Title: One Last Time, part 7/12
Author: Rune Dancer, runedancer2000@yahoo.com
Rating: R
Paring: Haldir/Gildor; Glorfindel/Thranduil.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, except the plotline. Even Gildor Inglorion isn't mine--Tolkien had him first.
Warnings: None, except that it's slash.
Archiving: OLAS and anyone else who wants it, just let me know.
For those who have asked, OLAS is Of Leaf and Shadow, (http://www.annonvahai.org/) a very nice Haldir shrine that hosts
fic, images, and other good things. It and Forgotten Hero (http://www.trinitycross.net/lotrhaldir/) are both great places for Haldir info.; go check them out.
A/N: This is a continuation of my previous Unspoken story arc (Unspoken/Revelations/Changes.)
Third Age, 180: Imladris
Haldir knew something was wrong, but had no idea what it could be. Gildor had been perfect, everything was perfect, but the body he held in his arms was trembling in what was obviously an attempt not to cry. He was trying to think of a way to ask what was wrong without diminishing what had just happened between them, when the door to his room flew open and there stood his two miscreant brothers. He had no idea what Rumil and Orophin, who when he last saw them had been setting out on their usual duty patrol along the Northern Fences, could possibly be doing in Imladris, but it was just like them to show up at the worst possible time. Haldir was not, of course, embarrassed to be caught in bed with his lover--he had lost count of the number of times his brothers had done something similar to him in the past--but Gildor was already upset, and he worried how he would take it.
Drawing Gildor into a closer embrace, Haldir glared at his brothers. "Yes?," he inquired frostily, "Was there something you needed?"
"We should have known," Rumil told Orophin, a smile breaking out on his face. "Despite the fact that it's almost noon, never burst in on big brother. He'll always be with someone." Turning to Haldir, he smiled cheekily. "Sorry to interrupt, but we need a place to rest. The Lady Galadriel was in a tearing great hurry to get here and we've traveled all night. We're exhausted."
Haldir felt Gildor flinch next to him, and struggled to keep his temper. "Is Imladris suddenly so short of rooms that it cannot house you elsewhere?," he inquired caustically. Orophin, at least, had the grace to look slightly abashed, and tugged at Rumil's sleeve.
"We can find other accommodation, brother," he said, sending Gildor an apologetic smile.
"Not as long as no one can find that lazy chatelaine," Rumil replied, stifling a huge yawn behind his hand, which still wore its riding glove. "I swear this house is in an uproar. Everyone hung over, even the servants, and no one can find this Erestor who is supposed to have the room list. So no one knows what rooms are available. And the Lady Galadriel has disappeared somewhere, so we can't even ask her." He flopped onto an oversized chair near the window and yawned again. "Not that she was in the sort of mood to make me want to anyway." He caught sight of Haldir's increasingly irritated expression and sighed. "Truly, brother, we will be no trouble. I for one, would not notice if you bedded every pretty face at Imladris; I just want to sleep!"
Haldir was about to give Rumil a serious dressing down when Orophin suddenly started, looking at Gildor in surprise. Then he laughed, and shook his head in mock dismay. "You have my sincere apologies," he told him. "Although you have no cause to believe it, Rumil and I do not make a habit of constantly interfering in our brother's private affairs. And to interrupt you both a second time . . . well, I can only apologise and remove myself and my appallingly bad mannered brother. Come, Rumil, let us leave them in peace. We'll find a nice, quiet glade where you can nap."
"A second time?," Rumil asked, sitting up and peering at Gildor in curiosity. Gildor clutched the sheets a little closer around him, but did not, Haldir noticed, look as confused as he himself was feeling. "Oh. I know you. Let me see," Rumil looked thoughtful, then suddenly laughed. "Oh, of course! Well, we do have bad timing brother," he agreed.
Orophin smiled. "I believe that is what I used as a defense last time. Let us go, Rumil."
"Last time?" Haldir was beginning to wonder if he had missed something important somewhere. As Orophin tugged a grinning Rumil out the door, Haldir turned to regard Gildor appraisingly. Something was familiar, he thought, but it skirted the edges of his consciousness, making it impossible to pin down. Gildor looked uncomfortable, but did not seem inclined to enlighten him, just clutched the sheet against his chest as if in need of comfort. That gesture stirred a distant memory, and suddenly, Haldir knew. He saw again the frightened elfling who had run from his talan all those years ago in Lorien, and wondered at himself that he had not known before. Of course, it had been a very disturbing week, he had been extremely drunk last night, and the elf beside him had changed somewhat from the timid young creature he remembered, but still . . .
"Gildor," he said hesitantly, wondering if his companion's melancholy was due to his poor memory. It was, he supposed, possible that Gildor felt insulted, but then, it HAD been a very long time, and Haldir couldn't very well be expected to remember every elf with whom he'd ever flirted. Besides, Gildor could have mentioned it himself, if he considered it to be that important. Still, Haldir supposed he would have felt annoyed, at the least, had someone with whom he'd traded a few kisses and shared some rather harrowing adventures, forgotten his very existence when next they met! "Gildor, why didn't you remind me, that we had met before?"
Gildor turned away, presenting Haldir with the view of a very nice shoulder, but depriving him of a chance to read his expression. "It isn't important."
Haldir regarded him with mild annoyance. He wanted to remark that, if it was so unimportant, why then was Gildor so obviously upset? He refrained, however, instead thinking back to their previous meeting, and trying to come up with some reason why Gildor would be acting . . . well, almost hurt. Nothing important came to mind, however. There had been that time by the spring, of course, and he supposed he really shouldn't have teased him as he had, but he had been so sure Gildor would come out of hiding and join him. When he had discovered that the elfling had gone to bathe at the furthest point from Caras Galadhon, he had naturally assumed that it had been with the idea of Haldir following him to a place they could be alone and relatively free of any chance of interruption. He had taken Gildor's discarded clothing along, with the idea of returning it to him and of enjoying a most pleasant morning, but the elf had fled his very presence. Haldir had been forced to assume that his initial impression had been incorrect, and that Gildor was not attracted to him after all. Perhaps, he had thought at the time, there was someone special waiting back in Imladris, who he did not wish to betray. So, he had left the clothing and returned to the city, promising himself to keep his hands off Gildor in the future.
He had kept that promise, he remembered now, insuring that their interaction on the trip to Mirkwood had stayed at a casual, friendly level. He had noticed Gildor watching him, but had done nothing about it. If the elfling decided he wanted anything from Haldir, he was perfectly capable of asking for it, or of indicating interest in no uncertain terms. Haldir would not take the initiative again until Gildor made it very plain what he wanted.
Was that what he was upset about, Haldir now wondered, the fact that no relationship had been forthcoming? Perhaps he had thought that the one kiss they had shared in Mirkwood, after Gildor had made the incredibly brave, if unbelievably foolhardy, action of coming in after him, had been indication enough of his feelings. Still, Haldir thought in puzzlement, surely he could not fault him for failing to act on his impulses at the time? They had been in terrible danger, as was quickly demonstrated by the mess that had followed. They had barely gotten out of that alive, and then only due to the almost unbelievable coincidence of the dragon's fireball burning through the last of the spider's webbing. Haldir remembered with a repressed shudder just how close it had been; the gash in his side that cursed spider had given him had taken weeks to fully heal, the poison retarding his usual quick regenerative abilities. He had almost died that night, which he still only remembered as a haze of fever and pain; the next day, when he had thrown off at least the worst effects of it, Gildor had been remote and uncommunicative.
At the time, Haldir had assumed that Gildor was just shaken up by their experiences. Certainly the events of that night were enough to disturb anyone, and it had been with no surprise that he had seen Gildor's pale face and haunted expression once morning came. However, the elf showed no signs of injury, and had agreed with him that it was best to put it behind them and move on--which they had, into even more trouble, Haldir remembered with wry amusement. That whole trip had been one long disaster, now that he came to think about it.
* * *
Second Age, 3121: Somewhere in Mirkwood
They had finally found their way back to the path, but without a horse, it was going to take quite awhile to catch up to the others. Haldir was not, in truth, completely unhappy about that, as traveling with Tuor had been a bit of a strain. He had wished the elf would just make his move and be done with it, but instead, those calculating eyes had merely watched him, waiting for a vulnerable moment. Haldir much preferred to make his way with only Gildor as company, although he occasionally felt like laughing at the spectacle they made. Both had lost their bows and, in Gildor's case, a large part of his shirt had been sacrificed to provide Haldir's bandages. Gildor still wore the tattered remains of it, which his tunic largely concealed, but he had also managed to lose a boot in the scuffle, and so limped along as best he could with only the one. Haldir still felt weak and disoriented from the poison, not all of which had left his system, and he occasionally stumbled as they traveled on. What annoyed him most was that his new, beautiful leather vest was now scrap, as the spider's pincer had ripped right through it, as well as the tunic and shirt below.
Still, his mood was actually fairly light that morning, for they had survived, and that was the main thing. Bows and vests could be replaced and, he consoled himself, at least no lasting damage had been done to either of them. There was also no reason to worry over the fate of the mission, as they had plenty of time to rendezvous with the others, who could not, in any case, make a move until Lord Glorfindel gave the signal. Knowing Glorfindel's reputation, Haldir would not have been at all surprised if diplomacy alone resulted in Lord Erestor's release, obviating the need for any flight through the mountains. At least, he would vastly prefer that outcome, having already had enough adventure for one trip. With that idea in mind, he pressed on as quickly as their condition would allow, as he did not wish to be anywhere near the spider's nest when darkness fell once more. Of course, distance would not help with the dragon, which could easily fly anywhere it chose, but he fervently hoped it would find enough sport among the spiders to keep it busy. In any event, while the sun shone, it, too, probably slept.
The quickness of their journey allowed little time for discussion, and Haldir was too preoccupied with the sharp pain in his side to want to try to talk much. Gildor, too, seemed to prefer silence, but made no protest at the speed of their journey north. They did not pause even for lunch, as their provisions had been lost along with the horses, and it would take much time to hunt and prepare food, especially without their bows. Haldir himself felt little hunger, as the lingering poison in his system was making him nauseous.
It was not until evening that they finally caught the team, which had made camp alongside the road. Lord Glorfindel had found them, and was speaking with Tuor and Valandil when they limped into camp. Gildor immediately collapsed by the fire, and after ascertaining that Aikanaro was attending to him, Haldir joined the tactical discussion going on. Glorfindel, strangely enough, seemed almost relieved to hear that a dragon was rampaging about Mirkwood.
"You are certain--you saw it clearly?"
Haldir quirked an eyebrow at him but refrained from his usual sarcasm. Anyone who could kill a Balrog was not a person to tease, no matter how long a day it had been. "We were as close to it as to that tree," he replied, indicating one growing just across the road.
Glorfindel looked pleased. "I thought as much," he murmured, and the other elves exchanged uneasy glances. Glorfindel might find the idea of fighting a dragon appealing, but the rest of the party had definite reservations. Very few elves who had encountered one had lived to tell about it, and most made avoiding the creatures a top priority. As Glorfindel explained, however, there was no such option at the moment. It would be beyond all honour to leave the elves of Mirkwood to face such a threat alone. Tuor was the only one who did not seem to share that opinion.
"Forgive me, my Lord," he said respectfully, "but Lord Elrond sent us here to rescue Lord Erestor, not to hunt dragons. Surely, if the king has now moved him out of the dungeons, there is no reason why he cannot be smuggled out of the palace. Then you may leave the rest to us."
Glorfindel regarded Tuor with a pleasant expression. "You think that would be best, do you?," he murmured, and Haldir felt the hair on the back of his neck begin to rise. He controlled an instinctive reaction to back slowly away from the two of them, and, glancing at Valandil, saw the older elf twitch slightly. Tuor, apparently, noticed nothing.
"Yes," Tuor said eagerly, pressing his advantage. "There must be a way of getting Lord Erestor past the front entrance; perhaps you could indicate to the king that he could be of use on the hunt, and have him ride out with you. We will conceal ourselves along the route you mean to take, and he can slowly begin to fall behind the main force. Then we can overpower the last few guards, free him, and ride for the mountains. If you could distract the king for an hour or two before making your own escape, it would help to give us a head start, but we can do without it if you do not wish to take the risk."
At that, Haldir and Valandil both took a large step backwards, and Haldir held his breath. Glorfindel seemed pleased about something, however, and actually placed a casual arm about Tuor's shoulders. "You know," he said, smiling amiably, "I had a piece missing in my plans which you have helped to provide. I do most heartily thank you, my dear Tuor. Come, walk with me and tell me more of your intriguing plan."
The two walked further up the road, near to where Glorfindel's white stallion waited to convey him back to the palace. Haldir heard Valandil sigh next to him, shaking his head slightly. But the elf walked away without comment, and Haldir likewise volunteered nothing. He had the definite impression, however, as he heard Glorfindel's delighted laughter ring out across the evening air, that he no longer had to worry about keeping an eye on Tuor.
* * *
Third Age, 180: Imladris
Yes, Haldir decided now, that night had been the first time he noticed that something was wrong with Gildor. Glorfindel had returned to the palace, humming a happy tune, and Tuor joined them about the fire, shooting Haldir a triumphant glance as he did so. Haldir had not bothered to try to figure out what that was about, but instead approached Gildor and squatted down beside him.
"Can you check my wound, gwador? I cannot see the full extent of it, as the wretched creature sliced open half my side." Aikanaro passed Gildor some bandages and a healing salve, which felt wonderfully cool on Haldir's skin and took the worst edge off the pain. It had not been until he was bandaged and sitting beside Gildor that he realised the young one was still saying virtually nothing. Gildor had remained quiet as they ate, and ignored Haldir's few attempts at humour. He had put it down to exhaustion and applied himself to the excellent meal Aikanaro had put together, feeling hungry for the first time since their ordeal. Gildor curled up near the fire with his back to Haldir soon thereafter, and fell into a fitful sleep.
Haldir distinctly remembered now that the elfling had awoken the whole party halfway through the night, screaming something incoherent. Haldir had tried to pull him into his arms to comfort him, but Gildor shied away, eyes big and fearful in the glow from the fire's embers. Haldir had tried to sooth him, assuring him that Valandil, who was on watch, would not allow any danger to come upon them unawares, but it had not seemed to help. Aikanaro had given Gildor some Miruvoir and, eventually, everyone went back to sleep. But Haldir had lain awake for some time, watching the tangled brown curls of the elf huddled into a ball on the far side of the fire, and wondered what he had missed. It was, he thought as Gildor remained turned away from him now, a very familiar feeling.
* * *
Second Age, 3121: King Thranduil's Court
Erestor was incredibly bored. This was almost worse than those seemingly endless weeks in lock up. At least then he had been able to fantasize about what was going to happen to Thranduil when Glorfindel arrived. He had never suspected that his dear fellow counselor could possibly be so stupid as to actually fall for him. True, Thranduil charmed or otherwise subverted everyone he thought could be at all useful, but Erestor had thought Glorfindel would have more sense. So now here he was, surrounded by luxury in a beautiful suite of
rooms, and left with absolutely nothing to do until Glorfindel dealt with whatever-it-was in the forest, assuming he managed to do so without getting himself incinerated--again. For which, undoubtedly, Elrond would blame him.
Valar! Elrond. Erestor threw himself back on the huge bed and let an arm fall over his eyes. Elrond was going to kill him. Either that, or Glorfindel would have blackmail material for the next age. It was just too insane, that someone of his experience should now be saddled with a ridiculous elfling who kept looking at him through big, adoring eyes . . . he shuddered. Elrond could NEVER find out about this. Somehow, he had to get rid of Legolas before the elf followed him like some lovesick puppy all the way back to Imladris.
He looked up to see the mischievous blue eyes of his latest conquest regarding him from the doorway. Legolas had, he saw gratefully, brought enough food to feed an army, and balanced the large tray with ease as he gracefully made his way over to the bed. His own dark eyes rueful, Erestor reflected that most elves would consider that they had been blessed by the gods with such a gift, for their was no doubting that Legolas was beautiful, almost cat-like in his lean muscular grace. Glorfindel's words echoed eerily in Erestor's brain, however, and he shuddered at the image they created. No, the elfling had to go.
Erestor sighed and began eating, listening to Legolas' plans for their future with increasing dismay. How in Arda was he going to do this? He vowed, as Legolas lovingly fed him a few choice tidbits from the tray, never again to get involved with anyone under the age of 500 at least, and even then to make sure they understood the type of relationship he favoured. I really must tell him, he thought in distraction, as Legolas pushed the tray out of the way and snuggled up against him. Yes, and he would, too, he promised, but maybe . . . tomorrow . . .
TBC
Author: Rune Dancer, runedancer2000@yahoo.com
Rating: R
Paring: Haldir/Gildor; Glorfindel/Thranduil.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, except the plotline. Even Gildor Inglorion isn't mine--Tolkien had him first.
Warnings: None, except that it's slash.
Archiving: OLAS and anyone else who wants it, just let me know.
For those who have asked, OLAS is Of Leaf and Shadow, (http://www.annonvahai.org/) a very nice Haldir shrine that hosts
fic, images, and other good things. It and Forgotten Hero (http://www.trinitycross.net/lotrhaldir/) are both great places for Haldir info.; go check them out.
A/N: This is a continuation of my previous Unspoken story arc (Unspoken/Revelations/Changes.)
Third Age, 180: Imladris
Haldir knew something was wrong, but had no idea what it could be. Gildor had been perfect, everything was perfect, but the body he held in his arms was trembling in what was obviously an attempt not to cry. He was trying to think of a way to ask what was wrong without diminishing what had just happened between them, when the door to his room flew open and there stood his two miscreant brothers. He had no idea what Rumil and Orophin, who when he last saw them had been setting out on their usual duty patrol along the Northern Fences, could possibly be doing in Imladris, but it was just like them to show up at the worst possible time. Haldir was not, of course, embarrassed to be caught in bed with his lover--he had lost count of the number of times his brothers had done something similar to him in the past--but Gildor was already upset, and he worried how he would take it.
Drawing Gildor into a closer embrace, Haldir glared at his brothers. "Yes?," he inquired frostily, "Was there something you needed?"
"We should have known," Rumil told Orophin, a smile breaking out on his face. "Despite the fact that it's almost noon, never burst in on big brother. He'll always be with someone." Turning to Haldir, he smiled cheekily. "Sorry to interrupt, but we need a place to rest. The Lady Galadriel was in a tearing great hurry to get here and we've traveled all night. We're exhausted."
Haldir felt Gildor flinch next to him, and struggled to keep his temper. "Is Imladris suddenly so short of rooms that it cannot house you elsewhere?," he inquired caustically. Orophin, at least, had the grace to look slightly abashed, and tugged at Rumil's sleeve.
"We can find other accommodation, brother," he said, sending Gildor an apologetic smile.
"Not as long as no one can find that lazy chatelaine," Rumil replied, stifling a huge yawn behind his hand, which still wore its riding glove. "I swear this house is in an uproar. Everyone hung over, even the servants, and no one can find this Erestor who is supposed to have the room list. So no one knows what rooms are available. And the Lady Galadriel has disappeared somewhere, so we can't even ask her." He flopped onto an oversized chair near the window and yawned again. "Not that she was in the sort of mood to make me want to anyway." He caught sight of Haldir's increasingly irritated expression and sighed. "Truly, brother, we will be no trouble. I for one, would not notice if you bedded every pretty face at Imladris; I just want to sleep!"
Haldir was about to give Rumil a serious dressing down when Orophin suddenly started, looking at Gildor in surprise. Then he laughed, and shook his head in mock dismay. "You have my sincere apologies," he told him. "Although you have no cause to believe it, Rumil and I do not make a habit of constantly interfering in our brother's private affairs. And to interrupt you both a second time . . . well, I can only apologise and remove myself and my appallingly bad mannered brother. Come, Rumil, let us leave them in peace. We'll find a nice, quiet glade where you can nap."
"A second time?," Rumil asked, sitting up and peering at Gildor in curiosity. Gildor clutched the sheets a little closer around him, but did not, Haldir noticed, look as confused as he himself was feeling. "Oh. I know you. Let me see," Rumil looked thoughtful, then suddenly laughed. "Oh, of course! Well, we do have bad timing brother," he agreed.
Orophin smiled. "I believe that is what I used as a defense last time. Let us go, Rumil."
"Last time?" Haldir was beginning to wonder if he had missed something important somewhere. As Orophin tugged a grinning Rumil out the door, Haldir turned to regard Gildor appraisingly. Something was familiar, he thought, but it skirted the edges of his consciousness, making it impossible to pin down. Gildor looked uncomfortable, but did not seem inclined to enlighten him, just clutched the sheet against his chest as if in need of comfort. That gesture stirred a distant memory, and suddenly, Haldir knew. He saw again the frightened elfling who had run from his talan all those years ago in Lorien, and wondered at himself that he had not known before. Of course, it had been a very disturbing week, he had been extremely drunk last night, and the elf beside him had changed somewhat from the timid young creature he remembered, but still . . .
"Gildor," he said hesitantly, wondering if his companion's melancholy was due to his poor memory. It was, he supposed, possible that Gildor felt insulted, but then, it HAD been a very long time, and Haldir couldn't very well be expected to remember every elf with whom he'd ever flirted. Besides, Gildor could have mentioned it himself, if he considered it to be that important. Still, Haldir supposed he would have felt annoyed, at the least, had someone with whom he'd traded a few kisses and shared some rather harrowing adventures, forgotten his very existence when next they met! "Gildor, why didn't you remind me, that we had met before?"
Gildor turned away, presenting Haldir with the view of a very nice shoulder, but depriving him of a chance to read his expression. "It isn't important."
Haldir regarded him with mild annoyance. He wanted to remark that, if it was so unimportant, why then was Gildor so obviously upset? He refrained, however, instead thinking back to their previous meeting, and trying to come up with some reason why Gildor would be acting . . . well, almost hurt. Nothing important came to mind, however. There had been that time by the spring, of course, and he supposed he really shouldn't have teased him as he had, but he had been so sure Gildor would come out of hiding and join him. When he had discovered that the elfling had gone to bathe at the furthest point from Caras Galadhon, he had naturally assumed that it had been with the idea of Haldir following him to a place they could be alone and relatively free of any chance of interruption. He had taken Gildor's discarded clothing along, with the idea of returning it to him and of enjoying a most pleasant morning, but the elf had fled his very presence. Haldir had been forced to assume that his initial impression had been incorrect, and that Gildor was not attracted to him after all. Perhaps, he had thought at the time, there was someone special waiting back in Imladris, who he did not wish to betray. So, he had left the clothing and returned to the city, promising himself to keep his hands off Gildor in the future.
He had kept that promise, he remembered now, insuring that their interaction on the trip to Mirkwood had stayed at a casual, friendly level. He had noticed Gildor watching him, but had done nothing about it. If the elfling decided he wanted anything from Haldir, he was perfectly capable of asking for it, or of indicating interest in no uncertain terms. Haldir would not take the initiative again until Gildor made it very plain what he wanted.
Was that what he was upset about, Haldir now wondered, the fact that no relationship had been forthcoming? Perhaps he had thought that the one kiss they had shared in Mirkwood, after Gildor had made the incredibly brave, if unbelievably foolhardy, action of coming in after him, had been indication enough of his feelings. Still, Haldir thought in puzzlement, surely he could not fault him for failing to act on his impulses at the time? They had been in terrible danger, as was quickly demonstrated by the mess that had followed. They had barely gotten out of that alive, and then only due to the almost unbelievable coincidence of the dragon's fireball burning through the last of the spider's webbing. Haldir remembered with a repressed shudder just how close it had been; the gash in his side that cursed spider had given him had taken weeks to fully heal, the poison retarding his usual quick regenerative abilities. He had almost died that night, which he still only remembered as a haze of fever and pain; the next day, when he had thrown off at least the worst effects of it, Gildor had been remote and uncommunicative.
At the time, Haldir had assumed that Gildor was just shaken up by their experiences. Certainly the events of that night were enough to disturb anyone, and it had been with no surprise that he had seen Gildor's pale face and haunted expression once morning came. However, the elf showed no signs of injury, and had agreed with him that it was best to put it behind them and move on--which they had, into even more trouble, Haldir remembered with wry amusement. That whole trip had been one long disaster, now that he came to think about it.
* * *
Second Age, 3121: Somewhere in Mirkwood
They had finally found their way back to the path, but without a horse, it was going to take quite awhile to catch up to the others. Haldir was not, in truth, completely unhappy about that, as traveling with Tuor had been a bit of a strain. He had wished the elf would just make his move and be done with it, but instead, those calculating eyes had merely watched him, waiting for a vulnerable moment. Haldir much preferred to make his way with only Gildor as company, although he occasionally felt like laughing at the spectacle they made. Both had lost their bows and, in Gildor's case, a large part of his shirt had been sacrificed to provide Haldir's bandages. Gildor still wore the tattered remains of it, which his tunic largely concealed, but he had also managed to lose a boot in the scuffle, and so limped along as best he could with only the one. Haldir still felt weak and disoriented from the poison, not all of which had left his system, and he occasionally stumbled as they traveled on. What annoyed him most was that his new, beautiful leather vest was now scrap, as the spider's pincer had ripped right through it, as well as the tunic and shirt below.
Still, his mood was actually fairly light that morning, for they had survived, and that was the main thing. Bows and vests could be replaced and, he consoled himself, at least no lasting damage had been done to either of them. There was also no reason to worry over the fate of the mission, as they had plenty of time to rendezvous with the others, who could not, in any case, make a move until Lord Glorfindel gave the signal. Knowing Glorfindel's reputation, Haldir would not have been at all surprised if diplomacy alone resulted in Lord Erestor's release, obviating the need for any flight through the mountains. At least, he would vastly prefer that outcome, having already had enough adventure for one trip. With that idea in mind, he pressed on as quickly as their condition would allow, as he did not wish to be anywhere near the spider's nest when darkness fell once more. Of course, distance would not help with the dragon, which could easily fly anywhere it chose, but he fervently hoped it would find enough sport among the spiders to keep it busy. In any event, while the sun shone, it, too, probably slept.
The quickness of their journey allowed little time for discussion, and Haldir was too preoccupied with the sharp pain in his side to want to try to talk much. Gildor, too, seemed to prefer silence, but made no protest at the speed of their journey north. They did not pause even for lunch, as their provisions had been lost along with the horses, and it would take much time to hunt and prepare food, especially without their bows. Haldir himself felt little hunger, as the lingering poison in his system was making him nauseous.
It was not until evening that they finally caught the team, which had made camp alongside the road. Lord Glorfindel had found them, and was speaking with Tuor and Valandil when they limped into camp. Gildor immediately collapsed by the fire, and after ascertaining that Aikanaro was attending to him, Haldir joined the tactical discussion going on. Glorfindel, strangely enough, seemed almost relieved to hear that a dragon was rampaging about Mirkwood.
"You are certain--you saw it clearly?"
Haldir quirked an eyebrow at him but refrained from his usual sarcasm. Anyone who could kill a Balrog was not a person to tease, no matter how long a day it had been. "We were as close to it as to that tree," he replied, indicating one growing just across the road.
Glorfindel looked pleased. "I thought as much," he murmured, and the other elves exchanged uneasy glances. Glorfindel might find the idea of fighting a dragon appealing, but the rest of the party had definite reservations. Very few elves who had encountered one had lived to tell about it, and most made avoiding the creatures a top priority. As Glorfindel explained, however, there was no such option at the moment. It would be beyond all honour to leave the elves of Mirkwood to face such a threat alone. Tuor was the only one who did not seem to share that opinion.
"Forgive me, my Lord," he said respectfully, "but Lord Elrond sent us here to rescue Lord Erestor, not to hunt dragons. Surely, if the king has now moved him out of the dungeons, there is no reason why he cannot be smuggled out of the palace. Then you may leave the rest to us."
Glorfindel regarded Tuor with a pleasant expression. "You think that would be best, do you?," he murmured, and Haldir felt the hair on the back of his neck begin to rise. He controlled an instinctive reaction to back slowly away from the two of them, and, glancing at Valandil, saw the older elf twitch slightly. Tuor, apparently, noticed nothing.
"Yes," Tuor said eagerly, pressing his advantage. "There must be a way of getting Lord Erestor past the front entrance; perhaps you could indicate to the king that he could be of use on the hunt, and have him ride out with you. We will conceal ourselves along the route you mean to take, and he can slowly begin to fall behind the main force. Then we can overpower the last few guards, free him, and ride for the mountains. If you could distract the king for an hour or two before making your own escape, it would help to give us a head start, but we can do without it if you do not wish to take the risk."
At that, Haldir and Valandil both took a large step backwards, and Haldir held his breath. Glorfindel seemed pleased about something, however, and actually placed a casual arm about Tuor's shoulders. "You know," he said, smiling amiably, "I had a piece missing in my plans which you have helped to provide. I do most heartily thank you, my dear Tuor. Come, walk with me and tell me more of your intriguing plan."
The two walked further up the road, near to where Glorfindel's white stallion waited to convey him back to the palace. Haldir heard Valandil sigh next to him, shaking his head slightly. But the elf walked away without comment, and Haldir likewise volunteered nothing. He had the definite impression, however, as he heard Glorfindel's delighted laughter ring out across the evening air, that he no longer had to worry about keeping an eye on Tuor.
* * *
Third Age, 180: Imladris
Yes, Haldir decided now, that night had been the first time he noticed that something was wrong with Gildor. Glorfindel had returned to the palace, humming a happy tune, and Tuor joined them about the fire, shooting Haldir a triumphant glance as he did so. Haldir had not bothered to try to figure out what that was about, but instead approached Gildor and squatted down beside him.
"Can you check my wound, gwador? I cannot see the full extent of it, as the wretched creature sliced open half my side." Aikanaro passed Gildor some bandages and a healing salve, which felt wonderfully cool on Haldir's skin and took the worst edge off the pain. It had not been until he was bandaged and sitting beside Gildor that he realised the young one was still saying virtually nothing. Gildor had remained quiet as they ate, and ignored Haldir's few attempts at humour. He had put it down to exhaustion and applied himself to the excellent meal Aikanaro had put together, feeling hungry for the first time since their ordeal. Gildor curled up near the fire with his back to Haldir soon thereafter, and fell into a fitful sleep.
Haldir distinctly remembered now that the elfling had awoken the whole party halfway through the night, screaming something incoherent. Haldir had tried to pull him into his arms to comfort him, but Gildor shied away, eyes big and fearful in the glow from the fire's embers. Haldir had tried to sooth him, assuring him that Valandil, who was on watch, would not allow any danger to come upon them unawares, but it had not seemed to help. Aikanaro had given Gildor some Miruvoir and, eventually, everyone went back to sleep. But Haldir had lain awake for some time, watching the tangled brown curls of the elf huddled into a ball on the far side of the fire, and wondered what he had missed. It was, he thought as Gildor remained turned away from him now, a very familiar feeling.
* * *
Second Age, 3121: King Thranduil's Court
Erestor was incredibly bored. This was almost worse than those seemingly endless weeks in lock up. At least then he had been able to fantasize about what was going to happen to Thranduil when Glorfindel arrived. He had never suspected that his dear fellow counselor could possibly be so stupid as to actually fall for him. True, Thranduil charmed or otherwise subverted everyone he thought could be at all useful, but Erestor had thought Glorfindel would have more sense. So now here he was, surrounded by luxury in a beautiful suite of
rooms, and left with absolutely nothing to do until Glorfindel dealt with whatever-it-was in the forest, assuming he managed to do so without getting himself incinerated--again. For which, undoubtedly, Elrond would blame him.
Valar! Elrond. Erestor threw himself back on the huge bed and let an arm fall over his eyes. Elrond was going to kill him. Either that, or Glorfindel would have blackmail material for the next age. It was just too insane, that someone of his experience should now be saddled with a ridiculous elfling who kept looking at him through big, adoring eyes . . . he shuddered. Elrond could NEVER find out about this. Somehow, he had to get rid of Legolas before the elf followed him like some lovesick puppy all the way back to Imladris.
He looked up to see the mischievous blue eyes of his latest conquest regarding him from the doorway. Legolas had, he saw gratefully, brought enough food to feed an army, and balanced the large tray with ease as he gracefully made his way over to the bed. His own dark eyes rueful, Erestor reflected that most elves would consider that they had been blessed by the gods with such a gift, for their was no doubting that Legolas was beautiful, almost cat-like in his lean muscular grace. Glorfindel's words echoed eerily in Erestor's brain, however, and he shuddered at the image they created. No, the elfling had to go.
Erestor sighed and began eating, listening to Legolas' plans for their future with increasing dismay. How in Arda was he going to do this? He vowed, as Legolas lovingly fed him a few choice tidbits from the tray, never again to get involved with anyone under the age of 500 at least, and even then to make sure they understood the type of relationship he favoured. I really must tell him, he thought in distraction, as Legolas pushed the tray out of the way and snuggled up against him. Yes, and he would, too, he promised, but maybe . . . tomorrow . . .
TBC