ELANOR'S REVENGE

To all our reviewers, thank you so very, very much for your feedback! It is greatly appreciated! Apologies once more for the length of time between updates. Summer vacations, illnesses, and general real life has slowed things down. Anyway, the soap opera continues.... hope you enjoy. hugs, J & F

********


Chapter Twenty-Nine

On the day Galadriel had gifted Haldir with her special broth, the Lady of Lórien had explained her reasons for making it. In general, she had explained to Elanor, an elf had no need of such restoratives since all elves tended to heal quickly from even the most serious wounds. However, despite Elrond’s assurances that Haldir would heal, Galadriel could go where the Peredhel could not – into Haldir’s thoughts and memories of the battle. And she knew perhaps even better than Haldir himself exactly what had occurred, for she had witnessed the battle through his viewpoint. She understood better than the other healers how greatly weakened Haldir was, and she had seen the vast amount of blood he had lost.

Aware of Elanor’s interest, Galadriel had explained that the primary curative value of the ninniach-loth root was its capacity to accelerate blood regeneration. And that was what Haldir had needed, even if he had only taken half the broth. Half should be sufficient, the Lady had assured Elanor, still with that little twinkle in her eye that Elanor found so intriguing.

Galadriel’s broth was indeed having an effect, for within two days Haldir was stronger and more alert, which meant that he was less cooperative with everyone, including Elanor.

“Lord Elrond says you must lie still for at least another day or two,” she insisted for the fourth time, her hand firmly planted in the middle of Haldir’s stomach just below the ribcage. That she could keep him down with the strength of one hand illustrated that he was not yet ready for exercise, but he did not seem to see this.

“I do not care what he says, Elanor. Please remove your hand. I would like to take a walk.”

“Haldir, you are being stubborn. I thought you wanted to heal as quickly as possible.”

“I do, Elanor. And I will.” Again he tried to rise, and again she easily pushed him down with one hand.

“You will not heal if you start bouncing around,” she told him with exasperation. “Your bruises may be disappearing, but your ribs are still cracked, and one may be broken. They have not had adequate time to mend, nor have your shoulders. Even if you are stronger than yesterday, you are still weak.”

The fingers of Haldir’s left hand closed around her wrist, yet he exerted little force. “I am not going to bounce around, Elanor. I leave the bouncing to you.”

“What do you mean by that? I do not bounce!”

Haldir’s smile was almost a smirk. “Perhaps because you are too busy to notice when it happens.” His thumb rubbed her arm suggestively.

“What do you mean?” Elanor placed a second hand upon Haldir’s stomach, applying slightly more pressure. “No, never mind. I do not wish to know.”

“If you must persist in doing that, you might think about going a little lower,” he said grouchily.

Elanor regarded him with mock severity. “I know you are in a bad mood, but there is no reason to take it out on me. Perhaps if you had taken all the broth instead of dumping part of it on my poor plants—

He lifted an imperious brow. “I thought they were my plants.”

Elanor removed her hands from his body and sat down rather abruptly in the chair. “They are,” she said stiffly. “I misspoke.”

Haldir immediately looked repentant. “Elanor, forgive me. I have hurt your feelings and that was not my intention. I am just frustrated. I hate lying here like this. I hate feeling helpless and dependent on any one.” He paused. “I should be strong and not weak. But that is no excuse for being so . . . ”

“Testy and peevish,” she finished for him, “and ornery and difficult.”

He made a slight grimace. “Am I really that bad?”

“Yes, but I do not fault you for it. I understand your frustration, but you must try to rest another day or two before you do the things you want to do. Recover a little more of your strength. Please,” she added softly. “For my sake if not your own.”

He sighed. “Very well, I will try . . . for your sake.”

“Thank you.” She leaned down and kissed him.

“They are more your plants than mine,” he remarked. “They are probably ready to bite me for what I just said to you. And I would deserve it.”

Elanor shook her head and smiled. “Shall I bathe you now? I know the water soothes your flesh. Perhaps it would improve your temper.”

Haldir made another grimace and looked at the ceiling.

“Or would you rather sleep?” she added, studying him closely. His color had returned to normal, and for that she was profoundly thankful, but he was certainly not yet himself.

“No, I do not wish to sleep.” He turned his head, the pupils of his eyes now holding a raw glitter as they slid over her. “Elanor, you have no idea how difficult it is to lie here and do nothing while you bathe me.”

All at once she was aware of his nakedness in a way she had not been a moment before. “Haldir . . .” she said doubtfully.

“Before, I was only half conscious and in great pain. Now I am fully conscious and aware. To be more precise, if you bathe me, one part of me would like a great deal more attention than it has been getting. Otherwise it will be torment for me.”

Elanor instinctively glanced at the blanket covering his hips; it tented upward ever so slightly, announcing his desire more surely than words. “What if someone comes?” she said uncertainly.

“Use the privacy latch, and be quick. I will not require very much of your touch. I have done little but dream of this for the past two days.” His voice sounded strained and husky. “In fact, I am almost ready now. Speaking of my need has increased it.”

She smiled lovingly. “If I do this for you, will it help you be less grouchy?”

“Of course it will. Please, Elanor. You know what to do. Use those magic hands of yours to give me ease.”

How could she resist such a beguiling request?

“And you will agree to rest quietly in bed today *and* tomorrow?” she inquired.

He gave her a stoic look. “Yes, but after that I make no promises. What do you say, sweetling?” He was watching her intently, patiently, with an air of expectancy. He was certain she would take pity on him . . . as of course she would.

Elanor brushed her lips lingeringly against his. “I will take care of you, my love,” she whispered. “But you will owe me, you know.”

“A debt I will be glad to repay in full,” he murmured thickly, “as soon as I am able.”

~*~

Ever since he and Doria had agreed to wed, Orophin had been floating around Caras Galadhon in a blissful haze, wondering if anyone would notice anything different about him if they looked closely. Apparently not, since no one had commented. Or perhaps they were all so used to his smiles that they did not notice any change in their quality. Of course he had stopped smiling those first days Haldir had been injured, but now Haldir was on the mend, which left Orophin free to feel completely happy once more. Doria was to be his wife, the world was beautiful and life was perfect. Or at least his life was.

He would have liked to share his joyous news with Haldir and Rúmil, but the right time had not yet presented itself. Rúmil had been so occupied with Nerwen that Orophin had scarcely seen him and as for Haldir, with each day that passed he was becoming more snappish and irritable. No, the appropriate moment to make his grand announcement had not presented itself. And since he would tell no one before he told his own brothers, he would keep it to himself until the time was right.

With these thoughts churning in his head, Orophin halted at the foot of the spiraling staircase and gazed around him with reverence, silently taking in the gleaming shafts of sunlight filtering downward through the golden leaves, the pleasant sound of voices in the distance, the peaceful rustle and coo of nearby wood doves. Here and there various elves were going gracefully about their business, the soft fabric of their garb shimmering as they walked. All at once he spotted the person he was looking for.

“Rúmil,” he called, just as Rúmil disappeared around a turn in the path some distance ahead. Orophin lengthened his pace and soon caught up with his brother, who halted, a questioning look on his face.

“So,” said Orophin slyly, “are you going to tell me?”

“Tell you what?” Rúmil said unhelpfully.

“I saw you with Nerwen yesterday,” Orophin prodded. “And the day before as well.”

“And you will see me with her many more times.” Rúmil’s voice was calm and he met Orophin’s gaze squarely. “We are in love.”

Orophin pretended to reach for his sword. “Who are you, and what have you done with my brother?”

Rúmil smiled sheepishly. “I know this is a bit unexpected.”

“Not entirely. I saw how terrified she was when she feared you meant not to take proper care with your life at the Fences. She also told me she was no more than a challenge you could not resist.” His statement held an implied question.

“She now knows that is untrue.” Rúmil rubbed his chin, then gave a quick smile. “Fear not, we have spoken of these things. All is well now. She has accepted my carving and she has accepted . . . me.”

His meaning was clear, but Orophin could not resist the urge to tease. “Ah, so it is not as a little brother that she sees you?”

“Er, no.” Rúmil’s eyes held a gleam of inner satisfaction. “Not at all.”

“I am glad to hear it.” Orophin hesitated as another thought came to him. “Yet I am also wary.”

“Wary?” Rúmil stiffened defensively. “Why?”

“You said she wished you to change, to be more serious. It seems to me that does not bode well. If she truly loves you, she will accept you as you are, not as she wishes you to be.”

“Ah, but I do have a serious side, you know this.” Rúmil clapped a hand to Orophin’s shoulder. “Worry not, brother. Nerwen has accepted me as I am, and loves me beyond all doubt or reservation. Such love is a constant, the only one we have.” Wonder tinged his voice.

“You truly are in love. I see it in your eyes.”

“You will never see me with another elleth.” Rúmil spoke so solemnly that Orophin could not doubt.

“I am glad for you,” he said quietly. His gaze moved past Rúmil to where Nerwen had just come into view further along the path that led to several of the gardens. “And since I see you are about to have company, I will take my leave. I had something to tell you, but it can wait.”

Rúmil swiveled, his attention already locked on the smiling elleth walking toward them. “Something to tell me?” he repeated vaguely.

“We can speak of it later,” Orophin said with amusement. He waved at Nerwen and walked away with a grin.

~*~

Rúmil hurried to Nerwen’s side, drinking in the sight of her with indescribable emotion. She had been about her morning tasks, and had agreed to meet him here after they had been completed, but even that brief parting had seemed too long. He slid his arms around her waist without a moment's hesitation, gladdened by her immediate acceptance of his embrace, despite the fact that she was holding a small woven basket covered by a white cloth. Holding her close, he shut his eyes and whispered, “I missed you.”

The side of her face pressed against his neck, and he could feel her smile. “It has not been that long,” she murmured, “but I missed you also.” She pulled away a little. “I brought us some bread and fruit. You did not eat this morning.”

Rúmil laughed softly. “I drank of your nectar, my love. What more sustenance could I require?”

A secret smile curved her lips. “You are quite shameless, Rúmil, but I love you too much to care. Come, let us find a quiet place that is not quite so visible.”

“Galadriel’s garden,” Rúmil suggested.

She glanced at him, looking a little surprised. “Why, certainly, if you wish it.”

“I do,” he said. He had a reason.

In fact, he led her to a particular place that held great significance to him. “Here,” he said with a gesture. “This is where I would like to sit.”

He watched her carefully, noting every fluctuation in her expression as she set down the basket and sat upon the grass. She glanced up at him, looking so lovely and desirable that his mouth went dry, but he could not think of that, not here in this spot that had become, to him, sacred ground.

“Do you remember this place, Nerwen?” He could see that her eyes were shining a little more brightly than they had before, as though with a sheen of moisture.

“Yes, I do, Rúmil. But I did not realize that you did.”

He lowered himself to sit alongside her and regarded her earnestly. “I have never forgotten what happened here in this very spot when I was grieving for Ainon. I have not forgotten what you did for me.”

“I did what I did because I loved you,” she said quietly. “Just as much as I do now.”

He took her hand in his. “I know that now. But I never thanked you for it, and that troubles me. Nay, it tears at my heart in a most painful way.”

“There was never any need to thank me,” she protested. “You were in pain. I did what I could to help. That is all.”

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it ever so gently. “There is every need. You gave everything you had, and I gave nothing in return. That was wrong.”

“You gave me the opportunity to offer you comfort. To be allowed that privilege was a great gift.”

“I do not find it adequate. Therefore, I wish to take this moment to tell you what it meant to me. Will you permit that?”

“Of course, Rúmil. If you wish it.” She bowed her head.

He drew a deep breath. “Nerwen, when Ainon died, it was like losing one of my brothers. Other than Orophin, he was my closest childhood friend. I was unprepared for such pain, and I blamed myself because . . . ” He looked down at the ground; these words were difficult to speak aloud. “ . . . because I was so close to him when he was struck down. I had nearly aimed at the Orc whose arrow killed him, but instead I chose another as my target. If I had chosen differently, Ainon would be alive today. That knowledge burned in my heart like poison. No wound could ever inflict such pain as that.”

“Oh, Rúmil,” Nerwen whispered. Her blue eyes filled with tears.

“And then you came,” he told her. “You came and you sat right here upon the grass. You reached for my hand and you held it. I did not look at you; I could not, for my pain was too great. But it felt so good. The places where our fingers touched were alive and warm, whereas all the rest of me was cold.” He inhaled raggedly, recalling the hopeless and horrendous anguish of that time. “At first I resisted because it felt wrong to know even a slight easing of my pain. And yet . . . and yet it also felt right, for no reason I understood. So I did not resist because it eased my torment just a bit. And as the hours passed, the warmth spread. I now know why.”

“Why?” she whispered, her fingers tightening around his.

“Because it was you,” he said simply. “My heart must have known, even though my head did not. I do not think there is another in all of Lórien who could have eased my pain that day.”

“Galadriel?” she proposed, her voice soft. “Perhaps she could have done so.”

“Perhaps so, but she was wise enough to leave that for you. It was your task. She told me so.”

“Did she?” Nerwen looked astonished. “When?”

“A few weeks ago. On the night she caught me hanging from a branch in an effort to eavesdrop on you ladies in the bathhouse.”

She blinked at him. “You are not serious?”

With a twisted smile, Rúmil explained, and she was soon shaking her head.

“Oh, Rúmil,” she said, a laugh in her voice, “only you would do such a thing.”

“In any case,” he went on hastily, “Lady Galadriel said it was not her task to comfort me, that another had chosen it. So she must have known that you would do what you did. She also said that I will see Ainon again one day.”

“I see.” Nerwen pondered this. “And if she says this, it must be so. That must be a great comfort to you.”

“It is,” he agreed. “In my heart, I knew he was not lost, but grief obscured all else. Until you, Nerwen. You are the one who gave me hope and peace and deliverance from despair and fear.” He leaned closer, gazing at her attentively. “Lady Galadriel told me that love is fear’s opposite. She said that love is alive, and I have come to believe this is true. It is the only thing that never fades, Nerwen, and as long as we have it . . . as long as we live it . . . we can never be lost, nor can we ever fade. Love is what gives meaning to our lives, and it is the gift you gave me, Nerwen. And for that, I honor you as I have honored no other.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the tips of her fingers as one would a queen.

In return, Nerwen leaned over and kissed him gently on the cheek. “And I honor you also, my dear Rúmil. I am yours forever if you want me.”

“I do want you,” he said, feeling unusually light of heart and body. He was unused to baring his feelings in this way, but it also felt good. He sat back with a smile and squeezed her hand. “You see, I told you I could be serious. It does not happen often, but it does happen.”

“Indeed, Rúmil, I am convinced. And also most content.”

He glanced down at the basket. “Well, then, shall we eat? So much seriousness has given me an appetite. It usually does, I warn you.”

Nerwen laughed and kissed him again. “I will bear that in mind.”

~*~

Túre lay in Telrion’s arms, enjoying his warmth and masculine scent as well as the peacefulness that enfolded her heart. All their moments so far had been timeless – including this one, for it seemed to her that time no longer existed, and perhaps never had. She could not recall ever feeling like this before, and it rather dazed her, lulling her into a strange awareness that greater forces existed in Eru’s world than could ever be understood by even the wisest of Elves. She did not understand where this knowledge came from or what it meant. She only knew that she had tapped into something that went far beyond her comprehension or experience.

Then, abruptly, a new thought washed over her like a cool rain. What would happen next? Telrion was not of Lórien. He was a visitor. And visitors left when the visit was over.

He awoke just as these thoughts were passing through her head, his eyes seeking hers before she could shield her disquiet. “What is wrong, Túre? You look worried.”

Forcing a smile, she brushed a finger along the curve of his cheekbone. “Nothing. I am quite content. Did you rest well?”

“I have never rested better.” He draped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. “I feel as though I have come home.” His warm, sweet breath tickled her ear.

“Home,” she repeated, sighing a little. “How I wish that were true.”

Lifting his head, he gave her a quizzical look, then lithely rolled on top of her and raised himself up on his elbows. “I am in a bit of a quandary on that very matter,” he confessed, gazing deeply into her eyes. “I hope you understand that I cannot stay in Lórien. I serve Lord Elrond, and though I might have made light of the matter, the truth is that I am rather valuable to him.”

“I am sure you are,” she answered, trying hard to be brave despite the sinking feeling in her chest. “I would not expect him to part with you. I do understand.”

He kissed her lightly on the lips. “You are so wonderful. I knew you would. And you also understand what that means, do you not?”

“Yes,” she said in a small voice. How long would it be before she saw him again? Years? Or longer?

“It does not appeal to you?” He searched her face, his blue eyes sharp with inquiry.

“How could it?” she replied. She knew honesty was called for, though it meant baring her heart to him. “To be parted from you will hurt, but I am strong. However long it is before you return, I will be patient. I can wait, even if it is . . . many years.” Only the slightest tremor shook her voice.

He was looking at her oddly. “Túre, I am asking you to come to Imladris with me. I want to take you with me when I go.”

Her heart leaped. “Oh! I thought you meant . . .” She knew she was turning bright pink, but her delight outweighed her embarrassment. “Oh, Tel, I am so happy!”

“You thought I meant to leave you? After all you have suffered? Do I look that cruel to you?” His gaze was reproachful now, but also tender. “Have I not made it clear how grateful I am to have found you? How can you think that I would want to walk away from you?”

“I do not know,” she stammered breathlessly. “I never hoped . . . or thought . . . ” Yet she had indeed hoped, had she not? “At least not this soon,” she explained, determined to be honest. “I hoped eventually . . . but I did not expect . . . that you would want me that much.” In fact, until this morning she had not dared to think beyond the present moment.

“I want you that much and more,” he said decisively. As if to seal this vow, he leaned down and kissed her once, twice and three times upon the lips. And then his mouth began to roam, trailing over her neck and shoulders, moving lower and lower in a searing exploration that quickly escalated into something greater, a new path pushing them toward heights yet unexplored.

Their joining was intense, fraught with emotion that was the culmination of all that either of them had ever yearned for and not found . . . until now. With every thrust, fiery sensation rushed through Túre like sparks of pure joy invading every corner of her being. When the culmination came, she arched against him with a low, almost keening moan of delight while Telrion gasped and cried out his own pleasure.

Afterward he held her, stroking a soothing hand down her back while she came back to her senses. “You are so beautiful,” he whispered. “I love to watch you when it happens.”

Túre sifted her fingers through his beautiful raven black hair, her body still throbbing with small ripples of intense pleasure. “I could say the same of you.”

She watched him reach over to the table beside the bed and withdraw the daisy from its vase. Smiling, he tucked it into her hair. “There,” he said tenderly. “That is better.”

~*~

Lurien sprawled on the bench on Tarwë’s little terrace, gazing morosely up at the softly rustling mellyrn. He had spent most of the night out here, for she had not welcomed him and yet he had found he could not leave. The entire night had been torture to him. She had allowed him to sleep in her bed, but she had refused his touch, something she had never done before. He had spent the better part of the night cursing Healea for it, but as the sun rose, reality began to sink in. The fault was his. He deserved this. Earned it, even.

Never in his long life had he felt so conflicted, so empty and bleak. It was almost as though the light of the Eldar was threatening to leave him, although it could not be true. No, he had no intention of fading. He would complete what he had started, then he would be free to walk another path. A higher one that would not leave him feeling like this.

He shoved that thought aside before it could grasp him with long fingers of guilt and discontent. First, he had to finish what he’d started. For too long had he hated Haldir. It was not something he could just release, not without a reckoning of some sort. A confrontation that would grant him his chance to face Haldir head on. Yes, a reckoning, that was he needed. The inevitability of it pumped the blood through his body.

Haldir had denied him this for centuries now, never allowing himself to be goaded as he had that day he had found Lurien with Healea. It was as though, with that single victory, he thought he had established victory for all time. And that was not the case.

“Lurien?” Tarwë’s soft voice broke into his thoughts. “Have you been here all night?”

He turned to watch her as she approached, looking breathtakingly beautiful in the delicate white nightgown she had refused to let him take off. Her fair hair was tousled and her face was pale. Had she slept at all?

“I could not leave you,” he said deliberately. It was the truth.

She came to sit beside him on the bench, one hand reaching out to touch his arm. “You ought to rest.”

He shook his head. “I am on duty soon.” Back to his noble duty, where he stood and did nothing because Lórien’s wardens protected their borders so very well. His lips twisted with the thought.

“You know I am proud of you, do you not?” Tarwë asked quietly. “I am proud that you are a Sentinel. I am proud that if danger threatened our city, you have the skill and strength to protect us. You are a good ellon in your heart. I know it.”

He could not answer. He simply stared at her hand where it rested on his arm, wondering how she could go on loving him as she did. How long had she loved him? When had it started? At the moment of their first joining? Or at some other moment?

“Have you eaten anything?”

“I am not hungry.” He rose to his feet, knowing he had little time before he had to report to his station.

“Lurien,” she said in a tentative voice.

“Yes?” He gazed down at her, trying to subdue the enormous surge of emotion welling up in him. Strangely, he was not angry at her for denying him her body, nor could he blame her.

“I love you still,” she whispered. “Almost more than I can bear.”

Valar help him.

“I love you also,” he said curtly. He stared at her for a moment, feeling something agonizing twist inside him, then he reached out and touched her hair.

He left her without looking back.

~*~

Healea set down her quill as Cothion entered their talan. For weeks she had been laboring on the translation of a new manuscript acquired from Master Erestor of Imladris, who had sent it along with the Lord and Lady after their recent visit. This particular manuscript involved old histories from the first age, and when she had finished translating it from Quenya to Sindarin, it would join the others in Lord Celeborn’s library. The original would be returned to Imladris.

“Still working, my love?” Cothion asked mildly. Walking over to her, he pushed her hair aside and began to knead her shoulders.

She arched her head from side to side, enjoying the skill of his fingers. “That feels wonderful. I did not realize how stiff I was until this moment.”

“You never do.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “Incidentally, are you aware that Túre has taken up with one of the Imladris elves?”

“What?” Alarm shot through Healea. “Are you certain?”

“It would be hard to mistake such open affection. She looked blissfully happy.” Seeing her concern, he added, “I would not worry, Healea. I saw them only from a distance, but it seemed mutual.”

“It had better be,” she said grimly, “because if he hurts her, I’ll have his hide for a cloak.”

“Ever the warrior,” Cothion murmured appreciatively. “Tell me, my fierce one, can you spare a little time for your husband this morn? He is feeling a distinct inclination for some conjugal interaction.”

Healea twisted around, reaching automatically for his fingers. “Tell my husband that I am of a mind to be wooed.”

His fingers tightened around hers, letting her feel his strength. “Then come away from that scroll before it finds itself in tatters on the floor. All your hard work will be for naught.”

She rose to her feet, her smile sultry as her gaze ran over him. To her, he was sublimely beautiful, tall and lean, with eyes of blue fire and an elegant self-restraint that masked a passion as fiery as her own. “Well, we cannot have that, can we?” she remarked.

With a low sound of amusement, he drew her against him, her back to his chest so that his arms encircled her with a steely force. His lips whispered over her hair until he found the tip of her ear and teased it with his tongue, over and over, matching the rhythm of his fingers as they stroked across her nipples with the adroitness of a skilled musician plucking the strings of a lute.

“Oh, Cothion,” she moaned. Always she marveled at how instantly he could ignite an inferno within her. Utter weakness and need sizzled through her, sapping her capacity to do anything except shudder and whimper for more of his expert attentions. He was the only one who had ever done this to her, the only one who could melt her into a puddle on the floor. She adored it.

She was about to turn and take control, but he forestalled her by lifting her into his arms with a laugh. “No,” he said, and carried her into their bedchamber, kicking the door shut with one heel as they passed. Lowering her to her feet, his practiced hands nimbly stripped her of her gown, kissing his way down her body until he reached the juncture of her thighs. He then urged her back onto the pillows so she could watch him remove his own clothing, which she did, admiring every inch of his exquisite male flesh as it was revealed to her view.

His knee pressed into the mattress and then he covered her, his weight pressing her down in a way that allowed him to flaunt his maleness with an authority that amused and delighted her. His stiffened arousal, hot with need, pressed against her as he devoured her with unerring awareness of her preferences and needs. His male scent intoxicated her, set her on fire, with a heat that spiraled her senses, radiating through her entire being . . .

So many long years of marriage, and still it felt like this, an erotic journey that transcended all else. The tempo varied with their mood, sometimes lush and slow with heady sensuality, sometimes frenzied and urgent with need, occasionally a power struggle or a game between them, but always, always with the delicious knowledge that they were one, joined forever by choice, lovers for all eternity. No matter what, that would always be, and she had never regretted it for an instant. Nor had he.

“So, my love,” he whispered roughly, “is this the kind of wooing you had in mind?” With that question he entered her, a heavy thrust that filled her in such a way that she cried out in mindless ecstasy. Yes, yes, yes . . . but she could not say it aloud. All she could do was tremble and whimper . . . and give back as much as she took.

She knew it was the kind of answer he wanted.

~*~

Tarwë had been unable to find Nerwen alone these past few days. She knew not what had happened between Nerwen and Rúmil, but it was obvious things between them had somehow, miraculously, been set right. Tarwë could not guess how this had come about, but for some reason she did not understand, Nerwen’s good fortune left her feeling more bereft than ever. Before, they had shared a common bond of suffering that had somehow comforted Tarwë, but now the other elleth glowed with happiness while Tarwë still suffered. However, it was not jealousy she felt; it was not in her temperament to begrudge a friend her share of happiness. She simply felt more alone.

Those feelings were bravely relegated to the hidden corners of her mind when she at last spied Nerwen alone later that day. She called out to Nerwen, who promptly altered her direction and joined Tarwë on the path that intersected hers. Nerwen had clearly just come from the communal pantry, for she was carrying a basket of vegetables, most likely to use for one of her delicious soups.

“Tarwë,” Nerwen greeted her cheerfully, “I was just thinking about you.”

“Because you have something to tell me?” Tarwë forced herself to say teasingly. “One moment it seems like there is no hope, and the next you and Rúmil are inseparable. What has happened, my dear?”

Nerwen glanced around to be sure they were alone. “It was incredible. I did not think it could happen.” She went on to explain some of what had occurred, although it was clear she was omitting a few details from the story. “He loves me,” she declared, her face glowing, “and has vowed to be with no one else, ever. I did not think that such happiness was possible!”

“That is wonderful,” Tarwë said sincerely. “I saw you together and could hardly believe my eyes.”

“But what of you? Has something happened?” Concern tinged Nerwen’s voice, suggesting that Tarwë had not concealed her inner turmoil as well as she hoped.

Tarwë hesitated, trying to keep her face composed, but it was difficult. “Healea gave me some advice and I followed it. She told me to deny Lurien and last night . . . I did.”

“Oh my,” Nerwen breathed, her gaze perceptive. “He did not take it well?”

Tarwë drew a deep breath. “He accepted it. He did not like it, but he was not angry. But . . . it tore me apart.”

“Perhaps in time it will grow easier,” Nerwen offered.

That thought was small comfort to Tarwë, but she did not say it. Instead, she said, “I feel that something terrible is going to happen. I have a growing sense of dread that increases with the passing of each day. The tension ties me in knots.” She pressed a hand to her abdomen. “I can feel it here. I can hardly sleep from the worry of it.”

Nerwen shifted her basket from one hand to the other, her eyes fixed on Tarwë. “What do you think is going to happen?”

“I have no idea. I only feel that it has to do with Lurien. And it is not good.”

“Have you told him?”

Tarwë looked down, feeling a small surge of shame in her failure. “I could not. He has been in no mood for confidences.”

“What about Lady Galadriel? She might have an answer. Perhaps she would allow you to look in her mirror.”

Tarwë shuddered. “My courage fails when I think of that. As difficult as this is, I would rather let the future unfold as it wills. I am a coward.”

“You are not a coward,” Nerwen insisted in a low voice. “I have always found you brave and true. Your love for Lurien is constant no matter what he does. I only pray that his eyes are opened as Rúmil’s were. I pray for the happiness of you both.”

“I pray for that too,” Tarwë said. And bowed her head.

~*~

Since meeting Túre, Telrion had spent almost no time with either Elanor or Minden, but he had made a point to pay them each a visit this day to be sure neither of them were offended. He soon discovered that Minden had hardly noticed his absence; his cousin had found several lovely ellith who were delighted to keep him entertained for the duration of his visit, not to mention that Elladan and Elrohir had any number of friends who were more than happy to include Minden in their doings. As for Elanor, that meeting had gone differently. She had come out of the talan where Haldir lay resting and spoken with him. He had told her about Túre, and been rather taken aback by the coolness of her response.

“Túre?” she had said. “I am surprised, Tel.”

“Why?” He had been conscious of a stab of disappointment that she was not as pleased for him as he hoped she would be. “Túre is sweet and kind and gentle and . . . ” He stopped abruptly as he realized the reason. “She told me she had not been kind to you.”

“No, she was not,” Elanor answered, without elaborating. “But that is not the reason for my hesitation. It is just that she always seems so unhappy to me.”

“She is not unhappy now. I know she regrets the way she treated you.” When Elanor said nothing, he added, “I want you to know that I will be taking Túre back to Imladris with me.” He could have sworn he saw Elanor wince, but then to his relief, her lips curved and she nodded.

“I am glad for you, truly I am.” She touched his arm. “And I will remain here in Lórien with Haldir. He has asked me to stay with him. I have made my decision.”

“I thought you might say that.” He regarded her somberly, aware that he felt no great surprise, yet at the same time he knew a great sadness.

She had changed even more than he had realized, and yet she was the same elleth he had known for so long. He would always love her as a sister, and though he wished she had found love in Imladris so that they would always be together, he was resigned to what had happened. They spoke a little longer, and then he took his leave of her and headed off to see Túre, his heart already beating faster with the knowledge that any moment he would set eyes on her once more.

They came together at the spot they had agreed upon, near the footbridge where they had first seen each other. She had come straight from her kitchen duties, and had a smudge of something white on her cheek. She looked adorable.

She moved straight into his arms without hesitation, her smile so wide and lovely that everything else flew from Telrion’s mind. He hugged her tightly, his world reduced for that instant to just the two of them. Nothing else existed, just he and Túre and the grass they stood on and the leaves beneath their feet. He caressed her hair, fingering the silken tresses, letting his gaze pass over the world around them as if to be sure that everything was as happy as he was. Then his fingers stilled in Túre’s hair. A tall figure stood at the edge of this world, her blue stare slicing him with the icy power of a warrior's blade.

He let go of Túre and stepped back. “Good day,” he said with impeccable politeness.

Túre looked over her shoulder to see whom he had addressed. “Healea!” Her surprise turned into a smile.

“I see you have a new acquaintance, Túre.” When Túre did not immediately reply, the elleth suggested, with definite command in her voice, “Are you going to introduce us?”

There was something in her tone that made Telrion bristle.

“I would be pleased to do so," Túre said hastily, having found her composure. “Healea, this is Telrion of Imladris.” Telrion bowed slightly. “Telrion, this is Healea. Telrion is a scribe for Lord Elrond. And he is far more than an acquaintance,” she added, blushing rosily.

Healea acknowledged him with a measured nod of her head.

He watched Healea walk closer, rather fascinated by this strange elleth who was regarding him with cold suspicion, if not outright distaste. In appearance, she was as regal as Galadriel and as beautiful as the dawn, but she possessed an air of haughty purpose that put him on his guard.

“Telrion of Imladris,” she drawled, with chilly poise. “For a scribe, you are very quick-footed.”

Telrion stiffened and squared his shoulders to his full height, which was not insignificant. “May I know what prompts your remark?” he answered with the most level tone he could muster. Had he had a sword, his hand would very likely have been on the hilt. He felt Túre’s hand on his arm, as if to stay him.

Healea ignored his question. “I suppose,” she mused, in a slightly mocking tone, “that you see love as a game and an amusement of the moment . . . being from a place of poets and star gazers.”

Insulted, Telrion took a step forward. “Perhaps you would consider explaining to me, and to Túre, what prompts that comment.”

Healea gave a wintry smile. “I was referring to the way you seem to have taken possession of Túre after such a brief acquaintance. You move too fast for an honorable elf.”

“And who are you to speak these words? Are you her mother?” he said boldly. He heard Túre's quick intake of breath.

Healea's eyes flashed, a spectacular response to his question. “I am her friend, and thus her protector. I know her in a way you cannot. I am here to be sure no one takes advantage of her.”

“I did not take advantage of her,” he answered evenly. “As she herself will attest, I am sure.”

“Telrion has been very kind to me, Healea,” Túre put in, with a trace of reproach. “He is gentle, loving and considerate. I have been happy since I met him.”

Healea’s gaze softened as she looked at Túre. “Have you?” The question held layers of meaning that Telrion could only guess at.

“Yes.” Once more Túre set her hand protectively on Telrion’s arm, but her eyes remained locked on her friend. “Healea, let us speak privately of this later.”

“Very well.” Healea looked back at Telrion. “I will only say this. Túre is my dear friend, and if you do anything that causes her even the slightest grief, you will hear from me. I am perfectly capable of making sure you regret it.”

Telrion lifted his chin. “Túre will come to no grief with me, you have my word. Quite the reverse. You may be here to defend her, but I am here to ensure her happiness.”

Healea’s stare drilled into him. “You give me your word on that?”

“I do.”

“I will hold you to it,” she warned, as though he might not be entirely trustworthy.

“I am unused to having my word questioned,” was his haughty reply.

She gave him another one of her looks. “So be it.”

Telrion bowed again, wondering what Healea would say when she discovered he meant to take Túre away from Lórien. Oddly enough, he was looking forward to delivering this piece of news.

~*~

Haldir lay looking at the pale cloth ceiling of the healing talan while Elanor read to him from a book of poetry. If they had been lying in the long grass somewhere, with the sun overhead and the wind whispering through the trees, he would have been perfectly content. Instead, he was frustrated. She had alleviated his discomfort this morning, but it had been too quick, and nowhere near as satisfying as he’d hoped. He wanted her fully, that was the problem, and despite her attempts to distract him, his thoughts kept creeping back in that direction. And it annoyed him that his control had slipped so much, for he was normally in complete command of his thoughts, not to mention his carnal yearnings. The indwaedh still weakened him, it seemed. If he was not battling the guilt that Galadriel had admonished him for feeling, then he was battling this other baser need. Either way, he knew no peace.

“Haldir, is something wrong? Are you thirsty?” Elanor was looking at him.

“I am well,” he ground out.

“Still grouchy?” she asked caringly. “Is there something you would like me to fetch for you? What can I do to help?”

“Keep reading, Elanor. Your voice gives me pleasure.”

Another hour passed before the first visitor arrived.

Healea had come to pay her respects to Haldir, but she also wished to draw attention to the fact that Elanor had scarcely moved from his side for a number of days. Some time on the archery field would be good for Elanor, she pointed out in her typically straightforward way.

Haldir immediately realized how selfish he had been not to think of this. “Healea is right, Elanor,” he said at once. “You must go. I do not need you now.”

“Are you certain?” Elanor regarded him closely. “You seem restless.”

“Quite certain. You have neglected your archery too long.”

Healea looked amused. “Come, Elanor, Haldir will survive without you for a while.” As they left the talan, Haldir heard Healea say, “So, tell me about your friend Telrion. What manner of elf is he?”

Their voices faded as they walked away.

Haldir stared glumly at the ceiling, regretting his promise to stay in bed. He itched to get up and walk around, even with the knowledge that it was likely to hurt quite a lot. He was unused to this kind of immobility and that, combined with his other problem, made him feel unusually bad-tempered.

His second visitor arrived a short time later.

“Ah,” Rúmil declared, sitting down in the chair beside the bed, “I thought this might be a good moment to see you. I noticed your protector heading for the archery field with Healea. I am surprised she was willing to leave your side.” His eyes twinkled merrily, but Haldir only grunted. He was in no mood to be amused.

“I have something to tell you,” Rúmil said casually.

Haldir arched a brow.

“You might show a little more interest. This is important.”

“I am riveted. Tell me your news. You have a captive audience.”

Rúmil grinned. “True enough. Remember when I told you about a certain elleth who would have naught to do with me?”

“I remember a lot of grousing, yes. We are talking about Nerwen?”

“How did you know?” Rúmil seemed very surprised.

“It was obvious,” Haldir said in a pained voice. “Especially after the singing incident.” He stared up at the ceiling, recalling the appalling song his brother had shouted to all of Lórien.

“Ah yes.” Rúmil smiled ruefully. “Well, everything is perfect now. Nerwen and I are in love.”

“Oh?” Haldir knew he sounded skeptical.

“Do you doubt me? Do you think me incapable of falling in love?”

“Not exactly,” Haldir said diplomatically. “Are you saying this is serious?”

“I am saying it is eternal,” Rúmil told him. “I have vowed to take no other lover. I love her and only her. I hope to bind myself to her, though I have not asked her yet.”

Hearing this, and looking into his brother’s clear blue eyes, Haldir knew a moment of genuine shock. It was obvious Rúmil meant what he said, and for some reason this awoke in Haldir a strange and aching melancholy. Memories flooded him, some of them bittersweet, but others filled with remembered joy deriving from a time when his entire family had been together. “First Orophin and now you,” he said finally. “Things are changing. I wish our parents were here to see it.”

Rúmil acknowledged this with a deep sigh. “Well, they will know eventually. Someday the sea will call us home and we will meet again.”

They were both silent for a time, reflecting on the many years that were likely to pass before they sailed to the West. Then Haldir said, “Rúmil, I want you to do me a favor.”

“What is it?”

Haldir first explained his problem.

Rúmil smirked. “Such suffering! But why tell me? Speak to Elanor.”

Resisting the urge to cuff his brother, Haldir detailed the favor he needed.

Rúmil’s grin broadened. “Tonight?”

“Tomorrow,” Haldir said regretfully. “I grow stronger each day.”

“Well, I suppose it is the least I can do considering how helpful you were when I came to you with *my* problem.” The word ‘helpful’ was spoken in a sarcastic tone.

“What did I say?” Haldir said uneasily.

“You told me to court her,” Rúmil informed him succinctly.

Haldir relaxed. “Good advice. So that is what you did?”

“In a manner of speaking. I threw Nerwen over my shoulder and carried her off to my talan.”

“That worked?” Haldir was astonished.

Rúmil grew suddenly evasive. “It was rather more involved than that. You do not want the details.”

“No, I do not,” Haldir agreed. “I suppose you are saying my advice was not helpful.”

Rúmil laughed. “No, it was not. But I managed.”

Haldir tried to look remorseful.

“Never fear, I will help you,” Rúmil said kindly, “because I love you, brother. I do not mention it very often, but I do.” He rose to his feet. “Nerwen awaits me so I will go now. I will return tomorrow.”

Left alone, Haldir decided that his mood had very much improved.

~*~

Lurien paced the floor of his talan, unable to rest even now, long after his guard duty had ended. He had not gone back to Tarwë, although a part of him yearned to do so. But no, he had something important to do and it must be done tonight. He should not have delayed this long; time was running out.

Leaving his home, he chose a circuitous route through the pathways of the city. He stayed in the shadows, stealthily avoiding all the places where he knew the night Sentinels stood guard. He passed no one on the way, for he had waited until the darkest hour of the night to conduct his business.

When he reached Haldir’s home he paused outside, listening carefully to assure himself that Elanor had not decided to return. As expected, he heard nothing from within. Devoted little Elanor remained in the healing talan with Haldir, probably holding his hand while he slept, Lurien thought with a sneer.

He slipped inside and looked around, his sensitive ears attuned for the slightest sound, but she was not here; no one was. He had picked his moment well.

It felt odd to be here, in the home of his enemy, and for a moment he stood still, noting the various emotions that tumbled through him along with a jarring sense of unreality. In his mind he could almost hear Tarwë’s voice telling him it was not too late to turn back. Frowning, he shook off this belated attack of conscience and began to assess his surroundings in order to determine where she might have put the letters.

Despite the dark, he could clearly see that they had not been left in sight, so he began to poke around the room and within minutes found them tucked within a cabinet set beneath one of the windows. His muscles taut with anticipation, he drew them out and unfolded them, using the faint light of the moon to see. A slow smile grew on his face as he read.

The letter from the mother told him some of what had transpired in Imladris, but the one from the sister was the real jewel. The sister was clearly a silly little fool, he thought with contempt. Elanor, on the other hand, was no fool, and Lurien was conscious of a stab of admiration for her tactics. The letter contained enough information to suggest what had happened, and it was absolutely incredible and quite delicious. Somehow she had given a sleeping draught to Haldir and then tied him up, something Lurien could never have imagined any elleth would dare do to the mighty Marchwarden. How entertaining! Little Elanor had bested and humiliated Haldir, something that Lurien himself had not yet managed to do. And how Haldir must have hated it.

He would have to compliment her when the time came.

******

[tbc]