Absence of Grace 

Author: HJ Bender (hjbender@bent-halo.net)

Rating: M

Pairing: Boromir/Legolas

Summary: Coldness and distrust runs deep between Boromir of Gondor and Legolas of Mirkwood; and it isn’t until the Elf saves the man from death that the two discover much deeper feelings are running between them.

Disclaimer: I own only the idea, and the order in which these words are written.

To be trusted is a greater compliment than to be loved.
Absence of proof is not proof of absence.

he Marchwarden of Lothlórien stood high in a flet, his watch-post, and stared keenly through the darkness, daring any other creatures of Mordor to show their ugly faces in his wood. After what they had done to Thranduil’s son, Haldir thought, they deserved nothing but slaughter. He sighed lightly, brow creased with discomfort as the echoes of the prince’s screams still rang in his ears. Even Celeborn’s most potent poultices had failed to bring relief when the healers had commenced cutting the arrows from Legolas’ body. The barbed arrowheads of the Orcs were unforgiving, and the Elf’s groans of agony were horrible to witness—Haldir could only imagine the pain he felt. Mercifully he had swooned and the healers were able to work more quickly, staunching the blood flow from his leg and binding his wounds. He was then bathed and wrapped tightly in blankets. ‘He is cold,’ one of the healers told Haldir. ‘His warmth has left him. It is almost as if he were fading away.’ But Haldir knew better. Legolas was too strong to die. But Boromir on the other hand…

The man was so far gone that the healers had little trouble tending to him. The festering punctures in his chest and arm were thrice cleansed and bound with medicine and gauze, though he remained trapped in the realm of sleeping death. Galadriel had been to visit him once, and laid her long white hand upon his forehead, calling to him gently in his mind, reassuring him that safety and companions awaited him on this side of the waking world. Still he slept, and the Elves began to feel their help had arrived too late.

Faint footfalls reached Haldir’s ears, and he turned to see his brother Rúmil appear through the floor of the flet. ‘The second watch had ended,’ he said. ‘I will take your place here, gwanur.’

Haldir nodded. ‘Very well. Have you heard any news of Legolas?’

‘He has woken at last,’ Rúmil replied lightly, ‘though he remains weak and drowsy, and his wounds pain him. He asks after the Man.’

‘And what is his condition?’

‘He has not yet come to.’ Rúmil stood beside his brother and gazed through the mallorns. ‘I haven’t the heart to admit that Legolas’ efforts have been for naught, yet I fear it so. And I fear still greater the outcome if Boromir passes.’

‘Do you suspect Legolas will succumb to grief?’

‘I know not,’ Rúmil murmured. ‘It would be remarkable if an Elf died grieving over a Mortal.’

‘But not impossible,’ Haldir added solemnly.

‘Yes,’ said Rúmil. ‘I hope it is not so.’

egolas slept with his eyes closed, bruised curtains of lavender over jewel-blue irises, his pale golden hair draping in thick tendrils across his pillow. He bore a deep scratch across his right cheekbone and a large cut at his left brow, the latter covered by a bloodstained strip of cloth that went round his crown. He breathed slowly and evenly, slumbering deeply. His shoulder was bound and wrapped, as was his thigh, though blankets covered most of his body; the healers worried for his coldness and had given him extra bedding. He lay now on a cot in a large flet, a quiet place for healing, and slept without dreaming.

Lord Celeborn sat in a chair nearby, an immortal glow illuminating his fair skin, his silver robes pooled at his bare feet and a vague expression of unease darkening his otherwise handsome face. He gazed at Legolas and yet seemed to gaze through him, at something beyond the reach of all eyes. The Lord of Lothlórien appeared serenely troubled, yet peaceful in spite of what did not agree in his mind—the epitome of immortal wisdom. This was how he seemed to Haldir as the Marchwarden appeared from the stairwell and stepped onto the flet.

‘Pardon, my Lord,’ he apologized, bowing slightly. ‘I had not expected you here.’ His eyes fell to the wounded Elf. ‘How is he faring?’

‘He will live,’ Celeborn murmured, rising slowly from his seat, ‘but the life which awaits him…’ He trailed off—a sign of foreboding that caused Haldir’s heart to skip—and turned to leave. As he passed, Celeborn paused to say, ‘He will wake soon. It would be best if someone were here to answer his questions.’

Haldir nodded. ‘Mae, my Lord.’ Celeborn disappeared down the stairs and Haldir sat in the chair beside Legolas’ cot. He stared at the young Elf—young only by comparison—and tried to find meaning in his lord’s words: the life which awaits him…

Legolas stirred and slowly opened his eyes. His gaze fell upon Haldir and he made an effort to sit up, grimacing at the pain he had awoken to. ‘Haldir,’ he greeted, bowing his head in respect. ‘It seems I have found myself again indebted to you.’

‘Consider that debt repaid,’ the Marchwarden said with a slight smile. ‘You have survived, so nothing was in vain.’ Sympathy shone in his eyes as he asked, ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Horrible,’ Legolas admitted, drawing back the covers and gingerly sliding his legs over the edge of the cot. He wore only a long plain tunic of grey. ‘Though I was far worse before the rescue. I…can hardly remember the events of the past three days.’

‘That is not surprising—you almost killed yourself with exhaustion. I did not think it possible for a laden boat to journey ten days in three days’ time. Some force must have lent you great swiftness.’

Legolas turned his eyes to the floor. ‘I could not fail him again,’ he said softly. ‘Not after I had already done so.’

Haldir sighed shortly. ‘Legolas. What happened to Boromir is no fault of your own. You must understand that.’

‘I do understand. I am just not certain I believe it.’

‘Your guilt over the Man was almost your undoing.’

‘Is it so wrong to feel remorse?’

‘Only if brought unnecessarily upon oneself.’ Haldir paused, staring sharply at the Mirkwood prince. ‘Legolas. Grief and regret will not undo what has been done, and it will not heal Boromir’s wounds. Despairing only deepens the darkness in your heart.’ He reached out and placed a comforting hand on Legolas’ knee. ‘Now is the time to hope and have faith. Surely would Boromir appreciate those virtues in the stead of your pardons.’

Legolas nodded slowly, eyes still wandering the floor. ‘He has not yet woken, has he?’

It saddened Haldir to reply that the man had not. Legolas lifted his head, and his eyes shone bright with determination.

‘I would like to see him.’

egolas, a robe draped over his shoulders and holding steadily onto Haldir’s arm, limped noiselessly down from the flet to the soft grassy ground. ‘He is being tended to in one of the lower infirmaries,’ Haldir explained, then his attention was drawn to Legolas’ tight expression. ‘Does your leg pain you much?’

Legolas had to cease gritting his teeth to reply. ‘Yes,’ he stammered, ‘but I can bear it.’

Haldir looked at Legolas for a moment in wonder. ‘You must care deeply for Boromir to endure so much misery on his behalf.’

Though Legolas was irritated by the warden’s insinuation, he did not show his anger. ‘He would have done the same for me, as a true soldier of Gondor. I would gladly lay my life on his loyalty.’

They came to a giant mallorn, hollowed out at its base to form a sheltered bower, and illuminated by the soft blue glow of moss and crystals. On a narrow bed inside lay Boromir, bare from the waist up, his left arm and shoulder bound tightly with gauze. He seemed only to be sleeping, and upon seeing him Legolas released Haldir’s arm and walked unassisted to the man’s bedside. With some discomfort he knelt down and gazed at Boromir wordlessly.

Haldir remained where he was, feeling that perhaps he would be intruding on an intimate moment about which he knew nothing. For he had not been in that boat those three long days. He had not been forced to witness his comrade’s life slowly seeping out of him, hour by hour. He had not endured the physical duress of attempting to accomplish the impossible. Yet Legolas had done all of that. He and the Man had shed tears and blood and pain in each other’s company. Duty, love or sharing a common hatred may bring people together—but suffering alongside one another forms a far more unbreakable bond. Haldir knew now, whether Boromir lived beyond this day or not, that Legolas would carry him in his heart until it ceased to beat. It alarmed the Marchwarden to find such rare virtue existing between two beings of unlike mortality. Their ending, when it came, would be heart-wrenching.

‘Legolas,’ Haldir said softly, and the Elf turned his head to regard him, a mournful expression on his wounded face. ‘Forgive me if I have said anything to offend you. I had not realized the depth of your commitment.’

Legolas nodded slightly, then his eyes drifted over Haldir’s shoulder and widened. ‘My Lady,’ he murmured, bowing his head.

Haldir turned to behold Lady Galadriel approaching them silently, her long white robes trailing on the grass. Like Celeborn her body shone with an immortal glow, soft and purer than starlight. The warden bowed low and stepped aside so that she might enter the bower. She smiled kindly at her servant and Legolas, but sadness was apparent in her clear blue eyes, and a note of mourn played itself in her rich melodious voice: ‘Boromir has passed into the realm of twilight,’ she murmured, stepping close to gaze down at the son of Gondor. ‘No magic or medicine could pass through the darkness where he now sleeps.’ She paused. ‘Goheno nin, Legolas.’

Haldir took a step forward, his heart crying for Legolas’ loss. He opened his mouth to speak but could find no words to offer solace. He turned away, unable to bear the sight of the woodland prince’s shocked, dismayed expression.

‘Is there nothing I can do?’ he asked desperately, rising to his feet. ‘Am I to sit idly by and watch a second comrade of our Fellowship perish?’

‘Dear Prince,’ Galadriel spoke, ‘I said nothing of Boromir perishing. He is waiting to be woken by the one to whom he is bound.’

Legolas took a step back, his heart pounding and eyes wide with alarm.

‘The Valar blessed the Elves with immortality,’ the Lady said softly, ‘and still blessed them with the choice to relinquish it.’

‘No,’ Legolas breathed, his face without color. Haldir stood by in utter astonishment, unable to believe this most terrible event had possessed itself of one of his own kind.

‘When you arrived in Lothlórien I knew what had passed, though I know not how it came to be…but the grace with which you were born has left you, Legolas Thranduilion, and now it is the only thing that is keeping Boromir son of Denethor from death.’

Legolas blinked, and silver tears spilled down his cheeks, running into the red cut still marring his cheek.

‘Take up his hand, Legolas,’ Lady Galadriel said, ‘and call him back to this world. Only you have the power to wake him now.’