Chapter Two: Danger Rising

The fully risen sun dappled through the golden eaves of the Wood as Haldir gazed through the massive silver trees. His sleeplessness of the night before did not unduly hinder him for elven bodies were resilient and had the ability to go for days without sleep, finding nourishment and rest in the beauty of the world around them.

But they could seek no such rest today.

Dawn had come at last after a long night of tending the wounded, most of which were resting peacefully now. More elves had come swiftly from the eastern border to reinforce the troops already there at Fedorian's behest and now had gathered below or on the other flets to prepare for the battle ahead.

Beside the tall lieutenant, Déorian looked up at the bright sun, gauging the weather and the hour.

"Tis a good day to hunt," he remarked quietly, his eyes afire as he clutched the gilt wood of his bow. He shaded his eyes with a slender hand to gaze out across the empty meadowlands spread out before them towards the rocky outcroppings where their enemy lay hid in the mists of morning that the sun had not yet managed to burn away.

The smaller elf shook his head blackly. "We cannot allow these creatures so close to our borders."

"Don't worry, Dae," Haldir said encouragingly. "We'll get them."

"Yes, we will," came a voice from behind them. "But you are staying here."

Haldir spun to face Fedorian, his face a mask of outrage. "What?"

"You are too injured to fight," his older friend reiterated, stepping up onto the platform beside the other two. Déorian kept his eyes carefully lowered, not wishing to get involved in the argument. Haldir stared at his friend in disbelief.

"That is nonsense! Your wife released me. I am fit to fight," he protested with a flash of his steel grey eyes.

"You must make your report to the Lady anyway and Ancadal and Rameil are staying behind as well," his commander reasoned patiently. Haldir opened his mouth again to retort but Fedorian cut him off. "You are staying, Haldir. That is an order." The ringing note of finality in his voice brooked for no more argument and though Haldir let out a long, frustrated breath, he relented.

Déorian gave him a sympathetic smile and patted his shoulder consolingly.

"Don't worry, mellon nin. I'll fell a few for you."

Haldir gave him a cool look.

In a disgruntled and indignant silence, he followed his friends down the hithlain ladder to watch the others prepare for battle.

A bustle of activity greeted them. Quivers of newly fletched arrows leaned against the mallorn trunks, bowstrings checked and strung. Others of the guard tested the keenness of their blades, glittering in the morning sunlight slanting through the leaves. Geilrín bustled among them making sure they were well-prepared for the long hot day ahead.

"I'll have no soldiers of mine keeling over in the midst of a battle from sunstroke," she smiled as she passed out flasks of icy water filled from the Silverlode. She paused before Haldir with the same sympathetic smile that Déorian had given him.

"How are you feeling?" she asked. He sighed exasperatedly for answer; she smiled again as Haldir leveled her with an accusatory glare.

"Your husband is refusing me my duty."

Her bright green gaze flickered to the tall, stern form of her spouse where he was preparing to depart as she shifted an armful of rolled-up bandages. "Your duty now is to heal," she said sternly, tapping at his shoulder in emphasis. "Your back and side have not yet mended."

"You released me," he countered stubbornly. She shook her head in exasperation.

"If 'releasing you' means that you vanished at dawn before I had the chance to look you over, then yes, I did release you," she said with a growing grin. He smiled somewhat sheepishly and shrugged. She laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Come and see me later. I'll check you over and then release you," she chuckled taking up her armful of bandages again as she walked away.

Unable to watch his friends and compatriots leave without him, Haldir walked away, breathing in deeply to try to quell a burning sense of resentment. Why couldn't his commander trust him to come to him if his injuries became a problem? Had he not shown himself more than capable of fighting under duress in the past? Though it was not Fedorian's intention, such an order felt demeaning and insulting to Haldir. His only consolation was that his wounds no longer ached so fiercely. He could not prevent another sigh escaping his lips in frustration as the battle-ready patrol rode off through the trees, following the winding river path out onto the flatlands.

"Haldir!"

The elf in question wheeled round at the familiar voice.

"Orophin, Rúmil!" he called joyfully, mood forgotten, as his brothers flung themselves upon him in twin bone-crushing embraces.

"We've missed you!"

"How were your travels? Tell us everything!"

Haldir smiled and returned the embraces full force, gratitude pouring through him that he had lived to make this meeting. He had missed his brothers dearly and even more so when he feared that he would never look upon their beloved faces again. Rameil and Ancadal, standing nearby, watched the reunion happily.

"'Everything' would take a full season or more to relate to you," Haldir said lightly, wishing to stay away from that particular subject. "Besides you have to take Ancadal to make his report to the Lady."

Said elf blenched at the thought of standing before the Lady of Lothlórien herself as he shot a sharp betrayed look at his friend. But Rameil smiled gently at the younger elf and wrapped an arm companionably about his shoulders.

"It is not as frightening as it sounds," he said, his grin broadening as Ancadal gave him a pathetic look in mute appeal.


The Nimrodel rippled cool and calm on this warm summer's day, chattering its merry path over blue stones on the bottom of the pool. The soft voice of her mistress who had once sung beside the foam-filled waters lingered here still as though tarrying from a far distant shore. The dappled green sunlight glittered upon the small wavelets like diamonds.

The reunited brothers reclined lazily upon the warm grassy sward beside the water slow-moving in its bed. The season had been unnaturally dry of late and the river had sunk far below its usual course. In the middle, where once an elf would usually have been overwhelmed up to the neck, now reached only to waist height as Rúmil waded in, clad only in his trousers to fish.

"Don't fall in again," Orophin chortled from the bank.

"I did not fall in!" His brother protested indignantly, hands akimbo as he leveled a glare at his cheeky sibling. "That giant of a fish pushed me!" He did not seem to realize the ludicrousness of his words and scowled darkly when they burst out laughing. He glared fiercely round at his brothers and friends but a small smile quirked his lips, ruining his black look.

Leaping lightly across the dry stones to the middle of the river, he narrowed his eyes against the sunlight's glare off the gleaming water, spying his prey drifting near the bottom. Reacting with well-honed reflexes, he dove, his fingers flashing through the water.

Missed. He sighed in disappointment as the nimble silverfish slipped through his grasp again.

Before long the others had joined him for the day burned hot and muggy. They sported about like elflings, wading into the deeper waters and splashing one another good-naturedly, their laughter ringing through the humid air. Rameil laughed triumphantly, a glint of molten silver flashing in his hand as he held aloft the prized fish much to Rúmil's chagrin.

Reclining on the bank, Haldir watched them fondly. He smiled though it slowly faded as he gazed through the network of interlacing trees towards the meadowlands just barely visible to his eyes. He thought he caught the faraway glint of sunlight on steel and the tiny figures of horses. A sudden wave hit him square in the face and he sputtered, wiping his eyes.

"Mind yourselves!" he chastened, smothering a chuckle.

He wanted to go swimming but reluctance held him back for he had not told his brothers of his wounds nor did he intend to. They would only worry as they usually did and that was the last thing he needed. But he could feel something else as well. Tension throbbed upon the air, gnawing at his thoughts. His gaze drifted westwards again.

"Come, Haldir!" Rúmil called leaping onto the shore beside his eldest brother who still sat upon the shore. "The water is warm! Stop your worrying!"

"Something is wrong," Haldir shook his head, unsmiling. "They've been gone for too long."

Rúmil rolled his eyes at his brother's anxiety. "You are just cross because Fedorian made you stay behind."

Haldir's eyes pierced his younger brother's gaze like steel. "Hold your tongue, muindor, until you know the truth of the matter," he snapped.

His younger brother backed off, surprised by this stern reprimand.

Haldir sighed and turned his head away. He hadn't meant to sound so cross but a shadow gripped his heart. He did not like keeping secrets from his brothers- even if it was necessary. That combined with his commander's ridiculous order had made him a little more short-tempered than he normally would be.

Haldir reached out and touched his brother's arm. "Forgive me, Rúmil. I am merely worried." His younger brother smiled understandably as Rameil challenged him to another fishing bout.

Ancadal leapt into the water from the slightly upraised rocks on the hither shore, drenching all of those in the vicinity. A water fight swiftly ensued with much dunking and splashing and renewed laughter. Haldir despite his gloomy thoughts smiled, glad for the reprieve. He smothered a laugh as Rameil swam stealthily up behind his youngest brother who furiously tried to fend off Orophin and Ancadal's combined onslaught. The normally stern soldier had shed his usual reserve amongst the younger elves, laughing as he lunged and dunked Rúmil's head underwater.

Their merry laughter stilled as the rhythmic thud of horse's hooves reached their keen ears and Rameil eased his hold to allow Rúmil to surface as a messenger clad in grey galloped to the bank, nearly staggering from the saddle in his haste to dismount. Haldir caught him swiftly by the arm to prevent him from falling.

"What news? Why come you here in such haste?" he questioned him. The messenger shook his head, struggling to regain his breath after his breakneck pace. His tunic hung in bloodied tatters about his form, his golden hair damp with sweat and clinging to his face.

"Who… is in charge here?" he panted raggedly, clutching the stitch in his side.

"I am," Haldir answered reluctantly. The messenger turned towards him, his eyes large and fearful.

"Waiting for us… in the passes… a horde of them! Need aid!" he gasped, grasping at the collar of Haldir's tunic.

Fending off the other's panicked hands, Haldir felt his heart stop at those words, images of his friends lying bloodied and lifeless in the dust rushing through his mind. He nodded numbly and gently disentangled himself from the messenger who sank to his knees in exhaustion. Haldir bade Orophin to go to him as he strapped his sword to his side and turned to his other brother and friends who had already shrugged on their tunics and laced up their boots soaking wet as they were.

"Rameil, summon as many of our people as you can find. In five minutes, I want them assembled here and ready. Now! We have to help them!"

Far past the point of protesting, the dark-haired elf leapt up and vanished into the trees in the span of a heartbeat. Haldir turned back towards the messenger.

"Did they still live when you left them? Did they still live?" he demanded harshly, shaking the shock out of the soldier.

The young elf looked up, still trembling slightly though Orophin's compassionate hand rested on his back. "They had taken shelter… behind a ridge of rock… near the ravine," he choked out. "But I do not know what has happened since then. They got Cúlir in the chest… He-" His words trailed into unintelligible sobs muffled against Orophin's shoulder.

"Haldir!" The elf in question turned as Geilrín hurried towards him with his horse, her troubled expression revealing that she had already heard the ill news. "Bring him home safe," she pleaded, laying a hand on his arm as she pressed his horse's bridle into his hand. He smiled gently at her and squeezed her hand as reassuringly as he was able.

"I will."

Rameil appeared at his side moments later with a dozen elves on his heels, hastily strapping on their quivers and sword belts. Ancadal leapt onto a chestnut stallion that had been brought to him.

"I'm going with you," he said stoutly. His report to the Lady would have to wait.

Haldir did not have time to argue, merely nodding his assent briefly as he mounted up.

"Noro lim! (Ride on!)"

"But Haldir, you-" Ancadal began to protest his friend's going but Haldir ignored him and urged his horse forward at a canter, the rest of Ancadal's words lost to the wind rushing in his ears.


The long cliffs loomed out of the dusky twilight, their serrated faces cleanly carved as though shaped by a giant's stone axe. The coppery rays of the sinking sun set them aflame gleaming like fresh spilled blood upon the knife-edged rocks. Far above their heads tall limestone shelves climbed where the maggot holes of the orcs had been delved through the bones of the earth.

Haldir and the near score of elves behind him rode silently single file, every muscle tense. Absolute silence commanded them. Charging heedlessly into a battle was an easy way to get killed and the Elves would take no chances with their deadliest enemies. Haldir felt the cold all-too-familiar claw of fear clutch at his heart as he shifted his weight lightly in the saddle to try to ease the pressure on his aching side. Longbow in hand and an arrow already notched to the string, his silver eyes gazed up at the rocky outcrops rearing above their heads as they trotted along a steadily narrowing path that twined up the ridge.

The steep ravine dropped in an almost sheer cliff from the honeycombed hills. If he leaned to the side a little, Haldir could just make out the thin dark blue ribbon of water far below twining among the gloomy mist-shrouded poplars. Close above them, they could hear the shrieks of rage and battle, the keening cries of orcs and the buzz of arrows interspersed with the sharp ring of steel.

"There they are!" Rameil whispered for here even a small sound could carry long.

Fedorian's group had managed to fight their way to higher ground and pick off a few of the orcs neatly one by one with their remaining arrows from the shelter of a few scattered boulders and half-dead trees. Rameil with his keen sight spotted them first, crouching behind the scant trees for cover. Their only concealment sprouted up from the gashes in the stone: tall, spindly limbs of ash trees gouging through the nooks and crannies of the gully.

Dismounting swiftly for their horses could not navigate such rough terrain, the elves leapt nimbly up the dusty rocks still warm with the day's heat. Hither and thither, rested still bundles sodden with crusted blood and buzzing flies, the hoary boughs spreading dark mournful leaves over the dead. The fight had been grievous for friend and foe alike and no few elves lay among the slain.

Haldir stepped lightly around their lifeless forms, avoiding the slick of their blood as he crept forward, cursing his ill luck. He should have come sooner! The battle had lasted far longer than it should have. They had not counted on the small band of the night before finding their kin in the caves. Already the sun had begun to descend from its peak, falling towards the dangerous twilight. If they lingered here past sundown, they would be in serious peril of being overrun by their night-eyed enemies who grew stronger with day's passing.

In their bloodlust and haste, the orcs sometimes shoved their own off the narrow path to tumble shrieking into the gorge below. So focused upon overtaking their battered adversary were they that they did not notice the Elves gliding stealthily towards them along the rocks, skirting the telltale pitfalls where a single misstep could easily prove fatal.

In the shelter of the sparse ash trees, Rúmil and Orophin with their group loosed their volley, drawing fire away from their beleaguered friends. Startled, many of the enemy fell before realizing they had been caught in a pincer movement. They knew their immortal enemy at once and their yellow eyes blazed with bitter hatred as they clambered up the rocks, some forming ranks to return fire. Most of the darts skipped off the stone as the Elves threw themselves down but one or two found their fatal mark and blood poured hot upon the sun-warmed stone.

Fedorian sighed in mingled relief and anxiety as he saw the orcs scatter and shoot wildly at this new devilry from the trees.

"Reckless. Every one of them," he muttered, chancing an arrow to imbed his in the skull of a pike-bearer bearing down on top of him. The elven bolt flung the body over backwards into two of its brethren as it tumbled downslope with the elf commander's broken arrow through its right eye.

Mowed down by their relentless pursuers, the orcs fell further back down the gorge's side to crouch near the edge of the path, shrieking and cursing in their foul tongue that stung the ears of those elves within hearing.

"What are you doing here?" Fedorian bellowed as Haldir sprinted towards him with his command at his heels. "I told you to remain behind!" He grabbed his friend's arm and tugged him down behind the sheltering rocks. Haldir gave him a lopsided grin.

"And what? Miss another chance at being mortally wounded?"

Déorian grinned, a battle light glittering wildly in his eyes as he leapt down from a leaning boulder he had perched himself upon. "You'll have to work hard to catch up. I have already bested your last count," he said, swiping blood from a cut above his eye.

"How many have we lost?" Haldir asked, ignoring the jest as he turned a grave face to his commander who watched the orcs regroup not far enough away for comfort. They blocked the Elves' retreat and would not let them escape without a bloody fight.

"Too many," Fedorian replied laconically.

"What of their captive?"

The older elf pointed and Haldir followed the line of his arm. A thin ash tree, uprooted by a wind storm in years past formed a narrow bridge from one edge of the ravine to the other. Lashed to its center was the orcs' prisoner, a mere blot against the brown wood from this distance. She had been blindfolded and gagged to prevent her from calling out. Her captors had left her exactly where she would be unlikely to struggle and would offer the least chance to the Elves of rescuing her. But they knew they had to try, no matter the futility such an action seemed. They had to try; their hearts would not let them do otherwise.

"Let me go," Haldir said, shading his eyes against the failing sun sinking red behind the cliffs. The crimson light fell across him, sparking like fire in his determined grey eyes.

"Absolutely not," Fedorian answered brusquely. "You were not even supposed to be here- let alone do something as foolish as that. You will be killed before you stepped two paces from here."

"I will not. Remember, mellon nin," Haldir said with a wry smile. "You helped train me." He spoke so calmly for the fear of death, an alien concept to the immortal elves, held no power over him.

Without waiting for a reply, he leapt out from behind the boulders, sending off a sharp volley of arrows to clear the path before him. He bounded lightly down the sharp slope, scree sliding at his heels as Fedorian's protective arrows zipped past him.

The orcs reeled back with shrieks of rage and alarm. Thankfully, the marchwarden's woven cloak (which all the elves carried with them even in the hottest weather) blended with the concealing silver trunks of the trees, flittering to the color of gravel as he darted from their cover. A black tipped arrow narrowly missed his skull, lifting his hair as it passed but he ducked low and kept going, skidding down nearly on his knees to the brink of the cliff.

Blood pounding in his ears, he rushed the three orcs guarding the fallen tree, putting three arrows into their hearts before they could lift their weapons against him. Leaping over their slain corpses, he sprang lightly up onto the beginning of the rotting log, his boots finding precarious purchase on the rough bark. The old wood creaked ominously under his additional weight light as it was. Balancing easily with the natural agility inherent in his people, he stepped forward carefully, wincing at every groan as he inched along the tottering log. A sharp jolt almost made him fall and the startled cry from the creature in the center of the makeshift bridge froze him in his tracks, his heart leaping into his throat.

Only a few thin roots anchored the log to this side of the cliff and nothing at all on the further side. Minutely but discernible to the eyes of the elf, it shifted, straining against its last lashings. If he did not hurry it could rip free of its roots and slide off the ravine edge entirely, careening both of them into open air.

Summoning his courage, he lunged forward ignoring the lancing pain ripping through his side as he did so. He sliced the bonds that bound the woman to the wood and scooped her up with a strength borne of desperation. But the log jerked even more alarmingly and he froze again. He had just turned about when a sharp pain exploded through his shoulder and he stumbled backwards, nearly dropping his burden. His foot caught a weak part of the tree and soft rotting wood burst, engulfing his right leg to the knee as he landed hard.

Shaking his head to rid it of the pain-hazed fog clouding it, he opened his eyes to stare at the bolt embedded deeply in his flesh. The arrow had struck him on the left side, diving deep into his shoulder.

Keeping a firm grip on the woman with his one good arm, he tried to wrench himself free by levering his other leg up. But gripping pain tore through his thigh as the stubborn log refused to release him and he dropped back, panting as the wood creaked warningly again.

A cruel chuckle floated to his ears and he looked up sharply.

The orcs had finally spotted him and stood at the edge of the cliff, arrows nocked and ready. The first archer took another bead on him, its black-tinted arrow aiming straight at the elf's heart this time. Thinking fast, Haldir knew he had only one option. It was impossible. Suicidal. But it was the only way they would not be killed outright.

He hooked his leg tightly inside the decaying tree, preparing for the pain he knew this would cause. With a deep breath, he threw his body flat against the log, forcing aside the nearly unbearable pain as he shoved the arrow tip in deeper. He gripped the brittle tree tightly with one arm as he simultaneously wrenched himself sideways, pulling the log right over onto its side, tearing the last of the roots free.

The fatal missile buzzed harmlessly past him but his leg screamed with pain as he wrenched the muscles horribly, one arm still wrapped around the log to keep them secure, the woman crushed between his chest and the wood; her unbound hands clasped tightly about his neck.

But that movement was too sharp for the long-suffering log. It moaned and split asunder right down the middle. Haldir felt the old wood shudder and knew what was going to happen a split second before it did.

With a keening screech, the log snapped, hurtling both elf and woman into open air. A stomach-turning jolt of pure panic shot through the elf and every muscle in his body tensed reflexively as his mind registered that they were falling. The wind stung his face, whipping his hair into his streaming eyes, chunks of wood raining down around him.

Through blurred vision, he saw the hard slope dotted with small trees leaping up towards them at least fifty feet below and knew they could not hope to survive if they landed among those jagged rocks. With a sharp shove, he pushed the woman away from him so she would not be crushed under his weight when they landed though he doubted it would do much good.

They were going to die.

He knew an instant's regret for his friends as the wind screamed in his ears.

The last sound he would ever hear.


"Haldir!" Déorian screamed when he saw his friend fall, abandoning his cover as he darted down the slope as fast as his legs could carry him. Slicing through the orcs that rushed to hinder him, he fought to the edge of the gorge, staring wild-eyed into the abyss. He cast about frantically, his breath catching around a sharp edge of panic that stabbed suddenly through his stomach. Peering over the lip of the ravine, he strained his elven sight but could see nothing through the thick gloomy darkness of the trees.

"Déorian, what is it? Where is Haldir?" Rameil questioned the smaller elf as he slid down the escarpment to his side. He dashed the sweat from his temples and wiped his hands on his leggings, narrowing his eyes against the blind night. His heart sank like a stone as he realized where the smaller elf gazed.

The orcs were flying in retreat, driven back by the fierce onslaught of the combined elven forces. But the two standing on the brink of the cleft gave no more heed to the battle, their faces frozen with shock and sorrow.

"He fell," Déorian whispered numbly, blank astonishment etched over his fair features.

"No," Rameil denied vehemently. "He's not dead! Do you hear me?" He seized the smaller elf by the collar and shook him. "He's not! He can't be!" The dark-haired elf refused to believe even the slightest possibility that his friend might be dead. Not after what they had endured- he couldn't be! He wouldn't believe it!

Déorian simply shook his head, his mind whirling as he clutched the other elf's wrists in a desperate viselike grip. He looked up numbly as Rúmil and Orophin skidded onto the shallow ledge, their faces white and pleading, begging their friend not to tell them what they already knew to be true. His heart plummeted within him at the thought of telling them of their brother's deathly fall.

"I'm sorry, mellyn nin," he gasped, his voice heavy, dazed, as tears started in his eyes. "I'm so sorry."


Tree branches whipped past his face; leaves turned to tiny knives, slicing thin shallow cuts in his arms and face as he tried desperately to slow his fall. He could see nothing but swirling green and feel the thin branches snapping under his weight. As he fell, the branches grew thicker and connected with his shoulders, catching him in the chest.

The force with which he hit the tree limbs knocked the breath from his lungs. And his tunic snagged and tore on smaller needle-sharp twigs. Black dots danced before his eyes as his head connected solidly with a bough and his side spiked through with pain, the stitches in his side straining as he twisted to catch a hold of anything. His fingers scrabbled vainly for a hold and suddenly he felt air open up underneath him again.

He slammed hard into the earth, tumbling painfully over the sharp stones. Finally, he came to rest on a level, feeling as though he had been caught in the stomach by a dwarf's rock hard fist. He lay gasping there for a moment, unable to move as the world tumbled around him.

He wasn't sure if he blacked out or not but when he next opened his eyes, the dust had settled and every ache and pain in his body cried out loudly for his attention. His legs and arms were cut and bleeding from trying to stop his rapid descent and the arrow shaft in his shoulder had snapped when he had collided with the ground. His chest felt crushed and he could not breathe for the pain pulsing between his ribs. At least one or two were cracked or broken, he wasn't quite certain he wanted to know which.

With the pain radiating from his body came the realization that he was still alive.

His fall had been blessedly softened by the aspens growing close to the river. He had torn straight through them but the resistance had been enough to keep from killing him when he had struck the rocks. Breathless and disoriented, he listened for a full minute to the wild throb of his heart scarcely able to believe that he could still hear it. He had fallen from trees in his youth before of course but even an elf had his limits. And a fifty foot drop onto rocks was definitely one of them.

Slowly, he raised his hurting head, nearly falling back again as the world spun dizzily for a few sickening moments, purple spots momentarily obscuring his vision. Carefully testing his limbs and back to make sure nothing had been broken, he sat up gingerly, a groan escaping his lips as agony jolted through his head and side. His shoulder ached fiercely and, looking down, he saw the jagged remnant of the arrow protruding from a dark crimson stain spreading slowly over his tunic. Feeling his stomach turn over, he hastily looked away from it, working on getting his feet under him.

It took him a few long minutes but he managed to stagger up, knowing he would have many bruises ere night truly fell though darkness had already fallen beneath the trees. His right leg screamed from the sharp tension straining the tendon as he moved on it. Stumbling nearly to his knees, he picked himself up again and looked around for the woman, fear squeezing his heart as he spotted a limp shape among the scattered remnants of the ill-fated log.

The woman lay where she had fallen five yards away from him, blood seeping from a cut on her forehead where it had sharply struck the rocks. Ignoring the numerous protests of his body, he knelt beside her or rather his leg gave out beneath him dropping him beside her. With his one functional arm he felt her limbs and spine, making absolutely sure nothing was dislocated or out of place before he carefully rolled her over, relieved to find that she still breathed.

Haldir gently peeled back the gag from her mouth and the blindfold from her closed eyes as she stirred with a small groan. He leaned back in surprise as the cloth fell away to reveal a swarthy face, weatherworn and marred by the flowing of time. A human. He sat back on his heels, his head cocked to one side. What had he gotten himself into now? He knew enough of Men and their fears to be wary. He tended to shun their towns and villages for Elves and Men had become estranged in these later days since the Last Alliance.

He stood, preparing to leave. She lived at least; there was no reason that he had to stay. But his heart restrained him. She looked so young, not much past her thirtieth year, not yet out of childhood by elven standards. He could not leave her out here where more dangerous creatures than orcs lurked by the riverside. Automatically, he scanned the area, reaching for his sword. His fingers closed on empty air. Dazed, he cast about for his weapon.

His sword had been lost in the fall and it took him a few moments to find it again, half buried in the dust and splintered wood. Once the blade rested securely at his side again, Haldir breathed a little easier, knowing that at least he could defend himself if they were attacked again. Maybe. In the shape he was in, he'd be lucky if he could lift his sword much less wield it. With a sigh, he knelt beside the female again, waiting for her to awaken.

Quickly, he tucked his hair back over his shoulders and pulled up the hood of his cloak to conceal his face as her eyelids fluttered and a small whimper left her dry, cracked lips. Dried blood and dust caked her face and a large bruise crossed her cheek where she had obviously been struck. Coming to with a start, she jolted up, staring wide-eyed at her rescuer.

"Stay," he said softly, speaking in Westron to set her at ease as he raised his hand in what he hoped was a calming manner. "I will not harm you."

Tense and trembling, she could only stare at him with wild black eyes.

"Who are you?" she asked tersely, her eyes wary with mistrust.

"I am called-" he paused a moment. "Haldir."

He decided to be honest; this woman would not know his name anyway and it would mean little to her though he wished he knew more of this woman and more importantly how she had come to be in the company of orcs. The nearest human settlement, to his knowledge, lay at least forty miles to the east nearer to Anduin. How she had gotten so far still in the orcs' midst alive and mostly unharmed was a story he would like to hear. But it would have to wait for the peril of their tenuous position pressed upon him heavily.

He knew safety was not yet within reach and if he wished to return to his companions he would have to somehow climb back up the chasm walls. But he had no way of knowing when it would be safe to do so for the orcs still lingered there and Fedorian's troop would have drawn back by now. And with his injured shoulder added to the mix of difficulties… he groaned and rubbed at the ache between his eyes, vainly wishing he could just lay down and sleep if only for a moment.

"My name is Khiris," she answered feebly, bringing a hand to her head to smear away the blood on her temple. Her accent was thick with the inflections of Harad and her dark skin proclaimed her so.

"Can you stand?" he asked her quietly. "We cannot linger here." He said with an anxious glance at the top of the cleft. He reached his uninjured hand down to help her up. Hesitantly, she took it and allowed him to pull her to her feet.

He stiffened, the hairs rising on the nape of his neck as a chilling howl rent the thick, muggy air. Looking up, he caught sight of misshapen silhouettes against the lighter night sky near the lip of the chasm.

"Come on. We've got to move." Explanations would have to wait for now as the vile orcs would very likely attempt to pursue them to reclaim their prize as soon as full night fell.

As swiftly as possible, they moved off through the underbrush hurriedly ducking under the shadow of the vegetation at the edge of the water.

They kept close within the umbrage of the cliff face determined to be as invisible from the top of the gorge as possible. The woman moved gingerly, seemingly forcing aside whatever pain she felt. Every so often, he would catch her glancing at him as though taking his measure. He moved silently at her side, trying not to flinch as every movement sent wave after wave of unrelenting pain flowing through his aching, tired body.

His leg cried out mindlessly, begging him for rest. It shook so badly he knew it would not hold him up much longer. His left arm hung useless at his side, a growing pulsing agony swelling from shoulder joint to fingertips. Every breath felt as though a knife had been twisted into his lungs. He staggered and caught himself just barely against the gorge wall, trying to regain his balance and his breath. His heart was strong but his body was shutting down on him.

Suddenly, Haldir's leg gave out completely and he fell to one knee, pain shooting up through his shoulder and rebounding in his throbbing head. He suppressed a groan as the world flickered dark around him.

Seeing him fall, Khiris crouched beside him in an instant, her dark face registering alarm as she grabbed his shoulder. He moaned and tried to push her hands away as they caused more pain to his already rapidly overloading senses. He could only shake his head over and over, desperately trying not to black out or vomit.

"Don't touch me," he commanded, motioning her back. She did so, watching him with curiosity and concern in her dark eyes. A sharp drawn in hiss escaped through clenched teeth as she espied the alarming stain spreading across his shirt black under the trees.

"You're hurt."

He shook his head- not in denial of the truth- but in impatience. Now was not the time for such questions. An uneasiness gripped his heart with icy groping fingers. Something drew near, something not entirely friendly either. They had to find shelter. Only then could they perhaps find rest.

He stiffened suddenly, his eyes widening in alarm.

She caught the look on his ashen face and immediately tensed as well. "What-?" she began. But he covered her mouth and pressed her back against the solid warmth of the cliff.

"Quiet," he hissed in her ear, the heavy sound of iron-shod footfalls meeting his keen ears. The orcs he had feared would pursue them, had pursued them. Pressing back into the shadows of an overhang, they held their breath and waited.

Small stones rattled down the steep sides of the chasm as the creatures slid down the embankment, leaping nimbly to the ground on knotted limbs. Scenting prey nearby, the orc scouts, muttering in their foul language, examined the scuffed and bloodied ground with delight. Their luminous eyes glittered devilishly in the darkening night as they flickered towards the deep-shadowed overhang under which their quarry crouched.

Realizing they had been spotted, Haldir drew his sword with a hiss of steel on leather. The orcs screeched joyfully at the prospect of bloodshed as they wrenched their curved and pitted blades simultaneously from their filthy scabbards. The elf leapt forth to meet them, his blade kindling in the starlight that blazed forth upon it.

Dancing out of the middle of his attackers, Haldir spun about, whirling his sword in a swift double-handed stroke that swept the head from the shoulders of one of them. The movement sent an agonizing spasm through his injured shoulder and his ribs and muscles flared as he dodged the knife hurled at him from the other.

The remaining orc paused, cowardice seizing its evil corroded heart. Spinning about with a bound, it leapt away from the elf's scything blade with a shriek of terror. It cleared the rocks with the agility of a mountain goat and disappeared into the murky twilight.

Haldir lowered his guard slowly, wiping his blade clean on the fallen orc's filthy leathern tunic. His hood had fallen away in the short skirmish, his golden hair tumbling freely about his shoulders. His chest ached as he heaved in ragged breaths, his shoulder burning. He turned away from the corpse to meet the eyes of the woman staring at him.

She did not hide her astonishment at the almost ethereal appearance of what she had thought was a man. In Harad, elves were creatures of legend- part of the old tales which they used to frighten their children. The thought of meeting one here in the wild never crossed her mind so she merely blinked her heavy hooded eyes and kicked at the twisted corpse cooling at her feet.

"Think there are more of them?"

"More will come," Haldir answered with a quick glance at their surroundings, somehow relieved that she did not seem to comprehend what he was.

The shadows of tall monolithic boulders loomed ahead ominously, spreading long concealing shadows across the starlit ground. His grey eyes swept the area over carefully, every sense straining. But he heard nothing. Not a whisper save the wind whistling over the crevices in the rocks. And that more than anything else made him even more uneasy.

"Let's go," he whispered into the silence.

A hot gust of moisture-laden air struck him full in the face like a falling stone and he looked up as a warning rumble echoed through the still air. Dark clouds had rolled in invisible in the nightfall, promising the unpredictable violence of a summer storm. Haldir groaned inwardly. Just what they needed. If it was severe enough, the floor of this entire canyon could flood without warning.

Every step jarred the arrow haft still buried within him and every step became harder than the last as they began to scramble up the steep slope. His cracked ribs ached fiercely with every labored breath and the pounding in his head only worsened as night drew on. A difficult section of the cliff found them scrambling in the deep dusk, groping vainly for a handhold.

Sweat dripping into his eyes, Haldir shook strands of clinging hair out of his face and hauled himself up another painful foot. His fingers had been scraped raw by clambering up the rocks and half-formed ledges in the dark. They would not be able to make the top of the ridge tonight. Not as they were. He felt drained already and knew he was physically incapable of pulling himself up one more time.

Pausing for breath, he glanced over his shoulder to where the woman struggled below. Despite his injuries he had gained a few feet on her for he could see more clearly in the dark than she and found hand and footholds more easily.

"Haldir!" the alarmed shout made him twist round again.

Khiris struggled upward as nimbly as she was able but she had to squint in order to see the rock face in the blackness as dark as pitch. But below her, far too fast for mortal agility, orcs swarmed upward- a remnant of the party the elves had slain those survivors who had been alerted by the scout.

With the agility of a mountain cat, he dropped from the rock he clung to and landed a few feet from her on a small ledge. Pain ricocheted up his twisted leg muscle but he ignored it as he stretched a hand down to help her.

Scrambling upward, she swiftly grabbed a hold of his shoulder for leverage, nearly jerking him off the ledge and sending a tearing pain ripping through his injured shoulder. He grasped her by the underarms and hoisted her up onto the makeshift platform bodily. Clamping his hand tight to the wound, he glanced up at the whirling clouds overhead.

"Come on," he hissed, dragging her upwards once more as he cast desperately about for a suitable place to make their stand. She grabbed his arm and pointed.

"There!"

A narrow slice in the cliff face had been eroded by dripping water, forming a small niche in the rock several yards above their heads. As they began to climb towards it, Haldir felt the first drops of rain upon his shoulders.

"Hurry," he encouraged though she had already gained several feet on him.

The storm had rolled in faster than he'd thought. Before they had pulled themselves up three more feet, they were both drenched to the skin and scrabbling on the slick wet stones for purchase as they finally clambered up onto another ledge.

But the strain had been too much on his injured shoulder. Expending the last of his energy to drag his failing body up over the lip of the ledge, Haldir collapsed onto the muddy ground, gasping for breath, the rock above his head blurring in and out of focus. Khiris scrambled up beside him, her dark hair clinging to her face with the rain.

Harrying screeches from below forced them exhaustedly back to their feet. The orcs had climbed more than halfway towards their hiding place. Their haste had garnered them a few precious moments only. It would not be enough, Haldir knew.

A bolt of lightning revealed the interior of the niche mouth and vanished. Fearlessly, Khiris plunged into the darkness. With a shake of his head at the recklessness of humans, Haldir squeezed in after her, his hand gripping the soaked hilt of his worn saber as they passed into a kind of open cave, damp-smelling and silent. But they dared not go far from the lighter cave entrance for fear of what lurked in the deep shadows beneath the earth.

Haldir leant his back against the cliff wall, letting his head loll back against the rock. His shoulder throbbed mercilessly now and not a bone or muscle in his body did not hurt. He tried to force the pain to the back of his mind as more severe practicalities took over. The orcs had seen them- of that he was sure. But in no way was he in a shape to fight. If Illùvatar blessed them, they might yet escape this with their lives.

The narrow walls of the cavern they had eased through provided a very defensible place to his soldier's calculating eyes. If the orcs managed to climb so far in the wrathful storm, they would be forced to enter it single file, easily leaving themselves open to attack.

If they had to fight, this is where they would make their stand.

Opening his eyes, Haldir looked up at the sliver of night sky just barely glimpsed through the crack overhead, worn even darker by the foreboding purple-black clouds roiling overhead. A dry splitting crack broke the air right above their heads, causing both of them to jump instinctively. A flash of white purple lightning seared the sky, so close, Haldir could see the fork as it struck the earth. The rain fell harder now, spattering over the stones and leaping down the ledge from where they lay hid in the shadows.

"Here, perhaps, we may rest for a little," Haldir breathed, his shoulders slumping with weariness as consciousness faltered against his will. The woman looked back at him, whey-faced as she slowly sat down beside him.

In the silence broken only by the soft pounding of the rain and the angry growls of thunder, they waited for the worst to come.