Haunted

Disclaimer: I wrote this strictly for my own enjoyment and will receive no monetary compensation. All elves and Middle Earth belong to Tolkien. However, the OFC in this story belongs to me
Cast: Thandronen/OFC, Haldir, Ferevellon, Fereveldir
Timeline: Sometime in the midpart of the Third Age


Chapter 4 - Lost Souls

See the west wind move like a lover so
Upon the fields of barley
Feel her body rise when you kiss her mouth
Among the fields of gold
Field of Gold - Sting


Fear flickered across her face and he hated it, hated even more that he was the cause of it. Thandronen dropped his hand away from the hilt of his dagger. For once he cursed the reflexes honed by millennia of battle. She shifted beneath his thoughtful stare but her eyes did not leave his.

“Envinyatarë.” Thandronen tested her name on his own lips finding it foreign yet pleasing. Quenya, he was certain of it and went searching some of his oldest memories. It was a language not spoken commonly among his people but The Lady insisted every elfling learn it. Galadriel cherished the language she originally brought from Valinor. It had been long since he had even thought of it and had to delve deep in the furthest recesses of his mind. “Healer?” he said at last, looking at her.

Her smile was faint barely stretching her lips, “Close enough.”

But it was still not quite right. His precise and analytical mind, dissatisfied, continued to worry until it wrapped itself properly around the word he sought. “Renewer!” he exclaimed triumphantly.

A brief inclination of her head was the only acknowledgement he received. His small burst of elation faded quickly. Thandronen stood awkwardly wondering how he would repair the damage he had just wrought. Finally he retreated into official court protocol and laying his hand upon his breast, bowed deeply, “I am honored by your acquaintance and blessed by your benevolence,” his tone as formal as his words. “Please pardon any offense I may have given in my surprise.

Slender fingers wrapped themselves around his wrist and pulled his hand away from his chest. Her eyes were dancing as they peeked up at him. “I am not angry at you, Captain of the Galadhrim. I like you far too much.” In the space of a single breath she forgave him and the uncomfortable moment passed.

“Perhaps you will honor me further by relating to me how you came to be here.” He gently drew her arm into the crook of his as though they stood in a formal hall and guided her the few steps back to the fire. He urged her to sit on the blanket then took his seat beside her.

“You have a taste for tragic and dismal tales?” Though the tone was light there was no mistaking the sadness that touched her features.

In answer he poured more wine and settled himself more comfortably. “I am listening.”

~*~

He could feel eyes burning in the back of his head. Haldir did not have to turn to know the sons of Thandronen stood behind him, poorly curbing their impatience. The Marchwarden continued his searching sweep of the open terrain before him as if by sheer determination he could force his tardy captain to make an appearance.

When Thandronen was not waiting for them at the prearranged meeting place Haldir understood they had simply arrived first. He and his wardens had dismounted here at mid afternoon and rested as they waited. Assuming the captain would soon appear, Haldir's concern grew with the passing hours. Darkness deepened across the evening sky before he gave curt orders to make camp.

With a sigh he turned. The Marchwarden met two pairs of worried, questioning eyes. He nodded to Ferevellon and Fereveldir. "At first light, I will send searchers for Thandronen while the rest of us make our way to Lorien." The twins exchanged somber glances and both straightened before returning their gazes back to him. An elegant brow crept slightly upwards. "Is there something else?"

The brothers shared another glance before Fereveldir hesitantly spoke. "We would like to go, Marchwarden. We would like to go now."

Haldir dismissed the idea, "It is too dangerous. Orcs are abroad now; you know this. And I did not say I would send either of you."

"But-" Ferevellon began. He subsided under Haldir's steady unperturbed gaze.

Worry etched fine lines around the eyes and bracketed the mouths of the twins. The young were not as adept at disguising their concern. The silence stretched and after a moment the elder elf relented. "'But'? Is there something more?"

The younger warden took a deep breath and continued, "We feel there is a danger to Ada other than orcs. And we feel time grows short."

Haldir snorted, "I was not aware either of you had acquired the gift of foresight."

"We have not." Fereveldir answered him. "It is an unease that has been growing in our hearts - both of our hearts - since this afternoon." His eyes did not waver, "We cannot explain it but we feel we cannot delay."

Turning his back to them once again, Haldir let his eyes wander the landscape before him. Should he tell these two young pups of Thandronen's that foreboding had settled on his shoulders as well? That it rode the back of his neck and kept him here at the edge of the forest watching across the golden moving grasses? There was still no sign of the Captain whose upright carriage would belie his weariness as he approached. No silhouette of elf and horse to break the monotony of the horizon. The skies were clearing and Ithil would soon shyly show half her face as she rose. He shrugged to himself; he would put Orophin in charge. "Make ready to leave in one hour. The three of us will go."

~*~

Soft winds had dispersed the clouds and the stars twinkled as they listened sympathetically to Envinyatarë’s tale. Thandronen's mind struggled to encompass all that she was telling him. Reclining on one elbow with his head propped on one hand, his body curled around hers. She rested her back comfortably on his thighs sometimes with her legs stretched in front of her and sometimes curled under her leaning eagerly towards him. He watched her hands fluttering like the graceful wings of a wood dove. Always in motion, they expressed how tall or how wide or how wonderful something was. Her animated face was illuminated by the flickering flames of the fire. Noting each fleeting emotion moving across her features told him nearly as much as her words as her story unfolded.

As children of Manwë she and her brother, Nárion, were allowed much freedom. This was in the time before the appearance of Ithil and Anor and the world was bathed in darkness. They wandered far from their home in Valinor exploring the forests of Middle Earth. They took great delight in each new discovery wrought by Yavanna's hand. "My brother and I were fascinated by the growth of Middle Earth. We would watch her coax new and marvelous things forth from the ground."

When Yavanna tired of their inquisitive company, they would often trail Oromë. Being fleet of foot, they would follow the huntsman wherever he roamed and would often share his campfire at night. Despite his grumbling that they spoiled his hunting, the laughing Vala always seemed gruffly pleased to have their company. He often urged them to sing for him, making them earn their evening meal. He took great pleasure in the lilting voices of these children of Manwë.

“Will you sing for me?” Thandronen interrupted at this point.

Her toes curled against the coarse wool of his blanket. “Perhaps later,” was the shy response.

“Later then,” he agreed. “Tell me more of your brother. Are the two of you together as troublesome as my own twin sons?”

“You will have to tell me of your sons before I can pass judgment on that!” she laughed. “We caused our share of harmless difficulties although I am sure they would be greatly exaggerated if you asked anyone else.” She ducked her head. “We never meant any harm.” Unfocused eyes watched happier times and the smile that touched her lips was bittersweet. "We were born twins although we do not look much alike. His hair is as dark as the wing of a raven and as straight as mine is curved." Raking her hand through the offending tresses she made a feminine moue of disgust.

Thandronen snorted softly an playful smile on his face at this minor display of vanity. "I take it wavy hair does not please you?" he teased. She shook her head violently and gazed at Thandronen's own straight waterfall of silken locks in obvious envy. Reaching, he captured a strand of silvery white between his first two fingers, gently pulling it straight. Allowing its softness to slip through them he watched it bounce back into place. "I think it is beautiful."

She graced him with a smile that coaxed the dimple out of hiding. Bemused, he wondered what he could do to make it reappear more often than not.

“It was on one of these journeys amid the dim valleys of Arda that Nahar stopped and refused to go any further.” Oromë’s huge steed stood unmoving until the three of them quieted; they all heard it then. The distant singing of many soft voices lured them forward. They were humbled and overjoyed to find the Firstborn of Illuvatar. The Vala and the two maia moved among them, attempting to win the frightened creatures to their sides.

"It did not take us long to discover the source of their fear. Melkor had been about and stealing them away by ones and twos." Her face twisted, "For what purpose we did not know but it was no wonder they were so shy and mistrustful. It was some time before we gained their faith."

Eventually, Oromë returned to Valinor carrying the joyous news of the arrival of the first of Eru's children. Envinyatarë and her brother stayed behind both to learn more of the newly awakened Firstborn and to reassure them they would not be abandoned to the evil Vala.

Malice stalked them in the form of Melkor. In their pride, the children of Manwë assumed wrongly they were safe from his whims. "He caught us much as he caught the Firstborn. He was strong and powerful and our struggles could not free us.” Her voice turned harsh, “But he did not take us to where he was holding the Elves; he brought us here instead."

She leaned forward, lashes fluttering. In a gesture that revealed her nervous distress she gathered her hair in a trembling hand and lifted it, exposing the slenderness of her neck before dropping it. Thandronen watched the silvery stands drift to fan across her shoulders. "It was his intent to isolate us until he could bind us to him in service but we refused. How could he believe he could turn us against our Ada and the other Valar?"

Thandronen handed her wine and watched her drain it in one long swallow. Her knuckles whitened gripping the empty cup. “He imprisoned us here within a wall of enchantment and left us. He would return and try to persuade us to swear our allegiance to him. When he failed he would leave again."

Thandronen stirred. He dreaded the question and the words came reluctantly out of his mouth, "And where is your brother?"

Her expressive hands covered her face, a soft keening issued from between the fingers.

"Dead," an anguished whisper answered him. "Dead, by Melkor's hand, his soul fled to Mandos." Logs shifted in the fire sending up a shower of sparks. She dropped her hands. Her face illuminated by the brief flare was full of such sorrow Thandronen was forced to turn his head, unable to bear the sight of her pain. It was many minutes before she drew a deep shuddering breath and continued. “He only needed one of us. He thought as a female I would be weaker. To make me more malleable to his will he slew my brother.” Her breath hitched, “I watched him die,” she whispered. “I watched him die.”

Her arm was cold beneath his fingers as he gripped it. “I am sorry for this. I cannot tell you how much. Already I know you well enough to know it was a grave error in judgment on Morgoth’s part.”

She hugged her knees clasping her hands together to still their trembling. “To his great regret, yes.” The thin smile stretching her lips was without humor. “He was most angry to have his plans thwarted. And he had nothing else to threaten me with for I would have welcomed death.”

‘Most angry’? Thandronen caught his breath at those two words and the wealth of implication couched in them. His imagination tried unsuccessfully to conjure a picture of the slight form of Envinyatarë defying the great and powerful malevolence that was Morgoth. What torments did she resist? What agonies had she endured and still remained whole in wit and spirit? His mind refused to wrap around the image. It was simply beyond his ken.

“As for Nárion, Melkor took his body and I know not where it lies.” Her voice broke on the name of her brother and she fell quiet. Thandronen watched her struggle to prevent the tears that filled her eyes from slipping down her cheeks. “Here I have been ever since.”

"You have had no one with which to share this burden of grief, have you, little one?" On impulse he wrapped his arms about her and pulled her close. She resisted for just a moment before sagging against him. "My shoulders are broad. Lay your sorrow on them if you wish."

She clutched his under tunic, the cotton wadded between her fingers. The maia then turned her face to his chest and wept. His hands swept down her back in smooth comforting strokes. A part of his mind was surprised to discover her dress was made of overlapping leaves and he wondered why he had not noticed this before. The memory of a leafless tree flashed through his mind. How the dress was fashioned he had no idea but put it aside for later consideration. He had more immediate concerns at the moment.

Sitting cross-legged he pulled her slight form into the well of his lap and held her close. She shuddered with sobs held back for centuries and he feared they would tear her apart. Thandronen breathed deeply of the faintly spicy fragrance of her hair pressing his lips to crown and temple. Crooning nonsense words in comfort, his memory supplied snatches of songs he used to soothe the hurts of his sons when they were small. Night insects chirruped their accompaniment.

~*~

Silently the three elves moved under the benign light of the half moon. They were spread as far apart as they dared and still not miss a print or track. Haldir’s sharp eyes scanned the ground ahead and to each side, seeing no sign. Thandronen’s sons rode on his left looking just as carefully for a hoof print, a blade of bent grass, or anything that would indicate a rider had passed through here recently.

There was no sign. Haldir’s unease continued to grow and he urged his horse to move a little faster.

~*~

The storm of tears had abated and she lay quietly, comfortably enveloped in his arms, listening to tales of the mischief his sons had perpetrated in their youth. Her fingers traced patterns and smoothed the thin fabric of his under tunic. Thandronen could not see her face with her cheek pressed to his chest until she tipped her head back. “They are just high spirited!” she protested chuckling when he complained of the strain on his arm from the number of times he was forced to warm their bottoms. “Surely you did not wish to break them?”

“No,” he sighed. “I could, however, wish they would learn a little decorum. They are no longer elflings.”

Her eyes widened in mock outrage. “And you paddle them still? Do they stand for it?”

“Of course not.” He caught the back of her neck through her leafy garment. “But I have been known to shake them by the scruff of their necks. They cannot best me yet nor will they ever,”
he said smugly. “But it is a vain hope,” he mourned, “I have not been able to shake any sense into their thick skulls.” He shook her gently and laughed when she crossed her eyes.

Lazing back in his arms she seemed disinclined to move and he studied her slightly smudged, tear-streaked face. Her nose was no longer quite so pink and her eyes were a little less puffy yet he still found her poignantly lovely. He could not deny he felt drawn to her and had since he first laid eyes on her. He pondered what appealed to him the most; the odd lilting way she had of speaking, the way she glanced up at him through her lashes, or the maddening dimple his lips wished to press kisses upon. All of these things, he decided but more it was her fierce resistance to despair and her unbent spirit. There was a distinct air of buoyant hopefulness and light about her that was infinitely alluring. His gaze dropped to her lips. The tang of her kiss still lingered on his mouth and he found himself yearning for another sample.

As though he‘d spoken his wishes aloud, soft fingers laid themselves on either side of his face. Softer lips pressed to his. “Thank you for your comfort,” she breathed against his mouth. “My heart is greatly eased.” When she pulled away it was the most natural thing in all of Arda for him to follow, to dip his head and seek her mouth.

Palming her neck he threaded his fingers in her hair, anchoring her head. Her lashes fluttered at the feather light brush of his lips on her cheeks, the tip of her nose, and along her jaw line. They grazed the corner of her mouth before plucking delicately at her lower lip until she sighed and parted them.

For all her boldness the chaste kisses she had offered him had been as sweetly demure and guileless as an innocent’s. His was not.

Thandronen took advantage of her parted lips and explored the delectable recesses of her mouth. He gathered her closer, demanding and receiving her compliant surrender. Stunned by her unexpected trust his ardor increased and he felt himself stir when hesitantly her tongue touched his in gentle warfare. When they broke apart he pressed her head tightly to his frantically beating heart and rested his chin on her head struggling to regain control of his erratic breathing.

Neither spoke until Envinyatarë pushed against him and he tightened his arms. Fingertips brushed his cheek. “I only wish to wash my face.”

He followed her to stand guard while she splashed her face and bathed her eyes in the cold water of the nearby stream. Only the night insects sang and his alert eyes witnessed nothing except how the evening air seemed to have taken on subtle new colors and gentleness.

She stretched her arms overhead before hugging herself against the chill night. The night birds called across the water in soft trills and the night seemed somehow more peaceful. “It has been long since Melkor has visited me. Longer than any other interval.”

“He can no longer torment you,” Thandronen thought to reassure her. “He was cast into the Void by the Valar at the end of the First Age. He will not be back.”

Her head snapped around, glittering eyes seeking his. ”First Age? What Age is this then? And how long ago would that be?” She barely choked out the questions before she turned away not waiting for his answers. Striding rapidly away from the monolith she broke into a run, a kind of anxious hope written in every line of her body. Puzzled, Thandronen followed, his effortless ground- eating lope caught up with her easily.

He judged they were nearly some three thousand paces away from the rocky refuge when she began to slow. Abruptly she halted. Curious he came up beside her and watched as she appeared to be struggling. She could not lift her feet; seemingly they were anchored to the ground like one of the mighty mellyrn in Lorien.

With a distraught cry she flung herself backwards, sitting down abruptly. She scooted away from the invisible wall. “I will never be free!” she wailed. She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. “Never.”

The elf understood then that she had come to test the limits of her world and challenge the band of enchantment that had her trapped. Tested and failed. Thandronen scooped up the maia and strode resolutely forward, holding her firmly as she thrashed about. Gradually his feet became leaden weights in his boots, the heaviness creeping upwards into his calves. Finding it harder and harder to lift his feet he struggled to move forward. The ground beneath him seemed to become a mire of thick marshlands pulling at his feet. The morass sucked greedily at each foot, more and more unwilling to let go. Gradually, they became so heavy he could not lift them at all. To his dismay, the heaviness began to crawl upwards to his thighs.

“Set me down,” her voice as colorless as her lips. “Please. Before you hurt yourself. You cannot take me away from here.”

Dropping the arm beneath her knees, Envinyatarë slid down his body still enclosed tightly in his other arm. It wasn’t until she thrust herself away from him that the heaviness vanished and he was free to move again.

They stood side by side looking out past an invisible barrier that kept her from roaming the world.
A world that did not know her footfall and where she was forbidden to play.

Sighing heavily she turned back to face the stone edifice, naked hatred in her face. Its dark bulk taunted menacingly and its hulking mass seemed to gloat. “If it were not my home I would blast it from the earth,” she muttered. She caught his arm and looked up at him, dread in her face. “How long?”

Thandronen hesitated. “An age is approximately three thousand years. It was over four thousand years ago that he was banished.”

Her chin sank to her chest. He moved to stand in front of her but she did not see him. Her gaze was turned inwards as she viewed some unspeakable horror mirrored by the expressions that flitted across her face.

His heart chilled. Thandronen took her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles striving to elicit a response from the white faced female. She shook herself and gathered her fragile bits of composure together. She smiled at him. “Thank you,” she said simply and began the short journey back to the rock.

The golden grasses brushed softly against their legs whispering regret and the faint burble of the stream faded in the background of her harsh breathing. Halfway back her self-control snapped and with a low cry she sprinted for the rock. Thandronen followed close on her heels a distant memory flashing through his mind.

Long ago in his youth he had hunted with friends. A jostle to his elbow caused him to misfire and instead of hitting a soft-eyed doe with a merciful killing shot, the arrow had pierced her throat. He remembered his pursuit of her as she bounded brokenly away, fear and pain in her wide glazed eyes. He followed the trail of red droplets splattering the leaves and grasses, sick in his heart. Thandronen eventually caught up with the small trembling doe. In her terror and hurt she had hurled herself mindlessly through the forest and had impaled herself on the wickedly sharp end of a broken limb. He could still feel the sticky warmth on his hand when he cut her throat.

Thandronen recognized the same panic and anguish in the wild eyes of Envinyatarë; in her wild erratic flight. She was much more fleet footed returning and evaded his grasp. He thought she would fling herself against the stone and sought to catch her before she could but she eluded him. Instead she checked herself but a moment then swarmed up the sheer rock face with the alacrity of a spider. His heart contracted watching her move far too rapidly for safety even for an elf.

He gritted his teeth and followed at a lesser pace. “Slow down, you little fool!” he shouted at her, “Before you fall and break your neck!”

She paused to look down at him. She had one foot braced and ready to heave herself up another step. The hem of her leaf dress swung out revealing long bare legs and a rounded, bare backside. He blinked at that and moaned softly under his breath that his fear for her interfered with his enjoyment of the view.

“It is most unpleasant,” she called down. “I have already done so twice and it took many days to heal.” Her voice faded as she turned away. “But it is nothing new.”

He hauled himself to the top and found it a relatively large flat place. His eyes seeking Envinyatarë found her a dozen steps away. She sat much as she had when he first awakened to find her watching him. He paused a moment to allow his heart to settle into a more normal rhythm instead of the heavy hammering deep in his chest and looked around.

A vagrant breeze blew a strand of hair across his eyes and impatiently he brushed it away. They were in a natural pocket that formed a break from the colder winds blowing from the west. He noted they could see quite a distance and with a pang recognized the trail he and others like him had used to travel past this point. How many times, he wondered, did she keep a solitary vigil watching in lonely yearning as we passed by? Did she try calling to us even though she knew we were too far to hear?

He breathed a prayer of thanks to the Valar to find her safe. Thandronen felt as though his feet were tied to a turning waterwheel. One moment he was thrust upwards hands clutching at the stars and the next he was plunged into murky waters that chilled him to the bone. It was wearying and tore at the edges of the lingering effects of the healing exhilaration he felt earlier.

Enough. His eyes narrowed as his practical nature reasserted itself and his alarm turned into annoyed anger. Stiff legged Thandronen stalked to her and dropped to a crouch. Gripping her chin he jerked her face to his allowing the full measure of his displeasure to penetrate her awareness.

“If you insist on scaling a sheer rock wall, you will do so in a more controlled and less dangerous manner. You will have a care for yourself.” She tried unsuccessfully to pull free but he only tightened his hold. “I will have your word on it.”

Envinyatarë flared incandescent. She was lightning without a rumble and so brilliant he was forced to shield his eyes with his other hand. Tenaciously he refused to let go of her chin.

“Who are you to extract an oath from me?” Her soft lilting voice contained undertones of thunder that raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

Once again the sands had shifted beneath his feet. Fear cheerfully thumped his spine but only for a moment. Centuries of dealing with it had taught the captain to compartmentalize and contain it until he could either destroy its source or had the leisure to examine and resolve its cause. Right now he simply set it aside to deal with later. He blinked furiously behind the screen of his palm. “Your friend,” he said calmly.

~*~

Haldir dismounted. He signed for Ferevellon and Fereveldir to remain horsed while he examined the small patch of ground that caught his interest. He was much disturbed. There were tracks here and there, faint to his eye, yet there all the same not made by any elf. The faint stench of orc clung to them.

He shook his head and swung back into the saddle. Thoughtfully, he motioned for them to continue.

~*~

The dazzling glow vanished as quickly as it came. “I will give you this promise but I do not think it matters.” She jerked her chin from his hand.

“It matters to *me*, Envinyatarë.” Thandronen settled beside her and captured a fisted hand. Instead of bringing it to his lips he laid it against his heart. “Do you not realize you are no longer alone now?” Her eyes fastened to his; he wished he could decipher the expression there. “Did you think I would ride away in the morning and forget you?”

She stirred restlessly at that and her lashes swept down, “In the morning you will no longer see me.”

“I know. I must continue on and complete my mission. But once the dispatches I am carrying are in Lord Celeborn’s hands I will petition the Lady to aid you. I have no doubt she will allow me to return here and I will bring you supplies and things for your comfort.” He leaned closer, “Lady Galadriel comes from Valinor and I am certain she will find some way to free you.”

“No,” she said softly ignoring the last. “You misunderstand. You can only see me tonight. I will not be visible to you in the daylight. Another gift of Melkor‘s enchantment.” She tried to pull her hand away and he clung to it. “I am visible only in the darkness of night.”

Thandronen stared at her, much suddenly becoming clear. “All the legends of the ghost - of this rock being haunted.” He laughed. “No wonder there are so many. Of blankets, clothing, and food disappearing. A hidden sprite who played tricks and sang with a voice of unearthly beauty.” He paused. “It was you who tweaked my braid earlier.” he accused.

Her gaze shifted to the horizon and he allowed her to pulled her hand free. Realizing she did not share his mirth he sobered. “Yes, that was me. It was unfortunate. I mean the tales of this place being haunted. I left what I could in exchange for what I took but eventually I ran out of things to trade. I guess the stories spread. Unlucky for me. That’s why no one would stop here.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I have been hard pressed at times. Melkor’s enchantment would not allow me to perish but would allow me to know hunger and thirst, heat and cold. There were seasons when I was most uncomfortable.”

“Again you have humbled me.“ He climbed to his feet pulling her with him, “These times are over. No more will you suffer.” Sighing she stepped closer and he slid his arms around her. “I will see to it.” Her upturned face glowed in the moonlight and he touched his lips to hers briefly. “You are chilled and there is a fire warming no one below us.” He led her to the edge, “Come.”

Their descent was much more leisurely than the climb. He stepped down to the ground and turned but instead of offering his hand to her he slid his arm around her waist to lift her down. Standing on the rock behind him gave her enough height that she stood slightly above him, their faces nearly even. Her soft body molded against his when she leaned into him. Casually draping an arm on his shoulder between them her fingers brushed his neck and traced his jaw.

The air became unexpectedly thin. Shallow breathing gave evidence of the battle that raged in his breast. Thandronen was an honorable elf dedicated to a life of defending and safeguarding those both weaker and of a more exalted station than his own. Being both Envinyatarë was entitled to his protection. His humility warred with his pride; compassion battled passion. Admitting to his almost overwhelming desire for her, he thought to draw away; she deserved a protector, not a ravisher.

Touching her forehead to his temple her warm breath fanned across his cheek. “Less than half an evening have I known you,” her voice was softly pensive, “And already you are dear to me.”

*She is the daughter of Manwe,* he reminded himself. *You are nothing but the dust beneath her delicate feet.*

“Enforced solitude for such a long time has distorted your judgment,” he breathed. “I am nothing more than a common soldier.”

The faint smile that touched her lips widened slightly and she slanted him a glance. “You forget the company I have kept and who I have walked among captain.” A fingertip gently brushed his fringe of cinnamon lashes. “There is nothing common about you.”

“You are beyond lovely,” he murmured. “A treasure of unimaginable value.”

“Honeyed words,” she sighed gravely. She slid the backs of her fingers down his cheek. “They drip so easily from the tongue.” She could not hold the bored pose for long and eyes dancing in merriment slanted at him. Her fingers lightly brushed his lower lip.

Catching the tips between his lips he bit the pads gently. She snatched them away with a delighted wide-eyed squeak.

Thandronen was just as serious, “Then perhaps I should woo you with honeyed kisses instead.”

She continued the game; a feathery fringe of lashes lowered demurely. “Only if it pleases you.”

He pressed a kiss to the hollow of her throat; against the flutter of her rapid pulse. His hands plunged into her unruly hair and his mouth skimmed along her jaw line before grazing her lips with a breath of a touch.

A fleeting thought skittered through his mind as sobering as a sprinkling of icy water drops along his bare spine. What repercussions would there be for one who dared to lay carnal hands on a daughter of Manwë? What retribution would the irate Vala seek? What price would he pay to possess her?

*“Would I not be worth it?”*

His sultry gaze swept down over her and returned to catch her eyes. “Yes,” he said simply.

*“Rest easy then, my captain.”* The amused voice reassured him. A ripple of laughter like a shimmer of quicksilver moved across his mind touching it with great delicacy, "I choose my own consort."

He locked eyes with hers. Banked fires flared and spilled. The keystone of his resistance crumbled and roughly he pulled her to him.