Nightstar

Title: Nightstar - Part I

Type: FPS
Author: Vairë (vaire@donnesys.com)
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Haldir/OMC/Legolas
Warning: Hmmm…character death of a Fellowship member in a later part.
Disclaimer: I worship at the JRR altar. I make no claim to any of the characters except Syshae. I make no money from this, so don’t
bother to sue – you’ll only get hairballs the cat hacked up.
Timeline: Begins nearly two thousand years before the LOTR tri and and continues through the war and awardwards until the elves depart Middle Earth.
Notes: Although the entire fellowship puts in appearances, only Legolas features prominently in the story. Fits almost all of Tolkien’s
world, but expands upon it, so AU.
Summary: Centered around Haldir, Legolas, and an OMC elf named Syshae. Explores the concepts of the elves fading through weariness of the soul. What if that could be prevented? Elves, elves, and more elves!
Elvish translations: are at the end of each part. I don’t claim to be an Elvish scholar, but I believe these are fairly accurate and widely accepted.
Posting: Please ask first.
Feedback: Much appreciated. I enjoy discussing the finer points of my stories with others. All flames will be gleefully passed along to the dragons for their fiery consumption.

 

 

Nightstar - Part I

Third Age 1157

Staring at the elf standing before him, Haldir felt
stunned. What could bring one of the First Born to such a state? The elf was
motionless, head bowed, staring at the floor, yet Haldir could feel the
quivering tension and fear that radiated from him as surely as if they were his
own emotions. A mass of midnight hair hung in wild tangles, reaching past the
elf’s k, cl, cloaking much of his body from sight. Haldir could see bare feet,
well-shaped calves, one pale shoulder and arm, and an ear. With a start, he
realized that the ear was pierced from bottom to tip with small mithril loops
and studs. Elves’ ears were extremely sensitive and very few willingly endured
the pain from undergoing even one piercing. Why would one choose to endure such
repeated agony?

“Shall you take him or merely stare at him?” Thranduil’s
v sna snapped him to attention.

Thranduil. The King of Mirkwood. Responsible for the well
being of all elves within that realm. How had he allowed this elf to descend to
such a state? Anger roiled through Haldir like the night mist, but he shoved it
down. He had his duty and it would remove the elf from Thranduil’s obviously
indifferent care.

Haldir started to reach for the strange elf, to lift his
head to see his face, but halted in mid-gesture as the Lady Galadriel’s words
echoed in his mind. See him safe to me marchwarden. Guard him as a treasure,
but have a care to touch not your flesh to his. An odd caution indeed, but
Haldir knew the Lady was wise beyond all others in Middle Earth and he would
obey. “Dress him,” he instructed.

Two of Thranduil’s guards stepped forward and grabbed thef’s f’s arms. A sharp gasp of pain and the elf threw his head back, his body
arcing, muscles and tendons clenched so tightly it seemed his slender body
would break apart. Haldir had a glimpse of pain-contorted features before they
were again hidden by tangled hair. The elf struggled against the restraining
hands. The guards gripped him tighter.

“Nay! Saes, nay!” The cry was pain wracked, but the guards
paid no attention, attempting instead to wrestle the struggling elf to the bed.

“Release him!” Haldir commanded sharply. It was the voice
of a marchwarden—the voice of a commander who expected to be obeyed. Startled,
the guards looked at him. “Now!” Haldir reached for the knives strapped to his
back, but before he could draw them, Thranduil added his own command and the
guards released their hold. The elf collapsed onto the bed, moaning quietly,
his body shaking.

“You propose to take him with you naked?” Thranduil’s
voice was amused. “That should prove quite entertaining, though I doubt not he
would prefer it. It has been many years since he was allowed clothing.”

Bile rose in Haldir’s throat. No matter what crime the elf
had committed, he did not deserve such treatment—and the Lady Galadriel had
spoken of him as a treasure. Haldir trusted her words, regardless of
appearances. If his Lady said the elf was a treasure, then Haldir would treat
him as such. The urge to sink one of his knives into the king’s belly was nigh
overwhelming. Where was such depth of emotion coming from? He couldn’t tear his
eyes from the elf. Even without Galadriel’s words, he would have risen to the elf’s
defense.

Thranduil gestured his guards from the room. A pair of
breeches and a tunic landed on the stone floor. “Those should serve,” the king
observed. “How you manage him is your own business for you have refused our
help” The king left, his guards trailing obediently behind.

Haldir stood motionless for long minutes, mastering his
unreasoning anger. The elf’s shaking gradually calmed and his distressed moans
ceased. Picking the clothing from the floor, Haldir moved close to the bed. He
saw the instant tension that leaped into the strange elf’s body, could sense
mounting dread and fear. “Peace pen-neth, I shall not touch you.” He waited
until the elf seemed to calm a bit, at least the shaking stopped and the
unreasoning fear that rolled off him abated somewhat.

How could he sense the other’s emotions so clearly? Haldir
had always been skilled in reading the posture of others and was astute at
discerning underlying motivations, but never had he known the sense onothnother’s emotions as clearly as he did those of the bedraggled elf lying
before him.

“I have come to take you from this place.” Haldir dropped
the clothing on the bed. “Rise now and dress.”

Hesitantly, the elf sat up, his bowed head still hiding
his features, and reached a hand to the clothing. Haldir waited patiently,
desiring to gain the other’s trust rather than intimidate him. Slowly, the elf
drew up the breeches and laced them, his fingers fumbling with the ties as if
it had indeed been years since he had performed that everyday act. Finally,
they were tied, but when he moved to brush his lair aside and don the tunic, he
hissed in pain.

Again, Haldir had to stop himself from reaching out and
lifting the other’s chin. “You are hurt?” Miserably the elf nodded, then drew
in on himself as if expecting a blow. “Nay, pen-neth. You shall not know hurt
from me. Turn around so I may see your injury.” The elf hesitated. “I shall not
touch you,” Haldir reassured him. Slowly, mistrustful of Haldir’s words but
having no choice, the elf turned so that his back was to Haldir.

Haldir hissed as sharply as the elf had. A large portion
of the tangled mass of hair was matted with what looked like dried blood and
stuck to the elf’s back. Where the hair had clumped together or pulled aside,
Haldir could glimpse the deep wounds of lash marks. Spots of fresh blood showed
where the wounds had been torn open in the elf’s struggle with the guards.
Again, Haldir had to stop himself from reaching out to the other, wanting that
time to offer aid and comfort. His anger at Thranduil’s treatment of the elf
rose again. Guard him as a treasure the Lady Galadriel had instructed. Clearly,
Thranduil’s opinion was far different.

“I am sorry, pen-neth, but we can do nothing for this now.
We must leave.” Secretly Haldir feared Thranduil would recant his agreement to
send the elf to Lorien. He wanted to get them safely out of reach before that
happened, especially after seeing how the other had been abused. “Can you bear
the tunic over your injury? ’Twill serve to protect you in some measure.”

Gingerly, the elf eased one arm into the tunic, but when
he tried to reach back and snag the tunic’s other arm, he gasped in pain.

“Still. I shall move the cloth so that you can reach it.”
The elf stiffened in fear at Haldir’s words, but held steady. Wishing for his
riding gauntlets, Haldir took the tunic and drew it across the matted blood and
hair until the other could manage to work his arm through the sleeve, being
careful to move slowly and hold the fabric in such a way they didn’t touch. How
was it that mere touch so pained the elf? Had he been so severely mistreated
that he feared every touch to the point of irrational terror?

The elf did up the lacings after lifting the free portions
of his hair.

“Face me.” The elf turned slowly. “Look at me.” Slowly,
the bowed head rose. Haldir felt a physical shock run through him. The elf was
the most beautiful creature Haldir had ever seen. His features were the extreme of slender angularity and grace, as
if every physical attribute the elvesshipshipped had been heightened by the
Valar themselves to a nigh unbearable degree. Eyes that were bottomless inky
black pools regarded Haldir with hopelessness and no little fear.

“How are you called, lirimaer?”

The dark head bowed once more. “I have no name, master.”
The voice was so exquisite, warm and rich as velvet, that it took Haldir
several minutes to comprehend the words. No name? Another mystery to the wild,
beautiful enigma before him, but its solving would have to wait.

“Then I shall call you lirimaer, for that is what you are,
lovely one. Come, we must go.” Fastening his cloak, Haldir led the way from the
room.

 

“Can you ride?” Haldir asked as they reached the courtyard
where his horse waited. A small shake of the dark head answered him. “Then we
must ride both astride my horse.” He could sense the rising fear. “Nay,
lirimaer, allay your fear. You shall sit before me. Garbed as we are, our flesh
shall not touch. I have promised that you shall know not pain from me. That
promise shall not be broken.” Pulling on his riding gauntlets, Haldir lifted
the other onto Arolaf’s back with ease. He weighed no more than an elfling,
Haldir noted, although his features showed he was many years past his majority.
Had Thranduil starved him too? The list of grievances for which Thranduil would
answer was growing long in Haldir’s mind.

Throughout the morning, Haldir kept a steady pace, Arolaf
bearing his double burden with ease. Never once did the nameless elf relax. He
rode with his head bowed, but Haldir could sense him darting quick glances at
their surroundings from time to time.

“Have you traveled these woods before?” Haldir felt the
elf stiffen and sensed the fear that he would be punished in some way for
daring to steal what small glances he had at the surroundings. “Nay, lirimaer.
Look your fill. ’no ino ill thing. I wish only to know if you have been in
these woods before.”

“I…Yes, master.”

“When?” Haldir was determined to draw the elf into speech.
There was much he desired to learn of the mysterious treasure his Lady had sent
him to fetch.

“My master enjoys the hunt, master.”

“And you accompanied him?”

“Nay, my master hunts me. He desires that I run from him
that he may capture me and punish me for attempting to leave him, master.”

Valar preserve us! Haldir offered up a quick prayer. Words
nearly failed him. Only with difficulty did he marshal his dazed wits to ask
why the elf played Thranduil’s sadistic game.

“Once I did not run, master.”

“And?”

The elf shid and and misery rolled off him. “I did not so
again, master.”

Trying to avoid imagining the horror that had obviously
been inflicted on the slender elf for his small show of rebellion, Haldir
determinedly moved to talk of other things. Remembering the elf’s darting
gazes, he began naming all the trees and animals they passed and telling of the
land through which they rode, of its history and the elves who had lived there
through the ages. Gradually, he felt his charge relax a small bit. He seemed to
be listening with interest and Haldir felt the first stirring of hope. Perhaps
he could breach the fear and despair of the other.

The remainder of the morning passed pleasantly enough and
two hours after Anor reached its zenith, Haldir halted Arolaf near a clear
stream and slid to the ground. “Come, lirimaer. You are unused to riding. We
shall rest a bit and eat, and Arolaf shall play in the stream.” Arolaf snorted
and tossed his head playfully, causing his long gray mane to snap. Knowing his
charge was unused to horses, Haldir started to pull him from Arolaf’s back before
he became alarmed, but halted when he realized that the elf was leaning forward
and touching Arolaf’s neck freely.

“Lirimaer?”

The elf turned to face him and Haldir felt a fist close
around his heart. The already breathtakingly beautiful features were transformed
with a gentle smile. The dark eyes were dreamy, and Haldir knew the elf wasn’t
seeing his true surroundings. He was somewhere in his mind and
emotions—somewhere safe and peaceful to him, where Haldir longed to follow.

The elf sighed and gently stroked Arolaf’s neck. “No
pain.”

Unable to resist, Haldir laid a gauntleted hand lightly on
the elf’s thigh. Instantly, the dreamy look vanished from his charge’s eyes and
he turned his face away to hide. Haldir could sense the building fear. “Nay,
lirimaer, have I not told you? You shall have no hurt from me. I would see you
smile always for it is as beautiful as Ithil rising in the night and warms my
heart.”

Slowly, hesitantly, the elf looked back to Haldir, barely
meeting his eyes. Haldir could feel the elf’s quivering tension, as tightly
coiled as a wildmal mal ready to flee. Haldir moved his other hand to stroke
Arolaf’s neck. “This touch does not pain you?” he asked, remembering his
charge’s phrasing. Not fear—pain. Yet another mystery.

The elf shook his head, a tiny movement. Haldir read the
flash of fear in the dark eyes, knew the other waited for a blow—a blow he
would never deliver. “You find comfort in this touch.” He grasped the elf’s
hand lightly and drew it back to Arolaf’s neck. The stallion whickered softly
and Haldir chuckled. “And so does Arolaf, apparently.” He directed his next
words to the horse. “Care for him, Arolaf. Remember the Lady’s words.” Arolaf
snorted, tossed his head again, and moved toward the stream. Haldir watched
closely, but the elf didn’t clutch at Arolaf’s mane or show any sign of fear.
Haldir knew the stallion wouldn’t let him fall, but how did he? Deciding there
were far too many mysteries wrapped around the beautiful enigma that was his
charge, Haldir sat and watched his two companions.

Arolaf waded knee deep into the stream, then lifted his
right front hoof and slapped at the surface while ducking his head and shaking
it. Water splashed up and rained back down, showering both horse and elf.
Haldir watched raptly as the elf threw his head back and laughed. The silvery
sound slid over Haldir, enticing him as surely as a lover’s fingertips tracing
over his body, and he found himself laughing too, delighting in seeing the
simple joy of the enigmatic elf entrusted to his care. The exquisite features,
for once free of both the cloaking hair and fear, pierced his heart. The joy
reflected there was so simple, so pure, so uncomplicated, and so freely given
that it seemed fresh born into Middle Earth—a vibrant pleasure never before seen.
How he longed to join them in their play, to take the entrancing elf in his
arms and claim him, to soothe away all his hurt and fear. The Lady’s words
taunted him. Have a care to touch not your flesh to his. He groaned and
lay back on the turf, an arm flung over his eyes. Ai, my Lady, I shall obey
your command as ever, but it is like to cost my sanity!

After a time, Arolaf quit his play in the sparkling water
and turned toward the bank. Haldir saw the slender elf astride the gray
stallion draw in upon himself, his head bowing once more as the joy died from
his beautiful face. The day felt suddenly emptier, as if Anor had vanished from
the sky. He would see that smile again, Haldir vowed. He would see it always,
and feel again the joy that accompanied it.

Arolaf stopped beside Haldir and the guardian reached his
hands, still gauntleted, for the other elf. “Come, lirimaer, you must eat and
rest a bit. We still have far to travel today.” Tentatively, reluctantly, the
slender elf allowed Haldir to help him slide from the horse’s back. Haldir
could feel his nervous tension, but pretended not to notice.

 

The afternoon passed much as the morning had, Arolaf
bearing them both at a steady pace, pausing only to drink at the several
streams they crossed, while Haldir continued to talk about the country they
passed through and of elves in general. Mirkwood was not as dangerous as it had
once been—or as it would become again—and their trek westward toward its
borders was uneventful. The day lingered long into the evening as summer waxed
to its midpoint, and they rode late, Haldir finally calling a halt when a bare
hour of light remained.

Admonishing Arolaf not to wander far in the night, Haldir
fished a small cake of soap from the bag he carried slung over his shoulder and
turned to his traveling companion. “Come, lirimaer. Let us bathe the dirt of
the road from ourselves and I will tend your injuries.” The elf glanced at him,
startled, but there was eager anticipation there also. Haldir smiled. “To be
clean sounds good, yes?” Tentatively, the other nodded. A thought struck
Haldir. With all the other mistreatment Thranduil had heaped on the elf, could
he have forbidden him bathing? Elves were fastidious; the thought of not being
clean, except when it was unavoidable, was anathema. He asked if Thranduil had
allowed the elf to bathe.

“When he was well pleased with me, master.”

Haldir chose not to pursue what the elf had been forced to
do to please Thranduil well. “I am not your master, lirimaer. Do not address me
as such. I am called Haldir.” The dark head bowed and Haldir sensed the se
se
and nervousness that his anger over the elf’s use of the term ‘master’ aroused.
“Nay, lirimaer. Not anger at you. You have done nothing wrong, but I dislike
that you think of me as your mastas tas though I am better than you. ’Tis not
right. Why would you think this?”

“All are my master.”

“All? Who has told you this?”

“My master, he says the old words say this. All are
superior to me, mas—Haldir.”

The simplicity and honest belief in Syshae’s words were
like a dagger to Haldir’s heart, but he didn’t understand all of what the
beautiful elf had said. “The old words? What are they?”

“I know not. I am unworthy to hear them. My master tells
me of them and I obey him. He knows of these things, Haldir.”

The old words? It meant nothing to Haldir. Yet another
mystery to be solved. “Come, lirimaer, let us clean ourselves and tend to you,
then we will eat and take our rest.”

Haldir unbraided his hair and washed the dirt from it and
his body, while he surreptitiously watched the other elf who sat shoulder deep
in the water, letting it soak the hair loose from his body. When Haldir was
clean, he gestured the elf to him. “Turn around, lirimaer, and lift your hair
that I may see how badly you are injured.” The raw lash marks that were
revealed made him swear softly. No elf should be treated thusly. The wounds
were deep, raw and angry where ap hap had cut the skin. But the elf’s innate
healing abilities should have at least begun to heal them.

“Why do you not heal?”

“The drink, it prevents…it allows me not to heal, Haldir.”

“Drink? They give you something that blocks your healing
ability?”

A single nod. Haldir could feel the misery of the other
elf. His anger rose. Thranduil was purposefully prolonging the suffering he
inflicted. It was unspeakable. The list of grievances to be repaid was becoming
lengthy indeed. “How long?”

“Saes. I understand not, Haldir.” The elf trembled and
tensed, waiting for a blow for his ignorance.

Haldir gently stoked the dark head, reassuring him, taking
care not to touch his flesh. Truly the beautiful one had known too much harsh
treatment. “How long will the effect of the drink last?”

“I know not, Haldir.”

“Then I shall care for you until your body can heal
itself. Come, lirimaer, wash and then I shall tend your wounds.” He handed over
the cake of soap. “I will set camp. Retuhen hen you are ready.” It was his
first test to see if the mysterious elf would try and flee. Haldir wasn’t truly
worried; even if he did run, he couldn’t elude the marchwarden for long. Haldir
gathered their clothing he had washed clean and returned to camp, spreading
them to dry.

Haldir sensed the other’s return, felt the tentative gaze
on his back, and heard the almost silent steps. He turned. The dark head dropped
quickly. “Sit,” Haldir pointed to a fallen tree he had draped with his cloak.
“Be at ease, I shall not touch you,” he reassured. The sight of the tortured
flesh caused his anger to rise again, but he ruthlessly shoved it down, not
wanting to frighten his charge. Without being told, he knew there had been too
much anger and fear in the dark elf’s life—far too much, perhaps nothing else.
Using a scrap of the cloth that he carried for binding wounds, he smeared a
healing salve on the wounds. Other than a sharp intake of breath, there was no
reaction. Even before he was finished, the elf sighed. Haldir permitted himself
a small smile, knowing the salve also deadened feeling and, with it, pain.

“Here, lirimaer,” Haldir handed over his own comb. The elf
took it tentatively and darted a quick glance at Haldir who smiled gently.
“Comb your hair, lirimaer, I much desire to see it in its glory.”

And glorious it was, Haldir thought later as he gazed on
his charge’s hair, dry and gleaming in the last dying light of the day. Raven
black locks, richly highlighted with dark red—an unheard of color for an
elf—fell like a silk cloak around the lithe form. Haldir closed his eyes and
breathed deeply. He wanted so badly to go to the other, to take him in his
arms, to plunder his sweet lips and possess his body, to know his thoughts and
desires, to hear sweet cries of submission and pleasure. With an effort, Haldir
reined in his thoughts. They could do no good; such a prize was beyond him.

“Are you hungry?” A hesitant nod. Haldir handed the elf
some lembas and water. “’Tis poor enough fare but we must travel fast. We have
no time for fires and hot food.”

The mysterious elf took a bite. His eyes opened wide in
delight and wonder, and sought Haldir’s before he remembered and dropped them.

Haldir laughed gently. “What lirimaer? ’Tis only lembas.
Surely you have taken of waybread before?” The silky dark head shook. Haldir
was aghast. An elf that had never tasted lembas? What had his life been?

#

The light of Anor reclaimed Middle Earth from the night’s
embrace and its warmth woke Haldir. Opening his eyes fully, his first sight was
of his mysterious charge sitting cross-legged and watching him quietly, his
soft dark eyes curious. When he saw Haldir was awake, he dropped his gaze.

“It is indeed a beautiful morning when my first sight is
of you, lirimaer.” The elf made no response, but Haldir counted it a victory
when neither did he draw away or become fearful.

After a hurried breakfast of lembas, they mounted and
Arolaf bore them westward again. Haldir continued telling of the country and
the elves, acting as if the other’s silence was natural. Gradually, he sensed
the elf relax a bit. By early afternoon, he was daring to raise his head a bit
to look at sights that Haldir pointed out. He still spoke not a word except in
response to a question or command, but Haldir found that he could intuit many
of the elf’s unasked questions. It was almost as if there was some connection
that had formed between them that allowed unspoken communication.

That night, Haldir built a small fire and warmed a bit of
the dried broth he carried with him. The elf’s eyes widened when Haldir handed
the cup to him and he took it hesitantly. “’Tis good, lirimaer. A broth we pull
the liquid from, then carry the powder to reconstitute on the road. Lembas is
good, but variety is better.”

Tentatively, darting glances at Haldir as if unsure
whether he was truly allowed the rich smelling broth, the elf sipped. His
expressive eyes opened even wider and he looked at Haldir in wonder. Anger and
happiness warred in the guardian—anger that such a simple thing as a hot cup of
broth was obviously unknown to the elf and happiness to see his enjoyment.
Happiness won, but the anger added another to Haldir’s list of grievances against
Thranduil before slipping away. Smiling, he refilled the cup again and again,
taking none for himself, until all the broth was gone.

 

Haldir noticed the elf surreptitiously watching him braid
his hair as he struggled with the tangles in his own long locks. “Why do you
not braid your hair?”

The elf looked at him helplessly before dropping his eyes
to the ground. Haldir was beginning to know that look all too well. Yet another
thing the elf knew nothing of, another intrinsic piece of elven existence that
had been denied him.

Haldir moved to sit behind the elf who tensed slightly,
but didn’t flinch or move away. Haldir smiled. The mysterious, half-wild elf
was beginning to trust him. “I shall not touch you, lirimaer, but I cannot
braid your hair with my gauntlets. So, I shall guide your hands.” Gently,
Haldir guided the lightly trembling hand gat gather the heavy mass of hair at
the nape of the elf’s neck. “Three sections, lirimaer.” He guided the slender
fingers. “Close your eyes. ’Tis easier if you feel what you are doing.” Between
spoken instructions and the guidance of Haldir’s hands, the elf quickly caught
on. When the braid was done to a point it was difficult for him to reach,
Haldir removed his gauntlets and finished it. The feel of the silken mass sliding
through his fingers was as wondrous as Haldir had imagined. He tied off the
braid with a thin strip of leather.

The revealed wounds were still raw and angry, causing
Haldir to frown. Thrice-damned Thranduil! The elf should have healed them
completely. Again, as he had the night before and that morning, Haldir spread
the healing salve on them, trying to use no more than necessary. He didn’t
carry that large a supply with him; typically elves ignored most wounds, simply
binding them and trusting in their bodies’ natural healing abilities. With a
contented sigh, the elf curled up at Haldir’s feet, cushioned on a bed of soft
grasses. Within minutes, Haldir saw his eyes were half-closed, as he walked the
paths of elvish dreams. What were those dreams? Haldir wished that one day he
would know, but knew it was unlikely. Though he still knew nothing about the
mysterious elf, the more he was with him, the more convinced he was that the
Lady was right. The beautiful elf was a treasure—a treasure far beyond the reach
of a mere guardian.

#

The sixth day of their journey was passing much like the
prior ones, the elf seated before Haldir astride Arolaf. They were traveling
slowly. Not from need, although the elf was still unused to riding all day and
tired, but from Haldir’s desire to prolong their time together. His Lady had
not given strict orders for him to return in haste—although he assumed she
hadn’t meant him to turn the journey into a leisurely jaunt—and he couldn’t
re. Th. The mysterious elf was just too compelling.

The days passed easily, Haldir continuing to speak of the
country they passed through, and of the history of the First Born, and of
Middle Earth and Arda itself.

Movement caught Haldir’s eye. He tugged playfully on the
elf’s heavy braid to get his attention, then raised his right arm and pointed
at the sky where a shape soared and wheeled on the winds, coming ever closer.
“A great eagle, lirimaer. Perhaps even a descendant of the mighty Thorondor.”

The elf looked back at him with a puzzled expression, as
the eagle caught an updraft and spiraled out of sight.

“You do not know of Thorondor?” The same, now familiar
shake of the dark head, but the elf no longed dropped his gaze or flinched in
expectation of a blow. Haldir smiled at him. “Then I shall tell you if you
like.”

Smiling happily, the elf settled back against Haldir’s
chest, the woundshis his back having healed enough to allow him to do so
without pain. It had become what Haldir thought of as his ‘listening position’.
Haldir glanced at him, careful not to brush his face against the elf’s ears.
The sight of the beautiful elf in his arms never failed to cause a catch in his
breath. At first sight he appeared as young and innocent as an elfling, but
closer inspection revealed centuries of life, and deep in his eyes were haunted
reflections of the things he had seen and been forced to do. As for the
innocence, that was belied by the exotic allure he exuded, a nigh irresistible
call to seduction and a promise of desires fulfilled. Haldir became aware that
the elf had turned his head to stare back at him and realized he had been
silently drinking in the other’s beauty for long minutes.

“Forgive me, lirimaer, but you are exquisitely beautiful.
It pleases me to have you in my arms, and to have you trust in me.” A shadow
drew across the elf’s eyes and he started to tense. Haldir hurried to reassure
him. “But I promised you the story of Thorondor, and I shall tell you.”

Haldir lifted his gaze and shifted his seat, guiding
Arolaf more southward. “Thorondor was the mightiest eagle that ever lived. He
existed in the First Age of the world, first of all the eagles, dwelling in
Aman, the Blessed Realm. The Vala Manwë sent him and his eagles to Middle Earth
to aid the Noldor—the First Born who had returned there. For many years, the
eagles built their eyries in the Crissaegrim—the Encircling Mountains—that
guarded the hidden city of Gondolin, and from those unreachable heights they
swept down at times in aid of the elves, for there was long strife with
Morgoth, the Dark Lord and his minions. ’Twas Thorondor himself that attacked
Morgoth after he slew Fingolfin, High King of the Noldor, before the gates of
Angband. Ere Morgoth’s wolves could reach the High King’s body, Thorondor swept
down and carried it into the Crissaegrim. Fingolfin’s son, Turgon, came there
and raised a cairn over his father that his body might lie undisturbed while
his spirit returned to the Halls of Mandos. The Crissaegrim were destroyed at
the end of the First Age, and no tale tells of mighty Thorondor’s fate, yet I
believe that he returned to Aman where he still serves Manwë.”

Several minutes passed in companionable silence. “Thank
you.” The words were so hesitant and quiet that at first Haldir wasn’t sure
whether he had heard them or imagined them. The elf shivered and Haldir knew
they hadn’t been his imagination. Thank you. The first words the elf had
volunteered.

“You are most welcome, lirimaer. Would you like to hear
more?” The elf looked up at him, dark eyes sparkling with anticipation. Haldir
couldn’t help smiling in return. Idly, he noted that in the days he’d spent
with the mysterious elf, he had smiled more than he had since he was an
elfling. “Then I shall tell you of Ainulindalë—the Music of the Ainur.”

#

Ten days later, as they came within sight of Lorien,
Haldir still had no answers to his questions. The beautiful elf in his charge
was as much a mystery as ever. Haldir had asked the questions, but the elf
seemingly had no answers, and Haldir feared to press too hard, seeing the
other’s upset.

“Behold Lorien, the Golden Wood. The Lady awaits us.”

Fear—no panic and terror—emanated from the elf who now
rode behind him. Before Haldir could react, his charge threw himself from
Arolaf’s back and sprinted in the direction they had come. Without thought,
Haldir vaulted from Arolaf, who snorted and reared slightly, and raced after
the lithe form. Within minutes, he caught the fleeing elf and tackled him to
the ground. The slender elf struggled wildly, but Haldir pinned him beneath his
body. Gauntleted hands trapped slight wrists and imprisoned them overhead.

Bewildered, for the elf had offered no resistance during
their journey until that time, Haldir stared down at him, noting the eyes
dilated with fear, the shallow, panicky breaths, the clenched muscles. “What do
you fear, lirimaer? Lorien is a haven to the elves. The Lady Galadriel protects
us all.” The trapped elf shivered at the mention of Galadriel. “You fear the
Lady?” Dark eyes closed. A deep shuddering breath racked the slender body.
Haldir could feel his captive’s misery. A nod. “Why, beautiful one?”

“My master …she…she will…she will know my name. She will
know…what I am. She will…she…my people…she will hate me…torment me. My master
protects me from her. I—”

Haldir sat up and gathered the trembling elf to him, no
longer having to be careful of the now healed wounds on his back. How would
Galadriel know his name when even the elf did not? What would that name mean to
her and why would she hate him for his name alone? What mystery lay buried in that
name? The answers would have to wait. “I know not what Thranduil spoke to you,
but the Lady is all that is good in Middle Earth. Her grace shelters all who
are not evil.”

Rather than ease the other’s fear, Haldir’s words
increased them and the captive elf drew even further into himself. “Why do you
fear the Lady so? I have told you she is all that is good.”

“My master says I…am tainted, evil, my family outcast.
That is why I am unclean. The Lady will know, she will…” The words trailed off
and he shivered uncontrollably.

“Have you known hurt from me, lirimaer?” The all too
familiar, small shake of the dark silkyd. “d. “And I shall not fail you now.
Have you come to trust me even a little, lirimaer?”

“Aye, Haldir. I…I…you have not hurt me…I—”

“And so I shall not, lirimaer. Saes, trust me in this.”
Haldir rose and held out his gauntleted hand. After long minutes, it was
accepted and grasped, albeit not without reservation. Haldir whistled and
Arolaf trotted imm immediately nuzzling the elf who offered a tentative smile.
“You see? Arolaf agrees. Shall you argue with him?”

Haldir bent forward to knock the dirt from his leggings at
the same time the elf reached his hand out to pat Arolaf. The back of the elf’s
hand brushed against Haldir’s cheek. A shock passed through Haldir’s body and
he lost all sense of his surroundings. He felt as if he were being sucked into
a cyclone, emotions and feelings whirling around and through him with
incredible intensity. Pain, lust, joy, fear, searing heat and frigid cold, anger,
friendship, love, terror—

Abruptly it stopped. Haldir gradually realized he was on
his knees, hunched over, hands on his thighs, breathing in deep, ragged gasps.
Forcing his eyes open, he found his normally acute vision almost painful,
everything sharper and clearer than ever before. His hearing too, was
heightened; he could hear tiny creatures burrowing under the ground. During
battle, when the killing rage settled on him, his senses were augmented, but
this…this was far beyond that.

Lifting his head, Haldir saw the elf in front of him,
sprawled on his buttocks, upper body weight back on his elbows, knees drawn up
and splayed, one foot planted under him as if ready to flee. The black eyes
were wide and staring in mingled bemusement and confusion. His chest heaved. He
looked, Haldir reflected, exactly like how he himself felt. What had happened
to them? The last thing he remembered was the elf’s hand brushing his cheek. Have
a care to touch not your flesh to his. The Lady’s words echoed in his mind.
Was what happened to them the result of that slight touch? But the elf had
indicated touch was physical agony for him, and he was clearly as confused as
Haldir at what had pa bet between them.

“Lirimaer…I…I am at a loss. I do not understand what has
happened.” The elf didn’t move or change expression. Haldir grew concerned.
Would this shatter the hard-won trust he had labored to build? “Saes, lirimaer,
forgive me. I did not mean… I did not know. Never would I knowingly hurt you,
nin bain. Forgive me…”

Haldir bowed his head, unwilling to bear the thought that
his carelessness might have destroyed what had been growing between them. So
absorbed in his thoughts was he that he didn’t hear the other elf move. A hand
rested on his sleeve tentatively. Haldir stared at it absently at first, then
realized it was his mysterious elf, voluntarily touching him for the first
time. Slowly, he raised his head to look at the velvet black eyes. They were a
bit wide and still showed traces of confusion, but there was no pain and no fear.

“Lirimaer, forgive me—“

Rather than touch Haldir’s lips to silence him, the elf
raised his slender fingers to his own. The effect was the same. Haldir broke
off.

“You felt it too?” Haldir inquired. A single nod of the
dark head. “Have you ever known such before?” A single shake of the dark head
that time. Haldir sighed. “Elbereth, but I had the answers to the enigma that
is you, lirimaer! I would soothe all your fears.” The elf smiled tentatively.
Haldir returned it. “Well, since we have no answers, can we continue as
friends?” The dark eyes widened and Haldir read the uncertainty in them. “Of
course we are friends, lirimaer.”

Arolaf chose that time to shove his muzzle in between them
and snort loudly, causing them both to laugh.

#

Haldir’s mysterious charge tremblnd fnd fell to his knees.
Celeborn and Galadriel rose from their seats and approached. They placed their
fists over their hearts and bowed in the traditional greeting of respect. “Well
met Syshae, kinsman. May you find peace in these lands.” Galadriel’s voice was
soft, the tone one she reserved for blood kindred and close friends.

Startled to hear words of kindness, Haldir’s charge looked
at the Lady, his dark eyes betraying his confusion and fear, then dropped his
gaze back to the floor. Galadriel looked to Haldir.

“My Lady, you name him, yet he knows not his name nor
anything of his history.” A delicate golden brow arched. Haldir’s eyes
entreated Galadriel’s understanding. She studied the bowed head before her.

“Peace, pen-neth, my kinsman. Saes, rise that I may greet
you.”

Haldir’s hand under the elf’s arm urged him to his feet.
Galadriel reached both hands out and placed them on the elf’s cheeks. Haldir
felt him start to draw back, sensed the fear that swept the slender frame, and
had to prevent himself from protesting to the Lady. A gasp, then a look of
wonder spread across the beautiful features of the elf the Lady named Syshae.
Hesitantly, trembling fingers reached for Galadriel. Haldir started to
intercept the gesture—none should dare touch the Lady—but her voice in his mind
stopped him.

<Nay, Haldir. ‘Tis the first touch of another’s flesh
in his life that has not caused him unspeakable agony. Gladly am I the first he
touches without fear.>

Haldir felt a flash of an emotion he couldn’t identify. It
was something he’d never felt before in all his centuries of existence. It was
hot and angry, and he wanted to tear the elf from his Lady’s arms, wanted his
touch to be the one that brought such wonder to the beautiful features, wanted
to be the one the elf willingly suffered to touch him. Gradually, he became
aware that Galadriel was speaking.

“…shall harbor you and keep you safe. There is much I
would teach you, pen-neth, if you are willing. I would tell you of your family,
for they are worthy ofh hoh honor, and I would hear your tale also, but you are
exhausted. Come with me. I will guide you to your rooms and see to your needs.”
Apprehension sprang into the elf’s eyes. “Nay, none shall touch you without
your leave. Fear not, for you are in Lothlorien and in my keeping, and all are
safe therein.”

Reluctantly, with a last frightened look over his shoulder
at Haldir, the elf followed Galadriel from the audience chamber. After so many
days in constant company, Haldir felt the loss of his presence keenly.

Celeborn turned to Haldir. “It seems you have much to tell
me, my marchwarden. Come, we shall sit.” He led the way to two chairs that
stood in a small alcove—chairs of equal stature and importance, a mark of his
respect for Haldir. When they were seated, he commanded, “Tell me.”

After several moments to compose his thoughts, Haldir
related everything to Celeborn: the elf’s condition, Thranduil’s obviously
brutal treatmethe the unreasoning terror of being touched, the bonding with
Arolaf, the hesitant trusat hat had developed between them, the fear of the
Lady herself, the total lack of knowledge of his background.

Long minutes of silence passed as Celeborn mused on his
words. “It seems there was much the mirror did not reveal.”

“My Lord, I understand not.”

Celeborn’s piercing gaze turned to him. “The mirror showed
him to my Lady six moons ago. He is Syshae. Son of Aytalie and prince of the
Sindon. The last of his kindred to grace the shores of Middle Earth.”

The son of Aytalie? Haldir was stunned. Was it possible?
Centuries before, the Silvan elves of Greenwood the Great, before it became
known as Mirkwood, had splintered, some of them refusing to follow the brutal,
aggressive leadership of Thranduil’s older brother Landolar. Tynion,
Thranduil’s younger brother, led the schism, taking his bondmate—Aytalie, the
second daughter of Celeborn and Galadriel—and many likeminded elves with him.
They had gone eastward and called themselves the Sindon.

Landolar had disowned Tynion, and declared all who
followed him traitors. Then he began sending out raiding parties with the aim
of forcing the Sindon to renounce their decision and return to Mirkwood, or, if
they refused, to slay them. And so came about the second Kinslaying. Over the
years, many Sindon were killed, and many more fled to the Havens and passed
into the west. At length, Tynion and Landolar were slain in battle with each
other, brothheddhedding the blood of brother to the dismay of all elves.
Sorrowing, not willing to return to her parents in Lorien or even to remain in
Middle Earth, Aytalie gathered the few remaining Sindon and started for the
Havens. What happened to them was a mystery for, like Nimrodel, she was lost on
the journey, and none who journeyed with her were ever found. Had she somehow
survived? She must have, for there had been no child spoken of. She had borne
Tynion no son. Who then was Syshae’s sire?

“The Valar have
sent us a great gift. He is a fea-healer. He feels the emotions of those who
touch him, and his gift heals their hurt. Without anyone to help him learn to
control his gift, he cannot shield himself, and without that protection, he is
overwhelmed and the result is physical pain.” Celeborn’s resonant voice
interrupted his reverie.

A fea-healer. If the revelation of Syshae’s heritage had
sted hed him, that bit of news stunned him. Healers such as Elrond could cure
the body, but fea-healers could cure the sicknesses and weariness of the fea.
They could prevent elves from fading to pass to the Halls of Mandos. Or so it
was said. There had been no fea-healers since the First Age. to to most
elves, they were a myth. Yet, if Galadriel said that’s what Syshae was, then
Haldir believed it. The Lady’s mirror never pokepoke, and Galadriel herself had
known fea-healers in the past.

“Lord, I…” flummoxed, he trailed off.

A smile traced Celeborn’s lips, a slight hint of teasing
amusement laced in it. “Haldir, marchwarden of Lorien, at a loss for words?”

#

Third Age 1389

Rumil watched as Syshae slipped quietly from the
celebration. He’d been watching for the departure, knowing the Sindon would
seize the first opportunity to leave. In the more than two hundred years since
Haldir had brought him to Lothlorien, Syshae had avoided all attempts to draw
him into deep interaction with others. He was not reserved like Haldir. No, he
was easy going and got along well with everyone, but Rumil couldn’t recall one
instance where he had formed a deep friendship with anyone, much less entered
into a relationship. Probably more than any other, Rumil knew Syshae, yet even
to him the Sindon Prince remained an enigma. When gatherings were held, Syshae
always left early and alone. The slender figure disappeared into the darkness,
and Rumil set his cup down. Rising, he followed in the direction Syshae had
gone, determined to solve the mystery.

He caught up to Syshae by a quiet pool some distance from
Caras Galadhon. The Prince knelt by the pool, sitting back on his heels, hands
resting on his thighs. His head was bowed. Even in the darkness, the light of
Ithil picked out the rich, dark red highlights in his braided hair. Quietly,
Rumil stepped behind him, marveling as he did every time he saw Syshae at the
many things that were unique about him. It was as if the Valar—or even Iluvatar
himself—had touched him, marking him as special among the First Born.

Quick as a cat, Syshae rose, spinning while drawing one of
the two knives he carried.

Rumil froze. “Peace, mellon. ‘Tis only me.” Part of Rumil
noted Syshae’s reaction with satisfaction. He had asked to be trained as a guardian
shortly after being brought to Lorien, and he had learned well. Rumil often
wondered what demons drove the prince, but Syshae never spoke of it, and to ask
uninvited would be intrusive. Whatever the motivation, Syshae had quickly
turned from a timid captive into a fearsome warrior with great potential. It
was as if he had shed one skin and donned another.

Syshae sheathed the knife. He seemed to draw in upon
himself. “Forgive me, I was not expecting…”

“To be followed?” Syshae nodded and Rumil laughed lightly.
“But you are far too enchanting to be alone on this night. Why are you not at
the celebration?”

“’Tis not my way, as you well know.” Syshae turned from
Rumil and stared at the dark, still waters of the pool.

“Come, surely some other could entice you to merriment. Is
there no one you desire?”

For a time, Rumil thought Syshae wouldn’t answer him. When
the answer came, it was so softly spoken that, even with his elven hearing,
Rumil almost missed it. “There is one.”

“Then go to them, lirimaer, for surely you would make them
the happiest elf in Lorien. All desire you and would welcome you gladly.” It
was true, Rumil knew. Any elf would be overjoyed to have Syshae come to them as
a lover. He himself certainly would. The Sindon’s ethereal beauty and mesmerizing
pull were always the topic of countless conversations. No one would refuse him,
unless— “Are they bound, this one you desire? Sys Syshae looked back to him, a small smile playing flitting
sadly across his perfectly shaped lips. “Nay, ’tot tot that, but he…”

Again, silence stretched long. “What lirimaer? What keeps
you from speaking to the one you desire?”

For a moment, Syshae’s control slipped. The look on his
face was of such unbearable agony that Rumil felt as if the wind had been
knocked from him. Anguished black eyes stared at Rumil. “All know of my
history, of how I was used. I am unclean. Defiled. None could truly desire me.
I am not worthy.”

The words were simple and simply spoken, leaving Rumil in
no doubt that Syshae believed them. The thought stunned him. How could he think
such? It was ludicrous. He was beautiful, he was desirable, he was a prince, a
fea-healer, a respected warrior, the grandson of the Lord and Lady, a gift from
the Valar. How could he think that his imprisonment by Thranduil mattered? It
counted for nothing. “Lirimaer, that is…it is not…how can you think such? None
of that is true. Any would desire you—Elbereth! all do desire you.”

Whatever Syshae’s reply would have been, Rumil never knew,
for a shout echoed through the woods. Rumil turned and saw three others making
their way toward the pool, brandishing bottles of wine and laughing merrily.
When he looked back, Syshae was gone.

#

It had been too many years since he had seen the golden
haze of Lorien before him. Haldir paused and drank in the sight. Lorien. The
Golden Wood. It called to him, enticed him, spoke to his very fea—his spirit.
It drew him like a lodestone, his home. Yet, when he would again move toward
it, his step faltered, reluctance growing within him. Lorien which harbored his
greatest desire—and his greatest pain.

How many times over the last two centuries had he seen
Lorien? Too few. Too many. Each return was joy and anguish in equal parts—the
sweetness of homecoming and the bitterness of denial. He had returned six
times. Six times in over two centuries. Each of them more painful than the
last. Each time, he told himself it would be different, that his impossible
infatuation was done with, but each time he had been wrong. Was the one who
held his heart safe? How did they fare? Would he see them? Yet again, his
emotions danced on a sword’s edge, both yearning for and fearing the sight of
the one who had ensnared him.

Mercilessly, he shoved aside those thoughts. The news he
bore from Elrond, and more that he had gathered from other sources, needed to
reach the Lord and Lady. Steeling himself, shutting off all emotions, he moved
forward. He was Galadhrim, a marchwarden, he served the power of Lorien. He let
himself sink into that safe zone, retreated to the comfort of the routine of
centuries, and ceased to think on the disquiet of his heart—or so he thought.

 

Orophin studied the figure walking toward him. Haldir
looked tired. It wouldn’t be readily apparent to most, but he could read the
subtle set to the shoulders and the fractional heaviness in his brother’s
tread. Haldir had always been away from the Golden Wood frequently, attending
to the Lord and Lady’s business, in particular acting as a liaison with
Imladris and Elrond, but in the past two centuries, his absence had been nearly
continual, his infrequent stays short. Orophin hoped that this time his brother
would remain for a while. He missed the easy companionship they had always
shared.

“Greetings, brother.” He dropped lightly to the path in
front of Haldir. They clasped each other’s right forearm, then Orophin pulled
Haldir into a hug. “It has been long and the time lies heavily on you.”

“Aye, it has been long.”

“Shall you stay then and rest in the peace of the wood?”

Haldir shook his head. “Nay, there is no peace for me
here. I go but to report to the Lord and Lady. Some few days, perhaps, then I
shall leave again.”

Orophin pulled back. “No peace for you in the wood? What
say you Haldir? What can—”

“Nay,” Haldir gestured dismissively. “’Tis my own burden.
Tell me what passes in the wood. How fares our Sindon prince?”

Deciding to pursue the matter of what troubled his older
brother later when Rumil would be around to help ferret out the secret, Orophin
fell into step beside Haldir. He knew Haldir had an affection for the elf he
had rescued from Thranduil’s grasp. Syshae was always the first thing Haldir
inquired after and talking of him seemed to ease Haldir’s disquiet. “He does
well. His skills grow rapidly, as if the Valar compress time for him, to make
up for his years of imprisonment. He takes a full turn on watch and is a
fearsome fighter. More than one orc has fallen to his arrows and blade.”

“’Tis good to hear. I had wondered. To touch not a weapon
until he is centuries old, I had feared his skill would not be adequate to keep
him safe.”

Orophin laughed. “Fear not. He has bested even Rumil once.
He is lightning quick.”

Haldir chuckled, knowing that his younger brother had
likely sulked for a week at least. Being bested by such a young warrior would
have rankled.

“And do not try to sneak up on him unawares.” Orophin
continued. “He has the most acute hearing in all the wood.”

#

The large celebration room in Celeborn and Galadriel’s
talan was filled with finely dressed elves and light and laughter. Spirits were
high. Singing and dancing erupted spontaneously as wine flowed. It was a small
celebration by Lorien standards, but still it dazzled the eyes—for eyes that
saw it.

Haldir saw nothing but the one elf he was hopelessly
entranced with—Syshae. The timid, terror-stricken elf he had escorted back from
Mirkwood was nowhere in evidence. In his place was an achingly handsome,
quietly confident, graceful elven prince. A treasure, just as Galadriel had
named him. Even standing with the Lady herself and Lord Celeborn, Syshae was
not overshadowed.

Syshae was garbed that night in a robe of heavy pewter
colored silk. His hair was drawn into two slim braids that began at his temples
and were woven against his skin, along the edges of his hair, until they met at
the nape of his neck. The remaining majority of his glorious hair was gathered
into a tail and the braids wrapped around it, crisscrossing, to frame it in a
series of diamonds, leaving the last foot or so to fall free. The result
emphasized the fine planes of his face, and the mithril studs and hoops that
lined his ears. He looked exotic compared to the usual silver blonde fairness
of the Galadhrim—exotic and enticing.

Sighing, Haldir turned away. Such a treasure was beyond
his reach. Haldir was no novice to the game of pleasure, nor did he
underestimate his own looks and charm, but he knew a hopeless task when he saw
it—and any thoughts that the Lady’s grandson would turn eyes to him were
clearly nothing more than flights of fancy. He would have to content himself with
knowing the part he had played in bringing Syshae out of Mirkwood and returning
him to his rightful place.

Unseen by Haldir, Syshae’s dark eyes followed him as the
marchwarden left the celebration. Syshae made as if to follow Haldir, but
stopped before he had done more than shift his weight. A wistful smile danced
over his lips, as if he laughed sadly at himself for some foolish thought or
action. His gaze fell to the floor briefly, then he turned and, handing his
wine goblet to a passing servant, left in the opposite direction from that
which Haldir had taken.

Across the room, Rumil and Orophin looked meaningfully at
each other.

#

Rumil eyed Syshae skeptically as they walked through the
woods, heading for the southern border. The prince had shown up just as Rumil’s
patrol departed for their watch, and joined them. He had given an obviously
contrived excuse about wanting to get out of Caras Galadhon for a time to avoid
having to play the part of a prince, but Rumil hadn’t believed it for a second.
First, Syshae more often than not blithely ignored the fact he was a prince,
and second, his normal turn on patrol would start in only four more days.
Syshae wanted out of the city, but it was not because the obligations of his
position galled him. No, Rumil was betting Syshae wanted to avoid Haldir and
was in essence hiding at the border. What would Haldir’s reaction be when he
discovered Syshae gone? Rumil stifled a laugh. He didn’t think his brother was
going to be too happy with that news. He’d seen the way those gray eyes
followed the prince’s every move.

The following day, Rumil was unable to hide his amusement
when Haldir showed up, ostensibly to refamiliarize himself with the borders.
Rumil was quick to notice, however, that Haldir spent most of his time watching
Syshae. But never once did Haldir spar with the prince to test his abilities as
he did with most of the other guardians, and Rumil found that odd. Why, if
Haldir was infatuated with Syshae, wouldn’t he take every opportunity to
contest with him, especially in hand-to-hand tactics? When he voiced his
puzzlement to Orophin, who had accompanied Haldir, the older sibling’s response
surprised him.

“Because of that
very reason.” Rumil looked baffled and Orophin sighed in exasperation. “Of
course he doesn’t want to touch him. If you wanted something you couldn’t have,
would you torment yourself further by constantly touching it?”

Rumil thought that over for a moment. “I see your point,
but if it such torment, then why is he here? Why follow Syshae to a place where
he has to see him every day?”

Orophin snorted. “I would hazard that he cannot help
himself. Much like your own unfortunate mooning over Glorfindel the last time
he visited Lorien.”

Blushing, Rumil stood and wandered away. Damn Orophin! He
hadn’t mentioned that little lapse in judgment for over three hundred s ans and
Rumil had hoped it was forgotten. Apparently not.

#

“He watches you
constantly.”

Syshae glanced sharply at Rumil. They were on their way
back to Caras Galadhon after their turn on the border and walked side-by-side
through the woods. Several other guardians, also bound for the city, were
scattered around them, but none were close enough to overhear.

“I know not of what you speak.”

“I speak of Haldir. He watches you constantly.”

“I have not long been a guardian. He is marchwarden.
Doubtless he desires to see how my skills progress.”

Rumil looked and listened closely, but Syshae’s expression
and voice revealed nothing. “I do not think that his only interest,” Rumil
countered.

“There can be none other.”

“There can be many kinds of interest, some more personal
than others.”

Syshae turned his impassive gaze on Rumil. “We have spoken
of this. Naught can ever change. Forgive me, but I would have my peace.” He
lengthened his stride and quickly drew away from Rumil.

Orophin moved up beside his younger brother. “Well?”

Rumil sighed. “He will admit nothing. He still believes
himself unworthy of desire because of how Thranduil used him. I know not how to
convince him otherwise.”

“Mayhap it is not up to us to convince him. That task
should fall to the one who desires him, and who he desires in return.”

“Brother, were my heart not so sad to see them both
suffering, I would laugh.” Rumil’s words were bitter. “But I see no way to sway
either of them. Never has Haldir listened totheother in these matters, and the
walls Syshae has built around his heart cannot be breached. The assault on
Angband was more assured of victory.”

“We need not provide the solution,” Orophin replied.
“Merely the opportunity.”

They continued for several minutes in silence, then Rumil
halted abruptly.

“What? You have the opportunity?”

“Perhaps.” Rumil thought for a few moments. “It might be
possible.” After another several minutes of silence, Orophin threatened to
strangle Rumil if he didn’t divulge his thoughts. “Well, it’s just that Syshae
always leaves celebrations—early and alone.”

“Yes, he always has. So?”

“And there is a feast in four dtimetime.”

“Rumil,” Orophin’s tone of voice was rich with promises of
impending bodily harm.

Rumil cocked his head to one side. “You did say we needed
to provide an opportunity for them to see that they’re both being complete
asses and supremely stubborn.”

“Not in those words per se,” Orophin ground out from
between gritted teeth, “but the idea is true.”

“So, it’s simple.”

Rumil turned to continue toward the city. Orophin tackled
him to the ground. After a brief scuffle, Orophin pinned his younger brother to
the ground. “Tell. Me. Now.” Each word was carefully enunciated.

“But isn’t it obvious?’ Rumil had the audacity to look
surprised and Orophin had to work hard not to strangle him.

He tightened his grip on Rumil’s wrists. “Were it obvious,
brother mine, I would not ask. The Valar only know how your thoughts connect,
for surely none other does.”

Rumil looked wounded, but when Orophin glared at him, he
decided he had played the game out as long as he dared. He sighed
exasperatedly, unwilling to quit bedeviling his brother without one last tiny
jab. Orophin growled at him. Rumil smiled.

“’Tis simple. Syshae will leave the feast early. He will
go to the same place he always goes to be alone.”

“And you know where this place is?”

“Naturally.”

Orophin resisted the urge to roll his eyes or sigh. Of
course Rumil knew. Syshae hadn’t let any of the Galadhrim get too close to him,
but Rumil had gotten further than any other. And Rumil had always been
excellent at ferreting out secrets. How many times had he blackmailed Orophin
and Haldir? Too many. But how— Suddenly Orophin understood. “So, when Syshae
leaves, you make sure he stays at this place and I bring Haldir there.”

“And talk some sense into our brother,” Rumil added.

Orophin regarded his younger brother as if he had just
suggested they mate with orcs.

Taking advantage of Orophin’s distraction, Rumil rolled
out from underneath him. Orophin fell gracelessly onto his backside. Rumil took
a few steps, then looked back over his shoulder. “After all, you are older than
I. It’s your duty to protect me, and talking some sense into Haldir is
definitely a high risk venture.” With a final grin, he sprinted toward Caras
Galadhon before Orophin could recover his composure.

#

Orophin’s gaze met Rumil’s across the revelers. Rumil
nodded and headed toward laddladder that Syshae had just disappeared down.
Orophin sighed, then admonished himself for his apprehension. It was not
important if Haldir became irate with him; it was important whether Haldir and
Syshae could be made to see their mutual desire and act on it. It was important
to restore to Haldir, his beloved brother, the joy he once had in life.
Squaring his shoulders, he crossed to where Haldir stood, conversing
disinterestedly with several decidedly interested elves, both male and female.

“Brother, I beg forgiveness for the intrusion, but I must
speak with you.”

Haldir turned to Orophin with a grateful look that none
but his brothers would have noticed and nodded slightly. Orophin beckoned and
Haldir followed unsuspectingly as Orophin led the way from the celebration. As
they approached the welcoming twilight of the wood, Orophin felt the touch of
Galadriel’s mind. He looked back over his shoulder, and their eyes met, but he
was unable to decipher her look. Shoving aside his sudden misgivings, he led
Haldir into tood,ood, along a path that would bring them to a remote glade, one
seldom visited, one that Rumil assured him Syshae would seek.

The two guardians moved silently through the wood until,
rounding a turn, the hidden glade lay revealed to them. Both halted. Syshae
stood beside the dark pool that nearly filled the glade, nude, alabaster skin
gleaming in Ithil’s light. His head was thrown back, his unbound hair falling
around him like a dark dream, and he sang. Oh, by the Valar! hng, ng, his voice
clear as the light of Eärendil and as piercingly beautiful as the vanished
light of Telperion.

 

“Why do you
hesitate, brother?”

Haldir started, then glared at Orophin. He turned to
leave, but Orophin grabbed his arm in a vise grip.

“For once, you will listen. You will listen and listen
well, so you do not hurt him further.”

Orophin’s words choked Haldir’s angry protest. Hurt
Syshae? He could never… He knew the beautiful prince did not desire him and
could never be his, but he would give his life before he hurt him.

“Yes, I said hurt. In truth, I said ‘hurt him further’.”

Orophin’s words were like a lash to Haldir’s heart. His
control slipped, allowing his brother to see the pain the words caused.

“I have not…I cannot…”

Although Orophin hated to see his brother’s pain, he knew
it was not up to him to erase it. It was up to the two who, together, had
caused it. “Listen well, brother mine. You desire him as you have no other. Not
as a mere conquest, but for something far . Ay. Aye, Rumil and I see this
plainly. You have not hidden it from us nearly so well as you would like. Yet
you do not speak to him because you feel he—a prince, grandson of our Lord and
Lady, a fea-healer—would never deign to involve himself with a mere guardian,
though he be a marchwarden. You feel unworthy.”

“You see much, but you do not see all.” Haldir ground the
words out, anger at himself for being so transparent and at his brother for
being so perceptive causing his temper to fray. Abruptly, he wrenched his arm
from Orophin’s grasp and turned on his heel. He had taken two steps when
Orophin’s next words stopped him cold.

“He also thinks himself unworthy of the one he desires. He
believes himself unworthy of you.”

Haldir closed his eyes, his hands clenching into fists.
Valar! Was it possible? It could not be. “You know this how?” he managed to
force the words through suddenly numb lips.

“Syshae told Rumil,” Orophin replied calmly and then
walked away, disappearing into the wood without a sound.

For long minutes, Haldir stood wrestling with himself,
desire and hope doing battle with common sense. Orophin’s words taunted him. You
feel unworthy… He too thinks himself unworthy… unworthy of you… No. It was
not possible. He was a mere guardian. Syshae was elven royalty, kin of the Lord
and Lady. the one he desires… you… Syshae told Rumil… Haldir knew
Orophin would not lie to him. Valar! Could it be true? Slowly he turned so that
he could once again see the glade.

Syshae still stood beside the dark pool, his arms spread
and head lifted, as he sang. Ithil bathed him in light, turning him into an
exquisite black and silver figure. He looked every inch a prince and a gift
from the Valar. With sudden insight, Haldir knew that Syshae would one day
rival Elrond, Galadriel, and even the great princes of the First Age in the
legends of the First Born. And this was the one that held his heart.

Beside the falls of Nimrodel,
By water clear and cool,
Her voice as falling silver fell
Into the shining pool.

Where now she wanders none can tell,
In sunlight or in shade;
For lost of yore was Nimrodel
And in the mountains strayed.

Nimrodel’s song. Why did Syshae sing it? Did he fear the
fate she and Amroth shared? Or did he long for it? Or was there some other
reason? He listened until the song was nigh done then stepped into the glade.
His heart was pounding as it did before a battle, and he felt more afraid than
he ever remembered before. Determinedly, he moved forward. One way or the
other, he would have this done. He would know the truth. Whether he could live
with that truth was another question. When he was but three steps from Syshae,
the song ended. Immediately, Syshae was aware of him and spun to face him.

Haldir stopped, drinking in the sight of the one he
desired above all others. He had not been so close in long years, having been
careful to keep his distance to maintain his control. Syshae’s face was a
neutral mask that revealed nothing, as Haldir knew his own was.

“Haldir,” Syshae hesitated, but his dark eyes remained
locked on Haldir’s, no longer the timid captive Haldir had rescued, but a
prince and a warrior. “’Tis good to see you once again in Lorien. You absent
yourself too much.”

“Do I?” Haldir closed the space between them until barely
two hand spans separated them. Confusion showed on Syshae’s face. He licked his
lips unconsciously, and Haldir had to will himself not to react. “Do I absent
myself too much, prince?”

“What do you ask?”

“’Tis a question. Do I absent myself too much?”

“Ai, you are missed. The Lord and Lady have need of your
service. The guardians also, and—“

“And you, prince of the Sindon,you you have need of me
also?” Haldir saw the shiver that swept Syshae’s slender frame, saw the
widening of the dark eyes and the slight catch of breath, sensed the other’s
warring desire and uncertainty. Hope rose in him. “I would have done with this
game we have played. I would have us speak plainly.”

Syshae shifted his gaze to a point somewhere over Haldir’s
shoulder. He swallowed hard and licked his lips again. “Of what would you have
us speak plainly?”

“Of you and I. Of desire. I would know if you desire me.”

Pain etched Syshae’s features and he started to turn away.
“Saes, Haldir. Do this not to me.”

Haldir caught his upper arm, holding him in place. “You
think yourself unworthy.”

Syshae closed his eyes. “Saes, do not taunt me. I am
unclean. You, more than any other, know this. None could desire—”

“You are a fool!” Syshae’s eyes snapped open and he stared
in disbelief at Haldir, who continued. “And I am a fool.” Haldir’s free hand
rose to brush Syshae’s cheek, and Syshae trembled under his touch. “I desire
you as I nevere ane another. I would know you. I would have you for my own and
I would be yours. I would give you my love and have yours. Feel the truth of my
words, lirimaer. I would be with you,” his voice dropped to a near whisper,
“but I know not your desire.”

Syshae closed the slight distance between them, his dark
gaze searing Haldir with its intensity. One hand slid behind Hald hea head to
tangle in his silken hair, while the other rested over his heart. Syshae leaned
forward until their lips were so close that Haldir could feel their touch like
butterfly wings. “I would show you my desire, Haldir, and I would give you all
that you desire.”

The first touch of their lips was light, hesitant, both
still uncertain, but gradually, Haldir deepened the kiss, taking control of it.
He pulled Syshae against him, and the Sindon willingly molded his body to the
marchwarden’s. Haldir’s tongue traced the seam of Syshae’s lips and again the
Sindon responded willingly, parting his lips. His tongue met Haldir’s eagerly,
each twining around the other, exploring and tasting.

Haldir thought both body and mind were in danger of
melting. Never, in all his many conquests, had he felt anything near to what
Syshae’s touch roused in him. He had indeed been a fool, afraid to seek after
what he desired, staying away from Lorien to avoid the pain of his heart,
needlessly denying himself his heart’s treasure. He felt Syshae moan, the sound
trapped in his throat. This was enough, he knew. He could live forever simply
holding Syshae in his arms and kissing him.

More and more intense the kiss, until Haldir was vaguely
aware of other sensations. Like the time on the journey from Mirkwood when
their flesh had accidentally touched, he felt himself caught up in a cyclone of
emotion. As before, he could separate no single feeling, nor could he control
it. Indeed, he had no desire to. Something deep inside him was crying out for
this, crying out for Syshae—

<Release him, Haldir! Lest he destroy you both!>
Galadriel’s command rang in his mind like a thunderclap, shatteringly painful.
Without conscious thought, he obeyed, releasing Syshae as they both fell to the
ground.

#

When Haldir was next aware, he was lying on a bed, still
clothed. Memory returned: Syshae, their words, the kiss, the cyclone of emotions,
Galadriel’s command. He blinked his eyes and flinched at the memory of the
pain.

“I see you are with us once again.”

Cautiously, Haldir opened his eyes. Orophin stood beside
the bed, looking down at him, concern written on his normally impassive features.

“What?…Syshaere?”re?” Haldir struggled to rise, but
Orophin held him down.

“He is here. The Lady tends him.”

“Hurt? I must—” He struggled to rise again, harder, but
again Orophin held him down.

“The Lady tends him, and she instructed us to keep you here
by any means, including tying you to the bed if necessary.”

“Us?” Haldir asked, not sure if he wanted to know.

Rumil moved up behind Orophin. “Us.”

Haldir groaned and closed his eyes again. He’d been right.
He didn’t want to know. Darkness claimed him again and he slept.

#

“Wake, Haldir of Lorien, I have need of you.” The Lady’s
velvet voice in his mind called to him. Reluctantly, he released his dream—a
dream in which he again held Syshae in his arms in a passionate embrace—and
returned to awareness. The Lady herself stood beside his bed. There was no sign
of his brothers.

Haldir tried to sit up and was vaguely surprised to note
that the weakness, nausea, and pain that had accompanied his earlier
wakefulness were gone. His body and mind were his own again, under his control,
and responded. Galadriel stepped back, allowing him room to stand.

“Syshae.” Not a question, a demand. She was the Lady of
the Golden Wood and he served her, yet he had to know.

“He lives,” that time her words were cool water flowing
over him. “Come.” She glided from the room, which he recognized as one of the
healing chambers. After a brief pause to snatch his knives from the bedside
table, he followed her. She led him to another healing chamber and gestured him
in.

Syshae lay in the bed, turned slightly to one side, his
eyes closed, long lashes resting on his smooth cheeks. His chest barely rose
and fell. One hand was under the sheet, the other resting atop it, slender
fingers half-curled. Fear lanced through Haldir. Without thought, he moved
toward the bed, reaching out to touch the one who held his heart.

“Nay!” The Lady’s sharp command stopped him. “Touch him
not.” Confused, Haldir looked back at the Lady. “Touch him not, guardian. There
is much to be said first.”

Haldir looked back to Syshae who lay so still. “His eyes,
my Lady. They are—” He broke off, unable to continue. Like all, he knew an elf
never fully closed their eyes to sleep unless they were mory woy wounded. Yet
Syshae had taken no wound.

“Come with me. You have seen that he yet lives. For now,
that must suffice.” Her voice and expression softened. “He is in no immediate
danger, guardian. There is knowledge you must have to help him.”

Trusting Galadriel’s wisdom, Haldir followed her from the
healing chamber, but not without a last, longing look at Syshae.

Galadriel led him to the audience chamber, to the same
alcove that Celeborn had led him to when he had first brought Syshae to Lorien,
and gestured him to the same chair. She seated herself on the other, beside
him.

“Do you know what he is?”

The question startled Haldir. He had expected
explanations, not questions, but his loyalty, strengthened by centuries of
service, did not allow him to become frustrated. “He is Syshae, my Lady. Prince
of the Sindon and last of that race left in Middle Earth. He is a fea-healer.
gra grandson. He—” He stopped speaking, fear of where she might be turning the
conversation chilling his blood. He finished in a voice barely above a whisper.
“He is the one who holds my heart.” He waited for her to deliver the blow that
should surely kill him, waited for her to dismiss him and deride his desire,
the desire of a simple marchwarden for a prince of her blood.

“That is good.”

Her reply stunned him and he knew his composure slipped,
that the shock showed on his face.

“Do I not guess
aright that once, on your journey here with Syshae, your flesh touched his?”

Haldir felt himself flush. “Ai, my Lady. I failed your
command. ’Twas not meant by either, but—”

“There is no blame, Haldir. It is nothing either of you
could have controlled. Had I realized the extent of the damage done him and his
lack of control, I should have sent an entire patrol.”

“Saes, my Lady. I understand not.”

“What do you know of fea-healers?”

The change of subject threw him for a moment, but he
rallied quickly. “They heal the sorrows of fea; they cleanse the weariness of
the spirit.”

“And do you know how this is done?”

“Nay, Lady, I had wondered, but dare not ask.”

“They take the grief and weariness into themselves, into
their own fea.”

Haldir’s breath caught. But then how could the fea-healer
survive? Surely they must then perish? Syshae. Valar, no!

“You wonder how they do this without their own
destruction?” Galadriel smiled gently. “They have their own fea-healer. For
each that is born, the gift within seeks another with whom they shall bond. It
reads the heart and desire of the fea-healer, and seeks another that shall
match them in mind and spirit. But although the gift guides the choice, the
fea-healer controls it, for they must desire and allow the bonding. They must
release the control of their gift for it to happen. Touch seals the bond and
the gift merges their fea, taking from each and giving to each. The resulting
bond between the two is beyond that known to any other pair. When you touched
Syshae on the journey, that bond was begun for his heart already desired you.
Having no control over his gift at that time, he neither understood nor could
direct what happened.”

Haldir’s mind reeled yet again. He was a simple guardian. He
was no royal prince, no ancient Elda of the First Age, no wielder of a great
power; yet he found himself in the midst of what sounded like a tale of Aman.

Galadriel remained silent, letting him take in the wledwledge she had shared.

Soon, Haldir raised his eyes to her. “And when we touched
again?”

She nodded. “As his passion rose, he lost control of his
gift, not understanding the import. The tentative bond that had begun was
strengthened. Had it not been stopped, it would have tied you to him for
eternity, in a way far stronger than any mere bondmate.”

“Why, my Lady? Why did you stop this?” Haldir could hear
the anguish in his voice and hated himself for showing weakness. He knew
Galadriel was wise and undoubtedly had good reason for her action, but by the
Valar!

“Syshae still knows naught of this. Neither of you were
truly willing.” She held up her hand when he would interrupt. “To be truly
willing, you must understand all that is involved. You do not—yet.”

More, how could there be more? Haldir wondered frantically.
And what did it matter? He would take this bond. Wanted it, nay needed it.
Gladly would he surrender himself to Syshae to be with him.

“Evil stirs once again in Dol Guldur, and a greater evil
yet arises in Mordor. The end of this age draws nigh, swiftly as the First Born
account the years, though long they may seem to others. Darkness threatens.
Whether that darkness or the light shall prevail, I know not, but in either
outcome, the time of the First Born on these shores also draws to an end.” She
sighed deeply and Haldir read the grief in her at the thought of leaving Middle
Earth. “The Valar have sent us a final gift in our exile. A fea-healer to
assuage the grief and pain that shall break over us as the darkness rises. As I
was the Morningstar of the First Born, as Arwen shall be the Evenstar, he is
the Nightstar. He is fated to remain to the end. Last of all the First Born
shall he leave these shores and go into the west. Until all others have gone,
and none are left to need his comfort, he shall remain tied to Middle Earth.”

“Then if his feet shall be the last of the First Born to
grace these shores, mine shall be the last before him.”

“Have you heard all my words, Haldir of Lorien? Do you
truly desire this bond? This bond that shall take parts of your fea and replace
them with parts of his? Shall your love for him be so consuming that it will
heal his fea—time and again? Shall you accept the burden of the lengthening
years as our kindred dwindle until only you and he remain on these shores?”

“My Lady, none of those are the question I would answer,
for they are not questions. There is no decision to make; it has been made.”

A delicate golden brow arched in inquiry.

“I would answer the question of what I must do to awaken
my beloved, that he may answer those questions. Can you not heal him, Lady, or
send for Elrond?”

“I have not the skill. Neither does Elrond. We cannot call
to his fea.”

Haldir’s hopes fell. He bowed his head. To be so close to
his heart’s desire and yet unable to touch it…

“Yours is the only power that can reach him and call him
back from where he wanders.” Haldir looked back up, willing Galadriel to
continue. She smiled gently at him. “If you are resolved on this, let us awaken
my grandson and hear his answers.”

#

With a final fond look at Syshae, Galadriel glided from
the room. Haldir stared at the elf who had stolen his heart, willing him to
turn around so that he might read something from his expression. Syshae
remained still as a graven image, staring out into the night. He had been thus
since they awakened him and Galadriel told him of the bond.

Finally unable to bear Syshae’s silence any longer, Haldir
moved to stand behind him, reaching out to stroke the heavy silk of his dark
hair. “Will you not speak, lirimaer? ’Tis much to absorb, but it is the same
choice we faced when we voiced our desire—” He broke off, suddenly fearing that
Syshae might be unwilling toept ept a bond with him of the depth Galadriel had
described. Haldir was certain what he wanted, but was Syshae? Would he change
his mind? Could—

“Nay, nin bain.” Syshae turned and molded his body to
Haldir’s. “Never would I not desire you, but this bond is far more than any
other. I would not ask this of you. If my power is truly a gift, then it is
hard to bear, for the sacrifice it demands is too much to ask of any who would
become my mate.”

Gently, Haldir brushed his lips across Syshae’s.
“Sacrifice? To have my fea joined with yours? To be truly one for eternity?
Nay, lirimaer, ’tis no sacrifice, but a wondrous chance that I would seize. To
know that we are bound thus, and that my love heals you even as you heal those
who are weary in spirit. That is a high honor indeed.” Haldir kissed him again.
“Tell me you do not want this, lirimaer. Tell me you do not wish to be bound
thus. Tell me you do not desire me and that you wish me to leave you. Tell me
these things and I shall go.”

Syshae initiated the next kiss. “I cannot do as you ask,
for I wish this bond between us to be complete. My fea cries out for it.”

“Then come, lirimaer. Let us find a private place of our
choosing where Ithil shall bathe us in silver light, and we shall seal this
bond.”

 

Syshae turned left off the main path onto one nearly
invisible. Recognizing it, Haldir started to protest, but Syshae took his hand,
tugging him forward. The path twisted around two huge mallorns beyond which a
series of stones set into the side of a steep drop-off dow down to a hidden
glade carpeted with velvety moss. The sweet spicy scent of niphredil and
jasmine growing there in abundance perfumed the air. Bemused, Haldir regarded
the water basin wrought of mithril and pearl that stood to one side of the
glade.

Galadriel’s mirror. Syshae had led them to the Lady’s
mirror to seal their bond. Conflicting emotions warred within him. He wanted to
decry the intrusion and immediately flee the enchanted glade, but he also
wanted to weep for the perfection of the choice. The mirror had revealed
Syshae’s existence. The revelation that sent him to Thranduil’s court and began
their relationship. Yes, it was the perfect choice of places. He looked to
Syshae.

The Sindon’s dark eyes sparkled with mischief and
excitement, and he radiated happiness. No way could Haldir refuse him and, in
truth, he had no wish to. The glade of the Lady’s mirror was the most profound,
serene, enchanted place in Lorien, save only Cerin Amroth. It was perfect.

Both hesitated, suddenly unsure how to proceed. Their eyes
met and each saw the other’s uncertainty.

“I know not what is supposed to happen, lirimaer, or what
we should do next, but I need to touch you.”

“Aye,” Syshae stepped to Haldir. “I also need your touch.”

Nimble fingers divested Haldir of his tunic and Syshae of
his robe. Strong, slender fingers, calloused from years of archery and sword
fighting, traced over bared flesh, the contrast between smooth skin and rough
fingertips causing both to suck in their breath sharply. Every curve was
outlined, every hollow explored, every ridge traced.

“Never did I think to have this, lirimaer. I have wanted
you since I guided you to haven in Lorien, yet thought you beyond the reach of
a mere guardian. A treasure the Lady called you, and I knew she spoke truly.
Now I hold that treasure in my arms, and you give yourself to me freely for
eternity. You submit to the deepest bond of all.”

“Perhaps this is submission, but if so, ’tis for both of
us, and ’tis a thing I desire above all else and eagerly do I seek it. My
desire has rivaled yours, for I wanted you from that first time also, though I
understood it not until later.”

Haldir groaned to hear Syshae’s words. He had dreamed of
those words, those feelings, but had not dared hope Syshae truly felt as he
did. “Lirimaer—”

Syshae’s fingers moved to the lacing of Haldir’s suede
leggings, loosing the ties, sliding thumb and forefinger underneath the
material. Closing his eyes, Haldir licked his lips, hands clenching into fists
by his side as he fought to remain still. Reverently, Syshae drew the suede
down over muscular thighs, defined calves, and deceptively delicate seeming
ankles, at last tossing them to one side. Strong fingers caressed gently back
up Haldir’s legs, trailing like fire across his inner thighs and up over his
abdomen, causing the marchwarden to gasp. They moved next to Haldir’s braids
and loosed them, taking time to appreciate the intricacy of the weaving and to
comb the silvery-blonde strands smooth.

“Lirimaer,” Haldir opened his eyes, “what you do to me…”

“I shall do more to you—much, much more.” Syshae’s voice
was like the black satin darkness of the night sky, filled with knowing
promises and ancient mysteries.

Shuddering, Haldir managed to reach behind Syshae and
remove the heavy mithril clip that held his hair back. The weight of the dark
silk sliding over Haldir’s arms and body caused him to cry out. He had wanted
to feel that for more than two centuries, and the reality surpassed his most
erotic dreams. He buried both hands in the black mane and pulled Syshae to him.

“Valar! I need you, lirimaer. I need this bond between us.
There is a vast emptiness in me that only you shall fill. Saes, I need you.”

Gently pulling Haldir to the ground so that both rested on
their knees, Syshae wrapped his arms around the marchwarden and traced a
sensuous trail of gentle kisses and nibbles from his collarbone to the tip of
his ear.

Haldir shuddered and gasped. “Ai! melethron nin. Saes,
more.” The gentle kisses and nibbles became long sensual lavings of Syshae’s
tongue over Haldir’s chest and throat and ears, interspersed with progressively
sharper nips. Groaning in pleasure, Haldir sat back on his heels, his head
dropping back to fully expose his throat as he offered his total surrender to
Syshae. The Sindon’s hands roamed Haldir’s body, questing out all the sensitive
areas that gave Haldir the most pleasure and exploiting them mercilessly with
talented fingers. Only one part of Haldir’s body did Syshae not touch—his erect
penis.

“Valar! Syshae…” Haldir groaned loudly as strong,
calloused, warrior’s hands slid over the sensitive skin of his inner thighs and
lower abdomen. “Saes…”

Syshae leaned over Haldir, hands continuing their
ministrations. He licked and nipped his way up Haldir’s throat until his lips
brushed a sensitive ear. “I would have you, Haldir of Lorien. I would take you
for my own. I would sheath myself in you and claim you.”

Haldir’s breathing was shallow and ragged. “Ai! Saes…take
me…saes…”

One hand left Haldir’s body and Syshae’s nimble fingers
searched in his discarded robe until he found the vial of sandalwood scented
oil he had placed in a pocket before they left the healers’ talan. Slicking the
fingers of one hand, he continued his assault on Haldir’s senses—licking,
kissing, nipping, stroking, and occasionally murmuring of all the things he
wanted to do to Haldir, all the ways he wanted to take him, the screams and
responses he would draw from him. Oil-slicked fingers slid between Haldir’s
legs, along the skin behind his sac, and circled the opening between his
buttocks.

Haldir’s hands fisted in Syshae’s hair as he sought to
pull the Sindon even closer to him, craving the contact of skin-on-skin.
Fingers probed at him gently. He groaned, dropping his head back and opening
his knees wider, asking Syshae for more. Syshae’s lips found a nipple, laving
it gently with his tongue, then biting it firmly as he slid a finger all the
way in Haldir.

“Ai!” Unable to restrain a cry of mingled joy and pain,
Haldir jerked against Syshae, his body reacting to the twin stimulation.

Syshae licked the nipple, soothing the pain, and slowly
began to rotate his finger inside Haldir and thrust gently.

“Saes…more melethron…”

In answer to Haldir’s plea, Syshea moved to his ear,
biting the sensitive tip firmly, while pinching a nipple and sliding a second
finger into him.

Haldir gasped, his body arching taught against Syshae, not
knowing which sensation to respond to. “Valar! You shall drive me mad!”

“I intend to, Haldir of Lorien. ’Tis my name you will cry
as you are unmade with ecstasy,” Syshae murmured against Haldir’s throat. His
fingers found the hidden spot inside Haldir and the marchwarden cried aloud as
he thrust against Syshae’s hand, trying to drive him in deeper. Syshae licked
his way across Haldir’s chest, suckling on both nipples, then drew back and
looked down at the elf writhing beneath him. “Your passion is a wonder to see,
melethron nin. You burn brighter than Anor.”

“For you,” Haldir panted, licking his lips. “For you,
Syshae.” He thrust against Syshae’s hand. “Saes…take me…I need you.”

Syshae withdrew his hand, eliciting an unhappy moan from
Haldir as the marchwarden lay back on the grass and moss carpeting the glade.
The spicy sweet scent of crushed niphredil drifted over him, mingling with the
sandalwood of the oil. Syshae moved between his legs, slicking his hard cock
with more oil. He grasped Haldir’s hips and slid into him with agonizing
slowness. Both elves stared into the other’s eyes, reveling in every glorious
inch of penetration.

“Valar!” Syshae gasped, falling forward until he caught
himself with his hands on Haldir’s chest. He was breathing deeply and rapidly,
his dark eyes dilated. Something rippled over Haldir’s skin, a rush of power,
then it vanished. Syshae gasped and Haldir knew it had been his power.

“Lirimaer?”

“Not…yet,” Syshae gasped, beginning to move in Haldir.
“You shall be mine first.”

Haldir thrust his hips up to meet Syshae’s strokes. His
hands grasped Syshae’s hips tightly anged ged him to a faster rhythm. Soon, he
saw Syshae’s eyes turn cloudy and knew the Sindon was close to orgasm. “And
shall…you be…mine?” Haldir managed.

“Ai, I—” Syshae’s back bowed, silken hair spilling over
btheitheir loins, as he thrust powerfully into Haldir and stilled, pouring his
seed deep inside the marchwarden.

Not giving Syshae time to recover, Haldir rolled over
until the Sindon was beneath him. Slowly, he rose to his knees, Syshae slipping
out of him which drew a moan of protest from the Sindon. Haldir grinned
wickedly. He would soon have more moans from his melethron.

Haldir settled his hips between Syshae’s thighs.
“Lirimaer,” he whispered against Syshae’s ear. “I would have you now. Do you
consent?”

“Ai! Saes, melethron. Take me, Haldir of Lorien, that we
might complete this bond.”

In a moment, Haldir had coasted his fingers with oil and
moved them to tease Syshae’s opening.

“Nay,” Syshae’s head tossed from side to side. “Take me,
melethron. Claim me.” Haldir hesitated, unsure, reluctant to hurt his lover.
“Saes, Haldir!” Syshae thrust against him urgently.

Another frisson of power danced over Haldir’s skin, a
siren call to pleasure. He shivered and ran his hand over his cock, slicking it
with oil. Positioning himself against Syshae, he paused, gauging his lover’s
reaction.

Syshae thrust against him, hard. His dark eyes fixed on
Haldir. “Now, melethron!” he commanded. “Take me!”

Slowly, Haldir penetrated Syshae, worried for the lack of
preparation. Syshae bucked his hips, demanding more. As Haldir sank deeper into
him, Syshae moaned aloud in pleasure. He pulled the marchwarden down to him,
kissing him urgently. Unable to resist, Haldir started to move. Syshae met his
movements, hands roaming frantically over every part of Haldir’s body he could
reach. The cyclonic feeling he had felt before when touching Syshae began to
swirl around his senses. That time, he welcomed it, knowing full well what it
presaged—the joining of his fea to Syshae’s. He embraced it as it grew in
intensity, claiming all his senses, until the only thing left to him was the
feel of his impossibly hard cock claiming Syshae’s body. Intensity spiraled
higher and higher until it bordered on painful. Syshae cried out, his body
arching upward, and Haldir answered him with his own cry as he poured himself
into the willing body beneath him.

Collapsing onto Syshae as he pulled out of him, Haldir
tried to control the maelstrom of emotions that crashed over him, but quickly
gave up. In spite of his release, they built and built, higher and more
piercing. No longer able to scream, both whimpered, writhing against the other.
Pieces of his fea were torn from him; Haldir could feel their loss, but he was
beyond caring. Incredibly, he felt himself harden again, felt the sudden
incredible need for release. He ground himself against Syshae who rubbed his
body against Haldir’s equally frantically. Hand, lips, teeth, and tongue sought
skin, searching and exploring in haste—tasting, feeling, breathing in the
essence of the other. Neither of them were in control; neither cared.

Mutual orgasm claimed them and then darkness overtook
them, sending them deep into the starry depths of ecstasy.

 

*coronar - literally 'sun-round', a name given by the Elves
to a single year

*gwador – cousin

*Iarmen – name means ‘old way’, one who follows the old
ways

*lirimaer - lovely one

*mae govannon – well met

*pen-neth - young one

*nin bain - my beautiful one

*meleth-nin - my love

*Mithaelin – name means ‘grey lake’, reflecting beauty
muted by sadness

*saes - please