"Where is he? Where is Haldir?"
Aragorn lowered his eyes, shoulders dropping fractionally, unwilling to look into the horse-lord's eyes. It was Legolas who gestured towards the hall, who followed Éomer's hurrying form to where the dead lay, who watched helplessly as Éomer dropped to his knees, pulling the cold body into his arms and burying his face in the silver-pale hair...
Summer, twelve years ago, and a youth of sixteen summers rode out alone from Edoras - a thing Théoden King would have disallowed had he known. So Éomer hadn't told him, and had convinced his sister to hold her peace; as he said, he wished to prove himself. Éowyn had argued, pointing out that his self-imposed quest was both needless and perilous, but Éomer had smiled, and kissed her forehead, and said he needed to prove himself. Éowyn folded her arms over budding breasts and glowered at her brother.
"This is foolish! You need prove yourself to no-one."
He ruffled her hair, chuckling as she jerked her head away irritably.
"I go to prove my worth to myself, sister."
"Even more foolish!" She laid a hand on his arm. "What shall I do if you do not return?"
"Now you are being foolish. What harm can come to me?"
"There are perils enough in the land!"
"But I shall go quietly, and travel by day for the most part, and be most wary."
"'tis madness."
"Maybe - but it is my madness, and I will go."
She sighed dispiritedly.
"Then I will keep your secret - for fifteen days. Afterwards I shall tell Gamling."
Éomer growled, then reluctantly nodded.
"So be it. But I will return within ten."
She scowled.
"Be sure that you do."
He laughed and hugged her.
"So fierce, shield-maiden of Rohan! You will make a worthy wife for the prince."
He hastened away before her deep blush faded and she recovered wits enough to strike him...
Summer, and the vast open land was a haze of dry golden grass and craggy rock, silent save for the flight of birds and the wind clean and cool through his hair. The youth rode comfortably, his horse's motion smooth and easy beneath him, the solitude a delight. The days passed effortlessly: he reached the borders of Fangorn before he'd realised it, and made camp for the rest of the afternoon, determined to enter the forest at night, to prove his bravery to himself.
But as the sun set and he readied himself to enter the dark and fearful place, the orcs appeared, as if from holes in the ground. Remaining very quiet, and grateful that he smelt of horse more than of human, Éomer lay still and listened - not that he understood much. But some words he could make out. 'Elves' was one. 'Death' another. And the name Lothlórien, mispronounced with loathing...
Frowning, Éomer watched them head eastwards in the direction of Mordor, puzzling as to their meaning. The Golden Wood was a fabled place in the legends of his people, a place of great and terrible beauty.
... He should spend the two intended nights in Fangorn, then return as he had promised his sister...
But to visit the Golden Wood... No-one, to his knowledge, had ever gone so far, ever dared the perils of the great golden trees, the magic of the elves who lived there...
He grinned to himself. Fangorn could wait, as it had waited down the long years. Lothlórien would be a fairer adventure by far.
He travelled on, skirting the boundaries of Fangorn, keeping the dark forest on his left hand to start with, and in the early morning of the third day the Golden Wood came into sight - and Éomer was struck by the foolhardiness of his quest. It was rumoured that the elves were not overly friendly towards men, and secretive, and that their magic was strong - things he had managed to forget on his voyage here. But the soft warm light of the Wood, shimmering and gleaming in gold and bronze and bright copper, was seductive, whispering to him. And how could he come so far and not at least touch the mellyrn, maybe take one of the golden leaves with him, an the elves permit it, as a memento of his adventure...
He forded the Celebrant, his horse walking forward easily - eagerly, he would have said, as if scenting home and something delicious to eat. Light and shadow shifted as he approached, the sun slanting down through golden leaves, pooling on the mossy ground, a vivid hazy mist that misled the eye and the mind, crafting phantoms of brightness under the trees.
At the edge of the forest, under the spreading branches, his horse baulked, and he almost fell over the animal's neck onto a still figure lying on the ground. Pulling himself back up into the saddle he stared down for a moment, then slid from the horse's back, dropping to his knees.
Silver hair. Long thick locks cascading over the crumpled body, shining with their own light under the golden trees. Breathless, he dared to touch a strand of the shimmering silk, biting his lip at the cool softness under his fingers.
Then he realised that the hair was stained with blood, and more blood was pooled under the limp form. The figure was swathed in layers of soft grey and fawn cloth, and he couldn't see where the bleeding came from: there were slashes in the clothing, many of them, all over, some of them edged in dark crimson, others not...
But life remained. His horse snuffled at the figure's head, mobile lips testing the pale skin of a pointed ear, then whickered quietly in distress, nudging his master's shoulder. Éomer absently stroked the velvety nose, then very carefully eased the still body over onto its back.
The face was contorted, dark brows pulled down above clenched-shut lids, thick dark lashes brushing pallid cheeks, full lips twisted in a grimace of pain. Éomer brushed leaves and soil from the ashen face, frowning as his eyes scrutinised the body before him. The layers of ripped fabric hid most of the damage from his eyes, but it was obvious that the man - the Elf, he belatedly realised with shock - was badly hurt. Barely breathing, blood still seeping into the ground under his body...
Éomer jerked half upright, unsheathing his hunting knives. Whoever - whatever - had done this might still be near...
But his horse would have whinnied the alarm, he knew... keeping one knife to hand, he leaned close to a pointed ear.
"Elf? Can you hear me?"
Silence answered him. He frowned to himself, trying to remember that one time Gamling had dragged him to the healing hall, forcing him to look upon the injuries that could be had in battle. He'd escaped from the hall and spent the next hour vomiting as images thrust themselves into his mind behind his eyes, the horror of what the weapons he was learning to use could inflict on frail human flesh a stark and awful memory he would never lose...
But, finally, he'd emptied his stomach, taken a deep breath, and marched back into the hall - to Gamling's hastily hidden surprise and even more hastily hidden pride - and insisted on being shown how to deal with such injuries, how to minimise loss.
He glanced over his shoulder. They were too close to the edge of the forest - he knew, instinctively, that they would both be safer further in. That elvish magic would protect them. Gathering the limp body into his arms, distantly surprised by its lightness, he walked further into the warm golden shadows...
A pool, its waters sparkling, dappled by golden sunlight, a small stream entering at one side and flowing out slowly at the other. Deep moss and the sound of warm silence. Éomer knelt awkwardly and laid his light burden down, wondering quite what to do. Treating human injuries was one thing - but an elf? He'd had no dealings with elves. Had no idea what to do. The elf's folk must be here somewhere, surely? But how could he contact them?
The elf shifted very slightly, the first movement he'd made, and Éomer laid a hand on his shoulder.
"Elf?"
The very faintest of groans answered him. The youth sat back on his heels, surprised by his sudden feeling of relief. At least the first elf he'd ever met wasn't a dead one...
Though going by his pallor and the amount of blood soaking through his clothing, that could change very quickly. Éomer lifted a fold of red-sodden cloth and slid his knife underneath, slicing open the long heavy overtunic and easing it to either side. Under it was a layer of lighter fabric, also soaked: the young horse-lord slit it open, easing the edges aside, then finally reached the once-white, now dark-blood-red fine undertunic...
Underneath the bulky fabric layers the leanly muscular pale body was a patchwork of bleeding knife-gashes, claw-gouges and large patches of oozing flayed flesh, wounds unlike anything Éomer had ever seen. How they'd been caused he didn't know - didn't want to know right now, it was going to be hard enough trying to treat the wounds...
There were herbs growing nearby, some of which he recognised as being helpful in the staunching of blood. And the water in the pool was clean and pure.
... and the very air seemed to breathe health and vigour...
Quickly and carefully he stripped the rest of the filthy, bloodstained and tattered clothing from the elf, wincing at the extent of the injuries. Dousing the grey fabric in the pool at the exiting stream to clean it as best he could, he slit it into long strips to bind the worst of the wounds, closing the deep bleeding gouges clumsily but well enough... After half an hour he frowned, regarding his handiwork.
Well, it wasn't exactly healer-worthy, but it should stop the elf bleeding to death...
He sat back and eyed the pale form thoughtfully.
So this was an elf.
Yes, an injured - badly injured - one, but an elf nonetheless.
He flushed. He was sitting in a glade in the Golden Wood, with a nearly naked, unconscious, injured elf.
He should be doing something. Trying to get in contact with the elf's kin - but he had no idea how to do such a thing. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to think of everything Gamling had said about caring for the injured, trying to reassure himself he'd done everything in his power...
He opened his eyes - to find himself staring into a dark, pain-filled gaze.
Flushing, he scrambled forwards, resting a hand on the elf's shoulder.
"Master Elf..."
The elf flinched, brows furrowing as he dragged a long arm up from his side and over his ribs, fingers trembling, breath shuddering, full lips parting in a gasp.
"... orcs..."
"Gone now, Master Elf."
The dark eyes closed, the long-fingered hand over the body unclenching. Éomer moved a little closer.
"... Master Elf? Can I... How can I call your kin? I don't know how to help you..."
The elf forced open heavy eyelids and gazed up at the human.
"... have helped... rest... now..."
Éomer frowned, then stripped off his cloak and laid it over the prone form as the elf seemed to slide into unconsciousness.
With open eyes.
Éomer shifted so he couldn't see those big, dark, strange eyes, but close enough to be at hand should he be needed. Behind him his horse nosed among the short undergrowth for grass to crop, perfectly at ease. The youth slid his knife back into its sheath and shifted to the edge of the pool, cupping his hands to drink.
Cold and pure and invigorating...
Refreshed, he returned to the elf's side, still uncertain of what to do. Though the fact that the elf had spoken was reassuring. Éomer had always thought that if the wounded could speak, they probably weren't going to die. Well, not right away at any rate. And the breathing was more normal too, the broad chest rising and falling slowly. Éomer seated himself and eyed the pale form, still careful to stay out of the line of sight of those distressingly blank dark eyes.
Between the wounds the pale skin had been smooth and hairless, almost translucent; the arms and shoulders muscular like his own - from the use of bow and sword, he'd wager - the legs and flanks long and lean. Not a horseman, then. Though he could imagine the elf running fleetly, without effort, for mile after mile... In other respects the elf was shaped like a man, in body at any rate, though Éomer had felt a fleeting flash of jealousy at sight of his loins... He shook himself. He was still young, hadn't finished growing yet. And he knew he wasn't exactly ill-endowed, even for his age...
He laughed silently, ruefully. Comparing himself to an elf! Whatever was he thinking?
But the face... not feminine, not at all, but there was a strange delicacy there. The skin was so smooth, the eyelashes so long and thick, the eyes large... he was oddly attractive. Which, Éomer thought with a flush of horrified embarrassment, was not the sort of thing he was supposed to think of another man. Elf. Man-elf. Elf-man. Male elf.
Flustered, he moved back to the pool verge and splashed a little of the cold water over his face, then jumped at the voice from behind him, soft but underscored with pain.
"... who are you...?"
Swallowing, he knelt beside the pale figure - who seemed to be trying to lever himself to a sitting position. Éomer rested a hand on his shoulder, gently pushing him back to the ground.
"Éomer son of Eómund Marshal of the Mark, Master Elf. Please, lie still. Your injuries..."
"I have known worse." The pale face had assumed a haughty cast, but so easily that Éomer suspected it was the elf's normal expression. He eyed the youth for a moment, then said, reluctantly, "Haldir, Marchwarden of Lothlórien."
"Master Haldir... I... did what I could to bind your wounds, but I'm no healer..."
The dark eyes closed for a moment as a spasm of pain shivered the pale body, then half-opened appraisingly.
"You are but a child..."
Éomer bristled.
"I'm accounted a man amongst the Rohirrim!"
One dark brow rose, giving the pale face an air of condescending surprise.
"Indeed? Ah, but I forget that human lives are so very short..."
Éomer stood, crossing his arms angrily.
"Perhaps I should just have left you to bleed to death."
A brief startlement glimmered in the dark eyes, then Haldir's lips quirked slightly.
"You are quite right - I have been discourteous. You have my thanks."
Somewhat mollified, Éomer knelt back down, carefully pulling aside the cloak - surprised when Haldir allowed it - to look beneath. To his relief the bleeding seemed mostly to have stopped. He glanced at the elf's face, momentarily irritated by the supercilious small smile he saw there but telling himself the elf was in pain, must be in a lot of pain, and therefore not wholly culpable for his behaviour.
"Master Haldir, how do I call your kin? You need more care than I can give you."
"They are coming."
Éomer blinked. He'd not been aware of the elf sending any kind of message... Then he shrugged mentally. Who was he to question the ways of elves?
"Will they be here soon?"
"They will."
"Then I should go."
The patronising look vanished from Haldir's face for a moment, leaving a strangely vulnerable openness in its place.
"Why?"
"Well... I'm not... I ... This is Lothlórien. I shouldn't really be here..."
A pale hand touched his.
"But we must thank you. For your care. And your... consideration. Never let it be said that the elves do not appreciate services tendered to them."
Éomer smiled with as much hauteur as he could summon.
"T'was naught, Master Haldir. I would do no less for any suffering creature."
Haldir chuckled, the sound bitten off as pain speared through his chest. His gasped reply sounded - amused.
"Then I must be grateful that you found this 'suffering creature' in time to save its life."
Éomer stared for a moment, not knowing how to take this, whether as jest or insult or simple statement. While he was wondering, four tall fair forms appeared from the trees, silent as leaf-fall, though the nocked arrows aimed in his direction made them somewhat more dangerous...
With an effort Haldir raised a hand.
"Yallume..."
One of the strangers hastened forwards, casting a suspicious glance towards the youth, then dropping to one knee beside the injured elf. What followed was spoken in the liquid language commonly used amongst the elves. Éomer didn't understand it, and stood eyeing the unwavering arrows nervously. They looked uncommonly sharp...
The kneeling elf, who bore something of a resemblance to Haldir, Éomer thought, said something to his fellows that had them lowering their bows, then stood and approached the youth.
"My brother tells me that you have likely saved his life. For that we are most grateful."
Not sure how to respond, Éomer bowed his head.
"I am honoured to have been of service."
The elf nodded, then glanced over his shoulder as Haldir said something incomprehensible, his voice tight with pain. Looking sharply back at Éomer, the elf hesitated for a moment, apparently about to argue, but a bitten-back groan stopped him. Dropping back to his knees he lifted Haldir into his arms, wincing as the injured elf gasped and gritted his teeth. As he rose to his feet his eyes lit on the horse and brightened.
"It is some little way to Caras Galadhon. I would ask the loan of your animal to speed our path."
Éomer glanced uneasily at Haldir: it seemed to him the elf had grown even paler as they'd spoken.
"Can he... will the ride not hurt him further?"
The elf's dark eyes were troubled.
"It may. But the long walk will be equally perilous to him. If not more so."
Éomer looked from horse to elves, torn by indecision... But he could hardly say them nay. The youth nodded, whistling to the beast, who raised his head and trotted to his master.
"Take off the saddle."
Frowning, Éomer obeyed, watching as the elf carefully handed Haldir to one of his fellows, mounted the horse effortlessly then took his brother back into his arms, clasping the reins lightly in one hand, the other holding Haldir to him. Then he spoke to the horse - who took off at a brisk smooth pace through the trees. Within seconds they were lost to sight. Another of the elves, another who bore a resemblance to Haldir, turned to Éomer.
"Come with us."
They moved silently, fluidly, blending with the forest through which they walked. Éomer could not help but admire them, their discipline, their economy of effort. And their speed - he was hard-pressed to keep up with them, had the distinct impression, in fact, that he was holding them back.
They didn't speak to him. Then again, they didn't speak to each other either...
It was four hours, Éomer thought, before they topped the rise and the elves stopped, gazing out over the valley with reverence in their eyes. The one who resembled Haldir glanced at him, a small smile quirking mobile lips.
"Caras Galadhon."
Éomer stared at the sight, what looked like a huge tree - or maybe a vast copse of trees, distance and golden light hazed the view. It was obviously their destination, and after a moment the elves started walking again, their steps quickening: half an hour later they entered the shadows under the trees...
Pale forms in shining raiment. Glimmering sunlight and shimmering lights everywhere. Soft music, almost too soft to be heard, faint clear voices raised in subtle harmonies. Steps and stairways leading up around the immense trunks of the mellyrn, to platforms and dwellings high above... Éomer stared upwards, eyes wide and mouth agape, overwhelmed by the majesty and beauty of the place.
His guide stopped him from stumbling into a small stream by placing a firm hand on his shoulder.
"Be welcome to our home."
Éomer blinked, dazzled by all he saw - then frowned as Haldir's brother hastened towards them, exchanging flowing elvish with the elf behind the youth. After a moment the conversation slackened, and Éomer dared to interrupt.
"How is he? How is Master Haldir?"
The injured elf's brother eyed him for a moment, then offered a small smile.
"Much eased in body and spirit, young human. He wishes to speak with you."
"Thank you, ...?"
"Rúmil. Come with me."
Éomer followed Rúmil up a series of interminable stairs, almost clinging to the mallorn trunk and keeping his eyes averted from the sheer drop over the outer edge. Eventually they reached a wide platform, its edge bordered by a delicately carved balustrade, and Rúmil gestured to an inner 'room', veiled from sight by filmy drapes. Éomer brushed the translucent material to one side and stepped into the chamber.
Haldir lay within, stretched on a low divan, pillows supporting his head and shoulders. He looked exhausted, and pale, but no longer in pain. Éomer approached the bed timidly: the elf gestured weakly to him to be seated on the edge.
For long moments they simply gazed at each other. Then Éomer asked, hesitantly,
"Are you healed?"
Haldir nodded carefully.
"Mostly."
"I am glad."
Haldir raised an eyebrow.
"And I am... grateful." The confession seemed reluctant, but then, Éomer realised, the insight sudden and strange, Haldir had most likely never had to thank anyone for such a thing before. He smiled, shyly.
"I am honoured, Master Haldir."
And the elf smiled back, a slight but sweet smile.
"You have my thanks, Éomer Eómundion."
There was a warm silence between them for a moment, then the sound of approaching footsteps: Rúmil brushed aside the curtain and entered, a large platter in his hands. He placed it on a low stool close to the divan, inclining his head to the human.
"For your refreshment."
Éomer's mouth began to water at the smells wafting from the platter - there was meat there, and berries, and small ripe new kernels from fruiting bushes. He turned wide eyes to the elf, stammering his thanks. Rúmil flashed a quick smile, then regarded his brother, speaking what sounded like an entreaty to the human's ears. Haldir nodded in response, and Rúmil made a small sound of satisfaction before turning to leave. Haldir gestured to the platter.
"Eat, young horse-lord."
For days Éomer had eaten only what he had been able to hunt, supplemented by the now dry and tough rations he had brought with him. The succulent flesh - some sort of woodland bird, he thought - the sweetness of the fruit and the tangy bite of the nuts was a feast for nose and tongue. He had taken several hurried mouthfuls before he realised the elf wasn't eating, and paused.
"Master Haldir - surely you should eat! You have been hurt..."
The elf carefully eased himself a little more upright - and spurred by a sudden and wholly unwonted urge, Éomer lifted a small piece of meat to Haldir's mouth.
After a moment's startlement, the elf parted his lips and accepted the offering.
His lips were briefly warm and surprisingly soft against Éomer's fingers. Entranced, the youth's eyes held the elf's for long moments, before he blushed and lowered his head.
"Forgive me."
"For what?"
"I..." Éomer risked a glance into the pale face, but Haldir's expression was simply questioning, not derisive as he'd feared. Momentarily tongue-tied, the youth grabbed for a plump berry, holding it to the elf's mouth. The tip of a pink tongue brushed full lips as Haldir took the fruit into his mouth, eyes narrowing with pleasure at the taste.
"My thanks. Though if it... displeases you to assist me, pray move the platter a little closer, so that I may reach for myself."
Blushing, Éomer shifted the stool, berating himself for his thoughtlessness. Haldir's chest had been deeply gouged, and most likely some ribs had been broken: the elf's reach was limited at present. Haldir chuckled very slightly.
"I would not wish to discomfit you - although should you wish to continue it would be less painful for me."
Éomer found himself wishing that elves would speak a little more plainly as he worked out that that meant that Haldir quite liked being fed... To his surprise he found he didn't mind. He grinned and lifted another piece of the meat to the full lips; the elf took it delicately into his mouth.
Thus the meal continued, with Éomer, at the elf's urging, taking two mouthfuls to each of Haldir's: he said - implied, rather - that at present he was unable to stomach much, but the youth was to eat his fill. They spoke little, but the warm silence was companionable, sweetly underscored by the faint music...
As the platter emptied and his growling belly was assuaged, Éomer realised that Haldir was looking... strained. Tired and as though in pain. He frowned and unconsciously laid a hand over the elf's.
"You need to rest, Master Haldir. I should go."
Haldir smiled faintly.
"Forgive me, Éomer."
"Naught to forgive!" He sighed, knowing he should take his leave but strangely reluctantly to move. The elf chuckled.
"If you are tired, pray rest awhile." He gestured to the wide bed. "There is room aplenty."
Blushing, Éomer glanced down at himself ruefully. Divining his meaning, Haldir nodded.
"Rúmil will show you where you may bathe."
The youth grinned wryly.
"My thanks, Master Haldir."
As if by magic, Haldir's brother appeared at the entrance, beckoning to the human, and Éomer's eyes narrowed. But Rúmil's eyes were bright and guileless, at least so it seemed, and he followed the elf unquestioningly. It wasn't until a little later, drying himself after a quick but satisfying scrubbing, that he realised what he intended...
He blushed deeply. Sharing a bed with an elf? No matter that said elf was injured and barely capable of moving, that he'd rest atop the covers and sleep for a little while, just enough to give him the energy to start homeward; he was going to be in the same bed as an elf. One that he found comely...
He swallowed hard and pulled on the fine elvish clothing his hosts had provided when they took his own away to be cleaned. He should go, leave now, before he embarrassed himself.
Only - he didn't want to. And he'd most likely never have this chance again...
Haldir was sleeping as Rúmil conducted Éomer quietly back into the talan, his open eyes distant and unnervingly blank. Éomer shivered, then averted his gaze and slid onto the bed, turning his back to the elf and settling himself to rest. He was, he realised, very tired, his belly full, his body clean and refreshed - quite ready to sleep. As Rúmil left, steps soundless on the stair, the youth closed his eyes with a contented sigh.
Only to open them again minutes later as sleep eluded him. He told himself it was from being somewhere so strange and unfamiliar, and indeed that may well have been part of it - but it was, he thought, mostly the presence of the elf behind him that made any thought of sleep well-nigh impossible.
He turned over quietly, gaze coming to rest on Haldir's profile. At rest, the elf looked younger, his habitual disdainful expression replaced by something much softer, open, almost vulnerable: Éomer found himself suddenly deeply grateful that the attackers hadn't harmed the elf's face... Tentatively he laid a hand on a lock of long hair - not quite silver, as he'd first thought, but very pale, like moonlight on the roof of the golden hall at home. And so smooth and cool under his fingers. Without realising it he began to stroke, growing bolder, burying his fingers in the heavy silkiness, relishing the feel of it over his hand.
And then Haldir turned his head, dark eyes piercing in the muted sunlight. Éomer froze, breath catching in his throat, and very slowly, very carefully, pulled his hand back.
"Master Haldir... I am sorry... I..." But how could he excuse his rashness, his... violation of the elves' hospitality? He made to rise, face burning with embarrassment and misery.
Haldir caught his wrist firmly, preventing him from moving.
"You have done no wrong, young one." He smiled gently. "Although it is... distracting."
Blushing deeply, Éomer lay back down, head resting on the pillow beside Haldir's. The elf's fingers slid down to entwine with his own, raising a shiver in the human.
"If you are cold, come under the covers."
"I am not cold, thank you, Master Haldir." No, not cold. Hot in fact, and growing hotter, a fire slowly being stoked in his belly. Gods but the elf was desirable!
He should go. Now. Before he humiliated himself further.
Without him willing it, his other hand stretched up to touch the tip of a pointed ear. The hand holding his tightened as Haldir's eyes grew impossibly large and dark - then closed, lips parting in a sigh as his head pressed into the gentle touch.
Startled, Éomer's fingers traced the shape of the ear, stroking downwards lightly, fascinated by the elf's reaction. As his fingertips brushed the smoothness of Haldir's neck the elf groaned, head arching backwards for a moment, then he rolled onto his side towards the human, free hand tangling in his hair.
"... like sunshine..." It was whispered, haltingly, as though Haldir was having difficulty breathing. Which, thought Éomer as his own breath caught, was quite possible. He slid his hand to the nape of the elf's neck, carding upwards though the heavy silky mass of hair, fingers sliding effortlessly through the strands: Haldir voiced a quiet, strangled cry and moved closer to the human.
"It seems to me," he gasped, intense eyes all but glowing, "that you are wearing far too much clothing, Master Éomer."
The human grinned - then his face fell. He pulled his hand back from the elf's hair.
"But Master Haldir, you are hurt."
The elf paused, then winced.
"Indeed - I had forgotten." He eyed Éomer, one eyebrow raised, expression bemused. "You are most considerate, young horse-lord."
Cursing himself, yet nevertheless pleased that he had spoken out, Éomer sighed and briefly touched Haldir's cheek.
"'Tis a shame, though."
Haldir chuckled.
"We are in agreement there."
Éomer's eyes widened.
"You... you would... But I'm just a human..."
Haldir regarded him for a moment - then pulled his head forwards and kissed him.
Stunned, it took Éomer several seconds to realise what was happening, by which time Haldir had pulled back and - regretfully, it seemed to the human - untangled his fingers from Éomer's hair. The youth was left with a memory of smooth supple lips and the taste of berries...
He took a shuddering breath, suddenly conscious of the tightness of his leggings at the groin and grateful that the tunic he'd been loaned reached halfway to his knees, hiding the evidence of his lust. Haldir was less fortunate: the bedcover was as thin and translucent as the drapes veiling the room from outside eyes. The elf's arousal was clearly evident, outlined by the fine fabric, despite Éomer's fruitless attempts to keep his eyes above Haldir's waist.
"Would you prefer another resting place?"
Éomer blinked, raising his eyes to the amused elf's face. There was a hint of laughter in the musical voice: for a moment the youth suspected he was being mocked, but there was no ridicule in the dark eyes. He shook his head.
"No, Master Haldir. I am... comfortable here."
"We both know that is not entirely true. However..." Haldir pulled back the cover slightly in a gesture of welcome, his eyes glittering with what Éomer would be prepared to swear was mischief. "...you will be more so in here."
Swallowing in an effort to ease the sudden dryness in his mouth, Éomer turned his back and wriggled out of the borrowed clothing, sliding under the covers and curling up slightly, facing the elf. Haldir smiled and lightly stroked his hair.
"There, is that not more... restful?"
Hardly! thought Éomer, heat and hardness mounting once more at his groin. Haldir tugged gently on a lock of hair, his eyes soft and inviting.
"Come closer, Éomer."
Unable to resist, the youth shifted towards the elf, head close to his on the pillows, chest resting against Haldir's arm, back arched awkwardly so as not to bring his lower body into contact with the tall figure beside him. He gasped and jerked as a cool hand was laid on his hip.
"You are very fair."
Éomer swallowed again, trying to stop the trembling he could feel building in his body.
"As are you, Master Haldir."
One eyebrow rose.
"Let us dispense with 'Master', shall we not?"
"... as you wish..." This close Éomer could almost make out the colour of the elf's dark eyes. Almost, because they changed from moment to moment as the light altered, now a deep stormy blue, now dark sea-grey, now a blue like the morning sky, now hints and hues of all of the colours of sky and water together. Beautiful and compelling. The youth ran a fingertip gently along an elegant brow, then shivered as Haldir ran a teasing thumb along the ridge of the human's hip. Stretching forward to brush the lightest of kisses against the corner of the elf's mouth, Éomer whispered,
"Master Haldir... how soon will you be well?"
Haldir stared for a moment, then laughed, lightly, a melodious sound. Pulling Éomer closer, close enough for the youth to feel the heat of the elf's interest brushing his thigh, Haldir kissed him gently, lingeringly.
"Soon, Éomer. Soon."
Haldir was asleep again. Which was good. He was healing while he slept... Éomer gritted his teeth. Yes, it was good for the elf, but lying here beside him was torture. Haldir's hand still rested on Éomer's hip; the youth had ended up with one hand, the one beneath him as he lay on his side, tangled in a hank of silky silvery hair, and the other cupping the elf's shoulder lightly. It wasn't how he wanted to lie - no, he wanted to hug the elf tightly to him - but Haldir's injuries were still too raw for any roughness, any closer contact.
Haldir was aroused too, solid flesh pressing against his own weeping erection, an entirely unfamiliar sensation and one he found achingly delicious even as he berated himself guiltily for feeling such a thing for another male. Though Haldir wasn't human, so perhaps it didn't matter so much... Certainly the elf seemed to find the prospect of... intimacy with his guest a pleasant one...
Éomer shivered as Haldir moved slightly in sleep, and wondered if the elf would wake if he slid out of the bed and took himself in hand: it would at least ease his discomfort for the time being. But he was afraid to move. With Haldir's eyes open as he rested, the human could never be sure if he was awake or not. So he lay, loins throbbing and burning, unable to sleep, unable even to relax, elation, pride, guilt and frustration mixed in his mind.
He gasped and jerked forwards as a strong hand wrapped the source of his discomfort. Wide-eyed, he stared at Haldir: the elf smiled back, a little tentatively.
"Allow me to see to your ease, Éomer - if it is not displeasing to you."
Before he really had time to object - not that he'd intended to! - the hand began a smooth, forceful rhythm, practised and electrifying: Éomer gripped the wrist with both hands, urging more speed as Haldir's other hand slipped between his legs, stroking and fondling... With a whimper Éomer climaxed, body taut and throbbing, breath shivering in his throat as Haldir very gently stroked his slackening flesh, then leaned forwards to brush a kiss over his lips.
Forgetful of the elf's injuries Éomer wrapped both arms around the broad shoulders, one hand fisting in Haldir's hair as he pulled the elf forcefully into his arms, lips hard and possessive. Haldir forced himself not to wince, melting into the kiss, welcoming the human's tongue between his lips. As Éomer's lips moved to his throat, licking and suckling, one hand fondling his ear, Haldir tensed and came himself, gripping the human's shoulders hard enough to bruise, their seed mingling between their tight-pressed bodies...
Long minutes later Éomer slumped back with a satisfied sigh, grinning at Haldir through locks of shaggy corn-gold hair - his expression immediately changing to one of alarm. The elf was very pale.
"Haldir? Have I hurt you?"
Haldir shook his head, although it was obvious to Éomer that he was in pain. Sitting up, the youth swept back the bedcovers, flinching at the blood trickling from under the elvish dressings on his body.
"I have hurt you! You should have stopped me!"
Haldir managed a faint smile.
"I did not notice. I too was otherwise - distracted."
Éomer was dragging on his borrowed clothing.
"I'll find Rúmil."
Haldir caught his wrist, pulling him back down onto the bed.
"Éomer, it is nothing. The bleeding will stop shortly. I will be well."
The youth glanced at the exit then back to Haldir, obviously torn. Haldir sighed.
"Believe me, young one. Please, come back into the bed. I would share your warmth for a spell."
Uncertain of the wisdom of it, Éomer reluctantly undressed again and slid back under the covers, snuggling close to the elf, pulling him carefully into a close embrace. As Haldir's head settled on his shoulder, Éomer's eyelids drifted closed as he finally slid into sleep.
"Are you hungry?"
The human jerked awake, then remembered Haldir: the elf was still nestled close, head on his shoulder. He turned his head to see Rúmil standing by the bed, another platter in his hands.
Haldir's brother smiled.
"It is evening, Master Éomer. You should both eat."
"Uh, yes. My thanks." The youth glanced at the elf in his arms, then back at Rúmil, who didn't seem to find anything amiss with the situation. Éomer grimaced, remembering what had happened.
"Master Rúmil - I think I may have hurt him."
Rúmil hastily laid the platter on the stool and knelt on the bed, stripping back the cover before Éomer had a chance to stop him. Flushing deeply with mortification Éomer managed to not cover himself from the elf's eyes: he gently rolled Haldir onto his back, wincing as the elf moaned quietly.
"Twasn't meant, Master Rúmil..."
"I know, Master Éomer..." Rúmil was distracted, peeling back a couple of the larger dressings and inspecting the wounds underneath. "But no harm done, I think." He grinned at Éomer. "Do not let guilt assail you. None have been able to gainsay Haldir for close on a thousand years, once he has made up his mind on a subject..."
Nodding pleasantly, Rúmil exited the talan again, leaving Éomer to wonder just what exactly he had meant by that...
The smell of the food roused Haldir, who blinked sleepily at Éomer before trying to pull himself into a sitting position. As he gasped and bit back a moan of pain, Éomer slid an arm behind his back, scowling at him.
"You are reckless, Master Haldir."
"So I have been told. But only with myself. I do not allow others to come to harm."
The human eyed him narrowly: Haldir's expression was suspiciously bland and guileless. He tilted his head, dark eyes appraising, then raised a hand to stroke Éomer's cheek.
"Sunshine."
The human frowned.
"Sunshine?"
"You are sunshine. Warmth and summer. You are a delight."
Not knowing what to do with the compliment, Éomer grunted and thrust the platter in Haldir's direction. Smiling, the elf helped himself to a piece of meat, wincing as he reached forwards, then slumped back on the pillows. Éomer regarded him for a moment, then slid back under the covers, seating himself cross-legged facing his host, and spent the next half an hour feeding Haldir. It was twilight by the time they had finished, and shortly afterwards Rúmil returned, followed by a tall silent elf he introduced as their Healer. Even to Éomer's untutored eyes it was obvious they wished him to leave, so, with Rúmil accompanying him, he made his way to the ground while the Healer attended to Haldir.
An hour later, an hour he'd spent wandering in the sparkling Lothlórien twilight, and checking his horse, who'd been perfectly tended by his hosts, Rúmil found him and conducted him back to the talan. In the light of the silver lanterns Haldir was, he noted with relief, looking much better, much less pale, the signs of strain around his eyes and across his shoulders now eased. Smiling, the human sat on the edge of the bed.
"Haldir... I am glad I caused you no lasting distress."
The elf chuckled.
"Indeed, Éomer, anything but!" He paused for a moment, a little hesitantly. "Will you spend the night here?"
"I'd be honoured!"
Haldir smiled.
Waking with Haldir in his arms the following morning, he could almost have wished to stay in the Golden Wood forever. There was a seductive magic to the place, and the thought of staying with Haldir filled him with a happiness and anticipation he'd never have believed possible.
But, he realised, he'd left Edoras twelve days ago, and it would take him at least eight days hard riding to return. In three days time Eowyn would tell Gamling where he'd intended going, and a scouting party would be sent out. And he'd be in disgrace for outstaying his quest, and for wasting valuable warriors on coming to find him. Best to minimise the damage and set out for home: at least then he'd meet the scouts and be able to return home with them swiftly...
Home.
He frowned. Was Edoras home any more? He'd leave at least half of his heart here, with Haldir, in Lothlórien, he thought.
Haldir inclined his head questioningly, although he already knew the answer.
"What is wrong, melethron nin?"
Éomer sighed.
"I have to leave, just for a short while."
Haldir nodded, eyes downcast.
"I understand."
"But I'll come back as soon as I can. If you want me to." He added, a touch doubtfully.
Dark eyes fixed on his face, as if to memorise him.
"I would wish it."
"... do you want me?"
Haldir pulled the youth into his arms, stroking the sunshine-coloured shaggy hair.
"I do, young one. But only if it is your wish too."
"How can you doubt it?"
"Because..." Because I am many, many lifetimes your elder, and if you return to me I must one day see you die... "Because I cannot be happy if you are not also happy. And much of your life is bound up with Edoras, with the Rohirrim."
"I know, but..." He cupped the elf's face in his hands. "I want to be with you."
"There will be time enough for us."
"You'll wait for me?"
"I will."
But the years turned, and Éomer grew, and his life was bounded by his service to his king and the defence of Rohan. He became in turn a Marshal of the Mark, and was thwarted at every turn in his attempts to return to Lothlórien. To start with he wrote to Haldir, sorrowful, yearning letters, full of his anguish at their being parted, and Haldir wrote back, quietly sad letters, comforting, filled with a gentle love that Éomer only recognised years later. And as the times grew more perilous, fewer messengers were willing to travel so far, and the letters of necessity lessened then stopped. But Éomer carried Haldir in his heart, hidden and secret, knowing that Haldir did the same.
And Haldir died defending his horse-lord's people, an immortal life with all its knowledge and depth and nobility and love and generosity stolen from him, from Éomer...
Éomer wept into the blood-splattered silver-pale hair, rocking back and forth, distraught, agony a living thing within him. He had not been here. Now it was far, far too late.
Melethron... melethron...
I love you.
© 2004 November 10th Joules Taylor
For Lutra, who likes horse-lords and loathes elves.
On to Waiting - the sequel...
Éomer is sixteen in this story. © 2004 WaveWrights
Haldir here is very much based on the pictures at The Theban Band. Gorgeous pictures. All slash. Don't like, don't visit! (But in that case what are you doing reading this....?)
'Hidden hero' is the suggested meaning of Haldir's name. Melethron nin is Sindarin for 'my lover'.
And yes, I know Haldir is Marchwarden of the Northern border and this is set in the south-east. But any other location and there's no story. Up to you whether you let that spoil things for you!
Oh, and the Glorfindel/Erestor stories that had me in stitches can be found here, in the elfslash section. The first one - ACOTER - is hysterical!
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