Title & Chapter Number: Guarded 7/?
Author(s): - Author's Index
Fandom: Lord of the Rings
Rating: PG-13 (Will be rated higher in later chapters)
Disclaimer: J.R.R Tolkien and his heirs own Lord of the Rings and the characters he created. I have made no profit from this story.
Warnings: Het fic
Betas: Fianna & Julie
Cast: Haldir/OFC, Orophin, Rúmil, Galadriel, Celeborn, Aragorn, Elrond, Elrohir, Elladan, Arwen
Timeline: Pre-Fellowship to Fourth Age, 3001- 100
Spoilers: Haldir doesn't die.
Summary: Haldir of Lórien has protected the borders of Lothlórien and those of his heart for three thousand years with the utmost vigilance. Indil has learned from bitter experience to protect herself, but also to live as thought the sun will never rise again. Can he remain so well guarded against one who is determined to claim him for herself?
Notes: I loved Haldir when I read the Fellowship of the Ring and I thought that his death in the movie was unjust. This Haldir is a blend of the book and movie character and hopefully it works. There is a listing at the end of this chapter of Sindarin words and phrases.
Chapter 7: The Change of Years
Eriador, 3015
The late afternoon sunlight was rich and glorious as it poured over the small group of Rangers gathered close together enjoying their evening meal. It was too dangerous to light fires at night so the practice was banned except during the bitter cold of winter when there was no other choice. Even in the deserted wilderness of Eriador one could now find unpleasant creatures and the servants of Sauron abhorred the light; so the darkness was a time of dread and disguise for most mortals unlucky enough to be out in the open.
The Old Forest stood in the distance and gleamed like a dark green jewel in the golden light. Beyond the dark confines of that place stood the beautiful Shire, land of the cheerful and strange little folk known as Halflings or Hobbits.
It was for the benefit of those small ones that the Rangers ever stood guard over the Shire.
One figure sat shrewdly gazing along the horizon on constant watch even while trying to eat. There was no trust in the mortal, for she had learned that danger was everywhere in her childhood.
The smell of roasted venison hung in the air as did the scent of boiling mushrooms; it was nearly enough to draw forth a small fox that hid himself in the long grass nearby. The sound of happy voices speaking quietly was accompanied by the breeze which whipped the nearby trees in the warm summer air.
"Tell me, Morcrumion," Dírhavel inquired as he set down his empty wood bowl. "What think you of Dorlas' decision to arrive here tonight?"
A tall, lithe figure with a dirty face and penetrating eyes stretched and shrugged. "I know not what to think, mellon. All that matters to me is that my captain will arrive and I will be eager to hear his words."
Tarcil, a brawny young man with the customary dark Dúnadan looks, took a quick swig from his wineskin before falling back in the grass. "To be frank, I do not care for Dorlas and his high-handed ways. He thinks himself to be equal with our Chieftain."
"A jest if I have ever heard one!" Gelmir snorted as he tended to the boiling mushrooms. The Ranger was the eldest of those present at thirty years and was from the hearty stock of those Dúnedain that protected trade routes over the Misty Mountains. "Dorlas is a fool if he believes himself anything other than what he is."
The youngest of the five, Bregor, thrust a hand through his long hair and frowned as he stared down at the slab of meat on his plate. "I am disgusted with this whole situation. Why are we not tending our own homes against the danger facing us? Why are we watching the Shire?" There was a hint of anger in his voice. "There is naught here."
Indil stood and brushed off the seat of her pants before staring out at the dark forest facing them. She wanted nothing more than to be far away from the dull guard duty she had been assigned. As she had grown in Rivendell, Indil had become restless as well as learned in the ways of the Elves. There was nothing she loved any better than listening to the tales of greatness Master Elrond or Glorfindel would recite late in the evening.
However, her Chieftain and Lord, Aragorn, had determined on her twelfth birthday that she would be better served by learning the manners of mortal women than the lore of the Elves. So, she had been sent to live with his mother, Gilraen the Fair, at her small home in the Angle, south of Rivendell. For three long years Indil was taught in wisdom and kindness by the aged lady. There was a sorrow in the still lovely woman that had made Indil long to be away, anywhere really, so that she might not be forced to partake of Gilraen's slow withering end.
A creature of joy and adventure, Indil had felt stifled and trapped to the point of running away on her fifteenth birthday. Elladan and Elrohir had caught her within two days, but they had not returned her to Gilraen. Instead, Indil was brought back to Rivendell and severely lectured by both Elrond and Aragorn. Though chastened, and watched carefully, she refused to allow any dampening of her spirit and only grew more willful.
She and Falathar, whom was being groomed as a future ranger, often sneaked away from prying eyes into the nearby wilderness to climb trees and commit acts of mischief not allowed in Rivendell. Erestor, Elrond's chief counselor, or the mighty Glorfindel often brought them back to face the music - although Glorfindel was much more sympathetic to them than the aristocratic Erestor. If they were truly lucky then Gildor Inglorion and his troupe of Wandering Elves came across them and he treated them to remarkable tales of what he had seen in the Palantír in the Tower Hills.
Falathar had grown up into a tall, lanky, but strikingly handsome young man that very much carried the look of their father, Saelben. He was excellent with a bow and sword and was now, despite his relative youth of twenty seasons, a proud member of Elladan and Elrohir's Orch Faradrim that traveled far and wide pursuing and decimating the Orcs.
And Indil, not satisfied sitting beneath a tree embroidering silk stockings, had been allowed to train as a Ranger as well... due in large part to Arwen's support. But she was not chosen for such prestigious duty as her younger brother; instead she was relegated to guarding a land filled with Halflings more interested in smoking pipe weed and eating than any other pursuit. The unfairness of the entire situation was more than she could bear at times and she often lost herself in memories of her youth.
Haldir...
Indil sighed as his face swam before her like a ghostly shadow over the meadow. She wondered how he had fared over the years and whether he was still guarding his post as March Warden. There had been no word from him and she would not ask Aragorn for fear of his questions. The Chieftain of the Dúnedain perceived far more then Indil was comfortable with him knowing. She was deeply private and treasured her thoughts as dragons did their treasure.
"Indil Morcrumion, do you still hear my words?" Gelmir asked from beside her. "You look as though you have seen a spirit."
Morcrumion had unintentionally become her epithet due to being left handed and dark-haired. The name had never been pleasing to her, but it also helped to disguise, along with her dirty and ragged appearance, the fact that she was female when the others spoke to before strangers. The worry in his voice made Indil turn with a frown. "What? I am sorry, Gelmir, but my mind was engaged elsewhere."
Gelmir chuckled softly and patted her on the shoulder before going back to the fire. "So we can all see, mellon. Come and fill your belly with my fine mushroom stew before I must douse the fire." Knowing dark eyes met her own across the small camp. "Dorlas will be watched while he is here."
"Aye," Bregor nodded from his position on the ground. "Have no fear of that rascal, little flower, for he will dare nothing in our presence."
She forced her feet to move and a smile to play along her lips as she sank down beside him and accepted a bowl of stew. Fear buzzed along her nerves like angry bees not at the thought of seeing her captain, but of what he might say to her. The thought of crossing him was not a happy one for many a man and here she had done just that in refusing his ardent, but unwanted, courtship. The stew was good but her numb lips could not taste anything at all.
~*~*~*~
A soft trilling filled the night air as the five Rangers sat in their watch positions under the bright carpet of stars filling the heavens. Once darkness fell, the group would split up and keep their senses alert to what lay around them.
The day was their time of rest and sleep was measured out in watches so that they were as able to guard the Shire during the day as they were at night. Even this far from the Misty Mountains, Orcs had been spotted as well as other, more foul, creatures.
Indil lay on her belly in the tall tufts of dark golden grass that grew beneath a small thorn tree. The sound of the birds calmed her a bit; birds never sang in the face of Sauron's minions for fear of their own demise. The fact that they would depart in a rustling of feathers if someone drew near was also soothing.
She frowned as she caught sight of a strange glow coming from the edge of the Old Forest. No one should be traveling hence from there...
A broad smile lit up her face as she recognized the soft voices of Elves drifting on the night air. The tune was one that she knew and it took all her effort not to join in. The moment that Gelmir signaled with the clicking of rocks, Indil sprang to her feet with joy flooding her heart.
"Do not run," Tarcil called after her. "For you might break your leg and I have no wish to answer for it!"
Indil ignored the advice and ran as fast as she could manage while trying to avoid tree roots and clumps of vegetation that seemed to be barring her path. Her heart was beating so quickly that she felt like it might actually escape her chest. A flood of happiness roared through her as she caught sight of a dozen pairs of very old, glittering eyes that were watching her every move in return.
The Elves could see vast distances in both day and night. The Eldar were rarely mistaken in what they perceived and they did not pause while singing as they moved toward the mortal racing across the grassland toward them.
The leader stopped and held up an elegant hand. At once, the others ceased singing and stood in silence behind the golden-haired Elf. A happy smile eased over his face as he recognized the fair guest of Lord Elrond. "Ah, 'tis Indil that approaches. What a happy chance!"
"Happy indeed!" A feminine voice cried out from the back of the wanderers. "I have not seen the Dark Lily of the Dúnedain for three very long seasons."
Murmurs of agreement went out among the host as well as a few small chuckles when Indil snagged her foot on bramble and tripped. The male elf at the front of the procession laughed out loud. "I see that three years of standing guard here in the wild has not made her any less clumsy, the poor child."
"Gildor Inglorion," the female Elf sighed as she came to stand beside him. "For shame on you!"
He arched one dark gold eyebrow as he looked at his fair-haired wife. Though three thousand years of marriage should have taught him better than to tease his beloved, Gildor found that he could not resist the temptation. "Lindissë," he murmured as he drew her close to his side. "Do you prefer that I run out and carry her back? I would not mind for mortals are light and she is quite lovely..."
A gentle slap on the shoulder and her unconvincing scowl made the others laugh as her deep blue eyes narrowed. "Nay, I do not wish that, nín mell. If anyone is to be carried anywhere than you shall carry me."
"I love your jealousy," Gildor replied with a wink as he drew her hand upward and pressed a quick kiss on her knuckles. "Though it need never be necessary." He paused a moment before speaking again. "I do believe that I should help Indil for she seems quite unable to help herself."
Lindissë gazed over to where her mate gestured only to see Indil struggling to pull her cloak out of a briar patch. She covered her mouth with her hand to stifle any laughter that might erupt as Indil ended up falling into the briars with a small cry of dismay. "Oh the poor child," she finally managed. "Yes, by all means help her, but do not laugh!"
Gildor appeared wounded, but his twinkling pale blue eyes gave away his true feelings. "Nay, I would never laugh at Indil."
She pointed at him with warning. "You had best not."
"I would not dream of it, nín Brennil," Gildor replied with a grin before setting out to help the young mortal now rolling about, trapped, in the thorns.
Lindissë shook her head as one of the younger Elves approached.
"I wager he will be telling this story in Rivendell within a day of our arrival," he offered softly so that his lord could not hear.
She frowned. "I think you give Gildor too much credit, he will be informing Lord Elrond and anyone else who wishes to listen within hours." Though gossip was Gildor Inglorion's weakness, his many strengths, including great kindness toward those weaker creatures, kept her heart softened toward him.
~*~*~*~
"Ouch!" Indil cried out as Lindissë pulled yet another thorn from her backside. "Must you!"
Lindissë stopped and folded her hands primly in her lap. "Nay, I can stop and leave the other dozen in your hide."
Indil's face burned a deep red as the other Elves ceased their conversation in order to see exactly what had caused such an outcry. Luckily, her pants remained on or she would not have been able to bear the humiliation of having her old friend, Lindissë, staring at her rear. "Continue, if you please."
The moment that Lindissë leaned forward, the Elves once again continued speaking with Gelmir and the other Rangers about what they had seen in the Tower Hills as well as the Grey Havens and the Shire. There was great excitement at the news that Dorlas was expected under the light of the moon.
"You seemed to have blossomed here," Lindissë offered kindly as she removed the last few thorns. "How have you been treated?"
Indil rubbed her still tender behind as she stared out over the dark meadow surrounding them. "I am well and Gelmir is good to me." A rare look of despair came over the young woman's face as she looked down at the shining Elf before her. "Lindissë, I am not well at all, for I am not good with the sword and the others are carrying me; I excel at tracking and languages, but those skills are possessed by Gelmir as well. It is not right that I cause hardship and I fear that Dorlas is riding here to press his suit for my hand."
Lindissë sighed and rose to look into her friend's troubled face. "Some are not meant to be soldiers and the life of a Ranger is more grueling than most. No one would think ill of you if you returned to Rivendell and sent word to Aragorn that you do not wish to continue as a Ranger."
"So that I might marry Dorlas and breed myself into an early grave to support his ambitions?" Indil questioned bitterly. "Nay, I would rather stay here and rot than marry one that I do not love."
The Elven lady appeared troubled. "Aragorn would never force you to marry, Indil. Why would you believe something so ill of him?"
Indil shrugged. "I do not know." She expelled a deep breath and shook her head. "Forgive my hasty words, Lindissë. I know not what I am saying and the night is long on my nerves."
Lindissë studied the filthy young mortal before her with an appraising gaze. Indil was hard on herself and had been for years. The human was uncommonly fair and many males, both mortal and Elven, looked upon her with appreciation, but Indil did not see her own beauty. She was filled with romantic notions of travel and adventure but had no patience for simple everyday chores. While bold, and at times saucy, she could be deeply introspective and Lindissë always felt as though the young woman suffered in silence bearing some secret grief that she would share with none.
Indil was at times hard as stone, but filled with exceptional joy for simple things such as gazing at the stars or tending the flowers in one of Arwen's gardens. Clumsy and awkward while bearing the sword, she was both skilled and enthusiastic playing the fiddle or harp while Arwen sang. Lindissë had never seen such a paradox; loving, yet cold, daring, but shy, arrogant, and respectful.
The pale Elf reached out and took Indil's hand between her own. "Would you care to accompany us back to Rivendell before Dorlas arrives?"
Tears gleamed in Indil's storm-colored eyes and she nodded. "Yes, but I cannot leave my post without a replacement. Dorlas is already angry that I refused his courtship and I do not wish him to take out his frustration on Gelmir or the others."
Lindissë stood and went to Gildor with a look of determination. "Indil has asked to come with us to Rivendell but she is reluctant to leave her post unattended."
"Ah," Gildor mused as he rubbed his chin for a moment. "Dorlas must be a hard master indeed and I am glad that she refused his hand." His eyes turned frosty in the pale evening light as he crossed his strong arms over his chest. "One of our fellow Elves will stay and then be instructed to return to the Grey Havens once Dorlas arrives with his men. Prepare to leave immediately."
Lindissë turned to see Indil wiping away her tears and smiling for only the second time since their arrival with true happiness.
~*~*~*~
Twenty days had passed since Haldir had left Lórien at the behest of the Lady Galadriel. He had carried with him a leather pouch containing letters that she instructed him were only for the eyes of the Lord of Imladris. It was more dangerous to cross the Misty Mountains in a group and so Haldir went alone. After picking his way up and over the Redhorn Pass, Haldir had spent many a lonely night in the wilderness with nothing but his thoughts and his horse to keep him company.
He had wondered whether or not he would see Indil or Falathar in Rivendell. Though Aragorn had visited Lothlórien over the years since the children's departure, Haldir had not sought out information about their lives for fear of what he might learn. He possessed a strong protective instinct and he knew that if either child had been unhappy he would have collected them from Rivendell as quickly as possible. They deserved to live among there own kind and he had been determined not to interfere.
More often than not, his thoughts in the night had been centered on this elusive consort that Galadriel had predicted for him. Haldir was certain that she was not in Lórien for none of the females there had touched his heart.
Haldir fantasized that this female was beautiful with golden hair and shining eyes that could light up his very soul. She would be delicate in every respect with a voice that would make the sparrows weep. Intelligent and witty, she would be both amusing and enthralling. He was convinced that perhaps he would not find her until he took the ship to Aman and the thought was depressing.
His horse nickered and drew Haldir's attention.
Celeg was a tall stallion of eight years with a coal black coat and a temper that suited his name admirably. Hasty and swift were only two of the words that he would have used to describe the horse that was quickly proving to be his favorite ally.
After throwing Thranduil's messenger into the icy Nimrodel, Celeg seemed content to snicker at the hapless Elf from the grassy bank while feasting on the luscious grass he found there. While an Elf could not read the mind of an animal, one with talent could pick up on emotions from the creatures around them. Celeg had enjoyed tossing his rider off of his back like an old rag doll.
Haldir had been extremely reluctant to accept the animal, but resigned to the fact that the horse had been gifted to Celeborn from his kinsman Thranduil. All gifts from the greedy Elven King were suspect and Celeborn had been quick enough to give the animal in turn to Haldir. It was not wise nor prudent to refuse a gift from the Lord and Lady; so he now owned what the other Elves considered to be the most obnoxious beast in all Middle-earth.
Haldir stared coldly at the gently nickering animal as he waited in Elrond's outer courtyard for the swiftly approaching stable hand. "I expect you to mind your manners," he breathed softly. "There will be a tasty bag of oats and a good brushing in store for you after this tiring journey."
Celeg whinnied at him and followed the stable hand with a swish of his long black tail.
The March Warden sighed and wondered why Thranduil had been so anxious to send Celeg to Lothlórien for the horse was an exceptional mount. Turning, he regarded the Last Homely House with awe as he had in previous visits for the glorious, but subtle hall was built in the style of Elven splendor long passed.
A dark-haired Elf wearing a sour expression waited for him at the top of the steps. The richness of his garb as well as the superior air that surrounded him attested to the fact, even if Haldir had not known this already, that Erestor was waiting.
Haldir knew that he was dirty and bedraggled from the long journey, but he drew himself up to his full height and approached the other Elf with dignity - for his pride would not allow him to do any less. "Erestor," he greeted solemnly with his hand over his heart. "I bring greetings from Lothlórien and correspondence from the Lady Galadriel to Lord Elrond."
Erestor sniffed delicately, though he was far from dainty, and nodded in return. "Mae Govannen, Haldir o Lórien. Master Elrond is meeting with Lord Glorfindel on a matter of some urgency, but he will be with you shortly. Please wait here until I return to escort you inside."
Haldir's face remained expressionless despite the anger bubbling just below the surface. "Of course, it will be my pleasure to do so."
A group of Elves entered the courtyard through the ivy-covered, arched gate. They were all wearing long grey cloaks and their faces shone with unearthly light. Only one differed and Haldir caught sight of what appeared to be a youth dressed in black clothes so covered with dust and grime that he was certain they would be burned. Haldir recognized Gildor Inglorion at once and his wife, Lindissë, the former handmaiden of Celebrían.
The youth was mortal in Haldir's estimation and from his dark hair and height, was a Dúnadan. The dirty face was filled with such weariness that he pitied the poor wretch. Elves traveled quickly and did not grow tired as did mortals so he was certain that this boy had been hard pressed to keep up. It was not unusual to see the Wandering Companies of Elves in Eriador keeping company with the high Dúnedain as they had been great allies.
Haldir's brow rose as the thin young man reached out and embraced Lindissë warmly. To clasp an Elf to one's breast was simply not done unless related by blood or by oath - and to see a mortal doing so was a shock to the reserved March Warden.
Even more shocking, Lindissë reached out and kissed the boy on his cheek before whispering something to Gildor that made the Elf laugh out loud with great delight. Haldir knew Gildor Inglorion to have been born in Valinor and of great age; to see him joking so easily with a mortal boy who had just broken a very old custom was astonishing.
The boy was suddenly running up the cobblestone path and bounding up the stairs two at a time without looking up to see who might be in his path. Haldir moved back just in time to avoid being run over by the youth who smelled as though he had not bathed in quite a long time.
"You should really watch where you are going," Haldir pointed out in a cold voice.
The boy stopped and seemed frozen to the spot before turning ever so slowly to regard the lone Elf with a shocked expression. Large gray-blue eyes peered out at him from a filth-darkened, heart-shaped face that was so delicate that it appeared feminine in some respect. Dark hair, pulled back into a braid, was plastered to his head beneath a layer of dirt and sweat.
He swept his small, thin hand against his chest, but his high-pitched voice was more filled with wonder than true repentance for nearly running over Haldir. "I apologize for my foolishness," he rasped before coughing. "I am overly eager to be home."
Haldir frowned and his brow drew downwards as he looked over the thin, dirty creature before him. There was something that played on the very edge of his mind, but the knowledge eluded him. "Do I know you?"
"Welcome to Rivendell, Haldir o Lórien," Elrond's deep, resonant voice boomed from behind the two. "I am pleased to see you once more."
The youth ran past Elrond and Glorfindel as though being pursued by Sauron himself. Neither Elf seemed overly concerned and both rested their piercing, wise gazes upon the March Warden of Galadriel with great interest.
Haldir bowed his head out of respect before meeting the eyes of his host once more. "I am honored by the warmth of your welcome, nín Brannon." He always wondered if Celebrían had told her husband that a mere warden had once sought her hand. The thought disappeared almost instantly as he met the large grin of the golden-haired, noble captain that commanded Rivendell under Elrond's direction. "Glorfindel, I do believe you challenged me to an archery contest when last I was here."
Glorfindel laughed with merriment and his perfect teeth gleamed like pearls in the sun. "That was four hundred years ago, mellon."
"I have a long memory," Haldir replied without expression as his eyes twinkled.
The Elf came forward and slapped him on the back before pulling back with great mirth dancing in his eerie ice-blue eyes. "As I can see," he murmured. "I will be happy to oblige you after tonight's festivities."
Elrond seemed to enjoy the strained expression that Galadriel's courier wore. "Indeed, you must allow Glorfindel to show you to your room so that you may bathe and relax. Tonight you are destined for a treat as Arwen has consented to sing and my favorite harpist has recently returned from being abroad. We shall discuss business in the morning for I am not in the mood today." He looked past the two and smiled upon seeing Gildor in the courtyard. "What news of Aman?" Elrond asked as he descended the steps.
Haldir frowned but followed Glorfindel into the house. "I dislike parties and the frivolity therein."
"You know not what you are saying," Glorfindel retorted as he headed for the stairs with the now glum March Warden in tow. "Any Elf who claims to dislike merriment is not truly an Elf."
Haldir snorted and drew up short as he noticed the face of the young Dúnadan staring at him from the highest point on the twisting staircase. Their eyes met and held before the youth pulled back and disappeared entirely from view. Haldir followed the whistling Glorfindel as he entered a hallway off the second floor landing.
A strange feeling crept though Haldir's mind that he should know this boy, but he was certain Falathar would be far more masculine in appearance...
He would bide his time for now. Later, he would discover who this strange creature was.
~*~*~*~
mellon - friend
Morcrumion - dark, left-handed one
Orch Faradrim - Orc Hunters
nín mell - my dear
nín Brennil - my lady
Mae Govannen - welcome/well met~*~*~*~
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