Title & Chapter Number: Misfits 3/30
Author(s): - Author's Index
Fandom: Middle Earth
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I do not own these settings or characters, and am making no profit from the writing and sharing of this story.
Warnings: Haldir's in it. Need I say more? /snicker
Betas: Circe
Cast: Haldir/Melpomaen
Timeline: TA AU
Spoilers: None
Summary: Melpomaen pays a visit, and Haldir confers with Rumil.
Notes: Thanks to Alex, Mirasaui, LK, Larien, Dawn, Larian, and Jess.
He had no idea as to what Haldir and Rumil might have said to their friends, but whatever they'd said had been effective. The week following his adventure with Arwen had been quiet - no summons to Lord Elrond's sitting room had come, nor any invitation to discuss his part in the eroding of Arwen's morals with Lady Galadriel. Melpomaen had been waiting in a sort of sickly dread, as if one of those two things were inevitable, if not both of them.
He knew Arwen had been worried, too. She'd been remarkably content to stay close to home or with her brothers since the night Haldir had returned them to the palace. Of course, Lord Elrond would believe her if she had to tell him what had taken place on that nearly catastrophic night, and the range of punishments that might be meted out to an erring princess were not as dire as those which might come to an archivist of no particular family or background. Still, she lived within an invisible network of rules and customs that did not apply to him; damage to her reputation would touch the entire family, could not be mended by word or law and had little to do with her actual words or actions. Arwen had to be careful. and if he had refused to go with her she would not have gone at all.
It was with these thoughts that he made his way along the walkways of `Lorien, barely registering the warm evening breeze or the sunset light filtering through the trees. He had planned on going back to work in the library after supper, but Erestor had sent him off, laughingly telling him he worked too hard. That had caused him to blush and scurry quickly away, but, then again, he'd been doing a lot of blushing and scurrying around Erestor in the last seven days.
Rumil had matter-of-factly asked him about his relationship with Erestor as if it were common knowledge that they were lovers. Melpomaen had honestly never thought of the dark haired chief advisor in such a way, but the question, which had temporarily shocked all thought from his mind, had left him wondering. He was only an archivist, but did familiarity with the House of Elrond - and by association with the Lord and Lady of Lothlorien - make him a personage worth gossiping about? He'd never thought so before. Perhaps he too, in his own small way, existed within the slightly unreal framework of royal rules and standards.
His feet were carrying him to Haldir's talan, and, though he had not planned on visiting the surly March Warden, he did not find himself disturbed at the thought of it. There was really nowhere else to go unless he wanted to tour the taverns or walk in the forest, neither of which appealed to him at the moment. Haldir had been almost uniformly unpleasant to him, and certainly the elf was unusual to look at. But there was something else about Haldir, something that had made a positive impression on the young scholar beyond Arwen's obvious trust and liking.
He'd stood up for her. Obviously Haldir understood the heavy mantle Arwen wore and always would wear as Elrond's daughter, granddaughter of Celeborn and Galadriel. He understood it better than she did, which was no new thing. Arwen managed her life with as little awareness of the facts of her royalty as she could possibly manage, an outlook which was greatly facilitated by the laid back atmosphere of Imladris, the permissiveness of her parents, and her brothers' wild natures. Outside of Imladris life was different, and Haldir seemed willing to recognize this for her, take responsibility when responsibility was required. Melpomaen frowned as he considered this; the events of the previous weeks reflected better on Haldir than either he or Arwen when looked at in such a light.
It did not take long for Haldir to appear at the door this evening. Unlike their first encounter, his hair was immaculately braided, held back from his too broad cheeks and accentuating piercing eyes. Muscles bulged under the sleeves of his tunic, and his hands were hidden behind his elbows by a crossed-armed stance. It occurred to Melpomaen that, though Haldir had not the slender beauty of the willow, he possessed a beauty that was hawk like, and no less lovely for being dramatically different from the other elves of Lothlorien.
"What do you want?"
"To thank you. That could have been…," Melpomaen drifted off, glancing aside to the walkway. "We're in your debt."
"I see you didn't bring Arwen this time."
Melpomaen did not say that she had brought him. It would have only sounded like an excuse, a quick attempt to cover himself. Instead, he shrugged. "She's been spending a lot of time with the twins lately." He shifted his weight briefly from foot to foot, than caught himself. "May I come in?"
Haldir considered, then stepped aside, nodded and waved his hand inward in a parody of courtesy. Melpomaen accepted the invitation in spite of that, glancing around the small room in a way that he had been too intimidated to contemplate when he'd first been there.
It was simple and cluttered, but not dirty. That it was the home of three bachelors was evident; there was little in the way of feminine decoration, though the brothers' elven nature had led them to make some attempts at bringing the beauty of nature into their home. Bottles once again covered the end table's surface, along with a few pots of lavender flowers. A sketchpad leaned against one of these, and alongside it rested a sheathed dagger and pair of leather bracers.
"Rumil and Orophin are out?"
"Orophin's on patrol, Rumil's with his lover. He'll be going back out when Orophin returns, and, praise the Valar, I'll be gone when Arwen goes home with her parents."
"Isn't it… unusual… that a March Warden would be given the task of honor guard?"
Haldir drew himself up to his full, not inconsiderable height. Melpomaen blinked, feeling suddenly dwarfed by the blonde elf's stature.
"The Lord and Lady trust me. I am the best."
"If that is so, I would think your skills would be best utilized in defending the borders."
"So would I," Haldir scowled. "Would you like a drink?"
"Yes, please." Haldir vanished without asking what he would like, and Melpomaen bit his lip, standing uncertainly in the center of the rug. Finally, he crossed to the divan and settled on it. The sketching papers faced him, and he absently picked them up, glancing quickly through the drawings.
No nude elf maidens this time; instead, the images were of scenes in and around Lothlorien. Whoever had drawn them had a good eye for light and perspective. Melpomaen smiled appreciatively.
"What are you doing?" Haldir demanded sharply, and Melpomaen nearly dropped the pages. The blonde elf stood in the archway, eyes narrowed. The drawings were plucked neatly from Melpomaen's hand a moment later, a cool mug of fruit juice thrust into it.
"I was merely looking at these drawings." He gestured with his free hand. "They are quite good."
"Thank you," Haldir replied in a mutter. Melpomaen blinked. He had assumed they were Rumil's work.
"Did you draw the maidens, too? The ones I saw when I was here with Arwen?"
Haldir flushed an unbecoming brick red. "Yes, those too."
"I liked them, also. It didn't seem appropriate to ask about them at the time, though." He smiled down at his hands. "There are such things in the library of Imladris, but…"
"But you'd just as soon not risk anyone seeing you with those books." Some of the frost had thawed from Haldir's voice; Melpomaen glanced up and caught the ghost of a smile. "I have access to the royal library. They have some rather interesting books of illustrations, also." He quirked an eyebrow, "Would you like to see more?"
"Aye, I would." Haldir nodded and vanished through the archway once more, returning a few moments later with a pile of carefully stacked papers. Instead of dropping them on the wet table top, he set them on the divan beside Melpomaen and seated himself next to them.
Melpomaen caught his breath as he looked over them, eyes wide. Landscapes were mixed in no particular order with erotic images, and alongside both were expertly drawn pictures of animals, humans and elves, buildings, and still life images. Two in particular captured his attention. In one, a female archer glared out at him from the page, bow raised and arrow nocked in deadly earnestness. The other was of a nude elven male, hair loose and flowing, staring upward at a full moon from a shallow forest pool.
"The archer is Elaaindra. She's incredible with a bow, the best under my command. Right now she's doing my job for me on the borders, so at least I know matters are being handled competently." Haldir sighed, took a deep breath. "The other is no one in particular. Just something I dreamed."
"He's beautiful," Melpomaen breathed, and Haldir nodded.
"I like him: slender, fine muscled. He looks the way an archer should." An air of brooding crept over his expression as he perused the page. "And his hair. I made it longer than most males would wear theirs, but I like the texture and color."
"It's like yours."
"No, I was thinking of Rumil's hair when I did it."
Melpomaen frowned, cast him a sideways glance. "Your hair is like Rumil's."
"No, it isn't."
"Yes, it is; silver blonde and straight, like a still pool in bright moonlight." Melpomaen smiled and waved his hand over the picture. Haldir's face darkened. It was not disbelief that Melpomaen read in that look, but anger, as if Melpomaen had leveled an insupportable insult at him rather than having made a simple comment. There was shame in that look also, buried beneath the fury yet still visible to the discerning eye. Melpomaen blanched before that look, babbled the first words that came to his mind.
"May I touch it?" Melpomaen winced at the unintentional, not to mention blundering, double entendre. Haldir blinked, shock temporarily driving away his anger. Hazel eyes widened, and when Melpomaen reached to suit actions to words, Haldir stared at the approaching hand in frozen wariness, like a deer mesmerized by the gleam of moonlight off of reflective metal.
His hair was soft, smooth, and touchable. Melpomaen smiled as he ran his fingers over Haldir's temple, gently stroking the small, perfect braids. They reminded him of the velvet cords worn on Imladris' soldiers' dress uniforms, or the braided silk ribbons Arwen sometimes used to bind her own hair. He leaned forward, tracing the braids to where they were caught up by a simple wooden clasp, and abruptly realized that his face was bare inches from Haldir's. He sat back hastily, jerking his hand away.
"There aren't many blondes in Imladris. Most have dark hair like mine. The twins' turns reddish in the sun because they're half-elves, and Erestor's is black like a crow's wing." He stared fixedly at the picture on his lap, aware that he was babbling but unable to stop himself. "And Arwen's is black too, but mine's more of a light brown…"
"And almost everyone in Lothlorien is blonde." Haldir took the drawing back and returned it to the pile, rising to his feet without meeting Melpomaen's eyes. "I'm going to put these back."
"Alright." His hands knotted together anxiously in his lap. Haldir darted out of the room, and when he returned a few moments later he was wearing his quiver and carrying a bow.
"I have to go find Rumil. I nearly forgot that we had plans for later in the evening. He, Liian and I."
"Oh." Melpomaen rose. "I'm sorry if I've made you late."
"Not at all." The high color had receded from Haldir's cheeks, his tone was once again smooth and cold. "It was kind of you to visit."
He opened the door and stepped to one side, waving his arm in almost the same gesture he had used to invite Melpomaen into the talan. However, the motion lacked the air of sarcasm his invitation had conveyed. Haldir clearly wanted him gone, but there was no sense of thinly veiled anger or disgust in this.
Melpomaen stepped out onto the walkway, pausing while Haldir let himself out and closed the door behind him. "Perhaps I could come by again sometime?" he asked.
Haldir smiled tightly. "That would be fine. If you'll excuse me." He did not wait for a reply, and Melpomaen was left to stand and stare as the March Warden walked swiftly away.
~*~*~*~
Haldir had no plans with Rumil and Liian, and he doubted that Melpomaen believed he did. The young elf had not called him on it, and that was all that mattered. Like Arwen, Melpomaen seemed to understand and accept the idea that a person could have their own reasons for being less than forthright, and, more importantly, he was willing to let such matters lie. As a warrior, Haldir knew better than to be selective in his perception and, as an artist, he could not create falseness. Friendship was another matter, however. He and Arwen were more than up to the challenge of not discussing things that loomed so large before them that one would need to be blind not to notice them, of ignoring them until they grew so large as to become invisible.
He liked Melpomaen, though he didn't want to do so. Outwardly, he had all the appearance of a library mouse, but he'd been able to summon up enough courage to speak his mind to Haldir during his first visit. That had made a positive impression on Haldir later, but more important to his mind was the sock incident. That had spoken volumes, one simple, thoughtless movement meant to spare embarrassment, a silent removal that reflected the invaluable ability to see and ignore, not simply to fix things but to make them gone.
All of that changed, though, when Melpomaen touched him. Eyes could look away, tongues could lie still, but there was no hiding from touch, no false pity or false affection transmitted through the warmth of his shy fingers. Arwen rarely touched him, both because it was inadvisable for her to be seen embracing him and because she knew he was uncomfortable with it. Only his brothers were openly affectionate with him, but affection wasn't the word he'd use for the way Melpomaen's fingers had played over his braids. Haldir didn't know what word he would use.
Melpomaen had said his hair was like Rumil's, and it had not been the subtle jab Haldir had originally assumed. He was not like Rumil; he had only to look in his mirror to see that he had none of his brother's delicacy of form, nor any of his lithe, slender elegance. Melpomaen had not said he was like Rumil, however; only that his hair was the same, long and straight and silver blonde. That much was the truth, though it was another truth that went unspoken; comparing similarities could only lead to thoughts of differences. Haldir preferred to see nothing of his brothers in himself, nothing that would draw attention to the many things that were unalike.
It was not his habit to visit the taverns of Lothlorien. Too many of the lower ranking warriors under his command frequented them while they were on leave, and Haldir believed in keeping his distance. Authority had to be maintained, as did the respect and obedience of those who took their orders from him. It would not do to become too familiar with them, to share in their pastimes, conversations, and jokes. Even so, he needed someone to talk to. Not Arwen, with whom, by their own rules of friendship, he could not discuss such matters. This left Rumil, who almost certainly was with Liian, playing cards and dancing at the White Swan. Haldir soon found himself before the tavern door, ruefully reflecting that the ill-thought lie he had told Melpomaen had become the truth.
Unlike the public houses in human settlements, the Swan was not a dark, close place that smelled of sweat, smoke, and spirits. Instead, it was bright and airy, lit by a multitude of hanging lanterns. The front door and the casement windows were all open, and the common room led onto a broad lanai unusual for the high railing surrounding it. Haldir supposed this was a practical bit of architecture, considering the condition many of the Swan's patrons ended up in before they left.
Haldir ignored the curious glances his arrival provoked, moving swiftly to the back of the room where Rumil could be found playing darts with a small group of male elves. Liian darted about the room with a large, round tray braced against her hip. Haldir remembered that she worked at The Swan, and was not usually able to spend time with Rumil until the public house closed its doors. He offered her a distant nod as he passed; she blinked in surprise, returning an uncertain smile as she hurried about her business.
"Haldir!" Rumil called as his brother came into view. "It's good to see you out!"
"Could I have a moment of your time, brother?" Haldir ignored the incipient stream of small talk, ignored the cluster of elves peering at him curiously. Rumil frowned.
"Is something wrong, Haldir?" He set his darts on the table and stepped forward, lightly resting his hand on Haldir's shoulder. "Give us a few moments," he called to the others while steering his brother toward the moonlit lanai. Haldir shrugged the hand off, but willingly accompanied Rumil.
"No, nothing's wrong."
"Of course there is. You didn't come here for the dancing or the wine."
Haldir swore softly, looking away. At the rail's opposite end a pair of elves, male and female, clung together in a close embrace, lips passionately locked. The darkness hid the rising color in Haldir's cheeks, and he glanced back at Rumil. "This wasn't a good idea."
Rumil closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. "Whatever it is, I have time for it. You're upset by something."
"Melpomaen," Haldir blurted.
"Who?"
"The dark haired elf that was with Arwen that night."
"Oh yes, the student-archivist-with-Erestor and so on and so forth." Rumil rolled his eyes. Haldir scowled.
"It is an honorable profession."
"I never said it wasn't." Rumil cocked an eyebrow. "So, what about him?"
"He was over again today."
"And this is a problem?" Rumil appeared to consider the matter, waiting expectantly. Haldir bit his lip in an unaccustomed display of uncertainty. His hand drifted upward as if to twist in his hair, but he caught himself before he could begin twining it in his fingers.
"He touched me. He touched my hair, and said it was like yours."
"Oh, Haldir." The confusion left Rumil's eyes, replaced instead by a look of tenderness. He slung an arm around his brother's waist, gave him a brisk hug. "You like him, don't you?"
Haldir said nothing, gazing past Rumil into the darkness.
"You think he likes you. Is that the trouble?"
"Yes." The single word was harsh, uneven. Rumil sighed.
"Please do not tell me that the March Warden of Lothlorien is afraid of a librarian."
"It's different!" Haldir stepped out of his brother's embrace, glaring at him fiercely. "I should not have come here."
"Wait, Haldir." Rumil caught his arm as Haldir was about to stride past him. "I know it's different. Believe me, I know. You think you might be reading too much into it, am I right?"
Haldir blinked and nodded curtly. Rumil needed no light to know that his brother's face was scarlet with embarrassment, that the dull look in his eyes was one of shame. He gently touched Haldir's arm. "Tell me what happened - exactly what happened. The others can wait."
The account Haldir gave was concise but accurate, given as he might have reported an account of his travels to the Lord and Lady. Rumil leant against the rail and listened, head bowed, brow furrowed with concentration. At last Haldir finished, waiting stoically for Rumil's judgement.
"I think he's interested," Rumil finally said. "Go see him. And take your braids out."
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