Chapter Nineteen: Veiling the Ghosts

Choking dust swirled into his nostrils, his mouth swallowing dry with the taste of it. Not two paces behind him the ditch opened up like a gaping mouth. Ramir fought the urge to sneeze as sweat trickled down his temples and stung the corners of his eyes. The wound in his belly itched but he did not move. The elves still stood twenty yards from them, arrow tips pointed at the ground for now. It was said an elf's aim could hit a bird's eye in the dark. At sixty paces. Broad sunlight. A human even running was a dismayingly easy mark.

The Gondorian leader lowered his eyes from the heated glares and instead stared at his sword which lay at his feet snapped in half a fingerbreadth from the hilt. A grey film had already started to cover the leathern grip, the green jewel in its pommel dulled by dust. He remembered when he had first taken it up in this campaign. The war that had brought them hither, that had started with the Haradrim seemed a lifetime ago in another, less alien world. In a world he had controlled: he had known his target and defeated his target.

When had it all snapped out of his control? How had it come to this? At first, it had been a matter of law and war: allies of their enemies were to be dealt with little mercy. His brother's death had helped him forget some of the finer points of dealing with prisoners of war and he regretted his grief-blinded actions now. What had started as a matter of duty twisted into something darker after their first captain's death, deadlier. Personal retribution had led his hand and blindly he had followed onto a stumbling and doomed path.

Now, he had reached the end of his dark road with he and his men facing an execution squad of elven soldiers—to die when home stared longingly at them from across the dusty, barren ground, the glint of the River distant.

He was sorry he would never get to see it. And sorry he had dragged the others into it-especially young Malin. He swept the row and saw him two places from the end. His youthful cheeks appeared pallid under the freckles, his hair bleached by the sun. He was a good kid. He didn't deserve to die like this.

The fire, he decided, that's where it had all gone to pieces. He had been so taken with the idea of vengeance, all his actions had seemed justified at the time. He wondered if he could still justify them now. But it didn't look like he was going to get the chance because the elf captain was pacing along the line of his soldiers to the lieutenant's side, speaking words that sent dread piercing right to Ramir's heart.

"Kill them."

Haldir was unable to move, unable to unfreeze his mind where it had jammed around those two words. Given orders he had to obey. It wouldn't be his fault, just orders. He could say they had provoked the elves into slaying them. It would be his word against their silence. It would so easy. So easy. And yet what was easy was not always right. Light pressure throbbed behind his eyes.

Fedorian was getting impatient with his lack of response. "Or if you are disinclined," he waved at the elves assembled behind them. "Command them. They are more than eager." His confidence belied the expressions on the faces of his men; the elven soldiers shifted restlessly, shooting uncertain sideways glances at one another. If the men attacked, certainly, they would kill them without question. But somehow the thought of Gondorians charging arrows with nothing more than broken swords seemed unlikely. Shooting them before a trench like targets in a field was disturbing and insulting.

Haldir looked at them, reading their faces. He could not ask something of them he would not do himself. "No, that will not be necessary."

"Your captain has given you an order. It is your duty to obey." His commander's displeasure sliced through him like a knife.

"If we have brought them this far only to kill them what was the point?" Haldir argued. "It is folly."

The Gondorian captain stared at the elf in astonishment. Was the elf he had tortured actually pleading to spare their lives? Ramir shook his head, he knew he would never have done so had he been in the elf's place. A grudging respect stirred in him.

Fedorian dropped his voice so the elf before him was the only one who could hear his words. "You are making a very grave mistake, Haldir. I will see you demoted for this."

"If that is your will."

"Sir—" Rúmil had pushed his way to his brother's side, his face white but determined. "—we have taken them this far maybe it is just better if we—"

"Stand down, youngling. It is not your place to question orders," Fedorian snarled without taking his eyes from Haldir. Haldir gave his brother a look, warning to silence.

"I will accept whatever punishment you see fit to bestow. But I will not kill them."

The other elven soldiers were looking at him strangely; they could not fathom that one of their own would openly defy their commanding officer like that. Mingled fury and hurt shone in Fedorian's eyes. "I thought you treasured our friendship. Clearly, I was mistaken."

Caught between a stone wall and a sword, his captain and his conscience, Haldir flinched. But he said no more. He had made up his mind.

"Haldir is right."

Fedorian's head snapped around and Haldir looked up, surprised, when Rameil stepped out of rank, shoving an arrow back into his quiver.

"He is right," the dark-haired warrior repeated. "We have done enough. We have fought enough. I for one am tired of bloodshed and grief. I would see this end today without either."

"I agree," Ancadal said, stepping up beside Rameil, looking at Haldir with a small smile. Haldir smiled back gratefully.

Fedorian looked from one to the others. "This is insubordination."

"We are obeying our second-in-command, sir," Ancadal pointed out.

"Will none obey the orders their captain gives? Are you all recreant?" Fedorian shouted at them. "Kill them!"

"No!" Haldir raised his hands and stepped out as several soldiers raised nocked arrows. "Lower your bows," he pleaded, ignoring the furious look Fedorian threw him.

The elven soldiers paused, dismayed, not knowing which officer to obey; and not liking being forced to choose. Fedorian was higher-ranking but some of the warriors were looking uncertain: they did not feel right shooting point-blank at men who were already unable to resist them.

Tension hung on a fraying thread.

An elf near the end of the ranked warriors suddenly dropped the sight of his bow and sighed. "I cannot, Captain," he said, glancing apologetically to Fedorian. "If it is insubordination so be it. I would do many things for you. I would give my life for you and for Lórien. But this…"

His brave words snapped the strain in the air. One by one, the rest of the elven soldiers copied him. Arenath looked from his commander to them and slowly relaxed his bowstring with a deep sigh. The humans too, seeing that they were not going to be killed immediately, breathed a collective sigh of relief.

His pounding heart gradually easing to a more natural rhythm, Haldir faced his commander. "Please, my friend, release your hate. You have the power to end this peacefully."

The captain stood looking at his men, at his friends who had abandoned him at the last. Even Rúmil would not meet his eyes. Disappointment weighed with rage on his stone-hard face, his hands worked, his body quivering slightly.

"You're right, Haldir. I will end it." The knife he had held concealed leapt from his hand before any could move to stop him.

Ramir knew it was meant for him and closed his eyes, preferring his last sight to be of darkness rather than the darkling gledes of his enemy's eyes. But the sharp pain he expected did not come. Instead a softer, heavier impact knocked him back a pace, nearly toppling him into the ditch. He opened his eyes.

One alone had seen the knife before any. Malin had broken his place in line and flung himself before the blade. It had struck the boy deep in the chest, throwing him into his commander. Ramir grabbed the boy before he slipped into the dirt and slowly lowered him to the ground, his face white with shock as he stared numbly at the crimson covering his fingers.

The Gondorians gathered around him, the elves at the forest border stared in horror, astonished and sickened at how quickly it all had just happened. Rúmil leapt to his brother's side. "Why did he do that?"

"Get back!" Haldir snapped at his younger brother, grabbing Fedorian's wrist, Rameil his shoulder to keep him from lunging at the Gondorian captain who still stood, dazed, looking down at the dead boy. "Go! All of you! Be gone from here!" Haldir yelled at them, straining to hold onto his enraged commander.

"Let me go, Haldir! You know they do not deserve to live!" Fedorian elbowed Rameil savagely loosening his hold.

The human soldiers shot one glance at the grim-faced elves and drew off. One of them grabbed Ramir's arm and tugged him up. Some scrambled into the ditch, others took to the road fleeing far from the enchanted wood, the Dwimordene, and its perilous warriors.

When the last of them had faded into the brown distance and even the keen-eyed had lost sight of anything more than small dots, Fedorian shrugged off their slackening grips. Rameil clutching his side glared daggers into the back of his head. All that remained of the men of Gondor was a crumpled, dusty form and a few shattered weapons. Haldir felt sick though his heart felt surprisingly lighter as he watched the last specks dwindle and vanish.

Rúmil's eyes were not on the fleeing Gondorians. He regarded his captain with terrified pity. There were tears of fury glimmering in Fedorian's eyes.

Before they could move however the noise of thundering hooves swept over them. As one, they turned towards the woods as four horsemen cantered into view, three held lances whose points flashed as the soldiers rode out onto the plain. Their faces were flushed with the sharp wind, their clothing deranged. Haldir recognized the blue-eyed leader and his shoulders tightened.

Laer dismounted, his stare raking the soldiers who stood frozen, watching their approach. The three guards with him fanned out to either side of the elven line and one rode towards the ditch, his far-seeing eyes straining for a long time. "Lieutenant!" he called, motioning with one hand.

The addressed elf's blue gaze fell on the speaker who leaned over a motionless limp figure sprawled half-in half-out of the ditch. He crouched beside it. "This was one of the Gondorian prisoners?"

"Yes sir," one of Fedorian's soldiers who had drawn a little closer answered.

Laer did not lift his eyes. "Did he resist or try to attack with his… broken sword?"

The answer came quieter this time. "No sir."

Laer rose, pressing Fedorian's black knife into his hand with a stern disapproving glare. The other took it and sheathed it without a word. He looked up with dark, angry eyes. They seemed to freeze the younger officer in place so hot the fierceness and contempt held. But when he spoke, his voice remained coldly neutral. "If you will," he said, hard disdain edged in his tone. "I beg leave—for one worn in service," he bowed his head a fraction, mockingly, and stepped aside.

Laer seemed half-ready to restrain him and looked towards one of his guards who immediately broke off and followed. When they had gone, the Royal Guard lieutenant glanced back at the body, addressing his remaining guards. "Get a detail to bury that. The rest of you, return to barracks. Wait there until further orders."

Pushing through the others, Haldir arrested Laer with a hand on his arm. "What will happen to him?"

Mingled disgust and sympathy warred on Laer's hard visage. "He has broken the law." He pulled away.


The fragrance of sweet woodsmoke filled his lungs as Haldir breathed in the night air. Outside barracks, the returning soldiers had kindled a small fire and sat about it as was their custom at the end of a hard labor to boast and talk and drink until the stars dimmed at first light. Orophin who had been left behind to man the barracks was being informed of the exciting last few days.

Haldir listened with a quiet smile to the outrageous exaggerations some of the soldiers were regaling his brother with—he would have to set his brother straight later, right now he felt too tired to attempt to shout down the voices. They didn't talk about the fear that had stolen over them those terrible days, the uncertainty and leaderless mess that had made them question even their duty to each other. Instead they made a boast of the whole thing as though what had happened was just strange and amusing, a thing to be proud of instead of mortified.

Haldir let his thoughts wander from the thread of conversation after a while. There was a lot of speculation flying fast through the company: not all of them had been present or at the battle when the Gondorians had been subdued or on the plain when it had all come down to the thinnest wire. Tongues wagged more than they should, freed by a little wine and the first opportunity for relaxation in weeks. Though he was more than happy to be able to sit amongst his friends without fear or anger plaguing him, he still felt oddly separated from them.

A cold, hard knot had settled heavily in the pit of his stomach, withdrawing him from taking part in the ease and laughter of the others. Guilt still plagued him. Those sitting around him did not know the part he had played in this grisly affair. And he would not enlighten them. Instead he kept back and tried to wrench his thoughts away from the dark and press of bloody memories…

Aimed skillfully, something soft and round struck him right in the center of his forehead and bounced off. He frowned in annoyance but still did not open his eyes. A light, mischievous snicker drifted to his ears. The next one hit a bulls' eye inside his shirt collar.

Haldir opened his eyes a fraction. "Your weregild will be a poor price. I have not coin to spare for it."

Just to push his buttons one last time, one last one struck him right in the ear. Recoiling from the uncomfortable feeling, Haldir rubbed the offended spot and scooped a few of the missiles from the ground, firing them back with deadly accuracy at his grinning adversary.

"You looked far too melancholy, mellon nin," Rameil protested, laughing helplessly, as he ducked behind hapless Linwen to avoid the missiles.

"I am not involved in this!" resenting being used as a shield, the female guard smacked the dark-haired elf away and scuttled out of the line of fire. "Waste of good grapes!"

"All right! All right! I yield!" Rameil gasped, throwing his hands up before his face. "I have yet to pay your back for that honey seed incident you know!" he grinned, sitting cautiously beside his friend again now the threat of death by grape was no longer imminent. "I couldn't get that sticky mess out of my hair for days!"

Haldir smiled. "That was Ancadal's fault entirely."

"Hey!" the elf blamed protested from across the fire. "Was not! Legolas started it."

"Oh, of course, blame a child smaller than you!"

The good-natured ribbing went back and forth for a while after which someone struck up a tale encouraging the others to a few songs to pass the night watches.

Rúmil sat beside Orophin, watching the happy group, the firelight glow upon their faces. He smiled: it was good to hear his eldest brother laugh again; he had sorely missed it these last few weeks. It lightened his heart greatly to know everything was resolved now. There were no more messy secrets, no more hiding. A sense of normalcy had returned to their lives. Among such company, he almost didn't notice the absence of one. None had seen the commander since they had arrived back.

Quarrel forgotten, Rameil, Ancadal and Haldir had removed themselves a little from the group, the evening wind cool on their fire-warmed skin. Resting his head in a deep tussock, Haldir folded his hands across his stomach and gazed up through the leafy boughs whirling pale silver above their heads.

"What are you thinking of?"

Haldir tried to come up with something and in the end just shook his head. "Nothing in particular really. Just, I haven't seen stars like that in a long time."

Rameil looked up with a smile and a nod. "They are beautiful tonight—it's much clearer than it has been in a long while."

"Ah, the light of Elbereth," Ancadal sighed. "Well… I'm hungry."

The other two laughed at their incorrigible friend.

"We just ate, you glutton!" Rameil smacked the other elf's leg as he passed. "Honestly."

The merriment in the little glade changed as Laer stepped into the circle of firelight, a few murmured words were spoken in greeting but the atmosphere had fallen suddenly hushed and expectant. Word had circled round that he had gone to speak to the captain and they were waiting on him to tell them what would happen now. But it seemed that at this point Laer would not speak and gradually talk rose again to a dull roar.

Looking tired and troubled Laer took a seat beside a soldier who had saved him a spot near the fire.

After a few minutes, his friend pressed him quietly, eager to be the first to pass on sought-after news. "What did he say?"

"Well, I have no doubt he's completely mad," Laer muttered, accepting a steaming clay mug with a shake of his head.

Sitting near, Rúmil felt his chest tighten as he leaned closer, trying not to look as though he were eavesdropping.

"He will be gone by fall, I have been assured of that," the lieutenant continued. "At last someone competent will command the north marches."

His friend smiled ingratiatingly. "You, perhaps?"

"No, I think not… I am content to—"

"Rúmil, where are you going?" Orophin's voice called after him as Rúmil rose from his place by the fire.

"I'm just going to take a walk."

The night was fine and cloudless. The russet tinges of fall had barely begun to frost the air and the breeze could scarcely be felt. But Rúmil found he could not enjoy the evening after what he'd heard. He needed to get away from the talk and gossip and reconcile his own troubled heart before he could face it again. He had seen the disappointment and betrayal in his mentor's eyes, it had cut him to the very quick. Letting his feet draw him where they would, he wandered a while until he came to the foot of a flet. Bright against the sky, he could see the glimmer of a blue lantern high above.

On the threshold he hesitated like a stranger, uncertain and nervous—he wasn't supposed to be here by order but he couldn't stay away. Not after what had happened. Two armed guards flanked the door as though for a prisoner, their expressions veiled by deep white hoods. They crossed their spears across the entryway to bar his path.

"None are to see him, soldier. Stand back."

"Since when have the Royal Guard stretched their authority beyond Caras Galadhon?" Rúmil demanded, struggling to retain a polite but insistent dignity over his worry. "What has the captain done that he be trammeled in his own home?"

"That is not for us to say," the guard carrying the foremost spear answered, willfully avoiding his eyes by staring at a point over his right shoulder. He shifted when Rúmil continued to stare hard at him. "I am sorry. By order of the lieutenant, there can be no visitors, the captain is to be kept isolated," he repeated, trying to affect an implacable expression but succeeding only in looking more uncomfortable. "Those are our orders."

"It is an urgent matter that I speak with him."

"Perhaps if you tell us what it is, we may ascertain for ourselves whether or not it is urgent."

"It is a private matter. I will bear full responsibility for the 'prisoner's' detainment," Rúmil tried a different tact appealing to their sense of duty. "You have my word."

The sentinel glanced at his taller companion who answered. "I will remain to make certain of it." The smaller guard saluted and stepped back and down the stairs to take up a post at the foot of the ladder. Rúmil glanced at the taller hooded guard; something resonated in him, familiar but distant. Dismissing it, he hurried into the dark chamber.

As his eyes adjusted a sour taste rose in Rúmil's mouth: the familiar one of guilt. He had not set foot in these rooms since Geilrín's burial and perhaps that's what brought to mind the dark images of a funeral, the dim, stark emptiness of an unoccupied home.

It was so dark and quiet in the flet compared to the warm camaraderie he'd left behind, Rúmil found himself tiptoeing and dimming the natural glow of his skin to a glimmer. Peeking through a half-closed door, he saw Eremae sitting on the edge of her bed, her face turned the darkened window. The healer looked up as her door creaked. He retreated a little as she rose and opened it wider.

"What are you doing here?" she snapped, her lantern swinging before her, momentarily blinding her view of the intruder. "Why can you all not leave him alone? Has he not been interrogated enough to satisfy you!"

Rúmil stepped back, surprised and abashed. "I have not come to interrogate him! I—" Come to think of it, he couldn't remember why he had come.

"Rúmil?" Eremae shifted her lantern to the table, a faint tinge to her cheeks as his face became clear to her. "I'm sorry I thought you were…What can I do for you?"

"A light would be welcome," he smiled a little.

The soft circle of candlelight fell about his feet as he paced down a short passage halting before a door. It was open only a crack. Rúmil put his face to the partition then barely pressed on the door so it swung inward a few inches, enough for him to squeeze through.

A green-paned window was first to meet his eyes. Silver moonlight shone through the glass transforming it into a shimmering curtain of falling water, dark as the bottom of a river. It spilled a rippling shadow over the bedspread on which a still figure lay. Arrayed all in black and silver, Fedorian rested on his wife's side of the bed. Looking on his face, Rúmil might have thought him sleeping endlessly, a captain nobly fallen in the line of duty now only awaiting his pyre.

The sight made Rúmil's stomach turn and he crossed the room quickly, the light of his candle pushing long shadows against the walls and melting a softer, warmer pallor over the white face turned towards the wall. Looking down, Rúmil for a moment felt an icy chill move over him, stirring the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck. Cold melted down his spine like ice. But he could see Fedorian was not asleep and the folded hands on his breast rose and fell shallowly.

The quiet pressed ever more stiflingly on him as he struggled for words, wanting but fearful to break the silence. "Sir?" The word no more than a whisper.

The blinded eye flickered orange as the candle flame spilled over his face, hollowing his thin cheeks with shadows. "Rúmil."

Rúmil moved the candle to the night table where it cast a weak, unsteady glow save where the light did not reach the darker corners.

"I am glad you have come," Fedorian said, rising slowly, "I have something for you… I thought I would have to send it with Laer, though he would likely steal it and melt it down." As he spoke, he walked to the dresser and, opening a small drawer, withdrew a folded kerchief.

Rúmil took it curiously and unwound it. The white folds fell away revealing in the center of his hand, a small silver circle, unadorned and unmarked crafted of flawless mithril. Rúmil stared at the small fortune in his hand, incredulous. He looked up questioningly at his mentor who smiled fondly nodding to the small thing.

"It is my wedding band."

A cold crushing band of grief and guilt cinched around the younger elf's chest as he looked with renewed horror at the ring. "I cannot take this," he whispered, mortified. The emotional heaviness of the band weighted down his fingers until he feared he might actually drop it.

"Hers… could not be…I thought, perhaps, that if you were to have it… some part of us would not be forgotten here."

Rúmil shook his head slowly, unable to fathom this small thing he held in the palm of his hand. His commander's words slowly sank in and something he had not known had been tight and hurting in him relaxed. He would remember them as they once were, not this bitter end. Geilrín's compassion. Silivren's gentleness. Fedorian's strength.

He closed his fingers over the small circlet. "Garathon ha. Garathon rîn. I will take it then. I will remember."

The ring began to dig into Rúmil's palm through the cloth, he clutched it so tightly. "What Laer said is true then… they—"

"They have taken from me that which I last treasured," Fedorian did not face the younger elf, bent over something lying in one of the dark corners. "Perhaps, in time, I could be forgiven my mistakes… but not soon enough in the memory of the Eldar… never again would it be the same as it once was…" He sighed. "But I can never find peace here now."

Rúmil felt pity well in his breast, mingling with the guilt and confusion he had carried in him for so long. "I… I would have you here… still."

Now, Fedorian looked at him, his eyes glittering in the dim candlelight reaching across the dark recess. "Nay. You would not." He was brutally forthright and read the true answer in the elf's eyes. "Do not pity me, Rúmil. To most I do not deserve it. Your brothers are enough for you now. You will take care of each other. You always have," Fedorian spared him a weak, half-smile. "If there is one thing I can be grateful of, it is that I have been blessed with being able to watch you grow. You have been a bright star in my life when the path before my feet was black. I will cherish that for my road will be dark and no blessing of starlight will shine on it—save perhaps at its end."

Rúmil smiled sadly: in those words he could almost hear the mentor he remembered, catch a glimpse of him behind the ravaged face and empty eyes. Almost.

"I do not have much time," the captain continued, glancing out the green windowpane. "It will be moonset soon. I wanted to leave before dawn."

"Where will you go?"

"I cannot stay here, Rúmil," he said in a firm but soft voice. "At least this time we have time for a proper farewell," he half-smiled again that same sad strange smile. "You have learned enough hard lessons."

Rúmil didn't know what to say though he thought that he should have known somehow this was going to happen, had been destined to happen for a while.

"Captain."

Rúmil jumped at the new voice, not even having heard the footfalls of the elf now standing in the doorway: it was the taller guard he had accosted in the doorway.

Fedorian, having been expecting him, rose and Rúmil could finally see he had been bending over a sizeable haversack, which he slung over his shoulder. "I am ready."

"I thought I would be the only one to farewell you tonight. It gladdens my heart to see it is not so," stepping into the room, the guard presented the elf captain's two black-handled knives to him wrapped in a dark cloth.

Rúmil looked at the elf again, the stirring in his memory even stronger than before. The guard caught his look and under the hood, smiled but his gaze had already reverted back to the captain. "I took it upon myself to speak to Arenath, he will accompany you withersoever you wish to go," he said. "I think it would be wise to leave soon if you wish to escape the wrath of Lieutenant Laer." There was a hint of humor in his sorrow-darkened eyes.

"I leave before dawn, my lord. I will not burden you by lingering."

At the address, Rúmil's eyes widened and he looked quickly at the other elf and finally recognition dawned on him.

"Lord Celeborn?" he whispered in astonishment.

The Lord of the Galadhrim lowered his cowl with a soft chuckle, his silver hair spilling from his cloak. "Indeed, yes, Rúmil. I rode in early several nights' ago with Laer's officers. I thought my presence might be needed. But even my presence will not be enough if we are discovered here, let us go quickly."

With a terse nod, Fedorian swept out into the passage.

Eremae met them before they left. She dropped a low reverence to the lord as his face became known to her. "My lord." She turned to her friend. "All arrangements are made." There was no quaver in her voice but a deep sadness and pity and hope lay in her eyes as she looked up at him. "I hope you find what you seek. May the Valar always go with you, my dear friend," she kissed him very lightly on the cheek as he clasped her hands in his but said nothing, only nodded and moved past.

Celeborn had gone on ahead to dismiss the guard at the foot of the stairs so all was clear when he and Rúmil reached the bottom. They did not have to wait long before they heard the light thud of horses' hooves as Arenath rode up to them. He nodded to Rúmil and bowed to Lord Celeborn from the saddle. "It is time for us to take our leave."

Celeborn gravely clasped his and then Fedorian's hand. "We are losing fine officers."

"And gaining peace," Fedorian smiled wryly. "Though I fear the Lady will not be pleased that you have superseded her will in this. Thank you."

"She will pardon me." Celeborn smiled. "And I you for your long and faithful service: that debt I can never repay."

"I daresay others will manage it," the once-commander of the north marches strapped his pack securely to his mount and lastly looked to Rúmil who fumbled for words, his heart heavy. "I left something for Haldir in my room will you see that he gets it?"

Rúmil nodded, unsticking his throat. "Noro na ind maer a galu le am a erin men bain, gon nin, saelon nin, mellon nin muin. Go with good will and blessing upon you and a fair road ahead, my captain, my teacher, my dear friend." He spoke formally to mask the ache in his chest but it became too great for him and, overcome with loss, Rúmil flung his arms around his captain, shutting his eyes tightly against the betraying burn in the corners of his eyes. He pressed his face into his mentor's shoulder, the old scent of blood and death clung still under the verbena.

Fedorian rested the side of his face against the younger elf's temple and clasped the back of his head in a last, rare gesture of affection. "Ú-evedithamtinu. We will not meet again, bright star."

"Garathon rîn. I will remember."

They remained so a moment only then Fedorian mounted. He looked down at them but his eyes were already distant on the road ahead. "Cuio vae. Live well."

Rúmil watched with dry eyes as the two figures, silver-painted in flashes of moonlight and leaf-shadow, sped on to the borders' fringe, through the thinning trees and finally broke from the Golden Wood and passed on into a pale dawn.