Haldir Of Lorien - Tumblr Posts

Some Haldir love🔥🧝🏻💜

Elrond has been taken for a ride by Thranduil and Haldir. The blondes are not just lovers, they are thieves too.

Read my new story on AO3. Link below.

Blonde Thieves

Three Weeks on the Nimrodel

Well, here it is. My first (and oldest) piece of fic. I'm going against my brand here by posting something set in Lorien when Rohan is really my jam. But this is the first thing I ever wrote, so it seems fitting that it should be the first posted, too.

Pairing: Haldir x reader (The reader is gender neutral beyond 2 uses of the descriptor "beautiful", which is still neutral to me but your mileage might vary.)

Genre: Romance, I guess

Summary: Two elves who are frequently misunderstood by others find the joy of having someone really see and value them for who they are.

Inspiration: This all came from the well loved gif above, in which Craig Parker does beautiful work communicating a whole emotional arc (surprise, confusion, acceptance, appreciation) when Aragorn unexpectedly shows Haldir some loving affection. In that half-second of screen time, I see an entire book of backstory about Haldir's character--about being someone who is very reserved by nature, who isn't necessarily comfortable freely expressing feelings and innermost thoughts, but who still feels deep emotional connections to others that can come out under the right circumstances. As a very reserved person myself, I can relate--if you tend to keep your thoughts and feelings close to the vest, people will make a lot of assumptions and judgments about you that probably aren't right, and that can be exhausting. When someone finally does understand you and allows you to be comfortable enough to open up on your own terms, it's a life changing experience. So that's what I tried to write.

Word count: approx 3200 (~ 6 pages)

**********

It is still early when you arrive in the center of Caras Galadhon, joining the crowd of elves waiting to find out where they will be posted for the next few weeks of guard duty. Most in the group are veteran marchwardens, deeply familiar with each other and the daily routine of life near the borders. By contrast, you are a city warden, often dedicated to the direct protection of the Lady of the Wood. But you have been asked to serve a temporary rotation on the borders while several of the regular marchwardens are away with Lord Celeborn on a visit to Mirkwood.

The change of pace is not unwelcome to you. While you love Caras Galadhon and are honored to spend time in the service of Lady Galadriel, you frequently find yourself craving distance from the city in favor of the quiet outlying areas, where it is easy to hear clear birdsong, the rustling steps of small animals scampering by, and the patter of light raindrops falling on mallorn leaves.

The crowd begins to murmur as the deputy captain appears and begins handing around sheets of paper with duty assignments. As the pages spread through the crowd, the murmurs turn to both sighs of disappointment and quiet expressions of satisfaction.

“All I want is to avoid the Nimrodel,” you overhear the elf next to you mutter to a friend of his. You recognize him as Calendil, who, like many of his companions, is well known for carousing around Caras Galadhon any time he is home on leave. As a group, the marchwardens are a boisterous company who seem always determined to pack several weeks of fun into the few days of free time they’ve been given. “Three weeks posted with the captain is more than can be asked of me.”

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise at this mention of Captain Haldir. You know him a little–everyone in Lorien knows the leader of the marchwardens–and have never before heard a negative word uttered about him. Your path does not often cross with his, but you admire his impressive record of achievements and have never seen him treat another elf with anything but courteous respect.

“You speak truly,” replies Calendil’s companion. “I cannot spend so much time with someone who has so little to say. That much silence is enough to drive one a little mad.”

A wave of indignation rolls through your body. It is undeniably true that Haldir is very reserved. He says little that isn’t necessary to the conduct of his duties, and what he is truly thinking behind his large blue eyes is often a mystery. But that has never seemed a negative trait to you. Indeed, you appreciate that he does not talk simply for talk’s sake and that he does not seem concerned with always making his own opinions known. What’s more, you recognize a fair amount of his inherent reserve in your own nature. If you didn’t often force yourself to satisfy others’ expectations by taking on a more outgoing, sociable persona, perhaps your own wardens would describe you just as these elves have described their captain.

Calendil’s conversation comes to an abrupt end as a copy of the assignment sheet makes its way into his hands. Peering over his shoulder, you quickly find your own name allocated to a remote post near the edge of the Dimrill Dale. A glance further down the list confirms what you already know from the quiet groan that has just escaped from Calendil’s lips: he has been assigned to the Nimrodel post.

An idea quickly forms in your head, and you tap him on the shoulder. Why should he spend three weeks feeling miserable with his posting–and, no doubt, making anyone around him miserable as a result–when you have no particular attachment to your own assignment? Calendil can go to the Dimrill Dale, and you will spend your posting with Haldir instead.

“If such a trade is permitted within your ranks, I will gladly make the exchange,” you offer. “I have always loved the river. And I have no objection to the company of someone who takes his duty seriously and does not revel in idle chatter.”

Calendil’s face registers a moment of regret as he realizes that his prior conversation has been heard by others, but it is quickly replaced by a wide, beaming smile that reflects his rapid change of fortune. “It is permitted,” he says, “and I happily accept. Remind me the next time we are both on leave, and I will reward your generosity with some of my own!”

You doubt that whatever reward he has in mind will suit your inclinations, but there is no need to worry about that now. Calendil has already sprinted off toward the deputy captain to report the change, and you turn toward home to gather your supplies.

****

Two days later, you are approaching the Nimrodel post, which is located in a lovely old mallorn tree with twisted roots that hang over the river’s edge. You raise your hand to your lips and whistle the signal. The return call echoes off the trees before a slim rope ladder drops from the branches above you. You run lightly up the rungs, making easy work of the climb to the talan perched near the great tree’s crown, where it commands a wide view of the river and much of the western section of the border.

As you hoist yourself and your pack onto the platform, you look up to see a single figure standing a few feet away. It is Haldir, leaning against the wind screen with his bow slung loosely over his shoulder and his white-blonde hair blowing gently in the breeze.You are surprised to see him there alone; wardens generally keep watch in pairs or groups of three for safety. You are there to relieve Arthalion, who is due now to return home for a break, but there is no sign of Arthalion or his things.

“Mae govannen, Captain,” you say, placing your hand on your chest and bowing your head slightly. “Is everything well?”

Haldir returns the gesture with a small smile. “Yes. It has been blessedly uneventful. Perhaps it is the threat of the weather.”

This makes sense. Just last month, an orc party attempting a surprise attack during a thunderstorm found themselves nearly washed away by sudden flooding from the Celebrant. Since then, even the hint of rain has tended to keep them at bay.

“And Arthalion? Is he out on a task?”

Haldir shakes his head. “I sent him back early. You might have passed one another in the forest except that he planned to meet a small hunting party further north. As I said, things here were quiet, and he was anxious to join his friends.” He gives a small shrug and looks down. “I will do the same for you, if circumstances allow and you desire it. I do not wish to keep anyone from their enjoyments unless duty requires it.”

You permit yourself a brief moment to wonder what Haldir’s own enjoyments might be. You have heard that he is a talented artist, making detailed pencil sketches of the forest, but he does not often show his work to others.

“That is a thoughtful offer,” you say. “But I have no pressing need to return, and I would not have you out here alone, even if there is no other elf in Lorien better able to protect himself.”

He acknowledges this compliment with a modest smile and gestures toward a small shelf where you can store your belongings. His own are few in number but neatly stacked or folded with military precision. You note that he does, in fact, have a small bundle of pencils and a notebook, but, as expected, there is no sign of any actual drawings.

After stowing your things, you settle into a position opposite him on the talan, and a silence ensues. It is of no bother to you–you’re enjoying the smell of the damp air and the touch of the light wind on your face–but you soon notice that Haldir is looking increasingly discomfited as the quiet minutes slip by. His gaze shifts frequently between the horizon, his hands on his bow, and your face.

“Was…your journey here pleasant?” His face is studiously neutral, but his voice sounds strained and he picks at a splinter on his bow. You realize that he is trying to make conversation for your benefit, to fill in the noticeable silence with casual talk that clearly does not come easily to him. You feel a sudden rush of affection for him, this intensely quiet being who is making himself uncomfortable so that you will feel welcome. You wonder how best to put him at ease.

“It was very pleasant,” you reply. “I am so rarely outside of the city these days that any chance to enjoy the forest is a gift. I can understand why being a marchwarden is an attractive job, at least during times of relative peace.”

He looks up, reappraising your face, and nods his agreement.

You hesitate before speaking again, unsure about how directly to address his uneasiness.

“Captain,” you begin, “it sounds like we may have an uneventful tour here. If that is the case, please do not feel that you are obligated to occupy my time. I am quite comfortable with quiet activity and my own thoughts and would gladly afford you space for the same if that is something you wish.”

His cheeks and ears flush slightly but, despite his apparent embarrassment at being accurately perceived, he seems immediately relieved as well. “Thank you,” he says. “If you are as good a warden as you are a reader of people, I feel myself in safe hands indeed.”

The next several days pass by peacefully. Between occasional scouting trips up or down the riverbank and regularly monitoring the view from the talan, you mostly spend the time together in companionable silence. You take turns preparing simple meals, and during breaks in the intermittent rain you make minor repairs to nearby rope bridges and other hidden defenses in the area. In the evenings, you read a book by lantern light while Haldir sits next to his own lantern and sketches in his notebook, occasionally transferring completed drawings into a closed leather folio at his side. Every so often, you both glance up at the same time, and you give him a warm smile when your eyes meet before turning back to your respective pages.

*****

One evening, as you clean up the remains of your small dinner and take out your book again, Haldir lightly clears his throat.

“That book seems to engage you much,” he says. “May I ask what it is?”

Surprised, you hold it out to him, and he takes it, examining the cover and flipping through a few pages.

“I do not recognize this script,” he says, looking at it with curiosity.

“It is a representation of Rohirric,” you tell him. “My brother was a skilled linguist who passed on some small portion of his knowledge to me. He spent many months visiting a friend in the court at Edoras and helped them to start preserving some of their oral traditions with a system of letters. This is a copy of one of his first completed projects–the story of the founding of Rohan–which he sent to me as a gift.”

Haldir looks again with renewed interest at a few pages before handing the book back to you. “Your brother sounds like an impressive scholar,” he says. “Does he remain in Rohan?”

You hesitate slightly before responding. “In a way. Two years ago an orc band in search of horses raided a village near the Limlight while my brother happened to be visiting. They caught him and his hosts unaware. The Rohirrim buried his body in a place of honor with their people, though his spirit has surely gone to Mandos.”

You relate this with downcast eyes, tracing over your brother’s name on the cover of the book with your thumb. After a few moments, you look up again, expecting to see Haldir withdrawn from the conversation. You know that many elves are uncomfortable with death, which is an unnatural state for your kind, and there is nothing in your interactions so far to indicate that Haldir will want to continue such a personal discussion. You are surprised once again, however, to find that he is looking at you intently.

“I am deeply sorry,” he says. “Working as I do, I have known many elves who met a similar fate in battle, and it is never easy. My own brothers are a treasure to me, and I cannot imagine losing them. I hope I have not contributed to your suffering by unwittingly bringing up a painful subject.”

You blink back a few tears and smile. Through your sadness, you are moved by the warmth of his response and honored that he was willing to share something personal of himself. “Of course not,” you say. “Talking about my brother is one way to keep him with me. Thank you, Captain.” You reach forward and squeeze his hand. He flinches slightly at the unexpected touch, but then gently returns the squeeze.

“Please,” he says, “call me Haldir.”

*****

After that night, things are different between the two of you. You both speak more often, tentatively at first but then with increasing comfort. You trade stories about old adventures and talk about the joys and frustrations of your daily lives. You discover that he has much to say when he finally feels more at ease. He is even quite funny, with a dry wit that you did not expect but thoroughly enjoy. You walk together in the forest and rest your feet in the waters of the Nimrodel during the day, and in the evenings he asks you to read to him from your book. You happily relate tales of Cirion and Eorl and the coming of the Northmen to Calenardhon as he draws quietly, occasionally interjecting a question or a brief comment.

The time passes quickly and easily, and soon your rotation will be at an end. You realize there is a growing pain in your heart each time you think about your imminent departure. Your old life suddenly feels dull and uninteresting to you now. You do not want to go back to a time without his companionship. You debate whether to say this to him, but you cannot imagine how he might react to such a confession. Paralyzed by uncertainty, the last days of your assignment tick by.

On your final evening, you are preparing for one last opportunity to enjoy what has become your nightly routine. Just as he is about to settle with his notepad and folio, however, he notices your canteen is empty and insists on climbing down to fill it for you. As he reaches the ground and disappears over the riverbank, the wind changes direction and a sudden gust rips across the talan, flinging back the cover of the folio and sending papers flying out in all directions. You cry out in dismay and throw yourself desperately onto the pages whipping around you, seeking to hold them down long enough to gather them safely together.

It is only after you have retrieved all the loose pages and are preparing to neatly stack them that you first look at the drawings themselves and are stunned by what you see: beautiful illustrations of the stories you’ve been reading to him, the words of your brother’s book brought to vivid life in graceful pencil lines and delicate shading. You leaf through the stack in awed amazement only to nearly drop the whole pile again when you turn a page and find an image of yourself as you must look to him each night, sitting by your lantern with your book in your lap. You keep turning pages and find more of yourself…braiding your hair first thing in the morning, standing at the wind screen and scanning the horizon, unlacing your boots at the end of a day. Your breath catches in your throat as you absorb these images. You have never looked more beautiful than you do here, seen through his eyes.

A sudden noise behind you tears your attention from the papers in your hand, and you turn to find Haldir standing there. You are immediately overwhelmed by panic and begin to stammer out an explanation for how you came to be holding his personal things, violating his privacy. “I…the wind…they were blowing away and…”. Hot tears well up in your eyes and are soon spilling down your cheeks, partly from embarrassment at the situation but mostly as the feelings you’ve been keeping pent up threaten to come flooding out all at once. “I was not trying to…I…”. An involuntary sob robs you of the ability to finish your sentence, though you aren’t sure how you would have finished it had you been able.

At the sound of your sob, he moves forward, quickly closing the distance between you. He hesitantly cups a hand under your jaw and uses his thumb to brush a tear from your cheek. “Please do not cry,” he says. “I would not ever see you in pain if it were in my power to prevent it. I am not upset. These drawings were for you, for your book. You were meant to have them, except the last few, which I hoped to keep as a reminder of these days and how happy I have been.” Your eyes snap up to his face, searching for confirmation that you have correctly understood his words.

“You know that I am not much for talking,” he continues. “But I am a very good observer. I know that you see me for who I am, just as I see you. I see all of the ways that you are kind and interesting and intelligent and beautiful. I have no expectation that you return my feelings, and if all I ever have with you are these three weeks then I will cherish the memory of these weeks through all the long ages of my life. But I would….”

Before he can complete his thought, your body reacts on its own impulse, a pure release of elation. You throw your arms around his neck and bury your face in his broad chest, still crying but now with tears of joy. You hear a sharp intake of breath as he processes your reaction, and for a fraction of a moment he stands motionless and silent before breaking into a smile and wrapping you in his arms. You could live in those arms forever, and now perhaps you will.

I am NOT mourning. Because gried implies acceptance. And I will NEVER accept his disappearance of the screen. Haldir is having a wonderful time being the cutie he is 🖤

The way I see it, if I don't witness it, it didn't happen, therefore Haldir is very much alive and is living out his life, happy and safe.