Disclaimer: Refer to Chapter One.

Chapter 6: Led Astray

Haldir's eyes were ever scanning, ever moving, never still. It was giving him a headache. All these years of soldiering, Haldir should be used to that intoxicating, exhausting mix of feeling like both predator and prey. But, it never got easier, particularly for one meant to be immortal, to flirt so often with death.

"Well," Orophin said at his side, "This beats watching Rumil and Linaya make eyes at each other over Mother's quail at her weekly dinners."

Haldir nodded, peering around Orophin to where Rumil walked sulkily. "Yes, that is getting harder and harder to stomach. I nearly gagged on my mashed potatoes last week when he ate left-handed so he could hold her hand through the entire meal."

"Truly," Orophin grumbled.

"Quiet," Rumil growled, "You're just jealous, Orophin, because no maiden will have you."

"Have me?" Orophin snorted, "That is not the trouble. None of the women in this city are good enough for me, you know that."

Haldir shook his head, smiling reluctantly. He thanked the Valar at that moment that he had his brothers beside him. Especially Orophin, who always seemed to know what to say, always seemed to sense what others needed to hear. He didn't know what he would do should anything happen to either of his brothers, the very thought pained him.

Suddenly, his restless eyes spotted movement ahead, and he held up his hand to his bickering brothers. They sobered immediately, swinging their bows forward. The column of soldiers halted. They all heard it then, the scrambling of clumsy feet over the uneven forest floor. Rumil sent aloft a single arrow, but the fleeing orc did not flinch, just dashed north through the trees. It had been like this for most of the night, only the barest glimpse of a fleeing scout drawing them along, but the main force of orcs remained elusive.

Haldir sent a soldier back to the second column, which was led by Celeborn himself, to tell the elf lord what had been seen.

Haldir motioned to his men and their march continued. He was even more wary now, hypersensitive to any sound or smell. Another step and Haldir stumbled on a fallen limb, pitching forward into a clearing. He glanced around in confusion that quickly turned to horror. For, here, a great swath of grass and branches had been trampled by many careless feet. A few half-eaten rabbit carcasses lay about, they had been chewed upon raw and tossed aside. Looking away from the fly-covered bodies, his sharp eyes followed the path of the disturbed land. It seemed to swing out and away, skirting around to the west. The sinking feeling in his soul grew stronger, he was going to be sick. His unsteady feet shuffled along the path for several steps, and all the while, his daughter's voice seemed to scream at him from the trees, the clouds, the very earth was berating him. They know, Daddy. They know how to fool you.

No. No, he couldn't have been so foolish. But, it was so clear to him now, so gut-wrenchingly clear. The scouts had been a decoy, drawing them further from the city so the orc army could circle around and attack from the south. His voice was ragged as he bellowed, "We must go back! Tell Celeborn to turn back!"

Silraen gasped, frozen in place for the briefest moment as Maril's body dropped to the ground, she heard the sharp crack of the arrow shaft breaking beneath his weight. The chilling realization hit her like a blast of winter wind. The army had been lured away so the orcs could come up from the south. Halnorel had known. She had seen it. But, they had not listened to her.

Reaching up for Halnorel and jerking the child into her arms, Silraen screamed, "Back to the gate. Now!"

Her workers were shaken from a moment of shock by her commanding tone and flew toward the city, a few stumbling in their haste to reach safety. Halnorel's weight was awkward against her side, but Silraen managed to keep her feet. She whipped her head around once and saw them coming from the trees, swarming forth like wretched black oil poured from a barrel. Their blackened blades were held high, and torches glittered malevolently from the hands of many. They were very close. Silraen wished she had not looked.

The back gate came into view, most of her workers had already made it through. A small shed was beside the path and Silraen let Halnorel down, pushing her toward the gate. Silraen took up a pitchfork that leaned against the building and hurled it at the orc nearest her. The sharp tines went through his neck as the force of the blow drove him backwards. Silraen grabbed a scythe and dashed again for the city.

She was the last one to the gate. She gripped the heavy wood and turned to slam it shut when she saw that one of the others was down, an arrow lodged in the back of her thigh. She lay on her stomach, reaching up weakly to no one in particular, her pain-glazed eyes pleading, beseeching them not to leave her. Silraen tightened her grip on the scythe and ran back for her, dodging arrows and willing her legs to move faster. Silraen grasped the outstretched arm, drawing it up over her shoulders and dragging the wounded elf to the gate. When they were through, two of her more stout-hearted workers stood waiting, and flung the gates shut, dropping the bar.

The walls, as tall as two elves, proved little obstacle to the orcs. Even now, they were scaling it and dropping over the other side, screaming triumphantly in their hideous tongue.

"What of the Lady's magic?" Tiernas gasped, "I thought-they've never..."

"I don't know," Silraen gruffly replied, turning her narrowed blue eyes toward the Great Mallorn, "I don't know."

Galadriel was on her knees in her bedroom, clutching her head in her hands as a moan fought its way up her throat. The room was in disarray, the washbasin and lantern on her nightstand shattered on the ground where she had stumbled into them, claw marks on the dresser where she had tried to drag herself upright. It was no use. The pain was too great.

She drew herself up just enough to crawl to her balcony. There was screaming, shouts of alarm, and she peered through the barely opened door out over her beautiful realm. "No," she groaned, forcing down a mouthful of bile, "It cannot be."

She dropped down again, gasping as she turned all of her strength to maintaining the barrier around her lands, to preventing any more of their vile enemies from gaining access to Caras Galadhon. It was too late. Each orc, as he jumped from the wall and his accursed feet touched her unsullied ground, felt like a burning poker in her temple.

Some greater force was driving them on, and someone was inside her mind, twisting and poisoning her thoughts until she wanted to tear her beautiful hair out by the fistful or toss herself from the tree. She could not maintain the barrier with her mind so polluted, her strength was sapped and the orcs crossed easily where once they would have been turned back. It was powerful, this being that intruded on her mind, it was ancient. She didn't know when she had begun to weep, but the silk of her gown where it covered her lap was stained with tears. Finally, gritting her teeth so mercilessly she feared they would crack, she lifted her head. She could hear it then, just barely, a breeze carried the sound through the leaves and the crack in the door to her reluctant ears. It was the scream of a Nazgul.

"Go to the trees," Silraen told them with more calm than she felt, "I'll give you time." Before any could argue, she turned to face the orcs and held up her scythe, fighting the trembling that took her sweaty fingers. The two elves paused only briefly, then one swung the injured elf into his arms, while the other lifted Halnorel. They made quickly for the center of the city.

Silraen swung the sickle, easily beheading the first orc who approached her. She wondered briefly if it was the countless hours spent learning swordplay from her brother and father that was keeping her alive, or if it was the equally countless hours spent cutting grain with this very tool. Either way, the first ten orcs over the wall lay piled at her feet, and Silraen had only a small nick across her arm. Knowing she had bought the burdened elves enough time to escape, she turned for the trees herself, fleeing over the lush grasses, her chest heaving.

Silraen caught up with the others, retrieving her daughter. Halnorel was shuddering wildly, her eyes squeezed shut against an all too familiar sight. "It's just like my dream," she whispered, "It's just like my dream."

Bounding between the massive mallorn, Silraen reached the foot of the stairs to Miradhel's tree.

"Go to grandmother's," Silraen ordered curtly, setting the girl down.

"Mama, I—" Halnorel turned shining blue eyes on Silraen, and her heart twisted in her chest.

"Go," Silraen barked, "Now."

With a sob, hurt burning in her eyes, Halnorel turned and ran up the stairs.

Silraen angrily flicked a tear from the corner of her eye and bolted for her own home. The orcs were spreading throughout the city now, and a few unfortunate elves caught on the ground howled in pain. Silraen burst into her home, the door bashing back against the wall as she threw it open. She skidded to a stop in front of Haldir's wardrobe, tossing shirts and armor aside, and dragging his old sword from beneath it all. She fought with the stubborn metal clasp, cursing violently, and strapped it to her hips. She grabbed her bow and both of her quivers and positioned the awkward load over her back and left her home behind, grabbing her scythe at the doorway.

Glancing up, Silraen saw the homes of many elves in the branches above her, and knew what she had to do. Her feet flew as she went down the steps. Below the lowest flet, she set to hacking at the stairs with her scythe, feeling the skin of her hands tear as she put all of her strength into cutting the wood. Soon, the raggedly cut rails and stairs fell away, leaving no avenue for the orcs to scale this tree. She saw that on several other trees, elves were mimicking her idea, so began picking off orcs with her bow. Her aim was true, and she thought for a moment of Haldir, insisting for all those years that she practice, for someday he might not be there. He wasn't there. Where in the name of Mordor and all that is unholy is he? He promised he would keep them away, keep us safe. Where is he? Rage at her husband burned through Silraen, more potent even than her hatred for orcs, and in a moment of sizzling anger, she picked up her scythe and hurled it end over end at an orc on the stairs to the Great Mallorn. It impaled him cleanly, pinning him to the trunk of the tree. Many of the orcs turned to her, watching the sneer that crossed the tall elf maiden's lips, and for the first time they paused. This was supposed to be an easy victory. The Wraith had sworn it.

The rain of arrows from within the trees grew thicker, spreading confusion among the orcs. Silraen looked around quickly, seeing her neighbors and friends joining her in defending their home. Silraen felt her courage renewed, felt great pride as orcs fell all along the valley. But, her elation was short lived.

The angry glittering of a rough-hewn torch appeared between the trees and Silraen shot its bearer. But, there was another, and another. Silraen was running out of arrows. There was a great whoosh.

A torch had reached its mark, igniting the dry moss and lichen at the base of one of the mallorn. Silraen watched with growing terror as the flames leapt up the trunk, growing higher and redder, licking along the bottom of the lowest flet. Silraen's mind went nearly numb with fear. The lowest flet of the southwest mallorn. Miradhel's home. Her children.

Silraen heard several arrows sing through the air and watched as flaming arrows set the catwalks joining the trees ablaze. There was no escape for those in the burning tree. They had to get that fire out, there had to be a way. Silraen vaulted over the railing and dropped a great distance to the ground, rolling as she landed. She came back upon her feet instantly, drawing her sword. Those few orcs that opposed her were cut down quickly, and she reached the base of the mallorn. The heat of the flames drove her back, she lifted a bloodied hand to shield her eyes, but still she felt seared by it. She looked around helplessly, trying to scream for more to come and aid her, but her voice was lost in the din of crackling flames and wailing elves.

One of the archers in the trees glanced down and noticed the lone she-elf on the ground, beating at the roaring fire with a banner torn from beside the path, succeeding only in singeing the ends of her blond hair. He motioned for those around him to follow and dropped lightly to the ground.

As a strong hand gripped her shoulder, Silraen reached for her sword, but stopped as she met the steady green eyes of an elder elf. She stepped away from the blaze, shouting over the noise, "Eight of you, start bringing water from the well. You four, come with me."

Silraen and the elves drew their bows, covering the others who fought the blaze. She could hear the screams of elves above her head. Many had emerged from homes higher in the tree and were milling on the lowest flet. Several dared to jump, falling through the smoky air to the glade below. Orc archers were shooting arrows into the crowd of elves that remained, and Silraen felt new anger burn in her stomach. She began firing at the orcish archers, tracing the path of each arrow back with her eyes. A young she-elf dropped from the platform above to Silraen's feet, two arrows jutting out from her stomach. Hating herself as she did it, Silraen bent and jerked the arrows from the dead elf's body, nocking and firing them back at their owners. She had only one arrow left. Silraen looked through the gray haze and saw the squat stone building next to the Great Mallorn. The armory.

Silraen dashed for the building, drawing her sword as she ran. She slashed her blade across the face of the first orc she encountered, spun, and clashed blades with another. His reeking breath filled her nostrils and she growled with displeasure and loathing. In a burst of motion, the orc swung his scimitar around and tore it across Silraen's arm. She staggered, hitting her knees hard. The fire raged on. She thought she heard Taurnan scream. Just when her hopelessness was most complete, a new noise rose over the chaos, bursting through the ugliness of battle like the fresh rays of sunshine after a storm. Golden elvish trumpets sang from the trees as Haldir's army burst into the city. Silraen saw Celeborn, astride his chestnut horse, cutting through the orcs, merciless and majestic as he led the Lorien elves in defense of their city.

Haldir. Haldir's here. Silraen felt a rush of shame at doubting him, at blaming him for leaving them to this. Because now he would save them.

There was little time for relief, for Silraen sensed motion behind her. Dropping forward, she avoided a sword blow that would have surely decapitated her. Rolling to the side, she found her feet again and crossed blades with the orc. They pressed their swords together, ever closer, both sure they could defeat the other by brute force alone. Then, the orc snapped his neck forward, driving the metal of his helmet into Silraen's skull. The skin of her forehead split open, blood poured into her eyes and down her face. Jumping back, Silraen swung her sword blindly, relieved to feel it encounter something soft. The dead orc fell against her and she shoved him off and to the side.

She was about to turn for the armory again when she saw that in the chaos of the burning flet, several elves were being knocked off the edges, screaming as they fell. Silraen's eyes widened as one small body dropped limply through the air. She could remember buttoning that same green dress on Halnorel that morning. Even over the noise of clashing swords and roaring flames, Silraen heard the sickening thud as Halnorel hit the earth.

Silraen wiped frantically at her eyes, trying to scrub away the stinging blood that filled them. But, even then, the image was blurry and double. She could see well enough to spot a large orc running toward her daughter. Silraen tried to run, but swayed and dropped to her knees. What is wrong with me?

Using her sword for support, she struggled back to her feet, nocking her last arrow and aiming for the orc. But, blood ran into her eyes again and her hands were shaking violently. She fell again, snarling with frustration. "Haldir!" she screamed, her voice nearly hysterical. If he still lived, surely he would save their daughter. "Haldir!" She wiped angrily at her eyes, and then she saw him beside the dancing flames of the burning tree. He started to run for her, but she lifted a trembling finger in the direction of their child. Haldir then saw his daughter, saw the lumbering darkness of the orc reaching for her. Haldir glanced back at Silraen and their eyes clashed in mutual alarm for a single charged moment

"Go." The word tore raggedly from Silraen's throat.

Haldir ran for Halnorel, but the orc already had her. He backhanded her across her cheek, then drove his fist into her face. The little girl whimpered in horror. This amused the orc, who pulled Halnorel up by her beautiful hair and held her several feet above the ground. His arm was cocked back, ready to strike the child again, when Haldir set upon him like rage incarnate.

Haldir tackled the orc and saw Halnorel break from his grasp and roll safely away. Haldir slashed his sword across the orc's face and half rose. Spitting every curse he knew, he continued to drive his sword into the orc, even after it was long dead. Screaming and panting with fury, Haldir was covered in black orc blood, but he didn't care. He unleashed anger such as he had never felt before on the corpse of the orc. Finally, he felt a steely grip cover his wrist and the sword was torn from his hand. Blindly, he went after the orc with just his fists. Familiar arms closed around him, dragging him back, and a voice pierced the thick fog of his rage.

"Haldir stop! Enough!"

Haldir stumbled backwards. He dropped heavily to the ground, his breath sawing from his heaving chest. Silraen fell too, feeling the impact with the ground through her injured head in a flash of red pain. They stared at each other in horror for several seconds. Haldir barely recognized his wife. Her own blood covered her face and neck and dripped onto the front of her shirt. Her left arm was torn roughly open, staining her sleeve black with blood.

Silraen also could not believe her eyes. Haldir was caked with orc blood, it was in his hair, under his fingernails. For a moment, he had seemed to have lost his very sanity. She had never known his heart capable of such darkness, such terrible power. After that shocked moment, both became aware of the battle still raging around them and the child crying next to them. Haldir gathered himself up first, crawling to Halnorel.

It wrenched his heart to look upon her. Her cheek was bright red, her lip split and swollen. One blue eye was beginning to swell shut. She whispered around a mouthful of blood, "Daddy?"

Fighting tears, Haldir tucked her into his arms. He turned to Silraen and wordlessly wrapped an arm around her waist. He half carried, half dragged her to the armory. Once inside the small building, Haldir kicked the door shut behind him. Silraen dropped down next to a pile of armor, falling to her hands and knees. Haldir carried Halnorel to a spot next to the single small window to examine her wounds. He felt Silraen brush past him, elbowing toward their daughter. Haldir relented, watching as Silraen felt gently along the fragile bones of Halnorel's face and arms, leaving small smudges of blood from her fingertips. There were no breaks. The child was shaken, but intact. She hugged Halnorel to her, but soon felt gentle hands on the sides of her arms.

Haldir turned her to face him, feeling along the edges of her head wound. "It will need to be sewn closed," Haldir said, his voice thick and quiet, "But I think you will be all right." He shifted slightly and tore the sleeve from her workshirt, then tied it tightly over her sword wound. Silraen had been staring down at Halnorel's blond head, but finally she looked up at Haldir, met his eyes for the first time. His eyes held a dazed vulnerability that he dared not show to anyone else. But here, in the seclusion of the dank armory, he shared with Silraen the fear he veiled behind an icy blue stare around his soldiers. Here, with Silraen, he was just an elf and a father watching his home and all he loved fall to ashes around him. Silraen pulled him to her, pressing his face against her neck for a long moment. Haldir drew in a deep, cleansing breath, seeming to draw new strength from the brief contact with Silraen. They broke apart quickly as a piercing scream rose up from above, seeming to shake the stone walls of the armory. The very air seemed to vibrate with ominous power. "Nazgul," Haldir breathed, feeling a shudder tear up his spine. He rose then, his voice clear and commanding, "Stay here until someone comes for you. Understand?"

"I can still fight," Silraen stated just as firmly.

"You're injured, and you must stay with Halnorel."

"I can shoot. Put me on the roof. Please, Haldir."

Their eyes met in a silent battle, until finally Haldir grunted in frustration, "All right." He turned and glanced through a crack in the door. The battle seemed to have gained intensity, several orcs were right outside the door.

"I will clear the way for you," Haldir said without hesitation.

"Wait, Haldir." He glanced back at Silraen to see she was whispering instructions to Halnorel to stay put, then she dropped a quick kiss on the top of the girl's head. Rising, she drew her sword. Ignoring the warning in her husband's eyes, she stepped up to his side.

Glancing down, Haldir said, "I can't believe you've been fighting with that dull old sword." He pulled a weapon down from a shelf near the door, pressing it into her hand. "Now you're ready."

Silraen swung the new blade in a few careful arcs, cocking an eyebrow in approval. She nodded quickly to Haldir and he threw the door open. Fighting back to back, Silraen and Haldir hacked through the orcs, Silraen clutching her injured arm close to her body. A spray of orc blood covered Haldir's chest as he sliced an orc's arm from his body. Silraen drove her new sword through the stomach of a small orc, the last that threatened them. She turned and grabbed the lower eave and swung onto the roof. Haldir tossed several quivers up to Silraen. As she caught the last quiver, her eyes widened and she quickly swung her bow around and let an arrow fly just above Haldir's head. He felt a few blond hairs stir on the top of his crown. Glancing back, he saw an orc drop dead just feet behind him.

"Thanks," he said with a half-smile.

Silraen nodded, "You'd better get back to your men, Captain."

Haldir nodded and ran to rejoin the fray as Silraen took aim for what orcs remained. A scream tore through the air again, and elves all around dropped with fear. Silraen felt a tremoring take her limbs, but she steeled herself against it and shot on. She saw it then, the Wraith on its terrible flying mount, the great wide wings gulping up air as it flapped between the mallorn. It swooped suddenly, its jaws open, beady eyes trained on the elf woman perched on the armory roof. Silraen froze, willing herself to be patient, staring down the creature until she could nearly see the jagged edge of each yellowed tooth. Then, she dove to the side, rolling along the roof. She felt the wind of it pass over her, smelled the rotten carrion smell of its body and she nearly wretched. But, it did not try for her again, instead it glided back to the center of the battle and the Wraith laughed as elves quailed at his presence.

But, there was one who did not falter. Celeborn sat astride his horse, as solid as the roots of the mountains, and drew back his bowstring with unwavering precision. His arrow pierced the winged creature's belly, driving through the soft tissue nearly to the fletching, and it screamed in surprise and agony. With uneven strokes, its wings drove it on, but away, back to Dol Guldur, retreating in shame. The orcs, confused and disheartened by the loss of their leader, were scattering, the frightening orchestration of their attack breaking down into their usual random, unthinking violence. They became easy targets for Haldir's army. It was nearly over.

As Silraen lowered her bow, a loud clap of thunder rent the skies. She looked up, watching the swirling black clouds. Suddenly, they poured forth cold rain that beat down upon all of Lothlorien. Silraen would swear the skies wept that day for the violation of this once pure land. She tipped her head back further, letting the rain wash the soot and drying blood from her face. The world around her seemed to slow and stop as the cleansing rain surrounded her. It was at that moment that Haldir looked at her.

He had been frantically rallying a small force to follow the fleeing orcs when he glanced at the armory. The raindrops seemed to hover in the air as Haldir looked on Silraen. She stood with her arms outstretched, her face turned toward the skies. She held a bow in one hand and an arrow in the other. For a moment, she looked like some sort of warrior goddess, and Haldir thought this might be a glimpse of Silraen as she had once been, a fearless creature of the wilds. That raw, elemental beauty had always been there, repressed by her duties as mother, wife, gardener. He marveled at how blind he had been, that he had never seen it until that day.

Haldir turned away, barking orders, gathering his men. But, the image stayed with him, was burned into his eyelids. Even as he chased down orcs through the deepest corners of the forest, it haunted him. It would stay with him for the rest of his life.

Thanks to my ever-wonderful reveiwers, Puxinette, Tigerlily, and moonbunny77!!!