ELANOR'S REVENGE

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Hello! Sorry this chapter took so blasted long to write. I was out of town for over a week, and then had some Real Life stuff to deal with. Anyway, here it is. This is a transitional chapter, setting up other things that will be happening in subsequent chapters, which hopefully will not take as long to write as this one did. At least it is a very lengthy chapter, which may in part make up for it. Hope you enjoy! Feedback appreciated, and thanks for your patience, interest, and continued support.

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Chapter 12

“Elanor, why are there only three place settings at the table?” Haldir stood in the arched kitchen doorway, his height and broad shoulders nearly filling it.

Elanor stirred the simmering pot of Hisilome soup, trying to appear unaffected by him when in reality her heightened senses were attuned to him in a new and most disturbing way. In a short while he would be leaving for the border and she was just beginning to realize how much she would miss him.

“I do not wish to intrude on your reunion with your brothers,” she said carefully.

She tossed a handful of parsley into the soup and avoided his contemplative gaze. Something had changed between them since yesterday, something important that remained unspoken. Their evening walk last night had been more silent than usual, and had left her with a haunting confusion of emotions that had followed her throughout the long restless hours of the night.

“My brothers and I have been apart for two weeks, not two centuries,” he said mildly. “And I wish you to join us.”

He seemed to be awaiting her response, and although she was not looking at him, she could feel his eyes on her face.

“I will certainly do so if that is your wish,” she said in a low voice, and looked over at him, conscious of a spurt of joy that he would desire her company. Still, she prayed there would be no awkwardness. How would his brothers react to find her sharing their meal? Would they think it was appropriate? Would the conversation be strained?

He returned to the front room, and Elanor pulled another soup plate from the cupboard and went to set it on the table just as the door to the talan flew open and Orophin and Rúmil entered in a boisterous manner that reminded her of their behavior back in Rivendell. Bracing herself, she turned to greet them and found their speculative gazes already settled on her. Rúmil especially seemed to be looking her over with a gleam in his eye she did not understand. Uneasily, she wondered if he found her amusing. Was he remembering the day she had nearly dropped Haldir’s bow?

If so, he made no reference to it, but merely bowed in her direction, and sniffed the air appreciatively. “I see you are cooking tonight, Elanor. It smells too delicious to be of Haldir’s making.”

Orophin grinned and shut the door. “Indeed, his dinners often taste of leather and steel. We come here at our own peril.”

“Nonsense, Orophin,” she said tartly, “Haldir’s cooking is delicious. And please take off your muddy boots. The floor was just swept.”

She saw Rúmil and Orophin exchange a quick glance, but they both did as she bid them while Haldir watched with seeming good humor. In fact, his mood had seemed light all day, and it had crossed her mind that it might be due to the fact that he would soon be returning to his duties at the northern fences. Was he so eager to leave her? Or was it something to do with what had occurred between them yesterday? She could not make up her mind.

The brothers seated themselves and dinner commenced, with Elanor serving the steaming soup and freshly baked bread while Haldir poured wine for each of them. The light of the candles reflected in the golden glass of the plates and goblets while Orophin spoke of the lack of activity at the border and Rúmil leaned back and smiled beguilingly at Elanor. Oh dear, he surely must be remembering her fumbling of Haldir’s weapons. It was all she could do to meet his gaze without flushing, but she managed it.

“The border was so quiet, we had to amuse ourselves with wagers and cards,” Orophin remarked in a light tone. “Rúmil owes me a week of laundry duty, and I must fletch a dozen new arrows for him. I think I got the better end of the bargain.”

“You play cards on the border?” Elanor said curiously. “How can you be on watch and play games?”

Rúmil set his goblet on the table, his blue eyes twinkling. “We do not stand guard all day and all night, my dear. We are allowed rest now and then. Many are the hours we have spent in such a way. Even Haldir has been known to indulge in his . . . unadventurous style.” He sent Haldir a mischievous glance.

“Rúmil is notorious for his wild wagers,” Haldir explained with equanimity. “Which he usually loses. I, on the other hand, usually win.”

“Untrue!” Rúmil countered, looking injured. “My luck is extremely good at times.”

Orophin snickered. “Which is why you will be washing my tunics tomorrow.”

“Haldir is conservative,” Rúmil complained. “I like to push my limits.”

“Now you can push my clothes into the hot water,” Orophin shot back, “and be sure you get them clean too!”

Haldir looked from one brother to the other and from the slight curl to his mouth, Elanor could see he was amused. Obvious affection existed between these three, and for a moment she thought of her last meeting with Lana and felt a tug of sadness.

“So, Elanor, I trust Haldir has been a nice elf while we’ve been gone.” Rúmil leaned back in his chair, his eyes sliding from Elanor to Haldir in an openly inquisitive way. Elanor found Orophin also staring at her, and began to be annoyed.

“I have no complaints,” she said briefly. “Would anyone like more soup?” She saw Haldir’s lips twitch, and glared at him, knowing some of what must be going through his mind.

No one wanted more, so she gathered the plates and went into the kitchen. She could hear the three brothers speaking quietly as she began to clean the dishes, and soon realized that the cards had been brought out and that they were actually gambling. Was this how Haldir behaved when duty and obligation did not weigh him down? This was a side of him she had not seen, the side that allowed him to laugh and joke in an almost carefree way. She considered joining them, but decided against it since they were completely wrapped up in their game and were ignoring her. Instead, she went out on the terrace and looked up at the stars for almost an hour until curiosity got the better of her. Wondering what they talked about when she was not around, she decided to eavesdrop on them. Very quietly, she tiptoed into the kitchen.

“I wager two weeks of boot cleaning,” she heard Rúmil say.

“I will meet that.” This was Orophin.

Haldir laughed. “Two weeks? I wager three.” Elanor stood still and listened, then her mouth fell open in outrage when she heard him add, “And I’ll throw in Elanor’s hand with that laundry.” She heard Haldir lean back, somehow recognizing his pattern of movement.

She heard his brothers’ chuckles, and seethed inwardly. Was Haldir serious? More likely he knew she was in the kitchen and was teasing her. She had not witnessed his humor for a number of days, but it seemed like something he might do.

“I’m out.” She heard Orophin sigh and throw down his cards.

“I’ll add a pair of new boots to my wager,” Rúmil said recklessly.

“I’ll meet that,” Haldir stated, “and raise you a week of Elanor’s cooking.”

Elanor gasped, annoyed yet fascinated by this side of Haldir. She made no move, remaining where she was, unseen and very still so they would not know she was there. Although she suspected they did. They were wardens, after all, and her stealth was no better than average.

“From her soup this evening, I would say your wager is worth pursuing. I match your bid with a dozen new arrows, fully fletched!”

She heard the cards thrown down and Rúmil’s snort of disgust. “Morgoth’s balls, I know not how your luck holds, Haldir!”

Haldir chuckled, and she heard the wood on wood sound of chairs scraping back. “I know when my luck is about to run out, and that is when I stop.”

“Good night, Ellie!” Orophin called out, making it obvious he knew she was in the kitchen. “Thank you! The soup was delicious!”

“Delicious,” Rúmil echoed. “Sweet dreams, Ellie! We didn’t get your floor dirty!”

Before she could move, the front door opened, their voices growing muted as they all left the talan and closed the door. Disgruntled, Elanor went into the front room and sat in her chair, tapping her foot with impatience. An instant later, Haldir returned.

“Ah, there you are,” he said. “Where have you been?”

“You know perfectly well where I have been,” she said, a little coolly.

“Yes,” he admitted, his lips curving faintly. “Are you angry with me? We were only having a bit of fun.”

“At my expense,” she grumbled, still fuming a little. Despite her mild annoyance, she could not take him to task for what he had done, wagering her services like that, not when he was leaving. And she had to admit she liked this playful side of him.

He came over and took her hands, pulling her to her feet. “Contrary to general belief, Elanor, I do have a sense of humor.” He touched her chin, lifting it gently with his fingers as he gazed down at her. “But I did not mean it to be at your expense. I only meant to tease you. I knew I had a winning hand.” His eyes roved over her face as if memorizing her features. “It is time for me to go,” he added quietly.

Releasing her, he crossed the room and buckled on his sword belt while she watched him with a queer, hollow feeling in her chest. She curled her fingers into her palms, fighting a strong urge to go to him, to hug and kiss him and tangle her fingers in his hair. She could not imagine what he would say if she did such a thing, but she knew very well what he would do. He would push her away, gently but with firmness.

“You will be careful,” she said, her voice level. I will miss you, she wanted to add, but did not. She had already thrown herself at him enough times as it was. Now was the time for dignity and restraint.

Haldir slid his quiver over his back, and glanced at her as he fastened the strap. “I am always careful. And you will heed what I said about the archery. Remember that my brothers are here for you, should you need them. They will be your guardians while I am gone.” His gaze connected with hers for a lengthy moment, then he walked to the door and looked at her again. “I will return in two or three weeks, Elanor. Farewell.”

“Farewell, Haldir,” she said softly.

And then the door opened and closed, and he was gone. Elanor stood very still, staring at the place where he had been, her arms wrapped around her middle as though she were cold. The room seemed so silent now, when a moment ago it had been full of life and sound. What a powerful difference his presence made, she thought with amazement.

She closed her eyes, trying to analyze how she felt. Was she sad? Depressed? Lonely? Perhaps she should be elated he would no longer be here to cause such disorder to her senses, such confusion to her mind. Perhaps he was right that they needed time apart. But still . . . his leave-taking seemed abrupt and disheartening.

But what had she expected? Or wanted?

The door reopened suddenly. Haldir stood in the doorway.

Surprised, Elanor tensed. “Did you forget something?”

His eyes met hers. “Yes.” He seemed hovering on the edge of indecision, then he came inside and shut the door. “I did not actually forget,” he added, walking over to her. Then, before she knew what he was about, his hands settled at her waist and he was kissing her, full on the lips yet so swiftly she had no time to kiss him back. Just as quickly he withdrew, but not before she reached out and touched his fingers, pressing them ever so slightly before they slipped away.

He studied her face, his mouth curved in a small, tender smile. “Take care, Elanor.” He reached out and smoothed a few strands of hair from her cheek, the warmth of his fingertips leaving a trail of heat along her flesh.

And for the second time, he left. Elanor stood paralyzed, rooted to the floor in sheer, heavenly bliss. Once again he had done it. He had caused her heart to flutter and her pulse to race and her knees to weaken like they had no substance or strength. She only hoped she had made him feel the same. Recalling what he had seen fit to reveal to her yesterday, she decided she probably had . . . and was filled with a swirl of pure feminine satisfaction at the thought.

Across the room, the elanor plant unfurled the petals of its newest bloom.

Orophin leaned against a railing several levels below, watching Haldir stride quickly and gracefully down the winding steps in their direction. “Look at him,” he remarked quietly. “There is a spring in his step I have not seen in many years. What do you think he said to Elanor when he went back?”

Rúmil leaned his elbows on the rail. “Don’t forget to do my laundry?”

Orophin shot him an irritated look. “Be serious for a moment.”

“Seriously, then, I have no idea.” Rúmil rubbed his chin. “Perhaps he wished to apologize for teasing her as he did, although seldom does our brother apologize for anything. Yet seldom does he show his playful side to someone other than us. And that means . . . what?”

“It means he feels comfortable with her,” Orophin replied. “And it means he has lowered barriers he usually lowers only for us. I think it is a very good sign. And I think he has made some claims on her that even he does not realize. Did you see the way she looked at him? Perhaps he has not bungled things as badly as we feared.”

“I wonder just how far he has taken his interest with her.” Rúmil’s tone grew speculative.

“That is not our concern,” Orophin scolded, then spoiled it by adding, “not as far as he would like, if I am any judge of it. Too much tension between them. Could you feel it?”

“I felt it,” Rúmil admitted. “I was not sure what it meant, other than the obvious, of course.”

“Indeed. The obvious.” Orophin sighed, thinking of Doria for a moment, and felt a quickening in his loins. “He wants her, that much is certain, but you should still plan to court her. I feel our plan is a good one.”

“As long as I come out of it in one piece,” Rúmil muttered.

Orophin nudged him. “Speak no more.” He stepped away from the railing as Haldir came up to them. “A good journey, brother.”

“I would have a word with you regarding Elanor,” Haldir said, pausing before them. “Watch over her while I am gone. She is learning archery and may need some guidance. No more than an hour a day should she practice until her muscles grow stronger. I have told her this.”

Rúmil smiled brightly. “I will be glad to help her. In fact, I plan to keep a very close eye on her.”

Haldir looked as though he would like to object, but he only nodded curtly. He seemed to gather himself a bit before adding, with a discomfort that was most unlike him, “One thing you should know . . . she is an innocent and may need more protection than you might anticipate.”

Rúmil raised a brow. “Of course she is innocent. She is young.”

Haldir frowned slightly. “No, I mean she is an Innocent,” he gave the word a significant emphasis, “and I do not wish her to be taken advantage of by anyone. You know of whom I speak.”

“Oh,” said Rúmil in blank astonishment. “Well. Er . . . how do you know?”

“You speak of Lurien,” Orophin put in quickly, shooting a warning scowl in Rúmil’s direction. “Worry not, Haldir. We will allow no harm to come to Elanor.”

Haldir shifted his bow and stepped away. “Look for me in two to three weeks. Send word if anything happens of which I should be made aware.” He gave a parting nod, and they silently watched him disappear down the steps.

“I wonder how he found out,” Rúmil persisted, beneath his breath. “Aren’t you the least bit curious?”

Orophin sighed.

Elanor lay in the big bed, feeling much more alone than when Haldir was there sleeping on the terrace. To comfort herself, she relived the memory of his goodbye kiss, which inevitably led to the prior day’s more intimate encounter. A familiar heat licked through her at the memory, a fire that tingled her flesh and made her groan with her desire for him. This proved so tortuous that she forced her thoughts into other channels, remembering how he had guarded them all during their journey to Lothlórien, how he had carried her from the stream and healed her ankle and given her his cloak. And then he had fought those horrible creatures. She shivered at that memory. She had been right about him; he was dangerous in so many ways. Most of all to her heart.

Unfortunately, when she finally fell into reverie, she dreamed of goblins, an unpleasant nightmare that lingered in her mind for a few heart-pounding minutes after she awakened, alone and terrified, in the darkest hour of the night. Perhaps it was just as well that Haldir was not there, for if he had been, she might have been tempted to go to him for comfort. Eventually she slept once more.

Over the next few days, Elanor’s life fell into a comfortable pattern. Archery practice fulfilled her desire for physical activity, while gardening fed her need for inner peace and connection to growing things. Most days she worked alone, but sometimes Doria or another friend came by and chatted with her, although Healea was never one of them. Elanor wondered whether Healea has forgotten her intention to pay her a visit. Meanwhile, Elanor was becoming better acquainted with more and more people, including Haldir’s brothers. Both Orophin and Rúmil had come to the archery field to watch her practice, but they made her so nervous she eventually asked them to go away, explaining that she seemed to do her best when no one was watching. It was the only time she ever hit the target.

Rúmil had begun to invite her for strolls in the evening; she assumed Haldir had bidden him to do it although she could not be sure. But Rúmil did not seem to mind; indeed, he appeared to enjoy her company, and had kept her entertained by relating amusing stories of when he, Orophin and Haldir were young. One subject Rúmil avoided was any mention of Healea, or any other ladies Haldir might have courted. She wondered if this was deliberate.

The evening of their fourth stroll, Rúmil directed their footsteps toward a small garden she had not yet visited. “Oh, this is so pretty,” she remarked, looking around with delight.

“Indeed. Let us sit upon that bench over there. I want to talk to you, Ellie.”

“Oh?” She glanced at Rúmil. “About something in particular?”

“Aye,” he admitted, with one of his amiable smiles. “But sit down first. Make yourself comfortable.”

Elanor did as he suggested, arranging the skirt of her gown and studying him as he seated himself beside her. “Is something amiss?”

Rúmil angled his body so he faced her, his blue eyes quizzical. “That is what I want to ask you. Haldir asked Orophin and me to watch over you. I have been doing just that, as you know.”

“I know. And I am grateful, although there is no need. I can take care of myself.”

“That may be, but I have passed by your talan at night,” he said in a careful tone, “and three times have I heard you cry out in your sleep.”

Elanor looked away, unwilling to tell him how many more times than that she had awoken to the sound of her own voice. “I’ve just been having a few bad dreams, Rúmil. It is not important.”

“Would you like to speak of them?” he inquired, more seriously than usual.

“I only dream of goblins. I’m sure it will stop soon.”

He gave her a searching look. “If you like, I could stay there with you for a night or two. On the terrace, of course,” he added quickly.

“That is kind, but there is no need,” she said, embarrassed that he thought she would need to be coddled in such a way. “It is really nothing, Rúmil.”

He gazed at her, his eyes narrowed in an assessing way that suddenly reminded her of Haldir. It was the first time she had noticed a resemblance of manner between them. “Very well, but you will tell me if you change your mind.”

“You sound like Haldir now,” she said, a bit teasingly, and was pleased to see his smile return. Rúmil’s smiles were always beautiful to behold.

“Enough of that then,” he said in his more usual playful manner. “Time to get back to the important business . . . of our flirtation.”

She laughed. “Is that what we have been doing? I had no idea.”

“Ellie!” Rúmil pretended to be shocked. “Can you not tell when someone is flirting with you?”

Amused, she shook her head. “Sometimes I can, sometimes I cannot.” She paused, and said, as casually as possible, “Does Haldir ever flirt?”

“Not with me!” Rúmil replied jokingly, before adding, as she rolled her eyes, “Truthfully, he does not, at least not to my knowledge.” He opened his mouth as if he would say something more, then instead, his gaze ran over her in open speculation. “Why? Does he flirt with you?”

“Oh, no!” Elanor said quickly. “No, of course not. Not in the way you mean.” When Rúmil only looked at her, she added, "I should not have asked you such a question. I am sorry.”

Rúmil reached out and caught hold of her hand, squeezing her fingers slightly. “Do not apologize. You may ask me whatever you like. I will do my best to answer.”

“You are very kind.” She hesitated. “I do have one other question that might sound odd. I have friends I can ask, but it is a question I would like answered by a male.”

“What is it?” Rúmil leaned back, regarding her with a rather sweet smile.

She transferred her gaze to her fingertips. “What does it mean when someone winks at you?”

Rúmil released a quick laugh. “Now I know we are not talking about Haldir! Who winked at you?”

“Why do you say it could not have been Haldir?” she countered.

Rúmil’s grin broadened. “Haldir winked at you? Truly?”

“Two years ago,” she confessed, “when we first saw each other in a courtyard in Rivendell. He stared at me and I walked away from him, but then I looked back and . . . he winked.” To her dismay, she blushed.

Rúmil appeared amazed. “It seems I do not know my own brother as well as I thought. He can be bold, if he chooses, and his humor can be sharp, but winking?” His voice drifted off as he appeared to consider this, then his attention swung back to her. “What it means,” he said bluntly, “is that Haldir looked at you and liked what he saw. I daresay he would have spoken to you if he had the chance, so he must have had some duty to attend to.”

Elanor nodded, a bit embarrassed she had brought it up. “Yes, he did, and I suppose that makes sense. Well, it matters not. It is only that no one had ever winked at me before . . . or since . . . and I was curious.”

“You are a very pretty elleth. Haldir is not the only one attracted to you.”

“Now you are flirting,” she said. “Even I can tell!”

“True, but I am also stating a fact. You have many admirers here in Lórien, of which I am one. May I steal a kiss?” he added with a wink.

Elanor laughed. “One does not ask permission to steal, Rúmil. Did no one ever tell you that? But I know you are not serious.”

“Sometimes I am most serious when I am joking.” He gazed at her, then rose to his feet and held out his hand. “Come, let us walk.”

Elanor accepted his hand, and they strolled for several minutes along a winding path that led them through several brightly colored flowerbeds. “Rúmil,” she said after a few silent moments, “there is something important I wish to say to you. I should have said it much sooner.”

“And what is that?” Rúmil sounded amused.

“About what happened in Rivendell . . . what we did to Haldir. I spoke with Galadriel, and she said you and Orophin would not speak of it. And I have heard no whispers here in Lórien so I assume all is well.” She could feel Rúmil’s blue eyes observing her as she added, awkwardly, “I care not for myself, but for your brother . . . he did not deserve such treatment, and the tale might do him harm. I would not wish him to suffer a loss of respect among his people. What we did was very wrong, and I am deeply ashamed.”

Rúmil halted and brought her hand to his lips, gallantly pressing a kiss upon the backs of her fingers. “Fear not, little sister,” he said easily. “It is a tale that will never be told, but I honor you for your concern. Lord Elrond addressed us most sternly on this matter, although it was unnecessary.” His mouth slanted into a grin. “As an untold tale, it will give us something to hold over Haldir’s head for years to come, which gives it great value. And you must realize that an occasional loss of dignity is the only thing that keeps Haldir bearable! I am sure the whole experience was very beneficial for him.”

“I know you are joking,” Elanor replied earnestly. “The three of you are fortunate and blessed to have each other. And despite your jokes about Haldir, I can see that you are a good and loyal brother to him. And you care for his well-being and happiness.”

Rúmil was silent, his mouth still curved with good humor. “Aye, I do, and he knows it. Which is why—” He broke off suddenly and seemed intent on gazing at a nearby cluster of niphredil.

“Why what?” Elanor echoed. She arched a questioning brow, but Rúmil only smiled a rather lazy smile and changed the subject.

Orophin paced back and forth in his talan, indecision nearly tearing him apart. He had come back to the city fully intending to begin his courtship of Doria, but each time he saw her, there were too many others around for him to say what it was he wished to say. And by the time he was reasonably sure she would be alone, the hour was so late that he felt it was not an appropriate time to pay her a visit.

The first day of his return to the city he had gone to the silversmith and commissioned a piece of jewelry, a fine silver chain bearing a delicate amulet in the shape of a small butterfly. He had designed it himself and was very proud of it. Now all he had to do was decide how to deliver it to her. And when. And what to say.

Now that he actually had it, however, it seemed a brazen gift given the fact that he had hardly spoken to her for so long. He was well aware of how it appeared, his avoidance of her, and he regretted it. He did not know why he became so tongue-tied in her presence when he was that way with no one else. At least he could comfort himself with the knowledge that she had no lover at the moment, for he had made discreet inquiries on the matter. It was a thin rope to cling to, but it was something.

What if he simply left it on her doorstep? He could let her wonder for a few days who her admirer was before revealing himself. If he saw her wearing it, then at least he would know that she liked it, and if so she might favor whoever gave it to her.

He shook his head at his own behavior. When faced with a score of charging Orcs he was unafraid, yet the prospect of courting a maiden, of being in love with that maiden, struck a terror into his heart the likes of which he had never known.

Because at heart, Orophin was a romantic. And if the object of his affection rejected him, he very much feared he might never recover.

Elanor burrowed her fingers into the earth, close yet not too close to the roots of the delicate young plant that had decided to begin life in the wrong place. She had never considered any plant a weed; like all living creatures, there was a place for each, either in a different part of the garden or somewhere else. Many were the times she had carried such plants right out of the city only to replant them on the slopes outside the city gates. The Sentinels at the gates were used to her coming and going, and she often received smiles and nods of greeting from them.

This small plant was a little known herb, and could be moved into the section of Galadriel’s garden where the other herbs grew. She set it aside, along with several others, and brushed her fingers upon her gardening smock. She had created it from one of Haldir’s worn-out tunics, one that still carried a slight scent of him, and she often paused in her work to bring the fabric closer, just to be reminded of him. It gave her comfort, and helped to banish the memory of the disturbing dreams that continued to haunt her rest.

Deep inside, she knew she played with fire; it was quite possible she might never see him again once the year was up. He was attracted to her, but he possessed a self-control that she did not, and seemed able to resist her quite easily. Yet she had not the strength of will to resist the attraction she felt for him. For too long had she lived a life without this kind of stimulation, and now that she felt it, she understood its allure. Other maidens had spoken of their lovers, but Elanor had never desired to have one for herself. Now she did, most passionately. Yet of all elves to choose, Haldir of Lórien was the one elf it seemed she could not have, save those who were bound to their mates, of course. And her secret fear was that she would never desire another, and that she would yearn for him . . . forever. A lowering thought!

A shadow fell across the ground in front of her. “Good afternoon, Elanor. I’d hoped to find you here.”

Elanor glanced up. “Hello, Lurien.” She was unsurprised by the Sentinel’s appearance, for she had seen him several times these past few days, and he had always made a point to greet her, though the presence of Haldir’s brothers appeared to be enough to deter him from approaching her. Neither brother was around at the moment, although she had spoken with Rúmil just prior to entering the garden.

“May I join you?” Without waiting for her to reply, Lurien seated himself beside her on the grass and stretched out his long legs, crossing them at the ankles. Sunlight glinted on his long golden hair and highlighted the flawless skin stretched over his high cheekbones. The blueness of his eyes seemed accentuated. “How do you fare these days? Have you fully adjusted to life in Lothlórien?”

It seemed a safe enough topic of conversation, so Elanor replied, and they talked for a few minutes about the differences between Rivendell and Lórien. Elanor soon felt relaxed enough to continue her work, while Lurien stretched on his side in the grass, his head supported on his hand while he watched her.

“I saw you practicing your archery the other day,” he said suddenly. “You do much better when you think no one is watching.”

Elanor smiled ruefully. “Yes, and I don’t know why that is.”

“You worry too much about what others think of you,” he said shrewdly. “That is because you are young. When you reach my age, you will not feel that way. What others think is a matter of complete indifference to me.”

“You must care what Galadriel thinks of you,” she commented. “And Doria. And some of the others too. Tarwë, for instance.” She turned her gaze in his direction in time to see his expression alter subtly at the mention of Tarwë’s name.

“Of course I care what the Lady thinks. She has my utmost devotion at all times. It is why I became a Sentinel. To protect Galadriel is the highest honor to which an elf can aspire.” A note of reverence had entered his voice, lending him a note of sincerity she could not doubt. This, at least, proved to her that he had some proper feelings.

“No one else?” Elanor retorted, wiping her hands on her smock.

“I care what you think,” he retorted with gleaming eyes. “I like you, Ellie.”

Elanor almost snorted. “Come, Lurien, you are not fooling me. You do not know me. You look at me and see someone you have not conquered, that is all.”

His beautiful mouth twisted into a small smile. “You are delightfully frank. I like that in a maiden. So many play games with words, never saying what they mean.”

“I thought you liked games,” she said, trying to retain control of the conversation. “Could you pass me that trowel please?”

Lurien did as she requested, his glance weighing her as a hunter might weigh its next victim. “Now what did I do to give you that impression?” His gaze was at once hot and cool, a charismatic contradiction that teased both her intellect and her senses. She could see how some might find him fascinating; he was sophisticated and elegant as well as playful and witty. Yet he also seemed to have a dark, brooding quality that sent a chill down her spine.

Elanor dug the trowel into the earth, turning it while she considered her answer. She had begun to notice a difference in herself of late; she was not blurting out the first thing that crossed her mind, at least not quite so often. She glanced at him, deciding that her only reasonable recourse was to be forthright and that any attempt to match wits with him would be futile.

“What is this power you have?” she asked. “Is it a spell?”

“What power?” he said, chewing on a blade of grass. He gazed back at her without blinking, his expression bland.

She shifted her gaze away from him. “You know very well of what I speak. I have been warned about you, and I felt it for myself. And I will tell you right now, whatever it is you do, I do not like it at all.”

“But I do nothing, my dear. At least not on purpose. Whatever you have heard is an exaggeration or a product of wishful thinking.”

“I do not believe you, Lurien,” she said steadily. “And I will not allow you to use your power on me, so do not try it. My will is as strong as yours. Stronger, even.”

Lurien did not move, but something shimmered in his eyes. “Is it, Elanor?” he said, very softly and gently. “How do you know? Each time we meet, you run from me before we can find out.”

His challenge hung in the air between them like a dark cloud painted with all the fears and self-doubts she had ever possessed.

Goaded, she lifted her head and drew a deep breath, then deliberately turned and stared directly into his sapphire eyes. ”I am not running now,” she answered.

At once she could feel it, the unrelenting sexual pull, the call of the sea to come drown in its depths, the inexorable impulse to abandon reason and leap unthinking from the highest cliff, heedless of sharp rocks below. The trowel fell from her nerveless fingers, a deep shudder running through her as she struggled to resist. Desperately, she searched for weapons with which to defend herself from the seductive power of Lurien’s assault.

In a dreamlike haze, she saw Lurien shift closer, his hand reaching out to rest against her cheek. “Ellie,” he seemed to whisper, though his lips did not move. You are beautiful, desirable, and cherished . . . precious beyond measure . . . let me love you as you deserve to be loved . . .

The velvet words resounded like distant bells within her own head. Emotions, strong ones, surged through her with a force for which she was unprepared; yet they were not formless or unreal, but grounded in a reality outside the present situation, tangled not with Lurien, but with Haldir. In sheer panic, she created an image of her own; Haldir’s wonderful, proud face and wise grey eyes appeared in her mind, yet Lurien’s power slithered past to hammer at her will.

Elanor . . . sweet, lovely Elanor . . .

Lurien’s face drew near, his unfathomable gaze holding her as effectively as a knot of hithlain. She could feel the warmth of his fingers stroking her cheek, exploring the contours of her lips, but she could not seem to move. In one last attempt to fight him, she conjured up image after image of Haldir, his kisses, his smile, even his frowns. The last of these was the memory of those moments she had been alone with him in her bedchamber in Rivendell. His powerfully built body, the silken fall of his hair, the piercing intensity of his gaze, the boldness of his touch, the way his beautiful mouth had traced its way along her collarbone and downward to her breast . . . the bone-melting memory was so vivid, so incredibly potent . . . that it effortlessly swept away anything Lurien could bring into being. Lurien’s magic burst like a bubble in a strong wind.

She shoved his hand away from her face. “You see?” she challenged, her breathing uneven but her voice maintaining its firmness. “You have no power over me, Lurien, so you may as well stop trying. And by the way, you are sitting on that plant and it is extremely annoyed with you!”

Looking rather nonplussed, Lurien stared at her, then started to laugh. He raised himself to a more upright position, his smile wicked. “What do you want me to say, Elanor? Do you reject my offer of friendship?”

“That was not an offer of friendship,” she said indignantly. “You were trying to seduce me, right here in broad daylight!”

He did not deny it. “I would have taken you somewhere more private,” he corrected with a shrug. “One of those shady little bowers would have served the purpose.”

“So you admit it!” Elanor eyed him with astonishment. “You are shameless!”

“Utterly,” he agreed, a glint in his eye. “But I hope we can still be friends.”

“I do not think so, Lurien. I do not trust you.”

“I will make a bargain with you, Ellie,” he said in a lazy tone.

“What kind of a bargain?” she asked with suspicion.

His eyes gleamed brighter. “I will not repeat what I just did to you if you allow me to assist you with your archery.”

“I need no help. Haldir has shown me what to do, and his brothers have also offered assistance. Practice is what I need.” She saw the still look on Lurien’s face, and realized that her curtness had offended him. She hated hurting people’s feelings, even Lurien’s. “What could you possibly do that they could not?” she added.

“What I can help you with,” he replied, “is your ability to perform well in front of others. Your self-confidence needs bolstering, my lovely one. When you aim your arrow, you need to believe you are the best archer in all Lothlórien. You need to know that everyone around you is in complete awe of you, and that they are all envious of your ability.”

Elanor looked at him doubtfully. “Lurien, that does not sound right to me.”

He chuckled. “On the contrary, Elanor, such a strategy will serve you, I promise. The power of the mind is strong. Do you wish to improve or do you not?”

“Of course I do, but—”

“Perhaps you wish to impress Haldir when he returns,” Lurien added slyly.

Elanor thought about this. In truth, this was exactly what she desired. She longed to see admiration in Haldir’s eyes, and to hear him say how incredibly well she had performed, how proud he was of her. She had thought this only an idle daydream, but perhaps it was attainable?

“When next you practice,” Lurien went on, “I will be there. You will see, Elanor. Self-confidence is more than half the battle. Once you believe you are superior, you become superior. What you believe becomes manifest.”

Elanor mulled this over for a moment, but saw no threat in it. What harm could it do to try? “Very well, Lurien, I accept your offer provided you keep to your end of the bargain. No more mind tricks with me.”

“What I do is neither trick nor spell,” he murmured, “but I am unable to explain it in a way you will understand. It is simply part of me, like my hand or my foot.”

“Whatever it is, you will not use it on me again,” she said firmly.

“Agreed,” he said languidly.

“Swear it,” she insisted. “Swear it upon Galadriel’s honor.”

Lurien sighed. “Very well, upon Galadriel’s honor, I so swear. Now do you trust me, Elanor?”

“Yes, Lurien, I trust you,” Elanor replied.

“Good,” he said, with another of his enigmatic smiles.

Later that same day, Elanor stood on a high flet in the city, gazing out at the surrounding view. Its central vantage, elegant carven benches, and pots of flowers made it a popular gathering spot, and it had become one of her own favorite places. She was alone at the moment, feeling pleasantly weary after her labors. She had mulled over her conversation with Lurien, and felt only a faint unease. Should she speak with Rúmil about it?

“Elanor!”

Elanor turned to see Doria hurrying toward her up the nearest set of steps. When Doria reached her, her eyes were sparkling. “I’ve been trying to find you! Look!” She held out her hand, palm up, displaying a lovely piece of silver jewelry in the shape of a butterfly on a chain. “I found it wrapped in a piece of parchment on my doorstep. My name was written on the parchment!”

Elanor examined it. “It is lovely, Doria. Who is it from?”

“That’s just it, I do not know!” Doria sounded both pleased and mystified.

“Can you not guess? Has anyone been paying you particular attention lately?” Elanor did not quite dare to mention Orophin by name. It seemed quite likely it was not he.

Doria shook her head. “No more than usual. I suppose it must be one of the elves who flirt with me, but I cannot guess which one. It would be too much to hope that it was from . . . the one I care for most.”

“Orophin,” Elanor stated softly.

Doria gave a wavering smile. “I know I am foolish to hope. He has not spoken to me in so long. I must have done or said something to offend him, but I know not what it could be. I have racked my brain about it! And now someone has given me this lovely gift, and if I wear it . . . I fear Orophin will see it . . . and assume I am taken when I am not.”

“Do you wish me to ask him?” Elanor offered.

“Oh, no! Please, please do not! I could not bear it.”

“Whoever gave you this necklace must care about you a great deal,” Elanor said soothingly. “Perhaps it was Orophin. If so, he will reveal himself in time. In the meanwhile, why do you not wear it? Here, let me help you to put it on.”

Doria acquiesced, and Elanor fastened the tiny clasp, then stood back to admire the effect. “It suits you very well,” she remarked. Indeed, Doria was much like a graceful butterfly in the way she fluttered around.

They sat down together and gazed silently out at the city. Finally, Doria said, “Do you miss Haldir?”

“Yes.” Elanor did not hesitate to tell Doria the truth. She was the only friend in whom she had confided her growing regard for the March Warden, though she had not mentioned any intimate details. “I have been having horrid dreams ever since he left. Goblins,” she added with a shudder. “Have you ever seen one?”

Doria shook her head. “I have never left Lothlórien.” She gave a little sigh. “Do you think he cares for you at all?”

Elanor hesitated. “Perhaps a little, but how much I do not know.” It was not something she wished to discuss, so she switched the subject, telling Doria of the card game where Haldir had wagered her services to his brothers. In retrospect, it now seemed humorous. “But he was only teasing me,” she added with a small smile. “He knew I was in the kitchen all along.”

Doria nodded. “Still, it was very naughty of him.” She grinned suddenly. “I have an idea how you could punish him.”

“Oh no!” Elanor said immediately, thinking of the last time she had tried to punish Haldir. “I do not think that would be wise.”

“Come on, Ellie, this is only a little thing. Do not let whatever happened back in Rivendell destroy your sense of fun!”

“What do you have in mind?” Elanor asked, curious despite her reservations.

Leaning close, Doria whispered to Elanor and the two were soon giggling hysterically. “You see?” Doria gasped, her hand pressed to her chest. “He could not possibly be angry with you for that. I even told him once that he had a big head, and he laughed. And you have to admit it would be very amusing!”

“I do indeed,” Elanor agreed, her lips twitching at the image in her mind.

Far away to the north, Haldir stood alone on a flet, scanning the missive that Rúmil had sent via carrier bird. His brothers were keeping a close eye on Elanor and she was doing well save for a bad dream or two. Rúmil hinted that he himself was taking very good care of her, but Haldir read between the lines and knew it was more teasing than serious. If Rúmil kept her engaged and amused, that suited Haldir. Still, there was always a chance that Elanor might fall in love with Rúmil . . . Haldir frowned at the thought. He did not want Elanor to be hurt, nor did he want her to fall in love with anyone other than himself. But there was little he could do about it if she did.

He folded the letter and tucked it away, calmly returning his gaze to the plains beyond the tree line. A few days before, one small party of Orcs had appeared and been quickly dealt with; other than that, it had been quiet. And that meant that Haldir had nothing to do but think . . . about Elanor.

Although he successfully maintained his outward composure, his lips thinned with self-disgust at his inability to control his wayward thoughts. Nature, that was all it was, just as he had said back in Rivendell. Yet nature had never seized him by the throat in such a way as this. His mouth curved wryly. Nay, it was not the throat, but another part of him that nature tormented. Every thought of her, every memory of her face and eyes, her voice and smile, her long dark hair and soft feminine body, brought on this relentless burning that raged within him.

He ached for her in a way he had never ached for anyone, and the time apart had strengthened rather than lessened it. With the passing of the days, all he could think of was his desire for her, how he hungered to take her in his arms and give her pleasure beyond her wildest dreams. And when he took his rest—or tried—he spent the hours shifting uncomfortably, throbbing with hot, hard, unrequited need, imagining that which he should not imagine for his own peace of mind.

To distract himself, he had spent much time brooding over the meaning of the Lady’s statement that it was not the action but the intention that defined honor. He was not sure he agreed and that unsettled him. Never before had he disagreed with Galadriel; it was unthinkable. What if one intended to do good, yet failed in the attempt, and some great evil resulted? He had always believed that results were as important as actions. What was the Lady saying? One chose one’s actions based on experience and wisdom, and if one chose wrongly, then surely one should be held accountable. But perhaps this was not what she was trying to convey.

Haldir shook his head with uncertainty. If the intention was noble and the result ignoble, should the performer of the deed be held responsible or guiltless? The more he considered this, the more his reasoning went in circles, a humbling experience for one of his years. He had once told Elanor that one could never think too much, but perhaps he had been wrong. His lips twitched at the idea. What his brothers would give to hear him admit that!

His thoughts drifted back to Elanor. It pleased him to imagine her on the archery field, wearing the quiver he had made for her, her mouth set with determination as she aimed the arrow at the target. He had recognized her intense look of concentration; he had seen it often on the faces of those who eventually became the best archers. He thought of how she had practiced with such diligence, even to the point of hurting herself. Seldom had he had a more eager student, yet he realized that her lack of self-confidence and nervousness made it difficult for her to focus while others watched. She would get over that in time. Once she became more comfortable with the motions, the stance, and the watching eyes, she would adjust accordingly and grow proficient, and that would aid her self-confidence. He thought again of how she had looked that first day, and smiled at the memory. He understood her compulsion to excel, for he had been the same way once.

He shifted his position and gazed into the distance, conscious that at almost every moment of each day Elanor claimed a part of his attention. Always at the edges of his mind hovered thoughts of the completion for which he yearned. Always flowing through his head were the words he wished to say to her and which he could not say, at least not while she was his ward. He would have to wait out the year. And what was a year? Nothing at all to an elf. A mere dewdrop in an ocean of time.

Yet never had he been so filled with impatience, not even when he was an elfling awaiting some special treat. It was absurd!

Still, for millennia he had yearned to find someone who made him feel like this, and it had finally come to pass. Perhaps it was no small wonder he was impatient. It was an impatience he would have to restrain.


[To be continued . . .] Feedback Appreciated!