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Chapter 11 - Dead Orcs and Flying Úlairi
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Celeborn stood at the very edge of the talan high in the wide, sweeping branches of a great mallorn. His eyes closed and head tilted into the soft evening breeze, he listened intently, unmoving, to the voices of the Wood.
This was when she considered him most beautiful, his inner light most radiant, when he was one with the life around him. It was the gift of his kin and had the ability to affect all those in his presence powerfully. Many claimed she was the heart of the Golden Wood. But if she was indeed its heart, then her Lord was its soul.
But, this night, his beautiful countenance was troubled, and she easily felt his growing unease. She approached him quietly, hesitant to disturb, and lifted a graceful hand to rest on his shoulder.
Celeborn wrapped a long arm around her waist and pulled his Lady up close to him, desiring and needing her warmth. She was his anchor to this world, the tether that kept him from drifting too long within the Song.
Her voice melodic and soothing, she asked, "What troubles you so, ind nín?" and reached up with a cool touch to smooth the lines of concern from the face of her beloved, tucking an errant strand of long, silver blonde hair back behind a gracefully curved ear.
"The breeze carries a haunting lament… the trees whisper of… pain."
He opened his eyes and gazed deeply into the Wood then turned to his mate. Galadriel gasped softly as she met his unfocused gaze. Still connected to the Song, his anguished eyes reflected both pain and fear. She stroked his cheek, brushing away a tear.
"Meleth nín, what is it?"
At the sound of her voice, Celeborn broke free, his eyes focusing once again on the ageless, blue gaze of his Lady. He stood silent, trying to reign in his emotions, and then pulling her into a tight embrace, said, "One of our own is in trouble."
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Haldir could not sleep; he was too restless. Sitting up, he plumped the crushed pillows beneath him and untangled the sheets that had twisted up around his legs. Letting out a deep, cleansing breath, he laid back down, willing himself to reverie, and began counting dead orcs in his head as a distraction from the confusing maelstrom of unfocused thoughts swirling furiously in his mind.
He had just whacked off his sixty-seventh head when he'd had enough and furiously kicked at the just-straighten sheets. Sitting up with a loud, frustrated sigh, he threw his arms upward at his unseen tormenter, yelling into the canopy above him.
"I. Am. AWAKE!"
At the sound of a soft tapping outside his door, he glanced upward again, narrowing his eyes in suspicion, and then with a growl that would have stopped an advancing pack of half-starved wargs, he shot up off the bed and threw aside the door covering.
"What?!"
Torn between flight and laughter, the young elleth in the doorway held her ground. Lothlòrien's mostly charming, but sometimes surly, Captain of the Guard, was scowling down at her looking like some kind of psychotic sprite. His normally tidy appearance was rumpled, and his usually smooth, silky locks stood up around his head in a wild, silver halo.
"Forgive the intrusion, Captain, but the Lord and Lady request your presence."
Bowing slightly, Haldir smiled repentantly at the maiden, and said, "Please forgive me for my abrupt greeting, lady. I will be but a moment."
Haldir dressed quickly and returning, motioned for the elleth to lead the way. He raised an impatient eyebrow when she made to stifle a giggle and pointed at him shyly.
"March Warden… your hair."
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"Orophin!"
"What?"
Orophin cast a confused look to the guardian beside him.
"I *said* do you think you can persuade Haldir into posting us to sentinel the ladies' baths. We could be of incalculable assistance… fetching warm towels, passing the scented bathing soaps, helping with those hard to reach places."
Orophin gave an indignant snort and rolled his eyes as his companion waggled his eyebrows at him.
"I would rather take flying lessons from a dragon-mounted Úlairi. If I should even suggest something like that, our Captain would post us so far out that we would do just as well to join the Mirkwood Guard."
Chuckling softly, Orophin turned to continue the task of inspecting his arrows.
"Ah, but that would put us within striking distance of some rather comely Mirkwood maidens," and then Orophin's companion gave a little hiss. "But then, with Mirkwood maidens comes Mirkwood spiders. Even though I have never seen one of the vile beasts, I hear they are rather disgusting crea…"
Dínendal stopped speaking, realizing that yet again he was being ignored. Exasperated, he watched Orophin closely to see if he would react to the silence, would notice he was no longer speaking, but he did not. He just sat there, humming to himself. It seemed to Dínendal that Orophin had been preoccupied as such for the last several of days, and he was beginning to grow concerned.
"OROPHIN!"
"WHAT?!"
"What, in the name of all that is good and sweet in blessed Arda, is wrong with you? I cannot remember when I have ever seen you so distracted. You have been fiddling that same arrow for the last half hour; 'tis beginning to look worse than when you started."
Shaking his head, Orophin sighed noisily and tossed the overworked arrow aside.
"I am sorry, gwador. You are right; I am poor company. Let us finish this in the morning."
As he stood, a feeling of dread flooded through Orophin, and stumbling, he had to brace himself against a wall to keep from pitching headfirst onto the floor.
"Hold up! Orophin?"
"'Tis nothing, meldir. I believe I am just… tired."
Noticing his pained, glassy gaze, Dínendal looked at Orophin doubtfully.
"You look more than just tired, and I do not think that you have been well for days. Perhaps I should take you to the healers?"
Orophin took a deep breath and pushed away from the wall. Dínendal hovered close by, watching his friend gradually regain his balance.
"Nay, I do not need a healer. I need to speak to Haldir."
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Haldir bowed respectfully as his Lord approached, hand outstretched toward the March Warden. Celeborn lead him down a familiar path, the path leading to the garden that held the Lady's Mirror.
"One of our patrols is in trouble, and I fear there are injuries."
The March Warden hesitated, the vague disquiet that he had been feeling beginning to take shape.
"Is the source of the danger known, my Lord?"
"Galadriel is trying to determine…"
Celeborn's words faded sharply, Haldir no longer hearing what was being said, as a soft but haunting melody assailed him, drowning out all other thoughts and sounds.
'I know this…,' Haldir thought fuzzily. His heart began to race, and he was beginning to feel lightheaded and dizzy.
"My Lord, I…," his knees buckled, and Celeborn moved quickly to steady the guardian before he fell to the ground. Leading him to a nearby bench, the Lord helped Haldir to sit.
"Haldir, are you unwell?"
Haldir stared blankly at Celeborn, gripping the sides of the marble bench on which he sat tightly in his hands as a dull, aching emptiness plowed through him ruthlessly, tearing at his soul. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly against the onslaught.
"Haldir?"
Celeborn's concerned gaze met that of Galadriel's. She walked quickly up the path toward them, her attention shifting from Celeborn to the march warden rocking on the bench beside him. Haldir felt two slender hands encircle his wrists firmly, pulling him free of the tight grasp he had on the bench.
'Haldir, come back to us.'
He heard the Lady's calming voice in his head, quieting the lingering song in his ears. Haldir took a deep breath, trying to regain control. Opening his eyes, the Lady was sitting beside him, his hands resting in hers.
"'Tis Rúmil's patrol," he said quietly.
"Aye. However, his fate is unknown to me." She raised her hand up to gently cup his cheek, and said, "He yet lives."
"What of Anendel?"
Celeborn laid his hand on Haldir's shoulder, and said, "He is still within the Wood. You must seek him quickly, for he is weakening."
Nodding, Haldir stood unsteadily for a few moments, and then bowing to the Lord and Lady, swiftly took his leave.
Turning to Galadriel, Celeborn asked, "Did you see naught of Rúmil in the Mirror?"
"Nay, I saw only darkness."
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Orophin fell silently into step beside his brother as he descended the long stair from the Royal Talan.
"We leave now. I do not want to wait for Anor to rise; Ithil is waxing to full and bright enough to guide us."
"How badly is he hurt?"
"I do not know; he is not of whom the trees whisper."
Retrieving their weapons and packs, Haldir and Orophin made haste to the stables, grabbing a confused Dínendal on the way.
They rode toward the border at a quick pace, letting the Wood guide them in their search for the imperiled guardians. Haldir was the first to spot the dark form staggering down the path and heard the cry of the surrounding wood as the injured warrior fell to his knees and crumpled to the ground. Signaling to the others, Haldir jumped off his steed, and ran over to the fallen elf, turning him over gently.
"Anendel?"
The exhausted elf's eyes widened in surprise and began to glisten with tears as he looked up into the face of his Captain.
"Must hurry… my fault!"
"Calm yourself, Anendel. Let us tend to you."
The warrior grasped Haldir's cloak tightly, shaking the March Warden as if he had not heard him.
"No time… south, they have taken… him south."
Orophin grabbed a water flask and bandages from his pack and knelt beside Haldir, who was helping Anendel to sit, and held the flask to the elf's cracked lips.
"Drink, Anendel, you are dehydrated."
Orophin looked at Haldir anxiously as he began to unwind the blood-soaked rags from around Anendel's chest, and Haldir's eyes flashed with anger as the seeping cuts were slowly uncovered.
"Who has done this to you?"
"Faradrim… six in number… on the border."
Orophin frowned as he examined the wounds.
"How long ago did this happen, gwador? You are still bleeding."
"Three… four days… it does not matter… I do not matter… go." Orophin grasped one of Anendel's hands in his, trying to comfort him.
"Haldir, he needs a healer. His wounds are not closing, and he has lost much blood."
Nodding in agreement, Haldir carefully lifted Anendel and carried him in the direction of the waiting horses, motioning for Dínendal to follow.
"Take him back to the city as quickly as you dare. Inform the Lord and Lady of what was said and our destination."
Dínendal leapt up onto his horse, and asked, "Should you not return to Caras Galadhon for aid?"
"Nay, Anendel says there are only six of them. Orophin and I will continue. I do not want to risk the delay."
Dínendal nodded and then leaned over to take the injured warrior into his arms, but Anendel still clung to Haldir desperately, fighting the oncoming rush of exhausted sleep.
"Saes…"
"Be at peace, meldir. I promise you, we will not return without him."
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~* To Be Continued *~
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Elleth = Elf-Maiden
Gwador = Brother (close friend, sworn brothers)
Ind nín = My Heart
Saes = Please
Úlairi = Ringwraiths
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