ELANOR'S REVENGE

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Once again, we thank you for the lovely reviews. I’m afraid there will not be another chapter until after Christmas since we are both heading to Toronto for the LOTR event called The Gathering, and after that there will be the last hectic days before Christmas. However, I am sure we will get another chapter out shortly thereafter.

Love to all!

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Chapter Fourteen

“Good morning, Elanor.” Haldir sat at his table, a welcoming warmth in his eyes as she entered the front room. He had put on a clean pair of leggings and a black undertunic, and had set out their food while she rose and bathed. Together, they would break their fast as they had done many times before, but on this morning it was different.

Elanor seated herself, her smile slightly self-conscious with the memory of their shared intimacies during the night. “Good morning,” she said softly. “Did you rest well?”

“I did.” His gaze roamed over her face as if trying to read her thoughts. “What of you? No more goblins?”

She smiled and shook her head. “They would not dare to visit with you there.”

“I think we may have found the cure,” he replied, rather mischievously.

Elanor tried and failed to conceal her laugh. “A pleasant cure,” she said a bit shyly. “One I am still willing to share with you.”

His hand moved to cover hers, his thumb stroking gently over the delicate bones of her wrist in a way that sent a flurry of sensations through her body. “I am honored to know it,” he said. “We will speak more of that and of other things as well, but first let us eat. Orophin came by with fresh bread, and the strawberry jam is delicious.”

Elanor nodded, and for a short while they shared the quiet peace of their morning meal while a light, sweet breeze sifted through the windows. She asked him about his fight with the Orcs, and he explained in a few sentences that made light of the battle while at the same time giving her the basic facts. He did not apologize for his delayed return, at least not in words, but his manner made it clear that he regretted it.

Afterward, they went out to the terrace and sat upon the bench set in the midst of the flowers she had been tending. She clasped her hands in her lap and gazed at him, admiring the inherent strength in his face and the ageless power of authority that surrounded him like a mantle. At the same time she thought she had never seen such gentleness in his eyes.

He set his hand over both of hers. “Elanor, I think it would be wise if you moved to another talan. I have been considering it for some time.”

Of all that he might have said, this was what she least expected. “Why?” she asked, her voice dazed. “Because of last night?”

“Because I think it would be best for you.” His voice seemed tighter, beset with a control that was at once familiar and new. “You might prefer it. You know your way around the city now. You have friends you might like to invite without having me there. You might wish to pursue a relationship with someone. I am willing to give you that freedom.”

It came to her, in a flood of understanding, what he was trying to do. She leaned forward and looked him squarely in the eye. “Is that your preference? Is it your wish that I leave?”

“It is not a question of what I want,” he said, gazing back at her steadily. “As your guardian, I must consider my duty. Lord Elrond wishes you to learn from me, but he also wishes your spirit to run free. Those were his words. I do not wish to keep you in a cage.”

“Please, Haldir, answer my question. Do you wish me gone from your talan?”

His grey eyes stared into hers, and in them she saw a flicker, as though he debated whether to speak the truth. Then one corner of his mouth twisted. “No, of course I do not.”

“Then I will stay,” she said calmly. “I like it here. I want to be with you as much as I can. You are gone a great deal as it is.”

A tiny frown appeared between his dark brows. “Elanor, are you sure?”

“Yes. And if you do not like the cot, you are welcome to join me as you did last night.” These last words came out more boldly than she intended, and by the end of the sentence she was blushing again.

His mouth curved into a small, very attractive smile. “You cannot know how much I would like to do that.” He paused. “I care for you, Elanor. I would have you know that it is more than just . . . lust on my part. Much more.”

Her heart skipped a beat, then began to hammer hard. He was watching her closely; she could see him waiting for her response. “I know,” she said rather breathlessly. “I care for you too, Haldir. Very much.”

His posture changed ever so slightly, a relaxing of tautness that told her without words how much her answer pleased him. Things had definitely changed between them. He was not bothering to hide everything from her as he had at the beginning. No longer did he seem so completely impassive and emotionless, although she was certain it was a state he could resume in an instant if he chose.

“You were never far from my thoughts these past weeks,” he said.

She lifted her eyes. “Nor were you far from mine.”

His head tilted. “I hear you have been spending much time with Rúmil,” he remarked, his tone so casual that she knew at once where his thoughts lay.

She hid a smile. “Your brother is charming and attentive and protective, and I like him well. But he is not you. I prefer you to all others, Haldir.”

It was as close as she dared come to telling him the strength of her feelings, but from the rather amazed look on his face, it seemed she had said exactly the right thing. She wondered if anyone had ever said such words to him before.

“So you no longer find me insufferable?” he asked with a gleam of humor.

“You were never insufferable,” she admitted. “Of course,” she added, her tone growing playful, “I do not say that you are never exasperating or opinionated.”

He laughed. “Well, I would not want to ruin my reputation completely.” His smile faded to a sterner look. “Indeed, you may not like the next thing I have to say.”

Elanor braced herself. “Is it about Lurien?”

“It is. Did I not warn you about him?” he asked. “Why did you not heed my words?” His voice held an undercurrent of steel.

She lifted her chin. “Because he was beginning to be a problem. And in order to retain my self-respect, I needed to solve the problem myself. I cannot always look to others to protect me, Haldir. Perhaps I would be no good in a fight against goblins or Orcs, but Lurien is only an elf. And he does have honor in him, regardless of what you think.”

“You defend him without knowing him,” Haldir told her with a frown. As she opened her mouth to argue, he lifted a hand. “Yes, Rúmil told me of the oath, and that he will uphold, I do not doubt. But Lurien has long hated me. And since you are my ward . . .” He left the rest unspoken.

“I have not confided in him or encouraged him,” she pointed out. “I have only allowed him to help me with my archery.”

Haldir’s lips compressed. “I do not approve of him helping you. I wish it to stop at once.” It was the old Haldir speaking, the one who issued autocratic commands and expected them to be obeyed on the instant and to the letter. Yet she could see that he was making an effort to speak fairly.

Anxious to make him understand, she placed a hand on his thigh. It was warm and unyielding beneath the tight fabric of his leggings, hinting of the great strength in the rock-hard muscles beneath her palm. “I agreed to let him help me,” she informed him patiently. “It was part of our bargain. To withdraw from that bargain does damage to my own honor.”

“It was a foolish bargain!” His smoky gaze pierced her, but his tone was resigned rather than sharp, and she knew he was granting her a small victory. She also knew that doing so did not come easily to him, that he was showing her a side of himself that others seldom saw.

She struggled to respond with well-chosen words. “Perhaps so, but it was made. Yet I agree that there must be an end to it and I will find a way.” She beseeched him with her eyes. “Haldir, why did you did not tell me I was using a child’s bow? You said you were going to give me a training bow. When Lurien told me, I was so embarrassed.”

His scowl faded to a startled look, as though it had never dawned on him that she might feel that way. “For one of your strength, the bow I gave you was a training bow.” Looking contrite, he again took her hand in his. “I am sorry, Elanor. I never meant to mislead you. My only excuse is that I am unused to explaining myself.”

“You are forgiven,” she whispered, and saw his gaze soften. Far from the dangerous and brutal elf he had seemed when first they met, she was seeing far more of what lay beneath the layers of hardness. “Will you tell me more of what happened between you and Lurien? Perhaps then I will know enough to be able to make wiser decisions and judgments. It may even help me to find a way out of this bargain.”

Haldir glanced down, his lowered lashes concealing his thoughts. “What have you heard?”

“I know about Healea. I know you fought each other because of her.”

“That is only part of the story.” He gave an almost inaudible sigh. “Many centuries ago, Lurien desired to be a warden. I have heard it was an obsession with him, that it was all he had wanted since he was an elfling. As chance would have it, we were both tested at the same time, pitted against each other by the luck of the draw. Only I passed the test.” He gazed into the distance as though he looked into the past. “I could feel his disappointment and profound shame. It was almost palpable. We had never been friends, but we were not foes either. I wished him well. I thought he wished me the same. But when it was over and I spoke to him, he spat at my feet and walked away. From that day forward, he has been my adversary in all things.”

“Does Galadriel know this?” Elanor asked in dismay.

“I assume so,” he replied, his thumb absently rubbing against hers. “She has not said so to me, but that means nothing. The Lady knows the minds and hearts of all who live in Lothlórien.”

Thinking this over, Elanor gathered her courage for her next question. “Will you tell me about Healea?” she asked timidly. “Did you love her very much?”

He looked down at their clasped hands, and for an instant she thought he would not answer, that the memory caused him too much pain to speak of it. Then he glanced up and she saw that his expression held no signs of anguish, but only quiet regret. “I did not love her, Elanor, not in the way you mean. I cared for her, I was faithful to her, but it was not love. We were together for a time, that is all. I do not dwell on it.”

“Yet you fought for her,” she pointed out, carefully observing every tiny fluctuation in his expression.

“I did not fight for Healea,” he corrected. “Healea was free to choose another if she wished. We were not bound.”

“Then why did you fight?” she asked in confusion.

Haldir’s eyes narrowed, and in them she saw the glittering coldness of a warrior. “I answered Lurien’s challenge. I am March Warden of Lothlórien, Elanor. I cannot afford to have Lurien undermining my authority behind my back.” He shook his head slightly, as though to clear it of residual anger. “I know there are those who believe we fought over Healea, but Lurien knows better. Still, that my sword ended up at his throat was an empty victory, for in that dispute there could be no victor. Except, perhaps, Cothion,” he add wryly.

“The one she chose over both of you.” Elanor could not imagine choosing anyone over Haldir.

“She chose wisely,” he said, his face relaxing into a slight smile. “Cothion is a good elf and a great scholar. Wise and learned.”

Elanor leaned up to place a kiss on his cheek near the corner of his mouth. “I am very glad she chose another,” she told him softly.

Their eyes locked, and she saw his gaze slide downward to her lips. His hand came up to cup her cheek, a warm and tender pressure, then he bent and brushed his lips against hers. The grazing touch could scarcely qualify as a kiss, yet it was so erotic it sent a hot wave of trembling weakness through her limbs. “Haldir,” she whispered.

“Sweet Elanor,” he murmured. He exhaled a long breath and rested his forehead against hers. “I am going to finish dressing, then we will go to the archery range so you can show me what progress you have made.”

She nodded, trying to breathe normally as he rose to his feet. Hugging herself, she watched him cross the terrace and enter the sleeping chamber while she remained where she was, her emotions churning. His tone told her that his words were genuine and that he truly had not loved Healea. Yet he had cared for the cool and beautiful elleth who had not yet deigned to visit Elanor despite her spoken intention to do so.

A queer sound interrupted her thoughts, a kind of muffled exclamation that could almost have been a curse. Then Haldir’s voice rang out quite clearly . . .

“Elanor, come here, please.”

Leaping to her feet, she hurried after him, then stopped dead, her hand clapped to her mouth. Haldir stood before the wardrobe, but she could not see his face. He had pulled a grey tunic over his head and it was stuck precisely where it was meant to be stuck, its altered neckline causing it to stop right in the middle of his forehead. Only the top of his head and brow had made it through the opening.

“I seem to have a problem here, Elanor,” he said in a conversational tone.

“Oh, no . . . oh my!” The words escaped her lips only an instant before she dissolved into helpless giggles. “Oh, Haldir, you look . . . oh my, you look so . . . so funny!”

He reached up and yanked the tunic from his head, sternness and laughter chasing each other across his handsome features. “Is this your idea of a joke?”

Elanor shook her head, laughing so hard the tears began to run from her eyes. “N-not exactly,” she gasped, her hand pressed to her breast. “It was Doria’s idea. I was supposed to save it for the right moment. I was to tell you that . . that it proved you had a big head. Oh dear, I did not mean for you to put it on today!”

Perhaps it was the look on his face, but she could not seem to stop giggling. “I’m s-sorry. It is not funny, I know. A ward should have more respect for her guardian.”

“Then why are you laughing?” He was smiling now, a faint curve, but she saw the glint of wickedness in his eyes as he stalked toward her.

“Eek! Haldir, no!” She began to back up, but bumped into the door frame as he grabbed her around the waist. She squealed as he spun her around, lifting her easily off the floor as he held her against him.

“Are you ticklish?” he inquired. “I will give you a good reason to laugh, Elanor.”

“Haldir, no! You said you had a sense of hum—oh, stop!” Elanor shrieked as his fingers dug into her ribs, and tried to defend herself by grabbing his hair.

“Oh, no,” he warned, “not the hair. I thought we had learned that lesson, you and I.” He turned her around to face him, then captured her wrists and backed her against the wall. A teasing smile played on his lips as he inquired, “So what useful information has Elanor of Rivendell learned today?”

Elanor lifted her chin. “She has learned to plan her jokes with greater care,” she told him saucily.

Haldir’s eyes gleamed. “Indeed,” he agreed, “that is valuable knowledge. Now I will try once more to clothe myself, then perhaps you could braid my hair before we leave. Are there any more surprises my ward would like to tell me about?”

“No,” she said meekly. “No more surprises.”

“Good. Then I will free you . . . after you pay the penalty.” He bent down and kissed her, not a light kiss this time, but one that was deep and demanding, though all too swift for her liking. He released her wrists, his good humor apparent. “Mmm, that was very nice.”

“Indeed,” she agreed, and wished he would do it again.

She watched him pull another tunic from the wardrobe, contentment washing over her in a huge, warm wave. She only hoped she could successfully hit the target and make him proud of her. She also hoped that Lurien would not be there.

When they reached the field, there were few others in sight and no sign at all of Lurien. Haldir was pleased, for he did not wish to address the Sentinel in front of Elanor unless circumstances forced it upon him. What he had to say to Lurien would not be pleasant or fit for her ears.

Very quickly he saw that she had lost her focus while he was gone. She was hitting the target more often, yet at the same time her stance and movements were inconsistent and unpredictable. He quickly saw the problem, for each of her would-be instructors had his own unique habits and techniques. Each had given her advice corresponding to his own personal style developed over many years of successful application. But although each piece of advice worked for Elanor some of the time, she switched and mixed the three without realizing it, and that resulted in her failure to attain any kind of consistent result. It also meant that she was hitting the target more by chance than by design.

He explained this to her as gently as possible, adding, “My brothers and Lurien each have their own style. They have made adaptations over the centuries, choosing what worked best for them. That first day I showed you the basic stance, the one for beginners. Do you remember what I told you?”

She moistened her lips, her blue eyes uncertain. “You told me many things.” He could see that she had lost confidence, but he felt it important to be honest with her.

“I said that you must pull the string back each time the same way, over and over, until it is done effortlessly and without thought. You are not doing that. You are thinking instead of feeling.” He smiled at her expression. “Yes, this is one time when thinking serves you ill. Repetition and practice, that is what will bring success.”

Elanor’s shoulders slumped. “Lurien said I have to believe in myself.” And yet she did not, that was plain to see.

“I agree. You must believe in your ability to learn. You must believe that your body and muscles are capable of adapting to this new activity. Over time, with practice, you will improve. Seek what is inside you, Elanor. And practice until the bow is a part of your arm and the arrow flies without thought.” He set his hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You can do it. I know this and so do you.”

She lifted her eyes. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “You have helped me already.”

Haldir nodded. While he knew he had the ability to inspire others to achieve, her words touched him deeply. “I will stay and watch,” he said. “Try to concentrate and forget I am here.” The look she gave him made him smile. “You can do it,” he added.

And so he leaned against the rail and watched, keeping quiet so as not to distract her, although he knew she was very aware of him. Only once did he walk over and help her adjust her grip on the bow, and within a short time he saw a slight improvement. In the meantime, he took the opportunity to drink in the sight of her, his heart warm with the knowledge that, despite the unfortunate circumstance of their first meeting and all he had said and done since then, she cared for him. He had not had time to think on it since she had spoken the words, but now that he did, he found himself going over and over them in his mind—what she had said, and what he had said, and what it all might mean.

He had wanted to say a great deal more, but he had known he must not, that it was too soon. And he was not so sure he knew his own mind or heart, although he knew he was excited in a way that went beyond the physical. Right now he felt almost as though he had stepped back in time to when he was a callow young elf cast into confused delight each time a maiden looked his way. Yet even then he had not been impetuous, and in matters involving females, he had learned to exercise nearly as much caution as he did in battle. Since Healea, he had been doubly careful with his relationships, keeping them as pleasant and uncomplicated as possible. It had been enough . . . until now. Now he knew he had to reevaluate himself and what he wanted.

He kept his eyes upon her, watching the way she held the bow, how she pulled back on the string, how she held her shoulders and how the outline of her body displayed against the backdrop of the trees. And while a part of his mind was evaluating her archery, another part was remembering her scent and how soft and sweet she had been to touch. He thought of how she had smiled and touched his face, and kissed the tip of his nose in the most tender way imaginable. She cared for him! And he cared for her also. More than cared, if truth were to be told. And he would sooner cut off his hand than hurt her in any way. When he looked at her, all his protective instincts rushed to the fore. He wanted to safeguard her, please her, nurture her . . . His jaw hardened suddenly. He would not let Lurien touch her.

From the corner of his eye, he spotted Rúmil walking toward him through the trees, and with a glance at Elanor, Haldir left his post and strode quickly across the open ground to meet him. “The three of you have managed to completely confuse her,” he said without preamble. “Did you not realize this?”

Rúmil looked abashed and a bit annoyed. “Aye, I realize, but Lurien began it with his foolishness. Orophin and I tried to compensate, and I fear we did it poorly.” He looked over at Elanor. “Lurien tries to build her confidence with false compliments and praise. You know what he is trying to do, do you not?”

“To challenge me,” Haldir said, his voice curt. “To make her think poorly of me. To force my hand.”

“Aye. I also think he has guessed she is an innocent,” Rúmil said, adding with rare tact, “and that he seeks to, er, rectify that situation.”

Haldir glanced back at Elanor, who was gathering her arrows. “He will not have that chance,” he said grimly. He could feel Rúmil’s eyes on his face.

“What if she grants him that chance? She seems most insistent on her right to choose her own friends.”

Haldir turned back to Rúmil, gazing into his brother’s keen blue eyes. “She does have that right, but she will not choose him.” He folded his arms, letting several seconds slip by before he added, as casually as possible, “She cares for me.” It seemed a great step to speak of it aloud, if only to his brother. Of course, to tell one brother was to tell them both.

For once, Rúmil did not tease him. “And you care for her also,” he stated, as though it was the most obvious development.

“I do. And I appreciate that you have been protecting her.”

“And will continue to do so as long as necessary.”

Haldir nodded, touched by his brother’s words. “I wish to arrange a small celebration for Orophin’s begetting day next week. I plan to invite Doria.”

Rúmil’s brows shot up. “That could be good or it could be disastrous.”

“I am aware of that. I think we must leave it up to her to decide whether or not to attend. I also thought we might have it in that small garden he likes, the one with all the lilies. Can you arrange it?”

“I will do it,” Rúmil replied. He grinned suddenly. “Give Elanor my regards. And perhaps the kiss I never gave her.”

Haldir smiled slightly. “I might do that.”

Elanor reached carefully under the rose bush in front of her, easing under the sharp thorns to pull away the small bits of leaves and odd debris that had accumulated there. She smoothed the soft soil with her fingers, enjoying the sensation of the damp loamy earth beneath her hands and the heady scent of the roses so near her face. Wiping her hands on a cloth, she admired the delicate, multi-hued blooms that adorned the bush. She loved working here in Galadriel’s garden, and she felt that the garden had only grown more beautiful with her attention.

She sat back on her heels and gazed around with contentment, remembering how Haldir had kept her company yesterday while she worked. He had read to her from a book of poems, written long ago by an elf who had since departed to the west. The poems had been lovely, and lovelier still was hearing them delivered in Haldir’s rich voice. He did not gush flowery sentiments, but the fact that he had sat here, and read to her, and that they had enjoyed the peace of the garden together had been far better. After a time, he had lain in the grass beside her and closed his eyes, his fingers linked behind his head, one knee raised. And at one point she had leaned down and lightly kissed his brow, then gone on with her work, aware of the very faint smile curving his lips. It had been the most perfect, most idyllic moment in her life thus far.

Elanor folded her hands in her lap and closed her eyes to better breathe in the perfumes that wafted on the air. Roses, hydrangea, lily-of-the-valley . . . each flower, vine and plant had its own distinct scent. Combined, it was a floral blending that would always remind her of this garden, and of Haldir.

“You are hard at work, Elanor.”

Elanor turned with a start. Healea stood nearby, holding a full-sized bow of the Galadhrim and wearing a full quiver of arrows on her back. She wore a knee-length tunic reminiscent of the type worn by Haldir’s wardens, and a long grey Lórien cloak. “Do you never rest? I hear you come here every day.” She gazed at Elanor with her fine brows slightly arched.

“I suppose you could call it work, but I find it pleasant and relaxing.” Elanor brushed a strand of hair from her cheek and rose to her feet, aware that there were smudges of dirt on her face. Next to Healea, she knew she appeared graceless and disheveled, but she held to her dignity, saying, “It is pleasant to see you again, Healea. I admit I expected it to be sooner.”

Healea looked amused. “I have been much occupied with some translations these past weeks. I did come by once or twice, but each time you had company so I left.” She glanced around with a critical air. “Galadriel’s garden has never looked so fine. That is a testament to your skill. But I wonder why you do not remove the faded blooms from those roses. They remind me of mortals, and I like them not.”

Elanor looked down at the rose bush, instinctively reaching out to touch a reassuring finger to one small wilting bloom. Indeed, it was past its prime, just barely holding onto its petals, but she could not bear to destroy it. Yes, they were like mortals as she imagined them to be, creatures who grew to beauty, full of vitality and strength, only to fade as their brief lives drew to a close, dimming as the shadows of their days grew long. Yet in her heart she was certain that even the old ones had value and a certain kind of beauty . . . as did this rose. Beneath her fingertips, she could feel its gratitude, its lingering joy in its state of continued being. The plant would know when it was the rose’s time to die. It would then let go.

She glanced back at Healea. “I do not remove them until all their life is spent. The Lady Galadriel and I spoke of this, and she agrees.”

“Do you not cut them and put them into water for the pleasure of viewing?”

“I do, and have. In such cases, the rose derives pleasure from the knowledge that it contributes its beauty and fragrance to a noble cause. The bush accepts that on occasion its children may be removed in order to give joy. Treated well, a cut bloom’s life can still be long. However, I will not cut one only to cast it off as useless.”

Healea merely looked at her. “You are a nurturer, Elanor. I am not. I am a pragmatist and a scholar. I have no patience with plants, nor do they speak to me.” She adjusted the strap of her quiver, shifting it higher on her shoulder. “As you see, I am headed to the archery range. I hear you are often there of late.”

Elanor bent to gather her tools, setting the assorted objects into a small basket. “Yes, Haldir is teaching me archery. His brothers and Lurien have been helping as well.” She concealed a sigh, remembering how much help they had been.

Healea laughed. “I can imagine the conflicting advice those three would give. And what is this business of Lurien? I do not imagine Haldir wishes him to help you. Do Haldir’s wishes not concern you? You are his ward and subject to his bidding.”

Elanor stuffed the dirty cloth into the basket, glancing warily at Healea. She had not actually seen Lurien since Haldir’s return, but she was not going to explain this to Healea. “Of course Haldir’s wishes concern me,” she stated, “and I respect them.”

“I am surprised he has not forbidden you to go near Lurien.”

“He tried.” Elanor picked up the basket and began to walk toward the end of the garden.

Healea kept pace with her. “You ignored him?” she prodded.

“He is my guardian, Healea, not my owner! I have given him my reasons for allowing Lurien to help me. He accepted them.”

Healea studied her intently. “You amaze me, Elanor. I have known Haldir a very long time, and I can tell you that he seldom yields, especially on matters to do with Lurien. Perhaps you misunderstood him.”

Annoyed, Elanor halted. “I am quite aware you know him well, Healea.”

Healea also stopped. “You are wondering about my relationship with him?”

“Not at all,” Elanor said, her voice steady and rather cool.


“Indeed you are, though you are too proud to ask. So I shall tell you that Haldir and I are still friends, but we are not close. We were ill-suited even when we were lovers. At one time I cared for him, but now my love is given to Cothion.”

Remembering what Haldir had told her of Healea’s faithlessness, Elanor looked away from that beautiful face with its rather piercing gaze. “It must have been a difficult time for you,” she said tonelessly.

“Yes.” Healea’s voice barely changed. “I suppose I should tell you what happened so you can understand more about the conflict between those two.” She began to walk slowly, and this time it was Elanor who followed. “I had known and admired Haldir my whole life.” She flashed Elanor a look that held a strange mixture of emotion. “You must remember that this was many centuries ago, but of course we elves have long memories. Over time I decided that Haldir and Lurien were the two most handsome and worthy elves in Lórien. I also knew they were rivals and that I could have either one of them. I chose Haldir.”

Elanor bit her lip while Healea continued, “But I found I did not like him being gone from me for weeks or months at a time. The spark between us faded, and I began to wonder if Lurien might suit me better after all.” She neared the garden’s entrance and stopped. “I decided to find out. Unfortunately we chose our time and place poorly. Haldir returned at a moment that proved inconvenient.”

Healea’s lips quirked. “Lurien drew his sword first, I recall quite clearly. He was partially clothed, and would have fought Haldir right here in the Lady’s garden, but Haldir forced him outside, and there they fought. All the years of rivalry and resentment culminated in that single moment. The fight was brutal.” She paused. “Haldir prevailed. He had Lurien on his back in the dirt, the tip of his sword at his throat. I remember seeing a drop of blood, and I could see Haldir’s fury, the way his control held by a thread.”

Elanor set down her basket, and wrapped her arms around her middle, watching Healea’s face as she spoke. She could imagine it so well that it sent chills down her spine.

“Lurien has never forgiven Haldir,” Healea added. “And I lost interest in them both after that. Eventually, I grew to realize that Cothion fulfilled all my requirements.”

Healea looked back into the garden as though gazing into the past. “Cothion is my mate. He is a scholar, trained by Elrond himself. But he knows me. He knows what I am and what I am not.” Her gaze returned to Elanor, her eyes flicking over her from head to toe. “You are different from what I expected. I thought you would be a brazen little hussy. I thought you had tried some kind of foolish trick to attract Haldir’s attention, and that your trick had gone awry.” She pushed open the gate. “And now I must go and polish my skills for the archery competition next month.”

“Archery competition?” Elanor repeated. “I have not heard of it.”

“It is for ladies only, and is held each year by Lord Celeborn.” Healea gave an odd smile. “I hear you’ve been using a child’s bow.”

“Not any more,” Elanor replied, trying not to sound defensive. “My strength and skills have improved. I now use a training bow.”

“Good.” Healea’s mouth curved. “It will make you eligible for the contest should you decide to enter. There are only a few of us who do. You might enjoy it, Elanor. Think about it.” With a nod that seemed slightly mocking, she turned and left, striding silently down the path and out of sight.

Elanor watched her leave, torn between the conviction that Healea’s intentions were kindly and the niggling suspicion that she was up to something. But what?

Orophin lay in the tall grass, his feet upon a large rock, his eyes fixed upon the rustling golden leaves above his head. Nearby, a rippling stream played a merry tune as it meandered on its journey. “He actually told you this?” he repeated, staring up into the high branches as he absorbed what his brother had just said. “You mean he simply offered this information without you having to pry it out of him?”

Rúmil perched on a branch above him, holding a small stick that he chose this moment to launch at Orophin, hitting him directly on the nose. “Aye, that is what I said. Were you not listening? He said the words, brother. He said she cared for him and he for her.”

Orophin snatched up the stick. “I do not think he ever made such a statement about Healea. Or anyone else, for that matter.”

“That is my point, you dolt! This is a first!” Rúmil laughed and ducked the stick that flew at his head.

Orophin sat up and looked around for something else to throw. “Did he say anything about your so-called courtship of Elanor?”

Rúmil shook his head. “Nay, I think he knew I was not serious. It was a good idea, but unnecessary. I think our brother has his head on straight for once.”

“Does our brother know about this mystery elleth you prefer above all others?” Orophin asked with slyness.

“No one knows,” Rúmil said simply. “Nor will they ever.”

Orophin laughed. “You call me a coward, yet at least I cherish hope. I have given Doria a gift!”

“I am no coward,” Rúmil retorted. “I am simply being realistic. She likes me, we are friends, yet I am the opposite of what she wants.”

“How do you know this? Does she confide in you?”

“We talk.” Rúmil broke off a dead twig and stuck it in his mouth. “She think I am not serious enough. And you know me. I am never going to change.”

Orophin sighed. “Perhaps she is the one who will change.”

“Have you talked to Doria yet?” Rúmil inquired, skillfully changing the subject.

“Almost. I saw her this morning. But we did not speak.”

“For Mordor’s sake!” Rúmil exclaimed. “What is wrong with you? Just walk over and talk to her!”

“She was not wearing my necklace,” Orophin said dismally. “And she was talking to Rion. Smiling at him. It looked like she was flirting with him.”

Rúmil rolled his eyes and threw another stick at his brother. “Then compete with him, you fool!”

Orophin caught the stick. “If I do, what will you give me?”

“What do you mean what will I give you?” Rúmil said suspiciously.

“I want the identity of your mystery love.”

“No,” Rúmil said emphatically. “Not a chance. That is a silly offer.”

“I know,” Orophin agreed. “But I am curious.”

“I should never have told you,” Rúmil grumbled.

Orophin smiled. “But you did. So that must mean you want my help.”

“It absolutely does not mean that. And if you ask me again, I will go directly to Doria—“

“No!” Orophin said sharply.

“And I will say ‘Orophin loves you!’ right to her sweet little face!”

Orophin leaped to his feet and grabbed his brother’s leg, tugging him off the branch and to the ground. Laughing uproariously, the two brothers wrestled, for the moment forgetting such maudlin problems as females.

Tarwë and Nerwen occupied a bench formed from the roots of the greatest of all mallorn trees, that which bore the home of the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn. Leaves rustled overhead, the familiar sound comforting Tarwë as she waited patiently for Lurien to appear.

Only Nerwen knew the truth. Only Nerwen knew how Tarwë suffered inside while pretending to everyone else that Lurien did not matter to her. She laughed and giggled about the males and Lurien as though her heart were free. Even Gwirith did not know, and certainly not Doria. She and Nerwen were older than the others, and they shared secrets no one else knew. They had each had a secret for a very long time now that tied them together in a close bond of friendship.

“At least we know he is not with Elanor,” Nerwen remarked.

“Yes,” Tarwë agreed. She kept her slight frustration from her voice. She did not blame Elanor at all; the Rivendell maiden did nothing to encourage him. Lurien could never resist a challenge; always he had to conquer, to get the better of someone in order to feel worthy. But that was not why he sought Elanor, or at least that was only a part of it.

Tarwë understood him better than anyone. It was why he needed her, though he pretended he did not. It was also why they had such a curious relationship. Many long years ago, he had confided in her on a night he had been feeling particularly disturbed and vulnerable. Neither of them had ever referred to it again, but she had never forgotten. Since then, all these many long years, she had observed him, analyzed him, and come to understand all the subtle and devious workings of his mind. She knew his needs, his wants, his ambition for recognition and glory. She knew his secrets and his failures and his many weaknesses.

“Here he comes,” Nerwen said in a low voice. “Shall I go now?”

“Yes, thank you. He will speak more frankly if you are not here.”

Nerwen rose gracefully. “You ought to give him a good slap,” she said tartly. “That might set him to rights.”

Tarwë sighed. “Perhaps I will,” she said softly. “Someday.”

Nerwen slipped quietly away as Lurien completed his descent down the steps and emerged into the clearing where Tarwë sat. He caught sight of her and paused, looking a little startled, though he quickly recovered. “Tarwë,” he said, sauntering over to her amiably. “My love, what are you doing? Are you waiting for me?”

“Yes,” she said, patting the bench beside her. “Will you join me for a moment?”

With a quirk of an eyebrow, he swung a long leg gracefully over the bench and faced her. “I am at your service, dear one,” he said with his usual suaveness. “What may I do for you?”

“You may tell me why you have been avoiding me these past weeks,” she said calmly.

He gave her one of his sizzling smiles. “Avoiding you, my love? That is not true at all.” Almost in contradiction he reached out and took her hand, squeezing her fingers as if to convey apologies he did not mean to make aloud.

She withdrew her hand. “Do not lie to me, Lurien. It is quite clear to me what you are after, and I must admonish you. You are too fine an elf to continue on this path.”

“What path?” he said, his gaze guileless. “You speak in riddles.”

She met his blue gaze without flinching. “You know of what I speak. You and I share a kind of link. You know this, yet always you deny it.”

Lurien’s smile faded. “You and I have shared great pleasures, Tarwë. I was your first lover, and that means much to you. Are you now jealous that I seek others in your stead? You have had other lovers too, and I do not protest.”

“Nay,” she said quietly. “I am not jealous. You know that.”

He waved his hand. “Then what is amiss with you? Why the long face? I prefer to see you smiling, love. You are so lovely when you smile.”

Tarwë felt herself losing patience. “Leave Elanor alone,” she warned. “No good will come from that pursuit. She is no more than a tool to you. You only seek to provoke the March Warden’s wrath. Let this rivalry go, else it will eat you alive!”

Lurien leaned forward, his blue eyes narrowed to icy slits. “You are wrong, Tarwë. I can vanquish him. I only seek the chance to prove it.”

“Then challenge him to prove it!” she snapped. “Why play these games?”

His face relaxed into a seductive smile. “You are worried about me.”

“Nay, I have faith in you,” she avowed, quite truthfully.

Her faith in him was important to him. She knew he remembered that other fight, the one he had fought because of Healea, where he had ended on his back in the dust with Haldir’s foot on his chest and Haldir’s sword pressed to his throat. Lurien had never recovered from that humiliation, though he himself had been the one to cause it. And he had come to Tarwë for comfort. It was the only time she had ever seen him completely and absolutely crushed. That was the moment she had fallen in love with him, and her love had never wavered, not in all the many long years that had passed.

She knew also of that other time Haldir had bested Lurien. It had been long before she was born, but she had heard the tale, both from others and from Lurien himself. She knew he remembered that day as though it was seared into his memory like a hot iron on flesh . . .

Lurien and Haldir were both to have been tested, each seeking to prove themselves worthy of becoming wardens of Lothlórien. But by the end of the long grueling trial, only Haldir had succeeded. Lurien had somehow lacked the necessary long-range attunement of the senses necessary to become a protector of the borders. Lurien had pretended to recover quickly from his failure to be made a warden, at once redirecting his ambitions into becoming a Sentinel, a position to which he was well suited. Tarwë was proud of him, but she knew he had never been able to forget the humiliation of that other failure. For some reason, he blamed Haldir, for the two of them had been matched in competition during the evaluation. Even then, Haldir’s skills and senses had been exceptional, which had made Lurien look inferior by comparison. Worse, Haldir had gone on to attain the heights of distinction and become March Warden, a position that allowed him to wield much power and assume much responsibility. Lurien was still a Sentinel, no more and no less.

“Shall I come to you tonight?” he asked, a shimmer in his eyes. Every so often he tried it on her, his special talent, that extraordinary innate ability to tap into a female’s insecurities and weaknesses and draw on them for his own purposes. But she was impervious, and she took that as a sign that they were meant to be together. In her heart, she believed he did too.

She looked at him coolly. “For what purpose, Lurien? To make me forget what you are trying to do? It will not.”

“It might,” he said playfully. He never bothered to deny her accusations, but instead attempted to distract her with the strength of his charm. He was manipulative and petty, yet Tarwë clung to her belief that there was nobility and good in him as well. There must be, else the Lady of Light would know it and take action.

“I doubt it,” she said. For a moment, she fought her desire for him, then immediately felt herself weakening. “But if you wish to, I would not say no.”

He slipped his arm around her waist. “I did not think you would,” he whispered. “You are quite right. We have been apart too long and I have missed you. In fact, I want to take you now, right here on this bench. I am hard and ready. Give me your hand, Tarwë. There, do you feel how much I want you?”

She freed her hand, her breath caught in her throat as it always did when he said such things to her. His sexual appetite was strong, a perfect match for hers. “I should deny you. You are wicked and shameless. You do not deserve me.”

With a laugh, he nuzzled a hot, open-mouthed kiss into the curve of her neck. He was unready to admit that he belonged with her. How long would she have to wait? In her heart, she knew that if the day did not arrive when he yielded, if he chose someone else, the grief would come to her and she would fade. Did he know this? Could he possibly not know it?

“You must have patience,” he murmured, almost as though he knew her thoughts. “I have things to accomplish. You agreed to this.”

“I never did,” she protested in a faint voice.

“Your heart agreed.” He rose to his feet, the expression in his blue eyes veiled by slightly lowered lids. “I will come to you, my love, after I bathe and dine.”

Tarwë bowed her head as he walked away.

“Ellie!” Doria caught up with Elanor as she climbed the steps to the talan she shared with Haldir. “Do you have a moment?”

Elanor turned, intending to ask if they could speak later, for she was weary and still needed to wash and cook dinner. Then she caught sight of her friend’s face and changed her mind. Doria looked miserable. “What happened? What is wrong?”

“It is Orophin!” Doria glanced around, as though to be certain they were not overheard. “I saw him this morning!”

“And?” Elanor prompted.

“He looked away. I did not have the necklace on because . . . I did not know who gave it to me . . . and then I saw Rion, and he came over to speak to me. He always flirts, and is most amusing, and I laughed at something he said. And then I saw Orophin and he looked at me just for an instant, and then he turned and walked away. And now I know for certain that it was not he who gave me the beautiful necklace!” Doria looked ready to burst into tears.

“Oh, Doria,” Elanor said, much distressed. She took hold of her friend’s hand and squeezed it. “I am so sorry. But perhaps you are leaping to conclusions that are not true.”

Doria nodded stoically, then forced out one of her good-natured smiles. “I suppose I might be. It is still a mystery unsolved. And I suppose I will learn the answer eventually.”

“Shall I try to solve the mystery?” Elanor offered. “I would be happy to help.”

Doria looked hesitant, her fingers twisting together as she considered. “Do you think you could do it without letting anyone know how I feel about Orophin?”

“I think so. Shall I try?”

“Yes, but you must promise not to tell anyone what I have told you. Will you promise?”

Elanor nodded. “You have my word.”

“Very well, Ellie. I trust you, and I give you leave to make inquiries for me.” Doria grinned suddenly, looking a little sheepish. “I feel much better now. I suppose I am overreacting. I hope you will not laugh if I say you are like the sister I never had and wished I did.”

“I feel the same,” Elanor said quietly. An image of Lana flashed through her mind, then faded quietly away.

Taking leave of Doria, she entered the talan, glancing over at the plants as she headed toward the kitchen. All three plants were thriving, but the elanor plant had nearly doubled in size since its relocation, and several new star-shaped blooms had burst open since Haldir’s return.

She went over and touched it with gentle fingers. “You are happy here,” she whispered. “Happier than you have ever been before. You feel loved.”

The elanor plant assured her this was so.


[To be continued . . .] Feedback appreciated!!!