Chapter Seventeen: Intervention

A pale strip of daybreak, appearing above a bank of blue-grey clouds, filtered through the leaves and the soft waking chirps and stirrings of larks breasted the air. A light early morning wind fluttered strands of dark hair over a pale, haggard visage knelt over a flowing stream. Water glistening in intermittent stabs of sunlight, trickled among the deep roots of mellyrn that wound down to drink.

Last night, however, these roots had not been dappled in sunlight but shadow-dark and had not drunk clear blue water but hot crimson splashed over their seeking mouths.

In the revealing moonlight, Rameil stared hard at his friend: a strange red glaze shaded Haldir's empty eyes. And it frightened the other elf. "Haldir… what have you done?" His own eyes fell to the limp form between them, sprawled on the reddened leaves.

"I may do as I please, Rameil, you are not my keeper," Haldir snarled, defensive because he knew his friend was right. He had gone too far. He had gone too far the instant Tergon had fallen by his hand. The second the dagger had spilled his lifeblood.

But he could not stop now. A tidal wave rushed darkly through him, pushing him farther and farther away from shore and he was powerless to swim against it.

"I am taking you home," Rameil said, reaching for his friend's arm.

"You are not my keeper, Rameil!" Haldir repeated, angry now as he tugged his arm out of reach, nearly stepping on the body of the young man he had so recently slain. "You should not have come here!"

"No, I should not have for this sight terrifies me more than anything I have ever seen." The dark-haired elf's throat tightened with a mixture of disgust and sorrow as he stared at his friend's hands, painted black in the moonlight.

"These are not worthy of your concern."

"Such coldness…You speak of them as though they were not living, breathing creatures beneath your blade. You have pushed it away because you do not wish to face it. You blame others—maybe the Gondorians—for bringing him there under your blade. That does not change what you did. You killed him, Haldir, and that will haunt you forever whether you accept it or not."

They were harsh words but Haldir did not flinch from the bite of them. He knew they were true. Suddenly, he thought of Tergon and something deep inside him twinged guiltily.

Rameil stared at the dead Gondorian, still trying to wrap his mind around what he had just seen. "Have you forgotten our law: 'All prisoners who surrender themselves willingly are to be given full quarter?'"

"I know the law," Haldir's voice had sunk to a low growl, his eyes flickering away from his friend to pierce the forest, the moonlight lay like a pale shroud over the jagged rock in the midst of the clearing. "But such is beyond my power to obey. I cannot bring him back to life."

"No! You cannot… but you can still make this right," Rameil gripped his friend's shoulders feverishly. "Do not kill the remaining Gondorians. Take them prisoner only, treat them under the law. End this senseless bloodshed—it has gone on far too long."

Haldir shook away his friend's grasping hands. "It is too late for that."

"No! I will not believe it!"

"How can you plead for their lives?" Haldir frowned. "What cause have they ever given you for you to beg a boon for them? Have you so easily forgotten what they did to me? To our home?"

"I beg a boon for no one, be he Man or Elf," Rameil said, drawing back stiffly. "But I fear for you, mellon nin. I fear you to be lost in this madness. If you take this path it will only lead to your destruction."

"Any path can turn to good or ill. Had I asked for counsel, I might heed your words," Haldir snapped. "In the War, Rameil, it was kill or die—you know that as well as I! Such is this."

"This is not a just war, Haldir. It is not war that you speak of! You speak of vengeance and this is nothing more than dishonorable blood-letting! It is orc-work and you know it!"

Haldir's eyes narrowed but Rameil was too distraught to care.

"Only an orc would murder a man on his knees, a man begging for mercy."

"Compassion is a weakness they will not share. So why should we spare them what they would not give us?"

Rameil dropped his arms slowly to his sides. "I do not know you."

"I must go."

Once more, the dark-haired warrior tried and seized his arm. "No."

A flashing white pain erupting behind his eyes, the dark-haired warrior staggered back, his grip loosened. When his vision cleared from his head somewhat, he managed to look up. Haldir was still looking at him, a torn expression on his face, the heavy hilt of his saber still clasped in one hand.

A long silence passed between them.

Rameil could not speak, too stunned to move, his head aching too badly to think properly as he blinked the purple yellow spots from his vision.

Haldir turned away slowly as though reluctant or in some pain. "I must go," he repeated.

"Do not ask me to lie for you."

"I ask nothing of you," Haldir refuted with a shake of his head. "But it is not your place to speak to my brothers on this matter."

Rameil did not follow him.

His eyes burned and he swiped irritably at them, his other hand rubbing at the knot swiftly forming on the back of his head. Turning from the deathly clearing, he thought he caught a glimpse of eyes: one verdant green in the shadows, the other pallid with the color of the moon.

Rameil had wandered far until the moon drifted westwards and the stars glittered brightly overhead but he could find no solace in their cold distance. He had returned once to their talan and immediately left again upon discovering it empty. His head spun almost as much as it hurt, divided in heart and aching in spirit he could not decide what to do. As far as he could remember, he had never fought with Haldir before on anything either great or small. The change that had come over his friend frightened him badly and as the sun breasted the trees at last and sparked on the small stream, he resolved to do whatever he could—whatever he had to—to make it right between them again.

The arrows had ceased some time ago but no man dared lean out to see if the enemy had departed. A few yards away lay the bodies of three men, those who had been taken unawares by the first onslaught. They were lucky to have lost so few. But the rocky overhang proved ideal shelter and the remaining soldiers of Gondor huddled under it fearfully casting dark looks at the fluttering leaves, innocent and edged with pale gold as the sun crept gradually over the trees.

A haggard face pierced with fear gazed out into the thin mist hovering like a veil between them and the deceptively bright trees. Beneath the overhang, the shadows had not yet been cast away by the sun and the remaining fifteen men clung to the ragged shreds of their dignity and spirits.

"Fallen are the valiant of Gondor if they have come to this," a voice, cracked and cold with resignation and weariness, said from the shadows.

"Calenon was right."

"Yes, and look where he is now! In a hole covered in dirt!" another spat, anger flaring from frustration. "This mission was cursed from the very beginning. We are not getting out of this alive," one said, throwing aside a tuft of grass he had torn with his grubby fingers.

Ramir listened to them for awhile then tuned their discordant voices out, rubbing a thick hand over his grim-crusted face. It had been far too long and far too sleepless a night. He could not win the Wood with fifteen men. He sighed.

"All right, men. You have taken your piece." He looked from one face to another then stood silent for a while, looking out at the slowly-lightening trees. "We'll get out of this yet. You see-" he pointed, "the river curves away west there and a little stream splits off and flows out of the forest on the Wold north of Rohan's Eastern emnet. If we can get that far we'll be all right."

"If."

"Aye, 'if.' And it will be 'when' if you put your trust in me." He looked around at them all, fingering his sword as he met each pair of eyes then looked into the ever-watchful woodlands. "We will pass in darkness when the moon is shaded."

"But Elves can see in the dark if the legends of our sires are true," a voice muttered darkly.

The day passed long and wearingly. They dared not move from their concealment, not knowing if they were indeed being watched. Those who could, slept. Hunger, thirst and heat plagued the others especially the wounded: two men had taken small throwing knives in their flesh. The merciless sun fell onto their clearing, searing away the cooling shadows, pushing them westward. But as the deeper gloaming crept out of the earth and curled around the silver boles, the moon but a far off sliver in the vastness of the sky, they crept forth from their rocky protection, edging around the dead and taking a southern turn into the forest which would lead them closest to Anduin.

"Like thieves in the night," one muttered, keeping hand to blade. Ramir cast him a warning glance.

They passed into silence and darkness, their bootsteps scarcely stirring a mouse in her nest as they skirted her like a breath of wind. Almost with the stealth of Elves they glided over the silver-dewed grass sweeping their knees, fear mounting to terror as the towering golden roof closed over them again. The eyes of the phantoms of the woods gazed down at them, they felt. Ever-watchful. Silent shadows hounding their footsteps.

Onwards they glided over flat cool rocks, slipping soundlessly into the narrow path of a creek, losing their footprints in the water as they passed on into the gathering river mist.


Haldir turned over. Shafts of light sent searching fingers over the windowsill to disturb his already troubled sleep. He shifted restlessly again, searching for a cool place on his pillow. Darkness pressed over his eyelids as he buried his face in the pillowcase. A bloody, crying face snapped before his closed eyelids. He shot up onto his elbows. Taking a moment to orient himself, he realized he was breathing far too fast and felt suddenly light-headed. He lay back down with his forearm pressed over his eyes until the dizziness passed. It had been a bad night.

He opened his eyes after a few minutes. This room was strange to him, not the talan he usually shared with Rameil. But the thought of his friend opened a rawness of heart he wasn't yet ready to confront. A light headache pressed behind his eyes from sleeping too long. Haldir rolled over and pushed aside the stifling covers; the nightmares had become more and more frequent as the days passed and he gained less and less rest even when he did not remember them.

To distract his thoughts he watched the idling sunlight dapple green shadows on the smooth grey walls. By the angle, he had slept late, far later than he should and rose feeling no more rested.

His bed last night had been little more than the hard floor and a few blankets but his back and shoulders relished the stiffness which took his mind from other things as he stretched loosely. He dressed and crossed the wooden floor soundlessly easing out into a passage filled with dim sunlight from the thick leafy boughs trembling above. Passing a half-open door on his left, he glanced in to see the bed made up neatly and its occupant already out and about this morning. A mirror hung on the wall facing the door but the glass had been removed from it. A wooden surface reflected back at Haldir as he continued on towards the kitchen.

The healer, Eremae, looked up at him from across the room and set a plate of toasted bread spread with honey on the scrubbed wooden table. "We feared you to sleep idle all day!"

"I was weary!" he protested with a smile. "Surely you cannot hold a soldier in contempt for the sake of sleep!"

She laughed. "No, indeed. I cannot! When they sleep, they eat less!"

He chuckled and broke his fast with a will, doing full justice to the fare she had set before him. He hadn't realized how hungry he was and wondered when his last meal had been. Eremae bustled around the flet in and out of doors, returning laden with armfuls of wash or water from the stream for later. He watched her for a while then, finished with his meal, washed his plate and stepped outside to take the free air.

It was a calm fair morning, a light breeze stirring in the boughs. With the bright light shining about him, the beauty of the woodlands stretching far beyond even his keen sight, he wondered how dark thoughts could ever enter to his mind. He felt so splintered. In one way, it was good that Rameil knew what he had done. He no longer had to carry the burden of his slayings alone. On the other hand—a cold hand twisted his chest at this thought—would this shatter the friendship he had long held dear to his heart? What would happen when his brothers found out?

Fedorian sat cross-legged on the edge of the porch, running a file along one of his blades to rid it of rust and corrosives. He looked up as his lieutenant took a seat beside him. The captain had asked no questions when Haldir had requested lodging and for that Haldir was grateful. He didn't think he could explain quite yet.

The captain broke the light silence first. "I have been asked to return to the City for debriefing." There was something more in his words and Haldir waited him out patiently. "We are so close to finishing this, Haldir. And I will see it through. I dare not leave until this is ended."

Haldir felt he owed his captain for his understanding and hospitality. "What do you wish me to do?"

"Go to the City in my place. Give your audience with my Lord Celeborn and return as soon as may be. It is but a simple charge."

Eremae, passing with wet laundry to hang, frowned a little upon hearing these words. But neither of the two men noticed her and she did not speak.

However, it was not unusual for a higher-ranking officer to send a lesser to the city on an errand. Albeit perhaps not to the Lord of Lothlórien himself. "And yet it would pull me away from the fences for at least two days."

Fedorian smiled. "Rest assured, I will not act until your return." His eyes fell over the state of his subordinate's clothes which he had not changed last night.

"But you cannot go like that."

Haldir looked down at his tunic and for the first time noticed the spattering of dark stains on hem and sleeves. "I have nothing else."

"I have something that may suit you. Follow me."

The midnight blue tunic hung down to his knees. Swallow-tailed sleeves tapered on either side of his wrists, the black sleeves of his undertunic visible beneath. Wonderingly, he brushed his fingertips over the fine velvet, admiring the entwining gold broidery that traced collar and hem. A fine supple leather belt of dark green tooled with leaves and vines cinched about his waist with a silver buckle shaped like a mallorn leaf.

"I have never worn anything so fine," he plucked at a delicate gold-embroidered sleeve. "I feel strange wearing it."

"It is the tunic I wore when I rose to the Captain's rank." Fedorian smoothed a crease from the shoulders and nodded in satisfaction. "It fits you well."

"Thank you."

"If you can return it without tears or stains I would be grateful," he continued dryly, fitting together a small packet of lembas. He pressed the packet into his hands and clapped him on the shoulder. "Go now. The sooner you depart, the sooner shall be your return—and victory."


Rúmil wandered alongside the riverbank. The day was warm and he had just been relieved from a six-hour night patrol that had scoured the section of woods from the meeting of the Celebrant to the Eregloa, a small glade crowded with still-green thorn brakes halfway upstream to their relief post and found nothing amiss.

The parade grounds were empty. It seemed every available soldier had been sent out on patrols or hunting errands to restock food supplies or to help with the still-ongoing redressing of the forest's fire wounds.

He followed a worn track across the glade and nearly ran into Arenath. Rúmil stepped quickly back to avoid a collision but Arenath only muttered an apology and kept going, his head bent low. Rúmil glanced after him a moment in confusion. Then caught sight of Rameil, two or three other elves with him skirting the edge of the glade. He hailed the dark-haired warrior who checked his path and went to meet him, motioning his companions on ahead.

"Rúmil! How fare you this fine morning!"

"Well and exhausted! And you?"

"We are on our way to sweep East as far as the falls," Rameil told him.

"I'm just coming from there."

Rameil shrugged, a hint of frustration in his eyes. "Orders. What brings you here after a long night-shift? I would expect you to be long abed."

"I've only been just relieved."

"We all will be run ragged before long. A night-long vigil is tiring work without respite. Tell me, have you seen your eldest brother about?" The question was asked casually but Rúmil thought he saw something else flicker in the dark-haired warrior's eyes. Something like pain.

"You did not see him this morning?" Rúmil asked, suspicion gnawing slowly at the back of his mind. Something was wrong. Rameil would not meet his eyes. "Rameil?"

"No, I have not."

"Rameil, what troubles you?"

"Nothing, Rúmil." The dark-haired warrior's eyes darted up to his briefly, his head bowed even lower and now Rúmil noticed something of concern.

"You have quite a troll lump on your head. What happened?" Rúmil asked.

Rameil fingered the injury gingerly and winced. "Oh, nothing more than a foolish mistake."

"Why do you seek Haldir?"

Rameil seemed definitely uneasy, shifting his weight and staring anywhere but at Rúmil's face. "I… I would speak with him. We had words…"

Rúmil frowned. It was very unlike his brother to fight with his old friend. To his knowledge, Haldir and Rameil had never had an altercation of any sort. But now, Rameil was injured and Haldir had apparently vanished? "What about?"

Rameil locked up. A dark veil drew over his eyes and he would not speak.

Suspicion turned to cold fear in Rúmil's heart.

"Seek out your brother if you wish to know. I—I fear to say too much."

"Will you not tell me more plainly? The truth cannot be worse than all of your dark hints and unsettling warnings."

Rameil only shook his head. "I am commanded to scout the river."

"Rameil—"

"Seek out your brother, Rúmil. Mayhap he will give you answers I dare not." Then he was away like a fleet-footed deer with the hounds pursuing, leaving Rúmil baffled and troubled behind him.

At the moment, Haldir was far away and thinking nothing of his brother or friends. As always when he returned to the green City, he felt an odd closeness fall around him, a quiet peacefulness that jangled discordantly with his far-too-recent memories of the chaos and bloodshed on the borders. None of the inhabitants knew, did they? None of them even guessed what had happened. He doubted they'd even heard of the fire save perhaps in dark rumor. He could see them moving in the treetops, dim and indistinct within the bright circles of green and gold lamps hanging from the branches.

An elf in brown came to take his horse from him as he dismounted before the great tree that housed the Lord and Lady's flet. For a while, he stood, regaining his breath and firmness of limbs after the tiring ride. It was late and he knew the Lord of Lothlórien would not speak to him until the morrow.

A sweet, clean rain had fallen during the late afternoon and every leaf glistened under the opening stars. Nearly at his feet, a small stream flowed from the white fountain beneath the great flet and sang softly into the dusk. He crossed the white-plank bridge and into the ankle deep grass on the other side, wandering without any real purpose. He was surprised when he found himself at the entrance to the Lady's garden, a long treeless glade beneath whose clear midnight sky, countless flowers of pale blue, green and white shimmered and danced, their fragrance drifting up like a velvet cloud.

Summer still hung in the garden, despite the cool dawns and cooler evenings beginning on the borders. Weariness fell from him as he gazed at beauty that made his heart ache: it had been long since he had seen anything gentle and innocent. He walked for some time in the garden, staring at the stars or the bright grass which seemed to glow in the bright rays of Eärendil. Ascending a short flight of broad steps, he came to a wide hedge beyond which hung green-shadowed boughs bearing ripe golden fruit.

He paused at an opening. Beneath him stretched a deep dell overhung with shapely trees, strong in the fullness of their summer growth. The woman stood silent among them, a soft form clothed in white against the darkness of the dell. Fair beyond measure, he thought her. Beautiful and remote in the starlight as those of the West that had looked upon the brightness of the Trees. And yet, watching her in the fading dusk, the stars clouding slowly, she seemed little more than a slender elf-woman clothed in white, gazing at the stars and enjoying the sweet scents that lingered in her orchard. A glint of silver shone in her golden hair.

"Peace is often sought here by the weary."

Haldir turned, startled.

The elf stood back a ways against a carven statue. So still had he been standing in the shadows, Haldir hadn't noticed him until he spoke. And he was surprised to realize that he recognized him.

"I did not know you had applied for a post here in the City," Haldir's smile was as genuine as he could make it: for ages uncounted a rivalry had existed between the Royal Guards who kept the City and those who kept the borders. "Allow me to congratulate you."

"Thank you." Indeed, Laer, the former lieutenant on the northern borders, looked well-pleased with his new position and swept imaginary dust from his white cloak. "It is an honor." He nodded towards the white-clad elf woman. "I am fortunate to serve such a lady and no madman."

Haldir's polite smile froze.

Laer did not know he had struck a nerve but he had warmed quickly to the rivalry between the border and city guards. "Now, there are competent officers, enough removed from the field of battle that they may think consciously and impartially."

Haldir's brow darkened, perturbed by the other's dark insinuations / intimations about his Commander. "Is it so indeed. I suppose the absence of battle would indeed give them impartiality." If nothing else. The unspoken words hung between them like a balanced blade.

Laer's half-shadowed features hardened ever so slightly and he gestured to the other's travel-stained clothes. "Doubtless, you are excused your attire in this sacred place," the guard smiled, brushing his immaculate white cloak again. "You have come in haste from the borders, I see. It is wise—I fear our fences are no longer safe—even for the bold."

Haldir smiled, his contempt masked carefully behind his eyes. "I stay but to attend a report."

Laer was not given the chance to retort for a voice interrupted them.

"Sir? Are you planning to sleep in the gardens?" an attendant had come to collect him and looked a little put-out that he had had to search for the wayward messenger.

So seldom did he stay in the city that when he did return, Haldir was treated more like a guest than anything else. He left the peaceful garden behind him and followed the servant up several flights of winding stairs and a long white ladder where rested the great hall of the Lord and Lady of the Galadhrim.

At this time of evening, the chamber was empty and silent though not unlit—soft white light fell about their feet from above as they crossed the wide chamber.

"You'll want to rest well, I imagine, before your audience with Lord Celeborn tomorrow. I will come to you in the morning and take you to him."

The attendant led him off the main hallway and up a short flight of beautifully constructed wooden stairs, leaf patterns dancing over them. "Here we are." Opening a door on the left of a narrow hall, the attendant stepped dutifully back to let him through. "My lord has asked that you be given every convenience during your stay. If you have need of anything, there is a small hand bell on the table there. If nothing happens, give a shout—I'll be sleeping."

Haldir smiled and nodded. "Thank you and your lord for your generous hospitality though I fear I will not be staying long in these halls."

The servant bowed low. "I shall do so readily, sir."

As the door closed with a soft click, Haldir looked around the guest room. Clean clothes had even been provided for him, folded neatly over a chair back. Steam was wafting under the door of a side chamber and, opening it, Haldir found a silver tub beside a copper of boiling water. Haldir sighed. He had not had a hot bath in months. And though it was late, he was not tired enough to resist.

"Praise Ulmo," he whispered as he shut the door behind him.

The dust of travel washed away, he sat upon his bed and brushed out his damp hair. A soft breeze wafted through the rounded window, bringing with it the clean sweet scent of fresh earth and perfume from the Lady's garden. It was comfortably warm without being overly so. A curious peace that he had not known for a long time fell across his heart as he extinguished the single lantern, plunging the room into blue shadow. For the first time in many nights, he knew peaceful, dreamless rest.

The sun sifting gently through wind-tossed branches woke him. Green shadows danced across his wall. Hair freshly combed and braided, dressed in borrowed, clean leggings and Fedorian's tunic, Haldir felt presentable if not prepared for an audience with his Lord. Despite his apparent casualness the night before, the servant was prompt to knock on his door before the early morning passed. Nervousness crept into Haldir's stomach as he followed the elf across the main hall.

Bright light streamed down through the thick leaves onto fair elven forms occupying the great audience chamber. Many curious eyes flickered towards the visitor and away again as he passed. The sweet clear voice of a harp rose behind him as he followed his attendant up a longer flight of stairs, across the main hall again and into an open antechamber with a large balcony at one end.

"My lord?" the servant prompted the figure standing at the railing. "The garrison commander has arrived."

The silver-haired elf-lord turned, his eyes deep as starry wells under the open sky and beckoned the elven soldier forward. "Lieutenant, welcome."

Haldir had winced at the servant's err but stepped forward and bowed low. He had never in fact spoken to his lord face to face though he had seen him many a time. "I come, my lord, in place of Captain Fedorian who sends his apologies at being unable to attend your summons."

Celeborn did not react but his eyes seemed to darken and he looked away. "I thought we might speak in comfort therefore I did not summon you to the open hall. I assume you have not yet broken your fast?" There was a gentle smile in his voice. "Mársael's usual over-exuberance for being punctual preventing all else."

His lord's rich laughter put the other elf at ease and Haldir smiled and took a seat beside a small table carved vines entwining up its single supporting pedestal. Upon it sat a flask of clear crystal and goblets of the same filled with a clear golden drink. Celeborn handed one to Haldir who took it with thanks and sipped its fragrant liquid appreciatively. It filled him with the comfort of both food and drink, refreshing as water yet slightly heady like wine.

After a few ordinary comments about the weather and the beauty of the Lady's garden (which could be glimpsed far below them near the silver ribbon stream that ran beneath the talan), Celeborn spoke: "How goes the campaign?"

"Well, my lord," Haldir answered slowly, setting his goblet on the edge of the table. "They will not long outrun us. Their numbers are much lessened: they are not the force they once were."

"And our own soldiers? How fare they?" Celeborn asked around the rim of his own goblet.

Haldir's fingertips fidgeted uneasily with the stem of his glass. "They desire justice for their slain comrades."

"That is understandable." Celeborn sorrowed for the hauntedness he saw in the younger elf's eyes. It was upon his suggestion that Haldir and his chosen few had journeyed to Mirkwood and Celeborn felt unaccustomed guilt well up in him at the thought.

None of this showed on his face however.

"Those who took their friends and brothers from them deserve death for what they've done." Haldir looked away from those piercing eyes that lifted to his far too knowingly. "They would have their revenge."

"Perhaps," Celeborn said gently. "But such are many who merit it in this darkening world. How can they decide who deserves it, who does not and the manner they receive it in? It is not their place to deal death and judgement," he cautioned. "Only Ilùvatar knows the true fates of all."

"But perhaps it is our place to pass judgement—as Ilùvatar would see it. Mayhap it is His will that our soldiers take judgement into their own hands to execute what is necessary to achieve peace in this world."

Celeborn grimly smiled. He turned and rested his elbows casually on the balcony railing. "There is a fine line between judgement… and vengeance—a line that often blurs. The Gondorians were once our allies, we fought at their side in the Great War, and have supported them in need since then though our numbers dwindle and grow further estranged from the Second Kindred. Long has it been our task to keep the world beautiful and pure, to watch over Men who will afterwards be the stewards of the earth when the last Elf is gone over the Sea.

"Our history is a long, and bloody one. Of Doriath long ago." Celeborn's eyes glimmered with memories that stretched back even to those days. "I remember the splendor and valor… the gleaming armor… the silver flags unfurled… Such a proud people! Perilous warriors! They, too, had a strict code of judgement and death." His face darkened. "Sometimes too strict."

"What does this have to do with us if it was so long ago?"

"It is this code and those teachings passed down that have shaped the Galadhrim into what they are," Celeborn said gravely. "After the disappearance of Amroth, we rebuilt the forest's forces carefully on the model of my former home—such as I could remember."

Haldir nodded; he remembered that time.

"Doriath was destroyed by vengeance. It had not yet wholly fallen but its Doom came nigh at hand because of it." Celeborn exhaled softly. "A Silmaril had come to King Thingol by the hand of Beren and he set it in a great necklace with the aid of the Dwarves. But, in their pride and desire, they slew him and, taking the necklace, they fled." Here he paused and sighed, his eyes distant and dark with memory. "I will never forget the grief in Melian's eyes. She departed that land soon after.

"Immediately, Mablung, then chief captain, pursued the fleeing dwarves to the death. Save two alone. They returned to their kindred in the East with tidings of the slaughter. A great host came and, with the departure of Melian, all our safeguards were gone… our leaders were gone… The Dwarves were merciless and left the scattered bodies of many of our kindred lying on the bloodied marble floors of Menegroth. Not the least sorrowful was the one of Mablung.

"You see, Haldir, vengeance makes you feel better perhaps. Less helpless. Less powerless to aid those you loved and feel you let down. But it can destroy you if you let it."

Haldir remained silent a long time, pondering on his lord's words and staring out at the fluttering leaves and the stream in their shadows.

Celeborn turned his eyes to the gardens below which were flowering beautifully in the late summer. Drops of snow-white and butter-yellow blossoms bent their long stalks, mingled with the sharper red of roses and chrysanthemums. Those memories, now so long ago, had no more power over him.

"How do you prevent this destruction?" Haldir asked without taking his eyes from the gardens below.

"Know when to stop. To check the rein and be content with what you have wrought."

"What then would you have me do?"

"I? It is not my decision to have you do anything," Celeborn said, his heavy gaze resting once more on the younger elf. "I have not entered this conflict and as long as my people are safe—" he gestured towards the silver pathways and glittering lanterns. "—and protected, I trust you to follow your own judgement."

Haldir lowered his head, the onus of duty even heavier on his shoulders. He bowed and turned as if to dismiss himself.

Celeborn spoke behind him. "But remember, Haldir, Mercy and Compassion can be as powerful agents as Vengeance. Perhaps even more so. And may rule the fate of many as this world darkens."

Those words echoed through him and replayed over and over in his mind as he saddled his horse once more and took his leave of the city in the late afternoon. As he passed through the tall wooden gates with their silver lantern light falling across his shoulders as though in farewell, the peace and well-being dropped from his heart, swallowed up in the shadows that reached out from the trees.

He went forward slowly as the dark deepened. He did not stop for sleep nevertheless, he did not again reach the borders until the dead night hours hung over the tops of the swaying trees. Aching and bone-weary he dismounted, staggering slightly as his legs once more accustomed themselves to firm ground, his stomach still rocking with the pace of the horse. He rubbed his tired brow and wished for bed and cleaner clothes.

A safe distance from the Nimrodel, he feared no thing and crossed a still-starlit path glowing silver grey. A light wind rustled the grasses and a grey form rose up. "You might have said 'farewell' before tearing off into the blue," Rúmil said.

Haldir stared at him in surprise. "I expected you to be long abed."

Rúmil waved him off. "I had little thought for rest."

"Oh?"

"I wanted to speak with you."

Something in his younger brother's tone made Haldir suddenly wary and he glanced up at the dark flet where he knew Rameil rested. "Now?"

"It should not take long." He only wanted to assuage his fears. Thus it was that he had not yet told Orophin of this—it would be wiser to wait before letting his fears overwhelm him and unnecessarily worrying his other brother.

Haldir was too curious and anxious for what his brother had to say to him to long for sleep now. They walked a little ways down towards a small copse through which a light freshet fell down a stone lip and chattered away into the gold-edged shadows. They seated themselves comfortably in the long grass, Haldir leaning back against a silver bole, Rúmil cross-legged beside him with his elbows draped about his knees.

Haldir waited while Rúmil stared at his hands then when his brother continued to remain silent, rubbed his hands over his eyes and asked with a bit of impatience. "Now, Rúmil, what could not wait 'til morning?"

Rúmil hesitated, still trying to find the right words which seemed to have jammed in his mind somewhere. "I saw Rameil this morning."

At the mention of his friend, Haldir stiffened a little but only shrugged. "To what importance should I place this? You see him every morning."

"He asked that I speak with you."

Haldir kept his face carefully schooled, inwardly cursing his friend's meddling. He should have known Rameil would have said something to his brothers—if not the entire truth then enough of it to put them on edge. For a moment, a twinge of guilt pinched his heart but he pushed it away. "Of what?"

Rúmil watched his elder brother's face carefully. He knew something was wrong—Rameil had hinted at as much—and Haldir's strange behavior of late had been little more than troubling. But how could he put it into words? Thinking frantically for words that still wouldn't come, he caught sight of something white glimmering just beneath his brother's throat.

His brows drew together. "How were you hurt?"

Too late Haldir realized he had unbuttoned his tunic to relieve the heat of riding for long hours and the bandage around his chest lay fully exposed to his brother's eyes. He pulled the clasps closed quickly, his fingers slipping on the fastenings. "What did Rameil say?"

"You are not brushing me aside so easily! How did you come by that hurt?" Rúmil, concerned, reached and touched the place he had seen the now-covered bandage. It burned like a brand and Haldir hissed, jerking away.

"It is fresh enough still to sting. What happened?"

Clasping his chest, Haldir looked away from his brother, his breathing harsh and irregular as he tried to form some semblance of control over the situation.

"Haldir!" Rúmil couldn't believe what he was hearing. His own brother was hiding something from him.

"What has Rameil told you?"

"Rameil has said nothing save for dark hints and worried looks!" Rúmil said. He was dismayed by the hard coldness behind his brother's normally warm grey eyes. It frightened him. Haldir and he had always been close: one could always come to the other with anything that troubled them. Now, the younger elf didn't know how to reach his brother nor how this wide gulf had so suddenly sprung between them.

"This change… How did I not see?" Rúmil mourned aloud.

"What change? I am the same as ever I was."

"No. The Haldir I used to know would never hide something from me. Especially something that so clearly hurts." He did not speak only of the wound. A darkness lay in his brother's eyes that the steel of no Elf, Orc or Man could have put there.

Haldir grimaced, hearing the pain in his youngest sibling's voice. He would never hurt his brother willfully: he loved Rúmil, and Orophin. But they did not understand. And he almost prayed that they never would.

Rúmil continued quietly. "You used to confide in me—trust me with secrets that I would keep closer than even you yourself."

"Well, clearly. Orophin has the bigger mouth."

Rúmil was not amused. "Ever since you returned from Mirkwood, you've kept yourself close. Your mind and heart from us. Rameil and Ancadal said there was trouble but little more."

Haldir suddenly longed for sleep. His chest hurt, his heart ached and he could not meet his brother's eyes without feeling his own sting. His spirit couldn't take the strain anymore. "Let it remain so." He so badly wanted to pretend that this was no more than an ill dream. That he could wake up and none of it would have happened.

Rúmil stared piercingly at his brother, searching his face until Haldir looked uncomfortably away. Trapped between the tree bole and his brother's stare he had no escape.

"Peace, Rúmil! It is past! We need not speak of it."

"You need to," he refuted, his voice a scarce whisper, hardly to be heard under the rustling leaves. "You need to speak of it or I would not see such pain in your eyes as I do now."

Haldir grimaced and looked at his hands, trying to deny the twisting of his stomach and the ache in his heart. "At first I was not permitted to speak of it and we had little enough time to do so anyway. When Men came even that was shortened. I suppose it was not right until this moment that I could tell you. Some anyway."

"You need not shelter me," Rúmil said, a trifle defensively though still wondering if he really wanted to hear this.

"Nay! I do not shelter you! I… cannot yet easily speak of what… happened. Even with Rameil and Ancadal," he said, looking away.

Rúmil reached encouragingly for the hand resting on a bent knee. Haldir clasped it instantly. "I am very selfish, Rúmil. I am," he said, interrupting his brother's protest. "Fedorian at least can fight for his wife and child… in order to protect Lothlórien. I. I do it for myself. So that I will not be hounded by fear and shame within the bounds of my own home!"

Rúmil wasn't quite sure what he was talking about but he listened intently.

"So I can regain some measure of myself…" He inhaled shallowly. "I was hurt… badly… in Mirkwood," he began haltingly, fighting back the press of memories that threatened him. It was worse here where the trees suddenly loomed like an unbroken roof of stone, the whisper of the leaves a rattle of phantom chains, the soft trunk at his back damp and smelling of blood. He shook his head firmly. "It was beyond my control then… it is not so now. I can correct the wrongs Men have made against me… I no longer have to feel helpless." Celeborn had been right. He had warped the helplessness and anger into something more powerful, something that helped him rise above the shame and fear.

Revenge.

He inhaled deeply. "I fear it's not working, Rúmil, I am lost. I do not know myself anymore. I slew a man on his knees. He begged me to—" he stopped suddenly, unsettled by how much he had just admitted. This had been building up for some time like a mountain stream bursts its banks with the melting of the snow.

"And Rameil?" Rúmil ventured when his brother spoke no more. His hands were chilled with horror but he kept a firm grip on the even colder one in his as though to release his brother would be to lose him.

"He… tried to help me. I refused to listen."

"He will forgive you," Rúmil assured him, remembering only concern in the dark-haired elf's eyes that morning when he had asked if Rúmil had seen Haldir.

Haldir said nothing. Rameil might forgive him: it was a remoter chance that he could forgive himself for what he'd done. He felt no less angry for what had been done to him but this shameful killing of defenseless men had long sat uneasy in him. And now, he had begun to hurt those he loved.

"Do you think me wicked, Rúmil?" His elder brother's eyes begged him for reassurance that all hope was not lost in him: that he himself was not lost to this darkness that had begun to consume his soul.

Rúmil's reply was instant and firm. "No." He added, more softly. "But I do think your actions were unjust. But they are not who you truly are."

Haldir frowned. "Then who am I truly if I may not be judged by my actions?"

"Through your willingness to correct them. To allow some good to come of this."

Haldir let the words sink in a moment then shook his head in despair. "I do not see how good could come of this."

"It may. Only you can decide if it can."

Haldir thought about that and squeezed his brother's hand. "Thank you, Rúmil."

Rúmil squeezed back with a sad smile, anguish and guilt wrenching his heart for what he had never known. "You can always talk to me. I will listen. We will help you."

Haldir smiled and surreptitiously swiped at his eyes. "I know that. But I would not always burden you so… You are still my youngest brother—and I would have you stay that way as long as you can." Rúmil looked older than his years and it saddened his eldest brother.

Rúmil said nothing but leaned forward wordlessly and pressed his head to his brother's shoulder as he had when yet a young boy. With his father's death, Haldir had, in some ways at least, taken his place. Haldir drew in a deep breath and slid an arm around his brother's shoulders, resting his chin on top of his brother's golden hair. For a long time, they stayed like that. The dead night hour passed, the cold one before dawn.

Rúmil smiled softly into his brother's tunic. "It has been a long time since we have slept out under the stars."

Haldir laughed. His head had come up above the water now; he had strength to fight the wave now. As though a heavy burden had been lifted, he could breathe again. He felt lighter of heart somehow. Freer. The horrid knot in his stomach loosened a little and his heart did not ache so fiercely. His soul still felt torn but he no longer felt as though he were so terribly alone. His brother was with him. And for now, that was enough.


Looking out over the golden sea, the myriad fluttering leaves in the slanting light, Haldir reckoned back, remembering: returning home after long and fell deeds in the forest of Mirkwood, the battle with the orcs, his captivity among the Gondorians, the rescue by his brothers and the fatal fire that had nearly destroyed them.

The day had passed without event. Color gradually faded from the golden roof, the world slowly changing to grey and brown, formless as the fast sinking sun perched on the shoulder of the mountains, gleaming silvery red, lighting briefly on golden hair. A score of the Galadhrim stood gathered in a light and airy glade, jesting good-naturedly with one another as they readied their weapons. Several of Alfirin's scouts had been sent out along the breadth of the river Nimrodel at sunset to search for the enemy.

They returned as the first stars sparked into life. Entering the camp, Linwen came to Haldir's side. "Sir, the Gondorians are following the Nimrodel west towards the meeting the Celebrant. They have wounded and move slowly: it shouldn't be too hard to catch them up."

Haldir touched her shoulder. "Good."

He turned to the Captain of the Eastern Guard who clasped a new-gleaming spear shaft. "Are your troops ready, Alfirin?"

"Ready and willing, buck! We're with you."

Linwen glanced at him.

Haldir looked proudly over the score of elves gathered there, the starlight falling across their neat, ordered lines. Each held a bow and quiver of white-feathered arrows, their shadowy forms nearly invisible against the silver-grey trunks. Giving them one last once-over, adjusting a clasp or buckle there, he nodded his satisfaction and walked towards the edge of a ridge that fell steeply down into a low defile, passing Arenath who stood on the clearing's outskirts.

"They are ready."

Fedorian's eyes remained fixed on the dark ribbon of the Nimrodel gleaming a mile away under the stars. "Are you?"

Haldir nodded.

"Are you sleeping all right?"

The other elf frowned, unsure of how to answer that strange question at a time like this. "I slept well enough last night."

Fedorian met his eyes and Haldir suddenly remembered the man-shaped silhouette he had thought he had seen standing in the lantern-lit doorway when he had stayed the night in his commander's talan. He had thought it a mere phantom of his dreams.

Further conversation was interrupted as the pounding of hooves reached their ears and they both turned. Two elves were crossing the clearing towards them. They looked to be riders who had come hard and fast, the white cloaks flowing from their shoulders discolored with dust.

"Captain Fedorian?" the taller one inquired.

"I am he." The elven commander did not turn, tightening his black-handled knives across his shoulders.

"You are to come with us to the City, sir."

"I sent my representative to the City yestereve—he has only just arrived back."

The two elves exchanged glances. "The missive was sent for you, sir. The Lord

Celeborn has requested your presence in the City."

"Requested or ordered?"

"As you will."

"I have duties here that cannot wait."

"Suspend them to a lesser officer—this summons will not wait."

"How long am I to be there?"

"We cannot say, sir."

For the first time Fedorian looked up, his eyes moving from one to the other, his brow creasing. "Am I being relieved of my command?"

"You are only to come with us, sir. That is all we are permitted to say here."

The captain stood stunned a moment. Then his face hardened and he snapped around to Haldir who kept his eyes fastened to the floor, wondering if he had said or done something ill. What came next was completely unexpected.

"Lead them."

"What?" Haldir stared blankly at him.

"Lead them, Haldir," Fedorian repeated urgently. "Take the contingent against the Gondorians, cut them off before they reach the Naith."

Haldir glanced at Arenath, feeling suddenly immensely uncomfortable. "I—I have not the authority for such a—"

"You are my second-in-command as of now," Fedorian said without a glance at Arenath who had come up behind them. "You are to neither question these orders nor promotion. This is my charge to you. This is your duty. See that it is done." Without another word, he strode off between the two officers, his head held high and proud, disdaining the arm one guard held to him as he mounted.

Haldir watched him go then looked at Arenath who had remained wordless, eyes downcast, head bowed. "I do not know why he did that."

Arenath lifted his head and hurt glimmered in their shaded depths as though he thought his friend had betrayed him. "Never mind. Do your duty… sir." He smiled painfully.

Haldir inwardly flinched but his countenance smoothed as he turned to the score of elven warriors assembled before him, running a practiced eye over them who were looking at him and one another uneasily.

"Keep your lines straight," he ordered to distract them from the unexpected departure of their superior officer. "Double-check your bowstrings and blades."

A sharp protestation made him turn swiftly towards the source of the disturbance.

"Outrageous! Completely out of the question!"

Haldir had never seen Alfirin get angry with any under his command especially Linwen. He came between them quickly. "What's this all about?"

"This young filly has the gall to tell me I can't join the jolly old fracas!" The more agitated he became the less understandable.

"It's his leg, sir," Linwen pleaded her case. "It's gotten worse and Eremae said if he didn't stay off it, she'd remove it."

"Of all the brass-necked cheek!"

"Calm down, sir," Haldir laid a consolingly hand on the older elf's arm, noticing the pain lines creasing his brow.

Alfirin sniffed in high dudgeon but said nothing.

"I need to leave a capable officer to stay here and keep at camp, prepare for our return, care for the wounded, see to general order."

Alfirin brightened immediately. "Say no more, chap! You're 'capable officer' stands ready and awaiting before you." He made an elegant bow without moving his legs.

"I knew I could depend on you." Haldir smiled as Linwen cast him a grateful glance. Half-turning over his shoulder but without really looking, he spoke: "Rameil, you will stay here with Alfirin."

The dark-haired elf looked up, his face darkening with discontent. "With all due respect, sir, I did not ready my blade for it to remain idle here."

"We need soldiers to remain behind and ready the camp in case of wounded."

"I must protest—"

Haldir interrupted firmly. "You may not." His silver eyes held a challenge though his heart squeezed with guilt. "Or would you disobey a direct order?"

Rameil stood beside him instantly, his voice low, scarcely breaking a hard whisper. "I did once—and brought you home because of it. Ask me to stay behind and I will follow. To bring you home again."

Haldir held still as though stricken. He said nothing. Their eyes remained locked, striving one with the other. Haldir broke first, barking at the soldiers standing stiffly to attention.

"Are my warriors ready?"

"Yes, sir." They did not question their new second though their eyes remained doubtful and troubled.

"Good. Let's move out."

Grey shadows, they spread out and faded into the dusk without a sound.