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

Chapter 5. Merrymaking.

“Alfirin, more wine, please!” Orophin called to the barmaid.
“In a moment, Phin,” she replied.
“*Phin*?” Rúmil arched an eyebrow. “Is there anything I do not know?”
“No, there isn’t.”
“But she called you ‘Phin’.”
“I heard it.”
“So…?”
“None of your business.”
Rúmil feigned offense. “But I’m your brother! I have a right to know.”
Orophin sighed. “If you’re so keen on prying into your brothers’ affairs why don’t you go and satisfy your curiosity at Haldir’s expense, for a change?”
“Ha! To do that would be nothing short of a suicide. A caring elder brother you are to give me such advice!”
“Speaking about Haldir,” said Amarion who had been laughingly listening to the brothers’ bantering, “where is our valiant Marchwarden?”
“Star-gazing somewhere, I think,” answered Orophin with a hint of anxiety in his voice.
“Uh huh, somewhere in the vicinity of the guest talan, I bet,” smirked Rúmil. “Instead of having a drink with his brothers. As used to be his habit.”
“Well, the worse for him, it seems,” murmured Amarion as the door swung open and a noisy company of laug ang and talking elves burst inside.
Rúmil, who was sitting with his back to the door, looked over his shoulder and then understood the meaning of Amarion’s remark. For, the first whom he recognized was none other than Gildor. The rest turned out to be the Lady’s Noldorin guards. The Noldor being that boisterous and joyfully carefree was such a rare and unfamiliar sight that the Geledhil in the tavern could not help staring. The Noldor were completely unaware of the general amazement, as with much laughing and bantering they moved two vacant tables together and settled around them.
“Can you believe it?” Rúmil exclaimed in indignation, watching as Alfirin hurried past them to the Noldor’s table, a tray with goblets and a carafe of wine in her hands. “I thought you carried some weight here, *Phin*.”
“I do not remember claiming it,” Orophin laughed.
Alfirin poured the wine. Gildor took a sip from his goblet and put it down. Then he looked at the barmaid and turned on her all his refined charm.
“What is your name, tuilinn dithen?”
“Alfirin, sir.”
“And I am Gildor.”
“I know your name, sir.” She blushed.
Gildor flashed a smug smile at his companions. “I told you I’m famous!”
Then he turned to the girl again. “I must confess, Alfirin, you’re the prettiest barmaid I have seen in Lórien. My friends and I would like to drink to your beauty. Do you give us your permission?”
Alfirin was embarrassed. Nobody had ever talked to her like that before. To be treated like a real lady was very flattering. She smiled, “If you wish, sir.”
The Noldor kept silent, watching Gildor with amused interest and trying to guess where he was steering it.
“Thank you, Alfirin,” he sounded genuinely grateful. “But your beauty deserves to be toasted with the best of the wines. Does there happen to be any Mirkwood vintage in your worthy establishment, by any chance?”
The Noldor started grinning. *That* was it!
“Yes, sir,” answered the barmaid to their delight.
“Oh, come, Alfirin! Stop calling me that! You know my name.” The Vanya flashed a warm smile at her.
“Yes, Gildor.” And she hurried happily away to fetch the wine.
“It really beats me why girls fall so easily for such cheap tricks,” Rúmil snorted in disgust.
“Well, cheap tricks or not, they’ll be drinking Naurdirith in no time at all. And our glasses are still empty,” laughed Amarion.
“Oh, how I suddenly miss my little brother!” Rúmil sighed dramatically. “If he were with us now that silly fool of a girl wouldn’t go farther than two steps away from our table. Alas!”
Alfirin reappeared carrying three dark-green glass bottles. It *was* Naurdirith. The Noldor welcomed her with joyous whoops. While they were opening the bottles Gildor took the girl’s hands into his.
“What can I do to thank you, tuilinn dithen?”
“Come on, Alfirin, tell him your heart’s desire. Don’t miss your chance,” Rúmil murmured acidly.
“Dance with me,” said the girl.
“Dance?”
“Yes, there will be music here later. Will you dance with me, Gildor?”
“Gladly.”
She smiled with delight and walked back to her bar stand. As she was passing the brothers’ table her eyes fell on Orophin and she suddenly remembered they had asked for wine long ago.
“Oh!” she exclaimed guiltily. “One moment!”
“What?!” Rúmil looked furious. “One *more* moment?”
“Don’t get mad, Ru. I’ll be back in a second.”
“And mind you, we’ll have the same vintage as you served your Noldorin guests,” demanded Rúmil. “Or do I get Naurdirith only when I come with Haldir?”
Alfirin made a face at him. “All right. I think I can find you a bottle.”
When she left, Orophin looked at his younger sibling.
“She called you Ru,” he remarked nonchalantly. “Now, is there anything *I* do not know, brother?” he Nhe Noldor drank happily to Alfirin’s beauty, then to each other’s health. And two of the three Mirkwood bottles were empty. But the last one Gildor kept close to himself. When Narmacil made an attempt to nick it away the Vanya batted his hand. “No, you don’t! It’s mine. I’ve earned it.”
“If you drink it all alone you’ll get shamefully drunk.”
“I never get drunk, let alone shamefully.”
“Oh, yes, you do!”
“Says who?”
“Me!”
“You fibber! You’ve never seen me drunk!”
“Yes, I have.”
“And when, pray?”
“Yes, Narmacil, do tell us. We’re all ears,” Minalcar urged him laughingly.
The rest of the company was watching the argument with keen interest and wide grins. More wine was brought and poured.
“Well, it was rather long ago,” Narmacil admitted, “back in Valinor. When we were going to leave it.”
A shadow crossed Gildor’s face but it was quickly gone.
“Oh, yes…” he drawled, “I remember it. But *you* cannot possibly remember anything, as it was you who got shamefully drunk that evening. You’ve never been able to hold your drink, Narma. And on that very occasion, as I recall, you could not even stand, not to mention walk. Actually, I had to take you to bed. That is, take you home and put you to bed.”
His words were drowned in a burst of laughter.
“Whose bed, Gildor, yours or his?”
“Oh, his, of course,” Gildor smiled sweetly. “I took him to his home and put him into his own bed. And believe me, his dear mother was definitely not happy to find him lying in my arms the next morning, and in a disheveled state, too.”
His friends roared with laughter.
“So you did stay for the night after all,” Tindel managed to say.
“Well, it just happened so,” Gildor admitted.
“Happened what?” Narmacil stared at him in suspicion.
“See! You do not remember anything.”
“For shame, Narmacil!” exclaimed Minalcar wiping his eyes. “To forget a night with Gildor!”
“Do not believe everything you hear about me, Minalcar,” the Vanya chuckled. “Not all my nights are unforgettable, most of them I just sleep peacefully through. Actually, I decided to take pity of Narmacil and to sing him my best hangover-preventing lullaby. And it seems I fell asleep in the process. But as he did not have any headache in the morning it must have worked, all the same.”
The Noldor laughed again.
“Perhaps, I should return the favour and put *you* to bed today,” grumbled Narmacil.
This caused another fit of merriment.
“To *your* bed, Narmacil?” “See to it that Gildor wouldn’t have to sleep peacefully through *this* night as well!” “And do not fall asleep in the process yourself.” “Or Glorfindel will be definitely not happy to find you sleeping in Gildor’s bed!”
“Oh, shut up, you all!” Narmacil cried in mock indignation.
“By the way, where is Glorfindel, Gildor? Why did not he come with you?” asked Sairin.
“He’s seeing someone else at the moment,” the Vanya answered after a short hesitation.
Narmacil grinned at him knowingly. “Someone tall, blond and gorgeous?”
“Exactly.” Gildor thought of Galadriel and thus was taken by surprise by the next twist of the conversation.
“Exactly like the Galadhel I found loitering around outside your chamber?” Narmacil winked at him.
“Was it the same Galadhel who helped you down from your talan so deftly?” asked Minalcar archly.
“And was holding you so very-very close?” added Morwinyon.
Orophin and Rúmil exchanged a quick worrieanceance.
“He said he would give me a ride,” Gildor chuckled, recalling the encounter.
“What?!” The Noldor stared at him in merry amazement.
“He also was eager to learn how we do it in Imladris. So probably Glorfindel will have to give him a demonstration.”

Rúmil laughed heartily at his table, “Oh, little brother, now you’re in for trouble!”
Orophin did not think it funny at all. If Haldir was to confront Glorfindel, the consequences could be disastrous. But then he found Gildor looking at him. The Vanya gave him a quick smile and a wink, and Orophin felt relieved. So, Haldir was not really in trouble after all. Well, for the time being, at least.
“See, Narmacil! If Glorfindel is so occupied tonight it’s quite safe for you to take Gildor home,” remarked Tindel.
“Do not start it all over again, for Valar’s sake!” moaned Narmacil.
“Well, if you’ve changed your mind I can do it instead of you and sing him to sleep.”
“No, you cannot.”
“Why not?”
“Because your singing can give a heart attack even to an orch.”
“Then I’ll do it!” offered Sairin.
“Oh, come, Sairin, you do not know a single song which is more or less decent,” laughed Telpilin. “Besides, I also want to sing for Gildor!”
“Why don’t you do it all together in chorus then?” suggested Narmacil in jest.
To his surprise, the Noldor welcomed the idea heartily.
“Valar help us,” moaned Gildor. “You simply do not know any lullabies, you goblins!”
“We know dozens of them!” argued Sairin.
“We can sing them all night long and never repeat ourselves!” Telpilin joined his bragging.
“Give us a moment and we’ll show you,” said Minalcar.
The Noldor put their heads together and talked in hushed undertones for some minutes. Then they sat back and grinned at Gildor. “Three-four!” Minalcar commanded. And they started singing.

Hush-a-bye, birdie,
I’ll sing you a song,
One that is sweet
And not very long.
Peep, peep,
Go to sleep. hat hat was a chorus to hear: half a dozen males, millennia old, being half-drunk and trying to sing a children’ng. ng. Narmacil propped his elbows on the table and dropped his head on his palms; his shoulders were shaking. Gildor covered his eyes with his hand and was rocking from side to side. Unperturbed, the Noldor went on singing. But with each line they seemed to sing more and more out of tune, and more and more at sixes and sevens. Now all the elves in the tavern were ing ing with laughter.

Hush-a-bye, birdie,
The moon’s in the sky,
Time now to sleep;
Tomorrow to fly.
Peep, peep,
Go to sleep.

Telpilin and Sairin were the last two to finish. Gildor dropped down his hand and looked at his friends, his eyes dancing with mirth.
“Go to sleep? Are you joking? With such a lullaby half of Lórien will have nightmares for months!”
“Peep, peep!” mimicked Narmacil and sent everybody into another fit of laughter. “A band of drunken dwarves can sing better than you!”
“We’ve never had a drink with dwarves so we’ll have to take your word for it,” came Tindel’s swift retort.
Rúmil turned to his friends and caught Amarion looking at the Noldor with an odd expression on his face.
“What is it?” he asked curiously.
“It’s strange,” murmured Amarion.
“What?”
“They look absolutely *normal*, just like any of us look when having fun. Noldor or not, they do not differ from us much after all, it seems.”
“Yes, creepy, isn’t it?” Orophin laughed.
“In fact, I find them very attractive this way,” said Amarion, eyeing Narmacil closely.
“Oh, what is it we’re witnessing?” Rúmil teased him. “A new romance budding?”
But Amarion ignored him, his eyes still on Narmacil.

At this moment the Noldo in question turned to Gildor. “It’s your turn to sing now, Naira.”
All the rest supported the request enthusiastically.
“Yes, sing us something!” “Sing about Glorfindel.” “ ‘His lance is long, and straight, and strong…’ ” “Yes, as he’s not here now, sing that song about him!”
“Do you want my untimely departure to Mandos’s Halls?” Gildor chuckled. “If Glorfindel finds out I did it again he’ll kill me. Slowly and painfully.”
“He needs never to know!” Tindel tried to coax him. “No one will tell him. Right, friends?”
Everyone, eager to hear the song, agreed gladly.
“Oh, all right,” Gildor gave in reluctantly. “Is there a lute in this place?”
Alfirin, happy to oblige, brought him an instrument. He smiled at her in thanks, touched the strings tentatively, checking if the lute was tuned, and then started playing.
Orophin was surprised to recognize the melody as the one of the famous ballad about Gil-Galad. But the lyrics were different. Entirely.

“Glorfindel is an Elven lord of whom are many stories told.
His valour’s sung by minstrels. But I shall sing of something else.”

And, truly, Gildor did. In expressions, both eloquent and explicit, he sang about Glorfindel’s prowess in amorous affairs, the merits of his ‘primal weapon’ and his accomplishments as an ardent lover.
The song was far from decent; and wiping his eyes with his palms Rúmil asked breathlessly, “Was he really going to sing *this* in front of the Lady?”
“Oh, but she knows it by heart, pen-neth.” The answer seemed to come from nowhere.
He turned around and saw Gildor smiling at him. Stunned, he darted a look at Orophin and Amarion. But they seemed to have noticed nothing amiss.
‘Mind-reading, great,’ Rúmil cursed silently. ‘It was a private conversation, you know,’ he thought then, looking back at Gildor. The Vanya grinned, not even a trace of remorse on his face.hen hen musicians took up their instruments, and dancing was starting. Alfirin came up to Gildor to claim her reward; he took her by the hand and led to the dancing ground. There she put her hands on his shoulders, he took her by her slender waist and soon they were swirling and jumping to the quick merry tune, apparently enjoying themselves. Before long dancing was in full swing, both Geledhil and Noldor reeling and jigging to their hearts’ content.
Narmacil did not dance though, and neither did Amarion. They were immersed in a private conversation; and by the look of them both, they were having a good time too.
After the first dance Gildor came back, flushed and hot. He pulled off his tunic and put it on the back of his chair. Narmacil gave him an arch smile.
“Are you going to shed a garment after each dance? You’re running the risk to end up naked.”
“You think so? Then perhaps I’d better strip right away.”
Gildor opened the upper laces of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves. Then he went back to join Alfirin.
Rúmil watched for some time as the Vanya twirled the breathless girl around, his smile flashing as brightly as his earring; his half-opened shirt revealing quite a breath-taking amount of his golden-skinned chest.
“Sweet Elbereth, he is gorgeous!” he breathed.
“So now the thought of bedding him does not give you the creeps?” Orophin inquired, amused.
“Oh, but it does, brother! Because I know what Haldir will do to me if I even attempt it!” Rúmil laughed.

The revelry went on and on. And it was some hours past midnight that Gildor got back to the guest mallorn. As he looked up at the long winding stairs leading to his talan he suddenly thought of Haldir with a considerable amount of longing. If he were here to get him up as swiftly as he’d got him down, Gildor even would not mind all that silly talk about giving or taking a ride. But alas! He had to climb all the way up to his flet by himself.
When he entered his chamber he found Glorfindel still awake.
“Enjoyed yourself as I see,” the Elda remarked mildly.
“Didn’t you?”
Gildor took off his tunic and threw it on the chair.
“‘Glorfindel is an elven lord’,” he hummed to himself asstarstarted to open the laces of his shirt.
“Nairalindë!” Glorfindel barked in indignation. “Don’t tell me you sang it out there!”
“The song does you credit, meldir,” the Vanya told him soothingly. “Everyone agreed on it.”
“What!” the Elda almost jumped in the bed.
Gildor darted into the bathroom and swiftly shut the door behind him.
Glorfindel looked at the closed door and shook his head laughingly.


Haldir was peacefully sleeping in his bed. Though perhaps, ‘peacef’ wa’ was not exactly the word to describe it. The dream he was having was rather stirring, as it involved a certain golden-haired elf, blissfully naked and in a very appealing stance. But before Haldir could start enjoying himself to the full he was mercilessly snapped out of his slumber. Looking up at the cause of his abrupt awakening he was not at all surprised to find that it was none other than Rúmil. His curse of a brother was sitting on the edge of his bed, and by the look of him he had had a long night somewhere in a tavern.
“Next time you wake me up like that again you’ll be flying out of my window, head first!” Haldir snarled at him.
Rúmil looked not in the least intimidated. “Cannot believe you’re sleeping so early in the evening!” He grinned.
“It’s early in the morning, actually,” grumbled Haldir, sitting up in his bed.
“Cannot believe you’re sleeping so early in the morning!”
Haldir was anything but amused. “What do you want, Rúmil?”
“I want to know why you did not come to the Silver Goblet. We were waiting for you there and you never showed up.”
“I was busy.”
“Busy, eh?”
“Yes. Lady Galadriel had an errand for me,” said Haldir, his irritation growing.
“An errand, involving Glorfindel?” he heard a mocking voice from the door.
Turning his head he saw Amarion lounging against the doorframe.
“Oh, no,” Haldir groaned, “what are *you* doing here? I thought you were to have left for the border.”
“I traded shifts with Tdveldvell. I decided I wouldn’t like to miss all the fun, after all.” Amarion gave him a smug smile.
“I’ll make sure you’ll spend the rest of the summer on the northern fences,” Haldir promised him darkly.
“If he is so mean to his friends, then we’ll not tell him what he has missed by deserting us tonight, shall we, Amarion?” Rúmil asked.
“Perhaps, we should do quite the contrary thing and tell him everything. Let him know what he has missed. *That* will serve him right.”
Haldir was in no mood for riddles. “As telling me is what you’ve come here for, it seems, and you won’t leave without it, anyway, be through with it quickly and leave me alone.”
“Very well. But remember this,” Rúmil looked vindictive, “you owe us at least half a dozen of Naurdirith.”
“And why is that?”
“You did not come; and without you that miser of a barmaid wouldn’t spare us more than one bottle. And all the rest went down the damn Noldor’s throats juscauscause that little tricky Imladris cousin charmed her into giving him whatever he wanted.”
Haldir laughed. So, this was then the real reason for Rúmil’s resentment.
“Take it easy, Ru. He is just a new face and you are a bit stale an attraction for Alfirin.”
“Stale?!” Rúmil almost fell off the bed in indignation.
Haldir laughed again. “Yes. And I doubt even my presence would have helped you. Have some patience. He’ll leave soon enough and then, in no time at all, you’ll get Alfirin’s favour back, as well as access to the Silver Goblet’s wine-cellar.”
“You are a cynic, Haldir,” chuckled Amarion. “Tell me, is novelty what attracts *you*? Is it why you are pursuing Galadriel’s cousin?”
“Perhaps.” Haldir was not going to discuss with Amarion the nature of his feelings for Gildor. “Besides, he is a surpassing beauty.”
“You’ll regret you haven’t seen him tonight,” his brother teased him, “singing bawdy songs and dancing half naked.”
Haldir raised one elegantly curved eyebrow. “Only *half* naked? Then I haven’t missed much.”
“Oh, yes, you have,” Amarion assured him. “You would have liked the sight of him: hot and flushed, his damp golden strands sticking to his forehead and temples; a fine sheen of perspiration glimmering on his throat and collarbones; the sun-kissed skin of his arms and the hard plains of his chest glowing softly in the light of lanterns…”
Haldir was acutely aware that Amarion was watching his face carefully while artfully weaving his lace of words. He did not want the others to see how much he was affected by the picture his friend had drawn. So he put on ak ofk of mild boredom.
“Well done, meld he he smirked. “I’ve always known that deep in your heart you are a poet. I can take from here, though, if you wish: a narrow waist, a sensuous line of hips, long graceful legs, lean satin thighs; and delectable buttocks, perfectly round and taut. Oh, yes – and a small pretty mole on the left one, close to his hip.”
Rúmil was staring at his brother open-mouthed. “Haldir, don’t tell me you you’ve been spying on him bathing!”
Haldir not not going to admit how close to the truth Rúmil’s guess was.
“All right, brother, if you ask, I’ll tell you no such thing. And now, could you kindly get lost and let me catch at least *some* sleep?”
Muttering to himself Rúmil stood up, and together with Amarion they left Haldir’s talan. Amarion looked thoughtful. They climbed down several turns of the stairs when he suddenly stopped. “That’s it!”
“What?”
“He never laughs!”
“Haldir? Well, not when he’s in foul mood, but…”
“No, not Haldir. Gildor. I felt there was something strange about that elf, something that kept on troubling me but I could not put my finger on it. Now I’ve got it. He never laughs. Have you noticed?”
Rúmil just stared at him.
“He smiles readily and charmingly,” Amarion went on explaining, “he grins sometimes. But I have not even once heard him laughing. Have you?”
Rúmil shook his head, sighed and resumed walking downstairs. “I’m beginning to agree with Orophin. I wish Haldir could find someone else to get infatuated with, someone less enticing perhaps, but more fathomable. Those Eldar – they are too enigmatic and untouchable for my liking.”

Tuilinn dithen– little swallow

A/N: The author of the lullaby is Clara Beeson Hubbard. So the credit for it goes to her.