Work Text:
Even with the news that’s reached them, the party that approaches is a strange one. They wait amongst the trunks of the mallorn, chattering in their common tongue—a language that Haldir’s near forgotten and Rúmil and Orophin know little of at all. Through the veil of trees, Haldir and his brothers see their different shapes, varying heights and foreign accents carrying through the subtle wind. The common tongue is crude, but one amongst them speaks the language of the elves, if a different dialect. His song carried over the river in a pure, lilting voice that gave Haldir’s heart rest in these trying times; it’s been too long since he sang any words of his own.
But he doesn’t have a clear view of the singer until the elf approaches the base of their tree. Rúmil stands at the edge, bow ready, though there is likely no need, and Orophin stays lounging at the side; there’s little to watch when their subjects aren’t moving. Haldir is the one to peer down the central hole in the talan, his hair spilling over his shoulders.
The creature that moves at the base of the tree is light, nimble. He springs to catch the first branch with the skill of their people, but an elegance that many have forgotten. The fingers that close around the bark are pale and long, thin and smooth. The face that follows is handsome and youthful, pretty, even. His hair is white-blond, pulled back from his face with intricate braids, his blue eyes piercing up through the trees, bright as ice in the winter.
He’s beautiful, and for a moment, Haldir enjoys the view of the alluring elf below. The elf, not knowing what to look for, searches through the branches, until his eyes find Haldir’s through the leaves, and they connect. The elf barely has time to look back to his companions before Haldir’s shouted, “Daro!” His tone is more commanding than he means it, but he enjoys the way the startled beauty drops obediently to the ground, going rigid in surprise and fear. His companions tense around him, though Haldir has a lesser view of them and cares less so. This elf is the shining star amongst them. It’s clear from the mingled respect and awe on his graceful face that he has yet to enjoy the sight of his Southern kin. From his song before, he is likely from the Woodland Realm, or perhaps Imladris.
“He is pretty,” Orophin murmurs, having come beside Haldir to look down. Haldir smiles thinly in agreement but doesn’t answer. This is no time to fight over lovers, though in the old days, this meeting might have been very different.
In today’s trying times, the elf shrinks against the bole of the tree. He whispers to his companions in the common tongue, “Stand still. Do not move or speak.” Haldir can’t help a small laugh, and Orophin chuckles. It’s been too long since any trespassers on their land showed them so much respect, though the fear isn’t necessary. They would never hurt another of their kindred, Northern or otherwise, especially one so artful.
If he could, Haldir would bid the elf to come up to them, introduce himself and make their acquaintance, perhaps keep watch with them for at least this night—perhaps keep them warm. But Rúmil says from the edge of the talan, “They have the halfling.” And Haldir already knows. He lets out a disappointed sigh—there will be no time for idle meetings tonight.
While Orophin calls down to their brethren news of the watch, Haldir gathers the ladder, already calculating the size of their talan and if, perhaps, two of them may have to share another, alone.