Faramir Fiction Archive

Simulacra (NC-17)

09 November 2011 | 30013 words | Work in Progress

XIII

In the end they cut his hair. It had been too long uncombed, uncared for. Though no longer greasy, the snarls had grown thick and solid, painful to sever. Elrohir tried for days to untangle them, a comb in one hand, a knife in the other. But even in his fading haze, Haldir flinched and pulled away.

And the color — Not a color any had seen before on an elf. Not one they would be able to explain easily.

They had been in the cottage for three weeks now. Elrond had journeyed back to Rivendell several times, and Elladan had done so once. Elrohir refused to leave his friend. In truth he was afraid of leaving him with Elladan. Although his older brother meant well, he had always preferred the strength and simplicity of physical action to the subtleties of empathic healing. And he was especially impatient with the near invisibility of Haldir’s progress. Elrohir knew it came from his own concern, from feeling desperate to end his friend’s suffering, yet impotent to do so. It frustrated him to see the former Marchwarden who had so often bested him in training now passively slumped by the fire, limbs wasted, eyes empty, hands still except when the tremors set in. The longer Haldir sat immovable wherever they put him, the more restless ‘Dan became.

He especially grew angry at mealtime. Left to himself, Haldir did not seem to notice his own hunger or thirst, or perhaps did not make the connection between the physical sensation and what would alleviate it. Or that it mattered.

‘For Valar’s sake, Haldir, pick up the damn spoon!’

Elrohir bristled at his brother’s outburst, more for ‘Dan’s sake than Haldir’s. He wasn’t convinced Haldir could even hear them. But he knew his twin would be full of self-recrimination afterwards, ashamed at himself for his lack of patience, yet unable to keep it from happening again.

Moving swiftly around the table to his brother’s side, Elrohir placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

‘Let me do it, ‘Dan. Why don’t you take your food outside? I’ll be out in a minute.’

‘Dan flushed red, not for the first time. ‘I’m sorry ‘Ro. I just… I can’t stand to see him this way. I want him to snap out of it. Just come back to us. Stop being weak. I just can’t take that any more. If this can happen to Haldir, of all people, Haldir, the best of us… What if it was one of us? What if it was you?’

His voice broke and he turned into his brother’s arms, seeking the solace they both needed.

‘What did he ever do to deserve this, ‘Ro? And what if we can’t get him back? What if he can’t come back? What if – what if he doesn’t want to?’

The twins stood that way a long time, wrapped in each other’s arms, breathing in tandem, taking comfort in the silky cocoon of each other’s dark hair, their shared scent clinging heavily on the skin underneath. Each tentatively touched the sickening thought of having the other so close, yet slipping further away.

Elladan pulled away first, an apology on his lips. Clearing his throat he gestured toward the door. ‘I’ll be outside.’

Elrohir nodded once and watched his brother leave, a bowl in one hand, head bowed.

It was true. Watching Haldir like this was excruciating, especially when it seemed he was becoming less active now than he had been when they first found him. The ellon who now would not dress himself had been able to not only keep himself alive before, but earn a living…

His thoughts hit a wall at that. He refused to continue thinking about what else Haldir had been able to do. He was weak now, hurt. Needed to be taught again how to care for himself, as would someone recovering from a head wound. Just like a head wound. He would heal in time. He placed the time-smoothed wooden spoon in Haldir’s limp hand and wrapped his own around it, squeezing a little to remind the muscles what was needed. Together they scooped up some broth.

The sun was beginning to set when Ro joined his twin in the clearing. The slanting light kissed his hair with crimson and threw chiseled cheekbones into stark golden relief. He was staring over the trees, watching the smoke from their fire drift toward the horizon.

‘I will go in the morning.’

Ro said nothing.

‘I – I need some time away from him. – I’m sorry.’

A warm hand on his shoulder. ‘I know.’

Elladan turned slowly to face his brother’s sad eyes, knowing he would find only understanding. ‘I don’t want to leave you here. With all the burden. Will you be – okay?’

Several answers flashed across the younger Peredhel’s mind like so many deer on the run. He settled on the only one he could say.

‘Yes.’

After Elladan left, the cottage was very quiet. Elrohir, wanted to talk to Haldir, wanted to continue his gentle murmurings, as he had done for so long. But he found they didn’t come. Instead, without anyone else speaking to him, he felt only silent. As if he and Haldir occupied a place beyond words, beyond time. The birds outside sang. The leaves rustled. Occasionally a larger animal cried in the dark. But they were untouched, separate, waiting.

And in time, even the waiting faded, until they just were. As if life had always been this way. Waking with the gentle light, preparing porridge for them both. Helping Haldir from the bed and setting him in motion to relieve himself, splash water on his face, and eat. Bathing them in the stream once the sun had warmed it, taking Haldir’s hands in his to soap them and push them though the motions of washing. Leaving for a time in the afternoon to check the snares and gather plants for dinner. Chopping firewood. Tending the fire. Feeding them again.

His actions followed Haldir’s needs, and the rhythms of their days cycled around what he felt of his friend, so continually now that Elrohir was no longer always sure what was his own thought and what he was picking up. And always on the schedule of the khaif.

The hair was the only obstacle. The only thing he did that could not be done in peace, could not be completed.

To cut an elf’s hair was almost unforgivable. Humiliating, to be certain. Even those who worked as spies and posed as men never cut their hair above their shoulders, and then only with great regret. And Haldir’s had been his crowning glory – a cloud of gossamer flax, envied and admired by all. Too well he remembered. To look upon it had been to desire it, to want to touch, to kiss.

Even more reason to cut it off.

In the silence it was easy to have this conversation with the Haldir in his head.

But it is your hair. You love your hair.

It is no longer something I can love.

It will change back as you heal.

Change back? Hardly Things don’t ‘change back.’

We could cut it off and let the new grow in, smooth and new, start over, gold again –

Just cut it off. I wear enough shame already.

Perhaps just a little. Just the parts that can’t be set right. We’ll leave what we can.

Elrohir tried to take only the worst of the tangles, perhaps the lower few inches, thinking that would free the other sections to be combed through. That he might find hidden pockets of gold beneath the cracking gray. But there were none. Each bit he cut through left only more havoc, until finally he whispered an apology to Haldir and began to saw at the roots. letting thick solidified chunks fall to the grass below.

He felt driven to eradicate all the coarse damning stubble from his friend, as if it was the external manifestation of the dirt within, pushing out from Haldir’s brain, becoming visible. If he could have drawn out the roots, he would have. Instead, using the edge of his hunting knife, Elrohir scraped Haldir’s scalp clean, leaving the pale skin exposed and reddened.

Finally Elrohir sat back, broken from his consuming haze, and saw the results of his handiwork. He began to weep. What have I done?

A breath. Stirring. Something – something different. Air above me – my neck – a different light – I –

A breeze rustled through the surrounding trees, caressing the naked skin of Haldir’s head.

My thoughts — there is air – less darkness – I hear… The waves again – no – rustling? Leaves! I hear leaves. The woods. I am in the woods! And birdsong. The young man is crying. I can hear him. Why is he in the woods? No – it is someone else. Me? No – a person. And air around me – moving – my head is lighter – free –

As if opening suddenly, Haldir’s eyes widened and he took in his surroundings. There was indeed air moving around him, and trees swaying gently nearby. Tentatively he reached out with his mind – and felt one reach back. Its swaying became a dance, its leaves’ motion, a laugh. Home.

Haldir smiled.

By the time Elrohir looked up, it had faded again and his need was coming on.

NB: Please do not distribute (by any means, including email) or repost this story (including translations) without the author's prior permission. [ more ]

Enjoyed this story? Then be sure to let the author know by posting a comment at https://www.faramirfiction.com/fiction/simulacra. Positive feedback is what keeps authors writing more stories!