Title:  The Face of the Sun 15/?
Author:  Nildrohain
Rating:  G (for this part)
Paring:  Haldir/Legolas
Disclaimer:  It hardly matters
Feedback:  I welcome it
Warnings:  None for this chapter.
A/N:  A story of agape.  The scene with Legolas and his brother is drawn
from the stories of Saint Francis of Assisi.  For those unfamiliar with the
tale, when men refused to listen to Saint Francis and drove him out of the
city, he went into the woods and preached the good news to the animals.
What a great story . . .

Chapter 15	Interludes

His voice was the only thing that was not shaking.

His hands, clasped in front of him in the form of prayer, trembled despite
the strength with which the fingers of one hand grasped the other.  His
legs had given out from the very start, but that was acceptable:  the 
posture
of kneeling was preferable, in any event.  Still, an occasional shudder
rippled up his spine, rattling his entire body, threatening to break his
concentration.

But his voice, the recitation of the sacred prayers, was smooth, though
tentative and reserved.  The words had none of the usual heartfelt
spontaneity with which they had been offered countless times before.
They were a labor, requiring an act of absolute conscious attention; for
where he had never before feared making a mistake, now he was terrified
of doing so.

His eyes were closed, his head bowed, face framed by flowing lengths of
unbound hair in the style and manner of humility.  Before him the statue
of Aluvater stood silently between its two glowing lamps. The rest of the
room was dark.  Night had fallen, and outside Haldir's talan, the rest of
Lorien had grown silent.

But if truth were told, Lorien had descended into the sad stillness long
before this night.

It might be impossible to pinpoint exactly when the descent had started,
but the most observant elves placed it somewhere close to Legolas's
departure.  That had been nearly six months ago, and it seemed as if
happiness had left with him.  There was still much conjecture about the
causes of the growing melancholy that plagued the city; but Lord
Celeborn, for one, had definite ideas.  He admitted to himself that he had
not realized just how much of Lorien's idyllic tranquility had been a gift
bestowed by grace at the behest of an elf who had no lineage, wore no
ring, and exercised no power other than that of a soldier and worshipper.

Celeborn had heard from Rumil and Orophin that Haldir had not returned
to his devotions, apparently had not even tried.  Celeborn understood this;
Haldir was frightened—more than that, he was terrified of appealing and
being rejected.  It would very likely destroy him to learn with certainty
that he was forever banished from Aluvater's favor.  The uncertainty was
preferable to certain rejection.

Galadriel had paid more than one visit to the marchwarden's talan. She felt
his pain almost as her own, and she understood perhaps better than anyone
else that Haldir's faith was something he was going to have to recover on
his own and in his own time.  She gave stern warning against anyone
trying to force Haldir to resume his life of devotion before he was ready.
No one disobeyed her injunction, although Ardamil, Rumil, and Orophin
were sorely tempted to do so.  Orophin, especially, found the situation
agonizing.  Haldir should not be suffering.  The most perfect brother, the
most perfect elf.  Of course, Aluvater must still love Haldir, Orophin
insisted; how could He not?  And how could Haldir doubt it?  Orophin
himself had taken to saying the prayers—the few he knew—more often.
But he was saying them not to make up for Haldir's silence, but in the
hope of interceding for his brother.  He had almost lured Haldir into the
holy room a week earlier when his own attempts at prayer had been so
feeble and formless that Haldir had come to listen.  Orophin had seen him
from the corner of his eye, standing in the doorway.  "Will you not join
me, brother?" Orophin had asked.  Haldir replied in a steady voice despite
the appearance of sadness in his eyes.  "Not yet, Orophin.  But you—you
must keep praying.  He will listen to you."  Orophin's response had been
direct.  "If He is listening to me, you will be praying to Him soon, for 
that
is my prayer.  This is your calling, Haldir.  You are the only one left who
can do it."

And now, Haldir found himself, less than a week later, trying to do what
his beloved brother had insisted upon.  It was a struggle, but he was 
trying.
No voices joined his.  He could not rouse the choirs or even touch the
elements; so when a clash of thunder vibrated around him, he startled,
thinking that perhaps he had somehow managed to stir the Valar to action.
But it was not so.  It was a storm, nothing more.  He rubbed his face with
his hands and sat back on his heels.  A moment later, gentle hands fell
upon his shoulders, followed by Ardamil's voice.

"That is the most wonderful thing I have heard in months."

Haldir gave a wan smile.  "How long have you been here?"

Ardamil dropped to one knee behind him and wrapped his arms around his
shoulders.  "The better part of an hour . . . I was on the other side of the
door, listening."

"An hour . . . was I going on for that long?"

"At least," Ardamil replied.  "You were well into it by the time I got 
here."

"He did not answer me," Haldir said, dispirited.  "No one sang with me."

"I did," Ardamil said softly, placing a kiss on Haldir's cheek.  "Come, you
are exhausted."  He stood up, bringing Haldir with him, and led him into
the living quarters.  He helped him undress and saw him into bed.  "Look
at you.  You can barely keep your eyes open.  That is one thing that has
not changed.  The prayers still take all out of you."

A shadow of a smile appeared on Haldir's face as he realized this truth.
"You are right."

Ardamil drew the silken strands of Haldir's hair through his fingers.  "It
will not be long, and the whole of Middle Earth will be singing with you
again.  If you were not afraid, they would sing with you now."

A gleam appeared in Haldir's eye.  "Do you think that is true?"

"I have never lied to you," Ardamil replied, overjoyed at the sight of
something bright in the face before him.  "I do not intend to start now."
He leaned close.  "I love you, Nikerym," he whispered, "but not as much
as Aluvater loves you.  He is waiting for you to come home to Him, to
begin living your life with Him again."

"That is presuming He still wants me," Haldir replied.

Ardamil wished he could take Haldir inside himself, let him experience
first-hand the confidence that Ardamil felt.  "Of course, He does," he said,
then added with intensity.  "He will heal you, if you let Him."

Haldir reached for Ardamil's hand, still running through his hair.  "How do
you know Him so well?"

"I know you, and I can see Him in you," Ardamil replied.  He squeezed
Haldir's hand.  "Now, go to sleep; you have earned it."

Ardamil started to stand up, but Haldir tightened his grip.  "Stay with me."

"I will be right here," Ardamil assured him, then he added with a
contented sigh, "It is good to see you smile again, Haldir; to hear you
saying the prayers."

"It feels good to smile," Haldir replied.

"And the prayers?"  Ardamil prompted.

"I still . . . I do not know," Haldir told him honestly.  "I want to say 
them.
I want to give to Aluvater what He deserves, but I . . . I want to know if
He . . . if He still loves me."

"Have you forgotten what you taught us?"  Ardamil asked.  "That even
when we are not faithful, He is.  And Haldir, you have always been
faithful."

Haldir stared into the deep blue swirls that defined Ardamil's gaze.  He
basked in the feeling of safety his subaltern afforded.  It was an unusual
moment – a pleasant one, to be sure, but unusual nonetheless.  Haldir had
never taken refuge in anyone; in fact, he had been a refuge for others.  But
this moment of surrendering himself to Ardamil's care gave him a sense of
serenity – the first he had experienced in many months.

"You speak with such confidence," Haldir said at last.

"That is because I am confident," Ardamil replied.  "Enough now.  You
should be sleeping.  Will it help if I sing for you?"

"You do not need to ask me that," Haldir grinned.

Ardamil began to sing.

"When Spring unfolds the beechan leaf
And sap is in the bough;
When light is on the wild wood stream.
And wind is on the brow;
When stride is long and breath is deep,
And keen the mountain air;
Come back to me, come back to me
And say my land fair."

(Treebeard's song, p. 80, The Two Towers – my favorite of all songs in the
Lord of the Rings)

He saw Haldir's muscles relax as he drifted into sleep.  He watched the
naked chest rise and fall in rhythmic slowness as every vestige of tension
drained from his captain's body.  When he had finished singing, Ardamil
gently ran his fingertips along Haldir's cheek before placing a kiss on his
brow.

"I will not leave you," he whispered.  "And I will never let you come to
harm again."

It was a promise from his heart . . . and one that he had no power to keep.

***

The crash of thunder broke directly overhead, jolting Haldir violently from
sleep.  He burst upright in the bed, a gasp escaping his lips.

Beside him, Ardamil, who had also drifted off to sleep, sat up and put his
hands on Haldir's shoulders to calm him.  "It was only thunder, Haldir . . .
thunder."

Haldir's eyes were almost wild as they searched the darkness.
"Someone—someone was watching," he whispered vehemently, gathering
the linen cloth about his body and struggling up from the bed.

Ardamil went after him.  "There is no one else here, Haldir," he insisted,
trying to put comforting arms around him, but Haldir moved away from
every attempt.  "It was the thunder that scared you—"

"I am not afraid of thunder!"  Haldir retorted.  "Someone was watching!"

"Haldir, we are alone," Ardamil insisted, disturbed to see Haldir so shaken
by a mere thunderstorm. "You must have been dreaming."

Haldir ignored him, and his eyes continued their wary search of the talan.

"I will go look if it will make you feel better," Ardamil offered.

When Haldir did not reply, Ardamil went anyway.  He walked the length
of the colonnade, went into the holy room, and even checked the two
closest nests.  He found no one, but then he had not expected to.  When he
returned to Haldir, he was dismayed to see that his captain's fear and
suspicion were unabated.

"There is no one else here, Haldir."  His voice was close to imploring.  "I
have checked everywhere—"  Another explosion of thunder made both of
them jump, but Ardamil took the opportunity to take hold of Haldir.  "You
are shaking . . . come, sit down."  He ended up forcing him to sit, then had
to keep his hands on him in order to keep him from getting up again.  "I
promise you, Haldir, no one is watching.  You and I are alone."

"I can still feel it," Haldir whispered.

Ardamil frowned in distress, but he tried to appear unrattled.  "But there 
is
no one here, Haldir."

Haldir was silent for a long time.  His eyes, showing white, had ceased
searching the talan and were fixed on indiscriminate points before him.
He was listening, but there was nothing to hear other than the sounds of
the storm.  At last, he raised his gaze to Ardamil.  "It is gone," he said, 
but
he did not sound relieved.

Ardamil touched Haldir's temple.  "It was a dream, Haldir.  It only seemed
real because you were woken up so suddenly."

"Then it is a dream I have had before," Haldir replied, "but never this
strong."

"You have felt this before?"  Ardamil asked.

"A few times . . . ever since—ever since Legolas left," Haldir told him.

A heaviness descended upon Ardamil's heart.  "Is it Legolas's gaze that
you feel?"

Haldir regarded him with a puzzled expression.  "Legolas?  No, it could
not be.  He does not possess the ability to . . . to see me over such a 
great
distance."

Ardamil colored.  "I meant that . . . maybe in your dreams, you feel he is
watching you, that he is . . . punishing you for sending him away."

Haldir actually looked disgusted.  "Am I an elfling?  Can I not distinguish
between what goes on in my imaginings and what takes place in reality?"

"I did not mean it that way, Haldir—"  Ardamil began, but Haldir cut him
off.

"Simply because these incidents coincided with Legolas's departure does
not mean he is the cause of them."

"Then who do you believe is watching you?  And why?"

"I do not know," Haldir replied.  "I only know that it grows more intense
each time, and the fear it arouses within me increases."  He paused.  "That
is why I had to try to resume my devotions.  I need Aluvater.  I need His
protection."  He lowered his head.  "It is a crime, is it not, that my love 
for
Him was not strong enough to prompt my return, but that my fear is."

"Stop," Ardamil demanded.  "I will not hear you speak of yourself this
way."

Haldir sighed.  "Yet you think I suffer from a guilty conscience because of
Legolas?"

"You put words in my mouth that I would never speak, Haldir," Ardamil
chastised.  "But I do not hold it against you, for I know you are still
hurting."

Haldir glanced up at him but said nothing.

Ardamil drew one of the skins from the floor and draped it across Haldir's
shoulders.  "You miss Legolas, don't you?"

Haldir nodded minutely.  "Yes."

"He is often in your thoughts?"  Ardamil posed.

"More than he should be."

Ardamil paused before going on.  "I know you have heard from him, for I
have heard from him, as well.  He has sent me several letters."  He saw the
subdued interest in Haldir's eyes.  "He says that he has sent many letters 
to
you, but you have not replied."

"I can not," Haldir said.  "I do not want to encourage him, to give him
false hope."

"Can you not simply be a friend to him?"

"O, Ardamil, that is not possible."  Haldir sounded exasperated.  "His
letters are filled with the same sentiments that he expressed when he was
here in Lorien.  His feelings have not changed."  A pause.  "He warned me
they would not."

"He is devoted to you—"

"His devotion would be better spent elsewhere," Haldir interjected.

"He does not think so," Ardamil replied.

Haldir grew short and agitated.  "Why are you bringing this up now?  I
have spent the past six months trying to forget Legolas and to—to come to
a proper contrition for the mistakes I made.  And now, you want to dredge
up all those terrible memories?"

"I shall tell you the truth, and it may very well make you angry," Ardamil
began, "but I would rather endure your anger than continue to see you
suffer."

Haldir waited impatiently.

"I do not believe you will ever be able to fully return to Aluvater so long
as you remain estranged from Legolas."  He went on quickly, before
Haldir could protest.  "You said it was Legolas who presented the
temptation that made you fall.  If that is so, then you must find a way to
reconcile with him before you can find peace with Aluvater.  You are
fleeing from a problem that is no more solved than it was months ago.
And it will not resolve itself; that part is up to you."

Haldir looked doubtful and wary.  "Are you suggesting that I invite
Legolas back into all the errors of his time with the Wide Patrol?  That I
permit the lust to develop again in his heart?  And in my own?"

"Lust?" Ardamil grimaced, noting Haldir's purposeful twisting of his
words.  "Lust?  What do you know of lust, Haldir?  And you give Legolas
very little credit for being able to master his feelings."  A pause.  "I 
have
no firm idea of how you should reconcile with him, and I am starting to
think that I should simply keep my thoughts to myself.  You are quite
surly when challenged."

"Then you should not challenge me."  It was a flash of the old Haldir.

Ardamil groaned, but he recognized that Haldir was attempting humor.  "I
am not saying that either of you should give in to impure desires, if such
desires are what you are feeling; and I doubt that very much.  But I do say
that you love him, and you must find a way to present that love properly –
to both Legolas and to Aluvater."

Haldir waited a long time before answering.  When he did speak, his voice
was calm and firm.  "No, Ardamil.  I will not try to rationalize my way
back into Legolas's presence.  I failed this test once already.  I will not 
fail
it again."

Ardamil frowned, but this time he held his tongue.  He could not help but
marvel that one of the qualities he most cherished in Haldir—his
fortitude—now presented the greatest source of vexation.  How was an elf
so stubborn to be dealt with?

***

The hilltop afforded a good view of the land.  The breeze that stirred in 
the
treetops had an early chill in it, a harbinger of colder days to come.  
Still,
it felt good against Legolas's cheeks.  It made him feel alive, and in a
strange way, it made him feel mortal.  Below him the forests of Mirkwood
reached southward.  He could see a silver line, glinting and gleaming in
the sunlight, snaking its way in the same southern direction, disappearing
only with the limitation of Elven eyesight.  The Anduin—the river whose
course ran directly to joy . . . How many times had he been tempted to put
wood to water and ride the happy current to the place he wanted to be?
And how many times had he been forced to thrust aside such notions as
only so much foolishness?

"Legolas?"

It was the voice of his oldest brother, Canhelded.  Legolas turned and
greeted him with only a glance.

"A letter arrived for you today," Canhelded announced.

At these words, Legolas anxiously held out his hand and nearly snatched
the letter from his brother's fingers.  Opening it, however, his excitement
vanished, and the disappointment registered on his face as he recognized
Ardamil's script.

Canhelded watched as his youngest brother retreated to the edge of the
clearing and sat on one of the boulders that dotted the treeline.  He
followed, then sat beside Legolas.

"It is not the letter you have been hoping for," he ventured.

"I think now that letter will never come," Legolas replied sadly.

"I have held off asking this for as long as I could," Canhelded began.  "But
my love for you as a brother prohibits me from delaying any longer.  You
have not been happy since returning to Mirkwood, yet I know you were
very happy in Lothlorien.  Your letters were filled with joy and gaiety.
Why did you return?  Why did you not stay and continue to learn with
those who gave you such happiness?"

Legolas was a long time in replying.  At last, he simply spoke the truth.
"Haldir did not want me to stay.  He had his reasons, but I will never
understand them."  Legolas knew that none of his brothers were aware of
Haldir's being consecrated.  His father had made it clear that this piece of
knowledge was to stay between himself and his youngest son.  Legolas
assumed the reason to be that his father wished to spare the family the
humiliation that must surely accompany such a revelation:  King
Thranduil's most beloved child had fallen prey to the allure and wiles of
one of the Consecrated.  The ignominy would be insupportable.

"And it is Haldir's letter you wait for."  Canhelded's voice was slow and
tentative.

Legolas nodded.

"What happened, then, that changed the situation so drastically?  You
were fairly agog at him—and still are, it would appear.  From your letters,
it sounded like he was very fond of you, as well.  Did the accident and the
attack alter him so radically?"  Canhelded asked.

"I do not know," Legolas replied.  "I have gone over everything a
hundred—a thousand—times in my head."  A great sigh of anguish fell
from his lips.  "All I can conclude is that I—I am somehow responsible.  I
pushed him towards something I wanted but that he could never give me.
I did everything in my power to make him feel the way I did, but—but that
all changed after the attack, after I found out what he—"  He cut himself
off, fearing he might have already said too much.

"What were you trying to push him towards?"

"You will laugh if I tell you," Legolas said with a hint of embarrassment.

"I think it would be good to laugh right now," came the light-hearted
reply.

"I wanted to be his favorite."

As predicted, Canhelded burst out laughing.  "That is amusing, but not
surprising.  As usual, the last wishes to be first.  The glow-worm wishes to
outshine all the stars.  Your competitive nature followed you even into the
heart of Elvendom."

Legolas grinned slightly.  "You should not tease me about my
competitiveness, brother, for you well know where I learned it."

Canhelded cocked his head to one side in a good-humored challenge.
"Will you try to blame me now for your own qualities?"

"Blame you?  No.  I would thank you," Legolas teased.  "But it was not
like that with Haldir.  I did not want to best everyone else so that I could
be his star student.  I wanted only to please him, to be worthy of some
merit in his eyes."

"And were you successful?"

The sadness returned.  "I had thought so."

Canhelded put an arm around his brother's shoulders.  "It grieves me to see
you so unhappy.  This is not like you, Legolas.  You were always the
bright star, the joyful breath of Inwe.  What can I do to help you recover
yourself?"

Legolas looked up at his brother, placid and handsome with an air of
authority and sincerity.  Canhelded, being the eldest and therefore the
most assured of his rights and his future entitlements, was the least
competitive of Legolas's brothers.  Legolas trusted him implicitly.

"There *is* something I would like to show you," Legolas offered.  "But
you must promise not to tell anyone, especially father."

"You know I can not bind myself to such an oath when I do not know if
what you are about to show me is dangerous or not," Canhelded protested.

"It is not dangerous, I give you my word," Legolas assured him.

"If my judgment, upon observation, agrees with yours, then I shall keep it
a secret," Canhelded conceded.

Legolas stood up.  "Come," he said, leading the way up towards the center
of the clearing, the hilltop from where he had scanned the vastness of the
land below.

They stood side-by-side.  Legolas bowed his head and closed his eyes.
His voice rose like the sound of a bell, crystal clear, full and deep.  It 
rose
into the sunlight—a melody so sweet that Canhelded had never heard its
like.  It held him mesmerized.  The language was one that he had never
heard before, but that fact mattered not at all.

Around the two elves, the wind swept into power, whipping the dry brown
grass to sing a chafed tune of adoration.  At the edge of the wood, a pair 
of
deer appeared, as if drawn by the sound of the singing.  More woodland
creatures emerged, standing perfectly still just beyond the wood's border.
In the sky, flocks of birds wheeled directly overhead.

Legolas raised his arms slightly, as if invoking unseen powers.  That was
when Canhelded saw the great sway and movement of the entire tract of
forest to the south, and he was dumbstruck.  Legolas's voice grew
stronger, his arms lifted higher, and for a brief, fleeting moment, it 
almost
seemed that the sun shone brighter.  Legolas lowered his arms and
dropped to his knees in the field; clasped his hands in front of him and 
fell
silent.

Canhelded did not move for many seconds.  He watched as the animals
retreated back into the forest.  He listened as the wind quieted and the
trees and the grass grew still.  At last, he knelt down beside Legolas.
"What—what was that?  How did you do it?"  he asked, the awe plain in
his voice.

Legolas smiled wearily.  "Did you hear them singing?"

"Singing?  Who—who was singing?" Canhelded stammered.

"It took a long time before I could hear their voices," Legolas said, still
glowing in the pleasure of his experience.  "I could see and hear, like you,
the physical manifestations, but their souls . . . that was a gift."

"What are you talking about?"  Canhelded asked, nonplussed.

"It is something that Haldir taught me," Legolas beamed.  "His greatest
gift to me, and I did not even know it."  Seeing that Canhelded was no
clearer for this explanation, he went on.  "It is a prayer, a prayer to
Aluvater."

"And . . . and you learned this from Haldir?  How did he know it?"

"Have you ever heard of the Consecrated?"  Legolas asked.

"Only in stories and histories," Canhelded replied.

"Haldir is one of them."

The statement was so direct, so . . . absurd, yet spoken with such
unflinching certainty that Canhelded could not doubt its veracity.

Legolas continued.  "Will you keep this to yourself?  Father did not want
me to tell anyone that Haldir is consecrated.  I do not know why.  And I
wish to obey him, but I had to tell someone.  I could not hoard such a gift
all for myself.  It is meant to be shared."

"I will not tell anyone," Canhelded promised.  He reached out and touched
his closed hand to Legolas's temple.  "You are forever full of surprises."
A grin of amazement spread over his features.  "A worshipper . . . my
brother, a worshipper."

"You give me too much credit," Legolas replied.  "I do not possess the
degree of goodness that a worshipper of Aluvater must possess.  If you
were to meet Haldir, you would see what I mean.  He is of a completely
different character.  He does not possess goodness; he is goodness."

Canhelded helped Legolas to his feet.  "Does he know you feel this way
about him?"

"He does."

"Then I still can not understand why you are here instead of in Lorien.  He
should consider himself the most blessed of elves to have the trust and
esteem of my youngest brother.  He should be proud to number you
among those who serve him in his capacity as nikerym," Canhelded
asserted.

Legolas was pensive.  "Perhaps that is the problem," he said quietly.
"Perhaps I am a worshipper, only the object of my worship does not desire
to be so."

Canhelded began leading him towards the woods, back towards home.
"That is very possible.  I would imagine that one of the Consecrated would
find it almost blasphemous to be the focus of another's worship.  Could it
be that you made Haldir your idol?"

"I shall think about that," Legolas replied.  It was an interesting 
question,
requiring more consideration than a quick answer would allow.  And
Legolas was already succumbing to the fatigue of the prayer, the effort of
which had left him content but drained of energy.
Then, in the detachment of his exhausted thoughts, he found a pearl of
satisfaction.  Here was a piece of Haldir that he had managed to bring into
himself:  the songs of praise.  He could sing the songs and fall into the
blurry contentment that followed.  And if he could do these things, might
he not be able one day to reach as far away as the golden woods of
Lothlorien?  It was this thought that gave him hope, that made the
separation from Haldir bearable.

***

"Are you as dull as you look, Nikerym Haldir?"

Haldir looked up from where he sat at table on the fountain green.
Nikerym Thlayrah was standing in front of him, smiling in good humor.

"Do you give me no quarter, Thlayrah?  We are just back from patrol this
morning," Haldir replied.  "I came down here to relax.  Must I always look
interested and excited?"

Thlayrah sat down beside him.  "Sensitive, are you not?"

Haldir grinned.  "Perhaps, somewhat."

"Anything interesting on patrol, other than Luredan nearly getting swept
down the Anduin?"

Haldir's grin broadened.  "You heard about that?"

Thlayrah winked.  "Within minutes of the Wide Patrol's return.  From
Luredan himself.  He could not praise you enough for jumping in after
him."

"I was just the quickest one of the lot," Haldir replied modestly.

"Yes, much to the anger of the rest of your patrol," Thlayrah put forth.
"Ardamil was livid.  Mythis was not much happier."

"Yes, yes, I am aware," Haldir said dismissively, but Thlayrah was not
easily dissuaded.

"You are the one elf they are not willing to risk losing, Haldir," he went
on.  "And you go throw yourself into a churning river—"

"I couldn't let him drown."

Thlayrah grunted his disbelief.  "Any one of them would have jumped in a
second later.  None of them were going to let him drown."

"A second could have made all the difference," Haldir protested.

"Perhaps."  Thlayrah leaned his elbows on the table.  "Haldir, it has been
more than ten months.  Their concern has not lessened.  If anything, they
are grown more protective of you.  And it is not hard to see why."

Haldir leaned close, as if he were playing a game, and addressed Thlayrah
with a secretive voice.  "And what do you see?"

"You are still not yourself," came the simple, direct answer.

Haldir sighed.  The game was over.  Thlayrah was not playing.  "I am
myself," he replied.  "Only I am not the same elf that I was ten months
ago.  This is me as I am now.  They will have to get used to it."

"No."  Thlayrah's refusal was immediate.  "They should not be forced to
get used to your unhappiness.  Rather, they will stand by you until you are
happy again.  They will do everything in their power to return you to the
Haldir you were before Legolas left."

Haldir groaned.  "Do you not understand?  Do they not understand?   This
has nothing to do with Legolas.  It has to do with me and—and my
relationship with Aluvater."

"Ardamil told me that you have resumed your prayers," Thlayrah said.

Haldir nodded.  "That is true."

"And?"

"And it is not the same.  The Valar ignore me.  Aluvater does not answer,"
Haldir replied.  "I just keep trying.  I do not know what else to do."

Thlayrah leaned to conspiratorial closeness.  His voice was low.  "What if
I told you that I know what you need to do."

Haldir's eyes widened.  Thlayrah had never shown any aptitude for a life
of worship, so how could he possibly know how to help Haldir return to
Aluvater's good graces?

"Tell me," he said softly.

Thlayrah produced a letter from beneath the table and set it down between
them.  "This arrived while you were on patrol.  A raven brought it from
Mirkwood.  I agreed to deliver it."

Haldir stared at the letter but did not take it.

"This—" Thlayrah nodded at the letter, "—is what you need to do.
Answer it.  Stop being so bull-headed, and answer it."

"I can not," Haldir protested.  "There—there is too much temptation with
Legolas."

Thlayrah stood up.  "You are being a coward, Haldir.  Whatever
temptation you felt in Legolas's presence, it could not have been enough to
pull you from obedience to Aluvater.  You are being cruel to Legolas from
a false presumption.  You are suffering at your own hands, and your patrol
is suffering, as well."  A pause, during which he glanced pointedly at the
letter.  "Do the right thing, Haldir.  Answer his letter."

Haldir watched him walk away, then he reached out slowly and took the
letter.  He would not open it here, though.  Instead, he went back to his
talan, settled himself into one of the nests, and broke the wax seal.
Legolas's graceful hand greeted his eyes.

My Dearest Nikerym Haldir,

What though you do not reply to my letters, still will I continue writing.  
I
receive word of you from Ardamil and your brothers and other members
of the patrol.  How I would rather hear from you directly.  As I write this, 
I
am aware that you are out on patrol, and my mind is filled with fond
memories of the patrols which I undertook during those joyful months in
Lothlorien.  My greatest desire is to return to Lothlorien, to rejoin the
patrol, and be once again in your company, Haldir.  I know that my father
would not permit it, and you do not desire it.  Still, I hold out a hope 
that
time will change your mind and his in regard to the matter.  And I trust in
Aluvater's justice that you and I will meet again.  That is a part of you 
that
has become a part of me – your faith in the One.

My father will send me in the Spring to Rivendell to pass some months in
Lord Elrond's household.  I am surprised that he would permit me such a
freedom after what happened in Lorien, but then I hear it said that
Rivendell is a more dour place than the Golden Woods, and that I am to
focus on honing my diplomatic skills under Lord Elrond's watchful eye.
There was a time when I would have relished the opportunity to visit
Rivendell, but now all it does is take me further away from the only place
I desire to be.  Perhaps that is my father's intention.  Perhaps he feels 
that
distance and diversion will soften my affections for you.

He is my much beloved father, but how little he knows me.  Surely, you
know better than anyone else how persistent my feelings are.

Whatever reasons you have for wounding me with your silence, I hold the
pain not against you, and I pray that one day we will meet again at your
desire.

In the name of Elbereth,

Legolas

Haldir stared at the letter for several long seconds, then he folded it 
neatly
with a sigh of anguish.

"Why did I read it?"  he wondered out loud.  "Why did I even take it from
Thlayrah?  I should have refused."  He closed his eyes.  "They are all
conspiring against me, trying to break my will.  My brothers, Ardamil . . .
even Thlayrah.  And I grow weary of fighting them."  He unfolded the
letter and started to read it again.

Then he felt it.

That horrible sensation of an unwanted gaze upon him.  His breath caught
in his throat as his body stiffened under the invisible scrutiny.  The 
letter dropped from his hand and fell to the floor.  He believed he could almost
feel an aire of satisfaction in the air around him as the letter fluttered
down.

Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the feeling vanished; but still it was
many minutes before Haldir could summon the courage and the strength to
move.  He was shaking slightly as he started the climb down the rope
ladder leading from the nest to the talan.  From there, Haldir had already
decided, he would return to the Fountain.  The thought of being alone
suddenly frightened him.  He did not want to endure the faceless observer
lone, if the feeling should return.   He left the nest and the talan, 
forgetting all about Legolas's letter, lying on the floor.


Title:  The Face of the Sun 16/?
Author:  Nildrohain
Rating:  G (for this part)
Paring:  Haldir/Legolas
Disclaimer:  It hardly matters
Feedback:  I welcome it
Warnings:  None for this chapter.
A/N:  A story of agape.  The song Haldir sings is actually a song by Enya.
I don't know what language it's in, but it's absolutely gorgeous and I can
imagine our march warden bringing down the house with it, so forgive me
for straying from strictly Elvish . . .

Chapter 16	The Change of Sentiments

Rivendell was everything Legolas had expected:  beautiful, serene, and for
lack of a better description, earthy and natural.  It had none of Lorien's
mystical aura about it.  It was a strangely cerebral place, whereas Lorien
had been more bent towards the spiritual. To be sure, Rivendell was a
haven in Middle Earth, just as Lorien was; but it did not share Lorien's
other-worldly atmosphere.  Before his trip to Lothlorien, Legolas would
have relished the idea of a trip to Rivendell.  But now, it was just another
way to pass the days, visiting another Elven kingdom.

There was, however, one great asset to be found in Rivendell.  Its libraries
were vast, and Legolas made sure to take advantage of them.  His host, the
ever-gracious and elegant Lord Elrond, had opened all of Rivendell's vast
resources to Legolas's pleasure.  And it happened that Legolas spent most
of his time in the libraries.  With a little help from Elrond's historians, 
he
had located a number of books that dealt with the Consecrated.  The
historians had regarded him with curiosity when he had requested such
books, but they did not press him.  It had been many centuries since
anyone had given even the slightest thought to the Consecrated, and so the
books had gone untouched.  It took the historians some time to locate the
volumes, but once they found them, they also discovered, in Legolas, a
most grateful recipient.  Still, Legolas did not spend all his time reading.
There were other duties he had to fulfill.

He was expected to accompany Lord Elrond at as many diplomatic
functions as possible, in order to learn from the elf many considered to be
the master statesman.  He was also to study medicine under Lord Elrond,
although he had little patience for it.  Legolas preferred to be active –
except for when he was reading about a subject that was of the utmost
interest to him – but there was little physical activity in Rivendell, and 
so
his hours in the libraries suited him just fine.

It was late one evening when Legolas found himself seated comfortably at
one of the lesser library's heavy wooden tables, a massive tome opened in
front of him, written in the ancient language, illustrated with intricate
drawings and symbols.  His interest was so keen on the book before him
that he did not hear the approach of another elf.

"It is an interesting topic you are reading about."

Legolas startled at the sound of Lord Elrond's voice.  He turned in his seat
and was about to stand, but Elrond waved a hand.  "Be at ease."

Legolas sat and Elrond leaned against the table, his gaze fixed on the book
displayed there.  "It is not a common thing to find anyone reading about
the Consecrated in these days."  A thoughtful pause. "I take it you met
Haldir while you were in Lothlorien."

Legolas could not hide his surprise and pleasure.  "Yes, my Lord.  I served
in his patrol."

Elrond regarded Legolas with a gentle grin.  "Yes, I see how your face
lights up at the mere mention of his name.  I had begun to wonder if you
were capable of smiling."

Legolas colored but the brightness did not leave his countenance.  "Do you
know Haldir, my Lord?"

Elrond nodded in a paternal manner.  "I met him once, many centuries
ago.  He had only just taken his oath.  He was visiting Rivendell with his
uncle, who believed that those who accepted consecration should be
familiar with the larger world, and so he took Haldir out with him on his
travels."

Legolas leaned forward with unconcealed enthusiasm.

Elrond regarded him curiously.  "Is it your intention to follow him into
that calling?"

Legolas inclined his head in a manner almost guilty.  "No, my Lord.  I
admit that I have great interest in the life of the Consecrated, but only as 
it
pertains to Haldir."

"I see," Elrond said, nodding slowly, and Legolas felt as if the Lord of
Rivendell could see straight into his soul.  He continued in a voice of
measured inflection.  "Yes, I recall finding Haldir to be a very intriguing
elf, even all those centuries ago.  He had a certain jubilant quality about
him, an uncontained joy.  Yes, he is certainly highly favored by the
Valar."

The smile on Legolas's face had gradually been waning until, at the
conclusion of Elrond's speech, he wore a deep-creased frown.

"Something about my words troubles you?"  Elrond asked.

Legolas sighed.  "The Haldir you remember no longer exists," he said
quietly.

Lord Elrond cocked an eyebrow.  "That is a curious statement.  Perhaps
you care to elaborate?"

"Haldir is neither jubilant nor joyful these days," Legolas replied.  "Did
my father tell you nothing of my visit to Lothlorien?"

"He told me you had grown tremendously during your stay there, and that
he was proud of you.  Is there something else he should have told me?"
Elrond asked, drawing up a chair.

Legolas considered for a moment.  "Haldir would probably not appreciate
me saying this, nor would my father . . . but there was some trouble while
I was in Lothlorien.  Haldir suffered a terrible accident . . . and . . ."
Legolas swallowed with effort.  The memories still were painfully fresh.
"And as he lay injured, men came and . . . and brutalized him."  A grief-
filled pause.  "It changed him.  It stole all happiness from him. And—and
it banished me from his side."

Elrond had been listening placidly.  "How did it banish you from his side?
Were you to blame for what happened?"

"No," Legolas replied.  "There might have been things I could have done
that would have changed the course of events, but—but I would have done
anything to spare him such pain.  I fear—I fear my visit to Lothlorien
threw many things into chaos."

"Will you tell me what happened?"  Elrond asked.

Legolas related the events of the landslide and the attack, falling woefully
silent on any details of his relationship with Haldir.  But Lord Elrond was
not deceived.  Beneath the carefully contrived exterior Legolas was
attempting to present, waves of confusion, frustration, and sadness were
detectable.  This then, Elrond decided, was the real reason Legolas was in
Rivendell:  to drive out whatever it was that ailed him.

"Those are tragic events, indeed," Elrond acknowledged with a slow nod.
"But they are no reason for you to have left Lothlorien, not when you held
your captain in such high esteem.  What are you not telling me, Son of
Thranduil?"

Legolas looked up into the benevolent gaze of the Lord of Rivendell – an
elf as much a king as his own father, and yet so different in manner and
temperament.  Elrond's attention had an almost hypnotic effect, inspiring
trust and confidence.  He would not spread Legolas's secrets.  He would
not offer useless platitudes.  Here was an elf whose opinion Legolas could
value and take to heart.

"Haldir did not want me to stay," he said at last.  "He was afraid I had
fallen in love with him.  My father shared his concern.  Haldir felt he was
being unfaithful to his vow, and I could not convince him otherwise."

"Was he right?"

Legolas drew in a wavering breath.  "Perhaps," was all he would allow.

"Do you respect his vow?"  Elrond asked.

"Of course, I do," Legolas replied, "But I do not—"

"Then you must let him go."

The words were spoken with calm strength and certitude.  They came as a
shock to their recipient.  In some strange way, Legolas had been hoping
and almost expecting that Lord Elrond would offer him some sort of
encouragement.

"I do not want to let him go," Legolas replied.  "I gave him my word that
my feelings would not change.  I meant it."

"Your feelings do not have to change, but your desires must.  You will
only cause yourself untold agony if you persist in your longing for him,"
Elrond said definitively.  "Haldir has chosen a life to which he is bound
for all eternity.  His vow, his commitment will never end.  No one who has
accepted Consecration has ever forsaken it.  Haldir, the last of his kind,
will not be the first to go astray."

Legolas was defensive.  "I could have given him simple companionship,
like other members of the patrol—"

"Are you trying to deceive yourself?  You have a desire for something
much stronger than simple companionship – so much stronger that the
denial of its fulfillment sits like a heavy melancholy upon your shoulders.
You are not being fair to yourself," Elrond insisted.  "And you are not
being good to Haldir.  Your yearning for his company must still be
palpable to him."  A pause.  "And I have not failed to notice the number of
letters you send out weekly—"

"They are not all to Haldir," Legolas interjected.

"I am sure of that," Elrond grinned.  "But how many are sent to those who
can give you word of him?"

Legolas frowned and lowered his eyes.

Elrond leaned forward and put a hand on Legolas's shoulder.  "Let him go,
Legolas.  Give him back his peace.  Let him follow his calling without
distraction."

They were words spoken in earnest and without any ulterior motive.  And
they came from an elf lord of great wisdom and knowledge.  Legolas
closed the book and stood up.  "If you will excuse me, my Lord.  This is
much to consider, and I would like to retire to my rooms, if that does not
offend you."

"Certainly," Elrond replied, also standing.  "Legolas, I do not say these
things to hurt you.  On the contrary, I am thinking only of your well-being
and Haldir's."

Legolas nodded but said nothing.  He made a slight bowing gesture and
turned on his heel.  He left the library, and never again did he return
during the remainder of his stay in Rivendell.

***

The letters had stopped.

Almost six months ago, they had stopped.

There had been no gradual decline in their frequency, no indication that
anything was about to change. And then, from one month to the next, they
had ceased altogether – not only the letters to Haldir but to other members
of the patrol, as well.

This had caused a certain amount of alarm on Haldir's part, for the letters
from Legolas had comprised a steady flow, coming once a month or
sometimes twice.  And now, they had stopped.  At first, Haldir had feared
the worst, that some manner of ill luck had befallen the Prince of
Mirkwood; but no such word came, and Haldir eventually heard through
other channels that Legolas was quite well and still visiting Rivendell.
This was good news and gave him a sense of relief on two counts:
Legolas was safe, and apparently, Legolas's infatuation with him was
waning.

Perhaps it was not so incredible that the second of these two realizations
created for Haldir as much sadness as it did relief.  There had been a part
of him—deep in his soul—that had never really parted ways with Legolas.
It was the part of him wherein resided memories too powerful to be
jettisoned.  Memories of the song of Anhumat, of sitting in the firelight
and teaching Legolas the ancient language, of standing on the colonnade
and hearing Legolas sing one of the prayers for the first time.  There were
other memories there, as well.  A village green filled with dancers, and
one of particular interest, whose exuberance made all others pale by
comparison.  A wrestling match aborted; another match won.  A swim in a
mountain quarry.   A race across open heather under breaking clouds.

These memories rarely pushed their way into Haldir's consciousness;
rather, they bobbed along in a tacit stream just below the surface of
purposeful thought.  They were subtle reminders of a time when joy had
been at its zenith, when peace had rested like a comforting cloak over
Haldir's shoulders.  Could things ever return to such a state of happiness?

"Nikerym?"

Haldir looked up abruptly from where he was sitting quietly on the forest
floor, fashioning a new scabbard for his long-sword.  He had been so
absorbed in his own thoughts that he had not heard Ardamil's approach;
but now that he was gazing up into the most stolid and dependable face he
had ever known, a smile spread effortlessly across his lips.

"Yes, Ardamil?"

"Tomorrow we cross the Anduin," Ardamil announced.  "The patrol is
almost at an end.  Will you not indoctrinate our newest patrol mate on this
outing?"

Haldir raised a devious eyebrow.  "Perhaps.  Perhaps not.  There is still
time."  A curious expression came into his eyes.  "Is there some sort of
hurry?"

"Not at all," Ardamil replied.  "Not on my part, at any rate.  Hanloder, of
course, would answer differently.  He was short on patience to begin
with."

Haldir gave a short laugh.  "He is quite different from Dolenrod."

Ardamil dropped down and sat beside him.  "You miss Dolenrod."

"I do," Haldir admitted.  "But I was not going to hold him back.  It is a
rare honor to be considered for the Lord and Lady's service.  Selection to
their personal guard is not something to be passed up."

"You have passed it up," Ardamil replied, with a prodding grin.

"That is because I am better suited to my current position," Haldir replied.
"Dolenrod, however, was destined from the start to serve the house of
Celeborn." An audible sigh.  "But I miss his humor.  He was with the
patrol for many centuries."

"He will not forget you," Ardamil assured him.  "He is bound to you, just
like the rest of us.  That can never be broken."

Haldir reached over and squeezed Ardamil's arm.

Ardamil went on.  "So, what about Hanloder?  He is anxious to please."

Haldir laughed.  "He certainly is."

"There are times when he reminds me of Legolas," Ardamil put forth.

Haldir was still grinning.  "Ever so slightly."

Ardamil regarded Haldir for several seconds without speaking.  It had
been many months since Ardamil had permitted himself a long, indulgent
look at his captain.  A serenity rested on Haldir's features, and its
appearance there was cause for great joy.  Ardamil had wondered quite
often in the months following Legolas's departure, whether or not his
captain would ever recover himself.  There was still an overriding
melancholy in Haldir's manner, and this melancholy reflected throughout
Lothlorien; yet peace had returned to a certain degree, and this was a good
thing, indeed.

"You had better engage him soon," Ardamil recommended, "Or he may
just decide to take the opportunity himself."

Haldir winked.  "There is still time, Ardamil.  After all, he has not been
with us above six months," Haldir said.  "It is too soon."

"Was it too soon with Mythis?  Lostilsil?  Luredan?  They were with us
less than six months," Ardamil challenged.

"Every elf is different; you know that, Ardamil."

Ardamil leaned closer.  "I know that," he said in a low voice.  "And I also
know why you are hesitating.  You are fearful of making the same mistake
that you did with Legolas."

Haldir lowered his eyes.  "Ardamil . . . the mistakes I made with Legolas
had nothing to do with his acceptance into the brotherhood of the patrol."
A long silence ensued, and then Haldir admitted in a quiet voice.  "But
you are right.  I am afraid."  A pause.  "How can I know what Hanloder is
feeling towards me?"

"He is feeling what all of us have felt, what all of us still feel," Ardamil
replied.  "The question is not what he feels; it is what you feel."  There
was a brief silence, then Ardamil pressed, "What do you feel?"

"Not the same as I did with Legolas," Haldir replied.  "I can never let
myself feel that way again."

"I think it is safe to say you will never feel that way again, Haldir,"
Ardamil said with a gentle smile.  "So, you will have to find other ways to
feel."

"And I am sure you have plenty of ideas," Haldir replied.

Ardamil laughed, a hearty and clear ringing in the lowering twilight.  "I
will not deny it."  He stood up and held out a hand.  "Come, you are
wanted back in the camp.  Right now, we all feel like a song, and only one
elf can deliver what we desire."

Haldir took his hand and got to his feet.  "Then I would not dare
disappoint you."

***

"Ba dheas an la go oiche,
Na glortha binne i mo thaobh
'S aoibhneas i gach ait gan gruaim
Athas ar mo chroi go deo
He-a-ro
He-a-o-ro

Ma shiulaim o na laetha beo
An ghrian 's an gleahlach ar mo chul
Nil uaim ach smaointe o mo shaoil
Deora ar mo chroi go gron
He-a-ro
He-a-ro
He-a-o-ro

(adaptation:
How beautiful the day and night;
the earth is singing in the wind.
The voices rise and touch the sky,
telling all the earth's believing.
And in the night sighs fall down,
and from the skies signs fall down on me.

And when I move away from view,
my voice is singing in the wind.
It rises up to touch the sky,
telling all that I believe in,
and from the night, earth shall sing
and from the night, earth shall sing
and from the night, earth shall sing again.)

Ardamil regarded Haldir across the flames from the far side of the circle
of elves.  The sound of his captain's voice rivaled the warmth of the fire.
It was not a prayer he was singing, but it was a song that suited him
nevertheless, and it held his audience enraptured.

Beside Ardamil, Mythis stood, his face glowing contentedly. "He is
amazing," Mythis said softly with a fond grin.  "It is good to see him
smile.  I had feared he night never find joy again."

Ardamil nodded.  "It is encouraging.  I must admit that I had been worried
how things would transpire, as the letters from Legolas have stopped
coming."

"Haldir is no longer receiving them, either?"  Mythis asked.

"No," Ardamil replied.

"It would appear, then, that Legolas has taken a great step away from his
memories of this place, for no one has heard from him in many months,"
Mythis said.

"You are easily deceived, Mythis," Ardamil remarked.  "Do you truly
believe Legolas would so readily let go of one whom he loved so dearly?"

Mythis considered for only a brief moment.  "No," he replied.  "But then,
why the silence?"

"His reasons will remain his own," Ardamil said.  "But as long as it does
not adversely affect Haldir, I will not inquire."

They were both silent for several minutes, listening to Haldir sing.  At
length, Mythis spoke again.  "It has been a long, slow journey for him."

"It has been hard on all of us," Ardamil said.  He gave a one-sided smile.
"Except for you, Mythis.  You have been irrepressible, as usual."

"As usual," Mythis replied, returning the grin.  Then his voice grew more
serious.  "But it has been hard on me, as well.  He has been my hero since
I first joined the Guardians.  From the very first, I wanted to be in his
patrol.  To see him so afflicted . . . it was something I could never have
imagined."

"Yes . . . it was difficult to believe even while it was happening," Ardamil
agreed.  "But as you pointed out, he seems to be moving forward."

Mythis sighed deeply.  "We are all moving forward . . . but towards what?
The sky darkens.  The shadows lengthen day by day.  The Lord and Lady
grow more somber with the seasons' turnings.  Something tells me that the
age is coming to an end."

Ardamil regarded Mythis with a mildly surprised expression.  Such deep
consideration and weighty statements were not at all the usual from the
one elf considered to be the least serious-minded and the most fun-loving
of the entire patrol.  Mythis's strengths lay in his sword work and his
single-minded devotion to his captain.  Profound thought had never been a
part of what others had come to expect from him.

Still, his words resonated deep within Ardamil's heart.  The subaltern
nodded slowly.  "I have felt the same thing."

"Do you suppose Haldir feels it?"

Ardamil gave the question lengthy thought.  "More than any of us," he
replied at last.

Mythis was silent for many seconds, but Ardamil could tell that something
was churning inside him.  It only needed patience to draw it out.  At
length, Mythis spoke again.

"Do you think—in Valinor, will the seal still be binding?"

"I do not know," Ardamil replied honestly.  He regarded Mythis curiously.
"Why do you ask?"

Mythis's voice was almost a whisper.  "I do not want to be separated from
him, Ardamil."

It was an admission Ardamil himself had made many times in his own
heart.  "Nor do I," he agreed.

"I gave my word, when I took the position as First Sword, that I would die
defending him, if need be," Mythis went on.  "After all these centuries of
being his protector, how could I possibly be content with anything less?"

"Why should you become anything less?"  Ardamil asked.

"He will not need a First Sword in Valinor," Mythis replied.  "I will
become just like any other elf to him."

Ardamil smiled.  He put an arm around Mythis's shoulders.  "You will
never be just another elf to him.  You will always be the most beautiful elf
in all of creation."

Mythis made a snorting noise.  "Humph!  It is an ignominious honor."

"What has brought on these thoughts, Mythis?"  Ardamil asked.  "I have
never seen you this dour before."

Mythis replied after a brief moment of consideration, "I do not want to
leave this life.  I do not want to leave Middle Earth."  He gave a small,
self-deprecating laugh.  "I do not want things to change."

Ardamil tightened his embrace.  "They could change for the better."  He
looked Mythis in the eye.  "But there is no reason why the patrol can not
stay together even in Valinor.  There is no reason for us to separate."

"There will be no need for a wide patrol in Valinor," Mythis said.

"Then we will stay together out of nothing more than friendship and
loyalty," Ardamil said assuredly.

"And you will see to this, Ardamil?"  Mythis pressed, his manner almost
anxious.

Ardamil nodded slowly.  "I will see to it, Mythis."

***

There followed two hundred years under a cloud of constant forboding.
Despite his best efforts, Haldir could not regain the zeal and fervor that
had once been the trademark of his devotions.  He went through the
motions, but his relationship with the One was gone.  He was certain of
that.  He held out precious little hope of recovering it, but he would
continue to try.  The shadow that stalked him in his dreams and, even from
time to time, in his waking hours, had been his most persistent companion.
And it still had the power to drive him to terror, although as of late, it
seemed to be content to merely hover on the edge of his awareness.  It was
out of fear of this invisible assailant that Haldir still clung desperately 
to
his commitment to Aluvater.  Fear was now a greater motivator than love.
But perhaps there was good reason . . .

Beyond the boundaries of Lothlorien, the world had grown more
dangerous, with rumors of fell beasts and dark travelers.  The shadow in
the east was spreading.  Evil was preparing to stretch out its long arm once
again.  The Wide Patrol had become precarious duty.  It seemed that the
enemy had watchers in every village, at every crossroads, among the trees,
and in the sky.  There had been a skirmish or two in the woods far
removed from Lorien, but these had been with bands of hoodlums more
than with identifiable forces of the enemy.  Still, there had been reports 
of
furtive figures moving through the outskirts of the golden realm; and the
border patrols had been stepped up.  It seemed likely to Haldir that
eventually the Wide Patrols would be discontinued, pulled in to help
bolster the protection of Lorien's borders.  He was not looking forward to
that day.

But for now, the Wide Patrols were still in force, and on this particular
morning, Haldir met the dawn on the edge of the woods above a sweeping
vista of open plains called Mrainia Irvitus.  He stood just within the
treeline, looking out over the plains below where the gray veil of the mist
was hanging like a shroud in the dim morning light.

As the sun grew stronger, rays of sparkling gold shot through the eerie
canopy that hovered between the trees.  The air had turned cool during the
night.  Haldir could see his breath before him, and this brought a much-
appreciated smile to his face.   He had not felt much of anything good all
through the night, but now he took in a deep breath, savoring the feel of
the crisp morning air filling his lungs.  It made him feel more energetic,
more in touch with the elements of the woods around him.

"Are you taking my watch, Nikerym?"

Haldir turned to see Mythis approaching.  Behind him, the rest of the
patrol was still sleeping:  Peredil, Rumil, Maynfeln, and Lostilsil.

"If I were, then I should be several hours late in relieving you," Haldir
replied.

"Shall I rouse the others?"

"No, not yet.  We traveled hard and long yesterday.  Give them another
hour," Haldir deferred.

"And will you make use of that hour, as well, Nikerym?"

"I would if I could, Mythis," came the reply.  "But I have not been able to
get any kind of decent rest.  I did not sleep at all during the night."

"What troubles you?"

Haldir considered before answering.  "We have not been in this wood for
many months, yet I well remember the feel of it."  A pause. "It is not the
same.  Something has changed."

"What do you sense?" Mythis asked, his own awareness increasing.

A flash of frustration passed over Haldir's features.  "There is a kind of
anxiousness . . . it is almost like . . . fear," Haldir replied.

"Then perhaps we should not linger here," Mythis suggested.

Haldir felt a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.  "And perhaps you
should be Nikerym Mythis."

Mythis colored.  "I meant no disrespect—"

"No disrespect was perceived," Haldir said. "In truth, I had considered the
same thing.  But unless we go back the way we came, I do not think we
shall be able to elude the sensation.  It seems to come from all around."

"I do not feel it," lamented Mythis.  "I do not have that skill."

"You will never learn what you do not practice."

"Yes, Nikerym."

Haldir's smiled broadened.  "So, this will be a good chance for you to
practice."

"I fear all the practice in the world would not improve me," Mythis
replied, also grinning.  "Some skills can not be learned."

"Ah, but this one can," Haldir replied.

Mythis's response was wry.  "I would not wish to surpass my captain at
any skill."

"You are already surpassing me in just about every category, Mythis,"
Haldir replied good-naturedly.

"Yes, that is true," Mythis replied in a moment of good-natured cockiness.

"Including arrogance," Haldir grinned.

"I shall leave that distinction for you, Nikerym," Mythis quipped.  "But I
shall give you still competition."

Haldir laughed, "You are incorrigible."

Mythis smiled.  "So I am told."

"Ah, but you lift my spirits,"  Haldir said cheerfully.

"And I am happy to do it," came the reply.  "You are my captain, and it is
part of our bond that I look after you."

"And being First Sword is not enough?  You are the best blade in all of
Lorien," Haldir told him.  "With you at my back, I could not ask for a
better protector."

"You speak kindly, Nikerym," Mythis said.

"I speak the truth," Haldir assured him.

They stood gazing out over the frosted plains.  Everything appeared
peaceful, and yet Haldir still could not feel at ease.  He felt the tension
rising again inside him, but then Mythis's voice drew him out of himself
once more.

"May I ask you something, Nikerym?"

"Of course," Haldir replied, turning to face him.

"Have you—how many elves have you tried to teach the Ancient
Language to?"

Haldir was perplexed.  It was an odd question, especially coming from
Mythis.  "Not many," he replied.  "Few have asked.  Five or six, including
my brothers."

Mythis nodded but said nothing right away.  After a few seconds, he stated
with quiet bluntness, "You have never taught me."

Haldir gave a short bark of laughter.  "You have not the patience for it,
Mythis.  Nor have you ever shown an inclination," he said good-
humoredly.

"That is true . . . you are right," Mythis admitted.

Haldir reached out and squeezed Mythis's shoulder.  "You are a sword
fighter and a jester and the fairest of all elves.  I would rather you learn 
to
sense your surroundings than to speak in the Ancient Language.  Go now
and finish up your watch."  With that, he strode away into the open upper
slope beyond the wood and gave no more thought to Mythis's words.  He
surveyed the plain stretching out before him, raising his hand to shield his
eyes against the sun.  He saw nothing to give him alarm, but the
uneasiness did not subside.  He closed his eyes for an instant, a brief joy
accompanying the feeling of the sun on his face.

'Then perhaps we should not linger here.'

Mythis had been right.  It was dangerous to stay in this place.  But exactly
what was the danger?  And where was it?  Last night, when they had made
camp here, Haldir had felt only vaguely disconcerted that things were not
as peaceful and pleasing as he remembered them.  That feeling had
intensified during the night, and as the first light had come into the wood,
the distress had become such that Haldir had given up any idea of sleep.
Whatever was causing the disturbance had to be discovered and reported
back to Lorien.

He reached into his waist pouch and snapped off a corner of lembas.  He
sat down on the moss-covered trunk of a toppled tree and took a small
bite.  He was fully intending to simply wait out the hour he had promised
his sleeping company, but then a spasm of urgency shot through him.
Instinct and training taking over, he rolled back across the trunk and
ducked down behind it, peering out cautiously from its protection.

Across the plain, a great forest stood black against the sun rising behind 
it.
From the darkness at the edge of that forest, shapes were emerging, but
keeping to the shadows.

"Orcs," Haldir whispered to himself.  He did not hesitate another moment
before turning and racing back through the woods.  Coming into their
encampment, he motioned to Mythis.  "Get them up," he said, the
calmness of his voice in stark contrast to the urgency in his manner.  "We
are going to have company.  Orcs, on the border of the opposite wood."

Mythis, unflappable as ever, simply nodded and together, he and Haldir
roused the rest of the small company.  Haldir was issuing orders on the
instant.  "Lostilsil, Peredil with me.  Mythis, you've got the rest of the
patrol.  Wait here, take up positions and stay hidden.  We will report back
shortly.  Be prepared to open fire in case we are pursued."

Mythis had barely nodded his acknowledgment before Haldir turned, and
summoning Peredil and Lostilsil, sped off towards the wood's edge.

At the wood's border, Haldir slowed and held up his hand in caution.  He
and his two companions concealed themselves behind the trees.   Looking
out across the plain, Haldir could now see that the full band of orcs was
moving in their direction, following the line of the wood as it curved west
and northward, staying just within the shadowy boundaries.   A quick
estimate numbered them at fifty or sixty.

"What do you see, Peredil?"  Haldir asked, for he knew that even among
elves, Peredil's eyesight was exceptional.

Peredil surveyed the troop.  "They are definitely orcs.  They carry pikes
and swords and axes."

"Do they carry any mark?"  Haldir asked.

"None that I can see, Nikerym."

"If they do not deviate from their present course, they will be upon us
within minutes," Lostilsil stated.

"And if they stay on such a course, that would take them north towards
Lothlorien," Peredil added.

Haldir regarded the orcs for several more seconds.  It was absurd that such
a small party of orcs should attempt to take Lorien, but in these days of
uncertainty, nothing could be discounted.  What surprises might they bring
with them?  What unexpected abilities?  And were they, in fact, headed for
Lorien?  Or were they on their way from Mordor to some other place,
bypassing Lorien en route?

"We are too small a force to confront them," Haldir said pensively.  "But
we must track their movements.  If they are heading for Lorien, we will
send word ahead to warn Lord Celeborn.  In the meantime, we must send
word to the rest of the patrol that our plans have changed.  Stay here.
Keep an eye on them."  He moved back deeper into the woods and for the
first time in many decades, opened his mind to the voices of the woodland
around him.

"I need winged messengers," he announced silently.

Only a few seconds had passed before his summons was answered.  A
flock of hendari had been in the trees, taking a moment's respite during
their journey south.  They now answered Haldir's call and within a short
time were dispatched to carry the news to the three other companies of the
patrol.  Haldir also sent word to Lord Celeborn, in the event that the orcs
were heading for Lothlorien, so that a defense could be prepared.

Haldir returned to Peredil and Lostilsil.  The party of orcs was now
halfway along the treeline.

"Did you order the rest of the patrol to come back, Nikerym?"  Lostilsil
asked.

If there was one trait that Haldir possessed in abundance, even after the
trials of the last two centuries, it was confidence in his abilities as a
warrior.  But he was not fool-hardy.  He had sent word to put the patrols at
the ready to return if need be, but he was not prepared to recall them at
that moment.   "That is not necessary yet.  If the orcs are formidable, I 
will
send another messenger requesting their return."

"But the other companies are many miles away by now, Nikerym," Peredil
said.  "It would take them at least half a day to rejoin us."

"It will take at least three days moving at their current speed for the band
of orcs to reach Lothlorien.  If it becomes necessary, it will be quicker 
for
reinforcements to come from Lothlorien than for us to recall the rest of the
patrol," Haldir said assuredly.  "For now, all we will do is track their
movement and report it back to Lord Celeborn.  I do not want to risk open
confrontation.  We are greatly outnumbered."  He turned to Peredil.
"Bring the rest of the patrol up."

"Yes, Nikerym."  Peredil disappeared into the wood, returning shortly
with Mythis, Rumil, and Maynfeln.

Haldir was direct.  "These orcs outnumber us, and they appear to be well
equipped.  I do not wish to engage them.  We will track their movements,
and if it becomes apparent that they are heading for Lothlorien, we will
take whatever action is necessary to protect the realm.  Take up staggered
positions along their projected path.  Use only woodland calls.  If they
have not changed course by the time we reach Narrower Pass, then we will
assume they are heading to Lorien, and we will put up a delaying tactic
until Lord Celeborn can send up reinforcements."

There was a silent acknowledgement of these instructions before the
various members of the patrol moved off to blend in seamlessly with their
surroundings.

After no more than a minute, the silence of the woodland was broken with
the orcs' heavy footfalls and unintelligible grunting.	As they entered that
part of the wood, it was as if a shadow had entered with them.  They did
not stop, did not detect the elven eyes that followed their movements and
tracked their progress through the wood.  Now that they were on the
northern rim, they broke from following the treeline and delved deeper
into the forest on a northward path that, if unaltered, would lead them by
the most direct route to Lothlorien.  Their speed was considerable, and as
they entered the stony highlands, they showed no slackening of pace.  By
evening they had reached the southern end of Narrower Pass, high up in
the cloud-shrouded crests of the mountains.

Above them, peering down from a sliver of black rock that jutted out high
over the entrance to the pass, Haldir and Lostilsil evaluated the situation.
Maynfeln and Mythis were behind the troop, moving forward to join
Rumil and Peredil, who were already positioned at the northern end of the
pass.  There was no call to track the orcs through the pass, as there was no
turning off once underway.  Once the orcs emerged from the other end, the
patrol would continue its leapfrog tracking.  But first Haldir would send
word to Lord Celeborn.

Haldir moved away from the ledge and once again, prepared to call for
messengers, but before he could do so, a terrifying chill swept over him.
Instinctively, his searching gaze went upward into the hovering mist of
cloud, and here he thought he discerned a dark shadow sweeping
overhead.  For a moment, every thought was jumbled.  He forgot what he
was doing, where he was, and the urgency of the situation.  He could not
tear his eyes from their desperate survey of the surrounding fog.  The
watcher had returned; only now, Haldir had the horrible sense that the
watcher had come not simply to watch, but to pursue.

"Nikerym, the orcs have halted."

Haldir whirled around, startled, at the sound of Lostilsil's voice.

Seeing the expression on his captain's face, Lostilsil put out a hand and
rested it on Haldir's arm.  "Are you alright, Nikerym?"

Haldir steadied his breathing as best he could.  "Something evil has
come."

"What is it?  What has come?"  Lostilsil asked anxiously.

"I do not know—"

"Nikerym, several of the orcs, including their leader, moved back down
the pathway only seconds ago.  I can not see how far they have gone.   The
rest wait at the entrance to the pass," Lostilsil reported.  "It was a very
deliberate move; they went back for a purpose."

Haldir appeared, for a brief moment, to be at a loss; but then he acted
decisively. "We must get out of here.  Something is watching . . . it knows
we are here.  And that means the orcs will soon know we are here."

Lostilsil had learned long ago not to question his captain's odd sense of
forboding.  He was on the move the instant Haldir had finished speaking.
As he leapt from one spine of rock to another, he heard the sound of metal
against stone – the unmistakable ping of an arrow missing its mark.

"Take cover!!" Haldir shouted, and Lostilsil dropped down into one of the
shallow fissures, no more than ten feet deep, between the ridges that
topped either side of the pass.  A moment later, Haldir joined him.  "Run!"
he ordered, "To the end and then up the other side!"

As they ran, Haldir kept looking back over his shoulder, waiting for the
orcs to appear.  When, at last, they came into sight, Haldir and Lostilsil
had come to the end of the fissure, where it dropped off abruptly down a
sheer face whose bottom was lost in the mist.  Here, the two elves sprang
to the top of the opposite wall of the fissure and began picking out a path
parallel to the pass.

Arrows flew around them, one even grazing Lostilsil's arm.  The orcs
followed, and Haldir knew it would only be a matter of time before one of
the arrows found its mark, if they continued fleeing in the manner they
were, which forced them to cross over fairly open and unprotected ground
between the undulating waves of the rocky landscape.

When they dropped down into the next crevice, Haldir reached out and put
a firm hand on Lostilsil's arm, stopping him in flight.  "We can not escape
them this way," he said.  "I will try to draw them off, and you must get
back to Mythis and the others and warn them—"

Lostilsil gave a curt nod.  "I will bring them back—"

"Their first duty is to warn Lord Celeborn," Haldir instructed.  "Do not
come back.  If I can, I will lead the orcs to other end of the pass.  Tell
Mythis to set up an ambush."  A pause.  "I will create a diversion for you,
and then you must go.  It all depends on you now."

"I will not fail," Lostilsil replied.

Haldir followed the crevice towards the pass.  When he came to the end,
he leapt up out of the crevice and took scanty cover behind a lichen-
covered outcropping of rock.  Within seconds, he had sent half a dozen
arrows flying, felling as many orcs.  As a diversionary tactic, it was
effective – too effective.  The attention of the orcs was completed focused
upon him, so that when Lostilsil sprang from his position, scarcely a
glance was given to him, and what little attention was paid him was soon
called off in favor of attacking Haldir's position.

Seeing Lostilsil make it safely to the next fissure, Haldir now had his own
situation to contend with.  Slinging his bow over his shoulder, he began
nimbly picking his way down the wall of the pass.  He reached the bottom
just as the first orcs appeared on the ridge above.  But they did not 
attempt
to climb down.  Instead, they dropped back from the ridge, except for a
dozen or so that remained to fire arrows down into the pass.

Haldir had started to run, but he had gone only a few steps when he
noticed something that the haze had obscured from the top of ridge.  The
ground in the pass was freshly disturbed – by many footsteps.  It became
clear to Haldir very suddenly that only a part of the orc party had pursued
him and Lostilsil across the upperland.  The rest had entered the pass.  If
they reached the other end before Lostilsil did, they might pass by the rest
of the patrol unmolested.  Keeping close to the wall he had just descended,
Haldir broke into full speed.  The orcs now knew they were being tracked.
He had to put into effect whatever delaying tactics he could in order to
purchase time for the message to reach Lord Celeborn – if any members of
his current patrol could send such a message.

On the upperland, Lostilsil was not pursued.  It shocked him that his
escape should be unhindered; the entire mass of pursuers had gone after
Haldir.  This made no sense, no sense at all.  He almost turned back,
fearing that his captain might have fallen into a trap; but he had his 
orders,
and Haldir had taught him well never to disobey orders.  He continued
running.  When, at last, he came to the far end of the upperland, he sent up
a woodland cry, which was immediately answered by another.  He
recognized the sound as friendly, and began scrambling down the rocky
descent towards the path where it emerged from the pass.  Another call
from nearby drew his attention, and he turned to find himself facing
Mythis across a shallow pool of icy water.

Mythis came to meet him.  "Where is Haldir?"

"There is trouble," Lostilsil announced.  "The orcs have seen us and fired
upon us.  The captain drew them off so I could get word back to the rest of
the patrol.  We are to notify Lord Celeborn.  Haldir will try to lead them
through the pass.  He wants you to set up an ambush."

"Elbereth!"  Mythis said under his breath, then he cried out a signal, loud
and strong, which brought Maynfeln from his hiding place.  "The orcs
know we track them.  Haldir will lead them out of the pass, and we must
set up an ambush, but first we must send a message to Lord Celeborn.
You must do this, for I have no skill with the woodland creatures."

Maynfeln complied and immediately summoned one of the endari that
made their nests in the high crags that were inhospitable to most other
animals.  The message was sent, and now Mythis brought Maynfeln and
Lostilsil to take up positions on either side of the pass where it emerged
into less confined ground.  A series of calls informed the three that Rumil
and Peredil were on their way and moving quickly – only Mythis feared
they might not be quick enough.

***

Haldir stopped.  All around him, an eerie silence hovered thicker than the
mist.  The arrows from above had stopped, and after the mayhem of the
past several minutes, the sudden quiet was unnatural and disconcerting.
Hugging the wall, he moved slowly forward, measuring every step.  Then
he heard it – the sound of breathing and the creaking of leather and metal,
and it was coming from in front of him, further down the path.  The orcs
that had preceded him into the pass had made a covert doubling back, and
were now attempting to approach in secret.

There were no places in which to conceal himself in the walls on either
side of the pass, and so Haldir turned back towards the southern entrance,
but he had not gone far when he discerned the sound of orc voices coming
towards him.  He was now trapped in between the two parties.  The only
way out was up.  He began climbing.

The voices grew nearer until they were directly below him, and then there
was uproarious tumult as the two parties met and realized their quarry had
somehow squeezed past them.  But then the tone of their grunts and cries
changed, and suddenly an arrow bounced off the cliff face beside Haldir's
head.  Sparing only a second to glance below him, Haldir saw a small sea
of hideous faces glaring up at him, weapons raised in the air in fury.  Just
above him was a small conclave, which he reached just as another arrow
whizzed past him.  He was not quite halfway up the wall, and any idea of
completing the climb now seemed out of the question.  The tiny ledge
where he now took refuge offered enough protection from the orcs down
in the pass, as long as he remained pressed to the wall, and as long as the
orcs did not try to scale the wall.

But he had forgotten about the orcs on the opposite ridge.  They now
appeared again and began shooting their arrows, and with their target
trapped on the open face of a rock wall, it did not take long before one of
the arrows found its mark.

Haldir felt the pain in his side, just below his ribs.  He looked down to 
see
a short, slender feather-tipped shaft protruding from the folds of his 
tunic.
Haldir grasped it firmly and from the relative nonseverity of the pain, he
judge it had not gone deep.  He pulled gently.  The arrow slid out.  It was
neither barbed nor headed.  This arrow was not meant to kill—not by
violent injury, at any rate.

"Poison!"  The word burst upon Haldir's mind.  Looking about him, he
saw that all the arrows had now stopped.  The orcs knew he had been hit.
But what were they all waiting for?  Why had they not continued on
through the pass?  Why—why had they gone to such great lengths to trap
him?  One elf?

A coldness began to travel through his veins.  The shadow of the past two
hundred years passed over him again, igniting the terror anew in his mind.
The poison was starting to work on him.  He looked up at the top of the
ledge, swimming across his vision, and in the confusion of his thoughts,
he began to climb again.

Below, one of the orcs raised his bow and readied another arrow, but the
leader of the band held out his hand and forced him to lower his weapon.
"Another one will kill him.  I will not incur the master's wrath.  Only wait 
.
. . his effort pumps the poison faster through his body."

Haldir had managed only a short further before his arms and legs began to
grow numb, and his breathing became sluggish.  His thoughts devolved
until they became completely mired in repetitive and incomplete
commands which his body would no longer obey.

"Rumil, Mythis—" he said inwardly.  "H-hear me . . . "

Blackness began to cloud the edges of his vision.

"I need . . . help . . ."

No answer came.  He could not focus.  He could not reach out to the rest
of patrol.  The downward spiral into unconsciousness scattered his
thoughts, his hold was lost, and he fell to the ground below.

***

Mythis had never trembled until now.  His sense of misgiving was
overpowering.  Haldir should have led the orcs through the pass by now.
Something had gone wrong.  And now Mythis was faced with the decision
to stay in place or go back along the pass in the event that Haldir was in
need of aid.  But if he moved too soon, he could jeopardize any hope of
surprise in ambushing the orcs.  Or worse yet, he could encounter them in
a location not well suited to attack.  The narrow confines of the pass
presented a risk of entrapment that Mythis was not willing to risk.

He could send the patrol back over the upperland on either side of the
pass.  There, they would not be as vulnerable to attack and would
command a solid view of the goings-on in the pass.  He recalled the patrol
to him and gave them their new orders.  He took Peredil with him, while
Rumil, Maynfeln, and Lostilsil—the wound on his arm bound with a
makeshift bandage—went together on the other ridge.  Stealth was
sacrificed for speed, and yet from the outset, Mythis feared they were
already too late.

***

There was no move right away to touch the fallen elf.  It only seemed to
seep very slowly into the minds of the orcs that they now had a prisoner at
their hands upon which they could vent their aggression.  The first one to
approach him did no more than nudge him with a leather-bound foot.
From there, the degree of boldness grew but did not go very far before the
orc leader put an end to it.

"No more of this!"  the leader shouted.  "He awaits, and I shall not be the
one to keep him waiting.  Bring him!"

One of the orcs flung the unconscious elf over his shoulder, and the entire
troop moved back towards the southern end of the pass.  As they emerged
into the more open land, a shadow passed overhead, and an ear-shattering
shriek filled the air.  Heavy wings beat out a formidable wind, which died
as taloned claws gripped the stony crags near the entrance to the pass.  The
fell beast alighted with a piercing roar, which its rider echoed in kind.

Before this fearful beast and rider, the greater part of the orc party
cowered, but the leader approached, dauntless, almost gleeful.  "We have
captured the one the Dark Lord desires."

The rider's voice was deep and full of hissing.  "Give him to me."

The prize was handed over, and no more words passed before the wicked
servant rose his mount into the sky and vanished into the folds of cloud.

Melkor awaited.




Title:  The Face of the Sun 17/?
Author:  Nildrohain
Rating:  G (for this part)
Paring:  Haldir/Legolas
Disclaimer:  It hardly matters
Feedback:  I welcome it
Warnings:  None for this chapter.
A/N:  A story of agape.

Chapter 17	The Years of Blackness

"Where are they?"  Mythis whispered, his eagle-like gaze sweeping up and
down the pass below.  "We are come to the other end.  This is where they
entered, and there is nowhere they could have turned off.  They must have
turned back completely."

"What about Nikerym Haldir?"  Peredil asked, his voice belying his
anxiousness.

"I—I do not know," Mythis replied.  "He might be tracking them or he
might have been taken prisoner.  Either way, we must go after them—"

From down below came the sound of Rumil's voice, not disguised and
filled with fear.  "Mythis!  Come down!!  Hurry!"

Mythis and Peredil scurried down the slope and met Rumil, Lostilsil and
Maynfeln at the mouth of the pass.

"Look at this."  Rumil held out a slender arrow, streaked with blood along
several inches.  "Orc arrows—almost all of them are this shape."

The implication was immediate and clear.

"Poison—"  Peredil gasped.

"Or a drug," Lostilsil added.  "This arrow found its mark.  If they had
intended to kill, they would have left Haldir for the poison to do its 
work."

"They have taken him, then," Mythis completed the train of thought.

"And only him.  They did not come after the rest of us," Lostilsil
continued, then he added, "Mythis . . . when I was up on the ridge with
Haldir, he grew terribly frightened for a moment.  He kept searching the
sky and he said that evil had come.  He said that we had to get away.  He
felt something was watching us."

Mythis blanched at this added information, then asked Lostilsil.  "Are you
able to communicate with the wild creatures?"

Lostilsil hesitated.  "I—I believe so.  I have done it before."

"I want you to stay back—you are injured.  Send word to Lord Celeborn
and the rest of the patrol, tell them that Haldir is missing and may have
been taken captive.  Tell the patrol to meet at the Ypres encampment as
quickly as possible, that they are to keep cover and expect a party of orcs
to be approaching some time in the next two days.  Let us hope the orcs
return over the same route by which they came.  Then you are to return to
Lothlorien by the fastest means possible."  Mythis did not wait for an
acknowledgment before leading the rest of the patrol back along the path
to the south.  The orcs could not be far ahead; and once they were brought
under surveillance, if Haldir were in their midst, which seemed more
likely with every passing second, Mythis was not wholly convinced that
he would be able to withstand the urge to do battle then and there in order
to recover his captain.  It was a dangerous thought, for it would surely
mean the deaths of every member of his small party – and quite possibly,
Haldir, as well.  But Mythis, as he was often reminded, was not given to
careful, calculated thought.  His role was that of a follower, a protector.
He was not a leader, not a planner.  He was a reactionary, which made him
an excellent first sword, although at the moment, he felt that he had failed
that assignment miserably.  How could he protect Haldir when he was not
able to be by his side at all times?  He berated himself for not being more
insistent with his captain, for not demanding that he be permitted to carry
out his duty even when not on the field of battle. He might not have been
able to stop the orcs in their fiendish plot, but he would have made it
costly for them.  He would still make it costly . . .

Less than four hours passed before the elves drew within sight of the orcs.
It was clear right away that the orcs were not moving at full speed.  There
was no sense of urgency on their parts, and it soon became apparent why.

Haldir was not with them.

This discovery came as a shock to the tracking elves, and they did not
know whether to take it as good news or bad news.  If Haldir was not a
prisoner of the orcs, then where was he?  Had they somehow missed him
in the Narrower Pass?  Had he been discarded somewhere along the route?
What had happened to him?

For Mythis, it was only an added dimension to the nightmare.  Not
knowing what else to do, he sent Peredil back to scour the area, while he,
Rumil, and Maynfeln continued to track the orcs towards where the rest of
the patrol would hopefully be waiting in the next day or two.  Then, if an
attack could be launched on the orcs, answers might be found.  They must
be found.  How was such a thing as the disappearance of Haldir to be
borne?  It was impossible, and it was not something Mythis was willing to
live with.

***

Ardamil got to his feet and brushed himself off.  With a smile, he extended
his hand to Ascalonn, who was lying on the ground in front of him,
groaning dramatically.

"Even Nikerym Haldir lets me win one every now and then," Ascalonn
said, accepting Ardamil's hand.  "But you give me no such quarter,
Ardamil."

"My purposes are different from Haldir's," Ardamil replied.  "He forges
the bond.  I create the warrior."

"Never was a truer word spoken," Henschel spoke up.  "Although Haldir
has created warriors, and you have created bonds."

Ardamil turned a wry grin in Henschel's direction.  "Your point, good
friend?"

Henschel did not miss a beat.  "You both share in each other's tasks.  As it
should be."

"As it should be," Ardamil agreed.  As he reached for his tunic, a violent
chirping caught his attention, and looking up into the boughs above, he
saw an enaui perched in plain sight, chattering excitedly.  Ardamil could
make out scarcely a word, but he knew it could not be good news,
considering the last message that had come the day before – a warning
from Haldir of a party of orcs heading in the general direction of
Lothlorien.

The rest of the patrol watched as Ardamil pursed his lips and coaxed the
bird into a slower voice.   The message came through disjointed but
decipherable.

"Orcs.  Take nikerym.  Meet at Ypres.  Stay hide."

Before Ardamil could say a word, Urthenang, yet another member of the
patrol, spoke out, "What is he on about?"

Ardamil held up a hand, commanding silence.  He then had a brief
exchange with the enaui, through which his pale countenance grew even
more ghostly with each passing second.  When the conversation ended, he
turned his ashen visage towards the anxious patrol members.

"The orcs have attacked Haldir's party.  It is believed that Haldir has been
taken prisoner.  We are to head towards Ypres and stay hidden and wait
for the arrival of the orcs or Mythis's party, whichever gets there first," 
he
announced.

"It will take us a full day's travel to reach Ypres," Urthenang stated.

"Then let us not waste any time!"  Ardamil ordered, pulling on his tunic.
He looked back to the eanui.  "When was this message sent?"

"Sundown."

"Who sent it?"

"Silver tree."

Ardamil recognized the common speech name for Lostilsil.

"From where?"

"Path rock highlands, the narrow way."

Ardamil did a quick internal calculation as he strapped on his weapons.
"We should still be able to reach the encampment before the orcs get
there, unless they have acquired some manner of greater speed."

"And what will we do once we get there?"  Henschel asked.

"That is what I will be formulating as we move," Ardamil replied.
"Hopefully, we will receive another message with more information
before we arrive, before the orcs arrive.  Now, we go.  The time for talk is
over."

***

Ardamil's party reached Ypres shortly after sundown on the second day.
A quick survey turned up no indications that the orcs had passed back
through the area yet, and so Ardamil ordered his warriors to take up
positions and to stay on the alert, not only for the orcs but for the 
arrival of
the other two parties of the patrol, who had also been recalled.  Ardamil
had not expected Mythis's party to reach the rendezvous ahead of the orcs,
so when a second message came via another enaui, the subaltern received
it anxiously.

The message, though simple, was hardly consoling.  "Nikerym not with
orcs.  Still missing.  Stop orcs?  No stop orcs?"

Ardamil hardly knew what to make of this news.  Haldir was not with the
orcs, yet he was still missing.  Mythis was inquiring as to whether or not
the patrol should still attempt to stop the orcs; Mythis must suspect that
the orcs knew what had happened to Haldir.  But was it worth risking open
confrontation in order to try and squeeze the information, if it were to be
had, out of one of the orcs?

It did not take Ardamil but an instant to answer himself.  For Haldir, any
risk was worth the taking.

"Take this message back to the one who sent you.  Follow orcs to Ypres.
We attack together."

No sooner had the enaui departed than Ardamil heard a familiar call in the
wood.  He responded in kind, and in a few moments, Orophin emerged
from the undergrowth, the members of his small patrol following.  They
had come in from the west, making good time once the summons had
come.

"Ardamil, what news?"  came the harried demand.

"The orcs have not yet come through.  Mythis says that Haldir is not with
the orcs but is still missing."

Orophin stared at Ardamil, looking almost panic-stricken.  "What are we
to do, then?"

"We will attack the orcs when they come through.  They may not have
Haldir, but they will know of his disappearance.  It is their doing,"
Ardamil replied.

***

He was surrounded by complete silence, an emptiness so pervasive that it
had entered his awareness before he had even regained consciousness.

A coldness dug clear down to his bones, like icy fingers invading his body
. . . it was a horrifyingly familiar feeling . . . from long ago . . . the 
cave . .
. the men . . .

He sat up abruptly, and his eyes shot open onto an unnatural blackness.  It
was more than the absence of light; it was as if the very darkness were
infused with evil.  He sensed, intuitively, that he was alone; and as he
waited for his eyes to adjust, he called to mind the last event in his
memory: the image of the poisoned arrow protruding from his side.
Clearly, not a deadly poison as much as a sedating one.  The objective had
not been to kill, then; it had been to capture.  And the orcs had obviously
been successful in accomplishing that mission.

Haldir's entire body ached, and the stunning cold drove the pain deeper
until it felt as if his very bones were freezing.  He wrapped his arms
around him, surprised to find that he was still fully clothed.  His elven
garments did nothing to protect him from the cold.  He sat for several
minutes without moving, staring into a blackness that did not dissipate, to
which his eyes could not accustom themselves.  His mind, still tinged with
the poison, was sluggish, moving vaguely from one recollection to the
next, but without any rhyme or reason.  These were not thoughts that he
was conjuring . . . rather it was almost as if the images were being forced
into his awareness, drawn out and sifted through.  Visions of his uncle and
the stained glasses in the holy room gave way to remembrances of
rapturous prayer in which no one but Haldir had shared.  He saw the faces
of his brothers on the day of his Consecration – the awe that had been in
their eyes.  Thereupon followed image after image drawn from his life in
the patrol.  He felt like an observer as, in his mind, the centuries rolled
back to reveal moments that defined who he was, moments in which he
had discovered that he had been given a remarkable gift . . .

***

"I have recommended and you have been accepted to command of the
Wide Patrol."

Haldir was momentarily speechless.  His eyes widened at the unexpected
honor for which his captain had nominated him, and which had been
secured for him without even an inquiry as to Haldir's feelings in the
matter.

The inquiry came now.  "Does that meet with your approval?"

Haldir felt the smile spreading across his face, and he did not care if he
appeared too anxious or excited.  This was what he had desired from the
moment he had joined the ranks of the guardians.

"Yes, it meets with my approval," he replied, his manner almost giddy.

"I shall miss you, I will not deny it.  But you have surpassed me in 
ability,
and although your wisdom does not yet equal mine, the day is not far off
when it shall.  I fear the Wide Patrol is in your blood, ever since the 
first
time I let you go out with them."

Haldir colored at this unabashed praise coming from his own captain.
"You give me far too much credit, Nikerym Thlayrah.  All that I have
learned about soldiering, I learned from you.  All that I have learned about
leadership, I learned from you," he replied.

Thlayrah smiled indulgently.  "The first part is certainly correct.  The
second part is kindly said, but it is not completely accurate.  You came
into this patrol with all the makings of a great leader.  All I may have 
done
was to draw out qualities you already possessed."  He paused, then with a
feigned sigh, added, "And you must choose a proper subaltern to go with
you.  I need not ponder who your selection will be."

"There really is only one choice," Haldir replied.  "I could not imagine
going to a new assignment without him."

"Ardamil is a good choice."  Thlayrah gave a slight laugh.  "He keeps you
in line, and unlike the others, he does not hold you in such awe that he
fears chastising you when you have earned it."

Haldir inclined his head in concession.  "That is quite true."  When he
looked up again into Thlayrah's handsome face, he asked the only other
question that was on his mind.

"Nikerym, why did you not take the position?  You are the greatest captain
in the Golden Realm.  The Wide Patrol was yours for the taking.  Why did
you turn it down?"

Thlayrah put a hand on Haldir's shoulder.  "Because I was not the one best
suited to the job.  You will come to understand, Haldir, that no good
captain seeks honor or glory for himself.  As one of the Consecrated,
perhaps you already understand that with regard to Aluvater.  All the good
you do is done for Him.  As a captain of the Galadhrim, your loyalty is to
those who serve you.  And when their skill exceeds your own, you rejoice
for them."  His eyes reflected the truth of his words.  "You will be the
greatest captain the Golden Realm has ever known.  And I shall always be
proud of you.  You are everything I could have asked for in a warrior, and
you even brought along some qualities that I did not know existed.  Your
turn has come.  The One must desire it as much as I do."  With these
words, Thlayrah leaned close and pressed his temple to Haldir's.

Haldir had never been given to emotional displays.  He felt it was
unsoldierly.  Still, he permitted himself a moment of shaken voice.  "You
will always be my captain, Nikerym Thlayrah."  It was spoken almost like
a question, an imploring.

Thlayrah's mouth curved into a loving smile.  "Yes, I will."

***

Ardamil was easy to find.  In those days, his favorite spot had been a
grassy hillock near the edge of a wild meadow just outside the city walls.
Here, he could often be found lying in the grass, simply listening to the
sounds around him.

That was where Haldir found him that afternoon.

"Making good use of your time?"  Haldir teased.

Ardamil did not even sit up, but a smile lit up his face.

"I am gathering new melodies for my songs," Ardamil replied.  "Do you
hear the ullaie?  They are very vocal this afternoon."

"And yet, they can never sound as beautiful as you," Haldir said earnestly.
He sat down beside Ardamil, who now glanced over with a simper
forming on his lips.

"You are an honest flatterer," he said, pushing up onto his elbows.  "I can
see in your eyes that you have searched me out for a specific purpose.
What is on your mind, Haldir?"

Haldir was always amazed at how well Ardamil could read him.  "I do
have something I wish to tell you."  He paused.  "Did you know Nikerym
Thlayrah had recommended me to command the Wide Patrol?"

Ardamil sat up fully, his expression one of considerable surprise.  "Did
he?  No, no, I did not know that.  It is true that you would be perfect for
the position, but . . . "  He eyed Haldir almost fearfully.  "And has a
decision been made?"

"I have been offered the captaincy," Haldir replied quietly, "And I have
accepted."

Ardamil was silent for a long time.  At last, he managed a feeble smile.  "I
congratulate you."

"You are sad?"  Haldir asked.

"I am happy for you," Ardamil answered.

"You do not act as if you were happy."

Ardamil sighed.  "I am trying not to be selfish."

Haldir fought down the smile that was threatening to show on his face as
he drew Ardamil further along.  "What are you talking about?  You have
not a selfish bone in your body."

"As I would have you believe," Ardamil replied.

"Then you have been deceiving me all these years?"  Haldir prodded.
"Very well, then.  If there is a selfish bone in your body, what is that
bone's wish?  Why do you struggle with it now?"

"It is nothing I would wish to burden you with," Ardamil replied, getting
to his feet.  "I am very proud of you, Haldir.  You will make an excellent
captain."

Haldir regarded Ardamil with fondness.  "You are completely inept at
hiding your sadness, and it is an unnecessary sadness.  Did you think for
one moment that I would leave you?"  Seeing Ardamil's questioning gaze,
he went on.  "I have requested you as my subaltern, and Thlayrah has
agreed."

With a rush of glee, Ardamil sprang at Haldir, dropping to the ground on
top of him.  "How could you torment me like that?!!"  he cried joyfully,
struggling to pin the elf who would be his new captain.  "You like to play
dangerous games!"

They wrestled through the long grass until eventually Haldir prevailed.
With Ardamil pinned on his stomach beneath him, Haldir said in a smug
voice, "You will have to get much better if you hope to stay on as
subaltern."

Ardamil retorted good-naturedly without a moment's hesitation.  "I was
being easy on you, in deference to your new position."

Haldir sat up and rolled Ardamil over.  "And now you are making fun of
me?"

"I would never make fun of my future captain," Ardamil replied.

"Can I take that as an acceptance of my offer?"

"Did you have any doubt?"  Ardamil asked, getting to his feet and
extending a hand to Haldir.

Haldir clasped his hand and was drawn up in one motion, reminding him
just how strong Ardamil really was and that it might have been no more
than the truth when Ardamil had said that he had been easy on Haldir.

Haldir faced Ardamil squarely.  "You will be faithful to me, then?"

Ardamil held Haldir's steady gaze.  "With all that I am," he replied.

"And loyal?"  Haldir pressed.

"Even beyond death," Ardamil said, his voice growing ever softer, ever
more intense.  "As I say it, so it shall be."

Haldir was deeply moved.  He had known that he could depend upon
Ardamil, but he had, at that time, no real inkling as to how vast and
encompassing Ardamil's love was.  And now, what was he to give in
return for Ardamil's expression of fealty?

"And what would you exact from me as a pledge of my return devotion?"
he asked.

Ardamil shook his head.  "I would exact nothing from you . . . Nikerym.
You will be my captain.  My trust is well-placed."

Again, Haldir was humbled by the simple, lowly elf before him.  "Then I
will give you my pledge without the asking."  He took Ardamil's face in
his hands and drew him close until his lips touched Ardamil's forehead.
As he drew back, he spoke with a solemnity that Ardamil had only heard
before in the recitation of the prayers.

"This kiss is my seal, the sign of my devotion to you.  It is the symbol of
our bond, of my choosing you.  And in so choosing, I accept all
responsibility that comes with the forging of this brotherhood.  I will be
bound to you . . . always.  There shall be no sundering of our union."  He
paused briefly.  "There will be many more to follow, Ardamil.  It will be
my way.  But you will always be the first.  Even when I am no longer your
captain, you will still be first."

"You honor me more than I deserve," Ardamil replied, embarrassed to
find his voice shaking.

Haldir deferred.  "No . . . the honor has been bestowed upon me by the
One.  He has put me in this position.  I will excel in it only to bring Him
glory.  And I will excel only if I have you at my side."  He grinned.  "So,
you see, my motives are all selfish."

Ardamil returned his smile.  "I will not disappoint you."

"I know that."  Haldir put his arm around Ardamil's shoulders.  "Come
back with me.  I would like to tell my brothers, and I would like you to be
there."

They began walking under the brilliant sunlight, glinting of the shining
grass.

"Shall I sing for you the new melody I learned this morning?"  Ardamil
offered.

"Certainly," Haldir replied.  "I love listening to you sing, as you well
know."

Ardamil began to sing, a wordless melody more beautiful than anything
that had come before.  Haldir felt himself slipping into a dream, floating
along with the dulcet tones of the one elf he loved more than any other  . .
.

. . . a screeching cacophony of sound tore the song to shreds.

Haldir actually cried out in pain.  The sound was agonizing, the
destruction of order and beauty.  Haldir clutched at his ears as the discord
continued on, but the sound was not from without.  It seemed to be
everywhere – within and without, in his ears and in his head.  Then a voice
spoke, grating and mocking.

"But now Aluvatar sat and hearkened, and for a great while it seemed
good to him, for in the music there were no flaws.  But as the theme
progressed, it came into the heart of Melkor to interweave matters of his
own imaginings that were not in accord with the theme of Aluvatar; for he
sought therein to increase the power and glory of the part assigned to
himself.  Straight away, discord arose about him, and many that sang nigh
him grew despondent, and their thought was disturbed and their music
faltered; but some began to attune their music to his rather than to the
thought which they had at first.  Then the discord of Melkor spread ever
wider, and the melodies which had been heard before foundered in a sea of
turbulent sound.  But Aluvater sat and hearkened until it seemed that about
his throne there was a raging storm, as of dark waters that made war one
upon another in an endless wrath that would not be assuaged."

Haldir knew the story . . . the Ainulindale, the music of the Ainur.  And he
knew intrinsically the voice that was telling the tale in tones of discord 
and
derision; and although he could not even begin to fathom how he had
ended up in such a dire predicament, he could not deny that he now knew
by whom he was imprisoned, and he was terrified.  Against this enemy, he
had no defense:  only his faith, and that had been grossly weakened.

"Did you believe I had been vanquished?"  The voice taunted.  "Foolish
child of the first-born!  I have been watching you for centuries.  The last 
of
the Consecrated to inhabit Middle Earth shall sing to the theme of
Melkor."

"No," Haldir protested, but his voice was already weak in the face of such
overwhelming power.

"Attempt to resist me.  I welcome your struggles.  Very well, then.  What
other moments of fondness reside in your memory that I might indulge
myself in their destruction?"

And before Haldir could muster a single thought of his own, the search
through his memories recommenced, and he could do nothing to stop it.

***

Ardamil saw the orcs approaching while they were still far off.  His blood,
already surging through his veins, now moved with pounding speed,
heightening his senses, fueling his muscles for combat.  He sent out a call
of warning to the rest of the patrol, hidden in the woods, then sent a
message via the same enaui that had been running all their messages, to
Mythis, whose party was keeping concealed on the heels of the orcs.

The instant the orcs entered the woods, Ardamil ordered the attack, which
was over almost as soon as it started.  The orcs, surprisingly, had shown
no stomach for battle.  When an initial hail of arrows had taken down a
third of their numbers, the rest fled or attempted to flee, fighting only if
directly confronted, and then being easily dispatched.  It was perplexing.
Orcs were not normally given to such passivity, but then it occurred to
Ardamil – the orcs already had accomplished their mission.  Their purpose
was over, and now they simply wanted to return to wherever they had
come from with as little complication as possible.

And Ardamil was not inclined to waste time in destroying all of them.
Once the patrol had captured a handful of the orcs, he called off the 
attack.
It was answers he was looking for; not utter destruction.

He left the interrogation to Henschel, Enthamis, and Desmone, for they
were well-suited to such activities.  And he himself was so angry, so
distraught that he could not trust himself not to lose control as an
interrogator.  So, as he waited, he sought out Mythis, from whom he had
been far distant during the fighting.  He did not have to go far before he
saw Mythis approaching.

Ardamil was blunt.  "What happened?"  he demanded.

Mythis's distress was palpable, but he replied steadily, "We spotted a party
of orcs that were headed in the direction of Lothlorien.  Haldir took the
patrol and we followed them.  In the Narrower Pass, they tricked us and . .
. Haldir disappeared.  We were certain they had taken him . . . we found a
poisoned arrow with blood on it, and we could not find Haldir.  We
tracked the orcs, only to discover that Haldir was not with them.  I sent
Peredil back to search the area again—"

"He disappeared?  How could he disappear?"  Ardamil asked.  "He could
not have just vanished."

"I—I did not mean that he had—physically disappeared," Mythis
stammered.  "I meant that we did not know what had happened to him.
We thought the orcs—"

"Why were you not at Haldir's side?"  Ardamil cut him off.  "You are his
first sword.  You are sworn to protect him at all costs – even to the
sacrificing of your own life."

"He sent me ahead," Mythis replied.  "By the time I realized there was
trouble, it was too late.  I did what I thought best."

Before Ardamil could reply, Henschel approached.  "Ardamil . . . one of
the orcs has told us something incredible . . . terrible, if true."

"What is it?"

"They come from Mordor – the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn have
spoken of the evil building there – but . . . "  Henschel paused to steady 
his
voice.  "But these orcs . . . they mentioned only one master . . . "

Ardamil's face was as stone as he attempted to conceal his fear.  "Sauron?
Has Sauron returned?"

"Not Sauron," Henschel replied.  "The orc told us, 'Even Sauron has his
master.'"

Ardamil was stunned into silence.  It was Mythis who spoke the most
dreaded name in Middle Earth.

"Melkor."

Henschel only nodded, fearful that any attempt to speak would bring his
own terror overflowing to the surface.

"But how is that possible?" Ardamil protested, fear of the terrible truth
creeping up his throat.  "Haldir was not with the orcs.  How could they
deliver to Melkor what they do not possess?"  He was desperate to
convince himself that Haldir could not have possibly fallen into such
wicked hands.

Mythis spoke again.  "Lostilsil said that Haldir had become frightened
while they were at the pass, that he had sensed something evil had arrived
and was watching them.  He was searching the skies for it."

Henschel knitted his brow.  "Nazgul?

Ardamil dismissed the possibility.  "The Nine have not been heard from in
centuries.  They were destroyed when Sauron was destroyed."

"But the evil that grows in the east—"  Mythis began.

Ardamil cut him off impatiently, "Melkor has his own demonic servants.
He does not need Sauron, the Nazgul or any other."

"Then it . . . it could be true," Henschel conceded in a quiet voice.  
"Haldir
could be a prisoner of Melkor."

Ardamil was silent in thought for a long moment.  At last, he said to
Henschel, "We will bring the orc who has given you the information."

"And the others?"

"Bind them and leave them here."

Henschel nodded and parted from them.

"What would Melkor want with Haldir?"  Mythis asked.

Ardamil looked at Mythis and for the first time, coupled with the abject
fear and horror he felt at Haldir's likely fate, he felt anger and rage 
towards
a fellow patrol mate.  It had been Mythis's responsibility to protect 
Haldir.
Mythis had not delivered on that responsibility.  "We will likely never
know."

Mythis shrank beneath the icy gaze.  "What do we do now?"

"We return to Caras Galadhon," Ardamil replied, then as he began to walk
away, "And then you find another patrol."

"Another patrol?  Ardamil—"  Mythis's voice was filled with confusion
and desperation.

Ardamil stopped for a moment and his reply was spoken in as neutral a
voice as he could manage.  "You were sworn to protect Haldir.  You failed
to live up to your oath, and now . . . now it is likely we will never see 
him
again."

It was a wound that Mythis had never expected, from a quarter he never
would have imagined.

***

"Are you quite sure about this, Nikerym?"  Ardamil asked, sounding
unconvinced.

Haldir's somewhat whimsical smile was accompanied by a reassurance.
"Absolutely."

"But he is so . . . impetuous," Ardamil persisted.  "He will require much
discipline to mold him into the kind of warrior that belongs in the patrol."

Haldir did not reply right away.  His gaze was still fixed on the beautiful
fluidity of the elf whose display of sword work was the center of attention
that afternoon in the clearing near the Anduin.  At last, he said slowly,
"And do you not anticipate disciplining him?"

Ardamil almost laughed.  "I dread the thought."

"Why is that?"

"Because he is far too fair to contend with," Ardamil replied.  "How is an
elf expected to be stern with him when he can turn heads by his very
presence?"

Haldir nodded a mild concession.  "He is beautiful."

"That is paltry praise," Ardamil said.  "He is the most beautiful elf I have
ever laid eyes on."

"Indeed, he is."

Ardamil was flustered.  Haldir could be so difficult.  "Would he not be
more suitable perhaps after a few more decades or even centuries with
Thlayrah's patrol?  He will have grown more mellow—"

"Uh!"  Haldir made a sound of disgust.  "Do I want 'mellow' warriors?
You are not so refined, yourself, Ardamil – and I hope you never become
so.  Look at him.  He fights in a way I have never seen before – it is a 
love
of the sword.  It is as if he were a dancer and that blade his beloved
partner."

"The choice is yours, Nikerym," Ardamil said at last.  "We speak of your
First Sword; you must feel confident in your decision."

Haldir nodded slightly, noticing the approach of Nikerym Thlayrah.

"Have you come to lure away yet another of my warriors?"  Thlayrah
asked good-naturedly, drawing up to stand in front of Haldir.

"It is a compliment to your abilities as a leader, dearest Nikerym Thlayrah.
You produce the best warriors," Haldir replied.

"And now you turn your eye to Mythis," Thlayrah went on.

"He is a brilliant swordsman," Haldir admitted.

"He is brilliant in all forms of combat," Thlayrah acknowledged.  "But the
sword is his strongest point."

"But my subaltern fears that he may be too much to handle," Haldir added
with a grin.

Thlayrah inclined his head in a gesture of considered agreement.  "Mythis
is inquisitive, full of vigor and . . . energy.  From time to time, you may
find your hands full with him."  A fond smile graced his features.  "But he
is one of the greatest joys I have known in these last years.  It has been
nigh 80 years since you took over the Wide Patrol, and your loss was felt
most keenly – by myself, especially.  And then, twelve years ago, there
came under my command a fiery youth whose zeal was unquenchable.  He
learned faster than I could teach.  He was a favorite everywhere he went.
His heart was simple."  A pause filled with deep silence that bespoke a
certain sadness on Thlayrah's part.  "He is everything you would want in a
warrior, Haldir.  And I already know that it is his desire to catch your eye
and be taken under your wing."

Haldir could sense Thlayrah's melancholy.  "I will not take him, if he
means that much to you, Nikerym."

Thlayrah mustered a forlorn but genuine smile.  "It is precisely because he
does mean that much to me that you must take him.  Only—only take care
of him, Haldir.  He wants you to believe he has experienced the world . . .
but he is pure innocence.  His charm is a dangerous thing."  He then
looked to Ardamil.  "You possess a more level head than your captain,
Ardamil.  Do not let him be carried away by his new charge."

Ardamil smiled.  "I will do my best, Nikerym Thlayrah; but you know
Haldir."

"I do," Thlayrah replied with a sparkle in his eye, then he addressed Haldir
again.  "Shall I call him over?"

Haldir nodded.  "Yes."

Thlayrah called out to Mythis, who disengaged himself from the exercises
and came trotting across the clearing, lithe as a deer, blatant excitement
and anticipation beaming from his face.  As he drew up in front of them,
Haldir marveled at how absolutely stunning Mythis was.  Unlike the rest
of the Lorien elves, Mythis was dark-haired and olive-skinned.  He had
Noldor blood in him, going back generations.  But despite the sharpness
and clarity of his features, there was an overriding gentleness in his
appearance.  Haldir recognized it as the innocence of which Thlayrah had
spoken, and although Haldir had always been aware of Mythis's age, he
now realized, for the first time, that he was looking at an elf barely out 
of
childhood.  But that did nothing to deter him.  Mythis was the only elf
Haldir would even consider as First Sword:  lethal, enthusiastic, and
pliable.

"Yes, Nikerym?"

Thlayrah put a hand on Mythis's shoulder.  There was a certain pain in the
action, which did not go unnoticed by Haldir.  Mythis's departure was
hitting Thlayrah hard, but he would not turn down Haldir's request . . . or
Mythis's desire.

"You are about to be offered one of the greatest posts among the
Guardians," Thlayrah said.  "Nikerym Haldir has requested you for his
First Sword."

Child-like, Mythis burst into brilliant, joyful laughter.  "This was what I
was hoping for!!  Only I never thought it would come true!"

"Compose yourself, Mythis," Thlayrah chastised with no hint of disdain.

Mythis drew in a deep breath, but he was alive with excitement.

"You accept, then?"  Haldir asked.

"I do, Nikerym Haldir.  This is the greatest honor I could ever imagine,"
Mythis replied.  "I have dreamt of this since I was an elfling."

Haldir smiled.  "Then I expect you will do an excellent job."

"Oh yes, Nikerym Haldir, I will."

Thlayrah spoke, and although he tried to sound casual, his voice was
subdued.  "Then I turn him over to you, Haldir.  He is now your warrior."
He pat Mythis on the back, then turned and walked back to the rest of his
patrol, still training.

It was only then, as Thlayrah moved away, that Mythis suddenly seemed
to realize the loss that his gain entailed.  In an instant, his joyful mood
lessened as he stared after his captain's retreat.  Haldir and Ardamil both
saw the uncertainty and distress that had seeped into Mythis's manner.

"Are you sure you want to accept the position?"  Haldir asked kindly.

Mythis turned back to Haldir, but his attention was divided.  "Yes, I am
sure.  I am very sure.  I—I only—I feel like I am abandoning Nikerym
Thlayrah.   And he has been so good to me."

"Ardamil and I have both felt the same sentiment," Haldir replied.  "We
both came from Thlayrah's patrol, as you well know.  We understand how
you feel."  But looking at Mythis's face, Haldir suspected that perhaps he
and Ardamil did not fully comprehend Mythis's attachment to Thlayrah.
There was something in his countenance that spoke of an affection that
went beyond that of a captain and his soldier. But it was not Haldir's place
to inquire.

"I must thank him," Mythis said, his words clearly not expressing the
fullness of his thoughts.

"Yes, you must.  And you must do it properly," Haldir agreed.  "Parting
with you was not easy for him."

Mythis nodded, looking both awed and humbled.

"Report to the Wide Patrol's talans tomorrow evening," Haldir instructed,
deciding that would give Mythis enough time to gather his belongings and
take care of any parting words that he had for his former patrol mates.

"Yes, Nikerym," Mythis replied.

As Haldir turned to leave, Ardamil squeezed Mythis's shoulder.
"Congratulations and welcome."

Mythis returned his words with a nervous smile.

***

"What distresses you, Haldir?"

Haldir glanced up to see Ardamil peering his head into the nest.

"Why do you say I am distressed?"  Haldir replied with his own question.

"You have been up here all afternoon, ever since we returned from
Thlayrah's patrol," Ardamil explained.  "I know you well enough to see
when something weighs heavily upon your mind."  He sat down beside
him.  "What is it?"

Haldir drew in a deep, thoughtful breath.  "I am feeling guilty."

Ardamil could not suppress a smile.  "You?  Feeling guilty?"

"Is that so incredible?"  Haldir challenged.

"I have never known you to feel guilty before, so . . . yes, it is 
incredible,"
Ardamil replied.  "But what cause have you to feel guilty?"

"Did you not see how painful it was for Thlayrah to part with Mythis?"
Haldir asked.

"I did see it, yes," Ardamil nodded.   "And I also saw that Mythis had not
considered the consequences of his greatest dream.  Are you having
second thoughts, Haldir?"

Haldir did not answer right away, which worried Ardamil.

"Haldir, you can not take back your offer," he insisted.  "That would be
more devastating than any unhappiness either of them feel right now."

"I would feel better knowing that Thlayrah is truly agreeable to this,"
Haldir said softly.  "You know how deeply I respect him."

"Go talk to him," Ardamil suggested.  "In a sense, he is still your captain.
You have never ceased to defer to him."

Haldir grinned cheekily.  "And you have?"

"I defer to you first," Ardamil replied.  "And we are not talking about me.
You are the one who was set on Mythis.  You are the one who is feeling
guilty.  You are the one who must deal with this as you see fit."

"You are right," Haldir conceded, standing up.  "I will go see him this
evening."

"You are not—you are not considering withdrawing your offer, are you?"
Ardamil asked.

Haldir crossed his arms and cocked his head to one side.  "Now, this is
peculiar.  You are the one who was not sure about bringing Mythis into
the patrol.  Have you changed your mind?"

"My objections to Mythis were based on his maturity, nothing more,"
Ardamil replied.  "Your objections are based on feelings."

"That is not what I asked," Haldir pointed out.  "I asked if you had
changed your mind."

Ardamil stood.  "I saw how much Mythis wants this.  And I saw
something else . . . I saw how much he wants you.  He would never fail
you, Haldir."

Haldir gave a one-sided smile. "You are always very good, Ardamil – so
clear-sighted and honest."

Ardamil accepted the compliment gracefully.  "Go, then.  Speak to
Thlayrah.  You will not be able to rest until you do."

***

Thlayrah lived on the outskirts of Caras Galadhon.  His talan was in the
mid-levels of the trees – a simple, rustic place that suited his straight-
forward personality.

As Haldir moved across the high bridges and causeways, drawing ever
nearer to the dwelling, he recalled numerous nights of joy spent in the
company of his former captain.  Thlayrah had been an indulgent leader,
building bonds of loyalty and friendship with his warriors through much
personal interaction.  It was a lesson Haldir had learned only partly, or it
might be more accurate to say that he had learned it to the extent that was
possible.  For while Haldir was warm and inviting on duty, he tended to
remain somewhat distant during his off-time.  An occasional trip to the
fountain was always followed by hours of solitude.  Haldir found his
greatest peace, his greatest joy in his moments of silent contemplation of
the One.  Still, he was not a loner, and as he approached Thlayrah's talan,
his thoughts were filled with pleasant memories of song and drink and
brotherly camaraderie.

He drew near the talan from an overhead route of hung plank bridges and
rope strands, but when he came to the final bridge, he stopped.  Below
him, Mythis stood at the doorway to Thlayrah's home, and an instant later,
the door opened to reveal Thlayrah himself.

"Mythis?  What are you doing here?  I would have thought you would be
joyfully packing your belongings for relocation to the Wide Patrol's
talans," Thlayrah said, his face kind, his voice patronly.

A troubled expression came over Mythis's idyllic features.  "Nikerym . . .
are you . . . are you not angry with me?"

"Angry?  Why would you say that?"

Mythis did not answer.  He seemed to waver on the edge of a response for
several seconds before throwing himself into Thlayrah's surprised
embrace.

But the surprise was short-lived, replaced by a sad, knowing grin.  "All
choices involve some kind of loss, Mythis," he said gently.  "But I will
never be too far away."

Mythis spoke tearfully into his shoulder.  "But you—you have been the
only father I have ever known.  I do not want to leave you."

Thlayrah eased Mythis away a bit and raised his head with a finger under
his chin.  "Haldir will care for you just I do – even more, it is likely."

"That is impossible," Mythis protested, but Thlayrah shushed him with a
look.

"You do not know Haldir yet," he said.  "But believe me, Mythis, there
will come a time when you will be ready to sacrifice all for the life of 
your
captain.  He will become what matters most to you.  You will not fight for
honor, glory, justice, freedom, preservation; you will fight for him, for 
his
protection, and you will do it out of love."  He took Mythis's face in his
hands.  "Right now, you want the honor, the prestige . . . and you want
him to love you.  But you do not know him yet.  You will discover,
Mythis, that the flourishing of your own love for him will become of
greater importance than your desire to be loved.  He will take precedence
over all other concerns and desires.  That is the way it is with Haldir, 
with
the Wide Patrol under his command."

"But I—I already feel that way with you, Nikerym Thlayrah," Mythis
insisted.

But Thlayrah only smiled indulgently.  "You have not even begun to
experience that of which I speak."

Mythis's eyes searched Thlayrah's face for some sign of greater
reassurance.  "You will not forget me, will you, Nikerym?"

"That is a foolish question, for who could forget you, Mythis?"  Thlayrah
replied, then added, "But do not forget, child . . . we shall still see each
other often.  And when you need the love of a parent, you will always be
welcome.  My door is always open to you."  He fixed Mythis with a
serious gaze.  "But starting now, your loyalty must begin to shift.  And so
it shall.  And so it shall, until he will become the center of all your
concern.  You will shortly be bound to his protection . . . by oath and then
by love.  You will bring me most credit by fulfilling that charge to the 
best
of your abilities. And your abilities are second-to-none, Mythis."

From his hiding place, Haldir looked on in amazement.  He'd had no idea
of how highly Thlayrah had thought of Mythis, no idea how much
Thlayrah had meant to Mythis, and absolutely no idea just how much of a
child Mythis still was.  Ardamil had been right.  While Mythis was
physically several decades into adulthood, mentally and emotionally, he
appeared little more than a child, leaving home for the first time.  While
Haldir was not sure of the extent of Thlayrah's "parentage" of Mythis, he
was becoming certain of one thing:  he would not betray Thlayrah's
confidence in him.  He would take Mythis underwing; he would ensure
Thalyrah's trust in him was not compromised.

And now, as he watched Mythis, full of tears, on Thlayrah's doorstep, he
realized that the most beautiful elf he had ever laid eyes on, the elf whose
public composure and humor were unquenchable, had never viewed his
beauty or his wits as guaranteers of acceptance.  Mythis's net words were
proof of that.  He was still looking into Thlayrah's benevolent gaze, and
yet he could not suppress the need to ask the only question that mattered to
him.

"Do you love me, Nikerym?"

Thlayrah's expression grew even softer.  "Need you ask me that?"

"I—I would like to hear it," Mythis replied.  "No one has ever said it to me
before."

Fresh pain broke over Thlayrah's face, and he enfolded Mythis in his arms.
"Oh, Mythis, of course, I love you."

Haldir was dumbfounded.  What sort of history did Mythis possess that
could produce such a sad statement?  Haldir had not even given a
moment's thought to Mythis's background, but now he wondered.

Thlayrah was still talking.  "I love you so much that I want to see you go
with Haldir, because I know that is where you truly belong.  And then you
will never have to wonder—"  his voice caught for moment, "—if you are
loved."

Haldir saw Mythis's face against Thlayrah's shoulder.  Serenity had settled
on the tear-streaked cheeks.  It was an incredible sight of such
overwhelming splendor—

--and suddenly his eyes burned from the image.  The pain returned, the
discord, the tearing of something honest and beautiful into pieces, the
agony of a fond memory ravaged and violated.

And then Haldir was thrust back into the darkness.  "Stop it, please!"  he
cried out, clawing desperately at the nothingness around him.  But there
was nothing physical against which he could fight.  He had no strength or
power that could combat such an enemy.  He could only plead, yet there
came no answer – only a horrid sense of pleasure:  pleasure in the pain
being inflicted.