Title & Chapter Number: Wish Upon The Stars (Part 2 of the 'Pilgrim' story arc) 5/?
Author(s): - Author's Index
Website: The Woodland Chronicles
Fandom: Tolkien
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Middle-earth and all its inhabitants are Tolkien's, not mine. I don't mean to steal them; I'm just borrowing them for my enjoyment.
Warnings: Lots of character development, not much sex. Sap and angst. Twincest
Betas: Jilly. Still the best.
Cast: Haldir, Legolas, Rúmil, Orophin, Celeborn, Galadriel, the entire Lothlórien bunch. Elladan/Thranduil/Elrohir are the only ones getting it on for now, though. There might be new pairings as the story develops.
Timeline: Third Age, approx. 440 years prior to the Fellowship.
Spoilers: Nope.
Summary: Legolas arrives in Lórien to begin his training as a warrior under Haldir's supervision. In the process, he discovers things about himself he'd never dreamed of. Haldir, in the meantime, finds that even one immortal is never too old to learn.
Notes: None
Chapter 5 - In My Heart
Lórien
Legolas blinked. The sharp steel of the blade was cool against his throat. Inwardly, he cursed his own stupidity. He could have prevented this. This would not have happened if only he had paid better attention...
"You are dead, Legolas." Haldir's voice. "Say hello to the Halls of Mandos for me."
The blade was removed from his throat and Haldir resheathed his knife with a sigh. He also released Legolas's wrist, which he'd held in a firm grip, making the knife in Legolas's hand completely useless. "How many times do I have to tell you, keep your defenses up!" he said despairingly. "You're eager enough to go in the attack, but defense is equally important, if not more so."
"I know." Legolas could have cried in frustration. He had actually been doing well today, so well that Haldir had been pushed into the defense and had to use all his skill to fend Legolas off. His possible victory had excited Legolas so, that he had become sloppy. With an unexpected jab, Haldir had his knife at Legolas's throat. And where the hand around his wrist suddenly had come from, Legolas had no idea. This was not good.
"Really, Legolas," Haldir said, "how can you expect me to send you on a border patrol already, while you end up with a knife against your throat every time we practise? You mustn't be so focused on 'winning', as you call it. You would do so much better if you'd just let go of that idea."
Legolas nodded mutely, fingering his knife. He couldn't look at Haldir. He wanted to do well so badly, but it felt like he disappointed his instructor every time. He couldn't blame Haldir for losing his patience, really. He probably regrets now that he ever promised father to teach me, Legolas thought sadly.
"There now, what's that?" Haldir's voice was softer. He put one hand on Legolas's shoulder. "Not so sad," he comforted his young pupil. "You were doing well until you lost your focus. You have the talent; you just have to be taught how to use it." Haldir smiled at Legolas. "And that is my task. Sorry I became impatient."
Legolas shrugged. "No, you were right. It was my own fault."
"Mistakes are to be learned from. Come, let's try again," Haldir said cheerfully as he unsheathed his knife again. "And remember to watch me closely; a good warrior can predict his opponent's next move by watching his body language."
Legolas suppressed a sigh as he, too, brought his knife into position. His patience was being tested thoroughly. He'd been in Lórien for almost a year and a half now, and still Haldir wouldn't let him touch a sword. It was still daggers and knives, and Legolas felt like he'd barely learned more than to just *hold* those weapons. This was untrue, of course, and he knew that he had the toughest adversary imaginable in Haldir, but it was still frustrating.
Over the past six seasons, Legolas had grown very fond of Haldir, who was the best friend he had in Lórien, and during their practices there was always time for fun, but as an instructor Haldir was also very demanding; always wanting Legolas to rise above himself and do better than the day before. Yet he always was his kind self; always good-humored, never hesitant to give Legolas a compliment when he deserved one. And it was exactly these compliments that made Legolas so eager to do well. He wanted Haldir to be content, to be proud of him... And so he both dreaded and looked forward to the practices with Haldir.
He remembered the very first lesson well. With a puzzled and slightly bemused expression he'd regarded Haldir as the Marchwarden gave him one of the two wooden practice knives he was holding. It was worn and he couldn't have harmed a mouse with it even if he'd wanted to.
Haldir had laughed. "Not what you expected, Legolas? I'm sorry, but I can't run the risk of being fatally injured by a real knife during your first lesson!"
Legolas grumbled something about having wielded a knife several times before, but Haldir had assured him that every warrior started his training thus. And so Legolas, although feeling slightly ridiculous, accepted the wooden knife.
Haldir had challenged him then to go into the attack. "Just to see how your movements are," he'd said. After a moment of hesitation, Legolas had attempted a half-hearted jab at Haldir's chest, but the Marchwarden simply stepped back and Legolas's knife sliced nothing but air. "Come on," Haldir smiled, "do you really think you can hurt me with that knife? That I'll even let you? Put more aggression into that!"
Legolas had lunged at him more grimly then, and the following hour showed Legolas jabbing at the other Elf, but seeing every move effortlessly blocked by Haldir's precise defense. The end of the lesson had Legolas panting and perspiring, while Haldir barely had one hair out of place. Not wanting to let the first lesson end in a too depressing note for the young Elf, Haldir had then let him practise throwing knives at an unmoving target, something Legolas turned out to be pretty good at already, thanks to his almost life-long experience with the bow and arrow. That first day, Legolas had learned the most important lesson: wielding a blade was a thousand times more difficult than it seemed, and learning to do it properly would take lots of time, patience, and practice.
And that was what Legolas had been experiencing at first hand over the past eighteen months. And yes, he got disheartened sometimes, tired of the slow progress; but he never gave up. That was the stubborn, determined trait his grandfather and father had passed on to him. Legolas *wanted* to learn... and he would not falter until he'd mastered this to his own, and Haldir's, satisfaction. Not a chance...
Apart from knife practice, Legolas also had daily classes, and archery lessons. After initial suspicion, the young Lórien Elves had accepted him in their midst, and he got along with them pretty well. Every day he wore the brown and green of Mirkwood; not because he refused to adapt to Lórien, but because he wore them with pride. They drew attention in the beginning, as did his bow with the unfamiliar curve, but in the end the Elves of Caras Caladhon became accustomed to the presence of the foreign prince.
But he still received his share of flirtatious glances and indecent proposals. They did not unsettle him as they used to, but he still did not know how to handle such attention, and most of the times he just stammered a 'no thank you' before hurrying along. He felt a clumsy youth every time, but he couldn't help himself; to be regarded in such a manner still made him feel uncomfortable.
Haldir. In the past eighteen months, the Marchwarden had spent large amounts of his time with Legolas. Sometimes he would be away for weeks in a row, off to inspect the situation at Lórien's borders. Legolas would then walk the paths of Caras Galadhon alone, follow his lessons as he should, practise with the knife. Because Haldir could never predict the length of his absence, his return was always unexpected; but to Legolas, a joyous occasion. For Caras Galadhon wasn't half as interesting without Haldir in it.
Even after a year and a half, Haldir wasn't less of an enigma to Legolas. There were things Legolas had learned about him since; for instance, that the handsome guardian had many admirers in Caras Galadhon, judging by the longing stares Elves sometimes threw him. Yet while Legolas's admirers came to him and directly *asked* him for a place in his bed, no Elf ever approached Haldir with a similar question. It was as if they knew that they would be rejected, for Haldir seemed to have no interest whatsoever in any Elf of either sex. At first, Legolas had thought that Haldir was simply keeping his love life secret, but after almost two years of close observation, Legolas knew it was different. Of course, he was never there to see for himself, but somehow he just knew it.
Haldir's bed, although it was two-sized, held no place for a second sleeper.
With that knowledge, a question was answered, and yet it called forth a whole range of new, even more urgent questions. What had made Haldir close his heart, his arms, his bed to others? Why would he not share his gentle, loving soul with another? Let someone read the poetry there? And for how long had it been so? Legolas was sure that Rúmil and Orophin could tell him, but he did not ask them. It seemed wrong to talk about Haldir in such a manner, discuss his private life behind his back. Legolas despised gossip, and he would certainly not partake in it himself. That he refused.
But sometimes Haldir would surprise him. Sometimes he would, spontaneously, reveal something of himself. Something of his past... Little snippets of himself he offered to Legolas, protectively held between cupped hands, for Legolas to keep safe. To Legolas, each of them was like a little treasure in itself. They were precious collector's items to someone who knew their worth, and Legolas became the devoted collector. He'd reserved a chamber in his heart solely for this purpose, a cozy chamber where light always fell in through a window. The floor, ceiling and walls were still empty for the largest part; but every time Haldir offered him a small piece of the painting that was him, it went to its rightful place, right there. Legolas hoped this masterpiece would never be finished; for it would continue to grow and gain colors as long as Haldir lived.
Still, always when Haldir was in Caras Galadhon, Legolas would have breakfast in Haldir's talan, a breakfast that Haldir prepared for him, but would not share with him. As it had been from the beginning. Yet their friendship wasn't one of traditions and customs; it was one of developments. At first, Haldir had taken him on long walks in and outside Caras Galadhon, telling him gripping, but impersonal stories about Lórien. And Legolas would listen, ask occasional questions, and, in turn, speak of Mirkwood. Haldir's steps always led to the door of Legolas's talan, but no further. And Legolas, after breakfast, would leave Haldir's talan for the rest of the day. But later, when evenings alone slowly turned into evenings spent together, they opened their homes to the other as if it was the most natural thing in the world. And most of the evenings were spent in Haldir's talan; it was larger, more comfortable, had a more beautiful view and always a healthy supply of good wine. To begin with, they would sit at the table and speak of what the day had brought them; later, but this was only after many months, they would sit high in the branches of Haldir's mallorn and speak of other days; days long gone, or days yet to come.
Even listening to the silence was utter bliss when it was done together with Haldir.
One night, while they were sitting facing each other on opposite branches, Haldir had asked Legolas whether he missed his home.
"Always," Legolas confirmed. "But not so badly it rips me apart, as I had expected. It doesn't even really hurt... It's just there."
And with every day that passed, the end of the two-year period drew nearer. Thranduil would come to Lórien... Throughout the months, father and son had exchanged occasional letters. Not too many, for the journey between Mirkwood and Lórien was a dangerous one for a lone messenger, but they were long and full of jests and joyful phrases.
Haldir never asked Legolas whether he would be accompanying his father back to Mirkwood once those two years had passed, and Legolas never brought up the subject either. Yet it was something he spent a lot of time thinking of.
Elladan and Elrohir kept their promise and came to visit Legolas; and Legolas got to see with his own eyes the uproar their arrival *did* cause in Caras Galadhon, in Elf and Elf-maiden alike. The twins, always happy to flirt, enjoyed the attention, but as far as Legolas could tell, they slept in each other's arms every night. The bond between them seemed to have grown even stronger, if that was even possible, and especially Elladan, although still the more silent one, had a new, younger glow over him.
Legolas embraced their presence with both arms, but Haldir kept himself on the background. He was kind as always and he had assured Legolas that he liked the brothers, but Legolas could tell that he did not really feel comfortable in the company of those boisterous twins.
In fact, the twins unconsciously made Legolas realize something. As he once observed a conversation between the brothers and Haldir, he found that Haldir was behaving oddly. While the twins chattered and jabbered relaxedly, Haldir merely listened, placed an occasional remark when it was expected of him, all the time with a polite, but spiritless, smile plastered to his face. Legolas frowned, wondered secretly why Haldir was behaving so strangely; was something bothering him? But then he suddenly realized that there was nothing unusual about Haldir's behaviour. This was simply how he always appeared to Elves he didn't know well; friendly, but distant. He remembered seeing that same Haldir in Mirkwood.
That was the first time Legolas fully realized how much actually had changed between Haldir and him already, so gradually that he hadn't seen it before. Up until then, he'd thought that Haldir was keeping him deliberately at a distance, in spite of the information he occasionally gave away. Now, Legolas realized that the Marchwarden had already let him come close, closer than he'd allowed any other Elf in a long time. Whether Haldir realized this himself, Legolas did not know; but it made him appreciate their friendship even more.
But it also saddened him that Haldir did not show others more of the entertaining, warm-spirited Elf he really was; the Elf he was when in Legolas's company. The gentle soul who had so easily won Legolas's affection. And again, it made Legolas wonder why.
Later that week, Legolas had taken the twins out for a ride. Haldir had left for the northern border together with Orophin, and the Marchwarden had automatically found its way into the conversation between the twins and Legolas. They were surprised to hear that after more than a year, Haldir still hadn't let Legolas test his skills with a sword.
"We've said so before, Legolas," Elrohir teased, "your father should have arranged a stay for you in Imladris, not Lórien. We would have made fine teachers; you'd already be a fine swordsman by now."
"I'm sure Haldir has his reasons for his training schedule," Legolas said a bit stiffly. He didn't know why he felt the urge to defend the Marchwarden against such an innocent joke, especially since Haldir's apparent reluctance to give him a sword had frustrated him in the past.
"Well," Elrohir continued, not recognizing Legolas's defense for what it was, "I do hope he's a better teacher than a conversation partner. I'm sure he is a good-hearted and likeable Elf, but he doesn't really show it much, does he?"
"To me, he does," Legolas said softly. "And he's an excellent teacher, and a good friend..."
Elrohir opened his mouth to speak again, but Elladan, instantly the older brother again, silenced him. "Shut up, Ro," he said. "Can't you see you're angering Legolas with your babble? He knows Haldir better than we do. Thranduil didn't choose the Marchwarden as Legolas's mentor for nothing."
Legolas was relieved when the conversation continued on other topics, but his thoughts lingered on Haldir for the remainder of the day, and that evening he missed the guardian's company more than usual. He spent the entire evening sitting in his mallorn and pondering the mystery that was called Haldir.
Thanks to the snippets of information Haldir had supplied him with, Legolas was able to construct a rough sketch of Haldir's life. Born in the year 2714 of the Second Age, approximately 1900 years after Thranduil, Haldir was the youngest son of three. Like most elflings, and his brothers before him, he began his warrior training at a fairly young age, learning how to wield different types of weapons.
When in 3430 Amdir marched to war with a host of Lórien Elves to join in the Last Alliance, Haldir's father and brothers went with him. Haldir, as the youngest child, was told to stay at home, take care of his mother and aid the other remaining Elves in the protecting of Lórien. When, after the ending of the war, Amroth returned as the new king, the family was reunited. Many Elves had fallen, but Rúmil and Orophin returned safely with their father.
That, Haldir had told Legolas one evening, had been a turning point in his life. Hearing the stories from his father and brothers, and realizing that something like this could happen again, had convinced him to dedicate himself fully to a military career, a life in the service of Lórien.
Legolas and Haldir had had this conversation one evening as they sat high in Haldir's mallorn. Legolas had been amazed by the living contradiction Haldir was; a warrior at day, a fiery fighter in battle, but at night, in his home, the most gentle and romantic soul imaginable as he taught Legolas songs about the stars. How could that be rhymed?
"What are you, Haldir," Legolas had asked at one point, when he could no longer suppress his curiosity, "a warrior, or a dreamer?"
Haldir had regarded him silently for a brief moment. Then, asked with a faint, apologetic smile, "Can't I be both?"
Puzzled, Legolas shook his head and wanted to explain his bewilderment, but Haldir had raised his hand and said, "I think I understand what you mean to say, Legolas. Someone who sings to the stars at night, can't possibly enjoy the killing and the spilling of blood at day, right?"
Legolas nodded.
Haldir leaned back as he held his eyes on Legolas. "When I was young, I never really enjoyed training," he said. "My brothers teased me because of that, said that my hands weren't fit for weapons, only for wielding the harp or the flute. But after their return from the war, I hardened my heart and improved my fighting skills to such an extent, that I was made Marchwarden."
Haldir's eyes were dark and bright as they held Legolas's gaze over the distance. "I do not enjoy the killing," he said softly, "nor do I find delight in any form of violence. But if shedding blood, taking lives and risking my own is what it takes to protect something I love, I will do it."
"Lórien," Legolas said, and Haldir nodded. "You proved your brothers wrong then," Legolas said, "your hands *were* fit for weapons, after all."
"Yes," Haldir smiled, "but they found other ways to make fun of me."
"They did?"
"Yes. When it came to training, they saw me go from disinterest to complete dedication, and they couldn't help noticing..." Haldir chuckled. "Well, let's just say that my... social life suffered from my new occupation. I didn't really mind, but my brothers saw it as a great opportunity to make me victim of their terribly obscene jokes."
"Jokes?" Legolas cleared his throat. "What kind of jokes?"
"Well, one of their most memorable comments was that while I spent all my time and energy practising with arrows, swords and lances, I was neglecting my, as they called it, 'primary weapon'." Haldir made a gesture of annoyance, but a smile played round his lips. "A terrible crime, in the eyes of my brothers."
"I see." Legolas laughed, hoping that Haldir would not see his blush in the darkness. That little piece of information had come unexpectedly, and before Legolas had decided whether he had the courage to ask further questions, Haldir returned to safer subjects.
"To answer your question, Legolas," he said, "if I had to choose between warrior and dreamer, I'd rather be the latter. But ironically, in these times violence is sometimes required to ensure peace, and until the times change, I think I'll have to be both."
Legolas nodded. As always, the answering of one question had meant the birth of at least a dozen new ones; but every new question made Legolas even more determined to solve the complicated riddle called Haldir. The knowledge he had of Haldir's life after his decision to train himself, was scarce; only the part Haldir had played in the defense of Lórien six hundred years ago, and the reward he'd earned himself: the talan he now lived in. How he spent his free hours and what his deepest emotions were, Legolas did not know. But without knowing, the twins had made him realize something: although he never explicitly used the word, Haldir considered him a friend. And even after so many months spent together, the trust between them still grew - every day. This realization strengthened Legolas in his determination to be patient, and this determination was what kept him going, even now, six months later, as he was still struggling along with the knife, still dealing with a Haldir who grew more mysterious every day.
But the rewards for his patience were oh so sweet. Haldir's smiles, meant solely for him. The sound of Haldir's laughter when Legolas told him an amusing anecdote. A compliment on his knife-work. Haldir stopping by unexpectedly to watch him practise archery. Haldir suddenly standing there after Legolas's class, waiting for him. "Shall we go for a ride, Legolas?" And priceless: the envious gazes of his classmates as he, after a greeting, switched their company for that of the handsome Marchwarden. The two of them effortlessly falling into casual conversation and laughter together.
One night, Haldir appeared at Legolas's doorstep. He'd been on patrol for several weeks and Legolas, whose face brightened at the mere sight of Haldir's smile, wanted to greet him warmly. But Haldir quickly sealed Legolas's lips with his forefinger, and Legolas instantly stilled at the feeling of Haldir's finger resting lightly across his lips. A casual touch, but for Legolas a rarity; Haldir almost never sought physical contact out of knife-practice.
Haldir's eyes were sparkling. "Hush," he whispered. "Take your cloak and follow me."
Less than a minute later, Haldir led him over the smaller, less-used paths of Caras Galadhon. Their booted feet made no noise in the moonlit night, and neither spoke. Two or three times, when Haldir sensed the approach of an Elf, they hid behind a trunk or swiftly took a different path. Once, Haldir even took Legolas's hand to gently pull him along, and held it while they waited in their hiding-place, listening to the fading footfalls of the passer-by.
In the end, they left the mellyrn of Caras Galadhon behind them; thanks to Haldir's skills, without encountering a single guard. For a little while, they followed the white-paved path that encircled the hill, but after a couple of minutes, Haldir led him away from the path, into the collection of trees and shrubbery that ran beside it. Still Haldir did not speak.
After several minutes of this, Legolas could no longer stop himself. "Haldir," he breathed.
"Almost there," Haldir whispered back.
More minutes passed as they trodded the steeping ground, crossed several small streams and made their way through thick, sometimes thorny, foliage. In the end, they came to a place where the forest wasn't quite so thick. Moonlight fell between the trees, which were interwoven with low bushes. It was a lovely spot and Legolas eyed it with silent appreciation, but he still did not understand why Haldir had led him here. His eyes sought Haldir's questioningly.
His friend smiled at him. "Over there," he said, giving a nod with his head.
Following Haldir's gaze, Legolas's eyes fell on a collection of three, four bushes, huddled together. Countless dark spots among the leaves. It was then that Legolas finally understood the goal of this excursion, and he turned his face back to Haldir, a grin quickly taking shape on his lips.
Haldir nodded, grinning as well. "The first," he confirmed.
In Lórien there was an ancient custom. The Golden Wood was home to many fruit-bearing trees and bushes, but the first blackberries of the season were special. The Elf who found the first ripe blackberries could expect a year of good fortune and blessing. According to tradition, that Elf could claim his finding as his, and before eating the first blackberry, could make one wish. If he decided to share his finding, the same right befell the Elf, or Elves, he shared with.
"How did you find them?" Legolas asked as they knelt in front of the bushes. He was still speaking softly, even though there was no one around, but somehow the moment just asked for reverend whispers.
"This is a spot few Elves know," Haldir replied just as softly. "I've been checking it for weeks, but fruitlessly." He chuckled. "As I came back from the border this evening, I decided not to wait until the morning. And this is what I found."
"Amazing." So that explained the secrecy and the skulking on the hidden paths of Caras Galadhon; Haldir wanted to share his discovery with Legolas, didn't want others to find out... Legolas turned his head slightly to look at Haldir. "Did you eat one?" he asked.
"No. Not yet." Haldir searched between the leaves and plucked two ripe blackberries. Then, gave Legolas one. "Do you know of a wish?" he asked.
Legolas closed his eyes. He knew of so many wishes... They were simple and they were grand. That he would become a good warrior. That he would find peace with himself. That Thranduil would find happiness again. Perhaps even with a lover... Legolas wasn't really sure how he would feel if that happened, but in his heart, he knew that his father deserved it. Needed it, even.
Other wishes concerned Haldir. That he would make his mentor proud with his progression. That Haldir would show him his thoughts. Tell him of his past, his deepest, truest emotions. Trust him, without holding back. That he would call Legolas 'friend', be it only in jest. That he would have breakfast together with Legolas, be it only once. That he would hold his hand again...
Legolas opened his eyes, only to find out that Haldir was watching him patiently, an amused smile on his lips. "I've got more wishes than I can count," Legolas said with a lopsided smile. "Do I really have to choose one?"
"Yes... Don't worry, Legolas. Choosing one now doesn't mean that the others won't come true in the end!" Haldir laughed softly.
"Do you have one already?" Legolas asked.
"Yes. But remember, I had more time to think of one."
In the end, Legolas gave a nod, indicating that he had made a decision. They both secretly made their wish then, and enjoyed the taste of the season's first blackberries. Whether his wish would come true or not, Legolas thought he'd be the happiest Elf alive if this magical moment would just last forever, until the ending of the world and beyond.
After this, they plucked every ripe blackberry they could find, gathering them in a cloth Haldir had brought with him. They tasted so good, the two friends almost regretted it that they had to save some until the morning, as proof to show the other Elves.
Such moments were enough to keep Legolas going with enthusiasm and dedication, and so, to Legolas's own amazement, the first two years in Lórien passed swiftly.
One hot evening in July, Haldir and Legolas sat for hours, together on one of the branches of Haldir's mallorn. They both had had one or two glasses of wine more than usual, and although they didn't speak much, it was one of those delightful, long evenings. It had been an exhausting day. Three weeks ago, Haldir, pleased with Legolas's progression, had intensified the training; Legolas was now learning how to fight with two knives instead of one, and Haldir had introduced his pupil to the basics of swordfighting, as well.
The Moon had already reached her highest position, and still neither Elf made an attempt to end the gathering. Gravity was pulling hard on Legolas's eyelids and his head started to nod. This was usually the moment when Haldir would propose to call it a night. And Legolas would stumble to his own talan and fall onto his bed, drifting off into sleep even before his head touched the pillow. But Haldir's thoughts seemed elsewhere this night, and it was with a start, in a reflex, that he reached out to catch Legolas when the younger Elf slowly fell to the side.
Whether Haldir spoke any words, Legolas could not remember later. But he remembered suddenly being enveloped by two strong arms. Then, defying gravity as he was lightly lifted from the branch they had been sharing, and easily carried downward. He meant to protest; he was awake, he could descend on his own, he wasn't a maiden that had to be carried... But the words never left his lips. Haldir's embrace was then traded for that of the lovely soft mattress of the spare bed in Haldir's talan; it was good, but not quite as good and pleasurable as the shelter of Haldir's arms had been. However, Legolas did not have the opportunity to think this over, for his head touched a feather pillow and he was gone. The next morning, he would wake up and find himself wrapped in the sheets and the familiar scent of herbal tea, still fully clothed except for his boots, and with Haldir already moving in the room to prepare Legolas breakfast.
That was the first night Legolas spent in Haldir's talan. Thranduil's arrival was only two weeks away.
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