Story Downloaded from Open Scrolls Archive (https://www.openscrolls.net)

Title: A Warrior's Experience (#3350)
Author: TheLadyofLight
Chapters: 4

Archive: Tolkien
Category: Lord of the Rings (Movieverse)
Description: Aragorn and Haldir are becoming friends but a misadventure involving poachers in the woods of Lothlórien will test their burgeoning trust.
Published: 09 Mar 2007
Updated: 09 Mar 2007
Warnings: The usual: blood, angst
Type: Drama
Characters: Haldir, Aragorn


Chapter 1 - Part One

Author’s Notes:

Like the last story this is split into four distinct parts though it is longer than my last post. I hope it's easier to read than my last.

Disclaimer:

I have no permission to use these characters or events of Middle-Earth. This story was written for enjoyment only. I do, however, own several original characters herein and the basic plot is mine. Please do not use either without my permission.

Genre:

Drama / Suspense / Angst.

Summary:

Aragorn and Haldir are becoming friends but a misadventure involving poachers in the woods of Lothlórien will test their burgeoning trust.

Warnings:

The usual violence.

Rating:

PG-13

Others Authored by the Lady of Light:

Agar Saer (Bitter Blood)
The Cost of Blood
First Name Terms

(The latter two can be found on fanfiction.net)

You may want to read First Name Terms because that story leads directly into this one. But by all means if you want to give it a whirl by itself, please do.

Spoilers:

For previous works of mine especially First Name Terms and perhaps for the Fellowship of the Ring but no others that I know of.

Timeline:
This takes place later in the Third Age.
Additional Disclaimer:

I am taking liberties with the construction of telain or flets as the Galadhrim called their homes. Originally, flets were used as defensive outposts for the guard but with danger rising steadily throughout the Second and Third Ages, the Galadhrim took to living in the trees at least within Caras Galadhom which itself was a fortress. However, Tolkien, to my knowledge, never gave any intimate descriptions of telain as living quarters—save those of the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn and of that, only the meeting chamber in great detail. Therefore, I have decided to make up certain aspects.


A Warrior’s Experience

By: The Lady of Light

Part One
~Nighttime Revelations~

Creak. Creak. Creak. Pause. Creak. Creak. Creak. Pause. Creak. Creak. Creak…

Aragorn stared up at the dark wood ceiling, listening to the soft, regular rhythm. Moonlit shadows spilled across the bedclothes tangled about his knees. Over the sounds upstairs, he could hear the whispering of the mallorn trees all around. The young human sighed, comforted by the relative silence but disquieted by the darkness unrelieved by candle or lantern light.

Since the captain’s quarters were ideally placed between the borders and healer’s quarters it was agreed that the human stay there until his injuries mended. It was a large bit of property for the use of only one person and Haldir freely admitted he really only needed two rooms in his talan. The loft Rameil, as second-in-command, slept in, leaving the lower bedroom free and unused.

It was little furnished but comfortable enough for Aragorn who had known nothing but hard earth and open sky for over a month on his journey over the mountains. It felt good to have a roof overhead again though he missed the wide expanse of stars as he fell asleep. They reminded him of home.

And it was that that stirred the young man from his slumber. He had dreamed of it again, of wintry sunlight streaming through the long upright windows of his bedchamber, the open terraces where he would sit for hours just staring out over the valley that even in autumn was beautiful with all the trees changing from deepest green to crimson copper and gold. He missed seeing his father reading in the library or poring over ancient lore volumes, his brothers planning their next venture into the hills ever on the search for orcs.

What would Father and Elladan and Elrohir say when he found out about their youngest family member’s latest mishap?

Aragorn could only imagine. But thankfully, the continuous noise coming from the room above did not allow him to dwell on such thoughts. Though an elf’s footsteps were completely soundless that didn’t mean the planks beneath them were as well. Aragorn had been listening for at least an hour, unable to fall back asleep due to the turmoil of his own thoughts and those of his upstairs neighbor.

Sliding out from under the covers, his bare feet touched the cold wood. He shivered a little but, summoning his courage, reached for a clean tunic in the old pine drawer beside the door. The plain white cloth slid easily over his head though the shirt was actually a little big on him, being a generic garment provided by the healers for injured soldiers whose tunics were ruined by the hardships of battle.

He had gotten rather well-practiced in slipping it on one-handed with his left arm still healing. He had to keep it bound up in a sling during the evening. His disastrous venture in the cleft just north of Lothlórien where he had dislocated his shoulder and taken an orc arrow had nearly ended very badly. The wound however had nearly completely healed over save for a white mark near his collarbone which would eventually just be one more scar among others already marking the human’s body.

Late autumn night shone through his small window and a nearly full moon waved bright silver light onto the floor swirled by the shadows of leaves. The ranger in him took over as Aragorn slipped out the door as silent as a shadow. The corridor was pitch black but after a few days Aragorn had learned the way by heart.

His bare feet made no noise on the wood floor as he followed it up a set of narrow winding steps. The inside of the tree trunk brushed his shoulders on either side until he emerged onto a shadowy landing in the main corridor. It was dark here too but a lantern at the far end of the hall glowed and cast just enough blue luminescence to see by.

The relentless pacing had ceased. In the corridor, Aragorn paused too, filled with reluctance to intrude now if Haldir had at last gone to sleep. But then a new sound filtered through the wooden walls, a beautiful and unearthly melody that stirred longing in Aragorn’s heart.

His right hand trailing the wall, he felt his way down the corridor with the lantern light slowly growing brighter. He passed a door on his left, following the sounds towards the center of the talan. They grew clearer with every step he took and the lantern dazzled his eyes when he halted on the threshold of the biggest room in the talan.

The noises were muffled now only by the tree trunk, still massively thick, that passed right through the middle of the floor and disappeared into the ceiling which had been built right around it. Aragorn rounded it slowly.

Haldir had not heard the ranger enter, so absorbed in the melody his long fingers provoked from the large wooden harp in a corner of the room. The base rested on the floor with the gilded strings fanning out and curving gently upwards like a swan’s wing. The rain-drop rhythm, the soft tuneful vibrations always soothed him, no matter what troubles plagued his mind. They were swept away by the tide of sound. He let the music swell around him, forgetful of the time, of the night, of the shadows, his eyes more than half-closed, his ears attuned only to the harp.

Aragorn grinned, a wicked idea beginning to form in his mind. It wasn’t often he managed to catch an elf unawares. His brother and father always heard him no matter how stealthily he crept up. And only on one very memorable occasion had he managed to startle Legolas who had chased him halfway back to Thranduil’s palace. It had become a sort of challenge for the maturing human, a test of skill.

It was a chance he couldn’t afford to miss.

But the elf’s reaction was completely and frighteningly unexpected.

At the light touch of the man’s hand on his shoulder, Haldir sprang out of his seat as though electrocuted, knocking over the harp with a vibrating crash. The saber Aragorn had not seen lying beside it bit hard into the flesh of his neck enough for a tinge of blood to stain his tunic’s white collar.

The ranger kept still as the discordant echoes died away, not daring to breathe for fear he’d slice his own throat.

It took him a minute but as soon as Haldir recognized who he held at sword point, the elf’s face whitened to the shade of parchment and the saber rang almost as loudly as the harp as it hit the floor. “What the devil are you doing in here?”

Aragorn too had gone very white when he saw the blade whistle to within a hairsbreadth of hewing off his head. But he recovered quickly and grinned. “Scared you.”

Haldir was decidedly less amused. “You are an idiot. I could have killed you!” The thought of seeing the young man stretched on the floor with blood flowing from his severed neck haunted the elf so much he sank back onto the harp stool, his hands white-knuckled on his knees.

Sensing uneasily that he may have touched an unseen nerve, Aragorn immediately regretted his impulsive action. “I am sorry. I should have announced my presence.”

“You’re not hurt are you?” Haldir had spotted the crimson trickling onto the man’s linen collar.

Aragorn fingered the scratch which stung a little. “My head’s still attached.”

Haldir leaned his head back against the wall and momentarily shut his eyes before bending down and righting the fallen harp. “What are you doing up at this hour anyway? I didn’t wake you did I?” he asked while carefully checking the strings and the wood gild for scratches

Aragorn replied, only partially untruthfully, still abashed for having so badly startled the other. “I was already awake. I couldn’t sleep.”

“And?”

Aragorn frowned, confused. “And what?”

“There is always a reason for not sleeping. What troubles you?”

Though he had been a guest in the elf’s house for almost a week now, though they had eaten and sparred and lived together, Haldir had still managed to keep himself somewhat apart. Night after night when he couldn’t sleep, Aragorn listened to the restless stirrings above his head but this was the first time he had actually come up.

“I am not sure,” Aragorn admitted quietly, sinking into a chair at the dining room table.
“Something is not right. I feel…restless. As though I should be doing something or going somewhere.”

“This season since it keeps you indoors could be the cause of your restlessness,” the elf said but he didn’t look as though he believed his words and watched the human with penetrating eyes.

But Aragorn didn’t notice his new friend’s intense gaze for he was looking at the wooden table for the first time noticing it was covered in sheets of parchment traced with spidery lines. “Thinking of traveling?” he inquired looking over the scrolls, the largest of which was a map of the three main peaks of the Misty Mountains just west of Lothlórien.

“Considering. Though perhaps not until spring. Traveling so close to winter is…unwise to say the least,” Haldir said, self-consciously rolling up the handrawn maps and replacing them in a cabinet at the far side of the room. “And I have duties here to fulfill. I cannot lightly leave.”

“When was the last time you took leave?”

Haldir reseated himself beside the harp, the strings humming lightly under his touch. “There is always much to do. Nothing is ever done.”

It was a phrase Estel had often heard his father use when overwrought. The elf still looked rather white in the face.

“No wonder you’re so twitchy!” Aragorn said, trying to joke but the smile slid off his face at the grave expression Haldir leveled him with.

Aragorn had thought the ice between them had begun to melt a little…maybe he was wrong to presume so much. Fearing he had offended his host beyond repair, Aragorn stood up with lowered eyes and tried to apologize once more. “I guess I should go back to bed.”

Haldir had been lost in thought, the past swirling too much with the present for him to concentrate on what he was talking about or listening to but as the ranger stood up his eyes focused. “You do not have to go.”

Aragorn paused.

“Unless you’re tired, then by all means…But if you cannot sleep you might as well sit down,” Haldir pushed out the chair so recently vacated with a boot.

The ranger smiled and immediately took it. He was starting to feel a little tired again but this was the first time the elf had voluntarily asked him to stay. “I really didn’t mean to startle you like that.”

“Stop apologizing! I heard you the first two times. Honestly, ranger, it was only a jest….Valar knows, I appreciate them more than people think,” Haldir’s mock-irritation turned reflective. “Some habits are harder to unlearn than others that’s all.”

It was the only explanation he felt comfortable giving and Aragorn didn’t push him. He understood in part. Even after years of peace when their home had not been threatened for millennia, some of the lords of the household still carried blades at their hips. He knew for a fact his own brothers still had theirs lying within easy reach under their beds.

“I guess a soldier never stops being a soldier even at the end of the day, huh?” Aragorn gave a sheepish smile and felt a wave of relief wash over him when the elf at last smiled back.

“All too true.”

They lapsed into another silence but it was a far more comfortable one than before and Aragorn took the time to glance around the room, his curious eyes landing on the harp. “I didn’t know you played.”

“You never asked.”

“Do you sing too?” Aragorn asked immediately.

Haldir chuckled. “Only after a fair amount of encouragement and a fairer amount of wine.”

“Well,” a broad grin spread across Aragorn’s face as he made a sweeping gesture with his palms upturned. “Do you have any wine?”

For a moment, the elf stared at him as though unsure whether to laugh or cuff the man. Then he stood up abruptly and, going to a dark corner cabinet, rifled around in the back before emerging with two tumblers and a carmine-colored bottle about halfway full.

“I’ve been hiding this from Rameil so not a word,” he slid a glass a third of the way full across to the ranger. “I’m afraid though you won’t get ice until winter sets in properly.”

Aragorn sipped appreciatively at the lightly spiced wine, cool from sitting in the back of the cabinet for so long. After a moment when Haldir offered no more for conversation, he lowered his glass thoughtfully, taking the break to examine his host more closely.

Haldir’s loose-necked tunic which he wore for the sake of modesty seemed to glow in the soft radiance of lanterns set at intervals along the walls. He had rolled the sleeves back to the elbows so he could play. But he still wore his worn parade ground boots with the cuffs of his dark green sleeping trousers tucked into them.

Scarcely a night had passed since Aragorn arrived in that house and not heard those boots creaking upstairs or the softer sounds of the harp. To the point where he had begun to wonder if his host ever slept. Haldir was very reserved in talking about himself but the more Aragorn talked with him, the more intrigued he became. Ghosts lurked in the shadows behind the soldier’s hard, guarded eyes.

But Aragorn didn’t have the gall to ask anything. Instead he sat back and refilled his tumbler from the carmine bottle. “What about Rameil?” he asked glancing up at the silent loft overhead. “Will we wake him?”

“Oh, Rameil could sleep through a pack of wargs leaping over his head. Come to think of it I think that did happen once...” the captain looked pensive for a minute before shrugging and tucking back a few loose strands that had worked out of the ponytail he messily pulled his hair into at night.

“So what keeps you awake?” Aragorn asked, taking another draught of his cup. The wine, a little stronger than he was accustomed to, made him bolder.

“I am several hundred years behind in my completely useless paperwork pile.”

“Several hundred years?” Aragorn wasn’t sure if the elf was exaggerating or not.

“Laboring for hours on end, writing down things horribly obvious to anyone with a grain of common sense…To be read by no one,” Haldir leaned back in his chair, gazing unseeingly at the lamp hanging behind Aragorn’s shoulder. “I think I’ve finally decided I’m just too handsome to fill in requisition forms. It’s not just.”

This time Aragorn really did laugh causing the elf to look round at him.

“What? You don’t think so?” He stood up with a sideways glare at the ranger. “At least, I don’t look like a mendicant.”

“These are your clothes!” Aragorn protested without any real indignation, too pleased the elf felt comfortable enough to joke with him to care about the slight. “I do not look like a mendicant.”

“You’re pouting.”

“No, I’m not.” The young man abruptly checked himself.

Hiding a triumphant smirk, Haldir picked up his sword and set it on the table with obvious reverence before retaking his seat and beginning to check it over for possible nicks incurred by its rather abrupt fall. Interested, Aragorn leaned forward to examine the blade.

It was beautifully crafted. The finest steel, to Aragorn’s untrained eyes, with a long slightly curved blade tapered to a tip as keen and deadly as a scythe. A filigree of golden inlay in the shape of mallorn leaves twined the hilt and smoothly sank into the deep blood channel that ran the entire length. He leaned his elbows on the table, squinting curiously at the saber.

“How old is it?”

Haldir glanced up at him as he ran a polishing cloth over the already shining steel. “It belonged to my very first commanding officer when I joined the guard. After he was killed, the blade passed on to the officer promoted to captain after than and so on. It has been handed down for generations from officer to officer. Even I do not know all of its history.”

“Like Hadhafang,” the ranger murmured, meaning the relic of the Last Alliance that hung above the mantelpiece in his foster father’s study.

“Perhaps not quite so legendary. But in essence.” The marchwarden tapped his fingers lightly over the leathern hilt as he said quietly, almost to himself. “It has seen much blood spilt. And drunk its own share.”

“Still,” He sheathed the saber in its battered scabbard. “it cleans up well. Go on, you finish it.”

Aragorn tipped the last splash of wine into his mug and for a while just stared at the crimson liquid swirling in it. “You have seen a lot of battles.”

“You have not. What’s your point?” The elf set the saber on the table between them.

Aragorn shrugged still without lifting his eyes. “I have never really…aside from a few skirmishes…ever fought in a battle like…the one in the ravine. Is it always like that?” The bloody slaughter a week ago still preyed on his mind even now. He saw it still in his dreams and had waited for days to summon up enough courage to ask the captain about it.

Haldir seemed to guess the younger man’s thoughts. “No. Usually a lot more soldiers get killed. We were quite fortunate. Your father would probably skin me if I brought you home d—”

“Don’t you two ever sleep?” a new, sleep-filled voice growled from the door.

Both Aragorn and Haldir looked up guiltily as Rameil shuffled in looking disheveled and grumpy, his eyes still heavy with sleep.

“‘Could sleep through a pack of wargs leaping over his head,’ huh?” Aragorn grinned dryly at his friend.

“What?”

“It was the human’s fault,” Haldir immediately pointed the blaming finger at Aragorn who blustered with righteous indignation.

“Wha-? Me? I was content with being quiet. You were the one who wanted to talk all night. I’m a human. I need sleep,” Aragorn said, skirting his companion who moved as if to cuff him.

Rameil shook his head at the pair of them but a tiny quirk at the corner of his mouth suggested he was more amused than annoyed and the look he gave his fellow housemate was distinctly meaningful. “I don’t care whose fault it was—where did you get that?” he had caught sight of the empty bottle on the table.

“Goodnight!”

Still laughing, Aragorn abandoned Haldir to settle with Rameil and escaped back downstairs to his bunk. He listened for a few minutes but heard no further sounds from above and as the house settled into quiet once more, Aragorn relaxed and let his eyes close. Tiredness sweeping over him in waves, he settled into now-cold sheets, wondering what the next day would bring.

Author’s Notes: This is a multiple part story: so far it has four sections which I’m hoping to post three days apart. So expect the next part Thursday December 28. Reviews and comments and questions are wonderful and indicative of the Christmas season.

Merry Holidays to one and all!

~The Lady of Light~


Chapter 2 - Part Two

Part Two
~By Degrees~

Voices permeated his sleepy consciousness as Aragorn rolled over, tugging the warm sheets back up around his shoulders. Intrusive midmorning sunlight kept trying to sneak under the covers and pry his eyelids open. Though pulling the blankets over his face effectively blocked out the sunlight, it could not block out the voices, one of which was steadily increasing in volume. Eventually realizing he would never get back to sleep now, the ranger tossed the bedclothes on the floor, dressed quickly and followed the noise to the chamber above.

Haldir looked as though he hadn’t left the table since last night though he had changed his clothes. And had company.

“You’re overreacting. Again,” the captain was saying to a stranger dressed in a grey and black uniform very much like Haldir’s though the newcomer’s bore a band of black on either sleeve denoting his rank. He had the same jaw line as the captain with long golden hair bound back from a leaner face. His bright eyes bore a mixture of concern and outrage.

“I am not!” the strange elf said, hands akimbo, his gaze boring into the captain’s as though to pin him there. “As your brother, isn’t it my right to worry?”

“You have a brother, sir?” Aragorn couldn’t prevent himself from blurting out in surprise from the doorway.

“Yes, Rúmil, what are you doing here?” Haldir raised an annoyed eyebrow, grateful for the interruption as he cast a sideways glance in Aragorn’s direction.

Rúmil gave his elder brother a knifing look that stated in no uncertain terms he was going to get an earful. “After three nights, I finally inquired of a rather furious Colonel Laer if he had heard yet from the captain of the northern border on the missives from the Mirkwood scouts. And he had the courtesy to inform me that my ‘insurgent’ brother had gone to pursue the orcs that had attacked the fences the night before. With six only under his command. Six! Haldir, what were you thinking? Rameil had to reassure me you were still whole since you didn’t have the courtesy to inform us when you returned.”

Completely unrepentant, Haldir grinned. “The colonel always speaks so well of me, I’ll have to return the compliment.”

“Haldir.”

“And it was seven. Gilas was our runner.”

“Haldir-”

“Rúmil, we have a houseguest, did you notice? Be polite and introduce yourself.”

For the first time Rúmil spied Aragorn and distractedly nodded to him. “Good day. Haldir, you cannot think that Orophin and I would just-” He broke off. Slowly, he returned his gaze to his brother’s ‘houseguest.’

Aragorn waved hesitantly.

Rúmil bent down, close to his brother’s ear and whispered. “You do know he’s human, right?”

“And I’m sure he knows it too with you to tell him,” Haldir said in a normal tone.
“To his people, he’s Estel. He knows our language, Rúmil. Speak no secrets.”

Flushing slightly, Rúmil turned back to Aragorn and belatedly grasped his hand. “I apologize for my rudeness…I-I was surprised, it’s not often that we-”

Aragorn spared the elf further embarrassment and smiled easily. “It’s all right. I understand. You probably don’t get very many visitors out here, much less human ones.”

Rúmil nodded, grateful.

Haldir glanced between the two of them and abruptly stood. “Well, good. Nice to see you two are chatty.”

“I’m not finished with you, Haldir!” Rúmil called after his brother’s retreating back.

“When are you ever?” the afflicted muttered back, making it quite clear that he didn’t want Rúmil to follow him.

He did. “You will come to dinner tonight, then?” he pressed as Haldir held the door pointedly open for him.

“Yes, yes.”

“Oh, and Haldir, don’t-” Rúmil turned back only to find the door shut in his face.

Aragorn grinned as Haldir rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Even younger brothers have their right to be protective.”

The elf glanced at him as he started back down the corridor. “How did you know he was younger?”

“His eyes. And the way he looks at you. I hero-worshipped my brothers when I was younger,” the ranger‘s smile widened at the thought. “I still do, in fact.”

Haldir burst into cynical laughter. “I hardly think Rúmil regards me with ‘hero-worship’ as you put it. His anxiety would put a mother hen to shame.” He paused so suddenly Aragorn nearly walked into his back. “Do you want to come?”

“What?” Aragorn was too busy trying to regain his balance to understand the question at first.

“To dinner. Tonight. Do you want to come?”

“If it’s a family occasion I really don’t want to intrude-”

“Nonsense. I drag Rameil all the time,” Haldir waved that barrier away with a flick of his hand. “You will have to suffer my brother’s wife’s cooking but at least you don’t have to hunt- or eat the slops in the barracks room for that matter.”

There was only one answer Aragorn could give to that.

“All right.”

----------

The nights were definitely growing cooler. Late autumn had already sprung into the trees, shifting them from their summer-green. The little pale niphredil and elanor were popping up too, nestling close against the roots of the mellyrn for protection from the wind. Dark locks drifted slightly as a biting draft swept through them. The sycamores and birches would already be browning and falling at home, Aragorn thought wistfully. He shrugged his collar higher up on his neck. An unusually wintry chill stained the air for still so early in autumn.

The restlessness that had plagued him the night before drove him to take a long walk along the river despite the cold this afternoon so he could gather his thoughts. A small frown creased his face. On the one hand, he wanted to be home- more than fortnight ago that’s exactly where he should have been. He missed his father more than he had thought he would and his brothers-even though he had told Haldir how annoying their protectiveness was-he couldn’t help missing their jokes and stories. Nevertheless it was hard to tear himself away from the beauty here; the land itself reminded him of long-forgotten tales as it folded into deep glens and wooded hillsides, the river no more than a vibrating trickle of dusky ink under a deepening evening sky, the sun a crimson flush on the gold leaves.

“Beautiful.”

The softly spoken word made Aragorn turn though not start. Haldir stood almost beside him, arms folded more in contemplation than cold. His silver eyes swept with a mixture of pride and wistfulness over the vastness of the autumnal forest he protected.

“It’s magnificent,” Estel agreed, smiling as a light kindled in the other’s eyes.

“Have you been waiting long?”

“No, not too,” he fell into step beside the elf as Haldir led him off the little hilllside in the opposite direction of the barracks and deeper into the Naith of Lórien towards the more residential area outside Caras Galadhon.

“Not many live outside the city these days,” Haldir remarked to mute the deep twilit silence. “Unless they’re soldiers.”

“Are there many soldiers out here, sir?” Aragorn asked, ducking a low branch. Despite the growing familiarity between them, he still felt it proper to address the elf respectfully until he could test the waters a little bit more.

Unseen in the gathering darkness, Haldir rolled his eyes. “I’ve told you before and I will tell you again-you are neither my ranker nor on my payroll. Stop calling me ‘sir.’ I’m old enough as it is.”

Aragorn laughed. “I’ll do my best. To be fair, you don’t look it.”

“Thank you.” The momentary levity in the conversation slid away as Haldir answered his previous question. “Our numbers are unfortunately compromised of late. The Anduin is our greater concern with the darkness growing in Mirkwood…I had a missive from King Thranduil’s captain only a few weeks ago about the spiders encroaching outside their hunting grounds and the possibility of orcs crossing the River.”

“Even Lothlórien is touched by the growing Shadow then,” many times Aragorn had been warned about the dangers of the world now and the part he would have yet to play in it.

“Even so.”

“What did you do today?” the ranger asked, both to break the dark turn of the conversation and genuinely curious about what being a captain of the Lothlórien guard might mean on a day-to-day basis.

But the answer was not what he expected. Haldir glanced at him strangely, his face only half-seen in the dimming light. “I do not expect anything from you, ranger.”

Aragorn looked at him and offered a small smile. “You can call me Estel, you know. I promise I’ll stop calling you ‘sir.’”

“Fine, Estel, then.”

“What do you mean you don’t ‘expect’ anything from me?”

“This…gratitude…this interest in my life…No human addresses an elf with such deference as you have shown me.”

Aragorn slowed, momentarily taken aback. He had known elves all his life; it had become second nature to him to treat those around him with respect. But he had forgotten Haldir didn’t know that. “Surely you don’t think all humans uncouth and belligerent?”

The elf raised an eyebrow at him that had Aragorn echoing him with equal incredulity.

Haldir relented first. “You, at least, are less belligerent though only slightly less uncouth.”

“Hey!”

“Definitely not cleaner though.”

“Hey!” Laughter definitely tinged the young man’s indignation though he still had half a mind to cuff the elf. He settled for muttering sullenly. “I resent that.”

“I notice you don’t deny it.”

“I respect you, Haldir,” Aragorn told him honestly, bringing their talk back around again. “I came to Lothlórien to see and learn from the Galadhrim. And I have been fortunate enough to add a friend into the bargain as well.”

Haldir stopped. “Friends? That is what we are?”

Aragorn’s face fell slightly, thinking he’d presumed too much as he halted a few paces beyond the elf. “I was hoping so.”

“You do not know me.”

Aragorn shrugged. “That’s kind of the purpose isn’t it? Befriending someone means wanting to learn more about them?”

“Perhaps some things are better off not being learned,” Haldir murmured in a voice too low for Aragorn to hear. Abruptly, he resumed walking. “How’s your shoulder?”

The change of subject did not go unnoticed with the ranger but he let it slide as he fingered the light bandage beneath his tunic. “It’s healing well. The healer finally let me take the sling off today.”

“Good.”

A slightly strained silence fell between them as they turned down a path that bore signs of more recent use. Haldir seemed lost in thought and Aragorn, not wanting to interrupt him, watched the trees glide past. Were they friends? The elf hadn’t exactly answered his question. He hadn’t said yes which was a little discouraging but he hadn’t said no either. In fact, he seemed mostly…confused. But about what Aragorn wasn’t sure. With an uncomfortable, icy squeeze in his stomach, he suddenly remembered something one of the other guards had snarled under his breath when his captain had insisted on bringing the wounded man back with them to Lórien:

“You would think if you were tortured by men you would not let them dangle at your tail.”

Haldir had been tortured by men. The very word, as unfamiliar to him as the act it represented, sent a shudder of cold horror groping down the young man’s spine. He couldn’t even begin to fathom it. Why would anyone- how could anyone-?

“What has lost you so deep in thought?” The dryly amused tone brought Aragorn sharply out of his dark contemplations. He glanced sheepishly at his companion, suddenly unsure of what to say and wondering if behind those inscrutable silver eyes Haldir was as conscious of his humanity as he suddenly was.

“I-uh, nothing. Nothing,” Aragorn dismissed it with a last firm shake. He wasn’t going to think about it anymore. Clearly, if Haldir had a problem with him he wouldn’t have invited him to dinner. “How far is it to your brother’s?”

“Not far now.” Haldir said, pointing ahead towards where the mellyrn thickened. “He lives just-” He halted, his head twisting sharply away from the path, back in the direction they’d come.

Instantly Aragorn was on the alert. Dropping a hand to the sword girded at his hip, he hissed. “What did you hear?”

“I’m not sure,” the elf whispered back, his eyes still ceaselessly scanning the silver trunks whose unfortunately still-thick collection of leaves shrouded the ground in impenetrable shadows. “Stay here.”

But Aragorn had no intention whatsoever of doing that. The tension rolling off the elven captain was nearly palpable. Something was wrong. He could almost feel it. No birds sang, no insects chattered in the grasses. Autumn nights were not this quiet. Something was up and the trees knew it too. Even the leaves were still.

Aragorn automatically slipped into stalking mode as he plunged into the dark after the elf. The woods were pitch black and more than once he narrowly avoided tripping over hidden roots. But his straining ears had finally caught what must have alerted the elf. The dog’s barking echoed through the silence, unmistakably close now.

He nearly stumbled over Haldir crouched at the base of a mallorn root a few hundred yards on. He had pulled up his cowl so his golden hair was completely obscured. The warrior turned sharply at the sound of his approach, a hand straying to the hilt of his sword. He straightened when he recognized who it was.

“I told you to wait by the path.”

“You said so yourself you’re not my captain,” Aragorn retorted smartly, ignoring the furious stare trying to burn a hole through his face. “I don’t want you to get into any trouble.”

Only the strength of his renowned self-discipline prevented Haldir from seizing the ranger by the shoulder and thrusting him back towards the road. “It may be nothing.”

“And it may not be,” Aragorn argued, his dark eyes earnest. “We might as well find out together.”

Haldir’s spare smile was lost in leafy umbrage. “That is what friends do I suppose?”

----------

Long patterns of light and shadow rippled across the branches. A few yards beyond, the Celebrant flowed furtive and silent under a half-shrouded moon. Its reed-lined bank quivered and rustled in a northerly wind. The faint starlight sending down searching fingers glinted briefly on something like metal, hidden in the dark.

Aragorn shivered and curled his overcoat closer around his body, thinking longingly of the warm talan they had so very nearly reached. Though his fingers were fast numbing he did not release his grip on his sword hilt. He had almost left it behind with his cloak. Now he was glad he had not. Crouched in the brush within sight of the river, he breathed quietly through his nostrils to keep the white plumes of his breath from giving his position away.

Haldir, in the tree above him, perched as still as a statue, his eyes searching the dark like a cat’s. But his mind churned within. Reports of poachers had come by runner that very afternoon. He hadn’t wanted Aragorn to know for obvious reasons. If the men threatened their borders, they would have to be dealt with and the sooner the better.

The marchwarden stiffened and rose a little from his curled position. An unsteady ripple marred the running surface of the Celebrant. A flash and then gone. Whether a trick of moonlight or something actually was there, too much foliage got in the way to be sure. Haldir settled back on his bough, the grip on his saber tightening imperceptibly. The humans would have to be stopped…they couldn’t penetrate the Naith…the humans….

Taking his eyes off the now-still and empty riverbank, Haldir glanced down through the withering leaves at the dark head barely separate from the brush. He had never thought after all these years that he could stand being in one of their company. The word respect had confused him. Haldir’s frown, unseen in the darkness, mirrored his battling emotions.

What on earth had possessed the ranger to say such a thing?

Friend.

Now that was an interesting word. One Haldir had not heard from the lips of a human for a very, very long time. A feeling pierced his heart as keen and shrill as the northern wind. It took him a few precious seconds before he realized what it was.

Guilt.

A very young man about Aragorn’s age, now very much dead, had rescued him from torment and probable death at the warring hands of the Gondorians’ all those years ago. He rubbed his shoulder absently. One of the warriors had been exceptionally cruel and the marks had not faded from the elven body for many weeks afterwards. Only the young man had saved him. But-what was his name? He’d almost forgotten; he hadn’t thought about it in so long. Tergon…Tergon had saved him. And in the end had died for it.

Two thousand years had not banished that grief, that guilt.

“Haldir?”

The elf started at the whisper of his own name, more mouthed than spoken. Clearly, he had been lost in thought longer than he realized and inwardly chided himself for the lapse. A soldier thinking about anything other than the peril at hand was a dead soldier. His former commander would have boxed his ears.

Aragorn though was looking up, trying to locate him in the shadows. Obligingly Haldir dropped silently down beside him.

Putting his lips very close to the ranger’s ear so his words would not carry, he whispered. “The riverbank. If nothing is there, we’ll go.”

Aragorn nodded grimly and tightened his hold on his weapon.

A tingle like a sixth sense raced up Haldir’s spine as they brushed through high bracken. Knowing the feeling too well to put it off, the elf proceeded cautiously, Aragorn right at his side matching him step for step. Their footsteps made no sound on the earthy floor as their legs whispered aside the ferns. Quiet breaths speared the air like specters. Ahead of them, the Celebrant rippled like quicksilver under the dimming moon.

He didn’t know who set it off in the dark. But he heard the snick. Too late. Something whistled through the air and Haldir thinking fast shoved Aragorn onto his face. White-hot agony lanced through his arm up his shoulder and the marchwarden reeled, collapsing against a mallorn with a surprised cry.

Staggering upright with bits of leaves in his hair, Aragorn took an automatic step forward trying to locate the danger. A hunter’s trip wire lashed instantly around his ankle, tightening painfully as he tried to pull away. Aragorn tried digging his fingernails under it to pull it free but the barbs cut his fingertips. As Aragorn grappled futilely to free his leg a ringing pierced the silence like an alarm: a bell attached to the snare to alert the hunters of their trapped quarry.

They had not long to wait.

“Well, well, look what we got here,” a voice as slick as oil slid out of the shadows as one by one shapes appeared out of the brush or rose from the sandy riverbank. The moonlight glanced off the lethal tip of a loaded crossbow.

More shapes emerged from the shadows around them, all armed, all with weapons trained directly at the two.

Aragorn narrowed his eyes at the speaker, trying not to wince as pain throbbed up his ankle. The realization of their situation crashed heavily down on him as he briefly met Haldir’s wide gaze.

They were trapped.


Chapter 3 - Part Three

Part Three
~Dangerous Game~

The hunter Dyral was not happy. He had told his men to leave their dogs tied at the wood edge. All their damned noise would frighten every deer away for miles. Something must have spooked them. Spitting a curse under his breath, he left his boot laces loose and heaved himself painfully to his feet, hindered by the unevenness of his right leg. He rubbed the limb absently as he scanned the trees.

The old wound ached worse when it got cold like this and a night spent crouching in the frosting brush had not done it any favors either. Silently, he cursed the white arrow that had crippled him. But he coaxed his impatience down to a low smolder. To rush would be dangerous. He had learned the lessons of caution and concealment well and taken only his stoutest and stealthiest to lay the snares. The elves had already found and destroyed two of his best traps but the greatest they had yet to discover. And he was determined that they would not discover it until it was already too late.

A clever contraption consisting of several crossing tripwires cunningly hidden in the yet-leafy and plentiful bracken. The first triggered the holding snare, catching the quarry round the heels and rendering it immobile, the second-a hair trigger device which the slightest touch would set off-flung long darts he had crafted and tainted himself straight into the hindquarters or shoulder of the deer.

A swift rustle caused him to turn as one of his scouts reached his side, gasping for breath. “Trap went off, just like you said, Chief.”

“And our catch?” his leader prompted impatiently, gripping his leg tighter. “Come on, speak up, boy!”

The sallow-faced scout ran a bewildered hand through his hair. “Well…it’s not a deer but…well, you got to see this, Chief.”

A growing smile sharpened Dyral’s thin features. Sounded liked his luck was starting to turn.

As fast as his leg could carry him, he limped back towards the river, slinging his crossbow over one shoulder as he went. Sometimes, the game broke a leg in the trap and would need to be put out of its misery before the elves heard it.

“Come on, you lot! Up! We got a catch!”

The others in his group who were impatient enough and partially frozen after waiting for so long leapt stiffly to their feet, gathering their weapons as they went.

----------

“Well, well, look what we got here,” Dyral shook his head but did not lower his crossbow as one of his men briskly held a lantern up to dispel some of the shadows. “Looks like we caught a brace of birds instead.”

A ripple of laughter ran around the circle of men.

Aragorn tried a rueful smile though his veins boiled with anger. He had met men like this around his home in Rivendell. The snares they used were designed to cause pain- proof of that ran up and down his leg every time he so much as twitched. Still, reason might prevail. “Clearly,” he offered with far more calm than he felt. “We are not deer. You can let us go.”

Beckoning the man bearing the lantern with him, Dyral limped forward a step or two, his crossbow still carefully pointed at the ranger’s chest. Aragorn blinked rapidly and pulled back slightly as the lantern nearly scorched his face. “Hmmm…no, I guess you’re not. Still you got some good meat on you,” laughingly he pinched the ranger’s forearm as Aragorn jerked away.

“Leave him alone.”

Dyral looked over Aragorn’s shoulder towards the low, dangerous voice. “So it’s you.”

Aragorn didn’t dare move with the crossbow so close but he could hear Haldir’s ragged breathing behind him. Being unable to turn his head transformed any thought of fear into anger.

“Let us loose!” he demanded, tugging ineffectually at the snare.

“Stand still, damn you,” one of the others, a burly man with a pock-marked face, snarled, jabbing Aragorn’s ribs.

“I told you to leave him alone!”

The lead huntsman ignored the order, his narrowed eyes fixed in the shadows behind the ranger. He was not above a little payback especially when his leg cramped even more fiercely. To put paid to at least one of those arrogant elven prigs would make his day complete even without a decent catch. He grinned under his unshaven lip.

The second pointed jab made Aragorn wince visibly. He still hadn’t completely mended from the fall that had landed him in Haldir’s care in the first place. His shoulder shuddered with renewed pain.

Haldir’s voice, oddly strained but sternly angry, spoke up again behind him. “Touch him again and I’ll lame your other leg.”

Dyral chuckled though it lacked any trace of humor. “You’re in no position to be giving orders, elf. You can’t fight all of us. And in case you’re thinking you can just charge, I’ve got more waiting, ready for my whistle- so you just try it I dare you.”

“Perhaps we cannot outfight you but I am certain we can outrun you.”

Aragorn closed his eyes. Taunting a man pointing a loaded crossbow at them was probably not the smartest move.

Stung by the jibe, Dyral flourished his weapon. But instead of directing it at the elf’s heart, he aimed it lower. His voice grated like a blade over stone. “My leg aches every day because of you. It’s only fair that I return the favor. But first, I owe you a little something.”

Aragorn heard the muted crack of a closed hand striking flesh and despite the danger, spun around, ignoring the spike of pain up his calf as the snare jerked even tighter.

The hunter’s fist had knocked the elf captain sideways. Blood trickled down Haldir’s chin from a split lip but his eyes burned as he raised his head. His silver eyes briefly lifted to Aragorn’s, warning the human to do nothing. He swiped his arm across his chin, leaving a smear of blood on the sleeve.

Cold plunged into Aragorn’s stomach as his gaze traveled downward to where the elf cradled his left arm against his side. A long dart as thick as his little finger but pointed as a needle had pierced the elf’s wrist right through, the bloody point protruding a good three inches.

Dyral was breathing hard as though he had been the one struck, his fingers twitching on the trigger. “It was a bad day for you when you shot that arrow.” He extended his arm until the loaded crossbow brushed Haldir’s leg.

Aragorn exploded into action.

One arm swung wildly and slapped away the crossbow while the other pulled his sword from its sheath and with one hard blow severed the snare’s hold on his leg. The bolt, knocked off target, hit one of the others in the chest, throwing him lifeless to the ground. Haldir rushed the leader with drawn saber, splintering the crossbow with one strike. Dyral stumbled back with broken wood in his fingers.

The other three swarmed in to protect their leader. The pock-marked man swung a massive falchion at Aragorn’s head. The younger man ducked the blow so that the sword chopped into the trunk of a mallorn. As the man tugged fruitlessly at his deeply buried blade, Aragorn came up on his other side. At the last possible second, he turned his sword so he broke the man’s jaw with the flat instead of splitting his skull in half. He didn’t want to kill if he could help it.

Something black and wiry dropped over the ranger’s head, half-obscuring his vision and snagging his blade up hopelessly. He tripped on the dragging ends and fell, his sword pinned under his body. Another of Dyral’s group had the ends of the net gathered in one fist and his blade stabbed down, seeking the young man’s soft flesh through the mesh. Aragorn tried to twist away but the tip glanced off his side, gouging a thin red line through his tunic. But no farther. His assailant choked and stared in amazement at the saber tip growing out of his chest before he collapsed, his fist still tightly clenching his nets.

Aragorn disentangled himself from the body and the clinging black tendrils, his sword reducing them to strands as he cut himself free.

Haldir was already dispatching the last fighters. His weapon sank deep into a broadsword wielding hunter’s stomach and deep into the earth below. He didn’t even look down as he pulled his blade free with a wet wrench.

Confronted by the swords and grim faces of the elf soldier and human ranger, Dyral and his remaining huntsman backed off. The leader’s face was livid as his leg threatened to give under him. “We’ll get you, elf. You only have a reprieve.” With an inexplicable grin, he added. “Or maybe not so much.”

Haldir made to go after him but Aragorn grabbed his uninjured arm. “Let him go. He can’t do anything.”

The elf pulled out of his grasp and leaned instead against the mallorn trunk. Without looking at the ranger he wiped his blade clean on his cloak, leaving it red-streaked. The grey bark was splattered with crimson drops and the bodies of men littered the brittle grass. Aragorn noticed one with a broken jaw lying in the bracken; a saber slash had opened his throat wide.

“You killed them.”

Haldir swiped more than the sweat of exertion off his face as he looked up. “What?”

“I tried not to kill them,” Aragorn said, quietly as though he wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to ask-or accuse-his companion of.

The Galadhrim captain stared at him. With a shake of his head at the other’s naivety, he sheathed his weapon and stepped over the body of the man he had just slain. “Come on.”

Aragorn suppressed an inward shudder. Would he ever achieve that kind of casualness around death? He wasn’t used to such ruthlessness. Where possible his father had always told him that to spare a life was the mark of a good and generous man even if the life he saved had wronged him. His own inexperience weighed against him but he still believed that and didn’t like to see lives wasted-even lives of those who might not deserve it. He edged around the bodies and fell into step at the elf’s side, his eyes finding the blood-soaked sleeve all too easily. “You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine. They’re going to…be looking for us as soon as…as they have reinforcements.” The elf’s breath came shallow and fast, his sentences breaking up strangely. Catching Aragorn’s concerned frown, he cleared his throat briskly and firmed his words. “The ones you let get away will put the rest of them on our trail.”

“You wanted me to kill them?” Aragorn snapped, distracted from anxiety by what he thought an unjust rebuke.

Haldir stopped, his words having achieved their objective of putting the ranger off his wounds. “I do what is necessary to protect my home and those I have sworn to guard with my life. If that means taking lives then so be it. I am willing to make that sacrifice. But unless I’m very much mistaken at least one of those bodies is yours.” Not waiting for the young man to absorb his words, he spun abruptly on his heel and kept on walking.

Aragorn stared at the elf’s receding back, frozen and speechless. His boots seemed suddenly rooted to the grassy floor. A wave of sickness hit him and he swallowed it down hard, determinedly looking anywhere but around him, at the lifeless, supine forms almost under his boots. Only the renewed barking roused him to the urgent desperateness of their situation.

It was black now, the moon hiding her face in the clouds.

Haldir searched for the stars in vain and closed his eyes, squeezing his injured forearm above the wrist. The pain was getting worse, pulsing outward from wrist to arm and shoulder, across his back and down. As he tried to breathe in, a hard tightness clamped around his ribs like steel. Swallowing hard, he blew out a shallow breath. He had to control it, fight it down as he had so many times before. Long battles and unfortunate injuries in the course of his duties had taught him that much at least. Contain the pain or the pain will contain you. He jerked as a hand gently slid up his shoulder.

Aragorn’s dark eyes filled with worry as they flickered over the dart still embedded in the elf’s wrist. “They’re coming.”

“There is a little… cleft in the Celebrant not far from the path we just left. It will take us to-to a hidden place where we may shelter for awhile,” Haldir brushed a hand over his eyes, disengaging the man’s hand as he did so. “It’s cold but it will keep out the worst of the wind. With any luck my brothers will be searching for us before long, get word to my patrol that the hunters have returned.”

----------

“I am going to kill him.”

Orophin looked up briefly from the remnants of his meal and shrugged at his younger brother’s fervent and fairly ineffectual vow. “It shouldn’t surprise you anymore, Rúmil. You know Haldir is busy with-”

“Oh, you are as bad as he is with your excuses! You might even be worse because you still drop by and eat all my food,” the younger elf protested, too annoyed to pretend to be joking.

Orophin popped half a roll into his mouth and grinned wickedly around it. “You know I can’t suffer my wife’s cooking every day. It would kill me.”

“I’ll refrain from telling her that.”

“You know that man, Estel, is staying with him. Which- I mean he seems perfectly nice, a gentleman and scholar,” Rúmil added hastily. “But I do wonder…I haven’t had the chance to talk to Haldir about it.”

“I heard that,” Orophin said. “Rameil likes him. He told me this morning he thought Estel was good for Haldir. Apparently, he has a sense of humor our dear elder brother can so benefit from.”

Rúmil managed a laugh but it faltered swiftly. “Actually, it’s just as well Haldir isn’t here tonight. I wanted to talk to you about him. He’s starting to-”

“Look, Rúmil, I already know what you are going to say,” With the resignation of one who had had this conversation far too many times in the past, the older brother nimbly speared a neat slice of venison and slid it onto his plate.

Rúmil doggedly pursued the subject, ignoring his brother’s reticence as he always did. “He’s slipping away from us, Orophin, and I know you’ve seen it. How many times has he promised to join you on a hunt and not shown up?”

“Something’s always come up,” Orophin shrugged though his own eyes had darkened a shade. He had noticed the captain’s lapses. The emptiness around the family table on a more than weekly basis. But still he felt more inclined to defend his older brother than condemn him. “He has a duty, commissioned by the Lord and Lady themselves. It’s not something he can lightly cast aside. You know that.”

“But that’s no excuse for not spending at least a little time with your family,” Rúmil insisted, irritated that his other brother was so determined to defend something he would never have allowed himself to do to his own family. “He has to eat. We have to eat. Why not do it together? What’s an hour for dinner in a month’s worth of work?”

Orophin shook his head. He didn’t want to deal with his brothers’ problems. “You have to leave him be. Just let him do his duty when he has time he’ll-”

“We all have duties, I understand that,” But Rúmil wouldn’t accept it. “I train recruits and you work in the forge. What makes his duty so much more important than ours?”

“He loves it more.” Orophin said after a short pause. He twirled his fork absently between his fingers tapped it on his plate a few times while Rúmil leaned back and folded his arms, gazing fixedly at him until he reluctantly met his eyes. “All right, you’re right. Satisfied? We will talk to him.”

“No, I’m done talking and pleading,” the sergeant threw down his napkin and got to his feet. “Something has to be done about this. I will get him here if I have to tie him up and drag him myself.”

----------

“In there?” Aragorn voiced doubtfully, a prickle of apprehension racing like chilled fingers down his spine.

“Do you have a better idea?” Haldir challenged, standing before the mouth of the slender tunnel, the entrance of which was invisible to all eyes unless those eyes knew where to look. Aragorn glanced back through the slit in the stony outcrop they had squeezed through moments before. Just a sliver of moon-stained wood beyond could be glimpsed.

His gaze ventured once more to the gaping hole leading under the river by way of narrow, stone steps receding into darkness; he sighed. “No.”

“Be careful,” the elf cautioned. “It’s damp.”

Swallowing hard against the pressing fear in his chest, Aragorn followed his friend gamely, fingertips testing the earthen walls on either side as starlight vanished behind. All he could hear was the fading whisper of the trees and the esurient silence closing around them, their soft breathing echoing. His boots darkened as he began to count the steps, wondering how much further down they had to go. The walls had changed from dirt to damp bedrock.

Suddenly Haldir stumbled. He would have fallen and likely broken his neck had Aragorn not timely seized his arm, sensing more than seeing him start to tumble. The elf’s face was oddly wan in the scarce moonlight as he rested his other hand against the wall to steady himself.

“And you warned me to be careful,” Aragorn chuckled as he picked his way gingerly down the last few steps. “You all right?” Something hot and sticky smeared his hand where he had grabbed the elf. Even in the blackness, he knew instantly what it was.

With careful slowness Haldir lowered himself onto the last stair and pointed with his eyes. “There should be a lantern down there somewhere.”

With a concerned frown at his companion’s bowed head, Aragorn felt his way a little further down the black corridor, edging forward carefully lest his foot catch on some loose rock. His fingertips brushed something colder and harder than stone and he realized it was an iron hook beneath which he found a dust-crusted lantern. Heart thudding uncomfortably, he hurriedly backtracked towards the small glimmer of light near the bottom of the steps.

The elf was easier to find when he did not dim his natural glow and Aragorn breathed a sigh of relief when he reached the stairs again. Haldir had leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes but he opened them when he heard the scrape of the lantern being set down.

Aragorn regarded the elf intensely for a moment then swung the lantern up triumphantly. “Do you have anything to light it with?”

Nauseated by the movement, Haldir hastily busied himself with fetching flint from the small pouch at his waist and handing it to the ranger. “You’ll have to do it.”

The wick flared blue before it settled to a steadier, gloomier glow, illuminating the ranger’s dark eyes and the elf’s drawn features.

“You don’t look well,” Aragorn observed with rising concern, balancing the light gingerly a few stairs up so the faint, unsteady light fell on both of them.

Haldir brushed a hand over the lower half of his face. He hadn’t even heard the ranger. The dizziness that had troubled him only a little after their encounter with the hunters had turned to a full-blown attack of sick vertigo which had nearly resulted in disaster on the stairs. His natural strength bolstered by the adrenaline of their flight had suppressed the effects of the dart but as the adrenaline drained away so too did his strength.

“That needs to come out,” The ranger said, his eyes on the elf’s wrist. He gently touched his sleeve where the dart exited. Already crimson darkened the grey cloth and was still spreading staining the elf’s hand. Aragorn bit his lip. There was an awful lot of blood…

“Can you move your fingers?” He looked up when the captain didn’t answer. “Haldir?” He jostled him lightly, another stab of worry sinking deep in his chest. He had no idea if the dart had been poisoned or how much damage had already been done. He had seen something like this before.

A fox had fallen into a hunter’s snare in the woods surrounding Rivendell’s hidden valley. It had tried to chew through its own leg trying to get out of a steel-hold trap. By sheer chance, Aragorn came across it while out with his brothers and tried to free it while its glazed amber eyes watched him. He couldn’t undo the snare and, as he was very young at the time, didn’t know how to explain what he had seen. But he went back. Once. The fox was dead.

Haldir opened his eyes, dark with restrained agony just like the fox’s. His face was white and lines that had nothing to do with age strained his brow. Every muscle in his jaw and neck had tightened visibly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you.”

“Can you move your fingers for me?” Aragorn repeated shakily, cradling the warrior’s forearm in his lap. The elf’s fingers twitched a little and the healer half of Aragorn breathed a shaky sigh of relief. By sheer luck the tendons connecting his brain to the movements of his fingers hadn’t been severed. Still, the dart needed to be removed.

“It will be easier if you lie down.”

Haldir hesitated a moment whether from sheer exhaustion or unwillingness to put himself in so vulnerable a position before the man Aragorn didn’t know. He waited him out patiently, letting him take his time until the elf slowly slid off the last stair and settled himself on the floor. Aragorn bundled up his cloak and slipped it beneath the marchwarden’s head to pillow the back of his neck before examining the wound.

A wicked hook tipped the end of the dart. Pulling it out that way would only rip a wider hole in already damaged flesh. Drawing a small versatile dagger from his boot, Aragorn peeled back the elf’s blood-soaked sleeve trying not to jostle the arm too much. Haldir’s unblinking eyes watched every move he made. Frowning with concentration, Aragorn swiped away the sweat dripping down his temples despite the cold air of the tunnel. Blood and sweat made the knife in his hands slick as he trimmed the hook off. Haldir glanced at the flapping lantern as the ranger set aside his knife and pushed his sleeves back.

Groping for the clasp at his neck, the young man began to tear strips out of his cloak hem to sponge away the worst of the blood. He wished he had not left his pack in the elf’s talan. His father’s purposefully packed supplies would have been useful. Heart thrumming uncomfortably in his throat, Aragorn fought to keep his face a little more cheerful than the gloomy walls as nervousness squeezed his chest. He hadn’t yet had a whole lot of experience with tending such wounds. Battles around Rivendell were thankfully few and far between and his rides with the Dúnedain infrequent.

Haldir must have sensed his nervousness for the corner of his mouth twitched upwards. “It will certainly not be the first time I’ve had something painful and pointed pulled from me.”

Somewhat reassured, Aragorn returned the wry smile. “You’ll be fine. Do you feel anything else? Other than…” he gestured rather uselessly at his arm.

But Haldir had closed his eyes again and didn’t answer. His mind had begun to drift. unsettling images crowded to the forefront. Already unusually wearied by the toxin in his system, he could no longer push them away. Memories of pain like this…of blood and chains…of proud, fierce faces outlined in harsh torchlight… They jostled for place among the more peaceful reminders he tried to pull up: his brothers laughing in the sunlight, Rameil fletching arrows at the dining table, his troops, windswept and triumphant after a fierce skirmish…They evaporated in an instant as Aragorn wrapped a large hand around his forearm.

“Just hold still.”

“Mmm. Easier said than done.” Haldir sucked in a deep breath and let it out fast, feeling as though his heart was trying to bang its way out from between his ribs. “Do it.”

“Just don’t forget to breathe. I’ll count to three…One…two…”

Hot agony seared across Haldir consciousness like a hot poker as Aragorn tugged the shaft free. Despite his best effort, he could not control his body’s reaction to it. His startling movement ripped the rest of the wooden shaft out and the wound wide. He collapsed against the stone wall, the river damp soaking into his back as much warmer and more disturbing wetness began to soak his chest as he pressed his arm to it.

Instantly Aragorn’s hands closed on his shoulders and coaxed him back into a recumbent position. The elf flinched away from his touch but there was nowhere he could go pinned against the wall as he was. Forcing his eyes open, Haldir stared at the lantern light, needing to focus on anything but the pain.

The flame flapped, danced and divided. Two flames. Then three. Twisting and twining, morphing into fiery faces. Little flames with demon faces in them. Haldir squeezed his eyes shut, safe in the darkness with only the pounding of his own heart for company. But the beat was too loud, too loud. Throbbing, echoing, roaring until his ears pounded with blood. He couldn’t think…he couldn’t even see the candle anymore. Cold sweat soaked his brow but he burned alive inside. Consciousness was dropping away fast and Aragorn’s voice seemed to come from down a very long tunnel.

“Haldir, you’ve got to hold on. I’ve got you. You’re going to be…”

Like water over a fall, the shadows of the tunnel swamped the lantern light and drowned him in black.


Chapter 4 - Part Four

Part Four
~Que Sera, Sera~

Aragorn scrubbed his hands clean in already crimson-tainted water. Back and neck stiff and aching from crouching so long, he rinsed his knife as well in a small puddle collecting at the foot of the wall where the middle of the tunnel sank into a slight depression. Trying not to think about the horrid, frantic work of the last half hour, he set aside his blade and took a long swig from the refilled flask. Splashing a little over his face and neck, he rubbed a tired hand over his face with a sigh and glanced back. The small flicker of their only light barely illuminated the pale face of his friend.

Golden flame suffused the elf’s face with the deceptive glow of health. But, touching his cheek, Aragorn found him cold and unresponsive, his lips bloodless and most worrying of all with eyes closed. Some heavy sedative must have laced the dart tip but Aragorn, squinting until a headache began to pound behind his eyes, could find nothing. Stabbed in a vital place with a much bigger dose than should ever be used on a person Haldir had been out cold for a while now. Aragorn pressed his fingers under the elf’s jaw lightly, seeking the pulse, unusually fast under his fingers. The ranger dropped his hand away and tried to think. Hunters usually killed their game themselves and so would not use a dart to do the job for them. At least…he hoped that was so.

Sitting back on his heels, he resisted the urge to check the bandages sliced from his cloak again. He had had to cauterize the hole to stop the bleeding and was glad the elf had already surrendered to unconsciousness when he did. Even so he had had to hold him down when the white-hot knife seared…Aragorn dashed a hand over his face again.
Without supplies, he could do very little except wait and trust in the elf’s body to heal itself. He was too afraid to leave him alone to go search for herbs that might help. With the frost, they’d probably all be dead anyway.

Having done for Haldir all that he could, Aragorn sat back to tend his own wounds in what remained of the firelight. He eased his boot off, grimacing as dried blood caked the inside and stained the cuff of his leggings. The snare had left a neat elliptical cut around his calf but thankfully nothing more serious than that. Aragorn cleaned and dressed it quickly but pulled his boot back on because of the cold. The slash in his side however was a little tougher to manage. The hunter’s sword had not cut deep but it stung painfully. Peeling his tunic back, he pressed a folded, dampened rag against it and leaned against the cool stone wall, letting his eyes flutter closed.

A hideous yell roused him like a bucketful of ice water in the face. Blinking, he sat up, rigid and instantly alert, groping at his side for his sword. Steel on steel clashes sounded almost outside their tunnel entrance. Extinguishing the lantern swiftly, Aragorn crawled up the stone stairs, readying his blade. As he peered out into the darkness, he expected to see flashing swords, bloodied figures. He strained his eyes in vain. There was nothing, the sounds still perfectly clear though further away than he had first believed. He thought he heard the whine of arrows but the wind rose up with a fury, drowning the noises in leaf-rattling. Silence fell again. Uneasily, Aragorn backed back down the stairs, Dyral’s ominous words ringing in his ears. ‘You only have a reprieve.’

He kept the light out.

Shadows and nightmares lengthened. Haldir’s head tossed restlessly on the bundled up cloak under his head. Even in the sparse starlight peeking through the crack, the sweat beading on his upper lip glistened visibly. Dyral’s special poison played havoc with his system as it poured through his veins; it would ravage and torment until it exhausted itself and fizzled out. Dark shapes flickered at the edges of his consciousness, contorting, menacing. Though Haldir was no coward he shrank back from them, too weak to suppress the old memories that surged up out of the cavern of his mind at the first sign of his defenses crumbling.

A lash grinding into his back…chains tight around his wrists…that horrible feeling of helplessness and vulnerability writhing like snakes in his stomach. Though he was the captain of the northern fences, a renowned warrior and ferocious fighter, Haldir had known bonds before. But this time the restraint was neither a chain nor rope but his own body. And he couldn’t stop them if they came. He knew they would. Dyral had promised as much. They were coming for him again and he could do nothing to stop it. Just like last time. The starvation he could cope with, his elven body was strong enough…but the beating…the whipping…he didn’t-No, no. Don’t think about it. It will only be worse if you think- so much worse. Don’t think. Don’t think. Don’t think…

Aragorn crawled over to where Haldir lay and touched his cheek. The elf shifted restlessly away from his hands, tiny tremors running through his muscles. With a damp sleeve the ranger dabbed away sweat which trickled into the golden hair and tenderly sponged off blood which had crusted over the elf’s split lip. Maybe it would help if Haldir just knew he was there. That someone was there- just as the elf had once done for him. But if anything his touch seemed to disturb the elf even more and he began to toss in earnest though no sound broke his lips.

“Shh, shh,” Aragorn enclosed the longer fingers in his, not knowing what else to do as the elf tried to fight him almost ripping off the bandage in his desperation. “Haldir, it’s all right. It’s all right. You’re safe. I promise… nothing’s going to hurt you.”

Suddenly the marchwarden’s eyes flew open. They were staring fixed and widely dilated, the silver-grey almost lost in black. The fingers in Aragorn’s twitched and tightened as those haunted eyes searched every contour of the human’s face without seeing him at all.

“Am I dead?”

Aragorn almost pulled away, startled after sitting so long in silence. It took him a minute to register the elf’s bizarre question “No, of course not.”

The long fingers in his relaxed grip suddenly snatched his wrist and squeezed. Hard. The elf didn’t even register his words. “Forgive me.” He was very groggy and his sentences slurred together. Aragorn knew he wasn’t fully conscious or had any idea what he was saying. But those eyes looked at him so pleadingly…

“There is nothing to forgive, mellon nin,” Aragorn said with what he hoped was reassurance instead of confusion. His fingers were beginning to tingle from the relentless grasp on his arm.

Haldir stared at him as though he couldn’t quite believe the human’s words, his lips slightly parted with disbelief.

“You’re hurting me,” Aragorn gasped, wincing.

A clouded expression that had nothing to do with the pain of his wound flashed across the elf’s face as his fingers slowly released their death grip on the ranger’s arm. “I am…so-so sorry…Tergon…” He closed his eyes and turned his face towards the wall, a shudder wracking the length of his body.

Aragorn had no idea what he was talking about but it was beginning to frighten him. Backing away, he rubbed his wrist as blood flowed painfully back into his hand. Already bruises ringed his skin in a little half-circle.

Minutes passed like hours, one dropping into another, melting away into a long river of silence. Aragorn didn’t know if it had been one or four, the dark remained unchanged and no more sounds came from outside though he made sure to keep his blade close to hand. Haldir remained silent though he still twitched from time to time as though struggling with some unseen demons in his sleep.

Only slowly did the shadow begin to fade before his eyes. Fighting furiously against the drug that longed to pull him back under, Haldir struggled into the living world again. Reality and dream shifted and separated at last as he blinked, light gradually coming to focus. But it was not the warm golden light he remembered. Moonlight brightened the tunnel stairs, its ethereal shimmer only barely reaching the smooth floor under him. Did he still dream? The piercing headache pounding away behind his left temple convinced him otherwise.

His wrist throbbed dully against the makeshift bandages but the agony-either imagined or real-that had plagued his nightmares was gone. He rested his head back against the rolled-up cloak and hesitantly lifted his eyes to the pale-looking man’s face. “Have you been watching over me all night?”

Relief brightened Aragorn’s tired eyes as the elf lucidly met his gaze. “You’re awake.”

“So it seems.” Haldir levered himself gingerly up on one elbow in spite of a sharp headache and the feeling that his arm was slowly roasting in a fire. “Do you have any water?”

Aragorn uncorked his flask. “It’s a little brackish.” He tentatively made as if to put it to the elf’s lips but Haldir took it from him with a pointed glance and a steady hand.

“It’s fine.” Once he cleared his throat a little, Haldir leaned his shoulders back against the wall and unfastened the top buttons of his black undertunic, the grey one already lay folded by his feet. “How long have I slept?”

“A few hours, I think. I heard fighting…I’m not sure how long ago,” Aragorn glanced towards the silent stairs. “Do you feel better? You worried me for a while. I wasn’t sure if-” He pulled back at the last moment, tactfully deciding not to mention the momentary delirium. It might embarrass his new friend and even thinking about it made Aragorn extremely uncomfortable.

Haldir didn’t seem to notice, his grip tightening around his wrist. He still felt terribly weak and tired as though he had been fighting a battle all those hours instead of sleeping. His head hurt, his back complained from long hours lying on stone and his wrist burned like fire but the cloudy dark of memory had receded at least, a small mercy but a welcome one.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have anything for the pain,” Aragorn offered apologetically, seeing the marchwarden grimace.

Haldir shook his head minutely and set his jaw, his gaze fixed on the stone floor. “I’ve had worse.”

“So it seems.”

The marchwarden looked up and followed Aragorn’s gaze. Where his tunic hung open, a thin ragged scar stretched over one shoulder along the collarbone and disappeared at where his shirt hid the rest from view.

The elf’s eyes flickered with an unfathomable expression. “An old wound. It complains every now and again.”

“It looks like a sword cut,” Aragorn said with another cursory glance.

“A knife actually.” Haldir let out a slow, steadying breath as his eyes drifted shut, the cool darkness on the backs of his eyelids more comforting than the too-sharp moonlight. “It has never really healed.”

“That’s unusual,” Aragorn had never heard of a wound to elven flesh that eventually did not close without a mark. He leaned a little closer. “How old is it?”

“Have you had no word from any others? My brothers? Or my patrol?”

Aragorn realizing that he might have pushed a little too hard pulled back and glanced at the extinguished lantern. “No.” Unconsciously, he scooted closer to the elf, resting his shoulders against the wall beside him. “What is this tunnel anyway? How did you know it was here?”

Haldir threw him a mock-supercilious look. “I know everything, master ranger, every cleft, every vale, every hidden part of this realm. This tunnel was built years and years and years ago- when the Elves were still friendly with the Dwarves of Moria. How they managed that, I’ll never know. They shipped stone down the Celebrant so this could be made in case the elves were ever attacked in great force or needed a swift, invisible retreat across the river. It’s not oft used though Amdir, our last king’s father, was said to have fortified it as a holding place against the Enemy before he marched off to join Lord Elrond, the last High King’s herald…”

“I know who he is. He raised me,” Aragorn said so quietly he wasn’t sure he had even heard himself speak.

But Haldir had clearly heard for he lifted his head a little, surprise glimmering in his eyes. “Did he? What happened to your parents?”

“My mother has been spending more and more time among her northern kin of late,” Aragorn kept his eyes on his hands which fiddled with his flask’s shoulder strap. “My father was killed by orcs in Eriador.”

Haldir lowered his eyes. “It is hard to lose a father.”

Aragorn shrugged. “It was long ago. I was very small at the time.”

“Nevertheless, that is something you do not forget.”

The ranger could only nod; he still had nightmares from time to time of that rainy night eighteen years ago. Determinedly shaking off the gloom, he tucked knees up under his chin and wrapped his arms around them, suppressing a shiver. The cold was beginning to seep into his bones as the night deepened. “How long do you think before your brothers find us?”

Haldir had begun to close his eyes again but he opened them at the ranger’s query. “Rúmil’s tracking skills are appalling at best.”

“That’s not very encouraging.”

“Yes, well, I hadn’t exactly planned my evening thinking I would be trapped here with you all night either,” Haldir retorted with a sideways glare at the ranger which was softened by the twinkle in his eyes. “I’m feeling better…perhaps we can make it back…” He started to rise but a sickening lurch in his head and Aragorn’s firm hand on his chest brought him back down.

“Not quite yet I think,” Aragorn said with the smallest smile twitching his lips. The elf still looked too white in the face for his liking.

Leaning back obediently, Haldir echoed the ranger’s wry grin. “You know, you could give Rúmil a run for his mother hen title.”

“I would be sore tried to best one as fussy as your brother.”

For a few seconds, they only stared at each other then simultaneously began to laugh, all the fear, worry and relief washing through them in a bubble of mirth. Aragorn clasped a hand to his side, his ribs aching but he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. Suddenly, Haldir clapped a hand over the man’s mouth, stifling his laughter as he looked towards the stairs.

Instantly sober, Aragorn gripped his sword tightly and rose to a crouch as a bright blue light gleamed like a star above their heads. Someone was coming down. The glare of a lantern half-blinded the ranger but he gamely rushed the half-seen figure, his blade at its throat before he was conscious of drawing it. The figure snapped back but found its escape barred by the tunnel wall and narrow stairs.

“Daro! Im mellon lin!”

The human lowered his blade instantly, recognizing the voice. “Rúmil?”

Haldir laughed. “Save us! My brother has come! Now we’re both in trouble…”

The sergeant pulled his hood back and offered the ranger an overly tolerant smile. “For a moment there, Estel, I had believed you my brother. But the sword point was unfamiliar.”

“Very droll, Rúmil. I’m sure,” Haldir said dryly as he pulled himself to his feet, ignoring Aragorn’s supporting hand. “Where are the others?”

Rúmil turned on his elder brother with distinct irritation. “So here I find you. And why exactly would you rather dine under the Celebrant than in my home?”

Haldir rolled his eyes despairingly at Aragorn who began to chuckle. “Where, Rúmil?”

“They’re right behind us, Haldir,” But it was not Rúmil who answered. A soft rattle of falling stones and Rameil slid down the stairs to join them, his dark hair matted about his shoulders and his sword unsheathed and glittering. “We found poachers on our borders with their dogs. Over a score of them. We didn’t pick up your trail until after we found them. I left Ancadal to finish rounding them up- they didn’t offer much of a fight. No casualties…save maybe one,” Rameil frowned as Aragorn lifted up Rúmil’s dropped lantern and the pale light glimmered on dark reddish stains.

Rúmil’s irritation immediately melted away as he scrutinized his brother’s white face. “You’re hurt.”

Haldir hastily pushed himself away from the wall. “I’m fine.”

“How bad is it?” Rameil knew better and addressed his questions to Estel.

Aragorn explained in brief what happened. “I tended it as best I could but I would feel better if Eremae took a look.”

“We’ll do that.”

“Yes, you do that,” Haldir said, pushing past them. “I for one would rather the wind in my face. It’s too crowded in here.” He faltered on the stairs and Rúmil hurriedly caught his arm.

“When I said I would drag him back, I didn’t think it would be literally,” Rúmil muttered to Rameil as they clambered up out of the dark mouth towards the starlight.

----------

After a torturous ordeal at the healer’s, what felt like half a million dosages of some vile concoction and so much gauze and tape he could scarcely bend his arm, Haldir had been released with a clean bill of health, much to his relief- and Eremae’s as well. Now, he stood, tall and stern-faced above the group of men, roped together with unbreakable hithlain and staring at him in mindless terror.

Dyral and his remaining man had not made it to the border before they were apprehended by Haldir’s patrol led by Rameil. The battle Aragorn had heard in the night had been theirs, brief and futile. Now the captured poachers knelt on the frosted grass, shivering with more than cold, awaiting the marchwarden’s judgment.

With an odd air of déjà vu, Haldir ran his eyes over the line of men, searching every sallow face for eyes that refused to meet his. Rubbing his sore wrist absently, he knelt beside Dyral at the end of the line who brokenly lifted his gaze.

Haldir sucked thoughtfully at his split lip as he considered. “It seems I caught the entire flock,” he observed with only the slightest trace of smugness. “I warned you before that hunting here was not permitted. You did not listen then and you do not listen now.”

“Oh, I’m listening, sir, to be sure I’m listening,” Dyral fawningly raised his head in mockery of attentiveness.

Haldir ignored his obsequiousness and instead pinched a bony forearm. “You are a little lean but there are others here who have much more meat on their bones.”

“Ah, please, sir, we weren’t going to harm you or the boy. It was just a jest,” Dyral was getting desperate, beads of sweat shone on his forehead despite the cool morning. He knew very well that poaching deer on royal lands was punishable by death. “I swear! We weren’t going to do anything!”

Dyral grimaced as at Haldir’s nod his guards jerked him roughly upright and set him on his painful leg.

Aragorn watched, tight-faced, as the elf captain summoned his command to him.

“Take them deeper into the woods and shoot them,” Haldir relayed to Rameil in Westron, knowing perfectly well the only ones able to understand him were Aragorn and the men behind him.

“No! My lord, please!” The poacher’s lame leg gave way as he half-knelt, half-sprawled and grasped beseechingly at Haldir’s cloak.

The elf stepped back, tugging his clothing brusquely from the man’s grasp then turned and spoke rapid Sindarin in Rameil’s ear. The second lieutenant smiled and nodded.

Dyral watched this exchange with growing horror. “No, please…really…we never meant any harm to your lordship!”

“Quiet, human.”

“Haldir, you can’t-” Aragorn tried to intervene. The hunter was really rather pathetic. “Really. We’re all right. They don’t need to be-”

“Did I not call for silence, human?” Haldir snapped at him.

Aragorn stared after the unfortunates with numb shock in his eyes as Rameil gathered them up like dogs on one leash. The men’s animals that had been left free bounded after their masters as though puzzled by this bizarre reversal of roles. Uncertainly, the young man turned towards his friend only to find him smiling quietly to himself.

“How can you find any humor in this?” he accused him, appalled. “You just sent those men off to die!”

Several of Rameil’s remaining sentinels stared at the young man in puzzlement. Déorian was the only one who ventured to vocalize his confusion. “What are you so angry about, Estel? He told Rameil to escort them to the border and release them.”

Aragorn gaped at his friend, open-mouthed. Realization finally dawned. “You are evil.”

A decidedly wicked grin passed across the usually austere commander’s face as the trembling humans stumbled into the brush. “And after this they will never think of poaching here again.”

“You made them think they were going to be slain!”

“Yes.”

“You lied!”

“A white lie. Perfectly harmless.” Haldir shrugged one shoulder and turned towards the Nimrodel which sparkled under a coppery, late autumn sun. “Are you coming?”

Still shaking his head, Aragorn followed after the elf, tugging his thick woolen cloak closer about his shoulders. “Winter’s coming early this year. But I don’t think I can stay for much longer. My father was expecting me some weeks back- he might send Elladan and Elrohir after me.”

Haldir pulled a face of mock dismay. “Good grief, those two on the perimeter are about as helpful as a pair of wargs in a pantry.”

Aragorn grinned widely brushing a golden leaf off his shoulder as it swirled down from the heights. “I’m not so restless anymore, now that I know where I’m going. I finally know where I wish to wander. Home.”

“Who were your parents?”

The sudden question caught Aragorn off-guard and he hesitated; not that he didn’t trust Haldir but fear of Sauron’s spies had been drastically impressed on him since he had learned of his true heritage. They were everywhere.

“In Lothlórien there can be no evil,” Haldir uncannily saw his thoughts in his face. “You have nothing to fear but even if you will not say perhaps I can guess.” His eyes narrowed scrutinizing the young man. “It’s been bothering me since last night, how you speak Sindarin as fluent as any elf which most men cannot do though they be the foster-son of Elrond. He is a charitable lord, good-hearted, generous…and half-elven. His kin chose humanity did he not? So there is a strain of elven blood in all those of the House of Elros. Naturally, Lord Elrond would take in his brother’s kin-even long-distant kin-such it was when Elendil rode off to war. Isildur left his son in the house of Imladris and never returned thereafter. Unless I am very mistaken then, you are descended from that kin. And most hunted by the Deceiver.”

Aragorn stared at him, astounded. Then slowly nodded. “It is so. I am Aragorn son of Arathorn, untimely Chieftain of the Dúnedain with my father’s death and only living descendant of Isildur son of Elendil King of Gondor. How did you know?”

“I met Isildur once…during the War…I liked him. He was a good man but a little proud,” Haldir’s smile tightened slightly; bitterness of the war’s failure flashed briefly across his face. “You have his father’s chin. And the sword you are wearing was one Isildur gave to his son before he left for the war. It stands to reason you would be kin.”

Aragorn bit his lip, not quite sure whether to be assured by that or not. Isildur’s failure was well known to the peoples of Middle-Earth and had carved a great ragged hole in the nobility of his kin from which they might never recover. The young human, still unfamiliar with his new name and his new responsibilities wasn’t sure if he was up to the task of reversing all that his ancestor had done and meeting an elf, one who had witnessed the destruction of the House of the King no less made him feel intimidated and even more unsure of himself than before.

But Haldir smiled and it was a softer, warmer smile than anything Aragorn had yet seen on his oft-severe face and automatically he returned it, his heart brightening for a reason he did not know. The marchwarden paused, fingering his worn saber. “I took an oath before the feet of my king to defend the elven people and their alliance with the Kings of Men, to honor them and to fight for them whenever they had need. That oath still holds for me though it was made more than an Age ago. I gave my word and I never break it. To that, I also owe you my life for last night and will give it to you in service should you but ask.”

Aragorn grasped the proffered hand tightly in a warrior’s clasp. “All I ask of you is your friendship. Your service I leave for you to give when and where you choose.”

They walked on in easy silence until they came to the foot of a large mallorn with long white stairs twining upwards to a porch far overhead. When they reached the landing Aragorn folded his hands against the railing and sighed.

“I would rather just be Estel for in that name lies all my childhood, all my happiness.”

“Then Estel you shall be.” Haldir offered a little half-smile as he turned towards the green door that marked the entrance to his brother’s talan. “I would like to learn more of you, Estel of Imladris.”

Aragorn returned it mischievously, echoing the captain’s earlier words. “That is what friends do I suppose?”

“It is.”

The End

End Notes: The next story I am attending to is currently posted on fanfiction.net. I will post it here I think in due time--but if you get really impatient...I use the same penname there as on this site. I have a short preview below to "whet your appetites" if you are so interested.

As always any comments, questions and long ramblings are much appreciated and gratefully sucked into the void that is my ego.

Okay, now that that’s taken care of…note that this is a very rough sketch of a scene I am intending to insert into my next story Agarwaen which is not yet finished. So whether or not this scene makes it to the finished draft is debatable. That it will alter is inevitable. Still, I hope it captures your interest. I’m certainly excited for it!

I dedicate this in especial to griffon who is ever so patiently waiting for me to get on with it. Thank you, griffon.

(Now that the author’s notes are nearly longer than the snippet…)

Preview of Agarwaen (Bloodstained)

Aragorn awoke in the dark with head pounding as though his brain was trying to break out of his skull. He cut back a groan clawing up his throat though he knew his captor already had sensed his reawakening. Aragorn’s skin crawled as a razor-sharp blade slid up his ribs just brushing the skin without leaving a mark. The warning, however, was unmistakable. Aragorn kept carefully still though his arms were aching from the odd position they’d been wrenched into. Dried blood crusted above his left eyebrow.

His kidnapper made no other move towards him though. He was, oddly, staring at the stars, his head thrown back as he searched the vault of heaven. But no starlight shone on this night, even the moon was swathed in cloud. A quiet voice sighed, a soft exhale of breath that fogged in the chilly air.

“Elbereth…is not here tonight. But why should She be?” he offered the young man a smile that might have passed for rueful on any other face. “I have no right to invoke that name do I? There is no starlight in my life.”

Aragorn only continued to watch him, not daring to take his eyes off the shadowed figure despite the strain that made the side of his head ache even more.

“Did he tell you he was innocent, little one? Haldir.”

The ropes binding the man’s hands spread-eagled to the trunk creaked audibly but his captor made no move to check them, as though he knew the young man could not escape.

“He has killed before, make no mistake.”

“He is not like you,” despite his danger, Aragorn could not help the defiant words ripping out of his mouth. His stomach muscles automatically clenched, awaiting a blow.

It didn’t come. Instead, the most shocking sound the ranger had heard all night erupted from his captor’s lips.

Laughter. Like crystalline icicles, it prickled up the ranger’s spine and made fearful beads of sweat stand out on his brow and drip into his matted hair. The young man shivered as cold fingertips slid up his jaw to his temples in an odd sort of caress, like a blind man seeking a picture of a face.

“Oh, so young. So innocent. You really have no idea do you?”

Aragorn tried to think as those cold fingers pressed on his hammering temples. “He is a soldier. His actions have reasons.”

“So do mine. Reasons, perhaps, that you cannot understand. But that is not what you are saying is it? You are saying, I lack reason. I am reasonless. Therefore, I am mad.” Another, odd little chuckle as the hands released him and grasped his chin instead, forcing the young man to meet his eyes.

“If you are not mad, then what are your reasons? Why did you…why did you do …things…to those men?” Aragorn almost choked on the question, the reality of his own predicament painfully realized in the cords around his wrists and ankles. But the still-rational part of his mind reasoned the longer he kept the other talking, the longer he would survive. He could give Haldir time…

His captor cast him a sardonically condescending glance as though he knew every thought that passed through the ranger’s blurry consciousness. “He never forgave them for what they did to him, did he? Did he ever tell you?”

Aragorn shook his head.

Eyes glittered without moonlight to reflect in them as a thin hiss revealed the knife unsheathed again. “I am beyond forgiveness. Which makes what I’m about to do to you perfectly within my limits.”

As the shadow released his chin, Aragorn let it drop down to his chest, shuddering with desperate horror. He knew exactly what his captor was going to do to him.

Now all he needed to know was how long he was going to suffer before the other granted him the mercy of death.
------------------------------------------------------------------

Printed from Open Scrolls Archive (https://www.openscrolls.net) on Sat Nov 14, 2026 8:21 pm