- 'Come with me, Frodo!' cried the dwarf, springing from the road. 'I would not have you go without seeing Kheledzâram.' He ran down the long green slope. Frodo followed slowly, drawn by the still blue water in spite of hurt and weariness; Sam came up behind.
They stooped over the dark water. At first they could see nothing. Then slowly they saw the forms of the encircling mountains mirrored in a profound blue, and the peaks were like plumes of white flame above them; beyond there was a space of sky. There like jewels sunk in the deep shone glinting stars, though sunlight was in the sky above. Of their own stooping forms no shadow could be seen.
The images were destroyed by ripples coming from their side.
- Ugh, my last spare – Breguril cursed dipping her wimple in the holied waters of the Mirrormere and using it as a rag to wash off orc blood and brains off her alabaster skin.
And – huito!* – no time to wash it.
Gimli son of Gloin was to unleash his indignation when he gasped and spluttered and his eyes bulged at the sight of the bare-headed elf-maid. Sam was equally eloquent, only Frodo – a Gentlehobbit with nerves steeled by decades of contact with the Shire's high society – keeping from making any incoherent sounds. Breguril's head was covered by golden coloured hair, with reddish streaks, yet nowhere longer than an inch.
Dabbing at her face she snorted:
- That's why I wear them. To spare me such gaping from the likes of you ... with her free hand she began throwing empty water skins at her companions.
- Let's fill them up while we're here ...
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Breguril stretched and scratched her hairy armpit.
- I think I'll go and shag Boromir. He should be ripe for seduction by now. Heh. Since we left Imladris, whenever the going was uphill, I pushed myself into position just ahead of him and ensured that he got a good view of my ass. Y'know, the subtle swaying of the hips ...
Hurr-hurr, she guffawed loudly as she rolled in her seat. Galadriel sighed inwardly, as not to give the subtle as an avalanche elleth encouragement to elucidate on her flirting techniques.
Her keen eleven eyes spying the displeasure which had seeped onto the Lady of Light's face the younger she-elf shrugged and stood up:
- I've told you time and again, with mortals it doesn't count. There's no joining of fea but only of hroa.
She gave Galadriel a leer and bounced up her breasts with her spade sized hands.
- Now that I've taken them out of my bindings I can jiggle my tits in front of his nose. Hurr hurr. They're overdue for some loving ... . I'll see what he's got in those blue-balls of his. See you tomorrow.
She left the room, pausing to twerk at door – and made off with yet another belly chuckle.
Galadriel sighed, audibly this time. All her hopes that the last half a thousand years spent on butchering orcs with her grandsons would had calmed her down were to naught. Breguril was as mercurial and unpredictable, as alternatively sweet and obnoxious, as well as vulgar and crass as she'd always been. And rarely failed to rile her up ...
.
.
She woke up with pressing need to pee. Squirting into the night pot she winced – she was sore and chaffed raw. The Gondorian – like a fruit overdue on the bough - was bursting with seed and ripe for the picking! While doing her business she queefed out some of the night's love juices, with a few blood specks included. Gliding back to bed with elven grace she looked down at a snoring Boromir – drooling over the pillow – with a predator's hunger. She bent over, dropping her breast into his face and began to tug at his manhood. Seeing him open his eyes she purred "mountain troll" and seeing the smugness bloom on his face she turned her head to hide her smirk.
Men were so vain, gullible and easily manipulated ...
After composing her face she straddled him. Neither her slickness from the prior evening's exertions nor his morning glory could be allowed to go to waste ...
.
After disposing of Boromir, this meaning leaving him at the edge of the Fellowship's camp, Breguril decided to wind down by doing weapon and armour repairs. As a true daughter of the Noldorim she was well versed in various crafts. Her size and tendencies made her drift into the most muscle demanding craft – smithing. Not that she was limited to that craft alone – she was handy with the needle for instance, her embroidered wimples being minor works of art. She also liked leatherworking as to be able to wear that which she really wanted.
After the noon meal she took her equipment to the smithy. The elf maid was not particularly surprised to hear sounds of work coming from inside, but the sight of Gimli – alone – was.
- What are you doing here? – she demanded.
- Ye blind or what? Catching fucking butterflies, what else! – Gimli swung his hammer with a sharp "clang" at the piece of metal he was working on.
Breguril guessed what must have happened – Gimli had asked to use the forge, assent was given, and then all elves fled the area. The cantankerous little git was barely sufferable at the best of times and only her superior Noldo self control had kept her from strangling the hairy shorty.
- And you? Whadayawant here? – the naugrim asked.
She bent over to give Gimli to give him a good look up her cleavage and – looking him in the eye (which had drifted to the natural place) while slightly rolling her torso – said:
- I've come here for some banging – and licked her lower lip, still swollen from Boromir's lips and teeth.
Whatever ruddy facial skin the dwarf had visible became even ruddier than it had been from the mountain winds and the heat of the forge. He spluttered and stepped back, raising the hammer and thongs to put a barrier between then.
The bellows of Breguril's laughter scared the birds off the nearest trees.
Over the next few hours the sharing of the forge had produced a cameradie of sorts between then. Both being well versed in this craft they passed one another the necessary tools without a word, took turns to work the bellows, provided a second pair of hands to hold a tricky piece of work. These few hours warmed them to one another more than the two months of common trek had done. Like Eol and the Naugrim of Nogrod and Belegost, passed the elleth's mind. But this fond thought was immediately quenched by the memory of the sack and massacre of Doriath by the said Naugrim. Plus she never had liked Eol, she had always suspected him of messing up with Aredhel's mind. There was something odd about their marriage. Some sick Moriquendi fuck, Eol had been, as ultimately Aredhel had fled from him, was the Noldo's opinion if anybody cared to ask her. She drew her lips back for a new verbal jab at Gimli. But then she remembered Celebrimbor – a cousin she had not disliked, a singular exception for one of Feanor's blood – and his joint works with Narvi. And Gimli, like Narvi, was of the honourable – for one not of the First Born - Longbeards, not of the treacherous Broadbeams or Firebeards. And she had had good times with Durin's Folk at Khazad Dum. Breguril smiled at the bearded shorty and resumed her work alongside him.
With the passage of hours she felt herself work up an appetite for the dwarf. Chaffing or no chaffing, multiple orgasms or not, Boromir had not quenched her needs. By now they had shed most of their clothing, wearing as little as possible besides their leather aprons. She had caught Gimli appraising her female form, just as she herself was admiring the play of powerful muscles under his hairy arms and shoulders. She licked her lips. What a broad chest, sweat slicked skin barely visible under the titillating carpet of russet curls ... a hairy back ... she liked that in male ... an Age had passed since she had last tasted dwarf ...
The day ended with Breguril shamelessly screaming her pleasure into the mallorn canopy while Gimli bellowed out oaths to Mahal as he went over edge.
.
.
The forge was transformed from its utilitarian condition of a few days ago. Cleaned up, with the tools all stowed away, apart from the largest hammer. A table, two chairs and a side table with solid and liquid refreshments had been put in. The Lady of the Golden Wood and the warrior maiden seated themselves at the table. Galadriel, erect, while the young elleth slouched in the chair, hitching her skirt up to her knees and crossing her legs, with an ankle on the knee.
Seeing where Galadriel's eyes strayed, Breguril chuckled.
- I'm still unladylike, eh? She grabbed her skirt and fanned herself, her thighs bare, while keeping an eye on the Lady. Seeing no reaction she stopped and reached out for the drink.
- Wish to know why I've been walking funny for the last two days?
- That is something I do not wish to know, even though I do. My powers occasionally provide me with too much information. Especially if it concerns my flesh and blood.
Breguril shrugged.
- You know the deal – you tell me who my sire was and maybe I'll get to become a proper lady, no longer deserving of her Adasser moniker*. Maybe I'll even grow my hair out.
- So why all this, Breguril swept her arm at the forge – why the garden furniture here?
- I wanted to talk to you.
Galadriel looked at the younger elf-maid with sadness, sorrow and angst in her wisdom brimming orbs. She addressed Breguril in Vanyarin, a language with exactly two speakers in Middle Earth – the two of them. Besides creating a special bond this choice of language was to thwart any evesdroping attempts. Especially with keen elven ears around. Although speaking Quenya would have made their conversation confidential amidst a crowd of the Galadhrim* but, using the tongue of her grandmother, Indis, of the Vanyar Kindred, ensured secrecy greater than had the ellith been speaking in the Black Speech of Mordor.
- A long time ago, far away, in Valinor under the light of the Trees, on the day you were born I promised myself that, once fifty yeni * (7200 years) – pass, I will reveal to you your parentage.
Breguril sat up, choking on her drink and coughing it out over her celadon tunic with Sí nathlon i caim gîn * embroidered in gold thread over her ample bosom.
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AN:
Text in italics lifted from book.
Kheledzâram,Mirrormere – a lake of glacial origin, sacred to the Dwarrow. When Moria/Khazad Dum was occupied it was a popular site for day outings to "get in touch with one's inner dwarf", an objective supposedly achieved while contemplating the reflection of the mountains in the water.
Huito – a naughty word in Sindarin
Eol and Aredhel – a pair of Elves from the first age. A very complicated relationship, Eol being a borderline (or not – Tolkien was squeamish and changed the story around several time) rapist.
Galadhrim – the elves living in Lothlorien and lorded over by Galadriel and Celeborn.
Fea – soul; by looking into the eyes of another elf an elf knew if the other was married (possibly even whom with);
Hroa - body
Adasser - "Luster for Mortal Men".
Yen ( ) – 144 years; for some reason elves like their years by the gross
Sí nathlon i caim gîn – "your hands are welcome here". Thank you Certh for correcting my botched first attempt.