Marchwarden: Son Of Guilin 7

Marchwarden: Son Of Guilin

Part 7

Posted: June 2005
Title: Marchwarden: Son of Guilin
Author: Kenaz

*****

Lothlorien, Third Age, 15

Even had the elves not tread light as eiderdown on the pale young shoots pushing forth through the blanket of fallen leaves, the rushing lay of the Celebrant would have muted their steps. Down it flowed from the Mirrormere to meet the Anduin, almost shouting in its haste to reach the sea.

Haldir and the Marchwarden followed the river's course, as they had for some days now, from the rise of the sun. They reached the main camp of the South Marches, nestled in a thick weald halfway between the mouth of the Celebrant and the green angle where it met the Anduin, just as the sun slipped behind the peaks of Hithaeglir. Their arrival coincided with the changing of the guard, the day watch greeting their counterparts as they were relieved of their duty. Tathalion strode to greet his fellow and Haldir scanned the far bank, enjoying the familiarity of the territory. Long had he walked these borderlands, and the patrol they now encountered was the very same on which he had long served.

Over the river, Orophin stepped out from the treeline and crossed to the sloping bank to receive the hithlain rope tossed across the frigid waters. With the rest of the day watch following close behind, he scampered with ease across the thin line to the awaiting embrace of his brother. They were glad for the day or two they would have together; after that, this company would be relieved and Orophin would return home while Haldir and Elemmakil continued their tour of the borders. They were likely not to see each other again for a few months more.

"Well met, brother mine! Was it fate or fortune that brought you here at the same moment the cooking fires were lit?"

Haldir laughed heartily. "I would have told you fortune ere I saw Taurnil manning the fires. Now I see it is cruel fate!"

Taurnil looked up from the deer he was dressing and feigned a wounded face. Beside him, Algamir, a lanky, pale-haired Galadhrim, stirred a large pot of stew. Haldir's mouth watered at the sight. The pair had eaten well enough on their tour: venison and quail, occasionally cony, supplemented with waybread and dried fruits, but it was a pleasure to reach one of the larger camps and take more savory fare. Algamir smiled coyly at Haldir over the vessel's rising steam, and found his smile met with a speculatively raised eyebrow. The elf quickly turned his flushed face back to his cooking.

Over their meal, Orophin observed with wry amusement as his brother's flirtation with Algamir grew bolder. The erstwhile blushing archer, fortified by the meal he had cooked, now eyed Haldir with an expression evincing a very different sort of hunger. After one particularly blatant exchange of glances, Orophin snorted scornfully.

"Wherefore such keen interest in a mere archer when you have so long been at the beck and call of the one you hold in greatest esteem?" he teased. "You would treat with another under his very nose? Did you toil to capture his attentions only to tire of them?"

Haldir's face darkened as he shot his brother a warning look. "'Tis the toil I tire of, not the attentions."

Over the intervening years, these wide patrols had become to Haldir both bane and boon: on one hand, he received in the months they covered the borders the Marchwarden's undivided attention. They sparred, sometimes fiercely but often simply for the pure pleasure of it, they hunted, they talked long into the night. Taken into his captain's confidence, he had learned much about Lorien's defenses, from the spikes laying in wait on the Anduin's muddy floor which could be drawn up to rend the hulls of approaching vessels, to the small but powerful siege engines hidden just under the forest eaves to forestall an approach from the river's far shores. Elemmakil taught him warcraft and strategy, and his hand-to-hand skills now approached the best in the realm, the result of heavy tutoring along the way in grappling and knifework.

Yet Elemmakil rarely deepened his attentions beyond that a teacher might give his prize pupil. Haldir understood the necessity of discretion when they met up with the patrols. He never questioned nor decried his captain's desire to keep his private life quiet—though his dealings with the Marchwarden had become, over the years, known to more than a few of their number. But even on the nights that found them in the deep woods quite alone, no intimacy was ever initiated by Elemmakil, and when initiated by Haldir, it was gently rebuffed. He felt often like an over-eager pup, performing trick after trick, hoping with a desperation bordering on servility in its worst moments for a soft look, an embrace, or the comforting heat of a strong, rough hand clasping the back of his neck. Sometimes, and tonight was one, the distance the captain kept between them pushed him to the edge of his forbearance.

Haldir's relationship with the Marchwarden had long been a bewilderment to Orophin. His brother was not without admirers, Orophin mused as Galion's face came to mind, they numbered even among those he held dearest. Yet Haldir remained besotted with the one elf who strove to keep their relationship not only clandestine, but ambiguous, admitting freely that he would not offer Haldir exclusivity.

"I cannot understand the appeal of courting one who refuses to be courted. I have respect in the utmost for the Marchwarden as our captain, but you leave me hard-pressed to enumerate his merits as a lover when after years on end he has no more interest in gaining your fidelity or making known his regard than he ever has."

Haldir glowered crossly. It was not the first time Orophin had made his feelings on the matter known, and it made him hostile. He was no child to be lambasted for his choices and he owed no explanation, not even to a brother. Secretly, he owned that Orophin's words plagued him because they ran too true.

"When, muindor, you have grasped the meaning of constancy for yourself, only then will I take your arguments into account," he retorted sharply. "For I am certain Alquanís would have her say regarding your constancy." He bent his head over his bowl and finished his meal sulkily. He had not intended his words to be so barbed, but there was nothing for it now.

Orophin frowned. "'Tis only your happiness I seek, Haldir." He spoke no more, letting his eye silently follow the volley of acquisitive looks sent back and forth across the camp.

The Marchwarden, sitting with Tathalion well away from the younger elves, did not fail to mark the exchange, and his jealousy surprised and shamed him. Had he not kept Haldir at bay at every opportunity? Discouraged him from attaching to their couplings anything more weighty than mere physical release and the companionship of a brother-in-arms? He often insisted the archer look elsewhere for his entertainment. Why, then, did it chafe him when the archer did just that?

His vexation followed him into the night, hummed like a fly at his ear. When Tathalion relieved him from his watch, he did not take to his pallet, but sought the guard talan Haldir shared with his brother and Taurnil. He stole up the ladder with practiced stealth, unnoticed by all except Tathalion, who tactfully looked away. He readied himself to find the archer's bedroll empty, yet there he was, curled on his side with a loose fist tucked under his chin. No, Elemmakil sighed, partly in relief and partly in inexplicable irritation, his trifling had been merely for show, a none too subtle declaration of his neglect.

And I have neglected him. But I cannot have him depend on me for affection. I brought him with me to teach him, not to bed him. He knows this. It was discussed.

He lingered for a moment, watching the undulations of breath like waves rocking rhythmically against a shore, the pale and placid face filigreed in shadow. He had savored the rare moments he had ever observed Ecthelion thus, untroubled in repose, the only times he ever saw his lover off his guard. No. Do not think on it. For a moment, the cornsilk hair falling across the rolled pillow of a grey cloak turned inky as a raven's wing, the unseeing blue eyes paling to stormy grey. He closed his eyes and shook off the vicious illusion. Once, memory had been his enemy and he fought the torment of anything that reminded him of that time, anything that reminded him of Ecthelion. An age had passed, blunting the bleeding edge of recollection, tempering it into something almost warm, almost a comfort. But now it had evolved again, once sweet reminders emerging with new teeth, emerging as... as what? A taunt? A warning? He tamped the image back, willed its retreat to its well-guarded chamber, removing to his own pallet where he knew he would find no rest.

Bending down, Taurnil grabbed the orc's feet and helped Haldir heave it's carcass on the growing pile. The elves' faces were bent in grim scowls; the debased creatures appeared all the more foul juxtaposed against their pristine land.

The appearance of goblins nearing Lorien in this area marked a disturbing turn of events; the southern border had long been quiet and secure. Trouble came in the main from the Hithaeglir in the Northwest and from the Wilderland over the Anduin. But the small sortie was merely a diversion to distract from an attempt to cross the river further to the east near where it converged with the Anduin. Tathalion had taken as many men as he could spare to join the patrols at the confluence while Elemmakil held back the rest nearer to the camp as a second line of defense.

Had the assault come from across the Anduin, the elves could have turned to the war engines to sink their crafts, but they had no such defenses on the Celebrant; there had never been need for them. Though the arrows of the Galadhrim dispatched many, they could do nothing against the heavy pontoons, and the goblins came ever closer to crossing the river. Three elves had been lowered into the river on ropes to cut loose the barges. They succeeded, the makeshift bridges ripped away in the speeding current, but the victory came at the cost of their lives. Two bodies had been recovered, pulled to shore with black bolts protruding from their backs. The third was beyond reach. His line had been slashed and his body taken by the river.

The damage was now being assessed and the byre were set aflame, a plain signal to any who might still be lurking that the another attempt to breech Lorien's borders was at their folly. Orophin and Haldir marked from their position on the Celebrant's far side Tathalion staggering back to the camp, and Elemmakil rushing to him. By the time the brethren crossed back over the frigid water, Elemmakil had disappeared with Tathalion into the dark sanctuary of the woods.

Those with Haldir and Orophin on the borderlands had fared well, some superficial wounds, but no serious injury or loss of life. When they returned to camp and heard tell of how the rest fared, the brothers blanched. Never had so many on their own company been lost in one skirmish. The safety of the area had long been taken for granted; to lose three there so quickly was bitter as gall. Haldir slipped his hand into his brother's and gripped it tight, feeling Orophin return his clasp. All these elves were well known to them. All had served on this patrol for many years. To return to waiting friends and families less three men was a sorrowful task.

After a time, Elemmakil emerged from the woods with Tathalion, still shaken and wan. The elder Marchwarden stayed at his side as guardians made their reports and the bitter harvest of the brief but painful battle was cleared away.

The first glow of dawn was upon them before Haldir and Elemmakil had an opportunity to speak. Haldir followed him as he left the camp and ventured out into the forest for a moment of solitude. Relief slackened Elemmakil's face as he marked Haldir's approach. Though he knew no harm had befallen the archer, it eased him to assay his companion's state with his own eyes. But his most pressing concern was Tathalion, who remained steeped in anguish. It was the first time any had died under his command.

Haldir ached for Tathalion's plight. "It was not his fault! The bridges had to be broken, and the Celebrant is swift and cold. There was nothing else to be done."

"He understands, but understanding does not allay guilt. It is a captain's burden to carry the deaths of every man he loses. I bear many upon my back, and it is ever an onus. I can recall the name of each warrior I have lost, and I can tell you how each one fell. I have not the heart to tell Tathalion 'tis only the beginning of a long tally."

Nor did he have the heart to tell him the loss never grew tolerable, never ceased to drive a spike through a warrior's heart or lessened the crippling sense of responsibility. But that first loss held a particularly poignant pain and sense of failure. And in the face of failure, Tathalion would doubtless relive the episode again and again in his mind, seeking some arbitrary decision, some fateful detail overlooked, which might have turned the tide. Likely, he would thrash himself with it until his memory was ripped raw like flayed skin. So it had been for Elemmakil.

"Guilt and grief twist strange tales in the mind. 'Twas I who first beheld Tuor and Voronwë on the Orfalch Echor. My orders had been strict and clear: capture any elf and kill any other who approached the Gate of Wood lest the location of our stronghold be revealed. Voronwë had been my friend of old, ere Turgon sent him on his errand, and I was furious that he would set me thus cruelly between the law and my friendship."

The mortal claimed to carry a message for the King from Ulmo himself. A mortal carrying the word of the Valar! Elemmakil had thought to shoot him on impertinence alone. Yet rather than slay him, he brought the pair to Ecthelion, his captain, to judge. For uncounted years after the fall, he had castigated myself, thinking that had he only done the duty with which he had been charged, or at the very least denied them entry, the Hidden City would still stand.

Haldir was incredulous at this admission. "It would have changed nothing! The Valar will not be gainsaid. 'Twas not Tuor's coming that wrought the realm's fall, but Maeglin's betrayal and Turgon's refusal to heed the word of Ulmo."

"Of course. I did not say I spoke in truth or with sound reasoning. The doom of Gondolin was set ere its foundation stones were even laid." His eyes, adamantine now in both their color and gaze, panned through the darkness of the trees, fixing on some distant point. "Perhaps in imagining that my actions could have altered that doom, I was simply pretending I was more than just a leaf carried helplessly on fate's currents."

Haldir nodded grimly. When Guilin fell, Orophin laid the deed at his own feet, believing in the fever of his bereavement that had he not been lying injured, he could have in some fashion averted his father's fall, and no words from Haldir could change his mind until his despair had run its course. Haldir laid a hand on his captain's shoulder, his thumb cautiously passing down Elemmakil's neck and over the knuckle of his spine, coming to rest there. Elemmakil drew in a deep breath, not looking at him but easing under his touch. One side of his mouth twisted in a sad semblance of a smile.

"I know better than to believe I can turn the tides of fate. Yet I find myself trying still."

The water was brisk, though not as deep or wild as the Celebrant, and just beneath its surface, all of Arda's colors reflected brightly on the backs of the salmon forging their way upstream. Haldir was excited as an elfling, proposing some ridiculous challenge involving catching a fish with their bare hands, the first to meet success relieved from cleaning and cooking it. Elemmakil imagined it would only serve to make them look fools, and wet, hungry ones at that, but Haldir would not be put off, and already he had abandoned his clothing and jumped into water that rose to his hips. Elemmakil admired his lean form with its lines hewn by warrior's craft as he moved with liquid grace through the stream, grasping at blurred shapes with determination disjointed by laughter. He was beautiful and perplexing, one moment pensive and remote, the next mirthfully stalking elusive, slippery prey. The longer Elemmakil stayed in his presence, the harder he had to fight to order his feelings. He knew Haldir desired more of him in both body and spirit, and it was becoming more and more difficult to resist the pull of his affections.

Haldir's smile emanated pure joy, and Elemmakil could refuse him nothing in that moment. He folded his clothes neatly next to Haldir's, which lay cast aside in a careless heap, and jumped into the water, surprised by the unexpected strength of the current.

After a few half-hearted grabs, Elemmakil stepped back and watched an irresistible opportunity present itself. Haldir was too busy snatching at fish to notice his captain sinking beneath the water. A hand clamped around his ankle and pulled him under. He sputtered to the surface with flailing arms.

"Foul! Foul! I demand satisfaction, Marchwarden of Lorien!"

Brighter still was his smile as he swiped the water from his eyes. Elemmakil felt it burn through him like a brand. Elbereth, how deeply he affects me. He shook off his maudlin thoughts as if they were beads of water clinging to his back.

"You shall claim recompense later. As it is, we are still without a meal."

It was Haldir, of course, who managed the first catch, diving forward, then breaking the surface a moment later with a writhing, wriggling body clasped to his chest. He tossed it awkwardly to the shore before it could slip his grasp and smiled smugly at his captain before hoisting himself up on the bank where the salmon futilely flopped. The late afternoon sun made rivulets glint like crystal as they coursed the length of his spine, riding the swell of his taut backside, clinging to his thighs. Elemmakil was glad the water's depth hid his body's swift reaction.

"That you will be cooking our dinner tonight in no way excuses you from making redress," Haldir teased archly, wringing the water from his hair, sunlight playing off his broad shoulders. "I believe I will take some rest in the meantime."

When the night waxed full, Haldir sought reparation for his dunking in exactly the manner Elemmakil expected, and for once, the Marchwarden set aside his celibacy. In its way, Elemmakil's horseplay had been tacitly understood by both to be an apology for repeatedly refusing him. Besides, after months traveling the borders, the Marchwarden's need had become as sharp as his companion's.

Yet in the wake of their tryst, Elemmakil noted again the vague consternation lingering in the corners of Haldir's eyes, the slight tensing of the brow signaling silent ruminations. The same tension alighted there, he remembered, after other couplings, and yet Haldir seemed no more disposed to share his thoughts now then he previously had. He ran his hand smoothly over the archer's flank, hoping to lure him out.

"What troubles you, Haldir?"

Haldir did not meet his eyes immediately, his thoughts still churning in his face as if the decision to speak his piece had not yet been made. At long last he began haltingly.

"You have... Is there a reason..." He sighed, exasperated at the unruliness of his tongue. "You have never sought to ... to take me. For all the many times we have come together, we have never truly coupled."

Elemmakil regarded him curiously. "Is that what you desire? To be taken?"

Suddenly unsure of what, exactly, he wanted at all, and fearing to see mockery or disdain in Elemmakil's face, Haldir looked away. This discussion was desperately uncomfortable for him.

"You do not strike me as one who readily plays the sheath."

He blushed at being thus unmasked. The Marchwarden's assessment was true: he was not averse to submitting under the right circumstances, but it was more to his liking to master his partners. His desire to submit to the Marchwarden had less to do with his tastes in coupling and more—much more—to do with his desire to be claimed by Elemmakil in every sense of the word. The more his captain held him at bay and tormented him with the immutable boundaries of their relationship, the more he longed for the intimacy withheld from him. Time had cultivated his feelings for his captain into something greater than infatuation, despite Elemmakil's persistent use of words like friend and comrade. He felt love. And being claimed by Elemmakil might mean his feelings were in some measure returned.

"I do not lay for others often, but I am not untried. I would submit gladly to you, were you to ask it."

"Yet I do not, and this troubles you."

Neither spoke for some time, Haldir growing visibly discomfited with every passing moment of the lingering silence. You have made him believe himself unworthy, Elemmakil rebuked himself. You owe him an explanation, yet which one would you give him? Which truth will cause him the least harm? He gathered his thoughts closely before speaking.

"To surrender your body is not a thing to be done lightly, particularly if you are to lead others. To some, submission in any form heralds weakness, and that is something a leader cannot afford. If you were to find yourself leading a battalion made up of those you have lain under, how can you expect to win their confidence in full? They must know you as one firmly in control, one who commands at all times, even in his bed. I would have you consider my words carefully."

And Haldir did. There was some rhyme to it, he supposed. To claim or to submit as the whim took him had been a luxury of youth, and of partnering with those of equal station. But if he did someday take rank above his past lovers, he could understand why he might lose their confidence were he known to them as one who readily presented himself for the taking.

Yet this understanding didn't smother his desire to roll to his hands and knees for the Marchwarden. In truth, it seemed to him only fitting that a warrior might make an offering of himself to the one he served, mirroring the duty he fulfilled outside the bed. But he dared not say as much. Do not importune him. It is his to decide, no matter how much you wish it.

So Haldir's pride was not assuaged; if anything, more confusion now roiled to the surface. Sensing this, Elemmakil rolled atop him, his hair throwing a dark curtain around their faces and his weight braced on his arms, making it impossible for Haldir to ignore his conciliatory regard.

"I have not tried to take you because I see you as an equal when we are together. As I said to you long ago, I do not ask what I will not offer in kind."

Even in the darkness, Elemmakil could read the emotion held in those blue eyes, the feelings brazenly exposed there, and it made his throat tighten sharply. He closed his own eyes against the pull of Haldir's heart and sought instead his lips, kissing him at first gently, and then insistently.

They came together again with scarce enough space between them for breath, legs tangling like roots, each finding the rhythm of his hand he knew pleased the other best. Elemmakil reached up now and then to stroke Haldir's cheek or to smooth back his hair, sharing his breath and the hungry heat of his mouth...any number of small gestures designed to simulate the intimacy the young archer had all but begged of him. When Haldir threw back his head with a choking cry and shuddered his release over Elemmakil's fist and against the hard planes of his stomach, Elemmakil encircled him in the warm berth of his arms until sleep claimed him. Haldir was glad for the uncharacteristic tenderness, even if he knew it was not the true emotion for which he hungered.

When Haldir slept, Elemmakil slipped out from his arms to take watch, pacing noiselessly with eyes alert, though his mind did not easily focus on his task. He had spoken truly; he was not one for deceit. Yet there had been much that had remained unspoken. Much that, even in his solitary vigil, he could not quite bring himself to acknowledge. He looked over the sleeping form as he had the night at the camp. The even breaths were interrupted by the sudden twitch of an arm, a soft sound somewhere between a sigh and a grunt. Haldir rolled over and stilled again and Elemmakil wondered where his dreams took him this night.

Would you know, Guilinion, why else I cannot claim your body as ask me to? Do not fear that I lack the desire. Never that, lovely one. Indeed, my body aches to know yours fully; I am covetous of your deepest warmth. Yet should I take what you offer, I would be hard pressed to part with it. Or with you.

Someday you will see the distance between us as a benevolent measure. I would see your heart spared, pen neth, as mine was not.

Revelations made him weary. The weight of his thoughts, the implacable burden of truths that pushed like unwanted weeds through to the surface of his mind, leached his body dry. He turned his head away, training his eyes deep into the woods, his breath rising up as fine white vapor in the chill of a spring night.

*****

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