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Type: FPGen
Cast: Haldir
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: It’s not mine it belongs to Tolkien and Dumas.
Warnings: Mention of character death, and possibly actual chartcer
death later on (not Hal) angst, mental anguish, wrongful imprisonment,
and lashings. Mental Torture, Violence, AU.
If you find such things offensive then don’t read it.
Beta: Belle Bayard
Summary: Haldir finds himself wrongfully accused and imprisoned for an
Elf’s murder. Who hates him so much that he or she would kill another
Elf and blame it on him? Based loosely on Alexander Dumas’s The Count
of Monte Cristo
Author's Notes: This is a story also based loosely on a rp I have done
with both Mirasaui and Hockeygrl. Also thank you to Belle Bayard for
the title.
*****
It felt like ages since Haldir had last stood looking upon the mallorn
that he and his brothers called home. They would be there to meet him,
or so he hoped when he could return to them but that time was not now.
A long time would pass before his life returned to normal, if ever it
could do so. As he looked at the shining trees in the distance, he
recalled the moments in which his life had been destroyed. Once more,
he relived the nearly unending nightmare that had plagued him over and
over for centuries. A nightmare he had been powerless to awaken from
because it had become his existence.
He revisited that
long-ago summer night, the smell or jasmine blowing in the warm air as
he lay in a comfortable bed, deep in reverie. He had been a very
different person back then. He had had loyalties but they had been
destroyed in one wrong instant of his life. Through the mist of his
dreams, a load banging began penetrated his sub-consciousness. At
first, his mind had taken it and turned it into just another part of
his dream. However, it did not abate and he stirred at the
persistence of it, seeking to find the source of the sound. Finally, he
woke enough to realize the drum-like hammering came from someone
beating their fist on his door.
Haldir sat up and ran his fingers through his hair. Feeling somewhat
disoriented, he realized his unfamiliar, but not unknown surroundings.
The Marchwarden had always found Lord Elrond’s home beautiful, yet it
paled in comparison to Lothlorien. He shook his head at the thought. He
normally was not this slow to rise but tonight he was exhausted. It
must be of importance for the pounding did not cease, but grew more
persistent.
“I am coming,” he called out, then stood and pulled his shirt on over his sleep pants before opening the door.
“You must come with us,” Elrond’s seneschal stated in a voice that brooked no refusal.
Haldir’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the bright light, but the
words Lord Glorfindel said had him shaking his head in disbelief. He
peered at Glorfindel groggily, but then his gaze fell on the chains in
Lord Glorfindel’s hands and the armed guards behind the Captain of
Imladris. “Forgive me, but has something happened?” he asked, frowning
in confusion.
Glorfindel sighed, a troubled look in his eyes. “ Haldir o Lorien, I
regret I must arrest you for the murder of Saelbeth, Ambassador of
Mirkwood.” Haldir’s jaw dropped. “Lord Glorfindel, you can not be--”
Glorfindel cut him off. “You have to come with us. Hold out your hands.”
Haldir looked back and forth between Glorfindel and his guards. All but
Glorfindel’s hands rested on their swords, the look on the other’s’
faces were one of anger. Haldir extended his arms, watching in a
strange detachment as Glorfindel slide the cold metal about his wrists
and clamped them shut with a final click.
The guards led Haldir through the Last Homely House and out towards the
guard barracks where prisoners were kept under close watch in a small
facility built into a stone hill. The guards led Haldir from the Last
Homely House to the barracks complex. At the back, a small area had
been set aside for the occasional need for containing the occasional
trouble maker. The small row of cells had been carved into the cliff’s
side, making it more secure. There was a guarded room before it where
guards would keep the prisoner’s belongings and check in and out
visitors. Once inside the barracks Haldir was led into a small room.
Glorfindel and two of the guards removed the chains, watching him as
though they had never seen him before. They made him strip down,
including unbraiding his hair, before they searched every inch of him
for weapons. It was humilitating but Haldir did not fight. It would not
help his situation if it looked as though he was against a search of
his person. As he submitted, his mind raced. He must find out what had
happened while he slept. Though he knew he had done nothing, Glorfindel
would not have lightly accused him, the
Marchwarden of Lorien, of murdering the Mirkwood ambassador. When they
found no object he might use as a weapon, they replaced his own
clothing with a rough linen shirt, matching leggings, and a pair of
shackles for arms and legs to prevent him from escaping. Once
finished with the task the guards led him to one of the cells. Inside
there was little besides a clean pile of hay and an area built into the
floor for when he needed to relieve himself that drained outside.
Until the heavy, black metal door swung shut with a clang and a snick
of the lock, he had prayed this would be a horrible dream he would
awaken from soon. The finality of those sounds, the stillness of the
cell, brought home to him that he lived a nightmare. Yet hope still
lived within him. He had done nothing wrong and felt certain Elrond and
the others of Imladris would clear his name of kinslaying. As he
settled onto the small mound of hay, he silently thanked the engineers
who devised this place that it did not bear the dankness of Mirkwood’s
dungeons. He sighed and rubbed his face, the enormity of residing on
the wrong side of the bars washing over him. The hay prickled a bit,
yet he could not complain for the few prisoners Lorien had held often
found themselves on a barren talan with little to keep them warm. He settled down, realizing he could do nothing more but wait for the outcome of his fate.
Hours later, a slender, dark-haired Elf entered his cell. One of the
guards glared at Haldir. “We will be outside, in case he gives you any
trouble,” he told the visitor, who merely nodded.
“I am Melpomaen. Lord Elrond has appointed me to represent you during
your trial,” the Imladris Elf stated with a dip of his head.
Haldir’s stomach tightened. “Trial?”
Melpomaen gave a brief nod, then pulled a paper from his sleeve and
began to read it. “ Haldir o Lorien, by order of Lord Elrond, you will
remain under arrest until undergoing a trial by an appointed council
for the murder of Saelbeth, Ambassador of Mirkwood. An advisor will be
provided until or unless a Lorien representative arrives. You no longer
have your rights nor your freedom in order to protect Elvenkind.”
Haldir could not believe his ears “I have done nothing wrong! I would
never kill one of my own kind!” Melpomaen shook his head. “I wish I
could believe you. However, several witnesses attest that they saw you
kill Saelbeth.”
Haldir’s eyes widened and he protested, “I have done nothing! I swear to Eru!”
Melpomaen walked to the door, then stopped and turned to face Haldir. “Where were you last night, Haldir?”
“I dined in the gardens, then walked in the woods for a bit. I found a
pond to bathe in before I returned to my rooms and went to bed.”
Melpomaen nodded. “Did anyone see you after dinner?”
: Haldir thought for a moment, his heart sinking. “N-no.”
“Then there is little I can do to help you unless I find someone who can prove your alibi,” Melpomaen replied.
Haldir swallowed the lump in his throat reduced to near begging. “Please try.”
Melpomaen called to the guard through the bars. The guard moved over
and slid the key in the lock and with a quick turn of his wrist the
door swung open, but before he left, he gave Haldir some reassurance.
“I will, I give you my word. However, as things now stand, it does not
bode well for you, Haldir. Now, I must go. As we speak, our people are
searching your rooms and I should be present while they do so.”
Haldir watched him go, then sat on the hay once more to wait. He could
only hope against hope that someone could clear his name and he could
return to his life.
Hours, then days, then a week passed with no word from anyone about his
fate. Often, he fell asleep with a prayer to the Valar to save him
still upon his lips. The guards ignored him, food appearing through the
slit beneath the barred window without a word. The meals remained
unvaried, an unappetizing mash of meat broth and vegetables that left
him queasy. He had attempted to eat early in his incarceration, only to
push aside the trays more often than not. Vainly, he tried to ignore
the hollow feeling in his stomach that echoed the one in his heart.
Haldir had nearly given up hope that anyone would ever come when
Melpomaen returned and entered the cell. “I am sorry Haldir, I can not
help you. You might as well tell me the truth and how it happened so we
can speed this up.”
“How what happened?” Haldir asked, his hope faltering.
“I want to know how and why you killed Saelbeth.”
“I did not kill Saelbeth!”
“Then explain the bloody clothes we found… your bloody clothes. They also uncovered a bloody sword under your bed.”
“What? No! They are not mine! I did not do anything wrong! I swear on my honor,” he protested vehemently.
Melpomaen drew himself up, every inch the haughty advisor. “Your honor
amounts to nothing, Haldir. I do not believe you and neither will the
council when you go before them,” he said icily, then before Haldir
could respond, called the guard to let him out.
His appointed counselor left Haldir with mouth agape at the last
statement. How had this happened? Who would wish to hurt him and for
what reason? He desperately needed to find out who had actually killed
Saelbeth and then made it appear his doing. Yet, chained and locked in
a cell he could do nothing. Somehow, he must find help. Who could he
trust? Who would believe him?
