Oathbound, Heartbroken *COMPLETE*

Title: Oathbound, Heartbroken 4/?
Author: Eawen Penallion
email: cross_stitcherire@yahoo.com
LiveJournal: http://www.livejournal.com/users/eawen_penallion/
Type: FPS
Pairing: Haldir/Melpomaen
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Slash, explicit sexual encounters between two males.
Beta: Most excellent Nienna, so encouraging!
Disclaimer: all rights to the characters belong to JRR
Tolkien – I’m only playing with them.
Timeline: Middle of 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.

Author's Notes: * * indicate emphasis; ......... indicates memories or a flashback.


Chapter 4

Haldir's thoughts drifted as he walked back from the library to his talan. The afternoon had passed swiftly, and he and Glorfindel had worked well together in their compilation of notes from the first day's findings. Glorfindel had returned to the North Room within an hour of departure and just as Haldir had made no enquiry into the welfare of the dark-haired scribe, so did Glorfindel refrain from offering any update on his progress. Before leaving for the evening, Haldir had made arrangements to begin early morning sparring sessions with the seneschal, starting two days hence.

"I had been prepared for a month on the border," Haldir had said in earnest. "My body yearns for action and three months in a library will otherwise drive me mad!"

Glorfindel had agreed willingly, for although Haldir was an expert archer he was also highly skilled with the long sword, and Glorfindel had always enjoyed the intensity of their training sessions.

"I will not spar tomorrow morning, mellon nín," explained Haldir. "It takes much effort to prise the elflings from their beds and I will not be able to convince them to rise of their own volition."

Glorfindel had laughed at this statement. "Ai, I well remember those days!" Yet he did not elaborate on his statement, and Haldir did not feel that he could enquire further.

This and much more ran through his mind as he took passage through the city. It was with great surprise - and much concern to him - that he found that his steps had brought him involuntarily to the Halls of Healing. For long moments he stood at the doors to the infirmary, at war with himself and the realization of his subconscious desires. What harm would it do to visit the scribe? Surely it was a compassionate thing to do, to show concern and sympathy for the health of a fellow edhel? Haldir sighed, knowing that it was not simple concern that brought him to this place, but a memory of eyes and lips, and long brown hair lit with the colours of autumn.

His head won, defeating his treacherous heart, and Haldir turned away from the doors - yet still he did not return to the path that would lead home. Instead he took a narrow trail through the encompassing trees, skirting the buildings of the Halls, to find himself at the rear of the structure. As much at ease above the ground as on it, and with no eyes upon him, the Galadhel took to the treetops, where his grey raiment afforded him camouflage within the foliage. The small chambers of the less-seriously ill patients shared a slim terrace surrounded by a low colonnade interspersed with decorative columns. Only one set of doors was open at this time - those of Melpomaen's room. From his vantage point Haldir could see a figure moving within the space. He held his breath as the elf padded softly around the chamber - then the solitary elf stepped out onto the terrace. And Haldir gasped.

Melpomaen wore white, a silken shift that curved over his slender figure and enhanced every sweet angle, every sweep of his shoulders and curve of his hips. Slim, enchanting and totally desirable. Without thought, Haldir's hand crept to his groin to caress the growing heat and his tongue slid lightly over his dry lips, begging them to mimic the envisioned softness of that pouting mouth.

"Melpomaen," he whispered, secure in the knowledge that distance held his murmured endearment a secret still. "Mel - no, not Mel. All call you Mel. I shall not. You shall be 'Maen. 'Maen," he rolled the shortened name around his mind, settling it into his heart. " Yes - 'Maen. Mine…"

The scribe strolled easily about the terrace, unknowing of the admiring gaze bestowed upon him. He stopped by the clematis flowers that grew in gentle splendour over the slim pillars, lifting one to smell it. As he bent over to partake of its fragrance the dark hair tumbled over his shoulders and the sun lit the falling tresses, kissing the red strands to life, bringing forth their sunset gleam. A quick toss of the head as he straightened again, and the luxurious fall spilled over the white-clad back, its beauty paramount in the stark contrast of colour, just as Haldir had hoped. At the glorious sight Haldir rubbed once more through the leggings straining over his engorged member, and released a faint groan.

Melpomaen's head whipped around and Haldir froze. He could not have heard that! It was impossible! Still, the young scribe searched the overhanging trees as if in pursuit of a voyeur. His eyes did not lock onto any one area, and Haldir released the breath he had been holding, feeling the tension slip away. He had escaped detection.

The young ellon relaxed too, and Haldir determined to wait until Melpomaen returned to his room before making good his departure. He was thus surprised when, in a sudden motion, the darkling elf raised a hand to his mouth and pressed his soft lips firmly to his fingertips - then blew upon them as he threw out his hand to release the kiss to the wind. Without thinking Haldir reached out his own palm, catching the invisible kiss in his quickly folding fingers.

" 'Kiss-catch'!" he thought in amazement. Indeed the actions were the same as the ancient game that Haldir had played with his own mother when he was but an elfling, the playful game of sending love and kisses across a distance. He looked down at the folded fingers then slowly unfurled them, raising them to his own lips. The caress of fingers startled him for, instead of the calloused tips of digits used to harsh treatment upon a bowstring, Haldir felt the kiss as a touch of velvet upon his lips. Of velvet petals of rose pink, and a following sweep of heated dampness, like a tongue licking its way teasingly in exploration of said mouth.

Haldir trembled as he returned the distant kiss, his hand tossing the message of love as his lips blew forth the breath of hope. For long moments he endured, thinking that his action had been in vain and that it was but a silly gesture, then moisture filled his eyes as he saw Melpomaen lazily reach out his hand to capture the unseen kiss from the hidden Marchwarden. A tear slid forth when the scribe lifted the hand first to his lips, then his cheek and finally cradled it against his breast, next to his heart.

It could not be explained, this communication between the two elves, yet the communion was there, sweet and precious in its new and fragile existence. The barriers that held Haldir apart from this exquisite ellon were slowly falling. Haldir sat and looked at the fey creature, seeing only the conflict of oath and heart - and he knew that he was lost.

****

Haldir saw that the oil lamps were already burning in his talan, and delicious aromas assaulted his senses when he finally reached and opened the door. The elleth within smiled happily as two young elflings leapt from their supper to land upon their favourite uncle.

"Uncle Haldir, will you read me a story?" "Can we finish those arrows, Uncle Haldir? Adar let me practice on some of his, and now I'm *really* good!"

With strong hugs and assurances all round, Haldir and Meluiwen managed to settle the children back at the table, and Meluiwen ladled another portion of the venison stew into a bowl for Haldir. The marchwarden protested.

"Meli, this was supposed to be a night off for you both - you didn't have to prepare all of this!"

His sister-in-law shook her head, topping up the serving with one more spoonful.

"I had to cook something for the children anyway, and I know that you have been working hard and would not have a chance to prepare anything yourself. This way you can concentrate on the fun part of being an uncle. There is an apple pastry dessert over there on the side." The golden-haired elleth smiled and touched his cheek. "It is you who are doing the favour for us, Haldir. It is I who must thank you for this night, for I do miss my husband when he is gone."

Haldir embraced his law-sister and placed a light kiss on her forehead.

"He hardly deserves you, Meli. None of us deserve such a lovely sister - but we are very glad that we have you!"

Meluiwen coloured and gave Haldir a chiding pat on the shoulder.

"And I love all my brothers very much!" she laughed, and then paused for a moment. Haldir was sure that his brother's wife was going to make a comment, but then she shook her head and, giving a final hug and a wink, said, "And now I must go for Rúmil can be most impatient at times." Meluiwen moved to kiss her two offspring, who were eagerly finishing their meal. "Be good for your uncle, my darling brats!"

Haldir escorted her to the door, and he could not help but speak.

"You did not enquire as to the status of my private life, Meli, yet I feel sure that Rúmil would not have remained silent on this matter."

Meluiwen shook her head. "He did not, Haldir, nor did Orophin or Doron. Our talan has become a council chamber, filled with debate. That is why I have chosen to keep my peace, so that in this turbulent storm being generated by your brothers, you may at least have one quiet harbour in which to rest."

The archer hugged his sister once more, gratitude evident in his whole body. Meluiwen felt him shake with the repression of emotion, and closed her eyes in silent prayer to Nienna to grant Haldir solace and peace. When she had gone, Haldir turned to the expectant children and grinned.

"All right, pin nith - it's playtime!"

****

Once again Haldir was experiencing a sleepless night, even though he was both physically and mentally exhausted. Alagion and Tólaes had joined him in a fast game of 'Bones', the children's favourite childhood game. As the younger, Tólaes went to bed first, snuggling deep into the covers of the bed that had once been her father's, so many long years ago. Although Alagion, as a stripling of twenty-nine years, protested that he was too old for a bedtime story, yet he too was as enthralled as Tólaes at the tales of dragons and dwarves and hoards of gold that Haldir spun so well.

Alagion was allowed to stay up a little longer and Haldir was pleased to see that his nephew had indeed improved his skills in fletching.

"And Adar has been teaching me how to use my wonderful bow, the one that Father Rhîw gave to me last Yuletide."

Haldir smiled. Even at this independent age, young Alagion still wanted to believe in the childish things in life, a conflict which would no doubt be assuaged in coming years. As it was, Haldir knew that Rúmil had spent many long hours carving the bow, here in the family talan, as his secret gift to his son.

Now at last both elflings slept in his brothers' old room, peaceful and happy, and the Marchwarden could take stock of the unexpected direction his life had taken within the space of one short week. He looked at his rack of fine wines, feeling for the first time the urge to open and down every bottle of his extensive collection in a binge of misery. He sighed and shook his head. There was no answer there. Instead he took a small pan and heated some water, then poured the boiling liquid over a selection of herbs to steep. A gentle soothing tea would serve him better and nullify his chances of another blinding headache in the morning. He sat on a comfortable chair within the living area, surveying the talan in which he had grown up.

Over the past two millennia Haldir had often envisioned a family filling these rooms, and had heard within his mind the cries of laughter and joy that elflings could bring. Yet in all his dreams this family had been an amorphous vision of blond hair and willowy shapes. Never had he seen any clarity in the figure of his wife, nor any features on the faces of his offspring. Vague hopes, wistful dreams that had invaded his life more and more, but never had he been able to pin down who would fill those glaring vacancies in his world, nor who would sit opposite him in matrimonial harmony.

He glanced once more at the closed door behind which his niece and nephew slept. Logically he knew that as an uncle he had the best part in their upbringing and, for Alagion at least, he knew that he was the dashing warrior uncle, high in status and reflective glory. But his was not the hand that wiped away sad or cross tears, and his was not the voice raised in chastisement or grief. From Rúmil's exasperated tales he had heard of sleepless nights and the misery of teething; the endless battles over meals, schooling and perceived bedtimes. These had never featured in his dreams - his fantasy - and now he wondered if his fantasy family should remain precisely that. The nebulous golden elleth was now gaining dark red hair and a small, strong frame. Instead of a docile, doting, simpering elleth, it was an intelligent, slender, beautiful ellon that he was envisioning in the seat across the hearth.

He looked up again, this time to the door to his bedchamber. In that room he had pleasured many she-elves, had taken them and invaded them and begged within his heart for his soul to respond. As he stood now, carrying the oil lamp and walking slowly to the door, he felt a presence beside him and he dared not turn to see the empty space but instead indulged in the whimsy of the sensation of companionship in the encompassing darkness of the Lórien night. He pressed the handle of the door and entered the room, lifting the light. The gentle flicker of the flame lit the room to its corners, revealing no hidden secrets. The bed was made in the fashion he had done so for all his time as a Galadhrim - spare, functional yet comfortable. As a concession to his many conquests he had a luxurious quilt and silken sheets that he had always prepared in advance, but he had no need for such luxuries when alone.

On that thought, that depressing thought, Haldir winced. He did not want to be alone any more; he did not want to be thought aloof, repressed or casual in his attentions. Instead Haldir acted, an impetuous decision that prompted him to place the lamp on a side table and sweep the present bedclothes onto the floor. As one possessed he moved to his press, opening it to remove the said bedding and quickly remade the bed in the sensual fabrics. Next he took extra candles from the cupboards and lit them, sending sparkles of light twinkling about the room, some within oil burners which sent forth an aroma of cinnamon and orange. All logic was gone and in its place was a whirlwind of desire, preparing for the moment that would change his life. His work was soon completed and he turned to face the renovated bedchamber. Yes, this was what he wanted to be like - wild, sensuous, excited. This was where he would bring his loved one on their first night of passion; his soulmate, his 'Maen…

Reality crashed in, as he finally admitted to himself the depth of his attraction to the ellon. He had spoken but a dozen words to the elf, he knew naught of the likes or dislikes of this scribe, he did not even know if Melpomaen liked him, yet lust and desire and need were there in his heart. Aye - and love - but even in this recognition of his love he knew that the one he longed for was not here in this room, not here in his arms - and most likely never would be.

Haldir sat heavily on the edge of the bed and rested his head in his hands. How had it come to this? The choice, his oath, had fallen from his lips so easily upon his father's death. He had wanted so much to confirm in his actions the many discussions he had had with his sire, the memories of the long strolls under the mallorn trees where his father had talked about the joy that children could bring.

.......

"You and your brothers," his father had said, "you are my reason for living. In you I see a continuance of the *good* things of my own father, as in you children I hope that you will see a reflection of me." His father had placed his arm around Haldir's shoulders, pulling him tight against him. "You are the reason that I do not resent my path in life, ion nín. I did not seek this path but once my feet were set upon it, in you I found my solace."

Haldir had glanced up, concern upon his small face. "And Naneth, Ada," he had said uncertainly. "You *do* love Naneth too."

Celegon had smile wanly at his son's doubtful tones and he spoke to support the filial love that Haldir had for his mother. "Yes, your mother has been a gracious presence in my life. Gracious, gentle, and generous in a much greater measure than I have ever deserved. I love your mother for all she has given me - very, very much."

Haldir had pondered on these words, for he had sensed that in many ways the son was closer than the mother in Celegon's affections. He had decided there and then to be worthy of that love, and that he wanted to make his father truly happy and proud of him.

"When I grow up, Ada, I will marry and have *lots* of elflings so that you can have many grandchildren to climb upon your knee. I promise, Ada. I swear. I want to make you proud of me."

Celegon had turned sharply to his son at these words, grasping at Haldir's shoulders. His face was solemn, his eyes intense and, for a moment, Haldir had been alarmed.

"Ion nín, all I will ever ask of you is that you will live your life to the fullest - and make your *own* choices. Do not make these promises now, for you are young and have not yet learned all the ways of our people. We are all so different, Calaquendi, Laiquendi, Moriquendi. We differ in our temperaments and laws - Noldor, Silvan, Sindar. Although I was born here in Lothlórien, I was raised to be true to my Greenwood forebears, and the values and teachings of our Sindar kings were most firmly embedded within me by my father. Those values have - ruled - my life. I hope that you have benefited from my lessons, Haldir, for I have tried not to impose upon you beliefs which have no place in this Golden Wood. You are Silvan, my beautiful son. You are of Lórien. Listen to your heart, Haldir, though do not let it dictate your every step in life. Allow it to speak when the time is right and follow it, no matter what the consequences."

Haldir's heart had pulled him to his father's chest for though he had not understood the full import of his words that day, yet the elfling had understood that within the older elf there was a hollowness, an ache which had shadowed his father for his whole life. All Haldir had wanted to do was to ease that ache, and still he had thought that his determined oath was the right one. His father had not accepted it now, but Haldir knew that he would take it when he was older. He had never swayed from that thought, save for two events which had served in the end to strengthen his belief that the love of an ellon was not the way for him. Haldir flinched from those memories, full of pain and fear, preferring to set them firmly back into the hazy mists of dulled recollections.

..........


Finally Haldir had taken the pledge in silence and in secret on the day that his mother had died. When finally he took ship to the West his sons and daughters would accompany him, and they would rush forth to greet his father and mother who, surely by then, would be reborn. The oath had stood for two thousand years, and long had he search for the elf who would fill his heart. None had come forward, and now he faced the decline of the Eldar in Middle Earth and the exodus of his kin. Soon he too would have to travel and he would see the disappointment upon his father's face, and he would know that he had failed him. No, no elleth had come forward to fill the place at his side - but now he had seen the ellon who was his heart's desire.

Glancing sadly at the extravagant decor, Haldir retreated to his bathing chamber where his ablutions were performed as rote for his mind dwelled on other things. Finally naked, he lay down upon the silken coverlet and let the material glide under his hips and shoulders. Beautiful, soft, sensual covers. A small movement teased his sensitive nerves and he closed his eyes to revel in the sensation.

His hands slid slowly over his firm skin, over muscles honed by dedicated training and wondered how the soft flesh of the scribe would feel next to his - how the scribe would feel beneath his body. 'Maen would be gentle, diminutive in his stature - a treasure to hold and cherish. Yet under that silk he sensed that there lay steel and a strong mind. So how would Haldir of Lórien approach the ellon? Would he be arrogant in his taking of the Noldo, acting as he so often did in the ordering of his troops? Strong, firm-willed, adamant in the rightness of his command?

No, he knew that he would not. He would mould himself around the lithe body, protecting his perfect 'Maen from all evils, all importunities against the sweet elf. He would kiss him with intensity, exploring the crevices of the warm cavern, tasting honey within its depths. He would hold the edhel against his body, claiming the heat rising from the smooth skin, stroking its surface until the librarian begged for the torture to end in rapture. He longed for Melpomaen, he longed to hear sweet cries, soft moans, gentle pleadings for more - more love, more heat, more Haldir.

The moans came now from the back of Haldir's throat as his hands explored across his broad chest. A hand flew out to the bedside table, clutching for the cool balm that he kept there to caress into his hands each night in an attempt to soothe the calluses. Scooping some of the slippery lotion onto his palms, he massaged it across his chest, coating the nipples, pinching the nubs so that pain and pleasure leapt through his body. A zephyr of wind blew in the open window and rolled lazily around the room, caressing the peaked ear tip as if it were hot breath from between rose pink lips; trailing across the moist teats causing such pleasure to flare that the warden arched off the bed in sudden delight. It was as if a light tongue had flicked across the nipples and in a moment of foresight he knew that another ellon was pleasuring himself this night. Haldir licked his lips gently, laving them in his saliva, and murmured the name of the one he wanted in his arms.

" 'Maen..."

His ears deceived him, for the branches blew in the quickening wind and an answering cry echoed within the elevated chamber.

"Yes, yours..."

One hand slipped lower, spread full width across his abdomen, stroking the developed muscles there in pretence of softer, lighter touches. The grating of the hard calluses faded away as imagined velvet and silk caused his member to twitch and harden even further, its tip beginning to weep its longing. Another gust of wind, and a hot breath and soft tresses glided over the thick shaft, sending shudders through his body. Desperately wanting to advance the pace in his need, a finger ran up its length, traversing around the leaking slit, spreading the sweet pre-cum as if in preparation for penetration. How would he feel, this ellon. How would any ellon feel? As warm and wet and welcoming as an elleth? As tight as a maiden?

Haldir's hand closed firmly over his member, so swollen and purple with the blood of desire. With a tight grip he began to rhythmically stroke the shaft, envisioning it within his beautiful 'Maen. Still sleek with balm, he felt it slide through his fingers just as it would slide within the velvet channel - silken shaft of steel within a hot velvet glove. Encompassing. Caressing. Loving.

As a fire began to build within his groin, so did a scene within his head - not of taking, but of being taken. Would 'Maen want this? Did he, Haldir, want it? Two ellons he pictured, one knelt before the other upon hands and knees, presenting that precious orifice to be claimed. Haldir tried to place himself in the dominant role, tried to see himself pressing against the tight ring, demanding entry into heaven's embrace, yet the hair of the thrusting male was dark, red highlights spilled over curved back, mingling with silver-gold hair. So little he knew of this act, so little he had wanted to know. No virgin to physical sexual activity was he, and yet his heart pounded in trembling anticipation of his first time of true loving union, even in this dream. It would mean complete surrender, a surrender of body, of mind of heart - of fëa. Hesitantly he lifted a finger to his mouth, circling it within his lips, laving it with his tongue. Could he? Dare he? What if…?
Haldir's heart hammered within his chest, threatening to break free of its cage of ribs as he lifted his legs wide and reached to place the moist finger at his entrance. The other hand held tightly onto his member, its fullness now waning slightly in incipient fear. He stroked the length, willing it back to weeping anticipation. It would be Melpomaen doing this to him, this would be his slim finger, his gentle hand. The finger tempted the puckered rose, circling it as a lion circled its prey. His breaths became deeper as he exhaled slowly, forcing his body to relax as the digit ended its tantalising, teasing circuits and pressed forward into the opening. Resistance, and a sharp flinch as the edge of a nail scraped the sensitive flesh. He gathered his courage and a silent tear trailed over a fleshy cheek when he felt the pressure give to allow the tip to enter. It did not feel too uncomfortable, not like the first time, not like…
Pain! Sharp, excruciating pain, as if he was being torn apart, filled and fractured by ferocious, unwanted intrusion! Memories flooded in, turning the slight physical sting into a roaring flame of remembered agony. Twisting, violent, endless, agony. Muscles clenched in denial of entry; firm, squeezing upon the invader and expelling it in repulsion of that which had hurt him so long ago. Haldir cried out, choking upon the scream which echoed down through the millennia, remembering at the last two innocents in close proximity whom he could not wake, who could not be allowed to see him like this, broken once more. Innocent, as once he had been before the brutal attack when he was…!
"No!"
He rolled from the bed and cried out as he crashed to the floor.
"No!"
No, not again, please don't hurt me again!
"No…"
The word was spilled from his lips in a torrent of tears, and he knew that his hope was gone, as was the desire that had raged through him but minutes before. Now he was as limp as his lost arousal, weeping copiously as he realised that all hope was lost. "'Maen!" he moaned, he whimpered. "Mine…"
But even as he said the beloved words, he despaired in his heart that it could ever be so.

TBC


Elvish:

mellon nín - my friend
pin nith - little ones
Father Rhîw - Father Winter
ion nín - my son