Chapter Four: A Promising Start
They were stalking him, he was certain of it, and there was no place to hide. Haldir remained calm, it was crucial that he do so, for they could smell fear. Studying his nearby surroundings with a seasoned warrior's eye, he waited for any sign of enemy advancement. A sharp blow to the ribs caught him off guard, quickly he turned the full force of his most furious glare toward its source.
"Would you quit all that scowling? You're scaring off the ladies!" Growled Rúmil, seemingly immune to his brother's death-stare.
"That is the desired effect, fool," hissed the Captain.
Rúmil shot his sibling a withering look and folded his arms. "Well, maybe that is what you desire, but I have different plans for my evening!" He retorted, "and you and your scowling are not a part of those plans." The younger Elf made his move to walk off, but Haldir caught hold of his forearm and held it fast.
"Stay! There is strength in numbers!" Insisted the scowler, his eyes darting about quickly to affirm that none of the enemy had infiltrated the perimeter during his brief distraction.
Rúmil didn't struggle, instead he tilted his head to one side and knit his brows together. "You really are afraid of maidens, aren't you?" It was less a question than a statement, and his voice was filled with genuine awe.
Haldir released the imprisoned forearm hastily, "don't be ridiculous," he grumbled as he squared his shoulders and straightened his tunic.
"I am sorry, my brother, I did not realize," spoke the younger Elf, touching the Captain lightly on the shoulder, "I will stand with you until Orophin returns and make certain you are kept safe."
There was no doubt in Haldir's mind that he was being mocked. Under normal circumstances he was able to remain unaffected by such teasing, but somehow the combination of his discomfort, the large crowd of merrymakers and the three bottles of wine he'd consumed (before allowing himself to be dragged out his rooms), caused an unusual reaction. Indignation. Ah, very well, so it was not an emotion all that foreign to the proud Marchwarden, but seldom did he feel so driven to react to it.
A maiden passed near to them, her eyes fixed on some other point across the glade. She was conservatively attired in demure shades of grey, and walked alone. Haldir charged forward, planting himself firmly in her path. "Can you dance?" He barked.
The Elf-maid had apparently been distracted to such an alarming degree that her reflexes were not what they should have been. Luckily, she'd not been walking very quickly, and the impact didn't manage to upend either of them. Recovering gracefully did not seem to be this lady's forte. "Sweet Elbereth!" Cried she, flailing ever so slightly. Rúmil had to clamp a hand over his mouth to prevent a howl of laughter from escaping.
Haldir stood rooted in place, his mouth open as if he meant to say something, if only something would come to mind. Rúmil felt his knees begin to buckle even as his shoulders shook, an unbecoming snort emitted from his person. Hearing it, the maiden turned her bewildered gaze upon him, then narrowed her eyes in recognition.
The Glade of Gathering had seldom looked as splendid to Andúnil's eyes. Lanterns of every color reflected their light against the mellyrn, and the sky itself shone down upon them, bejewled with stars and crowned by a full moon. Ribbons and banners wove a splendid tapestry against the trees, and the air was filled with the exquisite sound of elven string instruments.
The sisters were met at the entrance by Tiniond, decked out in finery and positively aglow with delight at seeing his paramour. He gushed for nearly three minutes on the shade of the younger Elf-maid's gown before the elder felt inclined to interrupt.
"The dress is white, Marchwarden," she informed him with severity, placing a hand on his elbow. Andúnil kissed her sister farewell, and made a polite departure.
Carefully she skirted the crowd, her eyes alert for any sign of golden hair. As it was, he proved easy to pick out, his height serving to raise his fair head above the rest of the assembly. He was also the only person wearing red, which, even though it was a dark shade of the color, made him stick out like a cave troll at a hobbit wedding. His back was turned to her, and he was speaking with dark-haired Elf-lord Andúnil did not recognize.
All at once there came a great bellow only inches from her face. The sound had barely pushed through her conciousness before she felt herself collide with something solid. As it had been only days ago, again the something was not a something at all, but a someone. Andúnil suspected she may have cried out, and certainly she flailed a little, but at least she didn't tumble.
This time it was only a warden she'd managed to stumble into, albeit he was a nice looking one. Where had she seen his face before? Someone snorted off to her left, catching her attention. She turned her gaze toward the sound and was faced with a second warden, this one in the throes of barely contained laughter. He too was familiar, and Andúnil remembered why with perfect clarity.
"You!" She snapped, "what is this new game?"
"Me?" Squeaked Rúmil, his eyes widening in innocence even as he attempted to swallow the last of his mirth. A sharp remark sprang to Andúnil's lips, but suddenly she remembered why the Elf before her was familiar and she gasped and turned back to him. He stood there still, looking conflicted.
"Oh! You are Haldir, Captain of the Galadhrim!" She exclaimed.
"I know," he replied, nonplussed. Rúmil snorted again.
"Forgive my brother's lack of eloquence, lovely maiden, it seems you have knocked him into a stupor," grinned the younger Elf-lord, "a great thing indeed, will you not show me how it is done?"
"Brother?" She asked, looking from one to the other.
"Indeed, he is most fortunate in his relations is he not?" Beamed Rúmil.
Andúnil fixed her gaze anew on Haldir. "You have my pity, Sir."
"And you mine for it seems you've met with him before," replied Haldir, who'd managed by now to digest the situation, "but you have not yet answered my question." Andúnil blinked, stuggling to remember being asked a question.
"He asked if you could dance, well, demanded is more like," supplied Rúmil, smirking. He received a Haldir-glare for his troubles.
"There are elves that cannot dance?" Frowned the maiden, for it seemed an odd question to her mind.
"I think perhaps it was his boorish way of asking if you'd care to dance," spoke the younger Elf-lord once more. There it was again, more Haldir-glaring. Rúmil wondered why he even bothered translating for that ingrate.
"Then, if only to escape from your company, I accept," she huffed at Rúmil, pulling her new dancing partner toward the center of the clearing. Haldir did not resist, he seemed suddenly amused and she suspected he approved of her disdain for Rúmil's company.
"What was that all about?" Demanded Orophin, appearing out of know where.
"Haldir is mingling," Rúmil sighed.
"Is that not the maiden from a few days past?" Inquired the younger Elf, looking after the pair as they reached the dancing area, "the one you bopped on the head?"
Rúmil sniffed delicately, "I maintain the bopping was your fault, but yes, it is she."
"Still in love?" Teased Orophin.
"I don't think so, but we shall have to see, she may yet throw something at me," he shrugged.
Andúnil was pleased to find that though he smelled strongly of wine, Haldir was a very fine dancing partner. He made no attempt at engaging her in conversation, seemingly content just to lead her around the other couples in companionable silence. This was all very well in the Elf-maid's book, for it gave her enough attention to spare in seeking out the form of a certain red-clad male. And there he was, much the same as she had last seen him, still speaking with the dark-haired stranger.
The direction of the dance changed as Andúnil was absorbed in her observations. But Andúnil herself, being thusly absorbed, did not change and found herself uncerimoniously face-planted in her partner's chest. "I wouldn't get my hopes up if I were you," Haldir responded, guiding her smoothly back into step, "I've yet to see him dance this evening."
"I can't imagine what you mean, my lord," she gasped, mortified.
Haldir chuckled. "I'm sure."
Andúnil looked up at the warden and fixed him with a glare, "now see here! You..."
"He's looking this way you know," Haldir cut in snidely.
The Elf-maid's head swung around to check, and sure enough, the golden-tressed visitor had turned his piercing gaze in their direction. Her face turned various shades of pink as she pulled her head back around rightways.
"You aren't going to faint or something of the sort are you?" Haldir frowned in apparent disgust.
Andúnil was mildly put out by his censure. "Jealous are we?" She sniffed.
Haldir sighed whistfully, "actually yes, he'd never look at me like that." His sarcasm was not lost on her.
Andúnil frowned. "Are you always this charming?" Her sarcasm was lost on him.
The warden seemed to ponder this for a moment. "No, but I've had a bit of wine," he admitted with a sigh.