Walking the Tightrope

‘Will you just listen to what I have to say?’ he snapped, refusing to chase after her any further than he had already. 

She turned swiftly, her soft green gown twisting round her in a way that emphasised her elegant curves, but she gave him no time to admire the view as she stalked him as inexorably as a big cat cornering a rabbit.

He folded his arms defensively, trying to look forbidding and confident, as if he felt no need to protect himself from the daggers of fire shooting from the eyes of the irate elleth.  He was a warrior, he reminded himself.  He had stood up to far worse.  He only wished that the sudden dryness in his mouth had not left him wondering when that could have been.

‘Why should I?’ she hissed.  ‘You play by your own rules, but expect me to have held to traditions that should be irrelevant because you never spoke to me?’

He swallowed.  ‘I thought you understood,’ he said and rallied.  ‘Anyway – I cannot see why you are making such a fuss.  It meant nothing.’  When she did not return to the attack, he gained confidence.  ‘And it was years ago.  Before you sailed.’

‘So my absence justifies your betrayal?’

He paled.  That had clearly been the wrong thing to say.  Unfortunately, he seemed to have lost control of his tongue and any chance of recovering the situation was vanishing as rapidly as snow on a summer’s day.

With a sound halfway between a snarl and an explosion, she span – and before the troll clutching his throat had released his grip, she had gone.

***

‘That went well.’ 

A wave of resentment surged at the amusement in Glorfindel’s easy comment.  It was all very well for the ancient elf – the object of his interest clearly returned his regard.  And, anyway, the pair of them numbered enough yeni between them to be beyond the age of incomprehensible disputes over nothing.

‘I do not understand the minds of ellyth,’ he sulked.  ‘Always assuming they have minds for us to understand.’

‘If you wish to survive long enough to unravel their … er … complexities,’ Glorfindel informed him, ‘you had better assure that Cúraniel never hears you say something like that.’ 

‘It is not as if I deliberately pursued the Noldo.’

Glorfindel’s grin turned wolfish.  ‘Nor that, my friend,’ he said.  ‘There will be no excuses accepted until you have clearly suffered adequately for your folly.’

Haldir sighed.  ‘Why can she not see it as part of a campaign?  I only did as Lord Legolas and Lady Celebrían commanded.’

‘She cannot see it,’ Glorfindel said, sprawling comfortably on the soft grass and turning his face towards the dappled sunlight, ‘because your opponent was no blade-wielding orc, but a dark-haired beauty bedecked in silks and jewels and bedewed with delicate perfumes.  By paying court to Calissë, you insulted Cúraniel.’

‘Why would I have any interest in that … that … pampered chatterbox of an elleth?’  Haldir snorted.  ‘If it is not court gossip, she is not interested – she would no more dirty her satin slippers in the woods than she would soil her fingers with the hand of a simple Wood-elf.’     

‘Maybe not.’  Glorfindel did not sound particularly concerned.  ‘But you can hardly expect Cúraniel to value your attractions so lightly.’

Haldir blinked.

‘If Calissë sees you as beneath her interest,’ Glorfindel attempted to explain, ‘it suggests that Cúraniel’s taste in ellyn might be somehow at fault.  She does not want to think that you might have flirted with Calissë – but she does not altogether mind that Calissë wanted to flirt with you.’

‘That makes no sense,’ Haldir declared.

‘Of course not.’  Glorfindel lifted his head slightly to regard the confused elf.  ‘Why would you expect it to do so?  Just accept that your place is in the wrong and keep apologising until she agrees to smile on you again.’ He grinned.  ‘And the more obvious your suffering, the shorter the length of time you will be compelled to endure.’  He lay back on the lush grass as the shadows danced over him.  ‘After all,’ he added heartlessly, ‘you deserve to suffer for letting Cúraniel go off to Gondor with Arwen without ever having assured her that you would wait for her until time ended.  What were you thinking?’

‘Oh – I do not know,’ Haldir countered.  ‘Perhaps that Sauron’s downfall had resulted in the shattering of the world I held dear.  Perhaps that my lady and my lord would not endure their parting.  Perhaps that my own feelings mattered little in comparison to the long-drawn-out death of the Golden Wood.’

Glorfindel snorted.  ‘You do not think too much, do you?’ he said.  ‘As if great matters are not made up of a thousand thousand smaller ones.  You cannot change the world – but it is enough to make one small contribution to the whole.  Go after her,’ he added, ‘and tell her what you feel.  Stop trying to be impressive and say what is true.  I have always found that to be what most disconcerts those hearing what I have to say.’

***

‘He is infuriating.’

The corners of Celebrían’s mouth twitched.

‘And dense.  I had not believed that he was quite so dense.’

‘He is an ellon.’ The lady’s smile widened.  ‘Of course he is dense.  Their naivety is part of their charm.’

‘He has no charm.’  The birds trilled in the trees that shaded the fragrant garden and the water in the small fountain trickled over the edge of the bowl into the pond below where great golden fish swam lazily between the lily stems.  Cúraniel refused to look at Lady Galadriel’s daughter.  Her gleaming eyes, too, saw far more than any of her companions ever meant to reveal.

‘He has still to grow up,’ Celebrían said affectionately.  ‘Like my sons, Haldir has spent too much of his life as a warrior and nowhere near enough learning to deal with people he was not trying to kill.  He is past pulling pigtails – just – but not really ready for the complications of dealing with his feelings.’

Cúraniel sighed.  ‘It was all right when we were friends.  I could manage that.’

‘So you would have been content for him had you landed on these shores to find him wed to Calissë?’

‘Yes … no … oh!’ Cúraniel made a sound of frustration.  ‘I would have hoped that she was better-suited to him than she seems – and been afraid that she would have made him very unhappy.’

‘She would, of course,’ Celebrían agreed, ‘but, fortunately, she is nowhere near as giddy as she seems.  She rather likes Haldir, but she can see his faults.  He is, my dear, rather – inflexible – in his thinking.’  She looked sideways at the younger elleth.  ‘Being obliged to spend some time attending my grandfather’s court has been good for him in some ways.  It has forced him to learn that strategy extends beyond the battlefield.  Unfortunately, he has refused to rid himself of some of his more determinedly-held prejudices – his dislike of the Noldor is well-suppressed, but not gone.’

‘I wish I had stayed with Ulbanís,’ Cúraniel said gloomily.  ‘There was no need for me to accompany you east of the Pelori.  It is not as if I am a proper Seler – I have not been initiated into the Order or taken vows – no-one is going to want to hear my report.’

‘Ulbanís has given you the authority to speak on her behalf – and she has at her shoulder the rather intimidating figures of my husband and parents – and of Thranduil and his Lady.  There is enough power delegated to you to ensure that everybody listens.’ 

Another sigh escaped the elleth.  ‘Neither am I trained in diplomacy,’ she said.  ‘The Amillë says that it matters little – we are independent of the Aratar, whether he likes it or not.’  She smiled slightly.  ‘Whether he is prepared to admit it or not.’  She shot a quick glance at the Noldor king’s granddaughter.  ‘Ulbanís has become much less concerned about what the Aratar thinks since her son’s arrival.’

Celebrían laughed outright.  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘once your actions have put you beyond any prospect of reconciliation, you no longer have any reason to worry.  Moreover, the Aratar fears that Glorfindel will mince him into very small pieces and feed him to Andatar Olwë’s sharks if he says anything against the Lord of the Golden Flower’s wife and son.’

The smile on Cúraniel’s face dwindled.  ‘I just wish …’ She stopped.

‘You just wish that Haldir would declare himself,’ Celebrían finished.

‘Is it too much to ask?’

‘No,’ Celebrían agreed.  ‘But we just might have to … to wangle matters, so that he has the best possible opportunity to – as I am sure he truly desires – speak his mind.’ 

***

He curled his lip as he settled the heavy silk and sneered at the elegant vision reflected in the glass.  This was not him – this was some sham imitation of himself, dressed up to impress those who could not see true worth, titivated to attract the admiring glances of shallow maidens who knew no better, all show without any reference to the substance beneath.

‘Do you think Haldir realises that the scowl is half the attraction?’ Glorfindel murmured in Celebrían’s ear.  ‘And that, were he only to simper and bow and flatter as is expected, half those wide-eyed rabbits would scatter to make him chase them?’

‘Of course not.’  Celebrían’s expression remained aristocratically serene, but Glorfindel knew her well enough to sense her glee.  ‘I never thought to see him reduced to performing at court in order to please an elleth – I am only glad that he is serious enough in his pursuit to carry the hunt into less-familiar territory.  It is years since I have been able to persuade him to endure a formal ball.’

Glorfindel snorted.  ‘Cúraniel learned a lot attending Arwen.  More than just how quickly time passes amongst men … more than the weight of loss.’  His bright eyes met his friend’s.  ‘Your daughter knew how to manage men, my lady,’ he said seriously.  ‘They never even suspected how gently she led them all into doing her will.  She …’  He swallowed.  ‘You would have been proud of her, Celebrían.’

‘I was proud – I am still proud.’  Celebrían watched the younger elf stalk across the wide floor, oblivious to his watchers.  ‘Arwen had the courage to follow her own path.  I only wish,’ she added, ‘that I could have known my grandchildren from more than pictures and letters.’  She put her hand on his arm.  ‘You do not talk enough of them, my friend – and we both know that hidden wounds fester.’

He covered her hand with his.  ‘But neither of us are naïve enough to expect healing to be complete.  There is always a scar.’   

‘If you live unscarred, you are not living at all,’ she said.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, their alliance long-standing and solid enough not to require casual chatter to enhance their understanding.  ‘I think she intends to slow enough to let him catch her tonight,’ Celebrían remarked. 

‘Ulbanís suggested that she would be most unhappy if I returned before the matter was settled,’ Glorfindel commented, ‘so I hope that is so.  I would like to see my son again before he reaches his majority.’

‘I can think of only one thing that would prevent a … a happy conclusion.’  Celebrían inclined her head towards the doorway.

From the jewelled pins in her hair to her embroidered slippers, the elleth was dressed to impress.  Her gown clung to her curves and the many-faceted emerald at her throat caught the light of the candles as her pulse made it shiver.  She appeared not to be paying any heed to those within the great hall, but Celebrían knew her well enough to know that a single glance had identified them all. 

‘Ask her to dance,’ Celebrían said urgently.

A golden eyebrow quirked.  ‘I am a married ellon,’ he reproved.  ‘She would not consider me suitable game.’ 

‘You have other attractions.’ 

The eyebrow rose higher.  ‘My lady!’ he exclaimed, raising a hand to his heart in mock-horror.

‘Power, you fool,’ Celebrían grinned, ‘and a vast knowledge of minutiae that could be very … useful.  I am sure you could entice Calissë to look the other way until Haldir has cornered Cúraniel.’

‘Only for you, my lady,’ he said, ‘and, at that, you will be the one responsible for reconciling my wife to my apparent insanity.’

‘Head for the terrace doors,’ Celebrían insisted.  ‘You will intercept her before she reaches Haldir – I will join you before she has time to get away and ask her to help me with my gown.’

Glorfindel’s eyes rolled.  ‘Elrond should have had you planning battles, my friend.’

‘Go!’ Celebrían gave him a slight push.  ‘Timing is vital in campaigns such as these.’

***

  Cúraniel cupped the late rose between her hands and inhaled its fragrance.  The wide terrace that led from the ballroom to the damp lawns was nowhere near as busy as the wide chamber behind her, from which emerged a sound more resembling a high wind in the tops of autumn-crisped trees than civilised conversation among elves.  She was not, she told herself firmly, hiding.  She had no reason to seek out a sheltered spot where she could see and not be seen.   The meetings had gone … well, they had gone as well as could be expected, which was, in truth, to say that they had not, at first, gone well at all.  Fortunately, the only one whose outrage had impelled him to storm out of the council chambers in a snit had been the Aratar – and matters had proceeded a great deal better in his absence.  The other representatives of the Order had looked at their kings and princes and clearly seen the way the wind was blowing – and had graciously accepted the proposed changes, designed carefully to suit the needs of the elves who returned to life in their distant House. 

A mist wrapped the moon, gleaming like a silken shawl and the stars hid behind the drifting wisps of cloud.   She sighed, her breath trailing on the chill night air.

‘I miss the seasons,’ a soft voice said behind her. 

She stiffened briefly, then nodded her head in agreement.

‘It is as if, in the Blessed Realm, only summer is given credit for beauty, and eternal constancy is deemed better than variation.’

‘We are too far south,’ she told him idly. ‘As the days even, so do the seasons, and the world hangs in balance.’  She turned to look at him, this tall elf she had known since they were both elflings, and looked him over critically.

Haldir straightened, as if undergoing a far more military inspection.

‘It suits you,’ she said, waving a hand at his shimmering robe.

He sniffed. 

‘So you want seasons,’ she mused.  ‘Cold winters crisp with frost, springs cool and wet, full-blooded summers and generous autumns.  You want the woods – and freedom from the need to perform.  What else?’

‘Need you ask?’ he said stiffly.

‘Yes,’ she told him.  ‘I think I need.  You make too many assumptions, Haldir, and do not give me credit for making my own decisions.’

His glance was resentful.  ‘You accepted me as I was … before …’

‘Before …’ she echoed.  ‘I was younger then.  I had less experience from which to draw.’

He stepped a little closer.  ‘I should have spoken,’ he admitted, ‘but …’ He ran a hand over his hair.  ‘Too much had happened,’ he blurted out.  ‘Too much had changed and we were all … we were all on the edge of shattering.  It did not seem the time.’

‘True enough.’ 

‘And then – you were gone in Lady Arwen’s train, and, even before the scars of battle had started to fade, the leaves began to fall in the Golden Wood.  And my lord determined to remain east of the sea, yet bade me guard his lady.  I could not deny him – you let your duty take you south, how could I refuse to let mine carry me west?’  He stepped closer: not touching, but near enough that she could feel his warmth.  ‘Once here … I could only wait and hope that, one day, you would find me.’

She looked up at him, pressing her lips together briefly to hold back any comments about his finding enough entertainment to keep him from boredom.

‘And then,’ he said and sighed, ‘I know better than to put pressure on one who has freshly arrived on these shores.  Healing takes time, and is best achieved without others demanding of you what you are not ready to give.’

‘Fool,’ she remarked.  ‘The demands of strangers are one thing – but the presence of those who matter …  How was I to know you cared, when you said nothing?  Do you think I would have hidden myself away with Ulbanís if I had not wanted to avoid seeing you waste yourself as the fly among the pitcher plants?’

His laugh made him look younger, relaxed the wary stiffness of his shoulders, released the fear that he had offended her too much to be forgiven.  ‘Friends, Cúraniel.  They are nothing more than friends.  They know my heart has been long given to another.’

‘And who might that other be?’  Cúraniel was in no mood for delicate phrasing.  Returning to her distant home deep in the forest to ponder over whether he had meant his words to be a declaration – to wait again over long years for him to approach her … no, it was not to be endured.  He would speak plainly, or she would put him from her mind and heart and learn to live without him.

He reached out to brush his fingers down her bare arm to clasp her hand.  ‘Do you not feel it?’ he asked.  ‘I cannot be close to you without wanting to touch you.  I cannot touch you without wanting to kiss you.  If you do not want to share your life with me, Cúraniel, I … I know not what I will do.  I have been waiting for you for so long.’

She swallowed.  ‘Too fast,’ she said.  ‘We must be sensible.’

‘I am tired of being sensible,’ he told her.  ‘Tired of putting my wishes aside in pursuit of other’s targets.’  His eyes held hers.  ‘I wish to wed you, Cúraniel.  I have always wanted you – you and no other.  Will you allow me to court you?’

Impulsively, she leaned into his body, stretching up to touch his lips with a promise of things to come.  ‘Oh yes,’ she said, the wave of euphoria surging over her reminding her of the feeling of having taken too much wine, ‘I rather think that I will.’