The Song of the Dance
folder
-Multi-Age › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
10
Views:
1,441
Reviews:
6
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
-Multi-Age › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
10
Views:
1,441
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 Summons
TITLE: The Song of The Dance
AUTHOR: Ezra’s Persian Kitty (ezraspersiankitty@yahoo.com)
PAIRING: Haldir/Celeborn, Rumil/Orophin
RATING: NC-17
SUMMARY: Galadriel wishes to bring an Old Tradition to light, not knowing that the task she sets Haldir will challenge his heart and soul.
DISCLAIMER: Don’t own, don’t profit. Don’t sue.
WARNING: Some incestuous themes highlight the opening of the story, and will re-emerge (in extremes) in later chapters. If this squicks you, then by all means, don’t read it.
NOTES: This is my own personal rebellion against Haldir consistently appearing in early LotR fanfic in a supporting role as a villain, a slut, or both. – I have nothing against these stories or their authors, (I’m writing one myself…) but I wanted to portray not only a ‘good’ Haldir, but to also shed a different light on his inherent fanon attributes: an elf whose pride does not make him evil and whose sensuality does not corrupt him.
MORE NOTES: (1) The term Byeltinyeh is a phonetic spelling of the Celtic pronunciation of the pagan holiday better known as Beltane, which is celebrated at Midsummer. (2) And I guess this is slightly AU, but then… isn’t all fanfic?
DATE WRITTEN: December 2002 – April 2003
= = = = =
THE SONG OF THE DANCE
Chapter 1: The Summons
Among the high Lorien mellyrn, hardly a chill was in the air, despite the deep winter that settled so firmly on the whole of Middle Earth. Up amid the wide branches of these ancient trees, in the Northern quadrant of the Elven city Caras Galadon, one cabin-like flet sat low in the limbs, away from the rest. Its walls were high and its ceiling firm. One window looked out to the north, and beneath this window sat a simple bed. And on the simple bed sat a far from simple elf.
Haldir was the March Captain of the northern border of Lorien, but Midwinter was a time of celebration, and he and his brothers had been invited back to the city to join the festivities. The bonfire had been exceptionally large this year, and Haldir had taken it upon himself to tend it rather than enjoy the revelry. His brothers and Lord Celeborn had half-heartedly tried to persuade him into the dances and the games, but he would not be swayed, and they knew that was simply his way and little could be done to change it.
But the opportunity had not been wasted. Haldir had found a low perch among the younger mellyrn to watch both the fire and the party’s attendants. He took g pri pride in his family and it was good to see Orophin chasing a pretty young wench from Mirkwood. Orophin, the golden-haired beauty, shared little of Haldir’s sobriety. And Haldir was glad of that.
Rumil also had been there. Newly out of his minority, the youngest of Feagul’s sons was seeing the world with new eyes. No longer a child, the festivities had been a revelation for him, and Haldir—along with Orophin—kept a close watch, to be sure.
The Lady Galadriel took much pleasure in the holidays, so in Lorien they were always a joy, and Haldir had smiled to see the Lady so happy and gay in the winter night, dancing and reveling with the others.
It was also on these rare occasions that Celeborn released his usual air of distant concern to participate in the ceremonies and other activities. He had worn less formal attire, and his hair had been loose… Haldir had long ago stopped trying to deceive himself. It was the Lord Celeborn he had watched most often and closest. It was the Lord Celeborn who held his heart.
But because he had so long attempted to hide his feelings even from himself, he could not pinpoint the moment or the day or the year that the revelation came fully upon him. When he was young, he had simply idolized the elven lord. Now, he loved him. Now, it seemed like he always had.
Fate had set him on this path, no matter how he battled it. This cycle of life seemed but a spiral of ever growing love.
And there was nothing to be done, for Celeborn was wed to Galadriel. Though Haldir was as close a friend as either high elf had and he knew that their passion had long faded to friendship. He knew also that every few years, they permitted themselves one indulgence. On Midsummer’s eve, one or the other would take a lover for the night.
If this was odd, it was not spoken of. If this was offensive, it was ignored. And still Haldir wondered at his majesties.
For over the centuries he had espied Galadriel’s lovers. Male, female, young, old, dark-haired or light… it never seemed to matter. But each one was an exceptional beauty of the heart: loving and good and kind.
But Haldir had also noticed Celeborn’s indulgences. Male. Always male. And this made him wonder, and this made him hope. For why should not the Lord one Midsummer’s eve ask Haldir to his bed for the night?
It was devoutly to be wished for.
But Haldir also knew, should this offer ever come, he would have to refuse. It would be far too tempting to believe the lie, and he feared the damage to his heart would be too great for one night of bodily pleasure.
And he vowed to himself, until the day this love faded, the only pleasure to be found would be a lonely one.
Until this love faded… would it ever?
He could not know.
So now, he lay on his simple bed in his simple flet at the northern edge of the city after Midwinter’s day, looking out northward to the darkening sky visible in patches through the golden leaves.
And he dreamed.
He dreamed, finding release the only way he knew how, by imagining a phantom lover with silver flaxen hair and strong, smooth hands; an elf Lord who would love him for more than a night, one who would always be with him, and whose love would match his own.
Haldir arched back, his head pressed to the pillow as he gripped himself in long, languid strokes, pale skin flushed with the heat of passion against the vibrant green quilt. The last of the sun’s light wound its way through the trees to indirectly illuminate golden hair and sweat-slicked skin.
A sudden gasp broke through the otherwise silent room. Haldir turned his head at the interruption, though did not cease his movements.
A moon-silver head of hair intruded through the entrance to his winter home, great dark eyes peering up at him with intrigued confusion.
Haldir’s voice was level as he spoke. “I distinctly recall teaching you how to announce your arrival at another’s home. You do not simply barge in without warning. Well, you’re here, you might as well come in.”
Unsure, Rumil finished his ascent, standing in silent awe of his eldest brother. “What… what are you doing?”
Haldir smiled; it was not a friendly expression. “Dear brother, are you so ignorant to the pleasures of the flesh?” he asked, continuing the steady motion of his hand, relaxed in immodest nudity as Rumil blushed an attractive pink where he stood shuffling his feet uncertainly.
The smile softened. “My but you *are* an innocent.” Remotely Haldir watched the young elf, flushing not only from embarrassment as he unblinkingly observed the scene before him.
Perhaps it would be prudent to stop, thought Haldir… but nay. Not because of his brother’s foolishness; there would be little enough privacy back on the march. Besides, Rumil had to learn of these things, one way or another. “Well then. Whatever your mission is, it will have to keep, for a moment.” And Haldir again turned to face the ceiling. He closed his eyes and saw his Lord’s face. Only the slightest moan betrayed him as he tipped over the familiar precipice, coming over his hand without any acceleration of his movements.
Eyes the color of twilight opened to take in the sight of poor Rumil, uncomfortably aroused where he stood, his own dark eyes large and round. “Well?” Haldir demanded impatiently.
“Huh?”
“Have you not brought some message for me?”
“Oh! Well yes, but… I don’t understand…”
Haldir suppressed a sigh. Gently he spoke, “Tell me. What don’t you comprehend?”
“What you were doing…”
Haldir frowned. Orophin’s education had been much simpler. Their mother, Feagul, had still dwelled in Arda then. All Haldir had had to do was point at the young maiden of the hour. “Have at it.” Those had been his words. And Orophin had turned out just fine, if you asked Haldir. A little loose with his affections, but that was quite all right. Their mother had been as well, (evinced by the fact that her three sons each had different fathers.)
But this was something altogether unique. He could see the hunger in Rumil’s wanting gaze. “Do you know what it is to make love?”
“Yes. You once told me.”
“Ah, so I did,” Haldir confirmed, recalling that rushed conversation. “‘This’ is what one does without a partner, to achieve only a quick release of pent up passions. It is not a sharing, but a wholly selfish indulgence. One you should not be afraid of, especially at your age.”
“But,” Rumil slowly explained, “I should like to share myself.”
“Then find a lover.”
Rumil nervously licked dry lips. “Can you not teach me?”
Haldir frowned. “Indeed I cannot. You are a brother to me, Rumil. Find one who desires you.”
“It is not unheard of for brothers to show each other the ways of the flesh.”
Haldir’s frozen expression of shock slowly grew to an impressed smirk. “You little minx,” he seductively intoned. “You’ve been listening to the eastern March again, haven’t you? You are not in the wrong,” he allowed. “And if my life haen den different, I might accept your plea for… education. As it is, I have only one thing to teach you. Come here.”
Rumil bravely strode forward even as he trembled, kneeling beside the low bunk as his brother indicated with a pointing finger. Haldir smiled again, but this was a sweet expression rarely seen, filled with love. Rumil returned it selflessly in a grin of his own. Haldir caressed a blushing cheek and leaned forward, whispering, “Close your eyes.”
With a shudder, Rumil obeyed, dark lashes fluttering closed as he panted in shallow breaths.
The softest touch of lips fell on closed eyelids, and the hand never left his face. Kisses lightly fell on brow, temple, cheek, chin, and nose before Haldir finally met Rumil’s lips.
Frozen in lustful uncertainly, Rumil’s mouth opened when a tongue begged entrance and there was such tenderness in the gesture, such love, Rumil could barely tolerate the sweetening, deepening bond.
Still, Haldir retreated all too soon.
Panting and flushed and dazed, Rumil pleaded, “And you say that is… *all* you can teach me?”
Rumbling laughter filled the small room, but it was not mocking. Haldir continued to chuckle as he turned, reaching for a damp cloth to clean the mess he’d made of himself. “I’m afraid that is the limit of my lessons.”
Rumil opened those gleaming eyes and saw a fleeting flicker of what could have been regret in his brother’s expression.
“You are sweet, Rumil, but I would not serve as a lover. The wheel of Fate has turned you to your adulthood. Your coming of age. And if you seek a lover, then the time is ripe to do so. But, you have just been gifted with the extent of my experience.”
The young elf could not help blurting out, “You mean you never… ?!”
Haldir looked away, though not with shame. “No, never. My teacher was willing, but I was not. I loved him as a mentor, not as a lover.”
“Who was this teacher who imparted so well his few lessons?”
“Glorfindel of Imladris. You know,” Haldir said conversationally as he rose to dress, “he will be here for the Midsummer festival. I shall introduce you. You would make a grand ‘student.’”
Rumil went red again, but it was apparent that he did not oppose the idea.
“Or,” Haldir suggested, “Since you seem so keen on the idea, try your charms on Orophin.”
Rumil looked up with a practically scandalized expression on delicate features as his cheeks reddened deeper.
Haldir shook his head at the confusing reaction and continued dressing as he let the subject go, inquiring, “Again I ask, what is the reason for your visit?”
Rumil jumped to his feet with alarm. “My goodness, you’ll be late!” he cried, reaching to help Haldir with his cloak. “We have tarried too long; I was told to ask you to dine with the Lord and Lady of the Wood this eve. You’ve but moments!”
Sighing, Haldir reached for his daggers. He was the only one to bear arms in Caras Galadon in times of peace, and he was fondly considered paranoid to some extent by many of the city’s residents for it. Sheathing the weapons, he turned to exit the talan. “I shall be late then; there’s no use dwelling on what cannot be changed.”
Together, they descended from Haldir’s hut-like talan through the hole in its floor.
Landing soundlessly, Rumil said, “I must prepare for our return to the border on the morn.”
Haldir nodded. “I will see you and Orophin tomorrow, then, at dawn. Good eve, brother.” And with that, Haldir shot away in the fading light, south through the mellyrn to the heart of the city, where his love and his love’s wife would be waiting.
***
Haldir’s thoughts drifted as he ran, long lopes carrying him steadily southward. He might consider himself friend to both Lady and Lord, but he could not recall a single ‘dinner’ that was casual. They had dined over many subjects in his long life, and he wondered what the case could be this time. There were no troubles that he knew of, within or without the city, but every summons ignited a worry in him, recalling the few instances when dinner had merely been the excuse to impart to him bad news.
But then he calmed himself. Of course. It was the day after Midwinter, and if the Lord and Lady had any grand plans for the Midsummer festival, now would be the time to discuss them.
And Haldir already knew: the plans were indeed huge. In fact, this summer’s festival had been quite a few years in the planning already. Haldir had only had a small hand in the preparations thus far, preferring to keep to his duty on the border. But the great trust the Lord and Lady had in him was unspoken, and often times the most personal tasks that they could not attend themselves were trusted to Haldir of the March.
All the city knew this. And if they thought him paranoid and proud, they also knew him to be immensely loyal and trustworthy. He had delivered many a message in his life, and the elves of Lorien knew that his coming with tidings was never some small matter.
One message in particular he was accustomed to, and now was just the time for it to be delivered. Lord Celeborn would invite his lover to join him Midsummer’s eve. It had been many years since Haldir had been asked to attend this particular duty, so he would not be surprised if this evening Celeborn slipped a small scroll to him and whispered a name in his ear. Galadriel would do the same, but she had taken a lover only the year before, and Haldir doubted she would take another so quickly, though he had been known to be wrong on this count before.
Six months of courting for one night of pleasure might seem long to some races, but the elves respected each other too greatly to pressure anyone on so grand a matter, and Haldir often waited many months before a reply was sent from the lover in question. Sometimes it would be a refusal - for whatever reason - and the matter would be dropped for the season, or Haldir would be sent out again, but that was rarely the case.
He hated those damn courtship letters, fearing every year that he himself might be the target, of the Lord or his Lady. He would consider either to be a personal catastrophe.
But that had never been the case, and so long had he served them that he now doubted it ever would be.
TBC
AUTHOR: Ezra’s Persian Kitty (ezraspersiankitty@yahoo.com)
PAIRING: Haldir/Celeborn, Rumil/Orophin
RATING: NC-17
SUMMARY: Galadriel wishes to bring an Old Tradition to light, not knowing that the task she sets Haldir will challenge his heart and soul.
DISCLAIMER: Don’t own, don’t profit. Don’t sue.
WARNING: Some incestuous themes highlight the opening of the story, and will re-emerge (in extremes) in later chapters. If this squicks you, then by all means, don’t read it.
NOTES: This is my own personal rebellion against Haldir consistently appearing in early LotR fanfic in a supporting role as a villain, a slut, or both. – I have nothing against these stories or their authors, (I’m writing one myself…) but I wanted to portray not only a ‘good’ Haldir, but to also shed a different light on his inherent fanon attributes: an elf whose pride does not make him evil and whose sensuality does not corrupt him.
MORE NOTES: (1) The term Byeltinyeh is a phonetic spelling of the Celtic pronunciation of the pagan holiday better known as Beltane, which is celebrated at Midsummer. (2) And I guess this is slightly AU, but then… isn’t all fanfic?
DATE WRITTEN: December 2002 – April 2003
= = = = =
THE SONG OF THE DANCE
Chapter 1: The Summons
Among the high Lorien mellyrn, hardly a chill was in the air, despite the deep winter that settled so firmly on the whole of Middle Earth. Up amid the wide branches of these ancient trees, in the Northern quadrant of the Elven city Caras Galadon, one cabin-like flet sat low in the limbs, away from the rest. Its walls were high and its ceiling firm. One window looked out to the north, and beneath this window sat a simple bed. And on the simple bed sat a far from simple elf.
Haldir was the March Captain of the northern border of Lorien, but Midwinter was a time of celebration, and he and his brothers had been invited back to the city to join the festivities. The bonfire had been exceptionally large this year, and Haldir had taken it upon himself to tend it rather than enjoy the revelry. His brothers and Lord Celeborn had half-heartedly tried to persuade him into the dances and the games, but he would not be swayed, and they knew that was simply his way and little could be done to change it.
But the opportunity had not been wasted. Haldir had found a low perch among the younger mellyrn to watch both the fire and the party’s attendants. He took g pri pride in his family and it was good to see Orophin chasing a pretty young wench from Mirkwood. Orophin, the golden-haired beauty, shared little of Haldir’s sobriety. And Haldir was glad of that.
Rumil also had been there. Newly out of his minority, the youngest of Feagul’s sons was seeing the world with new eyes. No longer a child, the festivities had been a revelation for him, and Haldir—along with Orophin—kept a close watch, to be sure.
The Lady Galadriel took much pleasure in the holidays, so in Lorien they were always a joy, and Haldir had smiled to see the Lady so happy and gay in the winter night, dancing and reveling with the others.
It was also on these rare occasions that Celeborn released his usual air of distant concern to participate in the ceremonies and other activities. He had worn less formal attire, and his hair had been loose… Haldir had long ago stopped trying to deceive himself. It was the Lord Celeborn he had watched most often and closest. It was the Lord Celeborn who held his heart.
But because he had so long attempted to hide his feelings even from himself, he could not pinpoint the moment or the day or the year that the revelation came fully upon him. When he was young, he had simply idolized the elven lord. Now, he loved him. Now, it seemed like he always had.
Fate had set him on this path, no matter how he battled it. This cycle of life seemed but a spiral of ever growing love.
And there was nothing to be done, for Celeborn was wed to Galadriel. Though Haldir was as close a friend as either high elf had and he knew that their passion had long faded to friendship. He knew also that every few years, they permitted themselves one indulgence. On Midsummer’s eve, one or the other would take a lover for the night.
If this was odd, it was not spoken of. If this was offensive, it was ignored. And still Haldir wondered at his majesties.
For over the centuries he had espied Galadriel’s lovers. Male, female, young, old, dark-haired or light… it never seemed to matter. But each one was an exceptional beauty of the heart: loving and good and kind.
But Haldir had also noticed Celeborn’s indulgences. Male. Always male. And this made him wonder, and this made him hope. For why should not the Lord one Midsummer’s eve ask Haldir to his bed for the night?
It was devoutly to be wished for.
But Haldir also knew, should this offer ever come, he would have to refuse. It would be far too tempting to believe the lie, and he feared the damage to his heart would be too great for one night of bodily pleasure.
And he vowed to himself, until the day this love faded, the only pleasure to be found would be a lonely one.
Until this love faded… would it ever?
He could not know.
So now, he lay on his simple bed in his simple flet at the northern edge of the city after Midwinter’s day, looking out northward to the darkening sky visible in patches through the golden leaves.
And he dreamed.
He dreamed, finding release the only way he knew how, by imagining a phantom lover with silver flaxen hair and strong, smooth hands; an elf Lord who would love him for more than a night, one who would always be with him, and whose love would match his own.
Haldir arched back, his head pressed to the pillow as he gripped himself in long, languid strokes, pale skin flushed with the heat of passion against the vibrant green quilt. The last of the sun’s light wound its way through the trees to indirectly illuminate golden hair and sweat-slicked skin.
A sudden gasp broke through the otherwise silent room. Haldir turned his head at the interruption, though did not cease his movements.
A moon-silver head of hair intruded through the entrance to his winter home, great dark eyes peering up at him with intrigued confusion.
Haldir’s voice was level as he spoke. “I distinctly recall teaching you how to announce your arrival at another’s home. You do not simply barge in without warning. Well, you’re here, you might as well come in.”
Unsure, Rumil finished his ascent, standing in silent awe of his eldest brother. “What… what are you doing?”
Haldir smiled; it was not a friendly expression. “Dear brother, are you so ignorant to the pleasures of the flesh?” he asked, continuing the steady motion of his hand, relaxed in immodest nudity as Rumil blushed an attractive pink where he stood shuffling his feet uncertainly.
The smile softened. “My but you *are* an innocent.” Remotely Haldir watched the young elf, flushing not only from embarrassment as he unblinkingly observed the scene before him.
Perhaps it would be prudent to stop, thought Haldir… but nay. Not because of his brother’s foolishness; there would be little enough privacy back on the march. Besides, Rumil had to learn of these things, one way or another. “Well then. Whatever your mission is, it will have to keep, for a moment.” And Haldir again turned to face the ceiling. He closed his eyes and saw his Lord’s face. Only the slightest moan betrayed him as he tipped over the familiar precipice, coming over his hand without any acceleration of his movements.
Eyes the color of twilight opened to take in the sight of poor Rumil, uncomfortably aroused where he stood, his own dark eyes large and round. “Well?” Haldir demanded impatiently.
“Huh?”
“Have you not brought some message for me?”
“Oh! Well yes, but… I don’t understand…”
Haldir suppressed a sigh. Gently he spoke, “Tell me. What don’t you comprehend?”
“What you were doing…”
Haldir frowned. Orophin’s education had been much simpler. Their mother, Feagul, had still dwelled in Arda then. All Haldir had had to do was point at the young maiden of the hour. “Have at it.” Those had been his words. And Orophin had turned out just fine, if you asked Haldir. A little loose with his affections, but that was quite all right. Their mother had been as well, (evinced by the fact that her three sons each had different fathers.)
But this was something altogether unique. He could see the hunger in Rumil’s wanting gaze. “Do you know what it is to make love?”
“Yes. You once told me.”
“Ah, so I did,” Haldir confirmed, recalling that rushed conversation. “‘This’ is what one does without a partner, to achieve only a quick release of pent up passions. It is not a sharing, but a wholly selfish indulgence. One you should not be afraid of, especially at your age.”
“But,” Rumil slowly explained, “I should like to share myself.”
“Then find a lover.”
Rumil nervously licked dry lips. “Can you not teach me?”
Haldir frowned. “Indeed I cannot. You are a brother to me, Rumil. Find one who desires you.”
“It is not unheard of for brothers to show each other the ways of the flesh.”
Haldir’s frozen expression of shock slowly grew to an impressed smirk. “You little minx,” he seductively intoned. “You’ve been listening to the eastern March again, haven’t you? You are not in the wrong,” he allowed. “And if my life haen den different, I might accept your plea for… education. As it is, I have only one thing to teach you. Come here.”
Rumil bravely strode forward even as he trembled, kneeling beside the low bunk as his brother indicated with a pointing finger. Haldir smiled again, but this was a sweet expression rarely seen, filled with love. Rumil returned it selflessly in a grin of his own. Haldir caressed a blushing cheek and leaned forward, whispering, “Close your eyes.”
With a shudder, Rumil obeyed, dark lashes fluttering closed as he panted in shallow breaths.
The softest touch of lips fell on closed eyelids, and the hand never left his face. Kisses lightly fell on brow, temple, cheek, chin, and nose before Haldir finally met Rumil’s lips.
Frozen in lustful uncertainly, Rumil’s mouth opened when a tongue begged entrance and there was such tenderness in the gesture, such love, Rumil could barely tolerate the sweetening, deepening bond.
Still, Haldir retreated all too soon.
Panting and flushed and dazed, Rumil pleaded, “And you say that is… *all* you can teach me?”
Rumbling laughter filled the small room, but it was not mocking. Haldir continued to chuckle as he turned, reaching for a damp cloth to clean the mess he’d made of himself. “I’m afraid that is the limit of my lessons.”
Rumil opened those gleaming eyes and saw a fleeting flicker of what could have been regret in his brother’s expression.
“You are sweet, Rumil, but I would not serve as a lover. The wheel of Fate has turned you to your adulthood. Your coming of age. And if you seek a lover, then the time is ripe to do so. But, you have just been gifted with the extent of my experience.”
The young elf could not help blurting out, “You mean you never… ?!”
Haldir looked away, though not with shame. “No, never. My teacher was willing, but I was not. I loved him as a mentor, not as a lover.”
“Who was this teacher who imparted so well his few lessons?”
“Glorfindel of Imladris. You know,” Haldir said conversationally as he rose to dress, “he will be here for the Midsummer festival. I shall introduce you. You would make a grand ‘student.’”
Rumil went red again, but it was apparent that he did not oppose the idea.
“Or,” Haldir suggested, “Since you seem so keen on the idea, try your charms on Orophin.”
Rumil looked up with a practically scandalized expression on delicate features as his cheeks reddened deeper.
Haldir shook his head at the confusing reaction and continued dressing as he let the subject go, inquiring, “Again I ask, what is the reason for your visit?”
Rumil jumped to his feet with alarm. “My goodness, you’ll be late!” he cried, reaching to help Haldir with his cloak. “We have tarried too long; I was told to ask you to dine with the Lord and Lady of the Wood this eve. You’ve but moments!”
Sighing, Haldir reached for his daggers. He was the only one to bear arms in Caras Galadon in times of peace, and he was fondly considered paranoid to some extent by many of the city’s residents for it. Sheathing the weapons, he turned to exit the talan. “I shall be late then; there’s no use dwelling on what cannot be changed.”
Together, they descended from Haldir’s hut-like talan through the hole in its floor.
Landing soundlessly, Rumil said, “I must prepare for our return to the border on the morn.”
Haldir nodded. “I will see you and Orophin tomorrow, then, at dawn. Good eve, brother.” And with that, Haldir shot away in the fading light, south through the mellyrn to the heart of the city, where his love and his love’s wife would be waiting.
***
Haldir’s thoughts drifted as he ran, long lopes carrying him steadily southward. He might consider himself friend to both Lady and Lord, but he could not recall a single ‘dinner’ that was casual. They had dined over many subjects in his long life, and he wondered what the case could be this time. There were no troubles that he knew of, within or without the city, but every summons ignited a worry in him, recalling the few instances when dinner had merely been the excuse to impart to him bad news.
But then he calmed himself. Of course. It was the day after Midwinter, and if the Lord and Lady had any grand plans for the Midsummer festival, now would be the time to discuss them.
And Haldir already knew: the plans were indeed huge. In fact, this summer’s festival had been quite a few years in the planning already. Haldir had only had a small hand in the preparations thus far, preferring to keep to his duty on the border. But the great trust the Lord and Lady had in him was unspoken, and often times the most personal tasks that they could not attend themselves were trusted to Haldir of the March.
All the city knew this. And if they thought him paranoid and proud, they also knew him to be immensely loyal and trustworthy. He had delivered many a message in his life, and the elves of Lorien knew that his coming with tidings was never some small matter.
One message in particular he was accustomed to, and now was just the time for it to be delivered. Lord Celeborn would invite his lover to join him Midsummer’s eve. It had been many years since Haldir had been asked to attend this particular duty, so he would not be surprised if this evening Celeborn slipped a small scroll to him and whispered a name in his ear. Galadriel would do the same, but she had taken a lover only the year before, and Haldir doubted she would take another so quickly, though he had been known to be wrong on this count before.
Six months of courting for one night of pleasure might seem long to some races, but the elves respected each other too greatly to pressure anyone on so grand a matter, and Haldir often waited many months before a reply was sent from the lover in question. Sometimes it would be a refusal - for whatever reason - and the matter would be dropped for the season, or Haldir would be sent out again, but that was rarely the case.
He hated those damn courtship letters, fearing every year that he himself might be the target, of the Lord or his Lady. He would consider either to be a personal catastrophe.
But that had never been the case, and so long had he served them that he now doubted it ever would be.
TBC