Chapter Ten: A Gathering of Warriors
The sword spun once in a glittering arc splinters of sunlight playing across its razor edge. Pulling in a deep breath, Haldir pivoted on his left heel sweeping the blade around in a half-circular stroke to finish an imaginary fallen enemy. He exhaled and continued the sweep, bringing the sword whistling to cleave the air at eyes' height.
His sword dropped so sharply the tip plunged into the earth. Haldir dropped his stance and clutched his shoulder with a grimace until the pain eased. Retrieving his fallen weapon, he glared at the offending sling in annoyance—even after a near-week had passed, Geilrín refused to allow him to remove it even during training. Which, upon reflection, he wasn't supposed to be doing either.
'If that hole in your shoulder doesn't mend properly, you'll be lucky to wield a sword again.' he mumbled her constantly remonstrating words under his breath as he lifted the blade again, awkward with one hand.
Green shadows rippled across the ground like wind over a still pond, the bright sunlight warm on his back as he moved through a complex series of movements, hampered by the imbalance of his injured shoulder. Stopping to relax for a little under the shade of the golden leaves, he watched the small spring, a tributary of the Celebrant, flow lazily past, its clear waters sparkling with diamond edges of sunlight.
Catching sight of a stealthy shape flittering at the fringe of the clearing, Haldir called out a greeting. "Care for a match, Thillas?"
The young scout looked around at the sound of his name and caught sight of the older elf. Flattered by the offer, he made his way forward eagerly. "Yes, sir! If it please you, sir." Then he saw the lieutenant's bound arm and stopped.
Haldir saw the look on his face and shrugged the injury away lightly. "If I don't get any shape back into this arm, it's going to wither away."
Slipping the strap over his head, he shifted his arm carefully. The muscles were stiff from being so long bound. Nonetheless, he slowly eased the arm down to his side, hearing the bone of his elbow pop with an audible crack.
"Sir, I don't think—"
"Shut up, Thillas and draw your blade. I haven't had a good match in days." Lifting his saber, Haldir beckoned the warrior forward with the tip. "Come."
Uncertainly, the scout raised his blade with an apprehensive expression on his young face. He offered a less-than-energetic thrust which Haldir easily knocked aside and struck out sharply. The younger elf staggered backwards, ears ringing from the painful blow the hilt of his officer's sword had inflicted on his head.
"Come now! Surely you can do better than that." Frustrated by the younger one's lack of verve, Haldir goaded him as Thillas lunged again, this time with a little more energy. Haldir thrust this aside too and cracked the flat of his weapon against the scout's ankles. Thillas sprawled ungracefully in the dirt with his blade under him.
"Had this been a real battle I would have killed you already. Do you think orcs will allow you such mistakes on the field?"
Stung into retaliation, the younger elf leapt to his feet and swung out sharply which Haldir met just in time. Steel clashed on steel and shockwaves raced up both opponents' arms.
Ignoring the remonstrating twinge in his arm, Haldir smiled in satisfaction as sweat plastered his hair to the back of his neck. Breath coming faster, he swept his blade in low and Thillas leapt backwards to avoid his kneecaps being severed. The scout riposted with a quick strike, feigning for the side and striking towards the chest.
"If that hole in your shoulder doesn't mend properly you'll be lucky to wield a sword again!"
Distracted, Haldir barely managed to catch the feint to avoid another injury. But strained his uninjured shoulder a little too much in the process. A flash of pain ripped across his injured tendons. Bent almost double, he dropped his sword and pressed a hand to the throbbing point with a soft groan.
"What?" He snapped bad-temperedly as he glared over his shoulder at the voice.
Geilrín looked disappointed in him but the small elf woman beside her looked nothing less than furious. Abandoning the small basket she'd been gathering feverfew in, she snatched the discarded sling from the ground and thrust it in his face. "What is this? What did Geilrín tell you would happen to that shoulder of yours if you didn't keep it bound?"
The healer's thin companion took her job very seriously and seeing this warrior flaunting authority was more than she could bear.
"Now, Eremae, don't be too harsh on him," Geilrín, trying not to laugh, coaxed the fire in her friend's eyes down to a smolder. "Haldir does know better. He just needs a little reminding once in a while."
"He needs a little crack on the head."
"I've already got that, thank you," Thillas rubbed his forehead with a small grimace.
Haldir threw a wry glance at him and addressed the still-fuming elf woman. "Fair fortune to me—I will never leave your lovely company."
"Hush, vile flatterer!" Geilrín shoved him playfully. "I would that you leave my company!" Her smooth brow furrowed a little as she listened to his still-ragged breathing. "Not still feverish are you?"
"No!" Haldir stepped back as though scalded and hastily accepted the saber which Thillas handed to him. The woman had been hovering over him like a hawk since he had returned, diving upon every minor discomfort or strain during his convalescence. As though tending to him would make Fedorian come back.
Eremae briskly handed the odious sling back to him. Then turned her ire on the soldier beside him. "And you, Thillas! You should know better. What were you thinking, allowing your office to exert himself like that?"
Haldir almost rolled his eyes as Thillas sputtered incoherently until Geilrín blessedly interrupted him. "Haldir, I want to make sure that shoulder is healing up all right. Either come by later and I'll do it myself or have Rúmil aid you—I've given him everything he needs."
"I will. I will," he said impatiently, having no such intention.
Geilrín fought a smile as Haldir grabbed the scout's arm and steered him away.
"That one will be the death of you yet," her friend remarked with a shake of her head.
The two escapees slowed only when they spotted a small group sitting among the silver roots.
Arenath sat beneath the trees under the guard flets, instructing the newest recruits in the traditions of the Guard which stretched all the way back to lost Doriath and the ancient rituals of the marchwardens of Mablung, chief captain of King Thingol, and the great huntsman, Beleg Cúthalion.1 Arenath's animated face glowed for the first time in days that Haldir had seen. Even granted time off-duty, the young commander had thrown himself into anything and everything he could.
Rúmil stood near, listening. By the wistful look on his face, Haldir thought he must remember his own training days under Cálivien and Fedorian.
The new commander caught sight of them and nodded in greeting. Dismissing the guard, he strode past those gathering their weapons together. "You're looking much better."
"Thanks to your betrothed and her mother, I am doing much better, thank you," Haldir clasped the other's hand lightly.
Unsmiling, Arenath regarded Rúmil, who remained at his post. Haldir's brother kept his eyes on the ground. Glancing uneasily between the two, Thillas caught sight of a friend and quickly went to join him.
Haldir glanced at his brother and opened his mouth to speak but Arenath cut in. "Haldir, I would speak with you—alone if you please."
Rúmil heard, took the hint and walked away without once looking up as Arenath began to walk slowly around the fringe of the training field.
"What is it you wished to speak to me about?" Haldir asked after a few moments of silence, glancing back after his retreating brother.
"The Lord Celeborn has summoned the Gelydhrim2 tonight. I want you to come with me," the young commander said bluntly.
Haldir stopped in surprise and stared at him. "Why?"
Arenath feigned carelessness and shrugged. "You are the next highest-ranking officer… You served Cálivien and Fedorian well. I would like you to be there with me," he said, his youthful eyes grave. "A council of war begins tonight."
"I have no wish to endure this suffering again."
"You have no choice."
"I have every choice."
"Geilrín told me I had to or that infection would return.'"
Haldir glared at his youngest brother murderously then abruptly turned his back on him and slipped the bandage over his head. "Help me with this, will you?"
Fumbling one-handed with the fastenings and with Rúmil's aid he managed to divest himself of his upper garments.
Rúmil smiled with supremely false cheer and patted the wooden table edge invitingly.
Haldir stared at his younger brother until Rúmil wilted under his gaze. "I do not enjoy this. I do not see why you have to so much." He hated what had become the daily ritualistic cleansing and redressing of his shoulder which Geilrín insisted had to be checked every day until the stitches could be removed.
"You are such a crabby dwarf," Rúmil muttered under his breath which, being at such close range, Haldir clearly heard as he eased onto the high table normally used for setting the plates at supper.
"Oh, just finish up quickly will you?" Haldir held his head to one side as his brother dabbed at his shoulder with a warm wet cloth. The wound was still angry and tender to the touch; and he tried not to wince as his brother cleaned it. When the sting had passed and Rúmil had turned to rummage among the salves Geilrín had left with them, he glanced at the deep puncture. "It should have healed by now."
"It was an orc arrow, muindor. Give it time." Rúmil, who had heard this particular complaint several times over the last few days, tried to reassure his brother again. "I'd say you were lucky you weren't poisoned for as long as it wasn't treated."
Sensing the unspoken aggravation behind Rúmil's words, Haldir smiled slightly. "You're right."
Unscrewing a white porcelain jar, Rúmil glanced inside and sniffed the contents experimentally. "I am always right." Carefully, he worked the white salve around the wound, easy of the stitches knitting together the red and swollen-looking skin.
Haldir flinched a little. No one less than his brothers or Geilrín would he trust to do this. To see him like this. They had tended one another's hurts before. Haldir smiled at his brother. "I hadn't realized you had become such a healer."
"With you it seems I have to be."
"Oh, yes? And I suppose it was not you who fell from the bridge during training last yén3 and broke his arm?"
"You will never let me forget that will you?" The tips of Rúmil's ears flushed slightly. "That was an accident! I didn't even—"
"Careful."
Rúmil pulled back a little when he realized his brother's knuckles had gone white on the table edge. "Sorry. This should numb it—give it a moment."
The sweet scent of the balm filled the fresh air. Haldir slowly relaxed as the pain lessened. Letting his arm rest free of its harness for a bit, he cocked an eye at his healer who had moved around him to glance at the healed slashes on his back. "You've been awful quiet of late."
A hand brushed his shoulder blade. "I am tired. It has been a long few days."
Haldir nodded his agreement but knew Rúmil enough to press matters. "What is wrong?"
"It's all healed up. The worst looks like your shoulder."
"Answer me, Rúmil."
Without looking up, Rúmil only shook his head. "It is nothing…" He sighed. "And everything." He could never hide anything from his older brother even if he wanted to.
"Nothing and everything?" Haldir raised an eyebrow, voicing something that had been bothering him since mid-afternoon. "Arenath looked less than happy to see you today."
"Would you?" Rúmil suddenly retorted, snapping his eyes challengingly to his older brother's face as he rounded the other side of the table. "Fedorian is dead because we left him, Haldir." He shook his head and abandoned his attempt at straightening the healing jars as he braced his arms against the table surface. "And Arenath thinks me a coward because of it."
"If he thinks that then he is a fool," Haldir said, pushing himself off the table and casting a stern eye on his youngest brother. "And if you think he's right then you are a bigger fool."
Rúmil sat down in his brother's place with a frustrated thump. "I should have stayed with him. As was my duty."
"Then you would have been killed too. And you and I would not be having this conversation." Haldir told him, ever practical. "And I would not have to suffer this." He grimaced, cradling his arm with the opposite hand.
"It is good for you," Rúmil said offhandedly, clearly not satisfied with his brother's answer. "We left him behind, Haldir!" The younger elf began to pace in his agitation, Haldir following his progress from one wall to another. "Maybe, maybe he isn't even dead. Maybe he's lying hurt somewhere and we just—"
"Rúmil—" Haldir intercepted him and gripped his shoulder steadyingly.
Rúmil thrust the hand away. "Iston! I know it's madness! But I cannot—" He broke off and cleared his throat roughly. "I miss him terribly, Haldir." He turned his face half away, ashamed to find his eyes burning. "I wish he were here."
"I know," Haldir said in a low voice. "So do I." Hesitantly, he laid a hand on his younger brother's shoulder, a little surprised when Rúmil turned to him and buried his face in his uninjured shoulder. Haldir was unable to remember the last time Rúmil had cried. Even when he had broken his arm, he had put on a brave face.
Now, Haldir just held him and let his little brother pour out his grief as he had not since the captain's fall. After several long moments when his arm, trapped against his brother's chest began to complain in earnest, Haldir gently put his brother away from him. "Come now. Self-pity becomes no one, brother. Least of all you. What would Fedorian say now if he could see you thus?"
Rúmil swiped his eyes with a sleeve, disgusted with himself. "He would tell me that we had no choice… I cannot save everyone." The younger elf dipped his head. "He might give me extra sentinel duty."
Haldir smiled. "There, you see? And I will give you extra sentinel duty too if I have to—"
"You cannot do that!" Rúmil protested, a glint of humor returning to his white face. "You are not even—"
Arenath knocked lightly and poked his head discretely through the door, silencing Rúmil immediately. "Haldir, we must go; the stars have newly risen."
A little self-consciously, Haldir shrugged his tunic back on. Turning to his brother, he leaned forward. "We will discuss this later," he promised, slipping the sling over his neck.
Rúmil only nodded.
With a last squeeze of his shoulder, Haldir released his brother and followed the young commander into the night.
The Gil-Estel shone brightly, dappling moon shadows across the ground as the elves made their way down a silver-lit path. Late summer was slowly fading away into early fall. But the golden blooms clung stubbornly to their branches while the wind buffeted them as the two soldiers crossed the Bridge of Nimrodel a little further down from the waterfall, the beautifully carved wooden planks shimmering underfoot. Beneath them dark, hurrying waters eddied, swirling shaded leaves in their playful current.
The hour grew later. Arenath and Haldir did not speak as they climbed towards the high hill encircled by a double crown of trees. Ice-white trunks towered towards the sky, clothed in the deep leafy green of summer, and surpassed only by the mellyrn in the center rearing their golden heads high towards the starlit night. Clusters of white and pale green stalks and golden flowers nodded to the breeze as the elves stepped soundlessly onto the grassy sward.
Haldir breathed deeply of the fragrant air, his nerves calming a little, the trip-hammer beat of his heart slowing to a steadier rhythm. He slowed his pace, lingering behind Arenath as he gazed upwards towards the tall white flet he could just see peeking through the green bower. Slanting moon beams made the clearing as bright as daylight and shone upon the golden heads of those already gathered.
Every yén the high commanders of all of the fences with a few of their chosen warriors gathered here to meet, exchange news and needs. None save those who attended knew where the meeting took place and could never speak of what they heard there to anyone.
Arenath broke away to greet several officers he recognized while Haldir stood to one side, taking in the proud and noble faces around him. These were not the rank and file soldiers on the borders nor the green recruits of the training grounds. These were the elite, truly perilous warriors, veterans of countless skirmishes. Many had fought in the great battles of the Second Age and proven their mettle a hundred times over in battle.
Haldir felt honored to be amongst their company.
"I feel so complimented just watching your awed face, good sir."
So lost in thought had he been, Haldir hadn't even realized an elf had come up beside him until addressed. At first he was not sure he even had been addressed as he looked about and saw nothing but the night shadows in the leaves.
The strange figure must have sensed his confusion for a wry chuckle greeted his ears. "Sorry, sir. Comes with the job."
Haldir thought the other might have bowed but he couldn't quite be sure. The officer wore dark garb but was it green? Or silver? Or the deepest of midnight hues?—he couldn't tell, it seemed to be all three. And it was difficult to keep the elf in sight when he remained so absolutely still.
Bemused, Haldir strained his eyes in the direction he thought the voice had come from. "I'm sorry but who are you?"
Quite suddenly there was an elf beside him. "Oh, of course! I beg your pardon. Alfirin— espionage expert at your service if I may make so bold a claim."
Haldir smiled. "I do believe it…" He caught sight of the embroidered sigil on the other's sleeve and nodded respectfully. "Captain Alfirin."
The other elf grimaced as though Haldir had said something vulgar. "'Alfirin,' if you please, Lieutenant Whatever-your-name-is. Why call a soldier by a puffed-up name if you don't even answer to him, eh? Bad form, you see."
Haldir nodded sagely, taking a liking to the odd campaigner. "Alfirin, then. I am Haldir."
"I will remember that." Only by keeping sight of the playfully smiling eyes could Haldir still see him. "So, what's a strapping young warrior like yourself with an honorable war wound to show off doing at this hall full of doddering old relics, eh?"
Haldir didn't know whether to laugh or not. "I'm not quite sure myself, actually. Escort, I suppose."
"You'll be Arenath's second lieutenant then? Good show." The odd elf chaffed his hands together impatiently. "I do hope his Lordship will be swift tonight. I'm not keen on letting those so-called excuses for recruits take charge. Mad as hares, you know."
Uncertain of what to say to that, Haldir nodded. Alfirin's pale eyes suddenly darted over his new acquaintance's shoulder. "Oh, trouble."
Haldir twisted his head around to look but all he could see was Arenath walking towards them with another at his shoulder. A regal-looking elf with carefully plaited golden hair and calculating blue eyes that missed nothing. Haldir recognized him as Laer, another lieutenant on the upper northern fences; they had trained briefly together as trackers. He caught only a fragment of their conversation and realized with a sinking feeling that they spoke of all too recent events.
"—a shame to lose such a fine officer like that." Though the story had been told countless times, Déorian, Haldir, his brothers, Rameil and Ancadal had been carefully instructed to watch what they said. Fedorian was slain in battle. That is all any knew.
"And yet that is two officers within two seasons, is it not?" The blue-eyed elf continued as they drew closer. "I was grieved to hear of Cálivien's fall."
"We all were." Arenath answered laconically, clearing uncomfortable.
"And yet I never was told how his death came to pass. Those here seem very much close-mouthed about the matter." He looked pointedly at Haldir, obviously expecting a polite response but Haldir gave nothing and looked quickly away. He did not wish to speak of that matter here.
Laer's gaze narrowed slightly as he examined the other elf more closely, taking no notice of Alfirin. "Why do you wear a high commander's sword? You do not come here as a captain. Indeed, you seem to scarcely come here as a warrior with your recent injuries as Arenath tells me."
"His recent injuries are due to wielding that honored blade against many foes this last fortnight, Lieutenant Laer," Arenath put in, a little shortly.
Haldir did not have time to defend himself as a soft trumpet blew, calling for silence.
All eyes looked up as the Lord of Lothlórien himself took his place before the assembly to address them, the white-cloaked elves of the Guard flanking him. Haldir noticed that Laer watched them with admiration in his eyes.
Celeborn stood on the highest point of the hill beneath the crowning mallorn where in the days of old Amroth had built his high house. His long hair shining silver as the breeze played it across his face.
"Greetings, my captains and wardens. It has been many moons since I saw you last—too short a time." Possessed of a seldom-displayed, dry sense of humor, Lord Celeborn remained stern-faced though his eyes sparkled. "As you know, no matter is of greater importance at this gathering." His eyes rested briefly on Arenath. "Though others must speak of affairs more perilous. Here we will give voice to all."
Then a few elves stood and spoke of need for supplies or of sightings of foes near the Great River. This was no great news to Haldir nor indeed to any of the officers. Long had they known of the shadows growing in a darkening world. A world that Lothlórien increasingly drew away from.
Then Arenath addressed the dozen officers looking expectantly at him. He looked pale but straightened determinedly under his Lord's gaze. "Sir, I regret to say that I bring troubling news: Men have camped within our borders a mile west of the Nimrodel near the ridge rocks."
Murmurs broke out as the soldiers looked at one another and at Arenath.
"Have you engaged them?" The Lord's soft question silenced the whispers.
Arenath shook his head. "No, Lord. They seem unaware of our presence. We keep a close watch on them to make certain they do not cross the Celebrant."
"Why are they here?"
"What do they want?"
"Shelter, it seems. They are pursued by others of their kind—the tall men of Gondor. The dark-skinned ones seem more content on seeking out and killing their hunters than us," Arenath nearly had to shout to make himself heard above the thick-flying questions.
"Then let them!" A voice rose above the others. "If they do not engage our troops than of what concern are they to us?"
Arenath stared levelly at the speaker, a chestnut-haired warrior with a bow held lax in his hands. "The dark-skinned men have brought wargs with them."
A stern silence fell.
"But what of the Gondorians?" Laer challenged, breaking it. "Not so long ago we fought beside them. Now if they enter our home are we supposed to kill them as well?"
"Yes," Arenath said, his voice and bitter eyes burning. Haldir said nothing.
"No."
Arenath stared at his lord incredulously. "You would let them ravage this land?"
"You misunderstand me, Arenath," Celeborn corrected him gently but his eyes were stern; he would tolerate no disrespect from his captains. "The danger will be dealt with but I plead for patience—especially now. We can ill afford to lose more officers." A mild rebuke but a rebuke nonetheless.
"I agree, my lord," Laer supported him, looking at Arenath quizzically. "What have the Gondorians done to spur such hatred in our northern garrison?"
Arenath lowered his eyes and did not speak.
Realization dawned in Laer's eyes as he stared at the young commander. "This is about Fedorian is it not?"
Still Arenath, staring at his lord, said nothing and Lord Celeborn did not break the tense silence.
Laer took a pace nearer, not trying to mask his words nor his contempt. "You would kill them simply for vengeance."
Now Haldir grew angry in his turn and his blazing eyes pierced the older elf's boldly. "It is not vengeance; it is doing our duty by protecting our homeland!"
"Enough. Now I will give you my decision."
Silence fell in an instant as the assembly faced their lord.
Celeborn's deep voice resonated with the low wind on the hill, his wise starlit eyes settling on Arenath. "You will head the emissary to the Gondorian commander. Negotiate for a peaceful resolution."
Head snapping up, Arenath burst out. "Sir, I must protest this! What good would a peace negotiation do? These are not the men we fought with of old. Their Númenorean blood is long since diluted! They have become cruel and savage—they killed Fedorian!"
"I understand your feelings, Arenath. But at all costs this must remain as bloodless as possible. We do not wish open war with Gondor." Celeborn met the younger elf's eyes steadily. "It is a thin line that we tread."
"We could strike hard and fast to both sides with enough warriors behind us. We could end the conflict now." Arenath sounded nearly desperate.
"Our people are still recovering from the disaster of the Battle of Dagorlad, would you have them fight with Gondor now?" their Lord questioned. Not angry. His voice was soft, it silenced any further protestations.
Arenath stared at the ground. Their lord seldom spoke of the past but when he did it was wise to listen.
"But," he continued. "our home will not be their battleground and if they will not leave by entreaty then…" A nod to Arenath. "…we may have no choice but to fight. If such is necessary, we will defend our land."
"We are spread thinly." Arenath mumbled, his eyes downcast as though ashamed to admit their recent losses on the northern fence.
"Do the officers gathered here have warriors to spare?" their Lord asked, gazing around without acknowledging Arenath's discomfort.
Alfirin put in. "I will send several of my mad hares with you if you are willing, Arenath."
Celeborn nodded his approval. "Good. Send an emissary to the Gondorians on the morrow. Set a close watch on the dark men with the warriors you are given," he instructed Arenath.
A cloud passed over the moon and the Lord of the Galadhrim looked up as the silver light faded. "That is all for tonight. You are all dismissed."
"Hmm… bad luck about the borders," a voice said beside Haldir who had lost sight of Alfirin but the military voice of the odd elf came close at his right shoulder. "Good luck to you, Haldir. I will certainly see you about—or perhaps not. Espionage you know. Not meant to be seen, really."
Haldir couldn't help a small smile breaking his stern features as the other officers silently trailed out of the hollow. Discontent and grim, Arenath was already far ahead by the time Haldir caught up with him.
They sped through the trees and darkened paths. Haldir did not speak as his arm began to ache and Arenath showed no signs of speech. Indeed, his eyes stared intently at the road before them, unseeingly. Haldir was glad when they came to the Bridge of Nimrodel once more.
Arenath suddenly stopped and Haldir checked his pace as well. "I want you to come with the escort to the Gondorian encampment tomorrow."
"Arenath… I cannot…"
The elf would not let him protest. "Haldir, I need you there—you are the only one who speaks their tongue since Cúlir was killed on the ridge."
Haldir eyed the other elf keenly. "You do not know what you ask."
"I know more than you think," the other replied evenly. "—and believe me I would not ask this of you unless I needed to."
Haldir stared at him a long moment. He knew the warrior knew or guessed much of what had happened to him in the men's camp—he had seen the injuries well enough. But, Haldir knew the younger elf didn't really understand what confronting those men again would mean.
At last, he agreed with a sinking heart. "I will come."
"Good." Arenath clapped his shoulder thankfully and kept going. "We leave tomorrow by mid-afternoon."
A white shape glided out of the darkness as they came within the borders of the elven garrison once more.
"Silivren!" Haldir hailed the young elf-woman as she greeted her soon-to-be husband. She excused herself from Arenath and stopped before her friend.
"Haldir? What is it? Are you all right? Your shoulder—?"
"Is fine and would be better save for this accursed contrivance." He reassured her, tugging irritably at the sling. He sighed softly. "Your family has always been good to mine. When our father died, your mother helped ours through… everything until the end. And your father gave us purpose and direction. In fact," He smiled, touching his bound shoulder, "you are still helping my family. We can never repay you but… if you ever need anything, you have but to ask. I wanted you to know that."
Gratitude filled her eyes as she offered a small smile. "Oh, Haldir, I would embrace you but I would afraid I'd hurt you."
He chuckled.
She glanced over her shoulder at her betrothed who waited for her. "Arenath does not blame Rúmil for—for what happened. He hides his grief in anger," she said, laying a hand on his uninjured arm. "Let him know that, will you?"
He assured her that he would.
And then they were gone into the twilight and he was alone with the dawn breaking pale out of the east.
The crimson sun tipped the edges of the trees, turning the fountain's silver waters to gold as it trickled down the hillside. His silver robes blazed white in the sun darting down on him, glancing off his silver hair. But the beauty of an early morning in Lothlórien was lost on its Lord. Deep in thought, he idly caressed the pale petals of a fallen niphredil cupped in the palm of one hand.
"What troubles my lord at this fair morning?"
Celeborn did not turn, knowing that voice could bring him only peace of mind which was what he did not want right now. Tranquility was easy to take for granted in the well-guarded city-citadel of Caras Galadhon. Out there was where the fight was… would be.
Galadriel's white hand rested on his shoulder and he gently slipped the flower stem through her fingers. "Oh, lady, I fear only more blood will be shed in this forest before this is over."
Author's Note:
1 So it says in the Silmarillion, the HarperCollins edition p. 130, "Galadriel…went not… to Nargothrond for in Doriath dwelt Celeborn, kinsman of Thingol… Therefore she remained in the Hidden Kingdom, and abode with Melian, and of her learned great lore and wisdom concerning Middle-Earth."
I have taken this to mean that while Galadriel learned wisdom from the King of Doriath's wife, Celeborn may have fought alongside the marchwardens of Doriath, among whom Mablung and Beleg were the two greatest, and learned from them their rituals: ways of training, lore etc… that eventually formed the basis for the Guard of Lothlórien.
However that is only speculation and should not be construed as fact.
2 Gelydhrim or "wisdom host" is of my own creation. Let me tell you, a bunch of regimental buffers all gathered in one room wanting their say gives you a headache.
3 Yén—the Elves' measurement of a year which is one hundred and forty four years according to the human calendar.
