ELANOR'S REVENGE

A/N - Thank you so very, very much to all of you who have reviewed!
Fianna and I truly appreciate your feedback, and we hope you will continue to enjoy this story.

This new chapter is 10,000+ words and I hope that makes up in some small way for the length of time between updates.

A couple fic recommendations for you:
Two of my favorite stories you might like are HAUNTED, by Jeanne14 and CAUGHT BY YOU by Laurelin. If you like Elanor's Revenge, you might like these two stories since they are both het and about elves and well-written. If you do, please leave these nice ladies some feedback so they will write more for us to enjoy.

For links to these two stories, click on (Julie) at the top of any ER chapter and you will go to my author page; the links to my recommended reads are at the bottom.
hugs to all,
--J&F


~*~ Chapter Twenty-Seven ~*~

Elanor hurried a bit wearily up the numerous steps to do as Lord Elrond had suggested—to wash and change and eat as quickly as she could. She did not like to leave Haldir even briefly, but she knew better than to argue with the Lord of Imladris--unless it was absolutely justified, which in this instance it was not. In any case, she had seen the compassion in those wise gray eyes, and knew that he had Haldir’s best interest at heart. Whatever he had to say to her guardian, it would be kindly expressed.

As she sped along, a number of elves stopped her to inquire about Haldir’s well being, and although she was anxious to continue, she paused and gave to each a courteous answer. It was heartwarmingly clear that Haldir commanded, not only the respect of his people, but their caring and loyalty as well. The knowledge swelled her heart with pride and love for him.

Arriving at Haldir’s talan, Elanor was halfway through the front room when her gaze fell on the three plants still sitting atop the cabinet. Their leaves drooped, telling her they had picked up on her tension and worry, and she took a moment to reassure them before heading on into the bedchamber to freshen up. After that, she went to the kitchen to find herself some food while pondering what Haldir might be able to eat. She wished she had thought to ask Lord Elrond or Haldir himself. Perhaps some soup?

As she was about to exit the talan, her gaze returned to the plants, and on impulse she picked them up and took them with her. When she reached the healing talan where Haldir lay, Lord Elrond stood outside, a short distance away from the entrance. “Elanor,” he said as he caught sight of her descending the nearest set of steps. “A moment, if you please.”

Elanor walked over to him, clutching the plants to her chest. “Yes, my lord?” She waited for him to speak, conscious of the encompassing scope of his perusal. This elf could see so much with just a glance, and right now he was looking at her very closely.

“You have grown,” he observed. “You shine in a way that I have never seen you shine. The change in you is remarkable.”

“If that is so,” she said honestly, “then I owe it to Haldir, and to his brothers and the Lady Galadriel, as well as others. You were right to punish me as you did. This experience has been beneficial in ways you might never guess.” She stumbled a bit with the last sentence, thinking of all the hidden meanings behind it.

“So I have ascertained,” the Elf-Lord said dryly. “You appear to have overcome your antagonism toward your guardian. I am glad.”

Elanor bit her lip, embarrassed by the memory of her childish behavior. “My lord,” she said humbly, “I would like to apologize for the way I conducted myself back in Imladris. I behaved like a spoiled child rather than the adult I am. I have no excuses, but I am truly sorry.”

Lord Elrond inclined his head. “No apologies are needed, Elanor. It was time I fulfilled my responsibilities toward you, something I should have done sooner. I am pleased to find that my decision was sound.” He paused, eyeing the plants in her arms with a rather peculiar smile. “Go on, then. He is waiting for you. You and I will speak more later.”

Elanor took a moment to inquire about Haldir’s diet and then bowed her head and continued on into the talan. Haldir had clearly heard her voice, because he was looking expectantly in her direction when she entered, his eyes seeking hers just as they had the day before. Then his gaze went to the plants.

“Ah, I see I have visitors,” he remarked, a bit weakly.

Elanor looked around for a place to put them. “Yes, I was only going to bring one, but they all wished to come along.”

She rounded the bed and set them on the table, arranging them so they did not interfere with Haldir’s goblet with its pain-suppressing draught. She made sure to set the elanor plant nearest to the bed, and then turned her attention to Haldir, studying him carefully. His face was less white than it had been earlier, but he still did not look like himself. His hair wanted combing, and she could see pain in his eyes, although she knew he was trying to hide it from her.

“I suppose they were worried about me.” His hand moved with his small jest, as if he meant to reach out for her but lacked the strength.

Elanor dropped a kiss on his brow and sat down, wrapping her fingers around his just as she had done during the long hours of the night. “Actually, they were. They sensed my concern and became fearful, so I had to explain because, well, they worried it was something to do with them.”

Haldir contemplated this information. “What did you tell them?”

“That you were injured.” She brushed a strand of hair from his cheek. “They were horrified.”

“I suppose they think someone stepped on me,” he said wryly.

“Not exactly. They know you are not a plant. I told them . . . ” She paused, trying to put into words something that she had used images to convey to the plants. “I told them one of your stalks was broken, but you would recover.”

“You had better tell them my stamen is intact. I refuse to be the owner of misinformed plants.”

“I am glad you still have your sense of humor. How do you feel?”

His mouth twisted ruefully. “Like someone stepped on me.”

Elanor frowned and reached for the goblet with her free hand, but Haldir halted her with a squeeze on her fingers. “No more of that just now, Elanor. I want to talk to you.”

“I think you should rest. We can talk later.”

“I wish to talk now.”

“But Haldir--” she objected.

“Be silent, Elanor. There is something I must tell you, and it wearies me to argue.”

Elanor studied him with concern. “I am sorry, Haldir. I will listen.”

“It is about the indwaedh,” he said.

#

Túre awoke that morning feeling strangely exultant. For a moment she could not recall why, and then she remembered the daisy. At once she turned her head and saw it, still fresh and lovely in its fragile glass vase.

“Who brought you to me?” she whispered.

She stared at the daisy as if willing it to provide her with answers, but of course it did not. Idly, she reached out and touched one of its petals, admiring its simple beauty with silent reverence.

Perhaps it meant nothing and she placed too much importance on it. Perhaps it was not one of the Imladris Elves who had left it at her door, but instead one of her friends, thinking to comfort her . . . or play a joke on her. An unpleasant thought struck her. What if it had been Gwirith? Gwirith did not like her. Gwirith could have seen her pluck the daisy, and her sense of humor was rather frivolous. To add to this, Gwirith would not have known that Túre left the daisy on the rock, and that meant that the daisy Túre had plucked would still be there where she had left it.

Túre’s spirits plummeted as she considered how many elves she had probably offended over the years with her sullenness. This daisy could easily be a sample of someone’s ill will rather than a romantic tribute. For a moment she brooded about this possibility, then she shook her head. No, she had sworn to herself that she would seek the light, and that meant taking control of her thoughts before they wandered down familiar paths into those dark places she knew too well.

Rising from her bed, she stretched her arms above her head and then on impulse went to her mirror and looked into her own blue eyes. How would a newcomer see her? What would an ellon notice when he saw her for the first time? She dragged her fingers through her silvery blonde hair as if to ascertain its softness to her fingertips . . . or to another’s. She touched her lips, those lips that had known no kisses for such a very long time. How would it feel to be embraced again by strong masculine arms? And was she being foolish to have these thoughts? Would they not dangerous?

The image of the two handsome Imladris elves returned to her, and she closed her eyes, the better to view them in her mind’s eye. Both so striking and doubtlessly charming as well. Had one of them brought her the daisy?

Suddenly, she was seized with an irresistible urge to return to the little footbridge where she had last seen them, and to follow the path to the rock where she had placed her flower. No, that was silly. Why should she?

Why not? Why should she not do it? She could go after she fulfilled her early morning duty in the kitchens.

Still feeling silly, she forced herself to wash, comb her hair and dress, taking her time as though by the very act of following her usual leisurely routine, she could restore composure to her mind. And it did help. A little.

So it was that by the time she left her talan her heart was beating at its normal rate and her face showed no sign that anything momentous might have transpired in her long and lonely life. No one could possibly guess where her thoughts traveled . . . or where her dreams had gone the night before.

#

Elanor sat very still, shaken to the foundation of her being by what Haldir had just explained to her. She felt cold on the inside, as though shards of ice had worked their way down her throat and become trapped. “So . . . it is my fault?” she said tentatively. “It’s my fault that you were injured?”

“No, Elanor, of course not. The fault is mine.” Although his voice was tight, he gave her fingers a reassuring squeeze.

Filled with remorse, she could not meet his eyes. “But if it had not been for me, it would not have happened.”

“You cannot know that. Elanor, heed my words. I tell you about this because I will not hide the truth. I made a mistake, but you are not at fault.” He paused for a moment. “I would not change what I did. I would give you the indwaedh all over again.”

She glanced up in surprise. “Do you speak truly?”

“You question my word?”

She saw anger in his eyes, and at once realized how much anxiety he must be suffering, how consumed he must be with frustration and guilt. This anger was not directed at her but at himself.

She leaned closer, not shying from his gaze but rather seeking it. “No, of course I do not doubt your word, dear Haldir. But I care for you so much,” she explained, her voice hitching a little, “and to think for one moment that your life was at risk because of me . . . it hurts more than you can imagine. And so I cannot understand why you say that about the indwaedh.” She felt a tear trickle down her cheek and, a little embarrassed, she wiped it away quickly.

All signs of Haldir’s anger vanished, replaced by obvious concern and gentleness. “Do not cry, Elanor. According to Elrond, while I heal I will also adjust to this indwaedh so that what happened . . . cannot happen again. And since I will not be returning to the Fences for some time, I mean to put that time to good use.” He paused, his gaze making a little tour of her face. “I mean to court you properly.”

With these words, Elanor became abruptly conscious of the steady beat of her heart. Such sweet words, and to hear them spoken at such at moment filled her with powerful emotions. “That would please me,” she whispered.

Despite his injured shoulder, he lifted his left arm from the elbow high enough to touch her chin with the back of his index finger. A faint smile played at the corners of his mouth. “Elanor,” he said softly. “My sweet flower.”

She was about to kiss his fingers when the opening of the door diverted her attention, halting her a moment before she could do so. Into the talan walked the two healers who had assisted Lord Elrond the day before, one holding the door for the other, who carried a large washbasin filled with something most agreeably scented. Both were dressed in long pale robes and wore stern expressions on their faces.

“Yes?” Elanor looked at them inquiringly.

The first healer ignored her and addressed himself to Haldir. “We are here to bathe you,” he said a bit stiffly. “Your ward will have to leave.”

Elanor rose to her feet. “Leave the water, please. I will see to his bath.”

“Elanor,” Haldir said quietly.

“I will do it,” she repeated, meeting the healer’s cool blue eyes. “I am caring for Haldir now.”

“My lady,” the healer objected with a look of disapproval. “It is not fitting.”

“I do not care if it is fitting. Please leave it and I will see to him.”

The second healer was also frowning, but at least he answered her directly. “Lord Elrond requested that we bathe him. He put special herbs into the water meant to strengthen and invigorate, and to promote his healing.”

Elanor surveyed these two elves. She did not know either of them, though one looked vaguely familiar. “Thank you for bringing the water, but I am quite capable of caring for him,” she said stubbornly. “If you could arrange to have some clear broth brought to us, that would also be welcome.”

She heard Haldir mutter something beneath his breath.

The healer holding the basin walked around the bed and eyed with disfavor the plants taking up most of the room on the table. “If you would be so good as to clear those away,” he said loftily, “I might be able to set this down.”

Elanor shifted the plants and relieved him of the basin, setting it down on the table herself. The other healer held a pile of clean linens, and these she also took, placing them on the foot of the bed. “Please tell Lord Elrond that Elanor will see to Haldir’s bath. I think he will understand.”

The two stiff-faced elves surveyed her without betraying their thoughts. “I will do so,” said the first, his tone careful and formal. He bowed to Haldir and left the talan, the other healer behind him.

Haldir sighed and closed his eyes. “Elanor, what am I going to do with you?”

“Now why do you say that? I can bathe you as well as they can.” She nearly added that Galadriel herself had bidden her to do what she felt was right and not care what people thought.

“Perhaps so, but you do not know those elves. The one who brought the water is called Hírion, and he is a worse gossip than any elleth.”

Elanor shook her head and sighed. “Let him talk. I do not care.” She might have taken him to task for the latter part of this statement, but he looked so pathetically pale and helpless that she decided to let it go. “I suppose you think I was being too willful.”

Haldir’s eyes remained shut. “Let us not dwell on it now.” Something in her tone made her wonder if he might mention the subject again later.

“How is the pain?” she asked.

“I hardly notice it when you are here,” he said, but his face belied the statement. It was plain for her that their conversation had taken a toll on him.

“Oh, Haldir,” she murmured, taking hold of his hand. She bent down and kissed his wrist. “Let me bathe you and it will help. Lord Elrond knows so much about healing, and whatever is in the water smells wonderful.”

“Very well,” he said faintly. “Just be careful.”

“I will,” she promised. “Of course I will.” She dipped one of the small cloths into the water, squeezed it over the bowl, and began her task.

Haldir lay silent, torn between wanting her to proceed and wishing she would not. On the one hand the water was soothing . . . the herbs in the water assuaged his hurts and appealed to his senses, both with their scent and with the way they felt upon his flesh. On the other hand, her touch made him long for things he would be better off not thinking about right now.

Elanor had lifted the blanket away from his left leg and was gently washing him from thigh to foot. He bent his leg upward to give her access to the underside, enjoying the way the water’s coolness removed his focus from the aching pain of his injuries. He allowed his mind to drift on a sea of peaceful sensations while she completed that leg and went on to the other one.

She washed his arms next, and then his chest, very carefully and gently. He could feel the rejuvenating effect of the herbs, pushing him toward reverie despite his tingling flesh. The indwaedh surrounded him with an ineffable shelter against the pain, its magic weaving its way into his heart and mind. Elanor . . . he could feel her so completely even when she was not touching him. His thoughts drifted on drowsy currents of pleasure amid the background haze of pain. They were linked . . . Elrond had said she was his destiny . . . did she know this? Who would be the one to tell her? Would it please her to know this? Or would it overwhelm her?

“I wish I could roll you over and wash your back,” she commented, “but that would not be a good idea just yet.”

“Definitely not,” he mumbled, trying not to imagine how much that would hurt. He also tried not to think about where the cloth was heading as she shifted the blanket off his lower torso. To offset what she was doing, he forced himself to think about the battle and his own stupidity, not a pleasant line of thought, but it served to get him through this part of his bath without any noticeable relocation of his body parts. “Thank you, Elanor,” he murmured when she was done. His voice sounded far off and rather thick, at least to his own ears.

“You are welcome,” he heard her whisper. “Rest well. I will not leave you.” He felt her lips press against his brow as he slipped into a gentle sleep. And when the dreams came, they were exceptionally pleasant.

#

Nerwen sat on a low bench in a shady garden that was seldom visited because of its tiny size, still reflecting upon Rúmil’s extraordinary behavior and astonishing vow. At least she knew that his brother’s injuries were neither fatal nor permanent; such glad tidings relieved her of the fear that had been weighing her down—-fear and dread that her beloved Rúmil would suffer another terrible loss. Losing Ainon had been dreadful enough for him, but to lose one of his brothers would be unbearable. Not to mention how it would affect poor Elanor, and all the others who loved the March Warden. Nerwen herself had warm feelings for Haldir, although those feelings could not compare to what she felt for Rúmil.

She stretched out her legs and stared at her bare toes while she pondered the sudden change in their relationship. Never in her wildest dreams had she expected him to behave in such a fashion. He loved her! He wanted only her and no one else!

And she *did* believe him. Truly. For Rúmil to make such a vow—-such a ridiculous vow—-it was enough to banish all her doubts. Or at least most of them. One tiny doubt remained, though it was not troubling her a great deal.

What uncanny twist of fate made that the moment he found her? A slight movement brought her head up just in time to see him enter the garden and stop the moment he saw her. “Nerwen,” he said, the beginnings of one of his beguiling and irresistible smiles tipping the corners of his mouth. “I wondered which garden you were hiding in this time.”

She smiled back at him, noting how much more rested he looked than the night before. “I was not hiding, Rúmil. I was reflecting.”

His smile lingered in his blue eyes as he closed the distance between them and stood looking down at her. “About anyone in particular?”

She returned his gaze, conscious of him in a way that she had never been before. He seemed taller, larger, more formidable and masculine, which made no sense since she had always found him masculine and highly attractive. But never more than now.

“About you,” she said truthfully.

“Indeed.” Looking pleased, he sat down beside her, and she noticed for the first time that he held a small, familiar-looking pouch. “I told you once before that you had a secret. I never told you what it was.”

She tilted her head, captivated by his manner. “What is my secret, Rúmil?”

“You love me,” he said, his tone oddly gentle. “I know you do. Not as a brother or companion, but as one who is closer still.”

For a long moment, Nerwen did not speak, then at last she said, in a very low voice, “Yes, that is true. I do love you, Rúmil, in the way that you say. I have never, ever thought of you as a brother. I lied to you about that.”

“I know,” he said simply. “But I needed to hear you say it. I have a gift for you, Nerwen. I expect you can guess what it is.”

“Perhaps I can. Whatever it is, I am honored.”

His lips curved upward. “Much better,” he approved. “That’s a vast improvement over being told that I am undisciplined and fickle and . . . what was the other word you used?”

“Capricious,” she filled in penitently.

“Ah yes. And then there was ‘childish, unreliable and wild’.”

Nerwen knew she was flushing. “Forgive me for saying such hurtful words, Rúmil. It was so wrong of me.”

“Of course I forgive you. I would forgive you anything. All I ask is that you love me as I love you. And accept my gift to you this time.” He put the pouch into her hand and looked at her hopefully.

Nerwen’s hands shook slightly as she removed the carving from the pouch. Tears seeped from her eyes as she took in the graceful female deer bent down to nuzzle the young fawn. “It is beautiful,” she said unsteadily. “I do accept it, and I will cherish it always.”

He gave an endearing little grin. “And I will cherish your carving also.”

She shook her head. “It did not turn out the way I wanted. I almost did not give it to you at all. It was supposed to look like you, Rúmil, but there is something not quite right about it though I could not see what I should change.”

“Nay, it is perfect,” he said loyally. “I could not ask for a better gift from the elleth I love.”

“Truly?” she asked anxiously.

“Truly. It was carved with care and gifted with love. What more could I ask?”

She arched a brow, waiting for the inevitable, but he only smiled at her, his eyes twinkling merrily. “Rúmil,” she said, “you amaze me sometimes.”

“Why?” he asked, a trace of laughter in his voice. “Are you waiting for me to be capricious and wild? Perhaps you are hoping that I will throw you over my shoulder again.”

“No, I am not,” she said firmly. “It was uncomfortable and embarrassing, and I should still be most annoyed with you.”

“But you are not annoyed because you saw another side of me and liked what you saw. I merely seek to understand you,” he added quickly, as though fearing he had given offense.

“It pleased me in some ways, yes,” she admitted, after a brief hesitation. Keenly aware of his scrutiny, she surprised herself by blushing.

Rúmil wrapped his hand around hers and gave it a little squeeze. “Pleasing you is all I want to do. In every possible way.”

Nerwen smiled. Rúmil was still Rúmil, after all, but his statement did not trouble her, as it once would have done. Holding the carving carefully, she rose to her feet, saying, “I must go. I have several duties I must attend to, but first tell me how your brother fares.”

Rúmil also rose and stood very close, gazing down at her with an intense expression. “Haldir sleeps and heals. I saw him just before I came to find you. Elanor sits beside him and cares for him. I honor her for her devotion.”

“I would give you the same devotion if you were in his place,” Nerwen told him quietly. Leaning up, she kissed him lightly on the mouth. “Perhaps I will see you later.”

He did not try to deepen the kiss or embrace her as he usually did, but only smiled sweetly. “Take care, my Nerwen,” he said with gentleness.

Nerwen cradled the carving against her breast as she walked away, feeling happier than she had felt in many long years.

#

Túre walked along the path until she came to the footbridge where she had seen the two Imladris elves standing with her friends. No one was here just now, yet the space where they had stood seemed alive with memory. Túre looked around, almost tingling with the possibility that one of those two handsome elves might be her destiny. Was she foolish to imagine it? Perhaps, but even so, she would not turn back now.

Casting a quick look around to be sure no one was near, she continued along the pathway, heading to the place where she had left the daisy. As she neared the rock, she could see that it was still there, and knew a sharp stab of disappointment. Still, she paused and bent down, gazing at it closely. Why did it look so fresh? It had not wilted in the least.

Her heart began to beat a little faster. This was *not* the same daisy. The stem was longer. She was absolutely certain of this. But what did this mean? Was he playing games with her? Or was someone else?

She glanced around quickly, feeling strange prickles on the back of her neck. Suddenly, she was sure that someone was watching. “Who is there?” she said aloud.

“I am on a mission,” said a voice behind her.

Túre turned around slowly, her heart in her throat.

It was the blue-eyed elf. He stood a short distance away, leaning casually against the nearest tree, his lithe body holding an indolent pose.

For some reason, she was not at all surprised. Had her heart known? Had she somehow distinguished differences between him and his green-eyed companion with a single glance? Or was she being over-imaginative?

“Do not be alarmed,” he said with a smile. “My mission is nothing to fear.”

Túre looked at him, feeling awkward and nervous and unsure how to respond. “What is your mission?” she asked.

“*One* of my missions is to rescue all daisies left to languish on their own,” he said with twinkling eyes. “Another is to discover how I might best introduce myself to your notice.”

Túre could not help but smile back. “You might start by telling me your name,” she said shyly.

“I could,” he acknowledged. “And I should.” His eyes were serene and compelling, holding her gaze effortlessly.

Before she had undergone the “change”, as she now thought of it, Túre would have been annoyed and said something scathing to him. Now, however, she felt the pleasurable lightness of laughter bubbling up inside of her, so much so that some of it spilled out in her voice as she replied, “Should I take that to mean that you do not care to give me your name? Or that you do not care to do what you ought?”

“You read minds, I see. But so do I.” He was clearly flirting with her.

“Oh?” she said, her manner more relaxed. “Then tell me what I am thinking right now.”

“You are wondering if I have a sensible thought in my head. I assure you I do. I have been known to have several of them at a time, sometimes even consecutively. However, when I saw you yesterday they all fled, leaving me with nothing to say or do but to follow after you—a bit too late, as it happened.” He regarded the daisy in her hand. “I left that one for you this morning,” he added in a slightly altered tone . . . in case you came back.”

She was suddenly breathless, for despite his insouciance, she sensed he was serious, that she really had made an impression on him. “Yes, I came back,” she said, a warm glow spreading inside her.

“I am glad.” His gentle smile was both reassuring and mildly playful. “What is your name?”

“I am Túre,” she said, still with a hint of shyness. A part of her was noting small details about him, the line of his jaw, the set of his shoulders, the exact shape of his perfect nose. His hair was beautiful, dark and exotic, gleaming with mahogany highlights. Most of all, his eyes held her attention, those amazing and intelligent blue eyes fringed by the dark spiky lashes. He seemed even more attractive now than when she had first seen him.

“Will you walk with me and tell me about yourself, fair Túre?”

“But you have not yet told me your name,” she pointed out demurely. “I cannot accept until you do.”

His gaze was thoughtful. “You are quite right. Allow me to introduce myself to you properly. I am Telrion, known to my closest friends as Tel. I am a scribe for Lord Elrond, when he wishes to make use of me, and I am considered reasonably proficient with both sword and bow. I am also like a brother to Elanor, whom I expect you know.”

“I know Elanor,” Túre acknowledged, “though not very well.” She paused, aware that she was blushing profusely. “But I fear I have not been a friend to her since she arrived,” she confessed in a suffocated voice.

She did not know why she said these words; she only knew that she must face him with absolute truth and purity in her heart. It was as though a voice whispered in her ear that she had been reborn, and must therefore behave with the utmost integrity in order to be worthy of this gift.

“No?” He lifted a quizzical eyebrow, and she knew that he was taken aback.

“No.” She drew a deep breath. “I was jealous of her. But . . . now I am not. And I wish her all the best . . . truly I do.”

His enigmatic look assessed without judging. “I am glad. Elanor has a good heart, and I sense that you do also. What cause could there be for jealousy?” He crooked his arm, offering it to her in a courtly fashion, and she accepted it.

“Who was the other elf I saw you with? Is he your brother?”

“He is my cousin,” Telrion replied, “but we are like brothers.” He paused, glancing down at her. “My fellow prankster, he likes to call himself. Which reminds me, I have a confession of my own to make.”

“And what is that?” Túre asked with curiosity.

“The crime that Elanor committed, the one that resulted in her being sent here as Haldir’s ward . . . Minden and I took part in it, as well as Haldir’s brothers.”

She gazed at him in astonishment. “You *all* insulted Haldir?”

“Not exactly,” Telrion hedged. “We assisted Elanor in . . . doing what she did. We are all very naughty elves, you see. There, now we have confessed our worst faults to each other and that is done. Do you still wish to walk with me?”

“Oh yes!” she said at once, and laughed at his quick grin.

“And if I gave you another daisy, would you wear it in your hair?”

“I might.” She glanced up at him through her lashes. “You will have to give it to me and see.”

He laughed softly. “Fair enough.”

#

Orophin knew instinctively that when he and Rúmil were summoned by Haldir later that day, it meant something significant, although he did not know what. He only knew that it had nothing to do with Haldir’s injuries, for his earlier visit—-made when Haldir was sleeping—-had confirmed that his brother was in no danger of anything but eventual boredom . . . or perhaps over-pampering by his vigilant ward. He smiled at the thought.

Haldir was awake when they arrived, propped slightly higher by a second pillow, and with Elanor still at his side. Orophin made silent note of the fact that his brother seemed disinclined to send her away. Never in Orophin’s memory had Haldir had a private meeting with his brothers with an elleth present, listening and watching; even Healea had not been accorded that honor at the height of Haldir’s infatuation with her. Elanor had apparently been elevated in the hierarchy, for she not only remained, she sat at Haldir’s side as though she was his wife. In fact, Doria had just finished telling him that she had heard that Elanor had asserted herself with two of Lórien’s healers when they had come to bathe his brother. Instead, she had done so, a thought that made Orophin’s lips twitch just a little.

Neither he nor Rúmil made any comment about Elanor’s presence, but stood silently waiting for Haldir to speak. Their elder brother still looked pale, not surprising since it had been not even a full day since he had received Elrond’s healing attentions for his wounds.

“I asked you to come here because I have something to explain,” Haldir stated, sounding almost like his usual self except for a tired thread in his voice. “Something I myself learned only today.”

Orophin exchanged a look with Rúmil. Under ordinary circumstances one of them might have made some jest, but clearly something was amiss.

“I make no excuses,” Haldir continued gruffly. “But it is important that you each understand. Before our mother left for the West, she gave each of us a gift. I know not what your gifts were, but mine . . . was an ind-mir. You know what that is?”

“I know *of* them,” Rúmil answered carefully. “I know they are rare and that they split into two.”

“And are used to connect two people,” Orophin added. “I did not know our mother had one.”

“She did,” Haldir said in a level tone. “That was her gift to me before she left. And two weeks ago, just before I left for the Fences, I took the ind-mir from its box. With Elanor’s help, I turned the one into two. Elanor now wears one indwaedh and I wear the other.” His voice held a faint edge of defiance, as though he expected them to express dismay or shock.

Orophin waited, puzzled as to where this was going. “I congratulate you,” he said, hoping it was the right thing to say. Haldir was looking very grim, and Elanor was staring down at her hands in her lap. “What is wrong?”

“I do not regret giving it to Elanor. However, I regret that I did not know how it would affect me. How it would distract me.”

The light dawned in Orophin’s mind, and apparently Rúmil’s also, for Rúmil exclaimed, “I knew something was different about you! You have been walking around in some kind of haze these past weeks, ever since we left the city.” Orophin saw a pained look cross Haldir’s face, and wished Rúmil had not spoken with quite so much frankness.

“It distracted you,” Orophin repeated. “In what way?”

“It filled my mind with other things,” Haldir said evasively. “As I said, I have no excuse. Wearing the indwaedh without knowledge of its magic was a severe lack of good judgment on my part, one I must confess to all of Lórien. I tell you first because you are my brothers.”

Orophin and Rúmil exchanged a glance.

“Yet you wear it still?” Rúmil asked, evincing clear surprise.

Orophin saw Haldir’s jaw tighten. “I wear it still. Lord Elrond has advised me most strongly to leave it on. He claims I will grow used to its effects.” He paused and glanced at Elanor. “He also says that to remove it could be dangerous in my current condition.”

Elanor’s head jerked up; apparently this was new information to her. “Oh, Haldir,” she murmured. Orophin saw the distress on her face and felt sympathy; it was obvious to him that she loved his brother very much.

“Lord Elrond is wise,” Orophin soothed, “and you should heed his advice. Wear it and recover your health, brother. And do not blame yourself so harshly for this small mistake.”

“It was not small.” Haldir’s voice held anger, directed at himself.

Orophin shook his head. “The outcome could have been tragic, I agree, but it was not. Haldir, no one was harmed except you. The Valar have blessed you and I advise you to be grateful. Remorse is fitting, but do not make this matter more than it is. Your life was spared and the enemy was slain. What *is* is more important than what could have been and was not.” He glanced at Elanor, noting the stricken look in her eyes. “You and Elanor clearly share something of value, and that too is important.”

Haldir was silent, reminding Orophin that he was coping with physical pain as well as guilt. “Thank you, Orophin. You are quite right, and I do remember it. But I still must tell the wardens of Lórien the truth about my lapse. Perhaps in time I can regain their trust.”

“You have not lost their trust!” Rúmil uttered sharply.

Haldir looked at him. “You do not know this.”

“I know that you have not lost mine,” he shot back. “I would trust you with my life even now while you lie wounded on this bed.”

“So would I,” Orophin added.

“And I,” Elanor said quietly.

Haldir looked at each of them, a peculiar expression on his face. “I do not deserve such trust,” he said at last, with a hint of dryness. “I doubt I could lift a sword at the moment.”

“You could if you had to,” Rúmil stated firmly. “Do you forget how long we have known you? One error does not cancel or replace ten thousand noble memories. That would be foolish. We have faith in you, and that faith is not diminished by a single mistake, either large or small.”

“Well,” Haldir said mildly, “perhaps I stand corrected.” Orophin could have sworn he saw the corners of his mouth twitch. “I will rest now and consider your words.”

#

Stretched naked on his bed, Rúmil faced the dark branches outside his talan while the cool night air from the open window brushed across his bare skin. Nocturnal creatures scurried and an owl hooted, but his concentration was on Nerwen, whose image burned brightly in his mind and behind his eyelids.

His eyes were shut, for he had found he could visualize her better this way. The memory of her kiss and statement of her love for him made it difficult for him to think of anything else, forcing him to shift restlessly from thoughts and images that made his blood run hot. He envisioned her as he had last seen her, in the filmy, pale blue gown with the loose sleeves, her hair tumbling around her shoulders and his carving held close to her shapely breasts. The familiar sweet scent of Lórien wafted around him, telling him secrets he already knew, while the whispering wind brought forth an ache for that which he had not yet known.

How much more difficult it would be if they each wore an indwaedh, he realized suddenly. He could only imagine the depth of his distraction in such a situation, and found himself thankful his mother had not given *him* the ind-mir. He did not quite understand how it had affected his strong-minded brother, but it obviously had and it made Rúmil wary. Magical items always seemed to be a mixed blessing, useful and dangerous at the same time. Yet he sympathized with his brother, who obviously was suffering much guilt and self-recrimination. Rúmil had often been glad that *he* was not the eldest of the three, for it seemed to him that seniority was another mixed blessing. Not that the few years between them should make such a difference after all these centuries, yet their early upbringing had clearly created in Haldir a state of mind where he always felt responsible for everyone and everything, allowing himself no leeway or sufferance. Always he had felt he must set the perfect example, always striving to eliminate faults or flaws in himself.

Rúmil smiled at the thought. As younglings, Haldir had tried so hard to be dependable and perfect that he had often come across as insufferable and annoying, and traces of that attitude lingered on in his rigorous attention to detail and discipline and occasional arrogance. Time, however, had tempered his more overbearing tendencies, replacing them with a self-confidence that was honorably earned and nobly carried, and it troubled Rúmil to think that his brother’s confidence might have been shaken in any way.

Despite his concern for Haldir, his thoughts soon veered back to Nerwen. How far he had come in these past few decades of his life! For so many centuries his heart had been his own, and only now did he realize that he knew not when he had given it away. When had it happened? Had he fallen in love while she held his hand in the garden all those years ago? Or had he come to love her before then, over the many long years that he had known her? And why had it taken him so long to realize? Was he without intelligence in these matters? Did he think only with his male parts? His lips twitched at the thought of what Nerwen’s answer to that question would be.

Gradually he relaxed, little by little allowing his ardor to cool while trying not to think about the oath he had sworn. Every so often it intruded in his mind, pricking him like the tip of a very sharp sword, but he kept pushing it away. He was sure Nerwen would come around eventually . . . well, almost sure. He dared not think about that. Instead, he would allow himself to dream of that which he desired . . .

#

Nerwen balanced on a branch outside her talan, swinging her feet and enjoying the ripple of wind in her hair while her mind wandered down pathways she did not often traverse. She thought about the day she had received word that her father had been slain in an Orc skirmish while traveling with a party of Elves to Taur-e-Ndaedelos. It saddened her to think of it, but it had happened many years before and her grief had at last resolved itself into acceptance. Still, she had stored it away, using the incident as armor to protect her heart. Taking lovers and having good friends had seemed enough for her until the day had arrived when she could no longer deny the call she felt toward Rúmil. Sixty-three years had passed since then; sixty-three years that she had longed to feel Rúmil’s arms around her. And all that time she had resisted him.

She had been thinking all day about Rúmil and his vow and declarations of love. He could not realize the pressure he put on her, for of course there was no way she would allow him to be bound to such a vow. And she loved him far too much not to give him one last chance to keep his freedom.

#

The instant the door opened, he knew it was she. In fact, he had heard her approach, light yet somehow familiar footfalls on the stairway nearest to his talan. He was about to roll over and face her when curiosity overtook him, and so instead he lay very still, waiting to see what she would do.

He felt her draw near the bed though she made no sound at all now. Was she holding her breath? “I am here,” she whispered. Her hand touched his shoulder while she bent and kissed him on the cheek. “Do not move, Rúmil.” Her warm breath blew in his ear and then she stepped away.

His back faced her, but he could follow her movements by the soft sounds. He heard the faint rustle of her gown as she loosened it and let it fall to the floor. Her gentle exhale spoke of anticipation, and then the mattress dipped with the press of her knee.

“Nerwen,” he murmured appreciatively. Thickly.

She straddled his legs and leaned over him, her face so close to his that the curtain of her hair enclosed them in a shimmering veil. “I have come to love you, Rúmil.”

He smiled and began to roll onto his back, but her hand stopped him. “Stay as you are,” she said, her voice tender. She sat still for a moment, smiling down at him while he lay on his side, trapped between her legs.

His heart hammering, he turned his head and looked up at her, able to see her quite well despite the dark. His mouth went dry at the sight. “Nerwen, my love, are you here only to tease me?” he asked in a shaky voice.

Her gentle laugh sent a shudder of hunger through his body. “I am here to make love to you, something I have long wanted to do.” As if to illustrate, she dipped her head and pressed her lips to the hollow at the base of his throat. He felt the touch of her tongue and then she lowered herself more so that the budded tips of her breasts grazed his side.

Already rock hard, he started to lift his arms, but she shook her head and seized his wrists, pushing him to lie flat on his back. “Not yet,” she whispered, kneeling over him while the wind from the window stirred tendrils of her hair. “Be still a bit longer, Rúmil. Permit me to indulge myself. I promise you will not be sorry.”

Her touch was light and painfully teasing, roaming over his flesh until he was nearly out of his senses with excitement. She moved provocatively, rocking against his thigh to please herself, and the intimate contact hardened him even further. Blood pounded in his brain as her mouth trailed across his stomach, heading downward to where her hands had been. When her mouth closed around him, his whole body jerked. He flung back his head, his eyes squeezed shut while he listened to the sounds coming from his own throat with a vague sense of wonder. Had this act ever felt this good before? No, it could not have, because this was Nerwen . . . and he was drowning . . . drowning in a molten sea of sensation . . .

“Nerwen,” he gasped, “I must . . . sweetling, I am going to . . .”

Apparently his desperation reached her, for she withdrew and slid up to lie beside him, her sleek body curled against his. One finger drew a searing line down his chest. “You can move now,” she said mischievously.

At once he enveloped her, his mouth cleaving hungrily to hers while he stroked his way across her smooth, lush skin. He kissed her lips, her eyes, her hair, then lifted his head to gaze directly into her eyes. “Nerwen, he whispered fiercely. “I love you. Do you hear? I love you. ”

“I hear you, Rúmil.” She rubbed against him and kissed his shoulder. “I love you too.”

Again and again he kissed her, exulting in her soft willingness, his hot tongue seeking deeply while she clung to him, her silken limbs wrapped around him in the velvet darkness. He explored her fully, cupping her breasts and suckling her while she arched against him and emitted beautiful little whimpers that fueled his desire. Part of him wanted to rush, but control won out, for he was no youngling and he truly wished to make this last as long as possible.

Instead, he caressed and kissed her everywhere, enjoying the smooth perfection of her calves and thighs, the supple curve of her hip, the turn of her slender ankles. Using all his considerable skills as a lover, he stoked her fires until she lay writhing, her fingers buried in his hair while his own fingers delved deep, giving her a pleasure soon enhanced by his mouth and tongue. His own need was excruciating, yet he set it aside to pleasure her as thoroughly as he knew how, and the audible result came in her choked little gasps and shuddering cries of delight.

At last, in an urgent cresting of desire, he rolled between her legs and raised himself up on his elbows, his body taut with fiery longing. Their eyes met and held for an emotion-filled moment. “Are you ready?” he murmured.

“I burn for you,” she whispered. Silently, she reached down and guided him into her alluring feminine heat. *Finally . . . finally . . .*

As he sank into her, he had the oddest sense that he was going home.

Afterward, they lay entwined while he stroked her hair, immeasurable contentment washing over him like the ceaseless rhythm of a sea-tide. He kissed her brow, searching for words to say that would not spoil the moment, but it was she who spoke first.

“I have released you from your vow,” she said softly.

He smiled. “I am glad.”

She turned her head to look up at him, her expression more serious than he expected. “You are now free to do as you wish. You are not bound to me in any way.”

He frowned slightly. “What do you mean?” It was not what he expected her to say.

She sat up suddenly and swung her legs over the side of the bed, then glanced back over her shoulder. “Think what it was you vowed, Rúmil.”

“I vowed to sleep with no one but you,” he said in confusion. He watched her reach for her gown and pull it over her head. “What are you doing? I do not want you to leave.”

“Nay, Rúmil. Your vow was that *if* you do not take me to your bed *then* you would take no one at all. You have now taken me, and that frees you to take another.” She continued to look at him, watching him closely.

Rúmil could not believe his ears. “Nerwen, why are you saying this?”

“Because I believe your vow was made without sufficient thought. I want to know that if you are with me, that choice is freely made, not because of a vow that prevents you from being with someone else. You cannot live without sex, Rúmil. You know that as well as I do. And I could not live with the knowledge of your suffering. So I did the sensible thing and released you from this impractical vow.”

He sat up and set his feet on the floor, pulling her close until she stood between his knees. “Valar help me, Nerwen, you do not know how tempted I am to turn you over my knee and spank your sensible little backside! I do not *wish* to be released from my vow, nor do I *wish* to be with anyone else! And you have not released me, for I make the vow for a second time right now. And if you release me again, I will make it again and again and again until you accept my word. I vow to take no one but you to my bed EVER!” He was glaring at her now, his hands gripping hers forcefully. “Now take off your gown and come back to bed, and stop talking nonsense!”

“Oh, very well,” she said, so meekly that he was suspicious.

He examined her through narrowed eyes. “Was that some kind of a test?” he demanded.

She gave him a sheepish look. “Only because I love you so much,” she confessed. “Sixty-three summers have come and gone since I first realized I loved you and only you. I have taken no one to my bed since that day. Rúmil, I know firsthand how lonely and frustrating it can be. I would not want that for you.”

As the implications of her words sank in, he stared at her in shock. “Oh, Nerwen.” Shaking his head, he slid his arms around her hips and drew her against him, his cheek resting against her abdomen. He thought about how he had complained of a few weeks of celibacy. No wonder she had laughed at him. “Nerwen, Nerwen . . . I know not what to say. I am ashamed.”

“Do not be,” she said quietly, stroking his hair. “Perhaps my doubts were foolish, but your answer reassures me and I am filled with joy. I love you, Rúmil, and I do not want to leave you.”

He sighed and lifted his head, his smile both playful and tender. “Then come back to my bed, little queen of my heart. After sixty-three years with no lover, you clearly need a great deal more of my expert attentions.”

Her lilting laugh held genuine delight. “I do indeed, my darling Rúmil. I am yours forever. Do with me what you will.”

#

“Hírion said she nearly threw them out of the room.” The voice belonged to Amrion, a tall slender elf with deep humor in this voice. He stood near the edge of the flet just above where Lurien stood, hidden deep within the shadows cast by the overhang. Lurien scowled, annoyed by the laughter and approval so apparent in the voices of the small group that gathered on this beautiful crisp morning.

It appeared that Elanor had ordered two of Lórien’s most important healers from Haldir's talan, taking over his care in such an audacious manner that those who heard of it either raised their brows or smiled. The interesting revelation that Haldir's ward had become more than a ward had spread, and with Lord Elrond in attendance upon Haldir, many were speculating about how the Elf-Lord might respond. Not to mention how Haldir himself might be taking the presumptuous actions of his ward.

Lurien suspected Elrond would do nothing, and that frustrated him. As for Haldir, he was undoubtedly enjoying being the center of attention as usual.

Haldir, Haldir, Haldir. It was always Haldir.

Filled with impotent rage, Lurien barely resisted the urge to slam his fist against the post beside him. Overhead, laughter continued, but then grew distant as the gossipers continued on their way. Lurien slipped away before any could mark his presence or realize that he had been spying. In any case, he had heard enough to confirm that Haldir had their people’s sympathy rather than their condemnation.

Seeking refuge in a nearby glade, Lurien continued to brood. Were they all blind? Haldir should be condemned for his errors, not admired. But no, even with word that Lórien’s most illustrious warden had made a grievous error in judgment, it deterred no one from voicing their respect and appreciation for his so-called sacrifices.

Folding his hands behind his back, Lurien paced back and forth, then left the glade and strode along the path toward the set of steps that led to his talan. Halfway there, he paused to take in one of his favorite views, staring out from the shadows into the city’s early morning glow. For a moment he allowed himself to take simple pleasure in the sight, and then his frown returned.

Elanor. He should have seduced her when he had the chance instead of swearing that ridiculous oath upon the Lady’s honor. She had been clever to ask that of him, but he should have been cleverer and found a way to elude her trap. The archery lessons had been mildly amusing, but they had not accomplished his goal. Nothing had gone the way he had planned . . . so far. But there was still time.

“Your thoughts are as dark as the shadows you hide in, my brother.”

He turned, facing the only elleth other than Tarwë who had the power to melt his heart. Doria smiled, tilting her head as he stepped close to kiss her cheek.

“I am not hiding,” he said with strained lightness.

She touched his cheek, brushing her fingers along his jaw. “Perhaps not, but your mouth was hard-set and you were frowning. It is easy to see you have been brooding again. Is it because of Haldir?”

Lurien made an impatient gesture, his mouth twisting despite his effort to control it. “I grow weary of this talk about him, that is all. No matter how great his blunders, it seems that he can do no wrong. I have no doubt he will manage to turn this to his advantage in some manner.”

Doria moved to his side, turning so she could see his face. “How many times must I tell you to let go of your jealousy and anger? These feelings are destroying you. I am sure that Haldir suffers, not only from his injuries but also from guilt. His life is not an easy one. You must remember that his path is not yours.”

He ignored the concern in her eyes. “You have become too close to these three brothers,” he countered coolly. “You grow too fond of them.”

“Why should I not be? They are good ellyn, Lurien. I see them as they are. They are just like you and me. They can be hurt, they can be happy, they have feelings. Haldir's situation has made many of us realize anew how much danger our wardens face, how much we all depend upon them. They face far more peril than we realize. They deserve our respect and our gratitude, not our contempt.”

Lurien mouth twitched irritably. “And the sentinels who guard Galadriel and this very city face no peril. That is what you are saying, is it not? We are less worthy of respect. In effect, we do nothing.”

Doria set her hands on her hips, a familiar stance when they argued. “Of course that is not what I am saying, Lurien. You know that. You are prepared to face danger. You train for it and are ready for it. But you do not face it daily like the wardens do, that is all. It does not make you less worthy of respect.”

“I do not wish to argue with you, Doria.”

She sighed. “You ought to spend some time with Tarwë. I have spoken little with her of late, but when last we spoke she seemed sad. She is good for you, Lurien. With her, you are the carefree ellon I once knew so long ago. And although she has not told me so, I do believe that she loves you.”

Lurien closed his eyes, trying to blot out the incredible wave of guilt that washed over him. “I do not deserve Tarwë,” he said abruptly. “She would be better off without me. I am not worthy of her love.”

“Oh, Lurien,” Doria whispered, shaking her head. “I hate to hear you say such things. It tears out my heart.”

Lurien forced a smile, using his ready charm to ease her distress. “Very well then, if it will please you, I will go and visit her now. Meanwhile, I am sure Orophin must be wondering where you are. He would not like to know you are with me.”

Doria lifted her brows. “Why should I not visit with my own brother? Orophin understands the depth of feeling siblings carry for each other. He does not care if we meet.”

Lurien was not so certain, but made no reply as he moved past her toward the nearest walkway. Doria stepped back gracefully, but her parting words stopped him in his tracks.

“Would you see Haldir dead, Lurien? Is that what it would take for you to be happy?”

He stiffened, squaring his shoulders as he slowly turned around to face her. “Dead? Of course I do not wish him dead. Did you truly believe that of me?” He was faintly shocked and rather offended that his own sister should think such a thing of him.

Doria looked relieved. “I had hoped not, Lurien, but I was not sure. Even so, you *must* let go of your hate. It solves nothing and has no benefit. It can only destroy.”

Lurien smiled faintly. “You may be right. And perhaps someday he and I will no longer be at odds. But that day has not yet come.”


[tbc] Feedback appreciated.

***
Taur-e-Ndaedelos = the Forest of Great Fear, one of the names the Elves used for the place Men called Mirkwood.
ind-mir = heart jewel
indwaedh = heart-bond
ellon = male Elf (singular)
ellyn = male Elves (plural)