Disclaimer: I own nothing that is recognizable to the Lord of the Rings franchise. The languages used in this story are Quenya, Primitive Elvish, and Sindarin. These are all owned by J.R.R. Tolkien.

What ARE mine are the original characters and the Darkmen tongue

Understanding

Looking around, the warden suddenly turned his gaze to the courier, seeing his usefulness to a problem.

"Cassemir," he called, bringing the Elf's focus to him, "Would you take this one's horse to the stable yard, until it is called for? I would obey my brother's command, yet find that dealing with the beast will hinder me."

"Gerin be nau, Orophin: I will do this for you."

With a gentle hand, the Elf took the rope encircled about the stallion's neck, pulling softly, amazed when the animal did not respond, and instead seemed to stand his ground beside the elleth. His eyes took in the horse's protective stance and the strange Elf's restraints and blindfold.

"Telo, nin aphado, mellon nîn, an thâr parch a nen vaer," he coaxed the horse, running a gentle hand along the thick neck, amazed at the corded muscles there.

The elleth moved her head, looking directly at Cassemir and the courier found himself wondering what her eyes would look like. She seemed to breathe heavier in his direction, as if drawing in his scent; she appeared satisfied, and nudged the stoic horse in his direction. Following her command, the animal allowed himself to be led to the promised dry grass and sweet water.

Orophin waited until the courier had disappeared from view then turned his eyes to the bound elleth. Disgust in them, he gripped her arm and pulled her to him. Looking down, he saw his fingers were marking her flesh and tightened their hold even more, eliciting no response from the Elf.

"Are you so weak you will not respond when another bruises you?" he hissed under his breath, yanking her along the trail to the practice yard.

The forest floor was scattered with plant life, ranging from soft sedge grass to barbed briar thickets; these he made sure she stepped through, the thorns scratching at her arms and pants as he half-dragged her beside him.

It was no great distance the practice yard; they reached it in mere minutes, whereupon he threw her to the ground at the base of a mallorn, looking on at her in revulsion. The instant she felt the ground beneath her, she immediately began struggling with her bonds, working her hands around so that they cupped a charm from the leather wristlet she wore. Under his gaze she slid the charm in between the ropes and severed them, flinging her arms up to tear away the blindfold. The covering gone, he could see her silver eyes staring at him again, their depths troubling his heart. She seemed to look him up and down as she rose, rubbing at her wrists, until she stood upright.

As he looked at her, he thought /She is Avari filth...why should she be allowed to live?/

Kneeling before the Lady of Caras Galadhon, Haldir bowed his head in reverence, having finished his account of the strange Elf's appearance.

"You did as you ought to have done, Haldir, do not trouble yourself with doubts," said Galadriel, placing a hand on her Marchwarden's shoulder, her command for him to stand.

As he looked up at her, she seemed to search his eyes, yet he could not tell if she found what she was looking for. Once he stood, she studied him, then said:

"Walk with me in my garden, Haldir, for I sense you have questions, ones that I will answer."

She took his arm and they went down the stairs of her palace onto the forest floor itself. Together they walked among the trees, into the garden of Galadriel, where flowers bloomed year-long and beautiful, flourishing under the Lady's hand. Taking her hand from his arm, she seated herself on a stone bench, smiling at a rose leaning toward her hand. As she caressed its velvety petals, she looked at her Marchwarden, noting how he remained standing.

"Is she Avari, then, my Lady?" he asked, his gaze frank and direct.

"She is," replied Galadriel, returning his look with her own, light from the trees making her hair seem all the more golden in its shine.

"Why is she colored so, my Lady?"

Haldir circled in front of her as he began to pace, pausing to stare into her eyes, questions storming his mind. He continued:

"It has been said the Dark Elves have not been gifted with the Light of the Two Trees, yet she appears graced with such Light. How is it possible?"

Galadriel sighed and rose from her seat; with eyes full of weariness and long years, she knelt gracefully in the midst of her flowers, looking again at Haldir.

"I have known many things, my Marchwarden, yet it remains hidden from my Sight how our Kindred have become what she appears," she said, tracing her fingers along the soft petals:

"Perhaps, Haldir, it is a question to be asked of our sister."

He snorted elegantly, crossing his arms skeptically.

"And how, my Lady, shall it be asked of her? She does not know our language, nor do we know hers."

Making a derisive sound within his throat, he continued:

"Perhaps her kind are not developed enough to understand our tongue; they probably speak in grunts and live in caves with their beasts."

"Silence, Marchwarden!"

Startled, Haldir turned to see the normally thoughtful Lord Celeborn entering the garden, his face an angry storm to match his pace:

"Do not speak such things against a guest; nay more, your kin."

"She is no kin of mine."

As Celeborn glared at him, Haldir shifted uncomfortably beneath the disturbingly hostile eyes:

"Is she less an Elf because she is different from us? She is to us as the Men of the East are to those of the West: different in looks and language, yet they still the same, still Men. It does not matter how she looks, Haldir son of Hithaer and Laslin of Lórien. She is an Elf, distant kin to us all."

"How did you know she is different, Lord?" asked Haldir suspiciously, his eyes narrowed.

Celeborn placed a hand on his wife's shoulder.

"My wife," he said, "shares many things with me, especially those that will change the fate of this world."

Galadriel sighed softly and gracefully rose to stand tall beside her husband; when she turned her eyes to Haldir, he saw her sorrow and ... regret?... in their depths.

"This time is ending, Haldir; you have felt it, as I have seen it. There are two dooms waiting in the mists to befall the future of Middle-Earth: a darkness spreading throughout the lands, a ruinous disease devastating the Peoples of this world."

Haldir felt her eyes on him, and as he looked up at her, he was swept up into a whirlwind of haze and fire. He saw the desolation approaching the West, the thousands slain by a cruel and vicious hand, and cried out at the burning of his beloved mallyrn trees, the laying of waste to all things good and beautiful.

Pressure escalated in his mind, and tears fell as rain down his face as he sobbed his grief. Suddenly a gentle hand settled on his shoulder, anchoring him against the tide; he looked up to see his Lord standing above him, in his eyes a melancholy wisdom. The hand on his shoulder tightened gently as he spoke softly, sadness in his voice:

"This is only one fate, my Marchwarden... one doom waiting for its opportunity to strike. The other is no less terrible."

Once again the scene changed as he gripped his head: the land grew in shadow, yet the courage of those remaining rising strong and fierce. A great and terrible battle was fought outside a gleaming city, the faces of the warriors and their enemies blurred; a feast, a crown, a tree, and then he was flying over the earth, seeing the lands of all. As he soared, he felt the passage of time, the change in the land as the presence of the Elves diminished.

A great mourning cry rose from his lips as he realized the world he loved so much would pass to the hands of those remaining as the time of the Elves ended, and the ages of Men began.

For a while Galadriel allowed her Marchwarden to dwell on his thoughts, but after long minutes, she reached out to him as Celeborn had done, touching his cheek with her hand as she did so. Startled eyes flew to hers as she smiled sadly:

"Judgments of the heart are often built on the words of others; would you condemn her life on the desire of one you knew, without giving her a chance to speak on her behalf?"

For a time he stood apart from them, pondering long between his own feelings and the words of his Lady. At last, he looked in Galadriel's eyes, and nodded. Relief filled her, though she kept it hidden from her eyes as she smiled to him:

"Much wisdom is there in you, Haldir: it is a quality I would have you use more in the coming days, along with your well-known patience."

He tilted his head toward her, his gaze curious and questioning. In response, she answered:

"I would have her in your care, Marchwarden: I foresee that she will need a strong guardian, and you are one with an open mind."

Her husband and she watched as Haldir stood silent, as his mind grasped this knowledge and accepted it.

"I will do as commanded, Lord and Lady," he spoke, bowing to them.

Galadriel smiled again, and asked:

"Where did you leave her, Haldir?"

"At the practice yard, my Lady, with Orophin; there would have been no one there at the time, and I made it clear she was to stay there and not be taken elsewhere. After, I went to report to you."

"Your service does you credit, my Marchwar-"

The Lady stopped mid-sentence, looking past him. Suddenly, she turned her piercing eyes to him, her voice urgent:

"Go, go now, Haldir! She is in danger....no harm must be allowed to befall her; there is a presence in her that I do not recognize, a powerful gift bestowed upon her. Go to her!"

Without a thought, Haldir obeyed her command, his senses even more aware of his surroundings as he raced along the talans and bridges to the practice yard. Adrenaline exhilarating his veins as he leaped over gaps and branches, he stretched his mind, looking for her presence; he quickly found it, the only one he did not know, but he also found another life-force intertwined with hers: one he knew as his brother's.

A.N.:

Credit is due to Méran Anessi ar Quenteli for Haldir's parents' names

Hithaer meaning "Mist Sea"

Laslin meaning "Leaf Song"

Translation:

Gerin be nau I agree

Telo, nin aphado, mellon nîn, an thâr parch a nen vaer Come, follow me, my friend, to dry grass and sweet water