Will Overruled By Fate by oshun

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My name is Haldir, formerly of Middle-earth and now of Valinor. I was born into a Silvan family in Lothlórien in the late Second Age. That legendary forestland, often called the Golden Wood, lay between the Great River Anduin and the Silverlode. For all but the last few years of my life in Middle-earth, the city of Caras Galadhon had been my only home.

Lord Celeborn ruled Lothlórien, along with Lady Galadriel. Formerly of Doriath, well versed in wood lore and aware of the dangers of living in a protected enclave, Celeborn was also the commander-in-chief of the Silvan and Sindarin warriors who were trained to watch over our borders. It is true our Lady Galadriel held one of the great Elven rings crafted in Eriador, Nenya the Ring of Water, and that she used it to nurture, defend, and conceal our land as well. But magic without the will and effort of Elves like myself to aid it would not have been sufficient to maintain our independence in those dark days.

From my youth I trained as a warrior and my primary concern was the protection of my homeland. Finally, in my prime, I was appointed chief of the marchwardens of Lothlórien and served in that capacity until the last of us left our beloved Golden Wood.

The custom of the Silvan people was to marry young, in the first flush of their maturity, and to bear children soon thereafter. The exception to that rule encompassed the career warriors. Death was no stranger to us. Long periods away from home on patrols made up the cycle of our daily life. Those circumstances led many of us to postpone uniting our fate with that of another, since they would have led us to leave a wife and children alone for much of their lives.

I assumed that someday I would either fall in battle or, if we triumphed in that final victory over our Enemy, I might begin a family of my own. The realization crept slowly upon me that the success we hoped for would not be a victory for our way of life and our continued existence in those parts, but would be the beginning of the Age of Men. And, shortly thereafter, I realized that I had not mourned my solitary state largely because men and not women attracted me. With the indefatigability of spirit that had driven my ancestors to survive in a world that was never safe or easy, I turned with affection and humor to certain of my fellow warriors for respite and physical release. But I had not yet found one who fully engaged my heart.

I will not repeat the tale of the late Second Age and Third Age, which was the backdrop to my life in Middle-earth. I was born into and lived during a time that has been well documented. But I would like to tell the story of my life from the beginning of the Fourth Age, after the fall of Sauron and the end of the time of the Elves in Middle-earth, until the present day. For my part, this has been a period during which everything I thought I knew and understood transformed.

I watched our lady's eyes as she bid her last farewell to her husband. Something about her manner and the set of her jaw told me she was not pleased to leave without him and perhaps, much as I was, she might even have been uncertain if he would follow her as he had promised. If the whole truth be told, I was not sure I trusted my lord to ever leave those shores at all. Yet, when Lord Celeborn asked me to stay until he was ready to sail, I agreed.

A substantial group of us, trusted warriors and woodsmen all, sworn protectors of our fabled wood, were honored by his petition. He insisted it was a request, that the choice remained wholly our own. But, after years of loyalty and service, the possibility of refusal was never an option for me.

I had thought when Lady Galadriel and most of the others had left the Golden Wood that I would feel old, bereft, insubstantial, that I might experience something akin to the legendary fading. Were we not living anachronisms? At very best I hoped it would be a state of painless stasis. It was only a short while, however, after the majority had left, that we began to feel a change come over us. Very few intact families had remained and almost no single women. Those of us who stayed were, for the most part, confirmed bachelors like myself, long accustomed to putting responsibility to our lord and lady, our people, and the forest we protected, before our personal lives. But, strangely we soon found our duties to be light for the first time.

My Lord Celeborn altered in his appearance and demeanor even more than my comrades of the forest guard. Instead of wasting in grief or falling into lethargy over the loss of his lady and the certain demise of our land, he affected a new lightness in his step and a greater freeness of manner. With an almost youthful enthusiasm, he filled my evenings with details of plans and projects for what he had taken to calling the deconstruction of the Wood. We drank copious amounts of wine in the process of these discussions. He claimed that since we had lived at the sufferance of the forest for so many years, before we took our leave, that we ought to restore it as nearly as possible to its natural state. I became increasingly aware that I knew surprisingly little of the life and nature of my lord.

He and I together, much as we once had organized the deployment of the forest guards, fussed over work lists for tearing down abandoned outlying telain. Celeborn insisted upon participating along with the rest of us on the physically taxing work brigades. I was surprised to find that he was highly skilled and took pleasure in the exertion. Later we began the heavier work of dismantling the city of Caras Galadhon itself.

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Chapter End Notes

telain - Sindarin, plural of talan

On what was to become a fateful for day for me, the late afternoon sunshine filtered through the remaining foliage of the largest mallorn, which had borne the suite of rooms that had housed my lord and lady and served as an administrative center as well. The enhanced talan had been taken apart over the course of a few days, requiring the largest workforce we had yet brought together on one site. The wide, winding staircase had been disassembled step-by-step during the course of one day's work alone. A handful of workers, including Lord Celeborn, found themselves perched in the empty tree at the end of the last work session. One by one the workers climbed down a rope ladder dangling from the top. Celeborn waited until the last elf had safely reached the bottom before beginning his descent. I kept a careful eye on him, as he had watched the others, on the off chance something might go wrong. Something did.

One of the rungs of the ladder broke beneath his heavy work boot; the force with which he hit the next step broke that one as well. Suddenly his feet swung free of the rungs and he was sliding toward the ground hanging onto one side of the rope with both hands, flailing with his legs to try to catch hold of the ladder with his feet and slow his rapid plunge. I positioned myself close to the tree and stood there waiting to break his fall, thanking the Valar that he was wearing thick, padded leather work gloves, otherwise his palms would have been shredded. When he hit me, it was with enough force to knock us both onto the ground. The wind was all but forced out of us. Celeborn broke out in loud whoops of laughter and I began to snigger like a fool. When he managed to stop laughing, he didn't move but just lay there flat on top of me breathing heavily, apparently unable to move.

Celeborn is slender, but taller than I am, and muscular. With his entire body bearing down upon mine he felt as heavy as a horse. He must have been aware of that, or perhaps I grimaced. He tried to support part of his weight by pushing himself up onto his elbows, but his arms still trembled. A silken swath of his silver-blond hair came partially loose and fell across my neck and jaw. I could feel his breath upon my lips and found myself looking into his storm-grey eyes. His mouth curved into a slow, lazy smile. Paralyzed by the closeness of his uncanny beauty, I could do nothing but stare. If there had not been a circle of shocked workers standing about staring at us, I probably would have kissed him then.

I have thought of that moment since, thousands of times, and presumed that I must have been gaping open-mouthed. If that were not embarrassing enough, I was horrified to feel myself hardening under the exquisite pressure of his body. His arms wobbling wildly, he allowed himself to collapse upon me again.

"Oops," he said, rubbing his thigh against the hardness at my crotch, whether intentionally or by accident I never knew for sure, he managed to roll off me onto his side. He didn't move away.

"I suppose I should say I'm sorry," he whispered. The seduction in his voice would have been unmistakable enough, but the swipe of a wet tongue against my ear was a surprising confirmation indeed.

I started laughing aloud again. Celeborn managed to push himself up into a half-sitting position.

"We're fine, lads. You can leave us here," he said. "We'll just catch our breath and be along shortly."

My brother, Orophin, did not look amused, but my younger brother, Rumil, looked as though he could barely keep himself from joining me in my near hysterical chortling. After some shuffling about, gathering up of packs and tools, and a few reluctant, mumbled farewells, the work crew at last ambled off through the trees, away from what had so recently been the city center.

As soon as they were out of sight, Celeborn said, "Damn, Haldir. I thought they'd never leave." He pulled me into a rough, mind-exploding kiss. "I've been wanting to do that for days. But I swear to you I did not pull that stunt intentionally."

"My lord . . ." I choked.

"Do not tell me you didn't want to be kissed. Do you think I am blind or insensate?"

"No, my lord. I do not."

"Enough with the 'my lords.' If we are going to make love, then I can't have you calling me 'my lord' can I?"

"Suppose not," I said aloud, while thinking, 'Make love? Yes! Thank you, Elbereth!' Pulling him back down on top of me, I fastened my mouth upon his, determined to give him a taste of the searing need he ignited in me with his kiss. I do not know if I succeeded, since I am not gifted in communication by thought, but he did respond with enthusiasm. For a long while we kissed before our hands sought contact with bare skin. Celeborn pushed my tunic down, unlaced against the midday heat, exposing my shoulder, kissing, licking and biting, driving me mad with desire. I reached immediately under his tunic to run my fingertips around the waist of his trousers, my intent to torment him with the idea of me reaching inside.

"Ah, Haldir, your skin is so warm. You smell of summer and fresh cut grass, so intoxicating. Do you know how long I've watched you and wanted to touch you like this?"

I wanted to make a cheeky comeback, something like: 'How long?' But, as much as I wished to match him in his audacity, I could not say a word. Of course, I had never thought of my lord in that way. The separation of our stations, my loyalty to his lady, and my obsession with my duty had overridden any flickering awareness I might have had of his allure. I traced the cunning arch of a cheekbone unable to halt the tremors in my fingers, hoping against hope that my face did not reveal what a besotted simpleton I had turned in an instant.

If one has only ever seen Celeborn across a crowded room, or in a clearing from a distance, one can have no true idea of the extent of his splendor: his creamy skin, the fine-boned perfection of his facial structure, his sharply masculine scent, his clean, fresh taste, the generous sensuality of his mouth. Lovely as any woman, he rivals his wife in fairness of features--there was an old jest, that she had married him for his looks--yet, nonetheless, he exudes a fierce careless masculinity, secure within himself, the product of a lifetime as a prince, a lord of his people, and a warrior dating back to before the end of the Great Journey.

I felt a neophyte, a callow youth by comparison, even a coarse buffoon. For most of my life, women and men alike had called me notably handsome among the Galadhrim. Faced with his elegance, I felt like a cheap bauble alongside the finest of gemstones. Overcome by my nearness to him, by all that he was and symbolized for me, I could only worship and hopelessly moan as he coaxed my body into a frenzy of unreasoning need.

We did not take our pleasure at the foot of that giant mallorn, but staggered back to the modest talan where he had resided for several months.

I had never sniffed out the barest whiff of a rumor that he ever had intimate relations with anyone besides our lady, but he clearly demonstrated experience in making love with a man. He did so with confident athleticism and energy, shockingly uninhibited, responsive, and sweetly generous. My heart sunk those first few times at the thought that he was undeniably the best I ever had bedded and he could never be mine. Before Celeborn, I had never considered such words as 'mine' or 'yours.' I consoled myself by repeating the mantra in my head, 'Accept what you are given. Do not wish for what you cannot have.'

Our first evening together, I wanted to ask him about his history. Was there a man he had loved, long abandoned or lost in the mists of Ages past, before he met our lady? Or was Celeborn less transparent and straightforward than I had suspected? But another matter seemed more urgent at the time. As we rested on his bed, still intertwined with one another, our bodies slick and wet, I had a question that I could not hold back.

"Do you miss her?" I asked. Without a doubt it was the wrong time, the wrong question, but I felt compelled to verbally acknowledge my understanding of her inviolable place in his heart. I desperately wanted to lie with him again and I feared any shadow between us on the subject might prevent that. Celeborn chuckled, shaking his hair off his face. He looked young and twice as captivating when he laughed. I feared my heart was already far more engaged than it ought to be.

"Do I miss the shouting and the endless rows? Or do I miss the inevitable reconciliation in the bedroom? Actually I miss them both and much more. But our separation will not be forever." His brow furrowed, as he took my face between his hands. "Am I wrong to need you now? I do not mean to hurt you."

"Not wrong. I raised the question more to tell you that I understood than to hear your exact response. I do understand and I still want you. Cannot we let the future take care of itself? Everything worth having has a cost, don't you think?"

"Ah, Haldir, you are beautiful and much too good for me. But you are alone and I have someone waiting for me. That somehow seems unjust. Or is there perhaps someone in Valinor waiting for you?"

I was conscious of trying to lighten the tone, although I am not sure how convincing I sounded. "No one is waiting. But hope, as they say, springs eternal."

"Part of the reason she was so annoyed at my staying was not that she truly believed I would never leave. That was all bluster. The real reason was she felt certain I would not be able to control my physical needs for the entire time. She knows me too well. I will have to tell her about this." He rolled his eyes in a droll parody of innocence. "Perhaps I can avoid admitting how soon this actually began."

He pressed his lips together as though he were trying and failing to restrain the grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. He kissed me again, lips firm but velvety against mine, feeling completely right to me despite everything.

"I am very glad you are not a woman, Haldir."

I could not control a snort at that. "Am I supposed to take that as a compliment?"

"I could give you a dozen reasons why that is a compliment. If you want to hear them I can list them, although your charms are fairly obvious. I am sure you have heard it all before. But it is good for me that you are a man, because she won't be bothered to resent you for long. She would be less forgiving to think of me with another woman." He spoke as though we could continue together for the present. That mattered most of all to me at the time.

"Ah, Celeborn," I said, running my hand across his pale, chiseled chest, strongly muscled yet silken smooth to touch. "You turn me into a co-conspirator."

"Do you realize you just called me Celeborn?"

"I did, didn't I? Well, you are still naked and my stomach is sticky with your seed. Can hardly call you my lord under those circumstances, can I?"

I thought I would always cherish the memory of his brash, uncompromising laugh. "I wouldn't want you to either. I am sorry about the sense of conspiracy. I cannot lie to her nor will I tell you less than the truth about what I have to offer, or worse yet leave you wondering. Perhaps I can do something to make it up to you."

Playing for a smile, I responded, "I trust that you will think of a way."

The days of our last summer in Lorien passed too quickly. The fall arrived, unmitigated by the lady's former climate control. The golden leaves floated to the ground, never to be replaced, where they dried and crackled beneath our feet. At the end, no one was sorry to leave our beloved Wood, which barely resembled the long-protected haven that had been our home. The last of our company left together before the onset of winter, some to travel to the Havens and others with Celeborn to Imladris, where one of his grandsons at least would be in residence. The Lords Elladan and Elrohir alternated between Gondor and the Last Homely House. I said farewell to my brothers Orophin and Rumil on that journey. They continued on to the Havens. I promised to join them in Aman, saying I would stay as long as my lord chose to remain. We all knew that he would not consider leaving while the Queen of Gondor lived. Celeborn and I hoped that would be a long while yet, each for our own complex set of reasons.

Most of those years I spent in Imladris. On several occasions, I traveled to Minas Tirith with Celeborn and stayed several months. The world I had known was gone. I waited, simultaneously wanting to leave and mourning the loss that would entail. My capacity for self-deception was not as great as one might think. I did manage with some difficulty to keep my feelings for Celeborn from overtaking every last corner of my heart. He was ever a good companion and a friend. At times in Minas Tirith, it taxed my concentration to remember to address him correctly as my lord.

Finally, the day came when we found ourselves at the Grey Havens preparing to sail. It was unseasonably cool for early autumn when we finally departed. A thin wintry sun and the fresh salt air worked their particular magic. They braced one and gave one--well me at least--a prodigious appetite.

Once Cirdan had maneuvered us out of the bay and into the open sea, I went below and managed to beg a couple of slabs of cheese from the cook. Holding them between thick slices of bread slathered with mustard I struggled to the top deck, where Celeborn stood staring out across the water. I extended one portion of bread and cheese to him.

He looked down his patrician nose at it, saying, "I'm not really hungry. How can you think of food?"

"Take it. You have eaten scarcely anything today or yesterday either." Eyes widened at me in gentle annoyance, but he obeyed.

We glided across the water, with the masts and spars reaching to the sky above us, and square sails billowing. I was aware of a symphony of mysterious creaks and flaps that I would learn to recognize and isolate in time. Celeborn shone heroically handsome in profile, eyes narrowed against the glare of the sun upon the water, sharp cheekbones thrown into relief by the alternation of light and shadow, his silver hair a gleaming banner in the wind. He was mine for at least two more weeks, maybe a little longer, and I intended to enjoy him.

"Personally, I always prefer to delay the necessity of being miserable and heartsick until the latest possible moment," I stated, a bit more emphatically than I had intended.

That remark elicited a snort and a grimace struggling to become a grin. Celeborn was never one to wallow in melancholy either if it could be avoided.

"Of course, you are right," he said. "And I do look forward to arriving at our destination, but I cannot but be aware that everything will change for us. You and me, I mean."

"I do not regret a thing," I said, Silvan stubborn.

"I may have taken advantage of you to an extent, but I have never taken you for granted. I have treasured you, Haldir. A precious gift that I had no right to expect. I tried to make you happy in the moment, although I couldn't promise you a future."

Completely lacking in creativity, I repeated, "I do not regret a thing."

Every night for the duration of our journey, we withdrew with unseemly haste to the dark, close private cabin that Celeborn had been allotted in acknowledgement of his position. Desperation added to the bittersweet rapture of our encounters. I strove to commit to memory the texture of every tiny scar with my fingertips, the uniqueness of each groan or cry as he came undone beneath me, and the tangy scent of his release.

Countless times, he repeated, "I will never forget you." In my skeptical anguish, I translated those words as: 'I am pushing you further out of my mind and my life with the passage of every league.'

We passed nearly three weeks upon that ship. The winds were good and we encountered no storms. Cirdan stated that fair sailing was the norm when a ship carried the First Born to Elvenhome. Celeborn and I slept entwined in one another's arms, when someone shouting, "My lord!" banged loudly upon the door to his cabin. We both startled instantly awake, for no one had ever sought him there before. When Celeborn opened the door, one of our Galadhrim stood in the doorway his face flushed with excitement.

"My lord, land! We have spotted land. Come up and look."

We quickly pulled on tunics and trousers and scrambled barefoot up to the deck. There in the first light of dawn, we saw the archipelago of the fabled Isles of Enchantment strung out across the horizon like an emerald studded necklace. We passed easily among the islands, which had been set in the Great Sea for the purpose of preventing mortal mariners from reaching the shores of Aman.

I leaned on the railing gazing with wonder on a sight I had read of as a child, but never really expected to see. Celeborn's hand covered mine. I turned and looked at him. My eyes must have revealed my sadness.

"I am a selfish bastard. I hope that when you think of me it will be with fondness . . ." Celeborn began, his voice hoarse with emotion.

"Don't be an utter fool," I said. I feared I would pull him into my arms right there in front of everyone. "Let's go back down. It won't be full light for quite some time yet."

Over the next few hours we used one another harshly. We clawed, bit, and scratched at one another, succumbed to frustratingly hasty climaxes, only to repeat the exhausting cycle again shortly. At one point, I pounded into his body, one hand fastened with a bruising grip on his thigh while my other stroked his lovely, long cock. He snarled and viciously smacked my hand away and began yanking so hard on it that I thought he would do himself damage. That time when I slid off him something broke within me.

I shouted at him, "Is that wretched excuse for lovemaking supposed to sustain me until Arda breaks apart?" Great shuddering sobs tore at me, as though they would rip my chest open. Celeborn pulled me close to him.

"Shh, shh," he said, rubbing my back, while he gently stroked my hair. "I am at fault. I knew your refusal to speak of how you felt would end badly for us, but I hadn't the heart to try to make you talk. Surely you know that you will find love again."

I cringed to hear myself say, "How would I? You're the only one I've ever come close to loving."

"Oh, Eru, I am sorry. I had no idea. You certainly didn't lack in practical experience. It never occurred to me that I might be your first love. I understand how much it must hurt to think of us parting. It is bad enough for me. But there is nothing quite the same as the first time one loses one's heart to another. But we are resilient creatures, the pain lessens in time."

"You loved someone before Galadriel?" I asked, somewhat calmer and with my curiosity reawakening.

"I have loved three times, dear heart, my first love, my greatest and forever love, and now you. I have told you again and again that I will never forget you, but you didn't want to listen. I hoped . . . I've been a stupid blunderer with you, haven't I? I thought that knowing we were meant to part would make it easier for you. Forgive me, Haldir."

"We talked about everything and I agreed. I cannot blame you that now it hurts. Who was your first love?"

"Elu."

"Who? Not Elu Thingol?"

"None other." He laughed. "I have high standards. You should be flattered. Elu broke my heart. Twice, in fact. I thought I couldn't bear to go on living the first time and the second was not easier. First, I believed he was lost. And then, just about the time I had begun to feel a bit myself again, he returned with another. No ordinary Elf either, but a Maiarian enchantress. Now that was grim. And I was younger even than you are."

His face clouded with sadness--after more than 10,000 years. But then I recalled how quick he was to laugh, his capacity for joy, his ability to live wholly in the moment, and the thought of those things gave me hope. He lifted my face by the chin at that moment and kissed me, carefully, thoroughly.

"You were right about one thing," he said. "We were punishing one other in rage and frustration at the impending loss. That's no way to say farewell. Let me love you in a way that will leave you a happy memory at least."

We didn't emerge on the deck of the ship again until past midmorning. By then all of the passengers and crew, including those of Círdan's sailors who had made the trip numerous times, were crowded upon the deck to see what they could see. When we took our places among them, the ship was passing close to the large island of Tol Eressëa. The level land and gentler slopes appeared forested or tilled, while picturesque houses and cottages, all in a rainbow of pastel colors, perched upon the rocky hills.

The Galadhrim vied with one another to see if they could spot any gold among the green on the heavily wooded slopes for they had heard that their beloved mellyrn came originally from that isle. Others opined that we ought to have considered casting anchor there. Cirdan, uncommonly patient despite his reputation for being terse and no-nonsense, assured them there were mellyrn to be found in Aman. He reminded them as well that word of our coming would have reached family and friends of many and that at least some of them might have made the trip to Alqualondë to meet the ship.

I am not sure what I expected of Alqualondë, but the size of it impressed me. The ancient walled town, with its labyrinthine pattern of streets all leading back to the main gate or the docks, is much as it has always been. Its fabulous gate, designed by Fëanor, is said to have been commissioned by Finwë and presented in all of its jewel-encrusted glory to Olwë as a token of everlasting friendship between the Noldor and the Teleri. Since those days, the city has sprawled out in three directions from the old town.

When we sailed into port, the ambience resembled that of other ports I had encountered in those last years in Middle-earth when I traveled about a bit. Although everything appeared brighter and cleaner, even than the Port of Dol Amroth in Gondor, which is a model by the standards of Middle-earth. A crowd of family and friends had gathered. I did not see my brothers, but I did see Lady Galadriel and what had to have been one of her brothers, so closely did he resemble her.

She stood imperious with her chin held high, until she spotted Celeborn. I looked away from what I was sure would be their blissful reunion. A hand grabbed my arm and I swiveled around to see Galadriel's brother.

"You must be Haldir of Lothlórien. I have a message for you. My sister . . . Oh, I am sorry, welcome to Aman. You would know of me as Finrod Felagund. My sister asked me if I would greet you for her and give you a message."

"Thank you, my lord," I managed to choke out, wondering how one should properly address this mythic figure. "It is a great honor you do me." The gracious, handsome blond was the first of a long string of legendary individuals I would meet over the next short period. He shone as brilliantly as a far off star yet had an easy, affable manner.

"It is nothing. My sister was beside herself with fretfulness over greeting her mate after all these years. I was pleased to do whatever I could do to relieve her anxiety." I controlled showing any reaction to his tactful choice of words to describe the Lady Galadriel in a state. "She knew that you would be traveling with him and asked me to tell you that she sent word to your brothers of your pending arrival. They are engaged in agriculture, in the western part of Valinor. Since this is their harvest season, they were unable to meet you here. You can send them greetings when you reach Tirion. Personally, I would advise you not to go rushing off to far-flung parts until you have been able to acclimate yourself a bit."

"Everything is overwhelming at the moment. I greatly appreciate your effort and that of Lady Galadriel." Shame at my disloyalty to that lady threatened to swamp me. Despite her quickness to displays of pique, she had never been anything but kind to me. That I had lost him and she would have him at least until the end of Arda mitigated somewhat my feelings of incipient self-loathing.

Unable to keep my eyes from Celeborn I glanced again in their direction. I was certain that he had never looked at me the way he was gazing at her and she had abandoned all attempts to appear anything but utterly overcome with elation. I told myself that I had made my own bed and it was a little late to whine that it was hard and filled with rocks.

Over the next few days I bade farewell to numerous fellow Galadhrim whom I had known my entire life. Repeated promises were made that we would meet again. I was relieved at the wise Finrod Felagund's suggestion that I might want to go to Tirion, accustom myself to being in Valinor, before I decided how I would spend my life. I was not ready to see my brothers in my self-indulgently maudlin state. They would either curse me for my stupidity or overly-protectively coddle me.

As one of Lothlórien's military and political principals, I was hosted along with Galadriel and Celeborn in the palace of her grandfather King Olwë. Unable to watch the joyful reunion of Celeborn with his lady for extended periods of time, I spent most of my time alone exploring the city streets, the vast open-air market, and walking along the beach.

I was disappointed, but not really all that surprised, to discover that, while the white sands of Alqualondë sparkled in the sunlight, not once did I see any evidence of diamonds or gemstones on its beaches, much less any buildings constructed of pearls. The top arch of the city gate did contain large gemstones and crystal in its elaboration. The decoration, inside and out, of Olwë's palace, however, made heavy use of mother of pearl.

At first the denizens of Alqualondë seemed to me to be a somewhat foolish, feckless people, so frolicsome were they in their demeanor. I learned in the ten days I was there, that although their life is not what could be labeled arduous in Middle-earth, they work hard as well as play hard. Many people labor as fisherfolk, boat builders, tradesmen, and as hoteliers and keepers of guesthouses, since it is a popular holiday destination.

Alqualondë's artistic community of craftsmen and musicians is respected throughout Aman. It is a city of music. Its illustrious conservatory of music trains musicians and singers from all of Aman. The streets of the city come to life at night. Every inn and tavern, no matter how small, features players and singers. I attended a grand musical performance in their opera house of famed acoustical perfection that had been designed and built by Fëanor. The colorful description of their legendary ships, however, is completely unexaggerated. Painted white, the exterior of their hulls are crafted to imitate the body of a swan, and each has a magnificent figurehead of the neck and head of a swan with a gilded beak and eyes of black and gold.

Once Celeborn sought me out privately, he claimed to ask me how I was faring. I told him I was having a grand time in such a caustic tone that he skulked off, after calling me a bloody-minded, ill-tempered beast, and did not bother me again.

After ten days of too much light, sound, and activity, I readied myself to travel to Tirion. The sea is invigorating, but I was despondent and desperate for some woods. I had read in the library of Imladris that the hill of Tuna, upon which Tirion is constructed, was green and heavily forested.

Galadriel and Celeborn planned to take a coach. That convinced me to ride with Finrod and a cheerful kinsman on his mother's side. King Olwë had gifted me a good-tempered bay gelding. He called it a small token of his appreciation for my years of service to his granddaughter and her husband.

My first sight of Tirion shocked me. The hill of Tuna was green, at least the part of it not covered by buildings. Built entirely of stone, the city itself initially oppressed me. The stark whiteness of it shimmered blindingly. Some type of rocks used in the construction of the streets caused them to glitter in the sunlight as though they were made of jewels. It was larger by far than Alqualondë and even than Minas Tirith. Rising up in the center of the city like a large phallus was the Mindon Eldaliéva, the tower constructed by Ingwë before his people left Tirion to the Noldor. Tirion was obviously more spread out than Minas Tirith and its elegance and pristine maintenance made the capital of Gondor appear dingy and rundown by comparison.

After I had been in the city a couple of weeks, I began to learn that it was not as cold as it first appeared. Back streets held interesting small shops and even workshops, although the larger of those were situated in the outskirts and its environs. Unlike Alqualondë, which I had begun to feel like I knew in only ten days, I had the sense that even if I spent years in Tirion I would continue to discover new and interesting enclaves of craftsmen and neighborhoods of different ethnicities. The days when Tirion was a completely Noldor city had long passed, but their unique culture still dominated the most visible parts of it.

One afternoon, I sat at a small café in front of the main fountain in Tirion. I had rented a room above the café where I intended to stay until I learned my way about and decided where I would settle permanently. Huge official-looking buildings bound the square on three sides. One I had heard called the Great Hall and been told that upon those same broad steps Fëanor and sons had sworn their terrible oath. The citizens of Tirion happily pointed out the sites of interest and legendary significance to newcomers like me. Under the bright sun and cloudless sky common to Tirion the white buildings glittered.

I watched the children playing in the fountain. Elves lounged on the grass and the steps surrounding it, reading or eating their lunch, even a few young couples kissed and fondled one another, completely oblivious to their surroundings. The server who polished my table and refilled my teapot noted to me confidentially, pointing as he spoke, that accordingly to legend, Maedhros had first declared his love for Fingon in the small wooded copse, near the Great Hall, visible from where I sat.

I looked up at the Elf. By his look, manner, and accent, I labeled him a typical Aman-born Noldor. He had hazel eyes, grey lightly flecked with green, was tall and broad of shoulder with dark hair. As he spoke, I realized that his teasing smile indicated that he was flirting with me, an altogether novel experience for one who had lived his entire life in an isolated enclave where everyone knew everyone else. He appeared unlikely to be even 60 years of age, yet I felt sure that his experience far outstripped mine in the casual social give-and-take that one might encounter in a city the size of Tirion.

"You are new here I would guess?" he asked me, narrowing his eyes in genuine interest. "I love your accent."

His good-natured impudence could have melted stone. "I like your accent too," I grumbled back at him.

That apparently gave him the encouragement he had wanted. "I don't have an accent. My parents hired expensive tutors to ensure that I do not." Undaunted by my frown, he grinned ear-to-ear. "Do you mind if I sit for a moment. You are the only patron and the proprietor, my father, actually . . ." he shrugged in an appealing, slightly self-deprecating manner. " . . . has left to have lunch with my mother. Unlikely he will return today. Our busy period is the morning."

"Sit." I shrugged. He was an eye-catching specimen of a comely people.

"Where are you from?"

"Am I so obvious?"

"Obvious that you are new to Aman?" He leaned in closer to me, until I could detect the faint scent of pine soap and clean, healthy male perspiration. His voice turned absolutely lascivious. "Or obvious that you are attracted . . ."

"Haldir." Celeborn walked up to the table. I had not seen him approach, so intent had I been on the youthful temptation sitting across from me. "May I?" Celeborn asked, pointing the empty chair beside me. "Am I interrupting?" His jaw tightened slightly, not enough to be noticed by my companion, but in a manner that I recognized as proprietary.

"My lord, how may I serve you?" The youth jumped to his feet, neatly folded his towel over his arm, and bowed deeply from the waist.

I felt as if I had "common man" stamped in large black tengwar on my forehead, while Celeborn presented a natural regality, not haughty but set apart, and, therefore, immediately had elicited the respectful response manifestly due him. I sighed audibly.

My young companion flinched. He had misinterpreted my reaction. Uncertain of what he thought, I did recognize that a flicker of injured pride crossed his expressively handsome face. In that instant I wished Celeborn on the opposite side of the sea. I scarcely had begun to enjoy the distraction of the irrepressibly vibrant young Noldo. I needed for my own sanity to put Celeborn, my past, out of my mind and look to charting my own future, which did not appear promising at that moment. I had always considered myself a survivor and the time had come to begin looking after myself.

"What is my friend having?" Celeborn asked, inclining his head toward my cup, before looking up into the youngster's face. That soul-melting smile, so typical of Celeborn, spread across his visage. I wondered not for the first time if he could really be so unaware of his own magnetism.

Then I realized with surprise that the lad had not fallen victim to it, but had stiffened like a little tin soldier. "Black tea with orange rind, sire."

"Please, a pot of that would do. Thank you." The youth vanished into the café.

I turned on Celeborn. "Why are you here? I doubt that you were just strolling past."

"I needed to speak with you. Is it wrong for me to want to stay in touch with an old friend?"

"We said good-bye on the ship. We will see one another from time to time I am certain. But right now it is better if you do not come looking for me at my residence. Why am I explaining this to you? It's hard. Harder than I imagined, if you really must know. I am fine, but I need some time to myself."

"Galadriel sends her regards. I told her everything. She still trusts and cares for you."

"Pfft," I responded. I imagined broken mirrors, rent garments, and pulled hair. Shouting the like of which probably led their terrified servants, unaccustomed to Galadriel and Celeborn, to conclude that someone was being murdered. After she had reluctantly agreed not to hunt me down and whack off my member with a dull knife, Celeborn now would consider the matter agreeably settled.

"Don't 'Galadriel' me. I have my own relationship with your lady and I assure you it will either survive this or not without you carrying messages."

"Damn you, Haldir. I just wanted to tell you, so that you would not stay away, not knowing if she knew. Wondering what had happened." He reached out and stroked the top of my hand with his long graceful fingers. I felt the blood rush into my face and my groin simultaneously. It would take a while for my body to unlearn what a touch like that from him once portended.

"Ai, Haldir. How I shall miss you."

"Not half as much as I will miss you, my lord," I said, biting off the last two words like a tough piece of gristle. My intent was not to hurt him with the resumption of that formality, but to remind myself lest I might forget for a moment that we--Celeborn and Haldir--no longer existed. It was finished.

"No. I am not your lord here, Haldir. We are both newcomers and essentially equals."

"I have never heard you spout such utter nonsense . . . " I stopped, when I saw a liveried messenger approach and stand close to us, clearly waiting for a moment to speak.

At the same moment, Celeborn spotted him as well and all but snapped in his direction, "Yes?"

"My Lord Celeborn," he said bowing stiffly, "King Arafinwë requests your presence for dinner this evening. The Lady Galadriel said that I might find you here. May I tell him I have found you and that you will accept?"

"Yes, of course. Yes," Celeborn answered. The messenger bowed low, turned to leave, walking a few steps before looking back.

"Equals?" I whispered, my voice rough with emotions, half broken-hearted anguish and half garden-variety Silvan short temper. I would not play such games. We had always been honest and I would insist upon it now.

The messenger still stood a few feet away, looking uncertain. He appeared to be a youth, something I had not noticed before. I nodded at Celeborn and tilted my head, indicating that he should turn and look in boy's direction.

"I am so sorry to disturb you again, my lord. But if I may, I would beg permission to trouble you with one other matter."

"What is it, lad?" Celeborn said, trying by using a low, even tone to soften the harshness he apparently feared he had displayed earlier.

"I am instructed also to locate a certain Haldir, formerly chief marchwarden of Lothlórien across the sea. Can you tell me where I might find him? The Lady Galadriel said you would surely know how to contact him."

"You are in luck today. This is he."

"Sir," the messenger said, giving me the same gracious bow he had given my lord. "I am instructed to invite you to dinner also. The King said that I should tell you--'sweeten the invitation' were the words he used--that you would find old friends among the company tonight. Besides the Lady Galadriel, Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrian, the Lords Elladan and Elrohir have returned from the north and will be in attendance. He has also invited King Elwë, Elu Thingol, as he is known to you, and others formerly of Doriath who would no doubt enjoy making your acquaintance and reminiscing of the wilds of Endor."

"I am privileged to accept," I answered. I could see Celeborn's grin out of the corner of my eye.

"Thank you, sires." The young Elf bowed again and left.

"Do I get an apology?" Celeborn asked me with a mischievous smirk.

"Fine then. Valinor is not Middle-earth. I had forgotten my old friend King Elu Thingol, who died nearly two full Ages before my parents were even born."

"You great fool. You should listen to me. I doubt that you will become fishing partners with Thingol. But you should recall that I know him well. He will be pleased to meet and talk with you. You ought to wear something decent though. Do you have something to wear?"

"Don't worry. I won't embarrass you, Celeborn."

His eyes grew wistful, sparkling with moisture in the glaring Valinorian sunlight. "Haldir, you have only ever brought honor to me and you know that." He rose from his chair and left without saying good-bye.

As much as I would have liked to rush after him, grab him by the shoulders, push and pull him back into the café, up the stairs and into my room, another part of me was glad to see the back of him. I vowed to move forward. I cursed my foolish, yearning heart and wondered if I truly did have anything to wear to dinner with a king, or with two kings, I corrected myself. Then against my attempts to hold onto to my stinking mood, I was struck with the ridiculousness of the situation. This was Tirion and it might not be unreasonable to expect that there could be an entire motley collection of kings at this particular dinner.

My young friend returned, bearing a tray with a cup and another small teapot. "Has Prince Celeborn left already?" His quicksilver face shifted from consternation to relief in an instant. "I hung back a moment--out of courtesy, you know--when I saw a messenger wearing the livery of the High King of the Noldor. One learns to do that in this neighborhood. It doesn't do to appear to be eavesdropping."

"Yes. He's gone. Why don't you sit down with me and have it yourself?"

"If you are sure you don't mind. I overstepped myself earlier. I must apologize. I lied when I pretended I didn't know who you were. You are Haldir of Lothlórien aren't you? Warrior and hero, one of the last to arrive here. I had heard you were unattached as well. It was presumptuous of me. Opportunistic. Stupid. I am sorry."

"Never mind all that. I wouldn't ask you join me if I didn't want you to accept. You're a resourceful lad. I like that."

"But Prince Celeborn, he is your . . . I mean are the two of you . . ."

"Nothing like that at all," I lied smoothly. "We have a long history. Now tell me about you. What is your name? How old are you?"

"Veryandil. I will be 48 next month."

"It suits you, but I did think you might be older. You Noldor are taller and broader than my people as a rule." He lit up, his eyes widening with renewed hope. I thought I'd best be quite clear with him and quick about it. "Veryandil," I said softly, "Put such thoughts out of your head. You are far too young for me. That is not something I will reconsider."

Beautiful Veryandil cocked his head and smirked, retorting cheerfully, "I was all but certain that would be your response. But it was worth a try."

The belly laugh he pulled out of me surprised even me. "We are in different places in our lives," I answered when I had regained enough breath to speak coherently. "You will break a lot of hearts before you find the one you can love. You are just entering the race and I am ready to rest a bit."

I almost told him that, the way things were progressing, I was likely to be available and unattached still when he was no longer too young for me. We spent a pleasant hour, watching the square fill with Elves spilling out of the administrative buildings that surrounded us and empty again as they made their way home to their families. Finally, I bestirred myself to return to my room to prepare for the evening that faced me. Still not looking forward to it, I no longer felt angry or despairing, only more fatigued by idleness than ever from exertion or hard work and more alone than I had ever been.

_____________

Chapter End Notes

Endor - Quenya, Middle-earth, east of the sea
Veryandil - Quenya name, means bold friend
Arafinwë - Finarfin

He was great of growth and goodly-limbed,
but lithe of girth, and lightly on the ground
his footsteps fell as he fared towards them,
all garbed in grey and green and brown --
a son of the wilderness who wist no sire.
-- The Lay of The Children of Húrin

I first spotted him leaning close to Thingol, listening carefully, a wry smile lighting up his striking face at something the ancient king had said. He stood tall, exceptionally thin, but perfectly formed, and with the sultry grace of a creature of the forest. In fact, to my hungry eyes, he seemed to radiate sexual self-assurance. I could not imagine him acting in a deliberately flirtatious or provocative manner, but much less being bothered to rein in his innate sensuality. Clad in subtle earth tones, he did not immediately stand out among the bejeweled jackdaws of the Noldor and the less colorful but otherwise equally elegantly clad Sindarin elite. Once he had captured my attention, it was difficult to look away. All but certain that I looked upon a legend returned to life, I nevertheless could not place who he might possibly be.

His hair fell loose to well below his waist, but had the creases and crimps that indicated he usually wore it tightly braided. He had the traditional long hair favored by the ancient Elves as a point of personal pride and a blatant proclamation of virility.

I gave a slight shake of my head and released a huff of breath, thinking how I had so blithely rejected the attentions of the young Noldo earlier in the day on the basis of a difference in our ages, while now I stood enthralled by an Elf, who might be as old as King Elu Thingol himself. Who could he be? I asked myself. His garb was unfamiliar to me. I could not ferret out any cultural clues. He might have seemed a simple Elf, were it not for his air of authority and unselfconscious confidence. His dark hair and light grey eyes could place him within almost any ethnicity among the Eldar, except perhaps the Vanyar.

As I was watching him, he glanced at me. He said something to Elu Thingol, with a quizzical nod in my direction, pointing to the side of his head. I involuntarily raised my hand to the single plait in my hair. Earlier that night, after donning an appropriately formal green silk tunic, in moment of rebellion I had added a traditional Silvan beaded leather braid wrap ending in a pheasant feather. He gave a short bow to Elu Thingol and walked directly to me.

"Beleg," he said.

I had to bite the inside of my cheek to prevent my jaw from dropping open like a hero-worshiping child. "Beleg and Túrin," I said, blushing so hard it burned.

"Yes. I have been told I have earned my place in history due to the small part I played in the relentlessly dire and oppressive story of the cursed fate of Húrin and his unfortunate children."

"Well, that's a trenchant summary for a tale we read and discussed in lengthy detail when I was a schoolboy."

"Seriously, Túrin was a dear friend and a fellow combatant against the Enemy. I loved him, although he was a complex, difficult man who never made that easy."

The quality of his voice, deep and sonorous, more like that of the Noldor than the melodious higher tones that I associated with the early Sindar. The low rumble of it mesmerized me and, much to my disconcertment, reached deep inside of me and came to rest somewhere in the area of my groin. Belatedly realizing that he had stopped speaking, I instinctively extended my hand in the Silvan manner and he returned the complicated handclasp with practiced ease. Throughout two full Ages, some small things had survived unchanged.

"I am . . ."

He interrupted me, "I am sorry. I have you at my advantage. I already asked who you were. You are Haldir of Lothlórien, last chief of Celeborn's marchwardens-apparently we have something in common there." He reached out and touched the feather dangling from my braid. "I presume you are of the Nandor."

"Of the Nandor in culture and upbringing. The Lady Galadriel once told me she believed she sensed Sindar and Avari within me as well. We just called ourselves Silvan. Others called us Galadhrim, after our city Caras Galadhon."

"Ah, a fellow son of the forest. You and Celeborn, with your unusual silver-blond hair, may even share a common ancestor at some point near the beginning."

"My hair has more yellow in it," I commented pointlessly.

"You have glorious hair. You do have a bit of the sun in yours, while his has the moon alone. The moon is beautiful but cooler." I opened my mouth to speak but he threw his head back and laughed. "Oh, you don't have to tell me that Celeborn is not cold. I have known him since he was a child; he has always been hot-blooded."

"Well, I knew nothing of that until recently." My voice sounded petulant to me. I cringed inwardly about what I had just admitted with my careless remark.

"I have heard his lady drove a hard bargain for hand-fasting with him. I wouldn't have believed it, if I had not seen it with my own eyes. Yet they do give the impression of being happy together."

I glanced at Galadriel and Celeborn. She gazed up into his face and he couldn't seem to keep his hands to himself. First touching her cheek with the back of his hand, then tangling his fingers in her hair, he leaned closer to her and whispered into her ear. No doubt he uttered a suggestive comment, which he accompanied with a surreptitious touch of his clever tongue. I well remembered how that felt, but I told myself I did not care. I had to remain numb.

"It may not be the most peaceful of relationships, but it is a solid one," I responded in an intentionally neutral tone.

"Now that could fit with what I know of him. It would take a lady of strong will to keep Celeborn close to home and one with a volatile temperament to hold his affections. So, he is happily reunited with his partner. And where does that leave you now, young Haldir?"

His tone angered me. Who was this presumptuous old Elf, so cursedly attractive, who dared stand there and ask me questions about my personal circumstances, and essentially the state of my heart, the finer details of which I had kept from even my brothers?

"What it is to you, Beleg? Have you spent so much time among outlaws in the wilds and, more recently isolated in the Halls of Mandos, that you have forgotten the conventions of basic courtesy?" His face turned crimson with mirth and his loud bark of a laugh caused heads to turn in our direction.

"Forgive me," he said. "I have never been good at seduction." His eyes crinkled in humor. "Let me start all over again. You are a fine-looking man, Haldir, and we have similar backgrounds and experiences. I like the way you carry yourself and enjoy your frank manner. Can I fetch you another drink?"

"Yes, please. Now I feel like I owe you an apology. I must have sounded like a coy maiden who asks for a declaration of everlasting love before she will engage in a conversation. I misjudged you. I thought you sought confirmation of gossip at best, or, at worst, that you, a complete stranger, wanted to offer me advice concerning my private life."

Secure in the knowledge that Beleg shared my interest, I allowed myself to examine him more closely as he pulled a waiter over to secure two glasses of red wine. His pale grey eyes, the color of a winter sky, stood out in contrast against a slightly olive complexion. Those striking eyes were fringed in long, black lashes that would have driven maidens who try to darken or thicken theirs mad with envy. Distinct from Celeborn, there was nothing of prettiness about Beleg, except perhaps for those beautiful eyes. His nose hawkish and his mouth too wide for perfect proportion, however, contributed to an unusual handsomeness, uncompromisingly masculine in its effect.

"Tell me, Haldir, do you ever talk to trees?" he asked. Accustomed as I had become in my short time in Valinor to the companionship of Noldor, I involuntarily bristled, before I recalled the history and identity of the questioner.

"Haven't had the opportunity in a while."

"I know a wooded location not far from here."

"Not that copse of trees near the civic center?" I asked, appalled.

"Hardly," he chortled. "So, someone entertained you with the local legend regarding Tirion's most notorious example of romantic love among men. Have you seen them? They are here tonight."

"No. And, of course, I would like to see them. But gawking at them sounds rude and tactless. Even for me."

"Doesn't have to be. Don't be obvious. Just take a couple of steps back, turn, and look to the right of Arafinwë, on the divan against the window. You cannot miss them they are unmistakable."

"Varda's stars," I swore under my breath. "No wonder the bards love their story. They are . . . They are magnificent."

Beleg broke into the characteristic huffing sounds, which pass for a sardonic laugh among the less pretentious of the Sindar. "Strong reaction for someone who has been tupping the gorgeous Celeborn."

"I didn't say I was tupping Celeborn." My affronted tone was nothing but pure pretense. I already felt more comfortable with this man than I had felt with anyone in longer than I cared to consider.

"Sorry, lad. I assure you that I know everything there is to know about Prince Celeborn. Enough, in fact, that I would wager I could make a dead accurate guess about who was tupping whom. Some things about people never change. But your secrets are safe with me."

"Fine. Have it your way. Show me your trees. As long as they are not those poor stunted things, pruned to within in an inch of their lives. It breaks my heart to even think of them."

"Ah, he does have a smile," Beleg rumbled, taking me by the elbow. "And one as fair as sunlight on spring flowers. Let's go then. They are strict and formal about greetings at these functions, but one can take one's leave without observing any protocol. Probably something to do with either the quantity of alcohol consumed or the necessity of allowing people to slip away without it being noticed with whom."

Outside in the moonlight, the idea of visiting a wooded area held ever-greater appeal. The white buildings, endless steep staircases, and cleanly swept streets, held only the occasional hint of nature: a sapling here and there growing in a white-washed pot, the occasional carefully groomed rose bushes at the front of a house, a glimpse of a grape arbor in someone's backyard, and the ubiquitous cut and trimmed small rectangles of grass. I wondered how the Noldor managed to stay vigorous living like that.

"It is a long walk at night. But if we hurry we will not have to walk, but can catch a ride on the Royal Mail Coach. It never fails to leave and always departs on time."

"The mail coach?" I asked, stupidly.

"Delivers letter and packages from place to place on a regular route. Less costly and more practical than using private messengers. Dates back to well before the exile." Beleg sighed deeply. "The entire place is strange to me, but the Noldor, who I always viewed as stranger than strange, are the ones thus far that I understand the best. They are stubborn, question authority, and yet don't like to waste effort. Well, except for their obsession with fancy clothes and ornaments. Where did you get that tunic you're wearing? Very Noldorin. Are you wearing a shirt under it? It's not suitable for the mail coach or the place where I want to take you."

"Celeborn told me I ought to wear something particularly nice for that dinner."

"Hmph! Celeborn was a fop when he was still wearing animal skins."

I immediately began unfastening the ludicrously complicated fixtures that concealed the buttons on my tunic, while Beleg watched greatly amused. Instead of being embarrassed it struck me as humorous also. I finally pulled the tunic from under my belt, sloughed it off, and folded it inside out, uncertain of what I would do with it. Beleg extended a bag he carried over shoulder and held it open for me. I stuffed the useless tunic inside.

"Might as well put the fancy knife in here too," he said, gesturing toward the ornamental dagger that hung on my belt. "Wouldn't want you to loose any of the gemstones would we?"

I unbuckled my belt and tossed the dagger, still in its sheath, into the bag as well. "They're only semi-precious, worth little more than paste," I objected.

"Such sensibilities. Are you sure you aren't Noldor?"

Re-buckling the belt, I looked up at him. "Well, do I pass inspection now?"

"You'll do." He threw the bag over his shoulder and took off at a sharp clip. I followed behind him, allowing myself to inspect his impressively rounded backside and his heavy fall of black hair. 'He will more than do,' I thought.

A short walk down an alleyway, behind the large buildings in the center of the city, led us to an open courtyard where a large coach awaited.

"This is it," Beleg announced. "The mail coach. For a small fee we can ride inside, if there is space. Or outside, which I would recommend. No crowding and we are able to jump down easily when it stops near our destination."

"You are clearly more familiar with the city than I am."

"I have had nearly two years. It will never compare to the wilderness around Doriath, but neither is this land as alien as I originally had feared. This is the coach we want. Wait here while I speak with the coachman."

The coachman, the closest to portly I had ever seen an Elf to be, greeted my new friend with a hearty slap on the back. He gestured in the direction of a family comprised of a man, his young wife and a babe in arms. Nearby two prim maids and another man, who appeared to be their father, waited. Beleg returned to me.

"We have good fortune. The inside seats have been filled, but we can ride on top."

He gracefully swung himself up onto a seat on the box and extended his hand to help me. We sat watching as the two pinched-faced, proper ladies and their father boarded below us, followed by the woman with the infant and her husband, who struggled in behind her under the clumsy weight of a cloth-wrapped bundle, a carpetbag, and a covered bird-cage.

The door had no sooner closed behind them than the coachman took his seat in front and shouted, "All ready."

The horses took off at the sound of the crack of the coachman's whip. The baby within began to shriek and Beleg grinned at me.

"It is much more pleasant on the outside and the air is fresher too," he said.

We traveled in the opposite direction from which I had entered Tirion a few weeks earlier. In a short time, we had passed the last of the stone buildings and walls and entered into a suburban countryside. The houses along the road grew farther apart and the trees and vegetation thicker. The weather of Tirion always resembles midsummer and that evening was particularly fine, fresh and not humid. A full moon provided us with good visibility. We made only one stop, where the driver passed off a bag to a man who met the coach in front of the town hall of a small village and received one in return. Then some quarter of an hour or so later, Beleg told the coachman we had reached our point of departure.

There were no houses in the area where we dismounted. But a winding path led toward a dark, thick wood of old growth trees.

"I live near here as well," Beleg said, guiding me into the forest with a hand in middle of my back.

I have been called a true wood-elf, been told that I am good with trees. What an ordinary phrase to describe something with the potential for such transcendence and euphoric transport from the mundane. Beleg, however, was better than good. The ancient oak responded to him with a fervency that recalled something between the welcome of a long-absent lover and the embrace by a mother of an adored child. I tightened my grip on his fingers, laced together with mine, our arms encircling the tree. My concentration on the life force of the tree began to waver and center more firmly upon him. He abruptly let go of my hands and stepped back.

"Not bad. But next time, relax a bit more. It's not sex, Haldir," he said laconically.

I thought, 'If only it were.' He answered my unspoken desire. "When we do come together, and I assure you that we will, it is going to reset your world on a new axis."

"Oh, you're that good are you?"

"I'm all right, but the two of us focused and together . . ."

"That sounds silly. I don't want to wait."

"Well, then you will have to proceed without me. I'd watch," he said with a wicked grin, "but I think that would be too much for me. And you are not ready for me yet."

I had an immediate positive reaction to Beleg's abrupt and arrogant tone. I could not find it in me to object. It came as a relief after more than one hundred years in Celeborn's company, which put me in situations where diplomacy and courtly manners were required. Those were not natural to Celeborn either, but they did not threaten his sense of equilibrium. However, I still chafed at such pretense.

There would time enough to sort out Beleg's manner and his eccentric ideas, I told myself. We were in Aman now. There was no enemy at our doorstep. And, it had been more than clear to me when we touched around the tree that the shift from a sense of oneness with nature and the forest to physical need had met an echo within him. I also knew enough about human nature and emotions to understand that his statement that I was not ready for him could just as easily indicate the exact reverse. I wondered of the effects of his time in Halls of Mandos. I suspected the time elapsed since he had been free seemed short. Perhaps his previous life still felt closer to reality than this new existence.

We decided I should stay until morning with Beleg at his nearby cabin on the outskirts of that wood. Implicit in my acceptance of his invitation was that I would not press him for physical intimacy, but leave the initiative to him.

As we walked back toward his homely shelter, I could not resist raising a question that had occurred to me when he had dropped my hand and stepped away from the tree.

"You said earlier tonight that you loved Turin. Did you ever show him that?"

"What? How to reach more deeply into the heart of a tree?"

"Yes."

"I did try." Icy eyes warned me not to press further.

"And how did he respond?" I have never reacted wisely to such threats.

"It is disingenuous to ask questions to which you already know the answer but I will admit that what you believe is true. He said it felt restful, but that he was growing hungry and cold." I snorted at that. Beleg narrowed his eyes in admonition. "Yes, you have the advantage of being able to offer me more than he ever could. Satisfied?"

"No, I simply . . . "

"You have no grounds for smugness at my past choices, whelp. Your Prince Celeborn gained his knowledge of the forest under the starlight. He could have taught you much that you may not know of wood lore had he chosen to do so, yet he saved such intimacies for his mate alone."

False love, desire, and beauty frail, adieu.
Dead is the root whence all these fancies grew.
--Sir Walter Raleigh

We left the wild secluded scene where we had encountered that noble oak and reached a less dense part of the woods. The moonlight filtering through the trees revealed a rough cottage, actually a cabin constructed of split logs. Entering the cabin, Beleg, with a practiced flick of the fingers, lit a crude lamp. He did not exercise the gesture with the intent to impress me, but it did. I had only ever seen Galadriel execute something like that and, not to disparage the lady, with a certain smugness I had always thought.

The setting held nothing of ostentation and yet spoke worlds of a man who did not carelessly cast aside simple comforts in support of some disdainful pretense of mind over matter, or nature over craft. A cheery checked cloth covered a small table flanked by two chairs. On a large bed in one corner, three plump pillows rested on a blue woven coverlet.

A small metal wood-burning cook stove sat in another corner, vented by a pipe through the ceiling. Glass jars holding grains, dried herbs, and other items lined a nearby shelf. A bright cloth securely covered an eastern-facing window near the bed. Apparently Beleg did not rise at dawn on every day. Another lamp near the bed and small bookshelf hinted at late-night reading. My immediate impression was of a solitary inhabitant, but not a lonely or depressed one. To my great relief, I observed that my host lived in spare but homely comfort and not dreary asceticism.

"Would you like a drink? I am well stocked at the moment. I have ale, wine, and a flask of something stronger."

"Yes, please. I'll try the something stronger."

He opened a cupboard and returned with two mugs and a metal flask. He splashed an amber colored liquid into each mug. Taking the chair across from me at the table, he signaled for me to lift my mug and touched it lightly with his own.

"In honor of the past and looking forward to the future." Watching him empty his cup, I did the same.

"Another?" he asked, widening his eyes at me as he tipped the flask toward my mug.

"Yes." The second portion was twice that of the first. "You aren't trying to get me drunk are you, Beleg? Surely not after refusing me earlier."

"No. But I would like you to relax enough to stop trying to engulf me and listen to what I want to say."

I nodded, chastened, like a repentant boy before his schoolmaster. Still my senses would not shut down. I noted the delectable fullness of his lower lip and, lowering my eyes to avoid the sight, fixed immediately upon his long, slender fingers splayed out on the table before me. With difficulty I managed to halt my imaginings of how they might feel upon my body.

Beleg cleared his throat, capturing my attention with his intense eyes. "I feel a call to you, more than just from your body, or the demands resulting from my own abstinence. But you recently have been hurt, more than you admit. It is as plain as the nose on your face. And I have not the balance within myself now to appreciate, as I would wish, the force of your youthful energy. I would be a hypocrite to deny you one night, or even a few, if that is all you want. But I am offering you more in exchange for a little patience. Does that frighten you?"

"You do scare the shit out of me," I said, holding my chin high and forcing myself to maintain eye contact with him. Then impulsively, I took his hand and kissed the palm, holding it against my cheek. "But I would be a fool indeed not to accept that bargain."

He did not pull his hand away, but half-stood, reaching across the table, and kissed me on the forehead. Sitting back down, he asked, "Shall we get drunk?"

We talked several hours more. I told him the stories that everyone wants to hear about Lothlórien: its enchantment, Galadriel's ring and her mirror, and the Galadhrim, a mixed people brought together over time into a self-conscious entity, as well as our growing awareness of the increasing malevolence emanating from Dol Guldur just across the Anduin, and finally of the Battle of the Golden Wood.

He told me first of Doriath and the marvels of the Thousands Caves of Menegroth. His storytelling revealed his sense of humor and his own unique perspective.

"Doriath was not made up of a thousand caves," he said, "as extravagant bards relish in reporting here. Would that they had been. Then they would not have been nearly so crowded."

I pretended to be shocked and asked, "Are you telling me the truth?"

"Largely," he drawled, with a roguish wink.

He explained how Elves and Dwarves together had brought their distinctive skills to the construction of that monument to what he called, "creative excess." I fueled his rampant irreverence with my laughter. He continued on with a fanciful description of what he characterized as an overweening preoccupation with realistic detail: carvings of vines, trees, shrubs, birds, even bees and insects that covered the walls and ceilings of most hallways and chambers.

In the process of his recounting, he told me far more about Beleg than Menegroth. I began to see clearly the picture of the man, edgy within a courtly setting and drawn to seek solitary renewal in the wilderness. His impatience with the reliance upon a girdle of magic was palpable, although not explicit, as was his personal compulsion to directly seek out and face down the Enemy.

Against my better judgment, I again brought up the subject of Túrin. I believed Túrin represented my competition for his regard, much as Galadriel had stood between Celeborn and me. In this case, I was determined to face down my rival, even though he was a ghost.

Beleg is a stronger, braver man than I am. He could have told me to hold my tongue, but he did not and tried to answer me honestly.

"Túrin was a beautiful child, on the cusp of manhood when I first met him. Deeply troubled and carrying an ill-fate. But I stupidly wanted to change or mitigate that. He became an obsession for me when the promise of his youth turned him into an intelligent, highly accomplished young man, fair as any Elf. The rest of the miserable story you have read in your books. My personal side of it is that I gave him my heart and he gave me his body, sometimes joyfully, but more often than not grudgingly, only to quell the worst of my shameless pouting or his own need."

"I am sorry. That is more painful than my own story."

"Is it?"

"Well, I never expected anything from Celeborn that he did not give me."

"There is the root of your self-deception, lad. The heart perseveres in expecting what reason insists is impossible. Ai, but it is getting late and we both need to sleep. I will sleep on the floor and let you have the bed, since I dragged you here."

"I don't want you sleeping on the floor. Sleep in the bed with me. I promise not to touch you."

"Are you sure you will keep that promise? You are drunk and randy."

"Not entirely sure. But I will try. And if I don't, then you can throw me onto the floor."

"Wrong again. I seriously doubt that I would be capable of doing that. Do you have no idea how enchanting you are? Indulge me on this. Just for a while. I am too inebriated to reconsider my decision, but sober enough to know not to try."

When I awakened the following morning, Beleg had left the cabin already. A pot of tea steamed on the table, so I assumed he was not far. I had drunk two cups, half expecting him to walk in at any moment, when I finally became aware enough to distinguish the familiar thud of an arrow hitting a target. I went to the door and called out his name. I did not want to risk putting myself in the line of Beleg's legendary bow arm.

He yelled back to me, "Come around to the back of the cabin."

"How are you with a bow?" he asked. I laughed aloud at that. What a question.

"Not up to your standards, I am sure. But I am better than most. The worst of the Galadhrim warriors were considered superior bowmen in Middle-earth. I expect I had a couple under me who could provide you with a true contest. I am fairly respectable with a sword though."

"Ah, then, that would explain the appealing bulk of you." Perhaps I imagined the challenge in his grin, as, with a glint of playfulness in his pale grey eyes, he boldly looked me up and down. "Would you like to try? I can fetch a lighter bow. This one is a monster."

His bow, graceful but heavy, made of lovingly finished black wood, looked as though it could be a model of his famous Belthronding.

"I am not afraid of making a fool of myself. But I would prefer to do it with a lighter one, if you don't mind."

I followed him into a nearby shed. It had a long worktable, with two partially fashioned bows on it, and neat shelves of tools and jars. On the opposite wall hung several finished bows.

"This is what I do out here. Trying to teach myself, although I have had help from a craftsman formerly of Eryn Lasgalen. He is a real master. He made the black bow I am using." He reached for a handsome bow of blond wood on the wall. "Try this one. It came out well, I think. You'll have to adjust the string. I haven't used it in a while."

I took the bow from him. "This is really impressive. I mean, not just the bow, which is very nice, by the way, but the whole workshop."

"I had to find something to do, didn't I?" He shrugged with what I had already begun to think of as that typical Beleg insouciant shrug.

We used a close target, in deference to my self-proclaimed inferiority. I kept up with him easily, thanks to the lighter bow and the nearness of the target. The sun grew hotter and we both grew bored. We were shortly reduced to horseplay and attempts to distract the other to entertain ourselves. He insisted at one point that I try the heavy bow. My arms were already tired, but I was able to use it. He accused me of lying about my lack of skill and I taunted him that the great Beleg was not as good as the stories had said he was. He insisted we try a more distant target and he trounced me soundly.

We flopped onto the grass and leaned back against the shed. Beleg pulled his shirt off. I spotted a tattoo on his upper left chest. I had seen them on Men before, but I had never seen one on an Elf. Not that I ever had wanted one, but I had asked about them, and was told they did not easily take on Elves, fading quickly. He saw me looking and tried to casually cover it with his hand.

I pulled his hand down. "Too late now. Let me see it." It was a drawing of his famous bow and the Dragon-helm of Dor-lómin. "I am sorry," I said.

"You would have seen it eventually. It is part of me. Does it bother you?"

"Should it?" I asked, pointedly.

"No. It's history. Maybe I should have let it go. But I did not. I could have. Can you tolerate another story?"

"You know I want to know everything about you." As usual I wished I had a jot of discretion. I thought to myself, 'Well, but I don't and that is part of who I am.'

"When Námo declared me ready to leave the Halls of Mandos, he gave me this body. It was exactly like the old one. But no scars. Not a mark to show it had ever been used. Of course, it had not. I was admiring myself and I noticed. No tattoo. Just then Námo came in to see me. For one of his last little talks." He rolled his eyes at the memory, allowing himself a self-deprecating grin. I chuckled at the image of Beleg enduring an edifying lecture from a Vala.

"Go on."

"Naturally, I threw a temper fit. Regular adolescent, out-of-control, shouting and stomping temper fit. He just watched me. I thought for a moment he was going to tell me that I was clearly not ready to leave. Instead, he just waved his hand and there it was, only brighter and clearer than the original. Perfect. Like everything else."

I leaned over him to examine the design carefully, actually taking advantage of the opportunity to study his smooth olive skin, wondering how it would feel to kiss, what he would taste like. Perfect. The word had excited my imagination.

"So, how did you happen to get it? I was told our bodies did not keep tattoos. How was it done?"

"One of the Men who were with Túrin and me knew how to do it. A passable artist. He had marked a few others. People already had begun to refer to us as the Bow and the Helm. Túrin suggested we get tattoos of the bow and helm. His stayed clear, but mine, almost immediately began to lighten and blur. Then we ran across a group of Avari. Many of them had tattoos. So, I asked them how it was done. Nasty ingredients and a little magic. One of their elders fixed mine. It lasted. Although by then, it did not need to last long. This one appears to be permanent. Hasn't faded a bit in over two years. Perhaps there is a lesson in that. Be careful what you ask of the Valar."

"It is not unattractive. I suppose I will wonder if you think of him when you look at it."

"The truth is that I will probably think of my sense of regret when you saw it and telling you about it."

"Do not worry about that with me. You will not get rid of me so easily. I want to know what I have to do next, to win your confidence enough that you will let me make love to you."

"You are single-minded."

"It's just that sitting here looking at you half-naked brought it all to the fore again. Not that it was ever far away."

"You could talk about yourself. What you have told me could have come from any Galadhrim of your generation. What about you and Celeborn?"

"Yes. Celeborn, of course," I said, suddenly shy and halting of voice. "Well, he's very beautiful."

"Yes, notoriously so. Give it up, Haldir. I've told you my much darker story in tedious detail." He crossed his arms over his chest in a gesture of brusque determination, but his eyes remained gentle.

"All right then." I took a deep breath, looked off into the distance, and started speaking rapidly, as though to get it over as quickly as possible. "Making love with him could be light, playful even, or passionate, serious and intense, or he could be a real bastard, rough and almost angry, then just as suddenly turn sweetly tender. Almost all of the time, he preferred that I take him . . ."

Beleg interrupted me. "You do not have to give me physical details. I asked because I want to know how you feel about him now. How you are handling the separation. I should have told you much sooner . . ."

"Told me what?"

"I said that I knew Celeborn well, intimately would be more accurate. So attractive and so conscious of it. In fact, I slept with him a few times. During the time when Thingol was missing. For me at least, he seemed like magic and poison at the same time. So, of course, I worried when I found myself so drawn to you and then, virtually simultaneously, learned that you had been with him for quite some time."

He had stunned me. I was unable to speak, thinking that I should have guessed. There had been clues: in particular, his tone of certainty when he had spoken of Celeborn. At that moment, I did not care to think of Celeborn, but of Beleg, and how any of this could affect how he felt about me. We sat close, our thighs almost touching. I badly wanted to touch him. Just as I turned to him, he pulled me into his arms. I clutched at him and buried my face against his sun-warmed, bare chest.

"Doesn't matter," I said keeping my cheek against his chest. I wasn't going to relinquish the skin-to-skin contact until he forced me. "I ought to have guessed. You knew too much. Let me tell you about the entire affair. I want to now. With Celeborn, there was ever a space between us that could never be crossed. He was addictive and yet always available, warm and affectionate in his way. If I did not seek him out, because I needed to think or wanted a little time to myself, he would look for me and I could never resist him. I felt as if he needed to be needed. But I was a placeholder for the present only. We said farewell on the ship and then he approached me once in Alqualondë and again, just yesterday, in Tirion. Both times I sent him away. I want to forget him. But I had grown accustomed to him always being there. At first, I admit that I was heartsick and I have missed him physically. I had never been with anyone day in and day out before him. But I would never go back to him. I will never again endure that kind of inequality in a relationship."

"Look at me." He shifted his head back and lifted my face up by my chin. "I don't possess his magic, magnetism, whatever you want to call it, and certainly not that type of beauty. But you always would be first with me."

"You have no idea how I see you. You are killing me. I want you so much."

My declaration broke the spell.

"I need to go to Tirion. I promised to bring someone two of my bows to look at today."

"You need a horse," I said.

He fed me before we left and, once again, we used a mail coach to return to the city. After his business, he returned to the cafe and accepted a light supper there, but refused to stay the night. He promised to contact me when he next returned to Tirion.

It lies not in our power to love or hate,
For will in us is overruled by fate.
* * * *
Where both deliberate, the love is slight:
Who ever loved, that loved not at first sight?
-- Christopher Marlowe

My head hurt. My upper and lower back hurt. My back was in a state of near-spasm. Showing off for Beleg the previous day, I had strained my back and shoulder. I had not used a bow in over two months and never one as heavy as Beleg's. When overtaxing myself with the target practice in the woods--curse my childish vanity--I had forgotten that I had agreed to spar with Elladan and Elrohir the following day. I had kept the appointment anyway, although out of practice for swordplay as well, and not held back there either.

'Inexcusable novice errors both days,' I thought. I wholly deserved the pain. The weight of my practice sword on my hip, pulling on my inflamed back as I walked, was well nigh intolerable. Rounding the corner onto the main square, I spotted a familiar figure lounging in the doorway of the café.

Veryandil displayed his admirable physique to its utmost advantage, leaning back against the door jam with his arms folded casually across his chest, long legs in tight black leggings, and a white shirt, wide open at the neck with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows.

He shot his eyes wide open in a comic pantomime of alarm as I limped closer.

"Well, excuse my bluntness, but you look bloody awful."

"I'll forgive you if you can find me something to drink," I answered, collapsing into a chair at the nearest table.

"Your friend was here," he called back over his shoulder, as he hurried into the café. "Said he would stop back by later."

My chest tightened. I hardly dared to hope. I had not expected to see him again so soon. Then it occurred to me that it could have been Celeborn.

He returned with a tall glass of water.

"You have a remarkable face. One doesn't need any talent or training in mind-touch to know what you are thinking. Which one of your distinguished suitors do you hope it was? Prince Celeborn or the dark, mysterious one?"

"Not a good time for torturing me," I groused. I felt like wringing his neck, but pushed the idea aside easily, realizing that I probably didn't have the strength. "Do you have anything for pain? My whole body hurts."

"Oh, now he is going to pretend that he isn't dying to know who was here. I think my father has an analgesic of some sort in the back. I'll go look."

Just then his face lit up in a welcoming smile focused over my shoulder. "Beleg," he said.

"Veryandil, good afternoon," came a resonant voice from behind me. Strong, long fingers grasped my shoulders, gently squeezing and releasing. His warm hands transmitted slow pulses of healing energy into me. The sensation flowed through my throbbing shoulders, traveled up the back of my neck and into my head, at once electrifying and soothing.

"What seems to be the problem?" Beleg asked.

"He is barely able to walk," Veryandil answered.

"But he can still talk," I interjected, in none too pleasant a tone, although I could already feel the worst of my headache fading. "The two of you know one another?" Veryandil was entirely too attractive for my taste at that moment, especially since I felt insecure about Beleg and looked a total ruin.

"We talked for a while earlier today," Beleg said. "So, Haldir, since you are able to speak, would you mind telling me what you have done to yourself?"

"Hurt my arm and shoulder yesterday. I was miserably out-of-condition. Then I sparred today and finished the task entirely."

Veryandil chimed in, "I was just going to get him an analgesic when you walked up."

"I don't think that will be necessary. I have a healing touch."

"I'll bet you do." Veryandil smirked. Beleg snorted affably at the lad's effrontery.

"May I correctly assume that a fine inn like this one, in the heart of this magnificent city, has hot running water?"

"Yes, sir. And he has a hipbath in the privy next to his room. But if you want him to stretch out, there is a full bath with a large tub at the end of hall."

Beleg helped me to my feet. I tried to hobble inside of my own volition. Unable to watch my tortuous efforts, he slid one arm around my waist and pulled my arm over his shoulder.

"This way," I said, pointing toward the staircase.

My mind churned with mortification. First, he had discovered me in such lamentable condition due to my own foolhardiness. Secondly, as a result, he would be forced to nurse me. Further, there was all that might imply: me unclothed with his hands on my body and my all too predictable reaction. Part of the reason that I had worked so hard with Elladan and Elrohir was my determination to burn off my insistent prurience with physical exertion. I had already come to the decision that I would be less aggressive in flaunting my lustfulness around Beleg.

In the long hours alone in my room the night before, when sleep would not come, I had calmly considered his logic. We both were recovering from matters of the heart where lack of reason or consideration had served us poorly. I decided I ought to respect his reticence and allow him to choose if and when he wanted to share that part of himself. Otherwise, I would be no nobler in my dealings with him than Celeborn had been with me. I had also admitted to myself in those hours before dawn that I truly loved Beleg--outlandish as that sounds, since I had only known him for three days. And, if I loved him, as I believed I did, then I could wait.

"The next door on the right is mine."

It struck me when we entered the room how it might look to his eyes. A large bed dominated the room. Aside from the bed, it held only a wardrobe, one chair, and a small table. It was not a home, but a bedroom. Bed and Beleg had dominated my thoughts since I first met him. Then, just when I was trying out of respect for his stated wishes to hold my urges in check a bit, here we were. Through no choice of his own, Beleg was in my bedroom, exactly where I had greedily wanted him.

"Has anyone ever told you, Haldir, that you have a busy, noisy mind?" His deep voice caressed me, rich with humor and affection. He stood very close to me, brushed a shock of shorter hair that had pulled loose from my braid off my forehead, and then proceeded to unfasten the clasps on my tunic. I could scarcely breathe; my heart thundered in my chest.

"Are you reading my mind?" I asked.

"Not precisely. It is more as though you are shouting. You are too hard on yourself."

Then he kissed me. When he touched his lips to mine, my most excessive fantasies of the past few days exploded. With his mouth sweet and relaxed urging me to open mine to him, he wrung responses out of me as no one ever had. The languid yet persistent movement of his tongue aroused me like no other kiss. He pulled back slightly and bit my lower lip. I involuntarily pushed my body against his and lifted my hands to thread them through his hair, groaning, not in pleasure but in pain at the sudden movement. 'Curses,' I thought, 'Now I will have made him stop.'

"Arms down. Just let me kiss you," he ordered, speaking against my lips. I grimaced at the effort. He felt my reaction and gently lowered my arms to my sides again. He planted both hands against my buttocks and held me flush against him. In his continuation of that kiss, I lost myself in a kaleidoscope of tastes, textures, and the scent of him, forest green and as young as yesterday and timeless as forever.

When he eventually released me, he whispered, "Better than I dared imagine." A feral grin almost immediately dispelled the air of indolent sensuality from his stunning face. He eased my open tunic off me and guided me toward the bed.

"Let me help you lie down. Then I will go and run your bath. You need to soak. It will make it easier for me to rid you of all the aches and stiffness. I want you flexible tonight."

"Why now?" I choked, my mind racing and my body demanding, as he carefully lowered me onto the bed.

"Would you rather I wait?" A seductive smile overtook his alluring mouth, allowing me a glimpse of white teeth and the barest tip of pink tongue. He made no effort to conceal his awareness of the effect he had on me.

"Eru, no!" I gasped, earning myself a gravelly chuckle. He ran his hand over my raging erection and then gently squeezed.

"Later. I'll explain. Just relax now. I won't be long." He gave me a feather light kiss upon the lips and left the room.

As soon as he had gone, I loosened the laces on my leggings, which had become unbearably constricting. It was all I could do not to touch myself. Fortunately, Beleg returned shortly.

"The bath is ready," he said. "Do you have a robe you can wear?"

"In the wardrobe. I'll get it." He opened his mouth as though to protest and I snapped, more waspishly than I had intended, "I am not crippled. Only a little sore."

He watched smirking as I winced, manipulating myself into a sitting and then a standing position.

"I see it." He had opened the wardrobe and grabbed the robe before I could move. "Let's get you undressed."

I could feel my face turning red: the curse of a light complexion. He finished unlacing my leggings and then undid my undergarment.

"You are blushing, Haldir," he teased. "From what I can see, you have absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about, quite the contrary." As he nodded at my rampant sex exposed before his gaze, a bright glitter in his light eyes gave lie to his jesting tone.

"Filthy mouth," I retorted. He graciously laughed in response to my less than brilliant attempt at humor; yet, the slightest crease of worry, quickly soothed, had marred his brow. Instinctively I released my own residual defensiveness. I caught his eyes with mine, while the heat in my cheeks faded. 'This is serious,' I thought. "Beleg," I sighed. "I realize what you offer me."

"No, it is I who appreciate my good fortune. Fate has been kind to me, and I have been perilously careless in holding back."

Beleg efficiently, and with the minimum of discomfort for me, stopping only once briefly to hold my naked form against his fully clothed one, managed to get me into my robe. He cautiously guided me with sure strong arms from my room down the hall to the large bath. Maneuvering me into the tub, he helped me stretch out in the steaming water.

"While you soak, I would explain, if you are still able to listen. I fear that I have tried your patience since I have met you with my pronouncements and speculations."

"Don't say that. I am glad you have trusted me enough to confide in me."

He drew a deep breath and shook his head. "I should have kept my mouth shut."

"Never." I meant it.

"I am fortunate indeed that you are still speaking to me. In my defense, what seems like three times your life to you, has only been two years for me."

"Beleg." I protested against the self-reproach in his tone.

The hot water was already beginning to loosen my stiffness. I turned without a twinge of pain to look directly into his face. I was afraid to say too much too soon, as though I were dealing with a skittish horse. I just looked, hoping he could see into my heart.

"Haldir, I am so sorry. I tried to put reason before my heart, to control my fate by will. I wanted to examine and test you. Weigh you against my history. To try to mold and control my feelings for you and study yours. Trying to bend fate is a mistake I have made before. But last night, I could not sleep. With the memory stubbornly before me of your face, your bright hair and direct shining eyes, I realized that by holding you at arms length I placed in dreadful peril perhaps the last chance for happiness that I might ever have."

"Beleg," I whispered, unable to speak aloud. "I am not so easy to lose." I extended a dripping hand to him. He knelt beside the tub and took it, bringing it up to his lips. "I did wonder about the sense of the passage of time or lack thereof for you," I said, still speaking quietly. "I decided last night that I was pressing you too hard. I was afraid that I had found someone I could love and that you would slip away from me if I did not hold onto you tightly."

He looked so vulnerable and exotically handsome that my heart caught in my throat. He almost looked less an Elf to me than some forest sylph given physical form. I thought he might well be an elemental spirit, but his hot kisses and his hard cock pressed against mine through his clothing, had proved his corporeal reality beyond any doubt. My fantastical imaginings made me grin. He returned a weak, hopeful smile.

"So," I said, "You have made a lot of threats and promises over the last few days. Can you help me out of this tub? I would like to test some of those. I remember something about knocking my world off its axis and fucking me blind and senseless."

"I don't remember the last part." His wide luscious mouth fell open into a heart-stoppingly gorgeous smile. I noticed for the first time how deep his dimple was on one side.

"I think that was clearly implied, in light of all the other bragging," I said, lowering my eyebrows in my best attempt at dourness.

Back in my room, he arrayed me on the bed before him and then stripped, standing where I could watch him. He is tall, broad of chest and shoulder, lithe, but without a hint of boniness. Looking at him I thought of why it has been said that the Valar became so instantly enamored of the Firstborn when they found them. 'This is Beleg,' I thought. 'Fatherless, eternal, awakened under starlight. That alone would make him a legend had the record of his other deeds never been written. And he is mine.'

I had to say it. As he walked toward the bed, I did. "Mine."

"Yes," he answered. "All yours."

I held my arms up to him. "Not yet," he said. "First I must heal your self-inflicted hurts. Roll over."

Unable to see him, I closed my eyes. He settled himself on my upper thighs and kneaded and stroked my shoulders, neck and upper arms, working downward until he had covered my entire back with that same healing warmth and I groaned in satisfaction. The fragrance of the oil he used enchanted and overwhelmed me.

I sighed. "It smells of you: spicy, woody, with a hint of musk."

"That might be because I use it after I bathe, might it not?" He laughed.

My pain gone, I turned and flipped him over, pinning him on his back. He offered no resistance.

"Don't close your eyes," I demanded. "Look at me."

"You are so present, here, in the moment," he breathed.

"Where else? Oh. Him. Well, I'd prefer to be alone with you, if you don't mind."

"Trust me. You only shine brighter in comparison."

"I am certainly not the withholding sort." I kissed him fiercely and ground my sex against his.

"No. You are not. I have been looking for you. I did not realize it until I saw you in the hall that night. A fellow son of the forest." His tone revealed that something about the memory struck him as droll. "Wolfish in a crowd of peacocks. Your elegant shirt clashed against that rough feathered hair tie, proclaiming your refusal to let them tame the wildness in you.

"On your back now." He voiced not a command but a promise. "You said your last partner was selfish about sharing the unique pleasure to be had from playing the sheath."

"Not in those words," I choked out, my mouth suddenly dry, viewing the length and breadth of him. "Yes. Please. Yes."

Beleg kept his eyes open as I had requested. Every nuance of expression therein brought me further into his realm of enchantment, silver twilight, most intimate of nights, and then a glorious shower of light. At the moment of our climax he shouted my name.

Never had I felt so cherished, beautiful, or full of myself, and yet so thoroughly drained and completed. He held me close, as though he had not wanted to release me, body or mind. At last, my breathing had returned to normal and I found myself, surprisingly, not sleepy but alert to the smoothness of his skin, the hard planes of his body, with the spark of returning desire igniting at the core of me. He had been right about the perfection. My head rested against his chest, still my preferred pillow.

"Haldir," he asked softly, "Is it my turn yet?"

You may be certain that I accommodated him to my absolute capacity. We fell asleep that night tangled together with the untroubled calm of the truly innocent or self-consciously much beloved. The following morning we awakened to the awareness of our incomparable and unexpected good fortune.

* * * *

My brothers took to Beleg immediately. Galadriel claims that she always liked him, despite everything she had heard said about him in Doriath. Celeborn only mentioned my bond with Beleg to me once. "You are a stronger man than I am," he said. I took immediate exception to that statement, coming from the man who not only had won the love of Lady Galadriel but also continues to live with her.

Beleg's confidence is stunning, but he is a stranger to baseless pride. We argue a lot. I often state that I can never hope to be his equal and he scoffs at that. He states that I sell myself short and, in any case, that the question is not equality, but respect for one another's uniqueness. Despite our differences of opinion or taste, we agree that there is an indisputable rightness about the two of us together.

Credit and Appreciation:

Thanks to Pandemonium for what she called her "gentle pruning;" as usual, thanks to IgnobleBard for his constant encouragement and willingness to read the whole thing and catch typos and argue with me about word usage; Lissa also caught typos and other inconsistencies and was willing to share with me her love and knowledge of Haldir, Lothlórien, and non-Noldorin elves in all of their names and permutations (Lindar, Silvan, Avari, Sindar, Teleri, etc.). I owe inspiration for the tattoo sequence and the methods the Avari used to fix Beleg's tattoo to Jael's story "King Stag." I almost did not give credit to Dawn Felagund for the conservatory of music in Alqualondë, taken from her wonderful novel Another Man's Cage; it is so much a part of my adopted canon, that I nearly forgot it is not in the original texts. Thanks to the others who read and commented on this story in its draft form, including Claudio, Moreth, and Jael.

Author's Notes

You do not need to read these notes unless I wrote something above that annoyed you and you would like to argue with me, or unless you really enjoy geeky musing over the process used in the bending and twisting of canon.

This was strange story for me to write. It is somewhat of a crossover between Lord of the Rings and Silmarillion canon. The difference between writing a Silm fic or an LotR fic is less for me the question of knowledge or adaptation of the canon since I first wrote LotR stories and have gradually shifted to focusing on The Silmarillion, but that, in the process, I have discovered the accepted conventions between the two communities of fanfic readers tend to differ somewhat.

Elves, Men and human nature: One LotR-centered reader/writer questioned my use of the expression "human nature." I left it anyway. For all practical intents and purposes Elves are human (true they are enhanced, refined, semi-immortal); yet, they look like extremely attractive Men, they bleed when they are cut, and are able to produce fertile offspring when they interbreed with Man. Tolkien himself affirms this in his Letter #153, where he states: "Elves and Men are evidently in biological terms one race."

I use man or woman in reference to male or female Elves. The mortals are referred to as Men, capitalized.

Descriptions of Aman:

I have assumed that the descriptions of Aman in The Silmarillion could read as having been exaggerated or mythologized. For example:

Alqualondë: "Many jewels the Noldor gave them, opals and diamonds and pale crystals, which they strewed upon the shores and scattered in the pools . . . . And many pearls they won for themselves from the sea, and their halls were of pearl, and of pearl were the mansions of Olwë at Alqualondë . . . ." The Silmarillion, "Of Eldamar and the Princes of the Eldalië"

and

Tirion: "There they dwelt, and if they wished they could see the light of the Trees, and could tread the golden streets of Valmar and the crystal stairs of Tirion upon Túna." The Silmarillion, "Of Eldamar and the Princes of the Eldalië"

Eärendil in Tirion: "He walked in the deserted ways of Tirion, and the dust upon his raiment and his shoes was a dust of diamonds . . . ." The Silmarillion, "Of the Voyage of Eärendil and the War of Wrath"

I played around a bit with making these locations seem slightly less fantastic and more inhabitable by the characters of this story as I interpreted them, while noting that Haldir was aware of these descriptions from the tales he had read of Elvenhome. On the other hand, I am not of the school of writers who believe the Elves lived in some sort of cleaner version of the European Middle Ages, or that the race of beings who were capable of creating the Silmarili would not have hot running water. So, Haldir gets to take a hot bath.

A café on the main square in Tirion? Indulge me on this one, please. (IgnobleBard said it best: "What is this Montmartre?") However, nowhere does it say there was not a fountain and that is Oshunverse. Already used it in another story. Doesn't a Royal Mail Coach seem very Noldorin though?

The Poems:

"A Farewell to False Love" by Sir Walter Raleigh
Poem from Hero and Leander by Christopher Marlowe

Language questions: I am presuming that Haldir has taken the trouble to learn some Quenya before coming to Aman. I also presume that Haldir and Beleg speak Sindarin to one another, if there were mutations Beleg would have mastered them by the period of this story.

There was a discussion over a reference that I made to the name of the city, Caras Galadhon, and the name of the Elves, the Galadhrim, the common element being the word "galadh" (tree). I appreciate Claudio's and Lissa's input on that question. I decided to let the sentence stand, although it may or may not be correct. I think it is a question of which came first the chicken or the egg; Claudio thought the name of city and Elves who dwelt there would not necessarily be related.

Fanon/Hair: My reference to ancient Elves and the concept of associating long hair with virility is fanon, which I think I may have invented (probably not, but I don't recall having seen it done before). My inspiration is canon, however: "All the Eldar had beautiful hair (and were especially attracted by hair of exceptional loveliness)." ("The Shibboleth of Fëanor," The Peoples of Middle-Earth)

Haldir is neither strictly movie or book-verse; his title chief of the Marchwardens of Lothlórien is actually modeled on Beleg's title in The Silmarillion account of the tale of the Children of Húrin. I do not think I could ever write Haldir without being influenced by Kenaz's "Marchwarden: Son of Guilin" and "Marchwarden: Hidden Hero." Clearly he is not her character, aside from his personality differences, his status has been perhaps ever so slightly advanced to give him greater access to some of the more illustrious characters of The Silmarillion.

Beleg is about as close to canon as I could bring a character in a slash romance (at least my personal and biased interpretation of canon). In preparation for writing this story I devoted my usual monthly character bio space to Beleg Cúthalion .

It pleases me beyond all rationality that I actually received an illustration from Hrymfaxe with authorization for me to use it with this story. (Warning: do not copy without the explicit permission of the artist.)

Click picture to view larger.

Meanwhile, Rhapsody wrote a transcript for this lovely picture of Beleg syanding on the outskirts of the city of Tirion.

Beleg: do I really have to come close to *that* city?

Hrymfaxe: yes, please, it's for Oshun.

Beleg: Oshun, okay, how close?

Hrymfaxe: how close? In the city, playing with water in the fountain basin or you standing on the steps...

Beleg: *in* the city?

Hrymfaxe: yes.... pretty please?

Beleg: I will not enter the city!

Hrymfaxe: but but, how am I supposed to fulfill this request?

Beleg: well there is a hill, so I can technically stand in front of it.

Hrymfaxe: Ooo and of course you with your bow, looking all charismatic and...

Beleg groans...

Thank you, Hrymfaxe and Rhapsody.

Click for larger view.