ELANOR'S REVENGE

Thank you to all of you who left reviews for that last chapter! We really appreciate your feedback!!! It's a good thing I split that last chapter off to make another chapter because this one ended up over 10,000 words! Hope you enjoy this new chapter and thank you for all your comments and support. Fianna and I are happy you are enjoying our fic.
Hugs, --J & F

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Chapter Twenty-Six

Haldir woke to being prodded uncomfortably, a minor inconvenience amid the throbbing pain that had taken over most of his upper body. His eyes felt gritty, his eyelids too heavy to lift as he felt the light press of a hand against his forehead. A low voice--one he faintly recalled hearing in his sleep--grew more insistent, pulling him to wakefulness. He forced his eyes open and found Lord Elrond bending over him, murmuring a healing spell in his deep, rich voice. Celeborn and Galadriel were there too; the Lady of Light sat on the edge of the bed, her concerned gaze fixed on Haldir’s face.

“Haldir,” she said in her gentlest voice. “Can you hear me?”

“Aye,” he muttered indistinctly. He attempted to lift a hand, but found he had no strength. What had happened? A battle . . . swords flashing . . . it was all a blur, the details indistinct. The intense pain was blotting out everything.

His lips had been moistened, and he knew someone had trickled a few drops of water on his tongue, yet his throat felt parched. He closed his eyes again in order to focus his thoughts. Elrond’s chanting was starting to dispel his cloud of confusion, enabling memories to return in a rush of details—the battle with the Orcs, his brief moment of astonishment at his own faulty judgment, the grim determination with which he’d fought. The analytical side of his brain snapped to attention. He had grossly underestimated the number of the enemy. How? It was not the type of mistake he normally made. And what were the consequences? How many had died? And how much time has passed?

Elrond’s chant ended, prompting Haldir to open his eyes. He found the Lord of Rivendell studying his face. “March Warden,” he said gravely, “it is good to see you with your eyes open.”

“How long?” Haldir rasped, through clenched teeth. He could not yet bear to ask his other questions.

It was Celeborn who answered. “Not long. The sun has only just set on the day you were injured. Your wardens travel swiftly.” Haldir saw the Lórien lord beckon to the two healers standing nearby. They were among Lórien’s best healers, second only to Celeborn and Galadriel, and of course Lord Elrond himself.

Galadriel rose and moved aside as the two came to stand beside the bed. “We cut away your tunic from your wounds,” one of them told Haldir, “but Lord Elrond wished to draw you from your reverie before we did much more than change the splint on your broken arm.” He paused. “We were all concerned by how deeply you were sleeping.”

“And why,” added the other healer, sounding puzzled. “Rúmil said you had refused a sleeping spell.”

Haldir only returned his look, having no answer to the question.

Galadriel leaned over him, her hand brushing across his brow. “Rúmil said you fell asleep without a spell,” she explained quietly. “Whatever the cause, it has allowed you to have some much needed rest.” She straightened and stepped away from the bed. “I will go set a few minds at rest. Your brothers and your ward are waiting patiently for a report.”

Haldir watched her leave, conscious of the calm she radiated to everyone present. Then her words settled in his mind. His brothers, patient? That seemed unlikely. Rúmil would be pacing and Orophin would be trying to hide his worry from Rúmil so he could reassure him. As for Elanor, he was glad they had not let her in; he did not want her to see him like this. He could only hope that the indwaedh was doing its task and offering her comfort.

One of the healers carefully removed his boots, and then the two began to slice away what was left of his outer tunic. The long-sleeved black under-tunic soon followed and Haldir clenched his teeth and closed his eyes as they shifted him just enough to pull the pieces out from under him. He was relieved to be rid of them, for they stank of Orc blood and foulness, but the small movement caused him to flinch despite his best efforts.

Haldir opened his eyes to find Elrond gazing intently at his chest. “An indwaedh,” he said, sounding rather taken aback. The two elf lords traded glances.

Elrond’s fingers brushed over the translucent jewel while Celeborn held his hands just above Haldir’s side in the region of his throbbing ribs. The resulting rush of healing warmth dulled his anguish to a more bearable level.

“I have not seen one of those for many years,” Celeborn remarked in a meaningful voice.

Elrond nodded, his eyes now fixed on the wound in Haldir’s right shoulder. “Indeed, they are rare.” His tone revealed nothing. “There is muscle damage here that will take time to heal.”

Haldir flinched as Elrond very gently pressed herbs into his wound. The two elf lords were using all their powers to give him strength and control his pain, yet he felt powerless, barely able to lift his hand.

“How long have you worn the indwaedh, Haldir?”

Haldir did not reply. Fingers were prodding him in all the places that hurt, causing him considerable pain despite Lord Celeborn’s healing efforts. The other two healers had begun to bathe his lower extremities at the same time they examined his bruises and rubbed a healing salve into a few minor gashes. Haldir closed his eyes again. Silence predominated for a time while they all worked until at last he felt clean and then they gave him more water, a small amount he found most welcome.

“We will speak more of this later,” Elrond commented. “Now you must rest. Your wounds are serious but not fatal. I see no sign of poison, but you have at least two and perhaps three cracked ribs as well as a broken arm. Your lung may be bruised, but I believe it is otherwise intact, and for that you are indeed fortunate. Take a deep breath.”

Haldir obeyed, although it hurt a great deal.

“Good,” Elrond said. “Keep doing that every so often. We will not bind your ribs; they will heal faster on their own. The wound in your side has been sealed with a special poultice. The wounds to your shoulders are more serious, but they too will heal. For now, you must lie as still as possible.”

One of the healers was wrapping a long strip of white cloth around Haldir’s right shoulder. His arm was propped on a pillow, enabling the cloth to be looped around and under his armpit. Haldir shut his eyes and drifted, listening to any remarks that were made while trying not to think about the pain.

“How long has he worn the indwaedh?” Elrond asked Celeborn in a low voice.

“Not long, I think. I was unaware that he had it.”

“Who has the other?”

Haldir heard no reply, but he felt a touch on his hand and reopened his eyes.

The Lord of Lórien was looking down at him, his wise eyes on Haldir’s face. “Haldir,” he said, “We will speak of this another time. Rest now and heal.” He then gestured to the two healers who promptly left the tent, although one paused long enough to scoop up Haldir’s discarded clothing and take it with him. “I will arrange for you to be taken to a recovery talan a bit later,” he added. “I do not want you alone in your own talan just yet.”

“I would not be alone,” Haldir muttered.

The Lord of Lothlórien paused at the door. “True, but I’d like to keep you close to the healers.” He glanced at Elrond and departed.

Elrond returned to Haldir’s side. “How do you feel?”

Haldir gathered his strength and took a deep breath. “Like a warg used me as a plaything.” He drew another painful breath before adding, “What is this . . . about the indwaedh?”

“Who has the other half?”

Haldir looked into Elrond’s grey eyes and in them he saw more than casual curiosity. He looked expectant, as though he had already guessed the answer.

“Elanor.” Haldir could not hide the defensive challenge in his voice.

“I see.” Elrond wore an inscrutable look. “It will be interesting to see how your ward has changed since last I saw her.” He gave a faint emphasis to the word ‘ward’.

“She has changed, but only . . . to become more fully herself.” Speech was difficult, but Haldir struggled to ignore the throbbing of his ribs and shoulders. If he had to, he knew he could make himself rise from the bed and walk right out of the tent, but there was no need, thank the Valar.

“Forgive me, I should not weary you with talk. We have much to say to each other, but it can wait.” Before Haldir could reply, Elrond turned and left the tent.

A moment later, the flap was shoved aside and his brothers entered.

#

Orophin’s first sight of his injured older brother shook him profoundly. Haldir’s litter had been set directly onto the bed, suggesting that he was too wounded to be transferred from one surface to another. Haldir looked very pale and still, yet his eyes were open and he seemed alert. He lay covered by a soft white blanket, but his shoulders were revealed, both heavily bandaged, and his right arm was clearly splinted. Orophin had never seen Haldir in such a grim state; it seemed almost impossible to believe that anything like this could happen.

Fraught with strong currents of emotion, Orophin moved directly to one side of the bed while Rúmil went to the other. Both bowed their heads and saluted Haldir with their fists on their hearts, and then Orophin spoke.

“You fought well and bravely,” he told Haldir solemnly. “No one could have done more. I am proud to be your brother.”

“Tell me.” Haldir’s eyes were probing, his face taut.

Orophin understood his meaning at once. “You may rest easy,” he replied, trying to sound reassuring. “No wardens lost their lives in this battle. All have reported in.” Reluctantly, he added, “Rúmil and I discussed this while we waited, and we believe we have discovered how the Orcs got in. There appears to have been . . . a mix-up.” To explain this to Haldir was difficult, but to withhold it would be worse, for he knew his brother’s mind would find no peace until he knew the truth . . . and came to terms with it.

Haldir’s piercing stare demanded clarification.

Orophin glanced at Rúmil, who made a small grimace and said, “I believe that two patrols were given conflicting orders.” He paused, looking uncomfortable. “As a result, there was no one on guard at the point where the enemy entered our Wood. No one was there to stop them. They simply . . . walked in.”

Disbelief showed on Haldir’s face. His lips parted as though he would speak, and then came together again, pressed tightly. His eyes closed and a look of pain crossed his face, a sure indication that he understood. Haldir himself had issued those orders. Orders that no warden had thought to question. Orophin knew that Rúmil blamed himself for not noticing, for relying too much on Haldir’s renowned infallibility.

“’Tis not your fault,” Rúmil said in a low, fierce voice. “The fault is mine. I should have spoken with Rion and confirmed that all was as it should be. If I had, I would have realized what had happened. I would have questioned you.”

Haldir shook his head very slightly.

“It is my responsibility to make the report,” Rúmil went on with determination. “And I intend to bear my share of the blame.”

“Not your fault,” Haldir grated, his voice weak and harsh. “Mine.”

“You never did like to share, did you?” Orophin put in, trying to inject a little lightness into the situation. “Rúmil was second in command, therefore he can share in the blame if he likes. By the Valar, Haldir, this is the first mistake you’ve made in a thousand years! I do not think the Lady is going to mete out punishment!”

“Of course not,” Rúmil agreed. “You fought with honor and so did I, for that matter. She has never blamed you in the past when elves were slain. Why should she blame you today when the only one injured was you?”

Haldir lifted his fingers, enough to silence them both. “Where is Elanor?” He clearly had no wish to discuss this any further.

“She waits outside, with Healea and Cothion.” Rúmil eyed him intently. “Elanor is most anxious to see you, but Galadriel bade the two of us speak with you first.”

“Send Elanor in,” Haldir commanded. “I wish to see her. The two of you can go.”

Under normal circumstances Rúmil would likely have made some cheeky response, but not this day. Instead, he saluted with his hand on his heart again. “I will return soon. I have another matter that requires my attention.”

“If it involves an elleth, I would wash first,” Orophin advised, careful not to mention Nerwen by name. “You are covered with blood and stink. Not that it seemed to stop them all from embracing you out there in the courtyard. You are well loved by many, brother.”

Rúmil glanced down at himself. “The blood has dried,” he pointed out. “But you are right, I ought to bathe.” No twinkle lit his eye, and Orophin thought he looked rather dejected.

“I will step outside, but I will be close at hand,” Orophin informed Haldir. “If you want me, send Elanor to fetch me. I will be near. You will not be left alone. We will all lend you the strength you need to heal.”

Haldir nodded, but said nothing more.

#

“Elanor,” Healea said softly. “It is time.”

Elanor had been sitting very still with her eyes closed, all her attention centered on the indwaedh, whose comforting vibrations brought Haldir to her, wrapping around her senses in a mesmerizing way that was almost physical. But Healea’s words jolted her back, and her eyes shot open just in time to see Orophin emerge from the tent, right behind Rúmil. Near the tent’s entrance stood Galadriel, who touched Rúmil’s shoulder as he bowed and excused himself from her presence. Orophin returned to Doria’s side.

Elanor swiftly rose to her feet, pausing only long enough to thank Healea and Cothion for their kindness before she made her way across the courtyard. Conscious of the Lady’s thoughtful gaze, she forced herself to walk with dignity just as she had forced herself to sit still when she only wished to run to him. Waiting had been difficult, but she understood why his brothers were allowed to go in first; they were family and she was not.

“Elanor,” the Lady said, just as Elanor reached Haldir’s tent. “You can help him a great deal, child. Do what you feel is right and do not fear what others think.”

Elanor nodded and bowed slightly. “I will, my lady. Thank you.” She pushed aside the heavy white fabric and stepped inside.

His head was already turned in her direction as though he was expecting her, and for some reason this touched her heart more than anything could have done. She moved swiftly to his side.

“Haldir,” she whispered, her voice wavering only slightly, “oh, my love, what have they done to you?” She leaned down and kissed his brow, then gently stroked his cheek while gazing deeply into his eyes. The indwaedh seemed to throb more strongly than ever, as though attracted to its mate lying so close by on Haldir’s chest.

“It is nothing, Elanor,” he replied, with the tiniest smile. “I will heal.” It was a flat statement, devoid of any doubt despite the weakness of his voice. His attention was wholly fixed on her, his eyes seeking hers as though he needed to see her.

She smiled back, a tremulous curve of her lips. “Of course you will. I will make sure you do. I am not going to leave your side until you are well.”

“Then perhaps I should not get well,” he whispered, still with a hint of a smile.

She bent down and kissed his lips. “No, you must get well. I will not permit anything else.”

“So you are going to bully me.”

“Yes, I am going to bully you,” she agreed, very tenderly. “You will have to answer to me now, my dear guardian.”

His eyes slid shut, but his mouth curved at the corners. “More than a guardian,” he murmured.

“Much more,” she whispered. Sharp emotion stabbed her as she studied his pale face, then turned her gaze to the bandages on his shoulders. The blanket hid the rest of his injuries from her sight. “Where else are you wounded?”

“Broken arm,” he answered. “Two or three cuts. ‘Tis nothing.”

She did not believe him, of course. With a frown, she lifted the blanket off him, then pressed her lips together to keep from crying out. His entire torso looked like one gigantic black bruise. There were gashes and cuts everywhere; the largest ones had been sealed with a healing poultice she recognized as Elrond’s work. There was a large slash across his right thigh and more bruises on his legs . . .

“Elanor, my modesty,” he protested, his voice faint.

Drawing a deep breath, she quickly retucked the blanket around him. “Forgive me, Haldir, but I had to see.” She kissed him again on the brow. “I had to see,” she repeated as she reached for the hand of his unbroken arm. “As for your modesty, do you not think it is a little late for that?”

“Never too late.” His fingers twitched, tightening around hers.

“I don’t want you modest,” she said lovingly. “I want you whole and healthy and in my bed.”

“Lusty elleth.” The words were almost inaudible, but she heard the underlying humor. He liked the silly things she was saying.

But it was hard to keep it up. She knelt down beside him and pressed her lips to his hand. “You will soon be well,” she said with sudden ferocity. “I will care for you myself. I will do whatever it takes.” She paused, unable to continue because of her intense emotion. Her chest actually ached with it.

She lowered her head and kissed each of his fingers, then rubbed her cheek against the back of his hand in an instinctive effort to soothe his pain and bring him ease. When next she looked he was asleep.

Without releasing his hand, she rose and reached to pull the chair closer to the bed. It was a purely functional piece of furniture, not comfortable at all, but she barely noticed. She was prepared to sit there for days if necessary. Whatever it took.

Very shortly thereafter, Lord Elrond reentered the tent. He said nothing to her, but came to stand over Haldir, assessing him with a critical eye while he pressed a finger to Haldir’s temple and then to the side of his neck.

“He sleeps?” Elanor whispered, though she knew it was so.

Elrond nodded. “Indeed he does. A very deep sleep too. I think that may in part be due to your presence, Elanor. It brings him comfort and allows him to escape the pain. Now that he sleeps, I think this is a good time to move him.”

“Where will you take him?”

“To one of the Recovery Telain. There are several in the lower reaches of the mallorn that bears Galadriel’s home. It is at the heart of the city, and therefore the place with the greatest power. They are designed for peace and healing.”

“I will go with him.”

“You need not stay with him if you are weary. I believe he will sleep for some time.”

“I will not leave him,” she said stubbornly.

Elrond surveyed her with slightly raised brows. “I see.” He glanced down once more at Haldir. “He will heal, Elanor. He lost a great deal of blood and he is weak, but he will regain his strength. He is strong.”

“I know.” She lowered her head. “I know it well. But still I will not leave him.”

“I will not ask it of you,” Elrond said quietly.

He turned and left the tent. A moment later two wardens entered and proceeded to lift the litter off the bed. Haldir never stirred as they left the tent. Elanor followed behind.

#

Dreams flooded Haldir’s mind while he slept—dreams of battle, dreams of his childhood, dreams of Elanor. Once he dreamed that they were married and lived in Aman. Once, he dreamed that she left him, and that woke him up.

“Don’t leave me,” he whispered fretfully, still half caught within his dream. “Elanor, where are you?” It was the darkest part of the night, but there were lights within the talan and he soon saw her sitting beside him.

“I am here,” she soothed. “I am holding your hand. Can you feel me?”

“I feel you,” he said with relief. “Do not leave.”

“I will not. I never will.”

He drifted in and out of consciousness. Occasionally someone gave him a drink. It was no longer water they offered, but a honeyed liquid that he knew contained properties that dulled the pain. Elanor’s presence helped too. He did not give the matter much thought, but he noticed that when she held his hand the pain receded and he felt drowsy. The indwaedh throbbed in time with his heartbeat. Or was it hers?

The hours passed. Once he heard Rúmil’s voice and once Orophin’s, but he knew she was still there because she held his hand. Later, he heard Lord Celeborn’s voice, and felt hands upon his body, once more drawing out the pain. More than once he heard Galadriel whisper in his mind, soothing and magical words spoken in her native Quenya.

And through it all, he always knew that his Elanor was there beside him.

#

Rúmil was bone-weary. It had been a long and difficult day, one fraught with physical exertion, thick emotion, and gut-wrenching guilt. The latter was the worst part; he kept thinking he should have realized what had happened, or questioned Rion, or at least have been able to reach Haldir’s side a little sooner. From experience he knew such thoughts were futile, but that did not shut them off.

After leaving Haldir, he headed straight to the bathhouse, where he stripped off his filthy tunic and leggings, washed quickly, and borrowed one of the robes hanging there for the use of bathhouse patrons. He left his clothes in a corner to collect later, knowing he would be forgiven under the circumstances, and made his way up to his talan. He would have liked to go directly to Nerwen’s home, but did not think that arriving with nothing on but a bathhouse robe would be the best course of action.

He entered his talan and was heading toward his sleeping chamber when something caught his eye. A carving. An archer no bigger than a hand and a half stood in the center of his dining table. Surprised, he walked over to it and picked it up, examining it closely. Had Orophin made it? It seemed extremely unlikely. He glanced around, but saw nothing to indicate who had placed it here.

He examined the carving from all angles. It was clearly the work of a beginner, and yet there was something about it that spoke of skill. The simple lines, the flow of it, the proportions and grace were all there, despite the trifling fact that the arrow’s shaft was too short, and the arrow was set against the wrong side of the bowstring.

Putting it down carefully, he proceeded on into his bedchamber and glanced longingly at the bed. He needed rest, but would not allow himself that luxury quite yet. He wished to mark Haldir’s condition once more, but first he desperately wanted to see Nerwen, if only for a few moments.

He threw on clean clothes and headed for her talan, but found it disappointingly empty. With a sigh, he mentally reviewed all the places she might be. He knew she sometimes walked at night---he had seen her many times---but had not followed her or observed where it was that she went. Pondering this, his thoughts returned to the little archer, and he wondered if Orophin could shed any light on that mystery. Could it possibly have anything to do with Nerwen? And why should that idea cross his mind?

With a last glance around Nerwen’s front room, he decided to return to Haldir first, before he set out on what might be a time-consuming search for the elleth who haunted his thoughts. When he arrived at the recovery talan where they had taken Haldir, he found his brother in a deep slumber, his left hand encased by both of Elanor’s, which Rúmil found oddly touching. He spoke to her briefly, stroked his fingers across his sleeping brother’s brow, and left again. Outside, he encountered Orophin not far from the talan where Haldir lay. Orophin had stretched out on a bench and was lying on his back, his linked fingers behind his neck and one leg bent so that his knee pointed skyward.

Rúmil walked over to him. “There is a carving of an archer on my table,” he stated, going straight to the point. “Is there something I should know, brother?”

Orophin gazed upward at the stars. “I am not supposed to tell you.”

Rúmil heaved a sigh. “Orophin, please. I am far too tired for games. This day has been difficult. Just tell me.”

So Orophin told him. By the time he finished, Rúmil’s heart was soaring. At last, a ray of hope!

“Thank you, brother,” he said, his voice low and even. “Thank you very, very much.”

Off he went with renewed purpose, determined to find Nerwen. Where would she be? In one of the gardens? Or one of the places meant for quiet meditation so cunningly hidden in the lofty heights of the city? Was she with a friend? Or in a lover’s arms?

This last possibility sobered him, but he refused to consider it. She had made that little archer for him; that must mean something. His jaw tightened with resolve. He would find her.

And he did . . . finally. He found her in the lily garden where Orophin’s begetting day party had taken place. He knew it was she even though she faced away from him, her blonde head tilted upward to the stars.

“Nerwen,” he said, walking swiftly over to her. “I have been looking all over for you.”

She swung around, her face beautiful and pale in the starlight’s soft glow. “Hello, Rúmil. How fares Haldir?”

He came to a halt an arm’s length in front of her. “They say he will live,” he said. “His injuries are serious, but not as serious as I first feared. His lungs are undamaged and . . . ” His voice died away as he searched her face, noting her closed expression. “Why did you not come? Are you still angry?” When she did not respond, he added with confusion, “I found your carving. I went back and asked Orophin about it and . . . he told me you made it for me.”

She made a little fluttering gesture and looked embarrassed. “It did not come out very well.”

“I liked it,” he stated, watching her closely. “Very much.” His gaze roved over her hungrily, taking in the dark blue eyes, the slender nose, the full lips that he had never really kissed . . . properly.

“I missed you, Nerwen.”

He knew he said the words aloud, yet they seemed to come from somewhere else, like a faraway echo slamming around inside his chest. His blood pounded hard, a shaft of raw desire spiking through him, driving away all rational thought. He forgot everything--everything he knew he should not do was subsumed by an intense wave of longing for her, a longing to hold her, to kiss her and make love to her as he had never made love to anyone.

He moved without thinking, his arms reaching out to drag her against him, to take her to him as a lover would take his beloved. He only knew he wanted to explore her--her graceful arms and full breasts and velvet soft skin. He was aggressive and he did not ask, and his grasp was not tentative. He covered her mouth with his, and for an all too brief moment, he knew what it felt like . . . and then she gripped his tunic with her fists and shoved him away. And then she punched him in the stomach, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to make him stare at her.

“How dare you!” she said hotly. “You are worse than Lurien!”

It was the ultimate insult, and Rúmil was outraged. “I am not! How can you say such a thing?” He was weary and drained and, by the Valar, he wanted sympathy from her, not accusations and punches!

She only looked at him, her breasts heaving with emotion, her eyes filled with a reproach he felt he did not deserve.

“I love you!” he said with hostility.

“Nonsense,” she shot back. “You only want to sleep with me.”

“I do not!” He clenched his fists in frustration. “Well, yes, of course I do, but—”

“So you admit it!” she interrupted with apparent triumph, as though he had just confessed to a heinous crime.

He was growing madder by the moment. He glanced quickly around to be sure they were alone, then said, through grated teeth, “Of course I admit it. Is it likely I would fall in love with someone I didn’t want to sleep with?”

She made a disdainful sound. “I imagine you fall in love with *everyone* you want to sleep with, Rúmil.”

“You are being absurd!” He was truly angry now. “I only want you. It may interest you to know that I have been celibate now for weeks, all because of you!”

She laughed. She actually laughed. He could not believe it.

“You doubt me?” he said grimly.

“I do not doubt you, Rúmil. If you say you have been celibate, then you have. What makes me laugh is your inference that a few weeks is a long time.”

“It *is* a long time!” He could find no words to express his fury. Instead, he seized her by the wrists and glared at her.

“Now what is this?” She nodded toward her imprisoned wrists, lifting her brows at him in a manner that reminded him uncomfortably of his mother. “Release me at once, Rúmil.”

“I will not,” he retorted. “Not until you listen to me.”

She lifted her chin. “I have been listening to you.”

“No, you have not! I tell you I love you, and you laugh in my face!”

“Because you behave like an elfling. You speak whatever words you think will bring you what you want.” Like small arrows meant to prick his heart, she flung the words at him, and the thin cord of his temper snapped.

“That does it,” he said wrathfully. Releasing one of her slender wrists, he bent down and flipped her facedown over his shoulder. No longer would he behave like a besotted fool; he would let her see another side of him. Perhaps she would discover that he was not what she thought.

“Rúmil!” she hissed. “Have you lost your mind? Put me down at once!”

He set off in the direction of his talan, ignoring the beating of her fists upon his lower back. At this point he had nothing to lose, and he did not want to continue this discussion out in the open where anyone might come by and overhear. Of course, carrying her over his shoulder like this might draw attention too, but it was night, and few elves were about save for a Sentinel here and there. Besides, it served her right.

Halfway to his talan, she transferred her blows to his buttocks. “Put me down this instant! How dare you behave like this! It is just as I said--you conduct yourself like an elfling! Rúmil! Do you hear me? Are you listening?”

In answer, he smacked his palm down upon her own backside, not very hard, just hard enough to elicit an outraged yelp.

“You claim to love me!” she gasped.

“It is true,” he fired back, sorely tempted to spank her again.

“This is how you choose to show it? I swear, Rúmil, if you drop me I will never speak to you again!” She actually sounded a little worried.

“I will not drop you, Nerwen.” For some reason, he felt that he was making slight progress, and if he had not been so extremely displeased with her, he might have smiled.

She had given up hitting him, but her silence seemed filled with intense indignation and something else that he could not identify. Resignation? Acceptance? Or fury about to be unleashed?

Inside his talan, he set her on her feet and shut the door, barricading it with his body while he regarded her flushed face and sparkling, angry eyes. He thought she looked even lovelier than usual, but he knew better than to mention it.

“Well?” she said, thrusting her jaw out at him in a manner that might have made him laugh if he were not so angry and tired. “Now what?”

“Now we talk,” he said curtly. He crossed his arms over his chest and glowered at her.

“You wish to talk.” Her face was skeptical. “You are not going to throw me on your bed and attempt to seduce me?”

Rúmil stared at her, completely at a loss to understand the workings of her mind. Did he mishear, or was there a note of disappointment in her voice?

“I could,” he said coolly. He weighed her with his gaze, noting the slight flush in her cheeks with increasing interest. He took a single step toward her and watched her reaction. “And I resent your attitude,” he told her in a stern voice. “I have told you that I love you and you seem to think that is nothing.”

“It is certainly not nothing,” she said with constraint, “and I would be flattered if I thought it was true.”

“Why do you not believe me?” he demanded. For a moment he’d thought he was making progress, but now he could feel himself growing aggravated again.

“Because I know you!” she burst out. “I have known you all my life. I have never seen any hint or sign that would allow me to believe that you would love only one elleth . . . or that it would be . . . me.” Something in those last few words struck a chord in Rúmil’s heart, but before he had time to analyze it she continued, “You are a flirt, Rúmil. A lovable, sweet flirt. You sleep with every elleth who smiles at you.”

“Not any more! I told you that—”

“So you have been celibate for a few weeks,” she cut in. “Do you think that is going to change anything?”

“Why not? It certainly changes things for me!”

“Oh, Rúmil, you are so . . .” She made a helpless gesture.

“So *what*?” he said with belligerence. “Go on, Nerwen. What am I?” He made his tone menacing, something he had never done before with her or any other elleth. This was his hard-edged warrior side coming through, and he wondered what effect it might have on her.

Her blue eyes wavered. “I have never seen you like this.”

“I am angry, Nerwen,” he said tiredly. “But that does not mean I do not love you. I love you and I want you and . . . I will take no other to my bed. I want no one else.”

“Oh, Rúmil.” She was looking at him very strangely, and he could read the skepticism in her eyes. Clearly she required additional proof. He drew a deep breath, recalling the risky idea that had been haunting him for days. Should he do it? Warning bells shrieked in his head, asking him what in Mordor he thought he was doing, but he ignored them.

“Nerwen, if I do not take you to my bed then I will take no one at all, ever, and this I swear upon my honor, and upon the honor of the Lady Galadriel.”

Nerwen’s mouth fell open. “You cannot mean this,” she said uncertainly. “You cannot swear such an oath.”

“I just did,” he countered. “And I mean it.”

“Do you seriously expect me to believe,” she said shakily, “that you will stay celibate for all eternity if I say you nay?”

Rúmil took another deep breath and nodded. “I do. I tell you, Nerwen, I want no other. I have made a vow and to that vow I will hold.”

Slowly, she walked toward him, her incredulous gaze on his face. “I am starting to believe you are serious.”

“I *am* serious! You said you wanted to see me serious, so look at me!” He spread wide his arms. “I am sorry I cannot be the ellon you would like me to be, but I am as I am. Give me credit for sincerity as least. I offer you my heart, and if you deny me, then I will take no other to my bed. I have vowed it and I will not break that vow.”

She stopped directly in front of him, her head tilting back to look him straight in the eye. “Rúmil, you cannot stay celibate for eternity. It would kill you.”

“Most likely,” he agreed, reflecting on this gloomily. “But I will manage. Unless I can persuade you to reconsider.”

“Anything is possible,” she said in a very low voice.

He was braced for another rejection, so her words caught him off guard. She sounded shy. He had never heard Nerwen speak shyly before. Always she was pragmatic and self-possessed, unruffled by anything or anyone.

He arched a brow, waiting for her to continue.

“And I think perhaps you misunderstood me. I never said I wanted you always to be serious. I only meant . . .” She paused, looking greatly flustered. “I only meant that I need you to be serious *occasionally*. You joke so much with everyone . . . with me. I want to know your deeper thoughts, the ones you conceal from everyone. I know you have them. You must.”

“I can be serious,” he said intently, “if that is what you wish.”

She reached out and caught hold of his hand, clasping it between both of hers. “I also like you when you laugh, Rúmil. I have always liked that side of you. It is just that . . . I want to see more of you. I do not want you to change. I only want you to reveal more of yourself to me. And of course . . . to stop letting every elleth in Lórien put her arms around you.”

“You do not want to share me with others,” he said. “Nor do I wish to share you with others. I have learned that much about myself.”

“Kiss me, Rúmil,” she whispered, “and then I will leave you. I must have time to think. And you must attend to your brother. You should be with Haldir right now. Or resting. You look exhausted.”

He slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her close, finally able to put his hands on her without fear of reprisals. She was warm and curvy and intoxicatingly lovely. “You know, when I say that you look pretty, I always mean it. But right now, Nerwen . . . my love . . . you look more beautiful to me than Elbereth herself. And that is the truth.”

And he lowered his lips to claim hers.

#

Lurien sat in the darkest shadows of his terrace, enveloped in a chill black silence that put knots in the pit of his stomach. This whole business of Haldir being wounded unsettled him far more than he would have expected. They were saying that a mistake had been made, and that it was Haldir’s fault that the Orcs had gotten into Lórien. This pleased him. How many times had he secretly wished for Haldir to make an error severe enough to call his judgment into question? However, to have Haldir so gravely injured was not and had never been something Lurien desired. He desired the death of no elf. Not even Haldir.

In any case, how could he seek his vengeance if Haldir was dead? What possible satisfaction would there be in that? Lurien wanted to best him, humiliate him, humble him. If Haldir were disgraced, it would be satisfying. If Lurien could by some means prove himself the better warrior, that would be exquisite. But Lurien did not want him dead. Every fiber of his being protested the idea.

So it was that when Lord Elrond had bidden him to fetch the satchel of herbs, Lurien had made all possible haste. He had gone straight to the talan used by the Peredhel, directly to the cupboard where the satchel had been stowed. He had been intent upon completing his task with the greatest possible efficiency.

That was when he had seen the letters lying on the table. Letters with Elanor’s name on them.

Lurien had taken an instant to glance at them, his curiosity piqued. Both letters appeared to be from her family. Both were folded and sealed with a golden wax into which a family seal had been pressed. Elanor’s family did not concern him except for one little matter. He had wanted to know exactly what Elanor had done to Haldir that would warrant the punishment she received. If he could just discover the truth, would it not be to his advantage? Could he perhaps use the knowledge somehow? Would the letters contain a clue?

He sighed in frustration, wishing he could get his hands on those letters. They most likely contained nothing of interest, but he would love to see them just in case.

Settling back against the smooth bark of the tree, he gazed upward at the night sky, his brooding gaze automatically seeking out the great star of Eärendil. His thoughts shifted, driven by the sharpness of his strange mood. Would he ever be free? He tried to envision a future without this festering hate, a future with Tarwë at his side, but it was so difficult. Would they one day sail west together? Would she bear his children? Or would she abandon him to his fate?

He did not know. Sometimes it felt like he was at the mercy of a river far greater than the Anduin, swept along by forces he did not understand and could never hope to control. He was but a mallorn leaf in the current, with no will of his own, no way to control his destiny or alter the course of his life. Intellectually, he knew this was false, and yet those thoughts remained, like the disagreeable aftertaste left by some bitter medicinal draught.

He shook his head, compressing his lips in thorough self-disgust. He loathed such thoughts and needed to escape from them. Only Tarwë could save him. He needed her. He needed to bury himself in her softness, to feel her loving arms around him, to breathe in her heady, irresistible scent. Of all the ellith he had known, she was the only one who had that effect on him. He was bewitched and he was in love. And what did it avail him?

#

The morning came and Haldir opened his eyes. His pain was marginally less, but the night had seemed endless, riddled with disturbing dreams. Again and again he had fought the Orcs, each time knowing that wardens were dying because of him, because of his mistake. The knowledge haunted and shamed him. How many times had he awakened? Each time he had found Elanor beside him. Each time she had soothed him back to sleep, and then he had dreamed again, sometimes of death and blood, sometimes of life and Elanor.

He looked over at her now. Her eyes were shut and her head drooped so that her chin almost touched her chest, but she was still there beside him, still holding his hand.

“Elanor,” he said, and squeezed her fingers.

She stirred and opened her eyes, her gaze immediately seeking his. “Good morning,” she said softly.

“You are weary,” he said, studying her carefully. “Go now and take your rest.”

She shook her head. “I will not leave you.” She bent down and kissed his brow. “I will have them bring a cot for me when I am tired.”

He gazed at her in slight bemusement, touched by her dedication to him. He had not expected that she would stay with him like this. He knew she cared for him, but until this moment he had not realized just how unswerving her devotion was. He wondered if he deserved it, if he was worthy of such loving care. Could he be for Elanor what she needed him to be? For an instant his thoughts drifted back to Healea and her betrayal, and then he pushed aside that old memory. It had no meaning now. Elanor was not Healea. Elanor was . . . Elanor. His own.

“Even so,” he said, trying to sound authoritative, “you must walk around a bit and stretch your muscles. You have not moved the entire night.”

She ignored him. Instead, she gently disengaged her fingers from his and reached for the goblet on the table near his bed. “Drink,” she commanded, “and stop issuing orders.” She slipped her hand beneath his head and urged him up just enough so that she could pour a small portion of the healing draught between his lips. “Does this help?” she asked, after he had swallowed some of it. “They told me it would take away the pain.”

“It helps a little,” he said, feeling the warm rush of liquid spreading through his insides. It reminded him of another need. “I must sit up.”

“Haldir, you must not! You are to lie still and not move.”

“I must rise. There is something I must do.”

“Absolutely not, I will not allow it. Stop, what are you doing?” she protested as he struggled to lift himself. “What could be so important? Whatever it is, can it not wait?”

“I have been ignoring it all night, Elanor. But nature’s call can only be ignored for so long.” He grabbed her wrist with his left hand, his teeth clenched against the stabbing pain in his shoulders and ribs.

“Oh.” She quickly steadied him, watching him closely while he drew several deep breaths in an effort to clear his spinning head. “Well, you cannot get up. Wait there, and I will bring the pot to you.”

Haldir sat on the edge of the bed, feeling nauseous and dizzy. “You don’t have to stay and watch,” he said wryly. “I can manage.”

“I have already seen all your body parts,” she replied, sounding a little exasperated. “You are not going to shock me. Now do it quickly, because you need to lie down again before you faint. Your face is stark white.”

Despite everything, Haldir almost laughed. “Yes, my lady,” he said meekly. He emptied his bladder and watched her set the pot aside, then her gentle hands helped him to settle himself upon his back again. “Thank you, Elanor,” he murmured. “You are the first female since my mother to witness that spectacle.”

“I expect you would do the same for me,” she said in a matter-of-fact voice. “To be able to help you in any way, Haldir, is a privilege. There is no need to be embarrassed.”

He smiled slightly, trying to think of something clever to say, but all he really wanted was to lie still and rest. Movement had escalated the pain, he was tired and shaky, and he did not want to talk.

Elanor tucked the blanket around him again, placed a soft kiss on his lips, and then picked up the chamber pot and carried it out of the talan. A moment later, she returned, minus the pot. “I gave it to Orophin,” she informed him. “I do not think he was too pleased, judging by the look on his face. He was about to come in and visit. I told him he might as well make himself useful in another capacity. After all, he is your brother.”

“Elanor,” Haldir said faintly, “you are incorrigible.”

#

The next time Haldir opened his eyes, Elrond and one of the Lórien healers was standing beside his bed. At once he realized that the touch of the elf-lord’s fingers was what had awakened him. Haldir said nothing while Elrond made a thorough examination of his wounds despite the fact that Elanor was watching. He wondered if they had exchanged words while he was asleep, and if so, why they had not awakened him. Normally the slightest sound roused him.

Elrond said little, his noble countenance displaying no hint of his thoughts while he pressed fresh herbs into the gaping wounds in Haldir’s shoulders and rewrapped them in fresh linen. He examined the wound by his damaged ribs, but the poultice was still intact and, according to both Elrond and the healer, the surrounding area showed no signs of inflammation or cause for concern.

“Considering the gravity of your wounds,” Elrond said finally, “you are doing well. That does not change the fact that you must lie still and rest for many days to come. Your complete healing will take weeks.”

Haldir did not speak, for his thoughts dwelled less on his injuries than on the ramifications of his mistake. Would his wardens ever trust him again? Would Celeborn and Galadriel? Ought he to resign from his position as March Warden and let another take his place?

Perhaps Elrond guessed some of this, for he turned to Elanor and said, in a kind but unyielding voice, “You will leave us now, Elanor. I wish to speak to your guardian alone. Go and wash, eat and change your clothes, then you may return.”

Haldir wondered if she would argue, and was relieved when she did not. She did, however, hesitate long enough to cause him a moment’s unease, but in the end she touched her hand to her heart and left the talan without protest. The healer also left.

“She cares for you like a she-wolf protecting her cub.” Elrond’s gray eyes held a glimmer of amusement. “You being the cub,” he added dryly. “’Tis a new role for Lórien’s March Warden.”

Haldir knew not what to say so he remained silent under Elrond’s steady regard. After a few moments, the Peredhel seated himself on the chair beside the bed. “How is the pain?” he inquired.

“Not bad,” Haldir lied.

“It lessens when she is near?”

“Yes,” Haldir acknowledged a bit unwillingly. “When she holds my hand.” The admission seemed a weakness, but he could not lie about that.

Elrond’s gaze pierced him. “You know why, do you not?”

“Tell me.” Haldir stared back, masking the strength of his curiosity.

“In part it is the indwaedh. Its effect strengthens under certain conditions.”

“And those are?”

Instead of answering, Elrond reached slowly into the neckline of his tunic and withdrew a jewel very similar to Haldir’s own, only this one was a soft and pale blue. “I have worn this for many years,” he said in a low, calm voice. “Ever since my Celebrían sailed into the West. It was gifted to us by her mother, the Lady Galadriel.” He did not speak for a long moment, but only gazed down at the jewel with immeasurable sorrow in his eyes. Then he slipped it back inside his robe and resumed his impassivity. “It has given me great comfort over the years. One day I will be with her once more, and when that day comes I will reunite the two indwaedh into the ind-mir from which they came. And then I will gift it to another, for we will no longer have need of it.”

“You have much faith,” Haldir said quietly. “And great courage.”

“I have love, Haldir. Our love was strong, though Celebrían was not. It lies as deep and true within my heart as it did the day I married her and took her for my own. She knows this as much as I do.” He paused. “Why did you give the indwaedh to Elanor?”

Haldir fought an urge to twitch. “I thought to ease her concern for me. We . . . care for each other a great deal.”

Elrond leaned back into the chair, resting his elbows on the arms. “I see.” His eyes seemed fathomless. “How long have you worn it?”

“Two weeks,” Haldir admitted reluctantly. He did not like answering so many personal questions.

“Only two weeks.” Elrond shook his head. “Haldir, to wear an indwaedh is to put oneself under the dominion of powerful magic. A magic more powerful than you apparently realize.” He clasped his fingers together and rested his chin on the tips. “It takes time to adjust to its influence. Did no one tell you this? Where did you get the ind-mir? Who gave it to you?”

“My mother.” Haldir could feel himself growing defensive.

“I see.” Elrond’s brows drew together. “She must not have understood. Not being a warrior, she would not have been as conscious of its distracting influence. Or perhaps she wore it so long that she forgot how it was in the beginning.”

“What are you saying?”

“I am saying that an indwaedh affects one’s mind, as well as one’s senses and reflexes. To put it plainly, you returned to the Fences far too soon. It was a mistake that could have been fatal.”

Deeply disturbed, Haldir frowned, acutely aware of the subtle hum in his mind. Even now, it distracted, weaving sweet images of Elanor into his restless thoughts. Had he endangered himself and his wardens with his impetuous decision to make use of this jewel? He normally prided himself on his judgment. Were his feelings for Elanor interfering with his ability to lead?

“You found your thoughts wandering to her at the oddest moments?”

“Yes,” Haldir muttered. “Too often.”

“To expect to proceed as usual was hopeless from the start. Eventually one grows used to it, but it can take weeks, or even months. I suspect it was what sent you to your sleep while you were on the litter. That, and Elanor herself,” Elrond added enigmatically.

“I was a fool,” Haldir said bitterly. “I endangered myself and my wardens.” The knowledge sickened him.

Elrond’s penetrating gaze bored into him. “If it had been anyone else, I might agree, but your mind is strong. I can feel it. Your strength of will is almost as powerful as the jewel’s magic.”

Haldir closed his eyes, but it could not block out his guilt.

“While you heal and recover your strength, you will have time to adjust to the indwaedh’s influence. It enables you to connect with Elanor, and that will hasten your healing.”

“I cannot wear it. I dare not risk it.”

“To remove it would be unwise now that your fëa has been in contact with it for two weeks. To sever the link at this time would greatly weaken you. I cannot advise it.” Elrond paused. “Instead of dwelling on what cannot be undone, you must decide what will you say to Elanor. She must be told.”

Haldir considered this with dismay. How could he tell Elanor about this? He knew her well enough to know that she would feel personally responsible for his injury. Yet he could not conceal this from her. He owed her the truth. He owed his brothers and his wardens the truth. And he certainly must confess all to the Lord and Lady. He would not hide the facts.

“All I wanted was to feel her near me when we are parted,” he said bleakly.

It was an admission he would not normally have made; he seldom shared his feelings with anyone beyond his family, and of course Elanor. But just now depression had him by the throat and his defenses were few.

“You *will* adjust, Haldir. The indwaedh is an uncommon possession, but there are others who wear them and some of them are warriors. Ultimately, the jewel’s emanations join with the fëa and it becomes a part of you. You feel the connection without it taking over your mind and your thoughts. In three or four months you will feel wholly normal.”

“So this is your counsel to me? I should continue to wear the jewel even though it nearly cost me my life?”

“By the time you finish healing and regain your full strength, the adjustment period will be over. My counsel to you is to focus on healing and stop blaming yourself for this incident.”

“That is difficult,” Haldir said, striving for a dispassionate tone.

“I know it is.” Elrond’s voice was not unkind, yet it also held force. “You fear you have lost respect among your people, but I sense you will find that is not the case. Rather, you will have gained something significant.”

“And what is that?” Haldir asked, unable to conceal his skepticism.

Elrond leaned forward. “You have acquired quite a reputation over the years. You are formidable, exacting, and scrupulously capable. You make no mistakes. You are respected and you are intimidating. And now you have made a mistake. Do you think your people will blame you and scorn you? Nay, Haldir. They have only discovered that you are not perfect. Will that shock them? Will it diminish your ability to lead? I do not think so.”

Haldir gazed at Elrond, listening intently.

“It will make you more approachable, and it will remind them of their responsibility to you. It is not necessarily a good thing to be considered infallible. Dependable, yes. But perfect? They should trust you and follow your orders, but they should bear in mind that you are not flawless. None of us is. This will knock you off your pedestal, at least for a time, and put you on a more even ground with your wardens. It will remind them that you are as real as each of them. You love and bleed and feel just as they do. And you give the best of yourself to the land you love, to Lórien and its people. You are a leader they can be proud of, March Warden. And that has not changed.”

“I wish I could believe that,” Haldir murmured.

Elrond straightened. “How ironic that you are known for your arrogance. I see little of that in you right now. Instead, I see humbleness. Celeborn was right.”

Haldir flushed, but said nothing.

“Shall I tell you why the pain lessens when she holds your hand?” Elrond’s face suddenly seemed a bit mischievous. “Or would you rather wait and discover it for yourself?”

“Tell me.” This time Haldir tried not to sound as demanding as he had before.

Elrond smiled. “I saw it back in Rivendell the morning I spoke to you in my office. Elanor is your destiny, March Warden. And you are hers. It is why I punished her as I did. The Valar whispered in my ear and I listened.”

Haldir was at a loss for words, but fortunately the Peredhel did not seem to require any. He simply rose and walked to the door, where he paused and glanced back.

“Rest and heal, Haldir, and cease your brooding. An indwaedh does not come to one by happenstance. It is a gift from the Valar, and such gifts are not to be taken lightly.”


**
ind-mir = heart jewel
indwaedh = heart-bond
ellon = male elf (singular)
elleth = female elf (singular)
ellith = female elf (plural)
telain = plural form of talan

**

[To be continued] Feedback appreciated!