Buy Posters at AllPosters.com! More... Choose from 100,000 posters! Find your favorite posters in music, movies,fine art, sports, and photography categories. Check out these categories: Movies Fine Art Music [Close] undefined [Close] undefined Chapter 19 – The Music Is You Lórien Music makes pictures and often tells stories, all of it magic and all of it true. And all of the pictures and all of the stories, and all of the magic, the music is you. ~ John Denver, The Music Is You “What must we talk about?” Legolas asked when they were in Haldir’s talan. “You,” Haldir said, shutting the door. “Me? Was your conversation with Celeborn and Galadriel about *me*?” “It was,” Haldir confirmed. “They are concerned about you, Legolas. As am I. As is everyone.” “Everyone?” Legolas was at a loss. “Have I given reason to make everyone worry about me? I thought it was only you... Because of the nightmares, I mean.” “It’s not just the nightmares, Legolas, though they *are* a part of it. We have all seen you change since that first battle.” “Isn’t that a natural thing?” Legolas said bleakly. “An event like that is bound to change a new warrior, isn’t it?” “In a way, yes,” Haldir admitted. “But you have changed in more than just in that respect...” “Do you mean to say,” Legolas interrupted, his manner defensive, “that my functioning in the patrol is not satisfactory?” “No, that is not what I mean to say.” Haldir sighed inwardly. How typical of the new Legolas to think of that first. “It’s what happens away from the battle field that unsettles me. You have developed a hunger for battle that smothers the core of your being, Legolas.” Legolas blinked. “What?” Haldir looked at him steadily. “Tell me: are you happy?” “Happy? I... But...” Legolas shook his head in confusion. Then he shrugged. “I should be happy I guess... I’m still breathing, ain’t I? My heart beats... I live.” “Perhaps ‘exist’ is a better word,” Haldir said sadly. “For the Legolas I once knew, life was more than just breathing.” Legolas got defensive again. “What do you mean by that?” Haldir raised his hands. “I am not attacking you, Legolas... I am not judging you and I am not reproaching you. But don’t you see yourself that the Legolas you once were is slowly dying?” Legolas’s expression was blank. “Is that a bad thing?” he said coldly. “That was the purpose of my stay in Lórien, wasn’t it? That I would make some decisions and grow up? I did not like the Legolas I was back then...” “Excuse me?” “I did not like him! He was immature and naïve and afraid. A pathetic case I called him. Perhaps I should be glad that he is gone.” “How can you say that?” Haldir could not believe his ears. “And what about the Legolas you are now? Do you like *him*?” Legolas said nothing. “Legolas,” Haldir said reasonably, “perhaps it’s not an ill thing that you have matured. But the Elf I met five years ago had so many good traits too. You can’t possibly expect me to be glad that those are lost, as well.” “So in your opinion, I merely exist and nothing more,” Legolas said wryly. “Can you prove me the opposite?” Haldir replied. “You were out riding today. Did you even take one moment to enjoy the sunshine on you? Did you even pause once to feel the beat of the forest pulse in your veins?” Legolas was silent again. “Legolas,” Haldir said, “you so desperately wish to avenge your mother’s death, you are forgetting to live yourself.” Legolas’s head snapped up. “And this from you, Haldir!” he said. He did not really want to speak these words, but it was as if someone else, someone cruel, took over. “Haldir of Lórien, such a fine specimen of merriment himself. The correct and untouchable Galadhrim, who keeps himself locked up in his talan, his heart behind doors, his flute in a dusty trunk, his bed empty. And I should take advice from you on how to live life?” He regretted the words even as he spoke them, but it was too late now. His heart bleeding, he instinctively turned on his heel to stride out of the room. Be away from the confrontation; from the truth... Before he reached the door, Haldir spoke. “You are right,” he said calmly. Legolas stopped, turned slightly. “What?” “It is true that I am not an expert in the art of ‘living life to the fullest’,” Haldir said. “Many have tried to teach me, Orophin not the least persistent of them.” He smiled faintly, but it did nothing to make him look less tired or sad. “It took years, centuries before I found my teacher... in Mirkwood, of all places.” Legolas gaped at him. It was *his* turn now to be suspicious of what his ears told him. “Didn’t you know, Legolas? Have you never realized that I, too, am a different Elf than I was five years ago?” “Because of me?” Legolas stammered. “Yes. Perhaps you did not like yourself, as you say, but you possessed an eagerness for life that I lacked; and you infected me with it. And now to see you lose that... it pains me. You are right, I may not be the best advisor in this matter, but I do have a right to warn you. Not only because your father placed you in my care, but more than that, because you are important to me and I don’t want you to become like me.” “Like you?” “Yes; cold, without hope, untouchable as you said.” “I do not find you cold,” Legolas said softly. “And you are loved and held in esteem by many...” “May be, but that knowledge makes little difference when you shut yourself off from the world. Trust me, Legolas, I speak from experience. Few Elves really know me; that, regrettably, is my own doing and I do not wish the same loneliness for you. You deserve so much better, so much more. You used to *have* more, but you are giving it up – and I am begging you to reverse that development. It is not too late for that.” Haldir took a breath. He was not sure where all these words came from, but he knew they were all true. After all, he’d gone through a similar thing when he was younger. He had not accepted help back then, stubborn and deeply hurt as he was; but he vowed that Legolas *would*. Legolas looked at him for a moment, then strode back towards him and embraced him. “I am sorry,” he whispered, squeezing Haldir tightly. “Those were terrible things to say.” “It doesn’t matter, Legolas,” Haldir said. He had opened his arms and folded them around the slightly smaller Elf. “Most of them were true.” “I had no idea I influenced you in that way,” Legolas continued. He still sounded incredulous. “And that was my mistake,” Haldir said. “I should have been more straightforward.” They broke apart and looked at each other. “Haldir,” Legolas said hesitantly, “do you think it is time for me to return to Mirkwood?” Haldir regarded him silently for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Why would it be time?” he eventually said. “I don’t want to be a burden any longer,” Legolas replied. “To the patrol, and you in particular. You have been responsible for me for five years, I keep the others from doing their duty because they feel obligated to watch my back all the time... I’m one of them, yes, but I’m still different. You are constantly worried about me; and you have enough to worry about already. If I left, you would be able to focus fully on Lórien’s protection again, and I would go back home, join my father’s guard and be my own responsibility.” He looked pleadingly at Haldir. “What do you think?” “I think that you have a blurred perception of things,” Haldir replied. “I do not think you a burden, and neither does the patrol. Would Ercirion think that, after you saved him from two Orcs? Would Dúlinn think that, after you pounced an Orc that was about to slit him open? Not to mention the others whose life you saved over the months.” Legolas said nothing and stared at his boots. “What occupies your mind, Legolas?” Haldir asked. “Please, tell me.” “I...” Legolas began. “I know the Lord and Lady have welcomed me here and given me permission to stay as long as I want. But I know I’ve not been a good guest of late and I feel guilty. Especially to you, Haldir. I feel like I’ve taken and taken and given nothing in return. I don’t want to take advantage of Celeborn and Galadriel’s hospitality; I don’t want to take advantage of yours. I don’t want to be regarded as a nuisance.” Haldir shook his head. “Legolas, no one thinks you a nuisance. It’s true that you have had us worry, but that is only because we care for you. And we want to help you, and we would do so gladly. *I* would do it gladly. And it’s not true that you have given nothing in return; didn’t you listen to everything I just said? All I’m asking now, is for the old Legolas to return. That would really make me happy.” He looked at Legolas gaugingly. “Unless... you truly wish to go home, of course.” Legolas looked a bit shaken as he tried to digest all that had been said so far. “No...” he said. “No, I would rather stay here.” He looked up. “Would you really want to help me? *Can* you? But how?” “I’m not sure yet how,” Haldir smiled. “But I’m sure it won’t be an impossible task; I know that the Legolas we’re looking for is still in there somewhere.” Legolas smiled faintly, then sighed. “I don’t know what it is with me. First I was unhappy because I had no goal in life; now I have one, and still I don’t seem to be able to feel a bit more content about myself.” “Well,” Haldir said, “it’s not exactly a joy-giving path you’ve chosen, Legolas.” “That is true,” Legolas said. “But it’s the path I *had* to take, Haldir. There was no other option for me.” “I know, and I didn’t say it was a wrong choice. But when walking that road, you have to remind yourself to take the time to look around you. You can’t live for that goal alone; you must keep seeing things in the right perspective. You have every right to want revenge; but you will drive yourself mad if you don’t seek diversion in other things.” Legolas nodded slowly. He looked tired, but not unhappy. He did a step forward and slipped into Haldir’s embrace again, pressing his cheek against Haldir’s shoulder. “My father should cover you in gold and diamonds, Haldir,” he said, “for everything you do for me.” Haldir smiled. “I do not need gold or diamonds, Legolas.” He held him, for the moment content to simply stand like that and not intending to step back anytime soon. He would not trade Legolas for all the treasures in Arda and Valinor. *** Later that night, the gentle breeze found the Lord of Lórien standing on the balcony outside the talan he and his wife shared. His hands rested on the railing as he witnessed the city go to rest, as he did every night. The frown he too often wore between his eyebrows of late was absent this evening. There was even a little smile on his face. Then a light step behind him and a hand on his back. “Listen,” Celeborn said without turning his head. A fleeting river of notes rippled through the mallorn leaves this night, entrancing all who heard it with its sweet, silvery sound. There could be no confusion about whose instrument it was. The melody was enchanting, with long, flowing notes and an occasional vibrato. “A Mirkwood tune, is it?” Galadriel smiled. “I think it is,” Celeborn agreed. “That is good. We may be hopeful.” Galadriel slipped her hand in Celeborn’s larger one and raised her chin slightly to look her spouse in the eye. “Shall we dance?” she asked him, and her voice sounded different... younger. Celeborn smiled, turned to her. He wanted to curl his free arm around her waist and pull her to him, but she backed away. “Not here, husband,” she laughed. “Inside, where we have more room.” “Will we be able to hear the music there?” Celeborn wondered. “We can leave the door open tonight,” she replied. Celeborn followed her and disappeared inside, drawing the lace curtain close behind him. *** Haldir and Legolas had retreated to one of the higher branches of the tree, and Haldir had brought his flute with him, for in his perception, music never failed to lift a spirit. At first he had just played while Legolas listened in delight, but later he had requested that Legolas would complement his playing with a song. Legolas was surprised; they had never made music together before. But he had proposed a ballad that told of the Silmarils, and how the last remaining jewel had journeyed until it came to rest upon Eärendil’s brow, high in the heavens. Haldir did not know the song, but he had little difficulty improvising, and so Legolas began the first stanza while Haldir accompanied him: “Fëanor wrought three jewels great From which a light forever shone; Finwë slain by a father’s slayer, Melkor carried them to halls of stone.” It was a long ballad, but Legolas knew it inside out, and as he sang, he held his eyes on Haldir unwaveringly. He did not think that the sight (or the sound) of Haldir playing would ever bore him. The mithril of the instrument catching the moonlight, Haldir’s long fingers skilfully moving over the keys, weaving a melody as if it asked no effort at all. But especially Haldir’s face as he played; Legolas found it fascinating to watch every move of muscle, every expression. Sometimes he frowned slightly in concentration, sometimes his brow was smooth; sometimes he closed his eyes, but he held them open most of the time, letting them glide over the surroundings or fixing them on one point. And when, for example, a light-hearted piece asked for less concentration, this point was usually Legolas’s face; as he looked straight at him, his eyes smiled as his mouth was occupied with something else. Legolas found all those changes riveting, and he stared at Haldir openly as he sang. They did not sound bad together, he thought; not bad at all. Both were oblivious of the fact that the wind, charmed by the song, lifted their combined melodies from the mallorn and carried them gently across the city, winding them around the trunks of the mellyrn and playing their leaves, making them whisper along with the tune. And those who were awake and willing to hear it, listened with mixed feelings, for the tale of the Silmarils was both sad and beautiful. As he sang of the day the last Silmaril came into Eärendil’s hands, Legolas noticed, not for the first time, the remarkable color of Haldir’s hair. At day, when the sunlight fell on him from a certain angle or with a certain intensity, his hair could shimmer like gold. But now the Moon had free play, and he preferred to give Haldir’s long mane the color of mithril, as the instrument he was playing. It was difficult to decide, but Legolas thought he agreed with the Moon; few Mirkwood Elves had silver-toned hair, and he found it foreign and beautiful. When the song ended, Haldir lowered his flute and smiled at Legolas. “Your eyes sparkle,” he observed. “What are you thinking of?” “I am thinking,” Legolas replied, smiling too, “that your playing complements my singing quite well, Haldir of Lórien.” Haldir laughed. “Oh, I thank you for the compliment, Highness!” “In earnest now, Haldir,” Legolas said then, “I love to hear you play, I always have.” “Thank you,” Haldir said, meaning it this time. “Have you been doing it for a long time?” Legolas asked. “Yes,” Haldir grinned. “My brothers were already trained musicians when I was little, and what they could do, I wanted to do. I started out with a regular flute, but my grandfather gave me this one when I came of age. He was an inspired traveller and he’d brought it with him from one of his travels.” “That is a beautiful gift,” Legolas said. “Have you really had it since that time?” “Yes. It’s made of pure mithril, so it’s durable.” “I believe it is. You must have been ecstatic when he gave it to you.” “I was.” Haldir laughed. “But in all honesty, the period that followed was a frustrating one.” “Why? You could play, couldn’t you?” “A regular flute, yes. But this is very different, and my pride received a few blows, I can tell you.” “Explain to me.” “A regular flute, or a recorder as it is also called, is an end-blown flute. The air-stream a flutist produces must be flat and precisely aimed at the correct angle and velocity, or it will not vibrate. And no vibration means: no music. Well, end-blown flutes have a slot that extrudes the air, which makes them quite easy to play. In a transverse flute, however, the player must form and direct the air-stream with his lips, which makes the flute’s pitch and timbre more instantly expressive than any other instrument, but also much more difficult to play than the recorder.” “I see.” Legolas laughed. “And it took a while before you’d mastered that technique?” “It did, indeed.” Haldir looked dreamy as he idly fingered the keys and obviously thought back of that time. Legolas leaned back and stretched. “Tired?” Haldir asked. “Just comfortable and dozy,” Legolas said. “Would you play something else for me?” He drew his legs up and rested his chin on his knees. “Something nice and long. I just want to listen for a little while now.” “On one condition,” Haldir smiled. “Which is...?” “Climb down and fetch us some wine. My mouth is dry.” “Oh. Yes, of course!” Legolas lightly dropped off the branch and began to descend. He returned not much later, carrying a bottle in the crook of his arm and two goblets in his hand, while he used the other for climbing. When presented with a filled goblet, Haldir took a draught, theatrically rolled the liquid on his tongue for a moment, swallowed and put the goblet aside, mocking up a serious face. Legolas laughed. “Ready, maestro? What are you going to play?” “Exclusively for you, Highness, something of my own making,” Haldir said right before he brought the flute in position and began another sweet tune. Legolas settled himself comfortably against the tree trunk with his goblet of wine, allowing Haldir to tell him a story without words, weaving images and impressions together as was only possible in music. A story that told of the Elf Haldir was deep inside; a piece of music that sprang directly from the core of Haldir’s soul, unwrapping it and laying it out bare and tender for Legolas to see until the last note would sound. *** A/N: perhaps I sound like an expert in wind instruments, but I’m not. Most of the knowledge comes from the online encyclopedia Wikipedia. A/N 2: This chapter is for Verónica, who was dreaming of Haldir and Legolas making music together. *** < previous chapter 20 >