Disclaimer:
All recognizable characters and places belong to Tolkien, the rest are my creation. No copyright infringements are intended; this story was written purely for entertainment and no money is being made off it.
Feedback: LadyoftheRings35@hotmail.com
Rating: PG-13 for some violence and apprehensive situations.
Summary:
When a young Ranger comes to stay with the Elves of Lothlórien and is accused of taking an irreplaceable crystal, Haldir must decide if she is working for the Enemy—or for some deeper purpose.
Series:
None
Spoilers:
None
A/N: Wow, thanks for the great feedback! It made me decide to update sooner!
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Daughter of the Dúnedain
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Chapter Three
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
If Rúmil had to pick one word to describe the situation when they got to the City, he would have chosen chaos.
Fire was a constant threat while you lived in a forest, but there had been no major fires for centuries. Rúmil had always suspected that Galadriel had something to do with it—after all, she was one of the most resourceful elves he had ever met and had had the pleasure of serving—but every resident in the City of the Galadhrim knew that fire was a when, not an if, question.
Haldir, not burdened by carrying another elf, made it to the City ahead of him, and Rúmil could hear his brother calling out instructions, getting water onto the areas that were aflame. To make matters worse, the fires were across the city from each other on the sides farthest from any water, making it difficult to extinguish them. It had been strangely dry this year in the forest, and the trees were dry as tinderboxes.
"Put me down!" Orophin demanded as they entered the City.
"You're wounded," Rúmil protested, though he had to admit that carrying his brother all the way across the City to their talan was not an idea he relished.
"Yes, in my arm, not in my legs. Put me down, I can help."
Realizing that it was useless to argue with the most stubborn of the three brothers, Rúmil set his brother carefully on his feet. Orophin swayed for a second, grasped the arrow firmly, and before Rúmil realized his intent, the elf ripped the barbed head from his shoulder.
He almost fainted. Rúmil set him down firmly under a tree and hastily bound the heavily bleeding injury. "Brother, if you move as much as one finger's length from that spot so help me I will tie you to your bed for a week. Do you hear me?"
Orophin managed a watery smile. "I hear you, oh Lord Rúmil."
"Not a finger's width," Rúmil repeated, and sped off.
The fires were spreading; one was in the boughs of three mallorn trees, the other was almost as serious, in the boughs of two. Haldir had set up a line of elves to haul pails of water up from the creek and Hithlim, Rúmil saw with relief, was doing the same with the second fire.
Rúmil ran to his brother's side. Because of the way the wind was blowing and how dry the wood was, there was little smoke, but it only made the fire more intense. Heat seared one side of Rúmil's face and he shouted to be overhead. "Is there anyone left in the trees?" he called to Haldir.
The elf was nearly black with soot as he and three others threw water onto the flame. "All are accounted, for accept for one!" he shouted back. Too late he realized what his words would mean to his brother. "Rúmil, no!" he shouted as his brother leapt high into one of the trees not yet aflame and disappeared into the hazy smoke.
Coughing, holding a wet cloth over his nose and mouth, Rúmil squinted through the haze. The fire was so intense he felt like he himself was on fire; his heart pounded wildly from fear and the certain, horrifying knowledge that if he didn't find whoever was up here and soon, they were both going to die.
Half way up the tree in one talan yet to catch on fire, he found him. It was Ellim, the young healer, passed out from the smoke and choking on it.
Coughing, shielding his face with one arm against flying cinders, he bent and slipped the elf over his shoulder. He couldn't climb down like this; he had to put some space between himself and the fire.
To his horror he felt the wind shift and the fire turned on him, leaping to the tree he was in. The branches under him crackled and caught. He searched for a safe place to jump to. Far in the distance, as though a thousand miles away he heard Haldir screaming his name.
He looked to the ground far below. He didn't know if he could jump and land safely burdened as he was.
There was no choice; jump or die.
Rúmil jumped.
As he moved the branches broke under him. He staggered and held on for Ellim for dear life as they plummeted towards the ground. Half way through his hair caught on fire. He hit a branch yet to break from the flames and rolled of. Squealing with pain he slapped the wet cloth against his head until the burning subsided.
Then he struck the ground and was knocked out.
As though through a hazy dream he heard words of power pouring into him like cool rain on a summer's eve.
"Ai! Elbereth Gilthoniel,
Antantya laita, lavme mistë!"
Ah! Elbereth Starkindler,
Give-me-thy bless(ing), grant-us rain!
Through his pain Rúmil looked up at the Quenyan words, a language rarely spoke in a primarily Sindarin colony. Galadriel stood upon a low talan, crying out in her deep, powerful voice. Almost for an instant he thought upon her finger he saw a shining Ring; but the vision was gone as quickly as it came.
There was a rumble of thunder, and then the sky clouded and cool rain fell down upon their heads.
Rúmil sighed with relief and sent up a silent thanks to the Vala who always seemed to answer their prayers. He allowed himself to be carried back to the talan.
* * * *
Haldir was covered with soot by the time he found his way back to his talan. Even his pale skin was covered with a fine layer, though sweat had made little streaks and interesting designs on his cheek. Rúmil, recently recovered with a bandage on his hand, left thigh and head, took one look at him and sent him back out into the rain. "You can let the rain clean off that soot," he had said in a tone that broke all arguments. "I'll not have anything even remotely resembling dirt in our talan while Orophin is injured. Not a speck of dirt in that wound, am I understood?"
Haldir had begun to laugh then; it wasn't as though he could get much wetter, and while Orophin and Rúmil healed it would be best if the talan stayed clean. The ironic thing was, while Haldir and Orophin were both nearly five hundred years older than their brother, Rúmil often was the one to take charge during situations regarding injuries.
"Very well, tithin gwador," Haldir had responded in amusement. "I will wait until the rain washes me clean."
And so it was some time later that Rúmil, moving carefully to avoid aggrevating his burns, found his brother sitting cross-legged in the branches of one of the half-burnt trees, singing to it softly. The mallorn trees were greatly loved by the elves of Lórien. To the sorrow of Haldir and the other elves, three mallorn trees had been destroyed, two more damaged, and four talans burnt to the ground.
Haldir's eyes were closed but Rúmil didn't let that fool him. Haldir was always watching; even when he was safe in his talan he was always watchful. Rúmil often wondered if it was because he was the oldest—perhaps he felt he needed to protect his younger brothers. No matter what the reason, Haldir was instantly aware of his brother's presence, and still was silent.
Rúmil spoke at last. "Orophin will be fine. I treated the wound and he is resting. My wounds aren't serious. You may come back inside now," he added, hiding his smile. "I believe the rain has you clean enough."
The steady rain had soaked Haldir completely, his long dark tresses hanging in limp clumps around his shoulders, little trickles of water running down his pointed ears and bothering him to no end. His face was cleaned and his clothes, if not clean, were at least moderately neat. There was a scorch mark on Haldir's hand where he had touched a burning branch in his haste to get into the trees and see how widespread the damage was.
"I am sorry I frightened you," Rúmil said quietly, touching Haldir's shoulder, wishing his brother would look at him. "I know you don't like it when one of us gets injured or takes risks, but we are not children, Haldir. I know my limits, and yes that was at the edge of them, but I did not die and neither did Ellim."
Haldir looked at him silently, his eyes soft with pain. "But what if you had?"
Rúmil shook his head without speaking, not certain how to respond. "I want to tell you I know, but I do not."
"I spoke with Hithlim," Haldir said, as though he had not heard his brother. "He said that Mîdhlim had broken free and he had chased her, finally ending up in the City and finding the place in a panic."
Rúmil said nothing.
"Do you believe him?" Haldir asked finally, brushing his hair away from his eyes and wrapping his arms around his knees. "Do you think that was why he disappeared so quickly."
Rúmil didn't look at his brother for a moment. Then, softly, "Yes. Why do you ask?"
Haldir sighed. "Something about that girl bothers me. There is something neither of them are telling us."
"Of course there is," Rúmil said calmly. "The girl's not mad, for one thing."
"What?" Haldir turned, surprised. Admittedly he had had very little experience with insane humans, but the girl, with her irrational behavior and strange words, had seemed a likely candidate. "She's not?"
"Of course not, she's completely and fully sound, though admittedly terrified."
"Terrified of what?"
Rúmil shook water from his eyes. "I don't know. I truly wish I did. But mark my words, Haldir. These attempts on our life were made for a reason. To distract us for the search for the crystals? Possibly, maybe…but I have a feeling that there is no petty theft behind these attacks. First the attack on Laegheneb's life, then on ours, now fire in the City; but there's no pattern!" Impatience finally showing through, Rúmil stood and walked to the end of the branch, feeling his brother's eyes on him. "I don't understand it. It's random behavior, but why? If the thief came to steal the crystals only, why is he or she staying around, risking being caught?" Rúmil turned to face Haldir. "There is something about this whole thing that bothers me, brother. More and more it seems like there is an alternative motive for our deaths. More than what seems is going on. This is not some random accident. These things were planned and for a single purpose."
Haldir's eyes narrowed. "And what purpose is that?"
Rúmil shook his head, his eyes sorrowful. "I wish I knew."
* * * *
He watched the confusion on their faces. He had the two Rangers under his control, and the crystals in his hand. Now, all he had to do was extend his hand to take the prize he had come for.
He looked at Rúmil's face through the crystal and he smiled.
*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*
tithin gwador = little brother
Note: All of the elvish in this story is, or should be, Sindarin, excluding Galadriel's chant. Quenya was, by the Third Age, primarily a formal language, elf-Latin you might say, used in formal circumstances and songs, while Sindarin was the everyday use language, even in Noldor settlements like Rivendell.
I'm writing the next chapter, don't worry…:D I'm curious, who does everyone think the perpetrator is so far? Do you think it was the same person who started the fires as who attacked Haldir, Rúmil, and Orophin? Do you think they were just random attacks? Or several people working in collaboration? I'd be curious to hear your thoughts and comments!