They'd almost missed the girl, crouched as she'd been in the long grass, holding herself still like a rabbit who knows the wolf is near. Her nondescript grey-brown travelling cloak, too, had helped to camouflage her but Aeldig had been patrolling these plains for years and the presence of a boulder in a place where he knew there to be none had alerted the Rohirrim Captain.
The twenty or so members of the patrol surrounded the girl, enclosing her within a circle of menacing spears. She froze, the tip of her tongue flickering out to nervously wet her lips. Aeldig's impression of a rabbit strengthened as he looked down into large and frightened dark eyes.
"Who are you?" Leyulf, his second, barked and the girl quivered, looking close to tears.
"N… no one, my lord…"
She paled, shrinking away from the warrior and Aeldig's jaw tightened. The girl's terror was palpable and he knew with a sick certainty it wasn't simply her life she feared for. He'd swear she'd been ill-used before.
"You've nought to fear from the Riders of Rohan, lass." He nudged his sturdy bay stallion forward, gentling his voice from its usual gruffness. "What are you called?"
The girl's gaze turned to him and the Captain found himself looking into eyes the colour of a summer storm, alternately luminous grey or a deep mauve.
"I am called Wren, my lord."
Aeldig smiled beneath his helm, pleased to see an answering, though still hesitant, smile move the girl's full lips.
"Well, Wren, we cannot leave you here to wander alone." He leant down from the saddle and extended his arm. "Edoras is two days ride – we will escort you there."
The girl looked at his gauntleted arm then back at him.
"What if I do not wish to go to Edoras?"
The Captain frowned, the look an elder might give an argumentative child.
"It is safer for you there than here." he jerked his hand at her, impatient. "Come, now."
Wren stared at him for a moment longer then an expression that could only be described as resigned stole over her smooth features. She grasped the Captain's forearm and he swung her easily up to sit behind him. Too easily, Aeldig thought, there was little weight to the girl, she was as insubstantial as silk. The Rider's eyes widened as the reason became apparent. The hood of her cloak had slipped revealing shining dark hair, and a pair of delicate ears, the tips of which ended in small though noticeable points.
Aeldig's eyebrows lifted.
"You're a long way from your trees, Mistress Elf."
"I am not an elf." Wren replied quickly, as if in apology, tugging the hood back into place. Not knowing how to respond to that – if the girl proclaimed herself not to be an elf, then what was she? To be sure she was not entirely human – Aeldig merely nodded and turned his horse's head for home.
They rode steadily for several hours before stopping beside a small stream running fast with melt-water. Wren had not spoken a word in all that time and she sat now out of the way, a bundle of silent wariness as the patrol fell into the practised routine of making camp. Sentries were posted, a fire was lit and several fine, fat game birds were set to cook as the horses were tended. Wren accepted her portion of the food with a small, grateful smile, but kept herself apart from the warriors while they ate. Night fell quickly, as it does at the turn of the season, and before long the stars began to stand out against the fading light of the sky.
Aeldig was conversing quietly with his second in command when Wren diffidently approached.
"My lord, I would repay your hospitality."
The Captain blinked, vaguely disturbed: what was she offering?
"There's no need – "
"Might I sing for you?" the fire's glow shimmered in the girl's eyes. "I have a fair voice, I've been told."
"If it pleases you," Aeldig inclined his head, relieved at the innocence of her proposal. His eldest daughter was the same age as Wren – Aeldig checked himself; or as old as the girl appeared to be – and the thought of such youth and purity being tarnished in exchange for simple survival incensed him.
The Riders fell silent as, eyes half-closed, the girl sang of a warrior's longing for home and family, a respite from battle and death. No one moved or spoke for several long moments after the song had ended then Leyulf cleared his throat.
"I'm not familiar with that one," the second in command had removed his helm to eat, revealing himself to be much younger than the patrol Captain. "Where did you learn it?"
"Minas Tirith." A shadow passed over the girl's face as spoke the name and Aeldig frowned. He could hazard a guess as to what had happened to her in the seven-tiered city of Gondor.
"Thank you for sharing that with us, mistress Wren." the older Rider said simply. "And now t'would be best to sleep, we have a long ride tomorrow."
Wren smiled a little then readied her sleeping roll to one side of the fire, not too close to any one else.
Giving in to an odd impulse of protection, Aeldig had decided to forego his own rest until the girl was asleep. A noble plan but one which had fallen apart when the Captain found himself nodding off while waiting for her eyes to close. Though, as Aeldig had discovered when he'd gone to check, Wren was asleep, and soundly. Very odd.
The patrol Captain made one last round of the sentries before rolling himself in his blankets and determinedly closing his own eyes...
Aeldig could feel the girl's tension at his back as late the following afternoon the patrol wound its way up the steep streets of Edoras.
"Where are we going?" Wren's lilting voice was barely audible over the thud of hooves on the roadway and the general clamour of the populace. Aeldig jerked his head toward a large, heavily decorated wooden building standing proud at the pinnacle of the township.
"To see the King."
"Is… is that really necessary, my lord?" the girl faltered. "Would he not have more pressing concerns…?"
The veteran warrior half-smiled.
"It is the King's wish he speaks to all the patrols as they return. His Majesty likes to know what occurs in his realm." he threw a chuckle over his shoulder. "No matter how inconsequential."
Wren's silence was eloquent and the Captain twisted to regard his passenger.
"By my honour, you have nothing to fear here."
She forced a small smile but unease was still apparent in wide, dark eyes.
The roadway changed from packed earth to worked stone as they neared the King's residence, and the number of armed and armoured warriors increased. Wren's gaze drifted over the intricate gold designs decorating the building and despite her apprehension her heart lifted. There was a subtle sort of order in the – at first glance – chaotically interwoven patterns. They were very beautiful, and soothing in a way, implying stability amongst disorder.
At the gates of the palace the bulk of the patrol dispersed, leaving the Captain and his second to be admitted to the Throne room. The warriors strode into the presence of their king, Wren following behind, meekly and silently, wishing she was elsewhere.
"Greetings, Aeldig." The voice that answered the Captain's salutation was confident and commanding. "What news? You've returned earlier than expected."
"All is clear in the west, sire, though we found something that might be of interest." There was a smile in his tone as he stepped aside and beckoned the girl forward. "Mistress Wren, sire. I thought she would be safer in Edoras than wandering alone on the plains."
"Indeed."
Wren dropped a nervous curtsy then dared to lift her eyes to the King of the Rohirrim sitting relaxed on the carved throne raised on a dais. The first thing she noticed was the rich gold embroidery on his tunic, then that his face was pleasant though bearded, and the hair spilling over his shoulders was the colour of summer. Then she noticed the elf.
Wren froze, eyes wide. Standing at the King's side was a male elf, regal and beautiful, pale-haired though his eyes seemed to be dark. He was staring at her, too, but recovered, smiled slightly and spoke. His voice was melodious, liquid somehow, but his words meant nothing to the girl.
"Forgive me," Wren coloured, "I do not understand."
A dark eyebrow lifted then the elf drew himself straighter than before, if that was possible. From Wren's position he appeared to look down his nose at her and the girl's heart sank. Contempt… this was the reaction she'd feared to receive from her father's people.
"Haldir?" the king was eyeing the male at his side.
"If I'm not mistaken, sire, Mistress Wren – " a graceful hand gestured languidly towards the uneasy girl but he didn't look her way, " – is of the elves, yet she professes not to understand our language."
The King looked back at her, his expression one of interest.
"Does my advisor speak the truth?"
Wren hesitated, then pushed back the hood of her cloak. The King's blue eyes widened, as had Aeldig's, as her ears with their pointed tips were revealed.
"My mother was a mortal," Wren said with quiet dignity, determined not to let the apparent arrogance of the elf unsettle her, "I have lived among mortals all my life."
"Peredhil..." Haldir murmured. "It means half-elven," he added at the girl's wary glance. "It is not an insult."
The King smiled.
"You are welcome at my court, Mistress." He looked to his advisor again. "Master Haldir, might I ask you to see to our guest's comfort?"
"Of course, sire." The elf inclined his head to the monarch before turning his attention to Wren. His smile seemed a little less frigid to the girl as he stepped easily from the dais. "Come with me."
As she turned to follow the King's advisor Wren caught Aeldig's eye. The Captain's nod was encouraging and helped ease the feeling that she was being swept along by a tide too strong to swim against…
Haldir showed her to a small chamber well away from the audience chamber. The air within was chill though there was kindling laid in the hearth, ready for a fire. The elf bade Wren sit at the small table before sitting himself. He studied her face, his brow creased with what the girl interpreted as vexation. She was wrong, as it happened.
Haldir opened his mouth to speak, but shut it again before he uttered a sound. Wren realised with a jolt he was at a loss for words.
"How came you to be wandering alone in Rohan?" he said at last. She offered him a small smile.
"I have never journeyed this way before."
Now the elf did frown.
"You have travelled elsewhere?"
Wren nodded.
"I have visited many places over the years."
Haldir couldn't mistake the weariness in her voice.
"How many years?"
"Nigh on fifty, my lord."
"Alone?" there was concern in the word, and it surprised her.
"For the most part."
Haldir breathed something in that musical language of his then he said:
"Why?"
Wren half-smiled.
"Why was I alone or why did I travel?"
The elf's haughty look was gone and in its place was something softer. Sympathy, perhaps? Compassion?
"Both."
Wren carefully considered her answer before replying.
"I was alone because… I had no one to travel with, and I travelled because…" she looked down at her hands clasped in her lap, "I had no destination."
"What of your family?" Haldir asked. "Your mother?"
"She grew old and died. I had no other family, no reason to stay in the village so I left." Wren closed her eyes against familiar tears: after all this time she still missed the mortal woman who'd borne her.
"And… your father?"
The girl wasn't sure if she'd imagined the hesitation in the question.
"My mother suggested, when she knew she was not long for the world, that I find my father's people."
"And did you?"
"No."
In truth she'd made it as far as the border of Lothlórien – her sire's homeland, according to her mother – but despite feeling the trees call to her Wren had not been able to summon the courage to enter the wood. The forest may accept her but what of the elves? Too heartsick to bear the possibility of rejection the girl had turned and left…
"Do you know your father?"
"I know his name," Wren answered softly, "but I have never met him."
"What… is his name?" there was no mistaking the elf's hesitation now and she looked up to see disquiet in the dark eyes fixed on her face.
"Ëarthúl." Wren lifted her head as recognition flickered over Haldir's face. "You know him?"
He nodded, slowly, and a chill shivered down the girl's spine at the elf's evident sadness. She was very afraid she knew what he was going to say.
"I did. Ëarthúl fell in battle."
Wren bit her lip to stop it quivering. After so long wondering about her father… it wasn't fair! She pulled back her shoulders, prepared to make a brave show of the unwelcome news.
"I didn't know him to miss him, I suppose..."
Her eyes widened as Haldir glanced away and she cursed her thoughtlessness. She may not have known her father but it was likely Haldir had.
"Forgive me… Was he a friend?"
"We had known each other for a time, but we were not close." His smile was small and seemed forced. "How was it that Ëarthúl came to be with your mother?"
Wren grinned, the remembrance of her mother's happiness whenever she spoke of her elven lover lightening her sombre mood.
"He was part of a group that passed through our village one summer. Mam said he was beautiful, he sparkled like moonlight on a lake." The girl chuckled. "And he was attentive, listening to her, laughing with her - something she had missed since her own parents and brothers had perished…"
Haldir tilted his head.
"How did they die?"
"Fever." Wren sighed. "It had been a long, hard winter. Many of the villagers died." She glanced at the pale-haired male. "But anyway, the Elves moved on, then Mam discovered she was with child."
"Did she not think to find Ëarthúl and tell him?"
Wren's brows drew together at the censure she heard in her companion's voice.
"She did, but she could never know how to begin. And, Mam was needed in the village, she couldn't just leave - not with a child."
Haldir's dark eyes were sad.
"If he'd known of your existence I don't doubt he would have sought out you, and your mother. He wouldn't have left you in need." The elf paused. "May I ask your age?"
Wren shrugged.
"A little shy of a hundred."
"Then Ëarthúl would still have been a child by our reckoning at the time you were begot. It's likely the possibility of becoming a father never occurred to him."
The girl lowered her head, surreptitiously brushing away tears.
"And now he will never know…"
"Ëarthúl's kin will be pleased to learn of you though." The statement brought Wren's head back up.
"Kin?"
"Aye," Haldir nodded, "Ëarthúl's parents, and siblings, still live."
The girl blinked, colouring.
"Would they wish to… to meet me?"
"Perhaps." The cool, aloof exterior had returned and Haldir stood. "You will be tired and hungry, no doubt? I will send someone to attend to your needs." He swept out of the room leaving Wren alone to her rather fragmented thoughts.
Though she wasn't given long to brood. Within a few minutes there was a tap on the door and an older human woman bustled in carrying a tray. She introduced herself as Mistress Clarestag and promptly proceeded to take the girl in hand. Wren was fed, being chatted to in a friendly fashion all the while, then hustled off to a blissfully warm bath and left to bathe herself while Mistress Clarestag went to find her fresh clothes, and have her old ones cleaned. Then when she was clean and dry and attired in a loose, soft night gown that smelled faintly of sweet herbs Wren was put to bed and bade rest well before the door was shut and finally she was alone…
The half-elf snuggled down beneath the bed-furs and let loose a sigh of contentment. When was the last time she'd slept so luxuriously? She couldn't remember, but it was comforting to sleep in a proper bed for a change and not above the animals in a stable, or worse, on a simple pallet squeezed into a corner of an Inn. How long would she be allowed to stay, Wren wondered? How long would she care to remain? She was tired of wandering but Edoras may not offer her the opportunity to settle. Ah well, those were questions for tomorrow. Wren slid into sleep, dark eyes staring blankly at a wall-hanging depicting a white horse galloping over a field of green…
The next morning, after a simple meal of bread and creamy cheese, Mistress Clarestag handed Wren a clean robe, apologising for the poor quality. Poor quality? Wren smoothed her palms over the rich green fabric thinking she had never seen material so fine and soft. And the embroidery edging collar and wide cuff! True the garment wasn't as richly decorated as had been the King's or his advisor's but it was still beautiful, bright and intricate. Suddenly concerned she frowned up at the older woman.
"Mistress Clarestag, how am I to repay the King's generosity?"
"Repay?" the elder's eyebrows shot up. "Nonsense, child, you are a guest!"
"But I must do something. I cannot leave a debt even if it only be in my mind."
The woman considered, strong hands planted on ample hips.
"What can you do?"
Wren cast her mind over her skills, the things she needed to do, or had done in the past to survive.
"I can forage. I can cook, a little. I can serve food and drink, and wash dishes."
Mistress Clarestag's brows raised higher in alarm.
"Gods above, child, I'll not have you perform servant's tasks!"
"But - "
"No!" she scowled crossly at Wren. "And that's an end to it." She sighed, brushing her fingers over the girl's smooth cheek. "If you truly will not be happy until you've discharged this 'debt' then so be it, we will find some way, but…" her smile was resonant with Wren's own, "that can wait. For now Captain Aeldig has requested your company as soon as you are dressed…"
Wren almost didn't recognise the tall and burly warrior with neatly brushed grey hair who greeted her courteously a little while later, but then he smiled and even without the Rohirrim armour and horse-tailed helm the girl knew this was Aeldig.
"Did you sleep well, Mistress Wren?"
"Thank you, I did, my lord." She smiled shyly at him, self-conscious without her ears being covered. The simple cloak Clarestag had given her to ward against the chill of the early spring morning was without a hood.
"Would you walk with me?" Aeldig inclined his head. "There is something I would have you see."
The Captain led her to an upper storey of the building, along a covered walkway looking over a straw-strewn courtyard. Down below there were several Rohirrim engaged in combat-training, drilling with swords or spears and shields against one another. Wren watched the activity for a few moments then she looked closer.
"They are women!" she exclaimed.
"Aye." There was a touch of fierce pride in the old warrior's tone. "Shield maidens of Rohan. It is a noble duty and they are as skilled as any man."
"I have never seen such a thing," Wren's eyes were wide.
"You would benefit, I think, Mistress Wren, from learning to handle a weapon." Aeldig spoke quietly. "It would prevent what happened at Minas Tirith from occurring again."
The half-elf spun to face him, stepping back in shock.
"You know." She whispered, anguished, a slender hand pressed to her throat. "How do you know? I thought it my secret."
Aeldig held himself still, troubled by her reaction but not surprised.
"You have an expressive face, lass, your thoughts can be read there by those with wits to see."
Wren was trembling, clearly agitated, clearly ashamed.
"The shame is not yours, Mistress." Aeldig strove to reassure her.
"The fault was mine…"
"Why?" the Captain was gruff. "Did you ask for violence?"
"…no…"
"Did you offer yourself?"
Wren hung her head.
"…no."
"Did you tell him it was not your wish?"
"I tried." Wren bit back a sob. "He wouldn't listen."
"Then how is the fault thine?"
She looked away.
"When he was... spent... he gave me a coin. I thought I must have said or done something to make him think - "
"Neither the fault, nor the guilt, is yours, lass." Aeldig's voice was low and urgent. The captain grit his teeth at the lost look in the girl's luminous eyes. Had there been no one she could have gone to for comfort? Or justice? "If I'd ever met the orc's whore-son I'd have slit his belly open myself!"
Wren stared at the livid warrior, then hesitantly, tentatively, she smiled.
"Thank you, my lord."
Aeldig reined in his wrath with an effort, swallowing his anger at the outrage.
"I would that naught like that befall you, or anyone, again, mistress Wren. Come and meet my daughters, mayhap they can convince you to take up a weapon in your own defence."
The girls - Feldag, the elder, and Nara, a year younger - were much like their sire, grave and proud, conscious of their status and their duty. Wren was at ease with them though, fearing no threat from either.
Both girls had nodded solemnly at their sire's words regarding the possibility of Wren taking up training, seeing nothing unusual in the idea.
"Here." Feldag thrust the sword she'd been using hilt-first at the half-elf. "Try this."
Wren nervously took hold of the blade, eyes opening wide at the sudden weight dragging her hand down.
"It's heavy! The best I could hope would be for my attacker to trip over it…"
Feldag grinned.
"We might begin with something lighter."
The wooden training sword she was given felt almost too light in Wren's hands but as requested by her impromptu instructor, she held it up, blunt tip wavering unsteadily in front of Nara's throat. The sisters cast rueful glances at each other.
"We'll begin at once, this may take some time." Feldag said. She looked at Wren, light-blue eyes alight with good humour. "I trust you have naught else to do this morn?"
"No." Wren eyed the girls' attire, trews and short tunics, then glanced down at herself in the flowing robe. "Might it be wise for me to wear something else?"
"You'll have to learn to fight in a gown anyway," Feldag shrugged. "Tomorrow's soon enough for the rest."
"Tomorrow?" Wren couldn't help but look faintly alarmed.
"Aye, we train daily." Nara's expression was close to a smirk. "So will you."
If nothing else, Wren thought distantly as she flexed her aching arms, she could repay the Rohirrim's kindness by providing experience for Feldag and Nara in tutoring unsuitable students. She bent to gingerly rub her bruised shin: if the sisters could manage to teach her to wield a sword without danger to herself they could teach anyone.
"Fear not, Mistress Wren," Nara said cheerfully, "We've witnessed worse first attempts."
Feldag nodded.
"Admittedly though, they were by babes newly walking."
Wren blushed, chagrined, then realised she was being teased.
"I thank you for your patience," smiling now, she shook her head. "I pray I do make some improvement soon, for the good of my unblemished skin if not your tolerance."
The elder girl laughed, a surprisingly light-filled sound, at odds with her sombre mien.
"Will we see you here tomorrow morn?"
Wren nodded, though in reality the heavy work was not something she could ever imagine herself looking forward to.
"I'm glad." Feldag's smile was warm. "You'll find a hot bath soothing now, Wren. Will you be able to find your way back to your room, or would you have us guide you?"
Wren smiled, not wanting to put her benefactors to any more trouble on her behalf.
"Thank you for the offer but I shall manage."
The half-elf gazed in dismay at the doubled rank of stalls. The stables? How had she found her way here? She should leave, find someone to give her directions back to her room. However, the occupants of the stalls were regarding her with benign interest… and horses had been a source of fascination for Wren since she first opened her eyes. Cautiously, unsure of her right to be there, the girl edged into the light and airy space.
Wren stroked the soft muzzle of a pretty roan and smiled from her heart. Beautiful…
For all her life-long affection for the noble creatures Wren had had little to do
with horses. Before the two-day journey to Edoras, perched behind Aeldig, she'd never had the opportunity to ride. The girl sighed happily: that had been exhilarating! To be carried so swiftly over the open plain had been a delight like none she'd ever experienced! Perhaps, one day, she might again.
At the far end of the stable, dominating the space, was another, larger stall. The intricate carvings on its supporting wooden posts were gilded, catching the beams of sunlight that slanted through the window slits near the ceiling. Within that stall, seemingly surrounded by light, was a magnificent white horse.
"Oh…"
Entranced, drawn to the light like a flower to the sun, Wren approached the pen, the hem of her robe rustling about her ankles.
"Oh…" she said again, and lifted her hand to the white's muzzle. The large, brown eyes looked down at her with curiosity and undoubted intelligence, then the stallion lowered his snowy head and allowed her touch.
"He likes you."
Wren spun around at the words, colouring as she recognised the tall form of the King of Rohan striding towards her.
"Sire, I meant no harm." the half-elf bobbed an anxious curtsy.
The king opened his mouth to speak but at that moment the white stallion chose to impart an affectionate, though forceful, nudge to the middle of Wren's back. The gesture sent the unprepared and light-boned girl sprawling in the straw at the king's booted feet.
"Are you injured, Mistress?" there was a hint of humour twined with concern in the words.
"Only my dignity, sire." Wren laughed, shaky with self-consciousness.
"Here," the king leant down, extending his arm. "Let me assist you."
The half-elf grasped the proffered hand then found herself being hauled easily to her feet.
Embarrassment couldn't account for the entirety of Wren's blush, or the odd restriction to her breathing. The king's palm and fingers felt rough against her own and in some uncanny way it was as if she could sense the strength of his body. For a split second of time Wren wondered what it would be like to be covered by that strength… The half-elf blushed harder and lowered her head, avoiding the man's gaze.
"Thank you, sire." she stammered.
"You must forgive Swyftsylvren," the king cast a fond glance over Wren's shoulder at the stallion. "He can be demanding in his desire for attention." He gently let go of her hand, then moved past her towards his mount. Swyftsylvren stretched his neck eagerly to his rider, resting his head heavily on the King's shoulder and blowing out a contented breath through his nostrils, strong enough to ruffle the Rohirrim's hair. The King reached up to stroke the muscled neck and man and horse shared a moment of silent, affectionate communion. Wren almost sighed aloud in longing: how wonderful would it be to have such companionship? Following a pattern years in the making, the half-elf acknowledged her loneliness then pushed it aside as a matter of little consequence.
"We do not ride together as often as I'd like," the King murmured, tugging softly on a handful of the horse's mane, causing him to toss his aristocratic head, "but I make time to see him, every day." He glanced over at Wren and something must have revealed itself in the girl's face for he smiled and inclined his head in invitation.
"Would it please you to help me groom this beast?" the King grinned and Wren's breathing, which had only just begun to behave as it aught, became troublesome again. "There is more than enough of him to occupy two people in the task."
"I would! Thank you, sire." Wren stepped forward eagerly, scarce believing her luck. Then her pretty face fell. "I confess, sire, I know not where to begin."
The King smiled once more.
"It is easy. I will instruct you…"
It was easy and Wren soon had the measure of the various combs and brushes used for the chore. Though she could hardly call it a chore, not with the profound delight she gained from tending the stallion. So engrossed in the task Wren became she forgot who it was she was working with and chatted unguardedly, answering his questions and boldly asking her own. The King had expressed some surprise when she told him of her limited experience with riding, and he'd looked at her with a somewhat expectant expression.
"Sire?" Wren's hand stilled on the stallion's flank.
"It is customary I believe for someone who's never been astride a horse before to express some sort of discomfort, especially after two days in the saddle."
"It is?" the girl blinked dark eyes, "I was a little stiff, admittedly, but no more so than from spending a night on the ground."
"I see." A fair and heavy eyebrow quirked. "Would you like to ride again?"
"Could I?" Wren beamed. "On Swyftsylvren?" the look she turned on the complacent stallion was little short of adoring. The King laughed.
"Perhaps not, Mistress. A mount that is a little less… spirited would better suit a novice rider."
Wren was disappointed but not overly so. She would happily accept a three-footed, sway backed wreck of a horse if it meant she could ride. Not that she was likely to find such a poor creature here, the Rohirrim loved their horses too well to let any fall into such a sorry state.
"Thank you, sire, I would like that very much."
They smiled at each other over Swyftsylvren's broad withers.
"Éomer? I thought I might find you here…"
Wren twitched at the advisor's smooth voice, but the soft and loving look he bestowed on the king gave her pause. Then Haldir blinked, noticing the half-elf for the first time, and the softness fled from his attractive face.
"My King," he was once again the cool and efficient counsellor Wren had first met the previous night. "You are needed within."
"I will be there momentarily, Master Haldir." The king was less able - or less concerned - to conceal his own feelings for the elf in her presence. Wren saw the answering softness in the mortal's gaze and once again set aside the emptiness she felt in her heart. It would be wondrous to be loved like that…
The king patted the horse's shoulder regretfully.
"I will see you again, soon, my friend." He looked over at Wren. "Mistress, can I leave you to finish the job?"
Wren nodded, changeable eyes shining.
"May I tend to Swyftsylvren again, sometime, sire?"
The king chuckled.
"If he allows it, certainly. In the meantime I don't doubt the grooms would welcome your help with the other mounts. If you care to help, that is." He grinned at the half-elf's avid nod. "I thought it likely…"
The days flowed past for Wren in a haze of happiness and a sense, a hope, almost, of belonging. She trained with the shield maidens every morn, gaining a few friends and a little respect as she began to slowly master the weapons, though it was obvious from the first she was not a warrior born. The same could not be said of her skill with horses though, with one of the elder grooms - Broëck - declaring if she'd not been born to the saddle then he was a hobbit.
Wren spent a good part of her day amongst the horses, listening attentively to the grooms and soaking up their knowledge. The horses generally seemed to like her company also and as the half-elf was willing to work hard at even the most menial task her presence came soon to not only be accepted, but expected. Wren heard no more from the King about his offer to go riding but that did not matter so much once she was allowed to help the grooms exercise the mounts whose riders could not - for whatever reason - perform that duty. The only thing Wren could imagine would be better than riding out over the plains on someone else's horse, would be to ride out on her own. She resolved to one day find out what she could do to earn the privilege of having her own mount…
It had been a long time since Silindë, counsellor to Thranduil King of Mirkwood-that-had-been-Greenwood-the-Great-that-was-now-Eryn-Lasgalen, had been quite so angry, or so humiliated, and the cause then, as now, had been his younger brother.
Said brother now rode beside him, silent and surly. Silindë glanced briefly at the youth: at least the bruises would have faded by the time they reached Edoras. Vëassë glared back sullenly.
"How was I to know she was wed?"
Silindë debated, just for a moment, the wisdom of trying to beat the ethics of interspecies morality into the brat - but it had never worked before and he couldn't see it working now. He turned to his brother, eyes narrowed.
"I suppose it is too much to hope that you will behave in Edoras as befits an elf?"
Vëassë smirked.
"Yes."
"You are incorrigible."
"I know. It's a gift of the Valar."
Silindë closed his eyes with a shudder...
Maybe it was the lack of a mother that had led to the elfling growing wild. Why their father had seen fit to take a second spouse, after so many centuries, Silindë had never been able to fathom, but Vëassë had been the result. And, like Fëanor of old, his birth had drained his mother of all her strength and energy, and she had weakened, finally taking leave of them before the infant was old enough to hold up his head. Their father had grieved, and the care of the babe had fallen to the hapless Silindë and any of their kin that could be spared from the defence of their woodland home. By the time Norno remembered that he had a young son, the child was half grown, undisciplined and untameable, and Silindë had despaired of ever being able to control him.
Yet there was promise there. The child took to the bow at an early age, and with an astonishing dedication. With the sword he was not so skilled, but with hunting knife, at close range...
But middle earth neither wanted nor needed another Fëanor, certainly not one with no sense of propriety. Or guilt. Vëassë seemed to take great pride in exemplifying his name: no maiden - or youth, for that matter - was safe in his presence.
It had led to him being banished from Eryn Lasgalen, temporarily, 'until he has learned some manners!', as a flinching Silindë had been told, loudly, by an enraged Thranduil. He'd accompanied his brother, hoping his diplomacy would be sufficient to soothe the ruffled feathers that inevitably followed in Vëassë's wake. If he were completely honest with himself, Silindë would admit to a measure of guilt, also, for making such a poor job of raising the brat.
He was fast giving up hope that being in the company of other elves might impress upon Vëassë the correct way for him to behave.
They'd journeyed first to Lothlórien, where Vëassë's amorous activities - and his successful attempts to seduce Rúmil - had so incensed the sardonic, imperturbable Haldir that the Marchwarden had had them escorted from the Golden Wood, the threat of what he would do to certain parts of the younger's anatomy should they ever meet again ringing in their ears. Silindë had been wholly mortified, not to mention highly annoyed: he'd been happily engaged in a delightful dalliance of his own with an old friend he'd not seen in half a century...
Next they'd been disbarred from Osgiliath... Silindë shuddered: he didn't want to remember the fair city and his brother's misadventures there. They'd travelled down the Anduin as far as Belfalas, Vëassë leaving minor chaos behind him, and there the news reached them of the Shadow gathering in the east and they'd been forced - thank the Valar! - to return home to face the coming War (which was for Silindë a cause for lesser concern than facing Thranduil with his mission unaccomplished...)
But for once Vëassë behaved as befitted an elf, his arrows sure and deadly against the foul creatures that assailed his kindred. But the War was soon over, and Vëassë once again in trouble...
And now they'd been thrown out of Minas Tirith. Well, not exactly thrown out - King Aragorn wouldn't treat elves so harshly - but certainly they'd left under the proverbial thunder-cloud, with the king and his advisors trying to soothe the feelings of a number of human - and a couple of elven - families.
Silindë hoped - but without much conviction - that the rough life of the Rohirrim might knock some of the nonsense out of the brat. If he could just convince Éomer King and his men not to treat Vëassë like some kind of delicate treasure...
He sighed to himself. That was a good half of the problem. His brother was beautiful, he had to admit it: waist-length silver hair and big, guileless blue-green eyes, and the most innocent face this side of Belegaer.
Innocent, hah! The brat had never been innocent, and was tough as an orc, his appearance notwithstanding. Persuading others of that, though, was proving more and more difficult.
But he had to try. It was either that - or Imladris. And Silindë really didn't want to inflict his brother on Lord Elrond...
"What's that?"
Early morning, and the pale spring sun rising at their backs, and a gleam of warm gold far off towards the mountains... Silindë smiled.
"Edoras."
"Oh..." Vëassë twined a lock of hair around a long, graceful finger, gazing at the rock rising from the plain. It looked... lonely. Small and primitive. And the wind was cold. "I don't suppose..."
"No." Silindë urged his horse forwards, not sparing his brother a glance. Heaving a dispirited sigh, Vëassë followed, though more slowly.
No trees. And there didn't look to be that many houses either. A small human settlement, then. And the king lived here? Vëassë shook his head, bewildered. He wasn't looking forward to the next few months.
His horse's steps slowed more and more as they drew nearer to the township, and Silindë turned to glower at him.
"We are going to Edoras, and dragging your heels will do naught but annoy me."
Vëassë bit his lower lip, an old habit from childhood he'd never grown out of. He'd learned over the years that his brother was intractable where he was concerned, and there was no point in objecting. He touched his heels to his horse's flank, trotting to join Silindë.
"I am a worry to you, aren't I?"
The elder elf slowly turned his head, a look of - faked - utter incredulity on his face.
"Now whatever makes you think that?"
Vëassë grinned.
"Oh, I don't know. Just an odd notion I have..."
Silindë shook his head.
"Why I still trouble myself I don't know. 'tis a thankless task."
Vëassë reached out to touch his brother's arm, and Silindë twisted to frown at him - the frown fading at sight of the woebegone expression.
"I am sorry."
The counsellor sighed and lowered his head.
"Being sorry is not enough, muindor nin."
Vëassë smirked, waiting for the rest, but his brother was silent. He nudged Silindë's arm.
"Well?"
"Well what?" The musical voice was weary, and Vëassë bit his lip.
"Aren't you going to lecture me?"
Silindë halted his horse and twisted to regard his brother.
"There is no point. You do not listen, you do not learn. You are nothing but a trial to me and an embarrassment to our family. No, to our kindred. Is it really so hard to give thought to any other than yourself?" He shook his head as Vëassë opened his mouth. "No. Do not trouble yourself to answer - I have heard it countless times. It avails us naught." He turned back and resumed the ride to Edoras, full lips tightened into a grim line as he realised that he really did not want to be here. Somewhere far behind him were forests, and home, and ease from toil, and he missed them.
There were, he thought, perhaps limits to his devotion.
Vëassë was uncharacteristically subdued as they entered the citadel, to Silindë's relief. The elder elf gazed around curiously as they ascended the rise to the golden hall: rather to his surprise, their arrival hadn't attracted quite the attention he'd expected - for which he was, suddenly, grateful. The King's Guard at the entrance to the hall saluted them respectfully as both elves slid from their horses, a young ostler hurrying forward to take the bridles. Silindë inclined his head.
"We request audience with Éomer King."
"Greetings, Masters." Séobald bowed his head respectfully. "If you would wait here..."
He nodded to the second of the guards, who disappeared into the building, reappearing a couple of minutes later.
"Éomer King will be glad to greet our elven friends." His eyes flickered to their bows. "No offence, Masters, but no weapons are allowed in audience."
"Of course." Silindë smiled and handed over bow, quiver and his knives, glowering at Vëassë as the younger elf was slow to do the same, his reluctance obvious. Tyrell took the arms, handling them with due care, then stood aside as Séobald swung open the heavy door.
Vëassë looked about him with interest as the elves walked the length of the hall to the dais at the end, unimpressed by the sombre colours and dimness of the light within. Before the king Silindë bowed slightly from the waist, one hand to his heart, glaring at his brother as Vëassë hurriedly remembered what few manners he possessed and did the same. Éomer smiled and gestured them to rise.
"Greetings, Masters! Your presence honours us."
"Elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo." Silindë folded his hands together. "Silindë Nornóion of Eryn Lasgalen and his brother Vëassë greet you in peace and fellowship. We come with a request, Éomer King, an it please you."
Éomer eyed the elves appraisingly for a moment, then rose to his feet.
"Then perhaps we should take our ease, and discuss the matter in comfort. No doubt you are weary after your journey. Let us offer you the hospitality of Edoras." He smiled wryly. "My advisor will join us on his return."
Silindë inclined his head.
"We would be honoured."
The room was cosy and comfortable, and there was already wine and fruit on the table. Éomer gestured to both elves to be seated, but Silindë smiled and shook his head, flicking a briefly admonitory glance at Vëassë.
"My brother will make himself useful. Perhaps someone could direct him to our lodging?"
The glance hadn't escaped the king: it would appear that Silindë wished to speak to him alone. And that the conversation most likely concerned the too-pretty youngling standing at his brother's back, full lips pouting. Éomer smiled.
"Most certainly, Master Silindë." He regarded Vëassë appraisingly, amused by the glint of rebellion in the big eyes. Appearance aside, this one looked to be troublesome. "There is a guard outside the door - he will conduct you to the guest quarters. I hope that you will be comfortable."
Vëassë smiled thinly.
"My thanks, sire."
He turned and stalked out without a word to his brother. As the door closed Éomer watched as Silindë seemed almost to slump, tension flowing from him. He rested an elbow on the table and rubbed his forehead with a long, graceful hand, eyes closing. The king offered him a beaker of wine.
"What troubles you, mellon nin?"
Silindë took a sip, bracing himself not to flinch at the expected sourness, but finding it quite pleasantly sweet instead. He regarded the king, eyes candid.
"Vëassë..."
The younger elf had followed the dour guard along a passage, then another, until they came to a door. Without speaking the guard opened it and ushered the elf inside, then, with a gruffly murmured "Trust you'll be comfortable here, Master Elf" the man returned to his duty, leaving Vëassë to inspect the room alone.
Someone had already deposited their saddlebags on a stool, and Vëassë absently opened them, shaking out the few clothes they contained and folding them haphazardly into the chest against the wall between the two beds. Their weapons had been returned as well, and to these the younger elf gave more attention, checking that no harm had come to them. None had, of course: these Men were also warriors, and respected arms. That done, the elf, sat on the bed, bouncing experimentally a couple of times, deciding sourly that it would suffice, then lay back, arms behind his head, to regard the ceiling.
Wood. This whole place was made of wood, it seemed. A desecration of trees. He shuddered, for the first time and to his great surprise wishing he was home. The trees were alive there. Here all was dead.
He pushed himself abruptly upright and rubbed his eyes. It didn't matter what he thought, what he wanted, here he would stay until Silindë said they could leave.
He wondered dolefully how soon he could cause that to be...
Éomer rubbed his chin, expression pensive. On the face of it, Silindë's request, though unusual, seemed fairly harmless. Train the younger elf in the arts of human combat, with all the trials and discipline such a thing entailed, treat him as a youth newly come to adulthood - and on no account allow him any liberties. Silindë smiled grimly.
"It seems a simple thing, sire. But the brat has no conception of honour, or restraint, or respect for authority. For anything. He is a disgrace to our people."
Éomer laid a warm hand sympathetically over the fine pale fingers resting on the table, withdrawing at the look of shock on the lovely face opposite and castigating himself silently. He'd grown so used to touching Haldir he'd forgotten that other elves might not welcome such familiarity.
"Your pardon, Master Silindë. I meant no offence."
Still slightly startled, the elf shook his head.
"And none was taken, sire." He frowned at his hand: the touch had reminded him forcibly that he'd had no intimacy with anyone for far too long...
Vëassë was tired of waiting for his brother. Tired of sitting here in this dark, cold, dead room. He was also simply tired, and aching from the last long ride, and eager for a bath. In hot water preferably, though he'd settle for cold if that was all these primitives could provide. He hauled himself off the bed, dragged out a fresh tunic and pair of leggings from the chest, and slipped out of the room, glancing to left and right uncertainly - then shrugging and turning left. He'd ask the first person he met where the bathing chambers were...
But luck was with him. Faint splashing sounds led him to what would appear, from the steam issuing from the cracks around the door, to be a bathing room - and further, it seemed that the humans had hot water. Grinning broadly he slid inside...
At first sight the room seemed empty, and he pulled off his boots and tunic, dropping them on the floor as he laid the fresh on a shelf. Then, turning to the tub, he became aware of a pair of lustrous dark eyes watching him, very warily, over the rim of the bath. Curious, he crouched down at the edge, peering through the steam...
Then he grinned. A maiden. A very pretty one too...
"The water looks most inviting, lovely one. Might I join you?"
She stared at him, eyes widening. Beautiful eyes, he realised, heat gathering low in his belly. He reached to touch the wet hair streaming down her head and each side of her face, smirking when she jerked away from his hand. A challenge, then...
"No, you may not." the girl's words were clipped and frosty, and indignation simmered in the pretty face. "I will be finished shortly - then you may have the water to yourself."
Vëassë assumed a mock-sorrowful attitude, but didn't move.
"Alas, to find such unfriendliness offered to a guest. But such is fate. I will wait, then..."
She watched him, guardedly, for a few moments, the indignation slipping away to be replaced by unease when it became apparent he wasn't planning on moving.
"Leave, now. Please."
Still crouching, he rested an elbow on his thigh and his cheek in his hand, eyes wide and ingenuous.
"But it is so cold outside!" he smirked. "And here I am at hand to assist you from the bath..."
Eyes wide now with fear, the girl edged away from him, folding her arms protectively across her nakedness beneath the water.
"Please leave." She whispered.
He smiled, reaching out towards her.
"You have nothing to fear, pretty one. I won't hurt you."
"No!" she splashed frantically across to the other side of the tub, "Leave me alone!"
He rose to his feet, hands going to the laces of his leggings.
"Silly girl - I mean you no harm..."
It had been a long day out on the plain, training the Rohirrim younglings in the Elvish art of the bow, fighting against the treacherous, playful winds - a different sort of skill was needed from that in the forests - and he was tired. A long bath, then dinner with his king, then loveplay in the big, welcoming bed...
He paused outside the bathing chamber, frowning. Voices within - one of them the little peredhil, sounding frightened. The other - a male voice? What...?
He yanked the door open, to see a young elf in the act of stripping, the half-elf in the bath, obviously fearful and trying to stay as far away from him as possible. Furious, Haldir strode forwards, grabbed the elfling by one pointed ear and pulled him back against his own body. Startled and in pain, the young elf cried out, then reached back and up and caught Haldir's wrist.
"Leave me be! This is between the wench and I, and no business of yours!"
"The wench" hissed Haldir, his grip tightening, "is Cirince Ëarthúliell, peredhil, under the King's protection - and mine. You have gone too far this time, Vëassë Nornóion."
Recognising the voice, Vëassë blanched and stopped struggling, horror rising in his chest...
Éomer watched, bemused - and very amused - as his lover and advisor stormed into the room, eyes flashing with anger, dragging the half-naked whimpering young elf by one elegantly pointed ear.
Silindë stared, eyes huge in a suddenly stark-white face as he stood, oblivious to the slowly toppling chair.
"H... Haldir...?"
Haldir glowered, then flung the young elf forwards. Vëassë stumbled and fell, crouching on the stone-flagged floor, absently rubbing his ear as he stared up terrified at the furious elf towering over him. Haldir sneered at the elder brother.
"Silindë Nornóion. Of course. You and that" he pointed at the trembling elf on the floor "are not welcome here."
But Silindë had heard none of it, his brain refusing to move beyond the fact that Haldir was standing in front of him.
"But... you were dead..."
Haldir glared at him.
"Yes. And now I am not."
Silindë raised a shaking hand to his forehead.
"I... don't understand..."
"You are not required to understand. You are only obliged to keep that" he jerked his head to Vëassë "under control. Or I will make good my threats of fifty years ago."
Éomer had understood none of this, but was growing a little worried. The three elves knew each other, it would appear - and there was little liking in the knowing. The king had never seen his elf truly angry, and it was a frightening sight. Nevertheless, he had vouchsafed a welcome to the Mirkwood - no, it was Eryn Lasgalen now, wasn't it - elves, and training to the younger, and would not go back on his word. He moved to Haldir, resting his hands on the broad shoulders.
"Haldir, meleth nin, please be calm. Silindë and Vëassë are our guests."
"Guests? Hah! I would sooner sleep with a troop of orcs than suffer them under our roof!"
Éomer was tempted, for just a second, to tell him that that could be arranged - but no, this was not the time to tease. And it would be wrong to undermine Haldir's authority. Especially when that authority might well be needed, if Vëassë really was as wild as Silindë had said. Which, if Haldir's reaction was any proof, seemed more than likely.
"Please, my friend. Don't gainsay me - I need your help in this."
Haldir turned deep blue eyes to his king, and Éomer felt the tense shoulders relax slightly under his hands. Haldir closed his eyes briefly with a small sigh.
"This is foolishness."
Éomer kissed him softly.
"Maybe. But we must do all we can to assist our kin, must we not? And Silindë - and his king - has asked this favour of us."
Haldir frowned.
"Thranduil Oropherion asks it?"
"So it would seem."
The elf considered this for a moment, then inclined his head.
"I owe no allegiance to the King of Eryn Lasgalen - but for the sake of the friendship that once was between Legolas and myself I will countenance it."
Éomer breathed a silent sigh of relief.
"Thank you, meleth nin." He smiled, lightly brushing his fingers over Haldir's lips. "And I think it will be good for you to have other elves to share with, for a while."
Haldir flashed him a quick, wary glance, and Éomer nodded, his voice a quiet murmur.
"I know you have been lonely, meleth nin. I know you miss the company, the speech, of your own kind..."
An extraordinary mix of gratitude, guilt and loss glimmered deep in the elf's eyes, just for a second, then he lowered his head.
"I regret nothing, melethron nin."
Éomer smiled.
"I know. But I would have you happy, if it is possible. And Silindë is fair, and his manner pleasing. Can you find it in yourself to be courteous?"
Haldir bristled at the implied criticism.
"Of course."
"Thank you. It will make things easier for me."
The elf eyed the human for a moment, then sighed.
"I am at your service, my king."
Éomer shook his head.
"No, Haldir. Never that."
A tiny fond smile quirked the elf's lips, then he glanced over the king's shoulder. The newcomer elves were still staring, eyes wide and disbelieving, and Haldir humphed quietly.
"It would appear there is much to speak of."
Éomer chuckled.
"Then why don't you take them to bathe? You could join them - I know you've been training hard this morning. I will have a meal prepared for us all." He smirked. "Then you can take Vëassë to Aeldig..."
Haldir smiled to himself. He'd be sure to impress on the Captain that the young elf not be given any special treatment. Indeed, if Haldir had his way, Vëassë would soon be regretting he'd ever been begotten in the first place...
In the steaming waters and nakedness of the bathing chamber Silindë was still watching Haldir with awe. The advisor frowned, and the newcomer coloured slightly.
"Forgive me. I am finding it difficult to believe that you are truly here... you died... a hero's death - yet here you are, alive again..."
Haldir rubbed a hand wearily over his eyes.
"I was allowed to return. Or maybe I chose to return. Perhaps a little of both."
Silindë's gaze flickered to the door.
"It seems to me that Éomer King might have had something to do with that..."
Haldir nodded, but stayed silent: Silindë respected his reticence and glanced at Vëassë, who was still cowering as far from Haldir as he could in the big tub.
"If you are ill at ease, go back to our room. Stay there: I will return later."
Vëassë nodded, a little too eagerly, and climbed out of the tub, drying and dressing hastily and hurrying from the chamber. Silindë watched him leave, then slumped slightly, briefly covering his face with his hands before leaning back against the side of the tub and eyeing Haldir resignedly. The advisor laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"You are tired."
Silindë nodded, eyes closing. Haldir stroked the smooth pale skin absently, and the younger elf sighed.
"He is a trial and a burden. I would that matters were otherwise. I... I find myself shunned because of him..."
Haldir frowned, running a thumb over Silindë's cheek, troubled when the newcomer leaned into the touch.
"It has been long?"
Silindë's voice was wistful, almost lost.
"Very."
"Your devotion is commendable."
Rich brown eyes opened, loneliness evident in their depths.
"It's not enough."
It was so tempting. Silindë was fair, and lovely, and lonely - and currently very aroused. But... Haldir was the King's lover, and partner, and advisor, and the Rohirrim had strict traditions when it came to loyalty and fidelity. Admittedly his case was somewhat different. He wasn't human, and knew that the king would have to take a wife at some point, to secure the succession. What would happen to him then he hadn't considered: Éomer wanted him to remain, he knew, declaring that his wife would simply have to suffer the situation. But that seemed harsh to Haldir...
He dragged his thoughts back to the present. Silindë was gazing at him, a wretched hopelessness in his face. The advisor sighed and cupped his face in one hand.
"Wait here, mellon nin."
He went in search of the king.
Éomer was in their private rooms, poring over a parchment: he looked up as Haldir entered, clad only in a loose gown and with his unbound hair dripping down his back. Grinning, the king rose to his feet and hauled the elf into a tight embrace, sliding his hands under the gown to fondle taut buttocks. Haldir kissed him a little abstractedly, and Éomer inclined his head.
"What troubles you?"
"Silindë..." He paused, wondering how to express it, and Éomer sighed.
"You wish to bed him."
Haldir blinked. It sometimes took him by surprise that his king was both so quick to understand and so blunt in expression. He grimaced lightly.
"It is more that he wishes to be bedded, sire. He has spent so long ignoring his own needs in favour of trying to tend to his brother..."
Éomer nodded slowly.
"Which is most unjust. And I am not unreasonable, meleth. I will not object if you take him to bed." He frowned slightly, then smirked at his lover. "Know you his feeling about humans?"
Haldir stared for a moment, not sure if he understood, and Éomer shook his head.
"T'was just an idle notion. Think no more of it."
Haldir kept his expression neutral, thinking furiously. This was an aspect of his king he hadn't seen before, and he wasn't sure he liked it. Éomer wrapped a hand around the nape of his neck, kissing him gently, divining his apprehension.
"No, meleth nin, no-one would ever replace you in my heart. I but wondered, just for a moment, how it would be if I joined you both... Do the elves do such a thing?"
"Do humans?"
Éomer blinked at the sharp question, then grinned.
"Not in Edoras, no. But 'tis not unheard of in Minas Tirith, or Linhir, or even Ethring, or so I have heard..."
Haldir frowned to himself as he digested this. No, it was not unheard of amongst the elves, either, though such things weren't common. He had never experienced such a thing - although the idea was both novel and stirring. Éomer chuckled and slid a hand under his robe, tweaking the tumescent flesh there.
"Go, bed your friend. Make him happy - for I know he is not, and with such a burden as the elfling to bear it is not surprising..."
Silindë looked up as Haldir entered the chamber and slid out of the robe, slipping back into the warm water and sprawling against the side of the tub, regarding the elf beside him. Silindë looked... unsure. As though not daring to hope, although it was all he desired. There was anguish in the lovely eyes, too, and Haldir could not bring himself to be cruel. Twisting on the narrow seat, he ran his fingers through damp golden hair and pulled Silindë to him, kissing him gently.
The younger elf whimpered and all but leapt into Haldir's lap, pressing tiny desperate kisses to the pale smooth face as he wriggled into position. Haldir caught his hands to slow him a little.
"Patience, meleth. Be calm."
There were tears on Silindë's lashes.
"I... cannot. Haldir... please..."
The advisor gritted his teeth as Silindë pushed himself downwards, impaling himself with a choked cry of pain. He sat for a moment, bowed head resting on Haldir's chest, panting unevenly, then began to rock his hips as Haldir's fingers wrapped instinctively around his erection; Silindë uttered a quiet, heart-felt cry and climaxed almost immediately, slumping against the body before him. He nuzzled Haldir's neck for a moment before taking a deep breath and beginning to move again, raising and lowering himself in a smooth, deliciously arousing rhythm that had Haldir gasping, his hands holding the slim hips as he thrust up into the willing body in his lap.
And Silindë grew hard again, and came again, moments before Haldir found release, shuddering as he came within Silindë as the newcomer gasped and collapsed against him, kissing him hard.
"Th... thank you... mellon nin..."
Haldir settled Silindë's head under his chin as he held the trembling elf securely, stroking the fine golden hair. It simply was not right for an elf to be so desperate, so self-sacrificing for one who did not deserve it...
He resolved to have words with Vëassë.
And in the meantime Silindë was tired, though comforted now, and would no doubt welcome a rest. Haldir stirred, rousing the younger elf, who gazed up at him, his smile redolent of gratitude. Haldir sighed and kissed his forehead, rising to his feet and pulling Silindë with him.
"Rest now. Later we will speak further of what can be done."
The king found Haldir in his customary place, at the rear of the Golden Hall, gazing out towards the tree-clad mountains far distant. Éomer wrapped his arms around his elf's waist and nuzzled the moon-pale hair.
"You haven't eaten."
Haldir sighed and leaned back against the king.
"I... was distracted. Afterwards Silindë needed to rest."
Éomer chuckled.
"Indeed, you are a most satisfying bed-mate!" He brushed soft hair aside and kissed the nape of the elf's neck. "And is he satisfied? For now?"
"He is. Though I fear I cannot answer your question. As to his feelings towards Men."
Éomer licked then kissed the tip of a pointed ear, grinning as Haldir's legs almost collapsed under him.
"For now, meleth nin, I do not care." He kissed the ear, then nipped it gently, making his elf whimper. "I want to take you back to our rooms, and feed you, and love you." He slid a hand into the close-fitting leggings, fondling the rigid flesh there. "I have missed you today..."
© 2004 November 23th Lutra and Joules
© 2004 WaveWrights
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