ELANOR'S REVENGE

Chapter 6

Elanor mounted the stairs, clutching Haldir’s weapons to her chest while berating herself for not simply doing as he’d asked in the first place. Carrying his leather saddle bag would have been easy compared to this! Though he had not exactly asked, had he? As March Warden, he must be accustomed to issuing orders, so she supposed it was not surprising that he would speak this way to her.

She sighed inwardly, annoyed with herself as much as with him. So many steps there were, and still more ahead! The idea of living in the trees actually fascinated her, but all this climbing was exacerbating her aches and pains. Would Haldir have realized this? To be fair, with all his muscles he likely had no idea how it would feel to her. Likely the climb did not bother him in the least.

With a soft groan, she paused and sank down upon a step, leaning her forehead against the warm leather of the sword’s scabbard. She was so tired, and already she had forgotten what he said. To the top, but which top? And was it left or right? He had mentioned bridges, but which ones?

After a few moments, Elanor lifted her head, wondering if anyone would pass by while she sat here. If they did, would they be able to tell whose weapons she carried? It suddenly struck her that to carry the March Warden’s weapons was most likely a great privilege. Pondering this, she felt an unexpected spurt of pride that he had entrusted them to her. He could easily have refused.

She looked down at the scabbard, wondering curiously if the sword it contained would be marked any differently from the other elves’ swords. Then her gaze moved to his bow, which was almost as tall as she was. It was beautifully carved, but until this moment it had merely annoyed her, for it had been banging her hip with each step she had taken, and she had almost dropped it twice.

Studying it, she shifted, easing her weight from one side of her body to the other. As she did so, the bow wobbled and started to tip over. Her hand reached out, and instead of catching it, she actually bumped it, propelling it forward so that it began to flip over the edge of the stairs. With a horrified gasp, she threw herself forward onto her stomach, catching the edge of the bow only an instant before it fell goodness knew how far to the forest floor below. Oh, sweet Elbereth, that had been close!

Her heart thumping hard, she wondered what Haldir would have done to her if he had seen. And here she was, sprawled ingloriously on top of his scabbard and quiver and looking like a complete idiot, her dress hitched up and tangled around her knees! Furious with herself, she yanked the bow back up and glanced around to discover if anyone had seen. Some distance away, she saw an elven couple staring at her, and in another direction, she could see several males gazing her way. In fact, they actually seemed to be smiling! Would this tale get back to Haldir’s ears?

Flushing with embarrassment, Elanor sat up and brushed back the hair from her face. It was then that she noticed Rúmil standing two steps below, watching her with something between amusement and concern.

“Would you like some assistance?” he asked, but Elanor saw the smile he was trying to hide.

She opened her mouth to decline, then thought better of it. “You will get into trouble with Haldir if you help me,” she said instead, her voice rueful. She stood up and slid the bow over her shoulder, then bent to pick up the quiver and scabbard. The quiver she managed, but her arms cried out in complaint as she tried to lift the heavy sword in its scabbard. Somehow it slipped from her grip and clanked loudly back onto the step.

Rúmil grimaced and stepped forward quickly, rescuing it before she could try again. “Let me take that, Elanor. Haldir would be more annoyed if you keep dropping his weapons. He need not know that I took charge of it.” He touched Elanor lightly on the arm, his blue eyes on her face.

Elanor blushed. “I am not usually this clumsy. I am just a little tired, that is all.”

“I understand,” Rúmil said cheerfully. “Worry not, you did no damage to it.”

Elanor sighed, secretly relieved to be rid of the heavy weapon. She allowed him to carry the bow too, but retained her hold on the quiver. Her own bag of belongings still hung on her back like a knapsack. “And since you are here, would you also help me find Haldir’s talan? I have no idea where to go.”

Rúmil bowed and gave her one of his cheeky grins as he began to climb the stairs. “It is not far from here. I am sure you will be glad for the chance to change your dress and put on an undergarment,” he teased.

“So you did look at me!” she said hotly.

He laughed, his blue eyes twinkling in a way she was starting to recognize. “Only a quick peek, nothing more. Enough to notice that chemise you took off had a little damage down the front. I told Haldir he might do well to replace it.”

Elanor made a face, remembering the hasty and rather poor sewing job she had done on that wretched garment. “Indeed he should, considering that he—” She broke off as she realized what she had nearly said.

Rúmil glanced at her. “Considering that he . . . what?”

Elanor pressed her lips together and did not reply. She should have thrown out the ripped undergarment, but she had just disposed of several, and had not had a chance to replace them before all this had happened.

“Elanor, did Haldir do that?”

“Rúmil, I would prefer not to speak of it. I find it most embarrassing.”

Rúmil gently gripped her elbow. “I know this may not be easy to believe, but Haldir is one of the finest elves you will ever meet. He even has a sense of humor, although it is his own special brand and can be rather dry at times.” He let out a small laugh. “In fact, it can take a piece of your hide.” He squeezed her elbow a bit more. “Hearken to me, Elanor. This advice I give comes from someone who cares. Your year with my brother will go more smoothly if you do not challenge him on every matter.”

Elanor held her silence, thinking this over as she forced her legs to keep mounting the stairs. Moments later they came to a delicate little bridge, which they crossed, and then they descended a few steps to another bridge. More steps upward, and at last they arrived at their destination. Rúmil pushed opened the door and went inside. Elanor followed.

“Haldir’s home. Yours too, at least for now.” Rúmil set Haldir’s sword and bow in the corner and turned to her. “I doubt he will be long.”

Elanor glanced around. Goosebumps ran along her flesh as she realized that she truly stood inside Haldir’s private living area. And then the largest question surged through her mind, the one she had been trying to suppress. Where would he expect her to sleep? Would he have an extra bed? It seemed unlikely, for these talans were not as spacious as the homes in Rivendell. And the possibility that he would give her his bed seemed remote.

She looked back at Rúmil, wondering if she should appeal to him for advice, but he only winked at her and slipped away, shutting the door quietly behind him as he went.

Having gained his audience with Galadriel, Haldir signaled his respect with his hand on his heart and a bowed head. They stood on the open air flet where Galadriel often met with her people. To the rear, a set of white steps led upward to the enclosed living area she shared with Celeborn. Behind him stood the Lady’s sentinels, silent and discreet and ever present, their bows held against their sides.

“My lady, I apologize for disturbing you when you have just arrived, but I would have a word with you about Elanor, if I may.”

“Ah, yes, Elanor.” To his surprise, a glint of amusement shone in the lady’s sapphire eyes. “She is charming, Haldir. So full of life and spirit.”


“Er, yes,” he conceded, willing to grant her that. “But she is also obstinate, willful and over-proud. And she reacts emotionally with no thought for consequences. And,” he paused for a moment, “she seems to see me as an adversary.”

“Yes, I noticed that,” Galadriel admitted gravely.

“I was wondering if you had any words of advice,” he said, his tone deferential. “I am unused to dealing with young maidens.”

Galadriel smiled slightly. “I would rather say you are unused to dealing with young maidens who interest you in the way that Elanor does.”

Haldir barely prevented himself from flushing. “She is my ward, my lady.”

“Indeed,” she agreed, still with that faint gleam of amusement. “The ways of the Valar are often obscure.” He had long admired the Lady’s playful temperament, but just at this moment she disconcerted him.

“Have you any insights to share with me?” he inquired. He maintained his neutral expression, hoping she was not looking into his mind. He was never completely sure when she was doing it.

Looking reflective, Galadriel walked over and seated herself gracefully in a cushioned chair. “I will tell you one thing you do not know.”

Haldir waited, regarding her steadily while all around them the golden leaves whispered and rustled, a familiar and beloved sound to all who resided in Lórien.

“When the goblins attacked,” the Lady said, “Elanor was prepared to shield me from danger with her own body. Of course, it did not come to that, but I read her intentions when she looked at me.”

Of all the things he had imagined Galadriel saying, this was not one of them. “That is most commendable,” he said after a few stunned moments. He had to admit he felt astonishment and, if he were honest, some pride in Elanor.

“Her courage runs deep, Haldir. Certainly she has much to learn, for her family was structured around the needs of her younger sister. Elrond chose well when he selected you as her mentor.”

“Thank you, my lady. I will endeavor to do my duty by her. However, I am unsure how to get past this stubbornness of hers. Why does she view me with such antagonism?”

“I think you know the answer to that.”

Fraught with hidden meaning, it was one of Galadriel’s characteristic answers, and though he would have liked to probe further, he knew better than to do so. Still, he could not resist a comment.

“She seems unappreciative of my efforts to aid her. She makes everything more difficult than it needs to be.” He knew his frustration came through in his voice though he strove to hide it. To no one except Galadriel would he have revealed this weakness.

The Lady favored him with one of her beautiful smiles. “She appreciates you, Haldir. She simply has not discovered it yet. And she did apologize for losing her cloak, did she not?”

“Yes,” he acknowledged.

“That was not easy for her. She is feeling very lost right now. She is like a small boat cast adrift on the Anduin. You must be her anchor.” Galadriel paused. “I would like her to tend my garden while she is here. All elves feel a union with nature, but Elanor’s connection is stronger than most. I sense that she has unique skills in that area.”

Haldir recalled the roses he had observed blooming outside Elanor’s front door back in Rivendell. They had indeed seemed larger and finer than many others he had seen. “Very well, my lady. I will inform her of that duty.”

“Ask her, Haldir. Tell her that I am requesting this of her, and that she is free to decline. I do not think she will, but give her the choice. She is your ward, not mine. I will give her no commands, although of course you are free to do so, if you choose.”

“I understand, my lady.” Hearing the finality in Galadriel’s voice, Haldir bowed, his hand on his heart, and turned to go.

“One more thing,” Galadriel said, one of her luminous smiles playing on her lips. “She was very worried about your safety the night the goblins attacked.”

Haldir felt something warm twitch in his chest and hoped it did not show on his face. He bowed his head and began to walk away.

“Oh, and Haldir?” the Lady’s musical voice followed him.

Once again he swiveled back. “Yes, my lady?”

Galadriel smiled. “It is good to know you are not made of stone, after all.”

Haldir’s talan was built into the arc of the tree, its design following the flowing curvature of the branches much like the bridges and winding stairways had done. For a few moments Elanor forgot her fatigue as she surveyed the front room, surprised that such sophistication could exist so far above the forest floor. Why had she expected it to be primitive?

The room contained a handsome wooden table with carven legs and a set of chairs, several beautifully woven rugs and wall tapestries, and a pair of comfortable-looking cushioned chairs with high backs carved like the tendrils of vines. A small, elegant cabinet of burnished wood was set against the wall, a gilt mirror looming above it. Atop the cabinet were several potted plants that appeared to have gone untended during Haldir’s absence.

Along the back wall were three arched doorways. Starting from the right, the first led to a kitchen, while the central one, a sliding door of open lattice carvings, led to a lovely central terrace shielded from above by a veil of green leafy vines and golden leaves. Elanor gazed at it, admiring the skill put into its design; from this vantage she could see that all three rooms held lattice-patterned doors leading to this terrace, including that last room she had not yet investigated. Slowly, she moved to the third door and eased it open, peeking in rather cautiously.

It was Haldir’s sleeping chamber.

Her heart beating fast, she took a single step inside. The room was hung with dark silks, and soft silver and blue curtains, with an ornate lantern of blue glass hanging from the ceiling. On the far side of the room, as an extension into the terrace, she could see a bathing area gleaming with translucent tiles, the golden leaves of the tree veiling it from the outside. And, just as she had feared, there was only one bed. A large one. She stared at it in consternation.

Spinning around, she returned to the room with the table and chairs. One bed. What was he thinking? Her stomach churning with tension, she suddenly realized that all this time she had been clutching Haldir’s quiver to her bosom as though it were some rare and precious object. Annoyed with herself, she tossed it onto the table, then grimaced as the leather sheath bounced and tumbled over the edge, spilling the majority of its arrows onto the floor.

With a moan, she clenched her hands into fists, wishing there was something she could hit in order to relieve her frustration and feeling of helplessness. Never had she been as clumsy and graceless as she had these past few days! What was wrong with her?

Depressed, she removed her bag of belongings from her back, took off Haldir’s cloak, and plopped down in one of the chairs, leaning her elbows on the table. She pressed her hands to her face and thought of Lana, wondering what her sister was doing at this moment. It was the first time she had thought of Lana in days, which seemed odd considering that until recently her whole world had revolved around her sister. To be free of Lana came as more of a relief than Elanor would have expected. Ah well, Lana would be just fine with Nana and Ada. Not happy, perhaps, but safe and well. And by the next time they met, perhaps Lana would be ready to apologize for her lies and deceptions.

Meanwhile, Elanor had her own situation to consider. What was she going to do about Haldir? She knew she had been behaving badly, challenging him the way she had been doing. It was not at all the way she usually conducted herself. In fact, until she met Haldir, she could not remember a time when she had not been gracious, courteous and accommodating. Perhaps too accommodating, at times, but was that wrong?

She rubbed her eyes and shook her head wearily, knowing that she had to get a grip on herself. What was she going to say to Haldir? One bed!

Abruptly, she remembered the arrows on the floor. Leaping from the chair, she knelt to retrieve them, shoving them back into the quiver as quickly as she could before Haldir showed up and saw what she had done. She had just crawled halfway under the table to retrieve the last arrow when the door opened. Elanor looked around guiltily.

“Not another mishap,” remarked a resigned voice. Haldir dropped his bag on the floor and closed the door, leaning against it with his arms folded over his chest, a stance that made him look both disapproving and intimidating. And here she was on her hands and knees with her backside in the air! Could she possibly do anything to humiliate herself any more?

Glaring at the elf who was fast becoming the bane of her existence, Elanor sat back on her heels, banging her head against the edge of the table in the process. Stifling a curse, she rubbed her head, then without thinking, rapidly jammed the last two arrows into the quiver. Then she caught the look on Haldir’s face, and froze.

Now what had she done?

As she started to rise, he strode over and pulled her to her feet, then released his grip on her arm. Retrieving the quiver, he silently removed the arrows and spread them out on the table, picking up one after another of them to examine with a critical eye. Elanor’s heart sank. Even she could see that the feathers on the ends of quite a few of them were bent or flattened.

He held one in front of her, speaking firmly but calmly. “Lesson number one. Arrows are important, and they don’t fly well when you destroy the fletching. Do you realize what that means in a battle? Look closely. Do you see what happened? It appears that you will be learning to repair arrows tomorrow.”

Elanor swallowed hard, appalled by what she had done. How could she have been so careless? She knew better, but in her irritation and fatigue she had thought only of tidying them up as quickly as possible. Thank the Valar he did not know what had so nearly happened to his bow!

She looked up, bravely meeting Haldir’s penetrating gaze. “I am sorry,” she said, trying to keep her voice from betraying how truly distraught she was.

His small nod seemed approving. “I know you are. I will show you how to repair them tomorrow. It will give you something to do.” He moved away to light a small lantern while Elanor stood waiting for him to say something more. One bed. Did he think she had not noticed?

“I see that Rúmil carried my sword and bow,” he remarked.

“How did you know?” She stared at him in amazement.

He gave her an amused look. “Because they sit in their place in the corner. They are not tossed in the middle of the floor like my arrows.”

“Oh,” she said weakly. “Well, yes, he did carry them. They were heavy.”

He shot her another glance, but made no comment. She followed him with her eyes as he collected the arrows and set them and the quiver carefully along the far wall. Then he retrieved his saddlebag and strode into the room with the bed in it. A minute later he returned, carrying a pile of tunics and other items of apparel.

“Something else for you to do,” he told her in a bland voice. “My clothes need washing, and I expect you have some of your own to do.” He dumped them in a pile by the front door while Elanor stared with a flare of resentment.

“I do not think that Lord Elrond intended me to do your laundry,” she informed him. She folded her arms across her chest just as he had done and tried to appear imposing.

Haldir looked her over from head to toe. “You will do whatever I ask, Elanor.”

“I am your ward, not your slave. And you are not asking.”

A glint in his eyes, he stalked toward her in a way that impelled her to take a single, involuntary step backward. He halted in front of her, one corner of his mouth lifting in a manner that brought back the memory of his fury the night he’d been tied to the bed.

“You will be whatever I want you to be,” he said softly. “And you will do what I say and with a cheerful attitude. I will not have you glaring and scowling at me every time I desire you to do something for me, or with me. Is that understood?”

Elanor stared up into those piercing eyes, and barely repressed a shiver. In a last gesture of defiance, she tried to step around him, but he reached out and spun her around, grasping her by the upper arms. “I said, is that understood?” He pulled her toward him, and she forgot how to breathe.

He was so close. Too close. Of all moments to choose, why did her mind select this one to notice how very beautiful he was? An extraordinary, erotic awareness of him rippled through her and she could not fight it. Memories of that kiss in the garden flooded her being. In all respects he was magnificent—bold, strong, self-confident. A warrior to the hilt. One who could and would protect the weak and the strong alike. But could he be gentle too? Or tender?

One bed.

After a few, very tense moments, she gave him a short nod, and he released her to go and settle himself in one of the cushioned chairs across the room. He pulled off his boots, then leaned back, stretched out his long legs, and studied her. “You can come and sit down. Are you not tired?”

It was such a ridiculous question that she could not form an answer for fear her voice would shake. She clenched her fists, longing to address the issue foremost on her mind, yet she dreaded his answer and did not dare. Surely he must know she was nigh to dropping dead with exhaustion.

“No?” he said, when she did not reply. “Well, I am. And I seem to have a knot in my shoulder. Perhaps you can rub it a bit? I would appreciate it.”

“Rub it?” she repeated, and to her horror, she felt herself blushing, a sudden warmth sweeping through her. Surely he did not mean it? Was this some game he played, some clever ploy or prelude to seduction?

His glance told her he did mean it. Elanor opened her mouth to refuse, then thought better of it. After what she had done to his arrows, perhaps she owed him this, and after all, it had been a request. So weary that she could barely keep herself upright, she moved to stand behind him. “Where is this knot?” she asked, keeping her voice neutral.

Haldir reached up to indicate the location. Carefully, her heart beating fast, she shifted his hair, trying to ignore the alluring silkiness of its texture. Her hands trembled as she pressed them gently against the soft wool of his tunic, making small circles with her fingers and thumbs.

She closed her eyes, trying not to think about the elf she was touching, the strength of the muscles she could feel beneath her fingers, or her memory of the smoothness of his skin beneath his tunic. As she proceeded to knead his muscles the way she instinctively knew would provide the greatest benefit and pleasure, she heard him give a contented sigh that told her that she was doing something right. At last.

Haldir relaxed, enjoying the experience more than he had expected. It was so rare for anyone to do this for him. He hung his head, stretching the cords of his neck, aware of how quiet Elanor had become. What was she thinking? Of how much she disliked and resented him, perhaps? At the moment he did not care; he closed his eyes to the pleasure of the moment created by her expert fingers. She certainly seemed to have a natural aptitude for this. But that brought other thoughts to his mind, thoughts it would be better not to dwell on right now . . .

“Enough,” he said abruptly.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked, a little hurt by the gruffness in his tone. She looked at the back of his head, hoping he would not turn around and see the heightened color in her cheeks. For a moment he did not answer, but only reached up to brush his hair back over his shoulders and undo the braid behind his head. She was surprised he had not asked her to do this too.

“No, it was much to my liking,” he said. “Now sit down before you fall down.” He rose from the chair and turned to look at her.

It seemed her legs were refusing to move, for she could only gaze at him mutely. She saw him frown. Did he think she was defying him? In truth, she could not care; she was in danger of collapse. Never in her life had she been this weary, her mind floated in a fog of confused thoughts and emotions.

“You would like to bathe?” His voice seemed to come from very far off.

Bathe? In the open room with the translucent tiles? A room visible from the bedroom and the terrace? “I am too tired for that,” she said quickly.

Haldir only lifted a brow, then went into his bedroom. Elanor heard the sound of a light being struck and saw the blue glow of the lantern spill out onto the terrace through that second entrance to his room. After a few moments, he returned with a quilt and pillow, his face expressionless as he held them out. “Your bed.”

Elanor stared blankly at the items in his hand. “What?”

“I said, here is your bed. I suggest you make use of it.”

“And where am I to sleep?” she asked dazedly.

He shrugged. “Anywhere you like. Right here on the rug is fine.”

Slowly, her stupor faded to a haze of outrage. “You are suggesting that I sleep on the floor?”

He started to loosen the fastenings of his tunic. “Where else is there? There is only one bed, and it is mine.”

Her shock and despair vied for the upper hand. “I cannot sleep on the floor! I have slept on the hard ground for days and days and . . . and now you expect me to sleep on the floor?” She barely prevented her voice from cracking.

“Would you rather sleep with me?” He completed the removal of his grey over-tunic and proceeded to pull off the black, long-sleeved under-tunic as though it were completely normal to strip off his clothes in front of her. The question was casual, indifferent, and completely unconcerned. Elanor’s mind reeled.

“I would rather sleep in a bed!” she shot back, too tired to be anything but candid.

He quirked an eyebrow. “There is only one bed. Are you willing to share it?”

Elanor opened her mouth, but shut it again quickly, unsure what to answer. Meanwhile, he was unlacing the tie on his leggings. Dear Elbereth!

“What are you doing?” she said sharply.

He paused, glancing up with a look of surprise. “I do not sleep in my clothes when I am home. Do you?”

“You are going to undress in front of me?” she said in a scandalized tone.

“Why not? You have already seen me naked. And if you sleep with me, this is how it will be.”

“I am not going to sleep with you! I’d rather sleep with . . . with an Orc!”

His grey eyes held a disturbing gleam. “No, you wouldn’t. They reek. You wouldn’t like it at all.” And then, to her complete dismay, he lowered his leggings, yanked them off and tossed all three items of apparel onto the pile of dirty laundry by the door.

Elanor shut her eyes, but not before she had gotten a glimpse of his maleness. “I will sleep on the floor,” she said through gritted teeth. “Just leave me in peace, that is all I wish.”

“That is all you wish, Elanor? Are you certain?” Haldir’s voice seemed mocking to her tired ears.

“I wish I had never met you,” she added shakily.

“That is a wish I cannot grant. Like it or not, you are saddled with me. As I am with you. We may as well make the best of it.”

He put out the lantern and returned to his bedchamber, leaving her alone in the darkened room. Elanor sank down on the first chair she could find, still holding the pillow and quilt. From the corner of her eye, she could see the glow of the blue light spill out onto the terrace. Shortly thereafter, she heard the sound of water against tiles soon followed by the soft rustle of linen sheets as he made himself comfortable. And then silence.

Arrogant, selfish elf! Had he expected her to jump at the chance to sleep with him? The very idea infuriated her. And after she had massaged his neck and shoulders for him too! The least he could have done was to offer to do the same for her! Even as the thought came and went, she knew she was being unreasonable. He must have known she would have declined.

Resigned to another night of discomfort, Elanor found her bag of belongings and rummaged inside it until she found her nightdress. She could see well enough, for a thin shaft of moonlight had found its way into the room, and she had always seen fairly well in the dark. Darting a glance toward Haldir’s door, she quietly removed her travel-stained gown and pulled on her thin nightdress. She really should have washed, but she was not about to do so in his bathing room, at least not while he was here!

Forcing herself to move, she tiptoed to the kitchen and found a cask of stored water, poking around until she found a small bowl and a cleaning cloth. She filled the bowl from the spigot and washed herself as best she could, then carried the leftover water back to the front room to pour on the neglected plants. Afterward, she took a moment to whisper to each of them, touching their leaves with gentle hands. By morning, they should be fully recovered.

If only the same could be said for her, she thought with a weary sigh.

Unable to put it off any longer, she stretched out on the rug and pulled the quilt around her, her head cradled by the soft pillow. For a moment it seemed that the rug would offer some amount of padding, but the hard wood beneath it soon became evident. Her aching body still throbbed, and she began to feel very sorry for herself.

In fact, she discovered that her feelings were actually hurt. Without realizing it, she had assumed that Haldir would wish her to be comfortable. She had even thought he might actually have some tiny bit of liking for her. But this was obviously not the case. There was no reason why he should like her. What had she done that was likable? She was nothing to him.

A wave of pure and utter loneliness crashed over her. A single tear slipped down her cheek, and she buried her face in the pillow.

Haldir lay on his bed, knowing that he had made a mistake with Elanor. His approach had been wrong. She had not reacted as he had expected, and he was annoyed with himself for choosing the wrong strategy.

He kept very still, listening to the sounds she made, following her movements as she changed her clothes, then tiptoed out and washed herself in his kitchen. What was she doing now? Pouring water? Whispering to herself? He could not tell, but he knew when she lay down and started wriggling around in an effort to make herself comfortable. Long ago he had done the same when he had first begun to sleep upon the hard ground. It was a dim memory, but it was there, and he remembered.

As the minutes passed, he fought the urge to fall into reverie, and instead maintained a vigilant alertness. He soon heard what he expected, a tiny sound quickly muffled. She was weeping.

He rose to his feet and went to the door, observing her for several seconds with mixed emotions. He could see her huddled form, just a shape outlined by a ray of moonlight, a small boat in need of an anchor.

He entered the room and bent over her. “Elanor, do not cry.”

“I am not crying,” she sobbed, her face turned away from him.

For some reason, he had the urge to laugh. “I can hear you, Elanor. Come, get up. You can take the bed and I will sleep on the floor. I am used to it.” He lowered himself to one knee, and pushed back her hair from her cheek.

Elanor sat up and glared. “I will not take your bed from you! It is not right. I am perfectly fine and comfortable, and I am not crying. I am just a little lonely, that is all.”

Ignoring her protests, he scooped her up, tucking her tightly to his chest.

“What do you think you are doing?” she squealed, struggling in his arms as he carried her into the bedchamber. “Haldir, I insist you put me down! Haldir! How dare you!”

Depositing her on his bed, he subdued her much the same way he had that other time, on that other bed, with the force of his strength. Except that this time when he leaned over her, he whispered the sleeping spell into her ear. She was far too tempting to him when awake.

For a moment he just knelt there, gazing down at her still form, then he reached out and smoothed a hand over her long dark hair, something he’d wanted to do for some time. He liked its color, so different from his own. In his eyes, she was lovely, far lovelier than that annoying sister of hers. His eyes roved over her figure, alluringly revealed by the dainty white nightgown.

“Elanor,” he murmured, though he knew not why he spoke her name except that he liked the sound of it.

He sighed and rolled her onto her stomach, knowing he had better do this while she slept for she would never allow it otherwise. Shoving up her nightgown, he slid his hands over her nicely rounded backside, intuitively sensing where the soreness was. Within a few moments the warmth emanated from his palms, and in a matter of minutes the healing was complete.

Next, he examined the redness and chaffing on the smooth, creamy flesh of her inner thighs. He could have healed her of this days ago, the stubborn little elleth. Shaking his head, he tended to the matter, ignoring as best he could his body’s single-minded response to her delectable nearness. At least she was not awake to see it, although she would no doubt squawk at him in the morning when she realized what he had done.

Now, where was he to take his rest? He briefly considered sleeping on the floor as he had offered, and decided this was foolish. He spent enough of his life on the hard ground as it was. Instead, he shifted Elanor to the far side of the bed, placed her head on a pillow, and covered her with the sheet and quilt. He pulled the curtain partially around to shield her from the light of the moon, then settled himself comfortably where he had been before and linked his fingers behind his head. Falling into reverie should now be a simple matter, but he soon found that it was not.

Elanor was out of pain, but it seemed that his suffering was only just beginning.


[To be continued . . .]