ELANOR'S REVENGE

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I can’t tell you enough how appreciative Fianna and I of the wonderful and encouraging reviews that you all are giving us. It really helps to give us the fuel we need to keep going. Thank you!! We hope you enjoy this chapter. The spiciness factor is going up a notch. We like to build slowly. ;)

Also, if you are interested, we both have stories you can read on ff.net:
http://www.fanfiction.net/profile.php?userid=437490 (Julie)
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Chapter Eight

Several hours later, Elanor stood in Haldir’s sleeping chamber, peering into his wardrobe. His laundry was done, his tunics, mantles and leggings clean, and while seeing to this task, she had met several very pleasant elf-maidens. Each of them had asked her about her wardship status to Haldir, and it had been difficult and embarrassing to explain.

“There was a misunderstanding, at least on my part,” she had said. “I did something that offended him greatly and Lord Elrond felt that I owed Haldir more than a simple apology. My transgression against your March Warden was grave, I am ashamed to say. And so I make it up to him with a year of my service.”

They were standing around several steaming vats of water beside a stream that wound its way among the trees of the city. Nearby, a sunny spot offered an area to spread out the freshly washed garments to dry, either on flat rocks or clipped to a hithlain rope strung between two poles.

All three ellith regarded her with open curiosity, yet their manners were too refined to demand further details. “You must have far more courage than I do,” remarked the one called Gwirith, “I would never dare to offend Haldir in the first place.” The tone of her voice told Elanor that she would not even consider it. She was the tallest of the three, with dancing eyes and a cheerful demeanor.

“Neither would I,” Nerwen said, her dimples flashing. Something in her manner suggested she was the most pragmatic of the three. “I would rather attract his attention in a safer way. I would even be willing to do his laundry if it would bring me to his notice.” All three of them had smiled at that comment.

“Yes,” agreed Tarwë, the third, and perhaps the prettiest of these new elleths, “he is very handsome and much sought-after by unattached maidens such as us, but he favors no one of us over another.” She paused. “He is also well known as a strict disciplinarian. I do hope he is kind to you. It must be very difficult to live in a new place so far from your loved ones, and then have to do it under his authority.”

“Have you met anyone else?” inquired Gwirith before Elanor could answer. “I am sure there are a great many who would be pleased to make your acquaintance. Especially a few of our unattached males!”

“Well, I have met Rúmil and Orophin,” Elanor told them as she carefully pressed the water out of one of Haldir’s tunics. “Rúmil is especially friendly.”

All three ellith laughed. “Oh, those two are always first in line to meet a new maiden,” Nerwen informed her, a little dryly. “They are such flirts, but harmless, of course. You always feel safe when they are around. Whom else have you met?”

Elanor mentioned the names of several other elves who had made the journey from Rivendell to Lórien. “And I also met an elf named Lurien earlier today,” she added, as an afterthought. “He said he was a Sentinel.”

The three elf-maidens exchanged looks with each other. “Yes,” said Nerwen, “I am not surprised. Lurien is always interested in the arrival of any new she-elves.”

“Can you tell me anything about him?” Elanor asked. She was not truly that interested, but she wondered if there was more to the story of Lurien than what Haldir had told her. It was Haldir’s reaction that concerned her.

“Lurien is a fierce and brave fighter,” Tarwë put in, “but also a little . . . aggressive in other ways, shall we say?”

“Aggressive?” Elanor echoed, remember Haldir’s warning. “Do you mean I should avoid him?”

“Not if you are of strong mind,” Gwirith answered. “You simply need to understand what he can do. Be careful not to look directly into his eyes for too long. He has a kind of power over those of our sex. I have felt it myself a few times. You just need to be firm with him, that is all.”

Nerwen snorted. “Let us be a little more frank with Elanor. The truth is that Lurien is an accomplished flirt who can be very charming indeed. So you must be on your guard lest you find yourself upon your back!”

The three laughed. “He and Haldir do not like each other,” Tarwë added. “They once competed for the same maiden, though in the end Healea chose neither of them. But I doubt that Haldir holds a grudge, although Lurien may. They actually fought over her with swords, and Haldir bested Lurien, which I suspect he has never forgotten. But beyond that, the Sentinels and the Wardens tend to regard each other with coolness, if not suspicion.”

“The Sentinels find the Wardens arrogant, while the Wardens consider the Sentinels a pack of peacocks!” Nerwen inserted. “Each group thinks they are more important than the other, although many of us feel that the Wardens have the better claim in that regard.”

“Some of the Sentinels are peacocks,” Tarwë agreed, her eyes twinkling.

“Do not let Lurien hear you say that,” Gwirith teased, “if you want him to dance with you at the next festival.”

“You can be sure I will not,” Tarwë retorted with a sassy grin. “I intend to tame that elf yet, though it may take me another age to do it! And let it be noted, Elanor, that I am the only one of the three of us who can look into Lurien’s eyes for any length of time without being entirely deprived of sensible thought.”

The rest of the conversation had revolved around various male elves, which seemed to be a favorite topic of conversation among these three. Elanor had felt flattered that they seemed to have admitted her into their circle, although she did not know most of the elves of whom they spoke. They had not talked much about Haldir, perhaps because of her unique situation with him, but they had seemed to regard him with a respect bordering on awe. For some reason, this had pleased Elanor.

With a shake of her head, Elanor drew herself from her thoughts. She was inspecting the interior of Haldir’s large oak wardrobe as she put his clean clothes away, her fingers absently caressing and smoothing the material of his garments. She frowned as she took in his system of organization. He appeared to arrange things according to color, when it made far more sense to arrange them by function and amount of wear. Clearly some of these tunics were of very fine quality, while others looked as though he had crawled through the mines of Moria in them. Shaking her head, she reorganized his clothes, then proceeded to the front room to check on the plants.

Leaning closer, she whispered to them as she had done the night before, and was pleased to feel their slight response. “Your master hardly looks at you, does he?” she murmured, “yet he brought you here so he must want you and care for you. He simply does not know how to show it.” Directing her attention to the center plant, she confided to it that she had been graced with its name; immediately she could feel the plant’s pleasure. She touched their leaves with her fingertips and closed her eyes, aligning herself with their essence so she could hear their message.

Thus it was that when Haldir opened the door to his talan, he found Elanor pushing the heavy wooden cabinet across the floor with a horrendous screech. “What are you doing?” he exclaimed, his voice rough with outrage.

Elanor halted and stood straight, shoving a lock of hair from her eyes as she met his frowning gaze. “I am moving the cabinet,” she said tentatively.

“So I see,” he said with flat disapproval. “What I meant to ask was why. I did not give you permission to do this.” She took in his rigid posture with a sinking heart. Was he truly so annoyed over this small thing?

“Your plants prefer the window on the other side of the room,” she explained, trying to make it sound rational. “They believe they will be happier there so I am . . . I am moving the cabinet on which they sit. I did not think you would object. It will look just as nice over there.”

“I want the cabinet to stay where it was. It has been there for as long as I have lived in this talan, and I see no reason to change it.” He spoke inflexibly, as though his mind was made up, his face set with its usual arrogance.

It would be so easy to yield to him, to give in to each of his dictatorial commands. Yet if she did so, she instinctively felt that something would be lost, either a piece of herself or some part of the unspoken truce that was slowly emerging between them. Each time she pushed him, he pushed back hard, and yet she felt she was making a small bit of progress. Toward what end, she did not know, but for the sake of her pride and self-respect, she knew she must not surrender. If she did, the powerful tide of his personality would completely submerge her. It would be like Lana all over again, except far, far worse.

So it was that Elanor set her hands on her hips and lifted her chin, confronting Haldir in a way she suspected he was unused to anyone doing. “Your cabinet does not care where it sits, Haldir. Your plants do.”

He assessed her narrowly, as though debating whether to enforce his will. Several moments passed before he said, “I see. Well, who am I to argue with my plants?” The odd touch of humor in his voice gave her a small thrill. She’d won. But now she owed him.

“Perhaps you could assist me?” she asked with difficulty. After all, he had told her to tell him when she needed help.

His mouth quirked into one of his rare smiles. “Of course, Elanor.”

She stepped aside, hoping he did not see how much he affected her. Those smiles of his always unsettled her, made it difficult to think. Certain unsafe images spun through her mind, but she brushed them away, although not before her knees had gone a little weak.

He made short work of the task, and the cabinet was soon in its new location, the plants returned to its polished surface. Elanor touched them to give them reassurance, then turned to find Haldir observing her. A self-conscious blush rose in her cheeks.

“Your laundry is done,” she said, quickly and a bit awkwardly, yet with dignity, she hoped.

“Very good,” he said with a nod. He gazed at her for a moment longer before he spoke again. “I am sorry but I cannot be with you this evening. There is a gathering I must attend, so there is no need to cook unless you wish it for yourself. I stocked the kitchen this morning with vegetables and a variety of other items. Most nights I would like you to cook for me, for I prefer to eat here rather than in the common dining area. My stores of wine are getting low and I have had no time to refill them, so you may attend to that.” He strode across the room and entered the kitchen, saying, “And I should show you where the . . . what in Mordor did you do?”

Elanor followed him and peeked through the doorway. Haldir was gazing upward at his shelves, looking highly displeased.

“I changed it around to suit myself,” she said hastily. “All the things I would need in order to cook were up too high. I am not as tall as you, in case you had not noticed.”

He flashed her a quick, appraising look. A glimmer came and went in his eyes, too fast to analyze. “Very well, Elanor. You may leave it like this.”

“What sort of event are you attending?” she ventured to ask, wondering why he did not invite her along. Was she only an underling to him? Was he embarrassed to be seen with her? Did he dislike being with her? Had he invited someone else?

“It is a gathering of wardens. One of our younger elves has just attained warden status. Each time this happens, a ceremony followed by a celebration is customary. My elves enjoy the chance to partake of such revelry. They do not often get it.” His gaze swept over her, lingering on her face long enough that she wondered if he had sensed her questions. “I am sorry, but I cannot invite you to come with me. It is for wardens only and will get very wild. And though we do have several female wardens, they will not remain long after the initial ceremony. They will roll their eyes and leave,” he added, his slight smile a little twisted.

“Oh, I see,” said Elanor, surprised that he had taken the trouble to explain in such detail. She drew a breath, feeling oddly reassured. She could not imagine Haldir celebrating anything wildly.

“I must get dressed now or I will be late.” He strode from the room, taking the shortcut across the terrace to his sleeping chamber.

She wandered back into the front room and sat down in one of the cushioned chairs, wondering how long it would be until . . .

“Elanor!”

. . . the next eruption of his temper.

Scowling darkly, Haldir emerged from his bedchamber, clad only in partially unlaced black leggings that hugged him like a second skin. “What did you do to my clothes?” he demanded, as oblivious as ever to the effect he had on her in that state of undress.

She swallowed, trying not to stare at his naked chest or the perfect, long line of his muscular legs and narrow hips. “Surely the answer to that is obvious, Haldir.”

He glared at her, his face taut with displeasure. “I cannot find anything now.”

“That is untrue,” she said patiently. “All you need to do is observe it for a moment, and you will see that what I have done is far more logical than what you had.”

He pressed his lips together, and returned to his sleeping chamber. A short time later he came back wearing a clean pair of leggings and a dark blue tunic with silver edging, slightly open at the neck so that the soft evening breeze could kiss the strong column of his throat. He had removed the warrior’s braid from his pale hair so that it flowed freely over his broad shoulders in a cascade of pure silver.

“Please do not rearrange anything else,” he said in a clipped tone. “At least not until I have accustomed myself to what you have already done. Did you notice the basket in the corner?”

“Yes,” she said resignedly.

“All the things in it are in need of repair,” he went on. “You will find sewing equipment in that cabinet we just moved.” Observing her expression, he added, “I was not suggesting that you do it all tonight, of course.”

“I am not planning to do any of it tonight,” she returned with asperity.

One dark eyebrow shot up, but he did not take her to task for the remark. He walked to the door, then glanced back at her, his expression of detachment firmly in place. “Tomorrow, I will take you to Galadriel’s garden. You will enjoy that.”

When he was gone, the room seemed empty. Elanor sank into one of the cushioned chairs, a little tired from her day’s exertions. She was not lonely. She refused to be lonely, not now, not any more. She was making new friends, starting to learn a little about this new place. Everything would come out right in the end. The year would soon go by and she would be back in Rivendell among familiar faces. Eventually Lana would return and things would return to the way they had been.

No, she thought, rejecting this even as it went through her mind. Nothing would ever be the same. She would not allow it to be the same.

She pressed her hands together in her lap, needing to put her chaotic thoughts in order. Haldir intrigued her, she could no longer deny it, but why that was so, she did not know. At times she disliked him; other times she did not. He said and did things that irritated her, but she had found that he could also be patient and agreeable. He had tied her to her bed and taunted her, touched her, brutally ripped her clothing. The memory of it should have been appalling, yet with the passing of the days, her anger and indignation were fading into . . . something else.

Elanor leaned her head against the back of the chair and released a pent-up sigh. These past few days her thoughts seemed to have a will of their own, darting and delving into areas where they had never gone before. Yes, she admitted she had been naïve. She had tried to punish Haldir; she had trailed her fingers over his flesh in an effort to embarrass him and had only succeeded in embarrassing herself. All too clearly she recalled every inch of his powerful physique, not to mention the intimacy of his physical arousal. It was a seductive image that remained to haunt and tease her, untamed and insistent as a strong wind battering against the walls of a shaky dwelling.

Only nature, he had said. Was that what she was feeling now, this gathering awareness, the curious tingling, this insistent humming in the back of her mind?

Surely it was more complicated than that, at least for her if not for him. For instance, she could not even imagine feeling like this about Lurien. No doubt he would be just as beautiful as Haldir beneath all those clothes—such a shocking thought, Elanor!—and yet she had no desire to find out. She felt no attraction to Lurien. None at all. Nor had she ever felt anything for Telrion or any other elf she had met, although she had indeed kissed a few to find out. So Haldir was right; she was naïve—naïve in matters of the heart as well as matters of the flesh. She knew almost nothing about either.

And what did any of this matter? Elanor gave herself a small inward shake. What foolishness she was thinking when she ought to be preparing an evening meal for herself. She rose from her chair and headed for the kitchen.

Later, as she readied herself for the night, something that had been nudging at her all day came back with a rush. Haldir had once courted a maiden named Healea and been rejected. A quick spurt of indignation shot through Elanor at the idea. Who was this Healea? Had she caused Haldir much pain? Was that why he was so cold and aloof? Pondering this while she drew a comb through her hair, she was conscious of an illogical pang of dislike for an elleth she had not even met.

She had found the cot he had set out on the terrace for her. At least it was better than the floor, and she rather liked the idea of sleeping out under the stars as long as she had a bit of padding beneath her. The weather had grown pleasantly warm the moment they had entered Lothlórien, and tonight was beautifully clear. She settled herself beneath the quilt, and gazed upward at the dark mellryn branches silhouetted against the moonlit sky. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted. It was peaceful here among the plants with the rustling golden leaves providing gentle background companionship.

Starting to relax, she tried to envision Haldir participating in a mayhem of drunken revelry. Would he be drunk when he came back? She had seen Telrion and Minden drunk, falling all over the ground, and thought it most undignified. Haldir would not do that, she was quite sure. If he was very drunk, she supposed he might fall straight into bed with all his clothes on. But what if he came out here to talk to her first?

A sudden idea occurred to her that was rather naughty. Remembering his wicked witticism this morning about her “benefits”, she decided to pay him back with a little teasing of her own. The scooped neckline of her full-sleeved nightgown had originally been much more modest, drawn together by a lovely blue silk ribbon woven into almost invisible slots in the fabric, but Lana had borrowed the ribbon and never returned it. Now that widened neckline could serve a purpose.

Elanor turned on her side and adjusted the neckline so that it slid a little way down her arm. She was a little vain about her shoulders, which she thought were quite nicely shaped. So if Haldir happened to come out upon the terrace, he could admire the bare curve of her shoulder. Perhaps he might even be a tiny bit aroused, enough to feel frustrated. A small smile curved her lips at the thought. That would teach him!

Haldir lounged at his ease next to two of his long time companions, Rion and Beredain, both of whom had been drinking both wine and Miruvor ever since the celebration began. Haldir himself had had quite a lot, for each of the wardens had wished to drink with their captain, and there were enough of them present to make that a challenge. It was fortunate that his solid build enabled him to drink a great deal, but he realized he had better stop or he would be falling all over the place like . . . like Elanor. He almost grinned at the thought, thinking of Elanor falling into the stream. She had been so cold, so bedraggled, and so absolutely delightful. It was an image he would not soon forget, although he had gotten quite angry with her later.

Rion nudged him in the ribs. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Haldir smirked. “Then go somewhere else and do it. You should know better, Rion. Your stomach is no stronger than Orophin’s.”

Rion belched loudly, and pushed his pale hair over his shoulder. “You drank as much as I did. I wager you can’t even find your own talan right now.”

Beredain guffawed and leaned forward to address Rion. “Haldir has a stiffer hide and a harder head than you ever will, Rion. Do you remember the last celebration? I never thought I would see . . .”

Haldir stopped listening. He was thinking of Elanor again. He had been doing that all night, even when he was talking or listening to others. It was not like him at all, but since he was drunk, he supposed it was natural to remember the last time he’d been drunk, back in Rivendell. His thoughts drifted over the events of those last two days in Rivendell. Meeting Elanor, kissing her in the garden, then the following night of drinking only to wake up tied to her bed. And this morning, seeing her on her knees with that gaping neckline! His groin tightened at the memory.

“By the way, that ward of yours seems a bit clumsy,” Beredain remarked. “In a charming sort of way.”

Haldir glanced at him. “Oh? Have you met Elanor?”

“Not yet.” Beredain grinned. “I would like to, of course. I only saw her from a distance, but she looked quite lovely from where I stood. Though I would not trust her to carry my bow, if I were you. At least not up a flight of stairs.” He laughed and reached for his cup, then was distracted by the approach of another warden.

Haldir glanced around at his elves, all in various states of inebriation at this point. Of course most of his wardens were where they should be, at the border doing their duty, but there had been enough here tonight to make it a memorable occasion for the inductee. Rúmil and Orophin had bemoaned that they would miss this, but that was part of their punishment. As it was, he had been far more lenient than they deserved, and they knew it.

Wondering how steady he actually was, Haldir rose to his feet and wished his fellow wardens good night. He then proceeded—with only slightly less grace than usual—to ascend the maze of steps and bridges that led to his talan. He was sure Elanor would be asleep, but he found himself hoping she was not. He had an urge to hear the sound of her voice.

Inside the front room, he paused, glancing around to make sure she had not changed the position of any more furniture. The last thing he wanted to do was to trip over something and fall on his face. There was no sign of Elanor, of course. He had been foolish to hope she might have waited up for him. Wise of her, actually.

With slightly less than his usual efficiency, he stripped off his outer and under tunic and tossed them onto a chair. He was about to removed his leggings when he decided to indulge himself and take a look at her before retiring for the night. He wanted to take her image with him when he dreamed—not that he needed to look at her for that. However, when he walked into his sleeping chamber, the large bed was empty.

Where was she? He went still automatically, several possibilities racing through his mind. Dismissing all but one, he headed for the terrace with steps that no one but he would have known were wobbly.

And found Elanor where he expected.

He stared down at her, realizing that he had omitted to tell her that the cot was for him. Between the moonlight and his elven eyesight, he could see her quite clearly, the pale gleam of her shoulder drawing his eyes like a magnet. She was not awake. But the temptation to change that was more than he could resist.

Her eyes flew open when he heaved himself down on the cot, his hips pressed against the inner curve of her body. “We seem to have another misunderstanding, Elanor.” His head felt thick, as though his thoughts and his mouth were not connected.

“Haldir, what are you doing?” Like all elves, her awakening was sudden and absolute.

“You are in my bed. The cot is for me.” He had landed on her sleeves, his weight forcing them to slide lower so that the fabric strained against her breasts. He found himself disinclined to change that situation.

“Then you should have told me so. How was I to know?” She tried to sit up, but could not do so without leaving her nightgown behind.

With a deliberate lack of haste, he brushed the backs of his fingers over her shoulder and across the exposed flesh on her chest, then splayed his fingers at the base of her throat. He could feel the rapid beat of her pulse beneath the sensitive pads of his second and third fingers. “I think you might have guessed,” he murmured softly. “Or perhaps you wanted me to find you, waiting here for me like a sweet little gift.”

“That’s not amusing!” She had started to wiggle, trying to pry her sleeves out from under his hips. “You are drunk,” she added, sounding quite critical. For some reason, this made him laugh.

“Yes, Elanor, I am very drunk.” Withdrawing his hand, he gazed down at her face, studying the dark fringe of her eyelashes, her straight nose, the fine curve of her cheek. Her chin, he decided, held a definite hint of stubbornness. “So tell me, what is this I hear about you dropping my bow?”

Her face took on a guilty expression. “It is really not important, Haldir. No damage came to it. I caught it before it went over the edge.”

“Over the edge,” he repeated, a bit startled. “The edge of what?”

“The stairs,” she explained, her tone implying that his wits were lacking, which did seem to be the truth. “I was nearly to your talan when it happened. Almost happened, I mean. Nothing actually happened, Haldir. Why are you looking at me like that?”

Subduing his amusement, he shook his head. “Elanor, we will not discuss this now. Right now, I want you to get out of my cot and take yourself off to bed.”

“I am perfectly fine where I am. It is you who should go sleep in your own bed and leave me in peace.”

“Elanor, do you have to argue with me over every confounded order I give you?”

“Only the ones that do not make sense!”

“I may be drunk,” he remarked, “but I am not beyond dealing appropriately with young wards who disobey everything I say.”

“This cot is too narrow for you. It fits me perfectly and I am enjoying the—” The sentence ended in a squeak as he threw back the quilt and yanked her to her feet, then tossed her over his shoulder.

“Haldir! Put me down at once! Oh, you are such a bully!”

He grinned, suddenly enjoying himself hugely. “Stop squirming, Elanor, before I drop you on your head. Do you hear me?” A light smack on her bottom punctuated the order. “Do as I say, youngling.”

“Do not call me youngling!” She reached down and smacked him on his own backside. His grin widened as he strode into his bedchamber. From no one other than Elanor would he have tolerated such insolence.

He dropped her onto the bed, and laughed outright at her expression. “You might as well not bother to wear a nightdress, Elanor. That one is hardly doing its task.”

Indeed, with all her writhing and twisting the garment was practically down to her waist, trapping her arms in the process. Without pausing to think, he leaned over her, pinning her so there was no way she could adjust it without ripping it.

He lowered his gaze to her delectably taut nipples. “You can’t blame the cold air this time,” he teased. “Your benefits are blooming quite beautifully, my sweet flower.”

She blushed crimson, but caught him by surprise with her cheeky reply. “I imagine your own benefit is doing much the same!” It came out as a breathy whisper of defiance, hardening his desire as nothing else could have done. A hot wave of pure lust slammed into him, yet he found himself focusing on her perfectly shaped lower lip rather than her naked breasts, which were rising and falling with increased swiftness with her small gasps.

“Indeed,” he said thickly. With sudden aggressiveness, he lowered himself over her, his weight not quite on her, but as near as made no difference, his stiffened member pressed hard against her leg. “Mordor take Elrond,” he growled, his voice low and rough. “By the Valar, if you were not my ward, if you were anything else, I would take you right now like I’ve never . . .” He broke off just in time, and drew a shuddering breath.

What was he saying? Had he lost his mind?

He stared down at her, his gaze fixed on those wide blue eyes, eyes that were innocent and trusting and seductive and fully aware of what it was that he sought. He could have her if he wanted, that was obvious. She neither tried to resist him, nor tried to fight him; she just waited to see what he would do.

Which unfortunately was going to be precisely nothing. She was his ward. A pail of cold water dashed in his face could not have brought him to his senses more effectively than that thought.

Expelling a harsh sigh, he climbed off of her and walked away without a backward glance, knowing he had behaved very badly and quite disgusted with himself. Where had all his legendary self-discipline gone? What would his brothers say if they knew of this? He had better not get drunk again until his obligation to Elanor was completed.

He lay on the cot where she had been, able to smell the light floral scent of whatever she used to clean her hair. It had clung to her ever since they left Rivendell, and he liked it. More than liked it. He wanted to drown in it.

Instead, he was left grinding his teeth with frustration, his head still whirling from too much drink. He did not like going to bed in this condition—drunk, sexually aroused and alone. He stared up at the stars and swore very softly, using a jumble of curses from the various tongues he had learned. It eased him somewhat. Afterward, he simply relaxed and focused on her name. How ironic that of all the flowers that grew in Lothlórien, elanor had always been his favorite. Quite ironic, in fact.

Or prophetic.

Elanor lay alone in the dark, still trembling with the knowledge of what she had wanted—or at least what her body had wanted. And she had looked up into his mist-grey eyes and known he had wanted the same thing. Even now, the heat of her longing still throbbed in that special place, so sweet and female and hidden.

She breathed in and out, willing her desire to fade so that she did not commit some wild act of madness such as jumping out of bed and following him out onto the terrace. A new rush of heat shot through her as she envisioned it. The mere idea was almost unbearable with its possibilities . . .

But he had been able to resist her. Even drunk, he had all that self-control, the strength of will to tease her and then retreat, while she was a mass of writhing emotions and self-doubts that clouded her judgment and ate away at her self-confidence. She had wanted so much to put her arms around him and pull him down to her, and had not quite dared. She had feared humiliation, feared that he might pull away with a smirk.

Even now, her doubts were setting in. He might very well have found her wanting in some way. He might have looked at her and seen something that put him off. She had to remember that she was only his ward, no more and no less. He had been drunk, that was all. Males did odd things when they were drunk. It meant nothing.

Only nature . . . and she didn’t even like him . . . he was arrogant, maddening, intimidating . . . and what a bully, to carry her upside down like that! He should have just admired her shoulder . . . she was so naïve.

Elanor looked down and realized that her nightgown was still scrunched around her abdomen. Pulling her arms from the sleeves, she raised her hands and cupped them over her breasts, feeling the hard nubs of her nipples press against her palms. A single tear slid down her cheek. She did not know what she wanted. Just now, she only wanted to rest in the sweet oblivion of a dreamless reverie.

In the morning, he was gone. She had not heard him leave, but she was not surprised. Perhaps he regretted what he had said and did not want to be reminded of it by the sight of her. She would not think of him either.

She dressed and ate alone, then decided to air out the bedding and start on his basket of mending. How long would he be gone? An hour? All day? She had no way of knowing. She picked up a small rug, intending to step outside to shake it, and flung open the door just as a slim maiden raised her hand to knock.

“Oh!” The elleth gasped, taking a small step backward.

“Oh, I am sorry!” Elanor said. “Did I startle you?”

The visitor grinned sheepishly. “Oh, no, not at all. Well, yes, you did startle me a little.” She giggled. “So silly of me! You must be Elanor! Is Haldir also here?”

“No, he has gone out. I know not where he is, or how long he might be gone. Do come in.” Elanor dropped the rug and moved aside so her visitor could enter.

The maiden stepped into the talan, her manner friendly. “I am Doria, Haldir’s seamstress. I have brought a tunic that he ordered some time ago. It has been so long I am sure he thinks I had forgotten him.” She laughed gaily. “Of course, Haldir never forgets anything.” She unfolded the tunic to show Elanor. “I thought it a nice pattern. What do you think?”

Elanor studied the tunic, then reached out to touch the fabric, which was extremely soft with a slight texture that warmed her fingertips. A pale blue-grey that was almost silver, its color mimicked the hoary bark of the Mellryns. Around the rim of the neckline, intertwining, leafy vines were embroidered in ivory.

“It is beautiful,” she breathed, imagining it on Haldir. He would look exquisite in it. For what grand event would he wear it?

Doria sighed with obvious pleasure. “I thank you, Elanor. I often doubt my skills, although the Lady seems to like what I do well enough.” She draped the tunic carefully across one of the cushioned chairs, saying, “Do you have plans for today?”

Elanor hesitated. “Well, I have sewing to do for Haldir. Not work like yours, only mending.”

“Ah, good, then you need not do it now! His mending can certainly wait.”

Elanor decided she liked Doria. “True enough, but Haldir might not agree.”

The corners of Doria’s eyes crinkled with merry humor. “I know Haldir. I am sure he would not mind if you took some time for yourself while he is out. It must be overwhelming to be on your own in our city. Not that you are alone when you are with Haldir, but he cannot always be around. He has so many duties. Has Haldir shown you anything yet?”

“He directed me to the place where I could do his laundry,” Elanor said dryly. “Other than that, no, I have not seen much. I think he means to take me to visit Galadriel’s garden later. He believes I will get lost if I try to find it on my own.”

Doria chuckled. “We shall leave that for him then, and I will show you other places. As for getting lost, I am sure there are many who would be more than happy to help you find your way back. One in particular from what I’ve heard.”

“Oh? What have you heard? Do people think that Haldir forbids me to leave his talan?”

“Haldir? Oh, no, I was not speaking of him!” She laughed. “I meant my brother, Lurien. He has already told me about you, and I could see that he was very much taken with you! Others are also. In fact, you are the talk of the city, Elanor. It is all so mysterious, your coming here as Haldir’s ward.” Her pretty face took on a curious expression. “No one knows exactly what you did, but the rumor is that you dared do something no one here would have the courage to do. That sparks interest. Not to mention your dark hair is so different from ours. You are quite exotic. At least my brother thought you so.”

“I am not at all exotic,” Elanor said with a laugh. “Back in Rivendell, I am not considered anything above the average. Below average, more like.”

Doria blinked. “Below average? Are the elves in Rivendell blind?” She slipped her hand around Elanor’s arm, pulling her over to the mirror. “Look here, Elanor. What do you see?”

Elanor looked at herself critically. She saw what she always saw, the dark hair, the blue eyes, the ordinary mouth and nose. Always she had compared herself to Lana’s golden loveliness or to the dark beauty of Arwen Evenstar. Even at this instant, she compared herself to Doria, who stood so tall and beautiful with her silver hair and clear, laughing eyes. Exotic? The seamstress was daft.

Doria must have read Elanor’s rejection of her words, for she said, “You may not believe me, Elanor, but you are quite beautiful. I know my brother thinks so.”

Elanor tried not to grimace at the thought of Lurien. “My friends back in Rivendell call me Ellie,” she offered.

Doria grinned. “Well, that’s settled then. Your friends in Lórien shall call you that as well. Come, Ellie, my exotic new friend. Let me show you some of our city, omitting the Lady’s garden, of course. We will leave that for the March Warden. He loves Galadriel’s garden.” She grinned, and without realizing it, added the one thing that almost destroyed Elanor’s pleasure. “He used to take Healea there all the time.”


[To be continued . . .] Oh, btw, I have posted a short story called CRESCENDO. Please check it out. It is a little Haldir thingy I did for a fan fic challenge.