ELANOR'S REVENGE

*****

I know some of the earlier chapters of this story are still messed up from when AFF had its problems, and I will try to fix them at some point, but have not yet had time. So my apologies about that. Hope you enjoy this new chapter.

******

Chapter Twenty-Four

Comfortably curled on a bench in one of the hidden alcoves of Galadriel’s garden, Elanor absently tapped her fingers, racking her brain in search of some reasonable bargain she could make with Lurien. Lurien himself had suggested that he might be bargained with, so he must have something in mind. What could it be?

All she could think to offer him was a kiss, and the silly thought embarrassed her. The mere idea that her kisses would be worth anything to him seemed ludicrous; no doubt such an offer would have him laughing at her in that mocking way of his. Her cheeks grew hot just to think about it.

She tried to envision kissing Lurien and wrinkled her nose a bit. Still, she could not help wondering if it might be that simple. So easy it would be. A single kiss and it would be over, this nagging worry that plagued her day after day, marring the quiet times she would rather spend dreaming of Haldir, adrift in the marvelous sea of sensation that the indwaedh provided. She did not want to kiss Lurien, but if that was what it would take to get him to leave her alone, she supposed she could put up with it once. Haldir would not need to know; he had enough to worry about.

A moment later Elanor shook her head, aware that she was being foolish. Lurien did not want to kiss her; he only wanted to use her to provoke Haldir. Everyone had told her this already, and she found it deeply disturbing. Really, if it were only she who was involved that would be one thing, but the idea that Lurien was trying to cause trouble for Haldir made her bristle. If it was within her power to stop it then she ought to do it. But was it within her power?

Lost in thought, she rose and parted the veil of leaves, but as she stepped outside the hidden alcove she froze. Not ten steps in front of her stood the tall Sentinel who was causing her so much inner turmoil. He appeared to be absorbed with studying the flowerbed in front of him, but at her sudden appearance he glanced up, looking as surprised as she was.

“Elanor,” he said smoothly, after a moment’s hesitation. “What a pleasant happenstance. I was just thinking about you.” His blue eyes met hers, his extraordinary male beauty seeming to reach out with invisible hands to try to steal her breath away.

“Oh?” Elanor braced herself inwardly, her mind whirling with all the various things she could say. “I was thinking about you also,” she finally settled on, hoping she was not making a blunder.

“Indeed.” His expression changed subtly. “That is interesting.” He clasped his hands behind him and, with his usual spare grace, moved toward her across the grass. His gaze shifted to the alcove behind her. “Shall we sit? Or would you prefer to walk?”

Elanor swiftly reviewed her alternatives. She was not at all sure she was ready to do either with him, but on the other hand, perhaps now was the opportune moment to try to settle this business. “Which would you prefer?” she asked cautiously.

He cocked his head to the side. “I would prefer to sit. I have been on my feet all day.”

This sounded so reasonable that Elanor could not refuse. “Very well,” she said. She turned and went back inside the ivy-covered bower that seemed far less peaceful than a moment before. Quelling her slight nervousness, she sat down on one end of the bench, leaving plenty of room for Lurien, but he chose to sit in the middle, which was not at all what she had in mind.

“So?” Lurien lifted a dark gold brow.

Unnerved by his stare, Elanor looked down at her hands, trying to appear composed. “So,” she said primly, “you are weary this afternoon?”

“I do not think that is what we need to talk about, Elanor.”

He was right, of course, and she would do well not to waste this opportunity.

She lifted her chin at him. “Lurien, just what is it you want from me?”

“Plain speech,” he murmured, his eyes glinting. “I like that.”

“Yes,” she shot back, losing patience. “Plain speech. I wish to end our ill-conceived bargain, and you have indicated a willingness to negotiate. So what is it you want?”

Looking amused, he draped one arm along the back of the bench so that his fingers grazed against her shoulder blades, but she did not give him the satisfaction of a reaction. “What do you think I want?” he inquired, his tone languid.

“I thought perhaps you had something specific in mind.”

“Not really.” He moved his thumb so that it brushed against her ever so slightly, shifting a lock of her hair. “I thought *you* did.”

Elanor yielded to the urge to alter her position, turning sideways so that she faced him. She opened her mouth and then shut it again, feeling terribly foolish. Could she say it? “Lurien, I . . . I will give you a kiss if you leave me alone.” She blushed rosily, her heart beating fast.

Just as she feared, he looked as though he might burst out laughing. “A kiss? Is that all?”

“What do you want?” she repeated, her teeth gritted.

Lurien moved a little closer. “Elanor, Elanor, you do yourself an injustice. What do you think I want?” The hand nearest her shoulder slid down to rest there while the other moved to cover her hand.

A long moment of silence stretched between them as his meaning sank in.

“No,” she said flatly. She was surprised by her own shock; why had she not expected this?

“No?” His lips twitched. “You fail to understand me, my dear.” His fingers wrapped ever so lightly around her wrist. His eyes bored into hers . . . and she found she could not move. All she could see was a blaze of blue, a beautiful mind-numbing blue that had a fullness to it, as though all her hopes and dreams floated inside, carried by gentle, relentless currents. “Elanor,” Lurien said softly, “I’d like to love you, that is all. Is that so difficult to understand?”

“No,” she whispered, but whether in protest or in answer to his question she did not know. Vaguely, she knew he had released her wrist; she knew that his fingers caressed her arm and that he was smiling sweetly at her. *How very sweet he really was . . . *

“I am attracted to you,” he explained in a low voice. “I have been since the first moment I laid eyes on you, even before I knew who you were, or why you were here, or what you had done . . . ”

Somehow Elanor tore her gaze away from his, although she had a strong feeling she could not have done so unless he allowed it. “What I had done?” she repeated warily.

“What you did to Haldir.” His lips curved beguilingly.

She shook her head, trying to think clearly. He did not know. He could not know. He was trying to trick her. “Stop it,” she said haltingly.

“Stop what?”

“I am not going to give myself to you, Lurien. I would not like that at all. Nor would you.”

He seemed unfazed by her rejection. “You seem so certain,” he remarked, rather reflectively. “Perhaps because you are so young. You have yet to taste so much that life offers. You think to limit yourself to one wine without sampling others. Do you think that is wise?”

She hated it when he tried to twist her words and make her feel wrong. “You are not a wine,” she said with heat. “And you are talking nonsense. Please, I wish to be released from our bargain and . . . and I also want you to leave Haldir alone!” she added recklessly.

Something changed, as though the air grew brisk and chill, carrying a hint of autumn and darkness on its wings. Lurien did not move a muscle, and yet he suddenly seemed larger and closer and more intimidating than he had a moment before. And then he smiled almost tenderly and reached for her hand.

“Elanor, I will gladly leave Haldir alone if you will be a little more yielding and agreeable. What I ask is no great matter. A few hours of your time in a life eternal . . . what will those hours be but a delightful memory for us both to add to a thousand others? In time your path and mine will separate, but right now they meet. I am lonely much of the time and so are you.”

“I am not lonely,” she protested.

“But I am. And I would like your company. If you wish to escape from one bargain, you must offer something in exchange that is of equal value . . . or greater. Your company for a night would meet my requirements.”

She shook her head with vehemence. “I cannot agree.”

“Then our original bargain holds.” His voice held an edge to it. “And so does my hatred for your guardian.”

And there it was, out in the open. She stared at him, completely taken aback by his bluntness, as though in the middle of a delicate duel he had suddenly pulled out a club.

“I know why you hate him,” she whispered.

“I doubt that, Elanor.” He looked away for a moment, and then returned his gaze to her face. “Do you love him?” He no longer sounded tender or gentle or amused, but cold and rather brusque. “Of course you do. It is obvious. But not enough, it seems.”

Elanor rose to her feet, too confused to continue the conversation. “You know nothing,” she said, her voice shaking. “You understand nothing. You feel nothing. You—” She broke off at the look in his eyes. “Do not talk to me, Lurien. Do not do that . . . ” She saw the shimmer in his eyes, but mercifully was able to turn away before he caught her in his net.

She blindly pushed her way out of the arbor, leaving Lurien alone.

#

Distraught, Elanor spent the next few hours huddled on the terrace of Haldir’s talan, gazing at nothing in particular, going over the scene with Lurien again and again in her mind.

He had power and made it clear he would use it. She had told Haldir she could resist it, but now she was not certain. How else could she defend herself? She did not think she could hit Lurien the way Healea had. One thing she knew, and that was that she did not want to tell Haldir about any of this. It would only lead to trouble of the worst kind, the kind she wanted to avoid.

This was nonsense. She simply ought to break her bargain with Lurien and give him nothing in return. Yet, if there was one thing she had learned, it was the importance of maintaining her personal integrity. Had she not made an agreement with Lurien, and was that not binding? To her, it was. How could she ever look Haldir in the eye if she could not look at herself in the mirror without contempt? How could she contemplate being worthy of Haldir’s love if she betrayed herself?

Was this what Lurien had planned all along? All those offers of friendship he had made had seemed sincere, but perhaps none had meant anything. How many times had he told her that he admired her and wanted to help her? Oh, granted he had initially tried to seduce her, but she had honestly thought that was just Lurien being Lurien, and that *that* business was over and done with. She had thought they were friends and that he liked her. She had allowed herself to trust him.

She was a fool. How many times had she given Lurien the benefit of the doubt? Too many times, she now realized. And today he had revealed his true colors.

Feeling humiliated, Elanor rested her elbows on her knees and burrowed her fingers in her hair. She had been unwise, as green as spring grass. Over and over she had fallen for Lurien’s compliments and wily methods like an unseasoned youngling and now she was paying the price. What had Haldir said about her, back in Rivendell?

*You are a like a new hatchling, Elanor . . . slow to learn . . . *

The words reverberated in her mind, burning her cheeks with shame.

It had to end, all of it. But how? Lurien had *power* and according to Haldir, Galadriel would make no move to restrain him from using it. Why? Elanor knew the Lady had great wisdom so she would be wrong to assume that Lady Galadriel erred. No, it was Elanor who had erred. Badly.

Despite Lurien’s beauty, the idea of giving herself to him even once sent a shudder of revulsion through her body. Her times with Haldir were now her most precious memories and they must not be tainted. Now that she was no longer a virgin, now she knew what it was all about, now that she *loved* . . . she realized there was no possibility of giving in to Lurien. None at all. And in an odd way, that was not what was worrying her the most.

#

Nerwen held the knife the way Orophin had shown her, whittling carefully at the handsome figure she was trying to create. She knew she should have selected something simpler, something better suited to a novice, but she had always been ambitious. She wanted to create an archer, a proud Galadhel holding his bow and arrow aloft. Something that looked like Rúmil. Unfortunately, her first two attempts had been dismal failures and she had already thrown them away. This was her third try, and she was determined to do better.

Orophin had seemed slightly embarrassed by his own lack of proficiency, but she had thought he did well enough. He had shown her the basics, but now she was on her own. It was she who was dreadful. In her first attempt, she had made the legs too short, and in her second the knife had slipped, beheading her poor little archer!

Her thoughts drifted to Rúmil as she worked. She thought about his smile, the way his blue eyes would twinkle, the way he would always try to slide his arm around her waist to see what liberties he might take before she pushed him away. Unaccustomed tears entered her eyes as she considered what her life would be like without him. This was not like her; she did not ordinarily think such things. Yet right now the idea that she might have permanently alienated him stabbed at her heart. And with her acknowledgment of this fear, the knife slipped and sliced her finger open.

Nerwen stared in dismay as blood welled and dripped upon the skirt of her gown. Save for her cycle, how long had it been since she had seen her own blood? A very long time.

It hurt. And it made her think of Rúmil and the dangers he faced.

“Rúmil,” she whispered, wishing foolishly that he were here. He would have bound her finger, scolded her for being careless and then tried to kiss her. And this time she would have let him.

This time she would have welcomed his kisses. She would have clutched him to her, kissed him back, and given him everything he wanted from her and more. Her eager fingers would have searched out the fastenings to his tunic in a desperate longing to touch his bared skin. Her eyes squeezed shut, tightly pressed so that the moisture had to fight to seek its path down her cheeks. Right now she wanted him so badly.

Perhaps it was as well he was not here.

With a sigh, she rose to her feet and entered her bedchamber to search for a clean length of cloth to bind her finger. When this was done, she turned and stared at her bed, which for so many years had been empty of a lover. Only Tarwë knew this; the others thought she still took lovers, and of course she let them think so.

“Rúmil,” she whispered yet again.

#

A short distance from Lothlórien, five travelers approached the northeastern border of the Golden Woods on horseback, having followed the Anduin southward after crossing the Misty Mountains. Of these, four were merry while the fifth rode quietly, saying little yet missing nothing of what went on around him. While the quartet of younger elves talked and laughed, Elrond of Rivendell listened to their liveliness with apparent amusement and indulgence. Darkness was falling.

“And how many Lórien hearts do you plan to break?” Elrohir was asking Minden.

Minden attempted to look modest, but was not particularly successful. “I do not break hearts but collect them,” he corrected. “As for how many, I cannot say. I dare not try to compete with the sons of Elrond. When either of you is around, no elleth ever looks at me.”

“What do you mean?” Elladan protested. “My twin has no luck at all with ellith! He hides with his tongue tied in knots while I do his wooing for him! Then he sneaks in and takes the prize after I do all the work.”

Elrohir guffawed and Minden grinned, and the twins started to argue, for of course this was sheer nonsense.

Telrion smiled absently. Despite outward appearances, he was not as merry as the others, for he had spent the last few months feeling guilty and worrying about Elanor. In hindsight, the gravity of their prank upon Haldir weighed heavily upon him, compelling him to seek Lord Elrond’s permission to accompany him to Lórien. Telrion knew his own concern had played into Elrond’s decision to make this journey sooner than he had otherwise intended, and for this Telrion was glad. His secret hope, confided to no one, was to rescue Elanor and bring her back to Rivendell where she belonged.

Failing that, he intended to linger in Lórien as long as Elanor remained. His much-stricken conscience insisted that he do something, anything, to make her time in this place easier to bear, for he had known Elanor all his life and loved her as a sister. They had grown up together, been tutored by the same tutor (one of Erestor’s underlings) and had even for a time wondered if they might be romantically intended for each other. One long ago kiss had proved that theory wrong. They had instead agreed that deep, abiding friendship would serve them better.

His cousin Minden, though slightly younger, had grown up with them too. Minden also cared for Elanor’s well being, although Minden was not suffering from as many guilt pangs as Telrion was. Minden still thought the entire experience was good for Elanor, but Telrion disagreed. As for the twins, they had come for pleasure and to protect their father; they did not care about Elanor except in a general sense.

Despite the lightness of their party’s mood, Telrion felt a chill race down his spine as they reached the edge of the woods and rode within. He glanced uneasily at the long shadows and then upwards into the mighty mellyrn, but saw no sign of the Galadhrim. Admittedly, being in the company of the Peredhel and his sons should give him welcome into the fair land of Lórien. Still, he had expected they would have greeted them by now.

“How long before they show themselves?” he asked.

Elrohir, riding slightly ahead, shot a quirky smile over his shoulder. “They like to hide, then jump out and surprise us. Last time we made it at least two hundred paces into the Wood before Orophin showed up. Rest assured we are well watched. I feel many pairs of eyes even now.” He turned back suddenly, arching to the side as an arrow flew between the horses, embedding into the tree directly behind Minden.

Elrohir gazed upward with a smile. “Well met, Rúmil! If I were not blessed with such astonishing agility you might have skewered me.” He laughed as Rúmil dropped from the tree in front of them, landing gracefully without the slightest sound.

“Hardly,” Rúmil said dryly. “If I intended to skewer you, my friend, you would be dead.” He touched his fist to his chest and bowed respectfully to Elrond. “Mae govannen, my lord. You are expected.”

Elrond nodded graciously, looking rather amused by the younger elves’ antics. Three other Geledhil soon joined them for a brief period while the Rivendell group debated whether to make camp or continue on to the city. Elrond chose to go forward despite the encroaching darkness; Rúmil selected an elf to accompany them, hinting that they were bound to get lost without a guide. Lord Elrond lifted a brow, but acquiesced. It was true there were no paths to follow, although they doubtless could have found their way.

Rúmil’s smile faded after they moved on. Haldir had sent him here to greet the travelers, saying that Elrond’s sons were sure to cheer him up. And they had, for a brief time. But now he must return to his post a few leagues to the west, near Haldir, and leave returning to the city for another day. He was not yet ready to face Nerwen, and besides, he had his tour of duty. Gloom descended once more, settling a great weight upon his chest.

#

Shivering a little in the cool night breeze, Elanor pulled her cloak more closely about her and settled herself more comfortably upon the low bench on which she sat. Unable to sleep, she had dressed and wandered the upper pathways of the city until she had ended up on this, the highest flet in the city, which served as a kind of watchtower over the surrounding wood. The single Sentinel who stood guard here had politely ignored her, giving her the privacy she desired. High above, Ithil was nearly hidden by the velvet darkness of thunderclouds. The rain would start soon.

“Elanor.” The low female voice startled her.

“My lady!” Elanor rose to her feet and stood waiting, wondering what the Lady of Lórien had to say to her at such a time.

Galadriel drifted across the flet to stand beside her, her presence gifting the area with a soft and gentle light. “I have tidings for you, Elanor.”

Elanor bowed her head in greeting, then lifted her chin to gaze into the Lady’s eyes. “Tidings, my lady?”

“Elrond approaches. He has already reached Lothlórien and should be here in the city by daybreak. Two of your friends travel with him.”

Apprehension swept through Elanor. “Why is he here, my lady?”

“He has several motives, only one of which concerns you. Do not look so worried, child. No one will tear you away from Haldir against your will.”

Elanor blushed in the darkness, but did not respond. Galadriel continued to gaze into her eyes although how much she could see in the dimness Elanor did not know.

“Haldir did not tell you Elrond was coming.” It was a statement rather than a question.

“No,” Elanor admitted. “No, he did not.”

The old Elanor would have been annoyed and suspicious that he had withheld information from her, but the new Elanor reacted differently. “He did not mention it,” was all she said. Hidden beneath her gown, the indwaedh hummed, keeping him with her at every instant, reminding her of his devotion. She trusted him.

“You have grown in wisdom,” the lady remarked. “Far more than I expected in the short time you have been here.”

Elanor knew this was her best chance to lay all her problems at Galadriel’s feet. She could tell her about Lurien, about what he was trying to do, and beg her to make the Sentinel leave her and Haldir alone. But something inside her hesitated. Instead, she stood quietly, waiting for the Lady of Lórien to reveal her purpose. She recalled that Haldir had said that the Lady knew the minds and hearts of all who live in her land so perhaps she already sensed the problem and was going to offer counsel.

“You know, Elanor,” the Lady said reflectively, “we each create our own lives with the power of our choices and our beliefs. Some have gifts that others do not, and must strive to use them responsibly. Yet all who live have something to offer.”

Elanor studied Galadriel’s face, but the Lady’s gaze seemed distant.

“To think for one moment that we know what is best for another is not to understand how life is. Each must make his or her decision to be free. Mistakes are only lessons, Elanor. What flows through one, flows through all.” The Lady smiled suddenly. “You have a gentle heart, my dear, and it will serve you well. Go now and rest, for tomorrow will be filled with activity.” And the lady drifted away, taking the light along with her.

Alone once more, Elanor shut her eyes, mulling over Galadriel’s words and savoring the quiet whisper of the indwaedh. She wished Haldir were here with her right now, but since he was not, the indwaedh comforted her, wrapping her in the palpable strength of his unique male essence. Galadriel’s words hovered in her mind like an echo. Had she been offering Elanor advice without knowing the problems she faced? Or did she know? This was unclear.

Elanor turned her mind to the Lady’s news about the travelers. Could it possibly be Telrion and Minden who journeyed with Lord Elrond? Surely it must be; they were certainly her two closest friends. Suddenly excited, Elanor decided to follow Galadriel’s advice and seek her rest. She would try not to worry about Lurien. Things were getting better now; soon she would be reunited with her dearest friends.

#

Rúmil found Haldir where he expected, standing on a high flet, his gaze trained far in the distance as it so often was. Even in the darkness he could see that Haldir’s expression held an odd abstraction, as though half of him was faraway and quite oblivious to his surroundings. Rúmil had caught this expression on Haldir’s face several times recently, and each time he had nearly said something, but his own heart had been too heavy and it had seemed like too much effort. This time, however, Haldir’s distraction seemed even more pronounced; he did not even greet Rúmil as he walked up and stood beside him.

“I am here,” Rúmil remarked, watching his brother’s face closely. It seemed to him that it took a moment longer than it should have for Haldir to gather himself and glance his way.

“You found them?” Haldir asked. At least his voice seemed normal.

Rúmil nodded. “Telrion and Minden were there too.” He saw Haldir’s slight frown. “Is something wrong? You seem different lately.”

“Nonsense, you are imagining things. It is you who are changed.” Haldir crossed his arms. “So when are you going to talk to me about what troubles you?”

Rúmil looked away, wondering if he should allow himself to be diverted in this manner. “I do not know what to say. Or where to start.”

“Why not start at the beginning?” Haldir’s tone was dry; he now seemed very much himself.

Rúmil considered this. Was there a beginning to this tale?

“I suppose it started with Ainon,” he said slowly. “During those first days, when my grief was new.”

Through the story he stumbled, with long pauses between sentences, telling Haldir for the first time how Nerwen had come into the garden when he was grieving, and how she had stayed with him and held his hand. And how, in a way that Rúmil did not understand, she had been able to comfort him even though he had never spoken to her or looked at her while she was there. And how he had started to love her during that time even though it had taken him years to admit it. And how he had kept on flirting and sleeping with other ellith while he pushed this knowledge aside. And above all, how much of an idiot he was.

“I more than care for her,” he added firmly. “I love her. And I know I cannot force her to love me in return. Haldir, the Lady said that love is alive. Eternal.” He swallowed hard, his voice faltering. “I fear I will love Nerwen forever. My love for her will go on and on . . . and I will feel like this . . . forever. I laughed at Orophin,” he added bitterly, “and now I envy him.”

Saying all this aloud made him feel both worse and better. To confide in his brother was an immense relief, but the words he was speaking made the whole situation seem even more irresolvable than it had seemed before. Then he felt Haldir’s hand on his shoulder.

“I am perplexed,” Haldir said. “You say she does not love you, but there must be a good reason why she followed me that night you made an utter fool of yourself on her roof. She begged me not to punish you. She made a special point to tell me that you had not hurt her roof and that no one really minded your appalling choice of songs. I was not supposed to tell you that, by the way. Oh, and I left you fully clothed atop your bed, so if you woke to find your boots removed or a blanket on you, I would guess that it was Nerwen’s doing. For an elleth who loves you not, she shows a great deal of concern for your well-being. So you can see why I am perplexed.”

Rúmil’s astonishment had grown throughout this speech. “For Mordor’s sake, why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“You seemed not to wish to speak of it,” Haldir reminded him.

“Well, I did not. But you should have told me anyway!”

Haldir arched a brow.

“But I thank you,” Rúmil said in a humble tone. “Now what am I going to do about it? Do you think there is any hope for me?”

“Of course there is. But you will have to court her properly.” Haldir smirked slightly. “Any improper songs you sing had best be done in private.”

“But I don’t know how to court her, I told you this before. I only know how to laugh and flirt and tease and make love. All things she despises.”

“Rúmil, how can she despise these things? I have often seen Nerwen laughing and flirting, and I know she has taken lovers, even if you were not one of them.”

“Were *you*?” Rúmil asked, trying to look at though he were only curious. In truth, he burned with jealousy for any elf that had been in Nerwen’s bed.

“No, little brother, I was not.” Haldir surveyed him sardonically. “Feel better now?”

Rúmil smiled sheepishly. “A bit, yes. At least I have a little hope.”

“Indeed you do. And many days to plan your next move.”

Rúmil sighed, wishing the time to return to the city was closer than it was. What would he do to win Nerwen? What could he do to prove to her that his love for her was true? An idea occurred to him, but it was terribly risky. He would have to think this over very carefully.

#

The arrival of the Rivendell elves drew a crowd as they passed through the gate into Caras Galadhon, but Túre hung back in the shadows as each of the five visitors dismounted from his horse and shook off his rain-drenched cloak. From a distance she saw Lord Celeborn greet each visitor beginning with his son-in-law, Elrond Peredhel, followed by two she had never seen before, and ending with quiet words to his grandsons. Túre had seen the twin sons of Elrond a number of times, and had always admired their dark, dramatic beauty, but at the moment her eyes were drawn to the two unknown male elves.

They were just as beautiful as the twins, tall and lean and sleekly elegant, with long dark hair and eyes that seemed to dance with curiosity. From where Túre stood, she could see the resemblance between them; both were extremely handsome, but one had light blue eyes while the other elf’s eyes were green. Perhaps they were brothers or cousins, she thought. Whatever the case, she would not be the only interested elleth today.

The next thing that happened momentarily caught Túre off guard. Elanor arrived, flying down the nearest set of steps as though her heels had wings . . . straight into the blue-eyed elf’s arms. He laughed at her and swung her around in the air while the green-eyed elf grinned and made some remark Túre could not hear.

Observing this, Túre suffered a distinct pang of jealousy before she remembered that everything was different now. Iridor had given her hope, and she would be wise to keep it alive, tending it as one would a gentle flame in a chill wind. To return to that dark place where she had dwelled for so long would be akin to rejecting Iridor’s loving gift.

Túre squared her shoulders decisively. She refused to be jealous of Elanor. These were obviously her friends, and Túre knew she should be glad for her. She *was* glad for Elanor. And once that thought took hold and settled like fire catching at a fragment of tinder, she found that her heart had indeed opened and her spirits lifted.

Almost giddy with her newfound optimism, she could not take her eyes off these two new elves. She had always admired the dark hair of the Peredhel and his sons, finding it refreshingly different from the silvery blonds she had been surrounded by all her life. To her, they seemed exotic and strikingly attractive, and these two certainly held her eye. . .

Someone touched her shoulder. Túre started almost guiltily before discovering that it was only Healea. “It appears our Elanor has some most attractive friends,” Healea murmured. Her gaze rested speculatively on Elanor.

“Yes.” Túre smiled slightly, feeling a little off kilter. She had not told Healea about the dream involving Iridor and was not at all sure she ever would.

“She seems very pleased to see them.”

“Of course she does,” Túre retorted. “She has lived here many months. She must have missed them.”

Healea gave her a curious look. “You seem different, Túre.”

“I am different,” Túre answered firmly. “Healea, I am feeling . . . happy.” She could feel Healea studying her, probing her with those sharp eyes of hers, but Túre chose not to elaborate. It was too soon, and the emotion was too new and precious to put into words or to share.

Healea continued to study her, then finally shrugged. “I am glad. I will not push you to confide in me, but I am here for you if you need me. I will not judge you, Túre. I truly want you to be happy.”

Túre nodded, all at once on the brink of tears though she did not know why. “Thank you, Healea. You are a true friend. You always have been.”

Healea touched her arm. “And I always will be,” she reminded Túre.

#

Elanor finished hugging Telrion and turned to Minden, embracing him while he made some casual jest. Yet she heard the emotion in his voice as he added offhandedly, “We came to see how you were faring,” as though the journey had been but an easy jaunt.

“You are well, Ellie?” Telrion was studying her closely.

“Yes, I am.” Elanor pushed away her sudden surge of homesickness. “In fact, I have never been better in my life.”

The two cousins exchanged glances. “We were worried,” Telrion said, after a moment’s pause.

Hearing his underlying concern, Elanor placed her hand on his arm. “I am sorry, Tel. I wish I could have gotten word to you that all is well with me.” She saw his eyes lift away and search the area, and guessed that he was searching for Haldir. “To my regret, Haldir is at the Northern Fences at the moment, but if he were here I am certain he would welcome you also.”

“Would he?” Telrion’s doubtful tone told of his skepticism.

Elanor caught Lord Elrond’s gaze and suddenly realized she should have greeted him first. With a slight flush, she bowed her head and placed her hand on her heart. “My lord,” she said respectfully.

“It is good to see you, Elanor.” Elrond was smiling slightly, but he asked her no more questions, nor gave her any hint of his reasons for being there. No doubt he would speak to her in private at some point. She wondered if he had perhaps heard from her parents or from Lana, a disquieting idea. And yet she hoped for news; after all, she loved her family. She simply did not miss them.

“Welcome to Caras Galadhon,” she heard Orophin say. He had come up behind her without her knowledge, clearly ready to act as his older brother’s proxy as he had on several other occasions. Greetings were exchanged, but soon Lord Celeborn bore Lord Elrond and his grandsons off to see Galadriel, leaving Telrion and Minden with Orophin and Elanor.

“Are you hungry?” Orophin asked them with a smile.

Telrion and Minden declared themselves famished, so he took them all off to his talan, assuring them that he and Doria could easily prepare breakfast for them all. Inside, Doria took their damp cloaks and hung them up to dry while Orophin poured drinks and searched for sweet rolls and fruit.

The meal passed pleasantly for Elanor, abounding in good humor and jests. If Haldir had been there too she would have found it quite perfect, but the low throb of the indwaedh reassured her that all was well with him. She touched the indwaedh hidden beneath her gown, enjoying the security and warmth of Haldir’s invisible presence.

Telrion eventually shifted the conversation back to Elanor, taking on the role of protector that he had long ago assigned himself—when he was not playing tricks on her, that is.

“So, Ellie,” he asked, his casual tone not fooling Elanor in the least, “Haldir has treated you fairly? He has been honorable?”

Elanor met his gaze squarely. “Haldir treats me very fairly and, yes, of course he is honorable.”

“He does not force you to work all day?”

“Haldir forces me to do nothing. He is patient and teaches me much.” Somehow she managed not to blush, although it was a near thing when she caught Doria’s eye.

Minden sat back, spinning his goblet between two fingers. “You sound as though you are fond of him.”

“Yes, I am fond of him,” Elanor said quietly. “He has treated me well and he is very honorable. And if you think or speak poorly of him, it will make me most unhappy.”

Orophin stepped in rather quickly, making her wonder whether he knew just how fond she was of his brother. “Elanor has spoken truly. You can see for yourself how she glows with contentment. I will confide the reason. You see, she has been teaching us archery, and *I* am starting to improve. I cannot say the same for my brothers, however. They tend to shirk on practice.”

Everyone laughed, including Elanor. She gazed fondly at her two Rivendell friends, and at Orophin and Doria, and suddenly realized how much she loved them all. Yet even as this went through her head, an image of Lurien arose in her mind, erasing a portion of her joy. She would have to decide whether or not to speak of Lurien to her friends. What would they say? How would they react? What was the wisest choice? That was what she must decide, and she knew she must consider carefully.

#

With deep foreboding, Haldir strode rapidly over the moist debris that covered the forest floor. The eerie dearth of early morning animal chatter confirmed what his instincts had told him already. Something was amiss, but he had yet to find evidence to back up the nagging feeling that had gripped him quite suddenly and without warning.

A moment later, he found the tracks. Orc tracks inside the realm of the Lady of the Wood. Recent tracks, made since the rain had stopped. They sank deeply into the soil and brought his very real danger instantly to mind.

His eyes narrowed. Had they perhaps been drawn to Lórien by Lord Elrond’s party? The scent of the horses could have attracted their attention, but how had they gotten past the border? Past *him*? Possibly the storm could have concealed both sight and sound; they could have slipped in during the night. With a chill, he remembered that the last time this happened they had lost Ainon. He had not thought to let it happen ever again.

He pulled his bow from his shoulder and quickly nocked it, straining for any sound that might tell him where they were. He heard nothing.

His gaze skimmed the thick boles of the forest trees while beneath his tunic the indwaedh hummed. Images of Elanor drifted unbidden through his mind, along with an unsettling rush of emotion. Had it only been two weeks since he’d left her? The last departure had been so difficult, even with the indwaedh to help ease their parting . . .

With impatience, he shunted aside the memory. He could not think of her now! What was *wrong* with him?

His jaw tightened as he crouched down, bracing his fingers on the damp soil. Orcs now separated him from his patrol at the edge of the wood. In his mind, he accounted for the angle of the trail, mentally reviewing the elves manning posts in that direction. They included some of the youngest and newest wardens, yet they were also efficient and well trained. A chance existed that they were still alive.

Clinging to that hope, he slid deliberately through the trees, keeping downwind of the trail in the hope that the pungent aroma of rain-washed forest would cover his scent. As always, he attuned himself to the wood, his senses on heightened alert. These foul creatures would not leave these woods alive.

He found them soon enough.

His nostrils quivering from their stench, he crept stealthily forward and peered over a massive tree trunk lying on the ground between him and what he hunted. Just beyond, a single Orc guard twitched with apparent uneasiness, its filthy hand gripping its sword as it darted glances all around him. The creature seemed tense and afraid---as it should be, considering whose Wood he had invaded. The abhorrent beasts would have come from Moria, but they never seemed to learn that Lothlórien defended itself fiercely. Perhaps because the slain did not return to teach the others.

Haldir ducked down quickly when the Orc shifted again, swinging around to face in his direction. Had he been seen? Nothing seemed to indicate that he had been. He eased himself to a position where he could scan the trees and forest ahead, and noted only a few of the creatures. Not a large group, then. They would be easily overcome.

Haldir withdrew an arrow and silently took aim at the closest Orc, the nervous one. His arrow shattered its chest armor, killing the creature instantly, but not without attracting notice. The others howled and pulled free their swords as Haldir sprang out and leaped atop the felled tree. Swiftly, he launched another arrow, followed by another and then another. Arrows were beginning to come back at him, launched from the trees above.

He jumped down, twisting to avoid an arrow that whistled narrowly past his head. More Orcs appeared and another arrow flew at him, forcing him to duck before he let loose one of his own. Too late he realized that there were more of them than he had guessed. He ran toward a large mallorn, cursing his stupidity while he hauled himself up into the protection of the tree far faster than any Orc could do. Arrows smashed through the tangle of branches, shearing off leaves too close for comfort, but he made it into the thickest part of the canopy where they could not see him. From there, he was able to leap the distance between trees and find a new vantage from which to release more arrows. He paused long enough to emit a piercing whistle to alert his patrol. Regrettably, they would be unlikely to aid him any time soon.

And Orcs could climb.

More arrows flew at him, one so close its fletching grazed his shoulder. When his own were gone, he tossed aside his bow and grasped a thick branch, spinning upside down, vaulting downward to catch another lower bough and then another until he reached the ground, whereupon he drew the long sword at his hip and smiled grimly.

Orcs stormed toward him, lumbering through the brush in their typical clumsy manner. The first to reach him brandished thick blades he batted away with ease. He dove between them and twisted, kicking one in the back so that it rammed headfirst into a tree and broke its neck. Haldir slammed his back against the other, twisting nimbly as a third Orc struck out, so that his evil weapon impaled his fellow Orc instead of Haldir.

Two more charged toward him, and Haldir dropped to his knees as their blades swished narrowly over his head, bringing his own blade around in a wicked arc toward the back of their unprotected knees. Both Orcs fell screaming. Haldir arched his back, flipping back to his feet in time to parry the next Orc’s angry thrust. More Orcs circled, willing to let the next one face him alone.

Haldir scowled, noting how many of the creatures still lived. It was a far larger company than he had originally thought, and his concerns for his wardens multiplied. With his left hand, he yanked his dagger from his waist, whipping the long blade against the next assault. It caught the creature’s weapon at the hilt, halting its arc while his longer elvish blade sank into the creature’s side. That Orc dropped, but two more leaped forward.

Whirling to avoid their ungainly jabs, Haldir gasped as a sudden fiery stab of agony seared his side. He lurched backward, tumbling over a downed tree, but immediately staggered to his feet, slashing his dagger across the throat of the Orc that had thought to finish him. He stumbled backward as more crossed over his temporary blockade, parrying yet another Orc as it hurled itself toward him. Their blades collided, the elvish steel singing as it met black iron.

They began to surround him. Blood ran freely from the gash in his side, but he ignored it and fought on. He dove forward, his blade screaming as he cut down another of the despicable creatures. From the corner of his eye, he saw another raise its weapon and knew he could not turn in time.

Only one word hovered in his mind at that instant. *Elanor.*

#

Rúmil dropped lithely from the tree, his feet barely touching the earth before he was off, his sword drawn. More of the elvish patrol sprinted after him, answering Haldir’s call without question or hesitation.

The moment they saw the Orcs the arrows began to fly, whizzing past Rúmil, who was in the lead. His brother’s signal had been distant, but he had heard it clearly and understood its implications. There were enemies inside the Wood! Too many for his fierce elder brother to handle on his own.

Running as fast as he was able, Rumil ducked low-hanging branches, his fear rising as he hurtled past the few Orcs he came upon, his blade slashing without reprieve as he passed. Ahead, a large group of Orcs swiveled in his direction, and he was hard-pressed to halt his forward momentum as one leaped at him, its sword angled to impale.

Rúmil dove forward, curling into a tight ball so that he missed the weapon. Twisting, he landed on his feet and sprang instantly into a backward somersault, flinging his sword out to slice a hapless Orc across the chest. The open leather armor split, spilling more than blood. The Orc dropped, shrieking, as Rúmil landed lightly, bounding sideways to avoid another blade that careened over his head.

*Where was Haldir?*

Rúmil slammed into the Orc in front of him, rolling straight over the grimy creature even while he stabbed his dagger into it. Straightaway he was up, his attention drawn to the sound of ringing blades off to his left. Haldir was still alive!

By the time Rúmil reached his brother, Haldir was barely able to hold his sword. Backed against a tree, he was using the trunk as a refuge, dodging around the huge trunk to evade vicious lunge after lunge from several Orcs who had him trapped. A score of bodies lay around him, serving as a partial barrier between Haldir and those who challenged him.

Snarling, Rúmil leaped forward, thrusting himself between Haldir and the Orc he fought, and knocked Haldir down in the process. Haldir’s sword skittered from his hand, but it did not matter at this point. Rúmil parried the Orc’s next swing and thrust his blade into its chest. Jerking it free, he spun the blade backwards in time to skewer a second Orc.

Meanwhile, Elvish arrows were swiftly decimating their invaders and those few who remained were fleeing, pursued by ruthless elves. The Orcs would find no haven in the Golden Woods. This fight was nearly over . . . but not quite.

Rúmil braced his feet over Haldir as his brother struggled to rise, forcing him to remain on his side. Haldir gripped Rúmil’s knee with a bloody hand, but Rúmil ignored him, ducking beneath a whirling blade aimed at his head. The Orc bared its grimy teeth and grabbed Rúmil by the neck, and in the ensuing struggle both the Orc and Rúmil dropped heavily to the ground. Rúmil finished off the creature, then turned and shoved Haldir behind the tree.

“Rúmil,” Haldir protested, his voice weak.

“Stay behind me!” Rúmil ordered curtly.

He used his body to shield his brother as a fourth Orc ducked an elvish arrow and confronted them. The creature lunged forward, but tripped over his comrade’s body, giving Rúmil his chance to bring his blade down upon the Orc’s sword arm. It howled, but retrieved its fallen weapon with its other hand only to lose it again when Rúmil kicked him viciously in the kneecap. The Orc slammed to the ground, but managed to catch Rúmil around the ankle and bring him down too. Even with only one good arm, the Orc was strong and brutal; Rúmil groaned as it threw him against a rock, but retaliated quickly by slamming the heel of his hand against the Orc’s chin, twisting the creature so that its head cracked against the same rock. A final thrust from Rúmil’s sword ended its miserable existence.

Rúmil knew Haldir had been struggling to rise, using the tree as a support, and he turned just in time to see his brother collapse. His face ashen, Haldir slowly slid down the tree trunk, leaving a trail of blood in his wake. Rúmil quickly bent over his beloved brother and anxiously assessed his injuries.

Haldir was unconscious but alive. Barely.

[To be continued . . .] Feedback always appreciated.

**
indwaedh = heart-bond