My Heart's Desire - Part 2. If You Go Away.

A/N: My appologies for th long delay. I am amazed and grateful that people still check up on my story even after almost two months without an update. Thank you all for your patience and support. :)

Chapter 15. Within the Reach of My Hand.

Haldir spent the day in a state of longing and indecision. He did not know what to do. He felt the constant pull of Gildor’s presence and had to make a conscious effort to keep away from the part of the palace where he knew Gildor was staying. He wanted to see him again, though he was aware that it would be a painful pleasure. He certainly did not wish to receive another look of the kind Gildor had given him in the yard that morning. Perhaps he should stay in his room and not attend the ceremony at all, Haldir mused.

When he returned to the chamber he shared with his brother, he still was arguing with himself what to do. He found Rúmil preparing cheerfully for the ball.

“Where have you been?” Rúmil greeted his sullen sibling with a question. “You should hurry: you do not have much time to get ready.”

But Haldir shook his head and plopped down on his bed. “I am not sure I want to go.”

“And why is that?”

“What for?” Haldir replied with a question of his own.

“Well, let me think. You can get drunk on Naurdirith, for instance. Or you can mix with the locals and pick up a bedmate. You have been practicing abstinence since we left Lórien. In your case that is certainly an unhealthy sign.”

Haldir scowled. Rúmil sighed and put his joking tone aside.

“You have never been a coward, little brother,” he said. “I do not see why you should start now. You cannot avoid him forever. Arda is not that large, you know. Sooner or later you will have to meet him face to face.”

Haldir gave his brother a smirk that lacked mirth. “I already have. He looked at me as if I were a complete stranger and kissed Thranduil right in front of me.”

Rúmil shook his head in disbelief. “You *did* expect him to remain faithful to you… This is ridiculous, Haldir. When you decided to leave him, you made your bed. Now you have to lie in it. Alone or with someone else, but not him. He has moved on. So should you. Come on, get up,” he urged his brother. “Put on some pretty clothes and some of that notorious arrogance of yours. You will not shame yourself by hiding in your room. We shall attend the ball and enjoy ourselves in spite of everything.”

Haldir was not at all sure he would be able to enjoy anything but he accepted the garment Rúmil took out of the wardrobe and gave him.

“What is this?” he asked, looking in surprise at the dark blue tunic with the silver pattern of mallorn leaves. “I do not remember packing it in my bag.”

“Well, I did it for you,” Rúmil replied unabashed. “I always liked the way you looked in it.”

Haldir rubbed the soft silk between his fingers. Gildor used to like it too…

When Haldir entered the grand hall, he threw a quick glance around and instantly spotted the Imladris delegation. But there was only one golden-haired elf among them – Glorfindel. Gildor was nowhere to be seen. Haldir found a place in the shadow behind one of the columns and waited. Time passed but still there was no sign of Gildor. Haldir realized that there could be only two reasons for that: either Gildor had chosen not to show up at all – and that was highly improbable – or he would come with the royal family and in that case… Haldir did not have time to finish his thought for at this moment the tall doors of the hall opened and a herald announced: “King Thranduil. Prince Aranaur. Prince Legolas. Lord Gildor of Imladris.”

The four of them entered, all gloriously golden-haired and clad in Mirkwood green. The princes flanked their father and Gildor kept slightly behind, so Haldir could not see him properly at first. But as they moved forward he got a better look and gaped, his breath hitching in his throat. Even in his traveling clothes, weary and dirty from the road Gildor had looked beautiful. Now he was simply stunning. The one who had designed Gildor’s outfit was surely well acquainted with his finer points for they were shown off most favourably. Haldir’s avid gaze slid over the golden expanse of Gildor’s chest, generously revealed by the deep V-cut of his robe. Oh, he knew those sculptured plains so well! He had mapped every inch of them with his fingers and lips so many times… He remembered the satiny feel of that skin, its intoxicating taste…

Haldir followed Gildor with his eyes as the Vanya walked past him, the green silk of his robe surging around his legs and teasingly outlining the luring contours, now of his hip and then of his thigh. Gildor’s golden hair was loose, as he always liked it, and was held back by a mithril circlet. He looked somewhat pale and vaguely displeased but calm and utterly indifferent to the effect he was producing. No one Haldir knew would be able to look so regal and so nonchalant in such a provocative outfit. There simply was no other like him…

‘How on Arda could I leave him?’ Haldir asked himself dazedly.

But then Gildor smiled at Thranduil, the spell was broken and Haldir remembered: he had left to spare himself the heartbreak of being abandoned for someone else, of witnessing his rival take place in Gildor’s bed, in his heart and in his life. He had left to save what little of his pride he could by being the one who *forsook* and not the one who *was* forsaken. But now his fate seemed to have decided to get even with him. Haldir almost laughed at the irony of it: he found himself exactly in the situation he had paid such a high price to avoid. The slanted sleeves of Gildor’s robe revealed the wide bracelets on his wrists, both of Mirkwood style. Haldir wondered sadly what happened to his gift to Gildor. “I’ll wear it for as long as I live.” The Galadhel would be the first to admit that Gildor had had every right to break that promise but it still pained him to see the token of his love gone. Well, there was little he could do now but drink his cup of poison to the dregs.

He watched Gildor throughout the ceremony, jealously noticing every faint flicker of emotion on the Vanya’s face, every short glance he threw about. But Gildor did not look around much; he seemed to have eyes only for Legolas and Thranduil, occasionally glancing Glorfindel’s way. During the feast that followed he ate little but drank surprisingly much. Though he was placed between Thranduil and Elladan, he spoke mostly to the king, leaving the twins to chatter amicably with the elder Mirkwood prince who was sitting between them. Judging by the shadow of a smile that graced the Vanya’s lips now and then, he was enjoying his table talk. Once Haldir thought Thranduil must have subtly done something, for Gildor’s eyes widened and he almost choked on his wine. Thranduil laughed and said something that earned him a look from Gildor, which sent a painful jolt straight to Haldir’s heart. And then Haldir could swear he saw Gildor saying ‘I love you’! The green dragon of his jealousy raised its head, breathing fire. The Galadhel realized dejectedly that it was going to prove even a greater ordeal for him than he had foreseen…


As soon as Gildor took the first step into the grand hall, he knew Haldir was there. The impact Haldir’s close presence produced on him was so overwhelming that his head reeled for a moment. He instantly shielded his mind, preferring to hear and to see only with his ears and eyes. He was aware that wearing the kind of outfit he had on, he could not give away even the slightest hint of the unease he was feeling for it would make him look ridiculous. Only imperturbable self-assurance and nonchalant arrogance went well with his garment. So he squared his shoulders and donned the familiar mask of cold indifference. He did not look around, afraid that he would meet Haldir’s gaze unwittingly. He could not trust himself to preserve the pretence of composure, should he find himself face to face with Haldir again. The wild storm of emotions Gildor believed to have spent itself long ago was once again raging in his heart.

He watched the ceremony as if in a haze, very little of what he was witnessing registering with him. He knew it was a special day for Legolas and the guilt he felt about his inability to focus added to his nervousness. During the banquet he mostly pushed the food around his plate and what little he managed to force down his throat sat uneasily in his stomach. Even without *feeling* Haldir’s presence he could not forget for a moment that Haldir was somewhere near. One part of him wished to find Haldir with his eyes, to take a better look at him, to see if he had changed… But the other part demanded of him to remember his pride and not to let the Galadhel get even the slightest suspicion of how miserably he had pined for him all those years. His inner struggle blew up the fire of his emotional turmoil and Gildor tried to quench it, drinking wine by goblets.

Thranduil talked to him, attempting to distract him by joking and teasing. Gildor was grateful to him for the effort though it did not help much: he heard only half of what Thranduil was saying and understood even less. Gildor almost jumped out of his skin when he suddenly felt a confident hand slide over the bare flesh of his thigh. Thranduil laughed.

“Ah, finally I have your full attention.” His fingers gave another caress to Gildor’s skin before withdrawing. “An extremely convenient detail, those side-slits,” he murmured, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

Gildor scowled and looked away.

“Meleth.”

*That* made the Vanya instantly turn back to Thranduil. Never had Thranduil used that endearment with him. The king’s face was serious now.

“Gildor, you are the most precious person to me after my family. It grieves me to see you so lost and confused. I will do anything to see you happy. Please, know that.”

Thranduil’s vow caught Gildor completely by surprise and the sincerity and earnestness of it made him tongue-tied for a moment. He could only look at his friend with eyes full of gratitude and affection.

“Thank you,” he managed to bring out at last. “You know, I always wished I could love *you*.”

Thranduil smiled. “Though I cannot deny that I am flattered, I am not sure you would be happier, should it ever happen.”

And then the feast was over and it was time for the ball. The first dance was Legolas’s and no one had any doubt as to whom he would perform it with. Thranduil watched Glorfindel swirl his young son around the dancing floor to a slow tune and his paternal pride was mixed with paternal concern in his heart.

“Do not worry,” Gildor murmured by his side. “If Legolas loves him, Glorfindel cannot be entirely hopeless, can he?”

“I expect not.” Thranduil smiled a little self-consciously. “I simply… ”

“…love your son so very much.”

Thranduil smiled again and nodded. “Well, shall we?” he offered then as other pairs started joining Glorfindel and Legolas on the dancing floor.

“Oh.” Gildor looked at his friend uneasily. “Must we?”

“No, if you do not want to.”

“I’d rather not,” Gildor admitted.

“Perhaps some more wine then?”

“Yes!” Gildor agreed gratefully and Thranduil raised an eyebrow in amusement.

“If you keep up the pace, you would be dead drunk by the end of the evening.”

“I never get drunk.”

“Have you ever tried as hard as tonight?”

Bantering, they headed for the table with drinks.


Aranaur also watched his younger brother, and so did the twins.

“Ah,” Elrohir sighed. “Our Balrog slayer is as good as married.”

“As *bad* as married,” Elladan muttered. “We have only two blonds in Imladris and both of them are off the market now.”

“And we, on the contrary, have them in abundance,” Aranaur laughed.

Elrohir suddenly grew alert. “Oh! That reminds me! Have you seen Lindir, El?”

“Yes,” Elladan looked around. “I think I have seen him somewhere here a couple of moments ago.”

“Lindir?” Aranaur looked at the twins inquiringly. “Who is that?”

“Our minstrel,” Elladan answered absentmindedly. “Ah, there he is.” He pointed to a nearby window seat.

“Silly creature,” Elrohir gave a mock sigh of frustration. “I thought he would be exploring the attractions of this fair kingdom. And what is he doing? Keeping close to *us*!”

Aranaur looked in surprise at the young elf he had often come across in the halls and passages of the palace during the past few days. “So he is your minstrel?”

“Yes,” Elladan confirmed. “Didn’t you know?”

“No,” Aranaur shook his head. “I have seen him among the elves of your delegation but I have not heard him perform. Is he good?”

The twins exchanged a mischievous glance.

“Very!” Elrohir said with feeling. “He is very talented and very skilled.”

“He is? What instruments does he play?”

“Actually, he can play anything he can put his hands on,” Elladan said with the most honest expression on his face.

“Yes, he can elicit music from any… instrument,” Elrohir seconded his brother.

“One is left breathless after Lindir’s performance,” Elladan continued.

“Literally.” Elrohir nodded earnestly.

Aranaur raised an eyebrow, sensing some innuendo in their words, and looked from one twin to the other. “I am impressed. I think now I simply *must* ask him to perform for me.”

“Yes, do,” Elladan agreed enthusiastically. “You will see that we have not said a word of lie.”

“Only… be gentle with him,” Elrohir asked in a concerned voice. “He is so shy and bashful, the little thing.”

Lindir watched the three princes from under his long lashes, biting his lip. He knew, just knew they were talking about him! And only the Valar could say what fables the insufferable twins could be telling the Mirkwood Crown Prince. When he saw Aranaur turn and walk in his direction, he dropped all pretence of casual indifference. His eyes instinctively grew wider as Thranduil’s elder son approached him unhurriedly.

Aranaur stopped in front of the young Noldo and looked down into the two blue pools of anxiety. ‘Bashful indeed,’ he smiled to himself.

“You are Lindir, aren’t you?” he asked in a friendly tone.

“Yes,” the Noldo answered cautiously.

“And you are a minstrel?”

“Yes.”

“I am surprised I have not heard you singing yet,” Aranaur smiled.

Lindir gave a faint sigh, his pink lips parting ever so slightly. “You have not had time for that, Highness. You have been too busy,” he said softly.

Aranaur furrowed his brow. Why did he have this feeling that he had made some blunder and now an apology from him was due? He tried to shake off the inexplicable sense of guilt and nodded at the platform where Mirkwood musicians were playing.

“Would you not perform now?”

“Oh no, my Lord,” Lindir gave him a little smile. “Today is a Mirkwood holiday so it is only fair that everyone should dance to *her* tunes.”

Aranaur watched Lindir’s slender fingers twirl a bead, plaited into one of his dark braids. He felt intrigued by the pretty youthful creature in front of him.

“But I *do* want to hear you sing,” he insisted, smiling. “Tell me what I should do to persuade you to perform for me?”

“Bed me,” Lindir blurted out and instantly wished to swallow his long tongue.

“What?” Aranaur was taken aback. He looked at Lindir in merry amazement. “Was it you who said that just now?” He started to guess what the twins could have implied.

The deep blush on the young elf’s cheeks made the blue of his eyes even brighter.

“Do not mock me, my Lord,” he said, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “Take my offer or reject it, but do not mock me.”

Aranaur stroked Lindir’s face with the tips of his fingers; his skin felt soft and hot under his touch.

“I wonder if this was how Glorfindel saw my brother for the first time: a lot of surprises under the surface of innocence and youth,” he murmured thoughtfully.

“My Lord?” Lindir said in a tiny voice, looking up at the prince uncertainly.

“Stop calling me ‘my Lord’ if you want to come to my rooms tonight.”

A bright smile bloomed on Lindir’s face. “Oh, whatever you say… Highness.”

Aranaur shook his head. “A brat. Just like my brother.” He pulled Lindir up by the hand. “Come dance with me.”


Haldir followed his erstwhile lover subtly around the hall. He had almost forgotten how inexorable Gildor’s pull on him was. He tailed the Vanya as if he were bound to him. Well, perhaps bound was not the best word to use in this case… Haldir wished his resistance to Gildor’s spell would be strong enough for him if not to leave the ball, then at least to stay in one place. But instead, he was shadowing Gildor around the chamber, Gildor’s pale beauty a joy and a torment for his eyes. It was almost like it had been back in Lórien, Haldir mused silently; back in Lórien, when his madness was not raving yet and when he still believed Gildor to be Glorfindel’s lover… Now it was very much the same: he was once again stalking the cold Vanyarin beauty, who did not as much as notice his presence. And once again there was a golden-haired elf by Gildor’s side, who was well aware of what Haldir was about. Only this time it was not Glorfindel but Thranduil.

Several times during the evening Haldir found Thranduil looking at him. But it was not the sort of look Haldir would expect from a victorious rival. It seemed the king was waiting for something. But Haldir had no idea what Thranduil could possibly want of him. He would avert his gaze uneasily only to find himself some time later pinned once again by the intense green gaze of the Mirkwood ruler. Each time their eyes met Thranduil seemed to grow more and more inpatient, even angry; then surprised and finally disappointed. Haldir was entirely at a loss as to what it all could mean.

As evening ripened into night, the ceremonial ball evolved into a merry party. The pieces the Mirkwood musicians were playing now were no longer elaborate compositions but lively rhythmic tunes and slow sultry ballads. The dancing was in full swing. All the windows and terrace doors were open to let in cool night air and a light breeze from the gardens brought the sweet scent of roses and phloxes.

“Your brother is one of the best partners I have ever danced with,” Aranaur told Elladan as Elrohir and he joined the elder twin by the table with drinks.

“Yes, Ro is a very good dancer,” Elladan said proudly. He raised Elrohir’s dark tresses from his neck and blew on the damp skin to cool it a little. Elrohir purred in pleasure and lowered his head, inviting his brother to continue. But at the first notes of a new tune he instantly straightened up.

“Oh! Telien-e-mael?” He turned to the Mirkwood prince. “I had no idea the Sindar could dance it too.”

Aranaur grinned. “Well, *some* of us can.” He looked around, searching with his eyes for his father.

Gildor also recognized the music at once but before he could say anything Thranduil was already pulling him forward. “Come on, let us dance!”

“Thranduil!” Gildor almost dug his heels in the floor. “You cannot be serious!”

“Why is that? We have done it before and I do not remember you ever objecting.”

“We have never done it in front of half your kingdom.”

Thranduil laughed. “Are you concerned about your reputation or mine? Oh, come on, when did you become such a prude?”

Thranduil wrapped his arm around Gildor’s waist, his hand resting confidently on his hip.

“You have just spoken to me of love and now you are grudging me one little dance. What am I to think?”

Thranduil gave Gildor a teasing smile, his hand sliding a little lower over the slippery silk of Gildor’s robe. They were almost in the middle of the dancing floor now, the crowd splitting before them, making way and drawing aside.

“You are insufferable,” Gildor muttered. “But then it is no news.”

He swirled from under Thranduil’s arm and took a step back. Thranduil followed at once, easily settling into the sensual rhythm of the dance. They were facing each other now, gazing deep into each other’s eyes. The expression of reluctance and annoyance had slipped off Gildor’s face and a little meaningful smile was curving up his lips. Suddenly he turned away in a quick spiraling sort of movement, stepping forward on his right. Thranduil came after him but before he could touch Gildor, the Vanya turned sharply with a hip-twist to face him again and took another step back, flirting, toying with him, enticing. They moved in a smooth, slinky glide, their bodies flowing with the music; weaving the spell of Telien-e-mael and being just as much caught into its ancient magic as all the on-lookers.

The sensual tune inflamed, aroused and tormented. Haldir felt its sultry beat in his veins as he watched Thranduil pursue Gildor, who was as fiery, luring and evasive as a flickering tongue of flame. The pair still did not touch though they never broke their eye contact and the air between them seemed to thrum with passion. Haldir felt a surge of need rough and wild sweep through him, leaving him hard and wanting. He wished for the foreplay taking place in front of him both to stop instantly and to go on forever. He dared not guess what would follow once Thranduil had enough of Gildor’s teasing.

As if he had heard Haldir’s thoughts, Thranduil suddenly caught Gildor’s hand and jerked him to himself, cutting short the prelude and getting to the main part. Gildor tossed his head defiantly and pushed himself away from Thranduil. But he got only as far as the length of their outstretched arms for Thranduil was still holding him fast by the hand. Thranduil gave Gildor another sharp pull, making him spin back to him. Haldir thought he saw a flash of bare skin above the edge of Gildor’s high boot. Gildor had no more chance to escape – Thranduil was pressing him tight to himself, their hips swaying and gyrating in a most erotic way. The music became even more passionate and spicy.

All the spectators were ensnared by the sensual magic of Telien-e-mael, their heartbeat matching the primitive rhythm of the dance. Involuntarily they started clapping their hands in time with the tune and it intensified the power of the spell even more, making their blood race through the veins, singing with wicked heat. The tension grew almost unbearably high. Lust was a living, breathing thing in the hall now.

Thranduil caught Gildor’s wrists and brought his hands to press against his chest. Gildor’s fingers curled into the lapels of Thranduil’s robe as his left foot crawled up Thranduil’s leg. The king grasped the back of Gildor’s knee, lifting his leg to hook it around his own hip. His other arm snaked swiftly round Gildor’s waist as he leaned forward, making the Vanya bend his back in a perfect arch, the tips of his golden hair sweeping the floor. The music swelled triumphantly and then died away, spent.

For several moments the audience kept on clapping in unison but then it erupted into a storm of applause, cheering and whooping.

Thranduil pulled Gildor up and smiled into his startled face. “See? You have not died. You are still alive. Every bit of you is, actually.”

They were standing very close and Thranduil could feel the hard proof of the effect Telien-e-mael had had on Gildor. The Vanya did not answer, staring at Thranduil with wide dilated eyes, shocked by his body’s unexpected reaction and slightly giddy with the long forgotten sensations.

Thranduil sighed and shook his head. “A drink perhaps?” he offered then.

“Oh yes,” Gildor breathed and Thranduil led him away from the dancing floor.

He left the Vanya by a column near the table with refreshments. “Stay here, I shall fetch you your wine.”

Gildor nodded, leaned back against the pillar and closed his eyes. The evening had been too straining. He felt exhausted. His treacherous body was still thrumming with the dregs of arousal. He *was* alive after all… But he did not *want* to be alive. Gildor sighed, opened his eyes and… met Haldir’s gaze. The world around him grew suddenly still, the noise of the crowded hall fading away. Time stopped. All Gildor could hear was the frantic pounding of his heart. All he could see was Haldir’s face, beautiful, tense, pale; the Galadhel’s jaw set, his eyes dark with desire, jealousy, anger, hurt… Oh, Gildor knew the mixture all too well! Love was not there... But then, why should it be?

Haldir cursed himself for his inability to turn and walk away from the cause of his longing and torment. But Gildor’s magnetic pull was too strong for him to resist. And after the dance it became absolutely impossible. The remnants of Haldir’s will power had been burnt in the fire, ignited by Gildor and Thranduil’s incredible performance. He was shocked by the intensity of his jealousy. He had no right to feel that way but the dark and acutely painful emotion refused to comply with his logical reasoning.

Haldir tailed Gildor and Thranduil furtively as they moved off the dancing floor. Then Thranduil went to the table with drinks and Gildor remained by a pillar, leaning against the carved marble, his eyes closed, his face serene and slightly bored. Haldir was very close to him now but Gildor did not seem to be aware of it. The Vanya had never failed to feel his presence before but now he did not care enough to do it. Or perhaps he simply ignored him, Haldir decided bitterly. It felt vaguely as if a wound had opened somewhere on his body and all the blood was draining out of him, leaving him cold and empty and hollow. At this moment Gildor opened his eyes. Shock and something else flitted so quickly through the liquid green that Haldir was not quite sure what he had seen before it had been hidden. The next instant Gildor’s face was void of any emotion and he was looking at Haldir like at a complete stranger.

It seemed to Gildor their silent duel was going on forever. He could not turn away – his eyes were trapped by Haldir’s blazing look. The world started to reel slightly around Gildor and he was grateful for the solid bulk of the column behind his back. Suddenly Thranduil stepped into his line of vision and mercifully broke his eye contact with the Galadhel.

“I hope you are not going to faint?” the king asked his friend, offering him a goblet of wine.

Gildor shook his head mutely and drained the liquor in one gulp.

“I think you can use some fresh air,” Thranduil told him. “Let us take a stroll in the gardens.”

“But we cannot leave yet,” Gildor argued weakly. “Legolas... ”

Thranduil chuckled. “My son has used the distraction we provided and is now well on his way to exploring the pleasures of adult life. So come on, let us go out.”

He pulled Gildor away from his column and they exited through one of the terrace doors. Haldir watched them leave, fighting the urge to go after them, telling himself it was too late for an attempt to change anything, and... followed them nevertheless.