The strange sea road
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Lord of the Rings Movies › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
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Category:
Lord of the Rings Movies › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
12
Views:
4,667
Reviews:
10
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Lord of the Rings book series and movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Balcony scene
Chapter 3: Balcony scene
Valandil had misjudged the time—the sun was already disappearing beneath the horizon.
“Come on,” cried Wilawen, desperately. “Hurry, Valandil! Quickly!”
The elf plucked two more figs and pushed them inside his tunic. Then he dropped to the ground and started running up the slope.
“They are behind you!” cried Wilawen.
Valandil kept running, all his senses straining. As he reached the narrow ledge, just below the cave mouth, one of the creatures attacked, narrowly missing the back of his leg. Valandil leapt forward, lost his footing, and stumbled…
So this is it, he thought.
But, to his surprise, when he looked up, Wilawen was standing beside him. “Come on,” she urged, holding the vile things back with a flaming torch. “If they get inside the cave we are finished.”
Valandil scrambled to his feet. Wilawen threw the torch into the midst of their tormentors and—whilst the monsters hissed and spat with anger—she grabbed Valandil’s hand and, together, they threw themselves through the narrow opening and pushed the boulder into place.
…
At night, most of the Hunter’s crew went below to sleep. Tonight, with the ship becalmed, only a handful of sailors had been left on watch.
Haldir walked back and forth along the deck. The delay was unbearable.
The True Friend could have landed this morning, he thought. They may have sold her already. And whoever buys her will only want one thing…
He looked out across the empty sea. Assuming, that is, that she is still alive. He closed his eyes and tried to reach her with his mind—he knew that such things were possible amongst the High Elves. He shook his head. Nothing. But I would surely know if she were dead, he thought. I would sense her loss…
Then another thought came to him, unbidden. Legolas must be frantic.
Valar! he thought, guiltily. Imagine what he must be going through—unable to keep her safe from the sailors on the ship; unable to prevent them selling her to Mandos-knows-who when they reach land.
She may already have been violated. And Legolas too… If I ever get hold of the wargs’ members that took them! He slammed his fist down on the ship’s gunwale.
That was foolish, he thought, examining his hand.
He took a deep, calming breath.
Flowers…
I can smell flowers; miles from anywhere…
Borne on the air! Is the wind picking up? He looked up at the sails. Could they be stirring? Yes! Yes, they are! He looked to the men on watch, wondering why they were still so subdued. The change is too slight for human senses to detect, he thought. They do not know yet.
He hurried onto the aft deck. “What are your orders if the wind picks up?” he asked.
“We’re to raise the Captain, immediately, sir.”
“Then you had better do it,” said Haldir. “You had better do it straight away!”
…
“Well, gentlemen,” said the auctioneer, replacing Eowyn’s veil. “You’ve seen the merchandise. Now, what am I bid for her?”
The woman who had bought Legolas began to raise her fan—
“Three thousand!”
“Three thousand from the gentleman at the front,” said the auctioneer, nodding to the bidder.
“Four!” cried another voice.
“Four thousand from the back,” said the auctioneer. “Any advance on four?”
“Five,” said the woman, squeezing Legolas’ hand.
“Six,” said the man at the front. He was leaning on the stage, peering—Legolas was convinced—through Eowyn’s almost transparent trousers.
“Any advance on six, ladies and gentlemen?” asked the auctioneer. “Do I hear seven? Seven, anyone?”
Legolas looked anxiously at Eowyn. She was holding her head high, staring bravely into the distance, but he knew that her indifference was only an act. Inside, she was terrified. He bit his lip; and he was watching Eowyn so intently that he did not notice that the woman beside him was watching him with concern.
“I have seven!” cried the auctioneer. “Do I hear eight?”
Legolas wrung his hands in frustration. If only he had his bow… If only Gimli and Aragorn were with him…
“Are there any more bids, ladies and gentlemen? Any more bids for this lovely creature?” He looked around the crowd. The man at the front shook his head.
“SOLD! To the lady! You have bought a fine pair, madam.”
Legolas turned to the woman in surprise.
“Well,” she said, “I can always sell some jewellery. And it is worth an extra two thousand to see your lovely smile.”
…
“We must leave tomorrow, at first light, after they have crawled back into their holes,” said Wilawen, cutting the figs into quarters with the blade she had chipped from a stone. “We cannot risk another night. They know where we are hiding, now, and they have realised that we cannot fight back. I have been thinking—”
Valandil looked up from rubbing his twisted ankle. The courage and resourcefulness the woman had shown over the last three days—making the stone knife, using it to make fire, using the fire to help break their chains—were a constant source of amazement to him.
“Will you be fit to walk tomorrow?” Wilawen asked.
“Yes, it is only a slight strain.”
“Could you walk without your boots?” She passed him his share of the figs, heaped on a flat stone.
“Without… Why?”
“Could you?”
“Yes.”
“Over the hot sand?”
“Yes.”
“And they are waterproof?”
He suddenly understood what she was about to suggest. “Of course! Though it will not be very pleasant.”
“I think,” said Wilawen, “that we can live with that—we can wash them out. They will carry enough water for, what, two days?”
“If we are careful. And provided we do not spill any.”
“We can tie our belts around the top to close them,” said Wilawen. “We will start at dawn. We will pick enough dates and figs for two days—we can tear the hem off my skirt to carry them… The only question is, which way do we go?”
“To the coast,” said Valandil. “I still think that is our best hope.”
“Can you still smell the sea?”
“Faintly. It is over there.” He pointed towards the back of the cave.
“That is settled then,” said Wilawen. “Now I had better get some sleep.”
“Here,” said Valandil, slipping out of his tattered jerkin and folding it to form a pillow. He handed it to her.
“Thank you,” she said. And she smiled for the first time in two days.
The elf watched over her until her breathing had slowed and steadied, and he was sure she was asleep. Then he leant back against the cave wall and tried to rest. She is right, he thought. We were fortunate finding this cave that first night. But now they are getting too close. If it had not been for Wilawen and her torch, tonight, I would already be dragon food…
…
“I am afraid that you will have to walk, my dear,” said the woman to Legolas, “but your lady can ride beside me.” She leant towards him, as if about to share a confidence, “She does look very tired. Rimush,” she called, to one of her attendants, “you must use the chains but be very careful—do not bruise his skin.”
The attendant bowed.
“I am sorry, my dear, but I shall have to have you chained. It is only for form’s sake and only until we reach the house. After that, you will be free to go wherever you like—as long as you promise, faithfully, to come back.”
Legolas climbed down from the litter and helped Eowyn, who did, indeed, seem very tired, to climb up beside the woman. “My lady,” he said, tentatively, “what is your name?”
“My name is Hentmirë,” said the woman, in her slightly child-like voice. “But I suppose that you should call me ‘mistress’.”
The attendant, Rimush, slipped a pair of ornate, padded manacles over Legolas’ wrists. The elf bit his lip. “Of course, mistress,” he said, softly. Rimush locked the manacles to the hand rail of the palanquin. “My name is Legolas. And this is Eowyn.”
“Leg-o-las,” said Hentmirë, experimentally.
The four attendants lifted the litter and began forcing their way through the crowd. Legolas walked beside them
“It means Greenleaf,” said Eowyn.
The other woman turned to her in surprise.
“Legolas,” said Eowyn. “It means Greenleaf… Why did you buy him, my lady?”
“I…” Hentmirë shrugged her shoulders. “I suppose I was carried away by his beauty. And then I bought you to make him happy.”
Eowyn smiled, sadly. “And how do you intend to,” she cleared her throat, “use him?”
“Use him? My dear, I wonevenever use him.” She smoothed the skirt of her jewelled robe. “No. I thought it would be nice to… to dress him in nice clothes and… and… sing with him—yes—I have heard that elves are beautiful singers—and talk. And I can take him for walks…”
“And take him to bed with you?” asked Eowyn, very, very softly.
“My dear!”
“I am sorry, my lady,” said Eowyn, bowing her head.
“And so you should be! Of course not,” said Hentmirë. “I am a maiden lady. I do not… I would not…”
“I am sorry, my lady,” Eowyn repeated.
“But he is so very beautiful,” said Hentmirë, wistfully. “Perhaps, if I were younger…”
…
Hentmirë’s house was in the most salubrious part of town—a strange collection of walls and arches and towers with onion-shaped roofs, all painted sugar-pink and wrapped around a large central courtyard—closed off from the road by high, wrought-iron gates. The attendants waited for the gatekeeper to open up then carried the palanquin into the courtyard and set it down before the great double-doors.
“Unlock him, Rimush,” said the lady of the house. “Come, my dear—and you, too, Eowyn—let me show you where you will be living.”
She led them into the massive reception hall, waving away a serving girl who came running up to take her cloak and fan, and up the broad staircase to an open landing that ran around the four sides of the hall. “This,” she said, pointing to one of the arched doors, “is my bedroom. And this one,” she turned the corner and stopped beside the next door, “is yours.” She waited; then, after a few moments, she whispered to Legolas, “Open the door, my dear.”
“Oh…” Legolas opened the door, wondering whether he should bow.
“There,” said Hentmirë. “You have your own bathing room, through there, and a balcony overlooking the garden—see.”
“It is very nice, my lady,” said Legolas, politely.
“I am so glad you like it,” said Hentmirë, beaming happily. “Now, I am sure that you would like to bathe, Eowyn, so we will give you some privacy. I just need to talk to talk to Legolas,” she faltered slightly over his name, “about his duties tomorrow…”
…
What a strange situation, thought Eowyn, as she waited for the servant to draw her bath. We are her slaves and yet she is treating us like guests…
Treating Legolas like a guest. She is putting up with me for his sake.
And I wonder how long that will last…
She walked over to the dressing table and examined the objects laid out on it—a mother of pearl comb, a carved, wooden hairbrush and a silver hand mirror. Legolas will like these.
She picked up an ornate glass bottle and held it up to the light, watching the translucent glass, like an opal, change colour as she turned it this way and that.
She obviously went to the slave market to buy herself an elf. And she fell in love with Legolas at first sight—I saw it happen.
She pulled the leaf-shapedpperpper from the bottle and sniffed its contents.
But it is not the love of a woman for a man. At least, not yet. It is the love of a lonely little girl for a precious kitten. And that can be dangerous.
The oil had a sharp, pleasant fragrance. Lemons and spices but quite masculine…
We have no chains, no master cracking a whip, but—Gods!—what a strange situation.
…
“Sit down,” said Hentmirë, gesturing towards a low divan.
Legolas sat.
“Would you like a drink?” she asked, smiling.
Legolas hesitated. What did she want him to say? He decided to be honest. “No, my lady, it is late and I am concerned for Eowyn. She has been through a terrible ordeal…”
The woman bit her lip. “Of course,” she said. “I will not keep you long. It is just… My tailor will be coming tomorrow to measure you for your new clothes, so you will need to be dressed early. And then… then, I thought it would be nice to go for a picnic. I shall have my cook prepare a meal for us and my men will carry us down to the sea.” She smiled, “Is it true that elves love the sea?”
…
Legolas closed his bedroom door and leant his back against it. She has a good heart, he thought, kind and caring and I do not want to hurt her. To his surprise, he realised that he had begun to feel quite protective towards the strange, unworldly woman. She treats me like a doll. But, then, she seems to know no better…
She rescued Eowyn from the slave market and for that I will always be in her debt.
But how can I live like this? How can Eowyn? What can—
The sound of splashing water caught his attention. Eowyn? He followed the noise to the bathing room door and looked inside. Yes, Eowyn.
She was standing beside the bath, completely naked, her back turned towards him, her skin wet—and glistening in the oil light—and his joy at the sight of her was so intense that he felt it, like a sharp stab, in his chest and his groin.
Still unaware of him, Eowyn leant down gracefully, picked up a towel, and, singing softly to herself, began to dry her body, slowly stretching out each limb and patting it with the soft fabric. Legolas swallowed hard. Unconsciously, he untied his sash, unlaced his silk trousers and pulled them open.
Eowyn walked over to the dressing table, picked up an ornate glass bottle, poured a little lemon-scented oil into the palm of her hand, and began massaging it into her skin.
Already painfully aroused, Legolas approached her silently and, without warning, slipped his hands beneath her arms and pulled her back against his body, burying his face in the crook of her shoulder.
“OH!” Eowyn’s cry was a heady mixture of surprise and pleasure.
Nipping the dele ske skin of her neck, Legolas slid one hand down to her belly and pulled her closer. She began to struggle playfully, her buttocks rubbing against his impatient penis. With a grunt of pure lust, Legolas exerted his elven strength and—still biting her neck—carried her out onto the balcony, laid her over the low marble wall, and sank himself deep inside her.
The night was warm and the air was filled with the heady scent of strange blossoms. A row of round paper lanterns glowed, like so many tiny suns, above Legolas’ head. Familiar ripples of pleasure began to tease his groin.
Sweet Eru, not yet!
He drew himself out of her and breathed deeply, trying to will his orgasm away. But Eowyn evidently had other ideas. Wriggling again, she brushed against his straining penis, and Legolas, taken by surprise, exploded abruptly over her back and buttocks.
“Ai!” he cried with each groin-wrenching spasm, “Ai! AI!”
Eowyn lay quietly, waiting for him to recover.
A split-second later Legolas pushed himself up on his arms and let his still-hard penis, now slick with seed, slip back, full length, inside her.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Slowly, he withdrew and paused, enjoying the feel of the cool night air on his shaft and savouring the anticipation of his next thrust into her warmth. Then he entered her again, in one long, firm stroke.
“Gods!” she moaned.
Smiling, Legolas began to concentrate on pleasuring her, sliding his hand beneath her to caress her swollen flesh whilst he rode her masterfully, staying deep inside her, keeping his strokes hard, gradually varying his angle until he heard her gasp. Oh yes! he thought.
He withdrew one last time, and waited—still caressing her lightly—until she began to beg for release, then he plunged back inside her, smiling with satisfaction at her blood-curdling scream.
…
“You are still aroused,” she whispered. They were lying, now, on the balcony floor. “And—” she curled her hand around him, “I thought it felt different. Gods, Lassui, what has happened to you?”
Legolas sighed. He had only just started to understand that himself. “The woman, Arinna, gave me a cordial,” he said. “She told me it was harmless.”
“But you are bigger—”
“I know.”
“Thicker—”
“I know.”
“Does it hurt?”
“It is certainly… insistent.”
“Insistent?” Eowyn rolled oveto hto her stomach. “Then we had better give it what it wants,” she said, stroking it. “Until it stops insisting.”
“You are a wicked woman, melmenya.”
“And you are lucky to have me.”
He pulled her into his arms and hugged her fiercely. “I know that, Eowyn nín,” he said. “I know!”
…
“No…” she said, dreamily, as he straddled her again. She wrapped her hand around his erection and held it, lovingly. “This time I want to see you. I want to watch you disappearing into my body…”
The bed was too far away. He glanced around the balcony. There was only one answer. He lifted her to her feet and set her back on the marble wall. Then, standing between her spread legs, he took hold of his penis, still stiffly upright and, watching her watch him, entered her slowly, inch by inch.
“Oh, gods,” she whimpered, reaching down to touch him.
He brushed her thick hair over her shoulder and pressed his lips to her ear. “Do you know how much I love you?” he asked. “And I told you to wait! I would not last an hour without you!”
“Nor I withoou, ou, Lassui,” she whispered.
“I did not think we would be together again, like this, for a very long time.” He kissed her cheek.
She closed her eyes and, arching her back, she began to ride him, her movements becoming more and more urgent until, suddenly, she stopped, with a violent shudder. “Gods,” she moaned, laying her head on his shoulder.
“You almost came,” he said, softly.
“But I did not want to,” she said, “not yet. I want us to come together, Lassui.”
He straightened up and, grasping her waist, began to thrust with a slow, steady rhythm … “Oh, that feels good,” he whispered.
“You are so beautiful,” said Eowyn tracing his features with her fingertip. “Your eyes, your sweet nose, your lips … Oh…” She closed her eyes and, leaning backwards, arched her back. “Harder,” she whispered. “Harder, Lassui… Oh, my love, my love… Yes, oh—yes. YES, LASSUI!”
…
Eowyn stroked him, gently. “Too tired to insist now,” she said, smiling.
Legolas gathered her close.
…
Next morning
“It is dawn,” said Valandil, softly, shaking Wilawen’s shoulder.
She stared at him for a moment, uncomprehending; then she sat up and stretched her limbs. “How is your ankle?” she asked, yawning.
“Better.”
“Does it still seem li goo good plan?”
Valandil nodded. “It is our only hope,” he said. “Come.”
Together, they rolled back the heavy stone and peered outside. During the night the creatures had been right outside the cave mouth and, here and there, where the sand had been churned by their scaly bodies, there were slivers of shed skin. Wilawen shuddered. “I never believed that such things existed,” she said. “When we first found this place, I thought that the gods had blessed us.”
had had better hurry,” said Valandil, gently, “before the temperature begins to rise. Let me go out first.”
Wilawen nodded.
Slowly, the elf crawled through the narrow opening, stood, and looked down the slope into the trees. “It seems safe,” he said.
Wilawen crawled out to join him. “We need enough fruit for two days,” she said, tearing pieces of cloth from her skirt and handing him two. “Then we must wash out your boots and fill them with water.”
Valandil nodded. “What is the other cloth for?” he asked.
“Something that will be indispensable if wer fir find our way back to civilisation,” she said, crawling back into tave.ave.
…
“Legolas?”
He was sitting on the balcony, watching the sun rise, but his posture told her that his thoughts were troubled. Eowyn wrapped herself in a sheet and padded over to him.
“What is it, my love?” she asked, laying her hand on his back.
Hened ned his startling blue eyes on her, smiling sadly. “What am I to do, melmenya?” he asked. And it was not necessary for him to say anything more.
“For the time being,” said Eowyn, “you must give her what she wants—”
“But—”
“Do not worry about me, Lassui. I trust you.” She smiled, “Especially after last night—”
“Melmenya! Do not joke!” He sighed. “She wants to take me for a picnic today.”
“Then let her. Flatter her; give her the attentihe che craves.” She hugged him. “I know that you have begun to feel protective towards her, Legolas—shhhh, let me finish, my darling—I know. And I have said it before—it is in your nature to care for others and I would not have you any other way.” She laid her forehead against his. “How would she react, do you think, if you were to run away? Would she have her men pursue you, relentlessly? Or would she die of a broken heart? What do your instincts tell you?”
“That she is trustworthy but immature.”
“Unpredictable.”
“I do not think she would ever mean to hurt us.”
“But she might lash out in pain.”
Legolas nodded. “The deof fof feeling I sense in her does make me nervous. But I do not want to hurt her. And I owe her so much—she saved you from those terrible men.”
Eowyn nodded. “I owe her too.”
“I do not know what to do, melmenya.”
…
Later…
“Good morning, my lady,” said the tailor, bowing deeply. His two assistants, standing slightly behind him, and each carrying a large book of fabric samples, followed his example.
“Good morning, Master Katuzili,” said Hentmirë. “Please, sit down.”
The tailor perched on a stool beside her daybed.
Hentmirë smiled. “I have a very special task for you, Master Katuzili, one which I know you will enjoy—I have a new companion and he needs some clothes.” She turned towards Legolas, who was standing, half hidden in the shadows, behind her. “Let Master Katuzili see you, my dear,” she chided.
Legolas stepped forward.
“Gods preserve us!” gasped the tailor—who had clearly never seen an elf before—then, quickly recovering his self possession, he said, “It will be an honour, my lady. If the gentleman will permit me, I shall begin by taking his measurements.”
He opened a small pouch at his waist, took out a length of cord, and proceeded to measure Legolas, wrapping the cord around his chest, his waist, and hips, then draping it down his back, his arm and his leg, all the while calling out an arcane series of numbers to his assistants, one of whom made notes in the front of his sample book.
“Good,” said Katuzili, when the measuring was over. , as, as to colours, my Lady, may I suggest the pale blues and soft silvers and, perhaps, some darker greens and ambers?” One of his assistants stepped forward with the correct samples.
“Are you sure?” asked Hentmirë, “because that all sounds very dull to me. I thought he would look nice in a bright red…” She smiled at Legolas. “Yes, a bright red, and purple, and gold.”
“I am sure you are right, my lady,” said the tr, tr, tactfully, “but just allow me to show you…” he turned the pages, “this.” He pointed to a silk brocade patterned in delicate shades of blue and lilac.
“Well…”
The tailor carefully detached the page and held the sample next to Legolas’ face. “There!” he said, triumphantly.
Hentmirë studied the effect carefully. “We shall have that, too,” she said.
Slowly, with the tailor’s tactful guidance, Hentmirë ordered Legolas a come wae wardrobe—full trousers with broad sashes; loose-fitting shirts; short, sleeveless jackets; full length robes of heavy brocade and damask for the town and of fine linen for the desert; embroidered slippers; and a magnificent pair of tooled leather riding boots.
“I want them by the end of the week,” she said.
turaturally, my lady.”
“And,” she added, “I shall need matching gowns for my new lady companion. You must measure her, too, before you leave…”
…
“It cannot be much farther,” said Valandil, wiping the sweat from his brow. The sun, which had been low in the sky when they left the oasis, was climbing rapidly. Wilawen had torn another piece of fabric from her skirt and had wrapped it around her head and shoulders, but he could see that she was already suffering the beginnings of heat stroke. “Here,” he said, “have some more water.”
“Thank you.” She took a mouthful. “Are you sure we are going in the right direction?”
“Certain,” said Valandil.
“How much further?”
“I do not know.” He looked up at the sky.
“Valandil…”
The elf felt a sudden pang of fear. Something was coming towards them.
“Valandil, you must leave me.”
“What?” he asked, vaguely. The thing was getting closer.
“I cannot go much further,” sailawilawen, “and I am holding you back. Take the water and leave—”
“RUN!” he cried, grabbing her arm.
But there was nowhere to hide. And the roc swooped down from the sky and scooped them up once more.
…
Next episode: Haldir
…
The name Hentmirë is Ancient Egyptian, Rimush was the name of a King of Akkad (the younger son of Sargon, apparently ;-) and Katuzili is Hittite.
…
Writing about Hentmirë has reminded me—I’m not sure why—of two beautiful, bittersweet, short stories by Regina, called The Finest of Vintages
http://www.henneth-annun.net/stories/chaptem?STm?STID=2193
and Last of the Summer Wine
http://www.henneth-annun.net/stories/chapter.cfm?STID=2217
that describe an ‘improbable friendship’ between Legolas and a wine seller of Esgaroth. She is already elderly in the first story and very old in the second and, of course, he is immortal… (If you read the second one, have a box of tissues handy).
…
Valandil had misjudged the time—the sun was already disappearing beneath the horizon.
“Come on,” cried Wilawen, desperately. “Hurry, Valandil! Quickly!”
The elf plucked two more figs and pushed them inside his tunic. Then he dropped to the ground and started running up the slope.
“They are behind you!” cried Wilawen.
Valandil kept running, all his senses straining. As he reached the narrow ledge, just below the cave mouth, one of the creatures attacked, narrowly missing the back of his leg. Valandil leapt forward, lost his footing, and stumbled…
So this is it, he thought.
But, to his surprise, when he looked up, Wilawen was standing beside him. “Come on,” she urged, holding the vile things back with a flaming torch. “If they get inside the cave we are finished.”
Valandil scrambled to his feet. Wilawen threw the torch into the midst of their tormentors and—whilst the monsters hissed and spat with anger—she grabbed Valandil’s hand and, together, they threw themselves through the narrow opening and pushed the boulder into place.
…
At night, most of the Hunter’s crew went below to sleep. Tonight, with the ship becalmed, only a handful of sailors had been left on watch.
Haldir walked back and forth along the deck. The delay was unbearable.
The True Friend could have landed this morning, he thought. They may have sold her already. And whoever buys her will only want one thing…
He looked out across the empty sea. Assuming, that is, that she is still alive. He closed his eyes and tried to reach her with his mind—he knew that such things were possible amongst the High Elves. He shook his head. Nothing. But I would surely know if she were dead, he thought. I would sense her loss…
Then another thought came to him, unbidden. Legolas must be frantic.
Valar! he thought, guiltily. Imagine what he must be going through—unable to keep her safe from the sailors on the ship; unable to prevent them selling her to Mandos-knows-who when they reach land.
She may already have been violated. And Legolas too… If I ever get hold of the wargs’ members that took them! He slammed his fist down on the ship’s gunwale.
That was foolish, he thought, examining his hand.
He took a deep, calming breath.
Flowers…
I can smell flowers; miles from anywhere…
Borne on the air! Is the wind picking up? He looked up at the sails. Could they be stirring? Yes! Yes, they are! He looked to the men on watch, wondering why they were still so subdued. The change is too slight for human senses to detect, he thought. They do not know yet.
He hurried onto the aft deck. “What are your orders if the wind picks up?” he asked.
“We’re to raise the Captain, immediately, sir.”
“Then you had better do it,” said Haldir. “You had better do it straight away!”
…
“Well, gentlemen,” said the auctioneer, replacing Eowyn’s veil. “You’ve seen the merchandise. Now, what am I bid for her?”
The woman who had bought Legolas began to raise her fan—
“Three thousand!”
“Three thousand from the gentleman at the front,” said the auctioneer, nodding to the bidder.
“Four!” cried another voice.
“Four thousand from the back,” said the auctioneer. “Any advance on four?”
“Five,” said the woman, squeezing Legolas’ hand.
“Six,” said the man at the front. He was leaning on the stage, peering—Legolas was convinced—through Eowyn’s almost transparent trousers.
“Any advance on six, ladies and gentlemen?” asked the auctioneer. “Do I hear seven? Seven, anyone?”
Legolas looked anxiously at Eowyn. She was holding her head high, staring bravely into the distance, but he knew that her indifference was only an act. Inside, she was terrified. He bit his lip; and he was watching Eowyn so intently that he did not notice that the woman beside him was watching him with concern.
“I have seven!” cried the auctioneer. “Do I hear eight?”
Legolas wrung his hands in frustration. If only he had his bow… If only Gimli and Aragorn were with him…
“Are there any more bids, ladies and gentlemen? Any more bids for this lovely creature?” He looked around the crowd. The man at the front shook his head.
“SOLD! To the lady! You have bought a fine pair, madam.”
Legolas turned to the woman in surprise.
“Well,” she said, “I can always sell some jewellery. And it is worth an extra two thousand to see your lovely smile.”
…
“We must leave tomorrow, at first light, after they have crawled back into their holes,” said Wilawen, cutting the figs into quarters with the blade she had chipped from a stone. “We cannot risk another night. They know where we are hiding, now, and they have realised that we cannot fight back. I have been thinking—”
Valandil looked up from rubbing his twisted ankle. The courage and resourcefulness the woman had shown over the last three days—making the stone knife, using it to make fire, using the fire to help break their chains—were a constant source of amazement to him.
“Will you be fit to walk tomorrow?” Wilawen asked.
“Yes, it is only a slight strain.”
“Could you walk without your boots?” She passed him his share of the figs, heaped on a flat stone.
“Without… Why?”
“Could you?”
“Yes.”
“Over the hot sand?”
“Yes.”
“And they are waterproof?”
He suddenly understood what she was about to suggest. “Of course! Though it will not be very pleasant.”
“I think,” said Wilawen, “that we can live with that—we can wash them out. They will carry enough water for, what, two days?”
“If we are careful. And provided we do not spill any.”
“We can tie our belts around the top to close them,” said Wilawen. “We will start at dawn. We will pick enough dates and figs for two days—we can tear the hem off my skirt to carry them… The only question is, which way do we go?”
“To the coast,” said Valandil. “I still think that is our best hope.”
“Can you still smell the sea?”
“Faintly. It is over there.” He pointed towards the back of the cave.
“That is settled then,” said Wilawen. “Now I had better get some sleep.”
“Here,” said Valandil, slipping out of his tattered jerkin and folding it to form a pillow. He handed it to her.
“Thank you,” she said. And she smiled for the first time in two days.
The elf watched over her until her breathing had slowed and steadied, and he was sure she was asleep. Then he leant back against the cave wall and tried to rest. She is right, he thought. We were fortunate finding this cave that first night. But now they are getting too close. If it had not been for Wilawen and her torch, tonight, I would already be dragon food…
…
“I am afraid that you will have to walk, my dear,” said the woman to Legolas, “but your lady can ride beside me.” She leant towards him, as if about to share a confidence, “She does look very tired. Rimush,” she called, to one of her attendants, “you must use the chains but be very careful—do not bruise his skin.”
The attendant bowed.
“I am sorry, my dear, but I shall have to have you chained. It is only for form’s sake and only until we reach the house. After that, you will be free to go wherever you like—as long as you promise, faithfully, to come back.”
Legolas climbed down from the litter and helped Eowyn, who did, indeed, seem very tired, to climb up beside the woman. “My lady,” he said, tentatively, “what is your name?”
“My name is Hentmirë,” said the woman, in her slightly child-like voice. “But I suppose that you should call me ‘mistress’.”
The attendant, Rimush, slipped a pair of ornate, padded manacles over Legolas’ wrists. The elf bit his lip. “Of course, mistress,” he said, softly. Rimush locked the manacles to the hand rail of the palanquin. “My name is Legolas. And this is Eowyn.”
“Leg-o-las,” said Hentmirë, experimentally.
The four attendants lifted the litter and began forcing their way through the crowd. Legolas walked beside them
“It means Greenleaf,” said Eowyn.
The other woman turned to her in surprise.
“Legolas,” said Eowyn. “It means Greenleaf… Why did you buy him, my lady?”
“I…” Hentmirë shrugged her shoulders. “I suppose I was carried away by his beauty. And then I bought you to make him happy.”
Eowyn smiled, sadly. “And how do you intend to,” she cleared her throat, “use him?”
“Use him? My dear, I wonevenever use him.” She smoothed the skirt of her jewelled robe. “No. I thought it would be nice to… to dress him in nice clothes and… and… sing with him—yes—I have heard that elves are beautiful singers—and talk. And I can take him for walks…”
“And take him to bed with you?” asked Eowyn, very, very softly.
“My dear!”
“I am sorry, my lady,” said Eowyn, bowing her head.
“And so you should be! Of course not,” said Hentmirë. “I am a maiden lady. I do not… I would not…”
“I am sorry, my lady,” Eowyn repeated.
“But he is so very beautiful,” said Hentmirë, wistfully. “Perhaps, if I were younger…”
…
Hentmirë’s house was in the most salubrious part of town—a strange collection of walls and arches and towers with onion-shaped roofs, all painted sugar-pink and wrapped around a large central courtyard—closed off from the road by high, wrought-iron gates. The attendants waited for the gatekeeper to open up then carried the palanquin into the courtyard and set it down before the great double-doors.
“Unlock him, Rimush,” said the lady of the house. “Come, my dear—and you, too, Eowyn—let me show you where you will be living.”
She led them into the massive reception hall, waving away a serving girl who came running up to take her cloak and fan, and up the broad staircase to an open landing that ran around the four sides of the hall. “This,” she said, pointing to one of the arched doors, “is my bedroom. And this one,” she turned the corner and stopped beside the next door, “is yours.” She waited; then, after a few moments, she whispered to Legolas, “Open the door, my dear.”
“Oh…” Legolas opened the door, wondering whether he should bow.
“There,” said Hentmirë. “You have your own bathing room, through there, and a balcony overlooking the garden—see.”
“It is very nice, my lady,” said Legolas, politely.
“I am so glad you like it,” said Hentmirë, beaming happily. “Now, I am sure that you would like to bathe, Eowyn, so we will give you some privacy. I just need to talk to talk to Legolas,” she faltered slightly over his name, “about his duties tomorrow…”
…
What a strange situation, thought Eowyn, as she waited for the servant to draw her bath. We are her slaves and yet she is treating us like guests…
Treating Legolas like a guest. She is putting up with me for his sake.
And I wonder how long that will last…
She walked over to the dressing table and examined the objects laid out on it—a mother of pearl comb, a carved, wooden hairbrush and a silver hand mirror. Legolas will like these.
She picked up an ornate glass bottle and held it up to the light, watching the translucent glass, like an opal, change colour as she turned it this way and that.
She obviously went to the slave market to buy herself an elf. And she fell in love with Legolas at first sight—I saw it happen.
She pulled the leaf-shapedpperpper from the bottle and sniffed its contents.
But it is not the love of a woman for a man. At least, not yet. It is the love of a lonely little girl for a precious kitten. And that can be dangerous.
The oil had a sharp, pleasant fragrance. Lemons and spices but quite masculine…
We have no chains, no master cracking a whip, but—Gods!—what a strange situation.
…
“Sit down,” said Hentmirë, gesturing towards a low divan.
Legolas sat.
“Would you like a drink?” she asked, smiling.
Legolas hesitated. What did she want him to say? He decided to be honest. “No, my lady, it is late and I am concerned for Eowyn. She has been through a terrible ordeal…”
The woman bit her lip. “Of course,” she said. “I will not keep you long. It is just… My tailor will be coming tomorrow to measure you for your new clothes, so you will need to be dressed early. And then… then, I thought it would be nice to go for a picnic. I shall have my cook prepare a meal for us and my men will carry us down to the sea.” She smiled, “Is it true that elves love the sea?”
…
Legolas closed his bedroom door and leant his back against it. She has a good heart, he thought, kind and caring and I do not want to hurt her. To his surprise, he realised that he had begun to feel quite protective towards the strange, unworldly woman. She treats me like a doll. But, then, she seems to know no better…
She rescued Eowyn from the slave market and for that I will always be in her debt.
But how can I live like this? How can Eowyn? What can—
The sound of splashing water caught his attention. Eowyn? He followed the noise to the bathing room door and looked inside. Yes, Eowyn.
She was standing beside the bath, completely naked, her back turned towards him, her skin wet—and glistening in the oil light—and his joy at the sight of her was so intense that he felt it, like a sharp stab, in his chest and his groin.
Still unaware of him, Eowyn leant down gracefully, picked up a towel, and, singing softly to herself, began to dry her body, slowly stretching out each limb and patting it with the soft fabric. Legolas swallowed hard. Unconsciously, he untied his sash, unlaced his silk trousers and pulled them open.
Eowyn walked over to the dressing table, picked up an ornate glass bottle, poured a little lemon-scented oil into the palm of her hand, and began massaging it into her skin.
Already painfully aroused, Legolas approached her silently and, without warning, slipped his hands beneath her arms and pulled her back against his body, burying his face in the crook of her shoulder.
“OH!” Eowyn’s cry was a heady mixture of surprise and pleasure.
Nipping the dele ske skin of her neck, Legolas slid one hand down to her belly and pulled her closer. She began to struggle playfully, her buttocks rubbing against his impatient penis. With a grunt of pure lust, Legolas exerted his elven strength and—still biting her neck—carried her out onto the balcony, laid her over the low marble wall, and sank himself deep inside her.
The night was warm and the air was filled with the heady scent of strange blossoms. A row of round paper lanterns glowed, like so many tiny suns, above Legolas’ head. Familiar ripples of pleasure began to tease his groin.
Sweet Eru, not yet!
He drew himself out of her and breathed deeply, trying to will his orgasm away. But Eowyn evidently had other ideas. Wriggling again, she brushed against his straining penis, and Legolas, taken by surprise, exploded abruptly over her back and buttocks.
“Ai!” he cried with each groin-wrenching spasm, “Ai! AI!”
Eowyn lay quietly, waiting for him to recover.
A split-second later Legolas pushed himself up on his arms and let his still-hard penis, now slick with seed, slip back, full length, inside her.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Slowly, he withdrew and paused, enjoying the feel of the cool night air on his shaft and savouring the anticipation of his next thrust into her warmth. Then he entered her again, in one long, firm stroke.
“Gods!” she moaned.
Smiling, Legolas began to concentrate on pleasuring her, sliding his hand beneath her to caress her swollen flesh whilst he rode her masterfully, staying deep inside her, keeping his strokes hard, gradually varying his angle until he heard her gasp. Oh yes! he thought.
He withdrew one last time, and waited—still caressing her lightly—until she began to beg for release, then he plunged back inside her, smiling with satisfaction at her blood-curdling scream.
…
“You are still aroused,” she whispered. They were lying, now, on the balcony floor. “And—” she curled her hand around him, “I thought it felt different. Gods, Lassui, what has happened to you?”
Legolas sighed. He had only just started to understand that himself. “The woman, Arinna, gave me a cordial,” he said. “She told me it was harmless.”
“But you are bigger—”
“I know.”
“Thicker—”
“I know.”
“Does it hurt?”
“It is certainly… insistent.”
“Insistent?” Eowyn rolled oveto hto her stomach. “Then we had better give it what it wants,” she said, stroking it. “Until it stops insisting.”
“You are a wicked woman, melmenya.”
“And you are lucky to have me.”
He pulled her into his arms and hugged her fiercely. “I know that, Eowyn nín,” he said. “I know!”
…
“No…” she said, dreamily, as he straddled her again. She wrapped her hand around his erection and held it, lovingly. “This time I want to see you. I want to watch you disappearing into my body…”
The bed was too far away. He glanced around the balcony. There was only one answer. He lifted her to her feet and set her back on the marble wall. Then, standing between her spread legs, he took hold of his penis, still stiffly upright and, watching her watch him, entered her slowly, inch by inch.
“Oh, gods,” she whimpered, reaching down to touch him.
He brushed her thick hair over her shoulder and pressed his lips to her ear. “Do you know how much I love you?” he asked. “And I told you to wait! I would not last an hour without you!”
“Nor I withoou, ou, Lassui,” she whispered.
“I did not think we would be together again, like this, for a very long time.” He kissed her cheek.
She closed her eyes and, arching her back, she began to ride him, her movements becoming more and more urgent until, suddenly, she stopped, with a violent shudder. “Gods,” she moaned, laying her head on his shoulder.
“You almost came,” he said, softly.
“But I did not want to,” she said, “not yet. I want us to come together, Lassui.”
He straightened up and, grasping her waist, began to thrust with a slow, steady rhythm … “Oh, that feels good,” he whispered.
“You are so beautiful,” said Eowyn tracing his features with her fingertip. “Your eyes, your sweet nose, your lips … Oh…” She closed her eyes and, leaning backwards, arched her back. “Harder,” she whispered. “Harder, Lassui… Oh, my love, my love… Yes, oh—yes. YES, LASSUI!”
…
Eowyn stroked him, gently. “Too tired to insist now,” she said, smiling.
Legolas gathered her close.
…
Next morning
“It is dawn,” said Valandil, softly, shaking Wilawen’s shoulder.
She stared at him for a moment, uncomprehending; then she sat up and stretched her limbs. “How is your ankle?” she asked, yawning.
“Better.”
“Does it still seem li goo good plan?”
Valandil nodded. “It is our only hope,” he said. “Come.”
Together, they rolled back the heavy stone and peered outside. During the night the creatures had been right outside the cave mouth and, here and there, where the sand had been churned by their scaly bodies, there were slivers of shed skin. Wilawen shuddered. “I never believed that such things existed,” she said. “When we first found this place, I thought that the gods had blessed us.”
had had better hurry,” said Valandil, gently, “before the temperature begins to rise. Let me go out first.”
Wilawen nodded.
Slowly, the elf crawled through the narrow opening, stood, and looked down the slope into the trees. “It seems safe,” he said.
Wilawen crawled out to join him. “We need enough fruit for two days,” she said, tearing pieces of cloth from her skirt and handing him two. “Then we must wash out your boots and fill them with water.”
Valandil nodded. “What is the other cloth for?” he asked.
“Something that will be indispensable if wer fir find our way back to civilisation,” she said, crawling back into tave.ave.
…
“Legolas?”
He was sitting on the balcony, watching the sun rise, but his posture told her that his thoughts were troubled. Eowyn wrapped herself in a sheet and padded over to him.
“What is it, my love?” she asked, laying her hand on his back.
Hened ned his startling blue eyes on her, smiling sadly. “What am I to do, melmenya?” he asked. And it was not necessary for him to say anything more.
“For the time being,” said Eowyn, “you must give her what she wants—”
“But—”
“Do not worry about me, Lassui. I trust you.” She smiled, “Especially after last night—”
“Melmenya! Do not joke!” He sighed. “She wants to take me for a picnic today.”
“Then let her. Flatter her; give her the attentihe che craves.” She hugged him. “I know that you have begun to feel protective towards her, Legolas—shhhh, let me finish, my darling—I know. And I have said it before—it is in your nature to care for others and I would not have you any other way.” She laid her forehead against his. “How would she react, do you think, if you were to run away? Would she have her men pursue you, relentlessly? Or would she die of a broken heart? What do your instincts tell you?”
“That she is trustworthy but immature.”
“Unpredictable.”
“I do not think she would ever mean to hurt us.”
“But she might lash out in pain.”
Legolas nodded. “The deof fof feeling I sense in her does make me nervous. But I do not want to hurt her. And I owe her so much—she saved you from those terrible men.”
Eowyn nodded. “I owe her too.”
“I do not know what to do, melmenya.”
…
Later…
“Good morning, my lady,” said the tailor, bowing deeply. His two assistants, standing slightly behind him, and each carrying a large book of fabric samples, followed his example.
“Good morning, Master Katuzili,” said Hentmirë. “Please, sit down.”
The tailor perched on a stool beside her daybed.
Hentmirë smiled. “I have a very special task for you, Master Katuzili, one which I know you will enjoy—I have a new companion and he needs some clothes.” She turned towards Legolas, who was standing, half hidden in the shadows, behind her. “Let Master Katuzili see you, my dear,” she chided.
Legolas stepped forward.
“Gods preserve us!” gasped the tailor—who had clearly never seen an elf before—then, quickly recovering his self possession, he said, “It will be an honour, my lady. If the gentleman will permit me, I shall begin by taking his measurements.”
He opened a small pouch at his waist, took out a length of cord, and proceeded to measure Legolas, wrapping the cord around his chest, his waist, and hips, then draping it down his back, his arm and his leg, all the while calling out an arcane series of numbers to his assistants, one of whom made notes in the front of his sample book.
“Good,” said Katuzili, when the measuring was over. , as, as to colours, my Lady, may I suggest the pale blues and soft silvers and, perhaps, some darker greens and ambers?” One of his assistants stepped forward with the correct samples.
“Are you sure?” asked Hentmirë, “because that all sounds very dull to me. I thought he would look nice in a bright red…” She smiled at Legolas. “Yes, a bright red, and purple, and gold.”
“I am sure you are right, my lady,” said the tr, tr, tactfully, “but just allow me to show you…” he turned the pages, “this.” He pointed to a silk brocade patterned in delicate shades of blue and lilac.
“Well…”
The tailor carefully detached the page and held the sample next to Legolas’ face. “There!” he said, triumphantly.
Hentmirë studied the effect carefully. “We shall have that, too,” she said.
Slowly, with the tailor’s tactful guidance, Hentmirë ordered Legolas a come wae wardrobe—full trousers with broad sashes; loose-fitting shirts; short, sleeveless jackets; full length robes of heavy brocade and damask for the town and of fine linen for the desert; embroidered slippers; and a magnificent pair of tooled leather riding boots.
“I want them by the end of the week,” she said.
turaturally, my lady.”
“And,” she added, “I shall need matching gowns for my new lady companion. You must measure her, too, before you leave…”
…
“It cannot be much farther,” said Valandil, wiping the sweat from his brow. The sun, which had been low in the sky when they left the oasis, was climbing rapidly. Wilawen had torn another piece of fabric from her skirt and had wrapped it around her head and shoulders, but he could see that she was already suffering the beginnings of heat stroke. “Here,” he said, “have some more water.”
“Thank you.” She took a mouthful. “Are you sure we are going in the right direction?”
“Certain,” said Valandil.
“How much further?”
“I do not know.” He looked up at the sky.
“Valandil…”
The elf felt a sudden pang of fear. Something was coming towards them.
“Valandil, you must leave me.”
“What?” he asked, vaguely. The thing was getting closer.
“I cannot go much further,” sailawilawen, “and I am holding you back. Take the water and leave—”
“RUN!” he cried, grabbing her arm.
But there was nowhere to hide. And the roc swooped down from the sky and scooped them up once more.
…
Next episode: Haldir
…
The name Hentmirë is Ancient Egyptian, Rimush was the name of a King of Akkad (the younger son of Sargon, apparently ;-) and Katuzili is Hittite.
…
Writing about Hentmirë has reminded me—I’m not sure why—of two beautiful, bittersweet, short stories by Regina, called The Finest of Vintages
http://www.henneth-annun.net/stories/chaptem?STm?STID=2193
and Last of the Summer Wine
http://www.henneth-annun.net/stories/chapter.cfm?STID=2217
that describe an ‘improbable friendship’ between Legolas and a wine seller of Esgaroth. She is already elderly in the first story and very old in the second and, of course, he is immortal… (If you read the second one, have a box of tissues handy).
…