ELANOR'S REVENGE

Thank you very, very much to our reviewers. We will TRULY try to write the next chapter right away! Sorry for the long wait. We hope you enjoy this chapter! Hugs, J&F

*****

Chapter Thirty

True to his promise, Haldir continued to rest the next day, albeit with a meekness that was both uncharacteristic and suspicious. Elanor was so attuned to him that she could not help wondering about it as well as the odd glint she occasionally saw in his eyes when he looked at her. Still, she was so pleased by his unusually docile behavior that she decided not to question it, and instead busied herself with some mending, making idle comments from time to time while Haldir gazed toward the open door at the softly rustling leaves outside the talan.

This continued until Elrond paid his usual mid-morning visit. The Lord of Imladris examined Haldir, changed the dressings on his shoulder wounds and then departed again, leaving Haldir and Elanor alone in a silence charged with inexplicable tension.

Elanor studied Haldir’s face, noting that he appeared far less weary and bored than he had the day before, or even an hour ago. Pondering this, she could think of nothing to account for the subtle and mysterious shift in his mood, for he was still lying peacefully under the blanket where he belonged and nothing had occurred between them . . . that she knew about.

“What is it?” she finally blurted. “Haldir, why are you looking at me like that?”

His lips quirked into a faint, bland smile. “How am I looking at you, Elanor?”

“As though you know something I do not,” she said tartly. She set aside her mending and gazed at him with suspicion.

“That is an absurd statement. I know a great many things that you do not. But I fail to see how any of them could be pertinent to the moment.”

She folded her arms under her bosom. “You are toying with me, Haldir. What are you thinking? Do you have tidings of which I am unaware?”

His lips twitched. “No tidings. Guess again.”

Elanor watched his face, searching for hints of an explanation. “I can think of nothing else,” she said, a shade grumpily. As Haldir’s smile grew, she could feel the shimmering hum of the indwaedh pulsing within her, its steady cadence a constant reminder of him on a level that no words could ever have describe.

“Would it help if I told you that I always pay my debts?”

“Your debts?” she said blankly.

“Shut the door, Elanor. And lock it.”

Her eyes widened in sudden comprehension. “Haldir, don’t be absurd.”

“Please do as I ask,” he said patiently.

“You are not ready for such things yet. You are not healed enough.” She tried to keep her eyes on his face, but the cock of his eyebrow, along with his heated masculine appraisal, was enough to make her blush. “Unless you just want me to touch you as I did yesterday?” she added, trying to keep her voice steady.

“No, that is not what I want. I want you to lock the door. And then I want you to take your gown off . . . slowly, while I watch. After that . . . you will see what I have in mind.”

The command—for that was what it was--brought a rush of heat surging through her body, a shudder of desire she knew she failed to hide from his knowing eyes. Irked and aroused, she said, “I will not! Someone might come, Haldir! What if Lord Elrond returns, or Lady Galadriel, or that healer, Hírion?” The mere thought appalled her.

“No one will come.” He was maddeningly composed.

“You do not know that!” Her fingers twisted together, her apprehension mixed with a growing ache deep inside her.

“On the contrary, I do know it. Elanor, walk over and look outside before you close the door and lock it. What do you see?”

Perplexed, Elanor did as she was told, and when she peered outside, she saw to her astonishment that at the end of the walkway leading to the nearest set of steps lounged . . . Rúmil. What made it so extraordinary was that Haldir’s brother appeared to have selected that highly curious location to sit down and read a book. His body completely blocked the approach to the healing talan.

Elanor swung around. “Haldir, what is Rúmil doing there?”

“He’s guarding our privacy, sweetling. Satisfied? No one will interrupt us.”

“You arranged this?” she asked in slight shock.

“I did.” Haldir’s gaze drifted over her, a provocative tilt to his mouth. “I want you, Elanor. Now please take off your dress. I want to watch you unveil yourself to my eyes . . . slowly.”

Elanor shook her head. “This is not a good idea. You cannot seriously believe that Rúmil would forbid Lady Galadriel to pass.”

“You fail to give my brother credit. It would not be a question of forbidding her. He would know what to say. He has boundless creativity.”

“But she would guess,” she pointed out, blushing at the thought.

“She might,” he acknowledged. “But if she did, she would not intrude upon us. Have faith, Elanor. Do you think I seek an interruption? I have thought this through, and I trust my brother.” His gaze traveled over her once more, undressing her with his eyes.

She bit her lip. “You are sure of this?”

“You once said you trusted me.”

“I do. It is just that . . .” She paused, thinking it over. “Yes, of course I trust you.” She closed the door and pushed the privacy latch into place. “I trust you,” she repeated. Her eyes locked with his, she reached around and began to undo the back lacing on her gown.

Once it was loose, she self-consciously hesitated, but an imperious gesture from Haldir told her to move closer to the bed. “Ease it off your shoulders and let it slide down,” he instructed, his voice taking on a caressing huskiness. “Very slowly . . . that’s it. You are so beautiful, Elanor. Let it fall gradually, just . . . like . . . that . . . yes.”

As the silky fabric slipped past her breasts, she felt her nipples tingle and harden into stiff peaks. She glanced quickly toward the door and then back at Haldir, whose silver gaze gleamed with blatant male appreciation. And, suddenly, Elanor felt very sensual. With newfound daring, she pushed the gown with the palms of her hands so it slithered down her hips, watching the way Haldir’s nostrils flared and his chest moved with his quickened breathing. Then he caught sight of her pantelettes.

She froze, expecting disapproval, but all he said was, “They are pretty, Elanor. Take them off. Slowly.”

She did so, her heart fluttering wildly. When she stood naked before him, he had new commands, ones that flustered her more than she might have predicted given the number of times they had already made love. The first part was simple enough, to remove the blanket that covered him, and to straddle his hips while sitting back on his thighs. But he wanted to watch her to touch her own breasts.

“Do not be shy, Elanor. Just caress them the way I do,” he instructed, his black velvet voice sending a responsive shudder through her body. “Lift them and stroke them, play with those beautiful nipples. Explore your body like you just discovered it. Like I do when I touch you.”

Elanor followed his directions, part of her loving it and part of her feeling ridiculously self-conscious. Slowly, a heady languor stole over her, relaxing her to the point where she could take pleasure in what was so obviously pleasurable for him. Under his heated gaze, she let her palms drift sensuously over her breasts, stomach and hips. Boldly, she even let one hand slide down between her legs so that it grazed the secret place that only he had seen.

“Yes, do that again,” he murmured. “Touch yourself there, Elanor.”

This was harder to do with him watching, but she was soon enthralled by the intimacy of it. Haldir’s murmured encouragements and obvious delight loosened her inhibitions so that she was soon as aroused as he was. And aroused he was, very evidently so.

“Bend down and kiss me,” he whispered, “then let me taste your breasts.”

Despite his lying on his back, Elanor soon realized that Haldir was quite able to participate in an assortment of delicious ways, including one that slightly shocked her until she became lost in the pleasure of it. How much time passed she had no idea, but eventually he directed her to ease herself down onto him, to take him between her thighs until he was buried deep inside her. It was the first time she had done this without his assistance, but it was not difficult since she was very ready for him. When he was fully seated, she glanced at him with a question in her eyes.

“You must take charge,” he said, his voice thick and urgent with need. “Ease yourself up and down my length. Carefully, my love.”

Elanor nodded, understanding that she must not jostle his injured ribs. However, despite her best efforts to be gentle, Haldir’s breath hissed in sharply almost at once. Alarmed, she stilled her movements, waiting and watching anxiously while he drew several deep and frustrated breaths.

“Try rocking instead,” he said through gritted teeth. “Shift your weight from side to side, very gently. Yes, like that . . . better . . . much better, Elanor . . . just like that . . .”

Inhaling deeply, he arched his neck and shut his eyes, but after the first few moments he recalled himself and reached out with his left hand to find her pleasure spot. Deftly, he stroked her in rhythm with the rocking motion, tending to her pleasure while he watched her face, every shift of his expert fingers an effort to offer her delight. The pleasure was incredible, burning through her with an intensity greater than she had ever known. It throbbed through her with a powerful tempo, strumming her nerve endings, her body aching with desire for more and more and more of his touch . . . .

~*~

Outside the talan, Rúmil sat perusing the slim book he had borrowed from Lord Celeborn’s library. The section that interested him was on marriage customs of the Eldar, a topic he had deliberately ignored as much as possible for as long as possible. It was not information he had ever thought he would need.

After reviewing the basics, he realized he needed a ring for Nerwen. He studied some sample illustrations, but none of them suited him. He would have to come up with his own design. Aware that he was about to be interrupted, he closed the book, wondering with a small grin how long the door to the healing talan would remain closed. Not too long, he suspected. Haldir had sounded quite anxious when they had spoken the day before.

“Ahem,” said a censorious voice.

Rúmil glanced over his shoulder and saw the well-known silver robes of one of Lórien’s foremost and, in Rúmil’s opinion, most annoying healers. “Yes?”

“I would like to pass,” Hírion informed him pointedly, “if you would be so good as to move out of the way.”

“I regret to say that is not possible right now.” Rúmil lifted his leg and propped it higher against the rail to make passage even more difficult.

“Do not be absurd. Move aside at once, if you please.”

“But I do not please,” Rúmil remarked.

One pale brow arched. “May I ask why?”

“Because my brother is occupied.”

“Occupied?” The healer’s voice was sharp. “What is he occupied with?”

“With his rest,” Rúmil said smoothly.

“I will not disturb him. I only wish to observe him.”

Rúmil rose to his feet and faced the healer. “I cannot allow it.”

“And why not?” Hírion’s complexion was turning pink with annoyance.

“Because it is not a good time for you to visit.”

“I will be the judge of that!” Hírion snapped. “Now step aside.”

“No.” Rúmil crossed his arms over his chest.

“Young warden, I am losing patience!”

“You are not the only one!” Rúmil remarked with a roll of his eyes. “Come back later, Hírion. My brother’s door is closed to you and I am guarding it.”

Hírion made an inarticulate sputter and glared. Rúmil smiled sweetly at him. For a long moment neither of them moved, and then the healer spun on his heel and huffed off, very much to Rúmil’s relief.

When the healer was out of sight, Rúmil cast a quick look toward the talan’s closed door. “Hurry up you two,” he muttered beneath his breath. He settled down once more with his book and tried to suppress a small grin.

~*~

When Elanor’s release ripped through her, its power and force took her completely by surprise. Shuddering with undulations of indescribable sensations, she barely prevented herself from collapsing flat onto Haldir’s injured ribs. She was acutely aware that his release had also occurred and that he was gasping and shuddering, his chest heaving as though he were on the brink of drowning.

“Elanor . . . by the Valar, that was . . . it must be the indwaedh that . . ” He seemed unable to say more, for shudders were still pulsing through his body. Oddly, she could feel them almost as though they were her own, as though his climax had somehow mingled with hers.

“The indwaedh?” Still dazed, she barely managed to gasp the words.

Haldir reached for her hand, holding it while they stared at each other with pounding hearts. Eventually, he was able to say, in nearly his normal voice, “I felt my own pleasure and yours too. It was . . . the unfamiliar combined with the familiar. Very pleasurable and . . . most amazing.”

“Yes, I felt yours too. It is as you say.” She gave him a shy grin and clenched her thighs against the sides of his hips, savoring the feel of him beneath and inside her.

“The indwaedh holds strange powers.” After a long pause, he added, “Perhaps this is a taste of what it feels like to bound to another in marriage.”

Elanor searched his face, wondering if he meant to say more on this subject, but he did not, and she dared not. “I should dress,” she murmured. “And tidy you up.”

Quietly, she went about that task while he lay there, watching her with lazy enjoyment. When she drew the blanket over him, he said, “When you open the door, Rúmil will know to go away. I feel a great deal better now, by the way. All I need is a drink.”

She reached for his cup. “I am glad I could be of assistance,” she said, a bit teasingly. “Does milord desire anything else from his dutiful ward?”

Haldir’s eyes held an affectionate gleam. “Not at the moment, Elanor. But I will let my dutiful ward know if anything comes to mind . . . which it very well may.”

~*~

The following day, Haldir stood for the first time on his own while Elanor stood by, watching closely while Hírion and his assistant helped Haldir into a loose robe. As annoying as she found Hírion and his crony, she had to admit they were being gentle and caring with their patient. Leaving the plants for now, she gathered up a selection of personal items and followed Haldir, who was finally leaving the healing talan flanked by the two Lórien healers.

Elrond was waiting outside. “Your guardian is faring well,” he said to her. “He has no need of me now, though his need for you remains.”

“You think he needs me, my lord?”

“As he needs no other.” Elrond’s mouth curved upward. “I do believe you have tamed him.”

Elanor smiled. “Nay, my lord, that cannot be. He is still very much himself.”

Elrond inclined his head in acknowledgement. “Then let us say instead that your love for him has smoothed his rougher edges.” His eyes held humor and discernment. “For you do love him, do you not?”

“I do, my lord.” Elanor looked down self-consciously, but Elrond lifted her chin with his hand.

“I am well pleased,” he said quietly. “He is a fine ellon, worthy of your love.” He paused, studying her with a faint smile. “Are you vexed with Telrion?”

Surprised by the question, Elanor considered this briefly. “Only surprised, my lord. Not vexed.”

“You are more than surprised, Elanor. I sense that you are displeased, but you ought not to be. Recollect that not every flower blooms at the same time. Each has its season, a right and perfect moment to unfurl. The elleth, Túre, is a rare flower. Her many thorns have nearly hidden her fragile beauty, but Telrion is discerning enough to see past them.” He paused again. “I have given him permission to take her with him when we leave.”

“And when is that?” Elanor asked him, his voice subdued. Truthfully, the idea of losing Telrion troubled her far more than the idea of his loving Túre.

Elrond appeared to reflect on this. “I feel no pressing urge to leave. My sons are enjoying the visit with their mother’s parents, so I will linger for a while. When I go, perhaps you will have some letters for me to take along.”

“Indeed I will, my lord. Thank you.” With a small bow, Elanor walked away, trying not to think of the letters that she still must write . . . or the ones she would likely receive back in response to what she would say.

~*~

As the days slid by, Haldir’s broken bones and damaged shoulder muscles began to show considerable improvement. His strength increased, as did his shaken confidence, and he knew peace within himself once more.

The meeting with his wardens had gone far better than he’d expected. Despite what Rúmil and Orophin and even Galadriel had told him, Haldir had been braced for the worst. In his heart, he’d believed that his mistake with the Orcs would cost him a loss of respect among his people, and most especially among the wardens of Lothlórien for whom he had long been an example and a leader. The condemnation would not have been in their words or even their faces, but in their eyes. He would have seen it if it had been there. He would have known.

With Elanor’s permission, he had told them about the indwaedh, explaining how its magical effects had invaded his mind and distracted him, although he had naturally not explained the specifics of what had been on his mind. But he had apologized for his lack of good judgment, explained that he would soon be himself again, and pledged to them that he would not resume his duties unless and until he was fit to lead them once more.

He’d been met with unmatched, unified support and more understanding and sympathy that he would ever have anticipated. Their faith in him was undiminished.

And even though he had spoken to them in a group, they had been coming to him individually for days now, one by one, as if on some secret schedule, so that his afternoons and evenings had been filled with conversations he had never thought to have. In simple language abounding with respectful sincerity, each warden made it clear that he was still loyal to Haldir and confident in his ability to lead. The ones who were off duty in Caras Galadhon had come first, but with each rotation in guard duty, more and more of them had come. He was profoundly touched.

As each day passed, he found he was better able to stay focused on something besides Elanor. Toward the end of the fourth week he had started to wield his bow once more, to challenge his shoulder and arm to see how far he had come in his healing. All things considered, he had done well, although the draw of the bowstring sorely tested his muscles, and his shoulders ached afterward. He had much to do to regain his former level of fitness, but he would do it.

The wondrous effects of the indwaedh continued to astound him. He understood now that it was just as Elrond predicted--he could tuck away the jewel’s magical effects in a private corner of his mind, as though it existed behind a door that he could open and shut with but a flicker of his will.

Needless to say, he left the door in his mind wide open when he was making love to Elanor, with staggering consequences. It was as though the indwaedh recognized his deepest feelings for her, and in some way transmuted them into an enhanced sexual experience for each of them. The delights of physical love were still new to Elanor, and although she had pleased him very well right from the start, he had noticed that she could now read him better, seeming to know without being told what would most enhance his pleasure at any given moment.

It was the same for him. When they made love, he was newly aware of her feelings-–both physical and emotional-–in a way that he had never been before. When she felt pleasure, he not only knew about it, he felt it along with his own, as well as the intense love she bore for him, which came at him in inexplicable waves, suffusing his body in rapture. Their blended climaxes were so intense that he sometimes wondered if he would survive to experience another one.

Content with the knowledge that he had many days or even weeks before he must leave her to resume his duties, he made love to her as often as possible, enjoying his days of recovery far more than he would ever have expected.

It just seemed like the right thing to do.

~*~

Elanor had resumed work in Galadriel’s garden now that Haldir had recommenced archery practice. She was at peace working among the flowers, the damp earth smell rising up to mingle with the floral scents. Or at least she had been at peace until today. Today Haldir meant to try his hand at swordplay, which he’d admitted was more demanding on his arm and shoulder than archery. This concerned her, although he said he was ready and told her not to worry. She could come and watch if she liked, he had said, and kissed her on the mouth. It was an invitation she decided to accept, simply to assure herself that all was well.

When she arrived at the practice grounds, she found Rúmil standing off to the side, his arms folded over his chest while he watched two elves she did not know spar with each other. She crossed over to Rúmil, shading her eyes while she searched for Haldir. She found him a moment later, just entering the grounds in Orophin’s company. He sent her an almost imperceptible nod, letting her know that he was aware of her presence.

“He will fight with Orophin?” she asked Rúmil.

“Yes, but do not worry. They will be careful.”

“What makes you think I am worried?” She’d been trying so hard to sound calm, with only a casual interest in the day’s doings.

Rúmil emitted a soft laugh. “Because I know you, Elanor. I have seen you fuss over my brother these past weeks, spoiling and pampering him long after he was out of all danger. You have undone what Orophin and I spent centuries creating, and that was a certain amount of humility in our dear eldest brother. There will be no living with him now, you know.” His twinkling eyes belied his critical words, making her laugh.

“Everyone should have one person in their lives to spoil them,” she replied, with a meaningful nudge on his arm. “Do you not have Nerwen?”

“Ah, but she does not spoil me,” he said good-naturedly.

“No?” Elanor smiled widely. “That is not what I hear.”

Rúmil put his arm around her shoulders, as though he was about to tell her a great secret. “Pay no heed to what Nerwen tells you. Any pampering I get from her is richly deserved. I was woefully ignored until recently, and she wishes to atone. What can I do but allow it?”

Elanor laughed, and was about to tease him further when she saw that Orophin and Haldir had begun to spar. She fell silent, watched in spellbound anxiousness as Haldir forced himself nearly beyond his limits, or so it seemed to her. She was grateful that Rúmil patiently explained what they were trying to achieve while reassuring her that Haldir was not being harmed. Orophin was simply taking Haldir through a series of exercises that grew progressively more intricate. They would know when to stop.

“Do you think my being here distracts him?” she asked at one point, when she saw Haldir pause and hold up his hand to Orophin, indicating his need for a breather.

Rúmil shook his head. “He says he has learned to block out the effects of the jewel. Without its influence, Haldir’s capacity to focus is absolute.” He paused, his eyes on his brothers, who stood close together, their voices quiet. “As countless of our enemies have learned,” he added softly.

Elanor could not repress a shiver at those last words.

Haldir shortly ended the session, sheathing his sword with a final shake of his head, as though he were annoyed with himself. She slipped away down the path, intending to return to the garden, but Haldir soon caught up with her. “Running away?” he teased as his arm slid around her waist.

“Not at all.” She smiled up at him. “I merely return to my work in the garden.”

She caught the sweet tang of his perspiration as he drew her against him and kissed her lips. “The garden can wait,” he murmured. “My need for you is greater. My muscles ache. I would like you to soothe them with some hot oil.” His roaming hands suggested he had more than that in mind.

Elanor rested her palms on his chest, desire for him already coursing through her like a strong current. “Did I not tend to your needs only a few hours ago?” Her breathless voice betrayed her reaction.

“True,” he said lazily. “As I tended yours. Need I remind you what you said at the time?”

“What did I say?”

Haldir whispered in her ear.

“Oh!” She could feel herself turning bright red. “Now I am embarrassed.”

“Do not be.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Not with me, Elanor. Never with me.” The tenderness in his voice brought moisture to her eyes.

Hand in hand, they walked back to the talan, the low hum of the indwaedh throbbing between them.

~*~

Orophin studied his small dining table, set for six. It would be crowded, but those who were most significant would be here on this most important of all nights.

Doria came up behind him and slipped her arms around his waist. “No last minute doubts?” she whispered, her mouth near his ear.

He turned and drew her against him, inhaling the fragrant scent of her hair with a joy that bordered on ecstasy. “You know the answer to that, my love.” With reverence, he pressed his lips to her brow, aware that he felt no nervousness at all. He only felt happy, the kind of happiness that came when everything was completely as it ought to be. Outside of Lórien there was danger and evil, but none of that existed in the world he and Doria had created for themselves. Their world was perfect.

Haldir and Elanor soon arrived, followed by Rúmil and Nerwen. Orophin bustled about, setting out the evening meal he and Doria had prepared while Doria served wine to their guests. General conversation and teasing prevailed while they ate, and then Orophin poured them all another glass of wine. This wine was from a different bottle, one he had held in reserve for many, many years for just such an occasion, and its quality was very fine.

Orophin’s eyes locked with Doria’s, and then he rose to his feet. “I have an announcement to make. I am pleased to share with you the happiest of all possible tidings.” He looked at his brothers. Haldir’s expression was calm and inscrutable, while Rúmil’s was quizzical and rather expectant. Elanor and Nerwen were also looking at him.

“Long have Doria and I loved each other,” he continued, “and although that love was not acknowledged until recently, our love is strong and true. We have examined our hearts and have made our decision.” He straightened his posture, standing proud and tall. “We have decided to marry.”

Smiles lit all the faces around their table, but as the eldest Haldir was first to speak. “I offer you both my heartfelt blessing,” he said calmly, with a solemnity born of kinship and deep feeling. “May the sun always shine upon your union.”

“Though I am younger than you, Orophin, I also offer you both my blessing,” Rúmil said with approval. “May your hearts be filled with Anor’s light.”

Elanor and Nerwen added similar sentiments, and then they all drank to the couple’s future happiness.

“None of you seem very surprised,” Doria commented a short time later. Everyone laughed, which made Doria blush and give them one of her big, sunny smiles.

“We are only surprised you waited so long,” Rúmil joked amid the laughter

Then Haldir set down his goblet. “Have you informed Lurien?”

Conversation died at once, as though everyone in the room had forgotten that he was Doria’s brother. In fact he was the only family she had residing in Lothlórien since their parents had left for the Undying Lands more than one hundred years before.

“No, not yet,” Orophin admitted in a reserved voice.

“He should have been invited tonight,” Haldir pointed out, rather sternly.

Doria reached across the table to touch Haldir’s arm. “He would not have come,” she told him in a soft voice. “In any case, he is on duty right now. Orophin and I plan to talk to him later tonight.” She lifted her chin. “I do not need his permission, Haldir.”

Haldir silently acknowledged her statement with a bow of his head.

Orophin shifted uneasily. “The union of our families will take place with or without Lurien’s approval. And soon. We would like to have a small betrothal ceremony in a few days time. After that, we will wed.”

“You are not going to wait a year?” Rúmil asked.

“We would rather not. After all, we have already known each other for so long.” Orophin’s tone was defensive.

“It is conventional to wait at least a year,” Rúmil reminded him, to Orophin’s slight annoyance.

“I am perfectly aware of the marriage customs of our people,” Orophin replied with dignity, “although I must say I am surprised that *you* are.” He meant to sound witty, since Rúmil had always claimed he would never marry, but somehow it did not come out sounding that way.

Rúmil set down his glass. “Of course I am. Why should I not be?”

“Because—”

“Orophin,” Doria cut in diplomatically, “may I make a toast?”

“Of course,” Orophin said at once, grateful for her interruption. He cast an apologetic look at Rúmil, who accepted it with a nod.

With grace, Doria rose, looking radiantly lovely in a filmy blue gown decorated with ivory lace. “My love, I would like us all to drink to your brother’s health. To Haldir, our Marchwarden. May your recovery be complete and may your health be everlasting.” She lifted her glass, smiling so sweetly that Orophin’s heart swelled with happiness and wonder at his own good fortune.

Yet his thoughts drifted as they drank, first to Haldir, and then again to himself and Doria, and then to all of Lórien’s wardens, and then to Lurien and all the Sentinels. Yet as happy as he felt, a small black cloud hung over Orophin. Haldir was correct. Doria’s brother should have been invited. But how could they have done so? And would the tension between their families ever be resolved?

~*~

Lurien walked slowly back to his talan, the rock of his depression weighing heavily upon him. Soon, he promised himself as he moved like a ghost along the walkways. Very soon it would be over and then the burden would lift. That it was a self-inflicted burden was no comfort to him at all. At this point he had no choice; the obsession had taken hold of him, sinking its claws into his soul until it writhed. Sometimes he imagined that Tarwë was all that kept him from losing his way in the darkness. It was a fanciful thought, wrought from some last desperate hope that in the end, all would be well. But he did not really believe it. The pain of that thought ran like icy poison through his blood.

When he reached his talan, he found his sister and Orophin waiting outside. He greeted them tersely, casting Orophin a sour look.

“May we come in?” Doria studied him with that anxious look she so frequently wore. “We have something to tell you, brother.”

Lurien’s gaze flicked from her to Orophin, whose expression told him nothing. “If you wish,” he said with outward indifference.

He listened to their words without expression, receiving the news of their intent to wed with a dispassion that was largely genuine. He did not care for Orophin, but the ellon was not the object of his hate. He knew that his sister would do as she willed, and she had every right to do so. “I suppose you want my blessing,” he said wearily.

“Yes, I would,” Doria answered, laying her hand on his sleeve. Her blue eyes pleaded with him. “I would like that very much.”

Lurien forced a small smile. “Then you have it.” Inside, he seethed, but a huge part of him was also detached; his apathy seemed to be growing.

“And you will attend our betrothal ceremony?”

“Yes, I will attend.”

Doria hugged him while Orophin looked on expressionlessly. Haldir’s brother was adept at hiding his thoughts, but Lurien knew he must be loathing the situation. However, all the proper words were spoken before the couple departed, leaving Lurien alone with his thoughts.

Soon, he thought. But not too soon. Haldir must make a full recovery before he made his move. No one must ever say the fight had not been fair.

~*~

A week after the betrothal ceremony, Elanor was again working alone in the garden. She was weeding around a bed of herbs, setting aside a few plants for relocation to other areas while her thoughts dwelled on Haldir. Haldir’s bones were completely healed now, and he had been training hard every day. Even she could see his progress when she chose to watch him. His reflexes again seemed lightning fast, his strength nearly fully restored. According to Rúmil, Haldir was almost back to his former state of fitness. Almost but not quite, which meant that he would not return to his border duties yet. And that meant she had him to herself for just a little longer.

Only now did she realize how reluctant she was to let him go. A part of her was afraid for him in a way that she had never been before. Yet she would have to hide that fear, squelch it as best she could. Not that it was likely she would be able to hide it from him. These days Haldir always seemed to know what she was feeling, probably because of the indwaedh. If she did not wear it . . . but at this point she couldn’t even imagine taking it off. To go back to the way things were before would be intolerable.

Her thoughts drifted back to Orophin and Doria’s betrothal ceremony. It had been a small gathering, with only Haldir, Rúmil, Nerwen, Lurien and herself in attendance, along with Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel. Orophin and Doria had exchanged silver rings, and announced that their marriage would indeed take place one year hence. As eager as they were to marry, they had decided to follow convention in this matter. And after all, what was a year?

The question hovered in Elanor’s head. One year . . . such a tiny span of time. It was the length of time she had agreed to serve Haldir as his ward, and once she had deemed it an eternity. Now that year was nearly over. No longer did she yearn for it to end, but neither did she dread its end, for she knew Haldir wished her to stay on with him. And yet this year held its own significance, the most significant in her entire life. It was the year she had finally grown up.

She stared at a tiny green herb near her hand. A week ago it had been smaller than her thumbnail; now it was as high as her finger. Despite its fragility, despite the nearby plants who towered over it, it had persevered. She touched it gently, whispering love words that would help to nurture it. She could feel the plant respond . . . and then she felt a presence behind her.

“Good morning, Elanor,” said a familiar female voice.

Elanor turned and looked up. “Good morning, Túre.” Out of respect for Telrion, she tried to make her tone friendly, but inwardly she was braced for attack. In all these weeks this was the first time Túre had approached her without Telrion at her side. What was her motive?

“May I sit? I would like to speak with you.” The request seemed humbly made.

“Certainly.” Elanor waited with slight suspicion while the other elleth lowered herself to the grass and arranged her skirt.

Túre’s blue eyes met hers. “I have come to apologize to you, Elanor, and to ask your forgiveness for the way I treated you in the past. This is not an easy thing for me to do, but I am asking most sincerely.”

“Of course I forgive you,” Elanor said at once. Although she really did mean it, she could not help wondering why the apology was being offered, and if it was done to please Telrion. But Túre’s next words dismissed the thought.

“I am ashamed of my behavior,” Túre confessed with a bowed head. “You never did anything to harm me and yet I tried to do harm to you. It was wrong of me. I was jealous of you, you see.”

“May I ask why?” Elanor said gently.

She listened with growing amazement as Túre falteringly revealed her heartbreaking story. Few details were included, but it was not difficult for Elanor to fill in the gaps. Apparently Iridor’s death had nearly broken Túre’s heart, and the only way she had survived had been to harden herself against further hurt. Yet this same hardening had also shut out joy and hope and inner peace, and had turned her into a rather disagreeable and unlikable elleth . . . until Telrion had come along and seen through her prickles and barriers.

“But it is more than that,” Túre added steadily. “I also had a dream, you see.” As she told of the dream in a few broken sentences, Elanor felt compelled to slide an arm around her shoulders, and within moments Túre’s head was on her shoulder. They stayed like this for a little while, enveloped in a quiet harmony that was as unexpected as it was healing.

At length, Elanor said quietly, “I do understand. And I am truly happy that you and Tel have found each other. I wish you both joy.”

“Thank you, Elanor.” Túre gave a little sigh and lifted her head. “That is more than I have any right to expect. I know you love Telrion, but so do I. And I promise you that I will do all in my power to keep him happy and safe.”

“When will you leave Lórien?” Elanor asked curiously. “Have you heard anything?”

“No, and it is odd. Telrion says that Lord Elrond is waiting for something, but for what he does not know. Lord Elrond will not say.”

“How odd,” Elanor agreed. And dismissed it from her mind.

~*~

Galadriel stared at her mirror, silently willing it to show her more than it had. With all of her being she implored it to explain, to reveal, to clarify. But it ignored her pleas; the darkened waters remained calm, with no hint of the disturbing image of a moment before.

“Nothing?” Celeborn asked, the low timbre of his voice reverberating slightly in the enclosed glade.

Slowly, regretfully, she shook her head. “It was just as always. I saw you. I saw myself and another. One of our sentinels, though I know not which one. And I saw the trunk of a mallorn tree behind us.”

“Could you distinguish anything about it?” asked Elrond. “Were there any features you would recognize?”

“I saw a small branch behind the sentinel. Its ends were divided, each with a single leaf.”

“Nothing more?” Celeborn probed.

“Nothing more. But I will continue to come here each day. Perhaps in time the mirror will reveal more. It has done so in the past.”

Elrond bowed his head. “May it be so. I will not leave until you have an answer.”

Galadriel looked at him. “I know not when that will be.” She glanced down into the serene water, but saw only her own face reflected there. All answers remained hidden . . . for now.

~*~

Days passed while Lurien waited and watched. He did not try to talk to Elanor; he had long since given that up, although he tracked her movements when he was free to do so. He knew where she was as much as possible, and he knew where Haldir was. And he bided his time.

He was numb to all feeling. Except for those moments when he was with Tarwë, he hardly felt alive. Tarwë would sit with him and hold his hand, but they seldom spoke. She had given up asking questions, for he would never answer. Why would he, when the answers would only cause her pain? But his resolve had only hardened.

And then, at last, the day arrived when he heard what he had been waiting for. Two of Haldir’s wardens walked by, neither noticing him while they spoke softly of the vast improvement in the Marchwarden’s health and fighting skills.

“He might never have been wounded,” said one of them. “I can see no sign of it.”

“He’s as strong as he ever was,” the second warden agreed in a thankful tone. “We will see him back at the Fences again any day now, mark my words.”

The two elves continued to walk, passing out of Lurien’s sight, but he paid them no more heed. His mind was alive with thoughts, his body taut and ready to take action. If Haldir’s own wardens thought him fit to fight, then he was.

Excitement heated Lurien’s blood, anticipation mixed with profound relief. The waiting was over; the time was upon him. Now all he had to do was choose the right and perfect moment to make his move.

~*~

Elanor busied herself with some cleaning, wondering if she had time for a bath before Haldir returned from sword practice. Not that it mattered, except that they were planning another walk in the forest and she did not wish to delay it. He had other places to show her, beautiful places he wished to share. Other places where they could make love, he had teased her. She smiled at the thought and decided she would indeed take that bath.

Entering the sleeping chamber, she undid the back of her gown and slipped her arms from the sleeves, about to let it slide to her feet when she heard the talan’s outside door open and close. Delighted that Haldir had returned so soon, she scampered joyfully into the front room, words of greeting on her lips . . . words that died the moment she saw who stood there.

She clutched her gown to her naked chest, staring in dismay.

“Good afternoon, Elanor.” Lurien leaned against the door, a study in elegance made all the more lethal by his sleek masculine beauty. How odd it was that after all these months she should suddenly be so conscious of it.

“What are you doing here?” she said indignantly. “How dare you enter without permission!”

“I dare because I have something to say to you.” His blue eyes flicked over her, taking in her bare shoulders before sliding downward. “My, my, you might almost have been expecting me. This is just too perfect for words.”

His insolence sent fury surging through her. She would have liked to slap him, but instead she took a step backward, holding tight to her gown. “Please leave at once,” she said coldly. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“Oh, but I have a great deal to say to you, sweet Elanor.” His mocking tone set her teeth on edge. “It concerns your own behavior.”

“What are you talking about?” she demanded. She watched him move away from the door, taking a step forward and then another, closing in on her.

“I know what you did to Haldir. I know what crime earned you your punishment.” He smiled. “Such a daring enterprise for such a youthful and innocent elleth. I really must compliment you, Elanor. The boldness of it quite takes my breath away.”

Coldness stabbed at her heart. How could he possibly know? Had he read the letters? Had Elrond spoken of it to Lady Galadriel within Lurien’s hearing? Or was he only guessing?

“You are talking nonsense,” she said evenly.

“I am not and you know it. You gave Haldir a sleeping draught, and while he slept you bound him so he was at your mercy.” He was watching her, his eyes speculative and shrewd. “Or perhaps you had your friends do it. Is that it, Elanor?” His smile grew, as though something in her face had betrayed the answer. “What a pitiful sight he must have made. The mighty Marchwarden of Lothlórien, tied and helpless, brought to his knees by an elleth! What happened next, Elanor? Or need I ask?”

His sly smirk was simply too much to bear. She took a swing at him, nearly losing her gown in the process, but she was not as fast as Healea and he caught her wrist, halting her before she could strike him. He held her close, his flawless face still and cold.

“Now, now,” he murmured, “let us play nicely with each other.” His gaze dipped down to the upward swell of her breasts, pushed upward by her own fist.

“Release me!” she hissed. “This instant, Lurien, or you will regret it more than you can imagine.” She tried to shove away from him, but it was too difficult while holding onto her gown.

He gave a humorless little laugh. “I think not. I have waited a long time for this moment. I use no mind tricks, as you call them, so I break no oath.” Something dark and brooding entered his face. “Perhaps I will let you go if you do as I wish.”

“What do you want?” she demanded, arching away from him in revulsion. If it was what she thought he wanted, she knew she could not do it. Kissing him was one thing, but any more than that was too repugnant to contemplate.

“I want you to return to Imladris. I want you to go with Lord Elrond when he leaves.”

“What?” she gasped.

“If you fail to agree,” he said ruthlessly, “I will tell all of Lórien how you humiliated Haldir. I will say that you stripped him naked and toyed with him, and that is why Elrond punished you as he did. Is that what you want Haldir’s people to know? That he was bested by a naïve little fool, a nobody, with no experience of anything?”

He could not possibly know such details; he was obviously guessing, hoping to strike a nerve. Unfortunately, she lacked the ability to hide her reaction; she felt the color drain from her face as raw fury erupted inside her.

She punched at his chest with her free fist. “You are despicable! I pity any elleth you touch!”

Was it her imagination or did he actually flinch? “Let the gown fall,” he commanded. “I am curious to see what it is that has Haldir so enthralled.”

“Not a chance.” Elanor flung up her chin, daring him to tear it off of her, but instead he looked toward the door. His attention was no longer on her, almost as if he had grown bored with a game he had never wished to play. Watchfulness had entered his face--a tight, alert expectancy she sensed had nothing at all to do with her.

And then she understood. Lurien knew as well as she did that Haldir was going to walk into the talan at any moment. It was what the Sentinel wanted--not her, not revenge of the type he was allowing her to believe. He wanted a fight. And he was using her to get it.

“No,” she protested, but it was too late. Lurien’s arms were tightening around her and the door was opening . . . .

She would never forget the look on Haldir’s face, the shock of unimaginable betrayal, a pain so intense it ripped her heart in half. It lasted for only a fleeting instant and then it vanished, replaced by an icy black rage more ferocious and deadly than she could ever have imagined.

“Move away, Elanor.” Haldir’s gaze was fixed on Lurien. His eyes were hard, his mouth a flat, thin of contempt. For her or for Lurien?

“Haldir,” she whispered, her mouth dry.

Lurien’s hold on her had loosened, enabling her to move, to say or do something that would help the situation. Jumbled explanations tumbled through her head, but instead she stood frozen, unable to call up the slightest sound. Her entire body started to tremble. Surely Haldir knew that she would never betray him in the way it appeared. Surely he knew.

“Move away,” Haldir repeated, looking as formidable as she had ever seen him. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword.

She knew better than to argue. Though softly spoken, the order cracked like a whip, reminding her of the time he had rebuked her after the goblin attack. Slowly, she backed away, watching the two males with dazed trepidation.

They drew their swords at the same time, the long slide from the scabbards producing a metallic hiss that turned her blood to ice. With a shudder, she watched them circle each other like wary wolves, oblivious to the narrow confines of the room. The long, curved blades made the talan seem frightfully small.

With shaking hands she thrust her arms back into her gown’s sleeves and fumbled to secure the fastenings. Huddling against the wall, she shrank from the chilly expression in Haldir’s eyes even though he was not looking at her. What was he thinking? What was he prepared to do? And most importantly, why did he fight? Was it for her or for honor? Or both?

She could sense the power of the two elves, the coiled strength within them as they circled each other, grimly ready to spring. The horror of it almost choked her. She reached out to Haldir in a silent plea for him to stop, but he ignored her, spinning suddenly in a complicated dance of wickedly edged blades. This was no practice session, but one of serious and deadly intent.

“Stop!” she cried out, finding her voice. “Stop it right now, both of you!”

She was ignored. The two elves moved quickly, their feet silent as they slipped around each other, blades screeching together and then apart, their movements similar and yet disparate. Lurien ducked a slash that barely missed his head and then twisted to his left only to find Haldir anticipating his move, blocking his path with a cut to his right. Lurien leaped back to avoid Haldir’s blade, using his sword to block the steel aimed at his heart, but was not quite set in his stance; Haldir’s thrust, backed by his full body weight, threw the sentinel backwards against the door.

Elanor gasped as it flew open on impact. Lurien stumbled backwards, adjusting his balance in the split second it took Haldir to follow, leaping toward Haldir as he stepped through it. With alarming swiftness Lurien swung at him with both hands, cleaving a gouge in the frame while Haldir arched back to avoid the blade.

“Please stop!” Elanor pleaded, her voice rising with panic. “Haldir, this is madness!”

He seemed not to hear, although that was impossible.

As the sentinel jerked his blade free, Haldir ducked past him and slammed the flat of his sword hard against Lurien’s ribs. Grunting in pain, Lurien whirled with sword flung wide in a defensive arc. Elanor watched helplessly, unable even to step outside due to the deadly dance taking place on the exterior walkway.

As soon as she could, she followed them outside, her heart racing as she slipped past the two combatants, avoiding them while she beseeched them yet again to cease their fighting. Neither paid her any heed. They were too intent on each other, too caught up in whatever complicated dynamics existed between the two of them. The clang of steel on steel sent out a ringing echo amid the canopy of the forest. It was a sound heretofore unheard within the upper reaches of the Golden Wood. Surely others would hear, but would anyone be able to stop this?

She pressed back against the talan wall, watching as they fought in near silence, their blades hissing and striking like long steel snakes. Haldir’s face was rigid; Lurien’s was determined, his mouth twisted into a faint, chilling sneer. Why did he choose this of all days to challenge Haldir? Did he believe Haldir to be fully healed or did he seek to take advantage of him at a weak moment? And was Haldir able to handle this fight after a strenuous workout?

Both were agile, though Elanor would have guessed Haldir to be the better swordsman. Even so, Lurien looked frightfully accomplished. Desperately afraid that Haldir would be injured yet again, she pressed her hand to her throat while the two circled each other once more, moving a little farther along the walkway, away from where she stood. The walkway was only slightly wider than the graceful arching steps that led downward to the next level. This section had decorative railings, but some places did not, and if they fell against them, would they not break? To fight here like this was madness!

Lurien leaped toward Haldir, but he slid beneath the lunge, twisting along with Lurien, both of them moving dangerously close to the edge, their swords locked together for a brief moment. Then Haldir flung his sword wide, stepping away from the edge while he shoved Lurien backward and dodged the sentinel’s answering swing. He slammed his blade against Lurien’s thigh, flat-sided yet tilted just enough to slice a thin line into Lurien’s leggings. With a hiss of pain, the sentinel spun, long hair flying as he smashed his elbow into Haldir’s chest, knocking Haldir to the very top of the descending set of stairs.

Haldir blocked Lurien’s next swing, the swords meeting in a resounding shudder, and then it was Lurien being forced down the steps. At a disadvantage, he backed downward, arching away from the next swing of his opponent’s deadly sword. Haldir followed and Lurien whirled, lunging forward with both hands locked on the hilt of his blade. It connected so hard with Haldir’s that sparks flew from the metal edges.

The two elves wrestled for control. Lurien backed down another step, spinning to leap the final four to the next platform before he hurled himself at Haldir, who leaped after him. Colliding hard, the two staggered and fell, grunting from the impact before bounding back to their feet, their blades crashing together again. Their chests heaved with the effort, their eyes locked with hostile purpose.

“Yield now, before I am forced to hurt you,” Haldir warned, his voice low and menacing.

“Never,” Lurien sneered, panting a little. “I am tired of you and your mocking attitude and your arrogance and pride. This is the day I will see you humbled. And I will be the one to do it.”

~*~

The clang of steel on steel carried far through the treetops and below, reaching many sensitive ears. Conversations ceased as startled glances were exchanged. Sentinels and wardens alike turned and raced toward the sound. Others followed. But the Lady of Lórien did not hear, for she was in her garden, staring into her mirror with widened eyes.

Celeborn heard. He had been walking along the forest floor, meditating quietly as he so often did. The clatter of swords jerked him from his thoughts, instantly etching fury across his normally serene features. Fighting in the heights of the giant mellyrn? Who had the audacity to disrupt the city’s peace? Who dared bring discord into this place?

Following the sound, he sprang up the steps, taking them two at a time in the heat of his outrage. Clearly, this was no training session! Nothing infuriated him more than the thought of two elves fighting each other in earnest, for it reminded him sickeningly of the blood and horror of ages past--the kinslayings at Doriath and at Arvernian, where he had fought in defense of his home, each time losing friends, kin, and the battle itself. He would put a stop to this himself!

And then, from behind him, he heard his name called.

~*~

Haldir could see Elanor at the edge of his vision, her face white with fear for his safety. He could do nothing to ease her concern--this confrontation was not one from which he would walk away; his rage was too great. The wild and primal emotion he’d felt when he saw her trapped in Lurien’s arms still burned hot, too hot to ignore. In two thousand years he had not experienced its like; it was as though the very fires of Mordor blazed within his heart, relentlessly driving the swing of his sword as he sought to teach Lurien a lesson he would never forget.

As this thought slid through his mind, Lurien lunged forward, his blade arcing viciously over his shoulder to collide with Haldir’s in a rain of blue sparks. Lurien might not tend the borders of Lórien, yet the sentinel trained frequently, pushing himself in skill and mastering the sword as well as any of Haldir’s wardens. In fact, he was a better fighter now than he had been the last time they’d fought, so many long years ago. Now they were well matched.

A shout from below echoed amid the leafy canopy, gruff shouts Haldir recognized as Beredain’s. He blocked Lurien’s next swing, blades screeching as they each sought to gain the upper hand. In the next instant Lurien jerked back and spun with blinding speed, hurling both his body and weapon against Haldir in a harrowing dive that flung them both precariously near the unprotected edge of the landing. Haldir stumbled to a crouch, sword point aimed defensively at Lurien.

The sentinel laughed. “Now who is the better fighter?” he taunted as he danced back to avoid Haldir’s next assault. Blades tapped out a wicked rhythm as they whirled around the landing.

The voices were growing louder, approaching footsteps telling them that they would soon have an audience. Even now, wardens and sentinels streamed up the stairs, Beredain in the lead, with Orophin right behind him. Haldir saw them both come to a halt, freezing as they took in the situation.

Seemingly oblivious, Lurien swung again and Haldir parried, their swords locked together as they wrestled for control. Lurien slid back, twisting his wrists to force the two swords into a circle that unlocked the blades with a ringing hiss. He ducked Haldir’s next thrust, slipping under Haldir’s guard to slice into his tunic along his side, near the ribs that were so recently healed.

Aware of their audience and of Elanor’s impassioned entreaties, Haldir ignored his wound. With cold fury he rushed toward Lurien, flicking his blade underhanded toward the sentinel’s chest only to fling the blade to the side at the last moment, grazing the sentinel’s cheek. A long sliver of blood oozed from the cut, causing Lurien to pull back and touch his face. He must have felt the blood, but he did not even glance at his fingers. Instead, he raised his sword again.

“Prepared to yield?” he sneered. “Or are you so anxious to be humbled in front of your ward?”

Haldir’s gaze shifted briefly to Elanor, who stood white-faced at the foot of the steps. Too close, he thought, and snarled at her to move. As she scuttled backward, partway up the stairway, he parried Lurien’s next thrust almost mechanically, thrusting the blade aside while he shot a quick frown at Beredain. Orophin was there now, standing next to Beredain, and behind him stood Rúmil. He could see they were in a quandary over what to do, attempt to break up the fight or stand clear and watch. After all, he was their captain . . . .

As this went through his head, Lurien’s blade snaked out, but Haldir thrust it aside with a scowl. They each stepped back, spinning in opposite directions only to slam blades together again, body to body, in an attempt to force each other back.

Haldir twisted to the right, arching back to avoid Lurien’s slice across his chest, and then rolled under the sentinel’s arm. With lightning swiftness he sprang to his feet behind the sentinel, who whirled with raised blade, forcing Haldir back a step. He didn’t need Elanor’s gasp to tell him how near he stood to the edge of the flet; he could sense the yawning emptiness behind him.

Breathing deeply, he adjusted his stance and slid precariously along the flet’s edge. Lurien seemed to be waiting for him to move to a safer position, and the instant he did so, the sentinel rushed him once more. Haldir crouched, evading the blade, then uncoiled to his full height and faced Lurien just as he whirled back to the center of the platform and swung out his blade.

Haldir parried, following the move by grasping the tall overhead stair support. With one hand he swung around the post, fending off Lurien’s next blow with a powerful swing of his arm. Lurien stumbled briefly, a mistake that enabled Haldir to whip his blade across Lurien’s upper torso. Lurien leaped back, one hand on his chest while a weal of bright red blood spilled over his fingers.

“Do you yield?” Haldir demanded, his sword poised in front of him.

“Never!” Lurien snarled. He gathered himself to his full height. His bloodied hand dropped to his side, but the other still clutched his sword.

Elanor descended to the foot of the stairway, fearlessly joining them on the flet. “Lurien, you are wounded! It is time to stop, both of you!”

“Yield, Lurien,” Beredain called out from the opposite side of the platform. “You cannot win. It is over.” Others, including Orophin and Rúmil, echoed this statement.

With an angry bellow, Lurien leaped toward Haldir, his blade lashing out so rapidly that Haldir barely parried it. The next whirl of bodies took them too close to Elanor and blocked her retreat to the staircase. Weaving and circling, Haldir steered the fighting away from her, his attention on Lurien’s blade while, again and again, he hammered his sword against Lurien’s. Evading a clean stroke across his chest, he spun to the left only to be forced into a backward somersault in order to avoid Lurien’s next thrust. He landed on his feet and leaped quickly backwards to avoid another swing of the blade.

Alarm flashed through him as one foot slipped off the edge of the platform. Balancing only on his right foot, he swung his arms wide, flailing for something to grasp. The stairwell post was just out of reach and there was nothing else. With a horrified cry, Elanor flung herself toward him with outstretched hands, but before she could touch him he had adjusted his balance and was falling to the floor of the flet. Automatically, Haldir reached out to seize her . . . .

How he missed her he never knew, but his fingers only brushed the skirt of her gown while she tried in vain to snatch hold of his hand. Lurien also hurled himself forward in a valiant attempt to save her, but to no avail. For a fraction of an instant she was there beside him--so close, so dear to him, so infinitely beloved.

Then she was gone.


~*~

To be continued… Feedback VERY much appreciated!


** We are currently having a writing contest in the Haldir Lovers Yahoo Group (ends on Feb 1, 2006). This contest will be judged using a scoresheet, with three qualified judges. Each entry is judged anonymously. Het or gen only; each entry must contain at least one elf. Winner will receive an award banner and a T-shirt. For details email Julie or check in the HL Files, top folder. Thanks!