ELANOR'S REVENGE

To any of our readers who are still hanging around.... and haven't jumped ship....here is a new chapter of ER. Many sincere apologies for the length of time it took to update this story. Thank you so much for your patience. Fianna and I both have other writing projects going, and if you are interested, please feel free to check out our Yahoo Group. Thank you so much to those who review. hugs to all, J & F

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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.

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Chapter Twenty-Two

Feeling blissfully serene, Elanor lounged in the bath water between Haldir’s thighs, her back against his chest while his arms cradled her around the middle. He had done exactly what he said he would do; he had washed her most thoroughly, his magical hands lavishing attention on every part of her body, although in the end he had spent far more time on some areas than he had on others.

“It does not seem fair,” she said reflectively.

“What does not seem fair?” Haldir rubbed the side of his jaw against her hair; she could hear the smile in his voice.

She turned her head so she could see the faint curve of his lips. “You know very well what I mean.”

“Yes, I do. But why does it trouble you?”

“I am not troubled. I just do not want to be selfish.”

“You are not selfish. I simply require more recovery time than you do, and I see no reason not to pleasure you in the meanwhile. I enjoy touching you.” He kissed her neck. “And I like hearing all those sweet whimpers you make.”

“I feel self-conscious afterward,” she said with a blush.

“But not during.” He laughed softly and nipped the rim of her ear. “I told you I knew what I was doing.”

Elanor shivered. “Do you have any idea how smug you sound? But I still feel that it ought to be more balanced. Are you sure it is not . . . my fault? Please tell me if I am doing something wrong.” She tried to sound matter-of-fact rather than uneasy.

He skimmed his fingers along her collarbone. “I am perfectly capable of catching up with you, Elanor, and you are not doing anything wrong. As long as you do not sink your teeth into me, you can do very little I will not like. ”

That thought put another into her head, one she had been meaning to ask. “As to that, how did I . . . I mean, when I did what I did, you seemed to be liking it, and then you stopped me so suddenly, and I thought . . .” She bit her lip.

Haldir pressed a light kiss to her cheek. “Elanor, you did nothing wron sto stopped you because I was about to explode and I wanted to be inside you when it happened.”

“So what I did . . . it was . . . satisfactory?”

“It was exquisite.” His exhaled breath ruffled her hair. “However, if it will relieve your anxiety, I will gladly give you more opportunities to practice.”

Elanor laughed. “I suppose you must be sincere, else you would not let me near you. Rúmil said you would—” She stopped, ready to bite off her tongue.

Haldir shifted his body, his head angled so he could see her face. “Rúmil said I would . . . what?”

“Never mind,” she answered. “I think it is time we dried off and had breakfast. Your stomach is rumbling.” She tried to rise, but his steel-like arms prevented her.

“Rúmil said I would what?” he repeated inexorably.

She shook her head. “I would rather not tell you.”

“Elanor, did Rúmil say something inappropriate to you?”

“Of course not. It was entirely apriapriate given the . . . the unique circumstances.” Again, she tried to sit up, and again he did not allow it.

“Tell me.” It was quietly spoken and yet a command. “What circumstances?”

“I will tell you nothing if you are going to start being a bully again!” she said with asperity.

“I am not being a bully, Elanor. I am your lover as well as your guardian. Between the two, I think it entitles me to know what we are talking about. Did my brother try to seduce you?”

“No!” Elanor half turned in his arms. “Rúmil would not do that. He was only answering my questions. Trying, at least. I asked him something that embarrassed him, that is all.”

Haldir’s grey eyes searched hers. “What did you ask him?” he inquired, his voice more mild than she expected or perhaps deserved.

Elanor squirmed inwardly. “Do you really have to know?”

“No, but I would like to know. Must it be a secret?”

“I suppose not,” she sighed, “but you will laugh at me.”

“I will not laugh.”

She ducked her head so that her hair hid her face. “I asked him how to go about pleasing a male in the . . . in the physical sense.” She cleared her throat, and realized she had better elaborate. “You, specifically . . . of course.”

A long moment of stunned silence greeted her words. At last, Haldir said, “I’m trying to imagine this.” Another pause. “What was his answer?”

Elanor covered her face with her hands, knowing her cheeks must be bright pink. “He told me he had no idea what you might like,” she said in a muffled voice. “But he said most males enjoy . . . what I did. And he said I should be careful with my teeth. And then he blushed.”

“Rúmil *blushed*?” Haldir’s chest shook with silent amusement. “What I would have given to see that. Elanor, I have said before that you are incorrigible, and I say it again.”

She peeked at him through her fingers. “You *are* laughing.”

“Not at you,” he corrected. “Just at the idea of my brother wriggling in discomfortle mle my Elanor asks questions she should have saved for me.”

Elanor lowered her hands, tingling with pleasure at being called ‘my Elanor’. “Well, I suppose you are right. Now I feel very foolish. But I . . .” She stopped, afraid to say more.

“But what, Elanor?” Though his voice was calm, she could hear the underlying forcefulness of the question. He wanted to know why she would do such a thing, and she had to admit that it did seem odd and outrageous.

“It’s just that I wanted to be able to give you pleasure,” she admitted in a very low voice. “And I was so afraid I would not.”

His eyes met hers. “Well, you did.” Several seconds slipped by, and then he reached for the soap and held it out to her. “Wash me, Elanor.”

It was hardly a request, but she decided there was no logical reason for protest. Why should she, when it was exactly what she wished to do?

Wriggling around to face him, she wrapped her legs around his hips and began to lather his chest. Haldir would always be himself, slightly arrogant and domineering, even overbearing at times. But the truth was that she did not mind all that much because he had shown her another side of him that was just as real, a tender and loving side she sensed was just for her and her alone.

“Is this to milord’s liking?” she inquired, sweeping her hand across his stomach.

Haldir closed his eyes, a slight smile on his lips. “Lower,” he said. “Cheeky elleth.”

#

Nerwen was still simmering, although the strength of her fury toward Rúmil was starting to diminish. Deep in her heart, she had always believed he would not wish to cause her true distress, but now that he had chosen her roof to sit on while he sang his bawdy songs, she felt he had made what was private between them a matter for public speculation. And that distressed her most profoundly.

Still, she had cared for him last night while he slept. She had removed his boots and loosened his tunic to make him comfortable, and then tucked a blanket around him. And then she had allowed herself to touch his hair, to weave her fingers into its silken softness where it fanned upon the pillow. And through it all he had slept like an elfling, blissfully oblivious to her presence.

And now, in the grey light of early dawn, she sat alone in her talan, depressed and sad and wishing there was something she could change about this situation. The temptation to look in on him again was almost irresistible; after all, it was barely light out and he would never know. She could be sure he was still covered and comfortable. If perchance he awoke, she would give him a piece of her mind, and if he did not . . . she could just look at him, something she did not often allow herself to do.

The idea continued to tease Nerwen until at last she gave in to it and rose to her feet. Calling herself a fool, she tiptoed along the paths and stairways until she reached the door to Rúmil’s talan and slipped quietly inside. Reaching his bedchamber, she stopped abruptly. Sometime during the night he had awakened long enough to remove every stitch of his clothing. Now he lay facedown, the blanket covering not very much of him at all. He would never know that she had seen him like this, so beautiful and ethereal and . . . naked. Nerwen shivered with involuntary delight and appreciation. How many times had she imagined him like this?

She debated whether to leave at once or not, but it seemed clear that he was deep in reverie. Feeling safe, she crept forward and retrieved the blanket, carefully arranging it over him while trying not to gaze at his long muscular back, powerful shoulders and lean buttocks. She tucked the blanket around him, then on impulse bent down and placed a light kiss on his brow.

Much to her consternation, Rúmil rolled over and smiled sleepily. “And who is this?” he murmured, his strong arm coiling around her waist. “It must be Elbereth herself who tends to me so sweetly.” To Nerwen’s astonishment, his hand slid down to give her rear a firm squeeze.

“How dare you!” Nerwen slapped him.

Rúmil jerked his hand away and gaped at her. “Nerwen!”

“Now you are going to pretend you did not know it was me?” she said scathingly. “Do you truly expect me to believe you would fondle the Vala Elbereth’s backside?”

“Of course not! I knew it was you, but I was not so sure I was awake. I thought it was a very nice dream.

Nerwen sniffed, only partially mollified. “That is no excuse at all, Rúmil. I am still very angry with you.”

Making no effort to keep the blanket over his chest, Rúmil stretched his arms over his head, then linked his fingers behind his neck. His blue eyes raked over her in an assessing manner. “I thought you were not speaking to me. Have you changed your mind?”

“No, I am not speaking to you! I am only . . .” She paused and bit her lip.

Looking determined, Rúmil began to sit up, and then a queer expression crossed his face and he fell back to the pillow with a groan. “Valar help me, I feel terrible.”

“It serves you right,” Nerwen said crossly. “Do you have any idea what you did last night?” She tried not to look at his bare chest.

“I drank too much,” he said succinctly.

“That is the least of it,” she told him in a waspish tone. “I suppose you do not remember.”

“Oh?” His face stilled, his gaze intent upon hers. “Nerwen, did you and I . . .?”

“No!” Nerwen spun away from him, her cheeks aflame. “Of course not!” She paused. “I do not think of you like that,” she lied.

“I see.” His voice was quiet. “How do you think of me?”

“I think of you as a friend,” she replied. “Or a . . . a younger brother in need of a great deal guidance. Certainly not as a . . . potential lover. The idea is absurd.”

Rúmil swore softly and threw his arm across his eyes.

She rounded on him. “You should not say such things. After your behavior last night, I should not even speak to you at all.”

“What did I do?” he asked dully. “I have no memory of it.”

For a moment she felt a great surge of remorse, then her anger overtook her once more. “I suggest you ask one of your brothers for details. I will only say that you humiliated me in front of all Caras Galadhon and for that I will not easily forgive you.” The moment these words were out of her mouth she regretted them. She was not an emotional elleth, but when emotion did take her, she almost always went too far. At present it was as though the Anduin itself had broken through some mighty wall to punish and pummel at her aching heart.

He removed his arm from his eyes and gazed up at her with such a pronounced lack of emotion that she knew he must be hiding a great hurt. “Whatever I did, Nerwen, I now deeply regret. I will inflict myself on you no longer. When Haldir returns to the border, I plan to go with him. I do not know how long it will be before we meet again, perhaps months or even longer. By then I hope you will have had second thoughts about forgiving me.”

Nerwen clutched her hands together to keep from reaching for him. “Perhaps I will.” She turned and walked toward the door, fighting an urge to run back to him, to fall to her knees and beg his forgiveness for being cruel to him, far more cruel than he deserved. Only her pride kept her from doing so. Instead, she forced herself to glance back as though she did not care. “Stay safe, Rúmil,” she said, her voice as even as she could make it.

“I will endeavor to do so,” he said coolly, “but I can promise nothing.”

The moment she left his talan, she burst into tears.

#

“So where are we going?” Elanor asked as she pulled on her gown.

“You always have questions. Just for once, would you not like to be surprised?” Haldir secured the tie on his leggings and took a quick step forward, planting his bare foot on Elanor’s pantelettes just as she reached for them. “You do not really want to wear those, do you?”

She glanced up at him. “Yes, I like them. You do not?”

“I like them very well when they are on the floor and not on you,” he said amiably.

Elanor stifled an urge to giggle. “Many ellith wear them, Haldir.”

“And many do not. You have not worn them all these weeks, so why start now?”

“You have a point, I suppose. But I find them comfortable.”

“I find them inconvenient,” he said dryly.

She gave him a sassy smile. “Perhaps that is a good thing. I should stop making things so easy for you.”

He laughed. “Easy for me? Elanor, what will you say next? You have never made anything easy for me. Now be a good little elleth and go pack us a picnic lunch so we can spend a peaceful day in the woods.”

“And if I do,” she retorted, a slight edge to her voice, “milord will perhaps grace his good little elleth with more of his attentions?”

He’d been reaching into his wardrobe for a fresh tunic, but at this he paused and looked at her, a faint lift to one dark eyebrow. “Elanor, is there a problem? What are you saying?”

“It was what you said. You sounded like . . . you spoke to me as though . . .” She stopped and bit her lip, not wishing to ruin the moment. In any case, he was only jesting with her. “I’m sorry,” she added, now feeling guilty. “You just reminded me of . . . the way things used to be. With my family and Lana. For a moment I felt . . . used. I was being oversensitive.”

a s a slight grimace, Haldir came over and slid his arms around her, his gaze linked with hers. “Forgive me, Elanor. I did not mean to offend. It has been so long since I tried to woo an elleth that I have forgotten how.”

“Haldir, you are wooing me?” She gazed up into his calm grey eyes, her heart suddenly beating fast.

His thick lashes lowered while he contemplated his answer. “I believe I am,” he said at last. “Does that alarm you?”

“Not at all,” she answered, smiling a little. “I am honored. But perhaps I should not tell you that because you are arrogant enough already.” Though she’d meant to tease him, his short sigh said that he took her seriously.

“Elanor, I . . .” He paused, as though at a loss for words. “I did not mean to be arrogant. I will try to do better.”

She gave him a little hug. “And so shall I. I will try not to take offense or be too bold—”

“Oh, you can be as bold as you like,” he interrupted, his mouth curving. “I like bold.”

“Really?” She fluttered her lashes at him. “So you would not mind if I asked you to take me back to bed right now?”

He laughed outright and smacked her lightly on the rear. “I would not mind, but I would also say no.”

“No?” She gave him an outraged look. “You just said—”

“I have other plans.” He smiled lazily. “But do not worry because making love to you again is a very high priority.” He leaned down and kissed her. “Later. Now please finish dressing and attend to that picnic basket.”

Elanor sighed. “Very well, my dear guardian. I do not suppose you would like to help?”

“Not really. I’d like to nap while you see to it. I was the one who lay awake half the night, remember?”

“It was your own fault,” she said tartly. “I have no sympathy for you at all.”

He lifted a brow. “Not even a small amount? I was suffering, Elanor.”

She leaned up and kissed his chin. “Poor Haldir, my heart weeps for you.”

He stared down his nose at her in typical Haldir fashion. “And so it ought.” Then his lips twitched, spoiling the effect. “Elanor?”

“Yes, Haldir?”

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“How am I looking at you?” she inquired, trying not to giggle.

“As though you enjoy the idea of my suffering and are planning more of it.”

“Wrong, guardian dear. I am planning quite the opposite . . . as long as I am not too weary from my kitchen work, of course.”

“I believe I will help you with that picnic basket after all,” he said smoothly. “I can always nap later.”

#

Rúmil eased carefully into a sitting position and swung his legs over the side of the bed, despising himself even more than he had the day before. He still did not know what he had done to so upset Nerwen, but it was clear he had done something dreadful. He swiped his hands over his face, trying to think over the pounding in his head. At his age, he supposed he ought to know better than to drink quite so much, but last night he had not considered that. Now everything was worse, and the only thing he could think of to do about it was to remove himself from the city for as long as possible.

Long enough for Nerwen to forgive him, at least. Long enough for her to be able to look at him without loathing in her eyes. At the rate he was going, it would be centuries before he regained her trust and her friendship. Centuries of loneliness and frustration and self-denial . . .

A fresh surge of illness overtook him, nearly sending him to the floor. His head hung between his knees as he gasped for breath, trying to remember that in due course it always got better. Dimly, he heard familiar footsteps enter his talan.

“Not feeling too well this morning?” inquired a sympathetic voice.

“Orophin,” Rúmil ground out, “what in Mordor did I do?”

Orophin walked over and placed his hand on Rúmil’s brow. “You drank too much,” he said curtly. Yet he took the time to cast a healing spell that removed the greater part of Rúmil’s nausea, enabling him to sit up and open his eyes.

“That much I know.” He sighed wretchedly.

Orophin sat down beside him on the bed. “You look awful.”

“I feel worse.”

Orophin shook his head, looking annoyingly healthy and slightly superior, as though *he* had never overindulged in his life. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“You ought to talk.”

“No, *you* talk. Tell me what I did.”

Orophin told him.

Rúmil’s nausea returned. “Which songs did I sing?”

“All your favorites. Including the one about the three lusty ellith and the elf with the oversized—”

“No.” Rúmil clutched at his head. “I would never sing that here in the city.”

“But you did. And everyone heard.” Orophin paused. “Including the Lord and Lady.”

Rúmil’s fingers dug into his skull almost painfully. “If that is true, then death in battle is my only means of redemption.”

“Come now,” Orophin said with a touch of humor in his voice. “I do not think it is as bad as that. Galadriel looked as though she was trying not to smile. And report has it that Celeborn was grinning as he led his lady back to their talan.”

“Even so,” Rúmil said glumly, “Nerwen is right. I am a disgrace unworthy of any elleth’s regard.”

“Nerwen said that?” Orophin seemed shocked.

Rúmil searched his memory in an attempt to be accurate. “No,” he finally admitted. “But that’s what she was thinking.”

“So Nerwen is the one you have been pining for,” Orophin said casually.

“I never said that,” Rúmil mumbled. “She’s just a friend. I pine for no one.”

“Brother, you told me there was one you favored above all others. Last night you sat on Nerwen’s roof. I have seen your eyes when you speak to her. It is obvious to me that you are head over heels in love with her.”

Rúmil heaved a deep sigh and gave up his denials. “A lot of good it does me,” he groused. “She wants nothing to do with me. She thinks of me as a little brother, even though I am far older than she is.” That thought alone was humiliating.

“She told you that?” Orophin demanded. “I find that hard to believe.”

“She said it. Just a few minutes ago, in fact.”

He could feel Orophin’s stare. “Nerwen was here? In your talan?”

“Yes.” Rúmil lifted his head to challenge Orophin with a look. “What of it? She did not do anything wrong.”

“I did not say she did. But I do hope you at least had the blanket over you.”

Rúmil glanced down at his naked body. “Of course. Well, part of me. Actually, I think she covered me when she came in. I’m not too clear on that. What does it matter? She has no interest in me as a lover. To her, I am no more than a silly elfling.”

“She is angry right now,” Orophin pointed out. “She will calm down. How can she see you as an elfling? You are a warrior. She knows that.”

“Perhaps.” Rúmil shrugged and looked around for his clothes. “But that will not repair the situation. Right now I am going to apologize before I lose my courage.”

“Apologize? To Nerwen?” Orophin arched a brow.

“To Galadriel,” Rúmil said in a resigned voice. “It may be my last chance before I leave for the fences.”

#

Orophin returned to his talan briefly to speak to Doria, then headed down to the archery field for a little relaxation and practice. It crossed his mind that perhaps he ought to speak to Nerwen himself, but he had no idea what he might say and eventually decided it would be best not to interfere. He did not quite understand what the problem was between those two, and it was best not to take action unless one knew all the facts.

He had shot all the arrows in his quiver three times before he sensed he was being watched. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Nerwen hovering between two trees on the far edge of the field. He walked down to remove his arrows from the target, then continued on until he stood before her.

“Good day, Nerwen,” he said kindly. “What brings you to the training grounds? May I help you with something?”

Her small smile seemed wavering and distracted. “Hello, Orophin. Yes, I was wondering if you would do me a favor.”

Orophin bowed slightly. “Of course, if it is in my power.” He studied her curiously. He had always thought her a pleasant and lovely elleth, and since he’d begun to suspect she had stolen his brother’s heart he found her even more interesting.

“It is about Rúmil,” she added in an awkward voice. She folded her hands in front of her and glanced around at the others in the arena, her eyes flitting from elf to elf.

“Yes, I thought it would be,” he said gravely. “Come, we can sit over there, where it is private.” He led her to the far wall, gently guiding her to sit upon the stone bench. The overhanging vines shielded them from the field. “Now then?” he said, cocking an eyebrow.

She blushed, which was unusual for Nerwen. “I do not know what Rúmil may have told you . . .”

“Almost nothing,” he said truthfully.

She gave a small nod and lowered her eyes. “There’s not much to tell, really. He and I have been friends for a very long time.” She paused and cleared her throat. “Just recently he has taken it into his head that we ought to be more than friends, but that would never work obviously.”

“I’m afraid it is not obvious to me.”

Nerwen twisted her fingers together and looked uncomfortable. “I just do not see Rúmil that way,” she said in a low voice. “He is having a hard time accepting that, and it pains me to see him suffer.”

“Such feelings do you credit,” Orophin replied, concealing the dismay he felt on his brother’s beha

S

She shook her head, and he was surprised to see that her eyes were shiny with tears. “No. No, they do not. I have been cruel to him. More cruel than was necessary, and . . . and I do not understand why.”

Orophin was silent for a moment. “How can I help you, Nerwen?”

She looked away from him and ran a slender hand through her hair. “Rúmil has said that he means to return to the border, and to . . . stay there for a very long time. And I fear that my rejection of him has . . . put it into his head that he need not be too careful with his safety.”

“Did he say this?” Orophin said in astonishment.

“Not exactly. It is merely a feeling I have.” Her eyes met his. “Will you talk to him, Orophin? Tell him I do care about him and that . . . that . . .”

Orophin laid his hand over hers. “Nerwen, are you in love with Rúmil?”

“No!” Her fingers tightened under his. “I do not know. Perhaps I do love him a little. But it could never be right for the two of us to be together. What I want is not what he is. I am nothing but a challenge he cannot resist.”

Orophin frowned, taking in the stubborn set of her jaw. “I think you are doing him in injustice. How do you know what he is or is not? Even I do not know everything there is to know about my brother. He is a complicated elf. Do you forget how old he is? Do you realize the number of events he has witnessed, the many battles he has fought?” He watched her swallow hard and stare down at the ground. “Rúmil has seen more death and horror than you ever will, Nerwen. He has had friends die in his arms. Do you remember Ainon?”

She glanced up quickly. “Yes, of course I do.”

“He took Ainon’s death very hard. So did Haldir, of course. Haldir blames himself for all deaths in Lórien no matter how or when they happen. But Rúmil also blamed himself because he was near Ainon and did not save him. He suffered much, and perhaps still suffers. I do not know, for he will not speak of it. Instead, he laughs and tells bawdy jokes and sings songs unfit for your ears and makes love to fair maidens such as yourself. If that in some way disqualifies him in your eyes, I am sorry for it.”

“Oh, Orophin,” she whispered brokenly, “I understand what you say, but have you forgotten that my father was amongst those slain? Beredain and I still mourn his loss. And our mother, she left for the West, because she could not bear to stay in Lórien without him.” She closed her eyes,inglingle tear rolling down her porcelain cheek. “To lose the one you love is terrible enough, but at least she never for a moment doubted our father’s love for her. To give your heart, and never be sure you are loved in return . . . to me, that seems even worse.”

Orophin shook his head, confused by her turn of mind. “I did not forget your father, Nerwen. I forget none who have died within my lifetime and memory. But what has that to do with Rúmil? Do you think he cannot love as your father loved your mother? I assure you, you are wrong.”

“I suppose I am.” She gave a tired sigh.

“What favor would you ask of me? How can I help?”

“I ask you to talk to him and reason with him. Tell him I am concerned and that I do care about him. I cannot tell him myself right now. Tell him to come back when he can and by then we should be able to talk. And tell him . . . to be careful with his life.”

Orophin nodded slowly. “I will tell him. But I agree that time apart might benefit you both. I know not why the two of you are so . . . at odds with each other.”

“Pigheaded, you mean?” she corrected, her eyes misty. She seemed to reflect for a moment, then she smiled rather forlornly. “He gave me a small figurine. Did he tell you?”

“He told me you gave it back.”

“I did. It made sense to me to do so, but not to him. He did not understand.”

“Rúmil does not take his carving seriously,” Orophin informed her. “He throws them out, but if I find one, I rescue it. I have a whole box of them hidden away. I’m saving them for his children. That carving he gave you of the doe and fawn, he kept that because he liked it. He said it was like love, fragile and delicate. True love, he said, was like the fawn. At first it must stumble and stagger, trying to stand upright upon a wobbling foundation, but eventually it would grow strong and agile, able to leap the tallest obstacles with grace and beauty.”

“Rúmil said that?” Nerwen was looking at him oddly.

“Well, he was a bit drunk at the time,” Orophin admitted, “but sometimes that’s when he will speak of the things closest to his heart.”

Nerwen’s sigh was eloquent, but her next question caught him by surprise. “Orophin, do you carve too?”

“Er . . . I have carved, yes, but I have not Rúmil’s talent.” Orophin tried not to think about his botched efforts.

“But you know how?” Her blue eyes clung to his. “What tools to use, what kind of wood?”

“I do.”

“Would you teach me? I would like to learn.” The color in her cheekbones heightened. “I thought perhaps . . . I might carve something for Rúmil. I could leave it in his talan so that when he returns . . . he will see it, and know that he is forgiven.”

“It would be my pleasure. We can start as soon as he is gone.”

Nerwen nodded and rose gracefully to her feet, and he did the same. “That sounds perfect. And you will not forget to speak to him about . . . what I said?”

“I will not forget.” He bowed. “All will be well, Nerwen. Do not worry.”

#

Rúmil bowed to Galadriel, ignoring the lingering queasiness in his gut. “My Lady,” he said resolutely, “I am here to apologize.” They stood in Galadriel’s garden; or rather *he* stood while Galadriel sat, softly glowing, her sapphire eyes fixed on his face.

“Dear Rúmil, there is no need.” She was looking at him in that calm, thoughtful way that always made him want to shift and squirm like an elfling.

Rúmil opened his mouth to disagree, and then closed it again, reluctant to argue with the Lady of Lórien. Finally, he compromised with, “I would feel remiss if I failed to apologize. My behavior was appalling. I shamed myself and the good elleth upon whose roof I . . . sat.” Sprawled was likely the better word, but he decided there was no point in using it; doubtless Galadriel knew quite well the full exten his his failings.

“Come sit down, Rúmil.” The Lady patted the bench beside her.

Rúmil obeyed, seating himself tentatively on the edge so that he partially faced her.

She seemed in no hurry to speak, but at last she said in a reflective tone, “I wish to talk to you about love.”

Rúmil swallowed and braced himself.

“We all grapple with fear and guilt, Rúmil. But fear is nothing more than the absence of love. And guilt is anger turned inward.”

He gazed silently down at the grass.

“Love is fear’s opposite, the force that connects us all to each other. It may seem elusive, or even impossible to find, or to accept when one does find it.” She paused, looking at him intently. “Fear can be overcome. Guilt fades. But love is as eternal as the elves. It is what gives meaning to our immortal lives. It is alive and tangible.”

“Alive, milady?” He frowned in confusion.

Galadriel placed her hand over his. “When one of us dies, our love for that person remains forever in our hearts. That is its purpose. It connects us to our loved one for all eternity so that no one is ever really lost. You must not fear to love, Rúmil, or to speak of the love that you feel.”

Rúmil bowed his head, carefully keeping his outward expression as composed as possible.

“Love is not about pleasing the other person,” she continued. “It is about letting the other person *be*, and accepting them for who they are. It is about being there for that person, year after year, century after century.” She leaned forward, her gaze seeking his. “It is the only true lasting experience. If you try to measure love, it will slip through your fingers like water. It can neither be reckoned, nor forced. Rather, it is an achievement, one of the highest and greatest kind. All else is subject to change. The world around us changes. We elves change too . . . oh, not so much on the outside, but on the inside we change profoundly. Change is our constant companion. But love, Rúmil . . . love is a constant.”

He thought this over. “The sky does not change,” he said. “The stars are always there.”

Galadriel sighed. “Yes, this is true. Yet sometimes I wonder if they, too, shall someday pass from our view.” She was silent for a time. “What I have learned, Rúmil, is that a part of us is always with our loved ones. A part of me is with my daughter in the Undying Lands. I feel the connection in my heart and it comforts me.” She slowly rose to her feet, her gaze an infinite well of wisdom. “Love is always there for the taking. It is the Source. Bear in mind, Rúmil, that the river flows past whether we drink from it or not.”

With a gentle smile, she departed, leaving him wondering what message she had meant for him to take away. It would give him something to think about while he stood guard at the border.

He only wished she had said all that all that to Nerwen.

#

Haldir directed Elanor through the woods on a different route from the one they had used the day before. The place they would be visiting was not as far as the ninniach-loth, but it was still some distance from the city—far enough to give them complete privacy, as Haldir had put it.

Elanor floated along on a cloud of happiness. Their walk was peaceful, fraught with the kind of companionship that lovers had for one another, warm and sweet, yet at the same time sizzling with underlying tension. Haldir carried the picnic basket, and while he was not as aggressively flirty as he had been the day before, his glances were warm and his free hand frequently touched her back or her arm.

“So,” she said, after they had gone some distance from the city, “we start our first whole day as lovers. That might sound foolish to you, but it is going to be memorable for me.” She glanced up at him hopefully, looking for signs that he felt what she felt.

He slipped an arm around her waist and brushed his lips across her temple. “It is already memorable, Elanor. And it is not foolish. You are wise to savor the joyful moments in your life. I hope they will be beyond count.”

“I hope so too,” she said quietly. “I wish the same for you.”

In due course they reached it, the sparkling pond set amidst the tall trees, fed by a playful stream that wended its way through the wood on its way to the Nimrodel. Haldir set down the picnic basket. “Wait here,” he said.

Elanor watched him walk to a nearby mallorn and seemingly without effort, hoist himself up its side until he disappeared into the leafy canopy above. A moment later two rolled blankets hit the ground directly in front of her. “They almost landed on my head!” she called up to him.

As if in answer, a pair of drying cloths fluttered down to settle at her feet. A moment later Haldir landed with a soft thud a short distance away. “Complaints, already? I was careful in my aim.” He smiled lazily. “Now, will you take off that gown or must I do it?”

“My, that is straight to the point,” she remarked. “Should I acquiesce? I still wonder if I should make things harder for you. You are too used to having your own way. Should I resist?”

He laughed and came toward her, his steps lithe and purposeful. “Games, Elanor? Do you want me to chase you through the wood? If so, I am willing, but that is yet another reason to remove your pretty dress. I would not want it ruined by branches and brambles.”

Elanor tried to look shocked, but failed due to an irrepressible urge to giggle. “I am not going to run naked through the trees to entertain you, Haldir. I am not quite that bold.”

“No?” A curious smile played at his lips. “I have a better idea. Are you brave enough to swim with me? At this time of year the water is warm, especially this far into Lórien where Galadriel’s power holds sway.”

She saw the flickering heat in his eyes and decided to tease him. “But what about our picnic? Are you not hungry?”

“I am very hungry,” he said, pulling her hard against him. “Hungry for Elanor.” As if to prove this, he took her mouth in an open-mouthed kiss, tasting her deeply while his agile hands coaxed her gown from her shoulders and down to her waist. His palms slid up her arms and down her back to her hips, where he exerted a subtle pressure to bring her more firmly against him. When at last their mouths parted, he exhaled a deep breath and rested his head against hers. “So what do you say, Elanor?”

“Mmm, I say I like you like this,” she murmured. “For some reason it reminds me of the night you drank too much and threw me over your shoulder. Do you remember?”

“Certainly I remember. I behaved very badly.”

“Oh, well, you were not that bad. You were just very aggressive. Of course you always are.”

“Aggressive?” He raised his head and gazed down at her, one dark brow lifted. “You think I am aggressive?”

Elanor bit the inside of her cheek to keep fromglingling. “Just a little.”

The eyebrow lifted a little higher. “Well, you don’t seem too concerned about it. Would you like me to toss you over my shoulder again?”

“No, I would like you to take off your clothes.” The giggle finally escaped. “Oh dear, that sounds terribly brazen. But I like the idea of swimming.”

Haldir’s mouth curled into a provocative smile as he stripped off his outer tunic. Elanor watched him for a moment, unconsciously admiring his physique, then daintily completed the removal of her gown. She still felt queerly shy about doing this in front of him, but that feeling vanished the instant he turned and held out his hand. “Come,” he said, his eyes locked with hers.

Hands clasped, they waded into the water until they were waist deep, then sank into the water up to their necks. His arms came around her when she shivered. “Cold?” he murmured.

“No, I am only getting used to it.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and let her gaze rove over his face. “Actually, it’s quite nice.” She locked her legs around his torso, enjoying the feel of him against her skin. “Not like that other frigid stream I fell in while you stood there and did nothing.”

“You are not ever going to forget that, are you?” he inquired.

“Probably not.” She brushed his lips over hers, then drew back and looked at him.

His gaze drifted from her lips to her breasts, then his mouth took hers in another bone-melting kiss, his tongue boldly thrusting and seeking while his hands explored her body both above and below the water line. Elanor returned his caresses, her palms gliding over his arms and shoulders and up the strong column of his neck, where her fingers tangled with his long, silken hair.

He spread kisses over her cheekbones, brow and throat, then cupped her face with his hands and gave her a softer kiss that slowed the pace of their lovemaking. With a smile, he brushed back her hair and drew her against him, rocking her with a gentle, swirling motion that created little waves in the water. Filled with contentment, Elanor sighed and wrapped herself around him, enjoying the feel of his male hardness and the press of his hands on her hips. Overhead, the birds sang and chirped and the nearby stream burbled over rocks. She closed her eyes, her chin on his shoulder. It so so peaceful here that she could almost fall into reverie . . .

Without a word of warning, Haldir released his hold on her and disappeared beneath the water. Elanor blinked, jolted by the suddenness of his action, then squeaked when she felt his hands on her legs. In the next instant a swift upsurge of solid male body carried her aloft; before she could grasp what was happening, she found herself seated upon his shoulders behind his head with her heels pressed to his belly. Water sprayed across the pond’s surface as she clung, flailing and yelping, to his hair.

“Not the hair, Elanor.” He reached up and ed hed her hands away, exerting a backward force that sent her toppling into the water.

She came up drenched and spluttering, but he only grinned and held out his hand, his eyes gleaming with laughter. “I will make it up to you now. Come here.”

Glaring, she splashed him and backed away. “Oh, I am supposed to reward you for dunking me?” she said huffily. “I was half asleep!”

“And now you are awake and ready to play.”

“And I am also completely wet!” She shoved her sopping hair from her face.

“Wet is how I want you, Elanor.” His wicked smile spoke volumes. “As for myself, I have high expectations of keeping you that way. Now stop pouting and kiss me.” He closed the space between them and drew her so that the warm satin of his chest pressed against her breasts. “Kiss me,” he repeated, cajoling her with the velvet-soft resonance of his voice.

“I really should not give in so easily,” she remarked, then succumbed with a laugh and slid her arm around his neck. She stroked his lips with the tip of her tongue and at once his mouth opened, taking hers with renewed urgency, nibbling and tasting with an ardency that sent shivers of need and delight through her body. Then, quite suddenly, he changed the tempo again.

“Lie back and float,” he said, pushing lightly on her shoulder.

“Float?” she repeated, looking at him with suspicion. "Why?”

“You will see.” His smile told her he had something in mind.

She quickly realized what it was, for he moved to stand between her legs, then sank down in the water and lifted her knees to his shoulders. “Relax, Elanor. Try to stay above the water.” His hands brushed up and down her thighs in a soothing, sensual manner. “If you start to sink, I will rescue you, I promise.”

“Very funny. Haldir, wait! If you are going to do what I think you’re going to do . . .”

“I am. Close your eyes and float. I won’t let you drown.”

Elanor spread wide her arms, trying to do exactly what he said, but relaxing wasn’t easy. This time there were no bed sheets to clutch, no mattress to push against as he teased her in the most expert and delicious of ways. Fire ran through her veins. Like last time, the indescribable sensations nearly overwhelmed her; her breathing grew so erratic that sinking was out of the question. And then, quite suddenly and frustratingly, he stopped what he was doing and rose to his full height, his feet planted on the pond’s bottom.

“Now what?” she asked, paddling to reorient herself upright.

“Now we do something else,” he said, a huskiness in his voice. “You are too far ahead of me. I would like us to dance together this time.”

She looked at him dubiously, then gave a little gasp as he enfolded her in his arms and began to wade rd ard a grouping of nearby rocks. Did he mean to make love to her there? “Haldir, that does *not* look comfortable,” she said firmly.

“I agree.” He paused before one of the rocks. “This one looks like the right height. Sit here.”

The rock’s surface met Elanor’s backside; Haldir bent and licked the water droplets from the valley between her breasts right up to the base of her throat. His hands went to her knees. “Open for me, darling.”

Without hesitation she widened her legs, allowing him to move against her, to seek entrance into her body. Her palms automatically outlined the contours of his shoulders while he positioned himself and began to press forward. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back, impatient to feel him inside her again.

“You are very tight,” he said thickly. “Am I hurting you? Tell me.”

“Not this time,” she breathed, her fingers digging into him. “It feels good. Keep going.”

With a low, satisfied sound, he withdrew, then pressedagaiagain, harder and deeper. Three times he did this, each time going farther, and on the fourth, he hilted himself completely.

“Mission accomplished,” he said, and went still. “Now wrap your legs and arms around me and hold tightly.”

Elanor obeyed, and felt herself lifted off the rock and carried back into the deeper water by a pair of very strong arms. “Haldir, what *are* we doing?”

“We are going to savor the moment. Completion is easy to attain, but making love is an art. Remember, I told you I wanted to play?” Once again they were in the deepest part of the pond, where the gentle, lapping water came up just past Haldir’s waist. “This is Haldir’s idea of . . . togetherness,” he added roguishly.

“Oh my,” she said weakly. “I think you are going to kill me.”

He laughed softly, his breath caressing her cheek. “Move back a little. Yes, like that.” He slipped a hand between them and cupped her breast, stroking the stiffened peak of her nipple with his thumb, teasing her with provocative little circles. Then he leaned forward and licked the rim of her ear all the way to its sensitive tip. Sucking it into his mouth, he flicked her ear-tip with his tongue so that she shuddered and clung to him, making small, helpless sounds in her throat.

The sensation of having him inside her combined with what else he was doing was almost enough to drive her over the edge. Almost but not quite. She desperately wriggled against him, her heart pumping fast, thrumming the blood through her body.

Haldir gave one of his sensual little smiles. “Slow down, Elanor. Wait for me, love.” He reached up and clasped her right arm, drawing it to his chest. “Touch me here.”

Time passed, but how much Elanor could never have said. She only knew sensation and heady delight, a steady escalation of passion that at last sent them back to the shore . . . and the blanket spread invitingly in the long grass beside the bank. He carried her as she was, still clinging to him, his steely strength keeping their bodies linked, but as he lowered her to the blanket they came apart, tumbling side by side like two sodden younglings.

At once he reclaimed her lips, invading her mouth with abandon, the low rumbling sound in his throat feeding the flames of Elanor’s own desire. She kissed him hard and reached down to stroke him, gripping him firmly this time, with more understanding of what he liked. His mouth found her throat, then shifted downward to seek out her nipples, first one then the other, circling and tugging at the same time his practiced fingers slipped between her thighs to tease and test her readiness. Within moments his weight pressed her down, engulfing her with his maleness and solid warmth while he entered her with one quick, hard thrust and established a rhythm.

This time there was no pause, no interruption. She could feel the steady pound of his heart; he wanted completion as desperately as she did, yet he was also determined not to leave her behind. “Stay with me,” he rasped, his face pressed to her damp hair. “Where are you?”

She clutched urgently at his back, her fingers digging in. “Almost . . . no, it is starting . . .”

He increased the force of his thrusts, driving into her with a hard possession that had her arching upward, mindlessly pushing back to match the surging movements of his hips. Unbidden, an image formed in her mind of gilt-edged clouds lit by a fiery sunset, and then she heard him cry out at the same time she felt it, a white-hot, cataclysmic explosion that came in wave after wave, rolling through her body like thunder down a mountainside. At the end of it came something else, something beyond words, a brushing, shimmering sensation that felt warm and comforting and marvelous . . . and wholly unfamiliar.

Afterward they lay quietly, listening to birdsong and the soft rustle of leaves and creaking of branches high in the great trees.

At last Elanor spoke. “That time was different. What did you do?”

Haldir lifted his head, his expression gentle yet oddly enigmatic. “That was my fëa you felt. Our fëar touched briefly.”

Amazed, Elanor tucked some wet strands of hair behind his ear. “Why did that happen?”

“It happened because I chose to make it happen. I have never done that before. I did not know what it would be like.”

She did not dare ask him why he had done it. Perhaps he did not know. Perhaps he had only been experimenting and it meant nothing to him at all. Yet why had he experimented with her and not the others?

“It added something very nice,” she said in a soft voice.

“Yes, it d he he agreed. “Are you cold?”

“Not with you on top of me.” She smiled mischievously, hooking her ankles more firmly together at the small of his back. “I am not at all sure I am going to let you go. I might just like to keep you like this. You will be my prisoner. What do you say?”

“An interesting proposal.” He cocked his head, pretending to consider it seriously. “The possibilities are mind-boggling, but so are the challenges. You’d make a lovely mattress, but target practice would be a disaster.”

“Depending on what kind of target practice you have in mind,” she pointed out.

Haldir laughed and rolled over, forcing her to disengage her legs. “Ah, that is better,” he said, looking up at her with a mischievous gleam. “Next time you can ride me.”

“Ride you?” She lifted her brows, noting the way the water had spiked his long eyelashes into attractive clumps. “Like a horse?”

“Not quite,” he said dryly. “A horse on its back, perhaps. Sometimes it is best not to be too literal, Elanor.”

Elanor giggled. “Are you hungry now?”

“For food, you mean? The answer is yes. So if you will allow me to sit up . . .”

Elanor scooted off him and pulled over the picnic basket, putting it within his reach. “You certainly packed a lot of food in here,” she said as she rummaged inside.

He reached for one of the drying cloths and rubbed it over his chest and face. “Enough to last until tomorrow.”

She glanced up in surprise. “Until tomorrow? We are spending the night here?”

Haldir nodded and pointed upward. “I built a flet up there. I keep a few things in a trunk—blankets, furs, various supplies. We can rest there quite comfortably and have a clear view of the stars. There will be a full moon tonight.”

“Oh.” Elanor looked at him. “So this is a place you bring all your ellith.” She tried not to sound as though the idea bothered her, but it did.

“*All* my ellith? You make it sound a bit crowded.”

Elanor turned away, trying to hide her disappointment that he had failed to deny it. “Would you like one of these?” she asked, offering him a muffin.

He gripped her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Elanor, this is a place I come to be alone, to think and to dream. And, all too often, to come to terms with the challenges I face. I have not brought others here, nor do I share it lightly. Only my brothers know where I go when I disappear from time to time.”

“Haldir, I am sorry. Once again I have behaved childishly. I think perhaps I am overcompensating.”

He removed the muffin from her hand and set it aside. “Overcompensating? What do you mean?” He took her hands in his, clasping them lightly.

She gave a small shrug, studying the shape of his beautiful fingers; even the nails were perfect. “I mean . . . I used to lock everything inside and not say the things I truly wanted to say. Now I seem to have swung in the opposite direction, doing and saying things I sometimes regret. I suppose at some point I will find the middle ground.”

Without looking, she knew that he was smiling. “Elanor, I do not know what to say except that I have faults of my own. The fact that we are together tells me that whatever faults we have pale in comparison to what we like about each other.”

She squeezed his hands and glanced up. “You speak wisely.”

“Why, thank you, Elanor.” He seemed surprised and pleased by her response. “Now, shall we eat? And after that, I could really use a nap. All of me,” he added with a glint in his eye.

Elanor smiled serenely and refused to rise to his bait.

#

Orophin stretched out his long legs, lounging comfortably upon his favorite cushioned bench, set in the corner of his terrace amid a number of leafy, potted plants. Beside him, Doria sat with a book of poems in her lap. “So you think your brother is in love with Nerwen?” she asked. “That’s what last night’s excitement was about?”

“Well, that is my impression, although I would not say so to Nerwen. It is Rúmil’s task to tell her or not as he sees fit. I accused him of being in love and he did not deny it. Yet I know not if it is a lasting love, or simply a fleeting passion born of desire for that which eludes him.”

“Poor Nerwen,” Doria said with a sigh. “Is there nothing we can do to help?”

“Don’t you mean ‘poor Rúmil’?” Orophin said quizzically. “He is the one who is suffering. She only feels guilty for being the cause of it.”

Doria turned to look at him. “Only? Are you saying that Nerwen suffers less than Rúmil?”

“Of course she does. It is she who denies him, not the other way around.”

“That means nothing,” Doria pointed out. “You denied me, did you not? Think how you suffered. Or at least you claim you did.”

Orophin laughed. “Of course I suffered. But that was a different situation.”

“I really do not know why you are laughing,” Doria protested in a pained voice. “In fact, I think you are being a little callous.”

“Callous?” Orophin straightened, twisting around to stare at her. “Just because I think they have to work this out for themselves does not make me callous!”

Doria laid her hand over his. “I am sorry, Orophin. I should not have said that. You are not callous in the least.”

Orophin relaxed. “No, I am not. I only have reservations about Nerwen. I do not think she appreciates my brother as she should. She is a good elleth and I have always liked her, but she seems too different from Rúmil in so many ways. I do not see the common ground.”

“Because you do not see it does not mean it is not there.”

“True.” Orophin considered this. “In any case, I have agreed to teach her to carve. She wishes to make something for Rúmil to prove that she has forgiven him.”

“Really?” Doria smiled. “Oh, that is sweet.”

Orophin cast her an amused look. “If you like, I will tell you what is even sweeter.”

Doria’s blue eyes met his with open curiosity. “Tell me.”

Orophin slipped an arm around her waist. “You, my love.”

Doria giggled and set aside her book. “Orophin, you are the one who is sweet. You always say the nicest things to me. I love you so much.”

Recognizing encouragement when he heard it, Orophin pulled her onto his lap and kissed her neck. “I am many things, my love, but sweet is not one of them. Promise me you will never say that when my brothers are around.”

“Oh, I am not sure I can promise that.” She smiled and snuggled closer, her fingers curled in his long pale hair. “What if I forget and it slips out?”

Orophin pretended to take this seriously. “You are forgetting how well I know you, my love. I see the truth of this matter. You want to keep this as something to hold over my head.”

“I do not!” she said, looking indignant until she saw his playful grin. “Oh, you are teasing me! You are so naughty, Orophin!”

He tightened his hold on her waist, and let his hand slip down to rest on her hip. “And I am thinking about being even naughtier, just to prove that I am really not sweet.”

Doria sighed happily. “I really do not know why I put up with your teasing.”

“Because you truly love me,” Orophin said softly. “And because you know that I truly love you.”

“Oh, Orophin, you are so . . . so . . .” Doria seemed to struggle for words he would accept.

“Good in bed?” Orophin said helpfully.

Doria giggled. “Well, yes.”

“Thank you,” he replied, trying to look modest. “But as with everything else in life, practice is important.”

“Is that a statement or a suggestion?” Doria inquired with twinkling eyes.

“Both,” said Orophin, as his mouth moved to cover hers.

#

Elanor watched Haldir sleep, wondering why it was that she could hardly bear to look away. He looked so beautiful and peaceful, so perfect really. To be with him at all was an unlikely dream come true for Elanor of Rivendell. She smiled to herself, remaining silent and still so as not to disturb him, but as it happened, he did not rest long, and before she knew it he was kissing her again. This time their lovemaking was slow and tender, with an element of lazy playfulness and gentle caring that filled her heart with joy. Afterward, they lay in each other’s arms, quietly absorbing the muted woodland sounds as the day grew late and the shadows long.

At last Elanor broke the silence. “So how are we going to get up there? Or at least, how am *I* going to get there?” She peered up into the leaves above their heads, but could see no sign of this flet he had mentioned.

“You will climb,” Haldir replied, “or I will carry you on my back. Your choice, Elanor.”

“Neither sounds too appealing,” she said with a sigh. “I am better with stairs.”

“I am sorry, but there are no stairs. However, I threw down a ladder made of hithlain which you should be able to manage.” He gave her an affectionate pat on the rear.

“Not without my clothes. Oh, will you stop laughing at me? It does not look easy.”

In the end, she made it up the ladder with Haldir behind her, urging her on between chuckles. Once on the flet, Elanor collapsed while Haldir bent down on one knee beside her, his hand on her back. “That was not so hard, was it?” he asked, looking closely as though to gauge her reaction.

“No, it was grand fun,” she said, making a wry face. “I hope going down will be easier.”

Haldir shook his head in mock exasperation. “Elanor, it appears I must give you climbing lessons. If you are going to continue living in Lothlórien, you must learn.”

Elanor peeked at him from beneath her lashes. “Does that mean you would like me to stay?”

Haldir tousled her hair, which he had just finished carefully combing only a short while before. “Of course I do. Now stay here while I bring up the rest of our things.” He disappeared over the edge, and Elanor glanced around.

The flet was not large, but seemed solid enough. There was a chest at one end, pushed up against the great mallorn trunk, and although most of the flet was open, there was an area on one side with a canopied cover she supposed would protect against wind or rain. It would not be needed tonight, for it was clear and still, with a sweet and balmy late summer breeze sifting through the golden leaves. She shivered slightly, not because she was cold but because the reality of what was happening was starting to engrave itself on her mind. Where had the old, reserved Elanor gone? Who was this new and passionate Elanor who could flirt and tease and make love to Haldir of Lórien? And what would happen next?

As this last thought entered her mind, Haldir reappeared with the picnic basket and the blankets. “Here we are. There is a good-sized bedroll in that chest. Between that and the blankets, we will be quite comfortable. If may not be soft enough for your delicate backside, but it will have to do.”

“It will be fine,” she said, smiling at him.

And it was. Very soon they arranged themselves much as they had done the night they had shared a cloak all those months before on their journey from Rivendell. And just as he had done that night, Haldir curled an arm around her waist and settled his hand on her breast.

Elanor turned her head, trying to see his face. “Haldir, do you remember that night we shared your cloak?”

“I remember, Elanor. It was cold.”

“We lay together much like this.”

“Except that we were fully clothed,” he pointed out. “This is much better.”

Elanor smiled. “Yes, but what I am saying is . . . did you know why I jabbed you in the ribs in the morning?”

“I think so,” he answered, snuggling his face into her hair.

“You do?” She half turned to look at him more fully. “No, you do not.”

“Something about where my hand was?” His eyes were closed, but she could see the way his mouth was curving.

“You *knew*? Haldir, I cannot believe you would be so . . . so . . .”

“Elanor, you were dressed. It is no great matter, is it? It was cold. I thought it a practical way to keep my hand warm.”

“A practical way?” Elanor repeated. “That is your idea of practicality?”

“It seemed practical at the time,” he replied. “Come, stop your sputtering. I am going to sing to you now, unless you choose otherwise.”

“Yes, please sing. I would love that.” Elanor settled against him, curling her legs into his.

And so Haldir sang to her while, one by one, the stars came into view, glittering high above them like diamonds strewn upon black velvet. The song he had chosen told the oldest of all tales, the tale of Creation passed down through the ages, recorded in cherished and ancient texts. It was the story of Eru, The One, and of Eru’s offspring, the Ainur, and how, together, they had created the Great Music at the beginning of time long before the waking of the firstborn, the Elves.

Tears came to Elanor’s eyes as she lay in Haldir’s arms, listening to the haunting words sung in his deep and beautiful voice. She tried to imagine music so powerful that it had resulted in the creation of the world, but it was unimaginable and beyond her comprehension.

When Haldir was finished, she reached for his hand and brought it to her lips to kiss. “Thank you,” she whispered. “That was wonderful. I will remember this moment forever.”

“You are most welcome, Elanor.” Haldir’s voice sounded very tender to her ears.

[To be continued . . .] Feedback always appreciated.

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~*~