Title & Chapter Number: Wish Upon The Stars (Part 2 of the 'Pilgrim' story arc) 17/?
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: Rabbit song: written by Edith King and found on www.canteach.ca.
Chapter 17 - In Haldir's Hands
Lórien
The image that greeted Haldir as he stepped behind the screen, was Legolas lying on his side and Ôlnathron on his knees beside him, pressing a cloth to the wound. Legolas lay wrapped in a blanket, but his side was bared to give Ôlnathron the opportunity to tend to the injury. His uniform was a blood-and dirt-caked pile beside him, but he’d propped his cloak under his head and he lay staring into the darkness absent-mindedly. At Haldir’s appearance, however, he looked up. Normally Haldir would be greeted by a smile, but this time Legolas just looked at him with deep, dark eyes. He’d run out of smiles for today, it seemed.
The poor youth. He looked so lost.
“Captain,” Ôlnathron said, “I did what you asked me to do. The wound is clean and the bleeding almost over.”
“Did he lose consciousness?”
“No,” Ôlnathron replied. “But he’s a bit light-headed due to the blood loss and too shaky to stand. I had to carry him up the ladder.” He reached out a hand and tenderly stroked Legolas’s blond scalp. “Will you take it from here, Haldir?”
“I will,” Haldir replied as he knelt by Legolas and felt the youth’s forehead; the temperature was normal, good.
Ôlnathron put the cloth aside and stood, gathering the pile of garments in his arms. “I’d better go and wash these in the stream,” he said, “or those stains will last.”
“Ôlnathron, you are irreplaceable,” Haldir said gratefully. “Do I tell you that often enough?”
“Never too often, captain,” Ôlnathron grinned.
When Ôlnathron made to leave, Haldir rose to his feet, but Legolas unexpectedly reached out and clasped his wrist.
“Don’t leave me,” he whispered.
“I will come back, Legolas,” Haldir said. “But I need to fetch some things in order to dress your wound, and you need some replacing clothes, as well.”
Still Legolas wouldn’t let go, and his eyes pleaded with Haldir. The Marchwarden gently took Legolas’s hand and squeezed it as he knelt beside him again. His free hand he lay on Legolas’s head.
“My absence will only be brief,” he said softly. “When I come back, I will stay here with you as long as you wish. That I promise you, pen-tithen.”
Those were the right words. Legolas’s features softened in acceptance, and he nodded silently.
Haldir stood and left the private space together with Ôlnathron. The Elves of the patrol were climbing up the ladder, settling on the talan floor to tend to their little injuries, the filth and their mental bruises after another massacre. Upon Haldir’s appearance, they shifted their faces towards him, concerned, asking for a report of Legolas’s condition. They had already had Rúmil’s reassurance, but they wouldn’t completely be at ease until Haldir had confirmed Rúmil’s words. He nodded at them, and told them that Legolas’s injury would heal completely.
And that, he secretly thought, was the only thing he could say with certainty.
“Did he speak much?” Haldir asked Ôlnathron before the latter left with Legolas’s uniform.
“No,” Ôlnathron replied. “He asked me if Ercirion was all right. The rest of the few sentences he has spoken all had your name in them.” Ôlnathron smiled with unexpected tenderness, almost fatherly, and his voice was soft when he continued, “That little Elf is crazy about you, Haldir. You do know that, don’t you?”
Haldir did not reply rightaway. “I...” he eventually said, and his eyes strayed away. “Yes, I do know that.”
“Good.” Ôlnathron smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “Well, I have things to do and so have you. I will see you later.”
“Until later,” Haldir said and they parted, Ôlnathron descending the ladder and Haldir crossing the talan floor to where he knew was the hidden hatch. Every border talan had a secret supply of clothing, blankets and other items that could be helpful in situations like these. He gathered what he needed, picked up his backpack and went to where Rúmil was sitting.
“You assign the watches tonight,” he said. “I will stay with Legolas. See to it that we are not disturbed, unless it’s urgent.”
“Yes, captain,” Rúmil said.
“And would you please heat water and prepare everyone tea? Bring me a cup when it’s ready.”
“Yes, captain.”
That said, Haldir took his leave and went to the far edge of the talan, where the screen stood. Behind it, Legolas still lay in the same position.
“Are the others all right?” he asked when Haldir entered.
“Some minor injuries, and they’re a bit worried about you,” Haldir said. “For the rest they’re fine.” He knelt by the younger Elf to inspect the wound. It was ugly, as Rúmil had said, but it was clean now and ready to be dressed. Haldir reached into his bag and began retrieving the items he would need: gauze, his small supply of healing herbs and plants, and the strips of cloth he used as dressings.
Legolas watched silently as Haldir selected some small, brown leaves, which he applied to the wound, using gauze to prevent them from coming into direct contact with the open wound.
“These are the leaves of a plant we call ‘naurthand’,” Haldir explained as his hands worked swift and certain. “They will prevent inflammation of the wound. I will need to put on a clean dressing tomorrow.” He took out his knife and used it to cut the strip of cloth to the desired length.
“How come you know all this?” Legolas asked, bewildered. “I did not know you were grounded in the art of healing.”
A silence. “I have been taught some things,” Haldir said eventually. “But I’ve never studied for healer and my knowledge is only shallow. You did not know because I was never called upon. There haven’t been major injuries since you joined the patrol and Ercirion is our qualified healer. But he is indisposed at the moment, so you’ll have to settle with me.” He smiled.
“You appear to do well,” Legolas said.
Haldir indicated the blanket Legolas held pulled up to his chest. “Please lower this for a moment. I need better access if I want to apply the dressing.”
Legolas obeyed, sliding the blanket down to his hips. He shivered. “Cold,” he said.
“I brought you some clothes,” Haldir said, starting to apply the bandage by tying the strip of cloth around Legolas’s waist; once, twice, three times... “And I’ll finish this as quickly as I can.”
“Did Ercirion teach you?” Legolas asked.
Again, Haldir did not reply straightaway. “No, it was not Ercirion,” he said, and he tied the ends of the strip together. “It was another healer.” He tested the bandage and was satisfied. It wouldn’t shift under Legolas’s clothes.
He took the pile. “These should be your size, more or less,” he said. “Put them on; they’ll keep you warm.”
Legolas sat up, but blanched even as he did so, and he slowly lay down again, bringing his hand to his head.
“Do you feel sick when you sit up?” Haldir asked. It was not an unusual thing after blood loss.
“I guess,” Legolas groaned. “It is not a nice feeling.”
“Stay flat, then,” Haldir said. “I shall help you.”
When Haldir slipped the tunic over his head, Legolas raised his arms to slip them into the armholes. He wriggled in an attempt to help Haldir, until the Marchwarden laughed softly and asked him to stop that. Then he lay still and left it to Haldir to work his arms properly into the sleeves. The trousers were next, and he lifted his left leg, then his right, and finally his hips as Haldir dressed him in black leggings. Had he felt better, Legolas might have been slightly uncomfortable with the situation, but at the moment he felt too sick and miserable to even care.
Finally the boots, and Haldir took the blanket and draped it over him.
“I feel filthy,” Legolas said.
“You are unable to go down and wash yourself in the stream,” Haldir said, “and I won’t let you try. Perhaps tomorrow, when you feel better.”
Legolas nodded.
Haldir took a clean cloth from his supply, drenched it in the basin of water Ôlnathron had used and wrung it out; then, moved closer to Legolas’s head and, wrapping the cloth around his hand, began to stroke it over Legolas’s face, washing the dirt away. For a long, silent moment, Legolas looked up at him, eyes slightly wide in wonder; then he began to cry softly.
It was the first time Haldir saw Legolas crying, and although he’d prepared himself for it, he found it a heart-wrenching thing to witness. Yet he kept himself from uttering phrases like ‘ssh’ and ‘don’t cry’, for he knew that sometimes, crying could offer relief. It was a cliché, but clichés are often true.
“Why are you so nice to me,” Legolas asked, hot tears sliding from his eyes, “even after witnessing all those horrible things I did tonight?”
“Horrible things?” Haldir said, continuing to draw the cloth over Legolas’s brow and cheeks. “All I saw was my recruit, fighting very bravely and saving the life of one of my men; the healer of my patrol and father of three. How did Ercirion obtain your knives, Legolas?”
Legolas blinked, confused, as if the memory of the battle was already vague. “I saw the Orcs disarm him,” he said, “so I threw my knives at him.” More tears slid from his eyes and disappeared into his hair at both sides of his face. “Don’t lie to me, Haldir! I know you were shocked by what you saw me do. I can’t believe I did all those things, myself. I didn’t know I had that side to me...”
“It is a good thing you have it,” Haldir said, “or you would have turned on your heel and fled, without firing a single arrow, and you’d be dead now.”
Legolas frowned. “Don’t make fun of me.”
“I don’t. I am being very serious. We all have this side to us, Legolas, to a certain degree... We wouldn’t be here if we didn’t. I admit that you carry much anger with you, much hate, more than any of us; but if that is what gives you the strength to fight like you did tonight, then you should use it for that. When handled well, anger can be a good motivator.”
“I don’t want to be angry,” Legolas said softly. “I don’t want to fight like this. I hate the warrior I was tonight; he was cruel and merciless.” He looked at Haldir and his voice grew almost unaudibly soft. “I actually enjoyed that last Orc’s fear, Haldir. I enjoyed it!”
“Is that why you stopped to look at him?” Haldir asked.
“Yes... I saw the fear in those eyes and it gave me a sick sense of satisfaction. That he was actually afraid of *me*.”
“And what did you whisper to him, right before the end?”
“‘This is for my mother, my father, and me,’” Legolas replied blankly. “Not that he understood what I was talking about; but it gave me satisfaction all the same.”
Haldir nodded, moving lower to draw the cloth along Legolas’s throat.
“Tonight, I was just like them, Haldir,” Legolas said. “Not better in any way.”
“Do not say that.” Haldir reached for the basin to make the cloth wet again. “They are pure evil; they do not resemble you in any way. A warrior’s first killings are always confusing. Do we enjoy the killing? No, but we do find a certain satisfaction in it, no matter how sad it makes us. Their race has taken kinsmen away from us, our loved ones; and it is our task to fight in their memory, show that such deeds will not remain unpunished. It’s confusing, and I understand that you don’t know what to make of this right now, Legolas – but it will become less difficult, I promise you.” He took Legolas’s hand. “Or do you have doubts about being in the patrol, now?”
Legolas’s jaw hardened. “No,” he said, “do you take me for a coward?”
“I never called you that. But it’s a captain’s question, I had to ask.”
“I will see this through, Haldir. No matter how conflicting my inner voices are, no matter how many nights like this I have to endure, I *will* fight for the greater good – as you taught me. That is the path I choose.”
“Very well. A word of advice from your teacher then, Legolas...”
“What?”
“Don’t make it too personal. It’s good to have something to fight for, but don’t allow your emotions to take over.”
“Focus,” Legolas said. It was a word frequently used in this context.
Haldir smiled. “Yes, focus.”
Haldir pushed Legolas’s sleeve up to his elbow and began washing his arm with slow strokes. Not only would Legolas feel somewhat clean after this, Haldir believed it was also soothing in some subconscious way; like a frightened horse calming under a gentle hand. And he had the impression that as long as he kept himself occupied with these little things, purposefully avoiding the suggestion of an interrogation, Legolas was more talkative, less likely to withdraw within himself together with his confusing thoughts.
“For what it’s worth,” he said, “I am very proud of you, Legolas.”
Legolas looked at him in wonder. “You are?” he said softly.
“Yes. As I said, you fought bravely and you fought well; you have nothing to regret. And I am sure the others feel the same way.”
“Thank you,” Legolas whispered.
They were silent for a little while, as Haldir gently rubbed the cloth over Legolas’s hand, his fingers, removing the blood and the dirt. Then the other arm.
“They never showed any remorse, you know,” Legolas said softly.
“Who?”
“The Orcs that murdered my mother. They just didn’t care. She’d never harmed anyone. It just makes no sense that she had to die.”
“Those things never make sense, Legolas,” Haldir said quietly. “Do not seek for rhyme or reason in this matter; you will drive yourself crazy if you do.”
“I can still see him, the one who did it,” Legolas said. “I saw him again tonight, when I reached for my sword and looked into the eyes of the one that came charging at me. I could tell he was thinking of killing me, and enjoying that thought; just as that other one was entertained by *his* cruel deed.”
Haldir sat silently, listening. Now that the first words had found their way out, the others followed more easily, like water breaking through a dam, and Legolas spoke of the scene that had greeted him, and his father, and the Elves of the guard, that afternoon almost seventy years ago. The restless, blood-thirsty wargs, held by the Orcs who stood watching their leader from a distance. The one who still stood with the bloody sword in his hand and turned to look at them as they arrived.
He did not look startled, not even unsettled by the prospect of his pending death. If anything, he was probably disappointed by the fact that due to the Elves’ early arrival, he would miss the spectacle of the wolves fighting over the body. His eyes fell on the elven king and the skinny youth by his side, both nailed to the ground, and a smug smile appeared on his ugly face when he recognized in them the pain he had inflicted.
“Charge!” Heledir, the captain of the royal guard, bellowed. “Don’t let any of them escape alive!”
He then cast a sideway glance at the King, realizing that he would need Thranduil’s approval to issue such an order. But Thranduil did not seem to notice him, did not even seem to notice Legolas staring up at him desperately. As shocking as the entire scene was, Legolas had secretly hoped, prayed that it was nothing but a bad dream; this childlike hope was shattered, Legolas’s heart crushed when he saw the expression on Thranduil’s face. In his relatively short life, he’d seen his father happy and he’d seen him angry, but never before had he witnessed him sad, in pain, helpless. His father was his hero, always strong, always in control of every situation. Always able to take his son’s little griefs away with some soothing words, a loving embrace... Legolas was not prepared to see his father’s face contort with grief; no words to say, hands helpless at his sides.
Then, as Heledir and his warriors furiously charged after the fleeing Orcs, Thranduil strode to the still form of his wife and dropped to his knees beside her. Legolas did not move. Could not move. Waited for his father’s reassuring words; she will be all right, Legolas...
Thranduil leaned over his wife, stroking hair away from her face. Then, sliding one hand under her cheek to lift it gently from the cool moss; with the other hand, slowly rolling her over and flinching when his gaze encountered the blood-soaked front of her dress. There was only one wound, but it told Thranduil’s mind what his heart already knew; it was fatal, and the Queen had already drawn her last breath. It was cruelly, irreversibly true. There would be no goodbye.
Legolas watched his father tenderly take his wife’s pale face between his hands and speak softly to her. Against his better judgment, Legolas felt hope flare again. He had never witnessed death before, and he did not recognize the ancient elven ritual that was meant to ease the passing of a spirit into the Halls of Mandos; words of blessing and of farewell.
Passing a hand over the Queen’s face, Thranduil closed her eyes; then, leaned forward and concluded the ritual with three symbolic kisses. One on each cheek, the kiss of friends; one on the lips, the kiss of lovers; and one on the forehead, the kiss of life companions. Seeing this, Legolas began to realize that holding on to hope would be foolish. His cheeks were already wet with tears by then. When Thranduil looked up to meet his gaze, his tears began to fall as well... and it was the first time Legolas saw his father cry.
Haldir sat very still as he listened. The tale of the Queen’s cruel ending had come to Lórien, but it had been brief and impersonal. The details were not meant to be public knowledge. Haldir had never heard the true, complete story, and the cruelty of it ripped his heart to pieces.
There was one good thing about this; Legolas had finally found the courage to break the silence, and after tonight’s battle, he would know what to expect from unfriendly encounters. He’d come through this one alive, and would be better prepared for the next. Reason for Haldir to feel relieved.
And yet, as he looked at the sad young Elf in front of him, he couldn’t help thinking that Legolas’s life would not be easier after this.
“I am sorry, Legolas,” he said, “so sorry that you and your father had to go through all that.”
At that point, Rúmil appeared, carrying a cup of steaming tea. Haldir accepted it gratefully. After casting a quick inspecting eye at Legolas, Rúmil left again. Haldir then took two small leaves of yet another kind and added them to the tea.
“Drink this,” he said to Legolas. “It will help you to sleep peacefully tonight.”
“The tea or the leaves?” Legolas asked.
“Both,” Haldir smiled. “The tea is for deep sleep – all the others have gotten a cup as well. The leaves are for peaceful dreaming.”
Haldir helped Legolas sit up, more slowly this time; and although he’d clearly felt better in his life, Legolas managed to remain seated long enough to drink his tea with small sips.
Legolas was pensive again, and after a silence, he said, “When fighting, I shall think of our grief, of how they carelessly destroyed a family. I shall think of my father’s tears, and it shall give me the strength to keep going.”
“You love him greatly, don’t you?” Haldir said.
“Yes, I do. But...” Legolas’s voice turned thick and he cast his eyes down.
“What?”
“There is something else I need to tell you. But it’s a terrible secret, please promise me you won’t tell anyone. I probably shouldn’t even tell you, but I can’t... keep it inside any longer.”
“I won’t tell a soul, Legolas, I give you my vow.”
“You’ll probably despise me.”
“Not possible.”
“Do you know what happened the night before my father called you to him, and asked you to take me under your wing? After the feast was over?”
“No, I don’t.”
“I wasn’t quite so happy that night. Everyone was having a good time, but I... felt so empty inside for some reason. I was feeling a little sorry for myself, so I did what elflings do: I went to my father’s room. And I...” He began to cry again. “Gods, why am I telling you this? You’ll think me poison, and my father too.”
“I won’t,” Haldir said calmly. “I esteem him too highly, and care for you too much to ever do that. What happened?”
“I... He was trying to comfort me and I... kissed him,” Legolas stammered, and he bowed his head.
“You kissed him?”
Legolas nodded, bringing his hands to his head. “It wasn’t even innocent. There was a moment of passion in it. I don’t know why... there was confusion, it was the work of the moment. But I enjoyed it, Haldir. Until we both came to our senses, I was enjoying the feeling. Gods, I must be so sick and twisted!”
It was unexpected news, but Haldir recovered quickly. “Legolas, look at me.” Haldir took Legolas’s hands and brought them down. “You are not sick or twisted. Had the thought occurred to you before?”
“No. Of course not! And not to him, either.”
“So it was a mistake, then. A mistake you both regret.”
“Yes...”
“Has it affected your bond in a bad way?”
“Well, no...”
“Then don’t torment yourself with feelings of guilt. As you said, it was the work of the moment. You both had long, difficult years behind you. Hurt and confusion can do strange things; stupid, irrational things we regret immediately after they happened. But it doesn’t make you sick or twisted and it certainly isn’t reason for me to think you poison.”
“Why are you being so understanding?” Legolas said, drawing his sleeve over his eyes.
“I am being realistic.” Haldir smiled. “Come, Legolas – do you think I haven’t made mistakes in my life? Well, I have, more than you can count, and I still make them. As I always tell you, mistakes are to be learned from, and you should try to see the good in them.”
“How can I see the good in this?”
“Was that kiss your father’s reason to send you to Lórien?”
“The direct reason, yes.”
“There you have it,” Haldir smiled. “Then who would be teaching me songs about ducks?”
A glint of a smile flitted over Legolas’s face. “You’re not taking me seriously.”
“Oh, I do. I just like to see you smile,” Haldir said. “Come, lie down now – carefully. The night has been long enough, and it’s time for some healthy sleep.”
Legolas gave in, too tired to resist, and he snuggled under the blanket. “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep,” he said.
Haldir smiled. “Oh, trust me, you will.”
“Will you stay with me, Haldir?”
“I promised, didn’t I?” Haldir settled beside him, legs crossed, and put a hand on Legolas’s head. “Do you remember that rabbit song I told you about? I shall sing it for you if you want.”
“Oh, yes!” Legolas said, and there was actually delight in his voice and in his eyes.
“Very well. Close your eyes, then.” Legolas obeyed, and Haldir began to sing softly:
“Brown bunny sits inside his burrow Till everything is still, Then out he slips along the furrow, Or up the grassy hill.
He nibbles all about the bushes, Or sits to wash his face; But at a sound he stamps, and rushes At a surprising pace.
You see some little streaks and flashes, A last sharp twink of white, And down his hidy-hole he dashes And disappears from sight.”
When looking down, Haldir was not surprised to see Legolas already asleep, and he smiled. He kept his hand on Legolas’s head, and he knew that he would sit like this all night, to make sure that Legolas did indeed dream peacefully. But it was worth it, very much so. He could not shield Legolas against everything, but he would keep the nightmares away from him tonight, that he would do. And so he sat there in the night, keeping watch and wondering, not for the first time, why the Valar would give this sweet young Elf so many obstacles to conquer... and with what objective they had brought Haldir into his life to help him.
Legolas did much more to Haldir than teaching him songs about ducks... so much more.
~*~*~*~
Pen-tithen: little one
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