Blue sparks in woodland realm

Chapter 8: Lament of Haldir

A/N: I own nothing except my mistakes.

The battle of Helm's Deep had been won: they had been victorious, and had not fought in vain. They had conquered the battle, and had kept their women and children from harm. They had lived. Lived, but not all. Most of who had gone to battle, had not lived to see the end. Including her long-time friend, one of her closest friends, Haldir.

Back to Rohan they had gone, to settle their folk into their homes again, and afterwards the soldiers had round up in the great hall for merry drinks and celebrations.

Except for Erynèth, who did not have the heart to be joyful, to celebrate, to be merry with life.

Out she had went, not having changed attire, though the rest of the soldiers had. Her arms were still bloodied, from all enemies she had slain, her blue fighting attire was stained, muddied and slashed, but she did not have the heart to wash it. On it, near her stomach, was still the dried blood from Haldir, a painful reminder to the cruelness of the night.

Many wars she had fought over a spread of two thousand years, and none had ever been easy on her. A loss of life close to hers, had always clouded her heart, but for long she had not felt the sting it was feeling this moment.

Walking further into the darkness, roaming by the shabby wooden houses, she let her heart sing the mourning she was feeling:

E mor henion i dhu:

Ely siriar, el sila.

Ai! Aniron Undomiel.

Tiriel arad 'ala mor

Minnon i dhu- sad oltha.

Ai! Aniron Edhelharn.

Alae! Ir el od elin!

I 'lir uin el luitha guren.

Ai! Aniron Undomiel.

I lacha en naur e-chun

Sila, eria, bronia.

Ai! Aniron Edhelharn

"Your heart sings the burdens of your soul," a voice drawled in Elvish behind her, and Erynèth stopped in her tracks, feeling the soft breeze brush against the tears that had rolled down her cheeks. Unashamed, she let them linger as she turned around, watching Legolas in front of her, clad in blueish-silver, given to him by the people of Rohan. His hair had tidied, as he had redone his braids, making him pleasant for the eye to see.

Hesitantly he approached her, but she remained rooted to the ground. How could she seek comfort from the one she should be comforting? Now that they had lived the battle, and had been given another day to spare, she should be doing all in her might to earn his forgiveness, to undergo the wrath of his anger.

Yet, he kept on walking, eyeing her as if she were a predator, ready to lash out at its prey, when it so sought fit. "I will admit, I do not have the words to ease the pain in your burdened heart," Legolas spoke, his voice softened, as if anything louder would fright her off, "but I do have a set of arms to hold, and help you mourn through this night."

With those words he closed the distance between them, as he carefully wrapped them around her. The long, wide-spread sleeves of his tunic were brushing lightly against her sides, feeling almost weightless, as if the cloth itself was Elven-made.

The silkiness of his long, fine hair were brushing against her cheek as he had laid his head on top of hers, as he towered over her, shielding her physically, as if trying to protect her from any harm, even though it was an inner battle she was fighting.

Erynèth, having had her arms hung loosely down her sides as he kept a firm embrace, tentatively moved them upwards, letting them trail over the embroidered linings on the back of his tunic, feeling the hardened muscles underneath it as she moved them upwards, over his shoulders, until they would rest themselves at the small of his back, feeling the twitch underneath it as he replanted his feet into the ground, steadying them both as she let herself lean into him.

Unable to help it, Erynèth began to sob, feeling the quick regulations of her shoulders budging against his chest, resting her chin into the nook of his neck as she felt the fabric warming underneath it, the tears collecting as she let them all out.

Not one to usually show emotion, it had caught her quite off-guard to so easily give into it, and openly display it, though she was not all-together surprised. If there had been one who could make her do such thing, it had been Legolas. There had been nothing she had been afraid or ashamed to do in his presence, for they had long surpassed that stage.

"Hiro hyn hîdh ab 'wanath," ("May he find peace in death,") Legolas spoke softly into her hair, stroking it gently as he cupped the back of her head. Feeling a soft pressure on top her head, she felt his tender lips connect before he gently let her go.

Grabbing for her hand, he entangled his fingers with his as he gently pulled her along, wordlessly, as they bypassed the houses, down a long spiralling road downwards.

Melmë nóren sina

núra ala Eäro nur

Ilfirin nairelma

ullumë nucuvalmë

Nauva i nauva

Legolas sang, softly, as if it was but a whisper in the wind, though carefully, as to not lose its meaning as it floated away. It was unlike his mother's tongue, for it was Quenya, and yet not Sindarin, but he spoke it so beautifully, so mournfully, as if he had looked right into her heart.

Having reached the water banks, he had released her hand as he had searched the grounds, bending down and scurrying on it, until at last he would come to standing, holding the whitest of a feather, long and majestic, proud and stout as it displayed its golden hue on it.

Moving with him, closer to the water banks, he handed the feather to her, and waved with his hand to the water, as if urging her to set it free. Erynèth looked into his light eyes, a sorrowful encouragement reaching them as he gently nodded at her.

Bending down, she brushed her fingers through the water, welcoming the coldness that it brought. Gently, upon it, she laid the feather that had been sought out for her, and watched as the tiding softly brushed it away, carrying it with it, further and further. "Min lû pennich nîn I aur hen telitha," ("You told me once that this day would come,") she whispered to the waters, still bent in her knees, her fingers resting its tips upon the sand below, "I would not listen," she continued, choking on her words as a sob followed. "Goheno nîn," ("Forgive me,") Erynèth went on, staring after the feather, "For I did not listen."

As the feather ebbed away further from sight, she felt an ease rush into her heart, as if at last Haldir had found peace in death, as if this had been the farewell he had needed. The farewell he had deserved. "Novaer, mellon nîn," ("Farewell, my friend,") Erynèth spoke a little louder, stretching her legs so she was now standing up straight, welcoming the arm that Legolas snaked around her waist, pulling her close to him, "Na lû e-govaned vîn ab gurth." ("Until next we meet in death."

"I aer can ven na mor," ("The sea calls him home,") Legolas said, bowing his head to the sea, out of respect, "Û I vethed, nâ I onned. Siniath lond ab gurth." ("This is not the end, it is the beginning. A new path in death."

For a long while they had stood there, staring off into the distance, until the feather left even their Elven sight, and he had let go of her waist as he turned towards her. "Inside is a feast, not only to celebrate life, but also the death, for they have not died in vain," Legolas said, his voice gentle and his face softened.

"I understand if you do not wish to go, but perhaps, your heart would feel lighter if it not only felt its burdens, but also relived its joyful memories," he said to her, carefully taking her in. Though Erynèth indeed did not feel like celebrating, she could not help but feel the truth in his words. Though she felt torn over the loss of Haldir, she could not help but think back to the good memories shared with him, and thought it would be dishonouring to not be gleeful in those memories.

And thus she had nodded, and had let him carry her back towards the castle, his hand at the small of her back, silently moving through the night, the only sign of life being the merry sounds that oozed from within the castle walls.

There all remaining soldiers stood – far too little Men had been spared, for they had started the battle with hundreds and hundreds of Men and Elf, and yet not more than a dozen had come out of it – drinks in their hands as they cheered away.

"Let us go this way," Legolas said, guiding her to the far back, where Gimli and Aragorn had sat themselves.

"Aye, my lady, just in time," Gimli spoke, rather wobbly on his feet as still foam from the beer he had been drinking was clinging to his beard. "'Ere, have one," he spoke, slurring slightly as he handed her a drink.

Erynèth, looking rather amused, accepted the drink out of politeness, though kept it lingering in her hands as she sat herself down on the bench. "Would you not like to get changed, my lady?" A voice came from behind. Turning her head slowly around, she watched Théoden approach her, with a welcoming smile.

Smiling in return, she gently shook her head. "Perhaps later this night, when the merriness leaves these halls," she politely declined, to which he dipped his head, leaving to find his daughter Eówyn.

During her conversation Gimli had also shoved a drink into Legolas's hands, and she heard him say something about a gaming contest, before both put their mugs to their lips, gulping its contents away.

Smiling to herself, she giggled as Legolas feigned his fear at his drink, tentatively drinking it away as they refilled his glass. Erynèth knew better than anyone else that Legolas could very well handle his liquor, more so than herself. It was no secret that his father Thranduil was quite the wine lover, and it had not been a first for them to have snuck a bottle or two out to merrily gulp it underneath a setting moon.

Bringing her own lips to the glass she had been holding, she welcomed the bitterness it brought her. Man's beer was most certainly stronger, more bitter than most of their Elvish drinks, but once a while, she did like the change it brought to her palettes, especially on a night like this, where grief still outstretched the merriness around.

They went fast with it, Legolas and Gimli, the latter getting rather sloppy as half of its contents drippled down his chin, his eyes getting more cross-eyed with every gulp he took, much to the amusement of her. Legolas, however, was as clean as an Elf could be, not a dribble lingering behind, for he neatly wiped his lips every time he took a drink from it.

Gimli, having had a head-start before Legolas had gotten a chance to join in, had now collected a pile of empty mugs, before he had passed out, tumbling backwards from the bench.

Erynèth, retracting the glass from her lips, laughed loudly at the sight of it, feeling her eyes wrinkle together as she tipped her head lightly backwards.

When she did bring her head back straight, she watched as Legolas looked at her with a broad smile on his face. Cocking him a playful eyebrow, she straightened herself as she let her chin rest upon her hands. "Van?" ("What?") Erynèth asked him coyly, though he remained smiling at her.

"Gelon ned I galar I chent gîn ned I gladhog," ("I love to see your eyes shine when you laugh,") he complimented her, not even so much of a slur to his words, even though he had gulped at least a dozen of drinks away already.

Erynèth, feeling the corners of her lips twitch up, lowered her gaze as she felt the flatter of the compliment rush through her veins.

"I feel something," Legolas went on in English, not directed to anyone in particular, making Erynèth lift her head up to watch him as he twirled his fingers around, "a slight tingle in my fingers. I think it is affecting me."

At this the soldiers around boomed with laughter, and Erynèth shook her head as she bit her lip, trying from grinning too much at the show he was putting up. "You're such a liar," she said to him, though he just grinned at her in turn, bringing the glass to his lips once more.

The night grew old, and morning was bound to soon come, and Erynèth had grown rather wary from the alcohol she had been consuming, and had now left her glass astray, for she did not trust to drink any more.

Feeling a slight burn at the side of her head, she drowsily looked sideways, only to find Legolas sitting across from her, staring at her with a hand propped under his chin, his elbow resting on the table. By now he did look rather tipsy, for he had most definitely had a few too many drinks.

"I have missed you deeply," Legolas said dreamily, when she had raised his eyebrows at him in question.

Feeling rather taken aback, she tried to lift herself up straight, though found that her muscles had grown rather strained from the long rest, and decided to go only halfway, for she was in dire need of a refreshener. "Legolas," she mumbled, not quite sure as what to say. Of course she had missed him too, more than he could perhaps comprehend, but had it not been true that they were still on wobbly ground?

"We have not yet talked about it all," she reminded him, though he slowly shook his head, unable to go any quicker, for he might start to feel rather dizzy, "Let us not talk about it now. Much needs to be said, yes," he agreed, solemnly nodding his head, "but we have not yet had the chance to live the day, so let us do this first."