"What are we to do with Gliriel?" Haldir confessed his doubts to Galadriel
and Celeborn over a glass of wine.
"We shouldn't do anything further with her if it is against her wishes." The Lord answered calmly before sipping at a glass of wine before continuing. Haldir cocked his head to the side, and shot a questioning look at Celeborn. "She was raised to her current level by her mortal relatives, and obviously considers herself one, which is apparent by her eating habits." A momentary twinkle shone in his eyes. "Gliriel is eighteen, and an adult by her mortal standards, meaning-"
"But she is clearly not mortal. By our principles she is yet an elfling." Haldir interrupted bravely; he was one of the few elves in Middle-earth who had enough gall to do so. Understandably so: Celeborn was once in the same position in Doriath, he was a Marchwarden who was a close friend and relative to the King Thingol; although Haldir was not related to either Galadriel or Celeborn.
"She is competent, and comprehends what happened yesterday Haldir." Celeborn gingerly set down his wine glass. "Though she has been unkind and impishly impolite to you, Marchwarden, she is more intelligent than you might think. Do not think her a fool nor downplay her, you will end up the worse."
Haldir's eyes narrowed slightly in annoyance, and his hand clenched his fist behind his back, but he nodded. It had been a long time since Lord Celeborn had used his title; the two friends having foregone the formality. Haldir, taking the warning, did not voice the thoughts in his volatile mind, and proficiently blocked Galadriel from reading his thoughts, as she was wont to do.
"We shall let her decide whether she will accompany us to Lothlórien or Elrond to Rivendell. That is if she wishes to leave this land at all, which remains to be seen." The Lady of Light broke in promptly, sensing the two males' irritation with each other.
Celeborn gazed triumphantly over to his wife, but Galadriel continued to look straight at Haldir, refusing to humor her husband totally in that decision.
"I will present her with this choice." The Lady of Lórien finished with an almost arrogant diplomacy, much to Celeborn's evident dismay. Haldir, also clearly disconcerted for losing, bowed and left their tent. Galadriel layed a hand on her husband's shoulder reminding him what she had foreseen about the she-elfling now in their Marchwarden's charge.
**
Haldir opened the flap entrance to his tent and at first glance, didn't see Gliriel upon his cot; the place he had specifically told his brothers to keep her, no matter the cost. He turned around to leave and search for them, but whipped around when he heard someone call his name.
"Haw-hir!"
The Marchwarden stepped cautiously back into the tent to search for the obviously distressed persons. He surveyed his tent with a hand on his hip and the other pointing at objects as he ticked them off in his mind.
'Cot with missing blanket. portable chair, large moving lump of cloth, Gliriel casually brushing her hair in front of my mirror. Well, at least one mystery has been solved: Gliriel is right there. But where were Rúmil and Orophin? They would not leave her alone..'
"Haw-hir!"
Wait. Something wasn't right. Haldir slapped his hand to his face and drummed his foot on the floor. As he exasperatedly slid his hand down his face, his features looked like melting wax.
"Do tell me that that lump of cloth is not my idiotic brothers named Rúmil and Orophin!?" He began in a light whisper and his voice rose word by word until he was practically yelling.
The cloth (which Haldir recognized then as his blanket) bounced once in answer and became still. The Marchwarden took a long deep breath through his teeth and silently cursed his brothers. He hissed the breath out slowly and rolled his eyes. 'Count to ten. just count to ten. maybe twenty is a better number.'
"I didn't think so; my brothers are not so stupid as to let a teenager tie them up and gag them with a blanket." He finished resolutely, answering his own question. He looked over at Gliriel who was currently admiring her long blonde hair in the small mirror hanging from a nail on a tent support.
Finally, Haldir cocked his head to the side, a perplexed expression framing his features. What was that impudent elfling brushing her hair with after all? She hadn't had any belongings with her previously.
"Gliriel." He called with mock sweetness in his voice. "Would that be my hairbrush you are using?"
"Mm-hmm." She swiveled to see her pointed ears, and then jabbed a thumb to point at the lump that was in fact Haldir's brothers. "They wouldn't lend me theirs, so I borrowed yours." Gliriel gazed back into the mirror and ran the brush through her silky locks of cream-colored hair, just to spite the Marchwarden.
Haldir couldn't have been more disgusted. That was his brush. Nobody used his brushes or combs; no one was even allowed to touch them. Haldir's lip curled involuntarily, and he strode over behind the she-elfling and grabbed the brush out of her hand.
"Thanks. you could have asked to hold it though - you didn't have to grab it." She replied with some difficulty, for her lips and teeth were clenched upon a few hairpins.
"You could have asked. Gliriel."
"And what would you have said?"
"NO!" He growled as she opened a pin - his pin- and shoved it in a lock of hair followed directly by another pin. She turned a bit in the mirror, seeing the results and annoying Haldir. Casually, as if she didn't know what she was doing wrong, she reached up towards the pins, but Haldir got there first.
"Here." He shoved the brush in his mouth and roughly yanked the pins out of Gliriel's hair. His eyes widened and he stared at the soft mass of hair that showered over his hands and wrists; it felt like the cream it was colored.
"How do you do that?" He questioned, awe in his voice. His hair was certainly never that soft, and he had had three thousand more years of experience in washing and hair-care. He felt instantly jealous, no matter how much he wanted to deny it.
"Do what?" She ignorantly fingered the end of a thin braid before swishing around and plucking the brush out of Haldir's gaping mouth.
"How do you keep your hair so soft?" He clarified quietly.
This question may have seemed far below Haldir's standard, but this conversation was going exactly as Gliriel wanted; she played pranks on other people (sometimes even those she cared for) when she felt insecure or sad.
"Do you really want to know?"
"Yes."
"Are you completely sure, Marchwarden?"
"Totally completely." He raked his fingers through the blonde locks.
"Well. my secret is." She trailed off.
"What?"
Gliriel fought the distinct urge to smirk. He was caught like a fish. the lump of cloth in the background groaned, recognizing the trap that had gotten Rúmil and Orophin in that mess.
"What is your secret?"
"I wash it." She replied arrogantly. "Everyday. multiple times, usually." She stressed the words "wash" and "everyday."
Haldir's eyes narrowed until he could see through a space only the breadth of a hair. a thin hair at that. He soooo wanted to smack her for insinuating that he was substandard to others in the area of personal hygiene. Haldir had never been substandard in anything. Ever. He pointed the door, "Get out."
Gliriel shrugged and sauntered seductively over to the flap of the tent, knowing Haldir's eyes followed her every move. "Fine. Warden." She bowed and stepped towards the rippling tent flap.
"What did you call me?" Haldir questioned quickly, his anger escalating quickly. Since she had used his title earlier, he knew that she would not slip up and unintentionally call him Warden.
"Warden. I called you Warden, Marchwarden. You should get used to your new title if you plan to kick me out. that is if you even remain in the guard after Galadriel finds out that you threw me out against her orders. Remember what she said." It wasn't a question, it was a statement. Gliriel shot him a broad grin; they both knew who was now in control.
Haldir took a short breath and stared daggers at the she-elf. She was not even close to one-tenth of his age yet she could work him into a corner so very easily. Never had any female ordered him around with exception to Galadriel, for his whole life. Now Gliriel could push him around without using apparent force. Suddenly, thinking of Galadriel's orders, he put a hand to his heart.
"I trust, Lady Rûdhedhel, that you know the location of the Lord and Lady's tent as a result of your multiple midnight escapades?" {Bald Elf} Sarcasm fitted his waxy voice like a glove, and he smirked as Gliriel had to work through what he had just said. Her grin gone, she nodded and left.
When the she-elf was out of sight, Haldir walked slowly to the far corner of his tent where there were now two pairs of booted feet sticking out from under his woven blanket. With a great shove, Haldir knocked Rúmil and Orophin to the ground and proceeded to sit on their stomachs. Two huge groans were heard when Haldir leaned to the left to rotate his sword in front of himself.
The Marchwarden sighed, placed his elbows on his knees, and his face in his hands. "Oh, my foolish brothers, whatever am I going to do with you.?"
"We shouldn't do anything further with her if it is against her wishes." The Lord answered calmly before sipping at a glass of wine before continuing. Haldir cocked his head to the side, and shot a questioning look at Celeborn. "She was raised to her current level by her mortal relatives, and obviously considers herself one, which is apparent by her eating habits." A momentary twinkle shone in his eyes. "Gliriel is eighteen, and an adult by her mortal standards, meaning-"
"But she is clearly not mortal. By our principles she is yet an elfling." Haldir interrupted bravely; he was one of the few elves in Middle-earth who had enough gall to do so. Understandably so: Celeborn was once in the same position in Doriath, he was a Marchwarden who was a close friend and relative to the King Thingol; although Haldir was not related to either Galadriel or Celeborn.
"She is competent, and comprehends what happened yesterday Haldir." Celeborn gingerly set down his wine glass. "Though she has been unkind and impishly impolite to you, Marchwarden, she is more intelligent than you might think. Do not think her a fool nor downplay her, you will end up the worse."
Haldir's eyes narrowed slightly in annoyance, and his hand clenched his fist behind his back, but he nodded. It had been a long time since Lord Celeborn had used his title; the two friends having foregone the formality. Haldir, taking the warning, did not voice the thoughts in his volatile mind, and proficiently blocked Galadriel from reading his thoughts, as she was wont to do.
"We shall let her decide whether she will accompany us to Lothlórien or Elrond to Rivendell. That is if she wishes to leave this land at all, which remains to be seen." The Lady of Light broke in promptly, sensing the two males' irritation with each other.
Celeborn gazed triumphantly over to his wife, but Galadriel continued to look straight at Haldir, refusing to humor her husband totally in that decision.
"I will present her with this choice." The Lady of Lórien finished with an almost arrogant diplomacy, much to Celeborn's evident dismay. Haldir, also clearly disconcerted for losing, bowed and left their tent. Galadriel layed a hand on her husband's shoulder reminding him what she had foreseen about the she-elfling now in their Marchwarden's charge.
**
Haldir opened the flap entrance to his tent and at first glance, didn't see Gliriel upon his cot; the place he had specifically told his brothers to keep her, no matter the cost. He turned around to leave and search for them, but whipped around when he heard someone call his name.
"Haw-hir!"
The Marchwarden stepped cautiously back into the tent to search for the obviously distressed persons. He surveyed his tent with a hand on his hip and the other pointing at objects as he ticked them off in his mind.
'Cot with missing blanket. portable chair, large moving lump of cloth, Gliriel casually brushing her hair in front of my mirror. Well, at least one mystery has been solved: Gliriel is right there. But where were Rúmil and Orophin? They would not leave her alone..'
"Haw-hir!"
Wait. Something wasn't right. Haldir slapped his hand to his face and drummed his foot on the floor. As he exasperatedly slid his hand down his face, his features looked like melting wax.
"Do tell me that that lump of cloth is not my idiotic brothers named Rúmil and Orophin!?" He began in a light whisper and his voice rose word by word until he was practically yelling.
The cloth (which Haldir recognized then as his blanket) bounced once in answer and became still. The Marchwarden took a long deep breath through his teeth and silently cursed his brothers. He hissed the breath out slowly and rolled his eyes. 'Count to ten. just count to ten. maybe twenty is a better number.'
"I didn't think so; my brothers are not so stupid as to let a teenager tie them up and gag them with a blanket." He finished resolutely, answering his own question. He looked over at Gliriel who was currently admiring her long blonde hair in the small mirror hanging from a nail on a tent support.
Finally, Haldir cocked his head to the side, a perplexed expression framing his features. What was that impudent elfling brushing her hair with after all? She hadn't had any belongings with her previously.
"Gliriel." He called with mock sweetness in his voice. "Would that be my hairbrush you are using?"
"Mm-hmm." She swiveled to see her pointed ears, and then jabbed a thumb to point at the lump that was in fact Haldir's brothers. "They wouldn't lend me theirs, so I borrowed yours." Gliriel gazed back into the mirror and ran the brush through her silky locks of cream-colored hair, just to spite the Marchwarden.
Haldir couldn't have been more disgusted. That was his brush. Nobody used his brushes or combs; no one was even allowed to touch them. Haldir's lip curled involuntarily, and he strode over behind the she-elfling and grabbed the brush out of her hand.
"Thanks. you could have asked to hold it though - you didn't have to grab it." She replied with some difficulty, for her lips and teeth were clenched upon a few hairpins.
"You could have asked. Gliriel."
"And what would you have said?"
"NO!" He growled as she opened a pin - his pin- and shoved it in a lock of hair followed directly by another pin. She turned a bit in the mirror, seeing the results and annoying Haldir. Casually, as if she didn't know what she was doing wrong, she reached up towards the pins, but Haldir got there first.
"Here." He shoved the brush in his mouth and roughly yanked the pins out of Gliriel's hair. His eyes widened and he stared at the soft mass of hair that showered over his hands and wrists; it felt like the cream it was colored.
"How do you do that?" He questioned, awe in his voice. His hair was certainly never that soft, and he had had three thousand more years of experience in washing and hair-care. He felt instantly jealous, no matter how much he wanted to deny it.
"Do what?" She ignorantly fingered the end of a thin braid before swishing around and plucking the brush out of Haldir's gaping mouth.
"How do you keep your hair so soft?" He clarified quietly.
This question may have seemed far below Haldir's standard, but this conversation was going exactly as Gliriel wanted; she played pranks on other people (sometimes even those she cared for) when she felt insecure or sad.
"Do you really want to know?"
"Yes."
"Are you completely sure, Marchwarden?"
"Totally completely." He raked his fingers through the blonde locks.
"Well. my secret is." She trailed off.
"What?"
Gliriel fought the distinct urge to smirk. He was caught like a fish. the lump of cloth in the background groaned, recognizing the trap that had gotten Rúmil and Orophin in that mess.
"What is your secret?"
"I wash it." She replied arrogantly. "Everyday. multiple times, usually." She stressed the words "wash" and "everyday."
Haldir's eyes narrowed until he could see through a space only the breadth of a hair. a thin hair at that. He soooo wanted to smack her for insinuating that he was substandard to others in the area of personal hygiene. Haldir had never been substandard in anything. Ever. He pointed the door, "Get out."
Gliriel shrugged and sauntered seductively over to the flap of the tent, knowing Haldir's eyes followed her every move. "Fine. Warden." She bowed and stepped towards the rippling tent flap.
"What did you call me?" Haldir questioned quickly, his anger escalating quickly. Since she had used his title earlier, he knew that she would not slip up and unintentionally call him Warden.
"Warden. I called you Warden, Marchwarden. You should get used to your new title if you plan to kick me out. that is if you even remain in the guard after Galadriel finds out that you threw me out against her orders. Remember what she said." It wasn't a question, it was a statement. Gliriel shot him a broad grin; they both knew who was now in control.
Haldir took a short breath and stared daggers at the she-elf. She was not even close to one-tenth of his age yet she could work him into a corner so very easily. Never had any female ordered him around with exception to Galadriel, for his whole life. Now Gliriel could push him around without using apparent force. Suddenly, thinking of Galadriel's orders, he put a hand to his heart.
"I trust, Lady Rûdhedhel, that you know the location of the Lord and Lady's tent as a result of your multiple midnight escapades?" {Bald Elf} Sarcasm fitted his waxy voice like a glove, and he smirked as Gliriel had to work through what he had just said. Her grin gone, she nodded and left.
When the she-elf was out of sight, Haldir walked slowly to the far corner of his tent where there were now two pairs of booted feet sticking out from under his woven blanket. With a great shove, Haldir knocked Rúmil and Orophin to the ground and proceeded to sit on their stomachs. Two huge groans were heard when Haldir leaned to the left to rotate his sword in front of himself.
The Marchwarden sighed, placed his elbows on his knees, and his face in his hands. "Oh, my foolish brothers, whatever am I going to do with you.?"