Marchwarden: Son Of Guilin 12

Marchwarden: Son Of Guilin

Part 12

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

*****

Lothlorien, Third Age 179

By the reckoning of the elves, a single yén is but the blink of an eye. Thus it was that Haldir returned to his native realm in an eye-blink's time. The eaves of the woods looked to him unchanged by the passage of years, but though the trees sang to him even at a distance, drawing him to them, there seemed something foreign in them, as if he could not fully remember their song. 'Twas little wonder: Haldir had now lived away from Lothlorien for more seasons than he had lived within it, though it remained the home of his heart.

"Strange, is it not?"

Gildor Inglorion pulled his mount up beside him, observing his reaction during the last leagues of their journey.

"I have lived in Imladris nigh on an age, yet I am always out of sorts when I reach its pathways after a long stay abroad. Perhaps I fear too much will have changed in my absence. Perhaps I fear too little has changed."

Haldir sighed. Gildor's words were perfectly on point. He would miss the elda's wisdom dearly, along with his fearsome wit, a perfect foil for Ausir's more earthy humor. That, too, would be missed. He longed for home, and yet...

"Daro!"

Haldir startled, wondering for a passing moment if that had been a command to halt his maudlin thoughts or halt his horse. He had not anticipated being stopped at the borders, for he knew their progress had been tracked since descending Hithaeglir.

Gildor rode to the head of the group and raised his hand in greeting.

"I ride with a company of seven, including one of your own. Will you grant us entry?"

There was a long silence, and Haldir scanned the trees, trying to discern the faces of the guardians there, but they were well hidden even to elven eyes that knew where to look. At last, a voice resounded from the branches, strange and deep.

"We will allow you to pass... with the exception of one. He who names himself galadhel yet shuns the land of his birth for years on end rescinds his right to enter here. If he would claim his heritage now, he would have done better to return sooner."

The company froze, jaws agape. It was unheard of to bar an elf from his realm simply because he had been too long away. Haldir's blood thickened in his veins: exile was a punishment reserved for only the most heinous of crimes! Would not any of his fellows speak on his behalf?

Gildor strode forward furiously. "On whose authority was this decided? Who dares deny an elf safe passage to his very home?" Haldir had only chanced to hear Inglorion's voice take that dark tone a few times over the years, though he had never been its target, for which he was grateful.

"On my authority!" the voice returned. "On the authority of one who desires to punish his brother for staying so long away!"

Those last words came in a cadence with the footfalls of the elf who now stepped clear of the trees, grinning from ear to ear, and it was difficult to say whether the laughter was louder in the trees or from the mouths of the company assembled below. Haldir slumped half in relief, half in frustration. He slid from his horse and rushed to meet Orophin's open arms.

"I can keep up my jest no longer. Welcome home, brother mine!"

The company spent their first night in Lothlorien in sight of its borders in telain reserved for just such a contingency. They were austere yet comfortably appointed with thick pallets for sleeping, blankets and furs for cold weather, even some dried fruit, and a flask of miruvor for the particularly wayworn traveler.

They joined the border guard for their evening meal, Haldir receiving an enthusiastic greeting from Taurnil, who proudly owned that he had given Orophin the idea of waylaying them.

"I should have suspected as much!" Haldir groaned. "And now I am forced to sample your questionable cooking that I might be reminded of why I fled this place!"

The two tussled playfully before Orophin impatiently called them over. "He is my blood, and I have first claim on his attention. A song for your supper, Haldir! We would have at least one tale of your travels this night!"

Haldir grinned. He was happy to provide a tale, the only question being: which one? In these years of errantry, the wandering company of Gildor Inglorion had amassed many stories. They returned often to Imladris, relaying messages between the cloistered vale and the Kingdom of Arnor, and occasionally for more significant events: the escort of Eldacar, grandson of Elendil, to his fosterage, the revels following Elrond Peredhel's long-awaited marriage to Celebrian, and most recently, the celebrations to honor the births of Elrond's twin sons. But 'twas not only the lonely lands between the Misty Mountains and the Blue that saw the company's passage, but the length and breadth of Arda, from the wasted tundra of the Forodwaith to the Mouths of the Anduin. In the course of their travels they drank Dorwinion wine on the shores of the Sea of Rhûn, and espied the great ships moored in the harbors of Edhellond. Darker days they had seen as well, the rousting of yrch nests, a violent encounter with a band of Haradrim in South Gondor, an attack by wargs that killed Ausir's horse out from under him and, save for a neat shot, might have slaughtered him as well...

He settled on recounting an archery contest they had witnessed in Eryn Galen, knowing a playful rivalry existed between the Silvan clans, if only in their minds—few of their number had traveled to Greenwood since the end of the Second Age, and even fewer of their northern cousins had ventured south.

"King Thranduil...what was he like?" someone queried.

Haldir chuckled in recollection. When first they met the silvan king, he had walked with a pronounced limp. They feared he had taken some injury until he gave them an apologetic grin and pulled back his robes to reveal the innocent smile and mischievous eyes of an elfling bearing the same spun-gold hair as his sire clinging stubbornly to the King's leg.

"Might I present my son?" He leaned down and spoke to the youngling. "Legolas, our visitors have traveled some distance. Will you not greet them as a princeling should?"

The elfling allowed himself to be pulled to his feet by his father, then fussed for a moment with his tunic before thrusting out his little chest and equally little hand and announcing in an imperious chirp: "Mae govannen! I am Legolas Thranduilion."

"He was both gracious and comely," Haldir answered. "Though I have much love for our own ruler, I must admit that it is Thranduil who is the more kingly in his mien. And I wager his get will match his graces when he is grown."

The other travelers piped in with tales of their own, and Haldir happily turned his attention to his meal until he heard his name shouted from a distance. Moments later, Rúmil pushed through the ring of loitering guardians, breathless and flushed.

"Feredir sent word... I thought he meant only to tease me... Can it be you are returned to us at last?"

Haldir stood and embraced him. "Aye, little brother. I am home to stay."

Even the mention of his rival's name could do nothing to stem the flood of his joy at seeing his youngest brother. He released him and held him at arm's length to admire his strong and handsome figure, all vestiges of youth tempered to maturity. Here was an elf in his prime.

Rúmil smiled brightly, a beautiful sight. "You have been most sorely missed."

The following day, the Wandering Company made their way to Caras Galadhon with the Rúmil and several others accompanying. Haldir was eased to find that every step of the journey proved as familiar as if he had walked those paths only a day before.

Gildor sought King Amroth's herald, hoping to report what news they had gathered from the Northern and Southern kingdoms and the land in between. The King, however, was not in his chambers. His seneschal wrung his hands helplessly.

Elemmakil had told Haldir in confidence that Amroth had become besotted by a young maid who lived in the far reaches of the wood. She was a fey creature who kept to herself and showed her face little. Yet that hidden face had been comely enough to ensnare the King. It was also well known that, king or no, the mysterious elleth had thus far resisted his advances, which enchanted him all the more. Haldir surmised the sovereign had excused himself to further his pursuit, much to the chagrin of his advisors.

"No matter, " Gildor waved. "If you will hear me out, I see no reason why I must await the King's ear."

The relieved seneschal gestured for Gildor to follow him down the long, arched hallway, the sound of his swishing robes echoing in the quiet corridor. Gildor fell in step behind him, giving the rest of the company a quick dismissal.

Word of the company's return spread quickly. Ausir's renewed presence in the Golden Wood proved to be of particular interest to the bevy of maids who had made his intimate acquaintance during his previous stay, and were eager to give him a most genial welcome. The poor elf was thunderstruck, not having any idea how to handle such a surfeit of feminine charms, and puzzled aloud how he could possibly manage to keep each from knowing of the others.

"'Tis a feast now," he bemoaned, "but if I am not discreet, 'twill be a famine soon enough!"

When the trees were gilded with the honeyed light of Anor's descent, Haldir walked at last to the place he had missed most of all: the grove. And as he had hoped, his friends and brothers awaited him there. Even Feredir's presence could not irk him this eve.

Galion stood back from the others who rushed to greet him, watching with restrained awe the way he walked now with cocksure steps and a head carried high. In his years away, the eldest of Guilin's sons had come fully into his own, and his newfound boldness made him more handsome still. Haldir came to him last. He took Galion's his face between his hands, met a gaze gleaming with affection, and kissed his mouth.

"I have missed you," he said simply, softly, and they sank down together in their accustomed spot, cradled between the thick roots of the mallorn.

A gay, feminine twitter preceded the arrival of Alquonís, followed by one of her father's young apprentices rolling a firkin of wine behind her. Haldir did not miss the way his brother's face lit up at the first sound of her approach.

"Welcome home, Haldir. My father sends his regards, and I send you this," she gestured to the youngster, who rolled the small barrel into the center of the grove and produced a tap from the pocket of his apron.

A chivalrous kiss met the soft, pale skin of the lady's hand as Haldir proffered his thanks, though her eyes had turned to Orophin, and Haldir wondered as he raised himself up from bended knee that Orophin had not yet asked her to wed. He gathered now, from the steadiness of his brother's gaze that the lovely and patient vintner's daughter had at last won his brother's fidelity. A brief pang assailed him, knowing that such faithfulness had never been his. Might never be.

While some of the others scattered to round up tankards and wineskins, Taurnil happily set the barrel on a stump and tapped it, raising a toast, he said, "in Haldir's honor and Alquonís' debt!" She curtsied to him theatrically and withdrew, favoring Orophin with a warm look as she left. His eyes followed her.

The glade rang with happy laughter, punctuated by musical interludes, scandalous lyrics sung in Ausir's deceptively sweet voice. Settling back against the great tree's boll, Haldir slipped his arms around his friend's shoulders, and they watched the revelry before them as if from a distance.

"Does it seem strange to you that you have now been abroad for more years than you have lived in Lothlorien? Does it seem less your home now?"

Haldir had to turn his head to catch Galion's low tone. Couched therein was a question more urgent that the healer dared not ask: did you love your errantry so much that you will seek a life in other lands? He was warmed by the unspoken concern.

"Nay, this seems more my home than ever. I have been the length and breadth of the land and can now say in truth that there is no more beautiful place on Arda's shores than the place of my birth. I doubt even the Woods of Oromë hold such splendors."

He caught Galion's neck in the crick of his elbow and pulled him tight.

"For shame, mellon... Did you think I would forsake you? That I could forego the company of my boon companion and my brothers? My heart is here. I heard not the gulls calling me to the sea, but the wind calling me to the wood."

Galion let out his breath and sank back into his friend's embrace. The warm weight of Haldir's head resting against his own warmed him so thoroughly that he was sure his cheeks looked aflame from it. A lock of pale hair crossed his line of vision from above, tickling his cheek, and he thought there was no sweeter sensation.

Slowly, the barrel was drained. Low chortles erupted when gentle snoring replaced ribald refrains as Ausir's tune of choice. One of his compatriots hoisted him up and he focused his eyes long enough to bid them all a slurred valediction as his friend helped him back to his quarters.

Haldir stretched and rose to his feet. "I should take my leave as well. The hour grows late."

"Oh, I see!" Taurnil japed. "You have already managed to arrange an assignation when you have barely had the time to toss your bags into your bedroom!"

The others laughed, but Haldir just smiled knowingly, refuting nothing. "I have matters to which I must attend."

He went on to say something else, to give some hearty thanks, but Galion heard it not, deafened by the rush of blood in his ears. In the time it took for him to swallow back his nausea, to take the first deep breath against the pain that felt like a fist hurtling into his gut, one hundred years and forty-four more of silent waiting, of guarding and tending his hope, were shattered. One hundred years and forty-four more had not sufficed to sunder the bond wrought by Elemmakil of Gondolin.

Sick with shame almost as much with grief, he understood then that a mere healer could never hope to compete; that hundreds of years at Haldir's side as a dispenser of comforts and a keeper of secrets would always pale plainly in the resplendent light cast by a warrior. After all, was it not the first rule of medicine that he had learned, that like calls to like?

"You cannot mean to leave us so soon!" Rúmil persisted, but he knew it was useless. Haldir's course was set.

Haldir flashed an appeasing smile. "You will see me again tomorrow, and the next day, and every day thereafter. Soon enough you will be glad to see the back of me."

He kissed Galion, the same chaste and affectionate kiss he dealt each brother. With a final grin, he turned and left.

Orophin crossed the mossy dell and took Haldir's place at Galion's side. "I am sorry," he said. "I had hoped..."

His voice trailed off. My wordswill cause more ache than succor.

Galion silently nodded, the light in his grey eyes muted.

He, too, had hoped.

The light sound of undisguised footfalls alerted him to the presence of another even before the snide tone cut the darkness.

"Barely home a day and you throw your brothers aside for a lover you have not seen in a century's time. A lover who cast you off, if I remember correctly. "

It would be too much to ask of a scapegrace that I have a single day's peace, would it not? He did not favor the elf with a rejoinder. For Rúmil's sake alone he would hold his tongue. He kept to his path without so much as a backward glance, but the elf's mocking voice stalked behind him.

"And I believe I do remember correctly, as I found it quite amusing that he wanted you out of his bed so badly he cast you forth from the realm for a yén's time!"

Haldir turned and stared at Feredir impassively, refusing the bait.

Greeted with more silence, the galadhel shook his head and chuckled darkly. "You simply assume he will be overjoyed with your visit. What will you do should you find his bed occupied? Do not think for a moment he lay cold and alone in your absence."

Feredir's words were likely true: Elemmakil had promised no constancy in Haldir's presence; in his absence, the Marchwarden's defection was all but guaranteed. Stung but unbowed, he shrugged it off casually.

"I do not trouble myself wondering whose company he keeps when I am away. 'Tis not for me to question, as he will not question where I have passed my nights."

Feredir laughed unpleasantly. "He need not ask! If you have dallied at all in your travels, I daresay it was a brief romp on the hard ground with one of your fellows; at best a tumble with some tavern whore who might just as soon have paid you for the singular novelty of bedding an elf!"

"What do you care how my return is received?" he asked hotly, his ire at last brought to the fore. "You warn me off, yet admit you would be happy to see my humiliation."

"Your humiliation, however novel, causes your brother pain. And thus I must abhor it as well. Your brothers are loathe to have you demeaned by your hopeless pursuit—for that is what it is, mellon." That word, rolling from Feredir's tongue, grated like gravel on Haldir's ears. "But I find it amusing. To watch all these years as you trot behind him biddable as a pup, patiently waiting for him to claim you. But he doesn't claim you, does he? Neither in word nor in deed."

Haldir was galled at just how aptly the golden-haired cur had perceived the truth, but was determined not to give him his due.

"You call me a pup, yet that is how you would have my brother, is it not? Biddable and ever at your heel? I could only guess who and how many warm your bed when he is on patrol."

"I do not stray." His voice was ripe with righteousness. "Why should I? My lover attends to me. He claims me fully, as I claim him."

"You claim him only to spite me."

Feredir glared hotly, revealing the full swelter of his contempt. "You would think that. Not everything that is done in the Golden Wood is done to please or displease you, Haldir, surprising as that might seem. I cherish Rúmil, whatever you might think. And unlike you, I have never underestimated him, nor dismissed him for lack of years, nor maligned him for lack of experience as you have."

Haldir's back stiffened in outrage. "What do you mean by that? When have I ever dismissed him? How dare you insinuate I have ever treated him with anything but love!"

"You were ready to declare his life's path for him without so much as a by-your-leave! You would ship him off to pose with the peacocks in the palace guard when all he has ever desired was to walk with you on the marches. In one fell swoop you might have robbed this realm you claim to love of one of its most valiant defenders!"

When Haldir did not respond, he continued.

"He esteems you too highly to dare a boast, but in your absence, he has come to wield his bow with skill Cuthalion himself would credit. But had you gotten your way, that talent would be wasted on a fancy tabard in an empty throne room."

Knuckles paled to the color of bone as Haldir drew his hands into fists trembling with rage. "I wanted him safe! He was young and untested, our father was dead, our mother barely sensate from the weight of her grief. You would censure me for doing what I thought best for us all?" His voice was strident with anger and disgust. "I admit I knew it would not be to his liking, but I was frightened and bereaved. Does it please you to hear that from my mouth, scoundrel? Does it entertain you to know I was afraid?"

No betraying emotion stirred in Feredir's face. "You sought to take the choice from him without discussion, just as you sought to bar my suit with no consideration for his desires. You care little for his wants or needs and see only to your own. He would happily spend this night sitting at your feet, hearing your tales—however gilded and self-serving they may be—and basking your company as he has not done in all these years. But his company means less to you than your Marchwarden's. Rumil paid another to take his place on the border that he might return with you today rather than to be kept from you a single moment longer, but what is his sacrifice and another's inconvenience compared to your desires? Can you truly wonder why I hold you in contempt?"

"Avo...please, stop."

Limned in torchlight, Rúmil's features looked eerily attenuated, his mouth drawn down in a long frown. Yet even in his presence, neither party looked the least bit abashed.

"No more," Rúmil ordered. "I will not have those I love malign each other." His visage was sorrowful but resigned. "I do not ask for amity between you, but if the love you each claim to bear me is true, do not continue this."

The evening's peace had fled, the wellbeing mustered in the grove drained from them all like wine from the barrel. Both competitors jumped in, barking accusations and slinging invectives in crescendoing tones.

"Enough! I will not choose between you! If you force me to side with one against the other, I swear I will disavow you both. I give each of you my love and I will not have it returned with spite."

Chastened, Haldir looked away, but not before watching Feredir cross to his brother and snake a possessive arm around his waist.

"Go to him, then," Rúmil dismissed. "I will look for you on the morrow."

If Feredir purposed to question Rúmil's quick clemency, he promptly thought better of it. His mouth set in a grim line.

Haldir nodded stiffly, knowing an apology would be meaningless, and altering his plans now would be an empty gesture. With the joy of his homecoming now shadowed by guilt wrought of his own design, Haldir watched Feredir lead his brother back to the grove, and then turned to follow a path of his own.

The soft rapping at the door came later than he expected, but it came nonetheless.

News flew in the Golden Wood as if on wings, and indeed the winged creatures of the wood played their part in its germination, bearing notes from the borders to runners—fishwives on swift feet, more to the point—within the wood. When one had appeared yesterday eve, all he said was, "The party of Gildor Inglorion has entered the wood," but the wry press of his lips suggested an implicit addendum. Elemmakil had looked at him irritably. He may as well have come out forthwith and said, "Your erstwhile lover has returned. Do you plan to bed him in due haste, or let him unpack his bags afore?" Yet exhibiting annoyance would only have given grist to their mills. He held his face phlegmatic and thanked him. The runner's lips curled up a fraction more as he acknowledged his dismissal, as if to grant the point won by the Marchwarden, and then he was off.

And now, Elemmakil wondered how he would have answered the impudent runner's unspoken query. At least the second part had been settled; Haldir had taken his packs to his home before landing on his doorstep.

Elemmakil could not help marvelling at him. Haldir had ridden out of the wood a youngling still, despite his experience, mere decades beyond youth's end, and here he was now, leaning nonchalantly and awaiting any signal to advance, the full measure of an elf. His body was all sinew, his frame distilled by harsh conditioning and spare circumstance to hard-honed muscle and bone. The hand's span that had once separated their heights had vanished.

But it was his bearing more than anything else that set Elemmakil's heart galloping apace and his blood thrumming madly: proud, erect, with an assuredness heretofore only inchoate in his stance. As he took a step forward, head cocked, beryl-stone eyes that no longer faltered under his grey gaze told him: You sent me away a stripling and I have returned your equal. You have met your match in me.

There were no words, not so much as a hail-and-well-met. Words were a complicated tangle necessitating explanations, justifications, and recriminations; mute, they made a compact to let their bodies speak for them, elemental gestures offering more potent understanding than any uttered phrase.

Moving to the bed, Haldir stripped quickly, his eyes never leaving the Marchwarden's. He did not sprawl out and offer himself as he had once done; he sat ready, unblinking, and powerfully aroused, the length of him curving up from between his legs with bedeviling audacity. The Marchwarden's nostrils flared, a muscle in his jaw twitched. He stripped with equal efficiency, partly in haste to commence and partly in irritation, and bent to take Haldir's lips in a harsh kiss. Their mouths had barely joined when Haldir pulled him roughly to the bed.

The confidence espoused by the cocky tilt of Haldir's hips as he posed in the doorway manifested now in full; he was a demanding and hungry creature bent on sating himself, glutting on febrile skin and flexing limbs, visceral and ungentle as a storm wind. When Haldir forced his head down, Elemmakil felt his own erection swell viciously. Foreign lands, the imprint of travel and sweat, still exuded from Haldir's skin, the arch of his need salty and wild under Elemmakil's tongue. No coy writhing and desperate mewling here, but a thickly corded abdomen seizing hard and the growl of a beast. So helplessly arousing was this display of near violent desire that Elemmakil had to beat back the craving to crawl up the bed in supplication, offering the whole of his body for Haldir's ruthless usage. With each dip of his head, each swipe of his tongue, a need burgeoned within him to be subdued, to relinquish that last bit of him that had been so long suppressed. His body screamed for that which he had only allowed one other...

No!

Somewhere in the depths of his mind, a tocsin rang out and clarity returned. He reigned in his fractious need.

Haldir spent himself hard down the Marchwarden's throat, a flood sweeping Elemmakil's mind clean of all the transitory visitors to his bed in thick, convulsing spurts. When he lifted his head, neck stiff and jaw aching, his own need still throbbing between his legs, Haldir merely reached down and wiped away the trail of seed on his chin with his thumb.

With the Marchwarden stretched at his side, fingers roving freely, Haldir's ardor soon rekindled; he had known little of relief beyond his own hand for far too long, and his body craved release near as much as food or sleep. Elemmakil eased him with hands and mouth, with the taut friction of his thighs, the latter act tormenting Elemmakil with exquisite images of his own total surrender. Haldir withheld Elemmakil's pleasure for a nearly unbearable interval, denying the Marchwarden what he felt had long been denied him: attention, affection, pleasure. Yet Elemmakil's climax, wrought at last by the galadhel's singularly enchanting mouth, was of such intensity that he saw nothing but brilliant white light when the first wave crested and then broke, leaving him boneless and blind.

Night had almost given way to dawn, and the floor around the bed was littered with jettisoned clothing and sheets. Elemmakil stared listlessly at the window, watching the play of breeze-tossed branches silhouetted on his drawn curtains. One branch pointed its bony finger, bobbing in accusation. He nodded lamely at the window as if to appease the shaming trees.

No restraint whatsoever. I could stand against him no more than I could an oncoming horde. Not even one day returned, and I behave as if not one thing has changed between us in all of these years.

Beside him, Haldir slept the deep sleep of the safe and the sated. The soft smile on his face was due perhaps as much to the decadence of soft down pillows, finespun sheets and a well-fed belly as to the quenching of baser thirsts. He had returned, and he had not come timidly, suing for reentry to the Marchwarden's graces. He had swaggered in and thoroughly, irrefutably, staked his claim. And just as before, the Marchwarden could little deny him.

Tenderly, he kissed Haldir's temple, then sank into the bed and molded himself to the warden's back.

Perhaps... he thought, and for once it did not seize him with panic.

Perhaps.

*****

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