Title: Whispers of the mind

Author: fazy

Pairing: Haldir/ Elrond.

Rating: PG for now.

Summary: 1st person narrative. 21st century Scotland, Haldir feels his husband is neglecting him.

Warnings: Slash, mpreg, fatalism, depression, self-harm, eventual character deaths.

It is evening now, and I am having my dinner as planned, in the quiet privacy of my husband's study. He has cleared his books and papers away, and now our food is laid out on his workdesk. He sits in his heavy armchair, and I sit in his lap, and together we pick at our food and feed each other with our fingers. I have downed half a bottle of wine, and although I don't have much of an alcoholic reaction, I am starting to feel warm and cozy all over.

I tear at a small piece of bread and dip it in the soup, and then bring it up to brush against his lips. When he opens his mouth to receive the morsel, I let my fingers linger against his skin, allowing him the leisure of licking at my digits. Eating together like this, so connected and so intimate, I feel a sudden surge of warmth and affection for him.

Surrendering to my urge, I press my lips hungrily against his. I had intended it to be a loving kiss-- not exactly chaste, but not quite lustful either-- more like a declaration of adoration and heartfelt devotion, but the feel of his tongue teasing the sensitive roof of my mouth awakens in me the desire of the flesh. I break the kiss, shuddering a little as I regain my breath, and then lower my lips to his once more.

He plunders my mouth, more thoroughly this time, and I lean more forcefully against him. "Ai, hervenn," I whisper in his mind, making him thrill as he telepathically picks up the subtle nuances of my thoughts. "I love you... I want you... I... ai... I need you...."

I feel his whole body shudder as he devoured my words. The very words that made me swoon when uttered by him also had the same ability to make him tremble so deliciously against me.

Words! Ai, ai, that rings a bell! Words! Reluctantly, I disentangle myself from him and lean back. Wide, innocent eyes blinks backed at me, dazed. I can see the raw hunger in his eyes, his pupils dilated so wide I can hardly see the grey. He is confused. He thinks I have pulled away because he has done something wrong.

I kiss him reassuringly, lightly this time, resisting his pressure, dancing out of his grasp, hoping that it would be enough to satisfy the immediate bite of lust but he blinks in confusion when I keep drawing back. He is hurt that I do not desire him the way he does me. It is a lie. I want him desperately, but there are more important matters to talk about first.

I snuggle into him as I think of how to put it into words, but he is stroking my hair now, and I am sorely tempted to put the discussion aside until after our lovemaking. But will there be an after? Elrond is part man, and needs his rest. Perhaps later he would be too drained to concentrate?

"I want to talk about Baby," I say softly.

Elrond freezes momentarily. "What's wrong?" he demands. "Are you in pain? Is Baby giving problems? Are you ill? Is everything alright?"

What a pessimist! And trust a healer of the body to zoom into the physical elements first of all. "I'm fine," I say tenderly. "I'm perfectly fine. I just want to talk, that's all."

Slowly I feel his muscles uncoil against me. He takes a deep breath to calm himself down, and then buries his lips in my hair and inhales my scent deep into his body before returning to run his fingers through my soft blonde strands. "What is it, Haldir?" he croons, laying a hand on my tummy. He kisses me again, this time on my cheek. "What is it, my love?"

I blush at his attentions. I love him so much. "I.. I don't know, where to start, or what to say. I just... feel like talking, that's all. There must be so many things to talk about and think about and plan...um..." I bite my lip and look away, trying desperately to quell my nervousness. "It's so difficult!"

I take his hand and hold it tight. I do not wait for him to seek me out. I am afraid that if I wait, I will wait forever. He does not come to me. He does not know how. It is always he who waits for me to come to him. It has never been any other way. I wish it were different. I wish I could be the one receiving, that he would be the one giving. As it is he is the provider, he makes sure all my material needs are met. I am the supporter. I am the supporter because he cannot support me emotionally, and so I must support him instead. It is the same in bed, he waits while I work to please him, and I must please him because he cannot please me. He does not know how. It cannot be any other way.

"I cannot even say it, hervenn..." I say softly. "I've tried so hard..." I know he knows what I am talking about. I trust he does. We have lived together for too long for him not to know my mind.

"Oh, Haldir," he sighs and strokes my hair. He is silent for a long while. He does not know what to say. He is a practical person, a political and administrative genius. He does not know how to handle the emotional side of things. He usually leaves that to me. But I am needy. I thirst for his support. Help me, I plead with him through my eyes. Help me cope with this.

He turns away and bites his lip, his brows furrowed in thought. He is always thinking, my husband. He does not know how to feel. Oh, he knows how to feel the basic sensations of love and hope and pity and hurt, but he does not know how to live in that sphere of existence. He does not know how to trust the epistemology of feeling.

I love him. Perhaps that is one reason why I love him so much, that he is so different from me. He is the ying to my yang... just as I am ying to his own yang. We balance each other out. He concretizes me, grounds me firmly in my consciousness and gives me the fire that nature has seen fit to deprive me of. Most of what I know, I know by instinct; the keenly developed instinct of both a military strategist and a professional escort, while most of what he knows he knows from cold hard reasoning. He has forgotten how to feel. He has forgotten how to live. He has forgotten what it is like to be joyful, and I must support him as he rediscovers himself.

I get frustrated at times, he is so rigid and stiff. He cannot let go. He cannot let loose. But I let loose too often, and too completely for my own good, and I constantly run the risk of running myself down. I indulge myself too completely. Like now. I cannot even remember what it is I was about to say that was so important, and so I snuggle up to him. He wraps his arms around me, and I feel safe. It is like a cocoon of love, shielding me from the outside world. I kiss him in humble gratitude. I love my husband.

I feel his fingers brush against my tummy, stroking it gently, and again I feel the weight of the unspoken words stick in my mouth. Say it, Haldir, I tell myself. Just say it. I must say it. I must let it escape from my throat before it grows swollen and cuts off all my breathing air.

Why doesnt he help me? Why does he just sit there watching impassively, as if determined to leave me to struggle on my own? I feel like crying. I feel like screaming at him. Cant he see I need his help? Cant he see that I am desperate for his support? Does he not see it? Does he not care?

Slowly I feel my resolution fade. Why should I bother if he doesn't? What is all this for if it were not for him? Why fight? My battle is already lost. I close my eyes and remember Lothlorien, remember all the days I spent in the realm of the elves. Look around. Where has all the past splendor gone? My brother, he works for the projects division of an MNC and drives a family convertible. My youngest brother is cooped up in his office all day working as a data collector. Across the street from headquarters, one of my former galadhrim earns eight bucks an hour wiping tables and serving over-priced coffee to a posh clientele. We are a lost race, each one of us wandering and incomplete, hopelessly searching what is left of the world for something that might give meaning to our bleak and hopeless lives.

Immortality is a cursed thing. We should have died with our beautiful cities. We should have sailed west. But we didn't. We chose to remain here, not fully aware of the magnitude of our decision. We are a wretched people. We have nothing left.

I glance out the window. A tungsten lamp shines steadily against the mist effect of a heavy downpour. After awhile, it flickers out, and I see a man emerge from the darkness that was the garden shade and dash towards the main building. What was I thinking before this? What was I thinking before I launched into this fatalistic thread? I cannot remember. I snuggle in deeper and feel my husband tighten his hold on my body. I close my eyes and then open them again. Slowly, I feel my eyes grow vacant.

TBC...