Title: Misfits 1/? Author: Kharessa Bloodrose Genre: FPS Pairing: Haldir/Melpomaen Rating: PG to NC-17 Warning: Haldir's in it. Need I say more? /snicker Beta: Circe Disclaimer: I do not own these characters or settings, and I am making no profit from the writing and sharing of this story. Feedback: Welcome Archive: Library of Moria, Lothlorien, Of Elves And Men and the other archives I okayed but can't remember right off hand. All others, please ask. Summary: Haldir finds love and acceptance from an unusual source. Author's Notes: Haldir has never been one of my favorite characters. Any of you who have ever read my commentary on him in my LJ know that I'm pretty merciless when it comes to lambasting everyone else's favorite March Warden. This story is not my excuse to rip him up one side and down the other, but it does take a different view of him than can be found in most fics. My apologies for the inconsistencies in my use of Sindarin. Either all of the parental titles should be elvish or none of them should, but alas, I am lazy. I was unable to find the proper titles during my perusal of the first dictionary I ran across, and I didn't want to switch the Sindarin back to English – only to find later that I'd missed a few words. This inconsistency is my fault, and mine alone. ****************************** Mirrors were not something commonly found among the Galadhrim who guarded Lothlorien's borders, nor the spartan talans in which they took rest and breaks. It also was not common for elves to take trophies or souvenirs of battle, but that was more understandable than carrying a mirror. Haldir kept a shield propped against the central trunk of the mallorn his talan was built around, a highly polished bronze shield he had taken from the corpse of an orc, which had undoubtedly looted it from some other unfortunate warrior. Early morning light filtered through the leaves, dappling his silver blonde hair with shades of soft green. Haldir stared morosely at his image in the shield and peeled his lips back to expose teeth and gums. A bit of lettuce clung stubbornly to a front tooth, and he grimly ran his tongue over the offending matter. A quick re- inspection showed him that it was gone. Haldir, March Warden of `Lorien, was ready to face the day. ******************************* He would have preferred to have been stationed on the distant borders or to have been sent beyond `Lorien on an information gathering mission for the Lord and Lady. It was work for which he was well suited; the company of other elves in the tree city was not something he sought, and blending with the human populace of other lands was easier for him than most elves. The Valar had seen fit to provide him with a sturdy, broad shouldered frame made even more unique by the solidity of his musculature. Though fair enough to look upon, Haldir's nose was more aquiline than the average elf and, in his more bitter moments, he inwardly compared his cheeks to those of certain small burrowing rodents who stored their foraged food in their jowls. Disguising himself as a human youth was easy once he'd unbraided his hair and added a bit of dirt; much to his horror, the women of those settlements he visited found him an incomparable vision of masculine beauty. Instead of guarding `Lorien's farthest reaches or grimly flirting with apple cheeked human beauties, Haldir perched upon a sturdy mallorn bough in full, seldom-worn dress uniform, watching Lord Elrond's entourage make its way toward Caras Galadhon. At some point he would have to reveal himself, give proper greetings, and formally escort them to the royal talan. He was the best and brightest of the Galadhrim, and he knew his services had been enlisted as a mark of respect toward Elrond's house, as well as a courtesy toward the Lord and Lady's daughter. Such was his duty to Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel and, as much as he detested the task, he would do nothing to displease or disappoint the elves that had appointed it to him. Now that they traveled within the secure confines of the golden wood, Lord Elrond rode at the front of the company with an elf whom Haldir immediately identified as Glorfindel, former hero of Gondolin. A smirk twisted Haldir's features as he perused the deceptively delicate figure casually chatting with the Lord of Imladris. His hair was golden blonde rather than silver blonde, and it had begun to curl most fetchingly in the damp air. Most unelf- like, but Haldir doubted if anyone had ever made a point of this to the elf in question. A quick count showed twenty warriors fanned out in a wedge with Elrond and Glorfindel as its point. Five more ghosted through the trees, oblivious to Haldir's group of six defenders, all of which had spotted them while avoiding notice. At the center of the formation rode Celebrian, her moon pale tresses contrasting sharply with the dark hair and eyes of her three lady companions. The twins followed behind her on matched black mares, both armed and evincing elven deadliness in spite of their mixed heritage. The corners of Haldir's lips twitched in spite of himself. He had enjoyed the Lady Arwen's company, and was prepared to like her brothers as well. The remaining two elves of the party were a mystery to him. A raven-haired male elf dressed in dark robes cut for riding rode ahead of Celebrian's ladies along with a younger, similarly dressed male. He made no conversation with his companion in spite of the nervous glances occasionally cast his way by the young one. The expression on his coldly beautiful face was that of extreme annoyance, and Haldir found himself commiserating silently. The young one didn't seem any happier than his elder and, judging by their appearance, Haldir guessed that travel was not something either of them enjoyed. Loyalty. Honor. Courage. Gritting his teeth, Haldir gracefully descended, ending his downward movement in an acrobatic leap that finished in an elegant bow a dozen feet in front of the Lord of Imladris's mount. He smiled as if it pained him to do so, squared his too broad shoulders. "Greetings, Lord Elrond, Lady Celebrian. I bid you good day and welcome from the Lord and Lady of Lothlorien, and extend to you their hope that your travels have been uneventful and that your stay will be joyous. I am Haldir, March Warden of Lothlorien and, as it pleases you, I shall be your guide." "Thank you, Haldir." Elrond took Haldir's dramatic entrance in stride; behind him Celebrian giggled, and Haldir's smile stretched upward another notch. "All has been well with us, and we hope to find the Lord and Lady in peace and good spirits." Haldir felt as if his face would crack under the strain of maintaining a properly diplomatic expression of friendly courtesy. The stilted exchange of formal greetings continued a few moments longer until he was finally permitted to take his position as ceremonial point guard. The artificial smile vanished the instant his back was turned, briefly twisted into a sarcastic grimace. The sharp titter of female laughter reached his ears, and he glared at the path in front of him, marching stolidly forward. ************************************** Haldir found it ironic that, aside from his brothers, his best friend was a princess of mixed blood who had yet to live even half the span of his own years. At first, he had resented his duty as guard and chaperone on the occasions she came to visit, viewing it as glorified baby sitting. It had quickly become apparent to him that Arwen did not require a babysitter, however, and soon he began to resent it more when duty called him away from the city during her stays. Arwen lived within her own world of contradictions and subtle speculation, though station and appearance offered her more protection from the sly commentary of others than he. Hot, human blood flowed in her veins in spite of her delicate, ethereal beauty, and who knew what strange urges and behaviors that blood might incite? Nothing overt was ever said, not of the lady who was the granddaughter of Celeborn and Galadriel, not of the elf maiden whose hand would undoubtedly be fiercely sought, if only for the station and appearance that made questions of blood secondary. Still, the elves outside of Imladris' cocoon did not so much curiously wonder as they simply waited - waited for their silent speculations to be inevitably borne out. Befriending a princess had put Haldir squarely in the sights of those who didn't quite dare to gossip about Arwen. He caught it for both himself and Arwen, and had known that he would when he first began thinking of her as something more than an annoying duty that occasionally kept him in `Lorien. No one would be so vulgar as to comment on her heritage, but Haldir had heard the edges of sotto voce conversations concerning his own impeccably elven ancestry. What they couldn't say about her they said about him, pointing out his build and less than delicate features as proof of… something. Some wrongness, some unwonted fleshliness and deficiency for which there was no evidence, yet was as unconcealable as his aquiline nose and soft cheeks. He'd only partially succeeded in being happy for Arwen's sake at the news of her family's visit. He'd heard enough about the informal relations amongst Elrond's family and staff to be curious, but not nearly curious enough to overcome his distaste for the necessary conspicuousness his role as honor guard would entail. "You do realize that if your mother were anyone except the daughter of the Lord and Lady I would resent this most highly," he'd said to her several evenings before her parent's arrival. "I am the Warden of Lothlorien and occasionally a gatherer of information and ambassador to the human realms, not an ornament to the honor of others." Arwen had laughed, ignoring the disgusted glare cast Haldir's way by the elf maid who served as her chaperone. The two of them had been seated on the balcony overlooking the gardens; the lady companion sat at a distance, lips pursed as she pretended to concentrate on her embroidery. "Grandfather and Grandmother are proud of you, Haldir. `Tis the reason you're Warden of Lothlorien, and the reason they want you to serve as escort and guard. Only the best for Ada and Nana." "I like your perspective. I'd still rather be doing something useful." "You wouldn't miss me out in the wilds?" Arwen had teased, and he'd been unable to hide his answering grin. "You know I would." "Well, it won't be so bad. You'll like Elladan and Elrohir. If it weren't for them I wouldn't be able to spar with you." A most unladylike sniff of displeasure had reached their ears, and Arwen cast her chaperone an amused glance. Haldir glanced at her uncomfortably. "Perhaps we could go someplace where we would be within sight of others but not in ear shot?" he'd whispered, leaning forward, and Arwen nodded. "Come on. We'll go to the main talan; I like the view." Arwen had turned to address the maid. "Lisaebette, you are excused." "Do you not wish an escort, my lady?" The elf woman had asked. "I think we can find the way," Haldir had answered dryly. Lisaebette had smiled tightly and dropped an abbreviated curtsey before gathering her sewing. Arwen swept past her without a second glance, airily waving for Haldir to follow. "So what are they like, your brothers?" he'd asked stupidly as they'd made their way along the high, suspended bridge that connected to the central talan. He'd heard enough about the twins to make the question seem redundant, but Arwen never batted an eye. "Cute. And kind of fuzzy." Haldir had gawped, looking for a moment more like the village idiot than the March Warden of Lothlorien. Then he'd laughed, his lower tones mixing comfortably with her crystalline giggles in the moonlit darkness. *********************************** He'd noticed no indication of fuzziness when he'd seen the twins in the golden wood, nor later when he'd had a chance to view them more closely in the Lord and Lady's receiving hall. Elladan and Elrohir looked more elven than he himself did and, dressed as they were, very little could be made of them beyond their typical and identical svelte sinuousness. Returning to the talan he shared with his brothers, Haldir viciously imagined them nude and hirsute, bristling with dark curls like the men he'd encountered in the human settlements. "Bad day?" Rumil asked as Haldir stalked in, shutting the door behind him with more force than was strictly necessary. "Do you need ask?" "No, I suppose not," Rumil sighed. He'd been sprawled across the low divan doing nothing more stimulating than perusing the insides of his eyelids. It was his first full day home from border patrol, and he'd spent the better part of the day in indolent laziness planning late night excursions to `Lorien's public houses. In light of Haldir's mood, he wished he'd set aside this first evening to spend with his brother, but arrangements had been made already and a certain maiden of more than ordinary loveliness would be expecting him. "Haldir, you need to relax more." The March Warden's gaze swept over his brother's half-nude form, lingered on the partially hooded eyes and the hand loosely clasped about the neck of a wine bottle. He said nothing. Rumil ran his free hand through his blonde hair and sat up. "I assume you have plans tonight." "Yes." Rumil frowned, but Haldir merely nodded, face stoic. "If you need anything I'll be in my room." Haldir turned on his heel, then paused and glanced over his shoulder. "If you drink until you are sick again, make sure you reach the edge of the talan this time or you will be even less pleased on the morrow than you would be in any event. And, if you bring home any… female companion… I'd prefer not to have to look at her over my breakfast."" "Alright, Haldir," Rumil said lamely. He set the bottle on the floor and followed his brother's departing form with unhappy eyes. A great deal of the fun had abruptly leaked from his plans. "Hey, Haldir, I could just stay home with you tonight. We could talk, play cards…" "No." Haldir didn't turn or slow his pace. "Go enjoy yourself." The door to his bedroom closed with a quiet, firm click. Rumil flopped back onto the divan and closed his eyes. Title: Misfits 2/? Author: Kharessa Bloodrose Genre: FPS Pairing: Haldir/Melpomaen Rating: PG to NC-17 Warning: Haldir's in it. Need I say more? /snicker Beta: Circe Disclaimer: I do not own these characters or settings, and I am making no profit from the writing and sharing of this story. Feedback: Welcome Archive: Library of Moria, Lothlorien, Of Elves And Men, and the other archives I've okayed but can't currently remember. All others, please ask. Summary: Arwen and Melpomaen pay a visit. Author's Notes: Thanks to Larien, Jess, Larian, Dawn, and Kissaki for feedback and support. The card game described later in this chapter is not strictly accurate since Tarok is a three player game. A couple of friends and I once tried to play it with the aide of some extremely limited instructions, and couldn't get anywhere with it. On those grounds I feel comfortable tossing in additional players since the requisite amount didn't work anyway. /snicker ********************************** Arwen glared, and Melpomaen cringed. "Look," she hissed as she buckled her sword belt, "Grandmother isn't going to say anything about it because Ada and Nana are here, and Ada and Nana aren't going to say anything because I'm with you." "I'm not a guard or a chaperone!" he retorted. "No, and that's why I'm carrying my sword. As if I'll need it." She rolled her eyes, and Melpomaen wrung his hands. He did not bother to remind her that a lady's maid would make a more appropriate companion; Arwen was too tender hearted to point out that he was the next best thing. No one would even imagine that he'd dare to make any advances on the princess of Imladris; even if the idea did occur to anyone, a person would immediately acknowledge that Arwen would be more than capable of fending him off. Arwen would no more rub his nose in the fact that he was considered widely to be Erestor's pet library mouse than he'd tell her that she and her brothers were assumed to be strange were-creatures who turned into baying humans when no one was looking. These were things that were known, but stringently ignored. "You'll like Haldir, trust me," she said. "He seemed rather… cold. At least, that was the impression I received." "That's just his way, Melpomaen." She shot him a steel edged glance, and Melpomaen swallowed hard. He'd had to listen to her rave about her brothers' reaction to this proposed outing for the past hour. Elladan and Elrohir had shown no interest in visiting the overdeveloped, arrogant March Warden, and, in all honesty, Melpomaen couldn't say that he blamed them. Haldir had done his duty with all proper respect and formality, but his personality was as warm and inviting as a glacier. "He's probably lonely. I don't think he goes out much, and usually he's away on business for Grandfather and Grandmother. I was looking forward to introducing him to the twins, but if this is the way they're going to be…," she trailed off. Arwen's lips compressed as she pulled her belt tight and turned to face her reflection in the mirror. "You look ridiculous," Melpomaen said. She did. The tunic Arwen wore was a compromise made with her grandmother, one that satisfied Galadriel's principles on modesty while still allowing freedom of movement. The result was something that looked like a cross between a man's tunic and a long nightshirt that had been slit to the waist at each side. Instead of leggings, she wore loose trousers beneath it that left the shape of her legs a mystery, and which would have led to insufferable chafing if it hadn't been for the tights she wore beneath them. Excess material flared over the tops of her finely made yet utterly plain black boots, and leather gloves covered her hands. Arwen grimaced. "Come on. Let's get out of here before Elladan and Elrohir see me. Not to mention Glorfindel." ****************************************** Twenty minutes later Melpomaen found himself staring up into the arrogant face of the March Warden. No light had shown from within the talan, but Arwen had rapped briskly at the door nevertheless, ignoring his suggestion that perhaps the occupants were asleep or away. She had not left off rapping until sounds of movement were heard from within, and had evinced more enthusiasm than the situation warranted when a much put upon Haldir appeared in the darkened doorway looking tousled and muzzy eyed. "Arwen." He stared down at her in worried puzzlement. "You're looking very war-like tonight." "That's because I'm guarding Melpomaen's hide while he guards my honor." "I see." Clearly, he didn't. His eyes flicked over Melpomaen's slender figure in bemusement. Arwen frowned impatiently. "Are you going to invite us in?" "Oh! Of course, come in." Haldir stepped aside and waved them through, hazel eyes quickly perusing the darkness beyond them as if a mob of curious elves might be lying in wait. Melpomaen smiled nervously and ducked his head as he followed Arwen into the shadowed talan, and Haldir quickly shut the door behind them. "Where's Rumil?" Arwen asked. "The Valar alone know. Wait here." He vanished into the back of the house and returned a moment later with a lit taper. Candles and lamps were lit, and Melpomaen began to relax as the small room brightened. "This is nice, Haldir," Arwen commented as she sank onto the divan, gamely ignoring the pair of socks lying beneath the bottle strewn table. She glanced toward the window, and Melpomaen neatly hooked them under the divan with his foot. For a split second, he thought he saw a look of relief cross the larger elf's face. "It's not the royal talan," Haldir shrugged, standing stiffly in the middle of a braided rug that looked the worse for wear. "What are you doing here, anyway? I thought you'd be spending the evening with your family." "Ada and Nana are visiting with grandmother and grandfather. My brothers are being difficult." She glared balefully, but then brightened. "But, since Melpomaen's here, I thought I'd take advantage of the opportunity to see where you live." "Ah. Melpomaen?" He cast a cautious look toward the dark haired elf, and Melpomaen offered him another nervous smile. "Yes," Arwen answered. " Melpomaen, this is my best friend in Lothlorien, Haldir the March Warden. Haldir, this is my best friend in Imladris. Melpomaen's a student archivist who works with Erestor." "Greetings, Melpomaen." Haldir did not offer his hand, and Melpomaen nodded, clenching his hands in his lap. "Is this business or pleasure for you?" Melpomaen's mind went blank. He'd finally taken a seat beside Arwen, but glancing around the small talan he couldn't appreciate that his visit qualified as either business or pleasure. Haldir sighed as he folded himself into a chair. "Your visit to Lothlorien." There was an edge of sarcasm to Haldir's clarification, and Melpomaen blushed. "Um, both. Lord Celeborn's library contains books that Lord Elrond's does not, and I've been looking forward to following up on some footnotes and researching certain areas that I have only limited access to in Imladris." "I can see how that would be a draw." Haldir felt more than a little nonplussed. His area of work demanded more than the average level of education, but he could not honestly say that research was ever something to which he looked forward. "Haldir sometimes does ambassadorial work among the humans for my grandparents, so he knows quite a bit about history, too," Arwen supplied, and Melpomaen nodded. "Are you part human like Arwen?" He asked tentatively, and shrank at the curdled smile he received in response. "No, I'm not." "Well!" Arwen said brightly, rising to her feet. "Maybe we could get some drinks, clear the table, and play cards?" "Arwen, it's late. And you shouldn't be here anyway." Haldir's voice was remote, his mien turned dark and brooding. "Nonsense!" Her smile had grown a trifle too wide, her tone a bit too vivacious. "The moon isn't even fully risen yet. And I've never been able to come here before. Ada won't say anything as long as I'm with Melpomaen." She picked up a few of the bottles and turned her smile up another notch. "Where do I take these?" "He doesn't look like a lady's maid or a guardian." Haldir glowered as he grabbed the remaining bottles, easily carrying them all in his large hands. Melpomaen flushed crimson and cringed back against the couch cushions. "No, but he's… Melpomaen." Arwen shrugged, stood poised beside the table, and quirked an eyebrow inquisitively. Haldir nodded toward an arched doorway. "That's the kitchen." He stalked toward it, leaving Arwen to flutter along behind him in her bizarre nightshirt and weaponry. A moment later he returned bearing a wet rag and greasy deck of playing cards. "Do you need any help?" Melpomaen asked hesitantly, and Haldir grunted in response. "No, I think we have this under control, Melpomaen," Haldir replied. Arwen was still chattering, and the sound of her artificially cheery voice was beginning to grate. Haldir handed her the rag as he began clearing the table, haphazardly stacking the odds and ends that had accumulated on it on the floor. Melpomaen's eyes widened at the sight of a stack of drawings of elf maidens bathing – among other things – that had been hiding under a pair of riding gloves. Those were swiftly placed face down upon the floor and slid under the divan to join the socks. Arwen blithely pretended she hadn't seen them as she commenced swiping away moisture rings and crumbs. "You do know how to play tarok?" Haldir asked, and Melpomaen nodded. "Erestor taught me," he affirmed. Arwen and Haldir had settled on the floor, and Melpomaen followed their lead, slipping off the divan to sit cross-legged across from the blonde elf. The illuminated cards were nearly swallowed in Haldir's large hands as he shuffled, and Melpomaen stared, feeling an indefinable shiver pass through him. Haldir glanced up and shot him an icy glare. "Is something wrong?" "Well," Arwen said hesitantly, "you do have something stuck on your teeth." The March Warden swore colorfully, lips pursed in a most undignified manner as he ran his tongue across his front teeth. Arwen giggled and leaned against him, wrapped a companionable arm about his waist. "I'm just teasing you, silly." "That's not funny." A faint smile curved his lips nevertheless, and Melpomaen blinked. When he wasn't glaring or frowning, the blonde was actually rather attractive. "Sure it is." She gave him a final squeeze before resuming her position at the table's narrow end. "Dammit, we forgot the drinks." "I'll get them," Haldir replied. He began to rise, but Arwen waved him back down. "No, I'll do it. Fruit juice or spirits?" "There's wine in the cupboard, next to the glasses. Unless Rumil drank it all." She disappeared into the kitchen once more, leaving them alone at the table. Haldir continued shuffling, eyes fixed resolutely on the cards as if they held all the secrets of life and death. Melpomaen squirmed. "If I said anything to give offense, I am truly sorry…," he began meekly, and hazel eyes flashed cold fire over the top of the divided deck. "No offense taken," Haldir replied gruffly. Melpomaen felt his own seldom-roused temper kindling at the clear displeasure reflected in those eyes. "It seems to me there was." He knew his tone sounded priggish and superior, a direct result of too much time spent with Erestor, but he could not manage to shift into a less defensive mode. "It is an insult to Arwen and her background that you would take such umbrage at so simple a question." "Is it?" Haldir bit off the words. "I'm sure that if Arwen feels insulted, she'll be the first to tell me." "Here we go!" Arwen called merrily as she re-entered the room carrying three tumblers in her hands and a bottle under her arm. "I couldn't find any wine glasses, but…," she trailed off, smile slipping as she took in the scene. Haldir and Melpomaen faced each other in silence, the March Warden's false, frozen smile answered by the scholar's livid glare. "Is everything alright here?" "Just fine. There aren't any wine glasses," Haldir replied. "These will do just as well." She swiftly set them on the table and poured before resettling on the floor. "Are you going to deal, or just shuffle all night?" "Erm," Haldir muttered, but whatever else he had been about to say was cut off by the sounds of voices and laughter outside. A look of pure horror crossed his face as he twisted around to face the door, and Melpomaen felt more than a twinge of unease at the prospect of facing whatever it was that made the warrior elf look ready to hide beneath his bed. "No, it's okay Liian. Just as long as everyone is gone before morning." Feminine giggles met this remark, and then the door was flung open. A tall male elf made a memorable, if unsteady, entrance supporting, or being supported by, a lovely female. His ash blonde hair was tucked back behind his ears rather than braided, and over half of his shirt buttons were undone. The female attached to his side wore her hair similarly loose, and no modest breast panel concealed the hint of cleavage exposed between her bodice laces. Melpomaen stared, his thoughts flying unbidden to the pictures stashed under the divan. "Haldir!" the blonde vision cried. "I didn't know you were expecting company." "Neither did I." Haldir glared, lips compressed. The elf maid's eyes widened, and she tightened her grip. "Maybe we should go, Rumil…" "What's going on?" someone in the darkness beyond the threshold called, and Haldir closed his eyes tightly. "Lady Arwen?" Rumil asked, blinking, and Arwen grinned. "What are you doing here?" "They are so alike, Melpomaen," Arwen said, ignoring the question completely. "I'm sure if Orophin were here that would be the first thing he'd say to me as well." "This is your brother?" Melpomaen asked Haldir, his voice tinged with incredulity. Haldir gritted his teeth. "Yes, this is my younger brother, Rumil." "Pleased to meet you." Rumil staggered inside, dragging Liian with him. Several nameless others followed behind them. "Melpomaen, right?" "Yes, I'm a student archivist traveling with Lord Elrond's company." "Ah. That must keep you busy." Rumil said. The blonde maid giggled, and Melpomaen nodded, clearly at a loss. "Yes, quite…" "Rumil, do you think perhaps this might be a good night to visit the river, or a tavern, or someone else's house?" Haldir asked tightly, and his brother shrugged. "Well, I wasn't planning on coming home this early, but there was an… incident at the White Swan and it seemed like the best idea." "Tell me you are not in any trouble." "No, no, no trouble. We left before that could happen." "Are you playing tarok?" one of the others asked, and Arwen nodded enthusiastically. "We were getting ready to. Do you want to play?" "Sure." The half-drunken group of elves crowded around the table, arranging themselves as best as they could on the floor. Melpomaen found himself crowded between Rumil and a narrow faced elf woman who sported a long tail of corn floss hair caught up in a blue ribbon. Rumil's hand came to rest on his knee, and he yelped, nearly jumping backwards onto the divan. Arwen scooted around to sit pressed against Haldir, her previous effervescence turned into half- panicked excitement. "Sorry about that," Rumil smiled good naturedly as he reached across Melpomaen for the bottle. "Worth a shot, as they say." He brought the bottle to his lips and then frowned as he set it aside. "Oh, stupid me. I forgot. You're Erestor's lover, right?" "No." Melpomaen could feel his face heating. "I'm a student archivist with– " "Yes, yes, we caught that," Liann said dismissively as she snuggled up against Rumil. "But isn't this exciting? Lady Arwen, I never would have expected to see you here. Or to see you at all, for that matter." "I came to visit Haldir," Arwen said crisply, sipping from her tumbler. Eyebrows raised; Haldir looked as if he wanted to slide under the table. "Well, well, Haldir," a male dressed in forest greens that matched the glass beads strung in his braids grinned. "You've been holding out on us." "Mind your tongue," Rumil said and shot the elf a glare, his dark expression somewhat impaired by his difficulty in focusing on its target. "Lady Arwen's reputation is not to be questioned." The narrow faced girl sniffed, but Liian nodded agreeably. "Everyone knows they're just friends." She rolled her eyes, and glass beads jingled as the first elf shifted uncomfortably, muttering under his breath. "I mean, really!" Haldir stiffened for a moment, and Melpomaen felt a moment of sympathy. He offered the older elf a hesitant smile of commiseration, but the expression was wasted. Cards continued to riffle between his fingers, flying with dexterous speed from hand to hand. "So, what's the royal talan like? Haldir never tells us these things," Liann asked. Arwen began to answer, but the other female cut in, a mischievous grin spreading across her features. "More importantly, tell us what your brothers are like. Identical twins… how interesting." "Stop, Elaida!" Liann laughed, cheeks flushed with curiosity and amusement. "Tell me you don't want to know!" Elaida shrugged her shoulders disbelievingly, and turned back to Arwen. "I have heard they are excellent archers. Do they ever talk about it to their younger sister? Is it true that their arrows fly true and never miss their mark?" Melpomaen blushed scarlet in mortification; Arwen looked confused. "I do not often practice with them…" Arwen's hesitant reply was met by a storm of laughter. "I should hope not!" Elaida gasped, red faced with tears of mirth streaming down her cheeks. Arwen stared perplexedly, and Haldir abruptly rose to his feet. "That is enough. Rumil, you will show your guests the way out. I believe it is time for Arwen and Melpomaen to return home." He stood over them forbiddingly, arms crossed in front of him, and the seated elves craned back to stare up into his coldly furious face, expressions of disappointment and bafflement predominating. Rumil swayed unsteadily to his feet also, unhappy awareness seeping in around the edges of his drunken merriment. "I agree; this isn't a good night for this. Everyone up and out," Rumil deferred. "C'mon, Rumil, not me," Liian pouted, clinging to his leg. She cast Haldir a pleading look. "I wasn't trying to upset anyone." "She can stay." Haldir said shortly. His glare intensified and the others dragged themselves up from the floor, stumbling doorwards and muttering darkly about inhospitality and certain people getting above their place. The March Warden said nothing as they departed, finally heaving a sigh of relief when the door was shut. The girl, Liian, was still seated on the floor staring up at him wide- eyed in what could have been either intense curiosity or fear. "I'm really sorry," she said with a slight waver. "I didn't know she wouldn't understand." "It's alright, Liian," Arwen said, still clearly confused but doing her best to bring her diplomatic training to bear in this new and unexpected situation. Haldir reached to take her hand, and Arwen found herself wishing that she had the option to wrap herself around his leg the way the blonde girl had wrapped herself about Rumil. Across from her, Melpomaen looked utterly lost, but he, too, rose when he saw Haldir helping Arwen stand. "Brother, truly I didn't know you'd be having company. I never would have brought everyone back here if I'd known." "Well, it's too late now." Haldir's voice was cold. "Can she be trusted?" He stabbed a finger at Liian. "Yes, she's alright," Rumil averred. "Good. Get her a decent cloak. She's going to be a lady's maid tonight." ************************************** The return to the royal talan took place in near total silence. Swathed in the concealing layers of one of Orophin's festival cloaks, Liian walked formally beside Arwen, doing her best imitation of the maids she had seen attending the court ladies at public functions. Melpomaen had taken Arwen's other arm, and Haldir marched grimly behind them. "I really am sorry, Lady Arwen," Liian whispered as they stepped into the shadows of the royal talan's servants' entrance. Her eyes darted about, attempting to pierce the darkness. Arwen smiled. "All is well, Liian. Have no fear." She took the cloak from her, folded it swiftly and handed it to Melpomaen. "Thank you for the escort." "Anytime, my lady." Haldir snorted, rolling his eyes. Arwen glanced up at him worriedly. "I'm the one who should be apologizing, aren't I?" She said softly. Haldir's shoulders slumped. "It was… inappropriate." Arwen looked away, the stony set of her face not concealing the sadness in her eyes. Haldir sighed. "It's alright, though, and I appreciate the thought. Hopefully, nothing will come of this. I bid you goodnight, Arwen, Melpomaen." "Goodnight, Haldir," Arwen said, and Melpomaen echoed her. The two disappeared into the darkness, and Haldir turned, taking Liian's arm and steering her toward the back stairs. Title: Misfits 3 Author: Kharessa Bloodrose Genre: FPS Pairing: Haldir/Melpomaen Rating: PG to NC-17 Warning: Haldir's in it. Need I say more? /snicker Disclaimer: I do not own these characters or settings, and I am making no profit from the writing and sharing of this story. Feedback: Welcome Archive: Library of Moria, Lothlorien, Of Elves And Men, and those archives which I've okayed but can't remember right off hand. All others, please ask. Summary: Melpomaen pays a visit, and Haldir confers with Rumil. Author's Notes: Thanks to Alex, Mirasaui, LK, Larien, Dawn, Larian, and Jess. LK, I know that post wasn't directed to me, but I figure if you like it well enough to try e-mailing the story to Di, then that's supportive. /grin *********************************** He had no idea as to what Haldir and Rumil might have said to their friends, but whatever they'd said had been effective. The week following his adventure with Arwen had been quiet – no summons to Lord Elrond's sitting room had come, nor any invitation to discuss his part in the eroding of Arwen's morals with Lady Galadriel. Melpomaen had been waiting in a sort of sickly dread, as if one of those two things were inevitable, if not both of them. He knew Arwen had been worried, too. She'd been remarkably content to stay close to home or with her brothers since the night Haldir had returned them to the palace. Of course, Lord Elrond would believe her if she had to tell him what had taken place on that nearly catastrophic night, and the range of punishments that might be meted out to an erring princess were not as dire as those which might come to an archivist of no particular family or background. Still, she lived within an invisible network of rules and customs that did not apply to him; damage to her reputation would touch the entire family, could not be mended by word or law and had little to do with her actual words or actions. Arwen had to be careful. and if he had refused to go with her she would not have gone at all. It was with these thoughts that he made his way along the walkways of `Lorien, barely registering the warm evening breeze or the sunset light filtering through the trees. He had planned on going back to work in the library after supper, but Erestor had sent him off, laughingly telling him he worked too hard. That had caused him to blush and scurry quickly away, but, then again, he'd been doing a lot of blushing and scurrying around Erestor in the last seven days. Rumil had matter-of-factly asked him about his relationship with Erestor as if it were common knowledge that they were lovers. Melpomaen had honestly never thought of the dark haired chief advisor in such a way, but the question, which had temporarily shocked all thought from his mind, had left him wondering. He was only an archivist, but did familiarity with the House of Elrond – and by association with the Lord and Lady of Lothlorien – make him a personage worth gossiping about? He'd never thought so before. Perhaps he too, in his own small way, existed within the slightly unreal framework of royal rules and standards. His feet were carrying him to Haldir's talan, and, though he had not planned on visiting the surly March Warden, he did not find himself disturbed at the thought of it. There was really nowhere else to go unless he wanted to tour the taverns or walk in the forest, neither of which appealed to him at the moment. Haldir had been almost uniformly unpleasant to him, and certainly the elf was unusual to look at. But there was something else about Haldir, something that had made a positive impression on the young scholar beyond Arwen's obvious trust and liking. He'd stood up for her. Obviously Haldir understood the heavy mantle Arwen wore and always would wear as Elrond's daughter, granddaughter of Celeborn and Galadriel. He understood it better than she did, which was no new thing. Arwen managed her life with as little awareness of the facts of her royalty as she could possibly manage, an outlook which was greatly facilitated by the laid back atmosphere of Imladris, the permissiveness of her parents, and her brothers' wild natures. Outside of Imladris life was different, and Haldir seemed willing to recognize this for her, take responsibility when responsibility was required. Melpomaen frowned as he considered this; the events of the previous weeks reflected better on Haldir than either he or Arwen when looked at in such a light. It did not take long for Haldir to appear at the door this evening. Unlike their first encounter, his hair was immaculately braided, held back from his too broad cheeks and accentuating piercing eyes. Muscles bulged under the sleeves of his tunic, and his hands were hidden behind his elbows by a crossed-armed stance. It occurred to Melpomaen that, though Haldir had not the slender beauty of the willow, he possessed a beauty that was hawk like, and no less lovely for being dramatically different from the other elves of Lothlorien. "What do you want?" "To thank you. That could have been…," Melpomaen drifted off, glancing aside to the walkway. "We're in your debt." "I see you didn't bring Arwen this time." Melpomaen did not say that she had brought him. It would have only sounded like an excuse, a quick attempt to cover himself. Instead, he shrugged. "She's been spending a lot of time with the twins lately." He shifted his weight briefly from foot to foot, than caught himself. "May I come in?" Haldir considered, then stepped aside, nodded and waved his hand inward in a parody of courtesy. Melpomaen accepted the invitation in spite of that, glancing around the small room in a way that he had been too intimidated to contemplate when he'd first been there. It was simple and cluttered, but not dirty. That it was the home of three bachelors was evident; there was little in the way of feminine decoration, though the brothers' elven nature had led them to make some attempts at bringing the beauty of nature into their home. Bottles once again covered the end table's surface, along with a few pots of lavender flowers. A sketchpad leaned against one of these, and alongside it rested a sheathed dagger and pair of leather bracers. "Rumil and Orophin are out?" "Orophin's on patrol, Rumil's with his lover. He'll be going back out when Orophin returns, and, praise the Valar, I'll be gone when Arwen goes home with her parents." "Isn't it… unusual… that a March Warden would be given the task of honor guard?" Haldir drew himself up to his full, not inconsiderable height. Melpomaen blinked, feeling suddenly dwarfed by the blonde elf's stature. "The Lord and Lady trust me. I am the best." "If that is so, I would think your skills would be best utilized in defending the borders." "So would I," Haldir scowled. "Would you like a drink?" "Yes, please." Haldir vanished without asking what he would like, and Melpomaen bit his lip, standing uncertainly in the center of the rug. Finally, he crossed to the divan and settled on it. The sketching papers faced him, and he absently picked them up, glancing quickly through the drawings. No nude elf maidens this time; instead, the images were of scenes in and around Lothlorien. Whoever had drawn them had a good eye for light and perspective. Melpomaen smiled appreciatively. "What are you doing?" Haldir demanded sharply, and Melpomaen nearly dropped the pages. The blonde elf stood in the archway, eyes narrowed. The drawings were plucked neatly from Melpomaen's hand a moment later, a cool mug of fruit juice thrust into it. "I was merely looking at these drawings." He gestured with his free hand. "They are quite good." "Thank you," Haldir replied in a mutter. Melpomaen blinked. He had assumed they were Rumil's work. "Did you draw the maidens, too? The ones I saw when I was here with Arwen?" Haldir flushed an unbecoming brick red. "Yes, those too." "I liked them, also. It didn't seem appropriate to ask about them at the time, though." He smiled down at his hands. "There are such things in the library of Imladris, but…" "But you'd just as soon not risk anyone seeing you with those books." Some of the frost had thawed from Haldir's voice; Melpomaen glanced up and caught the ghost of a smile. "I have access to the royal library. They have some rather interesting books of illustrations, also." He quirked an eyebrow, "Would you like to see more?" "Aye, I would." Haldir nodded and vanished through the archway once more, returning a few moments later with a pile of carefully stacked papers. Instead of dropping them on the wet table top, he set them on the divan beside Melpomaen and seated himself next to them. Melpomaen caught his breath as he looked over them, eyes wide. Landscapes were mixed in no particular order with erotic images, and alongside both were expertly drawn pictures of animals, humans and elves, buildings, and still life images. Two in particular captured his attention. In one, a female archer glared out at him from the page, bow raised and arrow nocked in deadly earnestness. The other was of a nude elven male, hair loose and flowing, staring upward at a full moon from a shallow forest pool. "The archer is Elaaindra. She's incredible with a bow, the best under my command. Right now she's doing my job for me on the borders, so at least I know matters are being handled competently." Haldir sighed, took a deep breath. "The other is no one in particular. Just something I dreamed." "He's beautiful," Melpomaen breathed, and Haldir nodded. "I like him: slender, fine muscled. He looks the way an archer should." An air of brooding crept over his expression as he perused the page. "And his hair. I made it longer than most males would wear theirs, but I like the texture and color." "It's like yours." "No, I was thinking of Rumil's hair when I did it." Melpomaen frowned, cast him a sideways glance. "Your hair is like Rumil's." "No, it isn't." "Yes, it is; silver blonde and straight, like a still pool in bright moonlight." Melpomaen smiled and waved his hand over the picture. Haldir's face darkened. It was not disbelief that Melpomaen read in that look, but anger, as if Melpomaen had leveled an insupportable insult at him rather than having made a simple comment. There was shame in that look also, buried beneath the fury yet still visible to the discerning eye. Melpomaen blanched before that look, babbled the first words that came to his mind. "May I touch it?" Melpomaen winced at the unintentional, not to mention blundering, double entendre. Haldir blinked, shock temporarily driving away his anger. Hazel eyes widened, and when Melpomaen reached to suit actions to words, Haldir stared at the approaching hand in frozen wariness, like a deer mesmerized by the gleam of moonlight off of reflective metal. His hair was soft, smooth, and touchable. Melpomaen smiled as he ran his fingers over Haldir's temple, gently stroking the small, perfect braids. They reminded him of the velvet cords worn on Imladris' soldiers' dress uniforms, or the braided silk ribbons Arwen sometimes used to bind her own hair. He leaned forward, tracing the braids to where they were caught up by a simple wooden clasp, and abruptly realized that his face was bare inches from Haldir's. He sat back hastily, jerking his hand away. "There aren't many blondes in Imladris. Most have dark hair like mine. The twins' turns reddish in the sun because they're half- elves, and Erestor's is black like a crow's wing." He stared fixedly at the picture on his lap, aware that he was babbling but unable to stop himself. "And Arwen's is black too, but mine's more of a light brown…" "And almost everyone in Lothlorien is blonde." Haldir took the drawing back and returned it to the pile, rising to his feet without meeting Melpomaen's eyes. "I'm going to put these back." "Alright." His hands knotted together anxiously in his lap. Haldir darted out of the room, and when he returned a few moments later he was wearing his quiver and carrying a bow. "I have to go find Rumil. I nearly forgot that we had plans for later in the evening. He, Liian and I." "Oh." Melpomaen rose. "I'm sorry if I've made you late." "Not at all." The high color had receded from Haldir's cheeks, his tone was once again smooth and cold. "It was kind of you to visit." He opened the door and stepped to one side, waving his arm in almost the same gesture he had used to invite Melpomaen into the talan. However, the motion lacked the air of sarcasm his invitation had conveyed. Haldir clearly wanted him gone, but there was no sense of thinly veiled anger or disgust in this. Melpomaen stepped out onto the walkway, pausing while Haldir let himself out and closed the door behind him. "Perhaps I could come by again sometime?" he asked. Haldir smiled tightly. "That would be fine. If you'll excuse me." He did not wait for a reply, and Melpomaen was left to stand and stare as the March Warden walked swiftly away. ************************************** Haldir had no plans with Rumil and Liian, and he doubted that Melpomaen believed he did. The young elf had not called him on it, and that was all that mattered. Like Arwen, Melpomaen seemed to understand and accept the idea that a person could have their own reasons for being less than forthright, and, more importantly, he was willing to let such matters lie. As a warrior, Haldir knew better than to be selective in his perception and, as an artist, he could not create falseness. Friendship was another matter, however. He and Arwen were more than up to the challenge of not discussing things that loomed so large before them that one would need to be blind not to notice them, of ignoring them until they grew so large as to become invisible. He liked Melpomaen, though he didn't want to do so. Outwardly, he had all the appearance of a library mouse, but he'd been able to summon up enough courage to speak his mind to Haldir during his first visit. That had made a positive impression on Haldir later, but more important to his mind was the sock incident. That had spoken volumes, one simple, thoughtless movement meant to spare embarrassment, a silent removal that reflected the invaluable ability to see and ignore, not simply to fix things but to make them gone. All of that changed, though, when Melpomaen touched him. Eyes could look away, tongues could lie still, but there was no hiding from touch, no false pity or false affection transmitted through the warmth of his shy fingers. Arwen rarely touched him, both because it was inadvisable for her to be seen embracing him and because she knew he was uncomfortable with it. Only his brothers were openly affectionate with him, but affection wasn't the word he'd use for the way Melpomaen's fingers had played over his braids. Haldir didn't know what word he would use. Melpomaen had said his hair was like Rumil's, and it had not been the subtle jab Haldir had originally assumed. He was not like Rumil; he had only to look in his mirror to see that he had none of his brother's delicacy of form, nor any of his lithe, slender elegance. Melpomaen had not said he was like Rumil, however; only that his hair was the same, long and straight and silver blonde. That much was the truth, though it was another truth that went unspoken; comparing similarities could only lead to thoughts of differences. Haldir preferred to see nothing of his brothers in himself, nothing that would draw attention to the many things that were unalike. It was not his habit to visit the taverns of Lothlorien. Too many of the lower ranking warriors under his command frequented them while they were on leave, and Haldir believed in keeping his distance. Authority had to be maintained, as did the respect and obedience of those who took their orders from him. It would not do to become too familiar with them, to share in their pastimes, conversations, and jokes. Even so, he needed someone to talk to. Not Arwen, with whom, by their own rules of friendship, he could not discuss such matters. This left Rumil, who almost certainly was with Liian, playing cards and dancing at the White Swan. Haldir soon found himself before the tavern door, ruefully reflecting that the ill-thought lie he had told Melpomaen had become the truth. Unlike the public houses in human settlements, the Swan was not a dark, close place that smelled of sweat, smoke, and spirits. Instead, it was bright and airy, lit by a multitude of hanging lanterns. The front door and the casement windows were all open, and the common room led onto a broad lanai unusual for the high railing surrounding it. Haldir supposed this was a practical bit of architecture, considering the condition many of the Swan's patrons ended up in before they left. Haldir ignored the curious glances his arrival provoked, moving swiftly to the back of the room where Rumil could be found playing darts with a small group of male elves. Liian darted about the room with a large, round tray braced against her hip. Haldir remembered that she worked at The Swan, and was not usually able to spend time with Rumil until the public house closed its doors. He offered her a distant nod as he passed; she blinked in surprise, returning an uncertain smile as she hurried about her business. "Haldir!" Rumil called as his brother came into view. "It's good to see you out!" "Could I have a moment of your time, brother?" Haldir ignored the incipient stream of small talk, ignored the cluster of elves peering at him curiously. Rumil frowned. "Is something wrong, Haldir?" He set his darts on the table and stepped forward, lightly resting his hand on Haldir's shoulder. "Give us a few moments," he called to the others while steering his brother toward the moonlit lanai. Haldir shrugged the hand off, but willingly accompanied Rumil. "No, nothing's wrong." "Of course there is. You didn't come here for the dancing or the wine." Haldir swore softly, looking away. At the rail's opposite end a pair of elves, male and female, clung together in a close embrace, lips passionately locked. The darkness hid the rising color in Haldir's cheeks, and he glanced back at Rumil. "This wasn't a good idea." Rumil closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. "Whatever it is, I have time for it. You're upset by something." "Melpomaen," Haldir blurted. "Who?" "The dark haired elf that was with Arwen that night." "Oh yes, the student-archivist-with-Erestor and so on and so forth." Rumil rolled his eyes. Haldir scowled. "It is an honorable profession." "I never said it wasn't." Rumil cocked an eyebrow. "So, what about him?" "He was over again today." "And this is a problem?" Rumil appeared to consider the matter, waiting expectantly. Haldir bit his lip in an unaccustomed display of uncertainty. His hand drifted upward as if to twist in his hair, but he caught himself before he could begin twining it in his fingers. "He touched me. He touched my hair, and said it was like yours." "Oh, Haldir." The confusion left Rumil's eyes, replaced instead by a look of tenderness. He slung an arm around his brother's waist, gave him a brisk hug. "You like him, don't you?" Haldir said nothing, gazing past Rumil into the darkness. "You think he likes you. Is that the trouble?" "Yes." The single word was harsh, uneven. Rumil sighed. "Please do not tell me that the March Warden of Lothlorien is afraid of a librarian." "It's different!" Haldir stepped out of his brother's embrace, glaring at him fiercely. "I should not have come here." "Wait, Haldir." Rumil caught his arm as Haldir was about to stride past him. "I know it's different. Believe me, I know. You think you might be reading too much into it, am I right?" Haldir blinked and nodded curtly. Rumil needed no light to know that his brother's face was scarlet with embarrassment, that the dull look in his eyes was one of shame. He gently touched Haldir's arm. "Tell me what happened - exactly what happened. The others can wait." The account Haldir gave was concise but accurate, given as he might have reported an account of his travels to the Lord and Lady. Rumil leant against the rail and listened, head bowed, brow furrowed with concentration. At last Haldir finished, waiting stoically for Rumil's judgement. "I think he's interested," Rumil finally said. "Go see him. And take your braids out."