Title: Heart and Body, Chapter 1 / 9 
Author: Implacida (Implacida@hotmail.com) 
Pairing: Haldir/Celeborn 
Rating: NC17 
Summary: Alone on duty at Lorien’s border, Haldir defends against a 
troop of mercenaries. Somewhat AU. 
Disclaimer: Tolkien’s characters are his, mine are mine. No profit made or 
copyright infringement intended. 
Warning: Rape, extreme violence 
Authors Note: Subsequent chapters will be less violent.
      
      
      Where was his relief? 
      Grimly, Haldir nocked another arrow and let fly. He was in a good 
position and he had kept the party of raiders at bay for over an hour. He 
aimed at the helmet that poked between two boulders, paused, shot—the 
arrow ricocheted off the helmet and a loud squawk came from behind the 
rocks. He was ready to fire again almost immediately, grey-blue eyes 
scanning from side to side to find the most immediate threat. He should 
not have shot at that damned helmet, should have waited for the head to 
appear. His supply of arrows was not endless and most of them were now 
stuck into the array of bodies at the head of the pass he guarded.
      Where was his relief? His turn of duty should have ended at noon. 
His arrows were running out but the number of raiders seemed endless. 
Why did the bastards not leave? Why did they keep coming? They seemed 
to be lordless, landless mercenaries, human scum. It could be no sense of 
duty that forced them on. Perhaps they were fleeing something more 
frightening than one elven sentry alone in a tree.
      He reached for another arrow. Two, three, four left. He sighted 
along it, fingers of his right hand beginning to feel the strain of such 
sustained shooting. What should he best do? Wait until all the arrows were 
gone and then throw pine cones at them. Go down and fight them with his 
knives. Go down and run while they were still hiding behind rocks. That 
appealed most and least. Haldir had never run from an enemy. But he had 
some chance of getting away and warning his people.
      Really, that was the only practical course. As soon as the arrow left 
his bow, he slung it over his shoulder and dropped rapidly through the 
branches on the side away from the humans. On the ground, he kept low 
and ran silently.
      Shouts behind him told him he had been seen. He cursed and ran 
faster, not bothering to hide. Thunder of hooves: they had horses. He 
clenched his jaw and kept running. Several horses, rested while he had 
kept the raiders at bay. Men shouting furiously. He took the bow from his 
shoulder, was ready to shoot as he turned. Five horses, riders armed with 
swords and spears. He brought down two men, dodged away from the 
spear of the third. The fourth slashed with his sword and he ducked under 
it, getting his last arrow into the man’s shoulder. Then the spear-carrier 
had turned his horse and was behind him. Haldir slid his bow back over 
his shoulder and pulled out his two long, curved knives. Three more 
horsemen reached them and he was surrounded.
      They circled around him, keeping out of reach of the knives and he 
turned, trying to keep as many of them in view as possible.
      “That’s it? One fucking elf?”
      “There might be others.”
      “Where? One fucking elf and he’s killed how many of us?”
      “They aren’t all dead—“
      “They might as well be, what bloody use is a wounded man?” The 
speaker pushed up the visor of his helm. “You, elf, where’s the rest of 
you?”
      Haldir glanced at him but did not let himself be distracted from the 
others. He gave no sign that he understood their words. 
      “Come on, get him. Don’t let him cut any of you, we can’t afford 
any more losses.”
      “Alive?”
      “Yes. Oh, yes. He owes us.”
      None of them wanted to be the first to get near those knives. They 
tried to harry him with spears but he cut one of the horses and it reared and 
threw its rider. Gleefully Haldir slashed his throat. 
      “Margon!” screamed one of the others. “Margon, get over here, 
bring your bow.” 
      Another rider trotted over, a longbow tied to his saddle. Slowly, he 
selected an arrow, fitted it to the bow. The riders backed their horses away 
to give him clear access. Haldir watched them turn their heads to the 
bowman and, seizing his moment, leapt at the rider who had been 
sufficiently distracted to lower his spear just a little. He had the man dead 
on the ground when the arrow punched into his ribs, the impact forcing his 
breath from him. Gasping, he reached for the horse’s bridle but the other 
riders now closed in again, stabbing viciously with the points of their 
spears. He tried to twist away, reaching again for the horse. If he could but 
get on it—
      Another arrow slammed into his back. Even as he fell to one knee, 
he thought scornfully “It took him that long to shoot again?”
      He could not breathe properly and his sight was blurring with tears 
of pain. He blinked them away and concentrated on holding his knives 
tightly as each new blow fell. He sliced the thigh of the first man who 
approached him on foot, smiling grimly at the roar of rage from the one he 
assumed was their leader. A sword slashed his left arm and that hand grew 
weak, dropping one knife. They came at his left side then, knocking him 
backwards and he barely kept from crying out as the arrow was forced 
further into him before it snapped. He thought he managed to wound one 
other before someone stamped on his right hand, breaking some of the 
fingers clenched tightly around his knife handle. 
      With that, his strength was finally spent and he huddled on the 
ground as they kicked and stabbed at him. He was shoved over onto his 
face, the other arrow twisting before breaking and he felt it scrape between 
the bones of his ribs. Blood pounded in his head and his vision darkened, 
and he felt the sudden, shocked presence of another.
      “Celeborn, my Lord! My love, I have failed you.” 
      “Haldir? What has befallen you? Where are you?”
      “Human raiders, Calpira’s Pass.”
      “Do not let them kill you, Haldir, stay alive!” The spirit of the lord 
Celeborn reached out and flooded into him and he sighed as the pain 
receded. 
      The men struggling to hold him grunted as the elf went limp.
      “He’s trying it on, be careful.”
      The other grabbed a handful of pale hair and yanked, then punched 
hard to the side of the elf’s head. “He isn’t now.”
      They took off the harness holding his quiver, scabbard and sword, 
then pulled his arms behind his back and tied his wrists together. 
      “If he gets away, you’re both dogmeat.”
      “He won’t, general.”
      “He’d better not. He’s the most persistent bugger I ever met. We 
might as well make camp here, go help the others. I’ll take care of pretty 
boy.”
      The leader dismounted 
      
      The other two walked back to where their fellows were beginning 
to set up camp. They helped haul the bodies of the dead to one side, where 
they were being stripped of anything valuable or useful.
      “One bloody elf did all this,” said one man, rubbing his hands on 
his thighs as he surveyed the pile. “Just think what we could do if we had 
thirty or forty of the buggers fighting for us.”
      “More likely they’d be fighting against us,” grunted his 
companion.
      “Anyway, he only did it ‘cos he was up his tree and we couldn’t 
see him and he could just pot us off as we come up that bloody steep 
path,” grumbled a third.
      “He still managed to get another four after he was on the ground. 
Don’t like elves, never did, sly, cunning bastards.”
      “I reckon you might like that one a bit better after the general’s 
through with him.”
      They all looked over to where their leader was now squatting 
beside the prone body.
      The man they called the general had no actual right to any such 
title but the last two who made an issue of this were dead, so his men now 
avoided any such discussions. 
      The general, they had learned, had a particularly inventive mind.
      At the moment, he was looking at his victim, casually twisting the 
stump of the arrow still embedded in his back. Waste of time, he told 
himself, wait ‘til the bastard’s awake. He reached up instead to the mane 
of pale golden hair that tumbled over the elf’s shoulders. He put his hand 
under it, letting it slide softly, heavily, over his fingers. Silky, he thought. 
He had never actually touched silk, but he had seen it from a distance, 
admired the soft sheen of the folds of rippling silken pennants the same 
way he admired this beautiful hair. One day, his troop would have a silk 
pennant. One day, this hair would hang from his belt. But not yet. The elf 
could keep his scalp for a bit longer. The general liked his victims to be 
pretty.
      He turned his attention to the body’s other end. The elf wore soft, 
grey suede boots, and the general pulled them off his feet and tossed them 
aside. They wouldn’t fit him but they might fit one of the men. The bare 
feet were pretty, too, soft and white, with pink soles and long, straight 
toes. The general picked up one foot and caressed it. No calluses, smooth 
skin, high arches. He liked nice feet, but he also liked his victims not to be 
able to run away. He pulled a knife from his belt and held it with one hand 
while he continued to stroke his thumb along the elf’s instep. Then he 
made a deep cut along the sole of the pretty foot, from toes to heel. Dark 
red blood welled out immediately. He picked up the other foot and did the 
same. Not so pretty now, but the general could get by without looking at 
his feet. He wasn’t going to be running anywhere and that was the 
important thing.
      He stood, sheathing his knife and turned away. The camp was 
taking shape, a fire was lit, the bodies were fairly well stripped—damn elf! 
He turned back and aimed a solid kick at the elf’s ribs. Then he walked 
over to his men to make sure everything was being done properly.
      
      Haldir drifted between darkness and light and could not remember 
what had happened to him. He could smell earth and taste blood and 
wondered if he were being eaten by a troll, imagined it chewing his feet 
while it held him tightly, sharp claws digging into his sides and back. But 
he could feel no movement, why not? If he truly were being eaten by a 
troll, it would be waving him around, tugging morsels from his bones, 
chewing them; he ought to feel some movement. But he was sure he was 
lying very still, so what had happened to him? Terrible pain consumed his 
feet, he was lying on the ground: had he fallen asleep with his feet in the 
fire? Surely his brothers would not let him burn his feet—Rumil? 
Orophin? 
      Then memory came crashing back, the endless stream of human 
raiders and he, hidden in the tree he had climbed when he had first heard 
distant noises, to try to see what was coming up the pass. And they had 
caught him and he was lying face down on the earth with arrows in him 
and his hands tied and what had happened to his feet? He stifled a moan 
and continued to lie completely still. He could hear noises now; they were 
nearby. Perhaps if he kept very still and made no sound, they would forget 
he was there. He listened carefully. There did not seem to be anyone too 
close. There was the crackle and smell of a fire, many coarse voices 
shouting, but all a little way off.
      Ai, how his feet hurt! He could remember the arrows which 
throbbed in his ribs and back but he could not remember what they had 
done to his feet. What else had they done that he could not remember? He 
regretted that chain of thought for now his body gave him a full inventory 
of his many hurts and he gritted his teeth to keep from crying out. 
      He lay like stone, shouting in his mind to be silent, be strong, be 
still! He made himself concentrate on breathing, in and out and again and 
again and thinking of that and nothing else—nothing else! Slowly, he 
calmed his pounding heart, pushed away the pain, made the tears stop 
coming.
      
      
      Haldir lay on the ground as they had left him, on his belly, and his 
wrists had been tied tightly behind him. What he could not work out was 
what had happened to his feet and he tried to keep his thoughts away from 
them as they and his lower legs throbbed with pulses of agony that kept 
time with the beat of his heart. His left cheek lay against the ground and 
his head hurt. There was, in fact, very little of him that did not hurt. He 
could feel, from the change in the air, that it was night, and risked opening 
his right eye by the merest crack. The raiders were gathered around a fire, 
and from time to time one of them would turn to look in his direction. 
Their mood seemed sombre. He closed his eye almost immediately, in 
case it reflected the firelight, although he did not think their sight would be 
good enough to see it.
      What had happened to his replacement? Calpira’s Pass was one of 
the most remote sentry outposts, half a day’s ride from Caras Galadhon. 
The duty sentry did a turn of a day and a night, from midday to midday, 
riding home on his replacement’s horse to have the next day off. He could 
not remember the week’s roster well enough to know who was supposed 
to replace him. Perhaps whoever it was, had seen the raiders and gone 
back for help? Dared he hope for that? No, for he had already been 
overdue when the humans had arrived. Perhaps he had arrived late, but 
seen the raiders and gone back—but no, he could not cling to such 
fantasies. His worst fear was that these ragbag humans were just a small 
part of a larger attack, and even now a force was besieging Lorien. And 
the Lady was away, visiting her daughter who had just birthed another son 
to the Peredhil.
      Haldir breathed as deep a breath as he was able to, and sighed. The 
two arrows were still stuck in him, and hurt monstrously, his feet even 
more so. He wondered what possible chance he might have of trying to 
crawl away while no one was looking at him. Tentatively, he tried to flex 
muscles without showing outward sign but had to stop as the effort 
brought tears of pain. He could forget that: he doubted he could stand, let 
alone run.
      He was able to hear most of what they were saying, in the tongue 
of men. He understood the language well enough, better than anyone else 
in the watch, but these men spoke in a coarse regional accent he did not 
recognise. It appeared there had been one of the usual human squabbles 
over land—as if a mortal could own land when even immortals knew they 
only tenanted it for a short while! This group had been hired by the side 
which lost, so they now had the double grief of not being paid and being 
banished by the victors.
      
      
      Inevitably, he began to wonder what they were going to do to him. 
“He owes us,” the leader had said. Presumably for the men he had killed. 
Would they try to make him fight for them? If so, why had they hurt his 
feet? He could hardly fight like that, or work. A crawling, shuddering 
sensation grew over his whole body and he shied away from thinking of 
other things they might do to him.
      He tried to distract himself by squinting at the humans again, 
counting how many there were, which were injured, what horses they had. 
He did not know how many he had killed. At least ten had fallen to him 
while he had been in the tree, but he knew not how many of those had 
died. And on the ground, he thought he had killed another two. There 
seemed to be twelve, thirteen, fourteen of them still moving around. At 
least. Two of them were standing up now, they were…his heart pounded. 
They were coming towards him. 
      Elbereth, Elbereth, make me strong now.
      They reached him and one kicked his leg. “Wake up, elf. Had a 
nice long nap, have we?” 
      He did not react. 
      “Come on, help me get him up,” said the other, stepping over the 
top of him. Then he bent down and gripped Haldir’s arm, near the 
shoulder. Someone did the same on the other side.
      “Up we come,” grunted the first man, hauling him to his feet. The 
pain was bad enough, but then Haldir tried to put his weight on his feet 
and it overwhelmed him completely. Dizzily, he spiralled into darkness.
      “Whoa, look out, you idiot!”
      “He’s fainted, the sod, don’t drop him.”
      “I hardly touched him! He’s probably faking.”
      “Who took his boots? He had boots before.”
      “Dunno. Wouldn’t fit me anyway.”
      They dragged the sentry back to the campfire.
      “He’s not dead, is he?” 
      “Nah, he was awake until we stood him up. Then he went out like 
a candle.”
      “Ah, I forgot to mention.” The general clambered up. “I cut his 
feet. Stop him running off. Damn. Now we have to wait for him to wake 
up again.”
      They let him drop back to the ground.
      “Come look at this,” said the general. He walked a little way away 
from the fire. “Nice, big rock. He’ll just stretch nicely over that, don’t you 
think?” The rock he indicated was a round boulder about four feet high. 
He put his shoulder to it and it did not move. “Nice and solid,” he grunted. 
“I think that’ll do for our pretty boy. Get some rope and some nice, solid 
sticks. And a hammer.” He turned back to the body on the ground. “Still 
out, is he?”
      “Yep.”
      “Cut his hands loose and get his clothes off him.”
      “What do we do about the arrows?”
      “They still in him? Wait, then, ‘til he’s awake.”
      Haldir came back to himself quickly this time, such was the agony 
of his feet. He made no sound but his breathing became rapid and laboured 
and he tried to move to ease the various hurts that dazed his senses. He 
was surprised to find his hands were free but when he opened his eyes he 
found himself in the middle of a circle of men, sitting on the ground and 
watching him avidly. Terror scoured his nerves.
      “He’s back.”
      “Hello, darlin’, nice to see you again.”
      “Murdering bastard.”
      “Hold his hands and feet and stretch him out for me, lads.”
      Haldir tried to struggle away from the hands that reached for him 
but had no chance. There were too many of them and every movement 
hurt. He put what strength he had into staying silent as his arms and legs 
were pulled out straight and held tightly. Fear chilled him, alone and 
surrounded by his enemies.
      “Careful, now, don’t want him going to sleep again.”
      The general knelt over him. “Now, elf, we’re going to do you a 
little favour.” Haldir met the man’s eyes with an expression of scorn.
      The general smiled and reached out. “Now, these arrows. We 
could just leave ‘em to rot inside of you.” He touched the broken shaft of 
the one in Haldir’s ribs and the elf quivered, but his expression did not 
change. The man twisted it viciously. Haldir gasped and jerked violently 
but was held firm. Several of the men sniggered.
      “But I’m not that cruel,” the general went on, casually twiddling 
the shaft, “So I’m going to get it out of you.”
      The elf was panting, short, shallow breaths, and his face had a 
sheen of sweat over it. The general peered at him closely. Then he raised a 
knife, letting Haldir see it. He grabbed the arrow again and dug the knife 
in deep beside it. Haldir’s eyes rolled upwards and he fainted.
      “Aw, shit. Now where’s the fun in that?” the man grumbled. He 
gouged with the knife and yanked the arrow out. Dark blood seeped into 
the elf’s jerkin, rapidly making a large stain. He slapped the elf’s face. 
“Come on, wake up.” 
      No response. 
      “Damn. All right, turn him over, I’ll do the other one or we’ll be 
here all night. Thought the buggers were tougher than that.” Roughly, he 
wrenched the second arrow out and passed both to one of the men. “Here, 
they’re good iron heads.”
      He sat back on his heels and surveyed his victim. “Strip him, then. 
I’m having his tunic. Who wants the rest?”
      “I’ll try his shirt.”
      “You’ll need to roll the sleeves up, I reckon.”
      Soon, the sentry was naked, pale flesh glowing in the flickering 
light of the flames. The long, lean body was flawed, bruised black and 
purple, crusted with dried blood and slippery with more seeping from his 
newest wounds.
      “Right, get him over here, then.”
      
      
      
      Haldir’s limp body was dragged up and hauled over the boulder. 
Under the general’s direction, his men drove four wooden stakes into the 
ground at four equal points around it. Ropes were then tied to the elf’s 
wrists and ankles and pulled until he was spread over the rock, arms 
stretched before him and legs pulled wide apart. His head lay on the stone 
between his taut arms, lush hair hiding his face. The general stood before 
him, gently stroking that hair back with his fingers until Haldir’s face was 
revealed. Then he walked around him, noting the lean, muscular back and 
legs, the curves of the buttocks and the cleft between them. He ran his 
hands over that smooth skin, savouring it. The elf’s wounds had stopped 
bleeding. That was good. He had heard tell that elves lived for thousands 
of years; he hoped that this one would last them at least a few weeks. The 
men around him were wolfish with anticipation.
      As he stroked, he felt a slight tremor in the firm flesh. Winking at 
his men, he continued to rub his hand along the ridge of the elf’s spine, 
walking around to his head again. The elf was pretending to be asleep still. 
The general twisted his fingers in the long hair, wrapping it around his fist. 
Then he jerked the head up. No reaction. He smiled, leaned in close to the 
beautiful, bruised face and kissed his mouth. At that, the elf jerked his 
head away, hissing, eyes fiery with loathing. He wiped his mouth against 
his shoulder as the general and his men laughed like drunkards.
      “So, our pretty boy’s awake again. Good. Now, this is where you 
pay for what you’ve done this day, you elven bastard.”
      Haldir was almost nauseous with horror at the position he found 
himself in on awakening. There had been a brief period during which he 
could not understand what was happening to him, then that foul caress, 
which had made his flesh crawl. And an even greater revulsion…he 
longed to spit but his mouth was too dry. His stomach heaved as the 
humans laughed. 
      Then he heard a whistling crack! and gasped in shock at the stroke 
of a whip across his shoulders. The general was watching his face, saw the 
dark blue eyes widen and the lips part.
      “Ah, that got your attention, pretty boy.” He nodded, and the whip 
fell again and again.
      Haldir clenched his jaw against the cry in his throat, eyes tightly 
shut, trying with what strength he still had to writhe away from the 
relentless lash. But they had tied him well and his attempts to twist away 
only reawakened his other hurts. He pressed his face against the cold, 
rough rock, grimacing in agony.
      His hair was pulled again, yanking his head up from the stone and 
he found himself looking into the face of the general. The human smiled at 
him but said nothing, just stared intently, drinking in every flinch and 
shudder as the whip continued to punish the sentry’s helpless body. Haldir 
closed his eyes against the sight and the general responded by reaching 
down to pound his ribs where the arrow had been. Haldir gasped and tears 
sprang to his eyes. He fought against them, unable to turn his head away.
      “Keep your eyes open, elf,” muttered the general softly. “I want to 
see you feel it.”
      The elf stared at him with disbelief and revulsion. Then the whip 
fell again and he shuddered, closing his eyes. He opened them 
immediately, gazing scornfully at his tormentor.
      The general leaned on the rock, increasingly dissatisfied. Although 
his victim trembled at every stroke of the lash, although his body was now 
slick with his own blood, his misty blue eyes held nothing but cold 
contempt. 
      Oh, but we can do better than this, pretty boy.
      The general stood, holding up his hand. “That’s enough for the 
first remove,” he said. “Time for the second.” There was laughter around 
the circle. They knew he was inventive. The general walked around to the 
elf’s rear and clicked his tongue. “What a mess,” he scolded. “Nobody’s 
going to enjoy touching that.” Bloody welts covered the elf from the backs 
of the knees to his shoulders. “Get a waterskin.” A few went to rummage 
about in the piles of their possessions heaped around the camp and 
somebody brought one back. The general took it and poured a stream of 
water over the elf. 
      Haldir had laid his face against the stone again, body limp in the 
ropes. He stiffened for a moment as the water hit, stinging, but kept still 
and quiet, being grateful to close his eyes and feel the cold stone against 
his brow.
      “There, that’s better.” The general gave the skin back and rubbed 
his hands. He looked around the circle at the expectant, leering faces. He 
knew what they wanted and he was going to make them wait their turn. He 
reached down to lift into the firelight the two items he had put aside. One 
was the mallet they had used to hammer in the wooden stakes, the other 
was the pot of grease too foul to cook with, kept for the wheels of the 
wagon.
      He held them up, letting the men see them, hearing murmurs of 
anticipation. He considered showing them to the elf, seeing if he could 
work it out. But the fair head was lying against the rock. Oh, well, let him 
get a surprise. Oh, yes. He smiled, and put a finger to his lips, and his men 
grinned and shushed each other, joining in the game. The general reversed 
the mallet, holding it by the head, and stirred the long, thick wooden 
handle around in the grease. He got a good layer all over it, then looked 
pointedly at the cleft where the elf’s legs joined. A couple of the men 
licked their lips. He pointed to one, beckoned him forward.
      “When I give the signal,” he whispered. “And do it slowly. As 
slowly as you can.” The other took the mallet and the general went back to 
his position at the elf’s head, anticipation growing in him. He jerked the 
head up again, getting a good, firm grip in that lovely thick hair.
      The elf opened tired eyes, slowly looking up. When he was sure of 
his attention, the general nodded.
      The men crowded around to the back, several already beginning to 
touch themselves.
      Haldir gazed blearily at the man he loathed and despised, too 
exhausted to hold up his head. Then he felt hands at his rear, spreading 
him open, then he felt—Gods! No! he struggled violently, trying to twist 
away from the face of the one before him, drawing breath to scream as the 
hard, slick intrusion was pressed against him, harder, breaching him, 
tearing him!
      He tried to pull his head away, some of his hair tore out but the 
general twisted his fist around again for a better grip, holding him still, 
eyes devouring his anguish. Haldir was wracked with agony as his tight 
opening was ripped, as he felt something harsh, hard, relentless, inside 
him, inside his very body, where he could not fight, past all his defences. 
The pain was terrifying, overwhelming and it increased until he heard a 
roaring sound and felt blackness rise up to engulf him.
      Seeing the elf’s eyes start to show the whites, the general shouted 
“Stop! Stop there.” He looked back to the tortured face. The elf slowly 
focussed on him again.
      “Now. Pull it out. Slowly.”
      He watched closely, noting the blood from the bitten lip. The elf 
was panting like an animal but he still hadn’t made a sound. The general 
let go of the hair, pulling long, loose strands away, shaking them from his 
fingers as he walked around the rock. He untied his flies, freeing his 
erection. 
      “Me first.” The elf’s buttocks showed distinct red finger marks. He 
was slick with grease and bright red blood streaked through it. The general 
leaned against the backs of the elf’s legs, feeling the welts on them 
burning against his thighs even through his pants. He positioned himself 
against the slippery hole, put his hands on the boulder beside the elf’s 
waist and began to push. Ah, he was tight! Even after that, he was tight. 
And the blood…
      “You know,” he grunted, “I think he’s a virgin.”
      Raucous laughter and comments met that and several of the others 
were openly rubbing themselves as he began to thrust. Ahh, yes. Beautiful 
elf. I told you you’d pay. All afternoon while you kept us stuck on that 
path, killing us off, I told you you’d pay.
      He speeded up, seeing the elf’s body pushed to and fro by his 
thrusts, wishing he could see the face now. He pictured the eyes wide in 
terror, the perfect lips opening and screaming, begging him to stop. 
Harder, he pushed, pushed, pushed, now, now…he groaned, ramming as 
hard as he could, pumping himself into the hot, tight, slippery hole, then 
slowly sprawling over the elf’s back. When he had his breath back he 
pushed himself up and grinned.
      “Ah, he’s a good fuck, lads. Who’s next? Take your time, he’s not 
going anywhere.”
      He tied his pants again and looked round for a wine skin, grabbing 
one from someone who had a scant grip on it as he held up his tunic and 
played with himself. “Let me hold that,” he said, “and you can use both 
hands.”
      He gulped wine, then put down the skin so he could lift the elf’s 
head again. With his other hand he prised open the eyelids, seeing again 
those disdainful blue eyes. The elf flinched then his body began to rock 
back and forth again as he was taken by the first of the general’s soldiers. 
His expression did not change as the man increased his rhythm, pounding 
more violently. Then he was done. The elf’s lip curled in a sneer. Then he 
winced as the next cock was shoved into him and the rhythm started again. 
The general took another swig from his skin, staring thoughtfully at the 
impassive face. He looked next at the elf’s hands, wanting to see them 
straining against the ropes. The left hand was tightly clenched into a fist, 
knuckles white. He smiled into the steady blue eyes. You don’t fool me, 
he thought. The elf’s right hand was open and trembling, fingers oddly 
crumpled. 
      Oh, did we hurt our fingers shooting too many arrows, did we? 
“Here,” he said softly, “let me hold your hand. Help you to bear it.” He 
smiled at the dread in the blue eyes and reached out for the elf’s right 
hand. The sentry gasped as he took it and squeezed the curled fingers 
gently. “Oh, dear. Feels like something’s broken there.” He squeezed 
again, and was rewarded by the sight of the sentry’s prefect white teeth 
biting into his lower lip. 
      Another man took his place at Haldir’s back. Pathetic, puling 
scum, thought the sentry contemptuously. Not even enough cocks among 
the lot of you to make regular soldiers. He let his opinion show in his face, 
holding back—not permitting—any other feelings. The man mashed his 
fingers again and that, he could not shut out. He gritted his teeth, panting, 
as he felt bones grind over each other. 
      The man was talking. Haldir listened; it was a distraction, and he 
had to concentrate on not letting him realise that he understood.
      “So, how does it feel to be fucked by real men, little elf? Are you 
enjoying it?”
      You are a stinking, filthy piece of shit, thought Haldir, and if you 
were stuck on my boots I would sooner throw them away than bother to 
scrape you off.
      “…feel bad?” the general had rambled on. “’Cos no matter how 
bad you feel now, it’s better than you’re going to feel later.” He squeezed 
Haldir’s right hand again, provoking a spasm of pain across the elf’s face. 
The whole arm throbbed.
      He smiled and looked up at the man pounding away. “Hey, Pog! 
What are you doing? He can’t even feel you!”
      The man called Pog snarled and pumped harder.
      “Watch, he feels me holding his hand more than he feels your 
dick!” The general crushed the broken fingers, provoking a shudder that 
ran right through the elf’s body. “Did you feel anything when I did that?” 
cried the general jovially. The men roared with laughter and one of them 
shoved Pog away, taking his place.
      “Fuck you, I wasn’t finished!” Pog launched himself at the other 
and the scuffle soon involved several of those waiting their turn. One of 
them broke away, bending down for a moment then standing up behind 
the elf. He shoved with his arm and Haldir’s face contorted, teeth bared in 
a rictus of agony.
      “Oh, very good,” said the general approvingly. “You’re the biggest 
man of the lot of them, Margon.”
      Margon grinned and held up the mallet, the handle red with blood. 
“Now for the real thing,” he said, tossing it back to the ground.
      Haldir was barely conscious, eyes unfocussed and blank. The 
general watched him, seeing the hatred slowly build as awareness 
returned. 
      By god, that was a good moment. 
      “Pog,” he called. “Pog, come here, make yourself useful.” Pog had 
been pushed to the back of the line and was seething with impotent rage. 
Muttering, he came to the general’s side.
      “Drusil, he got killed, didn’t he? Pretty early on, as we were 
coming up the pass?”
      Pog nodded, staring in fascination at the sentry’s inhumanly 
beautiful face. The general shoved at him. “Pay attention when I’m talking 
to you.”
      “Uh, yeah, he got killed.”
      “So, what happened to that stupid sword he had? The one he got at 
Brokenoak Fair?”
      “With the bent blade and the fake jewels? Still with his stuff, I 
suppose. Who’d want it? S’crap.”
      “I want it, Pog. Go find it.”
      Pog nodded and wandered off. The general turned back to his 
victim, who returned his stare with loathing.
      “You elves are supposed to live for ever, aren’t you? I suppose 
you’re thinking, here’s this stupid man, and he’ll be a rotted corpse next 
time I turn around, huh?”
      Haldir fought to keep his expression unchanged, for he had been 
thinking something very like that.
      “Well, in the first place, you aren’t going to live forever. Though I 
think the lads’ll want to keep you as long as possible. I think they like 
you,” leered the general. “And even if you did, you know what? I will too, 
‘cos you’re never going to forget me, are you, pretty boy? And as long as 
you live, the memory of me is going to live with you.”
      At that moment, Pog came back clutching a long, glittering object 
and the distraction meant that the general missed the despair in Haldir’s 
eyes.
      “Hah! Just the thing,” smiled the general. “Give it here. No, don’t 
go away, Pog, I’ll need you again in a minute.” He turned the object about 
in his hands and held it before the sentry. “Look at this,” he said. “Look at 
it. Cheap piece of rubbish. But it was the pride and joy of one of the men 
you killed, you bastard. One of my men. His name was Drusil and he’s 
somewhere in that pile over there and he can’t have a turn at fucking you.”
      The other men had fallen silent, looking at their leader. There were 
mutters about: 
      “Poor bloody Drusil,” 
      “Yeah, and Brendas,”
      “And Temmen. My best mate, he was.”
      Haldir felt the mood change around him and he shivered. He 
looked at the thing the general held out: a despicable toy, a fake weapon 
sold to the completely cretinous, made out of base metal and studded with 
glass jewels, a two-handed broadsword that one could bend across one’s 
knee.
      “No, Drusil can’t ever get it up again,” went on the general. “But 
I’m sure he’d have wanted to. So his sword’s going to do it for him.”
      The general drew the sword.
      “Come here, Pog,” he said. “Here, hold it by the blade. Don’t 
worry, it’s as blunt as your tool. But the hilt, now that’s something else 
again. Drusil, he liked a good hilt on a sword.” Several laughed at that.
      Haldir could see the hilt well enough: thick and long enough for 
two hands to hold, it was studded with fake glass gems that glittered in the 
firelight and had a tarnished metal pommel shaped like an egg. 
      “Now, Pog,” said the general, watching the elf closely, “go give 
him one for Drusil.”
      The man disappeared from Haldir’s view, and he tensed, knowing 
what was coming. The general twined a fist through his hair again and 
reached for his broken hand. Cold metal touched him, pushed against him. 
Deliberately, he closed his eyes. What could the general do that was worse 
than this? Then he was torn part, searing torment that reached his belly 
from within. He began to shake as it came again, rasping against tender 
places already worn raw, filling him with searing, unbearable agony. He 
pushed all the breath from his lungs so he would not scream as it ripped 
him again, shredding him inside and he could feel the warmth of blood 
trickling down his legs. 
      “Enough, Pog.”
      The general breathed rapidly, hoarsely, drinking in the sentry’s 
contorted face and the beads of sweat on it. He felt himself harden, rubbed 
against the boulder and licked his lips. Give the elf a minute to recover 
and he’d take another turn himself. He let go of the hair and slapped the 
face.
      “Come on, bastard, come back, there’s a lot more dead men 
waiting to fuck you.” 
      Someone called out “And a few living!”
      Haldir’s head was ringing and his vision darkening from lack of 
air. Finally he had to breathe again, panting and trying desperately not to 
cry, to scream, to make the smallest sound. If he kept it all in they would 
not win, they would not win. But they had broken him inside and he did 
not know how much longer before he would show the weakness this weak 
man wanted. 
      The general looked into the dazed eyes of his victim. “We don’t 
stop tonight until I hear your voice. I want to hear you scream like you 
made us scream, you bastard!”
      Suddenly the man gripped his hand more tightly than ever before, 
clenched his fist around the broken fingers, staring into Haldir’s eyes with 
a look of surprise. The elf grimaced at the surge of agony, then saw the 
feathers of the arrow showing behind the man’s shoulder. Slowly the 
general slid down the side of the boulder, fingers still clasped tightly 
around Haldir’s hand. The elf’s face twisted in anguish as the full weight 
of the man’s falling body hung from his broken fingers. He raised his head 
as much as the ropes allowed and saw dark grey shapes, his fellows, flit 
from among the trees beyond the circle of firelight. In a moment they were 
there, cutting the ropes, holding him as he fell, laying him on the grass. He 
heard Feremil’s voice say harshly “Make sure they are all dead.”
      Haldir lay on the ground only feet from his tormentor. The man 
slowly raised his head to look at him.
      “You’ve killed me. You’ve killed me…” His eyes hardened. “No 
matter how long you live, elf, never forget I fucked you.”
      “Did you?” Haldir replied hoarsely, in the language of men. He 
smiled faintly. “Forgive me, I did not notice.”
      An arm slid behind his shoulders and raised him and he shuddered 
as his weight shifted onto his hips. His head was cradled against a 
shoulder.
      Celeborn?
      Anxious blue eyes met his, and something touched his lips. “Here, 
drink,” murmured Celeborn. Cool water poured over Haldir’s lips and he 
opened his mouth, swallowing some of it. 
      He turned away from the cup. “The city?” he whispered. “Other 
raiders?”
      “No, no, there are no other raiders, be still and fear not, all is peace 
save here.”
      Haldir fell back against his lord’s shoulder and closed his eyes. 
Celeborn gazed down at the young sentry’s bruised face, lines of pain 
etched upon it, bitten lip still bloody. He felt a surge of pride that an elf 
could suffer so and still make such a reply to his tormentor. 
      There had been no demur when he had ordered that all the humans 
be killed. He looked around to see the other elves at work. Bodies were 
being dragged to one side, cleared away from the track leading to the pass. 
All their possessions were being heaped with them. One was roping 
together the horses—they could not just be left. Someone else approached 
with his arms full.
      “We have gathered Haldir’s clothing, my lord, and his weapons.”
      “Lay them here. Take my cloak to wrap him in, he begins to 
shiver.” The elf took his lord’s cloak and shook it out. Together, they 
spread it over him, Celeborn wincing at the marks on the sentry’s body. 
“There is nowhere they did not hurt him,” he muttered. “How can we 
move him? See if you can devise a litter to lay him on.” The other elf 
nodded and moved away.
      Celeborn looked down again. Haldir had opened his eyes and 
gazed up at him. “The relief sentry,” he murmured, “did he give the alert?”
      “Relief? Ah, no, we met him on the way, on foot. His horse had 
broken a leg, badly enough that he had to kill it. Less than halfway to the 
pass, so he turned back. That it should have happened the day you were 
attacked—fate is cruel, Haldir.”
      “So how came you?”
      “You called to me,” said Celeborn, surprised. “Do you not 
remember?”
      “Called? How?”
      “Haldir, you farspoke me. Do you really not remember?”
      The sentry’s eyes widened. “Farspoke? You, lord? I have never 
farspoken anyone, I have not the talent for it.” He began to shiver again. 
      Celeborn chose his words carefully. “Sometimes, it is given to us 
to farspeak another in moments of extremity. You called to me as they 
overcame you.”
      Haldir’s breathing became rapid and shallow and his eyelids 
fluttered. “Forgive me, my lord,” he whispered.
      Celeborn lay the palm of his hand against Haldir’s cheek and 
stroked it gently. “There is nothing to forgive, young one. Without it you 
would have been dead and we facing a rough horde of lawless humans 
loose within our borders. Fear not, no one else knows save my lady.”
      Haldir wailed and blushed and tried to hide his face. “No, not she! 
How can I remain among our people—“
      Celeborn stroked his fingers across Haldir’s chin and held it 
gently. After all they had done to him, he marvelled, the boy could still 
blush. “Be still, be at peace, child. Galadriel knows all that I know and we 
are both grateful for this if it means you live and our borders are safe.”
      Haldir looked up at his lord with a deep sadness and silent tears 
welled from his eyes. But that is all it means, said those eyes. Celeborn 
could not meet them and looked away.
      He continued to sit on the ground, holding the injured sentry in his 
arms, trying to keep him warm, letting him weep in silence. “I might warm 
your body, but not your heart, Haldir,” he thought. “I am so sorry. But my 
love has belonged to my lady for an age and always will.”
      He thought back to the first time he saw Haldir. Galadriel had 
returned smiling from a visit to a former lady-in-waiting, with a beautiful 
baby on her hip. Beside her stood a silver-haired, black-eyed boy, holding 
a third child by the hand.
      “Look at them,” she had whispered, “each more beautiful than the 
last. These are the sons of Halenil and Sarumiel. I have brought them 
home because their mother can no longer look after them, and I pity her, 
poor lady. To have given birth to three lusty boy babies in less than a 
decade, it is more than our bodies and souls were made to bear. And it has 
turned her mind not a little. Let them come here and be with us for a few 
years to give her peace.”
      And he had agreed and the three boys had come to their talan. How 
they had weighed upon their mother’s heart he could not fathom, for they 
were all three quiet and serious, if occasionally given to mischief, 
particularly Rumil. But this one, he thought, as he continued to cradle 
Haldir, a more sober youth you could not want. Galadriel had said one day 
“He follows you about like a puppy, poor child. I think he adores you.” 
And he had laughed and told her of his own boyhood crush on the noble 
Mithrandir.
      “But you,” he thought, looking down, “Did you never grow out of 
the fancy of your youth? My child of night and silver, after all these 
centuries, when your soul calls in desperation to your true love, it calls to 
me?”
      Haldir’s anguished voice in his mind that afternoon had given 
Celeborn the worst shock he had known for many years. For an instant, he 
had been as one with the beleaguered sentry, even feeling as if in his own 
flesh the wounds of arrows and spears and broken fingers. 
      “To have both body and heart broken on one day is hard indeed, 
Haldir. Fate is cruel.
      
      “And yet, do I not love Mithrandir still?”


Title: Heart and Body Chapter 2 / 9 
Author (including email): Implacida (Implacida@hotmail.com) 
Pairing(s): Haldir / Celeborn 
Rating:  R 
Summary: Haldir has been rescued but still suffers from what has 
happened to him. 
Disclaimer: Tolkien’s characters are his, mine are mine. No profit made or 
copyright infringement intended. 
Warning (only if necessary): Angst, memories of violence 
Authors Note (if needed/desired): pipe symbol, thus: |abc| denotes italics

Haldir had turned his face away as his tears fell silently. Celeborn's heart 
ached for him and he wanted to hold him closer but so many were the 
wounds on his body that he hardly knew where to put his hands so as not 
to hurt him. Finally, he settled for stroking the sentry's hair. It was tangled 
and disheveled in a way no elf in his right mind would tolerate so he undid 
the braid above Haldir's ear. To his horror, as he combed through it with 
his fingers, much loose hair came away and when he lifted his hand to 
look more closely he realised that the roots had come out and were clotted 
with blood. He felt ill. The pain he had known when Haldir had farspoken 
him, for that briefest moment, had been breathtaking. What torments had 
he undergone since? One, they had all seen, and Celeborn only hoped that 
the youth would heal, body and mind.
Celeborn looked up as Feremil squatted beside him.

"How is he?" asked the warden.

Celeborn shook his head. "At last he has found the mercy of sleep," he 
said softly. "I do not know the number of his hurts. He needs to have a 
healer and I am a fool not to have thought to bring one."

"Lord, you could not have known what we would find."

Celeborn made no reply. He had known, simply had not thought of it in 
the shock of what had happened. He had told Feremil and others that he 
had chanced to see the attack in Galadriel's Mirror. Feremil went on "We 
have done all I care to here, and I would not remain the night in this place. 
Shall we at least go back down to the valley? Can he travel?"

"What have you done?"

"All trace of them, their bodies and their rubbish, we have thrown into a 
crevasse. The horses we will take. We have made a litter on which to lay 
him, two of us will carry it down the hill this night. Tomorrow we will see 
if two of the more placid horses can carry him the rest of the way. If not, 
we are all prepared to take our turn."

"So be it. There are his clothes and weapons, see that all is brought home."

Feremil stood and gathered up the small bundle himself.

Haldir lay still and made no sound as Celeborn laid him on the wooden 
litter, part of the humans' dilapidated wagon. He would not ride his horse, 
but walked beside the litter, clasping Haldir's good hand. The sentry's 
fingers tightened around his, and Celeborn could feel occasional tremors 
when the litter was accidentally jolted.

He heard again in his mind Haldir's words... |My love, I have failed you.| 
On their frantic ride out to the pass, he had thought of little other than 
those words. He had tried to reach deep into himself to find the true echo 
in his heart to their meaning. But it had been millennia since he had last 
visited those places and he feared what his heart told him.

Orophin and Rumil called him father. Haldir never had.
They made camp in the valley at the base of the hill and spent the rest of 
the night quietly enough, simply eating lembas and drinking the water they 
had with them. Haldir drank but refused to eat. Celeborn laid a bed roll 
beside the litter and spent the night holding that shaking hand and sleeping 
little. At dawn, when the others had begun to rise, he felt the fingers 
withdraw from his. He sat up to find Haldir worrying with one hand at his 
other braid.

"Let me."

Haldir turned his head so Celeborn could reach him. He quickly undid the 
braid and was relieved not to find any loose hair on that side.

"How do you fare?" he asked softly. "Come, let me look at you in the light 
of day."

"There is no need." Haldir drew the cloak tighter about him and curled up 
on the litter. He lay on his left side. His right eye was blackened and that 
side of his face bruised. His lip was swollen.

"Haldir." Celeborn simply spoke his name firmly. After a moment's 
hesitation, the youth reluctantly let go of the cloak. Celeborn raised it 
gently, revealing his right arm and shoulder, bruised and with several cuts 
from sword or spear. He cradled his right hand in his left and Celeborn 
remembered, it was the fingers of the right which had been broken.

"Let me see your hand." The hand shook and was swollen now, and the 
middle three fingers were crooked and almost purple. Celeborn did not 
touch them, but pulled the cloak away further. Both arrows had left large, 
ugly wounds, open and raw. Welts covered Haldir's back and his legs.

"My lord?" he murmured hesitantly.

"What is it, Haldir? I regret I can do little for you but take you home to a 
healer as quickly as we may travel."

"My feet. My feet hurt and I do not know why. I think I can not stand up."

Celeborn raised the last corner of the cloak and drew in his breath at what 
he saw.

"They are both cut, Haldir, deep cuts the length of the soles. It will be a 
while before you walk, I fear."

He laid the cloak back over the tortured body. Elves healed faster and 
better than many other races but they still suffered and felt pain as all did 
when their bodies were injured.

From the hurts of the soul, they could die.

They continued to carry the litter by hand. Horses would jolt too much.
Celeborn rode now, beside the litter where he could keep a close watch on 
Haldir. When they reached the waters of the Celebrant, the sentry asked to 
bathe in it.

"That is an excellent notion," said the Lord of the Wood, "for the waters of 
the river have healing powers. I will join you." He dismounted and began 
to remove his clothes. Feremil posted guards and several other elves also 
opted to strip and enter the chill, refreshing waters. One of them helped 
carry Haldir into the river, leaving him in Celeborn's arms when the water 
reached their waists.

"I will set you down into the water," murmured Celeborn, "if you think 
you will float. Do not try to stand."

Haldir nodded. He gasped as he was immersed into the cold, clear stream, 
sinking briefly, his silver hair swirling around him. Celeborn clutched his 
arm and steadied him and he stretched out his legs and loosened his stiff 
muscles and floated. Celeborn also ducked under, coming up with his head 
back to let his hair flow behind him. He hovered nearby, as Haldir's limp 
body floated along in the current. 

After a while, the sentry began to rub his left hand over himself. When he 
passed it through his hair a cloud of silver strands floated away to tangle in 
the weeds by the bank. He passed his hand beneath himself, along his back 
and, doing so, sank again. Celeborn held his arm.

"Will you let me touch you?" he whispered.

The sentry gazed at him with frightened eyes. Then he inclined his head, 
never looking away from Celeborn's face. The older elf stood beside him, 
holding his arm with one hand and gently stroking the other along his back 
and chest, wiping away blood and dirt. He could feel the many welts left 
by the whip. Then he reached lower, feeling sticky, heavy grease that 
would not wash away in the cold water. He pulled a handful of weeds and 
wiped with that but Haldir moaned and stiffened when the touch became 
too intimate.

"Hush, now, I will leave it to the healer," he said. "Let me look at your feet 
now."

"No. Please."

"I promise I will not touch them."

Celeborn held Haldir's left arm at full stretch and was able to see the soles 
of the sentry's feet. Much of the blood had washed away but the cuts were 
clotted and dirty. He had obviously been forced to stand on the ground at 
some point.

"Did they make you walk?"

"I don't remember."

"There is soil and grass-"

"No!" Haldir tensed and sank again.

Immediately, Celeborn pulled him up and slid arms behind his shoulders 
and under his knees. "Enough, I think." He walked to the bank, taking the 
sentry's full weight in his arms as they left the water. With Feremil's help 
he laid him on the plank of wood and wrapped him in several cloaks. They 
set off as soon as all were dressed again and this time Haldir slept deeply.

It was late afternoon when they reached Caras Galadhon. Celeborn had 
ordered a runner ahead to alert the Guild of Healers, and they were met 
just within the city's southern gate.

Two tall elves, ethereal even by the standards of the Galadhrim, 
approached. "Bring him this way, one of our people lives near to the gate 
in a house made to meet this sort of need."

"It would pain him too greatly to carry him up into the mellyrn," the other 
added.

Celeborn and an escort followed them. Feremil and the rest returned into 
the city, the warden with instruction to send Haldir's brothers to him and 
to excuse them from their normal duties.

The Lord of the Wood insisted on remaining with Haldir while the healers 
treated him, but the sentry did not awaken. They burned herbs and wafted 
the smoke into his face and even the stray wisps of it made Celeborn 
sleepy. They cleaned all his hurts, even his innermost places, putting 
healing oil there. His feet they cleaned and bandaged, his broken fingers 
they pulled straight and tied to splints, binding then the whole hand. 
Celeborn winced as he watched, thanking the powers that Haldir slept 
through it all.

As he worked, the leader of the healers spoke to Lord Celeborn. "His body 
will heal, and quickly enough, for he is young and strong." The elf sighed 
and looked away. "But I, who am old, I recall others like this, thankfully 
not many. The race of Men is often embittered and jealous and seems to 
know of only one way to respond to the beauty of the Firstborn, and that is 
to destroy it.

"He has suffered greatly and will continue to suffer, for his hurts are not 
just of the body. It is good that you are here, my lord, for what he will 
need most is the company of those he loves and who love him. In the 
times ahead, he may often despair and sink into depths of loathing at what 
was done to him. By extension he may come to loathe himself, to feel that 
one so treated can be worth nothing, that he is soiled and broken and 
unwanted. More than one has gone away to the Undying Lands for less 
than was done to him."

Celeborn bowed his head. "May it not be so with this one," he whispered.

"Do not speak of this to him, lest in believing it so, he makes it so."

There came an urgent battering at the door and an elven sentry returned 
with Rumil and Orophin crowding behind him. Celeborn went out to them 
and saw their anxious faces. He held out his arms and they came to him as 
they had done since they were children.

"He will be well, all will be well," he said softly.

"How did they hurt him?" demanded Rumil. "What did -"

"Come, sit, for I am tired, and I will tell you how we found him.

"Where is he?" Orophin tried to slide around Celeborn but was held fast.

"Do not disturb the healers at their work. You will see him as soon as they 
allow it."

He drew them to a wooden bench and sat between them, holding one of 
their hands in each of his, and told them all he knew. The only thing he 
held back was the way Haldir had farspoken him, saying instead that he 
had seen the raiders approach in Galadriel's Mirror.

He continued to hold their hands tightly throughout, for Rumil tried to 
leap up at every sound from the other room and Orophin seethed with fury 
at all things human. "Be calm, both of you!" he said harshly at one time. 
"Your brother will not be soothed by the pair of you rearing about like 
untamed colts!"

They were both contrite and sat more quietly. He finished his telling with 
Haldir's reply to his tormentor. "Despite all they did, he is unvanquished, 
and I am as proud of him as if he were my own son. I could wish all three 
of you were my sons." He released their hands at last. Rumil curled up on 
the bench, weeping unashamedly. "How could they?" he muttered over 
and over. "How could anyone?"

Orophin leaped to his feet and paced, biting the knuckles of his fists. "He 
should never have been alone in that place!" he snarled. "Anaximor told 
Feremil it was dangerous, and more than once! To have only one sentry, 
so far from home and help-"

"I spoke to Feremil during our return," cut in Celeborn. "He will submit to 
me his revised rosters tomorrow. I was not aware that he was posting 
single sentries."

"In some places, perhaps, nearer the city-"

"No. No more, never fewer than three, from this day on."

Orophin sighed and knelt before Rumil, wrapping a long arm around him. 

"Come, brother, cease this wailing lest I begin as well." He held him close 
and Rumil snuffled into his tunic for a few moments longer then pulled 
back, rubbing a sleeve over his face.

Finally the door opened and the leader of the healers emerged. He closed it 
again firmly but they could smell the drugged smoke from within. Orophin 
and Rumil sat up as the healer pulled a chair out to face them.
"These are his brothers?"
Celeborn nodded and named the two to him.
"It is well that you have come," he began.
"Can we see him?" Rumil asked impulsively, half-standing before 
Celeborn tugged him back to the bench.
"In a few moments, though he sleeps and should yet sleep many hours 
more. And he needs to. He is strong, and I am told he was unbowed to the 
end. But it has cost him greatly and he will need time to recover."
"What may we do to help?" asked Orophin.
The healer glanced at Celeborn. "Be there when he needs you, for he 
surely will. Do not push him, for he will push himself. Be patient, for you 
can never truly know what he now knows, but do not let this come 
between you." He sighed. "If, at any time, you do not know what to do for 
the best, come back and talk to me. In any case, he will need to stay here 
for at least a week before he can move. It would be well if at least one of 
you were here at all times, for when he awakens."
"Just try to make us leave him," muttered Orophin.
"May we see him now?" added Rumil.
The healer stood. "Follow me. And be silent."
The inner room was warm and pungent still with the dream smoke. A 
single candle burned on a stool by the open window. Haldir lay on his left 
side on a low cot, covered with warm blankets. His left arm and leg had 
been drawn straight behind him and his right arm and leg were bent 
before. His hair flowed over his shoulder and back and hid not the bruises 
on his face, nor his blackened eye.
His brothers stepped silently to either side of the cot and sat on the floor.
"There is no need," said the healer softly, "he will sleep for many hours 
yet."
Orophin shook his head. Rumil whispered "No matter. We stay."
"We will not leave him alone again."
Celeborn patted the healer's arm. "Come, leave them with him. They will 
all be happier that way." He bent to Rumil, who was nearer, and said "I 
must leave you here. But I will send a messenger every day; tell him of 
anything you require. And when your brother can travel, come home to 
me."
Rumil nodded. Sitting cross-legged, each rested his elbows on his knees 
and gazed at his brother.

People stir early in Caras Galadhon, and many elves were already about 
their business within an hour of the dawn. The healer who lived in the 
house by the city gate completed every chore he could think of before 
going to check on last night's arrival. He had been told that the injured elf's 
brothers would be staying with him, but had heard no movement or sound 
from the room. Finally, starting to worry, he opened the door. It was dark 
in the room, the candle long gone out and the shutters mostly closed, but 
his eyes adjusted quickly and he saw a mass of grey blankets and silver 
hair on the floor.
There were three of them, laying like spoons, the injured sentry in the 
middle and his brothers either side of him. The nearer opened his eyes and 
raised a finger to his lips. The healer nodded and backed out. Sleep was 
what the hurt one needed most, and as long as he was watched over, the 
healer was happy.
Rumil laid his hand back on the blanket. Haldir's breathing was 
unchanged, shallow and rapid, nothing like the way he normally breathed 
when asleep. But at least he slept. They had stayed beside his cot after 
Celeborn had left, exchanging looks of anguish but not daring to make a 
sound. At some point Haldir stirred, whimpering like an animal. They 
tried to soothe him and Orophin had leaned over him, laying his cheek 
against his brother's. That had quietened him and Orophin had stayed in 
the uncomfortable position as long as he could. When he finally moved, 
Haldir had woken again.
"Put him on the floor," said Rumil, "so we can lie beside him, so he knows 
he is not alone." They had lifted the mattress, slid the cot aside and laid all 
the bedding on the wooden floor, disturbing him as little as possible. Then 
they had crept beside him, Orophin behind him and Rumil in front, as they 
did when they were children. Haldir had tried to move his splinted hand so 
Rumil had taken his arm and pulled it over himself, cradling the broken 
hand in his own. Then Haldir had cried out when he felt Orophin behind 
him, stopping only when Orophin had nuzzled the back of his neck, 
whispering "'Tis me, brother, be still," and he had slept again.
So they remained the rest of the night, as they had when they lived with 
Lord Celeborn and the Lady. The order had been different and had 
changed as they grew. Orophin, the baby, had been first, with Rumil 
behind him and Haldir, the eldest, wrapped around them both. But 
Orophin had grown taller and taller and over the years had moved firstly 
behind Rumil and eventually behind Haldir. There had been a fight, Rumil 
remembered, when Orophin insisted that, as the tallest, he should sleep on 
the outside. It was rare that they fought with each other. Haldir had won: 
Orophin might be the tallest but he was still the strongest. Yet he had let 
him have his way.
The rays of the sun were highlighting sparkling motes of dust in the air 
when Haldir stirred. He moaned and began to shiver.
"Is he cold?" whispered Orophin anxiously. "Brother! Haldir, wake up, we 
are here." Hesitantly, he touched Haldir's shoulder. "He is not cold to 
touch."
Rumil gently slid out from under Haldir's arm and scrambled to his feet. 
"I'll find the healer."
The healer raised his head from the preparations he was mixing.
"Sir, would you come? He seems to be cold although he is not and he does 
not know us."
"Yes, at once, let me only finish this-" he added a last pinch of powder and 
stirred the concoction he had prepared then picked it up. "Has he said 
anything?"
"No, but he's shivering."
"That won't be from cold."
They returned to the room to find Orophin kneeling on the blankets and 
holding his brother in his arms.
"Ah, it's good that you have raised his head; it will make it easier for him 
to swallow this." The healer swirled the earthenware goblet and put it to 
Haldir's lips. The elf turned his face away, to his brother's breast. He was 
as white as bone, lips pressed bloodlessly together.
"Haldir," said the healer, "come, this will ease the pain."
"What is it?" Orophin asked.
"A tincture made from the juice of the asalil, the little red flower-"
"Yes, we know it," replied Rumil. "What does it do?"
"It will dull the hurt and loosen his muscles. Do you feel how tense he is? 
That is only adding to his pain. It may make his thoughts wander a little, 
but, given where his thoughts probably are now-"
Rumil knelt opposite Orophin and reached his arms around Haldir as well, 
easing him away from his brother. They held him between them and the 
healer raised the cup again. Although he could not turn his head away, he 
grimly refused to open his lips.
"Haldir, brother, look at me," Rumil murmured, stroking his brow. His 
face was slick with sweat, though he shivered still.
"Haldir, will you help me?" said Orophin. "Brother, I need you. Haldir!"
Haldir opened his eyes at last, looking from one anxious face to the other. 
His lips parted. "How came you here?" he whispered. "My hand hurts." 
His eyes filled with tears.
The healer held up the cup again. "Haldir, drink this. It will help you. It 
may be a little bitter but it will take the pain away." Haldir tried to focus 
his eyes on the cup before him.
"Brother, do as he says," said Orophin firmly.
"Come. Let me help you." Rumil took the cup and raised it to the white 
lips. "Drink it, never mind what it tastes like. It can never be as bad as my 
dandelion tisane."
Haldir sipped from the cup and grimaced, trying to turn away. "No!" said 
both his brothers at once.
"Come, we outnumber you," added Orophin. "Do as you are bidden for 
once!"
Haldir swallowed a little more. "It is foul."
"Indeed, we made it especially so, just for you," said Rumil. "And we will 
not let you rest until you finish it."
Eventually, he did, and let his head fall back against his brothers' arms. 
His breathing was a little slower and deeper. "How came you here?" he 
whispered again. "What is this place?"
"It's the healer's house by the southern gate, the one near the hot spring, do 
you remember?"
"And Master Feremil sent for us when they brought you back, and you'll 
not be rid of us until you are whole again."
"And probably not then, either," added Orophin.
Haldir smiled sleepily. "That is well. Hah, had we three been together, 
they would all have died."
"Had you alone enough arrows, they would all have died. They say you 
killed fifteen of them, Haldir."
"It was not enough," replied the sentry slowly. "Had I more arrows..." his 
voice slurred, faded. His eyes closed and his breathing became deeper and 
more even.
"A curse upon the race of men, may all their sons rot in their mothers' 
wombs!" hissed Orophin, his voice breaking. Rumil bowed his head as his 
own tears flowed. The healer sat cross-legged before them, staring into the 
cup, swirling the last few drops around in the bottom of it, then put it to 
one side.
"Come," he said, "we need to move him. It will pain him to be held like 
that. Because of the, the nature of his hurts," he added, seeing the fierce 
look in Orophin's eye. "He needs to lie on his belly, or on his side, as we 
had left him last night."
They set about moving the limp body.
"Sir, we have been very remiss. I am Orophin, that is Rumil."
"Yes, I had been told your names, but not which of you was which. I am 
Kerefinil and I am a journeyman healer. My master I think you met last 
night. He is Tamrin and he studied under Master Elrond himself, at 
Imladris. He will return tomorrow to see your brother again."
"For how long will he feel such pain?" asked Orophin tightly. "Should it 
not be lessening?"
"It may get worse first. The spirit takes pity on the body at such times," 
began Kerefinil, "and in the immediate hours after an injury, it will shield 
it from the worst effects. At such times are the pupils of the eyes widened, 
even in the presence of light. So was your brother last night. But after a 
time the spirit can no longer shield the body, the eyes return to normal and 
the full weight of the injury is born. So is he now."
"But he will heal, won't he?" asked Rumil in a shaky voice. "He will be 
well again?" When Kerefinil did not answer, he continued, "He is the 
eldest and the best of us. He is the strongest and the wisest. Whatever 
troubles we had when we were children, yes, and even now that we are 
grown, we bring to him. And even if he can do nothing, our hearts are 
lighter for it. And to see him like this, I cannot bear it, I cannot. O, Haldir, 
brother..." his voice broke into sobs. Orophin reached for him and drew 
him close.
Kerefinil did not know what to do. His skills were in dealing with the 
hurts of the body, but for heartbreak, he knew no cure. Then something 
touched his shoulder and he looked up into the sky-blue eyes of Lord 
Celeborn. He scrambled to his feet.
"How is he?"
"As expected, he awoke confused and in much pain. I have given him 
asalil."
Celeborn clasped his shoulder. "Thank you. I would stay a few moments 
with them now."
The healer nodded and left, closing the door behind him.
The brothers pressed themselves in to Celeborn's arms. The Lord of 
Lorien looked tired, but he held them tightly and kissed them both. All 
three sat on the floor around Haldir and Celeborn reached out to touch a 
delicate finger to his cheek.
"I heard your words, Rumil," he said softly. "Do you think he had no 
troubles of his own when you were all young? But he would never speak 
of them, even to me, only seek to swallow them, hide them. Sometimes I 
could sit him down and get out of him the story of what had upset him. 
More often, not.
"But now, this...this is a trouble not even he can bury. And as he was there 
for you, so must you be there for him. If he was the strongest: now you 
must be. The tables are turned and he needs you more than ever before."
"He never needed us, 'twas we who-"
"No, do not believe that. Do not ever think that," replied Celeborn. "You 
are his very life. If he has ever been strong, it has been for your sakes." He 
smiled at old memories. "I remember well, there was not a thing I taught 
him but he was already planning how to teach it to both of you. Now, be 
sound. Let him not see you despair. Be of good cheer around him as he 
was with you for his heart is heavy enough-" Celeborn bit off his words 
and sighed. "I, too, could weep at this. There is barely a place that is not 
hurt where one may touch him," he whispered, stroking gentle fingers 
along Haldir's arm.
"He does not awaken and I have many tasks awaiting me." He stood. "Tell 
him I was here, tell him...no, I will come again. Send a messenger for 
anything you need."
After Celeborn had gone, Rumil and Orophin lay on each side of their 
brother again, their hands clasped over his hip. When the sun was high, he 
awakened, shivering. Both brothers were alert at the first soft whimper. 
His breathing became more rapid and his body drew in on itself, curving 
into a tight ball as he lay on his side. His lips drew back from clenched 
teeth.
"Brother? How do you fare?"
"Haldir, we are here. Rumil, should we call Kerefinil?"
"Haldir, should I summon the healer?"
"No," he gasped. "No more sleeping potions, they sicken me."
Orophin hovered over him, hesitating to touch. Haldir rolled slowly onto 
his back, biting his lip as he did so. Sweat formed on his brow and his 
breath came fast and shallow.
"Brother, the healer said you should lie on your stomach," said Rumil 
anxiously.
"I want to look at you," Haldir replied.
"We are both here." Orophin took his undamaged hand and raised it to his 
lips. Haldir smiled and lifted his other hand to Rumil, who caught his 
wrist.
"It is so good to see you both," he breathed. "I thought I never would 
again, in this world."
"Haldir, how do you fare? How bad-are you in much pain?"
"Some. Perhaps I should move," he replied through clenched teeth.
"Let us help you, here, on your left side, it is the least hurt."
They eased him gently into a more comfortable position, then Orophin and 
Rumil lay like spoons facing their brother, so they could continue to look 
at each other. Rumil clasped Haldir's fingers and Orophin reached over 
Rumil's shoulder to lay his hand over both of theirs.
Haldir gazed at them for a long time, seeing Rumil's reddened eyes and 
the tension in the lines of Orophin's face.
He knew it was over; he knew he was safe. But when he closed his eyes, 
he was surrounded by leering faces. He shuddered, the pain still 
impossible to shut out, coming from everywhere. He was sunk in it, 
covered by it, there was nowhere he could go to escape it. He clutched 
compulsively at his brothers' hands, concentrating on the feel of their 
fingers. For a little while, that helped. But he became more and more 
aware of the throbbing of his broken hand, the sting of the many welts on 
his back and legs, the fiery agony deep inside him. He drew rapid breaths, 
turning his face to the pillow as tears pricked his eyes.
Rumil squeezed his fingers, drawing closer, as he began to sob. Orophin 
laid his hand on Haldir's head, stroking his hair. Both murmured soothing 
words that he could not hear.
"Talk to me," he hissed through gritted teeth, "tell me something, anything 
you like, only talk to me!"
"You are the last sole sentry," said Orophin quickly. "Do you remember 
what Anaximor said?"
Haldir nodded, staring intently at him.
"Master Feremil is re-casting all the rosters; there will always be three 
sentries together from now on."
"There are not enough of us," whispered Haldir.
"Then more must take a turn on the watch," put in Rumil. "Father said he 
had not known Feremil was-"
"Celeborn? Was he here? When?"
"Last night, he was waiting here when they called us. And this morning, 
he came while you slept."
Haldir bit his lip. "What did he say? Did he-was he angry?"
"No! Why should he be? At least, not with us," replied Orophin. "With 
Feremil, perhaps."
"He said he wished we really were his sons," added Rumil wistfully.
"Me as well?"
"Haldir, of course, why not you as well?"
"I thought, he might..." Haldir paused. "I don't know, I don't know any 
more." He pulled his hand away from Rumil's and rubbed his eyes. "I am 
so tired. I want to sleep, I want to sleep for ever and think of nothing."
"No!" said Orophin sharply. "Brother, do not say that, not even in jest!"
But Haldir's eyes closed and he slept, his brothers watching him anxiously 
until they, too, dozed.
Orophin was awakened by a noise at the door and he turned to find 
Kerefinil behind them. The healer beckoned and Orophin untangled 
himself from Rumil. Outside, Kerefinil closed the door silently.
"You need to eat," he said, "and so does your brother; Lord Celeborn told 
us he had swallowed nothing but a little water since they found him. I 
have prepared bread and meat and cheese, and there is also hot soup. Has 
he awoken yet since I gave him the asalil?"
"Yes, around noon. We spoke a little and he slept again. He said the asalil 
sickened him and wanted no more of it."
"It can make some people a little nauseous; I will not use it again. Are you 
not also hungry?"
"Yes, now that you speak of food," said Orophin, "and I can smell the 
soup. I am sure even Rumil will be ravenous by now. But I would not 
wake Haldir while he sleeps soundly."
"Well, no, but when next he does, will you and Rumil make certain he 
eats? He may not want much, but he must eat something. And give him as 
much water as he will drink, ah, and I will fetch some milk as well. But he 
is more willing to take things from you than me, so I will leave it to you."
Orophin went back in to his brothers and murmured to Rumil, who 
nodded. When Haldir stirred again, they brought a laden tray in to the 
room and put it on the floor. He gave it a reluctant look. "Have you 
eaten?" he asked.
"No," said Orophin, "we have waited for you, that we may eat together."
"I think I will not, I still feel sick from the sleeping draught."
"Haldir, we will not eat unless you do, and we have not eaten since 
yesterday."
"Then eat, but take it away from here." He turned his face into the pillow.
"Haldir, you did not heed me. We will not eat unless you do."
He glared at them. "That is foolishness. You should eat."
"And so should you." Rumil said smugly. "I think I am finally able to 
avenge myself for all the times you forced me to swallow my supper when 
I wanted none of it."
"Had you been less reluctant, you might not now be the smallest of us!" 
snapped Haldir.
"Someone had to be smallest, but as I am also the most fair, I will-"
"And who told you you were the most fair?" interrupted Orophin 
indignantly.
"Enough, enough," said Haldir wearily. "I see I am to have no peace until I 
yield."
"He always was the cleverest of us, was he not?" grinned Rumil.
Orophin drew the tray closer. "So, what will you, brother? There is roast 
duck, cheese made by Mistress Caltenna, bread, and soup of greens 
waiting on the fire."
"A little of the soup and some bread to dip in it."
His brothers held him up while he ate and Orophin glared fiercely when he 
tried to stop after only two small bites. He ate a little more, and drank 
some milk. Rumil and Orophin let him be then, and attacked the duck.
It was Haldir who noticed the figure at the door. His eyes opened wide and 
his face turned white, even to his lips. Celeborn drew in his breath to see 
it, and at that small sound, the other two turned to look.
"No, no, do not stand up. I will join you instead." Dressed in a simple, 
belted tunic, he folded his legs gracefully underneath himself. "Is that 
Caltenna's? Orophin, cut me a piece, if you would." During the moments it 
took for the brothers to make room for Celeborn beside the mattress, 
neither of them noticed Haldir's expression.
"Haldir," said Celeborn, "how do you fare now? Have you eaten?"
"I am well enough," the other mumbled into the pillow. He had buried his 
face in it, letting his hair fall over him. Celeborn brushed it back and he 
tried to bury himself even further.
"Are you tired?"
Haldir nodded. Celeborn turned to Orophin and Rumil. "I will sit with him 
a while. If you have finished your meal, you may go out and take the air a 
little."
"There is no need," replied Orophin.
"It is no burden to stay, and we have promised not to leave his side," 
added Rumil.
"But I wish to speak to him a while. You came direct from the barracks 
yesterday; this would be a good time to return and fetch yourselves some 
clean clothes, and some for him as well."
The two looked at each other. Rumil shrugged. Orophin said, "If you 
would remain until we return, it might be opportune to do as you say."
"Go leisurely," said Celeborn, "I will remain, I have been waiting all day 
for the chance to stay a while here." He reached for Haldir's good hand 
and clasped it, thus shielding his face from his brother's eyes.
When the others had gone, Haldir took a deep breath. "I am sorry, sir. It...I 
could not...I did not know I did it, I will leave as soon as I am able-"
"What are you talking about?"
"I farspoke you, and you learned that which I would never have had you 
know," he sobbed. "O, why did they not kill me?"
"Haldir, I have been giving this matter much thought." Celeborn stretched 
himself out on the floor, propping his head on his hand, face to face with 
Haldir. "This myth that has grown about farspeaking, that it can only take 
place between true lovers, is only that: a myth. Hush, now, hear me. My 
lady can farspeak anyone she chooses, so long as they are within the 
bounds of Lorien. And she farspeaks me from far Imladris." He continued 
to stroke the other elf's hair. "Do you think you have scandalised me with 
a declaration of unnatural love?"
Haldir wept no more but his eyes held a depth of anguish that made 
Celeborn long to take him in his arms as he had done when he was a child. 
He clasped his hand instead, twining their fingers together. "Haldir, that 
you were able to call to me is a miracle which saved your life, and I give 
thanks to whatever made it possible. Now tell me, to whom would you 
have called in that moment, if not to me? You are yet too young to have 
known love. Would you have called to one of your brothers? Perhaps."
"But I did not know I did it! I did not choose, my heart chose, and I would 
that you had never known..."
"No, do not weep again, listen to me, Haldir. You called to the one who 
has been as a father to you. The love a son has for his father, you have 
given to me, and I love you too, as a father would his son. That is the bond 
between us. That it is so strong as to permit farspeaking, well, I give 
thanks for it. But it is no more than that, do not mistake it. Be at peace, 
Haldir, do not torment yourself, for there is nothing unnatural in this."
"But everyone knows that farspeaking is proof of the bond between lovers. 
And all now know-"
"What everyone knows in a myth! I assure you, my lady is not the lover of 
all whom she has farspoken in her life! Haldir, I have told everyone that I 
chanced to see the raiders in her mirror. No-one knows you farspoke me, 
save she." He clasped tightly the hand in his, but felt no response.
"Let me tell you something," Celeborn went on. "When I was a child, of 
the same age as you when you first came to us, then did Mithrandir come 
to Doriath to give counsel to my uncle. Mithrandir the Wise, who had 
traveled all of Arda and could tell so many tales of adventure as to turn the 
head and heart of a little boy." Celeborn smiled softly, his eyes far away. 
"And for years I adored him and longed for the times when he would visit. 
I would sit on his knee and play with his beard while he told stories that 
made my heart beat like that of a bird. But over the years, his visits 
became less frequent, and I grew older and had other things to think about. 
I began to find that the company of certain others also made my heart beat 
so. One fair lady in particular... And so will you, child, so will you."
Haldir gazed sadly at the face of the one he loved, then closed his eyes. 
"This is what you want to believe," he thought. "This is what lets you 
tolerate my presence. So believe, beloved, that I love you as a son loves a 
father and never know what is in my heart. That, I will keep to myself 
forever, as ever I knew I would. And I will stay by your side."
Celeborn felt an answering pressure against his fingers. Haldir opened his 
midnight-blue eyes and looked into the sky-blue eyes of the other.
And in their depths, he saw that Celeborn knew his own words for a lie. 
He stared long, in wonder.
"But is this how it must be?" whispered Haldir.
Celeborn nodded. Then he leaned slowly forward and kissed Haldir's lips, 
as softly as thistle down.
Tears from his lashes remained on Haldir's face.


Title: Heart and Body Chapter 3/9 
Author (including email): Implacida (Implacida@hotmail.com) 
Pairing(s): Haldir /  Celeborn 
Rating:  R 
Summary: Healing and dreams and the growth of love 
Disclaimer: Tolkien’s characters are his, mine are mine. No profit made or 
copyright infringement intended. 
Warning (only if necessary): Angst, memories of violence
      
      Rumil and Orophin walked swiftly along paths and up stairways. 
All who saw their faces stepped out of their road. Orophin snapped a 
branch as he strode past, ripping it with his fingers, shredding leaves and 
twigs and scattering them in his wake. 
      “I shall flay every man I ever meet from this day forward. He can 
find no comfort even in his bed, so have they used him. Every inch of him, 
cut and bruised and broken!”
      “He could hardly swallow his bread. I could have wept then. Ai, 
for all the times he would sit with me when I would not eat. That we now 
be turned about and for such a reason! When he is well I shall go up to the 
pass and spit upon their bodies, nay, more than that—“
      “Hush, brother,” cautioned Orophin as faces turned to look. 
      “Aye, but I must vent my spleen now, that I may smile when we 
return to him.”
      “I, too. Poor Kerefinil, how nearly I strangled him today.”
      
      A little more than an hour had passed when they returned, bearing 
bundles of clothes and the tools of their occupation. Haldir’s also they 
brought with them, knives still bloody and quiver empty. They left all in 
the outer room and crept to the door, smiling at what they found. The tray 
was pushed aside and Celeborn shared Haldir’s mattress, the younger elf’s 
head nestled into the curve of his neck. Celeborn’s arms were wrapped 
around him and Haldir’s broken hand rested on his waist.

      Celeborn awoke when the two brothers returned but gave no sign 
as they arranged their bedding and lay on it. He kept still, feeling the 
warm, heavy weight of Haldir’s body in his arms, the soft hair against his 
cheek. The younger elf’s breathing was deep and regular and he no longer 
shivered. He was sleeping normally for the first time since they had 
brought him here. Celeborn lay still, still as stone. But his body thrummed 
like the string of a bow, his mind whirled in confusion. What had he done? 
What had he said? He had said only that which he had come to say, that 
which he had firmly believed to be true. And the anguish in Haldir’s eyes 
had broken his heart. “Think what you will,” said those gentle, dark eyes, 
“ I know what I know and that is, I love you.”
      And something in him had flowered at that, something deep within 
the places he had not visited for millennia, and it had brought the tears to 
his eyes and it had made his heart beat like that of a bird.
      
      When he slept again, at last, his dreams were fast and furious, 
whirling images of war and love and battle. He awoke at dawn, exhausted, 
still careful not to move and disturb the one he held. There seemed no 
sense to the things he had dreamed but he sought after it, knowing it was 
there and hidden. Confusion, yes, that much was true. Why battle? Why 
war? Love… again, he felt the beating of his heart. Love, of this colour, 
hot and fiery and fierce, after centuries of calm tranquillity, order and 
acceptance of the way things were. He felt like a foreigner in his own 
body. Whence came this passion? This mad desire to take, to engulf, to 
possess… unconsciously, his arms had tightened and he breathed deeply, 
slowly, making them loosen again.
      Laughter bubbled inside him and he smiled in return. “Galadriel, 
wife, you find me in a sad state.” He opened his thoughts of new love to 
her, feeling her delight as she coursed through him.
      “Why sad? O, be happy, rather, see the green shoots from this old, 
dry trunk! Feel the water surge from the empty well!”
      “Have I been as a dry trunk to you? An empty well?” But he 
smiled, so catching was her mirth.
      “To me, O, husband, thou art as the blood in my veins, the breath 
in my throat. But to you, yourself, what joy has there been that is new and 
fresh since Lorien was young?”
      “Are you not the fount of all my joy? I am become as a stranger to 
myself, I know not what I do, nor whence comes this love.”
      “Did we each love the other less for loving our daughter? Or our 
fosterlings? The love of the heart is endless, and rises in flood to 
encompass all it will. ‘Twas I who brought them home, ‘twas I who saw 
his love for you before ever you did.”
      “I was content, now all is uproar and confusion.”
      “Revel in it, as I do!” and she whirled through him, gleefully 
feeling the beating of his heart, the blood coursing through him and the 
strength of his arms. He gave in to her, as he always did when she was in 
such a mood.
      Laughing, they spun together in the realms of the spirit even as 
their bodies lay leagues apart, he in the golden city of light, Caras 
Galadhon and she amid the fountains and brooks and meadows of sunny 
Imladris.
      Then she asked the question he had dreaded. “And how came you 
at last to know your heart?”
      He opened up further, revealing to her what he had concealed until 
now. He hid still his aching memory of how they had found him, but she 
stopped like a stone statue at the sight of Haldir in his arms. Her scream 
echoed through distant galleries and through his heart.
      “O my child, what have they done to you? How could anyone do 
this?” Her heart broke at the ruin of her dear one, even as his had, and 
their tears flowed together. Then someone came in far Imladris, frightened 
by her cry, and her grieving spirit was called away, imploring only “Love 
him…”
      
      Eventually Haldir stirred, seeking to draw closer to Celeborn, who 
tightened his arms. The younger elf opened his eyes and tilted his head 
away to he could look up at Celeborn’s face. His lips parted and a look of 
wonder came to his eyes. Celeborn glanced quickly at the other two and 
saw they still slept. He bent his head to kiss Haldir, whose eyes filled with 
tears.
      “Should I not?” Celeborn murmured.
      “No! Yes! You should, I mean,” stammered Haldir, making 
Celeborn smile.
      “I should not, in fact, in case your brothers awaken,” he replied 
softly, and eased himself away. Haldir clutched at his tunic, then 
reluctantly let go.
      After all, he had realised how it must be.
      
      Celeborn went to find Kerefinil, who arranged for an apprentice to 
take food in to the brothers. 
      “Was not your master to return today?”
      “Master Tamrin, yes, I expect him in an hour or two.”
      “What will he do?”
      “Well, see how the patient progresses…”
      “Specifically?”
      “Take off the bandages from his feet and hand, see how the 
wounds are healing, apply more unguents…”
      “And…inside him?”
      “Ah, yes, there, too.”
      “Then make him sleep first. I would not have him hurt again, and 
he will not easily allow that.”
      “Yes, but he must understand, it’s for his own good.”
      “I am sure it is, but it would be too much like being attacked again, 
and he would fight you. And I will not have him hurt.”
      “I will speak to Master Tamrin. He does not tolerate asalil, you 
know. Haldir, that is. Perhaps we could use the dreamsmoke instead.”
      When Master Tamrin came, Celeborn, Rumil and Orophin were 
finishing the last of the bread, butter and cheese the apprentice had 
brought. Haldir had eaten a little bread soaked in milk. He blanched at the 
sight of Kerefinil, following with a tray of bottles, bandages and other 
accoutrements of the healer’s profession. Orophin, seeing his brother’s 
face, stood menacingly. Celeborn reached for Haldir’s hand and held it 
firmly, feeling it shake. 
      “Rumil, Orophin,” he said. “Have you visited the hot spring yet?”
      “No,” replied Orophin tensely.
      “I think this would be a good time for you to do so. I will stay.” 
His eye held Orophin’s, until the younger elf looked down. “I will stay,” 
he repeated.
      “Haldir…” began Rumil.
      “Go,” whispered Haldir.
      As they left, Tamrin seated himself beside the mattress. He asked 
Haldir many questions, and received brief answers, but seemed pleased 
enough with them. Finally, he said, “Now I will need to have a look at 
you. If you would prefer it, we will let you sleep while I do so.”
      “He would prefer it,” said Celeborn firmly. 
      Kerefinil lit a twist of dried leaves from a small brazier on the tray. 
He fanned it carefully with his hand, then brought it to the bed, holding it 
where the smoke would rise to Haldir’s face. “Breathe deeply, try not to 
cough,” he said. Celeborn felt the hand in his tighten almost to the point of 
pain, then begin to loosen. Kerefinil continued to hold the smoking leaves 
in front of Haldir’s face. Celeborn laid his limp hand on the blanket and 
moved away, sitting by the open window.
      “Does the smoke not make you sleepy?” he asked, as Tamrin lifted 
the blankets. 
      “No, my lord, after long exposure we no longer feel the effect.”
      “So if you ever need its benefit, you cannot have it?”
      “There are other things we can use, sir.”
      He said nothing more, leaving them to their work. Kerefinil poured 
into his master’s cupped hands a thick, clear liquid. Tamrin let it trickle 
over Haldir’s back and legs, then he passed his hands slowly over the 
young elf’s skin, not stroking, not rubbing, just letting his palms slide 
softly over the curves, resting them longer where welts or wounds were 
deeper. Where his hands had passed, the skin seemed slightly reddened, 
but faded quickly back to its usual pallor.
      Then he muttered to Kerefinil, who passed items back and forth 
from the tray. They worked quickly but Celeborn was glad he had insisted 
on the dreamsmoke by the time they had finished.
      Tamrin came to stand by the window, wiping his hands on a wet 
cloth. “I think all seems fair, given the circumstances,” he said, inhaling 
deep draughts of fresh air. “He begins to heal although the deeper wounds 
will take longer. He should not try to stand or walk for another few days 
yet. The passage within heals well, it could all have been much worse.”
      Celeborn stared up into the trees. “Had we arrived even a little 
later,” he began, then shook his head. “No, it is over. It is over.” He turned 
back to Tamrin. “When will you need to see him again?”
      “I think there will be no need to do again what we have done now. 
I will leave directions with Kerefinil for preparations to sooth the 
remaining wounds; Orophin and Rumil can be shown how to apply them. 
And they will be happier doing so than allowing others near him.” He 
smiled.
      Celeborn nodded. “They were inseparable as children and would 
protect each other like young wolves. Even from me.”
      “Only one thing troubles me, and that is his hand. When he 
awakens, let him tell Kerefinil how it was broken, for the bones still do not 
lie as they should.”
      “But it will heal?”
      “Eventually. It may take a long time. Had no healer been here to 
do what we have done, he should still have recovered. But it would all 
have taken much longer and been much more grievous to bear.”
      “Then I, and he, are both glad and grateful that you were here, 
Master Tamrin. And Kerefinil as well.”
      Tamrin inclined his head. “I will tell him so, my lord.”
      When he had gone, Celeborn sat beside Haldir again. The young 
sentry was still pale, his face grown thinner than usual. Celeborn watched 
him, avidly seeing him as if for the first time. This face, so familiar and 
yet completely new, awaiting exploration with eyes that saw by a different 
light now. He looked at the black brows and lashes, the smooth skin, 
bruised and discoloured still. 
      “You would never have told me,” thought Celeborn. “So many 
years and it took this to wrench the truth from you. And how that truth has 
made me see, how it has brought me new life! I feel as if the gain is all to 
me and the cost is all to you, my dear one. May it not be so! But in the 
eyes of all, I remain Lord of Lorien and you, my adopted son.” He bent to 
kiss Haldir’s brow. “A chaste and fatherly kiss, when I would do so much 
more. But you, dear, what more would you have me do? For you are 
indeed too young to have known love ere this. And what you have known 
instead, how shall I overcome that? You, who can hardly bear to be 
touched now, how would you be touched by me?” He reached out to 
stroke Haldir’s shoulder, where the blanket had slipped away from satin 
skin. “Perhaps ‘twere best we remain as father and son, only keeping close 
in our hearts what we know.” He pulled up the blanket then touched his 
fingers to his own lips. “Oh Haldir, there is so much I would say to you 
and much more that I would hear you say to me!” Celeborn looked away, 
then closed his eyes and pressed his clenched fists to his face. “Ah, but 
hear me! We have world enough, and time, to say all and hear all. Well 
should I know this, but you have made me as a stranger to myself.” 
Soundlessly he laughed, shaking his fair head. “You have made me like a 
child again.”
      He heard movement in the outer room and slid a little further away 
from the mattress on the floor. Then Rumil and Orophin appeared silently 
at the door. With a last glance at Haldir’s face, Celeborn stood, to be 
hugged by the other two, wet and smelling faintly of sulphur. He 
shepherded them out of the room, closing the door.
      “He begins to heal, Master Tamrin seemed pleased,” he said softly, 
pre-empting their questions. “He has not woken yet. And you, did you 
enjoy the spring?”
      “It’s wonderful,” smiled Rumil. “How soon do you think we can 
take Haldir down to it?”
      “He would enjoy it only after he heals, brother,” Orophin told him 
firmly. “A few small cuts I have about my hands and they stung like 
snakebite when I entered the pool. Even now, I feel them,” he added as he 
wrung water out of his hair.
      A knock sounded at the door. “Come,” called Celeborn, brushing 
at the damp patches on his tunic. He expected to see Kerefinil but instead 
his steward entered the room.
      “My lord,” he said reproachfully, “here you are at last, and I have 
sought you these two hours.”
      “What’s amiss, Arcirithon?”
      Arcirithon opened his mouth, then closed it again. He took a deep 
breath and began to count on his fingers. “The party from East Lorien is 
due to meet you in ten minutes. The papers I left on your desk last night 
remain unread. The argument between Palanfir and Esterion rages still and 
awaits your decision. Fourteen—“
      “Arcirithon, spare me! I will come with all haste. Tell the party 
from East Lorien that I am delayed and will see them in an hour. As to the 
rest, some things, Arcirithon, are of greater import than papers and 
arguments.”
      The seneschal drew himself up to his considerable height and 
bowed. “Of course, my lord. I will await you. As will all the rest.” He 
turned and left.
      Celeborn watched him go and turned to see Orophin and Rumil 
carefully looking everywhere about the room except at him. He waited. Of 
course, it was Rumil who cracked first. A moment later, they were all 
laughing, and trying to muffle the sounds as Arcirithon would not have 
gone too far in those brief moments. If their laughter had a slightly 
hysterical edge to it, only Celeborn noticed. He held his sons tightly, 
grateful for tears that were not of grief.
      
      Haldir awoke near noon to see Rumil before him. He blinked in the 
bright light, slowly moving arms and legs that had been arranged by the 
healers. “Haldir! Brother, he is awake!” called Rumil, over his shoulder. 
“Haldir, how goes it with you?”
      Orophin appeared, tumbling to his knees. “Haldir? Are you well? 
You look a little better,” he said hesitantly. It was true, his brother’s colour 
seemed more normal.
      “I think I do feel better,” replied Haldir. He rolled over slowly and 
found that he was able to lie on his back without too much pain. Other 
parts felt easier, but the places where the arrows had been still hurt him, as 
did his feet and hand. He took a deep breath and let it out again. Rumil 
shouted with delight and hugged him, making him yelp as his brother’s 
weight landed on him. Orophin hauled Rumil up, shoving him away. 
“Little idiot!” he hissed, “you have the grace of a dwarf, jumping on him 
like that!”
      “Leave him, Orophin. Celeborn was here before, where is he 
gone?”
      “Arcirithon came to summon him away, most indignantly, with a 
litany of the duties that awaited him,” grinned Orophin. “You should have 
heard him.”
      “‘East Lorien invades, Palanfir and Esterion have murdered each 
other and their sons seek revenge,’” intoned Rumil in a sepulchral voice, 
“’and my lord hides from his most dutiful servant—‘”
      Orophin shoved him again. “At least he did not call us ‘orphan 
wretches’ this time,” he added.
      “No, but I’ll warrant he was thinking it,” retorted Rumil. “Or say 
you he mellows and loves us in his sunset years?”
      “Nay, I’d not take that bet. But brother, are you better?” Orophin 
turned back to Haldir, who lay smiling as he watched them. “Truly, your 
colour is better.” Gently, he pulled up and re-arranged the blankets.
      “I think so, though some parts are still a little tender.” He gingerly 
lifted his splinted right hand, turning it from side to side, then resting it on 
his chest. “Rumil, what have you done to your hair?”
      Rumil turned, shaking his head. His hair was arranged in a myriad 
of tiny, tight braids. “Is it becoming?”
      “No!” said both of his brothers at once.
      “Ah, but I mean to comb it out once it has dried, so it will be all 
ripples.”
      “You will look like a maiden,” snorted Orophin.
      “Think you so? We shall see. I might steal a robe from Iruviel and 
see the Mysteries at last.”
      “And if they catch you they will make a real maiden of you, and 
we will have a sister at last.”
      “Or I might go and swim again and my hair will become straight, 
and my masculinity preserved thereby.”
      “It will take more than straight hair to confer masculinity upon 
you, little sister.”
      “Enough, my side hurts when I laugh!”
      “Quickly, summon Lord Arcirithon, and none of us will laugh 
again.”
      “Stop it. Tell me rather, where you swam? The hot spring? I have 
never seen it.”
      “Ah, brother, we must take you there, as soon as you are able. It is 
wonderful,” enthused Rumil. “All steam and stink and bubbles.”
      “What stink?”
      “This, smell this.” Rumil bunched together a handful of his silvery 
braids and bent his head to the mattress.
      “But there is often a smell about you, brother,” said Orophin.
      “O, unjust! And I use Iruviel’s sweetest scents!”
      “You smell of sulphur. And you, Orophin.”
      “It is a deep, hot pool beneath the hill, but do not go there until 
your skin is whole or you will fly out of it, so will it sting.”
      “Beneath the hill, say you? I will not go there at all.”
      “But it is not dark, there is a crack in the stone to vent the 
sulphurous exhalations of the earth,” said Orophin enthusiastically. “And, 
at the right moment, the rays of the sun pierce it and glow like golden 
knives through the swirling mists. We were enraptured, were we not, 
Rumil?”
      “Truly, Haldir, it was a wondrous moment. I shall thank father for 
sending us, for I, too, would not gladly go beneath the stones like that.”
      “Perhaps he might come with us,” mused Haldir.
      “First we must quell the fierce Arcirithon.”
      “Did he say he would return?”
      “I hope not!”
      “No, fool, Lord Celeborn.”
      “He did not say, but he came to the door to look upon you before 
he left. He said he was sorry to leave you.”
      Haldir smiled at that.
      “Come, Orophin, help me undo these braids, it is dry now; I want 
to see how it looks.”
      Orophin reached out a long leg and hooked it around Rumil’s 
waist, sliding him close on the polished, wooden boards. They began to 
unravel the braids, combing with their fingers the silver cascade thus 
loosened.
      Haldir lay back contentedly, watching them sitting together in the 
sunlight. He felt as if he had moved into another world from that where he 
had been, and, dear to him though they were, it was not the love of his 
brothers that had drawn him forth. And, skilled though he was, neither had 
it been the ministration of Master Tamrin. Had he both of those but not the 
third, he would still have been sunk in despair and misery.
      The image of Celeborn’s blue eyes filled his thoughts, the touch of 
his hand upon his cheek, his soft voice. All familiar things, he had known 
these since childhood. And he had been kissed since childhood too, but 
what a new world now of kisses! He touched a finger to his lips and 
sighed, suddenly, desperately, wanting Celeborn to be with him at that 
moment. That it could not be, he well knew. How familiar would he 
become with this futile longing in the months and years ahead, he 
wondered. For Celeborn was the Lord of Lorien, the husband of the Lady 
of the Wood. Haldir was a sentry. No, for now, he was not even that.
      His thoughts were interrupted by Kerefinil, nudging open the door 
with an elbow. Orophin arose to help him with the tray. They placed it on 
the ground and Rumil exclaimed and began to open pots and lift covers as 
Kerefinil blinked at his rippling locks. Then he tore his eyes away and 
knelt before Haldir.
      “Master Tamrin enquired about your hand,” he began. 
      “This? The fingers are broken, are they not?” Haldir replied warily.
      “Yes, but how did it happen? The master said it could not have 
been a simple break, for the bones will not set as they should.”
      Haldir’s lips tightened. Orophin looked up and left the tray, 
moving to his brother’s side.
      “When…while I still held one of my knives, a man stamped on it.”
      “But the joints are mis-aligned, not just broken,” said Kerefinil 
earnestly.
      Haldir’s face was taut and pale. Orophin reached for his good hand 
and his brother clasped it tightly. Haldir took a deep breath and went on. 
“The leader of them took delight in grinding my hand in his, once he saw 
that it was, it was—“ he swallowed.
      “Yes, I see,” whispered Kerefinil, suddenly looking sick. “I will let 
the master know.”
      He stood and hurried out. 
      Haldir closed his eyes and Orophin moaned, sliding down beside 
him and wrapping his arm around him.
      Rumil, who had forgotten the food, came to Haldir’s other side and 
curled around him too. 
      “If you do not strangle him, brother, I will,” he muttered.
      Haldir shuddered, brief respite forgotten as he spiralled back into 
the flickering firelight and the cold night air and his burning skin. The 
rough boulder grazed his chest as he was raped again, a spear of pain 
driving into him, and over it all, his throbbing arm and the crooning voice, 
“Pretty elf, look at me…” He was shaking, shaking, his hand hurt, 
someone called his name, shouting “Haldir! Open your eyes!” Open your 
eyes, I want to see you feel it…
      Fingers touched his face and he opened his eyes quickly before the 
man—
      Orophin stared wildly at him, face streaked with tears. “Haldir!” he 
cried. “Stop it! Come back to us, brother, it is over!” He was panting. His 
fingers slid, shaking, down Haldir’s cheek. “It is over,” he whispered.
      Haldir looked from his to Rumil’s terrified face. He rolled onto his 
side and curled up tightly, not daring to close his eyes again. Rumil curved 
around him, clinging to him and Orophin fell to lie in a heap beside him, 
chest heaving and tears sliding from his eyes to the braids in his hair. He 
turned his head so they were face-to-face.
      “Brother, when will this end?” he whispered.
      Haldir shook his head. “Forgive me, Orophin, I could not—“
      “No! No,” wailed Orophin. “I did not mean it like that, Haldir!”
      “I know. I know.”
      Rumil sat up. “Shall I go and call father, Haldir? It seems better if 
he is here with us.”
      Haldir caught his breath. “Celeborn, oh, love,” he wanted to cry 
out, “I need you!” Instead, he let out his breath slowly. “No, there is no 
need to trouble him.” He untangled his fingers from Orophin’s and 
reached out to touch his brother’s face. “See, I am well now. I am well.”
      Orophin reached for him, clasping him fiercely, and Rumil lay 
down again behind him and so they stayed, holding each other tightly 
through the long, sunny afternoon. After a while, Haldir slept, soothed by 
the warmth of his brothers beside him, and what dreams he had were 
peaceful.
      Kerefinil came in the evening and clucked his tongue as he picked 
up the untouched tray. At the sound, Orophin stirred and fixed him with 
such a basilisk glare that he quailed and backed out hastily. The evening 
drew in, darker and cooler, and the brothers huddled closer together and 
slept until dawn.
      Rumil was first to awaken and he went out to wash at the pump. 
He stripped, wetting himself thoroughly in the cold water, from head to 
toes. When he returned, shivering and wrapped in his shirt, he found a 
fresh tray in the outer room but no sign of the journeyman healer. He 
smiled thinly. Kerefinil had finally learned tact. He rubbed himself dry 
with his shirt then pulled on clean clothes. Orophin arose and found him 
combing his hair.
      “You no longer resemble a maiden, brother dear,” he said, kissing 
Rumil.
      “It was not a becoming look, methought.”
      “No, indeed.”
      “On you, though, perhaps…”
      Orophin laughed and shook his head as he went out.
      A movement caught Rumil’s eye and he saw Haldir stir and 
stretch, then wince. Haldir looked up and scowled. “Brother, I am not 
glass.”
      “No, you are adamant.” Rumil knelt and embraced him.
      “Not that neither. But I am hungry.”
      “Glad am I to hear it.” He fetched the tray. “So am I, and I will 
match you bite for bite.”
      Haldir smiled. “Many a time did I say that to you, and went hungry 
because of it.”
      “What, you never ate after I went tearfully to my bed?”
      “O poor waif that you were. No, of course not. I had given my 
word only to eat if you did.”
      Rumil shook his head, smiling. “Well, here is your chance for 
revenge, dear.”
      “Then would you go to your bed looking like a maiden of lapsed 
virtue, for I have several days of eating to catch up.”
      Rumil pulled his hair around and squinted at it. “Ai, it is still curly! 
So I soaked my poor head under that cold pump to no avail?”
      “It is a tenacious curl. Perhaps due to the waters of the hot spring?”
      “Think you so?” Rumil brightened and ceased to pull at his hair. “I 
wonder how grateful Iruviel would be to learn of this. Or Melcarial, 
perhaps?”
      Haldir laughed. “Am I to become an uncle so soon?”
      “The Heavens forfend!” Rumil looked shocked. “The rings I aim 
for are not cold, hard gold, nor silver neither.” 
      “Rumil, you are a scandal,” said Orophin, at the door. “I hope you 
two halflings have left me something.”
      “And if I am,” replied Rumil, “scandal is a family tradition, is it 
not?”
      “If not yet, it may fast become one,” said Haldir. “Orophin, will 
you share this apple with me?”
      “Gladly, if you can not finish it.”
      “What, full already? That was several days’ worth of eating? No 
halfling you, brother.”
      “I find I am less hungry than I thought. But at least I have made a 
start.”
      “That is true enough. Very well, I have more mercy than you did 
when I was a babe and I will not force you.”
      “Rumil,” smiled Haldir, “You could not.”
      “I would not,” replied Rumil, “out of respect for your present 
frailty, brother. Besides, Master Tamrin said we were not to push you.”
      “Did he so?” said Haldir drily, raising an eyebrow. “And what else 
did he say?”
      “That we were to deal pleasantly with you. I begin to find this a 
strain, brother: speed your mending that I might abuse you again.”
      “Rumil,” said Orophin, “your lame wit abuses us both. Why do 
you not go forth on this fine morning and inflict it on some poor maid 
instead?”
      “Now I am offended. If my presence pains you, I shall go and 
drown myself in the sulphur pool and then you will repent of your harsh 
words.”
      
      When he had gone, Orophin took away the tray and brought in 
some of the things they had fetched back from the sentries’ quarters. 
Haldir’s eyes widened at the sight of his two knives, dirty and clogged 
with dried blood. He held out his hand and Orophin passed one to him.
      “I thought to clean them for you. We have brought all your things 
back.” 
      “That would be well, ere they be marked forever,” replied Haldir, 
picking up the second blade. He turned it over then looked at it more 
closely. “A murrain upon all their bastard sons,” he growled. “See, the 
handle is cracked!”
      Orophin peered at it. “It can be made anew,” he replied.
      “Aye, it will be whole before the hand that held it,” said Haldir 
bitterly. He rested the blade on his blankets and lay gingerly back again, 
watching Orophin at work with oil and rags. “When you have done, 
brother, will you do another thing for me?”
      “Only ask.”
      “Fetch some water in, for I would be clean as well and I cannot yet 
walk. I’ll not ask you to be my servant for long, I swear.”
      “For your sake, I hope not, but for my part, I am your slave, and 
willingly,” Orophin smiled.
      When he had finished with the knives, Orophin wrapped them and 
laid them to one side. He leaned out of the window. “Our rascal brother 
does not return. Perhaps he met some maid and regales her with his wit 
after all.” He turned back to see a sombre look in his brother’s eye. “What 
is it, Haldir?” he asked, returning to his side.
      Haldir looked away, biting his lip. “I suppose…Is it common 
knowledge, then, what they…Do all know what the humans did to me?”
      “No,” said Orophin firmly. “None know; none shall. All who went 
with father that day have sworn to say nothing save that the men tortured 
you. That much cannot be hidden. But as to the rest, all vowed out of 
respect for you and for what you did that day, that it should not be spoken 
of.”
      Haldir closed his eyes. “For that, I am grateful,” he whispered, “for 
all I want is to hide from the world.”
      Orophin embraced him. “When we went back to quarters,” he said 
softly, “the story was told of how you single-handedly stopped an entire 
troop of men. You need not hide from the world, brother.”
      Haldir smiled bitterly. “They were a very stupid troop of men. 
Why they sent no-one across the rocks to come up behind me, I never 
knew. And I feared all that long afternoon to smell the smoke and to see 
the flames and to burn with the tree.”
      Orophin made no reply, only held him close. Haldir reached for his 
hand and clasped it tightly as tension quivered through his body. In the 
torments that had followed, he had forgotten the terrible possibilities 
which preyed on his nerves even as he picked off the humans. Why were 
those thoughts returning now? He was safe, held in his brother’s warm, 
strong arms, there was nothing to fear except the cruel shadows in his own 
mind. “And who is master of that, if not I?” he asked himself severely. 
Finally, he pulled away.
      “Come,” he said, “fetch me this water, or you will not want to be 
near me, and that would grieve me.”
      Orophin hugged him before sitting up. “Little chance of that. But 
tarry a while and you can have the water hot, for Kerefinil has lit a fire. I 
can smell the smoke.”
      “Yes. So can I.” Haldir sat up and shook his head. “I am a fool, 
Orophin, for it is the smell of the smoke made me remember my fears.”
      “No, brother, why do you say that? It is natural to fear that which 
has hurt you.”
      “But I did not burn. They rode; shall I fear horses? Shall I fear 
arrows because they shot me?”
      “Shall you fear life,” said Rumil, “for nearly losing it?” He stood at 
the door, holding Kerefinil’s tray. Putting it down, he came to Haldir’s 
other side and dropped lightly onto the mattress. “Remember this?” he 
said, holding out his left arm. “Remember when I broke it, playing on the 
swing after you had forbidden it? Did I not fear ropes and climbing after?”
      “Yes.”
      “For how long? Tell me.”
      “I no longer recall. Not long.”
      “Until my arm was healed, then I feared no more.”
      “Indeed, barely healed, I remember now.”
      “Until it was whole, I was afraid to climb. After it healed—hah! 
Brother, you are not healed. It has been three days, barely. Do not be so 
harsh. Come, you were always gentle with me and I was a very fiend. 
Now be gentle with yourself, Haldir.” He laid himself across his brother’s 
lap, looking up into Haldir’s melancholy eyes. “And if you will not be,” he 
went on, “then neither shall we, and we will bring icy water from the 
pump and souse you in it at once.”
      Haldir smiled at last, reaching out to tousle Rumil’s hair. The 
younger elf seized his hand and held it. “Nay, leave it, for it took me an 
age to get it straight again.” He twined his fingers through Haldir’s and 
drew his hand against his own cheek. “And then I was waylaid by 
Kerefinil and given a lecture on how we were to anoint you with the oils 
and potions he prepared. So, Orophin, fetch this water and I will find 
towels and let us be about it.”
      They spread a cloth on the floor and Haldir knelt upon it, to be 
washed in warm water with a cleansing oil stirred into it. Orophin’s eyes 
became stony when he saw for the first time the extent of the marks of 
whip, spear and arrow. He stroked a wet cloth over Haldir’s shoulders, 
chest and back and Rumil followed with a dry one, keeping up all the 
while a stream of light chatter about what gossip of Lorien he had learned 
while at the sulphur pool. They contrived also to wash his hair, pouring 
water from a jug as he leaned over an empty bucket. 
      As Rumil knelt at his side and combed it, he exclaimed “Brother, 
your hair falls like the leaves in autumn!” 
      “No,” replied Haldir. “They tried to hold me still by it and I could 
not be still, and therefore was it pulled out.” He turned to see the anguish 
on his brother’s face. “‘Twill grow again, Rumil.”
      But Rumil’s endless stream of good humour had failed him at last. 
“Brother, how could you bear it?” he wept.
      Haldir took his hand. “What else could I do?”
      “Come, Rumil,” said Orophin brusquely, “what of these 
concoctions, then?” He pulled the tray over. Haldir eyed it dubiously.
      Rumil rubbed a hand over his face and pointed to a small, round 
jar. “This is to be put on any open wound, and that in the bottle, 
everywhere else. And there are clean bandages. And we are not to touch 
your hand for Master Tamrin will come tomorrow to see to it.”
      Orophin lifted the lid of the jar and swirled a finger in it. He 
sniffed the blob of green paste. “I know that smell.”
      Rumil replied “’Tis elenil. Come, brother, let us see where we may 
daub you with this.”
      Reluctantly Haldir let slip the towel around his shoulders. “Here, 
where the arrows were. And my feet.” He tensed as Orophin drew near, 
but was relieved to feel no sting or bite from the medicine. Rumil then 
applied the milky liquid from the bottle, and they fixed clean bandages 
about his body and feet. 
      While the lotions dried, Orophin cleared away the sodden towels 
and the buckets, leaving them by the door of the outer room. He found 
clean bedding, neatly folded, and remade the bed. Haldir lay down and fell 
asleep at once.
      His brothers went to the outer room and clung fiercely to each 
other for long minutes. 
      “I shall make bowstrings from his hair,” whispered Rumil, “and 
may they send my arrows straight into the hearts of his enemies.”
      “Aye to that, brother. But I am hopeful he is mending. Only the 
deepest wounds are not closed yet, and even they have begun to heal.”
      They ate when Haldir next woke, then Rumil and Orophin set to 
fletching arrows while their brother gazed disconsolately at them from his 
bed. After a while, he dozed and restless images flitted through his mind. 
He was walking endlessly in the forest. He had always loved to be alone in 
the woods; there, he felt completely at home and had no care under the 
sky. But in his dream he was uneasy, always feeling that there were things 
just beyond his sight and his hearing. They were watching him, waiting for 
something to happen, some signal, at which he knew they would fall upon 
him.
      He awoke with a start and Rumil was instantly at his side. Haldir 
waved him away irritably and sighed.
      “I am sure you must tire of being asked ‘what ails you, brother?’” 
said Rumil gently. 
      “As much as you tire of asking it!” snapped Haldir without 
thinking.
      “Why, not at all, then,” replied Rumil gleefully. He swooped down 
to kiss Haldir’s brow. “So, what ails you, brother?”
      Haldir shook his head and smiled ruefully. “That I will never beat 
you in a battle of wits,” he said. “That I am bored with lying abed and 
tired of not being able to move, and afraid that I am become like an old 
woman.”
      “Then shall poor Orophin have two sisters.”
      “Where is he?” asked Haldir, looking about. “Did I so weary him 
with fetching and carrying this morning that he is fled?”
      Rumil laughed and lay down, snuggling close to his brother. “No, 
he has taken the fruit of our day’s labour back to the guards’ quarters. You 
would not believe our industry this afternoon, Haldir. I do not know how 
many arrows we finished. We used up all the shafts and heads, though 
there are still some more feathers.”
      Haldir made no more reply, only turning his face toward Rumil’s, 
and they lay quietly together. Rumil’s arm across his chest soothed him 
and the feeling of dread lingering from his dream finally faded. In its place 
came the longing that he had tried all afternoon to quell, the longing to see 
Celeborn again, to be held by him. He sighed.
      “Perhaps he will come in the evening,” he thought.
      But Celeborn came not that evening, nor the next day. Master 
Tamrin did, and looked at his hand and said at great length that it would 
eventually heal but one had to be patient with bones.
      When darkness fell, Haldir turned away from his brothers and lay 
on his side and wept silently. Had he only imagined the look in Celeborn’s 
eye? Had he dreamt their few words? Was he a fool to think the Lord of 
the Wood had no more calls on his time than a mere sentry? Or even a 
lover, if he had not dreamt those blue eyes and that strong arm and that 
look of wonder. What time could Celeborn spare for him? He sighed. 
What had he expected? What would change? He would heal, he would 
return to his duties. He would see his lord rarely and from afar and the 
Lord of Lorien would not notice him.
      He looked around. He was in the forest again. But no-one would 
notice him, not if he stayed low, hidden. But he could not move, he could 
not run, and something was coming. He looked around: he could see 
nothing. 
      He was alone in a small clearing, and the leaves of the bushes 
around him shivered and moved and men stepped through them. There 
were men all around him and he was alone.
      “That’s it? One fucking elf?”
      They came closer, drawing tight the circle around him. He had no 
knives, he had no bow, he was alone in their midst. Rough hands reached 
for him, and he knew he must make no sound and he could not move and 
they touched him, seized him held him tore him and he screamed…
      Rumil and Orophin had gone to the outside room to talk to 
Celeborn, who had come at last. The Lord of Lorien was the first to reach 
Haldir’s side, folding him in his arms as he convulsed with dry sobs. His 
brothers knelt beside him, not knowing what to do. Haldir quietened at 
last, limp in Celeborn’s arms. His eyes focused then widened and he tried 
to speak.
      Celeborn touched a finger to his lips. “No,” he murmured, “hush, 
say nothing. I am here now.” He held him tightly and Haldir closed his 
eyes again, burying his face against Celeborn’s shoulder. His breathing 
gradually slowed until he slept again and Celeborn continued to hold him.
      Rumil slumped against Orophin’s side, putting his face in his 
hands. Orophin wrapped an arm around him, his fierce eyes glittering with 
unshed tears. 
      “This, this drives me to despair,” wailed Rumil. “He seems to be 
better, he smiles and talks to us, and then, and then…” 
      Orophin turned his face away, unable to speak.
      Celeborn looked up. “Has this happened before?”
      “Yes,” muttered Orophin, “more than once. ‘Twas more than his 
body they broke.” He bit his knuckles.
      “I even asked one time,” Rumil went on, “if I should call you, but 
he said he was well and not to trouble you.”
      Celeborn felt as if a shard of ice pierced his heart. He bit his lip 
and turned his face away for a long moment. “Call me,” he whispered 
fiercely. “No. Do not call me, for I shall not leave. If he cannot walk and 
will not be carried then I stay here. The world will turn without me for a 
few days.”
      They remained as they were a while longer, then Rumil began to 
nod and Orophin pulled him down to lay his head on his lap, stroking his 
hair gently. 
      “Ah, it is time we all slept,” said Celeborn. “That fool from 
Mirkwood, I could have run from the room. Never one word when twenty 
could be uttered.” He stretched out beside Haldir, pulling blankets over 
them both as Orophin did the same. Celeborn reached out and clasped 
Orophin’s hand and they drew closer, Haldir and Rumil nestled between 
them.
      In the morning, after they had eaten, Celeborn helped to apply 
more unguents to Haldir for Kerefinil had brought a fresh supply. Then he 
suggested that Orophin and Rumil might like to go to the pool again and 
after a little more teasing of their brother, they left. Celeborn watched 
discretely from the window, then closed both the outer room’s door and 
that of the inner one. He lay beside Haldir, leaning over him, holding him 
gently in his arms and kissed his brow. Haldir smiled and sighed 
contentedly. Celeborn brushed his lips softly over each eyelid, then the 
bruised cheek. “The marks on you are fading,” he murmured. 
      “Little do I care as long as you are here.”
      “But I care. I want you to be well,” replied Celeborn, touching his 
lips to Haldir’s nose and mouth. There he lingered, dipping again and 
again for Haldir had such perfect lips, he realised, the upper sculpted like a 
bow and the lower, full and sensual. He tried to lean back a little, the 
better to admire, but found he could not for Haldir’s hand was behind his 
neck and pulled him down again. Those delicious lips parted slightly, 
catching his lower lip between them, playing with it. Celeborn rested his 
weight more comfortably on his elbow, gazing into Haldir’s dreamy, half-
closed eyes. He nipped at the sculpted curve of Haldir’s top lip, unable to 
resist touching it with the tip of his tongue. Haldir breathed in and his 
eyelids fluttered. His mouth opened like a flower in the sun and Celeborn 
could no more resist than a hungry bee might have. He slid the tip of his 
tongue just inside Haldir’s lips, slowly, barely touching the soft, slippery 
flesh. Haldir’s face flushed and he moaned, trying to twist away, but his 
hand on Celeborn’s neck remained firm. Celeborn plunged deeper, feeling 
teeth and reaching to the hard roof of Haldir’s mouth, stroking that 
delicate spot where it curved back and up from the teeth and Haldir 
moaned and writhed beneath him. Finally Celeborn pulled back, dizzy and 
panting. Haldir’s hand fell away as all strength left him and he was as limp 
as a newly-unfurled leaf in Celeborn’s arms. Celeborn collapsed beside 
him, laughing.
      “O that I might have done this years ago! Wretch, why did you 
wait so long to tell me?” He rolled over to look at his lover again. 
      Haldir cast down his eyes shyly. “I never dared to imagine this,” he 
replied.
      “No? What did you imagine? What did you desire?”
      “To be near you. To be in the same room, to look at you and hear 
you. I dreamt often of the year when you took us all to live in the forest 
and learn the craft of it.”
      “Almost three centuries ago and you dream of it still? I did enjoy 
that year, though, a simple hunter beneath the trees again.”
      “I dream that we might live so, only you and I.”
      “Ah, child, that can only be a dream.”
      “I know.”
      Celeborn curled his index finger and stroked the back of it along 
the line of Haldir’s chin, along his jaw, and following the curve of his ear 
up to the top. He traced the tip of the finger back down the front of that 
delicate ear to the soft lobe, caressing it. He bent down to repeat the caress 
with his lips and Haldir turned his head a little to offer himself up to 
Celeborn’s kisses. They became more insistent, along the vulnerable white 
skin of his throat and he tilted his head back, sighing. That soft, wan