Love and Duty 1/6, a sequel to Heart and Body. Takes place about 700 years later. AU.
Warning: 	NO sex! Some violence. 
Disclaimer: Tolkien’s characters are his, mine are mine. No profit made or copyright 
infringement intended.
Rating: R
Pairings: Haldir / Celeborn, implied, Aragorn / Haldir implied.
Genre: Action, adventure, angst. And because I’m me and he’s so cute when damaged, 
Haldir does sustain some injuries along the way.
 
Self-indulgent authorial blurb you can skip:
No sex? Well, that’s half of you gone already! For those who are left, here’s what this story 
is about. Haldir’s supposed to be a mighty elven warrior, but we never get to see him doing 
much fighting. None, in the movie, implied in the book. I had him doing some in the first 
chapter of H&B but he wasn’t really up to much for the rest of it, poor dear. So I wanted 
the pleasure of writing Haldir the warrior. And he’s one who fights with his brains as well as 
his muscle.
And then I thought, Aragorn obviously already knew him when they met: greets him by 
name. So, how did they first meet?
And, lastly, I thought, poor old Aragorn. I never had a lot of feeling for him, but I did think it 
was a bit rough, him happily thinking he was an elf, Elrond’s son, living in the paradise of 
Imladris, and then one day, the whole lot is whipped out from under him.
So, this story is the result.
 
      
      
      The Lord of Lorien and Lorien’s Chief Guardian pored over the map. 
      “Here,” said Haldir, “and here. Only a few at a time, but more every time, and more 
often. We’re keeping a group of twenty guardians here, supplied by the way station at Caran 
Aelin.” 
      “They can only be coming from the Mirkwood,” muttered Celeborn. “Damn 
Thranduil. If he cannot better keep his borders, one of these years I shall lose all patience 
and keep them for him.”
      “But there’s nothing here,” replied Haldir. “I cannot understand why they come. 
They have never attacked from this direction before because the land is empty. And an army 
of orcs lives off the land as it travels.”
      “So.” Celeborn stood and straightened his back. “So you want to go and see for 
yourself.”
      Haldir nodded. “We have been apart for the occasional night,” he said hesitantly, 
“although we swore never to do so. If you do not wish it, I will not go. I do not want to be 
away from you for so long. But I am the Guardian; I cannot always send others in my place.”
      “And I am Lord of Lorien; neither can I.” Celeborn held out his arms and they 
embraced tenderly. “We did keep that vow for at least six centuries. Then a night here, a 
night there… ah, Haldir, and now you will be gone from me for, what, five nights at least?”
      Haldir nodded. “At least we can farspeak each other; it will not seem so bad.”
      “Hmph. I want to touch you, I want you to share my supper and my bed. But I 
know, love and duty have ever been poor companions.”
      
      So it was that Haldir looked down upon a scene which turned his stomach. I could 
be at home, he thought. And whom would I have wished here, in my place, to see this? 
He clenched his teeth and looked down again. Seventeen orcs he had counted, but he 
waited yet, for as they went about their bloody business they looked up from time to time 
along the dry, stony riverbed that served as a road, as if they were expecting someone, or 
something, to come along it. And they were quiet and subdued, for orcs. The stench of their 
work rose and he fought to ignore it. Most likely they were expecting more of their own kind 
and if so, it behoved him to wait, to find out the strength of the enemy. At least the elves now 
knew why orcs were coming this far into their lands. Humans. They had found humans 
somewhere, with farms to plunder. Among the animals being roughly skinned and butchered 
below were several human bodies.
      The orcs looked up and Haldir did as well, to see another four, no, five, lurching 
along the river stones. A hunting party returning, more bodies slung over their shoulders, 
weeping fresh blood over armour encrusted with the black gore of previous kills. A deer, a 
few hares… two small children. Human children. Haldir looked away, feeling his gorge rise. 
He held tightly to the branches as he fought down nausea, then gritted his teeth and looked 
back. The bodies of humans and beasts had been cast down on the pile beside the butchers, 
the hunters swaggering to join the other orcs, who were lazing in the weak autumn sun, 
occasionally snarling and snapping at each other. Haldir wondered how much more of this he 
could bear. How many of them could he kill with his arrows? Certainly not seventeen—no, 
they were twenty two now. 
      He wondered if Faroth was still safe. But, no, the wind had not changed, would not 
change, and the orcs would not scent his horse. He could not use that excuse to leave before 
he knew what they were waiting for. He sighed and looked down again. Then one of the 
children moved. Haldir gasped and bit his lip as the little hand clenched into a fist and the 
arm drew in to the child’s side. Keep still! he willed it, or they will see you… but the child 
was doomed, the butchers would reach it soon, it was probably already injured and dying. 
Haldir realised he had been holding his breath and told himself not to be so stupid. It had no 
chance; it was as good as dead. Slowly, he unclenched his fists. Then there was a roar and a 
great clattering as the orcs began to stagger and lurch to their feet. Several of them shouted, 
gestured, one flicked a whip over the shoulders of the rest, herding them toward the 
riverbed. Haldir barely glanced at it. Something was coming but he no longer cared. He saw 
his chance. He had been prepared to unsheathe his knives for the two butchers but even they 
ceased their work and shambled along with their fellows.
      When the creatures were past, Haldir climbed down the other side of the tree, a 
flickering grey shadow. It was some eighty paces to the orcs’ rough encampment, and he 
picked his way to the pile of bodies in total silence. Glancing over his shoulder once or twice 
as he went, Haldir saw that the orcs were intent on whatever was coming; all had their backs 
to the camp. Almost slipping in gore, he reached the pile of bodies and snatched up that of 
the living child. A quick glance proved the other dead.
      “Hush,” he whispered and thankfully, the child only stared with terrified eyes but 
made no murmur. Haldir moved as quickly as he could with his little burden, keeping low. 
This had to be the most stupid—time for that later. He concentrated on running quickly, 
silently. The child stank, of dirt and fear and blood. Was it injured? No time to tell. It 
seemed to be breathing strongly enough. Behind him, the orcs began to chant and cheer, 
banging weapons against the stones, and Haldir could feel the rumble of them through the 
soles of his boots. Then a shout of a different tenor and he knew he saw seen. Holding the 
child tight against his body, he fled. Orcs were not fast, especially with that much armour. As 
long as he kept his feet, they would not catch him. Intent on the ground, listening to the 
sounds behind, Haldir covered the distance to Faroth in less time than he thought he would. 
Thankful now that he had not loosened the horse’s girth, he set the child onto the saddle and 
mounted, sweeping up the reins and digging in his heels. Faroth could hear and smell the orcs 
and needed little urging, leaping away like an arrow. 
      They raced through the trees and onto the plain and the sound of pursuit faded. 
Haldir looked back and could see orcs boiling along the edge of the forest. He kept up the 
pace; Faroth could run like this all day. He eased the child down a little so he could see its 
face.
      “You’re safe now,” he said in the only human tongue he knew, “are you hurt at all?” 
The grubby little human just stared up at him, mouth open, eyes wide. “My name is Haldir,” 
he added. “What is yours?”
      “Annet, Annion’s daughter,” croaked the child hoarsely. “Where’s Toby? Where’s 
my brother? He was there, he was with me, he was supposed to look after me.”
      Haldir looked over his shoulder again to see the orcs had not followed him out onto 
the grassy plain, and slowed down a little. He sat the child up. “Annet, your brother is dead. 
I am sorry. No—no, don’t start crying. Annet do you hear me? Don’t cry, it won’t help.” To 
his relief, she rubbed her face with filthy hands, leaving smears of dirt, but she stopped 
snuffling. “Where do you live?” he asked her.
      “In the village.”
      “What village? Where is it?”
      “It’s my village. Mama and dada live there and everyone else. But now Toby 
doesn’t.”
      “No, Toby doesn’t.” What could he do with her? There was no point taking her 
back to their camp. And if he managed to find her people, he would also find the missing 
piece of the puzzle—what had brought the orcs here. “Annet, sit up. Look around, see 
where we are.” He glanced over his shoulder again, still able to see darkness under the line 
of distant trees.
      “Is this your horse?”
      “Yes, his name is Faroth. Annet, I want to take you home, to your mama. Tell me 
which way. Where is your village?”
      “Near the hill with three pines.”
      “And where is that?”
      “Under the crooked mountain.” She pointed. “There.” 
      Haldir looked up. “Yes, it is crooked, isn’t it?” He sighed with relief. “All right, we 
will go that way.” Faroth cantered along easily, turning as Haldir nudged him around slightly 
with his knees. The plain fell away gently to a shallow valley and Haldir turned for a last look 
before they lost sight of the trees. What he saw chilled him and he urged Faroth back to a 
gallop, clutching Annet close again. 
      Three black shadows, still small in the distance, were following him.
      They raced along the valley. “Why were you so far from your home?” He raised his 
voice over Faroth’s pounding hooves.
      “Was not, we went to pick berries along the river, it wasn’t far,” Annet yelled back. 
“And the orcs came and Lisel and Millen and Arren ran away but Toby was sick from eating 
too many berries and he couldn’t run and I told them to leave him alone!”
      “You told the orcs to leave him alone?” Despite himself, Haldir had to smile at that.
      “Yes, and I shouted and shouted and threw rocks at them but they didn’t. And they 
took us such a long way away and I told them we’d get into trouble. And they were smelly!” 
      “What, more than you?”
      “I am not smelly!”
      “Oh, yes, you are, child.”
      “Am not! I have a bath every new moon, just like a grown up.”
      Every new moon, the Valar help me. He looked back again. The shadows were 
closer. Suddenly, even a village-full of smelly humans seemed… no, not even compared to 
orcs did a village-full of humans seem appealing, did they wash morning and night. What was 
he going to do? He had planned to drop the child in sight of her home, or with the first 
human he came across. Then he could return to the sentries’ camp to tell his soldiers how 
many orcs were in this latest invasion, and what it was had drawn them across the border. 
He looked back again. The riders were still a way off but gaining. Briefly, he considered 
turning aside and making for the elves’ camp. But no, he had gone too far out of the way 
now, the way they were gaining… what were they? Orcs did not ride, could not ride, no 
mount would tolerate them.
      “There! There’s the hill!” Annet poked him. He saw three pines on the skyline atop a 
distant hill. The hill dropped gently away to a river and on that green plain he could see a 
wooden fence.
      “Is that your village?”
      “Where? I can’t see it.”
      “Wait, you’ll see it in a minute. There’s a fence around it, yes?”
      “Yes, and it’s really high and we made a big gate and we close it every night so 
nothing can get in.”
      “You made it?”
      “The grown-ups. It’s our own village, there was all this yelling and fighting at the old 
village so we all came here and made our own. And no-one can tell us what to do now.”
      He looked back. The creatures behind him seemed to quiver, ripple, in the setting 
sun, but they rode hard and fast and he could see the flutter of rags about them. They were 
not orcs. Haldir felt his skin crawl, knowing they could see him, were watching him.
      “Look. Look, I can see it now! Haldir!” her voice rose to a shriek.
      “What?” he snapped.
      “The gate’s closed! The gate’s closed! We can’t get in! I don’t want to stay outside 
at night!”
      “They’ll open it when they see us.” They should have seen us by now.
      “No, they never open the gate until the morning! We’ll have to stay outside, I’m 
scared, I don’t want—“
      “Be quiet!” He looked back as they galloped along the beaten path through the sea 
of wheat surrounding the palisade ahead of them, its raw wood glowing golden in the sun’s 
last rays. “Annet, listen to me, tell me this. What’s inside the gate? Inside the wall? Just inside 
it, I mean.”
      “It’s where the cows go and the pigs, when they bring them in at might. And there’s 
space for more houses.”
      He measured the fence with his eye. “You say there’s empty space just inside?”
      “Yes, that’s where we play, and light the fires to cook. And the cows go.”
      He could see no smoke. “Are the cows there now?”
      “No, they’re still in the summer pastures on the crooked mountain with all the boys, 
Toby wanted to go but he was too little…”
      He shut out her prattling. Ai, Faroth, fly, Faroth, you have jumped as high as 
that before…
      The earth around the palisade was dry and pounded flat by many feet, and there was 
a distinct track leading to a portion of the wooden wall that he knew had to be the gate. 
Faroth thundered over the hard earth and did not hesitate, leaping from the ground as his 
rider put his weight forward and, forelegs curled under, cleared the fence. Haldir had a brief 
impression of screaming and movement as people scattered and they hit the ground heavily, 
Faroth squealing and stumbling. Nerves on edge, he slid to the ground and threw the child at 
someone, seizing the horse’s bridle and muttering to him, drawing him around to keep 
running, slowing to a walk. Then he seized the bow tied to his saddle and strung it, turning 
back to the palisade. He climbed up the gate’s cross bars and stood on the top, reaching for 
an arrow and nocking it, letting fly.
      Below him, a voice shouted in Sindarin “What is it?”
      “Nazghul!” he shouted back, shooting again. The arrows seemed to have no effect 
and the dread riders grew closer, staring up at him with red glowing eyes and Haldir was 
more afraid than he had been for a long, long time.
      We see you, elf.
      Dare you, elf? You will pay.
      “Here! Use these!”
      Haldir shook his head and looked down into fire. Someone held up a flaming arrow 
and he bent to seize it, feeling its strange balance, shooting it true into the nearest rider. 
Another arrow was offered, he snatched it, aimed it even as the first fiend whirled in a frenzy 
of flames, and hit the second. The third rider stopped, the horse—if horse it was—rearing. 
The creature atop it stood high in its stirrups and pointed a ragged arm, a cruel metal gauntlet 
curling its fingers in a beckoning gesture.
      We know you, elf. We will find you again.
      The voice rang in Haldir’s head and he cried out, turning to fall to the ground behind 
him. His knees buckled but someone caught his shoulder. Strong arms held him up as he 
struggled to stay on his feet. Over the screams and shouting around him he could hear a 
shrieking that made him feel sick as the creatures outside burned… the sound of hooves 
riding away… black smoke coiling over the top of the fence and someone holding him 
tightly, dragging him from that reeking stench. Haldir gasped for breath, feeling his bow taken 
from nerveless fingers. He leaned heavily on the other, trying to push himself upright, his 
spinning head finally beginning to clear. He looked up into wide brown eyes, a bearded face, 
dark lank hair—a man, a man’s arms around him! 
      He struggled, shoving desperately, then froze as the man spoke in flawless Sindarin, 
“Easy, be at ease, you have looked into the eyes of the Nazghul.”
      “Get away from me!” he hissed and the man stepped back, hands raised and palms 
out, watching him. Haldir staggered then stood, swaying. He looked about, seeing milling 
chaos, Faroth… passing a hand over his face and wincing as something scratched him, he 
went to the horse, taking his bridle and muttering to him. Faroth moved oddly, hobbled—oh, 
no! Haldir looked down, seeing red blood in the dust and on one of the hind legs, bending as 
he spoke soothing words, to look more closely. A gash, from the sharpened top of their 
wretched fence, had he not felt the rough points through the soles of his boots while he stood 
on it? But it was not deep, and the blood was clotting already. He sighed and leaned against 
Faroth, rubbing his sleeve over his eyes. No, that’s unfair, to lean on you, my friend. He 
straightened again, patting the horse, letting it nuzzle against his shoulder, and looked around 
properly for the first time.
      A circle of dirty, terrified faces looked back, some with their mouths gaping in awe. 
Humans. He stood straighter, staring back defiantly. For a long moment, the only sound was 
the crackle of fire from the other side of the wall. Then a woman stepped forward and he 
saw Annet clutching at her skirts.
      “What of my boy?” she said hoarsely. “What of Toby?”
      “He was hours dead,” replied Haldir.
      Her face fell and she began to wail, and Annet began to cry as well, “Mama! 
Mama!” The woman looked down and her eyes narrowed. She slapped the child, pushing 
her away.
      “You were supposed to look after him!” she screamed. “My only son, and he’s 
dead and what use is another useless daughter? You should have died, not him!” She glared 
at Haldir, who stared at her in shock. “Why couldn’t you save my son?” A man stepped 
forward and put an arm around her shoulders, holding her firmly as she beat her fists against 
his chest and sobbed. 
      He glanced at Haldir and shook his head, muttering, “I’m sorry,” and led her away, 
leaving Annet standing alone.
      Haldir called her name softly and held out his hand and she ran to him, wailing into 
his tunic. He patted her head, not knowing what else to do in front of that sullen crowd. He 
gripped Faroth’s reins in his other hand and said “Open the gate.”
      “No!” A large man stepped forward. “Open it? With what you led to us waiting out 
there? Oh, no, it stays shut. Go back the way you came, elf, if you want to go.”
      Haldir glared at him. “Led to you? You fool, how long have they been picking you 
off? They know where you are—kept fresh here in their larder. When they want you they’ll 
take you. That feeble fence won’t keep out orcs when they’re ready.”
      Several voices shouted at once and then another stepped forward, the man who had 
caught him when he fell from the wall. “Now you’ve heard it from two of us!” His voice 
carried and stilled the rest. “Now will you believe me? That wall cannot be defended—you 
can’t even see over it! You need some ramparts behind it at least. Or do you think you can 
climb it and stand on it as he did?”
      “It’s been good enough until now, Strider! But you and your fancy friend bring the 
orcs to our door—“
      “They have been killing you for weeks! Deny that, Ellerin.”
      Haldir watched the circle of faces and saw the truth, in the fear that glittered in their 
eyes. Several began to mutter, then.
      “’Lerrin, he’s right.”
      “Where’s my Lucet, if the orcs didn’t get her?”
      “And my best baconer.”
      “All right, then! All right!” Ellerin clasped his hands over his ears, then pulled them 
away. “But you don’t open that gate tonight. And we’ll make some ladders.” He glared at 
the two of them and turned on his heel, shouldering back through the others. Most of them 
turned to go, then, though not without hard, cold looks at the two before them. Haldir drew 
breath but the other—Strider—held out a hand to silence him.
      “Where would you go, Master Elf,” he said softly, “with a lame horse and night 
falling?” This time he spoke the tongue of the humans. 
      Haldir squeezed the child’s shoulder, wincing as something stabbed his palm. 
“Annet, I dropped my bow. Find it and bring it to me. Go.” She nodded, wiping a grubby 
sleeve over her face and scurried off. He turned to the one called Strider. “What is going on 
here? Who are these imbeciles? Do they even know they have trespassed into Lothlorien?” 
He sneered at where Ellerin had stood. “And drawn orcs in after their fat, juicy carcasses?” 
He peered at his stinging hand as he spoke and cursed to see several long splinters stuck in 
his palm.
      “You, too?” Strider grinned and held up a hand with a bloody smear. “They made 
that wall with green wood, and in such haste—“
      “I am more concerned for my horse.” Haldir cut him off. “He has scraped open his 
leg on their wretched fence.”
      “Bring him to the stable, my horse is there, too, and there’s water and hay. I have 
never seen anything like that leap!”
      Haldir looked past him to see Annet walking back with his bow held in her 
outstretched hands, carefully balancing the thing that was more than twice her own length. 
“Thank you, child,” he said, taking it and unstringing it. He glanced at Strider, then added 
“we are taking Faroth to the stable. Will you show me the way?”
      “Yes, Haldir.” Her little face looked very serious and self-important as she turned 
away. “It’s over there.”
      “Haldir? Haldir of Lorien?” Strider grasped his shoulder.
      Haldir scowled and shook off his hand. “So am I named.”
      “But you—do you know Elladan? Elrond’s son?”
      “Yes. Why? Do you?”
      “He is as a brother to me!”
      Haldir looked incredulously at the human. “How so?”
      “Lord Elrond raised me, I lived in Rivendell all my life, until a few years ago, that is. 
And Elladan speaks often of you, you are as a legend to me.” He smiled, shaking his head. 
“Ah, what a small world it is.”
      “Indeed,” replied Haldir drily. “Altogether too small.” He turned to follow Annet, 
leading Faroth with one hand and holding his bow in the other.
      When he had washed and bound Faroth’s leg, Haldir went to sit in the last light of 
the sun, digging splinters out of his hand with the tip of his eating knife. Strider had gone 
away and he could hear men’s voices shouting angrily. He tried to shut them out, afraid to let 
fear grow, concentrating on his hand. Annet sat watching him, her arms wrapped around her 
knees.
      “Does it hurt?” she asked.
      “No—ow! Have you nothing else to do?” he snapped, then remembered: No. She 
hasn’t.
      “Can I? I have littler fingers than you.” 
      Haldir looked into her wide eyes. “Very well. But go and wash those little fingers 
first.” She leapt up and ran to the horse trough. “And your face!” he called after her. Two 
women were watching curiously from the wall of the barn against which the stable was built. 
Haldir did his best to ignore them, as he had the other humans who came and went. All of 
them stared at him. 
      Have they never seen an elf before? Probably not. 
      Annet came back and sat beside him, holding out clean hands.
      “Very well.” Reluctantly, he held out his own hand. Whatever had possessed him? 
She drew it close and squinted, then touched it gently, her cold, wet fingers soothing. He 
winced as she probed then smothered a yelp as she pincered the nails of her thumb and 
forefinger and tugged, holding up a bloody splinter half an inch long.
      “There’s one more, I think, but it’s gone all the way in.”
      “Yes, when I used my bow, it must have pushed it in.” He peered, head near hers, 
then pulled back. The wretched girl probably had all sorts of infestations.
      “I can’t get that one.”
      “It’s all right, I’ll do it. Thank you for your help, though.”
      “Can I watch?”
      He sighed. Then he pressed the knife against the dark line that showed beneath his 
skin, biting his lip as the cut welled blood. Annet raced away then came back, her hands 
cupped awkwardly. He looked up then held out his hand and let her pour the cold water 
over it, washing off the blood. Finally, he was able to get out that last splinter, then clenched 
his injured hand and put it under his arm. He sheathed the little knife and looked at the child 
sitting beside him, wet hair stuck to her slightly cleaner face, wondering what he was 
supposed to do with her. Hopefully her mother would calm down soon.
      “Anybody hungry?” The man Strider came back with two rabbits on spits, steaming 
in the cool evening air. “I caught these today and just roasted them.” He held one out to 
Haldir, who took it and thanked him, remembering that he had not eaten since dawn. He 
pulled off a hind leg and gave it to Annet, who bit it hungrily, getting grease all over her 
cheeks and chin. She picked it clean in no time so he gave her the others as well, and when 
she had eaten those Strider gave her the legs from his rabbit too. Then she sat quietly beside 
them, her head nodding.
      “Annet,” said Haldir. She looked up. “Would you like to sleep with the horses 
tonight, in the hay?” 
      He took her into the stable and pushed together a pile of soft straw, giving her one of 
his blankets. 
      When he came back out he asked “What will happen to her? Why did her mother… 
do what she did?”
      Strider shook his head. “She lost her only son, she is mad with grief. They little value 
daughters here and she has three.” Seeing the cold look on the elf’s face he went on, “We 
are not all like that, Haldir.”
      “No matter,” Haldir replied curtly. He looked up into the darkening sky. “I need to 
be alone a little while.”
      Strider nodded. “I’ll see you aren’t disturbed.” He pulled out his pipe. The elf 
walked a little way off and sat, cross-legged, his back to the side of the stable. 
      Haldir had been dreading and longing to farspeak Celeborn. His need to hear his 
lover’s voice grew desperate after all the events of that long day but he knew Celeborn 
would be little pleased with him.
      The Lord of Lorien had just returned to his talan and was pulling off his heavy 
brocade robes.
      Haldir! O my love, I have missed you. What has happened?
      Haldir simply showed him his memories of the day rather than try to distil it all into 
words.
      Haldir, what were you thinking? I swear, one has but to throw some snivelling 
brat into your path and you lose all sense of self-preservation! Don’t argue with me! 
What of Sinerion’s grandson? You both nearly went over the falls! And that other little 
idiot in the tree! The branch broke and it’s lucky your neck did not!
      Celeborn, please do not shout at me, I am so tired.
      O, my love, my beloved, I am sorry, but you nearly stopped my heart. 
Marching straight into an encampment of orcs for the sake of some grubby urchin. 
      You would have done the same.
      I would not!
      Not for me? When I and my brothers were grubby urchins?
      Haldir, you were never grubby urchins. O, love, stop trying to pay for your 
past, you owe nothing to anybody.
      We were as lost as she.
      Stop that, it is not true. Tell me rather, where are you now? What will you do? 
I shall gather the rest of the garrison and come, you have but twenty sentries with you 
and the Nazghul ride…
      
      A few yards away, Strider drew soothing smoke deep into his lungs, relishing the 
feel of it. He still could not believe what he had seen, the thundering hooves as Ellerin and his 
fellows cowered behind their wall, then the great, grey horse flying over that fence to land 
like a bolt from the skies in their midst. And the elf, losing not a moment to slide from his 
back and flow up over the wall standing upon it like a miracle, shooting arrows faster than 
the eye could see, long hair gleaming like the silver moon, black eyes cold as Caradhras. 
      Haldir of Lorien, a name that was as a myth to him, one whom Elladan had known 
as a small child and had never forgotten. Strider could see why. 
      He looked at the seated figure, saw Haldir shake his head, hair tossed over his 
shoulder, then he looked up at the sky and the human realised his eyes gleamed silver as the 
moon’s reflection. Ai! He had never known anyone save Lord Elrond himself, able to do 
that, to cast his spirit forth. 
      Strider wrapped his arms about his chest, remembering again the moment when the 
elf stared transfixed at his enemy then cried out softly and fell from the top of the palisade, 
almost into his arms. He had caught him, held him as he swayed unsteadily, eyes wide with 
horror at what he had seen. Then Haldir had looked at him, pushed him away almost 
frantically and Strider had let him go. He had almost fallen then but a fierce defiance kept him 
upright and he had stayed a wary distance from the man ever since.
      Why had Elladan never mentioned that Haldir of Lorien was so beautiful?
      Strider finished his pipe and wanted to refill it. But he looked over at the other and 
knocked out the ash and put it away instead. Elladan and Elrohir thought it a revolting habit 
he had picked up from his halfling friends, so Haldir probably would as well. Strider smiled 
to himself. Why did he think he had to suit his actions to an elf’s preferences? He watched 
him lean back against the wall, stretching out his long legs and crossing the ankles. Haldir put 
his hands over his face for a long moment, an unmistakeable gesture of weariness, then 
pushed back his hair and stood in one fluid movement. Strider forced himself to look away 
as the elf stretched, then came to sit down again, a few feet from him.
      “So. Who are these people? How came they here?”
      “They came mostly from Bree, and some of the other villages further down the 
Brandywine. Ellerin is one who stirs up strife wherever he goes and seems to gather all the 
malcontents to him. They came to start their own place, where they would not be subject to 
others.”
      “Why did they come here?”
      “We told them, we rangers, that this land was not for settling, that there would be 
trouble. But they had caused such bad feeling in the lands where men already live…”
      “Indeed. ‘Tis a wonder they have achieved this much.” The elf looked around, lip 
curling sarcastically. “But they will have to leave. And you. How came you here? ‘Tis a way 
from… Rivendell.” Haldir’s dry tone implied more than the physical distance.
      “I have not been there for some years. I ride with the Dunedain.”
      “What were they arguing about? I heard shouting, while you were gone.”
      “All their discussions are like that. Whoever shouts loudest, wins. Usually Ellerin. 
They were arguing about what to do, they think the orcs only want a few easy victims and 
they’ll move on. They did not believe me when I told them this place cannot be defended. 
Then you said the same. I think they fear you, a little.”
      “Have they never seen a proper fortification? I vow the thing swayed when I stood 
upon it. And why did they build it here and not on top of the hill?”
      “That, at least, was one thing they did properly. This is where the water is. There’s a 
well. No water on top of the hill.”
      “How close have the orcs come? Do they realise they could knock that wall down 
just by ramming it with their heads?”
      Strider smiled. “They have been no closer than the river, half a mile away, content 
until now just to pick up stragglers and animals.”
      “More of them are gathering, I saw them. Before long they’ll come for all of them.”
      “Would you advise them to flee?”
      “Would they listen if I did? No, an encumbered rabble would be an even easier 
target than if they stayed here.”
      “In the orcs’ larder.”
      “Indeed.”
      “And what will you do?”
      “My horse is crippled.”
      “That does not answer the question. And elves, in my experience, have little 
sentiment for creatures that live such short lives.”
      “For now, I am going to sleep.” The elf stared down his long nose. “As for 
sentiment, it depends upon the creature.” He stood, then paused a moment. “Where are 
your rangers? Do any of them speak Sindarin?”
      “We have a permanent camp at the bridge nearest Bree on the Brandywine. And 
only I speak the elven tongue. Why?” But Haldir shook his head and walked away.
      Strider smoked another pipe after the elf had gone into the stable. He had known 
unfriendly elves but this Haldir took the prize. 
      Yet, still, his mind went back to that brief moment when he had held him, half-
fainting, in his arms.
      Strider shook his head. Refilling his pipe, he walked over to the area near the well on 
the other side of the barn, where he could still hear voices arguing.
      When he returned he found only Annet asleep in the stable. The elf’s horse was still 
there, along with saddle and other items but Haldir and his weapons were gone.
      Strider did not know what he had expected, but it had not been that. Neither did he 
expect what Annet told him when, blinking and rubbing her eyes, she trotted into the sunlight 
the following morning.
      “Haldir said to tell you he had to go away and he was going to come back as soon 
as he could.”
      “What?”
      She nodded solemnly. “He woke me specially to tell me. And he said I had to wash. 
All over. With this.” She held out her hand and Strider looked to see a small white lump in it. 
He sniffed it and with the scent, a memory of happier times almost flooded his eyes with 
tears. Soap, made with the flowers of the nimrodel.
      “Well, you’d best make a start, then.”
      She looked unhappily at the horse trough.
      Strider left her to it and went to the longhouse to look for her family. There he found 
Annion, her father, who said that she could not come back, the wife was still too upset. 
Perhaps in another day or two. And, no, they had no clean clothes to spare for her.
      Shaking his head, he went next to the men who had been set to reinforcing the wall. 
They had decided to lean the trunks of saplings against it, digging holes to bury their ends in 
the ground. He talked to Ellerin, arguing that some of these saplings should be double, with 
cross-pieces, so the defenders could at least climb up to see what their enemy was doing.
      “And what then?” sneered the burly man. “Spit on them? We’d just make easy 
targets. We have no arrows, unlike you and your pretty friend. Where is he, anyway?”
      “He left in the night. Said he’d be back.”
      “What of his horse?”
      “It’s still here.”
      “We’ll keep that, at least, because I’ll bet you we won’t see him again. Elves. 
Cowards.”
      “Did he look like a coward yesterday?”
      “He looks like one today and that’s what counts with me, Mister Strider. Now get 
out of my way. Unless you want to be some use and help.”
      They opened the gate at last, only after a boy was stood on the tallest man’s 
shoulders, and said there was nothing out there except two blackened circles on the ground. 
Strider helped chop trees, and looked for sticks long and straight enough to make arrows. 
The few he found would not go far if it came to a siege. It was possible that the orcs were 
only catching some easy prey before they moved on but Haldir had not seemed to think so. 
There was so much more he had wanted to ask him.
      Nobody strayed too far from the settlement that day and they closed the gate early 
again. There was no report of orcs. Or elves.
      “He said he had lots of things to do,” Annet told him complacently as he shared his 
supper with her. “And he would come back as soon as he could. And I should wash. And 
that’s all.” She had even washed her ragged clothes, earning a curse and a slap from the man 
whose job it was to see to the water in the trough. 
      “But I don’t mind. It’s still better than having ma and Linnet and Sairey boss me 
around all day. Even if Toby’s dead. I don’t care.” Her voice quavered and Strider looked 
down to see tears trickling over pink cheeks. 
      “Annet, er, come on,” he reached out with the vague notion of patting her but she 
ducked under his hand.
      “No, it’s dirty, you’re all greasy and I’ve washed!” She flounced back a few steps 
and glared at him. Strider cursed elves and their scented soap. But at least she had stopped 
crying. After standing there uncertainly for a few more minutes as he finished his stew, Annet 
announced she was going to sleep. After a little while, Strider checked on her then went 
back to hear the latest from Ellerin and his cronies, who were still arguing about what to do. 
He should ask if anyone else wanted to take the child in, if her parents did not. She could 
hardly live in the stable and survive on leftovers.
      The men of the settlement were divided into those who wanted to take their 
possessions and families and flee and those who wanted to stay. The arguments became 
louder and less rational as the evening wore on. Ellerin shouted down many who wanted to 
leave, reluctant to see his little fiefdom diminished. Strider repeated his opinion that the 
village would be an easy conquest for the orcs, but admitted that it was possible they would 
move on, that they were just passing through and making easy kills where they could. As he 
said this, he felt someone watching and turned around. A tall, pale figure stood outside the 
circle of men and firelight. As Strider stared at him, others also turned to look and fell silent.
      Haldir of Lorien walked into the circle, one hand resting on the hilt of the great 
sword at his hip. He looked around, his dark eyes catching the flicker of the flames, his silver 
hair glowing golden in its light.
      “If you wanted to run,” he said, “you have left it far too late. The woods are full of 
orcs now. Go, if you wish. But you will not go far.”
      In the silence, Ellerin stepped forward. “If there’s so many orcs about, what are you 
doing back here?”
      “I have tried to get past them. I could not. It is safer in here.” The elf stared at the 
human a moment longer then turned away.
      “Wait! You blasted—are you saying we’re better off staying put? After you told us 
what a useless wall we’d built?”
      “The orcs will have no idea how weak it is, or how poorly armed you are. Wait 
them out. They are sure to move on soon.”
      “How do you know?”
      “I don’t. But I assume they are massing to attack Lorien. They will not linger here. 
Do you think I would have come back if I could have passed through their lines?” He 
walked out into the darkness.
      Strider caught him up as he passed around the corner of the barn.
      “What’s going on out there? Where did you go? Is it—“
      Haldir cut him off. “What happened to the child?”
      “Still here, asleep. She washed, as you told her to.” He smiled.
      Haldir merely nodded, no humour in his cold eyes. “I am very tired. If I stay awake 
another night I will be of little help here.” 
      “There’s plenty of room in the stable, the animals are still out in the top pastures.” 
      Haldir looked at him oddly, then shook his head and Strider noticed the dark 
shadows around his eyes. The elf said nothing more, going only to his horse and hugging the 
beast’s neck for a long moment. It nuzzled him, and he rubbed its ears. Then he unbuckled 
his quiver and scabbards, laid his cloak onto the straw and stretched out on it, sword beside 
him. Strider did the same, across the door, so none could pass without waking him.
      
      Haldir listened to the man making his bed. He had come close to trusting him, telling 
him where he had gone. That the animals in the high pastures were dead or scattered, and 
the men guarding them now skinned carcasses in the train of the orcs. Telling him of his long 
walk in the night to find his fellows and his longer ride to talk to the Dunedain. 
      But he trembled still from the effort of walking into that circle of firelight, that circle of 
men. Although he had done it twice now it still took all of his will to force himself to stand 
still, surrounded by humans. And he was not sure of Strider. There was an unhappy 
restlessness about him, a weakness.
      And he was a man.
      
      The hardness of the packed earth under Strider’s shoulder finally forced him to turn 
over and that woke him a little. Seeing the grey pre-dawn light woke him further and Strider 
sighed, knowing he would get no more sleep. A soft splashing sound puzzled him and he sat 
up, edging to the lintel. A tall figure gleamed silver in the dull light. Haldir of Lorien stood 
naked near the horse trough, skin shining wet. He bent to pick up a bucket and straightened, 
lifting it high and slowly tipping it over himself, face up to the stream of water. It poured over 
him, slicking his long hair down his back. Strider had seen naked elves and men before. But 
he stared, fascinated, at the elf’s strong body, the play of muscles under smooth white skin, 
the glowing curves.
      Then the elf shook off the water and took a cloth from the edge of the wooden 
trough to dry himself, wringing out his hair. Haldir’s movements were quick and methodical 
and soon, he was dressed again, running his fingers through his long hair and braiding it, 
walking as he did so out of the man’s sight.
      Strider must have slept again because the next thing that awoke him with a jolt was a 
bang against his hip and a voice screaming “Haldir! Haldir!”
      Annet was waving and dancing at the bottom of the palisade as Haldir stood atop it 
again. He turned and jumped down, landing fluidly and silently, then staggering back as her 
little figure bowled into him. He picked her up, held her at arm’s length and looked at her.
      “Who are you? You sound like someone I know.”
      “Silly! It’s me, Annet!”
      “Annet? No, for her face and hair were dark and you are almost as fair as I.”
      “Oh, Haldir, don’t be silly!” She beat her hands on his shoulders and he put her 
down. “I washed. Like you said. In the horse trough.”
      “In the water that the horses drink? This time, child, we will get clean water from the 
well.”
      “Again? But I only did it yesterday!”
      “Indeed, and that was yesterday. Today is another day. Come, I will help you carry 
the buckets.”
      “Oh, Haldir!”
      Strider watched them walk around the corner of the barn together, the tall elf and the 
little girl holding his hand. He wondered if what he had seen before was a dream. 
      While Annet was washing—pointedly doing it behind the high wooden trough—
Strider sat up and asked Haldir what he could see from the wall.
      “Nothing, yet. Nothing near the river. Why do they have no sentries?”
      “They’ve probably never thought they needed any. There’ll always be people 
coming and going when the gates open.”
      “They need them now.”
      “I’ll talk to Ellerin. But first, I need a wash, too.”
      Haldir stood and went into the stable then, so he fetched his two bucketsful, washing 
his clothes as well, before going back in to his bags to find clean ones. 
      The elf was looking at his horse’s leg, murmuring soft words to the animal. He 
glanced up as Strider wobbled on one leg, dressing.
      “When will they open their gate? I want to take Faroth to ride, this will stiffen too 
much if he does not move.”
      He stood and led Faroth out into the mild sunshine, walking the horse around in the 
little space there was. Annet asked to ride and sat fearlessly on the tall beast’s back.
      Four men came to open the gates and stared at them curiously. When they had 
pushed and hauled the two gates back against the wall, Haldir lifted Annet down.
      “Can’t I come too?”
      “No.”
      “But I want—“
      “Do not argue with me, Annet.”
      He leapt onto Faroth’s back, not bothering with harness, saddle or bridle, and 
walked out, looking carefully about then increasing his speed gently. The horse was happy to 
have its head after two nights and a day in a stable. Strider watched them ride down the 
slope, Annet pouting beside him. He noted that although the elf rode bareback, he had taken 
swords, bow and arrows. Others walked out as well, to tend the crops surrounding the 
fence, herding chickens out to forage, but no-one went far. 
      He spent most of the morning helping to position the makeshift struts around the 
insides of the walls, and making some simple ladders so that lookouts could be put to check 
in each direction. He was soon sweating and sticky as he strained to wedge a strong sapling 
between the fence and the shallow hole dug to brace it in, and wondering why he had 
bothered to wash. Only elves washed every day. 
      But he was no elf, why did he care what elves did?
      A group of rough-looking youths were also working on the fence, in sullen response 
to Ellerin’s swearing at them earlier. Strider could hear them muttering and snickering among 
themselves. He caught a few words about the fair beauty of the Lorien elf before he 
deliberately moved away, not wanting to hear any more. 
      They stopped when the sun was high, and he went back to the stable which seemed 
to be home for anyone visiting Ellerin’s inhospitable village. He found Haldir rubbing down 
his horse and Annet looking dubiously at a string of three dead rabbits, two pheasants and a 
small deer. 
      “Game is getting harder to find,” remarked Haldir as Strider entered. “Not a good 
sign.”
      “Did you see anything else?”
      “No, but I did not go very far. Annet, where do your people clean animals? Or do 
you just make a bloody mess wherever you happen to be?”
      “Outside, anywhere outside the fence.”
      “Very well.” He bent and picked up the game. “Do you know how to skin a rabbit?” 
She shook her head. “Do you wish to learn? Come, then.”
      Strider went back to strengthening the fence as the shadows lengthened and those 
who had gone out in the morning started to return, saying they did not want to stay out any 
longer. 
      “Feels like there’s someone watching you,” was the kind of answer they gave when 
an impatient Ellerin asked why they came back early.
      “Close half the gate,” the man ordered. “And someone—you, Dendry, and Silon, 
stand watch. Shout and close it if you see anything amiss.”
      “How many are still out there?” Strider asked.
      “How do I know? We don’t count ‘em out.” Ellerin strode away.
      “Maybe you should,” muttered the ranger. He went to help close the gate and make 
sure one of their improvised ladders was near it so someone other than the elf could see 
what was happening.
      He saw Dendry and Silon standing outside, watching something nearby. Haldir and 
Annet were sitting on the ground, with skins and cleaned carcases beside them. 
      “They were going to do this to me and Toby, weren’t they?”
      “Yes.”
      “But we wouldn’t have felt it, would we?”
      “Not if you were dead.”
      “But I wasn’t.”
      “I am sure they would have killed you first. If only to stop you from wriggling.”
      “Does it hurt, getting killed?”
      “Annet, I have never been killed, so I do not know.” Haldir looked up as Strider 
approached. “Should we bury the skins and innards? Or do you think someone will have a 
use for them?”
      The other two men edged over. The one called Silon muttered “I’ll take ‘em if you 
don’t want ‘em. Three dogs to feed. Only I got to mind the fence.”
      “We’ll stay until you come back,” said Strider. Silon picked up the rolled rabbit 
skins and carefully took that of the deer by its four legs. All the rest had been piled into it.
      “Strider, could you pour the water?” Haldir stood and held out his gory hands. 
Strider picked up the bucket at his feet and poured it slowly.
      “You too, Annet.”
      “But I hardly touched—“
      “Annet.”
      She pouted and stuck out her hands. “Why can’t we just wash them in the bucket?”
      “Because it is used for drinking water, child. Tell me, do your people often have sick 
stomachs?”
      “Toby did. Not just from eating berries. All the time.”
      “And how often did he wash his hands?”
      “He never.”
      “Well, then, that is why. Now take the bucket back to the well.”
      Dendry watched her go, the bucket resting on one skinny hip.
      “I could take her to wive,” he said diffidently. “If hers don’t want her back.”
      Haldir looked sharply at him. “She has but ten years.” Then he glanced at Strider. 
“Or is this the custom of your people?”
      “I don’t know! Dendry, surely that’s too young?”
      The man shrugged. “What are you going to do with her then?”
      “Not that!” retorted Haldir. “We cannot make such—“
      A shout turned their heads and a last few stragglers ran, terrified, up the slope.
      “Orcs! Orcs!” The lookout posted on the ladder was screaming and pointing behind 
them. 
      Haldir disappeared through the gate even as the humans were turning towards it. 
Strider shouted to the people running up the path, refusing to let Dendry close the gate. Then 
a bowstring sang and he saw Haldir back on top of the wall, shooting. As the arrows began 
to land among them the orcs turned, retreating. Haldir waited, poised, but not releasing the 
arrow he held. Strider realised he did not want to let the orcs know what his range was. As 
the last woman panted through it, he and Dendry put their shoulders to the gate, closing it. 
Silon and others came as well, lifting the crossbar up into its rests. Haldir loosed one more 
arrow and was immediately ready with the next.
      Strider called up, “Shall I dip some in tallow and light them?”
      “No.” The elf released the tension and lowered his bow but stayed where he was. 
“But prepare some. We might want them later.”
      “What are they doing?”
      “Nothing. Waiting. Jeering at me.”
      Then Ellerin arrived, panting and blustering, and Strider let Dendry and Silon tell him 
what had happened.
      Haldir called down, “Post your sentries, I cannot stand here all night. Then we must 
make ready.”
      “Ready for what?”
      “I think they are waiting for their fellows. But they may attack us this night.”
      That caused uproar. Ellerin bellowed louder than the rest, “You said they were going 
on! You cursed elf, now we’re trapped here!”
      “You didn’t want anyone running away either,” yelled Dendry, shoving at Ellerin.
      Ellerin shoved him back. “You want to be out there, do you? I can make it happen!”
      Haldir stared down at them and Strider, catching the elf’s contemptuous look, 
shouted for silence, pulling Ellerin and Dendry apart.
      “Do you want to do the orcs’ work for them? Fight amongst yourselves while they 
wait out there?”
      Haldir called down to them, “They’re going. They’re retreating.”
      Silon clambered up the ladder. “He’s right!”
      The elf jumped from the top of the fence. “Post your sentries. It wants but one night 
to the full moon, they should see well enough to tell us if the orcs return.”
      
      Strider stood near the communal fire, watching the rabbits and one of the pheasants 
cooking. The elf had flatly refused to do it, and Strider was happy to wait quietly by the fire 
and hear what was being said by the others. 
      The three of them ate and put aside some of the meat for later. Then Strider went 
back to the fire with his pipe. Ellerin had not been there earlier. There was tension around 
the settlement and Strider suspected he was keeping away until people calmed down.
      That was no way for a leader—
      “Strider! Strider! Let me go, where are you? Strider!”
      He recognised Annet’s shriek and pushed through the group behind him. “Annet? 
Over here! I’m here! What’s wrong?”
      She ran to him, seizing his sleeve. “Come, you’ve got to come, they’re hurting him, 
come on, Strider!”
      Strider ran, heart pounding. He skidded in the dust and slid around the corner of the 
barn to find a scrum of bodies writhing on the ground. Grabbing at men by their hair, arms, 
anything, he pulled them away, hitting them as hard as he could, recognising some of the 
youths who had been making filthy comments about Haldir that morning. The grey of 
Haldir’s tunic appeared under them, the elf struggling violently as he was weighted down by 
his attackers. Two of them had his arms pinned to the ground and his half-drawn sword was 
pressed against his chest by the one sitting on him. Strider kicked that one in the back of the 
head and he slumped to one side, landing heavily against one of his fellows. Haldir managed 
to get a hand free and sent the last one rolling backwards. Then he was on his feet, sword in 
his hand and his eyes were wild. The youths who had beset him fell back, fearful now, 
scrambling away in the dirt. Strider drew his own sword and stood beside Haldir and that 
was enough. They fled. 
      When he was sure they had gone, Strider turned back to the elf. Haldir still stood as 
if surrounded, eyes looking frantically from side to side, panting. As Strider stepped closer 
he turned to face the man, forcing him to retreat sharply from the sword.
      “Haldir? Haldir, they’re gone.”
      But the elf seemed not to hear him. He spoke Sindarin then. “Haldir, listen to me. 
They’re gone, put up your sword.” The staring eyes flickered to him and he saw the blood 
and bruises on Haldir’s face, his dishevelled hair and clothes. Then Annet appeared by the 
wall, sobbing. “Haldir! Haldir! I ran as fast as I could!”
      The elf glanced around and shook his head, finally seeming to see Strider and the 
child before him. He lowered the sword and Annet ran to him, throwing her arms about his 
hips. He started then looked down at her in amazement, as if not recognising her.
      “Haldir, put away your sword,” repeated Strider. “They are gone.”
      “Haldir? Did they hurt you?” Annet asked tearfully.
      “No—no. Get away from me.” He pushed at her and she fell back a little, face 
crumpling again. 
      Strider put a hand on her shoulder. “Leave him be a moment,” he said softly. “He 
just needs a moment. Go and find his cloak, Annet.” 
      She walked slowly backwards, then disappeared into the stable. Strider took a step 
and found the sword’s point at his throat at once. He put his own away. “Haldir, they’ve 
gone. What’s the matter? They’ve gone.”
      The elf seemed barely able to draw breath, still staring at some distant terror. Then 
his eyes suddenly shone silver, the black pupils disappearing completely. Strider grabbed 
Annet’s shoulder as she ran back, and held her at his side. 
      “Haldir?” she said in a quavering voice.
      “It’s all right, he’ll be all right in a minute, Annet.”
      “What’s wrong with his eyes?”
      “Nothing, it means he’s gone away for a minute, that’s all.” Strider wanted to go 
closer, to touch the elf, to tell him he was safe. Instead, he withdrew another few steps, 
pulling Annet with him and finally Haldir seemed to relax, crumpling slowly to his knees. But 
he held his sword still, and his lips moved silently, unreadable expressions flitting over his 
face. At last, his chin dropped to his chest and he slumped. Annet crept to him, hesitantly 
reaching out to touch his shoulder. Wearily, he looked up at her, his eyes dark again.
      “I—here, I—do you want your cloak?”
      He nodded and took the bundle from her, half-dropping it. As it unrolled, Annet 
pulled it over his shoulders with shaking hands. Then she began to cry. Haldir wrapped an 
arm around her and held her close, resting one cheek on top of her head for a moment. Then 
he drew her down to sit beside him.
      “Annet, stop crying. It never helps.”
      “Don’t you ever cry?”
      “Yes. But it never helps, Annet.”
      Strider sat down slowly as well, sideways so he could see the approach from the 
barn, listening carefully for any sounds behind him. Haldir looked down at the child’s hand in 
his, still holding his sword in the other.
      “You ran to get help?” She nodded. “You did well, Annet. Now we are equal. I 
saved you from the orcs and you saved me from the men.”
      “Why did they do that?”
      “I cannot tell you. When you are older, you will understand.”
      Strider grimaced. That was one thing about elves: they did not believe in sheltering 
children with lies. But Haldir’s words did not release a torrent of questions as he had 
expected. Perhaps recognising a dark truth, Annet only nodded.
      They sat silently, the elf’s wide eyes still shocked and distant, his breathing rapid and 
shallow. Annet continued to cling to his left arm but he seemed not to know she was there as 
he stared at some far-away memory. In his right hand, he held his sword, knuckles white. 
      Strider sighed and rubbed his face. From time to time, he stood and wandered 
around the corner to the gate, looking up at the man standing as sentry. Then he went back 
to sit again, finding Haldir and Annet as he had left them, the elf staring into the night and the 
child almost asleep. When the sentries changed shifts and their voices were heard around the 
corner, Haldir started, sword raised again, and swept Annet behind him. 
      Strider made no move and waited until he had lowered the blade before saying 
softly, “Annet, aren’t you tired?”
      Haldir seemed to see her at last. He took a deep breath and hugged her, then 
pushed her away gently. “Go to bed, Annet. Go, keep Faroth company.”
      “I want to stay with you.”
      “Go and sleep now. Or you will be too tired to help me tomorrow.”
      When she had gone, he sighed and moved to sit cross-legged, sword resting on his 
knees. He hid his face in his hands for long moments, then pushed back his hair. Strider 
noticed how hands and shoulders trembled and longed to reach out. But he had seen how 
Haldir had responded when he had stepped closer before. He wondered what he could do, 
what he could say.
      “Haldir.”
      The elf looked up sharply, eyes narrowed.
      “Something is troubling you. More than this. More than what just happened.”
      Haldir stared disdainfully, then looked away.
      “Elladan said he would have loved you forever if only because you stopped to talk 
to him when he was upset.”
      “Do not pry, human.”
      “He did not hesitate to tell me things like that, even knowing I was not really his 
brother.”
      Haldir ignored him, looking out into the night.
      “Of course, at the time, I thought I was his brother. I thought I was an elf, the 
youngest son of Elrond.”
      After a long while, Haldir replied softly, “It must have been a shock. To learn the 
truth.” He did not meet the man’s eyes, staring still into the distance.
      “I wonder if I know it yet. I still wonder when I’m going to wake up and find this is 
all a dream.”
      “Say, ‘nightmare’, rather.” The elf laughed bitterly, and there were tears in his eyes. 
Strider looked away. “Sometimes,” Haldir added slowly, “you will think you have awoken. 
Years will pass and one day you learn it is still there, and there is no awakening.” 
      Strider looked up into the other’s glittering eyes.
      “I cannot live in the dream,” he whispered. “No matter how it calls to me.”
      “First learn which is life and which is dream.”
      “Do you know?”
      For the first time Haldir looked at him without scorn. “I thought I did. But life has a 
way of not conforming to what one thinks.”
      “The trouble is, I don’t know what I think half the time. I—“ he hesitated, looking 
into Haldir’s shadowed eyes. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. You know exactly 
what you are, who you are. How can I not? How can I not accept this?”
      “He let you think you were his son? That was not well done, to my mind.” After 
another long pause, the elf added “I was also fostered, I and my brothers. But we knew 
whose sons we were, even though my brothers called Lord Celeborn ‘father’.”
      “And you did not?”
      “I alone was old enough to remember our parents.”
      “What happened to them?” Strider immediately regretted asking but Haldir did not 
seem to take offence.
      “Our mother was unwell and asked her husband to take her to the sea, that by its 
immense strength she might recover her own. And he did, but she… it was not enough. She 
took ship for the Undying Lands. It was to be expected, I think. I have never seen the sea.” 
He looked down and shivered, folding his arms tightly about himself. “I never want to. I fear 
it. I am afraid that it will call to me as it did her and I will want to leave.” He put his long 
sword down on the ground, its hilt by his side, and drew up his knees, wrapping his arms 
around them. “I will not leave,” he said dreamily, his eyes far away. 
      “I do not have that choice. I only thought I did.”
      “It is an added complication that you do not need to consider. A constant temptation 
you do not need to face.”
      “That’s a very unusual view for an elf.”
      “But you are no elf.”
      Strider stared at him. “No. But why do you say it?”
      “Because all my pleasures are in Arda.”
      “And all your torments.”
      “And what do you know of my torments?”
      “Only that something troubles you. As I said before.”
      “Huh. Will you play guessing games? Tell me, were you tutored by Lord 
Glorfindel?”
      “No, by Elrond himself.”
      “Indeed.” The elf stared long at him. Finally he looked away. “I met your rangers the 
other night, when I was gone, your Dunedain.”
      “But that’s imposs—that’s fifty miles, there and back!”
      “Your friend Talossian begs to remind you that you owe him four ounces of shag. 
Whatever that is.”
      “You can’t have—unless you found another horse somewhere?”
      “Do horses grow on trees in these parts?” Haldir smirked.
      “But there’s nobody else for—you didn’t come here alone, did you?”
      “At last we see the light.”
      All Strider’s sympathy for Haldir was gone at that reply. He wanted to hit the elf. 
“So why did you say you didn’t get past the orcs?“
      “I lied. Now, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, tell me why I lied.”
      “What? Why did you go to the rangers? To ask for help, surely?”
      “Yes.”
      “Well, why couldn’t you say so? Why did you say you couldn’t get past the orcs?”
      “I am asking you. Tell me why I lied. What did it achieve?”
      The elf watched him closely. Strider looked back at the fair face, sullied now with a 
bruised cheek and streaked with blood and dust. But the dark eyes were focussed on him, 
instead of looking into some ancient fear. He realised Haldir was using him as a distraction 
and almost leapt to his feet, refusing to play the elf’s games.
      “Why didn’t you tell them it was possible to get away? They might have escaped. 
Now it really is too late. And you know as well as I that fence is no protection.”
      “That is all true. But it does not answer the question. Why did I lie?”
      Strider turned away impatiently.
      “Think it through, Aragorn. You know the result of my lie. Is it what I wanted?”
      “How should I know that? Who can tell what an elf thinks?”
      Haldir sneered. “That is unworthy of you. And if you cannot, who thought you were 
one…” He let his voice trail away.
      Strider paced. “We’re all trapped here, when at least some of us might have 
escaped. How many orcs are out there? The Dunedain in these parts only number sixty or 
so.” He shook his head. “And you’re trapped with us. No, I don’t understand.”
      “Do you think me a fool? No? Suicidal? Well, then. Think it through. You are 
thinking too much about this place only.” He shifted, stretched, face turned away and hidden 
behind a soft fall of silver. “Go to bed, human. I will not sleep this night. One of us at least 
had better be rested tomorrow.”
      The man stood up. “I do not understand you,” he repeated.
      “You refuse to.”
      Strider glared at him but the elf had lost interest, and was gazing out into the night 
again, eyes taking a silver sheen.
      Haldir…Celeborn’s wordless anger, helplessness, despair, washed over him. 
      No, all is well now. Forgive me for even calling to you, I should not have.
      Haldir, I swear I will never let you leave the city again!
      Oh, my love, I needed you, I was so afraid.
      They melted together, flowing around and into each other’s beings.
      I cannot stay, Celeborn. I keep watch this night.
      But you’re exhausted.
      I cannot sleep. And I only need endure until you arrive. I love you.
      I love you. Now, and for ever.
      
      Haldir came back to himself and stood up. He walked about, the sword held firmly, 
but all was quiet. Except for the usual nightly sound of voices arguing. Did they ever stop in 
this place? How he longed to go home.
      He shuddered as he looked around, thinking of the human. Aragorn. Elrond’s 
fosterling and distant nephew. He tried to imagine knowing this was his destiny, a squalid 
collection of hovels and a rabble of squabbling, stinking humans, when he had been raised 
thinking… how could he have thought he was an elf? But only in Lorien were all tall and fair. 
The elves of Imladris were many and varied.
      How could Elrond have done that to him? Something must have happened to make 
him tell the youth the truth in haste, without preparing him. He wondered briefly what it might 
have been, if in fact that were the case. Elrond was playing such a long game, three thousand 
years had he been nurturing these brief, fragile flames, hope flickering from one short human 
life to the next. Hope… Estel, he had called him. The youth seemed a shallow vessel indeed 
to contain such a vast hope. He was young, he might learn yet. And he had so much to learn. 
But that was the trouble with humans, they seemed so young and childish, then suddenly they 
were old and dead.
      Ah, it was not his concern. All he had to do was make sure this last scion of Elros 
did not die in his keeping. He owed a debt to Elrond; that would be a poor return.
      He went briefly into the stable to fetch out the rest of his weapons, standing with his 
back to the wall to strap on his quiver and knives. Then he put on the leather gloves he had 
borrowed from the ranger Talossian, and climbed to the top of the humans’ unsteady fence. 
Ignoring the sparse sentries—they really had no idea!—he walked around the top of the 
palisade, eventually coming back to the place near the stable.
      He did this another six times during the night. The four villagers ordered to stand on 
their makeshift ladders as lookouts stared at him as he went past but not one of them talked 
to him. Haldir was grateful for that. He remembered again how he had found the man 
speaking to Annet, deliberately upsetting her with words calculated to draw him near. He 
had pulled the intruder away; the other had jumped on him, knocking him to the ground even 
as he drew his sword, his fellows joining him at once. They must have been waiting beside 
the barn. Haldir felt sick and walked grimly on, forcing away the memory, concentrating on 
the shadows and sounds of the night.
      Several times, he heard distant noises and he knew that there was fighting. But he 
could not tell if the orcs were battling with elves or with the human rangers. All he knew for 
certain was that Celeborn and the larger force were still too far away.
      
      Strider lay awake. Damn the elf, they might have escaped… if he spoke the truth. 
Fool, obviously he spoke the truth. He had been to the rangers’ camp; he must have met 
Keralwen as well, she would have pounced like a cat upon him, to wring information out of 
him. So what had they discussed? And why had he, like an idiot, not asked Haldir? He did 
not seem able to think straight around the elf, so provoking was he.
      Obviously, he had to have gone for help. Keralwen would send all she could, it was 
the rangers’ duty to fight the forces of the Dark One. But it still did not explain why he had 
come back and told them to stay within their wall.
      What had he said? What was the result of my lie? Is it what I wanted? Well, the 
result was that they were trapped. But then he’d said Strider was thinking too much about 
this place and not seeing the bigger picture. So, what was the bigger picture? Orcs, gathering 
to attack a soft target, a badly defended settlement. It was within the borders of Lorien so 
that was why Haldir and whatever others were with him, had come. They would hardly have 
sent their guardians out this far simply to help some humans. Perhaps they had come to evict 
the humans from their land. Ah, that probably was it. It would be a lot harder to make them 
leave if they first had to round up scattered groups of refugees, easier if they were all in one 
place. 
      Satisfied that he had an answer to Haldir’s question, Strider turned over again and 
tried to think of more pleasant things and regretted it in minutes.
      Ah, how could he sleep? He could not master his thoughts, his wants… his wants. 
He should learn to be careful of his wants. They could cost him dear.
      
      Shouts awoke him and he scrambled up, grabbing his sword, and ran outside.
      “What is it?” he called up to the lookout.
      “Your bloody elf. ‘Going down to the river,’ he says. ‘Won’t be long,’ he says.”
      “What? He’s gone?”
      “Over the wall, I can’t even see him any more. There I was, quietly listening to the 
birds and he jumps up next to me. Nearly wet myself!”
      “What birds? I can’t hear any birds.”
      “Heard an owl calling. Gone now, he would of scared it off, jumping up like that.”
      Strider sighed and leaned against the palisade. It wanted at least an hour ‘til dawn 
but he had no chance of sleeping again. Now what was Haldir up to? He wandered back 
into the stable and found the bundle of cooked meat from the previous day, stripping a leg 
from the pheasant. He went back outside to eat it, walking around the settlement. It was not 
very big, the longhouse with the well in the open space before it, within a roughly oval wall. 
Barn and stables at one end and store room and dairy at the other. There were a few lean-
tos here and there and room to extend the longhouse. Not that they were going to get a 
chance: if the orcs did not kill them all the elves would force them out. And even if neither of 
these things happened, he little cared for the settlement’s longer survival. Its people were too 
argumentative and their early feelings of being unified in a great undertaking were fading. 
      And there was Ellerin. He kept people united simply though force. He was a bully 
and a cunning one. But he had no wife or son and there were several other men who thought 
themselves as good as he. Even if they held together for a few years, there would be bloody 
squabbles for the leadership when he died. Strider had come when they had sent to the 
rangers for help against the orcs. But Ellerin only wanted help that made him look good and 
the ranger was losing patience. He might have already left had not Haldir landed in their 
midst that day.
      Haldir. What was he thinking of, going to the river in the dead of night, with orcs 
about? Owls hooting… perhaps not owls at all. He wandered back to the stable. Annet still 
slept, one of the horses whickered softly. All else was still. He lay down again. He could 
rest, if he could not sleep, until dawn.
      He was awoken by a scream and a crash. Cursing, he ran outside, to find the ladder 
on the ground and the lookout lying beside it, swearing and clutching his leg. Haldir stood 
over him.
      “What happened? Where’ve you been?” Strider shouted at the elf. Then he looked 
down at the watchman. “Piat? Stop making all that noise!”
      “My leg! My bloody leg’s broken! Bloody elf, coming over the fence like that!”
      “I walked up from the river. How could you not see me?” Haldir said in an 
exasperated voice. He looked at Strider. “The fool fell when I climbed over the wall.”
      “Some sentry!” Strider knelt down. “You’re lucky it wasn’t an orc. Piat, shut up and 
let me look at this leg.” While he probed, Haldir picked up the ladder and leaned it against 
the palisade, shoving hard to wedge it then walking up it as if it were a flight of stairs. He 
looked all about then came back down again to stand over Strider, folding his arms and 
gazing contemptuously at the man on the ground. Piat caught those cold eyes and closed his 
mouth at last.
      Strider stood up. ”Nothing’s broken.”
      “But it hurts like hell! I can’t stand up.”
      “Really? I have not seen you try,” retorted Haldir. He turned on his heel and walked 
away. Strider offered Piat his hand and hauled him to his feet. The man groaned and 
wobbled and Strider stepped back, forcing him to stand on his own.
      “You might have twisted your knee, it’ll probably swell up for a few days. That’s 
all.”
      “Well, I can’t go up no more bloody ladders then, can I?”
      “You’ve not been much use up this one, have you?”
      Strider left him to hobble off, complaining as he went. He found Haldir in the stable, 
stroking his horse and murmuring to it. He noticed only now that the elf’s hair was wet and 
freshly braided.
      “You went to bathe? With orcs out there? Are you insane?”
      “I cannot do so in this place again. But no, that was not why I went.”
      “So it was no owl, then.”
      “No.” He said nothing more and Strider took a deep breath, willing himself to be 
patient. Glancing at him, Haldir said “Outside, or we will have the child to contend with as 
well.”
      The sky was beginning to show the grey light that comes before dawn. The elf 
looked up at it, then back at the ladder. “The wounded hero has retired? And none of his 
fellows came in response to all his noise. I am astounded they have survived this long.”
      “What news is there?”
      “The orcs attacked those pasturing their animals on the mountain, took them all and 
the cattle as well. My companions ambushed them on their way back and scattered them, 
and destroyed their wagons. Keralwen and her people have been harassing them, preventing 
them from moving very far. Now that their meat is lost, they will have to come here for 
more.” He smiled.
      “And this is what you wanted?”
      “Yes.”
      “This is why you wanted these people to stay here? To be a lure for the orcs?”
      “Why else?”
      Strider lashed out at the smug face but Haldir easily caught one hand after the other 
and held them, tightening his grasp on the man’s wrists.
      “Shall we fight and do the orcs’ work for them?” he sneered. Then he pushed the 
ranger away, sending him to crash against the palisade.
      “If you are what it is to be an elf then I am glad I am none! You are the coldest 
bastard I ever did meet.”
      “What, more than Lord Elrond? I am flattered.”
      “Do not dare to compare yourself—“
      “Oh, wake up, man! I am High Warden of LothLorien and I do what I must. Shall I 
let orcs advance into Lorien for the sake of a few humans? Elrond would understand, believe 
me, and do the same. Or more. Have you not read your histories?”
      “He made me do nothing but read histories!”
      “Learn from them, then. The point of reading history is to avoid making the same 
mistake. Elrond did not destroy Sauron’s power when he had the chance. Believe me, he 
will not make that mistake again. Else why do you stand before me, son of Arathorn, heir of 
Isildur? Think on what Elrond has done, what a long game he has played, how many of your 
ancestors he has used to reach this destination.”
      Strider stared at the pale face of the elven warrior, seeing dark eyes goading him, 
measuring him. He looked away, unable to meet them. They were the inhuman eyes of one 
who valued all before him only as it would help him achieve his ends.
      “You think you can be better than me.” Haldir’s soft voice mocked him. “You do 
not yet understand what it is to be a leader of men, Aragorn.”
      Haldir turned away, walking up the ladder again. He stepped onto the top of the 
fence and strolled along it, silver hair and cloak rippling in the gentle morning breeze.
      Strider matched his steps on the ground. High Warden of Lorien. That would put 
him equal to Lord Glorfindel. He realised he had underestimated Haldir of Lorien. 
      “Why did you come back?”
      “Why indeed? I am a cold bastard, after all.” Haldir looked out to the distant fringe 
of trees then paused, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the low rays of the rising sun. 
“Perhaps you had better go and awaken Ellerin and his horde. We will soon have 
undesirable company.” He loosened his bow in its leather loops and shook out a string, 
playing it through his fingers.
      The orcs gathered during the morning, more and more of them filling the open space 
between the woods and the farmed land. They began to edge closer, trampling the crops as 
they came. Dendry, watching from the ladder, cursed them.
      “Even if we beat them we’ll starve this winter.”
      “One tight winter won’t kill us,” snarled Ellerin from below, where teams worked 
furiously to make more ladders and assemble what weapons they had. “Especially if nay-
sayers like you get out and leave the rest of us to it.” He nudged the man beside him. “Eh?” 
      The other looked up, startled, and nodded, though Strider could see the terror in his 
eyes. 
      He looked away to see Haldir by the stable door, kneeling on the ground and talking 
eye to eye with Annet. The girl shook her head and the elf took her shoulders, shaking her. 
Strider could not hear their words, but Haldir’s expression caught his eye: tense, almost 
pleading, and Annet seemed to be crying. He wondered if he should go over but suddenly 
the child threw her arms around the elf’s neck and he held her close, stroking her hair gently. 
Then he stood and took her hand, leading her into the stable. Perhaps Haldir was going to 
try and return her to her family again.
      He bent to his work, lashing thick sticks to two saplings with raw leather thongs. 
Every crude ladder they made meant another defender could stand on the wall and… do 
what? They had few arrows and fewer yet who could use them. But he finished his work. 
There was nothing else he could do. 
      When he next looked up, he saw Haldir walking on the top of the palisade again. He 
ran to the ladder nearest the elf and climbed it, calling to him
      Haldir turned to see him and quickly came over. “Get down, he muttered. “You 
make yourself a target.”
      “And you do not? Listen, what strategy do we have?”
      Haldir’s lips twisted. “Strategy? When they come in range, I will shoot all of my 
arrows at them. Then I will shoot all of yours—yes, you will give them to me. You know I 
will make each one count and you cannot. By then their arrows will reach us so none of us 
can stay up here. We will wait behind this wall until they breach it. Then we will fight hand to 
hand until we are all killed.” He looked at the man’s shocked eyes and smiled. “Or, there is 
a second possibility. The orcs gather at one point only, you will notice. So things will 
proceed as I have just said, until we reach the hand to hand fighting, whereupon we will turn 
to discover most of those,” he pointed his chin at the men below, “most of those have 
breached their own wall on the other side and run away. But I think that possibility will soon 
occur to Master Ellerin and he will take steps to prevent it.”
      “But there are your friends out there, and the rangers. Surely they will fight too.”
      “They are fighting already.” A shadow crossed the elf’s eyes. “But they are 
outnumbered at least five to one.” He looked down at the crestfallen human. “It could be 
even worse. At least the Nazghul are not returned. Ah, what is this?”
      He turned and stood straight again then smiled, the first genuine smile of pleasure 
Strider had seen. “Look at this, all my careful plans are shattered. Your rangers ride to our 
rescue.”
      Strider peered where he pointed, down by the river. Horses and riders. His heart 
began to pound.
      “The orcs will see them soon and may attack, but they are further away. This will 
need careful timing. They should get here before the orcs cover half that distance and that 
will bring them into my reach. Get me your arrows now, you may have no chance later. Then 
get those gates open. Hurry.”
      He stood again and Strider ran to the stable. None of the other lookouts had seen 
anything yet. But he supposed they were all staring, open-mouthed, in the direction of the 
orcs.
      He swept together his weapons and ran back out. He handed the quiver up to 
Haldir, who had taken off his cloak and dropped it to the ground. Then Strider pushed 
through the men hauling saplings about to find Ellerin.
      “We need to open the gate,” he said, “the rangers are riding up from the river to help 
us defend this place.”
      Ellerin looked up at the touch on his shoulder. “You what? Are you mad?”
      “They’ve come around the orcs, up from the river, they’ll be here in minutes!”
      “Yes. And the orcs right behind them! The gate stays closed.”
      “But they’re coming to help us! If we open it now and let them in we can have it shut 
again before the orcs—“
      “No!” Ellerin shoved Strider away. The men around them stepped warily back. “The 
gate stays shut! Nobody asked them—“
      From the top of the wall Haldir called out “The orcs have seen them and begin to 
move. Open the gate!”
      Strider yelled “You asked for our help! Now they’re coming, open the gate!”
      “No!” screamed Ellerin. “Don’t let anything in here, we’ll be safe—“
      Haldir jumped down from the wall behind him, reaching over his shoulders with both 
hands. Two long knives flashed in the sun and whipped along both sides of Ellerin’s neck, 
almost severing his head. Even as he fell to the ground, the knives were sheathed and Haldir 
was shoving the nearest men towards the gate.
      “Open it!” he hissed at them. Their eyes wide with terror, they stumbled to obey. 
The elf climbed nimbly back up over the cross bar before they reached it, and ran along the 
palisade, putting an arrow to his bow. Strider was numb with shock, staring at Ellerin’s 
twitching corpse. Then he ran to help with the gate as Haldir began to shoot.
      They hauled the gates open to see horses and riders galloping hard towards them 
and a darker mass seething further behind them. 
      “Get out of the way, get all that wood out of the way!” shouted Strider, and some 
ran to haul the ladders aside, the rest fleeing around the side of the barn.
      Then the riders were through, filling the space with noise and horses and shouting 
and Strider could see the orcs now, falling to white arrows and stumbling, climbing over their 
dead to keep running.
      “Close it! Close it!” he screamed and began to push. Others were instantly at his 
sides and the gates lifted quickly back into place, the cross bar rammed home. Shadows fell 
over him and he looked up to see the ladders and lashed-together saplings had been put to 
the wall and rangers climbing up them. They braced themselves unsteadily against the top of 
the wall and shot volleys of arrows. Strider regretted giving his to Haldir and had to stand on 
the ground, watching. 
      “Here, the horses, hold the horses!” someone shouted and he turned to seize the 
bridles of the animals whose riders were now fighting for all their lives, gentling them, quieting 
them. The villagers cowered and he called, “Dendry! Silon! Come on, help me!” Some of 
the men came forward then. Horses, at least, they understood.
      “They’re turning back! They’re going back!” The rangers shouted and jeered at the 
orcs, and the villagers on the ground cheered raggedly. A woman’s voice rang out: 
“Talossian, Joris, Gwindrel, stay and keep watch. The rest of you, look to the horses then 
come back here to see what we can do next.”
      She turned and climbed back down the ladder, unstringing her bow and putting it 
over her shoulder, pushing back her short, iron-grey hair.
      “Strider!” She slapped his arm. “You cut it close with that gate, my lad.”
      He pointed at the body in a pool of blood. “He didn’t want it opened—”
      Haldir interrupted him, throwing his arms around the woman. Strider gaped at the 
elf’s laughing face, and even more at his words, as she hugged him back.
      “Ai, Keralwen, I was not made to love women. But if ever I could, it would be you, 
for that magnificent arrival.”
      She snorted. “Are you saying you like the way I come?”
      He grinned at her. “Your coming thrills my weary soul, and lightens my heart as does 
the dawn.”
      “Well do they say, beware the tongues of elves for they flatter without let.”
      He bent close and murmured something in her ear, and fierce Keralwen blushed as 
red as any maid. “Then I’ll never give you the chance,” she replied and he laughed again. 
She turned to Strider “What few victories we have won these two days have been thanks to 
him. You did well to send him to us.”
      “I? I did not send him.”
      “I merely said I came from you,” put in Haldir blithely.
      “So what happened to this?” asked Keralwen, prodding Ellerin’s body with a 
booted toe.
      “He was their leader and afraid to open the gate. There was no time to argue,” said 
Haldir.
      “You didn’t have to kill him!” retorted Strider.
      “There was no time. And twenty of him were worth less than one short hair of my 
lady Keralwen’s head.”
      “Leave off mocking my short hair, elf, or one day you will awake to find yourself 
shorn and I shall have a fine, fair wig.”
      Haldir was about to make further reply but saw the rangers gathering around them, 
and the gleeful gleam in his eyes faded as he folded his arms, once more the cold guardian of 
Lorien.
      “Let me see what we have to defend,” said Keralwen. “And have some of these 
people join us.”
      “Strider knows them, and this place, better than I.” Haldir stepped back. He stood 
silently as Strider called some of the villagers over and introduced them to Keralwen and her 
fighters. Then they walked around the settlement and looked at the palisade and the ladders 
at selected positions. Keralwen ordered more ladders and more lookouts, then told Dendry, 
Silon and Annion to gather to the space behind the gate everything they had that might serve 
as a weapon, and all the able-bodied men and women in the place.
      Strider was relieved to have her there. He had not liked Keralwen when he had first 
joined the Dunedain, finding her rough and vulgar after the Elven ladies he had known. But 
with time he learned to admire her strength and cunning and to see the deep love she had for 
her people.
      He found himself standing near Haldir again and said “Why did you not tell me you 
knew Keralwen?”
      “I did not. I met her when I found the rangers near the bridge at Bree. I went into 
their camp and said I had come from you.” She called him then and he went to talk to her. 
An arm landed on Strider’s shoulders and he turned to see his comrade, Talossian, grinning 
at him.
      “So you didn’t send him then? He didn’t actually say so, come to think of it.”
      “He does and says whatever he thinks is necessary,” replied Strider harshly. “He’s 
no friend of mine.”
      “Pity. He’d be a friend worth having. You should have seen it, we were telling tall 
tales around the fire at night, with guards posted, you understand, and he just walks up and 
sits beside her and says, did we have some supper to spare for a starving elf who’s ridden a 
long way on nothing but half a roasted rabbit. Well, you know Keralwen. Cool as anything, 
she says that must have been some miraculous rabbit for him to ride it so far and he laughs 
and says it was for you gave it to him. So when he said he knew you, it was all right, and 
they just hit it off. But I know she had words with the guards next morning.”
      “And what happened?” Strider tried to picture the scene. He was very glad he 
hadn’t been one of the guards. Words from Keralwen could cut deep indeed.
      “Well, we gave him bread and stew and the two of them joked a bit while he ate it, 
then he told us what was going on here, and that the army from Lorien was coming but—
what?”
      Strider cursed the elf. “He didn’t tell me that, damn his close mouth.”
      “Ah. Oh. Well. Anyway, they won’t be here until this afternoon or evening and the 
orcs were going to come to raid this place for food. He said the other elves made sure of 
that, that they couldn’t move on because they’d destroyed their supplies.”
      Look to the bigger picture.
      “So, all we have to do is hold out until tonight, the elves can only harry the orcs and 
run, there’s too few of them until the rest arrive. Their king’s leading them, he says.”
      “That would be Lord Celeborn, the Lord of Lorien,” replied Strider slowly.
      “Oh, yes, I don’t think he actually said king. Friend of yours too, is he?” Talossian 
slapped his shoulder.
      Strider snorted. “I’ve heard of him, that’s all. As I’ve heard of Elrond and some of 
the other elves.”
      “But you speak their language, don’t you?”
      “Yes.”
      “Well, then, don’t go damning other peoples’ close mouths when you’ve got one 
yourself, boyo. And where’s my shag, come to think of it?”
      “Sorry, but I haven’t been back to the Shire since I borrowed yours. But I still have 
a bit of it if you want it.”
      “Yes, please. As soon as Keralwen’s done.”
      The Dunedain’s leader was making up groups of defenders from among the villagers 
and distributing what weapons there were. Haldir and a group of archers were talking, 
occasionally pointing to places along the wall. The elf caught Strider’s eye and beckoned. 
      “We have more arrows now,” he told the man, “but we also have a dozen archers 
and there are only so many ladders to stand on. You know those people better than we, I 
think you would be better used to rally and help them rather than stand on the wall.”
      “As you wish. You and Keralwen seem to have everything organised. And you’re 
the only one who can actually stand on the damned wall in any case.”
      The look of disdain came back into Haldir’s eye. “Perhaps you might go and help 
her organise those squabbling fools. They are your people, Strider.”
      Strider looked around to see Keralwen and Dendry glaring at each other.
      “I don’t take any orders from a woman!” the man shouted.
      “Take orders or take this!” she retorted, and before he realised what had happened, 
Dendry was rolling on the ground with watering eyes and groaning, from two swift blows to 
his balls and jaw. “So, is there anyone else who won’t take orders from a woman?” she 
asked. All the men watching, stepped back, muttering. “All right, then. You three, take those 
hoes and go over to the back of the longhouse. Take turns up the ladder and yell if you see 
anything. You, yes the tall one, pick up that scythe…”
      She turned to Strider. “Can you oversee all the groups I’m sending out? You’ll need 
to run back and forth like a hare. Get that lazy—Talossian! Get your lazy arse over here! 
The two of you, you’re in charge of these people, get them what weapons you can and get 
them to the wall.”
      The sun was higher in the sky by the time Keralwen was happy with the 
arrangements. Happy, thought Strider, was too strong a word. She was not at all pleased 
with the state of the settlement’s defences.
      “But it’s the best we can do, I suppose, given what we’ve got,” she said to Strider. 
They reached the gate again, where Haldir was watching a ranger wobbling on the top of her 
ladder.
      “Brace one foot on the wall itself,” he called. “Spread your weight more, ‘twill keep 
you steadier.” She nodded and did as he said.
      “Haldir,” said Keralwen, “what were you and Strider planning to do, before we got 
here?”
      The elf shrugged. “Shoot until we had used all the arrows, fight them hand to hand 
when they breached the wall, die shortly after.”
      She laughed. “I can’t believe that.”
      “Truly. Hope we lasted until Lord Celeborn arrived. That was the sum of my 
strategy. Now you know why I was so pleased to see you.”
      “Hah. You only love me for the weapons I bear.”
      “Absolutely.” But he bestowed a glowing smile upon her.
      Strider scowled. “Why did you not tell me the Lord of Lorien was coming?”
      “I do not know if he will arrive in time. We may yet die, Strider. I thought it unfair to 
give you a false hope. Especially if by your manner you let them know of it.” He looked over 
to a group of villagers carrying a steaming cauldron slung on a pole.
      “Do you think I would have said—“
      “Peace, man, I am sure you would have said nothing. But your whole body speaks 
of your hope and despair, yes, and now anger. They might have noticed.”
      “Calm down, Strider,” said Keralwen. “He’s right. Not all of us know how to hide 
our feelings. You’ll learn.”
      Strider walked away from them, feeling like a child being scolded by his elders. He 
winced and wondered what else the elf had been able to read in him.
      They were taking turns to eat when the cry went up, “Orcs! They’re coming!” and 
battle commenced. Food was forgotten, the cauldron vanished and the archers soon began 
their deadly rain. The defenders within the walls were tense with fear and Strider, Talossian 
and Joris were desperately busy keeping all ready and in good spirits. The archers worked 
in relays, even Haldir leading by example and taking short rests. But the orcs came ever 
closer, sheltered by armour and shields and eventually their arrows began to tell on those 
above the wall. 
      “Their arrows are poisoned,” said Keralwen to Strider as she bent to one who had 
fallen. “Look, this was in her arm. It should not have killed her.”
      Haldir ran over, flexing his bow against his foot and taking off a worn string. “Lord 
Celeborn is here. But at the rear of their army. It will take time, they are many.” He unrolled 
a fresh bowstring and fitted one end of it, glancing briefly up. “Look out!” He pushed 
Keralwen aside and she fell, tripping on the leg of the corpse she had been standing over. 
Strider caught her and they both stumbled. Then they looked back to see Haldir staring at 
the arrow stuck in his thigh. He glanced up and Strider saw a flicker of panic in his dark 
eyes. Then he thrust his unstrung bow at Keralwen.
      “Give this to someone who can use it.” He passed her his quivers as well, and took 
out one of the long knives, slicing it across his leg in one stroke and tugging out the arrow. 
He cried out and nearly fell and Keralwen caught his arm.
      “Strider! Help him, get him away, get him out of range!” Strider took Haldir’s weight 
against him and dragged him, staggering, to the door of the stable. The elf made no protest, 
his body rigid and trembling. He leaned against the wall, staring down at the blood soaking 
his leg.
      “We have to stop the bleeding,” muttered Strider, kneeling. The elf held him off with 
a hand to his shoulder, the other still clutching his long knife.
      “Leave it, ‘twill wash out the poison, I hope.” Strider could feel his hand shaking and 
did not move.
      “You said Celeborn was here?”
      Haldir nodded. “But we must hold out. All the orcs are between us. They might kill 
us yet.”
      “How did you know he was here?”
      Haldir smiled with white lips but said nothing.
      “Yes, yes, all right then. Be mysterious.” Strider looked back to the wall and stood 
up. “Here, let me get you inside, you can lie down.”
      “No. If I lie down the poison will spread more quickly.”
      They remained where they were, the elf’s breathing growing fast and shallow as 
Strider stood uncertainly in front of him, not knowing what to do. Haldir tried to push himself 
away from the wall and swayed forward. Strider caught him and slid an arm around his 
waist, dragging him through the door of the stable. He seemed unable to move his right leg at 
all and limped heavily. In the stable, he leaned against the wall and his head fell back, silver 
hair sliding over his shoulders as he bit his lip and screwed shut his eyes. The man tried to let 
him go but Haldir half-fell, dropping the knife, and Strider caught him again.
      “Haldir, I can’t stay here, lie down or you’ll fall. I have to go back out.”
      “Why?” whispered the elf, holding his arm. “Fighting’s done. We just wait. Don’t 
leave me.” His eyes fluttered closed and he grimaced, then stood straighter, panting. So they 
remained a while. Haldir’s breathing was becoming laboured and he moaned softly. His face 
was stark white and his teeth clenched. Strider began to worry for him now. Elves were 
hardier than humans but every human touched by the poison had died quickly. Perhaps elves 
would just take longer.
      Keralwen came in, peering into the shadow. She stood beside them, then reached a 
hesitant hand to the elf’s shoulder. He raised his head and opened his eyes, forcing a smile 
when he saw her. 
      “Oh, you idiot,” muttered Keralwen. She put her arms around him and held him 
tightly. “I owe you my life, you fool of an elf. Why couldn’t you keep out of the way?”
      Haldir clung to her for a long moment then leaned back again, bracing himself against 
the wall. He took her hand, raising it shakily. “What’s happening?”
      “Not very much. As you said, they’re being attacked from the rear; they’ve lost 
interest in us for a while. But they could start again at any moment. And we don’t dare try to 
open the gate to get out. So we wait. How do you feel?”
      “It burns through me, I feel it… scraping my bones.” He rubbed a hand over his face 
then took a deep breath and looked up again. “Keralwen. While I can still think. And speak. 
There is a child. I took her from the orcs. If you owe me a debt. Take her. Raise her. She is 
worthy. Keralwen. To be the daughter of your soul.” Then his face contorted with pain and 
he cried out, legs buckling beneath him. Keralwen and Strider grabbed him and slid to the 
ground with him. He panted, moaning, and Keralwen held him in her arms, his face against 
her throat, soothing him. Eventually he looked up again.
      “Go. Find her. I hid her. Behind their house. Call her. Annet. Her name. Is Annet. 
Keralwen. Don’t let her. See me.”
      “Hush, stop fighting. Rest. I will see to it. Rest.” Haldir slumped and she passed his 
limp body to Strider, who took him awkwardly. “Keep him sitting up as much as you can, if 
he can no longer stand. Slows the poison.” She smoothed his silver hair. “Fool of an elf,” she 
muttered.
      Strider sat cross-legged, his arms around Haldir, the elf’s head lolling against his 
shoulder. From time to time he became rigid, shuddering and crying out softly. Then he 
would fall limp and Strider panicked as he looked for any sign that the elf was still breathing.
      Shadows fell across the door from time to time as people looked in but nobody 
came to disturb them until one of the rangers, Joris, brought a bucket of clean water, a 
wooden cup and some cold meat in a cloth.
      “Keralwen sent me,” he said. He peered at Haldir. “She said to tell him the little 
girl’s all right. And nothing much is going on.”
      “I’ll tell him.” Strider was about to ask for someone else to come and take a turn 
looking after Haldir. But the elf gripped his hand tightly and he remembered how Haldir had 
been the night he was attacked. So he said nothing as Joris left.
      Afraid. The elf had been afraid. 
      But now he lay trustingly in Strider’s arms. Strider sighed and held him a little closer, 
feeling his heart pounding at the sensation of the warm, heavy body resting against his chest. 
He bent his head and inhaled the elf’s scent, pine and moss. The white brow was hot and his 
pale hair softer than any human’s. Yet was he still an arrogant, disdainful creature with a 
heart of ice, only brought to this helpless state by the poison in his veins. Were he himself he 
would hiss with scorn and push away from the man holding him.
      Strider dipped the cup into the bucket and drank thirstily. Then he refilled it, putting 
it to Haldir’s lips. The elf tightened his mouth and screwed up his face, turning away as a 
child might, pressing against Strider’s breast. The sensation made the man’s breath catch in 
his throat and he held it for a long time. He put down the cup, wondering if he should have 
been more insistent. What would Haldir have done if their positions were reversed? He 
would have known more about the effects of the poison and whether to insist. 
      Haldir began to shiver, tensing in Strider’s arms. The man called his name, shaking 
him, and his eyes opened slowly, looking up in confusion.
      “Haldir, do you want some water?” Met with a blank stare, he repeated the question 
in Sindarin. The elf nodded slowly and Strider filled the cup again, easing him higher. He 
sipped a little, then turned away. 
      “Haldir. Listen to me. I’m going to go outside to see what—“
      “No! Don’t leave me! Estel, don’t leave me alone!” The words came out in a rush 
and Haldir clutched at him, eyes frantic.
      A tremor shivered through him and he moaned, then arched his back, his head falling 
over Strider’s arm. 
      He cried out in pain, writhing, trying to twist out of the man’s grasp and muttering in 
Sindarin, “No, no, my love… I am poisoned, do you not touch me else you take it. Aah, it 
burns, it is so cold… they are waiting for me… so long ago and they wait yet…” 
      “Haldir, stop it, you’re safe, there’s nobody here.” Strider’s heart wrenched to see 
the other’s agony, wishing he could ease it.
      “No, they saw me. They will wait for me. They are there, waiting. He said he would. 
Oh, my love, my life, by the life you gave me, I will never leave you.”
      “Haldir, please, listen to me. It’s me, Strider. Aragorn. You know me.”
      “The light, the sun… what happened to the trees?” Haldir twisted violently and 
pushed away. He sat up, panting, then looked up, wild eyes seeing… what? “The trees, the 
trees are gone!”
      Strider reached forward and grasped his shoulders. “Haldir, they cut the trees to 
make this place…”
      “No, no, the mellyrn, the mellyrn are gone… my lord, forgive me, I did not know. I 
did not mean to, I would never have told you…” He crumbled, falling, and Strider caught 
him, drawing him close. Haldir fought briefly but was too weak to prevail against the strong 
arms that held him firmly, and lay limp against the man’s chest. 
      Strider bit his lip, remembering the elven warrior’s strength and endless well of 
scorn. But all was spent now and the poison governed his heart and his body. The man grew 
dizzy, fighting the desire to think this was more than a temporary weakness. Haldir would 
recover and those blue eyes would again grow cold at the sight of him. Or he would die. At 
the thought, Strider shuddered and held the elf closer. Haldir continued to murmur softly to 
himself or whimper and tremble in pain.
      Focussed as he was on the one in his arms, Strider did not at first notice the noise 
from outside. Even as he became aware of the shouting and cheering, Haldir suddenly 
became rigid and cried out, twisting desperately.
      “No! No! You’ll take the poison! My love, no! Leave me!”
      As Strider cursed and struggled to hold him, Haldir froze, his staring eyes turning 
solid silver and the horrified man caught a glimpse of his own reflection in them. They 
remained locked together for a long moment, then the silver slowly faded, washing out to 
reveal Haldir’s own dark eyes. He stared at Strider and tried to push away from him. 
      “He is here.”
      “What? Who’s here?”
      The elf stared at something, his eyes widening in terror. Strider turned and saw a 
shadow across the door of the barn. It stretched over the hay-strewn earth towards them 
but when he looked there was nothing to cast the shadow.
      It reared up and two red eyes glowed where its head should be. The shadow 
darkened and took form and Strider felt his heart thump in his ribs, could not draw breath as 
it reached out. Beside him, Haldir fumbled in the straw and took up his knife again. The 
blade wavered but he held it defiantly, on his knees in front of the Nazghul. 
      The creature reared back and Strider could hear a hissing in his ears and a voice 
formed from it.
      Little elf, we know you. Your friends are waiting for you…
      The flickering red glow of firelight filled the air between them and a man’s face 
appeared, leering. He held a great sword, its hilt encrusted with jewels.
      Strider could only stare at the vision; his body felt as if it were sunk in honey, arms 
and legs dragged heavily down, unable to move. He heard the crackle of flames and the soft 
sound of someone weeping.
      The shadow reared up again and again Haldir raised his blade, forcing it back. 
Strider turned his head to see the elf’s face wet with tears.
      But still he held the knife.
      Glittering light spilled over them and the shadow squealed, pulling back. A horse and 
rider were at the stable door, statues of silver in the rays of the afternoon sun. The rider 
dismounted in one fluid movement and strode through the darkness, dispelling it like smoke. 
      It was an elf, very tall, and clad in mithril armour that was spattered with orcs’ blood 
to the hips. Without a word, he bent and lifted Haldir in his arms, straightening as if he held 
no weight at all and put the limp form onto his saddle, holding him there as he climbed back 
up. Then he was gone and Strider seemed to awaken from a dream.
      
      That night was the villagers’ last in their settlement, and most of them were glad of it. 
Few joined the rangers around the campfire they lit outside the stable, preferring to start 
gathering their belongings together, for they had been told this was elven land and now the 
elves had come to reclaim it.
      Strider listened to tales of the battle, his head still throbbing as it had all the long 
evening, but he realised he had missed little while he had stayed in the stable with Haldir. He 
wondered what had happened to him, if he lived. He saw again the shadow, the image it had 
summoned and the unearthly silver creature that had walked through it to claim his fellow. 
Even the light from the eye slits of his shining helm had been silver and Strider shuddered.
      He had thought he knew elves.
      Dared he to think he knew Haldir? 
      He understood nothing of the image that had driven the guardian to tears. His heart 
twisted in him as he saw again Haldir’s despairing eyes, remembered the way the elf had 
clung to him while the poison had taken his strength and his reason. Dared he to think 
anything but orcish poison had driven the elf’s desperate need to keep him close? 
      He huddled among his fellow rangers. After burying their dead, they, too, were 
quieter than usual. Annet was with them, sitting by Keralwen’s side. After a little, she crept 
over to him.
      “Where’s Haldir?”
      “Gone back with the other elves. They took him away.”
      “Is he dead?”
      “I don’t think so. He was still talking to me just before they came. But he was hurt, 
Annet.”
      “They said so. I want to see him.”
      “I don’t think you can. He’s gone to his own people. You and I don’t belong there, 
Annet.”
      “I want to see him. I want to know he isn’t dead like Toby.” Her voice grew louder 
and she started to cry.
      Keralwen looked over, then stood and came to sit by them, gently rubbing Annet’s 
back. “I want to see him, too, child. He thinks he can just sweep in and re-order peoples’ 
lives and vanish again, well he’s one mistaken elf. Tomorrow we’ll go to their camp together. 
And you, Strider, you understand their language, you’ll come to speak for us.”
      
      They set out in the middle of the morning. The rangers had been asked to stay and 
oversee the departure of the villagers so they would be there for a few days yet. Strider 
saddled Faroth as well as his own and Keralwen’s horses, thinking Haldir would probably 
like to have him back. If he lived… no, of course he lived.
      To his surprise, Faroth let Annet ride him, and her delight and pride in doing so 
offset most of the child’s fears and worry.
      “She’s seen her brother killed, her family turn her out, it’s no wonder she wants to 
be sure that blond scoundrel lives. He’s all she’s got,” Keralwen said softly to him as they 
rode over the battlefield outside the village, still littered with dead orcs.
      “Scoundrel? I’d have called him many things…”
      “Did they tell you how he found us? I’ve never seen such bare-faced cheek. It was 
gone midnight and we were telling ghost stories, as you do, round the fire. And this ghost 
appears at my side and sits down next to me. And he kissed my hand. I nearly died.” She 
smiled fondly.
      “He seems to have a flair for making appearances. Did you hear how he came to the 
village?” 
      “At least six people have told me, including Annet. You can see how he made such 
an impression on her. I think she’ll love him forever.”
      They quickly looked away from each other at those words.
      The elven camp was among the trees, in the land the villagers had not yet cleared. 
They were challenged by a sentry who appeared from nowhere and Strider explained that 
they had come to see Haldir of Lorien and to return his horse. The sentry nodded and they 
rode on. In moments another grey-clad silver-haired elf appeared before them and gestured, 
and they followed him? her? It was impossible to tell. After a while, they began to pass 
banners and veils hanging from the trees, scant at first but more and more of them, beautiful 
white and silver cloths. As the forest grew deeper and darker, lights appeared in the trees 
and silvery bells chimed softly now and then. Annet’s mouth opened as she gazed at the 
beauty of it all.
      “Elves!” snorted Keralwen. “A military camp, it’s only going to be here a few days 
and they have to decorate it like a midsummer fair.”
      “The cloths have a purpose,” replied Strider. “I’ve not seen them before, but I’ve 
been told of them. They stop the wind. D’you notice how still it is in here? And warm?”
      “Damn me…” replied Keralwen slowly. “You’re right. Could we do it, do you 
think? Takes a lot of cloth though.”
      “There’s such an art to it, I’m told, only the forest elves know how to do it. And the 
bells—only an elf can get past and make no sound. The whole camp knows we’re coming.”
      They reached a clearing and their guide bade them stop. There were many elves, 
some in armour and some dressed as Haldir had been, but all were armed and moved with a 
purpose. They left the horses and walked on. In the middle of the clearing was a pavilion of 
shining silver and white. When they came closer to it, Strider realised it was not a tent as he 
knew them, but a denser arrangement of the hanging veils, with more cloths draped and 
hanging from branches to form a canopy. As they passed through layer of curtains, it grew 
quite cosy and they lost sight completely of the forest, being enveloped in a maze of cloth. 
Annet took Keralwen’s hand and stayed close to her.
      There was an open space in the middle, with tables and benches and more elves 
gathered together, talking in their soft, sibilant tongue. The guide went to them and spoke to 
a tall one dressed in grey robes. The tall elf looked over to them, a cascade of silver hair 
falling over one shoulder as he turned.
      “Isn’t he beautiful?” murmured Keralwen to Annet.
      “Haldir’s beautiful too.”
      “Child, they all are.”
      The guide returned to them and led them to a group of chairs and the tall, silver elf 
joined them. Strider bowed as he met them and after a moment, Keralwen did as well. 
Annet bobbed her head shyly.
      “I am Celeborn of Doriath and Lorien,” he said, smiling faintly at their surprised 
expressions. “Haldir taught me your speech one winter when it was too wet even for elves to 
want to go out much.”
      “Are you his friend?” asked Annet.
      “I am his friend,” the other replied. “And you are not quite as grubby an urchin as I 
had imagined.”
      “I am not!”
      “Indeed, I have said so.” He turned his eye to Keralwen.
      “I am Keralwen Kerialsdaughter, of the Dunedain, my lord.”
      “Mistress Keralwen, Haldir has spoken highly of you.”
      He turned at last to Strider but said nothing.
      “I am called Strider, of the Dunedain.” Lord Celeborn inclined his head and spoke in 
Sindarin. “Ah, you are the one whom Elrond has raised.”
      Another elf emerged from behind a curtain and bowed his head before Lord 
Celeborn.
      “Master Tamrin.” But the elf lord’s voice carried a thousand questions.
      The other elf glanced curiously at the humans. “He is awake now, and a little better. 
But he tires easily and the leg will pain him for some time yet.”
      “Thank you.” The other left and Lord Celeborn said, “Come this way. He has 
awoken and can see you now. But do not tire him.”
      He led the way past the hanging sheet of silvery cloth to a smaller alcove, and a 
familiar figure in a velvet robe was sitting up amid a pile of furs and blankets, on a raised 
dais. The elf did not look well, tight-lipped and pallid, unbraided hair sliding back from his 
face as he raised dull, shadowed eyes to them. Annet ran to him and knelt on the dais, 
throwing her arms around his neck.
      “Haldir! Haldir! I thought you had died like Toby! And nobody would tell me where 
you were and I was scared, but then Keralwen came and—“
      Celeborn swooped on her and picked her up, sitting her a little further back. 
“Gently, child, he has hurt his leg and you almost jumped on it.”
      “Oh, I’m sorry! Does it hurt, Haldir? Are you going to get better? Can I—“
      He reached for her hand. “Peace, Annet, I can not keep up! I am too tired to think 
so fast.” 
      “We brought Faroth back and I rode him. Why’s your hand all shaky?”
      “It is the poison still in me, it will pass.”
      Lord Celeborn sat and arranged cushions behind him. Haldir leaned back and 
sighed.
      Annet’s eyes widened. “Are you going to look after him?”
      “Yes, child,” replied Lord Celeborn. “Now hush a moment that the rest of us may 
speak.”
      Strider and Keralwen followed the Lord of Lorien’s lead and sat on the edge of the 
dais as well. 
      Haldir opened his eyes again and looked warily at Strider, “I am told you stayed 
with me when I was babbling nonsense. Thank you.”
      The man shrugged and looked away. “You gave me little choice.” 
      Celeborn spoke again. “Mistress Keralwen. You and yours have given great aid to 
us and to my guardian in particular. In return, I would offer you and ten of your people the 
freedom of our summer fair, that you may come and take what you need of clothing, 
weapons and other necessities.”
      Keralwen gulped. “My lord, this, this is a boon, indeed. You would have my undying 
gratitude for this, though I am sure it far outweighs what little we did.”
      “You welcomed him around your fire.” Celeborn glanced at Haldir. “That alone 
means much to me. And some of you lost your lives in the fighting that followed. I think the 
scales stand equal, mistress.”
      “Thank you, my lord.” She bowed her head. “We would be honoured and grateful 
to visit you and share in the bounty of the fair. Haldir, I thank you too, for I am sure this was 
your doing.”
      Haldir smiled faintly. “I would like to see you again but am too lazy to seek you out. 
This way, you will come to me.”
      “Lazy, you? None of us could even bend your bow to string it. But I will come to 
see you gladly.”
      “We have still to learn which of us could drink the other under the table.”
      “Shame we can’t try the experiment now. I suspect this is the only time I might win.”
      “Haldir?”
      “Yes, Annet?”
      “Can I come and live with you? And be an elf?”
      “Oh, child, that, you cannot.”
      “Why not?”
      “You cannot be an elf if you are not born one, Annet.”
      “Don’t you want me?”
      Haldir turned pleading eyes to Celeborn. But the Lord of Lorien shook his head 
slightly and said, “Annet, you should be with your own people. Were you not to live with 
Mistress Keralwen?”
      “Yes, but…”
      “Annet.” She looked up as Strider spoke. “You would not be happy living with the 
elves. You would not belong. You would always know you were different. I know this, 
Annet, because I was brought up by elves. In the end, I had to leave.”
      “Haldir’s not different!”
      Strider looked at the fair face, now weary and sad. He remembered those dark eyes 
full of scorn and contempt for all things human. He remembered Haldir showing nothing 
more than impatience as he slaughtered Ellerin.
      “He is more different than you and I can possibly know, Annet.”
      Haldir took a deep breath and his fingers tightened over hers. “Live with Keralwen; 
come to visit me and we will always be friends. If you stay with me, Annet, one day you will 
hate me for keeping you from your own kind.”
      Keralwen reached forward and took Annet’s hand from Haldir’s. “Come with me, 
now, Annet. Haldir is tired and he needs to rest. And we will come to see him at the 
midsummer fair.”
      “Can I see you then, Haldir?”
      “I will look forward to it.” He reached out and she gave him a last hug.
      Celeborn stood and opened the curtain, and Keralwen and Annet followed him, the 
child with a long, last look. 
      Strider held back a moment. Then he moved closer to Haldir, who had hunched 
over, his arms around one bent knee, the other leg stiff under the covers.
      “Why did you beg me to stay with you? Yesterday?”
      The elf looked up, startled to see Strider still before him. His dark eyes narrowed 
and the man could read uncertainty in them. “Tell me the truth for once,” he snapped, “not 
whichever lie serves you best.”
      “Then choose whichever truth serves you best. I was afraid. I have reason to fear 
men. And I owe a debt to Lord Elrond. If I could not keep his carefully-bred pet alive by 
arms, I had to do it by keeping you out of the range of arrows.”
      Strider flinched. “I thought you needed me.”
      “I care not what you thought.”
      “So it was all just means to an end. I should have guessed.” He took three steps 
away then came angrily back. “You did babble, you know. You even called to your lover. 
Does she know how you play with people’s desires?”
      “I know.” Strider turned at the cold voice behind him. Lord Celeborn brushed past 
him and sat on the dais behind Haldir, reaching his arms around the guardian’s waist, 
drawing him close and pulling a thick fur over him. Haldir lay back against him, shivering. 
The Lord of Lorien kissed his brow. 
      Strider stared, shocked, at the elves’ embrace. 
      Celeborn looked up at him with eyes like the winter sky. “Go and learn what you 
truly love, Estel. And then learn that love must ever bow to duty.”


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