Haldir paced the flet, waiting impatiently for the she-elf to return.
Where had she gone? Was she all right? What if he hadn't killed all of the wolves on. that day? Why was he caring? He shouldn't be caring. No, he definitely didn't care. Of course she was fine, she was "grown up" according to Celeborn. She could take care of herself. But what if.? Haldir hit himself in the head forcing such thoughts out of his mind. He jumped - only slightly, mind you - when a backpack was thrown onto the flet, followed by a bow and a quiver of arrows, and finally a small dainty hand. Only then Haldir relaxed. She was back.
When Gliriel saw Haldir, his face lit with no distinguishable emotion or expression, she shot him a small sheepish grin, clearly hoping that it could turn his lips into a smile.
She had been crying, Haldir could see that, and he frowned. It was plainly written on her face, from the red, tear-stained cheeks to the puffy eyelids, nose and lips. The Marchwarden then realized what she must have done to obtain those possessions once again.
"Not one for a late sleep, Marchwarden Haldir?" Her voice was shaky and hoarse, but her mouth turned from a slight frown to a big smile, hiding all signs that she had been feeling anything else but joy. For the first time, Haldir was glad that she teased him; it obviously made her feel better.
He shot her a sympathetic grin; he had had to do the same thing for himself and his brothers when his parents were killed nearly three thousand years ago. He remembered how hard it had been to take even the smallest item from his home. Haldir's eyes were not unkind as he looked upon her.
"No, Gliriel, I'm not." He paused, planning his words somewhat carefully. "I daresay you haven't slept much either?"
She shook her head, her hair flowing around her shoulders and down her back. "Nuh-uh." Their eyes met, and for some strange reason, neither could move from the place that they stood, not that they wanted to. Suddenly, Gliriel looked down, her breathing quick and halted from surprise. For the first time in a very long time, Haldir was lost for words.
"Uh. they. umm. Lady G-Galadriel has ordered for us to begin to c-clear the campsite. She would like to hear your d-decision."
Her decision. She had not thought of that since the night before, when Haldir left. Whoops.
"L-Lórien, for the time being." She stuttered, quickly picking between the Rivendell and the Golden Wood; something had been pushing her towards traveling to Lothlórien, but Gliriel did not know exactly what. She had wanted to see Rivendell, though, and would have enjoyed her time there also.
Haldir nodded briskly and shuffled past Gliriel towards the rope ladder, not making the same mistake of jumping off twice. He hid his smile from her.
**
The morning was overcast, and a light mist danced through the air in little wisps of cloud, forming drops of dew on anything and most of everything, and generally added gloom to the day.
I stood next to Haldir and his brothers, somewhere near the head of the grim procession, watching the farewell between the Lords and Lady. Haldir's hand was comfortingly gripping my shoulder, somehow connecting me to this group of fair-haired elves headed east, yet eventually and finally west. But in other aspects I stood alone.
Haldir's silver traveling cloak was tied tightly around his neck, his hood covering his hair and shadowed his impassive face in an unforgiving darkness. Rúmil, Orophin and the rest of the company had the same style cloak (though Haldir's was of a better quality weave, I suppose) and also bore a drawn look on darkened faces. I on the other hand, had no such silver cloak, and would not have worn it if one chanced to come into my possession.
I was wearing my brother's red cloak.
I was proud to wear it, even if it did stand out and draw attention to me.
Earlier, Lord Elrond had generously offered to let me borrow his cloak (a two millennia-old gift from Galadriel) but I, still humiliated by the incident when I had showered him with a mouthful of wine, gratefully thanked him and promised I would take him up on the offer some other time. I thanked the Lord for his kindness - we talked for a few minutes that morning about a good many frivolous things while the others were packing the tents - and in return he gave me a hug. I believe that he understood what a choice like this was, and what it felt like to lose family and friends. Although I wouldn't hear about the decisions his family made, and will make, for a few years, I was still appreciative of his thoughtfulness and returned the hug. That gesture of care seemed to be what I needed, for afterwards I felt better than I had in days.
But as we rode east towards the looming Mountains of Mist, Galadriel fell behind and let a flash of light come from her ring. I turned to look back at the party headed for Rivendell, but they were lost from even elven sight in the mists.
**
When we at last reached the woods of Lórien, I could feel Haldir loosen up with relief at seeing his home. He had ridden on Maethor, with me, because, as I previously stated, a Warg had killed his horse, Celeg.
'The journey was long,' I thought, not knowing Haldir had heard me.
'The first always feels the longest.' He replied kindly. I still was not used to this mind talking idea, and was slightly uneasy at the fact Haldir could hear my thoughts.
I nodded, and he asked if I knew how to use the bow and arrows I had brought from home. This time I shook my head to the side, ashamedly.
"Then you shall learn."
**
"Spread your feet a little bit more. good." Haldir ordered, gently nudging my heel backwards with his own booted foot, careful not to throw me off balance, for I was a rather clumsy she-elf in those days. Haldir was giving me my first lesson on how to use the bow and arrows on one of his days off.
When we returned, well, in my case, got here, Haldir and his brothers immediately returned to their jobs. Haldir's main task, as Marchwarden, was to screen visitors before they had a chance to go before the Lord and Lady. He decided if they were a threat or not. I hadn't realized he and his brothers were so important until he told me of one day when an orc raiding party had entered the forest. Not a one of the beasts left the forest alive.
I still played pranks on him, and occasionally was on the receiving end of a joke myself; usually involving me being precariously suspended from the edge of a flet by my feet or hair. Needless to say on every occasion after the first I wasn't that impressed, but continued to tease him anyway, and I continued to hang. I was touched, however, when Haldir offered to teach me archery during his infrequent and unreliable time off.
"Now, Gliriel, move your. are you listening to me?"
Whoops.
"Yes."
He smiled, a deep full smile that I had noticed he only showed to me, even though he knew I was lying. He was happy because I had answered in Sindarin, his first language, and which was soon going to be my own language.
"Okay. Move your left hand up a little, and put more of the tension and weight on your thumb." He molded my hand in his, and I shivered suddenly at his cool touch on my skin.
"What, are you cold?" He looked at my eyes from over my shoulder, a small smirk substituting for the smile on his face. He knew what caused me to shiver, and annoyingly, I knew he would try it again.
"No, not cold." I shook my head, and asked what to do with my right hand. He took my hand in his and guided it to the quiver at my hip. He had me pull out an arrow, essentially a straight piece of wood with a knife blade tip and white curved feathers on the end called "fleting" or something. Why they would name an arrow after a tree house, I have yet to find out. Anyways, then, Haldir helped me line up the small groove on the end with the bowstring (three pieces of braided elf hair... mine) and he finished by forming my hand in the correct position with which to draw the arrow.
He dropped his hand, indicating that I should "aim, draw the arrow back gently, and release."
Concentrating hard, I followed the directions and the arrow sailed at the painted deer-hide target but missed the center circle by about two feet.
"Good job." Haldir congratulated me by wrapping his arm right around my stomach and momentarily squeezing.
"Hannad le." I whispered as together our hands set the bow down on a nearby table and his other hand wrapped around my shoulders, our fingers intertwined. In the three months that I had known him that was the first time either of us had made any moves on the other. But this was a consensual effort between us, and you couldn't determine with any accuracy whether he or I was the direct culprit.
He layed his head on my right shoulder, and pulled me towards him by tightening his arm around my stomach. My eyes shut, and my head tilted sideways to rest lightly on his. It seemed justifiable and right that we should stand together like that. I fit perfectly into his arms, relishing the warmth that we shared, even though neither he nor I had been cold on that particular December evening, reason being that elves do not suffer from chill under normal conditions.
Suddenly an elf burst through the trees covered in dirt and blood. I recognized Rúmil automatically from his quick springing gate, similar but not the same to Haldir's. Those two would be twins if not for Haldir's more confident and slightly arrogant manner, there also was the fact that Rúmil was quite a few years younger than either of his brothers. Plus, Rúmil was several inches taller than the Marchwarden.
Haldir instantly released me when his brother appeared, running across the archery practice field to where Rúmil stood. He assessed his younger sibling with his keen eyes, scanning for the source of the blood with a deep scowl on his lips. He lightly poked a spot still glistening on Rúmil's left cheek.
"It is not mine. but there are more orcs attacking the eastern borders." Of course, Rúmil spoke in Sindarin and I caught only a few words, such as "not mine," "orcs," and "forest."
Haldir gave his brother a few commands, which I was not supposed to hear (even if I could understand what they meant) before turning and jogging back to me. Rúmil raised an eyebrow with a smirk to his brother's back before turning and fulfilling the orders. Haldir, along with missing the skeptical eyebrow, apparently failed to notice the grin that I shot back at Rúmil.
"It seems, Gliri, that our lesson has been cut short. I assume we can continue some other time?" He asked, causing me to smile at the sly glint in his eyes. He cut in before I could answer (though the smile was probably enough of a response for him), his voice losing all informality as his brain switched from the undemanding courting elf to the warrior that was, by necessity, a Marchwarden.
"May I borrow your bow and arrows? I seem to have left mine at my flet.."
I nodded and reached for the ties for the quiver at my hip while he moved to grab my bow. I stepped behind him and refastened the leather straps around his chest and back.
With a small reassuring smile, he turned on his heel and followed his brother's path through the trees.
*************
There are going to be about (about, mind you) 18 chapters to this story... and most likely an epilogue that I have not written yet. All of the rest of the chapters are hand-written, but not typed in yet.
Please review! I would like to keep the review number equal with the actual chapter number. but first it has to get there.
Where had she gone? Was she all right? What if he hadn't killed all of the wolves on. that day? Why was he caring? He shouldn't be caring. No, he definitely didn't care. Of course she was fine, she was "grown up" according to Celeborn. She could take care of herself. But what if.? Haldir hit himself in the head forcing such thoughts out of his mind. He jumped - only slightly, mind you - when a backpack was thrown onto the flet, followed by a bow and a quiver of arrows, and finally a small dainty hand. Only then Haldir relaxed. She was back.
When Gliriel saw Haldir, his face lit with no distinguishable emotion or expression, she shot him a small sheepish grin, clearly hoping that it could turn his lips into a smile.
She had been crying, Haldir could see that, and he frowned. It was plainly written on her face, from the red, tear-stained cheeks to the puffy eyelids, nose and lips. The Marchwarden then realized what she must have done to obtain those possessions once again.
"Not one for a late sleep, Marchwarden Haldir?" Her voice was shaky and hoarse, but her mouth turned from a slight frown to a big smile, hiding all signs that she had been feeling anything else but joy. For the first time, Haldir was glad that she teased him; it obviously made her feel better.
He shot her a sympathetic grin; he had had to do the same thing for himself and his brothers when his parents were killed nearly three thousand years ago. He remembered how hard it had been to take even the smallest item from his home. Haldir's eyes were not unkind as he looked upon her.
"No, Gliriel, I'm not." He paused, planning his words somewhat carefully. "I daresay you haven't slept much either?"
She shook her head, her hair flowing around her shoulders and down her back. "Nuh-uh." Their eyes met, and for some strange reason, neither could move from the place that they stood, not that they wanted to. Suddenly, Gliriel looked down, her breathing quick and halted from surprise. For the first time in a very long time, Haldir was lost for words.
"Uh. they. umm. Lady G-Galadriel has ordered for us to begin to c-clear the campsite. She would like to hear your d-decision."
Her decision. She had not thought of that since the night before, when Haldir left. Whoops.
"L-Lórien, for the time being." She stuttered, quickly picking between the Rivendell and the Golden Wood; something had been pushing her towards traveling to Lothlórien, but Gliriel did not know exactly what. She had wanted to see Rivendell, though, and would have enjoyed her time there also.
Haldir nodded briskly and shuffled past Gliriel towards the rope ladder, not making the same mistake of jumping off twice. He hid his smile from her.
**
The morning was overcast, and a light mist danced through the air in little wisps of cloud, forming drops of dew on anything and most of everything, and generally added gloom to the day.
I stood next to Haldir and his brothers, somewhere near the head of the grim procession, watching the farewell between the Lords and Lady. Haldir's hand was comfortingly gripping my shoulder, somehow connecting me to this group of fair-haired elves headed east, yet eventually and finally west. But in other aspects I stood alone.
Haldir's silver traveling cloak was tied tightly around his neck, his hood covering his hair and shadowed his impassive face in an unforgiving darkness. Rúmil, Orophin and the rest of the company had the same style cloak (though Haldir's was of a better quality weave, I suppose) and also bore a drawn look on darkened faces. I on the other hand, had no such silver cloak, and would not have worn it if one chanced to come into my possession.
I was wearing my brother's red cloak.
I was proud to wear it, even if it did stand out and draw attention to me.
Earlier, Lord Elrond had generously offered to let me borrow his cloak (a two millennia-old gift from Galadriel) but I, still humiliated by the incident when I had showered him with a mouthful of wine, gratefully thanked him and promised I would take him up on the offer some other time. I thanked the Lord for his kindness - we talked for a few minutes that morning about a good many frivolous things while the others were packing the tents - and in return he gave me a hug. I believe that he understood what a choice like this was, and what it felt like to lose family and friends. Although I wouldn't hear about the decisions his family made, and will make, for a few years, I was still appreciative of his thoughtfulness and returned the hug. That gesture of care seemed to be what I needed, for afterwards I felt better than I had in days.
But as we rode east towards the looming Mountains of Mist, Galadriel fell behind and let a flash of light come from her ring. I turned to look back at the party headed for Rivendell, but they were lost from even elven sight in the mists.
**
When we at last reached the woods of Lórien, I could feel Haldir loosen up with relief at seeing his home. He had ridden on Maethor, with me, because, as I previously stated, a Warg had killed his horse, Celeg.
'The journey was long,' I thought, not knowing Haldir had heard me.
'The first always feels the longest.' He replied kindly. I still was not used to this mind talking idea, and was slightly uneasy at the fact Haldir could hear my thoughts.
I nodded, and he asked if I knew how to use the bow and arrows I had brought from home. This time I shook my head to the side, ashamedly.
"Then you shall learn."
**
"Spread your feet a little bit more. good." Haldir ordered, gently nudging my heel backwards with his own booted foot, careful not to throw me off balance, for I was a rather clumsy she-elf in those days. Haldir was giving me my first lesson on how to use the bow and arrows on one of his days off.
When we returned, well, in my case, got here, Haldir and his brothers immediately returned to their jobs. Haldir's main task, as Marchwarden, was to screen visitors before they had a chance to go before the Lord and Lady. He decided if they were a threat or not. I hadn't realized he and his brothers were so important until he told me of one day when an orc raiding party had entered the forest. Not a one of the beasts left the forest alive.
I still played pranks on him, and occasionally was on the receiving end of a joke myself; usually involving me being precariously suspended from the edge of a flet by my feet or hair. Needless to say on every occasion after the first I wasn't that impressed, but continued to tease him anyway, and I continued to hang. I was touched, however, when Haldir offered to teach me archery during his infrequent and unreliable time off.
"Now, Gliriel, move your. are you listening to me?"
Whoops.
"Yes."
He smiled, a deep full smile that I had noticed he only showed to me, even though he knew I was lying. He was happy because I had answered in Sindarin, his first language, and which was soon going to be my own language.
"Okay. Move your left hand up a little, and put more of the tension and weight on your thumb." He molded my hand in his, and I shivered suddenly at his cool touch on my skin.
"What, are you cold?" He looked at my eyes from over my shoulder, a small smirk substituting for the smile on his face. He knew what caused me to shiver, and annoyingly, I knew he would try it again.
"No, not cold." I shook my head, and asked what to do with my right hand. He took my hand in his and guided it to the quiver at my hip. He had me pull out an arrow, essentially a straight piece of wood with a knife blade tip and white curved feathers on the end called "fleting" or something. Why they would name an arrow after a tree house, I have yet to find out. Anyways, then, Haldir helped me line up the small groove on the end with the bowstring (three pieces of braided elf hair... mine) and he finished by forming my hand in the correct position with which to draw the arrow.
He dropped his hand, indicating that I should "aim, draw the arrow back gently, and release."
Concentrating hard, I followed the directions and the arrow sailed at the painted deer-hide target but missed the center circle by about two feet.
"Good job." Haldir congratulated me by wrapping his arm right around my stomach and momentarily squeezing.
"Hannad le." I whispered as together our hands set the bow down on a nearby table and his other hand wrapped around my shoulders, our fingers intertwined. In the three months that I had known him that was the first time either of us had made any moves on the other. But this was a consensual effort between us, and you couldn't determine with any accuracy whether he or I was the direct culprit.
He layed his head on my right shoulder, and pulled me towards him by tightening his arm around my stomach. My eyes shut, and my head tilted sideways to rest lightly on his. It seemed justifiable and right that we should stand together like that. I fit perfectly into his arms, relishing the warmth that we shared, even though neither he nor I had been cold on that particular December evening, reason being that elves do not suffer from chill under normal conditions.
Suddenly an elf burst through the trees covered in dirt and blood. I recognized Rúmil automatically from his quick springing gate, similar but not the same to Haldir's. Those two would be twins if not for Haldir's more confident and slightly arrogant manner, there also was the fact that Rúmil was quite a few years younger than either of his brothers. Plus, Rúmil was several inches taller than the Marchwarden.
Haldir instantly released me when his brother appeared, running across the archery practice field to where Rúmil stood. He assessed his younger sibling with his keen eyes, scanning for the source of the blood with a deep scowl on his lips. He lightly poked a spot still glistening on Rúmil's left cheek.
"It is not mine. but there are more orcs attacking the eastern borders." Of course, Rúmil spoke in Sindarin and I caught only a few words, such as "not mine," "orcs," and "forest."
Haldir gave his brother a few commands, which I was not supposed to hear (even if I could understand what they meant) before turning and jogging back to me. Rúmil raised an eyebrow with a smirk to his brother's back before turning and fulfilling the orders. Haldir, along with missing the skeptical eyebrow, apparently failed to notice the grin that I shot back at Rúmil.
"It seems, Gliri, that our lesson has been cut short. I assume we can continue some other time?" He asked, causing me to smile at the sly glint in his eyes. He cut in before I could answer (though the smile was probably enough of a response for him), his voice losing all informality as his brain switched from the undemanding courting elf to the warrior that was, by necessity, a Marchwarden.
"May I borrow your bow and arrows? I seem to have left mine at my flet.."
I nodded and reached for the ties for the quiver at my hip while he moved to grab my bow. I stepped behind him and refastened the leather straps around his chest and back.
With a small reassuring smile, he turned on his heel and followed his brother's path through the trees.
*************
There are going to be about (about, mind you) 18 chapters to this story... and most likely an epilogue that I have not written yet. All of the rest of the chapters are hand-written, but not typed in yet.
Please review! I would like to keep the review number equal with the actual chapter number. but first it has to get there.