Title: Wild Justice 14/?
Author: Rune Dancer, runedancer@hotmail.com
Rating: R
Paring: Thranduil/Celeborn/Elrond; Elrohir/Glorfindel; Haldir/Gildor; Elladan/Orophin
Disclaimer: I own nothing, except the plotline and my precious, evil mind.
Feedback: Please!
Warnings: BDSM.
A/N: This is a continuation of my previous Unspoken story arc. Read them in order--Unspoken/Revelations/Changes/One Last Time/Quid Pro Quo--or prepare to be confused.
* * *
Cool air drifted across Haldir's sleep-warm skin, and he sighed softly and buried himself further under the sheets. The sun was almost straight overhead, however, and a shaft fell into his eyes from the window, worrying him into consciousness. He woke to a foggy feeling in his head and an instinctive knowledge that something was wrong. He was drowsily comfortable in Gildor's bed in the royal talan, and although the position of the sun told him that it was late morning, he was not on duty this rotation and did not have to be up at a particular time . . .
A sharp pain in his ankle distracted him momentarily from the nagging thought about time that was floating around his brain. He sat up in bed and grabbed his foot, only to have a sharp bolt of agony flash up his leg. After some creative cursing, he examined the limb more carefully, noting the heavy bandage that had been wrapped around it, and suddenly everything came flooding back.
"By Elbereth! He tricked me!" Haldir jumped out of bed, wondering if there was still time to catch up with the rescue party, only to have his foot collapse under him and send him sprawling on the floor, right beside a pair of tiny green leather slippers cleverly made to resemble folded leaves. Looking up, his gaze traveled over a solid if rather thin body, also wrapped in green, to a tense, disapproving face under a mountain of dark red braids. Gildor must have helped Elwyyda with her coiffure, Haldir thought dazedly, as he'd never seen that number of messy braids on anyone at one time. "What are YOU doing here?"
The little dwarf drew herself up and stepped around him, balancing a large tray in her hands. She was resolutely not looking at him, and Haldir suddenly realised that he was nude. With another curse, he pulled a sheet from the bed at the same time that Elwydda sat the tray down on it. The result was strawberry jam filled pastries all over him and a very annoyed dwarf. "I brought that all the way up from the kitchens! And now look!"
Haldir was finding it difficult to maintain his dignity while seated in the floor, naked and covered with food, but he tried nonetheless. Gathering the jam-stained sheet about him, he gingerly stood, taking his weight on his uninjured foot, and glared at the intruder. "Why. Are. You. Here?"
"Gildor told me to look after you, so I am." There was something in the little creature's eyes that looked a great deal like fanaticism to Haldir. Wonderful. He should have known that his lover's appalling taste in pets was going to rebound on him sooner or later.
"I do not need your assistance."
Haldir's words had absolutely no effect, and the bothersome creature continued to stand, fists on hips, regarding him sternly. "Gildor told me to take care of you," she repeated slowly and unnecessarily distinctly, as if speaking to a dim-witted child. "He left with the others and won't be back for a time. Until he returns, I will nurse you." She looked almost as appalled by the idea as Haldir felt, but there was a steely glint of determination in her eyes. "I will go and get you another breakfast. Wash and dress," she ordered, before stomping out in the inelegant way of her people.
Haldir looked after her, disbelief and annoyance on his features. Not only had Gildor lied, he had also saddled Haldir with the most irritating nurse possible, then wisely left the city. Who did he think he was, to treat him so? Haldir remembered his lover's bright, concerned eyes from the night before, and the murmured assurances he had made as he gave him "just a draught to ease the pain." Gildor had known his lover intended to go with the rescue party despite his disability, and had carefully insured that he had no opportunity to do so. Haldir should have known, but the pain had distracted him, not to mention Gildor's gentle attentions that, he now remembered, had been cut short by the effects of the drug.
Haldir fell back onto the bed, jam and all, and threw an arm over his eyes. "I am never going to have sex again."
"Oh, I wouldn't take any bets on THAT, brother!"
Haldir looked up to see Rumil laughing at him from the doorway. "You are supposed to be on rotation."
"I am. My current assignment is here at the palace, watching over a march warden who manages to avoid injury in countless death-defying situations, then ends up bedridden due to . . . well, I'm SURE the story I heard was exaggerated. And what's this?" Rumil lifted a bit of jammy pastry from Haldir's stomach. "Gildor not finish the job?"
Haldir didn't bother to glare at him. It was vintage Rumil, and no lecture ever made a dent in his brother's horrible sense of humour. "Go. Away."
"And leave you to the treacherous villainies being hatched by that dastardly dwarf? She looked truly dangerous to me . . . all three feet of her."
"I do NOT need a KEEPER."
"Of course you do. If I left, what would be the first thing you'd do? Shove your broken ankle into a boot, commandeer a horse, and ride off to save the day--or to get yourself killed, more like. Sorry, but I promised Gildor . . . "
"Gildor! I can't believe he did this to me."
"He cares about you. And for your sake, I hope you return the feelings, because I received the distinct impression that he plans to be around for a while."
Haldir took the wet cloth Rumil handed him and began to clean himself up. "We'll see. First we're going to have a talk about just who is in control of this relationship."
Rumil laughed and picked a morsel of pastry out of Haldir's hair. "Oh, I don't know, brother. It seems to me that has already been determined."
* * *
It was a bright, clear day with a brilliant sun shining from a vividly blue sky, and Elrohir regarded it resentfully. To match his mood, the weather should have been overcast and grey, maybe even raining a little, with a few carrion eaters circling around overhead. As it was, the happy sunshine almost seemed to be mocking him. Elrohir sat glumly on his horse, determinedly not looking in Glorfindel's direction, and wondered if his life could get any more bleak. He was too young to have messed things up this badly. One would think it would take more than fifty cycles to completely ruin one's whole existence.
Elrohir kept his horse's pace slow enough to avoid going anywhere near his one-time lover, who rode near the front of the party. He also stayed as far away from Erestor as possible, who was fortunately riding at Glorfindel's side making it easy for him to avoid them both. Elrohir had hoped that his new-found attraction to his old tutor had been nothing more than a moment of madness inspired by his hurt and humiliation, but that morning he had discovered that it was impossible to go back to seeing Erestor the old way. The fall of his inky hair had been plaited neatly at his neck as usual, but Elrohir was reminded of the way it had felt against his skin, as heavy and supple as raw silk. Although Erestor was wearing one of his usual old fashioned, high-necked robes, this one in a deep plum colour that was almost black, for some reason it did not make him seem old or fat as before. No, not at all.
Elrohir shook his head--he must be going mad. What was it that caused this attraction for his former tutors anyway? Was he just sick? Everyone else fell for elves their own age--even Elladan had managed that easily enough, and he was certainly no prodigy. Of course, where Erestor was concerned, Elrohir knew he had spoken the truth when he denied being in love with him, but the huge shift in perception was still hard to deal with, and as for Glorfindel . . . Seeing him with dappled sunlight falling over his long, unbound hair that morning had caused a very strange reaction. Elrohir had not felt pain or guilt or any of the emotions he could have understood and had half expected. Instead, something in his brain had simply decided to shut down, as if his emotions had switched off in self-defense. A strange sort of calm had filled him, but it was an uneasy sensation, as if he was a dam bowing with the effort of holding back the spring rains.
Yet he had felt something when Glorfindel approached him as he was mounting his horse, and demanded to know what he thought he was doing. An edge in his lover's tone had rubbed Elrohir the wrong way, and he had replied more strongly than he intended.
"I am riding along, as should be obvious."
"I don't think that is a good idea. Your father . . . "
"I don't recall asking you, seneschal," Elrohir had snapped, desperate to end the conversation before the bubble of repressed emotion in his chest erupted in who knew what kind of display. He had quickly taken a place in the gathering throng, anxious to put as much space between them as possible; Glorfindel had not followed him, and they had not spoken since.
Elrohir glanced about in an effort to keep his eyes off the tempting sight ahead, and noticed that another familiar face, obvious because of his dark hair in the sea of blonds, rode nearby. He suddenly had an idea. He needed advice, but from someone considerably less daunting than Erestor had suddenly become, and too kind to laugh openly in his face. "Gildor!" The agent obligingly reined back his horse slightly to come up alongside. Elrohir had no idea how to ask what he wanted, so he started with a less personal query. "How is Haldir?"
"As well as can be expected. I gave him half of your sleeping draught last night, so at least he rested."
"Half? But a quarter of the bottle would have been sufficient to ease the pain and help him sleep. I thought I told you that."
Gildor smiled at him guilelessly. "I'm sure you did."
Elrohir sighed inwardly--it was going to be another one of those days when nothing made sense, he could already feel it. Deciding that he probably couldn't make things any worse no matter what he said, he took the plunge. "Er, Gildor, I was wondering . . . that is, you and Haldir . . . you are rather close, aren't you?"
Gildor gave him a sunny smile. Really, Elrohir thought, blinking, he was rather attractive when he did that. He immediately gave himself a mental slap. Honestly, he'd be fantasizing about Elladan next! "Yes, we are."
"So, you don't . . . that is . . . I know it is none of my business, but I was just wondering . . ."
"Yes?"
Elrohir took a deep breath and rushed it before he gave up in cowardice. "Soyoudon'tworryabouthisotherlovers?"
"What?" Gildor looked puzzled.
"His other lovers. I mean to say, well, Haldir has had a few . . . that is, his reputation . . . " Elrohir blushed. Elbereth, but he was bad at this!
To his surprise, Gildor just looked at him compassionately. It suddenly occurred to Elrohir that perhaps his quarrel with Glorfindel was not exactly a secret. "I really don't worry about that," Gildor assured him. "The past is past."
This seemed an amazingly lackadaisical attitude to Elrohir. Relationships didn't just HAPPEN. They had to be planned carefully and worked at--really, the way some people managed their lives . . . He did feel rather sorry for Gildor, however, who would probably be cheated on by Haldir within a month if it hadn't happened already. "That is . . . a remarkably calm attitude."
Gildor patted Elrohir briefly on the shoulder. "Love finds a way," he told him earnestly. Elrohir bit back a sharp retort; platitudes he could have done without. Still, he supposed he should be pleased that Gildor wasn't giving him a dressing down for probing into his private life. The fact that he worked for Elrond did not mean that he had to endure any snooping by his son.
Elrohir found his eyes straying of their own accord to the duo riding near the front of the column and he sighed. Just looking at Glorfindel caused a wave of longing and desire to dance along his nerves, so strong that it felt as if his bones had liquefied inside his skin. Strangely enough, he missed their mental closeness even more, the easy familiarity, the laughter, the warmth . . .
"You should talk to him." Elrohir had almost forgotten Gildor's presence, but the words brought him back to the present, and a much less appealing place it was, too. "This isn't my place to say, but I know the damage a small amount of miscommunication can cause. A conversation, however difficult, is preferable to a life time of pain, is it not?"
The voice was so gentle, and the words were spoken with such conviction that Elrohir could not be angry with Gildor. Elrohir had initiated the conversation because he wanted advice--now that he had it, complaining seemed fruitless, and the words did make sense. Avoiding the issue was not going to solve anything, and Elrohir had never been a coward. They would be riding all day, perhaps pausing long enough at mid-day for a brief bite of lembas, although perhaps not under the circumstances. But they would stop that night. They could not afford to be exhausted when they arrived at the mountain, not considering what probably awaited them there. So, that meant he had all day to decide what he was going to say to Glorfindel.
* * *
Rumil heard shouts coming from Gildor's room, and ran flat out down the corridor. He couldn't imagine what could possibly be threatening Haldir in the middle of the royal talan, but his shrieks indicated mortal peril. He skidded to a halt outside the open door of his brother's room, then just stood there, his long knives falling limply to his side and his mouth open in amazement. Oh, Gildor, he thought reverently, remind me to do something really nice for you when you get back.
Haldir lay in bed with his foot elevated on an enormous pile of pillows. He was covered with enough blankets to suffice in the coldest winter, even thought the weather was quite temperate at the moment. A fire burned in the grate, adding another source of warmth to the room, which perhaps explained the red flush on his brother's face. Then again, that could have been anger at the diminutive figure sitting astride his chest, forcibly spooning soup down him. Haldir was so enmeshed in the blankets that his efforts to throw her off were having little effect, nor were the curses he uttered between every mouthful.
"You WILL finish this," she was saying, riding out another attempt to send her sprawling, and Rumil watched with glee as the large bowl she held was slowly emptied. He doubted if much of it had actually ended up inside his brother, as the two of them were fairly drenched, but he supposed it was the thought that counted. "There. Do you need anything else?"
Rumil winced at a few of the suggestions his brother offered--really, she was female, after all--but the comments seemed to have no effect. Of course, Rumil considered, after a lifetime spent around orcs, even Haldir at his worst probably seemed refined.
"Then I will go get your medicine," she threatened--by her tone the benign phrase took on that connotation--and she swept out the door without another word.
"Feeling better, brother?" Rumil asked, making no effort whatsoever to restrain his grin.
Haldir regarded him balefully from within his woolen cocoon. "Get this off me."
Rumil clucked a tongue disapprovingly as he moved to do as bid. "You really should learn some manners, you know. Every time I see you these days, you're covered in food." He finally managed to unwind the sticky blankets, but then had to sit down to keep from collapsing with mirth. "Oh . . . oh, you ARE well nursed, brother!"
"Be silent." Haldir glared at him, but his appearance ruined the effect. When Rumil had left the room for lunch, Haldir had been sleeping soundly. Elwyyda had dosed his breakfast with something, and she had apparently not missed the opportunity his unconscious state offered to properly nurse him. And an impressive job she had made of it, too, Rumil thought admiringly, before he slipped from his seat and literally rolled in the floor, gasping for breath and giggling madly. Oh, this was truly priceless!
"Bring me something appropriate to wear." It was an order, and as such would usually have made Rumil bristle--his brother had a bad habit of forgetting that Rumil was not his to command when they were not on duty--but under the circumstances he decided to overlook it. He found Haldir's clothing neatly hung in Gildor's large wardrobe, while the other elf's attire was mostly wadded up on the floor or hanging halfway off its hangers. Rumil refrained from comment, however, and picked out a tasteful nightshirt of the deep blue Haldir favoured, and brought it to him. "No," his brother looked annoyed, "I am not an invalid! Bring me traveling attire."
"And just where, may I ask, were you planning to go?"
"You know that perfectly well. I would have already left if that cursed dwarf had not managed to drug me. Probably put it in the tea. In any case, I can catch up with them on a fast horse if I ride all night."
"Orc attacks make it too dangerous to travel at night, as you well know," Rumil commented patiently, as getting upset never worked with his big brother. Of course, he considered, as Haldir rapidly began undoing some of the countless tiny braids with which Elwyyda had dressed his hair, logic usually didn't either. Haldir was undoubtedly the most stubborn elf of his acquaintance. "You aren't going anywhere," Rumil informed him, deciding on a more direct approach. "I will tie you to the bed myself if necessary, and post a guard at the window!"
Haldir glowered at him, but Rumil ignored it. His brother had made a lifetime's work of telling him and Orophin whenever they were acting foolishly; it was a pleasure to be able to return the favour. Besides, it was difficult to take him seriously when he was wearing a heavy quilted shirt in a mustard shade, and a pair of overlarge green woolen leggings that could not possibly have been his. A blue scarf had been knotted about his neck to keep off any stray chills, as if anything could have penetrated that costume, and an orange vest was securely buttoned over his chest. His uninjured foot sported a bright red sock, while the other had at least twelve layers of bandages wound about it in intricate folds. Rumil briefly thought that he might need to have a talk with Elwyyda about proper invalid attire before his brother roasted to death, as well as testing her for colour blindness.
"You wouldn't dare."
Rumil just gave him an arch look. Orophin might be scared witless of their elder brother's rage at the moment, but Rumil had no such worries. Haldir was in no shape to carry out any threats at the moment, and he was deranged if he thought his sibling was bluffing. Well, he'd find out the truth soon enough. "You would be of no use anyway," Rumil told him, tugging the suffocating vest and tunic over his head and replacing them with the lighter cotton sleep shirt. "He'll be alright, you know," he added in a softer tone, seeing his brother's genuinely apprehensive expression.
"Of course he will!," Haldir barked, "He has been a trusted agent in Lord Elrond's service for five hundred years! I think that says something about his competence."
"But you're still worried about him." It wasn't a question; Rumil could see his brother trying, and mostly failing, to repress frantic concern.
"They don't know what they will find when they arrive. And you weren't there--it is a horrid place, Rumil."
"Gildor survived it before. He will again. And it will be better if he is not distracted trying to protect you."
"I do not need . . . "
"Normally, no, but at the moment? Even you will not heal a badly broken ankle in a few days. It will be a week or more before you can even stand without pain, and probably one to two beyond that before you can fight and jump and run about." Rumil plumped up Haldir's pillows and forced him back against them. His brother still looked a bit strange, as dozens of braids remained in his hair and none had been done expertly, so that little pieces of hair escaped in a frazzled halo all about his head. He resembled a doll Rumil had seen an elfling playing with once, which had been carried about by the hair for so long that its tiny mane stood up of its own accord, in all directions. It was odd and a little discomfiting to see his usually so composed brother looking wide eyed and somewhat lost, his anxiety apparent in his clear blue eyes. "Don't worry Haldir; they will be fine." Rumil continued to make soothing comments as he smoothed the thinnest of the blankets back over his brother's reclining form. He just hoped he was speaking the truth.
TBC
Author: Rune Dancer, runedancer@hotmail.com
Rating: R
Paring: Thranduil/Celeborn/Elrond; Elrohir/Glorfindel; Haldir/Gildor; Elladan/Orophin
Disclaimer: I own nothing, except the plotline and my precious, evil mind.
Feedback: Please!
Warnings: BDSM.
A/N: This is a continuation of my previous Unspoken story arc. Read them in order--Unspoken/Revelations/Changes/One Last Time/Quid Pro Quo--or prepare to be confused.
* * *
Cool air drifted across Haldir's sleep-warm skin, and he sighed softly and buried himself further under the sheets. The sun was almost straight overhead, however, and a shaft fell into his eyes from the window, worrying him into consciousness. He woke to a foggy feeling in his head and an instinctive knowledge that something was wrong. He was drowsily comfortable in Gildor's bed in the royal talan, and although the position of the sun told him that it was late morning, he was not on duty this rotation and did not have to be up at a particular time . . .
A sharp pain in his ankle distracted him momentarily from the nagging thought about time that was floating around his brain. He sat up in bed and grabbed his foot, only to have a sharp bolt of agony flash up his leg. After some creative cursing, he examined the limb more carefully, noting the heavy bandage that had been wrapped around it, and suddenly everything came flooding back.
"By Elbereth! He tricked me!" Haldir jumped out of bed, wondering if there was still time to catch up with the rescue party, only to have his foot collapse under him and send him sprawling on the floor, right beside a pair of tiny green leather slippers cleverly made to resemble folded leaves. Looking up, his gaze traveled over a solid if rather thin body, also wrapped in green, to a tense, disapproving face under a mountain of dark red braids. Gildor must have helped Elwyyda with her coiffure, Haldir thought dazedly, as he'd never seen that number of messy braids on anyone at one time. "What are YOU doing here?"
The little dwarf drew herself up and stepped around him, balancing a large tray in her hands. She was resolutely not looking at him, and Haldir suddenly realised that he was nude. With another curse, he pulled a sheet from the bed at the same time that Elwydda sat the tray down on it. The result was strawberry jam filled pastries all over him and a very annoyed dwarf. "I brought that all the way up from the kitchens! And now look!"
Haldir was finding it difficult to maintain his dignity while seated in the floor, naked and covered with food, but he tried nonetheless. Gathering the jam-stained sheet about him, he gingerly stood, taking his weight on his uninjured foot, and glared at the intruder. "Why. Are. You. Here?"
"Gildor told me to look after you, so I am." There was something in the little creature's eyes that looked a great deal like fanaticism to Haldir. Wonderful. He should have known that his lover's appalling taste in pets was going to rebound on him sooner or later.
"I do not need your assistance."
Haldir's words had absolutely no effect, and the bothersome creature continued to stand, fists on hips, regarding him sternly. "Gildor told me to take care of you," she repeated slowly and unnecessarily distinctly, as if speaking to a dim-witted child. "He left with the others and won't be back for a time. Until he returns, I will nurse you." She looked almost as appalled by the idea as Haldir felt, but there was a steely glint of determination in her eyes. "I will go and get you another breakfast. Wash and dress," she ordered, before stomping out in the inelegant way of her people.
Haldir looked after her, disbelief and annoyance on his features. Not only had Gildor lied, he had also saddled Haldir with the most irritating nurse possible, then wisely left the city. Who did he think he was, to treat him so? Haldir remembered his lover's bright, concerned eyes from the night before, and the murmured assurances he had made as he gave him "just a draught to ease the pain." Gildor had known his lover intended to go with the rescue party despite his disability, and had carefully insured that he had no opportunity to do so. Haldir should have known, but the pain had distracted him, not to mention Gildor's gentle attentions that, he now remembered, had been cut short by the effects of the drug.
Haldir fell back onto the bed, jam and all, and threw an arm over his eyes. "I am never going to have sex again."
"Oh, I wouldn't take any bets on THAT, brother!"
Haldir looked up to see Rumil laughing at him from the doorway. "You are supposed to be on rotation."
"I am. My current assignment is here at the palace, watching over a march warden who manages to avoid injury in countless death-defying situations, then ends up bedridden due to . . . well, I'm SURE the story I heard was exaggerated. And what's this?" Rumil lifted a bit of jammy pastry from Haldir's stomach. "Gildor not finish the job?"
Haldir didn't bother to glare at him. It was vintage Rumil, and no lecture ever made a dent in his brother's horrible sense of humour. "Go. Away."
"And leave you to the treacherous villainies being hatched by that dastardly dwarf? She looked truly dangerous to me . . . all three feet of her."
"I do NOT need a KEEPER."
"Of course you do. If I left, what would be the first thing you'd do? Shove your broken ankle into a boot, commandeer a horse, and ride off to save the day--or to get yourself killed, more like. Sorry, but I promised Gildor . . . "
"Gildor! I can't believe he did this to me."
"He cares about you. And for your sake, I hope you return the feelings, because I received the distinct impression that he plans to be around for a while."
Haldir took the wet cloth Rumil handed him and began to clean himself up. "We'll see. First we're going to have a talk about just who is in control of this relationship."
Rumil laughed and picked a morsel of pastry out of Haldir's hair. "Oh, I don't know, brother. It seems to me that has already been determined."
* * *
It was a bright, clear day with a brilliant sun shining from a vividly blue sky, and Elrohir regarded it resentfully. To match his mood, the weather should have been overcast and grey, maybe even raining a little, with a few carrion eaters circling around overhead. As it was, the happy sunshine almost seemed to be mocking him. Elrohir sat glumly on his horse, determinedly not looking in Glorfindel's direction, and wondered if his life could get any more bleak. He was too young to have messed things up this badly. One would think it would take more than fifty cycles to completely ruin one's whole existence.
Elrohir kept his horse's pace slow enough to avoid going anywhere near his one-time lover, who rode near the front of the party. He also stayed as far away from Erestor as possible, who was fortunately riding at Glorfindel's side making it easy for him to avoid them both. Elrohir had hoped that his new-found attraction to his old tutor had been nothing more than a moment of madness inspired by his hurt and humiliation, but that morning he had discovered that it was impossible to go back to seeing Erestor the old way. The fall of his inky hair had been plaited neatly at his neck as usual, but Elrohir was reminded of the way it had felt against his skin, as heavy and supple as raw silk. Although Erestor was wearing one of his usual old fashioned, high-necked robes, this one in a deep plum colour that was almost black, for some reason it did not make him seem old or fat as before. No, not at all.
Elrohir shook his head--he must be going mad. What was it that caused this attraction for his former tutors anyway? Was he just sick? Everyone else fell for elves their own age--even Elladan had managed that easily enough, and he was certainly no prodigy. Of course, where Erestor was concerned, Elrohir knew he had spoken the truth when he denied being in love with him, but the huge shift in perception was still hard to deal with, and as for Glorfindel . . . Seeing him with dappled sunlight falling over his long, unbound hair that morning had caused a very strange reaction. Elrohir had not felt pain or guilt or any of the emotions he could have understood and had half expected. Instead, something in his brain had simply decided to shut down, as if his emotions had switched off in self-defense. A strange sort of calm had filled him, but it was an uneasy sensation, as if he was a dam bowing with the effort of holding back the spring rains.
Yet he had felt something when Glorfindel approached him as he was mounting his horse, and demanded to know what he thought he was doing. An edge in his lover's tone had rubbed Elrohir the wrong way, and he had replied more strongly than he intended.
"I am riding along, as should be obvious."
"I don't think that is a good idea. Your father . . . "
"I don't recall asking you, seneschal," Elrohir had snapped, desperate to end the conversation before the bubble of repressed emotion in his chest erupted in who knew what kind of display. He had quickly taken a place in the gathering throng, anxious to put as much space between them as possible; Glorfindel had not followed him, and they had not spoken since.
Elrohir glanced about in an effort to keep his eyes off the tempting sight ahead, and noticed that another familiar face, obvious because of his dark hair in the sea of blonds, rode nearby. He suddenly had an idea. He needed advice, but from someone considerably less daunting than Erestor had suddenly become, and too kind to laugh openly in his face. "Gildor!" The agent obligingly reined back his horse slightly to come up alongside. Elrohir had no idea how to ask what he wanted, so he started with a less personal query. "How is Haldir?"
"As well as can be expected. I gave him half of your sleeping draught last night, so at least he rested."
"Half? But a quarter of the bottle would have been sufficient to ease the pain and help him sleep. I thought I told you that."
Gildor smiled at him guilelessly. "I'm sure you did."
Elrohir sighed inwardly--it was going to be another one of those days when nothing made sense, he could already feel it. Deciding that he probably couldn't make things any worse no matter what he said, he took the plunge. "Er, Gildor, I was wondering . . . that is, you and Haldir . . . you are rather close, aren't you?"
Gildor gave him a sunny smile. Really, Elrohir thought, blinking, he was rather attractive when he did that. He immediately gave himself a mental slap. Honestly, he'd be fantasizing about Elladan next! "Yes, we are."
"So, you don't . . . that is . . . I know it is none of my business, but I was just wondering . . ."
"Yes?"
Elrohir took a deep breath and rushed it before he gave up in cowardice. "Soyoudon'tworryabouthisotherlovers?"
"What?" Gildor looked puzzled.
"His other lovers. I mean to say, well, Haldir has had a few . . . that is, his reputation . . . " Elrohir blushed. Elbereth, but he was bad at this!
To his surprise, Gildor just looked at him compassionately. It suddenly occurred to Elrohir that perhaps his quarrel with Glorfindel was not exactly a secret. "I really don't worry about that," Gildor assured him. "The past is past."
This seemed an amazingly lackadaisical attitude to Elrohir. Relationships didn't just HAPPEN. They had to be planned carefully and worked at--really, the way some people managed their lives . . . He did feel rather sorry for Gildor, however, who would probably be cheated on by Haldir within a month if it hadn't happened already. "That is . . . a remarkably calm attitude."
Gildor patted Elrohir briefly on the shoulder. "Love finds a way," he told him earnestly. Elrohir bit back a sharp retort; platitudes he could have done without. Still, he supposed he should be pleased that Gildor wasn't giving him a dressing down for probing into his private life. The fact that he worked for Elrond did not mean that he had to endure any snooping by his son.
Elrohir found his eyes straying of their own accord to the duo riding near the front of the column and he sighed. Just looking at Glorfindel caused a wave of longing and desire to dance along his nerves, so strong that it felt as if his bones had liquefied inside his skin. Strangely enough, he missed their mental closeness even more, the easy familiarity, the laughter, the warmth . . .
"You should talk to him." Elrohir had almost forgotten Gildor's presence, but the words brought him back to the present, and a much less appealing place it was, too. "This isn't my place to say, but I know the damage a small amount of miscommunication can cause. A conversation, however difficult, is preferable to a life time of pain, is it not?"
The voice was so gentle, and the words were spoken with such conviction that Elrohir could not be angry with Gildor. Elrohir had initiated the conversation because he wanted advice--now that he had it, complaining seemed fruitless, and the words did make sense. Avoiding the issue was not going to solve anything, and Elrohir had never been a coward. They would be riding all day, perhaps pausing long enough at mid-day for a brief bite of lembas, although perhaps not under the circumstances. But they would stop that night. They could not afford to be exhausted when they arrived at the mountain, not considering what probably awaited them there. So, that meant he had all day to decide what he was going to say to Glorfindel.
* * *
Rumil heard shouts coming from Gildor's room, and ran flat out down the corridor. He couldn't imagine what could possibly be threatening Haldir in the middle of the royal talan, but his shrieks indicated mortal peril. He skidded to a halt outside the open door of his brother's room, then just stood there, his long knives falling limply to his side and his mouth open in amazement. Oh, Gildor, he thought reverently, remind me to do something really nice for you when you get back.
Haldir lay in bed with his foot elevated on an enormous pile of pillows. He was covered with enough blankets to suffice in the coldest winter, even thought the weather was quite temperate at the moment. A fire burned in the grate, adding another source of warmth to the room, which perhaps explained the red flush on his brother's face. Then again, that could have been anger at the diminutive figure sitting astride his chest, forcibly spooning soup down him. Haldir was so enmeshed in the blankets that his efforts to throw her off were having little effect, nor were the curses he uttered between every mouthful.
"You WILL finish this," she was saying, riding out another attempt to send her sprawling, and Rumil watched with glee as the large bowl she held was slowly emptied. He doubted if much of it had actually ended up inside his brother, as the two of them were fairly drenched, but he supposed it was the thought that counted. "There. Do you need anything else?"
Rumil winced at a few of the suggestions his brother offered--really, she was female, after all--but the comments seemed to have no effect. Of course, Rumil considered, after a lifetime spent around orcs, even Haldir at his worst probably seemed refined.
"Then I will go get your medicine," she threatened--by her tone the benign phrase took on that connotation--and she swept out the door without another word.
"Feeling better, brother?" Rumil asked, making no effort whatsoever to restrain his grin.
Haldir regarded him balefully from within his woolen cocoon. "Get this off me."
Rumil clucked a tongue disapprovingly as he moved to do as bid. "You really should learn some manners, you know. Every time I see you these days, you're covered in food." He finally managed to unwind the sticky blankets, but then had to sit down to keep from collapsing with mirth. "Oh . . . oh, you ARE well nursed, brother!"
"Be silent." Haldir glared at him, but his appearance ruined the effect. When Rumil had left the room for lunch, Haldir had been sleeping soundly. Elwyyda had dosed his breakfast with something, and she had apparently not missed the opportunity his unconscious state offered to properly nurse him. And an impressive job she had made of it, too, Rumil thought admiringly, before he slipped from his seat and literally rolled in the floor, gasping for breath and giggling madly. Oh, this was truly priceless!
"Bring me something appropriate to wear." It was an order, and as such would usually have made Rumil bristle--his brother had a bad habit of forgetting that Rumil was not his to command when they were not on duty--but under the circumstances he decided to overlook it. He found Haldir's clothing neatly hung in Gildor's large wardrobe, while the other elf's attire was mostly wadded up on the floor or hanging halfway off its hangers. Rumil refrained from comment, however, and picked out a tasteful nightshirt of the deep blue Haldir favoured, and brought it to him. "No," his brother looked annoyed, "I am not an invalid! Bring me traveling attire."
"And just where, may I ask, were you planning to go?"
"You know that perfectly well. I would have already left if that cursed dwarf had not managed to drug me. Probably put it in the tea. In any case, I can catch up with them on a fast horse if I ride all night."
"Orc attacks make it too dangerous to travel at night, as you well know," Rumil commented patiently, as getting upset never worked with his big brother. Of course, he considered, as Haldir rapidly began undoing some of the countless tiny braids with which Elwyyda had dressed his hair, logic usually didn't either. Haldir was undoubtedly the most stubborn elf of his acquaintance. "You aren't going anywhere," Rumil informed him, deciding on a more direct approach. "I will tie you to the bed myself if necessary, and post a guard at the window!"
Haldir glowered at him, but Rumil ignored it. His brother had made a lifetime's work of telling him and Orophin whenever they were acting foolishly; it was a pleasure to be able to return the favour. Besides, it was difficult to take him seriously when he was wearing a heavy quilted shirt in a mustard shade, and a pair of overlarge green woolen leggings that could not possibly have been his. A blue scarf had been knotted about his neck to keep off any stray chills, as if anything could have penetrated that costume, and an orange vest was securely buttoned over his chest. His uninjured foot sported a bright red sock, while the other had at least twelve layers of bandages wound about it in intricate folds. Rumil briefly thought that he might need to have a talk with Elwyyda about proper invalid attire before his brother roasted to death, as well as testing her for colour blindness.
"You wouldn't dare."
Rumil just gave him an arch look. Orophin might be scared witless of their elder brother's rage at the moment, but Rumil had no such worries. Haldir was in no shape to carry out any threats at the moment, and he was deranged if he thought his sibling was bluffing. Well, he'd find out the truth soon enough. "You would be of no use anyway," Rumil told him, tugging the suffocating vest and tunic over his head and replacing them with the lighter cotton sleep shirt. "He'll be alright, you know," he added in a softer tone, seeing his brother's genuinely apprehensive expression.
"Of course he will!," Haldir barked, "He has been a trusted agent in Lord Elrond's service for five hundred years! I think that says something about his competence."
"But you're still worried about him." It wasn't a question; Rumil could see his brother trying, and mostly failing, to repress frantic concern.
"They don't know what they will find when they arrive. And you weren't there--it is a horrid place, Rumil."
"Gildor survived it before. He will again. And it will be better if he is not distracted trying to protect you."
"I do not need . . . "
"Normally, no, but at the moment? Even you will not heal a badly broken ankle in a few days. It will be a week or more before you can even stand without pain, and probably one to two beyond that before you can fight and jump and run about." Rumil plumped up Haldir's pillows and forced him back against them. His brother still looked a bit strange, as dozens of braids remained in his hair and none had been done expertly, so that little pieces of hair escaped in a frazzled halo all about his head. He resembled a doll Rumil had seen an elfling playing with once, which had been carried about by the hair for so long that its tiny mane stood up of its own accord, in all directions. It was odd and a little discomfiting to see his usually so composed brother looking wide eyed and somewhat lost, his anxiety apparent in his clear blue eyes. "Don't worry Haldir; they will be fine." Rumil continued to make soothing comments as he smoothed the thinnest of the blankets back over his brother's reclining form. He just hoped he was speaking the truth.
TBC