Oathbound, Heartbroken *COMPLETE*

Title: Oathbound, Heartbroken 5/?
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.

Chapter 5

The next seven-day was a brief and peaceful interlude in the present turmoil invading Haldir’s life. Meluiwen had collected the children in the morning, and he waved a wistful goodbye to them before setting off to the library. The work was proceeding well and, because of the absence of the dark-haired scribe, Haldir felt much more at ease in his normal form-fitting clothes than the formal garb of the Galadhrim. It would be incorrect to say that he was unaware of the many admiring glances from both the Lórien and Rivendell elves, but for once he was unaffected by them. Not one of the aspiring ellith or ellyn impinged upon his soul.

On a more physical front, the sparring sessions with the golden lord were as a godsend to him. Each morning he released the tension that was the result of the many fraught dreams that had invaded his reverie. He found himself longing for this studious servitude, a task which would have once been a delight to him, to come to a swift end. The prospect of facing the young elf who had inspired those dreams now caused him to count the days before he returned to the borders.

Haldir had not returned to the Halls of Healing. Each evening before he set out from the library he had focused his mind upon the route he must take home and had deliberately taken each step as if it were a challenge not to deviate from the path. Nor did he dwell upon his oath, or the ellon who was such a threat to its preservation. To occupy himself, Haldir had laid plans for each evening’s usage – a concert with Meluiwen; a swim with the children; a dinner with Doron – and tonight was an evening in the city with Glorfindel and some of the visiting elves. Although Glorfindel was well acquainted with the variety of entertainments and refreshments available in the City of Trees he had asked Haldir for his own recommendations as to the best taverns and halls of song. The Marchwarden was glad to oblige and participate, for he much preferred to avoid too much solitude and opportunity for contemplation at this time.

The jovial party met at one of the glades within Caras Galadhon, near an area known for its glades surrounded by small businesses and stalls manned by artisans of all kinds. Here too were found some of the refreshment houses allowed by the Lord and Lady. Although to outsiders the realm of Lórien seemed to be a haven of somnolent gentility, still the energy and ferocity of its guardians required a somewhat more basic outlet than the gentle choruses which echoed through the mellyrn. Haldir knew all the taverns and inns frequented by his men, for he often joined them in comradeship and celebrations.

The inn that Haldir led them to was one of the gentler establishments. Host to a convivial atmosphere, the inn was a multi-tiered series of talans allowing for private dining or larger groups. As well as fine wines and ales and excellent food, the inn boasted resident minstrels and a glade for dancing by its patrons. The Marchwarden was a frequent visitor and much respected by the elves of Lothlórien, and so his party was greeted with warm smiles and a favoured alcove on the main floor.

As they took their seats and placed their orders, Haldir noticed that Glorfindel was looking around the room, his sapphire eyes seemingly searching for something rather than admiring the décor.

“Is something wrong, mellon-nín?” Haldir asked in polite enquiry. The seneschal shook his head.

“No, I was just looking for someone. He said that he would come…"

Haldir looked around the group and did indeed see some faces missing, but he was not particularly surprised. The scribes of both groups had become great friends and some of the elves of Imladris had accepted private invitations to dine in the talans of their Lórien counterparts. Indeed, even now Doron was hosting a dinner. It was as Haldir was taking his own survey of the scene that Glorfindel cried out in satisfaction.

"Ah, here he is!"

Haldir turned to greet the newcomer - and experienced the peculiar sensation of his heart both rising in delight, and plunging with dismay.

Melpomaen raised his hand in greeting and crossed the floor of the tavern, a gliding vision of beauty in Haldir's eyes. His long dark hair sparkled with auburn highlights in the reflected light of the room as it spilled loosely over tunic-clad shoulders. The tunic was of a rich forest green edged in silver, with ornate silver buckles as front fastenings. Silver-grey leggings enhanced the perfect proportions of his lower limbs and low boots completed the ensemble. In his forthright admiration of the slight figure Haldir did not recognize a similar appraisal by the young scribe, nor his approval of Haldir's chosen arraignment of red tunic and dark grey leggings - but someone else did. The person forebore to comment, casting only a sharp glance at the Marchwarden, but rose instead to great the ellon.

"Mel, pen vuin! I thought that you were lost!"

Melpomaen was swept into the seneschal's arms, a greeting which the young scribe accepted with enthusiasm.

"Ai, Ada! There is nothing wrong with my sense of direction. I was late, not lost."

Glorfindel noticed Haldir's look of confusion, an expression he had seen when he had mentioned a 'son' in previous conversation. Surprised himself that Haldir had not known previously of this situation, Glorfindel decided to put to an end the teasing torment which he had been enjoying, and put his old friend to rights. He hugged the young scribe close, kissing his dark head tenderly.

"You have not met our Melpomaen properly, have you Haldir? This young imp -" Melpomaen jabbed the Elda sharply in the side in mock anger, " - came to us as a babe, an orphan whose parents had died in a fire in their isolated village." His voice lowered at the sadness of this recollection, but Melpomaen simply stroked the front of Glorfindel's tunic in gentle support.

“Anyway,” Glorfindel continued, “Mel was taken into Elrond’s household as a ward of Imladris, but it was to my bereth that the young brat became attached and, by default, to me.” He smiled fondly down at the dark-haired ellon, whose face glowed at the pleasure in the seneschal’s voice. “We are both very, very proud of our surrogate son. He has Erestor’s love of books, and my very refined sense of the ridiculous!”

Another affectionate squeeze showed the familial nature of the bond between the two elves of Imladris to be so genuine that Haldir felt his heart warming at the sight. Melpomaen’s eyes glowed with an inner light of love and tenderness, and Haldir did not realize that he was staring until Glorfindel’s words brought him back to the present.

“So – when do we eat? It smells delicious!”

The meal was excellent as was the wine. Melpomaen sat next to the seneschal and Haldir opposite them. The conversation flowed freely once the Marchwarden realized that if he focused on the seneschal, his words would actually egress his mouth. His eyes kept being drawn back to the gentle scribe and it took much effort not to gaze solely into his chocolate depths. It seemed that he was not the only one affected thus, for he felt rather than saw the brown orbs upon him, pouring over his face, admiring his strong features.

“The music is well performed, Haldir, but I presume that the tempo will increase for dancing later?”

Haldir nodded, looking at the empty dance floor and the dais holding the small group of musicians.

“Aye, Glorfindel. That is one reason that I chose this place, for it is one of the most convivial within Caras Galadhon. Look – already we have some eager dancers.”

Indeed a couple had moved onto the floor to perform the gentle, swaying steps of a loving dance. The elleth was extremely fair and was obviously much appreciated by her spouse as he neatly led her round. Haldir smiled for he recognized the couple as the Marchwarden of the Southern Reaches and his lovely wife. He nodded cordially to his counterpart, of whom he was nominally commander. Haldir did not usually interfere with the ordering of the other watches, preferring to meet with the other marchwardens when a need arose, and to order only if the Corps as a whole was affected. This trust had gained him the overwhelming support of his wardens, and a friendly rivalry had sprung up that only benefited the Galadhrim in their drive for excellence.

“Do you dance, Haldir?”

The sudden question was gently spoken, but there was an underlying invitation implied. A frisson of fear ran through the warden before he replied.

“No,” he told Melpomaen. “I do not dance.” He hoped that the ellon would not follow up to discern his reasons, but it was one of the Lórien librarians who dashed Haldir’s hopes.

“Nay, Haldir!” the scribe intervened. “You *do* dance, and dance extremely well! Why, the ellith cluster around you in their desire for your attention. You should see him dance, Mel. I swear that there are inches between the grass of the groves and the soles of his shoes, so light does he lead the ladies.”

Melpomaen nodded, the regret showing in his eyes.

“I see,” he murmured, trying to hide his disappointment. “You only dance with ellith.”

Sensing the palpable withdrawal of the young elf, Haldir cursed himself for his ineptness in addressing the situation, and cursed the other scribe for his inappropriate yet accurate revelation. The Marchwarden bit his tongue, fighting an urge to pull ‘Maen into his arms and lead him onto the soft turf of the glade. He did not have to fight for long though, for his place was quickly filled by a warrior from the Southern Reaches, who had crossed the floor to claim the darlk-haired scribe.

“Our Marchwarden’s loss is my gain,” the warrior said brightly, bowing to Melpomaen. “I would be honoured if you would deign to tread a measure with me, young sir. I may not be as light on my toes as Marchwarden Haldir, but I am a fair dancer.”

There was no way for Melpomaen to refuse and the slim, lithe ellon was drawn into the increasing number of elves indulging in this beautiful setting. Haldir found himself following the scribe, his eyes locked onto his enticing figure weaving through the steps of the leisurely dance. A moan slipped from his lips at the elegant dip and the sensuous sway of the youthful elf, and the exotic fall and shimmer of the red-tinted hair in the candlelight. Gods, how he wanted him. He fought valiantly to keep the lust and longing from his face, the moreso when a certain elf rounded the table to sit beside him.

"Why are you doing this, Haldir?" Glorfindel said in a low voice. The tone was both questioning and furious, and Haldir knew that the seneschal had seen beyond his ambivalent guise. "Mel told me of your first meeting in the infirmary. He was hurt by the way that you fled from him. I do not like to see my pen neth cry, Marchwarden."

Haldir turned his head sharply at this and a cry escaped him.

"He wept? Ai, no...!"

He swiftly sought Melpomaen once more, and he did not need to look closely to see that the scribe's lightness of heart was not totally genuine. The brown eyes turned to him as if Melpomaen had been aware of his gaze and once again Haldir fell into those depthless pools.

“Gods, Haldir - you are so obvious!”

Haldir turned once more to see exasperation on Glorfindel’s face. The seneschal grasped his friend’s shoulder firmly and made sure of his full attention. The strain in his voice told of the restraint he was bringing to bear upon his temper so as not to draw attention to them.

“I see the need in your eyes, my old friend. The need, the desire and the love. It is the same look that I am sure was on my face the moment that I first beheld Erestor. In one instant I knew that my heart had gone from my body and now resided in his hands. Erestor told me later that the same feelings had passed through him.” His face became stern, clearly emanating a warning.

“Do not believe that *our* relationship was quickly or easily accepted by either of us, meldir. Our opposite natures fought the compulsion for many long years and our verbal sparring battles were infamous due to my open appreciation of my reborn life, and Erestor’s more reclusive, self-sufficient nature. Yet from the moment that we accepted our fate our fëar resonated with happiness beyond all bounds.” He looked earnestly at his long-time comrade-in-arms.

“Do not fear your union of souls, Haldir. Accept with joy the path which has chosen *you* and I promise, you will not regret it.”

The words were spoken from the heart, were wise and given with much hope that they would sooth Haldir, but the Marchwarden could not as yet accept them. His heart was bound with pain and words long ago spoken. He could not voice his regret or explain his resistance so openly. Haldir stood quickly and the tone was as cold as ice in an effort to hide his anguish.

“My problems are my own, Lord Glorfindel. Whether I have feelings for your ward, as you seem to think I have, is of no meaning here.” He glanced sadly at the dance floor once more. “I am of Lothlórien, and you and he are of Imladris. Soon you will return to your home, and all of this conjecture will be moot. Now, if you will excuse me – I need some air.”

With that Haldir turned to stride across the roofless glade, making for the exit of the inn. To obtain his goal he had to pass through the throngs of dancers, weaving a path between them. The dance had just come to an end and the couples were just parting when Haldir came upon Melpomaen and his companion. As if it were fate the dark-haired scribe turned to Haldir as the first notes of the next song were plucked upon the lute. Melpomaen’s face beamed with pure unbounded joy as he perceived the arrival of the Marchwarden, seemingly to claim his attentions for the next dance. The dark elf raised his open arms to Haldir, and the Silvan elf was unable to do anything, think of anything, except to hold this creature of light in his embrace.

The southern warrior stepped back, disgruntled at the apparent arrogance of Haldir’s ‘cutting in’, and returned to his table to drown his sorrows in a pitcher of wine. The volume of chatter in the inn suddenly decreased as, for the first time ever, Lothlórien witnessed the Marchwarden of the Galadhrim dancing with an ellon.

They were lightness personified. Every step was perfectly timed, every turn was taken as though they were one. Haldir was astounded at the unity, the *rightness* of the presence of Melpomaen in his arms, effortlessly gliding through the steps of the dance. In unconscious reflex, Haldir tightened his embrace, never wanting to let his little scribe go. Melpomaen’s happiness shone in his face for all to see, and his eyes glowed with selfless joy. Haldir could not help but grin widely at the pureness of the moment. Yet an ache tugged at the back of his mind, a sharp pull on his conscience that began to distract him even as the last refrain began. This was an ellon. He had sworn an oath and the oath, though he had forgotten it for a few brief and wonderful minutes, would not be dismissed. Two thousand years of adherence would not be cast aside and as the dance ended, so did Haldir step back and bow with thanks – but made no effort to prevent another of the scribe’s admirers stepping in to fill the newly-formed breach.

Chocolate-brown eyes looked at silver-blue beseechingly, longing for a hope that this perfect moment was not just an aberration of time. Haldir shook his head, agony ripping through his heart, and turned to complete the exit he had begun but minutes before. The brown eyes watched him leave, and moisture glistened within them to show the loss in their depths.

How long Haldir sat crouched in the lower branches of the tree next the inn he did not know. He registered no discomfort at his unmoving posture, felt no ache save for that of his heart, of his empty arms and of the need for the one person whom he longed to fill them. In the depths of his dark musings he did not weep, but sat as still as the sacred water within the Lady’s mirror, his quiet isolation a reflection of his misery. He did not heed the calls and greetings of those elves who were traversing the green beneath the tree, entering and leaving the tavern, until he heard a voice he knew.

“Please, Eruant. I do not wish for your attentions. I thank you for the dances, but I have no interest in pursuing a relationship with you.”

The answering voice was slurred by an excess of alcohol, purring in obscene lust as the warrior reached out to catch the scribe and pull him roughly to his chest.

“Who said anything about a relationship, pen vaelui? No, my needs are more immediate as are yours, sweet Melpomaen. Elbereth, I would bet that demure exterior hides a wanton spirit. Let me free it, little Mel. Do not tell me that you wait for Haldir? Nay, he has no interest in you, for our commander is a rampant stud for the ladies. He would not touch you, nor stroke you, nor take you as I would.”

With that Eruant grasped Melpomaen’s chin with a strong hand, intending to claim the scribe’s soft lips in a bruising kiss. Haldir immediately leapt from his hiding place - but not before Melpomaen twisted from the warrior’s grip and pushed the elf backwards, even as he hooked a foot behind a flailing leg. Eruant went crashing to the forest floor and Haldir’s leap brought him squarely over the fallen elf’s body, his muscular legs straddling the miscreant even as his fists balled in overt fury.

“You misbegotten filth! I am ashamed to call you a galadhel! There is *no* excuse for such vile and oppressive behaviour. You are hereby suspended from duty and confined to quarters until appropriate punishment is set for such an evil attack upon a guest of the Lord and Lady!”

The warrior looked, shocked and stunned to see his commanding officer blazing with fury, so different to his normally sharp yet controlled reprimands. In his drink-befuddled haste to escape such violent retribution Eruant began to bluster his innocence.

“He did not protest, Lord Haldir! He was eager to dance –“

“So you thought that he would be as eager to couple?” Haldir reached his hand down to grasp the front of the warden’s tunic, hauling him to his feet to stand before him. “You are on leave, are you not? For how many days?”

The elf looked confused. “We came off our watch but three days ago –“

Haldir brought the warden’s face closer, staring into the bleary eyes with clear blue chips of ice.

“Marchwarden Orophin is short of one member of his patrol on the Northern Fences. Be warned, Eruant – one more word and you will forgo your leave and join him there. Now go. I will talk to your Marchwarden in the morning. Pray that I am in a better mood then.”

He released the warden with a jerk and the warrior fled, taking Haldir’s warning to heart. The Marchwarden watched him go, breathing heavily as he damped down his flaring temper. He turned to see Melpomaen who stood to his rear. The young elf was obviously fighting his own racing pulse, for his eyes too were glaring after the shamed warrior.

“ ‘Maen, are you alright?”

The dark head whipped round, the long tresses floating like the softest of fabrics upon the air. His eyes had widened in incredulity at the shortened name, and Haldir could see that he had somehow recognized this loving but secret appellation. Melpomaen’s voice was as a breath upon the wind.

“What did you call me?” he asked in amazement.

“ ‘Tis but the name that I think of you by,” Haldir said softly, moving slowly towards the slim figure. Melpomaen shook his head.

“Most people call me 'Mel'."

"I am not 'most people'."

Melpomaen smiled. "No, you are not."

Their eyes met and an understanding passed between them, that the first step upon an unknown road of discovery had been taken. It took a few moments for Haldir to collect his thoughts and repeat the question.

"Are you alright? He did not hurt you?"

Melpomaen shook his head again. "No, he did no harm. In his state it was easy to avoid him."

"Aye, I saw your movement. Glorfindel's training, no doubt?"

Melpomaen chuckled. "Ai no! If I had acted as Ada taught me, that imbecile would still be unconscious! No, it was Erestor who taught me that avoidance of trouble is the first step to take."

Haldir was watching him closely and saw a slight tremor that the young elf had been trying to hide. His face gave away his dismay and Melpomaen's mouth twisted at the look of alarm that Haldir gave him.

"I think that my exertions are telling upon me so soon after my recovery," he confessed. "It is my first day of release from the Halls, and I truly should have been resting." Indeed he felt as if his legs would go from under him, but Haldir firmly grasped him at the elbows, supporting him. He called to a passing elf.

"Brogon, pray inform Lord Glorfindel that Master Melpomaen is weary, and that I am escorting him back to his talan." He turned once more to the darkling elf, who was looking paler by the moment. "Are you sure that you can walk?"

Melpomaen nodded wearily. "Yes, I can manage if you lend me your arm. I would rather be spared the indignity of being seen as an invalid."

Their progress was slow but steady, and their conversation little as Melpomaen conserved his energy for walking. As they approached the staircase to the guest talans, Haldir looked at the slight and halting figure when Melpomaen winced at the challenge before him. Without discussion he swung Melpomaen into his arms and started to climb.

"Haldir!"

There was a cross expression on the ellon's face, yet a hint of amusement in his voice. Haldir grinned as he gave his one word reply, his eyebrows raised in query.

" 'Maen?"

'Yes, yours…' The words were not spoken but whispered through his mind, through *their* minds, as the two elves locked gazes and their expressions slid from mirth to entrancement. The remaining steps were quickly mounted without thought until they stood before Melpomaen's door, and Haldir reluctantly set upon his feet his most precious burden. Their silent communion continued for a few moments until Haldir finally recognised that Melpomaen should go to rest.

"I must bid you a good night, Master Melpomaen. You should rest."

Melpomaen nodded, glancing down to avoid those most compelling eyes.

"Yes, I should." He made no attempt to move, nor did the Marchwarden.

"It is late." Haldir placed a finger under Melpomaen's chin and lifted it to stare softly into the chocolate orbs.

"Yes." Melpomaen moved closer to the warden, the cloth of his tunic brushing against Haldir's chest.

"You are tired." Haldir felt sweet breath upon his face as Melpomaen tilted his head up.

"Yes," the younger elf murmured, his lips so close to Haldir's. So close, those petal lips were beckoning him, begging him …

Haldir's heart doubled its pace. This was too close. *He* was too close. As much as Haldir longed to… to what? To hold? To kiss? To love and take this beautiful ellon? With each movement his desire had risen. At each breath, each pulse of blood through his veins, more blood had diverted to that which sought to be embedded within the heat of the slender body. He was hard, very hard in his desire for Melpomaen.

No, it was too close and too soon. Pouring all of his strength into his resolve he grasped one of Melpomaen's hands, which even now traversed up the front of his tunic, and he barely refrained from groaning as the fingers brushed a taut nipple through the fabric. Giving the hand a gentle squeeze he pulled back deliberately, causing Melpomaen to lurch at the sudden separation.

"Goodnight, 'Maen."

There was a quick flash of emotions across Melpomaen's face - first surprise, then disappointment and a moue of the lips in frustration. Finally he gave a brief laugh of resignation, yet mischief glinted in his eyes as he pouted at his dismissal.

"Goodnight, dearest Marchwarden. I wish you the *most* pleasant of dreams."

Haldir's member twitched at the sultry blessing - or was it curse? - but he was lighter of heart as the scribe reluctantly opened the door and retreated to his chamber in a final farewell. Haldir sprinted down the steps to traverse the city to his own quarters where he fully intended to dream exactly as Melpomaen had wished him, and to ease his bodily needs in pleasant fantasy.

And in a rebellious and happy act, Haldir of Lórien ruthlessly squashed the loud calls that his oath made upon his unheeding conscience.

TBC


Elvish:

ellith – female elves (pl)
ellyn – male elves (pl)
ellon – male elf (sing)
mellyrn - mallorn trees (pl)
mellon-nín – my friend
pen vuin - dear one
bereth - spouse
pen neth - little one
meldir – friend (m)
fëar – souls
pen vaelui – lustful one