Without

By CinnamonGrrl

Part 6

The next morning Corinne awoke feeling wonderful except for a slight soreness in her belly, and a fierce desire to start learning everything she could about this strange new world. She was a little alarmed at the former until she realized it was the same ache she’d felt after wishing herself back in New York. Chalking it up to simply being away from Haldir, she dressed (someone had brought her immense duffelbag to the talan and left it inside the door) in an outfit vastly more conservative than yesterday’s, or so she thought: jeans and a crisp white shirt. Bundling her hair on her head in a messy bun, applying the barest trace of cosmetics, and sticking her glasses on her nose, she grabbed up a notebook and a fistful of pens before exiting Haldir’s home.

Once outside, she remembered she had no idea whatsoever where to find Galadriel and Celeborn, and when she asked a passing elf he only stared in confusion. Must not speak English, she guessed, and frowned.

“Are you looking for the Lady?” asked a soft voice behind her, and Corinne whipped around to find a beautiful elleth standing there, smiling. “I am Tatharë, Rúmil’s betrothed.”

“Hi, Tatharë,” Corinne replied, holding out her hand to shake. Tatharë put her left into it, instead of grasping it with the right, and they ended up holding hands awkwardly until Corinne disengaged them gently. Gotta remember they don’t do that, she scolded herself. “I was looking for Celeborn, actually.

“I will show you,” replied Tatharë, and led the way through the labyrinthine pathways between the trees.

“Do you know where Haldir might be?” Corinne asked, eyes wide as she gazed around the elven city.

Tatharë smiled. “It is my understanding that he was… out of sorts this morn, and has ordered the wardens under his command to a double session of training on the archery field.” She glanced at her companion, brows lifted delicately in inquiry. Corinne had a good idea exactly why Haldir might be grumpy, but didn’t think she should explain it, and just smiled back.

“It is here,” Tatharë said at last, gesturing at an immense tree, and Corinne thanked her before starting up the winding stairs to the first level of the abode. She knocked, but there was no answer. “Celeborn?” she called into the room, poking her head through the door, only too late recognizing the sounds from the next room for what they were. “Oh, hell.”

There was a muffled exclamation, then the rustling of fabric, and Galadriel emerged from the other room to practically skip toward the door. She patted her hair back into order as she tugged her floaty dress back on. “No, no,” she assured Corinne when the woman turned and made to bolt away, “do not worry, you interrupted nothing.”

“Nothing?” Celeborn mock-growled as he followed his wife, his silvery hair distinctly mussed and his elegant robes all askew. “You were not calling it ‘nothing’ a moment ago…” He fell silent at an arch look from Galadriel, and turned to Corinne. “You wished to see me?”

“Um, yes,” she replied, feeling like a complete idiot. “I was wondering if you wanted to teach me about elven culture, if we could arrange for lessons.”

“Lessons?” Celeborn looked as if all his birthdays had come at once, and Galadriel groaned.

“You know not what you ask,” the elf-witch told their guest warningly.

Corinne blasted her biggest, most ingratiating smile at Celeborn, who seemed somewhat taken aback by the force of it. “I’d like to start with a socio-historical summary, combined with learning your language, if that’s all right with you,” she said. “The history will have to be all verbal at first, until I can read your writing enough to study from books.” She looked worried for a moment. “You do have books, don’t you? Yours isn’t an oral tradition, is it?”

“I have books,” Celeborn assured her gravely. “Many, many books. May I show them to you?”

Corinne sucked in a breath. “Please,” she whispered, taking the arm he held out to her and allowing him to lead her toward his library.

That left Galadriel alone in the vestibule. “Ought I to be worried about the two of them?” she asked herself dryly before her smile faded. She was aware of how close the girl and Haldir had come last night to joining, and though she could not discern what exactly the danger was, one thing was clear: that talisman was pushing them to behave in ways unlike their true natures, and seemed unduly influential in getting them to consummate their relationship. Therefore, that very thing must be avoided.

Glancing in a mirror to make sure she didn’t look too disheveled—it wouldn’t do for the Golden Lady to appear in public like she’d just been tumbled, no matter how true it was—she made her way down to her private glade. She allowed her mind to clear and focused on reaching out to a particular person, though she was hundreds of miles away. The familiar feel of the woman’s conscious was like a warm hug, and Galadriel couldn’t help but smile. How she missed her dear friend! “Buffy,” she called out mentally, “Attend me.”

There was a moment of disorientation—Buffy had never quite gotten accustomed to telepathic communication—before happiness and warmth flowed back along the link toward Galadriel.

“Hi!” she chirped into Galadriel’s head. “How’s everything going? Just wanting to complain about Celeborn again? What’d he do this time?”

Galadriel laughed; she couldn’t help it. “Celeborn has been behaving himself quite nicely,” she informed Buffy. “It is Haldir who is causing trouble this time.”

She could feel Buffy’s skepticism. “Haldir? No way. I can’t believe he’s being naughty.” Pause. “Ok, scrap that. I can imagine him being naughty. What’s he up to?”

Galadriel felt it easier to just communicate her memories and knowledge of the situation with Corinne rather than explain them. When she was done, Buffy was silent a long moment. Then, “It’ll take us a week to get to Lórien. We’ll leave tomorrow.”

“That is not necessary—“ Galadriel demurred, not wanting to subject Buffy and her husband to a lengthy trip, but was interrupted.

“Sounds to me like you’ve got someone—from my world, no less—who’s been dropped through a portal into Arda. Who better to deal with the issue, than someone who’s both been there and done that? Besides,” Buffy continued. “Been getting kinda antsy around here, totally wouldn’t mind a road trip. We haven’t been out of Ithilien since Dawn had the baby, and I’m so bored I might have to start reading or some other equally dire hobby.”

“Dire indeed,” Galadriel said with a laugh. “We cannot allow such a fate to befall you, Buffy, so I will see you in a sen’night’s time.”

***

There were many things that Corinne was confused about in her life. Foremost of them, of course, was the matter of Haldir; more secondary was her presence in Arda at all. Magic simply wasn’t supposed to be. She was an academic; she and her colleagues dealt with facts, dry and empirical. How was she supposed to explain this to her faculty advisor?

“Sorry I didn’t hand in that status essay on my thesis, Professor Ives, but you know that gold thingy you had me get from the creepy guy? Made me bleed like a stuck pig to pay for it? Well, seems that it sent me to an alternate dimension, and I fell in love with an elf. Yeah, an elf. Yes, he lives in a tree. No, he doesn’t bake cookies.”

There were also the less pressing issues of her dissertation, finding the money for tuition and books and room and board, and the all-important purchase of designer originals at discount prices. Dealing with her parents figured somewhere in there too. So, there was lots of weirdness and puzzlement floating around Corinne’s head.

But there was one thing in her life that shone with the perfect clarity of crystal: she positively adored Celeborn.

The elf was an absolute demon when it came to knowledge—both the acquisition and dissemination of it. He was clearly thrilled to have an audience eager to soak up what he knew, and even more delighted than that, if possible, to hear about her world. He peppered her with questions as often as she did him, and never showed irritation when she interrupted him to explain a point, or go further into an issue.

And it wasn’t just historical facts that he was so enthusiastic about, either—he segued more often than not into the philosophy of life, love, war, peace, death, sex, and anything else they could think of. He had an excellent, wry sense of humour that made her run the gamut between a mere twitch of the lips to uproarious laughter.

They were up all night.

Galadriel came to the library at one point, scolding them in her serene way to keep their voices down. They invited her to join them, but she just rolled her eyes and left them to it. Haldir stomped in an hour before dawn, fuming that Corinne had deserted him, but they just blinked owlishly at him, and he had thrown up his hands in exasperation and stomped right back out again.

It was well into the morning when they finally admitted their exhaustion, and Celeborn showed her to the door. “I will expect you this afternoon for your first language lesson?” he asked, and she nodded blearily.

“After I sleep for at least a few hours,” she promised, and left. It wasn’t long, however, before she realized she had no idea where she was going. Haldir had been pretty pissed off that last time she’d seen him; would he let her crash at his place?

Tatharë appeared once more, and guided her back to Haldir’s talan. He was sitting at a table with his brothers, eating a meal, and Corinne considered delaying her sleep for some food but the thought of that heavenly bed decided for her. “Hi, sweetie,” she murmured and brushed a kiss over Haldir’s forehead, completely oblivious to the glare he was leveling at her with the force of a forest fire. Her head was still whirling over the concept that people who’d made ancient history thousands of years ago were still alive. Gotta meet Glorfindel, she thought. Gotta learn more about that Balrog-thingy. Gotta—

“Huh?” she said eloquently, stopping in her tracks when Haldir stood and folded his arms over his chest. “What?”

“This is unacceptable,” he told her, his voice low and rumbly. “You cannot spend all night with Celeborn and then stumble in at breakfast.”

Corinne peered up at him. Even angry, he looked delicious. “Ok,” she agreed, sliding her arms around his waist and dropping her head to his chest, nuzzling her face against him. “Can I go to sleep now?” The gusty sigh he heaved made loose tendrils of her hair blow crazily around her face. Taking her shoulders, he put her away from him, turned her around, and steered her toward the bedroom. She was vaguely aware of the expressions of shock on the faces of his brothers and Tatharë, and wondered why—hadn’t they ever seen a sleepy person before?

“We must talk.”

Crap, she thought. That sounded serious. And she was so tired, and had to return for Sindarin lessons in just a few hours… “Can’t it wait until tonight?” she asked, wincing at the whine in her voice.

Shutting the door behind them, he turned to stare at her. “I fear not.” In the brilliant sunlight flooding the room, he looked sinfully beautiful, and memories of his body against hers as she writhed in ecstasy the previous night flooded back to her.

“Are you sure?” Corinne asked, stepping close to him again and sliding her hands up his chest to lock behind his beck. This time, her voice was low and sultry, a tone she’d never heard from herself before. “I’ve been aching for you all night.” Did those words just come from me? she asked herself, more than a little amazed at how she seemed to have no control over her mouth whatsoever.

“Stop saying things like that,” Haldir growled. His hands were clenched very hard—indeed, his entire body seemed tense like a cat poised to spring. “You must stop.”

“I can’t,” Corinne protested, eyes heavy-lidded as she tilted her head back to gaze at him. “I want to touch you, I need to taste you.” She thought of his flesh against her tongue and barely caught a moan from escaping. Would he taste salty, or sweet? Oh, the possibilities…

“You must stop,” he rasped, grabbing her shoulders to give her a firm shake. “Please.” His face was so intent, so pleading, that a sense of guilt cut through the haze of lust that had gripped her. “There is much you do not know about elfkind, that I must explain to you.”

Taking a deep breath, she nodded and pulled back, knitting her fingers together to keep from reaching out for him. “Ok,” she said. “Explain away.”

Haldir stepped to the other side of the room, hands clasped behind his back as he stared at the dappling of sunlight on the floor. “Elves do not share their bodies with another on a whim,” he began. “It is an act of deep friendship or love, not to be taken lightly.” He looked up at her, his gaze piercing even in the waning light. “I do not think you realize how extraordinary is my longing for you, Corinne. It usually takes many days for desire to develop in an elf, and even then, it is not something that possesses us so fiercely. We… are often accused of being somewhat bland lovers.”

Corinne’s skepticism was evident, and made him smile. “Truly, doll-nîn. I do not lie. Affection for us is ever a matter of the mind and soul, rarely of the body. That is why we must be careful, you and I. For this—whatever is between us—is not typical. It is something that must be watched, and studied.”

“Studied?” She couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry. Both actions seemed appropriate for the weirdness of this conversation. ”Studied?”

“There is much evil in the world,” he told her gravely. “What if what we feel is the result of some dark plot?”

Ok, so laughing it would be. “A nefarious plan?” she asked, biting her lip when he nodded. “And it couldn’t be that you’re just the tiniest bit paranoid, hm?”

“What is paranoid?”

“When you believe that dangers exist when they don’t. A delusion of persecution.”

“You are saying that I am delusional?” He seemed deeply offended by this. “My perception has been valued by Galadriel and Celeborn since the Second Age. I am not known to deceive myself or others, even without intent.”

“I’m not calling you a liar,” Corinne protested.

“Are you not? If not a liar, then a madman. Which of the two is preferable? You will forgive me, I trust, if I am not complimented by either possibility?”

She sighed, feeling the last of her patience begin to ebb. “Is it possible you’re thinking entirely too much about this whole thing?”

“It is far more likely,” Haldir replied stiffly. “that you are thinking entirely too little about this ‘whole thing’.” His emphasis of the phrase dripped with distaste for her flippancy.

“Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, Haldir,” she said impatiently.

“What is a cigar?” he demanded, mystified.

“It’s symbolic,” Corinne tried to clarify. “It just means that sometimes there’s no special significance to a thing, that it is just what it appears to be.”

“Then why did you not merely say so?” He was starting to look distinctly grumpy. “And you still have not explained what a cigar is.”

“Argh!” she howled, throwing up her hands. “It doesn’t matter what a cigar is!”

“Then why did you mention it?” Haldir was yelling now, and frowning fiercely. It did not, however, startle Corinne in the least to feel a powerful corresponding throb of arousal in her pelvic area. It gave her pause; perhaps he had a point. This attraction she felt for him was in direct opposition to any concept of logic. Angry, yelling elves weren’t supposed to be sexy.

Corinne had never been a particularly sexual person, and certainly wasn’t shallow—desiring a man simply because of his looks was a distasteful notion. If she were to be honest—and she certainly tried to be, most of the time at least—she would have to admit that she really didn’t know Haldir enough to be in love with him, even as every cell in her body seemed to have grown a mouth with which to scream her adoration. The memory of how she’d cried out her love for Haldir the previous night during orgasm made her blush furiously.

He huffed out an impatient breath, and she realized that she hadn’t answered him. “Haldir—“ she began, but he interrupted.

“Why are you leaving me in two weeks?” he asked, suddenly on a new topic. “Do you think to amuse yourself with me a short while and then return to your life as if naught has passed between us?” He took a step closer to her. “Because if that is your intention, you should know that I will not allow that to happen.”

Corinne was sure her heart was banging so hard it would lurch right from her chest. “How… would you stop it?” she asked faintly.

“I will make you love me so much it would kill you to be apart from me,” Haldir purred, coming still nearer, his grey eyes glimmering in the sunlight. “Real love, Corinne. Not some magically-induced thing that we have no restraint over. I do not trust it, and do not like feeling my control slip away from me.”

“I would never just amuse myself with you, Haldir,” Corinne whispered once she had the use of her larynx again. “There’s no way I could go back and pretend that nothing’s happened between us.” His large, calloused hand came up to cup her cheek, and she pressed into him, soaking in his warmth. “And I’m sorry for what I said before… I don’t think you’re paranoid. You’re way smarter than me, and stronger too, for being able to suspect it instead of just giving in to it.”

A smirk found its way to his beautifully shaped lips as he stepped back and resumed pacing. “I am not so sure it is the preferable choice, this resistance I have.” he drawled. “Only the discipline of millennia is preventing me from throwing you down and sheathing myself in your body.”

“Eep,” Corinne murmured, helpless to pull away from his mesmerizing silver gaze as a wave of yearning swept through her. “Oh, stop.”

“Stop?” he inquired, his voice silken in the deepening shadows. “Do you really want me to stop?”

“Yes,” she whimpered most unconvincingly, feeling her knees weaken as he stalked, pantherish, toward her. “Haldir, please.”

“Yesss,” he said slowly. “You say my name, and beg. I like that.” Threading his hand into her ruddy hair, he tilted her head back with just a smidgen more force than strictly necessary. “Will you beg as my tongue finds your core?” He leaned forward and darted his tongue into her ear, mimicking the action he’d described.

Corinne’s eyes nearly crossed at the pleasure of that, and she grabbed a fistful of his cornsilk hair. “What are you doing?” she hissed. “You just got done telling me this was a bad idea. Is this payback for before?”

Haldir tilted his head to one side and smiled. “Do you not know me well enough yet to know the answer to that question?” Her eyes widened at the realization that he was pointing out, in a surprisingly vicious way, that they did not in fact know each other at all. Who’d have thought him capable of such ferocity?

Not her. Corinne crossed her arms over her chest to hide the diamond-hard points of her breasts. “All right, I get the point. You didn’t have to drive it home with a sledgehammer.”

“Sledgehammer?”

Part 7

The next week passed in a state of tension for Corinne. She and Haldir couldn’t seem to remain in the same area without either arguing or trying to take each other’s clothes off, and Galadriel had given them a strongly-worded scolding about the need to keep from consummating their relationship, so she had moved into Tatharë’s talan. The elleth was quiet, but sweet, and Corinne found her to be an excellent companion. A definite improvement over the roommate-from-hell she’d had her junior year, that was for sure. Not once did Tatharë bring Rúmil home in the middle of the night, dead drunk, and screw him noisily until the sun came up. For which Corinne was endlessly grateful.

Orophin had taken over his brother’s post on the Eastern marches and Haldir was spending all of his free moments on the training field, running drills on his forces until they were begging for mercy. Even after he’d dismissed them, he could be found late into the evening, sending arrow after arrow thudding into dead-centre of the targets, or hacking a practice dummy to smithereens with his deadly twin knives.

Corinne spent her days closeted with Celeborn, trying to stuff as much as she could into her head of the history of Arda. She was almost to the point where she could hold a simple conversation in Sindarin, and toyed with the idea of insisting everyone around her speak only that musical language to her so she could immerse herself in it.

Unless, of course, Haldir was shouting at her. It was at those times that she found Sindarin more annoying than musical, and took to shouting back at him in a conglomeration of French, German, Russian, and Arabic. She spoke none of those with anything approaching fluency, but knew just enough to express a sense of outrage, and it never failed to shut him up for at least a few minutes. Needless to say, tensions were running high.

The fact that they seemed to be able to read each other’s minds on occasion wasn’t helping, either.

There was no real rhyme or reason to it, Corinne noted one lazy afternoon whilst in Celeborn’s study, slouched on his squashy divan with an enormous book spread open over her lap. The Silver Lord was scribing away in his elaborate calligraphy, some lengthy and impossibly elegant missive to his son-in-law Elrond, blissfully unaware of the direction of his student’s thoughts.

Right now, for example. She knew Haldir was tugging with growing impatience at an arrow that he’d embedded in the target. It was refusing to come free, and his ire was rising. She could also tell he was slightly hungry, a little thirsty, but not too tired for all that he’d been shooting for several hours by that point. Just the opposite—there was an edgy, jangling aspect to his mood that spurred him to yank viciously on the arrow, finally removing it, and stride back to where he would stand to shoot again. And again.

Well she understood ‘edgy’ and ‘jangling’—they had been her constant companions in the past week or so, after all. With loads of sexual tension worked up between them and no way to release it, it was no wonder. She idly considered if she should try to hook up with another elf and see if it was just a general sort of horniness, but then dismissed the idea, because she had no doubt whatsoever that Haldir would either kill her, or the hapless elf she seduced, or both of them. It just wasn’t worth it.

The ache in her belly hadn’t diminished either, and was starting to affect her sleep and appetite—she hadn’t eaten normally in about four days and already her jeans were getting a little loose. She didn’t mind losing sleep so much, though. It just meant more time she could study. Celeborn had given her permission to use his study any time she wished, and now that she was more familiar with Caras Galadhon, more nights than not found her crouched beside a single candle, her finger tracing the increasingly-familiar lines of Tengwar script. Submerging herself in learning was the only thing that could take her mind off her physical discomfort.

She sighed. Galadriel had informed them that their friend, Dagnir, was going to come to Lórien to help with their situation. Corinne wondered what this Dagnir would be able to do, and asked Celeborn as much.

He looked up from his letter, silver-gilt hair just brushing the desktop (the ends becoming inky from the still-wet letters on the parchment) and frowned in thought. “We should have told you about her as soon as we met you,” he began apologetically. “Dagnir is… very much like you.”

“A grad student from New York who was sent to another dimension by a magic talisman?” Corinne asked, smirking.

“From California, actually,” Celeborn told her, making her smirk melt away like ice in the sun. “Not a… grad student, and it wasn’t a talisman. But she is a very powerful woman. The Valar sent her here to repair a mistake of cosmic importance, and fulfill her destiny.” He smiled when she just continued to gape at him. “There is… one more thing you should know about her.”

Recovering, Corinne blinked. “What’s that?”

“Although she is very happily married to the mate of her soul, she and Haldir were lovers for over a decade,” Celeborn said calmly. “Even now, they are very close friends, and fiercely protective of each other. If she thinks you are trying to hurt him in any way… it will not end well.”

Corinne was filled with great unease. “She sounds… formidable.”

“She is,” he agreed, sitting back in his chair and eying her speculatively. “Entirely.”

She had the impression that her next words would go far in forming Celeborn’s opinion of her. “I’ll just have to show her that I don’t mean harm to anyone, especially not Haldir. I only want to make him happy.” A pang lodged in her chest at the thought of him, a pang of regret for all their arguing, and she wished with all her might that he were with her at that moment. A slight buzzing from her pocket made her start. “What the--?”

Corinne almost put her hand in her pocket to explore the mystery, but then remembered what happened the last time she did. “Shit!” she yelled, leaping to her feet and beginning to unbutton her jeans. “Shit!”

Alarmed, Celeborn jumped up as well and rounded the desk, watching with great trepidation as she began to wrench her jeans off. “Please do not,” he said earnestly.

“No, no, no!” Corinne exclaimed. “It’s the cartouche! Didn’t I give it to Galadriel to take care of?” Toeing off her shoes, she yanked the jeans off her feet and stood before him clad only in one of her father’s ancient Oxford shirts, the tails of which went past mid-thigh.

“I thought you had, yes,” Celeborn mused as she grabbed the jeans by the hems and shook them vigourously. With a thunk, the cartouche fell out of the pocket to land on the floor. It was glowing brightly, the energy pulsing from it as red as blood.

“Don’t touch it!” she screeched when he bent to pick it up, grabbing his arm with hers and jerking it back. “Don’t ever touch it!” Her grip on his arm changed from pushing to pulling, trying to steady herself as a double-wave of dizziness and nausea overcame her. “I feel awful.” And she fainted.

Celeborn swept her into his arms before she could touch the floor and began to carry her toward the healer, calling for Galadriel as he did. She ran from her glade, wiping her hands on a cloth, making him wonder irrelevantly what she’d been doing to require hand-wiping, before dismissing the thought. “She is ill. Where is Haldir?”

“I will fetch him,” Galadriel promised, and turned away, but there was no need—their march-warden was running up the path, bow still in his hand as if forgotten when he had bolted from the archery range, which is exactly what he had done. At the sight of Corinne lying limply in Celeborn’s arms, he paled and put on a burst of speed, skidding to a halt when he reached them. Celeborn willingly transferred his burden to Haldir’s arms, retrieving the bow he dropped to the ground.

“Doll-nîn,” he murmured, resting his cheek against her forehead and beginning to walk quickly toward the healer. “What has happened? And why are her trousers missing?”

But Celeborn didn’t get a chance to relate the happenings of the past few minutes, because Corinne woke up, yawning and stretching as best she could while being held in someone’s arms. “Haldir,” she murmured, nuzzling against his throat. “Mmm. Smell good. Love you.”

Haldir swallowed visibly and closed his eyes. Her sleepy words and warm, soft, half-clad body in his arms were making him lightheaded with desire and before he really knew what he was doing, he began to stride as fast as he could without actually running toward his own talan.

Celeborn and Galadriel caught up with him easily, however. “You must not do this,” she told him, and there was a thread of warning in her voice that managed to cut through the haze of lust in Haldir’s brain. Struggling to control himself, he relinquished Corinne to Celeborn once more, who carried her away from Haldir’s home toward Tatharë’s.

“My deepest regrets, Lady,” Haldir said at last. “I… am not myself lately.” Humiliation vied with residual lust and frustration within him, and the vague queasiness that filled him whenever Corinne was apart from him returned with a vengeance. “I am not well.” He sat down hard on the ground and buried his face in his hands as vertigo threatened to overwhelm him. “I am undone, I am undone.”

The last thing he remembered seeing was Galadriel’s face, pinched and white, as she bent to him and then all went dark.

***

“I must go to him!” Corinne gasped, lurching up from her bed in Tatharë’s talan. “He’s sick, he needs me!”

Celeborn and Tatharë looked alarmed at this revelation, and at his nod, Tatharë departed on swift feet to see what had happened to Haldir. “Rest, Corinne,” Celeborn commanded, grasping her arms and lowering her back onto the bed. “Galadriel and Tatharë will tend him; you can do nothing.”

“He needs me, he needs me,” Corinne moaned over and over, struggling against him. “Please, let me go to him.”

“You cannot,” he told her, starting to become alarmed. Her panic was lending her strength, and he was beginning to lose control of the situation. “He is being cared for.”

“He needs me!” she exclaimed, fighting him with desperation, and wiggled out of his grip. She had made it to the door before he tackled her. “Ooof,” Corinne said on a rough exhale as the elf’s body slammed down on top of her, pinning her to the floor. “Celeborn, get off me!”

“What is this?” asked a voice. Both Corinne and Celeborn looked up to find Rúmil standing there looking impossibly amused. “Does Tatharë know you are using her home as a place for your illicit assignations?”

“Quiet yourself,” Celeborn hissed at the younger elf, somehow managing to scramble to his feet whilst still looking very elegant indeed and continuing to manacle Corinne’s wrist with his hand, hauling her up. She tried to peel his fingers off, but to no avail.

“He needs me,” she keened over and over. “Why won’t you let me go to him?”

Rúmil frowned. “What is this?” he repeated, but this time his tone was deadly serious. “Is aught wrong with my brother?”

“I do not know,” Celeborn gritted out, dragging Corinne away from the door and sitting on a chair, plunking her in his lap and wrapping his arms around her waist so he could hold onto her squirming body more securely. “Much has happened this day. Dagnir and Legolas should arrive soon. Ride out to meet them, and hurry them to Caras Galadhon.”

“It will be done,” Rúmil assured him, and left after a last look at Corinne, who now slumped against Celeborn’s wide chest, weeping pitifully.

***

Legolas gazed speculatively at his wife. She rode with her usual ease, body moving seamlessly with that of the horse, reins held comfortably in one hand, the other resting on her thigh. To the casual observer, she was simply enjoying a beautiful late-spring day’s travel. To him, however, the tension in the upright line of her back was as obvious as if she wore a sign reading, “I am upset!”

He knew she worried about Haldir. More than simply being her lover for over a decade, he had been her first friend in Middle-Earth, had fought by her side throughout the War of the Ring just a year ago, had comforted her when he, Legolas, had hurt her shamefully. Haldir was her pillar of strength and voice of reason, and ever did he delight in flirting shamelessly with Buffy, knowing how it … displeased Legolas.

Ever since communicating with Galadriel, Buffy had been withdrawn but also… eager, in a way. She had told him that a woman had arrived in Arda from her world, and was causing trouble with her Haldir. She tried to hide her enthusiasm to meet someone from her own homeland, but Legolas knew her too well. Even though she had resigned and acclimated herself to living in Middle-Earth, ever would she remember with fondness the amenities of her old life.

She turned and flashed a smile at him, that smile that never failed to make his love for her well up in him. Reaching out, he plucked her off her mount and positioned her before him on his own, wrapping his arms tightly around her slight form as she sighed happily. Her horse was left to follow of its own accord, which it did willingly.

A year they had been wed, and much had occurred since. They had founded what Buffy would insist upon calling an ‘elf commune’: Sérevinya, or 'New Place of Rest' in Common, and now had over two score of his kind living there. Minas Ithil was nearing the end of its lengthy renovation, much to the delight of its rulers, Buffy’s sister, Dawn and her husband Boromir; and Gimli’s supervision of the rebuilding of Minas Tirith was nearly complete as well. True to Eowyn’s prediction before Dawn’s wedding she and Faramir were expecting their first child before next spring, and Elessar and Arwen were simply enjoying being together as he pulled together the remnants of the great kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor.

They crossed the Limlight, and the mellyrn of Lothlórien were a dark line on the distant horizon. Already, the air seemed fresher, less dry than that of the Wold that they had just left. A speck in the distance caught his notice, and he peered closely at it. Not long did it take him to ascertain it was an elf, riding at great speed toward them.

Buffy lifted her face from where she’d snuggled against his shoulder and gazed northwards. “It’s Rúmil,” she muttered, sitting up straight. “For him to be riding like that toward us…” she paled a bit, and hopped lightly to the ground, grabbing the reins of her horse and leaping into the saddle, for she did not ride bareback in the elven way. Glancing at her husband, she saw he was as ready as she, and spurred her mount to a gallop.

Within an hour they and Rúmil had met. “You came alone?” he demanded, only slightly breathless from his own wild ride. “Do not let Haldir know; he is…”

“It was quicker,” Buffy replied. “Haldir’s what?”

Rúmil shut his eyes, so like his brother’s, a long moment. When he opened them, they flared with pain and worry. “He was unconscious when I left Caras Galadhon,” he said at last. “And Celeborn has had to restrain Corinne, she is frantic with worry for Haldir.”

Buffy squared her shoulders. “Let’s go.”

Legolas was about to ask if she should rest; they had been traveling since dawn and it was now nearing dusk, but decided from the glint in his wife’s eyes that it would be an unwise question.

They travelled hard, all that night. Buffy’s sole concession to fatigue was to sleep in Legolas’ arms while they rode. She woke when they reached the edge of Lórien and couldn’t ride with any speed through the trees. Legolas was very glad to be able to see the splendor of the forest without hindrance of blindfold, as had been his misfortune on his first entrance to this place. Just as he recalled, the trees were immense and magnificent, but there was something diminished about them, perceptible only to an elf’s gaze.

His thoughts must have shown on his face, for Rúmil nodded. “Ever since the Ring was unmade, the power of the other rings has lessened. Galadriel’s power is not what it was, and the Golden Wood is slightly less… golden now.”

Legolas murmured something noncommittal and continued to trudge along the path, allowing himself to feel a moment’s fear at the uncertainty of the future. For his entire existence, all two thousand plus years of it, certain things had been facts: his birthplace, Mirkwood, was nearly overrun with orcs and spiders; caution was a way of life; darkness hovered over the land, and it was only through the three elves who wielded the rings of power that it was kept at bay at all.

Though it was true that the darkness had been weakened, still it was not gone entirely. If the rings held their power no longer, how vulnerable were the lands of Arda? What foothold could be gained by evil, now that the protectors of Middle-Earth were handicapped in their task? This new issue of Haldir and a woman who, unlike Buffy, had no Valar-sponsored destiny, caused great anxiety to be born within Legolas.

But he would not burden her with his misgivings; not yet. Her beloved face was strained with concern for her friend, and he would not add to her worries with his own until this newest problem had been hurdled. Taking her hand, he gave it a reassuring squeeze and lifted it to his lips for a brief kiss. Her smile at him, briefly erasing her expression of unease, reassured him that even were there evil coming, it would not succeed. Not if he and Buffy were there to prevent it.

Part 8

By the time Buffy, Legolas, and Rúmil arrived in Caras Galadhon, Haldir had been conscious again for hours and Corinne was settled down once more. Galadriel and Celeborn had hit upon a winning strategy, they felt: As both proximity and repetitive actions seemed to cause the pain and vertigo to lessen, Haldir made arrows with Corinne curled against his side as Celeborn drilled her on conjugating Sindarin verbs. Occasionally, the hands of one would drift to risky places on the other and Galadriel would slap them away.

“It is not ideal,” Tatharë said during her greeting of her betrothed and briefing of Buffy and Legolas to the situation, “but vastly better than watching Haldir lay senseless while Corinne weeps herself sick.”

Buffy stood in the doorway a long moment, simply watching the scene within. She’d been to Haldir’s home many times in the past eighteen years she’d been in Middle-Earth; after they’d started sleeping together, she’d given up her talan completely and simply stayed with him on those occasions she was in Lothlórien. This would be the first time entering it since falling in love with Legolas, and it felt… weird.

What was weirder, though, was the sight of Haldir smiling affectionately down at a woman who looked like a dictionary-definition of ‘professional student’: plain of face, unexceptional of figure, browny-red hair was bundled into a ponytail, no makeup or jewellery. Her feet were bare, and she wore a plain white t-shirt and a slim yellow skirt. There were ink smudges on her fingers, and her eyes behind the wire-rimmed glasses were a nondescript shade of green. Or maybe brown. She was a woman to overlook in a crowd, or even just in a small group; average and unexceptional in every way.

Except, perhaps, for the way she was smiling up at Haldir. Her smile lit up her whole face, and the way her eyes glowed with adoration for him made Buffy more than a little embarrassed, as if she were witnessing something intensely private, meant only to be shared by the two of them.

But if she looked closer—and Buffy always made it a point to look closer—she could see that there was an unnatural glint to the love in Corinne’s eyes, and that her smile was just a shade too wide. And Haldir… she’d never seen him with a full-blown smile on his face, as he typically had two expressions: surly or smirking. To see him so unnaturally cheerful made her feel like a motherless child, and that unpleasant sentiment infused her with a briskness she hadn’t felt in a long time.

“So,” she said, her tone chipper, as she finally entered the room. “I see that aliens have sucked out your brain. Funny that it took something so extreme to put you in a good mood.”

“Dagnir,” Haldir said, putting aside his arrows and standing. “Cormamin lindua ele lle.” He looked over at Legolas. “Mae govannen,” he added, though the temperature of his voice had cooled a few degrees. In spite of it, Buffy launched herself at her friend and engulfed him in a huge hug which he actually returned after a few surprised moments.

The pain that gripped Corinne at the sight of Haldir holding another woman in his arms felt like a hand squeezing her heart. No, she thought absently, concentrating on the pain so she wouldn’t collapse, more like a hot poker had been shoved into her belly. Or perhaps—her musings were interrupted by Legolas.

“Let us leave them alone,” he urged softly, indicating his wife and Haldir. “They have not seen each other in a year’s time, and have much to say.”

She gazed at Haldir and Dagnir again, and felt the soreness inside her kick up a notch. Still, the expression of joy on Haldir’s face was beautiful, and she wouldn’t erase it for the world. “Ok,” she replied at last. “But you might have to help me a little.” Legolas looked at her in alarm when she stumbled, and quickly eased an arm around her waist to assist her out onto the wide balcony. Corinne groped for a chair and fell heavily into it, arms wrapped tightly around her waist. “I can only take about five more minutes of this,” she gasped, and then her head lolled forward as she lost consciousness.

Legolas was about to fetch Haldir when he felt a soft touch on his arm. “She will be fine,” Galadriel told him, nodding to how Celeborn had come to tend Corinne, putting her head back in a more comfortable position. “Look you inside, you will see Haldir suffers as well.” He did as instructed. Buffy was speaking animatedly to Haldir, who was nodding and replying, but one of his own arms was around his waist, and his face was becoming more and more strained. “They cannot be parted for long.”

With a gasp, Corinne came to. “He is well?” she demanded, and at Celeborn’s nod, relaxed a fraction and closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the chair. Then she arched up, body taut as a bowstring, and stared straight up at the night sky. When she spoke, she was not alone: Galadriel too had a glazed expression in her blue eyes, and gazed sightlessly at the tree’s trunk as they both spoke in tandem.

Netjer, kai-imakhu,
Wep em wawet merut ibi.
Hem-weshem-ib.
Nehktet, nehktet, nehktet.

Celeborn’s wide eyes met those of Legolas, and he turned to enter the talan to fetch Haldir, only to slam right into that elf. “She—“ he began, but Haldir help up a forbidding hand and Legolas fell silent.

“Listen!” Haldir hissed. He pushed past Legolas, gently putting Galadriel aside (for she was still standing stock-still and staring at the tree) and bent over Corinne. Lifting her with one arm, he used the other to fumble with her skirt, finally losing patience and wrenching it free.

“Haldir, do you really think now’s the time to—“ Buffy began, smirking, but Celeborn frowned at her.

“He is ridding Corinne of the cartouche, so she cannot touch it with bare skin,” he told her. “No matter where we hide it, it always finds its way to her.”

Haldir dropped the skirt to the balcony floor, where it landed with a muffled metallic thud. No one stepped forward to pick it up. The sound seemed to wake Galadriel and Corinne from their trance, however, for both blinked and looked around in bafflement.

“I saw… a creature, in my mind,” Galadriel said with a delicate shudder against Celeborn’s shoulder. “What was it?”

“A two-headed lion,” Corinne answered, eyes locked on Haldir’s. “It was Aker. He… gave us the incantation for the cartouche.” She hissed in a breath then. “Oh, god,” she moaned, and grabbing his hand, jammed it between her thighs. “I’m sorry,” she muttered. “To all of you. But I can’t take any more, I need relief… oh, yesss…” Her hips undulated against his hand and he fell to his knees beside her.

Buffy stepped forward to separate them, but the look Haldir turned on her, eyes blazing silver, stopped her in her tracks. “Leave us, all of you,” he said through gritted teeth. “We will not join completely, but something must be done.” He stood and swept Corinne into his arms, stalking into the talan and slamming shut the door with his foot.

The others stood on the balcony, staring at each other. “Usually, I’d trust him completely,” Buffy said, “but this new and not-so-improved Haldir… not exactly inspiring the big confidence. Can we really expect him not to go all the way?”

Celeborn exhaled sharply. “We four are not enough to subdue them,” he said tiredly. “We will need Rúmil and Orophin, at least.”

Just then, a long, low feminine moan issued from within the talan. Galadriel smiled weakly. “It is too late, I believe.” There was the sound of ripping fabric, and then a masculine sigh of relief. “Definitely too late. We will just have to hope for the best.”

On the other side of the door, Corinne was still seeing stars. Haldir had thrown her down on his bed, then flung himself half-over her, his mouth ravishing hers while his fingers plied her to orgasm. The pleasure she herself felt was magnified by what she could sense from him, hitting her both body and soul so that she was pulled into a maelstrom of desire and delight.

As soon as she was able to breathe, she squirmed out from under him and rolled him to his back. “Haldir,” she breathed, shoving up the hem of his tunic and latching her lips around his nipple while her hands tried desperately to unfasten his breeches. With a strength born of long-frustrated lust, she ripped them open to reveal his erection in all its splendid, heated length.

Corinne barely had time to touch her tongue to its tip before his hands were in her hair and he was thrusting forward into the heat and wetness of her mouth. “Ai, Valar,” Haldir moaned. When one of her hands brushed the heavy sac at his base she could feel the pleasure that brought him, so she cupped it with both hands, kneading and squeezing until, flinging his head back, he came. Barely had Haldir regained his breath before he was flipping her to her back once more and sliding down her body.

“I must taste you, I must…” his words faded away as he parted her legs, spread her open, and lowered his mouth to her.

“Oh, God, yes!” she cried, hips twitching. “Haldir, Haldir.” It wasn’t long before she came again, clutching his face to her and bucking up frantically. He barely gave her time to rest, however, before he was twisting himself around and lowering himself over her. Corinne eagerly took him down her throat once more, even as his tongue slithered and delved deeply between her nether lips, seeking out every droplet of the honey that coursed from her in her passion.

This time, when ecstasy overtook them, they didn’t make a sound, and only shuddered helplessly against one another before resuming course. Over and over they pleasured each other in this way, locked against each other in an endless cycle of renewing passion, feeding off the other’s climax until exhaustion and soreness overtook them.

“That was incredible,” Corinne mumbled against his shoulder as the first rays of dawn peeped over the Anduin to the east. “No wonder people write songs about sex, if it’s always like that.” She lifted her head with great effort and looked at him with wide, bleary eyes. “Is it always like that?”

“I have never done that all night long before, so I do not know,” Haldir admitted with a blissful smile. “The most I managed was that time when… ah, perhaps I should not mention that.”

She allowed her weary head to drop down again. “Because it was with Buffy?” She felt him nod. “I don’t mind you talking about her. It’s obvious she’s with Legolas now—though how she could pass you up, I’ll never know—and as for you…” Corinne felt him tense a little, and hugged her arm around his waist reassuringly. “I trust you.” He relaxed, and she couldn’t resist teasing him a little. “Besides, I can read your mind. I’d know if you were thinking impure thoughts about her.”

He rolled over on top of her, grinning naughtily down at her. “I may only think impure thoughts about you?”

She wriggled her pelvis experimentally against him; hm, elven stamina was very impressive. But so was that of a studious woman who’d read The Joy of Sex thoroughly when she was a teenager. Very thoroughly. For purely academic purposes, of course. “Yes,” she said at last, but decided she simply wouldn’t survive another go, and pushed at him to roll him off. “Impure thoughts are good, if they’re about me.”

“Then I shall expect the same of you,” Haldir declared. “No impure thoughts of Legolas.”

Corinne frowned. “Legolas? Why would I want to think impurely about him? He’s too pretty,” she complained. “If I were going to lust after someone, it would be Celeborn. Now, he’s my kind of elf. Do you know, back in Beierand he—“

But her words were cut off by Haldir’s hand firmly pushing her face back down against his shoulder. “It is time to sleep now, is it not?” he asked grouchily. “I do not wish to hear how Celeborn is attractive to you.”

She reached up to kiss his chin. “Just teasing you, darling,” she murmured contritely.

“Hrmph.”

***

When they emerged that evening, both were so relieved to feel normal for the first time in weeks that they weren’t at all embarrassed at the looks sent their way. Buffy was almost relieved to have Haldir snubbing Legolas in a show of his usual personality. “When are you going to forgive him, Hal?” she asked, grinning and punching him in the arm. “I got over it a year ago. Isn’t it time for you to let it go and move on?”

“Perhaps,” was all Haldir would say. “And do not call me that.” he turned to the woman who watched them from her seat, and Buffy marveled once more at how his face gentled and at the same time, tensed with a hint of the passion that she knew from personal experience he only displayed when in the middle of lovemaking. There’s some very complicated emotions going on here, she thought with apprehension, and pasted a bright smile on her face. “We never really got a formal introduction, did we?”

“Corinne Williams,” the woman said, and held out her hand to shake.

It was the first time in almost two decades that Buffy had interacted with a person from her own world beside Dawn, and she felt strangely moved about it. The very normalcy of shaking Corinne’s hand made her have to blink away sudden tears, and she increased the wattage of her smile to cover her reaction. “Buffy Summers.” She stepped back to gesture for Legolas. “My husband, Legolas of Mirkwood.” Then she waited for the inevitable drooling to start, and was fairly shocked when Corinne greeted him as she would a normal-looking person. Or elf. “Wow,” she muttered. “That must be some heap-big mojo if you don’t go weak-kneed at the sight of him.”

Corinne flicked her gaze over Legolas’ flawless countenance. “Oh, he’s gorgeous, all right.” Then she looked at Haldir, who was frowning down at her. “But he’s not Haldir.” At her words, he smiled and leant down kiss her, but Galadriel was there before their lips could touch, her hand thrust between their faces.

“A preemptive strike,” the Lady of Lórien said dryly, and Buffy couldn’t keep from laughing, not even able to stop when the two thwarted lovers turned somewhat grouchy glares at her.

“I am pleased to meet you, milady,” Legolas said to Corinne, and lifted her hand to his lips. Buffy knew she wasn’t the only one to notice the fine tremor of Haldir’s arm at the action—it was costing him dearly to keep from throttling the other elf for touching ‘his woman’. Choking back a laugh at the phrase, Buffy asked, “So, what’s going on? Why don’t you tell me what’s made you act all Lovesick!Haldir?”

“Oh, don't I wish I had the answer to that question?" Celeborn murmured as Corinne slipped her hand into the crook of Haldir’s elbow and leaned against him. The gesture was unconscious, as was his reaction of covering her hand with his own and dropping a casual kiss to the crown of her head. This is really wigging me out, Buffy thought.

“I’ll give you the fast and dirty version,” Corinne said. “I’m a graduate student of sociology at NYU, studying ancient Egyptian mysticism, and thought that owning an ancient talisman would be the perfect centerpiece to my dissertation.” She looked away from Buffy, staring at the wall a moment, lost in thought. “I should have suspected when I had to pay with my blood that it was a bad idea, but I just thought the old guy was weird. I can always brew some more blood, after all, right?” She gave a nervous laugh and redirected her gaze to the other woman.

“It was about a week after I bought the cartouche that it happened. I was out with friends, saw something that I wanted, and it began to hum and glow. When I got home, it was still doing it, and I picked it up to study it more. But the next thing I knew, I was sitting on my butt in Haldir’s flet and he was aiming his bow at me.”

“Ever since then, things have been… weird. Beyond weird, and into the realm of completely freaksome. Haldir and I can’t stop molesting each other, and then we started having these strange episodes.” She sighed and rested her head against his arm. “We can’t be apart any more, not even a short while, or else we get sick. Really sick, with fainting and spewing. It’s not pretty.”

“And,” Haldir added, “I for one have begun to hear Corinne’s thoughts in my head.”

“Yes,” Corinne agreed instantly. “It began for me a few days ago. At first it was just sensing your emotions, but after I had that fit with Celeborn—“ she shot an apologetic glance toward the Silver Lord, who nodded in acknowledgement, “—I could hear everything you were thinking.”

At this point, both she and Haldir began to blush. On her, it was the typically blotchy human reaction; on Haldir, the result was a delicate tinge of pink over his ivory cheeks. Their eyes locked once more and Galadriel had to come forward with her hand again. A faint sound from beside her indicated that Legolas was having to struggle very hard to keep from laughing, and Buffy patted his knee reassuringly.

“However,” Haldir said at last, “since… last night… I for one am feeling much less pained.”

“Me, too,” Corinne chimed. “I feel super.” The others fell silent as they remembered moans, cries and sobs of pleasure emanating from Haldir’s flet throughout the previous night.

“So, what’s the plan?” Buffy asked after a while. All turned blank faces to her, and she sighed; was she always going to be the proactive one? “You do have a plan of some sort, don’t you?” More blank stares. Another sigh. “Galadriel, tell me what you know about this.”

“The Valar are strangely silent,” Galadriel replied in her serene, smooth voice from her seat between Buffy and Celeborn. “The most I can determine is that the cartouche desperately wants them to join. My instincts tell me for that very reason, they must not.”

“And Celeborn?” Buffy turned to him. “Have you learned anything?”

“I fear not,” he admitted, looking mightily disgruntled about the fact. “There is naught in all my library that deals with such a thing. It is not a magic of Arda, and is unknown to us here.”

“Well, that narrows it down beautifully,” Buffy told them cheerfully. “If we can’t figure it out here, we’ll have to figure it out there.”

“There?” Haldir asked, silvery eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Do you mean, Corinne’s world?”

“Yep.” She turned to Corinne. “Think you can wish us to New York?”

The other woman looked apprehensive. “Now that I’ve got the incantation, I’m sure I can, but…” Her head drooped. “I’m afraid to go without Haldir. I think we can be apart for a few hours at a time since… last night… but I don’t know how long we’d have to be there. If it’s a few days…”

“Then I shall go with you,” he declared.

“No, no, bad idea, way bad idea,” Buffy protested. “Elves in New York? It sounds like some terrible B movie. It would be chaos, unleashing you on an unsuspecting city.”

“I’d agree with you,” Corinne began, “but I seriously doubt I’ll survive going all the way to another dimension if I can’t even leave the room without passing out.”

Buffy stared at Corinne a long moment; the other woman’s face was earnest and concerned. “Fine,” she grumbled at last. “But no complaining if he gets run over by a taxi.”

“He will not, nor will I,” Legolas stated. “For you shall go nowhere without me, tithen maethoramin.”

“Oh, that’s such a sweet nickname,” Corinne cooed, then looked revolted. “Oh, God. You don’t know how… completely foreign to my actual personality all of this is. I never coo like that. Or at all, really. Ever. We have to do something about this.”

Buffy watched as Haldir rubbed his hand in soothing circles over Corinne’s back and she snuggled into the curve of his arm. It was very unnerving seeing him all cuddly, as if the laws of physics had ruptured. “Couldn’t agree more,” she murmured.

*tithen maethoramin = my tiny warrior
herves-nîn = my wife
cormamin lindua ele lle = my heart sings to see you
mae govannen = well met
amin hiraetha = I am sorry
mellon = friend

~~~

Holy One, exhalted reverend one,
Open the way to my deepest desire.
I subject myself to the testing of the heart.
Bring me success, bring me victory.

Part 9

Haldir and Corinne went to bed early that night, and Caras Galadhon was treated to several hours of lusty noise-making before the talan fell silent once more. Nothing dire seemed to be happening as a result of their sort-of shagging, Buffy noted. In fact, if anything, Haldir’s haughty Glare O’ Death was almost back to its former glory, and Corinne didn’t look at him a single time during lunch, preferring to scribble notes in one of her notebooks about what she was eating.

“I understand how lembas is waybread, makes perfect sense, lenn is journey and bas is bread, a specific recipe and purpose,” she said apropos of absolutely nothing, “but about the other names for bread… the root is fairly obvious, but why so many variations? Basgorn—is the gorn here in the sense of ‘impetuous’ or ‘valorous’?-- bass, bast—that’s the name of another Egyptian god, by the way— bassoneth, bessain.”

The others stopped their discussion to stare at her. Unphased, she watched Celeborn unblinkingly, waiting for his response. When none was forthcoming, she continued. “And does the last one have anything to do with bess? Co-cognates, perhaps?”

“All excellent questions,” Celeborn replied smoothly. “It has to do with mutation of consonants, and better explained in the library.” Corinne looked positively delighted at the prospect, and eagerly followed him without a backward glance.

Galadriel smiled serenely. “They are ever like that,” she said fondly. “Ever since Orophin became a march-warden 400 years ago, Celeborn has had no one to study with. This is vastly preferably to seeing him mope about.”

Legolas looked at Haldir. He was watching the departing figures, but with faint amusement, and no sign of discomfort. “It does not pain you, then?” he asked.

“It does not,” Haldir affirmed, and took a sip of wine. “I believe that as long as we are able to… release our tensions… we can be parted for some time.”

“Yeah, about that tension-releasing,” Buffy said, grinning when Haldir lifted a brow in her direction. “Are you sure that your almost-but-not-quite methods aren’t going to do anything wacky with this cartouche thing?”

Haldir surveyed her over the rim of his goblet. “Of course not,” he replied calmly. “But there seems little alternative. We cannot continue to function the way we were.” He stood and stretched. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have some march-wardens to terrorize. I have been… regrettably lax in their training this past week.”

***

“So, what year are you from?” Buffy asked Corinne later. Upon learning that the other woman had brought an entire wardrobe of clothing with her, they had retired to Haldir’s bed chamber (with their respective elves, of course) to have a fashion show, as Buffy was quite starved of ‘modern’ garb since jumping into the portal so long ago.

“2005,” Corinne replied idly, her nose buried in another book. Buffy wasn’t too good at reading Tengwar; the title looked suspiciously like “Sindarin for Dummies” but that couldn’t be right, no. Haldir was making more arrows (he had made approximately eight million in the past few days, or so it seemed) and Legolas was watching his wife with a distinctly predatory gleam in his blue eyes.

“Hm,” said Buffy, and twirled. “How does this look, honey?” she asked Legolas, who watched appreciatively as his wife’s shapely legs were revealed by the dress’ flaring skirt of periwinkle chiffon.

“Quite nice,” he replied, his voice low, and Buffy shot him a knowing smile before darting over to the pile of garments for another outfit.

“When do you want to go?” Corinne asked suddenly, peering over the top of the hefty tome. “It should be soon, I’ve been here almost two weeks and have to get back so people don’t think I’ve been abducted.” She had a thought. “But I have no idea where you guys are going to stay while we’re there, if it takes more than a single day. My dorm’s not exactly outfitted for a slumber party, you know.”

“Legolas and Dagnir can sleep on the floor; they are used to such things,” Haldir informed her, earning him a frown from the other two. “For I will not be parted from you, and I doubt they will allow us to be parted from them.”

“And leave the living, breathing hormones that are you two alone? I think not, says Buffy,” she told them from behind the dressing screen, slinging the dress in a chiffon froth over the top before emerging in a sundress of floaty peach cotton, smoothing the material over her hips. “It’s too big in the boobs,” she complained, glaring at Corinne as if it were her fault Buffy had a smaller bosom.

“Amin hiraetha,” Corinne said smoothly, grinning with delight when the elves in the room looked at her in surprise. She looked down at her bust. “Stupid things. Always causing trouble. Good for nothing at all ”

“I would not say that, doll-nîn,” Haldir contradicted, his voice low and silken as he met her gaze. The air between them seemed to tauten somehow, until suddenly the music that had been playing softly from Corinne’s boombox blared raucously.

“—IN HIS FACE? OH NO, THAT’S JUST HIS CHARMS. IN HIS ONE EMBRACE? OH NO, THAT’S JUST HIS ARMS.”

Buffy grinned at them from her position by the boombox, returning it to its previous moderate volume. Blinking, Corinne looked away from Haldir. “Just for that, you have to dance with me.” And before Buffy could protest, Corinne leapt to her feet, grabbed Buffy’s hands, and began spinning her around while singing along.

“You are a terrible singer,” Buffy complained, trying not to fall over.

“I suck at dancing too,” Corinne agreed blithely. “I’m the whitest white girl you’ll ever meet. No rhythm at all.”

“I would not say that,” Haldir repeated, and Buffy had to tug viciously on Corinne’s hands to keep her dancing and not over snogging the hot elf, while the music blared loudly once more.

“—HUG HIM, AND SQUEEZE HIM TIGHT, AND FIND OUT WHAT YOU WANNA KNOW-OH-OH…”

Legolas grinned and tucked his hand, which had been hovering over the volume control, back under his arm. Buffy took the opportunity to disappear behind the screen once more, this time with a long skirt of forest-green suede and silk blouse of palest lime.

“You never answered me about when we were going to go,” Corinne persisted, returning to her book.

“Rush a girl, why don’t ya,” Buffy said with a frown, her voice muffled by peach cotton. “Things move slowly here, including me.”

“I’m beginning to realize that,” commented Corinne, turning a page. “Have you realized yet that you shouldn’t contact your old friends?”

Buffy poked her head out from the screen, looking stricken. “What? Why not?”

Corinne blinked at her from behind wire-rimmed spectacles, reminded Buffy so forcibly of Giles for a moment that she had to swallow hard to remove the lump in her throat. “Haldir’s been telling me some of what’s happened in the past year, how your sister came here through a portal?” She ended the statement as a question, wanting Buffy to confirm it.

At Buffy’s nod, she continued. “Well, we’re going to 2005. If you came here in 2001, and Dawn came seventeen years later, that would be 2018. If you contact them, she’s going to have thirteen years to think about things. It could radically change who she is, who she becomes. Decisions she’ll make with her life.”

“It wouldn’t kill her to not marry her first husband,” Buffy retorted. “He was a loser.”

“But he helped to form her into the Dawn that came to us, Dagnir,” Legolas said quietly. “What if she did not fall in love with Boromir? He might well have died at Amon Hen. What could have happened differently? Dawn would not have been at Minas Tirith to help Eowyn defeat the Witch-King, they would not have married…”

“Mercas wouldn’t have been born, and the war might have ended differently,” Buffy finished. She glared at Corinne a seemingly endless moment, and then turned a rather charming pout to her husband. “I hate when people outthink me,” she whined. He put a comforting arm around her, trying to stifle his smile.

Corinne just started laughing. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I have no doubt you could kick my ass six ways to Sunday,” she told Buffy. “And if we strike out everywhere else, we might have to contact your friends anyway.” Buffy brightened at that, but still looked a little down. Hm, time to call in the reinforcements. “I’ve got chocolate, want some?”

“Yes, please,” Buffy replied instantly, and linked arms with Corinne as they went into the talan’s main room where food was kept.

Legolas turned to see Haldir watching the women with a fond and vastly uncharacteristic smile on his lips. “Mellon, what is happening to you? For you are not as I remember.”

Haldir turned his piercing gaze to the other elf. “I would like to say it is only the taint of the cartouche that has wrought this change in me, but having never been in love before, I cannot say this is not how I would be were it genuine, instead of artificial.” He sighed. “I fear, however, that it is merely that accursed object, for I observe little change in either you or Dagnir, nor Rúmil and Tatharë, since acknowledging love. I am feeling more myself, however, since… the past two nights.”

“Will it subside completely if you join properly?”

“I do not know. Galadriel insists we cannot risk it.” Haldir sat heavily and leaned forward, elbows on his knees as he cradled his head in his hands. “It is tempting to give in, out of desperation. The severity of the attraction, the need for proximity, the affect all are having on my behaviour—all make me greatly suspicious. I would have this done with, Legolas.”

“And so it shall be,” Legolas replied, dropping his hand on Haldir’s shoulder. “We will free you from this thrall.”

Haldir lifted his hand to cover Legolas’ briefly in gratitude. “My thanks.”

“Aw,” said Buffy from the doorway. “The boys are getting along better, ain’t that cute?” She leaned against the jamb and popped another cherry cordial in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “Does this mean you and I have to be pals as well?”

“It’s adorable when men bond,” agreed Corinne from behind her, smiling in spite of the increasing soreness in her middle which told her it was time for more elf-nooky (darn the luck), and plucked a chocolate from the box Buffy held. “As for you and me, I’ll give the idea some thought after you’ve put away all the clothes you’ve tried on. Until then, I’m withholding judgment.”

***

The next morning, Galadriel helped Buffy and Corinne pack for their sojourn back to their world. The ‘men’ were told to go ready themselves, a suggestion at which they frowned.

“We bring nothing but ourselves and the clothes on our backs,” Haldir said. “Not even our weapons.” He looked significantly disgruntled about this last. “What is there to ready?”

“Ok, then, just go away,” Corinne said, pushing him and Legolas out of the talan and shutting the door firmly after. “I’m so glad we found a way around the problem!” she told the others happily. “My old personality is coming back!”

Buffy and Galadriel exchanged a glance; they were not sure about the ‘real’ Corinne, as she seemed exceedingly strange to them; always with her nose stuck in a book, or asking odd questions (why would anyone care about the circumference of the city of Caras Galadhon, and its ratio to the size of Lórien as a whole?). Still, Buffy reasoned, she seemed harmless enough, genuinely sorry for involving Haldir in this whole cartouche fiasco, and eager to solve it.

“There is no need to be nervous, meldisamin,” Galadriel told her friend, who was folding things over and over and stuffing unnecessary items, like two quiver-fulls of Haldir’s arrows, into the duffelbag. Corinne said nothing, but kept removing them just as Buffy put them in.

“It just feels so weird, you know?“ the Slayer said in a rush, as if she’d been holding it in for a long time. “For years after I came here, I’d wake up in the morning and think, “Buffy, that was one messed-up dream.’ Then I’d realize I was sleeping in a freakin’ treehouse, and it wasn’t a dream.” She smiled sadly at Galadriel. “After I accepted that it was really… real, I was so angry. That’s part of the reason I became a Ranger. I didn’t want to be Angry!Buffy around you and Haldir and Celeborn all the time. Oh, and the killing things was great therapy, too.”

“And after that?” Galadriel prompted, taking a pair of jeans from Buffy’s mauling hands and refolding them with smooth, efficient movements.

“After that, I had my Gift to obsess over,” Buffy sighed. “That, and fond memories of home. I wished every day that I could go back, but since I couldn’t, death was the next best thing. You don’t know how much I wanted to jump through that portal myself when Dawn came here… if Haldir hadn’t been holding me up, I might have.”

“But you did not, and I do not think it is solely due to Haldir’s presence,” said Galadriel with a smile, and gestured for Buffy to sit in a chair, then began unbraiding her long plait. Picking up a brush, she began to run it through the long, honey-brown tresses. “Why?”

“Because I had a job to do here,” Buffy replied, tilting her head back and enjoying the soothing strokes of the brush against her scalp. “Because I had new friends here, and was finally beginning to move on, and then I started falling in love with Legolas, and now I realize that my life is here and it only took me twenty years to realize it—“ She stopped suddenly, turning to stare accusingly at the elf-witch. “You knew from the beginning of this discussion where it was going to go, didn’t you?”

Galadriel, unperturbed, repositioned Buffy’s head to face forward and rebraided her hair with nimble fingers. “I find that these things make more sense if we find them for ourselves,” she said, and tied off the long hank of hair with an elaborate knot before turning to Corinne. “And you, young one? What mysteries can we solve for you?”

Corinne stiffened in surprise, not expecting to be examined in a like manner. “Um, I guess the pressing issue on my mind right now is, why Haldir? I know why I’m involved in it all, having bled a few quarts for the cartouche, and it was me who made the wish and activated the stupid thing, but… why Haldir? I’m sure there had to be some regular human guy in my own dimension having the same wistful thoughts that I was… why would I be yanked to Middle-Earth, to fall in love with an elf?” She laughed, but it was not a happy sound in the cheerful, sun-dappled room. “An elf! If I didn’t have the mind-numbing pain as proof, I’d think I was locked in some bizarro fever-dream or something.”

She tossed a shirt into the duffelbag and slumped into a chair. “And I can’t reconcile all these different emotions in me. I grew up in Grosse Pointe. I’m not this sexual being, not especially affectionate. WASPs aren’t, as a general rule, and my family is the WASPiest of the bunch. Touching Haldir all the time is almost as much discomfort as it relief. I feel… possessed, like my real self is an Edvard Munch painting inside my head while my body flings itself like a weasel in heat at the hot elf who is flinging himself, weasel-fashion, at me. And let me tell you, it’s weird.”

She took a deep breath. “Wow! Who knew all that was boiling around in there?” Plastering a bright, thoroughly unconvincing smile on her face, she said, “So, I can’t wait to get back, there’s this awesome Jamaican place around the corner from my dorm. Mmmm, jerk chicken! Whaddya say?”

Buffy eyed the other woman a long moment, then decided not to press the issue. “I was hoping for some Chinese, myself,” she said. “Haven’t had a good General Tso’s in… eighteen years, really.”

“Or pizza?”

“Pizza…” Buffy moaned, closing her eyes. “With sausage?”

Corinne nodded, grinning at Galadriel’s expression of bewilderment. “And mushrooms,” she added.

“Mushrooms…” Buffy whispered, eyelids fluttering closed at the very idea. They flew open a moment later at the soft touch of lips against hers, to find Legolas leaning over her, smiling.

“You must be turning into a Hobbit, to speak with such desire for mushrooms,” he commented. “What can have you in such a state of vegetable-lust?”

“Mushrooms are fungi, not vegetables,” Corinne mentioned from the other side of the room where Haldir was trying to sneak in a snog before Galadriel could come separate them.

“Shut it, Einstein,” Buffy commanded, and wound her arms around Legolas’ neck for a lengthy kiss. “Missed you,” she said against his mouth. “Did you boys play nice, or was there fighting?” Both elves looked distinctly guilty for a moment before their infamous stoicism reasserted itself; suspicious, Buffy studied them. Sure enough, there was the faintest scrape on Haldir’s cheekbone, and Legolas had a few smudges of dirt on his tunic. She pushed Legolas back and stood, planting her hands on her hips. “You were fighting!”

“It was but wrestling,” Haldir said firmly. “A harmless release of—“

“Long-festering resentment between two alpha-males?” Buffy completed rashly.

“I will thank you not to place words in my mouth, Dagnir,” he replied coolly, his face dropping all expression until it seemed a pale, perfect mask. “I was going to say, a harmless release of tensions about a journey that could be quite dangerous. Also,” he continued, a touch of pomposity in his voice now, “if you had bothered to wait, you would have learned that it was Legolas and I against Rúmil and Orophin. Not each other. You are immortal now, Dagnir; patience is not so precious a commodity as it would be to another of your kind.”

He stared down his nose at Buffy and then all pretense at apathy fell away at the sight of her crying against Legolas’ shoulder. The other elf looked somewhat baffled, too. “Why are you weeping, foolish woman?” he demanded, exasperated.

“It’s so good to see you be you again,” Buffy sniffled, and blotted her eyes with the hems of her sleeves.

*amin hiraetha = I am sorry
bess = young girl
mellon = friend
meldisamin = my friend (f)

Part 10

“Ow. Honey, your elbow’s in my side.”

“My apologies, herves-nîn. Is that your foot in my face?”

“No, must be Corinne’s.” Pause. “What’s that slurping sound?” Pause. “Hey, you two! Just because you landed on top of her, Haldir, doesn’t mean you can start making with the smoochies.” Pause. “Legolas, they’re ignoring me.”

“Allow me to try.” Thud.

“You would be wise to release me, Thranduilion.”

“Alas, I cannot. Galadriel would be most severe with me if I allowed the two of you to indulge.” Pause. “Ai! Did you just kick me?”

“No. Must have been Corinne.”

“Everyone blames everything on me. I get no love.”

“Was it you that kicked him, doll-nîn?”

“Well, yeah. But still.”

Their conversation was interrupted by an enthusiastic knock on the door to Corinne’s dorm room. “Rinnie, are you in there?” asked a worried voice.

Corinne winced and hauled herself out of the tangle of limbs to stand and open the door. “Hi, Sandra,” she began cautiously, planting her body so that the other woman would not succeed in peeking past into the room. “What can I do for you?”

“I heard a thud, and then voices,” Sandra replied, eyes bright with curiosity. “Male voices,” she continued meaningfully.

Nodding, Corinne glanced back at her companions. Buffy seemed unperturbed by her surroundings, while Haldir and Legolas were surveying the dingy cement-block walls with profound horror. Rolling her eyes, she swung the door wide. “Yes, I have some friends over.”

Sandra’s eyes grew wide as she looked in and saw another woman, petite and pretty, as well as two tall, blond, impossibly handsome men. “They… they’re…”

“Gorgeous, yes, I’m aware of that,” Corinne replied briskly, trying not to be too offended at Sandra’s utter surprise that she’d have two hotties in her dorm.

“They’re dressed… sort of weird,” Sandra ventured, hoping for more information. “Well, she’s not—isn’t that your sundress, Rinnie?—but they definitely are.”

“They’re Finnish,” Buffy lied blithely, with her best ditzy-blond smile. “It’s their national costume.”

“You’re not Finnish, then?”

“Oh, no. I’m from California.”

“But… Corinne’s been in Egypt for two weeks. Why is she hanging out with Finns?” Sandra’s tone was closer to implying, however, Why would Finns be hanging out with her?

“We met when I was taking a tour of Dra Abu el-Naga,” Corinne said. “Finns are very interested in Egyptology.”

“They are?” Sandra was looking distinctly skeptical.

“Yeah, who knew?” She grabbed Haldir’s hand. “Sorry to rush out, Sandie. You know how it is, places to go, people to see.” Buffy grabbed Legolas and they started down the hall. The door to the stairwell closed on Sandra’s last, plaintive words.

“Do you even speak Finnish?”

Downstairs in the lobby, Corinne gave a sigh of relief and started firing off instructions. “Don’t talk to anyone, don’t touch anything, don’t give anyone money, don’t eat anything, and for God’s sake, don’t look anyone in the eye.” By the time she was finished, they were outside on the sidewalk and she was standing half off the curb, hand raised for a cab.

The elves gaped, stock-still in spite of the masses that thronged and pushed past them, at the onset of noise as vehicles blazed by, their drivers happily ignoring the 25 mph speed limit and honking their horns with typical New Yorker abandon. The wind that seemed always to rush down Manhattan streets lifted their pale hair in swirls around their heads, and many a glance was drawn to them, two effulgent figures on a dingy urban street.

In short, they looked utterly poleaxed. Buffy wasn’t much better, staring around with an expression somewhere between awe and disgust. “It’s… very dirty, isn’t it?”

“Huh?” Corinne asked, distracted as she was trying to convince Haldir that yes, he did want to get into the large bright-yellow thing that had skidded to a stop before them. She crammed him in and was now pushing on Legolas, but he was resisting and had both hands gripping the doorframe. “Haldir, pull him in,” Corinne instructed, and turned away from Legolas to use her back to press on him, holding on with a death’s grip to the door for leverage. “Legolas, just get in, dammit.”

“Release me,” he said through gritted teeth. “Tis unnatural, this thing.”

“Unnatural is my foot up your ass, if you don’t just get in the damned cab,” Corinne yelled. “The meter is running!” And so it was, merrily ticking away the dollars and cents as their driver (Faarooq Ahmad, recently of Harappa, Pakistan) watched with polite interest and no comprehension whatsoever. “Buffy, help me with your husband!”

Buffy blinked and turned to face the others. “What?”

Corinne scowled and gave a mighty shove with her butt. Unbalanced, Legolas fell forward into the taxi (“What is that smell?” he could be heard complaining from within, as Haldir’s rumbling voice told him to be silent and sit up as became a grown elf). She guided Buffy into the cab, urging her to sit on Legolas’ lap, and squished herself in beside him before pulling Buffy’s legs to drape over her lap. “59th and 2nd,” she told Faarooq, and flopped back in the seat, uncomfortably aware of the growing ache in her belly as they zoomed back into traffic.

Buffy’s squeak of distress alerted Corinne to the fact that Legolas was grasping his wife’s knee with a white-knuckled grip. She patiently pried his fingers free and patted them. “Just relax,” she said in what failed utterly to be a soothing tone. “You two better start being more cooperative. If you’re like this getting in a cab, how are you going to be in an elevator or the subway?”

Legolas ignored her, preferring to stare straight ahead, and Haldir actually went out of his way to lean forward so he could glare around Buffy at Corinne, but said nothing.

“You did not inform us that these horseless vehicles would travel at such speeds, and with sudden, alarming changes in direction,” he thought at her as Faarooq darted around a seafood delivery van to hang a left and go up Broadway. A sharp right, then another left, and they were hurtling up Park Avenue at what seemed to be the speed of at least sound, if not light itself.

“I didn’t think of it,” she shot back crossly, suppressing an ‘oof’ as she was thrown hard against Legolas when they turned right onto 42nd. Very softly, Buffy began to sing. “Come and meet those dancing feeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet, on the avenue I’m takin’ you to…”

“Forty-second Street!” exclaimed Faarooq from the front seat with a happy grin that revealed that dentistry was not perhaps as much a priority in Harappa as it was in the States. “I love that musical!”

“That’s nice,” Corinne said dismissively, then shouted “Eyes on the road!” as they coasted alarmingly near a bike messenger. Faarooq sniffed at her brusqueness and concentrated on aiming the cab up 2nd Avenue. It wasn’t long before he screeched to a halt at their destination, blithely ignoring the incensed blarings of horns as he was quite efficiently blocking no fewer than three lanes of midday traffic. Corinne pushed the fare and a decent tip (because Haldir had scolded her for being rude) into the little dish and nearly fell to the street in Legolas’ haste to extricate himself.

She staggered back a few steps but couldn’t help laughing—Legolas emerged still holding Buffy in his arms, seemingly reluctant to release her. Haldir unfolded his tall frame a moment later and wrapped his arm around Corinne’s waist. Both sighed when their discomfort eased instantly. “Now?” he inquired.

“Now, we walk.”

***
A mere half-block later, Haldir was munching happily on a hot, mustard-smeared pretzel; Legolas’ foul mood had been appeased with a mango smoothie; and Buffy was the proud new owner of what she squealingly called ‘absolutely darling little shoes!”: point-toed mules with large, pink plastic daisies on the toes.

Corinne winced both at the piercing tone and choice of words (“Darling?” she snorted internally, and laughed aloud when Haldir reciprocated) and pulled them away from where they were pressing their noses against a deli window displaying no fewer than two dozen rotisserie chickens.

And now they were at the store where she’d gotten the cartouche. Blowing out a breath, Corinne pushed open the door. The bell gave a single, sad-sounding chime, and she blinked at the sudden change from outside’s brightness, then blinked again when she saw the interior of the shop.

Gone were the heaps of bladeless sword-pommels; vanished were the boxes of lead phials containing ‘holy’ oil from the shrines of Europe. There were no scraps of chainmail, nor battered and cloudy glass bottles claiming to be of Roman origin. Instead were row upon row of neatly-hung, brightly-coloured silk saris, azure and crimson and violet. Rare flickers of sunlight through the filth-bedecked windows glinted off silver and gold patterns, throwing little sparkles around the otherwise dingy premises. The faint aroma of chicken vindaloo seemed to emanate from the very walls, and satar music undulated around them.

A small, trim woman with flawless sienna-toned skin and a flashing diamond stud in her nostril came forward. “Hello, hello,” she said, smiling widely. Her dark, liquid eyes flicked over Legolas and Haldir briefly before settling on the women. “What may I have the honour of doing for you?”

Corinne couldn’t keep the surprise off her face, and was speechless for a moment until she felt the reassuring touch of Haldir’s mind against hers, like the press of a hand in solace. “I was here a few weeks ago,” she began, “but it wasn’t a sari shop, it sold… antiquities, little historical artifacts.” She was dimly aware of Buffy drifting away to fondle the merchandise, Legolas trailing behind her.

“Oh, no, no,” the woman said in her lilting accent, still smiling. “We have been here for t’irty-two years, it is impossible.”

Haldir came up to stand beside Corinne, lending comfort in the form of his presence, and she leant against him gratefully as a thrill of alarm tightened her chest. “So, if you saw this, it would mean nothing to you?” Corinne asked in desperation, pulling the cartouche from her handbag and unwrapping it from the linen cloth Galadriel had bundled it in.

The woman gazed at it, then at Corinne, and smiled once more. “I am sorry,” she replied pleasantly. “Can I interest you in some nice saris?”

Corinne allowed Haldir to steer her over to where Buffy was holding up a length of emerald-green silk, printed in silver. “Do not despair, doll-nîn,” Haldir whispered in her mind. “We have not exhausted all possibilities.” And he took a sari of golden silk printed with metallic purple lotuses and pronounced it perfect for her.

Ten minutes and $120 later, Buffy was beaming at her companions, the proprietress of the store, and the bum sitting outside on the grate shaking his soup can for change, her arms filled with a brown-paper-wrapped parcel. “Galadriel will love what we got her, won’t she?” she asked happily, and Corinne didn’t have the heart to tell her they had more pressing issues to worry about than how the elf-witch would look in a blue sari with bronze acanthus leaves.

Corinne had tamped down her initial urge to panic, and now her head was whirling with alternatives. “We can go to the Met, pester a curator… What if he insists on a provenance? If I don’t have that receipt, I’m fucked…,” she muttered aloud. “Maybe I could get Ives on the phone; but no, he’s out the rest of the summer. Where’s his beach house? I could call information, get his number, harass him…”

She was interrupted by a tug on her sleeve. “I wanna Dove bar,” Buffy said, and gestured at the elves. “We all do.”

Corinne looked at Legolas and Haldir; they didn’t remotely look as if they even knew what a Dove bar was, let alone want one. Nevertheless, she recognized the attempt at distraction for what it was, and dug out her wallet. “Dove bars all around, then,” she murmured, and sighed to watch Buffy scamper off, pink plastic daisies bobbing merrily with each step, as she dragged Legolas into a nearby bodega.

“It’s like having our very own sugar-frenzied child,” she commented to Haldir, who looked greatly alarmed at the notion. Grinning, she squinted up at the sky, gauging what time it was as she’d forgotten to strap on her watch. It was early afternoon, but she was starting to get hungry and could tell Haldir was, as well. “Who’s in the mood for chicken vindaloo?”

***

By the time they returned to Corinne’s dorm, she and Buffy had happy tummies, and the elves were glaring at them. Apparently, curry was not a common ingredient in elven cooking and it had taken many chapattis and much ghee to soothe their abused palates. “Yum,” Buffy said with a discreet burp. “I have to get some cookbooks, maybe we can convince Dawn’s cook to try out a few recipes,,,?” Legolas didn’t look thrilled at the concept, but nodded apprehensively.

“Get… er… comfortable,” Corinne urged, motioning toward the narrow single bed and the only chair beside the one before the desk. “I’m going to try and locate my professor.” She booted up her laptop and plugged in the modem, sighing in abject relief to be on the information superhighway once more after a prolonged absence. Buffy and Legolas curled up together on the bed and Haldir pulled the other chair over so he could watch Corinne.

She was very aware of his proximity, and the ache that had been slowly building in her all day suddenly flared to life. She knew he felt it too; his breathing sped up the tiniest bit, and she sensed that same ache within him, desire and longing, urging to be satisfied. Containing her own was difficult enough, but the way hers fed off its knowledge of his made it infinitely powerful.

Licking her lips nervously, she searched an online white pages and found the address of her professor’s beach house, but not the phone number. “Maybe I can get the department office to give it to me,” she said hesitantly.

“Perhaps,” Haldir agreed, his voice low and satiny. “Have I told you how I wish to see you wearing that golden silk, and naught else?”

Corinne closed her eyes and let her head drop back a little as a tide of yearning flowed from him, to her, and back again. Abruptly, she shoved back her chair and stood. “Sometimes in the summer there are a few empty dorms,” she said. “Let me go see if one of them is free, and you two can sleep there tonight,” she told Buffy and Legolas. Buffy smirked knowingly; Legolas just nodded.

She was back within minutes. “We’re in luck,” she said. “Number 4, just down the hall.” They’d gotten to their feet; she chivvied them along and made short work of showing them around the room. “If you need anything… well, just make do without, ok? Or you can ask Sandra, she’d probably love another look at Legolas.”

Corinne rushed back to her own room to find Haldir standing in the middle of it, nude from the waist up. “Ergh,” she groaned at the sight of him, all satiny skin and golden hair cascading to his shoulders.

“Indeed,” he replied with a touch of arrogance. “Do not keep me waiting, doll-nîn.”

She pulled off her clothes all too eagerly as he shucked his leggings, and with a moan of satisfaction they went into each other’s arms. After going all day without, it was like a long sip of cool water after a parching drought. His hands came up to cup and squeeze her breasts as her mouth blindly sought his, lips parting on a sigh of relief. Running his hands around to her back, he trailed them down her spine before grasping a buttock in each palm and hoisting her up, carrying her to the bed and dropping her unceremoniously onto her back.

“I thought you wanted me to wear the sari,” Corinne said breathlessly, looking up at his tall form, so gloriously naked and unashamedly aroused.

“Another time, perhaps,” he murmured, sliding his hand up the inside of her leg to her heated core. “But for now—Ai, Valar, how you are wet for me—I cannot wait.” He knelt over her head and lowered his face, trailing moist, open-mouthed kisses over her hips, her abdomen, her thighs, always circling around the part of her that wanted his caresses the most.

For her part, Corinne delighted in teasing him in the same way. A gentle love bite over the knob of his pelvis, just where the ridge of muscle angled inward; a kiss in the crease where thigh met hip; the merest flicker of the tongue along that tiny seam at the underside of the head of his shaft; the barest touch of soft lips on the weeping tip to collect the pearl of fluid that appeared there. Everything she did to him, she could feel herself, doubled and redoubled in his actions upon her, until the pleasure built unbearably.

“I cannot wait,” Haldir repeated, a desperate edge to his voice, and he plunged his tongue inside her. With a keening cry, her hips surged up to meet him. When she regained control of herself, her mouth found him and took him deep; he spoke for both of them with his whispered plea to the gods.

One hand came to fondle his velvety sac, the other stroked along his length in time to the motion of her mouth even as he filled her with his fingers and trilled his tongue upon her most sensitive spot. Unable to contain herself any longer, she tore her mouth from him as she came. “I love you, oh, I love you, Haldir,” Corinne murmured brokenly, over and over, chanting it like a litany.

Her words sent the pleasure crashing over him, and with a mighty shudder he peaked, flexing his hips spasmodically to thrust himself into the greedy suction of her mouth. Haldir turned his head to sink strong white teeth into her thigh, stifling his cry of joy, feeling her flesh quiver against him. When he returned to himself, it was to feel her hands stroking over his lean flanks, soothing and smoothing, as she nursed tenderly on him in the last aftershocks.

Haldir blinked and looked around him. At some point within the proceedings they had managed to rip the sheets completely free of the bed’s corners, and now Corinne was fairly well tangled up in them. He gently freed himself from her embrace and pulled her up, swiftly wrapping his arm around her waist when her legs faltered.

“So, you enjoyed yourself, then?” he teased, using his free arm to tidy the bed.

“It was alright,” Corinne replied nonchalantly, grinning when he stared at her in disbelief. “Oh, ok, fine. It was amazing, as it always is, and you know it.”

Haldir lowered her to the bed and slipped in beside her, pulling her close and nestling her head against his shoulder. “Yes,” he replied at last, feeling their heartbeats slow their rapid pace. “I know it.”

*herves-nîn = my wife
doll-nîn = my dusky one

 

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