Someone, possibly Legolas, had laid out the rather rich garments that greeted Haldirs gaze as he awakened. Although he had not the desire for the formality of a feast after such a war, his presence would be anticipated, possibly even expected. Having lain stricken with pain and illness for what had to be at least several days now, his mind had tired of lying still, even if his body would have favored rest over activity of any kind.
He took great care when leaving the comfort of his bed, however, making certain that his legs would not betray him as they had many hours ago. Although still weakened, his stance felt stronger than he had expected, which pleased him greatly. The accelerated healing of his kind was hard at work, mending his broken body faster than any mortal could ever conceive.
The night shirt and soft cotton pants were shed and folded neatly near the bedside despite their rumpled countenance, the bandage binding his head unwound and cast aside. Catching a glimpse of himself in the full length, gilded mirror beside the armoire, Haldir paused to examine his milky white skin for signs of scarring, long fingers running down the smoothly muscled planes of his stomach and over the curve of his naked hips. Although the reflection behind him revealed a thick, jagged line of pink near the center of his back, he was unconcerned, for the scar would fade within a matter of days, leaving the pale flesh as flawlessly beautiful as it had always been.
Haldirs hands traveled further down his body, massaging the dull ache that still lingered in his thighs from lying stiffly amongst the corpses of his kin for such an agonizing length of time. Gently probing fingers flinched from his warm flesh at the still-hazy memory of those slain in battle, yet the imagery was lost to him as quickly as it had came. Disconcertment settled uneasily where recollection strove to resurface, but to no avail. For now, he would leave it as such, contending only with the task of healing his body. His mind could wait.
Turning his gaze back to the naked elf in the mirror, he turned his head to one side and then the other, noting with a degree of smug satisfaction that his facial features were untouched by the scars of battle.
A silver comb lay on table near the mirror and he plucked it from its resting place, running it through the silken straightness of his sleep tousled locks until they shone with moonlit splendor, falling far beyond his shoulders, covering his back like a cloak of the palest flaxen hue.
Although aware and appreciative of his strikingly imposing resplendency, Haldir rarely used it for personal gain any longer as he once had. His heart had matured along with his mind and both lay loyally in the hands of Lothloriens fate. Such things were unimportant now, but at times, a twinge of longing did yet enter his being, but it was more for that of affection rather than lust. Haldir could not recall feeling such an emotion for another being, save his brothers and even this was love of a different nature. Yet still. . .
What foolishness! He would not allow his mind to dwell on such inane concepts, lingering in the halls of memory where nothing lived except bitterness and strife. Raising his chin defiantly, he stared at the noble image in the mirror, the hinting of a proudly arrogant smile lifting the edges of his lips as he loftily tossed his mane of lustrous hair. Haldir of Lorien stood before the fading light of the evening sun, naked and unadorned, but whole once more, even if only for a mere moment.
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Posting more of this part later today.......
