My Heart's Desire - Part 2. If You Go Away.

I'm sorry it took me so long to update the story. ^^ Thank you for your patience and for checking up on my fic. I hope you'll enjoy the new chapter. :)

Chapter 6. A Touch Of Frost.


Autumns in Imladris were just as mild as in Lórien but much more flamboyant. Haldir watched with fascination the green parks and gardens around the Last Homely House turn multi-coloured. Birches were the first to start the change. They swapped their green dresses for golden ones almost overnight. And as if it had been some sort of signal, the parks and forests virtually erupted into fireworks of colours: the gold of poplars, the red and orange of maples, the brown and maroon of oaks. Only pinewoods on the mountainsides stoically remained green.

Days were still warm but by the end of October nights and mornings were already rather cool, and the warm comfort of their bed became even more welcome for Gildor and Haldir. Gildor was used by now to waking up next to the warm solidity of Haldir’s body. So when one early November morning he felt his lover shift and move away from him, he gave a sleepy pout of protest. The next moment the familiar weight settled on top of him and Haldir’s lips brushed against his.

“Wake up, melethen,” Haldir urged him softly. “It’s your begetting day.” [my love]

“Is it?” Gildor mumbled drowsily.

“Yes. I asked Glorfindel.”

“Then it must be true.”

“Happy begetting day, glinn-e-guren.” [song of my heart]

Haldir dipped his head to give Gildor a proper kiss. A soft sigh escaped Gildor’s lips as he said goodbye to his hope to sleep his fill. He relaxed and let Haldir have his own way with him. After a considerable while, when Haldir was once again lying beside Gildor instead of on top of him, Gildor was about to return to his deserved rest but Haldir did not allow him to do it.

“Wait a minute, do not fall asleep yet. I want to give you my present.”

“Haven’t you already?”

“No,” Haldir smiled and sat up. “I wish I could say I am a gift in myself, but I’m afraid it will not be quite true. So I have a real present for you.”

He produced a leather pouch from under a pillow and gave it to Gildor. Gildor raised himself on one elbow, opened the pouch and took out two broad curved silver plates. One was engraved with a picture of a mallorn, the other – with the two trees of Valinor.

“What is it?” Gildor asked curiously.

“A bracelet.”

Gildor put the plates together and, indeed, they formed a silver circle.

“They are not joined,” he remarked, looking at Haldir in question.

“The halves must be riveted together right on your wrist. You won’t be able to take it off afterwards without breaking it,” Haldir explained somewhat self-consciously.

He did not dare offer Gildor a silver ring because he was afraid it would be rejected. But he wanted to give his lover something that he would wear permanently and that would remind Gildor that he belonged to *him*. Haldir could not say for sure if Gildor understood the implication of the gift. A faint smile played on Gildor’s lips as he studied the adornment. Haldir would give much to learn what thoughts were hidden behind those fathomless eyes. Finally Gildor looked up at him.

“Thank you, Silfael. It’s beautiful. I’ll wear it for as long as I live.” Then he sighed. “Ah, but it means we have to get out of bed. I’ll need a goldsmith’s help to fix it.” [Moonbeam]

They had it done after breakfast and returned to their rooms again. Haldir prudently locked the door behind them and was surprised that no one came to knock at it even once. He could not help feeling grateful that the twins seemed to decide to allow Gildor and him their privacy and did not try to claim the Vanya for themselves. Gildor was also grateful for this token of goodwill, as he knew that it must have cost the twins considerable effort to stay away. It was their habit to spend his begetting day together with him if they were in Imladris at the time.

On Haldir’s insistence, Gildor spent the afternoon wearing nothing but his new adornment. Haldir told Gildor he looked irresistible, dressed like that, and strived to prove his words assiduously. Elrond and Glorfindel happened to become unwitting witnesses to his efforts.

It was a nice, sunny day and Glorfindel had dragged Elrond out of his study for a stroll in the gardens. The path they were following at a leisurely pace took them past the terrace of Gildor’s suite. The terrace door to his bedroom was obviously open for the audibility was fairly good, to say the least, and there was no mistaking the sounds of passionate lovemaking.

“Valar, what is he doing to him to make him so vocal?” Elrond murmured, quickening his steps.

Glorfindel chuckled. “Do you really wish to know?”

Elrond looked at him in shock. “No, of course I do not!”

At this moment came the last note of Gildor’s love-song. “Haldir!”

“He leaves no doubt as to who is doing it to him, doesn’t he?” Glorfindel smirked. “He never cried out *my* name.”

Elrond gave him a reproving look but Glorfindel pretended not to notice it.

“I think I should ask Thranduil if he was luckier than I.”

“For the Valar’s sake, Glorfindel! Do you really have to be so uncouth?”

Glorfindel laughed, amused by his friend’s overdeveloped sense of propriety, but the words Elrond said next sobered him.

“Gildor has changed so much that it worries me.”

Glorfindel turned abruptly to look at him. “Have you had any vision?”

“No,” Elrond shook his head. “It is simply that he is so uncharacteristically open these days that it is almost frightening. He seems so vulnerable without his protective demeanor of ice… ” Elrond sighed. “He has given himself to Haldir completely, holding nothing back. And if… anything happens, there will be nothing of him left for himself. I am not sure he will be able to survive it.”

Glorfindel’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Do you know something I do not?”

Elrond shook his head again. “No. I simply have an uneasy feeling about it.”

It was Glorfindel’s turn to sigh, for Elrond’s words were an echo of his own vague misgivings.

Gildor was resting on his side with his back pressed to Haldir’s chest. He knew he should get up and wash: he was covered with a sheen of sweat and with his own and Haldir’s juices. Gildor wrinkled his nose but did not stir. He felt too lazy to move at the moment. Haldir stroked back Gildor’s mussed golden hair to be able to see his face. His fingers brushed the earring piercing the delicate lobe.

“Your earring, was it a gift from someone?” he asked.

“Uh-huh.” Gildor listened to the meaningful silence and smiled without opening his eyes.

“Are you jealous again, Silfael?”

“You wish,” Haldir murmured.

Gildor laughed, unconvinced. “You *are* jealous. And groundlessly so, too. This is one of the pair of earrings my father made for my mother as a wedding gift. When Glorfindel returned to Middle-earth, he brought this one to me. My sister has the other one.”

Haldir traced the outline of Gildor’s ear with his finger and the Vanya could not suppress a slight shiver of pleasure.

“Melethen?” Haldir called softly.

“Hm?”

“Why do you bear a Sindarin name?”

Gildor sighed. “Are you having a fit of curiosity, Haldir?”

“Perhaps.” Haldir’s fingers were caressing Gildor’s neck and shoulder now. “Will you answer or is it a top-secret?”

Gildor sighed again. “No, it’s no secret. When I realized that I would have to stay in Middle-earth and to live here the Valar know how long, I felt like I was to start my life anew or, rather, to start a new life. It was not important in my new life that I was a Prince of the Vanyarin Royal House or that Ingwë Ingweron was my grandfather. So I did not want to shout about my origin from a treetop. I wanted to be just an Elf, like anyone else.”

Haldir smiled to himself - he did not believe Gildor could ever be “just an Elf”. He let his hand slide down Gildor’s side to stroke his hip.

“Did you choose the name yourself?”

“No. Ereinion gave it to me.”

Gildor’s body started to react to Haldir’s ministrations and he knew that if he did not move at once, he would never get to the bath he needed so badly. He slid from under Haldir’s arm and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Haldir raised himself on one elbow.

“Where are you going?”

“To wash.” Gildor looked down at himself and made a face. “It all got dried and crusted.”

Haldir watched him disappear into the bathroom and then lay down with a sigh. No matter how close they had become, Haldir could feel that there was still some distance left between them. The harder he tried to get full possession of Gildor, to make him his own, to turn him into a part of himself, the stronger resistance he felt. Gildor would never be just Gildor, the lover of Haldir. He always remained someone else: Gildor, the Ice Blade or Gildor, a friend of the Balrog slayer or Gildor, a Vanyarin Prince. Haldir wondered if he could ever feel Gildor’s equal…

They did not show up for lunch but they did join the others in the Hall of Fire in the evening and Gildor received his begetting day greetings and presents. There was dancing and singing. On Glorfindel’s request Gildor sang several songs he had brought from his latest visit to Mirkwood.

They were beautiful songs, but after the third one Elladan inquired laughingly, “Do they have merrier tunes in Mirkwood? Look, you’ve made our seneschal all melancholic and lovesick.”

Glorfindel ignored the quip. “Perhaps, you could treat us to a duet with Haldir?” he suggested to Gildor. “Your Lórien performance was really good.”

“You sang a duet? What song was it?” Lindir asked curiously.

“Bonding.”

“An interesting choice,” Elrohir murmured.

“Actually, it was your granny’s choice,” Gildor smirked. “I could not possibly refuse her, could I?”

“Ha!” Elrohir looked openly skeptical but refrained from other comments.

“If you want a duet and a merry one too, I think I know what we can sing,” Gildor said. “Haldir has taught me a funny bragging song. It is sort of improvisation and one can boast of anything one wishes.”

Haldir took Lindir’s lute. “You start this time,” he told Gildor.

Gildor nodded and after several accords of introduction he gave Haldir a once-over and began singing.

“Anything you can wear - I can wear better.
In what you wear I look better than you.”
“In my robe?” Haldir smirked.
“In your shirt.”
“In my boots?”
“In your pants!”
“No, you can’t!”
“Yes, I can!”

Now it was Haldir’s turn.

“Anything you can do – I can do better.
I can do anything better than you.”

Glorfindel quirked an eyebrow at Haldir’s choice of a subject for bragging.

“Sing and dance?”
“Ride and fight!”
“Flirt and kiss?”
“And make love!”
“No, you can’t!”
“Yes, I can and better than you.”

Gildor gave a contemptuous puff.

“Anyone you can’t kiss – I can kiss, I dare.
I can kiss anyone you dare not kiss.”
“Celeborn?”
“Thranduil.”
“Galadriel?” Haldir sang innocently.
Gildor narrowed his eyes. “Dirty move!”
Haldir shrugged. “Legolas?”
Gildor hesitated, threw a glance at Glorfindel and then gave in with a sigh. “No, I can’t.”
“No, you can’t!”

The game was over.

“I like it,” Elrohir said cheerfully to his brother. “We can keep it going for hours.”

“Anyone you can bed – I can bed quicker,” Elladan challenged him at once. “I can bed anyone quicker than you.”

“No, you can’t!” Elrohir argued heatedly.

“I have won!” Haldir told Gildor triumphantly.

“Actually, I *can* kiss Legolas and I can even manage to survive it, while you, Silfael, cannot.”

“Why do you think I cannot do it?” Haldir asked archly.

“To kiss *my* Legolas or to survive it?” Glorfindel inquired, looking genuinely interested.

“Er… ” Haldir hesitated: the Balrog slayer, even a joking one, was a threat to be taken seriously.

“This is the first reason, Haldir,” Gildor laughed. “Or rather, the second, because the first one is Legolas’s father. Besides, you should not disregard Legolas himself. He won’t suffer just anyone’s kisses willingly.”

“Just anyone’s?! Well, thank you very much!” Haldir looked affronted.

Gildor laughed again, hooking an arm around Haldir’s neck. “Come on, Silfael, you know what I mean.”

“And what about the elder prince?” Lindir asked nonchalantly. “Will he not defend his brother’s honour?”

“Aranaur?” Gildor chuckled. “I think Haldir knows a way to get round him. What do you say, Haldir?”

Haldir smiled and said nothing. The twins were the only ones to notice a light shadow pass over Lindir’s face. Elrohir turned to his brother and raised an eyebrow in question. Elladan gave a little shrug in response. When they looked at the minstrel again, though, he was once again wearing his usual cheerful and innocent countenance.


When Arassuil, the Chieftain of the Dúnedain, had visited Imladris he had brought disturbing news: the number of orcs coming to Eriador from the Misty Mountains was constantly growing. Glorfindel had the borders of Imladris strengthened. The measures were timely for there had been several skirmishes on the border since then. Guards for the fourth patrol were chosen and started their training.

After Gildor’s begetting day the twins left to meet Arassuil and to learn the latest intelligence. They were due back soon, though, and on the day they were expected Gildor offered Haldir to have a ride to the nearest human village.

“We shall meet the twins in the tavern and return together with them.”

“How will they know we are coming to meet them?” Haldir asked.

“They *will* know,” Gildor smiled.

They rode out after lunch. It was a frosty and bright December day. Their horses trotted cheerfully through the forest and the two lovers talked and laughed, allowing themselves to be carefree while still within the well-guarded borders of Imladris. Their warm breath froze in cold air and garnished the fur on their hoods with rime. Gildor’s cloak was lined with red fox and the bright colour of the fur accentuated the radiant green of his eyes. He looked strikingly young and exquisite and so very seductive that Haldir wished he could drag him down from his horse and ravish him there and then. Gildor saw raw desire in his lover’s eyes and laughed, the low provocative sound sending a thrill straight to Haldir’s groin.

“You know what you are doing to me, don’t you?” Haldir accused him hoarsely.

“Aye,” Gildor purred and suddenly sent his stallion forward, shouting, “Race you to the ford!”

Haldir followed at once but his horse was no match for Gildor’s. When he finally caught up with Gildor, the Vanya laughed again, this time triumphantly.

“I win!” But then he relented. “But you can kiss the winner as a consolation prize.”

Once they left the valley, they became quiet and vigilant. However, they were lucky enough to reach their destination without any incidents.

It was getting dark when they rode up to the tavern. They led their horses to the stable and left them to the care of a stable boy. Then they entered the tavern. Gildor threw off his hood and looked around. There was no sign of the twins yet.

“We’ll have to wait,” he told Haldir and headed for a vacant table in the corner.

Even before they took off their cloaks the old owner of the tavern was by their side.

“It’s a joy to see you at my place again, my Lord,” he told Gildor. “You haven’t visited us for a long time.”

“I am glad to see you too, Artagir,” Gildor smiled in response. “It’s been - how long, about five years?”

“Six, my Lord.”

“You have not changed at all, Artagir. You look just as hale and hearty as I remember you.”

“Oh no, my Lord, it’s you who don’t change at all. And me – I’m getting older with each passing year.”

He waved to a young waitress to bring mulled wine to his guests. When the girl came to their table, carrying two steaming mugs, Artagir winked at Gildor.

“Do you recognize my granddaughter Melina?”

Gildor turned to the blushing maiden and smiled. “Look at you, Melina! You were but a child when I saw you last. And now you’ve become a pretty young lady.”

Melina smiled shyly, put the mugs on the table, curtsied and ran away.

“We are to meet the young princes of Imladris here,” Gildor told Artagir. “So till they come we are going to enjoy your hospitality and your cuisine. And I can tell you that this is going to be the first time my friend will try something cooked by a human. Try to surprise him.”

Artagir looked at Haldir. “I promise you’ll enjoy your food, my Lord.”

Haldir, who knew the Common Tongue well enough to follow the conversation, smiled and nodded. When Artagir went to the kitchen to give orders, Haldir took a chance to look around more attentively and to get a better idea of the humans. He found he was inclined to agree with Gildor’s description: they *were* hairy and did not look particularly attractive. Well, with the exception of the owner’s granddaughter, perhaps. She was sweet enough, Haldir decided. The girl kept throwing rapt glances his way when she thought he was not looking.

“You have made a conquest, Silfael,” Gildor teased him.

Haldir gave him a smirk. “You might have failed to notice it, but this is the usual impression I make on females.”

“Of course, a paragon of virility that you are!” Gildor laughed.

They were brought their food and Haldir was surprised to find that it was really as good as Artagir had promised. The substantial meal and the spiced wine made Haldir content and lazy. He leaned back against the wall and watched his lover through half-lidded eyes. Gildor, on the contrary, was in high spirits. He laughed and talked animatedly and looked as happy and cheerful as an elfling, taken to his first summer fair. Haldir decided he liked Gildor that way a lot: he did not have to strive to be up to Gildor’s status and his high standards. He could even allow himself to feel protective and patronizing towards him.

Melina brought them two plates with small honey cakes and Gildor announced that they were Silivren’s favourite dainty and that he was going to the stable to give some to his horse.

“There is no need to get out into the cold right now,” Haldir remarked, amused. “Can it not wait till it’s time for us to return home?”

But Gildor would not wait. He jumped up, took a cake from his own plate and snatched one from Haldir’s. “Your horse will also like one.”

And he was gone. Haldir smiled and closed his eyes, giving in to his drowsiness. He heard the door open and close again in several moments but he felt too languid to have a look and find if someone had come in or gone out. But he did not have a chance to relax for long.

“My lord,” he heard somebody addressing him in the Common Tongue. “My lord!”

He opened his eyes reluctantly. It was one of the two men he had noticed before at the table next to theirs. The man looked anxious and troubled. Haldir raised an eyebrow in question.

“My lord, I… I think you should go out and help,” the man said urgently. “My friend… I told him he shouldn’t do it but he didn’t listen. He is drunk and… You should hurry! He went after your boy… ”

“He is your friend?” Haldir asked calmly.

“Yes,” the man admitted hesitantly.

“Then go out and save him yourself. Why should I bother and help him?”

The man was taken aback. He thought that perhaps the elf did not know their language well enough to understand what he had been trying to tell him. But at this moment the door swung open and Gildor came in, looking very much riled and not at all as harmless as he had looked before.

The man gaped. “But… Nerda?”

Gildor turned his darkened eyes to him. “He is alive. At least, I think so.”

The man rushed out to find his hapless friend.

“The idiot has ruined my evening,” Gildor hissed in Sindarin, still indignant and angry.

Haldir chuckled. “He has spoiled nothing. Come here, raw dithen, and I’ll show you.” [kitten]
He patted his thigh. Gildor’s eyes narrowed.

“I’m not your pet, Haldir, so do not dare treat me like one.”

‘Welcome back, Ice Blade,’ Haldir thought, biting back a resentful retort.

Luckily, they did not have time for any argument for the door opened again let in the laughing twins.

“Oh, that was spectacular!” Elladan exclaimed.

“And pretty fast!” Elrohir chorused.

“I hope he’ll remember the lesson,” Gildor muttered darkly.

Soon they were on their way back to Imladris. Gildor’s mood became even blacker when he heard the news the twins had brought. The bands of orcs this side of the Misty Mountains continued growing in number and the Dúnedain had to fight almost constantly to keep them away from human and hobbit settlements. The twins said they were soon going back to join Arassuil and his men to help them in their fighting.

Gildor was very grim about the worsening of the situation. He slipped into his warlord mode easily, and Haldir was able to get a very clear idea of what Erestor had meant by saying that Gildor was a much more seasoned warrior than he. No matter how much Gildor could have disliked it in the beginning, war craft had since long become his element. He was a born leader and an experienced and efficient commander.

Gildor, in his turn, found to his own confusion that it was becoming difficult for him to switch back to his “family” mode and to yield his dominant role to Haldir. He was more and more inclined to regard his permanently submissive position in their bed as unfair inequality. He had to make a conscious effort to do it again and again. But he was willing to make the sacrifice for Haldir’s sake.

In about a month after his own begetting day Gildor had a chance to return the favour and to wake Haldir with a kiss on the morning of *his* begetting day.

“You’ll have to get out of bed and out of the house to receive your present,” Gildor told him.

“I want *you* as my present,” Haldir declared, unwilling to let his lover out of his embrace.

Gildor chuckled. “I’ll make a questionable gift, I’m afraid. But if you wish, you can have me later, as a bonus.”

Gildor took Haldir to the stables and led him to the stall, occupied by a perfectly white stallion that looked very much like Gildor’s horse.

“This is Gloss,” Gildor said, rubbing the animal’s nose. “He is Silivren’s brother and a son of Glorfindel’s Asfaloth. We’ve been breeding this line for centuries, so now every horse is perfection in itself. They are swift as the wind and very intelligent. Look at him - isn’t he a beauty?”

“He is,” Haldir agreed, stroking the horse’s gracefully bent neck.

“He is my gift to you, Silfael. He’ll become a real friend and a faithful companion to you.”

Gildor talked to the horse softly, introducing Haldir to him as his new master. Gloss listened, twitching his ears, then shifted from foot to foot and pushed Haldir’s shoulder with his nose. Gildor laughed.

“He thinks you should give him something tasty. He has a sweet tooth, just like his father. And Asfaloth, as a true friend, shares Glorfindel’s favourite weakness. Here, give it to him.”

Gildor pressed an apple into Haldir’s palm and Haldir fed it to the horse. While Gloss was crunching on the fruit cheerfully, Haldir curled his hand round Gildor’s neck, pulling him in for a kiss.

“This is a precious gift, meleth. Thank you.”


Late in the evening, when Gildor and Haldir returned to their rooms after a little party in Haldir’s honour, Haldir pulled his lover into his arms.

“I would have my bonus now.”

“Hm? And how do you want me?”

“The way Thranduil had you,” Haldir said, watching Gildor’ face.

It took Gildor a moment to understand what Haldir meant.

“You want me… bound?” Gildor was taken aback.

“Yes.”

Gildor tried frantically to collect his scattered thoughts. To be always the one to submit was bad enough, but now Haldir wanted him to give up the last dregs of control that were yet left to him. It was… yes, it was a scary prospect. He would be entirely at Haldir’s mercy, absolutely helpless and so very vulnerable. He loved Haldir. But did he trust him enough to surrender completely? Gildor did not want to answer this question; he was not ready to answer it.

Haldir was looking at him, waiting for his decision or, rather, for his consent. Gildor felt suddenly resentful: why would Haldir make him do something he was loath to do? Surely his lover could see that he did not like the idea?

“You seemed to enjoy it with Thranduil,” Haldir remarked as if reading his thoughts.

Gildor could not say if Haldir meant it as a rebuke or an accusation.

“I seemed to enjoy it with Thranduil,” he repeated with a joyless smirk. “Will you fight me then, to have it your way?”

Haldir’s eye widened. “He *made* you…?”

Gildor did not answer. Haldir absorbed the information silently. When he looked at his lover again, Gildor saw a stubborn expression in his eyes and knew that Haldir would not change his mind.

“Will I *have* to fight you?” Haldir asked and then Gildor made a decision.

“No,” he whispered, “you will not.”

When Haldir fell asleep, satisfied and sated, Gildor lay staring blankly up at the canopy of his bed. He felt tired and lost. He had not reached his climax as long as he remained bound. He simply could not relax enough; he did not feel safe.

Gildor crept out of bed, slipped on his robe and went out onto the terrace, closing the door behind him. It was snowing – the first snow of this winter. Gildor tilted his head up and closed his eyes. Fluffy snowflakes touched his face softly and melted into tiny droplets of water that ran down his cheeks.

Something was going wrong in his life, so very wrong…


Silivren – Glittering white
Gloss – Snow white

A/N: “Raw dithen” literally means “little lion” but it is the closest thing to “kitten” one can get in Sindarin so I had to use this liberal translation.