Title: Heart and Body, Chapter 1 / 9 
Author: Implacida (Implacida@hotmail.com) 
Pairing: Haldir/Celeborn 
Rating: NC17 
Summary: Alone on duty at Lorien’s border, Haldir defends against a 
troop of mercenaries. Somewhat AU. 
Disclaimer: Tolkien’s characters are his, mine are mine. No profit made or 
copyright infringement intended. 
Warning: Rape, extreme violence 
Authors Note: Subsequent chapters will be less violent.
      
      
      Where was his relief? 
      Grimly, Haldir nocked another arrow and let fly. He was in a good 
position and he had kept the party of raiders at bay for over an hour. He 
aimed at the helmet that poked between two boulders, paused, shot—the 
arrow ricocheted off the helmet and a loud squawk came from behind the 
rocks. He was ready to fire again almost immediately, grey-blue eyes 
scanning from side to side to find the most immediate threat. He should 
not have shot at that damned helmet, should have waited for the head to 
appear. His supply of arrows was not endless and most of them were now 
stuck into the array of bodies at the head of the pass he guarded.
      Where was his relief? His turn of duty should have ended at noon. 
His arrows were running out but the number of raiders seemed endless. 
Why did the bastards not leave? Why did they keep coming? They seemed 
to be lordless, landless mercenaries, human scum. It could be no sense of 
duty that forced them on. Perhaps they were fleeing something more 
frightening than one elven sentry alone in a tree.
      He reached for another arrow. Two, three, four left. He sighted 
along it, fingers of his right hand beginning to feel the strain of such 
sustained shooting. What should he best do? Wait until all the arrows were 
gone and then throw pine cones at them. Go down and fight them with his 
knives. Go down and run while they were still hiding behind rocks. That 
appealed most and least. Haldir had never run from an enemy. But he had 
some chance of getting away and warning his people.
      Really, that was the only practical course. As soon as the arrow left 
his bow, he slung it over his shoulder and dropped rapidly through the 
branches on the side away from the humans. On the ground, he kept low 
and ran silently.
      Shouts behind him told him he had been seen. He cursed and ran 
faster, not bothering to hide. Thunder of hooves: they had horses. He 
clenched his jaw and kept running. Several horses, rested while he had 
kept the raiders at bay. Men shouting furiously. He took the bow from his 
shoulder, was ready to shoot as he turned. Five horses, riders armed with 
swords and spears. He brought down two men, dodged away from the 
spear of the third. The fourth slashed with his sword and he ducked under 
it, getting his last arrow into the man’s shoulder. Then the spear-carrier 
had turned his horse and was behind him. Haldir slid his bow back over 
his shoulder and pulled out his two long, curved knives. Three more 
horsemen reached them and he was surrounded.
      They circled around him, keeping out of reach of the knives and he 
turned, trying to keep as many of them in view as possible.
      “That’s it? One fucking elf?”
      “There might be others.”
      “Where? One fucking elf and he’s killed how many of us?”
      “They aren’t all dead—“
      “They might as well be, what bloody use is a wounded man?” The 
speaker pushed up the visor of his helm. “You, elf, where’s the rest of 
you?”
      Haldir glanced at him but did not let himself be distracted from the 
others. He gave no sign that he understood their words. 
      “Come on, get him. Don’t let him cut any of you, we can’t afford 
any more losses.”
      “Alive?”
      “Yes. Oh, yes. He owes us.”
      None of them wanted to be the first to get near those knives. They 
tried to harry him with spears but he cut one of the horses and it reared and 
threw its rider. Gleefully Haldir slashed his throat. 
      “Margon!” screamed one of the others. “Margon, get over here, 
bring your bow.” 
      Another rider trotted over, a longbow tied to his saddle. Slowly, he 
selected an arrow, fitted it to the bow. The riders backed their horses away 
to give him clear access. Haldir watched them turn their heads to the 
bowman and, seizing his moment, leapt at the rider who had been 
sufficiently distracted to lower his spear just a little. He had the man dead 
on the ground when the arrow punched into his ribs, the impact forcing his 
breath from him. Gasping, he reached for the horse’s bridle but the other 
riders now closed in again, stabbing viciously with the points of their 
spears. He tried to twist away, reaching again for the horse. If he could but 
get on it—
      Another arrow slammed into his back. Even as he fell to one knee, 
he thought scornfully “It took him that long to shoot again?”
      He could not breathe properly and his sight was blurring with tears 
of pain. He blinked them away and concentrated on holding his knives 
tightly as each new blow fell. He sliced the thigh of the first man who 
approached him on foot, smiling grimly at the roar of rage from the one he 
assumed was their leader. A sword slashed his left arm and that hand grew 
weak, dropping one knife. They came at his left side then, knocking him 
backwards and he barely kept from crying out as the arrow was forced 
further into him before it snapped. He thought he managed to wound one 
other before someone stamped on his right hand, breaking some of the 
fingers clenched tightly around his knife handle. 
      With that, his strength was finally spent and he huddled on the 
ground as they kicked and stabbed at him. He was shoved over onto his 
face, the other arrow twisting before breaking and he felt it scrape between 
the bones of his ribs. Blood pounded in his head and his vision darkened, 
and he felt the sudden, shocked presence of another.
      “Celeborn, my Lord! My love, I have failed you.” 
      “Haldir? What has befallen you? Where are you?”
      “Human raiders, Calpira’s Pass.”
      “Do not let them kill you, Haldir, stay alive!” The spirit of the lord 
Celeborn reached out and flooded into him and he sighed as the pain 
receded. 
      The men struggling to hold him grunted as the elf went limp.
      “He’s trying it on, be careful.”
      The other grabbed a handful of pale hair and yanked, then punched 
hard to the side of the elf’s head. “He isn’t now.”
      They took off the harness holding his quiver, scabbard and sword, 
then pulled his arms behind his back and tied his wrists together. 
      “If he gets away, you’re both dogmeat.”
      “He won’t, general.”
      “He’d better not. He’s the most persistent bugger I ever met. We 
might as well make camp here, go help the others. I’ll take care of pretty 
boy.”
      The leader dismounted 
      
      The other two walked back to where their fellows were beginning 
to set up camp. They helped haul the bodies of the dead to one side, where 
they were being stripped of anything valuable or useful.
      “One bloody elf did all this,” said one man, rubbing his hands on 
his thighs as he surveyed the pile. “Just think what we could do if we had 
thirty or forty of the buggers fighting for us.”
      “More likely they’d be fighting against us,” grunted his 
companion.
      “Anyway, he only did it ‘cos he was up his tree and we couldn’t 
see him and he could just pot us off as we come up that bloody steep 
path,” grumbled a third.
      “He still managed to get another four after he was on the ground. 
Don’t like elves, never did, sly, cunning bastards.”
      “I reckon you might like that one a bit better after the general’s 
through with him.”
      They all looked over to where their leader was now squatting 
beside the prone body.
      The man they called the general had no actual right to any such 
title but the last two who made an issue of this were dead, so his men now 
avoided any such discussions. 
      The general, they had learned, had a particularly inventive mind.
      At the moment, he was looking at his victim, casually twisting the 
stump of the arrow still embedded in his back. Waste of time, he told 
himself, wait ‘til the bastard’s awake. He reached up instead to the mane 
of pale golden hair that tumbled over the elf’s shoulders. He put his hand 
under it, letting it slide softly, heavily, over his fingers. Silky, he thought. 
He had never actually touched silk, but he had seen it from a distance, 
admired the soft sheen of the folds of rippling silken pennants the same 
way he admired this beautiful hair. One day, his troop would have a silk 
pennant. One day, this hair would hang from his belt. But not yet. The elf 
could keep his scalp for a bit longer. The general liked his victims to be 
pretty.
      He turned his attention to the body’s other end. The elf wore soft, 
grey suede boots, and the general pulled them off his feet and tossed them 
aside. They wouldn’t fit him but they might fit one of the men. The bare 
feet were pretty, too, soft and white, with pink soles and long, straight 
toes. The general picked up one foot and caressed it. No calluses, smooth 
skin, high arches. He liked nice feet, but he also liked his victims not to be 
able to run away. He pulled a knife from his belt and held it with one hand 
while he continued to stroke his thumb along the elf’s instep. Then he 
made a deep cut along the sole of the pretty foot, from toes to heel. Dark 
red blood welled out immediately. He picked up the other foot and did the 
same. Not so pretty now, but the general could get by without looking at 
his feet. He wasn’t going to be running anywhere and that was the 
important thing.
      He stood, sheathing his knife and turned away. The camp was 
taking shape, a fire was lit, the bodies were fairly well stripped—damn elf! 
He turned back and aimed a solid kick at the elf’s ribs. Then he walked 
over to his men to make sure everything was being done properly.
      
      Haldir drifted between darkness and light and could not remember 
what had happened to him. He could smell earth and taste blood and 
wondered if he were being eaten by a troll, imagined it chewing his feet 
while it held him tightly, sharp claws digging into his sides and back. But 
he could feel no movement, why not? If he truly were being eaten by a 
troll, it would be waving him around, tugging morsels from his bones, 
chewing them; he ought to feel some movement. But he was sure he was 
lying very still, so what had happened to him? Terrible pain consumed his 
feet, he was lying on the ground: had he fallen asleep with his feet in the 
fire? Surely his brothers would not let him burn his feet—Rumil? 
Orophin? 
      Then memory came crashing back, the endless stream of human 
raiders and he, hidden in the tree he had climbed when he had first heard 
distant noises, to try to see what was coming up the pass. And they had 
caught him and he was lying face down on the earth with arrows in him 
and his hands tied and what had happened to his feet? He stifled a moan 
and continued to lie completely still. He could hear noises now; they were 
nearby. Perhaps if he kept very still and made no sound, they would forget 
he was there. He listened carefully. There did not seem to be anyone too 
close. There was the crackle and smell of a fire, many coarse voices 
shouting, but all a little way off.
      Ai, how his feet hurt! He could remember the arrows which 
throbbed in his ribs and back but he could not remember what they had 
done to his feet. What else had they done that he could not remember? He 
regretted that chain of thought for now his body gave him a full inventory 
of his many hurts and he gritted his teeth to keep from crying out. 
      He lay like stone, shouting in his mind to be silent, be strong, be 
still! He made himself concentrate on breathing, in and out and again and 
again and thinking of that and nothing else—nothing else! Slowly, he 
calmed his pounding heart, pushed away the pain, made the tears stop 
coming.
      
      
      Haldir lay on the ground as they had left him, on his belly, and his 
wrists had been tied tightly behind him. What he could not work out was 
what had happened to his feet and he tried to keep his thoughts away from 
them as they and his lower legs throbbed with pulses of agony that kept 
time with the beat of his heart. His left cheek lay against the ground and 
his head hurt. There was, in fact, very little of him that did not hurt. He 
could feel, from the change in the air, that it was night, and risked opening 
his right eye by the merest crack. The raiders were gathered around a fire, 
and from time to time one of them would turn to look in his direction. 
Their mood seemed sombre. He closed his eye almost immediately, in 
case it reflected the firelight, although he did not think their sight would be 
good enough to see it.
      What had happened to his replacement? Calpira’s Pass was one of 
the most remote sentry outposts, half a day’s ride from Caras Galadhon. 
The duty sentry did a turn of a day and a night, from midday to midday, 
riding home on his replacement’s horse to have the next day off. He could 
not remember the week’s roster well enough to know who was supposed 
to replace him. Perhaps whoever it was, had seen the raiders and gone 
back for help? Dared he hope for that? No, for he had already been 
overdue when the humans had arrived. Perhaps he had arrived late, but 
seen the raiders and gone back—but no, he could not cling to such 
fantasies. His worst fear was that these ragbag humans were just a small 
part of a larger attack, and even now a force was besieging Lorien. And 
the Lady was away, visiting her daughter who had just birthed another son 
to the Peredhil.
      Haldir breathed as deep a breath as he was able to, and sighed. The 
two arrows were still stuck in him, and hurt monstrously, his feet even 
more so. He wondered what possible chance he might have of trying to 
crawl away while no one was looking at him. Tentatively, he tried to flex 
muscles without showing outward sign but had to stop as the effort 
brought tears of pain. He could forget that: he doubted he could stand, let 
alone run.
      He was able to hear most of what they were saying, in the tongue 
of men. He understood the language well enough, better than anyone else 
in the watch, but these men spoke in a coarse regional accent he did not 
recognise. It appeared there had been one of the usual human squabbles 
over land—as if a mortal could own land when even immortals knew they 
only tenanted it for a short while! This group had been hired by the side 
which lost, so they now had the double grief of not being paid and being 
banished by the victors.
      
      
      Inevitably, he began to wonder what they were going to do to him. 
“He owes us,” the leader had said. Presumably for the men he had killed. 
Would they try to make him fight for them? If so, why had they hurt his 
feet? He could hardly fight like that, or work. A crawling, shuddering 
sensation grew over his whole body and he shied away from thinking of 
other things they might do to him.
      He tried to distract himself by squinting at the humans again, 
counting how many there were, which were injured, what horses they had. 
He did not know how many he had killed. At least ten had fallen to him 
while he had been in the tree, but he knew not how many of those had 
died. And on the ground, he thought he had killed another two. There 
seemed to be twelve, thirteen, fourteen of them still moving around. At 
least. Two of them were standing up now, they were…his heart pounded. 
They were coming towards him. 
      Elbereth, Elbereth, make me strong now.
      They reached him and one kicked his leg. “Wake up, elf. Had a 
nice long nap, have we?” 
      He did not react. 
      “Come on, help me get him up,” said the other, stepping over the 
top of him. Then he bent down and gripped Haldir’s arm, near the 
shoulder. Someone did the same on the other side.
      “Up we come,” grunted the first man, hauling him to his feet. The 
pain was bad enough, but then Haldir tried to put his weight on his feet 
and it overwhelmed him completely. Dizzily, he spiralled into darkness.
      “Whoa, look out, you idiot!”
      “He’s fainted, the sod, don’t drop him.”
      “I hardly touched him! He’s probably faking.”
      “Who took his boots? He had boots before.”
      “Dunno. Wouldn’t fit me anyway.”
      They dragged the sentry back to the campfire.
      “He’s not dead, is he?” 
      “Nah, he was awake until we stood him up. Then he went out like 
a candle.”
      “Ah, I forgot to mention.” The general clambered up. “I cut his 
feet. Stop him running off. Damn. Now we have to wait for him to wake 
up again.”
      They let him drop back to the ground.
      “Come look at this,” said the general. He walked a little way away 
from the fire. “Nice, big rock. He’ll just stretch nicely over that, don’t you 
think?” The rock he indicated was a round boulder about four feet high. 
He put his shoulder to it and it did not move. “Nice and solid,” he grunted. 
“I think that’ll do for our pretty boy. Get some rope and some nice, solid 
sticks. And a hammer.” He turned back to the body on the ground. “Still 
out, is he?”
      “Yep.”
      “Cut his hands loose and get his clothes off him.”
      “What do we do about the arrows?”
      “They still in him? Wait, then, ‘til he’s awake.”
      Haldir came back to himself quickly this time, such was the agony 
of his feet. He made no sound but his breathing became rapid and laboured 
and he tried to move to ease the various hurts that dazed his senses. He 
was surprised to find his hands were free but when he opened his eyes he 
found himself in the middle of a circle of men, sitting on the ground and 
watching him avidly. Terror scoured his nerves.
      “He’s back.”
      “Hello, darlin’, nice to see you again.”
      “Murdering bastard.”
      “Hold his hands and feet and stretch him out for me, lads.”
      Haldir tried to struggle away from the hands that reached for him 
but had no chance. There were too many of them and every movement 
hurt. He put what strength he had into staying silent as his arms and legs 
were pulled out straight and held tightly. Fear chilled him, alone and 
surrounded by his enemies.
      “Careful, now, don’t want him going to sleep again.”
      The general knelt over him. “Now, elf, we’re going to do you a 
little favour.” Haldir met the man’s eyes with an expression of scorn.
      The general smiled and reached out. “Now, these arrows. We 
could just leave ‘em to rot inside of you.” He touched the broken shaft of 
the one in Haldir’s ribs and the elf quivered, but his expression did not 
change. The man twisted it viciously. Haldir gasped and jerked violently 
but was held firm. Several of the men sniggered.
      “But I’m not that cruel,” the general went on, casually twiddling 
the shaft, “So I’m going to get it out of you.”
      The elf was panting, short, shallow breaths, and his face had a 
sheen of sweat over it. The general peered at him closely. Then he raised a 
knife, letting Haldir see it. He grabbed the arrow again and dug the knife 
in deep beside it. Haldir’s eyes rolled upwards and he fainted.
      “Aw, shit. Now where’s the fun in that?” the man grumbled. He 
gouged with the knife and yanked the arrow out. Dark blood seeped into 
the elf’s jerkin, rapidly making a large stain. He slapped the elf’s face. 
“Come on, wake up.” 
      No response. 
      “Damn. All right, turn him over, I’ll do the other one or we’ll be 
here all night. Thought the buggers were tougher than that.” Roughly, he 
wrenched the second arrow out and passed both to one of the men. “Here, 
they’re good iron heads.”
      He sat back on his heels and surveyed his victim. “Strip him, then. 
I’m having his tunic. Who wants the rest?”
      “I’ll try his shirt.”
      “You’ll need to roll the sleeves up, I reckon.”
      Soon, the sentry was naked, pale flesh glowing in the flickering 
light of the flames. The long, lean body was flawed, bruised black and 
purple, crusted with dried blood and slippery with more seeping from his 
newest wounds.
      “Right, get him over here, then.”
      
      
      
      Haldir’s limp body was dragged up and hauled over the boulder. 
Under the general’s direction, his men drove four wooden stakes into the 
ground at four equal points around it. Ropes were then tied to the elf’s 
wrists and ankles and pulled until he was spread over the rock, arms 
stretched before him and legs pulled wide apart. His head lay on the stone 
between his taut arms, lush hair hiding his face. The general stood before 
him, gently stroking that hair back with his fingers until Haldir’s face was 
revealed. Then he walked around him, noting the lean, muscular back and 
legs, the curves of the buttocks and the cleft between them. He ran his 
hands over that smooth skin, savouring it. The elf’s wounds had stopped 
bleeding. That was good. He had heard tell that elves lived for thousands 
of years; he hoped that this one would last them at least a few weeks. The 
men around him were wolfish with anticipation.
      As he stroked, he felt a slight tremor in the firm flesh. Winking at 
his men, he continued to rub his hand along the ridge of the elf’s spine, 
walking around to his head again. The elf was pretending to be asleep still. 
The general twisted his fingers in the long hair, wrapping it around his fist. 
Then he jerked the head up. No reaction. He smiled, leaned in close to the 
beautiful, bruised face and kissed his mouth. At that, the elf jerked his 
head away, hissing, eyes fiery with loathing. He wiped his mouth against 
his shoulder as the general and his men laughed like drunkards.
      “So, our pretty boy’s awake again. Good. Now, this is where you 
pay for what you’ve done this day, you elven bastard.”
      Haldir was almost nauseous with horror at the position he found 
himself in on awakening. There had been a brief period during which he 
could not understand what was happening to him, then that foul caress, 
which had made his flesh crawl. And an even greater revulsion…he 
longed to spit but his mouth was too dry. His stomach heaved as the 
humans laughed. 
      Then he heard a whistling crack! and gasped in shock at the stroke 
of a whip across his shoulders. The general was watching his face, saw the 
dark blue eyes widen and the lips part.
      “Ah, that got your attention, pretty boy.” He nodded, and the whip 
fell again and again.
      Haldir clenched his jaw against the cry in his throat, eyes tightly 
shut, trying with what strength he still had to writhe away from the 
relentless lash. But they had tied him well and his attempts to twist away 
only reawakened his other hurts. He pressed his face against the cold, 
rough rock, grimacing in agony.
      His hair was pulled again, yanking his head up from the stone and 
he found himself looking into the face of the general. The human smiled at 
him but said nothing, just stared intently, drinking in every flinch and 
shudder as the whip continued to punish the sentry’s helpless body. Haldir 
closed his eyes against the sight and the general responded by reaching 
down to pound his ribs where the arrow had been. Haldir gasped and tears 
sprang to his eyes. He fought against them, unable to turn his head away.
      “Keep your eyes open, elf,” muttered the general softly. “I want to 
see you feel it.”
      The elf stared at him with disbelief and revulsion. Then the whip 
fell again and he shuddered, closing his eyes. He opened them 
immediately, gazing scornfully at his tormentor.
      The general leaned on the rock, increasingly dissatisfied. Although 
his victim trembled at every stroke of the lash, although his body was now 
slick with his own blood, his misty blue eyes held nothing but cold 
contempt. 
      Oh, but we can do better than this, pretty boy.
      The general stood, holding up his hand. “That’s enough for the 
first remove,” he said. “Time for the second.” There was laughter around 
the circle. They knew he was inventive. The general walked around to the 
elf’s rear and clicked his tongue. “What a mess,” he scolded. “Nobody’s 
going to enjoy touching that.” Bloody welts covered the elf from the backs 
of the knees to his shoulders. “Get a waterskin.” A few went to rummage 
about in the piles of their possessions heaped around the camp and 
somebody brought one back. The general took it and poured a stream of 
water over the elf. 
      Haldir had laid his face against the stone again, body limp in the 
ropes. He stiffened for a moment as the water hit, stinging, but kept still 
and quiet, being grateful to close his eyes and feel the cold stone against 
his brow.
      “There, that’s better.” The general gave the skin back and rubbed 
his hands. He looked around the circle at the expectant, leering faces. He 
knew what they wanted and he was going to make them wait their turn. He 
reached down to lift into the firelight the two items he had put aside. One 
was the mallet they had used to hammer in the wooden stakes, the other 
was the pot of grease too foul to cook with, kept for the wheels of the 
wagon.
      He held them up, letting the men see them, hearing murmurs of 
anticipation. He considered showing them to the elf, seeing if he could 
work it out. But the fair head was lying against the rock. Oh, well, let him 
get a surprise. Oh, yes. He smiled, and put a finger to his lips, and his men 
grinned and shushed each other, joining in the game. The general reversed 
the mallet, holding it by the head, and stirred the long, thick wooden 
handle around in the grease. He got a good layer all over it, then looked 
pointedly at the cleft where the elf’s legs joined. A couple of the men 
licked their lips. He pointed to one, beckoned him forward.
      “When I give the signal,” he whispered. “And do it slowly. As 
slowly as you can.” The other took the mallet and the general went back to 
his position at the elf’s head, anticipation growing in him. He jerked the 
head up again, getting a good, firm grip in that lovely thick hair.
      The elf opened tired eyes, slowly looking up. When he was sure of 
his attention, the general nodded.
      The men crowded around to the back, several already beginning to 
touch themselves.
      Haldir gazed blearily at the man he loathed and despised, too 
exhausted to hold up his head. Then he felt hands at his rear, spreading 
him open, then he felt—Gods! No! he struggled violently, trying to twist 
away from the face of the one before him, drawing breath to scream as the 
hard, slick intrusion was pressed against him, harder, breaching him, 
tearing him!
      He tried to pull his head away, some of his hair tore out but the 
general twisted his fist around again for a better grip, holding him still, 
eyes devouring his anguish. Haldir was wracked with agony as his tight 
opening was ripped, as he felt something harsh, hard, relentless, inside 
him, inside his very body, where he could not fight, past all his defences. 
The pain was terrifying, overwhelming and it increased until he heard a 
roaring sound and felt blackness rise up to engulf him.
      Seeing the elf’s eyes start to show the whites, the general shouted 
“Stop! Stop there.” He looked back to the tortured face. The elf slowly 
focussed on him again.
      “Now. Pull it out. Slowly.”
      He watched closely, noting the blood from the bitten lip. The elf 
was panting like an animal but he still hadn’t made a sound. The general 
let go of the hair, pulling long, loose strands away, shaking them from his 
fingers as he walked around the rock. He untied his flies, freeing his 
erection. 
      “Me first.” The elf’s buttocks showed distinct red finger marks. He 
was slick with grease and bright red blood streaked through it. The general 
leaned against the backs of the elf’s legs, feeling the welts on them 
burning against his thighs even through his pants. He positioned himself 
against the slippery hole, put his hands on the boulder beside the elf’s 
waist and began to push. Ah, he was tight! Even after that, he was tight. 
And the blood…
      “You know,” he grunted, “I think he’s a virgin.”
      Raucous laughter and comments met that and several of the others 
were openly rubbing themselves as he began to thrust. Ahh, yes. Beautiful 
elf. I told you you’d pay. All afternoon while you kept us stuck on that 
path, killing us off, I told you you’d pay.
      He speeded up, seeing the elf’s body pushed to and fro by his 
thrusts, wishing he could see the face now. He pictured the eyes wide in 
terror, the perfect lips opening and screaming, begging him to stop. 
Harder, he pushed, pushed, pushed, now, now…he groaned, ramming as 
hard as he could, pumping himself into the hot, tight, slippery hole, then 
slowly sprawling over the elf’s back. When he had his breath back he 
pushed himself up and grinned.
      “Ah, he’s a good fuck, lads. Who’s next? Take your time, he’s not 
going anywhere.”
      He tied his pants again and looked round for a wine skin, grabbing 
one from someone who had a scant grip on it as he held up his tunic and 
played with himself. “Let me hold that,” he said, “and you can use both 
hands.”
      He gulped wine, then put down the skin so he could lift the elf’s 
head again. With his other hand he prised open the eyelids, seeing again 
those disdainful blue eyes. The elf flinched then his body began to rock 
back and forth again as he was taken by the first of the general’s soldiers. 
His expression did not change as the man increased his rhythm, pounding 
more violently. Then he was done. The elf’s lip curled in a sneer. Then he 
winced as the next cock was shoved into him and the rhythm started again. 
The general took another swig from his skin, staring thoughtfully at the 
impassive face. He looked next at the elf’s hands, wanting to see them 
straining against the ropes. The left hand was tightly clenched into a fist, 
knuckles white. He smiled into the steady blue eyes. You don’t fool me, 
he thought. The elf’s right hand was open and trembling, fingers oddly 
crumpled. 
      Oh, did we hurt our fingers shooting too many arrows, did we? 
“Here,” he said softly, “let me hold your hand. Help you to bear it.” He 
smiled at the dread in the blue eyes and reached out for the elf’s right 
hand. The sentry gasped as he took it and squeezed the curled fingers 
gently. “Oh, dear. Feels like something’s broken there.” He squeezed 
again, and was rewarded by the sight of the sentry’s prefect white teeth 
biting into his lower lip. 
      Another man took his place at Haldir’s back. Pathetic, puling 
scum, thought the sentry contemptuously. Not even enough cocks among 
the lot of you to make regular soldiers. He let his opinion show in his face, 
holding back—not permitting—any other feelings. The man mashed his 
fingers again and that, he could not shut out. He gritted his teeth, panting, 
as he felt bones grind over each other. 
      The man was talking. Haldir listened; it was a distraction, and he 
had to concentrate on not letting him realise that he understood.
      “So, how does it feel to be fucked by real men, little elf? Are you 
enjoying it?”
      You are a stinking, filthy piece of shit, thought Haldir, and if you 
were stuck on my boots I would sooner throw them away than bother to 
scrape you off.
      “…feel bad?” the general had rambled on. “’Cos no matter how 
bad you feel now, it’s better than you’re going to feel later.” He squeezed 
Haldir’s right hand again, provoking a spasm of pain across the elf’s face. 
The whole arm throbbed.
      He smiled and looked up at the man pounding away. “Hey, Pog! 
What are you doing? He can’t even feel you!”
      The man called Pog snarled and pumped harder.
      “Watch, he feels me holding his hand more than he feels your 
dick!” The general crushed the broken fingers, provoking a shudder that 
ran right through the elf’s body. “Did you feel anything when I did that?” 
cried the general jovially. The men roared with laughter and one of them 
shoved Pog away, taking his place.
      “Fuck you, I wasn’t finished!” Pog launched himself at the other 
and the scuffle soon involved several of those waiting their turn. One of 
them broke away, bending down for a moment then standing up behind 
the elf. He shoved with his arm and Haldir’s face contorted, teeth bared in 
a rictus of agony.
      “Oh, very good,” said the general approvingly. “You’re the biggest 
man of the lot of them, Margon.”
      Margon grinned and held up the mallet, the handle red with blood. 
“Now for the real thing,” he said, tossing it back to the ground.
      Haldir was barely conscious, eyes unfocussed and blank. The 
general watched him, seeing the hatred slowly build as awareness 
returned. 
      By god, that was a good moment. 
      “Pog,” he called. “Pog, come here, make yourself useful.” Pog had 
been pushed to the back of the line and was seething with impotent rage. 
Muttering, he came to the general’s side.
      “Drusil, he got killed, didn’t he? Pretty early on, as we were 
coming up the pass?”
      Pog nodded, staring in fascination at the sentry’s inhumanly 
beautiful face. The general shoved at him. “Pay attention when I’m talking 
to you.”
      “Uh, yeah, he got killed.”
      “So, what happened to that stupid sword he had? The one he got at 
Brokenoak Fair?”
      “With the bent blade and the fake jewels? Still with his stuff, I 
suppose. Who’d want it? S’crap.”
      “I want it, Pog. Go find it.”
      Pog nodded and wandered off. The general turned back to his 
victim, who returned his stare with loathing.
      “You elves are supposed to live for ever, aren’t you? I suppose 
you’re thinking, here’s this stupid man, and he’ll be a rotted corpse next 
time I turn around, huh?”
      Haldir fought to keep his expression unchanged, for he had been 
thinking something very like that.
      “Well, in the first place, you aren’t going to live forever. Though I 
think the lads’ll want to keep you as long as possible. I think they like 
you,” leered the general. “And even if you did, you know what? I will too, 
‘cos you’re never going to forget me, are you, pretty boy? And as long as 
you live, the memory of me is going to live with you.”
      At that moment, Pog came back clutching a long, glittering object 
and the distraction meant that the general missed the despair in Haldir’s 
eyes.
      “Hah! Just the thing,” smiled the general. “Give it here. No, don’t 
go away, Pog, I’ll need you again in a minute.” He turned the object about 
in his hands and held it before the sentry. “Look at this,” he said. “Look at 
it. Cheap piece of rubbish. But it was the pride and joy of one of the men 
you killed, you bastard. One of my men. His name was Drusil and he’s 
somewhere in that pile over there and he can’t have a turn at fucking you.”
      The other men had fallen silent, looking at their leader. There were 
mutters about: 
      “Poor bloody Drusil,” 
      “Yeah, and Brendas,”
      “And Temmen. My best mate, he was.”
      Haldir felt the mood change around him and he shivered. He 
looked at the thing the general held out: a despicable toy, a fake weapon 
sold to the completely cretinous, made out of base metal and studded with 
glass jewels, a two-handed broadsword that one could bend across one’s 
knee.
      “No, Drusil can’t ever get it up again,” went on the general. “But 
I’m sure he’d have wanted to. So his sword’s going to do it for him.”
      The general drew the sword.
      “Come here, Pog,” he said. “Here, hold it by the blade. Don’t 
worry, it’s as blunt as your tool. But the hilt, now that’s something else 
again. Drusil, he liked a good hilt on a sword.” Several laughed at that.
      Haldir could see the hilt well enough: thick and long enough for 
two hands to hold, it was studded with fake glass gems that glittered in the 
firelight and had a tarnished metal pommel shaped like an egg. 
      “Now, Pog,” said the general, watching the elf closely, “go give 
him one for Drusil.”
      The man disappeared from Haldir’s view, and he tensed, knowing 
what was coming. The general twined a fist through his hair again and 
reached for his broken hand. Cold metal touched him, pushed against him. 
Deliberately, he closed his eyes. What could the general do that was worse 
than this? Then he was torn part, searing torment that reached his belly 
from within. He began to shake as it came again, rasping against tender 
places already worn raw, filling him with searing, unbearable agony. He 
pushed all the breath from his lungs so he would not scream as it ripped 
him again, shredding him inside and he could feel the warmth of blood 
trickling down his legs. 
      “Enough, Pog.”
      The general breathed rapidly, hoarsely, drinking in the sentry’s 
contorted face and the beads of sweat on it. He felt himself harden, rubbed 
against the boulder and licked his lips. Give the elf a minute to recover 
and he’d take another turn himself. He let go of the hair and slapped the 
face.
      “Come on, bastard, come back, there’s a lot more dead men 
waiting to fuck you.” 
      Someone called out “And a few living!”
      Haldir’s head was ringing and his vision darkening from lack of 
air. Finally he had to breathe again, panting and trying desperately not to 
cry, to scream, to make the smallest sound. If he kept it all in they would 
not win, they would not win. But they had broken him inside and he did 
not know how much longer before he would show the weakness this weak 
man wanted. 
      The general looked into the dazed eyes of his victim. “We don’t 
stop tonight until I hear your voice. I want to hear you scream like you 
made us scream, you bastard!”
      Suddenly the man gripped his hand more tightly than ever before, 
clenched his fist around the broken fingers, staring into Haldir’s eyes with 
a look of surprise. The elf grimaced at the surge of agony, then saw the 
feathers of the arrow showing behind the man’s shoulder. Slowly the 
general slid down the side of the boulder, fingers still clasped tightly 
around Haldir’s hand. The elf’s face twisted in anguish as the full weight 
of the man’s falling body hung from his broken fingers. He raised his head 
as much as the ropes allowed and saw dark grey shapes, his fellows, flit 
from among the trees beyond the circle of firelight. In a moment they were 
there, cutting the ropes, holding him as he fell, laying him on the grass. He 
heard Feremil’s voice say harshly “Make sure they are all dead.”
      Haldir lay on the ground only feet from his tormentor. The man 
slowly raised his head to look at him.
      “You’ve killed me. You’ve killed me…” His eyes hardened. “No 
matter how long you live, elf, never forget I fucked you.”
      “Did you?” Haldir replied hoarsely, in the language of men. He 
smiled faintly. “Forgive me, I did not notice.”
      An arm slid behind his shoulders and raised him and he shuddered 
as his weight shifted onto his hips. His head was cradled against a 
shoulder.
      Celeborn?
      Anxious blue eyes met his, and something touched his lips. “Here, 
drink,” murmured Celeborn. Cool water poured over Haldir’s lips and he 
opened his mouth, swallowing some of it. 
      He turned away from the cup. “The city?” he whispered. “Other 
raiders?”
      “No, no, there are no other raiders, be still and fear not, all is peace 
save here.”
      Haldir fell back against his lord’s shoulder and closed his eyes. 
Celeborn gazed down at the young sentry’s bruised face, lines of pain 
etched upon it, bitten lip still bloody. He felt a surge of pride that an elf 
could suffer so and still make such a reply to his tormentor. 
      There had been no demur when he had ordered that all the humans 
be killed. He looked around to see the other elves at work. Bodies were 
being dragged to one side, cleared away from the track leading to the pass. 
All their possessions were being heaped with them. One was roping 
together the horses—they could not just be left. Someone else approached 
with his arms full.
      “We have gathered Haldir’s clothing, my lord, and his weapons.”
      “Lay them here. Take my cloak to wrap him in, he begins to 
shiver.” The elf took his lord’s cloak and shook it out. Together, they 
spread it over him, Celeborn wincing at the marks on the sentry’s body. 
“There is nowhere they did not hurt him,” he muttered. “How can we 
move him? See if you can devise a litter to lay him on.” The other elf 
nodded and moved away.
      Celeborn looked down again. Haldir had opened his eyes and 
gazed up at him. “The relief sentry,” he murmured, “did he give the alert?”
      “Relief? Ah, no, we met him on the way, on foot. His horse had 
broken a leg, badly enough that he had to kill it. Less than halfway to the 
pass, so he turned back. That it should have happened the day you were 
attacked—fate is cruel, Haldir.”
      “So how came you?”
      “You called to me,” said Celeborn, surprised. “Do you not 
remember?”
      “Called? How?”
      “Haldir, you farspoke me. Do you really not remember?”
      The sentry’s eyes widened. “Farspoke? You, lord? I have never 
farspoken anyone, I have not the talent for it.” He began to shiver again. 
      Celeborn chose his words carefully. “Sometimes, it is given to us 
to farspeak another in moments of extremity. You called to me as they 
overcame you.”
      Haldir’s breathing became rapid and shallow and his eyelids 
fluttered. “Forgive me, my lord,” he whispered.
      Celeborn lay the palm of his hand against Haldir’s cheek and 
stroked it gently. “There is nothing to forgive, young one. Without it you 
would have been dead and we facing a rough horde of lawless humans 
loose within our borders. Fear not, no one else knows save my lady.”
      Haldir wailed and blushed and tried to hide his face. “No, not she! 
How can I remain among our people—“
      Celeborn stroked his fingers across Haldir’s chin and held it 
gently. After all they had done to him, he marvelled, the boy could still 
blush. “Be still, be at peace, child. Galadriel knows all that I know and we 
are both grateful for this if it means you live and our borders are safe.”
      Haldir looked up at his lord with a deep sadness and silent tears 
welled from his eyes. But that is all it means, said those eyes. Celeborn 
could not meet them and looked away.
      He continued to sit on the ground, holding the injured sentry in his 
arms, trying to keep him warm, letting him weep in silence. “I might warm 
your body, but not your heart, Haldir,” he thought. “I am so sorry. But my 
love has belonged to my lady for an age and always will.”
      He thought back to the first time he saw Haldir. Galadriel had 
returned smiling from a visit to a former lady-in-waiting, with a beautiful 
baby on her hip. Beside her stood a silver-haired, black-eyed boy, holding 
a third child by the hand.
      “Look at them,” she had whispered, “each more beautiful than the 
last. These are the sons of Halenil and Sarumiel. I have brought them 
home because their mother can no longer look after them, and I pity her, 
poor lady. To have given birth to three lusty boy babies in less than a 
decade, it is more than our bodies and souls were made to bear. And it has 
turned her mind not a little. Let them come here and be with us for a few 
years to give her peace.”
      And he had agreed and the three boys had come to their talan. How 
they had weighed upon their mother’s heart he could not fathom, for they 
were all three quiet and serious, if occasionally given to mischief, 
particularly Rumil. But this one, he thought, as he continued to cradle 
Haldir, a more sober youth you could not want. Galadriel had said one day 
“He follows you about like a puppy, poor child. I think he adores you.” 
And he had laughed and told her of his own boyhood crush on the noble 
Mithrandir.
      “But you,” he thought, looking down, “Did you never grow out of 
the fancy of your youth? My child of night and silver, after all these 
centuries, when your soul calls in desperation to your true love, it calls to 
me?”
      Haldir’s anguished voice in his mind that afternoon had given 
Celeborn the worst shock he had known for many years. For an instant, he 
had been as one with the beleaguered sentry, even feeling as if in his own 
flesh the wounds of arrows and spears and broken fingers. 
      “To have both body and heart broken on one day is hard indeed, 
Haldir. Fate is cruel.
      
      “And yet, do I not love Mithrandir still?”


Title: Heart and Body Chapter 2 / 9 
Author (including email): Implacida (Implacida@hotmail.com) 
Pairing(s): Haldir / Celeborn 
Rating:  R 
Summary: Haldir has been rescued but still suffers from what has 
happened to him. 
Disclaimer: Tolkien’s characters are his, mine are mine. No profit made or 
copyright infringement intended. 
Warning (only if necessary): Angst, memories of violence 
Authors Note (if needed/desired): pipe symbol, thus: |abc| denotes italics

Haldir had turned his face away as his tears fell silently. Celeborn's heart 
ached for him and he wanted to hold him closer but so many were the 
wounds on his body that he hardly knew where to put his hands so as not 
to hurt him. Finally, he settled for stroking the sentry's hair. It was tangled 
and disheveled in a way no elf in his right mind would tolerate so he undid 
the braid above Haldir's ear. To his horror, as he combed through it with 
his fingers, much loose hair came away and when he lifted his hand to 
look more closely he realised that the roots had come out and were clotted 
with blood. He felt ill. The pain he had known when Haldir had farspoken 
him, for that briefest moment, had been breathtaking. What torments had 
he undergone since? One, they had all seen, and Celeborn only hoped that 
the youth would heal, body and mind.
Celeborn looked up as Feremil squatted beside him.

"How is he?" asked the warden.

Celeborn shook his head. "At last he has found the mercy of sleep," he 
said softly. "I do not know the number of his hurts. He needs to have a 
healer and I am a fool not to have thought to bring one."

"Lord, you could not have known what we would find."

Celeborn made no reply. He had known, simply had not thought of it in 
the shock of what had happened. He had told Feremil and others that he 
had chanced to see the attack in Galadriel's Mirror. Feremil went on "We 
have done all I care to here, and I would not remain the night in this place. 
Shall we at least go back down to the valley? Can he travel?"

"What have you done?"

"All trace of them, their bodies and their rubbish, we have thrown into a 
crevasse. The horses we will take. We have made a litter on which to lay 
him, two of us will carry it down the hill this night. Tomorrow we will see 
if two of the more placid horses can carry him the rest of the way. If not, 
we are all prepared to take our turn."

"So be it. There are his clothes and weapons, see that all is brought home."

Feremil stood and gathered up the small bundle himself.

Haldir lay still and made no sound as Celeborn laid him on the wooden 
litter, part of the humans' dilapidated wagon. He would not ride his horse, 
but walked beside the litter, clasping Haldir's good hand. The sentry's 
fingers tightened around his, and Celeborn could feel occasional tremors 
when the litter was accidentally jolted.

He heard again in his mind Haldir's words... |My love, I have failed you.| 
On their frantic ride out to the pass, he had thought of little other than 
those words. He had tried to reach deep into himself to find the true echo 
in his heart to their meaning. But it had been millennia since he had last 
visited those places and he feared what his heart told him.

Orophin and Rumil called him father. Haldir never had.
They made camp in the valley at the base of the hill and spent the rest of 
the night quietly enough, simply eating lembas and drinking the water they 
had with them. Haldir drank but refused to eat. Celeborn laid a bed roll 
beside the litter and spent the night holding that shaking hand and sleeping 
little. At dawn, when the others had begun to rise, he felt the fingers 
withdraw from his. He sat up to find Haldir worrying with one hand at his 
other braid.

"Let me."

Haldir turned his head so Celeborn could reach him. He quickly undid the 
braid and was relieved not to find any loose hair on that side.

"How do you fare?" he asked softly. "Come, let me look at you in the light 
of day."

"There is no need." Haldir drew the cloak tighter about him and curled up 
on the litter. He lay on his left side. His right eye was blackened and that 
side of his face bruised. His lip was swollen.

"Haldir." Celeborn simply spoke his name firmly. After a moment's 
hesitation, the youth reluctantly let go of the cloak. Celeborn raised it 
gently, revealing his right arm and shoulder, bruised and with several cuts 
from sword or spear. He cradled his right hand in his left and Celeborn 
remembered, it was the fingers of the right which had been broken.

"Let me see your hand." The hand shook and was swollen now, and the 
middle three fingers were crooked and almost purple. Celeborn did not 
touch them, but pulled the cloak away further. Both arrows had left large, 
ugly wounds, open and raw. Welts covered Haldir's back and his legs.

"My lord?" he murmured hesitantly.

"What is it, Haldir? I regret I can do little for you but take you home to a 
healer as quickly as we may travel."

"My feet. My feet hurt and I do not know why. I think I can not stand up."

Celeborn raised the last corner of the cloak and drew in his breath at what 
he saw.

"They are both cut, Haldir, deep cuts the length of the soles. It will be a 
while before you walk, I fear."

He laid the cloak back over the tortured body. Elves healed faster and 
better than many other races but they still suffered and felt pain as all did 
when their bodies were injured.

From the hurts of the soul, they could die.

They continued to carry the litter by hand. Horses would jolt too much.
Celeborn rode now, beside the litter where he could keep a close watch on 
Haldir. When they reached the waters of the Celebrant, the sentry asked to 
bathe in it.

"That is an excellent notion," said the Lord of the Wood, "for the waters of 
the river have healing powers. I will join you." He dismounted and began 
to remove his clothes. Feremil posted guards and several other elves also 
opted to strip and enter the chill, refreshing waters. One of them helped 
carry Haldir into the river, leaving him in Celeborn's arms when the water 
reached their waists.

"I will set you down into the water," murmured Celeborn, "if you think 
you will float. Do not try to stand."

Haldir nodded. He gasped as he was immersed into the cold, clear stream, 
sinking briefly, his silver hair swirling around him. Celeborn clutched his 
arm and steadied him and he stretched out his legs and loosened his stiff 
muscles and floated. Celeborn also ducked under, coming up with his head 
back to let his hair flow behind him. He hovered nearby, as Haldir's limp 
body floated along in the current. 

After a while, the sentry began to rub his left hand over himself. When he 
passed it through his hair a cloud of silver strands floated away to tangle in 
the weeds by the bank. He passed his hand beneath himself, along his back 
and, doing so, sank again. Celeborn held his arm.

"Will you let me touch you?" he whispered.

The sentry gazed at him with frightened eyes. Then he inclined his head, 
never looking away from Celeborn's face. The older elf stood beside him, 
holding his arm with one hand and gently stroking the other along his back 
and chest, wiping away blood and dirt. He could feel the many welts left 
by the whip. Then he reached lower, feeling sticky, heavy grease that 
would not wash away in the cold water. He pulled a handful of weeds and 
wiped with that but Haldir moaned and stiffened when the touch became 
too intimate.

"Hush, now, I will leave it to the healer," he said. "Let me look at your feet 
now."

"No. Please."

"I promise I will not touch them."

Celeborn held Haldir's left arm at full stretch and was able to see the soles 
of the sentry's feet. Much of the blood had washed away but the cuts were 
clotted and dirty. He had obviously been forced to stand on the ground at 
some point.

"Did they make you walk?"

"I don't remember."

"There is soil and grass-"

"No!" Haldir tensed and sank again.

Immediately, Celeborn pulled him up and slid arms behind his shoulders 
and under his knees. "Enough, I think." He walked to the bank, taking the 
sentry's full weight in his arms as they left the water. With Feremil's help 
he laid him on the plank of wood and wrapped him in several cloaks. They 
set off as soon as all were dressed again and this time Haldir slept deeply.

It was late afternoon when they reached Caras Galadhon. Celeborn had 
ordered a runner ahead to alert the Guild of Healers, and they were met 
just within the city's southern gate.

Two tall elves, ethereal even by the standards of the Galadhrim, 
approached. "Bring him this way, one of our people lives near to the gate 
in a house made to meet this sort of need."

"It would pain him too greatly to carry him up into the mellyrn," the other 
added.

Celeborn and an escort followed them. Feremil and the rest returned into 
the city, the warden with instruction to send Haldir's brothers to him and 
to excuse them from their normal duties.

The Lord of the Wood insisted on remaining with Haldir while the healers 
treated him, but the sentry did not awaken. They burned herbs and wafted 
the smoke into his face and even the stray wisps of it made Celeborn 
sleepy. They cleaned all his hurts, even his innermost places, putting 
healing oil there. His feet they cleaned and bandaged, his broken fingers 
they pulled straight and tied to splints, binding then the whole hand. 
Celeborn winced as he watched, thanking the powers that Haldir slept 
through it all.

As he worked, the leader of the healers spoke to Lord Celeborn. "His body 
will heal, and quickly enough, for he is young and strong." The elf sighed 
and looked away. "But I, who am old, I recall others like this, thankfully 
not many. The race of Men is often embittered and jealous and seems to 
know of only one way to respond to the beauty of the Firstborn, and that is 
to destroy it.

"He has suffered greatly and will continue to suffer, for his hurts are not 
just of the body. It is good that you are here, my lord, for what he will 
need most is the company of those he loves and who love him. In the 
times ahead, he may often despair and sink into depths of loathing at what 
was done to him. By extension he may come to loathe himself, to feel that 
one so treated can be worth nothing, that he is soiled and broken and 
unwanted. More than one has gone away to the Undying Lands for less 
than was done to him."

Celeborn bowed his head. "May it not be so with this one," he whispered.

"Do not speak of this to him, lest in believing it so, he makes it so."

There came an urgent battering at the door and an elven sentry returned 
with Rumil and Orophin crowding behind him. Celeborn went out to them 
and saw their anxious faces. He held out his arms and they came to him as 
they had done since they were children.

"He will be well, all will be well," he said softly.

"How did they hurt him?" demanded Rumil. "What did -"

"Come, sit, for I am tired, and I will tell you how we found him.

"Where is he?" Orophin tried to slide around Celeborn but was held fast.

"Do not disturb the healers at their work. You will see him as soon as they 
allow it."

He drew them to a wooden bench and sat between them, holding one of 
their hands in each of his, and told them all he knew. The only thing he 
held back was the way Haldir had farspoken him, saying instead that he 
had seen the raiders approach in Galadriel's Mirror.

He continued to hold their hands tightly throughout, for Rumil tried to 
leap up at every sound from the other room and Orophin seethed with fury 
at all things human. "Be calm, both of you!" he said harshly at one time. 
"Your brother will not be soothed by the pair of you rearing about like 
untamed colts!"

They were both contrite and sat more quietly. He finished his telling with 
Haldir's reply to his tormentor. "Despite all they did, he is unvanquished, 
and I am as proud of him as if he were my own son. I could wish all three 
of you were my sons." He released their hands at last. Rumil curled up on 
the bench, weeping unashamedly. "How could they?" he muttered over 
and over. "How could anyone?"

Orophin leaped to his feet and paced, biting the knuckles of his fists. "He 
should never have been alone in that place!" he snarled. "Anaximor told 
Feremil it was dangerous, and more than once! To have only one sentry, 
so far from home and help-"

"I spoke to Feremil during our return," cut in Celeborn. "He will submit to 
me his revised rosters tomorrow. I was not aware that he was posting 
single sentries."

"In some places, perhaps, nearer the city-"

"No. No more, never fewer than three, from this day on."

Orophin sighed and knelt before Rumil, wrapping a long arm around him. 

"Come, brother, cease this wailing lest I begin as well." He held him close 
and Rumil snuffled into his tunic for a few moments longer then pulled 
back, rubbing a sleeve over his face.

Finally the door opened and the leader of the healers emerged. He closed it 
again firmly but they could smell the drugged smoke from within. Orophin 
and Rumil sat up as the healer pulled a chair out to face them.
"These are his brothers?"
Celeborn nodded and named the two to him.
"It is well that you have come," he began.
"Can we see him?" Rumil asked impulsively, half-standing before 
Celeborn tugged him back to the bench.
"In a few moments, though he sleeps and should yet sleep many hours 
more. And he needs to. He is strong, and I am told he was unbowed to the 
end. But it has cost him greatly and he will need time to recover."
"What may we do to help?" asked Orophin.
The healer glanced at Celeborn. "Be there when he needs you, for he 
surely will. Do not push him, for he will push himself. Be patient, for you 
can never truly know what he now knows, but do not let this come 
between you." He sighed. "If, at any time, you do not know what to do for 
the best, come back and talk to me. In any case, he will need to stay here 
for at least a week before he can move. It would be well if at least one of 
you were here at all times, for when he awakens."
"Just try to make us leave him," muttered Orophin.
"May we see him now?" added Rumil.
The healer stood. "Follow me. And be silent."
The inner room was warm and pungent still with the dream smoke. A 
single candle burned on a stool by the open window. Haldir lay on his left 
side on a low cot, covered with warm blankets. His left arm and leg had 
been drawn straight behind him and his right arm and leg were bent 
before. His hair flowed over his shoulder and back and hid not the bruises 
on his face, nor his blackened eye.
His brothers stepped silently to either side of the cot and sat on the floor.
"There is no need," said the healer softly, "he will sleep for many hours 
yet."
Orophin shook his head. Rumil whispered "No matter. We stay."
"We will not leave him alone again."
Celeborn patted the healer's arm. "Come, leave them with him. They will 
all be happier that way." He bent to Rumil, who was nearer, and said "I 
must leave you here. But I will send a messenger every day; tell him of 
anything you require. And when your brother can travel, come home to 
me."
Rumil nodded. Sitting cross-legged, each rested his elbows on his knees 
and gazed at his brother.

People stir early in Caras Galadhon, and many elves were already about 
their business within an hour of the dawn. The healer who lived in the 
house by the city gate completed every chore he could think of before 
going to check on last night's arrival. He had been told that the injured elf's 
brothers would be staying with him, but had heard no movement or sound 
from the room. Finally, starting to worry, he opened the door. It was dark 
in the room, the candle long gone out and the shutters mostly closed, but 
his eyes adjusted quickly and he saw a mass of grey blankets and silver 
hair on the floor.
There were three of them, laying like spoons, the injured sentry in the 
middle and his brothers either side of him. The nearer opened his eyes and 
raised a finger to his lips. The healer nodded and backed out. Sleep was 
what the hurt one needed most, and as long as he was watched over, the 
healer was happy.
Rumil laid his hand back on the blanket. Haldir's breathing was 
unchanged, shallow and rapid, nothing like the way he normally breathed 
when asleep. But at least he slept. They had stayed beside his cot after 
Celeborn had left, exchanging looks of anguish but not daring to make a 
sound. At some point Haldir stirred, whimpering like an animal. They 
tried to soothe him and Orophin had leaned over him, laying his cheek 
against his brother's. That had quietened him and Orophin had stayed in 
the uncomfortable position as long as he could. When he finally moved, 
Haldir had woken again.
"Put him on the floor," said Rumil, "so we can lie beside him, so he knows 
he is not alone." They had lifted the mattress, slid the cot aside and laid all 
the bedding on the wooden floor, disturbing him as little as possible. Then 
they had crept beside him, Orophin behind him and Rumil in front, as they 
did when they were children. Haldir had tried to move his splinted hand so 
Rumil had taken his arm and pulled it over himself, cradling the broken 
hand in his own. Then Haldir had cried out when he felt Orophin behind 
him, stopping only when Orophin had nuzzled the back of his neck, 
whispering "'Tis me, brother, be still," and he had slept again.
So they remained the rest of the night, as they had when they lived with 
Lord Celeborn and the Lady. The order had been different and had 
changed as they grew. Orophin, the baby, had been first, with Rumil 
behind him and Haldir, the eldest, wrapped around them both. But 
Orophin had grown taller and taller and over the years had moved firstly 
behind Rumil and eventually behind Haldir. There had been a fight, Rumil 
remembered, when Orophin insisted that, as the tallest, he should sleep on 
the outside. It was rare that they fought with each other. Haldir had won: 
Orophin might be the tallest but he was still the strongest. Yet he had let 
him have his way.
The rays of the sun were highlighting sparkling motes of dust in the air 
when Haldir stirred. He moaned and began to shiver.
"Is he cold?" whispered Orophin anxiously. "Brother! Haldir, wake up, we 
are here." Hesitantly, he touched Haldir's shoulder. "He is not cold to 
touch."
Rumil gently slid out from under Haldir's arm and scrambled to his feet. 
"I'll find the healer."
The healer raised his head from the preparations he was mixing.
"Sir, would you come? He seems to be cold although he is not and he does 
not know us."
"Yes, at once, let me only finish this-" he added a last pinch of powder and 
stirred the concoction he had prepared then picked it up. "Has he said 
anything?"
"No, but he's shivering."
"That won't be from cold."
They returned to the room to find Orophin kneeling on the blankets and 
holding his brother in his arms.
"Ah, it's good that you have raised his head; it will make it easier for him 
to swallow this." The healer swirled the earthenware goblet and put it to 
Haldir's lips. The elf turned his face away, to his brother's breast. He was 
as white as bone, lips pressed bloodlessly together.
"Haldir," said the healer, "come, this will ease the pain."
"What is it?" Orophin asked.
"A tincture made from the juice of the asalil, the little red flower-"
"Yes, we know it," replied Rumil. "What does it do?"
"It will dull the hurt and loosen his muscles. Do you feel how tense he is? 
That is only adding to his pain. It may make his thoughts wander a little, 
but, given where his thoughts probably are now-"
Rumil knelt opposite Orophin and reached his arms around Haldir as well, 
easing him away from his brother. They held him between them and the 
healer raised the cup again. Although he could not turn his head away, he 
grimly refused to open his lips.
"Haldir, brother, look at me," Rumil murmured, stroking his brow. His 
face was slick with sweat, though he shivered still.
"Haldir, will you help me?" said Orophin. "Brother, I need you. Haldir!"
Haldir opened his eyes at last, looking from one anxious face to the other. 
His lips parted. "How came you here?" he whispered. "My hand hurts." 
His eyes filled with tears.
The healer held up the cup again. "Haldir, drink this. It will help you. It 
may be a little bitter but it will take the pain away." Haldir tried to focus 
his eyes on the cup before him.
"Brother, do as he says," said Orophin firmly.
"Come. Let me help you." Rumil took the cup and raised it to the white 
lips. "Drink it, never mind what it tastes like. It can never be as bad as my 
dandelion tisane."
Haldir sipped from the cup and grimaced, trying to turn away. "No!" said 
both his brothers at once.
"Come, we outnumber you," added Orophin. "Do as you are bidden for 
once!"
Haldir swallowed a little more. "It is foul."
"Indeed, we made it especially so, just for you," said Rumil. "And we will 
not let you rest until you finish it."
Eventually, he did, and let his head fall back against his brothers' arms. 
His breathing was a little slower and deeper. "How came you here?" he 
whispered again. "What is this place?"
"It's the healer's house by the southern gate, the one near the hot spring, do 
you remember?"
"And Master Feremil sent for us when they brought you back, and you'll 
not be rid of us until you are whole again."
"And probably not then, either," added Orophin.
Haldir smiled sleepily. "That is well. Hah, had we three been together, 
they would all have died."
"Had you alone enough arrows, they would all have died. They say you 
killed fifteen of them, Haldir."
"It was not enough," replied the sentry slowly. "Had I more arrows..." his 
voice slurred, faded. His eyes closed and his breathing became deeper and 
more even.
"A curse upon the race of men, may all their sons rot in their mothers' 
wombs!" hissed Orophin, his voice breaking. Rumil bowed his head as his 
own tears flowed. The healer sat cross-legged before them, staring into the 
cup, swirling the last few drops around in the bottom of it, then put it to 
one side.
"Come," he said, "we need to move him. It will pain him to be held like 
that. Because of the, the nature of his hurts," he added, seeing the fierce 
look in Orophin's eye. "He needs to lie on his belly, or on his side, as we 
had left him last night."
They set about moving the limp body.
"Sir, we have been very remiss. I am Orophin, that is Rumil."
"Yes, I had been told your names, but not which of you was which. I am 
Kerefinil and I am a journeyman healer. My master I think you met last 
night. He is Tamrin and he studied under Master Elrond himself, at 
Imladris. He will return tomorrow to see your brother again."
"For how long will he feel such pain?" asked Orophin tightly. "Should it 
not be lessening?"
"It may get worse first. The spirit takes pity on the body at such times," 
began Kerefinil, "and in the immediate hours after an injury, it will shield 
it from the worst effects. At such times are the pupils of the eyes widened, 
even in the presence of light. So was your brother last night. But after a 
time the spirit can no longer shield the body, the eyes return to normal and 
the full weight of the injury is born. So is he now."
"But he will heal, won't he?" asked Rumil in a shaky voice. "He will be 
well again?" When Kerefinil did not answer, he continued, "He is the 
eldest and the best of us. He is the strongest and the wisest. Whatever 
troubles we had when we were children, yes, and even now that we are 
grown, we bring to him. And even if he can do nothing, our hearts are 
lighter for it. And to see him like this, I cannot bear it, I cannot. O, Haldir, 
brother..." his voice broke into sobs. Orophin reached for him and drew 
him close.
Kerefinil did not know what to do. His skills were in dealing with the 
hurts of the body, but for heartbreak, he knew no cure. Then something 
touched his shoulder and he looked up into the sky-blue eyes of Lord 
Celeborn. He scrambled to his feet.
"How is he?"
"As expected, he awoke confused and in much pain. I have given him 
asalil."
Celeborn clasped his shoulder. "Thank you. I would stay a few moments 
with them now."
The healer nodded and left, closing the door behind him.
The brothers pressed themselves in to Celeborn's arms. The Lord of 
Lorien looked tired, but he held them tightly and kissed them both. All 
three sat on the floor around Haldir and Celeborn reached out to touch a 
delicate finger to his cheek.
"I heard your words, Rumil," he said softly. "Do you think he had no 
troubles of his own when you were all young? But he would never speak 
of them, even to me, only seek to swallow them, hide them. Sometimes I 
could sit him down and get out of him the story of what had upset him. 
More often, not.
"But now, this...this is a trouble not even he can bury. And as he was there 
for you, so must you be there for him. If he was the strongest: now you 
must be. The tables are turned and he needs you more than ever before."
"He never needed us, 'twas we who-"
"No, do not believe that. Do not ever think that," replied Celeborn. "You 
are his very life. If he has ever been strong, it has been for your sakes." He 
smiled at old memories. "I remember well, there was not a thing I taught 
him but he was already planning how to teach it to both of you. Now, be 
sound. Let him not see you despair. Be of good cheer around him as he 
was with you for his heart is heavy enough-" Celeborn bit off his words 
and sighed. "I, too, could weep at this. There is barely a place that is not 
hurt where one may touch him," he whispered, stroking gentle fingers 
along Haldir's arm.
"He does not awaken and I have many tasks awaiting me." He stood. "Tell 
him I was here, tell him...no, I will come again. Send a messenger for 
anything you need."
After Celeborn had gone, Rumil and Orophin lay on each side of their 
brother again, their hands clasped over his hip. When the sun was high, he 
awakened, shivering. Both brothers were alert at the first soft whimper. 
His breathing became more rapid and his body drew in on itself, curving 
into a tight ball as he lay on his side. His lips drew back from clenched 
teeth.
"Brother? How do you fare?"
"Haldir, we are here. Rumil, should we call Kerefinil?"
"Haldir, should I summon the healer?"
"No," he gasped. "No more sleeping potions, they sicken me."
Orophin hovered over him, hesitating to touch. Haldir rolled slowly onto 
his back, biting his lip as he did so. Sweat formed on his brow and his 
breath came fast and shallow.
"Brother, the healer said you should lie on your stomach," said Rumil 
anxiously.
"I want to look at you," Haldir replied.
"We are both here." Orophin took his undamaged hand and raised it to his 
lips. Haldir smiled and lifted his other hand to Rumil, who caught his 
wrist.
"It is so good to see you both," he breathed. "I thought I never would 
again, in this world."
"Haldir, how do you fare? How bad-are you in much pain?"
"Some. Perhaps I should move," he replied through clenched teeth.
"Let us help you, here, on your left side, it is the least hurt."
They eased him gently into a more comfortable position, then Orophin and 
Rumil lay like spoons facing their brother, so they could continue to look 
at each other. Rumil clasped Haldir's fingers and Orophin reached over 
Rumil's shoulder to lay his hand over both of theirs.
Haldir gazed at them for a long time, seeing Rumil's reddened eyes and 
the tension in the lines of Orophin's face.
He knew it was over; he knew he was safe. But when he closed his eyes, 
he was surrounded by leering faces. He shuddered, the pain still 
impossible to shut out, coming from everywhere. He was sunk in it, 
covered by it, there was nowhere he could go to escape it. He clutched 
compulsively at his brothers' hands, concentrating on the feel of their 
fingers. For a little while, that helped. But he became more and more 
aware of the throbbing of his broken hand, the sting of the many welts on 
his back and legs, the fiery agony deep inside him. He drew rapid breaths, 
turning his face to the pillow as tears pricked his eyes.
Rumil squeezed his fingers, drawing closer, as he began to sob. Orophin 
laid his hand on Haldir's head, stroking his hair. Both murmured soothing 
words that he could not hear.
"Talk to me," he hissed through gritted teeth, "tell me something, anything 
you like, only talk to me!"
"You are the last sole sentry," said Orophin quickly. "Do you remember 
what Anaximor said?"
Haldir nodded, staring intently at him.
"Master Feremil is re-casting all the rosters; there will always be three 
sentries together from now on."
"There are not enough of us," whispered Haldir.
"Then more must take a turn on the watch," put in Rumil. "Father said he 
had not known Feremil was-"
"Celeborn? Was he here? When?"
"Last night, he was waiting here when they called us. And this morning, 
he came while you slept."
Haldir bit his lip. "What did he say? Did he-was he angry?"
"No! Why should he be? At least, not with us," replied Orophin. "With 
Feremil, perhaps."
"He said he wished we really were his sons," added Rumil wistfully.
"Me as well?"
"Haldir, of course, why not you as well?"
"I thought, he might..." Haldir paused. "I don't know, I don't know any 
more." He pulled his hand away from Rumil's and rubbed his eyes. "I am 
so tired. I want to sleep, I want to sleep for ever and think of nothing."
"No!" said Orophin sharply. "Brother, do not say that, not even in jest!"
But Haldir's eyes closed and he slept, his brothers watching him anxiously 
until they, too, dozed.
Orophin was awakened by a noise at the door and he turned to find 
Kerefinil behind them. The healer beckoned and Orophin untangled 
himself from Rumil. Outside, Kerefinil closed the door silently.
"You need to eat," he said, "and so does your brother; Lord Celeborn told 
us he had swallowed nothing but a little water since they found him. I 
have prepared bread and meat and cheese, and there is also hot soup. Has 
he awoken yet since I gave him the asalil?"
"Yes, around noon. We spoke a little and he slept again. He said the asalil 
sickened him and wanted no more of it."
"It can make some people a little nauseous; I will not use it again. Are you 
not also hungry?"
"Yes, now that you speak of food," said Orophin, "and I can smell the 
soup. I am sure even Rumil will be ravenous by now. But I would not 
wake Haldir while he sleeps soundly."
"Well, no, but when next he does, will you and Rumil make certain he 
eats? He may not want much, but he must eat something. And give him as 
much water as he will drink, ah, and I will fetch some milk as well. But he 
is more willing to take things from you than me, so I will leave it to you."
Orophin went back in to his brothers and murmured to Rumil, who 
nodded. When Haldir stirred again, they brought a laden tray in to the 
room and put it on the floor. He gave it a reluctant look. "Have you 
eaten?" he asked.
"No," said Orophin, "we have waited for you, that we may eat together."
"I think I will not, I still feel sick from the sleeping draught."
"Haldir, we will not eat unless you do, and we have not eaten since 
yesterday."
"Then eat, but take it away from here." He turned his face into the pillow.
"Haldir, you did not heed me. We will not eat unless you do."
He glared at them. "That is foolishness. You should eat."
"And so should you." Rumil said smugly. "I think I am finally able to 
avenge myself for all the times you forced me to swallow my supper when 
I wanted none of it."
"Had you been less reluctant, you might not now be the smallest of us!" 
snapped Haldir.
"Someone had to be smallest, but as I am also the most fair, I will-"
"And who told you you were the most fair?" interrupted Orophin 
indignantly.
"Enough, enough," said Haldir wearily. "I see I am to have no peace until I 
yield."
"He always was the cleverest of us, was he not?" grinned Rumil.
Orophin drew the tray closer. "So, what will you, brother? There is roast 
duck, cheese made by Mistress Caltenna, bread, and soup of greens 
waiting on the fire."
"A little of the soup and some bread to dip in it."
His brothers held him up while he ate and Orophin glared fiercely when he 
tried to stop after only two small bites. He ate a little more, and drank 
some milk. Rumil and Orophin let him be then, and attacked the duck.
It was Haldir who noticed the figure at the door. His eyes opened wide and 
his face turned white, even to his lips. Celeborn drew in his breath to see 
it, and at that small sound, the other two turned to look.
"No, no, do not stand up. I will join you instead." Dressed in a simple, 
belted tunic, he folded his legs gracefully underneath himself. "Is that 
Caltenna's? Orophin, cut me a piece, if you would." During the moments it 
took for the brothers to make room for Celeborn beside the mattress, 
neither of them noticed Haldir's expression.
"Haldir," said Celeborn, "how do you fare now? Have you eaten?"
"I am well enough," the other mumbled into the pillow. He had buried his 
face in it, letting his hair fall over him. Celeborn brushed it back and he 
tried to bury himself even further.
"Are you tired?"
Haldir nodded. Celeborn turned to Orophin and Rumil. "I will sit with him 
a while. If you have finished your meal, you may go out and take the air a 
little."
"There is no need," replied Orophin.
"It is no burden to stay, and we have promised not to leave his side," 
added Rumil.
"But I wish to speak to him a while. You came direct from the barracks 
yesterday; this would be a good time to return and fetch yourselves some 
clean clothes, and some for him as well."
The two looked at each other. Rumil shrugged. Orophin said, "If you 
would remain until we return, it might be opportune to do as you say."
"Go leisurely," said Celeborn, "I will remain, I have been waiting all day 
for the chance to stay a while here." He reached for Haldir's good hand 
and clasped it, thus shielding his face from his brother's eyes.
When the others had gone, Haldir took a deep breath. "I am sorry, sir. It...I 
could not...I did not know I did it, I will leave as soon as I am able-"
"What are you talking about?"
"I farspoke you, and you learned that which I would never have had you 
know," he sobbed. "O, why did they not kill me?"
"Haldir, I have been giving this matter much thought." Celeborn stretched 
himself out on the floor, propping his head on his hand, face to face with 
Haldir. "This myth that has grown about farspeaking, that it can only take 
place between true lovers, is only that: a myth. Hush, now, hear me. My 
lady can farspeak anyone she chooses, so long as they are within the 
bounds of Lorien. And she farspeaks me from far Imladris." He continued 
to stroke the other elf's hair. "Do you think you have scandalised me with 
a declaration of unnatural love?"
Haldir wept no more but his eyes held a depth of anguish that made 
Celeborn long to take him in his arms as he had done when he was a child. 
He clasped his hand instead, twining their fingers together. "Haldir, that 
you were able to call to me is a miracle which saved your life, and I give 
thanks to whatever made it possible. Now tell me, to whom would you 
have called in that moment, if not to me? You are yet too young to have 
known love. Would you have called to one of your brothers? Perhaps."
"But I did not know I did it! I did not choose, my heart chose, and I would 
that you had never known..."
"No, do not weep again, listen to me, Haldir. You called to the one who 
has been as a father to you. The love a son has for his father, you have 
given to me, and I love you too, as a father would his son. That is the bond 
between us. That it is so strong as to permit farspeaking, well, I give 
thanks for it. But it is no more than that, do not mistake it. Be at peace, 
Haldir, do not torment yourself, for there is nothing unnatural in this."
"But everyone knows that farspeaking is proof of the bond between lovers. 
And all now know-"
"What everyone knows in a myth! I assure you, my lady is not the lover of 
all whom she has farspoken in her life! Haldir, I have told everyone that I 
chanced to see the raiders in her mirror. No-one knows you farspoke me, 
save she." He clasped tightly the hand in his, but felt no response.
"Let me tell you something," Celeborn went on. "When I was a child, of 
the same age as you when you first came to us, then did Mithrandir come 
to Doriath to give counsel to my uncle. Mithrandir the Wise, who had 
traveled all of Arda and could tell so many tales of adventure as to turn the 
head and heart of a little boy." Celeborn smiled softly, his eyes far away. 
"And for years I adored him and longed for the times when he would visit. 
I would sit on his knee and play with his beard while he told stories that 
made my heart beat like that of a bird. But over the years, his visits 
became less frequent, and I grew older and had other things to think about. 
I began to find that the company of certain others also made my heart beat 
so. One fair lady in particular... And so will you, child, so will you."
Haldir gazed sadly at the face of the one he loved, then closed his eyes. 
"This is what you want to believe," he thought. "This is what lets you 
tolerate my presence. So believe, beloved, that I love you as a son loves a 
father and never know what is in my heart. That, I will keep to myself 
forever, as ever I knew I would. And I will stay by your side."
Celeborn felt an answering pressure against his fingers. Haldir opened his 
midnight-blue eyes and looked into the sky-blue eyes of the other.
And in their depths, he saw that Celeborn knew his own words for a lie. 
He stared long, in wonder.
"But is this how it must be?" whispered Haldir.
Celeborn nodded. Then he leaned slowly forward and kissed Haldir's lips, 
as softly as thistle down.
Tears from his lashes remained on Haldir's face.


Title: Heart and Body Chapter 3/9 
Author (including email): Implacida (Implacida@hotmail.com) 
Pairing(s): Haldir /  Celeborn 
Rating:  R 
Summary: Healing and dreams and the growth of love 
Disclaimer: Tolkien’s characters are his, mine are mine. No profit made or 
copyright infringement intended. 
Warning (only if necessary): Angst, memories of violence
      
      Rumil and Orophin walked swiftly along paths and up stairways. 
All who saw their faces stepped out of their road. Orophin snapped a 
branch as he strode past, ripping it with his fingers, shredding leaves and 
twigs and scattering them in his wake. 
      “I shall flay every man I ever meet from this day forward. He can 
find no comfort even in his bed, so have they used him. Every inch of him, 
cut and bruised and broken!”
      “He could hardly swallow his bread. I could have wept then. Ai, 
for all the times he would sit with me when I would not eat. That we now 
be turned about and for such a reason! When he is well I shall go up to the 
pass and spit upon their bodies, nay, more than that—“
      “Hush, brother,” cautioned Orophin as faces turned to look. 
      “Aye, but I must vent my spleen now, that I may smile when we 
return to him.”
      “I, too. Poor Kerefinil, how nearly I strangled him today.”
      
      A little more than an hour had passed when they returned, bearing 
bundles of clothes and the tools of their occupation. Haldir’s also they 
brought with them, knives still bloody and quiver empty. They left all in 
the outer room and crept to the door, smiling at what they found. The tray 
was pushed aside and Celeborn shared Haldir’s mattress, the younger elf’s 
head nestled into the curve of his neck. Celeborn’s arms were wrapped 
around him and Haldir’s broken hand rested on his waist.

      Celeborn awoke when the two brothers returned but gave no sign 
as they arranged their bedding and lay on it. He kept still, feeling the 
warm, heavy weight of Haldir’s body in his arms, the soft hair against his 
cheek. The younger elf’s breathing was deep and regular and he no longer 
shivered. He was sleeping normally for the first time since they had 
brought him here. Celeborn lay still, still as stone. But his body thrummed 
like the string of a bow, his mind whirled in confusion. What had he done? 
What had he said? He had said only that which he had come to say, that 
which he had firmly believed to be true. And the anguish in Haldir’s eyes 
had broken his heart. “Think what you will,” said those gentle, dark eyes, 
“ I know what I know and that is, I love you.”
      And something in him had flowered at that, something deep within 
the places he had not visited for millennia, and it had brought the tears to 
his eyes and it had made his heart beat like that of a bird.
      
      When he slept again, at last, his dreams were fast and furious, 
whirling images of war and love and battle. He awoke at dawn, exhausted, 
still careful not to move and disturb the one he held. There seemed no 
sense to the things he had dreamed but he sought after it, knowing it was 
there and hidden. Confusion, yes, that much was true. Why battle? Why 
war? Love… again, he felt the beating of his heart. Love, of this colour, 
hot and fiery and fierce, after centuries of calm tranquillity, order and 
acceptance of the way things were. He felt like a foreigner in his own 
body. Whence came this passion? This mad desire to take, to engulf, to 
possess… unconsciously, his arms had tightened and he breathed deeply, 
slowly, making them loosen again.
      Laughter bubbled inside him and he smiled in return. “Galadriel, 
wife, you find me in a sad state.” He opened his thoughts of new love to 
her, feeling her delight as she coursed through him.
      “Why sad? O, be happy, rather, see the green shoots from this old, 
dry trunk! Feel the water surge from the empty well!”
      “Have I been as a dry trunk to you? An empty well?” But he 
smiled, so catching was her mirth.
      “To me, O, husband, thou art as the blood in my veins, the breath 
in my throat. But to you, yourself, what joy has there been that is new and 
fresh since Lorien was young?”
      “Are you not the fount of all my joy? I am become as a stranger to 
myself, I know not what I do, nor whence comes this love.”
      “Did we each love the other less for loving our daughter? Or our 
fosterlings? The love of the heart is endless, and rises in flood to 
encompass all it will. ‘Twas I who brought them home, ‘twas I who saw 
his love for you before ever you did.”
      “I was content, now all is uproar and confusion.”
      “Revel in it, as I do!” and she whirled through him, gleefully 
feeling the beating of his heart, the blood coursing through him and the 
strength of his arms. He gave in to her, as he always did when she was in 
such a mood.
      Laughing, they spun together in the realms of the spirit even as 
their bodies lay leagues apart, he in the golden city of light, Caras 
Galadhon and she amid the fountains and brooks and meadows of sunny 
Imladris.
      Then she asked the question he had dreaded. “And how came you 
at last to know your heart?”
      He opened up further, revealing to her what he had concealed until 
now. He hid still his aching memory of how they had found him, but she 
stopped like a stone statue at the sight of Haldir in his arms. Her scream 
echoed through distant galleries and through his heart.
      “O my child, what have they done to you? How could anyone do 
this?” Her heart broke at the ruin of her dear one, even as his had, and 
their tears flowed together. Then someone came in far Imladris, frightened 
by her cry, and her grieving spirit was called away, imploring only “Love 
him…”
      
      Eventually Haldir stirred, seeking to draw closer to Celeborn, who 
tightened his arms. The younger elf opened his eyes and tilted his head 
away to he could look up at Celeborn’s face. His lips parted and a look of 
wonder came to his eyes. Celeborn glanced quickly at the other two and 
saw they still slept. He bent his head to kiss Haldir, whose eyes filled with 
tears.
      “Should I not?” Celeborn murmured.
      “No! Yes! You should, I mean,” stammered Haldir, making 
Celeborn smile.
      “I should not, in fact, in case your brothers awaken,” he replied 
softly, and eased himself away. Haldir clutched at his tunic, then 
reluctantly let go.
      After all, he had realised how it must be.
      
      Celeborn went to find Kerefinil, who arranged for an apprentice to 
take food in to the brothers. 
      “Was not your master to return today?”
      “Master Tamrin, yes, I expect him in an hour or two.”
      “What will he do?”
      “Well, see how the patient progresses…”
      “Specifically?”
      “Take off the bandages from his feet and hand, see how the 
wounds are healing, apply more unguents…”
      “And…inside him?”
      “Ah, yes, there, too.”
      “Then make him sleep first. I would not have him hurt again, and 
he will not easily allow that.”
      “Yes, but he must understand, it’s for his own good.”
      “I am sure it is, but it would be too much like being attacked again, 
and he would fight you. And I will not have him hurt.”
      “I will speak to Master Tamrin. He does not tolerate asalil, you 
know. Haldir, that is. Perhaps we could use the dreamsmoke instead.”
      When Master Tamrin came, Celeborn, Rumil and Orophin were 
finishing the last of the bread, butter and cheese the apprentice had 
brought. Haldir had eaten a little bread soaked in milk. He blanched at the 
sight of Kerefinil, following with a tray of bottles, bandages and other 
accoutrements of the healer’s profession. Orophin, seeing his brother’s 
face, stood menacingly. Celeborn reached for Haldir’s hand and held it 
firmly, feeling it shake. 
      “Rumil, Orophin,” he said. “Have you visited the hot spring yet?”
      “No,” replied Orophin tensely.
      “I think this would be a good time for you to do so. I will stay.” 
His eye held Orophin’s, until the younger elf looked down. “I will stay,” 
he repeated.
      “Haldir…” began Rumil.
      “Go,” whispered Haldir.
      As they left, Tamrin seated himself beside the mattress. He asked 
Haldir many questions, and received brief answers, but seemed pleased 
enough with them. Finally, he said, “Now I will need to have a look at 
you. If you would prefer it, we will let you sleep while I do so.”
      “He would prefer it,” said Celeborn firmly. 
      Kerefinil lit a twist of dried leaves from a small brazier on the tray. 
He fanned it carefully with his hand, then brought it to the bed, holding it 
where the smoke would rise to Haldir’s face. “Breathe deeply, try not to 
cough,” he said. Celeborn felt the hand in his tighten almost to the point of 
pain, then begin to loosen. Kerefinil continued to hold the smoking leaves 
in front of Haldir’s face. Celeborn laid his limp hand on the blanket and 
moved away, sitting by the open window.
      “Does the smoke not make you sleepy?” he asked, as Tamrin lifted 
the blankets. 
      “No, my lord, after long exposure we no longer feel the effect.”
      “So if you ever need its benefit, you cannot have it?”
      “There are other things we can use, sir.”
      He said nothing more, leaving them to their work. Kerefinil poured 
into his master’s cupped hands a thick, clear liquid. Tamrin let it trickle 
over Haldir’s back and legs, then he passed his hands slowly over the 
young elf’s skin, not stroking, not rubbing, just letting his palms slide 
softly over the curves, resting them longer where welts or wounds were 
deeper. Where his hands had passed, the skin seemed slightly reddened, 
but faded quickly back to its usual pallor.
      Then he muttered to Kerefinil, who passed items back and forth 
from the tray. They worked quickly but Celeborn was glad he had insisted 
on the dreamsmoke by the time they had finished.
      Tamrin came to stand by the window, wiping his hands on a wet 
cloth. “I think all seems fair, given the circumstances,” he said, inhaling 
deep draughts of fresh air. “He begins to heal although the deeper wounds 
will take longer. He should not try to stand or walk for another few days 
yet. The passage within heals well, it could all have been much worse.”
      Celeborn stared up into the trees. “Had we arrived even a little 
later,” he began, then shook his head. “No, it is over. It is over.” He turned 
back to Tamrin. “When will you need to see him again?”
      “I think there will be no need to do again what we have done now. 
I will leave directions with Kerefinil for preparations to sooth the 
remaining wounds; Orophin and Rumil can be shown how to apply them. 
And they will be happier doing so than allowing others near him.” He 
smiled.
      Celeborn nodded. “They were inseparable as children and would 
protect each other like young wolves. Even from me.”
      “Only one thing troubles me, and that is his hand. When he 
awakens, let him tell Kerefinil how it was broken, for the bones still do not 
lie as they should.”
      “But it will heal?”
      “Eventually. It may take a long time. Had no healer been here to 
do what we have done, he should still have recovered. But it would all 
have taken much longer and been much more grievous to bear.”
      “Then I, and he, are both glad and grateful that you were here, 
Master Tamrin. And Kerefinil as well.”
      Tamrin inclined his head. “I will tell him so, my lord.”
      When he had gone, Celeborn sat beside Haldir again. The young 
sentry was still pale, his face grown thinner than usual. Celeborn watched 
him, avidly seeing him as if for the first time. This face, so familiar and 
yet completely new, awaiting exploration with eyes that saw by a different 
light now. He looked at the black brows and lashes, the smooth skin, 
bruised and discoloured still. 
      “You would never have told me,” thought Celeborn. “So many 
years and it took this to wrench the truth from you. And how that truth has 
made me see, how it has brought me new life! I feel as if the gain is all to 
me and the cost is all to you, my dear one. May it not be so! But in the 
eyes of all, I remain Lord of Lorien and you, my adopted son.” He bent to 
kiss Haldir’s brow. “A chaste and fatherly kiss, when I would do so much 
more. But you, dear, what more would you have me do? For you are 
indeed too young to have known love ere this. And what you have known 
instead, how shall I overcome that? You, who can hardly bear to be 
touched now, how would you be touched by me?” He reached out to 
stroke Haldir’s shoulder, where the blanket had slipped away from satin 
skin. “Perhaps ‘twere best we remain as father and son, only keeping close 
in our hearts what we know.” He pulled up the blanket then touched his 
fingers to his own lips. “Oh Haldir, there is so much I would say to you 
and much more that I would hear you say to me!” Celeborn looked away, 
then closed his eyes and pressed his clenched fists to his face. “Ah, but 
hear me! We have world enough, and time, to say all and hear all. Well 
should I know this, but you have made me as a stranger to myself.” 
Soundlessly he laughed, shaking his fair head. “You have made me like a 
child again.”
      He heard movement in the outer room and slid a little further away 
from the mattress on the floor. Then Rumil and Orophin appeared silently 
at the door. With a last glance at Haldir’s face, Celeborn stood, to be 
hugged by the other two, wet and smelling faintly of sulphur. He 
shepherded them out of the room, closing the door.
      “He begins to heal, Master Tamrin seemed pleased,” he said softly, 
pre-empting their questions. “He has not woken yet. And you, did you 
enjoy the spring?”
      “It’s wonderful,” smiled Rumil. “How soon do you think we can 
take Haldir down to it?”
      “He would enjoy it only after he heals, brother,” Orophin told him 
firmly. “A few small cuts I have about my hands and they stung like 
snakebite when I entered the pool. Even now, I feel them,” he added as he 
wrung water out of his hair.
      A knock sounded at the door. “Come,” called Celeborn, brushing 
at the damp patches on his tunic. He expected to see Kerefinil but instead 
his steward entered the room.
      “My lord,” he said reproachfully, “here you are at last, and I have 
sought you these two hours.”
      “What’s amiss, Arcirithon?”
      Arcirithon opened his mouth, then closed it again. He took a deep 
breath and began to count on his fingers. “The party from East Lorien is 
due to meet you in ten minutes. The papers I left on your desk last night 
remain unread. The argument between Palanfir and Esterion rages still and 
awaits your decision. Fourteen—“
      “Arcirithon, spare me! I will come with all haste. Tell the party 
from East Lorien that I am delayed and will see them in an hour. As to the 
rest, some things, Arcirithon, are of greater import than papers and 
arguments.”
      The seneschal drew himself up to his considerable height and 
bowed. “Of course, my lord. I will await you. As will all the rest.” He 
turned and left.
      Celeborn watched him go and turned to see Orophin and Rumil 
carefully looking everywhere about the room except at him. He waited. Of 
course, it was Rumil who cracked first. A moment later, they were all 
laughing, and trying to muffle the sounds as Arcirithon would not have 
gone too far in those brief moments. If their laughter had a slightly 
hysterical edge to it, only Celeborn noticed. He held his sons tightly, 
grateful for tears that were not of grief.
      
      Haldir awoke near noon to see Rumil before him. He blinked in the 
bright light, slowly moving arms and legs that had been arranged by the 
healers. “Haldir! Brother, he is awake!” called Rumil, over his shoulder. 
“Haldir, how goes it with you?”
      Orophin appeared, tumbling to his knees. “Haldir? Are you well? 
You look a little better,” he said hesitantly. It was true, his brother’s colour 
seemed more normal.
      “I think I do feel better,” replied Haldir. He rolled over slowly and 
found that he was able to lie on his back without too much pain. Other 
parts felt easier, but the places where the arrows had been still hurt him, as 
did his feet and hand. He took a deep breath and let it out again. Rumil 
shouted with delight and hugged him, making him yelp as his brother’s 
weight landed on him. Orophin hauled Rumil up, shoving him away. 
“Little idiot!” he hissed, “you have the grace of a dwarf, jumping on him 
like that!”
      “Leave him, Orophin. Celeborn was here before, where is he 
gone?”
      “Arcirithon came to summon him away, most indignantly, with a 
litany of the duties that awaited him,” grinned Orophin. “You should have 
heard him.”
      “‘East Lorien invades, Palanfir and Esterion have murdered each 
other and their sons seek revenge,’” intoned Rumil in a sepulchral voice, 
“’and my lord hides from his most dutiful servant—‘”
      Orophin shoved him again. “At least he did not call us ‘orphan 
wretches’ this time,” he added.
      “No, but I’ll warrant he was thinking it,” retorted Rumil. “Or say 
you he mellows and loves us in his sunset years?”
      “Nay, I’d not take that bet. But brother, are you better?” Orophin 
turned back to Haldir, who lay smiling as he watched them. “Truly, your 
colour is better.” Gently, he pulled up and re-arranged the blankets.
      “I think so, though some parts are still a little tender.” He gingerly 
lifted his splinted right hand, turning it from side to side, then resting it on 
his chest. “Rumil, what have you done to your hair?”
      Rumil turned, shaking his head. His hair was arranged in a myriad 
of tiny, tight braids. “Is it becoming?”
      “No!” said both of his brothers at once.
      “Ah, but I mean to comb it out once it has dried, so it will be all 
ripples.”
      “You will look like a maiden,” snorted Orophin.
      “Think you so? We shall see. I might steal a robe from Iruviel and 
see the Mysteries at last.”
      “And if they catch you they will make a real maiden of you, and 
we will have a sister at last.”
      “Or I might go and swim again and my hair will become straight, 
and my masculinity preserved thereby.”
      “It will take more than straight hair to confer masculinity upon 
you, little sister.”
      “Enough, my side hurts when I laugh!”
      “Quickly, summon Lord Arcirithon, and none of us will laugh 
again.”
      “Stop it. Tell me rather, where you swam? The hot spring? I have 
never seen it.”
      “Ah, brother, we must take you there, as soon as you are able. It is 
wonderful,” enthused Rumil. “All steam and stink and bubbles.”
      “What stink?”
      “This, smell this.” Rumil bunched together a handful of his silvery 
braids and bent his head to the mattress.
      “But there is often a smell about you, brother,” said Orophin.
      “O, unjust! And I use Iruviel’s sweetest scents!”
      “You smell of sulphur. And you, Orophin.”
      “It is a deep, hot pool beneath the hill, but do not go there until 
your skin is whole or you will fly out of it, so will it sting.”
      “Beneath the hill, say you? I will not go there at all.”
      “But it is not dark, there is a crack in the stone to vent the 
sulphurous exhalations of the earth,” said Orophin enthusiastically. “And, 
at the right moment, the rays of the sun pierce it and glow like golden 
knives through the swirling mists. We were enraptured, were we not, 
Rumil?”
      “Truly, Haldir, it was a wondrous moment. I shall thank father for 
sending us, for I, too, would not gladly go beneath the stones like that.”
      “Perhaps he might come with us,” mused Haldir.
      “First we must quell the fierce Arcirithon.”
      “Did he say he would return?”
      “I hope not!”
      “No, fool, Lord Celeborn.”
      “He did not say, but he came to the door to look upon you before 
he left. He said he was sorry to leave you.”
      Haldir smiled at that.
      “Come, Orophin, help me undo these braids, it is dry now; I want 
to see how it looks.”
      Orophin reached out a long leg and hooked it around Rumil’s 
waist, sliding him close on the polished, wooden boards. They began to 
unravel the braids, combing with their fingers the silver cascade thus 
loosened.
      Haldir lay back contentedly, watching them sitting together in the 
sunlight. He felt as if he had moved into another world from that where he 
had been, and, dear to him though they were, it was not the love of his 
brothers that had drawn him forth. And, skilled though he was, neither had 
it been the ministration of Master Tamrin. Had he both of those but not the 
third, he would still have been sunk in despair and misery.
      The image of Celeborn’s blue eyes filled his thoughts, the touch of 
his hand upon his cheek, his soft voice. All familiar things, he had known 
these since childhood. And he had been kissed since childhood too, but 
what a new world now of kisses! He touched a finger to his lips and 
sighed, suddenly, desperately, wanting Celeborn to be with him at that 
moment. That it could not be, he well knew. How familiar would he 
become with this futile longing in the months and years ahead, he 
wondered. For Celeborn was the Lord of Lorien, the husband of the Lady 
of the Wood. Haldir was a sentry. No, for now, he was not even that.
      His thoughts were interrupted by Kerefinil, nudging open the door 
with an elbow. Orophin arose to help him with the tray. They placed it on 
the ground and Rumil exclaimed and began to open pots and lift covers as 
Kerefinil blinked at his rippling locks. Then he tore his eyes away and 
knelt before Haldir.
      “Master Tamrin enquired about your hand,” he began. 
      “This? The fingers are broken, are they not?” Haldir replied warily.
      “Yes, but how did it happen? The master said it could not have 
been a simple break, for the bones will not set as they should.”
      Haldir’s lips tightened. Orophin looked up and left the tray, 
moving to his brother’s side.
      “When…while I still held one of my knives, a man stamped on it.”
      “But the joints are mis-aligned, not just broken,” said Kerefinil 
earnestly.
      Haldir’s face was taut and pale. Orophin reached for his good hand 
and his brother clasped it tightly. Haldir took a deep breath and went on. 
“The leader of them took delight in grinding my hand in his, once he saw 
that it was, it was—“ he swallowed.
      “Yes, I see,” whispered Kerefinil, suddenly looking sick. “I will let 
the master know.”
      He stood and hurried out. 
      Haldir closed his eyes and Orophin moaned, sliding down beside 
him and wrapping his arm around him.
      Rumil, who had forgotten the food, came to Haldir’s other side and 
curled around him too. 
      “If you do not strangle him, brother, I will,” he muttered.
      Haldir shuddered, brief respite forgotten as he spiralled back into 
the flickering firelight and the cold night air and his burning skin. The 
rough boulder grazed his chest as he was raped again, a spear of pain 
driving into him, and over it all, his throbbing arm and the crooning voice, 
“Pretty elf, look at me…” He was shaking, shaking, his hand hurt, 
someone called his name, shouting “Haldir! Open your eyes!” Open your 
eyes, I want to see you feel it…
      Fingers touched his face and he opened his eyes quickly before the 
man—
      Orophin stared wildly at him, face streaked with tears. “Haldir!” he 
cried. “Stop it! Come back to us, brother, it is over!” He was panting. His 
fingers slid, shaking, down Haldir’s cheek. “It is over,” he whispered.
      Haldir looked from his to Rumil’s terrified face. He rolled onto his 
side and curled up tightly, not daring to close his eyes again. Rumil curved 
around him, clinging to him and Orophin fell to lie in a heap beside him, 
chest heaving and tears sliding from his eyes to the braids in his hair. He 
turned his head so they were face-to-face.
      “Brother, when will this end?” he whispered.
      Haldir shook his head. “Forgive me, Orophin, I could not—“
      “No! No,” wailed Orophin. “I did not mean it like that, Haldir!”
      “I know. I know.”
      Rumil sat up. “Shall I go and call father, Haldir? It seems better if 
he is here with us.”
      Haldir caught his breath. “Celeborn, oh, love,” he wanted to cry 
out, “I need you!” Instead, he let out his breath slowly. “No, there is no 
need to trouble him.” He untangled his fingers from Orophin’s and 
reached out to touch his brother’s face. “See, I am well now. I am well.”
      Orophin reached for him, clasping him fiercely, and Rumil lay 
down again behind him and so they stayed, holding each other tightly 
through the long, sunny afternoon. After a while, Haldir slept, soothed by 
the warmth of his brothers beside him, and what dreams he had were 
peaceful.
      Kerefinil came in the evening and clucked his tongue as he picked 
up the untouched tray. At the sound, Orophin stirred and fixed him with 
such a basilisk glare that he quailed and backed out hastily. The evening 
drew in, darker and cooler, and the brothers huddled closer together and 
slept until dawn.
      Rumil was first to awaken and he went out to wash at the pump. 
He stripped, wetting himself thoroughly in the cold water, from head to 
toes. When he returned, shivering and wrapped in his shirt, he found a 
fresh tray in the outer room but no sign of the journeyman healer. He 
smiled thinly. Kerefinil had finally learned tact. He rubbed himself dry 
with his shirt then pulled on clean clothes. Orophin arose and found him 
combing his hair.
      “You no longer resemble a maiden, brother dear,” he said, kissing 
Rumil.
      “It was not a becoming look, methought.”
      “No, indeed.”
      “On you, though, perhaps…”
      Orophin laughed and shook his head as he went out.
      A movement caught Rumil’s eye and he saw Haldir stir and 
stretch, then wince. Haldir looked up and scowled. “Brother, I am not 
glass.”
      “No, you are adamant.” Rumil knelt and embraced him.
      “Not that neither. But I am hungry.”
      “Glad am I to hear it.” He fetched the tray. “So am I, and I will 
match you bite for bite.”
      Haldir smiled. “Many a time did I say that to you, and went hungry 
because of it.”
      “What, you never ate after I went tearfully to my bed?”
      “O poor waif that you were. No, of course not. I had given my 
word only to eat if you did.”
      Rumil shook his head, smiling. “Well, here is your chance for 
revenge, dear.”
      “Then would you go to your bed looking like a maiden of lapsed 
virtue, for I have several days of eating to catch up.”
      Rumil pulled his hair around and squinted at it. “Ai, it is still curly! 
So I soaked my poor head under that cold pump to no avail?”
      “It is a tenacious curl. Perhaps due to the waters of the hot spring?”
      “Think you so?” Rumil brightened and ceased to pull at his hair. “I 
wonder how grateful Iruviel would be to learn of this. Or Melcarial, 
perhaps?”
      Haldir laughed. “Am I to become an uncle so soon?”
      “The Heavens forfend!” Rumil looked shocked. “The rings I aim 
for are not cold, hard gold, nor silver neither.” 
      “Rumil, you are a scandal,” said Orophin, at the door. “I hope you 
two halflings have left me something.”
      “And if I am,” replied Rumil, “scandal is a family tradition, is it 
not?”
      “If not yet, it may fast become one,” said Haldir. “Orophin, will 
you share this apple with me?”
      “Gladly, if you can not finish it.”
      “What, full already? That was several days’ worth of eating? No 
halfling you, brother.”
      “I find I am less hungry than I thought. But at least I have made a 
start.”
      “That is true enough. Very well, I have more mercy than you did 
when I was a babe and I will not force you.”
      “Rumil,” smiled Haldir, “You could not.”
      “I would not,” replied Rumil, “out of respect for your present 
frailty, brother. Besides, Master Tamrin said we were not to push you.”
      “Did he so?” said Haldir drily, raising an eyebrow. “And what else 
did he say?”
      “That we were to deal pleasantly with you. I begin to find this a 
strain, brother: speed your mending that I might abuse you again.”
      “Rumil,” said Orophin, “your lame wit abuses us both. Why do 
you not go forth on this fine morning and inflict it on some poor maid 
instead?”
      “Now I am offended. If my presence pains you, I shall go and 
drown myself in the sulphur pool and then you will repent of your harsh 
words.”
      
      When he had gone, Orophin took away the tray and brought in 
some of the things they had fetched back from the sentries’ quarters. 
Haldir’s eyes widened at the sight of his two knives, dirty and clogged 
with dried blood. He held out his hand and Orophin passed one to him.
      “I thought to clean them for you. We have brought all your things 
back.” 
      “That would be well, ere they be marked forever,” replied Haldir, 
picking up the second blade. He turned it over then looked at it more 
closely. “A murrain upon all their bastard sons,” he growled. “See, the 
handle is cracked!”
      Orophin peered at it. “It can be made anew,” he replied.
      “Aye, it will be whole before the hand that held it,” said Haldir 
bitterly. He rested the blade on his blankets and lay gingerly back again, 
watching Orophin at work with oil and rags. “When you have done, 
brother, will you do another thing for me?”
      “Only ask.”
      “Fetch some water in, for I would be clean as well and I cannot yet 
walk. I’ll not ask you to be my servant for long, I swear.”
      “For your sake, I hope not, but for my part, I am your slave, and 
willingly,” Orophin smiled.
      When he had finished with the knives, Orophin wrapped them and 
laid them to one side. He leaned out of the window. “Our rascal brother 
does not return. Perhaps he met some maid and regales her with his wit 
after all.” He turned back to see a sombre look in his brother’s eye. “What 
is it, Haldir?” he asked, returning to his side.
      Haldir looked away, biting his lip. “I suppose…Is it common 
knowledge, then, what they…Do all know what the humans did to me?”
      “No,” said Orophin firmly. “None know; none shall. All who went 
with father that day have sworn to say nothing save that the men tortured 
you. That much cannot be hidden. But as to the rest, all vowed out of 
respect for you and for what you did that day, that it should not be spoken 
of.”
      Haldir closed his eyes. “For that, I am grateful,” he whispered, “for 
all I want is to hide from the world.”
      Orophin embraced him. “When we went back to quarters,” he said 
softly, “the story was told of how you single-handedly stopped an entire 
troop of men. You need not hide from the world, brother.”
      Haldir smiled bitterly. “They were a very stupid troop of men. 
Why they sent no-one across the rocks to come up behind me, I never 
knew. And I feared all that long afternoon to smell the smoke and to see 
the flames and to burn with the tree.”
      Orophin made no reply, only held him close. Haldir reached for his 
hand and clasped it tightly as tension quivered through his body. In the 
torments that had followed, he had forgotten the terrible possibilities 
which preyed on his nerves even as he picked off the humans. Why were 
those thoughts returning now? He was safe, held in his brother’s warm, 
strong arms, there was nothing to fear except the cruel shadows in his own 
mind. “And who is master of that, if not I?” he asked himself severely. 
Finally, he pulled away.
      “Come,” he said, “fetch me this water, or you will not want to be 
near me, and that would grieve me.”
      Orophin hugged him before sitting up. “Little chance of that. But 
tarry a while and you can have the water hot, for Kerefinil has lit a fire. I 
can smell the smoke.”
      “Yes. So can I.” Haldir sat up and shook his head. “I am a fool, 
Orophin, for it is the smell of the smoke made me remember my fears.”
      “No, brother, why do you say that? It is natural to fear that which 
has hurt you.”
      “But I did not burn. They rode; shall I fear horses? Shall I fear 
arrows because they shot me?”
      “Shall you fear life,” said Rumil, “for nearly losing it?” He stood at 
the door, holding Kerefinil’s tray. Putting it down, he came to Haldir’s 
other side and dropped lightly onto the mattress. “Remember this?” he 
said, holding out his left arm. “Remember when I broke it, playing on the 
swing after you had forbidden it? Did I not fear ropes and climbing after?”
      “Yes.”
      “For how long? Tell me.”
      “I no longer recall. Not long.”
      “Until my arm was healed, then I feared no more.”
      “Indeed, barely healed, I remember now.”
      “Until it was whole, I was afraid to climb. After it healed—hah! 
Brother, you are not healed. It has been three days, barely. Do not be so 
harsh. Come, you were always gentle with me and I was a very fiend. 
Now be gentle with yourself, Haldir.” He laid himself across his brother’s 
lap, looking up into Haldir’s melancholy eyes. “And if you will not be,” he 
went on, “then neither shall we, and we will bring icy water from the 
pump and souse you in it at once.”
      Haldir smiled at last, reaching out to tousle Rumil’s hair. The 
younger elf seized his hand and held it. “Nay, leave it, for it took me an 
age to get it straight again.” He twined his fingers through Haldir’s and 
drew his hand against his own cheek. “And then I was waylaid by 
Kerefinil and given a lecture on how we were to anoint you with the oils 
and potions he prepared. So, Orophin, fetch this water and I will find 
towels and let us be about it.”
      They spread a cloth on the floor and Haldir knelt upon it, to be 
washed in warm water with a cleansing oil stirred into it. Orophin’s eyes 
became stony when he saw for the first time the extent of the marks of 
whip, spear and arrow. He stroked a wet cloth over Haldir’s shoulders, 
chest and back and Rumil followed with a dry one, keeping up all the 
while a stream of light chatter about what gossip of Lorien he had learned 
while at the sulphur pool. They contrived also to wash his hair, pouring 
water from a jug as he leaned over an empty bucket. 
      As Rumil knelt at his side and combed it, he exclaimed “Brother, 
your hair falls like the leaves in autumn!” 
      “No,” replied Haldir. “They tried to hold me still by it and I could 
not be still, and therefore was it pulled out.” He turned to see the anguish 
on his brother’s face. “‘Twill grow again, Rumil.”
      But Rumil’s endless stream of good humour had failed him at last. 
“Brother, how could you bear it?” he wept.
      Haldir took his hand. “What else could I do?”
      “Come, Rumil,” said Orophin brusquely, “what of these 
concoctions, then?” He pulled the tray over. Haldir eyed it dubiously.
      Rumil rubbed a hand over his face and pointed to a small, round 
jar. “This is to be put on any open wound, and that in the bottle, 
everywhere else. And there are clean bandages. And we are not to touch 
your hand for Master Tamrin will come tomorrow to see to it.”
      Orophin lifted the lid of the jar and swirled a finger in it. He 
sniffed the blob of green paste. “I know that smell.”
      Rumil replied “’Tis elenil. Come, brother, let us see where we may 
daub you with this.”
      Reluctantly Haldir let slip the towel around his shoulders. “Here, 
where the arrows were. And my feet.” He tensed as Orophin drew near, 
but was relieved to feel no sting or bite from the medicine. Rumil then 
applied the milky liquid from the bottle, and they fixed clean bandages 
about his body and feet. 
      While the lotions dried, Orophin cleared away the sodden towels 
and the buckets, leaving them by the door of the outer room. He found 
clean bedding, neatly folded, and remade the bed. Haldir lay down and fell 
asleep at once.
      His brothers went to the outer room and clung fiercely to each 
other for long minutes. 
      “I shall make bowstrings from his hair,” whispered Rumil, “and 
may they send my arrows straight into the hearts of his enemies.”
      “Aye to that, brother. But I am hopeful he is mending. Only the 
deepest wounds are not closed yet, and even they have begun to heal.”
      They ate when Haldir next woke, then Rumil and Orophin set to 
fletching arrows while their brother gazed disconsolately at them from his 
bed. After a while, he dozed and restless images flitted through his mind. 
He was walking endlessly in the forest. He had always loved to be alone in 
the woods; there, he felt completely at home and had no care under the 
sky. But in his dream he was uneasy, always feeling that there were things 
just beyond his sight and his hearing. They were watching him, waiting for 
something to happen, some signal, at which he knew they would fall upon 
him.
      He awoke with a start and Rumil was instantly at his side. Haldir 
waved him away irritably and sighed.
      “I am sure you must tire of being asked ‘what ails you, brother?’” 
said Rumil gently. 
      “As much as you tire of asking it!” snapped Haldir without 
thinking.
      “Why, not at all, then,” replied Rumil gleefully. He swooped down 
to kiss Haldir’s brow. “So, what ails you, brother?”
      Haldir shook his head and smiled ruefully. “That I will never beat 
you in a battle of wits,” he said. “That I am bored with lying abed and 
tired of not being able to move, and afraid that I am become like an old 
woman.”
      “Then shall poor Orophin have two sisters.”
      “Where is he?” asked Haldir, looking about. “Did I so weary him 
with fetching and carrying this morning that he is fled?”
      Rumil laughed and lay down, snuggling close to his brother. “No, 
he has taken the fruit of our day’s labour back to the guards’ quarters. You 
would not believe our industry this afternoon, Haldir. I do not know how 
many arrows we finished. We used up all the shafts and heads, though 
there are still some more feathers.”
      Haldir made no more reply, only turning his face toward Rumil’s, 
and they lay quietly together. Rumil’s arm across his chest soothed him 
and the feeling of dread lingering from his dream finally faded. In its place 
came the longing that he had tried all afternoon to quell, the longing to see 
Celeborn again, to be held by him. He sighed.
      “Perhaps he will come in the evening,” he thought.
      But Celeborn came not that evening, nor the next day. Master 
Tamrin did, and looked at his hand and said at great length that it would 
eventually heal but one had to be patient with bones.
      When darkness fell, Haldir turned away from his brothers and lay 
on his side and wept silently. Had he only imagined the look in Celeborn’s 
eye? Had he dreamt their few words? Was he a fool to think the Lord of 
the Wood had no more calls on his time than a mere sentry? Or even a 
lover, if he had not dreamt those blue eyes and that strong arm and that 
look of wonder. What time could Celeborn spare for him? He sighed. 
What had he expected? What would change? He would heal, he would 
return to his duties. He would see his lord rarely and from afar and the 
Lord of Lorien would not notice him.
      He looked around. He was in the forest again. But no-one would 
notice him, not if he stayed low, hidden. But he could not move, he could 
not run, and something was coming. He looked around: he could see 
nothing. 
      He was alone in a small clearing, and the leaves of the bushes 
around him shivered and moved and men stepped through them. There 
were men all around him and he was alone.
      “That’s it? One fucking elf?”
      They came closer, drawing tight the circle around him. He had no 
knives, he had no bow, he was alone in their midst. Rough hands reached 
for him, and he knew he must make no sound and he could not move and 
they touched him, seized him held him tore him and he screamed…
      Rumil and Orophin had gone to the outside room to talk to 
Celeborn, who had come at last. The Lord of Lorien was the first to reach 
Haldir’s side, folding him in his arms as he convulsed with dry sobs. His 
brothers knelt beside him, not knowing what to do. Haldir quietened at 
last, limp in Celeborn’s arms. His eyes focused then widened and he tried 
to speak.
      Celeborn touched a finger to his lips. “No,” he murmured, “hush, 
say nothing. I am here now.” He held him tightly and Haldir closed his 
eyes again, burying his face against Celeborn’s shoulder. His breathing 
gradually slowed until he slept again and Celeborn continued to hold him.
      Rumil slumped against Orophin’s side, putting his face in his 
hands. Orophin wrapped an arm around him, his fierce eyes glittering with 
unshed tears. 
      “This, this drives me to despair,” wailed Rumil. “He seems to be 
better, he smiles and talks to us, and then, and then…” 
      Orophin turned his face away, unable to speak.
      Celeborn looked up. “Has this happened before?”
      “Yes,” muttered Orophin, “more than once. ‘Twas more than his 
body they broke.” He bit his knuckles.
      “I even asked one time,” Rumil went on, “if I should call you, but 
he said he was well and not to trouble you.”
      Celeborn felt as if a shard of ice pierced his heart. He bit his lip 
and turned his face away for a long moment. “Call me,” he whispered 
fiercely. “No. Do not call me, for I shall not leave. If he cannot walk and 
will not be carried then I stay here. The world will turn without me for a 
few days.”
      They remained as they were a while longer, then Rumil began to 
nod and Orophin pulled him down to lay his head on his lap, stroking his 
hair gently. 
      “Ah, it is time we all slept,” said Celeborn. “That fool from 
Mirkwood, I could have run from the room. Never one word when twenty 
could be uttered.” He stretched out beside Haldir, pulling blankets over 
them both as Orophin did the same. Celeborn reached out and clasped 
Orophin’s hand and they drew closer, Haldir and Rumil nestled between 
them.
      In the morning, after they had eaten, Celeborn helped to apply 
more unguents to Haldir for Kerefinil had brought a fresh supply. Then he 
suggested that Orophin and Rumil might like to go to the pool again and 
after a little more teasing of their brother, they left. Celeborn watched 
discretely from the window, then closed both the outer room’s door and 
that of the inner one. He lay beside Haldir, leaning over him, holding him 
gently in his arms and kissed his brow. Haldir smiled and sighed 
contentedly. Celeborn brushed his lips softly over each eyelid, then the 
bruised cheek. “The marks on you are fading,” he murmured. 
      “Little do I care as long as you are here.”
      “But I care. I want you to be well,” replied Celeborn, touching his 
lips to Haldir’s nose and mouth. There he lingered, dipping again and 
again for Haldir had such perfect lips, he realised, the upper sculpted like a 
bow and the lower, full and sensual. He tried to lean back a little, the 
better to admire, but found he could not for Haldir’s hand was behind his 
neck and pulled him down again. Those delicious lips parted slightly, 
catching his lower lip between them, playing with it. Celeborn rested his 
weight more comfortably on his elbow, gazing into Haldir’s dreamy, half-
closed eyes. He nipped at the sculpted curve of Haldir’s top lip, unable to 
resist touching it with the tip of his tongue. Haldir breathed in and his 
eyelids fluttered. His mouth opened like a flower in the sun and Celeborn 
could no more resist than a hungry bee might have. He slid the tip of his 
tongue just inside Haldir’s lips, slowly, barely touching the soft, slippery 
flesh. Haldir’s face flushed and he moaned, trying to twist away, but his 
hand on Celeborn’s neck remained firm. Celeborn plunged deeper, feeling 
teeth and reaching to the hard roof of Haldir’s mouth, stroking that 
delicate spot where it curved back and up from the teeth and Haldir 
moaned and writhed beneath him. Finally Celeborn pulled back, dizzy and 
panting. Haldir’s hand fell away as all strength left him and he was as limp 
as a newly-unfurled leaf in Celeborn’s arms. Celeborn collapsed beside 
him, laughing.
      “O that I might have done this years ago! Wretch, why did you 
wait so long to tell me?” He rolled over to look at his lover again. 
      Haldir cast down his eyes shyly. “I never dared to imagine this,” he 
replied.
      “No? What did you imagine? What did you desire?”
      “To be near you. To be in the same room, to look at you and hear 
you. I dreamt often of the year when you took us all to live in the forest 
and learn the craft of it.”
      “Almost three centuries ago and you dream of it still? I did enjoy 
that year, though, a simple hunter beneath the trees again.”
      “I dream that we might live so, only you and I.”
      “Ah, child, that can only be a dream.”
      “I know.”
      Celeborn curled his index finger and stroked the back of it along 
the line of Haldir’s chin, along his jaw, and following the curve of his ear 
up to the top. He traced the tip of the finger back down the front of that 
delicate ear to the soft lobe, caressing it. He bent down to repeat the caress 
with his lips and Haldir turned his head a little to offer himself up to 
Celeborn’s kisses. They became more insistent, along the vulnerable white 
skin of his throat and he tilted his head back, sighing. That soft, wanton 
sound made Celeborn long to bite and suck and mark his lover as his own 
but he held back, knowing better than Haldir did how long it would be 
before he could accept rougher treatment.
      They both heard the outer door open. Celeborn sat up and Rumil 
and Orophin found him cross-legged beside Haldir. Celeborn smiled at 
how their faces, flushed from the hot spring, matched their brother’s, 
flushed for another reason entirely. Luckily the other two did not seem to 
notice. They enthused about the sulphur pool again while they dried 
themselves and their hair.
      “When you are whole,” said Celeborn to Haldir, “we four will all 
go together.” Then he contrived to send Rumil and Orophin both off on 
errands, one to fetch some papers and clean clothes for him, the other with 
a message for Anaximor. When they had gone, he lay down again beside 
Haldir and they wrapped their arms about each other, lying in 
companionable silence.
      Eventually Celeborn spoke. “Did they tell you that Feremil has 
asked me to appoint another Guardian?”
      “No, why?”
      “He feels at fault for what befell you.”
      “No, how can he be? They would have come no matter who was 
Guardian.”
      “Now you are disingenuous, Haldir. Had another been Guardian, 
you might not have been alone.”
      “Who is to say? We have been short of sentries for a long time.”
      “I had not realised how badly the watch fared. And my lady says I 
should let matters attend to themselves more! But, Haldir, few were drawn 
to Feremil as they had been to his predecessor. He has not your father’s 
glamour.”
      After a long hesitation Haldir simply asked “Who would you put in 
his place?”
      “For now, Anaximor. He has agreed to it for a decade or so but no 
longer. Then will I need to find another.”
      Haldir changed the subject. “What papers are these Rumil will 
fetch?”
      “The reckoning of the mellyrn and their ages and states.”
      “Have there been many seedlings? I have seen few enough 
myself.”
      “Too few, fewer each century. Which do you know of?”
      They fell to talking of the mellyrn, the great trees that were the 
heart of Lothlorien and homes to the elven folk. Orophin returned while 
they spoke thus and gave to Celeborn a letter from Anaximor.
      “It seems this present tragedy has shamed many,” said Celeborn 
softly, “and Anaximor is overwhelmed with volunteers for the watch. But 
he laments their lack of the proper skills. Who’d have thought so many of 
our people no longer know how to wield bow or knife?”
      “They can be taught,” said Orophin tersely, “as we were.”
      “Nay, not as you were, for I cannot spend a year in the forest with 
all of them. Anaximor wants you three to help teach them. What say you?”
      Haldir sat up. “Ask this not of me; how can I teach what I cannot 
do?”
      “It is not from lack of skill you cannot do it.”
      “No, from lack of fingers!”
      “That will pass.”
      “So says Tamrin. In a few years.”
      Orophin cut in, “I would help in every way I could, to make sure 
none is ever again hurt as you were, brother.”
      “How can I look them in the eye when all I can think is, ‘tis 
because of me, you are here?”
      “Truer than you think. If not for you, those beasts would have 
overrun the western border at least and who knows who would not be here 
had that happened!”
      Celeborn listened to them argue and remembered Haldir’s 
overriding thought when the youth had farspoken him: ‘My love, I have 
failed.’
      Quietly, he asked “Haldir, would you do this if I asked?”
      Haldir stared at him angrily. Then he bowed his head. “I would do 
it if you asked it,” he replied softly.
      “Then you shall not.” Celeborn drew him close. “You will stay 
with me instead. These days have shown that I need someone about me 
with a view of the world less distant than Arcirithon’s. His eye looks too 
much to Lindon and not enough to Lorien.”
      There was a thud from the outer room then Rumil entered with a 
bundle of clothing in his arms. He dropped it in the corner then collapsed 
dramatically upon Haldir’s bedding. 
      “Next time, brother, I go to quarters and you go to Arcirithon,” he 
panted.
      Orophin bent down to poke him. “I am sure we were despatched as 
best befitted us, I to the soldiers and you to the politician.”
      “Dare you call me that?” Rumil pulled him down to the floor and 
rolled over him to sit straddling his belly. “So, he grinned, “What word 
from the soldiers?”
      “Only that you are a squirrel!” Orophin shoved and twisted and 
then he was on top. 
      Celeborn pulled Haldir away from the flailing arms and legs. “In 
all these years, have they changed at all,” he asked, “except to grow bigger 
and more dangerous?”
      “And you think they will be fitting instructors for nervous new 
sentries?” retorted Haldir. “Stop it, you two dwarves!” 
      Rumil was on top again, sitting on Orophin’s chest with his knees 
on his arms. Orophin had begun to bring a leg up to hook around his neck 
but at Haldir’s shout he laid it down again. Rumil bounced off to lie beside 
him.
      “I feel I must do that from time to time, brother dear, for you are a 
tall tree that needs occasional lopping.”
      “Whereas you are stunted since—“
      “Enough!” smiled Celeborn. “Did you get those papers from 
Arcirithon?”
      “Aye, those and many more besides. All are out there.” He waved 
a hand to the outer room. “Ah,” he said, “I think I see Kerefinil’s tray. 
And as you have already been anointed this day, Haldir, it can only be 
food.”
      When they had eaten, Orophin laid out the shafts and feathers he 
had brought back and he and Rumil began work again.
      Haldir picked up an arrow head and scowled, tossing it in his left 
hand. “I would help, if I could,” he said.
      “No, indeed,” replied Rumil, “you take your ease and tell us that 
we are doing it all wrong and all will be as it ever was.” His brother threw 
the arrow head at him.
      “Haldir, if you would be busy, you can help me.” Celeborn held a 
roll of paper and a small leather case. “Open these and find the most 
recent set of reckonings. Then you can read them out and I will write the 
tally. It should be the first parchment.” 
      Haldir unrolled the papers and began to spread them out while 
Celeborn wetted his ink. 
      “Why are all the old papers kept with the new?” grumbled Haldir 
as he shuffled them, picking some out.
      “Because all were on my desk and all were rolled up together. That 
way, none is lost.”
      “Might it not be better to put away all the ones from previous 
years?”
      “That can be your first task. As long as they will be found again.”
      Haldir glowered. “If the tally is kept, why do they need to be found 
again at all?”
      “So if I need to I can check who made each reckoning.”
      “Why can you not put their names on the tally?”
      “Because there is no room.”
      “Write smaller!”
      They glared at each other then Haldir’s lips tensed as he tried not 
to smile. Celeborn laughed aloud. “You are as relentless as Arcirithon!” he 
cried. “I begin to think I have made a bad bargain here.” 
      Rumil looked up from the feather he was trimming. “Nay, we will 
not take him back,” he grinned.
      The rest of the day passed gently. Haldir and Celeborn amused 
themselves with meaningful glances and the occasional lingering touch of 
a hand. Once he saw this possibility, Celeborn often found it necessary to 
verify Haldir’s reading by reaching for the paper he held. If Haldir’s 
brothers found it odd that he did not protest when his word was questioned 
again and again, they simply smiled to each other and said nothing. 
Eventually, Rumil picked up the bundles of finished arrows and nudged 
Orophin.
      “Come, brother, shall we take these to the quartermaster?”
      Orophin looked up. “But I have not finished the ones—“
      Rumil kicked him. “Come, it will soon be dark.” Come, he 
mouthed silently.
      Orophin suddenly understood. “Ah, yes, of course,” he said. “In 
fact, might we not eat there and so spend a little time with our fellows?”
      “Haldir, do you mind if we leave you for a few hours?” asked 
Rumil innocently. 
      “If it pleases you sir, to be left with our surly brother,” Orophin 
added to Celeborn.
      “An it please me or no,” replied Celeborn gravely, “I dare say I can 
tolerate it a while, for your sakes.”
      “Sorry indeed am I to be such a burden to you all,” said Haldir 
sadly.
      “Oh, a terrible burden,” agreed Rumil. “We pass you back and 
forth like so much unwanted old furniture.”
      “Oh, get you gone!” retorted the unwanted old furniture.
      They clattered noisily out. Celeborn smiled and put down his pen. 
Haldir held up a warning hand and continued to read from the paper he 
held. A moment later, Rumil peered around the door. 
      “Ah, there it is,” he said. Blithely ignoring two pairs of blue eyes 
staring coldly at him, he picked up his cloak. “We may be late. Especially 
if the wine is good.”
      “If it is good, bring some back,” replied Celeborn. This time, he 
followed Rumil out and closed both doors behind him. 
      “Whenever he leaves very loudly it a signal that he plans to come 
back quietly,” Haldir remarked. “He caught me once with that trick when 
we were children and has never ceased trying to do so again.” He had 
gathered together the papers and rolled them up.
      “Hah! You see?” said the Lord of the Wood triumphantly. “It is 
second nature simply to roll them all up together and so they stay from 
year to year.”
      “I will sort them out when we leave this place and go home,” 
replied Haldir with dignity.
      Celeborn sat beside him and drew him into his arms. “Do they 
know, then?”
      “They know I love you. How could they not? They have grown up 
knowing it.”
      “But do they know I, we…”
      “They certainly suspect it, don’t you think?” Haldir smiled tiredly 
at him.
      “Oh, dear.”
      “Nay, they will not utter a word. We three know how to keep our 
secrets.”
      “And what secrets might those be?”
      Haldir shook his head. Celeborn drew him down to the mattress, 
pulling back up the blankets that had slipped away. “Your shoulders are 
cold, come closer to me.” He wrapped his arms around Haldir and held 
him near, being careful of the bandaged hand laid against his chest. “How 
is your hand?”
      “It is still a little tender. But I think all else is much improved, even 
my feet.” 
      “Do you think you can walk yet?”
      “Soon, I hope. How I hope. If you were not here, I would find this 
insupportable.” He sighed. “Poor Orophin and Rumil, to have this worry 
placed upon them.”
      “To say nothing of you.”
      “I am eldest, they should not have had to see…to see me like this.”
      “Haldir, you are not made of stone. They have seen indomitable 
courage. They have seen pain. And they have seen you overcome it. They, 
too, will be stronger for this, though I grieve at the cost of such a lesson.”
      Haldir held tightly to Celeborn’s hand. “How can you say that I 
have overcome?” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “I cannot close my 
eyes without seeing them, the voice of that, that pig continues to, to, I 
cannot…”
      “No, hush,” murmured Celeborn softly. “Do not let your spirit 
return to that time. Open your eyes, Haldir. Good. Look at me. Come, tell 
me, where are you now?”
      “I am caught between here and there, Celeborn, I am pulled back!” 
      “No, no tears, listen to me. Listen to my voice. Feel my arms 
around you. You lie in a soft bed: feel it. It is warm here: feel it. I am with 
you: hear me. I am with you: touch me. It is quiet here: listen. Listen to 
my voice: Haldir, you are safe now. It is safe now.” Slowly, the tension 
ebbed from Haldir’s trembling limbs. His breathing became slower and 
deeper.
      “Where are you, Haldir?”
      “I am with you.”
      “Where are you, Haldir?”
      “I am safe now.” 


Title: Heart and Body Chapter 4 / 9 
Author (including email): Implacida (Implacida@hotmail.com) 
Pairing(s): Haldir / Celeborn 
Rating:  R 
Summary: Life begins to return to normal 
Disclaimer: Tolkien’s characters are his, mine are mine. No profit made or 
copyright infringement intended. 
Warning (only if necessary): Angst, sex 

      
      “Have you had enough of those two yet?”
      “Enough and more, after the first few pages.” Haldir smothered a 
yawn. “Still, it is reassuring in a way.” He had started reading the mass of 
documents submitted by Palanfir and Esterion for the Lord of Lorien’s 
judgement.
      Celeborn had sanded his parchment and was cleaning his quills. 
“Reassuring? In what way?” he enquired, putting down the last one. He 
went to sit beside Haldir, who moved his long legs off the bench to make 
room. Celeborn put an arm around him and kissed his brow.
      “’Tis reassuring,” said Haldir, resting his head on Celeborn’s 
shoulder, “that with all the problems about relations with Mirkwood, the 
lack of trained sentries, the state of the mellyrn, all the things you worry 
about—“
      “And you.”
      “—and me, now, yet these two idiots can find nothing more 
important to do than bicker endlessly about who insulted whom five 
hundred years ago. It means that, despite everything, most Elves still feel 
completely safe and secure in Lothlorien.”
      “It is well enough for the common folk to think that. But a ruler 
must never so be lulled. And I fear I have been of late.”
      Haldir nestled more closely. “I hope Arcirithon has not taken 
lasting offence.”
      “I think his dignity will not allow it. And he has long desired to go 
to Lindon to visit his wife and daughter. I am sure he will, as soon as he 
realises the sun will still rise and set despite your taking over a trivial few 
of his duties. Trouble yourself no more on his account. And trouble this 
poor hand no more,” added Celeborn, clasping Haldir’s right hand in his. 
“Let your fingers rest.”
      “Master Tamrin said exercise will mend them sooner.”
      “Aye, but you do not cease from dawn to dusk.” Celeborn drew the 
hand to his lips and kissed each of the stiff, crooked fingers, not letting 
Haldir pull it away. “And, as it is several hours since dusk, it is time we 
were abed. Come, shall I carry you?”
      “No!” said Haldir emphatically, squirming away. “That was 
different.”
      “Indeed. Your feet barely healed and you insisted on walking all 
the way up here unaided. But, Haldir, it was a joy for me to carry you that 
final, short way and to lay you upon my bed at last.” Gently, he kissed 
Haldir’s brow again, then each cheek, and at last, his lips. Haldir returned 
the kiss, as ever, hesitantly at first.
      “As it pleased you, I shall not repine,” he murmured, “ but I hate 
feeling so helpless.”
      “What you hate has been to my advantage,” replied Celeborn, “for 
never otherwise would I have the benefit of your presence and advice.”
      “Scant enough that has been.”
      “Ah, love, you undervalue yourself. And never otherwise would I 
have had you in my arms, like this,” he kissed Haldir again. “Come, now.” 
Celeborn stood and drew Haldir to his feet.
      They differed in height by about the width of a hand. After diligent 
trials, Celeborn considered it a very comfortable difference for kissing and 
embracing. He slid his arms around Haldir’s shoulders and Haldir passed 
his around Celeborn’s waist, holding them tightly behind the elf lord’s 
back. Their kisses became more insistent, Celeborn playing his tongue 
over Haldir’s lips, then teeth, then deeper yet as Haldir opened his mouth, 
letting him do what he would.
      Celeborn felt the heat begin to grow in him and pressed them 
closer together. He longer to grind his hips against Haldir but he knew the 
younger elf would become tense so he took a deep breath and mastered the 
desire, thinking only of gentle caresses and quelling his burning need for 
more.
      Slowly they made their way past the shelves of books, among the 
branches and around the massive trunk of the mallorn, to the sheltered 
nook where Celeborn had his bed, a wide, low wooden platform covered 
in a feather mattress and heaped with furs, blankets and pillows. They 
managed to divest each other of most of their clothes as they went, 
hanging belts and tunics upon convenient branches, finally slipping out of 
boots and the rest by the side of the bed.
      Celeborn’s arousal was plain; equally plain was Haldir’s lack of it. 
Kissing him, Haldir stroked a hand up each smooth, muscular thigh, 
bringing his fingers together to cup Celeborn’s soft sac, gently tickling the 
silver hair on it. Celeborn twitched away, laughing, and Haldir caught his 
waist, drawing him close again. This time, he let his hands trail down 
Celeborn’s belly, to meet above his hardening shaft, then encircle it and 
stroke the length of it to the tip. Celeborn shivered, taking in a deep 
breath. He clasped Haldir’s shoulders and pushed him down onto the bed, 
following to lie propped over him, his weight on his elbows. Haldir closed 
his eyes and Celeborn had learned not to ask him to open them. Instead, he 
touched his chin, turning his face closer and tracing his high cheekbones 
with kisses, licking the tip of his nose and his full lips. Those lips opened, 
as did Haldir’s eyes, staring solemnly into Celeborn’s. Celeborn drew his 
finger to Haldir’s mouth, circling around it until Haldir captured the tip 
between his teeth. He let go immediately. Celeborn slid his finger over the 
perfect, white teeth and Haldir made no resistance, letting his jaw be 
pushed open. 
      “Bite me,” whispered Celeborn. 
      Obediently, Haldir brought his teeth together, trapping his lover’s 
finger between them and squeezing gently. 
      “Harder.”
      But Haldir released him and shook his head the merest fraction. 
Frustrated, Celeborn swooped down to press hot, heavy kisses on him, 
plunging his tongue deep and scouring Haldir’s mouth. Haldir raised both 
hands to Celeborn’s face and he softened his attack, afraid he would be 
pushed away. They continued more slowly, Haldir tracing Celeborn’s 
right ear with delicate fingertips, and the elf lord gently sucking at the soft 
skin of Haldir’s neck. He worked his way down to one nipple, tickling it 
with his tongue, seeing Haldir smile. He brushed fingertips over the other, 
then his nails and both hardened, furling tightly like tiny pink buds. Haldir 
wriggled beneath him and Celeborn’s shaft became even harder at the 
sinuous movement. It pulsed hotly against Haldir’s thigh and Celeborn 
stretched his leg over and shifted his weight so he lay on top of Haldir, 
face to face and rampant cock to uninterested one. He rubbed himself 
slowly up and down, feeling droplets of juice seeping from him, making 
them both wet enough for him to slither over Haldir’s belly. They stared 
deep into each other’s eyes, and Haldir’s were half-lidded and dark. His 
lips parted and he licked them. Celeborn bent low to play his tongue over 
Haldir’s, inhaling his sweet breath. Everything about him was wanton 
desire, except for the most important thing. 
      Ah, but it would come. And Celeborn knew how to be patient. But 
just now, patience was the last thing he could muster. He began to grind 
his hips more insistently and Haldir reached his left hand down but could 
not slide it between their tight bodies. Celeborn raised himself a little 
higher and Haldir was able to wrap his fingers around him, stroking 
slowly at first then faster, tighter. Celeborn thrust into his fist, speeding his 
rhythm then gasping and slowing to deep, long strokes as he spilled his 
seed between them. He collapsed on top of Haldir, almost melting into 
him as the entire length of their two bodies were sealed together with 
sweat and semen. Haldir nuzzled against him, trying to reach his lips and 
when Celeborn turned his face Haldir kissed him insistently, probing his 
mouth with his tongue. Celeborn was surprised and responded eagerly to 
the kiss. It was the first time Haldir had kissed him that way, rather than 
passively allowing his lord to do was he would.
      That had been the pattern now, in the months since he had come 
home. At first, he had been so skittish and afraid that Celeborn could do 
nothing more than kiss him and hold him. Even now, he tensed if 
Celeborn’s hands wandered further down than the places where the arrows 
had pierced him, still marked by ugly scars. But slowly, patiently, they had 
come this far and if Haldir was ready to do something new, he would first 
try it in the moments when Celeborn lay spent and weak beside him. It 
pained the lord that Haldir seemed to choose the moment when he could 
least react, as if he did not trust him yet. But he said nothing, only 
encouraged every little step and gently pushed at the limits of what Haldir 
would allow, and so they journeyed.
      Haldir pulled away, out of breath but his eyes were shining. “You 
are beautiful,” he whispered. “But sticky.” He sat up and reached for a 
handkerchief, using it to wipe them both. Celeborn watched him smile, 
engrossed in the task. Finally, he said, “If you keep doing that, I warn you, 
you will soon need to do it all over again.” He put his hand over Haldir’s, 
pressing it against himself. 
      Haldir considered, then moved away. “Perhaps we should sleep. It 
is late.”
      “Tomorrow we will come to bed sooner.”
      Celeborn pulling the warm bedding over them and they snuggled 
into each other’s arms, contentedly listening to the soft sounds of Lorien at 
night: the bird calls and the gentle creaking of the trees as if they, too, 
embraced each other with root and branch.
      
      Something was moving. Something was moaning, a low, desperate 
sound which reached Celeborn through the fog and languor of sleep. He 
jolted into wakefulness as the sound grew louder. 
      “Haldir! Wake up!” 
      His lover lay beside him, rolled into a tight ball, hands over his 
head, keening. Celeborn seized him and shook him, calling his name, 
pulling his clenched hands down. Haldir awoke and shoved wildly at the 
hands on him, pushing Celeborn away. On his knees, his face a mask of 
terror, he stared blindly at Celeborn. Celeborn seized him and pulled him 
close, ignoring his frantic struggles and enfolding him in his arms. He 
called his name over and over, holding him tightly. Haldir shuddered 
violently as he wept, eyes tightly shut, barely able to draw breath. 
      “Hush, I am with you,” murmured Celeborn, “It’s over, Haldir, 
listen to me, you are safe now.” He added more meaningless phrases, for it 
was the sound of his voice and not the words that would reach Haldir. 
Meaningless, aye, he reflected bitterly, since the child was obviously not 
safe, his demons could find him and tear at him even in his lover’s arms. 
Haldir’s rigid body began to loosen at last as he stopped fighting and lay 
limp against Celeborn’s chest, hair plastered to a face wet with tears and 
breath coming in halting hiccoughs. 
      Celeborn laid him down and collapsed beside him, rubbing a hand 
over his eyes. He bit back a cry of anger and frustration that even now, 
this still happened. Every time it did, Haldir sank into haunted misery, 
unreachable for days. Every time it did, Celeborn watched him in 
desperation, seeing him edge closer to that final surrender. He had always 
pulled back but each time was harder and they seemed to have fewer days 
of joy between the nights of desolation.
      Slowly, he rolled over and drew Haldir close. The younger elf lay 
stiffly in his arms, empty eyes staring into the night. They lay in silence 
for a long while. The first time the nightmare had come, they had both 
been in the room and the bed Haldir had been given nearby. Four other 
elves had come running, including Arcirithon, and Celeborn had reassured 
them and sent them away, telling them to stay away if it happened again. 
      It happened again, and again. Haldir would not speak, would not 
tell him where he went when he went into nightmare.
      Celeborn passed his hand over Haldir’s face, getting no reaction 
until he reached his eyes, then the eyelids flickered and Haldir turned his 
head away a little. At least you are still here, thought Celeborn. 
      Other times, he had asked Haldir to tell him of the dream and he 
had refused. Now he simply said, “I despair. I grieve for you as if I am 
losing you. I who defied the Valar, built a realm and rule it, before this I 
am helpless.”
      Haldir made no move, no reply.
      Celeborn went on, “You have awakened me into a new world. I 
would not have it so at first, but now I am here, and you will abandon me 
here, alone. Better I had never opened my eyes.”
      Halldir’s breaths came more rapidly and he twisted in Celeborn’s 
arms but was held firm. “I never would have told you,” he whispered.
      “But you did. Some cruel god forced it, if you will.” Celeborn took 
a deep breath. “Haldir, that first night I lay with you in my arms, I dreamt. 
I dreamt of love and war and confusion. The first and last, I understood at 
once. Only now do I know why, in the midst of awakening love, my 
dream was full of battles. It meant that I would have to fight for you, 
Haldir. And I will fight for you, I will not let you go.” Haldir had turned to 
him and listened.
      “That is the nature of dreams, for their meanings to be hidden.” He 
paused. “Are you learned in the reading of dreams?”
      “I do not need to be! There is nothing hidden! Even dead, they do 
not leave me—“
      “Hush, beloved. There is another meaning beneath the surface and 
until we reach it they will not leave you.”
      “I will not tell it. Telling it will make it stronger. I should forget 
it.”
      “You cannot bury it, Haldir! This was ever your way. Who taught 
you this?”
      “My father.”
      “Halenil?”
      “He is my father, is he not?” replied Haldir angrily.
      “Of all the elves in Arda, I cannot think of a worse one to advise 
on matters of the spirit!” Celeborn wanted to shake him.
      “He is my father,” repeated Haldir stubbornly.
      Celeborn suddenly understood. Halenil had left his sons little 
enough: Rumil and Orophin did not even remember him. But Haldir, who 
did, kept in his heart all his father had told him. Tears filled Celeborn’s 
eyes and he turned his head away, struggling to hold them at bay, seeing 
again the shy, thin child with dark, wary eyes and silver hair, treasuring 
his scant memories of the father who had left him.
      “What is it?” Haldir sat up as Celeborn’s strength failed him. He 
reached up to touch his face. “You are crying?” he said, unbelieving.
      “No, let me be a moment,” replied Celeborn roughly. 
      “Don’t. Please don’t.”
      Celeborn shoved himself up and walked away. A few paces from 
the bed, he stopped and rubbed his face, pushing his hair back with both 
hands.
      “Did Mandos himself stand before me now, I would challenge him 
for your soul!” he cried. “But I grasp at the wind, I stumble in the dark and 
each time you dream this dream you go further into Shadow and less of 
you returns. And I do not know what to do.”
      “How will it help for me to tell you this thing?”
      “Haldir, a drowning elf does not see the sea. And you are drowning 
in this dream. Only tell it to me so I can see it and I will see what you do 
not. And if I cannot, my lady can, for she is even more skilled in knowing 
dreams than I. Only tell it to me.”
      Haldir stared at him from the edge of the bed, and clenched his 
hands together. He bit at his fingers then took a deep breath.
      “’Tis simple enough. It always starts the same way; I am alone in a 
forest.”
      Celeborn edged closer. “Is it somewhere you recognise?”
      “No. Darker than the woods of Lorien, and not the pass either.” 
Celeborn knelt before him and nodded for him to continue.
      “Then they come, the men. They are all around me, I cannot fight 
them. They are too many and I am alone. They take me, they hurt me, as 
they did before. Each time, it takes longer for me to wake up.” Haldir 
bowed his head, putting his face in his hands. “ I am afraid that one night I 
will not.”
      “Do you know that you are dreaming? Even as you wake up?”
      “No. It seems real. I don’t even realise at first that I have woken.”
      “Do you try to fight them? Do you try to flee them?”
      “I cannot!” he cried. “I cannot move, I cannot run, I have no 
weapons, they are all around me and I am alone!” He began to sob again. 
Celeborn climbed back onto the bed and embraced him, drawing him 
close. “Haldir, you are safe now, you are not alone,” he murmured. 
      “I know, but in the dream it is different, I can’t move or run or 
even call out.”
      “Now take the advice of Halenil, and try to put this from you, 
Haldir. Now feel my arms around you, hear my voice, I am with you.” 
Celeborn kept his voice low and even, speaking in a soothing rhythm. 
“There is no dark forest, there is no-one here but you and me and we are 
together, in our warm bed and you are safe now.”
      Slowly Haldir became calmer. He leaned against Celeborn’s chest.
      “Sleep now, Haldir, I will watch over you. I promise to wake you 
if you dream. I promise. I will not sleep, I need to think a while.”
      Haldir nodded and lay down and Celeborn covered him and sat 
beside him, holding his hand.
      “Alone,” he thought, “always alone. He was alone at the pass; that 
much is clear. Not the woods of Lorien: why? Somewhere darker. Where? 
Is it important?”
      The simple meaning of the dream was obvious, but hidden 
somewhere underneath it was the reason Haldir was still haunted by what 
had happened to him, why he could not put it behind him. Dark woods, 
not of Lorien. Celeborn pondered. Might that suggest he would be afraid 
to travel? That would be a pity, as he had done so in the past and few 
enough were willing to leave the wood to learn the affairs of the world 
without. 
      But that is not why he is haunted still. 
      Haldir slept now, so Celeborn left the bed and paced around the 
room. 
      “I cannot move, I cannot run,” he thought, “I have no weapons. 
This is the key to it, but what is the shape of this key? How do I unlock 
this?” he continued to pace.
      “I am alone and surrounded by my enemies,” and his hand went at 
once to his shoulder, reaching for knives or bow. He was naked. But 
Haldir had been armed and once, he had cried out as he awoke that they 
were tearing his clothing from him. In the dream, he had no weapons but 
he had clothes. In life, he had had both but both had been taken from him. 
The meaning was not clear. Do you fight them? I cannot! That was the 
shape of the key. Had he weapons or no, he could not use them. Celeborn 
looked at his own hand and saw Haldir’s crippled fingers. He could not 
grasp a bow or a knife with his right hand, and that was the hand he used. 
What could a warrior do with only one hand?
      He went back to the bed and sat cross-legged beside Haldir, gently 
stroking his hair. 
      By dawn, he had an answer.
      
      Haldir slept late and Celeborn did not wake him. He washed and 
dressed and ate while staying nearby. To the servant who brought food 
and water, he said only that he was not to be disturbed, and sent a note to 
Arcirithon, asking him to deal with or defer the morning’s business.
      The sun was high before Haldir finally stirred. He shielded his eyes 
from the light and sighed deeply.
      Celeborn sat on the edge of the bed. “How do you fare this day?”
      Haldir rubbed his eyes. “My head pounds like a drum,” he 
muttered.
      “You will feel better for eating, and washing. And I will make you 
an infusion of willow bark. Make haste; there is something I would show 
you.” Haldir looked up to see Celeborn’s smiling eyes and his unhappy 
mood lifted a little.
      A short while later, they were descending together to the lower 
levels of the great mallorn which was the seat of the rulers of Lorien. 
Celeborn led the way, through twisting paths and stairs, followed by his 
listless lover.
      “What place is this? I never came here before,” said Haldir.
      “And it is long enough since I did, too. Here, now.” Celeborn slid 
aside a large, woven screen, pulling apart the webs of some unfortunate 
spiders. The space within was full of things quiet and shrouded, and many 
wooden or woven chests. Celeborn began to open and close them, seeking 
something. Haldir looked about curiously and lifted some of the cloths. 
      “Oh!”
      Celeborn turned to see him staring with shining eyes at what he 
had unveiled. “My mithril armour,” he said, pleased that something had 
distracted Haldir from his melancholy. It stood on a form, sparkling and 
glittering in the dappled light.
      “The first time I saw you,” breathed Haldir, “You wore this armour 
and rode a grey charger. You were all silver and white and your cloak 
rippled in the breeze and your hair shone like moonlight. You were the 
most beautiful thing I had ever seen.”
      “When was that? I never met you until my lady brought the three 
of you home.”
      “Ah, but I had seen you twice before. When you led the soldiers to 
the Mirkwood, mother took me to see. And at the spring festival a while 
after. A little before Rumil came.”
      “You remember that? You could have had but seven years.”
      “I remember. I saw you high on your charger, shining white and 
silver. I remember the glittering of your gauntlet when you raised it in 
farewell to the Lady. I remember, I could see only you, the way you see 
the sun long after you look at her.”
      “Ah, Haldir. So long ago?” Moved, Celeborn embraced him. 
      Haldir hugged him tightly in return. “Oh, how I love you,” he 
murmured.
      They held each other for long minutes. Celeborn said “I wonder at 
how you kept this a secret for so long, before ever I knew you and for all 
the years you lived here. My lady even saw it and I did not. How blind 
was I?”
      Haldir shook his head. “It matters not. And you would never have 
thought to look for this in a child.”
      “No. But to learn that you were so sure, so young… Haldir, was 
anyone ever more constant than you?”
      Haldir smiled. “And if Mithrandir appeared before us now?”
      “Ah, but he knew me for a foolish child.”
      “Then he knew you not.”
      “No, I think he did. For although I will ever love him, it is not like 
the love I have for you, Haldir.”
      “Then he was wise. And perhaps we are not.”
      “No? But we are happy. At the least, at this very moment, I am 
happy, and I think you will be, if I can only find the things I seek.”
      “Then I will cease to distract you…” Haldir kissed him long and 
deep.
      “Cease a little more, pray.”
      But Haldir suddenly looked shy, taken aback by his own daring, 
and shook his head. “What do you seek?”
      Reluctantly, Celeborn let him go. “Some unusual swords my lady 
and I brought back with us from a foreign land. They were wrapped in a 
yellow cloth, a bundle about so long.”
      Haldir drew the shroud back up over the scintillating armour and 
began to open chests and look under things as well.
      After a while, he called “Is this it?”
      Celeborn looked up. “No, the cloth was yellow.”
      “This was yellow, see, in the folds. But it has faded.”
      “Show me.” Celeborn untied the bundle. “Yes! Ai, you have good 
eyes, Haldir, better than mine.”
      “Nay, for I sought that which you described while you, that which 
you remembered. But the thing changed though your memory did not.”
      “Unlike my armour?”
      “Unlike the one who wore it.”
      Celeborn gazed at him fondly. “O sun-dazzled child, I do not 
deserve you.” He held the bundle with one hand and drew Haldir close 
with the other, kissing him on each cheek, the tip of his nose and then his 
lips. Haldir reached both arms up over his shoulders and lifted his face, 
parting his lips a little. Celeborn could not resist the invitation and 
wrapped his arms around him, clasping the bundle with both hands behind 
his back and kissed him again and again. Soon they were both flushed and 
out of breath and Celeborn looking for a clear space on the floor where 
they might lie. Then he remembered the bundle in his hands and pulled 
away.
      “Come,” he laughed, “I have finally found these things and 
forgotten them again twice as quickly.” He brought the bundle back 
around Haldir and gripped it securely.
      “What is it?”
      “Ah, you will see. But not here, there is no room. Come with me.”
      Haldir followed him, sliding shut the screen once more, then up, 
up, into the heights of the mallorn. Finally Celeborn led him to the 
topmost talan, a wide wooden platform dedicated to the viewing of the 
stars, and so little used during sunlight hours. There, he untied the bundle 
and laid it on the floor, the ancient cloth crumbling into the breeze. Haldir 
squatted beside him. “What are these?”
      “Swords, of a kind my lady and I saw in only one place, a land 
distant from those of Elves. A land of men.”
      Haldir said nothing but his lips tightened a little. 
      “These two,” Celeborn went on, “are for practice.” He passed one 
to Haldir. “The other two are real, and keenly edged.” Those, in plain 
leather scabbards, he put aside. “Come, stand, I will show you how they 
are used.”
      Haldir looked at him doubtfully. “Swords, you say? They are too 
small.”
      “Yet they are longer that the knives we use.”
      “And what of that?”
      “They are neither knife nor sword as we know them but something 
between. My lady and I learned their use and found them most 
serviceable. Hold it like this, in your left hand. Here is their value: with 
but a single hand, one may fight “
      “Lighter than a sword yet heavier than a knife,” said Haldir. “So 
disadvantaged in both cases.”
      “Faster than a sword and longer than a knife,” retorted Celeborn, 
“so advantaged in both cases.”
      They held each other’s eyes for a long moment, then Haldir sighed. 
“Very well. Show me.”
      By the time the sun was high, his enthusiasm for the strange 
weapon had begun to grow. A long, straight blade with a guard for the 
hand, it could be manoeuvred much more quickly than the heavier, two-
handed swords he knew, and its reach was greater than that of an elven 
knife. He could slash, thrust and parry, all with increasing speed, and the 
treetop rang with the sound of the blades striking. Finally, Celeborn 
signalled a stop and they both collapsed to sit side by side and catch their 
breath.
      “So,” panted Haldir, “what did they call these things then, the men 
who made them?”
      “Rapier,” replied Celeborn, wiping his brow with his sleeve. “And 
the style of using them, they called fencing. They are some kind of steel 
that is lighter and stronger than ours. Perhaps a smith might learn how to 
make it, but I asked Celebrimbor and he said he could only learn their 
secret by melting one. So I asked no more.”
      Haldir reached for the nearer of the two edged rapiers and eased it 
from its scabbard. The leather was tight and hard with age but the blade 
flashed bright in the sun, dazzling him. It was plain and undecorated, 
unlike the etched and engraved blades of the Elves. He stood again and 
repeated some of the movements he had learned while Celeborn watched.
      “’Tis a trifle lighter than the practise sword.”
      “That is deliberately done, so you will be faster with it. Turn 
sideways more, so you present a lesser target.” He stood up. “Like this. 
Put your other hand behind your back, for balance.”
      They remained on the talan an hour more, then Celeborn 
succumbed to his sense of duty, and Haldir followed him back down to the 
lower levels and the endless work that waited for the Lord of the Wood.
      That night, they were both too tired to do more than lie in each 
other’s arms. Haldir’s rest was unbroken.
      The following day was passed in similar manner. After the evening 
meal, they climbed into the mallorn and sat beneath a canopy of leaves, 
listening to a distant, plaintive melody. The lights of Lorien were dim 
enough that the stars could be seen twinkling through leaves fluttering in 
the gentle breeze. Celeborn straddled a broad branch and leaned back 
against the trunk. Haldir sat between his thighs, legs outstretched along the 
smooth bough and rested against his lord’s chest, tilting his head back 
onto Celeborn’s shoulder. He sighed.
      “What’s amiss?” asked Celeborn, wrapping his arms around 
Haldir’s waist and drawing him closer.
      “I am happy. I would that this moment last an age.” He folded his 
arms over Celeborn’s, pressing them to himself.
      “It can last the night, no more.”
      “Why must you be so practical?”
      “There’s a different song! When you have all this day chided me 
for my untidy habits!”
      “That’s different, and well you know—Mmmm,” he moaned softly 
as Celeborn explored his ear with a delicate tongue. He breathed in 
sharply, arching his back, but was held tight. Celeborn moved his head to 
reach the other ear.
      “In my heart,” he murmured, “this moment will last for ever.”
      
      Rumil and Orophin came to visit every few days and on their next 
call they were directed to the top of the mallorn by a servant. They 
followed the sound of clashing metal to stand on the edge of the talan 
watching in amazement.
      “We have visitors,” grunted Celeborn, with a vicious thrust.
      Haldir parried smoothly. “I am waiting for you to be distracted by 
them.” His sword slid singing along Celeborn’s, then was whipped away 
by a flick of the older elf’s muscular arm.
      “Then we may as well stop.” 
      They turned toward the brothers, who hastened across the wooden 
floor.
      “What under the sun are these things?” cried Rumil, throwing his 
arms first around Haldir, then Celeborn. Orophin did the same, smiling 
happily. Celeborn sat down and reached for the stone bottle of water they 
brought with them. He drank and passed it to the brothers. Haldir 
explained about rapiers and fencing while Orophin took up one of the 
practice swords and tried the balance of it.
      “This would be too light to stand against a proper sword,” he said 
dismissively.
      “Think you so?” replied Haldir. “Come, on your feet then. Take up 
that sword,” he nodded to the one he and Celeborn used, “and prove your 
words.”
      Orophin grinned and took off his cloak, bow and quiver. He picked 
up the sword and hefted it, holding it firmly with both hands, feet braced. 
Haldir stood before him. He held the rapier with a bent arm and positioned 
himself as he had been taught, turning sideways with his other hand 
behind him.
      “Nay, now how am I to hit you like that?” said Orophin.
      “Ah,” Celeborn said from the floor. “That is the essence.”
      Orophin raised the heavy broadsword and immediately the rapier 
flickered in to touch his forearm. He stepped back, dropping the point of 
his blade sideways to knock it down but Haldir slid his blade under and 
around and held the point before Orophin’s unprotected throat. 
      “Again.”
      This time, Orophin lunged forward, attempting to smack the 
smaller sword away. Haldir slid back, letting Orophin press his arm down, 
then he brought the lighter sword back above the heavier with a twist of 
his wrist. Again, Orophin stared at its naked point. 
      Orophin stepped back, scowling. They moved rapidly across the 
floor, alternately attacking and defending, and each time the smaller, 
lighter sword flickered around the broadsword to get past it. 
      Finally Orophin put up his arm. “Enough,” he panted, “’Tis like 
trying to fight a flame!”
      Haldir laughed. “Then Lhach shall I call my sword,” he replied. 
      “One good blow,” said Orophin doggedly, “would undo you, 
brother.”
      “Ah, but you will never land it, for I will never let you start to 
swing that weight without I get past you. And you are by far the bigger 
target for you must stand square on.”
      “Let me try,” called Rumil. He stood and pulled out his twin 
knives in one fluid movement.
      “No,” said Celeborn, “for your brother is tired now. But will you 
fight me?”
      “Gladly will I try.”
      Orophin and Haldir walked back, their arms around each other’s 
shoulders, and sat down, sharing the water bottle. They watched Rumil 
and Celeborn take up their positions.
      Rumil attacked at once but had to retreat hastily as the longer reach 
of the rapier told. Realising this, he changed his method, to use the knives 
high and low, forcing Celeborn to step back as he parried first one then the 
other. They paused, eyes locked. Then Celeborn attacked and Rumil was 
pressed to deflect the force of his blows with the shorter, lighter knives. At 
no time could he overcome the longer reach of the rapier to reach its 
wielder. 
      Finally, he was forced to cross the two knives together before 
himself to lock the sword, grimly holding it there and pushing his two 
arms against Celeborn’s one. But the lord smiled and merely reached his 
other hand between Rumil’s raised arms to grasp his throat. 
      “Do you yield?” 
      Rumil nodded and Celeborn released him. 
      “That is a surprisingly effective technique you have,” said Rumil, 
“if a little unexpected.”
      Celeborn laughed and drew him back to where the others sat.
      They rested together and a soft breeze sprang up. Rumil opened his 
tunic and flapped it to cool himself.
      “Its main advantage is its speed,” said Orophin, for you can never 
move the bigger sword as quickly, nor as tightly. But it could not defend 
against a heavy blow.”
      “But as you put the weight of your body behind the sword to do 
that, you are open,” put in Haldir. “And it is as fast as the knives but 
outreaches them.” He turned to Celeborn and smiled. “Thank you.” 
      They went back down the stairs to eat, and Celeborn asked how the 
training of the new volunteers was progressing.
      “Well enough,” replied Orophin. “We intend to hold a hunt next 
week, as soon as we can schedule enough of the more experienced sentries 
to be hunters. At the moment, we are taking it in turn to go on duty and to 
teach.”
      “Have there been many disturbances?” asked Haldir.
      “A few,” said Rumil “Mainly orcs, showing more daring. And a 
party of men was turned back on the banks of Nimrodel. They said they 
were traders.”
      “Do you think they were?” asked Celeborn.
      “Some of them were armed, but that is usual,” Rumil answered. 
“They had a lot of laden horses and carts, and a goodly number of them 
looked too soft to fight. Gilwendor told them that Lorien did not trade with 
humans and bade them go.”
      “And they went quietly?” said the Lord of Lorien.
      “They grumbled a little. But they went.”
      “How far?” asked Haldir.
      “Oh, we made sure they went, right out of the wood and a good 
way more.”
      “Brother, we were going to ask you, will you come and be a 
hunter? Next week?”
      Haldir stared at Orophin, who had asked the question; then he 
looked down at his hands, the right flexing and straightening endlessly.
      “Come,” added Orophin. “All will be glad to see you again.”
      “And Anaximor has ordered a roast ox to be ready for sunset. 
There will be wine and songs and feasting.”
      Haldir bit his lip. “You say you will not have enough hunters?”
      “Anaximor plans to have fewer patrols closer to the city that day, 
since the woods will be full of us in any case,” said Rumil, “But the more, 
the better, since there will be some eighty new sentries being hunted.
      “So many? Because of—?“ Haldir bit off his words. He looked to 
Celeborn, who made no reply but smiled encouragingly. “Very well, I will 
come at dawn. But after the hunt, I, I will not…I do not care for crowds of 
people around the fire.” He looked down, refusing to meet anyone’s eye.
      “No matter,” grinned Rumil, patting his shoulder. “All the more 
for us, then. It will be good to have you with us, brother.”
      When Rumil and Orophin had gone, Celeborn and Haldir returned 
to the Lord of Lorien’s quarters. It was a busy time of year, with notes 
arriving from all the farmers stating how much they would be able to spare 
of their crops for the city which in turn guarded them, made in quantity the 
things they could not and taught their children. It fell to the Lord of Lorien 
and his staff to ensure that there would be sufficient food, and to make 
plans in case of shortfall or surfeit. Scribes had already tallied all the 
disparate notes into reckonings for each of the crops and the regions of 
Lorien. Into a separate scroll went the list of any possible difficulties. 
Those who lived far from Caras Galadhon did not lightly leave their 
homesteadings to travel, and took the opportunity of the seasonal 
accounting to let their lord know any tidings. 
      It was a lengthy scroll and Haldir quailed when first he saw it, 
thinking the whole to be a litany of woes. But he learned that many simply 
wrote to the lord with all their most meaningful news. And the lord and 
lady always read it faithfully, desiring to know all about their realm and 
their people. In the absence of the Lady Galadriel, Haldir read it aloud to 
Celeborn, and he would pass on to her the things that would interest her.
      They sat upon a softly-cushioned bench of ornate and ancient 
carving, worn smooth by Celeborn’s use. Celeborn sipped a glass of wine 
and wrote notes with a lead. Haldir leaned comfortably against him. Their 
progress was slow, because he sought to explain the significance of what 
was said to Haldir, often recalling what had gone before for many years. 
Bored at first, Haldir became fascinated with the detailed picture thus 
painted of the realm of Lorien, and asked many questions. Celeborn was 
well pleased with the interest he showed. He had enjoyed teaching Haldir 
forest-craft, many years before. He found he enjoyed just as much 
teaching him statecraft.
      Finally, it grew too dark for even Haldir’s keen eyes to read. He sat 
up, and Celeborn took the scroll, placing it on the nearby table. Then he 
leaned forward, sliding his arms around Haldir’s waist and resting his head 
against his chest. Haldir embraced him and kissed his smooth, silver hair. 
His fingers found the single braid at the back, and gently began to unravel 
it. Celeborn slid a hand beneath Haldir’s tunic but Haldir immediately 
pressed back, pinning it against the carvings of the bench. Unperturbed, 
Celeborn brought his hands to the front and began to unlace the ties that 
held the overlapping folds at each shoulder. In a moment, he had laid bare 
Haldir’s chest and stroked the luminous, satin skin. His fingertips brushed 
over nipples that responded at once and Haldir shivered as his lover bent 
his head to lick them, tracing muscles with his tongue. Haldir pulled at the 
tie that held his lord’s tunic and Celeborn leaned back to let it fall open. 
Then he stood.
      “Come, the bed is more comfortable.” He took both Haldir’s wrists 
and pulled him to his feet in one quick movement, catching him in his 
arms. Their bare skin came together, warm and cool, smooth and 
muscular, and Celeborn kissed him deeply while sliding his loose tunic 
down behind him. His hands rested in the small of Haldir’s bare back and 
this time there was no protest. Their progress to the bed was as slow as 
ever, and Celeborn burned with desire by the time they reached it. He 
pulled Haldir down to the bed with him, covering his face and neck with 
kisses. 
      Haldir laughed softly. “’Tis like an attack by a whirlwind, I cannot 
begin to fend you off!”
      “Why must you fend me off?” growled Celeborn. 
      “Only to draw breath.”
      “Well, and you have done so,” and he seized him again, pulling 
him close. Haldir continued the movement and lay half over Celeborn, 
bending his head down for a deep, long kiss. At some point in the middle 
of it, his hand reached down to stroke Celeborn’s erection, making him 
moan with pleasure. Haldir seized him a little more roughly, and Celeborn 
tried to writhe away but could not as he melted into the hard rhythm of 
Haldir’s fingers. Haldir continued to kiss him, every moan captured in his 
open mouth, every rapid breath shared, every frantic twist followed and 
matched, giving him no respite until at last he could hold back no more 
and spilled himself, pulsing with exquisite joy, waves of heat slowly 
subsiding. Panting, he opened his eyes at last to stare up into Haldir’s 
fascinated ones.
      The younger elf gazed in wonder at him and a hesitant smile 
played over his lips. “You are so beautiful when you do that,” he 
murmured wistfully. “So abandoned, so…surrendered. To me. I love you. 
I love the way you do that.”
      Celeborn smiled faintly in return. He raised one hand and touched 
delicate fingers to the face above him, lifting his hair back behind his ear.
      “O, my beloved, there is time. Endless time lies before us.”

      An hour before dawn, Celeborn awoke to find Haldir sitting half-
dressed on the edge of the bed. “Is anything wrong?” he asked. 
      “No, no. I was watching you sleep. I will have to leave in a few 
minutes.”
      “First, come here.” Celeborn held up his arms and Haldir bent 
close to be folded in them. He pressed his face into Celeborn’s neck, 
kissing him.
      “Why were you watching me sleep?”
      Haldir shrugged. “I like to.”
      Celeborn hugged him close. “Are you worried about the hunt?”
      “They need people to help; I should do so. I cannot hide for ever.”
      “I know. I know this. And yet there is a part of me that just wants 
to keep you safe at my side and never let you out of my sight.”
      Celeborn thought he felt Haldir tremble, but then the younger elf 
pushed brusquely away. “I must go,” he said. He kissed Celeborn’s brow 
and stood, pulling on his tunic. Celeborn watched his muscles flex as he 
raised his arms, saw him buckle his belt with his horn, then the belt and 
scabbard of the sword he had named Lhach. Hunters and hunted used no 
weapons, but nobody went unarmed into the depths of the wood.
      Haldir looked at his lover again and bent down for a last kiss. 
“Until this evening,” he whispered.
      “You will not stay for the feast?” This time, Celeborn definitely 
felt him shiver.
      “No.”
      
      It was still not dawn when Haldir reached the sentries’ quarters, 
but a large and noisy throng was gathered already. He nodded to the 
guard, who broke into a wide smile when he recognised the face under the 
grey hood. Inside, he looked about and saw Orophin, who stood a little 
taller than most around him. Haldir made his way to his brother’s side and 
tapped his shoulder. Orophin turned and smiled, hugging him fiercely.
      “Rumil,” he called.
      Rumil turned and yelped when he saw Haldir push back his hood, 
coming quickly to hug him too. They had been standing in a group of 
those experienced sentries who would be the hunters, all of whom Haldir 
had known since the three had joined the watch. All crowded around him 
now, smiling and laughing, asking him how he was and saying how 
pleased they were to see him again. Rumil and Orophin both felt him tense 
as the group surrounded and jostled them, and both, as one, put an arm 
around his shoulders, staying close to him. Haldir put his arms around 
their waists and held them tightly. But he smiled and gave gentle answer 
to all who spoke.
      Then a voice shouted for silence and Anaximor stood above them. 
“Welcome, all,” he said, his voice carrying in the still morning air. “I’ll 
waste no time with prosing for the sun rises in twenty minutes. You all 
know the rules. You,” he pointed to the large group of recruits, “ you will 
see this day why you can never be complacent in the woods. And you,” he 
turned to the hunters, “will probably learn the same.” Laughter bubbled 
around the group, several glancing eagerly to the trees and sky above 
them, ready to begin.
      Anaximor also looked up. “I see no reason to tarry. Begone!” At 
his shout, the hunted streamed through the gate, faces serious. When they 
were gone, the hunters gathered closer and Anaximor stepped down. He 
saw Haldir and acknowledged him with a nod. 
      “Here are the colours,” said the high warden, slipping a leather bag 
from his shoulder. He took a wax tablet from it and passed the bag to the 
nearest elf. “Take one and tell me what it is when I call your name.” The 
bag passed quickly from hand to hand.
      “Calaglin.”
      “Yellow.”
      “Dimoril.”
      “Brown.”
      “Rumil.”
      “White.”
      “Haldir.”
      “Red.”
      “Gilwendor.”
      “Blue.”
      The tallying went on around the circle. The three brothers had let 
each other go but still stood side by side. Haldir fiddled with the bunch of 
red ribbons he held, loosening slightly the one knotted around the rest. 
Then he tucked them into a fold in the front of his tunic and waited until 
Anaximor had finished. Finally, the high warden received back his bag 
and put the tablet and stylus into it.
      “One last thing before you go,” he said, and all listened intently. 
“Remember that there are no patrols within two miles of the city. I rely on 
the outlying sentries, and on the number of elves in the wood to keep the 
peace this day. If anything happens, forget the hunt, blow your horn for 
help. I told them as well, yesterday,” he nodded to the gate through which 
the hunted had gone, “that at the first sound of a horn, the hunt is over and 
they are guardians at once. May it not happen. So, I will see you again 
here at sunset. Good hunting, all.”
      The hunters began to walk to the gate, singly and in small groups, 
more slowly and quietly that the hunted had a short while before. As the 
elves turned away from him, Anaximor stepped towards the three brothers 
and gestured to Orophin. Catching his meaning, Orophin caught Haldir by 
his cloak, for he was already heading for the gate. 
      “Wait, brother,” he whispered. Haldir turned back and followed his 
eye, to see the high warden approach. 
      “Haldir, wait a moment.”
      Haldir inclined his head a fraction. “Of course, sir.” Rumil and 
Orophin had both stopped as well, but he glanced meaningfully at the gate 
and they nodded, turning to follow the others out.
      “I wanted to speak with you a moment,” said Anaximor, “I have 
not seen you for some time. How goes it now?” 
      Haldir stood unflinching before the older elf’s thorough scrutiny. 
“Well enough,” he replied. He held up his right hand. “Although this 
prevents me from being of any use to anyone.” 
      Anaximor peered at the bent fingers. “What say the healers?”
      “’Twill heal. With time. A ten-year or two.”
      “Healers!” snorted Anaximor. “Rumil and Orophin came back 
with great tales of your new weapon. Is that it?”
      Haldir drew the sword with his left hand and held it out. Anaximor 
took it by the handle, feeling its weight.
      “Hmph.” He handed it back. “Come and give me a demonstration 
one day. If Celeborn can spare you.”
      Haldir look at him sharply. “What do you mean?”
      Anaximor smiled. “I’m sure ‘tis only you who thinks you are of no 
use to anyone. My lord will let no talent go to waste. But it cannot be with 
any joy that a warrior becomes a secretary.”
      “My lord it was that taught me to be a warrior. If he wishes me 
now to spend my time tallying this year’s apple harvest, then I do it 
willingly.”
      “Indeed, it can be easy to forget that the administrator of Lorien 
and the warrior of Doriath are one and the same. Apples!” He clasped 
Haldir’s shoulder. “Now I must go and tally this year’s arrow harvest. Go 
well, Haldir.”
      “And you, sir.”
      “And I meant it about the sword.”
      “Yes, sir.”
      Haldir made his way out of the city, choosing a path that led 
towards one of the denser parts of the forest. Too many new sentries made 
the mistake of thinking they could more easily hide in the thick scrub 
beneath the younger trees, and grew careless, and he had thought at once 
to begin his hunting there, then perhaps climb higher up the foothills 
where the trees were older and the forest floor beneath them more open. 
He felt lighter of heart than he had upon leaving the talan, and admitted 
readily to himself that he had little looked forward to that first moment 
when his fellows saw him. But there had been no sudden silence, no stares 
nor whispers behind him. Only now did he realise how much he had 
dreaded that. Haldir did not know who had come that night with Celeborn 
and Feremil to find him. He did not even know if Anaximor had been 
among them, but of the elves playing the role of hunter today, some of 
them must have been there and seen him stretched over that rock… but 
there had been no looks of disgust or pity on any of the faces around him 
this morn. The guardians of Lorien were true to their own and he was 
proud to be reckoned one of them.
      Now he put those thoughts behind him and turned to the day’s 
work. Whenever the path diverged, he took the one less travelled, and 
soon enough was moving silently through dense undergrowth. He paused, 
looking carefully at the low-growing scrub and young trees around him, 
listening to the birds, the whispering leaves, the chitter and creak of 
crickets. A shining beetle whirred past him and the gentle sounds of the 
city were far behind. Soon enough, he found what he sought, two leaves 
snapped from their twigs, one on the grass and one still hanging by a 
thread. His eyes became cold. Any elf leaving such obvious signs of his 
passing would be caught by the first enemy that happened along. He 
followed, sliding between leaf and branch, catching and stilling them 
behind him.
      Calm as a stone, Haldir closed his eyes, exploring the layer of 
sounds around him, following each to its maker. Wind, bee, busy squirrel. 
Ah. Something large brushed past a branch as all its leaves rustled at once 
then came to rest. He turned his head slightly. That way. He flickered 
among the young trees like a grey shadow, stopping to allow a bee to buzz 
past his face, seeking movement. A trail of sound he already had. There. 
He slid silently closer. The elf in font of him brushed past a clump of long 
grass, bruising several stalks as they bent. Who was he? Haldir followed 
still, little more than an arm’s length behind. He stopped as a branch 
whipped back, ducking under it. Then he saw the elf’s profile as he turned 
his head.
      “Dimethor.”
      The elf jumped and yelped at the whisper in his ear, and Haldir 
stepped back to avoid being hit by his flailing arm.
      “Haldir!” He tried to laugh, to cover his nerves. No answering 
smile lit the stern face behind him.
      “Were the procession to the spring festival behind you, you would 
not have noticed. And you have left a trail a helmeted orc could follow.”  
Dimethor’s face fell. Haldir softened a little. “I say it not to wound you, 
Dimethor, but your life will one day hang on things like this.” He stepped 
back to point to the crushed stems of grass. Dimethor looked.
      “Oh,” he said. “For how long have you followed me?”
      “Only a little way, from the beech growing by that boulder there. 
But I heard you well before.”
      “I heard you not.”
      “I should hope not. But hearing is not all, had you no sense that 
you were being watched?”
      “Something made me uneasy, just before you spoke, but I knew 
not what.”
      “Trust to your heart, Dimethor, and it may save your hide one 
day.” Haldir pulled out a thin red ribbon. As Dimethor took it, he added, “ 
And although you step lightly enough you must step around things and not 
through them. Upon all you touch, your write the story of your passing.”
      Dimethor tied the ribbon to his belt. “I will attend more to that, and 
to my—“ He looked up to find himself alone. Dimethor gulped as a chill 
arose from his belly. Haldir could only be yards away but there was no 
sign. He looked around. Not so much as a leaf of a blade of grass moved.
      He took a deep breath and braced himself. Step around things, not 
through them. Determined, he continued on his way. 
      Within an hour, Haldir had bestowed another three red ribbons. He 
took the time to tell each he caught what had betrayed their presence to 
him and was pleased that all listened to his advice. He even saw Dimethor 
again and watched the young elf carefully bend aside a branch as he crept 
through a thicket. Haldir closed his eyes and heard no sound as the branch 
was gently released. The shadow of a smile crossed his lips. 
      The midday sun found him another mile away, six more ribbons 
gone, and light of heart. He was happier than he had been for a long time, 
but was not aware of thinking this. The wood and its sounds and smells 
and sights filled him, driving out all other thoughts. He knew how the 
forest was made and things that did not belong in its weave stood out to 
his eyes and ears and soul. He found it harder to put into words to the ones 
he caught, how he had done so. To one hapless elf, he was only able to 
say, “You were there, you were out of place,” before melting back into the 
trees.
      When he found a track much traversed, he climbed into a low 
branch above it and in the next half hour dropped ribbons into the paths of 
two passing elves. One of them was Dimoril, who plucked it from the air 
and looked up, smiling, to salute him.
      He stayed under the tall, old trees during the afternoon, the grey of 
his tunic disappearing against their silver trunks. The cool air and the 
dappled light, filtered green through a thousand leaves, were like a balm to 
him. One elf, he caught simply by waiting in a flickering shadow, hair and 
tunic silver and grey like the bark behind him, and reaching out to touch 
the other as he walked obliviously past.
      Eventually, the dim light darkened more and the shadows 
deepened. He lingered, feeling the air change around him as it grew cool 
and damp. The music of the forest deepened as different creatures took 
their turn to crawl and fly through its still air and green depths. The scent 
of the soil overwhelmed that of grass and flower. His soul was tranquil as 
it coursed along this familiar world, knowing all it felt and touched. Now 
his fellows grew careless but he did not and several more red ribbons went 
to elves who thought the hunt was over. To one who protested he replied 
curtly, “Not even men stop at dusk.”
      He had worked his way back towards the western gate, certain that 
none remained behind him. Four other sentries were walking up to the 
gate and he recognised Rumil among them. He waited until they had 
passed through it to sprint silently after them. Within the city, he followed 
behind them, getting closer and closer until he was almost near enough to 
reach out and tug Rumil’s hair. Before he could do so, his brother turned 
and seized his hand, pulling him into a rough embrace. Both of them 
laughed and the other elves turned to see Haldir in their midst, as if from 
nowhere. They continued to the garrison together, talking and joking, 
Haldir and Rumil walking in step with their arms linked.
      They were the last to return, finding a merry throng in the 
forecourt, with ale and mulled wine being handed out in earthen mugs. 
Haldir took the one he was offered and a moment later Orophin joined 
them. 
      “An hour I have been waiting! Why are my brothers the slowest in 
the guard?”
      There was much shouting and joking, with coloured ribbons 
decorating the belts of many, and many were the stories being told of how 
they were given or received. The day’s rostered sentries had returned and 
those of the night watch, departed. Delicious smells came from the 
cooking pit, the fire reduced to glowing embers over which a large ox 
slowly turned. Haldir looked about and noted with satisfaction the 
numbers who bore a red ribbon. In several cases, it was their only one. 
      Anaximor sat to one side in a folding chair, his tablet on his knee. 
He finished his tally then stood and leaped lightly onto the chair. He 
paused, balancing for a moment as it rocked beneath him then called for 
silence. 
      “Well, my friends, this has been a day of pride and its fall, indeed. 
We make a game of this, but remember that each ribbon you bear could 
have been a knife to the heart and an enemy at the walls of the city.” He 
paused and now the silence was tense.
      “Not one of the hunted evaded the hunters. It seems some of you 
enjoyed being caught so much you let it happen four or five times. I name 
no names but I hope lessons have been learned. Do not lose heart for that 
is nowhere near the unhappiest recruit I knew of, who was caught by no 
fewer than nine hunters.” He paused as many laughed. “And you who are 
new to the watch, know this also: six hunters received ribbons this day.” A 
ripple of surprise ran through the large group and here and there, a few 
faces blushed. 
      “I’m sure you have all heard enough from me this day. The ox 
awaits, as does the wine. Enjoy yourselves. Except for those of you on 
duty tomorrow.” He held up a warning finger, then jumped down from his 
chair and disappeared into the crowd.
      The three brothers looked at each other.
      “Will you stay yet awhile?” Rumil asked Haldir. 
      Haldir looked around and shrugged. “Perhaps a little.” He had 
feared to be in a crowd, in the dark, with a burning fire nearby. But the 
crowd was a happy one, of his fellows, and none of them paid him 
particular heed. The fire was a gentle glow of incandescent coals rather 
than the violent spit and crackle of green wood. Like the forest today, it 
was all completely different from the memories seared upon his spirit, and 
did not recall them to him.
      So he stayed a little longer and ate and drank with the others of the 
guard. After a while, Gilwendor climbed onto Anaximor’s chair and 
shouted for silence.
      “Listen, all,” he called out, “now we go to the true business of the 
day: the hunters’ tally. And I am vastly relieved to announce that we all 
caught at least one elf, thus redeeming ourselves after last year’s sorry 
excuse for a hunt.” The laughter now was much more ribald than that 
which had replied to their High Guardian earlier.
      “At the bottom of the roster with a mere four victims apiece were 
Dinendal, Sianor, Celcuven , Jarianeth…”
      The calling of names went on and Haldir stopped attending to it. 
This unofficial tally was as much a part of the hunt as the rest of the rules. 
It was always done by the participants themselves after the High Guardian 
and other chiefs had left, because to sanction it would reduce a serious 
exercise to a mere game. But all knew it was done, Anaximor would be as 
keen the rest to know the results tomorrow, if he were not actually sitting 
smiling in a shadow now, listening as he sipped his wine.
      Finally, after much shouting and cheering, Gilwendor reached his 
final name. “And the colour sported this night by the greatest number, aye, 
including four of the six hunters caught, is, as all can see, the colour red. 
And this colour was allotted this morn to one who had to arise from his 
sick bed to show us what it is to be a guardian of Lorien. Come, Haldir, 
the white rose is yours again.” Haldir blinked in surprise.
      Now was the cheering and whistling loudest yet as Orophin and 
Rumil pushed him forward to the middle of the circle. Gilwendor jumped 
down and embraced him and held out the long-stemmed white rose which 
was the hunt’s trophy for its best. Haldir took it awkwardly in his right 
hand, staring at it in disbelief. Then a delighted smile spread across his 
face and he held it aloft, to another loud cheer. 
      When this had died down, he replied, “I have hardly arisen from 
my sick bed, but this does make a pleasant change from helping my lord 
tally apples and turnips.” Amid cheers and laughter he made his way back 
to his brothers and Gilwendor shouted behind him, “Now, begone to your 
beds, those who patrol tomorrow. And for the rest of us, let the feasting 
begin!”
      Amid all the bustle and movement that this proclamation produced, 
a group formed around Haldir, congratulating him. 
      “Truly,” he said to Rumil, “I did not think to win it this time.” The 
elves stayed awhile, talking together, all of them having joined the watch 
at the same time as the three brothers, and having remained friends. 
Several only now had noticed his twisted fingers, and wanted to look more 
closely at them. Haldir held out his hand but said nothing, and nothing was 
asked. He knew at once that they had been among the elves who had come 
to his rescue.
      And, at last he could accept that none despised him for what had 
been done to him.

      Celeborn had propped himself on his elbow to watch Haldir leave. 
The younger elf’s nerves were evident, but equally so was his desire to do 
his duty. A flicker of worry darkened Celeborn’s features but then he 
reassured himself: “Is it too soon? No, he will be well, there will be others 
all around, and for the sake of his spirit, he must do this thing. But I still 
want only to keep him safe in my arms for all time and never let him out 
of my sight”. He sighed. “And it is time I was up, I have things to do this 
day as well.”
      He washed, dressed and ate and could not keep his thoughts away 
from Haldir. He will be at the garrison by now. Orophin and Rumil will be 
with him, they will watch over him where I cannot.
      He went to meet with Arcirithon and his secretary and they 
discussed the day’s business.
      They will have left by now, he will be in the woods. 
      “My Lord?”
      “What?”
      “They are waiting. Palanfir and Esterion.”
      “Very well, show them in. You need not remain, you have enough 
to do.”
      “My Lord,” said Arcirithon reproachfully,” will you not need a 
moment to put on your robes of office?”
      Celeborn looked down at the comfortable tunic he wore. “I will do 
no such thing. Those two have wasted enough of my time already. And 
yours.”
      The steward bowed. His secretary followed him out and returned a 
moment later with the two antagonists. The secretary left without further 
word and Celeborn deliberately remained where he stood at the edge of 
the talan, staring out into the leaves and branches of the mallorn. 
      The hunt will be well under way by now.
      Finally, he turned to face the two who awaited his pleasure.
      “Esterion. Panalfir.”
      Both noted the lack of honorifics and the chill in his eye. They 
bowed, lower than they had intended.
      “My Lord—”
      “I am honoured—“
      Celeborn silenced them with a glare. He paced around them to 
stand in the middle of the room. “Eight hundred years ago, you settled 
adjoining lands by the Anduin, some of the best, most fertile farm land in 
Lorien. You both worked your land well and returned much to the 
common weal. Then the fertility of your lands seemed to fade and you 
contributed less and less until, for the last three centuries, there have been 
no crops, nothing, from either of you. Yet, in that time, you have both 
taken much from the craftsmen of the city at the autumn fair—furs, 
weapons, earthenware.” He paused. Esterion took a breath then thought 
better of it.
      “Have your lands been struck by some plague? None of your 
neighbours mention it. And yet, I say, there is a plague, and it is in your 
hearts. Bad enough that it fester there. But each of you has sought to 
suborn your nearest neighbour to your view, you have wasted the time of 
my steward and mine. I will not have this canker spread. 
      “This is my judgement upon you: that you leave your lands and are 
separated to the far corners of Lorien. You and yours will take up the 
farms now given you in those places and you will work them, and believe 
me, they will leave you no time for the puerile discord of these last 
centuries.”
      Now both burst into loud argument.
      “Silence! My judgement is done. Begone from this place. And pray 
I do not hear your names henceforth, except as models of propriety.”
      He remained glaring at them with a look of thunder while they 
backed from the room. All the arrangements had been made; their escorts 
awaited them. Celeborn sighed and put them from his mind, firmly 
ignoring the shouting from without. He gazed instead up to the sky. The 
sun was high. Haldir could be miles away by now, deep in the forest. 
      The forest of his nightmare was not the forest of Lothlorien. He 
had said so himself. Celeborn reached out to clasp a low branch, caressing 
the bark worn smooth by centuries of that same touch. 
      He turned at the sound of Arcirithon discretely clearing his throat 
behind him. 
      “They are gone, my lord. With much protest.”
      “Hmph. Think how much less they would have liked my 
judgement had they been exiled.”
      “They both intend to take up their cause with the Lady when she 
returns.”
      “I was sure they would. That will be amusing.”
      They passed on to the next business, the arrangements for the 
summer fair, which kept them and two scribes busy for the next several 
hours. Then, in the afternoon, Celeborn had arranged a treat for himself in 
the form of a visit to the stables. He stayed for a while, enjoying the 
company of the stable master and grooms, all of whom loved horses as 
much as he did, but, unlike him, were able to ride every day. Finally, he 
went back up into the heights of the mallorn, stopping along the way to 
farspeak his Lady. They exchanged news and affection and he told her of 
the two troublemakers.
      “You let them think they could ask me to change your 
judgement?” she asked, bemused. “Now they will cling to that hope until I 
return. You are cruel, husband.”
      “If I am, ‘tis tempered as ever by your gentle nature. I would have 
banished them outright. Let them suffer from vain hope. And let us not 
waste these precious moments on them.”
      They spent a little longer twined in each other’s thoughts then 
returned each to their own compass. He pushed himself languidly away 
from the branch in whose curve he had rested and continued up. 
      Celeborn was long accustomed to solitude and he had spent most 
of his evenings alone for a thousand years. Galadriel liked mirth, 
movement, music and kept the company of her ladies. He wanted silence, 
tranquillity, a time to reflect after the bustle of the day, and became restive 
if too many state occasions came close upon each other. But now he 
wandered about his quarters, picking up and putting back a book, a scroll, 
a knife or an ornament.
      “Haldir,” he thought, “you have ruined me for my own company.” 
It was dusk, the hunters would be returning now and he would come back 
soon. Celeborn read for a little, a book of ancient songs, but too many 
recalled to him the face and shape of the one who now filled his heart. He 
put the book aside and sat in the gathering darkness, seeing his sloe-eyed 
love before him. He imagined Haldir’s smooth brow against his lips, the 
flutter and quiver of his lashes and eyelids when he kissed them, and, still 
awaiting him, that soft, sensual mouth. In his thoughts he traced his tongue 
down the sculpted valley leading from his lover’s nose to his lips, then 
along the curve of them, feeling them part beneath him…
      Ai! Celeborn took a deep breath and stood, putting the book aside. 
He paced about, then climbed out among the branches but soon found 
himself in the place they had rested together a few nights before. He 
stayed there a little, remembering the familiar weight in his arms as Haldir 
had leaned back against him.
      He went back to the talan. A tray of cold meat, bread and wine 
awaited, his usual supper. Haldir must have stayed for the feasting after 
all. Nothing could have happened; someone would have sent word. He 
poured some wine and tore off a crust, sitting on the bench and dipping it 
in the goblet. 
      
      Haldir had let his fellows talk him into staying a little longer and 
eating with them. Seeing that he was content, Rumil and Orophin stopped 
hovering around him and wandered off to talk to their particular friends. 
But before much longer, Haldir made his farewells and left. 
      When he reached the talan, all was silent and he stepped 
soundlessly over the floor to the still figure resting on the bench. 
      Celeborn’s knees were drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped 
around them. Slowly, he raised his head to see Haldir kneeling beside him. 
So they remained, quietly, drinking in the sight of each other.
      “Why did you not go to bed?”
      “I could not, until you returned. What is that?”
      Haldir gave him the white rose.
      “You won.”
      “Come to bed.” Haldir stood, sliding one arm beneath Celeborn’s 
knees and the other around his back.
      “What are you doing?”
      “Carrying you.”
      Celeborn laid his head upon his lover’s shoulder and let himself be 
carried to their bed.


Title: Heart and Body Chapter 5 / 9 
Author (including email): Implacida (Implacida@hotmail.com) 
Pairing(s):Haldir /  Celeborn 
Rating:  R 
Summary: Having seen some of Haldir’s duties, we now see some of 
Celeborn’s. 
Disclaimer: Tolkien’s characters are his, mine are mine. No profit made or 
copyright infringement intended. 
Warning (only if necessary): Angst, sex

      Haldir woke first, in the cool, pre-dawn stillness of the great tree, 
when not a leaf stirred. He lay on his back with Celeborn half over him. 
The Lord of Lorien’s head rested on his shoulder, silver hair spilling over 
them both. Their arms lay over each other’s bodies and their legs 
intertwined. Haldir stayed completely still, not stretching or twitching 
because he knew Celeborn would awaken at once and he wanted to enjoy 
the moment. 
      To be held so close by the one he loved was purest bliss. He 
marvelled again that it should have happened at all. He remembered well 
the first time he saw Celeborn; the image of that glorious silver beauty 
was seared into his very soul. But he could not recall a time when he had 
not loved his lord. It was as if he had not been born until that moment. 
What had begun as worship of a distant, unreachable star had turned to 
breathtaking awe when the Lady had brought them to live with her and her 
lord, and grown to overwhelming, helpless adoration in those first weeks 
and months. Then, he could not take his eyes off Celeborn, could not 
believe what had happened. And now, to lie here with him in his arms, to 
kiss his hair, to feel his breath against his own bare skin, it seemed like a 
dream. Not matter how long they lay thus, Haldir would not tire of it. So 
he closed his eyes again and sighed contentedly.
      Celeborn lay on Haldir’s right, one leg bent at the knee and resting 
over his thighs. His right arm stretched over Haldir’s chest and his 
shoulders, in turn were encircled by Haldir’s arm. Celeborn moved his leg 
slightly, rolling his hips against Haldir’s flank and the younger elf could 
feel his lord’s cock twitch and swell against him. His lips curved in a soft 
smile of anticipation, the hot pulse making him breathe faster. The way his 
lord gave himself thrilled Haldir; he could never have enough of 
Celeborn’s melting, lascivious surrender. In those moments, he is utterly 
mine. I could do anything, anything at all, and he could not stop me.  
Haldir took a deep breath, giddy desire building in him. It only pained him 
that he could not give back the same to his lover. But the thought of being 
so defenceless, so helpless, so vulnerable, made him tense at once, and 
when the moment came he could not surrender to it.
      “It will come,” Celeborn had said. “Do not be troubled by this. 
Time is all that is needed, and that, we have.” So Haldir had kissed him 
and stroked him and delighted in his increasing lassitude as his climax 
came closer, closer, wanting to engulf him, be wrapped around him 
completely, so as to let not even the breath of his lover’s sigh escape him.
      Celeborn moved again and the pulse was harder, hotter. He 
moaned, still asleep, and pushed himself against Haldir’s thigh. Haldir 
could resist no longer, pulling even tighter the arm around Celeborn’s 
shoulders and reaching down with his left hand to caress that insistent 
cock. Celeborn sighed, eyelids fluttering but no quite opening, beginning 
to push. Haldir wrapped his long fingers around him and milked him, his 
rhythmic grip making Celeborn moan again and roll his hips. Celeborn 
thrust himself against Haldir, grabbing his shoulder urgently, raising his 
head up to kiss him, pushing his tongue deep into Haldir’s mouth as he 
pushed his cock into his fist, his weight pinning Haldir onto the bed. His 
release came quickly, as it always did in the early morning, and he 
shuddered, collapsed, panting onto Haldir’s body. 
      When he could speak, he sighed, “I know no greater joy than to 
waken thus.”
      Haldir rolled Celeborn onto his back and lay over him, nuzzling his 
neck and ears, kissing the curve of his cheek to his lips. “Nor I,” he 
murmured. “Every morning I wake with you in my arms and I cannot 
believe it yet.”
      Celeborn laughed softly. “I cannot believe how my days are made 
new for having you in them. Yesterday, without you, dragged like a very 
slug. But today, ah, today, you are here again.” He pulled Haldir’s head 
down to kiss him, stroking gentle fingers down his neck and shoulder.
      “Tell me of your day like a slug,” said Haldir.
      Celeborn sat up. “You will be pleased to know that the endless 
letters of Esterion and Palanfir may be consigned to the archives. I had 
them summoned yesterday and they are banished to the far corners of 
Lorien, to hard land where they will need to work if they want to eat.”
      Haldir’s eyes widened. “Banished? Truly?”
      “They owe my lady for that much clemency; I would have exiled 
them from Lorien herself.” He pushed Haldir to the edge of the bed, 
pulling blankets away from him. “Come, arise, let us go and wash for 
today we have much to do.” Haldir groaned but swung his legs onto the 
wooden floor.
      The Lord of Lorien had a wondrous bathing chamber, made to his 
own design, where rainwater was stored and made to fall on demand. Soon 
they stood together as cool, soft water sprinkled down over them, and 
washed each other.
      “Why,” grumbled Celeborn, “does it take five times as long to 
wash the two of us as it did to wash just me?”
      Haldir laughed, then put his hand over his mouth. Sound carried 
much further out here. They wrapped themselves in linen towels and went 
back to Celeborn’s quarters. Haldir fetched clean clothes from ‘his’ nearby 
area and began to dress.
      “Tell me of the hunt,” said Celeborn, wringing his hair in a towel 
and glancing at the white rose in a goblet of water by the bed.
      “It went well enough. None of the hunted was sufficiently 
appalling to be considered a danger to his fellows. But there were one or 
two who will need watching.”
      “You have taken the rose in every hunt, have you not?”
      “I have rarely take part of late, I choose to take a patrol. Too few 
want to during the hunt. Sometimes I feel it is become a game. Only 
imagine, I forgot to give one his ribbon. And after, Rumil brought him to 
me saying the fellow had lamented he had no red ribbon.”
      Celeborn chuckled and shook his head. “Perhaps we should cease 
to give ribbons and poke them with sharp arrows instead. But you, as I 
recall, you were not caught when you were one of the hunted?”
      “No, I alone.”
      Celeborn stood and walked to the corner where his clothes were 
hung. “Come here,” he said. Haldir stood before him. Celeborn reached 
for him and tied a silver lace from his ceremonial robe to Haldir’s belt. 
“Now you have a ribbon. You are caught. You are mine.”
      Haldir looked down at it then raised his face to his lord’s. He 
parted his lips but could make no sound. Instead, his eyes filled with tears 
and Celeborn took him and crushed him into his arms. Haldir clung to 
him, face buried against his neck, shoulders shaking.”
      “Come, child, come,” muttered Celeborn, “’Tis but a bit of ribbon. 
Would that it could be a silver ring. Haldir, does it not pain you that you 
will never wear a ring? That none will ever know you to be beloved by 
another?
      Haldir shook his head. “I have always known I would have no ring. 
I never dared to dream I would have you. What is a ring beside this?”
      “Come, then, why do you weep?”
      “I do not know, ‘tis only a little ribbon that will vanish to dust.
      Celeborn pulled him down to the bed, stretching himself over his 
lover, wanting to cover him completely with his own body and shield him 
from the world. He kissed away his tears and stroked his cheek and gazed 
into his dark eyes. “I could stay here all day,” he breathed.
      “I too,” replied Haldir. “Why can we not?”
      That recalled to Celeborn his plans for the day. “We cannot, 
because we are going into the forest together.”
      “Are we?” Haldir’s eyes lit up hopefully. “How so?”
      “The mellyrn. I cannot decide which of those two should be felled, 
if either. So I want to go and look at them. And you come with me.”
      “Truly? Today?”
      “Now.”
      Laughing, Haldir tried to sit up. “Then why do we tarry here?”
      Celeborn continued to pin him to the bed. “Because it is sweet to 
do so.”
      “No, come, let me up.” Haldir struggled deliciously.
      “The more you do that, the more I want to hold you here.”
      Haldir went limp. “Then here I stay. The forest will wait.”
      “Hm.” Celeborn fitted his lips with precision over his lover’s, then 
parted them, sucking Haldir’s lower lip.
      Haldir’s eyes half-closed. Then he pulled away. “But I, too, would 
wait.”
      “And the horses will not.” Reluctantly, the lord of Lorien rolled off 
his beloved then pulled him to his feet. They finished dressing while 
Celeborn explained the route he wanted to take and the preparations he 
had made. Minutes later they were running lightly down the long flights of 
stairs to the ground.
      Two magnificent grey horses were waiting, gentled by their 
grooms, ready saddled and with packs tied to them. Haldir stopped in his 
tracks upon catching sight of them. “They are—they look just like—“
      “Direct descendents,” grinned Celeborn. “That is Falas, for you, 
and I shall ride Ranril. And their distant sire, whom you remember, was 
Mithroch.” He spoke to the grooms while Haldir took Falas’ bridle and 
stroked the horse’s neck. It snorted and shook its head, snuffling at his 
shoulder. 
      “Sir?” he looked up to see one of the grooms offering him an 
apple.
      “Thank you.” He took it and let the horse eat it from his hand. “I 
did not bring anything; I did not know we were to ride.”
      “Lord Celeborn saw to everything yesterday,” the groom replied.
      “We have not met before, have we? Yet you look familiar. I am 
Haldir.”
      The groom’s eyes shone. “Yes, I know, sir. My name is Dindarion. 
You met my brother yesterday, we are very much alike.”
      Haldir looked at him. “Dimethor? He is your brother?”
      “Yes. He was caught three times yesterday, but he had feared that 
he would fare much worse.”
      At mention of the hunt, Celeborn glanced down at Haldir’s belt. 
Catching the look, Haldir touched one hand to his breast.
      Turning back to Dindarion, he said “The hunt is only the first of 
his trials. It means simply that he can be allowed to continue his learning.”
      “Come, Haldir.” Celeborn mounted, reining in the enthusiastic 
Ranril. 
      Haldir smiled at Dindarion and led Falas away a little. Mounting, 
he called to the groom, “Remind him to go around things—“
      “—not through them!” finished Dindarion, raising a hand in 
farewell.
      They rode slowly along the quiet paths and began to canter upon 
reaching the wider road leading to the gate. Soon they were out of the city 
and making for the watch’s new outpost. It was Celeborn’s intention to 
ride that far and leave the horses for the two nights it would take them to 
walk through the deeper forest to see the two mellyrn. They spoke little as 
they rode, occasionally galloping at full speed for the sheer joy of it, then 
slowing to a gentle trot for a while to rest the horses. 
      They reached the outpost in the middle of the afternoon. It was 
little more than a palisade surrounded by three telain in the trees high 
above it, but it was permanently staffed, and was one of Anaximor’s 
innovations. It meant that there was a constant armed presence several 
hours’ ride from the city to support the sentries in the outlying positions 
near the foothills. The building was not completed yet and they spent an 
hour inspecting the work before Celeborn said they would need to leave or 
they would not get to the first mallorn by nightfall. 
      Now they walked, packs with food and blankets on their shoulders. 
This was an old part of the forest, the tops of the trees its only sky, and it 
was dark and cool in the depths beneath. Haldir strode beside his lord, 
breathing deep of the still, dank air. It was rich with the smell of the earth 
and of rotting leaves and damp moss. Birds called high above them, but 
they had for company only insects. What animals lived in this twilight 
world came out at night. 
      He could not keep a broad smile from his face. Celeborn turned to 
face him with the same happy grin, and reached for his hand. 
      “There will be sentries in these parts,” whispered Haldir.
      “Are you sure? This far away?”
      “There had better be.”
      Celeborn let his hand drop. They walked on and he kicked his way 
through a pile of fallen leaves, pausing to watch them settle. As Haldir 
waited beside him, Celeborn murmured softly, “I want to tumble you in 
those leaves, bury you in them and burrow down to find you.”
      “Think of all the helpless beetles and ants who make their home 
there, it would be as the end of the world for them.”
      “Then I will spare them.”
      They continued, deeper into the woods. Now, even the song of the 
birds was distant. There was little undergrowth as little would grow in the 
half light. Moss carpeted roots and stones. “Come,” whispered the Lord of 
the Wood, “there is something I would show you.” They struck off to one 
side and soon came to a vast, low stump, the remains of a giant oak felled 
many years back. Now it wore a thick blanket of green moss and Celeborn 
knelt beside it, stroking a hand over it. Haldir sat cross-legged and reached 
his hand to the moss as well.
      “’Tis like fur, like the pelt of a bear, so coarse and thick.”
      Celeborn replied softly, “I want to lay you naked upon it and 
caress all your bare skin. I want to see your hair spread around you, golden 
against the green.”
      Haldir flushed. His lips parted and he sighed. His left hand glowed 
white against the dark moss as he plucked a single frond. Holding it up, he 
whispered, “See, every stem is like a tiny tree, each with its own branches. 
All would you crush.”
      Celeborn wrapped his fingers around that trembling hand and drew 
it close. “Then I will spare it.”
      It grew darker yet as they walked silently on, as night fell. The 
occasional rustle and shuffle spoke of rabbit or fox emerging into their 
world, oblivious of the intruders in it. 
      “Can you smell the pine?” asked Celeborn.
      “Yes, but I did not know there were any this far into the wood.”
      “The last time a great tree fell, it brought down a swathe of its 
smaller fellows and some pines grew in the clearing.”
      Haldir caught his eye. “Now do not say you will tumble me in the 
pine needles. They will prick and scratch and I will not let you.”
      Celeborn laughed. “Elfling, could you stop me? But this is where 
we will stay tonight. The mallorn is another hour away.” He turned in the 
direction of a vast oak. “There is a talan up there, not very big, but 
sufficient for we two.”
      The lowest branch was twelve feet above them and Celeborn found 
places in the rough bark to put toes and fingers and climbed up to it. 
Haldir managed to get part of the way but with both feet off the ground 
and his strong left hand gripping the bark, his right was unable to grasp the 
next handhold and he began to fall away from the trunk. Celeborn reached 
down and seized his wrist, holding him while he took another step up and 
so reached the branch. There, he hugged Haldir tightly.
      “I am sorry, I forgot about your hand. There are so few things you 
cannot do, I did not think of it at all.”
      Haldir sat stiffly on the branch. “Aye, but they are all the most 
important things.”
      Celeborn cursed himself. Had he thought of it in time, he would 
have decided on some other place for that night. Haldir looked up into the 
tree and Celeborn stood. “Come, the rest of the way is easier, it is all 
branches now.” He began to climb, forcing himself not to keep looking 
back. They soon reached the wooden platform high above the ground and 
Celeborn stepped gingerly onto it, walking over it and bouncing slightly.
      “’Tis a good few years since last I came here, but it is still sound.”
      Haldir looked around, standing at the edge. “How did you know of 
this place? I did not.”
      “I built it. I have been coming here for a thousand years.” Celeborn 
slid his bag from his shoulder and sat. “Come and eat, there is bread and 
meat, cheese and apples.”
      Haldir unbuckled his belt, laying Lhach in her scabbard behind 
him. When they had eaten, he said “Shall I take the first watch?”
      “There is no need to stand watch. I come here alone and sleep 
undisturbed.”
      Haldir nodded, then lay upon the wooden platform and closed his 
eyes. 
      “Asleep already?” asked Celeborn.
      “I am tired.”
      Celeborn lay beside him, propped up on one elbow, gazing at his 
pale face and seeing the lines of tension above the delicately curved black 
brows, the tightness around lips usually soft and inviting. Haldir’s hands 
were clenched over his stomach, right hidden under left. He had been quiet 
during their meal, making only scant replies. Celeborn touched his soft 
cheek with a gentle finger then bent to kiss it, but Haldir did not respond. 
Sighing, he reached instead for the laces at Haldir’s shoulders and untied 
first one side, then the other, of his tunic. Folding them back, he saw a 
silvery glint.
      “Ah, so this is where it went.”
      Haldir reached his hand up to touch the silver ribbon knotted inside 
his tunic. “Oh, I am such a fool,” he whispered, “Why do I let my ugly 
memories intrude at times like these?” He rolled over to face Celeborn.
      “I can make no answer save this: let us this night plant new 
memories that will grow to take their place.”
      “Please.”
      “Come, stand up, let us begin anew. Now, let me undress you…”
      Soon, they both stood naked, hair unbound, in the cool night 
breeze that set whispering the leaves around them. Celeborn wrapped his 
arms around Haldir, brushing his lips tenderly then bruising them in a 
fierce kiss. Haldir tilted back his head and his hair fell in soft waves over 
his lord’s arms. Supporting him, Celeborn eased him down to the wooden 
floor of the little talan.
      “Beneath you,” he said, “is the pile of leaves we saw this 
afternoon. Can you smell them? Can you feel them?”
      Haldir smiled. “They are cold and wet and the earth beneath them 
is muddy.
      Celeborn lay over him. “But they are soft, yellow and red and they 
have in them the scent of the forest in autumn. And you lie like alabaster 
and gold among them.” He twined his fingers through his lover’s and 
stretched his arms back above his head. He bit Haldir’s chin hard enough 
to leave marks in the soft white skin. Haldir pulled his head away. “Shall I 
get you another apple?”
      Celeborn laughed. “I have here all the apples I want, and meat, 
too.” He wandered down Haldir’s neck, sucking and nipping at his skin, 
until he reached the right nipple and clamped his mouth over it hungrily. 
Soon Haldir was gasping and twisting his back, trying to escape the 
tormenting tongue and teeth. In his struggles he parted his legs a little, and 
it was enough to let Celeborn slide a knee between them. He grasped 
Haldir’s thigh tightly between his own, grinding and thrusting against it. It 
would take little more before he climaxed, so aroused was he by the lithe 
body writhing beneath him. He left the hot flesh he had been abusing and 
traced his tongue down Haldir’s ribs to the silky, delicate skin under his 
arm. Haldir moaned and bucked desperately, so sensitive was that area, 
but he could not make Celeborn stop
      Celeborn thrust against Haldir, his cock squeezed between the 
tense muscle of Haldir’s thigh and his own firm belly, slippery with the 
juice that already seeped from him. He gasped and slowed his rhythm, 
climaxing with several long hard strokes. As he slumped onto Haldir’s 
chest, the younger elf was finally able to free his hands. He pulled them 
out of Celeborn’s slackening grasp and rolled him to the side, seeing his 
sky-blue eyes open lazily. Celeborn smiled languidly at Haldir and drew 
him close for a long, slow kiss. Haldir felt a sharp tingle spread from his 
mouth to his still-smarting nipple, along the bites that crossed his ribs, and 
further down. As the warmth grew through him, he grew almost dizzy, a 
delicious weakness making him want to melt helplessly against his lover.
      But a cold memory arose of being helpless and he struggled in 
sudden panic, pulling away from Celeborn.
      His lover felt the surge of tension and let him go, watching as 
Haldir sat up panting, hands covering his face. Celeborn bit his lip. Then 
Haldir pushed back the long hair that slid over his shoulders to hide his 
face. He turned to Celeborn, grasping his hands and pressing them to his 
chest.
      “Touch me,” he hissed fiercely. He lay back, pulling his lord down 
over him. “Touch me again. Here.”
      Celeborn stroked his fingers across Haldir’s ribs, up his side to his 
arm and the soft, silken skin under it.
      “Harder!”
      He bent his fingers so that his nails traced pink scratches from 
Haldir’s elbow, down through the fine silver hair under his arm and along 
his ribs to his waist. The younger elf had closed his eyes. Now they flew 
open again, fixing Celeborn with dark, sad longing.
      “What do you want?”
      “New memories.”
      Celeborn kissed each cheek, then put his mouth beside Haldir’s 
ear. “Remember the mossy oak,” he whispered. Haldir twitched as his 
lover’s breath tickled his ear. He nodded. “Now you lie on that green 
moss, furry like the thick winter pelt of a bear. Feel it behind you, against 
your neck, the backs of your knees.” As he named them, he caressed those 
places with soft fingers. “You lie on the dark green like a splash of cream, 
your hair is a honey pool.” Celeborn bent his head, kissing Haldir’s 
temple, then his eyelid, his lips. “You are a feast to me.”
      He licked the tight skin of Haldir’s chest, dug his nails into the 
muscle of his breast. His teeth followed, biting, sucking the nipple that 
hardened under him. Haldir sighed then gasped as Celeborn chewed him, 
arching his back. His hands went to his lord’s hair, first seizing it as if to 
pull him away. Then he whimpered, stroking it instead. As Celeborn felt 
him relax again, he drew his nails harshly down Haldir’s sides to his waist, 
his hips. Haldir cried out, imagining a trail of fire from his nipples down to 
his belly.
      Feeling him tense again, Celeborn muttered, “Be at ease, child, 
give in to me. Trust me.”
      “Don’t ask me to trust you!” shouted Haldir. “You know I trust 
you!” His voice fell to a sob. “You know I love you. Just do it anyway. 
‘Tis not you I cannot trust. Do it anyway.” He slumped back, then snarled, 
pushing at Celeborn in sudden fury.
      Celeborn, surprised, fell off him and Haldir rolled over, reaching 
for his arms. Celeborn saw darkness beneath as they balanced at the edge 
of the talan and he seized Haldir’s wrists, using all his strength to push 
him back. The younger elf slammed into the trunk of the tree and leaves 
all around them quivered. He grabbed Celeborn’s leg and pulled him 
close, falling upon him and kissing him savagely. As Celeborn gave in to 
the distraction of this, Haldir grabbed both his wrists and forced them 
under his back. Celeborn twisted, body arched over his and Haldir’s 
forearms, trying to pull away but Haldir sat on his thighs, and pinning his 
shins with his ankles. Now he bent his head to his lover’s chest and bit his 
nipples. Celeborn yelped and bucked but could not prevail, so tightly was 
he held.
      Celeborn twisted helplessly, his arousal increasing in defiance of 
it. Finally, he stopped struggling, and, feeling the heat of their two bodies, 
rolled his hips. Haldir raised his eyes to his lover’s, the wild fury in them 
fading. He was out of breath, his hair dishevelled, looking like some 
primal sprite. Slowly, he slid both their arms out from under Celeborn, 
who sighed as his back eased. Still panting, Haldir sat up and Celeborn 
gazed hungrily at him. 
      “You are beautiful beyond words,” he sighed. He slid his hands 
along Haldir’s thighs and along his hard cock, revelling in the feel of the 
satin skin stretching almost silver, the pink, glistening tip. Haldir gasped, 
staring down at himself in disbelief. He put his hands over Celeborn’s, 
stilling them. Celeborn looked up at him, seeing the confusion in his eyes. 
“Let me,” he whispered. “Why do you stop me?” 
      Haldir’s eyes gleamed dark. Slowly, he took his hands away, 
leaving his lord’s where they were. Celeborn stroked him softly, seeing his 
eyes widen, his chest rise and fall as if he could not catch his breath. Their 
eyes remained locked, sky-blue to midnight blue, desire to uncertainty. 
      Celeborn clasped his fist around Haldir, flexing his fingers gently 
at first then tightly. Haldir licked his lips, then bit them, and at last he 
thrust forward hesitantly, then harder as sensation grew, rolling his hips 
while he sat on Celeborn’s legs. Celeborn felt the first beads of moisture 
appear and smeared them over the tip of Haldir’s cock, stroking his thumb 
around its delicate, sculpted curves. Haldir moaned, tilting his head back, 
letting it roll to one side, then his climax was upon him and he cried out 
softly like a trapped animal, hair falling to hide his face. Celeborn sat up, 
wrapping his arms around his lover and clasping him to his breast, 
enraptured to feel Haldir' final tremors. Oh, how he longed to know them 
with his whole body.
      Haldir murmured something inaudible and Celeborn pulled him 
down to the floor. The younger elf was asleep. Celeborn kissed his face, 
gazing at him in delight to see the delicate rose flush of his cheeks, the lip 
swollen where he had bitten it, all in sweet repose at last.
      Dawn found them both still sleeping, huddled together in a warm 
little nest of their cast-off clothing, cloaks wrapped around them. For once, 
Celeborn it was who awoke first but his first movement made Haldir stir 
as well. He winced as he moved. 
      “Ai,” he muttered, “what did we do last night?” Then his eyes 
widened as he remembered and Celeborn laughed rapturously to see it.
      “For that, I don’t mind being a bit sore.”
      “Did I hurt you?”
      “My shoulders are a little stiff, I think from when you held my 
arms under me. And do you say no word of apology for I would have you 
do all that again and more for the joy it brought us both.”
      “’Twill be little joy if I can only—if that only happens when I hurt 
you.” 
      Celeborn lifted his chin. “Nay, ‘twas that you mastered me. I 
thought you never would.”
      Haldir looked at his whimsical smile. “Did you like it?” he asked 
cautiously.
      “I might have. Then again…I am notoriously slow to decide these 
things, we might need to do it again before I can be sure. Many times.”
      Haldir laughed, then pushed away his covers. “Brrr. I could wish 
we were home again for the sake of having your rain maker nearby.”
      “There is a small stream not far from here.”
      “Then let us go there, I do not want to put on even my cloak, so 
sticky am I.”
      They wrapped their things in their cloaks and climbed swiftly 
down the tree, jumping lightly the distance from the last branch.
      “This way.” Celeborn set off at a jog and soon they were warm 
from running. Haldir noticed Celeborn looking thoughtfully at a drift of 
pine needles blown against a long root.
      “No!” he said indignantly. Celeborn merely eyed him in a 
speculative manner but said nothing.
      The stream, when they reached it, was little more than their two 
lengths across and no deeper than mid thigh. It chuckled over pebbles and 
around boulders and was as cold as the melted snow it came from. But the 
sun had now arisen and they sat on a grassy bank, eating bread and cheese 
and drying each other’s hair. Haldir wore his as Celeborn did, simply 
pulled back, because it had not yet fully grown again.
      Soon, they were walking briskly along the bank of the stream, 
Celeborn worrying that they were behind the schedule he had planned.
      “’Tis because I stopped to inspect the outpost; I had not planned on 
that.”
      “I am glad you took the time to do it.”
      “I have paid too little attention to the guardians of late. I had grown 
too accustomed t o relying completely upon Halenil.”
      “You may rely equally upon Anaximor.”
      “Aye, for a ten-year. Are there any sentries out here?”
      “Not this far out.”
      “Good.” Celeborn reached for his lover’s hand, grasping it firmly 
as they walked along. Haldir looked embarrassed and Celeborn laughed 
aloud at his pout, pulling him close for a kiss.
      “At least hold the other.”
      “Why? I love your poor, broken fingers along with the rest of you, 
would that they were whole. ‘Tis no reflection on you that they are not yet 
healed.”
      “No, but they’re a constant reminder.”
      “Then remember also that this is what brought us together. And let 
me hold your hand in peace.”
      Haldir sulked still but he stopped trying to pull away and they 
walked on in step.
      “There it is!” Celeborn pointed, and Haldir looked up to see the 
shimmering golden leaves of a great mallorn in the distance, towering 
above the greens of the lesser trees. He gazed at it, a slow smile spreading 
over his face.
      Celeborn said softly, “It looks like a king, standing head and 
shoulders above a field of peasants.”
      “How can you think to fell it?”
      “Ah, love, sometimes even kings must die. And the foresters say it 
is diseased. Better to take it than leave it to fall. The only question is, 
when.”
      They continued toward the mallorn, barely speaking and then, in 
hushed voices. Celeborn noticed with relief that Haldir had relaxed his 
hand. He gripped it more comfortably and drew him closer. 
      Soon they were climbing over twisting, sinuous roots, thicker than 
their own bodies. Then they reached the trunk and Celeborn put one arm 
around his lover’s shoulders and stretched the other over the tree, as if he 
would embrace it as well. Both elves rested their faces against the rough 
bark for long minutes.
      “Something is amiss,” murmured the Lord of the Wood, “I can feel 
no hunger for life here, no joy in the light of the sun…” His voice faded to 
a whisper 
      “If a mallorn slept, then I would say it slept.”
      “No. No, my love. They do not sleep.” Celeborn stepped back, 
tilting his head to look up into the distant branches. “Now I am going to 
climb up and you cannot follow me. Will you keep watch here below 
while I am gone?”
      “Of course.” 
      Celeborn kissed him distractedly, eager to be going up into the 
great tree. He took a rope from his pack and dropped onto the ground 
everything he was carrying, taking off his boots as well. “I may be gone a 
while; it is safe enough here if you want to sleep.” Haldir shook his head, 
smiling tightly. Then the lord of Lorien felt for hand- and toe-holds in the 
rough bark of the mallorn and began to climb.
      Haldir watched until he disappeared. He wandered about a little, 
walking around the tree. As far as he could tell, it looked perfectly healthy, 
although perhaps, looking up, it was a little less leafy than it might be. 
And there was that sense of dullness about it. He could not have put it into 
words but knew at once what Celeborn meant. He sighed and walked 
around in a wider circle, listening intently for any disturbance but the 
forest was perfectly peaceful. Finding a little clearing, he drew his sword 
and practised all the attacks and defences he knew, as if facing a foe only 
he could see.
      It was midday now. He returned to the tree and lay down beside 
Celeborn’s boots, first arranging them neatly, then holding them against 
his chest. He lay still, putting away all thoughts of self and letting his spirit 
soar among the soft sounds of the forest. Slowly he was filled with the 
scent of the cool earth, the whisper of the slight breeze, the hum of tiny 
flying things and the skitter of crawling ones. Nothing larger than a thrush 
came near him. As he lost himself ever more to the life teeming around 
him, he sensed the emptiness nearby, the sadness of something left alone, 
last of its kind. This tree had been a seedling when the few other mellyrn 
in the forest succumbed to their great age and slowly died.
      He could not bear to delve further; his soul was too frail to 
contemplate such a vast and ancient despair and he backed away from the 
essence that towered over him. For a moment he looked down at the tiny, 
fragile body lying below, pale grey against the moss, hugging a pair of 
boots. Then he was back among the birds and insects, buzzing little beings 
full of blissful, busy purpose, blinkered by their need to spend each 
moment making ready to survive the next.
      The afternoon grew cooler as shadows lengthened and still he lay, 
trying to sense any sound or movement from above. Nothing was there 
and he told himself it was foolish to worry. He stood and paced all around 
the tree, peering up into it from every angle, coming always back to sit 
beside Celeborn’s boots. It was dusk before there was finally a flicker of 
movement from above. He scrambled to his feet and watched it grow 
larger, could see Celeborn walking backwards down the side of the trunk, 
passing his rope through his hands to hold him. He reached the end of it 
while he was still some twenty feet up, and swung away from the trunk, 
looking down before letting go. He dropped to the ground and landed on 
his feet but rolled over once before lying still, arms flung out and silver 
hair spread like a halo.
      Heart pounding, Haldir ran as the fine rope poured down over 
Celeborn. Kneeling, he swept away the coils and tenderly raised the prone 
elf in his arms.
      “Celeborn?” he whispered, then louder did he call his lover’s 
name, touching frantic fingers to his face, his throat, feeling his pulse and 
seeing his chest rise and fall. “Celeborn?” 
      Finally, his eyelids fluttered open and his eyes gleamed briefly 
silver before he blinked and stared up at Haldir’s anxious face. He raised a 
hand to it, touching his cheek. Haldir caught the hand and pressed it to 
him, kissing it.
      “What happened? Why did you—? Are you—?”
      Celeborn shook his head a little, pulling Haldir’s hand back down 
to caress it against his own face. He closed his eyes again, sighing, and 
Haldir lay down beside him and embraced him tightly, stroking his face, 
his back, wrapping his body protectively around him. He could tell from 
Celeborn’s breathing that he had fallen asleep and held him still, letting 
him rest. It was dark when he awoke again, muttering something in a 
tongue Haldir did not understand. He stood and picked him up, carrying 
him back to the pile of their packs and cloaks, wrapping him warmly. He 
gave him water to drink and then Celeborn slept again. Haldir remained 
with him, holding him tight but he did not sleep. With Lhach in reach, he 
listened all night to the sounds of the forest. But nothing disturbed them 
and at dawn Celeborn opened his eyes.
      “Tithen ellon, berio nin, he murmured, seeing Haldir alert beside 
him. “Have you watched over me all night?” Haldir nodded. “Thank you.” 
He yawned and stretched. “Is there water?” Haldir brought him the skin. 
He also unrolled the pack of food.
      “You have not eaten.”
      Celeborn broke in half the last small loaf of bread. “Neither have 
you.”
      Haldir took it. “I never thought to. I was worried about you. What 
happened? Look at your hands—and your feet are the same.”
      Celeborn held up his hand, peering at the cuts and grazes. “I have 
grown soft, living in a palace. ‘Twould never have happened before.”
      “I bathed them. What happened?”
      “Nothing. I forgot the passing of time.”
      “It frightened me, until I realised what you were doing.” He looked 
up into the mallorn. “I touched it too, but I had to stop, I could not bear it.” 
His voice trailed off. 
      Celeborn stood and went back to the broad trunk. He leaned 
against it, spreading his arms wide, palms and face pressed to the bark. 
Haldir packed away their few things, made himself ready for travel, then 
sat on a root, waiting patiently. He listened to the sounds of the forest but 
heard nothing other than the creatures that belonged in it, the creak of 
branches and the whisper of leaves in the breeze that played in the 
treetops, never reaching the floor. Finally, Celeborn stepped away from 
the mallorn. As he turned he swayed and Haldir was at his side in an 
instant, holding him and guiding him to sit. Celeborn’s head lolled against 
his shoulder and he hardly seemed to breathe. Haldir kissed him and held 
him close. Eventually he sighed and straightened up. 
      “We must go,” he murmured. Haldir nodded and reached for his 
boots. 
      “Here, let me put these on you.” He pulled them on, frowning at 
Celeborn’s scraped feet and cut toes. Then he pulled Celeborn’s cloak 
over his head, arranging his hair, and buckled on his belt. He helped him 
to stand, and they walked away.
      Celeborn took Haldir’s hand again but this time it was the younger 
elf who led and supported him. They walked in silence, Celeborn limping 
a little, his head bowed. When they reached the stream again he turned 
back and looked into the distance. Haldir could also see the faraway 
golden crown standing solitary over a field of green.
      “Haldir.”
      “Yes?”
      “There is a thing I would ask of you.”
      “Ask it. Ask anything of me. You know I am yours.”
      “This would I ask of you, Haldir: never leave me. The day will 
come when our people all depart for the Undying Lands. I will not go, 
Haldir, I will not leave Arda. Do you not go. Do you not leave me here 
alone.”
      Haldir stared at the distant mallorn.
      “I promise this.”
      “Galadriel would not.”
      “I promise it. By my life which you restored to me. By the honour 
you taught me, I promise it.”
      Celeborn nodded and they turned away. They stopped again briefly 
before leaving the stream, to let him bathe his hands and feet, and to eat 
the last of their food.
      Celeborn stumbled from time to time, walking with his head 
bowed. Haldir led him gently, picking his path as carefully as he could. By 
dusk, as they neared the garrison, he felt increasingly the eyes of others 
upon him, for they were back in the realm of the elves.
      After a hot meal and a night in soft blankets, but of necessity apart, 
they took horse again. 
      As they neared Caras Galadhon, Celeborn said, “When my lady 
returns from Imladris, we will go and see the other mallorn. This one, we 
will fell in the autumn.”


Title: Heart and Body Chapter 6 / 9 
Author (including email): Implacida (Implacida@hotmail.com) 
Pairing(s):Haldir /  Celeborn 
Rating:  R 
Summary: A visit to Imladris 
Disclaimer: Tolkien’s characters are his, mine are mine. No profit made or 
copyright infringement intended. 
Warning (only if necessary): Angst, sex

      “Brother, I beg you, put away this long face! Will you bring all 
your gloom to fair Imladris?”
      Rumil’s horse danced around Falas. Haldir raised his eyes from his 
pommel. A short way ahead, Orophin had also stopped and looked back.
      “Haldir, you will have to leave each other betimes,” said Rumil 
gently.
      “I know. Perhaps it will become easier. Come, we were to be there 
by noon. Let me not delay us further.”
      The sun was high when they reached the ford of the Bruinen, 
where they walked their horses carefully through the swirling waters. 
Rumil and Orophin gazed all about with wide eyes as they set foot for the 
first time in a foreign land. Haldir saw the elven sentry standing silently at 
the edge of the forest that reached almost down to the river. He raised a 
hand in salute and dismounted, leading Falas. The strange elf walked 
down the slope, bow and long spear left at rest. He was tall and slender, 
sauntering elegantly. Glossy dark hair shone in the sun around his sharp 
features and his clothing was of russet and brown, to blend with the trees 
of warm Imladris.
      “Anna suilad,” he said”
      “I greet you in turn,” replied Haldir. “I am Haldir of Lorien. These 
are my brothers, Rumil and Orophin. We have been summoned to escort 
our lady back to Lothlorien.”
      “It will be our loss when the lady departs for she has brought the 
light of the stars to Imladris,” replied the other courteously. “If you keep 
to the path it will lead you to the house of Lord Elrond, where you are 
expected.”
      They thanked him and remounted, Haldir watching from the corner 
of his eye to see the sentry melt back into the trees. 
      Rumil and Orophin chattered about the different colours of leaves 
and plants as they rode. All was bathed in sunlight, where Lorien was 
shaded by its great mellyrn. Another wonder awaited them as they rode 
through the valley, for the house of Elrond was garlanded with eternal 
rainbows as the dew from its many waterfalls hung in the sunny air. Even 
Haldir’s heart lifted at the sight, then fell again as the one he longed to 
share it with was not there.
      
      It seemed to Haldir that their idyll had ended with the journey to 
the doomed mallorn. The lord of Lorien’s mood was darkened by his close 
communion with that vast, silent despair. And then, Celeborn’s days were 
increasingly full of the daily running of Lorien, a dozen scribes and 
secretaries in attendance as he caught up with the many matters he had 
postponed in the last two months in order to have Haldir undisturbed, by 
his side. Haldir, thinking back to his childhood and remembering how 
busy his lord had always been, berated himself for not realising how 
exceptional those weeks were. But at the time he was too caught up in 
their newly awakened love to look beyond the strong arms that kept the 
worries of the world away from him.
      They treasured their nights. In the half light of Lorien’s long 
evenings, they went to their bed and forgot the world in a tangle of heat 
and long legs, of sweat-slicked silver hair and pounding hearts. Haldir 
ached with longing at the memory as he rode unseeing along the final path 
through the gardens. 
      “Haldir!”
      He looked up to see that his brothers had dismounted and a groom 
was waiting to take Falas’ bridle. Quickly, he slid out of the saddle and 
untied his bags, following his brothers up a broad sweep of stairs and 
under an ornately carved portico to the room they had been given. It was 
wide and airy, with three beds and chairs and a table, and drawers for their 
clothes. The elf who had brought them here said another would come in 
half an hour to take them to the Lady, who was eager to see her own.
      Rumil wandered about the room, looking at the beautiful carvings 
which made every day items into exquisite treasures. Orophin walked onto 
the balcony and admired the view of the gardens and the sound of a 
sparkling stream. Haldir put down his bag and stood still, eyes far away.
      Something bowled into him and he gasped as he fell. Rumil 
laughed and Orophin held him tightly. They had each seized one of his 
arms and pushed him down onto the nearest bed.
      “Brother, will you wake up!”
      “For if you do not, we will give you such an awakening as will 
make you smart for a week!”
      “Get off me, you pair of goblins!” He pulled his arms but could not 
prevail against one determined brother on each side of him. They held him 
pinned to the bed and tickled him without mercy, knowing from years of 
experience exactly where he was most sensitive. Soon all three were 
panting and laughing and then there came a tapping against the carved 
screen which formed the wall of their room. Orophin happened to be on 
top at that moment and he looked up.
      “Yes?” He said this with all the cold dignity he could muster, and 
in Orophin’s case it was considerable.
      The wide-eyed elf blinked and closed his mouth. He stammered “I, 
I am come to escort you to the lady Galadriel. I, my name is Melpomaen.”
      “Thank you. We will be with you in a moment.”
      Melpomaen bowed and backed away, a look of stunned disbelief in 
his dark eyes. He frowned in disapproval as a peal of silvery laughter 
followed him.
      He had not long to wait. The three Lorien elves filed out a moment 
later, pictures of sober propriety. Melpomaen looked at them 
incredulously: each was more beautiful than the last. Then he remembered 
himself and cleared his throat. “This way.” As he turned, he saw one reach 
out to straighten another’s tunic and he blushed to recall the abandon that 
had met him.
      “Truly,” he thought, frowning, “’tis said that the ways of Lorien 
are not as those of Imladris.”
      He had another example of this when he ushered the three into the 
presence of the lady Galadriel, whom he so venerated as to barely be able 
to raise his eyes to her.
      With a happy cry, she turned away from her balcony and held out 
her arms, to be swept up by the tallest of the three and spun around high in 
the air. Laughing with delight, she hugged each in turn and Melpomaen 
fled.
      “O, how I have longed for faces from home! ‘Tis so good to see 
you all! Come, sit with me, eat, tell me the news.”
      She drew them to cushioned benches, arranged around a low table 
spread with dainty bowls of tasty morsels and poured sweet wine for them. 
They ate and chattered and giggled over the latest gossip, all of which 
Rumil related with enthusiasm. Haldir spoke least, sitting awkwardly 
beside her. She had hugged him as closely as the others but to arms grown 
accustomed to holding one more solid and muscular, Galadriel’s tall, 
slender frame seemed as delicate as that of a sparrow. 
      He had been dreading their reunion and hated feeling so, for he 
truly loved her. Only Celeborn’s repeated assurance that she was happy 
for them convinced him at last to come to Imladris.
      Finally, the four of them leaned over the balcony, looking out into 
the beautiful day. A warm haze filled the air, they inhaled new scents and 
listened to birdsong that alone was the same as they knew at home. The 
lady shooed the younger two out but put a hand on Haldir’s arm. “Stay 
with me a little,” she murmured. Rumil and Orophin went off to explore 
the gardens without a backward glance and Haldir stood with downcast 
eyes before his lover’s wife.
      The lady Galadriel watched him thoughtfully. Much had changed 
between them since she had gone from her home. She reached her long 
hands up and held his face. Haldir flushed beneath her gaze and would not 
raise his eyes.
      “Haldir,” she breathed, “you who have been as a son to me, will 
you not look at me?” She felt him tremble at her words, but he opened his 
eyes at last and her breath halted at the pain in their dark depths. His lips 
parted as if he would speak and she waited but no sound came.
      “Haldir,” she said, “Remember who I am. Remember what I am. I 
knew before you were born that my lord would take a lover. I knew it 
before ever I gave myself to him, yet I did so for his love is great enough 
to encompass more than one. As is mine.” His black eyes overflowed then 
and she drew him to her breast.
      “Haldir, do you remember the day I came to your home to find 
your mother weeping in despair? Her milk had stopped and she could not 
feed her baby. Poor Orophin, how he screamed. And I took him and 
walked about to soothe him and came across you in a corner with Rumil 
asleep in your arms. You looked up at me with eyes that begged silence 
lest he awaken and I knew you at once. For had I not seen in my mirror 
my lord hold you as you held your brother?”
      “And yet you took us home?” he whispered.
      “What else could I do? I had long forseen that I would have a 
daughter and three sons, yet my womb never quickened again after 
Celebrian. But I had seen me delight in my boys, countless times. In those 
futures where you three were not with us, my lord and I knew centuries of 
loneliness instead. At that moment, with the three of you together, I 
recognised you as the sons I would raise but not birth. I could not have left 
you there and gone back to our empty home ”
      “Did you never want to deny your fate?”
      “O, how many times have I tried to do so! Haldir, I have been in 
this world so long, so many terrible things have I done. Kinslayer am I 
called and do you think I did not forsee that and seek to turn that fate 
aside?” She whirled away from him and as her golden hair and white robe 
swirled about her she seemed to glow with a brilliant light. He stood 
unflinching before her, silver in her reflected glory. “But loving the sons 
of Sarumiel was not a fate I would have denied.” As her aura dimmed she 
stepped back to him again. “Never did I regret what I did, in taking you. A 
measure of wisdom, Haldir, can I share with you. Heed it for I won it hard. 
Do not fight what is fated for it will happen whether you will it or no.”
      “I will heed it, lady. I thank you for putting my heart at ease for 
this has pained me much, despite all he said.” Haldir stopped to consider. 
“Did he know? About me?”
      “No. Long and long ago did he make me swear never to tell him of 
his fate and I have kept my word. Do you not tell him either.”
      “As you will, my lady.”
      “The other thing I never knew was the manner of your coming 
together. I grieve for your pain, child, for all it brought you to your life’s 
love. ‘Twas a high price to pay.”
      “’Tis done,” he replied simply.
      “Is it so? For in your eyes I see darkness still.”
      It took all of Haldir’s will not to look away from her piercing gaze 
at that moment. “In my heart there is darkness still. No matter what I do. I 
cannot forget. I cannot—I am never free of them.” He laughed bitterly. 
“To no other have I told this, nana. I do not know what to do.”
      “Sometimes,” she replied, “you can only endure.”
      
      His brothers had gone to explore the grounds, but Haldir wanted 
only to sit quietly with his thoughts a while. He found his way back to the 
room they had been given, reflecting on the Lady’s words as he unpacked 
his bags. What was done, was done; it could not be undone. And if by 
some unthinkable means it were, what else might be undone with it? Ah, 
no, no. 
      He had made a vow, the one she could not make. By the life you 
restored to me, by the honour you taught me… he would live with himself 
to keep that vow. And his memories were a part of him.
      As he slowly shook out a robe, a folded paper fell onto the floor. 
Haldir put down the robe. He did not remember packing this. 
      Inside it were an autumn leaf, a single sprig of moss and a pinch of 
pine needles. 
      All his memories were a part of him.

      A smile of satisfaction curved Haldir’s lips. Orophin might be 
taller and Rumil more beautiful, but he could beat both of his brothers 
when it came to forest craft. He sat in the tree a little longer, swinging one 
leg idly, listening to the sounds of nature in this place and how they 
differed from those of Lorien. 
      But it would be unfair of him simply to stay in the tree all morning. 
He had to give them some chance of finding him, so he slithered back 
down to the ground, landing silently and freezing so that he blended into 
the background. When he was certain nothing was there to see him, he set 
off along the hillside, parallel to the stream below. 
      He had suggested the game when they had risen at dawn, as an 
antidote to the boredom he had seen in Rumil’s eyes. They had been in 
Imladris for a week and the three of them, long accustomed to busy 
activity, had explored its beauty to satiety.
      He would go into the forest, he said, and half an hour later they 
would try to track him and find him. And the game would last until noon, 
when they would all return to the house for lunch.
      A small sound made him freeze again. It was repeated so he 
dropped and stretched out, letting the long grass hide him. He listened 
carefully, wondering if his brothers had stayed together or separated to 
cover more ground. It sounded like only one set of footsteps, but differed 
from either of theirs. And it turned out to be neither of them. The leaves of 
a tree across the clearing shivered then a dark head emerged from beneath 
them. A young boy appeared, his green tunic blending even better into the 
colours of this forest than Haldir’s pale grey one. He stared despondently 
at his feet as he walked, kicking at stones on the ground. When he reached 
the centre of the little clearing he sat, legs crossed, elbows on his knees 
and his face in his hands. Haldir watched him, seeing the thin shoulders 
shrug and hearing the boy mutter something to himself. His dark, glossy 
hair was unbound and he pushed it behind his ears, then wiped at his face 
with the same hand. From the way his shoulders moved, Haldir guessed 
that he was crying. 
      Now what was he to do? He could not stay here all morning and 
the noise the boy was making would attract Rumil and Orophin. The boy’s 
back was to him, he should be able to move away without being noticed. 
The child had obviously come a long way to cry in peace, he would not 
appreciate being found, or knowing he was watched.
      Haldir moved his weight onto his hands, then knees, then stood, all 
slowly and in total silence, even the grass sliding over him so gently as to 
make no sound. He could be gone in a moment but still he stood, 
hesitantly, eyes on the boy. The child was a picture of misery and Haldir’s 
heart sank as he remembered the many times he, too, had been in such a 
state. And at about such an age as well. How would he have felt? Would 
he have resented intrusion or would he have welcomed someone, anyone, 
who cared enough to ask why he wept?
      He walked over to the boy but was still not heard. Then his shadow 
fell over him and the child gasped, whipping around, rising to his knees. 
He made a little, strangled sound then scrambled to his feet.
      “Who are you?” he shouted. “You were spying on me!”
      Haldir raised his hands, palms out. “Peace, child,” he said softly. “I 
was here first. Did you come to spy on me?”
      The boy wiped a sleeve over his face. “No! You were not here! I 
didn’t see you!”
      “I was over there.” He pointed. “You came from under that small 
beech with your hands in your pockets. You kicked a stone across the 
grass—“
      “All right!” the boy snapped. He turned to go, pausing to peer 
where Haldir had pointed. “There wasn’t anyone over there,” he added 
defiantly.
      “Close your eyes for a moment and I will prove it.” 
      The boy closed his eyes, putting his hands over his face as well. 
Haldir went back to the long grass and lay down again. “Ready,” he 
called. “But you must stay where you are. Can you see me from there?”
      The boy peered in the direction of his voice. “I know you’re there 
because I can hear you.” He ducked his head about, squinting but not 
moving his feet. “But I can’t see you,” he conceded reluctantly. 
      Haldir sat up again, brushing back his hair.
      “That’s not fair, you were hiding!”
      “Of course I was hiding, boy, I am no mage that can turn invisible. 
Now close your eyes again and I will show you another thing.”
      The boy closed his eyes at once and Haldir stood and walked 
around behind him.
      “Say when,” the boy called out. Haldir smiled and tapped his 
shoulder. The lad jumped and spun around, almost tripping over his own 
feet. Haldir caught his arm.
      “How did you get over there? I never even heard you!”
      “I am a mage that can fly.” 
      “No, you said you were no mage. You’re making fun of me!”
      Haldir sat on the grass, crossing his legs. He looked up at the boy. 
“I am Haldir of Lorien and I know how to be silent and how to hide. Who 
are you, who make more noise than an armed goblin? Had I wanted to 
shoot you, I could have done so with my eyes closed, before you ever 
came out from the trees.”
      The boy dropped to sit in front of him, eyes wide. “I am Elladan, 
of, of Imladris. Why were you hiding? Can you teach me to hide like that? 
And be as silent? Have you ever shot a goblin?”
      “I have shot many goblins; perhaps I can teach you how to hide 
and be silent; I was hiding from my brothers.”
      Elladan’s face fell. “Brothers,” he muttered. “What’s it like having 
brothers? How many do you have? I have only one and he’s only a baby 
and I hate him.”
      “I have two; they were babies once; and I love them dearly.”
      “You love your brothers? Why?”
      “Because your brothers are your best friends,” replied Haldir 
softly. “You are never alone. They will always help you and be your 
companions, even if no-one else wants you. They know what you need 
before you even know it yourself.”
      “But he’s only a baby!” 
      “My brothers were babies once.”
      “You’re the oldest? Like me?” Haldir nodded. “If you like them so 
much why were you hiding from them?”
      “We were playing a game.”
      Elladan considered. “Do you think my brother might play with 
me? When he stops being a baby?”
      “I am sure he will be very happy to have a brother to play with, as 
soon as he is old enough.”
      “Do you think your brothers are going to find you?”
      “Elladan. Look behind you.”
      The boy turned, to see two other silver-haired elves in grey tunics 
sitting on the grass just behind him. His jaw dropped and he scrambled 
around to face them. “They can do it too? You can all do it?”
      Haldir laughed. “These are my brothers. This is Rumil and this is 
Orophin. Brothers, this is Elladan.”
      “Elladan,” said Rumil, “we thank you.”
      “Why?”
      “For leading us to him,” smiled Orophin. “We might not have 
found him otherwise.”
      “He is better at hiding than we are at finding. Even in this place.”
      “Can you show me how to do that? Walk without making a noise?”
      “Haldir it was that taught us; perhaps he might teach you, too.”
      Elladan turned back to Haldir, eyes shining. “Please?”
      “Very well. The first thing you need to do is fix the buckle of your 
belt, for it jingles like a bell, announcing your arrival.” The boy clutched 
the buckle in his fist. Haldir went on “Now, show me your boots. They 
need to be soft.” Elladan stuck out one foot and Haldir lifted his ankle, 
deliberately almost tipping him over as he carefully scrutinised the sole. 
“Those will do. Now stand.” Elladan stood, wincing as his belt jingled 
again. “Walk.”
      He walked a few steps, watching Haldir closely.
      “Firstly, pick your feet up completely, do not let them drag over 
the ground. Secondly, touch the ground first with the front of your foot, 
only then let the weight reach your heel. And thirdly, don’t hold your 
breath. Open your lips and breathe through your mouth, ‘tis quieter. Now 
try again.”
      Elladan walked a little further. “That is better. Watch where you 
place your feet, don’t look at me. Again. Hm. Brothers, what think you?”
      Rumil grinned. “Noisy pants.”
      “What?” Elladan flushed red.
      “The cloth of your trousers, where your legs rub together, we can 
hear it. It needs to be softer, like this.” Haldir raised his arm up and 
Elladan reached out to feel the fabric.
      “That’s much softer than mine. What is it?”
      “The wool of a certain goat we have in Lorien.”
      “Mine is the wool of sheep. But I have other trousers that are softer 
than these. What about hiding now?”
      “Child, one thing at a time. You must practise moving silently a 
while first.”
      “I can! Nearly.”
      “No, you can not. Not by a long way.”
      Orophin stood. “Brother, do you remember the game we used to 
play, with the blindfold?”
      Elladan gazed up at him. The elf was very tall. He pulled a silken 
scarf from the neck of his tunic. “I will bind my eyes and stand there. You 
will walk around me, in any direction you please and I will turn to face 
you, thus proving I can hear you.”
      “All right, then. I bet you can’t.”
      “Child, never bet with Orophin. It is one of life’s lessons that all 
must learn.” Rumil moved out of the way, going to sit beside Haldir, 
dropping a companionable arm around his shoulders and resting his cheek 
against his brother’s brow for a moment. Haldir slid an arm around his 
waist as they watched the game. 
      Orophin turned unerringly to follow the boy. When Elladan 
stepped further back, he stepped forward the corresponding distance. 
When Elladan tried to come close to him, he reached out to tap him on the 
head.
      Elladan pouted. “I’ll never be able to do this!”
      “You will, if you practise.” Orophin untied the cloth and wrapped 
it around his neck again. “I well recall thinking the same. Haldir, do you 
remember? You played that game with me for hours, and you would make 
me so angry, I would cry and accuse you of cheating. I even hit you.”
      “You kicked me in the knee once, I limped for days. But you were 
able to come close enough to do that without my hearing you.”
      Orophin smiled at the boy. “So, you see, Elladan, you only need 
many hours of practice and a burning desire to kick your tormentor.” He 
walked over to the other two and dropped beside them, hugging his 
brother and kissing his cheek. “Haldir, will you ever forgive me?”
      “No, never.” Haldir put his other arm around Orophin and drew 
him close. The brothers remained still for a long moment, enjoying each 
other’s touch. Elladan crept a little closer and sat down, watching them. 
He tried to imagine having a brother, two brothers, so he could play with 
them, or just sit, like that. It would be so nice to have someone just to hold 
you, the way his father sometimes did. 
      Finally Rumil spoke. “The sun is high. We should return.” He and 
Orophin stood and each took one of Haldir’s arms, pulling him to his feet. 
“Come, old one, arise.”
      Elladan laughed.
      “Will you return with us, child?” Rumil held out his spare hand 
and Elladan took it and all four of them walked back to the house together.
      
      The Lady Galadriel watched from a parapet as they crossed the 
lawn, hands still linked. She smiled to herself.
      
      The following morning found the brothers from Lorien a little 
closer to the house, under the shade of the nearest big trees. Haldir lay 
back on the grass, squinting at the sky through the willow’s flickering 
leaves. Brilliant blue and not a cloud to be seen. It was already warmer 
than on a full summer’s day in Lorien and the hour was yet early. An 
indignant screech drew his eye back to his brothers, wrestling nearby. 
Orophin had got a leg between Rumil’s and was slowly but inexorably 
forcing him to the ground. A moment later, the inevitable happened and 
the two collapsed on top of each other.
      “Come, you aren’t trying, Rumil,” said the taller elf, untangling his 
legs from his brother’s. “Again?”
      “No. I don’t want to.” Rumil rolled over onto his belly and began 
to pluck grass viciously from the ground. “Why did she send for us so 
early if she was going to stay for so long?”
      “We will return before the summer fair.”
      They remained drowsing in the shade while the sun rose higher 
and the day became warmer. 
      “So, what shall we do this day?”
      “Sleep.”
      “It is so warm… swim? It is not so far to the Bruinen.”
      They all heard the soft steps at the same time.
      “Brother, who is this little stray you have found?”
      “He found me. And he is no stray. He is Celebrian’s son.”
      “Takes after his father, then.”
      “Yes, I liked him too.”
      Aloud, Haldir said “Greetings, Elladan.”
      The boy scuffed his feet deliberately the rest of the way and 
plopped onto the grass.
      “Quieter pants.”
      “No jingle.”
      Not one of the brothers had opened his eyes yet. The boy looked 
down at them longingly, seeing how Haldir’s head lay against Orophin’s 
shoulder and Rumil, in turn, nestled against his neck. Their arms were 
around each other and each hand held another.
      “Why do you all lie together like that? Mother said it’s perverse.”
      “We have done so since we were small children,” said Haldir. “We 
like it.”
      “That’s what grandmother said. I didn’t know you used to live with 
my mother.”
      “We lived in the talan of Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel.”
      “Is that not the same thing?”
      “No.”
      “Oh.” Then “What are you doing?”
      “We were sleeping,” muttered Rumil. 
      Haldir opened his eyes at last and began to disentangle himself 
from his brothers. He sat up and Orophin did also, turning so they rested 
back-to-back, each leaning against the other. Rumil wriggled until his 
head lay in Haldir’s lap. 
      “Did you practise walking silently?” asked Orophin. 
      “Yes, but it didn’t work. At least, I was able to sneak up on 
Mother, but Father and Grandmother both heard me coming. So did 
Glorfindel. Erestor didn’t but he was reading aloud when I did it.”
      “If there are other people around, watch what they do and time 
your steps to the moments when they make a sound,” said Orophin.
      “I could only catch Lord Celeborn unaware in his library when I 
took a step as he turned a page,” added Haldir.
      “That must have taken a while.”
      “He reads faster than you do, Rumil. And I only managed it once.” 
Haldir smiled at the centuries-old memory.
      “So, shall we go and swim?”
      “Can you swim? I can’t. Can you teach me? Can I come?”
      Orophin pinched Rumil, wishing he had stayed silent.
      “Why not?” Haldir said. 
      It took less time to reach the river than it had to ride from it, 
because they were able to go straight on foot while the road the horses had 
taken curved around hillsides, great trees and stones. Elladan chattered 
constantly, mostly to Rumil, who seemed most able to follow his childish 
leaps of logic and skipping attention. Haldir and Orophin exchanged the 
occasional amused glance over the heads of the other two. 
      “There are few children here, it seems,” said Orophin softly at one 
point. “I little like the idea of being a child alone.” 
      Looking down at the river from the hill above it, they could see a 
good spot a short way up from the ford and made their way there. A wide, 
flat stone sloping down into the water was half-shaded by willows and 
there they stripped naked. The flat stone reached into the water and then 
there was a wide stretch of river about waist deep. The three brothers went 
quickly into the water, knowing that to dither at the edge only made it 
seem colder. Elladan lingered hesitantly on the flat stone, until Rumil 
splashed him then he ran shrieking in to join them.
      In his library, the lord Elrond, master of Imladris, jolted to his feet, 
eyes wide. “Elladan!” he hissed. “He is at the Bruinen! How came this?”
      Galadriel looked up from her seat by the balcony. Her eyes 
gleamed silver and she smiled. “He is with my brave sentinels, my three 
fosterlings. Elrond, be at ease, he will come to no harm.” Baby Elrohir 
clutched at her fingers and blew bubbles of spit. 
      Elrond stared at her but his eyes were far away. After a while he 
nodded. “He seems happy enough. Though I like it not that he went 
without asking me.”
      “He probably thought you would refuse. And you would have.”
      “He has lessons in the mornings. He could have gone later. Had he 
asked.”
      “Later the sun would have gone also. And he is having lessons, 
see, they are teaching him to swim.”
      Elrond stood still, eyes faintly silver as he gazed upon the distant 
scene.
      Watching him, Galadriel said softly, “Why do you not join them? 
A day so fine and warm, a cool river awaits and you sit here reading my 
lord’s endless parchments. Elladan would be delighted.”
      Elrond glanced back at his desk. “Celeborn’s proposals for road 
maintenance. I do need to consider them and my responses.”
      “They can wait. Thranduil has not received his copies yet and 
Celeborn will do nothing until he hears from both of you. If you take a 
horse, you can be with them in half an hour and take them something to 
eat.”
      Elrond smiled. “Lady, you seduce me to truant from my duty to 
your husband.”
      “Go.”
      He laughed, planting a kiss on her brow. He touched a gentle 
finger to the cheek of his baby son. “If I have been too late for your elder 
brother, Elrohir, I vow ‘twill be your father who teaches you, at least, to 
swim.”
      He sent a servant with orders to the kitchen and stables and went to 
his rooms to slide out of his dark red robe, pulling on green tunic, leggings 
and his favourite, comfortable old boots. Horse and hamper were ready 
when he was, after a few words to his seneschal, Erestor, and to one of 
Celebrian’s ladies in waiting.
      As he rode, Elrond could not keep a smile from his face. The day 
was, indeed, beautiful, but he had barely left the house and his wife’s side 
since their second son had arrived in the spring. The birth had been more 
difficult than Elladan’s, and his lady had sunk into a melancholy which 
wrenched his heart. Nothing he did, nor even the arrival of her own 
mother, seemed to lift it at first. But Celebrian seemed to be a little more 
at ease lately. Perhaps the warmth and scents of summer were calling her 
back to the world. 
      He reached the top of the hill above the river and paused. Only two 
were in sight, his son and one of the three Lorien elves, sitting on the 
sandy bit of the river bank. He rode down the slope and the two below 
immediately looked up. Elladan stood at once, jumping up and down and 
waving and Elrond raised a hand in reply. The other two elves appeared as 
if from nowhere, their white bodies seeming to emerge whole from the 
white, sun-baked rocks on the bank. Elladan ran to meet his father and 
Elrond slid from his horse to swing the slippery little body up into his 
arms.
      “Ada, I’m learning to swim, Haldir’s showing me! At least, he’s 
trying to get me to float, but he says I’m too skinny—ada, are you cross 
with me? Only they were going and I asked—” 
      Elrond put his hand over his son’s mouth. “Enough, child, you are 
enough to tire a hare. No, I am not cross with you, but you should have 
asked, not just gone.”
      “But you can always tell if there’s somebody at the river anyway, 
and Glorfindel would have caught me and made me go back to my 
books!”
      “That, at least, is well-reasoned, little chatterbox.” He looked up to 
the three brothers, now standing together and eyeing him somewhat 
warily. With a smile, he said, “I hope my son gave no offence by inviting 
himself along on your outing. And that I have not done the same.”
      “Hardly, my lord, replied the middle one. “We would be honoured 
to have you join us. If we have not given offence, that is, by abducting 
your son and heir when he should have been at his lessons.” The last 
phrase was directed to Elladan, who hung his head, then looked up with a 
grin.
      “But I am having lessons! You’re teaching me to swim.”
      “Those were the lady Galadriel’s very words. Did she farspeak 
you, little imp?”
      “No, ada. Did she tell you to come?”
      Elrond laughed. “You know your grandmother too well, child.” 
The three brothers exchanged smiles at that as well, and seemed to relax. 
“You are the sons of Halenil, are you not? Who were raised by the lady 
and lord Celeborn?”
      “Yes, sire. I am called Haldir. My brothers are Rumil and 
Orophin.”
      Elrond greeted each in turn. They were exquisitely beautiful as 
they stood together, glowing white skin and wet, silver hair outlined in the 
golden light of the sun. He wished he had known them when he had been 
seeking subjects for some of the statues in the grounds of his house, long 
millennia past. He turned away lest he give in to his desire to stare. “Let 
me unsaddle the horse. I have brought some lunch for us, that we need not 
return until this evening. And I want to swim, too.”
      Elladan cheered and the others chimed in with thanks. 
      When he had done, two of them were back in the water. Elladan 
and the one called Haldir were sitting again on the bank, playing with the 
glittering river sand. Elrond began to take his clothes off, listening to 
them.
      “Here, hold out your hand.” Elladan did so and Haldir poured sand 
onto his palm. “Hold it,” he said. “Now tell me how it differs from the 
stone I just gave you.”
      “It’s warmer.”
      “Yes?”
      “Um, it’s harder to hold?”
      “Why?”
      “It’s, it’s runny. Like water.”
      “How is it the same as the stone?”
      Elladan frowned. He hefted his hand, sand pouring off the edges of 
his palm. “It’s not.”
      “Is it not about the same in weight?”
      “Oh. I suppose so.”
      “Now let it run through your fingers, slowly. Feel it. Feel the 
difference between the sand and the stone.”
      “One’s a great big lump and the other’s all runny.”
      “And when you try to float, you are a great big lump and you float 
as well as a stone.”
      “But sand can’t float either!”
      “That is because the sand is like many tiny stones and each of them 
sinks just like the bigger one. But remember, you said the sand is runny, 
like water. If you try to make your body feel like the sand, like the water, 
then the water will accept you and you will float. If you are a hard lump 
like the stone, you sink.”
      Elrond listened, fascinated.
      Elladan jumped up. “Can we try again?”
      They went back into the water and Haldir held Elladan in his arms. 
“I will not let you sink. But try to be like the sand. Imagine you will flow 
over my arms as the sand flowed over your fingers.” Elladan took a deep 
breath. “And don’t hold your breath. Just keep breathing, I will not let you 
sink. Be like the sand. Flow over me like sand.”
      Elladan blinked as the water lapped around his face. Slowly, he 
stretched out his arms and legs, letting them drift on the rippling water. 
And he floated. Haldir moved to stay with him as the gentle current took 
him. He smiled.
      “Now I am not holding you, Elladan. You are floating.”
      “Yay! Bblllb!” 
      Quickly Haldir pulled him up. “You were floating. Child, you have 
the brains of a butterfly. Now try again.”
      Elrond snorted with laughter and walked into the water, ducking 
himself under. He stood again, letting it slick back his hair. “Come, show 
me how you can float. And try to do it for a bit longer this time.”
      With two pairs of strong arms poised to help him, Elladan relaxed 
and floated. “It’s easy,” he mumbled. 
      Haldir reached then stayed his hand. “Stop babbling for a moment. 
Breathe. Nice big breaths.”
      Elrond’s eye was drawn to the hand poised by his son’s shoulder, 
seeing for the first time the oddness about the fingers. They were crooked 
and did not seem to bend. Haldir, looking intently at Elladan, did not 
notice.
      “So, can I swim now?”
      “Perhaps your father might teach you that.”
      “Can you, ada?”
      Elrond glanced at the blond elf. Was he being diplomatic or had he 
tired of Elladan’s relentless questions?
      Haldir must have read the look for he smiled. “Perhaps we both 
can?”
      Diplomatic, Elrond realised. Aloud, he said, “The hard part is 
done, now that you can float. All you have yet to do is learn to move your 
arms and legs properly and you will swim.” 
      They spent a little more time in the water and Elrond saw with 
approval how closely Haldir watched the boy, always turning to face him 
as Elladan splashed happily about. Elrond moved away a little to give him 
more room and Haldir glanced at him from the corner of his eye as 
Elladan wallowed, as if he felt he had to watch both of them. Really, did 
he think Elrond could not swim? 
      He deliberately moved even further away and Elladan suddenly 
gurgled. Haldir had him on his feet in a flash but to do so had to turn his 
back on his father and then Elrond saw the truth. 
      The elf from Lorien had been whipped.
      The marks of the lash were faint but still visible, over back, 
shoulders, down below water level at his hips. It must have been months 
ago, but no more than that. And he had been making sure Elladan did not 
see.
      Then Elrond noticed that his skinny little son’s lips were turning 
blue and sent him, protesting, to lie in the sun. He watched the lad climb 
out and turned back, to find that Haldir had vanished. A moment later, the 
Lorien elf surfaced a way off, flicking his head back so that water glittered 
in a scintillating arc from his long hair. He sank again. 
      Elrond dived, swimming under water, his mind full of what he had 
just seen. What had happened to him? Was there any connection with that 
mutilated hand? It was obvious that Haldir did not want any mention 
made, and nor would Elrond, most certainly not in front of the child. He 
put his curiosity away for now.
      Elrond took the chance to swim vigorously, pulling himself against 
the gentle current, murmuring a soft incantation to the river for its beauty 
and hospitality. The waters swirled strongly about him and the other elves 
glanced at him, feeling the sudden power flowing from the dark, sleek 
figure. He swam until all were out of sight, finding the deep part of the 
river up from the ford and diving down, down, to where fishes flashed 
through wavering weeds and the light grew dim. He stayed down there a 
while, slowing his heart so he did not need to breathe, feeling the quiet 
strength of the river pulse around him, knowing all was well within its 
compass. 
      Finally, he pulled himself slowly back up, admiring the play of 
light on the rippling surface of the water before he broke through it. Back 
in the air, Elrond squinted against the bright sun and let the current carry 
him back down, lazily swimming to avoid rocks and pass around the 
sweeping bends. Soon enough, he came back to the broad, flat rock. All 
the others were sunning themselves now and he walked out of the water, 
feeling it pour down his skin as he went to join them. Elladan was playing 
stone-scissors-paper with the taller of Haldir’s brothers, Orophin? The 
other was watching them, wringing out his hair. Haldir himself lay on his 
back, eyes firmly closed, one leg raised slightly. His arms were above his 
head and his gleaming hair fanned out on the rock around him. Again, 
Elrond found himself staring and turned away. All three were beautiful in 
a way that only a stone could resist, but there was something in particular 
about Haldir, aside from the mystery that had piqued Elrond. The dark 
brows and lashes and eyes, contrasting with his Elven paleness. His build, 
more muscular and solid than either of his brothers, almost more so than 
Elrond himself, who was Half-Elven. 
      The lord of Imladris smiled inwardly. He was married now, with 
children, and never thought he would be attracted to any other male than 
his beloved Gil-Galad. And, indeed, he was not. It was just a passing 
fancy, coupled with curiosity. He had always admired beauty, regardless 
of where he found it. 
      He also wrung out his hair, then lay on his belly on the smooth 
stone, feeling its warmth seep into him as the sun dried his back. He rested 
his head on his forearms, first turning to one side to watch Elladan crow as 
he finally won a round of the game. Then he turned to the other and 
Haldir’s pale body lay before him. This time he could not stop his eyes 
from widening as he noticed the puckered scar along the bottom of his 
ribs, skin stretched silver-pink. What else had happened to him?
      Seeking a distraction, he asked “Is anyone hungry yet?”
      Inevitably, Elladan piped up, “Yes! Me! I’m starving!”
      “Well, then, fetch the hamper, rabbit, and we can eat.”
      He stayed unmoving, hearing Elladan scamper over the rock to the 
wicker hamper and grunt as he dragged it. Orophin said, “Wait, let me 
help you ere you burst it open.”
      Elrond saw the light change through his closed lids as Haldir sat 
up. He rolled over and did the same. Haldir glanced down at him, eyes 
slitted against the sun. 
      “That was well done,” said Elrond softly, inclining his head to the 
river. “Is that how you were taught to swim?”
      Haldir nodded. “Lord Celeborn it was who taught us all.” He 
sighed.
      “My father taught me. Earendil the Mariner had little of your 
patience. Or Celeborn’s, for that matter. He rowed me out in a small boat 
and threw me into the water. And shouted instructions. But he kept an oar 
poised. I console myself that he would have reached out with it had I 
looked in serious danger of drowning.”
      Haldir laughed softly.
      “I hope that we live in gentler times,” added Elrond.
      Haldir’s smile disappeared. “No,” he replied flatly. “We do not.” 
He saw Elrond raise a surprised eyebrow and turned away, bowing his 
head.
      Any further exchange was stopped by Elladan’s pressing a platter 
of food into his father’s hands, then bringing another to Haldir, who 
thanked him and laid it on the stone. When the kitchens of Imladris were 
asked to prepare a picnic for their lord, they did not stint, even with only 
twenty minutes’ notice.
      Eventually, dishes were put aside, fingers licked or washed in the 
river and there was a general sighing and comfortable settling. The sun 
had moved around and they were now shaded by the large willow whose 
roots had tilted up the stone on which they rested. Rumil lay back, looking 
down at his swelling belly. Following his eye, Orophin reached over and 
poked it.
      “Little brother, in Imladris the bountiful you will get fat at last.”
      “Little brother yourself, keep your bony fingers away from me.”
      Orophin prodded him again.
      “Nay, I am too full to fight you. But poke me any harder and I may 
do something worse.”
      “Better you sleep it off, then.” Orophin pulled Rumil closer, 
stretching an arm comfortably across his chest and both closed their eyes. 
Elladan sat up watching them for a moment then turned to his father and 
snuggled against his side. Elrond looked in surprise at the warm little body 
next to him then smiled and wrapped his arm around his son. 
      Haldir alone was still sitting up. He glanced at Elrond, wondering 
how much the marks on his back still showed, wondering how much he 
had seen. His brothers assured him they were nearly gone, but those were 
assurances from two who had seen them at their worst. 
      Well, there was nothing he could do now.
      He drew up his knees, wrapped his arms around them and laid his 
cheek on them, feeling his hair slide softly over his shoulder like a shower 
of silken rain. He sighed, looking out at the glittering water, its steely grey 
framed by round boulders gleaming whiter than bone and beyond them, 
the lush greens and browns of this luxuriant land.
      He wanted Celeborn to be with him. In his mind, he pictured his 
lover sitting beside him. Celeborn would have enjoyed this. He, too, 
would have admired the beauty of the river. They would have swum 
together, twining as they sank into the cool depths, coming up for air only 
when the pounding in their lungs matched the pulse in their loins. He took 
a deep breath. Ai, these thought were making him grow hard and this was 
not the time or the place! He thought about sliding back into the river and 
touching himself under its cool, concealing waters. But he had felt the 
power of the lord of Imladris earlier; the Bruinen was his, he was the spirit 
of this place even as Celeborn was the soul of Lorien. If Haldir found 
release in those waters, Elrond would surely sense it.
      And, in fact, might there not be sentries about even now, watching 
over their lord and his heir as they slept among three strangers? The more 
he thought about it, the more probable he realised it was. After all, even 
when some way into the woods, he and Celeborn had been careful not to 
brush against each other, for the same reason.
      He remembered how happy they both had been, setting off that 
day, what, a month ago already? And realised the memory was making his 
present predicament even worse. His breathing was becoming rapid and 
the extremely perceptive lord of Imladris was lying an arm’s length away 
with his child in his arms. 
      He clenched his knees together, doubled over himself. Haldir could 
think of one infallible way to stop this. He hated the idea of what he might 
do, feared it getting out of control. He waited a little longer, in the hope 
that it might resolve itself if he thought of other things.
      But no. His cock, so long uninterested and asleep, was determined 
to recoup the months it had lost right this minute and reared against his 
belly, demanding satisfaction. He dared not move. Then he raised his eyes 
to the opposite shore. There, amid the jumble of boulders scattered and left 
behind by some terrible, long-gone flood, was the large one he had noticed 
earlier. Now it gleamed white in the sun, but by leaping firelight it would 
be lit sullen grey and red. There would be four wooden stakes driven in to 
the ground around it, ropes tied to them. He swallowed, eyes locked onto 
it. They would drag him over it and he felt it scrape against his chest, his 
belly, his arousal crushed against it… now utterly shrivelled and gone. He 
closed his eyes at sudden tears. 
      Open your eyes, little elf.
      He gasped. 
      “Haldir?”
      His head whipped around at the whisper of his name. Elrond was 
sitting up and staring at him curiously. The boy was fast asleep on the 
ground.
      “What’s wrong?”
      Haldir stared at him wildly. The general, he had heard him, he was 
here… 
      “What ever is the matter?” Forceful indigo eyes locked his and he 
stared into their depths, seeing only concern, a desire to help. Slowly, he 
relaxed, letting his hair fall to hide his face. He shook his head.
      “Nothing, I am sorry, I did not mean to disturb you.”
      Elrond looked at the dejected figure, saw the damaged hand 
compulsively clenching. Perhaps it was none of his business… But he 
remembered Haldir’s patience with Elladan. He remembered his son’s 
elation the day before about his new friends, and his own guilt at the lack 
of time he had had for Elladan of late. No, he decided, he could not let this 
pass. After all, did his wife’s parents not raise this one? He was almost 
kin.
      Elrond stood and bent down to grasp Haldir’s wrists, pulling him 
smoothly to his feet. The Lorien elf looked up at him, shocked. Elrond put 
a finger to his lips then pulled the other away from the willow and up the 
slope.
      “What are you doing?” hissed Haldir, trying to pull away his wrist.
      “Come, I want to talk to you, away from the others. Here, sit 
down.” He knelt beside Haldir on the soft grass. “Firstly, I wanted to thank 
you, all three of you really, for befriending my son.”
      “Thanks are not necessary,” said Haldir stiffly. “It is no burden to 
spend a little time with a child.”
      “The trouble is, there are no other children here. And everyone else 
is much, much older.”
      “Indeed, we are nearer his age than you.” He spoke in a flat, empty 
voice, looking into the distance. Everything about the clipped tones cried 
leave me alone!
      Elrond took a deep breath. “And, secondly, I wanted to ask what 
happened to you.”
      Haldir glared at him. “That is no affair of yours.” His voice was 
icy.
      Elrond took his hand again, gripping it firmly when the other tried 
to pull it away.
      “Let go! Leave me alone!” 
      “I can help you with this. Did you see no healer for it?”
      Haldir stopped struggling. “Of course I did. One you trained, in 
fact. Tamrin, he is called.”
      Elrond frowned. “And what said he?”
      “That it would heal, in a ten-year or so, and I should exercise it.” 
He tried again to tug his hand away.
      “That is a very conservative estimation. Did he say nothing about 
mending the bones?”
      “No. Did you train him so badly?”
      Elrond looked at him sharply but Haldir stared defiantly back.
      “I remember Tamrin. He is a very good healer but he is no soldier. 
He would not understand why it might not be satisfactory to wait ten years 
for the bones to remember the way they used to be. Few healers these days 
are also warriors. And few like to cause pain.”
      “What do you mean?”
      “I can mend these in a few hours.” He saw sudden hope in the dark 
eyes.
      “Then—please, do it.”
      “It would hurt. I would have to break each finger anew.” 
      Haldir trembled. But he pressed his lips together, eyes determined. 
“Do it.”
      “Tell me what happened. I need to know.” As he spoke, he felt the 
bones carefully, rolling them between probing fingertips. Again, Haldir 
shuddered.
      “It was in a fight. I was holding a knife and someone trod on my 
hand. Then they were crushed against each other.” His face was white 
now.
      “How?”
      “Like this!” he replied angrily, grabbing Elrond’s hand in his good 
one, curling the fingers around and grinding them from side to side in his. 
Elrond’s eyes widened in horror. 
      Haldir looked away. “And sometimes I remember it too vividly. As 
I did just now by the river. When I awoke you.”
      Elrond stared at him. “What else happened? I saw the scars you—”
      “How will it help you to know that? They did nothing else to my 
hand.”
      “No, it probably would not help me to know that. Forgive me.” He 
took a deep breath. “I can mend only one finger at a time, with time to 
recover between them.”
      “You could do them all at once, do not draw it out.”
      “Haldir, I would need to recover. And, believe me, so will you.” 
He looked down at the next to smallest finger and added “How long ago 
did—“
      Crack!
      Haldir gasped, his whole body rigid. His other hand flew to his 
face as Elrond broke the second joint as well.
      The faintest whimper escaped the blond elf, muffled by his fingers. 
Long hair hid his face. He was panting and shivering but he did not pull 
his hand away. Elrond concentrated on his work, massaging wasted 
muscles, tendons and veins back to where they should be. Two shadows 
fell over him and he looked up to see Haldir’s brothers stand over him 
with faces like avenging fiends. Haldir saw them too.
      “Peace,” he said shakily, “he is mending my hand.”
      The other two knelt beside him and Haldir fell back into their 
arms. They held him tenderly, steadying his right arm. Elrond continued, 
re-positioning the bones now and Haldir’s breath hissed through clenched 
teeth. 
      He focussed as much energy as he could summon into his work 
and the whole arm seemed to flush. His own body grew hot and he poured 
the heat into that one finger, almost willing it to melt and re-form. He held 
the bones where they should be and the energy made them begin to knit 
within minutes. Soon, he was able to bend the finger gently, curling it in to 
Haldir’s palm and straightening it again, over and over. Elrond looked up 
to see Rumil and Orophin watching him like savage beasts about to strike. 
Haldir made some small sound and Orophin caressed his face. Haldir 
seized his brother’s hand and pressed it hard against his lips, screwing shut 
his eyes. Rumil bit back an exclamation and put his arms tighter around 
them both.
      At last Elrond released the hand, saying “That is all I can do for 
now. That finger will swell and hurt awhile yet but it is whole. Do not 
force it to bend, in fact, you should keep your hand as still as possible for a 
night and a day.”
      Slowly Haldir opened his eyes. Tears brimmed in them but none 
fell. He took a shaking breath. “Thank you,” he whispered.
      Elrond nodded and rose to his knees but when he tried to find his 
feet, the earth seemed to tilt up towards him and for a moment the world 
darkened. His head spun and sparkling motes danced before his eyes. As 
they faded, he looked up into the worried eyes of Rumil, felt his arms 
supporting him. He sighed and rested his head against the other’s neck. 
Haldir’s eyes were closed so he had not seen but Orophin looked 
questioningly at him.
      “’Tis tiring. I said—I would need—time.” Rumil continued to hold 
him firmly and he let himself lie back, unable to move. “What of 
Elladan?”
      Orophin looked over his shoulder. “He sleeps still.”
      So they remained while the afternoon sun lingered, warming them 
and lighting the brothers’ silver hair to the look of candle flames. Elrond 
drifted in a half-sleep, hearing the occasional murmur and whisper but 
content to lie back, held by the slighter of Haldir’s brothers. Eventually, 
Elrond took a deep breath and sat up. His ebony hair gleamed red in the 
sun and was tangled with Rumil’s silver. Smiling, Rumil combed it 
through with his fingers, separating them. Elrond stood, to find Rumil 
standing with him, a look of concern on his delicate features.
      “I am recovered now, do not fear for me.”
      “I will come back to fetch our clothes,” said Rumil and walked 
with him to the stone where Elladan lay curled up. He picked up their 
things while Elrond dressed.
      “Perhaps I should not have done this now and here,” Elrond 
remarked. “For we must all return to the house and there is only one horse. 
But your brother has a way of insisting.”
      Rumil laughed. “Aye, that he has and few can gainsay him. Do you 
not concern yourself for us, we will see to him. You must take little 
sleepyhead there on the horse. And, we thank you, my lord, for what you 
have done, for that has been a shadow over his soul these last months.”
      “It is not mended yet, there are another two fingers. Have him find 
me the day after tomorrow. In fact, perhaps one of you might stay; I think 
your presence helped.”
      “Sire, with your permission, we will both come with him.”
      “As you will. And make sure he rests it.”
      As he was leaving, Elrond paused near them, looking down from 
the saddle with his son in his arms. “I shall send others back for you when 
I reach the house.”
      Orophin and Rumil looked at each other. “Sire, do not trouble to,” 
said Orophin, squinting up into the sun. “We will return slowly, there is no 
need.”
      “Are you sure?”
      “Of course,” replied Rumil. “What reason have we to hurry?”
      When the Lord of Imladris had gone, Rumil and Orophin lay 
down, wrapping themselves around their sleeping brother. At sunset he 
began to stir, at first with a low moan and then a sudden cry.
      “Haldir, awaken!” said Rumil urgently. 
      Orophin patted his face, pausing when his eyes opened. “Lord 
Elrond mended one of your fingers,” he said, in reply to the unspoken 
confusion and pain in Haldir’s eyes. “Come, sit up, lean against me. See?”
      “He said you were to rest it and not move it,” added Rumil 
anxiously.
      Haldir looked at them without comprehension. Then his eyes 
widened in horror and he wailed, twisting frantically to escape something 
only he could see. They held him still, whispering soothing words until he 
calmed.
      “You were right,” muttered Rumil. “This is a good night not to be 
among our fellows.”
      Gently, they dressed him. Orophin noted the little silver lace tied 
inside his tunic and pointed it out to Rumil who smiled to see it. Both 
brothers knew at once whence it came. When they were ready, they awoke 
him and helped him to stand. Haldir was dazed and pallid but let himself 
be led, so they walked slowly, supporting him between them. They 
stopped to let him rest several times before finding the place Rumil 
wanted, part of the trunk of a great, fallen oak. A drift of leaves from last 
autumn was blown against its side, still dry and warm from the day’s sun 
and there they lay themselves. It was a bed as soft as any in the house and 
was scented with the forest itself. Above them burned the stars and even 
Haldir came out of his half-dream for a while to admire them.
      
      Elrond turned away from his sleeping wife and tiny son. Elrohir’s 
little fluffy head lay in the warm curve of Celebrian’s arm and her golden 
hair rippled across the silken pillow. Neither child had taken her 
colouring. He had put Elladan to bed, too, after brushing the boy’s long 
glossy hair, dark as his own. Elrond was content. All was well with his 
loved ones and he had enjoyed the afternoon. 
      He said so to the lady Galadriel as they sat together over a late 
supper. She smiled.
      “And Elladan, has he learned to swim?”
      “After a fashion.” He laughed, remembering the gleeful child 
splashing about in the river. Your Haldir is a very good teacher.”
      “He has always been good with children. He almost brought up his 
two brothers, and he little more than a child himself. He never wanted to 
trouble us if he could manage alone. They are sufficient unto each other, 
those three, in a way you rarely see.”
      Elrond thought back to the way Orophin and Rumil had appeared 
at his side and wondered what might have happened, had they thought he 
was hurting their brother. “I straightened one of his broken fingers. I will 
see to the rest as well.”
      “What, by the river?”
      “I know, it was not entirely wise. But there is an insolent streak to 
your fosterling and he provoked me somewhat.”
      Galadriel laughed aloud. “Oh, he can be more than insolent, my 
dear. If you want to see Haldir provoked, offer harm to one of his brothers. 
Was he all right?”
      “I think so, the other two came to him at once. I left them 
together.”
      “You left them at the river? And he, no doubt, barely able to 
stand?”
      “I offered to send someone back for them but they refused.”
      Galadriel raised an elegant brow and her eyes misted silver. After a 
moment she said “They are by that felled oak, the one you are having 
brought back piece by piece for carving.”
      “What? That’s a long way from the path to the Bruinen; are they 
lost? Should I send to fetch them?”
      “No, they are sleeping. It is a pleasant spot; they must have sought 
it deliberately.” She raised her hand and her eyes became opaque, like 
solid metal. Then she blinked and shook her head. “I understand,” she 
murmured. “No, send no-one.”
      Elrond frowned. “How came he to be so hurt? Not only his hand, 
but he is scarred and bears the mark of the scourge.”
      “Did you ask him?”
      “Yes. He told me it was no business of mine.” 
      Galadriel shook her head ruefully. “Truly, one can see his father in 
him at times. He will tell you if he wishes to. And if he does not, then 
neither shall I.”
      
      The lady Galadriel returned to her rooms and lay on her silken bed. 
Her whole body seemed bathed in the light of the moon, even though his 
rays did not reach so far into the room. In that soft pool of radiance, her 
eyes glowed silver as her spirit sang in her. She reached first to her lord, as 
ever, finding him reading on his bench by the edge of the talan. He put 
aside the book and smiled, lying back against dark velvet and welcoming 
her into his soul. They played awhile, filled with the joy of being together 
again, her warm gold twining lovingly with his cool silver until both 
glowed as echoes of Anor and Ithil themselves.
      “What news, Silver Tree?”
      “Little enough. Preparations for the summer fair go well. We have 
dug anew that part of the ditch that collapsed in the rains. Your lady, 
Lithluin, has given birth to a daughter. Arcirithon is gone to Lindon. What 
news, Man-Maiden?”
      She laughed to hear her old name, still held in his heart. “The babe 
is well. Celebrian sleeps easier. Elrond works diligently through your 
parchments.”
      Then she smiled again and confessed her small triumph against his 
relentless beaurocracy.
      “He went swimming? Well, and I might have done the same on 
such a day.”
      Then she let him see them on the river, for she had watched from 
the distant sanctuary of the house as Elladan splashed and frolicked, 
encircled by the strong arms of his father and the one who was almost an 
uncle. She felt Celeborn’s heart race at the sight of his lover, shining sleek 
in the water. She shared his sad longing as the image faded for she had 
soon ceased to watch them.
      “How does he fare?” asked her lord. “How do they all fare?”
      “They grow a little restless, but now Elladan helps to keep them 
amused, and he has rarely been happier, poor, lonely mite.”
      “So is your master plan achieved, dearest?” he chided her gently.
      “No, that was my second plan. My main intent was that Elrond 
look to Haldir’s fingers, and he has mended the first today, while they 
were at the river.” 
      Celeborn tensed, knowing well what that meant. “Why did he not 
wait until they were back at the house?”
      “It seems that Haldir nettled him some little.”
      “What, our child of night and silver? Is he well, though?” 
      “I fear it has cost him dearer than he knows. Such a healing takes 
all one’s strength and he has little enough.”
      “He spends it quelling his memories.”
      “They are all three asleep in the woods and I will go to them now. 
But I desired to be with you first.” He glowed a little brighter at that and 
she caught the glow and let it warm her soul. After a moment’s shared 
bliss, he pulled back.
      “Let me keep you no longer, beloved, go to them. Tell him I miss 
him. Tell him…”
      “I will, that and more,” she said, feeling the pang of longing in 
him. Then she was gone. Barely returning to herself, Galadriel turned 
outward again, melting into the warm night, seeking her three little 
fosterlings.
      They were, as ever, twined around each other, snuggled deep in a 
pile of soft leaves. How she had loved to watch them sleep when they 
were babies! Orophin and Rumil were curled around Haldir, whose face 
she could barely see. But his spirit was visible to her and she felt it tremble 
in a circle of greedy laughter, cruel faces lit by flickering red flame. She 
poured life into him, to replace that eaten by the healing. As he grew 
stronger, the circle around him weakened and faded and he sighed as he 
slept. 
      The lady stayed a little longer, a milky glow in the air above their 
heads. At last, she returned to herself and slept.
      
      In the forest, by the fallen oak, Haldir sat up. He looked about, to 
see Rumil watching him and Orophin asleep, half-buried in yellow leaves. 
He rubbed his face then winced. Rumil crept closer.
      “Haldir?” His brother saw the worry in his eyes.
      “What place is this? How—we were at the river. Rumil, my hand 
hurts, I swear they come for me again—”
      “No, no, Haldir, Elrond healed your finger, this one, see? That’s 
why it hurts. Do you remember?” He sighed with relief as Haldir slowly 
nodded.
      Haldir looked sadly down at Orophin, who had awoken but lay 
watching them, unmoving. “O, my brothers, have I so made you suffer this 
night?”
      “Dreadfully.” Orophin sat up, leaves fluttering down his body, and 
embraced his brother, drawing Rumil close as well.
      They returned to the house in the cool darkness before dawn, 
sliding whisper quiet through still gardens, down the long galleries back to 
their room. Rumil and Orophin undressed themselves and their brother, 
and lay down. As the house came to life around them, they hid deeper 
under their blankets, twined together in sleep.
      
      Galadriel arose late. Elrond was long gone, to meet with his 
seneschal and secretaries. She spoke to her daughter and kissed her 
grandson and left them to walk to the guest rooms at the other end of the 
house. Rumil awoke to find her sitting on the floor where they had, as was 
their custom, pushed together all their bedding.
      “Nana!” he whispered, eyes shining. He crept to her, to be held in 
her arms, playing with her hair, as he had ever done. Then Orophin awoke 
as well, but so tightly did Haldir embrace him that he dared not move. 
Galadriel slid over to the place Rumil had left, wrapping her arms around 
Haldir. Little by little, he eased away from Orophin and toward her, 
without waking. 
      Finally, she was able to whisper to the others, “Go, break your 
fasts, I will stay with him.” She lay peaceably beside him for another hour 
before growing impatient for him to awaken. So she took a long strand of 
her sunlight hair and began to tickle him with it, stroking it along his arm, 
shoulder and chin and at the last he twitched then pulled away and opened 
his eyes. She smiled and kissed the tip of his nose, pushing him onto his 
back and looking down at him. 
      His eyes were shadowed with weariness. “Where are the others?”
      “I sent them to eat.”
      “Are they well? For I fear I let them sleep little this night.”
      “They are well. Are you?”
      “I… I endure.”
      “O Haldir, child, I can do so little to help you.”
      He shook his head. “When may we go home?”
      “When your hand is whole. So you, brat, heed Elrond’s words and 
do not vex him.” She tapped Haldir’s nose and he blinked.
      “Did I so?” he paused to reflect. “Ah. Perhaps I did. I shall make 
my apologies.”
      “He will forgive you much for befriending his son.”
      “I did not do it with this end in mind.”
      “I know. So does he. But had this not happened by chance, I would 
have asked him to mend you.”
      Haldir flushed slightly. “Lady, you should not for my sake.”
      “Haldir, you both stand as sons to me, by marriage and by 
adoption. Why should he not help you?”
      “I... do not like…” he squirmed awkwardly.
      “No, you have never liked to ask anyone’s help.”
      He made no answer but looked down and his lip twisted bitterly as 
his gaze fell, perforce, on his hand.
      “I have word for you from him whom we both love.” As she had 
hoped, he smiled at once. “He is bored, he says, with us both gone. Even 
Arcirithon has left him. He sends his love. And his longing.”
      
      The midday sun found Haldir leaning on a balcony, looking down 
at his brothers and Elladan. They had tied a rope from the base of a statue 
to the leg of a bench and were teaching the boy to walk it.
      “No, no, no,” cried Rumil, as Elladan landed on the grass again. 
“Do not take your feet from it. Watch me.” He stepped onto the rope, a 
foot above the ground. “See, I slide my feet along it, I never lift them.”
      “It is a different step from moving silently,” put in Orophin, 
“where you must pick up your feet with great care.” Elladan tried again, 
one brother walking along each side of him.
      “Keep your back straight, you cannot balance if you hunch like a 
dwarf.”
      This time, he made it to the end and jumped off, shouting 
triumphantly. “Higher, tie it higher!”
      Rumil laughed. “Very well, midge, and this time we will not stand 
to catch you, either.” He untied the rope from the base of the statue and 
made to tie it to its neck.
      “Rumil,” called Haldir, “You will bring it down if you do that.”
      “Brother, awake at last?” But he put the rope back where it had 
been.
      “Elladan, before we move it higher, let me see you run along it.”
      Elladan’s face fell. “Run?”
      “Like this.” Orophin stepped onto the rope and ran its length in 
three long strides, turning at the end and running back.
      “Tsk.” Haldir started at the sound beside him. Another elf leaned 
over the balcony, a few feet away. “I have always hated that statue.”
      “Then break it yourself,” retorted Haldir, annoyed that he had not 
noticed the other. “But do not seek to have my brothers blamed for it.”
      The elf laughed softly and turned towards him, leaning one elbow 
on the balcony. 
      “You can only be Haldir, son of Halenil,” he drawled.
      “I am Haldir of Lorien. You have the advantage of me.”
      “I am Glorfindel.”
      Haldir’s eyes widened. This was the famous warrior who had 
returned from the Halls of Mandos. To hide his awe, he turned back to the 
scene below.
      “No, no, bend your knees more,” Orophin was saying to a pouting 
Elladan.
      “Ever since he met you, it has been ‘Haldir says this’ and ‘Haldir 
says that’, until I wanted to wring his neck and yours,” remarked 
Glorfindel, looking down.
      “My apologies,” replied Haldir after a moment, having bitten back 
an angry retort and not knowing what to say. “We will soon be gone and 
he will forget us.”
      “I think he will not.” They remained where they were. “It is a pity 
there are no other children,” added Glorfindel. “He has to make do with 
my company and Erestor’s.”
      “And his parents’, I trust.”
      “Indeed. But Elrond has much to do and the boy grows too old to 
be under the influence of his mother and her ladies.”
      “He has a brother now.”
      “And much use he will be for a few years yet.” Glorfindel turned 
back to face Haldir. “You and your brothers are very close, are you not?” 
Haldir made no reply. “Too close, some have said.”
      “The lady Celebrian, no doubt.” As soon as the words were out, 
Haldir regretted them. His personal animosities had no place here, in her 
home. “I am sorry; I should not have said that.”
      Glorfindel chuckled. “She has said far worse of you, believe me.”
      Haldir scowled but made no reply. It would be too easy to be lured 
into saying something that would make its way back to her husband or her 
son and if he did not like or respect her, he did them. He stood up from the 
railing.
      “I might go and walk in the garden, if you will excuse me, sir.”
      “I might keep you company, sir, since your brothers have usurped 
my role as teacher this morning.” 
      Haldir nodded politely and strode away. Glorfindel caught up with 
him and kept pace easily, chatting lightly about the various ornaments, 
plants and fountains they passed. Haldir’s lips tightened and he made the 
briefest replies, hoping that the other would grow bored by his dull 
company and leave him alone.
      They soon passed beyond the more formal parts of the garden and 
into the wilder forest beyond. Unfortunately, Glorfindel gave no sign of 
tiring of Haldir’s sullen company and Haldir, instead, found himself 
growing more interested, when Glorfindel began to speak of battles and 
weapons. 
      Finally, he had to ask “Do you know of a type of sword called a 
rapier? ‘Tis a straight blade, so long, edged on both sides—”
      “—with a small hilt that can be held in only one hand? Aye, 
though I have not seen one for many a century. They were used in the land 
of Gondor a long millennium past. How do you know of them?”
      “I have one, Lord Celeborn gave it me, because…” he held up his 
hand and Glorfindel winced to see the bruised and bent fingers.
      “What happened to that?”
      “’Twas in a fight. Lord Elrond has begun to heal it.”
      “And you grow tired of telling the tale to long noses like me.”
      “Indeed.” But Haldir’s eyes were less cold than they had been.
      “So, did Celeborn just give you this thing or did he teach you the 
use of it?”
      “He taught me to use it, of course,” replied Haldir indignantly.
      “Well, and so. Will you spar with me?”
      “I have it not about me.”
      “Nor I, but all we need is a pair of sticks.” He reached up to the 
branch above them, pulling it down and snapping off two long, straight 
sticks. Haldir watched, suddenly aware of the animal grace and strength of 
this elf, from the lean torso as he had reached high to the strong sinews of 
his hands as he stripped the branches. Glorfindel handed him one then put 
the other between his knees and peeled off the long velvet tabard he wore, 
tossing it up to hang from the branch he had just despoiled. 
      “Come,” he said, “out in the open.” He grasped Haldir’s shoulder 
and steered him out from beneath the tree. Then they stood to face each 
other, sticks raised. With a sly smile, Glorfindel turned side-on, holding 
out the stick, other arm behind him.
      Haldir smiled not, to see this tall, golden elf stand exactly as his 
beloved, silver lord had stood so many times. Then Glorfindel attacked 
and all thought fled save to parry, fall back, attack, and again. Haldir lost 
sight of all but the flying stick before him, the calculating eyes and the 
swirling halo of golden hair. He gave good account of himself to start with 
but began too soon to grow weary. Glorfindel seemed unstoppable and 
tireless and Haldir found himself increasingly fighting the defence. The 
other began to strike small blows on his arm and shoulder but Haldir had 
not managed to touch him yet. Then the point of Glorfindel’s stick was at 
his throat.
      “Do you yield?”
      “I must.”
      Glorfindel put up his stick. “You fight well enough, given how 
little practice you have had.”
      “How do you know what practice I have had?” panted Haldir.
      “Celeborn gave you the sword when you broke your fingers. So, 
what, six months?”
      “Not that.” Haldir sat on the ground as the edges of his vision 
began to darken.
      Glorfindel knelt beside him. “I fought with one of these for five 
hundred years, longer even than Celeborn, I dare say.”
      Haldir put a hand to his face as his vision blurred.
      “Are you well?”
      “Tired, this…” he waved the hand, “yesterday…” then the world 
was dark.
      
      Something wet and cold. On his face. Water, over his mouth and 
chin. He opened his lips and drank gratefully. “Orophin?”
      “No, ‘tis I.”
      He saw Glorfindel’s face above him, realised his head lay against 
the other’s shoulder. Glorfindel’s cupped hand trickled water, then spilled 
it as Haldir struggled to sit up.
      “Keep still,” snapped Glorfindel, “ere you faint again.” Haldir 
drew breath to argue but thought better of it. “Why did you not tell me you 
were unwell?”
      “I did.”
      “You did not. You said only that he had begun to heal your hand. 
Idiot child, I would not have sparred with you, nor even let you walk so 
far, had I known. Elrond will not thank me for this.”
      “Let me go, ‘tis no concern of yours. I will answer to Lord Elrond 
for my own actions.”
      Glorfindel laughed. “Will you now? You say that blithely 
enough—keep still! It is obvious you have never seen him angry.”
      Haldir stopped struggling, for it made his head spin, and lay limp 
against the other’s shoulder. He could do little more, and was angry with 
himself for getting into such a situation. He felt exhausted and doubted he 
could have stood up. Glorfindel obviously knew it. How he hated being so 
weak! Bad enough his brothers had to nurse him like an elfling. He bit his 
lip and closed his eyes.
      Glorfindel watched as the young elf in his arms tried to turn his 
face away, seeing the pink blush of chagrin glow on his cheeks. Gods, he 
was beautiful!
      “Come, child,” he said gently, “there is no shame in it. After a 
healing, Elrond himself is often faint. Many a time have I caught him and 
held him as I do you.”
      “’Twas but one small finger.”
      “Even so, mending bones is hard work. Especially bones that have 
already set wrongly.”
      Haldir sighed. “Never did I think this wretched hand would be the 
worst of my troubles. Of all the things they did…” Abruptly, he drew 
himself up into a tight ball, burying his face in his arms. “Leave me 
alone,” he muttered.
      Glorfindel lowered him onto the grass. “No, that I will not do.” He 
rested his hand on Haldir’s shoulder. “No, son of Lorien. What would I be 
if I left you alone now?”
      Haldir lay in the circle of jeering men, flooded with excruciating 
pain where they had gouged the arrows out of him. Hands began to tear at 
his clothes and he tried to twist away, knowing what would happen once 
they had stripped him naked. But a hand on his shoulder held him firmly, 
pinning him to the ground and he pushed at it, wrenching the wrist with all 
his strength. There was a yelp, then a weight fell over him.
      “Stop it!” hissed a voice in his ear. Soft hair fell across his face and 
he breathed in its scent, not the animal stench of men. He opened his eyes 
to see an elven face above him, clear blue eyes with a frightened 
expression, white skin and a curtain of golden hair falling around it. He 
did not recognise it, did not know where he was, only that there were no 
men, no flames, no wounds. He stopped fighting, tears of relief filling his 
eyes. He was among his own kind; that was all that mattered. He felt 
himself being raised up and clung to the other, inhaling his scent, letting 
strong arms support him, feeling the cool sheet of hair slide over his hand. 
      Glorfindel held the sobbing youth in stunned silence. Never able to 
offer meaningless words of comfort, he knew not what to say. Haldir’s 
sudden violence, that moment when he was beyond reach, had shocked 
him. 
      Death called out to this one. 
      Glorfindel knew the signs better than most.
      Haldir’s shudders lessened as he fought to master himself. He 
pulled away, hands over his face. “I am sorry,” he breathed. “I am well 
now, I will leave you.” He looked up with reddened eyes. “I could wish,” 
he said hesitantly, “that you will not speak of this.”
      Glorfindel shook his head. “Where do you think to go? Child, you 
have one foot in Mandos’ hall!”
      “No! I promised! This, this is just because of my hand, it does not 
let me forget. But when it is healed, they will go, they will leave me 
alone!”
      Glorfindel shook his head. “Haldir, listen to one who returned. 
This,” he touched the broken hand, “this is but a sign, it is not the 
cause…”
      “No! I promised Lord—“ he broke off, turning away and trying to 
stand. Glorfindel pulled him back down.
      “Sit still. You are not strong enough to go anywhere, certainly not 
alone. What did you promise? To whom?”
      The stubborn look was back in the youth’s dark, weary eyes. “I 
promised not to die,” he muttered.
      Glorfindel had to strain to hear him. “That is no small thing. The 
effort it costs you is evident.” He lapsed into silence, thinking.
      Haldir looked about. They sat on the bank of a small brook. He 
drank, then splashed water on his face, drying it on a fold at the hem of his 
tunic.
      “You carried me here?”
      Glorfindel nodded. 
      “There was no need, I would have been—“
      “Oh, stop it, Haldir. ‘Tis true, the folk of Lorien have the stiffest 
necks in Arda. Do you all take after your lord? And stop thinking about 
running away because I will not let you.”
      Haldir sat, looking mutinous. After a while he said, “What 
business is this of yours?”
      “None at all. But I have a long nose.”
      “I noticed.” He stared out at the meadow around them.
      “That’s not all, is it?” Glorfindel asked suddenly, glancing down at 
his fingers.
      “What?”
      “You have other scars. And the mark of the whip.”
      Haldir was furious. “’Tis no affair of yours!”
      He tried again to stand and was again pulled back. He tried to 
wrench his arm from the other’s grasp and found he could not. He bit his 
lip and looked murderously at Glorfindel.
      “I am but entertainment for your idle moments? You and Elrond?”
      “Oh, not idle. Never idle.”
      “How reassuring.”
      “He could not understand how re-setting one small finger could 
have so exhausted him.”
      “Did it?”
      “He said you were already in a faint when he fell. Ask your 
brothers.”
      Haldir looked mortified. “They said nothing of it to me. Ai, I 
should have left him in peace by the river.”
      “No, for he told me it was he who first spoke to you of healing.”
      “Yes, but if I had known it would be so much—“
      “He did not know; how could you have?”
      Haldir shook his head, wincing at the ache. “I am so tired,” he 
whispered. “Why do you torment me?”
      “I do not, at the least, I do not mean to.”
      “Why, then, do you keep me here?”
      “Does it suit you to think so? Think it, then. ‘Tis your frailty keeps 
you here, son of Lorien. Were I to let you go, you would swoon again ere 
you reached the wood.” Glorfindel smiled and touched a hand to Haldir’s 
chin, turning his face towards him. “ Nay, think rather that I am intrigued 
by you. I seek to understand you.”
      Haldir twisted away, glaring at him. “What’s to understand? 
Understand this then: you do but take advantage of my frailty.” He almost 
spat the last word.
      “Well, then, so I do.” He watched as his placid agreement made 
Haldir seethe. “Nay, this is what intrigues me, Haldir: how is it that you 
yet live?”
      “Why should I not?”
      “Because they raped you.”
      This time, his grip was not strong enough to hold the other and 
Haldir was instantly on his feet and running. Cursing, Glorfindel went 
after him, catching him just short of the first trees. Haldir struggled 
fiercely, trying to break the grip of the arms around him. A savage kick 
shot arrows of pain through Glorfindel’s knee and he fell, dragging Haldir 
with him. The younger elf tried to roll away and Glorfindel used his 
weight to pin him down, finally managing to seize each wrist and wrench 
them out to his sides. 
      Panting, they glared at each other. “So? Answer me. How do you 
yet live in Arda? What has kept you here? Surely your soul must long to 
find peace in the Undying Lands?”
      “I am no coward to flee before my time here is done.”
      “Neither am I a coward, and my time here was done, yet here I 
remain.”
      “Why? You would ask this of me, tell me then why you remain!”
      “I am bound by a vow.”
      “And so am I, so there is no mystery. Let me up, Glorfindel, else I 
swear, vow or no, I shall kill you.”
      Slowly, Glorfindel released his wrists, expecting Haldir to attack 
him. He moved off the other’s body, to sit beside him. But Haldir stayed 
where he was, lying prone in the grass, arms splayed at his sides. 
Glorfindel watched his chest rise and fall as he rubbed his knee.
      “Who can release you from your vow?”
      “’Tis no affair of yours.”
      “Elrond it is that commands my presence here. By his will, I 
remain. Should it alter, I cannot stay. Know you what it is to be so at the 
mercy of another?”
      “No. I am my own master. Even now.”
      “You lie.”
      Haldir rolled his head to fix Glorfindel with his dark eye. “’Tis not 
love that binds you,” he said at last.
      “No.”
      “Then I pity you. Despite all that befell me, my lot is happier than 
yours.”
      Glorfindel laughed coldly. “Be not so quick to pity, elfling. Hearts 
change. When you have endured as long as I have, see if you still pity me 
then.”
      Haldir lay still, only closing his eyes. Glorfindel watched him, 
realising he had not the strength to move. He looked at the dark brows, the 
curve of the pale cheek and the full mouth, longing to touch them, to feel 
them against his own skin. 
      I could do this, I could ravish him now and he could not stop me. 
And perhaps such a fell deed would make Elrond release me at last.
      “Glorfindel, I am in your debt.”
      “Why?”
      “You have taught me my own state. I knew it not before. Though 
you are a harsh teacher.”
      Glorfindel stared at the dark lashes of Haldir’s closed eyes.
      “Come,” he said. “It is time we returned. Let me help you up.”


Title: Heart and Body Chapter 7/9 
Author (including email): Implacida (Implacida@hotmail.com) 
Pairing(s):Haldir / Celeborn 
Rating:  R 
Summary: Still in Imladris, Haldir learns about himself.
Disclaimer: Tolkien’s characters are his, mine are mine. No profit made or 
copyright infringement intended. 
Warning (only if necessary): Angst, memories of violence 

      
      Glorfindel helped him to his feet, a little over-solicitously, Haldir 
thought.
      “There is no need to walk with me. Go on ahead. What harm do 
you think can befall me in this place?”
      “Child, you carry your fiends in you. But if my presence vexes you 
I will walk further away.”
      “What of your fiends, Glorfindel?”
      “What fiends know I, who am as a fiend myself?”
      Haldir smiled. “Stay where you are, then. I find your presence 
vexes me less as time goes by.”
      “Aye, I have that effect on people.
      “Do you so? On me. Who else?”
      Glorfindel laughed and shook his fair head.
      “On Elrond?”
      The ancient warrior turned his youthful face to Haldir. “Child, are 
you learning to see?”
      “I am learning to hear that which you will not say.”
      “A valuable skill, and rare.”
      “You teach it well. If brutally. Tell me how you heard what I 
would not say.” He walked slowly, watching the other from the corner of 
his eye.
      “What lesser hurt could have so wounded you? Whip and knife are 
not trivial, even to the Firstborn, but they do not plant the seeds of death 
and madness in us.” 
      “As simple as that?”
      “Aye. It is not written on your face, Haldir.”
      “’Tis written on my body,” he replied bitterly.
      “Less than you think. Not even Elrond, who saw you, knew all that 
had befallen you.”
      “Surely he knew.”
      “Nay, only what he saw. Tell me this, it was Men who hurt you, 
was it not?”
      “You heard tell of it then?”
      “Elfling, I needed no-one to tell me that.”
      Haldir waited for him to go on, and when Glorfindel only strolled, 
smiling smugly, he frowned. “Perhaps you do vex me after all.”
      “Think it through. Four races there are in Arda might have done 
the act: Elves could not have, Dwarves would not have dared. Orcs would 
have left the marks of their teeth in your sweet flesh. So Men it was.”
      “Men it was,” echoed Haldir in a dull tone.
      They were back under the trees now, walking through dappled 
sunlight and shade. He looked up, seeing the beauty of the green and 
golden leaves, the blue sky beyond and trying to find some measure of 
comfort in it all.
      Something touched his arm. “Come,” said Glorfindel gently, 
“Come and rest a moment.” 
      Haldir let himself be led to the trunk of the nearest tree and sat, 
leaning against it with his legs stretched out before him. He folded his 
arms tightly over his chest, crossed his ankles and closed his eyes. Men it 
was…Loud, stinking, vulgar men with hard hands and fists… he tried 
instead to fill himself with the scent of the grass crushed beneath him, the 
smooth trunk behind him, pulsing with sap, the soft hum of the tiny 
creatures that were the life of the forest. “Here stay I. I have sworn it. He 
who holds my vow has power over me, not you.” 
      He remembered his lover’s pain, that night when he had dreamed 
and finally told his dream. ‘You have brought me into a new world and 
you will leave me here alone.’ 
      I will never leave you. He had thought it then and had repeated his 
vow aloud when they had returned from the dying mallorn.
      Glorfindel sat an arm’s length away, watching the young elf’s 
exquisite face. All did he see, the lips press together tightly, then part and 
grow pink as blood came back to them, the flicker of lashes over closed 
eyes, the shadow of exhaustion below them, the honey curve of his cheek. 
      Desire surged in him again. He quelled it ruthlessly, forcing 
himself to look away and find a distraction. 
      Haldir opened his eyes at the tiny sounds and saw him shredding a 
leaf with those long, strong fingers. He looked up to Glorfindel’s face, just 
seeing beyond the curtain of hair a mask, contorted with—rage? Anger? 
He knew not and uncrossed his arms. At the movement, Glorfindel 
glanced up with his usual aloof expression.
      “Are you rested?”
      Haldir looked into that beautiful face and thought the flickering 
shadows had played tricks on his tired eyes. He sighed and nodded.
      Glorfindel took his arm and almost trembled with lust again as 
Haldir briefly leaned against him.
      “Not now, he could not stand it now. In a few years. When he is 
stronger.” But he knew a strong Haldir would be much less of a lure to 
him. It was the youth’s weakness that he craved.
      As they walked on, he asked casually, “So, for whom did you vow 
not to die? Some sweet maid of Lorien?”
      Haldir’s lips curved in a faint smile but he said nothing.
      “A fellow sentry, perhaps?”
      “Leave off, Glorfindel.”
      But he was not indignant at the suggestion. Glorfindel smiled 
inwardly at his small triumph. One of his brothers, or both? Celebrian 
would have said so, but he had little faith in her judgement. He glanced at 
Haldir, and found he was being watched.
      “How came you back to this world? No other has ever done so.”
      “’Tis a long story, elfling, and one that need not concern you.”
      “So you may pry but I may not? Shall I think it through then?”
      Glorfindel sneered but said nothing.
      “If all could return from death, all would. Therefore you did not 
return because you willed it but because another did, as Luthien brought 
forth Beren Camlost. Elrond it is who holds you in his power, therefore 
‘twas by his will you returned. Why did he do this?” As there was still no 
reply, he went on. “Not for love, you said so yourself. He knew you not 
nor loved you for you died when his own father was but a child.” He 
paused, remembering Celeborn’s words that night he had woken, 
screaming, from his dream. Could I, I would challenge Mandos himself for 
your soul! Elrond could. Elrond knew more sorcery than any other, even 
Galadriel, whose magic was of a different kind.
      “And for whom,” he went on softly, “would Elrond have 
challenged the Lord of the Dead? For one who died before he was born? 
Or for his own lover, just killed in—“
      “Enough, boy, let me go and fetch my clothing.” Glorfindel 
sprinted away, disappearing among the trees and Haldir knew he had 
guessed right. It was a strange feeling to one who was accustomed to 
action, to use a different weapon and know he could wield it to such 
effect. But if Glorfindel did not want it turned against him, he should not 
have taught its use. He walked on, seeing the brilliant colours of the forest 
made intense by the strong midday sun. If his fatigue meant he could not 
walk at his usual swift pace then he would at least enjoy the enforced 
slowness. 
      He paused to watch a cloud of swirling midges flickering in a shaft 
of bright sunlight. After a moment, he became uneasy and turned. 
Glorfindel stood a few paces away, watching him as he had watched the 
dancing motes.
      “Ah, so you are not lost then?”
      “Do not over-reach yourself, elfling.”
      They walked on silently. Glorfindel had his velvet tabard slung 
over his shoulder and his expression was a little less composed than 
before. Haldir decided not to pursue the earlier topic. It would keep until 
he had need of it.
      They said little else, soon reaching the gardens again and then the 
house itself. Glorfindel bade Haldir a distracted farewell, and Haldir sat a 
while on the bench to which his brothers had earlier tied their rope. They 
were nowhere to be seen and he wondered what new mischief they and 
Elladan were laughing and shouting over. The thought of three boisterous 
younger brothers made him wince. Two had been bad enough. 
      He had missed the midday meal and now began to feel hungry. 
Remembering the large bowl of fruit always kept on a pedestal in one of 
the alcoves beyond their room, he made his way there and took two 
apples, eating them as he continued to stroll along the covered walk, 
admiring the carvings that held the arched roof over it. Then he went to 
the stables to visit Falas and fed him the apple cores, staying a while to 
talk to the stable boys who wanted to know the breeding of the beautiful 
grey stallion. When they were called back to their tasks by a groom he 
went up to the house again. After his encounter with Glorfindel, Haldir 
found a spell of solitude restful. But, as ever, he soon began to think of the 
one whose presence would have made it more pleasant. For a while he 
took little note of where he wandered as he held imaginary conversations 
with his lover. He kept away from the things he would have really liked to 
talk about, remembering what his imagination had wrought by the river. 
Thus distracted, Haldir did not notice where he was wandering. When, 
eventually, he realised that he had become very tired, he looked for 
somewhere out-of-the-way to sit, and followed a flight of stairs down from 
the long balcony. An arched door was flanked by two elaborate 
candelabrae, and in the room beyond he could see some chairs. It was a 
large room and lined with shelves of books, more even than Lord 
Celeborn had. He sat with a volume taken at random, and was soon 
immersed in a telling of the flight of the Noldor.
      It was only when the evening had grown too dark to read that he 
finally put it aside and rubbed his eyes.
      “I could light some candles if you wish it.”
      Startled, Haldir looked up to see Lord Elrond sitting at a table 
nearby, watching him over steepled fingers. 
      “Ah—no, no, I have tarried enough. That is—“ Haldir took a deep 
breath to calm himself. Already that day had he found Glorfindel at his 
side unheard and unseen and now Elrond as well. Were the father and 
teacher of Elladan aggrieved that this upstart should presume to teach the 
boy how to mind his feet, and were putting him in his place? He stood up 
and looked for the gap on the shelves. Elrond stood as well and came to 
his side. Taking the volume, he glanced at the spine.
      “No light reading, this.”
      “No.”
      He put it aside. “How fares that finger? Show me.” Lord Elrond 
drew him back down to the bench. He moved the finger gently and Haldir 
bit his lip at the sharp stab of pain. The Lord of Imladris frowned. “It is 
not mending yet. Have you not rested it?”
      “I have done nothing with it. I slept late and walked in the woods 
and about the grounds.”
      “Is that all?”
      “I met with Lord Glorfindel.”
      “And?”
      “We spoke of many things. A mutual interest in ancient swords.”
      “You did more than speak.” Now Elrond’s hand moved to Haldir’s 
face, stroking his thumb along the shadow beneath one eye. “What did he 
do?”
      “Nothing. But we did practise some of the uses of one particular 
weapon. Just a little.”
      “Just a little.” Elrond shook his head. “Master Tamrin was wiser 
than I. The healing of bones is a process that tires not only the healer but 
also the one injured, for it draws on your very life’s force, and you, Haldir, 
have too little of it.”
      “Will you not mend the rest then? No,” he added after that 
outburst. “My Lord, please forgive me, I ask more than I should.” He hung 
his head. “And I am sorry, too, for the words I spoke by the river.”
      Elrond lifted the veil of silver hair that hid his face, then raised his 
chin and Haldir looked up into the dark and brilliant eyes of the one beside 
him. Elrond’s thumb now touched Haldir’s lips.
      “Have you eaten?”
      Haldir nodded.
      “What have you eaten?”
      “Apples. Two of them—“
      “Haldir, you are impossible!” Elrond stood and pulled him to his 
feet. “Come with me.”
      They walked along a hall whose ceiling was carved to seem like a 
flowering arbour, Elrond firmly holding Haldir’s arm through his own.
      “Sir, I would not disturb you. I can go and find my brothers and eat 
with them.”
      “They are in the hall, listening to a storytelling with Elladan, who 
has special dispensation to stay late from his bed. So you will join me and 
the Lady for dinner.”
      He would hear none of Haldir’s protests and ushered him into the 
room where the Lady Galadriel had met the three brothers when they had 
arrived. Now a formal table was set.
      “Another place,” said the Lord of Imladris to a servant. “We are 
three to dinner.” As the settings were rapidly altered, he turned to the Lady 
who stood looking out into the night. “This fosterling of yours, my Lady: 
two apples has he eaten since morning.”
      Galadriel smiled. “Celeborn will not be pleased if I return you to 
him wasted away.” As Haldir blushed, she winked at him and turned to 
Elrond. “He has served my Lord as secretary for the last several months.”
      “Indeed? That must have been a let-down to a warrior.”
      “My Lord Celeborn is far greater a warrior than I,” replied Haldir 
stiffly, “and he does not scorn to use pen and parchment. Shall I?”
      “Each is a weapon at the right place and time,” said the dark-haired 
Half-Elven. “Come, all is prepared.”
      Lord and Lady continued a previous conversation, occasionally 
asking Haldir his opinion on various matters. He made polite answers. But 
he was well aware that they were watching him and making sure he ate. 
Haldir was beginning to wilt under the focussed scrutiny of powerful 
Elven Lords that day. He longed for his bed. Even more did he long for his 
lover’s bed and the touch of that one’s gentle hands. 
      A foot tapped his knee and he opened his eyes with a start, finding 
the Lady Galadriel watching him with laughter in her eyes. “I think it is 
time you slept, child,” she said softly.
      Elrond nodded. “I said I would deal with each of your fingers with 
a day’s rest between them. But you are not ready. Tomorrow, do not exert 
yourself at all and I will decide the next day if you are strong enough for 
us to go on.”
      Galadriel’s foot tapped Haldir’s knee again and her eyes sent him a 
severe warning.
      Elrond had the servant fetch Master Melpomaen from his study 
and that worthy emerged in time to see the Lady bestowing a fond good 
night kiss upon the brow of one of those three Lorien elves. Then Lord 
Elrond bade him accompany that elf back to his room.
      It was quite a long walk and they did not speak, Melpomaen 
walking ahead with a stiff back, too embarrassed to say a word to the other 
and Haldir too tired to notice. The room was empty when he arrived and 
he thought to stay awake and wait for his brothers. But as soon as he had 
undressed and lain himself down, he was asleep. 
      Haldir slept peacefully and awoke slowly and languidly, aware of 
Orophin and Rumil on either side of him, as usual. He smiled and kept 
still, enjoying the touch of Rumil’s back along his side and Orophin’s 
cheek against his brow. When they finally awoke, he had to endure 
considerable mockery about the way he and Glorfindel had vanished into 
the woods and missed lunch. Elladan had been overjoyed, considering it a 
personal favour that Haldir had made off with his teacher, thus letting him 
spend the day with the two brothers and being allowed to stay up late.
      “Does he like Glorfindel?” asked Haldir casually.
      “Worships him, rather,” replied Orophin.
      “Indeed, he utters an endless string of ‘Glorfindel says this’ and 
‘Glorfindel says that’ until you grow to hate the very sound of the name.”
      Haldir smiled, remembering what Glorfindel had said. They 
washed, dressed, and braided each other’s hair. He chose a long robe to 
wear, since he was to rest that day.
      Rumil looked critically at him pulling it on over his dark shirt and 
leggings. “You have not worn that ancient thing for a while, Haldir, I did 
not even know you still had it about you.”
      “I am under orders to play the invalid today and not exert myself. 
Lord Elrond thinks my wretched finger is not healing fast enough and will 
not touch the next until it does. So I shall sit in his library and strain 
myself turning pages.”
      “Oh, what a shame,” said Orophin. “Lord Glorfindel is taking 
Elladan to visit the foundry and we thought to go with them.”
      “I am sure you will enjoy it much more than you would a day 
among books.”
      Rumil shuddered at such a prospect. “Yes, but it would have been 
more pleasant with you as well.”
      They walked to the great hall to find some food, filling their plates 
from the well-laden tables at one side then going out onto the sunny 
terrace to eat.
      Rumil nudged Orophin and tapped Haldir’s arm. “Don’t turn now, 
but there is that one again who always stares at us as if we were some sort 
of quaint curiosity.”
      His brothers duly looked behind them to find Melpomaen gazing 
down his nose at them. Under their combined glances, he turned away and 
walked off.
      “I said don’t turn,” hissed Rumil, rolling his eyes. “Why does he 
stare at us like that?”
      “Who knows?”
      “He is civil enough; he escorted me back to our room last night.”
      “Having been lost in the woods,” grinned Rumil, “will you now 
get lost in the house as well?”
      “He reminds me some little of the unlamented Arcirithon,” said 
Orophin. “Perhaps he thinks we are scandalous.”
      Haldir winced to see a light arise in Rumil’s eyes, as of a challenge 
accepted. “Does he so?” that elf drawled.
      “Brother, behave. Remember we are here as emissaries of Lorien.”
      Rumil pouted. “You spend too much time with Lord Celeborn, 
Haldir, you begin to sound like him. A good thing you will not come with 
us today if you would take that tone.”
      Orophin poked him. “Little brother, you spend too much time with 
Elladan. You begin to sound like him.”
      Rumil slapped at his hand. “Leave off, my ribs are ever bruised. 
And do not forget who is the little brother!”
      “Indeed,” replied Orophin, pointedly looming over him.
      Haldir went with them to the stables to meet Glorfindel and 
Elladan and see them off, and the child’s excitement at a day’s riding was 
nearly matched by that of Haldir’s brothers, cooped up too long without 
their usual exercise. He did little more than nod to Glorfindel, who was 
overseeing the preparations for their departure.
      Haldir went back to the library and took up again ‘The Flight of 
the Noldor’ and was soon lost in it. Hours later he reached the end, reading 
with lower lip between his teeth of the burning of the ships of the Teleri 
and the terrible passage through the icy straits of Helcaraxe. He sat a while 
longer, lost in thought as he reflected upon the ineffability of the Lady 
Galadriel. Eventually his train of thought led him back to the look she had 
given him the previous night and he laid aside the book and went to eat.
      After, he returned to the books to find the sequel, ‘The Return of 
the Noldor’. It was one that he had not read as it was not in the Lord of 
Lorien’s library. He spent a frustrating half hour looking for it before 
deciding that Lord Elrond’s method for ordering his books must be totally 
random and that he had no chance. Or possibly that Elrond did not have it 
either. He smiled to himself, remembering a conversation with Celeborn 
many years ago:
      “I have them sorted by weight,” replied the indignant Lord of 
Lorien when his fosterling complained of not finding things. “It’s 
completely practical because when I want a particular volume I only have 
to remember how heavy it felt in my hands.”
      A slight movement brought him back to the present and he saw the 
elf who had been watching them at breakfast, come down the steps and go 
to return several volumes to various shelves. Haldir frowned then 
remembered his name.
      “Master Melpomaen,” he said and the other almost threw into the 
air the books he still held.
      “Haldir! I did not see you.”
      Haldir kept his lips straight with an effort. “You seem very familiar 
with this library, can you explain to me the order in which the books are 
shelved?”
      “Why, the order in which we acquired them, of course.”
      Haldir stifled a groan. How helpful. He should have guessed. “Do 
you know if there is a copy of Menewathiel’s telling of ‘The Return on the 
Noldor’?”
      “Yes, certainly.” The tall elf shifted the books he was holding into 
one arm and walked to another shelf. “Here.”
      Haldir took the volume he held out. “Thank you.” Melpomaen 
continued to watch him as he flipped the pages. “How do people find the 
books they want in here? Surely not all know how they are kept?”
      “Lord Elrond and I know, as do Lords Erestor and Glorfindel, and 
some of the scribes have learned most of them. Anybody else has only to 
ask one of us. But few use the library.”
      More might, thought Haldir, if they did not have to ask for help to 
find things. Aloud, he said, “You are secretary to Lord Elrond, then?”
      “I am nominally Lord Erestor’s secretary. But I work equally with 
both now.”
      “I have served Lord Celeborn in that function recently. But I think 
it will not be for much longer. Would anyone mind if I took this outside to 
read?” He felt a great desire to escape that dark-eyed, supercilious look.
      “No, not at all.”
      “Thank you.” Haldir turned and climbed the stairs, forcing himself 
to walk at a slow and dignified pace. Then he stopped and turned. 
Melpomaen was still watching him. “I should also have thanked you for 
walking me back to my room last night. I was very tired. I think Lord 
Elrond thought I might not find my way.”
      For the first time, Melpomaen smiled a little. “Actually, he thought 
you might not make the distance.”
      “Really?” Haldir was affronted. “And what were you going to do, 
carry me?”
      “If necessary.”
      “I am very grateful it did not prove necessary.”
      “So am I.”
      Haldir realised that he was staring now and continued up the steps. 
      He went out into the warm afternoon air, a light breeze cooling 
him a little. The spot he wanted was a tree he had seen yesterday, with 
curving roots showing like huge knuckles through long, soft, green grass. 
It was surrounded by ferns and he thought when he saw it that it looked 
like an inviting place for a weary elf. Soon he was stretched out 
comfortably in the grass, occasionally fanning himself with a nearby 
frond, his robe folded and serving as a pillow. He soon forgot his 
surroundings, despite finding them so pleasant, as he read of the battle of 
Feanor and Gothmog, Lord of Balrogs, in which Feanor sustained his 
mortal wound.
      Ai, he wondered, to fight a balrog! Have I the nerve to ask 
Glorfindel to tell of it?
      He read on and soon was engrossed in the fate of the son of 
Feanor, taken treacherously by Morgoth at a parlay:
      
Therefore Morgoth took Maedhros and hung him from the 
face of a precipice upon Thangorodrim, and he was caught 
to the rock by the wrist of his right hand in a band of steel.
      
      He was found by Fingon, son of Fingolfin, who, unable to break 
his bond and reluctant to slay Maedhros as the latter begged him to do, 
instead took his sword and cut off his hand. Then Haldir came to another 
passage that made him sit upright:
      
His body recovered from his torment and became hale, but 
the shadow of his pain was in his heart; and he lived to 
wield his sword with left hand more deadly than his right 
had been.
      
      O, had I known the fate of Maedhros sooner, it might have been as 
a well of courage to me! Haldir lay back, book held on his chest and stared 
up at the sky. He lost his whole hand, after he was hung from a cliff for a 
month… Have I been so much weaker?
      Brooding, he looked again at the book. It did say that those born in 
Valinor had spirits which burned in them like fire, such was the strength of 
their life’s force. We are all of a lesser race, then, those of us born in 
Arda. His desire to read faded and he closed the book, looking instead 
around him. 
      Fern fronds swayed in the warm breeze, brushing against his cheek 
and brow like a lover’s fingers. The grass on which he lay was a soft bed 
and scented withal, and behind him the strong hard wood of the tree’s 
great curving root encircled his shoulders and supported him. Was this a 
lesser world, then? How much more beauty could one’s soul encompass? 
Different, yes, this was not like Lorien, but no less enchanting for that. 
      Arda would be enough for Haldir, for in Arda there was wonder 
and joy to fill a lesser spirit, if such he was. And in Arda, too, dwelt 
Celeborn, whose beauty and grace had been enough for one of the Valar. 
Haldir could ask no more. 
      He let his being drift out into this world, happy at last without 
longing for Celeborn to be near, for was he not near in fact? They stood on 
the same earth and breathed the same air, beneath the same sun and moon, 
and Haldir, truly understanding this for the first time, was content. He 
closed his eyes and let his soul wander, sensing the great whole around 
him, following the roots of the tree down into the soil, feeling the vast 
rocks below that were the bones of the world. The sinews of Arda were 
beyond his comprehension, he was as a tiny sparkling mote in the sunlight 
beneath a mighty tree, as were all Elves, dancing points of light in the 
greater, darker universe. He spun through the echoing places, soaring, 
swallowed up by them, and desired to go back to his own for here he truly 
was as nothing. But in the world of the Elves his fellows called and he 
spiralled back down, drawn to one bright point of light, and in distant 
Lorien did Celeborn look up and laugh, catching the soul of his lover in 
his own and drawing him into his heart.
      They whirled together, spinning into one brilliant flame that 
flashed gold and silver and their hearts and bodies were as one, each 
feeling all the other felt, Celeborn lying amid ferns and Haldir sitting at a 
desk. Laughter and tears of joy did they share, and the blood coursing 
through their veins and their beating hearts in the union of souls that the 
union of bodies but faintly echoed. Thoughts flickered faster than a voice 
could utter, questions asked and answered without words, only with the 
purest of emotions.
      Finally they slowed and calmed and looked at each other with the 
eyes of their souls and saw love and felt it and knew it, embracing both of 
them, theirs, and for ever. Now they floated like a leaf on a quiet pool, 
drifting, immersed each in the other completely, going where the current 
would take them, saying nothing, only feeling, only knowing.
      And with the knowing, they knew that this state of grace was an 
interval in their day and so would end, yet never end for it would always 
be in their hearts and they could choose it again whenever they desired it. 
So they parted gently, each to his own place and body and with no sadness 
for this union was now their lot and their due and would be with them for 
all time.
      Haldir sighed and floated in bliss. Gradually he became more 
aware of the ferns and grass and tree, and of his two brothers watching 
over him. He opened his eyes and smiled and they stared at the silver and 
smiled at the joy in them.
      “It was a pleasant dream, brother,” said Orophin softly. Rumil 
crept to his side.
      “It was no dream,” he replied, folding both of them into his arms.
      

Title: Heart and Body Chapter 8/9 
Author (including email): Implacida (Implacida@hotmail.com) 
Pairing(s):Haldir / Celeborn 
Rating:  R 
Summary: More stuff happens! Read it if you want to know! 
Disclaimer: Tolkien’s characters are his, mine are mine. No profit made or 
copyright infringement intended. 
Warning (only if necessary): Angst, sex, memories of violence
      
      Haldir left the feasting early, while songs were still sung and wine 
still flowed. He assured Rumil and Orophin that they need not worry and 
he wanted only to have a long and leisurely bath before sleeping. Their 
room had its own small bathroom, which he preferred to the communal 
baths fed by one of Imaldris’ hot springs.
      He ran the bath and stripped, smiling in anticipation. A selection of 
beautiful, blown glass bottles were grouped on a marble shelf and he 
unstoppered and sniffed at each of them before choosing the one he liked 
best and pouring some of its scented oil into the water. As he brushed his 
hair and put it up, he felt Celeborn enter the room. He looked but there 
was nobody with him, and then heard laughter in his heart.
      “Haldir, I am here, do not look for me with your eyes, elfling.”
      Haldir closed his eyes and threw himself into his lover’s arms and 
was caught and whirled around until he was giddy.
      “How can you be giddy when you are sitting still clutching a 
hairbrush?” They laughed together.
      “I still have much to learn about farspeaking. I feel as if I have you 
in my arms. What are you doing?”
      “I am lying on my bed, my love.” And Haldir could feel the cool, 
silken sheet and the sleek fur under Celeborn’s body. Enchanted, he let 
other sensations fill him, the breath of a warm, evening breeze in faraway 
Lorien, the taste of the wine Celeborn sipped. And the smile on his lord’s 
lips as he caressed his own hip and stomach, making Haldir shiver. 
Celeborn’s smile widened and he touched his cock, feeling Haldir’s breath 
hiss over his teeth. 
      He let go a little, saying, “Come, the water looks inviting. And 
smells of… pine? I swear, I will tumble you in pine needles yet, beloved.”
      Haldir laughed, coming back to his own body enough to stand and 
step into the warm water, Celeborn sighing in pleasure with him. “If you 
do, you will feel every prickle with me.”
      “I should have taken the opportunity before you learned the trick 
of farspeaking.”
      “How did I come to do it? I was not suffering, as… as at the other 
time. Why could you not teach it to me before?”
      “Farspeaking is a fickle skill, and cannot be taught. Each must 
come to it alone. Few attain it.”
      Haldir lay back, letting the water eddy over his chest. He looked at 
his hand and felt Celeborn gently flex the fingers of it. 
      “I begin to understand how maddening this has been for you, now 
that I can feel it at last. When will he see to the next finger?”
      “Tomorrow, I hope.”
      “Call to me when he does, I can help you.” Celeborn lowered the 
hand into the warm water, stroking his lover’s chest with his lover’s own 
fingers. He found a nipple and circled Haldir’s palm over it. In Lorien, he 
put down his glass of wine and lay back, spreading his legs a little and 
running his hands over his stomach, making his lover smile and echo the 
gesture in Imladris. Haldir, less experienced in these strange new ways, 
simply let the delightful sensations ripple through him. He sighed as 
Celeborn touched himself, feeling his own body respond as if it were him 
his lover were stroking. He raised his arms, lifting them through the sheen 
of oil on the surface of the water, seeing it cover his skin with a slippery 
film. He reached down and stroked himself with oily fingers, already hard 
from Celeborn’s touch. He felt his distant lover sigh in response...
      By the time they were both sated, Haldir’s fingertips were 
wrinkled from his long soaking. He sat in a woven wicker chair on the 
balcony, wrapped in an immense, fluffy towel quite unlike the linen 
towels he knew at home. He looked up at the stars and smiled, having just 
moments ago seen them flickering through the branches sheltering his 
drowsy lover. 
      Hours later his brothers found him still there, asleep in the chair 
and pulled him, protesting, to his feet and took him to bed.
      
      “Haldir, we care not whom you can farspeak, we are not letting 
you go to this alone.”
      “Besides, Lord Elrond did say to me that at least one of us should 
come with you. And I told him we both would.”
      They walked all three abreast along wide corridors and up stairs 
leading to the wing of the house where Lord Elrond and his family lived. 
A dark elf turned a corner in front of them and stopped at the sight of the 
three fair elves filling the passage before him. They separated to let him 
pass and Haldir said “Good morning, Melpomaen.”
      The other inclined his head slightly. “Well met,” he replied, “for it 
was you I was sent to fetch. Come this way; Lord Elrond awaits.”
      He turned back the way he had come. Moments later there was the 
sharp sound of a slap and a high-pitched giggle behind him and he spun 
around to see the smallest of the three bent over and laughing 
uncontrollably.
      “Please forgive our foolish brother,” said Haldir smoothly, his face 
perfectly calm. “He was dropped on his head as a baby.”
      The small one fell into fresh fits of laughter.
      “Sadly, it happened several times,” added the tallest, stepping 
around Haldir and swinging the small one up under one arm. “Pray, 
continue.”
      And so Melpomaen had no choice but to turn and keep walking, 
ignoring the snorts of laughter from behind. Haldir fell into step beside 
him, looking ahead with a serene expression and Melpomaen could do no 
less.
      They were soon at the ornate arch leading into Elrond’s study.
      “That was quick!” the Lord of Imladris raised an eyebrow at his 
secretary. “Did you run all the way?”
      “No!” Melpomaen was flustered and his retort a little sharper than 
it might have been. “That is, I met them coming, sire.” He bowed and 
hurried back out through the arch. Rumil bit his lip and buried his face 
against Orophin’s chest, his shoulders trembling as he realised Lord 
Elrond himself was not averse to a little humour at the very formal 
Melpomaen’s expense.
      “Are you well, Rumil?” 
      Rumil straightened himself rapidly and turned a composed face 
back to the enquirer. “Perfectly, sire.” He had little desire for the Lord of 
Imladris to be humorous at his expense.
      “It is most laudable of you,” Elrond continued, turning to Haldir. 
“Many who have had a bone mended the quick way decide after the 
experience that in future they will let nature take its course no matter how 
long that be, rather than repeat the procedure.”
      Haldir bowed his head slightly. His stomach was tight with nerves 
and he had not been able to eat anything at breakfast. “It was not pleasant, 
sire, but far less pleasant has been the waiting for… nature to take its 
course.”
      Elrond nodded. “Now, how best shall we do this?” He looked 
around. “Come out onto the balcony, let us sit in the sun.” He led the way, 
sweeping his long robe aside as he knelt on the warm stone floor. The 
brothers grouped themselves around him, sitting cross-legged in a tight 
circle. 
      Elrond folded his legs neatly beneath him and looked out into the 
garden for a moment. His balcony had no railing to block the view and a 
glowing rainbow hung over the trees below. He turned back, seeing how 
Orophin and Rumil pressed close to their brother. Haldir’s head was 
bowed. As Elrond reached for his hand he looked up and the Lord of 
Imladris blinked in surprise to see his eyes shining silver.
      “You did not do this before!”
      “I could not.” The younger elf’s voice was slow and heavy.
      “Who?”
      But he shook his head.
      Elrond composed himself again, holding the broken hand between 
his palms, letting warmth fill him and flow into it. Then he took the 
middle finger, feeling how it lay. Haldir leaned back against his brothers, 
eyes half-closed, and now there was no tension in him. All three flinched 
as Elrond broke each joint but Haldir’s arm stayed limp and unresisting 
and this time, as Elrond began to work he felt a deep pool of the force of 
life well up from within the younger elf, pouring into the broken hand, 
almost flooding him. He worked quickly, channelling the flow to the 
bones and sinews, moulding them into their proper shape. 
      Who? he wondered. Haldir lay back against his brothers, head 
fallen to one side, lips slightly parted and a silver gleam showing under 
half-closed lids. His brothers stared at what Elrond was doing, their faces 
tense. So it was not one of them. In fact, it could not have been. Only an 
elf ancient and experienced and long in the ways of life and the world 
could have commanded such a force. Galadriel? Glorfindel?
      The finger was whole and moving as it should now, and the flesh 
around it soothed, so it would not swell as the first had. And he was not 
tired, he had had to put little more than the proper gestures into this 
healing, it had taken none of his life’s force. So he took the last finger and 
broke that and poured the abundant energy into it and soon it, too, was 
whole. Elrond sighed. This was how healing should be, but few elves of 
Arda could command such power. He continued to hold Haldir’s hand 
between his and the energy filling them both slowly ebbed as the unknown 
other knew the work was done and gradually withdrew. Elrond tried to 
follow with his spirit, so curious was he, but there was nothing more than 
a dim sense of a power as old and as deeply-rooted in the world as one of 
the mellyrn of Lothlorien herself.
      So the four of them remained, Elrond gently flexing Haldir’s 
fingers and he, sleeping against his brothers’ shoulders.
      “Be at ease,” Elrond whispered to them, “it is done and he is well.”
      They looked at each other then at him, both smiling. “Sire, we 
thank you,” said Orophin softly.
      “If there is any favour we can ever return to you, we are yours to 
command,” added Rumil, “though we are but humble sentries of Lorien.” 
He looked into Elrond’s eyes and the Lord of Imladris saw the depth of 
feeling there.
      He nodded. “I will not forget this and if I have need of you I will 
call upon you.” He looked at Haldir. “Let me take him a while, he will 
sleep yet a little and I wish to speak with him when he awakens.”
      “We can stay, we have nothing else to do.” Even as Orophin 
spoke, he held his brother more tightly.
      Elrond smiled. “Will you not leave him with me? Have you not 
said you are mine to command?”
      They exchanged a glance over their brother’s head. Then Rumil 
spoke.
      “We would obey your wishes, my Lord, only we do not want to 
leave him alone. He was… very tired after the last time.” 
      “He is still sometimes troubled, sire, after all that befell him, and it 
takes him when he is tired…” Orophin’s voice trailed off and Elrond 
looked at their faces to see the anxiety in them.
      “Let this not worry you, it will not happen this time.” He paused. 
“I wish my own sons will grow to be as loyal to each other as you are. 
Now, I lay my first command upon you both: go and rescue Elladan from 
Lord Glorfindel and teach him to walk a rope. Despite your best effort he 
still has not mastered balance and I cannot let him into places like this—“ 
he nodded at the sheer drop from his balcony’s edge, “—until he does.” 
The brothers still hesitated and Elrond held out his arms. “Here, let me 
take him.” He moved closer as Rumil shifted away and Orophin eased 
Haldir into his arms. The sleeping elf’s fair head rolled against his 
shoulder, silver hair spreading over his arm and Elrond looked down at 
him tenderly. “Go, he will be safe with me.”
      Reluctantly, the other two stood and stepped back.
      “I will send him after you shortly,” Elrond assured them.
      “Tell him we will be in the same place as before.” With several 
backward glances, they finally left.
      Elrond looked down at Haldir, who slept still. The shadows under 
his eyes had finally gone and his face in repose was like a child’s, soft and 
fair. It was no surprise that someone loved him so intensely as to do what 
had just been done, for he was beautiful, kind-natured and fiercely loyal. 
And he had still the endearingly fiery temperament of a half-grown elfling, 
not yet fully schooled in minding his manners and hiding his true feelings.
      Elrond found him utterly charming.
      He sat in the warm sun and listened to Haldir’s soft breathing, 
seeing his chest rise and fall, watching the strong pulse just below his 
earlobe, where the line of his jaw and the soft curve of his throat began. 
Haldir’s breathing quickened and he moved, screwing up his face and 
moaning softly. Then he took a deep breath and looked up and his eyes 
widened in surprise. He pushed himself away and Elrond helped him to sit 
up.
      “Where are Rumil and Orophin?” he asked, looking about 
uncertainly.
      “I sent them to play with Elladan. It was quite difficult to prise 
them away from your side.”
      Haldir frowned. “Were you harsh with them? They were trying to 
help, they know I have needed them by me.”
      “I was not harsh with them, you need not worry on their score. 
Now tell me, how does your hand feel?”
      Haldir looked at it, slowly flexing the fingers and a delighted smile 
spread over his face. He looked up. “Both fingers? You did them both at 
once? How soon may I use it? Do I need to rest it any more?”
      Elrond laughed. “You are as bad as my son. It was your mysterious 
friend made it possible, putting so much power into the healing. Who was 
it?”
      “Why do you ask?”
      “I am curious.”
      “I do not wish to tell you. And do not ask me to pay my debt to 
you by telling you either. That would be unfair.”
      “Very well; now put away that scowl. Haldir, it is too easy to strike 
sparks from you.”
      “I am gratified to provide such amusement for you.”
      “Glorfindel did warn me that your feathers were easily ruffled.”
      Haldir’s expression became darker. “And what else did he say?”
      “I do not wish to tell you.” Elrond deliberately used Haldir’s own 
words and then regretted it as Haldir’s face went white.
      “So you know… all… all that happened to me.” He had folded his 
arms over his drawn-up knees and now hid his face on them.
      “Glorfindel is more perceptive than most.”
      “Why can I not be allowed to forget?” The words came as an 
anguished whisper, muffled in the sleeves of Haldir’s robe.
      Elrond watched him, remembering the misery and fear in his eyes 
on that sunny day by the river. “It would be a strange thing indeed if you 
could forget something like that in six months. You still have the marks on 
your body and they will heal faster than the scars of the spirit.”
      Haldir rubbed his face against his sleeve and looked up, bleary-
eyed. “So time is needed. How often have I heard those words!” He 
clenched his hand into a fist. “Is there no quick way, as there is for 
bones?”
      “I had to break your fingers anew. What would I need to break in 
order to mend the spirit?”
      “What, indeed?” he sighed. “I am ungrateful and discourteous, my 
Lord. I beg your forgiveness.” He straightened up. 
      “Wait yet a moment, there is another thing I would ask you.” 
Haldir looked at him nervously. “What happened during those hours when 
you and Glorfindel disappeared into the woods together?”
      “We sparred with two sticks like children. We talked.”
      “Yet you returned exhausted as a half-drowned kitten, and he, as 
cross as a wet cat. What happened? Did he try to touch you?”
      Haldir looked up sharply. “Do you ask me that and yet trust him 
with your son?”
      “He is the best teacher I ever met, and there is always someone 
nearby.” Elrond spoke slowly and evenly. “It is not children that draw 
him. Children are weak by nature and that calls not to him. It is strength, 
humbled, that is the flame to his moth. The strong made weak are what 
draw him for that is what he is. Was he not once a great warrior, and 
brought to his knees by death? He spent millennia in the Halls of the 
Dead, a discorporate spirit, he who had gloried in force and power enough 
to challenge the most fell demon of the underworld.” He gazed out at the 
eternal rainbow over his garden. He had chosen this spot for his own 
rooms because of that rainbow. 
      “And there you were before him, a young warrior, beautiful and 
crippled. I am surprised he could resist you.”
      “He did,” replied Haldir flatly. 
      “He did not resist me.”
      “What?”
      “When I was heart-broken at the loss of my love.” Elrond stretched 
out his legs and leaned back on his hands. He looked sidelong at Haldir. “I 
have surprised you at last, elfling? When I was almost insane with grief at 
the death of my beloved. I dared all I knew, all I was, to take him back 
from the grasp of Mandos. And the one who came forth was Glorfindel.”
      “Why do you say this to me?”
      “I do not forgive. He is here and Gil-Galad is not and I will get no 
second chance. And you guessed the truth and you pitied him. He does not 
deserve pity, Haldir. He tricked me and I make him pay for it.”
      Elrond’s voice and eyes were as hard and as cold as a steel blade. 
      “I thought he was your trusted friend?” 
      “We have reached a kind of trust over the centuries. He knows I 
can send him back to Mandos and I know he will not provoke me into 
doing so.”
      Haldir thought back to the face he had briefly glimpsed behind a 
curtain of hair. He had put that look down to his own tiredness at the time. 
Softly, he said, “I would not trust to that. I would not trust my brothers to 
that.”
      “Say you so? Why?”
      “Nothing he said. Or did.” What fiends know I, who am as a fiend 
myself?  “But I have learned some few things in my short years, and one is 
to trust my feelings rather than to a web of debt and power and deceit.”
      Elrond stared into the distance. Then he nodded. “Celebrian desires 
to go home to Lorien. I have refused until now. But perhaps I may let her 
go soon, and take the children with her. ”
      Haldir bowed his head. 
      
      Elladan had now managed to run back and forth along the rope 
several times. 
      “Very well, we will tie it higher,” said Orophin. “But not here. 
Haldir is right about that statue.”
      He and Rumil exchanged a glance, looking back in the direction of 
Lord Elrond’s rooms. Haldir had not emerged yet.
      “We cannot go too far away, we told him we’d be here.”
      “Here, here!” shouted Elladan. He stood on the broad sweep of 
stairs leading up to the first floor balconies. “Between the railing and the 
rose arch.”
      “Yes, that would work. Is that sufficiently high for you to break 
your neck, little squirrel, and get us into trouble with your father?”
      “Be at ease, the trouble would be my burden alone.” Glorfindel 
looked up from his book. “The arch will be safe enough.” He stretched his 
legs further along the bench and turned another page.
      Rumil and Orophin re-tied the rope and tried it themselves first, 
going half-way up the stairs and climbing over the railing to step on it, 
walking lightly to the top of the arch and back again. Then it was 
Elladan’s turn and he fell and was caught by one or the other, three times 
in a row.
      Finally, Orophin said, “Enough! We need to rest, boy, even if you 
are happy to be like the leaves in autumn.”
      He and Rumil threw themselves onto the grass near Glorfindel’s 
bench and Elladan clambered over the bench itself to sit on his teacher’s 
feet. Glorfindel slid them out, letting him land on the seat with a bump. 
Elladan laughed and jumped up and down on the seat a few more times.
      Rumil rolled closer to his brother. “Don’t look, but he’s there 
again.” He grabbed Orophin’s chin to stop him from moving his head. “I 
said don’t look!”
      “Let go, I saw him. That Melpo-what’s-his-name.”
      “He’s seen the rope. Now he’s staring at us as if we’d covered the 
steps with horse-droppings. Brother, shall we give him something to look 
at?” Rumil seized Orophin in a passionate embrace and kissed him deeply, 
throwing a leg over his thighs and sliding on top of him. Orophin 
spluttered and twisted under him and Melpomaen turned bright red, his 
eyebrows almost reaching his hair, as he ran away.
      “Get off me, you goblin!” Orophin got his hands around Rumil’s 
neck and pulled his little brother down, rolling over him and slapping him. 
Rumil was weeping with laughter.
      Elladan watched, wide-eyed. “Do brothers do that?” he asked 
Glorfindel.
      His teacher looked up from his book. “If they love each other,” he 
said.
      
      “How long until I may take up my bow again?”
      Elrond flexed and straightened Haldir’s fingers. “Two months, at 
the minimum. You are an archer? You have no calluses on your fingers.”
      “Nor would you, after so long.”
      “True. Here is a thing you can do in the meantime, to strengthen 
your fingers: press each in turn against your thumb, like this. And take a 
cloth, tie it in a knot about the size of a plum and squeeze it in your hand. 
And let it rest as well, only do these things once every hour or so. And 
neither may you wield a sword for two months. Nor a stick, for that 
matter.”
      Haldir smiled faintly. “What of a pen?”
      “That, yes, as long as you rest the hand and stretch every hour or 
so.”
      “May I ask a favour?” At Elrond’s nod, he continued, “you have a 
copy of “The Return of the Noldor”, which I had not previously seen. May 
I copy it?”
      “Certainly, you will find pens and paper in the drawers behind the 
desk. When you have finished, Melpomaen will have it bound for you.”
      “Thank you. Thank you for all you have done.”
      Elrond nodded, gazing out at his rainbow. “I will call in the favour 
one day, Haldir of Lorien.”
      “You will find me ready.”
      
      Falas reared and turned in a complete circle on his hind legs, 
catching his rider’s exuberance. Haldir grinned and his spirit soared as 
they passed under the first mallorn of Lorien. The shade and shelter, the 
scent, the gold and green canopy far above, were as a balm to his soul and 
he was filled with the joy of coming home. He gentled Falas, looking up 
and waiting for the others to catch up. The Lady Galadriel cantered on her 
snow-white mare, her hair streaming like a shaft of sunlight behind her. 
Orophin and Rumil, in their grey tunics and mounted on two grey horses, 
rode at each side and just behind her, like double shadows were it not for 
their silver hair. Haldir watched, enjoying the sight of the three of them, as 
they reached him.
      “Brother, will you cease to go haring off like that?” grumbled 
Orophin. Rumil only laughed, looking up at the mighty silver trunk and 
branches above them. Galadriel also looked up and breathed deep of the 
rich air.
      “The joy of coming home is one that never diminishes,” she said, 
as they rode on together. In Haldir’s mind alone, she added, “Though I 
know the day will come when I will not return here. Therefore, Haldir, am 
I glad you will be with him now.” Haldir looked across to her to see the 
melancholy that shaded her happiness. Galadriel held his eye for a long 
moment then looked ahead and they rode on.
      The Summer Fair of Lothlorien was only days away and many folk 
were coming to attend it. They had passed several parties as they rode, the 
four of them travelling much faster than wagons loaded with goods and 
produce, whole families often laughing and singing as they walked or rode 
to Lorien. All of them loved the Fair and talked much of previous ones, 
things they had seen and people they had met, for the four great fairs were 
when all the elves in outlying places came in to the centre of the wood to 
meet and trade and celebrate. Many marriages and betrothals were made at 
the fairs, apprentices found masters, scattered families were reunited. The 
fair lasted a week, with feasting and dancing going long into the warm 
nights. 
      By early afternoon they were anticipating arrival at Caras 
Galadhon that evening. Then did the Lady espy an old friend among the 
elves on the road, and they rode together awhile as the day wore on. The 
brothers also slowed down and rode beside her, and for some time did 
Galadriel ignore Haldir’s restlessness. Finally, she called him to her side.
      “Haldir, I have a mind to complete the journey with my friend 
Inariel and her daughters, whom I have not seen these many years. But my 
Lord is expecting us this evening. Do you ride on ahead and tell him I will 
be back tomorrow, perhaps by midday. Rumil and Orophin will ride with 
me, and this is a large group; I shall do well enough.”
      Rumil looked puzzled. “But can you not just far—“
      Orophin bumped his horse into Rumil’s causing the latter to shy, 
then caught his brother’s eye with a meaningful look and Rumil said no 
more.
      Haldir kissed the Lady’s hand and his eyes spoke a volume of 
thanks. She touched his cheek and smiled. He saluted his brothers and 
Mistress Inariel and was gone, Falas immediately catching his eagerness. 
Inariel’s two pretty daughters watched his retreating figure and sighed, a 
soft sound that did not escape the sharp ears of Haldir’s brothers. Rumil 
winked at Orophin and edged his horse slightly nearer to the wagon that 
they drove.
      
      Falas settled into an easy, even pace, his long legs making the 
ground blur beneath him. Occasionally, Haldir had to slow down to move 
past other large, slow groups and he took care to smile and salute all he 
passed. Smiling was very easy in his happy mood; luckily, because it did 
occur to him that the sight of one in a grey sentry’s tunic galloping full-
pace for the city might seed worry among those on the road. 
      Then he began to wonder where Celeborn might be. He had 
intended to go straight to the Lord’s talan, but in the middle of the 
afternoon he could be anywhere, and he longed for the pleasure of 
surprising his lover. 
      Luck was with him, though, for after he had left Falas at the stable 
he encountered three of the Lord of Lorien’s scribes, walking towards the 
city walls. Their Lord, they told him, was in council with some of the 
guild heads. Haldir walked quickly up the circling stairs, his bags over his 
shoulder, and paused on the platform where the council chambers were. 
Then he asked a guard, “Is this a closed session?”
      “No, sir, I think not, for several have come and gone. But they are 
due to end soon.”
      Haldir nodded and stepped around the curving wicker wall that 
defined the main chamber. Seven or eight people were grouped around the 
large table at the far end of the wide space within, and several glanced 
around to see who had entered. The figure at the head raised sky-blue eyes 
which widened and stayed on his face. Haldir sighed and simply stood 
there, gazing adoringly at Lord Celeborn.
      Haldir! O my love! A wave of longing filled Haldir’s mind as his 
lord farspoke him. He could feel Celeborn’s heart pounding.
      “… so, my Lord, in the matter of the quota for next year, we 
feel…”
      The Lord of Lorien looked down at the speaker again, trying to 
focus on his words.
      How I have missed you, Celeborn! I want to come and take you in 
my arms…
      “…while an increase of five percent would have the added 
benefit…”
      Stop it, Haldir! How can I think?
      …and carry you upstairs and tear your clothes from you…
      The Lord of Lorien closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his 
nose.
      Aii! Stop it!
      “… and this would meet with the approval—My Lord? Are you 
unwell?”
      “No, no, I was thinking, er, of how soon we would need to revise 
the quota if it were that low. Go upstairs and tear off your own clothes, I 
will be with you as soon as I may!”
      “We also feel that eight percent would be acceptable…”
      Haldir smiled and looked at him a moment longer, then backed 
out. He clicked his tongue on entering Celeborn’s private rooms. He had 
imposed some measure of tidiness during his stay but their occupant had 
reverted to his usual habits, and there were books, papers and clothes 
everywhere. He took his bags through to the space that was nominally his, 
if only to satisfy the curiosity of any servants venturing in. Then he began 
to pick things up, stopping to bury his face in one of his lord’s shirts, 
inhaling deeply of the male scent of it. His pulse was racing as he played 
at sorting finished letters from rough notes, smiling in anticipation.
      Strong arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him backwards 
and he felt the length of his lover’s body behind him. He tilted his head 
back against Celeborn’s shoulder and hungry lips fixed upon his exposed 
throat and he sighed as his neck and face were kissed roughly. Celeborn 
turned him around, ravishing his open mouth.
      Why aren’t you naked on my bed?
      Haldir was too overwhelmed to reply. He could only form a 
confused image of breathless desire, mounting arousal, desperate need, 
shaking legs…
      Celeborn picked him up and strode to the bed, dropping him on it 
and falling on top of him. They kissed and bit at each other, and Celeborn 
swept open Haldir’s tunic, pulling up his undershirt and sucking at the soft 
pale skin of his stomach, so hard that a bruise formed at once. Haldir 
moaned, feeling only hands pushing the waist of his leggings roughly 
down over his erection and a hot mouth taking him in. He cried out, 
tossing his head back and arching his spine, feeling as if his whole body 
were one pulse of exquisite, peaking agony. Hands reached under his 
clothes and pinched his nipples and he thrust his hips, once, to the brink 
and again, over it, blood pounding through his body in waves of raw 
ecstasy. The intensity of it had him shuddering uncontrollably.
      His lover dragged himself up the bed and collapsed on top of him, 
panting and sweating. They clung tightly to each other, unable to speak 
but sharing the echoes of pleasure that washed through them. Gradually, 
their breathing slowed and they were able to open their eyes and drink in 
the sight of each other, each seeing his lover and himself through his 
lover’s eyes. Haldir laughed in delight at the confusion and Celeborn 
smiled, kissing him repeatedly, tracing with his lips the path from one ear 
and up along the edge of his hair, across his brow and to the other ear. 
Then he licked the tip of that ear, feeling the pleasure of it shudder down 
Haldir’s spine. Haldir in turn could feel the shape of his own ear in his 
lover’s mouth as Celeborn followed its curves with his tongue. He 
moaned, flinching away from the delicate torment but he was held firm 
and so the sensation could only build the fire in him again. He felt 
Celeborn harden as he writhed beneath him, feeling the constraint of his 
lover’s garments and realising he had climaxed while still fully clothed. 
Haldir laughed and reflected that sticky, muffled sensation back at 
Celeborn, who ceased his attack and frowned down at him.
      “Now, why did you have to remind me?”
      “Let me undress you, and you, me. I’m strangling in the collar of 
my tunic, ‘tis pulled so tight.” He rolled Celeborn over onto his back and 
gazed down upon his beautiful, imperious face, now flushed and glowing 
with desire. Slowly he opened each little hook that held the front of his 
silver brocade robe, then unlaced the dark purple shirt beneath it, sliding 
them back to Celeborn’s shoulders. He bent to kiss the exposed throat and 
chest and felt it rise and fall as his lord sighed. Celeborn reached up to 
unlace Haldir’s tunic and then his shirt, finding again the length of silver 
ribbon tied inside it. He ran it through his fingers then raised them to let 
his lover’s silver hair trail through them, drawing him close. Haldir lay on 
top of him, and their warm skin touched from neck to navel. Feeling that 
touch and wanting more, Haldir opened his lover’s waistband, pulling the 
wet cloth down a little, just enough to reveal his desire, stroking it with his 
fingers. Celeborn’s eyes rolled up and he gasped, thrusting his hips and 
pulling Haldir back down on top of him. Both already sticky and half-
aroused, their actions soon made them hard again and each could feel all 
that the other felt, moving together in perfect harmony, each knowing 
what touch the other most desired. The combined sensation made Haldir 
dizzy and Celeborn perforce also, and this time their orgasm sent them 
spiralling breathlessly together into a momentary blackness of bliss and 
exhaustion.
      Haldir slowly came back to his senses, feeling his face lying on his 
lover’s chest, strong arms holding him tightly, a leg angled to lie over the 
back of his knee. He sighed with contentment. Celeborn laughed and 
Haldir felt the rumble through his body.
      “Do you suppose, O temptation, that we might finish taking our 
clothes off soon?”
      “’m happy now.”
      “But I feel constrained and muffled in cloth. I want to touch your 
skin not your pants. Come, get off me.”
      “Can’t. You’re holding me.”
      “So I am. I don’t wish to stop holding you.”
      “So. Here we stay.”
      “This is a problem.”
      “Mm.”
      Celeborn kissed his brow and Haldir snuggled closer against him. 
They stayed like that for a while and Haldir began to feel drowsy again. 
Then his lord rolled them over and he muttered some incoherent protest, 
clinging to him. Celeborn looked down at him, kissing the tip of his nose.
      “I will never let you leave my side again,” he whispered.


Title: Heart and Body Chapter 9/9 
Author (including email): Implacida (Implacida@hotmail.com) 
Pairing(s):Haldir / Celeborn 
Rating:  R 
Summary: Back home in Lorien. Last chapter of Heart and Body. But 
there are sequels… and they will appear in due course. If there’s any 
demand… 
Disclaimer: Tolkien’s characters are his, mine are mine. No profit made or 
copyright infringement intended. 
Warning (only if necessary): Angst, sex, memories of violence
      
      Haldir half-awoke again during the night when Celeborn briefly 
left the bed to rid himself of his clothes. Then he undressed Haldir as well, 
with many tender caresses. Celeborn amused himself by lying beside his 
drowsy lover and slowly bringing him to the brink with hands and lips, 
then letting him writhe helplessly, begging for release. He sat back, 
enjoying the sight of Haldir’s pale body glimmering with a sheen of sweat, 
the young elf’s head thrown back and his silver hair spread around him in 
a luminous glow. Haldir rolled his hips and moaned as he thrust futilely 
into the air, Celeborn breathing over his hard, gleaming shaft but refusing 
to touch.
      “Please,” he begged. Celeborn picked up a little bottle and 
carefully poured oil over that rampant cock, the cool trickle making Haldir 
whimper. Celeborn stroked him lightly and Haldir could not stop from 
reaching for his hands, to press them against himself.
      “I said no!” Celeborn held his wrists, forcing his arms back to his 
sides. Then he straddled Haldir, stroking his own erection against the 
straining, weeping one beneath. Celeborn moved up as Haldir thrust 
helplessly. He spread himself wide, letting that slick hardness shove 
against him. Haldir was almost mindless with unspent desire now, 
moaning wordlessly, flushed and panting. Celeborn positioned himself 
carefully as Haldir strained for any touch that would bring him release. He 
pressed himself down as Haldir thrust up and both cried out as Haldir 
entered him, suddenly attaining all he craved as he pushed into the tight 
heat of his lover. 
      Celeborn almost wept to feel Haldir inside him at last. As Haldir 
shoved into him, he gasped, “Slowly, love, slowly,” and drew the youth’s 
hands to his own pulsing arousal. They were soon moving to a rhythm, 
Haldir tensing as his climax came. His last, desperate thrusts sent 
Celeborn into rapture, overwhelmed by the hands around him and the 
throbbing inside him.
      
      It was morning before Celeborn awoke again, to find Haldir 
propped on one elbow and gazing down. The younger elf twined a long 
strand of Celeborn’s hair through his newly healed fingers.
      “I did not dream it, did I, what we did last night?”
      “No.”
      “I thought I could not do that. I could not have, had I been awake 
enough to understand what you were doing.”
      “Haldir, what was done to you and what I finally managed to make 
you do to me are as far apart as, as orcs and elves.”
      Haldir’s eyes widened in shock.
      “Yes,” Celeborn went of softly. “I chose that comparison 
deliberately.” He reached up to stroke the younger elf’s face with the palm 
of his hand. “What am I doing now? What if I were to slap you? Is it not a 
similar gesture? And yet, are the two things not a thousand miles 
removed? Do you fear that, because I do one, I will do the other?”
      Haldir closed his eyes and nuzzled his face into his lover’s palm. 
Celeborn felt the wetness of tears on the long lashes that tickled his hand. 
“I do not fear that,” he whispered.
      “Haldir, are you angry that I took advantage of you? Only I so 
wanted it. And it was, oh, exquisite.”
      Haldir watched him smile in wanton remembrance. “Did you enjoy 
it? It seems impossible to me. Had I realised what you were about…”
      “You would have lost all desire, as you have every time I tried it 
before. But, Haldir, was it… not to your liking?”
      “It was astonishing. It was almost unbearable. I want to do it again. 
I have been watching you now, though, and the very thought of taking you 
like that, I cannot help but…”
      Celeborn drew him down and kissed his unhappy face. “It will 
come,” he said, “with time. And time, we have, beloved. Time, we have.”
      
      They bathed and ate and dressed, Celeborn once again in 
ceremonial robes. 
      “I seem to spend all my days in these wretched things now,” he 
grumbled. “I have to meet the Guild of Weavers and Spinners this 
morning; will you come and take lunch with me? Then we can greet our 
dilatory family.” 
      They kissed and the Lord of Lorien went forth to attend to his 
duties. Haldir wandered about their rooms for a while, doing a little 
desultory tidying. Then he sighed and climbed to the topmost platform to 
look out over the treetops. Forbidden to practise with sword or bow for 
months yet, he leaned back against a branch and closed his eyes, turning 
his face up to let it be warmed by the gentle sun of home.
      He hated being idle, and it had never seemed more obvious than 
now that he had no place lingering around his lord. Before long, he would 
be able to return to his duties with the guardians of the wood and that 
would be a relief and a curse both, for when then would he be able to see 
his lover? And, of course, the Lady would be home. Even though all knew 
she kept her own rooms some distance from her husband’s, it would 
still—
      “Good morning.”
      His eyes flew open at the soft voice. A tall, fair maiden stood 
before him, smiling shyly. Haldir pushed away from the tree and stood 
straight. 
      “Good morning,” he replied, pausing to clear his throat. Who was 
she? He was sure he had never seen her before.
      “I am sorry if I startled you,” she went on, “but I was told I could 
see the Field of Flags from here, and I have looked from all directions and 
I cannot. And you were the only person up here…” Her voice trailed away 
and she looked down.
      “Ah, the Flags, the Summer Fair,” muttered Haldir. “It should be 
that way.” He pointed. “But you cannot see it, it must be centuries since 
the trees grew tall enough to hide it.”
      “Indeed. It is centuries since I was here last, I and my mother. We 
are but now returned from Lindon, with my father.”
      “Your father,” echoed Haldir, cursing his slow wits. She was tall 
for a maiden, as tall as he, with straight silver hair that spilled down to the 
backs of her knees, but he could not think whom she resembled. 
      She smiled, obviously reading his confusion. “I am Selenindel. My 
father is Arcirithon.”
      “My Lady.” He bowed his head slightly. Arcirithon’s daughter? 
“My name is Haldir.”
      Her eyes widened. “Oh! You are the one who—“ At his 
expression, she bit off her words and looked away.
      “Yes. I am the one who. If my Lady will excuse me—“ he turned 
and walked away.
      “My father says you are a hero to all our people.”
      Haldir stopped but did not turn back. “Your father? He cannot 
abide my presence, mine or my brothers.”
      “He thought you were dreadful children, it is true. But you have 
grown and he has changed his views.”
      “Indeed.” Haldir did not move. He could not imagine a changed 
Arcirithon. But, for that matter, he could not imagine an Arcirithon, father 
to this vision of ethereal beauty. Finally, he turned around again. “I 
apologise, my Lady. It is something I would sooner forget.”
      “Of course, and I am tactless. I apologise also.”
      Haldir nodded, finding no more to say, and left. He hurried silently 
down the steps, listening for any sound that she might follow or say more 
but there was nothing. Back in his room, he put on a light cloak and then 
continued down, deciding to go to the garrison and talk to Anaximor. If he 
did not belong in the palace, he might as well go back to the place he had 
called home for the last century. 
      Anaximor, cheerful and as busy as Lord Celeborn, within moments 
set him to completing the duty roster for the last three days of the Summer 
Fair. 
      “And by the time you’ve done that, I’ll have finished the list of 
honour escorts and then we can talk.”
      An hour later, the two rolls of paper were done and posted and 
Anaximor had looked at Haldir’s fingers and told him how the new 
recruits had settled in. Haldir walked with him to the North Gate to check 
that the allocation of visitors to camp or talan proceeded smoothly. They 
stood side by side, watching the seeming chaos of people and vehicles and 
animals, with the grey of the guardians present everywhere.
      “All seems to be going well,” said Anaximor, nodding to a farmer 
with a loaded cart. “Though I can’t deny I’ll be glad to have the three of 
you back. Rumil and Orophin are coming back too, are they not?”
      “They should be somewhere beyond that throng,” replied Haldir, 
looking out over the busy road. “We expect them early in the afternoon. 
Do you want us at once? I’m still of little use.”
      “Aside from doing most of the administration for me. But, no, 
enjoy the Fair, next week will be soon enough.”
      “Shall we have the same room again? Rumil and Orophin might 
leave some of their bags here instead of taking everything up to the 
palace.”
      “No, no, we’re full, completely. Oh, had you not heard? Lord 
Celeborn suggested any guardian with a home in the city who cared to, 
could stay there at night and just report to the garrison to go on and off 
duty. We had so many volunteers; we can only house those from out of 
town. The work it would take to extend the garrison, I prefer to spend 
building way stations out in the forest.”
      Haldir nodded. “No, I had not heard. A good idea.”
      “Only applies to those who’ve completed their training, of course. 
Surprised he didn’t mention it, I understand you came back last night.”
      “I saw him, but we had little time to talk.” Haldir suppressed a 
smile at the memory of what they had done instead. 
      Anaximor merely nodded, looking out over the throng with his 
arms folded. “I dare say my Lord is even busier than I at the moment. 
Well, there’s little need for us to stay here, they want no supervision. Care 
to join me for something to eat?”
      “Ah, is it noon already? Thank you, but I am promised elsewhere 
today.”
      Anaximor slapped his shoulder. “Another day, then. Bring Rumil 
and Orophin with you.”
      Haldir made his way back to the great mallorn of the Lord and 
Lady and hurried up the steps, suddenly happy again. To be able to do 
what he knew and go home to his beloved every night! It seemed as if all 
the worries he had that morning were solved at a stroke. He found Lord 
Celeborn bidding formal farewell to his guests, and stood quietly in the 
background, cloak folded over one arm. Finally, they were gone and with 
them the secretaries who had hovered around. Celeborn turned and walked 
briskly back up to his private rooms, beckoning to Haldir, who followed at 
a respectful distance. He rounded the screen to walk full into the arms of 
his waiting lover.
      “At last,” muttered Celeborn, kissing him hungrily. Haldir could 
do no more than melt into his strong arms, letting himself be turned this 
way and that as his lover sought lips and ears and throat. Celeborn gave 
him no chance to breathe, let alone speak, and bore him inexorably 
backward to the bed. When at last he paused to tear off his silver belt and 
long blue robe, Haldir gasped, “Is there time?”
      “There is always time,” growled Celeborn, pulling up Haldir’s 
tunic and attacking his waistband. They pushed aside enough clothing to 
touch each other’s hardening cocks and thighs and Celeborn pushed his 
tongue into his lover’s mouth even as he clenched him in his fist. Haldir 
matched his stroke and soon they were moaning the crescendo of their 
ecstasy, the soft sounds not going further than the quiet, private room. 
      Finally they lay together, panting, exchanging small, tender kisses, 
Haldir smoothing Celeborn’s hair back from his damp brow. Celeborn 
took his hand and bit into the soft, fleshy part between Haldir’s thumb and 
wrist and the younger elf smiled, trying and failing to pull away. 
      “Shall we have something to eat, before you devour me whole?”
      For answer, Celeborn bit harder, then pulled him close and bit his 
chin, his lips, tasting his mouth again and Haldir could only moan and 
surrender. With a dark gleam in his eye, Celeborn moved down his body 
to take Haldir’s cock in his mouth, sucking him in and running his tongue 
around the tip, hastily reaching up one hand to muffle the younger elf’s 
sudden cry. Haldir writhed as fierce rapture built in waves through his 
body, whimpering beneath the hand clamped roughly over his mouth, 
tasting and smelling his own scent on it, until he could hold no more and 
spent himself again in the hot, smooth tightness of his lover’s throat. This 
time, he lay as limp as a wet cloth, panting and seeing stars sparkle at the 
edges of his vision as the blood pounded in his heart. 
      Celeborn’s face appeared above his, grinning. “Ah, the youth of 
today. No stamina.”
      “Hah… Give me… a minute.”
      Celeborn bent down to nuzzle him then collapsed on top of Haldir, 
who held him close, smiling. After a few minutes, he began to walk his 
fingers down his lord’s body but Celeborn stopped him when he touched 
bare skin.
      “No, not now. Tonight. We’ll need to bathe again. And clean 
clothes.”
      “Becoming a bad habit.”
      “Who cares?”
      
      A little over an hour later, one immaculately elegant elf and a 
slightly shabby one walked down the steps from the talan to the forest 
floor.
      “You really do need some new clothes,” murmured Celeborn, 
looking askance at Haldir’s well-worn robes.
      “Yes, I know, I have endured great mockery from my beloved 
brothers on this score; I pray my Lord will not add his voice to the 
multitude.”
      Celeborn snorted with suppressed laughter. Then they reached the 
formal welcoming party at the foot of the tree and Haldir discreetly 
withdrew into the crowd. 
      The Lady’s party could be heard approaching, with bells and the 
singing of the clutch of handmaidens who had gone to meet her at the 
gate. Galadriel sparkled in white, as ever, and her horse was decked with 
the finest flowers of Lorien’s summer. She looked over the people around 
her and met Haldir’s eye for a brief moment, smiling at him. Then she was 
swallowed up by the multitude and her Lord’s voice was raised in formal 
welcome. He lifted her down and she gave her formal reply and they 
embraced. Then Haldir saw his brothers a little way back, following after 
all the flower-clad maidens, and raised a hand to salute them. Orophin 
waved back and a few moments later they were in each other’s arms, 
ignored by the crowd which had surged to follow Lord and Lady. 
      As they untied their bags, a groom stepped forward to lead away 
the horses, and the three brothers walked slowly back up to their old room, 
Haldir telling them at once of Celeborn’s new edict regarding the housing 
of guardians. Rumil laughed. “I’ll warrant he did it only to have you with 
him, Haldir.”
      “No, surely not.”
      “’Tis a very practical notion,” said Orophin, “even if it means we 
go up and down these thousands of steps every day.”
      “This is my fourth time today,” replied Haldir, “and—“
      “—And you look exhausted!” cut in Orophin.
      Rumil nudged him. “If Haldir looks exhausted, it is not from 
climbing stairs.” He hooted with laughter when his dignified older brother 
blushed.
      
      Haldir left them to unpack and wash with the promise that he 
would return to their rooms later so they could go to that evening’s feast 
together. Then he went to have a nap on the bed in the room beside Lord 
Celeborn’s, the room that was supposedly his. As he passed the bed they 
shared, he smiled to remember his lord’s jest about his lack of stamina—
and the way he had sighed and dropped limply down on top of him a 
moment later. He closed his eyes, recalling his lover’s scent and the 
weight of him in his arms, the feel of his soft hair against his shoulder. His 
heart beat harder and he took a deep breath, feeling his love for his lord 
brimming in him, warming him. Cheeks flushed and smiling softly to 
himself, he lay down on his bed and let memories wash over him.
      When he awoke, it wanted an hour to dusk and the feasting would 
have already started. He washed his face and hurried back down the stairs, 
only to find his brothers gone and a note in Rumil’s hand:
We waited then went without you as you obviously need your rest, 
O ancient one. We will keep a place for you.
      Upon joining them, Haldir was obliged to endure many pointed 
observations regarding his decrepitude, until the attention of both his 
tormentors was caught by a vision passing nearby.
      “Of course, brother if feebleness is going—who is that?”
      “That, dear Orophin, is the Lady Selenindel.”
      “Ohhh.”
      “Rumil, you will catch a fly in that mouth. She is the daughter of 
Arcirithon.”
      “Oh, no!”
      “You know her? How?” Orophin glared at Haldir who gave him an 
exasperated look.
      “I only met her this morning. Briefly.”
      “Introduce us.”
      “Right now.”
      And Haldir found himself taken by each elbow and almost carried 
in the lady’s direction. Fortunately, he regained his composure before she 
caught sight of them. Selenindel smiled politely down at Rumil. Then she 
looked up at Orophin and her eyes widened and her lips formed a pretty 
“O” of surprise and delight. 
      Later, Haldir and Rumil, and most of the surrounding elves, 
watched Orophin and Selenindel dance. The stately pavane suited their 
tall, elegant forms and they moved in perfect step, their shining eyes never 
leaving each other’s radiant faces.
      “Rumil, think how stiff your neck would have been by now.”
      “Hmph.”
      But Rumil was consoled when both of Inariel’s petite daughters 
descended upon him and gleefully swept him off to meet more of their 
friends. Haldir remained alone to watch the dance progress under trees lit 
by hundreds of flickering lights. The Lord and Lady of the Wood had led 
it and now returned to the high table. Haldir gazed at his distant lover. 
Celeborn was a picture of beauty, as fair as the moon himself in his silver 
robes, his hair flowing down his back as he escorted his golden Lady back 
to her throne. He turned and sat gracefully beside her, accepting a glass of 
wine. Then he raised it slightly and looked up, straight into Haldir’s eyes. 
Haldir’s breath caught and he slowly raised his own glass. They toasted 
each other silently across a vast forest clearing full of laughter and 
celebration, and for a moment all disappeared but for their eyes’ meeting.
      I love you.
      And I love you. And always will.
      And the Lady Galadriel, who was well-known for her delight in 
dancing ‘til dawn, kissed her husband and bade him good night a short 
while later.
      And no-one even noticed the grey-clad sentry who quietly put 
down his glass and slipped away a moment after that.
      
      They lay entwined in each other’s arms, content to kiss tenderly 
and smile at the soft, distant sounds of revelry floating up to the tranquil 
world of the Lord’s secluded talan.
      I love you.
      And I love you. And always will.
      
      The next morning, the Lord and Lady of Lorien held the formal 
ceremony to open the Summer Fair. Again, Haldir found himself alone 
and watching from a distance. He remembered how he had anticipated 
such moments with dread, when he first realised the enormity of what he 
had done in letting Lord Celeborn learn his true feelings. In those agonised 
days, he had thought there would be no room in Celeborn’s life for him. 
His love is great enough to encompass more than one. So had said the 
Lady Galadriel. And Haldir had become as Celeborn’s hidden shadow. 
      “‘Tis a a small price to pay,” he told himself, listening to his 
lover’s voice now raised to carry over the throng, intoning the ancient 
words in Quenya that welcomed all to the Fair and set out the laws by 
which all must abide. When the speech was done and the flame lit, he 
followed the procession to the Field of Flags, where a multitude of stalls 
was set out and the folk of city and forest exchanged their wares. The Lord 
and Lady and other high officials traditionally walked through the Fair 
first, receiving gifts and offerings from many of the elves who had come 
to Caras Galadhon. In return, they symbolised assurance that the city and 
all its strength and wealth was always there for those who preferred not to 
live within its walls. 
      The day was warm and fair and Haldir decided he might as well go 
and find himself some new clothes. Anaximor would have received a 
consignment of the tunics and cloaks the guardians wore, but his robes 
were years old and looked it. He raised his eyes to the flags shimmering in 
the morning breeze and found the one showing where the tailors and 
dressmakers were. The field was thronged and as he edged through the 
crowds, someone tapped his shoulder. 
      “Sinerion!” Haldir smiled a greeting to the tall elf who had taken 
the three brothers under his wing when they first joined the watch years 
ago. “Sinerion, how do you fare? You look well, fishing agrees with you.”
      “Yes, well enough. The air of the Anduin is good for refreshing the 
spirit. You should come and visit some time.”
      “Who knows, one day I may.”
      “And Orophin and Rumil? “
      “They’re well, they should be about somewhere although I have 
not seen them yet.”
      “And you, Haldir, how do you fare? I heard tell of what befell you, 
lad, ‘twas a terrible shock. And it was a great thing, holding those animals 
at the pass as long as you did.”
      Haldir blinked and looked down at the dry grass. “I—anyone 
would have done the same.”
      “No, lad, there’s many would have fled.” Sinerion clasped his 
shoulder. “But I warrant that never occurred to you. I am proud of you, 
Haldir, and you made me proud to have been a part of the watch.”
      “Thank you. But it was my duty…”
      “No need to stand there shuffling your feet, boy. And I’ll drink a 
toast to you tonight at the Telling of the Year.”
      “Ah, Sinerion, please don’t. I don’t want…” he looked away again.
      The older elf put an arm around his shoulders. “Haldir? Come, lad, 
what’s amiss? Oh, all still too recent, isn’t it?”
      Haldir nodded, looking at the ground and Sinerion embraced him. 
      “Then I’ll say nothing tonight, but I’ll come to the garrison for the 
feast with all the other old hands. It’s all right if it’s amongst your own, 
isn’t it, lad?” 
      Haldir nodded and returned the hug. The Lord of Lorien always 
attended the guardians’ feast. He could face anything in Celeborn’s 
company.
      He and Sinerion exchanged a few more words and made their 
farewells, and he walked in the direction of the tailors’ flag again. A group 
of four elves whom he only knew slightly, greeted him and congratulated 
him as he went and he noticed others pointing him out to comrades. Haldir 
began to feel that all eyes were on him. Finally, to his relief, he caught 
sight of two fair heads over the crowd and made his way toward them. 
Orophin dropped Selenindel’s arm when he saw Haldir and seized his 
brother in a tight embrace. Haldir bowed briefly over the lady’s hand 
before she threaded her arm through Orophin’s again, and the three 
walked on together.
      “Have you been to the Fair before, my lady?” Haldir asked across 
his brother’s chest. “Is there a similar custom in Lindon?” He hoped he 
would be less noticeable as part of a group.
      “They do not hold seasonal fairs in Lindon,” she replied. “And, 
please, call me Selenindel. I feel people wish to speak to my mother when 
they say ‘my lady’.”
      “Very well, then. So what do they do instead?”
      “There is a continuous market, with different goods on different 
days.”
      “Just as we have, every month,” added Orophin. “Ah, look, Haldir, 
now you have a chance to get a new cloak. And robes. And—“
      “Yes, yes, that’s why I was coming this way. Dear brother, please 
do not tell me again that you and Rumil are ashamed to be seen with me.”
      “Oh, never that, brother. But Rumil will not forgive me if I let you 
get away without some new clothes.”
      Selenindel laughed, a clear, tinkling sound. Haldir thought it 
sounded very pretty, at least, the first time he heard it.
      “It is because he never comes to the Fair,” Orophin told her. “He 
always takes double shifts.”
      “Not always,” protested Haldir. “Only the last few years, when we 
have been short of sentries because you all want to come and find new 
finery.”
      “So, now it is your turn. Here, what about this?” He stopped at a 
weaver’s stall and picked up a heavy cloak.
      “It’s red.”
      “No, ‘tis the colour of wine. Feel how fine it is.”
      Haldir peered closely at the wool, smoothing it between his 
fingers. He looked up to see the weaver watching him and smiled at her. 
“It is very well made. I should think it would even keep out the rain.”
      She smiled back. “Yes, after I wash and dye the wool I rub it with 
the sheep’s own oil again. ‘Twill keep out all but the heaviest storm.”
      “Try it on, Haldir,” said Orophin, holding it up.
      “Haldir?” squeaked the weaver. “You are Haldir, who kept 
Calpira’s pass?”
      “Yes, he is,” replied Orophin as Haldir hid inside the cloak. “I am 
his brother.”
      The weaver bobbed under her stall and stood up excitedly. “My 
name is Melenith, we all heard what happened.” She looked shyly up at 
Haldir, who slid the cloak off and clutched it warily. “We all thought you 
were so brave, everyone in the village. And I made this for you, but I 
never thought I would actually meet you.” She held out a small package. 
“I was going to leave it at the garrison.” Haldir took it slowly, feeling 
himself blushing. 
      “Mistress, thank you, but you need not have, I only did my 
duty…” His voice trailed away, seeing Melenith’s cheeks redden as well. 
      Orophin nudged him. “Open it!”
      “Here, let me hold this.” Selenindel reached for the wine-coloured 
cloak.
      Haldir untied the little green ribbon and unrolled a long, grey scarf 
in the lightest wool, with a pattern of branches with oak leaves and acorns 
embroidered across a glowing, silver moon. He gazed at it wordlessly for a 
long moment then realised Melenith was holding her breath. He looked at 
her and smiled, holding up the scarf so the others could see.
      “It is beautiful,” he murmured. “I have never seen the pattern 
before.”
      “Nor will you again,” replied Melenith, her eyes shining. “I 
thought it up for you; I will never make it for anyone else.”
      Haldir swallowed. Then he reached for her hand and kissed it 
gently. “Thank you, Mistress Melenith. And I will never forget the only 
one who could have made it.”
      They walked on a little further, but Haldir barely looked at all the 
opulent garments on display. Minutes later he touched Orophin’s hand and 
said he might leave them and go back to his room for a rest. Orophin 
looked into his brother’s face and announced an overwhelming desire to 
visit the carvers and wood turners.
      “And, see their flag?” he pointed. “It is right near the edge of the 
field, so we may as well walk with you, Haldir.”
      Selenindel nodded happily, looking up at him with adoring eyes. 
So they made their way across the field, only bidding Haldir farewell 
when they were almost clear of the crowds. He clasped both their hands 
and left them to enjoy themselves.
      Haldir hurried up the steps around the mallorn’s great trunk, but he 
met no-one, for all were at the Fair. When he reached the level where their 
childhood talan was, he stopped and left the path, climbing out into the 
tree itself. The place he suddenly wanted was one where he had come 
from time to time as infant and elfling, but had not visited for years. He 
soon found the fork, and settled between the two branches, one under his 
legs and the other behind his back. He was bigger now but so was the tree, 
and it still felt like being cradled in two strong arms.
      
      Some time later, a tapping sound penetrated his thoughts and he 
looked up at Celeborn, leaning against the trunk a little way off. Haldir 
smiled to see him, now in a simple tunic, pants and boots. He sighed as he 
watched the long legs walk to him and flex as his lover lowered himself 
down to straddle the wide branch before it forked. 
      “What have you there?”
      Haldir held out the cloak and scarf he had been hugging to his 
chest. “Look. Look at the scarf. She wove it and embroidered that pattern 
just for me.”
      “Haldir, it’s beautiful. Ithil and the strength of the oak.” Celeborn 
turned the scarf so the silver moon shone. “Who made it?”
      “Her name is Melenith, I do not know her.”
      “Melenith, let me see. Golden, curly hair, green eyes, about so tall? 
From the village of Olvar, good farming land.”
      Haldir sighed. “But she did it for me and I did not even know her. 
And so many people have come and said… and said…”
      Celeborn reached down and picked him up, one arm under his legs 
and the other behind his back. He drew his lover close and kissed his eyes, 
his nose, his lips. 
      “This is the first big gathering since you were taken. All want to 
know what happened and how you are. And to wish you well. Haldir, all 
think you a hero.”
      Haldir shook his head, then buried his face against Celeborn’s 
shoulder. “I don’t want everyone to look at me and point to me.”
      “Try being the Lord of Lorien some time. And hear all saying 
‘Who is that tall fellow beside the Lady Galadriel?’”
      Haldir smiled at last. “No, that cannot be.”
      “Perhaps no longer, but for the first millennium…” Celeborn 
smoothed Haldir’s brow and hair. “And you have a new cloak as well? 
What else?”
      “Only these, I will ask Rumil to find me a tunic or two.”
      “You certainly will not, you will do your own finding.”
      “No!” wailed Haldir. “I’m, I don’t want to, I just want to hide!”
      “Why?”
      Haldir sighed and stared out into the thick green and golden leaves. 
Finally, he took a deep breath. “Because it makes me feel like a bare 
branch in winter. I feel that everyone knows what they did—“
      “Haldir, that is a nonsense. The very fact that you are still in this 
world and have not sought the Undying Lands tells all that the men did not 
do their worst to you. And the only ones who know differently will never 
speak of it, we are all as brothers in this.”
      “It is only because of you that I am still in this world.”
      “I know. I am humbled by this, my dear. Never has anyone done so 
much for love as you have done in staying beside me.” Celeborn cupped 
Haldir’s cheek in his hand, fingertips gently circling against his temple.
      “I vowed I would not leave you.”
      “You gave me the greatest joy when you said those words aloud. 
Do you remember, when we returned—“
      “Yes. I remember.”
      “Haldir, I make the same vow to you; I have made it in my heart 
ere this, now I say it aloud: I will never leave you, I will never lose you, I 
swear we will never spend another night apart.”
      Haldir smiled and snuggled against his lover’s body, cradled in 
two strong arms.
      
      Eventually, Celeborn declared that they were going back to the 
Fair together. Haldir folded and put away the cloak but wore Melenith’s 
scarf, wrapped twice and then tucked inside his tunic. Celeborn went first 
to the food stalls, where he delighted in making Haldir taste as many new 
things as he could find. Out of his ceremonial robes, his manner was much 
less formal and even though all still addressed him as “My Lord”, they 
laughed and joked with him, and with the Lord of Lorien before them, few 
thought to speak to a quiet sentry. Celeborn, however, would not let him 
stand silently in the background, and insisted on involving him in 
conversations, and introducing him to any who did not recognise him. But 
all knew Haldir’s name and many were the kind and admiring words said 
regarding his terrible experience. He felt more at ease with Celeborn at his 
side, even when one asked if the humans had hurt him very much. Luckily 
for Haldir, though, in the presence of Lorien’s Lord, conversation tended 
more to such matters as the banishment of Palanfir and Esterion, and on 
the state of the roads. Regarding the former, all felt that Celeborn had 
done the right thing, harsh though it had been: as an apple-grower said, 
      “They came for years to the Fairs to take, but not for a century had 
either of them brought anything to give in turn.”
      Then Celeborn led Haldir back to the tailors and helped him to 
choose more new clothes, selecting finer garments than Haldir would have 
chosen if left to himself. While the Lord of Lorien was exchanging news 
with his lady’s friend, Mistress Inariel, Haldir saw Rumil standing in a 
group of boisterous, laughing young elves that included the mistress’s two 
pretty daughters. Haldir smiled and caught Rumil’s eye. To his surprise, 
his brother’s expression grew pained. Then it flickered away to be 
replaced by the polite interest his face had worn a moment before. 
Wondering why, and ever responsive to his need, Haldir went to the group 
and extracted Rumil from it, telling the pouting maidens that he had an 
elder brother’s prerogative in requiring Rumil’s services.
      “Here, you may carry these for me, since this embarrassment of 
riches is partly due to you.” He piled his new clothes into Rumil’s willing 
arms. “What’s wrong?” he added more softly.
      “”I should have been content to let you stay in your worn-out 
robes, then,” Rumil replied. “Nothing, really, just the two of them—and 
all their friends—I just long for a moment’s peace and calm.” Haldir 
raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
      Lord Celeborn joined them and he and Rumil decided, mercifully, 
that perhaps Haldir had enough new clothes. It was evening now, and the 
Fair was gay with many flickering lamps lit against the darkening sky. The 
three slowly made their way out of the Field of Flags and up the steps to 
their home. Haldir took back his clothes to let Rumil go to his and 
Orophin’s talan and continued up with Celeborn. 
      He carried his things to his room and laid them on the bed, then 
reached into one of the bags he had brought back from Imladris. Hiding in 
his tunic the item he took out, he went back to find Celeborn pouring wine 
for them both, and joined him on the soft cushions of the old, carved 
bench where they had spent so many happy evenings.
      For a long while, they said nothing, only sipping their wine and 
nestling ever closer and more comfortably against each other.
      “Haldir?”
      “Mm?”
      “Tell me something. Truly, now. Are you happy?”
      “More than I have ever been. How could you doubt that?” Haldir 
looked into Celeborn’s eyes, seeing a faint suggestion of worry in the sky-
blue depths. “Why do you ask me this? Are you not?” He sat up, but 
Celeborn pulled him back into his arms and kissed his brow and his hair. 
“Why do you ask me?” Haldir repeated.
      “Will you be happy to go on this way? Being only my hidden, 
secret lover?”
      “Only? It is more than I ever dared dream of; I thought I would 
never be so anywhere but in my own heart. But why do you—“
      “Hush, be still.” Celeborn held him tightly, face resting against his 
hair. 
      Haldir tensed, wondering why his lord was talking this way. “But 
what of you?” he whispered hesitantly, feeling tears blur in his eyes. “Do 
you not want—“
      “I want. O, I want, I want you, now and for ever more.” Celeborn 
sighed. “But I have a wife, even though she will leave me one day, I had a 
daughter, though she left me long ago. And you, dearest, will never have 
either, only a secret you can not tell. I had them, I have you, but you, in 
the eyes of all, you have no-one, you are alone.”
      “What do I care for the eyes of all?” cried Haldir. “Why are you 
saying this?” He pushed away, looking into Celeborn’s face. “I want 
nothing else if I have you. Why do you ask this? What must I do to prove 
it?” In desperation he farspoke the last, reaching into his lover’s soul.
      Celeborn opened his heart to him, soothing him, pulling Haldir 
deep into the great, endless well of love within him. Wordlessly, they 
soared together, eyes closed, arms clasped tightly about each other, two 
sparkling stars in the night of Lorien.
      And they knew each other’s hearts and souls and they were 
content.
      
      It was dark when they returned to themselves, still lying entwined 
on the couch. Haldir tensed his arms even more tightly about his lover, 
feeling Celeborn’s strength around him in turn. They sough each other’s 
lips for a sweet, lingering kiss.
      Then Celeborn frowned, pulling Haldir even closer. “What is 
this?” he asked, feeling something poking his ribs.
      “Mm? Oh, this,” murmured Haldir dazedly. He reached into his 
tunic and brought out a small wooden box. “It is for you, I had 
forgotten…”
      They disentangled themselves so Celeborn could take it in both 
hands. He looked from the smooth wood to Haldir. “What is it?”
      “A trivial thing.” Haldir looked shy. Then he smiled. “You will 
only know by opening it.”
      Celeborn did so. “’The Return of the Noldor!’ I have long sought 
this, I have the first one, but not this.”
      “I know, Lord Elrond had it and he let me copy it.”
      “You copied it for me? But your hand—“
      “After he healed it.”
      “And the first thing you thought to do was to further try your poor 
fingers by copying an entire book for me?” Celeborn looked delighted and 
opened the cover.
      “’Tis a little unsteady to begin, but it gets straighter…”
      Celeborn stopped him with a kiss. “Haldir, it is my dearest 
treasure, for its very unsteadiness. The first thing you thought to do…O, 
how I love you, child!”
      “And I promise to re-copy it every few centuries, when it needs it.”
      “Even when it is dust, I will keep it, in a case of glass. And, Haldir, 
we will put this with it.” Celeborn opened the neck of Haldir’s tunic to lift 
in his hand the silver lace still tied there, now fraying and dull. 
      Haldir covered his lover’s hand with his own. “Nay, I mean to 
keep it, I will have it set in a locket.”
      “Ah, but I have something for you as well.” Celeborn put the book 
back into its box and set it beside their glasses of wine. Then he picked up 
a little velvet bag from the table and put it into Haldir’s hand.
      “This is why I asked you what I asked you a little while ago. 
Haldir, I cannot give you a silver ring, though I greatly desire to. And 
what we have is not as a marriage, it is something different, no less lasting 
and true. So I have created my own symbol for our love, which we both 
can wear, and none ever know it but we two.” His voice faded to a 
whisper and he looked hesitantly at his young lover. “If you want it…”
      “If I want it…” Tears brimmed in Haldir’s eyes, making them 
shine and catch the lights of Lorien. “If I want it. I want it more than 
anything.”
      Celeborn stood and drew Haldir to his feet, then took the bag and 
opened it. He turned Haldir’s hand up, and tipped the little sack over it. 
Haldir looked down to see a pool of silver in his palm.
      “What is it?” He dipped a finger into the glow and stirred it, seeing 
strands gleaming like moonlight. Delicately, he picked one up and raised 
it. Celeborn took the other. They held up two shining silver ribbons, not 
laces but metal.
      “They are made of mithril silver, one little plate taken from the 
armour I wore the first time you saw me. I claimed you as mine with a 
hunter’s ribbon. I do so again now, Haldir.” He placed the delicate strand 
around Haldir’s neck, gently lifting his hair to clasp it. “I claim you, 
Haldir, son of Halenil, Haldir of Lorien, to be mine now and for all time.”
      Haldir clasped the chain he held about Celeborn’s throat. “I claim 
you, Celeborn of Doriath, Lord of Lorien, to be mine, now and for all 
time.”
      
      And they were encircled by eternal mithril and by the strength of 
each other’s arms, as they would be for all time.