ELANOR'S REVENGE

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Thank you to all our reviewers! Your reviews and comments have been so generous and so kind, and that is such a great incentive to write more. Thank you so very, very much!!! Here is the next chapter, again, 10,000+ words. Enjoy!

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Chapter Twenty-Eight

Another day passed before Lord Elrond sent for Elanor. Orophin delivered the summons early in the evening, offering to take Elanor’s place at Haldir’s side while she was gone so that she could be easy in her mind. With secret approval he watched the way she fussed over Haldir, adjusting his blanket and smoothing his hair and giving him a last sip of his drink. Silently, he compared her to other ellith who had professed affection for Haldir over the years. Out of all of them, Elanor was the first to meet Orophin’s rather rigorous standards. Granted, she might have behaved oddly the night he had met her in Imladris, but even that incident highlighted her uniqueness. In some way that Orophin could not explain even to himself, Elanor was worthy of Haldir.

“I will give him as much tender loving care as you have been doing,” he reassured her with a smile. “I will even hold his hand, if you like.” The comment earned him a frown from his brother.

“You are welcome to try,” Elanor said cordially. “You might also assist him with the chamber-pot while I am gone. I am sure he will be needing it soon.”

Orophin noted the way Haldir followed her with his eyes, as though nothing existed for him except Elanor. Orophin wondered how much of this was due to the indwaedh’s influence. He suspected that Haldir would behave the same even without the magical jewel, although it was just opinion and he could be wrong. But as he and Rúmil had surmised so many weeks before, Elanor could well be the One for his stubborn elder brother. Time would tell.

Elanor bent and kissed Haldir on the forehead. “And be sure he keeps taking deep breaths every so often. It is good for his lungs. And try to get him to take some more of that broth. He is being a bit stubborn about that.”

“Yes, my lady.” Orophin saluted.

“Thank you, Orophin.” Smiling, she kissed Haldir again very chastely on the cheek. “I will return as soon as I can,” she whispered.

When she was gone, Orophin sat down in the chair and looked at Haldir. “You still look pale. Do you need the pot now?”

“Presently. Do me a favor and dump that broth.”

Orophin glanced over at the half-consumed bowl of liquid sitting near a group of plants. He saw no signs of vegetables in it, though it had a faintly greenish color. “It’s mostly water,” he remarked, feeling sympathetic.

“Then I will drink it from a cup, but I won’t be spoon-fed like an elfling.”

“Can you hold a cup?” Orophin inquired.

“If I wished to.” Haldir shifted slightly and made a small grimace. “I have no appetite. Nor would you if you were lying here.”

“I am sorry,” Orophin replied sincerely. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No.” The single word sounded weary and dejected.

“At least you have Elanor to care for you. It could be worse. You could be stuck with me.”

“What does Elrond want with her?”

Surprised by the question, Orophin studied Haldir thoughtfully. Haldir was unquestionably not himself at the moment; under normal circumstances he would realize that Orophin would not be at all likely to know Lord Elrond’s business. However, this was not the time to point that out.

“I suppose he wishes to see how she is faring in this strange land of ours. Or perhaps he brings tidings from her home.”

“Her home is here now,” Haldir said in a testy voice.

Ah, so that was what was eating at him.

“I am sure he will not make her leave you,” Orophin said soothingly. “Even if he tried, he would not succeed. Remember, this is Elanor we are talking about, not some wilting flower with no will of her own. She is devoted to you. She will not leave.” He searched for another direction to take the conversation. “Is it true she tossed Hírion and his crony out on their ears?”

“’Tis true enough. Elanor has a firm spine.”

Orophin watched Haldir’s mouth tilt upward. “You are proud of her.”

“I am.” Haldir shifted again as though trying to ease his discomfort. “Although I shudder to think what that accursed healer is saying.”

“He is saying that her behavior is unseemly, but no one pays him any heed. Hírion’s feathers are ruffled because he likes to think of himself as the most senior healer after the Lord and Lady. And while Elrond is here, his opinions are not being solicited. Since he cannot sputter about that, he chooses to gossip about Elanor.”

“Bah,” Haldir muttered. “What a fool.”

“As for Elanor,” Orophin continued, “people are starting to realize that she is more than a ward to you, but no one judges either of you. Elanor is well-liked and respected by everyone who takes the time to know her. They are on your side, Haldir. You remain a hero to our people.”

“They have yet to learn the truth,” Haldir said shortly.

“They have heard enough to know you made a mistake of some sort,” Orophin informed him in an apologetic tone. “The fault is mine and Rúmil’s. I fear we were overheard when we discussed it with Enetheru and Seidiron. It quickly spread.”

“It matters not,” Haldir said, and shut his eyes. “The story must be told.”

“Perhaps, but even so, our people’s pride in you remains unchanged. How could it not, when you have done so much for us all, and for so long? No one has uttered a word against you, save perhaps a certain sentinel we both know.”

Haldir mumbled something indistinct, his voice slightly slurred now. Talking seemed to tire him, most likely because he had lost a tremendous amount of blood. And yet he was strong and would heal, Elrond had said. And while he healed, Elanor would be with him night and day. This thought reminded Orophin of his assigned duties.

“Do you need to use the pot before you fall asleep?”

Haldir reopened his eyes. “I suppose so.”

Orophin carefully assisted with the business, and once concluded he patiently helped his brother to lie down again, his sharp gaze taking in the way Haldir gritted his teeth against the pain. Orophin pressed his hand to Haldir’s brow and cast a simple relaxation spell that Haldir acknowledged with a grateful flicker of his eyes.

“Take care of that broth,” he said haltingly. “I care not what you do with it as long as I am rid of it. You can drink it yourself if you like.”

“I will give it to the plants,” Orophin said hastily.

“No, they will complain to Elanor.”

“’Tis vegetable broth,” Orophin argued. “It would be a step up for them. They might like it.”

“If so, then she will be forever be brewing this stuff,” Haldir murmured. “And I would rather she did not.”

Orophin lifted a brow. “Then you must make your wishes known. You forget who is in command here, brother.”

A small smile touched Haldir’s lips. “Untrue, Orophin. I know exactly who is in command.”

Orophin decided it was better not to ask.

#

Elanor reached the talan where she had been told Lord Elrond was staying. It was the largest of the guest telain, one reserved for the use of the most important guests. Pausing outside the door, she could not help remembering the last time he had summoned her, and the trepidation she had experienced at that time. So much had changed since then, and yet her emotions were strangely similar as she tapped upon the ornately carved and burnished wood.

Elrond’s familiar voice bade her enter, and he rose from his chair as she stepped inside. “Ah, Elanor, there you are,” he said in a friendly voice. “I hope you will forgive me from tearing you away from your guardian.”

“Of course, my lord,” she murmured. She bowed her head slightly and rested her hand on her heart. “Will you visit him again today?”

“I will, yes. Is there any change of which I am unaware?”

“He does not like the broth,” she replied. “Other than that, I would say there is no change. He still feels pain, my lord. Is there no way to remove it?”

“We have taken most of it away, Elanor. What remains is enough to remind him to lie still.”

Elanor clasped her hands together in front of her and tried to look humble and dutiful. “You are saying you left him in pain on purpose?” It was an inquiry only, and she tried not to sound accusatory.

Elrond regarded her steadily, his eyes filled with both kindness and discernment. “I am saying that we made him as comfortable as we could, Elanor. We would leave no pain we had the power to remove. We are doing all we can.”

She bowed her head. “Of course. Forgive me, my lord.”

“No apologies are necessary. You care about him, I can see that clearly.” Elrond paused. “May I assume you will not be returning to Imladris any time soon?”

Elanor looked up. “My home is with him now.” She could feel herself blushing hotly as she spoke the words.

Elrond looked amused. “I see. Well, you are old enough to make such decisions for yourself. I see no reason to try to dissuade you. Your family may not take kindly to your choice, I hope you realize.”

“Have you heard from them?” she asked. Her stomach clenched just a little.

“Indeed I have. And I have answered and received a reply. I have letters to deliver to you.” Turning away, he walked across the room to the table and picked up two parchments that had been folded flat and sealed with golden wax.

Elanor accepted them with murmured thanks, but did not attempt to open them in the presence of Lord Elrond, whose perceptive gray eyes were studying her closely. “You are truly happy, Elanor? Haldir has been as kind as he ought?”

Elanor nodded, and to her surprise she felt her eyes grow moist. “Indeed he has, Lord Elrond. You have my deepest gratitude for sending me away with him. He is so noble and good and . . .” She paused, suddenly feeling foolish and awkward. “I admire and respect him very much,” she finished, hoping she sounded poised and sensible rather than maudlin and lovesick.

“I am glad,” the Imladris Lord said gently. “I suspected that would be the case once you ceased your sputtering and took the time to know him. No, do not apologize again, Elanor. The past is over. Now it is time to look to the future. You may remain here in Lórien with my good wishes, and so I shall tell your parents when next I write to them. However, I will leave it to you to explain it to Telrion and Minden. They will miss their fellow prankster.”

“I am no longer a prankster, my lord. I learned my lesson.”

“What a shame,” Elrond teased. “A prank now and then keeps life interesting, does it not? At least my sons think so. As long as you exercise good judgment, Elanor, you need not renounce your sense of fun. The two must be balanced.” He paused, his assessing look filled with comprehension. “But I will prattle on no longer, for I can see you are anxious to return to him. Go on, then, child.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Elanor again touched her hand to her heart and took her leave.

However, she did not return at once to Haldir, but instead hurried up to Haldir’s talan to read the letters in privacy. Her heart was beating fast with apprehension as she broke the seal on the first of the two.

It was from her mother. As Elanor expected, it was filled with recriminations and reproaches of every variety. Elanor was to blame for her sister’s reckless and unbecoming behavior (it appeared that Elrond had made it clear what Lana’s transgressions were) and the nature of those transgressions had shocked her mother (and her father, apparently) to the very core. How had Elanor allowed this to happen? They had placed their trust in her and she had let them down. To add to this, Elanor had insulted this important Lórien personage in a most unforgivable manner, a manner so severe that Lord Elrond had been reluctant to explain the exact nature of her wrongdoing. Her mother hoped that Elanor regretted her actions and had learned her lesson. The letter ended with various tidbits of news that held little interest to Elanor since she knew none of the Elves of whom her mother spoke. It closed with an affectionate, if restrained, note, reminding Elanor that she was indeed loved by her family even if they did not understand her at all.

Elanor lowered the letter, then reread it once more, with a rising sense of relief. Lord Elrond had not told her parents the exact nature of what she had done to so offend Haldir. Her mother seemed to know that Elanor had taken Haldir to task for his treatment of Lana, but other than that, she knew nothing. It was incredible and yet it also made sense. She must be sure and thank Lord Elrond for his leniency and tact. Tears of gratitude entered her eyes, but she blinked them away and broke the seal on the second letter, which of course was from Lana. Elanor hesitated for a moment, unsure she wanted to read it, then took the plunge. It read:

Dear Sister,
My time here in this dreadful place is more tedious than you could possibly imagine. The caves in which these Elves dwell are not as nasty as I feared, and are in fact quite comfortable in their way, but they do not compensate for the dreariness of my life with Nana and Ada. I feel like I am in prison and I do not deserve it! It is not fair! If only you had not been so foolish, you and I might be together now instead of enduring this stupid separation. I am sure you miss me as much as I miss you, and that Haldir is behaving quite nastily, for that is his true nature as I’m sure you have discovered.

I will be honest and say that I am still peeved with you for your imprudent effort to punish him. I cannot imagine what you were thinking, dear sister. I really should have made you tell me the whole story, for our parents will tell me nothing, which I suspect means they do not know. I have not told them what you said, for I certainly do not believe what you hinted to me about tying Haldir up. I mean, how can I believe that? How would you have done it unless you used one of your sleeping draughts on him? Well, I suppose it might have done the task, but how would you have made him drink it? No, I do not for one instant believe that nonsense, and yet I know you did something dreadful. You must write and tell me what it was, for I am most curious. I promise I will not tell Nana.

In any case, what I really wanted to say is that you *must* rescue me at once. I am most unhappy and I know you will not like to hear that. So here is what I want you to do. You must write to Nana and tell her how much you miss my company, and then you must make the Lady Galadriel write to Nana and Ada and invite me to come to Lórien to keep you company. I keep thinking how entertaining it will be to live in Lothlórien. You and I could live together again, and you could mend my gowns and watch over me just like you used to, and that would be enough to please Nana and Ada. I cannot wait to see Lórien for myself and will await your response most anxiously.

Incidentally, King Thranduil is very handsome but distant in his manner, and I do not think I like him very much. I far prefer his son Legolas, who is even more handsome and nowhere near as aloof as his ada. I am sure I could attract his interest if Nana allowed me the opportunity to flirt with him, for he smiles at me very often and quite sweetly, but alas she watches me like a hawk (although I manage to elude her now and then). Oh, and in case you are wondering, I bribed one of the guards to smuggle this letter to the messenger without letting Nana see it first. Was that not clever of me?
I remain your devoted sister,
“L”

Elanor folded the letter and closed her eyes, swept back for a moment to her life in Imladris with her sister and parents. And yet it was not nostalgia she felt, but irritation. It was unjust of her, to be sure. They had no way of knowing how much she had changed, or how differently she felt about her life. She supposed she must answer these letters, but it was nothing she could do right away.

With a sigh, she refolded the two letters and tucked them away inside Haldir’s cabinet across the room. She then went to wash and freshen up before returning to Haldir. Already her thoughts were filled with him; in fact she found it hard to think about anything else--not gardening, not archery, not even her problems with Lurien. Haldir filled her mind while his essence throbbed around her as it had these past two weeks. The indwaedh was indeed a distraction; she had not realized until now just how great a one it was. No wonder it had caused him such problems.

#

“You knew it was I, of course.” Telrion leaned back against the trunk of the tree, holding Túre’s hands loosely while he smiled down at her in a way that made her heart whirl around in happy little circles.

“I suspected it was either you or your cousin,” she confessed. “I was not sure which one, for I looked away too soon. I was embarrassed.”

His fingers tightened around hers. “Embarrassed to be admired? Why would that be?”

She felt herself blush deeply. “I am unused to it, that is all.” She peeped up at him, and saw that he had arched a brow. “It has been a long time for me,” she explained awkwardly.

He frowned a little, and then to her delight he drew her closer, into a loose embrace that was at once comforting and tender. “Tell me more,” he said quietly. “I would hear for myself the tale of your sorrows so that I can do whatever is in my power to ease them.”

And so she told him about Iridor, her childhood friend and only lover, the one she had given her heart and body to so many years ago. She told him how she had mourned when Iridor had died, and how she had then grown bitter and sullen, and how many Elves she had offended because she had felt so empty and horrid on the inside where her heart should be. At the end of the tale she wept, and that was when he drew her tenderly against his chest and held her as she had not been held in more years than she cared to remember. Her hot tears flowed until his shoulder was quite damp, but he did not seem to mind. It was not his best tunic anyway, he told her soothingly, which made her giggle through her tears.

They stayed that way for what seemed like a very long time while the wind whispered through the mellyrn and a few leaves drifted down to gather at their feet. Eventually she calmed, a lightheaded sensation taking over, as though she had finally released a great burden that had been part of her for many years. She stood very still with her cheek against his shoulder, conscious of the rise and fall of his chest with each of his breaths, conscious also of his height and muscular slenderness, and of the thick dark hair cascading down his back.

Her heart ached with sudden joy. “You are so beautiful,” she said without thinking. And then blushed fiery red.

She felt the rumble of his laugh. “I was about to say those very words to you, sweet Túre. You are like a dream come true for me.” His fingers touched her jaw, turning her head so that she was gazing directly up into his smiling blue eyes. And then he kissed her, a kiss filled with sweetness beyond imagining, different from anything she had ever experienced and yet in some way everything she needed. One kiss turned into many kisses, each becoming more intense, more intimate, until both of them were breathing hard and fast. “Túre,” he whispered.

That was when the clearing of a throat interrupted them.

Telrion lifted his head. “Ah, Minden, just the person I hoped to see, although not, perhaps, at this precise moment.”

Feeling self-conscious, Túre looked at the other Imladris Elf, whose green eyes were evaluating her with great interest and good humor. Stepping forward, he smiled broadly and bowed, saying, “Greetings, Fair One. I am Minden. And you are?”

“Túre,” she filled in shyly.

“I am pleased to meet you, Túre,” he said with a smile. “So you are the mysterious elleth responsible for turning my cousin into a dauntless hunter of daisies and their owners. Such a dance you led him on! I have seldom seen him so determined. I trust you found his offering?”

Túre slid a glance toward Telrion and saw that he was grinning. “I am sorry to have caused such trouble,” she said. “But it was a very nice gesture, and I appreciated it.”

Telrion smiled, and Minden laughed in such a way that his green eyes twinkled merrily. “I am glad to hear it. Tel, I came to let you know that we have been invited to a small party. Three or four of Elrohir and Elladan’s friends are celebrating their visit, and have included us. What say you? Túre, you are welcome as well,” he added courteously. “You would not be the only elleth present, I am sure.”

Telrion turned to Túre. “What would you like to do? Shall we join them? Or would you rather stroll with me around the gardens as we have been doing?”

She noticed that his leaving her alone was not listed as an option, yet the mere idea of accompanying him to a public gathering flustered her enormously. “Oh,” she floundered, “I do not really think . . . I am not quite . . . but if you would rather . . .”

Telrion correctly interpreted this. “No, Min, we will not be joining you tonight. Túre and I would prefer to spend our time becoming better acquainted.”

“Enjoy your stroll then,” Minden said lazily. “Perhaps I will see you tomorrow. Túre, it was good to meet you.”

After he was gone, Túre looked at Telrion, trying to guess what he might be thinking. “If you wished to go with him, I would not have been offended.”

“I would rather be with you,” he told her deliberately. “I only just found you, and I am not about to let you escape.”

Túre blushed with pleasure. “Well, then, where shall we go?”

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Anywhere we can be alone so I can kiss you without further interruption.” He smiled crookedly. “That sounds overbold. I did not mean to imply I seek an invitation to your bed . . . although I would not turn one down.” He paused again and shook his head. “Forgive me, I am usually more skillful with words. I leave the matter in your hands, Túre. Where shall we go?”

Túre wrapped her fingers around his and took a deep breath. “Actually . . . I was wondering if you might like to go swimming with me. Not the bathhouse. I know another place more private where the water is warm.”

A funny little smile curled Telrion’s lips. “I think I might like that very much. Will you wear a daisy in your hair for me?”

Túre smiled back. “If you would like me to, I will.”

“Then the first thing we must do is find one.”

#

Elanor returned to Haldir still troubled by her sister’s letter but determined to conceal its existence from him. Consequently, she schooled her face into a tranquil expression before she entered the talan, but found the precaution to be unnecessary. Haldir was peacefully asleep, his pale hair spread out upon the pillow and his breathing as even and easy as if he had no wounds.

Orophin had been sitting in the chair beside the bed, but he rose to his feet when Elanor arrived. “He behaved himself for once,” he said cheerfully. “Look, the broth is gone.”

“He drank all of it?” she said in surprise. “It took me all morning to get half of it into him.”

“Every drop,” Orophin affirmed. “He did not like it, but I have a special way of coaxing him, you see.”

Elanor looked at him suspiciously, but saw no signs of guile in his face. “Well, good, I am glad. He needs nourishment. Perhaps I should send for more.”

“I would not advise it,” Orophin said, a shade too quickly. “He has had enough for one day. It makes him terribly grumpy.”

Elanor decided not to pursue the matter. “Very well, Orophin. Please do not feel you have to leave, though. You have more right to be here than I.”

Stepping around the bed, Orophin slipped his arm around her waist and kissed her brow in a manner that could only be called brotherly. “Perhaps some might say that,” he said, “but I am not so sure.” He smiled down at her. “And I would stay if I thought it would help him in the least. But what helps him most is to have you here, Elanor. You know that, do you not?”

Elanor gazed up into his clear blue eyes. “If I can help him in any way, I will do it,” she said quietly. “I would do anything in my power for him.”

Orophin nodded slowly. “So I thought,” he said, then bowed courteously and took his leave.

Elanor lit the lamp, and then sat beside the bed and reached for Haldir’s hand. Even though he slept, she knew he was aware of her, for his fingers tightened around hers ever so slightly. And so they stayed until Haldir at last opened his eyes and looked at her.

Elanor squeezed his hand. “I am here,” she said softly.

“Drink,” he whispered.

Elanor supported his head while he took more of the honeyed healing draught. “I see the broth is gone,” she said. “You drank it all?” She set the goblet aside while he relaxed back against the pillow.

“Every drop. What did Lord Elrond want with you?” His face revealed nothing.

“He had a letter for me from my mother.” She saw no need to tell him about her sister’s letter.

“And?” Haldir prompted, his gaze and tone demanding.

“And what?” she asked, a little startled. Could he have guessed there was a second letter?

“And what else did Elrond say?”

Elanor laced her fingers together in her lap. “He agrees that I may remain in Lórien for however long I wish. He has no objection at all.” She watched Haldir closely, half fearful she might see an indication that he did not want her to stay. Instead, she saw the opposite; the subtle relaxation of his facial muscles spoke clearly of approval.

“What did you tell him?” Haldir’s voice was now milder.

“I said my place is here with you. I will stay with you as long as you wish, but if you decide at some point that you want to be free of me,” she added bravely, “then I will go.”

He moved his left arm slightly, enough to tell her that he wished her hand in his. “I have no desire to be free of you. You are mine, Elanor. I need you and I want you as I have wanted and needed no one else in my life.”

She bent and kissed his cheek, not once but several times. “Such sweetly spoken words,” she whispered. “My heart sings to hear them.”

He turned his head just enough to kiss her on the lips. “I wish I could do more than speak them,” he murmured.

She kissed him back, lightly and lovingly. “And so you will when you are healed. I hope it will be an incentive for you to heal quickly.”

“Indeed it is,” he said, smiling faintly. “What did the letter say?”

The change in subject was like a cold dash of water in her face. Elanor sat back and sighed. “It was less dreadful than I feared. Lord Elrond did not tell them the exact nature of my offense, but my mother did seem to know about my sister’s . . . deception.” The memory of how easily Lana had deceived her still made Elanor feel both foolish and inept. Even now she bowed her head in shame.

“Let it go, Elanor,” Haldir said softly. “None of that matters now.”

Before she could reply, a light tap on the door announced a visitor. The door swung open to reveal no less a person than the Lady of Light herself. She greeted them pleasantly, moving gracefully forward with her eyes on Haldir.

Elanor jumped to her feet. “Please, my lady, take my seat. Would you like me to leave?”

Galadriel gazed benevolently at Elanor. “That is unnecessary, child. You may stay, but I will gladly sit for a moment, thank you.” Elanor moved aside while Galadriel settled into the chair that she had vacated.

“Forgive me, my lady, for greeting you in this undignified manner,” Haldir said. His discomfiture was obvious; he was unused to meetings with his Lady while lying helplessly on his back.

Galadriel’s lips curved gently upward. “I hope you know that such an apology is unnecessary.” She studied him in an intense yet compassionate way. “You are deeply troubled,” she said quietly. “I feel it.” She reached out and laid a hand upon his brow. “You fear a loss of honor and respect. I do not understand this fear. Have I not told you that your sense of duty is unrivaled and your honor knows no flaw?”

Haldir swallowed hard, his gaze held captive by the Lady of Lórien’s fathomless sapphire eyes. “You have said this, my lady,” he replied.

“Yet still you doubt.” Her voice was stern, yet kindness lingered. “I have spoken to Elrond and I know about the indwaedh. It was a dangerous mistake to wear it without accustoming yourself to it first. However, you have learned from this mistake and are now wiser because of it. What more could I ask of you, my friend?”

“You could ask for a Marchwarden who did not make mistakes.”

“But where would I find such an Elf?” she challenged. “I know of no one who has not erred in some way, myself included. Look at the Elves of our history, Haldir. How many of the greatest and noblest of our kind made decisions that led to unforeseen and regrettable consequences that they did not intend? What of Oropher, who led so many to slaughter in a hopeless battle? What of Elrond, who failed to persuade Isildur to destroy the One Ring when he had the chance? What of so many others I could name? Do we not still honor them in story and song? Do you suggest that we should not?”

“No, my lady,” Haldir said humbly. “But I have sworn to protect all who live within the Golden Wood. I wish to serve rather than harm.”

She nodded gravely. “And so you do. Your entire life has been one of service. You have no cause to feel ashamed.”

Haldir seemed to hesitate for a moment, then he said, “Elves could have died, that is what haunts me.”

“But they did not,” she pointed out. “Not this time, in any case. Perhaps another time they will. That is an almost inescapable consequence of the battle we fight. Perhaps someday the dangers in Middle Earth will be no more, but until that day arrives, we carry on and do the best we can. We all know that those who guard our borders run the risk of death. Yet many willingly choose to serve in that capacity despite the risk. The danger is not of your making, Haldir. You are not solely responsible for its undoing.” Her next words were spoken in a voice so low it was almost a whisper. “Your silent suffering has not escaped me. Your retreats to your secret place in the Wood have helped to ease it, but your guilt and sorrow linger on. Have I not told you that last year’s incident was unavoidable? We spoke of this at the time, you and I. There was *nothing* you could have done to save them, yet still you blame yourself. That is not wise.”

Galadriel’s unyielding words reminded Elanor of what Haldir had confessed to her some weeks earlier. Three elves had died last year, he had said, because he had made some kind of error. Elanor watched the way Galadriel gazed deeply into Haldir’s eyes. Was she now speaking to him within his mind?

“Do you understand?” Galadriel said aloud.

“Yes,” Haldir whispered.

“Remember it, then. I need you to be strong for me. Mistakes are merely undesired consequences of choices. And choices are only choices, no more and no less. If they are made with honorable intentions, does that not play a part?”

“They *must* be made with honorable intentions,” Haldir replied.

“That is not always so, and yet for you, Haldir, it *is* so. And that is why you will remain my Marchwarden. Is that understood?”

“Yes, my lady,” Haldir said respectfully.

Another silent communication passed between them, then Galadriel rose to her feet, glancing once at Elanor and then at the table beside the bed. “You finished the broth I made?”

Haldir’s eyes widened. “You made it, my lady?”

To Elanor’s surprise, the Lady’s blue eyes actually began to twinkle. “Indeed I did. It is an old concoction known to greatly aid with healing. It is made from the roots of the ninniach-loth. I journeyed there myself yesterday to gather them. Seven plants willingly donated a portion of themselves for you. The taste may not be pleasant, but I assure you it works.”

Haldir appeared paler than he had before. “Thank you, my lady. I am deeply honored.”

“You drank it all?” the Lady inquired.

“Most of it,” he mumbled.

Galadriel exchanged a glance with Elanor. “And the rest?”

Haldir looked stricken.

“Ah well,” Galadriel said, with an air of tranquil reflection, “I am sure the health of your plants is also important.” She moved around the bed and touched Elanor’s arm, her eyes sparkling with amusement she was trying to conceal from Haldir. “Celeborn did the same thing once,” she confided. “Ellyn can be such naughty elflings when they are feeling poorly.”

Elanor shook her head. “I am shocked, my lady.”

“It only gets worse,” confided the Lady of the Golden Wood, “after you marry them.”

#

Having returned from his visit with Haldir, Orophin returned to his talan and Doria. He sat beside her on the little terrace outside his talan while she mended a torn seam on one of his tunics. More content than he had ever been in his life, he watched her lazily, noting the way her nimble fingers dipped the mithril needle in and out of the fabric so effortlessly and with such precision. Eventually his gaze drifted upward to her profile. She was so beautiful to him.

“What do you think it means?” she asked, without looking up.

“What does what mean?” he asked in an absent tone. For an instant he could not follow, for his attention centered on a pair of soft pink lips less than an arm’s length away.

She glanced over at him. “I refer to what you were telling me about Haldir giving Elanor the indwaedh, and about the way he looks at her. Do you think he is in love with her?”

Orophin shrugged. “With Haldir, who can say? I think he cares deeply for her, but whether it will endure I do not know. All I know for certain is that when it comes to ellith, Haldir takes no ill-considered actions. He has guarded his heart for so long that it would take a rare maiden to get past its borders.” He paused, his thoughts churning. “But this matter of the indwaedh . . . I admit it is odd, his giving it to her. Out of character, even.”

Silence reigned for a time; Doria’s needle dipped in and out of the fabric while Orophin rubbed his foot against hers and enjoyed the soft breeze rustling the leaves around them.

Doria spoke suddenly. “If you desire my opinion, I think she is truly in love with him, just the way I am in love with you. I hope he does not hurt her.”

Orophin leaned closer and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I admit she seems devoted, but their acquaintanceship is brief. Who knows where it will end? A few dozen years together may be enough, or it may not.”

Doria lowered the tunic to her lap. “And what of us?” she inquired.

“Indeed, that is a question that very much intrigues me.” Orophin reached for her hand and covered it with his own. “Did I not ask you to bind with me?”

“Yes,” she admitted, her cheekbones a becoming shade of pink.

“When were you thinking of giving me an answer? Not that I wish to pressure you,” he added quickly. “There is no need to rush such a weighty decision.” He was conscious of a nervousness that he had not felt since the night of his begetting celebration.

“You are not rushing me, Orophin,” she replied, “but it is a big decision, you must admit. One that ought to be made with a great deal of careful consideration.”

“True,” he said reluctantly. For all her wide smiles and giggly nature, Doria possessed a streak of wisdom that sometimes confounded him.

“And it is one that will affect us forever,” she pointed out.

“So you have not yet decided.” Disappointment flickered through him, but he tried to keep it from showing in his face.

“Oh, I made my decision weeks ago. But I thought you needed more time to be sure you had not been too impetuous when you suggested it.”

Orophin gaped at her. “Me? Impetuous?”

“Well, you are,” she said soothingly. “Upon occasion. And you must admit you suggested it very early in our relationship.”

He nearly protested, but then her words sank in. “Your decision is made?”

She nodded. “It is. But I’d like to know your thoughts. You have had more time to consider this. Have you had any doubts at all? If so, you must tell me.”

“I have had no doubts, not once, not for a moment,” he declared, his voice low and almost fierce with fervency. “I wish to bind myself to you forever. Oh, I have had lovers before, you know this, but never have I felt what I feel for you, Doria.”

“What do you feel for me, Orophin?” She was smiling now.

“Without you, I am only half an Elf,” he said simply. “With you, I am complete. When we are together, my heart expands in a way that I cannot describe. It is a joy beyond joy, if that makes any sense to you. ”

“Yes, it does,” she said softly, “for it is also how I feel about you, my love. And for that reason and since it is still your wish . . . yes, Orophin, I will marry you and be your wife until all that *is* has ended and the world has passed away into whatever future Eru wills.”

Orophin drew her against him and held her close, utter bliss surging through him with a power that he had never known. All around them the world seemed to pause and take note of this earth-shattering moment in his life; the breeze lulled, the birds paused in their singing, and distant voices came to a halt. It was only for an instant, but it marked the event in his mind for all eternity. His arms tightened just a little around Doria as though by doing so he could better convey to her the depth of his emotion.

“Be careful, Orophin,” Doria cautioned in a muffled voice. “I am going to stick you with my needle if you hug me any tighter.”

With a grin, Orophin released her and drew back. “A very wifely comment,” he teased. “I will be sure and beware your weapon in all our future dealings.”

Doria gave him one of those big, beautiful smiles that always melted his heart. “Shall we tell everyone today? Or do you wish to wait until after Haldir recovers?”

While he considered this, Orophin shifted his gaze from Doria’s face to the view beyond the terrace. Suddenly, he focused on what he was viewing. “Do you see what I see?”

Doria followed his gaze. “My goodness, is that Rúmil?”

A slow grin curled the corners of Orophin’s mouth. The sight of his younger brother romantically holding hands in public with an elleth was unusual enough, but the fact that it was Nerwen’s hand he held so tenderly made it all the more significant.

“By the Valar, he has done it,” Orophin breathed aloud. “He has won her!”

“And she has won him, judging from the expression on his face. He looks like—”

“--a love-struck calf,” Orophin filled in. “I wonder if he realizes.”

“I expect he does not care,” Doria said gently. “But you will tease him all the same.”

“Of course.” Orophin grinned and hugged her close. “What are brothers for?”

#

Nerwen was delighting in the firm, possessive grip of Rúmil’s hand on hers as they strolled along one of the most central walkways in the city on their way to pay Haldir a visit. Somehow she had expected that Rúmil would wish to keep their love for one another a secret for a while, but this was clearly not the case; already she was sure that his devotion had been noted by many, including several of her closest friends.

“You do not have to hold my hand, Rúmil, if you would rather not,” she said in an undertone. At this point she fully accepted his love, but all the same she was a bit concerned that this open demonstration might bring them more attention and teasing than either of them wished.

“Nerwen, how can you suggest that I might not wish to hold your hand?” he replied, in a mock-injured tone. “Do you think I am not proud to have won the love of the loveliest elleth in all of Lórien?”

“Loveliest?” Nerwen snorted delicately. “I think not. Healea holds that title, as well you know. I do not need flattery, Rúmil. I just need you to love me, that is . . . that is all.” The sentence ended more quietly than it had started, and with a little wobble in her voice, for she was still feeling rather emotional and fragile after all her heartache where he was concerned.

Rúmil bent and kissed the corner of your mouth, then lifted her chin with his finger. “Then all your needs are met, for I love you more than life itself. And to me, Nerwen, you *are* the loveliest elleth, both inside and out. And remember, I have seen every part of you now and am quite qualified to make this ruling.”

Happiness bathed her in its warm glow. “Must you remind me of your rakish past?” she teased. “I prefer to think of you as all mine.”

He released her hand and slipped his arm around her waist, drawing her close so that he could press his lips to her brow. “I *am* yours, my love, and you are mine. All others are in the past, where they will remain.” He smiled down at her, his eyes appreciatively taking her in. “And I am content.”

It was enough for Nerwen to throw caution and conservatism to the wind; she turned in Rúmil’s arms and slipped her own around his neck. “I am glad,” she whispered. “Because there is no turning back now. I have written my name on you.”

His eyes darkened to a midnight hue. “Yes, I can still feel it here and there, but we ought not to speak of it unless you wish me to drag you straight back to my bed. Our destination is downward, to the healing talan, remember?”

“Your destination is always downward, Rúmil,” Nerwen murmured naughtily. She saw his head turn quickly, and she squeezed his hand to let him know it was a jest. “That was not a complaint, mind you,” she explained with a secretive smile.

He laughed softly. “I am glad. Still, too many more remarks like that, and my resolution to attend my brother will be obscured by other rising matters. In fact that is one matter that is not directed downward.”

A tiny giggle escaped her throat. “Oh, Rúmil.”

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Admit it, you like my playful side just as much as my serious side. You find me witty and irresistible.”

“Perhaps I do,” she said, still smiling. “I will have to think about it.”

How good it felt to relax and joke with him instead of constantly being on her guard. For so long she had kept up a carefree appearance that hid her inner turmoil. What a relief it was to be free to be herself with him at last!

She glanced up at him, admiring his slim elegance and ingenuously appealing face with an inward sigh of contentment. “And what shall we do after we visit your brother?”

“Oh, I thought I’d spend the rest of the day on the archery field,” he mused. “I will strip off my tunic so you can admire me while I practice. You may fetch my arrows for me, and ogle my muscles while I pull back the string on my mighty bow and aim one of my impressive ar-- Ouch! Nerwen! Was that called for?”

“Indeed it was. Behave yourself, Rúmil, or your impressive arrow is going to find itself without a target,” she warned, trying without success to hide her bubbling laughter.

“Now, that’s the Nerwen I know and love so much.” He rubbed his backside where she had pinched him and pretended to frown. “What was the question again?”

“You told me you would spend the whole day with me, Rúmil, and I asked you what you wished to do after we visit your brother.”

He shook his head. “Nerwen, Nerwen, surely you know better than to ask me that.”

“Do I?” Smiling back at him, she tucked her hand back into his.

#

Healea entered the bathhouse alone, for Túre was nowhere to be found and at the moment she did not wish for the company of any other of her friends. She paused inside the cloth-enclosed structure, studying the pool’s single occupant with mild curiosity. The other elleth lounged with her eyes closed, her face devoid of emotion even though Healea guessed she must be seething with them.

“May I join you?” she inquired in a low voice.

Tarwë opened her eyes. “Of course, Healea,” she said politely. She sounded a little surprised, most likely because it was not Healea’s custom to ask permission before doing something. Why had she asked? The answer eluded her.

Healea removed her gown and hung it on a hook, noting how the younger elleth watched her with a rather melancholy expression. Pretty Tarwë clearly believed her love for Lurien to be a well-guarded secret, and perhaps it was from most of the others. But Healea had been keeping a wary eye on the Sentinel for a very long time. No matter who he dallied with, she had noticed that he was always drawn back to Tarwë, like a moth attracted to the hottest and brightest flame. Healea had drawn her own conclusions.

Still, Lurien was a troublemaker and a potential threat to Haldir, and now perhaps even to Elanor, and if Healea could do anything to thwart him then she would do it. The old memory of her dalliance with Lurien and Haldir rose in her mind as she waded into the water and settled onto her favorite perch along a low, smooth rock. Of the two ellyn, she had only loved Haldir, but it had not been the kind of love that sustained and nurtured, and it would eventually have burned itself out if they had continued on together. Only Cothion had ever truly touched her heart in that unique and wondrous way that she needed . . . and he was hers. Dear, dear Cothion. She smiled fondly as she always did when he entered her thoughts.

Yes, she was very satisfied with her life, but it was obvious that Tarwë was unhappy and had been so for a long time. Such pretty eyes should not hold such wretchedness. Healea’s compassion stirred, and she searched her mind for something tactful to say. “Why do you accommodate him?” she said bluntly.

“Accommodate who?” Tarwë’s face became a studied mask of puzzlement.

“Lurien, of course. He is breaking your heart, is he not?”

As if by magic the mask fell away, revealing a look of almost unspeakable anguish on the younger elleth’s face. “He is trying,” she answered bitterly.

Healea frowned. “Why do you allow it?”

“I have no choice. My heart is his.”

“Nonsense, of course you have a choice. Unless and until you bind yourself to him, your heart is your own. The same with your body. Withhold yourself from him until he does as you wish. He is but an ellon, and all ellyn can be brought to heel.”

A ghost of a smile touched Tarwë’s lips. “How like you to say such a thing, Healea. Yet you failed to tame Lurien, did you not?” The words were not a taunt, but a valid observation made in a civil tone of inquiry.

“Ah, but I did not want to tame him, therein lies the difference. I preferred him undomesticated.” Healea smiled reminiscently. “He was so different from Haldir. I always wished I could have had them both at once, but that was not possible given their dislike for each other. But it would have been exciting, like bathing in fire and ice.” She stretched languorously in the water, curious whether she had shocked Tarwë with her remark.

Tarwë did not look shocked. “And in the end you chose Cothion,” she said, her blue eyes fixed on Healea’s face.

“Yes.” Healea’s smile grew. “Cothion is all things to me—fire, ice, and everything in between. He suits me well.”

“You are fortunate indeed.” Glumness tinged the polite remark.

Healea sighed. “You enable Lurien to be as he is,” she said, “because you tolerate it.”

Tarwë’s lips compressed.

Healea debated how much more forthright she wished to be, then added baldly, “You allow him to abuse you.”

“He does not abuse me,” Tarwë protested a bit huffily. “He loves me. He told me so—against his will, I might add.”

Healea splashed water on her arms and face while she absorbed this. “You believe him?”

“I do. But he has an obsession he cannot seem to overcome. It hinders him from accepting my love or his own.”

Healea nodded, thinking this over. “The obsession with Haldir, yes I know. And I would feel responsible, except that its true origins go back much farther than their mutual . . . disagreement over me.”

“Which you enjoyed,” Tarwë pointed out with slight hostility. “And helped to create.”

“I was much younger then and far less wise. And I did not enjoy it as much as you imagine. In truth I was rather mortified. At the time I was considering both of them as potential mates.” Healea hesitated for a moment. “I came to realize that neither of them was considering me in that same light. It rather damaged my vanity, but I recovered,” she added, her lips twisting ruefully. “With Cothion’s help.”

“I am glad for you, Healea,” Tarwë said with irony.

“Come now, do not be unfriendly. I am trying to help you.”

“Forgive me. I am not in the best of humors at the moment.”

“I understand,” Healea said, with a bit more gentleness. She had tried one tactic, now she would try another. “I truly do. But the only thing that I can see for you to do is to issue an ultimatum of some sort. Put your foot down with Lurien. Deny him what he wants from you until he is ready to behave.”

“Such a course of action is not easy for me,” Tarwë said shortly. “I am not manipulative by nature. And I love him so m-much.” Her breath hitched, her face crumpling for just an instant before she regained control of herself.

Healea studied Tarwë, suddenly very angry with Lurien for being so blind. “Shall I speak with him? Would that be acceptable to you?”

Tarwë looked startled. “What would you say?”

“I would tell him what I think of him, for a start. And then I would tell him what I think of you.”

“What do you think of me?” Tarwë’s blue eyes held a wary concern that nearly made Healea laugh.

“For one thing, I think you are too good for him. And I think you are a lovely, gentle-hearted maiden with intelligence, wit, wisdom and humor. And I think he could find no better elleth in all of Arda or Aman, and that he should thank his lucky star that you are willing to even look at him.”

Tarwë blushed bright pink. “Healea, do you mean it?”

“I would not say it if I did not.” Healea smiled languidly and leaned down so that her hair flowed into the water. “So shall I speak to him or not?”

“If you wish,” Tarwë said with seeming difficulty. “But I do not see it changing anything.”

“It never hurts to try,” Healea answered.

#

Healea returned briefly to her talan to put on a clean gown, one of pale blue that floated around her as she walked. She frowned at the mirror, her thoughts on Tarwë as she pulled a comb through her long, damp hair.

Cothion had been sitting on the terrace, but he appeared suddenly behind her, his hands cupping her shoulders. “You are going out again?”

“Yes, for a time. I will not be gone long.”

Their eyes met in the mirror. “You could have bathed here,” he said. “There was water enough.”

“I left it for you,” she said mildly. “In any case it is good that I went to the bathhouse.” She turned to face him, then proceeded to summarize her conversation with Tarwë. “I am going to speak to Lurien.”

Cothion was frowning. “I wish you would stay out of this, Healea. It is not your concern.”

“True enough, but I am angry, Cothion, and this is the way I must deal with it. Lurien will not harm me.”

“No, but I would prefer the two of you exchanged no further unpleasantries.”

Healea slid her arms around his neck, pressing against him with wanton suggestiveness. “And why is that, dear husband?”

He smiled slightly, his hands resting lightly on her hips. “Many reasons, my love. I wish to protect you, for one thing.”

“I do not need protection,” she murmured. “What I need is to unleash my anger and be rid of it. Then I can return to you, and perhaps we will find some way to entertain ourselves.”

Cothion sighed and kissed her on the brow. “Then go unleash your anger as quickly and discreetly as possible. I pity the Sentinel.”

“Do not waste your sympathy,” she retorted. “He does not deserve it.” She left him and went out into the night, heading for Lurien’s talan. She had seen him earlier and knew he was off duty, but now she wondered briefly whether he might be with someone. Her lips curved at the thought of interrupting him at an inconvenient moment, but for Tarwë’s sake, she hoped he was alone.

He was.

He came to the door wearing nothing but his leggings, and looked as though he had been sleeping. “Healea,” he said with hostility. She could see that he was startled though he veiled it quickly.

“May I come in?” she said without preamble. “I have something to say to you.”

He stepped aside and widened the door, his hand extended in open invitation. “I am honored,” he said in a mocking voice. “Healea herself in my humble home . . . how many years has it been since that occurred?”

“I have not kept count,” she said coolly as she swept past him. She walked around the outer room, her gaze assessing his domain, noting the meticulous arrangement of his belongings and the half-eaten loaf of bread upon his table. She saw no sign that any elleth had been there, but that meant nothing.

Affecting a bored look, Lurien sauntered toward the largest and most comfortable chair and sat down. “I suppose this is about Elanor.”

Healea looked down her nose at him. “No, that business is settled as far as I’m concerned. I am her archery instructor when Haldir is unavailable. You are superfluous, Lurien. I think I made that clear.”

Her oblique reference to the day she had fisted him in his jaw made him flush with anger. “Make your point then.” He crossed his arms over his chest, a pose that flattered him, she noted with detachment.

“This is about Tarwë,” she informed him.

“What of her?” He lifted his brows, looking haughty and in control of himself.

“She loves you,” Healea stated abruptly, and saw him flinch. “And you are hurting her. When did you become so cruel, Lurien? You used to have a few admirable qualities, but where are they now?”

Lurien’s jaw thrust forward. “I am not cruel,” he protested. “Tarwë does not think me so. We have an understanding that is none of your concern.”

“Let me tell you something, Sentinel. You are unfit to wash Tarwë’s feet, but even so she seems to love you. I know not why, for you are a worthless little slug of an ellon despite your pretty face. But for some reason I cannot fathom, she is devoted to you. She loves you and she suffers, and you are the cause! I have seen the depth of her suffering. Have you?”

White with anger, Lurien shot to his feet, breathing hard through clenched teeth. “Do not say another word, Healea,” he warned.

“Tarwë is a sweet and gentle soul,” she said relentlessly, “warm and witty and steadfast in her love for you. You could spend the rest of your immortal life searching for a better maiden, but you would not find one, Lurien, because none exists. Have you thought of this? Have you thought what you will you if she abandons you? What will you do if she sails to the West? What will you do if she fades from grief because of your mistreatment? How will you live with yourself? Is revenge so important to you? Haldir lies helpless and injured while you--”

“Be silent!” he cut in furiously. “You know nothing of this matter.”

Healea curled her lip with contempt. “I know enough to know that you are little better than an Orc.”

“Get out,” he said. His voice was flat, as though all of his anger had suddenly fled.

“I have advised her to avoid you,” Healea told him calmly. Her anger was spent and her voice was cold. “I do not know if she will heed my advice.”

Lurien stood silent, his eyes watchful.

“My advice to you is to consider carefully what you are doing. If you do not want her as she wants you, then set her free. Either that, or do the honorable thing. Ask her to forgive you and commit yourself to her.”

“I do not want your advice,” he muttered.

“You have it anyway.” Healea turned on her heel and left the talan.

#

Galadriel leaned into Celeborn’s embrace as they sat together on their terrace high above the city that they ruled. Her head rested against his, her eyes directed upward toward the stars while the whispering wind sighed around them like a familiar friend. A great owl hooted from its home nearby, another old friend who had chosen this place to nest for many seasons now.

Celeborn broke the silence. “How much of that ghastly brew did he drank?”

“About half, I would guess,” she answered.

“That’s more than you ever got into me.”

“True.” Galadriel smiled at the memory.

“Was it enough, do you think?”

“Oh yes.” She shifted slightly and sighed. “If only I could take away his guilt. His emotions run deep, like a swift and powerful river trapped between the granite cliffs of his will.”

Celeborn rubbed his cheek against her hair. “Give him time. I am more concerned about this vision in your mirror.”

“I am concerned too. Each time it grows a little clearer, yet never enough to clarify its significance or meaning.”

“You say I reach out for something.”

“Yes, you reach out quickly.”

“And you are there also,” Celeborn added in a pensive voice.

“I am behind you. And behind me stands another, but I cannot see a face.”

“Where are we standing?”

“I cannot say for sure. It is unclear.”

Celeborn frowned. “We need answers, Galadriel. Have you spoken of this to Elrond?”

“Not yet. I will do so soon.”

“Do not wait long.” He turned his head and smiled down at her, then kissed her gently on the lips. “Shall I sing to you, my love?”


[tbc]