ELANOR'S REVENGE

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Authors: Fianna & Julie
Rating: High R
Disclaimer: We write fan fiction solely for our own enjoyment and do not claim any copyright or ownership nor do we have intent to make financial gain. All original concepts and characters are from our minds and remain our property.
Beta: Adriana, aka The Eye of Sauron

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Chapter Nineteen

Elanor walked exultantly away from Haldir’s talan, her heart leaping with joy. She had done it! She had touched Haldir in the way he needed to be touched, given him the pleasure she had so longed to give him. He had quivered and trembled because of her, because of what she was doing to him. She had felt so powerful and feminine! A delicious tremor ran through her at the memory of his last, passionate cry and its rather messy aftermath. That part had surprised her just a bit, but it had also made the whole thing even more intimate and satisfying.

He had very nearly stopped her, but he had not, which meant that she had done it properly. Or at least well enough to achieve the desired result. She did not know how she had found the audacity to be so bold, but where Haldir was concerned she felt as though she could do almost anything, and it had all seemed so very natural and right.

Of course, leaving him like that had not been easy.

She paused and glanced back up the stairway, half expecting the talan door to fling open and Haldir to order her immediate return. She had not exactly planned to walk away from him like that, but it had seemed like the right thing to do. He really did need to understand the level of her own frustration. It was not right for him to have all the power . . . although to be truthful, she knew full well that she wielded quite a bit of power over him. She must, else he would never have lost control the way he had.

A momentary flicker of doubt assailed her. Or had it been only nature? Perhaps a portion of it, she acknowledged, but it was she who he wanted. He had told her so, and he would not lie about that. If anything, he was too honorable! A tender smile curved her lips at the thought as she wandered along. The important thing was that he cared for her . . . and as for her feelings for him, they were so intense she almost felt as though she were going to burst.

#

Haldir sat stock-still after Elanor left the talan, awash with contradictory emotions. Foremost among these was shock, along with a judicious amount of chagrin tossed in for good measure. To have lost control, and then to be left like that . . . it was not only unsettling, it was a new experience, one he had never expected nor even dreamed could happen to him. He was also amused, in a self-deprecating way.

His lips quirked as he glanced down at himself, a flush of warmth sweeping through him at the memory of Elanor’s touch. He had not expected her to be so bold, so giving, so . . . exciting. For a maiden untried, she had pleased him very well indeed, and he had responded to her like one bewitched, his body aquiver with need and lust and undeniable longing. Yes, he had been weak, but most surprisingly he did not regret it. He could not. It had been wonderful. But it had ended far too soon.

Exhaling a sigh, he levered himself to his feet and headed into the other room to wash and change. Although for the moment he was sated, he knew it would be short-lived and that the inferno inside him would return all too soon, raging to new heights.

He thought back to the moment when he had first seen her in that Rivendell courtyard, remembering how his male interest had quickened in a way that was not customary. Now that interest was multiplied ten-fold. Nay, a hundred-fold.

His hunter instinct had taken hold.

Yes, she had excited him, both with her hands and with her determination and spirit. Her very desire for him ignited his own, for above all he liked an enthusiastic partner. Unbidden, an image rose in his mind, an image of what it might be like to be with her, to have her under him, to be buried inside of her . . . and immediately his body began to throb again. Yes, he still wanted Elanor, and he was caught off-guard by the force and intensity of this wanting. Interwoven with his desire was his very deep caring for her, a caring greater than he had ever felt for any other maiden.

Regret rammed him—regret that he could not pursue the course of action he wished. He must wait, and he did not wish to wait. He wanted to pursue her, take her in his arms, kiss her and shelter and protect her from all harm or evil. He wanted to surrender his scruples and back her against the nearest tree and drown himself in her enticing feminine essence. But he could not.

He could not because . . . he must not. Honor forbade it and he must be strong. But had he already lost his honor? The thought troubled him deeply.

#

“Ah . . . Ellie?”

Elanor looked up to see Doria standing on a nearby flight of stairs, looking at her rather peculiarly. Without realizing it, she had directed her steps toward Doria’s talan, although she had no intention of telling Doria what had just occurred.

Doria cleared her throat. “Ellie, could you join me in my talan for a moment?” Even her voice sounded odd.

“Certainly.” Elanor hurried toward Doria, wondering what was wrong.

When she reached Doria’s side, her friend caught hold of her arm and rapidly drew her up the stairs without a word. Inside the talan, Doria shut the door and flipped the privacy latch.

“What—?” Elanor began, only to stop when Doria pointed at the front of Elanor’s gown.

Elanor glanced down in confusion, then felt a small jolt of shock as she realized what had drawn Doria’s attention. When Haldir had drawn her against him, neither of them had been thinking about the consequences.

“Oh dear,” she floundered weakly, “I . . . I wonder what that is?”

Doria’s ready grin flashed. “Oh, Ellie, my dear friend, you are such a sweet innocent.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice, as though she thought someone might hear. “Actually, the same thing happened to me just last week. Orophin got a little carried away. Well, we both did . . . and I cannot believe I told you that!” She grinned self-consciously, but her modest confession had the desired effect and they were both soon giggling.

Her embarrassment gone, Elanor sat quietly while Doria fetched a cloth and sponged off her gown. Doria then poured them each a glass of wine, and they went out onto the terrace where Elanor’s gown could dry in the breeze.

“So,” Doria said casually, as they seated themselves comfortably amid several potted plants, “may I assume that Haldir has finally softened up a bit toward you?”

Elanor opened her mouth and shut it again as an image flashed through her mind of Haldir . . . or rather parts of Haldir. “I suppose you could say that,” she replied, her voice quivering ever so slightly.

Her eyes connected with Doria’s, Doria made a small, choking sound, and in the next instant they both burst out laughing. For some inexplicable reason, their merriment escalated until tears rolled down their cheeks as they shared a joke that would only be amusing to females. By the time it was over, they were collapsed against each other, Doria suffering from hiccups and Elanor gasping for breath.

“Oh my,” Elanor remarked at last, her voice still quivering, “I am not at all sure what to say now!” She pressed a hand to her bosom, trying to compose herself.

“Perhaps I should rephrase my question,” Doria said merrily, “for I certainly meant no disrespect toward our esteemed March Warden. What I meant was that he must be letting his barriers down with you. And he came all the way from the border to see the archery competition! That was quite a surprise, was it not?”

“Yes, it was,” Elanor admitted, recalling that marvelous moment when she had heard his deep, golden voice speak from behind her. “I did not expect him. He said he came because I might need him. And . . . I did.” The admission was made softly, with more than a trace of wistfulness.

Doria gave her a considering look. “I was impressed by the way you recovered after the arrow mishap, Ellie. I must say I am honored to be your friend. And I want to tell you something else. I watched Haldir’s face while he spoke to you. I saw great caring there, even though he appeared to speak with firmness.”

“Yes, he spoke with caring. He has admitted that he cares for me and that he wants me.” With these last words, her voice fell to a near whisper.

Doria was silent for a long moment, then her gaze slid sideways. “Yet you are here with me and not with him.” The meaning behind her words was clear.

“No. The time is not yet right, he says.” Elanor bowed her head, gazing pensively at the dampened area on her gown. “But I sense that it grows near.”

“Ellie, forgive me for asking this, but was it your first time?”

Elanor lifted her head. “My first time?” She thought of what had happened with Haldir, and realized what her friend meant. “Oh,” she added. “Yes, it was.”

“I thought so.” Doria’s smile held kindness as well as a hint of humor. “I remember my first time. I remember how surprised I was. By everything. The size. The messiness of it all.” Her smile grew teasing, yet sincere. “In any case, you have taken a first step today.”

Elanor nodded, blushing slightly. “Yes, I managed to please him, though I did not exactly know what to do.”

“Is there anything you would like to ask me?” Doria asked in a soft voice.

“No . . . well, yes. Actually, there is one thing.” Concerned that Doria would be taken aback by her question, Elanor hesitated, but after all her friend _had_ offered her advice, so she drew a deep breath and plunged ahead, asking about that specific technique that Rúmil had mentioned. “How will I know when . . . or even if . . . ?” She could feel a hot blush staining her cheeks.

To her relief, Doria just gave one of her big, beautiful grins and said, “Oh, yes, they do like that, no doubt about it. But do not worry, Ellie. That sort of thing is for later, when you feel comfortable and ready. You will know ‘when’ and ‘if’ when the time arrives. He will let you know. Or else you will just want to do it. You will enjoy it, I promise you, and so will he. But wait until you feel it is right. You will know.”

#

Haldir left the talan, striding down the stairs to the lower paths of the city, his mind not on his surroundings but on Elanor. Where was she? And did she regret what had taken place? He doubted it; she had appeared to be quite satisfied with the results of their encounter. He also wondered if she had realized what would happen when he climaxed. Had he soiled her dress? He hoped not; he had not thought about it until this moment. He ought to have taken more care, held on to his control.

Nodding curtly to a pair of watchful Sentinels at the foot of the stairs, he headed in the direction of Galadriel’s garden. He hoped Elanor would be there, but if not perhaps he would take a few moments for quiet reflection, for this day had taken its toll upon the equanimity of his mind.

Listening for voices, he moved silently through the maze of plants, but saw no sign of anyone other than himself. He paused before a bed of sweet peas, alyssum and his favorite elanor, inhaling their sweet perfume, then moved further along the path toward one of the leafy alcoves with its concealed bench. Before he could reach it, however, he sensed a movement behind him and out of habit, he turned quickly.

It was Galadriel. Beautiful, wise, compassionate and eternal, she stood like a tall, ethereal column, watching him with those sapphire eyes that always saw so much.

“My Lady,” he said, bowing and touching his heart briefly. He usually reported to her upon his return, but today he had not and felt a flare of mortification at his lapse. Granted, she did not demand it, but he had always felt it was his duty. This time he had not even thought of it. What was wrong with him?

“Haldir.” Galadriel’s lips curved slightly, and she tilted her head as she studied him. “The day has been quite eventful for you and Elanor.”

Haldir kept his face expressionless, though it was not without considerable effort. The Lady of Light saw far too much, and he prayed she did not see all that had transpired within the past hour. Of course she respected the privacy of others, but it was so fresh in his mind that it made him uneasy.

“She did well,” the lady continued softly, her eyes searching his. He knew she was referring to this morning’s archery competition, and yet he twitched inwardly.

“Yes, for a beginner she acquitted herself well,” he acknowledged, and tried to think about the contest rather than their more recent activities. “I was proud of her and I have told her so.”

“You handled the situation most suitably, Haldir.”

Had he? Yes, he had. He had told her what she had to do, helped her to have the confidence to hold her head high and take that last shot. _No, he should have resisted her._ Yes, he had helped her. _No, he should have been stronger._ Yes, he had been strong for her when she needed him to be. _No, he was weak and he was ashamed of that weakness._

Ripped apart by the conflicting avenues in his mind, he met Galadriel’s perspicacious gaze rather warily. Had she read him? He brushed the idea away, certain that he had guarded his thoughts. “I tried my best, my lady,” he said tonelessly. At least that much was true, although his best had not been good enough.

Galadriel’s face remained serene, yet he sensed a change, as though she prepared herself for something. “I would expect nothing less of you, my March Warden,” she said. “Elanor is proving to be adaptable and honorable and she learns quickly. In these past months she has tested you in many ways, and you have responded honorably at all times. As you always do.”

Galadriel waited patiently while Haldir moved a few steps away and swiped a hand along his jaw, struggling to discern where this conversation was headed. Better to sort out his thoughts before replying, for Galadriel always had a motive behind the simplest of words. She ruled his people with a benevolent hand and could be very gentle, but he had also seen her strength and steel. At this moment he felt he was on the receiving end of her advice, whether he willed it or not. What did she intend?

He glanced back at her, his face a careful blank. “I agree she has accepted Lord Elrond’s punishment with grace and dignity. I am pleased with her in that regard.”

Galadriel folded her hands in front of her. “Was it truly meant to be a punishment? Or perhaps Elrond’s intention was to offer Elanor a path that was truly meant for her, one she would never willingly have stepped upon if she had had the choice. Do not forget he has the gift of foresight.”

Haldir pondered this. “Lord Elrond is wise,” he replied levelly. “I agree she would likely never have stepped upon a path that led her to Lothlórien were it not for his decree.” He paused. “Whether that path was meant for her, I do not know.”

“She has changed since she left her home. Even in the brief time she has been here, the petals of her true nature are starting to unfurl. I feel your interest in her, Haldir. Would she have interested you as she was before?”

The question drew a frown from him, but he felt bound to answer. “As she was? I thought her pretty and I wished to meet her, but had little opportunity . . . in truth, I do not know the answer to your question.”

“Indeed you do not, for that is the path not taken. But I believe what you see now is the true Elanor. Whether you would ever have met that Elanor if she had not come to Lothlórien is uncertain. Your visits there are brief and give you little time to woo.”

He glanced away, a slight crease on his brow. “She had no confidence in herself. Her family favored the younger sister to Elanor’s detriment.” He cut himself off again, feeling unsure. Galadriel knew all this. Why were they speaking of it?

“You are the guardian, both of the gentle flower and the thorns that even now prick at your soul. Duty is as one demands it to be. Honor is a trial of both heart and mind. Until now, you have let your mind rule. Perhaps it is time to allow your heart its liberty.”

Haldir lifted his chin. “I am her guardian, my lady. For a year and a day I hold that office, andis nis not even half over. I still have a duty to fulfill.”

Galadriel turned to face him, her eyes glittering. “Perhaps the duty you refer to is at an end.”

Haldir stiffened. “If you think I have failed . . .” Yes, of course he had failed and Galadriel knew. Was this what she was about to tell him?

But to his surprise she shook her head. “Nay, Haldir, you have not failed. On the contrary, your sense of duty is unrivaled and despite what you would think, your honor knows no flaw.”

Haldir shifted his feet, but said nothing, waiting to hear what she would say next.

“In a few short months, you have shown Elanor the errors of her ways. She is blossoming beautifully, becoming exactly what Lord Elrond hoped she would become. All because of you. Because of her feelings for you . . . and yours for her. And because your actions and guidance reflect your intentions, which are of the noblest and highest.”

Discomposed, Haldir sought something to say. “My role as her guardian has given me great pleasure,” he said, pausing in horror as the unintended double meaning occurred to him. “She has much honor and courage,” he added quickly. Did Galadriel look amused or was he imagining it?

“Indeed.” Gesturing for him to accompany her, she led him along the main path toward to the farthest end of the garden. “Why do you find such conflict between your honor and what lies within your heart? Your duty was to teach Elanor, to help free her to be herself. You have done this, and you continue to do it with each day that passes. You have not shirked your duty, nor have you tainted your honor, for your intentions have always been noble.”

Haldir was unconvinced, but he did not care to disagree with the Lady of Light so he said nothing. Clearly she had more to say.

“There are many ways to nurture a flower, Haldir. Each has its unique needs and wants. Some need more light, some need less. Others require a particular kind of soil. Some are delicate, requiring exceptional attention and love in order to flourish. A clever gardener listens to the plant.”

Haldir remained silent, his gaze on her face.

“Let me put it another way,” she went on in a reflective tone. “A lifeless branch has no sap in it. It bears no leaves and no t, at, and gives nothing back to the tree from whence it came, or indeed to anyone. It is brittle and spent, and can give only by dying further, burning to ashes in a fire that lasts no longer than a night. In contrast, a living branch sways with the wind. Leaves adorn it and it bears fruit. It gives and receives joy.” She touched his hand. “A healthy branch will sway in the wind. More than that, it will hear the call of the wind and dance with joy.”

Haldir looked away as a depressing thought brushed his mind. “You are saying I am too rigid in my views. I have nothing to offer her.”

“No.” They had reached the far end of the garden, nehe she stone steps that led down to where she kept her mirror. At the top of these steps, she halted and turned to him, her face serious yet kind. “But I know you hold Elanor at an arm’s length against your inclination. Do you fear she will leave you with nothing but fondness for you in her heart? Do you think she will return to Rivendell to love another while you stand alone at Lórien’s border to dream of her forever?”

Haldir could not answer, for in reality that possibility had occurred to him. He fully intended to be Elanor’s lover at some point, but he was not at all sure that he should or could offer her more than that. She was so young, so inexperienced, and there were so many others she might fancy after him.

He felt Galadriel touch his shoulder. “Elrond makes plans to travel here to Lórien,” she informed him. “Two of her friends will accompany him, and he will bring letters and news of her family. He will approve of the new Elanor. Every action you have taken on her behalf has been for her greatest benefit. And it shows.”

Haldir clenched his teeth, willing his body to remain relaxed. “For what purpose does Lord Elrond come? Surely he does not mean to take Elanor away. It is too soon. It has not even been half a year.”

“No, he only wishes to assure himself that she is well and to see how she is faring. And he wishes to discuss more of the usual matters—trading and various troubles of the sort with which you are familiar.”

“And if he decides that Elanor should go with him when he leaves?” He knew this was a real and logical possibility. It had been nearly six months already. Perhaps Lord Elrond might decide this was sufficient to have taught Elanor her lesson.

“Then perhaps she will go,” Galadriel answered simply. “That will be up to her.” She regarded him with a faint smile. “If you wish her to stay, you must let her know your feelings in whatever way seems best. Bend with the wind, my friend. You are alive and so is she . . . and the sap runs strong in you both.”

#

Galadriel disappeared into the most private area of her garden, the place where she kept her magical mirror, and Haldir turned away. Still reeling from being on the receiving end of one of her lessons, he headed back through the garden, weaving his way around the various tall shrubs and low beds of brilliant flora.

He was nonplussed that Galadriel had discerned the crux of his predicament, but with her distinctive grace she had aided him in a way that had not embarrassed him more than slightly. He was relieved it had been her and not her husband. Celeborn would have been more frank, and probably laughed at him. It was disconcerting to know it had been that obvious; then again, the Lady possessed powers of discernment that others did not.

He paused near one of the shaded arbors, torn between wanting to seek out Elanor and wanting to seek solitude. He chose solitude, for he wished to reflect upon his conversation with the Lady. He wished to absorb and analyze it, so that he might be wholly certain he understood what she was saying and did not miss any hidden implications. Therefore, he pushed aside a veil of leaves and settled himself onto a comfortable carven bench, its latticework back replicating the intricacy of the surrounding vines. To observe unseen was a familiar arrangement and one that he preferred. He would rest and think, and come to terms with the way his life seemed to be headed.

#

After leaving Doria, Elanor returned to Haldir’s talan, but to her disappointment, he was no longer there. His weapons were in the corner, which told her that he had not turned around and headed straight back to the border. He would not do so without saying goodbye, she did not think . . . unless he was angry with her for walking away from him. Of course he would not be angry. Was he? She hoped not, but he really was very used to having his own way and being in command of all situations. He might indeed take exception to such treatment.

She could feel herself growing anxious at the idea that she might have incurred Haldir’s displeasure, but then she reminded herself of her motives for doing what she had done. It was important to her that she not allow herself to be under his thumb. Haldir’s character tended to be so dominating that she instinctively knew she would have to assert herself in order to avoid becoming a mat beneath his feet. She had allowed Lana to treat her like that and she had learned her lesson. Never again.

In any case, she was likely worrying over nothing, for Haldir was far too wise and sophisticated to be angry for such a reason. She had faith in him, in his judgment and in his decisions and opinions. It was she, and not he, who needed to be less emotional. Perhaps today she’d opened a door he would find he could not close; she could only hope that they had finally begun to tread the path to what both of them desired. She hoped it was so, but if not she would have to accept it.

Having reasoned this through, Elanor decided she would go and work in Galadriel’s garden. It had been three nights since she had rested well, and just now she was feeling a bit tired. Time among the flowers would refresh and strengthen her. And if Haldir wanted to find her, he would do so. He ought to be able to guess where she was.

She saw no sign of anyone when she arrived in the garden, although often the various elves of Lórien would stroll there, either singly or in couples. She pushed open the gate, breathing deep the moist air and heady aroma of a multitude of flowers. A brilliant butterfly flitted before her, escorting her deeper into the garden as it fluttered from bloom to bloom, its scarlet wings glittering in the hazy afternoon sunshine. She retrieved the gardening tools from the small shed where they were kept and headed to one of the centrally located beds filled with daisies and other wildflowers brought in from afar. Filled with joy, they had seeded themselves haphazardly, and Elanor meant to rearrange the tiny sprouts now that they were large enough to transfer safely.
eforefore she had scarcely begun to work, a familiar voice interrupted her. “I suppose you think everyone admired you this morning.”

Startled, Elanor glanced up and saw Healea’s friend, Túre, standing nearby, staring down at her haughtily. A small sneer marred the corners of Túre’s pretty mouth. Of all the Lórien elleths Elanor had met, she was probably the one who had always been the least friendly.

“No,” Elanor answered, after a pause, “I do not think that.”

“I cannot even imagine why you entered the competition at all. You never had the slightest chance to do anything other than make a fool of yourself. Did you imagine otherwise?”

Elanor could feel her temper getting ready to flare, but she held on to it. Several times in recent months Haldir had reminded her of the power of the spoken word, and how it should be used wisely and with care. Therefore she said, as calmly as possible, “Yes, I knew I had no chance. But I am not sorry I entered.”

Túre moved closer, the hem of her pale blue gown rustling on the grass. “I suppose you did it to impress Haldir. He’s quite a catch, after all. Perhaps someone should tell you that Haldir has been resisting all of us for many more years than you have been alive. Your tricks will not win his interest.” Elanor could feel herself tensing as Túre went on, “You are not pretty enough or old enough or clever enough to interest an elf like him. He will forget you the moment you go back to Rivendell.”

Confounded by such spite, Elanor did not know what to say, but a sick feeling churned in the pit of her stomach. “Why do you dislike me?” she managed to say, her voice quiet. “I have done nothing to you.”

Túre made a derisive sound. “You disrupt my city simply by being here. You do not belong here in Lórien. You are not a grey elf.”

“Neither is Galadriel,” Elanor pointed out evenly.

Túre’s sneer grew more pronounced. “You dare to compare yourself to the Lady of Light?”

“Túre!” Healea’s sharp voice cut in. “That is quite enough.”

Elanor had not heard Healea’s approach, and neither had Túre, it seemed, for her face grew almost comical with mortification. Elanor rose to her feet, studying the other two elleths while she wondered what would happen next. Healea’s beautiful face was impassive, but her eyes held a glimmer of displeasure.

“I am sorry, Healea,” Túre began, looking miserable.

“I will speak with you later,” Healea said, calmly and firmly. Túre pressed her lips together, then gave a short nod and walked away without a backward glance. Elanor looked at Healea, who gazed back at her imperturbably. “Sit down, Elanor,” she said quietly, “and I will join you, if I may.”

“Certainly,” Elanor said, rather numbly. She was uncertain what to expect from Healea, but she lowered herself to the grass and awaited whatever Healea meant to say.

Healea arranged her skirt before speaking. “You must forgive Túre,” she said abruptly. “She is jealous of you.”

“Jealous of me?” Elanor repeated, gaping at her. “Why?”

Healea inclined her head, her eyes on Elanor’s face. “Túre is unhappy. Once, long ago, she loved an elf named Iridor. He was killed by Orcs. Years later she fell in love again, but her feelings were not returned. Since then she has yearned for love and failed to find it. She has attempted to attract several males, including Haldir and Rúmil, and none of them has shown interest in her. You, Elanor, have attracted many admiring glances since you arrived, and you have done it effortlessly. This morning, when Haldir made his unexpected appearance at the competition, it was obvious he came for you and you alone.” She paused, idly smoothing her fingers over the grass. “For Haldir to leave the Fences for such a reason . . . it is unusual. And meaningful. And Túre knows it.”

Bemused, Elanor shook her head. “I am sorry for her,” she said sincerely.

“She does not want your pity,” Healea said coolly. “I tell you this only so you can forgive her for what she said to you. I do not pity her. I have faith that she will find someone someday. Right now she believes it is her destiny always to be alone. I believe in destiny, but I also believe in choice. Destiny and choice interact with each other, Elanor. As soon as a new choice is made, the future shifts. Once Túre changes her beliefs, her life will chafor for the better. I have told her this and someday she will listen.”

Elanor watched the tiny fluctuations around Healea’s lovely mouth, but said nothing. Healea was proving to be more of an enigma than ever.

“Túre is my friend,” Healea added. “She was not always so bitter or so cruel. I will stand by her.” She gave a sudden and rather lazy smile. “But I came here to talk to you of other matters. I wondered how you were faring after this morning’s excitement. I also wished to tell you that my husband has forgiven you for nearly removing the tip of his ear.”

Feeling sheepish, Elanor smiled a bit guiltily. “I am relieved to hear that. And I am fine, Healea. It is kind of you to inquire.”

“You are surprised. You did not think I could be kind.” Healea laughed at Elanor’s expression. “You are right. Sometimes I am not kind. Cothion often tells me I am far too critical and arrogant. But I am seldom cruel.”

“You are very frank,” Elanor admitted, “but that does not make you unkind. I admit I did not think you liked me.”

“I already told you what I thought of you.”

“You told me what you thought I was _not_,” Elanor corrected. “You said I was not the brazen hussy you thought I would be.”

Healea laughed again. “At least you remember my words. That is something.”

Elanor studied her for a moment, and then glanced over at a nearby daisy, the mother of the little seedlings whose cheerful heads wereing ing gently in the soft breeze. Without thinking, she stretched out a hand to caress its bright petals and murmured softly, complimenting it on its beauty.

“Why do you talk to them?” Healea asked curiously. “They're only plants.”

Elanor returned her hand to her lap. “They have intelligence in them, just as all life does.”

“I suppose so,” Healea conceded. “Even mortals have a modicum of intelligence. Some of them, at least.” She reached out and touched the daisy, her fingers lingering for a moment, gentle, yet not connecting with them the way Elanor did. “I wanted to speak with you about something else.” She glanced over at Elanor, her voice casual. “I wanted to offer my assistance.”

Elanor raised an eyebrow. “Assistance? With gardening?”

Healea gave a small snort. “I think you would not allow me that.” Her lips curved into the quirkttlettle smile that Elanor was beginning to recognize. “I am offering my assistance with your archery. You have too many tutors, but I think I can replace Lurien and both Haldir’s brothers. I am as good an archer as any of them.” Her clear blue eyes scanned Elanor’s face. “You have courage, Elanor, and I like that. I will not waste my talents on a coward.”

Elanor did not know quite what to say. “Haldir taught you,” she said finally.

“Yes, I would only learn from the best. Of course, he was my lover at the time, and I made him teach me. But I lived up to his expectations of me. I practiced the way you practice, with the whole of my concentration and discipline.” She bent down to smell the daisy. “Of course Haldir will be your finest teacher. Yet he is often gone, and when he is here, I think perhaps he is a bit of a distraction, yes?”

Elanor brushed a long strand of hair behind her ear and trie loo look nonchalant. “Yes, he is an excellent teacher.”

Healea lifted an eyebrow. “Your blush suggests he teaches something other than archery.”

“No, no,” Elanor said quickly, then blushed more hotly. “I really know not what you mean.”

“Do you not, Elanor?” Healea watched her face. “Well, it is no concern of mine.” Her expression grew blank, her thoughts hidden. Then she sighed. “You know I truly loved Haldir.”

Elanor lifted her chin. “Did you?”

Healea’s expression seemed softer. “I did. But it was not the kind of love that he needed. Nor what I needed.” She seemed to drift away for a moment, and then
her gaze narrowed. “I would have liked to have kept him for my lover. But it was not to be. Haldir does not share. Once he decides you are his, there can be no others.”

Elanor felt a twinge flare in her heart, followed by a shiver. Of what? Anticipation? “Why are you telling me this?”

“Ah, now, that is the question. And I do not know the answer. When I am near you, the words seem to leap from my lips. I have told you more than I have told my own husband. Perhaps you have bewitched me in some way.” She laughed softly. “I care not, for it feels good to say the words aloud.” Before Elanor could speak, Healea rose to her feet, as lithe and quick as a cat. “My offer stands,” she said. “I will help you with your archery if you wish it. I think you and I could become friends. I would like it to be so. Think upon it.” With a small nod, she turned away, drifting across the garden with as much grace as Galadriel.

Elanor looked back at the daisy that Healea had touched, watching it unfurl itself ever so slightly as if pleased by all the recent attention. And on impulse, she stretched out on the grass and closed her eyes. Right now she only wanted to relax and dream.

#

Rúmil peeked around the tree, observing Nerwen and Gwirith sitting together in the small lily garden. They were talking quietly, each absorbed in a bit of embroidery. He knew they both enjoyed such finely detailed work, and frequently kept each other company.

He sighed. This was the closest he’d come to getting her alone. Beneath his arm, he carried his gift for her, still hidden within the cloth pouch. He did not want to give it to her unless she was alone. But how to manage it?

He searched his mind for someusibusible way to take charge of this situation. Wooing was so different from flirting. Flirting was easy and natural; he had been doing it all his life. If he wanted to flirt—which he did not—he would simply walk over and plant himself between the two of them and give them each an equal share of his attention. He would compliment them and tease them and slip his arms around their waists. And then he would kiss them and make them giggle, and do his best to get one or both of them into his bed.

Wooing was much harder. It was serious, and it was not something he had ever anticipated he would do. He had not prepared for it or practiced it, or paid much heed when others did it. And now he was paying the price.

At this moment he actually felt nervous, and that was absurd. He knew both of these elleths. One of them he liked, and the other . . . the other he wished to take to bed every night for the rest of his immortal life. He loved her. And just now he really, really wished he did not.

Irritation flooded him. He had not asked to feel like this! He felt peeved that he had changed when he had never expected to change. Everything had gone along extremely well all these centuries . . . until Ainon had died and she had sat with him and held his hand. And it had finally dawned on him that he was in love . . . and had been in love for quite some time without realizing it. How was that even possible? It was absurd!

Steeling himself to do what he had come here to do, he squared his shoulders and stepped out from behind the tree, heading along the stone-lined path toward the bench where the two pretty elleths sat. Both of them glanced up at the same instant.

“Rúmil,” Gwirith said with a smile, “what a nice surprise.”

Nerwen also smiled, but he did not think she looked as friendly.

He bowed before them, and then hovered indecisively, waiting for them to invite him to sit down. Gwirith complied, patting the bench beside her invitingly, but instead he lowered himself to the grass in front of them and stretched out his legs. From this vantage, he could see both their faces.

“What do you have there, Rúmil?” Nerwen inquired. Her clear blue eyes had settled on the pouch.

“Yes, what is that?” Gwirith asked, her rosy lips curved into a lovely smile.

Rúmil shoved the pouch behind him and wished he’d hidden it in the tree. “Nothing, really.”

Gwirith’s eyes sparkled. “Ah, a secret. Nerwen, Rúmil has a secret. Shall we discover it?”

Nerwen laughed. “I think we should allow him his secrets. He has so few.”

Rúmil studied them both, the wheels in his mind spinning as he considered and rejected a number of responses. “Everyone has secrets,” he said finally, “including each of you.”

“Oh, Rúmil, you do not know our secrets,” Gwirith scoffed. “Unless you have been sneaking around the bathhouse again.”

Rúmil did not even blink. “I would never do such a thing. I know your secret, Gwirith, and it has to do with Beredain.”

Gwirith’s mouth fell open.

“And,” Rúmil added smoothly, “he has just returned from the fences. I saw him not an hour ago. He asked for you.”

She stared at him. “He did? What did he say?”

Rúmil shrugged. “He only asked if I had seen you. I said no.”

“Well, that is of no interest to me at all,” she declared, “and you do not know my secret. You are making it all up.”

Nerwen wore an odd little smile. “And what is my secret, Rúmil?”

“That I do not know,” he admitted with a charming smile. “But I know you must have one.”

Gwirtucktucked her needle into her embroidery and rose to her feet. “Excuse me, Nerwen, but I have just recollected something I need to do. I shall see you later.”

Rúmil watched her hurry away, conscious of a small stab of guilt.

“Did my brother really ask for Gwirith?” Nerwen sounded skeptical and rather accusing.

Rúmil could not lie to her. “No,” he said sheepishly. “But it is true he likes her. I thought she might leave if I told her that. I wanted to talk to you alone.”

To his delight, Nerwen folded her arms in just the way he liked, so that it pushed up her rounded breasts that tiny bit, so that more of their sweet upper swell was displayed. However, he did not dare to let his eyes linger there too long.

“That was very wrong of you, Rúmil,” she said severely. “You should not lie, especially about something like that.”

He moved up to sit beside her on the bench. “You are right, I should not. I apologize.” He set the pouch upon his lap and gave her his most winning smile.

“You are incorrigible. And what is this nonsense about secrets?”

“You have a secret,” he said simply. “And so do I.’

“What is your secret?” She met his gaze, her lovely face still looking disapproving.

“If I told you, then it would not be a secret. Try to guess what is in this pouch.”

“I have no idea what it is.”

“Do you want me to tell you?” he said beguilingly. He wished she would smile again.

“I do not care for these games, Rúmil. If you have something to say, then please say it.”

He abandoned his playfulness. “Nerwen,” he said with a sigh, “do not be angry with me. What I have in this pouch is for you. A gift.” He held his breath, waiting for her reaction.

Her frown faded to a look of surprise. “A gift,” she said. “But why? My begetting day was last month.”

“It was?” he said without thinking. “Ah, yes, of course it was. I knew that. I must have been at the fences, or I would have given it to you then.” He hoped she would not remember that he had indeed been here, keeping guard over Elanor.

She smiled slightly, in a way that told him she was not fooled. “Rúmil, you have never once remembered my begetting day. What is different about this year?”

“Well now,” he said a bit too heartily. “I’m very glad you asked me that question. What is different?” He struggled to say the words, but no words came to him. All the fine sentiments concealed in his heart had no name, no description, no well-defined shape or form. Only one thing occurred to him to do and that was to take action. “_This_ is what is different,” he said firmly. Deftly and quickly, he slipped his arm around her waist and covered her mouth with his.

Nerwen did not react, or struggle, or seem at all enthused. It was off-putting, to say the least. He desperately wanted to deepen the kiss, but instead he pulled back and looked at her. “It would be more enjoyable if we do it together,” he pointed out with attempted humor.

“Will you never change?” she said, almost fiercely. “Must you always be like this?”

He stiffened. “Like what? Affectionate and friendly?”

“Undisciplined and fickle.”

“Fickle!” he exclaimed. “I am not fickle!”

“You are capricious and childish and—”

“Childish!” he echoed, starting to grow angry.

“Yes, childish. And unreliable and wild.”

“Unreliable!” He was now thoroughly insulted.

“And young,” she lashed back. “Young, despite your many years. And over-ardent. You think of nothing but sex and seduction. You have long made that very clear.”

“That is not true at all! I think about many other things!” He leaped to his feet, his temper seething. Why had he chosen to love the most fault-finding, stubborn, unappreciative elleth in all of Lórien? She did not deserve him!

“You are critical and ungrateful,” he told her icily. “I brought you a gift, and you have shown no interest in it at all.” He shoved the pouch into her hands. “Here, you may have it. I made it myself. I did not make it specifically for you, which I am sure will be a great crime in your eyes. But I wanted you to have it. It is yours. Do with it what you will. You may smash it to pieces if you like.”

And with those irate words, he spun around and stalked away, leaving Nerwen staring after him in growing dismay.

After a long, stricken moment, she opened the pouch and withdrew the graceful and detailed carving of the two deer. “Oh, Rúmil,” she whispered.

#

Elanor dreamed that Haldir’s lips were pressed to hers. It was a lovely dream and she did not want to wake, but then something began to tickle the tip of her nose. Pulling herself out of reverie, she found Haldir sitting next to her on the ground, holding a long strand of grass between his fingers. Before she could speak, he reached out and trailed it down the length of her nose and across her lips to her chin.

She smiled at him. “Did you just kiss me or did I dream it?”

“Kiss you?” he repeated, his tone innocent. He tossed aside the strand of grass and leaned over her, his eyes meeting hers. “Would I do that?”

Her lips still curving, she touched his beautiful hair, absently fingering it while she considered the question. “You do not kiss me in places where someone might see. I suppose I must have dreamed it.”

“Indeed, you must have,” he agreed, then bent down and kissed her, full on the mouth, not once but three times. He then withdrew, shifting his weight slightly, propping his arm on one upraised knee. “You are the fairest flower in the garden,” he added. “How could I not kiss you?”

She looked up at him, her lips tingling from the warm, seductive contact. “Haldir, are you flirting with me?”

“I must not be very good at it if you have to ask,” he said dryly.

With a little laugh, she sat up and leaned back on her hands so that she faced him. He looked very handsome, as he always did. He wore a tunic of dark green, like the long still shadows of the forest, and a clean pair of black leggings, and his hair gleamed in the sunshine, creating that halo effect that always made her heart do silly flips. Best of all, he appeared relaxed and content, and did not appear to have put up any new barriers since this morning.

“So you are not angry with me?” she asked, a little hesitantly.

He lifted an eyebrow. “Why would I be angry?”

“Because I walked out on you.” She watched his face carefully, searching for signs of dissatisfaction or displeasure, but all she saw was gentle amusement and . . . something else. Something male and potent that called to her femininity and caused a great tremor of awareness ace ace over her flesh.

“Not at all,” he said in a mild voice. “I was surprised, I admit. But not angry.” He did not elaborate further, and she decided to let the matter go.

“Where have you been?” she said instead.

Rather than answering, Haldir leaned over and kissed her again, a lingering, velvety caress of the lips that sent sweet shivers of pleasure coursing through her. During the process, he moved closer, deliberately and fluidly, so that his thigh now pressed against hers, whereas before there had been a little space between them. If it had been anyone but Haldir, she would have thought he intended seduction.

“Elanor,” he whispered tenderly, “you have a smudge of dirt on your cheek.”

She let out a startled laugh. “What an unromantic thing to say.”

“Ah, but you have no idea what thoughts it puts into my head.” His mouth curved faintly as their gazes locked.

“What thoughts are these?” she inquired, her heatarttarting to pound. She loved seeing Haldir like this, so open and unrestrained and sensual. This was his private side, the side she knew he seldom allowed others to see.

He leaned closer to her ear, his warm breath fanning her cheek. “It makes me want to bathe you,” he said softly. “With my own hands.”

“Oh my.” Elanor could feel herself blushing as the erotic image caught hold in her mind. Between her thighs, she felt a quick flood of heat. “So what you you been doing since I saw you last?” she asked, to cover her confusion and utter delight.

He smiled, and she somehow knew that her blushing response had amused and pleased him. “Thinking,” he said. He touched her hand where it lay near his in the grass, rubbing his large thumb against the fine bones of her wrist. “Thinking about what to give you for your begetting day.”

“You do not have to give me anything,” she protested, then added playfully, “Anything _else_, I mean.”

Again, he smiled. “On the contrary, I do, Elanor. And I have thought of something. It is not exactly something I can give to you, but rather something I would show you. Something you will appreciate even more than most.”

“In that case, I am eager to see it. But what is it?”

“A special place. We must leave the city to reach it. It is some distance away, but we can go there and return by nightfall. The question is, do you feel able to walk that far?”

“Of course I can walk that far. As long as I do not have to ride a horse!” she added with strong feeling.

“Ah, but then I could have the pleasure of healing you all over again.”

“I was hoping you had forgotten about that,” she said wryly.

“Elanor, there is not the slightest chance of my ever forgetting the sight of your extremely delectable backside. I find the memory most . . . uplifting.” Haldir’s eyes gleamed with wicked humor.

She tilted her head to the side and looked at him through her eyelashes. “You know, I did not fully realize until this moment what a truly naughty elf you are.”

He laughed. “You have much to learn about me, sweetling. I can be very naughty, to use your word. I have much to teach you beyond archery.”

Excitement uncoiled within her, strumming hard at her nerve endings. “Haldir, you seem changed since this morning. Has something . . . happened?”

“You might say that,” he said enigmatically. “And, no, to answer your next question, I have not been drinking.”

“I was not going to say that!” she said with a little laugh.

“Yes, you were. I could see it in your face. Did you think I was drowning my sorrows in Miruvor while you sat here with your daisies?”

She shook her head, still giggling, then spontaneously leaned over and hugged him. “Oh, Haldir, I am ready to go with you. Whatever it is you wish to show me, wherever you wish to take me . . . it does not matter as long as we can be together.”

He slipped an arm around her waist and held her close, his eyes now gentle and contemplative as he gazed into hers. “I feel the same, Elanor,” he said quietly.

And this became the moment Elanor would always remember, the one in which she finally admitted to herself that she loved Haldir with every fiber of her being. She loved him as Doria loved Orophin. She was in love with him.

Unexpectedly, without warning, Túre’s malicious words whispered like an ill wind through Elanor’s head, but she pushed them uneasily away. Instead, she closed her eyes and rested her head on his shoulder, savoring the romantic and magical moment for as long as it lasted.

[To be continued . . .] Feedback Appreciated!