Title & Chapter Number: Legends 1/16
Author(s): - Author's Index
Fandom: Tolkien
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: This world and its creatures belong to J.R.R Tolkien, New Line Cinema and Peter Jackson. I've just bullied my way in long enough to right a wrong. You know the one I mean. (Haldir deserves better…) I receive no financial compensation for the following tale. I "do this for love."
Warnings: Explicit het sex; a few slashy references
Betas: Telbeth the Indefatigable
Cast: Haldir/OCF (a Maia, no less!); Rumil, Orophin, Galadriel, Celeborn, Aragorn, and a few original critter characterizations
Timeline: 3rd Age of Middle Earth during the War of the Rings -After the visit of the Fellowship to Lothlorien through the Battle at Helm's Deep
Spoilers: None
Summary: During a border patrol, Haldir discovers a lone Nazgul horse and a strange visitor with an annoying attitude and some very spooky skills. Things unfold deliciously until a deception and a surfeit of pride cause them to separate. They are re-united at Helm's Deep with an entirely different outcome, of course. Horses and dragons and crows…oh, my!
Notes: Dedication - Hennaid to my friend Sulien for nagging me into this romp and forcing me to learn Sindarin (well, pidgin Sindarin); to Craig Parker for gifting us with his interpretation of Haldir, and to my amazing husband for being…well…amazing!
Prologue
Setting: Lothlorien
Timing: After the visit of the FellowshipHe was restless…edgy…and did not like this unsettled feeling at all. Something was about to happen.
It had naught to do with the visit of the Fellowship and ominous events occurring to the South. Lothlorien was well protected by the power of Nenya and by the skills of his Galadhrim warriors. He saw to that.
No, this was different. This was personal.
~*~*~*~
Chapter 1
A grubby bundle of tattered rags and a blood stained saddle...
The Guardian eyed them with distaste, one hand resting on the hilt of his dagger. The saddle was particularly offensive, oddly regal in appearance but vile in aura. It was worked with deliberately painful devices, sharp iron edges and a braided trim designed to score the wearer's hide…Too fine and too foul for less than a Nazgul.
The warrior Elf glided forward another step.
A squealing hurricane of torn hooves and snapping teeth suddenly exploded from the shadows at the edge of the glade. The beast was huge and brownish black with a hide marred by scabbing wounds, and eyes an unnatural russet. He rose on powerful hind legs and hopped forward twice before planting his great hooves over the bundle, effectively caging it between hind and forefeet.
The Guardian lifted his chin and held his ground.
"You trespass here - you and what lies beneath your feet."
The beast answered directly into the warrior's mind with a threatening image of Elven skin scored by slashing equine teeth, and then shifted his hooves as if balancing for combat. A rough nail protruding from his shoe snagged the edge of the bundle and a trim leg was revealed.
The Elf regarded this development with interest. TWO intruders there were in Lothlorien, this day.
The leg was smooth-muscled and grimed with what appeared to be several day's worth of road dirt. It stirred and the rest of the bundle slowly began to unfurl.
"Who disturbs our rest?" A rusty voice grumbled from beneath the black.
"You trespass," the Guardian repeated. "Present yourself."
A young female rolled free of the horse and struggled to stand by his side, clutching a fistful of mane for balance. She turned to her interrogator and, for the moment, could not speak. He was the most exquisite male she had ever seen - as luminous and perfect as the Golden Wood at dawn…and as distant as two-valleys-away. She had seen this Elf before, watched him over time and from afar as he patrolled the forest in relentless sweeps. At close range, his beauty stole the very breath from her. Haldir, Guardian of the Golden Wood. She collected herself and contrived to glare a challenge at him.
His expression did not change, but his interest grew.
Defiance, unusual…He rarely encountered defiance. Warriors of Lothlorien were generally treated with fear or awe or, at the least, with wary respect. And the Guardian was accorded to be particularly lethal. Yet this creature defied him.
"You foul the sweet grasses of our forest with this beast and its trappings," he intoned. "Be gone."
The black barred his teeth and flattened his ears against his skull.
The female regarded the Elf briefly through narrowed eyes, and turned to sooth the horse with a reassuring pat. This done, she squared her shoulders, spun to leave and toppled over in a graceless heap. The Guardian stepped forward to pull her to her feet, but was thwarted by the black as he shifted his great bulk between the two. Again, the female wobbled to her feet and patted an undamaged spot on the horse's matted side.
"We go," she muttered. And once again, she turned - this time more slowly and in careful possession of that steadying handful of mane. The pair started anew toward the edge of the wood.
On an uncharacteristic impulse, Haldir trod after them. "I will give you a leg up," he offered, then added coolly, "…to speed you on your way."
The female flung out a restraining hand. "No! His back…"
The Guardian drew alongside the pair and inspected the newly healing wounds that mapped an outline where the cruel saddle once sat.
"Your horse is in vile condition, " he remarked.
"Not my horse," the female countered without turning to face him. "Free to come or go as he will."
"It would seem he has chosen to remain with you."
The female ignored him and continued her halting progress.
"You are in vile condition as well," Haldir persisted. "You can neither ride nor walk…"
"We go," she repeated, chin high, face still averted from her tormentor.
"You shall," he agreed, "but not just yet." And he hefted her easily into his arms.
The move was so unexpected that, for a moment, she simply stared. Elven reserve was as legendary as their skill at battle. This intimate handling of her person was unprecedented. The female dropped a shoulder and attempted to struggle free. Her efforts alarmed the black who immediately turned to defend her.
"Be still, both of you," the Guardian commanded. "We Galadhrim are not cruel. I will see you bathed, fed and rested. Then you shall leave these woods."
"Don't need your help," the female retorted.
Haldir glanced at the menacing black, then perused the odd little vagabond staining the soft fabric of his tunic, and found he was intrigued. He could not allow them any nearer to Caras Caladhon, but neither would he let them go. First, he would study them.
"Yes, nogotheg, you do."
"Not a dwarflet," she muttered just before her head sagged wearily against his shoulder and fatigue stole her senses.
The Guardian carried his burden deeper into the wood with the great black horse mincing anxiously beside him, alternately nuzzling at the inert female and nipping small warnings into his shoulder. By the time the trio arrived on the banks of a secluded forest pool the Guardian's tunic was soaked with saliva from the black's repeated oral maulings. The Elf halted and turned to his unwelcome shadow.
"Enough, beast…! Why such concern? She says you are not even hers."
The black sent him a murky panorama of images…of running with other blacks, cruelly tacked and spurred by metal-clad "two-foots"…a rage of river water pummeling him over onto his side and drubbing him downstream…a desperate struggle to gain his feet and clamber up the bank to safety…his rider still clinging to his back -driving him, driving him…racing long toward a growing shadow and stench…then a trip and a fall…rider-less at last…fleeing…wandering… long wandering…then the new "two-foot" approaching him with a soft voice… fighting her at first…then allowing himself to be led into the dappled safety at the edge of this wood…being gently stripped of the hated tack … failed attempts to remove the haphazardly driven spikes which sealed heavy metal shoes to his feet …and of kind hands, warm hands on his back… and the pleasant itch of wounds suddenly closing…
"A hand healing…? The Hand Healer is only legend, "the Guardian scoffed, gently laying the female on the moss-covered forest floor at the foot of an overhanging oak. He leaned against the tree to remove his boots, and rested his bow, quiver, dagger and belt at its base. Stripping his tunic off, he once more gathered the female into his arms and cradled her high against his naked chest.
"A bath, my filthy four-foot, is what you need to heal your wounds," he invited over his shoulder as he waded into the pool.
The black shifted nervously. His plague-of-a-dark-rider had never ridden him into deep water. Most waters were too lively and fresh for the dead-that-live. But this Elf was leaving him behind… and taking the female away from him.
"She comes with me," the Guardian taunted.
The black slapped a plate-like hoof into the pool, as if warning it not to harm him.
"My horse-friend," a low voice rasped from the vicinity of the Guardian's shoulder.
"Ah. She awakes," he drawled in his sanded silk voice. "The horse-that-is-not-yours follows, slowly. These waters seem to alarm him."
The female twisted for a better view and found herself smiling. The black was following them very, very slowly…lifting each foot high as if to avoid some dread, sub-aquatic danger.
"Wait for him. Please," she requested, finally looking up into her captor's flawless features.
Interested in what she might do next, Haldir stopped waist deep in the clear waters. Silently he gazed down at her. The female returned his gaze.
And then began the prickling slide of unexpected sensations… blooming warmth despite the chill of the water…the subtle wafting of a spicy resin scent around them… a sweet singing of joined pulses where their bodies touched…familiarity - like a phantom memory of something that had not yet happened…
Forgotten during this reverie, the black settled his muzzle behind the Guardian's ear tip and snorted sharply into the silken mass of his hair.
"By my LADY…!" The elf jerked away sharply, still clutching the female. "Do not DO that!"
The animal nudged him again, projecting a distinctly proprietary sense in the direction of the female.
"Desist! You may not have her back until I will it so, "Haldir scolded, sending the horse images of the female ensconced out of reach on the deck of a talan.
That offering won him a fierce shove into the depths of the pool. As the waters sluiced over his head, the Guardian began to wonder if this odd female and her impossible companion had addled him a little. He was actually chuckling...under water. And enjoying their ridiculous play…There had not been much of the ridiculous in his life and it surprised him to feel such pleasure from it.
As he surfaced with his burden, the black retreated to the shore, head high and tilted warily to observe the sodden pair.
"And well you should withdraw," Haldir called out to the beast. "In payment for your treachery, I may keep her in the middle of this pond forever."
This elicited a sharp whinny and much head shaking from the black, and an in-drawn breath from the female. "He understands you. You speak with him," she murmured.
"I share thoughts with him," the Guardian corrected, "a thing learned from the Lady Galadriel. It has served me well in defending the Wood, although I did not know it would work with an animal." He cast an arch look at the black.
"And what did you 'think' to him that earned us a dunking, Elf-of-Lothlorien?"
A smile slowly lifted the warrior's austere features. "It seems he wants you for his own…" The smile turned to a wicked grin at the rounding of the female's eyes. "I explained to him that you are better suited for a man…or, say…an Elf."
"I…I…he...you did not…" her voice guttered away even as a pale pink flush crept up her neck and opalesced across her cheeks. The Guardian laughed in genuine delight.
"No. I did not," he finally relented. "Forgive me. I should not tease you so, not even knowing who you are. From whence come you, and why are you here?"
She stared up into that unearthly face and those Luinil-blue eyes. His beauty literally made her head hurt. She needed to rest before she conversed further with this tantalizing creature.
"Tired," she muttered and, settling back against his shoulder, retreated into the boneless sleep of the exhausted.
"Asleep, again, " Haldir mused.
He used the opportunity to study his burden. Shorter than he by a full head, she was solid of form but soft against his chest. The tangled mane that had seemed to be an unappetizing muck brown now shone tabby bronze shot with streaks as moon-pale as his own hair. Unlike the ethereal elegance of Elven females, her face was gamin and sensual, with a short straight nose, up-tilted light amber eyes and lushly sculpted lips. To the Elf's increasing fascination, those lips were now parted over a row of even white teeth punctuated by elongated cat-sharp incisors.
A she-Orc…? No, too fair. Too rounded to be an elf, too tall for a dwarf, despite his teasing... Possibly human, but for those teeth…
Intrigued, Haldir rested his cheek against the top of her head and inhaled her forest-spicy scent. Slowly, so as not to disturb her rest, he swished her back and forth in the waters, idly contemplating whether to take insult at her tendency to fall asleep in his presence…or to simply enjoy the unaccustomed pleasure of holding her in his arms.
The swishing motion eventually smoothed the travel grime from the female's limbs. To the Guardian's private enjoyment, it also separated her ragged tunic and leggings into useless tatters. The flesh glowing through the rents and tears seemed oddly translucent, as if coated with a layer of pearl. And that skin -first ruddy and grimed, then pale and sheer, and now, as he watched, turning light golden as if tanned by his presence. Haldir stood motionless, staring down at the enigma curled against his chest. Who… what…could this be?
She snuffled softly in her sleep.
Sleep. That seemed to be her most urgent need. Reluctantly, the Guardian carried his charge from the depths of the pool, elbowing the black out of his way as he trod to the base of the Oak. He paused only to shift her over his shoulder and scaled the tree to the flet above. She did not wake when he laid her on the wooden platform, or when he made a second trip to retrieve his gear. She lay inert while he carefully removed her damaged clothes and pitched them over the side of the flet for later burying. And she did not respond when the black complained loudly from below at the indignity of having wet rags rained down upon him.
It was the sensation being eased into the Guardian's tunic that finally woke her. Her eyes fluttered open just as he was pulling the overlarge garment down her hips.
"Your shirt…" Her eyes traveled over the expanse of naked chest that currently filled her field of vision.
He gave the tunic a final tug over her legs. "You may keep it," he announced, pulling her to her feet. "It is, after all, sullied with your grime and that of the horse-that-is-not-yours." The arrogant warrior Elf was back. She wondered what had transformed the teasing playmate from the pool back into the stern creature now turning her to and fro, examining his handiwork.
As a final touch, he swept his cloak around her shoulders. "This, you may not keep. It is too long for you, but it will serve while you cannot walk."
He plucked her off her feet and laid her back down on the flet. "You will stay here and rest," he instructed. "I will go for provisions and healing balm for your feet."
"Clothes..." she prompted.
He paused halfway through the hatch and - for an instant -the playmate was back. He gifted her with a sly little smile. "When I am ready for you to have them…" and dropped out of sight.
~*~*~*~
The Guardian returned to the glade a few hours later to find the female kneeling on the ground beside the black with one of his damaged feet cradled in her lap. She was struggling again to remove the rough nails sealing a cruel iron shoe to his hoof.
In a now-practiced motion, Haldir picked her up, slung her over his shoulder and ascended to the flet. She huffed at his presumption, but, newly weary from her efforts, did not resist. He stood her gently on her feet and removed his cloak from around her shoulders, replacing it with a smaller, delicately embroidered version.
"There," he pronounced, satisfied with the length. "A lady's cape..."
She snorted inelegantly at his reference to "a lady", earning a raised eyebrow and an arch look down the length of his nose.
"Belligerent and ungrateful... Well, my LADY, "he goaded," you will now lie down and rest. I will salve your feet." He lowered his face to within a finger's breadth from hers. "And you WILL …stay… here."
She dared not move. A fraction forward and they would be sharing a breath. His scent was turning her thoughts in dangerous directions. "Tired," she whispered, closing her eyes against temptation.
Haldir indulged in a small, self satisfied smile. Despite her show of resistance, the little baggage had just betrayed that she was susceptible to him. He surprised himself by liking that notion.
"Coward," he breathed against her mouth, then swept her up and settled her on the soft heap formed by his discarded cloak. "Stay…here," he repeated, as if speaking to a witless child. She favored him with a drowsy mumble and drifted off.
~*~*~*~
Dialog translation from Sindarin:
Galadhrim – Tree people (the Elves of Lothlorien)
Nogotheg - Dwarflet~*~*~*~
~ Next Chapter ~
~ Library Main ~
~ Author Index ~ Character Index ~ Title Index ~
~ Hall Of Fire ~ Gallery ~
~ Links ~ Shops ~ Map ~ News ~ Rules ~ Lists ~ ~
This page is in no way affiliated with New Line Cinema or Tolkien Enterprises, and no profit is being made.
The information contained herein is NOT to be used to spam or in any other way harrass its members. Be advised that abuse of this site will not be tolerated, and the appropriate legal action will be taken.
Hall-Of-Fire.Com v.4.0, Copyright © 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009 by Cristine Cook-Fireheart. All rights reserved. This web site may not be reproduced in any form, except as occurs in normal browser caching, without express written permission from the author.
Website by Infinite Connections Design.
