WEST WIND OVER EDORAS

Disclaimer: The characters and places here are not mine, all but a few are Tolkein's genius. If it's in LOTR, Silmarillion, Hobbit or Unfinished tales it Tolkien' s. If not it's mine.
No profit in this but the fun of writing and getting to play in Middle earth for a while.


A/N: Implied Slash and twincest here. No apology for it, after Legolas it is my very favourite thing and preferred reading. (Don’t like it? You are really missing out, nothing hotter!) Thank you Minuial for the use of your twins to explain elvish customs. J It is a tribute to your skill, that so real have your stories become to me, I have been unable to write a het fic set in another place and time, without reference to this part of Legolas’s life!

Blue Magic. Heron Feathers are here, thank you for the info on the significance in a previous review, and also for the Pablo Neruda poem: Night on the Island, which was the starting point in my mind for the Woodelfy Love Scene.

And thank you so much Katie for your e-mails. I love hearing from you. They inspire me greatly and make me think I am still on the right track. For you especially, here is more Sex/ Romance/ Love/ Touch of Humour/ Culture and Angst all mixed into a few hours.

Chapter 14:

GIFTS

LEGOLAS:


That was so good. I hold her to me and she trembles with her own desire. I kiss her deeply. I am glad of Elrohir’s gift, for I had no more Ithilmin of my own left and now I shall be able to love her, as she deserves, within moments. I can hear the sound of the twins from their tent close by, drift into my consciousness. It seems Rowannen hears them too, for she breaks the kiss and looks at me her eyes wide with astonishment.

“Ah! I think I may have a little explaining to do here for you now.” I say, for it is becoming increasingly obvious what sort of activity they are engaged upon, and in truth I cannot blame them, for this night is probably the first for a long time in their travels, that they have enjoyed a little privacy together.

“What are they saying? What ever are they doing?” She asks me. Her own body’s need is forgotten for an instant.

“Well I think perhaps you will be able to discern what they are doing, especially if I translate for you.” I reply, and listen to the words tumbling now through the air and as they fall on our ears I look into Rowannen’s eyes and whisper their meaning to her.

‘Saes! Aniron lle!’ “That is…. Please! I need, desire you.”
‘Ai, matho nin ennas, melethron.’ “And….Ah, stroke me there, lover.”

It seems Rowannen is holding her breath as she listens. For a few moments there is only the sound of muted moans and then….

‘Dar matho maer?’ “Does it feel good?”
‘Aye, muindor nin, meleth e-guilen’ “Yes, my brother, love of my life.”

‘Amin tulien. Amin tulien.’ I laugh softly, my eyes crinkle, as a vision of Elrohir and Elladan crosses my mind. “I’m coming. I’m coming.” I tell Rowannen.

‘Telithon ah lle!’ “I will come with you.”
‘Aiya Sii…Sii Yallume!’ “Yesss! now… Now at last!”

The sounds of muffled cries of pleasure die away and the night is still again. Rowannen sits up, her hair tumbles around her breasts and I reach to stroke her, but she stills my hand. Her eyes are shocked.

“Legolas, I cannot believe this. Tell me I have misheard! It is not right!” She implores me.

“Why are you so shocked?” I ask her, smiling gently. “What about it makes you think it is not right?”

“Well for one thing, they are both male and worse still, twins and brothers!” She whispers fiercely to me.

I sit up and draw level with her and pull her to me. Already I have grown hard again but it will have to wait until I have put her fears and indignation to rest. Rohan no doubt, has different sexual customs to the elven realms.

“Rowannen. Try and understand there is no shame whatever in their relationship. It is well accepted. Unusual maybe, but every bit as valid as yours and mine, or Aragorn and Arwen’s love. More so for Elves, being far easier to understand than the pairing of an elf and a mortal. True love is blind to looks or gender. I can see that for Rohan, for mortals, such a pairing of those of the same sex would not be as acceptable, for the reason that it does not produce children and continue your line. For elves this is not so much the case. Children are special to us, yes, and very well loved, even more maybe than the children of men, for their coming is chosen with great thought and care, but we do not always have the great need for them that humans do. Same sex pairings are almost as common as different ones in elven realms. It is quite a normal thing for us. There is no difference in the strength of feeling. No lessening of love. The pathways may be a little different but they are travelled in the same way. When you have immortality, then there is time and opportunity to explore many avenues of love. Nothing is denied as long as it does not hurt another.”

I can see her struggling to accept this concept.

“It is forbidden in Rohan!” She almost hisses at me.

Ah! A taboo. I had thought it would perhaps not be common, nor encouraged as normal practice amongst her people, but to be forbidden outright! She will find acceptance hard. I must tread carefully here. Yet I have been in the company of the Rohirrim for some time now, have fought and lived alongside them. They are lusty warriors and I can read a heart. I do not think them strangers to what I speak of, despite a ban.

“Do you not suspect that when out in the wilds, without their women, that the men of the Rohirrim would find comfort and release with one another?” I ask.

“No!” she exclaims. “I have never suspected that. To use their own hands maybe, but not to lie with another man. It is as strange to my mind as to imagine myself with Eowyn, much as I love her as a friend. What sense would there be in that?"

“The sharing of love.” I tell her quietly. “The caring of another being for each other’s need. There is nothing shocking in that Rowannen. I would wager that your taboo is broken more often than you realise.”

She hesitates and I hold her gently. I see her thinking and her eyes soften.
“I love you and I see that there is much I must learn about Elves. If that is your custom, then I have to try and understand.” She admits. “But still they are twins!”

“And that is what is so special about Elladan and Elrohir.” I explain. “They have an amazing bond which is stronger than that of ordinary siblings. From birth they have been so close. They describe it to others as having one Fea. One spirit or soul, but split into two separate bodies. Their loving is a way of joining themselves together again and being whole.”

Rowannen takes a deep breath.

“Forgive me Legolas. I have been taken by surprise. I do not mean to be so judgemental. I was honoured by the twins, when they showed us so much love and acceptance and, if as you say, and I believe you, it is harder for elves to accept a love with a mortal, than a relationship such as theirs, then I should be very grateful for their reaction to me. It is unconscionable that I should refuse to be open minded about their love just because it is, up until now, beyond my experience.”

“There is no need for forgiveness.” I tell her “How could you have known? Just do not let it affect your interactions with the twins for they would be much grieved.”

“I will not. I promise. Has it always been thus with them?” she asks me?

“For as long as I have known them, yes. Though I believe they did try to love others before binding themselves forever. Now if they desire another lover, then that lover is one that they both desire and they share and love as one.”

Her eyes widen again. Despite her astonishment I can see the curiosity burning there. I remember this in her eyes from the moment I first saw her. The fire and thirst for knowledge that was burning through her grief. It is such a great part of her and it excites me. I laugh and pull her into my arms.

“Wait Legolas.” She cries, laughing herself now, and then lowers her voice. “Tell me how would they do it?”

“Oh Rowannen!” I groan. “In many positions! With hands and mouths and hard erections. Such as the one I have now.” And I press it against her body. She breathes heavily and her fingers stroke me as her unrequited desire rekindles. I slide my fingers between her legs and enter them into her, finding the spot that makes her body go limp and her eyes glaze. “’Tis as good for them as for you when I touch you here, if not better.” I whisper. “You will not know, but inside a male is a similar bundle of nerves that can make them scream.” And I circle my fingers against her. She shivers and then pulls away from me a little. Her eyes search mine. Young she may be, but not without perception. Her laughter is stilled.

“And what of you Legolas?” she asks

“Yes, I have wandered down those very paths and that is how I know, but I swear to you, that you are all I want from now on and all I shall have. If I should desire pleasure in that way, then you have fingers. I can show you how to make me scream.” I reply.

“That is not all that I meant Legolas.” She pauses, her voice quiet. Her hand rises to touch my face and she holds the palm against my cheek. She knows. I can see it her in her eyes.

“Will you miss them?” she asks.

I gaze back at her, deep into her being.
“Many long years have passed since the twins and I loved in this way. They have nothing but happiness for what I have found with you. Always will they have a special place in my heart and I in theirs, but now you have my heart. Let me prove it to you. You are all that I want. You are all that I need. I need you now.”

My fingers move within her again and she gasps. Her eyes still on mine grow cloudy and her body yields. She falls back onto the blanket and my fingers slide out of her and instead I move to enter her fully with my body. “Aiiy Legolas!” she cries softly as I penetrate deeper into the very core of her. Her satin slipperiness enfolds me and clutches tight. The heat radiates from her body as I move in rhythm very slowly. I watch the flickering flame from the lamp play across her skin creating patterns that mirror the waves of our passion. I must reassure her. I must let her know how precious and profound she is to me. I send a silent prayer to the Valar, to help me impart my love. Still moving slowly, with each stroke I speak first in my own tongue and then in the common speech.

“Irmamin, … My desire, ... melithon le anuir, … I will always love you … Gerich ‘uren nin … You have my heart … Estelio enni ...Trust in me…!”

She can barely find her voice but when she does she echoes my own words to Gandalf, when he told us of the prophecy. “There is no other course open to me, Legolas.” She whispers. “ I am yours, whatever that may bring.”

“Then let us see what it will bring.” I whisper.

I drive ever deeper, relishing the sweet feel of her body and of her mind reaching out for me. She gives all of herself to me willingly, she accepts me as a gift. With each thrust we grow closer. I am joined with her. I feel the power of the world coursing through my being. Our minds, our lips, our arms, are like the branches of a tree, moved by a common wind. Our legs, our hips and where our bodies meld, like deep, dark roots touching, entwined beneath the earth. We are growing; the sap is rising, blossoms flowering. I can feel the heat of it flowing from her and all around me. My lips are searching hers, so succulent and open, like buds bursting. My hair falls around her face, our fingers entwine and stretch, like leaves unfurling. The scent of our passion is like the heady perfume of Summer. I like Summer. I will stay here a while.

I slow my movement within her, breathe slowly, bring my fingers to trace her ears, to touch her lips, and look into those leaf green eyes. That passionate wind that was lifting us is now a gentle breeze, rocking us in the treetops. My fingertips against her skin, and hers against mine, as they run up my arm and across my shoulders, are like the soft kiss of warm, moving air. We have our roots so deep now, in the power of the universe. We are one. Yet, like the changing of the seasons all must come to conclusion and move on, in an ever-turning circle. I feel the force in my body and in hers, relentless, undeniable. She curls her fingers through my hair and brings my face to hers.

“Legolas, do you know how much how I love you?” she asks, as our passion mounts again and she kisses me.

“As much as I love you.” I answer when she releases my lips again.

The wind is rising. We must go with it. My pace quickens and she moves with me, panting, as the storm gathers intensity. The leaves of our hands rush quickly over each other’s bodies, my hands on her waist, her breasts. Hers on my buttocks, my hips, my back, holding me to her. Our lips are greedy, kissing each other’s faces, we are clinging to the branches, yet knowing we will fall. Our minds are swirling together in eddies, in spirals. Coming to fulfilment, swelling and bearing fruit. Then it takes us, the force of the gale, leaves fly, break away and fall all around us, both fruition and dying as we tremble and sigh and give ourselves to the inevitable. Roots still joined and delving so deep, pulsing with all the power of the earth. Our orgasm is as one, doubled in intensity. I feel her and she feels me. When the tempest dies away, I hold her still in my arms and our breathing slowly calms, our skin cools.

“That was so beautiful, Legolas.” She whispers to me, “How do you find such depth? How do you carry me to such height?” Her breath is warm against my neck, and suddenly the tears spring from her eyes and flow down her cheeks.

I raise myself a little to look at her, my body still within her.

“You must know this truth.” I say softly. “Never before have I known such wonderful loving as this. It is for me also, precious and new.” And I stroke away the salty rivulets with my fingertips. I gather her into my arms, lay my face in her hair and so amazed and replete are we, that we soon drift into a wondering sleep, still joined, and dream the same dream of utter rapture.


ROWANNEN:

When I wake, I find I am alone. My body is tucked carefully into the soft woollen blanket and I am warm and taken care of. As my senses heighten I can hear Legolas’s soft voice outside the tent conversing in elvish with Aragorn and the twins. I cannot make any sense of it and assume they are discussing war. So far, all Legolas has taught me, are words of love. I dress swiftly and part the flap to join them. Aragorn is stirring the fire pensively with a stick; Legolas is sitting cross-legged, seemingly deep in thought. He catches my hand and kisses it. Elladan and Elrohir grin at me as I emerge and I smile back. Surprisingly I feel no embarrassment or strangeness in their company as I thought I might after last night’s revelations, only acceptance and even love for them. Love, because of their warmth toward me and because I know they love Legolas. They are eating fruit and corn cakes and offer me some, but I refuse.

“I will go and wash before I eat.” I say, and slip my hand from Legolas’s and smile at them all, before leaving them to continue with their plans.

First I go to check on the horses. Feannim and Arod are standing together nuzzling at each others necks and I move to stand between them and join in their morning ritual, gently rubbing my hand down Arod’s smooth grey muzzle, patting the muscles rippling on his shoulders under his silver flecked coat. Feannim nudges me in jealousy and my hand weaves up into the smooth warmth under her long glossy black mane and I rest my head against her neck, drinking in the smell of her, feeling her strength and the life beating there, as she blows through her nostrils at me and nuzzles my pocket in the hope of an apple. I must ride her today.

I leave them munching some oats and make my way down to the stream. The veils of mist are still rising as I reach the waters edge. At my approach a heron rises lazily from his fishing and flaps off into the hazy sky, no doubt to rejoin his life’s mate on their nest. I watch transfixed as the sacred bird flies from me, tail stretched, neck bent, beak pointing, huge soft wings curving, carrying his weight upward and onward. I send a prayer to the Gods in thanks for all I have and for the strength in myself to carry onward and upward.

The dew has soaked the bottom of my skirt and I take off my boots and raise my skirts and tie them with ribbon as I step into the water to wash. The coolness laps around my ankles; the scent of water mint, just beginning to grow again at the edges, flows pungent into my nostrils as my feet brush against it. I wash my face and neck, delighting in the freshness. Then wash my legs and lower body, almost sorry, to sluice away the traces of Legolas’s passion, dried in silver rivulets on my thighs.

When I am clean again, I sit on the bank as the sun warms the land, and dangle my toes in the water. Baby fish are darting in the shallows amongst the new reeds. I watch the mist disperse and the water flowing ever on, in ripples and tiny whirlpools. Like my life, I think. Theodred has been swept away from me forever. Hama also sucked under and drowned by death. Eomer rushed away by the flood of circumstance. Yet the stream is not dry. It is spring high and full of new promise and life. Legolas carried to me by the fast current, to swirl around me and carry me with him. I know these waters, but they flow on and leave Rohan, join rivers, become the sea, and I can no longer sit and watch them go by. I must follow, wherever they carry me. So deep already are the waters of my love for this Elf, I can only hope I will keep afloat. If I cling to him, will he keep me from drowning?

Lost in thought, I idly pick up soft heron feathers from the grass, in my fingers, and then an idea comes to me. I reach into the leather bag fastened at my waist and find one of my hair clasps, a large bronze oval of overlapping, everlasting design. I take my bone-handled knife from my belt and cut a long lock of hair from my head. Through the holes and spaces in the shapes, I weave the bright hair, following the pattern of the metal and then fix the misty grey heron feathers to curve around the edges and hold it in place; the softness of them bending and flickering through my fingers as I work.. I will give it to him as a token of my love. Picking up my boots I run barefoot across the damp grass back to the camp.

There is more activity as I rejoin them around the fire. Eowyn is with them, she looks troubled. All their faces are grave. The twins are packing their belongings outside the tent they shared.

“Why will you not wait?” Eowyn is saying. “One more day to see how many more will come and then we ride for Minas Tirith and to battle. Tis not long and we need
as great a number as is possible.”

Aragorn is tying his pack with leather thongs. He shakes his head.
“My road lies not with the Rohirrim, though we may yet fight together again.
I must do this. If the message from Elrond, which Elladan and Elrohir have brought, is true and meaningful, then it is the course I should take. My destiny.” He says to Eowyn and looks at the twins.

Eowyn’s hand is on his arm. “If you must go, let me ride in your following. I am weary of skulking in the hills and wish to face peril and battle. I can ride and wield blade.”

Aragorn shakes his head. “Your duty is with your people,” He replies.
“You have accepted a charge to govern the people until their Lord’s return. I would not see a thing that is high and excellent cast away needlessly. Stay lady! You have no errand to the South.”

Eowyn grips him tighter. “Then neither have these others who go with you. They go only because they would not be parted from you…because they love you.” Her voice catches in her throat.

Aragorn places his hands gently on her shoulders. “It is but a shadow and a thought that you love.” He says quietly. “I cannot give you what you seek.”

Eowyn turns her hair whipping behind her and strides away. A stricken look in her eyes..

What have I missed, what was their council this morning, whilst I washed and slept?
I look questioningly at Legolas.

“We must take the Dimholt road,” he says and his voice is determined and strong.

I run to him fling myself into his arms.

“How can this be? It is madness. Do you not know? There lay the Paths of the Dead, through the haunted mountain, the black Dwimorberg. No one ever has ever lived to tell the tale. The dead do not suffer the living to pass.”
I look into his eyes and see the determination there. I cannot believe it.

“The ghosts of men hold no terror for me,” he replies

“Legolas, No Please No!” I entreat him. All the horrific stories I have heard of the paths of the dead and the ghosts therein, flood across my mind. “Legolas NO! NO!”
I see his resolve to continue the quest with Aragorn, the need to save our middle earth, but I cannot believe it, it is too much. He will perish. I can envisage this beautiful, immortal Elf cut off and finished for no reason, my own life also at an end without him. “You cannot go my love.” I entreat him. “This is not to be, Please, please stay with me. Gandalf said we were meant to be together. I love you Legolas. Do not go! There must be another way. I love you.” I cling to him and as I feel his resolve to carry on as a warrior, I cannot help myself, despite my hope of being brave, I start to weep. He holds me close as I shake in his arms.

“Meleth nin, I never meant to bring you sorrow. I wanted only to salve your hurt. To banish grief from your eyes and give you joy. It soon became so much more than that Rowannen. Once we were pledged, then I realised there cannot be one without the other, no light without darkness. But do not despair. This is not a time for regret however it may seem to you now. It is but another step along the way. We are indeed meant to be together and because of that, you must trust that we shall come through this next peril and all will be turned to good.”

I can hardly see him in front of me for my tears. How can I not despair?

“Legolas.” The voice of Aragorn is stern and more commanding than I have yet heard. “If you ride with me, and I would have only those who come of their own free will, then you have one hour. I will ready the horses and find you here.”

Legolas turns and nods at the Ranger. “I ride with you.”

He walks me away from the fireside, the twins follow us with their eyes and I see sympathy there. He talks gently to me as we go, asks me to trust him. “You should return to Edoras,” he tells me. “If Eru is willing. Then, when I can, I will come for you there.” Down to the pool he takes me and sits beneath a willow. He brushes the tears from my cheeks. I am still shaking. Wordlessly I hand him the hair clasp. He turns it in his fingers, stroking the smooth tresses wound into the metal, fingers the feathers. Then he pins it to his tunic under his cloak and holds me for a while.

“Have you more heron feathers?” he asks.

I nod and draw the unused ones from my pocket. He takes them from me and stands, and holding my hand leads me upward through the rocks to a clearing above a waterfall. There stands a Rowan tree, bare of leaves but buds faintly swelling. He draws his knife and whispers to the tree as he cuts a slender branch free. His fingers stroke at the jagged edge as if in healing. We walk slowly back to the fire. Legolas sits and begins to work at the stick, stripping the bark, pointing the tip. Then he trims the feathers carefully. He cuts some of his own hair from his head and begins to fasten the feathers to the wood, twining and twisting tightly.

“Elrohir, give me a bead,” he says. The younger twin unfastens a mithril globe from his braid and passes it to Legolas. Legolas drops it into a dish and puts it into the heart of the fire. When all is glowing red-hot he wraps a cloth around his hand and pulls it from the heat. He dips the twig into the silver molten metal and twirls it there until the mithril flows over the tip and begins to cool. While it is still workable he fashions it into a point with backswept wings and traces faint symbols into the still soft metal with the point of his knife. When all is cool he hands it to me. It is a perfect tiny arrow. Shaft of rowan, tipped with mithril, fletched with grey heron, bound with his hair. I hold it in my hand. My heart is full and it is heavy. I cannot speak.

Elladan steps forward. “You should have one of my beads too. It will represent for you, that both of us will protect Legolas with our own lives, as he would do for others. I would have you know that, Rowannen. Try not to fear.”

He slips a lapis lazuli bead from his ebony hair and taking a fine strip of leather threads it through the centre. He gently removes the arrow from my fingers and makes a tiny hole through which he threads the leather thong and fastens the ends in a knot secured with the bead. Then he comes nearer and lifts my hair and hangs the arrow around my neck and lets it fall between my breasts.

“Keep him close to your heart and all will be well.” He whispers and kisses my cheek.

All too soon Aragorn is returned, leading Brego and Arod and the twins’ fine elven horses up the stony path. Gimli is grunting in their wake as his feet slide on the stones loosened by their hooves. Legolas stands in readiness. He helps me to my feet for my legs are shaking. He can see the terror and anguish in my eyes.

“Can I not persuade you all to turn from this road?” I entreat him once again. His finger presses against my lip, then he bows his head and lowers his eyes. His hands cross over his tunic, touch the clasp I gave him, cover his heart, and he murmurs soft words in Sindarin. I have never seen him pray before; it is awe inspiring and touching. It makes him both strong and vulnerable at once. So strange but I can almost feel the Valar listening to him, and as he stands quietly, I can sense him listening also, as if to their reply. The twins are silent, heads bowed also in reverence. Aragorn waits quietly with respect. Gimli coughs.

Then he lifts his head and takes me in his arms, my damp cheeks sink into his hair. As at our pledging I can feel a power wash over us and suddenly we are no longer separate. Again a sensation of joining sweeps through us and I am no longer just Rowannen. I am Legolas also and he is me.

“You must trust the Valar as I now do.” he says “Remember this moment and remember last night. We are one, one tree of life. Our parting now will be like winter’s return, bare and bleak, but we will not succumb to death, our roots are still entwined and waiting. Waiting in readiness for the season to change, and change it must! Keep faith in me. There will be a Spring, a Summer. We will be together again and I know our love will blossom and bear fruit. Until then be strong.”

He kisses me for a long time. I never want it to end. I hear the twins mounting their steeds. Halbarad and the other Rangers arriving to go with Aragorn also. Then he releases me and looks into my eyes. There are no words to say. I squeeze his hand. Never has he looked more lovely or precious to me than he does at this moment. I must not cry again. I must let him remember me as a proud shieldmaiden and not a child. I hold my head high as he swings into Arod’s saddle. He leans down and touches my cheek one last time and then turns. Hooves clatter over the stones and they turn toward the pass into the mountain. He looks back one last time and so much love is in his eyes, I almost run after the horses, but my feet are made of lead. When they are out of sight I sink to my knees in the grass and weep uncontrollably.

Presently I feel a small hand on my shoulder.

“My lady?” It is Merry the Hobbit. “Do not weep. Legolas is a fine warrior and he has great perception. We should all listen to him more than we do. You must trust what he says. He is skilled also. He has saved the lives of all of us on this quest during our time together, at least once. Trust him.”

I raise my head and look into his kindly understanding face.

“Will you come with me now?” he asks, “ If I am not mistaken the lady Eowyn is in great need of your company and comfort also.”

I nod and rise unsteadily to my feet and follow his short steps to Eowyn’s tent.