AN: Hi everyone! I'm so, so sorry for not posting this up earlier! I was really busy with work and all, and could barely finish it in time… Well, this is for all those people who flooded my mailbox yelling at me to put up this chapter. Enjoy! I'm gonna work on the fourth installment now, and once again I apologize for being such a dopey prick.
Chapter Three: Why'd You Have To Go And Make Things So Complicated?
"Good morning to you!" came Hermione's way too chirpy, way too perky voice. She didn't even bother to shut the door quietly. Regarding the unmoving lump on the bed for a few moments and finally deciding that there was only one person in the covers and that she was not disturbing anything…intimate, she sat down on the bed, sending the lump bouncing slightly upon impact.
"Dru?" she prodded gently, trying to find out where her head was under the covers. Drusilla was known to sleep in all sorts of weird angles back in Hogwarts. "Wake up."
Silence.
She prodded at her best friend even harder and raised her voice a little. "Dru! Wake up, I've got a few things to ask you!"
Nothing.
Hermione heaved a frustrated sigh. This had always been Drusilla's bad habit. It was always as if she survived on thirteen hours of sleep a day or something, no less. And whenever she slept, not even Dumbledore could wake her up, and that was saying something. But sometimes, it was a good thing whenever it came to her and Ron and the horizontal tango—Drusilla's room was the closest to hers and it was entirely possible to know what Hermione was doing in the other room—but right now, it wasn't.
She reached over and shook her friend. Forcefully. "Wake up, girl! You've slept for long enough, and I've really got SOMETHING to ask you! Drusilla Fontaine!!!!"
"Urrgh…" came the groan, and Drusilla rolled over, squinting foggily at her best friend. "Leeme 'lone…"
"Not until you answer my question."
Drusilla mentioned a few choice expletives under her breath, then flopped back to sleep again.
"Oh, for Merlin's sake, do stop sleeping already!" she turned Drusilla over, and the other girl groaned loudly, realizing that she had no chance of getting back to sleep once Hermione clamped down onto her like a pit bull.
"This better be good, Hermione." Drusilla warned. She yawned widely and stretched, staring sullenly at Hermione. Then, in a dead sort of voice, she said. "You've got my undivided attention. Now what is it?"
Deciding that this was encouragement enough to go on, Hermione smiled at her disarmingly before her inborn curiosity could get the better of her. "How was last night?"
"What?" Still suffering from early-morning amnesia, she stared at her friend blearily, uncomprehending.
"You know, things!"
"What?"
Hermione frowned. "Listen, Dru. Keep this up and we'll be here for a century. Last night, remember? What happened?"
"Last night?"
She looked around for any clue, her brain still half-asleep. Then her eyes rested on the small medicine bottle not too far away from her on the table. Next to it lay several cotton swabs.
Cotton swabs… she thought, a warm feeling spreading through her like honey, making her skin tingle. Just last night, she'd nursed Haldir's wound, his bare skin feeling smooth and wonderful beneath her fingertips, his arms feeling gentle and tender wrapped possessively around her, his kisses slow and loving and mind-numbing…
A hot flush rose to her cheeks as her fingers absently flew to her lips. Never had she been kissed like that before…the feeling was simply exhilarating. She felt as if she was soaring to the heavens, and all she could do was just feel…
Suddenly, Hermione was in her face again, waving a hand in front of her and looking at her as if she was mentally subnormal.
Quickly disguising her embarrassment at being caught into one of profound annoyance, she once again glowered at the person she considered her best friend.
Except in the mornings.
"That's what you get when you wake me up too early."
The beautiful brunette smirked. "I don't suppose the blush is because of me, too?" she leaned forward, her eyes alight with new curiosity. "Tell me, Dru, what happened last night? It ought to be good, considering you've got a giant crush on him, and he seems to fancy you too."
Drusilla let out a long-suffering sigh. "You wake me up so early in the morning just to know what went on?"
"Well, if you'd like to hear Ron's version…"
"WHAT?!" Crap, she'd used that damnable word three times already!
"Ron came in to our rooms last night and told us what you were doing." Hermione said innocently, conveniently leaving out the part where they—ahem—had engaged in…pleasuring activities after that. Some things were just not worth mentioning. "A half naked Marchwarden alone in a room with a hormonal female and the rest is left to the imagination."
She looked horrified at the thought. "I don't want to know anything about your imagination, and I'm definitely NOT hormonal!"
Hermione shot her a withering glance at her pathetic protest. "Right. Tell it to someone more gullible, would you? Too bad Ron had to barge in. If he hadn't. I'd be finding two lumps on the bed today instead of only one." To her glee, Drusilla turned a shade of red that seriously rivaled the scarlet Gryffindor color. Interpreting it as a silent assent, her smile grew into a full-fledged grin. "Ooh, up to something naughty last night, aren't we?"
"WE JUST KISSED!!"
"That wasn't what Ron was saying."
Hearing the little git's name four times already, she finally snapped. With a loud growl, she jumped off the bed and marched towards the door, her hands clenched into fists. As if being resident romantic mood-shatterer wasn't enough, he was trying to emulate Rita Skeeter too.
"I'm going to kill him," she gritted, barreling out of the doors with a protesting Hermione tagging along behind her, her words fizzling into an inaudible sentence.
"RONALD WEASLEY!" Drusilla bellowed, not giving a hoot whether the entire kingdom of Lothlorien heard her or not. Homicide was high on her list this morning, and she was not going to let anything stand in her way.
Marching down the corridor, she glanced fleetingly at the doors, saw his, but determinedly threw Hermione's room door open. Hell, there was NO WAY Ron would miss a risk-free chance like that with his girlfriend! Behind her, Hermione slapped a hand to her forehead, her face flaming. How the hell did she know exactly which door to open? Were they that obvious last night?
Fortunately for Ron, he'd already foreseen Drusilla's homicidal tendencies and had made himself scarce as soon as possible. And the foul mood she always had in the mornings were a potent mix, and he couldn't exactly afford to hang around after what he'd seen last night.
"Where is the sodding git?" she muttered, looking around. The unusually rumpled sheets told her that the occupant had already vacated the immediate premises not too long ago.
Grabbing the chance, Hermione tugged on her friend's sleeve. Once she was over her morning mood, she'd be perfectly all right again.
She hoped.
"Come on, Dru. Let's go and get breakfast. I'm starving."
"I'm not," she said stubbornly, crossing her arms over her chest and looking mildly comical in that stance, what with her extremely messed up hair and the relatively plain nightdress she was wearing. Maybe some of her bad mood came from the obvious bad hair day she was going to have ahead of her. "I'm going to find Weasley and KILL him. Your boyfriend or not."
As if to put lie to her words, her stomach growled loudly in protest, and Hermione stifled a giggle. Honestly, her friend could be so pigheaded at times.
"We could always find him later," she promised. Well, it wasn't exactly a promise, but knowing her friend, give her some time and she'd forget about it with remarkable speed. "Come on, before your stomach crawls up to your gullet to look for food."
***
It was wrong.
Just wrong, and he knew it. Oh, did he know it. Haldir sharpened his arrows with a vicious purpose, watching as thin peels floated down to the floor of the guard post for a moment before it was carried away by the gentle wind. He'd been here ever since he found out that he couldn't get to sleep, and what better way to spend the time by keeping guard over his beloved city? Besides, one couldn't be too careful, what with the increased raids of the Orcs during the past few days.
And last night…
He closed his eyes, forcing himself to push away the all too tempting images. Images of him being in Drusilla's warm room—it was so strange how she could simply make that guestroom seem so warm and cosy all of a sudden, the very pleasant sensation of her fingers on his bare skin, the sudden, intense swell of emotion he'd had for her, the overwhelming desire to have her…
It was all wrong.
He'd always prided himself over his iron will, his icy control, but why, oh why had he lost his control and kissed her last night? Why had he allowed himself to make that mistake? Things would never be between them, so why was he still rushing headlong into it like a young, ignorant fool? He was drawing close to four millennia, for the love of Valar, and it galled him that he actually went to do something like that without even thinking.
These…feelings for her has to stop, he told himself harshly. He was the Marchwarden of Lorien after all, and he could not, would not fall in love.
Especially not for a child like her. It would be impossible. Pushing away the Lady's words the other day, he doggedly concentrated on his sharpening. It was just a passing wave of attraction, that was all. It would just be like all the others.
Nothing else.
Of course, a snide voice at the back of his mind reminded him. A passing wave that causes you to lose your sleep just thinking about her.
Despite himself, however, it seemed like his world had just…rearranged itself, somehow. All the things that were so methodical to him seemed to be messed up then put back again, and the cold perspective he'd had had seemed to be turned around, somehow. It was as if someone had injected a special brand of difference of some kind and made him feel somewhat…detached from himself and yet closer to discovering himself at the same time. The strange torrent of emotions left him strangely weary and yet invigorated, happy and despairing at the same time.
It was all so strange and all so alien to him, having felt nothing remotely close to this in his entire existence. And he liked and hated it all at the same time. Opposite feelings clashed together within his heart, challenging his sharp mind, honed through the years to the pinnacle of perfection.
And it seemed to be all because of Drusilla.
It seemed so impossible for him to fall for her in such a short period of time, but there was…something about her that he just could not seem to place, that set her apart from any other female.
That, he admitted, had intrigued him. Her innocence tugged at him, the occasional haunted, sad look in her eyes attracted him. That and the fact that she was so endearingly beautiful clad in the garb of his people, no matter what she thought about herself. She was so different from all the other Elven ladies he'd met over the years, so…unpredictable, bold yet shy, the way his heart pounded whenever her fingers accidentally brushed his, the unique smile she'd had…true, she wasn't beautiful by Elven standards, but she was simply alluring. There was something about her that made him want to find out more, something about her that told him that she was so much deeper, so much more complex that she seemed.
She grew into herself during the past few days, and Lothlorien seemed to come alive just by her presence, and she seemed to bloom like a delicate flower that only looked beautiful only on the third and fourth glance…she was like a book, full of endless stories, interesting twists and turns, pleasant surprises—like the time she spoke about her feelings for him for the first time…his breath caught in his throat when his mind wandered back to that scene, but he scowled and brought his thoughts back again.
It was extremely unbecoming for an Elf like him to be so easily distracted. Where did all his discipline go? It always seemed as if she could reach into him somehow and dissolve all the walls and masks he'd put around himself. It was a bit disconcerting, really, and he didn't want to think about it just now.
He didn't want to think about it. Ever.
But even so, the best thing was, she didn't even see what he'd seen in her at first glance…
No, he objected fiercely. He was not going to think about her! His duty to his Lady and his Lord came first above all things, and Drusilla was just a guest here, nothing more.
And despite her purpose here, she would have to go back home one day, wherever her home was.
Struggling with the strangely vacant feeling within him at the thought of her leaving, he slipped the sharpened arrow back into his quiver and pulled out another, studying the tip and running the tip of his finger over the arrowhead. Still sharp.
Good.
Unable to help himself, his thoughts flicked back helplessly to the night where he danced with her. It all had been so magical, and he felt as if he was drowning in her gentle brown eyes that spoke volumes. It was as if he could see her entire life within those windows to her soul, as if he could reach out and touch the pure innocence that lay deep within her. The innocence that had died within him all so long ago, ever since he witnessed his parents' death by the marauding Orcs when he was just a child.
He would never forget it.
The Lady Galadriel had taken him in as one of her own since then, and he'd worked tirelessly to repay that debt, striving to prove himself and to reassure his lieges that they had made no mistake in choosing him as Marchwarden and as—almost—surrogate son.
His hand clenched the arrow tightly, the mask of arrogance and aloofness had served him well over the long years, and he did not see the reason for it to fail now. His responsibility to the Lord and the Lady was placed high above all things, and to that he would hold, no matter how difficult he was finding it now.
Drusilla was a mistake he had made in his folly, in the heat of the moment.
Last night was a mistake.
And he would make sure that it did not happen again.
"Haldir."
***
After tripping indelicately over the sixth tree root that was obviously put there to make her life even more miserable, Drusilla glared at her friend petulantly, despairing over the fact that the damned dress that had been loaned to her that had hindered her motions every step she took was already muddied at the hem.
It was, in all honesty, a ghastly sight.
Already extremely annoyed by the fact that Ron had managed to evade her successfully the whole morning, AND that Hermione was STILL dragging her everywhere without telling her where the heck they were going, this did not bode well for her mood later in the day.
"'Mione, I swear that if you don't tell me where we are headed to, I'm going to scream. I mean it." She already had an inkling that the main reason Hermione was literally bringing her round and round the Golden Wood was because she wanted her to forget that she owed Ron a good kick in the pants.
Or where he would not have a chance to procreate.
Well, he deserves it, she thought to herself. Who told him to be born with a penchant for such bad timings? But she found the urge to kick him where it doesn't see the light of day a growing lesser and lesser. Since, well, let's just face it, if it hadn't been for him, Merlin only knew where she would be right now.
Not that she didn't want it, of course, but even she knew that it would be too fast.
Much too fast.
And she really hadn't known him. Not too much, anyway. He seemed like that kind of elusive, vaguely mysterious person, not to mention arrogant—the times she'd seen him converse with others were…odd, to say the least. Oh, he behaved like a perfect gentleman, but one could not possibly miss the disdain hidden within the thin veil of smoothness.—and he always seemed to have that strange, haunted expression in his eyes.
Eyes that promised of things that were beyond her comprehension, that revealed an entire world of emotions within them. Eyes that captured her heart at first glance and yet cast the deepest shade of despair within her. Despair that she would never be the one who would have him, and yet, falling hopelessly for him as well.
He was beautiful.
More than beautiful, he was the embodiment of perfection, one who could even make angels weep from shame. And it always seemed like the more she thought about him, the more surprised she was that someone as heavenly as him could ever like someone like her.
The two of us are the Firstborn, she thought quietly, her thoughts wandering away from Hermione right now. She was speaking, but she wasn't listening. But why are we as different as night and day?
Being around him always made her feel that way, as if she was inferior to him somehow, and yet…being around him filled her in a way no one else did in a very, very long time. He made her aware of the aching gap that plagued her heart and yet filled it up for her at the same time. The emotions were too confusing for her, and she suddenly felt tired. Did love always feel like this?
Did love always make your heart burn with unbearable longing for the other person, and yet pulse with the delicious warmth that your other half had provided you with? Did it cause you to want to weep and laugh at the same time because of its intensity? Did it want you to both hold on and pull away at the same time, fearing that your other half would think lowly of you for doing either? Did it cause so much chaos within your soul that you can't live with or without?
Sighing, she rubbed at her temple, closing her eyes to find some kind of reprieve from the thoughts that were haunting her now. Was it how it felt to be hopelessly in love with someone and not really know how they felt about you?
True, she realized. He'd kissed her last night, but that could probably be in the heat of the moment, couldn't it? Somehow, that prospect was too horrible for her to contemplate, but with some sick twist, she kept being pulled to it over and over again.
There's no way he could ever like you, a snide voice whispered in her mind, striking a deep chord in her heart. It was true.
She hated it, but it was true.
How could he, when his kindred were at least a thousand times more graceful and beautiful than her? Not to mention the little disturbing fact that they could walk more than an entire distance WITHOUT falling on their face and still look as if they were floating.
Suddenly, she felt more like a fool than ever. He was four thousand years old, the most eligible bachelor in all of Lothlorien. Surely he was bound of have thousands of females lusting over him. And after all that millenium of being lusted over, one would think that he would have developed some kind of tactic for them.
Maybe the kiss last night was one of those.
No, she cut off that train of thought as soon as it drifted to her. He said he liked her.
He said perhaps…
Perhaps…
That single word was the one that caused so much confusion and unrest within her heart, coupled with the fact that Haldir was nowhere to be seen. Not that she was stalking him, of course, but one would normally see him with his other sentinels, discussing war tactics or battle gear somewhere. But now…
Oh, do stop thinking about him! The more sensible part of her brain railed at her impatiently. You're here for a purpose, but that purpose is not to FALL IN LOVE.
But then the Lady had said that there was supposed to be some kind of other thing she was supposed to accomplish, wasn't she? And she knew what she was talking about, all right. Maybe, just maybe...
"'Mione?" came her voice, breaking the silence. She immediately regretted opening her mouth, knowing her question was going to sound extremely stupid when it came out.
Hermione, though, seemed to be expecting something like this, because she didn't sound surprised at all. In fact, she sounded faintly expectant. "Yes?"
"I know this will sound barking mad, but honestly, do you think Haldir and I can have a happy ending or something?"
To her surprise, she didn't laugh, but simply sighed, turning serious all of a sudden. "I don't need to remind you that we're in Middle Earth, not Hogwarts."
Drusilla blinked, catching the words between her lines. Summarily, even she thought that there wouldn't possibly be any ending. There couldn't.
"But then this is your home, isn't it?"
Home…
"My home is in Hogwarts," she replied shortly. Maybe a little too shortly. "Always has been, always will be."
Her friend stared at her for a long moment, saying nothing. Drusilla looked over at her, a little miffed that Hermione seemed to be so perceptive. Not to say that she normally wasn't, but still. She was about to say something when an Elf landed lightly on the ground just in front of her. Drusilla ground her heels into the ground to stop and stifled a startled scream. Well, she figured, one too many Orc ambushes tended to play strange mind games on a person.
Said Elf straightened himself—yes, it was a "he"—and bowed ever-so-slightly, a twinkle in his eye. Long, silver blonde hair cascaded down his shoulders, and he looked so much like Haldir, only that his shoulders were less broad and there was an unspoken mirth about him that set him apart. Dressed in the usual garb for Elven archers, he smiled at them.
"It is indeed a lovely morning for a walk, ladies. Even lovelier so for us when two beautiful women stray across our guard posts."
A little taken aback by the fact that this Elf, a wonderful creature in itself, was paying them a gracious compliment, Hermione found nothing to say. She'd been entranced and deeply in awe of these all-too-beautiful beings ever since she'd stepped in this place, and their regard of them rose steadily higher as the days went past. In fact, in her eyes, they were almost demigods.
Drusilla, for one—although she'd felt mostly inferior to them because of the fact that they were her kindred and that she was nothing like them—didn't feel as awe-struck as her friend. Maybe it was because of last night, when she realized that no matter how otherworldly they were, they were still made of flesh. They could be injured, and even killed.
And she'd even saved one of almost certain death last night.
As if on cue, many Elves poked their heads out from where they were obviously hiding and watching them. In the trees, in the bushes, within the dense foliage of the Golden Wood…Hermione counted at least a dozen of them, watching the two of them with curious eyes. It was very unnerving, all right, being in the wood for so long and not even knowing that they were being watched.
The Elf looked curiously at them, from one to the other, and when his eyes rested on Drusilla, a small spark lit his eyes. "Ah, the famous Lady Drusilla."
Drusilla blinked, wondering how he knew her name and what the heck he meant. "Uh?"
Oh, that was just so smooth of you, Fontaine, she mentally smacked herself, regretting the decision to actually follow Hermione around.
He looked even more amused, and his voice was warm, and he seemed to pick up on her thoughts. "No one who resides in the Lady of Light's gracious hospitality is unknown by the rest of the Elves in Lorien. Especially if the guest is in the middle of a much-speculated relationship with the unreachable Marchwarden and might I add, most desired Elf in the entire realm."
Oh Merlin. Was there any place in here where no one knew who she was? It was getting all so annoying, and Drusilla was never one who bore to stand in the limelight. In fact, she had always backed away from it all her life, and she saw no difference here.
Momentarily at a loss for words, she simply stared at him. Then she said the first thing that came to mind. "You look like Haldir."
"Of course I would," the Elf replied in a warm chuckle. "I am his brother, Orophin."
"Oh."
"Well…" Hermione began, a little hesitantly. She was one to never lose her manners, even in a situation like this. "I believe you already know our names. It is nice to meet you, anyway." She held out her hand for a companionable shake, forgetting that this was not Hogwarts.
The shake never came. Instead, came the warm, tingling feeling of a gentle kiss being placed at the back of her hand. Orophin did the same thing to a stunned Drusilla, then smiled at them, the epitome of charm. "The pleasure is all mine. May I know where you ladies are heading to at this time of day?"
Hermione looked over at Drusilla. To be honest, she had not planned any particular destination for them. She'd dragged her friend on a long walk so as to make her forget about kicking Ron's butt. It had almost worked, but the question posed by Orophin made Drusilla annoyed all over again.
"Ask her. She pulled me out for a walk so I wouldn't kill her boyfriend."
Orophin, unversed in the hidden catches and subtle trickery in modern day language, obviously thought she meant it, and his eyes widened. "Why do you want to kill her… boy friend?" he obviously also had no idea what a boyfriend was.
Drusilla flushed a dull red. Why had she stepped into a trap like this? Oh, she was stupid. Feeling very uncomfortable now, she shifted from foot to foot. "Well, I uh…she-he saw…never mind. But it's for a justified reason. Her boyfriend's a nosy git."
As justified as walking into people's VERY private moments got, anyway.
"I resent that," Hermione remarked from beside her, looking suitably narked. Orophin looked them over with barely-concealed delight and looking as if he just had a brand new toy he had no idea how to operate. "Just because he—"
"Shut up, now, 'Mione."
"And what, may I ask, is a boyfriend?" Orophin questioned, looking from one girl to the other.
"A lover. Male lover." Drusilla replied, eager to get off the reason why she wanted to kill Ron.
"Ah, a soulmate?"
"I wouldn't put it like that, but there you are."
He was about to say something else when a young Elf came running up to them, out of breath. Drusilla stared at him in surprise, having never seen an elf out of breath before.
"Master Orophin, you must return, quick! The Lady Endawyn has returned!"
Orophin brightened considerably. "All the way from Mirkwood? This is news indeed! Where is she?"
"She is with the Captain, sir."
"Of course," Orophin mused thoughtfully. "Where else could she be?"
"Captain?" Hermione said blankly.
"Haldir is the captain of the Lorien guard," the Elf reminded her gently. "I suppose he would be overjoyed, seeing as she has come back and all."
Drusilla felt a dreadful sinking feeling rise deep in her chest, and it felt like her stomach had solidified and was now the weight of a Hippogriff. "He would?"
Oblivious to her paling complexion, the Elf nodded, chuckling a little. "The two of them have always been very good friends. She's the only person he allows within his heart and vice versa. And judging from them, they've always been a lot more than friends, if you ask me."
Drusilla was stunned, and a strange, bitter feeling was rising from the back of her throat. It was as if time had stopped then, trying to shut out what she'd heard, but finding out that it was already too late. Hermione, who was standing beside her, gave her a significant look, which she industriously ignored, digesting what Orophin had said. So Haldir was attached?
No wonder he said that she didn't know what she was in for.
No wonder he kept pushing her away.
No wonder…
Why did he kiss her then?
Confusion and hurt welled up in her. Why didn't he tell her? Why had he let her on? Was this some kind of game to him?
Unconsciously, her fingers flew once more to her lips, even as she remembered what had happened last night. But he looked so struck, so in…love with her, so longing…was it all false?
****
Against her will, Orophin had dragged her and Hermione along to see this Lady Endawyn he had been talking about so enthusiastically.
Everyone loves her, she thought miserably, trudging along. Even Hermione seemed fascinated with Lady Endawyn, although she tried to remain dismissive out of loyalty to her. Which meant a lot, actually, with a temperament like McGonagall's, it was very difficult to engage Hermione's interest. Especially with someone of the same sex. How can I even compare?
Feeling steadily worse every second, she wondered what she would do if what Orophin said was true. It might've been an exaggeration on his part—Merlin, she wished it were so!—or something. But if it really was true, talk about big time embarrassment on her side for throwing herself at him in the first place.
Suddenly, she found herself longing more and more for the home she knew as Hogwarts, and she hoped that whatever it was they were supposed to stop came soon so she could go home and forget all about it.
The first thing Drusilla noticed was the beautiful dome-shaped structure of the parlour, and the small, beautiful winding flowers that seemed to sparkle in the gentle sunlight. A small waterfall tinkled nearby, catching the rays of the sunlight and splaying little rainbows on the soft ground.
The second thing she saw was Haldir.
Talking and laughing with someone who seemed to be the Lady Galadriel's equal in beauty. Or even better.
Long, deep gold tresses rippled down her slender back, her eyes were as deep as an ocean, with flecks of green within them, and they seemed to sparkle with a light that enchanted one and all. Perfect rosebud lips already decorated her perfect features, and even the word beautiful didn't even begin to do justice to this vision before her. And suddenly, she found herself understanding why he would fall for her. Who wouldn't? Hell, even she would, if she was a guy.
Even her laugh was melodic, sounding like silver bells that tinkled gracefully in the gentle wind.
Dressed in a silken gold and gossamer silver gown that would put every Elf maiden below Galadriel to shame, she had an aura about her that was altogether mystically otherworldly and alluring, making her to seem to come from the very myths of Elves themselves, if they ever had it, that was.
Hermione gasped silently behind her, obviously caught.
She looked like a blossoming, yet delicate flower, and Drusilla suddenly felt very plain and drab compared to her. A sinking feeling rose within her once more, and her mouth was dry. How can I even compare? How can I even dream? They look like the perfect couple.
"I think I should leave," she muttered, trying to make an escape before either of them saw her. She really didn't want to talk to them now. Not when Haldir seemed so happy. It suddenly occurred to her that she hadn't heard him laugh at all. And here he was, laughing as if he hadn't had a care in the world. What chance had she got against someone like that? And obviously, the Lady was so much more graceful and elegant than her, and once more, she felt like a total loser. Like a toad when compared to a swan like her.
She could almost hear it now, the soft whispers, laughing and jeering at her, wondering what kind of a chance she had against the esteemed Lady Endawyn. The lady was everything Drusilla wasn't; she was beautiful, elegant, otherworldly, pure, was very well-versed in fighting, sorcery and archery. Even in sorcery! And sorcery was the only thing Drusilla could remotely do well.
She had already lost before she even begun.
Drusilla was about to slink away, unnoticed and trying to keep herself from breaking apart when the lady caught sight of them.
Standing, she flashed a brilliant smile that seemed to light up the entire forest. Her eyes were friendly and warm, and it was then that Haldir caught sight of them, too. And Drusilla noticed, with dismay, that his eyes flickered with an unreadable emotion when he laid eyes on her.
And it broke her heart when his smile faded.
Feeling strangely numb and stricken, she tore her eyes away from his own in an effort to mask the intense hurt she was going through then and there, and tried to pay attention to what Orophin was saying.
"Mae govannen, My Lady Endawyn. Four hundred years of absence and you look even more ravishing."
Endawyn laughed softly, shaking her head. "Flatter me not, Orophin. You don't look so bad yourself, too." She turned to the two girls with a curious eyebrow. "And these two ladies are the esteemed guests of the Golden Wood, I suppose?" there was nothing mocking about her tone, only genuine curiosity.
"Yes. Lady Endawyn, meet Lady Drusilla and Lady Hermione."
The beautiful vision smiled gently at them. "It is indeed a pleasure to meet you, Lady Drusilla, Lady Hermione. But just call me Endawyn. I get very tired of these formal salutations."
Hermione looked star-struck and amazed. Who could blame her? Even Drusilla was feeling a lot of that awe herself.
"I have heard much about you from Haldir," she continued, looking mildly amused and oblivious to the fact that Drusilla had blanched and flinched at the mention of his name. "Come, have a seat. It is not nice for you to keep standing like that."
Oblivious to everything, save for the way she noticed that he simply could not take his eyes off Drusilla.
"Oh. Feel free to call us by name, too." Hermione said warmly, taken by her evident thoughtfulness and following after Orophin to take a seat at the small round table. The Elf sat on the other side of Endawyn, and Hermione seated herself next to him, leaving Drusilla with no other place but—
—the one beside Haldir.
Silently cursing her fate, she made her way to the last seat and sat herself down, careful to make as little noise as possible, and feeling even worse with her muddied dress. Why, of all days, did she have to come visit today? When Drusilla was so obviously at her worst?
Why did she have to be so perfect?
Fighting back a pang, she didn't once look in Haldir's direction even as they began the conversation. Endawyn, as it turned out, was everything any girl wanted to be. She was bubbly, caring, warm, and extremely thoughtful. Drusilla, dazed in her own private pain, did not join in much with the conversation.
She pressed her legs against the chair stand, hoping that no one noticed the muddy hem. It was humiliating enough that she was nothing like the Lady Endawyn, and everything she'd done was simply wishful thinking on her part. The Lady was extremely pleasant, but ever so often—maybe it was her imagination—she would get a few strange looks from her. Not exactly peculiar strange, but weird strange. It was like ice seemed to cloud over her eyes whenever their eyes met. And ever so often, she would glance at Haldir with some strange sort of longing or something.
It was all too strange.
Especially when Drusilla saw her cold, almost angry gaze. For a split second, she seemed so different then, almost frightening, but then it was over, and she was left wondering if it was all a figment of her imagination.
***
I can't meet,
Losing sleep over this
No I can't
And now I cannot stop pacing
Give me a few hours
I'll have this all sorted out
If my mind would just stop ranting
The wind chilled her this time. Standing alone atop her balcony, Drusilla wrapped her arms around herself, cursing the thin Elven fabric. Beautiful though it was, it didn't seem to keep the cold away. She'd excused herself from the merry discussion as soon as possible so that she did not see more of Haldir and Endawyn. Merlin's shorts, it hurt. Damn, did it hurt. In those moments when she saw them together, especially the looks that the beautiful lady gave to Haldir, it felt like someone had torn her heart out with a fork and then proceeded to shred it into bite-sized pieces.
She gazed out, and for once, she was not enchanted by the wonder of this place, this spot of Heaven that had enraptured her so. All the beauty here had only served to remind her rudely of what she could never hope to be.
Of what she definitely did not deserve. It mocked her, this place. With all its breathtaking wonders and peaceful rivers that meandered in between golden trees.
Cause I cannot stand still
I can be this unsteady
This cannot be happening
It all served to remind her that she could never be a part of the Golden Wood. It served to show her how lacking she was, and how much she was missing.
Perhaps I like you. His voice drifted to her, unbidden, and she shut her eyes, clenching her fists so hard that her nails dug into her palm. He was such a liar. Why didn't he tell her that he already had a girlfriend before?
Because maybe he doesn't. Another thought popped up in her mind. And besides, he kissed you.
Sighing, Drusilla took one last look outside before heading back into the room, trying her hardest not to think about what Endawyn and Haldir were doing now, and not to think about the humiliation she had subjected herself to when she'd confessed her feelings for him. Even now as she desperately tried to hate him and Endawyn, she found it exceedingly difficult, to her despair. Endawyn was just too good, too perfect, too much like the princesses she'd read about when she was young. And Haldir…well, maybe she could bring herself to loathe him one day, but not now. Not when she had definitely fallen head over heels in love with him.
And right now, there was only one thing she knew, one thing she would force herself to realize.
It was a mistake; she would never, ever try to do something like this again.
***
This is over my head
But underneath my feet
Cause by tomorrow morning I'll have this beat
And everything will be back the way that it was
I wish that it was just that easy
No matter how hard he tried, Haldir simply could not tear his eyes off her, and it galled him so. Standing upon his guard post, his gaze was fixed on Drusilla's balcony. Only moments earlier she'd been there, looking ever so beautiful as the wind danced around her, toying with her hair, spilling them around her face. He'd been struck with an almost insane urge to rush there and push them all back from her face, then proceed to kiss soundly those lips that beckoned to him even now.
Sighing, he slammed a fist into the wood. What is wrong with me? He'd gotten over her for a grand total for three minutes in Endawyn's company before the appearance of Drusilla suddenly sent the unexpected emotions rushing through him full-force. Why had he suddenly become so weak?
Just when he'd thought that maybe Endawyn was better for him, she had to come along to put a lie to that thought. True, Drusilla was not as beautiful or even as graceful—he'd more or less noticed the less than desirable mud-stains at the hem of her gown—but he didn't care. All he knew, in that split instant that his smile had melted to a flaring heat of desire and fear of his sudden inability to control himself—was that he wanted her. He wanted her so bad that his heart seemed to twist in its longing. The memories of the previous night flowed to him easily even as her shy eyes averted away from his own.
But then even as she joined in the conversation—unwillingly, he noticed—he saw that she was rather disturbed by the closeness of him and Endawyn. And for some strange reason, he was filled with an urge to compound that unease, in the hope that the disturbing feelings he was experiencing because of her would go away.
Would you catch me if I fall out of what I fell in
Don't be surprised if I collapse down at your feet again
I don't want to run away from this
I know that I just don't need this.
And it worked. Maybe a little too well, because after a few minutes, she'd stood up and discreetly excused herself, murmuring something about going to see her other friend, the one named Harry. But all it took was for him to gaze into her eyes to realize that she was deeply hurt. He'd hated himself in that moment, knowing all too well who the perpetrator was. And for a few moments after she left, he'd, too, excused himself, suddenly not wanting to stay there any longer. All it mattered was that Drusilla was hurt.
And it was all his fault.
What will come, will come, for this is what the Fates have so desired. Your heart holds precedence over your mind, for you do not see love with your mind; you only feel it in your heart. It knows love; it will never be wrong. Your mind is wrought with mistakes, simply because it does not understand what secrets it holds. The Lady's words wafted back to him again, spoken sagely to him in what seemed like years ago, and he felt even worse. But what was there to be done about it?
Go to her, came the Lady's words, clear in his mind. Haldir jumped a little, startled. Had the Lady been reading his thoughts? He'd always been slightly unnerved by the Lady's power to see into his thoughts wherever he was, and although the Lady did not normally concern herself with his personal affairs, especially the ones pertaining to the affairs of his heart, but she would, on occasion, advise him, which he had always appreciated greatly, as the words she'd said were never uttered without meaning.
The Lady's presence in his mind smiled gently, and he felt her warmth and amusement. I have read her mind, and she is indeed heartbroken. Go to her if you will, Haldir.
But I have my duties, my Lady. He thought back.
You are not on duty today, Marchwarden. Indeed, she knew his schedule very well, and Haldir marveled once again at her evident power. He could never seem to lie to her, or at least mask when he was on duty and when he was not. The Lady continued, Your heart yearns for her. It is folly to deny what your heart seeks so badly.
With that, her presence in his mind departed, and he knew that she was giving him space for him to think. It was one of the things he'd always loved about his benevolent Queen, she never pushed anyone, she simply gave them a little nudge in the right direction and left them to do what they wished.
And all of a sudden, he wished to see Drusilla once more; he'd never been able to get rid of her pained eyes that haunted his very soul. Eyes that were full of hurt and…betrayal. No matter how wrong he'd thought his relationship with her would be, his heart seemed to have a mind of its own, ignoring steadfastly what the sensible part of him told it.
He was about to head down the post when the sound of light footsteps sounded on the steps, and before long, he was met with the beautiful, smiling face of his longtime best friend, Endawyn. She was stunning as usual, truly, her beauty rivaled and most probably surpassed Undomiel's in Rivendell. But still, he was surprised to see her here.
"Endawyn?"
"Would you like to take a walk with me, Haldir?" Her voice sounded as clear and as musical as bells. "It's a beautiful afternoon."
But he had to see Drusilla. Even as he looked into Endawyn's clear green eyes, his declination faded on his lips. It had been centuries since he'd had a good long walk with his friend, and now, considering that the atmosphere now was extremely beautiful and he had no real wish to ruin his mood with a most likely intense conversation with Drusilla, in which he was positive that his self-control would most likely melt around her in an instant—he had always both hated and loved being in Drusilla's company. Hated it because he feared the intense wave of emotions that had swept down all barriers, causing him to lose himself totally around her, and loved it because of the same reasons—she had always caused so much emotional turmoil within him, and being an Elf, did not like the intense feelings very much, although a part of him welcomed it willingly. It was all so messed up, and yet so clear at the same time…
He looked at Endawyn; this Elf was so much more simple, and less complicated.
"My pleasure." He nodded. "We have a lot to catch up on, Endawyn."
***
Feeling the security of Haldir walking beside her once more, Endawyn allowed herself to relax. She'd caught Haldir watching the flet that was opposite him with an intense expression she'd never seen before, and it disturbed her. The feeling was compounded when she realized that it was the Elven child-witch's living quarters. Her eyes had darkened considerably as an all-too-familiar well of jealousy rose up within her. So the rumors that were running rife around Lothlorien that the Marchwarden was besotted with the daughter of the Black Lady Morwen was true. But how could it be?
Even though Endawyn hadn't had anything against the girl, an inner sense of righteousness had prevented her from truly liking her, because she was born of black blood, and—in her opinion, at least—was capable of turning against them the first chance she had. The Lady of Light had not doubted her allegiance, but Endawyn did. People did not just fall into Lothlorien every day.
But maybe…maybe the slightly negative feelings she had towards the child had a lot to do with Haldir. Especially when his expression and demeanor changed when she left the table earlier, and the look that he'd given the child when Orophin had brought her there. She, too, did not forget the immediate way he'd stood up and excused himself—presumably to pursue her—Endawyn was a very sharp person, and things like this had never escaped her notice.
She found herself hating the way Haldir looked at this Drusilla, simply because—if she would admit to herself—she had wished that he had been looking at her the same way. She had loved him unconditionally for centuries, ever since they'd first met. Their friendship had grown, and she believed that it had most likely blossomed into something more when she'd been sent to Mirkwood. Her grief was immense, and he had shared her pain too. She would never forget the way he looked when she had left. Letters flew back and forth between them at first, before it got steadily lesser as time went by and as each of them had garnered more responsibilities.
During those lonely days in Mirkwood, thoughts of Haldir and seeing him again were all that was keeping her going, and she had been sure that if she returned, they would most likely wed.
But now, it seemed like he was in love with another.
It cannot be, she thought stubbornly. I have waited for him for so long, and loved him for so much longer. The Valar would surely recognize my sacrifices. He cannot possibly be in love with another when he loved me once. And besides, she is merely a child. What could she possibly have that I do not possess?
But even as they walked, Endawyn realized with dismay and quite a bit of jealousy that his heart was clearly somewhere else, and his gaze kept stealing to the particular flet where Drusilla was, as if he was hoping that she could come out.
"Haldir," she said quickly, eager to draw his attention from its undesirable target and back onto her. "The forest looks more beautiful than ever."
Hearing her speak about his beloved land had definitely gotten his attention and Haldir smiled at her. "Of course it has, my lady Endawyn. Lothlorien is renowned for its ever changing beauty. Perhaps you have been in Mirkwood too long."
She nodded. "Yes. I am deciding to return here for good."
He brightened a little. "That is good."
There was a pause, and Endawyn, disappointed that he did not say what she had desperately hoped he would, asked, "Would it please you greatly?"
"Of course it would," he answered, oblivious to her second meaning. "The Lady has missed you greatly, and it would be good to stay here, what with the trouble boiling in Mordor. Mirkwood is no longer a very safe place, I heard."
"Have you missed me?" she ventured. She knew she'd posed that question to him earlier, but she had to ask it again to be sure.
"Why speak of the past? You are here now, are you not?" He looked oddly over at her, wondering what she was possibly getting at. Hadn't she asked him that earlier? "But yes, I assure you again, I have indeed missed you." The easy way he said it made her even more disappointed. There was no intensity behind his words now, she was sure, only a customary smoothness and warmth he had always used when around his brothers.
Don't you love me anymore? She thought, watching his profile. He was more exquisite than ever, since well-formed features and silver-gold hair that spilled across his broad shoulders, and just watching him sent her pulse into overdrive. He had gotten much more handsome while she was gone, and it was no wonder that he was the most sought after Elf in Lothlorien and most likely in all the Elven kingdoms in Middle-Earth, as there had been talk in Mirkwood about the elusive and cool Marchwarden of the Golden Wood. The fact that he was close to her had been cause for the Mirkwood maidens' envy, and during her time there, she felt good about it. But now, it felt as if that was the furthest she would ever get with him…
No, it cannot be. She thought vehemently. He has been momentarily distracted. But sooner or later, he will see that I am the right one for him. That I am the only one for him.
***
Cause I'm waiting for tonight
Been waiting for tomorrow
I'm somewhere in between
What is real,
Just a dream
What is real
Just a dream
What is real
Just a dream
Cause I cannot stand still
I can be this unsteady
This cannot be happening
Drusilla watched as the Haldir and Endawyn moved into the forest together, fighting back the tears. They looked so close and perfect together. She'd gone out to the balcony after a few minutes, deciding that she couldn't possibly go to sleep, and was just in time to see Haldir smiling at Endawyn. It suddenly occurred to her that he didn't really smile around her lately.
So it was just a game to him after all, she thought bitterly, watching the happy couple. See how a loser like me could throw myself at him in how many different ways…I was wrong when I thought that last night had mattered to him as much as it did for me.
Slowly, painfully, she drew the curtains shut, not wanting to see anymore. It had all become clear to her now; she had lost.
Some destiny.
Cause I'm waiting for tonight
Been waiting for tomorrow
I'm somewhere in between
What is real,
Just a dream
What is real
Just a dream
What is real
Just a dream
Cause I cannot stand still
I can be this unsteady
This cannot be happening
***
