Title: Changes, part 1 of 4
Author: Rune Dancer, runedancer2000@yahoo.com
Rating: R
Paring: Haldir/Gildor; Elrond/Celeborn/Galadriel; Galadriel/Inwë
Summary: In which Elrond and Celeborn learn about true submission, and
Haldir
learns . . . oh, a lot. This is a continuation of Unspoken and
Revelations, so read them first or prepare to be really confused.
Feedback: I live for it.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, at all, period. It's very sad.
Warning: Het content and BDSM.
Archiving: OLAS and anyone else who wants it, just let me know.
Haldir decided it was not surprising that, considering how the rest of his visit to Imladris had gone, his one chance at true revenge should be screwed up as well. Virtually the whole house slept, but when he and Gildor arrived at the baths, a cheerful Elladan greeted them and proceeded to chat unrelentingly with an equally happy Gildor until Haldir thought his head would burst. His planned seduction/torment session for his companion was by necessity aborted, and his mood was truly black by the time he once more reached his rooms. Throwing clothing and personal items into saddlebags, Haldir tried to slam his way out of his chamber, but the heavy wooden door refused to oblige, closing with a refined click as always. He would have liked to take an axe to it, but there wasn't one handy and he refused to stay in this torture chamber long enough to find one. Bad head or no, he would ride for calm, beautiful, sane Lorien this morn if all the orcs in Middle Earth stood in the way. Elbereth, but he HATED Imladris!
Naturally, his horse was unavailable, having thrown a shoe the previous day that had yet to be replaced. So he ended up with a far inferior creature on loan until his could be sent on. The stable master offered to shoe his mount sometime that day if he wished to wait, but Haldir flatly refused. Riding out into the morning, which had dawned fair and clear, it was with no surprise at all that he saw storm clouds gathering on the horizon, clouds which proceeded to make straight for him as he approached Imladris' borders. Haldir knew he should turn back and wait for a more auspicious day for his journey; his horse certainly thought so, bucking and rearing at the first slash of lightening across the sky in a way his own mount never would have done. Haldir kept his seat, however, and turned the beast's nose resolutely into the coming storm. There was not enough mithril in Middle Earth to make him stay one more day under Elrond's roof.
As he approached Imladris' border, the trees began whipping fiercely in the sudden storm, and the sky grew increasingly black, with menacing grey/green clouds that rumbled almost continually and were lit only with deadly silver streaks. A particularly close crack of thunder caused his cowardly horse to rear once more just as he was about to clear the tree-line, and Haldir was still trying to bring it under control when a blinding flash nearby sent a heavy limb crashing down on the animal's back and knocked him from the saddle. His horse reared over him, blinded by the rain and its own panic, then a hoof caught him a glancing blow and he knew no more.
* * *
Glorfindel watched Galadriel's party approach with a feeling of incipient disaster. The fact that she looked as serene as always, impeccably gowned in a dress of the finest white lace and surrounded by an impressive number of Lorien's best Galadrim, did little to reassure him; he had the feeling that she would have that same expression if ordering dinner or an execution. That her party was backlit by an ominous greenish light from the approaching tempest lent it something of a portentous quality, and seemed somehow appropriate. Thunder boomed overhead as he hurried down the main steps to assist the Lady to dismount her impressive white stallion. He thought it rather a large horse for such a petite elf, but Galadriel apparently had no trouble controlling it.
"My Lady, Lorien's loss of its fairest light is Imladris' great gain. How good it is to have you with us once more."
"You are too kind, my Lord," Galadriel took his proffered hand, her fair face tranquil as she dismounted. It was with particular shock, then, that Glorfindel received the images she sent into his mind at the same moment, and he almost stumbled as they proceeded in what looked like perfect dignity up the stairs to the main hall. He had to admire Elrond's performance, but careless to have allowed such scenes to be seen . . .
"Yes, quite careless," Galadriel murmured. "Elros, Camthalion, Inwë," she called in a slightly louder voice, "with me." Three golden haired elves broke away from the group at the door as rain began to beat down on the roof of the Last Homely House in rolling waves. Glorfindel watched them narrowly as they obediently followed Galadriel up the stairs towards Elrond's chambers. He didn't like their smooth, pale faces that showed no emotion, and he strongly suspected that he was looking on some of the Noldor who had come with Galadriel when she arrived in Lorien after the fall of Doriath. If so, they were likely to be loyal only to her, a fact that, under the circumstances, concerned him greatly.
Leaving the party of Galadrim in the care of several sleepy servants, he almost ran up the stairs after the stately, white-clad foursome, and managed to overtake them and block their path with what he hoped was a casual air. "You must be tired after your long journey, Lady," he smiled and tried not to think of the shiver that Galadriel's eerie calm sent up his spine. It felt familiar somehow, but he couldn't quite place it. "Perhaps I could show you and your attendants to chambers where you can rest and . . . "
**Move aside, seneschal.** Galadriel didn't bother speaking her thoughts aloud, but Glorfindel had the distinct impression that the other three elves heard her as clearly as he did.
"I would, my Lady, but I have standing orders from my Lord Elrond to always announce visitors, even the most exalted ones . . . " Glorfindel had to move back several steps as Galadriel continued her advance as though he was not there, but he resolutely stayed in her path. They were getting perilously close to Elrond's door now, and he fervently wished Erestor would appear to back him up, although what he could do Glorfindel had no idea.
**The fact that you are dear to my beloved Elrohir saves you, seneschal, but do not tempt me further.** Somehow, and Glorfindel could never later say exactly how it happened, he found himself shunted aside and Galadriel's party glided unimpeded into Elrond's rooms.
Now he remembered, he thought, as the same chill coursed its way back down his spine. Although there was seemingly no point of similarity between the two occasions, he'd nonetheless felt something very like it all those many years ago when staring down the Balrog. He shivered in memory, but nonetheless put a hand to the door, determined to do his duty--even though he was not exactly clear on what that might be--only to have it open and Erestor's pudgy form come stumbling out at him.
"I do not believe we'll be needed anymore, Glorfindel," his friend gasped, falling heavily into his arms as the chamber doors snapped shut behind him. It was, Glorfindel thought distractedly, an alarmingly final sound.
* * *
Haldir awoke to find himself perilously close to drowning in a rapidly forming puddle. Before he could right himself or curse Imladris yet again, he noticed a scuffed brown boot positioned a foot away from his nose, and strong arms lifted him as though he weighed nothing. "I always seem to be pulling you off the ground, gwador," he heard as he was sat on the back of a large black horse. "It is lucky we met, as it seems you need someone to look after you." Haldir didn't need to look up to know that it was Gildor who vaulted onto the horse behind him, and kicked it lightly into motion.
The pounding rain soaked them both thoroughly, but at least it kept Gildor quiet as they turned towards the Last Homely House. Haldir, who was already as wet as an elf could get, was therefore almost thankful for it, until the slanting sheets began hitting down so hard as to almost blow them off the animal's back. Haldir could make no sense of their course, but had the feeling that they were not headed in the right direction. There was no way to inform Gildor of that, however, as the storm was now right overhead and sounded as if a great battle were taking place all around them.
A few long moments later and the horse came to a standstill. Haldir was pulled off and dragged forward by his companion, who also led the animal into the face of the gale. Before he could protest this apparently insane act, he found himself impelled forward into a dark cavern, with Gildor and the horse pushing in after him. In a few seconds, Gildor had somehow managed to light a fire, and Haldir was able to identify his surroundings as a small stone hut used by Elrond's guardians as an outpost near the border. He had passed it coming into Imladris, but had paid it little heed, except to think that the talans of home looked to be much superior. That thought reoccurred to him as he gazed around the cramped quarters, made even more so by the ridiculous presence of the now steaming horse.
"Put the animal back outside!," he ordered Gildor, only to have the elf laugh at him. What a novelty, Haldir thought in disgust.
"Not in this, gwador, the poor thing will drown! Besides, there's plenty of room, and the storm must pass soon." Haldir wrinkled up his nose in disgust at the odor wafting off the large animal, which had managed to grab the best position before the fire. He sat down at a somewhat rickety table and resigned himself to putting up with the horse and Gildor--he really didn't know which was the more annoying--until the blasted storm passed over and he could make his way back to the stables and borrow another mount. One way or the other, he was getting out of Imladris this day, and all the storms in Arda weren't going to stop him.
The rain continued to bucket down around them and Haldir began to feel the cold. His head still hurt from his overindulgence the night before, not to mention the kick of that useless animal the stables at this cursed place had loaned him and . . . his thoughts were interrupted by a gigantic sneeze.
"That doesn't sound good, mellon," Gildor commented from somewhere on the other side of the horse. "Come, get out of those wet things and sit by the fire--you need to warm up or you'll be ill . . . and then it might be weeks until you can leave here," he added in that uncanny manner he had of seeming to read Haldir's mind.
"How am I supposed to 'sit by the fire' with that animal's backside in the way?," he asked irritably. Gildor sighed and pushed the horse into the corner of the little cabin. It neighed in protest, but went.
"Now, come to the heat, gwador, and stop sulking," he commanded, turning again to poke at something he had in a pot over the fire.
Haldir narrowly stopped himself from starting a childish argument with his companion over the fact that he did not, under any circumstances, sulk. He had spent months in chilly caves, guarding passes into Lorien, surrounded by parties of orcs who could ambush one at any moment, and with usually only a handful of fellow Galadrim to support him. He had traveled on extensive journeys beyond his homeland through areas alien to any elf; had fought fierce creatures--from wargs to gigantic spiders--that would have struck terror into most being's hearts; had suffered every type of hardship, from dehydration, to starvation to near death once from a poisoned arrow, and yet he had NEVER sulked. Galadrim did not sulk. Yet it would be a complete waste of time trying to explain something like that to the relentlessly cheerful creature opposite him. Gildor had probably faced far less in his so-called 'missions' for Elrond, but undoubtedly would manage to make a joke of Haldir's whole career. He was too cold, too weary and far too heartsick to care what one ugly elf thought of him.
Moving to the blazing hearth, Haldir stripped down and spread his dripping clothing over the mantle where it added its steam to that still coming off the horse. At least Gildor knew how to make a fire, he noted with approval, allowing its warmth to permeate his chilled muscles and beginning, after a few moments, to feel more himself. All right, so Elrond had rejected him. That was hardly surprising considering the competition; at least he hadn't been shunted aside for some common elf. Haldir's heart still ached, but, in all honesty, he couldn't envision a way in which the relationship might have worked. He would not be willing to give up his life in Lorien, where he had family, friends, and a position of respect for which he had long laboured, to stay at Imladris as Elrond's latest plaything. No, for them to have remained together would have required Haldir to sacrifice everything he was, and in the end, he knew he would have resented his lover for that. Better that it should end quickly, before he was any more infatuated than he already was.
Haldir sat on the hearthrug as the final beads of water dissipated from his skin, and contemplated the dancing flames. Strangely enough, his companion had chosen, at last, to be silent, merely occasionally stirring something in the small pot. It smelled good, and Haldir remembered that he had been too ill from the after effects of the wine to manage breakfast. Now he discovered that he was hungry, and wished he had the lembas he had packed in his saddlebags--now gone with his nag of a horse. Before he could long regret its loss, Gildor began dishing up his creation and handed Haldir a steaming bowl. He regarded it curiously, but it seemed to merely contain some sort of broth. It was good, he discovered, and gentle on his still slightly queasy stomach.
"A small amount of emergency supplies are kept in these cabins," Gildor informed him, seeing his surprise. "The kitchens at Imladris make the broth, then remove the water, leaving cakes that will last for a long time and are small and lightweight enough to carry easily on a journey. You could say it is our version of lembas, only we use both, of course."
Haldir nodded absently, continuing to eat and deciding that he had a new concept to introduce among the Galadrim when he returned home. It was rather surprising to him that no one had yet done so, as surely there was enough contact between the two courts that he could not be the first to learn of this method of storing food. Of course, it was inferior to lembas, he thought, and said as much to Gildor as he finished the bowl. "It is tasty, but you need a fire to make it, and there are many circumstances in which that would be unwise, or even foolhardy--especially on the borders."
Uncharacteristically, Gildor did not respond, other than by looking thoughtful. Haldir noticed that, although he had settled down on the floor as well to eat, he had positioned himself a bit farther away than was technically necessary. He also seemed to be deliberately avoiding looking at him for some reason, giving Haldir a chance to examine his companion at leisure while he combed out his rapidly drying hair. He was, Haldir thought in amusement, one of the saddest specimens of an elf he had ever seen. Of course, the way his tangled hair dripped about his face in snarls and snags did not help, nor did his soaked clothing, which had stretched from the absorption of much water into a misshapen mess.
"Why do you not get out of those wet clothes?," Haldir asked him as he finished rebraiding his hair. "Mine are still damp, but I can make room for at least some of yours on the mantle, and we can spread your cloak out on the floor. It will get somewhat dirty but," and Haldir raised an amused brow as he surveyed it, "I do not think that will much harm it."
"I am fine," Gildor said shortly, and moved to take Haldir's empty bowl along with his own to some nearby shelves. Where he had sat, Haldir noticed, a puddle had formed.
"You lecture me about not becoming ill, but you will do yourself an injury if you remain soaked to the skin." Haldir decided, considering that the elf had saved him a long, wet walk back to Imladris, that keeping him from getting pneumonia was the least he could do in repayment. He tugged off the other elf's soaked cloak and spread it on the only bare patch of floor left other than that in front of the fire where they had been sitting. He turned back to see Gildor regarding him narrowly, arms crossed over his chest.
"I am fine," he repeated stubbornly, and flinched away when Haldir reached out a hand to remove his sodden tunic.
Haldir sighed in exasperation and merely tugged harder. Really, was nothing ever simple with these Imladris elves? "Stop being ridiculous and give me that! If you are worried about the state of your clothes, I can assure you that it would be difficult to harm them further." He looked in distaste at the plain brown tunic and leggings Gildor seemed so concerned about, then wondered if it was perhaps because he could afford no others. Thinking back to the evening of the party, Haldir seemed to recall that the elf had worn an equally unattractive and inexpensive robe, and if he had had on any jewelry, it did not spring to mind. Of course, Haldir had hardly been at his best at the time, and might easily have missed something, but he thought not. "Come," he said more gently, moving to stand closer to Gildor, who suddenly looked a little panicked, "we will be careful with them."
Haldir would have liked to offer to buy the elf a whole new outfit, but decided to wait until he could think of the proper way to phrase it so as not to offend him. He did owe him a favour, after all, and rather thought he would enjoy seeing him properly clad in a colour that suited him. Maybe blue, he mused, while gently tugging Gildor's tunic over his head and laying it on the back of a chair, then moving to undo the buttons of his soaked shirt. Haldir noticed with surprise that he had a rather attractive chest; indeed, his whole form was not as solid as it first appeared, with cleaner, more lithe lines overall, although his muscles were more defined than those most elves could boast. It must be the ill cut of his clothes which made him seem so bulky. Indeed, Haldir thought as he fingered the material of the shirt that he finally managed to coax from Gildor's body, his attire seemed more of human make than elvish, with the cotton coarser to the touch and the stitching lacking grace. Why an elf would choose human clothes was beyond Haldir's comprehension, but he decided, seeing the mulish expression that had come over Gildor's face, not to push the issue at present.
Nudging his own clothes aside, he laid the thin shirt over the mantle, where it would dry quickly, and tuned back to the elf, only to find that he had sat himself again on the ground to the left of the puddle and was staring at the fire with a brooding expression. Haldir, who had now nicely dried himself, and was feeling much better for it, could not understand Gildor's insistence on remaining in wet clothes. And, if he didn't do something with his hair soon, it was going to dry into a matted mess.
Kneeling at his side, Haldir smiled in what he knew was a winning fashion-- it had brought him enough conquests through the years to prove its persuasiveness--and ran a hand over his companion's messy locks. "You took care of me," he murmured seductively, "let me care for you." Taking Gildor's silence as acquiescence, Haldir dropped a hand to the lacings on the elf's damp leggings, reflecting that undoing them was going to be a bit of a challenge as the knot had been almost welded together by the soaking it had received. "I may have to cut through these," he informed him, rising to look for a knife. "I will be careful of the material, and lacing are easily replaced," he assured him, locating his small dagger in the top of one of his boots. As he turned back, Haldir noticed Gildor's eyes on his body, which was now dry and rosy from the fire's heat, but he said nothing. He had abandoned his former idea of teaching the elf, to whom he now owed a favour, a harsh lesson, and had no desire to pursue yet another conquest at the moment. He did not, after all, have a good track record with Imladris' elves.
Settling back beside the strangely quiet elf, Haldir quickly cut his lacings, being as mindful of the material, cheap though it was, as he had promised. Tugging the soaked leggings from Gildor's body, Haldir pretended not to notice the evidence of the elf's obvious attraction to him, and spread the cloth over the last remaining chair to dry. Turning back, he decided not to press the issue of the small remaining piece of clothing Gildor wore, as that might bring up issues he did not wish to deal with at present. Haldir simply edged him closer to the fire, then sat behind him and began to work his own comb through Gildor's tangles. He was surprised when the elf flinched away from him, and made as if to stand, but he caught his arm and urged him back down, explaining as he did so that he often performed such a service for his brothers. "Rumil has beautiful hair, but it is fine and tends to tangle. He has never learned to care for it properly himself, and Orophin and I are constantly after him about it."
Drawing the comb steadily through the dark strands before him, Haldir privately thought that he had never before seen snarls of this magnitude in the hair of any elf, and privately wondered why Gildor's family did not nag him about it as he did Rumil. Of course, perhaps they did--his own brother paid him little mind, after all, unless he was chasing some elf maid and needed to look respectable for a change. In truth, the strands before him were finer than he had expected, and shone nicely once he had combed them thoroughly. The edges, which were virtually all split ends, desperately needed trimming, however, and Haldir wished he had some scissors with him. Why any elf would take so little care of their appearance was a mystery, but he could not think of a way to phrase the question so as not to appear offensive, so he stayed quiet.
It was rather nice, he thought after a time, to relax in the heat of the fire, a warm and mercifully silent elf in his arms, while the storm beat uselessly against the heavy stone walls of the cabin. It was as dark as night outside now, but inside was almost . . . cozy. He smiled and found he was even enjoying the gargantuan task in front of him, although he became steadily more intrigued as his work grew closer to completion. True, Gildor would never be one of the most beautiful elves of his acquaintance--his face was too round, his expression too cheerful, and his form, despite being fairer than Haldir would have imagined, was too compact and robust for the elegance so prized by the Eldar. Yet, he was far more attractive than he had at first seemed, and the reasons for his plainness seemed more contrived than anything natural.
Haldir finally finished the combing and began braiding Gildor's now silky dark hair. Perhaps it was just the light from the fire, but it seemed of a richer hue than he remembered from that morning, and, unusually for elves, it had a slight ripple to it that made it cascade in flowing streams down his back. If it had not been for the frazzled ends, Haldir would have called it beautiful. Finishing his task in back, he moved around in front of his companion, kneeling before him to do the braiding along the sides of his head. Gildor's face was flushed with a healthy pink glow, whether from the heat of the fire or because of Haldir's position, he didn't know. He finished the braids, chuckling to himself at the thought of how many elves would like to have him kneeling before them--would like it very much but would never see it--and then sat back to survey the results of his ministrations.
By the Valar, but he did nice work! The elf who steadfastly refused to meet his eyes was . . . well, he was attractive, Haldir thought. Not beautiful, no, but, imagining him attired in a complimentary colour, something that would turn his nicely bronzed skin a golden hue, like the dancing flames were doing now, with golden bands showing off those nicely muscled arms and with the ends removed from his shining hair . . . yes, Haldir mused, he would turn a few heads. Who would ever have thought it?
"Why do you hide your beauty, brother?," he asked him, reaching out to arrange a final braid in a more attractive position. Gildor was looking past him into the fire, but Haldir saw his blush deepen all the same. "I understand when you are on assignment, that it might be useful to pass unnoticed, but why at Imladris?"
"The rain . . . it becomes less, I think," Gildor commented, turning from him to now stare out the window. "We may be able to leave soon."
Glancing at the dark sky visible through the small pane of glass, against which wind and heavy rain still blew, Haldir could only assume this was more evidence of Gildor's unflagging optimism. It seemed likely to him that they would be stuck there for the best part of the day, if not, indeed, for all of it. And unless the clouds moved on faster than they were giving signs of doing, they might have to stay the night, too, or risk losing their way back to the house, with no moon or stars to guide them.
"I doubt that, brother," he told him mildly, before turning back to the problem. Haldir loved a mystery--always had done--and here was an intriguing one set before him when he had little else with which to pass the time. Smiling at the surprisingly pretty profile of the elf next to him, Haldir rather thought that he had found a puzzle for his afternoon's diversion--he would figure out the enigma that was Gildor.
Haldir decided it was not surprising that, considering how the rest of his visit to Imladris had gone, his one chance at true revenge should be screwed up as well. Virtually the whole house slept, but when he and Gildor arrived at the baths, a cheerful Elladan greeted them and proceeded to chat unrelentingly with an equally happy Gildor until Haldir thought his head would burst. His planned seduction/torment session for his companion was by necessity aborted, and his mood was truly black by the time he once more reached his rooms. Throwing clothing and personal items into saddlebags, Haldir tried to slam his way out of his chamber, but the heavy wooden door refused to oblige, closing with a refined click as always. He would have liked to take an axe to it, but there wasn't one handy and he refused to stay in this torture chamber long enough to find one. Bad head or no, he would ride for calm, beautiful, sane Lorien this morn if all the orcs in Middle Earth stood in the way. Elbereth, but he HATED Imladris!
Naturally, his horse was unavailable, having thrown a shoe the previous day that had yet to be replaced. So he ended up with a far inferior creature on loan until his could be sent on. The stable master offered to shoe his mount sometime that day if he wished to wait, but Haldir flatly refused. Riding out into the morning, which had dawned fair and clear, it was with no surprise at all that he saw storm clouds gathering on the horizon, clouds which proceeded to make straight for him as he approached Imladris' borders. Haldir knew he should turn back and wait for a more auspicious day for his journey; his horse certainly thought so, bucking and rearing at the first slash of lightening across the sky in a way his own mount never would have done. Haldir kept his seat, however, and turned the beast's nose resolutely into the coming storm. There was not enough mithril in Middle Earth to make him stay one more day under Elrond's roof.
As he approached Imladris' border, the trees began whipping fiercely in the sudden storm, and the sky grew increasingly black, with menacing grey/green clouds that rumbled almost continually and were lit only with deadly silver streaks. A particularly close crack of thunder caused his cowardly horse to rear once more just as he was about to clear the tree-line, and Haldir was still trying to bring it under control when a blinding flash nearby sent a heavy limb crashing down on the animal's back and knocked him from the saddle. His horse reared over him, blinded by the rain and its own panic, then a hoof caught him a glancing blow and he knew no more.
* * *
Glorfindel watched Galadriel's party approach with a feeling of incipient disaster. The fact that she looked as serene as always, impeccably gowned in a dress of the finest white lace and surrounded by an impressive number of Lorien's best Galadrim, did little to reassure him; he had the feeling that she would have that same expression if ordering dinner or an execution. That her party was backlit by an ominous greenish light from the approaching tempest lent it something of a portentous quality, and seemed somehow appropriate. Thunder boomed overhead as he hurried down the main steps to assist the Lady to dismount her impressive white stallion. He thought it rather a large horse for such a petite elf, but Galadriel apparently had no trouble controlling it.
"My Lady, Lorien's loss of its fairest light is Imladris' great gain. How good it is to have you with us once more."
"You are too kind, my Lord," Galadriel took his proffered hand, her fair face tranquil as she dismounted. It was with particular shock, then, that Glorfindel received the images she sent into his mind at the same moment, and he almost stumbled as they proceeded in what looked like perfect dignity up the stairs to the main hall. He had to admire Elrond's performance, but careless to have allowed such scenes to be seen . . .
"Yes, quite careless," Galadriel murmured. "Elros, Camthalion, Inwë," she called in a slightly louder voice, "with me." Three golden haired elves broke away from the group at the door as rain began to beat down on the roof of the Last Homely House in rolling waves. Glorfindel watched them narrowly as they obediently followed Galadriel up the stairs towards Elrond's chambers. He didn't like their smooth, pale faces that showed no emotion, and he strongly suspected that he was looking on some of the Noldor who had come with Galadriel when she arrived in Lorien after the fall of Doriath. If so, they were likely to be loyal only to her, a fact that, under the circumstances, concerned him greatly.
Leaving the party of Galadrim in the care of several sleepy servants, he almost ran up the stairs after the stately, white-clad foursome, and managed to overtake them and block their path with what he hoped was a casual air. "You must be tired after your long journey, Lady," he smiled and tried not to think of the shiver that Galadriel's eerie calm sent up his spine. It felt familiar somehow, but he couldn't quite place it. "Perhaps I could show you and your attendants to chambers where you can rest and . . . "
**Move aside, seneschal.** Galadriel didn't bother speaking her thoughts aloud, but Glorfindel had the distinct impression that the other three elves heard her as clearly as he did.
"I would, my Lady, but I have standing orders from my Lord Elrond to always announce visitors, even the most exalted ones . . . " Glorfindel had to move back several steps as Galadriel continued her advance as though he was not there, but he resolutely stayed in her path. They were getting perilously close to Elrond's door now, and he fervently wished Erestor would appear to back him up, although what he could do Glorfindel had no idea.
**The fact that you are dear to my beloved Elrohir saves you, seneschal, but do not tempt me further.** Somehow, and Glorfindel could never later say exactly how it happened, he found himself shunted aside and Galadriel's party glided unimpeded into Elrond's rooms.
Now he remembered, he thought, as the same chill coursed its way back down his spine. Although there was seemingly no point of similarity between the two occasions, he'd nonetheless felt something very like it all those many years ago when staring down the Balrog. He shivered in memory, but nonetheless put a hand to the door, determined to do his duty--even though he was not exactly clear on what that might be--only to have it open and Erestor's pudgy form come stumbling out at him.
"I do not believe we'll be needed anymore, Glorfindel," his friend gasped, falling heavily into his arms as the chamber doors snapped shut behind him. It was, Glorfindel thought distractedly, an alarmingly final sound.
* * *
Haldir awoke to find himself perilously close to drowning in a rapidly forming puddle. Before he could right himself or curse Imladris yet again, he noticed a scuffed brown boot positioned a foot away from his nose, and strong arms lifted him as though he weighed nothing. "I always seem to be pulling you off the ground, gwador," he heard as he was sat on the back of a large black horse. "It is lucky we met, as it seems you need someone to look after you." Haldir didn't need to look up to know that it was Gildor who vaulted onto the horse behind him, and kicked it lightly into motion.
The pounding rain soaked them both thoroughly, but at least it kept Gildor quiet as they turned towards the Last Homely House. Haldir, who was already as wet as an elf could get, was therefore almost thankful for it, until the slanting sheets began hitting down so hard as to almost blow them off the animal's back. Haldir could make no sense of their course, but had the feeling that they were not headed in the right direction. There was no way to inform Gildor of that, however, as the storm was now right overhead and sounded as if a great battle were taking place all around them.
A few long moments later and the horse came to a standstill. Haldir was pulled off and dragged forward by his companion, who also led the animal into the face of the gale. Before he could protest this apparently insane act, he found himself impelled forward into a dark cavern, with Gildor and the horse pushing in after him. In a few seconds, Gildor had somehow managed to light a fire, and Haldir was able to identify his surroundings as a small stone hut used by Elrond's guardians as an outpost near the border. He had passed it coming into Imladris, but had paid it little heed, except to think that the talans of home looked to be much superior. That thought reoccurred to him as he gazed around the cramped quarters, made even more so by the ridiculous presence of the now steaming horse.
"Put the animal back outside!," he ordered Gildor, only to have the elf laugh at him. What a novelty, Haldir thought in disgust.
"Not in this, gwador, the poor thing will drown! Besides, there's plenty of room, and the storm must pass soon." Haldir wrinkled up his nose in disgust at the odor wafting off the large animal, which had managed to grab the best position before the fire. He sat down at a somewhat rickety table and resigned himself to putting up with the horse and Gildor--he really didn't know which was the more annoying--until the blasted storm passed over and he could make his way back to the stables and borrow another mount. One way or the other, he was getting out of Imladris this day, and all the storms in Arda weren't going to stop him.
The rain continued to bucket down around them and Haldir began to feel the cold. His head still hurt from his overindulgence the night before, not to mention the kick of that useless animal the stables at this cursed place had loaned him and . . . his thoughts were interrupted by a gigantic sneeze.
"That doesn't sound good, mellon," Gildor commented from somewhere on the other side of the horse. "Come, get out of those wet things and sit by the fire--you need to warm up or you'll be ill . . . and then it might be weeks until you can leave here," he added in that uncanny manner he had of seeming to read Haldir's mind.
"How am I supposed to 'sit by the fire' with that animal's backside in the way?," he asked irritably. Gildor sighed and pushed the horse into the corner of the little cabin. It neighed in protest, but went.
"Now, come to the heat, gwador, and stop sulking," he commanded, turning again to poke at something he had in a pot over the fire.
Haldir narrowly stopped himself from starting a childish argument with his companion over the fact that he did not, under any circumstances, sulk. He had spent months in chilly caves, guarding passes into Lorien, surrounded by parties of orcs who could ambush one at any moment, and with usually only a handful of fellow Galadrim to support him. He had traveled on extensive journeys beyond his homeland through areas alien to any elf; had fought fierce creatures--from wargs to gigantic spiders--that would have struck terror into most being's hearts; had suffered every type of hardship, from dehydration, to starvation to near death once from a poisoned arrow, and yet he had NEVER sulked. Galadrim did not sulk. Yet it would be a complete waste of time trying to explain something like that to the relentlessly cheerful creature opposite him. Gildor had probably faced far less in his so-called 'missions' for Elrond, but undoubtedly would manage to make a joke of Haldir's whole career. He was too cold, too weary and far too heartsick to care what one ugly elf thought of him.
Moving to the blazing hearth, Haldir stripped down and spread his dripping clothing over the mantle where it added its steam to that still coming off the horse. At least Gildor knew how to make a fire, he noted with approval, allowing its warmth to permeate his chilled muscles and beginning, after a few moments, to feel more himself. All right, so Elrond had rejected him. That was hardly surprising considering the competition; at least he hadn't been shunted aside for some common elf. Haldir's heart still ached, but, in all honesty, he couldn't envision a way in which the relationship might have worked. He would not be willing to give up his life in Lorien, where he had family, friends, and a position of respect for which he had long laboured, to stay at Imladris as Elrond's latest plaything. No, for them to have remained together would have required Haldir to sacrifice everything he was, and in the end, he knew he would have resented his lover for that. Better that it should end quickly, before he was any more infatuated than he already was.
Haldir sat on the hearthrug as the final beads of water dissipated from his skin, and contemplated the dancing flames. Strangely enough, his companion had chosen, at last, to be silent, merely occasionally stirring something in the small pot. It smelled good, and Haldir remembered that he had been too ill from the after effects of the wine to manage breakfast. Now he discovered that he was hungry, and wished he had the lembas he had packed in his saddlebags--now gone with his nag of a horse. Before he could long regret its loss, Gildor began dishing up his creation and handed Haldir a steaming bowl. He regarded it curiously, but it seemed to merely contain some sort of broth. It was good, he discovered, and gentle on his still slightly queasy stomach.
"A small amount of emergency supplies are kept in these cabins," Gildor informed him, seeing his surprise. "The kitchens at Imladris make the broth, then remove the water, leaving cakes that will last for a long time and are small and lightweight enough to carry easily on a journey. You could say it is our version of lembas, only we use both, of course."
Haldir nodded absently, continuing to eat and deciding that he had a new concept to introduce among the Galadrim when he returned home. It was rather surprising to him that no one had yet done so, as surely there was enough contact between the two courts that he could not be the first to learn of this method of storing food. Of course, it was inferior to lembas, he thought, and said as much to Gildor as he finished the bowl. "It is tasty, but you need a fire to make it, and there are many circumstances in which that would be unwise, or even foolhardy--especially on the borders."
Uncharacteristically, Gildor did not respond, other than by looking thoughtful. Haldir noticed that, although he had settled down on the floor as well to eat, he had positioned himself a bit farther away than was technically necessary. He also seemed to be deliberately avoiding looking at him for some reason, giving Haldir a chance to examine his companion at leisure while he combed out his rapidly drying hair. He was, Haldir thought in amusement, one of the saddest specimens of an elf he had ever seen. Of course, the way his tangled hair dripped about his face in snarls and snags did not help, nor did his soaked clothing, which had stretched from the absorption of much water into a misshapen mess.
"Why do you not get out of those wet clothes?," Haldir asked him as he finished rebraiding his hair. "Mine are still damp, but I can make room for at least some of yours on the mantle, and we can spread your cloak out on the floor. It will get somewhat dirty but," and Haldir raised an amused brow as he surveyed it, "I do not think that will much harm it."
"I am fine," Gildor said shortly, and moved to take Haldir's empty bowl along with his own to some nearby shelves. Where he had sat, Haldir noticed, a puddle had formed.
"You lecture me about not becoming ill, but you will do yourself an injury if you remain soaked to the skin." Haldir decided, considering that the elf had saved him a long, wet walk back to Imladris, that keeping him from getting pneumonia was the least he could do in repayment. He tugged off the other elf's soaked cloak and spread it on the only bare patch of floor left other than that in front of the fire where they had been sitting. He turned back to see Gildor regarding him narrowly, arms crossed over his chest.
"I am fine," he repeated stubbornly, and flinched away when Haldir reached out a hand to remove his sodden tunic.
Haldir sighed in exasperation and merely tugged harder. Really, was nothing ever simple with these Imladris elves? "Stop being ridiculous and give me that! If you are worried about the state of your clothes, I can assure you that it would be difficult to harm them further." He looked in distaste at the plain brown tunic and leggings Gildor seemed so concerned about, then wondered if it was perhaps because he could afford no others. Thinking back to the evening of the party, Haldir seemed to recall that the elf had worn an equally unattractive and inexpensive robe, and if he had had on any jewelry, it did not spring to mind. Of course, Haldir had hardly been at his best at the time, and might easily have missed something, but he thought not. "Come," he said more gently, moving to stand closer to Gildor, who suddenly looked a little panicked, "we will be careful with them."
Haldir would have liked to offer to buy the elf a whole new outfit, but decided to wait until he could think of the proper way to phrase it so as not to offend him. He did owe him a favour, after all, and rather thought he would enjoy seeing him properly clad in a colour that suited him. Maybe blue, he mused, while gently tugging Gildor's tunic over his head and laying it on the back of a chair, then moving to undo the buttons of his soaked shirt. Haldir noticed with surprise that he had a rather attractive chest; indeed, his whole form was not as solid as it first appeared, with cleaner, more lithe lines overall, although his muscles were more defined than those most elves could boast. It must be the ill cut of his clothes which made him seem so bulky. Indeed, Haldir thought as he fingered the material of the shirt that he finally managed to coax from Gildor's body, his attire seemed more of human make than elvish, with the cotton coarser to the touch and the stitching lacking grace. Why an elf would choose human clothes was beyond Haldir's comprehension, but he decided, seeing the mulish expression that had come over Gildor's face, not to push the issue at present.
Nudging his own clothes aside, he laid the thin shirt over the mantle, where it would dry quickly, and tuned back to the elf, only to find that he had sat himself again on the ground to the left of the puddle and was staring at the fire with a brooding expression. Haldir, who had now nicely dried himself, and was feeling much better for it, could not understand Gildor's insistence on remaining in wet clothes. And, if he didn't do something with his hair soon, it was going to dry into a matted mess.
Kneeling at his side, Haldir smiled in what he knew was a winning fashion-- it had brought him enough conquests through the years to prove its persuasiveness--and ran a hand over his companion's messy locks. "You took care of me," he murmured seductively, "let me care for you." Taking Gildor's silence as acquiescence, Haldir dropped a hand to the lacings on the elf's damp leggings, reflecting that undoing them was going to be a bit of a challenge as the knot had been almost welded together by the soaking it had received. "I may have to cut through these," he informed him, rising to look for a knife. "I will be careful of the material, and lacing are easily replaced," he assured him, locating his small dagger in the top of one of his boots. As he turned back, Haldir noticed Gildor's eyes on his body, which was now dry and rosy from the fire's heat, but he said nothing. He had abandoned his former idea of teaching the elf, to whom he now owed a favour, a harsh lesson, and had no desire to pursue yet another conquest at the moment. He did not, after all, have a good track record with Imladris' elves.
Settling back beside the strangely quiet elf, Haldir quickly cut his lacings, being as mindful of the material, cheap though it was, as he had promised. Tugging the soaked leggings from Gildor's body, Haldir pretended not to notice the evidence of the elf's obvious attraction to him, and spread the cloth over the last remaining chair to dry. Turning back, he decided not to press the issue of the small remaining piece of clothing Gildor wore, as that might bring up issues he did not wish to deal with at present. Haldir simply edged him closer to the fire, then sat behind him and began to work his own comb through Gildor's tangles. He was surprised when the elf flinched away from him, and made as if to stand, but he caught his arm and urged him back down, explaining as he did so that he often performed such a service for his brothers. "Rumil has beautiful hair, but it is fine and tends to tangle. He has never learned to care for it properly himself, and Orophin and I are constantly after him about it."
Drawing the comb steadily through the dark strands before him, Haldir privately thought that he had never before seen snarls of this magnitude in the hair of any elf, and privately wondered why Gildor's family did not nag him about it as he did Rumil. Of course, perhaps they did--his own brother paid him little mind, after all, unless he was chasing some elf maid and needed to look respectable for a change. In truth, the strands before him were finer than he had expected, and shone nicely once he had combed them thoroughly. The edges, which were virtually all split ends, desperately needed trimming, however, and Haldir wished he had some scissors with him. Why any elf would take so little care of their appearance was a mystery, but he could not think of a way to phrase the question so as not to appear offensive, so he stayed quiet.
It was rather nice, he thought after a time, to relax in the heat of the fire, a warm and mercifully silent elf in his arms, while the storm beat uselessly against the heavy stone walls of the cabin. It was as dark as night outside now, but inside was almost . . . cozy. He smiled and found he was even enjoying the gargantuan task in front of him, although he became steadily more intrigued as his work grew closer to completion. True, Gildor would never be one of the most beautiful elves of his acquaintance--his face was too round, his expression too cheerful, and his form, despite being fairer than Haldir would have imagined, was too compact and robust for the elegance so prized by the Eldar. Yet, he was far more attractive than he had at first seemed, and the reasons for his plainness seemed more contrived than anything natural.
Haldir finally finished the combing and began braiding Gildor's now silky dark hair. Perhaps it was just the light from the fire, but it seemed of a richer hue than he remembered from that morning, and, unusually for elves, it had a slight ripple to it that made it cascade in flowing streams down his back. If it had not been for the frazzled ends, Haldir would have called it beautiful. Finishing his task in back, he moved around in front of his companion, kneeling before him to do the braiding along the sides of his head. Gildor's face was flushed with a healthy pink glow, whether from the heat of the fire or because of Haldir's position, he didn't know. He finished the braids, chuckling to himself at the thought of how many elves would like to have him kneeling before them--would like it very much but would never see it--and then sat back to survey the results of his ministrations.
By the Valar, but he did nice work! The elf who steadfastly refused to meet his eyes was . . . well, he was attractive, Haldir thought. Not beautiful, no, but, imagining him attired in a complimentary colour, something that would turn his nicely bronzed skin a golden hue, like the dancing flames were doing now, with golden bands showing off those nicely muscled arms and with the ends removed from his shining hair . . . yes, Haldir mused, he would turn a few heads. Who would ever have thought it?
"Why do you hide your beauty, brother?," he asked him, reaching out to arrange a final braid in a more attractive position. Gildor was looking past him into the fire, but Haldir saw his blush deepen all the same. "I understand when you are on assignment, that it might be useful to pass unnoticed, but why at Imladris?"
"The rain . . . it becomes less, I think," Gildor commented, turning from him to now stare out the window. "We may be able to leave soon."
Glancing at the dark sky visible through the small pane of glass, against which wind and heavy rain still blew, Haldir could only assume this was more evidence of Gildor's unflagging optimism. It seemed likely to him that they would be stuck there for the best part of the day, if not, indeed, for all of it. And unless the clouds moved on faster than they were giving signs of doing, they might have to stay the night, too, or risk losing their way back to the house, with no moon or stars to guide them.
"I doubt that, brother," he told him mildly, before turning back to the problem. Haldir loved a mystery--always had done--and here was an intriguing one set before him when he had little else with which to pass the time. Smiling at the surprisingly pretty profile of the elf next to him, Haldir rather thought that he had found a puzzle for his afternoon's diversion--he would figure out the enigma that was Gildor.