#mixing haldir with rohan is the most ME thing i could do

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

Tolkien Family Week, Day 5: Found Family (aka Haldir finds a human child lost in Lórien)

If you’ve ever looked at my stuff, you know about 90% of what I write is about Rohan and then the remaining 10% is about Haldir of Lórien. Don’t ask me why, I can’t explain it. I just love that dude. Anyway, I am staying true to form by deviating from my Rohan focus (although not entirely, as you’ll see in the full text) and turning to Haldir for one day of @tolkienfamilyweek, and that’s today. Haldir finds someone unexpected while out on patrol, and they start a little journey through which they are eventually going to become quite attached to each other. This is the only one of my TFW storylines that is going to continue on with additional chapters at some point vs. my normal one-shots. So, the full conclusion of the found family arc will happen in the future, but here’s the start to it all.

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Haldir looked cautiously over the edge of the talan, bow in hand and an arrow already fitted to the string. Amid a gusting wind and the low growls of distant thunder, his sharp hearing had picked up the rustle of approaching footsteps, and now he was just waiting for the intruder to finally come into view from his hidden perch. 

No elf would make so much noise moving through the woods, and even an orc on its own would probably exercise more caution than to crunch so loudly through the dried leaves that littered the forest floor. But he couldn’t imagine who else might be out here, so far from any settlements and so close to the dangerous border it was his duty to help protect. He pulled back the arrow and stared down its length toward the ground.

At last, he saw movement below. A swatch of dark green and amber moved in and out of his line of sight as he peered through the crisscrossing limbs of the tree where his talan sat. He shifted slightly for a better view and saw that the swatch was a body in a dark green cloak with a head of reddish-gold hair. Definitely not an orc. A human, it seemed. And quite a small one at that, moving slowly and with no clear sense of purpose. He slung his bow over his shoulder and climbed silently down.

Just as the walker passed under the lowest branches of his tree, he dropped to the ground and found himself standing in front of a startled little girl. He had never been especially skilled at discerning how old human children were, but he guessed her to be about six. Her boots and clothes were covered in dirt, and her hair, once neatly braided, had come loose in sections that hung down by her face. She had the look of someone who had spent days living roughly in the open without proper shelter. And she was alone.

They eyed each other warily. She took a hesitant step backward, as if contemplating whether to turn and make a run for it. He scanned the area behind her, convinced that a child this age could not be without adults lurking somewhere nearby. But he saw nothing except empty forest. 

“Who are you, and what are you doing here by yourself?”

His voice sounded loud in the quiet of the woods. She gave no answer and instead drew her cloak tighter about herself, perhaps to block the wind or perhaps to give her whatever meager protection it might offer against this new threat that stood in front of her. The little fingers clutching the edge of the fabric trembled noticeably, and the sight of that small, shaking hand seared itself into his mind and melted away any suspicion he had. She was genuinely afraid. 

He repeated his questions, this time using a softer voice and his gentlest tone, the one he usually reserved only for quiet moments with his family. When he still got no response, he tried again, moving from Sindarin to Westron and then to every other language in which he knew at least a few basic words. But she still remained silent, and her face gave no indication that she understood anything he had said. 

He wondered whether she knew only some lesser used language that was beyond his knowledge or perhaps whether she could not speak at all for some reason. He searched his mind for some other way to communicate, to find out where she was supposed to be and to tell her that he meant her no harm. But he found himself in the rare position of feeling uncertain of what to do next. He wished quietly for his wife, Idhrien. Although she largely shared his reserved nature, she had always been more comfortable connecting with new people, finding it easier to show her inherent warmth, and he felt certain she would know how to make this child feel safe and cared for even if words were of no use. But Idhrien was back in Caras Galadhon, waiting for the end of his patrol, and he would have to handle this without her.

He looked again at the girl’s small face, her cheeks smudged with mud and her lips dried and cracked. He guessed that it had been some time since she last had anything to eat or drink and was comforted to know that this, at least, was a problem he could easily address. He had supplies to share, and perhaps that could help him to gain her trust. 

He turned to reach for his pack, but the sudden movement startled her and she flinched. He froze for a moment and only turned back to face her again very slowly. He raised his hands, palms forward.

“I’m very sorry. I do not mean to frighten you. There is nothing to be scared of, I promise.” 

She looked at his outstretched hands, but her eyes soon wandered to his bow and to the long hunting knife that hung from his belt. Following her gaze, he nodded his understanding. Moving again very slowly, he reached down to remove the knife and set it an arm’s length away, adding the bow and arrows right after. He held up his empty hands once more and knelt down to her eye level.

“I do not wish to harm you. In fact, I will help you if you will let me.” 

He pulled a leather flask on a strap from his shoulder, opened it and held it out to her, tipping it slightly so that a few drops ran out and she could see what was inside. Her eyes widened at the sight of water, and the fierce power of her thirst fought for a time with her fear. She leaned forward slowly and then snatched the flask, quickly retreating a few steps again before eagerly putting the container to her lips and taking long, deep gulps. 

While she drank, he pulled a small parcel of lembas from his pack, and when she put the flask down at last he held the little packet out to her. This time, when she came forward to accept it, she remained next to him and did not draw back even when his hand grazed hers as he helped her to pull a wafer of the bread from its mallorn wrapping. She took a small bite from one corner and looked up at him in surprise. He gave an encouraging nod, and she set to work quickly devouring the rest. It was far more than one so small actually needed, but he assumed she had been several days without real food and could not begrudge her the extravagance.

When she had finished, she looked back at him again to study his face anew, and he could almost see her mind recalculating the risks and benefits of putting her trust in him rather than continuing on in her frightening solitude. She smiled shyly, and when he smiled back she took a deep breath and seemed finally to relax a little of her tightly coiled alertness, her face and limbs releasing much of their rigidity. He gestured toward the tree and sat down with his back against the trunk. She took a seat next to him, and for a few moments they each sat in quiet contemplation. He absently raked a hand through his hair and considered his options. 

He had assigned himself this post because it was the most remote of the regularly staffed patrols. The other marchwardens preferred the larger, closer posts where they could keep each other company during the long and sometimes tedious hours of watchfulness, but he never minded isolation and quiet while he worked. Now, though, he would need to take this girl far deeper into the forest in order to reach the resources and assistance available at those bigger posts, the closest of which was two days away. Perhaps there another warden would report having seen other men in the area and the girl could be reunited with her people. If not, someone else could take her on to Caras Galadhon, where next steps could be determined, while he returned to his duties at the border. 

A quiet gasp brought him out of his thoughts, and he looked over to see her gaping up at him. His hands in his hair had exposed to her for the first time a glimpse of his ear, and her gaze was fixed on it. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and then opened them again, as though she expected to see that her vision had somehow cheated her. When all looked the same, she hesitantly reached out a hand, seeking now to confirm her sight with other senses. With the hand suspended in midair, she looked to his face, and he nodded his assent to the question he read easily in her eyes. He bent his head down slightly and allowed her to trace a finger lightly around the outer edge of his ear. Her little brows knitted together in thought as her other hand moved up to skim the contours of her own ear, at once so similar to his and yet also entirely different. He was something new to her, it seemed. Something that she had never before known was even possible. 

He smiled at her expression of wonder. “Yes, we are different, you and I. And things have not always been easy between our peoples, but that does not mean we cannot be friends.” 

Their eyes met again, and any lingering traces of her fear were gone now, replaced by curiosity and the excitement of having made an intriguing new discovery about the world. She began to speak, a torrent of words pouring forth as if a dam had broken open within her and all of her thoughts and questions had to rush out at once. 

Despite her high, clear voice, her speech was rough to his ears, full of harsh consonants and strange flat vowels, and he recognized it immediately as the language of Rohan. He wished once again for Idhrien, who had learned some Rohirric from a brother who had traveled extensively through those lands years ago. As for himself, he could only identify the sound of Rohirric speech; he had no understanding of any words or phrases.

Carried by her own enthusiasm, she raced through a string of sentences accompanied by many expressive gestures until at last she reached some point of conclusion and looked at him expectantly for a response. When he could give only an apologetic shrug and shake of his head, she bit her lip and thought for a moment. Then, with a purposeful air, she positioned herself directly in front of him and pointed a finger at herself. “Mildrithe,” she said. She tapped the finger on her chest a few times. “Mildrithe.” 

Here, he thought, was his first true glimpse of his little companion. With her initial shock and fear now in check, her practical, resolute nature could finally shine through. She had decided to trust him, and, having made that decision, she was determined that he would understand her. That he would know her as something more than an unknown child of unknown origin. She was not nameless; she was Mildrithe. He smiled.

“Nice to meet you, Mildrithe. I am Haldir.” He repeated his name slowly and clearly while pointing to himself. 

“Haldir.” His name came haltingly from her mouth, but she practiced it several times until it seemed to feel comfortable. 

At that moment, another strong gust of wind rolled through the forest. They both looked up to the sky, which still seemed bright above the treetops, but it was clear that worse weather was on its way. He calculated that if they left now, they could reach the next available shelter before rain arrived, and she could rest through the storm before they continued on toward the nearest warden’s post and, hopefully, some news of her family or her people.

He wondered how he would explain this plan to her, but when he looked down he found that she was already gathering up his things, seeming to understand the need to move on. She had no possessions of her own to carry, but she looped the strap of his water flask around her neck and watched him heft his pack onto his shoulder.

When he was ready to go, he took a step or two in the direction he intended to head and gestured for her to follow. “Shall we get started, Mildrithe?”

She looked at his beckoning hand and, to his surprise, she reached out to clasp it, lacing her little fingers between his and gripping them tightly. She smiled up at him, and together they began to walk.

Chapter two is here.

[abrazimir]

meta + Galadriel? what she said to him in Lothlórien and how that affected him? any continued effects or feelings in verses where he survives?

Requests for Headcanons! - ALWAYS ACCEPTING

SO there is some pretty clear book canon on at the topic, manner and effect of Galadriel’s interrogation of Boromir, confirmed by Frodo, Faramir and Boromir himself. 

‘To me it seemed exceedingly strange,’ said Boromir. `Maybe it was only a test, and she thought to read our thoughts for her own good purpose; but almost I should have said that she was tempting us, and offering what she pretended to have the power to give.’ - Boromir Frodo caught something new and strange in Boromir’s glance, and he looked hard at him. Plainly Boromir’s thought was different from his final words. It would be folly to throw away: what? The Ring of Power? He had said something like this at the Council, but then he had accepted the correction of Elrond.  - Frodo 'Boromir, O Boromir! What did she say to you, the Lady that dies not? What did she see? What woke in your heart then? Why went you ever to Laurelindorenan, and came not by your own road, upon the horses of Rohan riding home in the morning?' - Faramir

Galadriel was tempting him with the ring and that caused his attempt to take it. 

It’s important to put this into context of her other conversations with the fellowship too, everyone else spoke of being tempted by home and the promise of returning to what was safe and familiar to them and not having to worry for the fellowship anymore. But, of course, that could not be what she promised Boromir. He lives this quest, his home IS the quest. And Boromir knows what the others were tempted by, because they discuss it together, which I think was a deeply alienating moment for him. It put into the starkest perspective that his priorities were simply not the same as the fellowship’s. Which is an important addition to his mindset going forward. 

Another important part of this mix is that Boromir, at this point, does not trust in the fellowship. They have been lead through horror and darkness, ignoring or belittling his suggestions to NOT go through horror and darkness the entire way, and by the time Gimli has been threatened with death by Haldir (whom he’s told to trust) and Galadriel has invaded his mind- Boromir doesn’t trust the judgement of anyone within the fellowship anymore. Not that he considers them bad people, he just doesn’t believe they have the ability to complete this quest. 

So Boromir has lost faith with the fellowship’s perspective of the quest and their ability to do it. And then Galadriel tempts Boromir with the ring, and that is the moment that Boromir begins to view the ring as something that can be used. He has ‘accepted the correction of Elrond’ up until this point. But now his advice seems hollow, careless and ill advised. 

Heartbreakingly, Boromir does recognise that Galadriel is manipulating him somehow, but that just isn’t enough for him to discount it, not with the weight of all his loss of faith and mounting grim doom. And this is important too, Boromir’s reach for the ring is entirely logical. No one could blame him for thinking this was the most sensible decision, but once he has that reasonable hook then the ring can control him in short bursts, like making him attack Frodo. 

So! Yes, in a version where Boromir lives, this significantly and enduringly impacts his view on Galadriel and elves as a whole. I always find it funny that people have this perception of Boromir going from mistrusting elves to coming around to them as he meets and befriends more, when it’s entirely the opposite. Boromir came ready to trust Elrond and from then on every subsequent elf he met made him trust them less. He doesn’t blame Galadriel for his taking the ring, that was his failure, but he views her as fell and dangerous and with motives he cannot and will not ever decipher. He also views elves as folk who are very self serving and hypocritical, with a desire to be lauded as good and merciful but no urge to do anything overly taxing to earn those titles. 

And this impression reflects directly on Arwen! And colours his view of her. It is hard to see her decisions as sacrifices when so many of his own people have died horrifically just to keep Mordor at bay. When she has already lived thousands of years and will live a hundred more in peace and love as Queen of a country who’s traumas she has never seen and will never comprehend. And he does not trust that she has the empathy for humanity necessary to feel any of that, he does not trust that elves view humans as anything more than things to be manipulated (as he believes her grandmother does). She married Aragorn yes, but he’s very conscious that Aragorn was raised culturally elven, and is a king. 

I could not tell you why Galadriel did this! She was testing the fellowship, but in that case Boromir must have failed that test. So why didn’t she do anything with that information? Why do this to him if she was never going to use it in the first place, and why treat him so differently from the others? Who knows what John was ever thinking or intending, a mystery! But it’s a moment with a dramatic effect on Boromir’s actions and thoughts going forward and he never really shakes it.