Chapter Eighteen: Bonds Broken

A warm and muggy evening rose up out of the earth. Mist swathing the damp silver trees with curling tatters of grey silk curled up from the river bank and filled the hollows with scentless smoke. Branches scraped and creaked though no wind could be felt under the heavy humid oppression. Tall sweeps of reeds gleamed grey with dew. Ramir loosened the cloak about his shoulder pushing back his dark limp and sweat-soaked hair.

A breathlessness had melted into the air, leaving the trees dripping with it. Ramir with his men grouped a tight formation in the water behind him followed the track of the creek. They waded through its clear running water and tried to avoid the slick rocks shifting treacherously underfoot. Ahead of them could only be glimpsed the sharp silver trunks upholding vast roofs of green and gold, dwindling into pale distance, the glint of their creek running on into a steep dell. To left and right like frowning sentinels silver trunks flanked either side of the narrow stream as the mist closed in behind them.

It helped shield them from sight but Ramir could not help uneasiness skittering up his spine as the cold water groped about his knees. What did that white veil hide? Silence hung like the mist over everything, their wading footsteps, the creaking and jingling of sword and harness unbearably loud and echoing.

Leaving the water as twilight grew too thick, their pacing slowing as they picked their careful way through the dark into the dell as the fading stream scrambled down the roots on their left. The collar of his tunic clutched about Ramir's neck like an undrawn noose. His forehead beading, he wiped dry, cracked hands across his lips. The way was growing steadily perilous as evening drew on but fearing to halt they crossed the bottom of the dell and began to ascend the other side on a steep overgrown path.

His long strides carrying him upwards swiftly, Ramir had nearly reached the summit of the hill. Quite suddenly, he checked his pace.

Above on the shadowy ridge, a figure loomed taller than the heads of his tallest men. It looked like a vast ancient stone jutting up out of the earth, immovable and solid as the bones of the mountains. Reining in his courage if not his fear, Ramir stepped boldly forward, right hand lingering on his sword hilt, the metal pommel icy and wet under his fingers. As he drew nearer, the figure seemed to shrink, taking shape out of the shadows. Mist curled about the supple leather boots. Pale hands like ivory lightly clasped the leathern sword hilt resting at an easy angle. Of the face, there was no sign.

On either side of him, a grey flash out of the corner of his eye hinted at movement—gone before he could turn fully. The trees were full of watching eyes, the branches bowing under an unseen weight. The Gondorians drew closer together, facing outward, drawing their blades.

A neat line of arrows whizzed out of the darkness and thudded into the earth between Ramir and his men. The chieftain spun, startled.

"Daro."

The hooded figure at the top of the ridge had spoken a single sharp command. The grey cowl lowered slowly, scattering silver dew drops. "I told you I would find you."

Ramir scowled at the glittering eyes, the only part of his adversary he could clearly see. "I weary of your face."

Haldir smiled. "And you will be much wearier ere this ends." A clear note rang as he withdrew his curved blade, a light flashing from it like lightning. "There is a score to settle between us. A matter of honor."

"You have no honor," the man snarled, his longsword clutched tightly as his eyes darted about, uselessly searching for the Galadhrim he knew lay concealed in the dusk. "Your warriors will kill us before we can draw our weapons." He sneered. "A cowards' work indeed!"

"Haughty words will kill you quicker, human, and you have already drawn your weapons." Hard disdain edged Haldir's words. The last time he had spoken to this man was with Rúmil's throat half-crushed under his boot. "You have done more harm than I believe even you realize. My people are not cowards and will fight fairly." His eyes raked the trees. "All of you, listen to me," His eyes rested briefly on his brothers, and his friends. "this is an affair between he and I. None are to interfere." His eyes caught and held those of the man before him.

The Gondorians were still looking at the trees uneasily, their swords unsheathed. They knew the end had come: they could run no longer. Their lives rode on the outcome of this battle. The elven warriors watched them, their own faces strained with the knowledge that everything would change after this moment.

Tension tautened as a short silence fell, each side watching the other, weapons raised but unmoving.

Haldir let his long cloak fall.

Ramir lunged.

The two blades, elven saber and Gondorian longsword—long ago joined in friendship—now screeched as they met, jarring the opponents' arms. Ramir swung with short, powerful blows, trying to wear his adversary down. He knew the legendary speed and strength of the Elves: he would have to fight with all of his wits to overcome this one. Desperation burned away the tiredness of long leagues.

At first, Haldir could only defend, turning aside the heavy blows or dodging them as the man hacked at him like a young sapling he had a mind to fell for firewood. Gondorian soldiers fell back from them as the two fighters battled through their ranks.

A sixth sense tingled in the back of Haldir's mind and he swung his blade in a long offensive sweep, giving him enough space to dance back from the steep drop of the ridge the man had been intentionally driving him towards.

The man bared his teeth in an angry snarl, his wrist flicked up, the tip of his sword flashing. Haldir turned aside at the last second, enough to miss slicing his throat but too slowly to miss the blade entirely. The winter-keen tip skimmed across his cheekbone, opening a fiery red line from ear to nose. It had narrowly missed his eye.

Haldir flinched and brushed the shallow, stinging cut, his fingertips coming away smeared with blood. Is that what you did to Fedorian?

Linwen pushed through her comrades but Rameil's hand on her arm restrained her. "This is his battle," the dark-haired warrior whispered, his eyes fixed on his friend.

Haldir spun underneath a high overhead strike and caught the man a glancing blow in the ribs, sending Ramir scrambling aside with a thin razor cut across his stomach, just shallow enough not to spill his entrails. Ramir grimaced in pain, feeling the hot wetness gathering on the front of his tunic. His men grouped closer together, dismayed.

Haldir pressed the advantage, feeling the familiar anger rise behind his eyes, a surging heat pulsing in his chest that swept away all thought of pain or consequence. Haldir's grip tightened around the slippery hilt, his teeth clenched so tightly, his jaw ached.

Awareness of his companions dropped away. Haldir focused only on his enemy before him. There was nothing else but him, and this moment. Their blades met again, blades sparked and nicked against one another, hilt locked against hilt, each trying to unbalance the other with a sharp twist or feint. They were still poised only feet from the incline into the dell.

Lashing out, Ramir tangled his free hand in the elf's long hair and wrenched his head sharply to one side, exposing his neck. A flash of pain ripped through the elf's skull as Haldir tore himself away, leaving golden strands dangling in the man's fingers. To stop him using his long blade, Haldir lunged in close and slammed his shoulder into the man's chest. Ramir staggered backwards and his boot hit empty air. Feeling himself start to fall, his arms flailed blindly to grasp hold of anything to keep himself upright. His hand found Haldir's belt.

Unable to compensate for the human's weight, Haldir jerked forward. They tumbled downhill, scabbards clanking and rebounding off the hard ground. The elf's head impacted hard with the ground and he lost his grip on his saber. Ramir had lost his weapon as well. He wriggled over the elven warrior, crushing his back hard into the stones and roots until sheer momentum carried him over again. The elf had one hand fastened in the man's collar, the other like a vise around his throat. Ramir, his breaths panting in ragged gulps, forced his forearm against the elf's windpipe, his other hand striking out viciously at his head.

The breath left their lungs as they rolled over a short drop carved at the bottom and landed hard, gasping, knocked apart by the impact. Haldir, his face and throat aching, struggled to his knees. His vision hazed and the ground lurched, still feeling the roll downslope. He didn't even see Ramir's foot swing until it caught him in the stomach. He fell onto his forearms curled up in pain. A second, brutal kick to his ribs flipped him onto his back where he lay gasping, blinking away the purple-blue spots from his vision.

Rubbing his own bruised throat, Ramir backed off a few paces, panting, thinking his enemy downed at last. He chuckled breathlessly. "Now, we finish this, elf." He groped down his calf and pulled a small knife twisted nearly out of his boot.

Haldir saw the glint of steel and rolled over, a hand about his aching side, his other empty. He cast about wildly for his weapon and saw it, caught only a few feet overheard in a tussock. Above against the sky and trees, he saw the shadowy forms of his fellow soldiers and the Gondorians stumbling and scrambling downhill after the fighters.

Ramir dove at him. Haldir dodged aside and pulled himself up the small incline. His stinging, bloody cheek scraped against the rough ferns as he scrambled upslope, trying to reach his blade resting at an angle in the grass. He was only inches away. Haldir's back arched in pain as the small knife bit high on his back, gouging through cloth and flesh, stopped only by his left shoulder blade. But his saber leapt to his hand.

Swinging around and tearing the knife from his back in the process, Haldir, higher than his enemy, spun around and swung out in a long arc. His blade cleaved deep into the man's forearm as Ramir raised it to protect his vulnerable neck. He yelped and staggered back, weaponless, clutching his injured limb. Had the strike been aimed for anything other than a play for space, he would have lost the arm.

The elf seemed to grow with every step, an unstoppable creature of sinew and steel, eyes swirled crimson, crimson as the blood flowing from the gash in his arm. Terror overtook the Gondorian commander and he fell backwards, his retreat halted only by the sharp vengeful bark of a tree whose branches seemed to suddenly clutch at him like arms even as the trunk propped him up. He sagged against it, terrified and trembling. His eyes glazed over in the acceptance of death as the saber tip hovered against his bobbing throat.

Bruised and a hot slow pressure pain against his ribs, tasting blood on his lips, Haldir dug the tip of his blade even deeper into the man's neck, forcing his head back against the silver trunk until he nearly lay against it in an effort not to slice his own throat open. A thin rivulet of crimson trailed from under the blade into the man's collar.

"No! Captain!" The Gondorians had reached them a hairsbreadth before the elves. One of them pushed his way through the undergrowth, checked only by the threat of elven arrows pointed menacingly at his chest. His youthful face shone with distress as he tried to get to his leader. "Are you all cowards?" he roared at his friends behind him who remained motionless, their faces glazed with acceptance. "He needs help!"

Rúmil, watching, felt something stir in him as he looked on the warrior who could not have been more than seventeen.

The young soldier glared challengingly into the faces of the grim elves who held him back their bows tautening ever-so-slightly as they waited for him to move.

"Malin, don't be a fool!" Ramir snarled. "Get back!"

"Keep him back. No one is to interfere!" Haldir ordered. "This is nor your fight, youngling."

"My lord captain has been disarmed," the boy said, resisting the elves' hands that were trying to restrain him. "Unless you would kill a man on his knees, honorable combat decrees that he must die with a blade in his hand!"

Haldir stared at the young man and suddenly beckoned to him. "Let him come."

His archers looked over their shoulders at him in surprise, then, slowly and with great reluctance, moved aside. Watching the elf commander with distrust, Malin made his way to his captain's side, youthful hands clasping the hilt of his commander's weapon. But Haldir did not allow the boy to give it to him.

"It would grieve you then, little one, if I were to cut off his head," he said. His saber had not moved a fraction from Ramir's throat.

The boy looked at him with dark eyes, his long hands tightening around his captain's blade. "It would indeed."

"You know what he has done."

"What he has done, we have all done. Why should he alone pay the price for what all of us have shared a part in?"

Haldir looked long on the young man with no word, his own and Ramir's soldiers waiting tense and breathless behind him. A few of the Gondorians were calling for the boy to return, to let the fight finish.

"Would you die for him?"

Malin straightened his shoulders. "I have sworn to lay down my life for king, captain and country if I must," he grasped the blade hilt now with pride. "Yes, I would do that. If I had to."

Haldir tilted his head. "You are stout in courage, little one. None can begrudge you that. But you are foolish."

"Maybe. But I have sworn… If you would turn aside the blow for him and bestow it on me…" the young man stared steadily into the elf's eyes. "So be it." He was shaking and pale but obviously determined.

"Malin!" Ramir, still on his knees, hissed.

"Would you kill me to save him?"

The young man took a moment, sizing up the elf warrior, the blade quivered in his grasp. "If I thought I could succeed."

Haldir laughed suddenly. Reaching forward, he pried the captain's blade from the boy's grasp and jammed it deep into the earth. "It is the duty of a leader to pay for his men's mistakes."

"But each one of us must take responsibility for our own actions."

Haldir fell silent.

The soldiers waited.

Clang!

All present flinched at the sound. Haldir had set the tip of Ramir's blade hard into the earth, propped against the tree trunk and thrown his weight behind his own sword. The more fragile Gondorian weapon had snapped clean in two, shorn off a finger's breadth from the hilt.

The crimson tint faded from the elf's eyes and he looked suddenly grey and tried. He glanced at his men mixed among the Gondorian soldiers. "There is enough evil and bloodshed done by the cowardly of this world. To kill one of courage is a terrible shame. And to kill one of true heart for showing love for his captain a grave evil." He tossed the broken hilt into Ramir's lap without looking at him.

"King. Captain. Country." He smiled in admiration at the boy. "So, too, do we swear." He exhaled slowly, lowering his blade. He looked at it briefly as his archers stepped out of the shadows. He lifted his eyes and gestured with his bloody blade to the white-faced men. "Take them."

As Ramir was hoisted up and bound, Rameil, half in awe, half-concerned, came to his side and placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. "You're trembling."

Haldir lowered his head as he busily cleaned the edge of his weapon with the hem of his tunic.

Two elven warriors pulled Ramir to his feet, his face ashen, and bound his hands before him. The broken hilt of his sword fell to the grass. His followers surrendered quickly after and flanked on all sides by elven warriors the entire party set off following the humans' swath out of the dell and back along the creek.

As they fell into line, Haldir leapt on ahead to the vanguard and tried not to think about what he had on his hands now, tried not to remember the good intentions that had veiled his curtain of rage. Why was he doing this? The young's man plea had not changed his attitude towards the humans. Was it that he truly did not want to kill the Men of Gondor? Or was some part of him looking for absolution? The sooner they left, the better would it be. But he had no authority as far as prisoners of war were concerned. He had them but he had to keep them. He couldn't drop them anywhere without the approval of a superior officer. His back hurt.

It seemed Arenath was thinking along the same lines because he caught up with Haldir several yards ahead of the column. "What are you going to do with them now?"

"Take them away from here," replied Haldir.

"Should we not wait for the captain to decide what to do with prisoners of war?"

"We do not know when he will return nor, indeed, if he will," Haldir said, carefully toneless. "We will do what we can and at least settle them until they are collected or we are asked to escort them elsewhere."

"Or until they are executed."

Haldir increased his pace, unwilling to voice the insecurities in his own mind.

Arenath did not take his silence as assent. "Haldir? They are to be charged with war crimes are they not?—unlawful imprisonment of persons not engaged in the conflict, interrogation without benefit of trial, destruction of neutral ground, casualties of noninvolved persons... Those charges are worth execution."

"If that is how the law is written."

They turned aside onto a narrow path that wound back towards their hidden camp scarcely to be seen amongst the thick foliage.

Alfirin was waiting for them with Eremae when they returned. They arranged the prisoners to sit in rank, five wide and three abreast, more than an armslength from one another. Several elves perched in the trees with drawn bows in case of an uprising.

"Keep your hands on your heads where I can see them, you louse-ridden lot," Alfirin commanded sternly, stalking up and down their lines.

"Do you think they have lice?" Linwen, ever beside him, asked cheerfully bending over one of them with keen interest.

The prisoners did as ordered in silence. With the exception of Ramir, they seemed grateful to still be alive though nervous for the creaking bowstrings.

Haldir meanwhile was buffeted with question after question as the others of his group converged on him.

"Why did we bring them here?"

"What are we going to do with them now?"

"Why do we not just kill them and have done?"

Haldir looked towards the one who had spoken: a fiery-eyed soldier who still clutched his bow fiercely. "They are bound. Take Thillas and Mithron, strip them of every weapon. And make sure the hithlain ropes are tight."

"But these men cannot stay here, Haldir!" Déorian, who had lost one of his friends in battle against the Gondorians, said. "This is endangering us and I'm sure completely against our law to bring strangers this far into our land—especially enemies!"

"You may question my actions when they prove useless or harmful, Déorian not before," Haldir snapped at the smaller elf. "Go to barracks. Find provender for our soldiers—and our prisoners. All of the rest of you may take up watch if you have such concerns! I myself am hungry."

Haldir pushed through them towards the hollowed out tree that served as their mess hall, needing time to think, to be away from the discomfort of all eyes on him. He passed the Gondorian line, keeping his face averted.

He chewed the lembas without tasting, praying no one would speak to him as his men trickled slowly in, their hunger getting the better of their anger and distrust. He excused himself shortly and walked towards the river. He took his time and washed the crusted blood from his cheek. His injuries were stiffening.

"I am proud of you."

"Thank you," he replied automatically.

Rameil folded his long legs under him and waited his friend out. He knew how conflicted Haldir must feel though he wasn't sure if he had the right to interfere anymore.

"I thought I would feel better. Our enemies are under our guard, the threat to the forest is ended. Why do I still feel so torn?" he spoke his words mostly to himself and only Rameil happened to hear.

The dark-haired warrior spoke slowly, wondering if Haldir really wanted his advice and vividly remembering the last time he had offered his counsel. "You didn't kill the man you thought deserved death more than any. You're confused because you don't know why."

"Do you know why?"

"I wouldn't presume to know your heart better than you."

Shifting uncomfortably, Rameil changed the subject. "It is strange is it not that our captain is not here to see the fruition of his labors?"

Haldir suspected there was more behind his friend's query than he was letting on. "Perhaps there was something more important for him to deal with."

Rameil shot a keen glance at him from under his eyelids. "That may be." His eyes flickered over his friend's tunic, filthy and torn from the fight. Haldir flinched as Rameil peeled back his cloak, exposing the red stain seeping through the cloth. "That needs to be looked at—"

"There you are!" Alfirin limped towards them. "Messenger came for you, chap, while you were out."

Haldir stood to greet him. "From whom?"

"Apparently the Lady has gotten word of our victory," the elven guard shook his head in astonishment. "News travels swift as the Celebrant, they say! Anyway, she says to defer to your judgement on what to do with them."

Rameil stood as well. "What are you going to do now?"

Haldir shook his head. "I have to make a decision I suppose." He didn't know what to do. "It would be easiest to kill our guests."

Rameil shot a warning glance at him. "Haldir."

"But… apparently some of my men could have moral qualms in that regard. So… the only other venue I may propose would be to take them to the borders."

Rameil raised an eyebrow.

Haldir considered a little longer, thinking aloud. "Let them return to Gondor, but refuse them paths through the forest to the Anduin. That might be best."

"They may see it as charity."

Haldir looked at him. "It is."

Arenath, wanting to see what his commander had decided, had caught the last of their conversation. "Charity for whom?"

"We are going to escort our prisoners to the borders—get them out of our land as quickly as possible."

Arenath frowned. "What? Why?"

"The Lady has left their judgement in my hands," Haldir explained. "I think we should take them beyond our borders where they can cause no more harm."

"And release them?" Arenath's voice cracked with incredulity.

"What other way would you have?"

Arenath's earnestness was edged with bitterness. "You have a choice, Haldir: you can take them to the borders and let them depart free—which is ludicrous! After burning and slaying our people—how you can even consider that!"

"What other way would you have?" Haldir repeated, containing his rising annoyance which Arenath was clearly not even trying to mask.

"There is another way," Arenath said, his fair face grim and set.

Haldir understood and his stomach tightened. "You would rather I kill them here."

Arenath said nothing. Rameil looked uneasily at him.

Haldir walked away, turning his steps to the line of prisoners. "Men of Gondor, hearken to me," he addressed them in the language common to all peoples on this side of the river. "You are guilty of crimes against the elven people: among them the wrongful slaying of our soldiers in undeclared warfare. For that alone, you have warranted death." He took a deep breath, glancing at Arenath. "However, I believe enough blood has been shed already. Therefore, we will escort you to the borders. You will leave. You will not return. Should you try, you shall find steel barring your way."

"Why should we trust your words?" Ramir snarled. "Deceitful devils that you are! I would not be at all surprised if we were shot in the back before we had gone six paces from your trees!" Eremae had seen to his wounds but evidently he was not at all grateful.

"Look into my eyes, human, if I had wanted you dead, you would have been so by now," Haldir growled, his eyes flaring. "You are unworthy of any mercy I have shown you thus far and it is only for the sake of my own soul that you are being given this chance! If not grateful, at least be silent! And keep your sardonic tongue behind your teeth! I have had my fill of you!"

"What are you doing?" Arenath hissed at him as he turned his back on the man. "They are to be tried and executed! You know that! They cannot be allowed to go unpunished!"

"Carthalye sen? Kelo! Dago hain! Orthalye cú lin. Unoraen." Haldir challenged, not bothering to lower his voice as the rest of the command warily watched from their scattered places. "Will you do it? Go on! Kill them! Take up your bow! They won't run."

Arenath paused, fingering his bow uncertainly.

"Would it ease your conscience if they stood?"

Arenath gritted his teeth. "I cannot gainsay you. But I would implore you to reconsider."

"Who has the strength and the will to kill these unarmed men?"

"You did it often enough," Arenath whispered, so low none could hear but Haldir who stiffened and looked away.

"No longer. I will not do it." He had bought his revenge at a terrible price. He would not willingly pay it again.

Arenath remained silent, staring at his friend's back, his expression hard and furious. He stopped before the rangers aligned before him, his eyes running over them, their crouching, haggard forms. A few lifted their eyes to his but most kept them fastened on the ground in defeat.

Abruptly he faced his back to them. "Haldir…"

The elf looked up at the sound of his name.

"Take them to the edge of the border. Make sure they do not return."

Haldir nodded. "We will leave tomorrow."


Dark blue clouds scurried overhead. They thickened after midnight and melted together into an unbroken roof. The stars veiled. In the hour before dawn, a chill drizzle fell, soaking everything thoroughly. Drenched, the prisoners shifted and cursed, sleeping uneasily in the uncomfortable damp as they tried to shelter under the leaves.

Irritated with their grumbling, Rúmil huddled under the wide dripping leaves of a low-hanging mallorn, his cloak pulled over his head. He watched the clear drops slide off the branch tips in a steady stream. Haldir had disappeared some time ago: not that Rúmil could blame him. He knew how uncomfortable being around these men made his brother. The men deserved to die. But Rúmil saw reason in his brother's decision. If they were now harmless, what was the point of killing them? It wouldn't bring back the dead from across the sundering seas or heal the deep, timeless wounds of the forest.

The wind swung round to the east and the rain fell even faster, thunder rumbling in the distance. The branches trembled, dislodging great splattering drops onto his shoulders and hands.

Over the pattering of the rain, soft voices reached his ears. Rúmil looked up rubbing a hand over his face to stave off sleep. For a while, he listened but could not make out the inaudible words though by tone, one seemed questioning and anxious, the other sharper, more authoritative. Giving up, he tuned the words out and lowered his head again.

Two mud-spattered boots appeared beneath the awning of his hood. Rúmil, feigning sleep, did not look up. He was tired of being questioned and hearing his brother bad-mouthed because of his decision to spare the repulsive humans.

"You are not sleeping."

Rúmil's head jerked up, squinting into the rain. "Captain!" he gaped, caught between surprise and delight. "How did you know I wasn't sleeping?"

"Son, you'd have to be Orophin to be able to sleep in this blasted damp," Fedorian quipped as he ducked under the rude shelter, his lank hair dripping against the back of his neck.

"Have you just returned from the city? We didn't expect you."

"So says my saddle-aching backside." Fedorian grimaced. He glanced towards the huddled group of miserable figures. "I had heard that you had taken prisoners."

Rúmil smiled, his concern for his brother relieved by the presence of his mentor. "You should have seen the fight."

"I would that I had," his mentor's voice was tinged with bitterness. It vanished with a shake of his head. "Tell me of it then!"

Rúmil did so with relishing detail, really getting into the tale as he recounted the blow-by-blow battle between his brother and the Gondorian leader, and their enemy's ultimate surrender.

"You would have been proud…Not one of them escaped…"

Fedorian listened, but his eyes kept lingering on the lumped shadows only slowly gaining form as individual men in the rising light. He seemed agitated and his hands twitched in an anxious rhythm on his knees.

Rúmil had no inkling of how involved his captain was with his brother's troubles and therefore trusted his commander still. He fell quiet after his tale ended, listening to the rain dripping off the leaf edges. "So, are you returning to command then?"

"…in a manner of speaking."

Rúmil looked at him but Fedorian kept his eyes on the glistening droplets plinking into growing puddles. "What does that mean?"

Fedorian did not answer as two grey-cloaked figures scooting out of the rain, huddled under their shelter of overhanging boughs. The two waterlogged elves stamped the mud and rainwater off their boots and flung back their hoods, revealing the damp faces and draggled hair of Rameil, and Rúmil's eldest brother.

Rameil shook water droplets off his cloak. "I always said Rúmil was the smart one, he knew better to come out of the ra—" he froze as he noticed his friend's companion. "Sir." He nodded a curt greeting: he had not forgotten the look on his commander's face bending over Haldir that night on their talan.

"Rameil."

Haldir shifted and Rúmil shot a glance up at him, wondering where the sudden tension had come from.

"We took the Gondorians prisoner, sir," Haldir put in.

Fedorian reverted his gaze back to him. "And the command hasn't fallen into shambles while I was gone."

Rameil gave him a dark look from under his eyelids.

Unfortunately, Fedorian caught it. "Why do you give that look, Rameil?" He unfolded his long legs slowly, staring at the dark-haired warrior who moved away from his gaze. "You don't think I should be here."

"I—" Rameil shut his mouth with a snap, thinking better of his words.

"Well?"

Rúmil frowned between the two and opened his mouth but Haldir shook his head minutely, warning him to silence. Rameil glanced helplessly at his friend, Fedorian's eyes still leveled steadily on him.

"What's going on?" Rúmil couldn't stand it anymore.

Fedorian grunted, a flash of what seemed to be annoyance passing across his face when Rameil remained silent. "Ah, worry not, Rúmil. I am not leaving again." He jerked his head in the direction of the ragged prisoners. "What are you going to do with them?"

"Take them southwest as soon as it is fully light," Haldir reported; his eyes were troubled. "We feared you wouldn't make it."

"New orders have come from the city and here I am," Fedorian smiled and clapped his second-in-command on the shoulder. "You have done well."

Haldir accepted his praise with a nod, his eyes roving restlessly over the huddled captives. "I have set a watch for the night in case of trouble."

"It won't come to that I hope," Rúmil's smile fell however as his brother walked away into the rain, shrugging his hood again up over his head, Rameil on his heels. He sighed and murmured to himself. "Now he avoids me."

Fedorian glanced down at the crown of the younger elf's head. "He looks tired."

Rúmil ripped up a handful of grass with his fingers and frowned. "Did you know he was injured in the chest—before the battle with the Gondorian Captain, I mean?"

"No."

"He and Rameil fought too—I've never heard them do that before."

Fedorian permitted himself an unseen sneer, his eyes following the trail the others had taken. "Rameil is nosier than he should be. That, at least, is understandable."

Rúmil wondered at that tone but said nothing more about it. "Well, I finally got Haldir to speak to me: he finally opened up a little."

For the first time Fedorian's eyes flickered with interest and he looked sharply at the younger elf. "Oh? What about?"

Rúmil shrugged. He had tried to talk to his brother about what they had discussed last past, to give the help he had promised. Upon reflection, that was probably the very reason why Haldir was avoiding him: he didn't want it brought up again. "He talked a little about what happened in Mirkwood… it shook him… I can't believe what he—" he bit his lower lip. He was going to say "what he went through." But Fedorian seemed to take a different meaning from his words and his jaw tightened a little, unnoticed by Rúmil who was still searching the rain curtain. "He's changed."

Fedorian shook his mood and shrugged one shoulder, tucking his arms into his sleeves and leaning back against the trunk. "The flowing of time and events changes even Elves, Rúmil," Fedorian said, returning his gaze to the humans lying a few yards from them. "It changes even us."

Rúmil twisted his hands in his lap. "He said he was selfish because he fought for himself. You at least fight for Geilrín and Silivren." Their names sounded strange on his lips and he realized with an inward start it was because he had not spoken them since the funeral.

Fedorian's twitching hands stilled at the names of his wife and daughter.

Rúmil leaned his head back against the smooth silver bole. "Seeing him in that camp was one of the most horrible things I have ever seen… and I will not soon forget it. Then the fire…" He flinched away from the mere memory. "I'm so… tired of this. I want everything to go back to the way it was…"

"It can't."

"I know!" Rúmil ran a hand over his eyes. "I know… Everything changes too fast out here. There's too much… death. I can't do this for the rest of my life. I don't know if I was meant to be a warrior." He wasn't capable of the cool dispassion with which his brothers and Fedorian handled their jobs. He felt too deeply and too keenly. Too badly.

"It is hard yet when you are yet so young," Fedorian said, his voice surprisingly soft. He drew a little closer to the younger elf. "It's part of being soldier, though. Just like duty and honor, death is part of what makes a soldier a soldier. Sometimes, yes, it's an ugly business. You get used to it. The blood of a warrior runs in your veins, Rúmil. You cannot deny that," Fedorian dismissed his concern.

Rúmil lowered his eyes to his lap as he wrapped the cloak edges closer about his damp body, thinking he didn't want to get used to watching his friends die before his eyes, seeing his brothers in constant danger. He feared losing more than his life or the pain of wounds. He feared losing a part of himself—as Haldir nearly had—becoming cold and hard as the stone-like faces of so many wardens he knew. Turning over restlessly, he lay down.


The long wet night gave way to a cool grey dawn of torn and flying clouds. Streaks of sky tinged pale rose by the rising morning floated above the trees. Stripes of milky cream and yellow filled the sky as the rain flowed out eastward to empty itself over the seas.

Haldir stretched his shoulders, stiff and uncomfortable from an endless night lying in the wet branches. He was sure he looked as tired as he felt and his injuries ached. With his former tormentors so near—even bound—the memory of his interrogation was still too close to the surface. He figured as long as he stayed away from them, and they him, he could last the journey to the boundaries.

As he passed the watchmen on his way to breakfast, he saw that some of his command were handing out strips of dried venison and canteens of rainwater to the captives. Though angry and none-too-kindly disposed towards the men of Gondor, they would not starve them. The prisoners too seemed to take this with surprise and debated quietly among themselves.

"At least we're being fed."

"Food's probably poisoned."

"Well, it's good and there are worse ways to die."

"Had our positions been switched, I think our captain would have killed them by now."

Tucking his sodden cloak under one arm, Haldir strode up to them, determined to make this short. "Listen up," he ordered. "We march hard and fast today. You will keep up."

They walked south and west all day beside the Nimrodel. The prisoners shuffled along in a ragged file. One cord looped through the ropes around their wrists. The binds on their ankles had been cut during the day so they could walk. By mid-afternoon, they had reached the place where the smaller river poured into the swift-flowing Celebrant under interlacing green branches. Even in the days of summer, the Celebrant was icy and the summer months had already begun to wane.

At the river crossing, the humans' bonds were cut then under guard of arrow, they edged down the steep sides taking hold of the grey length that stretched from bank to bank. Grunting and straining, the fifteen prisoners pulled themselves across hand-over-hand, shivering as the icy water crested against their sides. Hauling aching bodies up the further bank, they flopped down, soaked to the armpits, unable to resist as their guards secured their hands again.

Haldir had been scouting up ahead considering the next leg of their route. A slender path curved off from the joined streams and sped over a golden carpet; it swung a little further west through a wide glade flanked by thinning trees and left the forest beside a long ditch seventeen miles north of the Anduin as the horse runs. The end of their road still lay several days' journey on. Haldir sighed. Momentarily closing his eyes, he wondered if he could last that long.

An alarmed shout jerked him from his thoughts and sent him charging back towards the group. He pushed past hurrying elves herding frantic prisoners to the head of the road a few yards from where it left the river. He leapt down the steep bank, sharp stones rattled around his boots as he reached the shore. "What happened?"

The small tracker, Déorian, was bent over a rope twisted and slack like a lifeless silver snake. He shot a stunned look at his superior officer over his shoulder. "He fell."

"What?"

Rameil came running up. "I didn't even see it! The last one was nearly over. The rope… snapped…"

"And the prisoner?"

"He's gone."

Haldir looked downstream as though trying to discern a dark-haired head or flash of cloth. There was nothing but green shafts of sunlight and hurrying clear water.

"Not that you care," a voice muttered. Ramir, his dark hair curling and damp around his shoulders, shot a baleful glare at Haldir.

"No," the elf answered. "I do not. But I am sorry."

"You didn't even try to help him," one of the younger men spoke up with wide, haunted eyes. He shook his head. "Didn't even help."

Haldir tried to tell himself guilt was not what he felt in his gut as he looked away from those bright green eyes. These men were his responsibility now. They were prisoners, yes. They were enemies, yes. But, still they were his captives and his responsibility. Any more deaths would be on his heart. More deaths he could not afford to carry.

Fedorian returned slowly where he had been searching downstream. When Haldir looked to him, he only shook his head.

Alfirin, his face darkly sober, limped up. "Bad luck, lad. Still, we ought to push on while we can until dark."

"You're right." Haldir looked over his troops who were standing uneasily about the prisoners. "Form them up."

The muted company straggled on until dark, halting only twice to rest or hunt. By then the men were only half-dry and too bone-weary to complain. Two hours before dawn, they halted and turned aside from the path, walking straight west for twenty yards until they came upon a copse of close-growing trunks. Trees wrapped in white skins like birches but softer, loftier, their long supple limbs held up many-tiered roofs of long, narrow leaf filets. Leaf patterns shimmered over the ground like silk under water. The moon rode full in the sky.

Man and elf alike slumped where they sat, too tired to think of anything but food and rest. Haldir waited until the prisoners were settled then sat and took a late meal with the others.

Fedorian sat a little apart, wrapped in his cloak, only Arenath sitting near. He had spoken no word to any aside from Rúmil, Haldir and Rameil last night. And the rest of the command seemed content to leave it that way. He had been absent from the borders in mind even before his body left. He was still their captain and they were bound by oath to obey him, but they no longer welcomed him beside the fire or asked for demonstrations of his knife skill to entertain them. And he asked nothing of them in return.

"Something has been bothering me since this morning," Rameil said, raking together charring wood chips from their small cook fire. They sat a little removed from the rest who were talking quietly in hushed voices. "That rope could never have loosened or unraveled of its own accord."

"Hithlain can be mischievous depending on how it was woven," Haldir said, sliding his empty plate idly between his fingers.

"Thillas is one of the better rope-weavers I know," the dark-haired elf insisted. "He wouldn't let something like that happen."

They looked at each other, both thinking the same thing.

"Ah, blast! The coney!" Rameil leapt up and kicked at their fire, scattering it into sparks as the now-charbroiled strips of meat fell into the ashes.

Haldir laughed and coughed as smoke wafted around his face and stung his eyes. "Well, at least I like it well done."

"Wondrous, Haldir," Rameil groused, poking gingerly among the ashes for their catch. "Here."

Haldir revolved the stick-spitted meat in his hands. "How is your head?" he asked in a quiet voice, a current of shame and guilt undercutting his tone.

"Smells like charred coney at the moment," the dark-haired elf quipped, grimacing and waving the smoke away from his face. His smile slipped and he sighed as his friend looked at him. "I told you, it's fine. You can't even see the lump anymore."

"I am sorry."

"So you told me, and I have already told you that you are forgiven," Rameil said, taking an experimental bite of the blackened meat and chewing experimentally.

"I am stubborn," Haldir shrugged. "And, I don't believe you." He smiled to soften the jibe but kept his eyes on the growing spark of flame Rameil was rekindling.

Still chewing, Rameil swallowed hard and half-grinned. "This really is bad."

Haldir tried to smile but it slipped away from him as dark thoughts crowded to the forefront of his mind, clamoring and ringing. "I just…I hurt you," his voice dropped, no more than a whisper. "I do not see how you can disregard that so easily."

Rameil set down his meal and leaned his elbows on his knees, catching his friend's eyes. "I did not say I 'disregarded' it. But I do forgive it. You should take it and thank me. And then say no more."

"'Only an orc would murder a man on his knees'…That is what you said."

"We've been through this: I was scared and angry! And not unreasonable I don't think!" Annoyance passed across the dark-haired elf's fair face. He couldn't understand why Haldir was bringing this up again when they finally had a little peace. "What you did wasn't right but I won't shun you because you made a mistake! I—" Abruptly, he stopped and held up his hands. "I don't want to argue about this anymore, Haldir."

"Why not?" Haldir demanded. "Why? Had you done what I have, I do not think I could have so easily forgiven you."

"You are not me."

"All of you are so easily swayed! So easy to forgive and forget what I've done! Rúmil does not hold me accountable either."

"What would you have us do?" Normally the dark-haired elf was never easy to provoke but, as only friends can sometimes do, Haldir had roused his ire. "What would you have us do, Haldir? Condemn you for a few mistakes? Fine. You are a bloodthirsty, ruthless killer who does not deserve mercy for showing none."

"Anything would be better than your pity," Haldir snarled.

Their heated debate was quickly drawing attention and a few of the command had begun to half-rise wondering if they ought to break the pair up before they came to blows.

Again, Rameil backed off and took a deep breath, leaning away from the fire. He worried his lower lip thoughtfully as Haldir stared at the white trees which gleamed like ghosts in the gloaming.

Rameil raised his head, his dark hair framing his keen, knowing eyes. "This isn't about Rúmil or I is it?"

Haldir looked away, the fire too hot on his face.

His friend read the truth in his averted eyes. "You do not want to be forgiven. You think you should be punished."

"Had any other done what I have, he would have been confined and stripped from rank. Not promoted."

"Yes, well," Rameil glanced over his shoulder. Fedorian's eyes bored into his. "You are given some grace."

"But my opinions have not changed," Haldir's eyes shifted to the dusky figures huddled in shoddy ranks and environed by vigilant watchers. "I wanted them to die. I still do."

"Then why did you not follow Arenath's counsel?" Rameil probed. "Why not kill them? Some part of you, Haldir, feels guilty dealing merciless death—even to those who warrant it—"

"No, it doesn't."

"What?"

"I do not suffer guilt."

Rameil stared hard at his friend: he knew Haldir was lying even if he didn't realize it himself. "Yes, you do."

It wasn't what Haldir wanted to hear and he remained stone-faced, staring into the fire that cast rippling shadows over the new-worn lines in his face.

"If it is true, you do not suffer guilt—then why aren't you sleeping?"

"You're keeping me awake with your talking!"

"All right, then." Rameil pushed himself to his feet. "I shall say no more. My lips are sealed. In fact, I will give you complete peace." The dark-haired elf walked away before his friend could come up with a suitable reply.

Haldir felt the eyes of the command on him. Without meeting any, he smothered the remnants of his now-lonely fire.

He looked tired the next morning. But it was bright and fair and warm and the elves broke their fast early. They had made good time yesterday and were unwilling to linger when the boundaries and the end of their journey was so close. The prisoners, however, were agitated.

"Where's Adarnon?" one asked as Haldir strode up. The man who had been tied next to him last night was gone. Two elves brought him to his feet; they did not know the language of men so his concern did not register to them. "Adarnon—he's gone!"

Haldir called Arenath over. "He says one of them is missing."

Arenath ran his eyes over the humans, mentally totaling them up. He was right. There were only thirteen. "How is that possible? They were all tied up!" he said, his eyes looking his second-in-command up and down as though he thought the other elf might be concealing the missing man under his cloak. "What happened to the watch?"

"They were set," Haldir called the two nearest elves to his side. "Ancadal, Déorian, search around the campsite. He can't have gone far."

The two guards saluted with less than enthusiasm. It wasn't their job to hunt up missing humans though the danger of one man escaping and lingering to free his friends did leap to their minds. But there were few prints to find. Several heavy, stumbling bootsteps led from the prisoner's area some yards into the white trees then abruptly vanished.

"Maybe he sprouted wings and flew away," Déorian muttered, casting his eyes over the ground.

Fedorian folded his arms. He was staring curiously at the heads of the men. Most did not look at him, clearly remembering him. "I think you were the one who broke my fingers," he casually said, gazing down at the man who had first alerted them to the disappearance. The man addressed tore his gaze away and shrank back ever-so-slightly.

Arenath shook his head and shrugged. "I don't know how this could have happened."

Haldir chafed at the delay. He wanted to move on and he had a bad feeling they wouldn't find anything.

Déorian and Ancadal returned swiftly shaking their heads. "We could find nothing more, sir."

Those two were his best trackers, if they found nothing… Haldir sighed. Sometimes he hated being right. "Well, there's nothing we can do now. We have to keep going."

They returned to the elf path. Tributaries of the Celebrant from the mountain streams pulled away on their left, the land falling as they set as quick a pace as they could. Ahead, the far-seeing eyes of the elves could glimpse the gradual thinning of the trees but the pace they set was too much for the weary, bound humans and they had to slow to accommodate the human soldiers said nothing, solemn with the death and disappearance of two of their own.

They camped under a grove of golden-flowering bushes like small trees, their thick stems sprouting straight up from the ground. Haldir sat at a solitary fire. He had not spoken to Rameil all day; he knew the dark-haired elf was right and he resented it. Rúmil kept shooting him concerned glances across the clearing and Haldir knew he knew.

Driven by sheer emotional and mental weariness, Haldir turned in early and cast his cloak over him, a tussock for his pillow. He slept lightly, sleeping but not resting.

It was cool when he woke. His cloak had slipped from his shoulders and his back hurt, the knife injury stiff from laying on it. He thought the pain might have been what had woken him, for it was still dead night. The world rested in black shadows. Leaning up on one elbow, he could see the sleeping lumps of his friends and enemies scattered about. The guards he had posted could not be seen. They must have been further back towards the path or concealed in the branches above, invisible with their hoods drawn up.

Haldir pulled his cloak back up and rolled over, grimacing at the stiffness in his back. He had nearly fallen back asleep when he felt it.

Something moved past him in the dark, a soundless whisper of movement stirred the air near his face. Feigning sleep, Haldir kept very still, his hand going numb and tingly beneath his left side. The air around him seemed still and tense. Even the sleepy silence had changed: suddenly alert and watchful.

Someone gave a gasp, loud and sharp as an alarum in the stillness.

Haldir sat bolt upright, throwing aside his cloak. He did not feel the chill of the dew on his bare feet as he squeezed silently around his sleeping companions who had surprisingly not woken at the noise. The sound did not come again and Haldir began to wonder if indeed his overworked mind had imagined it, a wisp of his nightmares. He paused beside Déorian's bedroll, pricking his ears up again to try to catch anything again.

Crossing over to the prisoners' area, he looked them over. They did not rouse at his approach and seemed asleep. He still did not see the sentries and made a mental note to move them closer to the prisoners on the morrow.

Before reaching his bedroll, Haldir passed his eyes once more over every human face. All twelve remained still, oblivious to his presence and the external world. Half-awake, he gave it no further thought and lay down in his sleeping place again. The significance of the number did not occur to him until early day broke into the sky.

Near the roots of a golden bush, scarcely to be seen in the pale light, a single drop of dried blood clung to the tips of a grass blade.

Haldir rose from his knees slowly and turned to face his soldiers who were watching him with wan faces. Several of them were still guarding the humans who looked even more paranoid, pale with the knowledge that they were going to die: doomed to vanish one by one into a darkness from which there was no returning. That the so-called "mercy" of the elves did not exist. They had no hope that any of theirs had really escaped and horrible visions chased around and around their minds as they tried to rationalize this.

"You all know your responsibility," Haldir said, meeting the eyes of every one of his soldiers as he paced their line. "You all know that prisoners are protected under our law. I will not belittle you by reminding you that when you break that law, you betray what you stand for. And you betray me." He didn't want to say this. He knew what had happened. But he also knew if he said nothing, they would grow too curious and ask too many questions that he didn't have the strength to answer.

Several pairs of eyes looked away from his though he knew they were not the guilty ones. He inhaled shallowly. "Who was on watch last night?"

No one answered.

Haldir's face hardened, his chest aching. "If you do not speak up, every one of you will be punished for negligence. Speak! Who was on watch last night?"

"I was, sir."

"Thillas."

The elf with a v-shaped nick in his ear from a sword blow looked abashed but his shoulders straightened as he stepped out of line. "I stood watch with Déorian from the time our camp bedded down to mid-night."

Haldir suddenly remembered vividly the soft brush of air, the garbled gasp in the night. He crooked two fingers at the subordinates, beckoning them. "All right. Déorian, Thillas, step forward. The rest of you—go about your duties."

They dispersed as the two soldiers stood awkwardly before their second.

"Speak, Thillas. You stood watch until mid-night."

"I—I fell asleep, sir," the elf cast his head down ashamedly, his eyes heartbreakingly guilty. "I am sorry, I have failed in your trust."

Haldir didn't have the heart to rebuke him. "No. It is my fault."

Thillas looked up at him, startled.

"I will see to it that the watches are rotated more frequently. I know you all have been run rather ragged recently. Go on. I'll not report this but don't let it happen again."

"I won't. Thank you, sir!" Thillas bobbed a quick bow and shot off.

Déorian turned to follow him but Haldir stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Déorian, a moment. Tell me what you did."

The tracker looked a little confused but reported. "It was very quiet, sir. I checked the prisoners before mid-night and they were all there; they were all fine. I went back to my post and stayed there 'til dawn. I didn't know Thillas had fallen asleep—he was on the other side of the ridge."

"Did you hear anything strange?" Haldir asked.

"Aside from a few crickets and an inquisitive fox? No, sir," said Déorian, looking puzzled at the odd question. "I circled the perimeter and kept not a few yards from the prisoners. I heard and saw nothing."

Déorian watched his officer stare into the distance, his thought obviously elsewhere. But he knew better than to pry; it wasn't his place.

Finally seeming to notice him still standing there, Haldir shook off his thoughts and shooed the tracker away. "Thank you, Déorian. You're dismissed."

Meanwhile a small commotion had broken out around the prisoners. They were refusing to go further. "I will not," Ramir buckled his knees, refusing to take his own weight even when his guard tried to drag him up. "If you are going to kill us, do so now! But this slow death march is nothing more than a delay."

Another followed his lead. "You are marching us all to our deaths. You're not going to free us!"

The Gondorian leader's eyes shone with rage and humiliation as they glared up at the elves. "You killed us in the dark before," his voice grated on Haldir's ears. The man laughed, an ugly sound. "What's to stop you from doing it now? Now, that we are all trussed like pheasants for the plucking."

Thankful that his soldiers could not understand common, Haldir tried to restrain his anger and turned his back on the human. They didn't know he was trying to save their lives by getting them to move. They were in more danger here than if they chose to move on. The borders were less than a few hours' hard march away. And then he would be free.

Ramir snarled, his face twisted with hate. "You don't even have the courage to kill us with our hands unbound!"

"Oh? And you did?" Fedorian's cool voice as slick and sharp as a knife blade slid into Ramir's ears. The man visibly stiffened as the elf crouched beside him, his half-blind eyes boring into the Gondorian leader, his voice lowered to a hoarse whisper that only he could hear.

"I understand, you are very brave, ohtar. You are very brave. You beat women who kneel before you. You strike a man with whips while bound to a tree. You wait until you are backed by a score of men before taking down a single elven warrior. Very courageous of you," the elf mocked, his eyes flaming with a still more fervent fire. "And yet you cannot take it when someone decides to visit just punishment on you for what you have done."

Ramir remained voiceless, glaring at the other with hatred beyond words.

Fedorian absorbed it painlessly. "You will march. And then, yes, you will die. Such is the fate of the mortal children. But it is better to live a few hours longer is it not? Than to die shamefully, sobbing at the end of a rope? At least while the noose tightens there is still a chance of wriggling free." Fedorian smiled and rose, clapping Haldir on the shoulder as he passed. "They're all yours, adjutant."

Haldir glanced at his friend whose smile only widened. "Form up."

The prisoners staggered reluctantly to their feet and shuffled into a semblance of a line.

"Sir," Déorian stepped up to his superior, fidgeting uncomfortably. He stopped as Ancadal interrupted him with a rather harried look.

"Haldir, we found the—"

Haldir held up a hand to forestall him, frowning at the tracker who looked rather troubled. "Déorian? Speak."

"I—I fear I have done some harm, sir." The small tracker said. His eyes fastened to the ground.

Nodding for Rameil to take the captives on ahead, Haldir led his tracker a little aside. "Why would you think that?"

"Sir," the tracker winced. "I was wrong, sir, when—when I said that I heard nothing last night." He licked dry lips as his officer's frown deepened.

"Explain."

Déorian straightened his shoulders and reported in official, military manner. "Sir. I was sitting up by the path an hour before dawn. And I heard footsteps. Something heavy. Stumbling as though they were tired—or tied. They stopped after a little while."

"You are sure it was not one of ours?"

"Yes, sir," Déorian adamantly shook his head. "No elf is that… loud. I crept down into the underbrush to check it out thinking it might bet the first prisoner who escaped. There were two people as I could make out. It was very dark but I saw the man—he was still tied by the wrists though his legs were free. I was going to make myself known and stop him when—something else got him. I didn't see what. But he jerked away." the tracker's face grew a little paler but his eyes remained fixed at a point above his superior's left shoulder. "He made this horrible, choking noise and then he fell and he didn't move again. I didn't dare go closer to see who stood over him. And they disappeared."

"Why do you come to me now?" Haldir waved off the elf's beginning explanation to the rhetorical question. He closed his eyes. "All right. Well, what's done is done." He leveled a stern glance on his subordinate. "You should have told me this immediately."

Déorian relaxed his stance a little in his distress. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't think—I didn't think it mattered really. It's just one less for us to worry about, isn't it?"

"Be that as it may that is no excuse for lying." Haldir looked the tracker up and down. "Say nothing of this to the others. Dismissed."

Déorian nodded again but did not move away, seeming hesitant.

Haldir raised his eyebrows. "Was there something more, Déorian?"

The tracker still looked confused. "Sir…who is in charge: you or Fedorian?"

Haldir wasn't sure how to answer that. "Do nothing unless you hear from me… understand?"

"Yes, sir."

With that, Haldir turned to Ancadal who waited near his shoulder, looking away as though he had not heard a thing. "What is it?"

"We found the body."

"Show me." With a sinking dread clenching his stomach, he followed after his friend as Ancadal led him on a winding way in the opposite direction their contingent had taken. They crossed back through their campsite and took a course north. Haldir noticed the deep, springy undergrowth had been pressed down. By a thick boot too, of the make of no elf. He knelt suddenly and fished around in the undergrowth, plucking free a severed grey rope that had lain half-hid under a tree ten yards from where they had slept.

They found him sprawled facedown, his throat gaping wide in the dust. An irregular circle of crimson had spread underneath his chin and shoulders. Haldir stared down at the sad, crumpled figure, fighting back the press of memories, all too easily provoked by the sight.

"Go fetch the captain."

When Ancadal had gone, he allowed himself to close his eyes and turn away, his face falling into his hands. He had thought this had ended. With the Gondorians under guard and leaving their forest, he thought this nightmare was over and he could begin to forget the trail of bodies he had left behind him. He just wanted to be able to live with himself again. At the moment, he was compromising himself and lying to those he cared for in order to protect another he should be loyal to.

"You asked for me?"

Haldir raised his head but did not turn at the recognizable footsteps. He did not need to. "There were no orders from the City were there?" he asked.

Fedorian came slowly to his side, staring down at the body as though it were a piece of trash stuck to the underside of his boot.

"You were relieved of command."

Fedorian whirled on him, his face taut with anger. "I am still a captain here and I expect my orders to be obeyed!" His eyes burned hollowly like two flames within a cave.

Haldir faced him, calmly at last, for his mind was made up. "You cut the rope at the river. You killed the two missing prisoners."

"I did."

"Why did you have to do this?" Haldir gestured fiercely at the slain man. "They are bound, they are disarmed. They can harm us no longer."

Fedorian tilted his head to one side as though confused. "Why did I do what? For days now, you have slain them beside me. When has this changed?"

"I don't…I don't feel right about this." Rameil was right. He had denied it but now, faced with his commander, he couldn't any longer. He felt guilty. Incredibly so. And it was eating away at him inside. He was just digging himself a deeper hole by going along with Fedorian. He had revenged himself on the men. He forced those memories to the back of his mind as he tried to think of a reply to his commander who was still measuring him.

"Right?" the captain echoed. "You do not think ridding our forest of enemies right?"

"Not that," Haldir shook his head, trying to find the words to explain himself. "It is not what is being done… it is the manner in which it is done."

"Killing them you mean?"

"They are no longer a threat."

Fedorian's frown darkened. "Why do you feel so guilty about this, Haldir? When did this change come on you?"

There was that word again: change. But this time, he felt it was for the better. "I cannot do this anymore," he rubbed a hand over his face.

"You cannot? I don't understand."

Haldir hated to see the disappointment on his friend's face.

"I expected better from you."

Haldir tried to gather his reasons. "You mistake me. I have seen them punished. Justly so. I have protected my people. I have done my duty." His voice rose sharply, unable to control it anymore as hurt and anger warred in his chest. "I think I have a right to decide how to live my life now."

"You too easily forgive," Fedorian sneered. The light behind his eyes flared with a white fire.

"I have not forgiven anything," said Haldir, resenting the naked disapproval in his commander's eyes. "But there is no longer any reason to do this! They are prisoners! We will escort them to the edge of our territory and that will be the end of it!"

"You think this will end with them?"

"Why wouldn't it?"

Fedorian shook his head as though to dismiss the question. "So you think me incapable of restraint?" he raised an eyebrow. His eyes bored into his friend's face.

The silence stretched uncomfortably.

Fedorian took him by the shoulders. "You are letting your guilt get the better of you, my friend."

Haldir put aside his hands.

"It is not your good sense that revolts—it is fear!" His captain pressed forward until Haldir nearly backed over the body. "Fear of judgement! Of repercussion! Fear and guilt are very powerful emotions, Haldir, but we cannot let them rule our actions. It would be foolishness." Fedorian's face glowed as though behind his eyes a dark lantern burned through translucent shutters. There was something desperate in them. "Would you throw aside our long friendship? What, for them?" He gestured to the dead man, his voice thick with contempt, masking the hurt.

Haldir felt as though the other was circling him, examining him from every angle without ever moving. "I treasure our friendship more than anything. But, you have changed, my friend."

"Of course I've changed, Haldir! My life is shattered! My wife is dead! My daughter! And the ones who are responsible you are letting go! That would change a creature made of stone! And I regret that I am not!" Fedorian was trembling, his eyes glittering and hands knotted.

Haldir felt horrible. He had not meant to bring up reminders of that painful time. Stammering he tried to save the situation. "I—I'm sorry, I just—"

Fedorian turned away, breathing deeply to master his composure. He looked over his shoulder at the other elf. "I have not forgotten what they did to you. And I never will," he said. "If you will not see this through to the end I, at least, will." He walked away, leaving Haldir to watch his retreating back.

When he had gone, Haldir sighed painfully. "I will see it to the end. But mayhap it will not be the one you desire."


The silver trees thinned and fell away. Before them stretched a wide brown land disappearing into hazy distance. On their right, mere dark blots against the sky reared the mountains. To the left, the rolling dusty road swung left out of the forest and on towards the far-distant glimmer of the Anduin.

The twelve remaining Gondorians stood grouped before a long furrow in the dry earth. The elves stood back a little closer to the trees, their bows strung warily as their companions sliced the humans' cords and passed back their weapons with the blades broken.

Fedorian's hard green eyes passed over the ragged lines of men, his expression uncompromising. The captain turned into the wind and walked slowly along his ranks, halting beside his second. "Now, it has come to it," he said. "They are armed and prisoners no longer under our law. Now, you must kill them."

Haldir stared at him, distressed. How could he ask that, knowing what he did? "What?"

"They provoked us. You are blameless in this." His eyes brightened. "You must be free of your fear and your guilt, Haldir," Fedorian said. "They are not worth it. Remember the fire. Remember Geilrín. Remember Silivren. Remember the torment you suffered by their hands."

Haldir closed his eyes. "I can't."

Fedorian glared sternly at him. "I am taking the choice out of your hands," he said. "As your captain and your senior commander, it is an order."

Haldir stood rooted to the earth. The practical, cold soldier's mind rationalized that he had no choice. But his heart moaned. If he gave in, if he obeyed and killed them, what would he forfeit? What was worth the higher price? A friendship he had treasured beyond Ages. His cracking spirit. He had a choice he didn't want to make.

He had no choice.

Fedorian's command rang like a funeral knell. "Kill them."