Oathbound, Heartbroken *COMPLETE*

Title: Oathbound, Heartbroken 3/?
Author: Eawen Penallion
email: cross_stitcherire@yahoo.com
LiveJournal: http://www.livejournal.com/users/eawen_penallion/
Type: FPS
Beta: Most excellent Nienna, so encouraging!
Disclaimer: all rights to the characters belong to JRR
Tolkien - I'm only playing with them.
Pairing: Haldir/Melpomaen
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Slash, explicit sexual encounters between two males.
Timeline: Middle of the Third Age
Feedback: Yes please,
Archive: OEAM, AFF, LJ, anywhere else, please ask

Summary : Haldir has waited for his soulmate for all his life, and now seems to have found that elf. But to claim his love, he must break an oath.


Chapter 3


Haldir awoke with a fierce headache and a mouth that tasted like the slops of Lothlórien's most frequented tavern. As well he should know, for a much younger, much more naïve Galadhel had partaken of those slops as part of his 'initiation' into the Galadhrim over two thousand years ago. He smiled wryly in remembrance of that time, and then quickly diverted his mind away from other, more painful memories of that night. Memories that had far too much relevance for his thoughts and acts at this moment in his life. Through the drink-induced throbbing, Haldir tried to remember the sequence of events of the previous evening, and grimaced at the dismal recollections. His exit from the Halls of Healing; his fight with Orophin; the scolding of his Lord. Then Doron had arrived, his eyes blazing in defence of his beloved.

"Why did you attack him, Haldir? He loves you! He loves you beyond any remembrance of your father. And now you turn on him for simply trying to help you. Some brother *you* are!"

Haldir had bitten his tongue on the angry words he could have thrown back, for he did not wish to send his brother out on patrol with enmity between them.

"I love him too, Doron, but I can only ask him again not to interfere in my life. I must tread my own path." Doron had remonstrated at this, not taking the proffered olive branch.

"The path that is giving you so much pain and sorrow? Forgive us, Haldir, but we cannot stand idly by whilst you hurt so much." Doron paused, trying to gather courage to address the most grievous hurt that Orophin bore. "Haldir, tôren... It is not true what Oro said, is it? You are not one of those rare edhel who has distaste for love within the same gender? I thought that this prejudice belonged only to the Secondborn, but I recently read something that suggested that it was true of some of the Eldar too, even in recent years. Haldir, do you despise us?"

The pain and disappointment in Doron's voice struck hard in Haldir's heart and he had hurried to reassure his beloved brother-in-law, gathering Doron into his arms.

"Oh no, sweet Doron! No, no! I love you so much, for yourself and for bringing Oro such happiness. Your love is a beauteous thing, so obvious in its joy and rightness of being. I have no prejudice. I even envy you - I envy the freedom you both had to choose each other."

Haldir had bit his lip as Doron pulled back to look at him in surprise. He had not meant to say the last few words, but in his anguish he had not controlled his thoughts or tongue.

"Haldir, do you mean to say that you *could* love an ellon? Or that you do? Why do you fight the attraction then? You have the same freedom that we had. You have the same freedom to find the other half of your fëa, be it an ellon or an elleth."

Once again, Haldir had shaken his head, desperately wishing that Doron were not so perceptive or analytical. His training in scholarly pursuits meant that not much passed his notice, for words were his life and he was a master of intonation and intent. "No, dearest Doron. For I must have children, and an ellon cannot give me that hope. Your way is not open to me."

Doron had looked straight into his eyes, examining him closely and Haldir's heart sank for he knew that once again his errant tongue had misspoken.

"*Must* have children? Haldir, you have always talked of wanting elflings, but never of 'must' or 'need'. No elf has had the potential of children laid upon them as a duty, as an absolute necessity to procreate, save for the Silvan of Mirkwood under Oropher's reign - and the need there was to maintain a population devastated by war and other evils. Thranduil released those restrictions from his people over a hundred years ago, seeing them truly as an abrogation of his subjects' rights. But you are a Silvan of Lothlórien, not of Mirkwood."

Haldir had smiled wistfully. "I *am* of Greenwood heritage of but two generations ago, through my grandfather. He moved to Lothlórien when Amroth ruled." His mouth twisted. "Perhaps I have - no, it has no bearing. Doron if, as you say, my life is my own then I must follow the way set before me. Please, return to Orophin and enjoy his company for the brief time left. If he wishes to talk to me about his new command then I am available."

After Doron had departed, Haldir had steeled himself for a visit from his youngest brother, but Rúmil had been a little more discreet in his approach. His son, Alagion, had arrived with an invitation to dinner, which Haldir had declined.

"I would not make good company tonight, pen-neth," he had said, ruffling his nephew's hair affectionately. "But tell your ada that I invited you and your sister to stay with me tomorrow night, so that your parents may have some time alone before his return to the border."

Once alone again, Haldir had kept company with a bottle of wine and a book - save that, unusually, the book had been left unread and the bottle was soon joined by two of its brethren. In the early hours of the morning, Haldir had slipped into a drink-induced stupor, where his dreams were invaded by melting chocolate-brown eyes, and silken, auburn-tinged hair...

It took much effort in the dawning light of day, but Haldir finally moved from under the sleep-tangled sheets of the bed to his bathing chamber - an unusual luxury that he gave much thanks for this morning. He filled the tub with water from the capillary-fed pipes, deliberately setting the water to a shivering cold temperature. When he finally emerged, chilled as no elf should be, he felt at least awake enough to take on his new duties. Ringing the excess water out of his dripping hair, he thought upon his clothing for the day. Normally when within the city Haldir eschewed the dull and dreadful greys of his Galadhrim uniform for much brighter hues that at least gave the true proportion of his muscle-honed figure. He had realised millennia ago that the bulky grey tabard turned him into that which he most definitely was not - a fat elf. Yet today he felt the need to assert his position and to suppress his personality in the dour grey. He did not allow himself to dwell upon the reasons for that choice, but dressed anyway and set off to his task.

Under any other circumstances Haldir would have revelled in this assignment, for it combined the two sides of his life to perfection - the skills of a warrior leader complementing his adoration of the lore of his land. To have three months of this would have been bliss, if it were not for one thing - one person. A person who was absent, Haldir quickly realised when he entered the library. Feelings of relief and disappointment warred within him as he recognised that Melpomaen had not yet been released from his sickbed in the Halls of Healing. Haldir raised his hand in greeting to Doron, who smiled and approached him from across the library floor, threading his way through racks of books and scrolls.

"Maer aur, Haldir," he smiled. "Your party is assembling in the North Room, ready to begin work." He paused and narrowed his eyes to examine his brother-in-law's face. "You look terrible!"

Haldir smiled weakly. "Aye, I could be better, but for my punishment I entertained more wine than I ought - and now I have also promised to take Alagion and Tólaes tonight, to give Rúmil and Meluiwen a night's peace."

Doron threw up his hands in mock alarm. "Ai! You are braver than I, mellon-nín! But I have to say; your dress sense seems to have suffered as well. However, the effort is wasted, for he is not here."

Haldir looked at him with a warning on his face. Doron laughed.

"Alright, I know - none of my business! This meeting though *is* my business. Our lord, in his wisdom, has decreed that being married to a warden has given me an insight into the ways of war. Well, I suppose that after a thousand years of your brother spilling his stories into my ear, he is right. I am to join you on this quest."

The North Room was simply named for a wide room that was illuminated by the bright clear light of the northern sky, without the potentially harmful rays of the sun in its journey through the firmament. It was a talan situated high in one of the larger mellyrn, so that it was free of the shadows of branches and golden leaves. A door led out onto a large balcony, which afforded spectacular views of the Misty Mountains and the plains to the edge of the southern reaches of Mirkwood.

The occupants of the room were already busy and two large tables were strewn with scrolls, maps and scraps of notepaper, as the librarians of the two realms pored over the documents. Haldir took a few moments to register the difference in dress of the scribes, for the Rivendell elves seemed almost like peacocks in their richly-coloured velvets and silks, whereas the Lórien scholars faded to pallid ghosts in their silver-greys and off-whites. A vision flashed into Haldir's mind of silken auburn hair cascading sumptuously over cream brocade, and he flushed when he registered a hardening in his groin. Ai, no - he could not think that way. He would *not* think that way.

To divert his mind he searched for his counterpart, and saw the golden-haired lord seated in a high-backed chair at a corner table, immersed in a leather-bound volume. Glorfindel looked up as Haldir approached and, from the expression on his face, the seneschal of Imladris looked none too pleased to see him. A minor battle seemed to be raging within the warrior, a battle which was conceded and released in a sigh and a slight smile directed at the Marchwarden.

"Good morning, Haldir. I hope that you have come ready to work," - he gestured at the untidy table - "for we have much to do."

Haldir nodded, knowing that whatever had angered Glorfindel - and he suspected that he knew the cause - the golden lord had set it aside in order to focus upon this most urgent undertaking. Bending over the table to look at the subject matter he saw that Glorfindel had elected to start at the beginning, for his reading material consisted of the earliest accounts of battles between the Noldorian Exiles and Morgoth, waged after their return to Middle Earth from Valinor at the beginning of the First Age. The morning flew, for Haldir was fascinated by the correlation of the two points of view - the historical records versus the eye-witness accounts of Glorfindel. The seneschal gave praise for accuracy where praise was due, but snorted in derision at other, less reliable tales.

"Some of this is pure fantasy!" he cried more than once. Haldir was reminded of nothing more that a clucking hen as Glorfindel continued to click his tongue in annoyance at one particular writer of 'fiction'. A curvature of the lips became a smile of amusement, then a grin, and finally Haldir burst out in a loud guffaw at the increasingly ludicrous stream of derision issuing forth from the mouth of the seneschal. Glorfindel looked up in surprise at hearing the Marchwarden's laughter, for Haldir of Lórien was not much known for public exhibitions of mirth. The surprise lasted for but a moment, then the Lord of Gondolin laughed too, his hearty chuckle rolling merrily around the room, lifting the spirits of all who toiled in this potentially depressing task. He threw the offending document onto a pile in mock disgust.

"Ai," he said, "I told better fairy stories to my son when he was but a ten year old elfling!"

It was Haldir's turn to be surprised at the mention of a son, for the marriage of Glorfindel of Gondolin to Erestor, chief counsellor of Imladris, was a love story that had encompassed three ages, and their devotion was legendary. Haldir had no time to ponder on this amazing revelation when the seneschal made to stand.

"I think that we have been at this long enough, meldir. I am in need of refreshment, and I see that they have laid out a repast at tables on the balcony. Come, let us assuage our hunger and quench our thirst, then we shall be all the better to re-enter the fray." Glorfindel gestured to the many untouched piles of scrolls filling the large room. "An army cannot fight upon an empty stomach, eh?"

Haldir's answer was an embarrassing rumble from said stomach, and a short laugh when he realised just how hungry he was. He had had no appetite on rising, and any thought of food then had set in motion a roiling reaction through his innards. Now they protested at the neglect, and he eagerly joined Glorfindel at the lunch table. The food was plentiful and the view spectacular, and the company excellent as the two lord warriors reminisced about their previous encounters. Finally Glorfindel looked about him, admiringly scanning the treetops.

"Ai, it is so quiet and peaceful here, mellon-nín. At times too peaceful for me - one grows used to the constant rumble of the falling cascades. It becomes an accompaniment to all your activities, and one scarcely notices it until, like now, it is absent. I do admit that I had a great deal of trouble finding my reverie last night." He paused, looking carefully at Haldir's eyes, which were still somewhat bloodshot from the excesses of the previous night. "I can see that you had to resort to the old remedy too?"

Haldir grimaced. "A little over-indulgence on my first night home," he admitted. Glorfindel clapped his shoulder.

"Well, how about a little of the hair-of-the-dog this evening then? To set you to rights?"

Haldir shook his head and took a deliberate sip of the refreshing fruit cordial that had been set out for them.

"Not tonight, my lord. My brothers take up their duties again tomorrow, so I have promised the youngest that I will care for his elflings. I will have a busy enough night without the confusion of more wine!"

Glorfindel grinned. "Aye, elflings tangle your heart and destroy your house - but they are worth it. And when they hurt, all that you want to do is to sooth their grieving hearts and dry their tears..."

The words were said with sadness, and Haldir's own heart clenched; but so did his jaw, for he would not be drawn into this indelicate if mild inquisition. Glorfindel glanced at the sky but the balcony faced the wrong direction to afford a view of the sun.

"Ah, I cannot tell the precise hour, but in talking of elflings I am reminded that I promised to visit my young Mel today." He looked sideways at Haldir and his light tone could not disguise a questioning lilt. "I believe that you visited him yesterday, Haldir? A kindly gesture."

Haldir did not allow his feelings to show as he responded to the deliberate probe. "It was the right thing to do. Please pass on to Master Melpomaen my sincerest wishes for a speedy recovery." He turned to look directly at the golden lord, enduring his long examination of Haldir's expressionless face. Finally Glorfindel gave a brief nod as if satisfied at some quiet conclusion.

"I will, Haldir. I will pass on your wishes - from one edhel to another."

Haldir kept his face composed, glad of his ability to maintain a stoic mien in the face of engagement. For he felt as if he were fighting a battle, with the seneschal, with his family - and most of all with himself. It seemed now as if he had won this battle to pretend - no, to *uphold* - his disinterest in the young scribe. Yes, he had won the battle.

So why did he feel as if he were losing the war?

TBC


Elvish:
tôren - my brother
edhel - elf (sing)
fëa - soul
pen-neth - young one
Ada - father (dad)
Maer aur - good morning
mellon-nín - my friend
meldir - friend