#cool night air with a light drizzle my BELOVED!!!!!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

elliemarchetti · 3 years

Text

The Most Beautiful and Golden of the Cages

Nobody cares, but I like it, so bear with me and accept this fourth chapter of my Haldir x half-elf fem!OC fic.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Words: 2677

For the first time since they had left Rivendell, her rest wasn’t disturbed by dreams or noises, and she opened her eyes again only the next morning, when Gimli knocked on the door to make sure she was okay. The days passed almost all the same, each moment illuminated by a clear sun, except when a drizzle fell, leaving everything fresh and clean. The air was sweet and mild, as if it was tender spring, yet everyone felt around them the deep and thoughtful stillness of winter. Even the attentions of Haldir, who at the behest of the Lady hadn’t returned to his usual task, gave her the same feeling: his smile was mild and his actions sweet, but his deep eyes let it be seen that something was troubling the quiet in his thoughts, and even while they ate and drank there was no lightheartedness in his gestures, as if only among the trees and the constant danger he really felt at home. Elva decided it was time to face the conversation in the only moment they had alone, that was before going to rest.

“If you wish to go back to your brothers and mansion, we can sleep with the rest of the Fellowship, there is no need for you to stay any longer in a house you certainly don’t love.”

Her words seemed to take him by surprise, and for a moment she feared he would take refuge in his room without giving any answer.

“To be your guide, even now we’re within the city walls, is a great honour, especially when your mission is so noble,” he replied, always with tender courtesy. He had praise and beautiful words to dedicate to her, but his gaze never rested too long on her figure, nor did their hands touched after they entered the gates.

“Yet you don’t seem satisfied,” she insisted, hoping not to be too intrusive, even though her mere presence within the talan told another story.

“Maybe I'm just unaccustomed to city life: I’ve lived in the woods for a long time now, and although I’m the only one in the family who travels to distant lands, I don’t like to sleep in a soft bed when my brothers face great risks every day,” he admitted, finally, and the subject was no longer brought up, but the next evening, as they were walking together in the cool twilight, silence fell again. They had both felt restless for the whole afternoon, unable to face the shadow of parting, but Elva knew it was something they had to address, mostly because they were going to give up each other’s reassurance for probably a violent fate.

“It’s wonderfully quiet here,” she commented, determined not to start too brutally. “Nothing seems to be going on, and nobody seems to want it to.”

“It’s the Lady’s magic,” he explained, in a neutral tone. “You can’t touch it, but I’m sure you can see and feel it everywhere.”

He was right, but the thing that struck her most was the latent intolerance he expressed toward the land he swore to protect, for which he could also have died at the hands of an Orc while patrolling, or perhaps it was directed to those who commanded it, but Elva didn’t dare to ask, mindful of Legolas’ words about Mirkwood. It’s the most beautiful and golden of the cages, but in the end, it still remains a cage, he said, during a full moon night, to explain to her what drove him to continually piss off his father and get away from his duties as heir to the throne. Even the excessive beauty of Lothlorien reminded her of home, where the benevolence shown hid the trap of a cunning king.

“I don’t think you can do much more to help us, magic or not,” she finally admitted, for the first time aloud. Until that moment, she had kept it in her thoughts, fearing it might become real, but now she knew she must accept it and go on.

“Before you go, you’ll have to see the Lady one more time,” he explained, and as if she had heard him, Galadriel appeared from a lawn, tall, white and fair, silently beckoning them to follow her toward the southern slopes of Caras Galadhon’s hill, where, crossing a green hedge, they entered a garden without trees, which opened to the clear sky where the first stars, glowing with white fire on the western woods, could be seen. The Lady descended a long staircase that led into a deep hollow, crossed by the murmuring stream that gushed from the fountain on the hill, creating a low and shallow silver basin, next to which was a silver jug. With water from the stream, Galadriel filled to the brim a tub with a pedestal carved like a leafy tree.

“This is my Mirror,” she said, in that distant, ancient voice. “I brought you here so you can look at yourself, if you wish.”

“What do I have to look for?” Elva asked, watching full of wonder the pale elf. She wasn’t deluded, probably that place would be or had already been shown to all the other travellers, but at the moment she felt important, as if the Mirror could reveal to her something it had kept silent even to its owner.

“What you wish to see, if that’s what you desire,” replied the Lady. “But the Mirror can also spontaneously show images of things that were, are and still must be, which are often strange and useful. Do you want to watch?”

The half-elf didn’t answer right away: she would’ve liked to know what was happening at home, to her friends and her king, but she was afraid she would only see the reflection of the stars, or something she wouldn’t be able to understand.

“Remember, the Mirror is a dangerous guide, as it shows many things and not all of them have already occurred, while some will never happen, if only who saw didn’t abandon their way to prevent them,” Galadriel warned her.

“I don’t think you’re advising me to look, but rather to see something,” Elva replied. No one in Mirkwood spoke in riddles, but Haldir’s ignorance about the High Elves harbours and all the ceremoniousness of their meeting with the Lord and the Lady led her to assume those elves were no more like them than the dwarves for the hobbits.

“Seeing is at the same time good and dangerous, yet I believe you have guts and wisdom enough to take the risk, otherwise you wouldn’t have revealed to your guide what my spouse and I have been hiding from our people for a long time,” replied the woman, but without any trace of the annoyance or anger she might’ve expected facing the topic. Of course it wasn’t necessary to ask her how she knew, but was she telling that her words had a positive influence on Haldir? She didn’t have the courage to turn to look at her companion’s face to find out, yet, she felt like she needed to dodge even the powerful woman’s gaze, who didn’t need to read her mind anyway to know what she was thinking.

“So, do you wish to look?” she insisted, when faced only with silence.

The marchwarden hadn’t spoke a word for the whole time, and although Elva would’ve preferred for him, who knew the Lady more thoroughly, to advise her, she decided on her own to have a peep, even if it seemed unsafe to be too close to Galadriel’s magic. Without touching the dark water, she leaned over the basin, and as if a veil had been instantly withdrawn, the Mirror grew grey and then clear, to show her the sun shining and trees branches waving and tossing in the wind, golden leaf falling way sooner than the spring buds blossom. Before she could make up her mind, the autumn light faded, and she saw Haldir, dying in her arms with many of his race around him. They were both covered in red and black blood, and she almost thought she could smell the stench of death in her nostrils, mixed with something that reminded her of wet soil, sweat and leather. His lips barely moved, but he told her to go ahead, and take care of his brothers. Without thinking, she looked away to meet his blue eyes, full of concern but at the same time as attractive as a clear sea on a hot summer day. As in a dream, she returned to his side, but everything was too strange and unreal to resist the urge she felt of touching him, a light peck on his hand just to be sure what was happening wasn’t yet another one of Galadriel’s mental games. His skin was warm, not dry with sweat as in the Mirror’s vision, but as soon as she reached out, he held her tightly, as if afraid she might fly away in the stagnant air and never come back. Obviously, the Lady hadn’t missed the whole scene, and when she asked her subject if he wanted to look too, the tone of her words had changed slightly, although Elva couldn’t understand if for the better or the worse.

“Do you advise me to do so?” he asked, but the woman answered with the umpteenth riddle, and the decision became only his. Very slowly, she felt the grip on her hand loosen, and for a moment, everything was suspended, superfluous, their barely touching fingers the only important thing. The separation was almost painful, and it seemed to Elva that between her and the elf, gazing so skilfully into the Mirror’s depth she supposed he had already done it, there were whole kingdoms and not just a dozen steps. If Lorien was apparently frozen in time, that place, like everything surrounding the Lady, seemed suspended above the laws of nature, beautiful and at the same time terrifying. Over time, she had learned that under too much perfection there was always something corrupt, something rotten, a secret to hide, perhaps in the shape of a chain mail sneaked under a tunic, or a ring delicately mixed with other shiny jewellery, slipped on a pale, slender finger. No description could ever match the wonder of seeing Nenya in person. The Ring of Adamant glittered like polished gold overlaid with silver light, and its white stone twinkled as if Earendil, the Evening Star, most beloved of the Elves, had come down to rest upon the bearer’s hand, making her suspicions therefore correct: the Galadhrim had deliberately and conveniently avoided mentioning that Galadriel was the keeper of one of the three elven rings, hence they couldn’t be trusted.

“Let what has to happen, happen,” the Lady murmured when Haldir finished his dose of horrors too, so softly that Elva almost feared she had imagined it. “You’re not responsible for Lorien’s fate, but only for the fulfilment of your mission.”

“You’re wise and fearless and fair, Lady Galadriel,” he answered, but before Elva could turn to look at her, and inquire what she meant by those words, she found only the marchwarden, the lights dying quickly and the magic of that place drained by the elf’s absence. Unable to confront with someone, for fear that the woman and her spouse might find out, she decided to remain silent and act as if nothing had happened, even though she was dying to pester Haldir with questions about both Lothlorien’s ruler and his attitude towards them, reverential and accommodating but far from the spell the couple seemed to cast on the rest of their subject, and what he had seen in the Mirror. The Lady hadn’t in itself forbidden them to tell each other what the Mirror had decided to reveal, but even just touching the question would’ve led her guest to ask her what she had glimpsed in its depths, and she wasn’t sure she could admit that he, and his death, were the backbone of the longest, and simplest to interpret, if it could be said, of the two narratives, of which there would be no time to speak anyway, as the Fellowship was again summoned to the chamber of Celeborn, where the Lord and Lady greeted them with kind words. At length they spoke of the departure and Galadriel confirmed that they all intended to continue, providing them with boats, which would allow the crossing of the Great River.

"Even if you haven't decided your path yet, Haldir will take you wherever you want, as he’s a skilled captain and we can do nothing more to help," the woman concluded, casting a long look at Elva, weighing her reaction. For she was a good diplomat, the half-elf tried to keep her expression neutral, but Gimli’s curiosity about that silent exchange was of no help, while Aragorn was luckily too distracted by the gift to care.

“All shall be prepared at the haven before noon tomorrow,” added Celeborn. “I’ll send my people in the morning to help you make ready for the journey, but now we’ll wish you all a fair night and untroubled sleep.”

The whole Fellowship, plus its temporary new member, took their leave and returned to the pavilion to take counsel together; for a long time they debated what they should do, and how it would be best to attempt the fulfilling of their purpose with the Ring, but they came to no decision, even if it was plain that most of them desired to go first to Minas Tirith, and to escape at least for a while from the terror of the Enemy. Some would’ve been willing to follow a leader over the River and into the shadow of Mordor, but Frodo spoke no word, and Aragorn was still divided in his mind, therefore Elva remained neutral, as she seemed to understand Gandalf wished before his early death. Admitting that he would never return still gave a strange feeling, above all because an inestimable number of mysteries would remain unsolved, and so many questions would remain unanswered, but by now she believed she had accepted it, the emptiness in her heart slowly filling up with a new and different feeling, which she had neither the time nor the energy to analyze, mostly because it would’ve been of no use, since, although she couldn’t yet know when, Haldir would still have to turn his back on them to return to the patrols in the woods with his brothers.

“I shall go to Minas Tirith, alone if need be, for it is my duty,” said Boromir, and after that he was silent for a while, sitting with his eyes fixed on Frodo, as if he was trying to read the Halfling’s thoughts like the Lady had done in their first meeting. Only at length he spoke again, so softly he was probably debating with himself: “If you wish only to destroy the Ring, then there’s little use in war and weapons, and the Men of Minas Tirith cannot help, but if you wish to destroy the armed might of the Dark Lord, then it is folly to go without force into his domain, and folly to throw away,” he said, before pausing suddenly, as if he had become aware that he was speaking his thoughts aloud.

“It would be folly to throw lives away, I mean,” he added. “It’s a choice between defending a strong place and walking openly into the arms of death, or at least, that’s how I see it.”

Elva hardly heard the last justification, too busy reliving a memory of the council, during which he had already expressed a thought of that kind. She looked at Haldir, but the elf seemed deep in his own thought and made no sign that he had heeded Boromir’s words, so their debate ended and those who would have slept in the talan took their leave for the last time, while the night grew old and dark on Caras Galadhon, maybe darker than ever.

#haldir x fem oc #lotr fic #haldir of lothlorien #galadriel #gimli son of gloin #celeborn #aragorn #legolas greenleaf #gandalf the grey #boromir #frodo baggins #half elf oc

11 notes · View notes