The Song of the Dance

THE SONG OF THE DANCE

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Chapter 10: Ever After

The heat was lessened on Lorien’s forest floor, where the canopy of summer leaves high above blocked out the sun. Still, the eternal light of Lorien retained its ethereal glow throughout.

Haldir took comfort in neither the relief of the shade nor the welcoming light, for he focused only on the task at hand, dashing at great speed through the forest: darting around the greatest trunks, leaping over rushing brooks, and moving as fast as his elven ability would allow. The Warden allowed the physical exhilaration to overwhelm any lingering doubts, and thought for a single mt tht that he liked nothing better than the pure joy of measuring the earth with his feet, feeling the air move past to playfully ruffle his uniform and hair, and grow breathless at the sheer delight of moving like a great stag through the silver-trunked forest.

At length, he approached the city, and did not slow his pace until he reached the white bridge that spanned a watery chasm and led to the great gates, open to the coming night. The city guards greeted him with a salute, hastily returned, and Haldir sped through past the great walls. Long before he reached the fountain, Haldir leapt up to grab a low hanging branch and took to the trees, taking the short cut he had learned in his youth to the palace.

He sprung upward higher and higher until he ran the length of the upper city with its white steps and silver ladders and rope walkways.

A few elves, had they listened closely enough, might have discerned the light footsteps that fell on the roofs of their covered telain as Haldir sped quickly along, only committing a minor trespassing offense in the process.

When he finally did reach the palace, he easily leapt a good fifteen feet from a sturdy branch to land soundlessly on the library roof. Taking a firm hold on its shale shingled edge, he knelt over to peer into the tall window at the long talan’s eastern end. As he had remembered from childhood romps, there wasn’t a soul to be seen in this quarter of the library at this hour, and Haldir swung himself in a neat flip over the eves to drop into a crouch behind some low shelving.

Holding still for the first time since he’d set out that morning, Haldir took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of dust and ink and leather bindings. For that one moment – one breath – he remained motionless. Then, he vaulted the shelf and flew through the twining library bookcases until he reached the great trunk of the supporting mallorn. Now, where would Celeborn be? Up, in his chambers? Or down, on the lower levels?

Spotting an elf ascending the stair, Haldir raised his hand in greeting. “Mae govannen, Counselor Siltaur! Tell me, where might I find the Lord Celeborn, for I’ve an urgent message to deliver?”

“Greetings, Haldir,” the friendly elf received him. “Celeborn retired to his chambers from a council meeting less than an hour ago; I’m sure he’s still there.”

“I thank you,” Haldir barely managed before leaping to the steps, taking them three at a time.

Up and up he went, past quarters and studies and long walking telain, until he reached a familiar white door, large and heavy, and carved in the likeness of twining flowers and vines. He shrugged off the nerves that seemed to settle like hovering vultures on his conscience. After withdrawing Iarwen’s answering scroll from his side satchel, he rapped sharply on the door.

“Come in,” he heard immediately in Celeborn’s rich, distinctive voice, and Haldir almost fumbled the silver doorknob in his haste. He entered, leaving the door open behind him as he bowed to Celeborn, who was seated at his work-desk with papers and quills scattered about, much in the same state as Haldir had seen it in a year before.

Haldir bowed again, as was his custom, despite the informal circumstances, and proffered the scroll as he did so. “I bring Iarwen’s response.”

Celeborn had turned, one hand on his knee, the other still holding a simple quill, at Haldir’s entrance, and he now looked upon the March Warden with bemusement on his kind face. Haldir stood a good five paces from him, silver-golden head bowed low. “Ah, good,” he acknowledged, watching Haldir try to control the pulse and breath that itched to race after his long run. “Bring it here, please.”

Haldir looked up, suddenly realizing the absurd distance he’d kept between them. A rose tint encroached onto his cheeks as he marched forward to hand over the scroll.

Celeborn smiled fondly, an amused – if slightly befuddled – light in his silver eyes, as he eagerly took the rolled parchment from a hand he did not notice was trembling.

Even though their fingers never touched, Haldir leapt back as if stung when the missive was snatched from his hands, and waited as Celeborn impatiently broke the seal to carefully read. Haldir watched as a small grin gave way to a broad, beautiful smile. It seemed as though Celeborn liked this news. Very much.

Celeborn continued his perusal, ignorant of Haldir, who waited awkwardly where he stood. Eventually, Celeborn rolled the parchment and set it aside. He turned to look at the Guardian. “Oh, I apologizr ker keeping you. You may go.”

Haldir performed another bow before quickly retreating.

He had pulled the door nearly shut when Celeborn called out. “Haldir!”

Eagerly, Haldir halted and pushed open the door to regard Celeborn over the threshold. “Yes Lord?”

“Please, if you see Iarwen, give her my thanks. And you and your brothers are welcome, of course, to forgo your duties to attend Byeltinyeh Feast as usual, though it will not be nearly so grand as the year past,” he said with a wink.

“Oh,” Haldir haltingly answered, “my thanks, Lord.”

He inclined his head, and pulled the door shut, fleeing the way he had come.

Forgoing food and rest, he exited the palace and the city, intent on resuming his duties at once, before he gave in to the insane urge to return to Celeborn’s quarters and destroy that damned bit of paper and explain that it was all some horrible mistake.

But it was too late to change his mind and he knew it.

***

“I’ve changed my mind.”

Iarwen looked up from her embroidery at Haldir’s outburst. When he had arrived, distinctly agitated, she had of course invited him in for tea. But now he sat there, his oddly colored eyes wide with fright, regarding her hopefully.

“Haldir. You must know there is nothing I can do about your fickleness.”

“I am not fickle! I merely… realized I’d committed myself to something I cannot possibly follow through on.”

“Well then,” she said, turning back to the fine violet velvet between her fingers; she embroidered a silver design into its hemming as she spoke. “I suggest The Dancer sends a letter to explain things. That, or you simply do not go, making myself out to be a liar, and you to be a coward.”

Haldir bristled. “I am not a coward,” he hissed.

Iarwen looked up once more. “Not in battle, certainly. But I’ve no doubt you are dearly afraid of revealing your heart.ere ere is no shame in this, Haldir,” she said, lowering her green eyes to her work. “But you cannot hide your feelings forever. I think your decision was correct. And I think these new robes will look simply stunning for the occasion.”

Haldir threw up his hands, as if giving in to the inevitable. “Women!” he cursed.

Iarwen smiled. “You will go to him, then?”

Haldir sighed, pushing away the self-anger that had mingled with his growing fear and hateful doubts. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

Iarwen stood, smiling happily down on him. “I’m sure it is for the best. Now, stand up so I can fit these properly.

Haldir stopped himself from grumbling and stood with his arms out to the sides, allowing Iarwen to spend the rest of the day fussing over him and clicking her tongue and smiling slyly when she thought he wasn’t looking.

***

Slowed by the heavy formal robes in a bundle over his shoulder, Haldir plodded toward the center watch-flet, where – if memory served – Orophin and Nimnarel should be on duty. Not long after he came within sight of the high talan, Haldir saw Sentry Nimnarel salute and give a clear signal.

He wearily returned the gesture and approached, leaving his belongings at the foot of the tall mallorn before ascending the thin rope ladder.

As soon as his head cleared the edge of the watch-flet, Haldir froze, his great violet eyes taking in the sight of two sentries, neither of which was Orophin. “Sentry Nimnarel,” he addressed.

She nodded her head. “Captain.”

“Sentry Tinasul.”

“Captain Haldir,” Tinasul said, bowing.

Haldir continued to stare at the two sentries.

Nimnarel tilted her head with concern. “Captain?”

Haldir quickly gathered his thoughts and climbed all the way up to stand, regarding his sentries closely. “I thought Orophin was assigned this shift,” Haldir curtly addressed Tinasul.

Nervous at Haldir’s cold manner, the sentry again bowed before his captain. “Yes sir, but he requested a roster transfer. Lieutenant Thinthoron switched our schedules at my offering.”

Still staring, Haldir did not speak for a moment. Then he said, “And do you know where Orophin is now?”

Tinasul and Nimnarel exchanged a look and then shrugged. “With Rumil?” Nimnarel suggested. “At the off-duty flet you share?”

“Yes,” Haldir nodded. “That would make sense.” He then stood a moment longer, lost in thought, before addressing them. “As you were,” he said with a salute, and then swiftly descended the rope to take his bag and head southwards toward the series of off-duty flets, one of which he and his brothers had long claimed as a second home.

***

These much more homey telain were set some miles inward from the Lorien borde all all four quadrants, and were generally seen as a sort of home-away-from-home where sentries and guardians and wardens alike could retreat when off-duty for a few hours or days at a time. Many were outfitted with very pleasant furnishings, oftentimes with connected rooms, a stock of wine, shelves of old games, and other amenities.

The sons of Feagul had claimed such a flet, a tree-building complete with three separate sleeping quarters, a main room, an encircling balcony, and many other comforts they had added over the years.

Now, plagued by two days’ restless travel following several sleepless nights, Haldir was hardly in top form when he meandered toward the large talan; therefore, he did not hear the sounds emanating from it until he was halfway up the tree.

Haldir paused, listening to the soft grunts and groans and rhythmic creaking of what could possibly be floorboards. “Orophin,” he grumbled dangerously. “I swear if you snubbed your duty in favor of some lustful romp, you are going to be sorry…” Now given some focus for his emotion, Haldir gathered what was left of his energy to quickly scale the tree, dropping his bags on the balcony.

He entered the first room, a friendly place with great cushions for sitting, low tables for eating, and a fireplace at its center. There was no fire in this blasted summer heat, and Haldir ignored the general mess the room was in to tread over to Orophin’s door. Here, of course, the sounds were much louder, and Haldir need not guess that his coming had gone unnoticed.

This was nothing he hadn’t heard before, not with such a brother as Orophin, but fatigue and stress were quickly winning the battle over decorum, and Haldir had barely thought through his actions before banging a precursory knock on the door and throwing it open to step within. “Orophin! I thought I—-- Ah!!!” The shriek he let out could be heard for miles.

Orophin lay on his thin matt, his hands stretched above his head and tied to a hook on the open windowsill by a green sash. Rumil lay above him, between outstretched legs. Both were suitably naked and sweaty for the activities they had been engaged in when Haldir had so rudely interrupted them.

The brothers grinned sheepishly at the look of abstract horror on Haldir’s face as he dramatically clutched at his chest, where his heart beat in a wild rhythm. “Orophin! Rumil! If an elf could die of shock, you would have killed me this very moment!”

Orophin smiled. “If an elf could die of embarrassment, we could say the same.”

The younger brothers chuckled merrily, and Haldir had no choice but to slowly back away and shut the door behind him.

***

Three brothers sat on the edge of the flet, shoeless feet dangling off the edge, passing a bottle of wine between them.

“Only four days ago?” Haldir.

“Yeh.” Rumil.

“Huh.” Haldir.

“So…” Orophin.

“Yeh.” Haldir.

Silence.

“The Dancer, then? That was you?” Orophin.

“Yeh.” Haldir.

“Huh.” Orophin.

“Yeh.” Haldir.

Silence.

“And you’re going to Celeborn?” Rumil.

“Yeh.” Haldir.

“Even though he hasn’t a clue it’s you?” Orophin.

“Yeh.” Haldir.

“Brave…” Rumil.

“If you choose to call it that.” Haldir.

Rumil chuckled, reaching behind him for two more bottles, which were swiftly uncorked and shared out. “To Byeltinyeh,” he said with a laugh.

“To your happiness,” Haldir said more soberly.

“To daft Dancers and damned brothers,” Orophin added.

They drank.

***

Haldir’s city flet was a close fit for three grown elves, but the brothers managed; Orophin sitting behind Haldir to carefully plait his flaxen hair as Rumil fussed over properly tying the silver belt and folding the lavender sleeves.

There was little conversation but for Rumil’s continued fussing and comments such as, “Iarwen is a fine seamstress, I’ll give her that,” and “Do stop moving Haldir, or your braids will be uneven,” and “Remember to stay calm, don’t get all panicky like you did last night.”

None of which, Haldir thought, was really helping.

But he let them fuss and fix and help, happy to have found true allies in his brothers. As Orophin finished the final knot, he spoke. “Why did you never tell us, Haldir, that you were a Dancer?”

Rumil paused his bustling about and Orophin tied off the final braid, both waiting with breath bated for an answer.

Haldir sighed. “There is much I should have told you,” he admitted. “I think… I sought to protect you, both my dear brothers.” He sighed again. “I feel old compared to you. I’m an age older than you, Orophin, and you are only a century Rumil’s senior.” He bowed his head. “I thought of you as my sons. I practly rly raised you both on my own. I never wanted to burden you with my secrets, my troubles.”

Rumil drew up his courage kneeling before Haldir where he sat – the picture of calm and ease – cross-legged in the center of the small room. “Do you promise not to hide from us anymore?”

Haldir smiled. “I do.”

Rumil released his breath and leaned over to warmly hug Haldir, who returned the rare embrace.

“Oh!” Orophin piped up, spoiling the moment. “Does that mean we get a our very own private performance?!”

Rumil shot him a dirty look and reached past Haldir to smack Orophin upside the head. “Ow!”

But Haldir only smiled. “If you wish.”

Intrigued, Rumil asked, “Really?”

Again, Haldir smiled. “If you ask nice enough. And if you stay well away from MY bed.”

“But we don’t have rooms in the city,” Orophin pouted.

Haldir grumbled. “It’s Byeltinyeh. You and Rumil could fuck in the streets and no one would bat an eyelash.” The brothers guffawed at Haldir’s language, and joined hands as their elder brother stood, straightening the lavender robes. “Please don’t consider that a suggestion,” he added as an afterthought. “If you can’t contain yourselves, I suppose my room shall have to suffer.”

Orophin snorted and couldn’t restrain his comment, “You call this a *room*? A bit generous, don’t you think?”

Haldir glared. “Remember. I’m your Captain. If this ROOM is not in PERFECT condition when I return, you can plan on leading very lonely marches on either end of the border for the next season!”

Rumil and Orophin quailed, though they knew Haldir would never be so cruel as to separate them. They also knew he was capable of much more unpleasant punishments if they truly did disobey his order.

“Right then,” he said, turning to survey the hole in the floor, which acted as the door. “I…” he hesitated. “I can’t do this.” He sat.

Rumil and Orophin exchanged glances. “Haldir,” the youngest said, moving to sit beside him on the low workbench. “You want to do this; you know you do.”

“But what if I am not what he…”

“Desires?” Orophin asked. He chuckled softly. “But you are. Lord Celeborn asked for The Dancer. And though you have attempted to hide it, even from yourself, that is a part of who you are. There is no doubt in my mind that he wants you as much as you want him. Besides, no one could turn you away!” He dropped a light kiss on Haldir’s temple, seating himself to the elf’s other side.

Between his brothers, Haldir attempted to regain his courage. “I do not question his… I am sorry,” he sobbed dryly, bending to hide his face in his hands.

Blue eyes widened and Rumil drew Haldir close as they both began to tremble. “Oh Haldir,” Rumil sighed, the burden of comprehension weighting his words. He rubbed comforting circles onto his back as he finally realized the extent of Haldir’s turmoil. “You are in love,” Rumil clarified. “Why did you not tell us?”

“You LOVE him?!” Orophin shouted. “You *love* him?”

“You’re not helping!” Rumil hissed. He turned again to Haldir, drawing him close. “You do, don’t you? And you’re terrified.”

Before Haldir could speak, Orophin interrupted, surprisingly rational after his sudden outburst.
“Nonsense. I stand by what I just said, and will elaborate: none could refuse you, Haldir, body or soul. I am sure Celeborn will see you as we do, and he will love what he sees.”

“I do not want him to see!” Haldir cried in a ragged scream as he stood, escaping from his brothers’ embraces. “I do not deserve him! I will give him what he wants, and that will be enough!”

Frightened at this sudden, passionate confession, Rumil and Orophin froze, staring with open concern at Haldir, who stood panting and outraged and absolutely distraught, near hysteria in his urgent anguish. “That *will* be enough,” he said. It was an order, it was a promise. It was a challenge to his brothers to defy his will.

They didn’t.

And Haldir again stood immobile, staring at the hole in the floor. “Well. I’m going.”

Rumil and Orophin stared.

Haldir stood.

Rumil and Orophin waited.

Haldir stood.

“You have to actually move,” Rumil finally suggested in a quiet voice, still shaken by Haldir’s unexpected outburst.

“Oh, right,” Haldir regrettably agreed, moving to slip through the hole and down the silver rope.

He dropped to his feet and looked up once more to see two pairs of eyes regarding him, one blue and one grey. “Good luck!” Rumil called with a weak smile and hesitant wave.

“You’ll need it!” Orophin added as Haldir set off through the trees. Toward the palace.

“I will at that,” he murmured in agreement, trying to suppress the racing of his heart and the threatening tears as he sped through the city in the direction of the revelry. In the direction of his fragile hope and unending love. To another night of gifting his body to the one who already owned his heart and did not even know it.

***

The fountain had stood here, on the open lawn, for as long as Haldir could remember, ever pouring forth its pure water, clear as crystal. Many lights in their lanterns hung about, shining white brilliance down upon the tumbling waters, which fell into a silver basin to murmur in a rippling stream away to the gates. Here, beneath the palace and all too near the welcoming hall, the noises of the festivities were close, and the sounds of singing and laughing permeated the air.

Still, none stood guard at the white ladders, none passed this way – on the ground – on the night of Byeltinyeh, when pleasure-filled moans already hung about the air… if one chose to listen close enough to hear them.

Haldir chose not to; in truth, the sounds of the night were lost to him as he leaned two hands upon the rim of the silver basin, fearfully regarding the reflection that wavered there. “How can I go to him? How can I be with him? How can I…”

“Hide from him?” A golden reflection appeared beside his own, rippling in the gentle flow of water. “For that is what you have been doing all these years, is it not, Captain Haldir?”

Haldir’s eyes sought the reflection of pale blue orbs, seeming to reflect starlight, even without stars visible beyond the high leaves, even in the shimmering reflection of the ever-changing water. “My Lady.”

Galadriel smiled, ever wise, ever sad. “You have managed to hide for a good long while. But no longer. I have seen your heart.”

Still staring at the flowing water, Haldir was shocked when the image was violently distorted for a fleeting moment, scattering the light until the gentle waves resumed their pattern. Only after a stunned moment did Haldir recognize the trail of wetness down his pale cheek reflecting back at him. The distortion had been a single salty tear. “I am sorry, my Lady,” he breathed. “I have tried… I have tried to stop this, but my heart… my heart…”

“Love cannot be stifled, or fettered, or changed. By will or prayer, yours or mine. Love cannot be stopped, Haldir. I am glad you know this now.”

“But why…?” His question fell to a whimper in the warm night air.

“Why what?” the Lady asked, eternally patient.

Another tear threatening, Haldir begged, “Why must it bring with it such pain?”

But to this, even Galadriel did not have an answer.

Despite his surprise, Haldir did not flinch when a warm hand settled on his own and the Lady moved beside him. “I cannot say. But it is my experience that these things take time to come. And to pass. It is a cycle, like the seasons, and the ages, reflected in all living things.”

“All but us,” Haldir inferred, “for we do not die. Not unless a great wound afflicts us. And our cycles of pain twist deeper. Our cycles of love and hate, hope and despair. You would say I’ve come to the bottom of my wheel, and it is time to rise again.”

Galadriel smiled.

“And in doing so, would trespass on your heart?” he asked.

“No, not on my heart,” she amended. “You know that, my friend. I only wish I could know a love so deep.”

“You would not wish it if it was not returned,” he vowed.

“Perhaps.”

“I have come to believe Fate is a wheel that does not turn in my favor.”

“Then I hope Fate shall soon prove you wrong.”

Both elves looked up when the sound of a brazen horn rung in the clear night eve. “The Witching Hour,” Galadriel observed.

“Then there is no time left to me.”

“You’re time of hiding is over,” Galadriel agreed. “It is time to remove the veil you’ve worn all your life. The wheel spins without our guidance. And the Song ever sings in your blood and in your mind.”

“But what if I fear to remove that veil? What if the wheel spins too fast? What if the Song…” Haldir halted, taking a shuddering breath. “What if the Song is a curse and not a gift?”

“Look.” Galadriel pointed with her free hand to the basin. Haldir looked. He saw a beautiful elf woman, wise and ancient and eternally happy, eternally sad. He saw an elf, a warden in the foolish robes of a Lord, eyes overflowing with tears. He saw that the veil had long fallen, and could not be recovered.

“Go to your Fate,” the Lady advised, “with my blessing.”

“Your blessing?” Haldir asked, turning to face her for the first time.

“Aye. And with my love.”

Haldir nodded, finding no words. He brought her hand to clasp it tightly to his chest as he peered into her eyes, filled with the light of forgiveness. She spoke, never losing that smile, “Make him happy.”

“I shall try.”

***

Haldir stood before his lord’s chambers, enduring a final debate. His Lady’s blessings echoed in his ears. Iarwen’s portents, his brothers’ wishes. Echoes of his own dreams. And he did not know if his heart would survive what awaited him beyond this white, carven door.

Eventually, he stilled his thoughts, he calmed his mind, he tamed his emotions. And he raised a hand to knock.

“Come in.”

Haldir found he was not so composed as he thought. Unable to hide his anxiety, he shakily grasthe the silver handle and turned. The door swung silently inward, and he crept within the candlelit room, closing the door behind him.

Oh the candles! Candles were everywhere, white and yellow and red wax dripping from a hundred dancing flames. Celeborn was not in sight, so Haldir turned to walk round the great talan, padding with light shoes over the well-planked floor, following the candles.

Breath stopped and Haldir froze at the sight of the elf in the bed. Celeborn sat beneath the sheets in a loose robe that teased with a bit of his exposed chest, and the gossamer curtains hung about him as he sipped a ruby red wine from a crystal flute.

He looked up, and silver eyes met Haldir’s, burning an intense gaze that could not be ignored.

The moment broke when the Lord spoke. “Haldir?” he asked with confusion. “Do you have some message for me?”

Blushing fiercely, Haldir bowed his head, taking in the sight of the violet robes he had so carefully attired himself in, a rich velvet ill-suited and ill-worn. Silks and satins. Ridiculous. And too many braids tapered down his back, restricting and uncomfortable. Heavy, like the robes. He answered, “No, my Lord.”

Celeborn’s heart filled with wonder. Confusion creased his brow. “Then why have you come?”

Faltering in his words, Haldir nervously said, “I believe you asked The Dancer to attend you this night.”

“I did,” the Lord confirmed, no less confused Hal Haldir could not contain a slight laugh, tinged with an edge of hysteria. He cursed himself for every stupid thing he’d ever done, including this – no, no, *especially* this – and bowing, he confessed. “He stands before you now.”

Celeborn’s jaw hung open. His silver eyes grew wide. He stared with unblinking shock at his visitor. “You…” he accused in a whisper.

Haldir’s heart broke in that hissed word. “Yes, ‘I,’” he confirmed in a low voice. He began to back away, stumbling over his robes even as he stumbled over his words. “I am sorry. If I am not to your liking, I will go…”

Seeing that escape was near, Celeborn leapt from the bed, angrily pushing the curtains aside, ignorant of shattering glass as the flute was dropped in his distracted haste, spattering the wine – like blood – across the white wooden planks, the white bed frame, and the bedside table. Haldir had turned, and now Celeborn raced rouo coo confront the Guardian, blocking his path. “Haldir…” He seemed at a loss for words, watching as lost violet eyes peered blankly up at him. “Haldir,” his voice grew stronger. “I… am shocked. By all rights, I shouldn’t be, but,” Celeborn shook his head with wonder. “You deceived me quite well.” Before Haldir could defend himself, Celeborn continued, moving closer, forcing Haldir to take a step backward. “I don’t understand. Why did you never say anything?”

Haldir bravely met his eyes. “The Mystery,” was his simple answer.

Celeborn smiled gently. “That is not what I meant.”

Haldir did not answer, merely tilting his head in silent perplexity.

“I heard your words that morning,” Celeborn explained. “One year ago. I was on the edge of sleep when I heard quite clearly, ‘I love you, Celeborn.’”

Horrified, Haldir’s blush deepened. He bowed and staggered backward in some instinctive effort to escape. “I apologize.” The words came in a cracked, strained voice. “I thought you slept.”

Celeborn still grinned. “I think you mistake my meaning. I am not offended,” he spoke softly, sensing Haldir’s heart-felt distress.

“Then what is your meaning?” Haldir asked, capable only of a whisper.

“From thmentment I heard your confession, I knew I felt the same.”

Violet eyes flashed up, dry lips parted in disbelief.

“But by the time I awoke, you were gone. I thought to search you out. I thought to damn myself. Sometimes I thought I’d dreamed it. I barely had the courage to send Iarwen that letter, and I have dreaded and longed for this moment for a fortnight, changing my mind a hundred times and regretting my actions minutes after I’d rejoiced them. You don’t know what havoc you have inflicted on my heart and mind.”

A pair of pearly tears fell from violet eyes. “I do know, for I have lived the same torment… But how can this be? How can this be real?”

“Oh it is real!” Celeborn said with a laugh, clasping Haldir’s arms as if afraid the elf would take flight. “The Dance, Haldir!” he reminded. “The effects of The Dance are profound and permanent. That one night bound us closer than I had dreamed possible. This past year, the magic we wove has tangled my heart, that cursed magic hiding what I should have seen all along…”

Celeborn lifted a hand to lay the pads of warm fingers against Haldir’s face, echoing Haldir’s own gesture from a year ago. “Those eyes…” A thumb brushed over dark lashes. “Those lips…” The same digit traced a full mouth. “Why did I never see it?”

Haldir trembled.

Another laugh. “You shiver at my touch?”

Haldir found his eyes had closed, and he opened them to meet Celeborn’s. Still overwhelmed by this new hope, this new turn of Fortune’s Wheel, he whispered. “Yes, I shiver at your touch. I shudder at your words. I quake every time your eyes meet mine.”

Celeborn closed his eyes at this intense admission. He tightly gripped Hald bic biceps for stability as he swayed, head bowed. The Lord kept his head down as he professed, “I had always looked upon you in hopes… year after year, I wondered at you. Decades passed and we grew closer, you and I. But you ever kept your distance, your professional indifference. I cursed you for it and wondered if I would ever see what lay beyond your mask.”

Haldir supported his Lord by carefully gripping a firm waist. “It was no mask,” he defended. “I have never shown you a false face. But… my veil has shielded me well all my life. And I feared to lose it, even for you.”

Opening his eyes, Celeborn leaned close, slipping his arms about Haldir’s neck. “But the veil is gone now?”

“Aye. And fortune smiles on me at last. And the Song is alive in my veins.”

“Will you sing it to me?” Celeborn asked.

“Yes, but not tonight,” Haldir promised, finally finding ile ile of hwn. wn. “We have shared love and passion, but not the two together. This night, I want to give both my body and my heart to the one I love.” Celeborn started when Haldir reached for his face and withdrew a finger stained with wetness. “I did not mean to make you cry,” Haldir said mournfully.

“These tears of joy are most welcome,” Celeborn soothed, “For they are a sign of our love. I can refuse you nothing, and want this more than anything. I want you, Haldir. Yes, body and heart. But only in return for my own.”

“Your faith in me extends so deep, as to trust me with this gift?” Haldir marveled.

“Of course.”

They smiled.

“May I kiss you, Haldir?”

A shuddering sigh proceeded Haldir’s “Of course.”

No veils between them. No words unsaid. They drew each other close, and kissed. It was not a long kiss or a deep kiss or a kiss to end all kisses, but it was undeniably loving and tender and filled with joy enough to overflow their mouths in laughter.

That was how they reverently unclothed each other, with tenderness and laughter. That was how they tumbled into a crimson-lined bed, with joy and laughter.

That was how they came together heart and body, with love and with unending laughter.

And that was how they remained together, for all time.


The end.