Title & Chapter Number: Misfits 19/30
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 and Arwen talk.
Notes: Thanks to everyone who has given commentary, feedback and support.
Outside, rain poured down in gray sheets that slashed through mellyrn leaves and beat an incessant staccato rhythm on talan roofs and walkways. Melpomaen stared morosely through Arwen's bedchamber window, his view obscured by the incessant rain. Beyond the glass there was nothing to see but gray on gray, and Haldir would be expecting to see him later. If the rain abated he would go, but he'd already decided that if it persisted Haldir could come to him if he wanted to see him that badly.
"How long is this supposed to continue?" he abruptly asked. Arwen glanced up from her knitting, and shrugged.
"How should I know?"
"I thought maybe your grandmother would have said something about it."
"Contrary to popular belief," Arwen said archly, "Grandmother does not use her mirror to foresee every small detail of life in Lothlorien."
"Hmph," Melpomaen mumbled. He rather wished that Galadriel was freer with her talents; he could think of several matters of pressing importance to him that could be aided by a bit of divinatory guidance. "Why are you so domestic today?"
"There's nothing better to do, and there's nothing wrong with knitting. Do you know how to knit?"
"No," Melpomaen answered, his gaze once again returning to the window.
"Come here, then. I'll show you how to make a chain stitch, and we'll go on from there. You can help me make afghan squares."
"That's alright, Arwen. I'm not that interested."
Again she looked up from her work, this time freezing Melpomaen in place with a forbidding stare. "There's nothing wrong with knitting. Or do you think it's mere women's work, and unworthy of you?"
"I never said that, Arwen, I am just not that interested."
"What if Haldir wanted you to knit?" she asked, needles and yarn forgotten in her lap. Melpomaen sighed.
"Haldir does not want me to knit, trust me."
"But if he did," Arwen pressed, "would you tell the March Warden of Lothlorien to do his own damned knitting?"
"Well, why not?" he said, rolling onto his stomach and propping his chin in his hands. "It's not as if it's mere women's work and unworthy of him."
Arwen glared, but the slight twitching at the corner of her lips gave her away. She bowed her head swiftly to conceal her smile, but was unable to completely stifle a small burst of giggles. "I'm trying to picture Haldir knitting, and I really can't imagine it."
"Oh, if I asked him to he'd do it," Melpomaen said, an edge of frustration creeping into his voice. "I'd be buried under an avalanche of sweaters, scarves, hats, gloves, and mittens, all with the symbol of the Galadhrim worked into them for the benefit of anyone who might want to know from where all my fine new garments came."
He'd expected Arwen to laugh, but, instead, she frowned. "Are you and Haldir having problems?"
"No, not problems, per se…" He pushed himself back upright and crossed his legs, settling his elbows on his knees and his chin on interlocked fingers. "What makes you think we're having problems?"
"Usually a person who is in love does not mock his lover behind his back."
"I'm not mocking him," Melpomaen said, rolling his eyes. "It's just that he can be… a little stifling."
"Stifling," Arwen repeated. "What do you mean, `stifling'?"
Melpomaen swept a hand back over his hair, skewing his braids, and scowled as he tried to find the right words. It was difficult to describe the behaviors that left him so uncomfortable and uncertain. Haldir was no longer himself; he reminded Melpomaen of an elfling tiptoeing around a larger bully. It was not a comparison that he appreciated, either for its revelation of Haldir's vulnerabilities, or for its portrayal of himself. Orophin's Haldir, who needed to be in control, was far preferable to this new Haldir, who carefully avoided anything that might lead to hearing anything he didn't want to hear, and who treated Melpomaen as if he were all that mattered.
"Arwen, have you ever been courted by an elf who tried to do and say only what he thought you wanted to hear and only what he thought you wanted to do? Someone who seemed perfectly willing to change anything just to have a few moments of your time?"
"Yes, once or twice." She wrinkled her nose. "I cannot imagine Haldir behaving so."
"I don't know what to do." Melpomaen's gaze dropped to the coverlet, and he began picking idly at the peach colored threads.
"A while back he asked me if I would ask Grandfather if you could remain here with me after Father returns home," Arwen said quietly, and Melpomaen glanced up sharply.
"He did?" His lips tightened briefly. "He never told me that."
"I refused. I told him that if he wanted you to stay, he would have to ask you himself."
"He hasn't done that, either." Melpomaen took a deep breath. "This has become so… involved."
"Tell me about it," Arwen said. "I don't know if I can help, but sometimes it does a person good just to speak of the matters that are troubling them."
"I suppose." Melpomaen looked up from the coverlet, briefly meeting Arwen's dark eyed gaze. "Well, to begin with, we've done more than kissed."
"Really?" Arwen's eyes widened, and she leaned forward expectantly, her ball of yarn rolling forward to teeter precariously on her knees. Again Melpomaen looked up, this time blinking in startled embarrassment at her avid interest. "You did? What was it like? Was it your first time? Did it hurt? Is he-"
"Arwen!" Melpomaen exclaimed. "There are some things you don't need to know!"
"Well, I am going to marry one day, and you wouldn't want me to be totally ignorant on my wedding night."
"It's different with a maiden," Melpomaen said evasively. Arwen rolled her eyes.
"I know that; I'm not a complete dunce. But still," Arwen shifted, lowering her voice as she leaned yet further forward. "Haldir's such a… large elf. Is he-"
"No! I'm not telling you that. I thought you wanted to listen to me." Melpomaen's cheeks were scarlet. Arwen sank back into her chair, pouting disappointedly, but apparently willing to let the topic go.
"Yes, I'm sorry." She pulled her yarn back to safer ground, and studied her half-finished afghan square with undue intensity. "But… did it hurt?"
Melpomaen sighed. "Arwen, if you want to know about… lovemaking… well, you need to talk to your mother, not me. Alright?" Arwen blushed. Melpomaen fidgeted, and finally gave in. "Alright, then! The first time it did, but not after that, and, though I've never been with a female, I've read that it's the same way for them the first time. Are you satisfied?"
"No, but I guess that's good enough." She darted a glance up from her square. "I'm sorry I interrupted. Please go on."
Melpomaen paused before resuming his story, making sure there would be no further outbursts. Arwen had rearranged her features into an expression of sincere interest that was somewhat unnerving, but she seemed to be seriously trying. He took a deep breath and continued.
"The first time was an accident." Arwen frowned, and he hurriedly tried to explain himself. "It was unexpected, I mean. We were in my room, and neither of us had a clue what to say to the other, and I was curious, and one thing just led to another…"
Arwen nodded, smiling with dreamy enthusiasm. "You were overcome by his strength and unique beauty."
"No." Melpomaen cleared his throat, briefly sidetracked by her description of Haldir. "You think he's beautiful?"
Arwen shrugged. "He doesn't look quite like most elves, but he's not unattractive. Father doesn't look completely elvish, either. Cirdan has a beard." She looked genuinely surprised by his question. "I've always rather liked Haldir's build. I feel safe when I'm with him." Her eyes briefly narrowed. "Don't you dare tell anyone I said that, though."
"Not a word." Melpomaen smiled. No, it would not do for anyone to know that the outwardly fearless princess ever felt the need of someone else to keep her safe. "At any rate, though, it had more to do with his willingness and my… um, curiosity. I'd never, and I knew he'd let me if I wanted him-"
"He let you?" Arwen blinked, struggling to hold back another burst of giggles. "You mean Haldir... he… you…" she stammered, cheeks pink with merriment. At last she gave up, directing her gaze downward to hide her amused smile behind the veil of her hair. Melpomaen glared.
"Yes, and what is so funny about that?"
"Nothing, Melpomaen," she mumbled, and took a deep breath, bringing herself back under control once more. "So, you're saying that the first time was mere physical attraction."
"I guess." It wasn't quite as embarrassing to admit that to her as he'd thought it would be, not after she'd admitted that she found Haldir's appearance striking. "I thought that was all there was going to be, but… well, I do like him. And he… he thinks he's in love with me."
"Thinks?" Arwen repeated. "You don't think he is in love? Or is it that you're not in love with him?" Now her tone was serious. Melpomaen closed his eyes, and took another deep breath.
"I don't know, Arwen. In some ways he's so damned vulnerable, and I don't want to hurt his feelings. But…" he lifted his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "I've made a mess of things."
"How so?" she asked, folding her hands atop her square.
"He's jealous, for one thing. When Orophin came home he practically snarled at his brother any time he came close to me. And, he's so careful around me, like he's reviewing everything he says and does in advance to make sure that he does nothing of which I wouldn't approve. And, when he finally loses his temper, or let's out some of what he's really feeling, he apologizes for it. I'm not sure who he is, Arwen, just that he's lonely, and he wants me to stay with him."
"And what have you been doing? You still haven't said what you've done to make a mess of things."
Melpomaen licked his suddenly dry lips. On the inside his feelings were mixed, dread and desire, the urge to care for and the urge to run away. There were no words to describe the way he felt when those hazel eyes met his own, when he looked into them and saw the silent pleading that lay behind Haldir's façade of cold indifference. Haldir would never say the words that his eyes spoke so eloquently, and when Melpomaen saw those raw, voiceless emotions he could not bring himself to speak, either. He imagined hazel light shattering, could envision Haldir turning his back on him, speechlessly walking away to finish crumbling in silent solitude. When Melpomaen thought of that, he felt as if he would shatter, too.
"I can't tell him I'm leaving. I just… can't."
Arwen's gaze was puzzled. "But he knows you're leaving. It's no secret."
"Yes, and I mention it sometimes, indirectly." He stared back down at the coverlet. "I talk about what I want to do in Imladris, about the library, about Lord Erestor saying that one day I might be a counselor. But, it's like he's hoping that I'll change my mind, and I can't tell him I won't. I feel like I'm dying when I think about saying that to him." He looked at her pleadingly, and Arwen frowned, eyebrows drawing together in an expression of mixed worry and irritation.
"And you think it will hurt less to go on like this right up until the night of your departure? Or were you planning on simply leaving without bothering to give him any notice at all?"
"No, no, Arwen." The thought had occurred to him, but it was one that he'd shoved away as too shameful to entertain, even in passing. "I'm going to tell him, but I've let it go for so long."
"If you don't love him, why is this bothering you so much?" she asked. Melpomaen offered her a look of blank confusion.
"I do not love you in that way, either, but I wouldn't do something to intentionally hurt you."
Arwen's gaze turned impatient. "We are but friends, and I would not ask you to change your lifestyle based on that. I daresay there is more wrong then you've admitted to if you've been lying with Haldir, but consider him no more than a friend." Her tone was sharp, and there was more than a little of Galadriel's authority in her voice when she continued. "It is not in the nature of our people to take lovers lightly."
"Does it look to you as if I'm utterly heedless of Haldir's feelings?"
"As a matter of fact, yes, it does." She held up a hand, waving him to silence as she continued. "It sounds to me as if you do not want to speak to him of this because you want to spare your own feelings. It's your own guilt that is eating at you; if you thought this could be done without causing any pain, you would do it in a heart beat."
Melpomaen opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again. When at last he spoke, his voice was low and barely audible. "If it would cause no one pain, it would not be an issue. It's the pain that I fear; his pain, that he doesn't talk about, but which I see in his eyes."
"I've never thought you a coward, Melpomaen," Arwen said softly. "I never thought you would run from complications, or hide from your own feelings."
"Dammit, Arwen, it could not work between us! Am I supposed to forget about the library, forget about the things Lord Erestor has told me, forsake the chance of advancement into your father's advisory staff because I feel sorry for Haldir?"
"He doesn't need your pity," Arwen said sharply, and Melpomaen gritted his teeth, once more dragging a hand through his hair.
"No, but that's what I feel sometimes. You should see the looks that are cast our way when we are outside of his talan. We're a joke, Arwen, not a couple to be complimented and commented on."
"So, then what you are saying is that you care for him enough to lie with him, and enough to dread telling him you must return to Imladris to pursue your ambitions and perhaps to find a more suitable, acceptable lover. One with fewer complications; one with as well as of whom you don't have to be careful." Her words were lightly laced with sarcasm, and Melpomaen flinched.
"You make me sound cold, Arwen, but it's not like that. I've wanted to be in the position I'm in now since I was old enough to know that there was more in this world than terraced potatoes and rows of carrots to hoe. Why am I the one who should have to give that up?"
"My father's library is not the only one in Arda," she said shortly. Melpomaen scowled.
"No, but his is the one that feels like home to me. And what's so wonderful about this place where one can't stick one's nose out-of-doors without being commented on by half the population? Why should I have to give up my dream to be paraded before all of Caras Galadhon as Haldir's prize?"
"Who cares what anyone else thinks!" Arwen said, her tone suddenly fierce. Once more she leaned forward, her face twisted in an unaccustomed expression of anger. "That's what this really comes down to, isn't it? Do you think I do not know what they say of me? Do I hide in the royal talan, not daring to step outside for fear of the wagging tongues of others?"
Melpomaen blinked, flinching away from her sudden outburst. It was the first time Arwen had ever spoken directly of the nonsense that was spoken of her and her brothers, the first time she had shown anything but amusement at the tales told by the elves of her grandparent's city. "It is different…" he began, but trailed off under the heat of her glare.
"It is not different. They call father half-human, and they use the same words for my brothers and me, and never mind that what human blood we carry is so watered down as to be nearly insignificant. They talk, and they laugh, but we do not hide as you are hiding, Melpomaen; we don't make up reasons why we cannot be who we are. Will you become one of them? You don't want to deal with Haldir; perhaps you won't be wanting to be seen with me, either."
"Arwen, I will always stand by you." His face had gone deathly white, and he held his hands tightly clenched to keep them from shaking.
"Will you? Then why can you not even bring yourself to talk to Haldir about this? Why can you not take your mind from your own feelings, not even for a few moments?"
"I'm afraid!" Melpomaen blurted. The look Arwen cast him was completely lacking in sympathy.
"Afraid," she repeated disdainfully. "I have something to say to you that might come as a surprise. Sometimes I'm afraid. Sometimes my brothers are afraid. You know that Haldir is afraid. You can't use that as an excuse forever, though. Somewhere down the line you have to quit making excuses, decide what you want, and act."
"I'm going to tell him tonight," Melpomaen said as he stared down at his whitened knuckles. "I'm going to tell him that I cannot remain here."
"Do that, then," Arwen said coldly, "but do make sure you know why your are telling him that." She rose from her seat, dropping her yarn, needles, and squares into the basket beside the chair as she did so. "And now I think you'd better go. You'll want the time to do some thinking, I imagine."
She had not said it outright, but Melpomaen knew when he was being told to leave. He said nothing as he unfolded himself from the foot of her bed and rose to his feet. Arwen did not escort him to her chamber door, and he paused briefly as he stood, hand poised on the door latch.
"It's not the way you think it is, Arwen."
"What I think it is doesn't matter," she replied. "Good day and farewell, Melpomaen."
"I'll see you later," he said, opening the door and stepping out. She gave him no answer, and he crossed the empty sitting room beyond her bedchamber alone, thoughts whirling as he made his way to the outer hall.
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