By the time they reached Rhosgobel, they had been joined by five of Thranduil's most skilled healers including Amdir's beloved Tirathuil who had raised her after the death of her parents, carts of food and medicine, and most surprisingly, the King himself.

The homestead was more of an oversized two floor cottage that had, up until his recent disappearance, housed Thranduil's closest friend, the Brown wizard Radagast.

It was clear that the wooden structure had been home to mostly animals. Owls and morning doves perched in the rafters, mice made cozy nests in the corners, and a small family of coyotes grudgingly allowed the elves to set up cots in their space on the ground floor, close to the warmth of the newly lit kitchen fires.

The main gate was left open and inside the inner courtyard wandered deer, lazily grazing at the remains of Radagast's kitchen garden.

When the elves arrived, the uninjured soldiers and healers set up their tents in the main courtyard, and the animals made their way to the back gardens, where the King sat quietly, communing with them as naturally as he communed with the trees and streams.

While the elves of Mirkwood understood the bond between the forest and the King, and were used to the sight of him closing his eyes to connect to the land, the Galadhrim watch him with wide-eyed wonder and a newfound respect and admiration, understanding for the first time, that he was more than a warrior King, he was the living spirit of the forest.

Seren was one of those who could not take her eyes off the King. "He is so beautiful, and so gentle – this is not the King we saw all those years ago in Lothlorien, except when he looks at us and then he frightens me," she gushed when her husband was out of sight.

Normally Amdir would have laughed at her friend's crush, but her heart could not rise to it. She spent every moment she could at Haldir's side, her hand on his chest or around his wrist lightly caressing his pulse points, whispering endearments into his ear as he slept and begging him to stay with her.

When they had first arrived at Rhosgobel, the March Warden was close to death. Poison from the orc arrows circulated through his body, and he oscillated between feverish delirium and a sleep far too deep to be called peaceful.

Elrohir and Elladan, apprentices to their father for many centuries, were the most skilled healers in the party and they worked hard to channel their lifeforce into the March Warden. Their healing power was sufficient to keep him alive in the short term, but they quickly grew drained, and there were other injured soldiers to heal. It was not enough, they were spread too thin.

When the King finally swept through the door, dressed like a Mirkwood guard, a bevvy of reinforcement healers following behind, Amdir could have wept for joy, had she herself not been so exhausted. Instead she wearily rose and curtseyed to her King, who raised his hand to her cheek, silently studied her eyes, then planted a kiss on her forehead and set to work.

"Elladan, Elrohir, you both look exhausted. Go eat then rest. I will call on your help this evening."

"Your Grace," protested Elladan.

Thranduil glanced at him sharply. "The first rule of healing is to know your limits. Now do as your father taught." His voice softened. "You are skilled, Elladan, but you are no use to me in this condition."

Elladan nodded and he and his brother disappeared up the narrow stair leading to the sleeping quarters. Thranduil turned to Amdir, "Boil water," and the young elleth curtseyed and set about her task.

Next Thranduil stood with his hands at Haldir's head and Tira's stood opposite him, her hands resting on Haldir's feet. Both took a deep breath. "Are you ready?" Thranduil asked, and Tira nodded.

They closed their eyes and a light began to radiate through their hands and rise above the march warden. Words rose up from the King's mouth and created a blue field of energy that encompassed the three elves in shining light. It shifted to green then pink then a blinding white, like starlight, that filled the room and poured out of the windows and doorways.

Haldir began to moan and writhe, at times he cried out in fear and pain, other times he repeated a woman's name that Amdir did not recognize, and after a time she took it to be his mother's. Suddenly the light evaporated, and he began to wretch.

"A pail," commanded Thranduil, and Amdir rushed to place a basin to the side where the March Warden was vomiting a vile black substance. Thranduil held him upright by his shoulders and when the vomiting ceased, Tira handed him a mug of something sweet smelling that Thranduil gently lifted to Haldir's lips. The March Warden took a few sips then fell back in exhaustion, his head resting on the King's hands, his eyes tightly shut.

Thranduil exhaled and closed his eyes, and for a single unguarded moment, Amdir glimpsed the worry lines on the King's brow and the outline of an ancient scar on his left cheek she had only heard of, but the King's efforts had not been in vain for Haldir's face was brighter than it had been before. Thranduil gently patted his patient's shoulder, then with a nod to Tira, walked away to check the other wounded soldiers.

Amdir quietly handed the basin to Tira and returned to the kitchen area to boil a strong brew of mulled wine for the King before returning to Haldir's side, where she gently placed her hand on his chest and resumed her watch.


She must have fallen asleep for when she woke it was nighttime, and she lay on a blanket on the floor by a large hearth.

She raised her head to see that the healers were serving the injured soldiers food. Most of the wounded laying in cots in the great room were safely on the mend. All but one.

She rose on unsteady feet and looked to where, once again, the King stood at Haldir's head. This time he was joined by Elladan, Elrohir and his own son, Legolas.

Haldir's brothers stood against the wall, anxiously watching them as they worked. She walked across the room, gently touching each patient as she passed in greeting, then stood against the wall beside the silver-haired ellyn.

To her surprise, Orophin wrapped a strong arm around her and tilted his head towards her. "My brother's biggest supporter. This is the first time I've seen you away from his side. Have you eaten?"

She shook her head.

"Me neither," he said.

They watched as the elves laid their hands on their patient and, closing their eyes, channeled their life force into him. Again he writhed, and again he violently wretched out the poison, until his head fell back against Thranduil's chest in exhaustion and sleep claimed him.

Amdir could not watch any longer, and she made her way out to the back garden, startling a family of rabbits who quickly hopped to a far corner of the gardens. She slumped down on a stone bench and exhaled, eyes closed.

A few minutes later, someone sat beside her and she opened her eyes wearily. Legolas had brought her some fruit, cheese and a large mug of ale that she accepted gratefully.

"I never expected he would come to save Haldir," she said after a few bites of cheese and a healthy swig of the beer. She covered her mouth to suppress a soft belch.

Legolas furrowed his brow. "My father has few true friends. Tira his healer, Radagast his confidant, and Haldir, his… I'm not sure what Haldir is, my father cares for him, I do know that. If Haldir lay injured in Far Harad, my father would go to him."

"I thought he hated Haldir. I caught them fighting about me in the Brownlands."

"Arguing?"

"Fighting."

Legolas chuckled. "One would think, but it is not so. He respects Haldir. I once heard my father say that Haldir was the only ellon he was truly indebted to, and that he would almost be sorry when that debt was discharged."

She smiled. "I cannot imagine him saying that."

The Prince put some cheese in his mouth and offered Amdir a slice of peach. "And yet he did. He didn't know I was listening; I don't think he realizes I pay such close attention. Will you marry him, do you think?"

"Your father is already married."

Legolas rolled his eyes and gently bumped her with his shoulder.

She smiled sadly. "If he lives—"

"He will live."

"Then he will not have me. I have tried to regain his affections, but he says he cannot move past my relationship with Uldor."

"Then why stay at his side as you do? You have other options, you know. El-"

"Elladan shall never marry an elleth. We all know that."

"He's not the one I was going to say. I have seen how Elrohir looks at you. Would you consider his hand?"

Amdir was silent for a full minute. She had never even considered the possibility that she had attracted Elrohir's attention. Unlike Elladan, with whom she'd developed a close bond, Elrohir always struck her as more distant. There was no denying the ellon was handsome with his father's intelligence and his grandfather Celeborn's ferocity and cunning. But in her eyes, even Elrohir was no Haldir.

She smiled. "I have not. I am too low-born to marry a son of Elrond, and while I have affection for him it is no different than the affection I have for you."

"So you want to marry me then, is that what your saying?" He offered an exaggerated sigh. "Yet another proposal. Well, alright then, I will take it to my father yet again…"

She began to laugh and swatted his arm.

Legolas touched his arm in mock pain, then passed her the ale.

"I believe Haldir will survive this, my father is doing everything to make that happen and between him and the healing power of the House of Elrond, it will be. But if what you say is truly how Haldir feels, why stay at his side if he will never have you? You could return to Mirkwood right now, then continue on to Erebor and complete your mission. Why linger?"

She exhaled and turned her face away from the silver-haired prince. "I know you are right, I should leave, but I can't. He doesn't need to love me as I love him, Legolas. I only need him to exist for me to be able to survive, and right now is he fighting the big fight. I won't leave him in the midst of that fight."

"He will live." Legolas patted her hand, and they sat together until a thin sliver of moon rose in the sky, and Legolas was called to assist with the last healing sessions of the night. Amdir went inside with him and resumed her vigil at Haldir's side.


His throat ached, and he tasted blood. Worse than blood. It was vile, and he needed to get it out. He turned to his side, insides heaving, and when he saw the black liquid in the pail, it frightened him.

Then a firm hand pressed against his forehead and he felt a cooling peace emanate down through the rest of his body, where it was met with another wave of peace rising up from his feet, ocean water washing away the darkness. But still his throat ached and even the sweet tea they kept feeding him burned.

He saw figures around him. Like trees they stood, aspen, beech, willow, and at his head, he sensed a great oak tree and he clung to that vision, keeping his eyes on the oak as a fresh surge of darkness poisoned his blood and his vision. It flowed through his body like searing waves of heat that scorched the plains of Rhun and even his corneas burned.

On one side of the pain stood the oak, on the other, his mother. One called him out of his body, invited him to end the agony and surrender to the great joy of creation, to cease his worry and embrace a new lightness of being, but that oak stood tall, blocking his way, calling him back, reminding him he was a warrior, reminding him that warriors do not surrender; they fight.

And so he fought. His hands clawed out the eyes of the great black snakes that writhed over his body and swam up his veins, trying to invade his heart.

He pushed back the great waves of darkness that crept up with the regularity of an ocean tide, threatening to drown his lungs in tar, and to the beckoning call of his mother, who had died when he was a young elfling, she who promised an end to his pain.

Now there was a new voice, a melodic bell gently chiming around the base of the oak tree. A promise, a hand holding his, soft fingers at his wrist.

And for a moment he floated above his body. The relief was profound, and when looked down, he saw the backs of those elves kneeling over him, their hands on his torso. He watched as he writhed and cried out in pain, and he felt glad that, hovering above, he could no longer feel it.

Above him he saw light and colour, he heard singing and he saw his mother's serene face calling out to him. Below he saw himself vomit darkness, noted the angry red flesh of the gash on his thigh, and he saw the lines of fatigue on his face as he struggled. The lines softening as his life left him. At his head, he saw a glowing green light of oak leaves and he watched the light diminish as the healer lost hope. Finally, the oak exhaled and looked to the other trees.

"I don't know what else we can do…" it said.

A sob of grief rose above his body, and the willow grasped his hand and shook it. "No! You are not allowed to die, Haldir of Lothlorien. You are not allowed to leave me! Please…" her voice shook and the other trees gathered around her, trying to pull her away but she would not let go. Then she looked up, and she saw him floating above her, watching, considering. She was angry, and her tear stained face was pinched. He knew her – he had saved her, once. In the forest. "You promised me," she said with heartbreaking sadness, and he sighed, for he should not be able to feel her ache, yet he did.

He exhaled and suddenly his mind was overwhelmed with the agony of healing, and his limbs jerked around him.

The trees turned into elves, and at his head he looked up and saw the King. He worked his mouth but it was so dry. His brother stepped forward and squeezed a cloth over his lips, and sweet liquid fell onto his tongue and it tasted like ambrosia.

He looked up again, locking onto icy blue eyes and within their irises he could see the threads of energy that connected the hröa and the fëa with silken strands that formed intricate crystal snowflakes, each one different, each one beautiful, and King leaned down and placed his ear to the patient's mouth.

"I promised," he whispered before another spasm of pain threw him into the oblivion of sleep.


It took two more days before the wounded were stable enough to withstand the slow march along the secret elf path north to Thranduil's halls.

King Thranduil paid the prisoner, Aea, little attention except to send her to his cells in the bowels of the palace, bound and blindfolded, to await his judgement. Amdir was grateful Aea was gone. The anger the woman inspired only served to make Amdir feel worse; another lost friendship, another person gone from her life, another promise broken.

In total, the elves had lost six soldiers – four from Lothlorien and two from Mirkwood, and 14 horses. Of the wounded, four were able to ride, but six needed to be transported in wagons. The rest of the elves rode two to a saddle or walked on foot alongside the horses.

The King rode at the head of the procession with either Legolas or Amdir riding beside him. As they neared the Palace, he called for Amdir.

"Your face has lost its bloom; your losses weigh heavily upon you," said Thranduil, as they rode side by side. They had ridden ahead of the column, so it felt as though they were taking a private afternoon ride, as they had so many times before.

Amdir self consciously touched her cheek and tucked her short hair behind her ear.

"Do you miss the Easterling very much?"

"Yes, and no. I did at the beginning, I missed him so much I thought I would die, but I found peace in Imladris, and since we have travelled north, I have not thought of him that often. I almost feel guilty that I should move on. That I wrong him and his memory."

Thranduil's great grey destrier moved smoothly and decisively. Much like his master. Amdir rode Elrohir's roan gelding, one of the few horses that had survived the battle. The twin had said that he preferred to walk ahead and scout on foot and although the King knew there was nothing to find, he allowed Elrohir his space.

"Do not feel guilty. You are still young enough to think your suffering is profound, but in truth, it is the natural way of things. When we suffer shock, either we diminish, or we develop wisdom and move on. Uldor would want you to do the latter, and so you are. You honour his memory in this way."

She sat high in her saddle, absorbing his words, then Thranduil touched her arm and pointed into the trees with his chin. When she looked she spotted the speckled brown rump of a fawn leaping into the bushes to hide and she smiled at its long-limbed beauty.

They continued in companionable silence for a few minutes until Thranduil said, "I had thought that you might return to Mirkwood with a wedding announcement. Haldir all but asked me for your hand after Uldor died."

Her head jerked up. "What did you say to this?"

"I said it was up to you. So I might ask you the same. What did you say?"

"My Lord, I said way too much, and none of it good. Now he will not have me."

Thranduil looked down at her with knit brows, then he shook his head.

"I cannot imagine that anything you said could have dissuaded him; he was quite intent. The March Warden is not a frivolous ellon, he speaking to me suggests his affection for you is real. And I have seen it myself. He is besotted with you, my dear, and if I know Haldir – and I believe I do – he does not change his mind easily."

"You don't understand…"

Thranduil raised his brows.

Amdir cringed and tried again. "Forgive me, what I meant to say, my Lord, is that I hurt him, very badly. So much happened between us, more than I could ever share with you. I have shamed myself, and I have shamed you too, my Lord. He holds no love for me now, and even if he did I do not deserve him. I will stay with him as long as he is in Mirkwood or until he asks me to leave, and when that happens, I will travel with the twins to Imladris to continue my work for Lord Elrond."

He looked at her appraisingly, taking her measure. "Are you quite sure this is what you desire?"

She looked away. "It is not what I desire, but it is what I shall do."

They rode in silence and she looked at him from the corner of her eye. He sat erect, his bearing as regal as ever. His looked at her back from the corner of his eye with a small smile. "What is on your mind?"

"I fear you will ask how I shamed you."

"Did you bring those orcs down on us at the river?"

She blinked. "No,"

"Did you kill Uldor?"

"No!"

"Have you ever been in service to the Dark Lord?"

"My King?"

He chuckled softly. "Amdir, I don't care what you did. Perhaps you shamed me, perhaps not. But you are alive, you are whole, and your future is bright, and there was a time when I doubted all three of these things."

He favoured her with a smile. "The details do not concern me, I am too old to worry about who said what or who slept with whom."

She gasped, and he shot her a knowing glance. "I am older than I look, dear child, and there is little that escapes me. I am merely relieved that it would appear that I am forgiven for meddling in your life."

Despite her red-hot cheeks, she smiled shyly and glanced up at him. "Yes, my Lord, you are forgiven, but…" her voice faltered.

"Speak plainly, child."

She took a deep breath. "You are my King and I love you like a father. I will never disobey you. So please, my Lord, please will you let me make my own decisions for now on?"

He gave her a long look that softened to a tender smile, then he sat straight, tossed his hair back, and said "I will think about it."