Lothlorien

Title: The Requiem for a Dream Trilogy – Lothlórien

Author: LuxAeterna (angelcat@netconnect.com.au for feedback)

Rating: up to NC-17

Status: Ongoing

Fandom: Lord of the Rings (set in combination Tolkien’s Universe and Wacko PJ’s Universe)

Disclaimer: The characters belong to the Tolkien Estate and not me. Thought if they did, who knows what shenanigans I’d get up to with them, so it’s probably better that I don’t have ownership of them… Thought it would be much fun, I can’t deny that. Anyway, not mine, never will be. :/

Authors note: This is my first Lord of the Rings fanfiction. And I’m not going to get all sooky and cry if you flame me either… Just make it intelligent, that’s all I ask! Oh, and feedback is highly appreciated as always. :)

The Requiem for a Dream Trilogy

Lothlórien


‘Legolas was away much among the Galadhrim, and after the first night he did not sleep with the companions, though he returned to talk and eat with them. Often he took Gimli with him when he went abroad in the land, and the others wondered at this change.’

- Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring (p471), J.R.R. Tolkien


Part 1

Wandering away from my friends, I found myself somewhere deep in the Golden Woods of Lothlórien, far from the city of the Elves. I knew I should not be there – even I, a Prince of Mirkwood, was not permitted to wander freely the home of my kinfolk. Why I chose to escape deep into the forests of Lórien, I do not know. Maybe it was that I had to be alone in and with my grief. Mourning for Mithrandir was something I wished to do away from my companions. To see their grief served only to compound my own.

I was not one given lightly to break basic precepts – especially not ones laid down by my kind no matter how far removed we were – but this time, this once, I could not help myself – or even bring myself to care. With the lament for our dearly departed, valiant leader still ringing in my ears and a heavy ht iht in my heart, I stole away from my companions into the shifting shadows beneath the towering trees.

It wasn’t until I came across him that I realised I had been actively seeking him out, even though I was not conscious of it at the time. Somehow my senses betrayed my chaotic thoughts, and registering the faintest hint of his passing, had attuned themselves to his track, leading me to unknowingly stalk him to this location deep in the Golden Wood.

The faintest crack of a twig behind me – deliberately broken, that I know – was my first and only warning. My hand went up and my fingers passed smoothly though empty air where normally they would grasp fletching. I felt the metal tip of an arrow touch lightly against my neck. ‘The Lady asked for you not to leave your companions this night,’ there was a brief pause, ‘yet here you are, far from them and stalking your kin as if disobeying the Lady of the Woods meant nothing to you.’ I tensed. I would recognise that voice anywhere.

Yet…

When I was permitted to slowly turn around I was startled, for it was not the Elf I had expected it to be. Rúmil of Lórien stared coldly down the shaft of the arrow he had aimed at me. ‘I suggest that you leave off your clumsy tracking of my brother, and return to your companions. No doubt they are wondering where you have gone.’

My back straightened indignantly at his words. Clumsy tracking? I was one of the best trackers in Mirkwood – if not *the* best!

A flicker of movement teased the corner of my eye and I shifted slightly. Orophin glided silently out of the trees. ‘I told you there would be trouble with this one, Rúmil,’ he said in a tone laced with resigned, yet somewhat malicious amusement. ‘One day you will learn that I *am* always right.’ His tone became tinged with curiosity. ‘Although I must admit, I *am* curious as to why a Mirkwood Elf would seek to lose himself in the Golden Wood, particularly on this night. In these troubled times who could know just what might happen to someone wandering around in an unfamiliar land…’

‘Are you threatening me?’ I retorted sharply.

‘And if we were?’ Orophin looked at me, one delicate brow arched.

With Rúmil’s arrow still pointed at my throat I wisely chose not to push the point.

‘Leave off, my brothers,’ a third voice spoke. The voice belonged to the one I had been unconsciously seeking, the one I had initially believed Rúmil to be. ‘He means me no harm.’ A shadow amidst other shadows, his shadow-grey cloak blended with the darkness beneath the trees so well that even with keen Elf-sight I had trouble picking him out. ‘Leave off,’ he repeated, ‘I will guide him back to his companions.’

Rúmil slowly lowered his arrow and I felt the tenseness in my body ease. It was never a comfortable thing to have an arrow aimed in your direction.

‘Is this wise?’ Orophin questioned. His gaze flicked from the newcomer to Rúmil and I noted the way his eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, as in an unspoken communication had passed between them. Given the abilities of our kind – as evinced by the Lady Galadriel – I would not have been surprised if it had so.

‘Leave us, Orophin, please.’

With a reluctant backwards look from Orophin, the two guardians of the Woods melted back into the darkness. He who had called his brothers off stepped out from the shadows and into the dim light of the clearing.

Upon first meeting Haldir of the Galadhrim at the borders of the Golden Wood, I had been immediately struck by his sheer arrogance. His haughtiness and denigration of my companions had failed entirely to endear him to me in the slightest. Even his welcome to me as one of his kinfolk from the woodland realm had been cold and sneering. Yet it struck me that this Elf seemed to be someone completely removed from he who had met with and forbid us entry at the forest boundary.

‘Haldir of Lórien,’ I greeted him somewhat stiffly.

‘Prince Legolas,’ his slight acknowledging bow – no more than the inclination of his head – was mocking yet oddly formal. ‘If you will, I will guide you back to your friends. These woods can be perilous, particularly at this time, and not just because of my brothers.’

His comment bemused me. If I had not known better I would have thought he was making a play at humour. Nonsense, I told myself, this Elf does not know what amusement is. ‘Wait,’ I reached out and caught his sleeve. The woollen material was rough against my fingertips. ‘Don’t you want to know why I was looking for you?’

He looked at me expressionlessly. ‘Why should I ask you that when you do not even know yourself?’ he asked quietly.

His eyes… they were sad, I realised. His manner – so self-assured – was not as such because he was as arrogant as he appeared, but because he held himself so tightly wound up under iron-strong control. I wondered what could make such an Elf hide himself behind so many layers he knew others would loathe him for, and what he thought would happen to him were he to relax even but for a moment.

‘You are right,’ I said, dropping my hand from his sleeve and looking down at the leaf litter that was strewn across the ground beneath our feet. ‘I do not know. I did not even realise I was seeking you out until I found you.’

‘Come, I must take you back to the city,’ he said, turning away. I hesitated a moment, before following him slowly.

We walked in silence back in the direction I had come from, until the faint lights of the fair city of Caras Galadhon in the distance began to break up the shadows amongst the trees. Darkness soon gave way to the partial light of night in the Elven city. ‘I will leave you here. Please, I do ask you remain with the rest of your companions for the rest of this night. My brothers will not leave off so quickly if they find you wandering again. Go to your friends – they will help ease your pain. I cannot.’

I started at his words, glancing at him quickly. This was far from the arrogance I had expected from him. I had thought he would brush me off at the boundary to the city. Then what he had actually said registered. ‘I – I was not going to ask you-’ I faltered. On the walk back to the city the though *had* risen, unbidden, in my mind to ask for his help in relieving myself of the troubles and pain that plagued me. That showed indisputably how troubled I was – if I considered seeking help from the one Elf I disliked most, I truly was in a troubled state of mind.

He placed one slender hand on my shoulder. There was a deep sympathy in his gaze that seemed peculiar coming from him. ‘Find someone who is pure and unburdened. They will help you with what you need.’

I raised my hand and placed it over his. ‘Who is there to help you? Where is the one who takes *your* pain away?’ I whispered. I didn’t know what it was that bade me speak then, all I knew was that I couldn’t hold my tongue.

His face grew shadowed and he looked away, loosening his hand from my grasp. ‘That is no concern of yours. Go… please.’ I lingered, unwilling to leave. Never mind the fact that I didn’t like him. *This* was not the Elf that I disliked. He was arrogance personified. No, *this* was a completely different Elf.

‘Go!’ he cried when he saw I failed to move. Almost immediately he seemed to cave in upon himself, his proud shoulders drooping, his hands forming into loose fists as he sighed. ‘I am sorry, Legolas… if you were wise, you would leave me.’

‘I want – I want to help you,’ I said softly, stepping forward. It was true. I wanted to know what it was that held his soul in so much pain. I reached out and touched his bowed face, silken strands of siy-goy-golden hair caressing my fingers.

His eyes slipped close and he seemed to lean into my light touch. ‘You cannot help me,’ he sighed. ‘There is no one who can help me.’

I stepped closer, reaching out with my other hand so I touch both of his cheeks, tilting his face up. He had a haunted, defeated light in his eyes, eyes that spilt glimmering tears down pallid cheeks. ‘I can try,’ I murmured, before leaning forward to cover the small distance between our lips. I do not know what it was that possessed me to kiss Haldir. Maybe it was that glimmer of vulnerability from him that made him seem so much more a living, breathing, *feeling* Elf, as opposed to the stern, proud veneer of a fearless guardian of Lórien, I didn’t really know. All I knew was that at that one, brief moment we connected in a way that I had never connected with another Elf, much less the most arrogant-seeming and to me most personally repulsive of the Galadhrim. Oh, not repulsive physically, of course not, but in all else…

His skin was smooth and damp with tears. He seemed to burn with a strange flame within, his skin searing to the touch, his lips like fire. As soon as my lips touched his I could feel the pain and fear he felt. I did not know where his pain came from, nor could I see any specifics as to what caused the terror I could taste simmering in him just beneath the surface. All I knew was that in comparison to this, my grief for Mithrandir seemed to pale. Not to insignificance, just less intensity… I could not for the life of me see how he could function with this pain and dread festering inside of him.

For what seemed like a long moment he was unresponsive to my kiss, to what I knew I gave as soon as I kissed him – the offer of my own body to use as he would to cleanse his soul – when suddenly he relaxed and I felt the faint pressure of his fingertips lightly grasping my clothing. He sighed and pulled me closer, one fine hand twining through the hair at the back of my neck, tilting my head slightly, just enough to allow him to kiss me deeper. Almost tentatively his arms circled me. I buried my face against the warm skin of his neck, inhaling his sweet woodland scent as I returned his embrace. I could feel his body trembling like a leaf. Once more he sought out my lips, delicate and desperate, but with undeniable passion.

I clung to him, pressing again his body. Thick fabric hampered my searching hands as I fumbled with his belt. I longed to see if his body was as silky sweet as the touch of his lips, his skin under my fingers.

Suddenly his hands were pushing mine away, pushing *me* away. I pulled back, panting lightly as I stared at him, feeling hurt by his rejection when he had seemed to want this – me – as much as I wanted him. ‘No… don’t – we can’t-’ he stumbled over the words, his voice thick. He was breathing deeply and his head was bowed, his face once more concealed by the curtain of his hair.

‘Why not?’ I pressed. ‘I offer myself to you – take of me this gift I offer you!’ Lust mingled with hurt roughened my voice.

He slowly raised his head, his face exprenlesnless. I could see by the tenseness around his mouth that such a façade of indifference was not easily come by. ‘Why do you offer yourself like this? Do not think I do not know how much you dislike me, Legolas of Mirkwood.’

‘”Why?”’ I echoed him, my head tilted to the side. ‘When we kissed I could taste your pain. I could feel it! I want to help you – I want to take it away from you.’

Distress twisted his features for a brief moment before he closed his eyes and his face once more smoothed of all expression. ‘You tasted my pain? That is merely unfortunate, nothing more. As I told you, there is naught you can do to help me. And you seem to forget that what may pass one way may also pass the other. You may have been able to “taste my pain” as you so aptly put it, but remember, Prince Legolas, I also know yours. I know more of you than you would think possible.’

‘Oh?’ I wanted to sound challenging, but was afeared of wha had had picked up of me during our brief moment of mutual passion. I had burdensome secrets I didn’t wish to share.

‘Indeed. You grieve heavily for Mithrandir… you loved the old man profoundly, and his death weighs heavy on you. But it is not just because of his loss, is it? Oh no, you carry a heavier burden than that. You carry the burden of guilt.’ He gave me an arrogantly knowing look, and at that split second I recalled just why I loathed him.

And now my aversion had deepened. He knew my guilt and he would use it against me. ‘You feel guilt-ridden that you could not save Gandalf the Grey, and you shiver with shame when you remember your reaction to the appearance of the Balrog. “Ai! Ai! A Balrog! A Balrog is come!” you said.’ As he spoke the selfsame words I had uttered under Caradhras in the mines of Moria I felt humiliation burn my cheeks. That he could pull those words from my memory – words I had so desperately wished I could forget even as I voiced them in terror – so easily and not only that but use them against me stirred my anger.

‘It was the Balrog that drove the Galadhrim deeper into the forests of Lórien!’ I cried. ‘You cannot say that you would stand unswayed and free of fear when faced with a creature of fire and shadow such as the Balrog!’

‘Did I once say I could, Prince Legolas?’ he mocked me. ‘I was merely telling you what *I* learnt of *you* when – when we kissed.’

His hesitation caught me and I looked at him sharply. His eyelids fluttered ever so briefly as he blinked, and a spasm crossed his face. ‘This is not you, Haldir. All this arrogance and – and childlike posturing… You hide behind the façade of pride and indifference that whatever pain it is you hold in here,’ I lightly touched my fingertips to the spot on his chest over his heart, ‘gives you.’

‘You lie,’ he said flatly, and I dropped my hand before he had the chance to slap it down.

‘Do I?’ I could sense now that I was once more regaining the confidence that had been dealt such a swift and painful blow by his revelation. ‘The Elf you wish people to know you as would not have guided me so easily back to the city. He would not have urged me to find someone “pure and unburdened” to help purge my grief. That Elf would not weep for being helpless, nor would he respond to a simple kiss with such passion. You are a fraud, Haldir of Lórien!’

Stung, he recoiled from my words. He reached out and grasped the front of my tunic, jerking me forward so he could glare at me with blazing eyes, our faces bare inches apart. ‘Though I risk retribution from your father for laying my hands upon you in anger, Prince Legolas, son of Thranduil, I will *not* be taunted by one such as you! I said what I said and did what I did for it was what I deemed appropriate at the time!’

‘Appropriate at the time?’ It was my turn to mock. ‘But you wanted me just then, I *know* you did!’ I said fiercely. ‘It was not merely what you “deemed” appropriate.’ I would not back down from him. I could not, even if I wanted to.

‘You are a fool Elf, throwing yourself at me like you are no better than a human whore!’ he spat. ‘Is that what you want me to think of you as – a child of royalty masquerading as a whore?’

His words stung me. I am not proud of what I did then, raising my hand against one of my kinfolk, but he had provoked the temper none of my companions – bar Aragorn – realised my mild mannered exterior concealed. My hand slapping against his skin resounded in the night dark wood, cutting through the whisper of wind through the bare branches of the mallorn trees and over the faint burble of water along one of the small creeks that traversed the woods of Lórien. Haldir’s head snapped around to the side and he froze, his eyes closed, before he slowly released my tunic.

My eyes were wide and the offending hand that had been raised against him was cupped over my mouth when he turned to look at me, and when he opened his eyes they were dazed with shock. I could see the darker mark bloom on his cheek as blood rushed to fill the imprint of my hand on his cheek. He raised one of his own hands to touch the skin where I had slapped him.

‘I did not mean-’ I started, but broke off when he took a half-step back, his expression dismayed. ‘Haldir-‘

‘You!’ he whispered. ‘It was you!’

I blinked. ‘I – I do not understand. What was… me?’

He just shook his head and continued to retreat. ‘I have to leave. Go back to your companions and come after me no more!’ said Haldir sternly. Once more he touched his face where I had struck him, before melting back into the darkness beneath the trees.

‘Haldir, wait-’ I stepped forward to follow him, my hand raised, before I faltered. No, I would not follow him. I could not. Not now.

I bowed my head. I should not have struck him like that – I, who had accused *him* of acting childlike, resorting to childish blows like I was still a youngling playing with my companions in the woods of Northern Mirkwood! Fool Elf I was indeed, though I was no whore.

Turning, I followed the path Haldir had indicated that lead back into the heart of Caras Galadhon and to the pavilion the Elves had erected for my companions and I to stay at during our sojourn in the heart of all Elvendom on Middle-earth. Upon my arrival back at the site, I saw my companions sleeping. The young hobbits were all bundled up in their blankets, snoring softly, although Pippin seemed to be in the grip of some sort of nightmare.

I frowned.

Normally so carefree and, yes, naïve, the hobbit had changed in the short time since the fall of Mithrandir into shadow in the mines of Moria. He blamed himself for Gandalf’s fall and though he hadn’t said anything, it was plain to me to see. He obviously felt that had he not dropped that rock down the well in one of the caverns then it was quite likely that the Fellowship would have made it through the mines unscathed. Yet who really knew what might have happened in that darkness had events not progressed the way they did…

It was entirely possible the the Balrog – a shiver rippled up my spine at the mere thought of it – would still have pursued us, and Gandalf would still have fallen into darkness. No one could second guess what would have happened. Even as I watched the hobbit he seemed to settle, sighing and sinking into deeper sleep. I knew I should rest, but tiredness had long since fled my bones. Instead I sank down onto the soft blankets provided by the Galadhrim, leant back against the bole of a mallorn tree and watched over my companions’ rest.


tbc?