Chapter Fourteen: Aftermath
Dewed morning brushed light blue haze over the broken, black-scarred branches, a few droplets rolling off those who yet clung to their blistered leaves. Grey mist shrouded the riverbanks, winding through leaning trunks that turned their burnt bodies to its cold touch for comfort. The entire earth lay wrapped in silence mourning the chaos of the night before, with a few forlorn birds breaking the quiet underneath the dripping leaves.
They had buried their lost comrades near the borders of the river where the trees were yet green and bright. Gatherers had littered the small mounds with niphredil, the sad little flowers glimmering in the soft light. Haldir sighed and let one slip through his fingers onto a green mound. The fallen would forever guard the shores they had died to defend.
Blinking rainwater from his eyes, Haldir watched the far bank intently. He was drenched through, water droplets clinging to his face and hands. Visible skin had been cleaned at last though his tunic was stiff with redampened dried blood. Little of it his—a small mercy. The rain soothed his seared face and hands but the rest of him was uncomfortable in damp, soiled clothes.
"Sir?"
Haldir turned to meet the unsure eyes of an elf, younger than himself with blood streaked cheeks, his eyes dark with horror. "Soldier?"
"I—I don't know what to do."
Haldir recognized the battle-shock on the other's face and knew what was needed. "Make yourself useful. Go help the healer with the wounded. She'll need it." He pointed out Eremae who was unswervingly making her rounds with those that yet needed tending.
Nodding dazedly, the soldier did as he was bid.
Haldir caught Eremae's eyes and gave her an imperceptible nod. Understanding, she took the soldier by the arm and began showing him how to wrap a proper bandage.
Sighing, Haldir stiffly knelt and dipped his hands in the cool running water, washing them with bank sand and rubbing a palmful over his face. They had been up since dawn tending the sad business of laying the dead to rest. That work was slow and difficult and the wounded still needed to be transported… reorganization patrols sent out… they had to eat at some point today since their last meal had been early the morning before. There was still so much work to be done… so much to take care of…
Haldir comforted himself with that thought: the duty he owed to the people who had given their lives last night.
Alfirin lay cradled within the embrace of two roots, sleeping off the pain of his wound. Haldir glanced at him gratefully as he slipped past. Most of the camp already stirred, awake if not completely alert, and milled about as Arenath instructed them to begin clearing the damaged forest and gather the dead soldiers of Gondor to separate them from the elves.
Haldir left them to it. The only thing he really craved at that moment was some dry clothes and a soft bed. But neither was soon forthcoming. Instead, the pounding of hooves on the soft, rain-soaked earth made him look up sharply as two scouts rode towards him, their hair unpinned and flying loose.
"We saw the smoke last night. What has happened?" one of the scouts wanted to know as he dismounted gracefully, his uniform neat and pressed, his eyes alert and bright.
"If you have not come to help, I suggest you leave," Haldir said coldly, not feeling as though he should explain himself to this callow child who could not possibly understand what had occurred here last night.
The other scout was not put off as he looked the elf up and down, a crease furrowing his smooth brow. "Our lieutenant's come, sir. He'll want to speak to you."
Haldir stared up at the speaker who took a step back under his elder's hard, jaded gaze. "Then let him come himself and not send errand boys. Take a glance around you'll see what happened."
He walked away from the speechless elves, infuriated and exhausted. Searching among the sleepless injured for Rúmil, he found Orophin watching over him, his head resting against a yet-silver trunk.
Orophin gazed up blearily, his face haggard and pale. He and Haldir had taken it upon themselves to watch over their youngest brother's sleep in case he woke in the night.
A glaze of smoke shimmered on Rúmil's face and he looked sweaty and pale but peaceful. Haldir knelt next to him and, unable to touch his arms, laid a palm on his brother's blanketed knee. A weak, hoarse voice made him lift his head to his youngest brother's face.
"Where are we?" Rúmil tried to turn his head to look around but Haldir gently pressed his cheek with the back of his hand.
"Still here."
"Oh." Rúmil didn't ask and kept his face carefully averted, looking towards his brother instead of the shrouded figure he knew to lie on the other side of him.
"Can we go home?"
Haldir felt the word tear his heart but he nodded. "Yes, muindor. We'll go home today. Or, you will go home today at least."
"You will too," Rúmil insisted. The young elf fidgeted a little with the frayed hem of his blanket. "You haven't seen-?" he trailed off.
Haldir knew what he meant to ask and shook his head. "No. I think Eremae will look after him. Do not worry about that now, you just get some rest."
"He should never have had to see them like that," Rúmil murmured as his brother turned over his uncovered arms gently. Haldir inspected the burns with sorrow and anger. They would scar.
"Go back to sleep," Haldir pressed his brother back against the ground, spreading his damp cloak over him.
Rúmil threw it aside. "I have had enough of sleep. I cannot sleep." He didn't dare tell his brother about his nightmares… his cowardice…
"Well, if you don't mind, I got very little sleep last night waiting for you to wake up, little brother. So," Without further ado, Orophin snatched his brother's abandoned blanket from him, draped it over himself and appeared to go straight off to sleep.
Rúmil shook his head in wonderment. "He always could sleep best on a battlefield."
Haldir smiled a little. "That he could."
Rúmil laid his arms, palms up, across his knees, staring at the bandages unseeingly. He was silent for a long time and Haldir did not speak, watching the mist curl over the river.
"Are you in charge of this unit?" a smooth clipped tone asked accompanied by a strange, light jingling sound.
Haldir turned his head to the left and up to meet the questioning gaze of Laer, the lieutenant of another patrol, who stared evenly down at him, the medals on his tunic tinkling softly, highly polished and gleaming.
"I recognize you from the Gathering. Haldir, is it not?"
Haldir nodded as he stood. "Our captain is… indisposed at the moment. Our second is somewhere about here," he peered about for Arenath and supposed he would be yet tending the dead. "I will take you to him."
Laer looked around at the destruction and shook his head slowly. "By the Valar, all of this in a single night? By humans?"
"By fire," Haldir corrected, leaving Rúmil to watch over Orophin.
Laer fell into step beside him, clasping his hands behind his back. "Of all the creatures of this earth, I have only known humans and orcs to use fire in warfare. I believed it was because they were ignorant of its horrible danger, living outside the woodlands as they do. Now I believe that they are merely cruel and evil as their kind is wont to be."
Haldir pushed a hand through his ragged hair, his eyes downcast to the wet earth underneath his boots. "I cannot relate to you what I saw last night. It is altogether too horrible."
"I dissented from the first," Laer shot a sideways glance at him. "My concern was not heeded." He stared pointedly at the burnt carnage of the trees, the open graves.
"Our Captain is not responsible for this," Haldir protested, defensive on his friend's behalf.
"No," Laer agreed. "Had he his rathers, you all would have charged straight into it and burnt to cinders I wager."
That hit too near the mark.
Rameil who had been working near them clearing brush had heard that last comment and come to stand beside his friend angrily but Haldir intercepted him. "Rameil, go find Arenath and ask him if we can gather a reconnaissance across the river—we need to know their movements."
The dark-haired elf looked at him questioningly but Haldir gave a sharp nod and he left.
Laer pursed his lips. "I apologize if I have spoken out of place—I know you two were comrades in the war."
"We were, yes."
"We should never have been there."
"We did what was necessary," Haldir did not like the way this conversation was going.
"How many did we lose in those seven years? How many of our people were slain or driven from these shores then to have all of their sacrifice been for naught?"
"How do you know such history, Laer? I was under the impression you did not fight for such foolish causes?" Haldir's voice was harder than his eyes.
"And what are you doing now if not the same thing? How many did we lose last night? Half our force? More?"
Haldir forced himself to answer levelly with gritted teeth. "Many of those deaths could have been prevented, lieutenant, had you been attentive to your duties."
"I had no knowledge of this attack. Only this dawn did tidings reach me," Laer interjected, the slightest trace of offense creeping into his voice.
Haldir remained tight-lipped.
"This isn't the war anymore, lieutenant," the other elf insisted.
"I never said it was," Haldir answered just as coolly. This elf was getting on his very last nerve.
"Ties with Gondor are important—especially in this changing age. Making enemies of them would be most… unwise."
"They have made their enemy in us. I cannot change that."
Laer shook his head as though to banish the quickly heating argument. "I did not come here to argue with you, Haldir. I did come to help. But I need to speak to your Captain or his officer if he cannot meet with me."
At that moment, Rameil appeared with Arenath at his side and four or five elves behind them. The second-in-command looked haggard and dark-eyed as he stopped beside the other two. He nodded as Laer saluted respectively and gestured to the elves behind him. "Here is your reconnaissance, Haldir." Arenath glanced at Laer and drew Haldir to one side. "Haldir, I—I have no orders. Fedorian is…" He shook his head, a strange glazed look in his eyes. "And I—I have to find—"
"I know, my friend, I know," Haldir tried to reassure the distraught elf. "Just do what you can. Get Laer to help. Make sure we have something to eat—I'll take these here," Haldir said, clasping the elf's shoulder in a brief gesture of condolence.
"All right, all of you come with me."
Skirting the burnt tree fringe where the rain had halted the fire's advance, they bounded across the Bridge of Nimrodel, wooden planks scorched and half-buckling under their boots. Haldir halted them on the further side. "I want two of you to stay here. Make sure none but we cross over," he ordered.
"Yes, sir."
Cautiously, the remaining elves edged forward again, bows and blades close to hand, ears straining for sounds of movement in the undergrowth. But nothing stirred, not even the wind. There was no birdsong.
The foliage had been disintegrated as far as the bank of the river on this side. All that remained were skeletal branches and a carpet of ash underneath. They inched cautiously into an open clearing, a clearing that had not been there before the fire came. Splintered and discarded weapons littered the area, some alongside their former owners.
"Those survivors have gone…" Rameil remarked, tracing the path of a considerably diminished group through the ash and dust. His brow furrowed. "Deeper into the forest."
"There are others here," another remarked, crouching on the tips of his boots. "No more than a few hours old at least."
Haldir joined him. "And yet only one set. One soldier?"
"Why only one?"
Haldir shook his head. "I will follow it; the rest of you find which path the others took," he instructed Rameil and the others. "Stay alert. Be careful."
"And you."
The river rolled serenely past, freed of its tree warden that had imprisoned it until early that morning. The sun had decided to show his face and melt away the mist. It dappled onto golden hair as Haldir followed the trail imprinted in the mud. The footsteps were narrow but heavy, undoubtedly those of Gondor. And dragging by the looks of it.
Haldir stopped near the falls of Nimrodel which even now shimmered sweetly under golden shadows, forgetful of hardship and weariness. The elf closed his eyes a moment, listening to the sweet, melodious song of the water falling over the steps of cool blue stones, feeling its peace ease some of the sadness and anger in his heart.
A man lay on his face near the cascading water. But Haldir could see the rise and fall of his shoulders that indicated he yet breathed. His grey-green cloak hung in tatters, his face, what little the elf could see of it, was covered in damp, smoke-smelling curls. His right hand clasped a bright swordblade.
Alert to the possibility of a trap, Haldir took a wide sweep east into the trees where he had the benefit of ample cover. Stalking forward in a low crouch much as a cat preys after a grounded bird, the elf inched stealthily forward, his boots making no sound on the soft earth. He drew his blade with a whisper.
Standing almost above the man, he saw the shoulders still. An instant before the sword pierced him, he knocked it aside with his own and held it against the man's jugular. Staring down into frightened blue eyes, Haldir realized he recognized the young man at the end of his blade.
"Tergon."
The man blinked at the sound of his name, the sun in his eyes silhouetting the face of his attacker. "Who are you? How is it that you know me?" He brought up a hand as the saber shifted.
Haldir crouched lightly, his sword dangling casually in hand. "You do not know me?"
"Haldir-?" Tergon sat up straight. "How—how did you find… Why were you looking for me?"
"I was not. I was searching out your compatriots." His eyes were clouded with concern. "Are you hurt?"
"No… thankfully." The man sat up, plucking leaves out of his hair and brushing loam from his shoulders self-consciously.
"You are far from your kin."
The man looked up sharply, eyes wide with fear. "I had nothing to do with last night, I swear. I harmed no one!"
Realizing the man had thought he was threatening him, "I know you did not." Haldir reached out a hand and pulled the young man to his feet. "Why did you not go with the others?"
The man cast his eyes to the leaf strewn ground as though finding his answer there as he picked up his weapon. "I—Ramir was wrong. There was nothing there for me anymore."
"Were you frightened?"
"Yes," the man's eyes were wide, shimmering with emotion. "I saw…" He closed them. "I still see… Ai, Valar," he rubbed his hands over his tired face, the corners of his eyes. "I just wish for home. I have been gone for nearly a year now. It will be the year gone before I return." As though just remembering, Tergon fumbled with the pin before he took the brooch still clinging stubbornly to his cloak and pressed it into the elf's hand. "This saved my life last night. I would have been a dead man, I know it."
Haldir laid the glittering clasp back into the man's palm and pressed his fingers closed around it. "Keep it, then. And go in peace." He turned.
"Haldir? What will you do now?"
The elf turned over his shoulder, his voice tight, grim. "Hunt the rest of them down. None will leave this forest save you."
Tergon blanched a little at that. "Haldir, you cannot fight them. It will never end."
"We must try. We lost too many good soldiers last night to let this rest," Haldir's eyes were hard and implacable and Tergon could not meet them.
"You will finish it, then," he murmured to the ground.
The elf remained silent.
The young man nodded as though deciding something, his hand clenched around the hilt of his weapon. "I wish to stay then—help you if I may."
"No." Haldir shook his head. "I would not ask that of you. Besides, I have lost too many friends. I will not lose another."
Tergon blinked, surprised then grateful. "I am your friend?"
Haldir tilted his head to one side with a slight smile but his eyes were clouded with concern. "I owe you my life. Surely friendship is not so small a thing to offer in return?"
"The friend of an elf!" Tergon laughed suddenly and brushed his hair out of his eyes. "What my brother would say to that! If he yet lives…" His eyes solemned. "Nevertheless, I would like to be of service."
"You can be," Haldir reassured him, an idea suddenly flashing through his mind. "But not here. One must survive this to take word back to Gondor. Go back to your country. Tell them what you can."
Tergon looked about to protest then thought about the elf's words. He was being given the chance to live. To see his land again. His home. He swallowed and nodded. "My people must be told the truth."
Satisfied with that, Haldir returned the nod and walked away.
"Wait!" Tergon hurried after him. "Will I see you again?" Sudden sadness enveloped him at never seeing the fair creature that he owed so much to.
Haldir kept his eyes averted. "If not in this place, perhaps beyond the Seas."
Then Tergon stood alone beside the river, staring into the empty, sun-dappled woodlands.
The morning passed slowly into early afternoon. Elves came from nearby patrols to help. The wounded were moved to a more secure place to be tended and the weary, restless soldiers broke their fast for the first time since the morning before.
Few were left to feed. There was little talking as the soldiers ate, a subdued hush hung over everything.
With Orophin gone to reassure his wife of his continued existence and Haldir not yet returned from reconnaissance, Rúmil felt alone and comfortless. Without appetite, he ignored the proffered bread someone tried to hand him and instead chose to wander.
He avoided the carnage-field, shame spearing his heart at the sight of the green barrows underneath the trees. He had no desire for company but he did not wish to be alone either: his own condemning words tore at him, whispering, cursing. Coward. You ran. Coward. You could not help her… Coward!
His chest hurt and he stopped, realizing he had been running wildly. His hands were scratched from swiping aside raking branches and sweat clung to his brow, his wounded arms seared. He closed his eyes momentarily against the pain, forcing himself not to touch them, knowing it would be worse if he did. His heart thrummed beneath his ribs like a caged hummingbird.
"Rúmil?"
The elf in question jumped, not realizing someone was near. "Eremae."
The healer sat underneath the shadow of a mallorn, her face wan and her grey-white tunic torn and bloodied and tear-stained. Forgetting his own pain and glad for the reprieve, he sat down beside her.
Her hair was ill-kempt, her face bearing the now-familiar marks of sleeplessness.
"How is he?" Rúmil asked after a moment of silence, staring at his bent knees and wondering why he had asked.
Eremae just shook her head. "He is alone."
Glancing up at the hidden platform above his head, Rúmil took a deep breath and rose but Eremae grabbed at his sleeve.
"Rúmil, I feel I should warn you…" She visibly swallowed and her voice, when she spoke, was drawn taut. "She—she's in there."
"'She?'" Rúmil frowned.
Eremae nodded and closed her eyes momentarily. "Geilrín. He wou—he wouldn't let us bury her."
Rúmil merely stared at her.
Eremae sniffed and encouragingly rubbed his arm. "Go to him."
The younger elf stepped past her. She murmured so quietly, his keen ears scarcely picked up the words:
Be brave.
He stepped up onto the talan which was much more spacious and inviting than the rude flets on the borders. Fedorian and Geilrín and Silivren lived here. With the thick overhanging branches serving as a ceiling and cleverly woven walls the large platform had been divided into four respective rooms. But Rúmil was concerned with only one as he entered. He eased past the scrubbed dark-wood dining table.
Off to his left, he glimpsed a door, half-shut, a sliver of light gleaming inside upon an empty bed. No one there. He paused before the other door, swathed in shadow and closed off. Gathering his waning courage, he gripped the intricate handle and slowly eased the door open.
He froze on the threshold.
The room was darkened, the screens up and long draping curtains drawn over them. Not even a candle brightened the interior. Even with his keen sight, he had to squint to make out the silhouette of a tall figure standing beside a low bed.
Memories of his mother suddenly washed over him. Watching her fade had been the hardest thing he had ever had to witness. And he shied from those memories even now, too painful yet to drudge up again. It was not his eldest brother standing in lonely vigil over the bed, but his Captain.
The young elf took a hesitating step into the chamber, afraid to break the funereal quiet.
Fedorian had not changed. His clothes wrapped around him, deranged and spattered; smoke-stained unbound hair clung to his face, unwashed blood smeared one side of his neck.
Swallowing the sudden lump in his throat, Rúmil broke the quiet, relieved when he found his voice steady. "Eremae was worried. She thought I should—"
"No. I sent her away long ago. She was tired," Fedorian answered, his slender hands spread over the pale quilt.
The younger elf, on shaking legs, drew up to the bedside, refusing to look at the occupant resting there, afraid that if he did, he would shatter into a thousand pieces and never be able to gather himself again.
"I'm so sorry, sir," Rúmil looked down at the floor, thinking of what must have been a long night-vigil to keep alone. "Someone should have been here with you—we should have."
"I am glad none were." His eyes were oddly fixed on the wall across the room. Rúmil followed his gaze to the mirror which he just now noticed.
It hung above a chest of drawers and would have reflected the beautiful waving branches outside the round window. Would have reflected. Splinters of glass littered the fine-woven carpet, the dark wood of the dresser.
Rúmil looked down at his Captain's hands lying on the bedspread. They were bloody, unbound, uncleaned, bold and screaming up at him. "Your hands…"
A rain-kissed breeze wafted through the branches and stirred a few tendrils of her golden hair.
Fedorian brushed them back and stroked her cheek softly; Rúmil couldn't stop staring at his slender fingers which bore the marks of his rage. He didn't even seem to notice the shards of glass still imbedded in his knuckles. Rúmil cringed just glancing at them.
"Sir… your hand…We should—"
"I feel nothing now."
But Rúmil couldn't leave it. He felt an overwhelming urge to be doing something so he found a rag and filled a wooden bowl from the dining area.
Returning, he found Fedorian had not moved. Businesslike, he took his hand gingerly and began to pull the small shards out, dropping them on the night table, sponging the blood away.
"Leave it, Rúmil," Fedorian said dully, tugging out of the other's grip. "My blood deserves to flow… flow away into the river of it. The river of it," he half-sung the words, an eerie cadence.
Rúmil was overtaken by horror. He wanted so badly to turn away but dared not.
"I failed them. I failed her."
"No!" Rúmil immediately denied it.
For the first time, Fedorian raised his eyes, glazed and beyond exhaustion. With a small twitch of the lips, he turned abruptly away from his student and paced to a small desk that sat in one corner.
A wide volume lay on the glossy table, the newly-penned ink still wet and gleaming. Fedorian tapped it. "Forty-three good and perilous soldiers lost, not including those who died of their wounds last night. And there are… a few yet unaccounted for."
One of those few was Silivren, Rúmil avoided his commander's seemingly-searching eyes as the lump threatened to choke him.
"What are you doing here, Rúmil?"
Rúmil looked up. "I—I didn't want you to be alone."
"I am alone. Your company does not change that."
"You are not alone," the younger elf retorted, frustration flaring. "We loved her too. We loved them both too." He forced himself to look on her.
She had been tended with a sister's care and lay composed in a fresh, beautiful robe, hands folded upon her breast. Her pale skin washed free of gore, her hair brushed until it shone. She was as beautiful as she had been in life. But empty. Her face expressionless with her eyes closed.
Her spirit had fled.
His airway closed off, suffocated by the close room, Rúmil turned away. Without knowing what else to do, he went to the dining area again and decided to make tea. His mother had always done that when any of her children had been upset. It had always made him feel better. After a bit of searching, he found the materials he needed and soon had water boiling.
"I cannot remember if I ever told you how we met." Fedorian had followed him.
Rúmil shook his head without turning.
"The seven-year toll had called many home," Fedorian said. "I do not remember the wound but I remember the pain. As though my heart had been squeezed out of my chest…I remember the death tent. The moans of those doomed to die in darkness. Without even a spare light or sight of trees to aid their passing. I was put there. I remember one night looking up through a black haze… and seeing an angel.
"Now my angel lies in the black haze. And I cannot reach her." He bowed his head. "She took the death meant for me." His skin was as white and rigid as marble, as translucent as parchment.
"You will see them again… in Valinor," the younger elf offered, remembering what had blunted his own grief when his parents had departed this life.
Fedorian stared hard at him. "Here, in Arda, that is no comfort. My grief is too fresh for you to try to heal, Rúmil."
Unsure of what else to do, Rúmil laid a hand on his shoulder. It felt as though he had touched marble, cold and lifeless.
Fedorian shrugged it off. "I should have died in the camp. It would have been better than… this." He said in a flat tone that belied the horror of the statement. "I do not know what I was telling them by the end of the eighth day… but apparently I was of no more use by then. And Ramir left me in the ditch to die. Two days… trying to move while the flies settled…A venturesome crow or two tried me, and found me living yet."
Rúmil stood frozen.
Fedorian ignored the mug in front of him, his eyes staring at the far wall. "I have been a soldier all my life. Cheated of death. My 'noble' sacrifice is nothing."
"That's not true."
"Empty words, Rúmil! Empty! Save perhaps from you... Yes." There was a calculating gleam in his commander's eyes as he raised them. "You would have gone with me, wouldn't you? You would not have left me—I remember now. You would have stayed with me-unlike those other cowards..."
Rúmil suddenly felt as though this conversation were spiraling horribly out of control. "Perhaps, sir, you should drink your-"
The younger elf tried not to jump as Fedorian snatched the cup from the tabletop and flung it against the wall, sending bits of shattered glass flying. Rúmil closed his eyes as he felt little chips graze his cheeks. A red-black smear trickled slowly down the wall.
"They shamed me! All of them! All recreant! All cowed! I gave no order to retreat, Rúmil, I am not so far gone that I do not remember that. They ran. They ran! Like dogs. Like men."
"That's not fair, sir," Rúmil protested, stung. "They did all that they could."
Fedorian snorted bitterly. "Indeed. Then why were they not willing to die? Why did they not die as I did?" He gestured sharply towards the bedroom. "As she did!"
Horror filled his voice as the younger elf realized. "You…you meant to kill yourself."
"How can one kill oneself if he's already dead?" Fedorian's answering smile was cold and sardonic, entirely devoid of humor. "For in truth, my mourning rites have already been sung. My body simply must follow."
"You cannot think that!" Rúmil was furious now. Furious at Geilrín and Silivren for dying, furious at his mentor for wanting to.
And furious with himself for wishing he would.
Before he realized what he was doing, Rúmil grabbed Fedorian's shoulders and shook him. "There are still those who love you! Who would weep for your passing—as they weep for hers!" The tears long held in check flowed unrestrained now.
Seeing his tears, the iron grip on his shoulders, all strength seemed to leave the commander's body. Like watching the mellyrn burn again, he sank to the floor, back pressed against the table edge. He merely sat, silent, with his elbows braced upon his knees, bowed head in his hands. He did not weep. His grief was beyond tears.
Rúmil crouched slowly beside him, his anger evaporated, his face still twisted with sorrow. When he was sure his voice would not tremble he spoke. "Let her be buried, sir. She…she needs to rest in peace," he entreated in a whisper, his throat too tight for anything louder. "You will be needed—we—we need your presence."
After a time, when Rúmil believed he would never receive an answer, Fedorian raised his head. His eyes were bright, his voice rough. "So be it."
He never looked into a mirror again.
The last planks of the Bridge of Nimrodel had been broken down. Deep blue twilight fell over the earth; the silver river, shadowed by wavering branches, murmured past, its glittering stones flashing blue and white on the stony bed, the beautifully carved planks bobbing in its current.
Elven warriors slipped past the green eastern bank. Flower-bearing women mourned at the gravesides of their husbands and sons. The soldiers passed them in silence, some casting their eyes over the widowed forms with sorrow as they turned their steps towards the barracks and a late meal.
A cheerful surprise greeted them when they arrived. Those troops who had family nearby or from the city had ridden out to meet them. In a circle of silver trees long trestle tables had been set up loaded with fine, steaming dishes: fresh loaves of wheat bread, smoked venison, baskets of sweet-smelling fruit and countless bottles of aged crystal-colored wines, bubbling cordials and strengthening miruvor.
The soldiers recently relieved from the borders and ready for a little relaxation sat on long benches, conversing, boasting and telling tall tales to the accompaniment of soft singing and a few stringed instruments wives of the warriors had brought with them.
"I pinned one of them to a tree—no, it was two! Got the fellow behind him as well and with only one arrow!" Mithron said with a grim smile.
"Wait, hold on, we were fighting in the middle of a river! There wasn't a tree within twenty yards, you nit!"
"Nit yourself! I saw you not throughout the entire battle!"
"That's because I was killing six others on the other bank!"
"Did I tell you I slew fourteen and carried four wounded across the river?" Rameil teased with a sly glint in his eyes.
"Let them have their fun, my friend," Haldir said, filling his glass with cordial. "Do you not remember when you used to boast of your exploits on patrol?"
Rameil swung his leg over the bench. "Ha! Goodness, it's a miracle my head ever shrank back to its regular size."
"Did it?"
The dark-haired warrior cuffed him.
Alfirin rose to speak. "Ah, if I may, a moment of silence, my good chaps and chapesses!" he called above the chatter which instantly died down. "A moment of silence for those of us who cannot be here this evening."
Threading under the respectful quiet, a soft voice rose in beautiful song, spearing in a rhythmic cadence.
"Spring buds have faded from the branch
The summer greens have passed away
Autumn leaves sink deep-entrench'd
But your memory will never fade."
Alfirin cleared his throat and raised his glass. "Now then, chaps! To feast!"
A full-throated roar of approval shattered the silence, soon-followed by the clatter of plates and silverware. The tables groaned under the weight of the food that the hungry soldiers passed freely back and forth. A friendly buzz of chatter rose echoed by the sprightly tune of lyres strummed by several of the musically inclined.
Haldir stopped beside his youngest brother who sat perched at the end of the table alone, cradling a glass between his fingers. He stared emptily into it without seeing.
"Do not let them see you so distressed."
Rúmil looked up as his brother rested a hand on his shoulder.
"Tonight we should celebrate our lost ones. Not mourn." Haldir's voice was tight as though he did not quite believe his words.
Rúmil shook his head. "I hate them, Haldir, I hate those men for what they did."
"Come," Haldir pulled him to his feet. "Join us."
Underneath one of the canopies set up around the glade, Orophin sat with Rameil and Ancadal and a few others of their patrol. Sharing a meal and comradeship at the end of the day offset the troubles of it. They needed that companionship now more than ever.
Orophin's pretty wife, Nínael, passed around a small basket containing rolls sprinkled with fresh butter and finely sliced chives. Orophin smiled. "I made these you know."
"No, you didn't." Haldir lifted one from among its brethren, juggling the still-hot roll between his fingers.
"Alas, you have caught me in a lie," he laughed. "Am I not fortunate to have found a beautiful, glorious, maiden who outshines the very sun. And makes delicious rolls too."
"Cease, Orophin," Ninael laughed, stuffing one in his mouth.
Rúmil plucked the roll neatly from his oldest brother's fingers and bit into it with relish, wincing as he burnt his tongue. "Mmm… I can tell—you cannot cook like this."
Orophin feigned offense while trying not to choke as Haldir shook his head in despair. "You've been far too long away from the city, muindor, your table manners are astonishing." as he abducted the roll Orophin had just set on his own plate.
"Hey!"
"These are good," Haldir grinned at his other brother's indignation expression.
"Now, now, children, behave," Nínael admonished, setting down a rhubarb crumble and slapping Haldir's hand away. "Away, rogue! Not yet. Honestly, Haloth's better than the pair of you."
The little elf-child giggled and swung her legs under her chair, one thunking against the underside of the low table a little too enthusiastically. Ancadal and Rameil smiled. The soldiers loved the children. Far too few remained to them in this late age. Their winter.
Haldir hid a grin as he surreptitiously rubbed the back of his hand. "She's a fierce one, Orophin."
"Indeed," his brother agreed heartedly, ducking a teasing swipe from his wife who sat down beside him and made up a plate for herself.
The festivities lasted long into the night. But Haldir slipped away early, tired of the false smile on his face, the cheery mood he had attempted to uphold all night. He just wanted to get to his bunk and sleep. He pulled himself up the ladder and crossed towards his own bed.
"Good night, lieutenant," a quiet voice called to him.
"Good night, Linwen," he called back softly. Alfirin's troop had decided to remain a while longer on the northern border and their help had proved invaluable in getting the northern garrison back on its feet. Especially Linwen, so cheerful and eager. Despite the heavy pall on his shoulders, he smiled a little at this small mercy.
