Oathbound, Heartbroken *COMPLETE*

Title: Oathbound, Heartbroken 10/?
Author: Eawen Penallion
email: cross_stitcherire@yahoo.com
LiveJournal: http://www.livejournal.com/users/~eawen_penallion/
Type: FPS
Pairing: Haldir/Melpomaen
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Slash, explicit sexual encounters between two males. VIOLENCE/RAPE THIS CHAPTER!!
Beta: Most excellent Nienna, so encouraging!
Disclaimer: all rights to the characters belong to JRR
Tolkien – I’m only playing with them.
Timeline: Middle of Third Age
Feedback: Yes please,
Archive: OEAM, AFF, LJ, anywhere else, please ask

Summary: Haldir has waited for his soulmate for all his life, and now seems to have found that elf. But to claim his love, he must break an oath.

*WARNING* - THERE ARE VIVID MEMORIES OF RAPE AND PAIN IN THIS CHAPTER, AND ACTUAL SCENES OF VIOLENCE - YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!

Please do not read if this upsets you - Sorry people…

Authors Note: There will be flashback sequences later in the chapter. The words in //'…..'// are heard in Haldir's mind alone, although they may seem real to him. Hold on for the pain, folks…

Chapter 10

Haldir dragged himself out of the sunken bath, his slow movements revealing the bone-aching exhaustion that he felt, and his extreme reluctance to leave the comforting heat of the herb-laced water. An elf, so the humans apparently believed, was a picture of elegance, purity and light at all times to whom no speck of dirt would dare attach itself. Haldir snorted at the ridiculous thought as he looked down at the sludgy brown water he had just left, effluent evidence of the past three weeks. The honest dirt of the forest, the accumulated sweat (for elves *did* perspire, albeit elegantly) and the overlying layers of black orc-blood all had had to be removed. At this last Haldir winced and he glanced into his bedchamber at the wrapped bundle on the bed. His red cloak would have to go to the laundresses who, by the tender treatment of their gentle hands and the skilful magic that their fingers held, would relieve it of the fibre-deep ichor; his grey uniform had already been consigned to the flames. He could never have worn it again - not with the dread memories it held within its threads and seams. Memories of pain and loss, and of an evil and sad time.

A wave of heart-breaking sadness swept over Haldir and he passed his hand over weary eyes, eyes that had seen too many the deaths of his warriors, his comrades. His friends. Of Berenon, whom he had trusted so many times with his life. Of Sarnon, who had finally succumbed to his injuries. He thought back to his brother's promotion on the battlefield, and the pride that had mingled with the sorrow. Orophin was now his Commander and thus they would now be on counter-watches, although Orophin had intimated that the promotion was not entirely to his taste. In retrospect Haldir could sympathise with him for it would mean that Orophin would hardly ever see his brothers due to the timings of the watches. However, that was a problem to be addressed in the future for he had need of the skill and experience of Orophin where he was now, overseeing the patrols. Rúmil had taken Orophin's post as lieutenant and was even now assisting his older brother.

Now Haldir's Lord awaited his report. Pulling a clean uniform from his closet Haldir dressed quickly then exited his home and made his way to the Royal Talan.

Although he knew where his footsteps should lead him Haldir felt his heart tug as he passed the path that led to the guest quarters. Oh, how he longed to run along that path, to run to his 'Maen - to hold him and kiss him in need and love. How he longed to lose the vile memories of the past three weeks in the enfolding embrace of the little dark-haired scribe. He had reached out for Melpomaen in his disturbed reverie, those snatched moments between fierce fighting and the stench of the death pyres. He sighed, and his feet took him on his assigned path once more. Glorfindel had returned from the front with him and had been entrusted to tell his gentle love of the duties that must separate them for yet a few more hours. The seneschal of Imladris was to attend this briefing too, so Haldir knew that Melpomaen would understand the necessity to wait.

'Oh my 'Maen,' he whispered in his mind. The response came, a ghostly yet comforting embrace to the tired warrior.

'Yes, yours…always yours…'

Haldir hugged the words to himself, knowing truly that Melpomaen understood the reasons that the Marchwarden had to delay their surely ecstatic reunion. It would be all the happier in the end.

Celeborn was waiting with his councillors in the large war chamber, and Haldir nodded and smiled to Glorfindel who had arrived before him. The seneschal clasped his fellow warrior's shoulder in greeting, and a knowing smile shone between them - and a hint of pine valley freshness as the spirit of Melpomaen's hug to his adar now transferred to his lover. Celeborn in turn looked up to greet his Marchwarden. The Lord of Lothlórien had spent a ten-day on the Northern Fences before returning to Caras Galadhon to continue to coordinate and process the information they had gained. Now he reiterated the priorities of the realm.

"The last of the sacks of eggs have been discovered and destroyed," he said firmly. "The Lady has confirmed that there are no more to be found in the Golden Wood. Similarly, Lord Haldir and his troops have rooted out and dispatched the remaining yrch. The Golden Wood is cleansed."

Haldir bowed his head in acknowledgment of the recognition his men had gained in their diligence. Celeborn continued.

"King Thranduil of the Greenwood has been apprised of the details of this attack and has undertaken to launch a punitive action on behalf of Lothlórien. As much as the Galadhrim wish to seek their own revenge, we must be aware of our losses and not waste our diminished resources."

One of the senior councillors raised his head in query, and Celeborn acknowledged his request to speak with a nod.

"My lords - to what purpose did the Dark Lord send such a force? To infest Lothlórien for certain, aye - but by attacking in such numbers they drew attention that did not serve them well. They lost all stealth and hope of eluding our wardens by their open warfare, and their lives. I mean - they were bound to be discovered!"

Haldir's face turned white, bleak in remembrance of the relevant discussions he and his lords had held in the field. They had discerned the Dark Lord's plan.

"As fodder, my lord. We," he gestured to Celeborn and Glorfindel, "believe that the yrch were sent to be slaughtered, so that when the spiders hatched there would be fresh meat on which they could feast. The Enemy knows of our prowess in war, and probably believed that not enough Galadhrim would be killed to sustain the newborn hatchlings. The orcs were sacrificed. They were sent to die."

There was a collective shudder and the councillor blanched at this explanation, the sickened disgust an innate rejection of the hollow price placed by the Dark One upon life - any life. From the appalled sadness upon Celeborn and Glorfindel's faces Haldir knew that these lords, born nigh the beginnings of the Ages, were thinking of those first elves who had been captured, taken and tortured into the black twisted monsters they now faced as their foes. Had they known any of the Lost Ones personally? Did their memories apply the face of a loved one to those tortuous creations of Morgoth? Haldir mourned for the evil of the fallen Vala and for the lost possibilities of the joyous life Elvenkind could have had with their Secondborn brethren if Melkor's corruption had not existed. If life had evolved as Eru was believed to have intended.

The shadowed moment passed and Celeborn straightened his shoulders, addressing the gathering once more.

"Although messengers have already been sent to Imladris and Mirkwood, we are nearing the time when Lord Glorfindel was due to return over the Misty Mountains anyway. Final accounts of this incursion must be ready for dispatch within the week along with the first three months of research by our archivists. Some of the Imladris historians will return home too, though some few will stay."

Haldir felt his heart lighten when both his lord and his friend smiled warmly at him. He knew that his little Melpomaen had chosen to stay in Lothlórien with him. In his overwrought state all he longed to do was to fall into his bed, holding his 'Maen's lissom body against him. He knew that other events might conspire against him though, for who knew what duties his lord might lay upon him?

"Haldir, when do you return to the Fences?"

As he did now.

"I thought to return on the morrow, my lord. I wished to obtain more supplies for the Galadhrim, to fill orders which I have already placed with the quartermasters."

Celeborn nodded. "Very well, Marchwarden - and take some rest. You are needed, healed and whole, by all of us."

Haldir bowed, thankful for his lord's discerning eye and the confirmation of his orders. Although elves could exist for sometime without rest, once past that limit then swift recuperation was vital for both the body and the spirit. His body craved rest, and he knew that he would have to answer. He had to smirk though when they descended from the council chamber to see the young elf who awaited them at the foot of the stairs, and Glorfindel bent his head to whisper to him.

"Much sleep *you* will get, mellon nín, for see who awaits you!"

The grin on his face and the wide embrace of his arms told a tale complete as the limbs were filled by the willowy figure of Melpomaen, extravagant kisses and soft sobs speaking volumes of the torment of separation and fear. Glorfindel dropped a kiss onto his son's head in farewell.

"Let him sleep, Mel. He is weary nigh unto death."

Melpomaen nodded, hearing the words but not daring to speak whilst so emotionally overwrought. Haldir's broad hand softly stroked the auburn-tinted mane, luxuriating in its softness as he spoke soothing words.

"I am safe, meleth nín. I am safe and well."

Melpomaen finally lifted his head from the tear-soaked chest, dashing the remaining dampness from his eyes.

"And you are come home to me, even for a short time," he snuffled softly. "And I will look after you, my darling Haldir." He blinked quickly, his chocolate-brown eyes seemingly huge as they shone with remnants of glistening tears, the longing so innocently apparent in their pool-like depths. "Come - come home to my talan, my love, my lord. I have asked for food and good wine to be sent there so that we can eat and talk before you rest."

Melpomaen wrapped his slender arms about Haldir's broad waist, inserting himself close to his lover's side as the warrior laid his arm lightly across the young scribe's shoulders. Haldir revelled in the closeness of the moment, kissing Melpomaen lightly upon his dark head and wishing fervently that he need never leave him again.

"I wish that I could have been with you, Haldir," Melpomaen said gently as they walked. "I missed you so, and I only want to comfort and heal you from your hurts."

Haldir gently squeezed him, thanking him for his loving sentiments.

"To know that you were safe here was all the comfort that I needed, ind nín. And I felt you at the quiet times. I felt you touch my mind and lend me your strength. It was much needed, my sweet one." He placed a finger under that pointed chin and lifted the oval face to look at him. "However, Glorfindel and I had much time to talk, meleth, and it seems my 'Maen is an edhel of many facets! He told me that during your encounter with the orc band on the High Pass that you took down two of your assailants before succumbing to your injury. I am impressed, my love! Scribe, tactician, archivist, warrior - is there no end to your talents, sweet 'Maen?"

Melpomaen laughed merrily as they arrived at the base of the guest mallorn. He lifted his lips to Haldir's and smiled.

"Ai! Well, be thankful that someone else has prepared our luncheon, Haldir, else your stomach would reject the poisons that my cooking brings forth. My adar Erestor says that I am the only person that he knows that can burn a pot of water! And," he looked ruefully up at the seemingly endless stairs, "I am still no Wood Elf, for I hate climbing so many steps…"

The hint was not there for Melpomaen appreciated the tiredness that Haldir was feeling. Nor did he expect his Marchwarden to exhibit such informality whilst in his warrior uniform but, despite his weariness, Haldir laughed and took up the challenge, sweeping the protesting elf off his feet.

The climb may have been a long one but by the end of it neither elf was in any state to protest about the distance. Three weeks of enforced separation, fear and grief had taken their toll and the two edhil where entwined in each other's lustful arms. The prepared repast arrayed on the table was totally ignored, as the flesh demanded that its expectations be met. Clothing was unbuttoned, released, unfastened, torn from body, discarded, removed and disposed of in a haphazard trail across the talan floor. Fervent lips reacquainted themselves with salty skin and eager hands clawed eager flesh.

Haldir revelled in the close and sweet touches of his 'Maen and as he ravaged the pouting mouth he knew that he was attempting to lose himself in his little love - that he needed to block away those weeks of soul-darkening heartache. Every cry he wrung from the gentle scribe covers a cry of pain from an injured warden; every breath of delight tempered the dying breath of a warrior. The sweet scent of pine and valley smothered in his mind the reek of days-old carcasses. His fingers tangled in Melpomaen's hair, his palm pressed against the small of slender back causing their arousals to clash in a hunger-driven duel.

"Take me, Haldir! Take me, love me - fill me! I need you in me, ind nín, fëa nín!"

Melpomaen writhed and thrashed beneath him as he pleaded for Haldir's love, and in his drained and emotional state Haldir could form no coherent declaration of why he could not claim his love's eager body. Instead he took them both in hand, his calloused digits gripping swollen shafts and he firmly stroked as he thrust forcefully against his lover's soft belly.

"Not yet," he panted against the sensitive ear. "I do not want it that way yet. I would give you all that I am, my beloved 'Maen. I will give myself to you…"

In his driven lust not all the words escaped his clenched teeth, nor could the scribe discern the true meaning of them. Melpomaen only knew that he needed to be completed by his Haldir, and that it fell to him to initiate this next step in their union - and now Haldir had spoken his desire to be taken by his 'Maen. Thus in their pounding climaxes - hot seed spilling from sweet slits over taut fingers - was the ground erroneously laid for their future coupling and completion. As the sensual bliss sparked every nerve and smothered all his pain, Haldir fell from ecstatic heights into the comforting embrace of his little elf, his mind releasing from its earthly bounds, soothed and hale. His reverie fell heavily upon him without pause or heed for whispered words of love.

Melpomaen shifted to ease himself in his curled posture around his strong, handsome, comforted Marchwarden, and he dreamed of claiming his love when they next awoke…


****


The tired mind needs rest but often an overtired mind finds escape in memories reincarnated as dreams, especially when memories are triggered by recent experiences alike to those of long-ago events. Dreams can tumble, twist and turn in their attempt to process the excess baggage of stressful days. Dreams seem real, and reality but a dream. Thus when Haldir felt a lapping tongue upon his quiescent member his drained senses initiated memories long buried. These hidden thoughts, locked away, denied, disdained and rejected had been stirred by words of an uncomprehending brother in the telling of a long-ago tale; the heavy locks upon their direness had been strained and lessened by those blithely spoken words, and the lover's voice he heard deepened into the melethron of two thousand years before.

"I love you, Haldir…"
//' Love you Haldir…'//

Haldir wriggled under the dedicated motions of that delicate muscle, the tongue that traced its way along the underside of his thickening shaft.

"Love you too…"
//'Love you too, Thal…'//

The lips sucked gently at the laden sacs at the base of Haldir's cock, the lips gently encasing them in turn in Melpomaen's hot, moist mouth, causing the Marchwarden to cry out in his erratic state of floating consciousness.

"Gods, yes! More, more…"
//'More, Thal - oh gods, please more…!'//

Melpomaen's lips curve in his delight at the response he was gaining from his love. Haldir had slept deep and long and it was only in the first stirrings of possible awakening that the scribe had determined upon this course. Now he pursued his actions, thrilled at the thought that he could deepen and advance the physical love they had so longed for. Perhaps now, after this long and fraught separation, Haldir was ready to admit him to his heart fully - and to his body also. Inhaling deeply in the silver-blonde curls framing the superbly thick shaft the slender elf took in the musky fragrance of his melethron, delirious in his own stimulated lust for this glorious elf. His elf. His lover.

Haldir's hands explored, grasping and twisting in the golden tresses of his first love, reliving that night when the gory excesses of ales and wines poured into them by their new comrades had opened their hearts and bodies to each other. Had confirmed Haldir's desire for his childhood friend, and of his mellon for him. No longer would he pay heed to the warnings of his father, cautionary tales of the supposed displeasure of Thalaglar's father. He wanted Thalaglar. He loved Thalaglar. Even as he thrust between the heated lips into his lover's moist cavern, so did the object of his desire call to him.

//'I love you, Haldir! Please, let me take you? I want to be in you. I need to have you, Hal!'//

Yes, he wanted Thal. He wanted to lose his innocence to the playmate, the companion of his Awakening. Thal would love him. Thal wanted him. He would be gentle; he would fill his body and his soul. They would be one forever…

"Take me, my love. Take me, claim me as your own!"

Melpomaen looked into the silver-blue eyes, and his own were dilated with lust and longing for unity with his soulmate. He saw what he believed to be *his* Haldir's need for him and he wept with joy at the love and trust he seemingly perceived there. He glanced at the bedside locker, seeing upon it the familiar bottle of sweet oil that he used to untangle his thick hair and which would now soothe and smooth their way in love. He reached for it, twisting the lid open to spill the oil upon his fingers. Reaching down he took the neglected shaft in hand once more, stroking it gently as Haldir loved him to do. His oiled fingers slid between the Marchwarden's thighs and in his attention to his task he did not notice a crease upon his beloved's forehead.

//'Thal? What do you do?'//

The inner voice was hoarse with need as fingers probed at his entrance, as they circled the tight opening, puckered in its virginal condition. Thalaglar looked down at him, his drunken bloodshot orbs darkened in his need for their joined bodies.

//'This is how we join, Hal! Look, I will ease our way…'//

The fingers that Haldir saw before him dripped in the only liquid available, the dregs of ale slops that had been poured down choking throats by the laughing wardens of their assigned patrol. Initiation rites were their passage into an adult world and they had participated in their desire to become respected warriors by their fellows. Yet the alcohol stung as the first finger entered him, and the cry he gave was not in lust but in pain.

Melpomaen stroked Haldir, concerned at the sting that Haldir so obviously felt. He withdrew the finger when the guardian muscle tightened, circling the entrance once more in gentle motions.

"Haldir, meleth," he soothed, stroking a hipbone in an attempt to pacify his love. "Turn over, dear one, it will make it much easier this first time."

//'Turn over, Hal. Go on your hands and knees.'//

Haldir complied, wanting Thal, wanting their joining. He presented himself to his love, hearing the groan of longing and desire emanating from behind him.

'Oh Gods,' thought Melpomaen. 'I love him so much!' He leant forward and kissed the soft curve of Haldir's cheeks, feeling the dripping pre-cum weeping from his own needy shaft. He laced the fingers in oil once more and pressed gently against the tempting rosebud.

It was not the gentle, slender fingers of the scribe that Haldir felt. It was not the beautiful whispered words of encouragement that he heard. Instead he screamed as the memory of thrust and shove, of lunging strokes of dry rod into poorly-prepared flesh burst forth in all their horrific remembrance. Of lubrication only with the blood from torn opening, easing Thalaglar's way. He screamed in denial and shrieked as he tried to escape the torment.

"No! No, Thal! Oh Gods it hurts, it burns! Stop! Stop!"

//' I can't, Hal! Oh Valar, you are so tight, so hot. Need you, need you! I'll make it good, meleth! Oh Elbereth, I'm coming!!'//

Melpomaen rocked back on his heels with shock at hearing Haldir scream, and cried out at the sudden realisation of what was happening. The warden thrashed beneath him, untouched now, weeping in an agony that Melpomaen could hardly comprehend. Haldir was not seeing him. Haldir was not hearing him. In his beloved's mind it was not he who was making love to the warden, but that lover of long ago - Thalaglar. Thalaglar had hurt him, was hurting him now, and suddenly he knew why and his heart broke for his desecrated lover.

Melpomaen panicked, knowing only that he had to wake Haldir from this violent illusion and return him to sanity and the safety of his own arms. He reached for Haldir's shoulder, trying to turn him to face him so that Haldir could see that it was not his 'Maen hurting him.

Haldir of Lórien was a Galadhel without peer, trained in all forms of combat to the highest level - with sword and knife, with bow - and with bare hands. He was trained to repel all attackers, with force and precision. Melpomaen could not defend himself save to throw his hands up as the Marchwarden lashed out in his tortured agony. Fist met face, and soft lips burst in an explosion of blood. The sound of bone splintering was as the crack of a whip, as a defending wrist was broken in a vicious grip. Then Melpomaen flew, flung forth from the bed by the strong muscles of the warden's rejecting arms, landing with a sickening thud against the talan wall on the other side of the room. The scribe whimpered in his pain and misery, feeling the sharp stabbing of the broken bones and the aching head where it had hit the wooden wall.

Haldir had rolled from the bed, rolled and twisted into a crouching position on the other side of the room, frantic in his disorientation. His eyes began to clear of reverie, yet tears of anguish and fear were pouring from the silver-blue orbs. In his half-awake state he heard the whimpering sobs of an injured animal, and looked around for the source.

Haldir saw Melpomaen, bruised and battered by his own hands. He saw the dark-haired scribe bleeding and broken, staring at him in terror across the talan floor. His jaw dropped as his mind tried to process the sight, and his memories - his dream - was suddenly made clear.

" 'Maen?"

Haldir's mind was frozen, frozen in the implications of Melpomaen's injuries - the injuries that *he* must have inflicted! He looked down at his hands, broad hands that had stroked gentle cheeks in loving touches, hands that had cupped the sweet face when he had brought their lips together in love. Now his mind flashed back two thousand years and he saw blood upon them, his own blood that had covered them when he had struggled to replace his leggings after that painful and shameful encounter. Blood that had poured from his torn opening in the aftermath laced with anguish, blood that had dribbled down trembling thighs. Blood that Thalaglar had turned away from, rejecting the young warden in disgust of his own excessive, uncontrolled lust. Blood that had soaked the seat of his leggings, had stained them as if it were red wine.

He could kill with these hands. He could have killed his little love. He could have been a kinslayer…

A scream tore from his throat as he covered his face with these hands.

Melpomaen looked at Haldir and saw that his love had returned, that the tortured creature who had lashed out so violently had looked at him in ghastly comprehension, and even through his own hurt he could see the torment evolving in the warden's dread understanding. He tried to reach out but the motion caused him to cry out in pain once more.

"Oh Gods no! Oh 'Maen, what have I done? Oh 'Maen…!"

The bleeding lips formed words of comfort, spilled forth love as well as blood. Melpomaen saw that Haldir was breaking, was cracking in the face of the evidence of his actions, and he feared for the warrior's sanity. Desperately he tried to reassure his lover of his understanding, of the lack of blame that he laid upon him.

"It was not your fault, Haldir… You were living a memory…of when … Thalaglar hurt you… He did, did he not? He raped you, Haldir…"

He raped me. Yes. No. No, I wanted him. We were too young. We didn't know how to… We were drunk. He wouldn't stop. He wouldn't listen to me. He raped me. He hurt me. He left me.

And the Marchwarden wept for the innocent who had died inside on that night.

Why, oh why had he thought that he could change his fate? He had nearly killed Melpomaen, could nearly do so again if he could not control himself in their bed. If he could not control himself in the heat of lust. The weight of his actions crushed what was left of his shattered self-belief, and with the accumulated exhaustion and grief of the past weeks of battle all rational thought left. His conscience could give him no succour, would yield him no respite and he could see no escape from the vicious trap that history had set for him. All logic deserted him and he could see only pain and loneliness in his future. Not 'Maen. Haldir groaned, knowing only that to keep his little scribe safe he must deny him now and keep him beyond arm's length - out of his deadly hands. He must send him away to safety.

Melpomaen watched as Haldir curled into a ball on the floor, curled in on himself and heaved great sobs of torment, hurling forth two thousand years of repressed agony. Thalaglar had hurt Haldir to the core and Melpomaen did not know how his darling love had survived such abuse, had not faded from the violation of his young body. But now he knew; they could heal together. He could help Haldir. They could be one, with counselling and preparation and care.

"I love you, Haldir. I will never hurt you. We can go to the Lady, we can ask for help, for you and for me. We can come through this -"

"NO!!!"

Haldir's head shot up in negation, his fears rising swiftly to gorge in his tightened throat. Oh 'Maen - precious, beautiful 'Maen! Flee, 'Maen! Escape from my dangerous hands, my destroying love! Run, run away!

Guilt now ran rampant and all hope fled. All thought of Galadriel and her redeeming rites emptied from his scattered mind.

"No! No, Melpomaen, no! No, I will not risk it. I will not allow it! My pain is my own. I cannot let you near me. I cannot… I knew I was wrong to try. I knew that I should not have allowed myself this hope, my love, my sweet one…"

He squared his shoulders, his ravaged face and bleak eyes clearly delineating his decision. A terrible, lonely, desolate decision. He had to release his love. He had to save him. The Marchwarden took over once more, that effective fighting machine that was so efficient, so strong in war - so used to orders spilling from his mouth.

"Go home, Melpomaen. Go home to Imladris. Go home, and find someone else who can love you as you deserve. I am but a shell, a warped and wounded soul who can never be the one for you. You deserve love, you deserve happiness. Find someone else, 'Maen. Find someone who will not hurt you."

And his heart cracked, broken on the duty of his love.

"No, Haldir…" The little scribe moaned as he heard the words of denial and rejection. "I will not go, I will not leave you. I love you and you love me! We can overcome this, we can work it out. It does not have to be this way."

Yes, it does, ind nín. I must keep you safe. I am a danger to you. You cannot stay. Silently he crawled across the floor, lifting and bringing a blanket with him. He draped it over the fallen scribe, placed it around his shoulders to bring him what little warmth and aid it offered. Haldir's hands shook, trembled as his fingers stroked upon the soft skin.

"Go home."

The dark elf sobbed, reaching with his uninjured hand to try to stop the warrior as Haldir stood and started to gather his discarded clothing from the floor, as he started to dress once more.

"I love you, Haldir! I love you!"

The actions were measured now, the fastening of the laces of the leggings, the buckles of the tunic, the tugs as he fastened his boots. Melpomaen started to pull himself across the talan floor to try to reach his soulmate.

"Do not go! Do not leave me, Haldir!"

The final severance. The oath he had spoken, the words he had come to hate, now was given new life as he sought to turn Melpomaen against him. His tongue seemed rooted, swollen as he attempted to kill Melpomaen's love for him - and which would serve to drive a ghostly dagger into both their hearts.

"I swore an oath."

Melpomaen stopped and looked up at the towering elf, confused. The silver-blue eyes shone with dripping tears.

"An oath?"

Haldir nodded, his lips twisting in anguish as he said the words that would separate him from his soulmate forever.

"When my father died I swore an oath to him. I swore that I would marry an elleth, have children and bring them with me to the Undying Lands. I swore it on his life and his death. I am still bound by that oath. I was never free to woo you, 'Maen. I lied to you. Because I loved and wanted you. Now that lie has taken me from you. I cannot remain, I am not free…"

Melpomaen shook his aching head in despair, hardly hearing the words. He knew only that he loved Haldir to the depths of his soul. But - not free?

"I release you from this courtship, Melpomaen of Imladris. I thank you for your love, which I will treasure in my heart forever. I beg you for your forgiveness, for the many hurts I am causing you. I pray for your future happiness, because I love you."

Inside he felt his heart break, seemingly releasing a flood of gore which flowed as if to swamp his lungs, expelling all breathe from his body. He was drowning inside, smothering in choking guilt and self-hate. Dark eyes looked at him, chocolate-brown orbs that he had once longed to sink into - but he was already dead. Haldir's silver-blue eyes were dulled by the death of his dreams, those beautiful dreams of life with his 'Maen.

Melpomaen understood that he had lost Haldir, and that all chance to persuade him otherwise was gone.

Haldir crossed to the door, wanting only to be gone from this heartache. He halted, turned and, berating himself for his foolishness, he allowed himself one final embrace. With a cry he ran back to the elf crumpled on the floor, scooping him up into his arms for one last kiss on the bruised and bleeding lips, tasting the hot and salty blood as he said his final farewell to his enchanting love.

Then he was gone, leaving a devastated former lover crumpled in abject and weeping misery upon a cold and hard floor, his tangled dark auburn tresses tumbling over shaking shoulders.

****

None saw the Marchwarden leave the city as the healers he had alerted now raced to the guest talan to tend a wounded scribe. None saw the devastation wrought upon the grief-stricken face of the grey-clad warrior, or heard his stumbling sobs through the undergrowth.

But all heard the bellowed wrath of an outraged father, howling through the mellyrn of Caras Galadhon.


TBC

Elvish:

yrch - orcs
mellon nín - my friend
meleth nín - my love
ind nín - my heart
fëa nín - my soul
melethron - male lover
mellon - friend