Imladris, TA 1004, Midsummer night's eve
Melpomaen had not previously realized just how high the Last Homely House's main staircase was, probably because he had never before ascended its interminable steps with a half-conscious Galadhel draped across his shoulders. Haldir may have been lean, but he was all muscle: not a light burden to bear. By the time they reached the door to Haldir's room Melpomaen's arms were cramped and his back sore.
It seemed the effort had been worth it, however, for Haldir appeared to visibly improve the instant they were inside. He sat down on the bed, belched, and said he wanted to splash water on his face. Melpomaen helped him to the door of the bath, relieved that the drunken guardian no longer clung to him like a vine. When the door closed, he wandered over to the window, determined not to leave until he had made sure Haldir was feeling better.
He spent some time pondering the evils of excessive drink -- what but the wine had made a warrior like Haldir so unsteady on his feet? -- and a few further minutes watching a party of Greenwood Elves revelling among the trees below. When the inebriated group broke into its third consecutive Silvan drinking song and Haldir still had not emerged from the bath, Melpomaen walked up to the door and knocked softly.
"Haldir? Are you all right?"
There was no answer, and so Melpomaen put his ear to the door. He heard shuffling sounds; presumably Haldir was moving around inside. Then he jumped at the sudden clang of metal against stone.
"Haldir?" Melpomaen pressed down on the door latch, and found it locked. "Haldir, please answer me."
The metallic noise was replaced by the sound of water being poured. Melpomaen was growing more concerned by the second. Was Haldir trying to take a bath? In his current state such an action was highly inadvisable; he could stumble, hit his head and drown! Death by water not while fording an angry river in the service of the Lady of the Golden Wood but while drunkenly bathing... It was highly embarrassing. Melpomaen was determined not to let such an awful thing happen while the guardian was in his care.
He pounded on the door. "Haldir, let me in! I demand that you let me in this instant!"
"Uh..."
Courage filled Melpomaen's chest. He had always preferred sober counsel to rash action, but this was no time for thinking. "Haldir! Open this door or I shall break it down!"
Haldir said nothing. Melpomaen took a deep breath and launched himself against the door, shoulder first. Pain spread all down his side, but the heavy wood did not budge. He drew back and kicked with all his might, still with little success. He was about to kick the hard surface a second time when he heard the lock being turned at last.
The door opened. Haldir emerged from the room.
Melpomaen took one look, and felt his relief turn to dread. He had expected to see Haldir leaning heavily on the doorframe, swaying from lack of balance, pale, nauseous and weak. He had not expected... this.
Haldir was nude. Water droplets glistened on his chest and stomach, reflecting the moonlight and adorning his skin like jewels. He stood straight and proud, head cocked to the side in a familiar challenge. Though no candles were lit in the room and most of Haldir's face remained shadowed, Melpomaen did not need light to discern the ever-present smirk that graced the guardian's features.
But it was not Haldir's naked torso that made Melpomaen's stomach lurch in a helpless jumble of fear and desire. The threat -- the trap -- lay lower still, and though Melpomaen tried valiantly to keep his eyes from straying, their downward course was inevitable. Lured by the hint of something dark just beyond the edge of his vision, Melpomaen glanced down, and found that Haldir was not fully nude after all. For the guardian's thigh-high boots -- the same boots that had taunted and tempted Melpomaen for months -- were still very much in place.
Melpomaen made a half-hearted attempt to move back. The boots advanced.
"I am impressed, meldir." All traces of intoxication were gone from Haldir's voice. "To think you wanted me so badly that you were ready to break down the door... Such ardour is rare. It deserves to be rewarded."
"I was only concerned--"
"You were concerned I was not well. I assure you, I have never been in finer condition." He stepped closer, moving out of the shadows and into a beam of moonlight. "Why not look and see for yourself?"
As if hypnotized, Melpomaen did as he was bid. Haldir's broad chest and naked thighs were luminous, almost shining with an inner light. Strangely, the boots he wore made him seem more exposed, turning his nudity from a pure, natural thing into a lewd provocation. The sleek line of the black leather drew Melpomaen's eyes to Haldir's erection, which stood hard and unabashed, as if delighting in being on display. It was clear Haldir wanted to be observed and admired. To his shame, Melpomaen could not tear his eyes away.
"Do I please you?" Haldir's smirk was evident now. "If you come closer, I shall please you better still."
Melpomaen took two more steps back and felt his shoulders came in contact with the wall. Through an effort of pure will, he forced his eyes to focus on Haldir's face. "I think I'd better leave."
"Why? You just got here."
"Haldir, there are plenty of Elves down in the clearing--"
"So what?"
"Well, many of them are actively looking for an encounter tonight. I'm not--"
"Aren't you?" Haldir's eyebrows arched. "What would you call the clothes you are wearing if not an invitation? And the way you moved among the bonfires, with all those eyes upon you? Don't tell me you didn't love every second of it: you did, I watched you. You couldn't have been more provocative had you been stark naked." He took another step forward.
"But, Haldir, I didn't mean it that way." Melpomaen shook his head in denial. "I didn't mean--"
Haldir's eyes flashed with a predatory light. "Oh, I think you did."
With the instinct of a stalked animal, Melpomaen felt the trap click shut. In moments, Haldir was upon him, pressing up against him, hands pulling at clothing.
"Haldir, no--"
"Hush, now, don't fight me... There, doesn't that feel good?"
"No, Haldir. Stop!" Melpomaen pushed Haldir away, yet could not help noticing that the muscles under his hands were firm, the skin hot and supple.
"Stop? Come now, pretty one, you and I both know you do not mean that. Your mouth may say the words..." Haldir traced the curve of Melpomaen's bottom lip with his tongue. "But your body doesn't lie. See how it betrays you?" He slipped a hand between Melpomaen's legs.
Melpomaen closed his eyes. He wanted to die. He wanted the floor in the chamber to open up and swallow him whole. How could this be? He had just spent the whole evening wooing the one person in the world he would never wish to betray -- and yet here he was, with Haldir's hands on him, and all he could feel was overwhelming need. Valar, it had been so long!
Haldir moved his hand in slow, languid strokes. "Your lover has been neglecting you, I know. If I were he, I would not be so cruel." His tongue licked a trail up Melpomaen's ear. "I will not be so cruel."
"Haldir, wait--"
"I have waited long enough." With that, Haldir brought his mouth down upon Melpomaen's, hard. His hands ceased their gentle touching and tugged at the ties of Melpomaen's leggings, then pushed their way inside.
"Haldir, stop!"
Instead of stopping, Haldir gripped Melpomaen's hip tighter with one hand as the other worked his shaft in forceful strokes. He kissed sloppily, forcing his tongue into Melpomaen's mouth.
Melpomaen twisted aside. "Take your hands off me! I do not wish this!"
"Yes you do--"
"No!" Melpomaen shoved the hands away, only to be rewarded with a hard slap across the face. Cheek stinging, he looked up and saw Haldir's lips twist in an angry line.
Through the fog of lust clouding his head, a chilling realization began to dawn on Melpomaen. Haldir was strong: much stronger than he. If the guardian wished to have him, then have him he would, whether Melpomaen were willing or no.
Fear snaked its way up Melpomaen's spine.
"I had thought we would do this amicably, both taking pleasure from each other." Haldir's voice was menacing. "But I see now that you prefer a firmer touch. Very well, if that is your preference..." Powerful hands gripped Melpomaen's shoulders and turned him around, slamming his chest and face into the wall. "You asked for this. Now you shall get it."
Haldir yanked Melpomaen's leggings down, exposing his rear and probing his opening.
"Stop!" Melpomaen screamed, desperate to get away. With his hands braced on the wall beside his head, he did the only thing he could think of: he brought his elbow down sharply, aiming to hit whatever was behind him. When he heard a gasp of surprise, he twisted about and used his knee to deliver a mighty blow to Haldir's groin.
Haldir doubled over in pain. Within seconds, Melpomaen was in the hallway, pulling up his leggings and straightening his tunic. Though his legs were unsteady, he wasted no time in making his way back to the staircase. It was unlikely that the guardian would come after him -- undressed as he was -- but Melpomaen's instinct told him to flee.
When he reached the stairs, he stumbled, and had to stop for a moment to steady his knees. Then, clutching the balustrade for balance, he began to make his way down.
Elrond rushed through the hallways, the folds of his long robes gathered in one hand, hair streaming behind him. Where once he would have cared for decorum, he now hurried past residents and guests alike, stopping neither to answer questions nor to respond to greetings. Two thoughts rang through his mind like a warning bell. Where was Melpomaen? And had he come to any harm?
He had seen Melpomaen and Haldir leave the clearing together, and had thought at first that his lover, helpful and kind-hearted as always, was merely assisting a guardian who had had too much to drink. But then Haldir had caught Elrond's eye and smiled so mockingly that it became clear at once his intentions were anything but pure.
The burden of office is heavy and its obligations often ill timed: just at that moment Elrond was intercepted by an important Greenwood dignitary who spoke of matters that could not easily be dismissed. Elrond did his diplomatic best to end the conversation quickly, but by the time the guest had at last moved on, Melpomaen and Haldir were nowhere to be seen.
Hastening through the clearing, Elrond paid no mind to the conversations going on around him -- until he heard Haldir's name mentioned by one of the Galadhrim.
"I'll bet you two gold pieces," the Galadhel was saying, "that our Haldir will have that pretty scribe out of his garments -- and on his knees -- before Rúmil over there empties his glass." He pointed at another Lórien Elf, drinking about twenty paces away. "And that he'll be down here to tell us all about it even before that boar is through roasting."
Two gold pieces was no mean sum, especially for a common soldier. What's more, the odds seemed favourable: Rúmil's glass was only half-full, and the boar had been roasting on the spit nearly all day; already the cooks were sharpening their long knives, getting ready to carve. And yet none of the Galadhrim dared accept the wager.
It was then that Elrond broke into a run.
The path toward the Last Homely House was neither crowded nor long, but Elrond felt he had never traversed a route more interminable. Rounding a tree-sheltered corner, he nearly collided with the librarian who had kept him company earlier in the evening. The Elf was now as far from sober as it was possible to get while still remaining upright: weaving on and off the path, he sang loudly and hiccupped at regular intervals.
Elrond did not stop to assist him. Instead, he quickened his pace, all the while cursing himself for not having paid closer attention to the arrangements made for the Galadhrim's accommodation. Where were Haldir's rooms? They had to be upstairs, as that was where most of the guests were quartered, but which wing?
He need not have fretted about the precise direction of his pursuit. The instant he reached the large staircase in the main building he knew he need seek no further.
Melpomaen was stumbling down the steps, hand gripping the railing. His face was whiter than the stone under his fingers, and on it showed two deep scratches and a burgeoning bruise. His hair was half-undone, his tunic torn at the shoulder. He was shivering.
For a moment, Elrond thought he would be ill, so deep was his horror at the thought of what had likely just happened. Then he recovered his composure and rushed up the stairs. He was just in time to gather a tottering Melpomaen into his arms and keep him from falling.
"Mel!"
"Elrond..."
"Oh, Mel." Elrond's voice was hoarse; his throat seemed to have constricted. Melpomaen's body in his arms seemed a fragile, priceless thing. "Are you hurt? Did that Galadhel hurt you?"
Melpomaen shook his head.
Elrond stroked the dark hair, not long ago resplendent amid intricate braids, now in disarray. He tightened his embrace, silently bartering whole kingdoms and riches innumerable for the power to make things all right. "Because if he did... Elbereth, I'll rip out his heart! I swear I'll--"
Melpomaen's hand, cold and far from steady, closed over Elrond's mouth. "Don't you dare. If that isn't conduct unbecoming the Lord of Imladris, I don't know what is. And besides, it isn't necessary. He didn't..."
"Didn't..."
Melpomaen's ghostly complexion regained some colour. He clenched his jaw to control the shivering, body taut with the effort to convey strength. "He tried. Haldir can be very forceful, as I just found out. But so can I. And I think it'll be a while before he is able to walk without pain."
With the terror of the moment quickly being replaced by relief, it dawned on Elrond that the body he held in his arms was not that of a victim, disoriented after some ordeal, but that of a fighter after his first major bout: shaken up, yet triumphant.
He drew back to get a better look at Melpomaen's face. The deathly whiteness was already giving way to an unnatural blush, borne of too much excitement. "Thank Elbereth you're well!" He crushed the slim frame to his chest once more.
Melpomaen relaxed against him. "I'm fine. Though no doubt I look like I just survived a hurricane or flood, and my legs feel unfit for standing."
Elrond immediately remembered his duty as healer. "Are you in any pain?"
"No."
"Let me help you to my rooms, they're not far..." He cut off abruptly, recalling that Melpomaen knew very well where his rooms were located. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of an amused smile. Softly he kissed the bruised cheek. "You need to have those scratches tended, and a cup of something calming would do you no harm. Come."
They descended the stairs slowly. Now that the danger was past, Elrond's imagination seemed more than willing to supply graphic images of what had nearly befallen Melpomaen. In horrific detail, he saw the humiliation and the pain, the shock and the random unfairness of what would surely have taken place if only Melpomaen were less strong, or less sober, or simply had worse luck.
With every step, Elrond's fury grew. He wanted Haldir hanged, or drawn and quartered, whipped until he lost consciousness or, better yet...
"Elrond." Melpomaen's dark eyes were looking at him with understanding. "I'm all right, really."
"I know. But that Galadhel needs to be stopped before he does any more harm."
Elrond looked around. Just outside the main doors, slightly in the shadows, stood a figure in the uniform of the Imladris border guard. The blond hair was common enough, but the face looked familiar.
"Wait here for me. I'll only be a moment," he told Melpomaen, then walked through the open doorway. He faced the guard, who saluted as if on parade.
"Caegaran? Is that your name?"
"Yes, my Lord."
"Listen, Caegaran. I have an urgent command for you. Gather a few more of your fellows and find Haldir of the Galadhrim. Restrain him, by force if need be, and confine him to his chambers. He has just tried to commit a serious crime, and will answer for it as is fitting. Do not delay."
A strange expression crossed the guard's face: something that looked like shock, and maybe even grief. No doubt he had been unprepared to hear such disturbing news on a night that was supposed to be naught but pleasure and joy.
"Do you understand?" Elrond asked.
The guard stood at attention. His eyes, locked with Elrond's, blazed with intensity.
"Yes, my Lord."
Notes:
meldir - friend (male)
A note about Elves and rape - In "Laws and Customs among the Eldar" (revised typescript B), Tolkien wrote: "Even when in after days, as the histories reveal, many of the Eldar in Middle-earth became corrupted, and their hearts darkened by the shadow that lies upon Arda, seldom is any tale told of deeds of lust among them." The original manuscript A has: "...there is no record of any among the Elves that took another's spouse by force; for this was wholly against their nature, and one so forced would have rejected bodily life and passed to Mandos. Guile or trickery in this matter was scarcely possible (even if it could be thought that any Elf would purpose to use it); for the Eldar can read at once in the eyes and voice of another whether they be wed or unwed." ("Laws and Customs among the Eldar" in Morgoth's Ring, Volume 10 of The History of Middle Earth).
In my view, the word "seldom" leaves scope for speculation that sometimes deeds of lust did indeed take place. (Enter eeevil Haldir). As for the taking of another by force, even though Tolkien refers specifically to the crime of rape perpetrated against married Elves, I preferred to sidestep the question of whether or not Melpomaen would "reject bodily life" by having him successfully fight off his attacker. Which fitted in nicely with my intended plot anyway.
Imladris, TA 1004, Midsummer night's eve
Erestor tasted of honey. The wine he had drunk earlier must have had honey as its base, for his mouth was even sweeter than usual. There was a rich golden flavour on his tongue, sharper than that of fruit and tantalizingly delicious.
Glorfindel leaned closer to sample the sweetness again. Yes, definitely honey. He let his hands wander over Erestor's body, feeling the hard muscles under the soft silk robes. His fingers undid the fastenings and slipped inside.
"Glorfindel."
" Mmm?"
"Not here..."
"Why not?"
"It's too exposed, too many people around."
"I don't see anyone."
Glorfindel had not just spent the past half-hour manoeuvring his lover through the crowded clearing, toward a hidden spot between the trees, only to have his plans foiled now. Especially as the throbbing between his legs had not abated since his first glimpse of Erestor in his dark-green fitted robes -- no less than a full hour and a half before.
He deepened the kiss, hands parting fabric. Erestor's undertunic gave way, the ties of his leggings presenting only a minor obstacle.
"Glorfindel, we are hardly in private..."
"So? It is hardly uncommon for two lovers to slip off into the woods on midsummer's night; why shouldn't we--"
"But someone might see!"
Glorfindel's fingers, poised to slip into Erestor's leggings, were in a perfect position to feel a distinct twitch under the tight-fitting fabric. Encouraged, Glorfindel looked into his lover's eyes and smiled. "And what if they do?" His hand settled firmly over Erestor's groin. "Shall we give them a show?"
The combination of a second, more pronounced twitch and Erestor's eyes growing dark with desire was all the encouragement Glorfindel needed. He parted the wine-sweetened lips in a deep kiss, pressing the dark head back against the tree under which they stood. He tugged
Erestor's leggings down over his hips.
"Wait..." Erestor's eyes were half-closed, his mouth, half-open. His chest rose and fell in a rapid rhythm. "You know every noise will cause me to jump in alarm. And with so many Elves tramping through the woods tonight... how can we enjoy ourselves fully if my instincts tell me to run?"
" Hmm." Glorfindel's tongue teased the tip of Erestor's ear. "There is one thing I could do that might help."
"What's that?"
"Ensure that you cannot get away."
For an instant, Erestor stopped breathing. "What do you mean?"
"Only this."
Glorfindel pressed Erestor's arms against the sides of the tree. He unwound the sash from his lover's waist and secured it around the width of the trunk. The sash was long and the tree slim; soon Erestor could not easily disentangle himself from the soft silken bonds even if he struggled.
"Better now?" Glorfindel asked.
"You scheming, manipulative knave..."
Glorfindel leaned heavily against Erestor, sliding a leg between his thighs. "Shall I untie you?"
" Elbereth , no."
Erestor's eyes had fallen closed. His head was thrown back against the white bark of the birch tree. Glorfindel smiled and ran a teasing finger along his lover's exposed neck. "I thought you might appreciate that. I do like those sashes you wear with your robes. So many practical uses for--"
"Oh, shut your mouth. Shut it, and..."
" And what?"
"Finish what you started."
"And if others see us?"
"Let them." Erestor's lips were trembling by this time, his body straining against its bonds in an attempt to maximize physical contact.
Glorfindel brushed against him once more. "As my Lord wishes." He dropped to his knees.
Erestor's hips were difficult to still, and Glorfindel had to grip hard, digging his fingers into the delicate skin. Though his grasp was likely painful, it only increased Erestor's ardour: its evidence rose right before Glorfindel's eyes, straight, hard and fragrant -- beautiful, and begging to be touched. He opened his mouth and took in his lover's length.
" Valar!" The loud gasp that escaped Erestor's mouth was hardly a display of discretion.
Glorfindel bit down lightly, as if in warning. Then he pulled away. "If you yell like that, we are almost guaranteed to have company. Of course, if that is what you wish..."
Erestor suppressed another groan, and clenched his jaw. Glorfindel bent to his task again. He knew it would not take long, nor did he wish to delay gratification with too much teasing. They had both been sufficiently inflamed by the wine and the openly licentious atmosphere of the evening to crave satisfaction that was deep, thorough and, above all, quick. What's more, the ache between Glorfindel's own thighs served as a palpable reminder that the sooner he had given Erestor pleasure, the sooner he could take his own.
Erestor didn't object to Glorfindel's rapid pace: he shuddered and thrust, all the while choking back sounds that would no doubt have resonated through the forest had he felt free to give them voice. Glorfindel delighted to feel his lover's muscles tightening under his hands, relished the uneven sound of his breathing. Judging by its quickening pace, it wouldn't be long now. Any moment, Erestor would tense and spend -- and then Glorfindel would untie him, turn him about and...
" Glorfindel."
" Mmm..." Glorfindel anchored his hands firmly on Erestor's hips, prepared to feel him buck any second.
"Someone's coming."
"Indeed ," Glorfindel thought with satisfaction. He suckled more forcefully.
"Glorfindel!"
Erestor's body jerked, and it was only then that Glorfindel noticed the sound of footsteps behind him. For a few seconds, his warrior's instincts battled with desire, one urging him to face the potential threat, the other compelling him to continue as before. With Erestor so close to his peak, surely it would be cruel to stop now...
His dilemma was short-lived. Erestor, who had found the idea of being watched appealing, apparently found the reality even more so. His entire body went rigid, his hands clenched around their silken bonds, and he came with a full-throated moan that bordered on a scream.
As soon as Erestor's tremors had subsided, Glorfindel straightened up and untied him, putting a steadying arm around his waist as he rearranged his clothes. Then, with as much dignity as he could muster, he turned to face the intruder.
Whatever he might have expected to see, it certainly wasn't this.
The indiscreet spectator reclined against a tree, not because he wanted to appear nonchalant, but because he would otherwise have fallen down. His long hair was dishevelled, one silver ribbon drooping over his eyes. His breath, even from a distance, was so steeped in wine that Glorfindel found himself thankful there were no candles about -- otherwise the cloud of air puffed out of the Elf's lungs would have been in serious danger of bursting into flames.
The drunken Elf stepped forward, then promptly slumped back again. He struggled to focus. "In truth," he said, "I think I have just seen my Lord Erestor in a whole new light. Pity he isn't so spirited in the archives. The place would certainly be more lively if he were." He frowned, as if in thought, then added, "In truth."
Glorfindel didn't know quite what to say to that. Evidently, neither did Erestor. But the Elf, whom Glorfindel had by now recognized as one of the archivists, seemed undeterred by their silence.
"I am much ob--" He hiccupped. "Much obliged to you for your demonstration. I never knew silk sashes could be so useful, in truth. I don't think I've ever seen..." He scratched his head. "No, I never did see anything of the kind in the erotic manuals in the library."
"Yes, it is unfortunate the illustrators neglected to record that particular trick for posterity," Glorfindel said, and immediately wished he hadn't, for the archivist drew himself up, eyes shining with purpose.
"A glaring oversight that shall have to be remedied at once!" he said, taking a step forward and nearly tripping over his feet.
Alarmed, Glorfindel wondered whether the Elf planned to drag one of Imladris' artists away from the bonfires in order to carry out this pressing task or intended to put his own artistic skill to immediate use. Either way, given his condition, such action was hardly advisable.
Fortunately, Erestor was by now in full possession of his faculties and ready to set things right. He took the archivist by the elbow. "I think that can wait, my friend," he said. "Why waste the evening in the pursuit of theory when practice is so much sweeter, hm?"
The drunken Elf smiled lecherously and nodded, silver ribbon flapping over his nose.
"Now, why don't you go up to your chambers and change out of these robes -- they are covered in wine stains, after all -- and then come back and see if you can find a companion by the bonfires?"
Erestor's tone sounded familiar; it was the one he had used long ago when trying to persuade Elladan and Elrohir to eat their porridge.
"But... why bother changing garments?" The archivist's whine was reminiscent of the complaining done by the young sons of Elrond. "The bonfires are so close, and I have wasted enough time already, in truth! I should make haste, I should--"
Erestor gripped his elbow with both hands. "No Imladris beauty will be impressed by soiled robes, you know that. And the Greenwood Elves are even fussier. Now," he said, putting an arm around the Elf's shoulder, "come with me, it won't take long."
The archivist grunted something that could be interpreted as agreement, and ceased resisting. Carefully, Erestor directed their steps toward the path to the Last Homely House, looking over his shoulder to mouth a quick, "I'm sorry."
Glorfindel had always admired Erestor's sense of responsibility. Unfortunately, at this moment no amount of admiration could compensate for the frustration of having had his amorous activities interrupted. Drunk or no, some people simply had no tact! He thought briefly of smearing honey over the archivist's books, or sawing through the rungs of his ladder in the library, but dismissed both ideas as childish and beneath him. Erestor would put the fool to bed and make his way back in no time -- and then they could resume their tryst.
The two figures had long disappeared among the trees, but their progress could still be traced by the archivist's heavy step. It was hard to believe that anyone but an Orc could trample so many twigs as he walked, and so loudly. Beside him, Erestor was graceful beyond measure. Glorfindel could picture it now: his lover's green silk robes fitting tightly over his back, shoulders and hips, and swinging around his thighs as he stepped soundlessly over the forest floor. His hair would look as black as midnight against his pale skin, a strand of it curling at his temple where it had slipped from its gold ribbon.
The image was so enticing that Glorfindel found his feet following the trail Erestor and the archivist had taken. Soon he had reached the path to the Last Homely House and espied Erestor -- and would have been content to simply stand and watch if another figure had not caught his eye.
Gildor was making his way down the path, a fair distance behind Erestor and his drunken companion. Though he moved carefully, timing his steps to match the pair's measured pace, his stride was less a walk than a swagger, as if he could already foresee the success of his pursuit.
Glorfindel had never felt kindly toward Gildor, but the pure hatred that now filled his chest surprised him. His initial impulse was to seek a confrontation, but then he realized that if he did so now -- before Gildor had done anything malicious -- he would have to be civil, no matter how badly he wanted to throttle his self-styled rival.
He stepped back into the cover of the forest and followed the edge of the path, keeping Gildor in sight. Let events unfold as they would. The moment that spawn of Mordor tried to hurt Erestor, Glorfindel would show him there was a price to be paid.
The east wing of the Last Homely House was deserted, its occupants likely drinking their fill in the clearing or giving into the urges of the flesh with a willing partner in a private corner of the forest. And so no one was there to witness the strange sight of an Imladris guard running down the hall -- not composed and in control, as might have been expected of a well-trained soldier, but shaking with rage.
The guard, though overwrought, seemed to know where he was going, for he headed straight for an unmarked door and opened it without knocking. Once inside, he slammed the door behind him and faced the occupant of the room.
"You useless piece of dirt!" he said, without preamble. "You incompetent son of a Dwarf! Where did you learn the arts of love, a flea-infested village of Men? You are reputed to be a great seducer-- just what have you seduced in that Golden Wood of yours, deer? Rabbits? Mushrooms? I can't believe I trusted you with this task! I can't believe--"
" Caegaran." Haldir lifted his head from the bed where he lay curled up, a damp compress on his groin. "For Valar's sake, shut your mouth. Can you not see I am in pain?"
" Elbereth be praised!" Caegaran lifted his face and hands to the ceiling in mock worship. "I do hope your suffering is intense; you deserve nothing less."
"Damn you! Is this what I get for all my trouble? Physical hurt instead of satisfaction, and insults rather than gratitude?"
Caegaran walked closer. He rested his hands on his hips and regarded Haldir with disdain. "And what exactly should I be grateful for, the fact that the little runt of an advisor was unharmed? Or the near certainty that your pathetic efforts at debauchery have driven him right back to Elrond's bed? Thank you, Haldir, thank you indeed."
Haldir sighed and closed his eyes, gingerly shifting on the sheets. "I underestimated him, I must admit. Skinny he may be, and untrained in the arts of war, but he has a spirit many fighting men would envy. That, and good aim." He rearranged his compress, cringing as he did so. "Ah, that it should come to this! The famed Imladris midsummer night's eve festival: the very epitome of sensual delights -- and me not between the thighs of a beautiful youth, but nursing an injured--"
"Do not tell me you expect sympathy!" Fury lit up Caegaran's face. "You won't get any from me. In fact..." He drew himself up, a cruel smile on his lips. "I have just received an order from the Lord of this realm to hold you prisoner until you can be dealt with. And I intend to carry out my orders to the letter. You will pay for your incompetence, mark my words."
" Really." Haldir met Caegaran's challenging stare with one of his own. "Will I?"
"Yes, you--"
"Oh, my dear Caegaran, I think you are mistaken."
Haldir sat up slowly, still holding onto the compress but making no other concessions to his injury. If his condition had temporarily made him appear vulnerable, that impression was quickly erased. As he planted his feet squarely on the floor and tilted his head proudly, the farcical rejected lover disappeared, replaced by a fierce leader of the Galadhrim.
"Tell me, Caegaran," Haldir said, pronouncing his words with care. "How did the idea of seducing Elrond's lover first enter my mind? Did I spot him upon coming to Imladris and, pining with lust, say, 'Why, I must have him'?"
"You dwell on insignificant details--"
"Not insignificant at all!" Haldir smiled. "For intent is at least half the crime, is it not? And, in this sordid affair, the intent was wholly yours; I merely went along with your plan."
"You wanted to bed that little mouse of a scribe! Don't deny it!"
"I deny nothing." Haldir put his damp compress aside and stood up, facing Caegaran. "Whether or not I wanted to is beside the point. What matters is that you practically begged me to do it. What do you think Elrond will have to say about that when I tell him?"
Caegaran blanched. "You wouldn't."
" Oh, Caegaran." Haldir shook his head. "Are you really that naïve?"
The room fell silent. Caegaran stood still, hands shaking, breath coming quickly. His lips moved a few times in an attempt to speak, but no sound came out. Finally, he said, "You cannot save yourself, you know. It is too late for that."
"I know," Haldir replied. "But I am not about to suffer punishment alone."
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