ELANOR'S REVENGE

Thank you for your patience. I know it has been a long time since our last update.
So if you enjoy our stories, please consider joining us at this link:
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Julie_Fianna_Archive/
hugs to all,
--Julie & Fianna
***********************************************************

Chapter Fifteen

Elanor’s hand rested lightly on the crook of Haldir’s arm as they strolled beneath the mellyrn trees of the Golden Wood. It was afternoon, and they had left the city, for Haldir wished to show her some of his favored sights and places. Several days had passed since Haldir’s return.

“Haldir?” Elanor said casually, as they walked along a sunlit path.

“Yes, Elanor?” He glanced down just as she glanced up, a melting moment of pure bliss that almost emptied her mind of what she wished to say. Yet she had made a promise to Doria, and she meant to follow through on it.

“I have a question,” she stated, watching the way his mouth curved ever so slightly when he looked at her.

“What is it?” he asked, his brows lifted.

“It concerns Doria,” she said. “She has received a gift.”

“A gift?”

“An anonymous gift. A necklace. Do you know anything about it?”

He gazed down at her. “I did not give it to her, if that is what you are asking.”

“No, I did not think that,” she said quickly. “But do you know who might have given it to her?”

“I might. But if the giver wishes to remain anonymous, would it not be wiser to respect that and stay out of it?”

Elanor bit her lip. “Perhaps. But Doria would like to know.”

“Doria should be patient,” Haldir replied imperturbably. “I am sure that whoever gave it to her will reveal himself when the time is right.” He came to a halt and took hold of her hand, redirecting her attention to the left. “Here we are, Elanor. This is the place I spoke of.”

Thoughts of Doria fled her mind as Elanor took in the pond nestled within a ring of boulders and trees, its water sparkling where the sun slipped and slid off the tiny, playful ripples. “Oh, how lovely,” she breathed. “You come here often?”

“When I can.” He drew her forward toward a flat rock near the edge. “I often swim here. The water is warm.”

An image entered Elanor’s mind of Haldir and herself in the water, together and alone and naked. “Are we going to swim today?” she asked, a little shyly. Her heart beat faster at the thought.

“No, not today. But we can sit here and put our feet in the water while we talk.”

“Very well,” Elanor said, relinquishing her daydream for now.

They soon sat side by side on the rock with their feet in the sun-warmed water, Elanor with her skirt pulled up to her knees, and Haldir with his leggings rolled halfway up his muscular calves. The day seemed especially beautiful to Elanor, for the sky was a clear cerulean blue and the breeze held the warm, heady, floral scent of late spring.

Elanor glanced down. Although Haldir seemed lost in thought, he had placed his hand over hers, and she studied it, noting its size and strength and well-shaped beauty. She thought about how much older he was than her, and all the things he had seen and done, and what he did with those perfect hands. Those nimble fingers could fashion the delicate details on the quiver he gave her, they could give pleasure beyond her wildest dreams . . . and they could kill. It seemed almost more than she could comprehend. She turned her own hand over and laced her fingers with his, a movement that seemed to draw him from his thoughts, for he glanced down at her with a small, quick smile.

“Elanor,” he said, “I think it is time you spoke to me of your sister. I sense a deep sadness in you concerning your family.”

Elanor looked away. She had told him that her mother came from Mirkwood and her father from Rivendell. She had explained that her parents were visiting her mother’s sister for a number of years, but would eventually return to the land of Lord Elrond. She had purposefully not said very much about Lana.

“I am very different from Lana,” she said evasively. “Just as you are different from your brothers.” She glanced at Haldir, and encountered a steadfast look that asked but did not demand a further explanation.

Elanor sighed. “It hardly makes sense. You see, my mother is very beautiful and wonderful, and my father worships her. They are so much in love that . . . their attention tends to be exclusively on each other. I had their attention when I was a child . . . sometimes . . . but when Lana came along . . . she resembled my mother so strongly . . . I think that may have something to do with it,” she ended dejectedly.

“To do with what?” Haldir asked gently. His thumb stroked hers very lightly.

Elanor swallowed, and was a little surprised to realize she was near tears. She shoved them aside, saying, “Their preference for my sister. Oh, I know that sounds self-pitying . . . they do love me, I know. But they never understood me because I was not like them. I was quiet and predictable and rather shy. I tended to go off on my own and not speak . . . mostly because I was listening to the trees and the flowers and plants . . .” She lifted her feet from the water and stared at the water dripping off her bare toes. “Lana always demanded attention. What little they had they gave to her. I was expected to do the same and I suppose . . . that is why I became the way I did.”

“You centered your life on your sister as a way of gaining your parents’ favor.”

“I expect so. I never thought about it like that before. It was merely what was expected of me. I do not blame my parents,” she added hastily. “I am joyful that they have each other. Their love is strong . . .”

“And selfish,” Haldir added critically.

“I would not say that,” Elanor said defensively. She removed her hand from his.

“Elanor,” he said quietly, “Lana is appallingly spoiled. For them to have allowed this situation demonstrates that they did not do their duty by either of you. I understand your need to defend them, but you should not. They are at fault.”

Elanor struggled between her loyalty to her parents and her feelings for Haldir. She did not like to hear him say such words, yet her heart knew them to be true. It had become a habit with her to pretend that all was well within her family, and that she was satisfied with the way things were. But a seed of dissatisfaction had been growing inside her for a long time, a rebellion she had wrongly aimed at Haldir because she lacked the ability to deal with it or understand its root cause.

“Being a parent cannot be easy,” she said in a low voice.

“Perhaps not, but I know that when I become a father, I will love my children equally. I will not favor one child over another.” His voice was firm and unequivocal; he appeared to have none of the self-doubts that plagued her.

Elanor kept her eyes on her toes, knowing that her face was turning pink with the thoughts that swirled in her mind. “So you think you will be a father one day?”

“That is my hope,” he answered. “First, I must find my life-mate, the one who will be the mother of my children and the love of my life.”

Elanor bit her lip, hoping he would not turn and look at her and see her betraying blush. “Of course. And I hope you do.”

A small silence ensued, then Haldir said, a little gruffly, “Elanor, it is too soon for us to speak of this.” Elanor’s heart skipped a beat, but before she could reply he had leaped from the rock and pulled her into the pond so that they stood hand in hand in the shallow water. “Come,” he said, drawing her forward.

They waded along the shallows, their feet sinking only slightly into the soft and muddy bottom. Here and there a few golden leaves floated on the water’s surface, and Elanor bent down and picked one up, then flung back her head to gaze up into the lofty trees. A gentle breeze sifted through the branches, carrying the scents of forest and water, while the sounds of rustling leaves mingled with the happy chirping of birds and their small fluttering wings.

“Lothlórien is such a beautiful place,” she said softly. “When first I came here, I did not want to like it. I thought I would be miserable here, but I am not.”

“I knew you would not be miserable,” Haldir replied complacently. “How could anyone resist the beauty that is Lórien?”

“True.” Elanor laughed suddenly. “For a moment, I thought you were going to say, ‘how can anyone resist the beauty that is Lurien?’” She released his hand and spun around, only to find her breath caught in her throat. Backlit by the afternoon sun, Haldir’s silvery hair seemed to glow, while the silhouette of his body against the light brought home to her his raw physical power and intense masculinity.

He seemed unaware of her reaction. “Lurien would be displeased to hear you joke about him. He takes himself very seriously.” Her jest seemed to relax him, to send his thoughts in a more playful direction, for he slid his arm around her waist and gave her a quick little squeeze. He seemed adept at such small things as this, tiny invasions of her senses that made her yearn for so much more.

“And what of you?” she asked in a teasing voice. The mood of the moment intoxicated her, making her bold and playful.

“What do you mean?” He gave her a quizzical look.

She gazed up at him through her eyelashes. “When first we met, you seemed to take yourself very seriously.” Mimicking his voice, she added, “‘You are my ward’ and ‘you may do my laundry’ and ‘you must ask me if you want assistance’.” Her chin lifted, she took two steps away and turned to face him with crossed arms, her brows lifted in an attempt to imitate his past attitudes.

Haldir smiled. “All that still holds true,” he said a bit loftily, “including the part about my laundry. You are my ward, Elanor. It is my duty to guide you, and your duty to—”

Elanor scooped up a handful of water and sent it flying into his face. For a moment he stood there with his mouth open, water dripping off the end of his nose, and then he grinned wolfishly and did the same to her. Elanor blinked water from her eyes, then, with a ripple of laughter, retaliated by splashing the front of his tunic with as much water as she could manage. Haldir’s lips curved in a ferocious smile as he stalked over and grabbed her, swinging her up and into his arms in such a manner that her own arms were pinned to her sides.

“You toy with me, little flower,” he murmured silkily. “Perhaps I should just toss you into the deepest part of the pond. Can you swim?” There was no ill will or anger in his voice; by now she understood that this was Haldir’s way of flirting with her.

“That’s a fine question to ask now!” she pretended to scold. “After you sent me to fill those waterskins with nary a thought for such a risk. I could have drowned in that cold water!”

“Ah, but I did not send you alone. I was watching you the whole time. Did you not know?”

“Oooh!” she sputtered, trying not to smile. “I only wish I could throw you in! That would serve you right! To watch my misery and do nothing to help was very wicked!” Enjoying the feel of his arms around her, she half-heartedly struggled against him.

His arms only tightened. “I am not averse to seeing you wet again, Elanor,” he warned, his eyes gleaming. He dipped her downward until the long strands of her hair skimmed the water's surface. “It has become one of my favorite sights of late.”

“Put me down, Haldir,” she commanded. She wriggled and tried to kick him with her heel, then went still as he dipped her lower and more of her hair fell in the water. Would he really throw her in? Perhaps she ought to change tactics. “I have something to give you, and I cannot do it when you are holding me like this.”

He lifted a brow, curious and yet wary. “You have something to give me? What could that be? More water in my face?”

She batted her lashes. “Something nicer than that.”

“A kiss?” he guessed, his gaze falling to her mouth.

“Perhaps. Release me and find out.”

He was enjoying this, she could see. His lips curved, his grey eyes caressing her face in a way that told her he was interested. “But I can kiss you without releasing you,” he said in a lazy voice. As if to prove his point, he brought his lips close to hers.

“True enough,” she said, her heart starting to race, “but my hands are not free.”

“The magic hands of Elanor,” he murmured in a reflective tone. His eyes met hers once more, sending tremors through her with their dark intensity. “Dare I risk it?”

She stifled a giggle. “Is the March Warden of Lothlórien afraid of Elanor of Rivendell?”

“Terrified,” he said with a grin. “I never know what you will do next.”

“Come now, be brave. I will not hurt you, I promise.”

Their eyes locked, and in his Elanor saw amusement mingled with the heat of desire. Slowly he lowered her to her feet, and she slipped her arms around his neck.

“Now, what is this gift?” he murmured, drawing her against him until she could feel every contour and ridge of his battle-hardened body.

In answer, she pulled his head down and pressed her lips to his. This time he offered no resistance at all. His mouth eagerly covered hers, their tongues caressing and stroking each other while his hands slid down the length of her back, exploring every curve, his fingertips tracing downward to her bottom while hers splayed against the broad expanse of his back. She trailed her fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp, then sought out the sensitive tips of his ears, each at the same instant, her thumbs gently rubbing in such a way that a tremendous shudder ran though him.

Slowly, she pulled him toward the shore, their lips still locked, her hands still stroking his ears while his soft moans resounded low in his throat. He seemed as reluctant to end it as she was, and as they backed up, her foot slipped upon a rock. Instead of catching her, he fell along with her into the shallow water of the pond’s edge, but neither of them took any notice. Their kisses continued, his leg thrown over one of hers, her free leg twined around him as much as possible while her hands roved over him and his over her. Each time they kissed it seemed that some part of him yielded, as though his control were a frayed rope, and she was the weapon that caused it to fray.

Finally, Haldir lifted his head, a smile twisting his lips as his eyes met hers. “Elanor, we are soaked to the skin.”

In answer she slipped a hand down his chest and across his stomach until she touched his arousal, pressing slightly as she explored his size and thickness with her sensitive fingers. “I noticed,” she whispered against his mouth. “Does it matter?” She pressed herself against him, her breathing fast and shallow with her yearning for completion with him and him alone.

Another shudder ran through him. “You are so difficult to resist,” he said unsteadily. “But, Elanor, we must stop.”

She cupped his hardness, squeezing gently before she stroked her palm upward, exulting at his violent responsive shudder and the way his hardened heat pulsated through the thin fabric of his leggings. “I am taking the opportunity to learn what pleases you,” she murmured seductively. “One should always give attention to those activities requiring improvement.”

He gave a shaky laugh. “I do believe you are becoming quite a tease, Elanor. It is not a habit I would encourage in my ward.” He shifted his weight, his hands splayed against her bottom to draw her even closer, roving over her hips and back through the sodden fabric of her gown. Trapped between their two bodies, her palm still pressed against his fully erect sex, but she was now unable to stroke him, which was doubtless his intent. So stoic he was, and so controlled.

“You have told me to ask for what I want,” she whispered. “What I want is for you to make love to me, Haldir.”

She saw him swallow hard. “Elanor, you know I want to do that, but this is not the right time. Not yet, in any case. Certainly not now, lying in the water and mud the way we are. Not . . . yet, not here. Not now.” He reached down and gripped her arm, bringing her hand gently upward to his lips so that he could kiss each of her fingers.

“Then promise me it will happen,” she whispered.

He pulled away from her just a little, his head dipping down to spread hot kisses across her throat before saying, “Yes, Elanor, I promise that when the right time presents itself, I will make love to you. I also promise that you will like it. I will make sure you do.”

“I cannot quite imagine what it will be like,” she said softly. “Tell me how it will be.”

He released a breath, smoothing the wet strands of hair from her face. “Are you worried I will hurt you?” he asked in a gentle voice.

“I know you would never hurt me on purpose. I have heard that it can hurt, but I do not fear it.” She kissed his chin, his lips, and the tip of his nose.

He gazed down at her with such longing that she could not doubt that he cared for her. But did he love her? That was another thing altogether. “I will tell you that when the pain is over, it will be gone forever. After that, it will be nothing but delight. I will—” He paused, as if debating whether he should say more, then brought his lips close to her ear. “I will fill you with myself so that we are as one, and it will be better than anything you have ever known.”

Elanor smiled, trembling at the heated images his words evoked, knowing that one day they would become a reality and she would truly feel his touch unbridled and uncontrolled. “I long for that day, Haldir.”

“I ask for no promises. You are still free to choose another if you wish.”

She hugged him, wishing he would ask for promises. “I will not choose another. I am not so fickle, nor so young, nor so weak as you think me.”

“I do not think you any of those things,” he said simply. He sat up, and helped her to her feet. Their clothes dripping, they made their way up the bank to a grassy area near a cluster of rocks, where they made themselves comfortable. This time when his arm slid around her, pulling her back to lean against him, it was to offer warmth and comfort. They did not speak, but Elanor knew a new kind of peace, one that spread itself within her like a golden blanket of warmth and security. Her thoughts drifted, and eventually settled on her journey to Lothlórien. It had been such a difficult time, what with Haldir barely speaking to her, and losing her cloak in the water, and the goblins . . .

“Haldir,” she said suddenly, “who fired the second arrow?”

“What?” Haldir glanced down at her, looking baffled.

“When we were traveling and were attacked,” she said. “That horrid goblin dropped dead at my feet. Rúmil shot it, but there were two arrows. Do you know if it was Lord Celeborn or . . . perhaps you do not remember.”

“On the contrary, Elanor, I remember it very well.”

She craned her head upward to look directly into his amused grey eyes. “You do?”

“Indeed,” he drawled, his voice teasing. “I remember very well the sight of poor, wet Elanor shivering behind the cloak which Galadriel held.” He laughed at her expression. “Yes, Elanor, it was I. Rúmil and I loosed our arrow at the same instant.”

“So you looked at me too,” she said with a shake of her head. “You and Rúmil are both very naughty elves. I am sure Orophin would not have looked.”

“And I am sure you give my brother credit where none is deserved,” he said dryly. “I only glanced at you for an instant, Elanor. You need not be embarrassed.”

“Oh,” she said, relaxing once again, snuggling closer. “As long as it was no more than an instant, then I forgive you.”

“Of course,” he added thoughtfully, “an instant was all that was necessary.” He laughed and nuzzled her hair with his cheek as he rested his head against hers, his arms tightening around her in a manner that seemed protective.

Elanor sighed with contentment and decided that it was far too late to take him to task for this transgression. She slowly drifted into a light reverie while Haldir's calm, steady breaths whispered past her ear.

Despite Haldir’s advice—could she actually call it advice?—about not becoming involved with the affair of Doria’s necklace, Elanor had made a promise to her friend and she did not mean to break her word. Therefore, she attempted to make inquiries discreetly when Haldir was not around. She spoke to two of Orophin’s friends with no results—they truly seemed to know nothing—and so she eventually yielded to the inevitable, which was that she would have to ask Rúmil. She had postponed and avoided asking him for fear that he would guess more than she wished to reveal. Despite his mischievous ways, she had decided that Rúmil was both clever and astute.

The opportunity to speak to Rúmil presented itself the morning she finished mending a tear in one of his tunics. She found Haldir’s youngest brother on one of the high observation talans, reclining gracefully against a branch, his eyes closed and a rather dreamy smile on his handsome face, as though whatever he was thinking about pleased him a great deal.

“Good morning, Rúmil,” she said cheerfully.

Rúmil opened his eyes. “Good morning, Ellie. What brings you here?”

Elanor held up the tunic, and he straightened with a surprised look. “I did not expect you to attend to this so soon!” He took it from her and examined it. “You do fine work. I can hardly see where it was ripped. Did you not once tell me that disliked mending?”

Elanor sat down next to him. “I did say that, and it was true. Yet lately it has not seemed so much like a chore. I feel useful here, Rúmil, in a way that I did not at home.”

Rúmil nodded. “You are useful here, Ellie. And appreciated. Haldir cares for you, as do Orophin and I.”

So often did she see mischief and laughter in Rúmil’s eyes, that she almost expected to see it now, but when she looked into his kind blue eyes she could see he was sincere. “Thank you, Rúmil. I have made many friends, as you know. Doria for instance.” She smoothed a wrinkle from her skirt, twitching it just a little so that it lay flat over her knees. “Speaking of Doria . . .” she added casually.

Rúmil leaned back against the branch, his mouth curved in a very faint smile. “What of her?”

Elanor resisted an urge to squirm. “The oddest thing has happened, Rúmil. Doria has received a mysterious gift, but from whom she does not know. Naturally some of us are curious, and I was wondering . . . do you know anything about it?”

“A mysterious gift,” Rúmil echoed, dragging the words out. He appeared to be thinking deeply. “What kind of mysterious gift?”

“A necklace,” she said, “in the shape of a butterfly.”

Rúmil crossed his legs at the ankles and yawned. “Interesting. Is Doria so anxious to know the truth that she cannot wait until the giver reveals himself?”

“She is not anxious at all,” Elanor said quickly. “It is I who am curious.”

“Ah, I see.” Now his eyes held that familiar twinkle. “And you think perhaps that I will help you solve your little mystery.”

“Could you?” she asked. “Oh, Rúmil, you are teasing me, I can tell. Do you know something you’re not telling me?”

His smile widened. “I might,” he said lightly, “or I might not. All I can truly say is that Doria’s necklace is not from me.”

“Could it be from someone you know?” she prodded. “Someone close to you perhaps?”

Rúmil laughed. “Since I know everyone in Lórien, I would assume so! Have you asked Haldir? What did he say?”

Elanor regarded him with frustration. “He thinks I should stay out of it, though he did not say it exactly like that.”

“Then perhaps you should heed the advice of your guardian.” Rúmil’s lips twitched with amusement. “At least occasionally,” he added.

“But Doria—” Elanor stopped abruptly, then rephrased. “How can Doria thank the giver if she does not know who he is?”

“She can thank him when he chooses to reveal himself. Assuming it is a ‘he’ and not a ‘she’.”

Elanor sighed and gave up. “Very well, Rúmil. I will not ask you again, even though I think you know more than you are telling me.”

“I am sure all will be revealed in time,” Rúmil said in a placating tone. “Which reminds me, I have a question for you. Two questions, actually.”

“Oh?”

“Haldir and I are planning a party for Orophin’s begetting day. I’d like to invite you, and also to ask if you would help me set up the tables and food.”

“Of course I will help,” she said instantly. “When is it to be?”

For a few minutes they discussed what arrangements Rúmil had already made as well as the location and the guest list. “We will include Tarwë, Gwirith and Nerwen,” Rúmil said. “I know they are your friends, and they are Orophin’s as well.”

“What about Doria?” Elanor demanded. “Is she not invited?”

“Of course, if she wishes to come. I am not sure she will.”

“I am not sure either.” Elanor was silent for a moment, longing to discuss Doria and Orophin and their problem, but sensing that Rúmil was reluctant to talk about his brother’s personal life. “I will ask her,” she added finally.

Rúmil nodded. “Very well. And I have one more question for you, Ellie, but you do not have to answer.”

“What is it, Rúmil?”

“I am wondering how it is that you and Haldir came back from your walk the other evening looking so . . . unkempt.” He grinned. “You had mud on your clothes.”

Elanor’s cheeks heated. “We went wading, and . . . and I slipped and fell in.” This sounded quite plausible given what Rúmil knew about her.

He arched a brow. “Then why was Haldir so muddy?”

“He fell in too,” she explained.

“Haldir fell in? You mean my brother Haldir? Not some other Haldir?”

“Yes, he tried to catch me, but . . . yes, he fell in.” Elanor could feel her face growing hotter.

“You both fell in,” Rúmil repeated, staring at her with a curious smile.

Elanor lifted her chin. “Really, Rúmil, there is no need to go on and on about it,” she said with dignity. “Is it so inconceivable?”

Rúmil swung his feet to the ground and sat up, smiling sweetly as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gave her an affectionate hug. “I beg your pardon, Ellie. I know not why I find it so tempting to tease you. Perhaps because it gladdens my heart to see you and Haldir so . . . friendly.”

She smiled at this. “I do not mind your teasing. But it is quite true that Haldir fell in.”

“I can only imagine that he had other things on his mind than maintaining his balance,” Rúmil said wickedly.

“Why yes,” she admitted, “I would have to say that he did.”

After Elanor left, Rúmil picked up his mended tunic and went off to find Orophin. He found his brother sitting in his talan, staring glumly out the window at the shifting leaves, his feet propped on a second chair. He looked exceedingly morose.

Rúmil pulled the chair out from under Orophin’s feet and plopped himself down. “Doria is trying to find out about the necklace,” he said without preamble.

Orophin blanched. “Oh? What did she say?”

“I did not speak with her. It was Elanor who brought it up. She’s trying to find out who Doria’s mystery suitor is.”

“You did not tell her anything?” Orophin looked so alarmed that Rúmil rejected any idea of teasing him.

“Not really,” Rúmil answered. “But it was not easy. They are searching for the truth.” He leaned forward. “You must tell her!”

Orophin shrugged. “I will when the time seems right.”

“I think you should do it before tomorrow night,” Rúmil said carefully.

“Why?” Orophin glanced at him. “What is tomorrow night?”

“We are having a party for you. To celebrate your begetting day, did you forget? It would be nice to be able to invite Doria, but I am not sure she will come unless you straighten things out between the two of you.”

Orophin was shaking his head. “A begetting day party for me? Nay, brother! When was the last time we did that? It’s been years! And it’s silly!”

“That is precisely why we’re doing it. It was Haldir’s idea. So if you think it’s so silly, you can tell that to him!”

Orophin rose to his feet and began to pace back and forth. “If you’re having a party, you must invite Doria. She would be hurt if you did not. I do not want her to her hurt,” he added adamantly.

“Of course not,” Rúmil assured him, more gently than usual, “but you are hurting her with your silence. She understands your behavior even less than I do.”

“I saw her with Beredain again this morning. She did not see me, but . . .” Orophin heaved a sigh. “I think she hopes he gave her the necklace.”

Rúmil grew conscious of a familiar wave of impatience with his brother. “And I think she hopes it is you, dear brother. But this is idle speculation. Talk to her! You must find your courage, or you may lose her!”

“I know. And I will.” Orophin hurled himself back into the chair. After a short period of silence, he asked, “So you think she sent Elanor to talk to you?”

“I believe so,” Rúmil replied. “Which suggests to me that you are under suspicion of anonymous necklace-giving. And since you have not spoken with Doria in so long, this tells me that . . .” He paused, quickly reviewing the logic of what he was about to say. “This tells me that she is hoping it is you.”

“I do not see how you arrived at that conclusion,” Orophin said, but nevertheless he sounded hopeful. “You are leaping to conclusions.”

Rúmil’s patience gave out. He jumped to his feet, his recently mended tunic tossed over his shoulder, and headed toward the door. “And I think you are behaving like a dumb Orc! Talk to her before the party, Orophin. You must end this self-torture! Think of it as a gift you are giving to yourself.”

“I will consider it,” Orophin said in a low voice.

Rúmil rolled his eyes and left the talan.

“I’m so sorry,” Elanor told Doria later that day. “I could find out nothing. Rúmil seemed amused, but gave no indication that it was Orophin. Of course I did not ask him directly.”

Doria clapped her hands to her cheeks. “Oh, I wish Rúmil did not have to know. He will tell Orophin. I am so embarrassed. What will he think of me? Oh Ellie!”

Elanor laid a comforting hand on Doria’s shoulder. “Rúmil did not deny that he knows, not directly. I think he does know. And whoever gave you this necklace wants it to be secret, therefore he would not tell many people. If Rúmil knows, it must be someone close to him. And who is close enough to Rúmil to tell him such secrets if not one of his brothers? So it could be Orophin. . . .” Her voice faded as she wondered whether she was making sense.

Doria was struggling for composure. “Yes, I suppose so. Truly, it matters not who gave it to me, if only Orophin . . . if only . . .” Her voice cracked.

“Doria,” Elanor said gently, “we are having a party for Orophin tomorrow night. Will you come?”

“A party?” Doria echoed numbly.

“It was Haldir’s idea. It’s to celebrate Orophin’s begetting day.”

“Oh.” Doria wiped a hand across her cheek. “I do not know, Ellie. It would be very awkward. He might feel obliged to talk to me even though he does not wish to, and that would be dreadful.” She shuddered. “I do not want to make other people feel uncomfortable or ruin the party.”

“I truly think you should come,” Elanor said coaxingly. “What if he thinks you’re angry at him for some reason?”

Doria seemed surprised. “Angry? Why should I be angry? The last time we spoke was the day I fell off the chair into his arms. He held me so close, for just a few moments, and, oh Ellie, I knew . . . I knew I loved him.” Her face crumpled. “And he just set me down upon my feet and walked away. “

“He said nothing?” Elanor asked indignantly. “Nothing at all?”

“Oh, he did. He told me I must be more careful for all Lórien would weep were I to injure myself. For a moment, I thought he would say something else, but then the oddest look crossed his face. And that was it.”

Elanor shook her head. “It seems to me that the two of you must talk. “ She smiled suddenly, thinking how amusing it was that she should be trying to give romantic advice. “And you must kiss him.”

Doria turned pink. “Oh, I would love to. I just love to kiss. I keep imagining what it would be like . . . with Orophin . . .”

Elanor later told Haldir that she thought she had convinced Doria to come to the party, though she was not entirely certain. “We shall have to wait and see,” she said.

That evening, Haldir showed her his gift for Orophin. He withdrew the tunic that Doria had made, the one delivered to his talan on Elanor’s first day in Caras Galadhon.

“Oh,” she exclaimed. “I wondered why you never wore it. I thought perhaps you were saving it for some special occasion.”

“I am,” he said with a teasing smile. “And this is the occasion.”

Elanor wondered if Haldir was attempting to do a little matchmaking of his own, but she did not ask him. It was becoming clear that the three brothers protected each other in all ways and not merely in a battle. She found it heartwarming, yet once more she thought of Lana and was conscious of an ache of sadness. Perhaps someday Lana would mature and things would be different.

The garden sparkled, long sprays of greenery flickering in the candlelight amid the heavy blossoms of wisteria entwined among the boughs. Elanor smiled, her hand on Haldir’s arm as they made their way into the garden, nodding in greeting to those who were already assembled.

“Thank you for helping Rúmil,” Haldir said quietly. He glanced around the clearing, pulling her aside as several elves moved past. “Perhaps something interesting will happen tonight,” he whispered. His mischievous tone confirmed her suspicions that he had arranged this party for an ulterior purpose. Was it to do with the awkward situation between Orophin and Doria?

Haldir stepped around a bank of lilies, guiding Elanor through the narrow path into a wider area where several tables had been set up. The warmth of his hand against the small of her back sent sweet shivers racing through her, as it always did each time he touched her. She wondered if he noticed her reaction. Most likely he did, for those grey eyes of his did not miss much, and she noticed a slight increase in pressure before he took away his hand.

Elanor looked around at the assembled guests, and received a little wave from Gwirith. She waved back, then turned back to Haldir. “Orophin is not here yet,” she said anxiously. “He is going to come, is he not?”

“He will be here,” Haldir replied without concern, “though he may not be expecting so many.”

“If Doria attends,” she murmured, “will that make a difference to Orophin?”

He looked amused by her not so subtle attempt to get information from him. “Should it, Elanor?”

Elanor gritted her teeth. “Oh, come, Haldir, you know more about this necklace business than you are telling me. I know you better than you think.”

Haldir actually laughed aloud, earning them a few curious glances. “I swear I do not. Orophin has not confided in me, at least not about a necklace.”

“Ah,” she said with satisfaction. “But about other things he has, I can see it in your face. Very well, then, keep your secrets. Look, Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn have arrived.”

Elanor watched Haldir walk over to greet the lord and lady of Lórien, then turned when Gwirith touched her shoulder.

“She is coming?” Gwirith whispered.

“She said she was,” Elanor replied, “but she might change her mind. She said she had nothing to wear, and of course she looked beautiful. She is very nervous.” She looked over Gwirith’s shoulder. “Oh, there are Tarwë and Nerwen. I half worried that Tarwë would try to bring Lurien, but she did not.”

“Tarwë knows better than to bring Lurien to a party where Haldir and his brothers are present.” Gwirith gave a sudden little crow of laughter. “Ah, here is Orophin now! Look at his face! He seems astonished to see so many of us.” Elanor saw Rúmil behind Orophin, giving him a small push forward into the garden.

Orophin greeted those near him with a lopsided smile, receiving well wishes with a look of slight embarrassment. His hair gleamed as he moved, his face alight with smiles, and yet Elanor noticed that his eyes scanned the garden. Did he search for Doria?

Picking up a goblet of wine, Elanor made her way over to Orophin and handed it to him with a shy smile. His eyes held affection as he bent to kiss her cheek.

“Good evening, Elanor. You look lovely tonight.” He accepted the goblet with a smile and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “How is your archery coming along?”

Elanor looked up into his clear blue eyes and could see why Doria adored him. His gaze held kindness and gentleness, and of course he was very handsome. “Actually I’m doing much better since . . .” She stopped, worried she would hurt his feelings.

“Since Haldir came back,” he finished. “He has a gift for that type of instruction. I realize Rúmil and I confused you, and I am sorry.” Orophin took a sip of his wine, then glanced at Rúmil. “And you, my brother, deceived me about this party. You said there would only be a few guests.”

Rúmil’s eyes twinkled. “There are only a few.” He gestured toward the crowd with his wine goblet, his mouth slanting into an easy grin. Then something very subtle changed in his expression as his eyes fell on a group of ellith near the lilies. “Well,” he added, “I’m off to flirt, dear brother. I will give you your gift later.” He moved away.

Elanor turned to Orophin. “What was that about?”

“He has his eye on someone.” Orophin’s interested gaze focused on the group of ellith, almost as though he did not know which one attracted his brother’s notice.

Elanor turned to look. The group of five included Amerith, Gwirith, Nerwen, Isywien, and Tarwë. Curiously, she wondered which of the five had caught Rúmil’s interest. And where was Doria? It suddenly occurred to Elanor that she had still not yet arrived, and she looked around to be sure. But no, Doria was nowhere to be found.

Orophin moved off to speak with others, and Haldir returned to her side. “What is wrong, Elanor? You look worried.” He touched her elbow for a brief moment.

“Doria is not here,” she whispered. “What should I do?”

“Nothing,” he said. “She has made her choice.”

“Haldir, I think I should go and look for her,” she insisted.

“Leave her be, Elanor. This has naught to do with us.”

Elanor met Haldir’s impassive gaze, and began to feel annoyed with him. “Are you back to giving orders again?”

“I do not recall that I ever stopped giving orders, though most are being phrased as requests. You are my ward—”

“I am not likely to forget,” she said tartly. “You make sure of that.”

He arched a brow. “Elanor, this is not the time to discuss this.”

“I know.” She bit her lip, still feeling irked with him. “But Doria suffers.”

“It is between the two of them,” Haldir told her firmly. “You will not interfere.” He saw the look on her face. “Please Elanor,” he added in a quieter tone. “It is not for us to solve. Do you not trust my judgment?”

Elanor met his gaze. “I do trust you,” she said, “but . . .”

He waited silently for her to continue.

“Oh, very well,” she said with a sigh. “Perhaps you are right.”

He smiled slightly. “Doria is fortunate to have you for a friend,” he said in a gentler voice. “Now, come, it is time for us to direct our guests to the tables. The food is waiting.”

Eventually it was time for gifts. More than an hour had passed since Haldir had convinced her to leave things be, and still no Doria. Elanor could not imagine what was keeping her, or why she might have changed her mind about attending Orophin’s party once she had finally decided that she would. All she could think of is that Doria’s courage had failed her at the last moment.

Elanor directed her attention toward Orophin, who was still looking a bit embarrassed by all the attention. At the moment, he was receiving a gift from Nerwen. Orophin untied the ribbon, then looked up at Nerwen, holding it aloft. “Such a lovely ribbon,” he joked. “Did you mean me to wear it in my hair?”

Nerwen pointed at the present in Orophin’s lap. “The ribbon is not the gift, Orophin.”

“No?” With an amiable smile, Orophin eased the wrapping from the gift, and lifted a leather-bound book. “A journal,” he announced. “It is exactly what I need.”

Nerwen looked pleased. “I thought of your poems, and all the time you spend on watch. I thought it a practical gift.”

Orophin smoothed his fingers over the cover; it had been crafted with care, its leather engraved with leaves and trees. “It is small and easily carried. I will treasure it, Nerwen.”

Rúmil raised his goblet. “And fill it within a year, no doubt. You will need to start on a new one, Nerwen, if you think to keep up!” Everyone laughed and Orophin turned to the next gift, the one from Haldir.

The wrapping was simple, white silk tied with a blue ribbon. Elanor held her breath as Orophin eased away the wrapper, and lifted the folded cloth within. When he held it up, the tunic unrolled, its cloth shimmering as the flickering light glanced off its iridescent fabric. Orophin stared at it, then looked up, a questioning look in his eye.

Haldir inclined his head in answer to the silent inquiry. “It is of Doria’s make,” was all he said aloud.

His face tightly controlled, Orophin touched the cloth. It had a tight weave, ivory amid strands of silver green and gold, each glossy thread glistening and reflecting the color of the next strand, allowing the garment to seem ivory, yet also having a pale green or gold cast depending on the fall of the light.

“It is exquisite. Thank you.” Orophin refolded the tunic carefully, giving Haldir another brief glance. “You honor me with this gift, brother.”

Elanor handed him her own gift. “It cannot compare to the last,” she said.

“Your greatest gift is your presence here,” Orophin replied with a smile. “And if you distract my brother so that he forgets to send me to the fences then I am doubly grateful.” He shot Haldir a quick grin, and opened the carven box.

“Honey cakes, my favorite! You have won my heart, Elanor.” He lifted one and took a bite, making an exaggerated look of enjoyment that earned him a few laughs.

Next, Lord Celeborn came forward, pulling a small book from within the folds of his long sleeves. “Lord Elrond once gifted me with this volume of poems, but I have read it more than once. I now give it to you, Orophin of Lórien. I hope it may serve as inspiration for your own.”

Rising, Orophin bowed his head and accepted the book, opening it to the first page. Seeing the inscription, he observed in a humorous tone, “This once belonged to Erestor. My lord, are you sure I will not find him at my door demanding its return?”

Celeborn smiled. “Where Erestor is concerned, I am sure of nothing. I know not how Elrond persuaded him to give up one of his treasured books, but if I were you, I would keep a careful eye on it.” He returned to his seat, and Galadriel rose.

She moved gracefully toward Orophin and handed him a small vial. “You may think it odd, but in this vial I give you a small part of what is Lórien. Should the day arrive when you leave these shores and return to the west, you shall take with you a piece of this place where we have passed so many days. I know you treasure such things, Orophin, though you do not often admit to it.” She kissed his cheek.

Orophin bowed his head. “Thank you, my lady, I will indeed treasure this. You know me well.” His eyes shifted suddenly as a movement at the entrance to the garden caught his attention.

Elanor followed his gaze and felt a flood of relief when she saw Doria moving slowly toward the group gathered around Orophin. Doria wore a pale blue gown, simple in design, that accentuated the sweet curves of her body and set off her pale hair to perfection. Most significantly, she was wearing the butterfly necklace. Elanor’s gaze darted back to Orophin’s face just in time to catch his expression before he veiled it. Ha, she had been right all along!

Orophin seemed paralyzed as Doria came up to him. Doria glanced around with a quick smile for everyone before looking back at Orophin. Her face was pink, and Elanor could see that she was both nervous and determined.

“I’m so sorry I’m late for your party, Orophin,” she said softly. “Someone gave me this lovely necklace and I wished to wear it, but it somehow became tangled . . . and it took so long to see what it was that I must do to make it right . . . and then I knew what I must do . . .” Her voice faded as Orophin reached out and touched a finger to the little mithril butterfly.

“It is lovely and it becomes you, Doria,” he said solemnly. “Yet your own beauty casts it into the shade.”

Doria blushed even pinker. “Oh, thank you,” she whispered, looking delightfully shy and flustered. Her widened eyes stared into his.

Orophin cleared his throat. “I did not think you were coming,” he added.

Doria gave him a wobbly smile, not wanting to admit it was a matter of simple panic that had kept her so long, unsure of what to wear, unsure if she should don the necklace or not. Agonizing over the decision had kept her away, terrified that whatever decision she made would be wrong and would push Orophin away. And then she had dropped the necklace and it had taken so long to untangle with her shaking fingers.

In fact her hands were still shaking as she held out her gift to Orophin. He took it from her with a slight smile, then caught hold of her hand and drew her to sit next to him. Muted giggles from a few of her friends drifted to Doria’s ears.

Orophin glanced up. “They seem to know something I do not,” he observed, his tone filled with wry humor.

Doria self-consciously smoothed the skirt of her dress, afraid to look at anyone but Orophin for fear that she would blush even further. “Will you not open my gift?” she asked earnestly.

Orophin turned the package over in his hands. “I cannot think what it could be.”

Doria clenched her hands together in her lap so hard her knuckles turned white.

Rúmil leaned down and wrapped an arm around Doria’s shoulders. “Doria, my dear, if you decide he is in fact quite boring, you have only to look my way. I want to say that right now before anything else happens.”

Doria laughed, feeling instantly more at ease, yet her cheeks grew even hotter at the implication of Rúmil’s words. What did he mean by ‘before anything else happens’?

Once more Orophin’s gaze connected with hers, and this time his eyes held all the warmth she had longed to see.

Rúmil stepped back and gave the crowd a meaningful look. “I have things to do this evening, and since it looks like it will be awhile before Orophin remembers to open his last gift, I do believe I am going to take my leave.”

Galadriel also spoke. “Celeborn and I also bid you good night, Orophin. We enjoyed your party very much.”

Orophin dragged his eyes away from Doria long enough to rise to his feet and bow to Galadriel and Celeborn. “My lady, my lord, I am honored that you came. Thank you.”

Everyone else took the hint and said their good nights, leaving Orophin and Doria alone in the garden, the heady scent of lilies surrounding the couple like a warm embrace. Compared to a moment before, it was very silent save for the merry chirping of a few crickets.

Doria’s heart hammered hard. “I didn’t mean to scare them all away,” she said in a small voice.

Orophin’s mouth curved into an adorable smile as he sat back down beside her. “You did not frighten them away, Doria. I do not think you could ever frighten anyone . . . except perhaps me,” he added with ruefulness.

Doria felt a stab of horror. “You are afraid of me, Orophin? Why? What did I do?” Tears almost came to her eyes at the thought.

“You did nothing,” he told her gently. “Shall we talk about it now, or would you like me to open your gift first?”

“The gift,” she whispered, smiling despite her anxiety. How wonderful he was! How sensitive and kind!

She watched him slide off the ribbon and unfold the cloth wrapping. Inside lay a framed likeness of herself, beautifully painted by Gwyllion, a skilled Lothlórien artist.

For a long moment Orophin sat transfixed, simply gazing at it, then he shifted his awed gaze to her face. “It is beyond beautiful, Doria. I have no words to say how much this means to me.”

“I-I did not know if you would like it,” she stammered joyfully. “I thought perhaps it was a foolish gift, but Elanor insisted that—”

Her words were cut off as Orophin dragged her into his arms and kissed her. It was a thorough kiss, passionately delivered, a delightful union of mouths that fulfilled her every expectation. Even better, he soon deepened the kiss, turning it into a sweet and intimate experience that warmed her all the way to her toes. Wrapping her arms around him, Doria returned the kiss with enthusiasm, letting Orophin know in no uncertain terms that she welcomed his embrace.

When their lips finally parted, his blue eyes sparkled with laughter and such tenderness that her heart brimmed with happiness. This was the Orophin she had grown to love! “I was so afraid you didn’t like me,” she confessed sheepishly.

“Like you?” he murmured, his voice a little uneven. “That is not the word I would choose to describe what I feel for you, Doria.” He traced the curve of her jaw with his finger. “I love you, Doria. It is love that I feel for you. True, deep, abiding love. And I confess it has scared me more than anything I have ever known, for I feared you would never love me in return.” He wrapped his strong arms around her, spreading kisses across her face.

“Oh, Orophin, I love you too, so very much! But you must release me! We can’t sit like this all night.”

“Why not? It’s my begetting day, is it not? Surely I should get to do what I want.” Orophin kissed her again, then raised his head to gaze down at her with laughing eyes.

Doria giggled. “What is it that you want? I have already given you many kisses.”

Orophin slid his hands down her arms to her hands, then stood up, drawing her to her feet. “I want more of you, my love. I know we need to talk, and we will do that, I promise. And I know I should just be grateful that you are here, and that I have been allowed to kiss you . . .”

“I am yours if you want me, Orophin of Lórien,” she whispered in trembling anticipation, breathless with the realization that at last her dreams were coming true. He had called her his love! “I will be fully yours if that is your wish,” she added with shy hopefulness.

Orophin’s eyes grew dark, their sapphire depths smoldering with an inner fire. “Then I shall follow my instincts.”

She gasped with delight as he lifted her into his strong arms and strode out of the garden, carrying her along the darkened pathways of the city as easily as if she weighed nothing.

Her stomach fluttering with excitement, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “What about your gifts? Where are we going?”

“The gifts are quite safe,” he informed her, his breath fanning the rim of her ear. “I saw Rúmil hovering behind a tree as we left the garden. I expect he is already gathering them up, and we shall find them in my talan when we arrive a bit later.”

“We are not going to your talan now?” she said in bewilderment. “Then where are we going, Orophin?”

He drew her close to his chest. “To the bathhouse, my love. I thought a nice warm bath with the elleth I love would suit me very well. An elleth wearing nothing more than the necklace I gave her as a token of my eternal devotion.”

Elanor’s days began to flow by like a peaceful stream. She practiced her archery, tended plants and flowers, cooked and cleaned, and spent time with Haldir and her friends. As for Doria, these days she was most often with Orophin, and when she was not, she drifted about in a state of euphoria that Elanor tried not to envy. All Doria’s problems appeared to be resolved, and of course Elanor was happy for her. She knew that Orophin came to Doria’s talan each night, for Doria had told her so without adding details. Doria glowed with inner happiness and fulfillment while Elanor continued to ache for Haldir.

Because of that ache, Haldir was always in her mind, either consciously or floating in the background of her thoughts like a banked fire of pure longing. There was now an easiness between them, a satisfying camaraderie, yet at the same time tension sizzled between them. He kissed her, yes, sometimes several times a day, but never more than that. He did not quite flirt with her, yet neither did he treat her as a ward. Certainly he did not treat her as a ‘comrade’ as he had claimed so many weeks ago, but she wisely refrained from pointing this out. He did not come to her bed, though she knew he wanted to as desperately as she wished he would. And he would not, she knew, until he felt that it was right. This frustrated her, but at the same time her admiration for him grew and grew. . . as did her love for him. She only wished she knew if he felt the same for her. He had never once said that he loved her.

Without doubt, Haldir would always be himself—stubborn, honorable, authoritative, sometimes exasperating, with an edge of arrogance that came in part from his innate personality and in part from his rank and responsibilities. He often irritated her, yet even at such times she cared for him.

No, theirs was not the peaceful relationship that Orophin and Doria enjoyed. Instead, an exhilarating spark existed between them, a spark that often ignited one or the other of their tempers—usually hers. She had learned early on that going head to head with Haldir could be precarious, but she also knew that he respected her even if she challenged him, though he would not welcome such behavior from a warden. She was beginning to suspect that he accepted challenges from her that he would accept from no one else, and that meant that she was, in effect, special to him. And that contributed to her confidence and to the love she felt for him.

A recent conversation kept coming back to her, as it had so often done of late.

“You see, I was right,” he had told her on the night of Orophin’s party, “I told you they would work it out themselves.”

“If it had not been for my encouragement, Doria might never have had the courage to attend the party,” she had pointed out.

“You do not know that, Elanor.”

“And you do not know that I am wrong, Haldir.”

“Elanor,” he’d said with a smile, “I do know that you are wrong. They would have worked it out eventually, if not on that day then on another. It was inevitable.”

That he was likely right had exasperated her because she’d only wanted him to acknowledge her contribution to his brother’s happiness. “I suppose you think you are always right!” she had shot back, with a trace of annoyance.

The change in his expression had shocked her, for his face had grown suddenly sorrowful. “No, I am not always right,” he’d admitted quietly. “But when I err, there are consequences I must live with forever. Only last year, exactly one year ago to this day, I made an error in judgment and lost three elves. They now linger on in the Halls of Waiting, and for that, I shall never stop blaming myself.”

The pain in his voice had stabbed her, hurting her nearly as much as he must be hurting. She had gone to him and put her arms around him, and offered him the comfort of her embrace. They had stood, locked in each other’s arms, for such a long while, and she had been so tempted to pour out all her love for him right then. But she had not, for she still doubted, just a bit. Did he love her?

How long would it be before she found out? And what would she do if the answer was no?

tbc (feedback appreciated! Thanks to all reviewers!)


Again, please consider joining our new Yahoo Group:
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Julie_Fianna_Archive/