ELANOR'S REVENGE

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To EVERYONE who has reviewed so far, we give you our heartfelt thanks and appreciation. We hope you continue to enjoy our little Lórien soap opera. We are having a good time writing it, and we only wish we could write a bit faster. Here is the next part of the saga....

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hugs to all,
--J & F

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Chapter Twenty

Elanor’s shoes being adequate for a walk in the woods, she had only to stow away the gardening tools to be ready to accompany Haldir. They made their way toward the city gates, but were soon stopped by several elves who wished to congratulate her on her showing in the competition. Surprised, Elanor thanked each of them politely, very conscious that Haldir was watching and listening.

“You see?” he said as they walked across the open expanse directly outside the city gates. “You did not embarrass yourself this morning. It is as I said, Elanor. You did well.”

“For a beginner,” she conceded. Still, a warm glow enveloped her, enough to drive away the residual sting left by Túre’s words.

“For a beginner,” he agreed, giving her with one of his unreadable looks.

Soon they were once again surrounded by the giant mellyrns, their long shadows nearly as impressive as the trees themselves. Haldir did not hold her hand, but the soft touch of his fingers guided her along a path she could not see to a place she did not know. A stillness enveloped them, the kind of stillness that was rich with sound. Lush and melodic, it contained the very heart of the forest—the flutter of wings, the rustle of leaves, the muted scurry of insects and small woodland creatures making their way through the underbrush. As if to punctuate this, a gray rabbit bounded across their path, pausing only to twitch its nose and give them a quick, curious look before it darted away.

Elanor sighed, wishing she had the energy to scamper like that. Her short rest had renewed her somewhat, but she was not yet herself.

Of course Haldir noticed right away. “You seem tired,” he remarked. “Did you not rest well last night?”

“I was too nervous to rest. I spent the last few nights worrying about the competition, wishing I had not entered. And wishing I had told you about it.”

He glanced at her. “Worry achieves nothing. It only steals from your ability to concentrate.”

“I know.” She smiled ruefully. “But still I worried.”

They were well out of sight of all curious eyes, so Elanor was not completely surprised when Haldir slipped his arm around her waist and drew her close.

“Time for the first kiss,” he said. “Ha’s c’s cure for fatigue.”

“The first? Oh, I like the sound of that.” Elanor raised her lips to make it easy for him, but only her forehead received the brush of his lips. “Haldir,” she said with a sigh, “are you teasing me again?”

“Perhaps.” His arm remained around her waist, and his mouth curled a little at the corners as he gazed down at her. “Do you like it?”

“That depends on what you do.” She gave him a sassy smile. “I may decide to tease you right back, you know.”

“That might have unforeseen consequences, Elanor.”

“Is that a warning?” She kept her voice light and tried not to sound too hopeful. She dared not think it might mean what it sounded like; he had made it clear that the time for such things had not arrived.

Looking amused, his fingers lightly caressed her hip, sending tingles racing over her flesh. “Perhaps it is.” He released her, and they continued along the path in companionable silence that for Elanor held more than its usual trace of anticipation.

With each step they took, she grew more conscious of Haldir, of his strength and solidity and almost formidable masculinity. Something between them had changed since this morning, but she had no inkling what it was or what had caused it. She could feel it, this change, but could not explain it. For some odd reason, her thoughts flew back to those moments in Rivendell when they had been alone in her bedchamber. She had been so afraid of him then.

How differently she now saw him, and yet there were times when she still found him intimidating. His aura of power and authority was almost physical, like an invisible mantle radiating capability and confidence. It was also intoxicatingly erotic, and the more she tried to ignore it, the more that awareness of him wrapped around her senses. Her gaze slid sideways. The long sleeves of his tunic could not conceal the hardened muscle beneath. She knew that with two hands she could not encircle his upper arm, and the knowledge did something to her, made her shiver with longing to do so much more than that.

The second kiss came without warning. She had paused to examine a dainty blue flower nestled into the crevice of a fallen log, and when she straightened he was suddenly behind her. His arms locked around her waist while his mouth found her ear and trailed along its rim. “Elanor,” he murmured, holding her securely against him. “You smell as sweet as your namesake.”

In answer, she was about to say something flirtatious when she abruptly recalled something she had been meaning to ask him. She tilted her head back and smiled. “Haldir, you know what I would like to do?”

“Yes,” he said, a laugh in his eye.

She could not help but laugh. “Oh, you are naughty! And you are also mistaken. I was not thinking about that.”

His smile lingered, and seemed just a little smug. “No? I am not sure I believe you, Elanor.”

“You are certainly very wicked today, my dear guardian.”

He rubbed the tip of his nose along her hairline. “I think you like it, my dear ward.”

She gave a little gasp when he flicked the ultra-sensitive tip of her ear with his tongue, and found herself praying he would move his hands upwards . . . but to her frustration he did not. Instead, he spanned his fingers across her ribcage, so tantalizingly close to her breasts that her breath hitched in her throat. “Haldir, what are you doing?” she said in a faint voice.

“I am gardening, Elanor. Tending to the needs of my favorite flower.” His velvet-smooth voice caressed her cheek, causing another tremble to sweep through her. He was looking down over her shoulder, so surely he could see how her body had responded . . . and realize where she wanted to be touched.

“Please . . .” she said, her uneven breathing.

“Please what? Please let go? I apologize. I should not have taken such liberties.” He released her and stepped away, his eyes dancing with wickedness.

Despite her frustration, she had to smile back. “Is this your idea of flirtation?”

“I want your begetting day to be memorable,” he said smoothly.

Considering all that had already transpired this day, Elanor could not help but laugh. “It is already quite memorable,” she assured him, “but if you would like to make it more so, I have no objection.” She gazed at him through her lashes and saw the glint of amusement in his eyes.

“Encouragement at last,” he remarked to a nearby squirrel. “I had quite given up hope where she was concerned.” The squirrel sat back on its hind legs and stared at Haldir with such interest that Elanor laughed again, her heart brimming with joy just to be with him. Haldir turned to her with a smile, and she found herself smiling back almost foolishly, but she did not care and apparently neither did he.

And so it went. As they progressed further and further into the heart of Lothlórien’s Golden Wood, their banter continued, a flirtation unlike any conversation they had ever held. They had had many serious conversations and many that were lighter, but never had they had an interaction such as this; it was almost as though he was wooing her, although Elanor knew of course he was not.

“Haldir,” she said at last, “something is different about you.”

“Is it?” His tone was light. “Has my hair changed color? Am I taller?”

“You are more flirty.”

“Flirty?” He arched a brow, affecting an innocent expression that did not fool her in the least.

“Yes, flirty. Both your brothers believe you do not flirt, but I know better. I still remember when you winked at me that day in Rivendell. It was the first time you ever looked at me.” It had certainly not been the first time _she_ had looked at _him_, although she did not think she would tell him that quite yet. He had been to Rivendell on other visits over the years, and she had seen him several times from a distance. In her eyes he had always stood out, like the brightest star in the night sky, drawing her admiring gaze away from all other stars, no matter how brightly they shone. And then, because of Lana, she had convinced herself that she disliked him . . . and what a fool she had been.

“I remember,” Haldir said, giving her a considering look. “I also recall that you ran away like a frightened little mouse.”

“I walked away,” she corrected with dignity. “And you did not even bother to pursue me.” She meant it as a jest, but she heard the trace of pique in her voice and felt her face grow warm.

Haldir looked amused. “I had no opportunity. Perhaps if I’d had more time, I might have tried to find you.”

“Perhaps?” She bit her lip.

“Yes, perhaps,” he agreed, “if I had nothing better to do.”

Feeling rather crestfallen, she peeped up at him and immediately saw the quiver at the corners of his mouth. “Oh, you are teasing me again!” she exclaimed.

He laughed. “Yes, Elanor, I am teasing you. I had no time to chase you, you know that. Why did you run away?”

“No one else had ever winked at me like that,” she said in a small voice.

“That was no reason to run away. If you had stayed, I could have taken a moment to speak with you and at least discovered your name. Where was my courageous Elanor then?”

“She was not feeling very courageous,” Elanor admitted. “I thought you were too bold, too intimidating. I thought . . . oh, I do not know what I thought. I was not very brave back then.” This was true, for she had once asked Telrion about Haldir, and Telrion’s answer had been enough to assure her that Haldir of Lórien was far too bright a star for Elanor of Rivendell. _That_ Elanor would not have dared to tease Haldir the way this Elanor was doing. _That_ Elanor would not have dared to kiss him or touch him the way this Elanor had done. How changed she was . . . and all because of him.

He lifted her palm and put a kiss in the middle of it. “I like the brave new Elanor, but the shy Elanor, she was enchanting too.”

“So enchanting that you went away and forgot me,” she reminded him.

“I did not forget you. I remembered your eyes.” He paused. “And your figure.”

“Nothing more?” She could not quite conceal her disappointment, for she had remembered every detail about him from the top of his beautiful head to the soles of his leather boots. She had dreamed of him night after night, aching for him even then.

“It was enough,” he answered simply. “Enough to make me want to find you again when I came back to Rivendell. But by the time that happened, you had decided I was a wicked defiler of maidenly innocence. And,” he added, as though determined to press his advantage and make her feel as badly as possible, “_that_ Elanor was so daring and rash she arranged to have me drugged and tied to her bed. Naked.”

The memory of that incident still deeply unsettled her. “I did not ask them to take your clothes!” she said in true distress. “You know that, do you not? You do believe me?”

He shook his head, mocking her with his look. “Oh, I am not so sure, Elanor. I think you had that in mind all along. You have been trying to get me out of my clothes and into your bed ever since.”

Elanor blushed hotly and looked down at the ground. “Is that the way it seems to you?” She felt suddenly, horribly mortified by the thought.

“I am joking, Elanor.” Haldir paused, adding gently, “Elanor, look at me.”

She lifted her gaze. His face had softened, and his eyes no longer held that mocking gleam. “What you did then does not matter to me now.” He took her hands in his. “In any case, I had my revenge. I ripped off your gown.”

She gave a startled laugh. “So you did! And I think you quite enjoyed it.”

“Indeed, I did, although I was furious at the time.” His gaze traveled downward. “And when you look at me like that, I am quite tempted to do it again.” But instead he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her with great gentleness, yet in such a way that she could not doubt his passion.

From this moment onward, their progress through the woods was slowed by more and more frequent pauses. Each kiss grew more intense, each interlude more passion-filled, and each time Haldir’s hands roamed more freely. And then they would resume their trek as though nothing had happened.

Elanor’s senses hummed as she walked along beside him, never knowing how many steps they would take before he did it again, this slow, languorous tease that kept every nerve ending in her body alive and quivering. Even as the thought drifted through her head, he caught her about the waist with one powerful arm, drawing her to a halt. Befshe she could speak, he moved behind her and shifted her hair, his mouth dipping down to explore the curve of her neck while she arched against him in helpless need. This time his hands found her breasts, cupping them gently, stimulating her through the thin yellow fabric of her gown, his thumbs rubbing and stroking and circling her nipples until she shuddered and cried out. And then he turned her and took possession of her mouth in a ravenous kiss that nearly robbed her of the ability to stand upright.

At last it ended, and he gathered her close while she rested her head on his chest. His heart was thudding as hard as hers, and yet he seemed so calm and in control. “How can you bear it?” she whispered, still trembling with unfulfilled desire for him.

She felt the movement of his head as he looked down. “Bear what, Elanor? Bear kissing you? I assure you, I do not mind in the least.”

She lifted her head and punched him lightly on the arm. “You know that is not what I mean!”

“Oh? What did you mean?” His gaze settled on her face, his eyes warm with laughter. “Explain,” he prodded, as though he wanted her to say the words.

She moistened her lips, and saw his eyes follow the movement of her tongue. “How can you bear the waiting and . . . the wanting?”

He stroked her hair, his fingers sifting through it before moving onward to rest upon the curve of her shoulder. “You forget how I a I am. I am used to waiting. I am patient.” His hand slid down her arm to her hand, which he lifted, his fingers interlacing with hers.

“You were not so patient a little while ago,” she pointed out, referring to the chair incident. With her free hand, she reached up to cup the back of his neck, taking pleasure in the inherent strength residing in the hard muscles running down into his powerful shoulders.

With a soft chuckle, he drew her against him once more. “On the contrary, you were the impatient one, Elanor. You were the one undressing me, if I remember correctly. I would have been content to wait.”

“That is easy to say now, but I remember how it was. I do not think you are as patient as you like to pretend.” She nearly added that the evidence of his eagerness was pressed against her abdomen, but there was no point in stating the obvious.

“Very well, I admit it. I lied. Where you are concerned, I am not patient, nor do I wish to wait any longer.” His lips grazed her cheek as he whispered huskily, “I am dying to be inside of you, Elanor. Buried deep, like a sword in its sheath. That is what I want. It is all I can think about half the time.” As if to prove the point, he rocked his hips, pressing against her in such a way that her arousal intensified.

“Oh, Haldir,” she moaned.

“You like that idea?” he murmured. His lips nipped at the sensitive skin directly beneath her ear. “Of having me inside you?”

you you really need an answer?” Trembling with anticipation, she clung to him, one arm curled around his neck while the other splayed against his chest over his pounding heart. His arms steadied her as she swayed, the soft curves of her body molding to the hard contours of his.

He gave a low laugh. “No, your body speaks for you.”

She gazed up at him, trying to read his expression and understand what he had in mind. Was he just playing games with her? “Haldir,” she said, a bit hesitantly, “are you going to make love to me?”

He smoothed a hand over her hair, his gaze intent upon hers. “I am making love to you right now, sweetling. But if you mean, are we going to consummate our love here and now . . . no, we are not. When I make love to you the first time, I will do it in our talan where I can attend to you properly.”

“I do not understand. Why must it be there?” She felt a little disappointed, but at the same time a deep excitement flared within her, as it did each time she thought of it.

“The first time is different from all ot,” h,” he said. “After that, I will gladly make love to you often and anywhere, but there is only one first time. There will be pain as well as pleasure. How much I do not know, but I will take no chances with your comfort.” His tone was adamant, telling her that on this one matter there would be no compromise.

Deeply touched, Elanor’s eyes grew moist. “Oh,ee,”ee,” she said softly. “Thank you. I did not think of that.”

“My sweet Elanor.” Haldir brushed a gentle finger across her lower lip.

She kissed his finger. “You know what I would like? I asked you this before, but the conversation went other places,” she added with a grin.

He lifted a brow. “What would you like?”

“I would like to hear you sing. I have heard you have a fine voice.”

“Who told you that?”

“Rúmil told me one time when we were walking. You were at the fences and he was escorting me in your stead. He was telling me a few things about you that I did not know.”

“A few things?” he said quizzically. “Such as?”

“Such as that you sing very well.”

“I see.” He seemed to consider this.

“Will you sing to me, Haldir?” She held her breath, waiting for his answer.

His mouth curved into a smile of extraordinary beauty, even for him. “Yes, Elanor. When we reach the place I want to show you, we will sit and rest for a while. And I will sing.”

#

Lurien was in a vile mood. His plans regarding Elanor were not going well and he was, to put it mildly, annoyed. Nonetheless, he had spent years learning to mask his emotions, and so he waited until his guard duty was over and he was alone in his talan before he displayed his displeasure by stabbing a knife into an oaken table. The knife stood upright, vibrating back and forth with the vicious force of his thrust.

It was his own fault, of course. He had left far too much up to chance and made assumptions he ought not to have made. He had underestimated both Elanor and Haldir. He had far preferred his original plan which had been to seduce Elanor and turn her against her guardian. It had been simpler and more pleasurable to contemplate. His revised plan had been to insinuate himself into her good graces, and make use of any opportunity that came along to cause Haldir trouble. It had not been foolproof, and he had not liked it as well, but it had seemed like the logical move.

Lurien paced back and forth across the wooden floor, wondering what else he could have done. The archery competition had seemed like a gift from the Valar to suit his purpose. Elanor should have failed miserably and Haldir should have been too far away to comfort and encourage her. Elanor’s wretched performance should have caused many heads to shake. All Caras Galn shn should have been wondering why Haldir had permitted his ward to disgrace both him and herself by taking part in the event. Elanor should have been disconsolate and ready to fly back to Rivendell, which would have left Haldir looking foolish, angry, and inept. And if she had managed to put that arrow into Cothion . . . that would have sealed it.

None of this had occurred.

With a sigh, Lurien threw himself into a chair and swiped his hands over his face while he considered his next move. The problem was that he liked Elanor. He had not truly wished to see her unhappy, but her failure in the competition had seemed assured, and he had only intended to make use of it. In fact, had he not attempted to help her? Yes, he had. He had told Doria the truth; he had no real wish to hurt her friend. He only wanted to use her to get to Haldir, just as he had used Healea for thme eme end, all those many years ago.

Haldir was so arrogant and over-proud that he should have found it humiliating for his ward to make a fool of herself in front of the whole city. It should have driven a wedge between them, a wedge wide enough to allow Lurien to step in, to offer more advice, not to mention his own brand of comfort. Instead, he had heard that the two of them had gone off together for a walk in the woods log cog completely at ease with each other. Mordor tahem hem both! He would not be surprised if they were already lovers.

Lurien tapped his lower lip, pondering what to do next. If only he had not sworn that wretched oath, it would have been a simple matter to call Elanor to his bed. She had resisted him, but barely. He did not know how she had managed it, bu had had known it was not easy for her. Even Healea had felt his power, though she had only laughed and said she wanted him anyway so there had been no need to employ its use. Of all the elleths he had used it on, no one but Tarwë had ever been immune.

Tarwë. Thoughts of her always made him feel guilty because he did not like hurting her. And now that she had forced him to confess his feelings for her, the guilt had begun to eat him alive. He loved Tarwë, but he could not take her as his wife until his business with Haldir was concluded.

Long ago he had sworn to revenge himself upon Haldir. He had never liked him, but since dae day Lurien had failed his warden test, he had loathed him. Never, ever would he forget the humiliation of that day. Haldir had fought ruthlessly, allowing him no quarter, no opportunity to show what he could do. Lurien’s jaw clenched at the memory. Haldir could have allowed him an opening, just one chance to prove to Lord Celeborn that he had what it took to be a warden . . . he ground his teeth in remembered fury. His lifetime dream had been denied because of Haldir’s lack of generosity.

To add to this, there had been that day with Healea, when Haldir had returned so unexpectedly . . . that confrontation had only added fuel to the fire of Lurien’s hatred. To be bested again so publicly . . . no, he would never forgive Haldir. Many times Tarwë had asked him to do just that, to forgive, but he had told her it was impossible. He would never forgive. Never. He would have his revenge and when he did it would be sweet indeed. As sweet and fair as Elanor herself.

Only then could he seek happiness for himself with Tarwë. She would simply have to accept this. And continue to wait until it happened.

#

“I am sorry,” Túre repeated. She kept her face averted from Healea, her eyes fixed on a s urn urn that sat squarely in the middle of Healea’s dining table. It was beautifully crafted and perfectly proportioned, and yet to her eyes it looked lonely and bereft.

“You owe me no apology,” Healea said evenly. Túre could feel Healea watching her. “I only point out that you are letting your discontent color your perceptions. You see shadows where there are none. You deliberately turn away from the sunlight.”

Túre rounded on her. “What fault is there in that? I see no hope in my future. I suffer disappointment after disappointment and I am used to it. But to see that . . . that Rivendell hussy come here and . . . ” She broke off, aware that she was making no sense.

Healea remained composed, her beautiful face displaying only quiet concern. “Elanor is not a hussy. I know that is what we expected, but it is not true. I still cannot imagine what she might have done to warrant the punishment Lord Elrond meted ouut tut that is not my concern. What concerns me right now is you, Túre. You take no enjoyment from life. You have forgotten how to feel joy. To blame Elanor or anyone else for your unhappiness is a mistake unworthy of you.”

Túre studied the floor. “I am lonely, Healea. I am tired of being alone. Where is the joy in that?”

“Many others are alone, and only some of them by choice. You must be patient. You will find your true love someday.”

“You cannot know that,” Túre said forlornly. “I appreciate your kindness to me. You have always been a good friend and I honor you for that.” In fact, it would be more accurate to say that she worshiped Healea. She would do anything for her friend, anything to please her, no matter what the deed might be. Did Healea realize that?

“If I befriended Elanor, would you call it betrayal?” Healea sounded more curious than perturbed.

Túre was silent, mulling this over with surprise. “Do you like her?” she said finally.

“I do. I find her pleasant and interesting, and she has courage. She also has joy in her and that uplifts me.”

“And I do not,” Túre said flatly. “My company is disagreeable.”

Healea sighed. “Túre, I have loved you since we were children. I will continue to love you forever and nothing will change that. But I admit there are times when your company depletes me of my own joy.”

Hurt, Túre could feel herself growing defensive. “I am sorry,” she said yet again, her tone and manner stiff.

“Do not be sorry. I only want you to heed me when I say that life is good. We are elves, Túre. The firstborn of Ilúvatar, the people of the stars. We are gifted with immortal life, spared from illness or death. We live forever. You must look for joy, my dear, or else you will fade. And that I do not want to see. I do not want to lose you.”

Túre bit her lip, but it was not enough to prevent her face from crumpling. At once Healea’s arms were around her, and she buried her face in Healea’s hair, sobbing, “I know you speak the truth. I just do not know how or where to look for joy any more.”

“Seek first the joy within your own heart,” Healea soothed. “Do not look for a lover to give it to you. You have within yourself all the resources you require to find true happiness. All elves do, and you are no different in that respect. You have the power to shape your life the way you wish it. You must choose your desires and then believe in them.”

“You make it sound so simple,” Túre whispered. “It is not, Healea. It is not simple at all.” She wished suddenly and desperately for her mother, but her parents had gone to the Undying Lands more than two centuries past. Would she ever see them again?

Healea cupped her palm against the curve of Túre’s cheek. “Nor is it as difficult as you think. You must believe and you must be open. Happiness is a choice, free for the taking and open to all. Now go and rest. We will speak of this again later.”

“Very well, Healea.” They embraced again, and Túre moved to the door. “Thank you for forgiving me. I should not have spoken so to Elanor. Perhaps one day I will be able to ask her forgiveness as well, but that day is not yet at hand.” She left the talan, closing the door soundlessly behind her.

The room was quiet after Túre departed, the only sound the rustling of the mallyrn leaves outside the open window. Healea stood still, replaying what she had said to Túre in her mind. Then a voice broke the silence.

“You did well, my love. I am proud of you. You spoke with wisdom.”

Cothion moved gracefully into the room, and Healea turned to him with a smile. Of all the males she had met, he was the only one who had con conquered her heart or made it leap every time she set eyes on him. In appearance he was nowhere near as striking as either Lurien or Haldir, possessing neither the sentinel’s breathtaking facial beauty nor the warden’s lethal forcefulness. Her husband’s face was angular, his features regular but not remarkable. And yet he had a very masculine presence and a quiet confidence and dignity that appealed to her more than she could ever explain. He was also very wise and learned, for he was even older than she, and had spent much time buried in ancient books and scholarly pursuits.

“Perhaps I should have told her you were here,” Healea remarked with a sigh. She leaned against him as he slid an arm around her waist and kissed her lightly on the brow. “She would not like to know that you had heard her words.”

“Her secrets are safe with me. You know that. You gave her good advice.”

“I only pass on some of what you taught me, Cothion.” She angled her head to look up at him, and saw him smile. “My wise and learned love.”

“What did she say to Elanor?” he inquired.

Healea explained briefly and saw him frown. “It is partially my fault,” she added. “Túre, Arnis and I made assumptions about Elanor based on a lack of facts.” She shrugged. “We were wrong and we were unkind.” It was not an apology and she knew he knew it.

Cothion shook his head and sighed. “And still I love you, no matter what you say or do. I am bewitched and besotted, and I consider myself fortunate.”

“That is because you know my good qualities,” she said smugly. She lifted a hand and touched his cheek, then ran her finger up the line of his jaw to his ear. “I have offered to help Elanor with her archery,” she remarked. She knew that he would understand it was her way of making amends.

“Thank the Valar,” Cothion murmured with dry humor. “Be sure you stand behind her when she shoots.”

Healea laughed and flicked the tip of his ear. “I can move as fast as you, my dear. You were very quick this morning, by the way.”

“I can be quick when the situation demands. Or I can be slow and deliberate and purposeful.” He caught hold of her hand and removed it from the vicinity of his ear. “I ran your bathwater,” he added calmly. “I put a relaxation spell into the water.”

“Which one?” she murmured slyly. She gazed up into his clear blue eyes, noting the amusement and deep affection in their gleam.

“The one best suited to your present mood,” he said indulgently. He took her hands and ght ght them to his chest. “You will have to get in the water to find out.”

Healea gave him a languorous smile. “Well,” she said, “I think I will do just that.”

#

Haldir took Elanor through the deeper tangles of the forest, past thickets dark with shadows hiding the tiny animals who called it home. Far above their heads, a variety of birds called out to each other with musical trills while the wind sighed softly through the mellyrns, a quiet shiver that trembled the large, golden leaves. At this point he had left off his teasing, for he must have known she could bear no more, and perhaps neither could he.

They now followed a narrow deer path, Haldir’s hand holding hers as though with a strong sense of purpose. She glanced at him, admiring the way his dark green tunic flattered him, its tiny whorls of stitching hardly darker than the fabric, creating a mosaic of pattern that was more texture than design.

He caught her gaze upon him, and sent her a small smile. “Come, we are almost there.”

They approached a tall thicket that appeared no different from the rest. Then Haldir pushed aside a section of the brambles and held them aside while Elanor stepped through into a clearing. A gasp escaped her lips.

The area was not large, but it was bathed in light. All around its perimeter, tall trees stood like wary sentinels, their branches bending down as if in silent greeting to all visitors. Yet these trees were not silent.

“Yes, your senses tell you true. These trees are different from all others in Lórien. These trees speak. Can you hear them?”

Elanor lifted her eyes. “I hear them. You hear them too?”

“I do not hear the plants the way you do, Elanor, but these trees I hear. They are the guardians of this glade. No one enters without their permission. There is much magic in this place.”

Elanor nodded. She could feel the trees’ sgth gth and sense of purpose. “I am welcome here, they say. And so are you. They know you.” She shifted her gaze back to the sight which had brought about her first delighted gasp, the magnificent floral display blanketing the entire center of the glade.

Never had she imagined that such flowers as this could exist.

She sank to her knees, greeting one of the variegated blooms with the gentle touch of a finger. “They are exquisite,” she said with awe. She glanced up and saw Haldir watching her with an odd little smile. “What are they called? I have never seen such flowers before.”

“They are called ninniach-loth. They grow only here and in Valinor.” He lowered himself to the grass beside her. “Each bloom will carry every color of the rainbow during the course of its life. The newest buds are red with the fire of youth and passion, but as they start to mature, the petals transform, slowly taking on orange and then yellow and so forth as they age. The oldest and wisest of the flowers are dark purple with indigo in their hearts.”

Amazed, Elanor bent down to study one of the flowers, closely examining the gradual changes in hue. This particular bloom had red at the center, and just as Haldir said, each of its broad petals contained orange that gradually blended into yellow at the edges. Yet the same plant had a second bloom, and this was yellow at the center with each of its petals fading gradually to green with blue edges. How could this be?

“To see this place with my own eyes is a gift beyond price,” she told him quietly. “You know me well. Thank you.” Studying the ninniach-loth, she tilted her head slightly and reached out to it with her senses.

“What does it say to you?”

Haldir sounded both curious and intrigued, and it suddenly struck her that neither Telrion nor Minden had ever been either of those things when it came to her special gift. She was not even sure they had ever believed her when she said she could hear the plants speak. And yet in Haldir’s eyes gleamed great wisdom. Oh yes, this elf believed her; he had seen far more of the world than either of her two Rivendell friends.

“It is proud, this plant,” she told him. “Rather arrogant, in fact. It keeps itself aloof from the world, yet it has a strong streak of nobility and respect for life.”

Haldir picked up a tiny twig, twirling it between his fingers. “Galadriel brought the seeds from Valinor. She planted the first ninniach-loth herself.”

“That must have been very long ago.”

“Indeed. She placed them here as a testament to her love for Celeborn when they first took up residence in Lothlórien.”

Elanor found another twig and used it to trace a pattern on the back of Haldir’s hand. “How lovely and romantic. And what did Celeborn do?”

Haldir caught hold of her fingers. “He put the trees here to guard them.”

She glanced at the closest ninniach-loth, inhaling its bold scent while she considered its history. “Why do they not grow elsewhere? I am surprised Galadriel has not brought them into her own gardens.”

“She tried, but they died. It seems they only want to grow here, within this ring of trees.”

“I see.” Elanor sighed, closing her eyes to better hear the voices of the wind, the trees, and the flowers that bent near Haldir’s head. “I can understand why they are so proud. They have stood the tests of time, like the Noldor themselves. But I wonder why they do not like to be moved.”

Haldir released her hand and rolled to his side, resting his cheek on his fist. “This is their place, Elanor. Where they belong. They are part of the lore of the wood, part of the Lady’s power, part of Arda. In this place they remain strong. If moved from their home, they grow weak and despair. They are much like us in that regard. If I were unable to return to the Golden Wood, I would soon grow weary of life.”

“But someday you will sail to the West,” she pointed out.

“Of course, as will you. But until then, my heart remains here in Lórien.”

Elanor looked away from his penetrating gaze, wishing she had the courage to tell him that her heart was also tied to Lórien, for it belonged to him. But there was no point in saying it. He already knew she cared for him, and the time was not yet right to tell him that her feelings had gone far beyond caring. She knew he did not love her the way that she loved him, but perhaps there was a chance that he would . . . someday . . . when enough time had passed. Even to Healea he had not lost his heart, so he must guard it as fiercely as he guarded Lórien’s borders. Could someone like Elanor of Rivendell ever hope to breach such defenses? Perhaps Túre was right and he would forget her the moment she was gone . . . .

Haldir reached up to turn her face back in his direction. “Elanor, I think you should accept Healea’s offer. She would be a good teacher as well as friend.”

Elanor’s eyes widened. “You heard?”

“When you came into the garden, I was in reverie in a nearby bower.”

Elanor mentally reviewed what had been said. First there had been Túre’s insults, followed by Healea’s explanation and offer of assistance with archery. She bit her lip, her cheeks heating in remembrance of Túre’s stinging taunt that Elanor was trying to impress Haldir and make him notice her. Did he think the same? “Yes, I like Healea,” she replied, trying to ignore the sudden tightness in her throat. “Much better than before.”

He seemed to sense her embarrassment, and perhaps its reason, for the corners of his mouth lifted just a little. “Pay no heed to Túre,” he said gently. “You are pretty enough and clever enough and old enough to interest me. And that is the least of what attracts me to you. I want to make that clear so there is no mistake.” His eyes held hers, and she could not doubt the truth of what he said.

“Poor Túre,” she said awkwardly.

“Indeed,” he agreed. “But Healea spoke wisely. Do not worry about Túre. She will find her own path just as you are finding yours.” Without warning, he pulled her down on top of him in the long, soft grass. His arms encircled her waist, his hands warm upon her back as she turned her head into the curve of his shoulder. “I wish I could make love to you right here,” he murmured, “but the Galadhrim consider this a place of sanctity and sanctuary. However, there is nothing wrong with a few kisses . . .”

And he proceeded to give her those kisses until they were both breathing hard, then he rolled her off of him and sat up. “Do you still wish me to sing?” he inquired.

“Oh, yes!” Elanor sat up at once. “Will you? Now?”

He looked amused. “Yes, Elanor, I would be happy to.”

The song he chose was a haunting tale of love, one she had never heard before, but which told the tale of two Sylvan elves who had loved and lost each other, only to find each other again in the Undying Lands. Delight shivered through Elanor as she stretched out in the grass and listened. If she had not already been in love with him, she would have fallen in love all over again at this instant. Throughout the song his eyes never once left hers, and his deep, rich voice wrapped around her like a caress, touching her soul so deeply that by the time the song was over, her heart ached with longing. Even the ninniach-loth were touched; she could feel the emotion emanating from them as well as from the sentinel trees, who had also listened.

“Haldir, that was beautiful,” she said emotionally. She looked at his hand where it rested near hers in the grass. She always noticed his hands; they were well-shaped and elegant, and so very strong. “Do you and your brothers sing much while you are at the border?”

“At times we do.” A moment of silence passed. “The words we sing are sometimes different,” he added. His faint, playful smile aroused her suspicions.

“Different? How so?”

“We make up variations on the original. Rúmil is particularly proficient at inventing new lyrics. And no, I will not sing them to you. Most are very naughty and bawdy.”

Elanor tried to imagine this, and found herself laughing. “I would not care,” she assured him. “I think I would like it if it was you doing the singing.”

Haldir flicked the end of her nose with his finger, a lazy half smile curving the corner of his mouth. “I think you might too, but these trees would not. I cannot sing such songs here in this place.”

“Another time then,” she said, and lay back again in the grass. “In some other place.” She stretched like a cat in the sun and smiled up at him.

He bent down and brushed his lips seductively along the curve of her cheek, the lightest graze of flesh upon flesh. “Perhaps in bed,” he whispered.

Elanor’s heart gave a mad lurch. “Haldir, it is time to confess. Your manner with me has changed since this morning. Will you not explain?”

“You are right, Elanor. I do owe you an explanation.”

And he proceeded to tell her about his encounter with Galadriel.

#

Rúmil sprawled on the garden bench, gloomily watching two doves play their mating game in the grass near his feet. The female hopped forward and the male followed with single-minded determination, yet the moment he neared the vicinity of the female’s tail feathers, she pivoted and hopped back the way she had come. Undaunted, the purposeful male turned and followed, yet when he reached her, she turned around yet again and headed in the opposite direction.

“How typical,” Rúmil muttered beneath his breath. “The little tease.” He leaned forward, eying the female with disfavor. “Give him a chance,” he told her. “Look at him, the poor fellow. He needs you.”

Neither dove paid him any heed. The steadfast male’s gaze remained fixed on his quarry while the coy female continued to hop away from him, then stop as though waiting for him to catch up. Each time he neared her, she repeated the whole business, which for some reason exasperated Rúmil far more than it ought.

Suddenly, the game was over. Looking bored, the female came to a halt and stood in apparent resignation while the male stepped forward with a beady gleam in his eye. Rúmil nearly applauded. The enterprising male made the slightest of movements, then turned and strutted away as though he ruled Lothlórien. The female ignored him and began to neaten her tail feathers.

“That was it?” Rúmil demanded, glaring at the male. “After all that courtship, that is the best you can do? Even I can do better than that.” He slumped back on the bench with a sigh. “But not much better,” he added disconsolately. Neither dove seemed at all concerned with his problems.

“Not that you care,” he addressed the female. “Why would anyone care about a childish, fickle, unreliable elf like me?” The female dove turned and looked at him with blatant disdain. Clearly, she agreed.

Rúmil released a pent-up sigh of frustration and misery. He was about to explain matters to the dove when a movement at the far end of the garden caught his attention. He turned to see who was there, and stiffened.

Looking absurdly pretty in a gown of deep blue, Nerwen moved along the path in his direction. Her face was pale and set with resolution, and she carried the pouch he had given her. Rúmil braced himself as she came to a halt before him.

“May I speak with you?” Her voice was extremely formal and polite.

Rúmil remained seated, for he was still angry at her. “I am very busy at the moment,” he said coldly. He crossed his arms over his chest and glowered at her.

“Nonsense, Rúmil. You are doing nothing at all.”

“That is an assumption. I am thinking. And talking to the doves.”

Nerwen looked around. “What doves?”

“You frightened them off,” he pointed out.

“I see. Well, I am sorry to have interrupted something so important, but I must talk to you. May I sit down?”

Rúmil moved over, leaving a sizable open spot on the bench, which Nerwen took, perching on the edge and looking hesitant. “I am sorry if this hurts you,” she said in a low voice, “but I must return your gift. It is beautiful, but it was given in anger, and because of that I could never enjoy looking at it.”

Shocked, Rúmil could at first think of nothing to say. “It was not given in anger,” he said at last. “I was only angry when I gave it to you.”

“That is the same thing,” Nerwen said firmly.

“It is not the same thing at all,” he countered.

“Indeed it is, Rúmil. I am not surprised that you do not understand my point. You and I seldom see eye to eye on anything.”

Rúmil barely held on to his temper. “That is also untrue. We have agreed on many things on many occasions.”

“Such as?” she inquired, her eyes flashing in a manner he found both aggravating and stimulating.

He racked his brain. “We both like to dance.”

“Because it does not involve real communication,” she retorted crisply.

“Ah, but you are wrong.” He allowed his gaze to sweep over her body, lingering in all his favorite places. “It is the best kind of communication. One of the best, at least.”

She leaped to her feet, her lips set in a tight line. “I can see where this is headed. I believe your next move is to try to kiss me.”

Rúmil also rose, towering over her with hands that itched to seize her by the arms and shake her. “Which of course would be inexcusable to someone as cold and passionless as you, Nerwen.”

“Ooh!” Her fists clenched, and for a moment he thought she was going to strike him. “You are impossible, Rúmil! Do not speak to me again unless it is to apologize!”

“Grovel at your feet, you mean?” he taunted. He had no idea why he was being so cruel except that by being so, he drove a sharp spike of pain into his own heart. And on some level, he believed that he deserved that pain.

With a gasp of outrage, Nerwen shoved the pouch containing his gift into his hands and walked away without a backward glance. Had he really expected anything else?

Hating himself, Rúmil threw himself back onto the bench with a groan of despair. What a fool he was!

The female dove chose that moment to rejoin him. She landed gracefully on the bench, then hopped over to perch upon his knee and fixed her beady eyes upon him.

“Stop smirking,” he told her darkly. “You know nothing about it.”

Offended, she fluffed her feathers and flew away, but not without leaving him a gift of her own upon his clean black leggings. He stared at it for a moment, then covered his face with his hands. “This is unbelievable,” he muttered.

He decided to get drunk.
#

Elanor HaldHaldir remained for some time in the glade with the ninniach-loth, nestled together in companionable silence. Her head on his shoulder, Elanor listened to the voices of the flowers while Haldir played with her hair, a slight, rather quizzical smile on his lips which he did not explain. She thought he seemed more contented and at peace than she had ever seen him. “These flowers,” she murmured, a bit drowsily, “I just realized they remind me of you, Haldir.”

“Of me?” He raised himself up on one elbow and lifted an eyebrow. “I remind you of a flower?”

She smiled at his affronted expression. “In character, I mean. The ninniach-loth stand tall and proud and dignified, and they prefer to keep themselves aloof from the world. They are really quite haughty, and yet they have much kindness and love in them. I can feel it.” She reached up to run a finger along the strong line of Haldir’s jaw. “You are a complex elf, my dear guardian. You are all purple and indigo on the outside, but I think you have much fiery warmth and passion in your center.”

With a suddenness that took her by surprise, Haldir rolled over on top of her, pinning her with his weight. “Perhaps we should go back to the city and test your theory,” he said provocatively. “You will learn how much fire I have in my center.”

She grinned, enjoying his aggressiveness and the heaviness of his body upon hers. “Ah, so that is what it took to get you moving. It was easier than I thought.”

“Are you so anxious to leave this place?” he teased.

“No,” she admitted. “To see this sight with you was the best begetting day present I have ever received. But it grows late.” Reluctantly, she removed herself from his arms and rose to her feet. “I must bid them goodbye before we leave.”

Haldir also rose, waiting patiently while Elanor walked around the glade, reaching out with her senses, bestowing love and approval and praise, not only on the ninniach-loth, but on the noble sentinel trees, who seemed tolerantly pleased by her tribute.

When they finally left the glade, Elanor sighed with contentment. “What a day this has been. I have never had one like it in my life.”

“It is not yet over,” Haldir said obliquely.

She glanced up at him as they wound their way past a thick area of underbrush. “That does mean what I think it means, does it not?”

“It depends on how tired you are, Elanor. Our first time together must be perfect.”

A thrill of anticipation fluttered through her. “It will be,” she said, her heart pounding an erratic rhythm. “How could it not? In any case, you just said you wanted to test my theory.”

“Your flower theory, you mean? I admit I am not fond of the comparison, but my stamen seems anxious to conduct an investigation.”

Elanor gave a choking laugh. “I cannot believe you say such things.”

“Does it offend you?” he inquired.

“No, I like it. It makes me feel . . . liberated somehow. And important. As though I am a special person. You can say whatever you like to me,” she added, a bit shyly. “I like your jokes.”

He slid his arm around her and drew her close. “You are special, Elanor. And I can think of no other maiden I would say such things to, so I suppose that is a great compliment.” He sounded a little surprised by his own statement.

“Indeed, it is a compliment. It is the nicest compliment I have ever received.”

Haldir’s grey eyes met hers. Saying nothing, he bent down and kissed her long and sweetly. And for some reason Elanor could not explain, this kiss seemed more significant that all others that had come before it.

“Let us go, Elanor,” he said quietly. “We have a long walk ahead of us.”


[To be continued . . .] Feedback Appreciated!


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ninniach-loth = rainbow flower

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