Elrond leaned back into the cushioned softness of the couch within the study, hand upon his forehead as Glorfindel approached him, a goblet of wine held between his fingers.

"Drink this, Heru," Glorfindel said, offering the cup of crimson ambrosia to the Elven Lord, "it will settle your mind."

"Thank you, mellon nin," Elrond said, smiling appreciatively as Glorfindel placed the wine upon the ornately carved table before the couch.

Glorfindel settled himself in one of the high, wing backed chairs across from Elrond with a shifting of dark green velvet, the flickering of the fire playing across his aristocratically carved features, accentuating the curves and angles of his face, a trick of light that lent him an almost ethereal glow.

Elrond gazed upon the beauty of his companion with fondness, for the ancient Elf was still as youthfully resplendent as he had always been, the hands of time never creasing the smoothness of his pale flesh as they would perhaps seek to mar Elronds own. His fingers drifted unconsciously to his cheek as if to feel for signs of his half-mortal blood appearing there before he let his hand drop into his lap once more, chiding himself for such self-conscious actions.

"He shall remain in this world, but I fear his memory still struggles with the weight of this war," Glorfindel spoke at last, running his fingers through his mane of golden hair. "There is little I can do to quiet the guilt of his thoughts, although there is no shame to be had."

"Yes," Elrond surmised in agreement, "this is a battle that only the March Warden himself can engage in."

Glorfindel sipped his wine thoughtfully, relaxing further into the plush embrace of the velvet chair. "You have known Haldir for many years, have you not?"

Elrond nodded. "For centuries," he said before adding with a smile, "but not as long as I have had the pleasure of your company, my friend."

Glorfindel raised his glass with a nod. "I fear that I am far more ancient than most any elf," he said, chuckling in spite of himself. "Even you are but a stripling compared to me, Heru."

Elrond arched one eyebrow. "You flatter me," he said with a dismissive wave of one hand.

"Oh, by Elbereths light, Elrond. You act as if you are my elder," Glorfindel said, rolling his eyes skyward with a teasingly dramatic sigh.

"Perhaps I am your elder in spirit," Elrond suggested, glancing over the top of his wine glass at Glorfindel in jest.

Glorfindel eyed him with dubious sarcasm, the beginnings of a smirk etching his full lips. "Huh," he huffed in mock indignation, combing the fingers of one hand lazily through his lush golden tresses once more.

Elrond laughed aloud. "You pout like an elfling when you are incensed, Oh Ancient One."

Glorfindel stretched himself languidly across the chair, reminding Elrond of a lazy cat in a beam of sunshine. "Go kiss an orc, Heru, " he said, his tone conversational nonchalantly.

Elrond laughed once more and sipped his wine, saying nothing more to further taunt his friend, but rather enjoyed the calming placidity of his presence as the wine mulled the thoughts of war that raced within his mind, for the battle was far from over.

The darkness of the corridor need not have been lit, for Legolas keen eyes afforded him such clarity of vision, his path would have been easily visible. The Men, however, required the light simply to move about without knocking each other over. Legolas secretly envied and pitied them. So simple were the minds of men, so easily dissuaded from purpose or plan, yet so free from the burdens of immortality, which, at times, Legolas believed to be more of a curse than a blessing.

This time, Haldir would not hear him. Of that, he was certain. His footfalls made no sound as he approached the entrance to the bedchamber. The heavy oak door was silent as well as he carefully pushed it open and stepped inside, the clothing still hung over one arm. Haldir neither stirred nor acknowledge his presence as he had before and Legolas could only assume he was wound in trance of a deep, healing slumber.

Quietly, he approached Haldirs bedside where he laid the clothing over the back of a nearby chair so that the archer would see it upon awakening. He glanced around the room quickly, his eyes searching for Haldirs footwear and finding it discarded near the end of the bed in a stinking lump of muddy leather. Wrinkling his nose with disdain, Legolas nudged the battle-worn shoes aside with the toe of one boot. This simply would not do given the elegance of the garments bestowed upon the chair. Balancing himself carefully on one leg, he grasped the heel of his own black boot and pulled. The soft leather slid from his foot with ease, for he had not worn it long. The second boot followed the first and these too, he placed in front of the chair.

Once through with the task of delivering the clothing, he paused for a moment to gaze the sleeping elf, who was so still that he could have passed for dead once more. A sudden panic overtook Legolas and he leaned closer, searching for the sound of Haldirs breath. A lock of his golden hair brushed against the archers cheek, eliciting a soft grumble from Haldir, who then swiped at his face with one hand, but did not awaken.

Feeling overly relieved and quite a bit foolish, Legolas almost laughed out loud at his sudden distress, but remembered himself before the sound escaped him. Much of Haldirs color had returned, restoring his complexion to its former marble-smoothness, rather than the ashen, bluish tint that had originally clouded the flawlessly white skin when he had been found, barely clinging to life. Elves were pale by nature, but not nearly as alarmingly pallid as Haldir had once been.

The archers breathing was also far steadier and unmarred by hitch or rattle, a sign that the fevered illness that also ravaged his body was improving as well. Legolas found himself captivated by the rise and fall of Haldirs chest, by the quiet rhythm of his breath.

A single strand of Haldirs silvery hair rested against his cheek, the end curled into the corner of his mouth, flittering tauntingly at every inhalation, yet obstinately clinging in place. Even the Locks of Lorien were laden with stubbornness. Legolas smiled and lifted his hand, intending to pluck the determined hair from the lips of the archer and return at last to his bedchamber.

An iron clad grip seized his wrist with crushing ferocity before Legolas fingers came within an inch of the March Wardens face, blue eyes ablaze with the fury of a warriors brutal instinct for self-defense. Legolas gasped and jerked back reflexively, unable to wrench free of Haldirs vice-like grasp.

"Nadorhrim! Amin feuya ten vys!" *Haldir growled, further squeezing Legolas wrist to the point of pain.

Haldirs gaze followed Legolas every move as he spoke with Galadriel, delivering the news of Rivendell that Lord Elrond had entrusted him with. The archers hand floated near the curved hilt of his dagger as if he expected Legolas to commit an act of violence at any moment. This intense scrutiny left Legolas nervous and somewhat annoyed for feeling as such. He should have no fear of this place nor its inhabitants for they were his kin, yet Haldirs demeanor left him feeling as if he were an intruder, a stranger in a scared land who could not be trusted.

Legolas jumped away from the bed, nearly knocking over the chair as he did so as Haldirs hand fell to his side and the archer slipped into the embrace of sleep as quickly as he had seemed to awaken from it.

Lord Celeborn suggested that Legolas stay at least for one night before returning to Rivendell and enjoy the hospitality of Lothlorien. Haldirs sneer of disdain conveyed his unspoken contempt for such an idea, although he accepted Lord Celeborns command to show Legolas to where he may take rest from his journey.

The imprint of Haldirs crushing grip left angry red marks against the pale skin of Legolas wrist. He rubbed it absently, stealthily making his way further away from the bedside on quietly bare feet, lest the other elf feel suddenly compelled to throttle his neck instead of his arm while caught in the trance of sleep. Apparently, the issue of trust was still very much a reality for Haldir even in dreams.

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