Title & Chapter Number: Misfits 5/30
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: Haldir thinks; Melpomaen thinks and decides to pay the March Warden a visit.
Notes: Thanks to Hydden, Kryspen, Niere, Kissaki, Jess, Iamme, Alex, Hawk, Larien, LK, Larian, Mirasaui, Kylie, Pira, Angilou, Sheryl and Dawn for feedback and support.
Special thanks to Trinity Helix who felt moved to create an illustration of Melpomaen touching Haldir's braids. You can see it at: http://trinitycross.net/lotrfan/gifts/02.jpg Please make sure you check out the rest of her fan art at http://trinitycross.net/lotrfan/gifts.html while you're at it.
Special thanks to Circe for her suggestion on relationship dynamics.
He had no desire to be alone, but there was absolutely no one he could think of with whom he wanted to spend time. Well, there was one person, but that was out of the question. He was the March Warden of Lothlorien, and he would not trail after an Imladris librarian like a smitten elfling. Besides, Melpomaen was undoubtedly busy, and it would not do for him to interrupt another's work.
Haldir had awakened at dawn's first light, as was his habit. Melpomaen had been sleeping soundly at his side, so removing himself from the bed had required more than the usual movement of limbs to accomplish. It was not the first time Haldir had shared a bed with another, but he'd rarely awakened to find himself so firmly entangled. Melpomaen's slender form was deceptive; there was weight and strength to that body. And, he slept like a stone.
He hadn't the foggiest idea what the politics of morning-after behavior entailed. The women he'd lain with had never expected anything of him; most had not even expected that he would stay the night. This was different, though. He hadn't lured Melpomaen to his talan, nor initiated the encounter, and he had no idea what thoughts Melpomaen might have on what constituted proper behavior in one with whom he'd shared his bed. Several of the women he'd been with had left soon afterward, or after a brief nap. He'd never thought anything of it other than to be relieved that he would not have to deal with them the following morning. Would Melpomaen feel likewise?
It had not been difficult to locate parchment, ink, and a quill in the chamber of an archivist, but the decision to leave a note had only created new problems. "Thank you for a lovely night," did not seem appropriate. Neither did "What are you doing later?" In the end, Haldir had settled upon briefly explaining that he was required to attend Lord Celeborn's early conference.
That had been true enough, though his attendance this day had been more for formality's sake than out of any absolute need for his presence. The borders were quiet, and his services as over-qualified honor guard or guide were not required by anyone. The remainder of his day was free, and Haldir fervently wished that Lord Celeborn could have thought of something, anything, for him to do.
Rumil had been asleep when he'd returned to their talan. Rumil was still asleep, and that was a source of even more worry. What time had Rumil returned home? Did his brother know that he had spent his entire night out? Haldir shuddered at the thought of the barrage of questions that would certainly assail him if that were so. There would be no avoiding it, not when he'd expressly asked Rumil for his advice.
He'd been lying on the divan for the better part of the day, and the half-full bottle of wine on the table was looking better with every passing moment. Haldir resolutely ignored it, forced his self to focus on his mixed feelings and vague misgivings. There was not a single thing about the situation he was in that he was sure about; indeed, he wasn't even sure if he was in a situation.
He didn't think he'd been planning on seducing Melpomaen when he'd sought him out in the royal talan. It was his nature to follow words with actions though, to move on decisions with immediate surety. Rumil had said to go to Melpomaen, and the logic of that had made sense once seen from his brother's more experienced perspective. It had not occurred to him that Rumil had probably not meant for him to go to Melpomaen well after the supper hour, or for him to invite himself to his chamber.
Haldir stared up at the roof beams, reflecting that he still knew almost nothing about Melpomaen. He didn't know where the elf had been raised, who his friends in Imladris were, whether or not he was quartered in The Last Homely House or had his own home. He didn't know what had drawn him to an archivist's work, what his other interests were, or what he did to relax after a long day. Their conversation had been extremely limited, leading to a fumbling encounter that bore more resemblance to those he'd had with certain apple-cheeked barmaids than he really liked to think about. Those encounters had been the furthest things from relationships, and that thought gave Haldir more than a moment's pause.
Even so, it had been good, good in a way that had been both exciting and disconcerting. He hadn't wanted Melpomaen to stop after that first, blundering kiss - hadn't wanted to frighten Melpomaen, to make him second-guess himself. It had been too good to touch, never mind with whom or in what ways. Melpomaen had felt good in his arms, against him and then on him, and there simply were no words to describe his feelings about the way Melpomaen had touched and looked upon him. No other elf had ever done anything like it. It had been easy to lay back and let the younger elf take control, to let sensation wash over him, and then to curl up in blissful exhaustion at his side.
~*~*~*~
Melpomaen's steps slowed, and he glanced doubtfully at the bundle of wildflowers he carried. They were Arwen's idea, though he supposed he couldn't really blame her, considering how little information he'd given her.
"What would you give to someone whom you are interested in, or someone who might be courting you?" he'd asked. Arwen had raised her eyebrows in a manner that was alarmingly reminiscent of her father and shrugged.
"What would I give? Or what should you give? Is there someone whom you fancy, Melpomaen?"
He'd squirmed under her dark, interested gaze and shook his head. "I don't know yet. But if there was…."
"Well, what I might give and what you should give are two different things. I can get away with things like braided locks of hair and handkerchiefs. Who is she?"
Melpomaen had ignored the question. "Well, then what sorts of things have been given to you?"
"Not until you tell me who she is." Arwen's tone had been firm, her stare unwavering as she stood before him, hands on her hips.
"Give it a few days?" he'd asked pleadingly. "And then I'll tell you? I promise."
"Alright," she'd sighed heavily, rolled her eyes. "I've been given jewelry, hair combs, a couple of sashes, and more bouquets of flowers than I can count. Does that help?"
It hadn't. Melpomaen could not see himself giving Haldir jewelry or hair combs, and he could only conclude that the customs of gift giving between males and females did not make the transition to two males well or easily. Most of the things he thought Haldir might like were too extravagant to be appropriate. That left him with flowers, and, with the thought of pots of violets beside a notepad of drawings in mind, he'd set out to collect some.
Wildflowers had seemed more suitable than the delicate blossoms growing in Lady Galadriel's garden, so he'd set out to gather and arrange them as he might have gone about any piece of work that required his exacting attention. Stems were cut to appropriate lengths; thorns were removed; the whole of it was arranged and carefully tied with a dark blue ribbon. The result was lacking in creative originality, but Melpomaen had approved of its symmetrical sparseness. It was colorful but not overdone, and Melpomaen felt that he wouldn't object to having something of its like adorn his own desk.
As his footsteps carried him ever closer to Haldir's home he found himself more dismayed than pleased, however. He'd worn his favorite black brocaded robe for the occasion, the one that was cut to show his navy blue leggings and silver grommeted boots. His hair was carefully braided, and the small bundle of flowers was clutched in black-gloved hands. He looked as if he was on his way to court a nobleman's daughter. Melpomaen's throat went dry as he envisioned himself tilting his head back to look up into Haldir's face, thrusting his fistful of bow-tied forest weeds into Haldir's bowstring callused hands.
Ahead of him a group of elflings were playing on the wooden walkway, and Melpomaen stopped to watch them, his thoughts turning. Whatever had possessed him to think that he should bring Haldir a gift in the first place? He supposed that after what had happened between them they were friends at the very least, but still… Haldir might take it the wrong way. For that matter, Haldir might not be expecting to see him at all. The note he'd left had told Melpomaen absolutely nothing, and there certainly had not been any flowers left for him on his office desk. Melpomaen frowned, staring irresolutely at the suddenly problematic gift he'd arranged.
One of the female elflings was wearing a wooden play tiara, and when Melpomaen finally reached his decision he approached her and offered an extravagantly courtly bow. The other children clustered about her as he handed her the wildflowers and she giggled, color rising in her cheeks.
"For the fairest lady in all of Caras Galadon," he said, and she returned a clumsy curtsey.
"Thank you, my lord," she replied in her best imitation of a noble lady, her efforts only somewhat impaired by the impish light in her eyes. Melpomaen offered her a farewell salute as he returned to his original course. The elflings immediately dashed off, undoubtedly eager to tell the rest of their friends about the "noble" elf they'd encountered. Glancing over his shoulder, Melpomaen watched as Haldir's flowers vanished around a corner and out of sight.
~*~*~*~
Standing outside of Haldir's door a few minutes later, Melpomaen wished he had the flowers back, if for no other reason than to have something to hold onto. He felt no less ridiculous for their lack. The feeling was not alleviated when Rumil opened the door and blinked down at him in surprise, and then dragged him inside, grinning broadly.
"Haldir! You've got company!" Rumil shouted toward the archway, and Melpomaen stood frozen, his practiced smile curdled. Panic flared as he realized that none of his plans had taken Haldir's brother into consideration, and that his prepared speech no longer applied in the absence of the flower arrangement. Rumil finally remembered that he was still holding onto Melpomaen's arm, and Melpomaen rubbed at it dazedly once it was released from his grip.
"It's good to see you again, Melpomaen!" Rumil enthused. "I wish I could stay and visit with you two, but I was just heading out."
"You're leaving?" There was an edge of consternation to Haldir's words. Melpomaen's wide-eyed gaze turned to the archway where Haldir had appeared. The older elf's hair was once again braided, and his soldier's uniform had been replaced by simple tunic and leggings. The expression in his hazel eyes matched Melpomaen's.
"I'd love to stay, I really would, but Liian and I have plans."
"I thought Liian worked tonight."
"No, no, you're thinking of tomorrow night." Rumil swept his fingers through his hair quickly, achieving a look of tousled sultriness. "It's time for me to go."
"But Rumil…" This time the note of desperation in Haldir's tone was more evident. Melpomaen's gaze flashed back and forth between the brothers nervously.
"Sorry, Haldir." Rumil cast Melpomaen a beaming smile. "Have fun!" He called as he darted out. The sound of the door closing behind him was impossibly loud, exceeded only by the ringing moment of silence that followed in its wake. Melpomaen swallowed, tore his gaze away from the mute fixture and turned to Haldir.
"Good evening," he said.
Haldir blinked. "It's nice to see you again."
They stared at each other, and the distance between them seemed like miles instead of a matter of only a few feet. Melpomaen shifted his weight from one foot to the other before catching himself. He couldn't remember much of the previous night's attempt at discussion, and none of what he could recall was in the least bit helpful.
"So, your brother goes out a lot?" he asked, and Haldir nodded.
"Rumil's quite popular."
Melpomaen nodded his head, feeling like a complete buffoon. When he opened his mouth again he felt a palpable sense of dismay mixed with shamed relief at the sound of his own words.
"Would you show me where you keep your pictures?" It was every bit as direct as Haldir's request that Melpomaen take him to his room for drinks. Melpomaen mentally winced, feeling a rush of self-disgust as he saw an expression of matching relief soften Haldir's features.
"This way," Haldir said. Melpomaen followed, trembling with excitement and thinking, --But that's not what I meant, not what I meant at all.--
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