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

Chapter 17. The Ways Of Love.


Chapter 17. The Ways Of Love.


Lindir sighed for what must have been the hundredth time since their party crossed the border, leaving the Woodland realm. He knew he had no reason to be as downcast as he felt. When he had come to Mirkwood, the most he could hope for was a chance to see his beloved prince and maybe to tell him about his feelings. He could not imagine even in his wildest dream that Aranaur would like him enough to take him to his bed and keep him there for three wonderful nights.

“Do not be sad, my pretty one,” the prince told him in the morning of their parting. “We shall meet again. I shall come to Imladris to visit my brother… and you. If you have not forgotten me by then.”

“Forgotten you??” Lindir looked shocked by the mere idea and Aranaur laughed.

“Then you have nothing to worry about – you shall see me again.”

Lindir did not doubt Aranaur’s words but he still felt sad: he knew the prince would not have a chance to keep his promise very soon. The minstrel sighed for the hundred and first time and looked around. However, the landscape he saw did little to lighten his mood. The forest on both sides of the road was indeed murky, sinister and unnaturally quiet. Lindir had heard many a tale about the horrible creatures lurking in its depths. He tried to push aside the uneasy feeling that the forest was watching them and biding its time.

Even the weather had taken a turn for the worse. There was a thunderstorm brewing, and it meant that they were going to get drenched to the skin very soon, as they were unlikely to find any suitable shelter nearby. Lindir’s horse was getting nervous, sensing the coming storm, and the minstrel clutched harder at the reins. He was not a very good rider and never felt safe on horseback.

It was rapidly getting dark. Gusts of wind shook the trees and made their branches sway as if they were trying to grab at the travelers. And then the storm was upon them, with flashes of lightning and ear-splitting peels of thunder. But no rain fell yet.

“We must keep going!” Legolas shouted to Glorfindel over the din on the tempest. “We cannot stop here, it is not safe!”

Glorfindel nodded in agreement, half-turned in his saddle, making a signal for the others to press on, and led the way forward. The elves were struggling through the violent storm, expecting every moment a heavy shower to come down upon them from the pitch-black clouds above their heads. Their frightened horses neighed and tossed their heads, champing their bits and trying to break into gallop in a blind effort to get away from the storm.

Lindir abandoned his attempts to control his mount and simply prayed to the Valar that he would not fall off. Suddenly a deafening thunderclap sounded right above their heads. Lindir gave a start, jerking on the reins unwittingly. His horse, who was already on the edge of panic, took the bit between its teeth and bolted, pelting away from the road. Lindir gasped and dropped the reins, instinctively clutching at the horse’s mane. The frightened animal was carrying him headlong into the dark wood, forcing its way through the undergrowth and jumping over fallen trees and thick bushes. Lindir did not manage to stay on horseback for very long though. An overhanging branch caught him across the chest and sent him off the saddle. Stunned, he remained lying on the ground while his terrified mount raced away without him.

Gildor was riding with the twins in the rear guard of the company. When he saw Lindir’s horse bolt into the forest, he cursed and followed at once. Elladan gave a sharp whistle to alert Glorfindel and then he and Elrohir came after Gildor. Luckily, owing to his white colour, Gildor’s stallion was easy to track in the dark.

When they found the minstrel, Lindir was already able to scramble up to his feet though his head was still reeling. Elrohir took him by the hand and hauled him up to mount behind himself. Gildor was scanning the wood around them intently, his senses warning him of some danger very close by.

“Let us get out of here,” he commanded.

Suddenly Silivren gave an alarmed neigh. In the blink of an eye Gildor had his bow in his hands.

“Retreat to the road!” he shouted, shooting an arrow at the moving blotch of darkness.

The next moment they were under a swift attack. About dozen spiders emerged from the trees, trying to encircle them. However a volley of arrows from the elves made them fall back.

“Go, go!” Gildor yelled.

They turned their horses to dash for the road when a spider the size of a large dog plummeted from a nearby tree at Gildor, sending him off his saddle. Even as he fell, Gildor managed to plunge a dagger into the spider’s belly. He hit the ground with his shoulder, rolled and leapt to his feet only to face yet another, much larger and much more formidable enemy. He jumped back barely in time to avoid the frightful pincers and as he drew his sword he took a quick view of the monster in front of him. This spider was as large as a horse. Its bent legs had great knobbed joints and there was a claw at each leg’s end. Its swollen body was covered with a chitinous spiky shell and there were large horn-like projections on its head. Gildor wondered briefly at the new sort of devilry breeding in the depths of Mirkwood but the next instant the hideous creature pressed hard on him and he was engaged in a fierce fight for life or death.

Elladan’s arrow struck the spider in the side, but though it did pierce the shell, it did not go deep, the spider’s hard case being as solid as armour. Elladan shot again and again, trying to drive his arrows into the interstices between the plates of the monster’s shell. In the meantime Elrohir was keeping off the smaller spiders. Lindir, pale as death, held tight to Elrohir’s belt, trying not to fall off the horse and at the same time not to impede Elrohir’s movements.

Finally, as the giant spider reared up, Elladan managed to send two arrows in quick succession into its belly and at the same instant Gildor ducked under its pincers and, sinking to one knee, plunged his sword to the hilt into the monster’s abdomen. He had to roll swiftly out of its reach as the spider thrashed in agony and beat the air with its forelegs. But its wounds were mortal and soon everything was over. Gildor came up to it to jerk his sword out.

“Come on, let’s go!” Elladan called urgently: no one knew how many more spiders could descend upon them any moment.

Gildor’s stallion was trained for war so he had not run away. Gildor vaulted into the saddle and they made a hasty retreat.

The Imladris elves were relieved to see all four of their companions emerge back from the forest, even if Lindir and Elrohir were riding double.

“We have lost Lindir’s horse,” Elladan told Glorfindel. “But it is no use looking for it. In fact, I think the faster we start moving from here, the better.”

Glorfindel urged his mount closer to Elladan’s to be able to talk without raising his voice.

“What happened?”

“Spiders,” Elladan replied tersely.

Glorfindel cursed and turned to give their company a quick scrutiny.

“I think Lindir can ride with Maegened,” he said then. “They are both slender so the horse will be able to carry them without much difficulty.”

Gildor listened to the exchange silently. The heat and excitement of the fight were leaving him gradually and he started feeling cold. He shuddered under the harsh blast of the wind and then there came pain. It spiked through his body, leaving him gasping and reeling. He looked down at himself and saw a long gash in the side of his leather jerkin. He wondered vaguely how he had failed to notice it. He pressed his hand to the cut and when he looked at his palm, it was red with blood. Gildor sighed. The world around him was swaying mercilessly as if he were on board of a ship amid a stormy sea. He tried to grasp the horn of his saddle to steady himself but his numb fingers refused to obey. His vision started getting blurred and darkening.

‘So this is it then,’ he thought. ‘Finally… ’

Then everything went black and he slid off his horse, sinking to the ground.

At first no one noticed Gildor fall as rain chose this very moment to come down upon them in a heavy pour. But then Glorfindel heard Gildor’s stallion give a desperate neigh and turned to find his saddle empty. His first thought was that Gildor had been taken down with an arrow – so sudden was his collapse. Glorfindel scanned swiftly the forest around them for any sign of enemies but there were none.

When he looked back at his friend, he found Elladan and Lindir holding a spread cloak over him, shielding him from the rain, and Elrohir checking him for wounds.

“A nasty gash in his side and a sting wound in his neck,” Elrohir said, looking up.

“How bad is that?” Elladan asked anxiously.

“I do not know, El,” Elrohir admitted uneasily. “The wounds are not mortal in themselves, but there is poison in his blood… ”

“We must go back,” Legolas interjected. “Our healers know how to fight the spider poison. But we must not tarry. Time is crucial in such cases.”

As soon as Elrohir dressed Gildor’s wounds, the Imladris party turned their horses, heading back for Thranduil’s realm and riding as fast as they could. But still they were moving too slowly for Elladan’s liking. Gildor was still and cold in his arms, and Elladan remembered only too well a similar ride Elrohir and he had had fourteen years ago. They failed to bring Gildor alive to Imladris then and the thought that they could be late once again scared Elladan to no end.

The Mirkwood border guards were surprised to see the Imladris elves come back and aggrieved to learn the reason for their return. They offered an antidote for the spider poison they had in their first aid kit and for a moment everyone’s hope soared high. But the medicine did not seem to have any noticeable effect on the unconscious Vanya. The twins then left their weary companions to finish their way at a more sparing pace while they galloped to Thranduil’s palace in a hurry to get Gildor to the help he so badly needed. The captain of the patrol gave them fresh horses and sent a guard ahead of them to alert the king.

When they arrived, they found Thranduil waiting for them, surrounded by his best healers. The king looked composed and calm but his eyes were dark with worry. He took over Gildor from Elladan and strode swiftly to the surgery, where everything was prepared for examination and giving any required aid. As soon as Thranduil put his friend’s still form down onto the surgical table, his Chief Healer Maengam ushered him out, kindly but resolutely. The twins in their sodden dirty clothes were not even let through the door.

“Please, wait here, My Lords,” Maengam said. “You cannot be of any help to us in there.”

“Wait!” Elrohir stopped the healer before he could disappear into the surgery. “You should know: that was not an ordinary spider that gave Gildor those wounds.”

Elrohir briefly described the creature Gildor had had to fight. Thranduil listened grimly to the account of a new evil at his doorstep. When Elrohir finished, the Chief Healer nodded.

“Thank you. That could be useful. I assure you we shall do the utmost in our power to save Lord Gildor’s life.”

He entered the surgery and closed the door behind him. That door remained shut for many long torturous hours…

Elladan rubbed his face with his hands and then jumped to his feet to pace the waiting room again. He could not stay in one place. The longer they had to wait, the more anxious everyone became and the weaker their hope grew.

“He was smiling,” Elladan said, talking to no one in particular. “He was unconscious and bleeding but he was smiling… I should have known… He has been seeking death so persistently that he was sure to find it.”

“This is all my fault,” Lindir whispered, sick with remorse.

“Hush, this is not your fault.” Aranaur pressed Lindir’s tear-stained face into his shoulder. “Nobody blames you, except yourself.”

“This is the third time I see him hovering on the edge between life and death in a mere fifteen years,” Glorfindel sighed. “This is a bit too often for my liking.”

The Elda had lost the air of his usual cheerfulness; his eyes were ancient and weary. Legolas squeezed his hand reassuringly.

“Gildor will be all right,” he said confidently but threw a glance at his father in the hard-to-overcome childish belief that his Ada could put just *anything* right.

Thranduil lowered his lashes hiding the expression of helplessness: it was not in his power to save his friend. He was not the one who could challenge Mandos for Gildor’s spirit…

At this moment the door to the surgery finally opened and Maengam came into the waiting room, looking drained and not too happy. Their hearts sinking, everyone rose to their feet. Thranduil stepped forward.

“How is he, Maengam?”

The healer sighed. “Lord Gildor is alive. His wounds are not mortal and it seems we have managed to find an antidote for this new sort of venom.”

“But?” Elladan asked with trepidation when the Sinda fell silent. “There is a ‘but’, isn’t there?”

Maengam nodded. “But his state is still precarious. We have done everything in our power to help him. We can do no more. In order to survive, he has to fight for his life but... ”

“…he does not want to fight,” Elrohir finished quietly.

“Do you want to say there is no hope?” Glorfindel asked incredulously.

The healer shrugged wearily. “Under such circumstances I would not risk making any prognosis.”

“There is always hope,” Thranduil said firmly, demonstrating more confidence than he really felt. “I shall have Gildor moved to his suite,” he informed Maengam. “I do not want him to wake up in a ward. He will hate that. But I would like a healer to be in constant attendance by his bedside, starting tomorrow morning. I shall stay with him through the rest of this night.”

When Gildor was placed comfortably into the vast bed and only Thranduil and the twins remained in the room, the king allowed himself a moment of weakness. He sank down into an armchair and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, wishing he would wake up to find that it all was only a bad dream.

“Gildor, please,” he heard Elladan’s voice, “you cannot do this. You must not do this!”

Thranduil opened his eyes. The elder twin was kneeling at Gildor’s bedside, holding the Vanya’s lifeless hand in his.

“Do you think we can reach him, Ro?” Elladan asked his brother, who was sitting, perched on the edge of the mattress.

Elrohir shook his head.

“But we did it before!” Elladan argued desperately.

“That time Ada was with us,” Elrohir replied softly, stroking his twin’s shoulder in consolation.

Thranduil bit on his lip, thinking deeply.

“You must farspeak with Haldir,” he said then, “and ask him to come here.”

The princes turned their heads simultaneously to stare at him in silence.

“Do you not realize that Gildor still loves him?” the king went on urgently. “If there is one person who can reach Gildor and bring him back, it is Haldir.”

There was a long pause. The twins’ faces were carefully expressionless but the very lack of emotion suggested there was deep speculation going on behind their narrowed eyes.

“No,” Elladan said finally. Thranduil gave an exclamation of pure frustration but the elder prince ignored it. “We are not that good at farspeaking,” he explained evenly. “We cannot talk to anyone we choose.”

He rose to his feet and walked to the window to stare into darkness. Thranduil looked at Elrohir inquiringly but the young elf gave a helpless shrug.

“This is true,” he confirmed.

Then he got up as well and went to join his brother by the window. They stood, talking quietly between themselves. Thranduil leaned back and rested his head against the high back of his armchair. The pressure that had been building behind his eyes reached its pinnacle. He knew he had to find a way out and fast or it would be too late. He heard the twins come to stand in front of him and looked up.

“We shall farspeak with our grandmother,” Elladan informed him gravely. “We can do that much. Let *her* decide what to tell or not to tell the Marchwarden.”

Ever since they had left Mirkwood, Rúmil had been watching his younger brother with an uneasy feeling that kept growing. He felt that something was very wrong. He had lost sight of Haldir during the ball in Thranduil’s Grand Hall and when they met again in the chamber they shared, Haldir looked quite normal, if a little distant. Rúmil wrote off Haldir’s lack of sociability as the result of emotional strain and weariness. However, all the way back to Lórien Haldir remained silent and withdrawn as if he were somewhere very far in his thoughts. Rúmil did not like his brother’s quiet in the least. It was not the quiet of peace and contentment, Rúmil could say that much. It almost felt like Haldir were dead on the inside of his still breathing and still pretty-looking shell. Rúmil tried to approach him with questions but did not get more than Haldir’s usual retort of “I am fine”.

On their way home Haldir stood all the night watches and even when he was not on guard, he did not sleep. He ate little and only when Rúmil made him. By the time they reached Lórien Haldir looked jaded, even frail. Orophin, who met them at the border, was shocked by his youngest brother’s appearance. He dragged Rúmil aside and demanded to explain to him what in the name of Manwë had happened to their sibling, but Rúmil could not tell him much.

The elves of the delegation continued their way to Caras Galadhon but Haldir stayed with his patrol, saying he had no urgent business in the city and could as well return in a few days’ time when their shift was over. Rúmil stayed too, not wishing to make their alarmingly depressed younger brother entirely Orophin’s responsibility.

Haldir was sitting on a flet with his back against the trunk of the tree, sharpening his sword with a grindstone. The monotonous rhythmic motions helped him to clear his mind of all thoughts and memories. Rúmil, who was tending to his bow nearby, had tried to engage him in a conversation but Haldir ignored his attempts and finally was left alone. As long as Haldir managed to keep his mind blissfully blank, he felt almost no pain. He was grateful for this little respite. Suddenly he felt someone touch his thoughts gently and then heard Galadriel’s voice.

‘Haldir, you might want to go back to Mirkwood.’

Before he could ask anything, a quick sequence of images was flashed before his mind’s eye.

Gildor fighting a monstrous spider; Gildor lying on the ground with his eyes closed, the rivulets of rain turning crimson as they ran down his jerkin; Thranduil putting Gildor down onto something that looked like a surgical table; an elf in the robe of a healer shaking his head with a grim expression on his face; and finally, Gildor lying in a large bed, pale and frighteningly motionless…

Rúmil was fixing a new string to his bow when he heard his brother gasp. He looked up to find Haldir frozen on the spot with his eyes wide and glazed over, blood swiftly draining from his face.

“Haldir?” Rúmil called, worried. “What is wrong?”

His brother did not seem to hear him, remaining still and silent, and Rúmil grew genuinely alarmed.

“Haldir!” he called again, reaching out to shake him by the shoulder.

Haldir’s sword slipped out of his numb fingers, clattering down to the floor, and he came to himself. He looked around with wild eyes, grabbed his weapon and rushed to the ladder. Rúmil barely managed to catch him by the arm.

“Where are you going? What happened?”

“Mirkwood. Gildor is dying!”

He shook off Rúmil’s hand and was down the ladder in the blink of an eye.

“How do you know?” Rúmil called, bending over the edge of the platform.

“From the Lady!”

Rúmil picked up his bow and slid down the rope, hurrying after his brother. He almost bumped into Orophin at the base of the tree.

“What is going on?” Orophin asked as he steadied Rúmil. “What is all this rush about?”

Rúmil explained as briefly as he could. “We cannot let him go alone, can we? So I am going with him,” he finished.

Orophin nodded tersely. “You will need a fresh horse. Take mine.”

Soon Rúmil found to his distress that though he was riding a fresh mount and Haldir was not, he was gradually falling behind. It was the first time he saw Haldir’s stallion being put on a real trial and now he understood why his brother treasured his horse so much. Gloss seemed to have grown wings. He was carrying Haldir forward swiftly and tirelessly.

Rúmil tried to persuade his sibling to keep together but Haldir refused to slow down the pace, anxious to get to Gildor as soon as he possibly could. So after a time Rúmil was left irrevocably alone and could do nothing but pray to the Valar that his crazy brother would reach his destination safely; and so would he. Only when he made it to the border of Mirkwood and learned from the guards that Haldir had entered the Woodland realm ahead of him, being still in one piece, he was able to breathe a sigh of relief. He decided he could make a stop and give a well-deserved rest to his – or to be more exact – to Orophin’s horse.

It was the middle of the night when Haldir reached his destination. Like the Mirkwood border guards, the sentinels at the city gates did not try to stop him. He crossed the sleeping city to Thranduil’s palace and rushed up the main staircase, leaving his horse in the yard. The intelligent animal trotted to the stables, remembering the way to the place where it had been lodged during their previous stay.

Haldir hurried along the corridor, some unerring feeling leading him through the maze of passages and halls. Finally he reached the door he needed. He did not stop to knock, simply opened it and walked swiftly through the empty front chamber. Then he threw another door open – and saw Gildor. The Vanya looked exactly like in Haldir’s vision: deathly pale and unnervingly still. Haldir crossed the bedroom in three long strides and fell to his knees by Gildor’s bedside, frantically trying to determine if the Vanya was still breathing.

“He is alive,” he heard a soft voice and looked up to find an elf in the robe of a healer by his side.

Haldir nodded gratefully, turned back to Gildor and took his hand. It was cold and weak. Haldir had to swallow around the lump in his throat: he remembered this hand warm and strong and so wickedly skillful…

“Gildor, wherever you are now, please, hear me,” he pleaded hoarsely. “You have always been a fighter. You cannot give up now.”

The healer slipped out of the room quietly and closed the door behind himself. Haldir did not notice him leave. He stroked Gildor’s hair that used to be so lustrous and soft but was dull and tangled now.

“Please, meleth, do not go.” Haldir’s voice cracked. “I know I hurt you badly and unjustly… I cannot tell you how sorry I am. I never meant to cause you any pain. Please, believe me. I love you! I have always loved you. If only I knew… Please, do not die! I am not worth dying for. Please! You cannot die. Not you… ” Tears started running down Haldir’s face. “Gildor, please, do not leave me! I cannot live without you. I love you so much… ”

Haldir pressed his forehead to Gildor’s lifeless hand, sobs shaking his body.

“I must be really dying if they have you come here and speak to me of love.”

Haldir’ head shot up; his eyes wide, his eyelashes wet and spiky. When he saw Gildor staring at him, he felt almost giddy with relief, though the Vanya’s tone was cold and his look was unfriendly.

“You have heard me,” Haldir whispered gratefully. “Thank the Valar… ”

Gildor’s lips tightened. “What are you doing here, Haldir? Don’t you have to be at some other place, doing… whatever you have been doing all these years?”

Haldir shook his head slowly. “My place is here, by your side.”

Gildor’s eyes became hard and cold. “I have more nurses than I like, as it is. Go away and leave me alone.”

“No,” Haldir said resolutely. “I will not leave you again of my own free will. If you want me gone, you will have to drive me away by force. Till you are able to do it, I will not go. So there is no use trying to get rid of me. Even if you decide to depart for the Halls of Waiting, I shall follow you there.”

“Are you attempting blackmail?” Gildor’s expression was one of arrogant disbelief.

“No,” Haldir replied quietly. “I am trying to tell you that I love you too much to lose you again.”

Gildor’s eyes flashed with fierce anger. “Enough! I shall have no more of those lies.”

Haldir winced inwardly but refused to waver. “You do not believe me. And you have every right not to. But I am not lying. I love you!”

Gildor suddenly felt exhausted and hopeless. “We have been there before, Haldir,” he sighed. “So, for pity’s sake, do not start it anew. I have lost blood, I am in pain and I have neither strength nor wish to go through it all again.”

Gildor’s tired indifference rattled Haldir more than his rage.

“You do not believe my words but there is a way I can prove to you I am not lying!” he said passionately. “You can read my mind if you wish, can you not? You can look into my heart and see if love is there, is it not so? Do it then! You said you did not use your gift of mind reading without an invitation but now I am asking, no, begging you to do it. You cannot refuse me in *this* request.”

Gildor looked at Haldir with narrowed eyes for a long moment, contemplating his offer. He wished so much to believe him … Surely if Haldir was willing to open his mind to him, he must be sincere, and this meant… Wild hope made his heart pound in his chest. He pushed himself up and moved backwards to lean against the headboard.

“Very well,” he said in a suddenly hoarse voice. “I shall do as you ask.”

Haldir let out the breath he had been holding and smiled. “Thank you.”

Their eyes locked and Haldir tried to relax and open his mind to Gildor. The Vanya’s presence felt different from Galadriel’s. His touch was not as gentle as hers but it felt so right and so welcome. Haldir did not try to conceal anything from Gildor; neither what he had felt and done nor why, even the things he found shameful or regrettable. He did not know for how long it all went on. Finally Gildor closed his eyes and sagged back against the headboard.

“Damn you, Haldir,” he murmured, his voice thrumming with hardly suppressed anger. “You never trusted me! Damn you… ”

“I am sorry,” Haldir mumbled guiltily.

Gildor’s eyes flew open, fury and hurt mingling in them. “As you should be!”

A heavy punch in the jaw caught Haldir completely by surprise and toppled him over onto his rump. The sharp movement left Gildor gasping and clutching at his side. Haldir instinctively made to get to him but then changed his mind and stayed prudently out of Gildor’s reach.

“What was that for?” he asked sulkily, rubbing the sore spot on his jaw.

Gildor gave him a dark look. “For Mergil. And for all the rest.”

He tilted his head back against the headboard and closed his eyes. Haldir’s heart sank. He cautiously crept back closer to the bed.

“What now?” he asked hesitantly.

“Hm?” Gildor looked at him from under his long lashes. “Will you bind yourself to me?”

Haldir’s aching jaw dropped.

“No!” he exclaimed when he finally regained his speech.

Gildor raised an eyebrow. “No?”

“I mean – no, it should be the other way round,” Haldir hurried to explain. “It is *I* who should ask *you*!”

Gildor chuckled. “Oh well. I do not mind. Especially as you are the one in the right position for such a question.”

Haldir frowned in confusion but then realized he was sitting on one knee and laughed. “Yes, I suppose I am.” Then he grew serious again and took Gildor’s hand in his. “Gildor Inglorion,” he began, looking deep into Gildor’s eyes and seeing them darken, “will you do me an honour and bind yourself to me?”

“Oh yes, Silfael, I most certainly will,” Gildor replied and Haldir could not decide if it sounded more like a promise or a threat.

“I have no silver ring to give you at the moment,” Haldir said apologetically.

Gildor chuckled again. “It does not matter: with a ring or not, you will *have* to marry me now. There is no way out left for you.”

“I wish no way out,” Haldir murmured, kissing Gildor’s hand. But it deftly slipped out of his fingers, brushed his cheek and slid under his long tresses to curl around his neck. The next moment he was pulled up forcefully and his mouth was taken in a hungry, plundering kiss. Haldir had to brace himself on his hands, placed on either side of Gildor’s form, not to press onto Gildor’s wound. His lover did not give him a chance to be anything but passive in the exchange and Haldir yielded to him, moaning at the familiar taste of the kiss and feeling his whole body sing with the sensation he had longed for and failed to find in anyone else’s arms. Lost in each other, they did not hear the door open.

“You goblin, get off him!” there came an angry command.

Gildor threw aside the curtain of Haldir’s silvery hair. “Peace, Elladan! He is not hurting me.”

Haldir slid down to sit on the floor with one leg folded under himself. The twins looked at Gildor, taking in the colour on his cheeks and the light in his eyes. It seemed Thranduil had been right.

“So,” Elladan drawled, folding his arms, “I take it you have changed your mind and are not dying after all.”

“No, I am not,” Gildor confirmed laughingly.

Elladan’s heart made a summersault at the sound of his laughter but he preserved his cool outward appearance.

“Good.” He turned his eyes to Haldir. “As you have chosen to come and claim him after all, he is entirely your responsibility now.”

‘Do not muck up things yet again.’ Elladan did not voice it but Haldir understood the implication.

“Yes, he is mine now,” Haldir confirmed softly, giving Gildor a meaningful glance.

“This is really a relief,” Elrohir said conversationally. “He was becoming quite a burden of late.”

“What?!” Gildor exclaimed in mock affront. “You said you *loved* taking care of me!”

Elrohir grinned. “Yes, but… it has become sort of… er… too much of a good thing.”

“Well, thank you very much, Ro!”

Elladan felt his brother squeeze his hand. He understood what Elrohir wanted to say. His own heart swelled with joy at the sight of the Gildor they loved so much: derisive, playful, alive. He wrapped his arm around his twin’s shoulders.

“As we have finally got him off our hands, tôren, I think we can go and enjoy a sound, undisturbed night’s sleep in our bed, which is all our own again.” [my brother]

“Great idea,” Elrohir agreed merrily. “Good night to you both,” he winked at Gildor and Haldir.

“Try not to overtax yourselves,” Elladan added as they turned to leave.

“Elladan!” Haldir called after him.

The elder twin looked over his shoulder. “Yes?”

“Goblin yourself.”

“Hm?” Elladan raised an eyebrow in a perfect imitation of his father. “We shall discuss this issue later, Galadhel, when you are not hiding behind an invalid’s back.”

“Hiding!” “An invalid!” Haldir and Gildor exclaimed together.

Elladan darted out of the room swiftly and the pillow Gildor hurled at him hit the closed door instead. In the front room the twins looked at each other silently for several moments.

“Is it all really *over*?” Elrohir whispered. “Is everything all right now?”

Elladan grinned and nodded and the next instant they were in each other’s arms, laughing and kissing.

Suddenly Elrohir remembered something and pulled away from his brother. “Wait a moment, El.”


Haldir went to pick up the pillow Gildor had thrown at Elladan.

“You really should try to avoid sharp movements,” he chided when he saw Gildor holding his wounded side. “You only keep hurting yourself.”

Before Gildor could reply, the bedroom door opened again. However, it was not Elladan who appeared on the threshold this time but his twin.


“I thought you would want this back,” Elrohir said, tossing something onto the bed, and closed the door once again.

Gildor shook his head in amusement and looked at the thing lying in his lap.

“What is it?” Haldir asked curiously.

Gildor thought he already knew. He untied the string and turned the leather pouch upside down. Two curved silver plates slipped out of it and fell onto the bedcover. Gildor raised his eyes to Haldir’s face.

“It can be fixed so that I can wear it again,” he said softly.

“I thought it was gone for good,” Haldir murmured.

“So did I.”

Haldir was surprised. “You did not know they saved it for you?”

Gildor shook his head. Haldir gave him a lopsided smile.

“I think I can start liking the twins.”

“They are not that bad, really.”

“If you say so… ” Haldir leaned forward to give Gildor a gentle kiss. “You know,” he said then,” Elladan was actually right about not overtaxing your strength. You look like you badly need your healing sleep.”

Gildor hated to admit it but it was true. He felt drained and his side was throbbing with pain. He sighed and nodded.

“Good,” Haldir smiled. “Then lie down and try to fall asleep. I shall join you after I have had a bath.”

“I also could use a bath,” Gildor grumbled, tugging at his dirty hair.

“You will have it in the morning. And now… ” Haldir kissed him again. “Sleep well, melethen.” [my love]

Haldir thought he would not be able to find rest, lying in bed by his regained lover, but he was proven wrong. As the strain, under which he had lived the last week, left him, he felt worn out and weak. He made a quick job of bathing and as soon as his head touched a pillow, he sank into deep reverie.


Gildor was slowly surfacing out of his dreams, which for once had been peaceful and filled with light and laughter. He must have slept for a long time for he felt well rested and strong. He remained for a while in the boundary realm between sleep and wakefulness, relishing the feeling of well-being. But the pull of the real world on him was gradually becoming stronger and soon he could already say that he was lying in a bed. Ah, this meant the twins and he were not in the wilds at the moment. However, there was only one body in bed by his side, and *this* meant the place at which they were staying was not quite safe. But the next instant Gildor was suddenly fully awake as a clear recollection of what had happened flashed through his mind.

“Haldir!” he gasped aloud.

“I am here, meleth.” [love]

Gildor turned over and met Haldir’s warm gaze.

“I thought it was only a dream,” he whispered.

“I am not a dream,” Haldir assured him with a smile.

Gildor smiled back. “Hm. I can feel that.”

Haldir leaned forward. “Are you going to do anything about it?” he murmured seductively against Gildor’s lips.

The Vanya pulled back. “Perhaps,” he answered vaguely. “Later.”

“Perhaps?” Haldir exclaimed, feigning affront. “What do you mean: perhaps? And how much later?”

“First, I am going to have a bath,” Gildor started enumerating. “After that – a breakfast. And then I shall have *you*.”

For a moment Haldir was silent, absorbing the message in Gildor’s words and coming to terms with it. Then he gave his lover a jokingly sulky look.

“I am not too high in your list of priorities, am I?”

Gildor laughed. “Come on, Silfael! I do need a bath; otherwise you simply will not want to touch me.”

“That is not true!” Haldir argued.

But Gildor ignored his remark. “And I need a breakfast just as badly, because I need strength for what I have in mind for you.”

“Very well,” Haldir complied reluctantly. “But I think you should ask for lunch, not breakfast. It is well past midday now.”

“Oh. Have you been awake for long?”

“For some time.”

“Why did you not get up then?”

“I did not want you to wake up alone, in an empty bed.”

“That was very thoughtful of you.” Gildor stroked Haldir’s cheek.

Haldir leaned into the touch. “As you insist on having a meal first,” he said, “I suggest we have it together and then, while you are having your bath, I shall go and see Thranduil.”

“About what?”

“I entered his kingdom without permission, under the cover of the night. The least I can do now is to go and say hello.”

Gildor chuckled. “Well, if you think you must, do. But I am sure he knows everything about your coming here.”

“Perhaps I also should ask a healer to come and examine you?” Haldir suggested.

“What for?” Gildor looked genuinely surprised. “I am fine. The wound was not serious from the very beginning. And there is no poison in my blood any longer. There is nothing to be concerned about.”

Haldir did not look convinced but Gildor considered the issue closed.

“Have you come to Mirkwood alone?” he asked.

“No. Rúmil has come with me.”

“Hm.” Gildor stroked Haldir’s jaw with the tips of his fingers. “Then I think I’d better take care of this bruise before your brother sees you.”

“I have a bruise?”

Gildor smiled instead of replying and Haldir felt a light tingle spread over his skin from Gildor’s fingers.

“No!” Haldir caught Gildor’s wrist and pulled his hand away from his face. “You should go sparingly on yourself, meleth. Do not exhaust your strength on trifles.”

Gildor looked pointedly at Haldir’s hand curled around his wrist and Haldir instantly let go.

“You seem to doubt my strength,” Gildor sighed sadly.

The next moment Haldir found himself on his back with Gildor holding his jaw in a tight grip and kissing him breathless. In spite of the serious distraction the kiss created, Haldir could feel the warmth emanating from Gildor’s fingertips, and the characteristic prickling it caused.

When Gildor let him go at last, Haldir looked up at his willful lover.

“Must you always have your own way?” he sighed.

Gildor suddenly burst into laughter. “Yes, when my way is the right one.”

Finally they got out of bed. Haldir was surprised and Gildor was delighted to find a table served for them in the front chamber. After the meal Gildor drew himself a bath and Haldir left him reluctantly and went to find out if his brother had arrived and to talk to the king.

Gildor did have to see a healer in the end. Thranduil’s Chief Healer Maengam paid him a visit while Haldir was away. But he only confirmed what Gildor already knew: there was no poison left in his blood and his wound was rapidly healing. They parted, very much pleased with the results of the examination.

Though Maengam assured Gildor that there was no need for him to keep to bed any longer, it was exactly what he was planning to do, at any rate till the next morning. Anticipation made his blood run faster in his veins as he waited for his lover to come back.

When Haldir returned, he found Gildor sitting on a broad windowsill, watching twilights gradually envelop the park outside. Gildor was dressed in a silk bathrobe. The slippery material slid off one of his shoulders, baring the golden skin of his upper arm and chest. His shining hair streamed down in lush waves and Haldir instantly wished to touch it and to wind his fingers in the silky strands.

“You have been away for long.”

The quiet comment made Haldir shift his gaze to Gildor’s face. “Yes. I had to talk to Rúmil. He had a lot of questions.”

“Is everything all right now?”

“Yes.”

Their conversation was casual and calm but it seemed to Haldir that the air between them was thrumming with pent-up energy. Never had he seen Gildor look more like a beautiful and dangerous predator than he did now, in spite of his relaxed pose. Haldir tried to shake off the impression and smiled.

“I have something for you.”

He came up to Gildor and showed him a small wooden box.

“Hm… And what could that be?”

Haldir raised the carved lid and Gildor saw two silver rings. “Where did you get that?” he asked in surprise.

“Thranduil gave them to me.”

“I see… ” Gildor murmured.

Haldir smiled again, this time a little self-consciously. “He said that as I had not been kicked out of your room the first couple of moments after my arrival, he knew we would need them.”

Gildor laughed. “His logic has always been unerring.”

He rose to his feet, took one of the rings out of the box and slipped it on Haldir’s finger.

“This is for everyone to see that you are entirely mine now.”

“As you are mine,” Haldir answered, putting a ring on Gildor’s finger in turn. “Now our pledge is complete.”

“Not quite, Silfael.”

Gildor walked up to the bed and sat down on the mattress.

“Get undressed,” he ordered softly.

Haldir raised an eyebrow. “Get undressed? Just like that?”

“Haldir,” Gildor all but purred, but that purring was akin to a growl of warning, “you have fourteen years of abstinence to compensate me for. So I suggest you do not waste time; or breath either.”

Before Haldir even realized it, his fingers started unfastening his tunic. Gildor watched every movement of his hands, his intent gaze sending shivers down Haldir’s spine: the young Galadhel knew he is going to be eaten alive and would like every moment of it.

Finally Haldir stood in front of Gildor completely naked. He did not know what kind of spell had been cast on him but he felt snared by Gildor’s stare. His heart was suddenly racing in his chest but he remained motionless, awaiting his lover’s next command. Gildor neither moved nor spoke. He was devouring Haldir’s body with his eyes and the deep hunger in them hit Haldir like a hot wave, which set his blood aflame and made it head down in such a violent rush, that he gasped aloud and bit hard on his lip, trying frantically to regain control over his body and not to climax there and then.

Gildor allowed him to take several deep breaths and then called: “Come here.”

When Haldir obeyed and came closer, Gildor rose to his feet, undid Haldir’s braids and ran his fingers through his silvery tresses. Haldir gave a shuddering sigh as the silk of Gildor’s robe brushed over the head of his leaking erection. Gildor stroked his lover’s cheek, a faint smile touching his lips.

“Do not worry, melethronen, I shall take care of that,” he promised. “Get onto the bed.” [my lover]

Gildor’s voice was soft, as was his touch, but there was something about his manner that compelled immediate obedience; some aura of ancient power, kind but awesome, which enveloped him like a mantle. Haldir wondered why he had not felt it before. Had Gildor hidden it so well or had *he* been so dumb that he failed to see a panther under the guise of a kitten in his lap?

As Haldir lay down on the bed, he suddenly grew self-conscious and apprehensive like an elfling, who was about to be laid for the first time. But then Gildor shrugged off his bathrobe and Haldir forgot about everything else but the sight of his lover’s predatory splendour, bared to his eyes. He had seen Gildor like that many times in his dreams over their years apart and now he held his breath, afraid that this dreamlike image might vanish once again, leaving him needy and aching.

Gildor gritted his teeth against the immense pressure building in his body but he did not wish to rush it. He wanted his young lover to submit to him completely and willingly and to *enjoy* his submission. He had waited for this for a long time; he hoped he could be patient for a little longer. He climbed the bed and straddled the tops of Haldir’s thighs. For long moments he looked down silently at the magnificent body, spread out under him.


Haldir felt his taut muscles ripple and quiver under Gildor’s steady gaze. He clamped his teeth tight on his lower lip and breathed in shallow, urgent pants. Finally he could take it no longer.

“Touch me!” be begged hoarsely.

Gildor smiled and ran his fingers lightly over Haldir’s stomach. The feathery touch did nothing to assuage Haldir’s longing. He growled, caught Gildor’s hand and pressed it flat to his own chest. With a quick twist Gildor freed his wrist and the next moment Haldir’s both hands were pinned to the mattress on his sides.

“No touching,” Gildor warned him, his voice deceptively soft like the brush of dark velvet over bare skin. “Not till I say you may.”

He leaned forward, bracketing Haldir’s head with his hands.

“This is *my* game now,” he murmured against his lips. “We play by my rules or we do not play at all.”

Haldir smiled weakly at this reminder of their first close encounter back in Lórien. Gildor traced Haldir’s jaw with his lips.

“Though, I promise you will enjoy yourself in the end,” he whispered into his ear. “And I promise that I will finish it properly this time.” He bit slightly on the sensitive tip to accentuate the promise.

Haldir gasped and arched under him, wadding the sheet in his fists as a surge of rough need swept through his body. Gildor’s lips traveled unhurriedly back along Haldir’s jaw line and then down his throat to the hollow between his collarbones.

Haldir felt Gildor’s hard stomach rub like satin against his own, the soft, smooth feel of his skin a remembered and longed-for pleasure. Haldir moaned aloud as their arousals slid sleekly against each other. Though the contact was momentary and too light for his liking, even that little was enough to propel him up to the edge of climax. He sucked in a gulp of air in anticipation as his body tensed, preparing itself for blissful release, but Gildor suddenly straightened up and caught the base of his erection in a merciless grip. Haldir cried out in frustrated lust.

“Why?!” he exclaimed, vexed.

“Too soon,” Gildor answered in a strained voice, trying to remain as still as possible in order to bridle his own raging desire.

“Do you want to hear me begging first?” Haldir asked, a tinge of desperation creeping into his tone. “If this is what you want, I am willing to start right now.”

Gildor chuckled darkly. “No, Silfael, to have you begging is not my aim, though if you feel like doing it, you are most welcome. What *I* want,” he went on, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, “is to give you pleasure so overwhelming and so intense that it would purge all your memories of the others with whom you shared your body, if not heart.”

“I have no memories of others. There has always been only you. Please?” Haldir tried to plead.

But Gildor shook his head. “Too soon, Silfael, and too easy.”

Haldir gave a huff of resentment and turned away. Gildor’s lips curled up at his lover’s little show of displeasure but he still remained motionless, waiting for Haldir’s pulse to slow down, and in the meantime admired his profile, his incredible cheekbones and the supple curve of his ear.

“Haldir,” he called softly.

The closed eyelids flickered, lashes dancing on pale skin, but the young elf neither opened his eyes, nor spoke. Gildor slid down to lay fully atop of him and framed Haldir’s face with his palms, gently making him turn his head. Then he kissed him, lightly and tenderly, thumbs rubbing across the line of his jaw.

“You can touch me now,” he murmured against Haldir’s lips.

Haldir let out a shivering breath. His hands let go of the sheet to sweep hungrily over the curves of Gildor’s firmly muscled shoulders, then down his arms to the elbows and back up to his shoulders. Then he laced his fingers around Gildor’s neck, pulling his head down insistently. Gildor complied and claimed Haldir’s lips in an open-mouthed kiss with a power that reflected his burning desire. Their kiss tasted like fire and Haldir shivered with a sudden rush of pleasure. His hands came alive again and left Gildor’s neck to roam his strong back and to massage the full swell of his backside.

They were locked in a desperate kiss, their tongues sliding against each other, tangling and warring, until they nearly blacked out. Then Gildor released Haldir’s lips to attack his throat, to trail a fiery line of licks and light bites across his chest, to swirl his tongue around Haldir’s nipples, which instantly grew puckered and hard. Haldir lay back under the onslaught, dizzy with want. Gildor’s skillful ministrations created lust filled sensations that reached his blood and made it boil.

Gildor slowly moved lower and lower along Haldir’s body, enjoying the way the powerful muscles rippled and bunched under his lips and murmuring words of admiration and encouragement as he explored every contour of the Galadhel’s well defined stomach and the sensuous line of his hip bones. Haldir’s gasps escalated into moans, which took on an edge of desperation as Gildor continued to ignore the pulsing heat between his tense thighs.

Abruptly Gildor sat up, depriving Haldir of any contact and leaving him panting in an agony of need. Haldir looked up and his breath hitched in his throat at the beautiful sight Gildor presented in his impassioned state: wild, fervid lights flashed in his dark emerald eyes; his lips were bright and wet; his hair fell in shining cascades, draping across his chest in golden tendrils, and his turgid arousal throbbed visibly between his legs.

Gildor flashed Haldir a predatory smile and suddenly flipped him over in one dominating swoop. Haldir gave a startled gasp but offered no resistance when Gildor resumed his titillating ministrations. Gildor swept Haldir’s hair away from his shoulders, baring his neck. The young Galadhel buried his head in his folded arms and gave in to a new surge of desire as Gildor kissed his neck, nipped at his shoulder blades and traced his spine with his hot velvet tongue. Haldir felt his body sing like a lute in his lover’s wickedly skillful hands. He had to bite on a pillow to stifle a needful moan when Gildor’s tongue delved into the crevice between his buttocks. However he was unable to keep quiet for long. Impassioned cries started spilling from his lips along with delirious pleasure talk as Gildor’s tongue teased his tight opening and slid wetly in and out of his body.

Gildor felt his self-control rapidly waning, Haldir’s moans and pleas fuel to the flame of his own desire. Blood started singing in his ears and the hungry demands of his body became inexorable and impossible to ignore. Unable and unwilling to wait any longer, Gildor sat up and snatched the jar of salve from the bedside table. Haldir felt Gildor’s hands on his hips pulling him up on his fours.

“Wait! Let me turn over,” he begged.

“I do not wish to hurt you,” Gildor replied breathlessly. “The discomfort will be less in this position.”

“I want to see you… Please…” Haldir looked at his lover over his shoulder, his eyes wide and pleading.

Gildor hesitated. Suddenly an idea came to his mind. “You *shall* see me,” he promised with a mischievous grin, leaving the bed.

Haldir sat back on his heels and watched in wonder as Gildor took the large mirror off the wall and placed it on the bed in front of Haldir, propping it against the headboard. Then he climbed the bed again, kneeled behind his lover, wrapped his arms around his waist and smiled, looking into the mirror over his shoulder.

“Can you see me now?” he asked, kissing the juncture between Haldir’s shoulder and neck.

“Yes,” Haldir breathed as Gildor’s lips found the frantic pulse on his throat. “Oh yes… ”

Gildor pushed the young Galadhel forward with the gentle pressure of his hand between his shoulder blades. He wanted Haldir so badly that his body shook with the force of it. However he prepared his lover thoroughly and as unhurriedly as he could possibly manage, all the while preserving their eye contact via the mirror and murmuring soft love words and endearments.

Haldir felt neither doubt nor apprehension any longer. Gildor loved him and wanted him for his own – that was all that mattered. When Gildor’s clever fingers touched some special spot inside his channel, a bolt of pure pleasure shot through his body, washing away the remnants of his tension in a wave of burning desire. The next moment Gildor took a firm grip of Haldir’s hips and pushed gently against his entrance, forcing his flesh apart and inching his way into the surging heat of the tight, smooth channel till he took full possession of his lover’s body. Haldir moaned, clenching his teeth against the sheer sensation of being stretched, filled, claimed and heard a quick deep groan in response from above.

Gildor stretched himself out along Haldir’s back and pressed his forehead to his lover’s shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut. The unbelievably hot and tight pressure of Haldir’s passage was so intense that it was almost painful. It was enough simply to be there, not moving, just feeling the pulsing warmth encasing him.

“So tight… ” he managed to bring out.

“So full… ” Haldir breathed in answer.

Gildor raised his head and met Haldir’s dilated eyes in the mirror. He smiled, as his hands stroked Haldir’s tense shoulders and back, and murmured endearments, mixing words in Sindarin and Quenya and not even noticing it. His voice, deep and mellow like fine old vine, never failed to have its enchanting effect on Haldir. When Gildor felt his lover relax under his touch, he started rocking his hips, making shallow thrusts and moving with excruciating slowness, all the time holding Haldir’s gaze in the mirror. Haldir moaned in response to the minutest movement of Gildor’s hard length inside him. It felt so good, Valar, so very good… However, his moans soon started getting a desperate note to them: the tip of Gildor’s sex was only brushing his pleasure node slightly when he wanted it pounded. His whole body was screaming for release and fulfillment but Gildor was keeping him balancing on the brink of climax, just an inch away from the edge and a freefall into oblivious bliss. Cursing Gildor’s stamina, he tried to push back and set the pace harder and faster but his relentless lover held him firmly in place. Begging did not take him anywhere either. He could endure it no longer. He reached with his hand for his own neglected arousal but Gildor caught his wrist and brought his hand back to the mattress.

“No touching!” he growled.

“You bastard!” Haldir felt the tears of frustration prickle at his eyes. “I hate you!”

Gildor gave a breathless laugh. “But you still want to marry me?” he panted.

“Yes,” Haldir hissed. “Oh yes!” he cried out as Gildor dragged himself backwards until he was nearly free of Haldir’s body and then surged forward in a powerful commanding stroke, hitting Haldir’s pleasure spot with deadly precision.

“More?”

“Yes!”

Gildor flung off all restraint then, shoving hard into Haldir’s welcoming heat. He was gripping Haldir’s hip with one hand so tightly it was going to leave a mark, while his other hand raked across the sweat soaked muscles of his lover’s back. Gildor’s curls fell in damp tangled tendrils, sticking to his shoulders and chest in places. Beads of sweat trickled down his face, his eyes were closed in concentration and his teeth were clenched in need.

The force of Gildor’s thrusts brought Haldir down and pressed him flat to the mattress. Haldir’s painfully hard member got caught between his stomach and the crumpled sheet, each friction adding to the blinding, overwhelming sensations he was experiencing. The entire bed was vibrating with the power of their love-making and the mirror started sliding down till it finally fell to lie upturned on the coverlet, reflecting the canopy above their heads.

Resting his weight on his arms placed on each side of Haldir’s trembling form, Gildor shoved fast and hard into the surging heat of his lover’s body as if he were going to split him in two.

Haldir knew he was screaming aloud, could feel pain in his protesting throat, but he was utterly beyond caring. Blood was roaring in his ears; he was close, so close… All his world was now centered on Gildor impossibly deep inside him. One more powerful thrust – and lightning cracked through Haldir’s body and stars burst before his eyes. Pleasure, the like of which he had never experienced before, fountained through him, leaving him limp and gasping, his entire body convulsing with orgasmic shocks.

Gildor felt the tight grip of Haldir’s channel pulse about him, mercilessly squeezing his engorged length. Haldir’s name fell from his lips as he buried himself to the root for the last time and spilled himself inside his lover. Then his trembling arms gave way and he fell atop Haldir, exhausted and utterly spent.

They remained joined for a long moment as they lay, drifting in and out of reality. Then Gildor rolled off Haldir and pulled his lover against his chest, murmuring words of praise and endearments.

Haldir was basking in the sweet relaxing warmth, enveloping his body.

“I have never thought… ” he murmured.

“…that giving yourself to the one you love can be so utterly satisfying and pleasurable?”

“You said you never eavesdrop on people’s thoughts!” Haldir exclaimed in mock indignation, squirming a little and struggling to turn his face towards Gildor. Gildor laughed and dipped his head to plant a quick kiss on Haldir’s lips.

“Your thoughts are too loud. I cannot help hearing them.”

Haldir chuckled and put his head back onto Gildor’s shoulder.

“Then you should know what I am thinking right now.”

“Yes,” Gildor drawled, his hand stroking lazily up and down Haldir’s arm. “I love you too.”

“You have said it,” Haldir whispered. “Finally… ”

“Yes, I have said it.” Gildor smiled into the tangled mass of Haldir’s hair.

“I still can hardly believe that this all is true,” Haldir admitted quietly. “That I am really so lucky and you love me… ”

“Hm? Then I shall have to prove it again, don’t you think?” Gildor pulled Haldir closer to himself. “Are you sore?” he whispered sultrily into his ear.

Haldir shivered in pleasure and closed his eyes.