THE HALADIN

by Archaic Scribe

Chapter XII

THE ELF-LORD OF THE NORTH

The frailty of humanity had the men who courageously fought the Orc slipping and sliding like newborn foals in the mud as the earth desperately tried to soak up the excess rain. The Orcs stood planted like the wide, black tree trunks, rooted wherever their heavy feet fell upon the ground in an almost one-sided battle where they mercilessly slaughtered the Haladin and chopped their bodies to chunky pieces of flesh and bone.

Haleth awoke with a start, reluctant to feel the physical pain that lingered and seeped into her body as she continued to yearn for sleep, even if it meant facing the dark recesses of surpressed emotion and morbid dreams of butchery.

There was a shuffling outside as a tent flap was pushed aside and Jorhild walked towards her, visibly relieved.

"My lady," Jorhild said with a bow and regal, formal air, "It is good to have you among the living."

Haleth gave her the beginnings of a sly grin in response to her teasing, which quickly disappeared into a grimace as racking pain overtook her when she tried to sit up. Jorhild moved to still her and then signaled for her to wait a moment as she returned with a strange looking person bearing a cup and small sack filled with herbs and fresh bandages.

Haleth was startled by the beauty of the healer so much that she lay still, and obeyed his silent commands before he departed from the shelter after whispering soft words into her ear in an unfamiliar language of melody that set her at ease and gave her great comfort.

"That is not like the song I heard when these fair beings slew the Orcs when all hope seemed lost," Haleth commented, her voice raspy from lack of use as she thought back to the ethereal song she heard, powerful and mournful, moving her to the verge of sad and blissful tears.

It was Jorhild's turn to grin, "What we heard was a horn sounded in charge, with hope and ages of its own tragic story to tell."

Haleth raised her eyebrows in surprise, but could not force out words up her sore, burning throat to ask Jorhild to tell all the details she knew, or had guessed, while she drowsed between dream and nightmare. For some reason, Jorhild hesitated, and Haleth quickly assumed that it must be because she did not want to be overheard by their caregivers, who must be milling around the camp and close by as they walked past the walls of Haleth's makeshift infirmary.

Sensing her mind, Jorhild moved to pour her a cup of water, in addition to the concocted prescription the healer had administered, and added, "The kinsmen of this Elf-lord from the North have keener ears and senses than I have ever known or seen."

Haleth nodded her thanks and moved her hands to grasp the cup and drink as her hands, also unused after so many days of stillness, shook like a moderate convulsion.

Just as Haleth shot a glowering look at Jorhild as she moved to help her steady her cup, the tent flap was flung open and a tall, dark elf strode through the door. Odin! Haleth's heart initially cried as her mind surpressed it and correctly stated, The Elf-Lord of the North.

Haleth mentally shook herself and began to loose control of her cup as he moved quickly to remove it from her grasp, holding it gently to her lips and leading her to drink it in slow sips.

Jorhild's ire cooled as she was about to reason with her sister-in-law to let her assist her and was replaced with amusement as she took her leave, assuring Haleth that she would return soon.

Haleth felt herself grow warm with a foreign excitement that made her blood race and pound against her skin, which was added to the uncomfortable drumming of her heartbeat in her ears as she began to wonder what the elves had put into the draught she was given.

Sensing her alarm and plan for fruitless retreat, Caranthir spoke, "I am Caranthir, the lord who rules Thargelion. You should presently know, now that you are in your waking mind, that the vile beasts who savagely attacked you and your people have been driven to their ends by the swift waters and cliffs of the great River Gelion," and then the dark elf added with a severe air, "Those who sought the safety of Ascar's soft slopes were set upon by elvish steel."

Haleth lay, moved beyond thought and emotion at his passion and harsh tone, both fearing and loving the spirit that moved within him, a common force against a shared enemy.

His voice, even in its harshest tone was like a mighty battle hymn, imposing command and favor, and his countenance left her with much uninvited desire. His dark features were like the men of the Haladin, but moved beyond normalcy, the depths of his eyes filled with wisdom, light and fire.

What was this enchantment upon her, she thought suddenly, narrowing her eyes at the vision of beauty and power who stood before her as he turned, smiling within himself with an suggestion of proud vanity, to place the cup upon a nearby table.

Elf or man, he knew the sway he had with the women of the Edain when they first laid their eyes upon him in his unmasked radiance. However, Caranthir, the tormented and angry Noldor Prince of the North, was genuinely more pleased beyond any of such had been in his experience yet on Middle-earth, for this Atani had scowled at him in rebellion, quicker than any female from the race of men to question his appearance, desiring more than just his Elven glamour.

He pivoted, and looking as if he hadn't moved at all, stood hovering near her side again, peering at her carefully, his thoughts masked and the fire of his eyes suddenly hidden, before he went to settling her back onto her pillows.

"I am told you are the leader of these people," he said with a sincere look of respect, all sign of hostility against the Orc removed from his words.

Before she could respond, he continued, somewhat enamoured with what he saw as a strange creature who was worth knowing more of and keeping closer to his abode, "I know of your loss, lady, and I saw great valour in your deeds in such circumstance."

Caranthir, though considered by most of his kind as the quickest to anger and wrath, was still of Elvish kind, and therefore wise when his passion permitted. The Elf-lord gave himself no delusions in this matter of gaining the trust of the Haladin. The time was not ripe to suggest any movement of their permanent settlement.

Haleth's only acknowledgement that she had heard him was when she held his gaze, with an anguish and suffering he had never seen in the Edain, and then closed her eyes with weariness and drifted off into sleep once more.

Caranthir the Dark, bad tempered and incensed in most of his wakeful hours, saw himself in the Atani women as he sat down by her side, wishing to touch her mind, but resisting the temptation. His past, present and future was overshadowed by a deadly Oath he had sworn in another land. Even Caranthir knew that invading the reason and crux of the mortal heart could not be added to his shameful list of sins.

His relationship with this Edain was not connected to his fateful Oath, nor would he ever allow it to be, out of respect for her spirit and valiancy, and for the sake of her beloved people. However, in the limited time of Haleth's lifespan, he could at least promise friendship and protection where they could live out their days in peace. This burden of loss was too great for a women of the Edain to bear by herself.

Caranthir knew what it was like to loss both father and mother, but at least he had his brother's for companionship, when it suited, but this women had not even that. He wondered how the loss of a sibling, more so, a twin would feel. How would Amrod or Amras feel if one fëa departed before the other? The two were inseparable and somewhere deep in his being, he knew the survivor of the two would join the other quickly, suffering death by sheer grief.

What would I do with one so close in companionship as all that, with people of her own to care for, he thought ruefully, as the clarity and consistency of his nature ruled his reason, I dwell nigh in the nether region of Lake Helevorn, happy in my own solitude. Caranthir would not invite any to share in his sullen abode, shadowed by mountains and quiet.

The Elven-lord also knew that his epiphany of admiration of the Atani was his own revelation to keep tightly secure, restricting any probing of word or thought from others of his kind, save maybe Finrod, for how could any other understand the respect, the pity, and the compassion he suddenly felt for the race of men.

Caranthir chuckled to himself at the ridiculous notion of making amends with Finrod, the Elf-lord of Nargothrond, a land far to the West of Beleriand. Finrod, the renowned friend of men, and even, he thought scathingly, a friend to the ugly little Naugrim. Such a great friend was he to the Naugrim that the small creatures of Aulë had designed for him his own special name: Felagund. Thus, he became known more commonly as Finrod Felagund.

The Elf-lord of the North pictured an amusing meeting where the two sat down together to a civil cup of tea and biscuits, discussing the various attributes of the Atani. Caranthir did not consider Finrod's blood thick enough to warrant anything more than an attempt at politeness. For his kin, Finrod, was only a cousin born of a half-uncle, Finarfin, who wedded a Teleri of Alqualondë. The Teleri, others of their race that he and his brothers had slew at the direction of their father, Fëanor, and whose ships were overtaken and forced to bore them to this accursed land. Other swan ships were set to flame and burned like the aching fingers of funeral pyres, dancing among dark, billowing clouds of smoke to an open sky of pale, innocent blue.

Back in those years, the Oath had been clear and simple, but after the Kinslaying, there was nowhere to turn back to and it seemed much easier to continue forward, into further darkness and despair. Easier, he thought with contemplation, to be indignant at the lesser actions of their half-blooded cousins who pandered to Elu Thingol of Doriath.

The only elf who could ever rule Caranthir was his father, but he had been released into servitude and penance in the Halls of Mandos at Mithrim in the Dagor-niun-Giliath.

Sighing inaudibly and taking one last look at the peaceful expression on the women's face, Caranthir stood and exited from the tent, all thoughts of the Atani wiped from his mind and replaced by a seething rage of ongoing frustration, as was his nature.

Nearly running into Jorhild as he strode from the entrance, Caranthir gave her a slight bow, preoccupied in thought, and brushed past her and her vicious look of insult as she entered the tent.

In a huff, Jorhild walked towards Haleth, her vexation slightly up at the brisk encounter with their host. Was it not I who have been of assistance to this ungrateful lord while my sister lay in dangerous unconsciousness, she thought angrily, feeling fully justified in her displeasure with the dark elf.

Moving her thoughts to memory she suddenly thought of their discovery of Haldar's sword, all that remained of his being, for the bones and flesh of his body had lain scattered and then had been ripped apart in the ravenous hunger of the enemy. What was not consumed, was trampled on by the heavy step of Orc boots, leaving a disheveled mess where the remains could not be distinguished or identified by any.

Jorhild's memory fueled her anger as she paced the room, waiting for Haleth to wake. The only remains she had of her husband were memories and his sword, which she would possess only temporarily before she passed it on to their son, Haldan.

What madness, she thought, what folly! Jorhild worried extensively for her husband and father's safe passage to the Great Halls, praying that Freya, in her wisdom, had somehow ordered their freed spirits put upon the winged horses of the Valkyrie. There could be no ceremonial funeral pyre for them for nothing was left, but there could be for those whose bodies had not been ravaged by the flesh-eaters as the elves had arrived and beat them down to the flowing waters of Gelion and Ascar.

Haleth would rightly demand the pyre set for those whose bodies remained, and so, Jorhild departed, and set to do it, vowing to return later when she could perhaps catch Haleth awake and out of the company of the Dark Elf-lord.

Haleth ran her finger along the ax handle of her father's weapon, which Jorhild had been able to recover from the battlefield.

"He is full of some deadly secret," Jorhild whispered bluntly as she and Haleth spoke later that evening.

Haleth closed her eyes for a few moments and then opened them again, "That is not so uncommon, I think, and we have not much time to remain in his care. As soon as I can manage my body, we will bury all our dead as is fitting, remove to the forests and see what can be salvaged from the devastation of our homesteads. What will come next, I know not at this time."

Again, Haleth closed her eyes, weary of even this limited thinking that she was asking of her brain.

"You are weary," Jorhild said kindly. "I will set things in motion and when you are ready, you will tell me."

"Wait," Haleth insisted, "There is but one last thing, sister."

Jorhild turned to Haleth as she stood ready to exit near the doorway.

"You must take this and give it to Haldan when he is grown," Haleth said, motioning to the large hand-carved ax that now rested upon her legs.

Jorhild shook her head back and forth, quick, short movements making the stray wisps of hair that escaped their confinements dancing with accentuated denial, "What madness do you speak? This was your father's ax."

"And he will not be wielding it again on Midgard, nor will I. It is for Haldan to bear in strength and wisdom, when you deem the time is come," Haleth said firmly. "That is my final word so, come hither and remove this great weight from me."

Jorhild brushed her lips over her forehead and turned quickly, a tear nearly making itself known before she could turn her back to her sister and take her leave as Haleth gave her a weak nod and closed her eyes, worn-out and unable to fight her heavy eyelids as she left and the elvish healer returned to the tent.

Sensing a new energy and motion in the room, Haleth forced her eyes open and looked intently at the healer, unspoken question in her eyes, as he changed her bandage and spoke to her in that same musical tone she had grown accustomed to during their meetings before he guided another dose of medicinal herb wine throat.

"Leave us," came the commanding voice of the Dark Elf-lord, Caranthir, as the healer bowed respectfully and moved so smoothly, Haleth's eyes interpreted him gilding, with unearthly grace, out of the room.

Haleth inched her torso upward to rest against the comfort of fluffy pillows, and the Elf-lord did not stop her, but assisted her this time.

"You have my gratitude," Haleth said, her voice stronger and purer than earlier that day.

Caranthir considered her for moments that seemed like eternity to Haleth, deliberately contemplating her declaration and assessing her recovery before he spoke, "You are most welcome and as I said, I am pained at your loss."

Haleth continued to look at him, lost in the dark recesses of his soulful eyes and heavenly allure as she considered him for a moment. The Elf-lord was beyond begin simply attractive, possessing something otherworldly that Haleth had never experienced, even in her visions; but she continued to assess him with deep concentration and saw a glimpse of a dark secret untold, anger, pain, and loss.

Finally, she gained a semblance of her priestess training and drew upon the knowledge of her visions, both invited and uninvited. Smiling at the memory of when she last saw Bryeth at the temple of her father's settlement, at the same time when she had gathered the women and children, she remembered that she had dealings with immortals before in her time. What she saw in this elf was eternal and the sudden realization calmed her and set her into a level of ease and normalcy.

Without the allurement and enchantments of immortality, he was only another soul, racked like any by emotion and the rules imposed by the gods and goddesses, those beings of a higher power that governed those of lesser status. Rules, she remembered with a sudden shudder, that she had once pressed too far, near to a place beyond redemption.

Marveling at the Atani women in front of him, Caranthir nearly caught his breath for the first time in many years, shocked at himself for doing so and slightly angry for that very same reason.

Caranthir was just about to given into temptation and clear his throat, becoming so moved by this encounter with Haleth that he nearly dared a physical sign of such emotion, but thought better of it. Such an action was for the nervous actions of humans and lesser creatures. He was still a prince and the son of the greatest of the Noldor, Fëanor, and would not lower himself to such standard or reaction in front of any human. Though the knowing smile of amusement and sudden oozing of confidence from Haleth had him admittedly fidgeting inside, he kept it firmly beneath the surface and hidden from any who would examine it.

"You have the friendship of my people, lady," Caranthir said, a little flustered as pushed emotion aside and shrewdly assessed whether to continue with his plan.

"Many thanks," Haleth said cordially, awaiting more.

Caranthir instinctively knew he must tread slowly with Haleth and retreated from the initial speech he had prepared. It was too soon and her head was not yet clear or free enough of all that had befell, he reasoned to himself. Besides, she nearly sees too much.

"You have had a great loss, lady, and I fear I have overburdened you with speech," he said smoothly, "Will you not let me adjust your pillows for slumber? The draught will be overtaking you momentarily."

Before Haleth could respond, an eternity seemed once more to pass as Caranthir eased her back into a comfortable sleeping position and left the room as her eyelids drooped closed for the night.

The next morning showed the promise of sunshine with no hindrance of clouds of any sort blocking the intense rays that shot through the sky to the earth, warming her chill with tepid caresses. Haleth had worked with the personal healer to Caranthir all morning inside the tent to regain her footing, working hard and anxious to be among her people and to see the blessings of the outdoors.

Haleth slept soundly through the afternoon, after a hard morning's work of rehabilitation, and was awake again by the time dusk neared when the healer returned with Caranthir.

Haleth beamed at the two immortals and was blessed with a peaceful look of contentment from Caranthir and a grin from the healer, whose pride at his charge's progress radiated from him as if the early morning rays of sun had been transferred and placed in his whole embodiment.

As they stepped near her, the healer set a serving of food and drink at her tableside and then began to take the individual dishes and settle it upon her lap.

Haleth looked at him with insult, contemplating slapping his hand away so that she could do it herself, and just as she raised her hand to do so, she thought better of it. She felt the probing, penetrating eyes of Caranthir upon her and knew he was already observing her with obvious suspicion.

"Thank you," she said in her most courteous voice as the healer nodded and went to a console near her bed laden with the weight of medicines.

"Linval," Caranthir said, "Bring forth another draught for our lady, Haleth."

Haleth's eyes widened, but she quickly masked this and spoke casually, "Would that my progress this morn could mean reaching the outside of this tent."

Caranthir issued an unexpected smile which widened as his humor grew, "What say you, Linval, is this woman ready for the twilight."

"Should she eat what is set before her, it would do her great good to breath the fresh air, my lord," Linval replied as his tone trembled with mirth, refusing to turn and face them.

Haleth narrowed her eyes for a moment, knowing she had been the expense of their jest, but a smile quickly replaced all though as her heart soared at the prospect of breathing the fresh night air.

Linval administered a draught, which Haleth suspiciously took, having doubts that this was unlike all the others, which had only resulted in sleep after she had dutifully taken them.

"This will give you strength and ease whatever pain my come," Linval said softly, removing Haleth's dishes from her lap and then looking at her with the unrestricted eye of a healer.

"Do not linger overlong, lady, or the result will mean no progress has been made this day," he warned, the musical sound of his voice still powerful, but comforting, in his forewarning.

"I would be honored to assist you, lady," Caranthir said with kind chivalry as he met her eyes.

"That would do well," Haleth said as she moved to swing her legs over the side of the bed, which had both elves rushing towards her, arms outstretched as she flinched at the sudden pain that registered in her arm after she pulled the bed sheet from her body and thought to lean on it.

"You move too fast," Linval admonished hastily as Haleth's eyes bore into him with fierce determination.

"Then I shall move slower," she said, moving her injured arm to rest upon her lap as Linval showed her a hint of a glower as Caranthir began to chuckle audibly.

Haleth's glare moved from the healer to the elf-lord as he saw the look on her face, which made him want to laugh harder. Instead of giving into temptation, he righted himself and said, "Forgive me lady, it is not often the powerfully musical song of Linval is silent or his countenance set into a grimace in such a situation as is this."

Linval bowed with a glare, and departed to the ringing tones of Caranthir's melodic laughter, which he held in check no longer as he heard Linval mumbling in Quenya about the Atani who heeded not the slow art of thought before movement.

After Linval had left, Haleth smiled, unable to glower with such a beautiful sound resonating throughout the tent along with the reality that she would finally get to move from this tent and into the fresh air of the night.

As they made slow progress towards the cliffs of Gelion, to the north of where the stockade stood, Haleth began to form a thought in her mind that she spoke to the elf-lord.

"Tell me," Caranthir began pointedly, "How is it you embrace the twilight, for you seem most at ease in the darkness."

Haleth looked at him, puzzled, and then responded, "There is nothing to fear in night but lack of vision, my lord."

Caranthir thought about the whole of the Atani, who bore the nickname, Night-fearers, among other labels from his kind, and wondered how this name was placed upon these people. The answer of those who dwelled in the camp was easy to surmise for they had the light of fires and the protection of the Firstborn. He knew not to calculate the Lady Haleth's ease to his own person, as vain the temptation was to him to think himself a supernatural champion of this women who walked calmly beside him in the half light. As Caranthir entertained his deliberations of that very exact fantasy, drifting into reveries of grandeur and heroism, Haleth interrupted his thought with a most unexpected and direct statement.

"We have many dead to gather for funeral rites," she commented as they neared the cliffs, her gaze drifting to the south, where the burned remains of the stockade had stood.

"Your woman in command, Jorhild, has said and done as much," Caranthir said with a grin, enjoying the directness and blustering hauteur of these folks so like him.

In the days that Haleth lay in recovery, Jorhild, her sister-in-law by marriage, had challenged him on near everything from Haleth's care to the establishment of their shelter and the guardianship of their people. Jorhild had not allowed him to over-extend any form of kindness for her own benefit.

After many days with the Haladin, today had proven that he and his kind had grown to delight in this Second House of the Edain dearly, for it was rare for them to show emotion of any kind, even in courtesy of easing communications. Masking their emotions had come easily when among others, but it became easy to smile and to laugh, something all together rare, even among themselves as they dwelled in near, self-imposed exile from the rest of the Noldor.

Caranthir had also observed how the Haladin were fiercely independent, another trait that immediately endeared them to his aged heart. These Atani, Eru's second born were much like his children in a strange way, he thought, had he ever produced any to carry on his line. He regretted that there were none of his offspring which he could see grow to adulthood, but it was best not to bring more into Middle-earth that would needlessly inherit the terrible curse of the Oath that had been sworn in ancient days, at the height of passion and madness.

So, he had even grown to admire Jorhild, with her bluntness that so many of his kind would take as bordering on rudeness. He had been one of them himself, Caranthir silently admitted, but seeing this fierce race of proud and determined folk in action had turned him to concern and admiration. They were much alike, the widow of the Chief's son and the elf-lord, and Caranthir believed Jorhild knew it too, for she would not have simply departed from Haleth to leave her in his care earlier - and with an amused grin at that. Jorhild could mask it, but there was of no success against his astute perception for he was the a son of the Noldor, the Deep-elves, the Wise, and no mortal could hide what he willed to see.

"Your sister has done aptly well in your stead, Lady Haleth," Caranthir said as they stood in a wave of silence atop the cliffs of Gelion.

Finally, after long moments, Haleth spoke, "Jorhild is a capable women with a steel in her heart not many among us can claim. Even with such steel, her emotion runs deeper than many know."

Caranthir understood what Haleth implied and nodded, so that the women next to him would know he understood her meaning, among elves, this would be a pointless display, for their perception amongst themselves was highly sensitive.

"And what of you," Caranthir said pointedly, "How does your heart fare? Jorhild has had days to work through her grief and loss and you have just begun to linger more and more in waking thought."

Haleth turned to him, and so he rotated towards her as well to meet her pale eyes under brilliant, glimmering diamonds of starlight.

She was speechless for a moment, seeing the light of Valinor dulled in his face under the cloak of midnight blue sky for a moment, before the enchantment of the stars lent a majestic light to his bright eyes.

"My slumber was not all weightless dreams and blissful forgetfulness," Haleth said in a faltering whisper, scarcely able to coerce the hesitate words from her throat.

Without having to brush against her thought with elvish talents, he instinctively knew of her experience. Had he not lost souls dear to him as well, with little promise of seeing them in joyful reunion after penance in the Halls of Mandos, if in fact they, the Oath-swearers, were still allowed there before returning to Valinor, where forgiveness would be hard-earned, if given at all?

Again, the overpowering desire to intrude upon her mind came back to him, this urge much stronger than the last. Instead of giving in to his craving, he remained standing, a head above her, looking down at her with compassionate and appreciative eyes, grateful for having found humanity in a fair light and admiring the gift bestowed upon them by Eru, to have only one life, one ending where they did not have to pay the price for their wrongs for eternity or reincarnate to emend them.

Haleth looked deeply into his spiritual being and was glad to no longer see the pity she had sensed dwelling behind the depths of his eyes when they had spoken earlier. Always initially slow around him, a clear thought registered in her understanding as she conferred an auspicious smile of fondness upon him.

"What the gods demand as a price to extract is not mine to design," Haleth said with acceptance. "What I do with my time on Midgard is my own and willed by those greater than me."

"Midgard?" Caranthir questioned.

"Middle-earth," Haleth replied after a struggle to find the Sindarian word in her memory banks.

"Ah," Caranthir said, nodding understanding and returning a charming, broad smile at Haleth. He had learned a new word this day, and from an Atani women, no less. The elf's grin widened as he thought, would it not be justifiable to touch her mind, this new friend who welcomed him to her with warmth and friendship, and be done with this struggle for words in a language that it is clear neither one of us likes?

Caranthir had almost convinced himself that a telepathic jaunt would be perfectly alright when Haleth spoke without warning, "I should go amongst my people before all energy escapes me."

Turning and holding out his arm as escort, Caranthir lead Haleth back to camp where she paid a visits to the cooking fires of many of her folk, offering comfort and condolences to those who had lost loved ones and laughing in camaraderie with those who were given to good humor in the face of emotional destruction.

Caranthir observed her with respect and deepening affection, but then approached her after she had visited many fires when she began to eat some of her native food. He had made effort not to intrude, standing back in the shadows, but came forward like a soaring phantom among mortals to softly warned her, "You are strong, Lady Haleth, but do not attempt too much lest your body betrays you."

Seeing his logic, Haleth reigned in her appetite and went back to the tent for some medicinal broth and elvish bread, at the subtle direction of Lord Caranthir.

"I have watched you among your people, my lady, Haleth," Caranthir said, speaking as she finished her soup and raised her eyebrows at him, urging him to his point.

Stifling another smile, something that had been foreign to him for so long on the frigid shores of his mountain retreat near Mt. Rerir and the cold northern walls of the Ered Luin, the elf-lord continued, "You care for them well, and they, you."

"That I do," Haleth stated with unwavering passion, and nodded in agreement as Caranthir continued, "You have my unending friendship for as long as your days remain on this Midgard of yours."

Haleth smiled at his use of Midgard as her respect deepened for him instantly, a boundless feeling of warmth entered her heart and formed a swelling bubble of tenderness for this regal and dark-haired elf-lord, this god who walked among men.

"I would offer you my protection and free lands to start new settlements, removed from this now wasted land that holds so much painful memory for you and your kind," he said pleasantly as he moved over to sit next to her on the bed.

"Remove to the north, where our forces are near to you and what you have left of your people," Caranthir said, appealing to her with sincere petition.

Haleth thought for a moment, "You are more than kind and gracious, my Lord Caranthir, but I will no longer dwell in the shadow of the Blue Mountains. If I take my people north, we will still be in its far-reaching shadow."

This is folly, Caranthir thought, a brief flash of anger at his new friend for what he deemed poor judgement, but the firmness and conviction of her voice gave him no vain thought that he could convince her otherwise, at least at this time, and so he relented without harsh words of regard, not wanting to cause further pain to this child of Eru.

"It must be as you wish, then," Caranthir said, his intonation unreadable, as he gave a curt bow and abruptly withdrew from the shelter in which Haleth was housed.

Haleth sat in speechless astonishment at Caranthir's quick words and departure as her mind reeled, was it unwise to not dwell in the presence and protection these god-like creatures could promise them? What would the people say of her impetuous decision, made without any council whatsoever?

Disclaimer:

Characters and situations of The Silmarillion (Second Edition) by J.R.R. Tolkien, edited by Christopher Tolkien are the property of The J.R.R. Tolkien Copyright Trust and Christopher Reuel Tolkien.

Produced solely for the enjoyment of other fans and not for any monetary profit. Please do not sue me, as I have little money.