My Heart's Desire - Part 1. To Wait for you.

Chapter 4. Unattainable.

The evening was warm; there were even occasional wafts of a cool breeze. After a suffocatingly hot day it was a welcome change. Haldir was wandering purposelessly through the moonlit city of Caras Galadhon, not paying any attention where his feet were taking him. So, when he was brought out of his thoughts by a voice calling his name, he was surprised to find himself near the glade of Lady Galadriel’s mirror. The Lady had just ascended the stairs, leading from it, and was coming in his direction. Haldir greeted her, bowing his head respectfully.
“How do you fare on this beautiful evening, young one?” she smiled at him.
“Very well, thank you, my Lady.”
She gazed at him in her serene manner and he shifted uneasily, fearing his thoughts were only too plain for her to read. But if they really were, she did not comment on them.
Instead, she sighed softly and asked, “Could you do me a favour, Marchwarden?”
Relieved, Haldir bowed again. “Of course, my Lady.”
“Then go and find Lord Glorfindel. Tell him I wish to speak with him. Bring him to my private chambers, please.”
“I’ll do it, my Lady.”
She smiled. “I hope my request does not interfere with your plaor tor the evening?”
“Not at all, my Lady,” Haldir smiled back and took his leave of her.
She followed him with her eyes, thoughtfully turning a ring on her finger.

The most logical place to start looking for Glorfindel was the guest talan he shared with Gildor. So Haldir started for the mallorn next to the royal one, climbed the stairs up to one of the highest levels and walked to the door of the guchamchamber. But when he was about to knock he stopped dead, stunned by what he heard from behind the door.
“Curse you, Nairalindë! It hurts!”
“It’s because you’re too tense.”
“It’s because’re ’re too rough! Don’t press so hard! And use more oil!”
“If you relax it won’t be so painful.”
“How can I relax if…”
“Damn, Glorfindel! Do you want me to do it or not?”
A muffled sound.
“Relax then!”
A sigh.
“That’s better.”
A soft cry.
“You’re getting old and rusty, Mallos. We should do it to you more often.”
A low moan of pleasure. Some rustling.
“*Now* what’s wrong?”
“Shift a bit. I’m not comfortable like this.”
“You’re so difficult today, Glorfindel!”
I’m I’m not! It’s…”
“Oh, shut up for a while, could you? Let me concentrate on what I’m doing.”
A gasp. Another long throaty moan.
“E-eru… Nairalindë…Ahh…You’re… You’re so…”
A low amused chuckle.
“I know… I love you too…”
“Now what?” thought Haldir, blood pounding loudly in his ears.
He felt stunned, aroused and hurt. Should he knock? Or should he wait till… ‘Till what?’ Haldir snarled at himself. What a sight he would make, listening at the door, if someone came across him here.
“Feeling better now?”
“Yes… Mo-ore…”
Haldir drew a deep breath and knocked.
“Enter!” came Gildor’s immediate and cheerful response.
Haldir was taken aback. He was prepared to be cursed at, to be talked to through the door or even to be completely ignored. But to be actually asked to come in? He set his jaw and entered the room.
Glorfindel was lying prone on the rug. Gildor was straddling his hips and… expertly massaging his back. Haldir almost laughed with relief but collected himself in time.
As well as Glorfindel, Gildor was bare to his waist and Haldir could see taut muscles, working under the silky skin. Some tresses of his unruly hair fell into his face and he brushed them away with the back of his palm, leaving an oily smear on his cheek.
“Yes, Marchwarden, what can we do for you?” he inquired, shooting Haldir an amused glance.
Haldir looked at the Eldar in an imperturbable manner.
“I have a message for Lord Glorfindel from Lady Galadriel.”
Glorfindel tried to rise but Gildor pushed him down with strong hands.
“Keep still! I must finish it. And you do not have to stand to be able to listen. Unless the message is private and is meant only for your ears.” He arched an eyebrow at Haldir.
“It is not,” the Galadhel answered dispassionately. e?” e?” the Vanya smiled, never stopping his ministrations.
Glorfindel sighed and looked up from the floor at Haldir.
“Please, Marchwarden, speak.”
Haldir hid a smile. Obviously, it was easier to let Gildor have his way than to argue with him.
“Lady Galadriel wishes to speak with Lord Glorfindel and asks him to come to her private chambers.”
“What! A tryst?” Gildor sneered at the elf beneath him. “You philanderer, does Celeborn know?”
Haldir stiffened at the offensive insinuation. The next moment Glorfindel bucked up, almost throwing the Vanya off. Before Gildor regained his balance the Elda rolled over swiftly and sat up, so that when the golden-haired elf landed back on Glorfindel’s legs, they were facing each other. Glorfindel grabbed a handful of his hair and gave it a forceful tug. Gildor cried out with pain.
“Why? What have I done?”
The Elda, still holding his hair in a tight grip, yanked his head back.
“You’re insulting the Lady. And in front of her subject, too.”
Gildor winced and tilted his head to one side, so that he could dart a glance at Haldir. After a moment of hesitation and one more tug on his hair he licked his lips.
“All right, Hîren. If you let go, I’ll apologize.”
Haldir watched them wide-eyed. He was stunned by the eroticism of what he was witnessing. The intimacy of their pose, Glorfindel’s confident dominance, Gildor’s unwilling submission… He let out a breath, he even was not aware he had been holding… and caught Glorfindel’s knowing smile.
The Elda still kept Gildor’s head tilted back, opening to Haldir’s eyes the other’s proud jaw-line and a graceful neck, ending in pronounced collarbones. Gildor’s hair fell in soft waves over Glorfindel’s arm. His eyes were half-closed and he was biting his full bottom lip. Watching the guardian’s face, the Elda raised his left hand alowllowly ran his fingers from Gildor’s chin down along his throat, then dragged them further down his chest to the waistband of his leggings, marring the satin skin with long pink lines and eliciting a sharp intake of breath from the golden-haired beauty. Haldir knew he was giving himself away but he could not help following the Elda’s hand with his eyes. When Glorfindel touched the soft suede on the Vanya’s abdomen Gildor hissed at him in Quenya. Haldir quickly looked away.rfinrfindel laughed and let go of Gildor’s hair. In one fluid motion the golden elf was on his feet and turned to face the Galadhel. Glorfindel rose as well and stood next to his friend, twining one of the Vanya’s fair curls round his finger.
“My apologies, Marchwarden,” said Gildor, his voice a cool sonority of a mountain spring. “I did not want to insult you.”
Glorfindel slightly pulled the lock he was holding. Gildor pursed up his lips.
“Nor your Lady, either.”
Haldirw itw it was the best apology he was likely to get, so he nodded tersely and said addressing Glorfindel, “I’ll be waiting outside to take you to Lady Galadriel’s chambers.”
And he left the room.
“Enjoyed your little performance?” Gildor turned to his friend. “Well, *now* can I learn the purpose of it?”
Glorfindel chuckled. “He’s growing too fond of you.”
“Fond? You call it fond? Indeed, you’re very modest in your assessment of him. I could feel his desire envelop me like a thick blanket.”
“Then you’ll be able to understand my motives. I thought it kind to make him see that you’re not to be had. So that he would not spend sleepless nights, dreaming of the temptations of your body.”
“Ah, meldir,” sighed Gildor, “how little you understand in the ways of temptations. I’m afraid your display of my amenities will cause quite the opposite effect.” He narrowed his eyes. “And don’t you dare pull on my hair like that again!”
Glorfindel laughed.
“And you’ve scratched me!” the Vanya added, accusingly. “I do not appreciate rough treatment.”
“Oh yes, you do.”
“I do not!”
“Well, at least you used to.”
Gildor’s eyes flashed, but before he could voice a retort there was a knock at their door. The Vanya raised his eyebrows.
“Is he back?”
“Come in!” called Glorfindel.
This time it was not Haldir, though. It was Narmacil.
“We are going with the friends to have a drink in the town. Would you care to join us?” he asked after a greeting.
“Glorfindel has an appointment tonight,” Gildor informed him cheerfully. “But I’ll gladly join you if you give me a moment to dress.”
“Great!” Narmacil was pleased. “We’ll meet you at the bottom of your mallorn, then.”
“I’ll be down shortly.”
The Noldo was about to leave but then remembered something.
“By the way, there’s a Galadhel waiting out there. Atty tty one.” He winked at Gildor.
But the Vanya waved it away. “Don’t look at *me*. He’s Glorfindel’s escort.”
“Oh? All right. I just thought you should know.”

Haldir was leaning on the railing of the open platform near the top of the staircase. He was looking down at the forest thoughtfully as he waited for Glorfindel to come out. He saw a company of Noldor at the bottom of the mallorn tree. They were rather boisterous ant ast as reserved as was their habit. Going to spend an evening out, Haldir decided. Must be waiting for Narmacil, and for Gildor, perhaps.
Gildor… Haldir closed his eyes and again saw the fair elf as Glorfindel had shown him to Haldir: though still defiant but subdued for the time being, helplessly open to a look and to a touch, bent to the Elda’s will. Haldir understood Glorfindel’s message. Quite pointedly, it read *mine*. The Marchwarden knew he was trespassing but he just could not help it. He was drawn to Gildor, forcefully, invincibly, inevitably. He did not know where this feeling had come from; at what point his casual fit of lust turned into a burning, unquenchable desire. Now he could not fight it; it was stronger than he. He wanted the elf. He needed him. Again, he imagined Gildor’s overturned head, his exposed throat. He swallowed hard. He longed to touch him, to bite and suck his supple skin to mark him as his own. To claim him…
Haldir started at the sound of a door being opened. Narmacil walked out. Alone. Humming to himself he strode past the Galadhel, giving him a friendly nod. He did not bother to climb down the long stairs; he just grabbed a support cable and slid to the ground. ‘Gracefully enough. For a Noldo’, Haldir smirked.
He saw Narmacil join his companions but still, they did not leave. So Gildor *was* going to join them. Haldir turned to watch the door. Soon enough, it opened again. This time, indeed, it was the Vanya. He was dressed in a simple dark green c anc and gray leggings but even in his plain clothes he did not appear less desirable for the Marchwarden. Gildor looked at him and smiled.
“I’m sorry you have to wait but Glorfindel is making himself… fit for your Lady. I believe he’ll get ready, eventually.”
And he headed for the stairs. When he neared Haldir, a mischievous thought formed in the Galadhel’s mind.
“There’s a short way,” he said.
“What?” Gildor looked at him, puzzle“Sha“Shall I give you a ride?” Haldir smiled at him seductively.
“*A ride*?” The Vanya’s eyes widened in disbelief.
The next moment the Lórien elf’s arm snaked around his waist and he was jerked forcefully against the guardian’s broad chest. With his other hand Haldir grabbed the same support cable that Narmacil had used, and simply stepped over the edge of the platform, bringing Gildor along with him. The Vanya gave out a loud gasp and his arms flew up to clutch Haldir’s shoulders. Unconsciously, he clung to the solidity of the Galadhel’s body and Haldir reveled in the sensation. Their hair got caught in the wind and intertwined, caressing their faces. Haldir breathed in Gildor’s scent of fresh dew and apple blossom, and his grip around the other’s waist tightened of its own accord.
Too soon for Haldir’s liking their feet touched the ground. But they did not break their tight embrace for a few moments longer, Gildor’s arms around Haldir’s neck, Haldir’s leg between Gildor’s thighs.
“So, this is what you call a ride in Lórien?”
The Galadhel felt a warm sigh on his lips.
“And what do you call a ride in Imladris?” he whispered back, a waft of his breath stirring a stray strand of golden hair across Gildor’s brow.
The Vanya looked at him thoughtfully, as if contemplating the idea of a demonstration. But then he took his hands off of Haldir’s shoulders and did a step back. Reluctantly, the Marchwarden let him go. Gildor shot a glance at the top of the mallorn and grinned.
“Perhaps, you should ask Glorfindel. I’m sure he’ll be able to explain the difference to you. Good night, Marchwarden.”
And he sauntered away to join the waiting company of the Noldor.

Mallos – golden flower
Hîren – my lord