ELANOR'S REVENGE

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Hello to all! I am sorry this chapter is so late. Real Life does sometimes intrude into this little fantasy world we are trying to create. And thank you so much for the good wishes and support from so many of you. We appreciate it more than you can know. I would also like to say that we do not consider any of the feedback we’ve gotten to be flames. We appreciate when someone takes the time to post a thoughtful review and/or their general feelings/reactions to the story. If I sounded defensive before, I did not mean to be. I had a pretty bad headache at the time which lasted part of the week, another reason this chapter is late.

A few additional comments on the subject of Haldir’s “mistresses”. I do not like using this word because I don’t see it applying to elves. The word ‘mistress’ is a demeaning term that puts the female “below” the male in hierarchy. Haldir’s relationships prior to Elanor would be with elleths who are mature, knowledgeabled mod most importantly, not “mistresses” in the sense of being “kept”. They would be companions who have chosen him as much as he has chosen them, and there would be equality and dignity in the relationship. We let him show his snarky attitude a little with his thoughts of liking that none of them argued with him. That did not mean they did not dare, but merely that they were not of that temperament. Until now he has always chosen a certain “type”: composed, serene, dignified, sophisticated, non-argumentative and perhaps intellectual elleths. Now Elanor comes along and rocks his boat.

Furthermore, to elaborate on Elanor:

Elanor’s primary character trait is that she a NURTURER by nature. She is one of those people who cares for others because she wants to, because that is what she is drawn to do. So his his story she is drawn to care for Haldir. Elanor understands that his “established” relationships are sexual, but to her, such a relationship would not be limited to sex but to the general support and caring of her chosen one. So Elanor’s thoughts are meant to reflect this. Why aren't they taking proper care of him and mending his clothes? This is what she would think because she is not only a nurturer, but also a duty-oriented person, in fact quite a bit like Haldir in this respect. She let herself be used and taken advantage of with the sister, but that is over. Now she has found someone who really needs her, although he doesn't know it yet. We hope this explains why she reacted the way she did.

Also, we see an elven society as being more of a communal environment than our present day society where we only “care” for those in our own family unit. Each elf would contribute in some way for the good of the whole. Some will contribute to defense. Some will support those who defend. Thus, to answer a couple reader’s concerns: What does Haldir do for his companions/”mistresses”? He defends the land they live in, and he risks his life to do it. Why did they not offer to do his mending? I doubt Haldir would have asked them or mentioned it to anyone. But Elanor thinks along the nurturing lines, so this would be something she would think of right away. Elanor would investigate and not wait to be asked, and she wonders why the others did not do this.

We hope you enjoy this next chapter. Elf hugs to all . . .

--Julie & Fianna

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Chapter Ten

Elanor scrubbed dirt from her hands, meticulously attending to the task while her mind drifted in a pleasant haze of contentment. She had just completed several peaceful hours of tending to Galadriel’s garden, and was looking forward to meeting Doria at the bathhouse, which would be an agreeable indulgence after her morning’s labors.

Returning to the front room of Haldir’s talan, she went and straightened the cushions on the chairs, then paused in front of Haldir’s weapons, still carefully set in the corner. She had done this each day for the past several days, gazing at them with fascination, at first just a glance, then lingering over them more and more. The great bow of the Galadhrim with its ornate carvings especially drew her eye.

The first time she had done this after she had found the cuts in his clothing, she had seen these weapons in the context of bloodshed and danger to Haldir himself. However, since then they had spent several evenings together, evenings in which she had asked him questions and he had answered. After she had listened to him tell story after story about the ingenuity, swiftness, and cunning of the Lothlórien elves, she had been able to view his weapons in a different light. She had also come to realize that a warden, any warden, needed to possess absolute faith in his own abilities, skills, and judgment. And that was something Haldir had in abundance.

They had spoken of many things these past few days—of her parents and his, of Lana, of his brothers, of gardening, of the history of his people and of Lothlórien. As for the latter, he had decided that her education needed enhancement, and so he had given her histories to read, going back to the first and second age. He had also spoken of happenings he remembered and those before his time with ease and in such a way that she could almost see them. And he did so succinctly, without embellishment, his rich, deep, wonderful voice conveying to her that he did indeed have much wisdom to share.

Yet always beneath the surface, tension simmered between them like a cauldron over a low fire, bubbling so gently that at times one could almost ignore it. Almost but not quite. And so at night, Elanor thought of him when she lay alone in the big bed, imagining what it would be like to have him there with her until the ache grew so great that she was forced to ease it in the soft darkness, imagining that it was his hands upon her body rather than her own. She wondered if he did the same, or if he went to one of his friendly ellith. She could not blame him if he did.

Pushing these thoughts from her mind, she focused her attention on his bow. It was tall and elegant and beautifully wrought, a fitting weapon for the Captain of the Galadhrim. Was it only her imagination, or did the great black bow possess a kind of arrogance? Or was it only supreme self-confidence? Either way, it reminded her of Haldir. It was like an extension of him, and in battle it indeed became so, one with his eyes and his arm, his strong back and legs. It was a potent, yet graceful image.

For the first time since she had handed over Haldir’s bow to Rúmil, Elanor reached out and touched it, tracing her fingers over its dark, graceful wood. Unable to resist its call any longer, she picked it up, wrapping her fingers around the center portion exactly where his hand would be when he used it. The power of the weapon filled her with a longing that was almost sensual, a longing to learn something new, something physical. Other ellith used such weapons, she knew they did. Could she learn to wield such a weapon as this?

Balancing it carefully, its end on the floor, she reached down and withdrew an arrow from his quiver. She studied it for a moment, then, frowning slightly, she nocked the arrow and lifted the bow, attempting to hold it steady. She had seen the target practice area, watched various elves honing their skills. Imitating what she had seen, she placed her fingers on the string and tried to pull it back, but between the weight of the wood and the tightness of the string, she could barely budge it.

It irked her to realize how weak she was, but what had she ever done to increase her strength? Gardening, sewing, cooking and cleaning did not build muscles.

Still, it pleased her to pretend for a moment that she, Elanor of Rivendell, was an archer of consummate skill. She pointed the arrow at her target, the center of the carved front door to the talan. Her eyes narrowed, she drew the string back as far as she could—which was almost not at all—and aimed . . .

And the door swung open.

Was it the will of the Valar that he should always come in just when she wished he would not?

Haldir froze, staring at her, then burst out laughing. “It doesn’t work unless you pull the string back, Elanor.” Still grinning, he closed the door and faced her, his hands raised in mock surrender.

It was the first time she had heard him laugh, and it was a lovely sound, rich and deep and so infectious that she could not help but join in.

“It is pulled back as far as I can manage,” she said, trying to look dignified while laughing. “I think it is enough to do the job.”

“Well, then,” he said, “are you going to shoot me?” He started to walk toward her, a lazy and very attractive smile curving his lips.

“Not if you behave yourself,” she teased. “You may go no further, March Warden. Oh, you never listen to me, do you?”

He stopped directly in front of her, his fists set upon his lean hips. “Would you like archery lessons?” His expression changed to one of speculation.

Elanor lowered the bow so that the end rested on the floor, excitement flaring through her like a strong current. Then her face fell. “Oh, but . . . how can I? I am not strong enough to pull the string.” She knew her frustration came through in her voice.

He studied her with that piercing gaze as though to assess if her interest was true. “I would not have you start with a bow like mine. You would use a training bow. Your strength would increase over time.”

A small thrill ran through her that he was taking her seriously, and had not mocked her for her interest or her weakness. “Oh,” she breathed. “That would be marvelous. Yes, I would like that very much.”

“We could begin today, if you like. It would be good for you. Not only will it increase your strength, but it will teach you discipline, patience, and self-restraint.” He was looking at her as though she were a prospective student, evaluating her in ways she could only guess.

“I would like that very much,” she admitted. Awkwardly, she added, “I know I have many faults and flaws.”

“None of us are perfect, Elanor. When I was your age, I was . . . insufferable.” He noted the small smile quivering at the corners of her lips. “And according to many,” he added with self-deprecating humor, “I still am. I have time now if you are ready.”

“Could it be later? I agreed to meet Doria at the bathhouse, and I know she is waiting for me even now,” she added, fraught with an unexpected shyness she did not understand.

He nodded. “Later is acceptable. And while I have no objection to your using the bathhouse, I will reiterate that you are free to use the bathing facilities in our talan.”

Our talan. The simple words fluttered her heart. “Oh, I do,” she assured him, pretending she had not noticed. “When you are not here, Haldir.”

“Ah.” That single syllable held a wealth of satisfaction she did not understand.

He removed the bow and the arrow from her hands, glanced at the arrow, then returned it carefully to his quiver. “Come to the archery range when you are ready. I will be there.”

In answer, she inclined her head and put her hand on her heart in the elven gesture of respect. It was the first time she had done this for him, and as she lifted her head, she caught his look of surprise. In truth, she had surprised herself.

She walked away from him, eager to make her escape before she said or did something to ruin what suddenly seemed to be an important moment.

When she was gone, Haldir settled into his favorite chair and pulled off his boots, then set his feet on the other chair—the one he was starting to think of as Elanor’s. Each evening they sat here together quite peacefully, talking of all manner of things, having scarcely any open conflicts at all. It was almost too good to be true, he reflected indolently. Something was bound to change.

Her reaction to his damaged tunics had stunned him. It had been a long while since any of the ellith he knew expressed concern for his well-being, and he had always assumed it was because they had faith in his ability to protect himself. He was a proven warrior. The few times he had been injured had been mere nothings in his mind. He had never spoken of them, nor asked anyone other than one of his brothers to tend to them. Even Healea had never expressed concern. Not once. If she had, he would remember.

Yet he had found Elanor sobbing over a cut in his tunic! That was the moment he started to doubt his ability to maintain his aloofness with her, the dispassion that would be necessary to be her guardian and teacher. If it was only a sexual attraction, well, there were ways to deal with that, but it was more. His heart was deeply and profoundly touched; she actually seemed to care about him and, although he had to admit that he was pleased—extremely pleased, in fact—it also complicated everything. He had hoped that it would happen during the course of their year together, but so swiftly and so soon?

It had all seemed so simple back when he had stood in Elrond’s house. At the time he had been eager to accept Elanor as his ward, intrigued and tempted by the prospect of having her near him. She would do as he commanded, learn from him, respect his wisdom and teachings, and pay off her debt to him with her service. Their time together would at the very least lead to a mutual and agreeable understanding that would be beneficial to them both. At best, if he were so inclined at the end of the year, he might pursue his interest in her to the next level. A physical relationship. Or a courtship. Or both.

It had seemed no more complicated than that. A golden opportunity, a gift from the Valar, perhaps a reward for his long and devoted service to his people. He had not anticipated how fascinated he would become, nor the way that he would ache to hold her and touch her and possess her in the fullest and most satisfying way. In all his long years, he had never met anyone who disrupted the even flow of his life, the serenity of his mind, and the firm control he held over his actions and responses the way Elanor was doing.

And now he would be teaching her archery. At least he would be on familiar ground with that. There could be no surprises, no unexpected emotions, no duress, no conflicts. Just nice, easy archery lessons with a complete novice. A novice whose nearness wrecked havoc with his peace of mind. A novice whose nearness caused his loins to heat in a way that had not happened since he was a young elf embarking on his first sexual adventures. A novice he could not get out of his mind no matter what time of the day or night it was. A novice who assaulted his senses simply by glancing at him with those lovely blue eyes fringed by those dark, dark lashes. He heaved a very deep sigh.

Nice, easy archery lessons with Elanor. What could go wrong?

Doria had kindly arranged for Tarwë, Nerwen, and Gwirith to meet them at the bathhouse, and when Elanor arrived, the others were already there. Elanor disrobed quickly and hung her gown and chemise on one of the hooks along the side, then stepped into the spell-heated, sweetly scented water with a smile for all her new friends. Just as in Rivendell, cunning little gates allowed the entrance and exit of water so that it was always possible to freshen the pool, while the soaps and lotions were so masterfully created that they marred none of the clarity and purity of the water, nor disrupted the harmonious balance between the elves and their environment.

Talk commenced immediately, and just as before, it centered on male elves. “So, Doria,” Gwirith inquired, “when will Orophin be returning from the border?”

Doria grinned. “How should I know? He does not talk to me.”

“He’s such a shy one,” Tarwë said with a laugh.

Elanor looked from one to another of them. “Orophin? Shy? I did not have that impression.”

“He is shy with Doria,” Tarwë informed her. “He will not order tunics from her, but goes to other seamstresses.”

“For years she thought he did not like her,” Nerwen added, “but we are starting to think otherwise. Ever since a certain ‘incident’ last year.”

Elanor lifted her brows at Doria. “Incident? Doria, what did Orophin do?”

Doria blushed, her quick grin flashing once more. “Oh, I cannot tell her! I am too embarrassed.”

Nerwen laughed. “Orophin got very drunk one night at one of their little warden parties. He collapsed on the steps outside Doria’s talan and sang a very loud serenade to her. He was still singing when Haldir came and carried him away. The poor elf could not even walk.”

“It was just a coincidence that he was near my talan,” Doria corrected. “He never said my name. Not once. I think he just happened to fall there, and was thinking of someone else.”

Nerwen made a dismissive sound.

“It was not on his way home,” Gwirith pointed out. “Your talan is nowhere near his. He likes you, Doria. It is why he does not flirt with you like he does with us. He is afraid.”

“Afraid? Of me?” Doria rolled her eyes. “I think not! Orophin fears nothing.”

“They are always like that when they are serious,” Nerwen said. “And I can understand that because . . . well, I just can, that is all. Have you noticed how Rúmil treats you, Doria? He is more deferential than he used to be. He knows his brother’s mind, mark my words. Those two have no secrets from each other.”

Doria clapped her hands to her cheeks. “Oh, I do wish you would not tease me so! It makes me think such thoughts!”

“Such as?” Tarwë asked playfully.

“Such as strong arms and soft sheets,” Gwirith filled in. “And muscles, ladies. And kisses, kisses, and more!”

“Delicious thoughts,” Tarwë added with a secret smile. “You must entice him carefully, Doria. Perhaps an opportunity will present itself at the next festival.”

“Oh, my!” Doria covered her eyes. “No, no, I shall not think of it. I am convinced this is all nothing more than fabrication and wishful thinking. You must not tease me like this.” Nerwen reached over and patted Doria’s shoulder.

“What of you, Ellie?” Gwirith asked. “Do you have a lover back in Rivendell? We would love to hear about him.”

They all looked at her expectantly, and Elanor blushed. “No,” she said. “I have never had a lover.”

“Never?” Tarwë echoed in astonishment. “You mean never as in . . . never?”

“No, I never have,” Elanor admitted. It was odd to be able to confess this to these new friends, when she had never spoken of it before. “I have been kissed, of course,” she added quickly, and rather defiantly.

“I took my first lover over three hundred years ago,” Tarwë said, “and I have never regretted it. I advise you to look around while you are here. We have some lovely males who are very kind and very skilled in the art of love. And it is good to have the companionship.”

“Don’t embarrass her, Tarwë,” Nerwen admonished. “Perhaps she is merely waiting for someone special.”

“Rúmil is free and usually willing,” Gwirith suggested. “He is also sweet and very, very able. I will say no more than that.”

“How she brags,” Tarwë said with a laugh. Her smile faded as she added more seriously, “Well, Ellie, what about the obvious? Haldir. I’ve heard he can be a wonderful companion.”

Elanor nearly swallowed her tongue. “Oh, no,” she protested, after a few breathless moments. “I am Haldir’s ward.”

Tarwë gazed at her, but only said, “Well, you will want a lover eventually. You do not know what you are missing. If you found someone here, perhaps you might choose to stay in Lothlórien instead of going back to Rivendell.”

“My brother thinks Ellie is quite lovely,” Doria put in innocently.

“Of course he does,” Nerwen said dryly. “And she is. But she would do well to stay away from your brother. Lurien will offer her no more than a satisfying romp, which is not the best first time experience for a virgin. No offense intended to either you or Ellie.”

“And none is taken,” Doria answered. “He’s my brother and I love him, so all I ask is that none of you hurt him. And that’s as much as I will say.”

Nerwen shrugged. “It’s hard enough for our Tarwë. She put her name on Lurien years ago. Unfortunately, he cannot seem to read it.”

Tarwë stuck out her tongue. “Give me time, my friends. Each year that passes, I gain another toehold. He is not an easy elf to ensnare.”

“Healea did it,” Gwirith pointed out, “and she ensnared Haldir too. What a tangle that was to straighten out. And in the end she chose Cothion!”

“No one ensnares Haldir,” Tarwë corrected. “He chose her, not the reverse.”

Nerwen held up her hand, as if to silence them all. “Poor Ellie will think we do nothing but talk about the males and give unsolicited advice,” she scolded with a smile.

“Well, what else do we do?” Gwirith asked. “I admit we do not have intellectual conversations like Healea with all her vast knowledge of languages and history.”

“Nor do I wish to,” Tarwë said tartly. “How very dull it sounds. Oh, Ellie, have you met Nerwen’s brother? He is one of Haldir’s wardens. His name is Beredain. He has lovely broad shoulders much like Haldir’s. You might like him.”

Elanor said that she had not, and then fell silent as the conversation drifted into other channels, then halted abruptly when the curtain shifted and was thrust aside. Elanor turned her head enough to see that three new ellith had entered the bathhouse, none of them familiar to her.

“Hello, Healea,” Nerwen said. “And Arnis and Túre.”

Every muscle in Elanor’s body tensed. She had not realized until this moment how much she had dreaded this meeting. She could not see them now, for they had moved around behind her, but she could hear the rustle of their clothing as they disrobed. They said nothing to her, although they must know who she was, for her dark hair betrayed her identity in this land of blondes.

When the three ellith stepped into the water, Elanor knew without being told which one was Healea. She was, of course, utterly beautiful. If one took Lana’s golden beauty and combined it with the dark allure and grace of Arwen Evenstar, this would be Healea. She was tall, taller than Elanor certainly, with the flawless elegance of one of the statues adorning Lord Elrond’s splendid terraces and courtyards. Haldir had loved and lost and fought over this stunning creature, and the knowledge shriveled every particle of Elanor’s burgeoning self-confidence, reducing it to instant ashes in the dust.

It was Nerwen who introduced them to Elanor. Healea gave Elanor a gracious look and inclined her head, but seemed to look through her rather than at her. The other two merely nodded a greeting. All three seemed reserved compared to Doria and the others.

“So you are Elanor,” Healea said with a slight lift of her perfectly arched brows. “How do you find our fair city? I trust it meets with your approval?”

Elanor thought she didn’t sound very interested in Elanor’s opinion so she kept her reply brief and unrevealing. Healea then turned to her companions and commented on something else entirely, as though to imply that she had given Elanor enough of her time.

For awhile the conversation revolved around Healea and her doings. Elanor learned that Healea had spent the majority of her life creating books for Lord Celeborn’s library, translating writings made in Quenya, the tongue of the high elves of Valinor, into the more familiar Sindarin. She even spoke the common tongue, and had translated texts taken from the world of Men.

Elanor had never felt so ignorant. No wonder Haldir had given her histories to read; he must think her lacking in the most rudimentary knowledge as well as common sense. He truly must see her as little more than a child. Her thoughts drifted to her upcoming archery lesson. Would she make a fool of herself there too?

“So what is this dreadful deed you committed that warranted you being made Haldir’s ward?” It was not Healea who spoke, but one of her confidantes, the one called Arnis. She was a haughty looking elleth with regular features and a delicate, rather pouty mouth.

Elanor’s stomach clenched. Thus far no one in Lórien had dared or been impolite enough to ask her that question, point-blank, and she had no ready answer prepared. She saw Healea’s liquid blue gaze transfer to her face with a gleam of interest. The goddess and her attendants awaited Elanor’s response with apparent tranquility.

Elanor considered and discarded several possible replies. “I offended him,” she said finally, in a careful tone.

Healea raised her brows again, her flawless face revealing no change in expression. “You must have offended him most gravely to be forced to atone for it in such a way,” she remarked, her tone devoid of inflection. “Few dare to insult Haldir.”

They were all staring at her, as if expecting her to elaborate, but she would rather be eaten alive by goblins than tell them what she had done. She would never reveal it, never! If Haldir’s people learned the truth, he could lose respect, and he did not deserve that even if she did. Why, oh why, had she ever done what she had done? And why had Telrion and Minden allowed it? Did they have no common sense either? Say something, Elanor. Say something intelligent and sensible.

Ignoring Arnis and Túre, Elanor took a deep breath and locked eyes with Healea. “I am here to repay Haldir for my insult, not to insult him all over again with my gossip. As his ward, I owe him my loyalty, as do all who reside in Lórien. He devotes his life to protect his people and deserves their respect.” Her heart was thudding hard, but she felt she had made the proper response.

“Very true,” Nerwen put in hastily, “and well spoken, Ellie.”

“Really, Healea,” Tarwë said with a frown, “whatever happened between Ellie and Haldir is no one’s concern but theirs.”

“But of course,” Healea agreed. “Did I suggest otherwise?”

“Where are you sleeping?” Túre inquired, very sweetly. “I understand you are staying in the March Warden’s talan?”

“I am sleeping in his bed,” Elanor replied in a steely voice. “And he sleeps on a cot on the terrace, in case you are wondering that too.”

Healea lifted a hand. “Enough, Túre. Elanor may be Haldir’s ward, but she is still a guest and we are being rude. Forgive us, please.” Healea’s composure was not noticeably ruffled. She smiled slightly and leaned back against the outer edge of the pool, tilting her body so that her dusky-tipped breasts rose above the surface of the water. They were as perfect as the rest of her, though not as full as Elanor’s own.

“Do not be frightened of Haldir,” Healea went on, her manner somewhat less aloof. “He can be intimidating and overbearing, but beneath all the crustiness lies an elf with a good and loyal heart. We never meant him or you the slightest disrespect. You misunderstood us.”

Elanor eyed her warily, unsure whether to take her words at face value. “Yes, he does have a good heart,” she said. “He is very kind.”

“You cannot blame us for being curious,” Healea added with a gentle smile.

“And you cannot blame me for being discreet,” Elanor returned.

Healea’s eyes glinted. “Indeed. And for that I commend you.”

Elanor was struck with the sudden and uneasy feeling that all this had been a test of some sort. Had she passed muster? If Healea’s words were anything to go by, it appeared she had. Perhaps Healea was not the adversary that she had first seemed.

“Tell us of Rivendell,” Arnis prodded. “Are all the males dark of hair?”

Elanor answered as best she could, while suffering Healea’s continued scrutiny. And then she knew it was time to leave, for she had kept Haldir waiting long enough. She could feel Healea’s eyes on her body as she and her friends climbed out of the pool and availed themselves of the drying clothes. Elanor took one of the combs from a nearby basket and ran it quickly through her hair, soothed by a sunny smile and an expressive nudge from Doria, who was doing the same.

“It was good to meet you, Elanor.” Healea’s low voice sounded sincere. “I would enjoy visiting with you again one day soon.”

Elanor nodded shortly. “Of course, Healea. You can find me in the Lady’s garden most mornings, if you like. I have been asked to tend it as I have gardening skills.”

Healea returned the nod. “Then I shall look for you there.”

Haldir heard the murmurs of his wardens before he saw her. He turned his head and leaned casually against the trunk of a small tree, watching her as she crossed the field, her dark hair spreading over the lovely shoulders he remembered all too well. He could see that she was nervous, although she was trying to hide it, and he was conscious of a powerful urge to reassure her by whatever means it took.

He knew she could not know how it stirred him to watch her, nor how it excited him that she had shown an interest in archery. He wished he could kiss her again, very deeply and very passionately, right now before they started her lesson. However, so long had he hidden his emotions from others that he effortlessly kept his face in its usual expressionless mask. She would never guess he had such thoughts.

Nor would she guess how guilty he had been feeling since he had walked away from her that day in the garden. He had been so astonished, overwhelmed really, by her request that he kiss her. In another maiden, he might have seen it as a bold, manipulative move designed to stimulate his interest, but in Elanor, he knew it had been made in innocence. He had thought about it many times since then. He could not have denied her, that would have been wrong and dishonorable, and he would have despised himself. And yet to have gone further, to have given in to what he wanted—indeed, what she had wanted—would have been wrong too.

To add to this, he knew he had hurt her by ending it the way he had, and for that knowledge he suffered. Walking away from her had been so difficult, when every fiber of his being had wanted to deepen the kiss, to press against her, to hear her moan with the pleasure he knew he could give her . . .

He pushed the thought rapidly away before it had its usual effect on him. That was one source of discomfort he did not need right now.

He straightened when she reached him, and bowed slightly, his offer of respect to her that would send a signal to his watching wardens.

“I hope I did not keep you waiting, Haldir.” She gazed up at him, her lovely lips pressed together and her brow slightly creased. He sensed that she was far more nervous than he had expected based on her earlier enthusiasm. Had something happened to put new uncertainties in her mind? It seemed unlikely, for she had only been with Doria, who would have said nothing to decrease Elanor’s self-confidence. Perhaps it was only his imagination.

“No, you did not.” He allowed his face to relax into a smile of reassurance, and handed her a small bow. It was a third the size of his in length and was in truth a child’s bow, but he would not hurt her dignity by telling her that. When she could control this one, he would give her a true training bow. It should not take long before she was ready.

Elanor accepted the bow, feeling the warmth and smoothness of the wood, relieved that it was so light compared to his. She’d been trying to picture what a training bow would be like, worried that it might be more than she could manage. She glanced up at him when he touched her elbow.

“Come,” he said, “I will show you how to start. You must learn the proper stance before you even touch an arrow.”

“Proper stance?” Elanor echoed, then felt idiotic. Why did she repeat his words? Naturally it would be important to stand properly, she had known that.

But he did not seem to notice. “How you stand is as important as how you release the arrow. It is part of a whole. When done properly, the fit is perfect.”

Elanor swallowed, wishing that there were no bystanders. Then she noticed the target and grimaced. “I have to hit that?” she said in a small voice. It seemed so far away.

Haldir glanced at the target, then back at her face. “Yes, Elanor, and you will. I have no doubts and neither must you.”

No doubts? She certainly did have doubts! She took a deep breath, and was startled when Haldir moved close behind her and set a hand on her shoulder. “What eye do you see best with? Left or right?”

“I have no idea,” she said. “Both my eyes are the same.”

Haldir smiled indulgently, and removed the bow from her hands. “On the contrary, Elanor, that would be very rare. Most likely you will have one dominant eye. Hold up your hands, palms facing the target, and let your thumbs touch. Yes, that’s it. Now position the target in the middle of the gap between your hands. Whichever eye places the target in the center is your dominant eye.”

Elanor squeezed shut first one eye and then the other, and found that he was right. “Oh, I understand. My left eye is my dominant eye.” She lowered her arms and looked at him anxiously. “Is that good?”

“It matters not which eye is dominant. It only matters that you know which one it is when you are sighting down the shaft. Now, I will show you how to stand.” She adjusted her feet and body as he directed, then almost gasped when his arms came around her in a near embrace as he positioned the bow within her grasp. His warm fingers overlapping hers, he pulled the string until her fingers—and his—brushed her cheek.

“You must pull the bow back the same way each time, Elanor. Mark a position in your mind where your fingers lie. To shoot accurately you must be able to do this without thought. Now practice what you have learned a few times without the arrow. I will watch you.” He stepped away.

Elanor stared at the target, and pulled back the bowstring. Without Haldir’s strength, she had to pull much harder than she expected, and her hand wavered. She glanced at Haldir, but he merely looked at her, then motioned for her to try again. This time she focused on the movement, trying to remember how he had shown her. It didn’t feel the same. Several more tries, and then he moved close, and made a slight adjustment to her fingers.

“Remember, it should feel as natural as combing your hair. No thought.”

Elanor repeated the lesson several more time until Haldir told her to stop. He then drew an arrow from the quiver on his back and handed her the shaft. She nocked it and began to draw back on the string only to watch in horror as the arrow flew off before she was ready. Behind them, a few chuckles reminded her about the onlookers. She felt herself turning red.

She peeped up at Haldir, but his face displayed no amusement, only patience and composure. He handed her another arrow, and this time she pulled back more carefully. He stepped close again, his arms wrapped around her, adjusting her hold on the arrow.

“You must learn to ignore what lies around you,” he murmured in her ear. “You cannot allow yourself to be distracted. Each person has the ability to learn, Elanor. You must seek what is inside you. I have seen and felt the natural ability you carry in your hands. This should not be hard for you.”

Elanor trembled slightly. Not be distracted? With his arms wrapped around her? With his face so close that his breath whispered across her cheek?

“Feel the arrow, Elanor,” he whispered, “close your eyes and sense it. See the target in your mind. The arrow and target are like husband and wife, each seeks completion with the other. I know you can do this. All you have to do is accept.”

She shut her eyes, her heart hammering hard in her chest. She could feel the rigidity of the arrow and the bite of the string beneath the pads of her fingers. She reopened her eyes when she felt him step away. She could do this. And she would.

Slowly, steadily, she drew back on the string and let loose the arrow. To her astonishment, it flew straight and embedded into the target. It was not perfect, and in fact nearly missed it altogether, but it was there, and still quivering!

“I did it!” Her eyes wide with surprise, she glanced joyfully at Haldir, wondering if it was good enough to meet with his approval.

Haldir nodded. “Well done, Elanor. To hit the target your first time is an impressive accomplishment.” He looked over her head toward the elves who had gathered behind her, that single glance enough to cause most of them to drift away.

“You must practice each day. An hour, Elanor. I will expect it.” He unbuckled his quiver and set it on the ground beside her.

She smiled slightly. “Another command, Haldir?”

“Not a command,” he conceded. “It is your choice. You expressed interest, and I have shown you what you must do. It is up to you to further your skills. And when I am not here, Rúmil or Orophin can assist you. But you must ask when you require help. Do not expect people to read your mind. Agreed?”

Elanor studied the bow in her hand, suddenly wanting very much to prove to him that she could do this. She would learn, and do it well.

She lifted her chin. “Agreed.” Once more, she touched her hand to her heart. “I will try my best,” she added honestly.

Haldir walked away, leaving her to practice on her own while he spoke with Beredain, who had lingered when the others left. With each day that passed, Haldir was realizing more and more that he needed to distance himself from Elanor, if only for the sake of his sanity. The past few evenings with her had been delightful, but he had spent the nights in a fiery agony of longing that he did not wish to recall. So why did he not simply move her into another talan?

Each time he considered this, he found himself strangely reluctant. He had told himself that none of the vacant ones were anywhere near him. He had told himself that she was his ward and it was his right to keep her with him if he wished. And he also told himself he was a fool. And still he did not move her out.

“You think that clumsy ward of yours can learn to handle a bow?” Beredain jested, his arms folded across his chest. “She’s already dropped the arrow twice since you left her side.”

“Elanor is not clumsy,” Haldir said curtly.

“If you say so.” Beredain nudged his arm. “I suppose you should know, having spent so much time with her. But not gainful time, by the look of it.”

“And what does that mean?” Haldir said, a tinge of ice in his tone.

“It means you radiate discontent. Or perhaps I should say frustration.”

Dismayed, Haldir searched his mind for what he could have done to betray himself. “I did not think it was so evident.”

“Well, it is,” Beredain replied. “To me, at least, but then I have known you for a thousand years. She lacks the interest?” he added curiously.

“Have you nothing better to do than quiz me?” Haldir’s tone had an ominous quality that Beredain failed to heed.

“Not at the moment. Perhaps this might be a good time for me to make fair Elanor’s acquaintance. I might even succeed where you have failed. I have not had a dark-haired elleth underneath me since-”

Haldir gripped the front of his tunic so fast that Beredain’s breath was cut off. “Watch yourself,” he said, his voice low and furious. “My friendship does not extend so far as you might think. Elanor is my ward and under my protection. Take care how you speak of her.”

“Peace,” Beredain croaked. “I meant no disrespect. I have no wish to fight you over this.”

Haldir released him, shocked by his own sudden loss of control. He had shocked Beredain too, he knew. What was happening to him?

Without meaning to, his gaze strayed back to Elanor. She was trying so hard to hit the target, but other than that one time, she had not done so. Even so, he could see determination in the set of her shoulders and in her stance, which continued to be correct. He could hardly drag his eyes away from watching her. Emotion swept through him—quick, rousing, nameless . . . and powerful.

Yes, the sooner he left for the border, the better it would be. Once he was away from her, he would be able to analyze the situation and put it all into proper perspective. Time spent alone, performing his duty, would cure him of what was likely no more than an infatuation. If not, he would deal with that accordingly when he was more in control of himself, his wayward thoughts, and the powerful yearnings of his body for hers.

Perhaps when he returned he would be ready to move her to another talan.

Perhaps.


[To be continued . . .] FEEDBACK APPRECIATED!!!