Glorfindel took a deep breath and pushed open the door to the library. He had search for Erestor in the counselor’s study after Elrond gave him the scroll he now held. It had been hastily written, sealed crudely with candle wax, and had come by way of a very young lad on a horse that hardly looked able to have made the journey it had.
The news the scroll told was dark indeed, just like the times they were facing. At the main desk, Glorfindel saw Erestor; he saw the one Elf he had hoped not to have run into yet as well. Melpomaen was a shy, quiet young ellon – one of the last born before the shadow became so dark that no one could think of bringing Elflings into Middle-earth. Just as easily, Glorfindel might have delivered the scroll to the young scribe, but Elrond had insisted Erestor be the bearer of the ill news.
“Uh... Erestor?” Glorfindel flinched as he heard how loud his voice echoed in the spacious room, the rows of books doing little to muffle the noise. “Erestor, can I talk to you in the hall for a moment?” he asked, trying to whisper.
Erestor nodded, smirking, but as he stood he somehow could tell something was wrong. Melpomaen’s eyes followed his supervisor as the dark ellon glided down the main aisle and ushered Glorfindel into the hallway. “Something is amiss,” he said, closing the door behind him and standing to block it.
“It is a message from Legolas. There was a terrible tragedy at Helm’s Deep.” Glorfindel held out the scroll, watching the counselor’s face as it was read. It was stoic until he made it midway.
“They held the fort, but at what cost...” he mumbled to himsElf as he reread the paper, hoping the news might change. “I am to assume you wish for me to give the news to my apprentice.”
“Elrond told me to have you do it. I personally think it a little unfair that you are being made to tell him. If I were you,” Glorfindel said in a scolding tone, “I would tell Elrond that he should give the news.”
“And would you rather hear such a thing from a friend and fellow coworker, or from the indifferent Lord of the Valley who will delve into a speech about ‘sacrifice and military life’ while your world becomes undone?” Erestor waited for Glorfindel’s response, but his friend simply nodded. “If you will excuse me; Melpomaen should hear this before it becomes idle evening gossip. I should not delay.”
Taking a deep breath, Erestor pushed open the door to the library. The house was quite deserted, and the library was no different. Few candles glowed to light the immense room. At one table a lamp illuminated the space where the sole occupant of the room worked diligently on a mundane task. He was trying to keeping his mind off of the events occurring throughout the land, but Melpomaen had worried ever since learning that the company secretly dispatched to help Rohan was being led by his lover. Melpomaen looked up as the advisor closed the door, hand trembling slightly. Placing the quill aside so that he would not ruin the document before him, Melpomaen stood.
“Please. Sit down,” advised the councilor, but Melpomaen shook his head.
“Something is wrong. I can tell from the way you entered.” Frowning, he guessed, “We have lost the fight. The Dark Lord has the ring.”
“No, Melpomaen, that is not it at all, but I fear it will be a greater loss for you personally.” Erestor placed his hand upon his friend’s shoulder. “There is no easy way for me to tell you this.”
“Then tell me,” begged the scribe, searching Erestor’s eyes for some clue.
“Haldir.” Erestor looked away for a moment as he clutched the scroll tightly in his other hand, then back. “Word has come from Legolas from Helm’s Deep, in Rohan. The battle was won, but at a great cost.”
“He is... is he injured?” Melpomaen’s voice wavered. “Hurt badly?”
Hesitating for a moment, Erestor shook his head. “I am so sorry to have to bring you this news.”
“You cannot mean- no, I would have felt it!” Melpomaen pulled away, brown hair falling into his face. “He cannot be dead. I would know if he were.”
“Legolas said that he saw it happen,” apologized Erestor. “He saw him fall. He saw the bodies, all of them. None of the Galadhrim survived.”
“NO!” Melpomaen covered his ears. “No. No, he cannot be gone. I would have known. I would have known!”
For a little while, Melpomaen stood still, his eyes shut, still blocking out all noise. It looked as if he were concentrating deeply on something. A whimper escaped as he tried a little harder, and finally a sob of frustration.
“I am sorry, my friend,” said Erestor in a comforting voice. He advanced again, and when he touched his hand to Melpomaen’s shoulder, the younger Elf lurched forward and clung to him, sobbing. Patting the young ellon’s back, Erestor wondered who else would be lost before the war ended.
- - -
Slowly, the entourage proceeded forward, riding into Gondor solemnly. Most of the other members of the Elven party rode two or three across, such as Elrohir and Elladan did when they went through the gates, silver banners held high. Erestor and Glorfindel rode together as well, as did Galadriel and Celeborn. One Elf among the group rode alone into the city, his head bowed slightly. There were no smiles for those who lined the streets, no waves to the children who tossed rose petals from the balconies. Not a single one of the Elves did not feel the loss that this war had caused.
Melpomaen silently dismounted at the stables, and began to walk away from the crowd gathering around the lords and ladies who had come to bring the Evenstar to marry her betrothed. He wanted nothing more than to find a quiet spot far from the celebration where he could simply be alone. His request to stay in Rivendell had been denied by Elrond, who was worried the young Elf might be suicidal. Melpomaen had tried to assure him he was not, that he was simply numb and sad, but Elrond would have none of it. He had not, however, been ordered to be at the wedding or the feast or anything else, and intended not to be.
“Melpomaen!”
Turning his head, the scribe caught sight of Thranduil’s youngest son heading in his direction. Legolas was the last person the scribe wished to speak with, and pulling his hood over his head, he said in haste to Erestor, “Tell him I am unavailable at the moment,” and then he was gone.
Erestor glanced to his companion, and Glorfindel nodded. The pair stood in Legolas’ path as he made an attempt to pass them. “I must speak to Melpomaen,” he insisted when Glorfindel dodged to keep him from continuing on his way.
“He wishes to be alone. It was much for him to make this journey,” replied Erestor. “In the future, perhaps there will be a time when you might speak with him about what happened at Helm’s Deep, but now is not that time.”
“But I must,” pressed Legolas again. “There is something he must know that I mysElf only just found out.”
Glorfindel nudged Erestor and once his attention was gained, said, “Perhaps it would be wise for us to learn what you wish to say to Melpomaen before you speak with him. One of us might make a better messenger.”
“Please. I must be the one to tell him,” Legolas implored the Imladrin lords. “I feel terrible for the manner in which I wrote my message in haste, and even more so now after what I have learned. I must speak with him.”
“And what is it you must say?” inquired Erestor.
- - -
Melpomaen had found a peaceful spot near a fountain which had been recently rebuilt. With his back against the base of the fountain and his legs pulled up so that his chin rested upon his knees, the scribe closed his eyes and felt his bottom lip tremble. Everyone around him was rejoicing, yet he himsElf lacked the delight of the others. True, everything in the world was safe again, but how could he be happy when the one thing that meant the most to him in the world was gone?
Several minutes had passed before he was aware of someone approaching him. Opening his eyes slightly, he closed them upon seeing that it was Erestor. “I just want to be alone,” he mumbled as the advisor sat down beside him.
“Legolas wishes to tell you something important,” said Erestor. “He really needs to speak to you.”
“Not now.” Melpomaen wrapped his arms around his legs, pulling them closer. “I have no desire to talk to him, or anyone, right now.”
“Melpomaen, you need to hear what he has to say, and I have promised him that I would not tell you.” Erestor settled a hand on the scribe’s shoulder. “Please.”
“He can tell me later. Please go.” Melpomaen heard his friend sigh, heard him stand up and then leave.
Deciding he had not found a secluded enough spot, Melpomaen got to his feet and wandered further away, finding an alcove behind a bakery with a worn bench. Wearily, he sat down and wrapped his arms around himsElf.
Hours went by, and activity nearby waned. He had fallen asleep unknowingly, for he was awakened at dusk by someone shaking his arm. Rubbing his bleary eyes, Melpomaen turned away upon seeing who it was. “Leave me, Prince Legolas. I am tired and have no desire for company.”
“Melpomaen, please. I have something very important to tell you.” Legolas began to sit upon the opposite side of the bench, but Melpomaen scrambled away, to the far side of the alcove. “Fine. If you are going to be stubborn, be that way then.” From his pocket, the archer pulled a key, which he flicked towards the ellon’s feet. “When you figure out what that is for, perhaps you will stop being so sour towards me.”
Without giving Melpomaen time to counter his strange words, Legolas left the alcove. Staring down at the key, the scribe’s mind began to wander as he picked it up. What could a key mean, unless...
Melpomaen closed his eyes, concentrating hard. He thought he felt something, something faint, something familiar and wonderful. Hoping his mind was not playing tricks on him, he stepped out from the alcove. “Prince Legolas?” He looked around and saw no one, nor did he see any tracks that might show where the Mirkwood Elf had gone. “Your highness?” he tried, but the only answer was the bark of a dog.
It was dark now, but lanterns lit along the streets guided the scribe back to the palace. He knew rooms were set aside here for him as well as for the other Elves who had come into Gondor, for they had been given keys when they had arrived and taken their horses to the stables.
Pulling the key he had originally been given from his pocket, Melpomaen saw that it was similar to the key Legolas had thrown to his feet. The grooves differed slightly, but the locks had to be similar. Placing his own key into his pocket, Melpomaen took the new one to a page sitting on a stool at the end of the hall. “Excuse me,” he said, and the youth was standing in the blink of an eye.
“Yes, m’lord. How might I assist you?” asked the boy politely.
“I have lost track of my room,” he lied, producing the mystery key. “Will you be able to lead me there by the key?”
“Certainly!” The lad took the key from the scribe’s hand and started down the hall. “Follow me, m’lord,” he said cheerfully, motioning for Melpomaen to come along.
They remained on the main floor, turning two corners before reaching a row of doors which all looked the same. “It should be the fifth one,” said the boy, and he went to that door and placed the key into the lock. The key did not budge, and the boy frowned. “Oh! Pardon, m’lord, wrong door,” he apologized. Walking two doors further, the boy tried again. This time, the key slid in and turned like a knife in soft butter. “Can I be of any further service?” asked the page.
“No. Thank you kindly,” said Melpomaen, and he took a coin from his pocket and dropped it into the lad’s hand. Smiling, the boy bowed and hurried back to his post.
Once the hall was cleared, Melpomaen stared at the knob of the door. His heart beat faster and faster in his chest until he thought it would explode. Curling his fingers around the knob, he closed his eyes and turned it.
The door creaked open, and with his eyes still closed, he stepped forward. Opening first one eye, and then the other, his hope dissipated. Before him was a wooden table, and folded upon it a burgundy cloak. Beside that was golden armor, a tunic of grey and an empty quiver. A bow, made of mallorn wood and a curved Galadhrim sword were reverently placed next to this, and propped against a leg of the table were a pair of boots familiar to Melpomaen. He had giddily pulled them from the oddest places in his room many a morning, but this time he was not happy to see them.
Pushing the door absently closed behind him, Melpomaen stepped into the room, fighting back his emotions. Too many times he had already cried, and he would not succumb again. He stopped at the table, placing his hand upon the cloak, his fingers grasping the soft fabric. Part of him wished to raise it up, to breathe in the scent of his lover, but he knew it would cause him to fall apart.
“Are you going to stand there all night long, or are you going to come over here and give me a kiss?”
Melpomaen put his hand to his face. He had tried to force every image, every memory from his mind, but now this one attempted to break him down. It was a popular phrase for Haldir to use. Often the Galadhel would sneak into his room, and when Melpomaen came home from a hard day of work he would find the stealthy warrior sprawled upon his bed. Each time it caught the scribe off guard and after a good long stare at the grinning Sinda, Melpomaen would happily oblige. This time it brought tears to his eyes instead of a smile to his face.
“Well? Are you?”
Suddenly, Melpomaen’s reverie was broken. That was not a memory, for never had Haldir had the need to ask twice. Turning his head to look through a doorway he had not noticed before, Melpomaen was startled to see his beloved resting comfortably in bed. Disbelieving, Melpomaen rubbed his eyes and entered the bedroom.
“You look like you have seen a ghost,” said Haldir. He was pale, a bit bruised, and his torso was wrapped in linen, but otherwise, he was alive.
“I was told you were dead!” blurted out Melpomaen, rushing to the bedside. He dropped to his knees and took hold of Haldir’s hand. Much as he wished to take his lover into his arms, to hold him and show his love for him, he knew better than to jostle an injured Elf. “We received a message, and Legolas said you were—well, never mind now! Where are you hurt? What happened?”
Affectionately, Haldir reached over and petted Melpomaen’s head, wincing as he attempted to lean forward to kiss him. “Bit of a disagreement with enemy forces. Minor creative differences – they wanted me dead, and I thought they would look better with their heads on pikes. Enough of that, though. I am glad to see you.”
“And I you.” Melpomaen rested his head upon the bed, and kissed Haldir’s shoulder, then nuzzled his neck. “What happened? Everyone was so certain that you had... I will not say it again,” decided Melpomaen.
“Legolas reported back a little prematurely,” explained Haldir. “Aye, I did ‘fall’ on the battlefield. I was wounded,” he said, taking hold of Melpomaen’s hand and placing it against his side. “I flinched, and then I was hit again, but the second time my armor took the better part of the blow. It brought me down and knocked the wind from me. Estel managed to see me fall, and after lowering me to the ground, he kept fighting until he was able to drag me behind the wall. When Estel returned, I was gone. Some of the Rohirrim took it upon themsElves to gather the bodies to be burned. Legolas wrote his letter and sent it before he had spoken to Estel. From what the Dwarf said, it was ‘dumb luck’ that I awoke when the torch was brought to the pyre and that I made some sort of noise that alerted the men. You can imagine, I had a few choice words for the prince when I found out what he had done.”
Melpomaen chuckled uneasily, still worried he had walked into a dream. His grasp on Haldir’s hand tightened. “Why did you not contact me?”
“I was gravely wounded, my love, and there had not been an opportunity for me to. It was only two days ago that I managed to stay awake long enough to finally eat something. By then, word had made it here that you were among those traveling here, and so I waited. Not very patiently, I might add. I never meant to worry you so.” Haldir made another attempt to sit up, but it failed. “Join me, love. There is room, and I have longed to be near you again.”
Melpomaen wasted no time in stripping his clothing, leaving it in a heap on the floor. Soon he was beside Haldir, holding his lover close. “I almost did not come, but Elrond ordered me to and Erestor also insisted I travel along. I know he has worried about me these past months.”
“I have been worrying as well. When I was well enough to mount a horse, I wanted to go to Imladris and find you, but the paths were too dangerous. There was a party coming here, and I knew that one way or another, if we did win, everyone would end up here. At least, I hoped that would be the case,” admitted the warrior. “On the way, we encountered orcs twice. The second time, my injury was aggravated, which is why I am as I am now. I have been told in no uncertain terms not to leave this bed until I have fully healed.”
“What a shame,” sighed Melpomaen. The scribe nestled himsElf close to Haldir and said, “I had hoped I might show you just how much I missed you.”
“I see no reason you cannot,” Haldir said. “As long as I do not leave the bed...”
“But you are injured,” interrupted his lover, gently touching the healing wound.
Turning his head to nip the scribe’s jaw, Haldir said in a low drawl, “You can still show me how much you have missed me.” Licking the curve of his lover’s ear, Haldir added, “You have yet to kiss me. Unless that sort of thing bores you now,” he said, playfully turning away.
“Spoiled soldier,” chided Melpomaen, rising up with one arm. He gently placed his hand upon Haldir’s cheek and coaxed his head so that they were facing once more. “Goes off to play war, and leaves me at home to worry about him.”
“Last time, I promise,” Haldir said quickly.
“Last time, indeed. I have heard you say that dozens of times now,” scolded Melpomaen, leaning in closer. “You must really promise this time.”
“I promise. I honestly promise. In fact, when I was visited earlier by Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel, I issued my resignation to them.”
“What? What will you do now? Or... are you planning to move to Imladris?” asked Melpomaen. It was a possibility they had both discussed a number of times, but nothing had ever come of it. Haldir had the highest position among the Galadhrim; coming to Rivendell would mean relinquishing his command, and taking a lower rank among Glorfindel’s soldiers.
“No. I plan to move, but not to Imladris. Have you ever heard of a quaint little island called Valinor? I hear,” he continued, despite the shocked expression on Melpomaen’s face, “that the weather there is quite good, year round.”
“Are you serious?” Melpomaen finally asked.
“Very.” Haldir reached up, resting his hand upon Melpomaen’s cheek so that they mirrored one another. “I realized how much I would be missing if I did not have you with me. Nothing will jeopardize that again, not if we sail west together. So... do I get my kiss now?”
“That, and more,” promised Melpomaen. He lowered his head, lips meeting his lover’s. A wave of emotion rushed over the scribe, and this poured forth as he kissed Haldir again and again. Hands roamed over exposed flesh, careful to mind the bandages.
Moving down and pushing back the sheets as he went, Melpomaen placed kisses upon his lover’s chest, skipping over the injury, and resuming once again along the inside of Haldir’s thigh. “Maybe I should let you rest until you are well,” suggested Melpomaen as he used one hand to fondle Haldir’s heavy sac.
“How cruel of you to torment me so. A hero of war, and I am subjected to such torture!” Haldir groaned as Melpomaen wrapped his other hand around his hardening member. “Oh, but what sweet torture it is,” he purred, closing his eyes.
Bowing his head, Melpomaen licked his lips and engulfed the head of Haldir’s erection. Sucking upon it gently, he tasted the first few salty droplets of his lover’s essence on his tongue.
Haldir’s breathing increased in speed, turning to louder moans every time Melpomaen stroked the rigid length in tandem with the squeezing of his opposite hand. For a while, his mouth stayed sealed over the purpled head, but as Haldir began to arch slightly, Melpomaen used his hands to keep Haldir’s hips still and took the length of his lover deeply down his throat.
When Haldir released, Melpomaen continued to swallow around his member until he drank all that was offered to him. Sitting back up with a grin, he licked his lips.
“I wish I could return the favor,” panted Haldir as Melpomaen drew up the sheets again and repositioned himsElf against his lover.
“Oh, worry not. I will make sure you do,” answered Melpomaen, snuggling close, with one arm draped over Haldir’s chest lest he think to disappear into thin air during the night.
- - -
It took six days for Elrond to pronounce Haldir fit to be out of bed. The healer actually suggested two or three more days of rest, but upon hearing Haldir’s growl he decided that a little light exercise outside would be permissible, as well as a bath. The second comment, which made Melpomaen chuckle, caused Haldir to give the Peredhel a funny look, but after sniffing under one of his own arms and pretending to choke, he agreed with the assessment.
The bedroom was not suitable for bringing a tub, so the sitting room was rearranged. With the table in one corner and the settee moved into the room with the bed, a tub of steaming water now resided in the middle of the floor.
“Come here, before the water cools,” insisted Melpomaen. “You cannot go out without a proper bath.”
Haldir rose carefully from the bed. The bandages were no longer wrapped around his middle, but the wound was still scabbed over, and he slowly made his way into the sitting room. “Not too hot, is it?” he asked, sticking his hand into the water. He swirled it around a little.
“Good for you?” asked Melpomaen, arranging a basin at one side of the tub so that he could wash Haldir’s hair for him. The Sinda nodded. “Good. Climb in.”
“You must steady me so that I do not fall,” said Haldir with mild concern. “Oh, and you should disrobe – you will become wet if you do not.”
Narrowing his eyes at his lover, Melpomaen began to comply, but said, “I think this is simply a ploy to have me naked again.”
“And that is wrong because...?” Haldir smiled when the last item of clothing was removed. “Mmm, you look delicious,” he growled, pulling Melpomaen to him when the Noldo has wandered close enough.
“Careful,” warned Melpomaen. “Mind that injury of yours.”
“I would not mind something else, that is, there is something else I would not mind.” There was a grin on the warrior’s face now, but Melpomaen tugged on his arm.
“Bath first, sex later,” he decreed.
Haldir pouted. “Oh, alright,” he said, climbing into the tub after Melpomaen offered his arm to help steady him. Settling down into the water, he added, “But let us be quick about this.”
Melpomaen’s hand hovered over the water, a bowl of soap flakes in his hand. “Oh. I was going to make a bit of foam, but I will speed things up instead.” He started to retreat when Haldir took hold of his wrist, and aided him in tilting the bowl. After setting the bowl aside on the floor, they both used their hands to stir up the water and create a blanket of bubbles over the surface. “Now, lean your head over this side,” directed Melpomaen after placing a folded towel on the rim for Haldir to rest his neck on.
The warrior did so, and sighed as a pitcher of water was poured over his hair. “Remember all the times you would do this for me in Imladris, after those long journeys from Lothlorien to deliver Arwen? Funny, this time you brought Arwen, it seems I should be the one washing your hair.”
“Just relax. I enjoy doing this for you. I feared I would never have the chance again,” Melpomaen answered, his voice suddenly sounding distant. “I really thought I had lost you.”
“I am much too tough and old and mean an Elf to be taken down by a few measly uruks,” replied Haldir, hoping to ease his lover’s worry. “Speaking of orcs, I think I smell as bad as one, or worse.”
“Starting to look like one, too,” offered Melpomaen in return, pouring a healthy amount of powdered soap into his hand. He scrubbed Haldir’s scalp, cleaning the dust and dirt from his hair until it was sleek and shining once again. “Much better,” commended Melpomaen as he rinsed the soap out using another pitcher of water.
“Glad you approve.” Haldir sat up, wringing out his hair. Melpomaen batted away his hands, and positioned his head back where it was, then produced a comb.
Parting the strands into easily manageable sections, Melpomaen said, “Just relax.”
“As you wish.” Haldir did as he was told, relaxing so well that he fell asleep while his hair was combed and braided. He stayed that way as Melpomaen took a bar of soap and set about washing the rest of his body, waking only when the touches became extremely familiar. “Is your plan to clean me up only to make me dirty again?”
“Maybe,” answered Melpomaen slyly as he moved his hand along Haldir’s body, further awakening him.
“Up.” Haldir motioned with one finger until his lover was standing, then reached out and latched onto the scribe’s arm until he had a good footing so that he could stand. Once he was up, he motioned to the table. “Towel,” he said, pointing to them once he was out of the tub and standing on a towel that had been placed on the floor.
Melpomaen retrieved the item with a bit of laughter. “Your primitive warrior language simply turns me on,” he said upon returning.
Giving his lover an animalistic growl, Haldir dried off quickly, and tossed the towel to the floor. “Bed. Now,” he issued, backing Melpomaen into the other room.
“I love it when you give me orders,” said Melpomaen as he backed into the bed.
“Yes, I know,” Haldir answered, giving his lover a gentle push. Melpomaen sat down, and then scooted until he was centered on the bed. “Now, what shall I use on you, lover?” the warrior wondered, dropping down onto the bed. “Bet you never considered that when you started to tease me out there, did you?”
Fumbling for the drawer of the nightstand, Melpomaen retrieved a vial that he deposited in Haldir’s hand. “I bought that the day after I found you here, in the market that morning while you were still sleeping.”
“Well, well, well, when I was still bedridden.” Haldir grinned. “One must always be prepared, is that it?” he asked with a wink.
“Come on... be nice, Haldir. I took care of your needs the other day; now, you promised me-“
“Oh, I remember what I promised and I intend to honor that agreement.” Pulling the cork stopper and tossing it aside, the scent of lemon thyme wafted from the vial. “Very nice,” he commented, sniffing the vial.
“Hal-dir...” whined Melpomaen, inching his legs apart, his arms stretched up over his head.
Clicking his tongue, Haldir shook his head. “My, my, how impatient. We cannot have that, can we?” He poured a little oil over his fingers, and reached down to find the puckered opening. Melpomaen bent his knees and lifted his hips, giving his lover better access. “There it is,” crooned Haldir, as if he might have been uncertain of the location. His finger circled twice around before gently breaching the entrance.
While he prepared his lover, Haldir would lower himsElf closer after each time that he inserted another finger, giving and receiving slow, lingering kisses. “I suppose you already know how much I love you,” Haldir said in a low, husky voice as he poured the remaining oil into his palm and used it to coat his solid length.
“Tell me again,” begged Melpomaen, his eyes dark and his voice thick with desire.
“I love you.” Haldir allowed the words to hang between them until they were returned in kind by Melpomaen. Only then did he align his erection with the sweet entry of his lover, and then he plunged forward. At once, their bodies burned for deeper, closer contact, and they tried to regain their calm, neither of them wishing to cause a set back in Haldir’s healing to occur, but both of them having such a need for the other that it soon overtook any previous thoughts in their minds.
It was a fast and furious coupling, not unlike others in the past. What was different this time was the words they shared. Instead of primal grunts and groans of pleasure, they said to one another things which they feared at one time might never be said, things which were only said because of what they had faced: Life, without the other. Life, incomplete.
“Never, ever leave me again.”
“Never. Ever. I promise.”
“Forever.”
“Of course. Forever. Oh, sweet Eru, I love you so much.”
“I... aanngh... I... I love you, too.”
From that point on, Haldir held Melpomaen in his arms, while Melpomaen clung to Haldir. Haldir’s thrusts were shallow, but that mattered little. Their lust, their love, was sated in full by their closeness to one another, not only in body, but also in soul. Even after they were spent, they stayed entwined, and remained so until morning.
- - -
“You really gave up your post.”
“Aye.”
“Because of me.”
“Because of us.” Haldir turned onto his uninjured side, so that he could look down at Melpomaen lying next to him in bed. “Because I want there to always be an us. I am done fighting; there is little need for me to continue. I deserve retirement after all of this,” he joked.
Melpomaen wrapped his arms lazily around Haldir’s waist. “Will you be content in Valinor?”
“Wherever you are, I will be happy.” Haldir bowed his head and kissed Melpomaen’s forehead. “You do... I mean, I hope you want this, too,” he said, a sudden worry creeping into his voice.
“Of course!” Melpomaen pulled Haldir back down and cuddled beside him. “I just want to be sure you will be happy, too.”
“I will.” Haldir smiled. “I know I will.”
They settled back in bed, neither of them having a good reason to get up just yet. A breeze blew into the room, billowing out the drapes like the sails of a ship. The faint smell of salt was in the air, and in the distance, whether their imagination or not, they each claimed they could hear the faint call of a gull from the sea.
