A/N; thankyou all for my lovely reviews! They are very much appreciated! Let me know what you think about this new chappie! ta

Relion. He was drinking greedily from a goblet of wine, spilling a little on himself. Haldir's lips curled in distaste, as he approached the circle of elves where he stood.

"Relion." He said, his voice humorless. "A word, if you are not busy?" his voice was requesting, but his eyes demanded. Relion gulped what was left of his wine, suddenly very thirsty.

"Perhaps... later, I must..."

"No, now." Haldir said, taking him by the arm, and pulling him into a shadowed alcove.

"How many years have you been running the stall at the market?" Haldir asked, his request innocent enough, but Relion suspected that there was something more to the Marchwarden this eve than curiosity.

"Ahh...near on a hundred and fifty years." He said, a little suspiciously.

"And for the first fifty of those years, as I recall, you sold wine, am I correct? Poor quality wine, I believe?"

"Ahh...yes...I really must," he tried to escape, fearing where this conversation was heading.

"And then about a hundred years ago, if memory serves, you suddenly broke into the market of luxury goods?

"Yes." he said, his wariness fading a little. Perhaps the Marchwarden was here to commission a special something. He would pay handsomely for one of those treasures that naive little elleth made.

"Where, pray tell, do you get such goods in Lorien? Such goods you charge a tidy sum for, they must have been expensive to begin with." Haldir asked, playing the innocent.

"A local woman makes them. And she charges an arm and a leg for them too, I can tell you. My prices are high to make up for the expense."

"So tell me, how does an elf such as yourself make so much profit from goods that were expensive to begin with? And why have we no rich little elleth amongst us, spending the profits of her labors?"

Haldir asked a little too pleasantly.

The merchant began to feel uncomfortable again.

"Ahh..."

"Is it possible that perhaps these goods you are procuring are perhaps not costing the 'arm and leg' you suggest? Is it possible that the little elleth you take advantage of is struggling to make ends meet whilst you cheat her out of profits that rightfully belong to her?" Haldir's voice got progressively colder. "Is it also possible that your prices for her goods have fallen so low that she now lays in my talan, unable to afford food and time to sleep, weak with hunger and exhaustion, all so that she may keep a roof over her head, and keep you in business!" Haldir's grip on the little ellon tightened, making it impossible for him to escape.

Haldir thrust him against a tree, his legs dangling in the air.

"I tell you now, merchant, if I hear of you cheating her of even a single coin of profit made from her goods, you will rue the day you first came to Lorien. In fact, I think it a very good idea for you to leave, before I am forced to do something I will regret." He dropped the little ellon, and he scurried off, terrified. Haldir watched him go, glaring after him coldly. He hoped that this in some way could ease the terrible guilt he felt at his previous treatment of Cahra. He returned to his talan, his shoulders slumped. His shame at his treatment of her near consumed him, and it felt as though no amount of consideration could compensate for his crimes.

When he returned to his talan, he found her still sleeping, unmoved from where he had left her. He crept over to where she lay quietly, and watched her. Again, it was as though he saw her for the first time. The dark circles had begun to fade, leaving sun bronzed skin, unmarred by the passage of time. And She looked so peaceful when she slept. Not including the last few hours, he struggled to recall her face with any other expression but disappointment, reluctance, unhappiness, frustration. All caused by him. The thought pained him greatly.

He reflected on the few memories he had of her. Her face falling when she smiled to greet him upon his return from the border, to a sparkling clean talan, only to have him complain that a job was not finished. A job which never should have been started by her in the first place. Of her reluctantly putting aside something she enjoyed to go to him. Of the gentleness and care she had used in preparing his mothers dresses, only to have him snap at her for asking a question. Of her cooking his meals for him the one time he had been injured, despite the complaints and abuse he had hurled at her. She had stayed anyway.

He had treated her little better than a slave. And she had suffered terribly for it. The little elleth he had never seen, now seemed to be the only thing he could look at. His labors over the past few days and her weakened state had opened his eyes to her. He thought back to the countless times he had called her from her own labors to tend his own menial tasks, that he was perfectly capable of doing for himself. Of the hundreds of times he had tired her to the point of collapsing, and still asked more of her. Of the...

"My Lord?" came a sleepy voice from his bed. Once again, he had become so deeply entrenched within his own thoughts about himself, that he had failed to notice what was right in front of him. Cahra opened her eyes sleepily, before getting off of his bed, panicking, forgetting for a moment that she no longer served him. "I am sorry, I will have these sheets cleaned immediately My Lord." Her hands pulled weakly at the fabric, and his hands caught hers.

"Cahra," he said, and she looked up at him, as though she too were seeing him for the first time, and the fear faded from her eyes. 'Sit down before you fall down. You are still weak." When she didn't sit down, he gently pressed her back on to the bed. "Stay here," he asked, before going back into the kitchen, and took what was left of the bread and fruit. As he left, the day before came flooding back to her, and she nearly smacked herself in the head. Why was she doing this for him? Why was she letting him do this for her?

"Here, Cahra, eat." He said, sitting upon the bed beside her. She shook her head.

"My Lord, I fear I have already overstayed my welcome. I will leave you. No doubt you have a hundred other things, or elleths to do, or something important, or maybe I need to clean something. Are you hungry? I shall have to make you something..."she babbled on, a little overwhelmed at both the change in Haldir and her circumstances. He placed a finger to her lips to stay her words.

"You are welcome in this talan for the remainder of our time on Middle Earth, Cahra, and there is nothing more important to me than repairing the damage that my hand has wrought," he said quietly, before he held a piece of the fruit to her lips. "Now eat." He slipped the piece of fruit between her lips, and she ate it hungrily. Her appetite had returned. She ate the bread and fruit, feeling her strength returning with each bite. He watched her as she ate, finding the simple act arousing. He quelled the desire that welled up in him, fighting it with all within him. She did not need this now. He wasn't sure if he needed this now, despite the fact that another part of his anatomy was telling him that he did, very much. But his remorse was greater still.

"My Lord..."

"Haldir.", he interrupted, surprising both himself and her, but finding that the idea of her calling him by his name pleased him. "I am no longer your Lord. I never was. Call me by my name. You are my equal, Cahra."

"My Lord..."

"Haldir. Let me hear you say it."

"Haldir. I need to bathe and change my dress, before I can mend those clothes from earlier."

"You may use my bathing room if you wish. I will fetch you a dress whilst you bathe."

"You do not need to do this My L-Haldir. I am quite capable of taking care of myself." she said, struggling to rise again.

"You have been taking care of yourself for far too long I think Cahra. Now, please, do as I ask of you. Not for me, for once, but for yourself." She continued to stare at him, unsure, before she nodded.

"I will fetch you a dress," he said, leaving her to bathe. She watched him go. Who was this humble ellon that was so prepared to tend her every whim. It certainly wasn't the Haldir she knew. She wondered if this was the Haldir that the elleths knew, but then decided no, it couldn't be. The Haldir he was when he was with her, was hers, and no one else's. And this recognition frightened her a little. She bathed quickly, the luxury of the room making her a little uncomfortable. Despite the talan being Haldir's home, it said very little about the type of person Haldir was. Very little to turn it from a talan to a home.

She vowed to remedy that. She had swallowed what little was left of her pride, from the moment Haldir had closed her eyes. Nothing seemed to matter, nothing had ever seemed to matter, but him. She knew in the back of her mind why she had put up with his arrogance, his countless tasks, his continuous commands and expectations. It was because she simply couldn't live without him. And somehow, she thought she had always known. And as the realization of it, despite this new, humble Haldir being easier to love, still ripped her in half. Because she could not survive loving Haldir.

She left the bathing chamber, a drying sheet wrapped firmly around her, to find a dress lying in wait upon Haldir's bed. She took one look at it, tears filling her eyes as she realized that the dress was one of the few he kept securely locked away deep in the chest, the dresses she had only ever been allowed to clean under his supervision, then store it away again safely in the chest, a protective layer of cotton between them. His mothers dresses. The blue one, so soft that she had to touch it twice to ensure it was real. It lay there as either a truce or …a symbol of something deeper, and she didn't want to think it was either. She kept the sheet wrapped around her, and left the dress upon the bed.

"Haldir?" she asked tentivly, and he came in, frowning a little when he saw her state of undress.

"What is it Cahra?" he asked, his voice slightly hoarse, fighting the urge to throw her upon the bed and take her, the sheet clinging damply to every curve of her body. He wanted to tear it from hr and...

"Haldir, this is your mothers' dress. I cannot wear it." She said, a little reverently.

"Yes you can. I'll not have you walking through Lorien with naught but a bathing sheet on. Besides. The colour suits you."

She carefully folded the dress up.

Haldir placed a hand upon her arm stopping her.

"I would have you wear it for me, please?" he asked quietly, his eyes downcast, humility threading his voice. Tears again threatened to stain her face as she nodded, and Haldir left, his tread lighter.

She slid on the dress, as though it was the first she had ever worn. When she emerged to Haldir's probing gaze, the look in his eyes upon seeing her in the dress both frightened and warmed her. Uncomfortable with the warmth in his gaze, she broke away from his stare. He smiled when he realized she was embarrassed, and he picked up her needle and the shirt from yesterday.

"Will you show me how to repair this now?" he asked her, leading her over to a chair before his fire place. She sat in it, and he knelt at her feet.

"To better see what your hands do," he reasoned, whether it was to convince himself or her, he had no idea, when all he wanted to do was bury his face in her lap like a child, and breathe in her scent, and feel her hands thread themselves in his hair, and touch him as though she would never touch another. To beg her forgiveness, and have her tell him that all was alright. He looked up at her, and smiled. "Will you help me with my tasks again Cahra?" he asked her softly.

Unable to find a single taunt or witty remark, she simply said, "If you wish it." But he could see the disappointment in her eyes. He hastily replied "It will not be as last time Cahra. I wish you to show me, how to take care of myself. I would not have you doing my menial tasks anymore. I would have you making beautiful things all day, and then spending the profits on more pretty things for yourself. I do not want your fingers wrinkled from washing clothes I have soiled, or your brow marred with a frown I have put there. I wish to spare you this. I wish...I wish to learn," he said, haltingly. She looked at him, his eyes clear of anything but humility for the first time. She picked up the needle and threaded it, looking down at him. As she saw him stare at her from his place at her feet, she could not help but think him magnificent. And she wasn't sure if she could survive magnificent. But for him, she was willing to die trying.

"First," she said to him quietly, "You must have the right colour thread.'"