The Trees Remember
Chapter Twenty-Four
"Prophesy"
The Elves stood in line in front of the car. Their weapons remained inside, still covered by their Elven cloaks. Each silently cursed himself for not tucking a dagger or knife under his jacket. The Nazis cut the engine to the car and confiscated the keys. The man who had ordered them to vacate the car continued speaking in the Elvish tongue as he paced up and down the line of immortals.
"Der Führer is most upset that you stole his letters. He hoped you would return to Germany so you could give them back. It seems that you have been careless, however. Il Duce called three days ago to inform Der Führer that he had the letters in his possession. Stealing from Der Führer is not a wise thing to do."
"Nor is turning against the Valar," Sárëawë proclaimed.
The officer turned to him. He was not outraged at being interrupted, but rather looked curiously at the Maia, as if "Valar" was a word he did not know. Realization dawned upon the Elves. These men did not know whom they served!
The officer continued talking, still contemplating the word "Valar." He knew that "vala" meant power. The idea of "the powerful ones" intrigued him. He wondered who they were and why Hitler had not mentioned them when teaching the Officer Corps Sindarin and about Elves.
"Now you shall pay for your crime. Usually we would have some fun with you first. I personally would like to see an Elf get shot in the back as he ran away screaming."
The Elves scoffed at the idea. No Elf would run away shrieking from death. Eternity in Mandos was a better choice than cowardice. Obviously the man did not know the nature of Elves, only the word.
"I have been ordered to bring you to Der Fürher alive." A dark smile spread across his lips. "That is a worse fate than any bullet."
The officer turned to his subordinates and gave them orders in German, and then turned back to Elaneth with menacing eyes. It seemed that a sudden wave of evil had swept over the man that was much stronger than his previous malice as if a deadly thought had entered the man's mind. He said something to Elaneth in German. The elleth tensed and swallowed deeply.
"So you do understand German," he said, turning away.
With Elven speed and grace, Elaneth drew her dagger from the sheath tied to her thigh and thrust it into the man's neck. Without hesitation, the Elves and Maia lunged for the two other guards. With their guns torn or kicked from their grasps, the Nazi men were helpless. They held up their hands, begging for mercy in German.
Elaneth regarded them for a moment, listening to their pleas. Only she could understand their words. The men sued for pardon and begged forgiveness. They promised to let them pass the border and never speak of it to anyone.
The Elves looked at Elaneth questioningly. The elleth stared hard at the two men, as if searching their souls for a shred of decency. The corners of her lips turned down, making her features dark and brooding. Her friends felt not an ounce of emotion from her. Her heart was cold and unfeeling and her face reflected that emptiness.
She turned to the car and retrieved her short sword. The men's pleas turned to sobs and wails as she approached them. They sank to their knees, as if bowing to Elaneth. Haldir sneered at the men. Had they not enough dignity to accept death rather than grovel for life? If they were spared, how could they survive each day knowing they had forfeited their pride for life?
Elaneth unsheathed the sword and tossed the scabbard into the driver's seat. She very rarely used her sword, but she always carried it. As she gazed at the cold metal blade, old memories drifted through her mind. Terrible, dark memories clouded with smoke and fire. She held the point towards the two men and spoke to them in German.
"Die slowly and face Ilúvatar with shame, Germans, disgraces to your proud Rohirrim ancestors."
She dragged the sword over each man's throat slowly, ensuring that she did not cut the jugular very deeply. She moved away from the men, who grasped for the hem of her dress. They still begged for mercy, but their words were broken by coughs and chokes. Blood gurgled in the back of their throats, slowly suffocating them and staining their lips red.
The Elves and Sárëawë stood back from the scene. Not one of them could believe what they were seeing. The cruelty of such a slow death and the utter lack of concern on Elaneth's face astonished them. They barely believed this was the same elleth who only weeks before had adamantly defended the race of men. Now, she stood before two young men, watching them die, holding the weapon of punishment in her own hand.
"Idhriniel," Sárëawë whispered.
Elaneth whipped around, her sword crisply cutting the air. The bloody edge of the weapon pointed at the Maia, but Elaneth did not lower the sword.
"Is it not obvious by now, my friend, that I am not the Wise Child Olórin thought I was?"
A pregnant pause followed her question. The Elves watched over her shoulder as the men slumped forward, their lives finally drained from them. The Maia looked again at the elleth with sad eyes.
"My dear, what happened to you that you bear such hate in your heart?"
Elaneth did not answer. She bent down and cleaned her sword on the grass, then retrieved the scabbard and sheathed her weapon. In that moment, the silence of the lake valley was shattered. German voices shouting from across the bridge echoed across the lake, quickly followed by the roar of an engine crossing the bridge.
"The Swiss are coming!" Elaneth cried. "Get your weapons!"
The Elves hesitated for only a brief moment to look to the north. Speeding across the bridge was a giant automobile painted green and brown. Three men sat in the cabin and eight more stood in the back, pointing at them. Even a human could see the three dead Germans on the ground.
"Into the hills," Sárëawë ordered, leading the way.
The Elves grabbed their weapons and followed the Maia quickly. Elaneth cursed at herself for wearing high-heels. She had planned for every possible situation except running up a hill. The crest of the hill was lined with many uneven boulders shaped like spiked dragon teeth. The rocks were wide, but only tall enough to cover half a fully grown Elf.
Elaneth was the last to reach the crest of the hill. Haldir pulled her through the maze of boulders and behind a wide rock just as the military truck pulled up to the foot of the hill. The tires ground against the rocky path and the brakes shrieked loudly. The Swiss inspected each of their German counterparts, but found them all dead.
A blond-haired Swiss soldier, with height to rival an Elf, turned towards the crest of the hill. He saw nothing, but knew that the culprits hid somewhere nearby. His subordinates brought three knapsacks to him and listed their contents. He nodded, wondering why travelers would carry military-type rations with them.
"Surrender and you will not be harmed," he called in German.
Elaneth ignored his promise. If they were captured by the Swiss, they would be promptly extradited to Germany, tried and convicted of murdering three German officers, and spend the rest of the war (or longer, depending on the outcome) in a Concentration Camp.
"These are not our countrymen. We will treat you fairly."
The Elves watched Elaneth for clues as to what the man was saying, but she gave none. Her bow was ready, with an arrow fitted to the string. She craned her neck slightly to peer through a small fissure in the rocks. As she had suspected, the Swiss stood in an offensive military position.
"They're coming up the hill," she whispered.
Before her sentence was complete, the sound of rocks crunching under heavy boots ended the tentative peace. Metal slapped against flesh as the soldiers readied their machine guns. The Elves and Maia silently agreed that there was no way to avoid confrontation and peered over the rocks to aim their arrows. Not having a bow, Sárëawë unsheathed his sword and waited.
"I will accept your surrender," the Swiss officer repeated, "and promise you fair treatment. This is the last time I offer that bargain."
A long pause followed his words. From behind him, a young soldier scoffed.
"They are murderers, Captain. They do not deserve-"
A sharp twang split the air, and the man's words ended abruptly. He stumbled backwards, expletives and gasps escaping his mouth. The Captain turned to his soldier, sucking in a deep breath. A long, green-fletched arrow protruded from his chest.
"Bloody hell," he hissed. "They're fucking savages! Open fire!"
Only a second after he issued the order, he fell face forward, an identical arrow projecting from his back. A moment of silence followed, as the soldiers glanced at each other in disbelief.
"Follow orders!" one soldier cried. "Open fire!"
The Elves slumped further behind the rocks as a shower of bullets ricocheted off the rocks. Bits of rock broken free by the impact of the bullets smacked their faces and the charging soldiers kicked up a cloud of dust. The metal shells whizzed through the air as fast as Elven arrows, but unlike a bow the machine guns seemed to be fed with an endless supply of bullets and the soldiers were fast approaching the crest of the hill. In the time it took for each Elf to draw, nock, aim, and fire an arrow, a machine gun could fire tens of bullets.
"We can't let them reach the boulders," Elaneth called.
At the first break in gunfire, Elaneth and Haldir swung out from their hiding spot, each releasing an arrow. Each found its mark and two soldiers fell; three more leading the assault fell alongside them, cut down by Legolas, Elladan, and Elrohir.
The remaining four soldiers hesitated. The men were unused to archery as a means of warfare. It was an archaic form of fighting and therefore they assumed less effective. It would seem they were mistaken.
"Let's return to our stations and call the Germans about this. They will deal with these archers," one soldier argued.
Two of the others quickly agreed with him and scampered down the hill. The fourth man, however, was not as easily swayed. His machine gun was empty and he had no more bullets, but he pulled a pistol from his belt.
"Then I will deal with these savages," he said, sneering at his fellow soldiers.
As if in response to his words, three arrows sliced through the air. In quick succession, his compatriots fell. He surveyed the damage for a moment with doubt in his mind. Their number had begun as eleven, but he was now only one. The bodies of his comrades lay strewn about the hillside. The corpses, twisted into unnatural positions, each had a single arrow embedded in their chests. His mind reeled, wondering what kind of killers he faced. Who was so well-trained in archery that they could kill ten men with ten arrows? He noted the different colored fletching, however. Most of the feathers were green, but others were white and even fewer were yellow. He felt hidden eyes watching him. A soft whisper caressed his mind. It sounded like his old grandfather imparting wisdom to him. It told him to leave. He knew if he lowered his gun, he would be allowed to retreat. The soldier set his jaw and turned to the hilltop. He was only a few steps away.
"I am not a cowardly German who massacres from trenches. I am a Swiss soldier. I am descended from men who guarded the Pope!"
He cocked the hammer of his gun, swung around the first boulder, and stopped dead in his tracks. Blocking his path was the tallest man he had ever seen. He stood to at least 6'5" with broad shoulders and stern features. He held a long bow with the string taut. The metal tip of the arrow pointed directly at the soldier's chest, and the soldier had lowered his gun so that it was pointed at the archer's stomach.
"I'll see you in Purgatory, my friend," the soldier smiled.
The arrow left the string and the bullet left the barrel at the same moment.
"Haldir!" Elaneth cried.
The march warden stumbled backward. The long bow slipped from his fingers, clattering to the ground. He watched in horror as a patch of blood spread across his gray trousers at an alarming rate. Oddly, he felt very little pain. It was not so awful as the bite of an arrowhead or sword, and yet there was so much blood. The idea made him dizzy. Haldir vaguely felt himself fall, though he could not imagine why. Everything looked perfect to his vision. Galadriel smiled gently and welcomed him into her home.
Elaneth caught Haldir as he fell, crashing to her knees with his weight and eased him onto the rocky soil. Elladan and Elrohir, being the only ones with healing abilities, took control the situation immediately. They sent Legolas to the car to get their packs.
"We have to move," Elaneth said. "It won't be long before the Swiss or Germans come looking for us. It takes sometimes all night to remove a bullet."
Elrohir nodded. "She is right, brother. We do not know exactly how to heal Haldir and we cannot be interrupted."
Elladan sighed, looking around. The foothills were not much cover, but he did not want to risk moving Haldir. Haldir had succumbed to unconsciousness far too quickly for his liking. The gray material of his suit trousers was thoroughly soaked with blood. He shook his head.
"There is not time."
Elaneth was about to protest, but Sárëawë interjected.
"I will go look for some cover. Perhaps a cave or niche in the hills. Elaneth is right, however. We must move as soon as possible."
Not long after the Maia departed, Legolas returned with all six of the packs. Elladan cut a large section away from Haldir's trousers, revealing the wound. The entry wound was on Haldir's right hip and appeared very deep. The bullet hole seeped blood steadily, surging with the Elf's pulse. The twins cursed in unison.
"The artery is cut," Elrohir stated. "Elaneth, what do you know of healing?"
The elleth shook her head. "All I know is that the bullet must be removed and that the effects of a bullet wound are the same as a poisoned arrow wound."
That knowledge appeared to ease the twins' fears. They set to work quickly with Legolas and Elaneth retrieving the objects they requested.
"We need a fire to sterilize the knife," Elladan said.
Elaneth dug around her pack and pulled out a glass bottle full of clear liquid. The twins watched in awe as the liquid peroxide bubbled and hissed, leaving a white foam on the dagger.
"The advantages of modern medicine," the elleth said. "It's sterile."
The sons of Elrond returned to their work, quietly debating about the best way to remove the small bullet. They enlisted Elaneth to hold a compress against the wound and quizzed her about the modern procedure to extricate bullets. Her knowledge was not very helpful, as it was vague and essentially only common sense. Finally, Elrohir began the surgery the only way he knew how.
Elaneth turned her head away and screwed her eyes shut as Elrohir cut a slit in Haldir's skin, but even worse were the probing tweezers held by Elladan. The bullet hole was close to Haldir's side, only a few millimeters in. Without the proper knowledge of how to remove such a small weapon, the twins decided to spilt open Haldir's side and look for the bullet that way. It was undoubtedly the wrong way, but they did not imagine blindly thrusting the tweezers into the wound was any better.
"I've found a small cave," Sárëawë announced. "It's not far from here, but the opening is very low. It is too shallow for any animal to claim, but it will do for our purposes."
"We cannot move now," Elrohir said. "We are too far into the procedure."
"Then we will stand guard," Legolas said, nodding to Sárëawë.
The Elf and Maia moved to the first ring of boulders, leaving the twins and Elaneth to care for Haldir. The elleth did not seem to like surgery much, but she turned again towards Haldir and asked the sons of the Elrond how she could help.
The sun dipped low on the horizon before Elladan and Elrohir felt they had made any progress. The tiny black bullet proved a more formidable foe than they had imagined. Several hours passed by, but they were fortunately left in peace. The gasoline ration limited the number of cars crossing the border, and the wreckage of the Elves' attempt to enter Germany was undiscovered. During those hours, Legolas and Sárëawë piled the bodies, for burning or burial, whichever was more convenient.
As the sun began its final descent, Haldir woke from his unconscious dreams. Pain of a magnitude he had never experienced washed over him. His head throbbed, and he struggled for every breath. He felt as if fire flowed in his veins and yet he felt strangely cold. The pain seized control of his body, wracking him with spasms. He uttered broken Quenya moans of pain, his voice cracked and seeped with torment. A sheen of sweat covered his body, and his face lost nearly all color.
"Make him sleep!" Elladan demanded.
Elaneth looked at him like he had told her to make a fish breathe out of water. Sárëawë appeared by her side a moment later. He placed his hands on Haldir's forehead and closed his eyes. He whispered an Elvish sleeping spell, but his words trailed off halfway through the chant. Slowly, he opened his eyes. The gray orbs were filled with sorrow and shame.
"It is gone," he whispered.
"Sárëawë, he must sleep," Elladan demanded.
The Maia shook his head, forlornly. "My power is gone. I can give him nothing. Magic is gone from the world."
Elaneth released the compress, and Legolas's hands quickly replaced hers. The elleth grasped Haldir's hands in her own and eased herself onto the rocks next to him. Haldir's blue eyes, glazed with pain, shifted abruptly to look at her. He set his jaw tightly, grinding his teeth together as he focused on the elleth. Elaneth looked away from him for a moment to speak with Sárëawë. A moment later, a strap of leather was pressed to his lips. Understanding the purpose, he opened his mouth and bit down on the leather.
Elaneth looked back at him, speaking to him. The meaning of the Sindarin words escaped Haldir, but her gentle, musical voice was soothing. The minutes stretched on like hours, but Elaneth did not turn her attention away again. She showed no signs of discomfort when Haldir squeezed her hands as the waves of pain came. The march warden focused hard on the elleth's light blue eyes in an attempt to ignore the pain. Finally, the agony eased, and Haldir returned to the comforting blackness of his dreams.
The elleth moved away from Haldir, a shaky hand wiping the tears from her cheeks. She stretched out her arm, clutching at a rock for support and eased herself onto the ground. She took deep breaths, willing her nerves to calm. Her eyelids slipped closed, squeezing out a final tear and an unbidden memory came to her.
"You knew I could not live forever, Heofonlicscíne."
She nodded. "Yes, I knew that. I don't know what I shall do without someone who understands me."
The Ostrogoth smiled gently. "One day, Heaven-gift, the Valar will bless you. They will send to you an immortal who will understand you. Though I doubt any Elf could be as good a friend as a mortal. We cherish our short years and all those who bless them. I have especially cherished you, my Heofonlicscíne. I wish we could have shared a fate like Aragorn and Arwen, but I do not resent your reluctance to make the other ellyth jealous by marrying such a handsome man."
She chuckled softly. "You're such a pompous ass."
"So you've said. I go now to the Halls of my Fathers, to Éomer Éadig and Théoden Ednew. Farewell, Heofonlicscíne."
"Elaneth!"
Elladan's sharp cry startled Elaneth from her memories. She jumped to her feet and raced back to the clearing in the rocks. Haldir was awake again. In a low, hoarse voice, he called her name. The elleth fell to her knees beside the Elf and clasped both his hands in one of hers. With her free hand, she wiped the sweat from his brow.
"Have you nothing to numb the pain?" she asked.
Elrohir shook his head. "There are no useful herbs anywhere close by. Sárëawë already looked. All he found was withered grass."
"Are you almost finished?"
The other twin sighed. "We have not found the bullet yet."
Elaneth turned back to Haldir. He struggled to control the pain, but he was rapidly losing the battle. It was the kind of pain an Elf had never endured. An arrowhead quickly plucked from the body was painful, but easily treated, for Elven bodies healed quickly. The bullet was not the origin of his pain. It was the toxin released by his body to combat the torn muscles. Until the wound was stitched, the poison would continue to plague him.
"I would make you sleep if I could," Elaneth said softly.
She ran her fingers through Haldir's golden hair, caressed his jaw, and held his hands tightly. Elaneth could only pray that her touch offered him some comfort or reassurance.
Long after the sun set and the bright stars of Elbereth twinkled in the night sky, the twin healers finally located the bullet. Haldir drifted in and out of consciousness during those hours. It was unfortunate that he was awake when the object of his agony was found.
"Hold him down," Elladan said, looking at Elaneth.
The command startled her, but the Elf was an able healer, so she complied. She imagined removing a bullet would be less painful than an arrow, but Elladan did not agree. Against her better judgment, she glanced at Haldir's wound. His hip was torn open from the long hours of digging and prodding. The flow of blood was staunched, but a pile of bloody cloths lay behind Elrohir, tossed out of the way.
Legolas and Sárëawë joined the three Elves a moment later, having heard Elladan's order. Together, Legolas and Elaneth leaned part of their weight on Haldir's shoulders while the Maia secured his legs. Haldir understood why they needed to restrain him and bit down hard on the strap of leather in his mouth. Several seconds passed by silently, each Elf held their breath and waited for the inevitable. Haldir released a painful cry and jerked his shoulders off the ground once before falling back into unconsciousness.
The moment Elrohir dislodged the bullet, a gush of blood issued from Haldir's hip. The twins worked swiftly and silently to stem the flow of blood and stitch the wounds. Closing the artery took the longest because the process was the most difficult.
"We have to move him carefully," Elladan stated. "We have no herbs to place inside the wound or to ease his pain. We will have to watch him closely. I do not know how quickly an Elven body can heal without the proper medicine."
The companions set to work immediately. They constructed a crude stretcher out of branches and a sleeping bag. Each Elf took one corner of the makeshift bed and Sárëawë led the way to the cave.
Entering the cave without jostling Haldir was quite a task. The mouth was roughly the height of a door to a hobbit-hole and twice as wide. A small tunnel of the same size gently opened into a wide domed chamber. It appeared artificially made and without any signs of animals. It was small, and the Elves could not stand up to their full height. From the inside of the cave, Sárëawë set shrubs and bushes in front of the opening in a haphazard pattern.
"Any woodsman will know there is an opening behind your scrawny shrubs," Legolas laughed.
"There are not many woodsmen about these days," the Maia countered.
The Elves stretched out slowly. They built a small fire, passed around a water bottle and cloth to clean the blood of their hands, and took turns leaving the cave to change their bloody clothing. Elaneth was the last to leave and insisted she go alone. Sárëawë hovered near the cave mouth with his sword ready, just in case she was to call for aid.
Behind him, the ellyn readied their beds for the night while they shared a package of dried fruit. The dried meat Elaneth called "beef jerky" was entirely unpalatable, so that remained undisturbed in their packs. Elaneth returned a moment later without incident, sat down closest to Haldir, and settled against the wall.
"I will take the first watch," Legolas said, moving to sit at the cave entrance.
The Maia and sons of Elrond accepted his offer and lay down for the night. Legolas glanced at Elaneth. The elleth leaned against the rock wall, her eyes staring at the black ceiling.
"You should try to sleep," he said.
"I am."
"You're sitting up."
"I know."
"Why don't you lie down?"
The Maia and twin Elves watched with amusement as Elaneth stretched out on the ground. Legolas was clearly still not happy. The elleth lay on the hard floor of the cave without a blanket or cape. She shut her eyes tightly, as if she meant to sleep in the mortal way. The corners of Legolas's lips turned down. She was brushing him off! He opened his mouth to protest her actions, but Elrohir shook his head. With a flick of his wrist, he motioned to Haldir.
The Elf lay unconscious on the stretcher made from his own bedroll. Another sleeping bag covered his body and under his head was Elaneth's neatly folded cloak.