Title & Chapter Number: Wish Upon The Stars (Part 2 of the 'Pilgrim' story arc) 11/?
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: 1: for the curious among you... I had an existing piece of music in mind when describing the song Haldir plays at the beginning of this chapter. By Mozart, the Rondo (Tempo di menuetto) from Flute Concerto No. 1 in G, K.313. A lovely piece of music. (Mozart in Middle-earth? Absolutely! It’s fiction folks...)
2: the description of the patrol uniform is based on the movie costumes. 3: I doubt that ‘Private Greenleaf’ is a phrase you’d find in Tolkien’s work. But I kinda liked the sound of it, so I put it in. 4: ‘Lindo’ is Quenya for ‘singer’. I won’t win a prize for originality with this one...
5: according to the encyclopedia I consulted, only the male nightingale sings, and only during breeding season. Argh! But hey, this is fiction; I can violate the laws of nature and get away with it. I wanted the birdie to be a female, so a female it is. Girl power!
Chapter 11 - Song Of The Nightingale
Lórien
Music.
Rúmil, who had been on his way to his youngest brother’s talan, halted his steps and listened in surprise, wondering if he heard truly. As he stood listening, head cocked slightly to the side, a little smile took shape on the guardian’s lips.
There was no doubt about it; there was music in the air, the characteristic sound of a mithril-wrought transverse flute. There was only one such flute in whole Lórien, and Rúmil was familiar with its sound... and with its player. However, it had been a while since he’d last heard Haldir play to himself.
Rúmil listened for a little while, searching his memory for the right words to accompany the melody, only to come to a surprising realization: this was no song from their collective repertoire! In fact, Rúmil didn’t recognize the melody at all. He stood in awe. Could it be that Haldir had invented it himself? If so, it was nothing short of a miracle; Haldir hadn’t composed a song in centuries, something which Rúmil and Orophin regretted, but had learned to accept.
And what was more... while Haldir’s last creation had been a song of sadness, this one was very different in nature. Light-hearted; and although it had a slight hint of melancholy to it, the overall emotion it evoked in the listener was one of contentedness and warmth. It reminded Rúmil of a bird’s song, sung at the ending of Spring; there was a bittersweet reminiscence of a beautiful season now come to its end, but more than that, hope for an even better one yet to come. And the finale of the piece was a quick, thrilling crescendo, played with a boldness and abandon that were so contrary to Haldir’s self-withdrawn nature, it sent a shiver through Rúmil’s frame and in the silent seconds that followed, left him standing stock-still, every tiny blond hair on his arms standing upright.
Rúmil ascended the last steps to Haldir’s talan and knocked on the door. It was opened a moment later by Haldir, flute still in his hand. He looked mildly self-conscious, but his slightly flushed cheeks and shimmering eyes spoke of an excitement he was not able to conceal.
“Rúmil,” he said, and moved aside. “Please, come in.”
Rúmil did so, turning around as his brother closed the door. “I heard you play,” he said.
Haldir grinned, the shy grin of a child caught in the act. “I thought you had.”
“I didn’t recognize it?” Rúmil pressed when Haldir gave no further comment.
“I didn’t recognize it myself,” Haldir said. “My original intention was to play one of our old songs, for practice; but my flute took over and this was what came out.”
Rúmil slowly shook his head. “Your fingers created the tune,” he corrected, “not your instrument. And your fingers found their inspiration...” – he reached his hand to his heart – “... at the best inspiration source any musician can have.”
Haldir did not smile when he eventually said, “I thought that source dried up long ago.”
“I know.” Rúmil stepped towards his much younger brother and touched his face tenderly.
“I thought it had become a hermit’s territory,” Haldir continued, “barren and dry.”
“Perhaps the climate is changing,” Rúmil said softly.
Haldir lowered his eyes. “I’m not sure if I can have that happen, Rúmil. I never wanted it to happen. The circumstances could hardly be more unfortunate...”
Rúmil took Haldir’s face between his hands and made his brother look at him. “Isn’t it worth a try?”
“You speak of this so lightly,” Haldir said in an accusatory tone.
“And you have a tendency toward heavy-heartedness, brother,” Rúmil replied gently. “But I will speak no more of this if that is what you wish.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss on Haldir’s forehead. Haldir said nothing, but his expression softened at the display of affection.
“I understand your conflict, Haldir,” Rúmil said. “Truly, I do. We just want you to be happy, Orophin and I.”
“I’m not unhappy,” Haldir mumbled.
“That’s not good enough,” Rúmil said. “Not for you.” Indicating the flute Haldir was still holding, he continued with a smile, “But your latest composition has made me feel hopeful. It was lovely. What are the words to accompany the music? I would like to know.”
Haldir held his instrument with both hands and looked at it pensively. “It doesn’t have any lyrics,” he said at length. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin searching for the right words.”
Rúmil smiled. “I once made fun of you because of your dedication to your instrument,” he said. “Now, I wish I would see you replace your sword with your flute more often. I have missed it.”
Haldir, smiling, began to pack away his instrument with care. “Take a seat,” he said, gesturing toward the couch that stood facing the hearth.
Rúmil accepted the invitation. “You really won’t make any promises, will you?” he laughed as he fell onto the cushions and stretched his legs.
“No, I won’t,” Haldir smiled gently. “You know it’s difficult for me. I can’t just play any moment of the day, whenever anybody feels like it. I can’t play on command.”
“You played last year when Lord Thranduil asked you to,” Rúmil said.
“That was different. We had attended a rather depressing meeting and were in need of something to lift our spirits. Believe it or not, but I really felt like playing that evening.”
Rúmil inclined his head gracefully. “I believe you.”
“And besides,” Haldir added with a smirk, “who would refuse a king’s request?”
“If anyone could try, it’d be you,” Rúmil said. “He esteems you highly. He wouldn’t have given Legolas in your keeping if he didn’t.”
Haldir nodded slowly. Why he had deserved so much faith from the Mirkwood King was still a mystery to him.
“Which reminds me...” Rúmil accepted the drink Haldir offered him. “Thank you... I was at the tailors’ today to collect my repaired tunics, and Tuilindi asked me to tell Legolas his uniform is ready. Can I leave it to you to pass on the message?”
“You can,” Haldir said. “Thank you.”
Two days earlier, Haldir had brought Legolas to the talans where Lórien’s tailors held residence. Legolas had to have his measurements taken for his new patrol uniform.
“Haldir,” Tuilindi, the overseeing seamstress said at their entrance, and she came over to greet him. She took the Marchwarden’s hands and kissed him on the cheek, something she had to stand tip-toe for as he was much taller than she.
“You are too careful with your clothes, Haldir,” she said with a smile, “we don’t see you often enough here.”
“And even now, it’s not for myself, Tuilindi,” Haldir smiled. He shoved Legolas forward, thus bringing him under the attention of Tuilindi and the other seamstresses, who regarded the fair stranger curiously.
“This is Legolas of Mirkwood,” Haldir said. “He will be joining the patrol and he needs a uniform.”
“Legolas,” she repeated, tasting the unfamiliar name with the distinct Silvan sound to it. “Even your name is pretty. Is that your Mirkwood garb?” she asked, giving the lithe frame in front of her a quick, expert inspection.
“Yes, my lady,” Legolas replied.
She laughed good-naturedly. “You’re polite, I like that. But you may call me by my name. Come, Legolas; I need to take your measurements.” Turning to the elf-maidens who sat watching the scene expectantly, she continued, “And I need one of you girls to assist me.”
Haldir tried to force back a grin when the maidens rushed to their feet almost simultaneously. Seeing the confused look on Legolas’s face, though, made Haldir laugh heartily.
“Tuilindi and the other ladies enjoy their work,” he told Legolas cheerfully. He sat down on a chair as Tuilindi and one of her maidens ushered Legolas to the middle of the floor. “Handsome soldiers about the place almost every day.”
“That *is* one of the benefits,” Tuilindi said, winking. She lightly stroked a hand along the sleeve of Legolas’s jerkin to assess the fabric and the stitching. “This is fine work,” she said appreciatively. “Do you regret laying down the Mirkwood colors for the patrol?”
“A little,” Legolas confessed with a grin.
Tuilindi held a bolt of grey cloth in front of him and studied the effect. “Grey looks good on you as well,” she said. “Don’t you worry about a thing. We’ll make you a complete uniform and you won’t be disappointed when you see the result, I promise. And,” she added mischievously, “the lasses won’t be less admiring. There’s a certain appeal about a soldier in uniform.”
Haldir watched from the side as Tuilindi and the other seamstress moved around Legolas with measuring-tapes and writing materials, Legolas stretching his arms, spreading his feet or lifting them whenever Tuilindi asked him to. Tuilindi was entertaining as always, in turn instructing the other ladies, chatting with Legolas and exchanging jests with Haldir. Legolas let all the hustle and bustle happen resignedly, but Haldir could tell that after a little while, Thranduil’s son began to feel more comfortable as recipient of so much feminine admiration.
“So where is our young friend?” Rúmil asked, disturbing Haldir’s musings.
“In class,” Haldir replied. He pulled a chair to him and sat in front of his brother. Resting his elbows on his knees, he let the liquid in his cup swirl around.
“Is he excited about his first patrol?” Rúmil smiled.
“Yes, very.”
“The lads talked about organizing a little gathering to celebrate the occasion,” Rúmil said. “To welcome the newest member of the patrol.”
“That is a nice thought,” Haldir smiled. “I’m sure Legolas would be appreciative. He’s so eager to fit in.”
“Is he afraid he won’t be accepted?”
“No, I think... I think he’s afraid of receiving special treatment because of his title. He’ll want to be just like the others, yet his heritage rests on his shoulders every moment of the day. He descends from an ancient bloodline of great kings... and that brings some great standards to live up to; he wishes to do his descent honour... And he’s not satisfied with anything less than perfection.”
“I hope his eagerness won’t lead him into trouble,” Rúmil said earnestly.
Haldir shook his head. “Not easily, I think. He may be eager, but he’s no rash youth. Still, I will keep a close eye on him.”
“I will help you,” Rúmil said. “We all will.”
Haldir smiled at him. “You are very kind. But do it secretly, and with care; I do not think Legolas would be flattered to know the entire patrol was watching over him, nor is it a wise thing to focus only on the youngest patrol member while being out in the field.”
Rúmil laughed before he emptied his cup in one swallow. “Understood, my captain.”
~*~*~*~
“Now, now, Legolas, it’s not that bad, is it?” Haldir chuckled.
They had just left the tailors’ talans, where Legolas had tried on his uniform and Tuilindi had made some final adjustments while Legolas studied his reflection in the mirror. Legolas was now dressed in his usual clothes again, the pack he held under his arm contained his uniform; black leggings and a long-sleeved tunic of soft grey, to be worn under a jerkin with elegant flaps, the longest of which reached to the knees. Furthermore, a cloak of darker grey and a pair of black leather boots to complete the picture.
Haldir, together with Tuilindi, was of the opinion that Legolas would have the maidens swooning in Caras Galadhon. Legolas himself, however, was doubtful.
“I thought she said grey looked good on me,” Legolas complained as he and Haldir walked side by side.
“I didn’t know it was a false statement?” Haldir said, unable to conceal the mirth in his voice.
“I looked so pale in it,” Legolas said.
“True, the color insulted your complexion horribly,” Haldir agreed in jest.
Legolas turned his face to Haldir beside him to give him a suspicious glance. Haldir met his gaze in mock innocence and watched with delight the first curl of humour by Legolas’s mouth.
“Are you making fun of me?” Legolas laughed.
“Very much so,” Haldir said. “I’m surprised to find this trace of vanity in you.”
“Aren’t we all victim to Vanity’s claws every now and then?” Legolas retorted.
“Perhaps. But going on patrol doesn’t involve prancing about in the woods and being pretty. This is our uniform and if you want to be in the patrol, you’re stuck with it. Or do I sense a lapse in your determination, Private Greenleaf?”
Legolas smirked. “No, my captain. I will wear my uniform and stop behaving like a maiden.”
Haldir laughed. “Good.”
~*~*~*~
As planned, the patrol came together one evening that week, and Legolas, whether he wanted to or not, was the center of attention. But he found that it was not that bad. All the patrol members had come, also the ones he hadn’t met that evening in Anyriand’s talan, and they were very welcoming. Even those who had never dared or wanted to leave out the prefix ‘Prince’ when addressing him, simply called him Legolas now. He did not know whether it was because he had proved himself to be more than just a king’s son, or because Rúmil or Haldir had told them to treat him as an equal, but whatever the reason, to Legolas it felt as if he were just one of the lads.
And it felt great.
There was wine and music and conversation, and all of this lasted until far after midnight. Legolas, when he was not engaged in conversation himself, enjoyed the good-natured teasing and joking that took place between the members of the patrol. It was obvious that most of them shared a history that went back centuries, a history of battle and loss, of adventure and fun. Legolas had always been a good observer, and by just watching and listening, he learned much about the Elves of the patrol, how they interacted, what the close friendships within the group were.
Three years ago, in Mirkwood, Orophin had already hinted at the fact that he and Rúmil stood under the command of their youngest brother. But there seemed to be no competition or rivalry between them whatsoever. They were full-grown, adult Elves, all three of them; and that the Lord and Lady had elected Haldir to be the captain, was nothing more than a triviality.
Haldir’s second-in-command was Ôlnathron, an Elf of a rather impressive stature; about the same height as Haldir and both broader and heavier in build. Although he possessed many elven qualities, one could hardly call him slender or refined. Legolas didn’t doubt that he was strong as a bear. But he was attentive and pleasant in conversation, and Legolas didn’t need long to decide that he liked the Elf.
The Elves Legolas felt drawn to the most, were Ruigaul and Tinuril. They were, after Legolas, the youngest of the group and they had been the greenhorns until Legolas joined. They were grateful for that, and they cheerfully thanked Legolas for taking the pressure off of them.
Legolas was requested to sing again, and he did so, choosing a song of Mirkwood origin. It told of Lindo, a young Elf who walked under the eaves of Greenwood in the old times, when the forest was still fair and light. Lindo had a voice like the harps of the Valar, and he was always singing. He sang so many songs that after the breaking of many days and the passing of many seasons, he’d sang every song there was in the world, and there were none left. Lindo was sad, and for the first time did not sing, and the day passed. The second day, Lindo went to the lark and asked her, “Do you know a song for me?”
The lark sang a song, but it was not new to Lindo, and the second and the third song she sang, he knew as well.
“I cannot help you,” the lark said. “Go to the blackbird and ask him for a song.”
Lindo asked the blackbird, but he could not help either. Lindo visited all the birds that day, but none of them knew of a song that was new to Lindo, and he began to lose hope. After the day’s light was gone, Lindo finally met a little nightingale with bright beady eyes.
“Do you know a song for me?” he asked her.
And the nightingale shook her little feathers in a very ladylike fashion, and sang a tune he’d never heard before!
“Where did you hear that?” he cried when it was over.
“I made it myself,” she said proudly. “Did you like it?”
“More than anything I’ve ever heard before,” he replied. “May I sing it together with you?”
When the little nightingale repeated the tune, Lindo sang to it, using the words that came to him spontaneously, and they told of his search for new songs and his meeting with the nightingale, for his heart was filled with joy. And the nightingale was glad as well, for she had found company in the darkness of the night. After this, they met every night, and together they would bring new songs into the world. Other birds learned of this and they came to Lindo as well, wanting to sing with him; and he derived great joy from their company. But they were birds of the day. They left Lindo after sunset to go to rest, and the nightingale would come to him after that. She was his most special friend as he was hers, and never was music so beautiful as when it was created by those two.
When Legolas had finished, there were a few seconds of silence before the gathered Elves burst out in applause. Legolas sat in amazement as he looked around at the delighted faces. He hadn’t thought that the song would be received so well. But this was exactly the kind of charming, mythical song Elves liked best, and Legolas had a way of captivating an audience with his voice, without even knowing; and maybe that was exactly what made it so enchanting.
“What happened to them?” Celairmir asked Legolas when the applause faded away.
“That is unrecorded,” Legolas replied. “We do not know whether Lindo ever left Greenwood, stayed there or sailed for Valinor; nor do the legends tell us what happened to the nightingale and their friendship. Who knows, maybe they won the hearts of the Valar and received their blessing, uniting them for all eternity.”
“I like the sound of that,” Ruigaul said dreamily.
Another round of wine followed, and then several other Elves raised their voice in song and story-telling. Legolas listened and watched, sipping his wine; and as the night grew older and the wine and the murmur of elven voices worked their magic on him, he eventually glided pleasantly into a state between waking and dozing. Beside him, Tinuril and Ruigaul grew more quiet as well.
The last thing Legolas registered before blacking out completely, was the deep, humming sound of Ôlnathron’s voice telling a story. His speech was soft and soothing, a lullaby without rhyme and music. It felt like that extra blanket on a winter’s night: warm and comfortable. With that sound in his ears, Legolas slid into a sleep that brought a carefree dream. Legolas usually dreamed vividly, but this dream didn’t feature any particular things, people, or places; it was uneventful and quiet. It felt like lying in a meadow with nowhere to go and nothing to worry about; completely peaceful. The kind of dream that won’t be remembered, but leaves the dreamer feeling content even hours after waking.
In the end, Orophin was the first to notice. “Look at that,” he said, poking Haldir in the ribs, “the little ones are tired.”
Tinuril sat leaning back against the trunk of the mallorn in the middle of the talan floor, his head tilted back and his mouth hanging open very charmingly. Ruigaul leaned against him, head resting on his friend’s shoulder. Legolas lay curled up on his side, one arm thrown out in front of him, the other beneath his head.
“So I see,” Haldir smiled. Turning to his second-in-command, he said cheerfully, “That is your doing, Dreamweaver, as always.”
“I was just telling a story...” Ôlnathron smirked.
“Yes, we all remember your story-telling very well,” Dúlinn laughed, “from when we were that young and succumbing to sleep.”
“With a voice like that, getting your children to go to sleep must be an easy job,” Ercirion said with envy. He and Ôlnathron were the only two members of the patrol with a family of their own.
Another thirty minutes were spent with quiet conversation, but at length Haldir ended the gathering and sent his men home. They would set out to the southern border the day after the following and he needed them fresh and rested. The assembly said good night and split up; Legolas, Ruigaul and Tinuril were roused and staggered home, seeking their beds for a good night’s sleep.
Rúmil and Haldir also left Orophin’s talan, where the gathering had been taking place, and went to their separate homes. Soon, Caras Galadhon was wrapped in quiet as the patrol members rested soundly in their talans. ... Quiet, except for a slow stream of notes hesitatingly floating upwards to the sky, the silvery sound of a flute.
The captain of the patrol was not sleeping.
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