Title: Repercussions

Author: Simbelmynë

Description: Durgon of Lórien seeks his estranged children, to give them the choice of the peredhil. Follow his children as they travel deep into a culture far different from their own, and come face to face with what it is that truly separates Man from Elf. Haldir/OC.

"Hello" - Westron

»Hello« - Elvish

::Hello:: - Rohirric

Chapter 1, Part 1 – Durgon o Lórien

Durgon of Lórien, Second Lieutenant to Captain Haldir, marched in the line behind the Captain. The land of Rohan had not changed in the twenty years in which he had been gone. Not for the last time Durgon felt a flicker of nervousness in his stomach.

He knew that his children lived in Edoras. Not that he really could call himself their father. He was their sire yes, but it was not Durgon who had taught them the ways of life. They did not know him. But this was Durgon's own fault, he had not returned when Maewyn's message of their birth had reached him.

He had met Maewyn when he had served as a messenger for the White Lady. The Lady Galadriel had been in desperate need to speak to Mithrandir, and Durgon had had a very hard time finding him. Maewyn had been kind enough to invite her into her home, despite the oblivious distaste Èothain, her promised one, had felt towards him.

To this day Durgon couldn't explain why it was he had slept with her. She was just so beautiful, in a way he'd never seen before in a woman. Maewyn had an inner fire that seemed to illuminate her very being. She glowed, lighting up whatever room she was in, yet it had been different from the elves. The elves light, while beautiful and breathtaking in it's own right, did not have Maewyn's fire; her passion, her warmth.

Yet it had not been enough to make him want to stay. And in no uncertain terms Maewyn had made it clear that she didn't want him. She was a promised woman, and Èothain was a prominent member of the Mark.

The great siege castle of Helm's Deep came into view. At Haldir's command Durgon raised his horn to his lips and announced their arrival.

No one but the Lady knew his true reason for taking up the call of the march. She had spurred him on; informing him that it was time he returned and offered his children the choice of the Half-elven.

He was an old elf. He had been young when Lorien was settled. But he had never taken a wife. He had never found one to love. Instead he busied himself in the army, training its finest. Even Haldir had come through his training camp. The Captain was more than willing to accept him in the march.

They marched into Helms Deep and Durgon fought the urge to snicker at the pure shock on the face of the Men that dwelled there. He felt a swell of pride that the army he had trained awed and stuck hope into those that glazed upon them.

The introduction was short and swift, mainly of Haldir introducing himself and a brief reunion with the Prince of Mirkwood and Aragorn the Heir of Isildur. They had less then three hours before the Uruk-hai reached the Hornburg.

He gave a brief excuse to Haldir before disappearing into the Keep. It took him longer then he expected to find the answers he wished. The people of Rohan were fiercely protective of their own and didn't take very kindly to him requesting knowledge of the offspring of Maewyn, wife of Èothain.

An hour had nearly elapsed when he finally found himself standing behind his daughter. Her name was Fréa and she was an apprentice to the Master Healer of Edoras. Her brother Éothed, much to Durgon's displeasure, had been banished. Abet unfairly, but still – banished! He now rode with Éomer, nephew of Théoden.

He watched in awe as she brushed her fair blonde hair out of her eyes. Durgon wondered how it was that Maewyn ever managed to convince Èothain that the children were his. The elf blood that coursed through his daughter's veins seemed as clear as the daylight to him.

Durgon watched her in utter silence, unable to find his nerve as she worked diligently on preparing bandages. He licked his lips and shifted his weight. The slight sound seemed to catch her attention, but before she could turn around Durgon had fled.

He called himself a coward in every tongue he knew as he climbed the steps to the top of the Deeping Wall. Fréa had seemed so much like her mother that Durgon just couldn't bring himself to speak. It was if he was in the past, watching with the beauty of Maewyn as she fluttered about.

Night found Durgon by his pupil's side, conversing with Théoden and Aragorn on the Deeping Wall's weakest points. The conversation was beginning to get quite spirited as all the men seemed to have different ideas on what were the best remedies and how quickly they could be made. A gentle voice interrupted the conversation.

"My King." Durgon froze to find the White Lady of Rohan and his daughter, a bowl in each hand and flasks tucked under each arm.

"Sister-daughter, did I not tell you to seek shelter in the caves?" Théoden demanded. Durgon did not fail to notice the stiffening of the White Lady's jaw. Durgon felt eyes on him and met the gaze of his daughter. She dropped her gaze down immediately but Durgon could not miss the curiosity he had seen in the gray eyes.

"Aye my King, but I would see you and your companions set before I retreated." She offered a bowl to her uncle. Théoden nodded and took the bowl and flask.

"The Lady is a gracious host." Haldir said with a slight inclination of his head. The Lady Éowyn smiled graciously as she handed out bowls.

"All that I can do to help, I shall see that it is done." Théoden's eyes narrowed slightly and Durgon could sense that there was a double meaning behind those words.

"My King," Fréa stepped forward, bowing her head deeply. "The Master Healer bids me to have you drink his medicine."

"I need no more medicine." Théoden King said crossly. After a few gentle prods by his niece Théoden downed the medicine. He did not seem pleased. Durgon accepted the bowl of soup Fréa offered him. He stared intently at her face, his brows furled slightly.

Was it possible that his daughter some how knew him?

"My King, I beg your leave. I still have duties I must attend to." Much to Durgon's despair Fréa was promptly dismissed. Durgon watched her walk away, hating his moment of cowardice earlier all the more.

With much force Durgon turned his attention back as the debate started again. He found himself staring into the stormy eyes of the Marchwarden of Lothlorien and his Captain. The exchange between him and his daughter had not gone unnoticed.

The ground began to shake. Almost as one Haldir and Durgon turned to stare out over the plain.

"That is no thunder." Durgon said quietly as he stared at a line of torches that was marching towards them.

"No." Théoden said darkly, "That is no thunder."

It was well after the end of the siege that Durgon had been able to make his way to the healing quarters. It was crowded now, wounded men and elves stretched out on every availed flat plain, even in the hall.

Frowning, Durgon realized he did not see Fréa among the tending healers. But he did find Éothed. He watched as a healer quickly bandaged up a deep looking wound on his left arm. Durgon stood next to an unconscious Haldir. The wound was extreme but Haldir would survive it. When the healer had left Durgon squeezed Haldir's younger brother's shoulders encouragingly and quietly made his way across the room.

Éothed stared up at him tiredly. He looked almost exactly like a male version of Fréa. Blonde hair tucked into a loose pony tail, now caked with blood and grime and light grey eyes that stared up at him silently. He smelled strongly of horse and death but Durgon found he did not care. Durgon reached up and removed his helmet.

"I am Durgon o Lorien." With a sigh Éothed looked down.

"I thought that might be you."

"You…know me?"

»You are my father. My mother kept no secrets from us.«

Durgon was surprised Éothed could speak his language. Though he shouldn't have, Maewyn had learned the Sindarian language in but a month and a half. Extremely impressive for a member of the race of Men. How could she not have taught it to her children? It would be advantageous for their positions in society. Had not Théoden King grown up speaking Sindarian?

"Éothed-"

"Forgive me, but can we address this another time?" Éothed asked, rubbing his forehead with his uninjured arm. "I am filled with fatigue and am not quite up to the discussion of this subject."

"Of course." Durgon stepped away, noting the heavy weariness that hung about his son. "I will seek you out after you have had time to rest."

Before Éothed could respond Durgon had left the room.

That, the elf thought despairingly, could have gone better.

It was after a few inquiries that Durgon began to grow nervous. Fréa had joined a group of women that were searching through the dead. Most of the searchers had returned for the night, but Fréa had not.

And so the lone elf walked the battle field before the Hornburg. Inside the others were all gathered around their recovering Captain. Nearly all the elven warriors that had come had been wounded...or worse. Durgon had been one of the few who had not been touched

Fréa and Éothed were the one connection to Middle-earth he could not leave without some sort of resolution. And so he subjected himself to the sight of the fallen, his eyes never leaving the ground in fear that Fréa would be there.

Durgon's steps came to a halt as he found himself staring at the body of a fallen woman. He leaned down and gently turned her over. His worst fears were confirmed at one glimpse of her face.

»No!«

The cry of grief echoed across the empty field, startling the few others that were still out checking the dead. Durgon found his balance stolen out from under him and he fell to his knees, rocking the young woman's body against his own.

»No!« He moaned. Durgon stared down at the young woman in his arms and his sobs were silenced. He was shocked to find unfocused grey eyes staring up at him. He was completely taken to find recognition in those grey orbs.

»You have come to late my father.«

»Forgive me, forgive me.« Durgon buried his face in her shoulder, rocking them back and forward.

"I waited for you." Fréa whispered, a bloodied hand dragging itself through his hair. "I waited since I was a child but you never came. That you would come now!" The sigh that escaped her lips broke his heart. "I am going to die." She admitted painfully. "That you would come now!"

»No my daughter, have hope!« Durgon cradled her closer. »Have hope.«

»Thank you for coming.« Fréa whispered. "I am glad that I got to see you. I wondered for so long what it is you looked like. Even after Éothed gave up I still…" Fréa sighed again, her eyes staring at the stars above. »Look father.« The elf unwilling tore his eyes off of the girl and to the stars. "The stars are so beautiful."

He stared back down at the dying girl in his arms. How had it happened? Had someone attacked her while she was searching through the dead? A still alive demon of Saruman? Nothing around them moved.

»Fréa, look at me.« Durgon found his heart contracting as he realized his daughter was quickly slipping from the realm of the living. He tried again in Westron.

"Look at me." Fréa seemed not to hear him and panic began to take Durgon. What if she passed away before he was able to offer Fréa her choice? The Lady Galadriel had told him it was time to offer it to her and her brother. And he would have come, with or with out the army. Though his Rohrric was lacking he tried.

::Look at me!::It had better results. His daughter glanced up at him, her hand lying limp in his hair. Gently he detangled it and inspected the wound on her chest.

»Daughter,« Durgon kissed his daughter's stained forehead in an attempt to keep her focused on his words. "You must choose between the life of the Eldar or the life of the Second Born. If you chose the life of the Eldar you will survive this."

»My daughter,« Durgon's voice was little more then a horse whisper as he stared down in fright as Fréa began to loose all color. "I beg you to choose the life of the Eldar."

The grey eyes stared up at him and Durgon could see the haze that nearly covered them. He was going to loose her. He was going to loose his only daughter before he had ever allowed himself to have her!

"You ask an impossible thing of me." Fréa murmured softly.

"I ask you to choose life!" Her grey eyes stared up at him.

She was saying something, but it was so faint that even Durgon's elvish ears could not pick up on it. Then with the smallest of nods Fréa let out a sigh and closed her eyes. Panic filled Durgon as he tried desperately getting her daughter to speak to him again. He had all but given her up for dead when he noticed the smallest of color folding her face again. A check of her wound and Durgon was ecstatic to find that it had stopped bleeding.

"I hear bells." Fréa mumbled. Frowning Durgon placed his hand on her forehead. A fever that had not previously been there now seemed to be burning her body alive. Though the life of the Eldar was entering her, it would not keep her from dying now. It could only hasten her recovery time. "It smells so nice. Like simbelmynë."

Durgon hushed her as he lifted her into his arms and started towards the Hornburg as fastest pace he could dare.

"And singing. Someone's singing, ada...what wonderful voices. It's like…it's like they're saying hello."

Durgon stood stiffly in the entrance to the healing quarters, watching helplessly as both the Master Healer of Edoras and Milos, the head healer of the elven troop worked over Fréa. Even though he knew both of them were capable of handling the situation, Durgon found himself unable to breath.

Perhaps it was the combined effect of the site that was before him. In front of him, in various stages of injury, laid the three youths he cared for more than any others in this world. Pained blue eyes traveled from Fréa's flushed face to the peaceful yet pale one of Haldir to the exhausted face of his son. Éothed stared at his sister from his seat, worry etching years onto his face.

As if feeling his eyes Éothed looked up and Durgon felt his heart contract even more at the look in his son eyes. His feet carried himself to Éothed's side with a life of their own, and Durgon was ever aware that Haldir's siblings – sitting ever diligently by their brother's side – were watching.

How long had he expected to hide this secret?

It was a question that Durgon could not answer. Yet as he stared down into his son's eyes a moment of clarity took him and he knew that he had already hid it for too long. And in the process had lost his right to be a part of his only son's life. Durgon felt his face contract in pain as the thoughts of what he had missed passed through his mind.

Éothed stared up at him, his hand gripping his shoulder tighter and Durgon was aware of the confusion and resentment in his eyes. He fought for words to say – for an apology of some sorts - but found that none would come to him. There was a sound from behind them, a pitiful moan from Fréa as the healer's poured balm after balm on the gash in her side.

Milos spoke quietly to her in elven, his words encouraging and keeping her from drifting to the next realm. He moved to hold her down as his Edoras counterpart began to stitch the wound together.

Fréa convulsed and cried out, her eyes opening for a moment before rolling backwards as she fainted. A small choking sound brought Durgon's attention back to Éothed and he was pained to see his son was fighting back tears. Instinctively Durgon reached out and pulled his head against the front of his tunic, his hand stroking the blonde hair comfortingly.

Éothed stiffened under his grip and for a moment Durgon was possessed with the fear of rejection. But the man did not push him away; instead Éothed slumped a bit and raised a shaky hand to grip the back of his tunic.

It was a moment of weakness for the rider of Rohan. Durgon closed his eyes and allowed himself the pleasure of holding his son – he knew it would not be a moment he would most likely ever get again.

It was a moment he did not deserve to have and it was gone all to quickly.

Éothed stiffened under his arms again and his hand released his tunic. With a muffled sigh Durgon stepped back to find discourse facing him once again in his son's eyes. A throat was cleared behind them and Durgon turned to find Éomer, Prince of Rohan, standing in the doorway.

As quick as he could manage Éothed was on his feet and made his way over. Éomer gripped his friend strongly.

"How does she fare my friend?" Éomer murmured as he turned to face to Fréa. As they spoke softly together Durgon was aware of a deep friendship between them, a bond that almost visible in its strength.

"She will live." Milos answered for Éothed as he leaned backwards. "The wound is bad for a man, but her blood shall do a decent job." Milos wiped his hands off on his apron. "Master Healer, forgive me, I have others to tend to."

The Master Healer nodded and ran a gentle hand over Fréa's forehead. Glancing up at Durgon the old man sighed.

"I always seem to lose my apprentices." He shook his head as he washed his hands in a nearby bucket. "I take it she shall go with you to Lothlorien?"

Durgon nodded mutely.

"Old man, what are you babbling about?" Éothed demanded. "My sister will go no where."

"He is unaware?" The scorn in the healer's voice was unhidden. Durgon opened his mouth but the healer shook his head. "I will not be the one to manage such delicate affairs. I too have others that demand to be seen. Handle this yourself Master Elf."

"What is he speaking of father?" Durgon winced at how the word sounded through his son's malice. "What have you done to her?"

"I offered her the choice that is your right by birth. By the mixed blood that flows through your veins. The choice to remain a man or live as one of the First born. Your sister has made her choice."

"You turned my sister into an elf?" Durgon felt anger rise in his breast at the level of disdain in his son's voice.

"Considering half of your blood is mine perhaps you should not hold us in such disagreement." The tone of his voice caught the man off guard. Seeing the stumble Durgon attacked again. "Would you rather she be dead? By choosing this path she will live. You may shun me Éothed but you can not run from who you are."

»I hate you.« Without another word he stormed form the room, the Rohrric Prince chasing after him.

Durgon found his strength leaving him suddenly and he fell into the seat his son has left, pressing his hands against his eyes.

No one was at fault for this but himself. That was what tortured him the most.

Hope you like! (Removed Link cause it's broken).