ELANOR'S REVENGE

Note to our Readers - Since AFF is frequently hard to access, we wanted to let you know a couple other places you can follow our story. I think I posted this before but here it is again:
http://www.scribeoz.com/fanfic/story.php?no=597
or
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Julie_Fianna_Archive/

Thanks for reading, and thanks for your patience in waiting for us. We *are* still writing this.... and we *will* finish someday. Meanwhile our Lorien soap opera continues..... *g*

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Chapter Twenty One

The sun had set by the time Elanor and Haldir reached the gates of Caras Galadhon. The return journey had progressed more quickly than the one out to the glade of the ninniach-loth; Haldir had not seemed to want to dally and flirt the way he had earlier. He had, however, courteously asked her several times if their pace was too fast, and once, when she’d hesitated, he’d offered to carry her if she felt the need to sleep. Of course she had declined; she would have felt foolish, and did not wish to display such weakness to him. Keeping his good opinion remained important to her, even if she was a little tired.

Inside the talan, Elanor sank wearily into a chair and kicked off her shoes while Haldir closed the door and dropped the privacy latch into place. He glanced quickly in her direction, then strode into the sleeping chamber and lit the lamp, while she nervously ran her palms over the folds of her skirt. This was it, the moment she’d been waiting for. What would he do? How would this start? What would he expect of her?

A moment later he reentered the room, wearing only his leggings and his black under-tunic. He halted abruptly, his gaze sliding over her in one of those penetrating looks for which he was known. “You are tired,” he said. “Too tired for what we had in mind. I can see it in your face.”

“I am not too tired,” she protested. “If I was, I would say so.”

“Indeed you are tired, Elanor.” His gaze moved over her with obvious longing. “I would not feel right about taking advantage of you now. We will save our lovemaking for another time.”

Unable to believe her ears, she rose to her feet and set her hands on her hips. “Haldir, you would _not_ be taking advantage of me!”

“Yes, I would be.” He crossed the floor and stood before her, adopting one of his imperious facial expressions. “I have waited for this for many weeks and I can certainly wait a few more hours. And so can you.” Despite his words, Elanor heard the frustration lurking beneath his autocratic tone, though she knew he was trying to hide it. Perhaps he even thought he was succeeding.

“I feel like throwing something at you!” she told him crossly. “Besides myself, that is.”

“Elanor,” he said warningly. “You are not being sensible.”

“I do not feel sensible! Will you please stop being so noble and honorable? I want you to take me to bed and I am not too tired. Anyway,” she added persuasively, “we would be lying down.”

He lifted a brow. “You think so?”

She ignored the question. “You are carrying this too far,” she went on. “After your behavior this afternoon, I would think you’d be ripping my clothes off by now.”

“The thought has crossed my mind several times these past hours. I am not quite as slow as you think, Elanor.” As if to prove the point, his next movement was quick. In the blink of an eye, her wrists were seized and held behind her back, while he gazed almost smuglwn awn at her. “Lovemaking can be demanding exercise. I do not think you realize that.”

“I do not lack an imagination, Haldir,” she said tartly. “You are not going to talk me out of this so you may as well stop trying. It is too late to turn back.”

“You think I wish to turn back?” With a sigh, he drew her closer, his jaw resting against her hair.

“I think you are dawdling.” Elanor lifted her head, noting the slightly compressed set of his lips, the only outward sign that he fought an inner battle with himself. “I am not unaware that I hold a few cards of my own,” she added beguilingly. “I may be new to this game, but I am learning how to play.”

“I have noticed that,” he said dryly.

“Well then?”

“Elanor, are you very certain?” Something smoldered in those grey eyes that had not been there a moment before. She could sense him wavering, longing to surrender.

“Completely,” she assured him, her heart beating fast.

“Very well, Elanor, I yield. I can resist you no longer.” Yet still he seemed to hesitate, but for what reason she had no idea.

“Well, then, kiss me, you big lug,” she said with exasperation.

With a sudden laugh, he released her wrists and drew her into his arms. And he did kiss her . . . but in a way that told her he was not going to rush. His warm lips brushed across hers, starting at one corner of her mouth, feathering across her upper lip as he worked his way to the other corner before transferring his attentions to her lower lip.

Each kiss seemed slightly different, a gradual rise in ardor playing on her heightened senses, until he was drawing her tender flesh into his mouth and flicking it with his tongue. When his lips found her neck, the kisses grew open-mouthed and wet, his tongue straying here andre, re, exploring her while she trembled with half-closed eyes, trying to take in the reality that it was finally happening, that he was actually going to make love to her in that big bed that had been so lonely all these nights.

Pausing at last, he murmured, “Is that closer to what you had in mind?”

Elanor drew a breath, feeling weak in the knees. “It is a good start, but please keep going.”

He slid his hands down her back to her hips. “So what is next? Shall I tear off your clothes?” His playfulness was back, with something else added into the mix. Excitement.

“I would not be averse to it. It sounds quite romantic to me right now.”

“Romantic?” He laughed softly. “I am not so sure of that. Did you find it romantic when I did it the last time?”

“No,” she admitted, “but that was different.”

“True enough.” To Elanor’s delight, he scooped her into his arms and headed for the sleeping chamber, his strong arms bearing her weight without noticeable effort. Inside, he twirled her once around and set her on her feet beside the bed. “Last chance, my Elanor. Shall we continue?”

“Yes,” she answered, her heart pounding hard. “Yes, yes, yes.”

“Very well.” His nimble fingers loosened the ties of her gown, then he raised his hands to the slope of her neck and slid them downward, a long caress that took the fabric of her gown with it so that her shoulders and upper arms were bared. She sent up a silent prayer of thanks that she had worn no chemise when she gone out to garden, mostly because they all needed laundering. Had Haldir noticed? Most likely he had.

His hands halted just above her elbows, his attention fixed on her breasts. Her gown had fallen so far down her arms that the upper aureoles of her nipples were revealed. “Do you find this to your liking, milady? I know I do.”

Elanor sucked in a breath, feeling her nipples tingle and stiffen into firm peaks under his gaze. “I find everything you have done so far to my liking,” she whispered. “Except the part where you tried to weasel out of the whole thing.”

“Elanor, you amuse me. You’ve amused me almost from the first, when I awoke to find myself naked on your bed. You were trying so hard to make me think you were sophisticated and experienced. I think you even wanted to arouse me, although I am not sure you knew it at the time.”

“I was not trying to arouse you!” she corrected. “I was trying to infuriate you.”

“Ah, well, you dhat hat too, most successfully.” She could feel his gaze on her breasts, where her nipples strained against the yellow fabric as though seeking to escape. “But there were other things I wanted to do.”

“Such as strangle me?”

“Such as this.” Without warning her gown fell to her waist, its sleeves now gathered at her elbows. “You have the most beautiful breasts I have ever seen.” He skimmed the backs of his fingers over their full upper swell, lightly tracing all around their curvature before dipping down into the deep vee between.

Elanor blushed with pleasure, even though she did not believe him. “Haldir, you do not have to make things up. I am sure I am quite ordinary in that respect.”

“You are not ordinary. Yes, I have seen many breasts, but yours . . . ” He did not complete the sentence, which for some reason made her almost believe him. “I dream about your breasts at night,” he said, very softly. “Touching them. Kissing them.”

He was pushing her gown down her arms and over her hips, so that it slid down to pool at her feet. Beneath, she wore a pair of lacy pantalettes rather than a full chemise, an item of apparel Doria had suggested she try. Haldir gazed at them with quirked lips, then boldly loosened the tie and hooked his thumbs inside the waistline. A moment later, they joined her gown on the floor.

Despite what intimacy they had already shared, Elanor suffered a pang of self-consciousness under Haldir’s leisurely perusal. “Haldir, you are staring,” she said blushingly.

“Do not be shy,” he said, his golden voice more husky than usual. “I have seen you before, but each time . . .” He touched the hollow at the base of her throat, his fingertips following a trail downward, through the valley between her breasts, over the flat plane of her stomach until they reached the swell of her feminine mound, where he stopped. He stepped closer, his voice a caress in her ear. “Each time I see you like this I enjoy it more. You are like an elanor blossom, smooth and pale and lovely to behold.”

His hands closed on her upper arms, exerting a gentle backward pressure until the cool sheets kissed her back and her head touched the pillow. He leaned over her, studying her face, but when she reached for him, he drew back with a shake of his head. “Wait. Let me undress first.” With fluid movements, he shed the under-tunic and tossed it aside, then stood still and gave her a speculative look.

Elanor rested her head on her arm and gazed significantly at his leggings, his last remaining article of clothing. “I think you need to take those off too,” she said demurely.

“I’m well aware of that.” His gaze was rather hooded. “I was wondering if you would like to do it.”

Surprised, Elanor considered this. He must like the idea of her undressing him or he would not have suggested it. The thought was unexpectedly exciting, that he would want her to do such a thing. To be given that right, to be allowed . . . a shiver raced through her. “Yes,” she told him with shy determination. “I would like that. Come closer.”

She sat on the bed’s edge while he moved directly in front of her. With careful fingers, she loosened the leather tie and worked a reasonable amount of slack into the lacing before easing it out and over his erect member. He seemed disinclined to help, but just stood there watching, his breathing deep and even, while she managed to maneuver the leggings over his bare hips and halfway down his thighs. Here, she stopped, her gaze drawn to his sex, jutting arrogantly just inches from her face from its nest of silver-gold curls. The sight stirred her senses in a new way, and for the first time, the idea of kissing him there seemed appealing. But should she?

She looked up at him unainlainly. “Would you like me to . . .”

“Not now.” He smoothed a gentle hand over her hair. “Let us not put the cart before the horse. The emphasis right now is on you.”

“I thought it was on us,” she replied. She scooted backward, leaving an open place beside her on the bed, an invitation that hastened the removal of his leggings.

“True enough,” he said. “It is indeed on us.” He dow down beside her on the bed and gathered her close, his dark lashes lowered as he gazed down the length of her body.

Now that he too was naked, Elanor’s shyness began to abate, replaced by a desire to look her fill at him, to take in his perfect male beauty without feeling like she was only tormenting herself with what she could not have. She suddenly felt bold, voluptuous even, wanting to do things she had never done before. Yet the action she chose was probably the one he least expected and perhaps the most presumptuous. She began to undo his warrior braids, smoothing out the silvery blond strands while he watched her without comment, one corner of his mouth curling just a little.

At last his hair was unbound, a breathtaking sight to her feminine eyes. “That is better,” she said softly. “You look . . . very nice.”

“Thank you, Elanor.” He sounded amused. “You look nice too. I do believe this is the way I like you best. Naked and in my bed.”

He bent down and brushed his lips along the curve of her shoulder, then propped himself up on one elbow, his eyes roving over her as though she were a work of art he wished to savor. Just when she wondered if he would ever do anything but look, he placed his hand on her stomach and began to explore, the pads of his fingers skimming her flesh, moving up her ribcage and on to the under swell of her breasts. There, his thumb and fingers began an enticing massage, caressing her in ever widening sweeps but never quite touching her nipple, even when she shifted and moaned.

Frustrated, she wrapped an arm around his neck and tried to pull his head toward her breast, an action that earned her a soft male laugh. “Yes, Elanor? You want something?”

She looked at him, at the strong line of his jaw, the full lips, the strong nose, and the eyes that held such a playful glitter in their depths. “I want you, Haldir.” It was all she could think of to say.

“I know you do,” he said gently. “I want you too. But I also want to take my time and enjoy the experience. I may not be much good at flirting, but I am good at this.”

“So I hear. Your reputation precedes you, you modest thing.”

He lifted a brow. “Well, then? Trust me.”

“I do trust you.” This time there was no teasing in her voice. “I have always trusted you.” She touched his hair, weaving her fingers into its silvery softness. “In any case, I think you flirt very well . . . in a bold, naughty sort of way.”

“That is why I seldom flirt. I fear to offend. I lack Rúmil’s flair with words.” He bent down and placed a light kiss on her breast, then parted his lips and gave her another that was wetter and closer to the nipple. Then came the third kiss, the one that circled and teased until . . . at last his mouth closed upon the aching bud.

Elanor gasped with pleasure. Heat streaked through her, flaring out to every corner of her body, mostmost especially to that place between her thighs where the fire had been simmering for hours. There, she felt the familiar hot rush of moisture, thecurecursor of that desperate need that only he could fill. She badly wanted to reach for him, to explore every inch of him, but at the same time she wanted to lie still and take pleasure in this exquisite tugging sensation so as to prolong it as long as possible. Perhaps he was right; slow was best, at least for now . . . and she really was a little tired, despite what she had told him.

“Elanor,” he whispered against her breast. “I love your nipples. The sight of them, the taste of them . . . you have no idea what that does to me. I want to devour you in every way possible.” He rubbed his cheek against her skin, and then transferred his attentions to her other breast, nipping and sucking while she arched and whimpered in a near frenzy. Of their own accord, her hands roamed over what parts of him she could reach, smoothing his hair, skimming over his broad shoulders and long back, exalting in the hard masculine contours so different from her own.

After a time, he returned to her lips, his tongue thrusting aggressively into her mouth to plunder deeply and hungrily in a thrilling conquest. Something in the way he held her, in the placement of his hands and the urgent movement of his body made this kiss stand out, like an act of possession, claiming rights not previously claimed. Lost in bliss, Elanor wrapped a leg around his, and in response he brought his thigh hard against the female folds concealing her aching center. Pressing against him, she rubbed the sole of her foot along his muscular calf at the same time she reached down to touch him intimately.

“Oh, Elanor . . .” he breathed, as her fingers wrapped around him in a gentle hold. He gave a low moan of pleasure and relaxed, his eyes half closed, yet after the first few strokes, he stayed her hand. “Not too much. What you did this morning, it took the edge off, but . . . that part of me is still most eager to proceed. I am trying not to listen, but it is not easy. It sometimes has a mind of its own.”

“Like its master,” she said pertly.

“Not at all,” he corrected with a grin. “Its master is not governed by lust.”

“Of course not. Its master is far too wise and noble and stubborn and pigheaded—”

“Elanor, stop.”

“Which is why its master allowed me to sit on his lap this morning,” she added slyly. “And do what I did.”

“Ah, I see you are asking for punishment.” Without warning, Elanor suddenly found her wrists seized and her legs thrust apart by a pair of powerful knees. Haldir settled himself between her thighs as though it was his right, just as he had so many weeks before on that night in Rivendell. “I think it is time for Haldir’s revenge,” he said with mock sternness.

Elanor saw the wicked glint in his eye. “What are you going to do? Haldir, do not even _think_ about tickling me!” She struggled to free her hands, but her efforts failed; she was no match for his strength.

“Oh, Elanor, Elanor,” he said, shaking his head, “you misjudge me yet again. Stop wiggling. You just said you trusted me.”

“I do, but . . .” She looked up at him uneasily.

“Then do it. Trust me. I am not going to tickle you. Do not put ideas into my head. I have something else in mind. Something better.”

She eyed him with suspicion. “This does not involve hithlain, does it?”

“No hithlain.” Laughter quivered his voice. “I am not going to tie you up. Trust me.”

“I do trust you,” she said. “But what did you mean by revenge?”

“It was a joke, nothing more. Perhaps I should tell you that you will like the revenge I have in mind.” He sounded very sure of himself. Almost cocky.

Before she could think what to say, he captured her mouth again, an urgent demand that felt both right and natural, as though the rhythmic stroke of tongues blended more than just their mouths. Then he freed her wrists and sat up, rearranging both himself and her so that he sat between her legs with her thighs resting on top of his, her legs on either side of his hips. Elanor went tense, now feeling more exposed than voluptuous. This was not what she expected and to lie here like this, open to his gaze, was unfamiliar and slightly embarrassing.

Yet it was her face upon which he gazed, his eyes connecting to hers with a reassuring intensity. “Trust,” he said softly. Hinds nds were slowly gliding up her thighs, but to her surprise they entirely bypassed the part of her that burned for him. Instead they slid over her hip bones and stomach, his fingers spreading over her curves, smoothing over shoulders and arms and fingers before reversing direction, attentively mapping the entire length of her body right down to her ankles and feet.

With a soft sigh, Elanor closed her eyes and relaxed; the lulling seductiveness is cis caress was incredibly pleasurable. Indeed it was so soothing that her self-consciousness floated away on a tranquil sea of sensuality that seemed without end . . . until at last she felt the skim of his fingers in that place where she so longed to be touched.

Elanor’s eyes shot open as new sensations took hold. She had not forgotten how he had done this before, how he had known unerringly what to do. This time was no different, except that his fingers seemed to be dipping deeper, so deep she actually felt discomfort, yet he never allowed the discomfort to last for more than a few seconds at a stretch. And all the while his thumb circled her feminine center, continuously teasing, occasionally stroking, while she trembled and clutched at the folds of the sheets, her breath coming in uneven gasps. Her eyelids drifted downward. She did not know quite what to do with her hands, but, oh my, he knew exactly what to do with his. It was exquisite, a slow-building pleasure that was fast turning into a searing torment. Any moment now . . . any moment would surely be the one she had been waiting for, the one in which he would join his body with hers . . .

At long last she felt his body shift, but not into the position she was anticipating. Instead, she nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt the touch of his lips in a most unexpected and intimate place. “W-what are you doing?” she stammered, looking down at him with mixed emotions. Rúmil hadn’t told her about this!

His eyes met hers. “I am loving you, Elanor. Relax. Trust me.”

Elanor gulped air e pre proceeded to do far more than kiss; not only did he use his lips, but also his tongue and even his teeth, gently and carefully stimulating her in a way she had never dreamed possible. Furthermore, he seemed to be enjoying it . . . this was her last coherent thought for some time as the fire inside her bloomed bright, climbing higher and closer to the shattering conclusion for which she yearned. “Haldir,” she panted, her voice ragged, “please . . . I cannot . . . this is . . . oh my . . .”

And then, dimly, a sound penetrated her consciousness. A knock.

A knock on the outer door of the talan. “Haldir!” a distant voice called. She felt Haldir freeze. The exterior door rattled, as though someone was trying to enter.

Haldir lifted his head. She saw her own disbelief reflected in his eyes.

“Haldir!” More pounding on the door. “Haldir, I know you’re in there. Open the door, will you? It is important!” Orophin’s voice.

Haldir leaped from the bed and snatched up his leggings. “Excuse me, Elanor. I will return in a moment . . . after I murder my brother.”

Trembling with need, Elanor watched him stalk from the room and close the door behind him while she pressed her thighs together and bit her lip, hoping he would hurry. She could hear his voice, low and brusque, demanding to know what in the name of Morgoth’s balls Orophin wanted, but she could not hear Orophin’s reply. Whatever words the brothers exchanged were spoken in an undertone, and then the outer door opened and closed again.

Haldir returned, his face a study of acute vexation and extreme displeasure. “Elanor, I regret to say I must go out. It is not Orophin but Rúmil I am going to kill. It seems my youngest brother has gotten himself so drunk that he is sprawled on top of a certain maiden’s talan, bellowing some of those highly improper songs I mentioned earlier.”

Elanor sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest. “Must you go? Why can’t Orophin attend to it?”

“Because Galadriel bade him to fetch me. Apparently she feels it is my duty to drag my deranged brother off the roof and curtail his activities. I should not be long. It will take me only a moment to string him up by his privates.” He pulled his under-tunic over his head. “Rest while I am gone. Try to sleep.”

“I am not going to sleep, Haldir,” she said in frustration. “How can you even suggest such a thing? Have you forgotten what we were doing?”

He came over to the bed and cupped her chin. “I know, my love, and I am sorry. Wait for me,” he added firmly, and bent to place a swift kiss on her mouth.

“Of course I will wait,” she began, then realized what he meant and blushed. “Of course,” she repeated again, and saw his slight smile. “But I shall not sleep.”

His smile faded. “Oh, yes, you will.” And before she could stop him, he cast a sleeping spell on her. She felt herself spinning off into darkness before she could lift a hand to smack him. And then she suddenly realized he had called her his love . . .

#

“But what exactly did you say to him?” Tarwë sounded perplexed. “He has never done anything like this before.”

With a shake of her head, Nerwen drew further back into the shadows of the mallorn, her gaze aimed at the roof of her own talan across the way. “I told you. I said I could not keep his gift, and I told him why. I made it clear that I understood what it is he wants from me, that he was not fooling me.” The thought caused her intense pain, a pain that had haunted her for years. Her secret pain, she called it. She had never told anyone except Tarwë, who understood because she also suffered, though for a different reason. Their shared travails had drawn them together into close friendship.

Tarwë’s gaze was also riveted on what little they could see of Rúmil, as were the gazes of several dozen others. “That song is appalling. At least he has a pleasant voice, but I truly think he is so drunk he does not realize everyone can hear.”

“Including the Lord and Lady,” Nerwen agreed with asperity. “He does not care. He only wants to shame me.” She did not really believe this, but at the moment her anger was so fierce that if she could have reached Rúmil, she would have slapped him good and hard. “That is why he chose my roof,” she added, “so others will think I had something to do with him being in this disgraceful state. After this night, I will never be able to look the Lady of Light in the face again.”

“I doubt the Lord and Lady are going to blame you,” Tarwë soothed. “In fact, I thought Lord Celeborn looked quite amused. His lips were definitely twitching when I saw him. And I do wish you had seen the look he exchanged with Galadriel. She did not smile, but all the same I swear there was a twinkle in her eyes. In any case, she has sent for Haldir, so that should take care of it.”

“I would hate to be in Rúmil’s shoes when he shows up,” Nerwen muttered, then winced as Rúmil embarked on a new song, one that involved himself and multiple cavorting and very lusty maidens. “Reprehensible,” she muttered. “He will never grow up. Never.” She was glad that Celeborn and Galadriel has gone back to their talan.

Tarwë slipped a comforting arm around Nerwen’s shoulders. “Come now, would you have him any other way? I know your feelings. Is it not his sense of fun and his talent to inspire laughter and good cheer that draws you to him?”

“In part, yes. But I want an elf who can be serious too. I want someone who . . .” Nerwen let her voice drift off. There was no point in saying this again. She and Tarwë had had this crsatrsation many times, and it never solved or changed anything. Rúmil was as he was, and she had to accept that.

“He is an able warrior,” Tarwë reminded her for perhaps the hundredth time. “He must be serious at times. I am sure he is not telling jokes while on the battlefield.”

Nerwen shivered at the thought of Rúmil, _her_ Rúmil, being in the midst of a fearsome battle. She could not imagine it, and did not want to imagine it. She also knew Tarwë spoke with wisdom and that there had to be another side to Rúmil if only he would let her see it. “Do you think I should be doing something about this?” she finally asked.

“What could you do? Climb up on the roof with him?” Tarwë squeezed her shoulder. “Haldir and Orophin will take care of it. Look, here they are now.”

Nerwen turned her head and saw Haldir stalking along a nearby walkway in their direction. His hair lacked its usual braids, he was not fully dressed, and his dangerous expression did not bode well for his youngest brother. “Oh dear,” she said without thinking. She ignored the quizzical look Tarwë gave her.

As Rúmil’s brother, the March Warden had always interested her; she found him attractive and had been known to admire his physique when he was not looking her way. However, she had never shared his bed, partly because she had never been asked, and partly because he was Rúmil’s brother and to her that made a difference. He was also known as a stern disciplinarian and, remembering this, she almost feared for Rúmil before she reminded herself how deserving he was of Haldir’s wrath. Then a new concern struck her. Would Haldir banish Rúmil to the fences for a great stretch of time? She twisted her fingers together and told herself she was a fool to care.

“It will be over soon,” Tarwë said quietly.

Rúmil’s voice wafted loudly into the heights of the trees while his two brothers quickly climbed up to join him. An instant later Rúmil fell silent, but Nerwen could not tell if he had passed out or whether Haldir had cast a spell on him. Most likely the latter. Nerwen held her breath while the two brothers lowered Rúmil’s limp form from the roof to the platform below. Then Haldir hoisted Rúmil over his shoulder while Orophin turned and bowed to the elves who had gathered to watch. “He’s had a bit too much wine,” he said tactfully. “Our apologies to you all.” And the two of them walked away, just like that.

Nerwen fought an urge to run after them and beg Haldir not to punish Rúmil too harshly.

“Are you going after them?” Tarwë asked.

“I will not,” Nerwen said, and bit her lip. “No, I shall not.” She took a step forward. “I should not,” she added waveringly.

“Hurry,” Tarwë said softly.

Nerwen no, gr, grateful for Tarwë’s unflagging support and understanding. Careful to stay in the shadows, she hastened after the three brothers, not knowing what she would say or do, only knowing she needed to take some action or regret it later. After all, this concerned her as much as anyone else. In a manner of speaking, Rúmil was hers . . . though no one else knew it. Not even Rúmil.

#

Haldir knew they were being followed, though he did not bother to look around to learn which elleth trailed their steps. At the moment he did not care. He was impatient to get back to Elanor and was in no mood to give this mysterious elleth much attention. Rúmil always had maidens mooning and fluttering around him; no doubt it was one of those, someone eager to minister to his darling brother with tender hands and eager lips. Not that she would get very far tonight, he thought sardonically.

Orophin preceded him and opened the door to Rúmil’s talan so Haldir could take him straight inside. Still very annoyed, Haldir dumped his brother unceremoniously on his bed and began to walk away.

“Should we not undress him?” Orophin inquired. “Or at least take off his boots?”

“You may do so if you like,” Haldir said curtly. “I am leaving.” He began to walk toward the door.

“Haldir, what is wrong?”

Haldir swiveled around. “Nothing is wrong, other than my extreme displeasure at our brother’s conduct. Is that a t a sufficient explanation?”

Orophin waved a hand. “He is unhappy about something, and I think I know what it is, but you . . . you seem on edge.” His shrewd blue eyes were curious. “Is something amiss with Elanor?”

“No. Why would you think that?” Haldir asked warily.

“Well . . .” Orophin cocked an eyebrow. “You came back from the fences because of her, did you not? You spent the entire afternoon together, did you not? And now, this evening, you seem unusually out of sorts. So I am wondering why.”

“I am not out of sorts,” Haldir countered. “And if I were, the reason would be none of your concern.” Seeing the look on Orophin’s face, he relented. “Forgive me, Orophin. I am not out of sorts. As for Elanor, she is sleeping right now. She is tired and so am I.”

Orophin seemed willing to accept this. “Where were you all afternoon?” he asked with a smile.

Haldir hesitated, but could see no reason to withhold the information. “I took her to see the ninniach-loth.”

“Ah. I imagine she liked that.” To Haldir’s relief, Orophin seemed ready to change the subject, for he glanced briefly at Rúmil’s recumbent body, then angled his head toward the door of the talan. “One of us should speak to her,” he said in an undertone.

“Who is it?” Haldir asked, without much interest.

Orophin came close, and whispered, “I am guessing it is Nerwen. I believe she is the indirect cause of our brother’s exhibitihis his evening, but it is only a theory. It was her roof he was on and I’ve noticed things . . .” He made a vague gesture.

“Are you implying this is some kind of lovers’ quarrel?” Haldir grimaced at the idea of being dragged into one of Rúmil’s affairs of the heart. On the other hand, he now recalled that Rúmil had expressed a desire to woo . . . someone. But was this the maiden in question? And was this what he called wooing?

“Go talk to her, Haldir. Find out what you can.”

“Why me?”

Orophin kept his voice low. “Because, dear brother, Elanor is sleeping . . . and Doria is not. This all came at a most inconvenient moment for us, if you understand my meaning.”

Haldir understood all too well and had very little sympathy, but he bit back the sarcastic retort he longed to make. “Very well, I will talk to her,” he said resignedly.

He found Nerwen standing in the shadows not far from Rúmil’s door. She looked the way she normally did, tall and pretty and rather regal, yet when their gazes met, he thought she seemed nervous. “Nerwen,” he said, “on behalf of my brother, I wish to apologize for what happened tonight. I am sure Rúmil will be making his own apology tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” She stepped forward, her eyes fastened on his. “I am sure you are wondering why he chose my roof.”

“On the contrary, where Rúmil is concerned, I do not look for logic.”

“True enough,” she agreed, sounding a little bitter.

He studied her more closely, and thought he saw deep sadness lurking in her eyes. “Has Rúmil injured you in some way, Nerwen?”

“No,” she said, with a vigorous shake of her head. “No, we are friends, he and I. That is why I am here. I thought perhaps you might discipline him in some way.” When Haldir did not speak, she added, “I thought you might decide to send him to the fences.”

“The thought occurred to me,” Haldir acknowledged. “It is his turn to go. As a warden of Lórien, he has a duty to perform. It is not a punishment but an obligation, one he chose willingly.”

Nerwen’s eyes were wide. “Yes, of course, I understand that. But . . . you won’t send him away for very long, will you? Not because of his singing, I mean?”

Haldir fought back a smile. “Such as ten years, you mean? Or perhaps fifty?”

“He did not hurt my roof. And no one was truly all that shocked.” She twisted her fingers together in front of her. “I mean, everyone knows what Rúmil is like. What he did was not so very bad. I am sure we have all heard such songs before.”

“Rúmil will serve his time at the fences just like all the wardens do. But no, Nerwen, I will not send my brother away for longer than usual. He will have you to thank for that. Shall I tell him so?”

She looked alarmed. “No! Oh, no, please do not tell him I was here! He will attach a meaning to it that I do not intend. We are no more than friends, and . . .” She straightened her shoulders. “And that is all.”

Haldir nodded, wishing he knew what to say. “I admit Orophin and I did not do much to make him comfortable. We are both annoyed with him. Perhaps, as a friend, you might like to look in on him before you go. He will never know you were there.”

“aps aps I will.” She bit her lip. “You do not object?”

“It is not my place to object,” Haldir said. He turned to go, and saw her edge toward Rúmil’s talan from the corner of his eye. Nerwen was a fair and lovely elleth, one he had always liked well enough, though he had never been motivated to pursue her. Possibly her interest in Rúmil accounted for it; sometimes one simply sensed these things. He only hoped Rúmil did not break her heart, for it was obvious she cared for him. Perhaps he should break his brother’s head and put some sense in it.

With swift steps, Haldir headed back to his talan, both Nerwen and Rúmil vanishing from his mind as his thoughts winged back to Elanor.

He halted the moment he saw her, deep in reverie with the sheet only half draped over her, beautiful as a dream in the lantern’s soft glow. Did she truly grow more beautiful each day? He drank in the sight with hungry eyes, filled with blood-pounding impatience to take her into his arms and begin anew.

Quickly and quietly, he stripped off his clothes and moved toward the bed, but then, as he gazed down at her, he found himself hesitating. She had been tired, even if she’d been unwilling to admit it, and he wanted her to be fully awake and alert when he made love to her the first time. He had thought about it so often, on so many nights, envisioning how it would be. He knew what he wanted.

Feeling torn, he settled himself next to her and breathed in her scent, admiring the way the dark cloud of her hair spread out across the pillow. He loved her hair, just as he loved everything else about her. She was so beautiful to him, so amazing really. She even laughed at his jokes. That was the most amazing thing of all.

He reached out and touched her cheek, gently, so she would not wake. How soft her skin was, so perfect and pale that she almost seemed to glow. He let his eyes glide downward to her naked breasts. They were perfect too, shapely and full, with eager, rosy nipples that fairly begged to be suckled. And that delicious feminine area between her thighs, the melting sweetness he had found there . . . he swallowed hard, recalling the ecstatic little sounds she had made while he tasted and teased her with all his considerable long-acquired skill. The memory of her moans and whimpers was almost his undoing; it took every particle of his self-control not to reach out and wake her up.

Instead he carefully shifted the sheet so that he could see the rest of her, which he realized at once was a mistake. His sex throbbed almost unbearably, an ache that was too familiar, and he released a groan of frustration. He was tempted to relieve his torment with his hand so he could get some rest of his own . . . but he would not. Instead, he would lie here and watch her sleep. It did not matter that he wanted her now, ort het he burned for her in a way that he had never burned for anyone. There would be time enough for lovemaking in the morning. She was tired and he could wait. It was the best and wisest decision.

Of course, he knew that she might not agree. He pulled the sheet over them both, correcting the thought even as it went through his head. She would definitely not agree, but he was used to making difficult decisions and she was not.

He only hoped she would not be too annoyed with him.

#

Elanor awoke at the first light of dawn during that quiet period just before the birds begin to sing. She lay on her side, blinking in confusion at the sight of Haldir lying next to her, naked and deep in reverie. Then the memories came flooding back. All of them.

“Haldir!” she said furiously. She rammed her fingers hard into his ribs. “Wake up!”

He caught hold of her wrist before she could jab him again. “I am awake, Elanor.” He did not look pleasedthe the manner of his waking.

Heedless of her nudity, Elanor sat up and glared at him. “How dare you leave me to sleep!” She tried to yank her arm away, but he held tight to it.

“You needed your rest,” he said evenly.

“You said you would return right away!”

“And I did,” he said, his grey eyes scanning her face. “Calm down, Elanor. I am in no mood to be berated.”

“You made me go to sleep,” she accused.

“I did. You needed it.” He drew her down beside him.

“I did not want to sleep! I wanted—”

His mouth stopped her words. The kiss was long, deep, and ardent enough to drive away her indignation. When at last it ended, he said, “I know what you wanted.” His eyes danced with playfulness as he raised himself up on one elbow. “And I am going to give it to you this morning. Several times, I hope.”

Her heart did a sideways flip. “You should have woken me,” she reiterated, pouting a little. Still, the promise in his eyes mollified and excited her. “You cannot imagine the dreams I was having.”

“Oh, can I not?” he said silkily. “I was having an interesting dream of my own just now . . . until those bony fingers of yours brought an untimely end to it.” He brought his mouth close to her ear. “Shall I tell you about it? Or would you like me to demonstrate?”

Elanor smiled and curled her arm around his neck. “Which would you prefer?”

“I would prefer to show you.” Hid hid his hand over the curve of her hip, across her belly and downward, his fingers boldly slipping between her thighs to delve into the delicate and intimate folds of her flesh. She gasped when he slid a finger inside her; already, she trembled with desire for him. How did it happen so quickly, with the briefest touch of his hand?

“Why, Elanor, you are already wet,” he said provocatively. “I think I’d like to hear about this dream of yours.”

“You first,” she said, trying to wriggle against his hand, but he had other ideas and shifted his fingers just enough to foil her.

His tongue stroked hotly along the curve of her throat. “In my dream, this is what I was doing. Kissing you. Your mouth. Your breasts. And down here.” His thumb stroked across her aching pleasure spot. “Well, I should not call it kissing. Sucking, perhaps. Licking. Tasting. And you liked it.”

She drew a shuddering breath. “And in my dream, Haldir, I was also kissing you. This part of you.” Reaching down, she discovered he was as rock solid as he had been last night. “Would you . . .” She paused, feeling shy and awkward. “Would you like it if I did that? Kissed you down there, I mean?”

The hand between her legs went still. “Would _you_?” he said, watching her keenly.

Her heart began to beat double-time. “Yes, but I’ve never done it before so . . . I do not know if . . .” She could feel the warmth creeping into her cheeks. “I am afraid I will not be able to please you very much, but I can try.”

“Oh, Elanor.” He lay back casually and looked at her, a compelling glint in his eye. “Any effort you would like to make in that regard would please me very much.”

A delightful shiver of wanting ran through her. She did want to touch him. She y way wanted to do this and it surprised her. “Did you lock the door?” she asked anxiously.

A lazy smile tugged at his lips. “The door is locked and barricaded. And if anyone knocks, we are going to ignore them.”

“Oh, good.” Elanor shifted around until she knelt between his long legs, then glanced up to see him watching her. “Do not worry. I will be careful with my teeth.”

“Thank you, Elanor.” His voice was deceptively meek.

“At least I will try to be,” she explained. “But if I hurt you, please tell me.”

“You will be the first to hear about it, I promise.”

“Perhaps you had better close your eyes,” she added. “You are making me nervous.”

“Take your time,” he said helpfully. “And, Elanor, if you would rather not . . .”

“No, I want to. Just lie still please.”

“That may be harder than you think. Of course, _I_ may be harder than you think.”

Elanor giggled. Suddenly, she did not feel shy at all. This was normal and natural, and she was not with a stranger. She was with Haldir, an elf she loved for so many reasons, an elf with such nobility, integrity and steadfastness of character that he would deny himself so that she might rest. And no matter how long they were together, no matter how long she was his lover, she knew she would never regret this moment. She only wanted to give him pleasure and make him happy.

“Oh, Haldir, forgive me,” she said humbly.

“For what, Elanor?” He sounded perplexed.

“For being foolish. For waking you up so rudely. For not understanding that you were right and I was wrong.” Her eyes were moist. “For putting my welfare before yours.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” he said gently. He reached for her hand and held it for a moment, his thumb making tiny circles that spoke of reassurance. “Touch me,” he whispered. “Please.”

“I will. And you do not have to close your eyes unless you want to,” she added, and saw him give a faint smile.

She began slowly, trailing her hands along his legs and over his knees, delighting in the lean muscularity and inherent power that was so much a part of him. How wonderful it was to be allowed to do this, to trace the ridges of muscle and sinew, to skim her hands over his chest and taut lower abdomen without risking rebuke. The warmth and firmness of his flesh fascinated her, the unyielding masculine contours so different from her own. And his thighs . . . for some reason she wanted to kiss them and finally she did so, wantonly rubbing her cheek against his skin and pressing her lips here and there, gradually working her way ever closer to her goal while he waited, his breathing noticeably uneven.

Eventually he began to shift with impatience, tiny movements telling her clearly that he had reached the limits of his endurance. Too many times had she circled and grazed him, now now she took hold of him, her hands encasing his heat while her fingertips explored the silken exterior flesh that housed his rigid member. Flushed dark with the heat of arousal, its size and thickness seemed in perfect proportion to his powerful physique, befitting one of his solidity and vigor. Enjoying the feel of him, she enclosed him tightly and gave him several long strokes before she found the courage to bend down and give him an open-mouthed kiss. His sex twitched in response, which seemed like encouragement, but he said nothing and so she decided to be bolder . . .

As the minutes passed, she began to feel she was acquiring an understanding of what gave him the most pleasure. Certain actions made his breathing go ragged, others made him inhale deeply or utter a low moan, and those were the actions she repeated, slowly gaining confidence and, she hoped, proficiency. At the same time, she cupped and explored the soft, interesting sacs that were reputed to be a male’s most sensitive area. Rúmil had not said anything about this, but she noticed her touch there seemed to enhance Haldir’s pleasure.

“Enough,” he said, so abruptly it startled her.

She lifted her head, but before she could ask what was wrong, he took her by the underarms and drew her forward, positioning her with her knees on either side of his hips and her hands on the bed by his shoulders. Her hair fell around them like a dark veil, and he gently gathered it up and moved it aside so that it streamed down her back.

“Come closer,” he said, gng hng her into a pose that brought her chest near his mouth. Realizing what he wanted, Elanor abandoned self-consciousness and leaned down to give him better access. Exquisite sensations burned through her as he held her breasts and suckled her, his mouth alternating between breasts while his fingers rolled and rubbed whichever nipple was free at the time. Then he slipped one hand between her thighs and within moments the world began to spin away . . .

Distantly, she heard him say something. “What?” she panted. She opened her eand and looked at him in confusion.

“Never mind.” He laughed softly. “I have my answer.”

Without another word, he rolled her onto her back almost roughly, and planted himself between her legs. The solid weight of his body pressed her down, but he made no move to do what she thought he would do.

His lips brushed hers. “Elanor, I want to complete your pleasure before I cause you pain. I do not know how much it will hurt. It could take away your pleasure completely.”

“Oh.” She gazed up into his grey eyes, her heart thundering with anticipation. She lifted her hand to his cheek. “I trust you, dear Haldir. I leave the choice to you.”

“Good.” His hand slid downward, and for a few moments he stroked her deftly, invoking more fiery sensations that shimmered through her like glowing sparks. So close she was to exploding, yet he did not take her there. Instead, he shifted downward, his knees in the vicinity of her calves, his body braced so there was a space between them. She did not quite understand, but she said nothing, only parted her thighs willingly while he positioned himself over her. At this point she looked down the length of their bodies, at the full size of his sex poised at her opening, and felt a sudden wave of concern. She glanced up quickly, and saw him watching her.

“Do not worry,” he said huskily. He bent to kiss the base of her throat, and then her lips. “Just relax and let me do the work.”

She nodded, swallowing hard as he began to press into her. At once she was surprised by the amount of discomfort that fought against the aching pressure of her desperate need. Before she could get used to it, he withdrew, then pressed in again, only the smallest distance, much less than she expected. Her concern increased.

“Is it not working?” she asked, clutching hard at his elbows.

He looked down at her with a mixture of humor and tenderness. “It is working very well. Lift your knees higher.”

Elanor obeyed, and this time when he performed the movement she felt it, the wonderful hot bloom that had been smoldering since last night. He was stoking it with his movements, which were shallow, yet amazingly effective. Over and over he repeated it, his face set with determina, be, beads of perspiration upon his brow that spoke of self-restraint. Hazily, she realized he was holding back, but she could only pant and cling to him, seeking her own release, straining toward it with growing fervor while he continued his shallow, tantalizing thrusts.

“Please,” she heard herself whimper. “Please oh please oh please oh please . . .”

And then she felt it, a roaring wave of pure sensation pouring over her, almost unbearable in intensity and boundlin iin its reach. She cried out, an ecstatic sound that made no sense, yet contained Haldir’s name embedded somewhere in the heart of it. It went on longer than she expected, a lengthy ripple of pleasure more potent than she had ever felt. When at last she recovered enough to open her eyes, she looked up and saw him watching her, his face wearing an expression of pure triumph.

“Yes?” he said, his eyes twinkling. “You liked that?”

“Oh, it was wonderful.” She smiled dreamily. “I made a lot of noise.”

“Delicious, beautiful noise. And now it is my turn.”

“Yes.” She gripped his arms. “I am ready for you.”

He bent down and gave her one more kiss, and then renewed his movements, each time sliding a little deeper until he hit her barrier. It was far more uncomfortable than she had anticipated, but she tried to conceal this from him, and instead concentrated on how magnificent he looked, and how astounding it was that she was with him. It spun through her head how she had once thought of him as a star too bright for her to touch. And now, here they were, doing this. How incredible that iouldould even be happening at all . . .

His thrusts were harder now, increasing in force and rapidity. She sensed that he was trying to be gentle, but there was no way around the fact that this was hurting. And then came piercing pain. Elanor squealed, every muscle in her body going tense.

Haldir went still. “Courage, dear love. The worst is over now.”

“I am fine,” she gasped, still trembling with shock. “It was not too terrible.” She smiled shakily. “But it did feel rather like a sword.”

His mouth slanted into an apologetic smile. “I regret that. But I have good news for you. My sword fits perfectly in its new sheath. You were worried about that, I could tell.”

“I was not,” she lied.

“Yes, you were. I should add that my sword is extremely happy. It has ventured into darkness and battered down nature’s barrier. And now, my Elanor, it feels very much at home.”

“I hope not so at home that it thinks it can relax.”

“Why, Elanor, I do believe you have acquired the knack of making naughty jokes.”

“I think perhaps I have.” She brushed her hands across the broad expanse of his chest and drew a deep breath.

The easy jests had helped. She could feel the tension easing from her body, allowing her to relax and accept the unfamiliar fullness of his presence deep within her. Once again he had demonstrated his wisdom in choosing this place and time for their experience. Somehow he always knew what was best for her.

His mouth still curved, but his eyes were beginning to look a bit unfocused. “My sword is still scouting the area, getting acquainted with the layout . . . in high spirits and very eager to continue . . .” His words drifted off as though he forgot what he was saying. Then he seemed to collect himself enough to say in a strained voice, “Can you bear it if I move now?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “I am fine. Seek your pleasure, dear heart.” The last two words slipped out by accident, but he seemed not to notice.

His thrusts resumed, long strokes of unleashed sexual power, and with each, Elanor’s body gradually adapted to the invasion. It still hurt, but the pain was less, supplanted by burgeoning pleasure. She was starting to rise up to meet him, to angle her body ever so slightly in order to increase her own gratification. Her legs hugged his hips, her heels snug against his buttocks, and she dug them in, encouraging him without words to drive as deeply as he wished.

Suspended above her, the muscles in his chest and arms taut, he looked like a glorious dream warrior, or a pale silver lover from some ancient age. But he was no dream; he was as real and solid as she was, and he was breathing hard and loudly.

He was on fire just as she had been on fire.

With deep satisfaction, she realized he had finally lost control. His face was contorted, his eyes half closed, and the sounds vibrating in his throat were almost savage, governed by primal instinct and desire. He was shaking too. Shaking as he surged into her again and again with a force and urgency that might have alarmed her if she had not trusted him so completely.

“Elanor,” he gasped out suddenly. He arched his head, his entire body convulsed with shudders that made him appear to be in anguish. A moment later he collapsed on top of her, trembles still shuddering through him while he gulped air. “Oh, Elanor,” he murmured. His hands went to her hair, his fingers sinking into it and holding tightly while she patted soothingly at his shoulder blades, now covered in gooseflesh.

She continued to smooth her hands over his back while he lay on top of her, apparently recovering. “Was it very nice?” she said softly.

He lifted his head and kissed her brow. “It was better than nice. I have no words to describe how nice it was.”

She considered this, and wriggled a little. “Nice enough to do again?”

“Right away?” He lifted a brow. “Ah, I see. You require more attention than my noble sword could offer.”

Elanor blushed and smiled sheepishly.

“Give me a moment. Right now my sword is limping and covered in blood.”

“What?” Elanor’s eyes widened. “You are hurt?”

“It is your blood, not mine,” he explained, his tone very gentle.

Elanor relaxed, feeling foolish. “Oh. Well, you said you were limping.”

“Limp is a better word, though I prefer not to use it. Haldir’s little sword wants to take a nap before it embarks on further adventures.”

“Not so little even now,” she corrected.

“Shrinking quickly,” he said with a laugh. He rolled off her and sat up, then drew her into a sitting position. It was then that Elanor saw the blood, far more of it than she expected. It covered her thighs as well as parts of him, mingling with that other milky substance that came from his body. Then, for the first time, she noticed the rectangular cloth that had been under them.

“You will observe no blood on the sheets,” Haldir said smugly. “That is because Haldir planned ahead while his lady was sleeping. He did not wish the nice elleth who does his laundry to be angry with him.”

Elanor laughed, but before she could come up with a reply, he picked her up and headed toward the bathing chamber. “Now what?” she asked, cng ing into his chest.

“Now we are going to take a bath together. I am going to wash you with excessive thoroughness and attention to detail. You can wash me too, if you like.”

“Oh really? And what makes you think we can both fit in there at the same time?”

He glanced down with a quirky smile. “I know a way, Elanor. Trust me.”

#

As dawn’s early light crept into the room, Galadriel eased away from Celeborn's protve eve embrace and rose quietly from their bed. Last night they had made passionate love, and afterward she had lain beside him for hours, listening to his even breathing, a comforting sound she so often took for granted. How she adored him, even after these many long years of marriage. Smiling affectionately, she slid on a long robe, covering the gossamer nightgown beneath, and took one last glance at her lover before leaving the talan, her bare feet silent on the smooth wooden path.

It took only a few minutes to reach the ground. The city glittered in the rays of early morning sunlight, its beams filtering through the leafy canopy, gilded bands that chased away the lingering shadows of the night. Birds twittered happily around her, greeting her with melodic calls and warbles. She smiled, yet the smile soon faded as she hurried along the path. Something called to her, beckoning within her mind, drawing her along the leaf-strewn path with haste. Her mirror cd, ad, a rare occurrence indeed, and Galadriel knew she must answer.

She descended the well-worn stone steps leading to her bower, her thoughts uneasy. How many times had she entered this sanctuary not knowing whether she would find comfort or dismay? How many times had she looked into her mirror searching for answers and found only riddles? Or no answers at all?

Too often.

She dipped her silver ewer into the stream, then carried it to the basin and poured, waiting patiently for the crystal clear water to settle before breathing her magic upon it. At first the surface was dark and still, then something flickered.

As in that other vision, she saw her husband, but this time she could see someone behind him, off to the side. No, there were two others. Three in all, yet only Celeborn was recognizable, the others no more than shadows in the mist. He stood tall and straight, his hands folded behind his back, his silver hair hanging in a soft sheen as he gazed at something she could not see. He nodded as if someone spoke, then turned sharply to look over his shoulder, the blue depths of his eyes shadowed with concern. And then he reached out, a swift movement, but to what purpose she could not see.

The image faded.

Frustrated, Galadriel leaned forward, silently willing the vision to repeat itself, to give some hint of what it meant. The surface rippled slightly, revealing to her anxious eyes the city of the Galadhrim, looking peaceful and serene. Another shift, and once again Celeborn came into view. This time she saw his fear, but also strong determination. Again he reached out, so very quickly. And this time she saw another image, one filled with many hands . . . and then the mirror went suddenly and frighteningly blank.

Galadriel held her breath and waited, but only her own reflection gazed back. Slowly, she turned away, Celeborn's image lingering in her mind. The mirror had tried to give an answer. Hands reaching out. Many hands. What did it mean? Was it symbolic or literal?

And what was she supposed to do?

***

[To Be Continued . . .] Feedback is always appreciated.