Spirit

I have returned!

Cheat Arc.  Mellow Soulmate AU.  How the marchwarden got his ass kicked by a pretty little prince with big green eyes.  And fell in love.  All Sindarin (or possibly Silvan) names to be found here!  This piece is related, of course, to "Rain", "Destination", "Empty" and "Serenity", but takes place well before all of those.  Actually, this is also rather closely related to "Fire" due to blatant illusions toward Legolas' bloodline (from Amrod's side).  Takes place in Lothlórien during the Third Age, possibly quite early.

AN: mallyrn is the plural of mallorn.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Silmarillion or the Lord of the Rings.

Pairings: pre-Haldir x Legolas

Characters: Haldir, Legolas (mentions other Mirkwood elves, as well as Celeborn, Galadriel, Orodreth and Beleg (the last two only very, very vaguely))

Warning: non-canon compliant, slash, blatant illusions to seduction and sex, sexual undertones, lame-ass fight-scene

Song: The Fire In Her Eyes

Words: 2,250

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spirit (noun): an animating or vital principle held to give life to physical organisms; a supernatural being or essence: soul; temper or disposition of mind or outlook especially when vigorous or animated

http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/spirit

It took all of a moment's glance to dismiss the young prince of Great Greenwood.

Haldir had always favored the strong, experienced warriors with scars and muscles whose tales and strength were written into the annals of their flesh through scars and calluses.  Surely did he fancy beauty and grace of movement, but not of the sort this nymph before him sported.  Little use did he have for a fledgling prince, a child who had barely seen battle, who was slender and willowy in body and breakable in mind.  Legolas was too soft.  Too sweet.

Too innocent and pure.

It was in the eyes, in their liquid softness when they rested upon the marchwarden and a friendly, lovely smile broke across that flawless face like the rising of the dawn to the east.  Beautiful though it might have been, Haldir found himself put off by the saccharine expression, by the openness of that gaze and the swiftness of such acceptance.  The child-prince had not yet even spoken a word to him, and yet already seemed to trust him enough to guard at his back without second thought.

It was foolish and reckless.  Or merely naive.  He suspected greatly the latter.

Thus, it was little surprise that he was displeased to be given the task of guarding said prince.  He would rather have woven between the ranks of the Greenwood delegation, scoping out the tall, handsome warriors he had eyed earlier with their bulging muscles and sharp gazes from many hundreds of years of skill with the bow in the gloom of the forest.  Hot was his desire for a true seduction, to dance the most primal of waltzes in powerful, flexing arms and beneath smoldering, dark eyes that knew well the depths of fervor and bliss.

The mere thought made his mouth water and drew his attention away from his charge.  His charge who had wandered aimlessly with eyes—widened with wonder—roving to and fro in delight in this land of golden leaves and ever-summer.  So much more interesting were the daydreams of what might come when night fell, and they kept his gaze only half on the prince as they traversed beneath the safety of the mallyrn in the fading afternoon light.

"You seem distracted, Master Haldir."

It was the first time he had heard the prince speak, and it was a voice much as he had imagined.  Its tenor was sweet, like the trilling of a songbird in the forest during the spring.  Haldir had always liked the deeper voices, the ones that resonated through the body like thunder.

Just another reason to find a way to hitch this burden upon someone else so that he might be free to pursue to his heart’s content a handsome lover.  But he could survive one day of babysitting without committing folly and muttering scathing words upon this child.  After all, he did not intend to be cruel to the little one, no matter how much he might dislike his duties; Legolas might not be very attractive, but he was a gentle thing, like the maidens who twittered at Haldir from afar with their huge blue eyes and their soft little hands.

With a sigh, he pushed away the fantasies of older warriors and their roughened, broad palms, instead facing the young elf under his care. "I do not mean to bore you, my Prince."

"I am not bored in the least," the young elf protested, green eyes glittering like emerald stars. "I merely wanted to inquire after you.  I do not mean to be annoying."

"You are not annoying." A blatant lie, but Haldir did not want to explain to either his Lord and Lady or his parents exactly what he might have said to make this fragile spirit cry like a little girl. "I have other things on my mind that have nothing to do with you, my Prince.  Forgive my inattentiveness."

Pink lips—lips that were full and belonged on a girl in Haldir's mind—pursed into lovely bows.  Even the marchwarden was hard-pressed to avoid admittance of their attraction, so supple did they appear.  But the huge eyes and the complete lack of seductive curves and angles kept away any unwanted imaginings.  Patiently (as patiently as he could stand) he awaited a response.

Perhaps the little one would retreat to his guest quarters and leave Haldir free.  That would have been a blessing and a relief.

But, of course, it was not to be.

"Since you are bored, Master Haldir, and since I am curious, let us spar." That smile was back, so sickly sweet, looking so innocent when accompanied by the flutter of eyelashes upon rosy cheeks.  It was like looking at the face of a flushing, giggling virgin flirting with her first man.

He was supposed to fight this child?

"Are you sure that is wise, my Prince?  I am certain we could find something else..."

"Tell me not that you are afraid." For the first time, that voice was something other than soft and smooth and pitched in a perfect tenor.  A hint of mischief fluttered within its current, just barely brushing the surface. "I promise I will go easy on you, Master Haldir."

It should not have been so easy to bait a marchwarden and faithful guardian of Lothlórien, but...

But did the child really think...?

And, much as he would have liked to deny it, the confidence in this sprout, this half-trained fledgling, left his pride smarting.  That this skinny little twig of a creature with that soft face and those naive eyes thought he was so much more skilled that Haldir would not present even a challenge...

Oh yes, his pride was smarting something fierce.  He would not allow such a slight to pass ignored.  Or such a challenge to slip by unanswered.

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And that was how they came to be upon the training fields.  It was, perhaps, unwise of Haldir to allow a little bit of mockery to cause such an itch beneath his skin, but it was not to be helped now.  Besides, if the child wanted to run to the Lord and Lady and whine about losing to a mere guardian, he could always be honest and tell his sovereigns exactly whose idea this little game had been in the beginning.

"I should think only knives or swords would be fair," the prince said, beatific smile still in place as he stepped upon the compressed dirt of the field and left his bow behind in the grass.  All about him, the golden droplets of dusk dappled the clearing, spilling fire and blood upon the paleness of the child's hair.  Like this, he was almost desirable, like a golden-haired creature of old, a true warrior.  But then the shadows cutting across that face waned, and Haldir could see naught but the child underneath.  "What say you to that, Master Haldir?  Is such a match agreeable?"

"It is agreeable."

With only a knife in each hand, he looked across the field, into the eyes of his opponent.  So warm and mellow, that green.  It would be a shame to break such confidence and leave behind the shards of the arrogance of foolish youth.

"Whenever you are ready, my Prince."

"Very well, then."

Twin knives slid from their sheaths and rested with ease in soft-palmed hands, their hilts entrapped by manicured fingernails and delicate digits to match.  At least the boy held them correctly.

Haldir smirked, looked up into that face—

And felt his heart still.

For, in that moment, the smile that had seemed so sweet morphed into an edge sharper than any knife, teeth half-bared and flashing with whiteness in the fading gleam of daylight.  Dark brows that had arched high over wide eyes were now lowered and furrowed over half-hooded, narrowed orbs of vivid green.  In a mere moment, everything about that face, everything about the set of the body and the cant of the lips, had changed.

Like some ancient creature did the slight form stand, tilted forward at the ready, every inch screaming out for blood and sport, in lust for the dance or death.  It sent a chill straight down Haldir's spine.

"Are you going to make the first move, Master Haldir?" Even the voice, which had only before shown but a hint of anything other than easy friendliness, was biting and low.  Burning over his skin.

Licking his suddenly dry lips, the marchwarden glanced into the eyes.  And found himself enraptured.

There was no sign of that delicate creature he had been worried to break with his ruthlessness.  No shadow of an inexperienced young child who knew not the hardships of battle.  Not even a trace of all that softness in the face and form that had, before, caused Haldir to dismiss with such ease the budding young elf. 

In the eyes that he would have compared to the rustling leaves of the Greenwood for their vibrancy of life, he now saw only fire.  Only raging flames reflecting back toward him, hungry to burn away the mirage he had seen earlier, to tear through his foolishness and leave only wreckage in the wake of his defeat.  It was passion and power and wild beauty, all the things Haldir found made his heart pump wildly the blood through his veins.

And it was standing before him, staring back.  Waiting for his move.

In a rush, he leapt forward, heard the screech of their meeting blades and saw vividly the flashes of flame across metal as they danced and spun about each other like predatory creatures.  He had expected an easy match, perhaps a minute at most before he swept the blades from his opponent’s hands and rendered the child vulnerable and defeated upon the ground at his feet.

This was no child, no inexperienced being that had never killed or fought.

No, they danced as two who knew well the steps and the motions.  Danced until the air rushed in and out of Haldir’s throat in scalding waves, scorching away the insides of his lungs.  Until his arms ached from the strain of taking swift, pounding blows aimed toward his body.  Until sweat stuck to his face and throat the wisps of his hair that came loose from his braids in the violence of the moment.

Until, finally, he was netted in by eyes shining with vivid, vehement joy.  His guard fell for but a moment, and a moment too long.  Pain shocked through his wrists, one right after the other, and his blades lay at his feet, out of reach when a razor-sharp point rested over the racing pulse at the base of his throat.

Never in all his years had Haldir ever been so attracted.

“Do you yield, Master Haldir?” That challenge from before burned bright, stabbing through him with a red-hot blade.  For a moment, he almost feared that the prince might slaughter him if he said “no” and refused to kneel in submission.

And that, to his shame, only made the spark of arousal growing in the pits of his belly grow that much hotter.

Carefully, he knelt. “I yield.”

And watched as the fire withdrew as though vacuumed into a pit of evergreen brightness.  The blackness of those eyes faded, replaced once more with the gentleness of early spring, as though its darkness had never existed.  Sharp lines so embedded into the flesh were all but erased, leaving behind only a mask of round curves and friendly smiles.

A soft hand—a hand Haldir knew could wield a blade to terrifying affect—caught his own and pulled him back to his feet.  It was warm and smooth and tiny.

It was everything he didn’t want.  Back, again, was the seemingly naïve child, the boy who sheathed his blades and turned his back to the guardian without question, whose laugh split the air in high peals like birdsong through the trees, echoing with delighted revelry. “What fun!  I enjoyed our match, Master Haldir.  Perhaps we can spar again before I leave these woods.”

“It… It would be an honor, my Prince.”

The strange childish being was returned.  But this time Haldir was not fooled.

This time, he could see the glimmer underneath the façade.  He could see the flames writhing behind their thicket of green wonder and delight.  He could see that creature of passion and lust sneaking through the shadows of this clever lie.

And, as he watched that willowy form sway and bend beneath the shadows of the mallyrn, new daydreams began twisting and twining to life within the depths of his mind.  New visions were birthed as he stared at the retreating form with the gleam of orange and red upon his silken mane.

For Legolas had a spirit that scorched.

And Valar-be-damned, Haldir wanted to be scorched until his flesh was red and raw.  Wanted to be burned to a black crisp as he pressed his lips to those pink petals and sucked the sweetness right out of that slender frame.  Wanted to feel the heat sink down to his bones as he had this beautiful creature writhing beneath him in the darkness of the woods beneath the silvered moonshine.

He was enamored.  Hopelessly captured.

Lusting for that fire.

Hungry for that burn.