ELANOR'S REVENGE

Thank you so much to all reviewers of this story!

Fianna and Julie appreciate your feedback, interest, and encouragement!!

We also invite you to join our Yahoo Group:

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Julie_Fianna_Archive/

~*~

Chapter Sixteen

Haldir strolled along the path toward the archery fields, more lighthearted than he had been in a very long time. In the first few centuries of his life, he had often been conscious of an exultant kind of joy, but over the many years since then, such feelings had faded to a more general acceptance and composure. Rarely did he feel any wild surges of emotion, either blissful or despairing, but instead had been as content as one could expect given the state of things in Arda and the extent of his responsibilities as a warden of Lothlórien. The worst times were when he allowed himself to recall those occasions where elves had lost their lives while under his command. Galadriel was the only one to whom he spoke of this, and thus far she had been the only one who could truly ease his guilt and pain.

Now Elanor was someone else he could speak to of such things, someone besides the Lady or his brothers. And for some reason he yearned to tell Elanor things he had never told anyone . . . and this would take some getting used to, that much was certain. He thrust such thoughts away and instead inhaled a deep breath of fresh Lothlórien air.

Today, his spirits soared. He knew he was going to have to leave Elanor soon to go back to the border and his duty, yet the knowledge that she would be here, waiting for him to return, elated him. He was now inclined to dismiss his earlier concerns that she might turn to Rúmil or someone else in his absence, or that she might in fact be better off with anyone other than himself. He was beginning to toy with the idea that perhaps he was the right one for her and that she was the right one for him. Still, he was ever cautious by nature, and did not mean to do more than contemplate the intriguing idea in the privacy of his mind. For now, it was enough that he and Elanor had acknowledged their mutual caring.

He fought back a smile at the memory of her behavior at the pond, and his own subsequent near-loss of control. He did not know why he was surprised by what she had done, but he knew that he’d liked it enormously. Shy maidens had never much appealed to him; he was both sensual and straightforward by nature, and preferred not to have to play games. Elanor teased, but she did not play games. Or at least not the sort that annoyed him. She also amused him in ways that no other maiden had ever done.

He sighed and swatted at a branch that hung in his way, using more force than was strictly necessary as a way of releasing his pent-up tension. His mouth twisted as he recalled the dream he’d had last night, about Elanor of course. He had woken suddenly, drenched in sweat, so aroused he was on the verge of explosion, and it had taken every particle of his willpower to refrain from leaping from the cot and climbing into bed with Elanor. The dream had seemed so real, so acutely stimulating . . . Haldir grimaced and tried to push away the memory. Of course it did not help that Orophin had been walking around these past few days with a huge grin on his face and an attitude of intense satisfaction and fulfillment.

“Haldir!” Rúmil’s voice hailed him from behind.

Haldir turned and arched an inquiring brow as Rúmil came up to him.

“Where are you going?” Rúmil inquired nonchalantly.

“To the archery range. Is it not obvious?” Haldir resumed walking, and Rúmil kept pace beside him, his fair hair fluttering in the breeze.

“I was only being civil.” Rúmil seemed preoccupied in a way that was not his usual manner. “I will go with you. I need an excuse to be far away from Orophin.”

“Now that is something I can understand,” Haldir agreed fervently.

“If he would only stop smiling,” Rúmil added with an exaggerated sigh.

“Grinning,” Haldir corrected.

“Smirking.”

“Gloating.”

“As though he and Doria had discovered a great secret nobody else knows! As far as I can discern, they rediscover it most of every night and at least once or twice a day. It’s quite sickening.”

“Indeed,” Haldir said dryly, and tried not to think about it.

He saw Rúmil send him a sideways glance. “Haldir, do you remember when we used to give each other advice?”

“No, I do not. I remember me giving you advice, and you ignoring it. Do you wish for my advice now?”

“Er . . . well, in a manner of speaking, yes.” Once again Haldir noted that Rúmil did not sound completely like himself.

Haldir stopped abruptly and turned to face Rúmil. “What is wrong?”

“Nothing. I am just wondering how you do it.”

“Do what?” Haldir asked with an edge to his voice. “You grow more enigmatic with every passing year. If you wish to say something meaningful, please do so.”

Rúmil tilted back his head and gazed up into the trees. “I’m not sure how to say this.”

“Rúmil . . .” Haldir said dangerously. “You try my patience. If you have something sensible to say, I am listening.”

“I have this feeling that you . . . and Elanor . . . would like to be closer than you are. I did not know for certain . . . but now that I have seen Orophin . . . it is clear to me that you and Elanor are not . . . have not . . . ahem . . .”

“I cannot believe you are saying this,” Haldir replied in annoyance. “Exactly why is this a concern of yours?”

“I was just wondering how you do it.”

“Do what?” Haldir could feel his euphoric mood evaporating.

Rúmil cleared his throat. “Well, now, I suppose I will have to tell you something else, to provide a little background for my question.” He paused, as though debating within himself. “I have long conducted my life much the same way you do. I have friends, like you do . . . er . . . did. Female friends.”

“I am not following you, Rúmil,” Haldir replied, although he was beginning to think that he did. “Can you possibly say something that makes sense?”

“Mordor take you, I am trying!” Rúmil flung himself down on a large rock, looking both frustrated and chagrinned.

Haldir sat down beside him. “Start again,” he commanded.

Rúmil reached down and picked up a stick, twirling it between his agile fingers. “I noticed you do not go to them any more. For your personal needs.”

Haldir was silent.

“May I ask why?” Rúmil said, so seriously that Haldir bit off the sarcastic retort he’d been about to make.

“Because . . . ” Haldir searched his mind for a reason that he could offer to his brother. “Because I do not wish to,” he said firmly. Sensing this was not an adequate explanation, he added, “I have been busier than usual with Elanor here. So how is this connected to you? Are you trying to tell me you are interested in her?” He braced himself for an affirmative response.

“Elanor?” Rúmil’s head turned. “No! Not in the way you mean. Oh, she is pretty and I like her, and I would gladly slee—I mean, I would gladly kiss her if I could . . . if she wished me to, I mean, which of course she does not . . . oh, Mordor . . . I am not making any sense, am I?”

Haldir looked at him. “No.”

Rúmil gave a sheepish smile. “I meant to court her, you know. Partly because I like her, and partly to see what kind of effect it would have on you. It was Orophin’s idea, and I meant to do it . . . and I did flirt with her . . . but . . .”

Haldir maintained his silence while Rúmil poked the ground with his stick.

“I can’t seem to court anyone,” Rúmil said finally.

Haldir’s brows drew together. “What are you saying?”

Again, it took a long while for Rúmil to answer. “It’s such serious business, courtship. Mooning around like Orophin did with Doria . . . I can’t do that. I’m not like that. I’m not good at being serious about things like that. I like to flirt and tease. And play. And joke around.” He sighed. “I like to make love. I’m very good at it.”

Haldir studied his brother, unsure how he should respond.

“But lately,” Rúmil went on, “and by lately I mean the last ten or twelve years, I have been finding . . . ”

“Finding?” Haldir prodded, when the silence became prolonged.

“Finding that sometimes . . .”

Haldir waited.

“Sometimes,” Rúmil continued obscurely, “they aren’t all equal.”

Haldir looked at his brother’s face, noting the earnest appeal in Rúmil’s blue eyes. “You have lost me. What is not equal?”

“The maidens,” Rúmil explained. “I think I am going to speak plainly, if you do not mind.”

“Plain speech is what I have been hoping for,” Haldir said, his exasperation laced with amusement.

Rúmil stared down at the dirt, his elbows on his knees as he poked the stick deeper into the ground. “The truth is that . . . there’s only one maiden I want to take to bed with me,” he mumbled. “And she refuses.”

Haldir’s lips twitched. “Ah,” he said. “I see.”

“And I really, really want to take her to bed. And I can’t.”

“Hmmm,” Haldir said, trying to sound sympathetic.

“So my question is,” Rúmil continued, “how do you do it? I’ve started to sleep alone . . . it’s been two weeks and two days now . . . and I’m not very happy about it. Do you just . . . er . . .”

Haldir arched a brow, rather enjoying Rúmil’s embarrassment. “Just what? I thought you were going to speak plainly?”

Looking miserable, Rúmil threw down his stick. “I know it sounds conceited when I say it, but I am popular. I never have any trouble finding someone to be with. I need sex. It’s like breathing to me. I manage well enough when I am at the border, but when I am home . . . that’s when I . . . I mean, how can I live without it?”

“Are you going to tell me who this maiden is?” Haldir inquired bluntly.

“No.”

“You only want my advice.”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure no one else will do?” Haldir asked. “There are many fair maidens in Lórien.”

“I know that.” Rúmil’s voice was subdued. “I have told myself that a thousand times over the past few years. The more I try to convince myself she doesn’t matter to me, the more I know I am fooling myself. I can’t be with anyone else. I tried it and . . . it didn’t work.”

“Ah.”

Rúmil glanced over and saw Haldir’s smirk. “That is not what I meant. It worked very well, brother. I only meant that my mind was elsewhere. The maiden I was with was not the one I wished to see beneath me. It suddenly felt . . . wrong. Or at least not . . . not right. Not the way I wanted it to be.”

Haldir sighed and rose to his feet. “You want my advice, but I have none except that you will have to find a way to woo the maiden.”

“Aye,” Rúmil agreed in a gloomy tone. “And that could take years. Or decades. Or even centuries.”

“Then you had best get started,” Haldir said dryly.

Doria sat in the small lily garden where Orophin’s party had taken place, her hands smoothing over one of Orophin’s tunics that needed repair, a dreamy smile on her face. Her sewing tools remained neglected at her side while memories of this morning’s lovemaking replayed in her mind. How strong Orophin was, and how passionate and sensitive to her needs! And—she blushed a little—how extremely virile he was! That was something she would keep to herself since she knew all her friends would delight in teasing her if she told them. Except for Elanor, of course. Elanor was different from the others. Elanor liked to tease, but she seemed to understand what made Doria uncomfortable and would not stray into those areas, even for the sake of a laugh.

Doria’s lips curved with affection for Elanor. Yes, she had been twice blessed by the Valar of late, first with Elanor’s friendship, and then with Orophin’s love. Could life get any better? Well, perhaps only if they sailed west together, where Orophin would no longer have a border to guard and defend. Her smile drooped a little at the thought. She did not like to think of Orophin being in danger.

“What causes you to lose that pretty smile, Sister?”

Doria started, and glanced up to see the tall figure standing just a few paces away. “I did not hear your approach, Lurien. Are you not on duty this morning?”

“Not until tonight. My hours have rotated again.” He sauntered over and lowered himself to the grass beside her, his blue eyes fixed rather critically on her face. “You have not answered my question. Has your new love affair already lost its bloom?”

“Of course not! Orophin and I are in love, and I am very happy. I was merely reflecting on the dangers he encounters while on duty.”

Lurien’s mouth flattened. “Ah, yes, of course. I am sure your lover has bragged of his prowess as a great Orc killer.”

“Orophin never brags, Lurien,” Doria replied with indignation. “Why do you say such things? I thought it was only Haldir you disliked.”

“I am not fond of his brothers, and I am not well pleased to find you involved with one of them.” Lurien glanced at the tunic in her lap. “I see he already has you doing chores for him. I do not like to see him use my sister as a menial.”

Doria looked him straight in the eye, determined to make him understand. “Please hearken to me. I object to such talk and will listen to no more of it. Why do you wish to spoil my happiness? If I do this for him, it is because I love him and not because he asked it of me. Do I not do the same for you?”

Lurien sighed, his face softening with the love she knew he felt for her. “I do not wish to spoil anything for you, Doria. You know I want you to be happy. I only seek to protect you as a brother should.”

“I do not need protection from Orophin,” she informed him, quite firmly. “In truth, I think it is you who are unhappy, and that worries me.”

“I?” Lurien seemed genuinely surprised. “I am not unhappy.”

“When Elanor first came to Lórien, you seemed quite taken with her. I wondered if she might be the one for you, but now I know she is not. I have worried that your heart might be wounded.”

With a quick laugh, he reached out to chuck her under the chin. “Nay, my heart is quite intact. You should know me better than that. I only seek amusement.”

She regarded him closely, but saw nothing other than earnestness in his expression. “I also feared you might wound Elanor’s heart, but I do not think you have it in your power.”

“What does she say of me?”

“She says nothing about you. She knows you are my brother. And she does not gossip like some of the others.”

“She is different, I admit.” He stretched out his long legs and leaned back on his hands, his head tipped back so that his golden hair spread across the grass.

Doria studied him. His eyes were closed, his face serene, as though no troubles or concerns ever marred the perfect surface of his life. She knew him well, yet he had never confided the deepest secrets of his heart to her. He was so much older than she was, perhaps that was why. He saw her as the sweet, young sister he must protect rather than as one who cared for him because they were of the same blood. Their parents had sailed to the West well over a century ago, and that only added to his desire to care for her. Often she tried to see him as the others did, as the handsome, flirtatious and supposedly irresistible seducer, but to her, he was simply Lurien, her brother. A brother she looked up to and adored.

“Are the archery lessons over?” she asked.

“With Elanor, you mean?” He reopened his eyes and grimaced. “While her guardian is here, yes. When he returns to the border, they will resume.”

“Why?” she asked, with a bluntness she did not usually use with him. “Lurien, are you trying to cause trouble?”

“Not in the way you mean. I was attempting to help your friend, though I admit I did it in a way that would annoy that insufferably arrogant March Warden. You cannot blame me for wishing to do both, all in a single and very clever stroke.”

She shook her head. “I will blame you if you hurt Elanor. I will not forgive you for that, Lurien. Elanor is my friend, perhaps the closest friend I have ever had.”

Lurien’s clear blue eyes seemed to soften. “I will not hurt your friend, my dear. Why would I? How could I? I cannot break her heart, nor would I injure a hair upon her pretty head. The most I might do is kiss her. And that, I assure you, would not hurt her in the least.”

“I think you should leave her alone. Please, Lurien.”

For a moment she thought he would agree, then something hardened in his face, as though a mask had been lowered over his beautiful countenance. “You worry too much, Doria. Love has clearly addled your brain.” With grace and dexterity, he leaped to his feet and made a small bow. “Until later, Sister.”

With a sinking heart, she watched him stroll away. It disturbed her deeply to have her loyalties pulled in different directions like this. She only wanted everyone to be kind to each other and to be as happy as she was. But Lurien was still bent on causing trouble, and what could she do about it when she did not know what he might do? At least she knew he would not hurt Elanor, nor was Orophin the genuine target of his hostility. As for Haldir, she knew he could take care of himself. It was for Lurien himself that she feared, for she did not want him to be hurt ever again.

Elanor bent over the flowers on the terrace of Haldir’s talan, touching the edges of their delicate petals with a loving and gentle finger. She could feel their pleasure in the attention she gave them, their joy in being alive, and as it always did, it invigorated her. She straightened and glanced around the pretty little patio, trying not to look at Haldir’s cot or to dwell upon the thoughts that sight evoked.

With a small sigh, she left the terrace and picked up her quiver and bow. Haldir had gone down to the archery field, and she was headed there also, but as chance would have it, she happened upon Lord Celeborn as she made her way down the spiraling stairs toward the forest floor. Although she had several times conversed with the Lady Galadriel, Elanor had not had much contact with the Lady’s regal husband during her time in Lórien, and she was a little surprised when he stopped and spoke to her.

“Good day, Elanor.” The elf lord’s eyes rested on her bow and quiver, and he smiled slightly. “You have been most diligent in your practice these past weeks. I hear that you are much improved.”

“I trust so, my lord, ” she said, her smile shy, “for I could scarcely get much worse.”

He laughed, a rich, pleasing sound. “I think perhaps you are too hard on yourself. I heard you hit the target on your very first day.”

“Only once, my lord, and with Haldir’s aid.”

“He is a fine teacher, Elanor. You are fortunate indeed. And I hear that Lurien has also been assisting you.”

Elanor nodded, unsure what to say. “And Rúmil and Orophin also,” she added, not really wishing to talk about Lurien. She and Lurien had not spoken in many days, nor had he made any effort to seek her out.

Lord Celeborn nodded. “Many teachers, each with his own technique. And which has helped you the most?”

“Oh, Haldir, of course,” she said quickly, then wished she had pretended to consider the question for a few seconds before answering. Lord Celeborn’s blue eyes suddenly seemed very wise and acutely perceptive.

“Elanor,” he said in a reflective tone, “has anyone told you about the ladies’ archery competition that we hold each year? I think you might enjoy it.”

Elanor tightened her grip on her bow. “Healea told me about it, my lord. She said it is your event.”

“Yes, I am the one who first introduced it, long ago, and I organize it each year. Of course many of our ellith could compete against the males, and some do, in other contests. Still, I think it is pleasant to have an all female event for those who are not comfortable entering other competitions.”

“I think it is a fine idea,” Elanor agreed, without being too sure she actually did agree. But she was certainly not going to contradict the lord of Lórien. Feeling she ought to say something else, she added, “but I would not have a chance of winning.”

“Winning need not be your objective,” the elf lord said, rather gently. “To play a part, to make an effort, to take a chance . . . these are all good reasons, Elanor. But of course it is your decision. The list of competitors can be found inside the archery hut. There is still time to add your name. The competition is two weeks hence.”

Elanor nodded half-heartedly. “I will think about it, my lord. Thank you. It was kind of you to tell me about it.” She gave him a small bow.

He inclined his head in answer. “You are welcome, Elanor.” He walked away, taking the broad staircase leading to the central court in the mighty trees. Sentinels standing along the steps saluted him with their hands on the heart.

Elanor hurried away, her thoughts churning. Ever since Healea had mentioned the competition, she had been trying not to think about it. She had been convinced that Healea had suggested it because she wanted to see Elanor make a fool of herself. But surely that would not be Lord Celeborn’s intent. Should she consider it? She shuddered at the thought. Yet how could she refuse Lord Celeborn’s invitation?

She reached the archery field and saw Haldir, but he was occupied talking to Beredain and Rúmil. Ignoring them, she took her usual place and commenced her target practice. One by one her arrows flew through the air and landed either to the left of the right of the target. However, the last one struck the edge, and she dared to sneak a peek in Haldir’s direction to see if he had noticed. He appeared not to be watching, but she doubted he had missed it. She had found that he missed very little. Rúmil, on the other hand, made it clear that he had seen, for he offered her a smile that was obviously meant to convey sympathy. Elanor returned his smile and tried to conceal her chagrin and vexation with herself. Would it have been too much to ask that she could have landed a few arrows in the right spot when there was someone there to see?

Rúmil watched Elanor walk down and collect her arrows, then return to start all over again just like he himself had done incalculable times during his life. He did not exactly feel sorry for her because she was in fact doing well considering what a novice she was. On the other hand, he had seen novices who did much better than Elanor. Fortunately, he knew it could not matter to her all that much.

He wandered over to greet her, thinking it might help him to get his mind off . . . someone else. “You’re doing well, Ellie,” he said heartily. “Got one that time, eh? Very good.”

She gave him a slightly reproachful look. “I am not doing well, Rúmil. I have had days when I did well, but this does not appear to be one of them.”

“Do we still make you nervous?” he inquired, his nod including Beredain and Haldir. He’d thought she would have gotten over that by now.

“Not nervous, exactly, but I suppose I must get distracted when people watch.” Her lips quirked. “Or when I think they might be watching.”

He tried to decide what to say that might be helpful. “Well, that must mean you need people to watch you so you can grow accustomed to it. I could have hundreds of elves watching me, and it would not affect my aim.” He shied away from the thought that flitted through his mind, that there was indeed one person who could distract him ever so slightly. He would not think of her.

Elanor had been about to take aim, but she lowered her bow and looked at him instead. “Rúmil, may I ask you something?”

“Of course,” he said genially. “Anything at all.”

“Will you give me your honest opinion of something? It has been suggested to me that I might like to enter the ladies’ archery contest. Do you think I should?”

Rúmil suppressed his first horrified reaction, and pretended to give the question serious consideration. “Well, Ellie . . . hmmm. Interesting question. Do I think you should enter . . . Do you think you should enter, that is the real question. Uh . . . who suggested this to you?”

“No, Rúmil, I do not think I should enter. Nor do you, obviously. It was Lord Celeborn who suggested it.”

“Oh,” he said feebly. “Well. In that case . . .”

“Never mind. I can see your answer on your face.”

“Now, Ellie,” he protested, then stopped himself. Had he not promised to be honest? “Very well, I will tell you the truth. No, I do not think you should enter the competition. Perhaps next year . . .” Then he remembered she might not be here next year. “But you will not be here then . . .” He stopped, recalling that she and Haldir appeared to have some sort of relationship that might change that circumstance, and added, “But if you are here, then it is faintly possible that . . .” He stopped, regretting his use of the word ‘faintly’. “It is quite possible,” he corrected, “that you will be ready by then. And then again, perhaps not.”

Elanor looked at him, her blue eyes concealing her thoughts, and when she spoke it was with dignity. “Thank you, Rúmil. I value your honesty.”

“You should talk to Haldir about it,” he advised, somewhat uneasily. Perhaps he should not have discouraged her. He did not want to undermine what confidence she had gained.

“I may do that,” she said briefly. “Now do go away, Rúmil, so I can practice.”

Rúmil sketched a small bow and walked away.

By the time Haldir appeared at her side, Elanor was thoroughly and heartily disgusted with herself. She had not landed a single arrow on the target since Rúmil had left. To test herself, she had imagined that she stood in competition, and the mere pretence of it affected her so greatly that all her shots had gone wild. And she was using one of the closest targets!

In truth, she was a terrible archer, the worst in all of Lórien. She could not even call herself an archer. She was only a gardener playing with bow and arrows. She was . . .

“Elanor, what are you doing?” Haldir’s calm voice cut through her thoughts. “You have not held your bow correctly once while I have watched you. And look at the way you are standing. You are not focused on what you are doing.”

Elanor looked down at her feet, then at her hands. Everything about her stance was wrong, and that only proved that Rúmil was right. After today’s display, there was absolutely no way she was going to mention the archery competition to Haldir. Rúmil had made it clear that the idea was ludicrous, and she certainly did not want to see Haldir look at her with the same pity she had seen in Rúmil’s face. Lord Celeborn had only been being kind.

She glanced up at Haldir and was grateful to see no condemnation or judgment in his expression. “I think I am just a little tired,” she said. “I did not sleep well last night.”

“Not more nightmares, I hope.” Haldir’s eyes raked over her face with a concern so genuine, so palpable, that all else faded. Thoughts of archery flew from her head. Even time seemed to stop at such moments as this, as though their very souls connected in the way that their bodies yearned to do.

“No more nightmares,” she said, then cast him a slightly mischievous look. “Of late my dreams have been more agreeable.”

“Oh?” The echo of her own playfulness entered his eyes, and his face relaxed ever so slightly in a way that told her without words that he enjoyed this type of exchange. “Does my ward wish to tell me of these dreams?”

She smiled. “Not at this time, my guardian. Perhaps there may come a time when it would be fitting, but not here upon the archery field.”

His hand moved, as though he meant to touch her, but then he did not. “Another time perhaps. I think I might like to hear more about these dreams.” Then he glanced at the target she had failed to hit, adding, “You had best stop for today. I must go attend to a few matters, but I will dine with you later. That will give you time to bathe and rest, if you like.”

Elanor nodded, and accompanied him as far as the archery hut, where spare bows and quivers were stored for those who might wish for their use. While Haldir veered off in one direction, she could not resist the urge to dodge inside the hut and look around. Spying the parchment tacked into the wall, she walked over and ran her eye over the list of the ellith who had signed it. There were more than fifteen names so far, and most were not elves she knew at all well. Several she had never spoken to or even met, but one name stood out among the others. Healea. Well, Healea has said she meant to enter, so this was no surprise. And Healea’s friends, Arnis and Túre, were also among those listed. Elanor grimaced.

With an inward shrug, she left the hut and made her way through the trees in the direction of the nearest of the city’s beautiful spiraling stairways that led into the heights of the great mellyrn trees. Just as she set a foot on the first step, she caught sight of Orophin strolling in her direction.

“Ellie!” he called out, beaming at her as though the mere sight of her brought him immense delight. He had been smiling like this for days, which she secretly found highly amusing.

“Good afternoon, Orophin,” she replied, wondering if he was going to start thanking her yet again for the encouragement she had given to Doria.

“I wanted to thank you,” he said, the moment he came up to her. “Doria keeps telling me what a good friend you have been to her. I just can’t thank you enough. If it had not been for you . . .”

“Now, Orophin,” she said, just as she had the last time, “I am sure you and Doria would have found each other without my doing anything at all.”

“But you helped,” he insisted, looking almost absurdly blissful. “We are so happy, and I just want to thank you.”

Elanor could no longer suppress her giggles, and Orophin joined in the laughter.

“Just tell me what I can do for you in return,” he insisted. “Surely there must be something. Some small service I can perform, some errand I can carry out. There must be something I can do for you, if not now, then at some point in the future.”

“I can think of nothing,” she replied, “except perhaps . . .”

“What?” he said enthusiastically. “Tell me . . . please, Ellie. Anything!”

Elanor hesitated, feeling ridiculous. She had already obtained Rúmil’s advice; why should she seek Orophin’s too? Yet she felt oddly compelled to ask.

“I would like your honest opinion, Orophin. Lord Celeborn suggested that I take part in the ladies’ archery competition, and I was wondering whether you thought that was a good idea . . .” She could already see Orophin’s smile growing stiff.

“Ah!” he said, much too brightly. “I almost forgot about that. You say Lord Celeborn suggested it?”

“Yes,” she said, an edge to her voice.

“Well, then, if he suggested it, it must be a good idea.” He paused. “But, Ellie, honestly . . . perhaps not this year. Another year, perhaps.”

Elanor released a sigh. “Very well, Orophin. I will not enter. I only wanted to give it fair consideration since Lord Celeborn made a point to suggest it.”

Orophin studied her closely. “Did you talk to Haldir about it? As your guardian and teacher, he is best suited to advise you on this.”

Elanor turned away. “I’m not going to mention it to him. I have spoken to you and Rúmil, and you’ve both told me the same thing. I am a terrible archer. I would only humiliate myself if I tried to compete.”

“I did not say that!” Orophin sounded shocked. “I would not dream of saying such a cruel thing, Ellie. It’s only that . . . I want to spare you from . . .” He halted, and when she glanced at him, she saw that he looked most distressed. How selfish of her to spoil his good mood with such a foolish matter!

She forced a smile. “Pay no heed to me, Orophin. I am just a little tired and grouchy. You ought to go on now and meet Doria, for I am sure that is where you are headed.”

Orophin’s face lit up. “To be sure, that is exactly where I am going. She is cooking me a little dinner tonight to celebrate.”

“Celebrate?” Elanor repeated, arching a brow. “What are you celebrating?”

“Finding each other,” he said happily. “We celebrate every night.”

Elanor watched Orophin take the stairs two at a time, conscious of a sudden and unexpected stab of envy. She wished she were more like Doria, easily pleased, with all her problems solved so simply. Then she scolded herself for the thought, for Doria did not deserve it. Doria was good and kind and sweet, and if she had found the love of her life in Orophin, then Elanor was glad for her. Except right now she did not feel very happy about anything. She felt frustrated.

Even though she knew her archery skills were abysmal, she had truly thought she was improving. In recent days, she had felt as though Haldir was proud of her, and so were Rúmil and Orophin. After she had spoken to Lord Celeborn, she realized now that she had actually cherished a brief, tempting image of herself entering the competition and doing reasonably well. Perhaps not winning, but coming in second or third. It had been a very pleasant little daydream while it lasted.

Lurien had been the only one who had made her believe she could be the best. And she had a sudden and powerful urge to seek him out and ask him his opinion. As strange as it seemed, she did trust him, for she had never been able to find a reason not to do so. Since they had made their bargain, he had been well-behaved, and she had hardly spoken to him since Haldir had returned. Had she hurt Lurien’s feelings somehow? Did he think she was avoiding him? Did he think she did not appreciate his efforts to help?

Elanor wandered in the direction of Lurien’s talan, not even sure that he would be there. She had no idea when he was on duty, or what he might be doing in his free time, but as fate would have it, he was not only at home but he opened the door only a moment after her knock. He also looked astonished to see her standing on his threshold. As always, he looked incredible—tall, elegant, and striking in his flawless beauty. He had removed his braids, and his hair draped around his shoulders like a glorious mantle of spun gold that seemed to beckon the eye.

“Elanor!” he said. “What are you doing here?”

“Am I interrupting anything?” she asked anxiously.

“Not at all. Would you care to come inside?”

Elanor hesitated, then gave a small nod. “For a moment. I only wanted to ask you something. And to ascertain that you are not angry with me.”

Lurien smiled, a curve of his lips that brought back the memory of that mesmerizing power he could exert. He was too handsome, too perfect, too charming. Fortunately, she could resist him. “Of course I am not angry with you. Why should I be?”

“I thought you might think I was avoiding you.”

He gave a soft laugh. “On the contrary, it is I who have been avoiding you, out of deference to your guardian’s wishes. You see? I do have proper feelings. But my motivations are not to please him but rather to spare you from embarrassment.”

“I would not be embarrassed if you spoke to me,” she replied in confusion.

He only smiled. “You are so kind. What can I do for you?”

“I only wanted to ask your opinion.” Elanor went on to repeat what she had said to Haldir’s brothers, watching Lurien’s face for signs of pity or distress.

“I think you should do it,” he said at once. “You would do well.”

“You have not seen me lately,” she countered. “I was terrible today.”

“A fluke,” he said, with a dismissive gesture.

“Lurien, please be honest.”

For a moment he seemed to hesitate. “Envision yourself winning,” he said, “and it can happen. You want to be a credit to Haldir, do you not? Others judge him on his ability to teach and inspire as well as defend. Think how it will appear if you do well. Think how proud he will be of you if you win. That’s what you want, is it not? His good opinion? And you want others to think well of him? If his own ward does not perform well, that reveals some lack on his part.”

Elanor gazed at Lurien, feeling conflicted and confused. Of course she wanted Haldir to be proud of her, but until this moment she had not thought beyond that. Did her mediocre performance upon the archery field reflect poorly on Haldir? Of course it did. Everything she did reflected upon Haldir. Failure to enter the competition after Lord Celeborn has specifically suggested it would demonstrate a lack of courage and commitment, not only on her part, but on her guardian’s. Lord Celeborn himself might lose respect for Haldir, believing him to be unable to tend to his own ward. Even Lady Galadriel might judge Haldir and find him wanting.

“Thank you,” she said unsteadily. “I will think upon what you have said.”

Elanor left Lurien’s talan with her heart very heavy. She had much pondering to do, and little time to do it. For Haldir had told her that he was going back to the border two days hence, and she did not even know if she should talk to him about all of this. In a sense, she knew she should, and yet she knew him well enough to know that he would tell her it was nonsense. But it was not nonsense. Lurien had spoken truly.

Now she had to decide what to do. And she had to do it on her own.

Galadriel gracefully descended the rough-cut stone steps to her bower, her white dress trailing silently behind her, her bare feet whispering over the moss as she approached her mirror, drawn to it by a foreboding sense of unease. With a steady hand, she brushed back the tendrils of silver-blond hair that fell over her shoulder, and reached for her urn.

Lost in thought, she smoothed her hands over the familiar vessel, feeling its lustrous surface as she had done thousands of times in her life while she mulled over all the various events that took place in Lórien. As she often did, she planned to use her power to see what lay ahead, always praying that what she saw would be of value.

Her ancient eyes slowly refocused on her surroundings, and she walked over and dipped the urn into the nearby stream, filling it nearly to the brim before returning to stand before the mirror. Slowly and carefully, she poured the water into the silver basin, then spoke softly and breathed her magic upon the water. Calmly, she waited for the water to settle, and then leaned over it, her eyes closed for a brief moment in which she prayed for guidance and wisdom.

When she opened her eyes, it was Celeborn’s face which gradually materialized, drawn from the shadows beneath the water, his familiar, calm, beloved countenance shuttered and unrevealing. Galadriel gripped the sides of the bowl, gazing closely as she sought to see more. All she could distinguish was her husband turning to look at something, then reaching out suddenly, his face wreathed with fear and concern.

But concern for whom?

Galadriel shuddered, silently willing the mirror to explain, but a hazy swirling sent Celeborn’s image back into the shadows until he was gone from her view. The water calmed, and she frowned slightly at the new image. Revealed to her now was the city of the elves, Caras Galadhon, lit with a thousand lights reflecting upon themselves in the watery confluence, the steps filled with elves serenely climbing or descending with no indication of danger. Yet something was wrong; she could feel it.

The city faded, and there was nothing but her own reflection looking back at her. A message, a riddle with little information, and she had no clue what it meant.

Galadriel drew back with a sigh, conscious of rising concern. The mirror had tried to tell her something, that much was certain. But what? Was it important, or was it only a small thing? She knew not, and could not ask again this night. She stepped back, her gaze slowly pulling away from the mirror. With unhurried steps, she turned and left the bower, her questions unanswered . . . for now.


[To be continued . . .] Feedback Appreciated!