A Lord of the Rings Fan-Fiction Story by Liomi
Timeline:
Non-specific, Third Age
Author's Note
There are some non-canon elements to the behavior of
the Elves in this tale, if that sort of thing bothers you, I suggest not reading
any further.
This story was written in the spirit of fun and should be taken
lightly, for it is highly ridiculous in nature.
Disclaimer:
I do not claim ownership over any concepts or
characters that are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and his estate.
My stories
are written for personal gratification only and I receive no financial gain from
said stories.
All original concepts and characters are my property,
precious.
Chapter One: The Appeal of Marchwardens
Haldir had never been so relieved to see the gates of Caras Galadhon, at least as far as he could recall. For the entire day's journey from the borders of Lórien to the heart of the Golden Wood he'd had to listen to the sappy spewings of one of his younger wardens, who was, apparently, quite besotted. But then, after all his time spent as the Captain of the Galadhrim, he'd come to expect a certain amount of romantic nonsense from the younglings so close to a festival. Still, it didn't make the drivel any easier to listen to for hours on end. He swore his eyes would become permanently stuck up in his head if he had to roll them one more time at some particularly syrupy comment.
Haldir turned and sneered at Rúmil, who walked behind him listening intently to the gushing young warrior. Of course his brother enjoyed this sort of talk, and only served to egg the doe-eyed lover on. Haldir had the unpleasant notion that it was not only because Rúmil so relished the topic of romance, but also because he knew his older brother did not.
Suddenly the young besottee in question, whose name was Tiniond, noticed the city ahead and redoubled his poetic efforts, apparently in homage of drawing so near to his 'silvery-tressed-azure-eyed-image-of-splendor-and-elegance', which Haldir gathered was some sort of Elf-maid creature. He refrained from reminding the smitten youth that almost all the maidens of Lothlórien had 'silvery' hair and 'azure' eyes, and for what it mattered, so did most of the males.
Once inside the city, Haldir quickened his pace and cut a path directly toward the upper hall, putting blessed distance between his poor ears and the sugary tones of Tiniond's crooning. He was eager to bathe and feel the comfortable seat of his reading chair beneath his backside, but this could wait, first he would report to his Lord. Hopefully by the time he left the upper halls the platforms near his quarters would be devoid of any and all loitering young wardens who lived in the chambers below. Haldir smiled at the notion of peace and quiet, climbing up the final few flets to the Lord and Lady's court.
A small cluster of young Elf-maids suddenly materialized from the archway above. They descended directly toward him and he had to quickly suppress the frown that leap to his face. They didn't pause when they saw him, but the way they hushed their conversation and pinkened at the tips of their ears warned him of what was to come.
Dread filled the Lórien Captain. Even the filthy, foul smelling bands of orcs with their poison tipped blades and gnashing teeth seemed to pale in the horror of these fair haired, flowery creatures. They eyed him with keen, predatorial interest, knowing well that they outnumbered him, and also that he could not turn and flee without looking deliberate.
"Oh Marchwarden!" Exclaimed one, treating him with a brilliant smile, "you have returned to us from patrol at long last!"
"We worried so for your safety!" Gushed another.
"Oh please!" Raved a third, indignantly, "the Marchwarden knows how to take care of himself, to worry for his safety is to not have faith in his superior skills!"
This comment was met with delighted tittering by the entire cluster. Haldir only barely succeeded in not rolling his eyes.
"Well, superior skills or no, we are still relieved to have our brave Captain back from his duty!" Declared the fourth, "will you be staying for the festival?" They all regarded him with intense interest, as if the very fate of Middle-earth rested on the reply to that question.
"Not likely," he told them politely. Four crestfallen expressions flashed before him in an instant.
"Such a pity!" Sighed one, "we were all so looking forward to seeing you dance again."
"But yet, it is understandable, for surely your absence is felt already on our borders!" Crooned another. The other two nodded vigorously, treating him to gazes of adoration befitting only the bravest and most longsuffering of martyrs.
Haldir felt a chuckle coming on, their severity was nothing short of highly amusing. "You have my deepest regrets, ladies," he coughed, masking the amusement in his tone, "but I'm afraid I must beg your leave, for I have a most urgent report to make to Lord Celeborn."
Quickly they cleared a path for him to continue up, and he congratulated himself on the crafty escape, even as their wistful glances and lilting sighs followed him through the archway. Haldir made a note to himself to deliver the report slowly, and linger for as long as possible to give them time to clear off.
It really was very inconvienient that he had to travel about his home in such a fashion, avoiding open areas and well travelled platforms to escape the fawnings of Lothlórien's eligible masses. Would they give him no peace? He was well beyond the 'appropriate' age for marriage, having long ago forsaken the idea of surrendering his freedom to the cluches of a spouse. But yet they persisted, these little droves of husband-hungry beasts.
"...and so the handsome prince rescued the beautiful princess and whisked her away to his father's palace where they were married, and lived out the rest of their days in happiness!" Read Andúnil, punctuating her words as she snapped the book shut. "And that, as they say, dearest sister, is 'the end'!"
Lirinwen tilted her head to one side in reflection. "That was beautifully read, my sister, but I do wonder at mortal romanticism, are they always so-so...spontaneous?"
"I do not know," replied Andúnil with a pretty shrug, "but should I ever meet a mortal, I shall be sure to ask."
Lirinwen stood and smoothed her hands over the bodice of her gown, a slight frown coming to her lips. "What a horrid thought!"
It was Andúnil's turn to tilt her head. "What's that? Spontaneous romanticism?"
"Nay," replied the younger Elf-maid, "meeting a mortal."
Andúnil sniffed delicately and stood as well. "Quite right," she agreed, moving to replace the storybook in its nook on the shelf. "Thank the Valar we should never have to."
Lirinwen giggled suddenly to herself as if struck by a particularily amusing thought. "That is, unless, the wardens decide to start welcoming them to our borders!"
Both maidens broke out into a fit of merriment at the absurdity of the suggestion.
Andúnil was the first to recover, she eyed her younger sibling with a mischievous glint in her eye. "Speaking of wardens, the shift changes today, and we both know what that means!"
Lirinwen allowed the tips of her ears to redden faintly at her older sister's not so subtle teasing. "I most certainly have no idea what you are talking about!"
Andúnil smiled knowingly and picked up the hairbrush laying on a side table. She strode up behind her sibling and gently began to run it through the maiden's pale tresses. Lirinwen smiled at the affectionate gesture, relishing both the feel of the brush caressing her hair and the feel of the butterflies that danced in her stomach as she recalled the face of a particular warden.
"Do you think he has thought about me while away?" She asked in a girlishly timid whisper, "or perhaps even missed me?"
"How could he not miss you, dearest sister?" Soothed the elder Elf, "everyone knows you are the light that shines in his eyes, and when at last you join the ranks of maturity during this next autumn festival, I am certain he will make it official."
Lirinwen let a shiver of anticipation run through her body. "Oh Andú! It seems like an age until then!" Her voice sounded suspiciously close to taking on an unattractive whine.
"Do not complain, Liri! Some of us are not so fortunate as you to have a paramour," she sighed, giving the silky mane one final swipe, "I am already well past the age of courtship, there will never be a handsome warden to run into Andúnil's arms."
The younger maiden pouted at her sister's sudden melancholy and tried to make light of the situation. "Then perhaps you ought to turn your sights to more familiar ground? There are many things just as lovely as wardens to be had!"
Andúnil swatted her sibling on the bottom with the back of the brush, earning a satisfying yelp for her trouble. "After living with you for so long dearest sister?" She replied tartly, "no indeed! I shall never find another maiden to match your beauty and wit, and would only find myself sorely disappointed!"
Lirinwen fluttered her eyes and sighed dramatically. "Well, I cannot argue with that!" She crooned, "poor, dear, sweet Andúnil! What ever will you do? Perhaps we ought to pack you off to the savages of Mirkwood where the favors flow more freely?"
Andúnil gasped in righteous shock and aimed to give her junior another swat, but the younger Elf anticipated the attack and danced out of the way, her eyes bright with laughter.
Lord Celeborn's office was situated in a quiet corner of the upper halls, fashioned from a private, sunlit alcove. Haldir had always admired the comfortable little room, here there was no pomp or formality. Bookshelves lined most of the walls, crammed with various tomes, scrolls and many an interesing object. The furniture was elegant but comfortable and well used, made to fit the backsides of friends or those seeking casual council from the Lord of the Golden Wood.
Haldir found the door slightly ajar and knocked on the frame, poking his head in. The Lord was sitting at his desk, rifling through some documents with a thoughtful expression upon his face.
He looked up and smiled. "Haldir! It is well to have you returned my friend! Come, sit, let us hear your report."
Haldir acknowledged the invitation with a bow and sank himself into a seat across from the desk. "It is a pleasure to be home, my lord," he began with a slight smile of his own, "our northern borders have been quiet these months past, there was only one small skirmish, ten Orc in total, none of the wardens suffered any injury."
Celeborn arched an eyebrow. "And yet you are uneasy."
Haldir grimaced, Lady Galadriel was not the only perceptive one in her family. "I am..." he paused to search for the proper words to explain himself, "...affected, shall we say, by the coming of the festival."
The Lord grinned in understanding. "Ah! I see, I see," his grin widened and he tilted his head slightly, "no one will have you as a companion then?"
Haldir inclined his head and straightened in his seat. He knew the Elf-lord was only poking a bit of fun at him, but pride ran deeply through this warden. "The opposite, my lord." He replied curtly.
"A most unfortunate predicament," sympathized the older Elf with a hint of mirth.
"My lord finds the situation amusing," growled Haldir.
Celeborn could not suppress his smile. "My apologies Captain, I am trying not to be amused."
Haldir raised one imperial eyebrow and attempted to change the subject. "My wardens tell me we have visitors from Rivendell with us presently."
"Indeed," confirmed the Lord, "the company from Lord Elrond's household has been with us for over a fortnight now."
"Ah, are there any among the party I am familiar with?" The question came out deliberately vague.
Celeborn smiled. "Aye, one or two individuals of your acquaintance I believe."
The Captain tried in vain to hide the expression of alarm that crossed his face. "Oh?" He cleared his throat, "Elladan and Elrohir I imagine?"
The Lord hesitated a moment before answering, clearly enjoying the other's discomfort. "Nay, the sons of Elrond are not among the Rivendell party."
Haldir was visibly relieved. "A shame, my brothers will no doubt be disappointed."
"Then it will please your brothers to know that we expect my grandsons in a weeks time," replied Celeborn with cheer, "they've been riding with the Rangers and have sent word of their intent to escort the Rivendell company on their return trip."
Haldir paled. "Oh, I see, well, that is fortunate indeed," he croaked, "how long do you expect the party to remain?"
Celeborn sighed and pondered for a moment. "Well, at least three or four weeks, but perhaps more," he treated Haldir to another grin, "so your brothers will have plenty of time to enjoy the company of their friends."
Haldir made no effort to suppress a groan, slumping his shoulders in defeat. No one brought out the worst in Rúmil and Orophin like those blasted twins. It was promising to be a long, trying, month in which time he doubted he'd get the peace and solitude he'd been looking forward to.