My Justice
by Camilla
VerdandeUrdarbrunn@hotmail.com





I

The Steward of Gondor had a wide smile on his face when he greeted the cool Lorien Elf. One had to step very close to notice the uncertainty and surprise flaring in his eyes, causing the amused smile on the red cloaked Elf's fair features. Haldir's eyes never missed a thing. Not a one bead of sweat on the mighty Lord's forehead.

"Denethor, Lord!" he greeted him. "The Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel send their Greetings."

"So do I welcome you, in the name of your Lord and Lady, Haldir of the Galadhrim," Denethor bowed back.

It had been years since they greeted each other like this. Denethor had become an old man since then. Only his straight back and stiff neck were the same, Haldir mused. His once so raven black hair had taken a shade between silver and steel, his skin an ashen hue, stretched over the bones.Erasing the traces of youth. Haldir...was unchanged. Young and beautiful as ever. Skin like melted cream, indigo eyes, dark as night. Red, moist lips glimmering temptingly before the Lord's eyes. His elven hair a silvery mane of soft, shimmering locks. A strong, firm body, filled with feline grace that seemed to mock the old man's graying skin over weakened muscles...

It hadn't always been like this. Once the man's body had been strong and able to match the elven one, at least for a few of years.

They faded so quickly, the elven warrior mused. Suddenly all their strength was gone, nothing left but an empty shell of what once was... only the pride remained unchanged.

He didn't like to be here, but once every fifty years it was his duty. Not only was it tradition; it was the time it took for Lord Celeborn to grow tired of unsolved matters between the Elven Realm and the Kingdom of Men, and it was how long it took for the people of Lorien to wish for new fur linings for their cloaks and winter blankets. And the best fur available was that from the Gondorian huntsmen. So every fifty years Haldir had to leave his beloved wood and go to the Steward of Gondor. Being the only one of the Galadhrim who knew the common tongue, Haldir had taken this task upon himself, although it had been anything but pleasant, at least not for the last hundred years...- Something had happened to the line of Gondorian Stewards, evidence, in Haldir's opinion, of how far the races of Men and Elves had drifted apart. Traveling here had become a risk. Not because of any hostility, but because of a certain type of friendliness. A friendliness Haldir would rather not receive.

"You look young as ever," The Steward said, letting his eyes slide slowly over Haldir's body. "Still the same...beauty, as you always were."

Haldir did not respond, he just stood there pretending not to have heard, or seen, the man.

"It has been a while," the Gondorian continued."Although I can imagine it being but a week or so for you, Immortal."

Haldir smiled slightly and gathered his red robes around his body;

"A bit more than a week, my Lord," he replied. "But yes, I do remember the last time we met...clearly," he added. There was a distinctive warning in his voice but the man didn't seem to notice. He had taken his seat again. Now he measured the elf with seemingly neutral eyes while his finger tapped against his lower lip.
Denethor had always been a dark, brooding man. In his youth it had given him an aura of confidence, of authority. Now, when he was slowly fading, it gave his face a hard expression, but there was more to it as well Haldir's sharp elven eyes noticed. Something new, something unpredictable in his eyes that had always been there, but now seemed to bloom. It was they called the influence of the Moon. Night shades of the human nature; thoughts that dwelt in the dark. In Denethor, these shadows had reached the corners of his eyes.

Haldir took a look around. The absent King's Hall had become a dark place.
The torchlight didn't seem to reach the corners. A place for ghosts, Haldir thought. For ghosts and madness...And the man, the Steward himself, clad in grey and black robes, replacing the blue and purple ones from the past.

"I am surprised then, if your memory is so good, Galadhrim, that you chose to come this time," Denethor spoke.

Haldir smiled.

" I fear no man, my lord." he said with a hard expression. " And as the years have passed, " he continued. " I assumed that Denethor of Gondor had changed with them..."

"Are you accusing me, Elf?!" The Steward burst out. His voice was a mixture of anger and amusement.

" No..." Haldir answered. " Who am I to make accusations against you, Lord of Men?"

Denethor bent forward in the chair. His eyes were more alive now. He's playing a game, Haldir thought. He thinks this a game...

" Do not think I don't recognize sarcasm when I hear it." The Gondorian spoke. " But we have our past, Elf, that is true. Let it not come between us and our dealings this time..." he begged. "We don't often see elves in Minas Tirith..." he trailed off, but kept watching Haldir with an almost dreamlike expression on his stern face.

"Of course," Haldir bowed, noticing the smoke that rose from the thick white candles in the hall. The distinct smell of men that filled the air.

"Always so courteous, aren't you Haldir?" The Steward smiled and laced his fingers in his lap. " But I, for one, am glad to see you," he continued. "You will eat with me and my family tonight...I have sons now..."

"I know," Haldir arched his eyebrows. " Some news still finds its way in among the Mallorn trunks of the Golden Wood..."

"Really? " The Steward smiled again, his slightly unnerving, not at all comforting smile. "I didn't think time existed there," he said. "Look at *you*..." he gestured towards Haldir. "It's like a memory from my youth has come to life in front of me...while I,...I am growing old."

"Such are the natures of Elves and Men," Haldir said. He was weary now and eager to get this meeting over with.

Finally the Gondorian gestured for one of his servants to take Haldir to his room. Up all those wide stairs, where the dark corners seemed to have increased in number since the last time Haldir was there. Something dark and old was festering in the castle walls. He could feel it and the old memories that came rushing back did nothing to restore his peace. He didn't like this city, its people or its customs. Least of all did he like its ruler, the man with the hungry gaze downstairs.

*******************

Haldir walked slowly down the stairs. His hands adjusting the mithril clasps on his grey, velvet robe. He did not look forward to this night, but all courtesy and the honor of Lorien required it of him. He wondered about the Steward's late wife. Rumors said that she had withered and died here in this city after marrying Denethor. But then again, Haldir did not listen to rumors...

He reached the stone walled hall and rounded the corner to the corridor leading tothe private dining room. He had walked this path many times before. Dined with Gondorian Stewards of different flavors. He knew this castle by heart.

Suddenly he noticed a youth standing in the corridor before him. He stood completely still in front of a window, watching the sunset. Haldir was about to pass by him when something caught his attention. An expression on handsome young man's face. So proud, yet so vulnerable. It was captivating, the way the melancholia rippled across his face, softening the noble features. Dark shadows softly playing in his eyes...dark blue, almost elven in color. Haldir did not care much for Men, and he hardly ever found them fascinating or fair to look at, but this one...this one held something. A depth that was such a contrast to his youth that Haldir found himself temporarily frozen to the floor along side him. Just watching him as the last rays of sun caught in his hair and made it burn a coppery hue. He noticed the clenched fists by the youth's side - and more disturbingly, the burgundy and brown colors of the Steward's House displayed on his clothing...

"Ah!" a voice startled him. "You have met my youngest son." Denethor came rushing down the corridor, dressed in flowing robes of purple and black. "Faramir!" he said, "what do you make of our elven guest?"

The young man spun around, his eyes met his father's, then they fell on Haldir and widened in surprise.

"I...I...did not see him," the young man admitted.

"You didn't let him sneak upon you, did you?" The Steward mocked, "they are silent, the elves...dangerously so..." he added., "all soldiers of Gondor know that."

The young man, Faramir, didn't seem to hear him. His eyes were on Haldir. A curious gaze that took in everything about him. Everything, from his tall, slender build, to the pale, glowing skin, to the silvery hair, through to the tips of his pointed ears.

"Greetings, Faramir of Gondor" Haldir bowed low to the youth, trying to fight off a curious disappointment that this boy was kin to the man he loathed so. "I am Haldir," he continued. "Galadhrim of Lorien. Captain of the Lady's Guard and March Warden of the Wood."

"Greetings, Haldir of Lorien," Faramir bowed back. All of it polite enough but Haldir could not help but notice the apparent surprise in the young one's eyes.

"Have you never seen an elf before?" he asked kindly.

"Not so close..." Faramir admitted with a shy smile. A slight blush colored his cheeks. His face young and soft, but already with hardening lines, Haldir noticed.

"Boromir!" he heard the Steward call and turned to see another young man turn the corner. Denethor turned to Haldir with pride; "My eldest son and heir," he exclaimed. "Boromir of Gondor..."

Haldir repeated his low bow but did not introduce himself this time. If this was to be the new Steward he would know who Haldir was.

"Haldir of the Galadhrim," Boromir bowed short before him. "It is an honor," he continued with a smile in his eyes. His face was handsome, but held a pride mirroring his father's. Still there was no darkness in the heir's eyes. They were clear and green and met the Elf's without malice or hidden intentions.

They both seemed good enough, Haldir thought, Denethor's sons, Gondor's hope. His eyes met the youngest one's again. He reminded Haldir of the taste of something sweet. His angled face so unpolished and raw, yet refined. A nobleman's son...yet...something different. He dared a quick look down the youth's body. Well shaped and firm. Broad shoulders, muscled thighs through the leggings...Haldir smiled a secretive little smile. Happy in this moment that men did not possess the knowledge of mind reading.

They entered the dining hall together. Haldir was placed at the end opposite to Denethor, being the guest of honor.

Dark clad servants roamed about them; carrying trays and platters of food. The hall was big to be a private chamber; heavy wooden furniture, all dark in color, all carrying the memory of those who had been, but were no more. It was strange, Haldir thought, that he, as an Elf could remember the Steward's family. Remember their faces, their appearance - but the humans could not.

He ate the food and carefully avoided the meat on his plate. The Steward noticed;

"We don't have many elven guests," he explained. "I had forgotten your eating habits...I'll have dried fruits and nuts sent to your room," he offered.

The eldest son, Boromir cocked his head and gave Haldir a curious look:

"Does all elves avoid meat?" he asked.

Haldir smiled;

"No," he said," there are those who eat it, but not my kind."

"And what exactly are your kind?" Boromir continued.

"The Galadhrim" Haldir answered.

"Yes..." Boromir had an amused smile on his face. " The mysterious people of the Wood that we hear about but never see. Is it true that you live in the trees?" he asked half-mockingly. His gaze darting to his father to share the amusement. His father smiled back, reassuring his eldest.

"Yes," Haldir smiled and thought about the beautifully lit talans of Lorien. Their refined beauty and exclusive artwork that no castle of any mortal king could be compare with. "We do live in trees," he answered the young Gondorian.

"Like animals in the forest," Boromir mused and lifted the silver goblet to his mouth.

Haldir noticed that the youngest son looked at him as well, but his eyes were merely curious. Curious and dreamy. He could read fascination there. It wasn't the first time. Haldir was used to being the target of dreams, a figure from the tales come to life. The Elves would not linger in Middle-Earth much longer, already there were few of them left. They were rare now; his people...

"How old are you?" the young man burst out and ignored the angry glance from his father.

"Older than you can imagine," Haldir answered. "I have sat at this table sharing meals with your ancestors ever since the days of the first Stewards."

Faramir's eyes widened.

"It's almost unbelievable isn't it?" Denethor spoke. "So young and so pretty, and yet so old..." he drank deeply from his goblet.

"Don't you ever get weary?" Faramir asked.

"Weary?" The Elf replied.

"Of living?" the boy asked him and Haldir smiled.

"Sometimes," he said, "sometimes I get weary." Like now, he thought to himself, when I am forced to linger among men...men like the Steward of Gondor.

"Elves are creatures of nature," the Steward lectured his sons from the end of the table. "They do not think like us. They don't feel the same way we do, isn't that right Haldir?" The Steward continued without waiting for the answer. "They do not marry like we do and the women often live apart from their families, their children, for years at the time. Lord Elrond of Imladris' wife left for the mysterious lands in the west, leaving him with three children..."

"Those children," Haldir interrupted. "Were well grown by the time the Lady left..."

"Of course," Denethor smiled and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "But you do not follow rules," he continued, "and you do not build walls around your cities..."

"We do not need your rules, Denethor, my Lord...Elves are immortal beings and with years comes wisdom, we trust our kin to do what is right. To choose for themselves..."

Denethor just smiled.

"But still you need the fur linings from Gondor," he said at last. " Your lady cannot conjure *that* up!" His eyes challenged Haldir across the table.

"No,..." Haldir smiled. "Men do have a few things that our people need," he smiled. Deciding to go easy on the man. He was not here to argue with the Steward, he was here to take care of the matters of Lorien. He would not let the man provoke him. Again he wished that his stay would be a short one.

"Amazing," Boromir marveled by his side. " Creatures of nature..." he gestured with his goblet. " In these times of great cities and trading...you still live there in your own little realm, completely ignorant of the world..." Boromir met Haldir's gaze. "I'd like to go there sometime" he offered as a honor.

" Our guardians wouldn't let you in." Haldir replied without emotion.

"Why is that?" Boromir asked. "What is it that you guard that is so precious? Twenty fair virgins? A barrel of gold..or of mithril...?" Boromir's eyes held mirth born from inexperience, but Faramir looked at him with respectful awe the elf noticed.

"Starlight," he said in reply to Boromir's question and smiled.

"They are romantics, the elves." Denethor continued his lesson. "They were born of stars, you know...it is all harps and poetry with them..."

Boromir smiled amused and slightly arrogantly ;

"You are a curious people," he told the elf. " But it is a pleasure to finally meet one of you," he added.

Haldir acknowledged the comment with a graceful nod. When the conversation finally left elves for a discussion about disturbances by the border, his eyes drifted back to the younger son. He sat quiet by his side, just looking at him. Haldir noticed that he had hardly touched his food. He was mysteriously flattered by the effect he had on him. It had to be the boy's beauty, he thought: Cinnamon and lavender...a startling combination...

Finally the dinner ended and the young men rose to leave, both of them nodding courteously at the Galadhrim before leaving the hall.

Haldir was about to leave as well when Denethor gestured for his attention.

"Wait...Haldir." He said. "I would like to talk to you...it is a beautiful night," he continued. "Why don't you join me for some spiced wine out on the terrace."

Since you couldn't turn down your host, especially not if he were the Steward of Gondor, Haldir nodded and followed the man, although he did not look forward to this conversation. His eyes followed the young men as they left the room and saw Faramir turn at the door to look back at him. Their eyes meet across the distance; a long, lingering gaze, before the boy reddened and broke the stare. Haldir smiled to himself. He liked youth, it had a certain charm...a certain reckless vulnerability that he admired. In Denethor's youngest son youth bloomed and flourished...

Denethor was right. The night was a lovely one, although he could have thought of more pleasant company.

"You must excuse my son," Denethor said when they stood together by the stoned fence that rimmed in the terrace and watched the Palace Guards in their exercises in the dark court yard. " He doesn't mean to be rude," he continued. "He is just being honest..."

"He is young..." Haldir answered. Ready to forgive the young Gondorian any offense if it meant he would have to spend less time with his father.

"Yes...yes...." Denethor said. "But he is a good man...a good man of Gondor." Pride shone through his words and Haldir settled for just a nod. "But then again," Denethor continued. "So am I, for you...young that is..."

A smile curved Haldir's lips.

"Yes, you are, Lord of Gondor," he said. "Yet you are old..."

Suddenly a hand came to rest on the small of Haldir's back, slowly circling it through the velvet of his robe.

"You haven't changed your mind, have you?" the man beside him breathed.

Haldir stood still, frozen.

"No!" he said with ice in his voice. "Remove your hand, mortal!" he demanded.

The hand disappeared and the Steward chuckled.

"I didn't think so," he said. "Yet...you did come back..."

"...and expected to find a man who's youth's folly had left him..." Haldir replied with a stony expression.

" I can see..." Denethor said and furrowed his brows, " how I am not tempting to you now...But back then...when I was young and fair...why not, Elf? Why wouldn't you have me then?"

Haldir didn't answer at first , he just stared in to the dark. At last he sighed:

"I thought we agreed to not let the past come between us in our dealings?" he said. "I am here as a messenger of Lorien...nothing else!"

"Still, " a sly smile on the man's face; " how can you expect me to not look at you? To not...feel what I did back then...you are so fair." His voice softened. "So very beautiful and appealing to me..."

" The scar on your thigh should have taught you a lesson!" Haldir interrupted, "taught you to keep such thoughts to yourself!."

" I wish..." The Gondorian sighed. "But you seduce me with your mere presence, Galadhrim..."

"It is your pride that speaks." Haldir said coldly. " You do not react well to rejection..."

"...Especially not when it comes in form of a Elven blade," Denethor chuckled. "Tell me Haldir...have you married?" he asked.

"No..." Haldir answered, his patience with the man slowly running out.

" Why?" Denethor asked. "Isn't it so that you freely take lovers?” He continued without waiting for reply. “Isn’t it so that you dance in the woods and take lovers, males and females alike, and make love to each other in the treetops...isn't that true, Haldir?"

"It is true." Haldir answered short.

"Then why not me?" His foul breath was in Haldir's face as he moved in. His gaze pierced him, demanding to know:

" I do not, and never did, see a lover in you, my Lord." Haldir answered truthfully. " Our customs do not mean that we can be chased and pursued,like you did to me..."

"Oh! I'm not that easily fooled!" Denethor burst out. " You are playing games with me, Elf! I remember your words to me last time," he continued. "We are not creatures to be taken lightly, you said. We are not tools to be used for a man's pleasure"...But that's exactly what you are, isn't it? That's why you so seldom marry...you like it a bit too much, that's why! You will not give it up!" Denethor emptied his goblet and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Give up what?" Haldir asked the man while his nostrils flared white and his eyes grew dark.

" The pleasure!" the man howled. " Your countless lovers! Your passionate ways...!" he trailed off.

Haldir sighed.

"We have had this discussion before, my Lord," he said politely. "And what I find most curious about Men..." his voice hardened, "is how they hardly have time to grow up before they die!"

The Galadhrim turned and left the terrace without a word. It would have been folly to stay, to follow this dark, brooding man into his twisted fantasies. His wishful thinking. To listen to his convictions born from a mixture of pride, rumors and madness.

Quickly he made his way to his chamber and locked the door securely behind him.





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