ELANOR'S REVENGE

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Chapter Seventeen

Elanor lay in bed, unable to sleep, her mind humming with thoughts and concerns that owed their creation to Lurien and Lord Celeborn. Haldir would be leaving for the border in the morning, and she had still not spoken to him about the archery competition. Nor did she know why. She drew her knees up and stared at the arched ceiling, trying to decide what to do. Yesterday’s conversation with Lurien had agitated her, made her feel pressured in a way she had not felt before. She kept wondering what Haldir would say, whether he would deny that her performance and actions reflected on him. Should she enter? And what would happen if she did?

Finally, she could bear it no longer. Pushing back the covers, she rose and straightened her nightgown, making sure the little bow at the top was securely tied. If she was going to talk to Haldir, she did not want to distract him with her attire, or to have him think she was trying to!

Taking a deep breath, she padded quietly onto the terrace and stopped short; the softest of moans was coming from the direction of Haldir’s cot. Concerned, she moved forward, but saw at once that he was deep in reverie and not in any kind of pain. No doubt he only dreamed.

She lowered herself beside him, studying him and wondering if she should wake him, amazed he had not already sensed her and awoken. His blanket was pushed down to his waist, and her gaze moved over his bare chest and solid arms with admiration and tenderness. How she wished she could just touch him whenever she wished . . .

He moaned again . . . more like a deep sigh actually, and his breathing grew even more erratic. Again she frowned, unable to determine if the dream was pleasant or not, unsure if she should wake him . . . but it was clear he was not comfortable.

“Haldir,” she whispered, very softly.

His eyes flew open. “Elanor!” It was very nearly a gasp, uneven in its cadence.

She reached out to touch his hand, and was caught off-guard when he seized her arm and with an unyielding pressure drew her close. “Elanor,” he repeated, still breathing rather heavily. Under the heavy, dark lashes, his gaze locked with hers.

She looked back at him wordlessly, her heart thudding hard.

His fingers slid down her arm to wrap around heist,ist, firmly though not painfully, but just enough to feel his vast strength. His eyes bored into hers, and for the first time she saw their burning glitter.

“I love your name,” he said huskily. “Elanor.” He pronounced it that odd way, with the accent on the second syllable, just as he had that night in Rivendell. “Sensual and passionate . . . like the wind in the trees . . . or a tempestuous sea on a stormy night. Or a dark red wine, rich and potent and . . . desirable. Elanor of Rivendell.” He lingered on the syllables as though he made love to them.

Elanor swallowed, bemused by his behavior. “What were you dreaming?” she managed to ask.

“I dreamt of you.” His gaze caressed her face, his mouth curving into a slight smile. “Yesterday you spoke of your own dreams. Tell me about them.”

“Are you sure you want to hear?” she returned, feeling suddenly, ridiculously shy. To dream such things was one thing, or even to think them, but to speak of them aloud was something else. “Perhaps they might make you uncomfortable.”

His face softened, so that he now looked less demanding than a moment before, then one corner of his mouth curled in a smile that was both playful and wry. “I could hardly become more uncomfortable than I already am, Elanor.” He paused. “Tell me. I would take the memory with me when I leave.”

“And what of your own dream? Will you share it?”

He shifted slightly, raising himself up on one elbow, his hand still holding her close. She saw his eyes move to her lips then make a fleeting perusal downward before returning to her face. “If that is your wish. Shall I speak first?”

“Yes,” she said softly. “You first.”

He seemed amused by her reticence. “I would have woken sooner,” he murmured. “I felt your presence, but the dream was so alluring that I lingered.” He drew in a ragged breath. “We were at the pond, the same one I took you to the other day. You were splashing me and laughing . . . and you had on this incredible glowing white gown, but I could see right through it, and I somehow knew you did not know that. And you were turning this way and that, and I could see every bit of you, and I had not the strength to stop looking because you were so very beautiful.”

He released her wrist and laid his palm against her face, rubbing his thumb back and forth against her cheekbone as he added, with Haldir-like frankness, “I could see your breasts quite clearly, the pert little bounce they made when you moved, and then the gown was no longer there at all. And you asked me to make love to you, and then everything changed and we were lying in a field, in a mass of golden elanor, only the blooms were so huge they hid us from the world. And the next thing I knew . . . ” He paused, eyeing her as though trying to assess whether he should continue . . . “the next thing I knew,” he repeated, “I was buried deep inside you and I could hear your cries to continue.” He paused. “That was my dream, Elanor. Now I would hear yours.”

Elanor looked down, finding it hard to breathe. “In the one I had last night we were back in Rivendell,” she said in a low voice. “It is a little difficult to explain. Rather embarrassing, really.”

“Ah, then, it must be very interesting indeed. Do not be embarrassed, Elanor. You know I care for you. Tell me.” Haldir drew her hand to his lips and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her palm, a kiss so sensual it made her shudder.

She met his eyes with newfound daring, and what she saw there emboldened her to say, “We were in my home, in my room, and I knew my parents were away, just as they truly are. And you were tied to the bed, but you were not angry with me . . . you were teasing me and you seemed to like it.” She saw his brows lift, and felt her cheeks grow hot. “It was more like a game,” she added. “And I was . . . um . . . kissing you.”

“Where?” He wore a faint smile on his lips, as though he immensely enjoyed this type of exchange.

“On the lips.” She swallowed. “At first. And then . . . other places. Lower.”

She saw him close his eyes for an instant. “Elanor, you had better go back to bed before . . .”

She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “You gave me pleasure one night. Will you not allow me to do that for you?” She heard the breath hiss between his teeth, and felt an instant’s regret, for she did not mean to make things more difficult for him.

“No,” he said, a bit raggedly, “but perhaps a kiss.”

Whether she moved toward him, or whether his arm drew her close she did not know, but all at once they were toge, th, their lips clinging in a tender yet passionate exploration that held both fire and caring. Breathing in his scent, Elanor pressed against him without reluctance, welcoming the searing heat of his mouth as it opened beneath hers, savoring the warmth and hardness of his body and the strength of his arm where it wrapped around her waist. Was this a single kiss or many kisses strung together without pause? Whatever the case, she meant to make it one he would remember and carry with him when he stood out there on the border so far away from her . . .

When at last he released her, he whispered, “I had another dream, a very nice one. Sometime I will tell you about it.”

“Tell me now,” she said.

He smoothed a lock of hair from her face. “Nay, I will save it. Perhaps you will have others also. I see no harm in sharing them since we . . . care for each other. But let us savor each, one at a time. And now,” he said gently, “you must go back to bed. You are tempting me nearly past the limit of my endurance. Please do as I say.”

There was a time when Elanor would have argued, but that time had passed. With a nod, she took his hand and lifted it to her lips, kissing his palm just as he had done with her. “Sleep well, my guardian,” she murmured, and rose to her feet.

Not until she was back in the big bed, alone, did she realize that she had forgotten to mention the archery competition. Ah well. It was the last thing she wanted to think of at this moment. She would think about it tomorrow after Haldir was gone.

#

Rúmil sat on a branch outside his talan and gazed through an opening in the trees to the place where he knew _she_ sometimes walked late at night when she did not sleep. He knew she must be restless at times, just as he was, but he did not know why. Once he had gone and spoken to her on a night such as this one, but she had not welcomed his presence and had told him to go away, as though he were a pesky child. It had hurt his feelings just a little, he recalled . . but for some odd reason it had also increased his interest in her.

It made no sense at all.

He had known her for hundreds of years, spoken to her more times than anyone could count. They had always been friends, he believed. And she liked him, he knew she did. So why could he not attract her as he attracted so many others? It almost seemed as though she were the only unbound maiden in Lórien he could not have if he so wished. By the Valar, it was so frustrating!

For many years he hadn’t really paid all that much attention to her. She had just been another one of the elleths, one of those with whom he flirted. He could recall that she used to flirt with him . . . when had she stopped? He could not exactly remember.

She wasn’t even particularly beautiful. She was pretty, of course, just as all elleths were pretty. Some were prettier than others. Some, like Healea, transcended beauty in a way that was ineffable. And yet he didn’t much like Healea. Beauty certainly wasn’t everything,thouthought with a frown.

He sighed and stretched out on the wide branch, wishing he knew what to do. Was there a way to arouse her interest? He briefly considered asking Elanor to act as his emissary in the matter, but dismissed the idea almost at once. Elanor was not as subtle as she thought, and he was not going to risk anyone finding out about this just yet. He did not really want to be mocked by his fellow wardens when this rejection meant so much to him.

What did hallyally want? That was the question. For so long, all he had wanted was his freedom—the freedom to be a warden of Lothlórien, to fight, to drink, to carouse, to make love, and to laugh and joke and tease. He did not wish to walk among the mortals as Haldir sometimes did. He wished to stay here, in Lórien, where he felt at home, to defend it with his strength and his life and his honor. Eventually he knew he would sail west, but not for a long time. That was all he knew for certain.

A movement in the distance caught his eye, and he leaned forward, his hand pushing aside a small branch that partially obscured his view. Ah, there she was. He knew better than to do what he’d done last time, the time she had told him to go away, which was to leap down from a high branch and startle her. Nor had slipping an arm around her waist and nuzzling his mouth into the curve of her neck helped the situation. She had actually seemed annoyed with him.

As he had done so many times before, he tried to analyze exactly what it was that drew him to her so profoundly. He knew that he liked the efficiency in her movements, the way she moved her head and her hands, the way she focused on whatever she did with all her attention. And he appreciated her dry sense of humor, not to mention her elegant figure. But it was more than this.

One incident stood out in his mind, though it had been twenty years since it happened. It had been just after one of his friends had been slain in battle. He had been trying to hide his grief and not doing it very well. The other maidens had tiptoed around, seeking not to disturb his apparent desire for solitude. He had gone into Galadriel’s garden and sat there for hours just staring at the flowers, wondering why they lived while his friend was dead. And then, far into the evening, _she_ had come and sat with him, not asking permission, not saying a single word, not making a sound. She had just taken hold of his hand and held it for the longest time, until the tears had finally rolled down his cheeks and he could cry at last. He had never even looked at her, never acknowledged her presence, but he had held hand and and it had mattered. They had never spoken of it either, he now realized. He had never even thanked her.

No wonder she did not favor him.

He looked down at her now, watching the way she sat with her head bent, as though she prayed or meditated upon important matters. That was not his way either. He was not like her at all. She had told him once, a few years ago, that she preferred him to be serious, but that was not something he was inclined to do. He could not be what she wanted him to be . . . but he supposed he would woo her anyway.

Haldir was right. He had better get started and devise some sort of strategy to make her see him in a different light. He wished he had some idea what to do. Perhaps he should ask her to pose for Gwyllion so that he might have a portrait of her. What would she say to that? He would have to think about it.

Meanwhile, for tonight, he would go back to bed. Alone.

#

“Look for me to return in three to four weeks as before,” Haldir said in the morning, his tone brisk and calm. He stood before her clad in his grey warden attire, his long, heavy sword strapped to his hip and his quiver and bow on his shoulder. He looked strong, dangerous, and wholly capable of dealing with any and all challenges and situations that might arise. “Farewell, Elanor.”

Elanor nodded. She wanted to tell him that she wished he would not go, but he must surely know that, and to say the words aloud would be unhelpful. She also pushed aside the whole matter of the archery competition. To speak of that now, she realized, would only spoil the moment; she wanted their leave-taking to be light and carefree so that he might have a warm and pleasing memory to carry away with him. It would be her gift to him; she would not burden him with her own worries and concerns.

Unlike the last time he left, he did not hesitate, but simply came over and took hold of her hands, gazing steadily into her eyes. His fingers tightened on hers, then he drew her closer and kissed her rather chastel the the lips.

“Dream well,” he said, with a hint of playfulness.

“Haldir,” she said demurely, “that was hardly a kiss. Can you not do better?”

His chin raised, and he stared down his noble nose at her with a visible touch of arrogance. “Elanor, you are incorrigible. Do you wish me to walk through Caras Galadhon with thoughts of you disrupting my tranquility?”

With a grin, Elanor freed her hands and slid her arms around his neck, tilting her head back to look at him. “If you mean what I think you mean, your tunic will hide it.”

She watched him try ook ook stern, but the slight twitch of his lips gave him away, and then he let out a small laugh and clamped her tightly against him. “That, my sweet ward, is not the point, nor do I consider it to be a sympathetic remark. After last night, I would think you might take some pity on me.”

“Oh, I have a great deal of pity,” she teased, “but you will not allow me to demonstrate it.”

“I am far too lenient with you, Elanor. If you were one of my wardens, I would never tolerate such impertinence.” Despite his words, she could hear the amusement in his voice and knew that he enjoyed such playfulness.

“Indeed,” she said. “What would you do?”

“I would assign you to the most lonely and dreary watch duty I could find, and make sure you did not leave it until you had learned your lesson.”

“Then I am very glad I am not one of your wardens. I would much rather be . . .” She stopped abruptly, wondering if she was going too far.

“Be what?” he challenged, a gleam in his eye.

She lowered her gaze to his lips. “Be your lover,” she finished, her heart beating fast. “That would be much, much nicer.”

He lowered his lips so that they nearly brushed hers. “You enchant me, Elanor,” he murmured, “and that is something I have said to no one else before you.” And then he kissed her as fully and deeply as she wished, clasping her so tightly against him that she soon felt the inevitable awakening of his interest where it pressed against her stomach. “There, I trust you are pleased with yourself,” he muttered, rather wryly. “The results of this kiss are now plain enough.” He pressed his forehead to hers, his breath huffing out rather unevenly.

“Perhaps it will please you to know I feel the same,” she told him softly.

“It does please me,” he admitted, “and makes it more difficult as well. But I am strong and can deal with it.” This last statement seemed intended more for his own ears than hers. “It helps to know that one day soon we will indeed be lovers.”

With these words, Haldir kissed her on the brow and left. Elanor watched him walk away, her lips still tingling and sensitive. A thrill of excitement raced through her as she reviewed the things he’d said to her, the compliment, the teasing, the promise of things to come.

Yet suddenly she was conscious of a new emotion coming forth, one that had not been present in her heart until this moment. Trepidation. What if she disappointed him? After all, she knew almost nothing about lovemaking. She did not in actual fact know what to do, even if she had offered to do it. What if the moment happened and she was nothing but a huge failure? What if she did not please him at all?

All this time she had been so bold with him, so unbelievably bold, more bold than she had ever been at any time in her life with anyone. She had not paused to analyze this, or to question why this was. She had pushed him and pushed him, and now it seemed she was going to get what she wanted—a lover. And not just any lover, but the one she wanted, the one she had yearned for night after night for weeks and months. In truth, she had wanted this for years, although in times past she had not known who he would be, nor what he would look like, nor how or when they would meet. But her heart had yearned for him for a very long time, for someone to hold and kiss and love and cherish and tease.

But now that Haldir had said the words, that they _would_ be lovers, as a statement of incontrovertible fact, everything seemed to shift. She felt unexpectedly nervous and naïve and ignorant, and terribly, terribly inexperienced. Even her dreams, as arousing as they had been, had a certain vagueness to them. Granted, Haldir realized she had no real experience, but after the way she had behaved at the pond, touching him so audaciously, he would surely expect her to know something of what she was doing. He would expect her to give him as much pleasure as he had given her, but she had no clear idea how to do that. And when he found out that she really did not know what to do, he would be patient and kind . . . and disappointed. The idea mortified her. Why had she not thought of this before?

She needed information. She needed to know what she was expected to do, what she was expected to know. And how to go about doing whatever those things were. Who should she ask? Her friends? A possibility, but then they would surely all know it was Haldir she meant to have, and thus far she had kept that secret from everyone but Doria. They would embarrass her with their teasing, and no doubt her secret would spread. Doria would keep her secret, yet Doria tended to be reticent on such matters, and Elanor had no wish to embarrass her closest and dearest friend. Who else could she ask? Who could she trust?

Only one name came to mind.

#

For the next few days, Rúmil continued to brood over his predicament. Haldir had left him behind in the city, once again with orders to watch over Elanor, and he knew not whether he was pleased or sorry. Orophin had been left behind too, although it was not clear whether this was due to Haldicompcompassion or his inability to be within half a league of Orophin’s interminable grinning. Rúmil had suggested that some time at the border might be good for Orophin, but Haldir had disagreed.

“I will need him soon enough,” Haldir had said. “He can stay with Doria for now. I have others who can go in his stead.”

“But it will be good for him to be parted from her!” Rúmil had groused. “By Mordor, he’s getting too used to constant . . . uh . . . female company.” Constant rutting, he’d been about to say, but it seemed too crass a thing to say when it included sweet Doria.

Haldir had looked at him sardonically. “Jealous?” he’d mocked.

Rúmil had been forced to acknowledge that he was, and he had not liked that because he had never been jealous of Orophin before, at least not since they had been young. He loved Orophin and wanted him to be happy, but these days each time he saw him and Doria together, gazing adoringly at each other, it only made him feel annoyed. And frustrated. And glum.

As for the object of Rúmil’s affections, she appeared not to notice any change in his mood. He had spoken to her yesterday, told her she looked pretty, which she had, and she had just laughed and walked away. It had not been the reaction he’d been seeking, and had left him feeling completely nonplussed. So it had been for years, he realized. When had she stopped responding to his flirtation? Why had she stopped? What was he doing wrong?

What really worried him was the idea that she had simply matured in a way that he had not and never would. He did not like the idea that she might view him as some sort of elfling rather than as a skilled and powerful warrior who could give her great pleasure if she would only let him. For a moment, he found himself wishing she had the opportunity to see him in battle, but rapidly pushed that idea aside. He would not wish her to witness that kind of ugliness, nor to be anywhere near such violence and brutality . . . although it might change her opinion of him . . . whatever that was, he reflected morosely.

Elleths! He shook his head and sighed. He would come up with a practical plan eventually. He was not going to give up so easily, nor did he have _any_ intention of going without sex for the rest of his immortal life! The sheer idea made him queasy.

Needing a quiet place to think, Rúmil headed for Galadriel’s garden. Oddly enough, it was the place he felt closest to the one he yearned for with body and soul. Sometimes he came here just to think about his slain friend, Ainon. He thought about how much he still missed him, and he also thought about those days he had spent in mourning when _she_ had come and held his hand. He had put that from his mind for a long time now, but for some reason it was resurfacing more and more often lately, especially when he came to this precise spot in the garden where it happened.

He closed his eyes, and suddenly knew someone was approaching. Wild hope flared within him. Could it be _her_? Could she possibly have known why he sat here? He waited without moving or looking around, his pulse beating rapidly, and then a shadow fell across him and she spoke.

“Rúmil, may I speak with you?” It was only Elanor.

Concealing his sharp disappointment, he turned to her with a quick and easy smile. “Of course, Ellie. Would you care to sit or shall we walk?”

“Oh, let us walk,” she said quickly. She sounded a bit awkward, making him look at her with curiosity. “It is such a lovely day,” she added, a bit too brightly. Something in her tone made him suspicious . . . and uneasy. He liked Elanor very much, but he also knew her tendency for landing herself in trouble. He wondered if she had done something she shouldn’t have, such as signed up for that accursed archery competition.

“Indeed,” he agreed, leaping to his feet. “Do you require assistance with some problem?”

“It’s not exactly a problem,” she assured him with her face averted. “Look, Rúmil, that bush has a new bud. Is it not beautiful?”

He watched her step closer to the rosebush, observing how she reached out to touch the plant with the same delicacy and care he might use to restore a baby bird to its nest. Rather moved, he glanced at her face, studying her profile. He could suddenly see why she might suit Haldir in a way that the other elleths did not, though he would not have been able to articulate this into any sort of logical explanation. His suspicions began to abate; perhaps she only wanted his company. After all, they had become good friends.

She cleared her throat, her eyes fixed on the other bushes as a mother might look at her children. “I have a question, Rúmil. You once told me that if I wished to know something I had only to ask you.”

“That is still true,” he replied with gallantry, and prayed she would not ask him about her archery again. She seemed to be looking slightly pinker than usual, but perhaps it was just the light.

She bent down to smell a rose, so that all he could see was the back of her head. “I hope my question will not embarrass you, but . . . I wish you to tell me a few things about . . . males.”

“Males,” he repeated, his uneasiness swiftly returning. “What about them?”

When she turned her face away again, he knew he ought to brace himself for whatever was coming next. “Rúmil, I would like you to tell me about lovemaking.”

Taken aback, Rúmil tried to hide his dismay. “Ellie, uh . . . is this not something you should ask your friends? Your female friends, I mean?”

She glanced at him, her cheeks much pinker than a moment before. “I could, but then they would want to know why I was asking. And I wish to know what it is like from a male’s perspective.”

Rúmil floundered, desperately seeking an inspired way out of this discussion. “If you want to talk to a male, I think it should be Haldir. I mean, he _is_ your guardian . . .” His voice trailed off as he tried and failed to envision what Haldir might say to such a question.

“Haldir is not here to ask,” she replied, sounding strained, “and in any case I do not wish to ask him.”

“Oh,” Rúmil said feebly. “Er . . . why not?”

“Because I do not want him to know that I am ignorant about a few things.” She turned to him, her hands clenched, her face set in what he had come to think of as her obstinate look. “Perhaps you would prefer me to ask Lurien?”

“No!” Rúmil said emphatically. “Absolutely not! Do not even think about it!” The wheels in his head began to spin wildly. Sex was one of his favorite topics; he was very good at giving demonstrations but not so good at explanations. However, for Elanor’s sake, he supposed he would have to say something. “Perhaps if you could tell me specifically what kind of information you need?” he finally said, trying to appear more composed than he felt. For the first time in his life, he had the disorienting sensation of what it might feel like to be someone’s father.

“I know the basics, of course,” she said, her voice a little clipped. “I’m sure you’re well aware of that.”

There was no accusation or coyness in her tone, just a nt snt sort of dignity that tugged at his heart and filled him with sudden remorse for what he and Orophin had done back in Rivendell. Not that she hadn’t played her part, but if they had realized exactly how innocent she was, they would never have removed Haldir’s clothes, nor perhaps even tied him to her bed in the first place. However, that would also have meant she would still be there and not here, and for some reason he did not regret that part of it at all.

“What I wish to know,” she continued with obvious discomfort, “is what is pleasurable to . . . a male. What I should do . . . or know if I wanted to . . . give pleasure to . . . someone.”

“I presume you are talking about Haldir,” Rúmil said, as gently and tactfully as he could manage.

She nodded, and glanced at him, her face now stained almost crimson. “Rúmil, I do not want to . . . disappoint him.” The last two words came out almost as a whisper. “Can you tell me anything?”

Rúmil drew a deep breath. “Ellie,” he said awkwardly, “what you have to understand is that I have no idea what Haldir enjoys. He does not tell me such things. But I imagine that if the two of you were to become close in that way, he would teach you his preferences.”

Her blue eyes met his beseechingly; he could sense both her embarrassment and determination to pursue the matter. “But there must be some general guidelines. Can you not give me some ideas or . . . or hints? I don’t want to be too ignorant when . . . if . . . when . . . it happens. I don’t want to ruin it for him.”

Rúmil felt an unexpected surge of approval. It was about time someone cared enough about Haldir to consider what he might like. Too often, the elleths only wanted Haldir because he was the March Warden and because he was handsome and attractive and skilled. Rúmil also knew that some of them found Haldir’s arrogance to be a challenge. Elanor appeared to care for Haldir in a way that none of the others did, and he found this both endearing and admirable.

Unfortunately, the topic of conversation was something Rúmil had been trying desperately _not_ to think about for a number of days. Despite this, he put on a brave face and said, “I suppose I could give you some general ideas, that . . . uh . . . in my opinion most males would find . . . agreeable.” He glanced around to be sure they would not be overheard. “Perhaps we should sit down.”

Elanor agreed, and they found a comfortable carved bench where Rúmil could keep watch in all directions to be certain no one could sneak up on them. He swallowed hard, wondering why this was so difficult. Perhaps it was because he did not know where to start.

“Now you know what happens when we males become excited, right? I mean, you’ve probably seen . . . what happens,” he added, thinking of the events back in Rivendell. He crossed his fingers, for if she said no, not only was she in trouble, but so was Haldir.

To his great relief, Elanor nodded again.

“Good,” he said, and paused. He placed his hands on his thighs, resisting the urge to wipe the perspiration off of them. “Now then . . . ahem.” He gave her a sideways glance, and gathered his wits. “Now then, the thing you should realize is that . . . _that_ part of us . . . is very sensitive . . . to the touch . . . especially when it is . . . at full salute, so to speak.” Just talking about this made him want to squirm, and not with embarrassment.

“I understand,” she said, leaving a blank spot in the conversation for him to fill in.

“So,” he threw out quickly, “that part likes to be touched. Stroked,” he added longingly. “And, um, even . . .” He hesitated. Should he say this or should he not?

“Even?” she prodded, her brows drawing together.

“Uh, kissed, you could say. Kind of making love to him . . . _that_ way. With your mouth, so to speak. In . . . uh . . . various ways.”

He took a deep breath, watching her expression to see if she understood his meaning, and after a few moments decided that she had. To his relief, she did not look shocked; yet he found himself starting to sweat.

“Oh, I see,” she said, after a long pause. She searched his face. “Rúmil, is this difficult for you to talk about?”

He gave her what felt like a foolish grin. “Just a bit,” he admitted. “I truly think you might be better off asking one of your friends. I am not very good at explaining these things.” He almost added he was extremely good at _doing_, but decided this was not a proper thing to say to Elanor. He then reflected that this whole conversation was extremely inappropriate, and that Haldir would have his head if he ever got wind of it.

Elanor sighed. “I suppose I was wrong to ask you, but you are one of my closest friends here in Lórien, and I thought you would not mind.”

Rúmil reached for her hand, and held it lightly between both of his. “Ellie, I do not mind in the least. I’m sorry I did not do better. And I’m deeply honored that you trust me enough to ask me this.”

“You are so good to me,” she said humbly. “I apologize for embarrassing you.”

“I do not mind. I should say one thing.” He paused, debating within himself, then ded tod to take the plunge. “That last thing I was mentioning . . . about kissing . . . and making love _that_ way . . . you know . . .”

“Yes?” she asked, glancing up at him.

“That’s extremely popular. Haldir may not talk about such things, but others do.” He grinned sheepishly. “I am sure that my brother is no different from the rest of us in that respect, but please do not tell him I said that. I do not want to be assigned border duty without a respite for the next century.”

Elanor smiled. “I won’t say a word.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you, Rúmil. If I had a brother, I would want him to be just like you.”

He bent down and kissed her back, also on the cheek. “Just watch the teeth,” he whispered, then much to his horror, he actually felt himself blush.

Elanor giggled, and Rúmil could not help but laugh in response, which for some reason made her giggle all the more. And the two of them laughed so long and so hard that the tears eventually rolled down their cheeks, and in due course Rúmil slipped his arm around Elanor’s shoulders and gave her an affectionate hug. It was a moment each of them would remember forever, the start of their true and everlasting friendship.

#

Elanor had spent so much time worrying about lovemaking that she had almost forgotten about the archery contest, but a chance sighting of Lord Celeborn the next day brought the matter once more into her mind. She had not even gone to the archery field since Haldir had left, mostly because she had wanted to avoid thinking about the whole business. Yet instead of the archery field, she had gone to the Lady’s garden to work among the plants, feeling that their soothing and healing energy were better suited to her present mood. She dug patiently into the soil, working her way around the roots of a delicate young plant she intended to move, while she pondered.

Was itter ter to bravely enter the competition and risk public failure and humiliation? Or was it better not to enter—the less courageous choice, but one that would spare herself, and Haldir, from the embarrassment of her inevitable failure. Which was the better choice? Her mind went around and around in circles. Lord Celeborn had suggested it. Rúmil and Orophin had said no, Lurien had said yes. What she did reflected upon Haldir. Haldir owed his position to the Lord and Lady. If their respect for Haldir diminished, might his position be in jeopardy or his judgments called into question? How would Galadriel and Celeborn react? It was dreadful enough that they already knew about the disgraceful Rivendell incident. If, in all these weeks, Haldir had been unable to teach her to shoot straight or to display a modicum of courage, would that not lower their opinion of his ability to lead?

Elanor frowned at the thought. She would never forgive herself if Haldir lost the respect of his Lord and Lady because of something she did or did not do. Lord Celeborn had suggested she enter the competition, that was what she had to consider. Doubtless he had mentioned it to Galadriel . . . or was it being too conceited to think that her doings might be a topic of conversation between the ruling couple? On the other hand, she trusted Lurien, and what he had said to her made sense. Her actions and decision reflected upon Haldir. So what should she do? Either choice seemed wrong—to show a lack of courage or a lack of skill. Which was the lesser evil?

“Elanor,” said a smooth male voice, “hard at work in the garden, as always. You are as devoted to these flowers as you are neglectful of your archery.”

“It has only been two days, Lurien,” she replied, without looking up. “I will get back to it.”

She felt him sit down behind her, a little to her left. “I would hope so,” he said, “after all the practice you put in, and all the progress you have made.”

She glanced around at him, noting the apparent sincerin hin his expression. “Are you serious? Do you truly think I have made that much progress?”

“Progress is not a steady thing,” he said. “One goes forward, and then back, and then forward once more. You have done this several times. Yet overall, yes, I feel that you have made progress.” He reached over and placed his hand over hers for just a moment, but not long enough for her to justify making an objection.

“What if I enter and make a fool of myself? What then?”

He gave an enigmatic smile. “Indeed, what then? Can you deal with the consequences? Can Haldir?”

“Even if I enter, he will not see it,” she returned, ignoring the exact nature of his question. “He has gone to the border for a month. Surely you know this.”

“Did you not speak to him about it?” Lurien asked with raised brows. “Did he not advise you one way or the other?”

“I think this is a decision I must make myself,” she said tightly. She did not like to discuss Haldir with Lurien; it somehow felt like a betrayal.

“That may be, but you need to remember that a lack of courage on your part reflects poorly upon him.”

“So does a lack of skill,” she shot back, “as you so kindly pointed out.”

He did not answer at once, and when he did, he sounded amused. “Are you angry with me, Elanor?”

“No!” she snapped, andn sin sighed. “I’m sorry, I did not mean to sound like that. I am only confused.”

“Then I will leave you to your thinking,” Lurien replied. “Later, I will meet you upon the archery field. We will resume your lessons today.”

Startled, Elanor glanced up. She had almost forgotten about that.

“We made a bargain,” he reminded her with a gleam. “I expect you to hold fast to it, as I hold fast to my end of it.”

“I would like to end our bargain,” she said.

“But I would not.”

She stared at him, noting the way his striking blue eyes held hers almost effortlessly. “Why, Lurien?”

“Because I want to help you, Elanor. Have I not made that clear?”

“Perhaps we could strike a new bargain,” she suggested in a hopeful tone.

“An interesting idea.” He lifted one perfect eyebrow. “What did you have in mind?”

She lowered her eyes. Of course, she had not thought that far ahead; she had not thought of him at all. “Well . . .”

“I will think on it,” he said gently, “but until we strike a new bargain, our old one holds. I should hate to think that your word means nothing. That would not reflect at all well upon you . . . or your guardian.”

“Very well,” she said shortly, “I will meet you on the archery field later, just as we did before.”

With exquisite grace, he rose to his feet, towering over her as he gazed down. As he always did, he looked extraordinarily beautiful, yet utterly masculine and rather dangerous. “Excellent decision, Elanor. Until later then.”

Feeling strangely cold, Elanor followed him with her eyes as he threaded his way around a flower bed and moved out of sight. Suddenly she did not trust him quite as much as she had before.

#

Elanor sat in her chair that evening, her hands clasped in her lap. She hardly noticed the breeze that sifted through the open windows, rustling the leaves and carrying the sweet scent that seemed unique to Lórien. Instead, she stared at her fingers, her thoughts going around and around. She still had not come to a decision about tompeompetition. The only thing she knew was that she had made a great mistake in not discussing it with Haldir. That had been foolish. Very foolish.

He was the one person whose opinion she should have sought even though the final decision was rightly hers. And she knew very well that he expected her to tell him such things, and would be disapproving of her failure to do so when he found out. That he would find out, one way or another, she had no doubt at all.

The afternoon had been a disaster. She had taken her bow and quiver and gone to the archery field and found Lurien waiting there as she had expected. Within moments, Rúmil had shown up, and it had begun all over again. She had tried to put them out of her mind and concentrate, focusing on her stance, the way she held the bow, the placement of her feet. She had pretended Haldir was nearby, and that seemed to help, for her very first arrow had hit the target. But Lurien had felt the need to compliment her, and that had distracted her, and then Rúmil had told Lurien to stop distracting her, and then the two of them had gone off and held a low-voiced, none-too-friendly conversation that she had tried hard not to hear. But she had not been able to hit the target again.

What was she going to do about Lurien?

A light tap on the door interrupted her thoughts, and when she opened the door she found Doria waiting outside, a big, happy smile on her face. Elanor invited her in, thankful that at last Orophin was not with her, although she felt a little guilty for the thought.

“Orophin is resting,” Doria explained, and then blushed fiery red.

Elanor decided not to ask her why Orophin required rest so early in the evening. “It is good to see you,” she said instead. “You must be so pleased he did not return to the border with Haldir.”

“Oh, I am! When he does leave, I will be brave, of course.” She did a little twirl around the room. “Ellie, I have to tell you a secret, that is why I am here. You are the only one I will tell until I decide.” She stopped in front of Elanor and grinned. “Orophin has asked me to bind with him.”

Elanor blinked. “Oh Doria! Oh my, what a wonderful surprise!”

“It is not a decision to be lightly made, but in truth I think I will say yes. I cannot imagine loving anyone the way I love Orophin. I feel like I am floating above the ground whenever I am with him! I never felt like that with anyone else. And I have known him all my life, and I know what a truly _good_ elf he is.”

Elanor leaned forward and embraced Doria. “I am so happy for you,” she said sincerely. “Truly, truly happy.”

They talked for some time about the seriousness of the decision, and then about Orophin and how wonderful and thoughtful and splendid he was, but eventually Doria changed the subject, saying, “Lurien says you may enter this archery competition, but Orophin thinks perhaps you will not. Have you decided yet?”

Elanor shook her head. “I am still trying to make up my mind.”

Doria nodded understandingly. “I wish I could help you decide, but I cannot. If you do decide to enter, just be sure to stay in the novice category. That way, you won’t have to go against Healea.”

“Oh? Is Healea so fine an archer?” Elanor could not resist asking.

“She has been the reigning champion for at least the last sevenive ive years,” Doria answered seriously. “She is very, very good. Haldir was also her instructor, I’ve been told.” Elanor tried to conceal her dismay, but Doria must have seen it for she added quickly, “I am sure you could be just as proficient, Ellie. It will simply take a while. Healea was not always as skilled with a bow as she is now.”

Elanor’s heart sank as she absorbed this information. “I see,” she said.

“Ellie, don’t let that influence you. If you wish to enter, then enter! I will come and watch you. Orophin and I will both be there to support you.”

Elanor studied Doria’s lovely face, the intensity and real concern in her blue eyes. “That is very kind of you,” she said with a forced smile.

Doria gave a funny little snort. “It is not kind. It is what friends do. I would expect you to do the same for me . . . except I have never learned to shoot. I admire you so much for what you are doing. Have I told you that? I think it is so exciting that you have learned so much in such a short time. And I am so proud that my brother has a role in helping you.”

Elanor had not the heart to tell her that Lurien had been of little help. The conversation shifted back to Doria and Orophin’s newfound happiness and potential binding, and then Doria took her leave.

Alone once more, Elanor went out upon the terrace and sat among the plants, seeking with their assistance to restore herself to a state of inner harmony. Little by little, she found herself growing calm at last, and with this peace came the ability to think more clearly. Which was worse? To be a coward or to lack skill?

The answer was obvious. To be a coward was a lack in character rather than a lack of talent, and while both were important, character mattered more than skill. Furthermore, she clearly remembered that Haldir had said that he admired her courage. What had he said exactly? _You have many admirable qualities worthy of respect._

And the one he had mentioned first was courage.

She could not risk destroying that. She could not risk him changing his opinion of her, thinking less of her. It was so important that he think well of her, else how could she expect him to learn to love her? She shoved aside her concern that a poor performance would embarrass him. She would just do her best. At least she knew he would not be there to see it if los lost, and that would make it easier.

The decision made, she left the talan and stepped out into the night, making her way down the multitudes of steps, determined to sign her name on the parchment right away before she lost her nerve. She _would_ do it. She _would_ enter the competition.

She repeated this over and over to herself as she walked.

She reached the archery hut unnoticed, save for several Sentinels she had passed along the way. Entering, she glanced aroin tin the dimness, searching for ink and quill, then spied them on the small table in the corner, nearly hidden in the deep shadows. She picked them up, and went to look once more at the list of names. There was only a single list, rather than two, but she now noticed the designation at the top, showing how to indicate which category she wished to enter. There appeared to be only two, novice and expert, but she saw no other contestants in the novice category. Surely she could not be the only one?

Hesitating, she bit her lip, then pushed aside her misgivings and dipped the quill into the ink. With a hand that trembled only slightly, she signed her name, adding the word ‘novice’ next to it to be sure there could be no mistake.

Heaving a sigh, she returned the ink and quill to the table, and paused once more before the list, gazing at it with a pounding heart.

She had done it. She had found her courage.

So why did she suddenly feel so scared?


[To be continued . . .] Feedback appreciated!
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