Title: Faril Nin [My Huntress]
Author: Codi Lyn { iluvobiwan91
Genre: Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Rating: PG-13 – R (for descriptive battle scene/wounds)
Pairing: Orophin/OFC [Gwaeron]
Timeline: Begins before the Fellowship enters Lorien in Third Age 3018… concludes during Fourth Age 250
Chapter: 8/13
Chapter Summary: In one of the rare breaths between attackers Orophin felt his arm grabbed from behind and instantly whirled to strike before elvish metal met his own with an offensive clang. Rúmil stared at him with a frightened expression, finding raw hatred shining in his brother's eyes.
Author's Note: I don't know quite what season it is when the Fellowship are in Lorien, and so there are a few changes in time-flow versus how things played out in the movies. Follows movie-verse, but I make a few references to things that happened in the books. But little things like these I have the license to play with, as the author. J.R.R. Tolkien and Peter Jackson have rights to the important stuff, this story is written purely for pleasure.
Chapter EightThe warm winds of an oncoming storm mattered little in the face of so many disciplined, swiftly marching galadhrim. Their travels held without cease, silent but for a subtle chink of mail and armor that before long was drowned out by rumbling thunder, and so made progress through the night at an urgent pace. Orophin ran at the head with his Marchwarden and brother, speaking no words and singing no songs, praying their small army's speed would surpass that of Isengard's forces. Rohan came upon them and Orophin was interrupted in his thoughts and prayers by the familiar elvish horn, signaling their arrival to Helm's Deep. What by a man's eyes would be a field of wavering stars, the elf spared a glance opposite from the fortress to see thousands of yrch torches steadily moving closer. Another hour would see the horror's arrival at the walls.
The Deeping Wall opened for the allies and took them inside, rohirric faces aghast and in awe of their force shining in such contrast to those of their harried men. Orophin spared a reassuring nod for one teenager with a smattering of beard that looked little more than dirt. Rohan needed aid more than he had imagined. Standing in formation with his elves, he soon found Legolas and Aragorn come from among the men to meet them, embracing both he and Haldir in their gratitude and surprise. In haste they delegated the galadhrim to spread among the rohirrim, bolstering their defense and organizing lines of archers.
There was little enough time for camaraderie, though Aragorn took his arm and gave a meaningful look before asking. "How is Gwaeron, my friend? Is she changed at all?"
Orophin clasped his arm in turn and smiled. "Your sister has spoken with my Lady and is well. I could not speak with her before coming here to your aid…"
Though gravity filled his countenance, Aragorn managed a smile and clasped a hand to his friend's neck. "It is my prayer, then, that we may both live to see her now returned to spirits. Valar protect you, my brother." With a nod, he watched the ranger move up the barricades to the archers' row.
Turning to his own archers formed in the floor of the Deep, Orophin gave them instruction and stood at their head with his own bow drawn, ready for the first volley to be delivered. Looking to the side, he could just see Rúmil on a side battlement with the few galadhrim up high, forward above him stood Haldir with the line of main soldiers. Thunder above seemed to tell them 'stand ready,' and they did.
Roaring battle cries and rhythmic stomping filled the air and Orophin saw several young men—no, boys—begin to shift and shake where they stood, glancing about them in fear and gripping weapons too large for their untried hands. Watching one lad wipe away his tears made the warden's jaw clench in resolution. There was nothing he could do to keep these children from the fight, but he would do his best to protect them. Strong hearts certainly grew within these lads, but they weren't near the age enough to be thrust so early into battle and death. Intimidating howls and the clapping of crude armor seemed brought to crescendo when the heavy sky finally let loose its load, pouring over an army already drenched in fear.
Above, Aragorn gave the signal to ready aims and Orophin echoed the command, knocking his own arrow to kiss the fletching. In the contrasting quiet and clamor a single arrow was suddenly let fly without consent, hitting its mark and resulting in the enemy's pregnant pause. "Dartho! Hold!" Their ranger-captain ordered the men to steady just as their opposition roused in anger and charge. Now it began. "Tangado a chadad! Prepare to fire!" The galadhrim obeyed immediately, aiming high above the fortress wall to volley. "Hado i philinn! Release arrows!" Orophin's company answered the call to hurl to flow and released taut strings in a deadly cloud of darts.
These volleys seemed a blur before too soon Orophin could see crude ladders beginning to draw up the wall, berserk uruk-hai at their heads. He was able to shoot several down from his position below until there were simply too many coming over the barricade and filtering through their defenses. Calling for swords and drawing his own, Orophin charged the first of the yrch that landed on the floor of the keep, killing the creature as mercilessly as it had killed his companions coming from the wall. More came, seeming to double in number after every kill. Their blood made his lips bitter as it spattered with each vital cut, clinging like sap no matter how the rain sought to wash away its taste.
Several blades ventured too close for his liking, clashing against his breastplate and arms in angry grinding and scraping. Adrenaline pulsed through the elf in a dangerous thrill as battle swarmed about him and the fighting intensified in desperation. After some time, however, that energetic thrum in his body became frighteningly still for the length of a breath, making Orophin search feverishly about him to find the source of this foreboding dread. It was but a moment before what felt amiss became horribly clear.
An explosion larger than he had ever seen erupted with a spine-rattling crack in the fortress wall not far from him. Rock and warrior flew high with the blow, not sparing even the enemy as their bodies impacted others from the force of it. Orophin was thrown far and hard into gravel as shrapnel from broken stone and steel shot into him, imbedding viciously between gaps in his armor and the exposed flesh of face and hands though he shielded himself as best he could. When the initial fog of pain managed to clear from his eyes, the warden looked up to find an enormous gap in the wall, drainage rushing out and bringing fighting uruk-hai in with its tide.
A light head and roaring in ears far too sensitive made him stagger as he stood, looking around to find any of his galadhrim and finding instead the prone figure of an unconscious Aragorn some yards away. In haste, Orophin rushed to him and gathered the ranger to haul away from the oncoming threat, rousing him in the process. Leaving him an order to muster his elves, the man gathered his wits suitably and rushed to his dwarven comrade, managing to rally enough to form a line of defense against the mass of yrch. After a volley of fire that merely slowed the enemy for a moment, Orophin followed Aragorn with the galadhrim and met the uruk's attack with swords ready. Crooked lances claimed many lives as they collided with Saruman's forces and wretched battle cries could be heard from both sides, distinguished only by the tones of man and beast.
Slicing through the affront of iron blades, Orophin cut down the first creature to challenge him and felt his body become gratefully numb to his wounds as he felled another and more in the monster's wake. Arrows from the rohirrim and his brother's force in the upper parapet darted on either side of him, aiding to strike his opponents down that ventured too close to an unprotected side. Orophin fought with determination and focused on the attack, working and weaving skillfully through the arrow-felled uruk-hai until one such shaft grazed his neck, catching him off guard. Distracted by the errant arrow, doubtless shot by a son of men, the warrior turned too late to deflect a stabbing knife that thirled deep into a shoulder already pierced with shrapnel. Growling, Orophin soon took care of the uruk who had dealt it to him and cried out as the serrated blade was ripped carelessly from him with its demise.
"Nan barad! To the Keep!" The call to retreat was shouted amidst the sounds of battle and called the warden to take responsibility for his galadhrim's safety. The elves rushed past him into the fortress obediently, some carrying wounded between them and others alerting those who had not heard above the ruckus. While he covered their retreat Orophin heard Aragorn's voice and his brother's name, casting his glance everywhere in search of both the speaker and hearer. The Marchwarden's figure could be seen still on the upper barricade among the carnage, fighting admirably and ordering his galadhrim to answer the retreat while he still battled the enemy.
As he made a bloody path to reach him, Orophin could do nothing but watch in horror as a rough blade caught his brother in the side, shoving in and out before the Marchwarden could dispatch the uruk. The younger warden fled up the stone stairs three and four at a time to get to him, casting aside all attackers without thought to any further blows he received. Too late, Orophin reached the top where Haldir now sank to his knees, eyes numbed with excruciating pain while a yrch stood poised to end it all. Crying out in rage, Orophin lunged forward and slaughtered the beast, pivoting swiftly to catch and hold his brother's body against his armor. "Haldir! Haldir no…" The elf caught Aragorn reaching them in the corner of his eye and so gave no thought to oncoming attackers as his brother choked to speak.
Tears leaked without acknowledgment from his eyes as Orophin held his captain firmly and Haldir looked up with regret, knowing this to be his end. "There is an honor in dying for those you love, my brother. It is not a waste, though I told you so." Clenching in agony, he paused with eyes shut tight, managing only a few more words. "Will you… take my blessing… for your wife and child?" Quickly Orophin nodded, letting out a gasping sob when Haldir grasped his hand for the last time and released his life, going limp on his arm.
Aragorn's hand on his shoulder beckoned him as the ranger spoke urgently. "Come, Orophin. We cannot linger in this place." Nodding, but with no real sensation beside grief or anger, the warden rose and followed his friend away from the body of his kin. Those enemies in his path were killed in blind rage and soon the adrenaline of battle filled him so that all remained was the instinctive dance of fist, sword and knife. The calls of warning on the battlements were no longer heard, alerting them of great iron ladders that rose in the wake of deadly grappling hooks. Arrows flew to pick off the assailants rising up, but could not contend with the sheer number of uruk-hai.
In one of the rare breaths between attackers Orophin felt his arm grabbed from behind and instantly whirled to strike before elvish metal met his own with an offensive clang. Rúmil stared at him with a frightened expression, finding raw hatred shining in his brother's eyes. "Orophin, you have not heard the call for retreat? The fortress is taken, we must fall back!" When the words finally registered and he knew the fight was lost, Orophin's limbs almost gave way. A wrong-sided kick had left his knee out of joint and weakened, giving the younger need to put his arm about his waist and help the elder son flee back to the final gate of the keep.
A large hall was where the remaining rohirrim now gathered and a glance about the room left Orophin sickened to find no elves within. The painful image of their fallen brother was brought to mind and the young warden watched him carefully.
Rúmil saw the grief in his brother's eyes and guessed it partially, though his heart had no desire to know. "Where is Haldir? I could find him nor any other galadhrim on my way to you."
Orophin could not bring himself to meet his gaze as he spoke, shaking his head with a clenched jaw. "Haldir is gone from us, brother. He… he died in my arms." Taking the helm off of Rúmil, he grasped the elf's neck and pulled his head against his shoulder, holding him close to give what comfort he might have spared for himself. Rúmil held onto his brother and tried to breathe deeply, mouthing a silent prayer for the first-born son of their parents.
Seeking to right himself, the young warden moved to assess the damages his brother had taken and did what he could without removing his panoply entirely. Orophin gasped and panted as Rúmil took it upon himself to remove some larger pieces of shrapnel, casting aside the jagged metals to sound off the floor. To distract himself, Orophin set his eyes on the doorway where some few men were hurriedly ushered in before finally closing the gate. "This is it, then." He murmured to himself, watching men put whatever they could to brace the doors as uruk-hai brought a battering ram to the outside and shook the very stone. The reverberations did nothing to help his dizzy head as he jerked it to shake off dripping sweat, rain, and blood.
Both elves turned their attention to where Aragorn approached the king, urgently pressing him as to any routes of escape for the innocents apparently hiding in caverns. "Is there no other way?" The ranger's normally reverent voice was made strong and imperative to compensate for the numbed leadership Theoden displayed. After the agonizing distraction of Rúmil pulling one last shard from the warden's side, Orophin pressed his cloak against the wounds and gathered from the talk of men that the women and children would have a means of flight to safety and the remaining soldiers would ride out to a last stand.
Horses were sent for from within the keep and Orophin laid hold of his brother's shoulder to raise himself to stand, groaning through teeth grit with the effort. Such movement cost him dearly with shots of pain through his right, corrupted leg especially. Rúmil made to dissuade him, but could do no more than curse his immovable brother once he made up his mind. "I can still wield a blade well enough to defend you, brother. I could not allow you such a death unless I fell first or followed soon after… not now." The resolution shone in his eyes with a gravity Rúmil had never seen before. Death was not commonplace among his kindred.
When mounts were brought for the two galadhrim they each made quick work of removing the sturdy, mannish saddles, leaving only bridle and reins to ride with. Rúmil climbed up easily and watched his brother gently guide his mare to take a knee, hurting less to mount in such a manner than to jump with or swing limbs now damaged. Theoden king seemed to soak in the epic of the moment and rally his full courage, speaking to his men in prose that stirred the blood and raised the battle cry of his rohirrim. "Forth Eórlingas!" The king's command sent the riders heaving through the gate, bursting in a deadly gallop that bowled through the uruk-hai that foolishly made to charge the fearless war-horses. Those who weren't trampled beneath strong hooves were ruthlessly taken down by spear, shield, and sword.
The night began to break away and a pink glow manifested from the eastern ridge while still they fought as those dealing the last blows before honorable death. One man's gaze was drawn to that eastern point of light and exclaimed to see a great white rider, a helmed rohirrim at his side. Eyes not only of men, but those also of yrch now rose to see this new ally and enemy, hope and dread surging through their veins as an entire éored suddenly appeared and began the steep charge down the mountainside and into enemy ranks. The sun dawned fully at their backs and into the eyes of foul creatures, defeating them before the first strikes were dealt. Those surviving of Saruman's army fled and ran off into the newly arrived forest of huorns, unknowing of the trees' deadly intentions toward hackers and woodcutters of kin.
As victory was claimed Orophin sagged with the draining of battle-rage and the rest of his energy, feeling some of his blood leak to stain his horse's hide and mingle with those streaks of his enemy's. Guiding the animal back up the causeway at a walk, he allowed himself to be truly conscious of his body for the first time in hours. His situation was not good. Ignoring things until now had not been wise, but he felt there was no real choice. A throbbing, nauseating weight seemed to have settled throughout him, intensified where he remembered a jagged knife piercing his shoulder. Orophin touched the spot gingerly and felt it to be swollen. There was no doubt as to it being poisoned.
Coming into the Deep, he could hardly bring himself to look across the heaps of corpses, certain as he was that the bodies of his galadhrim were scattered throughout. In frustration and heartache his sword flew out and hacked down an orcish banner bearing the white hand, causing it to fall as the enemy had fallen. Rúmil could be heard trotting up beside him, but Orophin did not look at him, speaking gravely. "Look for survivors, Rúmil." The words were as graveled as the floor of the keep. Parting ways in their search, Orophin slid stiffly off his mare and breathed his thanks in elvish for bearing him safely, walking slowly through carcass and carnage with the animal trailing behind loyally. There was no movement, no sign of struggling life, and all was still. Names of his comrades formed a list in his mind, each one checking off as he found their faces among the rubble and murmured a mournful prayer for Mandos to keep them in his Halls.
Orophin came upon a crushed figure that resembled the lad he had acknowledged upon entering the fortress, his beginnings of a beard now hidden in blood. Tenderly, he removed the boy from the bloodshed that encroached him and held the boy close in arms, wincing in pain but not loosing his hold. The sounds of women and children filtered through the stone of the stronghold, innocents being released from the safety of the caves, and Orophin began to walk toward the noise. Wives and mothers clung to each other and their little children, mixtures of joy at victory and shock at such extent of death on their pale faces.
A young girl, perhaps five or six summers old, left her mother's side and trotted over to Orophin, her eyes torn between the foreign elf and the forever-sleeping lad in his grasp. With difficulty, he knelt to come to her level, enabling him to clearly see the tears in her eyes that had likely plagued her all night. Her hand reached out and carefully touched her brother's cheek, staining her fingers black and red. Meeting Orophin's eyes, he could almost see her veil of innocence becoming threadbare. "Is he a'sleeping?"
Her voice had broken with the lilting tongue of her mother and father and Orophin struggled to keep his own from breaking as well, answering her. "No little one, I'm afraid he will not wake up." He spoke softly and his gentleness caused a flower petal lip to quiver as her heart broke. Tears sought to clean the gore from Orophin's face and he raised his fingers to caress the child's dusty-gold hair and rosined cheek. "There is no shame in crying. I understand you, dear one, for my brother has also been taken from me."
Brown eyes met his in empathy and she took his hand to hold in both of hers, for his comfort as well as her own. "Frerand told me 'be strong.'" The look she gave the body told him her brother's name.
"Frerand was right, we must be strong." He agreed, glancing up to find the children's mother now approaching, her face crumpled in sorrow. Rising again, Orophin handed the lad to her, who she took with strong arms and reverence, and bowed in respect. "I grieve with you."
The woman nodded, thanking him quietly before burying her face in the neck of her son, shoulders shaking. Her daughter hugged the leg of her dress, glancing to the broken elven warrior before consoling her mother. "It is'all right to cry, Mama."
Smiling sorely, Orophin took a step back from them and touched his fingers to his brow in honor, blessing the family in their loss and the child in her growth. A passing look about him revealed that this was not the only scene of its kind being played out. Rúmil approached from the other part of the keep and wordlessly looped his arm about his shoulders, helping him walk and make their way to the gates. "Did you…" Orophin could not bring himself to finish the question, but his brother understood.
"No, there are none." They neither one looked into their faces, for one would find too great a grief and the other too dire a pain. "I have spoken with Éomer of Rohan and with Aragorn, they will properly tend to our dead. There are too many to bring back with us, and you are too weak to help me care for their burial here."
Orophin nodded somberly. Aragorn understood the way of the elves as well as his own, it would be done with honor. "What of Haldir?"
The third son did not answer immediately, as if to calm his emotion before trusting his voice. "Haldir would wish to be with his galadhrim, Orophin, you know that well enough."
Numbly, he agreed, and Orophin was in such a haze of mourning and pain that he almost missed his brother leading him to the healing ward until the smell of fresh blood assailed him. Now awakened from his stupor, Orophin shook his head vehemently and pulled away from Rúmil. "No, I will go to Lórien to heal. We must leave immediately."
Not always subject to his brother's will, Rúmil took hold of his arm and persisted. "You are in no condition to return, Orophin, not when you can barely walk and your wounds gaping open!"
"It matters not! I am well enough to ride, and we ride to Lórien now." Orophin limped determinedly back to the gate where their horses stood obediently together, tensing his body against the tortures he felt at every step. He knew not how long the poisons could be staved off and every moment away from Gwaeron heightened the fear of dying without her. He should have awakened her, he should have held his beloved in arms and promised his love, kissed her, held his daughter once more. As he reached his horse, Orophin clutched the mane for a moment, choked with terror stronger than that sustained in the fight at the thought of being separated from his huntress forever.
Mounting the horse resolutely, the elf pulled her quickly around and urged her away, back to his home at the fastest pace as if pursued by a ring-wraith. In moments Rúmil could be heard riding behind him and they flew over Rohan's plains, fully armored galadhrim no inhibition for two steeds in their motherland. They rode for hours until the sun began to decline on the other horizon and horse and rider needed rest that had been thus far denied. Trying desperately to calm his breathing, Orophin pulled his mare over to a stream they stopped at and sought to hide his ragged condition. He could not hide long, he knew, Rúmil was no dotard. Dismounting so that his back was to his brother, he concealed the pain in his expression and prayed that he would last long enough to reach the Golden Wood.
Hoping to buy enough time to lie down and get a small rest, the eldest asked Rúmil to ready a fire, exerting what authority he could voice firmly. Once he had gone Orophin all but collapsed to the hard earth, allowing some of the violent trembling that had begun around midday to rattle his bones. Sick to his stomach and freezing besides, the elf turned on his better side and wrapped his cloak about him.
Hearing nothing from his brother after having the fire established, Rúmil stood and neared the prone form hidden in cloak. "Orophin?" The shivering could no longer be obscured and he quickly knelt at his side, turning him onto his back and uncovering an unconscious face filled with fever. "Blast it all, you are not well." Cursing to himself, Rúmil set his hands to work and felt of clammy skin, blazing hot, and raised eyelids to see the start of yellowing around the iris. Infection alone did not produce such rapid deterioration as this. Stripping plates of armor from his shoulders, Rúmil filled them with water and set on the fire to boil, immediately at task to remove his brother's gear and fully reveal wounds that should have received care long ago. Slaps to the face were barely registered and the younger brought a few handfuls of chilly water to splash Orophin awake, finally rousing him from fitful slumber.
"We cannot go back to Rohan, Rúmil… Do not take me back." Mumbling in his regained consciousness, Orophin knew at once his illness had been found out and made his protestations.
"We are still in Rohan, brother. That's the least of your concerns at present." Rúmil answered and ripped open a sweat and blood-soaked jerkin, grimacing to find among countless contusions and other gashes a particular stabbing that swelled and oozed what appeared to be blood, though it was too thick to be hale. "Why did you not tell me, Orophin? This could have been prevented!"
Breathing in ragged successions, the invalid shook his head. "I thought I could… hold on until we entered Lórien. I did not realize how, how bad it had come to be."
Rúmil tore apart some of their clothing to make bandages. "Liar. You knew it to be poisoned and did nothing."
Orophin coughed and tensed in the searing pain that accompanied it, feeling his lungs constrict. "Forgive me, my brother."
Glancing up with reproving eyes Rúmil soaked the rags in the boiled water and began cleaning the ghastly wounds; incredulous that Orophin had pushed himself through such suffering. An unexpected droplet landed on him and the younger hastily wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, unused to these emotions and not in any way desirous of becoming so. A mask of anger covered his sadness and he spoke with a semblance heat in his tone. "I have no care to be the only brother left alive. You are the responsible one, not I."
A wet cough answered him that was perhaps meant to be a laugh, causing the younger to grimace while Orophin managed a slight smile. "I'd say you're certainly the responsible one at present." The rattling cough took him again, causing a seize in pain before he turned to the side and spat out syrupy blood, returning to his back with a gasping breath. Some clear water was brought up to his lips and he drank only to rinse the acrid discharge from his throat, daring not to swallow anything. His brother was diligent in his care for every injury, tending first the most grievous that evidently held the poison and was therefore made sensitive to any touch at all, redoubling their distress.
Hours passed without much improvement, and bandaging what could be bandaged meant little when so significant an amount of shrapnel still remained deep in the flesh. Rúmil carried no herbs or healing salves to ward off further infection, no bandages aside from the clothing he had already torn asunder, and no instruments to help him remove debris from the explosion or even to sew any cuts closed. The two halves of a broken arrow shaft had been placed between Orophin's teeth to keep from biting his tongue as his tremors nearly turned to seizures when the pain was at its worst. Occasionally his shouts of torment would even disquiet the horses, though they remained steadfast at the edge of the firelight.
At length, and by the Valar's blessing, Orophin lost consciousness and lay slack against the tree his brother had situated him against. His mind would grant no peace, even in oblivion, and the warden dreamed of scarlet and fetid black blood. Layers of it clung to him, suffocating in its closeness, and he fought against shadows and his own fears with futile movements. His ears were ringing with the lingering deafness of the explosion; the blast that riddled his body with flying stone and metal fogged any other sound. A high voice, a woman's voice, pierced through the haze and Orophin spun to find its source, desperate for something real and tangible when the onslaught of vagueness and indefinite din constricted him. "Gwaeron? Gwaeron! Gwaeron help me!" The thought of her, alone, gave him strength and he pushed his way through grasping monsters to reach her.
The voice was there again, and he recognized his name. "Orophin! Come to me! Orophin, I am alone, please, come!" Orophin faltered and struggled but could not force his body further, collapsing into the muck of battle that drew him in. "Orophin!" Her scream was panicked and he wept in desperation. There was no more strength in him, he could not bring his arms to fight, and his legs were too heavy to lift. A baby began to cry and Orophin's heart clenched in terror. Véredhiel. Gwaeron. He had to get to them, he could not fail, he must reach them in time, he could not die…
Working quickly as the eldest slept, and with an eye on the brightening horizon, Rúmil bound Orophin's wounds tightly and straightened the knee that had come out of joint. The ride would likely throw it out of place again, but there was nothing to be done until they reached Caras Galadhon. "Orophin… hear me, brother. Wake up, we must go at once." Removing the chewed wooden shafts from his mouth, Rúmil took his brother's bruised face and stroked pale and mottled purple skin. "Orophin, come now. Your loved ones await you, we cannot linger."
With a warm rag over his brow, Orophin opened ailing eyes to the pre-dawn light and gasped with how severely wakefulness hurt. "Gwaeron, I must return to Gwaeron…" His words were a mixture of moaning, ragged breath, fraught and weak.
"I'm doing my best to return you to her, alive, Orophin. We must ride now, I'm putting you on the horse with me." Whistling the animal to come to him, Rúmil guided his brother upright and hefted him to his feet. "You must bear the pain, brother. Find your strength." Orophin answered with a brusque nod, panting quickly with exertion before letting out a sob as they mounted him astride the horse and Rúmil swung up behind. The ride was dreadful on every account and kept the invalid in a constant state of pain-shocked tears. A rest every couple of hours was granted, though they were urgently short and gave little relief.
The sob that left Orophin's mouth at the sight of Lothlorien broke his brother's heart. "Take me to her, please, bring me to Gwaeron…" He begged while the few wardens met them at the border, receiving admittance and a fresh horse to reach Caras Galadhon. "Rúmil, I must…"
"You must live, Orophin. We go to the Lady and pray that she can save you, for that is beyond Gwaeron's power, now." Rúmil's answer was harsh in his distress, worried more now that Orophin's reasoning seemed lost in the haze of pain. The younger elf spurred his new steed with all haste to the city, flying through his wooded home before paths made themselves apparent and he shouted ahead to clear the way. An exhausted breath and prayer of thanks were spared for Elbereth when he saw his Lord and Lady waiting for him with a stretcher-bed and healers to carry the warden.
Celeborn helped Rúmil to carry Orophin down from the horse and soon his bleeding galadhrim was carried away up the stairs of the mallorn by elves waiting with their Lady. His hand came to rest on the younger warden's shoulder and Rúmil turned to bow his head with grieved deference. Before he could try and speak, to explain how only he and Orophin had come home from the battle, the lord of Lorien spoke for him. "My lady-wife has told me of our casualties, and of your brother. Haldir was a valued Marchwarden, and I grieve with you until we are reunited in Valinor." Rúmil could not trust his voice enough to answer, and so kept his head lowered. "Galadriel has said that she will tend to Orophin herself, you can be sure that everything will be done to heal his hurts."
Shaking his head the young elf finally looked up to stare at the great mallorn tree, where Orophin had been taken, where the last of his family might yet be stolen from him. A harrowed worry filled Rúmil's gaze as he spoke, visible though he could not meet the silver lord's eye. "There is a poison, deep, and festered in one of the wounds. And I, I tried to clean it, but every moment he sinks still further into the sickness and pain…" He didn't realize his fists had begun to shake with the same wavering in his voice until Celeborn grasped his arm firmly and steadied him.
"Rúmil, there is a shock that clings to one who has experienced what you have in these last hours. Your brother is in capable hands and you have done well to deliver him in the best care and speed you could provide." There was a resigned look on the lord's face as he sighed. "You may stay here, of course, until my wife has finished her work. But I would urge you to find a little rest. There are those who, I'm sure, want very much to know you're safe." The grasp on his arm tightened half a moment and the next moment left Rúmil alone at the bottom of the tree's great staircase. The suggestion was made and the young elf took it, turning away to follow the path home.
Véredhiel refused to sleep this night and the reason for it was not lost on her mother who sat on edge waiting for news. When the child cried harder, inconsolable, Gwaeron distressed to know if Orophin was harmed or worse on the battlefield far off. She sat leaning on the front porch with the baby close in arms, now quieted once midnight had passed, and only whining every now and again. A week. A week of running with Tar and fighting in the sparring field to keep her thoughts away from the endless dangers Orophin was facing among men and Saruman's forces. Her desperate prayer every night was simply to bring him home to her alive.
Gwaeron's burning eyes had just shut in some form of rest when the thumping of Tar's wagging tail against her thigh roused her once again. The hound's perked ears were directed ahead and when the woman followed his gaze she, too, found what had alerted him. Standing slowly to keep from disturbing Véredhiel, Gwaeron quietly went down the stairs of the flet and met the oncoming figure who approached with laden steps. Her heart faltered a moment, believing it to be her beloved, but was soon let down at the difference in gait and height. When the elf looked up from his boots she recognized Rúmil in an instant, feeling a tenuous relief in her bones, but questions in her heart. Where was his brother?
Without putting these questions to voice, Gwaeron went to him and embraced the brother of her heart, receiving his grasping arms that were careful of the babe on her shoulder. Their embrace was strong and weighed with cares neither wanted to speak or hear, but that needed answering. A kiss on her cheek did little to ease the concerned lines from her fair face and Rúmil guessed her thoughts as soon as he pulled back to look at her plainly. "He yet lives." Tears that had threatened to fall and burnt her eyes were now released with joy. The way in which Rúmil spoke her name, however, put her back to rights like the harsh sting of a wasp. "He is in Galadriel's care… I think it would be wise for you to go to him."
"What is it? He is wounded?" The questions left her mouth as a breath is stolen by being dealt a solid blow. Rúmil's hand on her shoulder now carried the weight of her dread and it made the woman's legs tremble.
"Gwaeron, he is in great pain from battle and a poison has colored his blood. I think little other than his will to see you has kept him alive so long, for he was ill even as we left the fortress."
"I will go. You must rest, Rúmil. I will take care of your brother, now go to your own bed." Patting the hand that laid heavily on her, Gwaeron ushered him a little ways in the right direction and then backed away and moved toward the mallorn of the Lady with urgency in her steps. Anxiety hastened her stride until the jostling was too much for a weary elfling to sleep through, and Véredhiel began her pitiful wailing afresh. The distraught mother could do little to keep her own cries at bay, and soon the ranger's shoulders shook as she wept with a throbbing heart. What pains had he endured? What agonies did he still suffer through? Without helping it, she became selfish and Gwaeron cried simply for missing him. She would not count the days they had been apart by her doing, but her heart knew how deep a scar his absence had made within her. The scent that had both troubled and soothed her in his talan now began to fade, and the tunics she often bundled their daughter with for good rest smelled only of baby's breath.
The child's upset became greater the closer they came to the tree, fussing, and squirming so that high on Gwaeron's shoulder she clenched and released her mother's hair, stuttering breath and squeezing out tears. Galadriel's tree-castle came upon them at last and the ranger's legs seemed to need guidance each in turn to force ever step upward, the smoothed grains of wood turning to ribbons of heated metal under her bare feet. This progress was halted suddenly when Gwaeron tensed at a man's cry of pain, a sound she had never heard from Orophin, but that could not be mistaken. Véredhiel's noise had ceased all at once, and reduced only to that familiar newborn's whine, weak and heartbreaking against the woman's neck.
At length Gwaeron moved to a doorway where the screams clearly lay beyond, just out of her reach. The Lady was at work to heal him, and it was no strange news to the lady ranger that often healing caused great pain before rest can be taken. Her legs now shook uncertainly and Gwaeron backed to the intricate railing opposite the door, crumpling to the floor slowly and staring ahead as though she could see her beloved through the aged wood. Prayers to every Vala left her lips in reverent silence, asking for mercy and protection. "Illúvatar, do not let this child lose another father before she can even come to know him." The baby cradled in her arms served almost to anchor her as emotions threatened to drown her aggrieved heart.
Orophin writhed in anguish on the bed his friends had him laid out upon, struggling against the four elves, including their Lord, in all their strength to help him lie still. Their efforts served the steady hands of lady Galadriel as she operated on his numerous shrapnel wounds, her long fingers buried deep in his flesh to remove even the most significant piece of rubble that could lay claim to the warrior's life. His strength was greater than what they anticipated in such a state. Orophin's mind fought in vain the battle over his body's desire to resist such torturous treatment. The misery of nausea strangled him, still, and by his continuous retching on the journey from Rohan, there was now nothing left to give.
With the ugliest carnage well tended, Orophin's body grew slack and thick gasps evened to shallower, weaker breaths. "Orophin, do not fade into sleep. The time is not now to relent, for this poison still works hard to send your fëa to Mandos. Do not let it." His Lady's voice was strong and commanding, and he knew her words were true; he was not out of danger from dark poison yet. His head was light with excessive blood-loss and every heave of breath in brief respites could not grant him enough air. Orophin's struggles were weak now as his muscles trembled incessantly and strained to free his limbs from well-meaning elves leaning heavily on him. Nausea returned, causing him to convulse in dry heaves, and cold settled deeper into a sore body with every moment draining him of more blood. "Orophin, do not fade."
With a heart that hurt in empathy from every tormented sound behind the doors, Gwaeron waited hours outside her beloved's healing rooms, fearing the worst when after all that came the dreadful silence. Not even the talk between elves was heard and her hands shook with fear of the unthinkable.
Lord Celeborn emerged from the doorway with a great sigh and jolted the young woman who waited in keen distress, curled on the floor with a sleeping babe in arms. Gradually she stood, expecting the worst as she met the gaze of a somber Lord of the Wood. His look upon her was sympathetic. "Have you been here this whole while, young one?" A nod was all she could manage without collapsing into a nervous wreck. Sensing her distress on every level, the great elf came near and reached to take on of her hands gently. "Orophin has endured more than I believed an elf capable of. I do not think he would have had the strength for it had it not been for you, Gwaeron."
At his side soon came the Lady of light and her visage held the first subtle sign of wear that Gwaeron had ever seen, evident more in the way her hand held onto her husband's arm than truly showing exhaustion. "Your face was ever present in his thoughts and your name upon his lips as I worked to expel the poison. I think it would be good for you and the child to be near him now." Though she made no move, Gwaeron felt the caress of the Lady's hand on her cheek and tender push that moved her to the chamber the other elves now departed.
Her first steps inside were humbled by the sight of soiled and blood-soaked linens gathered in baskets, a few basins were filled with stain pink and red in the water still steaming. All of this and he yet lived? She could not comprehend and did not wish to. Gwaeron finally laid eyes on him and felt her body quiver, overwhelmed. He lay with head limp to one side, uncovered but for loose breeches to cool a body still wracked by fever and bound in bandages taut and secure, though some carried the tint of blood seeping through the worst. A battered chest rose and fell sporadically, hitching on every other inhale to draw enough breath through the pain.
A chair had been situated close to his side and Gwaeron took it, holding Véredhiel still sleeping off her exhaustion in her lap. "Orophin?" Her voice was a whisper, as hesitant as the fingers that reached out to touch his bruised hand with care, wrapping around knuckles familiarly larger than her own.
He did not stir for a moment until his fingers closed around hers weakly, drawing her hand slowly to rest upon his heart. With effort his head turned toward her and at last those adoring eyes opened to meet those of his lady ranger. Orophin smiled. "Faril nin." His deep, accented voice was raw, but it called her by his favored name and those precious words allowed Gwaeron to weep openly, smiling all the while.
Overwhelmed, the woman remembered all of their trials of confusion, separation, the waiting she put them through, starving through depression and guilt, anxiously waiting for his return from battle, and now seeing him only just alive, but alive and looking at her in that way he always had… the heart within her seemed reborn and through pain made new. "I love you, Orophin… Forgive me, and all I've done—" Sobbing, Gwaeron bowed her head and pressed her lips to his arm.
Gently, he soothed her and stroked the perfect hand he held. "I know, my Gwaeron. Shh, I am all right. All is forgiven; do not hold onto your guilt any longer. I'm alive and you are with me, how could I be unhappy?" His assurances finally drew her eyes up to shine a brighter green amidst tears and the elf marveled at how he desperately had missed those eyes. The curls so natural to her fell wildly about a blushing and freckled face, and even with signs of sorrow that had plagued her expression till now, he knew this mortal was more beautiful to him than Galadriel and every elven maid on Arda could hope to be.
In that endearing trait he loved, his lady ranger laughed helplessly in the midst of her tears and smiled at him in a way no fire could match in warmth. "I have missed you, so."
"Gwaeron there is something I have meant to ask you. I had hoped it would be your wish as well as my own, and for such have I waited, but no longer…" With effort, he took her hand up to his face and she guided it to hold him reverently, waiting and feeling his breath on her fingers while she held her own. "Daughter of Arathorn and Gilraen, daughter of chieftains and kings, faril nin… will you be the wife of this hard-beaten warrior?"
Her voice could not answer but with a face blooming and nod, Gwaeron took Véredhiel close against her and leaned over the elf to kiss him with all her heart. With tears mingled, they parted and Orophin looked down upon his daughter to find a sleeping baby's smile.