The Song of the Dance
folder
-Multi-Age › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
10
Views:
1,448
Reviews:
6
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
-Multi-Age › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
10
Views:
1,448
Reviews:
6
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
The Request
THE ART OF MISCOMMUNICATION
= = = = =
Chapter 7: The Request
Lightly did Iarwen glide forth, banishing the lingering infatuation as she covered the bowing Dancer in the formless grey cloak.
It would be unfair to say there was a stampede to the bedrooms, but it was pretty close.
Haldir watched the audience’s exit from behind the thin weave of the grey hood that hid his face, and so too did Galadriel.
Haldir curiously observed Orophin, who sat in dour melancholy as he intently watched someone on the other side of the glade. Haldir swiftly followed his line of vision to see Rumil and Glorfindel making a hasty retreat. The two elves were absorbed in one another, and Orophin watched them not as a protective brother, but as one with jealousy and regret in his eyes. Haldir felt his heart nearly break at the sight, but seemed rooted to the spot and could not move as Orophin abruptly rose and stalked in well-hidden anger and guilty remorse into the surrounding darkness.
Shaken, Haldir watched the darkness for many moments, but Orophin did not reappear, and The Dancer eventually turned his attention to other happenings in the hall.
He and the Lady of the Wood curiously watched young Legolas where the Prince sat in uncomfortable solitude. Apparently, his Mirkwood fellows had abandoned him, and the young elf did not notice who had approached until he looked up at the two identical figures standing before him, each reaching out a hand. Legolas said nothing, but smiled as he accepted their hands up and walked with the sons of Elrond into the forest.
Especially intrigued by one scene in the shadowy distance, Haldir observed Cudae where he stood passively against the bole of a great mallorn. Annaglar softly approached his fellow March Captain, smiling. But this was not his usual lascivious grin, no; Annaglar’s expressive features held both hope and doubt, both lust and affection. Haldir smiled to himself even as his eyes widened at the sight of the repressed Cudae offering a heated, blundering kiss. They, too, joined hands and made swift exit through the trees.
Lord Elrond and the Lady Celebrian looked eager to depart, and Galadriel wondered at their reluctance to leave the floor… until she saw Erestor slinking off into the darkness. Lord Elrond called out into the night, and the Lady of the Golden Wood could hear his words. “Erestor!” The elf halted. “Be not alone tonight.” The Lord and Lady of Imladris beckoned to their seneschal, who hesitantly turned toward them. The three elves were almost the last to leave.
Still within the hall, Haldir had not moved from the center of the floor, though Iarwen had withdrawn into the shadows. Galadriel and Celeborn had not moved from their thrones, and she turned to see her husband still staring at The Dancer, who remained hidden in his cape. Finally, he too removed himself from the hall to join Iarwen in the darkness. Galadriel turned to face the Lord Celeborn.
“You want him.”
Shocked out of his reverie, Celeborn faced his wife, guilt underlying the lustful need expressed in his grey eyes. “I cannot deny it.”
Galadriel smiled with some small pity, both for her Lord and for herself. “Then have him, if he desires it.”
Celeborn looked shocked for only a moment, but a sudden unaccustomed fear crept over his features. “I do not wish to dishonor you. The Dance is not to be taken lightly…”
“Neither are your feelings,” she said.
“He is…” Celeborn licked his lips nervously and looked away. “I could not ask him…”
Galadriel’s face alighted with amusement. She stood from the carved white chair to stride forward, beckoning to The Dancer’s Attendant. Smiling to herself at Celeborn’s sudden shyness, she waited for Iarwen to approach.
“My Lady?”
“Iarwen, the Lord Celeborn should like to celebrate Byeltinyeh with The Dancer, if he is amenable.”
Iarwen merely bowed. “I shall ask him.”
Haldir watched curiously as Iarwen returned to his side. She said no words, merely looking back the way she had come. Haldir followed her gaze to see Galadriel smiling sadly at him, and further on…
A shudder ran through him at the sight of Lord Celeborn in his chair, staring with open desire at him. At him!
Galadriel saw neither words nor gestures pass between the two, but Iarwen returned, saying, “He is… amenable.”
Haldir watched in a disbelieving stupor as the old elves whispered to each other in the center of the dance floor.
When Iarwen came to him again, she whispered. “Go up to his chamber. His Lord would like… an encore.”
Haldir’s wrath was not visible beyond his lowered hood. “What?! But I…”
Iarwen dropped the air of matchmaker and Haldir suddenly saw the eternal despair in those ancient green eyes. She said, “Most often, it is the actions we do not take which we regret.” But then, that everlasting good humor returned and she reassured him, “I think your innocence has been maintained long enough - too long, if I may say so. And you have nothing to worry about: it is said that Dancers make the best lovers, experienced or nay.” She winked. “Knowledge matters not. It’s in your blo
Haldir knew it was meant to be comforting but his nerves still jangled. Before he could respond, Galadriel approached their corner of darkness. “You’ve no reason to deny yourself, Haldir of the March.”
He was not surprised at her recognition, but Haldir’s head jerked up at her words, hearing what was not said. It was permission. It was a gift; it was a sacrifice.
So, he could only bow before her and turn to stride out of the light, making his way to the long white ladders and stairs of the palace.
Celeborn watched all this with detachment, uncertain of what was passing between the three distant figures. When Galadriel returned to his side, she kneeled before him, those wise eyes peering knowingly into his own. “He awaits.”
Galadriel turned and walked away, stopping again at Iarwen’s side. The old crone tilted her head in speculation. “This changes everything,” she advised the Lady.
Galadriel looked back to Celeborn, still sitting, shocked, firmly in his seat. “I will not begrudge them their happiness.”
When Galadriel turned again, Celeborn could not see his wife’s face, but as they spoke one last time, he saw the old crone’s expression of shock before the two elf-women walked together into the night.
TBC
= = = = =
Chapter 7: The Request
Lightly did Iarwen glide forth, banishing the lingering infatuation as she covered the bowing Dancer in the formless grey cloak.
It would be unfair to say there was a stampede to the bedrooms, but it was pretty close.
Haldir watched the audience’s exit from behind the thin weave of the grey hood that hid his face, and so too did Galadriel.
Haldir curiously observed Orophin, who sat in dour melancholy as he intently watched someone on the other side of the glade. Haldir swiftly followed his line of vision to see Rumil and Glorfindel making a hasty retreat. The two elves were absorbed in one another, and Orophin watched them not as a protective brother, but as one with jealousy and regret in his eyes. Haldir felt his heart nearly break at the sight, but seemed rooted to the spot and could not move as Orophin abruptly rose and stalked in well-hidden anger and guilty remorse into the surrounding darkness.
Shaken, Haldir watched the darkness for many moments, but Orophin did not reappear, and The Dancer eventually turned his attention to other happenings in the hall.
He and the Lady of the Wood curiously watched young Legolas where the Prince sat in uncomfortable solitude. Apparently, his Mirkwood fellows had abandoned him, and the young elf did not notice who had approached until he looked up at the two identical figures standing before him, each reaching out a hand. Legolas said nothing, but smiled as he accepted their hands up and walked with the sons of Elrond into the forest.
Especially intrigued by one scene in the shadowy distance, Haldir observed Cudae where he stood passively against the bole of a great mallorn. Annaglar softly approached his fellow March Captain, smiling. But this was not his usual lascivious grin, no; Annaglar’s expressive features held both hope and doubt, both lust and affection. Haldir smiled to himself even as his eyes widened at the sight of the repressed Cudae offering a heated, blundering kiss. They, too, joined hands and made swift exit through the trees.
Lord Elrond and the Lady Celebrian looked eager to depart, and Galadriel wondered at their reluctance to leave the floor… until she saw Erestor slinking off into the darkness. Lord Elrond called out into the night, and the Lady of the Golden Wood could hear his words. “Erestor!” The elf halted. “Be not alone tonight.” The Lord and Lady of Imladris beckoned to their seneschal, who hesitantly turned toward them. The three elves were almost the last to leave.
Still within the hall, Haldir had not moved from the center of the floor, though Iarwen had withdrawn into the shadows. Galadriel and Celeborn had not moved from their thrones, and she turned to see her husband still staring at The Dancer, who remained hidden in his cape. Finally, he too removed himself from the hall to join Iarwen in the darkness. Galadriel turned to face the Lord Celeborn.
“You want him.”
Shocked out of his reverie, Celeborn faced his wife, guilt underlying the lustful need expressed in his grey eyes. “I cannot deny it.”
Galadriel smiled with some small pity, both for her Lord and for herself. “Then have him, if he desires it.”
Celeborn looked shocked for only a moment, but a sudden unaccustomed fear crept over his features. “I do not wish to dishonor you. The Dance is not to be taken lightly…”
“Neither are your feelings,” she said.
“He is…” Celeborn licked his lips nervously and looked away. “I could not ask him…”
Galadriel’s face alighted with amusement. She stood from the carved white chair to stride forward, beckoning to The Dancer’s Attendant. Smiling to herself at Celeborn’s sudden shyness, she waited for Iarwen to approach.
“My Lady?”
“Iarwen, the Lord Celeborn should like to celebrate Byeltinyeh with The Dancer, if he is amenable.”
Iarwen merely bowed. “I shall ask him.”
Haldir watched curiously as Iarwen returned to his side. She said no words, merely looking back the way she had come. Haldir followed her gaze to see Galadriel smiling sadly at him, and further on…
A shudder ran through him at the sight of Lord Celeborn in his chair, staring with open desire at him. At him!
Galadriel saw neither words nor gestures pass between the two, but Iarwen returned, saying, “He is… amenable.”
Haldir watched in a disbelieving stupor as the old elves whispered to each other in the center of the dance floor.
When Iarwen came to him again, she whispered. “Go up to his chamber. His Lord would like… an encore.”
Haldir’s wrath was not visible beyond his lowered hood. “What?! But I…”
Iarwen dropped the air of matchmaker and Haldir suddenly saw the eternal despair in those ancient green eyes. She said, “Most often, it is the actions we do not take which we regret.” But then, that everlasting good humor returned and she reassured him, “I think your innocence has been maintained long enough - too long, if I may say so. And you have nothing to worry about: it is said that Dancers make the best lovers, experienced or nay.” She winked. “Knowledge matters not. It’s in your blo
Haldir knew it was meant to be comforting but his nerves still jangled. Before he could respond, Galadriel approached their corner of darkness. “You’ve no reason to deny yourself, Haldir of the March.”
He was not surprised at her recognition, but Haldir’s head jerked up at her words, hearing what was not said. It was permission. It was a gift; it was a sacrifice.
So, he could only bow before her and turn to stride out of the light, making his way to the long white ladders and stairs of the palace.
Celeborn watched all this with detachment, uncertain of what was passing between the three distant figures. When Galadriel returned to his side, she kneeled before him, those wise eyes peering knowingly into his own. “He awaits.”
Galadriel turned and walked away, stopping again at Iarwen’s side. The old crone tilted her head in speculation. “This changes everything,” she advised the Lady.
Galadriel looked back to Celeborn, still sitting, shocked, firmly in his seat. “I will not begrudge them their happiness.”
When Galadriel turned again, Celeborn could not see his wife’s face, but as they spoke one last time, he saw the old crone’s expression of shock before the two elf-women walked together into the night.
TBC