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Orophin's face was pure concern as he bent over the Galadhel, who was holding his ribs and trying to take a deep breath. "We should take you to a healer, Rúmil," he finally said.
His younger brother looked up. "And what should we answer when asked how this happened?" he retorted. Hissing, he took a breath as he pressed his hand a little harder on his side and a hot pain ran through him.
"The truth?" Orophin suggested.
Rúmil slightly raised an eyebrow. "The truth?" he repeated mockingly. "If the truth gets to the Lady's Talan, the Balrog will break loose in Caras Galadhon, because almost every Galadhel will apply for the new captain's post." As Orophin's eyes widened and his body visibly tensed, he knew who must have been standing behind him by now and heard the last sentence.
"Why would the Lady feel compelled to reapply for the captain's post?" The mere sound of Haldir's voice was enough to make Rúmil wince guiltily; and then again as his ribs protested against it.
If Haldir had even the slightest hint of a guilty conscience about it, he skillfully hid it. Briefly, though, his gaze had slipped to where, during a practice session, he had struck his brother more violently with his sword than he had intended, but he would not have been Captain of the Galadhrim had his countenance not promptly smoothed again. "On your feet," he commanded.
There were moments in Rúmil's life when he seriously considered that Haldir, as an elfling, had either run full tilt in front of a Mallorn or perhaps even fallen off the dresser where their mother had always dressed them. Or to put it diplomatically, he sometimes doubted Haldir's sanity. True, it had happened more than once that his eldest brother was not exactly squeamish with the Galadhrim during the training sessions of Lothlórien's guard, especially not with his brothers; but today he had set his personal best. When the sword had struck Rúmil, he instantly felt nauseous. Something that hadn't happened to him since he'd nibbled a bowlful of lembas dough empty when he was an Elfling.
"You're still not up," Haldir observed. "On your feet, I said. Now." He crossed his arms in front of his chest and raised an eyebrow.
"At some point it just doesn't work anymore, Haldir. It didn't work for Ada after some time," Rúmil countered as he considered how to get to his feet as elegantly as possible. He would have preferred Orophin to help him and support him on the way to the healer. It was clear that a healer was needed as Rúmil carefully palpated the injury and located a bruise. One of the kind that limited even an elf in daily life. And since Haldir had also scheduled a training session for tomorrow, Rúmil thought it would be the wiser idea not to play the hero just because he happened to be the Captain's youngest brother.
Haldir sucked in his breath noisily as he eyed his Galadhel. Talk back. On his training ground. How many times had he told his brothers that their degree of kinship within the Guard was null and void? In his mind's eye, a list appeared that included an accurate account of this fact. There were basic rules in Haldir's life. One of them was the strict distinction between Guard and ... well, he called it non-Guard. Since the Guard ruled most of his life anyway, he didn't bother to divide the rest of his meager free time more precisely. The foremost rule involved shutting off emotions of any kind that were a hindrance to his task as captain. Many a Galadhel had been astonished when he had noticed the tone of their Captain towards Rúmil and Orophin. A stranger would never have guessed that these elves were related to the Captain. For Haldir, however, there was a simple reason: in an exceptional situation, he had to keep a cool head and not let himself be guided by emotions. During a battle, he had always been able to block out as best he could the fact that his brothers' lives were at stake; and he was only able to do so because he challenged them more than the other Galadhrim during training sessions. Haldir wanted assurance that Orophin and Rúmil would emerge unscathed from a fight. Especially after the incident in ...
He blinked and pushed the thought aside. A glance at Rúmil revealed to him that he still hadn't changed his position. "I will not repeat myself again," he growled, grabbing the youngest family member by the cloak to pull him to his feet.
'An elf knows no pain,' it flashed through Rúmil's mind. Wasn't that what his foster mother's sister had told him when he had come crying to her with a skinned knee when he was an elfling, and she had dabbed that disgusting-smelling tincture on his wound that was supposed to have such a cleansing effect? He didn't have very many memories of his mother, but he remembered that she had first dried his tears with kisses before reaching for a tincture; and those tinctures had never smelled so vile. Nana - it had to be because of the hot pain that shot through Rúmil's chest that her image flickered in his mind's eye. It almost seemed to him that she was smiling indulgently.
"By the Valar, Haldir, you can see he's in pain!" Orophin grabbed Rúmil's arm, his brother swaying precariously after all. When he looked into Haldir's eyes, he was startled. That expression, that sternness, was rarely in them. When Haldir looked at someone like that, he should be on high alert, Orophin knew from experience. It was all the worse that he became a victim of this look. But - this time he would not give in. This time he really wouldn't. "You could apologize to him," he suggested, as the gently supported Rúmli.
Haldir didn't bat an eye. In his years with the Guard, he had grown accustomed to being met with incomprehension. Much of the Galadhrim did not understand his actions and reactions, so why should his brothers be any different? "Take him to a healer. I'll expect you back in the square afterwards, Orophin" he said curtly, turning on his boot heel. This incident had interrupted the practice session longer than he would have liked.
"You know what, Haldir? It would really do you good for once if there was someone waiting for you when you return to your talan. Maybe then you'll become an elf with feelings again," Orophin called after him.
Frozen in place, Haldir stopped and a small eternity seemed to pass before he finally turned around slowly. His eyes were ice blue as he regarded Orophin disdainfully. He jutted his chin defiantly, bracing himself for the thunderstorm that would surely come his way. But nothing happened.
Only it was this very silence that was worse than any insult, any argument, any punishment that Haldir had ever inflicted upon him. Orophin had hit a very sore spot with his brother. He realized this as he held Haldir's gaze and noticed how it flickered almost imperceptibly. However, Orophin was far too angry to worry about that now. More important now was Rúmil, whom he carefully led from the training ground.
~*~
Haldir knew that as a Captain, his reaction was inappropriate. He knew it the moment he watched his Galadhrim leave the training ground completely exhausted after a long day. All the anger, all the pain that Orophin's remark had triggered in him, he had taken out on his guard. No Galadhel had even dared to rebel against it. When the Captain of Lothlórien was in such a mood, the members of the guard did better to suffer silently so as not to irritate him further.
Secretly, however, they agreed with Orophin. Their captain would certainly be more balanced if there was someone to distract his thoughts from his duties. It was an open secret in Caras Galadhon that they were worried about Haldir in this regard. Over the years, he seemed to have become aloof, an elf who did not let any unnecessary feeling get to him. Yet there were more than a few inhabitants of Caras Galadhon who wished that Haldir would be relieved of the burden that had been on his shoulders since the death of his parents, and that he would become more approachable again.
Haldir knew this wish. The inkiness in Cara Galadhon could no longer be hidden. Especially since he had come to an age when it was actually befitting for the Captain of the guard to start a family of his own. After all, there were one or two social obligations that he had to fulfill. Haldir knew all this. And yet he would not let it show that it was he himself who cherished this desire the most. Meanwhile, nothing was worse for him than returning to his house after a long day. The talan was located almost in the center of Caras Galadhon, as was the tradition for the Captain of the guard, so there was actually a lot of bustle around Haldir's house. However, it seemed to him to be the loneliest place in Caras Galadhon. Thoughtfully, he stood on the talan and looked at the surrounding houses. Each was lit by light, conversations, some mixed with laughter, drifted over to him. Only his house was once again the exception. Cold and silent it was. Too cold and too quiet, a thought Haldir immediately pushed aside.
He opened the door and almost sighed in relief. Only in his house did he allow himself to cast off the captain who ruled his life, and only for a short time. He hung his cloak neatly on the hook provided for it and lit some candles. It was the same way every evening that he walked for it, he did not even notice how the cold, dark house was bathed in warm light. His path led him further into the kitchen. He rarely felt hungry and even less appetite. Food was something that stole his time. A glance at his pantry told him that Mereniel, who regularly checked up on him, had been kind to him. Not surprisingly, Haldir smiled. She was the one who had been so supportive of Haldir after the death of his parents and had become the foster mother for Rúmil and Orophin; perhaps she was the only one in all of Caras Galadhon who knew the elf behind the captain.
How well she knew him was revealed by something she had written on a piece of paper and pinned to the door of the pantry. Don't forget to eat, mîwon nîn! Obediently, Haldir took one of the vessels in which Mereniel always filled his food in exact portions from the pantry. "I am that little," he murmured, and then lifted the lid of the vessel. But then the aroma that rose made his stomach growl after the long day. Mereniel's mushroom soup. For this, Haldir would go all the way to Rivendell and kill a whole company of orcs on the way there.
He quickly heated the stove, transferred the soup to a pot, and then slid it onto the hearth. While waiting for the soup to be warm enough to eat, he poured himself a glass of wine and took some more bread from the pantry. Shortly after, he balanced his meal to the table in his study. True, he was hungry. But that didn't mean he couldn't use the time wisely while he ate. There was the schedule of the guards to be written and some evaluation sheets to be written about those Galadhel who were new to the Guard. Although Celeborn never showed up at the training ground, he let Haldir inform him exactly about the individual Galadhel. The evaluation sheets had then also been Haldir's idea. They were clearly laid out and greatly reduced the amount of time spent in the regularly scheduled meetings with Celeborn.
Absently, he spooned his soup while frowning at an evaluation sheet. Gornil. This Galadhel gave him some headaches. He had the skills needed to succeed in the Guard. But he lived up to his name. Only today he had been so impetuous with his opponent in the sword fight that Haldir had to intervene before there were more casualties. Gornil's movements were clumsy. But he also possessed an iron will to improve it.
Haldir looked up from the evaluation sheet and stared thoughtfully at the wall while he took another sip of wine. Only now did he notice how quiet it was in his house. His thoughts were the only thing he could hear. And right at this moment, this was getting on his nerves. He appreciated quiet moments in his life, but they had become more frequent lately, he mused. Rúmil and Orophin had not visited him in the evenings for some time. Why, actually? When the reason occurred to Haldir, he was on the verge of dropping his head into the soup keys to drown himself in it. There were certainly more entertaining things to do in Caras Galadhon than to watch the captain dig through mountains of documents, poring over guard assignments, evaluation sheets, and lists of weapons.
Once again, he set for his wine glass, but found it was empty. Another point in his life. Drinking wine alone was simply no fun for him. He drank it after a long day only to get tired enough for rest, because too many thoughts were whirling through his head. Gornil, Rúmil, guard duty, Celeborn, loneliness, coldness of feeling ... these were too many thoughts, he decided, and got up to get himself another glass of wine. Especially the last two thoughts were to be drunk away so that they would not flare up in his mind anytime soon. Haldir wondered where they came from in the first place; after all, they were among the forbidden thoughts.
"Ah, let the Balrog get you, Orophin," he cursed softly as he remembered what had caused this jumble of thoughts and strange mood within him. It was one thing to be seen by the Galadhrim as an aloof, cold captain. But it was quite a different matter when one's own brother made that very behavior a reproach. Orophin had unerringly put his finger into a wound that had been open for a long time. And that was exactly why it hurt so much. Haldir was used to presenting a certain image of himself to the outside world. Absolute devotion to his position as Captain of the Lórian Guard was as much a part of it as complete self-discipline.
No inhabitant of Caras Galadhon should notice that this image was crumbling. It was as if a dwarf was persistently knocking against it with his pickaxe to bring out the mithril underneath. The mithril was a simple wish. The wish that there was someone waiting for him when he got home. With whom he could talk about what was bothering him. With whom he could simply put his thoughts in order. Who would hold him when he doubted himself and give him peace of mind when that self-doubt wouldn't let him sleep. Someone with whom he could share the burden that had been placed on him after the death of his parents.
Sighing, Haldir sat back down at his work table and took a generous sip of his wine. There was no such someone. And before that thought could occupy him again, he pushed it aside to finish writing his assessment of Gornil. The Captain of Lothlórien was dutiful, after all.