Orophin resumed his search where he had found his brother, noting that the dead Orc with the slashed face had been dragged away. The muck had begun to harden and stink in the sun, and the drag marks left in it lead to a large heap of dead Orcs on drier ground. Orophin decided he didn't want to be around when they lit the pile.

He started again, looking through the dead bodies, which were much reduced as others joined him. Orophin's heart was lighter as he worked, glad that Rúmil was safe-at least for a time-but he still dreaded that under the next Orc, in the next hollow, he would find someone he knew, maybe even his brother. Such was the way of war. But no-Haldir was invincible. Orophin had looked up to Haldir, his elder, all his life, as had Rúmil, and though that and his position might have made their brother a little arrogant, he had always protected and guided his younger brothers and the Elves under his command. At first, Haldir had been against coming to Helm's Deep to aid the Men in their war, but had come at the will of the Lady, and of Lord Elrond. And Orophin and Rúmil-and all the Elves under Haldir-followed their captain, wherever he lead them.

Right at Orophin's feet, the body of an orc jerked slightly. In an instant, Orophin had his sword ready, but when he looked closer he could see that the Orc was not moving of its own will, as its head lay some distance away. Sheathing his blade, Orophin pulled the Orc off, only to find several more piled under it, their throats pierced by the white- fletched Elven arrows of Lothlórien. The Orcs were heavy, well-armored in iron, and the stink of their blood and filth made Orophin gag and gasp for clean air. But the small pile of Orcs moved again, and Orophin tried to ignore the horrible stench that was making a strange pounding in his skull, a throbbing from the cut on his forehead. As he reached to pull off the next Orc, the world tilted suddenly beneath him, and the hammering in his head-like to a Dwarf-furnace in full swing in his skull-escalated to an unbearable explosion of noise. Orophin pitched forward, unable to think of anything besides noise and pain, his bow slipping from his limp fingers.

But something caught him, and voices murmured around him in an Elven- language that he knew but couldn't distinguish from the clamor in his ears. He felt himself being pulled up, away from his work, and although his thoughts were clouded he felt sure that something important had to be done there, and he struggled weakly against his rescuers. But he was no match for them delusional, injured and exhausted, and soon he had to give up and let them take him where they would.

Before long, they sat him down on hard, smooth stone, and he felt something being held to his lips. He drank, and tasted fresh, clean water tinged with a wholesome fragrance and lingering taste that he couldn't quite recognize. It swirled through his body, driving out the screeching noise and some of the pain, and Orophin was able to look around him and see his rescuers.

One, an Elf not of the Golden Wood, held him by the arm, keeping him upright and steady; he had golden hair and, underneath his armor, which was like that of Rohan, he wore the green-and-brown of the Northern kindred of Orophin's race. The Elf was looking at him in concern, and holding the vessel of the drink ready in case more was needed. Orophin stared at him for a full minute, the familiarity of the Elf's face telling him he should know him, but Orophin couldn't quite place where he had seen this Elf before.

"How is he, Legolas? Will he recover?"

The name clicked in Orophin's mind-Legolas, a member of the Fellowship that had passed through Lothlórien with the blessing of the Lady- and he turned to the other standing near. He was no Elf, but a Man, tall and dark-haired, dressed like one of the woodland Rangers. He was peering at Orophin closely, as if he remembered him but couldn't place a name. Orophin, though, with the Elf beside him identified, could remember this Man's name.

"Aragorn en Dúnedain, Legolas Thranduilion, hannon le."

"I am sorry, but my memory fails me for weariness; but it seems you know us since you speak our names correctly."

Orophin stood slowly, with Legolas' aid, and bowed courteously to Aragorn. "I am Orophin, brother of Haldir, and we met on the borders of the Golden Wood when you passed there with your companions."

Recognition sparked in Aragorn's eyes, and he bowed as well, but before he did Orophin caught something else there at the mention of Haldir's name. Legolas looked away, towards the ruined wall, and it seemed to Orophin that mourning settled on the two.

"Orophin o Lórien...have you news of your brothers?" Aragorn asked slowly.

"Of one I do," Orophin replied warily, and dread fluttered its dark wings in his heart. "Rúmil, my younger brother, I found there in the middle of the courtyard, and brought him back to the Hornburg, but of Haldir I have no word."

Beside him Legolas said nothing, but bowed his head in sorrow. Orophin took a deep breath to steady himself. He met Aragorn's eyes, and compassion was in them, sadness and sorrow. "Your brother, Haldir, chief marchwarden of Lothlórien...he fell defending the retreat to the Keep after the destruction of the Deeping Wall." Aragorn too bowed his head as Orophin looked on in shock.

"You...you are sure of this?" Orophin asked disbelievingly.

"I saw him fall. There was nothing I could do."

Orophin stared, unseeing, at the stones at his feet in grief and horror. Dead...how could Haldir be gone? That meant...that meant that Orophin was now the captain of the Lothlórien force, and that he was responsible for the care of his family, his mother and his brother. Orophin felt the weight that had been Haldir's settle on his shoulders, and they bowed under the pressure.

The clatter of someone clumsy and hurried reached his ears, and he looked up without seeing. A Dwarf came across the rocks, jovially calling Aragorn's name and shouting about how Aragorn was needed by the King back at the Hornburg. Legolas reached the Dwarf first and whispered some words in his ear, and instantly the Dwarf fell silent, abashed. Some remote part of Orophin's mind marked him as Gimli, the only Dwarf that had the favor of the Lady that he served; but none of that mattered now. That had been back when Haldir had commanded the sentinels of Lothlórien, before the Men had enmeshed themselves in this war with Saruman because of their slothfulness of mind and action.

Aragorn rested his hand on Orophin's shoulder and said some words of reassurance and condolence before leaving with the now-silent Gimli. Orophin lifted his eyes to watch the Man walk away with his stunted companion, and hatred stirred inside him. Yes, this was of old the Elves' war, for they had listened to Sauron in the days when he still appeared fair to them, and they had forged the Rings; but because of Men Sauron's One Ring lived on; because of Men Sauron had returned to once again torment the earth and persecute its free races; and because of Men many of Orophin's companions and friends, even his brother, lay lifeless in their own blood.

Without another word, Orophin turned away and set off across the courtyard towards the blasted wall. Still silent, Legolas set off after him, and Orophin made no effort to stop him. What the Elf did made no difference to him; all he wanted was to find his brother. The two Elves passed a Man and another Elf of the Lothlórien company working together to pull the last Orc off of the survivor Orophin had been trying to save. Underneath, a young man of the race of Rohan, hardly past boyhood, lay, shielded by the body of an Elf. The Elf's body had been cruelly mauled, obviously by Orkish blades, as he tried to protect the human boy from the assault. The two rescuers began to help the boy away, but the boy was inconsolable, sobbing wildly and fighting to stay with his dead guardian. Orophin turned away, glad that the boy was safe-but still, he would have rather had it be one of the Elves.

Turning to Legolas, he saw that his companion's eyes sparkled with tears for both the fallen Elf and the boy, and Orophin felt shame sweep over him. He fought to push it aside, and started to the wall again. When he spoke, his voice was strong, but cold and uninterested.

"Do you know where Captain Haldir lies?"

"I do," Legolas replied, and it was the first time he had heard Legolas speak since their meeting in Lothlórien. "There, up on the wall, by the breach." The Elf lifted a slender hand to point to the same area on the wall in which Orophin had noted the crimson cloth.

The two pressed forward, sometimes being forced to jump over or take long detours around the bodies in the courtyard, sometimes wading through pools of thickening, stinking sludge, sometimes walking in the open on crunching gravel. Finally, they came to the bottom of the nearest staircase leading up to the top of the thick wall. As Orophin set his foot on the first step, he was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. He turned to look at Legolas, and was surprised by the worry that clouded their brightness. "Whatever you may find at the top," the Elf said quietly, "remember that it is not all the fault of Men."

Orophin stared at Legolas for a second longer, then pulled away from him and started up the stairs in silence. After a pause, he could hear the Elf's footsteps in the rainwater and blood on the steps behind him. Each step was agony as Orophin rose higher and higher above the courtyard below. He could see, in horrifying detail thanks to his elven-sight, the rescuers and workers dragging off Orcs to be burned and helping the few buried or wounded survivors out of the muck into the relative cleanliness of the Hornburg, where they could be tended. But all too often, the bodies of Men or Elves that the workers uncovered were lifeless, sometimes mauled horribly beyond recognition. Orophin turned away from the scenes of carnage, his eyes watering from the acrid, nauseous smell and grief for the fallen. But still he went on, step after painful step, foot after aching foot, to whatever waited for him at the top of the wall.