Disclaimer: The wonderful world of Middle Earth belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien, who is not me (although we share the first two initials!) Halwen and her family alone are my creations.
O0o
The sun beamed down on red berries peeking out of the leafy green thicket. A little girl moved among them, singing softly to herself as she navigated the thorns and filled her basket with the plump, juicy treasures. Spotting something in the grass, she knelt down to study it.
"Halwen, look!" she called to the older girl who picked nearby.
The child rose and pointed to the fuzzy caterpillar wriggling up her arm. "It tickles!" she giggled.
Halwen smiled. "I don't think we can eat that for supper, Anniel."
"Can I take him home?" Anniel asked.
"No, this is his home. If we took him with us, he could not feast on lovely berries and rest in the shade created by the leaves- "Halwen broke off abruptly, head cocked.
"Halwen?"
"Hush. Listen." A dull thud that hinted at armored feet came from the distance, slowly growing clearer. It may have been imagination, but Halwen thought she saw the clouds roll ominously to block out the cheerful gleams of sunlight. The birds' cheerful song abruptly died, replaced by the sound of low grunts. Halwen's heart stopped in her throat when she saw a flash of metal approaching in the trees.
"Anniel, we must go home!" Halwen grabbed her little sister's wrist and tugged her forward, the sudden motion tipping their baskets and sending a spray of berries into the grass.
"But Halwen, the berries- "
"Never mind them. We need to go!"
Halwen broke into a run, pulling a confused Anniel behind her.
"Hal-wen, wh-at's wr-ong?" Anniel panted, the breathless words matching the pounding rhythm of her footsteps.
"Orcs… We have… to… warn…the others!"
O0o
The two girls reached the border of the forest and raced towards the small cluster of houses that formed their settlement. The heavy tramp of the orcs' feet steadily grew louder.
Anniel looked back and stumbled. "Halwen!" she cried in alarm. "They can see us!"
As if in response, a rough, guttural voice commanded, "Get them, you maggots!"
Fear prompted a burst of speed that neither girl would have thought possible, but it wasn't enough to outrun their pursuers. Halwen was suddenly jerked backward as Anniel's hand was wrenched out of hers, and two thick arms surrounded her waist. The strong, crushing grip sent all of Halwen's breath out of her body in a painful gasp and continued to press down until she felt her bones were ready to break. Her head swam from lack of air in her lungs, and dimly she heard Anniel behind her screaming for help. Just as she was about to faint, Halwen heard a thud, and the orc's hold loosened. A pebble dropped to the ground and rolled past the orc's iron clad foot.
"That little human maggot threw a stinkin' rock at me!" the orc bellowed. Halwen heard a heavy thud behind her and a weak yelp from Anniel, but didn't dare to waste the precious second it took to look back. She flung her body out of the orc's arms, hit the ground, and scrambled to her feet.
"Leave that one!" snarled one of the orcs. "They'll 'ave seen us 'bout now anyway."
Halwen half stumbled, half run towards the Dunedain village, shrieking for help with whatever breath she could summon.
Several men ran out to meet her. They had apparently heard the two girls' shouts and spotted the dark advancing figures of the orcs, for they all carried weapons. The first to reach her was tall, and had grey eyes and dark brown locks of hair shorn at his shoulders. Halwen recognized him as the Chieftain.
"Th-hey hh-av-e Anni-el, my ssist-er," Halwen managed, staggering over to them and trying to suck in deep breaths of air. The other Dunedain men were racing out of the village, swarming around the Chieftain with swords in hand. He and the older one that Halwen recognized as Dirhael rapidly began to organize the men, then as one they turned and ran towards the dark cluster of orcs. One of the men hesitated and came to Halwen's side, but she waved him away. "I'm f-fine," she panted. "The oth-ers need you."
Halwen bent over, hands on her knees, and drew in a deep breath. There was no time to be idle. She did not have a weapon, but she could check at the houses of the settlement to make sure they would be prepared for the attack. She straightened and trotted toward the nearest house, trying to ignore the sound that continued to ring in her head, taunting her even through her fear: Anniel's cry of pain.
O0o
Aragorn's sword slid into the orc's chest, and he yanked it out, getting splattered by drops of dark blood. He looked up and saw another orc darting away, carrying a limp figure in his arms, and he sprang toward it with a shout.
The orc turned to face him, casting aside the little girl's body so he could draw his knife. She landed on the ground with a thump, limps sprawled like a rag doll tossed aside by a careless child. The orc charged toward Aragorn with a wordless bellow. For a few moments everything was sweat, purely instinctive motion, and the clang of steel against steel, then the orc was lying at Aragorn's feet.
He looked around and saw that the Dunedain were already driving the orcs back into the forest. Aragorn waved to Dirhael, indicating that he should lead the men to pursue the orcs, and received a nod of acknowledgement in response. Wiping his blade against the grass, he knelt and held it in front of the child's mouth. A faint vapor appeared on the blade, but Aragorn did not allow himself to breathe a sigh of relief. The chances that she wouldn't live were still too great. Orc nails had left deep scratches on her cheeks and her forehead was dotted with purple bruises, just starting to swell. The hair near her scalp was sticky with blood, and Aragorn suspected she must have received a lot of abuse from orc fists once the cruel creatures saw that she might be their only victim. Her chest rose slowly, barely managing a shallow, raspy breath.
Gently gathering her up in his arms, Aragorn started back towards the settlement. He suspected she had sustained internal injuries as well, and he wished, for what was not the first nor the last time, that his foster father was there. For the task that was before him, Aragorn suspected his healing skills would be woefully inadequate.
O0o
Aragorn sat by Anniel's bedside in her family's home, examining the child's wounds. Her leg sprawled on the bed at an awkward angle, broken as a result of the orc tossing her to the ground, and the bones in her wrist appeared to have been snapped. The blows to her head also had been serious and had kept her unconscious through his ministrations. The most dangerous wound, though, was on her chest: an oozing cut that Aragorn recognized it as the mark of a poisoned orc knife. How could a child hope to fight off the poison that had been slathered on a dirty weapon in amounts large enough to kill a grown man? All hope left him. The only way he could save her life would be to call her back, to summon her battered spirit back to life.
"Anniel!" he called, making his voice commanding yet kind, firm yet gentle. "Return to me. Your family awaits." Bending low over Anniel, he shut his eyes and groped for the fading tendrils of her sub conscious mind. He saw as if from afar a small figure, wandering lost in the darkness. Aragorn glanced down at his feet and saw that he himself stood bathed in a gentle glow of light and life. Again he called Anniel's name, in turn inviting, then pleading for her to join him. She heard his cries, for she lifted her gaze and began to walk toward him, each step laborious and slow. "I'm coming!" he heard her faint cry. Determinedly Anniel continued on until she reached the area where the reach of the overwhelming dark weakened and faded to mere shadows. Suddenly, before she could reach the light, unseen wraiths of pain and fear grabbed her ankles, yanking her to her knees.
"I cannot come!" Anniel sobbed, stretching out her hand pleadingly. "H-help me!"
Aragorn sprinted toward her. "Hold on, Anniel! I am coming!" His feet crossed the border of light and dark almost effortlessly, and soon he was kneeling at the child's side. In vain Aragorn tried to lift her, but the darkness refused to yield its victim. Her body was limp, and Aragorn felt the light of her spirit begin to fade. With a pang of sorrow, his healer's heart realized there was only one thing he could do. Keeping her spirit from fleeing the bruised, battered body was beyond his skill and would cause only cause Anniel immeasurable distress and pain before she succumbed to the inevitable. All he could do now was to ease her fear. Gently Aragorn smoothed back her hair and spoke comfortingly to Anniel. "Rest. You have done well, brave child of the North."
Aragorn straightened and opened his eyes, blinking against the light gleaming in one corner of the cabin. Anniel stirred and moaned, still lingering in the twilight of consciousness to which Aragorn had coaxed her. "M-my mother," she murmured.
Turning, Aragorn gestured toward Anniel's family. "Come," he said, then added softly, "for time is short."
Her mother came swiftly, not allowing sorrow or shock to keep her away from her child in the time of Anniel's last and greatest need. She wrapped her arms around the small figure comfortingly, and Anniel's father stroked the pale cheek as he breathed a loving epithet. Halwen came more slowly, shock numbing her mind and limbs. A floorboard creaked irreverently beneath her feet, unaware that a child dangled between life and death, and the sound seemed to release her from her stupor. She knelt at her sister's side, taking the small hand in her own and kissing it. For a few moments, it was just gentle whispers and caresses, quiet tears, and a loving family gathered around a bedside.
Then came the soft, agonized moan. "S-she is gone." One by one, they kissed the child's forehead and murmured the appropriate words, that the Valar would guard and guide her soul on her final journey. Stricken, they sat then, cuddling Anniel's body, as if by the act they could delay the sorrow, the pain that would come when they realized Anniel would never breathe, smile, run, or laugh again. Halwen was the first to reluctantly stand. When she turned, Aragorn was startled to see her eyes were flashing. The aura of strength and calm Halwen had exuded for his sister's sake snapped.
"And your name among the elves was Estel," Halwen said accusingly, her voice strong even though her eyes glimmered with tears. "The elves' wisdom must truly be fading, for the name is ill given. A little girl died, and the precious hope of Middle Earth was not able to save her. Since I was a babe I have dreamed of a renewer, like unto the kings of old, to right the wrongs done to our people. I see it now for what it was: naught but a foolish, childish dream. You are nothing like them!"
"Halwen! You should not speak thus to any man, much less your chieftain and king. You owe him your respect!"
"Respect must be earned before it is owed. And if this is the best he can do to gain it," Halwen gestured toward her sister's bed, voice trembling, "then I will never give it!"
"Halwen!" both of her parents cried, but she gathered her skirts and ran from the room.
"Please accept my apologies for my daughter, Chieftain," her father said, eyes mutely pleading for understanding.
"You do not need to apologize," Aragorn replied, unable to keep the knawing guilt in his thoughts from bleeding into his voice. "Her anger is justified."
"She spoke out of sorrow, not truth, my lord. Please, do not blame yourself."
Aragorn managed to nod, but his thoughts continued to trouble him. The hope of Middle Earth could not save a single child from death. One who had professed to dream about my coming hates me. I failed, both as a warrior and a healer. I am not worthy to be either a Chieftain or a king.
O0o
Halwen ran to the small clump of trees she had always hidden in when childish hurts had driven her to seek a place of solitude. The largest pine rose up in the midst of the small clearing, a familiar friend and strong sentinel to guard Halwen's sanctuary. Her body shook with breathless sobs as she dropped to her knees and rested her forehead against the tree's solid trunk. The soft breeze teasing tendrils of her hair out of its braid, the fresh scent of pine needles, and the rough yet comforting caress of the bark against her cheek had always been able to soothe away worries and calm her troubled spirit. Today she didn't notice any of it, wondering lost in a strange new realm of tears and bitter sorrow that no amount of trivial childish worries could have prepared her for. Suddenly all her cherished memories of Anniel had become painful, stinging her heart as salt in a wound. Death was a part of the Dunedain life, but Halwen had always thought it a danger for grown men, for warriors. Never for a six-year-old girl with a sunny smile that could cheer the darkest of days, never for a little girl who had a kind word to say about everyone, never for a little girl beloved by friends and family…
"Why!" she shouted. "Why Anniel? So many lives have been stolen: fathers, uncles, older brothers. Are they not enough?" She pounded her fist against the tree trunk in desperation and helplessness. "Why Anniel, too? Curse Sauron, curse every orc that ever spawned, curse the people our men have gone away to guard when their strength is needed here!"
Her fist slammed into the tree with more force than she had intended. Halwen glared first at her red knuckles, then at the oak. "Curse you, too!"
Never again would Anniel scramble up a tree's branches with the nimbleness of a squirrel and laugh at Halwen's attempts to follow. Never again would she come in from play with yet another wounded animal limping behind her, and then, with a mute wide eyed plea, convince her father to help her nurse it back to health. Never again would she secretly pick vegetables from the garden to feed the horses, or climb into bed with Halwen after claiming to have a nightmare. The last had always annoyed Halwen, because Anniel's feet were always cold… And now they will never be warm again, Halwen thought, remembering the death chill she had felt as she touched her little sister's hand for the last time. A wave of fresh tears flowed down her cheeks before the sobs slowed to hiccups and Halwen succumbed gratefully to sleep.
O0o
With an effort, Aragorn raised his hand and knocked three times against his grandfather's door. When no answer came, he turned the knob and let himself in. Wearily he plopped down in a chair, absently noticing a spattering of blood on his sleeve. Not the dark blood of orcs, but human blood, now turning a shade of carmine as it dried. Blood that had once richly flowed through the veins of a healthy, lively child… A child whose body was now still and broken, marred with the cruel rends of orc claws. A body in which the last tendrils of warmth were now wilting, fading more reluctantly than life itself…
"Aragorn!" Ivorwen's voice interrupted his thoughts. She stared in concern at her grandson, slumped over with weariness and defeat. The posture had become all too common among their settlement in these hard times, Ivorwen reflected grimly. "Did you lose some of your men during the attack?" she asked gently.
"A child. I had heard of the cruelty of orcs, even towards the young, but I had never seen it in Rivendell. I tried to heal her, but my best efforts were of no avail." The words spilled from his mouth, and soon he was telling Ivorwen about Halwen's bitter accusations. "I have failed in my duty as a healer," he mumbled.
"There are some hurts that even the most skilled healers cannot cure," Ivorwen replied, lovingly brushing sweaty locks of hair off her grandson's face so she could look him in the eye. "I'm sure there have been times the Lord Elrond was not able to heal every patient. Some ills go too deep."
Celebrian. Her spirit pained by long years of orcish torture, Celebrian had left Middle Earth to seek her soul's healing in Valinor. Even the love and care proved devotedly by Elrond had been unable to repair the hurts inflicted on Celebrian's heart. The pain of her departure still stung Elrond's heart, but the greatest healer left on Middle Earth had loved enough to acknowledge his limitations and let her go…
" I pray that Anniel's soul, too, will find peace beyond the circles of the world and that Halwen will be able to let her go," Aragorn said aloud.
Ivorwen was clearly puzzled by the missing pieces of his narrative, but she merely reached over to fondle a long tendril of Aragorn's hair. "Your words are wise. Now go and wash up, and I will prepare you something to eat. The battle with the orcs and the healing have sorely taxed your strength."
"Please, do not trouble yourself, lest I grow soft. I have endured greater weariness patrolling with the Sons of Elrond, and I do not doubt I shall have to face such again in my travels."
"That time will come soon enough," Ivorwen remarked. "When your mother took to you to Rivendell, you were naught more than a babe. I have missed nurturing you in the days of your childhood, and in the future you shall often be occupied with long journeys that will carry you far from aid. Let me care for you while I may."
Aragorn saw the stirrings of worry in his grandmother's loving eyes and remembered the measure of foresight she possessed. What could she have seen of his future journeys? Loneliness, pain, and hunger, no doubt, as was the lot of the Dunedain as they struggled to guard their borders and those of the Shire. But in what measure would Aragorn have to face these challenges, that they should trouble this valiant, stalwart woman of the North?
Deciding that pressing her would prove painful for them both, Aragorn instead endeavored to ease her worry. He took Ivorwen's hand and said as playfully as he could, "Well then, my lady, as difficult as it is for me to partake of your good cooking, I shall endure it."
His efforts were not unwasted. The small upward tug of her lips revealed that Ivorwen knew the reason behind his teasing, and she brushed an appreciative kiss against his forehead. "I love you, Aragorn son of Arathorn."
O0o
Two days passed, and Aragorn found himself seeking Halwen. Although he no longer felt so strongly the guilt that had plagued him at Anniel's bedside, Aragorn sympathized with Halwen's pain and desired to ease it if he could. Her parents directed him to a small copse of pine trees behind their house. It was there he found Halwen seated learning against a tree trunk, her arms keeping the dark mourning cloak wrapped tightly around her frame. Her gaze seemed to be concentrated on the bed of pine needles under her feet, and her eyes did not move as he approached. Either he truly had learned something about walking unheard from Elladan and Elrohir, or Halwen was ignoring him. Aragorn suspected it was the later, although he wasn't sure if it stemmed from animosity or shame over her outburst. He hesitated. It felt inconsiderate just to sit down in Halwen's sacred hideout, especially since she had clearly come to be alone with her memories. Fortunately, Halwen looked up.
"Chieftain," she said, her voice sad but civil. "Will you sit down?"
"I would be glad to do so, thank you," he said, lowering his long limbs to the ground. He winced, but even the awkwardness of his movements was more endurable than the silence that fell between them. Halwen's hideaway was soothing to his soul, but he refrained from mentioning that aloud. Halwen had lost a loved one, and small talk wouldn't be appreciated. If only Aragorn knew the right words to comfort her…
"From the depths of my heart, I am sorry," he finally murmured.
"I am sorry, Chieftain. I should not have placed blame on you, nor spoken with such disrespect."
"Were those truly your thoughts, about me being unworthy to hold the place once occupied by the kings of old? You apologized for the tone of your words, but not for the words themselves." Halwen looked at him in alarm, and Aragorn quickly held up a hand. "Nay, I am not upset with you, nor do I wish for you to be upset with me. I merely want to know what you think."
"I have dreamed of the return of our king since I was young. I loved the tales of the kings of old and their great deeds. I set my standards too high for any mortal to reach, I fear," Halwen said, the ghost of a sad smile touching her lips. "It is not your fault you could not achieve them."
She bit her lip and stared at the ground. "I should have been able to do something to protect her. Anniel threw a rock at an orc to keep him from crushing me, and she paid dearly for her courage. Meanwhile I was helpless, unable to do a single thing."
Aragorn opened his mouth, but before he could speak a word of comfort, Halwen added, "I wish to be helpless no longer. I have decided to join the Rangers."