Flames in the wall sconces flickered in the wake of the Ranger's passing; his hurried strides echoed down the hall with every step of his boots on the worn stones. He paused before an open window and, at the blast of cold air, pulled together the ends of his soft woolen cloak, gripping them in chilled fingers. Cut facing east, beyond the Wall and over the valley of the Keep, the window provided a view of the sharp hill covered in treacherous scree, lined with jagged rock cliffs. Look to the east, Gandalf had said, and make the defenses hold -
"Aragorn."
The effort would be great, he mused thoughtfully, rubbing a hand over his chin, but victory? What defenses? He spun on a heel at the soft voice speaking Elvish behind him, releasing his cloak.
"Aragorn, I would have a word?"
"Make it swift, my friend, I seek – "
"My brother, I believe." Long pale fingers reached from beneath the dark cloak to push back the hood; a spill of hair fell over a broad shoulder as Rumil pulled his helmet off. He fixed Aragorn with a silver stare that reminded him hauntingly of his sibling. "It is Haldir of which I wish to speak." From beneath his hem poked the silvered tip of his curving Lorien bow.
"Quickly then, Rumil."
The torches cast half the Elf's face in darkness. "I do not know the circumstances of your last meeting, Haldir has refused to speak of that time, yet I know it affected him greatly."
Aragorn tilted his head in acknowledgement. "Our parting affected me greatly as well."
"Perhaps it is not my place to intervene" – he held up a hand to prevent the other from interrupting – "and perhaps your history has led you to a place, this place, but you must know... Haldir is much changed. He is not the same Elf as left you."
"And am I the same Man?"
A strong gust of wind ruffled hair and set the torches to dancing. "Though he is my brother, I no longer know him, not his thoughts nor his actions. He took to the forest after your departure, he would return swiftly and without warning, and as such would he leave. He avoided Orophim and I, he would speak to very few, he was gone from us, gone from himself, hiding with his anger and his grief."
"Why do you speak of this to me? And now? With all that is happening?" Aragorn's voice held no anger.
"Because he will not." Rumil turned slightly, and his silver eyes became hooded. "All I ask is that you give him your support."
Aragorn raised his gloved hand, pressing it against his heart; he nodded his head toward the tall silver Elf. "Whatever I have taken away from Haldir, it was never been my support."
Rumil copied Aragorn's actions, inclining his silver head toward the Ranger. "I shall return to my company then, Elessar." The dark hood slid back into place as the Elf stepped back. "Take care with yourself this night."
The gloved hand dropped to rest on the hilt of his sword. "Have no worries for me, Rumil."
With a sharp nod, Rumil turned on his heel and walked silently away.
Quickly, Aragorn glanced back toward the east. He shook his head; he could not linger here, not when many things remained to be done before the battle. The edge of his cloak flared around his knees when he moved back up the corridor, the long stretch of dull gray stone that made him itch for greenery. There was little time left to find the silver Marchwarden.
The heavy oaken doors, thick with scrolling engravings, swung silently inward as he entered the chamber. To his left, the thick candles set upon a long table guttered and winked out in the wash of air. Blue eyes swept the nearly bare room. While bland tapestries moved gently against the walls, most of the furniture had been removed, save for the table near the door and the rough wooden stools near the fire pit. A full quiver rested against one stool, surrounded by the gently drifting remains of pale feathers and a tray of uneaten – and unappetizing, Aragorn surmised, from the smell alone - food; seated on the other, golden head bent over the long blades on his lap, was the Prince of Mirkwood.
"Legolas, have you seen the Marchwarden? He has only just arrived, and I have already lost him." Aragorn shook his head sharply. He glanced up at the towering ceiling, where the shadows hiding the crossbeams remained untouched by the torchlight, swallowing the sounds of those in the room. "I have many concerns waiting me dance attendance upon them and he has disappeared, perhaps playing about like a foolish Hobbit."
Legolas did not look up as Aragorn walked past him, intent on his careful work. "I thought you were fond of the Halflings."
"I am, Legolas," came the reply, accompanied by a heavy sigh, "quite fond, though I wish they could learn to merely remain where instructed, much as I had expected of Haldir."
"I would not say such things were I you, Aragorn," responded Legolas. "The Elf you seek haunts the gardens and" – he nodded toward the wide window cut into the stone walls – "he can hear you most clearly."
The chinking of mail armour and the creak of leather followed Aragorn's steps. Hands gripping the rough stones along the outer wall, he leaned out into the darkness, looking down into the kitchen gardens, and then dropped back into the chamber. "Legolas..." – his head cocked to one side in thought – "where are Haldir's clothes?" Aragorn stared down at the pale glowing body of the Marchwarden; the long silver strands of the Elf's hair caught in the wind and whipped forward to shield the sharp angles of his face. Still, Aragorn could see his lips moving without sound as the Elf wandered about the garden, through the stunted remains of oak stands and between chipped stone figures draped in thick moss.
"He is praying." Legolas spoke softly from his seat near the fire. He threw a quick glance at Aragorn across the bare chamber, then turned attention back to his knives. "He prays for the sake of us all, Men and Elves alike."
"And what of the Dwarf?"
Legolas' lips turned up slightly. "Possibly not the Dwarf, though that at least is understandable. I shall watch over him then tonight." The rasping continued as the Elf drew the whetstone along the long blade of his knife. "Yet why do you concern yourself over Haldir? The Marchwarden can see to himself, surely?"
"I worry for all my companions," was the dismissive reply. Aragorn watched Haldir move slowly far below, though he spoke to Legolas. "You know the truth of this."
"We are a great burden none ask you to carry." Legolas' blue eyes narrowed as he frowned at his blade. He wiped at the knife with the fraying hem of his tunic, then raised his head to stare at Aragorn. "You have great value among your people and your companions serve only to distract you. We should not do so, not at this time, not now when you need focus more than ever. I joined the Fellowship so I could protect you, Aragorn."
"Legolas, enough." The gentle entreaty was still sharp enough to silence the Elf. "I shall hear no more on this. Please, my friend." After a thin-stretching silence, Aragorn nodded toward the blades resting across the Elf's lap. "What do you do now?" he questioned.
"There are few now left in the armouries to which I would entrust my blades."
Aragorn shook his head. "You know that is not of what I speak. You are an archer, you must stay on the Wall during the battle. We will need your bow and your keen eyes there." He sank a hip onto the wide stone window, dark eyes moving between the golden figure near the fire and the silver one floating in the gardens below. Legolas' shadow danced against the wall, lost to his sight in the corners. "And if you do not cease your actions, you will have little blade left with which to kill the Uruk-Hai."
The Elf's mouth creased in a brief, though genuine, smile. "I am not simply an archer, Aragorn," he replied mildly, "and I shall kill many Uruks this eve. Have no worries over this, my friend." He lifted the knife, tilting it so the light ran gleaming down the etched blade. He followed it with the edge of his thumb, sighing. "The edge is perfect." Reverence laced his soft voice.
Aragorn turned, recognizing the emotion, and frowned. The fringe of Legolas' lashes showed dark against the pale bruised skin stretched tight over his cheekbones. "You have not sought rest, not since my arrival and most likely not before."
"Nor have you." The wide expressive mouth twitched at one corner. "Elves need very little rest. And there has been little time of late. You know this. " Setting aside the whetstone, Legolas rose, snatched up his quiver, and crossed the room; the only sound of his passing was the rasp of his blades being shoved back into their tooled sheath. Blue eyes calmly surveyed Haldir. "The love of an Elf is strong," he said finally, and his deep voice was very soft. He tugged on the leather straps until his harness tightened, the newly fletched arrows peeking over his right shoulder.
With every slight movement, the folds of Legolas' clothes faintly wafted the sharp scents of mint and lavender, herbs thrown into the fire by a servant many hours ago, and the Ranger inhaled deeply. "Love?" he repeated but there was no sense of being taken unawares. He sighed, a heavy release of breath. "I have reason to know the strength of such a love." His own voice was quiet as he tilted his head toward his companion. "But do you think it took any less strength to deny him, Legolas?"
"You shock me," the Mirkwood Elf replied distinctly without shock. He raised a brow and shrugged slightly, broad shoulders moving under the heavy leather armour of the Rohirrim, inviting explanation.
"In Lorien, I knew for certain." Aragorn waved a hand, dismissing the days spent with the Elves. "He spoke little, and of this, naught but I ... knew. He treated me differently, I could not explain, nor yet return his feelings. He knew the things I could give him and he was friend enough not to ask for more." He shook his head sharply and his returning frown creased his short beard. "I did not know that Elves could feel that way toward each other, not like that."
"And yet you have lived among us, Aragorn." A hint of amusement danced in Legolas' voice. "It is fairly common among my people, among the Firstborn. Our lives are long, as you know Aragorn, and we are offered many opportunities to find companions. Many have loved both males and females; there is no shame in it."
A sharp wind from the open window ruffled dark hair across his forehead; Aragorn's brows drew together in thought. "Few of Elrond's kin...It is not common at Imladris."
"I know you lived years alone, but you have seen the soldiers. The shield brothers of Rohan, or the men of Gondor?"
"I would not call that love," Aragorn mused thoughtfully, then, "Gondor?" Sudden astonishment drew his gaze to Legolas. "Do you think Boromir...? No." He shook his head again, catching from the corner of his eye Legolas' half-smile. "No."
"Believe, my friend. He was ..." – Legolas paused delicately – "most persistent."
"Ai." The Ranger blew out another breath and his eyes followed the pale figure of Haldir below. "I did not know that a Man" – he laughed gently at Legolas' warning cough – "or an Elf" – he nodded slightly in regard – "could take another for his lover. I did not know they could love males such as they love females."
"I do not think it is the same at all."
Aragorn felt the muscles along his body tense at Legolas' soft words. He cocked his head slightly, glancing at the Elf, hesitating to ask, "You have loved a male before?"
"We are more than simply who we love, Aragorn," Legolas chided gently, and turned to pin the Ranger with his steady gaze, "or how we choose to love them."
"But ... there have been men?"
A small smile twitched sadly at the corner of Legolas' mouth; he stared out into the night, blue eyes unfocused. "Only one. And not for a long while." He spoke very softly, but the words hung between them, lingering like smoke; he spun on his heel fast enough to startle the Man. "Go to him, Aragorn." His hand lifted, as though to touch the Ranger, but his fingers merely traced the air near his face. "Give him what measure of peace you can. Even the Marchwarden needs comfort at times." Legolas turned his face away, hiding behind the golden veil of his hair. "I can feel it, Aragorn. He is hurting greatly."
Aragorn pushed himself swiftly to his feet, suddenly angered. "So are we all." He reached up to snag Legolas' hand from the air and hissed, "What does he do here, Legolas? Why did he come?"
"The reasons he is here matter little now, Aragorn," was the gentle reply. Legolas pulled his hand from Aragorn's unresisting grip, and moved across the chamber. He spoke again from the door, propping open the solid wooden panel with his shoulder, not able to face the Man. "What use could he be elsewhere? At the least, here he can try to save your people... and his own. He came for you."
Aragorn turned back to the window, glancing down at Haldir, startled to see the Elf staring back up at the window, up at him. The Marchwarden stood still as a stone statue, pale and ethereal in the dark, no muscles twitching. He appeared far distant, an untouchable being from another Age. With a flinch, Aragorn's eyes slid away, to the clattering branches of a young beech tree; when his eyes slid back, Haldir was gone.
Though his eyes were not as keen as those of the Woodland Elf, Aragorn needed no torch in the gardens; Haldir's body gleamed through the naked branches of the young trees. The Elf had not left but simply moved into the deep shadows cast by the wall. Aragorn moved with deliberation, taking care not to snag his sleeve on the rough stones of the wall, or to scuff the worn toes of his boots on the ground. He halted some distance from the back of the kneeling Lorien Elf.
"Son of Arathorn." The familiar voice, coolly mocking in its soft Elvish, sounded low and deep in the dark. "The Elves have taught you well. I did not hear your approach."
A reluctant chuckle escaped Aragorn's lips. "Then how could you presume to know who I was?" Over his head, the branches rattled together like bones.
"I said, you sounded like an Elf." Now Haldir turned, twisting to glance over his shoulder, and he grinned, teeth flashing. "I did not say that you smell like an Elf."
He laughed outright at that. "And tell me, Haldir, of what do I smell?"
The Marchwarden rose lithely, and crossed the few paces separating them. He sniffed delicately. "Old sweat," he grinned, then it faded from his lips as he continued, "and old blood." His fingers rose long and pale in the dark, resting without weight just below his shoulders. "Who hurt you, Aragorn?" he asked softly and met his dark eyes.
Aragorn dropped his gaze. "Tis a small matter now." He glanced back up, cocking his dark head to one side. "Did Legolas not share the tale?"
The fall of silver hair rasped faintly as Haldir shook his head. "Though I saw him but moments ago, the Prince of Mirkwood and I have shared no words since my arrival. He speaks now with Rumil and Elrohir."
"Elrohir is here?" Aragorn's mouth dropped open, and a band of white showed around the blue of his eyes. "I did not see him." He spoke slowly then. "Why did he not retreat to the West, with the rest of his kin? I cannot believe Elrond allowed him to accompany you."
"He is no Elfling, Aragorn. The decision belongs to none other than himself." The corner of Haldir's mouth turned up. "Elrond could not prevent his joining us."
Aragorn blew out a heavy breath. "I know this for truth, Haldir, but, for the love I bear for my brother, I cannot deny I wish Elrond had sent the Balrog-Slayer in his stead."
"Glorfindel has spent much time in battle; I believe his rest is well-earned. In any event" – Haldir shrugged insolently – "we needed any bow or blade willing to pledge to our company. There are only four hundred who would support you."
"And yet the Elves could gather a force tenfold that from Lorien alone."
Aragorn started slightly at the sound of Legolas' voice but Haldir showed no reaction. He glanced at him over Aragorn's shoulder. "The old alliances are long dead, the Elves go to the West. They are simply... gone, Prince of Mirkwood."
"The Elves want no real show of support for Men, do they?" Legolas stood in the entry to the gardens; in the dark, to Aragorn, it appeared that his head floated without his body.
Haldir shrugged again. "There was much debate over this action, Legolas, son of Thranduil. Many thought it mere foolishness. Many lifetimes have ended since the Elves stood with Men, longer since they stood with any other Race. Seasons passed with nothing more than good fortune and peace amongst our peoples, and then – this." His hand jerked in indication. "This news of war, foreseen like so much else by my Lady, invading our lands and shattering our peace. The Elves seek the ease and security of the West; many would have Men simply war themselves into oblivion and think no further thoughts of them. To give support to the world of Men, so long denied to rest of the lands, and base it on what? The tattered shreds of an alliance forged and broken centuries ago?" Haldir's eyes swept to the Man's face. "Your people are deceivers, Aragorn, liars and thieves, who choose as their purpose to injure and mistreat. They always seek to destroy that which is beautiful." The sudden wistfulness in Haldir's voice surprised Aragorn. "How many among you understand the importance of an oath made with the Elves?"
Legolas glanced at Aragorn and his blue eyes shone, even in the dark. "I have never before heard Haldir speak so many words at once," he commented mildly, "and once beyond his arrogance, his mood changes swift as the River Bruinen."
Aragorn laughed, the gentle breeze catching the soft sound, and he resolutely tamped down on the thought of Imladris and what he had left behind there. His eyes narrowed, however, as they rested on the silver Elf. Behind him, the drying stalks of flowers rustled as they brushed against each other.
"The decision for this action was not made lightly, young one." The Marchwarden ignored both Aragorn's laughter and the faint stiffening of Legolas' body at his insult, and continued to speak. "There were many who felt that reviving this alliance would bring only death and despair to our people – especially those who chose to stay in Middle Earth and fight." He glanced at Legolas, who clutched the pale Lorien bow tightly to his chest. "I thought you were in consult with Elrohir and Rumil."
"They have gone to oversee the gathering of the archers. Now that the Men" – Legolas winked, insult forgotten – "wish to assemble the forces."
"Is that why you have come, Legolas?" Aragorn demanded softly.
The golden head moved slightly. "Nay, Aragorn, I come to say that you have some short time left before Theoden sends for you." He did not meet Aragorn's brown eyes, but held the dark gray ones of the other Elf. The silver head tilted slightly in acknowledgement and he continued, "May the blessings and the strength of the Valar be with you this night." Legolas inclined his own head, touching hand to his heart; the rolling sounds of his Elvish words were soft in the dark.
Haldir returned the gesture, resting a hand over his bare skin. "And with you, Prince of Mirkwood."
With a sharp nod toward Aragorn, Legolas turned and disappeared silently through the wall. Aragorn watched him depart, a frown creasing his broad brow.
"Oil."
"Your pardon?"
Haldir smiled at the Man's confusion. "I also smell oil." His hand passed across Aragorn's chest. "Oil, from your sword, and your mail, and that Hobbit weed you smoke." With a short shake of his head, he rapped knuckles against the mail armour, and set it swinging gently about Aragorn's knees, Legolas forgotten for the moment. "I smell the sweetness of honey." A thumb grazed Aragorn's lips, light and swift as a falling leaf. "You had mead to your dinner, and" – he made a faint moue of distaste – "meat, half-cooked at that." He shook his head again, hands falling away; strands of hair slid across his smooth shoulders. "You do not eat like an Elf either. And Arwen, you smell of Arwen, always you smell of her. I shall dress now."
"Haldir, I – "
A sudden gust of cool wind passed across Haldir's bare skin, ruffling the tiny hairs cresting his spine. He turned away, bending to snatch his heavy tunic from the pile at his feet. "Did you see Ithil, Aragorn? Earlier?" The flat muscles along his broad back twisted and bunched with his motions.
"Marchwarden?"
"The morning shall dawn fine" – the corner of his mouth curled up – "so long as we are alive to see Arien rise."
"Haldir –" Aragorn's sharp voice cut off abruptly. He took a deep and shaking breath, and tried again as the curious face of the Elf tilted in his direction. "Haldir, what do you do here?" he blurted, frowning widely.
"I heard you pose that question earlier." The response was muffled slightly as Haldir pulled the tunic over his head, slipping long arms into the sleeves. "And I believe the Prince of Mirkwood answered you."
"There are others, those more skilled in battle –" He caught sight of Haldir's suddenly flushed face and hurried on quickly, with a poorly stifled cough and a sidelong glance. "Many of Celeborn's soldiers have experience at this sort of battle, Haldir. Was there no other Captain? Surely even Celeborn himself could..."
"And have it be said that the famed courage of the Galadrim failed Haldir o' Lorien when his Lord and Lady needed it most?" His eyes coursed across Aragorn's grim visage and he smiled, a wry up-turning of his mouth. "I know you speak these words out of concern ... and they are words of great meaning to me." His voice grew softer as he spoke, until Aragorn had to lean forward to hear him. "But, son of Arathorn, no longer do you control this."
Aragorn waved a wide hand in dismissal. "Tell me, Haldir, why you are here. Are you willing to sacrifice yourself for the peace of the future?"
"I am willing to give my blood for this land."
"So Men are worth believing in so much that you will risk dying for them?"
Haldir smiled faintly. "Only one."
The Ranger's face paled beneath his bronzed skin. Recovering under the inquiring but silent gaze of the Elf, Aragorn nodded shortly. "Then the appreciation of the Rohirrim, and that of Theoden King, must be offered to you, Haldir. This was an honourable action you chose."
Haldir's harsh laughter floated throughout the garden. "It was not entirely honour which determined my actions, Aragorn." With smooth actions, Haldir tied the sleeves of his tunic.
Broad shoulders raised in a shrug. "When the action is noble, what matter the thoughts behind it?"
"Are you a philosopher now as well? The power of your voice equaling that of your sword?" The Marchwarden laughed quietly.
"Compared to many, my skills are quite modest. Indeed, you are the diplomat among us." Aragorn watched the Elf reach for his armour. "Do you need assistance, Haldir?"
"I have been putting on my own armour for almost 3000 years, Aragorn." The familiar arrogance flooded the Elf's features, matching his dry tone. "Though your company would not be amiss for a few moments more." He bent to swiftly buckle on the greaves. "You call me diplomat, Aragorn, when you are maker and breaker of destinies?"
"Those far beyond my own?" Aragorn grimaced, turning away on his heel. He tilted his head back, gazing up at the empty blackness of the night sky. When he held his breath, he could hear the Uruk-Hai army over the sounds of the soldiers of Rohan – even nestled in the back of the fortress as the garden was. The scuffle of leather on stone as guards moved about the top of the Wall, voices overlaying the rasping of blades half-pulled from their sheaths... "Always do you allow me to unburden myself on you, it is an unfair advantage I take –"
"An advantage I willingly allow."
"My path, Haldir, I fear it is both charmed and cursed, yet, as Arwen said, it is still laid bare before my feet. You will know" – he turned suddenly, needing to see the Elf as he spoke – "how it is, to make decisions holding the future of your people in your hand, to have more lives than simply your own to consider. Before I left with the Fellowship, I spoke to Elrond, I told him I had little desire to possess the power of my blood, I feared its weakness. The decisions I must make, only because I can make no other..."
Haldir's fingers moved slowly to buckle on his armour. "Do you still view that as truth?" he asked, regarding Aragorn with a steady gaze.
"Do you not? Even after all this time, and you standing there as your Lady told you? In Lorien, did you not speak of this to me, of this burden that must be carried?"
Haldir moved with slow deliberation - the hand-tooled belt for his knife, the bright crimson cloak, and over it all, the straps holding on his quiver, the leather ornately decorated with trailing vines. Haldir stepped closer to the Man, close enough to brush his sleeve. "Now is not the time to be having a crisis of faith, Aragorn." Haldir laughed slightly. "Have you yet spoken of this to the son of Thranduil?"
The dark head shook shortly. "Nay, of this, I have not. Legolas is ... dedicated to the mission and –"
"He is dedicated to you." Haldir's lips curled into a faint sneer. "And I know you hold the Prince of Mirkwood in ... high esteem."
"As I do you, Haldir." Now Aragorn moved forward, laying a hand on the Elf's arm, feeling the muscles tighten through layers of thick wool and soft leather. "This arrogance is both ill-timed and misplaced."
Haldir's eyes held those of Aragorn; his breath came faster. The Man stood too close. "Aragorn, there is some-"
"Haldir, we cannot-"
Their sentences collided awkwardly, and Aragorn blew out a forceful, frustrated breath, gently ruffling silver hair.
"Now is not the time-"
"I do not feel-"
"Aragorn, they are asking for you at ..." The voice trailed away, followed by an awkward cough and the shuffle of leather boots on smooth stones. "Apologies, Aragorn."
The Man did not move from his position; his blue eyes slid from Haldir's to peer through the silver veil of his hair at the Man standing near the wall. He was staring intently at his boot, scratching at the dark curls of his beard. "Tell Theoden King I shall be there in moments. I have affairs to attend to here."
"Aye, Aragorn," the gruff voice replied, and then the sound of retreating boots echoed through the stillness.
"You heard him coming," Aragorn accused softly in the common language.
"Always. But then the feet of Men do not tread lightly."
Aragorn turned his head, Haldir lifted his face, and their noses brushed. Silver eyes caught and held blue, close enough to pick out the tiny gold flecks encircling the Ranger's irises. Aragorn held his breath, his gaze dropping to Haldir's mouth, wide-lipped, so capable of an easy lingering smile, so often tight in a line. His hand floated up, fingers unclenching, spreading apart over the other's skin. His fingers committed to memory the image of the Elf's face, sliding along the dark eyebrows, tracing slowly over the high cheekbones and smooth brow, to his temple, to the tip of his ear, made visible by his twisting war braids, down the straight bridge of his nose, along the underside of his jaw. The pale skin felt cool under his touch.
"You will live through this night, Aragorn, no matter what happens to the Firstborn."
"I truly care what happens to only a few Elves, Haldir, as well you know, and you are counted within that number."
"I have no reason to fear death, Aragorn." He stepped away from the Ranger now, bending down to grasp his bow. Under his fingers, he could feel the intricate carvings along its length, the familiar smoothness of the grip his fingers had worn down. "I have lived for 3000 years, been witness to the many delights Arda has to offer, certainly I have lived long enough to envy the mortality your people loathe." He shrugged slightly. "There are many whom await me in Mandos' Halls. My parents have waited through the Ages to meet their children." He glanced up at the sky, and his voice dropped when he spoke again. "Perhaps, this night, the Grace of the Valar shall see some of us delivered to them."
"Cease such talk, Haldir. You cannot resign yourself to death, not when so many have such great need for you still."
"Of whom would you speak?"
"What of the Lady and the Lord of the Golden Wood. Was it not they who assigned you this mission?"
Haldir's head shook; his laugh was gentle and derisive. "Nay, son of Arathorn, I volunteered -
"You volunteered?"
"I knew the risks, know that I do not enter blindly into this. I offered my services to my Lady and my Lord, and they knew my heart enough to know that there was no place else I could be." A small grin creased his mouth. "Ten thousand Uruk-Hai march on Helm's Deep. My Lady could do naught but ask us to come, acting only from the dictates of our own conscience." His silver head tipped back as he glanced up at the Wall, and the shadowed bodies lining it. "She knew that the blood of Elves would wash the Wall red." His eyes slanted to land on Aragorn's weary face. "I knew that Elvish blood would wash that Wall red."
"So she and Celeborn think your lives are a worthy enough sacrifice?" His anger roughened Aragorn's voice and it shook slightly. "Then what of your own people?"
"My people? I have lived in service to my people for thousands of years. Sitting on the Northern borders of Lorien, all my actions driven solely by my duty, my obligations to my people, always sacrificing my desires for the sake of the Golden Wood. Yet this duty I must see to before all else, before any other loyalty. My Lady, she alone knew my heart, she saw my actions, and it is for that reason I speak these words tonight. I wanted so very little, Aragon, so few things did I ever want to myself. Why could I never have it?"
"What...? What did you want?"
"You."
The Man breathed in deeply, holding the air in his chest before blowing it out sharply. "I cannot be with you the way you want, Haldir. And you know you would not be pleased with anything less."
"It was not my intent to burden you with such knowledge, know that, Aragorn. I did not mean to presume in any way." He reached out fingers that trembled only slightly to touch the bright mithril jewel at Aragorn's throat, warmed from contact with his sun-browned skin. "What you share with the Evenstar, I do not seek to destroy. Such a union is rare when ... felt by both sides. It is overly common when felt by only one."
"Haldir..."
He continued to speak as though Aragorn had not interrupted. "It is simply...the hour grows late, Aragorn, much too late for half-truths and lies. I would know where we stand before I take position on the Deeping Wall with my Elves." His hand fell away, pale against the vibrancy of his cloak. "Did Rumil speak true? Have I lost your support?"
The dark head shook slightly, gently ruffling the hair. "Have no worries, Haldir. We stand well. And I stand by your side." Aragorn's thumb slid along the angle of the Elf's jaw; his other hand pressed lightly against the gold plating of his armour, resting over his heart. His own blood pounded in his ears. "Gold is a soft metal, Haldir. You know that this will not hold." His gaze flicked up to meet Haldir's steady eyes. "This is little more than a decoration. And your cloak" – he fingered the crimson fabric, trailing callused tips over the richly decorated edge – "will make you no more than a target."
"I must be visible for my soldiers, Aragorn. If nothing else, I will lend them my strength when theirs falter. You know this, as a leader." He paused then, looking slightly over Aragorn's shoulder, frowning in concentration. He gave a small shake of his head. "There is something about you, Aragorn, that people trust implicitly, without question, disregarding their own minds and regardless of the wisdom of your decisions. People will die for you. That is a dangerous power for any leader to possess."
"But a necessary one," Aragorn whispered.
Haldir sighed softly. "They call for us now, Aragorn. No time remains."
"There are things...things I must say before we depart." The silver ring on Aragorn's finger glinted as he grasped the Elf's arm. "About this eve, and the fight now upon us."
Haldir smiled slightly. "I have fought before Aragorn. I know that this eve is about duty over desire and –"
"Listen to this Man, my friend, if but for a moment," was the reply, and the seriousness in Aragorn's eyes halted the laughter growing in Haldir's. "You must not be distracted when you stand upon that Wall. Not by worry for Rumil, he is skilled, much like his brother, and not for Elrohir, and not for myself. We are not burdens for you to carry. This eve, I wish to take some of your burden from you." He waited for Haldir to nod in acquiescence, before continuing. "I can only fight knowing that those I trust stand at my side and that I need not worry about them." He hesitated, mouth open as though to say more but Haldir interrupted.
"I know there is much else to say, things that cannot but must remain unspoken."
"I will you meet you here...after." Aragorn's hand rose slowly between them. "There will be time."
Haldir smiled sadly but did not respond to the statement. "I do not fear, Aragorn. If it comes this eve, I will find death no great tragedy."
Aragorn rested the pad of his thumb in the notch of Haldir's neck, where the smooth column attached to the Elf's chest; the pulse there beat a wild tattoo, though the look in the dark gray eyes was mild enough and his face was blank as parchment. "I would find it a great tragedy," he murmured. "You will not die, Haldir." His voice, though soft, rang with sincerity and belief. "When you need me, I will be there for you."
"The same as you would be for Legolas, or the Dwarf?" This time there was no arrogance in his voice, simply a shade of eagerness underlying the otherwise flat tone.
"The very same. And if your death does come, know that it will be avenged. They will suffer greatly for it." Aragorn's hand slid around Haldir's neck, under the drape of silver hair. He leaned forward, pressing his broad brow against that of the Elf. "Remember," he said, and his voice now was very low, "my word is truth. Look for me, if the time comes. And give to me your promise to take care for yourself." The words sounded harsh and awkward in the common tongue, and he dropped into the lilting tones of Elvish, hiding behind its formality. "May the Grace of the Valar protect you, Haldir o' Lorien."
"And you, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Estel, King of Gondor."
Aragorn dipped his head, brushing the tip of his nose lightly across Haldir's cheek; warm breath washed across Haldir's skin. He kept his gray eyes open, staring at the wide mouth so near to his, the flash of teeth gleaming whitely in the short dark beard. He shivered, rocking gently against the Ranger. Aragorn leaned forward and brushed his lips softly across those of the Marchwarden; the Elf moved against him, pressing his body close, opening his mouth beneath Aragorn's lips as his tongue licked a small greeting. Aragorn tasted of honey and half-roasted meat, Haldir of dry lembas.
After a long moment, the Elf pulled back slightly, his breaths heavy. "You astonish me, my friend," he whispered. He glanced over, to where long silver strands caught in the dark curls of the Ranger. The tip of Haldir's tongue darted out to swipe across his lower lip, tasting the last of the sweetness left behind by Aragorn's mouth. Haldir smiled.
"As the sun sets on yesterday and rises on tomorrow, there will be no turning from this." Aragorn nodded, stepping back from the Elf with a hand to his heart. "May the Valar bring to us luck."
"And to our enemies, death."
He had heard them long before seeing them, and now he could smell them before they became visible. He stood silently in line with his archers, feeling the wash of fetid air and the stinging rain on his face. Water rolled down the sharp angles of his cheekbones, damp strands of hair clung to his neck. He frowned intently.
He had a duty to his Lord and Lady, an obligation to fulfill. He could not feel guilt over things he could not prevent.
"Loses suffered by the Uruk-Hai can be replaced over and again. We have no such luxury, so take great care with your lives."
To secure peace for the free peoples of Middle Earth, sacrifice, perhaps even his own sacrifice, would be required, in this, the most important battle -
His leg itched abominably.
Had he remembered to stick the parchment scribed for Orophin in his brother's chest?
He resisted the urge to turn and seek out Rumil, waiting in the second line of archers down in the Hornburg.
Gold will not hold, gold will not hold...He could still taste Aragorn on his lips.
His cloak held much water, hanging heavy from his shoulders. How he hated the idea of dying in the rain...
"Elbereth, give me your strength." Along the ranks, someone was praying, fast and low under their breath.
On the verge of death, he knew there was time enough only for truth.
The dark lines of Uruk-Hai stretched back into the blackness. Thunder cracked overhead, throwing light across intense Elven faces. It cracked again, and the rain began, rattling off armour and shields. Aragorn paced past him, turning to face the crowd. The Uruks began slamming their spears into the ground, a rolling wave of deafening sound that hurtled itself against the Wall. Gathering strength, the noise rolled over the Elves and then there was abrupt silence.
Haldir heard the squishing of mud as the stricken Uruk fell forward, followed swiftly by distant shouts from Aragorn – "Hold!" – and then the enemy began their charge. The ground quivered under –
"Prepare to fire!"
- the feet of thousands of dark bodies. From farther down the Wall, Aragorn's faint voice reached him over the howling of the Uruk-Hai, over the clashing of metal and the hissing of torches smothered by the rain. The rank of Elves moved as one in response, reaching for arrows from quivers and nocking them in the great curving Lorien bows. Blood roared in his ears, pounding with fury at his temples and the notch of his throat, he could not hear, he could not breath, he could not –
"Release arrows!"
The taut bowstring slackened and the arrow flew, invisible, to its target, a stocky Uruk-Hai in the front of the army. In the same motion, he fitted a second arrow, sighted rapidly, and released. As the archers lined in the Hornburg released their arrows in response to Aragorn's orders, he lost himself in the familiar motions – nock the arrow, grasp the bowstring with first three fingers, swing vertical, extend toward target – there were many to choose from – draw the string back until it touched alongside nose and chin, relax fingers and let the string roll off, again, again and again. Face set with intensity, for long, thin-stretching moments, Haldir was able to forget his burdens.
He glanced at the sky briefly at one moment; how long had they been fighting? How long since they had lined on the Wall? How long since the first Elf had fallen? How...?
"Ladders!"
They slammed against the edge of the Wall; dropping his bow, Haldir unsheathed his sword. The long curving blade, etched with Elvish script along its length, flashed in the light of a flickering torch. He ran to the Wall, sword braced. His body shuddered as the blade bit into the body of the first Uruk over the edge.
Time blurred, images became fragments – the warmth of blood slick on his hands, his own mingling with that of the dead Uruk-Hai, his grip faltering on the handle of his sword as he kicked aside his bow, turning to meet the swords of the dark creatures spilling over the lip of the Wall; stinging sweat pooling in the corners of his eyes and dripping from the tip of his nose –
"Hold the line! Hold it!" One of the company leaders to his left was shouting at his soldiers.
- a quick swipe over his lips and his tongue tasting salt; droplets of blood caught in his hair, spun rubies shining in silver; the flaccid feel of dead Elven flesh under his boot heel as he stepped back, stumbling as the Wall blasted apart in a towering cloud of gray dust and he lost the sounds of battle, falling to his knees on the slime coated stones. A chunk of gray stone flew past his ear, scraping shallowly along his temple; around him Elves and Uruks fell from their feet. The keening cry of an archer tumbling through the air assaulted his ears. He met the dull stare of an Elven archer, blue eyes pale as ice, and just as warm; through the cleft in his helmet, Haldir could see chunks of bone in the wave of rich crimson blood and floating strands of pale hair. The dead Elf's hand was outstretched toward the shattered blade of a knife, resting just beyond the tips of his pale fingers. Haldir scrambled to stand, brushing the dusty sleeve of his tunic over his face; he could hear his name being called, the deep voice faint from behind.
"Haldir! What is happening?"
He yelled an answer to the dark-haired Elf, but it was swallowed by the returning noise of battle – the clashing of metal, grunts of effort and mewling pains of death from the Uruk-Hai, the steady whirl of Elven blades ripping through air. The Elves made no sound when they fell. And there were many who fell; they lay in piles of shimmering gold and blue, stained red and black by the Uruk-Hai sprawled dead atop and around them. His chest tightened with an unfamiliar pain.
He was crying in his soul for them.
Through the gaping hold in the Wall, he saw dark bodies pouring into the Hornburg, splashing through the water, marching toward the lines of Elves. Aragorn stood before them, sword lifted, voice struggling to rise above the noise.
Haldir's breath misted before his face. He tilted his head back. The rain had stopped - and something squished underfoot. He did not glance down.
"To the Keep! Fall back to the Keep!"
He ducked and twisted. Blades sliced through the dark beside him. Elves and Uruks fell at his feet. He thought he heard the distinctive voice of Rumil in the morass of bodies beneath the Wall, nearly indistinguishable. But he must not think of Rumil, he would meet his brother after the battle ended, in one hall or another...
"Haldir!"
He gestured toward his Elves to fall back to the safer areas of the Wall. One passed him, pushing his way back to the edge. The flaring end of the archer's blue cloak slid through Haldir's fingers; the bloody tips caught in a hole in the hem. He tugged, pulling the young one to a halt. "Fall back," he shouted, "we are in retreat."
Dark matted hair slid across his shoulders as the Elf shook his head. "I must find my brother." Blood cast lurid patterns on his pale face, speckled across his smooth cheeks.
He stepped before the Elfling, holding him back with a hand against his chest. "Are you mad?"
"Haldir, what is happening?"
Black eyes glared frantically at the Marchwarden, showing white all around their rims. "He was on the front line –"
"He is dead then." Haldir's voice was flat; he struggled to be heard over the swords clashing around him, the piercing screech of metal sliding along metal drowning out other sounds. "The front lines were slaughtered." With both hands, he pushed the Elfling back, toward his few retreating soldiers, watching the lean forms dart through the confusion with singing blades. The young one stumbled, dropping to a knee, but Haldir had already turned his back, ducking under a black blade and slicing through a thick chest.
"Haldir!"
His sharp eyes located Aragorn in the gloom. He nodded shortly and turned away, sucking in a breath and realizing that the desperate seconds he lacked focus could bring his end as surely as that of his fallen Elves. Waving his arm, he urged them past, not seeing the sword end that sliced across his arm. He lifted his hand, frowning as he watched blood slide along, cutting warm runnels through the grime. His heel caught, he was spinning, twisting around, losing precious control, never did he lose control, he flexed his fingers on the slick handle of his sword, the tip tipping down, down –
"Haldir!"
The dark blade from behind shredded easily through his bright cloak, tearing a gaping hole in the rich wool, sliding between the decorative bumps and swirls of the gold backplate, and through the soft leathers of the tunic beneath. When it pierced the fair skin, Haldir felt the ice-cold shock of the sharp edge and gasped softly. As the blade tore through the layers of thick muscle protecting his back, it skittered off the bony hardness of a rib, tearing through the sacs around his lungs and boring into the soft tissues. Blood splashed across his cloak, dripping warmly onto the stones of the Wall and snaking down his skin.
The sword dropped from his fingers, sliding to his feet. His belly twitched and turned, dark spots spun across his vision. In his chest, his heart pounded, the rhythm repeated in his throat and his temples. He sucked in breaths, faster, shallower, his Elves were dead, all of them, and he too, more, he needed more air, he could not see, was Rumil safe, his leg still itched...
Familiar scents surrounded him, honeyed sweetness and blood and the delicate floral of Aragorn's beloved. He had come – his strong arms trembled as they helped lower Haldir's body to the stones – but much too late. The silver eyes blinked, struggling to focus on the blue ones above him. Murmuring, there were whispered words in his ear...
"Silly, Elf." Aragorn, chiding him gently. "What foolishness do you play? You were not supposed to be lying there."
Something slid down his forehead and dripped off his nose. Not blood, tears, falling warm as summer rain. All he could see above him was the dark night sky, strewn with glittering stars like jewels. Where were his mallorn trees?
"Does it hurt?" The soft question drew his attention. "Does it hurt you to die?" Aragorn pressed himself close enough for his beard to scrape across Haldir's cheek. "I need to know, so I will not be afraid when my time comes." His hand moved to cover Haldir's chest, feeling the faint thumping of his heart, the life being drained away from the beautiful being...
How could he lie to Aragorn, the one he loved? A time for truth, he had said, but there was no time left.
He swam through darkness, pushing aside thick layers like wet woolen blankets, heavy and suffocating. Where there had been nothing, there was suddenly a rush of sensual knowledge – the flat metallic tang of blood on his tongue, the dull throbbing of his back as he struggled to roll to his knees, the deafening sound of silence, ringing, echoing, in his ears, the biting air that stung his torn and exposed flesh. He shivered, body jerking, teeth rattling against each other; he caught the underside of his lip and blood dribbled over his chin. Cold, he had never before been ... cold.
Haldir opened his eyes.
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In the Shadows of the Deep by Shaye
Story notes: The following represents my very first attempts at a LOTR story (which was tons of fun to write though, sadly, this is movie-verse, a grrl's got to start someplace easy) so please, feedback (all of us writers live for this) and if necessary, be brutal (though constructive; note: rest assured I am under no illusions as to the originality of this pairing/setting/plot). I waited and waited – sometimes for months – and in the end, had problems with beta readers, so all mistakes (oh, no, but there are some, I'm sure!) are mine. Also, forgive any slight sloppiness on my part – I finished this very excited about starting a new one; it's a wonder anything gets finished. Anyway, I've made it short and light on background and description so it's not hard to follow – and the Flesch reading score can back me up on its ease of readability. As for criticism, well, I've psyched myself up for it - I can handle it, no worries.
