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

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Chapter 7. When the Road Forks.

Haldir received an unexpected and thus even more delightful gift for the Yule. On the morning of the holiday, when the elves of the Last Homely House were finishing the remaining preparations for the great seasonal ball, a large party of travelers entered the spacious yard in front of the main building. They were a delegation from Gondor, accompanied by a group of Lórien guards. The commander of the guards was none other than Rúmil.

“Well, how is your life here, little brother?” Rúmil asked after a hearty hug he exchanged with Haldir.

“Oh, fine!”

“Is Gildor going to marry you then?”

Haldir’s smile wavered a little. “You expect too much too soon, Rúmil. Such things are not done in a hurry.”

Rúmil chuckled. “I see. What about your social position? Have you managed to achieve anything or are you still a sword-bearer to your renowned lover?”

Haldir frowned. “I am going to lead my own patrol soon. I am training my guards at the moment.”

“Are you indeed?” Rúmil’s eyes were sparkling with mischief. “It must be convenient to have such an influential patron.”

Rúmil saw at once that he must have unwittingly hit Haldir’s sore spot. “I am only teasing, silly,” he hurried to say. “I am glad you are doing so well here. Honestly.”

Haldir was able to smile again. “I know you are.”

Rúmil told his brother that he had been sent by the Lord and the Lady to bring Yule gifts to their grandsons and son-in-law. As it was no longer safe to travel alone, he had four companions with him. They had met with the Gondorin party at a day’s ride from Imladris.

The brothers spent the day together, talking and exchanging news. Rúmil saw Gildor only once, at lunch. Watching his brother with his lover, Rúmil could tell that love was still there. However, he could sense some slight change in their relations, a change that he could not quite put his finger on. After lunch Gildor disappeared again and did not show up even when it was time to go to the Hall of Fire for the Yule ball.


Elrond was talking to the head of the Gondorin delegation Golasgil while Golasgil’s younger companion Dervorin was studying the crowd of elves around him with barely concealed curiosity. Suddenly Dervorin asked, “Are those your children?”

Elrond turned his head and saw his sons entering the Hall together with Gildor. All three of them were flushed and laughing and looked as if they had been drinking or making some mischief, or probably both. Elrond sighed. “Well, two of them are.” He made a sign to the Princes to come and to greet the guests.

“Oh no,” Elladan muttered. “Formalities again! And on such a day.”

Gildor smirked. “That’s why I have cast off my title. I am sorry for you but you two must go.”

“Can you not go alone, El?” Elrohir asked hopefully. “After all, *you* are the Crown Prince here.”

“No way, brother.” Elladan caught Elrohir’s elbow in a tight grip. “You must come together with me.”

Elrohir snickered. “Can’t say ‘no’ to *that*.”

“At times you are so dirty, Ro,” Elladan chided affectionately. “But I won’t have you any other way.”

Elrohir snickered again and the twins headed for the place where their father was waiting for them impatiently. Gildor shook his head in amusement, then looked around, spotted Haldir lounging against a column near the window and made his way to him.

“How come you are all alone and in such a place, too?” he asked Haldir, smiling.

“Well, it is little surprise as you abandoned me for other company,” Haldir replied testily. “Where have you been?”

Gildor shrugged. “I simply did not want to be in the way. I was sure you would want to spend time with your brother. Where is he, by the way?”

“Getting acquainted with the attractions of Imladris.”

Gildor followed the direction of Haldir’s look and saw Rúmil talking to Lindir.

“Lindir has a soft spot for blonds and my brother – for musicians. I think they are likely to reach an understanding. So, where did you say you were?”

“In the park.” Gildor wrapped his arms around Haldir’s waist, bringing his face close to Haldir’s. “Kiss me?”

Haldir could smell the sweet scent of wine on Gildor’s lips. “Have you been drinking?”

Gildor shrugged again. “It’s sort of tradition.”

“To get drunk with the twins before a Yule party?”

“No!” Gildor laughed. “To have a drink of mulled wine in the snow before a
Yule party. Will you kiss me now?”

“No,” Haldir answered coolly.

“No? Why?” Gildor looked genuinely surprised.

“I do not see why I should,” Haldir teased him.

“You do not? Well, I do!” Gildor laughed and pointed up.


The twins greeted the guests as it befitted princes, inquired after the health of Beren, the current Steward of Gondor, and asked about the guests’ first impression of the Last Homely House. Their manners were impeccable and their father’s furrowed brow gradually smoothed over again. The Gondorin diplomats kept up the polite conversation the twins had started. Golasgil said that the Steward was well and Dervorin admitted that it was his first visit to an Elven realm and that he found both Imladris and her inhabitants beautiful and fascinating.

“Is that your friend?” he asked then, nodding at the fair-haired couple by the column.

“You must be meaning Gildor,” Elrohir smiled. “Yes, he is a good friend and that is his lover by his side. Forgive them their lack of restraint,” he said as Gildor wrapped his arms around Haldir’s body, clinging to him. “New lovers, you know. Oh, I hope you are not shocked by the fact that they are both males?” He looked at the Men innocently.

Elrond frowned in concern again: the differences between the human and the elven ways of love were not the safest subject to discuss with the mortals. To his relief, the envoys assured them that they were not at all shocked.
Golasgil was an old diplomat and knew enough about the Elves and their oddities not to be shocked. And Dervorin had been chosen for this mission for – among other things – his liberal views and his own preferences in certain matters.

Dervorin kept watching the pair at the column furtively. The young elf was talking to his silver-haired lover, who seemed to be displeased with him for some reason. Then the youngster pointed up to the mistletoe hanging above their heads. The older elf laughed and dipped his head to give his lover a traditional kiss. But they seemed to get carried away in the process for the kiss lasted longer and longer. Finally, the silver-haired elf pulled his lover into the window niche and drew the curtain to shield them away from the hall.

Dervorin sighed, turned back to his companions… and met the knowing eyes of Elrohir. Or was it Elladan?

“Gildor is a rare beauty, isn’t he?” the twin asked softly.

“He is,” Dervorin agreed carefully.

“I think you won’t be surprised if I tell you that Haldir is very possessive of him.”

“Haldir?”

“His lover.”

“Ah. No, I’m not surprised.”

The prince nodded. The message was passed and received.

Elrond found that the conversation was becoming too personal for his liking so he steered it skillfully into another direction. By this moment the twins decided they had done their duty to the full. They excused themselves and went away to plunge into the revelry.

Dervorin kept an eye on the curtained niche and after a while he saw Gildor and Haldir appear from their hiding place, flushed and slightly disheveled. Gildor’s lips were bright and swollen and his lover looked very much pleased with himself. They moved around the hall, talking to other elves, laughing and dancing an occasional dance together. Devorin felt drawn to the golden-haired beauty and decided that to have him in his arms – even if for only a dance – was a tempting idea. He waited till Gildor drifted away from the group of Lórien elves his lover was talking to and made his way to him.

“May I ask you for a dance?” Gildor heard and turned to find the younger Gondorian by his side.

He had no intention to dance with the Man and was about to tell him so, phrasing it as politely as possible, of course, but he did not have a chance to do it. A familiar arm snaked around his waist and he was pressed back against Haldir’s powerful body.

“I’m afraid he promised this dance to me.” Haldir deliberately said it in Sindarin, his voice low and dark.

Gildor looked down, keeping his expression carefully neutral. Then he sighed and raised his eyes again.

“He says… ” he began explaining to Dervorin but the Man interrupted him.

“There is no need for translation. I can understand what he wants to say.” The Gondorian bowed slightly and left.

Gildor turned around to face Haldir.

“That was not very polite and was absolutely unnecessary,” he told him, displeased. “You are making me look infantile and incapable of taking care of myself.”

“Oh, come!” Haldir laughed, feeling not at all repentant. “It is only a joke, a game. You have nothing to fear: everyone here knows how great the clash between your appearance and your personality is. Besides, I like it when you look so… ”

“Weak?”

“So gentle. Come dance with me.”

Haldir pulled Gildor onto the dancing floor. Gildor said no more but when the dance was over, he disentangled himself from Haldir’s arms and headed for the table with refreshments. He poured himself a drink and sipped at his wine, not particularly in a hurry to return to Haldir. He was watching the revelry around him when he suddenly spotted Glorfindel talking to an elleth. The expression on Glorfindel’s face made Gildor look twice. He knew that sort of sparkle in his friend’s eyes – it was a sign that Glorfindel had a certain interest in the girl.

“Oh no,” Gildor murmured. “I hope I am imagining things.”

Elladan, who had happened to come up to Gildor at this very moment, chuckled. “If you mean Glorfindel and Aduial, then you are not.”

Gildor turned to him, surprised. “What are you talking about?”

Elladan shrugged. “Aduial is Glorfindel’s current bed-mate. Didn’t you know?
He sleeps only with ellith now. I would say he is trying to remain faithful to his Mirkwood passion, at least in a way.”

Gildor frowned. “I do not think that his dubious idea of fidelity will help him much if Legolas catches the wind of it all.”

“Can he?”

Gildor sighed. “Unfortunately, my long life has taught me always to expect the worst.”

“Then I am afraid our seneschal is ruining our only chance for a friendly relationship with Mirkwood. Do you think we are likely to find ourselves a Balrog slayer short one day?”

“This is not funny, Elladan. I can see trouble ahead.”

“And I can see trouble coming my way right now. Here is your guardian, dagnir-e-guilen. I’d better be off of my own free will than be chased away by your formidable lover, like the poor Gondorian was. What makes him so overbearing today?” [bane of my life]

Elladan ducked Gildor’s half-hearted cuff on his head and sauntered away, laughing, just as Haldir came up to Gildor. Haldir took the glass out of

Gildor’s hand and put it on the nearby table.

“Come, our guests are asking you for a song.”

“Me? Why? I am not the minstrel here.”

“Because Lindir praised your talents to the skies to them. Besides, I thought that as that young diplomat did not get a dance with you, we could humour him with a song from you.”

“Why are you so indulgent, all of a sudden?” Gildor asked suspiciously.

“Because he won’t have to touch you to be able to listen to you singing. Come!”

They threaded their way to the group of Elves and Men, gathered around Lindir. Lindir moved aside on the bench he was sitting upon to make room for Gildor and passed him his lute. Haldir folded his arms and leaned against the wall by his lover’s side.

“Well?” Gildor looked at the people around him expectantly. “What do you want me to sing?”

“I thought, perhaps, you could sing “If you go away”,” Lindir suggested with a shy smile. “The song is amazing and you sing it beautifully.”

“No!” Haldir snapped up suddenly. “I am fed up with everything Mirkwood. Aren’t there any good Lórien or Imladris songs? Sing something *I* can enjoy.”

Everyone was taken aback by Haldir’s outburst. The elves around them even drew slightly away as if they were expecting Gildor to throw a tantrum at such unceremonious treatment and were afraid to become unwitting victims of his wrath.

Gildor closed his eyes for a moment. ‘What the heck, Haldir!’ he shot an angry thought at his lover.

He managed to remain outwardly calm, though he felt heat creep up his face. Just like Elladan, Gildor wondered why Haldir had turned so outrageously overbearing. He took several deep slow breaths and then said quietly, “As I am here to perform for our guests, I think we should ask what *they* would like to hear.” He looked up at Haldir and added even softer, “I can sing anything you want later and only for you.”

Golasgil, an experienced diplomat that he was, asked Gildor to make the choice himself and a compromise was found: Gildor did not sing the song that had raised the argument but he chose one of Legolas’s compositions, nevertheless.

Rúmil had watched the whole incident with no less amazement than the others. His brother was behaving so provokingly that Rúmil could not help feeling that Haldir was flaunting his dominant role in his relationship with Gildor on purpose. And Gildor let him! Rúmil could be a rake and a joker but he was no fool. He shared Orophin’s gift for reading people’s motives and he had a strong suspicion that his own presence on the scene was not the least reason for Haldir’s show of power. Suddenly Rúmil realized what had stricken him as strange and different in Haldir and Gildor’s relations. Long ago, Orophin had said in a bout of black mood that there was no equality in love: it was always so that one partner in a relationship loved while the other allowed the first to love him. When in Lórien, it was definitely Haldir who did the loving part. Now, though, the roles seemed to have changed.

Rúmil was never one to hesitate to voice his opinion. So when after finishing his song Gildor slipped swiftly away, Rúmil approached Haldir.

“Your lover must truly be head over heels in love with you, little brother, to let you boss him around so. But I am afraid you will have to pay for it sooner or later.”

“Do not worry about me, Rúmil,” Haldir laughed. “We have no argument about who wears the breeches in our relationship.”


Glorfindel found Gildor sitting on a windowsill behind a curtain in the farthest window niche. Gildor was looking out into the garden, twirling his silver bracelet around his wrist. Glorfindel pressed a glass of Mirkwood wine into his friend’s hand.

“Here, have a drink.”

Gildor nodded his thanks, accepting the liquor.

“Why are you hiding here?”

“I need some time for myself.”

“Amid the celebration?”

Gildor shrugged noncommittally.

Glorfindel sighed and sat down on the windowsill to face his friend.

“You have not been looking particularly happy of late,” he remarked. “What is going on?”

Gildor turned away to stare into the dark. “Nothing.”

“I do not believe you.”

Gildor gave him a scowl, which was not very impressive, though. Glorfindel simply looked at him silently, waiting for him to speak. Gildor sighed and took a large swallow of wine.

“Why did both of us have to fall for young lovers, Mallos?”

Glorfindel’s lips twitched at the corners a little. “Must be a family trait. Is the age difference what causes the problem then?”

Gildor sighed again. “I just cannot behave the way I look. I cannot pretend I am less old or less experienced. I cannot throw to the wind all the millennia I’ve lived through. I just cannot be someone different… I cannot give him the wide-eyed admiration he seems to need. Sometimes I think he should have taken a young girl for a lover. Surely she would have been better at that stuff,” he finished in a low voice.

Glorfindel had suspected something of the kind. He understood why it could be frustratingly difficult for Haldir to be Gildor’s mate. Figuratively speaking, the young Galadhel had to kill a dragon every day to prove to himself as much as to the world around him that he was worth as much as his lover. Glorfindel was more than sure that Gildor did not intend to make Haldir’s life more difficult. Gildor would never ask of the others something he would not ask of himself. The problem was that Gildor’s standards were absurdly high. He was always striving for perfection. An attempt to meet his requirements better than himself could drive to frustration just anyone. But that was Haldir’s side of the problem. Glorfindel was sure there was Gildor’s side of it as well and he was determined to learn what made his friend unhappy.

“Is there anything else that is gnawing at you?” he asked.

“No.” Gildor’s answer was way too quick to be sincere.

“Liar.”

Gildor cast him a dark look but kept silent, which in itself was as good as an admission that Glorfindel had all the right to call him that.

“So, what is it?”

“I cannot discuss it with you.”

“And why is that?”

“It’s too personal,” Gildor announced somewhat prudishly.

Glorfindel could not help chuckling at Gildor’s so un-Gildor-like attitude. “The next thing you’ll do will be blushing, I expect.” Then he became serious again. “You do not have to voice your affliction if you find it so difficult to admit it aloud. I think I know what it is.”

“You do? Am I that transparent?” Gildor looked really troubled.

“Do not worry about your image: you are as fathomless as ever. I simply happen to know you too long and too well. And I know that as you have always been the one to dominate in all your relationships, you must find it extremely difficult to allow someone - oh, all right, not just someone but even the one you love – to dominate you so thoroughly and so… permanently?”
Gildor sighed and nodded reluctantly.

“Did you tell him you want to exchange the roles from time to time?”

“No. I want him to make the decision himself when he is ready. If I ask him for it, he’ll do it because *I* want it and not because he wants it himself.”

“And if he never does, what then?”

Gildor shrugged. “I cannot possibly make him do things he does not wish to do.”

“What about you?” Glorfindel demanded. “Is what you feel not important?”
Gildor gave another evasive shrug.

“Naira, you will have to talk to him,” Glorfindel said earnestly. “He cannot read your thoughts. You will have to *tell* him what you want of him. You cannot keep it all to yourself any longer. You will feel resentful with him and it will ruin your relations. Besides, this pent up vexation of yours has already begun telling on you. You are more snappish and your concentration is starting to waver. It can be dangerous in a battle. You must do something about it.”

Gildor did not have time to answer as the curtain was drawn aside at this moment and Gildor saw his lover.

“There you are,” Haldir said. “I’ve been looking for you. What are you doing here?” He looked between Gildor and Glorfindel.

“Talking,” Gildor replied.

“Talking? About what?”

“Old times.” Gildor was aware that Haldir did not like it when he and Glorfindel talked about people or things Haldir knew only from his history lessons. Surely enough, Haldir lost all the interest to the subject at once.

“Come dance with me.”

He pulled at Gildor’s hand but the Vanya would not get up. “I do not want to dance right now.”

“Then let’s go and have a drink.”

Gildor looked dubiously at his lover who was definitely tipsy. “Haven’t you had enough already?”

Haldir laughed. “Not even half enough. Come?”

Gildor looked at his empty glass. “Oh, all right.”

Gildor nodded to Glorfindel as Haldir pulled him away. Glorfindel saw that his friend had once again put on a mask. And though it was not the Ice Blade guise he used to wear once, it was a disturbing sign in itself. Glorfindel wondered for a moment if he should speak to Haldir but then he discarded the thought for he knew that Gildor would not thank him for meddling in his affairs.


When Gildor and Haldir returned to their rooms late that night, Haldir was even tipsier, though not quite drunk. He was happy enough to yield the leading role in the foreplay to Gildor who seemed to be strangely aggressive. Haldir gasped and moaned under Gildor’s demanding hands and lips. When he could take it no more, he made an attempt to roll them over for the main deed but felt sudden resistance. Haldir looked up at Gildor in surprise and saw an odd glint in his lover’s eyes. Was something wrong? Haldir tried to make his fogged brain function, though without much success. He frowned in irritation: he wanted Gildor and wanted him now! Why was Gildor denying him that? Or was it some sort of game? Did his lover want to be taken forcefully? Haldir was ready to oblige. He added more strength to his impact and surely enough the strange light died out in Gildor’s eyes, he went pliant and allowed Haldir to reverse their positions and to press him into the mattress. Haldir made a quick job of the preparation but when he hooked his arms under Gildor’s knees, Gildor stopped him.

“No, not like this.”

Gildor rolled over onto his stomach, pushing a pillow under his hips, and pressed his forehead into his crossed wrists. He did not want Haldir to see his face and he did not want him to see how quickly his arousal was subsiding.
Any position was fine with Haldir as long as he could finally get access to the delightful body that he knew would satisfy oh so blissfully the burning need in his loins. As he kneeled between Gildor’s spread legs, he thought that it was the best place in Arda, the place he wished always to be in. Then he found the entrance to beatitude and plunged into it wholeheartedly. His mind, dulled by alcohol and lust, failed to register how uncharacteristically quiet and quiescent Gildor remained under him. It did not take Haldir long to reach the release he was striving for.

As soon as Haldir rolled off him to collapse on the sheets by his side, Gildor slipped out of bed swiftly and found refuge in the bathroom. He closed the door behind himself and leaned heavily against it. He was shaking slightly. He earnestly hoped Haldir had not noticed that he did not join him in his climax for Gildor found it shameful. Perhaps his lover could even take it as an insult because Gildor had failed to give him the main proof that he enjoyed their intimacy as much as Haldir did.

Gildor moved to splash some cold water in his face. He caught a glimpse of his pale reflection in the mirror. There was an imprint of a mallorn tree on his forehead, left by his bracelet. It looked like a brand. Gildor sighed. He knew it was mean of him but he could not help feeling the bitter taste of disappointment on his tongue: he had believed for a moment that Haldir would finally grant him a chance to have it *his* way. Gildor shook his head. Haldir was the one who had had to sacrifice almost everything so that they could be together. Would he grudge Haldir the only thing his lover asked of him in return? No, he could not be so ungrateful. Gildor sighed again and returned to the bedroom.

Haldir was fast asleep. Gildor contemplated returning to bed but he was sure slumber would not claim him fast. He felt as if the walls were closing in on him. He could not stand the confines of the room any longer. He slipped on a robe, deciding he would take a stroll around the house.

As he was walking along the corridor, he suddenly remembered that Elrond kept a bottle of dwarven brandy in his study. Gildor headed that way, deciding a good potion of that poison could dull him to sleep.

Passing a junction with the passage leading to the Chamber of the Sword, he suddenly heard soft sounds of music. Intrigued, he changed his route to find the source of it. Soon he saw Lindir, sitting on a stone bench. The minstrel was plucking on the strings of his lute, staring thoughtfully into the distance… or at the opposite wall where the Mirkwood army was formed up for the fateful battle.

“Lindir,” Gildor called.

The minstrel came to himself with a slight start and turned to the Vanya. His eyes looked liquid in pale moonlight.

“What are you doing here alone?” Gildor asked him, coming closer. “I thought you would be making a closer acquaintance with Rúmil.”

A faint smile touched Lindir’s lips. “I have discovered I do not like just *any* blond. I prefer a golden tint.”

“Oh.” Gildor looked at the young elf attentively. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

Lindir shook his head. “There is nothing to tell.”

“Well, if you ever want an ear to pour your troubles into or a shoulder to cry upon, I’ll be glad to lend you any part of my body you can need. You know that, don’t you?”

Lindir gave him another smile, which was more like his usual playful smiles. “Yes, you have always been very kind to me.”

Gildor brushed Lindir’s cheek with his fingers and resumed his way to Elrond’s study. He found a bottle with the brandy in the cabinet, poured a generous amount of it into a glass and drained it in one gulp. It ran down his throat like liquid fire. Gildor thought for a moment and then had another drink. He only hoped that this extreme sleeping-draught would work.


When Haldir woke up the next morning, he thought at first that he was alone in the large bed. But then he turned his head and saw that Gildor was there too, only his lover was sleeping at a considerable distance away from him, at the very edge of their enormous bed. Haldir stared at him, confused. Haldir’s head ached mercilessly and for a while he could not quite understand why he had that uneasy feeling. And then it dawned on him: for the first time since his coming to Imladris Gildor and he did not wake up in each other’s arms.