Disclaimer: Refer to Chapter 1

A/N: I am so sorry for the long drought, it was inexcusable. Thanks to all who still remember me!

Chapter 12: The Revered One

Rumil moved a few pieces of undercooked carrot around on his plate, herding them moodily in circles with no intention of consuming them. It had been two weeks since the city had been emptied. Haldir sat across from him, gnawing with similar displeasure on some tasteless rabbit meat. He could not eat vegetables, they made him think of Silraen, so he ate lembas and meat, and those he ate rarely. He looked up at Rumil, dredging up a weak smile for his younger brother. "Not hungry?"

"No," Rumil replied gruffly, "This waiting, this blasted waiting has made me lose my appetite."

"Me too."

Rumil let out a loud breath. "Eight months."

"Hmm?"

"Linaya is eight months along today. My baby is eight months old today."

Haldir could not resist a snort of laughter, "You know that? By heart? I'm sure you already know this, but you are a better husband than I will ever be. I didn't know when Silraen was due until she got this panicked look in her eye and started walking to the healer's talan."

Rumil laughed, his bright blue eyes dancing, "You are terrible. And lucky. Lucky she hasn't left you."

Haldir's voice dropped to a whisper, "She did...just not the way I had expected she would." Haldir ground his jaw for a moment, "They've all gone away."

"You'll see her again. And, when you do, you'll get a chance to stop being such a worthless lout of a husband. You'll get a second chance to do it right...like I did from the beginning."

Haldir nodded, a sardonic grin crossing his face. "Following the example of my baby brother...there's something very wrong with that. It is a blow to my pride how much better you are than me at almost everything. It's downright wrong. You're better on a horse, better with a sword, you're a better shot—"

"I'm better looking."

Haldir's scowl deepened, "I wouldn't go that far."

"I would."

Haldir's sharp retort died in his throat as he felt a hand grip his shoulder. He looked up, seeing one of his scouts standing anxiously behind him, noticeably out of breath. Haldir rose, walking to the doorway. Rumil heard the urgent whispering of the scout, watched Haldir's face darken as he turned away. Rumil stood slowly, leaving his meager meal uneaten and forgotten. He fell in step beside his brother, waiting for the older elf to speak.

"They're close. A large force of orcs is closing in on the city." Haldir stopped his determined march across the catwalk, turning to Rumil. "What reason do we have to stay here? What is there left to protect? I say we march out to meet them. What do you think?"

A cold grin crossed Rumil's lips. "I think that's the best idea I've heard in weeks. Shall I begin assembling the soldiers?"

"No," Haldir said, gripping his brother's shoulder, "You're going to saddle a horse."

Haldir's feet passed silently over the dry grasses of the forest floor. The footfalls of Lorien's army were little more than a soft murmur behind him, and he glanced carefully around him, sensing they drew close to their enemy. Despite their dire errand, Haldir felt relieved. Finally he had something to do, some excuse to leave the city walls. The soulful songs and ringing laughter of the treetops was gone, and all that remained was silent despair. Haldir felt surely it would drive him mad.

Haldir glanced back between the gray trees, catching a glimpse of glowing white robes. Celeborn had feared to leave Galadriel alone in the city. She agreed to stay behind the main battle with an escort. The shame in her eyes had dulled them, and Haldir knew she still thought of her failure to protect the city in the first battle. Not even Celeborn seemed able to console her.

He called for a halt, letting the men rest while he sent more scouts ahead. As others found logs or boulders to rest briefly on, Haldir stood, watching the retreating backs of the scouts and hoping they might return with good news, good counsel, something he could use. He was about to turn away, to attend to other duties, when he heard arrows sing from either side of one of the scouts, catching him in the middle. He let out a strangled cry, pitching forward. They would march no further. The fight would be here.

Haldir caught the arm of Meldor, who was known for he speed as a runner, and hissed, "Go back and warn the cavalry. Tell them to circle to the river and come back at the orcs from the north. Go now!"

Meldor set off at a dead sprint and Haldir thought of Rumil and Celeborn, who commanded the small mounted force trailing the main army. He had held them back until now, but if the force they faced was as formidable as the scouts reported, cavalry could be just the advantage the Galadhrim needed. He prayed it would be enough.

Linaya started from a deep sleep, and reached for Rumil in the dark. All she found to her right was a handful of brittle yellow grass and the chill earth beneath it. Linaya sighed, feeling tears prick her eyes for what seemed the thousandth time in the two weeks they had been in the wilds.

But then Linaya remembered why she had woken as another persistent kick erupted within her belly. She smiled, thinking surely this child would grow to be a warrior like Rumil and his uncles. She could feel already that it was a son she carried, she did not know how.

Linaya looked up to see Miradhel watching her in the faint moonlight. She wore a tired smile as she leaned back against a rock, her cloak drawn tight around her.

"Your child is restless?" the elder elf astutely observed. Linaya nodded with a nervous grin. Always Miradhel had intimidated her, made her unsure of herself. Linaya knew she and her mother-in-law were undeniably similar, and yet there remained a chasm between them. Even Silraen, with her rough ways, was closer to Miradhel and did not fear to speak her mind around the elf. It was clear to Linaya why Silraen was accepted and she was not. Silraen had given Miradhel grandchildren, three of them, and each of them perfect. Soon, Linaya too would have completed that rite of passage, and yet she still feared she would be unwelcome. She realized then the other difference between herself and Silraen. Silraen had married the independent, almost aloof Haldir, while Linaya loved the youngest son, who was doted upon by his mother and brothers alike, treated with reverence even now. Not even Galadriel herself would be good enough for Rumil in their eyes.

Such thoughts brought to Linaya a sour mood. She sat up, thinking to go for a walk, get away from the group for a while, but Miradhel's voice stopped her short. "What are you having?"

Linaya frowned, eyeing the elf in confusion, "What do you mean?"

"Boy or girl?"

"I don't know."

"Yes, you do. A mother just knows."

Linaya could not resist the watery smile that spread across her face as she whispered, "Boy. It is a boy."

Miradhel chuckled, her eyes bright as she said, "I knew Haldir and Orophin were boys. But, your Rumil, I thought he'd be a girl right to the moment he was born."

Linaya laughed, shifting her awkward weight, "Were you disappointed?"

"No," Miradhel said, her gaze growing distant. "No, he was a beautiful baby. I was very happy. And, when the boys' father died a few years later, he was what sustained me. He was such a happy child, even as I mourned he could make me smile."

"Rumil never speaks of his father."

"He barely knew him," Miradhel quietly replied.

"What was he like?" The question escaped Linaya's mouth before she could stop it, and she bit her lip, fearing she had gone too far.

But, Miradhel simply looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, "He was strong. Of all things that could be said of him, that was what I always remember. He was strong, and he passed that strength on to his sons. And so to your son, I am sure."

Linaya glanced around at the wind-battered plains, the infinite expanse of grass and emptiness and said, "He will have to be strong. In these lands and these times, there will be no other choice."

Where is the blasted cavalry? Haldir wanted to scream over the noise of battle, but instead settled on a mumbled string of curses. A short but quick orc was proving strangely difficult to kill, and the dull-edged dagger already lodged in Haldir's thigh was slowing him down. He could feel blood beginning to pool in his boot as it trickled down from his wound and his scowl deepened. He hated having wet boots.

The hoofbeats that rumbled from the trees, more felt than heard, lifted Haldir's spirits. He whipped his sword across the orc's middle, finally ending their awkward dance, and spun to see the cavalry. They pounded into the midst of the battle at a full gallop, disrupting what little organization the orcs had, scattering them to be finished by the rest of the warriors. Haldir thought he caught a glimpse of white-yellow hair and a stern jaw, possibly Rumil, but in the chaos of battle could have been another soldier. But, Haldir felt buoyed by even that brief look at one of his brothers, felt pride that they fought on together against these vast waves of evil.

Haldir staggered back for a moment, his vision swimming as he turned his head too quickly. Did he have another injury? How much blood had he lost? He was unsure. He lifted his sword, a sluggish delay in the movement that even he noticed. He parried an orc's strong strike just in time. He swung back, but the force nearly set him off balance and he dropped to one knee. It was a fatal mistake; he knew that, he knew he had just sealed his own fate. But, he watched with detached amazement as the orc's head dropped to the ground before his eyes, followed quickly by the body.

"Captain, you are injured," Thellendur's deep voice reached through the haze of disorientation that surrounded Haldir's senses. "Stay down, Captain. The battle is almost over, the enemy is fleeing. I will fetch a healer, do not..."

Haldir's attention wavered as the scream of a dying horse rattled his ears. He winced, looking through the trees to the retreating orcs, many of them injured and confused. But, as they left this field of defeat, they caught a cavalry soldier and fell upon him like a storm, merciless, pouring their unnatural rage upon him. Haldir did not have to see who it was they dragged from his horse. He knew. It was his brother.

For a moment of utter shock, Haldir watched the orcs' blades rise and fall, piercing the elf at their feet. He waited for a scream of pain, but when he finally heard it, he realized it was his own voice. He struggled to his feet.

He had only sprinted halfway to his brother when the orcs lost interest in him, crashing through the woods in panic. Haldir thought he saw one of the orcs hold up a severed hand, waving it in triumph as if to taunt and pain only Haldir. But, surely it belonged to someone else, it was not Rumil's. Rumil might be hurt, but he would be all right...in time...

Haldir could not see beyond the body of Rumil's black horse. He skirted around the animal, nearly tripping over one of its sprawled legs. He cocked his head as he saw Rumil, saw the proud blue eyes that now held no pride, no fear, nothing. They stared glassily at the gray-blue dawn, at the softly rustling leaves, without actually seeing them. Haldir focused on those empty eyes, knowing that if he looked at the rest of his mutilated body he would wretch, knowing he would be unable to bear it. Haldir had learned long ago that death rarely involved noble speeches and final promises. And so it was with his brother. Whatever Rumil had meant to say before his life was stolen would remain unsaid. For, he was already dead.

Haldir sank down beside Rumil's body, afraid to touch him lest it finally seem real to him. Better to keep a distance and believe for a while that it was all a disgusting nightmare. A memory came to him, unwanted and unbidden, of Rumil as a small child. Haldir and his mother had put Haldir's mail and helmet on the boy, and he proudly wielded a wooden spoon as a weapon. You will be a great warrior, Haldir had said, You will be invincible.

But, he was not. Oh, Eru, he was not. Haldir couldn't breathe, the magnitude of his loss falling upon him with sudden fury. He reached for his brother's remaining hand, squeezing it tight and hoping in vain Rumil would squeeze back. But, he did not.

Haldir hung his head, whimpering softly at the wrenching pain in his chest. This was wrong. Rumil was to be a father, was to fight on and someday replace Haldir as Captain. He couldn't just...he couldn't just die.

"Captain, you are hurt. Come with me, we must—"

"Get away from me," he snarled, seeing in the edge of his vision several pairs of boots surrounding him, intruding on this time with his brother. A strong hand encircled Haldir's arm, which was wet with blood from another wound he had not noticed.

"Don't touch me," he yelled, tearing his arm away, "You wretched bastard, you just stay away from me. All of you, get away from me!"

Haldir gripped tighter to his brother's arm as the soldiers tried again to lift him away.

"I will not leave him! I must stay with him!"

In his struggles, Haldir saw someone who did not belong. This person was clothed not in blood-encrusted armor but sparkling white robes. Haldir stilled, watching Lady Galadriel approach them over the quiet battlefield. She stepped over the fallen, but not a drop of blood could be seen on her skirt or boots, as if dirt itself dared not stick to her.

When she reached Haldir, she looked down at him where he was on his knees in defeat. She placed her hands on either side of his grimy face, tipping it up. In her bottomless blue eyes there was a sympathy and caring such as Haldir had never before seen. He rose awkwardly, and Galadriel wrapped her arms around him. Haldir did not weep, but leaned into the tall she-elf, dropping his face into her shoulder. The slightest tip of her head signaled the soldiers to remove Rumil's body and all solemnly moved away. Haldir and Galadriel stood alone between the silent trees as the sun rose golden in the east.

"Get away from me," Halnorel screeched, brushing off Silraen's hands frantically, backing up against the lone, gnarled tree on this expansive grassland. Silraen pursued her, ducking her head to look in her daughter's eyes and seeing they were wild and unfocused. She was not with them anymore. She was somewhere else.

"Don't touch me. You wretched bastard, you just stay away from me. All of you, get away from me!"

Silraen drew back as if stung. She had never heard her child curse so. Half the camp had now been awakened by Halnorel's screaming, and Silraen approached her again, trying to calm the child. "Where are you? What do you see?"

"I will not leave him! I must stay with him!"

"Who?" Silraen feared the answer, "Who will you not leave?"

She took a step closer to Halnorel, falling to her knees and drawing the child into her arms. Halnorel clung to her, whispering softly, "He's gone. He's gone."

"What is happening?" Miradhel rushed toward them, Linaya close behind. Upon seeing Linaya, Halnorel dropped from her mother's arms, staring at Linaya in the sudden sunlight of dawn. Her face twisted and she shook her head insistently. Tears poured down her face, sobs wracking her body, and she turned to the side and wretched.

Silraen stared up at Linaya for a moment, her pale eyes wide, then turned to her child. She pulled Halnorel up, wiping her daughter's mouth with her sleeve and settling the girl in her lap. Halnorel squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her face into Silraen's chest, as if the very sight of Linaya caused her great pain.

Silraen looked again at Linaya, standing confused and uncertain, rubbing a nervous hand over her huge belly. Silraen knew what her daughter had seen. She did not know how, but it became ruthlessly clear to her. She sighed, squeezing Halnorel tighter and kissing the top of her blond head.

Thanks to my awesome reviewers queerquail, Tigerlily, Puxinette, and sar!