Set in Stone - Haldir's Story -

Chapter 13 - One of the Three

It was her second day in Lórien and Daëra had already left Caras Galadhon again to wander through the Woods, ever approaching the border. He was probably on duty somewhere on the outskirts; she would never meet him, if she stayed within the walls of the tree city. Night would soon be falling; Daëra had taken a basket along with her to pretend to be looking for some herbs – in case anyone should ask what she was doing. She had been walking for quite a while and was starting to feel slightly hungry – maybe he wasn't going to come after all... Daëra wondered whether she should venture out even farther to make him come: she was a guest and the wardens couldn't let her walk out into an area where she might face danger.  It was a childish thought though, so she quickly dropped it. Daëra knew she would not be back in Caras Galadhon before midnight, so she started walking in a more determined manner to find a flet where she could stay the night. She had done this many times before; it was what Lórien elves usually did – the only tricky part was to find the nearest flet all on her own.

A soft thud behind her, though, told her that she wouldn't have to. Slowly Daëra turned around, hardly able to suppress a smile. – "There are only two reasons we could think of why it would draw you so far out at this time of day," Haldir began, smiling as well. – "I am curious to hear them," she stated, wondering how long they had been watching her. The brother she identified as Rumil took a step forward to stand next to the March Warden. He waved a hand at her basket. "Picking herbs or flowers, perhaps?" – "Although unfortunately, there are not many growing this far away from Caras Galadhon," the youngest added. Then it was Haldir talking again. "Or of course you were... looking for trouble." He grinned at her mockingly and loosened the sword in its sheath. "This certainly would be the right place to go, we have had plenty of orcs as well as Rohan raiders over the past few years in the outskirts of the forest." – "Although they never got very far." Orophin grinned proudly and tapped the pommel of his sword. – "Of course they did not, they were so scared at the mere sight of you. Your name is their new word for death." Rumil's voice had been serious, but when he turned to Daëra, it was teasing. "Actually, his name would rather be their new word for orc-girls, if there were any." - If looks could kill, Rumil would've dropped dead immediately, but instead he was grinning, having reached his aim.

The younger brothers left to continue their teasing elsewhere and Haldir guided Daëra towards the closest of the wardens' flets hidden in the crowns of the trees. "So?" he finally asked. – "So what?" – "What were you doing out here?" – Daëra laughed. "I certainly was not trying to engage anyone in a sword fight, I can tell you as much as that." – "It is the herbs then?" – "I was hoping people might think that, yes." – Haldir frowned. – "As to my actual purpose..." Daëra hesitated, not quite knowing how to express what she was feeling. He was standing right in front of her, the odd crinkle in his blue-grey cloak being the only flaw in this image of utter perfection – so she reached out and pulled it straight. The tunic he was wearing beneath the cloak was thin; she could feel his muscular shoulders and the warmth of his body through it. She let her fingers wander, down his arms to his chest, until they stumbled over the leather strap that fastened his quiver to his back. Daëra stuck two fingers behind it and tugged slightly. Haldir's hands seemed to move of their own accord when they undid the strap's buckle and let it glide to the floor carelessly. His gaze was locked with hers, his lips were parted – Daëra couldn't believe that he was standing in front of her, he, the man she hadn't seen, but always wanted, since... since Rivendell. While her hands were still resting on his chest he took a step forward to unfasten her cloak, then letting his hands slide down her sides to come to a rest at her waist. The contrast of the cool wind on her shoulders, the heat of his skin and the heat within herself were almost too much for Daëra to bear. His hands seemed to leave burning marks on the skin beneath her gown, he was so close by now she could smell his Lórien scent: leaves and earth and air – before, she hadn't even known air had a scent of its own at all. Yet it had, at least in Lothlórien it had. Haldir leant slightly forward, stopping only millimetres away from her mouth; Daëra's hands wandered up his chest and wrapped themselves round his neck so he could come so close there was literally not distance between them. Then finally their lips met.