Chapter Eight: Walking Through the Fire

The ragged shreds of his tunic hid the violence of last night, dried blood concealed by dark cloth. Haldir's head sagged against his breast, neck stiff, but he dared not move to get comfortable. The javelin pierced his side anew every time he tried, a sharp, biting pain that refused to abate. He couldn't move his left arm, the arrow wound having swollen through care given too late.

Heavy footsteps reached his ears, pounding through his already aching head. With difficulty, he managed to raise it, tensing instinctively as a figure leaned over him.

Ramir crouched beside the elf and began unlooping the cords that kept him bound to the tree. Haldir closed his eyes. The man was not someone the elf wanted to see just now.

Ramir glared at the elf as he jerked him to his feet. "C'mon. The captain wants to see you."

Anaric stood within a small tent, bent over a map spread over a tree stump. When the soldier entered with his prisoner, his dark eyes turned towards them and stared down at his captive's bruised face. He said nothing for a long moment. This his eyes turned on Ramir who stood behind the elf. "Leave us."

Ramir didn't move. "If it's all the same, sir, he gave some trouble. Wouldn't want anything to happen to you."

"As you will, Ramir. But just outside if you please." Anaric's gaze was cool as he stared unwaveringly at his subordinate.

Silence passed a moment as the soldier stepped through the tent flap.

"If you are going to question me, I shall save you time for you are wasting your breath," Haldir said. "I cannot give you any answers." The effort of speaking hurt too much.

"I am not going to question you."

Haldir looked up. "Do not play games with me. Why would you speak to me if not to question me?"

Anaric sighed deeply and bent down, taking his flask from his belt. "Clear water, taken this morning from the stream. Drink." He set it down at the elf's side and actually untied the bonds behind the elf. Gradually, Haldir loosened the stiff muscles in his back and shoulders, trying not to flinch as the fresh lashes chafed against his tunic. He was glad for the reprieve.

Haldir flexed his fingers gingerly. "What do you want then?"

"You should drink that. It would do you good." The man nodded at the decanter sitting on the ground. Haldir ignored it. He had neither eaten nor drunk anything in more than three days but he would accept nothing from these men. He didn't trust them enough for that.

Anaric sighed and slowly paced back to the tree stump where the map lay, a frown deepening the creases in his weather worn brow. Haldir, following the man's gaze, noticed little red figures carven of wood upon the map, scattered along the range of hills near the Anduin.

"Valar, this war!" the man sighed deeply after a silence. "I hate it, Haldir. Does that surprise you?" He glanced down at the elf. "We have been fighting for so long, I don't think anyone remembers what we're fighting against anymore. And in the brief moments of respite, we kiss our wives, embrace our children, and find ourselves scarred and covered in the blood of our enemies."

He shook his head and set the map aside, taking a seat on the stump, rubbing his temples. "I am so tired of it."

Haldir straightened his shoulders a little, trying not to wince as pain flared in his back. Why was the man telling him this? He remained suspicious, seeking deception in the man's face.

"Such death among my men has not been seen in some time. And I know we were betrayed." His eyes glinted. He didn't seem to notice his prisoner anymore. "None of our enemies could have slipped past our perimeter like that without aid."

His gaze drifted towards the entrance flap where he could just see men rising in the damp morning light, starting up cooking fires for an early breakfast, tacking horses or oiling weapons. "Day by day my men lose hope. Lose courage. This endless war saps their strength more than any enemy's poison. Fear is high. Distrust more so. It turns friend against friend, brother against brother."

A man suddenly ducked under the tent flap, removing the hood of his cloak as he saluted his captain, taking no notice of the prisoner nearly at his feet. He was red-faced and breathing heavily. "Sir, I traveled along the river for two days. A day's ride on I found fresh water and high wooded hills—a ridge cuts through them on the east side. There is good game there. And the fresh tracks of the enemy."

"Good." Anaric nodded his approval. "Have you heard aught of Belrager and Cather?"

"No, sir."

Anaric pursed his lips. "We can't wait for them. If we delay any longer, we may find ourselves on the brunt of another assault," Anaric said, his eyes flickering to his elven prisoner briefly. "To horse."

The scout bowed and quickly exited. Ramir entered when his captain called to him. "Get the men ready. We depart in an hour."


Fire embers flickered upwards, winking amber in the dusky light. The sky above deepened in hue to a dark cerulean as the sun sank below the ridge line. It was dim in the narrow cleft save where campfires dotted the landscape. The Gondorians had halted between two climbing wooded slopes, finding a clean watercourse that cut downwards from the hills rising above them and plenty of game birds and waterfowl.

The memory of the sun burnt his sweat-lathered back. It was not the sweat of exertion either. It might not even have been sweat. Haldir closed his eyes and let his shoulders slump in exhaustion. Wearily, he gazed around the camp, watching soldiers move back and forth past him.

The men were troubled. They had found two scouts on the path that day, throats cut. Now in the gathering dark, they milled restlessly, unquiet and anxious.

Tergon glanced at the figure, bound and hobbled. A stake driven into the ground kept the elf on his knees—as one would picket a horse. Haldir had not moved in some time and the man wondered if he slept yet or had simply passed out. Lank tendrils of golden hair framed his face from sight. They had ridden long and the elf had been forced to run every step of the way. Even after he fell and the horse dragged him, he managed to fight to his feet. The soldier of Gondor could not help admiring the strength of the elf; and his conscience ached that he had done little yet to help him.

"What keeps you in such deep thought tonight, soldier?"

Tergon started, not realizing his commander had stolen up on him. He looked up into Anaric's dark eyes and shrugged, glancing at the fire. "Nothing really, sir."

Anaric looked over at the elf where he noticed his soldier's eyes had lingered. "He is an inconvenience at best. Should we find our quarry, perhaps we will be able to return him."

The other soldier pondered the several layers of meaning behind those words then found himself unable to keep from voicing his doubts aloud. Long he had trusted and confided in his captain. "Sir… what—what if he were telling the truth? What if he was innocent?"

Anaric sighed, as though he had expected such questions. "That would take a great leap of faith. Evidence is heavy against him."

"Just, for the sake of argument, then."

"Even if he were, he knows too much now. He knows the strength of our numbers, the location of our camp. We could not risk letting him fall into enemy hands."

"And yet we needn't keep him tied so like a criminal." Tergon chose his words carefully. "This… treatment is…is cruel, sir."

Anaric stared at his subordinate and Tergon, meeting his eyes, wondered if he had suddenly overstepped his bounds. Then the commander looked towards the figure again. "Don't you think cruelty can be warranted at times? To preserve what we hold dear—men have to die—that's the way of war. And you know that. But, perhaps, a few may be saved if we are a little cruel."

"But we don't even know if he's guilty or not."

"It is better to be wary and live than to be wrong and die. What is cruel, Tergon, is the senseless slaughter of the babes and women at Calen. What is cruel is that I must return to Gondor with the names of more dead husbands, fathers and brothers to give women already grieving their sons." Anaric responded. "You have a good heart, boy. But you have to harden yourself."

Tergon opened his mouth to reply but Anaric cut him short.

"Take the next watch near the trees. Notify me if any pursuit is seen—even a flicker that might indicate a torch."

Dismissed, Tergon dutifully saluted and walked away from the fire's light, casting one last glance at the pale figure dim in the darkening night.


Dark oaks marched downslope towards a narrow defile as the wind whipped the leafy tops back and forth. A cold stream on the right dwindled into the shadows where it eventually joined the Silverlode leaping from the mountains. Déorian followed its path idly with his eyes. They were close to Lothlórien now, having swept wide past the cliffs where they had battled the orcs. Not many leagues lay between them and the northernmost borders. He could feel it in his bones.

Below in the shadowy defile, flames sprang up.

"Well, they're making our job a lot easier," Déorian remarked to himself narrowing his eyes against the wind at the small forms of the men silhouetted against the fires. The elf watched a moment longer before slipping silently back to his fellows.

As he stepped into the dark clearing, he heard Rúmil speak. "Sir, permission to scout ahead."

Fedorian half-shrugged as he rubbed bee wax over his bowstring. "Do as you please, my orders aren't enough to keep you here."

Rúmil muffled an exasperated sigh and looked up as Déorian walked towards him. "What did you see?"

"Fire," the elven tracker responded evasively.

Bounding out of the small depression they rested in, Rúmil could see the fire lights for himself and his keen vision swiftly picked out the small figures moving before them but he was too far away to make out faces. Moving lightly and quickly downhill, the elven soldier crept almost to their perimeter, dropping to a crouch in a bed of high-growing ferns.

He twisted his head around to scan his surroundings, listening intently. No one was nearby and he hadn't been seen. Shouldering his bow, he stalked forward, slipping silently through the long grass as all of his training had drilled into him long ago. Men's faces stood clearly out in the darkness now, eating and drinking over roasting meat, others pulled off their boots gratefully preparing to bed down.

Sudden voices met his ears and the elf dropped quickly out of sight, flattening himself to the ground, grasping the short handle of the knife in his belt. Raising his head cautiously, he peered over the rustling grasses. Two sentinels were moving slowly towards him, their voices drifting to his ears. He could not understand what they were saying but he marked them well.

The man furthest from him carried a crossbow loosely against one shoulder, a bolt ready but undrawn. The other was a lithe man with greasy shoulder-length hair. As Rúmil examined his weapons, his eyes widened and every muscle in his body coiled.

The man wore Haldir's sword.

But he dared not move. Even though they were only two and he had the element of surprise, he remembered his rashness of the day before and willed himself to stillness. They passed nearly above him, the greasy-haired man stopped only a pace away from the elf who could have reached out and swiftly taken back his brother's sword.

But he waited until they dwindled into the shadows.

Filled with worry and anger, he wriggled quickly out of sight and raced back to where his companions awaited him.

"I've found him!"

Orophin rose to his feet, heedless of the newly-made arrow tumbling from his lap. "What? Where?"

Rúmil faltered. "Well, I didn't exactly see him. But one of the men carries his sword—I would recognize it anywhere."

"Let's go." Orophin was already at his brother's side when Fedorian's voice stopped them.

"No. We are all weary tonight. We cannot risk an attack unless we've rested first. If Haldir is still alive down there, we can only hope they will keep him alive a little longer." Fedorian raised his eyes to Rúmil's face. "What are their numbers?"

Rúmil shrugged. "I'm not sure. Many. I saw many fires."

Fedorian shook his head. "That's not good enough. We can't just saunter in there without knowing their numbers and have at least some basis of a plan. Eat and sleep on it." His statement brooked no argument and Rúmil sat down defeatedly as Déorian handed him his rationed meal and took up watch at the edge of camp.

"We will get him back." Rúmil didn't look up as his brother sat next to him.

A small smile flitted across his face. "And then I'll kill him—I ruined my good boots chasing him through that cursed ravine."

Orophin laughed and Rúmil's smile widened a little though he could not shake the worry that clouded his mind.

Fedorian caught the younger elf's eye and jerked his head towards the trees, indicating he wished to speak to him alone.

Puzzled and wondering if he was going to be reprimanded again, Rúmil laid his finished meal aside and followed after his commander.

"You wanted to speak to me, sir?" he asked cautiously after they had walked for several minutes in silence.

Fedorian slowed his pace and stared ahead into the trees. "I need to know that I can count on you to follow my orders."

Rúmil stopped dead in disbelief. "What? Of course you can, sir. I—"

Fedorian raised a hand. "That's all I need to know."

Rúmil did not speak, staring at his mentor. How could Fedorian believe he couldn't be trusted in the field? One mistake and his ability to follow orders was called into question?

Fedorian must have seen something of his thoughts in his subordinate's face for he sighed. "I do not reprimand you to humiliate you. And I do not do it because I see you as incompetent. And I certainly don't do it for sadistic pleasure."

Rúmil did not smile.

"Despite what you might think, I do actually care for my men—even Déorian," a brief shadow of a smile crooked the commander's lips. But his expression quickly sobered. "And too many of them have died already—my failure on the ridge proved that."

He leveled a very serious gaze on the younger elf. "I want you to understand that. I don't want to send another brooch and folded cloak to your eldest brother when we get him back."

Rúmil bowed his head until his commander unexpectedly clasped his shoulder; and he looked up into Fedorian's green eyes.

"I trust you, Rúmil. Implicitly. But if this doesn't work… if we should be overwhelmed…" Fedorian stared into his face. "I need to know."

Rúmil straightened his shoulders and fixed his eyes at a point over his commander's shoulder, responding in precise military fashion. "You can count on me, sir."

"Good." Fedorian released him. "Get some sleep."

Rúmil avoided his brother's questioning eyes when he returned and wrapped himself in his cloak. Surprisingly, sleep quickly claimed him.

It seemed he had slept only moments before he was woken most irritatingly with a nudge in his side. Darkness shrouded the land deeply and the sliver of moon lay hidden by a wrack of thick clouds.

Rúmil stretched stiff, cold limbs and clasped his damp cloak about his neck with a shiver.

"No fire," Fedorian ordered, strapping his long black-handled blades to his back.

Rúmil nodded, stifling a yawn as he pulled a packet of lembas, still fresh in their leaf wrappings out of his dwindling pack. They would have to hunt soon.

He stared around at his companions, most of whom still slept. Orophin alone stood watch beside Rameil's resting form. Rúmil was glad to see that the dark-haired warrior's breathing had eased and he seemed to be resting quietly though his face looked still too pale.

"Where are we going?" he questioned his commander, seeing that he had let the others sleep.

"Come on." The older elf ordered and the younger soldier followed him out of the small sleeping dell and down the steep ridge-side.

They slipped in and out of dancing shadows like wraiths, taking advantage of the abundant tree cover until they reached the bottom of the slope. Rúmil's heart began to beat faster as he realized they were heading towards the Gondorian camp.

Out of the corner of his eye, Rúmil watched his commander. Fedorian had not spoken again of what they had talked about. Rúmil could not help feeling a slight sense of unease. As though this were another test he had to pass. Forcing such thoughts from his mind, he bent his will to the task, making sure his sword lay sheathed and ready at his side, arrows at his back. His bow trembled excitedly in his palm.

Skirting the few sentries standing near a campfire at the edge of the trees, the elves plunged into a small ditch and out of sight.


The soldier rubbed his eyes tiredly. He'd been circling the perimeter for three hours now with no sign of their enemies. For a moment, Tergon allowed himself to think longingly of home—his soft bed and a hot meal—then abruptly shook it out of his mind, scowling at his weakness.

Keeping his feet moving to stave off sleepiness, he peered dully into the trees, sword ever ready at his side. He circled the camp again, slowing as he passed the place where the prisoner sat tied and staked down. Haldir was awake, clearly unable to sleep for discomfort.

Tergon told the two guards flanking the prisoner that he was their relief. When they had gone, he knelt next to the elf and loosened the cords cutting into his wrists. He was worried about the elf, his condition seemed to be worsening throughout the night; and the soldier was eager to do anything he could to help him.

"Here." He offered him his flask. "Rations are spread thin but I'll share what I've got. You look as though you could use it."

Haldir thanked him gratefully and accepted the decanter with stiff, throbbing fingers. Had it been anyone else, the elf would have refused. But he could no longer ignore his body's complaints and thirst tormented him worse than his wounds. But he did refuse the bread the man offered him, realizing he really didn't feel all that hungry.

"You need to eat," the man insisted.

Haldir merely shook his head in reply. Deprived of regular nutrients, his body was turning on itself for fuel. He blinked a few times to try to clear his head, to little avail. Everything in his body hurt and it took all the energy he had left to keep his silence.

"You need help." Tergon looked into his glassy eyes, watching a bead of sweat trail down into the elf's golden hair. It was far too chill a night for sweating.

"Haldir?" He leaned down a little when the elf did not lift his head.

"I'm just… tired.' The elf put off the young soldier's concern in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner. He decided not to tell the young man about Ramir's treatment of him. Shame and sheer exhaustion kept him silent.

"Hope you're telling the prisoner, he's lucky to get food," Ramir's grating voice startled the younger soldier who whirled round to face him guiltily. "Even if it's against orders."

"It's just so he can keep up," Tergon lied smoothly. "We need to find the darkies' patrols quickly tomorrow."

Ramir grunted a reply, his steely eyes staring hard at the top of the elf's head as though he could bore a hole through it with his gaze.

Haldir raised his eyes, refusing to be intimidated or frightened by this man.

Fearlessness shone in those eyes. Not from bravery. But resignation. Resignation and anger. Something had hardened in the elf during his captivity. He no longer felt fear for his person. Only rage—a hard smouldering hatred built of helplessness and longing for freedom.

Ramir's scowl darkened as he stalked away in silence. When he had gone, Haldir sighed and lowered his head wearily. "You didn't need to do that."

"I know. You owe me one." Tergon smiled and downed the rest of his meal. "Get some sleep." He left the ropes looped loosely around Haldir's wrists as he rose with a muffled groan and resumed his patrol.


Rúmil's eyes widened and he would have leapt out of the ditch had Fedorian not tripped him up with the haft of his bow, sending him sprawling into the leaves.

"Act now and Haldir is lost. Patience," Fedorian muttered into the younger elf's ear, a hand digging into his shoulder as he helped him back up. Though he hid it better than Rúmil, Fedorian was truly grieved to see his lieutenant in such a shape. This was going to take careful planning.

"We can't just leave him there!" Rúmil protested.

"Wait!" Fedorian hissed without looking at him. His eyes swept back and forth, checking for the approach of soldiers. But there were none. A lone sentinel stood some ways off but it was dark near the trees and the prisoner stood momentarily unguarded. The fires had burned low. The camp was still and lightless save for the ashes of a few moldering flames.

"We cannot linger but it would do to let him know we're here."

They waited for the right moment as a pair of guards wandered past them and at an unspoken signal, both leapt up and darted from cover.

One of the men looked up and the elves slipped into the bracken near where Haldir lay. They waited breathlessly as the guard stepped nearer to their hiding place. But he seemed to doubt his sight for he shook his head and rubbed his face, returning to his nonplussed companion.

Rúmil stared. Now that he was closer, he could see just how thin and worn his eldest brother looked and it made his heart wrench. Slipping from the trees, he knelt at his brother's side, smoothing a hand over the pale, sweat-drenched brow. "Haldir, what's happened to you?"

Dried blood crusted Haldir's lip and a wondrous black-purple bruise stained his lower jaw as though he had been struck. More than once.

With an anxious glance over his shoulder, Rúmil shook his brother gently, easy of any other wounds he couldn't see. "Haldir?"

A frown furrowed Haldir's brow as he blinked heavy lids. Someone was near him but he couldn't seem to get his muscles to move. The voice that called him seemed unbelievably far away. Slowly, he raised weary eyes and froze. "I dream."

"Nay, muindor. I am here," Rúmil said, relieved that his brother could speak, and squeezed his shoulder.

Haldir shook his head, unable to believe it. "You were dead."

"Not I!" Rúmil frowned, not understanding. He touched a hand to his brother's forehead again, hissing at the burning heat under his fingertips. They had to get him out of here.

"Rúmil." Fedorian's urgent voice reached his ears.

Rúmil reluctantly stepped back from his brother though it wrenched his heart to do so. "I will return. Don't worry. We're here now. We'll get you out of this."

"Rúmil—" Haldir's soft call almost made the younger elf turn back but Fedorian darted from the trees and seized his arm.

"We must leave soon. This is getting too dangerous. The last thing we want is be

caught between them."

"Them?" Rúmil frowned, wrenching his thoughts away from his brother.

"Those tracks we were following—they were those of the Haradrim. And yet, by chance, we seem to have stumbled on the Gondorian encampment. What does that mean to you?"

Rúmil's face whitened in the moonlight and his eyes darted frantically around the silent tree trunks. "They—"

"Get down." Fedorian ordered sharply.

Rúmil flung himself into the small ditch as another pair of soldiers passed by. They waited in tense silence a moment until they were sure the humans had passed them by.

Fedorian turned to Rúmil. "All right. I'll try to wait for the right moment to get him out of there—you carry word back to your brother and the others. Get them ready—we might have to fight our way out of this yet. Go, and for Valar's sake, be careful."

The younger soldier nodded dutifully. Once he knew he was out of eyesight of the humans, he rose to his full height and bounded upslope.

Something moved not a deer's leap from him and he checked his headlong race sharply, crouching into the ferns.

"Orophin?" he whispered uncertainly, his hand going to the hilt of his sword. He knew his brother's footsteps as he knew his own—and these were not his. He took another hesitant step forward and drew his sword with a rattle and a whisper. "Show yourself!" he challenged the shadow he could just see in the moonlight darting between two trunks.

Whatever it was froze as though startled by the elf's voice then took off through the trees like a startled fawn. Rúmil did not give chase but stood tense and waited until the sound of its flight had faded utterly away.

Orophin rose as the stealthy shadow of his brother slipped into the firelight. "What news?"

"I left Fedorian with them. We have found Haldir—the captain says we have to be ready to fight," Rúmil said.

"At last," Déorian murmured, already scrambling from underneath his cloak.

Rúmil cast his eyes over Rameil's quiet form. "How is he?"

"His color improves slowly. I think I managed to get the poison out—made a poultice from feverfew and gave him lavender a little while ago," Ancadal yawned and patted his injured friend's shoulder fondly.

"Don't coddle me, Ancadal. You know I hate that," the dark-haired warrior spoke up suddenly, his voice hoarse and edged with pain.

Rúmil grinned. "It's good to hear you again, mellon. We feared for you."

Rameil gave him a slightly lopsided smile, his eyes still rather hazy. "Wish I could go with you." He frowned slightly. "And Haldir? Is he all right?"

Rúmil shifted uneasily, remembering the glazed look in his brother's eyes, and shook his head. "I fear for him. We have to get him out of there."

"Fear not. We will see it done," his brother assured him. The blade of his long knife rasped against the whetstone.


Rúmil, Orophin and Déorian joined their captain in the ditch, armed and tense. The camp was dark—the last of the fires having dwindled to grey ash. Not even the usual insects filled the air with their chatter. The wind alone whistled among the rocks. On one side stretched the wide, gentler slope of oak trees the elves had climbed down. On the other, pale boulders and cliff ledges climbed steeply towards the sky.

Fedorian beckoned them cautiously forward, skirting the rocks, as he paused at the edge of the tree line.

Then chaos erupted.

Everywhere, dark red-painted faces sprang into view, charging down the rocky slope. Torches burst into flame like a forest fire, adding to the blindness and confusion. Beyond the fire a horn blew, wild and braying, cutting the air with its clarion call.

The Haradrim had not waited. Their wild leader, a dark woman, rode into the camp wielding a bone-tipped pike with devastating force. Taken by surprise, the Gondorians scarcely had time to scramble from their bedrolls before their enemies were upon them.

Fedorian's fears had been realized; they'd been caught right in the middle of this deadly engagement. They had to find Haldir now and get out of there—it was their only chance. Keeping low and as much out of the thick of the melee as they could, they darted to the place where the prisoner lay bound.

Tergon ran to Haldir. He wouldn't leave him to fend alone against these cruel men. The young man faced a red-painted warrior that charged at him with a spear. The Gondorian soldier dispatched him swiftly and whirled round as he sensed something behind him.

Cold steel slid under his chin and the man felt his heart stop, knowing he was dead. When no pain came, he slowly reopened his eyes and nearly started to find himself surrounded by elves. Two of them looked so alike to Haldir, he knew they must be kin.

He looked from one to the other. "You're here for him, aren't you? Haldir?"

Rúmil froze at the sound of his brother's name on this human's lips.

Fedorian stared at the young man. "If you aid us, you will live. Know that if you cry for help, I will kill you." His knife pressed meaningfully against the man's neck.

Tergon held carefully still lest he cut his own throat. "I promised to help. I will do all I can—if you will not to harm my brothers in arms."

"We kill none who do not deserve to die."

Tergon didn't know whether to be reassured by that or not but turned hastily at a gesture from the fierce, green-eyed elf.

"We need horses." Fedorian ordered. The man nodded once and shot off. The captain jerked his head over his shoulder at Rúmil. "Go with him. See that he does not alert anyone."

Remembering his vow to his commander, Rúmil nodded once.

There was no time for further speech.

As the horn called out again, Orophin tensed as he caught the sound of snarling. The wargs! They charged into the camp, wreaking devastation on the beleaguered Gondorian troops. Suddenly, one turned towards them.

The low-slung female breathed deeply of their scent, recognizing it. Her eyes glittered with hatred and the ragged scar of an elf blade rippled along her coat as she lunged, backed up by several of her warriors. Orophin dodged aside nimbly, avoiding the snap of steel like jaws. He remembered Rameil's injuries all too well.

The female spun around to face him, mouth open in a vicious snarl. She circled him warily, beady eyes intent upon the hooking claw in the elf's hands. Shifting her bowed hind legs under her, her supple body gathered itself for a leap that carried her straight at the elf like a coil springing.

Orophin brought his blade up just in time.

The sword pierced a full hands-length into the beast's shoulder but the female only struggled, snapping at the elf's face as they fell over backwards together. Orophin screamed as her fangs sank into his shoulder and the powerful cords of muscle in her tawny neck strained as she lifted him right off the ground and flung him away from her, wrenching the sword from her shoulder.

Orophin fell hard, rolling over his injured shoulder. Gasping for breath and pain, he staggered to his feet. None had noticed his plight. Déorian and Fedorian had their hands full fighting off the warg leader's bodyguards. Hot stickiness accompanied the burning pain on his skin.

The female, tasting elf blood, pulled her black lips back in a villainous smile as she paced slowly forward, large paws pressing the grass dead. Suddenly something flashed between the two combatants and the warg received a stinging swipe on her backside which sent her howling into the brush.

Khiris grinned wildly and laid about with the flat of her pike, knocking her wolves away. The elves stared as she dipped her head to them in a gesture of unmistakable courtesy. "Warned him he would get dead if he stay here. You too. You take him. My debt repaid." Without another word, she raced off, rejoining the battle.

Wasting no time, Fedorian drew a thin blade from his sleeve and knelt beside his lieutenant, cutting the bonds in one swipe. "We're going to get you out of here."

"Fedorian?" Haldir murmured, his eyes blinking open to focus blearily on his friend. He thought he had recognized his voice earlier. "My brothers…?"

"I am here, Haldir." Orophin knelt and put a hand on Haldir's shoulder. Haldir hissed between his teeth and Orophin pulled away, his brow furrowed with concern as he noted the pained look in his eldest brother's eyes.

"All right. Come on—get him up." Fedorian ordered, springing to his feet to guard their retreat. Orophin pulled Haldir up, leaning heavily on his uninjured shoulder.

"Go! Go!"

Ramir rammed his sword into the belly of a dark warrior, dropping him in agony. Spinning around, he stared at his men. Many were wounded, many more dead—Anaric had been pulled under only moments ago by half a score. But they still outnumbered the Haradrim and their steel weapons made short work of the darkies' crude bone-made ones. Then he remembered the elf and the last time the Haradrim had attacked their camp. He cursed and rushed toward where the prisoner had been bound.

And ran straight into Fedorian.

Ramir froze at the sight of the elf. "Wh—?"

Fedorian sprang forward; and the hilt of his knife snapped out like a trap springing. The hard, fire-treated wood smashed into the man's face, breaking his nose with a snap. The elf bowled him over as he raced after his companions.

Catching sight of them, Tergon and Rúmil leapt forward, the reins of a chestnut horse in their hands. The human handed one to Orophin who leapt into the saddle, easing Haldir up after him. Déorian mounted the other. Rúmil and Fedorian raced on ahead as the steeds leapt over fallen bodies, scattering embers of campfires as they plunged towards the safety of the trees.

Staggering up and swearing thickly through the blood dripping down his chin, Ramir snatched a short crossbow from one of his men and quickly notched an arrow. Eyes watering with pain, half-blinded by smoke and ash, he searched the night.

Suddenly, a flash of gold caught his eye in the flicker of torchlight near the tree edge. He smirked in triumph as he adjusted his aim a little, the arrow drawn tight under his jaw. That elf would not escape.

He fired.

They had reached the tree edge, above them the steep slope reared. The elves bounded gamely up but Haldir began to slip from Orophin's grasp and Fedorian raced up behind to help.

The commander was suddenly thrown forwards as though stricken by a lightning bolt. As Orophin steadied his brother in his arms, Rúmil dashed up to help his leader but froze at the sight of his captain's leg, transfixed with a brown-feathered shaft.

Fedorian struggled to his feet, his face white with pain. Twisting his head around, he could just see a ways into the trees—Ancadal already mounted on the second horse with Rameil in front of him.

Rúmil grasped his arm urgently. "Come on, sir. We can still make it!"

Without waiting for a reply, the younger elf slung his commander's arm over his shoulder and helped him painfully up the ridge, halting when they came to the shallow depression where they had spent the night.

Fedorian shook his head, shrugging off the younger elf's hand, finding a tree to lean against. The sounds of their pursuers were growing closer and they could see the glint of firelight moving amongst the brush. Ramir had not been idle.

"I'm only slowing you down. There aren't enough horses for all of us. You must go on without me."

Stunned by the order, Rúmil didn't move. Throwing a glance over his shoulder, he looked helplessly at the others, waiting for him. Déorian shot him a wide, frantic look.

Torchlight burst over the lip of the dell. With every minute, the men grew closer as they scrambled up the steep hillside after their quarry, their yells filling all the woods.

Fedorian calmly selected an arrow from his quiver, glancing almost nonchalantly at it to make sure the fletching was straight. "You told me I could count on you, Rúmil," he said grimly, notching the arrow to his chin. "Tell my lady wife and my daughter, I brought you home safe."

The bolt struck Baranir through his middle like a bolt of thunder, hurling his lifeless body down the slope. The body rolled and came to a slow halt nearly at the elves' feet. Fedorian cut the sword belt and straightened with a grimace, thrusting the saber into Rúmil's hands. "Get that back to your brother."

A quick archer in their ranks let fly a return arrow. Skillfully cast, it thudded into the oak trunk, inches from the captain's head. Fedorian didn't flinch, coolly choosing another arrow. "Now, go, you are wasting my time."

The torchlight from the men's fires flickered across Rúmil's pallid face and fear seized him in an iron grip. They had delayed too long.

"Go," the whispered order grated on his ears, a horrible knell.

Rúmil stood rooted to the spot, unable to stay but unwilling to leave. He fought Déorian off as the smaller elf tried to drag him away from the injured commander. "We cannot leave him! He cannot stand alone!"

"You do what your commanding officer says!" Déorian grabbed him firmly by the arm. The elf tracker glanced once at Fedorian and gave him a tight nod. "Give them blood, Captain."

"Go."

His quiver was almost empty as he listened to the thunder of hooves fade away into the distance. The men were only feet away now.

Drawing his black-handled blades from their sheaths, he laughed in their faces, a wild smile upon his lips. Without waiting for them to meet him, a jubilant battle cry upon his lips, the elven commander leapt upon the men rushing to meet him, his knives a whirlwind of death in his hands—dealing devastating wounds and slaying all whom he struck.

Hurrying to keep up with the fleet horses, Rúmil stumbled after his friends, Déorian's hand still closed about his upper arm. They raced away under the trees, climbing upwards until the land leveled out. Until the sounds of battle had faded long away replaced by the frantic pounding of blood in their ears.

Shadows lengthened in the misty twilight.

They rode until they could no longer see any sign of rift or fire. Weary and trembling, they stopped, all of them staring back the way they had come. With the last vestiges of night to shield him, Rúmil collapsed to his knees and covered his face.