Chapter Twenty: A Small Measure of Peace

The land of Gondor lay serene under a pale blue sky. Summer had already begun to fade into early autumn though blue and purple flowers still filled the king's gardens with fragrance. A fountain on whose white rim a stately figure sat flashed and spouted foam into the shimmering basin.

Minas Ithil, not yet conquered and envenomed by the evil of Mordor, shone like a spark of white fire on a shoulder of the Mountains of Shadow, guarding ever the entryway into that dark land. Its vile lord was overthrown, but not yet utterly defeated. It would rise again. Enjoying the warm afternoon, Melendil, a far-seeing man, knew it to be so and thither his concentration lay for a little until a herald's voice brazen as the trumpets broke it.

"Forty-second company of the Calenardhon Division reporting, Sire!"

Meneldil, son of Anárion son of Elendil, and third King of Gondor was surprised but did not look away from the beautiful shapely branches spreading green boughs and cool shadows over his uncrowned head. The flowering White Tree gleamed, planted by his uncle in memory of his father.

"Bring them out here so we may talk in peace."

The herald bowed.

Ten ragged, travel-weary soldiers walked onto the porch and bowed before him.

Meneldil after the fashion of his father and uncle rose to greet the homecomers. "Welcome home, warriors. I will ask you to speak only briefly so you might soon give your families joy at your return."

Their leader stepped forward and again bowed low, returning the greeting graciously. "Our thanks, Sire. Had it not been for the generosity of Eorl and the Men of Éothéod there would have been neither joy nor homecoming for us I fear."

Meneldil smiled and gestured them to cushion seats. "I would have you tell me the full tale of your journey. Long have you passed beyond our sight into unknown lands." In truth, he had stopped expecting tidings of the forty-second company of the Calenardhon Division. It was with mingled joy and sorrow he listened as they began relating their endless journey south from the forest borders to the Anduin. He knew a little of the tale for an instrument of far-seeing had fallen into his possession with the deaths of his grandsire and uncle. But all was golden mist over the wood and only of late had he glimpsed the hunched, bent figures trudging on the southward road.

"It is a long, weary tale, Sire. I would be excused from the full length of it if I may," Ramir replied with head bowed. "My men will speak if they have the will—they have traveled long leagues without relief."

The King smiled again, chiding himself. "I am a poor general who keeps his men weak on their legs." Meneldil clapped his hands, summoning food and drink for them. They sat on the lawn and ate while the returning men told all but carefully reserved judgement of their commander's actions in the north of the world, many leagues from their home. Ramir stayed silent, his heart black and heavy with thought. His king's face lightened at the slaughter of the Haradrim and darkened at the Elves.

Meneldil guessed or knew most of what had been left unsaid for he was shrewd and wise in such matters. "It is grievous news you bring, Captain. I asked for no war with the Dwimordene," he rebuked quietly, using their name for the illusory wooded realm in the north. "Against that power I have never been tested—nor wish to be. You are indeed all fortunate to escape so unscathed."

"Nay, lord! Not even unscathed are we!" mourned Ramir. "Not one of us is unmarked." He shook his head. "Not one though we bear few wounds and only scars to tell of it!"

Stars glittered far overhead as Ramir plodded back to his home on the fifth level. He had informed his brother's family of his loss and Malin's of his. With heart heavy, he went to his dark, untended home. The grass was overgrown and no lantern greeted him in the window. He did not light one but fumbled blindly through the dusty-smelling recesses and fell into bed.

Tall silver trees invaded his dreams, grey figures prowling through the mists of his memory and stirring the embers of his fear until he awoke sweating in the cool nights. In the shadowed corners of his room, he saw vengeful green and pale eyes or the flick of a knife that vanished as soon as he turned up a lamp.

In the city, he ever looked over his shoulder as though expecting to be confronted by the tip of an arrow. He knew it was impossible: Elves could not pass unremarked in Minas Anor anymore. But even that knowledge was no comfort. The eyes of his fellow man bored into him from behind, blaming and cursing him for their loss and his cowardice. He stopped going out, refusing to trust the insecurity of open roads and dark alleys, and endure what he deemed jeering stares.

But the dark enclosure of his home did not set him at ease. The green and pale eyes crossed the floors when shadows of evening lengthened. He lit every candle and lantern he owned to chase back the grasping dark though with such light, sleep would not come. He huddled in a chair, facing the door, his sword resting close to hand. He nearly flew from his seat, panting in terror, when his second knocked, concerned for his captain had not reported for duty in over a week. None answered his calls. Ramir waited with sword drawn until he was sure the enemy had withdrawn. They would not get what they wanted. He would make sure of that. Ill with fever and wariness, a fey mood took him.

"You will not get me," he hissed as shadows began to crawl out of the corners, the tapers on table and bedside guttering down to waxy puddles. "You will never have me!" he leapt up, screeching, his voice broken and sobbing. "I have escaped you! I have won! I have won!" He laughed wildly, capering and swinging his blade at the shadows. "You will never have me!"

A wild chop bedded the sharp tip of his blade deep in one of the wooden bedposts. He tugged it free with a wrench and knocked over something he couldn't see. With a great noise, it tipped and shattered on the floor. Wetness soaked his sleeve to the elbow as he threw out an arm to save his fall. He groped blindly across the floor for his sword which the fall had knocked from his grasp. Something sharp and hard snicked his hand. He yelped and drew his finger to his lips, a metallic taste flooding his mouth.

Something shifted in the corner of his eye. Craning his neck over his shoulder, he lunged grasping his sword heedlessly by the blade, the keen edges slicing into his palms. Terrible fear scattered his thoughts as he discerned the flash of deadly eyes near the window. He tripped, stumbling forward, and slammed heavily into the wall, hilt first, casting himself on the point.

The quiet moonlight, half-shrouded in cloud, glimmered innocently on a green basin of clear water lying beneath the window.


Dawn's scarce light had begun to shade the walls when Haldir let himself in to Rúmil's talan in the city (Orophin slept a few platforms away with his wife and daughter.) Moving silently and carefully through the sleeping rooms, he skirted a small round table and passed a silhouetted shelf of books along one wall—Rúmil was an avid reader of old tales when he could find the time.

Haldir almost tripped over a muddy boot flopping in the bedroom doorway. Nudging it aside, he checked for its partner and found it hanging off the ankle of the elf sprawled on the bed within. It looked like Rúmil had scarcely bothered to remove his weapon before falling face first onto the covers. He had just returned from a difficult patrol an hour or so ago.

His elder brother shook his head, a faint smile playing over his lips as he plucked the wavering boot from its precarious position and laid it beside its counterpart. Pausing in the doorway, he remembered in their youth, after a long day of playing warrior or training, they would all but collapse exhausted into their beds. That at least hadn't changed with their ages.

Haldir smiled. He loved his brothers dearly and he would die to protect them.

And he would kill to protect them too. Had killed to protect them.

Wanting to go no further along that road, he eased Rúmil's half-hanging arm back to his side. The younger elf, half-waking, rolled over and curled his arm against his head.

Haldir waited until he settled before delicately trying to remove the brass clasped belt. Deftly with an air of expert practice he slid it out from under his brother's prone form.

"Come on, Haldir. Go away and let me sleep—even Mother hasn't taken my boots off in ages."

Haldir didn't split the hair that their mother had passed over the sea millennia ago. "She would have a fit if she saw you sleeping in your clothes again."

Rúmil grinned against his pillow, half-heartedly kicking out at his brother. Nevertheless, he squirmed out of his tunic and flung it to the floor, a fine chain clinking gently on the small silver band hanging against his chest as he shoved himself under the blankets. "There. Good night."

Haldir, picking up the tunic, smothered an exasperated chuckle as he tossed it over the back of Rúmil's desk chair and slipped from the room.

Too wound to sleep but too tired to seek his own quarters, Haldir wandered into the dining room. Rúmil wouldn't mind if he spent the morning here. Neither were expected to report to the parade grounds until early afternoon.

He knew these rooms as well as he knew his own. He and his brothers had spent many evenings in this kitchenette while on leave exchanging news and stories and occasionally coin. Heating water, he rifled through the cupboards, trying to remember where his notoriously disorganized brother kept the tea leaves. Grinning triumphantly, he lifted a small tin from the top corner of a cabinet where it had been wedged between a can of sword oil and a polishing rag and from it withdrew a few brittle, sweet-smelling leaves.

As he waited for water to boil, he mulled over the events of yesterday afternoon.

The summons he had long dreaded had finally come. And Laer had been waiting to escort him personally up to the lord's chambers.


"It has not been so long since last I came this way," Haldir said, delicately but with a pointed look at the other man.

"The evenings are growing darker earlier now though the borders are flourishing I am told," Laer said, pretending he hadn't heard the strong hint in Haldir's words.

Haldir, resigning himself to the disagreeable elf's company, made an incoherent noise in the back of his throat.

In official rank, they were equal but Laer clearly didn't think so in regards to their moral superiority. He swung several paces behind Haldir, his voice a pedantic, menacing drone. "The Lord Celeborn has become very interested of late in the workings of the northern fences. Particularly recent battles. You are aware of our law I presume, Lieutenant. Where possible we take prisoners rather than lives?"

"Yes," Haldir said quietly but not without frustration. Laer wanted to dress him down and put him in his place which Haldir had resented immensely. He knew what he had done, he would pay for the price for it—and had. But he would not stand here and be condemned by this soldier who was far too filled with a sense of his own importance.

"I know what you have done, Haldir. And Lord Celeborn knows too," Laer said, a dark insinuation sliding beneath the satisfaction.

To keep his mind off the pricking nettles of anger at the not-so-gentle prods, Haldir focused on the beautiful relief traceries on the stairs, all the while wondering if he would be able to reach the top without adding assault to his list of transgressions. He clenched his fists to restrain himself and took a few deep breaths.

Laer, oblivious of his peril, pressed on. "You drank this business to the dregs, didn't you? You were close in Fedorian's counsels. You know he took the blame upon his own shoulders," his barely constrained leer indicated what his words didn't and just how much he believed anything Fedorian had to say in defense of the younger officer.

"It's a miracle you haven't been rank-stripped yourself. Given your…experiences in the past, one wonders if you can continue with the strenuous responsibilities of a lieutenant though I have heard the lord grants leniency to the pitiable." The barb had been inaccurately aimed and meant to rile. Laer had only heard surface rumors of what had happened in Mirkwood and on the borders. Had he known a tenth of the truth he might not have said something so callously foolish.

Spine stiffening, Haldir pushed back his own apprehension with difficulty. He had a hard enough time trying to come to grips with what he had done without needing Laer's reminder and the upcoming lecture from his liege. He knew his behavior warranted immediate dismissal. But the guard had become an integral part of him since his father's passing; it was all he had. Unlike Rúmil, Haldir did not have doubts about his place on the perimeter. If he were dismissed from it… what would he do? What was he if not a soldier? He couldn't, daren't, think that far ahead for his stomach already heaved with nervousness and anxiety. But with every step he took, the burden and nausea grew thicker and heavier.

"I understand he also grants requested transferences—a wondrously timed method for evading any uncomfortable peril."

Stung, Laer stopped dead on the stairs and pinkened visibly at the ear tips. "Are you calling me a coward?"

Haldir glanced over his shoulder at the clench-fisted elf standing several stairs below him. "It seems I am."

Satisfied that he had suitably offended the pompous lieutenant and would not be asked his opinion for some time, Haldir strode up the remainder of the stairs in blessed if tense silence laden with loathing. That animosity between them would last well on into a few thousand years.

Celeborn must have seen something of his irritation in his face for he smiled when Haldir stood before him, Laer having left him at the door still retaining a sullen silence. "I see you received my missive. Thank you for your promptness."

Haldir bowed as was custom. "My lord, of course."

The silver-haired lord gracefully stood from his decorative chair and beckoned the young officer closer. "I thought we would keep this private between you and I, therefore I emptied the hall for today."

Indeed the hall was almost obscenely quiet. Haldir could hear the rushing stream far below them at the foot of the great mallorn. This was not altogether reassuring.

Celeborn led him aside into the same, comfortable antechamber as before. The gracefully carved wooden chairs were a little too well-cushioned for Haldir's unsettled state and he preferred to stand while Celeborn settled himself, a goblet in one hand, the other nudging another glass across the table for his guest.

"The seasons were kind to us this year—we have most excellent vintage." Celeborn smiled gently over the rim of his cup. It did nothing to reassure the younger officer who continued to remain edgily standing.

Celeborn gave up on light conversation and set his goblet with a light chink on the pale-wooded table. "Fedorian has been gone some weeks; and the borders are coming, if slowly, back together. But there are still certain issues that need to be addressed—as I'm sure you understand."

Conceding this with a small jerk of his head, Haldir scooped up the proffered glass and drained it, ignoring his lord's upraised eyebrow.

Celeborn leaned forward and refilled their glasses. "You know of course, that the northern marches now need a new captain."

Again, Haldir could only nod. But he failed to see what this had to do with him and rather wished his lord would get on with his dismissal. The quicker, he rationalized, the less painful. He didn't want to prolong this meeting any longer than he had to.

But Celeborn seemed of a different mind and remained quiet for a little, examining the straight-backed officer in front of him over the fringe of his cup. Haldir had come through the worst. But the elder elf was concerned about the quiet seclusion the elf seemed to be gathering to himself: as though, after what he had done, he did not consider himself worthy of any company. Even now, his eyes remained on the floor between his boots.

"I have something important to address to you, Haldir, and I hope you will hear met."

Haldir frowned impatiently, scratching the herbal pad that covered his shoulder blade injury. "Sir?"

Celeborn sighed. "This has been a terrible business. Never before has the like of it happened, and I pray it won't happen again. I do not think we need fear retaliation from Gondor, however—Meneldil is a wise king."

At this point, Haldir really wished Celeborn would stop being gentle and just let the hammer-stroke fall. He wanted to get out of there, and his glass was empty again.

"I have seen the world outside these borders, Haldir, and I know the evil that exists there. But I also know of that which can be found even within these borders. There is the obvious kind: wargs, orcs, the foul things that creep from darkness and decay. But there is also the kind of evil that can be found even within the heart of the truest warrior: anger, hurt, grief, jealousy. Vengeance. These things are not inherently evil in themselves of course but they can be if steps are not taken to prevent it."

Haldir fingered the stem of his glass. Celeborn knew more than he had thought.

The silver-haired elf lord stopped seeking the other's eyes when Haldir remained staring into his glass. "You know there is a regulation three-day confinement for disobeying a superior's order—no matter the nature of the command, that is our law,"

Haldir nodded; he had expected that, and worse.

"Afterwards, I would like you to take up a new post on the northern fences—"

Here it was, the demotion he'd expected and feared.

"—as Captain."

Haldir's head snapped up. For a moment, he gaped at his lord, speechless. Celeborn only smiled politely, waiting for the elf to master his shock.

"…why?" As soon as the word slipped out, Haldir mentally berated himself for such an insolent remark. Engaging in undeclared warfare alone was enough to have him charged and arrested and here he was questioning a promotion

Celeborn seemed to have expected the question however for he looked neither angry nor annoyed, indeed, he looked almost amused. "I have it on more than one officer's good faith that you showed extraordinary judgement and courage throughout this trouble with Gondor and have the makings of a fine superior officer."

"My lord… you are more than generous," Haldir, completely taken aback, managed to at last stammer a polite response. "But I… I cannot accept it. I would not feel…right…to accept it," he admitted.

"May I ask why?"

Haldir's throat squeezing tight with humiliation, choking his voice.

"You do not feel worthy," Celeborn shrewdly guessed, tilting his head slightly to look up into the younger elf's face.

Haldir remained silent, shame and embarrassment flushing hot across his neck. Working around the lump in his throat, "May I be free to speak, my lord?"

"Certainly, Haldir. Always."

"Why do you choose me? Surely, someone else who is not so—Rameil, for instance, was a lieutenant alongside me. He has shown far better sense than I. Or—"

"Haldir," Celeborn cut off his ramblings gently. "I chose you because of the way you are. The humility and good judgement you have shown I—"

"Good judgement?" Haldir interrupted, knowing he should not have done so but unable to help himself. He laughed bitterly. "When have I ever shown good judgement throughout any of this? I let my desire for vengeance control me and burn away any grain of sense! I will not make excuses for my actions, Lord, but I fail to see how this is indicative of anything but folly. The things I've done…There's no sense in that." His eyes, which for once had been raised and intense, dropped again and he sighed shakily, pushing a hand through his unbound hair.

Celeborn grew solemn. So, already the struggle had begun—one which would take many years to end, if it ever would: the silent, hidden struggle of guilt which if left to dwell on drained you and abandoned you. Completely empty of anything but soul-stealing despair. "All you said is true. Your desire for vengeance, perhaps, and also your loyalty to a friend you trusted. But, think, Haldir, you have come through this with little ill effect. You have kept yourself and you are whole still. Your desire for revenge did not turn to complete evil. You have already taken the first steps back along a hard road to prevent such evil from taking over your life. Such experiences harden soldiers and I do see that in your eyes."

Haldir looked up slowly, waiting.

"But because of it, because of what you have endured, you know better than anyone else the mistakes a leader, a soldier, can make—and you know how to keep from making that same err in judgment again. Do you feel remorse for the lives you have taken?"

Haldir paused and brushed a hand over his eyes, overwhelmed. "Some. One. I—" He chose his words carefully. "I cannot regret doing the duty I am foresworn to do: protecting this land and people. However, matters… grew out of hand which, if I could, I would redress."

"That very willingness is why," Celeborn stood and folded his hands behind his back in a rather characteristic gesture. "Somehow, I perceived sparing the eleven lives of defeated enemy soldiers a noble and sensible act. An act worthy of a captain in my service."


The whistling kettle drew him from reflection. Haldir grabbed a glazed clay mug from an upper cabinet in Rúmil's kitchen. Celeborn had told him to take as much time as he needed to decide but he also knew that the borders could not remain forever under the control of lesser officers whose authority was not always heeded when a higher-ranking officer was not present.

Purloining one of the leather-bound volumes from his brother's bookshelf, steaming mug in his other hand Haldir made his way outside and spent a quiet morning comfortably on the porch.

Rúmil shuffled out as the sun slanted onto Haldir's eyes, stirring him from an impromptu doze. The book had slid off his lap and now rested on its edges against the chair leg. Scooping it up, he smiled at his still bleary-eyed brother who sat down beside him and gazed over the golden roof and fading lanterns of Caras Galadhon.

"It's going to be warm today," he remarked.

Haldir stood and stretched the lingering dawn chill from his limbs. "Good."

Rúmil stared at his hands for a few minutes, seeming to want to say something but oddly hesitant. "I would ask your opinion of something if I may," he said, unusually solemn.

Haldir looked at his brother, fingering his empty tea cup. Rúmil's jaw was set and a strange glimmer shone in his eyes. The soft lines of adolescence had completely faded from his cheeks and mouth. He looked older and Haldir could not fathom when that had happened.

"Ever have you been both father and brother to Orophin and I," Rúmil said, adjusting the hem of his tunic, his thoughts leaping ahead of themselves as he contemplated what he would say.

Dropping his gaze, Haldir sighed and stared at the brown dregs. "And there are days where I feel less than adequate to be either."

"Still, I feel I should ask your permission for this."

Haldir looked up at his brother who had stood. When had he grown so tall? "That's certainly a change."

Rúmil caught his frown and frowned as well. "Well, I have—that is to say I wanted to tell you but with all that's been going on and you leaving yesterday, I felt maybe now we could…"

Haldir shook his head and stood, his brother unshrinking. "How have you gotten so tall?"

Rúmil gave him a baffled look then laughed. The words came easier. "I will not pick up a sword again. I have seen too much death of late," as he spoke he fingered the silver chain around his neck.

Haldir tilted his head; he understood his brother's feelings but he also knew all soldiers experienced a kind of uncertainty at some point in their lives. But what he saw in Rúmil's eyes was not uncertainty, but longing for a change, a difference. "What do you wish to do then?"

Rúmil raised his head, eyes shining. "Teach. I have watched enough young elves die. I would fight if it was needed but I would rather remain a noncommissioned officer, a sergeant maybe if I can get the promotion."

Grey eyes, so like his father's, examined Rúmil carefully, held him, weighing. "Well, they are searching for a replacement sergeant-at-arms," Haldir said, leaning back in his chair.

"You are not disappointed?" Rúmil's quiet tone showed fear of recrimination more than his face. "I will not be fighting beside you and Orophin on the lines anymore."

Haldir smiled slightly. "You are old enough to make your own choices, Rúmil. I know that now. At this rate, I shan't have to worry over you on the borders. Or shall I?" The smile widened to a full-fledged grin at the thought of his brother taking on the role of instructor to their rather… enthusiastic recruits. "Teaching isn't easy. I wish you the best, Rúmil. You will be more hard-pressed than on any battlefield."

"I know," Rúmil clasped Haldir's wrist, elated. "And I welcome it. I go today to speak with the conscription officer."

"And I," Haldir said, standing reluctantly. "Have to report to the guardhouse."


Now that the north marches had finally gotten back on its feet, the members of the eastern guard who had remained behind to help could return to their neglected, peaceful boundaries. Haldir, newly released from his confinement, stood beside the last of Alfirin's patrol, the captain himself among them.

"It was an honor to fight alongside you, Lieutenant," Linwen said with a gentle smile, grasping Haldir's hand with a strength that belied her small stature. "I would like to again."

"Perhaps when she's sick of the eastern chestnuts, she'll come, and jolly well join your ranks. And good riddance too," Alfirin grinned teasingly as Linwen gave him a mock-hurt look.

Haldir smiled. He would miss these two. "You are both welcome anytime."

The older elf gripped his shoulder. "I'd like a word, chap, if you can spare me."

"What can I do for you, Captain?"

Alfirin drew him to one side with all the air of a conspirator. "A little sparrow told me that mayhap I will be addressing you as such sooner rather than later." He winked. "Congratulations, old scout."

"It is not official yet," said Haldir, a little embarrassed. Suddenly, he knew who had recommended his name to Lord Celeborn.

Alfirin only chuckled as he released the younger elf. With a silent order and last wave, the "mad hares" of the eastern border completely melted into the woodland with a flash of green and gold.


White starlight glittered overhead, pricking the entire sky with light brighter than the new moon which hung dark in the west. A cool, close-to-autumn breeze rippled the grass and stirred the pale gold hair of the assembled elves. Many were there: Alfirin, Linwen, Déorian, Thillas and others of both the northern fences and the eastern guard. Rameil, Ancadal and Haldir's brothers stood near a white wooden dais built for the occasion, their faces alight with pride and wonderment.

Apart from the others and nearest the dais stood a single figure. On the platform above sat the Lord and Lady clothed in shining white and silver, their hair unbound and falling about their fair shoulders. Stars shone in her eyes and sunlight glittered in her hair as the Lady held forth a white hand. At her beckoning, Haldir slowly stepped forward, his heart beating hard in his chest. His gold broidered sleeves glinted.

The white lady of the Galadhrim spoke, her voice high and clear in the still air. "Haldir of the Northern Fences, you have served the borders well for many years—as a tracker, as a scout. A lieutenant. An adjutant. Are you prepared to accept the voice of command?

"It will be to you that your soldiers look in times of despair and hopelessness, when violence and terror repel love and courage. Are you prepared to stand forth when darkness shadows our lands? Can you find it within you to fight even when you deem your strength is gone?"

Celeborn stepped up beside her. "Death is often the price paid for those who so vigilantly protect our borders. Are you willing to accept that burden? And will you obey your lord's command even at the risk of your own immortal life? Are you prepared to make that sacrifice? Answer if you so swear."

Something stirred in Haldir's heart then and lit a fire in his spirit. All the anger, grief, guilt burned away as his lord and lady's words washed over him. It seemed everything that had happened to him the last few months had all led up to this single moment. He would not forget what had been done to him by the men of Gondor nor what he had done in return but he could change it, mold his pain into something better, something stronger than vengeance and anger. Something worthwhile.

It would take many years to rebuild the soldiers' trust that had been so ruthlessly shattered in the wake of this tragedy. But he found that he was ready for the challenge. Haldir felt his legs trembling and his mouth dry but he squared his shoulders and answered in a surprisingly strong, steady tone.

"I so swear."

Slowly, he raised his head, meeting their clear eyes. Alight with the wisdom and deep wells of both sorrow and joy those eyes had seen two full Ages of this world. Something flickered in those fathomless depths: foresight? Perhaps. Not even Galadriel, the greatest of Elves, could read the future in its completeness but a sense of greatness hung about this one, she could feel it for he kept her gaze long and did not shrink.

Yes, he would do great things.

He descended to one knee before the regal pair, his head bowed and intoned the ritual words of offering. "I swear duty, love and life to my lord and my people until Mandos' Halls accept me or the world ends."

Celeborn clasped Haldir's folded hands in the ritual gesture of acceptance. "So do I accept this: duty, love and life to your lord and people until Mandos' Halls accept you or the world ends."

Celeborn released him as Galadriel leaned forward, uplifting his chin, and kissed his brow.

"Arise," she smiled, lifting a translucent hand. "Haldir, Captain of Lothlórien."

The End