He found her a few hours later, laying beside Uldor's body, unconsciousness from the wound in her leg, and carried her to the abandoned cottage where Thranduil's queen had once lived, and Thranduil himself had visited. This cottage that had been Amdir's destination all along.
There the Elven King himself removed the arrow and laid his hands on the elleth's leg, funneling his healing energy into her, while Haldir and the twins silently watched at a respectful distance, their faces grave.
In a desk in the corner of the small cottage, sat Feren, writing letters that would be delivered to Lothlorien, Imladris and Mirkwood. A fourth letter would be sent to King Ulwarth that night, informing him of his nephew's death.
A small host of the King's guard waited outside the cottage, they had pitched their tents nearby, but the balance of the Mirkwood and Lothlorien forces remained in the camp outside the forest. The latter were already preparing to depart for Caras Galadhon, and then on to Greenwood the Great for the Mirkwood soldiers.
Amdir awoke only once while Thranduil worked on her. She was aware of light around and above her, and watched as tendrils of energy, green and blue, softly wrapped around her body and interlaced with those parts of her fëa that had been ripped apart with the trauma of battle, a gentle stitch in time that brought her comfort, softening and soothing her spirit. She could see Thranduil amidst the light, his eyes closed, his hair hanging in a curtain around his face as his hands softly touched her leg, then her chest. Each time he lifted his hands, he studied her, then he inhaled deeply and began the treatment again. The comforting aroma of kingsfoil surrounded her and the sight of four arrow fletchings faded away into the grace of nothingness.
When she awoke again, she was in a soft bed and the red light of sunrise filtered through a large window. Her body ached, but the pain in her chest was deeper. Uldor. My beautiful Uldor. They killed you, and I am alone. She pulled the sheet over her head to block out the light, and a deep voice said "Amdir." She knew that voice. She didn't care. She closed her eyes and wished he'd go away.
"My lady," said Elladan. Strong fingers tenderly removed the blanket from her face and when she opened her eyes, his concerned face hovered above her.
"Leave," she said, her voice flat.
Elladan's eyes were gentle and he frowned. "Amdir, we have waited as long as we can. We must burn him today as was his custom, and he would want you there."
Not a good morning. Not a 'how do you fair,' rather right to the business at hand. She stared into space, seeing Uldor's face as he watched her climb that tree in the Wold, and the laughter in his eyes when he removed his tunic as they walked to Riverglen. She remembered the way he held her hand when they crossed the Anduin on the ferry, and she wanted desperately to cry, but the hurt was too deep, too unpredictable, the pain was far too real to be released. The business at hand. Elladan was right, they couldn't wait longer and there was nothing more to be done for it.
She went to swing her legs to the floor and winced as pain seared through her thigh. Elladan quickly leaned forward to limit her movement, but he was too late.
"DAMMIT!" she exclaimed.
"Here," he said, and gently helping her sit up. He passed her a glass of water, then wine, but she pushed them away. "Bring me scissors," she said.
"My lady, why—"
She sank back in her pillows and turned her head, closing her eyes. If not for the pain in her leg, she would doubt the reality of the moment. Perhaps she was still asleep. Perhaps she'd wake up and find herself curled up against her Easterling.
She heard the tall ellon rise. "Of course, Amdir. If that's what you want."
She opened her eyes and watched as the ellon's broad shoulders retreated, then a thought crossed her mind. "Elladan," she said.
He turned around, his long brown hair swinging over his shoulders.
"Do you know who slew Uldor?"
Elladan frowned, but he nodded. "Yes. A fighter belonging to a small house close to Mordor. Haldir dealt with him in the field."
"If only he had done so sooner."
Elladan looked to the ground. "That is true, I am so sorry."
Amdir closed her eyes and sank back into her pillows. "Where are we?"
Elladan's face softened and he took a step towards the bed. "You are in Fangorn, in Queen Isobel's cottage. When he found you, he carried you here."
"The King?"
"No, Haldir. It was after the battle, and both he Thranduil searched for you. When Uldor died, the trees closed in around you and we believe that it wasn't until you lost consciousness that they allowed Haldir to see you. He carried you to the cottage where the King saved your life."
"They should have let me bleed out."
Elladan walked to the foot of bed and carefully sat down. "When our mother left us for the undying lands, I felt the same. I wanted so badly to fade, to join her, I was afraid to live without her. But I was too young to fade away, and so are you. I am so sorry for you, Amdir. I feel that we failed you. We failed Middle-earth."
She looked up when she heard his voice crack and stared at him. Finally, she said, "I'm glad Haldir killed that Easterling. Please tell him he has my gratitude."
Elladan inclined his head. "You could tell him yourself. He has hovered outside the cottage for two days now, he worries you will never wish to see him."
She closed her eyes. None of it seemed real. Uldor I wish you were here.
"He is correct. Please Elladan, bring me the scissors and then leave me for awhile."
Later that afternoon, a small somber group of ellen gathered on a flat expanse of granite where they had built the pyre. Amdir stood, leaning on Elrohir's arm, with a scarf covering her newly shorn hair, and she watched, tearless, as the flames licked and eventually devoured The Easterling's body.
She tuned out the words spoken by King Thranduil before the fire was lit. Well-meaning as he was, the King did not know Uldor. Nobody knew him.
She looked at each elf in turn, the King, brothers Elrohir and Elladan, Feren, two of the king's guard and one of the Lothlorien soldiers who had graciously offered to help build the pyre, and Haldir of Lothlorien. The ellon she had expected to marry, whom she had given herself to, and thought she loved; but looking at him now, his figure hazy through the heat and smoke rising up from the pyre, she knew the difference between a youthful dream that blooms and fades with the seasons, and the truest bond between two survivors, who bare their souls to one another and honour the vulnerability in each.
Uldor had taught her this important lesson, and now he was gone and her heart was broken, the vulnerability he had protected laid cruelly open.
Her eyes returned to Uldor's body, shrouded in white linen tied neatly at the neck, shoulders, hip and feet. She watched the fire grow around this body that had once housed the soul of her Easterling, and she did not turn away until she saw her own chestnut coloured braid that she had placed over the shroud, ignite.
When she finally looked away, she heard a small, sad 'meow' at her feet. Elrohir bent down to pick up the kitten, and finally, her eyes filled with tears, yet she kept her chin high.
"In the hood of my cloak, please, so he is safe from the fire."
Elrohir did as she bid, gently placing the kitten in the scoop of her hood where it burrowed neatly. Two elves walked up behind them, Elladan and Haldir. The latter's face was ashen with dark hollows under his eyes.
"May I help you?" Haldir asked, but she turned to Elladan and he nodded. She could not bear to face Haldir.
With an apologetic glance to the March Warden, Elladan stepped to her side and she gratefully wrapped her other arm around his neck. In this way, the twins escorted her back to the cottage, Haldir walking as step behind, while the King and his retinue quietly returned to their tents and horses on the outskirts of the forest.
Haldir found Thranduil sitting alone, cross-legged, in front of a massive and ancient oak tree. His eyes were closed, his face serene. Unlike the rich cloaks and robes he donned in his own palace, here he wore simple leggings and a green tunic. The garb of a Sylvan wood elf. His hair was braided back, and, at first glance, one might have thought it was Prince Legalos sitting under that tree, a youthful unlined face free of worry and responsibility.
Haldir turned to retreat in the opposite direction, leaving to the king to his dreams, when Thranduil spoke.
"They were talking about you."
He turned back. The King was standing and had reacquired his usual intimidating presence.
"Who?" Haldir asked.
Thranduil cast has gaze meaningfully around him, lingering on the largest of trees.
It was late afternoon, the day after the funeral, and the forest was alive with spring. Around haldir's head, colourful hummingbirds and silver-winged cicadas buzzed, and in every tree, young squirrels that had been born in winter were jumping from limb to limb with sticks, feathers, and animal fur to build their first nests.
The forest floor was awash in trilliums that turned their bright white faces up towards velvety green beech leaves, newly unfurled, that were beginning to obscure the thinner branches of the canopy as they grew.
The oak of the tree that Thranduil was now standing beside was covered in dark green moss, for in Fangorn, it rained frequently and the foliage was so thick that the sun rarely penetrated enough to evaporate the water. As a result, most trees, rocks and structures were covered in enough moss to give the forest an otherworldly look that was not far from the reality of those who dwelled there.
Haldir resisted the urge to ask what the trees were whispering about him; if the King wanted him to know, he would share it.
"Did you wish to speak with me?"
Haldir nodded slowly. "It was not my intent, but now that you're here, I would."
Thranduil began to walk down a narrow path that led deeper into the heart of the forest and Haldir fell into step beside him.
"Have you heard from the King in the East?" asked the March Warden.
Thranduil frowned. "I have not, and that tells me more than anything. I had assured him that while a marriage to connect the kingdom would be ideal, it is not necessary to secure a treaty. These humans have a notion that all treaties must be secured with a marriage. Some poor high-born innocent to be sold off as a peace weaver for his or her realm. It is not without honour, but nor is it without its peril, as we have seen."
"Will you offer up another peace weaver?" asked Haldir, a hard edge laced his voice, earning a sharp look from Thranduil.
"I thought I might offer them you," he said.
Haldir snorted, and Thranduil gave him a sideways look, his mouth curved in an amused smile.
"Your quest to get rid of me must be desperate, for you to offer me up as a blushing virgin bride."
"Indeed. But you are no blushing virgin, Haldir O'Lorien, and, and on second thought, if I wish to make peace with Ulwarth, I should not offer him you."
Haldir's smile turned serious. "Even with a prospective bride, Arwen of Elrond or some other comely elleth, whom could she marry?"
The two elves followed the banks of a wide stream as they spoke. Up in the mountains, the snow thawed late, and though it be mid-spring, the stream was swollen with cold clean water from the Misty Mountains.
They came to a spot where two streams met and three large cedar trees stood sentry. Thranduil placed a palm against one of their trunks, then gave it an affectionate pat and turned back to Haldir.
"There will be no more marriage-making for this old King. Ulwarth is without an heir, and with Uldor's death, the lords of Rhun will fight amongst themselves. I suspect that realm will collapse when Ulwarth passes, which will be sooner than later if his enemies are able to reach him. You can breathe a sigh of relief, March Warden, for there is, quite simply, no one for you – or anyone else - to marry."
"And once the King is dead," said Haldir, "Rhun will align fully with Mordor, and it will only be a matter of time before we find them on our doorstep with swords unsheathed, the Vanguard of Mordor's advance."
They fell silent. Both elves understood what had been lost on the battlefield, and the repercussions went far beyond one grieving elleth.
"Has she received you, yet?" asked Thranduil.
Haldir shook his head. "But once, when I offered my condolences. She thanked me for carrying her to the cottage. I will try again this afternoon."
"Hope springs eternal."
Haldir shot Thranduil a dark look.
"Peace, Haldir. The elleth could do worse."
Haldir straightened his shoulders. A positive comment from the taciturn King represented as good a time as any to broach the subject.
"That is what I wished to speak to you about. Before Uldor arrived in Lothlorien, it had been my intent, my hope, that Amdir would become my wife. Although I had not yet declared myself, I believe you knew this."
The King arched a brow. "It was hard to miss. You are many things, but 'subtle' is not one of them."
Haldir felt the urge to knock the smirk off the elven-King's face with a firm backhanded slap, but he kept his hand at side, curling and straightening his fingers to disperse the energy. A movement that was not lost on the elven-King.
"Do not get the wrong idea, I am not here seeking your permission."
Thranduil cocked his head and stared at Haldir. "But you are declaring yourself. And Uldor's body is barely cold. That is uncharacteristically bold of you, Haldir, I think I almost respect it. But surely you know that the last thing Amdir would accept from me is another order to marry. In fact, I think it's fair to say that, given Amdir's current state of mind, nothing could ruin your chances more than my openly meddling in her affairs."
"My Lord," said Haldir.
"Your Grace," corrected the King.
"Your Grace. We have much water under the bridge and Amdir is of your house. Consider this a courtesy notice of my intent to woo the elleth, for if I succeed, I will hardly be asking you for your blessing. Yet we will be standing at that alter together nonetheless, and I would like your assurance that you won't try to marry her off at the next sign of a political opportunity to advance your own interests."
Thranduil's eyes darkened a shade. "My own interests? Yes, I suppose one could consider the safety of all of Middle-earth as 'my interests' but I had hoped for a wider perspective from he who ensures the security of Lothlorien." The King sighed, then looked sideways at Haldir without moving his head.
"Your determination and loyalty to the elleth does you credit, but as ever, your mouth endangers your position. If you wish to woo her, I wish you luck. I doubt you will be successful and think you foolish to try. This will end in tears – your tears, and if, on the slight chance that she does respond, at which point, may I add, I will question my ability to raise elflings at all, but if she does respond, then, because it be her wish, and because of the life debt I frustratingly owe you, you will have my blessing. But know this: The hardest part of standing at that alter will be my controlling the constant urge to place my fist somewhere between your crooked nose and pointy chin."
Haldir blinked, then one side of his mouth slowly crept up. "As always, King Thranduil, we understand one another."
Thranduil shook his head. "Do not look so pleased, March Warden. When it comes to Amdir and myself, you will find my resistance the easier to overcome. Now leave in me in peace."
Haldir watched thoughtfully as Thranduil walked on, then the march warden turned and made his way back up the path.
When he entered the cottage a few minutes later, he found Feren standing tensely at the window, holding an open letter in his hand.
"Bad news?"
"Rhun responds. It is as we feared. He accuses us of killing Uldor. Says there is no hope for a treaty with murderers."
"Ah, he knows the truth of the matter, but he has decided to make these rogue lords his bannerman, rather than risk open rebellion and being usurped. A smart move from his perspective. A lost cause from ours. Chances are, they will kill him anyways, and he knows that too."
Feren ran his thumb over the broken wax seal. "I keep going over it in my head. We should have assigned more warriors to flank them; we should have called on Lord Elrond to assist, not just his sons."
Haldir exhaled. "More warriors may have made a difference, and Lord Elrond could have joined his sons, he knew the details well enough. No doubt he is second guessing his decision to hold back just as we second guess our decisions. Battle is never clean, old friend, you know this as well as I, and there is no point in lamenting the outcome. It is in Eru Lluvatar's hands now."
"As it ever was," said Feren.
"As it ever will be," replied Haldir.
Feren shook his head and dropped the letter in a bowl on the main table. "Amdir rests in the bed, but I had thought to set up a chair outside, so she may take some air before I bring this letter to the King."
"You are turning into a very capable babysitter, Feren." Quipped Haldir, to which Feren rolled his eyes.
"The sooner Seren arrives, the better."
At that moment the door to the bedroom opened and Amdir limped out, her weight resting on a finely carved walking stick. The black kitten padded softly behind her.
He noticed she was looking better. She was less pale, well-rested, and her limp had diminished much since the day before. She was healing quickly, at least on the outside. With her hair shorn close to her skull, he couldn't help but think that she looked like a rabbit and he smiled.
"What are you talking about?" Her eyes fell to the letter in the bowl, and Feren picked it up and inserted it into the pocket of his tunic.
"Naught to worry over, Amdir. How do you feel?" said Feren.
Her gaze fell upon Haldir, who stood straighter in response. Her eyes were blue and the only real colour in her thin face outside of the barest brush of pink in her cheeks. "Better, I suppose."
Haldir stepped forward. "Amdir, I thought I might carry a chair outside for you if you'd like to take some air?"
Feren raised a brow at Haldir who ignored it.
Amdir frowned and looked to Feren. "Can you not carry it out for me, Master Feren?"
Feren looked awkwardly at Haldir, who lowered his eyes to hide his disappointment. The march warden was at a loss to explain her hostility, but to assume that what he had feared had transpired: She hated him for taking her maidenhead. Not one to easily back down, Haldir redoubled his efforts to make her smile.
"Feren has business with the King, but I am here, and I am your servant ever." He offered her a courtly bow, but kept one eye on her to gauge her reaction.
Before she could speak, Feren interjected, "If you will both excuse me. The King awaits and my news for him cannot."
They watched him leave then Haldir turned back to Amdir. He dropped the pretense. "Won't you let me help you?"
She looked so distraught that Haldir felt sympathy for her and was tempted to leave her if only to give her peace.
"I will return to my bed." She began to maneuver around but Haldir stepped forward and took her arm.
"Do not retire on my account. Please Amdir, you need fresh air and sunlight. Allow me to at least help you outside and then I will leave you."
She tensed up, a deep line forming between her brows, her eyes firmly on the ground.
"Amdir, look at me," he said after he'd looped his arms under her shoulders. But she would not. He signed and helped her outside, only to realize once they got there that he'd forgotten to carry the chair out.
"Feanor's bullocks," he muttered, and was gratified when he saw the barest of smiles flicker across her face. It was a start. He gently placed her on the ground, before disappearing into the cottage and returning with two rustic wooden chairs.
"I think I prefer the grass," she said, leaning back, arms behind her, and with a nod, he placed the chairs to the side of the door, then looked at her, ready to sit down beside her.
"May I?"
"I wish you wouldn't"
"But why, Amdir? I only wish to help."
"I do not wish to accept it from you."
"I don't understand. We are old friends…"
She looked up at him, and the sorrow in her eyes caused his heart to sink into his stomach. It was all he could do to not envelop her there and then, to hold that perfectly round rabbit head close to his heart and tell her that he would look after her forever.
"What if he were here," she said. "How would he feel to see us together?" her voice broke and, again, she turned her face away from him.
He exhaled a heavy breath and sat down beside her. The grass was soft and above them the branches of the upper canopy crisscrossed the sky like a lattice, allowing in speckles of sunlight that danced on the forest floor with the cadence of the wind.
"He would want to know that you are cared for, and he would not begrudge you friendship."
She shook her head slowly. "We don't know this."
In a sense, Haldir agreed. While he was sure that Uldor would want Amdir to be supported by friends, he realized that this support might not extend to him specifically. But the march warden had killed too many men in battle to be bothered by the wishes of ghosts, so he continued.
"Tell me what happened, after you left The Brown Lands."
She looked up into the trees. "I fell in love."
He smiled sadly. It was easy to forget that she was still so young. Barely an adult. He could kill Thranduil for having put her through this. "I can see that. What was he like?"
"You knew him. You travelled with him to the Anduin."
Haldir nodded. "I did. I found him…. Intelligent. Courageous. He was a man with honour."
"An elf with honour," she corrected.
"But with a man's passions, and a deep sense of loyalty."
She finally raised her eyes and looked at Haldir. His stomach flipped over when her gaze met his.
"Yes," she said, oblivious to Haldir's reaction, lost in her own memories of the Easterling. "And he was strong, and funny, and I felt safe with him."
A pang of jealousy stabbed Haldir in the chest, but he forced himself to smile. "Tell me more," he said, working hard to keep the strain from his voice.
"He didn't like climbing trees. That surprised me – an elf who doesn't like trees. But he was raised in Rhun and they didn't have trees. Not like ours. He said that west of the Anduin was the most beautiful place he'd ever seen. That he never believed he'd live to see such sights…"
As she spoke, Haldir leaned back on his hands and listened attentively. Amdir's description of Uldor was consistent with what he himself had seen of the man. It was only natural that she had formed an attachment to him, given the time that they had travelled together. He knew about Amdir's abduction by the orcs, and it made him see red to know that Uldor had left her vulnerable, but then, the Easterling had retrieved her with the help of Elrond's twins and fosterling...
He had expected she would marry him, had hoped it for the good of the realm, yet here she was; in a backwards way, she had been returned to him. The will of the realm or of a single ghost be damned. All he knew is that nobody would ever harm Amdir again, and from now on, he would ensure that she could make her own decisions and live her life on her terms, even if it meant living her life away from him. Yet he hoped that he could make her want to stay.
"What do you think you will do now?" he asked gently.
She shrugged. "I haven't thought about it. This is a safe place, I had hoped that the King will allow me to stay here for a while."
"I spoke to the King earlier. He is not inclined to interfere with your decisions."
She snorted, and his lip twitched. "It will be a fine day when Thranduil gives me autonomy. I don't believe it," she said.
"Believe it. For it is true. Whatever you wish to do, he will support you in every way. As will I."
She turned to him, her face suddenly fierce. "I don't want your support. Why won't you see that?!"
His nostrils flared. "I do see that, very clearly, but I don't understand why. I am your oldest friend. It was I who saved you when you were an elfling, when I found you wandering the forest after your parents had been killed, and it was I who returned you to Thranduil's Halls. It was I who wrote the King every month for 50 years to ask of your progress. And it was I whom you choose, that afternoon in the Brown Lands. Yet now you refuse my help. You deny even my friendship! I am at a loss…" He furrowed his brows and leaned forward, searching her face for truth.
"Because, Hal…" She stopped.
"Haldir."
"I know your name."
"Yet you won't say it?"
She closed her eyes and when she opened them again, they had filled with tears.
"I can't. I don't want him to hear me say your name. He knows I loved you. He knew. He knew everything. That afternoon in Brown, there was a baby, but I lost it. And when I lost it, I was relieved, I was glad. I know it's horrible to say, but it's true. Yet he was saddened because he said that he had never believed he would have a family. He wanted that baby. Even knowing it was yours, he still wanted it because he said it was also mine. He was that good. He looked past all of it, so of course I fell in love with him, how could I not? And now that he is gone, if I allow myself to spend time with you, if I allow myself to be happy with you, even for a moment, then it's like I am forgetting him. Or worse, like I wanted him to die so that I could be with you again."
Haldir couldn't breathe. He abruptly stood and walked a few paces away, his hand on his stomach. He took a few breaths…one…two…then he turned to look at her. "You were pregnant?"
He saw her bite her lip, then she turned her head, but he would not allow her to look away. Not this time.
"Amdir," he said, his tone commanding.
She reluctantly met his eye.
"You were going to raise my baby with Uldor?"
She frowned. "I…I didn't know I had been carrying until after I had lost it. But we were to be married…for the good of the realm," she said weakly.
"No, because you loved him. We established that already," he said sharply, and instantly regretted his tone when he saw her flinch. Yet she carried my child. She would have raised my child with that man.
He breathed deeply, fighting the urge to lash out. Now was not the time, look at her: She was injured, in mourning. And besides, what could he possibly say? He mastered his emotion and said in a clear voice, "I cannot say that I do not understand or feel sympathy for you, but I…well, a baby. It is much to take in."
She nodded sadly and he knew she was sorry for hurting him. He looked at her, laying on the grass, her leg bandaged, her hair gone, a wounded rabbit indeed, and no longer the young elleth he had known.
He studied the elegant curve of the back of neck where it met her skull and the soft point of porcelain ears. As the silence between them grew, the sound of the birdsong got louder, and the gentle swaying of the trees was more pronounced. He finally had to concede that the young translator he had known had died along with her Easterling, and the elleth laying in the grass beside him now was a nearer to a stranger than the elleth he had loved.
"Haldir?"
A stranger who needed his help to return to the cottage. He nodded and bent down to scoop her up. He held her closer than was necessary, testing if she felt familiar to him, but all he felt was loss, her loss, his own, even that of the Easterling.
He carried her into the cottage and gently laid her in the bed, then turned on his heel to leave, aware of her large eyes following him. She said nothing, and for that he was profoundly grateful, for had he turned around, she would have seen the tears in his eyes and he could not have that.
He banged into Feren in his haste to leave, who put his arms on Haldir's shoulders. "Steady, old friend."
Haldir looked away. "Tell Seren to see that she eats well," he barked. "For she if far too thin." Before Feren could reply, Haldir was out the door and down the path that led to the river, oblivious to the trees that swayed gently around him, turning in tiny measures to watch him pass.