A/N at the end of story...

Vales of the Anduin

Fear was an emotion unfamiliar to Celegon, seeming only to afflict him where his younger brother was concerned. As he reluctantly approached the group of hooded men kneeling by the Anduin he felt the effects of it coursing through his veins like the river's icy water. He glanced behind him to the beardless youth, but the boy had turned his back and was speaking to another man. Celegon swallowed the lump forming in his throat and continued his lonely walk through the steady rain.

One of the kneeling men facing his direction looked up as he drew nearer and slowly stood, glancing between the prone form and the approaching Elf. The mist swirled around the cloaked figure's legs as he stepped around those on the ground and strode forth, throwing back his hood to reveal a shock of silvery hair and a familiar face.

"Celegon!" His brother's voice reached his ears but did not register in Celegon's anxious mind. Gilorn hurried over to greet him, relief curving his lips and lighting his eyes. The smile quickly faded, however, when he saw his brother's pale face and strange expression. "What is wrong? Are you injured?" With bloodstained hands Gilorn methodically checked for signs of damage until Celegon grabbed his wrists to stop him. He stilled and met his older brother's wide eyes, realising only then that it was fear he saw within them.

"I could not find you. I thought…" Celegon's softly spoken words wavered, nearly drowned out by the steady rush of rain, and his grip on his brother tightened painfully.

Gilorn watched in surprise as the shadow of sadness passed over Celegon's face, erasing all traces of the arrogant self-assurance so often present and leaving in its stead a look of vulnerability and tears that slowly joined the rivulets of rain running down his cheeks. Alarmed, Gilorn drew his brother into his arms and held him tightly. He felt himself embraced in return, his brother's body shuddering as he clung to him, but was at a loss as to how to comfort one who rarely showed such weakness. He closed his eyes and squeezed tighter, murmuring words of comfort into his brother's rain soaked hair. Eventually the shuddering stopped but neither was willing to let go.

"I was afraid you were lost." Celegon's sorrowful voice was muffled by the embrace.

"I am here. I am well." The simple reassurance was all Gilorn could think to offer.

Heaving a tremulous sigh, Celegon finally pulled away. "I cannot tell you how relieved I am to see you." He clutched his brother's shoulders and his face softened into the beginnings of a smile before morphing into a frown. "Do not ever worry me like that again," he demanded. Gilorn grinned like an elfling, unknowingly easing his brother's heart. Celegon gave him a shake. "Why did you leave my side? Where did you go? Is this your blood? Are you hurt?" His questions came rapidly with no chance for reply as he in turn looked his brother over, lifting aside the sodden gray cloak to search for any wound.

Gilorn batted his hands away. "I am unharmed, I assure you." He chuckled lowly at his brother's worriment and gestured to the prone form behind him, the humour falling from his face as he looked on. "He thought he was saving me. The foolish child." The last sentiment was muttered under his breath with a shake of his head. "There were three yrch attacking at once, two in front of me, one behind. I believe he thought I did not see the one behind, or perhaps that I was incapable of defending myself from it. He threw himself between us just as I turned from disposing of the other two. I could not abandon him after he was struck down; he was alone and afraid." Gilorn paused, looking at his red stained hands, distress evident in his voice. "He will not survive. His abdomen is split wide. I have done all I can to help...sang the healing words and stitched him up until the thread ran out. They do not have enough to close such a large wound and I used all I carried with me. Even if they did have enough, the internal damage is too great." He squeezed his hands into fists, digging his nails into his palms. "He is young, Celegon, even for edain." Gilorn fell silent and the two looked on helplessly as the boy's end neared.

Celegon felt a vague sadness while observing the men's futile efforts, but the sadness was overshadowed by the immense relief he felt that it was not his loved one lying there in the pouring rain, bleeding his life out into the mud. "But it could have been," he muttered to himself.

"It could have been what?" Gilorn queried, searching his brother's face for a hint of an answer.

"It could have been you." The words hung there between them. Celegon felt his younger brother's hand wrap around his own in a firm grip. He squeezed that warm hand while his eyes were fixed on the one lying so pale against the mud and grass.

"It could have been either of us." Gilorn withdrew his hand and instead draped his arm around his brother's shoulders. "But it was not. Not this time."

More weary men had wandered over and stood a respectful distance away, waiting for the inevitable. The mist swirled around them, obscuring then revealing, and the rain finally slackened to a drizzle. The words of the man kneeling at the boy's head could be heard by all now, not just the sensitive ears of the Elves. His voice was hoarse and full of emotion as he spoke and stroked the boy's forehead. The two men who had been acting as healers ceased their movements, their hands stilling as realisation set in. One stood abruptly and stalked away to the river, striding shin deep into the water before falling to his knees while the other simply hung his head in defeat. A bystander walked over to the man who was still speaking and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. The litany of words finally stuttered to a halt, along with the rain, and silence descended.

"He was the youngest we lost this day," a deep voice quietly remarked in slow, heavily accented Westron. The brothers separated abruptly and turned to find the leader of the men standing behind them, his thickly muscled arms folded across his wide chest. A dark green hood covered his white hair and droplets of rain decorated his graying beard. "Five and ten years he was. Too young, I said. His father said no, he was strong, he was ready. Stubborn. Wouldn't listen. Now look," he tilted his head in the direction of the heartrending tableau. "His father there, wishing he'd listened." Anguished cries rose then from the river's edge, drawing their attention back to the grieving man and his fallen son.

Gilorn stepped toward the leader. "I feel I may be to blame." He confessed his guilt under the scrutiny of the stoic man's dark brown eyes and felt his brother's reassuring presence move closer behind him. He did not need to look to know that Celegon's hands rested on the hilts of his blades. "I did not realise the boy would try to intervene. If I had been quicker perhaps...but I was too late. I should have done more..."

The man interrupted Gilorn with a shake of his head and a raised hand. He was an imposing figure in his battle stained leather and mail, standing nearly as tall as the Elves but much broader. He shrewdly surveyed them from top to bottom, lingering on Gilorn's reddened hands, and left them both feeling as if they had been thoroughly assessed and judged accordingly. "You speak too quickly. This Westron comes slower to me, but I understand enough." His eyes narrowed in his weathered face, looking over the Elves once more. "Your words sound...strange. Like that Mirkwood King. But you are not his people, are you? The same, yet different." The brothers shared a dubious glance when he paused for a moment, lost in thought. He dropped a large hand on Gilorn's slender shoulder and gave him a few heavy pats. "No matter. You did what you could. The blame is not yours, young one. Death comes to us all, and more would be dead without you." The man began to walk away, but turned back to the Elves and lowered his hood, glancing up to the gray sky. "I am Marhwini, son of Marhari. I would speak more with you later and thank you…" he hesitated, seeming to search for a word. "Properly. I would thank you properly. But first I must speak with Gerolt there, and the others. Until later." He gave the brothers a nod, and strode away to meet with the bereaved and the wounded.

"Mirkwood? Is that what they call Eryn Galen?" Celegon watched the man intently and shook his head. "Thranduil will not like that."

"Young one?" Gilorn muttered incredulously, earning an amused glance from his brother.

"Come, young one," Celegon clapped his brother on the back. "Let us gather the rest of our arrows and be gone from this place. We have done enough here. The Lady has entrusted us with this mission and we must not fail her." He began to walk quickly back towards the battlefield. Gilorn gave a long look to the father hugging the limp body of his son before rushing to catch up to his brother.

"This Marhwini wishes to speak with us, Celegon. We should at least wait and hear him out."

Celegon glanced to his brother without slowing his pace. "I do not care to hear him out. We have urgent business elsewhere and we must make it in time. The Lady said events are already in motion; we cannot delay."

"Delaying to have a conversation will not alter the time of our arrival. Besides, were you not curious as to why such a group were travelling towards our homeland?" Gilorn bent to snatch a gray fletched arrow from the mangled corpse of an orc and held it out for his brother to take.

Celegon stopped abruptly and accepted his arrow, using it for emphasis as he spoke. "My curiosity has been sated. Our wardens will have no difficulty in dealing with these edain should they decide to venture too close to Lórien. And it will not be just a conversation, mark my words. We should leave now. It will be easier." He slid the arrow into his quiver and started off again. "You take that side. Meet me back here when you are done."

"Wait." Gilorn took hold of his brother's arm to keep him from hurrying off. "What do you mean 'not just a conversation'?"

Celegon released an exasperated sigh. "I mean these are edain. They are predictable. We will be invited to share a meal. You will not refuse because you are also predictable and far too polite. There will be drinking as they remember their dead. That will lead to singing, which will lead to more drinking, which will lead to still more singing and probably dancing. We will be here all night."

"I am not predictable! And I am not too polite! One cannot be 'too polite'. Perhaps you are not polite enough!" Gilorn poked his brother in the chest with a finger, bringing a smirk to Celegon's lips. He frowned and crossed his arms, realising he had risen to the bait as Celegon had intended, and decided not to respond further, but to continue in a civil manner. "Perhaps this adan simply wants to thank us properly, as he said. Besides, it would not hurt to resupply if we are able. I do not relish the thought of making this journey on lembas alone." He looked pointedly at his brother, wordlessly reminding him of the loss of their trail rations, and giving his best impression of Celegon's raised eyebrow.

"That was not entirely my fault! If you had not insisted on sticking your nose where it did not belong…" This time it was Gilorn's turn to smirk. Celegon huffed a disbelieving snort and shook his head. He pointed at his brother, opening his mouth to retort, before thinking better of it and snapping it shut again.

"Even if we did camp here tonight instead of a few leagues to the north, do you truly think it would make that much difference in the scheme of things?"

Celegon shrugged a shoulder. "I do not know the scheme of things, but the Lady seems to and she requested utmost urgency. We do not have time to indulge your fascination with whatever this adan has to say. We risked our lives...your life! That is enough! We owe them nothing more."

Although unintended, the increasing volume and sharp words stung, and Gilorn to hung his head, studying his bloodied hands. Celegon knew his brother thought of the young life he could not save and watched with regret as he lifted his head defiantly and stalked away.

"Gilorn, wait," he called. His brother stopped, but did not turn. Celegon jogged to where he stood and came round to face him. Gilorn had arranged his face into a carefully expressionless expression, just as he had always done when trying to conceal his feelings from his older brother. Celegon found it endearing and had not the heart to tell him that he failed miserably every time. He pulled him into his arms and hugged him close, holding tightly until Gilorn relented and returned the embrace with a resigned sigh. "I am sorry. Please do not be angry with me." Celegon took a deep, shaky breath and closed his eyes. "I was afraid, Gilorn. I was afraid it was you lying there by the river. I was afraid and I do not wish to stay here and be reminded of it." He released his brother and looked at him earnestly. "Please forgive me. What would I have if I did not have you?" With tears stinging his eyes, Celegon strode away to retrieve arrows, leaving his brother watching after him with a look of astonishment on his face.

Gilorn shook his head. This day had not turned out the way he expected when they broke camp at dawn. He began to weave his way through the battlefield with a thoughtful frown creasing his brow, plucking the occasional arrow as he wandered. Men were busy with the onerous task of dragging enemy corpses into mounds to be set alight, and few spared him even a glance as he glided by. When he had collected all the arrows that could be found he headed back toward the designated meeting spot, passing near a pair of men who were hauling a rather large orc to the nearest pile. He heard a shout and paused mid stride, glancing in their direction. The younger of the pair dropped the legs he was carrying in order to beckon Gilorn over, resulting in much grumbling from his burly companion who was left struggling with the other end. The Elf cocked his head and looked around him, making sure it was indeed he who was being beckoned, and ambled over, his curiosity piqued.

The orc landed heavily on the heap as Gilorn approached and the young man smiled widely in greeting. He spoke to Gilorn in his strange language, made a motion for him to stay put, then dashed off to a horse waiting patiently nearby. A dark green cloak was draped over the saddle and a shield rested on the ground at the horse's feet. A pleased smile began to curve his lips when Gilorn recognised the youth, faltering slightly when his thoughts strayed to the fallen boy by the river, only a few years younger than this one by the looks of him. The young man retrieved a cloth wrapped bundle from atop the shield and trotted back. He unwrapped it and presented it to Gilorn, speaking again and looking expectantly to the Elf. The bundle held five arrows, four with gray fletching belonging to Celegon and one of his own bearing the white feathers of the swans that made the waters of Lothlórien their home. A question came from the boy, drawing Gilorn from his sudden, wistful longing to see those swans gliding serenely over clear waters once more.

"He ask which is yours," the burly man said offhandedly, tossing bits of orc armour and weapons upon the pile without looking up. His Westron was more strongly accented than Marhwini's and it took a moment for Gilorn to realise that he had actually understood what had been said.

The Elf picked his arrow from the bunch, holding it up to the boy with a crooked grin and smoothing the white feathers before popping it into his quiver. The young man flashed him a smile full of straight white teeth and Gilorn accepted the other arrows, sliding them in with the rest. "Thank you," he replied in Westron for the benefit of the burly man, and inclined his head in thanks with a hand placed over his heart. The burly man translated his gratitude for the youngster.

"Ah," the youth shook his head, the bright smile still lingering. "Thank you." He haltingly repeated Gilorn's words and imitated his gesture. A look tinged with uncertainty and fear flickered across his face, perhaps remembering how close he had come to death, and he clasped Gilorn's forearm in a firm grip. "Thank you," he said again more seriously.

Gilorn placed his own hand atop the young man's. "You are most welcome. Do not waste your second chance." The boy looked questioningly to the other man who was now sprinkling a flammable oil onto the mound of orcs. The man shook his head, mumbling something unintelligible to the Elf's ears and knelt to strike a spark that would set the corpses ablaze. When the boy looked back to him, a question still in his eyes, Gilorn gave a short bow and took his leave. His brother was waiting.

Gilorn had to admit, albeit grudgingly, that Celegon had been right. His brother had far more dealings with the race of Men than he ever had himself, and everything had come to pass exactly as he had said. Marhwini did indeed invite them back to the main group to share a meal and honour the dead, even offering them the use of a pair of horses to make the short trip easier, and as predicted Gilorn was unable to refuse when faced with the heartfelt offer. He glanced to his brother before agreeing, but Celegon merely arched an imperious brow and kept silent, though the hint of a smirk did twitch at his lips.

"Do not say a word," Gilorn muttered as they walked through the mud to their waiting mounts.

"I did not intend to." With a curt nod Celegon accepted the reins from the grim faced warrior who held them and swung himself gracefully into the saddle. He took his time meticulously arranging his cloak and his weapons before looking down at his younger brother. "Not yet anyway." Celegon attempted to maintain his arrogant demeanour, but Gilorn could hear the laughter as his brother rode off to join the departing men.

Gilorn sighed, mentally preparing himself for the sardonic gibes that were sure to come as the night wore on. He patted his borrowed mare on the shoulder and stroked her muzzle, admiring her shiny chestnut coat and brilliant white markings, all the while murmuring his greetings in the ancient language of the Silvan Elves. The horse whickered in pleasure, nuzzling into his neck and puffing warm breaths into his long hair. He chuckled softly and took the reins offered by the warrior who was now decidedly less grim and watching him with undisguised curiosity. Gilorn nodded his thanks and hopped nimbly into the saddle. The eager mare danced sideways and with little urging took off after the rest of the riders.

The return of the warriors in the late afternoon had been met with joyous shouts as families were reunited, soon followed by keening wails as women were greeted with the bodies of their men. Shrouded once more in their gray cloaks the Elves dismounted and stood apart from the Men, silently observing. Gilorn watched pensively as Gerolt, the father of the fallen boy, slowly approached on his black steed with the body of his son cradled in his arms; Celegon watched only his brother's face and his heart ached at the guilt he saw there. He stepped closer to offer what solace he could, pressing shoulder to shoulder, and felt Gilorn lean into him.

Together they watched the man carefully dismount, refusing all assistance, and carry the limp body to a woman waiting nearby in shocked disbelief. Gerolt knelt before her, gently laying his lifeless son at her feet. With a sorrowful wail she collapsed to her knees and gathered the boy in her arms, sobbing and stroking his pallid cheek and messy golden hair still damp from the rain.

"His mother," Gilorn murmured. With a sharp pang he remembered his own mother and her grief at the loss of his father and eldest brother, though she had no bodies to give a final embrace. So great was her sorrow that it had driven her to leave her remaining sons behind in favour of the white shores of the Undying Lands.

"Come." Celegon slipped his arm around his brother's waist and attempted to lead him away, but Gilorn shook his head in refusal, his eyes fixed on the weeping woman in the faded blue dress.

Inconsolable in her grief, she sat there clinging to her silent child, rocking him and singing softly until others came to collect his body for the funeral pyre. She refused to let him go, forcing Gerolt to pull her away and hold her tightly as their son was taken to join the fallen. The man stood firm as she struggled against him, crying and pleading, her empty arms finally wrapping around him in desperation.

When darkness fell at last the echoes of joy had long since faded, leaving only the pall of grief. Around the massive pyre words were spoken in honour of the fallen, drink was passed around, toasts were made, and songs of glory were sung. The somber atmosphere gradually lightened, however, as the night wore on. The mead flowed and the sparks of the funeral pyre carried the spirits of the dead to the halls of their fathers. Gilorn stood in the shadows away from the fire watching all with a frown on his face and his brother at his side. He could not quite comprehend how a funeral could turn into a celebration, but these Men had somehow managed it.

"Why do they dance as their loved ones burn? Do they not grieve?"

Celegon watched the shifting shadows play across his brother's face before turning his attention back to the pyre. "Of course they grieve. But death is no stranger to edain, perhaps less so to these in particular. I have a feeling they have seen much of it recently."

Someone had brought out a drum and began to set a quick rhythm for a lively jig, the primal beats soon joined by the lilting strains of a flute. "I do not understand. If you were lost to me I could find no joy in singing and dancing so soon after your death. Perhaps never again." Gilorn turned his back on the strange funeral and gazed instead into the darkness, his sharp eyes easily picking out the warriors patrolling the perimeters of the encampment.

"They are edain, Gilorn. They are like the flames and we are like the stars. Their lives flare so brightly and burn so quickly before disappearing forever into the ashes of darkness, but their warmth still lingers after they are gone. And yet we remain, steady and eternal, ever vigilant in the veil of night. It is no wonder they choose to celebrate when nothing but death awaits them." Celegon leaned over to speak lowly in his brother's ear. "If they choose to celebrate a life lived instead of mourning a life lost, who are you to question it?"

Gilorn looked up to the stars peeking out between dark wisps of cloud, his brows furrowed in deep thought. "You are right," he said softly. "You are right."

The two Elves eventually drifted away from the gathering and towards one of the many campfires that lit the night. They sat quietly side by side cleaning and repairing their arrows while they awaited the promised conversation with Marhwini. Gilorn's mood steadily improved as he relaxed into the familiar task after accepting the truth in his brother's earlier words. Celegon had always been able to draw Gilorn back to himself when he wandered too far into his own melancholy. He decided to ensure that his younger brother did not stray into its gray shadows again tonight; he would see him smile and hear him laugh before the night was through.

TBC...

I hope you're enjoying the story so far, and thank you all for reading, following, and favouriting. Thanks very much to XiomaraLaura for the recent follow / favourite and The Realfloranocturna for her lovely reviews (If you haven't already, you should really check out her fantastic Thranduil romance The Secret of the Forest...it's worth the read ;D). I appreciate each and every one of you ^_^

Until next time... -L.

Yrch - orcs

Edain / adan - men / man