This story follows Chapter Four of 'For Small Returns' - A Tale in the Hall of Fire, after which a couple of readers wondered about Tindómë (Dawn) 'broadening her education' as Orophin had suggested.
This story is, most certainly, about that. But she may not broaden it in quite the way you might have expected...
Imladris seemed to have more weather
than Lothlórien had whilst Her Ladyship lived there; although last winter, without her, there had definitely been wind, rain, and even some snow. Everyone told Tindómë that, sheltered in its deep valley as it was, this house hardly ever saw deep snow or high winds. But, tonight, the sound of raindrops being thrown against the closed shutters of her room was keeping her from sleeping.
In the ten days or so since the Midwinter celebrations she had been hit on by three or four ellyn, very politely, and she had spent much of this evening in pretty close contact with Tisirion the smith. There had been kissing, and tantalisingly close body contact, although all clothing had stayed in place. Maybe, she thought, that was why she was feeling too awake.
She moved from her side to her back, turned again, and pulled the bedding up over her head to shut out the erratic sound of the rain as the wind gusted more strongly. Then she was too hot and threw the covers down to her waist. She wondered if ‘easing herself’ (Elven slang for masturbating) might help her sleep; but the sound of the rain kept interrupting her as she tried to let her mind fill with the right sort of thoughts.
Maybe she should give up and read. She turned the cover on her small light, propped herself up, and took up the book she had been reading earlier; but she couldn’t concentrate. She wondered what time it was. Elves didn’t use clocks and watches – there was little need, even if someone here was to perfect the wrist-watch.
Perhaps the sounds of the strengthening storm might be keeping someone else awake; after all Elves didn’t need much sleep. She turned the covers back, put on the soft silk slippers beside her bed, and went out into the corridor. There was light seeping around the door of Elrohir’s room and both Els had told her that she was welcome at any time – although if it sounded as if he had company she would just come back to her own room.
She was about to knock on his door when she heard his voice.
“Come in, Tindómë.”
The door opened and Tindómë stepped through. Elrohir was lying on the top of his bed with a book in one hand but, truth to tell, he had not been reading. He had been listening, with pleasure, to the sounds of the wind and rain. During the years when he and Elladan had ridden after yrch, both alone and in the company of the Dúnedain, they had spent all too many nights outdoors in weather like this. To be warm and dry in his own home on such a night was a simple, but much appreciated, pleasure.
“Uh, hi, El…” she sounded slightly hesitant.
“Tinu, are you unwell?”
“No, no, I’m just… I couldn’t sleep; the sound of the rain, I guess, but somehow I’m just all antsy.”
Antsy? As usual now she was speaking Sindarin, but with the occasional word of the Common Tongue thrown in, and sometimes a word or two that Elrohir did not think he had ever heard from anyone else.
“There are ants in your room?”
She pulled a face at him. “No, just, you know, antsy. Fidgety? On edge? Can’t settle? I keep tossing and turning, and I’m too hot with the comforter up over my head, and the sound of the rain is too noisy, or something, if I push the comforter down… and I can’t concentrate to read. And I saw your light on…”
At least, he thought, he knew by now what a ‘comforter’ was.
“I am enjoying the sounds of the wind and the rain – I rejoice in being warm and dry. Come and join me.” He gestured at the bed. “Would you like some cordial? Or a glass of wine?”
“Hmm – maybe a glass of wine would help me sleep. I know you guys can go all night with no sleep, but I totally need a couple of hours, or even more.”
“Help yourself,” he said, waving towards a carafe and a couple of glasses on a side table.
She did as he suggested and then came and sat on the edge of the bed.
“What are you reading, El?”
He showed her but admitted that he had not really been reading. She sipped her wine and then shivered. She was wearing a thin silk nightgown; he wore little more himself, but she still felt the cold more than an elf and there was no fire in the room. He moved a little, pulled back the bedclothes and said “In!”
“Thanks,” she said, and quickly obeyed.
“I could read to you,” he offered, “but I think if you lie here with me, and we listen to the rain together, you will sleep.”
“M’kay,” she said, nestling down into the bed.
“Imagine,” he began, “being outdoors on such a night. Perhaps as we camped between Lorien and Minas Tirith – lying on bedrolls with only our cloaks for protection where there are no trees. Or we may lie where the trees have shed their leaves; listening to the patter of the rain on the bare branches that sway in the wind so flurries of drops reach us with no pattern.”
Tindómë shivered and pulled the feather quilt closer.
“It would be a long, cold night,” Elrohir continued, speaking in a soft, low voice. “Imagine, instead, that we are camped out on our route here over the high passes. On such a night we would find a cave and hope it had not been used by bear, or warg, or orc, in the past – or the rain could be preferable to the smell. If we found no cave, we would be huddled against the rocks, with the horses between us and the prevailing wind. They would be no happier than us.
“Even if we were in tents in such weather, although we would be dry, the fabric would flap; we would hope the wind grew no stronger. The guy ropes would need checking, and tightening, and so we would get wet anyway…”
“Way to go to put me off travelling ever again, El,” said Tindómë, but her voice sounded drowsier than before.
“Now listen to the rain and the wind, beating on the shutters, but we are warm, and dry. Picture the branches dancing to the rhythm of the wind; the raindrops making patterns on pools, small rivulets forming between tree roots…”
“M’hmm,” she said slowly, “I see what you mean.”
They lay quietly, but Tindómë was still restless – Elrohir thought that she probably did not notice that she moved one limb or another, every minute or two, even as her breathing changed and she began to fall asleep.
Even asleep she was not still; she moved from her back to her side, curled up, and then uncurled. Perhaps, Elrohir thought, it was the sound of the wind and the rain intruding into her sleep; he had seen her asleep when he had been on watch as they travelled, and had never seen her so restive.
He shrugged off his dressing gown and got beneath the covers himself, although with such an unquiet bed-mate he thought it unlikely that he would sleep. But Tindómë was right – it would do him no harm, whereas she would not be able to concentrate properly after a sleepless night.
The bed was large – there was plenty of room for him to lie without disturbing her but, within minutes of him getting beneath the covers, she moved towards him, pushing her body against his. Her breathing, too, changed, became shallower, faster; even before she muttered “Rumil-nín…” he realised just what had made her ‘antsy’.
Tisirion, Elrohir thought, had miscalculated. He had clearly raised Tindómë to a high level of desire but left her unfulfilled. Probably, indeed certainly, he had not recognised this. Perhaps he had not properly allowed for her inexperience and youth, or her body reacted slightly differently because she was not, physically, quite like an elleth. Whatever the reason, Elrohir was no longer surprised that she was restive.
He wondered why she had not simply realised and eased herself – but then, perhaps, she did not fully recognised the cause herself because of her youth and inexperience. Had she been an elleth, asleep in his bed because they had already enjoyed each other’s bodies, he would have used his own fingers to bring her release.
‘Although,’ he thought, ‘to be honest, I do not think I have ever left an elleth in such need…’
But this was Tindómë – she had most certainly not come to his bed to enjoy the pleasures of the body. Well, not knowingly; although her unrecognised need might have driven her to seek out a male, Elrohir was not sure. To touch her in such a way without her knowledge or permission was unthinkable.
Perhaps she might find enough pleasure on her current dream path to bring herself to fulfilment and take flight. He knew, from personal experience, that such a thing was quite possible with a young ellon – and many years in the camps of the Dúnedain had taught him it was certainly not unheard of in young men. He was not sure about young women, or ellyth, but it seemed likely.
As he considered this Tindómë moved again; arching her back so that a hard-nippled breast pushed against him. He let out a slow breath. It was certainly a more interesting night than he had expected. She let out a low moan – surely she would reach her climax?
Her body tensed. Elrohir expected to hear her fly within seconds, but then the cry she made was not one of pleasure. She flung out an arm; something on the dream path had gone wrong. He changed position, and brought his hand to her cheek…
“Tindómë, tithen maethor,” someone was calling her. She reached towards the sound, happy to leave where she was.
She was pressed against a warm, male, body.
“Rumil,” she muttered, curling further into him.
“Tindómë, tithen maethor,” the voice said again.
That wasn’t right was it? Why not “meleth”?
Oh fuck! Huitho! She recognised the voice and remembered where she was. She wasn’t sure whether to open an eye, or pretend to still be asleep. Perhaps keep the eyes shut for a second or two whilst she did a quick body inventory. Uh-uh, her body was so ready for flight that more or less every cell had its seat belt buckled and was looking out the window at the runway becoming a blur…
“Wake up just a little more.” Elrohir’s voice sounded gently amused.
She’d probably never be able to look him in the eye again. She could feel herself beginning to blush from somewhere down in her toes.
“Do not be embarrassed, Tinu.”
M’kay – she’d have to face him sometime. She moved a little so that, although still touching him, she wasn’t actually rubbing herself against him like a bitch in heat and opened her eyes.
“I think we know why you were ‘antsy’,” he said, with a slight smile.
Part of her wanted to scuttle as far across the bed as possible, perhaps grab her slippers, and run. The other part wasn’t so sure.
“I would not have woken you,” Elrohir continued, “except that, when your dream took you close to flying, something went wrong and you were afraid.”
She could vaguely remember something, something about… whatever, it was gone. She went back to being embarrassed.
Her body still wanted to rub itself against Elrohir.
“You need,” he said.
Yeah – it really wasn’t something she could deny.
“You could go back to your room and ease yourself, alone,” Elrohir said, sounding as if it was a conversation about what to have for breakfast, “or just stay here and ease yourself so that you can sleep again.”
Uh? She was just trying to get her head around that
concept when he spoke again, his voice gentle.
“But, it would give me pleasure to help you. I could not help you while you slept…” She understood that, totally. “But now that you are awake… It would be a very pleasant way to spend our time and later you could sleep more restfully.”
‘We couldn’t! It would change things!’ was her first thought, but then she found herself seriously considering what he had just said. He did have a very nice, warm, masculine, body, with nice long fingers – and he was offering….
Her breasts ached to be touched, there was the familiar puddle of goo feeling in her huch, her fingers twitched to run through someone’s hair, or to wrap themselves around a grondithen.
Instead, she put a hand to his face and turned it towards her own so that she was looking straight into his eyes. They were deep, dark, and desire-filled (which, so not surprising, considering her position when she awoke!).
She imagined meeting him at breakfast the next morning if she was to, politely, refuse his offer and go back to her own bed. He would smile a little, raise an eyebrow, and ask her if she had managed to get to sleep – and she wouldn’t really be all that embarrassed; things between them would be unchanged.
With that came the realisation that if she said “Yes,” it would probably not change things either. Just as a “Yes” hadn’t really changed her relationships with Orophin, or Galanthir, or Emerlas, or would with Tisirion. Not unless she
chose to let what had already happened tonight, or might happen, affect their relationship. It was a strangely liberating thought.
She pulled him a little closer until his mouth was only a fraction of an inch from hers and she could feel his breath on her face. She almost expected to ‘hear’ him in her head – but he held her gaze and waited.
“A’ngell nín,” she said, just before their lips met.
“And mine,” she heard him say to her mind, his tone both slightly amused and sensual.
The kiss was sensual too, but gentle. Kisses with people other than Rumil did not have the immediate connection, the ‘Westley and Buttercup’ effect, of their fëar being in tune; but Tindómë had been so turned on, so recently, that she could feel her body react immediately.
Elrohir must surely be aware, but he did nothing more, even as Tindómë’s body pushed against him again of its own volition. Then he broke the kiss and sat up a little.
Before she had a chance to feel disappointed he said “Wait,” slid his hands under her nightdress, and eased it up and over her head. She shivered, but not with cold. He put a finger under her chin, so that he could hold her gaze, and then ran a single finger of the other hand down the length of her body. She moaned and arched her back.
“Tindómë, you need release,” he said, “or my touch will be more torture than pleasure. May I?”
Even the brain cells now had their seatbelts buckled and were just waiting for take-off; coherent speech seemed to be beyond her. She put a hand over Elrohir’s where it rested just below her navel, and moved it down onto her cumb, just to make sure he understood.
He obviously got the message. He brought his mouth back to hers and, as they kissed, stroked the hand over her pubic hair before one of those nice long fingers slipped along her inner folds. His tongue explored her mouth as the finger slid right inside her, curling forwards, whilst the knuckle of his bent thumb pressed onto her tuiw. Within seconds the combined pressure on her tuiw and her inner ‘secret place’ was enough. She flew.
“Aaargh… oh, oh!” she cried out, the sound muffled by Elrohir’s kiss, and then she shuddered again. It really was blessed relief.
Even as she was still panting, and Elrohir’s finger was still curled inside her, she reached out reflexively for his penis. It was satisfyingly hard and erect; this had certainly not been just an offer to scratch an itch for her, or a healer offering to help her sleep.
He made a small, wordless, sound, but then his hand came down to cover hers and gently uncurled her fingers. Before she could wonder about it, he spoke.
“Wait, again,” he said.
Then he slid out of the bed and went to the hearth, where a fire was laid ready, and lit it.
“Now we do not need to worry that you will be cold if we throw off the covers,” he said with a smile, as he came back to the bed.
His erect penis bobbed a little as he walked and Tindómë couldn’t resist the urge to put a hand out towards it again as soon as it was within reach.
He stopped beside the bed, which put his… uh? She wasn’t sure whether she should
think of it as a grond or cristhen; they were mainly Silvan slang. His… whatever… was right in front of her but, even as she reached out to it again, her ‘bright enquiring mind’ was engaged.
“Uh, El? What’s your
word, the Noldor word, for… this?”
It twitched a little and he laughed quietly.
“It is probably a good thing that you were not conscious at the Black Gate, tithen maethor – you would have wanted to know the name of the Mouth of Sauron’s horse and just how the counterweight system worked to open and close the dread gate itself!”
She smiled back, but lifted an eyebrow and waited.
“I have spent enough time in Lorien to be happy to think of it as my grond, or even my cristhen, if you wish; but we Noldor really do say vië most of the time. Although, just as Éomer King once told you, the Rohirrim sometimes use a word that translates as ‘hammer’; and so do the Noldor sometimes. I was taught by one of the smiths that it is the ‘heart-hammer’.”
“That’s cool and, yeah, it makes sense,” she said thoughtfully, “being metal workers… Hey! I wonder what the Khuzdul word is?”
She waited, just long enough, before grinning and reaching for the appendage in question. “Vië’s good,” she said, as she curled her fingers around it and pulled him a little closer.
Elrohir wanted to laugh with the pleasure of this unexpected encounter. Young she might be and, compared to any elleth with whom he had ever indulged in the ‘desires of the body’, very inexperienced. But, as he had once told her, she was also beautiful, desirable, and full of life. There was something more – vigorous – about her approach to love-making than those ellyth. There was also, though, something more uninhibited, and carefree, than those women of his brother and sister’s court who had shared a bed with him.
She ran a finger up and down the thin line of black hair between his navel and the root of his vië. Almost every elleth had done the same thing – although it held less attraction for the women. Tindómë had, of course, seen it before; they had bathed together more than once. One or two ellyth, over the years, had found it distasteful. Tindómë seemed simply interested but if all her experience had been with ellyn then her interest was not surprising.
She did it again. As usual, it was pleasurable – although Elrohir was sure it would have been so even if the skin was as bare as that of other ellyn.
“Almost the only outward sign of our mortal blood,” he said. “We inherited it from our father.”
“El, I so don’t want to think of your father right now!” she answered with a hint of a giggle before she said nothing more for some time as her mouth was otherwise engaged.
She had learnt quickly; she took his vië from her mouth just at the point where it would soon be difficult to hold back.
Tindómë was enjoying herself. Straddling Elrohir’s body on his bed she was, to borrow Orophin’s phrase, ‘rising to the trot’. Elrohir’s vië filled her nicely and, like actually riding a horse, he had his own rhythm that complimented hers.
Back in Sunnydale, Dawn had seen the phrase ‘XXX loves cock’ written on a restroom wall in the Bronze (when she had sneaked in…). It was meant to be an insult, Anya had explained, when Dawn had asked the only person who would ever talk to her about sex, adding that she didn’t really understand why.
Tindómë remembered it briefly and giggled.
‘What’s not to love?’ she asked herself.
She was about to lean forward and put her hands onto Elrohir’s shoulders when he shook his head slightly.
“Lean back, tithen maethor, put your hands down my thighs instead.”
She did as he suggested, so that she knelt back onto her heels, her back arched.
Harder now to move herself on his vië, but he changed his own movement and there was still soft friction inside her.
Oh – this was good! She didn’t think she’d ever been in quite this position with anyone before; it made her want to circle her hips, so she did.
“Good!” said Elrohir.
Then he moved both hands up the front of her
thighs and brought the thumbs together at her tuiw.
“Good?” he asked.
As she felt the urge to arch her back further, and throw her head back, it was difficult to speak. But she was pretty sure that the way she pushed against him, and then screamed as she flew, probably gave him her answer.
Elrohir did not hold back – he thrust harder and the grip of her inner muscles as she flew brought him to his own climax. Both kept moving, gently, coming down together. He realised she was almost stuck in position – without enough energy, just for the moment, to come back upright, but not able to fall any further back as she was still kneeling. He bent his knees, so that his thighs supported her, and received a breathless “Thanks,” in return.
“Are you in need of sleep now, Tinu?” he asked.
Her eyes clearly showed amusement as she answered, “Nope! I seem to be more awake all of a sudden. I just need to get my breath.”
She wriggled what he had heard Rumil refer to as her adel-bein, where they were still joined, and he could feel his vië hardening again within her.
The next hour passed most pleasurably. Finally she admitted to feeling sleepy. He pulled her against him, so that her head was pillowed in the crook of his arm.
“Thank you, El,” she said in a rather drowsy voice. “I really needed that. I kinda miss it, you know? I miss Rumil, but I knew I would; and he’s right – it is
good for me to be just me rather than ‘Rumil’s not quite betrothed’. But I really miss the joining. It’s all still new for me – I didn’t really expect to miss it so much as, sort of, separate to missing Rumil. I feel much less antsy now, though…”
The sound of the rain against the shutters seemed to no longer keep her awake. As she slept, Elrohir found he was drifting down a path of dreams where he heard the rain as if on the leaves above a talan in Lorien. A rather beautiful not-quite-an-elf was running her fingers up and down that thin line that showed that he was not purely an Elf either; he allowed himself to simply enjoy.
He woke just before Tindómë. He was aware that she was, again, working out where she was before opening her eyes; but this time she did not blush.
Elrohir was considering, as she slowly stretched, whether another hour or two of indulging the desires of the body would be a good start to the day. (Oh how he loved that description – the copy of ‘Laws and Customs of the Eldar’ Legolas found in Minas Tirith had kept them all amused for many hours.) Before he could ask Tindómë her opinion, however, she suddenly sat upright and looked at him with wide open eyes.
He looked at her questioningly.
“Elrohir,” she sounded worried, “uh – did you really mean it when you once told me that, if you and Elladan are not very far from each other, you know when the other one… um… joins?”
He had wondered when that might occur to her. He nodded.
“Huitho! So, uh – you and me, last night?”
He nodded again, just once.
“Bummer. He – uh – he won’t be jealous will he? That I came to you? That we… you know?”
She did blush beautifully. Rumil had commented on it and he was quite right.
“Tindómë,” he said, “you told me there was only light under my door – of course it was the one you knocked on. As for jealous? No. But he will most certainly be very envious!”
She looked down, rather than in his eyes, but her voice was firmer when she asked, “Is he?”
Elladan must have been lying on his own bed waiting for Elrohir to speak to his mind; it took little more than the mental lift of an eyebrow before his brother’s voice was in his head. He was laughing.
“You gave me a great deal of difficulty sleeping, brother! I knew better than to intrude.” (They had agreed, many yeni ago, that only the ‘participating’ twin could instigate a mental conversation in such circumstances, and last night Elrohir had felt this would have been disrespectful to his unexpected guest.)
Elrohir passed on Tindómë’s question.
“Envious?” Elladan repeated. “To quote Tindómë – totally!”
“Yes,” Elrohir said, out loud, to Tindómë.
She looked worried – he could almost see
“Uh, you know the time you told me about that?”
It was a rhetorical question – of course he knew when it had been.
“You said that you were almost totally serious when you offered to show me why you were in demand as a tag-team?”
He could not recall having used that description, but he was fairly sure he knew exactly what she meant. He even had an inkling of where this conversation was going.
She took a deep breath, looked him straight in the eyes now, and then said, “Well I think it would be only fair to Elladan if I was to ask if the two of you would show me now.
“Well, maybe not exactly now,” she added, as her stomach rumbled as if she was a hobbit, “but, tonight maybe?”
“It would be,” Elrohir answered her, “our pleasure. Totally.”
She grinned at his use of one of her favourite words.
“But, little one, if you change your mind after breakfast we will not be insulted.”
tithen maethor – little warrior – the twin’s nickname for Tindómë
Tinu - little star.
meleth - beloved - Rumil's usual term of endearment for her
huch - 'girly parts'.
grondithen, grond, cristhen - Sindarin slang words for penis.
“A’ngell nín,” – ‘Please’; literally from ‘For my pleasure’.
cumb – mound
tuiw - bud
Khuzdul - language of the Dwarves
adel-bein – beautiful behind.
.................................Chapter Two to follow.................
Middle Earth is the property of the estate of JRR Tolkien – my characters play there without permission but make no profit and leave it tidy when they leave. The former BtVS character does not belong to me either, all rights to Dawn remain the property of Mutant Enemy & Joss Whedon.