Haldir did not truly believe that Isilwen would meet him in the garden at midnight, but after an evening of being accused of stealing Ciendriel’s map, dismissed by Elrond, and ignored by everyone except his brothers, one more rejection would mean very little. He was drunk, which was odd for Haldir. He usually stayed away from wine, as he desperately hated to lose control. Yet tonight, the grape had seemed appealing. How many bottles had he gone through? Two? Three?

Why was he here again, under the light of the full moon, staring at this hideous statue Elrond had put up in the garden? Really, Elrond generally had better taste than this. Haldir squinted at the tacky thing, hoping it would magically change into something else, but it remained unchanged. Silent, unmoving. Haldir knew what it was like to be a statue, frozen and unmoving, unchanged by time. He had been one for a very long time -- not literally, perhaps, but that was how he felt.

That had ended when he had met Ciendriel, the Princess of Ingra to whom he had briefly been betrothed. He had lost her to Legolas, another of his former lovers. For a time Haldir had entertained the notion that they might have some sort of polyamory, the three of them, staying together, loving together, but in the end he had been excluded. He supposed that this was his own fault, and that he deserved it, but it did not make it any less hard to bear.

Haldir had been forced to remember what love was like, something he had made himself forget after his disastrous affair with Legolas several centuries back. He hated having been stirred up this way, offered a glimmer of what might have been, then lost it all. He had felt hope once more when he had learned of Ciendriel and Legolas' arrival in Rivendell -- perhaps they had come to see him. It turned out they had indeed come to see him, and not at all for the reason he had hoped.

Did the Princess really think he would have made off with her property? Did she and Legolas hold that low an opinion of him?

Apparently so.

Haldir squeezed his hand into a fist. He had done some terrible things where the pair of them were concerned, but nothing so low as stealing. He was no common thief. He looked up at Elrond's statue again, tempted to punch the ugly thing, but that would only damage his knuckles. Maybe, he thought as he considered it, the physical pain would be a distraction from his anguish. He hoped there were still Elves drinking in the banquet hall, because in a minute he was going to turn around and go back for another bottle of wine.

And then, there she was -- Isilwen, Erestor's sister. She had not seen Haldir yet, lurking in the shadows beneath the statue, and he stealthily flattened himself against it so he could appraise her without her knowledge. She was beautiful, indeed, even with the gash that marred her face. Her hair was like silk, deliciously shiny. It shimmered in the moonlight, black as ink. It looked like liquid. He wanted to touch it. No, he would touch it, soon. He would dive in and lose himself in that hair. He would drown himself in it.

She was short, for an Elf. Haldir was taller than Legolas and Ciendriel, who were matched in height, but not quite as lanky as Rúmil and Orophin. Isilwen had to be at least a hand-span shorter than Legolas. Something about that excited Haldir greatly. What would it be like when that small body surrendered to his own?

She seemed cloaked in innocence, but Haldir knew that must be a trick of either the wine or the moonlight. No one who hung around with Rúmil and Orophin could be very innocent. Not to mention the fact that she had been hoping to watch him with Elrond this morning. And, of course, the fact that she had come to meet him now.

How gracefully and stealthily she walked. She looked around nervously, clearly not wanting to be seen. Haldir decided for the sake of his ego to write that off to the fact that she did not wish to be caught by that stiff-necked brother of hers, not that she was ashamed to be seen meeting Haldir. She was nothing like her brother, except in the features of her face, he thought. Erestor would never have agreed to a clandestine meeting.

Isilwen backed up against the statue, sliding around it slowly, backwards. "Ugly statue indeed," she muttered to herself. "Lord Elrond has excellent taste in all matters."

She bumped right into Haldir. Isilwen froze. He chuckled softly and indulged himself in stroking her hair. It was just as soft as it looked. Isilwen gasped, jumped away from him, and whirled around to face him.

"You frightened me."

"That was not my intent."

"I should hope not!"

"I could debate the question of Elrond's taste with you," Haldir said, indicating the statue, "But I can think of better uses for our lips this night."

She frowned at him. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean," he said. She was being coy. He was not of a mood for that.

"No, I don't…"

"Then, I'll show you," he growled. He reached out and pulled her up against him, backing her up against the base of the statue.

"Haldir!" she cried but before she could utter another word he brought his mouth crashing down upon hers.

She was unimaginably sweet. His lips moved against hers as she writhed in his embrace. After a few seconds she relaxed, and he sought entrance into her mouth. Timidly, she granted it. He brought his tongue to hers and she responded, slow at first, but then with enthusiasm. When breath at last was the only option, he finally withdrew.

She gasped, then as he let go of her, she shrank back against the statue, looking at him with amazement.

"By the stars, Haldir of Lorien, what made you do that?" she demanded, sounding angry.

Haldir frowned at her. "Was that not why you came to meet me?"

"To be suffocated by your wine-heavy breath? I think not. I came because Orophin said you could help me with…with this…" She raised a hand to her cheek, indicating the gash.

Haldir threw back his head and laughed. He tilted his head and looked at her dangerously. She seemed startled by his amusement, which amused him even further.

"Ah, vanity," he said. "So you will not share your favors with me before I heal your pretty face."

She blushed slightly. "You think I'm pretty?" she blurted out.

"Fishing for compliments?"

"No, no, it's just that nobody ever says-- well, that is… I don't get many of them."

"I'm not one to give them out in handfuls," Haldir said. "So be satisfied with that."

"What sort of favors are you seeking?" she demanded suddenly, as if she had just heard him.

"The same sort you give to my brothers," he said, smirking, but this time she laughed, and he detected a hint of bitterness in it.

“I don’t do any favors for your brothers, at least not of the type that I think you mean,” Isilwen said slowly. “Have they said that I did?”

She seemed so serious, so close to coming to anger with Orophin and Rúmil that it sobered him up somewhat. She was telling the truth, he decided. If that were so, the cloak of innocence she seemed to wear might very well be real. He tried to think about what they had said about her. They did speak of her often, and fondly... but no, they had bragged of nothing.

“Well?” she demanded as he stood there pondering, “Did they say I gave them favors or not?”

“Orophin said you promised him a kiss,” Haldir said finally.

“I did promise him a kiss,” she said, sounding exasperated. “Is that what you meant? Because if it is, you’ve just had one, so can we please get about the business of finding that herb?”

“You liked it,” he accused her stubbornly.

“No, I didn’t,” she said, but it seemed to him that she replied too quickly.

“Liar.”

“What does it matter if I did, Haldir? Nothing will come of it.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to give you any...any favors!” she said, clearly growing more and more exasperated. She looked so beautiful in her irritation that it harbored in him a desire to draw things out even more. He leaned against the statue, putting his arm out so that she was trapped.

“Why not?” he repeated. “You were keen to watch me with Elrond this morning, were you not?”

“I was keen to make sure that you were not with Elrond!”

He raised an eyebrow. “And if you are not interested in me for yourself, why should you care?”

“Because-- Maybe I-- Oh, it is none of your business!” She pushed against his arm, but he kept it where it was. “Let me out.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to. Tell me, what is your interest in Lord Elrond?”

She flushed scarlet, and Haldir knew he had hit upon it. The silly chit had a passion for Elrond. Were they lovers? Haldir could not remember ever seeing them together. If they were, it would not be wise of him to pursue her. Then again, it would serve Elrond right. He stared deeply into her eyes. She looked away.

“Elrond... means everything to me,” she whispered at last. There was such heartbreaking tenderness in her tone that it might have moved a lesser Elf.

“How sentimental,” Haldir said. “Are you his lover?”

“I--”

“Honestly, now,” he cautioned.

“No.” It seemed to crush her, admitting this. She closed her eyes, as if holding back tears. “He hardly knows I exist.”

“To the contrary, I think after your fall through his ceiling this morning that he knows quite well that you exist.”

“Don’t remind me of that.” Her voice was still a whisper.

“Do not worry -- the blame was placed upon my brothers. Elrond will not punish you for it.”

“I do not fear punishment. I deserve it,” she said, lifting her chin, looking back into his eyes. “It was my fault. I asked Orophin to boost me onto the roof.”

“Did you ask them to join you up there?”

“No...”

“Then the fault is theirs.”

“I thought you would take their side,” she said, sounding amazed.

“I have no reason to blame you in a situation which they came through relatively unscathed. I believe you suffered more damage,” he said with a hint of irony. He thought about how her brother had dragged her out of there -- and the fact that he had forbidden her to take care of the cut on her face. “And I must admit it is quite a way to get his attention. Perhaps I should have tried it myself.”

“You? You have no need of Elrond’s attention! You have his ear,” she said.

“It was not his ear I was trying to get into,” Haldir said with amusement.

“Nor I,” she sighed. He laughed. “Is that so funny?”

“No, it simply surprises me.”

“And why is that, Haldir of Lorien? Elrond is good, and noble, and kind. He is everything that any female might desire. He is everything that you are not!” she said hotly.

Slowly Haldir removed his arm from the statue and moved slightly back from her. His amusement vanished completely. He could not even be angry, because although she did not even know him, she was correct in her assessment of his character. He removed all trace of emotion from his expression, not wanting her to see how this had struck him.

“Maybe so,” he said. “Now that we have that firmly in mind, let us see to your face. The night is not so young that I have much time to find another bed to share.”

“You mean now that Elrond no longer desires you?” she asked.

He might have laughed earlier, but his mood was steadily going downhill. He was on the verge of deciding that he did not like her any better than he liked Erestor, if simply for her frank and probing comments.

“And now that we have established that he has never desired you at all?”

“That’s cruel.”

“That’s the cruel truth. In any event, what I meant was that you had denied me yours.”

She giggled, then blushed again. “Truly, Haldir? Why would you seek my bed?”

“I am starting to forget, myself,” he sighed. “But never mind that now. Come here and let me look at your face.”

“Very well.”

Isilwen stepped forward, closer to him, and Haldir took her chin in his hand. He drew in a deep breath. She smelled of lovely wild ivy with a hint of something darker and muskier underneath. Why hadn’t he noticed when he’d been kissing her? He turned her head slightly to the side and examined the tear in her skin. It did not appear to be infected, but it was deep and dark red in color. She would be lucky if it did not scar. It really should have been treated this morning. He trailed his fingers over it. He heard her draw in her breath slightly.

“It’s very ugly,” he said. “I--”

“You’re cruel,” she gasped, pushing away from him. He only caught a glance of the tears welling in her eyes before she turned and ran away. He realized at once that his choice of wording had been poor.

“I meant the cut, not your face!” he called out, but his words went unheard in the darkness.