Ionnath Estel 13

Ionnath Estel

Part 13

Posted: March 28, 2008
Title: Ionnath-Estel (The Sons of Hope)
Author: Kenaz

*****

Imladris, 779 TA

Haldir's horse crossed the footbridge with little evidence of fatigue. Surprising, considering how thoroughly he had been pushed these last few days. Not run to the point of exhaustion, of course: Haldir never asked more of his mounts than they could comfortably give. Centuries of travel had turned out a keen and instinctive horseman; he was no longer the nervous novice who was sore down to the last muscle after his first trek to Imladris. All the same, it had been no slow road they had taken, and on that last day Haldir had ridden at a full gallop for the final miles of his journey, flying almost desperately until he reached the point he had long ago discerned for himself marked the threshold of Elven eyesight across the plain. Reaching that hallmark, the horse had been slowed to an easy canter, to a long, loose trot, then to a brisk walk. For countless journeys, this had been Haldir' method, and this horse, like those who had come before him, had learned the routine well: a vigorous sprint for the final stretch, then a careful retreat as they came in sight of the valley's outposts. It would not do, Haldir told himself, to appear as if he carried dire news when he did not, and he had no wish to alarm the guards without cause. A mere ruse, of course, loathe though he was to admit it: he bolted toward the valley because every stride across the steppes brought him closer to Elladan. As a simple matter of pride, he did not want to embarrass himself by appearing overly eager. The horse, knowing his journey at an end, and anticipating a thorough rub-down and a generous portion of cracked corn for his trouble, pricked up his ears at the sight of the gates.

The grandeur of those walls, and the first glimpse of sunlight glancing off the spires of the Last Homely House, had long ago ceased to fill Haldir with a sense of displacement or vulnerability, but rather had become sights welcome in their familiarity, and revered for the promised reunion awaiting him within. The ostlers now took his horse without a second glance, and those he passed in the halls looked at him with only the mild interest they would have given any messenger, not the amused or patronizing appraisals they had given a naive young Wood-Elf on his inaugural arrival.

Just beyond the stables, where the stone pathway branched left toward the Last Homely House and right toward the armory, the trunk of pin-oak stretched over him. When last he had seen Elladan, that tree had been but a withy sapling, newly planted in honor of the twins' 500th begetting day. Now it was a tall and sturdy thing with roots burrowing deep. He lay his hand against the bark and felt the eager thrum of life beneath, a constant whisper in its quest to reach the sun. Twice in the past five years he had come, and through one mishap or another, missed Elladan entirely: the first time, the funeral rites of King Elendur, and the subsequent coronation of Eärendur his son, had taken Elrond and his sons to Arnor. The second had been an unanticipated visit, escorting two ladies whom Celebrían had hired into her household. To Haldir's chagrin, Elladan and his brother had been sent a fortnight earlier as envoys to Gondor for some council or other. After all that time, only to miss each other by mere days! Had either party known of Haldir's incidental errand, they might have endeavored to cross their paths somewhere along the long road from one end of Middle-earth to the other, but no such foreknowledge allowed them to plot a course.

His current trek had found him on an unusual and not entirely pleasant route. He had not gone straight away to Imladris, but had traveled East before North, crossing the Anduin and riding to Eryn Galen with trade agreements for King Thranduil. It was not an undertaking he met with relish, and he thanked his stars Amroth had such little intercourse with the Greenwood that he had not been required to make this trip earlier, or more frequently. It galled him that he should be even one moment delayed from Elladan's company in order to dwell in the realm of his rival for Elladan's heart. And no matter how many years passed, Haldir still felt Legolas keenly as a rival. The chilly greeting proffered by the Greenwood prince only confirmed his intuition, though for all that, he had shown Haldir the courtesy due a messenger of state.

The prince, captaining a band of archers near the dells where the Woodmen built their little houses, had been at the marches to meet him. From the indifferent expressions of his men, it was clear he had never spoken of Haldir to them, or implied their mutual enmity, and for that Haldir was begrudgingly grateful. Bad enough he should linger under Legolas' jaundiced eye, but to face down his men as well? Legolas had treated him officiously, thankfully never asking after Elladan, and each endeavored to stay out of the other's way.

Yet his last day in Eryn Galen had seen hackles finally raised. Legolas requested Haldir's horse be brought from the paddock to the southern path for his departure the following morning; Haldir had been obliged to ask that the horse be brought up to their camp instead, for his errands took him west over the Old Forest Road rather than back to Lothlorien. He had said no more than this, but Legolas' jaw had immediately gone rigid and his eyes turned distant and flinty.

"Well, then. I trust you will deliver my best regards to the House of Elrond."

Haldir had politely inclined his head.

Taking a long, deep breath in through his nose and staring at Haldir all the while, Legolas had added, "And should you remember, you might bid Elladan have patience with me; I have not yet had the time to reply to his latest missive. I prefer to give his messages the thoughtful responses they deserve."

Then it had been Haldir's turn to feel his body stiffen. He would have liked nothing more than to land a blow across that finely sculpted cheek and tell him that was the response he deserved. But in the end, he had merely nodded with the dispassion of diplomacy and replied, "Of course, my lord. I will tell him straight away."

Then, of course, it became clear why Legolas had not inquired after Elladan; he already knew how Elladan fared, and had perhaps more timely news of him than Haldir himself did. It was utterly vexing and utterly beyond his control. He knew he should count himself lucky that Legolas had not made his reply and asked Haldir to carry it for him. Then again, he mused feeling vaguely insulted, Legolas had probably refrained not to spare Haldir discomfort, but because he did not trust Haldir not to read it or conveniently lose it on the way. He took it as a slight to his honor, though better to feel slighted than serve as Legolas' courier.

None of this, of course, prevented him from wondering just what manner of correspondence they maintained.

But now, at last in Imladris, the gnawing tooth of jealous irritation had receded, overridden by his irrepressible eagerness to be once again in Elladan's peerless company, and he was left with no more than the anxious flutter of his stomach: another long wait was over. Each arrival stirred him anew, just as each departure plunged him into the grey malaise of loneliness alleviated only briefly and partially by the occasional letter delivered to Lorien by Elrond's messenger. He committed each one to memory, every phrase, every endearment, and then set them alight and blew the ashes to the wind. Elladan was free with his words, and while Haldir's heart stirred to read them, to see Elladan's love and desire writ plain across the parchment, he dared not keep them lest his father, or anyone else, discover them.

For some time now he had been treading on shaky ground with his father. His determination to delay from marriage until Orophin's troth was plighted had been met with taciturn fury, the sort of smoldering anger, like a banked fire, which burned long and low. Orophin, too, had been less than pleased to be set up as a pawn in what he saw merely as Haldir's unsupportable defiance. And yet, his father had not forced the issue further: Haldir's bolt had found its mark in his father's sense of tradition. Caranlas had ranted that his family was being set up for ridicule, for it was well-known among the Silvans in their enclave that his sister had set her heart on Haldir and that if propriety had been observed they would have been long ago wed, but Mithrellas, for her part, bore it well and patiently, though her disappointment was often nearly palpable. "I find it commendable," she had said, coming unbidden to Haldir's defense, "that he wishes to respect the old ways." A tentative peace was hammered out between their families.

So bound up was he, striding the halls in his tangled thoughts, that he failed to note the shadow stalking him. He startled when a cloaked figure leaped out from an alcove and pressed a blade to his throat. He would already have had his weapon in hand had he been anywhere else beside the well-guarded home of Elrond and his family, or had he thought the blade to be of anything other than well-blunted and highly-polished wood.

"Halt!" his captor commanded. "Not another step, else pay me a forfeit!"

Haldir sighed and framed his features into his most put-upon expression. "You are a menace." The sword pressed marginally harder against his skin. "Whoever saw fit to put a sword in your hands was either a madman or a fool."

An overly gleeful laugh resounded against the low vaults of the ceiling. "Agreed. Depending on the day, I believe him to be either. And sometimes I think he is both at once."

"Arwen!" Elladan's voice boomed like thunder from the far end of the hallway. Haldir's heart raced at the first sound of it, familiar and stirring even at its most commanding.

The slender slip of a maid, all but lost in the voluminous folds of her riding cloak, lowered her weapon. Haldir rubbed his throat.

"Oh, peace, muindor! It was all in jest, and Haldir knew it was only a practice sword. He would have taken off my head if he truly thought himself endangered."

"And the flat of a wooden blade will smart just as sharply on your backside if I ever catch you at such a stunt again."

Arwen's eyes blazed in challenge, but Elladan shook his head. "Act as a child and I will treat you as a child, sister." There was no jest in his tone as he approached, yet Haldir saw that a stern demeanor could not conceal the amused glint in his eye.

"You have no one to blame but yourself," Haldir interjected with equanimity. "You wished her proficient in arms. I would say you have your wish."

Elladan shot him a look, all heat and promise behind the bluster, which said in no uncertain terms, I will deal with you later. Haldir smirked.

"Just what were you about, anyway?" Elladan pressed, attempting most dutifully to appear the stern elder, and clearly making little headway at it.

"I only wanted to know if Haldir was carrying any messages for me," Arwen protested, smiling with barely credible innocence.

Elladan rolled his eyes. "He is acting as King Amroth's messenger of state, not as a courier for gossip and bad poetry between misguided maidens." Yet as he spoke, Haldir was already rummaging through his pack. Arwen clapped her hands together.

"You mean you have carried messages for her before?" he squawked. "Haldir, you indulge her overmuch!"

The retort in Haldir's expression was clear enough: And you do not?

"There is one here from Brethilwen," he told Arwen, "who explicitly directed me to send you her love, and another from Elinor, who has 'great tidings'-- her words-- and demands your attention straight away."

Defeated by the unified front, Elladan threw up his hands. "Fine. I leave it to you to explain to Amroth why there are paeans to--" he snatched one of the letters out of Arwen's hand and scanned it quickly, "--to Brethilwen's latest infatuation with the King's valet mixed in with his trade agreements."

Arwen happily snatched back the letter and stood on the tips of her toes to buss Haldir's cheek. "Thank you, Haldir." She gave the pair a polite curtsy. "I will now bid you farewell, and wish you safe travels on your return."

"Return?" Elladan questioned. "He has only just arrived!"

"Yes, and no sooner has he discharged his duty than you and he will vanish off somewhere together and cloister yourselves away like mooning lovers in your honey-time until it is time for him to leave again."

The ensuing silence was deadly.

"Arwen." Elladan's voice was dangerously sharp and low now, and Haldir could feel the blood draining from his face.

Arwen looked from one to the other with an expression of bewilderment. "I...I meant only to tease," she stuttered, clearly not understanding how she had run afoul. But Haldir saw comprehension descend as she turned to look at him again, and her cheeks flushed red.

"Oh! Haldir, I am sorry... I did not mean to imply..."

"Let it be, sister," Elladan warned.

All the merriment had fled from Arwen's face, and she bowed her head. "I am sorry if I have offended you," she repeated, and then she turned and hustled away down the hall.

Elladan turned quickly to Haldir, who had begun to regain his composure. "She meant nothing by it," he assured.

"No," Haldir agreed, "of course not."

Yet this was indeed the crux of it: each time he came to Imladris and renewed his affair with Elladan, it became less and less plausibly deniable that their friendship was one of mere fraternity. As the years had passed, Haldir had become more, rather than less, concerned about the revelation of his affections, and that concern stretched between them, cold and treacherous as ice. He felt Elladan's eyes on him, the weight of judgment in his gaze. He did not know what to say.

"I have not spoken of our relation to Arwen, though I cannot see how it is any different than Elrohir knowing. My sister adores you, Haldir, and she is no gossip-- not when it comes to important things. But for all that, can you still not believe that no one in Imladris cares what you do or with whom?" His whisper had sharpened nearly to a hiss.

Haldir slowly shook his head. "Would you have me bear home the news of my decadence in my own packs? I am a messenger; I know how word travels. "

"You are also a warrior," Elladan countered grimly, "and you are fearless when facing the enemy. Why, then, are you not fearless when facing me?"

Haldir's jaw clenched. He drew himself up to his full height even as Elladan appeared to prepare an apology, but did not speak it; whatever he read in Haldir's face stopped him cold. Haldir despised the fact that Elladan thought him craven for his vigilance. How little he understood, even after all this time! He had not been in Lothlorien since he was a youth; he had been oblivious to the snickering, the sidelong and suspicious looks, the derogatory muttering of the Silvans. Elladan dwelt in his father's gilded cloister, where lovers of either gender courted openly in front of all and sundry. Easy for Elladan to slight him, to taunt him by questioning his courage when he had nothing whatsoever to lose.

He swallowed hard and tipped up his chin imperiously. His voice was utterly without emotion when he spoke. "Legolas bid me tell you have patience with him; he knows he is late in answering your letter. He wished to delay until he could give your message the ‘thoughtful response’ it deserved."

That caught Elladan up short. His face remained impassive, but Haldir, so intimately acquainted with those fine features and watching him with hawkish intensity, did not fail to notice the minute downward slip of his eyes, nor the slow shift of his weight from his left hip to his right. Aha. Perhaps Legolas was right not to trust him with his letters; if Elladan’s subtle response were any indication, he was likely happier not knowing what was contained within them. Jealousy flared, and with it, a tendril of defeat pushing through the verdant soil of his imagination. With leaden limbs, Haldir turned to go; he still had all his packs in hand and his messages to distribute, even if he had anticipated a far more convivial greeting.

"Haldir."

He stopped and dropped his head. Weariness overwhelmed him. Weeks of sleeping rough or not sleeping at all had drawn the marrow from his bones, made him feel like a brittle husk, yet he had not noticed it until this very second. He had fed himself with expectation, warmed himself with anticipation. Once those fled, he was left with an aching back and the grit of the road between his teeth. Ah, how quickly everything had gone awry! Would that he could reverse the flow of time just a moment or so and begin again!

A hand came to rest on his shoulder. He turned back to Elladan and took in his penitent expression. He sighed, less fraught for even that simple touch. It was nigh well impossible to bear a grudge with those grey eyes upon him, silently beseeching. He had traveled too long a road to throw conciliation aside. He laid his hand over Elladan's, hoping the evening might find their privacy assured; then gentler words might be spoken. For now, he would accept a truce in any form.

"Shall I bring you to my father?" Elladan asked. Oh, that voice could be sweet, even when mouthing the most mundane phrase.

"Nay. Master Erestor will serve. He is waiting for me."

"Then I leave you to it. I will have a bath drawn for you."

Haldir forced a smile. "That is not necessary." It made him uncomfortable to have servants attending to menial tasks for him. "I prefer to see to it myself."

There was a pause before Elladan answered, and Haldir could not discern what emotions lay cloaked in his expression. "As you wish," he said, and Haldir wondered what words he had stifled.

Haldir's rooms, at his insistence, were far from Elladan's own. No amount of cajoling ever succeeded in convincing him to lodge in the family's wing. Elladan's consolation lay in that the guest quarters were part of the network of back passages and discreet doors that allowed the house staff to carry out their chores with greater efficiency and ease. He could slip easily from his own quarters, dash down a few clandestine corridors, and reach the servant's entrance to Haldir's suite in a matter of moments. Elrohir had been the first to discover the passages when they were small, and they had quickly mapped every inch of the Last Homely House. A more enticing playing ground for the mischievous pair could not have been imagined, much to the chagrin of his father's seneschal, who had been startled half to death more times than he probably cared to count by two dark heads barreling out of the kitchens with pilfered sweets and down one passageway or another with startling speed. Even their father’s admonitions had failed to curb their delight in racing through those low-ceilinged tunnels. Centuries had passed since he had last abused them; of late, he used them almost exclusively to pass to and from Haldir's rooms unnoticed. And he no longer ran, though the pilfering of sweets was still a regular transgression.

He prepared the coals in the brazier beneath the basin. No doubt, as much as Haldir protested, a hot bath would be a welcome pleasure. He stalled his hand before striking his flint when he heard the outer door open beyond, then swing shut, followed by the unceremonious thump of Haldir's packs hitting the floor. Far softer, yet still audible to Elladan's ear was the low groan of Haldir stretching his tired limbs. He knew the instant Haldir marked the presence of another within the suite and froze to listen, likely straining to discern if it were Elladan beyond the wall or some servant sent in spite of his objections.

"My thanks," Haldir called out with the careful goodwill of one who means no offense yet wishes to make himself plain, "but I will tend to my rooms myself."

Elladan heard the rattle of coins and stifled a chuckle. Poor Haldir, made so self-conscious by the labor of others on his behalf, that he sought to chase them away with bribes. It was a wonder there were not half a dozen servants crowded in the suite, all vying to be the beneficiary of Haldir's discomfort. Perhaps it was time to make himself known, lest he try his weary companion overmuch.

"Have you enough, do you think, to run me off?" he queried, stepping into in the doorway to the bath.

Haldir rolled his eyes. "Considering how little is in this purse, I hardly imagine so. Yet one might hold out hope, however slim."

Elladan smiled, yet he could not help but remember Haldir's expression changing instantaneously from affection to accusation. Worse yet had been the look of pure hurt which had followed shortly thereafter, and the stony detachment with which he had delivered Legolas' message-- if pride were Haldir's coin, how much had those words cost him to deliver? And for Elladan to all but call him a coward before even greeting him, or inquiring after his wellbeing? Hammer of Aulë, but that had been stunningly ill-done!

Elladan had immediately been awash in contrition, yet he could not now call back words spoken in frustration. Too long it has been, he thought. Time and distance had eroded the ground between them. How best to recover it? The nearness of Haldir's body woke within him the love which had endured years of separation and letters returned with such a subtle turn of phrase that he had sometimes wondered if the passion between them sprang from his heart alone. Yet to behold Haldir now, blue eyes fixed on him intently and unblinking, his entire body wound tight with apprehension, how could Elladan doubt his affection? All the same, to overcome Haldir's reticence-- his seeming ambivalence-- with every meeting was wearisome.

Tonight, however, Elladan was more than ready to span the distance between them, and so he stepped forward and rested his hand against Haldir's cheek, cradling his jaw, not realizing that the smile had fallen from his face.

"I did not mean for our meeting to sour. I have been anticipating your arrival for weeks."

He could feel Haldir swallow. "I have missed you," came his rough whisper.

Elladan relished that terse expression of affection. Haldir rarely spoke of feelings, and when he did, he did so obliquely. Such was the way of the Silvans, a phlegmatic and positively taciturn race of whom none were given to speak three words where one would suffice. In fact, Haldir had yet to speak the words Elladan most deeply wished to hear. He had long since contented himself to receive a deep kiss or a tender stroke in reply when he himself spoke them. And so, he answered Haldir's stark admission in the same way Haldir might have answered him: without words. He pushed back the thick tail of pale hair and pressed his lips to the base of Haldir's throat. He tasted of salt and soil and wild places. Elladan imagined stripping him bare and kissing his way south, learning of his path and his travails from the scent of him, stronger here, barely discernible there, tinged elsewhere by the blood of some unmentioned incident, or by the lingering trace of the greenery on which he had laid himself to rest. Haldir's body would tell him all that his lips withheld.

Haldir groaned and tried lamely to push him away. "Elladan, please...I smell most foully."

Elladan held tight and licked a meandering trail up his neck. "You smell of the road."

This sultry intimation, growled low into Haldir's ear, served, as Elladan knew it would, to dissolve the last of Haldir's reserve, and presently two strong hands were twining their callused fingers in his hair and his mouth was summarily claimed. Easy enough now, he found, to back Haldir up to the bed; he went down without a struggle, save that of uncinching his belt and working the buttons on his jerkin. The linen shirt beneath surrendered easily to Elladan's hasty tugging and slipped to the floor.

Elladan descended slowly over the broad, smooth expanse of Haldir's chest, listening to his heart beating, and to the thrum of his blood rushing through his core. The hale throb of the pulse at his neck and at his wrist, now pressed to Elladan's cheek, was an affirmation, an invitation. Yet Elladan knew where that pulse labored harder still, and he was impatient for it, unlacing Haldir's breeches none too gently to expose him in all his hungry, road-weary glory. There, just beneath the velvet flesh where the tempered plains of his abdomen met the northern climes of his thigh, the vein leading toward his ready shaft surged visibly, calling Elladan to it, and as he bent his head to meet that tender skin, the muscles beneath contracted sharply and forced a low moan from Haldir's mouth.

The wiry thicket from which Haldir's erection sprang was a rich bed of scents: of the suede of his breeches worn to a shine along his thighs and calves, of saddle leather beneath; of long weeks of travel and sweat, and most richly of his own musk, a scent which brought Elladan to full hardness as he breathed it in and released his breath like a breeze over Haldir's bollocks. This wrenched a taut gasp from farther afield and Haldir's shaft twitched against his cheek. He waited no longer to close his fingers around it, stroking it slowly once, twice, thrice, before the head crowned fully. Seeing him slickened, Elladan met Haldir's hunger with an appetite of his own.

Elladan feasted like a man starved, pinioning Haldir’s hips to the bed, working him until his jaw ached and his lips burned. Encouraged by Haldir's vigorous response, he slipped a finger further down and worked it in slow circles, entreating Haldir to allow him entry, but when he tensed, Elladan withdrew; a more auspicious time would present itself to explore still-uncharted terrain. He gentled Haldir's apprehension with a squeeze of his thigh, and buried himself again in the task of sucking his beloved companion into a whirlwind of sensation. When Haldir's body tensed again, it was to herald his spending, his legs going rigid, his toes flexing and curling, his back arching, and then there was a noise like stifled laughter and Haldir was filling his mouth with the hot, bitter tide of his seed, sighing his release.

Elladan gave him no time to rest, retracing his path to the northern peaks of Haldir's recumbent form, kissing him ardently so that Haldir would know his own taste on Elladan's tongue. Already, Haldir was rolling to his side and Elladan slipped behind him, insinuating himself between Haldir's well-muscled thighs. He longed with near-feral desperation for deeper heat and tighter flesh, but this Haldir would not endure. So he satisfied himself as he had so many times before, caught up in the friction of Haldir's straining limbs, his warm flesh close, but never close enough. As the brief oblivion of pleasure rendered him senseless, Elladan would have certainly agreed that there was ample pleasure to be culled from those travel-hardened legs and the sweet heat of Haldir's skin, but he longed to know all of Haldir's body, and to be known in return.

He also acknowledged that now was hardly the moment to resurrect that familiar argument, not when they had gotten off on such poor footing, and not with peace so recently restored. Now was the moment for softer expressions, for drawing out gentle words and confidences, for there was no time Haldir proved more pliant, Elladan had long ago discovered, than in the gloaming between release and reverie.

"It is good to have you back." He braced himself up on one arm. Haldir rolled to his back. His face was flushed and his braid had become a thorough tangle. He looked a delicious mess with his lids already at half-mast and quickly sinking. "Tell me you will stay for a time."

"Mmm," Haldir lazily replied. "I shall. As long as I may." He reached up and idly toyed with the pendant dangling from Elladan's neck. Elladan never removed it, save to string it on fresh leather each time the thong wore thin. Haldir appeared entranced by it, his fingers tracing the outline of the mallorn leaf and the edges of the star. Elladan nearly missed the sound of his whisper when it came, as if the pendant contained magic to be invoked by a touch and an incantation. He spoke in his mother-tongue, a private parley from which Elladan had ever been excluded. He knew the strange chorus by heart, and could mimic the words, but year after year their meaning had remained as elusive as their speaker.

"Silvan speech is not often heard here in the North," he commented, leaning in to brush an errant silvery lock from Haldir's brow. "I hear it only from you, and then only in moments such as these, when you are nearing sleep or spent from your throes."

"Aye?"

If Haldir had heard the question posed in the framework of Elladan's words, he did not acknowledge it. More likely he had discerned it clearly, but was not about to reward Elladan for wheedling. Haldir was never one for allusion or dissembling; he was simply unwilling to speak when he did not see the need. He delivered his rejoinder without even bothering to open his eyes.

"Do I rightly hear? Is there a subject on which the scion of Imladris claims ignorance?" Even disarmed by the advent of dreams, the blade of his wit honed itself against the whetstone of Elladan's pillow talk.

"There is much on which I will claim ignorance," Elladan said, a hint of reproach creeping into his voice, "your heart, for instance."

Haldir appraised him now with lucid eyes. He frowned and reached up to cup Elladan's cheek. "Do my actions not suffice to make my heart clear to you?"

Only when we are locked away alone with no chance of discovery, he thought with some annoyance, but he said nothing. To Haldir's way of thinking, each kiss and caress were an assault on his upbringing, and yet he came again and again to Elladan's bed, glutting him with tender affection, if not with limitless carnality, with cryptic endearments, if not open admission of his love. How could Elladan voice his objections when Haldir's eyes upon him were so thoroughly earnest, so utterly lacking in guile? Indeed, he looked quite concerned. Under the onslaught, Elladan could do nothing but relent. He pressed into Haldir's touch, turning his head to kiss his open palm.

"They do," he replied gently. "Of course they do."

Haldir's smile was slow and sleepy and sweet, as was his sigh when Elladan bent down to kiss his forehead. He said nothing more, and drifted quickly into sleep. Not the twilight idling of Elven reverie, but the deep, heavy slumber of one who, thoroughly exhausted, had found a place of safety and let down his guard completely.

Each day had a particular rhythm, a pattern which did not often deviate from the usual. Elladan’s mornings were hours of serious duty given over to his father or to Glorfindel, and his afternoons were his own. His evenings were reserved for Haldir: they might attend a concert or linger in the Hall of Fire for songs and stories, or revel with Elladan’s friends among the guard. Inevitably, they would depart separately, only to reunite privately in Haldir’s suite.

But then there were the dinners. Each evening, Elladan watched Haldir take a seat with the handful of Gildor's men who had returned from their questing for sundries and to repair their gear. Gildor, of course, sat at the high table at Elrohir's right hand, making Haldir's absence there all the more palpable to Elladan. He watched with something akin to envy as Haldir traded jests with Cúron, easy in his company. Each evening, Elladan asked Haldir to dine with his family, and each evening, he awkwardly declined.

"Since when does a messenger take his meal at the high table? I would look ridiculous." As always, his concern over the appearance of their relation overrode everything, even his interest in lingering at Elladan's side.

"I do not know if it is truly ignorance or merely willful blindness that keeps him oblivious to the fact that all of our friends and family surmised long ago that we are more than merely boon companions," Elladan griped, cutting his meat with needless vigor.

Elrohir shrugged. "You have always known it would be thus; you cannot say you were not given fair warning."

Elladan felt his brow involuntarily furrowing. "I accepted that he would be secretive when we first came together, but centuries have come and gone, and still he is as skittish as ever. One would think that he would grow tired of dissimulation." He restrained his scowl upon hearing his brother's exasperated sigh.

"It would seem that you are at an impasse. You must decide if you will take him as he is, knowing he may never publicly claim you, or break with him."

Having the situation painted in such stark terms was a pitiless slap in the face; Elrohir was a master of brute truths.

"I cannot believe that these are the only options. Silence or naught? And I have not considered breaking with him, nor will I. You know the depths of my feelings for him, Elrohir."

But Elrohir's gaze was keen and shrewd, and passed through him like a blade. "Your correspondence with Legolas rides a fine line between friendship and flirtation. I have said this more than once." Elladan's cheeks blazed crimson. In some moments, his brother's voice took on such a tone and cadence of authority that he wondered, as he had uncounted times in his youth, if it should not have been Elrohir to come first into the world and to wear the mantle of the heir.

"I know you are not so callow as to trade palaver with him only to stoke your pride," Elrohir persisted, "nor do I think you play at clever words for titillation. However, I do imagine you have considered how different things might be for you had you taken Legolas as your companion."

Elladan sighed. There was little point in evading his brother's observation. "I have, yes. It feels egregiously disloyal to say it aloud, and nearly unconscionable to say it with Haldir here in my sight. But if I am to be honest with myself, there it is."

"Do you regret your choice, then?"

Elladan turned to Elrohir in astonishment. "No! Certainly not!" His shoulders sagged. "Yet I regret that he will not be more forthcoming."

He looked back out across the room and found Haldir watching him, a shy smile soft with fondness tipping the corners of his mouth. Once he caught Elladan's eye, the smiled flashed briefly brighter, he inclined his head to acknowledge Elladan's attention, and then he once again turned away. A moment later, he was laughing boisterously at something Cúron had said.

Elrohir's voice was soft in his ear, like a whisper from his conscience. "Will not, brother...or mayhap truly cannot?"

Long summer afternoons offered ample opportunity for diversion. More often than not, they found Haldir and Elladan on the training fields, sparring with the Imladrin guards. Elladan and Elrohir had both proven themselves to be talented swordsmen, with an innate facility for anticipating the actions of their opponents. When they engaged in a bout, neither could ever claim prowess over the other. They were so equally matched, each round could have played out for hours until they simply wore themselves out.

Haldir was not without his own skill. The sword was not his weapon of choice, for in Lorien the bow reigned; but when attention turned from the sparring ring to the archery lists, he inevitably took the upper hand over all contenders. If the sword were an extension of the swordsman's hand, the bow was an extension of the archer's eye, and wherever that eye was focused, a bolt was sure to fall. It gave Elladan great pleasure to observe not only Haldir’s mastery, but his supreme confidence each time he drew back the bowstring.

Amidst the rowdy camaraderie of the soldier's grounds, Haldir clearly felt at ease. There, such was the visceral undercurrent of rough and tumble sensuality that Haldir seemed nearly brazen in his behavior without concern of arousing the curiosity of his companions. A slap to the rear or a tweak of a nipple was, in this arena, an expression of friendly torment, or a teasing call to challenge, not a suggestive overture. Here, if he wanted to throw his arm around Elladan's waist or playfully snatch at his stomach, he could do so with impunity. Thus, Elladan saw to it that they spent as much time in the company of their warrior brethren as responsibility allowed.

This particular afternoon, Elladan found himself feeling fit for mischief, and primed to take on his most daunting adversary, his sole font of consistent defeat: Haldir's ironclad chastity. His determination had been bolstered by Haldir’s appearance the previous evening. He had arrived at the Hall of Fire wearing a new shirt of fine cotton lawn embroidered with linden leaves at the hem. It had been a peace offering from Arwen, the needlework done in her own clever hand. It had been cut in the same style as those she made for her brothers, which was to say it was far shorter than Haldir’s usual fare, and it exposed a fair bit of his pale and delectable throat, not to mention his taut backside.

One of Arwen’s fawning courtiers had recognized the workmanship and given Haldir a pointed snub, telling him he aimed rather high for a messenger if he thought to have Lord Elrond’s daughter. To Elladan’s surprise, Haldir had answered the insult with a snort of laughter, which had left the young gallant adequately confounded. Yet it was still all that Elladan could do not to anchor his arm propretarily around Haldir’s waist and announce that his aim was even higher than the young fool suspected: Haldir did not seek to have Lord Elrond’s daughter, but his first-born son!

He had now, however, satisfactorily avenged himself by thoroughly trouncing the lad in a mock duel, after which he approached Haldir where he sat, comfortably reclining in the pile of discarded vests and tunics which had amassed during the matches and drills. He issued a challenge of swords, but the Galadhel demurred.

"It would hardly be a legitimate competition. I am a bowman afore all else. You will ever have ascendancy over me with a blade."

Elladan leaned in close, his eyes alight with a predatory gleam, his skin still suffused with the healthy glow of rigorous activity. His look lingered, his lips provocatively curling. "Do not underestimate your skill. I have long desired to match swords with you, Haldir of Lorien; I would count it an honor to find myself mastered by your sword."

His suggestion could hardly have been more overt; Haldir looked like a startled deer. The clash of metal behind them as Elrohir and Cúron faced off afforded him a momentary reprieve, and Elladan allowed him the opportunity to look away to hide the flush of blood to his cheeks. When he looked back, he would find that Elladan's gaze had not faltered, but had only grown more ravenous.

Haldir cleared his throat. "Swords... are not my specialty, I fear."

Elladan gave no quarter, pinning him as surely as if he had taken first blood. "Mayhap practice will convince you otherwise."

Haldir said nothing. He did not even blink.

Elladan tossed him a gambeson. "Spar with me, Haldir. Let me know your steel."

It was very nearly a command, but something in that tone-- the urgency far more than the imperative-- proved impossible for Haldir to deny. He slowly stood, unbuckling his swordbelt as he rose and fastening it again once he had pulled on the gambeson. Elladan had not waited for him; he already stood within the circle in a posture of readiness. Haldir joined him in the ring, saluted, and drew up his sword.

Elladan leaped forward, opening with a vigorous thrust which Haldir ably blocked, though it set him off balance. He rallied, looping the point of his sword up and back across his body, then swinging down with an eye to Elladan's knees. Elladan brought his sword down and around to parry and immediately riposte. Haldir was quick with his blade, but Elladan knew he could be quicker, and knew his mannish strength made him a formidable challenger, though Haldir's disadvantage was less one of skill than one of confidence. Sword in hand, his eyes did not hold the same calculating and intrepid gleam they did when sighting down an arrow. If ever he could convince Haldir to linger in Imladris for a season or two, Glorfindel could easily turn out a daunting swordsman; Elladan had known him to work wonders with far lesser candidates. Ah, but there was much that could happen if only Haldir might extend his visit for a while...

...not the least of which was run him through like a pig on a spit! Elladan inwardly cursed that his momentary woolgathering had gotten the better of him. Haldir had taken note of his distraction and lunged from the left. Elladan revised his assessment that the left was Haldir's weaker side as he jumped back and blocked the strike, his knuckles ringing from the impact of Haldir's blade against the quilions of his sword. The shearing song of metal on metal and the whistle of blade cutting the air sent a shiver through his limbs. Around and around they circled, thrust and parry, slice and block, and if Haldir was not imaginative in his attacks, he was for certes strong and agile and persistent.

Out of the corner of his eye, Elladan could see that Elrohir and the others had begun to draw up around them to observe the match. He was amply versed in sparring for an audience; he could only hope the sudden crowd would not distract or unnerve his opponent. Nothing would prove worse for his cause than to have Haldir lose face now. He could feel beads of perspiration tickling his neck. He was no longer breathing easily, not was Haldir, though neither saw fit to withdraw. Following an attack from Elladan, Haldir came at him hard and fast, and Elladan moved carefully backward as he parried, following Haldir's movement and allowing momentum to carry Haldir forward, too close to Elladan's blade for an adequate defense. Just as Elladan dropped his blade to land a blow to Haldir's ribs, Haldir realized his error and made a quick retreat. Elladan growled; Haldir's look of intense concentration lightened for the barest instant. Elladan dove for him, and missed by a fraction of an inch as Haldir twisted sideways and moved again so that their positions were reversed. Elladan could smell his strain, his sweat. He was practically panting; they both were.

"Aya!" Elrohir's shout cut through the fog of their exertions. "Nine bells, lads! Call it a draw and let us eat."

Elladan nearly collapsed in relief. He pulled his stroke and stepped back. Haldir dropped his arms from their defensive position, sheathed his sword, and bent over to catch his breath. "You've a thrust few could hope to parry," he gasped breathlessly, supporting his weight with his hands on his knees, "myself least of all."

Elladan put forth his most disarming smile. "Had we more time, you might yet have pressed your advantage. Or perhaps I would have forfeited."

"Nay," Haldir shook his head and straightened, the levity passing from his visage, "You are successor to Elrond the Wise, descendant of kings. It will never be your place to forfeit."

Elladan clutched his arm. "Yet I would--"

"Enough." Haldir deftly shook free of his grasp and looked about, though the others had all departed for the evening meal, and there was no one left to mark their conversation.

"There is no shame in ceding to an equal, Haldir."

"But I am not your equal," Haldir whispered, and his words rang with the implacable finality of which Elladan had come to despair.

Elladan sighed, and stooped down to pluck his shirt and Haldir's from the ground. "By dint of birth, perhaps not. In all else..." He let his voice trail away. He reached out once more, and let Haldir feel the ephemeral brush of fingertips passing over his palm.

"You are the keeper of my heart, Haldir. Upon whom should I bequeath the whole of my love if not upon my equal?"

Haldir gave him no response, but Elladan knew he had hit his mark when the Galadhel did not even spare a glance around him before offering Elladan his hand. It was such a strong hand: calloused from training, unafraid of hard labor, and it was warm. He wove their fingers together and caressed Haldir's knuckle with his thumb. Our hearts are long entrusted, he thought, one to the other; why does he flail so against the inevitable, against what must surely be the most vivid expression of love?

Quickly, Haldir darted forward and laid a determined kiss on Elladan's lips. Elladan knew his expression must have been one of utter astonishment, for as soon as Haldir withdrew, he looked terribly abashed despite his little grin. Elladan wagered he had surprised himself with that impulsive act as much as he had surprised Elladan.

"Will...will you join me at dinner?" Elladan's voice sounded absurdly young and uncertain to his own ears.

Haldir's gaze dropped to his boots. "No." He raised his head just enough for Elladan to glean the hot flush of his cheeks and the fierce blue of his eyes framed in their fringe of lashes. "But if I may... I... I would come to you tonight."

Elladan clamped down on a sudden urge to crow; their stalemate may have earned him a victory yet! Earned them a victory. How else could he respond but to reiterate his own words?

"Haldir of Lorien, I would count it an honor."

Haldir stood still as a stone, framed by the inconspicuous doorway. He knew well enough the way to Elladan's rooms through the recondite maze of servant's passages, yet still he lingered, caught at the threshold, his shadow arcing across the stone. Already he had returned once to his room to pull on his boots. He had left barefoot, yet despite the knowledge that any clothing he donned now would be expeditiously doffed once he reached his destination, it seemed to him unseemly to be padding around in the dark unshod. Another moment passed and he stepped back, silently closing the door behind him. No. That was not how it would be, skulking in the dark like a thief. If he was truly willing to go through with this, then he must own his actions fully. He closed his fist around the object in his hand. He left his suite by its true door, faced down the broad hallway, and took a step. And then another.

Once again he had cause to appreciate the circumspection of Elrond's household. Those who tended the family's chambers had done so since Elrond's days in Lindon; ancient and established as they were, they had little interest in the comings and goings of the wee hours, and none whatsoever in idle tale-bearing. The serving-woman he passed as he turned down the corridor barely even glanced up as their paths crossed, though it was long past midnight and no one else was afoot.

His breath came hard in his chest as he faced down Elladan's door. Could it be heard, echoing in the empty ingress?

Orophin had told him a story once, about two Silvan wardens-- highly decorated archers-- with whom he had briefly served after his induction. They had been caught in a tryst. The marchwarden had stripped them of their rank, though no warden could be expelled from service entirely save for an act of treason or by the order of the King. They had been made to walk a gauntlet of their erstwhile peers, the martial drums sounding a grim tattoo, and to relinquish their swords before their fellows. The penalty assayed was to part ways and never speak to each other again; one would be sent to the North-marches to tend to the midden trenches, the other for similar duty along the borders in the South. Centuries of loyal service undone by an indiscreet moment, the comfortable brotherhood of the wardens turning to silence or jeers. In the end, they resigned their commissions and quit the Golden Wood altogether, and Orophin could not say where they had gone: in any case, the humiliation had been too much to be borne. He wondered, with each laborious step, if the sound of the shaming drums had been as loud or relentless as the hammering of his heart this night. He was delivering himself to his own fate, and all that was missing now were two ranks of solemn faces, their stares bearing down upon him with the full weight of condemnation. He wondered if his brothers, or his father, would fall in to witness his denunciation, or if they would turn their backs on him.

No. Not tonight; he would not think on that tonight. He would leave off his misgivings until the morrow, and then examine them only once he was safely back in his own quarters, alone.

For all his fear, for all his consternation, he could not turn aside. His heart drove him, even as the hallway loomed ever longer before him. Elladan was pure of heart. How could their love be false, or of lesser value than a man’s love for a woman? Elladan was a fearless warrior, a leader of men. So wherefore the dishonor in yielding his body to such a one as he? He, after all, had offered no less to Haldir, though Haldir's conscience balked intractably at that: a lord's place was not on his knees under an untitled courier.

He worried the inside of his cheek between his teeth. By the stars, he had tried to quell this need, tried to focus his desires on Mithrellas' fair form, all the while learning the ineluctable truth of his spirit: the flame within him burned ever and only for Elladan. If he could not extinguish it, then he must surrender to the conflagration, and hope its scorch reified the purity of his devotion.

And if it consumed him wholly...?

Elladan's door opened without sound. A single candle still burned in the foyer to light his way to the rooms beyond. He hesitated in the low light for a moment, though there was no longer any question of his turning back. He knew Elladan must already have heard him enter. When at last he crossed into Elladan's bed chamber, Elladan was already tossing back the counterpane and swinging his legs to the floor. He wore a long linen nightshirt, a touch of conventional modesty Haldir had not expected. His steps faltered, but only once.

He toed off his boots as Elladan watched, wondering again why he had bothered with them. In the light of the oil lamp on the bedside table, Elladan's face radiated predatory absorption. He refused to let himself be cowed by such tactics; he forced himself to undress slowly-- little choice, really, given that one fist was still clenched around its little burden--and with an air of insouciance he most certainly did not feel. His body had begun to take an anticipatory interest in his activities, though by the time he stripped off his trousers, he had not yet risen with full ardor. Elladan, however, clearly had, and his linens no longer served his modesty to any effect. Nostrils flaring with the effort to regulate his breath, he strode to the bed, grabbed Elladan by the back of the neck, and pulled him into a voracious kiss. His tongue demanded entry into Elladan's mouth and Elladan gave it with a strangled whimper. He was already fumbling with the hem of his nightshirt, pulling it up to bare his eager body. Haldir pressed him to the bed, moving away only long enough for Elladan to rid himself of that meddlesome fabric, and Haldir shuddered at the first touch of skin on skin. When he broke the kiss and drew back, Elladan looked up at him with bewilderment and longing. Feeling his heart flinging itself like a panicked animal against the cage of his ribs, he took up one of Elladan's hands and pressed within it the thing he had been carrying. A small pot of lanolin.

Elladan opened his mouth to speak, but Haldir pressed a finger across his lips.

"Elladan of Imladris," he whispered, "it is my honor."

Elladan smiled, then, and it was a smile of such dazzling joy, such complete... wonder... that Haldir could hardly regret his decision. Grey eyes sparkled like adamant, an unearthly radiance lighting them from within. The first time he had gone to Elladan's bed, he had seen that luminescence and wished that those eyes might one day shine so for him. Now, he saw that they did, that they always had.

And yet he could not bear that gaze one moment longer. It probed him so thoroughly, laid him more bare and made him more vulnerable than any touch possibly could. Any touch save this one, this last and most foreign caress. He drew in a breath, and before courage could flee, climbed over Elladan and braced himself up on his hands and knees. At the last, he leaned forward and dropped his forehead to rest against his clenched fists, afraid that his resolve might fail him at the vital moment. It also kept Elladan from espying the fear and embarrassment in his eyes and calling an end to this venture. The sharp intake of Elladan's breath echoed the swish of the sheets as he reversed himself in the bed, as if the room breathed in apprehension with them.

Elladan was silent now; he knew what was being offered.

Haldir flinched when Elladan touched him. He had to force himself not to retreat from the alien sensation, to roar in umbrage at being made to feel so defenseless and so...so...open. His own arousal had waned, but he no longer considered his own pleasure, only focused on staying the course, on capitulating to this invasion. What little else he might have known of this, he most certainly knew the moment Elladan was no longer touching him with his fingers, but with his...

...Oh, it hurt! Sweet stars, but it burned in a way he had not imagined! He very nearly bucked Elladan off of him, anything to be free of that searing within, but he held firm, sought his breath... Elladan's voice kept him tethered, his fervid whispers and raw praises gentling him until the pain receded into acclimation, and acclimation slowly...slowly... transformed into pleasure. Elladan was inside him, within him, filling him... oh, by sun and moon, splitting him in half! But this fire... oh, this fire warmed him, annealed his very spirit. He was owned, possessed, ridden...he was desired...he was loved.

The clench of Elladan's hands on his hips, the tremor in his limbs, all suggested that Elladan was restraining himself against some preternatural force, some primeval drive. He wrenched so hard against Haldir, all the while making feral sounds of pleasure, that it seemed he could not sink deep enough into Haldir's flesh, that he wanted to be still closer, that he wanted to climb inside him and share the whole space of his body. Haldir had a moment of exultation, fleeting and intangible: it was his body, his, that wrenched desperate noises from Elladan's throat, low sounds of hunger unlike any he had ever heard... it was within his power to grant Elladan this supreme pleasure; he could render Elladan as ravenous as a beast. How could this be wrong? How could this...

...Sweet stars, he was hard again, hard and aching, and no sooner had he thought this than Elladan's hand snaked down his legs, fingers still slick with lanolin, and played over him. Every inch of his body felt afire, tightening with Elladan's touch. Gripped roughly in Elladan's sword-hand, and all he could think of was that he was being stroked from within and without and nothing had ever felt like this...nothing...

...And then there was no more thought, no more flow of words within his mind. There was only the dissolution of sight, the melding of light and shadow, and the need for more, for harder, for deeper. There was Elladan's hand forging iron from the heavy, molten mass between his legs, the hot friction of hard thighs, the rub of a taut belly against his back, and always, always, the relentless pounding that broke him apart and remade him. His body was no longer his own, nor was it Elladan's... Joined, they birthed a new entity moving entirely of its own volition, a sleeping dragon awakened and furiously bent on sating its appetites. He could feel could feel that hot shaft cleaving him, could feel the rush of his own breath over his lips and teeth, but he was somewhere else, somewhere beyond, simultaneously a participant and an observer of his own unraveling. When the tempest of sensation rose to a howl within him, he knew he could not keep silent, that he must cry out, must cry out or fly apart into a thousand shining slivers. His body, far beyond his control now and sensing the imminent crisis, bore down hard, wanting to keep Elladan there inside him... to feel him swell and surge... and when Haldir came, he keened, howling some unfathomable loss even as his body rejoiced. Another voice echoed his, a staccato counterpoint of ecstasy, as Elladan drove one final stroke within him, sank to the root, and filled him with a fresh heat.

After, they glided together on the soft edge of sleep, Elladan’s arm encircling his waist and his forehead resting between his shoulder blades. He knew that Elladan was listening for him to say the words he had not yet dared to translate, but he feared to speak lest he suddenly shatter.

He had crossed the final line; if Elladan was ignorant to the depths of his devotion now, no word in any tongue would make it plain.

Repetition and the passage of time made it no easier to watch Haldir pack his bags. It was never less of a burden to feel Haldir recede from him, though he knew it was only the means by which his Galadhel dealt with their impending separation, steeling himself for the blow that was that final kiss, that last wave, that ultimate view of Imladris vanishing behind the curve of the mountainside.

"I shall try to come to you in spring," Elladan pronounced hopefully. Haldir gave him a grunt and a nod; as often as he had tried to come to Lorien, he had as many times been thwarted: his duties to the vale and to his family did not allow him ample time for sojourns. Besides, when Haldir was not running messages for Amroth he was fulfilling his obligations to the guard, spending months on end on the marches. Haldir knew as well as he did that, lest Amroth have some pressing errand, they were not likely to see each other until the following summer.

Tucking the last of his belongings into his worn leather pack, Haldir sighed and stood, wincing slightly. "I would have our goodbyes here, where I might see to them properly."

Elladan had a waggish urge to ask him if he were truly fit to ride, or if he would stand in his stirrups half the day. His mind returned to the previous evening, to their latest and last coupling, to Haldir's legs cinched around his waist, to his body arching off the bed as he spent over Elladan's fist, with Elladan following shortly after. But he dared not toss out such a flippant jest; he had won Haldir's surrender, yes, but he knew that it came at a cost to Haldir's conscience, and that was not a thing with which to carelessly trifle.

"May Eärendil light your path," he said quietly, feeling of a sudden more forlorn than rakish.

"He always does," Haldir replied, looking at Elladan with imperturbable surety. Then came that inaccessible benediction, those words which strayed just outside the realm of Elladan's understanding, comfortably familiar yet maddeningly indecipherable. Elladan frowned and looked away, but Haldir grasped his chin and turned his face to regard his infuriating Galadhel calm. He drew his thumb over Elladan's lips, as if he might commit their swells and curves to memory with his touch. Elladan nearly melted; rare were such displays of tenderness outside their bed. Haldir leaned in, his breath no more than a transient specter across Elladan's cheek, and into Elladan's ear he whispered, "deep as roots to the heart of the earth, high as branches to the vaults of the sky: so goes my love for you."

And then, brushing a swift kiss across Elladan's lips, he hefted his bags on his shoulders and was gone, leaving Elladan to stare agape at his vanishing shadow, robbed utterly of speech by the most unexpected, the most perfect, declaration he had never expected to receive.

*****

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