Faer na Faer (Spirit to Spirit)
Chapter 2
Was I captured? Is this the dungeons of the Necromancer's lair?
His heart gave a tremendous surge and at last he inhaled a gasping breath, his entire body jolted by the spasm. Desperately he tried to get up, rolling to his side only to feel the solid floor beneath him disappear. He was falling, flailing wildly in the dark for any hand or foothold to halt his precipitous drop, tumbling end over end through the void, and shouted in furious terror. He could not end this way, buried in some bottomless hole. The next instant brilliant light seared his eyes, still shut, and he squeezed them tighter against the glare. Through the bizarrely tilting pit a voice reached him, distant and distorted so that he couldn't recognise the speaker.
"He lives! Legolas, can you hear me?"
Haldir was nearly as panic stricken as the ailing archer, frantically trying to bring life back into the rigid, immobile form. The poison had paralysed the prince and his lungs and heart had slowed until the March Warden could no longer detect either one. This despite his and Rumil's swift administration of the antidote Gildin had provided to the visiting warriors in case of such a wound. For several moments Haldir believed the cure had been applied too late to work and now this reprieve was almost as overwhelming to his quaking soul. Briskly he slapped the wan cheeks and shook the suddenly limp frame.
"Easy!" Rumil stopped the brusque treatment as a weak, incoherent cry escaped the suffering archer's lungs. "No need to bruise him, Muindor, he's going to be all right. The paralysis is loosening, see? Give him room; let him breath."
"Aye, aye, you're right," Haldir sat back and tried to steady his racing pulse, smiling a shaky grin as he met Rumil's anxious eyes. "Valar, I thought he was slipping away from me, Rumil." With that he returned attention to Legolas and gently took up one of the slender hands, squeezing tight in hopes he would know he was not alone in the ordeal. The moment his skin made contact with the deadly fingers, Haldir's heart fairly leaped through his mouth the sensation was so intense. That very instant, Legolas' eyes popped open and focused on him, and Haldir broke into an exultant grin. "Legolas! I thought you were lost. Speak and reassure me that you are really healing."
The archer's brow crinkled in confusion as he tried desperately to understand why this face and voice were so vitally important to him. He tried to speak and found his throat uncooperative; only a garbled collection of syllables emerged. He swallowed, instinctively gripping the hand wrapped around his.
"Haldir?" he managed to rasp out and the expression of jubilant rapture this evoked upon his companion filled his heart with ease. He tried out a fleeting smile and blinked, suddenly exhausted, inhaling and exhaling a deep sigh as he drifted into a more normal and healthy state of rest.
Haldir was content and calm now, certain the worst was over and the wound would close without further incident. To make doubly sure, and to give himself something to do while Legolas recuperated, he cleaned and bandaged the shallow gash, giving a disgusted grunt at the very idea of one of the Orcish soldiers targeting his golden elf.
Rumil watched all this in silence. It was clear enough that his brother was hopelessly smitten, but he couldn't understand how it had come to pass. It was just as obvious that Legolas was drawn to Haldir, even in such a depleted state he remained firmly attached to the March Warden's hand. This made him uneasy, for Haldir could not hope to secure the prince to him in a sacred bond. The repercussions of such an ill-fated love loomed: Thranduil's predictable outrage, Celeborn's pained disappointment, the breech between the distant realms.
"Haldir, tell me how this happened."
"I believe is was a lance," said Haldir.
"What?"
"The injury was made by a glancing strike with an iron-tipped lance. You asked me what happened, Rumil; are you well?" Haldir eyed his brother askance.
"Valar, Haldir, I'm talking about you and your golden prince, not what kind of weapon struck him down!"
"Ah." Haldir surveyed his brother's distraught expression, suddenly aware that he had crossed an important barrier in the eternity of time compressed within the last few minutes. He no longer viewed Legolas as a potential mate but as his mate in fact, which of course was not yet the case. He frowned. "I don't know what to tell you except that those words you spoke are the absolute truth. He is my golden elf and no others. Those rumours must be false; Legolas has nothing but honesty and intelligence in his eyes."
"Even if that is true, he cannot be yours, muindor, not now or ever. Do you suppose the Wood Elves' King will permit such a union?"
"Surely it is Legolas' choice to make, not his father's," retorted Haldir, no longer willing to concede that something so paltry as a difference in status could keep him apart from his rightful mate. "These are Telerin elves not Noldor. No such restrictions can be placed upon the call of one soul to another."
"Ai, Haldir," groaned Rumil. "I want your happiness, but doubt you will find it with Legolas. He may be spoken for or he may have no desire for a male as a mate. What if he wants a family or…"
"Daro!" snapped Haldir. "You speak of my happiness and the worst fate that could befall me all in a single breath. I won't hear anymore. Until he refuses me, my heart must hope that he is mine."
An uncomfortable silence fell between the brothers as they waited for the Wood Elves to return. When they did, Gildin and his forces were leading the throng, weary and bedraggled and with many wounded. Galion was beside the prince, discussing the battle, which one and all must concede was a dismal defeat. Sirion was moping along behind them, no doubt having been taken to task for losing Legolas. Gildin saw the prostrate archer first and raced the remaining distance to get to his brother's side, Sirion and Galion right behind.
"Ai! Legolas, muindor, awaken!" the prince called, falling to his knees beside his brother and gently shaking him by the shoulder.
"He awakened a little while ago and was able to speak," Haldir reassured. "I believe the antidote was administered in time."
"I knew it was poisoned," groused Sirion. He surveyed the scene, noting the March Warden's protective hold upon Legolas hand. He tapped Gildin on the shoulder to get his attention. "Ernilen, that is the one of whom I spoke."
Both elves turned their gaze upon Haldir, who paled as Gildin's eyes fell to the spot where the March Warden's hand clasped Legolas. Thranduil's heir frowned, raising cool green eyes to Haldir, brow arched in censure. Haldir dropped Legolas' hand and reddened.
At this point Legolas awakened once more, sensing the loss of contact and missing it. He looked first for Haldir and seeing him reached out. "Haldir?"
"Aye, I am still here," the March Warden reassured, though the smile he offered was less openly jubilant and he declined to take the outstretched hand.
"Muindor dithen, how do you feel?" asked Gildin. "Can you make the journey home or do you want more time to rest?"
"Ai! It was just a slight wound and I am fine now," groused Legolas, mortified to be asked this in front of his peers and this Lorien elf who had so suddenly and thoroughly become essential to his sense of how the world should be. He pushed himself up with Gildin's help and shot the Lorien warrior a speculative glance, only to see the elf quickly avert his gaze. Legolas' heart sank. He let Gildin pull him to his feet and gladly departed with his brother.
"If you touch Legolas, you will answer to me. Such conduct is not permitted in Mirkwood, March Warden," rumbled Sirion, still looming near Haldir's shoulder.
"My brother answers to Lord Celeborn and at his command to your prince," retorted Rumil, "but not to you. Legolas, unless he is your mate, is free to choose whomever he wishes to touch him."
A loud gasp arose among the spectators and whispers of discontent arose, while Sirion's countenance blanched.
"How dare you accuse me! I am Legolas' guardian, nothing more! Did the degenerate imp imply otherwise? I will skin him!" Sirion followed his Lord's sons in great haste and high dudgeon.
The atmosphere took on a leaden menace as the assembled warriors glared at the Lothlorien captains. Haldir and Rumil shared uncomprehending looks, uncertain what had been said to so anger the woodland folk, for to their thinking Haldir had been the one slighted. At last Galion approached and settled a hand on the March Warden's shoulder.
"I sincerely regret any offence Sirion gave," he said. "It is his sworn duty to protect Legolas, but an intimate relationship between them would be most displeasing to the King. Such a union would be deemed wholly immoral."
"I understand and offer in turn my own regrets for our hasty reply." Haldir tried his most diplomatically ingratiating smile and bowed to the seneschal. Now that he knew Sirion was not his rival, his sole goal was to defuse the enmity within the population, for he would not purposely cause strife for his Lord and Lady if any action of his might prevent it. "I promise you, I have only the highest esteem for King Thranduil and his sons, and for all the warriors with whom it has been my privilege to serve these last many days."
"Aye," added Rumil, bowing also, "I meant no disrespect to either Sirion or Legolas, for the nature of their relationship was not known to me. Please do not let my unguarded tongue injure the accord between us."
Now the brothers' apologies together made as honourable a speech as any of Greenwood's folk could imagine, and many of the warriors offered nods and smiled to signal their approval. Galion summed up their collective feelings.
"Nay, no offence has occurred on your part. Let me extend my King's gratitude for your aid to his youngest son, and indeed to every one of Lothlorien's gallant troops for joining us in this endeavour. We are in your debt. Please, the wounded need time to heal and the hale have need to rejoice, even though the campaign ends in stalemate. Return with us to the stronghold now and let us forget these petty indignities wrought by the strain of battle."
All were appeased by these gracious words and plans were made to start for the King's stronghold.
TBC