The Healing of Haldir

BY : K.Rayne
Category: -Fourth Age to Modern times and beyond > Het - Male/Female
Dragon prints: 2036
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings or it's characters. I do not make any money from this work.




Her feet glided silently across the wooden floor boards of the great hall.  A small fire burned in the hearth, giving off little light and even less heat.  The cold seeped into her bones as she wrapped her cloak tighter around her shoulders.  The smell of sweat and blood burning the inside of her nose, turning her stomach into knots. 


She moved through the silent, unmoving bodies, touching lifeless wrists and throats as she went.  Looking for something, feeling for anything. 


That was her gift and her curse. 


She pulled the hood of her cloak lower over her face just in case a guard were to come around the corner at any moment.  She was not to be heard and certainly not to be seen.  It might have been well past midnight, but she was not of a habit to make mistakes.  The hall had been reserved for the dead and the King had given strict orders that they were not to be disturbed. 


But she had to check.  She had to know. 


The men were dead.  All of them.  Not a single one showing any signs of life. 


She leaned heavily against the stone wall, wiping the moisture from her eyes at the signs of death all around her.  The sight and the smell she would not soon forget.  The battle had been hard fought and hard won, with massive casualties.  But everyone who had survived the gruesome night were thankful to still be living at all and not slaughtered, left to rot among the stones of the Deep. 


She had all but given up when a flash of red caught her eye from the far side of the room.  A great red cloak billowing away from a still body clad in shining armor.  She crept over to his side, gazing down on his peaceful face, a few lose strands of golden blonde hair grazing his bloodied cheek.  Kneeling at his side, she brushed the hair away, gasping as she tucked it behind a pointed ear. 


An elf.


She frowned as she looked him over.  The elves had gathered their own dead and many had long departed to bear their kin to their own lands.  But he was different.  A leader she could tell, especially if he had earned a place in this hall.  Her emerald green eyes never left his face, his dark lashes resting against pale cheeks, as her fingers trailed down his arm, pressing her fingers against his wrist. 


Her heart leapt into her throat as her other hand shot out to press two fingers to his throat and her head resting on his chest.  She closed her eyes, listening and feeling for any sign that this was real.  She tried to subside the hammering in her own chest to concentrate on his which appeared to not move at all.   


Even through his layers of clothing and armor, she could feel it, the smallest and tiniest of flutters. 


He was alive!


Her hands frantically groped his body, looking for the injury that had almost struck him down.  She immediately found the long deep gash from elbow to wrist on his right arm, but there had to be more, she just couldn’t see it.  The blood that had seeped into his cloak was her indication he had been struck in the back.  If the Orc blade had gone deep enough, it would have rendered him motionless, living or otherwise. 


“What are you doing?” a voice shouted, the sounding echoing off the stone walls. 


She jumped back, pressing herself against a nearby wall.  But it was too late, the intruder had seen her and any attempt she had at running away was going to be useless for he stood between her and the door. 


Now, she actually thought she might be sick as the stranger approached her, carrying the lit torch in one hand.  He stopped before her holding the torch closer. 


“Remove your hood,” he ordered. 


With a shaking hand, she pushed her hood off her head and she stared up at him with startled eyes. 


“Your Highness,” she gasped dropping down to one knee, lowering her head in an attempt to continue hiding her face. 


Her father had always spoken fondly of King Thranduil and his only son.  So much so, that she thought she knew them personally and there was no mistaking the son of Thranduil standing before her.  She knew Prince Legolas was in the fortress and even heard the whispers about his valor, but never expected to cross his path.  Especially not like this, with a not yet a corpse between them. 


“Who are you?” he demanded. 


“One who would help this man,” came her shaking reply. 


“He has fallen.”


“Not yet.  There is still life within him.  I have felt it.”


“Who are you?” he ground out, skirting around the other elf to stand before her.  He gripped her chin in his hand forcing her to meet his burning blue eyes.  He tilted her head one way and then another, noting the tiniest of ear points sticking out from behind her copper hair.    


“Aisling, your Highness.” 


“You know who I am.”


“My father was of the Woodland Realm.”


“You are an elf.” 


“No.  My mother was of Dale.”  She ground her teeth, there was not enough time to be wasting it on an interrogation.  If this elf was to live, he needed her attention and now.  “Forgive me, your Highness, but who is this man?”


Legolas sighed heavily, releasing his hold on her to glance over his shoulder at his fallen friend. 


“Haldir, Marchwarden of Lorien and Captain of the Galadhrim.  He was a dear friend.”


“Is, your Highness.  Haldir is not dead.” 


He shot her a stern look and she swallowed hard.  “There is not enough time to explain all of it, but I can feel it.  His soul has not left his body.  I was born was a great ability to heal, it is my gift.  Please, let me help him.”               


When Legolas didn’t immediately respond, she reached out impulsively and grabbed hold of his hand. 


“Please,” she pleaded.  “I understand he is your friend and you have little reason to trust me.  But if I were here to do harm, why would I be in a hall filled with the dead?  I have dedicated my life to helping others and using my gifts in whatever ways are helpful to others.  I’ve helped a boy crushed by a boulder to walk again, an old man blinded by fire to see.  I know it seems to you like your friend has already passed beyond this world, but he is still here.  He fights a losing battle, and without my help he will die.  I am not offering to perform a miracle, that is not what I do, but I can help him.  Ease his suffering and bring him back.  I cannot do this without your help or your permission, your Highness.”


“How can I trust you?”


“You have to believe that there are still good people in this world.  With all the hate, the evil, the death and destruction, you have to have faith that good will endure.  One day we will see that days of peace upon these lands once more.” 


“Do you honestly think he can be saved?” 


“If I didn’t believe it, I wouldn’t be trying to convince you to let me try.”      


Legolas licked his lower lip.  “What do you need?”


Her lips twitched for a moment before she pulled off her cloak and set it down on the floor beside Haldir. 


“Fresh water and as much clean cloth as you can find,” Aisling replied, setting her bag down and started digging through it.  “I need you to help me removed his armor.  Carefully, so that we don’t aggravate his back any more than we have to and keep him face down.” 


Legolas nodded and together they removed the heavy metal armor, setting it aside. With great care, they rolled him onto his stomach.  Aisling hissed through her teeth with she saw the extent of the damage to his back. 


Legolas had left her to fetch what she needed, leaving the torch for her as light.  She brought the fire closer to Haldir’s almost pale white skin.  The edge of the wound was rough and jagged.  The blade had sliced through skin and several layers of muscle, almost exposing the bone underneath.  She pressed her fingers around the gaping open looking for any signs of infection.  All things considered it was pretty clean, even from an orc blade, which had obviously not been overly used.   


She tossed her braid over her shoulder and rolled up the sleeves of her desk.  She fished out her very tiny pair of scrissors and started to trim some of the dead skin away.


Her water and cloth arrived almost as soon as she put her scissors away. 


Sensing she no longer needed his help, Legolas leaned up against the close wall and watched her about her work.  The way she moved, muttering words in Elvish as she strove to clean the wound.  Her hands fcovered in his blood as she fought to keep the tissues together and stitched shut.  The thin layer of skin on top proving to be the most difficult.  Once she was done, she rinsed her hands in the now red tinted water.  She pulled a small pot from her bag, the pungent smell reaching Legolas feet away.  She spread the thick white paste over the stitches she had just sew and laid a clean cloth over them. 


She paid the same focus to the wound on his arm.  In though the angle made the work more difficult, she still managed to get it cleaned, stitched and bandaged. 


She cleaned up her supplies as best she could.  She took a vial from her bag and set it in her lap before leaning down to Haldir’s ear, continuing to whisper to him in words and phrases that Legolas barely understood.  It sounded oddly familiar to him, but he couldn’t quite place from where. 


Aisling was so focused on her work, she barely noticed when Legolas came to kneel beside her.  She glanced out of the corner of her eye at him, and offered her one of her hands.  He grasped it after a moment, whispering the words along with her.  She placed a hand upon Haldir’s brow, he was still cold. 


She trailed it over his ear and down his cheek, along the strong curve of his jaw.  A finger slid underneath his nose and she could just barely feel the air leaving his body. 


Releasing Legolas’ hand, she leaned forward again.  Resting her forehead against his, staring at his face intently.  She brought her lips to his, barely touching them together for a moment.


Legolas opened his mouth as if he were going to comment on the impropriety of the moment.  But she quickly sealed her lips over Haldir’s and exhaled deeply into his body, making his chest rise and then fall. 


The Prince watched stunned as she did this several more times until Haldir gasped for breath, the sound echoing through the still room. 


He was alive. 


Not missing a moment, Aisling quickly popped the cork on her small bottle and held it to his lips.  She poured the contents into his mouth and he swallowed on his own.  She used the corner of her sleeve to wipe the little bit that tricked from the corner of his mouth. 


“He breaths,” Legolas muttered as he rested his hand upon the uninjured portion of Haldir’s back, feeling the soft rise and fall. 


“Yes, and his heart beats.  Haldir will live, but he still has a long road ahead of him.” 


“How so?” Legolas asked, not taking his eyes from his friend. 


“He is in a healing sleep and will remain so until his back is adequately healed.  Movement would be detrimental to his ability to heal itself.  And once he is awake, only then will I be able to better assess the extent of the damage done to his spine.” 


“But he lives?” 


“Yes, your Highness.  He lives.” 


“What do you suggest we do now?  We cannot leave him here among the dead.  He would be more comfortable in the halls of healing.” 


Aisling shook her head.  “No, I would not send him there.  He will need constant care and attention.  My cottage is but two hours from here.  If we were to get him there, I would be better equipped to care for him.” 


“Your cottage?” 


“The people of Rohan do not trust me.  They call me a witch.  Why do you think I had to sneak in here in the middle of the night?  Besides I do not trust their healers.  The magic I had to use to pull him back from the edge is strong, but it will not last forever.  Please, your Highness, let me take him.” 


“Why do you care so much for him?” Legolas questioned, finally tearing his eyes away to stared at the elleth who had just practically brought a man back from the dead. 


“I have seen how much his supposed passing has grieved those who would care for him the most,” she whispered, slinging her bag over her shoulder and putting her cloak back on.  “I was here when the dead were slowly being brought in and when do one was looking, went to see if any of them were alive, to see if any of them would be able to be saved.  Even if I could only save one.  I was one more husband, brother, son who would not have had to die for the cause.  I saw you with him, and the ranger, the dwarf and what remained of his Elven kin.  I didn’t know he was an elf then or why he appeared so important.  But now I know and I know he was and still is worth saving.  Are any of the remaining elves, a direct relation?”


Legolas frowned as he tilted his head.  “His brother Orophin still remains.  The youngest of the three returned to Lothlorien this evening.”


Aisling smiled.  “Go tell him his brother lives.  I will remain here.” 


Legolas nodded before he dashed for the door, pausing for only the briedfest moment to make sure that Haldir was in fact still breathing. 


“You are much loved here,” Aisling whispered to him.  “It would do you well to return to those who love you.  I may not have known you before this, Haldir of Lorien, but I simply hope you do not hate me for bringing you back.” 

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