómë, “but it is good to see Rumil eat well, tithen maethor. The battle anger takes the appetite. I know.”

Although conscious of Éowyn beside her Tindómë had to ask.

“Were you very thin in the bad time, Elladan?”

“I think, yes. Our father worried about us but we could see nothing except the anger.”

“It’s good, then, to see you eating, too.” She put a hand briefly on his arm.

They had continued the conversation in the Common tongue, and Tindómë didn’t know how much of the twins’ history Éowyn knew, but hey! It was an elf thing… she’d just have to deal.

As they remounted Tindómë took time to say her personal thanks to the two Rohirrim before falling into place beside Rumil. This relief horse was not familiar as Sidh was; she had to concentrate more on riding as they continued to move quickly.

The days spent in the saddle, between Caras Galadhon and Minas Tirith, had acclimatised her pretty well except that they had been spent mostly at a walk with the occasional canter. This faster journey was taking its toll.

By the time they stopped at a small town, in the early evening, her butt and her thighs were beginning to ache. As she dismounted she tried very hard not to wince and to walk with no sign of discomfort. Within a couple of steps Elrohir was on one side of her, Rumil on the other; none of the non-elven members of the party could really see her walking at all.

“Do you need some of the ointment, little one?” Elrohir asked quietly.

“The horse is broader than Sidh… I think that’s why I hurt a bit.”

A small jar found its way into the pocket of her tunic.

“You will have to cope without Rumil to rub it on, I fear… or me. You would not want to admit to needing a healer for this injury!”

Rumil’s fingers touched hers and a wave of comfort washed over her.

“Ride with me, meleth, when we remount.”

“Leave it to me…” Elrohir said, as they went to join the others.

A trip to the bathroom to rub in her ointment and Tindómë was walking a little easier.

As she rejoined the others Elrohir touched her forehead briefly with his fingertips.

“Your head is not fully recovered,” he said. “You should rest as we ride. Ride with Rumil and you can sleep.”

He turned to the Éowyn and the men.

“She is still young – she needs sleep to help her recover.”

Soon she was sitting side-saddle, only without the saddle, in front of Rumil. His arm held her tucked in, under his cloak, her head on his shoulder and, all too soon, she actually did drift off to sleep.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

It was a pleasure to ride with her held close against him; they had not done this for some time. Although he had offered to share Hirilmith with Tindómë, during the first days out of Caras Galadhon, she had stayed on Sidh to get over being saddle-sore more quickly. When she had ridden with an ellon on that journey it was tucked like this against Elrohir’s chest; Rumil had needed the support of Orophin.

The last time he had actually ridden with her like this had been almost three years ago, on the long journey from Minas Tirith to Caras Galadhon. It had been a pleasure – but one fraught with its own dangers, as she was not of age. He had done his best, then, to keep all thoughts of sexual pleasure from his mind; the tenuous link between their faers could well have transmitted such desires to her and that would have been dishonourable.

He had had to concentrate, too, on ensuring there was no physical sign of such desire, where her thigh had rubbed against his groin. She had been unaware of the need to shield her emotions; his awareness of her level of desire had been both further pleasure and further torment. Even so, he had relished every moment that she spent on Hirilmith with him rather than riding with any of the others.

This, however, was different. Now she was of age and they were lovers.

He had known that they would find her – they were edhel. But to know that she was whole and had suffered no harm to faer or hroar – he looked at her face, softened in sleep, and gave thanks.

He could ride without any thought; Hirilmith simply stayed in her place in the party. He let his mind drift to desire and his body respond to her closeness, to her head on his shoulder, her arm around his back, the softness of her breast against his chest...

When Legolas called a halt at a small copse of trees beside the road, and said that they would rest there until morning, Rumil kissed Tindómë gently on her forehead and woke her.

Her eyes, slightly unfocussed and darkened not only with sleep but with desire, looked into his.

“Mmm… pretty elf… I know where your thoughts have been, melethron-nín, because I walked the path with you in my dreams. Do you think there is any chance that we might… uh… get some privacy?”

“Tindómë,” Elladan’s voice interrupted them before Rumil could answer. “I will put your bed roll between Elrohir’s and mine.”

Rumil knew that Elladan was right. Best that they adhere to mannish propriety. But he mentally concurred with his beloved as she wrinkled up her nose and stuck her tongue out at Elladan.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

The rest of the journey back to Minas Tirith was fine. There must have been look-outs awaiting their return; there appeared to be an honour guard at the gates to the White City.

Tindómë was glad that she had done as Éowyn had suggested and put the silver grey ‘divided skirt’ over her leggings. The Rohirric garment was still regarded as slightly shocking by the Gondorians, but at least they would register her as female! Especially as, at their last stop before riding to the city, Rumil had ‘amused himself’ with her hair; putting in two tiny braids which, rather than leaving loose as ‘warrior braids’, he twisted together at the back before working daisies in all along them.

Galanthir had watched him and then said “Well, no-one could doubt you are kin to Legolas…”

Legolas looked around from where he was talking to Faramir.

“It is very suitable for midsummer but, was she kin to my father and not just to me, I think it would need a few more flowers to be formal enough.”

He came over to where she sat on the grass.

“Uh – is there a problem guys? It’s not some terrible social gaffe thing in your forest to have daisies in your hair is it? It’s fine in Lorien but, if it upsets you…”

“Oh no,” Legolas smiled at her, “Galanthir is joking more at my expense than yours. My father has a gold and mithril circlet but he does not usually wear it; he wears a crown of leaves and flowers. And I, as his son…”

He left her to finish the sentence for herself.

There were people listening, and Faramir, at least, understood Sindarin well, Erchirion might too. Tindómë, therefore, kept the mental picture and accompanying thoughts to herself. But from Legolas face it was clear that he knew she was thinking, ‘If you look pretty in your mithril circlet, how pretty must you look in a circlet of flowers?’

He shrugged. “One day you must see for yourself.”

He picked a few more flowers and tucked them into the back where her braids joined and then considered her carefully.

“Tomorrow we should do it more formally. We will ask Arwen where we may find flowers to go with your dress. Perhaps add some of Gimli’s jewels.”

The dwarf, hearing his name, came over to join them as Rumil nodded in agreement. Tindómë thought, again, that it was not a conversation you’d normally hear between warriors.

They rode up through the crowded streets of Minas Tirith behind banner-carrying guards. Some people cheered; Tindómë wasn’t sure if they were just cheering on principle or if they had actually heard of her kidnapping.

The King met them at the entrance to the Citadel, acknowledged the greetings of Faramir and Legolas at the head of the column, and then came straight to Tindómë and offered her his hand to help her dismount. Aragorn’s eyes twinkled at her; she dismounted carefully, dipped him a slight curtsy, and put her hand on his arm to walk with him through the courtyard. It appeared to contain at least half the court.

“Are you unharmed, Tindómë?” he asked quietly.

“Mm-hmm. I really am fine. I had a bad head where the guy knocked me out, and a bit of a hangover because he drugged me for a while but, honestly, I am fine.”

Arwen came towards them accompanied by Lord Erkenbrand and Lady Wilflede. Lord and Lady Geoghel were there also, and some other members of the court whose names Tindómë vaguely remembered, and again and again she had to confirm that she was unharmed. She realised that she was probably going to be welcomed by a whole horde of people.

Who knew, she thought, that there could be so many formalities to returning from being kidnapped? It was probably a good thing that Éowyn, Rumil, and Legolas had, between them, made sure that she looked properly dressed and daisy fresh.

It seemed an age before they could report everything to Aragorn, and to Lords Geoghel and Erkenbrand, who he had asked to also listen to the accounts.

Legolas, Faramir, Erchirion, and Gimli all contributed to build up the picture of the pursuit, the taking of the vessel, and the death of Lord Lomion.

It was interesting, Tindómë thought, that the other ellyn, even the twins, left the narration totally to Legolas – he had been the patrol leader and the report was his responsibility.

Tindómë gave her own account, missing out the bit about elven virginity-taking and immortality; she’d keep that bit back to tell Aragorn later, in a less formal setting, when Arwen was around to laugh at it.

No official announcement regarding ‘Lord Lomion’ was made after the King, and his advisors, had heard the reports. No doubt it would be left until after the midsummer celebrations. However a few words in the right ears from Lord Geoghel would ensure that the man’s true identity, as an Umbari Corsair, would soon be common knowledge and should ensure that people who had been impressed by him thought again.

That evening, over dinner, Tindómë got her chance to amuse Aragorn and Arwen with the explanation of exactly why the Corsair had looked after her pretty well. Well, that is, apart from knocking her out and drugging her; which, honestly, was nothing new for the girl who used to be Dawn Summers.

Now only Tindómë and the six ellyn were in the elegant private sitting room between the bedrooms of the twins.

“What I wonder,” Orophin spoke, “is what would have happened if the man had seen your ears, Tindómë, and realised that you aren’t quite an elleth? Surely that would have caused him to change his plans? Did it worry you?”

The others all looked at her expectantly.

“I thought of that, yeah, but then I reckoned that the only other elleth he could have seen at all was Arwen. ‘Cept that he didn’t start hanging out at court until she was hidden away, to have Gilraen, so he probably hadn’t even seen her. So I had,” she paused for effect, “a plan.

“If he had noticed, and said anything, I was going to tell him ellyth all have curvy ears. Pointy ears, I would’ve said, are only a male thing – and that there’s a whole macho thing – you know… the pointier the ears the bigger the grondithen…”

All the ellyn looked at each other, and slowly all eyes turned to Legolas. Yes, his ears did have the most distinctly pointed tips.

Tindómë half expected him to blush. Instead he shrugged and said, “It seems reasonable to me…”

……………………………………………………………
Odd bits of Sindarin -

melethril-nín - my love(r)

grondithen - little club - slang for penis.

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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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Author's note - as you can doubtless tell we are nearing the end of this particular story. It may be a couple of weeks until the next chapter as off-line life gets busy around Christmas. There should also be a Christmas/mid-winter tale to come over the next few weeks too.