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

Title: Faril Nin [My Huntress] (#4278)
Author: codilyn711
Chapters: 14

Archive: Tolkien
Category: Lord of the Rings (Movieverse)
Description: A ranger's sister is on her way to visit her galadhrim companion when along the way something precious is found and an oath is sworn that effects in key changes to their relationship. Orophin/OFC *BEING RE-WRITTEN... It's awesome.
Published: 02 Sep 2010
Updated: 02 Sep 2010
Warnings: explicit battle/wound scenes, happy ending
Type: Romance
Characters: Orophin; OFC; Haldir; Rumil; Aragorn


Chapter 1 - *Chapter One

Title: Faril Nin [My Huntress]
Author: Codi Lyn { iluvobiwan91
Genre: Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Rating: PG-13 – R (for descriptive battle scene/wounds)
Pairing: Orophin/OFC [Gwaeron]
Timeline: Begins before the Fellowship enters Lórien in Third Age 3018… concludes during Fourth Age 250
Chapter: 1/13
Chapter Summary: “What is it, Tar? Do you sense danger, or is it just thunder to the east?” She murmured softly to her dog, knowing that somehow he truly understood her words and their meaning. He didn’t flinch as a rip of thunder roared overhead and she sighed. She had her answer.
Author’s Note: I don’t know quite what season it is when the Fellowship are in Lórien, and so there are a few changes in time-flow versus how things played out in the movies. Follows movie-verse, but I make a few references to things that happened in the books. But little things like these I have the license to play with, as the author. J.R.R. Tolkien and Peter Jackson have rights to the important stuff, this story is written purely for pleasure.

Chapter One

A young woman hummed a gentle tune as she walked south between the river Anduin and the great forest of Mirkwood. She found herself within sight of both the Drimrill Dale and the woodland realm at present and thought happily that she was ahead of her schedule to arrive in Lórien. This being possible only thanks to a much briefer visit in King Thranduil’s halls than she had anticipated. Apparently, she had missed her planned visit with his son by only a few days, as the Prince Legolas had an important message to deliver into Imladris.
The monarch would not reveal to her what, instead making it clear she was not welcome for an over-long stay. “Forgive my son’s absence, lady ranger. He would have enjoyed amusing himself with the adopted daughter of Elrond once more, as he seems oft to do.” His tone was flat and delivered with a humorless smile. At least he had provided her accommodations for the night, though the next morning found her ushered none-too-gently on her way. She obliged him with a smirk, fully aware of the King’s temperament toward those lesser— uninvited— beings that dared to make their presence known in his courts. Her gratitude was that his son had taken more after his Mother in the aspect of hospitality.
Odd, she found herself thinking that night, that her friend should be traveling to where she had only just come, and still not to have seen him en route. But the thought was shrugged from her mind and she now patted the giant dog beside her on his noble head, smiling at the loyal companion she had enjoyed in him for several years. “You’ve never given me the cold shoulder, aye, Tar?” The blue shorthaired canine merely leaned into her hand and continued to pant merrily.
Grinning, she pulled her hood over a dark braided head just as a light rain began to fall on them, the clouds o’erhead having threatened the storm all morning. Tar immediately ran forward and started to jump and prance about in the slow drizzle, attempting to catch each large droplet in his open maw. Gwaeron laughed delightedly and took off a fingerless glove to feel the fresh water splash upon bare skin.
Rain had never ceased to make her smile. It seemed a comfort to know that Ulmo and Manwë were still comrades and cooperated in their workings. If the Valar could not get along, then what hope was there for Arda’s lesser inhabitants?
Suddenly Tar stopped dead in his tracks and let out a low growl, his body rigid as he faced the dark woods to their left. His mistress looked up to the animal and then to where his attention had come to focus. Swiftly, she put her glove back on and unhooked her bow to string it, drawing an arrow to nock at the ready.
Gwaeron edged slowly toward the shadowed wood, the great dog matching her step for step in their advancement. “What is it, Tar? Do you sense danger, or is it just thunder to the east?” She murmured softly to her hound, knowing that somehow he truly understood her words and their meaning. He didn’t flinch as a rip of thunder roared overhead and she sighed. There was her answer.
They silently entered the dense forest, the rain muffling their movements as it sifted through layer upon layer of canopy above them. Her movements were cautious, more than aware of the treacherous traps Ungoliant’s seed would set for their prey in the bulk of Mirkwood’s land. Having been rescued by Legolas, and vice versa, on more than one occasion during previous visits to the realm, the lesson of caution was now permanently engraved in her. The already clouded light of day was lessened even more so upon entering the closeness of the trees, and Gwaeron’s green eyes took their sweet time adjusting to it, she noted with annoyance.
On guard, she turned sharply to her left at a rustling in the underbrush and Tar instantly took off headlong into it, barking uncharacteristically at the possible threat to his mistress. Falling to a squatting position with her arrow aimed at what lay beyond the shrubberies, the ranger waited for a signal from her canine partner.
“Ah! Away! Get you gone!” A male voice cried out difficultly in weak defense against her animal.
She called out to the stranger. “Friend or foe! I have no time for interrogations!” Standing, she dropped her voice lower than normal and spoke with authority, stepping warily toward the individual through the bushes.
“Friend! I am a friend! I have no means to harm and do not wish to!” His answer was frantic and Gwaeron relaxed her grip only slightly on the bowstring until she came through the brush to behold a terrified and beaten edhel. A small bundle he clutched protectively close to his chest while he tried to ward off her still-growling dog. Seeing him unarmed and backed –practically sagging-- against a tree, she withdrew her arrow altogether and slung the bow over her shoulder, silently commanding Tar to leave him be. Her animal backed away reluctantly and sat poised on his haunches.
Crouching before the elf who had now fallen to his knees, she questioned him, still with voice deepened and hood lowered to keep her gender obscured. “What do you do unarmed in the forests of Mirkwood?”
The stranger attempted to catch his ragged breath and gave Tar a wary look before leaning toward her with the bundle of cloth. “I have not the time to tell you, for my hours are swiftly running dry. You must save my daughter.” Gwaeron’s eyes widened as he unfolded thin layers to reveal a pale elfling’s sleeping face. Her bluish lips trembled from the cold and wet and the ranger put her fingers against the newborn’s face, finding her as chilled as ice.
With her hood now drawn back Gwaeron looked to the edhel briefly, stripping her gloves and tucking them into her belt before rubbing friction between her hands and pressing them to the child’s face. “What ails her? Elvenkind do not contract disease or illness.” She inquired and reasoned before glancing again to the gaunt elf leaning over his infant.
He shook his head, eyes glazed, and told her plainly. “Evil affects all, even the Firstborn. My wife bore her in the dungeons of Dol Guldur and died soon after. The Valar blessed me to escape with my daughter, but I know not what afflicts her still.” Gwaeron looked up at the elf in shock, never having seen or heard of an escape from the evil tower. Upon further scrutiny she realized his dreadful condition, his flight clearly not having come without great sacrifice. A dire wound stained his torso where his tunic now cradled the child; an insipidly pale countenance held eyes with no more the common brilliance of his race. His white hair clung to sodden flesh and framed a grief writ intricately upon the planes of his face. Wavering, — doubtless from great loss of blood—he stared hopelessly at the elfling, acknowledging naught else.
“You need caring for as well. Your injuries are grave…” Gwaeron began, reaching out to support his shoulder, but was caught by a raw and nearly skeletal hand, his stern expression forcing her to recoil.
“You will heal my daughter before anything. I am of no importance.” Tar’s soft growling could be heard over the continuous rainfall. She silenced the hound with a word, not daring to take her eyes from the elf’s, whose intense gaze trained solely upon hers. Their intensity turned to pleading and he implored her again. “Save her.” The hoarse whisper was nearly muted by another rumble of thunder that seemed to shake the ground, gently urging something to be done.
Slowly, she nodded and was released from his grasp to be given the babe. Once situated in her arms, the ranger’s cloak was utilized to protect the little one from increasingly moist air. “She needs the care of other elves. We can take her to Lothlorien…”
He shook his head and leaned back against the tree he had collapsed by, grimacing as he placed a careful hand across his bruised and seeping abdomen, struggling to breathe deep enough. “No. You must take her there, alone. I haven not the strength and would only serve to slow your progress. No time can be wasted.”
Gwaeron pressed her lips in a dissatisfied line, ill content with the way things were playing out. “Nor can I simply leave you here with foes in the surrounding wood… and you are too weak to wield any weapon.”
He shook his head and looked at her sternly. “You will leave me here… You must take her to Lórien with all speed, else she fade. Whatever befalls me, it is Eru’s will.”
The child stirred gently in her hold and the lady ranger glanced down upon her to see the babe snuggle against her leather-clad chest, still not rousing from the fevered slumber, which held her. Gwaeron looked up to see Tar gently nosing the fabric to see the elfling for himself. A solution presented itself, and she scratched the fur on his withers. “I will leave Tar with you, then. He will protect your life with his. You will find there is none braver than perhaps Huan, himself.”
The elf’s damaged hand laid upon the dog’s head and Tar stepped closer to sit beside his new charge, satisfying the ranger. She stood to her full height, adjusting the infant in her grasp, and told him firmly. “I promise, I will come back. Do not move from here and I shall find you the more swiftly.” Receiving a small nod in answer, Gwaeron pulled her hood down once more and turned to make hastily on her way.
The rain continued for an aching eternity, soaking the lady ranger through till she trembled. A frown came to her face every few moments when she checked on the still baby, her fingers gratefully finding a weak beat each time she checked for pulse. It took coaxing, but she managed to feed the little one a pulp of crushed calming herb, allowing a more peaceful rest, though the fever continued.
Winds had picked up now that the storm was thicker and blew rain at their back, frantically urging her to keep moving until they made it. Gwaeron began to talk with the babe as she trudged on, attempting to keep both herself and the child warmer with the exertion. “I imagine your mother was beautiful, Véredhiel. Your eyes are so much brighter than your father’s, so very blue… like the sky above this thick veil of cloud, I’m certain of it.” As there had been no names given from the escaped elf for he and his daughter, the woman had begun calling the child by ‘Véredhiel,’ meaning ‘oath’ in the Sindarin tongue.
Gwaeron walked well into the night until she arrived at last to the crossing point she remembered from her numerous trips into the Golden Wood. As she reached the water’s glistening edge, however, her face fell. The Great River flowed higher and faster than she had ever seen at this familiar passing. The constant downpour had served to flood the water level and doubtless wash away any shallower bars where sand made banks to wade through.
Desperation forced the ranger up and down the bank until a passage seemed her best choice and the depth would perhaps rise to her chest at its highest. Though certainly in opposition with what she would have preferred, it was the only way. “A fine mess I haven’t thought to prepare us for, little one.” She muttered quietly, frustrated with herself. Quickly she laid Véredhiel down long enough to situate her cloak around her more permanently and secured it to her clothing, making sure there could be no losing hold of the infant. As she did so, the baby seemed to sense their impending hardship and began a soft cry that was interrupted only by weak coughs into her guardian’s neck.
Gwaeron clung to the child, watchful not to crush her, and shook violently as the rush of freezing water seeped through flesh to the bone. “I know you feel ill, Véredhiel, but you must trust me and stay strong if we are to make it across. Will you trust me, little one?” Answered only by a feeble wail, the ranger continued into the torrent of water, both from above and now below as the rain splashed up into her eyes. The woman’s footing remained secure for only the first several steps until the depth forced her onto tiptoes and her precious cargo needed holding almost above her head.
Anxious as her steps sank further into the gravel of the river’s bed, Gwaeron began to shake the more violently in a merged reaction to frigid shock and fear. “D-do not fret, child… I w-will get us across.” Determined to keep pushing forward, she spoke to Véredhiel with assuring words both for the infant’s benefit, and her own. The child must be protected. This truth urged her on through currents flowing stronger by the moment.
Finding a target down stream from her current position, the ranger poured all her focus into achieving that diagonal destination. Shoving each leg forward with every muscle flexed, the shore approached closer and closer until at last a shallow bank presented itself and the water level descended with every step. The woman’s breath clouded in fog before her face as she gasped desperately, icy water not only having constricted her lungs from drawing enough for the exertion, but also numbing her movements until she felt as cold as the Helcaraxë, itself.
Once the rapids had lowered to her waist, Gwaeron cradled her charge close to her chest, nestling the child’s head into the crook of her neck where she supposed her warmth was strongest. Plowing through the shallows with what little will power she had left, the woman gave a cry of relief and collapsed to her knees once unimpeded land touched her soles. The elfling in her quaking embrace now cried with a new vigor and Gwaeron felt her own hot tears of exhaustion drip down her face to mingle with the rain. “It’s all right, Véredhiel… We’re safe now. Almost there.” Pushing herself upright with difficulty, the lady ranger stood and began jogging with heavy limbs into the woods of Lothlórien.
It took little time before the enchanting mallorn trees began to surround her, but the magic of the flora could not be noticed by the lady ranger in her weary haste. Having trekked for nearly an hour within the Golden Wood’s borders, she now felt the presence of its Lady’s wardens alert in their posts, hidden though they were by rain and darkness. “Orophin! Haldir! Please, hear me! Rúmil! It’s Gwaeron, daughter of the Dúnedain… Orophin, please!” She called out to her galadhrim friends and anyone within earshot, continuing with no response for some time as she desperately tried to keep conscious and warm.
The further she came within the forest boundaries, the lighter the rain became and more aware the woman found herself of the Lady’s elven powers of protection. To her chagrin, however, those powers still failed to bring any warmth to stiffening bones, and cradling a sick babe while soaked through did little to aid the child’s ailment as her tiny coughs and whines of pain reminded her intermittently. “I beg you! Let someone hear me…” Gwaeron pleaded with the trees, a hoarse sound that emitted from her throat, which she barely recognized as her own voice.
It seemed sudden when she finally heard a distinctive noise, causing the ranger to turn her head sharply and a sign of hope to grace her pale lips. Soon a grey-clad elf seemed to appear from the very boughs of a nearby tree and strode toward her gracefully, swiftly making his way toward her as the faint beginnings of silver daylight shone through the high canopy above.
It was Rúmil. “Gwaeron! You were not expected until winter’s beginning…” He greeted her and began to start a conversation when he noticed her condition as she put a quivering hand on his forearm.
She began as he reached out to stabilize her. “I will tell you everything later, my friend. I come now in urgent need of elven healing.”
His brow furrowed in concern and gravity pulled his expression into serious concern as he looked her over. “You are hurt? What has happened?” A soft wheeze caused him to glance down at the bundled cloak she lowered in her arms, and she pulled away a layer to reveal Véredhiel’s pallid little face, bright blue eyes fluttering open to look up at Gwaeron. Both adults instinctively leaned over the infant to shield her face from raindrops and Rúmil brought his gaze to hers questioningly. “Gwaeron… I was not aware it had been this long since we had last seen our lady ranger.”
Sighing, the woman shook her head and fingered the cloak’s damp folds until he could witness tiny pointed ears of the Firstborn. “She does not belong to me. I found her and her father on the southern border of Mirkwood, yesterday. He besought and charged me to bring her here for healing. Rúmil, he escaped with this child from Dol Guldur…”
Rúmil’s eyes shot up to hers and she could see his bright blonde hair glow as it clung damply to his face and shoulders, tiny droplets of mist clutching to the outer strands now that he had slung his hood back. Alarmed, he glanced from his ranger friend and back to the babe. “She was born there?” He pressed in disbelief and was answered with a nod.
Gwaeron’s hands stroked away damp hair from the elfling’s brow, Véredhiel’s eyes drooping slowly shut at the touch and she hiccupped quietly. When the woman looked up to him again, her eyes were beseeching as she pleaded. “Rúmil, I beg you, please help her…”
“What’s going on? Gwaeron?” Orophin, Rúmil’s second eldest brother and superior warden, neared the two and pulled his hood back to reveal equally glowing and tousled hair. He sent Gwaeron a soft glance before tilting to look between them at the little one.
His brother was quick to fill him in, but the lady ranger added. “The child’s father still lies wounded in Mirkwood with only Tar for protection… I fear he will not last long.” She turned to Orophin and explained quietly. “I must go back to him, Orophin. I only left because he demanded that I bring his daughter to safety before anything. His injuries are grave.” With a glance toward Rúmil she saw that he raised an eyebrow at his brother.
Orophin nodded after a moment, resolute. “Rúmil, you are a better healer than I. You are to take the child to one of the supply flets and do what you can. Get, perhaps, an elleth to assist you who know something of young ones.” Nodding to his brother, Rúmil obeyed and took the baby carefully from the ranger’s arms, nestling her under his cloak and pulling down his hood before fleeing deeper into the wood.
The remaining galadhrim sentry turned and laid a large hand on Gwaeron’s shoulder, turning her to face him. “Where is your cloak? You’re soaked through.”
Smiling softly at his concern, she nodded toward where his brother had just run off. “I had wrapped the babe in it… she needs it more than I.”
Orophin sighed and unclasped his cape at the neck, swirling it over his head before wrapping its warmth about her and fastening the leaf-engraved broach. “You are weary, Gwaeron…” His thumb stroked her neck as his hand rested again upon her shoulder.
Defiantly, however, she shook her head, knowing well what was going through his mind. “I must go back, Orophin. I do not ask you to accompany me.”
He lifted his hand to silence her. “I would not allow you to go on your own, not in this state. But I am afraid you must show me your way.” His lips turned to a frown as he spoke, but she nodded in acquiescence and allowed him to lead her out of the Golden Wood.

“You crossed this with a child in arms?” The elf looked at the river skeptically and then to her. Nodding, she began walking up the bank with a purpose; they would swim across this time and she preferred not to lose ground by ending up farther down river than necessary. Orophin took her trembling hand once they reached an acceptable spot and squeezed it in assurance before bringing the pale appendage to his warms lips. “Just a swim, faril nin.” She quirked an eyebrow at him through the drizzle of rain, but smiled as the clouds seemed to contrast his delightfully bright eyes.
Once they stepped into the glacial current, she found the swim was infinitely easier than her early trek across, their strokes and the river’s current causing them to drift swiftly to the other side, down stream. Orophin assisted her from the river and onto shore, following as she led him on their long hike to southern Mirkwood. The rain bombarded them with more vigor as they moved away from Lórien and thicker clouds lower upon them, seeming to conceal their figures from unwelcome eyes.
They talked little on the way aside from more details as to how she had come upon the father and daughter and up to her entering the woods of Lórien. The galadhrim soon found out how truly intent his ranger was in this duty, a gravity falling deeper between them as they neared the destination. At last Gwaeron stopped at the edge of the woods she sought and pushed her hood back to see better. Orophin drew his bow and held his archer’s stance as she pointed into the trees. “He’s twenty-seven paces in and twelve to the north.” They looked at each other a moment before he nodded for her to go forward, silently promising her protection as his steps followed a breath away.
It was just a few seconds until she found the wounded refugee she had spoken of. Tar lay at his side with his head resting on the infirm edhel’s thigh, massive ears perking up when Gwaeron came through the clearing, but unmoving from his charge. “Oh no…” The ranger murmured as her shoulders fell and she saw them. The elf’s head hung back against the tree and his body trembled weakly, shining in the dark forest as sweat and rainwater covered him. His breath came in shallow gasps through pale, chapped lips and she put her hands on his shoulders to rouse him. “Elbereth have mercy on this one…” Her sigh was despondent and she tried again to wake him.
Orophin came and slowly crouched at the elf’s beaten, bare feet, studying him with care before attempting to draw Gwaeron’s attention. The healer in her was desperately seeking to aid and did not hear his voice until he spoke the louder, beckoning her to listen. “Gwaeron…” She finally turned to him and received a look that wrecked sadness into her heart. The warden’s eyes betrayed more emotion than his stoic appearance would allow. “He is fading, Gwaeron… there is nothing you or I can do for him, now.”
Tears filled her eyes as she thought of Véredhiel. Who would take care of her? A groan brought her gaze back to the ailing edhel and he slowly opened dulled eyes. It took a moment for him to breathe deeply enough to speak, but he did so with difficulty. “Ranger… tell me your name.” His voice rasped out of a chest struggling to aid his speech.
Her own voice came out trembling as tears threatened at the sight of him. “I am called Gwaeron, my lord. “
He lifted an unsteady hand to the juncture between her neck and shoulder, grasping it and gaining all of her attention. “Is she safe, Gwaeron? Does my daughter yet live?” He coughed violently at the strain and received her nod as he recovered futilely. “I shall not see her again… I know this to be my end. But e’er I leave for the Halls of Waiting, I would secure my child’s safe-keeping.” Closing his eyes in pain, she watched as he forced himself to continue, urgent in what askance he was about to give. “My name is Beriohtarion, and I ask of you now, Gwaeron… Will you vow to me to protect and care for my daughter… as long as Illúvatar grants you able?”
A tear fled unchecked from her misted green eyes and the woman nodded, pressing her hand to her heart and then gently to his in confirmation of the oath. “I vow to do as you ask.” Having responded faithfully, though with a voice betraying her emotion, a ghost of a smile touched Beriohtarion’s lips in response and he nodded finally.
His eyes caught Orophin’s at his feet and the dying elf sent him a wise, almost knowing look, as if he knew his future. Then at last his breath ran out, causing Gwaeron to gasp as she kept his head from falling back, resting it gently on the bark before smoothing wet hair from his face. With a faint sob, she brushed her fingers over his eyelids, closing the lifeless eyes as she kissed her fingers and touched his brow in respect.
Tar whimpered softly and moved to put his head in her lap as she stared apathetically at the body, giving her a little warmth even though their breath fogged in the damp morning air. Orophin stood and went to her, kneeling behind her slouched posture before putting his hands on her quaking shoulders in a gesture of comfort. Leaning back on his broad chest wordlessly, she looked up to let the rain wash tears from her face and neck.
“Why did he look at me like that after you gave him your promise? He did not know me, I am sure of it…” The Lórien elf asked her quietly, receiving only a shake of her head in answer. He held her close with his arms wrapped around her and she held on tightly with both hands.
She used him as her anchor, trying to calm herself though she continued to shake. “Do we have to leave him here?” Weakly, she whispered.
Orophin took a breath before answering. “We’ll make a raft and send him down the river to Rauros… Ulmo will deliver him to Mandos.”
Nodding, Gwaeron made herself sit up out of his embrace, wiping an already wet sleeve across teary eyes. “We should move him out of the Wood. It’s a miracle the spiders have not already smelled out his blood.” Her companion rose behind her and lowered himself to the faded elf, gathering him up in his arms before following Gwaeron and Tar out to the bank of the river. It did not take long to find fallen wood enough to create a floating byre and they carried the body to the water reverently. Tar howled once or twice as they watched the raft drift out of sight, his mistress’ hand stroking his head all the while.
Orophin looked over to the lady ranger and took her hand, pulling her into his embrace. “You’re doing a very brave thing, Gwaeron, taking care of a child that is not your own.” He murmured into her hair as his hands stroked up and down her arms and back, physically reminding her that he was there. She just clung to him for a while, trying to take some of the peace for her own that seemed to emanate from his person.
As they held one another the elf could feel her trembling more from cold and wet, and he knew he needed to get her moving again. “Come, I am sure a healing Véredhiel awaits your return.” He took a step back and held her hand in his to lead her on. Tar, also, walked on the other side of the woman so that her hand always rested on his withers and together they sought to keep her warm.
Gwaeron found herself in a dazed sense of grief, feeling not the rain on her hood, nor the warmth from Orophin’s hand. It was thus she seemed to awaken when she heard the resonate tenor of the elf’s voice fill the air and her ears.
“Uich gwennen na ‘wanath ah na dhín.
An uich gwennen na ringyrn ambar hen.
Boe naid bain gwnnathar,
Boe cuil ban firitha.
Boe near gannathach…” He drifted into a low hum of the melodic tune and turned to catch her wondering stare, returning to her a gentle gaze and kiss upon her cold hand. The woman beamed wistfully before removing her eyes to the ground, consequently missing the contented smile on his face.

Clearing the river on the way back, Gwaeron leaned heavily upon Orophin through the water, unable to properly tread as the frigid waters paralyzed her exhausted muscles. He released her only to see the woman stagger haphazardly through the shallows and to the nearest tree by which she collapsed, shaking feverishly all over. With a bark of alarm, Tar immediately approached and licked with concern the tears and rain from her face before their elven companion pushed him hastily aside.
Orophin took her hands in his and then, startled, felt of the ranger’s equally icy cheek. Her eyes drifted shut and he took her face roughly, feeling hypothermia settling upon her mortal body. “Gwaeron! Faril nin, come, hear me. Open you eyes, let me see your eyes… Gwaeron….” Coaxing her back to consciousness, she responded by forcing herself to focus on him, taking in his face and eyes, such a blue as would match the intensity of skies across the sea.
Though hopeful since she had heard him and was attempting to obey, Orophin still saw her struggle with exhaustion and encouraged her. “Stay awake, we’re almost there. Just hold to me.” He pulled her up and on her feet, feeling it would be better for the woman to get some circulation going again, rather than to carry her now. Grasping her securely at the waist, Orophin allowed her to hold on to him for support as they trudged on into his homeland. “That’s it, faril nin… we’re nearly there. Talk to me, try to keep awake.”
Gwaeron groaned as she tried to keep up with his strides. “I want to see Véredhiel before anything, Orophin. I want to know she is well before anything is done for me.” Stopping them suddenly, the galadhrim let out a call and was quickly answered from ahead.
Glancing up from Orophin’s shoulder, she saw the elf’s authoritative, eldest brother, Haldir, coming toward them with a poorly masked look of disdain in his regal features. “Where have you been? What’s happened?” He ordered, rather than asked, and only briefly eyed the lady ranger when he wasn’t shooting daggers into his younger brother.
“Has Rúmil told you ought?”
“Yes, but I should have heard it before any action was taken. For instance, you running off with this ranger into the forests of Mirkwood…” His tone was quiet enough, but heated all the same. “Where is this elf you were to bring back with you?”
Orophin shook his head. “He has passed. His wounds were too grievous and we met him just moments before he faded. Please, Haldir, let me explain all to you later. Gwaeron is…”
“Sick. Yes, so I see.” He finished for him bitterly.
“… Exhausted.” The younger edhel corrected, irritated with his elder, as he adjusted the trembling hands of his charge tighter about him. “She wishes to see the elfling first. Where are we keeping her?”
Haldir sighed in a frustrated stance and pointed off to their outpost. “The babe has not silenced it’s wailing since Rúmil was forced from the flet, which has been over-run by our ellith galadhrim. And for this reason, Rúmil has not ceased his wailing, either.” Leaving the last statement only muttered under his breath did not prevent its being heard by both elf and woman, each smirking for the temperament toward females that the youngest retained. “The ellith wardens are attempting to calm the child, suffice it to say unsuccessfully.”
Orophin inclined his head to the march-warden and walked his charge in the direction of the flet Haldir had gestured to. Gwaeron seemed dutifully to rally her strength enough to mount the ladder into the flet and entered in, whereas her elven keeper was forced to remain outside on the porch, arms crossed in slight annoyance with being left out in yet more rain.
“She will not stop crying! Her fever has been taken down; she’s been fed, changed when necessary… she simply will not rest! We don’t know what else to do.” A frantic elleth explained the situation to a weary, yet weakly amused, Gwaeron as another was now seeking to sing the elfling to sleep with no avail, each note causing the child to wail in more distress.
Turning to see Orophin barely containing himself, Gwaeron grinned and sat herself down in what felt like a heap of bones. “Cease! Giver her to me a moment, please.” The ellith stopped their fussing and the singing maiden handed her the baby as carefully as she would a glass ornament. “Véredhiel, hush, love… Here I am. I will not leave you, hush, hush.” The infant quieted her noise and stopped completely when watery eyes opened to meet the woman’s steady gaze.
Gwaeron smiled, the little one’s cheeks were rosy and her eyes a bright, brilliant blue, though irritated enough from crying so long. She looked healthy, and now happy, as a young one should. Without the cloak covering her so, the lady ranger clearly saw gentle swirls of auburn upon her head, almost completely opposite that of her late father’s, whose hair had been a silvery-blonde.
In wonder, the surrounding elves looked on the peaceful scene displayed before them, all but Orophin, who wore simply a smile of knowledge upon his lips. Watching the child a little longer, Gwaeron sighed as the baby’s eyes fluttered shut, exhaustion from such fits as she gave before finally wearing her out. The woman laid her softly upon the cot where she sat and situated blankets about her so that no movement would cause her to roll too far. Pushing herself from the bed, she stood and approached Orophin who stood now at the doorway.
He smirked. “That did not look wholly unnatural for you, faril nin.” The edhel gazed down upon her and received a tired smile at his compliment.
“I’ve little doubt that these ellith have had next to no involvement with a newborn, be it elf or man. It seemed rather instinctive to me, I know not why.” Her response was thoughtful as she unclasped his cloak from about her neck and situated it back around his broad shoulders with care. He watched her silently. “Thank you for coming with me, Orophin. And thank you for lending me your cloak.”
Their smiles were fond and he lowered himself to kiss her cheek tenderly. “Get some rest, Gwaeron. You certainly deserve it.” With one last look, he pulled the hood over his wet hair and slid down the rope ladder they had just come up a few moments ago.
An elf-maiden approached Gwaeron from behind and offered her a blanket. “Come, lady. We shall get you dry and warm.”

“I’m waiting for an explanation, Orophin.” Haldir stood with his back to the warden, hands clasped rigidly behind him around a quiver-full of arrows.
The second-born took a deep breath and bowed in respect. “Forgive me, Marchwarden.” He began peacefully, in a formal tone. “There was little time to react and, as ranking officer over Rúmil, I sent him to his task and myself to mine. Gwaeron and I went quickly to help and protect a mutual ally… I did not think my actions were either in need of further explanation, nor in any way wrong.”
Haldir turned fiercely upon his brother and looked him square in the eye. “You went to who-knows-what end for that… that human, Orophin! Did you even know where you were being led? I swear, she could have taken you straight to the fortress of Dol Guldur, handed you to the Enemy on a silver platter, and still you would fall at her feet!”
Orophin took the harsh criticism in stride, knowing full well how his brother’s continual temperament worsened when Gwaeron came to subject. His jaw kept tense, however, to refrain from protesting against such accusations being made against the woman he cared for. Better to take the Marchwarden’s lecture than to dig a deeper feud between he and his sibling than what was already present.
“Have you anything to say?”
With a deep breath to calm himself, Orophin met Haldir’s bright eyes with his own matching pair. “If a lady friend of yours, Haldir, were to come to you with a wounded child and inform you that someone had been left in a dangerous situation, would you not trust her immediately and go to aid in whatever form you could?” The elder’s glare burned into his brother and Orophin returned it with all ferocity, knowing his point to be valid. “If you should answer no, than I willingly accept any punishment. However, if you reply that this lady would have your trust… I may be a bit more reluctant to submit.”
Haldir said nothing for some moments and Orophin felt it safe to approach again, though with a more delicate appeal toward his kin. “Brother, do not scorn those with a good heart and strong will to match. They are great allies, and friends, if you would but allow them…”
“If I am not mistaken, you wish for more than just friendship with this lady ranger.”
This remark aroused a flash of anger in Orophin’s eyes. “I have not dishonored her, if that is what you are implying.” The elf practically seethed within himself at the insinuation. “I respect her. We have done nothing, and will not, unless, by Eru’s will, we are bound in marriage in the future.”
Haldir focused on him in a different light as he spoke, pensive for a moment, and then once again the frown returned. “Tread lightly, brother… A mortal is just that. Mortal.” With that warning said, the elder of them turned away and strode toward the outer posts, unconscious of the menacing growl Tar delivered to his retreating figure.
The animal stood patiently waiting on Orophin as the elf approached at last, patting the tremendous dog while his tail thwapped against his leg in a steady gesture of comfort. “I’d let you have a go at him, Tar, if I knew you wouldn’t tear his ears off.” The canine looked up at the elf and panted so that his maw took the shape of a smile. “Ah well, let’s go fetch you something to eat, aye?” Walking off side by side with his companion, Orophin barely smiled as in the distance he could see the flet in which his huntress and her oath resided.


Faril Nin—My Huntress (Orophin’s endearment for Gwaeron)
The Elvish song (Breath of Life)

You are not bound to loss and silence.
For you are not bound to the circles of this world.
All things must pass away,
All life is doomed to fade.
Sorrowing you must go, and yet you are not without hope.


Chapter 2 - *Chapter Two

Title: Faril Nin [My Huntress]
Author: Codi Lyn { iluvobiwan91
Genre: Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Rating: PG-13 – R (for descriptive battle scene/wounds)
Pairing: Orophin/OFC [Gwaeron]
Timeline: Begins before the Fellowship enters Lórien in Third Age 3018… concludes during Fourth Age 250
Chapter: 2/13
Chapter Summary: “I know for certain that he loves you, dearest. Should you not let him decide for himself whether or not he would choose a mortal woman to love?”
Author’s Note: I don’t know quite what season it is when the Fellowship are in Lórien, and so there are a few changes in time-flow versus how things played out in the movies. Follows movie-verse, but I make a few references to things that happened in the books. But little things like these I have the license to play with, as the author. J.R.R. Tolkien and Peter Jackson have rights to the important stuff, this story is written purely for pleasure.

Chapter Two

It was determined that the elfling was newly born, perhaps only a few months old, judging by the physical development of her ears, hair, and focus of her eyes. Every elleth crowded the—now predominantly female—flet at every leave of patrol, always asking to hold and coddle the darling new baby. With their helping to tend her, Gwaeron was gratefully able to fight off the serious exhaustion her body had taken on in the last day and more. Véredhiel only fussed when hungry and finally allowed the eager ellith to take care of her without complaint so long as the woman ranger was nearby.
A bottle was fashioned for her out of an archer’s glove with a small slit made into the tip and she was fed a watered down nectar of different fruits they had on hand in supply. Gwaeron objected half-heartedly, though she knew this was their only option until they came into Caras Galadhon where other supplies could be attained. “You will have her eating only sweets by the time she gets anything of substance! I won’t be surprised if every tooth she cuts will come out already rotted.” Chastising them with an amused smile, the lady ranger was easily ignored by her fawning caretakers, and so made little of it from then on.
A she-elf named Meldiriel provided a change of her own clothes until the ranger’s sturdier garments dried fully along with the few extra pieces that had been soaked through in her pack. The rain ceased at length sometime during the next night and, upon asking her new friend who shared duties with Orophin, Gwaeron found out that the elf was also off-duty. Climbing down from the tree’s high-placed flet with a mind to visit her beau, Gwaeron waited as a carefully wrapped parcel was lowered down to her and she removed Véredhiel from her secure transport.
As they walked between the strong columns of trees the woman was reminded that they were quite a ways inside Lórien’s border, so she was not surprised to hear the gentle chatter of elf to elf between supply and healing flets above her. The true patrol posts were much nearer to the wooded country’s boundaries and more camouflaged, if even existent, so as to keep hidden from unfriendly eyes. What knowledge Gwaeron could claim of stealth and invisibility was greatly attributed to living with the elves most of her life. This became the primary reason—aside from accompanying her for many years, himself—that her brother, Estel, had agreed to let her ride as a ranger at all. Her foster-father still disapproved enough to frown upon her more ‘masculine’ garb, but relented upon this decision once she had come of age in the years of men.
Finally spying a tall elf standing amidst a cluster of birch trees in the distance, Gwaeron smiled, seeing her hound standing at his side until her footfalls were heard and the overgrown puppy turned. The considerably large dog galloped toward his mistress and made ready to jump up when, at her signal, he skidded to a stop and stood obediently before her, tail wagging wildly.
Leaning down a little, she allowed him to sniff and nuzzle the blankets surrounding the babe in her arms, Véredhiel reaching her little hands up to grasp at his nose and whiskers which tickled her. “Careful, Tar… She is far too small, yet, for one of your kisses.” Murmuring lightly, Gwaeron watched the careful display of affection before glancing up to see a grey-clad elf standing with a soft smile on his face.
His eyes looked over the child and then met hers. “You are both well, today?” Orophin asked after them with a rich tone in his voice and rubbed at the dog’s ears to distract him.
His lover’s smile brightened as she rose upright again. “Yes, thank you. Véredhiel has been soaking up all the attention your lady galadhrim bestow while I rest.” Chuckling easily, Orophin stepped closer and ran a finger along the infant’s cheek. The baby instantly reached out for him and let out a small cry when he withdrew, causing both adults to glance at one another in surprise, though Gwaeron was quick to grin at the reaction. “Would you like to hold her, Orophin?” Smiling nervously, he allowed her to help the little one into his strong arms comfortably, smiling genuinely when Véredhiel fisted a handful of his hair to tug playfully.
Gwaeron laughed at it and he looked on her fondly while she attempted to loosen the child’s grasp on him. Orophin had never seen the truly glow as she did in that moment. Her grey-green eyes sparkled and popped in contrast to her fair and lightly freckled face. The elven garments she had been given accentuated her athletic figure, a braided belt of leather hung at ease around her hips, which consequently showed off muscled thighs directly below. A quiet sigh was his only sign of disappointment as her hair was still tightly braided against her head, up and away from her face and neck so as not to hinder her. He loved when his huntress wore such thick locks as she possessed down past her shoulders and curled against her back.
She looked up once succeeding in freeing the strands of his own hair and held his gaze for a long, peaceful moment before feminine fingers pushed them back behind his shoulder, touching his neck gently on the way. Warmth filled him at such a caress and Orophin noted with delight that her cheeks flushed also, perhaps self-conscious that she had been too forward.
With her gaze lowered once more to the child he cradled, Gwaeron inquired guiltily, bringing their thoughts to another subject. “Did I incur Haldir’s wroth upon you by my actions the other day?”
Her answer was simply a deep chuckle, one that brought a newborn’s smile to Véredhiel’s lips, which accompanied his easy response. “We have long been grown elves, Gwaeron. I take responsibility for the things I choose to do… and the people I choose to be with.” As he spoke Orophin watched her face carefully, praying she could glean what he’d left for her in the field of his words.
A reluctant smile touched her features, lightening as her finger came into the baby’s grasp. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry to have caused any more grievance between you and your brother. I would have gone back for her father myself—“
Orophin freed a hand from under the child and arrested hers to gain her focus once more. “I would not have let you go alone. As it was, I did not welcome you being so close to a wounded stranger in such woods. His hand was warm on hers despite the damp chill in the autumn air and Gwaeron relished it, feeling his protection conveyed through such contact.
Glancing from him back down to the little one in his hold, a delighted smile reached even to her eyes and she whispered. “Look, Orophin. She’s fallen asleep in your arms.” Their eyes met happily before her gaze returned to the child. “Till now she only found rest in mine.”
Smirking at the observation she’d made, the warden’s affectionate look soon found the lady ranger again. “How long shall you and your foster-daughter stay with us in Lórien, faril nin?” The reaction she gave was what he had hoped to gain from his words; a little higher head, a clearer light in her eye, and a loving look upon her oath-child.
“I hope to take some counsel with the Lady, if I can.” Gwaeron murmured, almost to herself, before raising her head to meet Orophin’s gaze, assuring him with her expression. “I would wish to stay a while in the meantime.”
Nodding, the warden spoke of the plan he had been formulating while she and Véredhiel had been still recovering. “In two days Rúmil and I shall be free to return to Caras Galadhon for a month’s leave. If it is agreeable to you, you and the child may take my talan while I stay in the flet with Rúmil.”
Her face lit up at the offer. “Neither you or Rúmil will mind?”
Shaking his head with a grin, Orophin assured her. “Rúmil already thinks it to be ideal. And I confess I do not mind at all, for our flets neighbor one another and we shall be close.” Another sort of look deepened his stare and caused her to blush.
“It is generous of you both, Orophin. I cannot thank you enough.” As she said so, the galadhrim transferred a gently sleeping baby back to her embrace and smirked as she snuggled naturally into the woman’s hold.
“Know I would do anything for you, faril nin.” Orophin brought his hand up to her face and brushed his fingers sweetly across a soft-colored cheek. Moving to stand at her side, his arm encircled Gwaeron’s waist and began to lead them among the trees. “Come, will you walk with me? I have greatly longed for our conversations and have been restricted to only friendly silences with Tar.” Laughing lightly, she accompanied him gladly and crooned to her sweet hound who followed alongside.

Much later when the lady ranger returned to the flet, she found only Meldiriel there to meet her and help bring Véredhiel up wrapped tightly within her basket. An easy understanding had passed between the she-elf and herself on several visits before, and Gwaeron knew the young elleth well enough to anticipate a bit of teasing.
An impish grin preceded the lady warden’s first inquiry. “Has he kissed you, yet?”
Laughing a little, Gwaeron set Véredhiel down on the bed and laid her cloak over the quiet rise and fall of her little body. “What, and who, do you mean, Meldiriel?” Feigning ignorance, she moved to another part of the platform and began to fold her dry garments.
Moving with her, the elleth could not but roll her eyes as she tugged the woman’s hand away from her task and pressed. “You know very well of whom I speak, mellon nin. Has the edhel yet to taste your lips?”
This earned a fervent blush spread over Gwaeron’s face as she shook her head and laughed at such a description, confessing. “We did not kiss, and I… do not wish us to.”
Meldiriel sat down across from her in stared in disbelief. “How in all of Arda can you say such a thing? Surely you love him?”
“Of course I care greatly for him, and so thus does he care for me. Orophin respects me enough to esteem my purity above such… displays that we can never truly fulfill. What relationship we have has kept me blameless in deed for whomever I come to marry.” Explaining it as best as she could, Gwaeron seemed to be trying to convince herself that she was not as emotionally attached to Orophin as, Valar knew, she truly was.
“Certainly you realize, Gwaeron, this strictness you hold to is why you are still unmarried even now, at the height of your bloom.” The elleth accompanied this with a look filled half with pity, and half censure.
Drawing herself up again, and resuming the task before her, Gwaeron sought to counter. “Or it is because I have not met the right man, yet.”
Shrugging, Meldiriel rose and checked on the sleeping elfling across the room, murmuring over her shoulder so that the ranger could hear. “Or you’ve already met him and one of you aren’t letting nature take its course.”

At last the day came to venture further into the Golden Wood and reach the city of its Lord and Lady, Caras Galadhon. With Orophin’s aid, they invented a comfortable sling to hold Véredhiel during their daylong journey, finding success when the baby was comfortable enough at their easy pace to fall asleep nestled snugly against her ranger mother.
Gwaeron placed a settling hand over the child as she stepped over some uneven ground and let her thoughts drift to the nervous floating in her belly the closer they came to the city. She had been often to the great heart of the mallorn wood, but always accompanying lord Elrond, his children, or Estel in their travels and never yet on her own. The woman calmed, though, when she thought of the familiarities that always greeted her there on such visits. Her dear friend among the elves, Anauriel, had been her companion for as long as she’d known Orophin, and it seemed now as though they’d always known each other.
Smiling at times past, the ranger remembered meeting him at the age of sixteen when she had tagged along with Arwen, Elladan, and Elrohir as they traveled to see their grandparents. Orophin had been the one to remove the ranger’s weapons she had just begun to carry, and at her proud refusal had promised to return them into her care if the young lass could best him on the sparring field. He had beaten her flat on her back with a friendly laugh and from then on they became inseparable, teaching one another new skills and perfecting talents they each possessed. Orophin showed her how to discipline her swordsmanship and archer’s stance; while Gwaeron taught him to lead different dances he had never had a care to learn until now.
The day she was to leave with Elrond’s children the warden led her to the field their horses grazed in and, against the great tree in its midst, bestowed upon this ranger girl his most tender and devoted kiss, the only kiss they had ever shared. The smile Gwaeron wore the rest of the day invoked many knowing glances her way, but not a word of disfavor from her adopted family.
“Gwaeron? What is it?” Coming back to the present, the ranger blushed and looked over to Orophin who now studied her through vibrant azure eyes.
Smiling, she shook her head in gentle answer. “I was just remembering when we met.” The elf’s sweet grin told her that his thoughts went to dwell immediately on their kiss as quickly as hers had. He caught her gaze and moved closer to capture her hand and press it to his heart, feeling his chest swell in reaction to the precious contact. Their steps slowed together without much care that they now fell behind the dwindling traveling group, not giving thought to those who were already turning for their talans on the outskirts of the city.
Orophin’s thoughts could not be pulled from how truly beautiful he knew Gwaeron was as he watched her walking at his side. She could not physically be mistaken for any elven beauty, he had seen many of the scars that battles and wilderness had dealt upon the fair flesh her dresses would make known. Kind, bright eyes bore the slight wrinkles that smiling often produced, and freckles danced upon that white skin that contrasted so much when compared to her brother’s tanned figure.
She was equal in height with her ellith friends, taller even, than some for the woman exerted authority enough upon herself so that she was not given to the relaxed posture that diminished a one’s height among her kindred. Unlike most elves, Gwaeron’s hair curled richly with the deep auburn brown of fall-time foliage, bouncing in wispy baby’s curls along her hairline no matter how she wore it. Cheeks shaded from the sun would grow rosy and bloom in flush when Orophin met her vivid green eyes, vibrant as a wave pool along the southern sea of Rhún. Her figure curved like many women and ellith, but her galadhrim admirer found it the more pleasing to know what strengthened muscles dwelt within the softer feminine form, having received the force of said muscles during their many sparring matches.
Such kindness and unconditional compassion found its way to every soul she was familiar with, giving her the one aspect that did concern Orophin for her travels alone; to have the innocence that might easily veil a threat someone could potentially prove upon her. Eighty-six years of age had brought as great a measure of wisdom as it had loveliness, however, and the edhel could not but find her as breath-taking, and more so, as he had in the first days of their meeting.
On impulse, Orophin leaned over and whispered soft endearments against her ear, gentle declarations of love in elven word. The blush deepened with her smile as he withdrew, and she shook her head while he beamed in his affection for her. Something filtered through the ranger’s sweet expression after a moment and subtly told of something wrong as she turned her gaze away. “I am not deserving of such beautiful words, Orophin…” Gwaeron spoke so lowly he could hardly hear the murmured words as she released her hand from his grasp, frowning as if she’d remembered something grave.
The sound of crying caused him to glance at the tiny babe and then watch with fallen heart as the woman tended to her and stepped more quickly to catch the others up. Gwaeron was distancing herself, and he could not fathom why. But no matter how it tore at the pain in his chest he sought futilely to push the thoughts away, refusing to believe her feelings had changed in her regard of him. Orophin told himself she was being modest, that after seventy years she could not wish to return to acquaintances only. Yet as he watched her now, moving ahead of him without looking back, a conflicting cloud of doubt began to move prominently into his thoughts.
“There are feelings there, Orophin, though little she may understand them at this time. I urge you not to doubt her heart.” The lady Galadriel’s voice echoed quietly in his mind and he looked up to the horizon. They were nearing Caras Galadhon.

Anauriel met them as they came up to Orophin’s talan, having heard of their arrival from those galadhrim already returned. A large basket was held at her hip, and the elleth looked eagerly at Véredhiel before clasping Gwaeron in an enthusiastic hug. “You have been sorely missed, Gwaeron! And not by myself only, dearest.” She spoke the last in a whisper and glance of eyes toward Orophin as he climbed the steps to his home without a word.
Noticing his change in composure, Gwaeron’s smile was reticent and she quickly sought a change of subject with her friend. “What have you got here, Ana?” Gesturing to the cargo the elf hefted proudly, the ranger found her free arm linked with Ana’s and they followed up the stairs behind the galadhrim brothers.
“I heard of this elfling and so went hunting for things among the elven mothers whose babies are now as grown as I.” She explained and laughed with her mortal friend over the threshold. “They send you blessings, with bottles and cloth diapers.” As the elleth spoke cheerfully, a lock of her wavy hair found its way into the infant’s tiny grasp and pulled with a little noise of amusement. “Oh! You like my hair, do you?” Happily surprised, Anauriel spoke sweetly to the little one and smiled as her friend worked to release little fingers from her hair.
“Véredhiel seems to like the hair of those she makes noises for. I’m sure that she likes you, because of it.” As the woman explained with a grin her eyes caught Orophin watching the scene with a smirk, such a look not being missed by her she-elf friend.
“And has Véredhiel tugged on our dear warden’s hair?” With suggestion in her tone, Ana winked as Gwaeron nodded that she had. “And what of your hair? Though you do wear it up so often.”
“This is true, but it hasn’t kept Verry from grabbing at my… well, other parts of me that a baby would have need of.” With a blush and some shared laughter, the elleth put her hand on the ranger’s arm and tried to suppress another giggle.
“Well, you can hardly blame the poor child for wanting her naneth’s milk, Gwaeron. But I’ve brought something that will help that. Some of the mothers gave me a powdered formula to mix with warm water to use when they could not produce their own, or had no privacy. We will give the dear some of that, I’m sure it’ll be just what she needs.” More than thankful for Ana’s thoughtfulness and understanding, Gwaeron quickly settled back into the familiarity of what might as well be her older sister in all but blood. Indeed, the elleth had taught her just as much—if not more—than Orophin had, as she grew up. Instead of weaponry and stealth, Anauriel taught the more feminine details of coming into womanhood, many things that even her mother had not time to fully explain. Next to Arwen and Orophin, she was her closest friend and confidant, and she could not feel more blessed to have someone such as her to help begin taking care of a newborn.
After a little while the two edhil in the talan had gathered what little they needed and rose to leave, approaching the women as they entertained the infant between them. “If you will excuse us ladies, I’ve collected my things and will leave you to settle in on your own.” Orophin spoke with little inflection and no smile, surprising them with his formality and brief bow.
Gwaeron had let Anauriel hold the baby and so rose up to give the warden a firm and genuine hug, remaining until his initial stiffness faded and his arms held her more naturally. “Thank you, Orophin. You are my most generous friend.” Friend. At the word Orophin’s slight smile instantly fell away and he was forced to put on a false one as she pulled away and looked up at him. It was nothing for her to read that the elf was putting on to try and please her, that there was no true happiness in his features.
Before she could regard him a moment longer she was pulled into a quick hold from Rúmil followed by a peck on the cheek as he grinned. “We’ll see you this evening, then. I’ll make a meal and you’ll come to my flat.” His invitation was good-humored and he nodded amiably to Anauriel before immediately pulling Orophin out the door.
Once they’d made it a safe distance from the talan Rúmil stopped sharply and turned his older brother around to face him. “Well, that couldn’t have been more uncomfortable thanks to you.” He pushed his elder brother accusingly. “What happened between you and Gwaeron that has made you so bloody aloof all of a sudden? Weren’t the two of you your normal selves just this morning?” Rúmil’s hands planted on harrow hips as he waited for an answer. Only now, however, as he had a breath to truly look at Orophin did he realize his brother’s dejection; shoulders slumped with the weight of a burden, and eyes unfocused, simply glazed over in thought.
“Gwaeron, she’s… isolating herself from me, Rúmil. She has leaned out of my embraces, denied my endearments, calling me only her ‘friend.’ I don’t know what has changed.”
Frowning as he took a step closer, Rúmil put a comforting hand to his brother’s shoulder and pulled him into a strong embrace, uncaring about the crumpled clothes he held between them. “You mustn’t accept this blindly, brother. You can’t know all her thoughts.” Pulling away, he looked at him in sympathy. “If you’re to know what she means by these actions, then you must speak with her. I am certain whatever it is shall pass in time and you shall both be as you were, and happier.” Orophin nodded and tried to wince a slight smile in appreciation for his younger sibling. With a nod, Rúmil simply led him to his talan and attempted to draw his thoughts away from the lady ranger for a time, though little it could help when she now dwelt in the next tree.

Anauriel looked at Gwaeron with an arched brow, bouncing Véredhiel gently and walking toward her friend. “Well, I can’t say I’ve seen anyone so discomfited as you and Orophin since the time my mother first met a dwarf in Imladris. Why are the two of you giving such a cold shoulder of a sudden? Surely it hasn’t been this way since your arrival?”
A shrug was all she could gain from the ranger before she sat on a cot and showed the tears welling in her eyes as she looked to her friend for guidance. “I’ve been thinking lately, of the affection Orophin and I share… We’ve been together for so long, but to what end if we can never truly bind?” Quiet sobs began to choke her, but she continued. “I will not ask him to bind to a mortal woman and risk his immortality. It is too great a sacrifice and I am only hindering him now from finding his life-mate, not to mention a husband of my own if I am ever to marry.”
Anauriel instantly frowned and came to the young woman who now buried her face in her hands miserably. As the elleth sat at her side the child reached for her with a whine and Gwaeron took her into her arms as second nature, still nurturing even through the turmoil her emotions wreaked upon her. “Gwaeron, look at me.” Ana gently commanded her and the woman obeyed with wavering gaze to meet the elleth’s. “Do you love him?”
She stayed silent for a long moment and another tear fell from her emerald depths as she looked into Véredhiel’s eyes that mirrored the bright blue of Orophin’s. “Yes… I love him. And it tears me apart to hurt him like this.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper, almost directed to the infant more than an answer to the question.
With an arm around her shoulders in compassion, Anauriel stroked a few of her friend’s braids in a comforting gesture. “And I know for certain that he loves you, dearest. Should you not let him decide for himself whether or not he would choose a mortal woman to love?” Gwaeron nodded and calmed her cries, wiping the tears that had already made trails down her flushed cheeks. “Come, Gwaeron.” Anauriel whispered when she saw the baby had fallen back asleep and tugged on the ranger’s sleeve. “You put the little one to bed and I’ll help you take a decent bath. Having a relaxing soak will do you some good.”
They made a circle of blankets and a cushion for Véredhiel to sleep within and the elleth was as good as her word by filling an exquisite bath sprinkled with scented oils that calmed the senses. It was when she sat idle in a cloud of steam and just shy of scalding hot water that Gwaeron’s mind at last eased, and she was sure it had been too long since she had lingered in anything so luxurious. Bringing in a few other womanly pleasures, Anauriel sat at the edge of the tub and pulled out a fruit-infused shampoo to begin lathering the woman’s thick curls.
The sound of movement and a slight cry came from the other room and both elf and woman sat up to go get the baby when Ana rinsed her hands and pushed Gwaeron’s shoulder so that she stayed put. “Now, now, just rest and enjoy. I’ll tend to the little one while you finish up.” With an obedient nod, Gwaeron sat back for a few minutes longer in silence before at length her pruned fingers and toes begged to be released and she rose out of the tub to dry off.
A large, warm towel was soon tucked around her and secured before the ranger began combing excess water through her waist-length hair, shaking and curling through the mass with her fingers afterward. Catching her reflection in a looking glass against the wall, Gwaeron turned sideways and smirked at what she saw. Strong bones from her father had blessed her with the muscles to utilize them, and the soft curves of a healthy woman from her mother graced her hips and belly, giving shape to her lengthened figure. In strength and height she surpassed many lesser women and had caught her brother up in the latter by the age of twenty, able with ease to look Estel straight in the eye when they stood together.
Gwaeron did not give herself chance to put much value on her looks compared to others, especially when the majority of her time was spent among elves and any comparisons there were fruitless. It was the confidence in her own abilities that counted to the ranger, and that was all that mattered to those who knew her, as well. “In any case, there aren’t many eighty-something’s who look and feel as I do.” With a satisfied shrug, she put on a loose riding dress from among her things and walked into the adjoining room where Anauriel was feeding a warm bottle to a hungry baby. “Is she taking it well for you?” Gwaeron asked as she sat across from her friend, pushing her fingers through the still-wet curls at her shoulders.
“She was fickle at first to try it, and she wouldn’t have it for quite a bit, but her empty belly gave in soon enough. I’m sure it’s part for knowing me not to be her mother.” Ana’s pointed compliment caused a blush to accompany the humble smile on the woman’s lips.
“Foster-mother, perhaps, do not honor me with such names so quickly. It’s much more likely the difference of fruit juice and milk formula to make Véredhiel object at first, not the knowledge of who held the bottle.”
The elleth kept silent as Gwaeron reasoned away what she believed, but delivered a knowing look that quieted any further dispute on the matter. “What will you wear to Rúmil’s flat tonight?” Changing the subject skillfully after a lull, Ana glanced at the ranger’s apparel and hoped there was something else to be had.
Frowning, Gwaeron looked down at the coarse wool of the frock that had been a gift of the young prince Theodred in Edoras some years ago. The deep green riding dress and leggings were the effect of seeing that an undoubtedly feminine guest of the Golden Hall had little but ranger’s tunics and breeches to wear before the King. She looked upon it quite fondly with the memory to accompany it, but now fretted at its want of elegance for use of function. “What would you advise? I’ve no other garments but trousers and tunics…”
“It’s just that it’s so very heavy. But if you’ve nothing else to don tonight, it must be granted to have a sort of rustic charm about it.” Ana’s words worked a better revision than the odd look her face still expressed at the mortal-made garment.
“You are simply used to the light and airy dress of your kindred, Ana. Leave me to appreciate mine every now and again, won’t you?” The young mortal beseeched her and at last Anauriel relented, handing a now full little girl to her ‘mother’ so that she could burp.
“I’ll concede to it tonight, my dear. Tomorrow I’ll bring a few things of mine you can try if you like.” With a shared smile, the elleth made her way to the door and called over her shoulder. “I’m going to bathe and change, myself, now that I smell like baby’s milk. I’ll return in an hour or two to go with you.”
With the elven maid out of the flat, Gwaeron rubbed the back of her little charge until Véredhiel’s burp of air came up, accompanied by a yawn that scrunched her face and left a whisper of a smile as the baby’s eyes drooped. “Does a nap sound good to you, Verry?” Nuzzling a small rounded cheek, the woman softly cooed and wrapped the infant a little more tightly in her blanket. “It sounds a fine plan, doesn’t it? I think I’ll join you in it.” With a soothing voice she mused before lying down on the bed with a thoughtful arm around the child and felt unconsciousness pull them into its embrace.

As promised, Anauriel returned to the flet a couple of hours later and found her friend in front of the looking glass making a hurried attempt to smooth the sleep marks from her face and hair. An exasperated smile greeted her and the explanation followed. “I was only going to lay down with her for a moment. It’s apparent I’m in need of more rest than I thought.”
With a smirk the elleth stilled the woman’s hands from forcing her lively hair into a messy up-do. “Stop your fussing and leave your hair down, Gwaeron. You look quite beautiful.”
Giving up her efforts with a sigh, the ranger turned to her and beamed. “Thank you, Ana. Is Véredhiel still resting?” The women went to the cradle of pillows and smiled at the little one quietly drowsing. With care, Gwaeron picked her up and laid the babe against her chest to curl naturally while she remained sleeping.
In quiet and calm they made their way to Rúmil’s talan and were pleasantly greeted upon arrival. “Good evening, my ladies.” With an affectionate peck to women’s cheek—though his welcome for Anauriel lingered noticeably longer— the cordial elf led them inside and turned his attention to the little one only just awakening. “And far be it that I forget our newest lovely one.” Cooing, Rúmil fingered a tiny hand loose from its fist and laid a kiss sweetly upon it with a wink to the ranger.
As he guided them to be seated, his elder brother entered from the hallway and Rúmil addressed him lightly. “Orophin, you decided to join us. Would you care to entertain our guests while I put the meal together? I’ll be just a moment.”
He was answered with a nod and reasonably warm smile for the women now seated comfortably. “Can I bring something to drink? I trust Rúmil may have some spirits easy enough to enjoy before dinner.” Anauriel nodded yes while Gwaeron politely declined, asking instead for something lighter.
When he moved off to fix the beverages, Ana wasted no time in teasing her friend with a well-placed elbow. “Orophin looks very handsome tonight, does he not?”
The ranger rolled her eyes and could not help a smile, though she tried. It was as if she were sixteen once again. “I could not help but see your appraisal of Rúmil, as well.” She answered back with the sweetly spoken insinuation.
The elleth only smirked with an elegant brow raised at being caught. “Perhaps.” Any further prods at one another were brought to cease when Orophin returned bearing two glasses of a blonde wine and a cup and saucer with tea for Gwaeron, a healthy dip of honey added as he knew she preferred. He held her gaze tenderly for a moment as he set it before her and she smiled gratefully before lowering her eyes to the steaming cup. With eyes still resting upon her, he removed to lean against the natural wall carved out of their tree and at length addressed their friend also present. “How has the city been in our absence, Anauriel?”
The affable inquiry was met with interest as the elleth explained various happenings that had occurred during their duties on the border and he tried to listen attentively. His gaze, however, continued to fall upon Gwaeron who sat quietly beside the primary contributor to their conversation. The woman had let her hair down to fall in the vicarious manner her curls favored, pooling mostly upon one shoulder as she had swept it there to rest out of the way from her other shoulder now occupied by a coddled infant. The riding dress she wore, when she briefly met his eye, drew out every shadow and highlight of those fair green eyes that radiated their calm as he felt himself staring without any pretense.
When he came to himself he managed to return his concentration to Anauriel, who had continued quite pleasantly on her own as though he had not been entirely distracted during her speech. “… So now that you and Rúmil have come back, I am sure things will return to more interest once again.” Ending with a smile, Orophin returned it in kind and glanced to see the ranger tasting her tea for the first sip, a sweet expression softening her face at the taste. The beginnings of sleepy movement drew his eyes then to the sweet form of a child that still lay curled warmly into what he had come to consider her ‘foster mother.’ Gwaeron truly fit every description he held for the title and could not but find himself more deeply in love with her for so innately displaying the role.
“Well, certainly consider this to be but the first of many gatherings between the four of us at least, now that we’re returned.” Rúmil cheerfully affirmed Anauriel’s statement as he brought in a tray of fruits and cheeses and sat among them, himself. A look about the room corrected him, however, and he remedied his count to ‘five’ after a nod the baby. Gwaeron laughed lightly at his care to include her new charge and kept the smile on her lips as the edhel situated himself a mite closer to the elf lady at her side.
Her attention was pulled away when Orophin came before her and offered kindly. “I can take her for a while, if you would like, Gwaeron. If only for you to take something to eat more easily.” His expectant look lasted half a moment before she smiling nodded and allowed him nearer to ease the elfling into his careful embrace. With appreciation she noted how Orophin had grown quite adept in the action since last he held her on the border. Still drowsy and desirous to be held close, Véredhiel squirmed just enough to find her natural place in the crook of his arm and cozied herself against his chest while he caressed the beginning wisps of her hair.
“It’s clear enough Gwaeron is to be her foster mother, but it certainly looks as though Véredhiel’s found her foster father in Orophin.” Chuckling, Rúmil made the comment with a genuine light heart but was shot a stern glance from his elder brother with silent warning.
Gwaeron shook her head with a nervous, half smile at the insinuation. The decision she’d made within herself came forefront in her mind and ruled her speech: she would not bind Orophin to waste his mortality on her, nor withhold him from finding a partner to share it with. “We know that is impossible, don’t we?” Trying to copy Rúmil’s light air, she shrugged the comment out as though it were common sense.
Unable to let the scene continue in such a way, Orophin turned to her accusingly and challenged. “Why? Why would it be?”
She met his eye pointedly and spoke in a lowered voice, trying to keep the situation from exploding further, especially in the midst of others. “You know very well why, Orophin. I would rather we didn’t discuss this here.” With intention to quiet him, her words served only to raise his frustrations beyond containment.
“Perhaps not here… but now.” Asserting himself, he gestured clearly that he would have a word with the ranger in private. Sensing the distress that excited the air about the elf and woman, Véredhiel began to fuss and stir unnervingly in his hold. Anauriel shifted uncomfortably and quietly asked Rúmil to do something as they watched the infant agitatedly pulling at Orophin’s tunic and hair, as though his frustration had carried through to her. The younger warden rose and clumsily took the infant from his brother as Orophin handed her over, his glare never releasing the woman across from him though the child fitfully continued to reach for him.
A threatening glint in his eyes, Orophin summoned flatly that he would speak with her and turned stiffly to make his way down the hall. Wordlessly rising at the command, though in no way intimidated, Gwaeron followed him into another room at the other side of the talan, trying to keep confident in the choice she had made. They entered the bedroom that he was to sleep in as guest in his brother’s flat and he turned to her in the dimming light to begin the conversation he seemed to know could not finish painlessly. “What do you mean it is impossible for me to be that child’s father? What of your words to me, naming me a ‘friend’ as though we were barely at acquaintance? Gwaeron, what is happening to you… to us? Never have we been so distant with one another.” A tone of pleading stained his commanding voice as he grasped her arms in an iron-strong hold, refusing to give way until she ceased a fruitless struggle against him and sagged in defeat.
A wavering gaze met his entreating eyes that only ate at her resolve, though her words went on stubbornly as her misery deepened. “Orophin, we can no longer continue as any more than friends… Do you understand?” He let her go as she sank to his bed and brought her hands up to hide her face, long curls draping to veil her from the world.
He stood with difficulty as the blow of her words stunned him but soon moved to kneel before her, pulling her wrists away gently until he could see her face. “I cannot understand, faril nin. All I see is that you change your will outside, but when I look within you… you do not truly wish it. I cannot understand why are you changing.” It pained him to see her like this, eyes full of tears and brow wrinkled in a grief he could not determine. The caress of his hands around hers begged her to speak the whole truth, to say aloud what her reasons were so that he could disprove them.
“We have denied for so long, for too long, how we differ. You are blessed by Illúvatar as a Firstborn, to have immortality…” Though he opened his mouth to speak she raised a slender hand to his lips and he allowed her to continue, taking her hand with rapidly failing strength. “And thought I, too, have been blessed to be born of the Dúnedain with long life… I am still bound to this earth as a mortal.”
The weight of his brother’s words came unbidden to his mind though he fought to push them out. ‘Tread lightly, brother… A mortal is just that. Mortal.’ Orophin’s eyes filled with burning tears as the realization solidified of what end she was bringing all of this.
“I cannot continue to withhold you from seeking a life mate.” These words she spoke with even more difficulty. “And every day I wait, I waste time in finding a husband of my own. I care for you too much to let you sacrifice your eternity for me, Orophin.” Gwaeron’s hand lifted again to his face and stroked a familiar path from his jaw to beneath a pointed ear.
Face tensed in emotion, Orophin trembled from strain as he gripped her hands nearly to the point of crushing her fingers before of a sudden he reached out and pulled her within a breath of his face. Hesitating only a moment to look into her glossed emerald eyes and find no fear, he took her lips with his in a miserably flawless kiss. The breath she had quickly taken now released through her nose in a strangled sigh, his mouth caressing with the gentle urgency she had felt from him nearly seventy years ago in their first cherished embrace.
He parted from her slowly, tasting their mingled breath for a moment before his eyes opened to see the tears that had fallen from hers. “Do you love me?” Orophin could barely lend voice to the whisper, knowing full well that the answer she had kept so long closed in her heart could kill him from grief if he let it. The woman shook uncontrollably in his hold as she struggled against the tidal wave of emotion flowing against her, the force of it crumbling her fragile wall of protection as she looked into his painfully beautiful eyes. Eyes filled with love for her.
Gwaeron could not bring herself to shake her head as she should, nor nod as she longed to. It was as if his kiss had paralyzed her to do nothing but take in the sight of him as though it were her last chance. When movement was granted to her limbs once more she let her hands fall from him and swiftly stood to flee, flying through the door in a rush of tears and green skirts as he remained weighted to the floor at his knees.


Chapter 3 - *Chapter Three

Title: Faril Nin [My Huntress]
Author: Codi Lyn { iluvobiwan91
Genre: Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Rating: PG-13 – R (for descriptive battle scene/wounds)
Pairing: Orophin/OFC [Gwaeron]
Timeline: Begins before the Fellowship enters Lórien in Third Age 3018… concludes during Fourth Age 250
Chapter: 3/13
Chapter Summary: “Gwaeron dreams of a battle, one in which our galadhrim will fight, and her eyes behold Orophin struck by an evil blade. She cannot yet see that it is her rejection of his love that causes him to welcome death, believing that no reason remains to live without her.”
Author’s Note: I don’t know quite what season it is when the Fellowship are in Lórien, and so there are a few changes in time-flow versus how things played out in the movies. Follows movie-verse, but I make a few references to things that happened in the books. But little things like these I have the license to play with, as the author. J.R.R. Tolkien and Peter Jackson have rights to the important stuff, this story is written purely for pleasure.

Chapter Three

With physical pain, Gwaeron released herself from him and ran unhindered from where Orophin still remained as a statue of sorrow, moving quickly until she had returned to the sitting room where Anauriel and Rúmil sat trying to calm a wailing Véredhiel. They each looked to her sudden appearance in shock of her state: red of her eyes betrayed shining tears as her frantic movement revealed the immense guilt of what she had just done. Ana rose to comfort her friend but the woman would not have it, backing out of reach like a frightened animal. “Please… please, take care of Véredhiel and let me be alone for a time.” She begged the elleth with a voice hardly her own and was relieved to be answered with a nod. “Forgive me, Rúmil. I am being so rude to you, but I must leave.” She excusing herself in haste, unable to keep a sob from leaking into her words though he clearly forgave her actions and murmured not to worry over it.
Immediately she left the talan before either of them could offer anything further and prevent her from loosing the loud cries that ripped through her body. A glance was hardly spared for Orophin’s talan that would be filled with everything of him to torture her guilt-wrecked conscience. Instead she continued on, holding her skirts so that her legs could run and her mouth so that her cries would not alarm all of Lórien to her grief, though elves she passed looked on in confusion and concern at her countenance.
To her relief, Rúmil and Orophin lived on the outskirts of the city, near to the borders and the few clearings where the horses of elvish cavalry grazed freely. It was to such meadow her feet instinctively led her, certain that among such beautiful animals she could draw some form of comfort at least. Though night had settled and the sun’s light put away until dawn, the field was illuminated in part by a half moon and in part by a large mallorn tree that dwelt stately in the midst of the clearing. Stumbling the rest of the way, Gwaeron collapsed when she reached a giant root at its base, holding onto it as her cries consumed her.
The last look in Orophin’s eyes haunted her still, the raw pain and betrayal she had dealt him made her sick to her stomach. Her words had broken him, and the knife she had stabbed into his heart now protruded from her own. With great struggle, the woman recalled her reasons for this conviction that brought so great a hurt. Beneath the façade of conviction, however, the weight of her resolve threatened to crumble the frail supports her heart tried to keep in place, and she feared what would happen once they broke.
Gwaeron found herself longing for Estel’s presence and consolation; the only person who could possibly know what she felt for he, too, had come to love one of the Firstborn as she had. Still, she shook her head at the differences. His beloved Arwen, at least, could claim the heritage of being half-elven, able to choose between immortal life and finite. Whether their circumstances mirrored or not, the lady ranger could not help wanting the security of her brother’s arms with the familiarity born only from kinship.
Inside she knew Orophin to be right that she did not want this. Another sob shook her as his words came to remembrance: ‘All I see is that you change your will outside, but when I look within you… you do not truly wish it.’ They had grown too close over the decades for him not to sense her true feelings. “But it doesn’t matter.” She told herself feebly, wiping at the tears that blinded her. “It doesn’t matter what I wish, it’s what must be done… what should have been done so long ago.” Her misery must be born if she was to do what was right by them both.
The sound of approaching hooves drew her watery gaze upwards to see one horse making his way to see what her noise was all about. Among the numerous sleek and light-footed creatures, this creature was of the handful of taller, more strongly built steeds clearly bred for endurance in battle rather than speed of distance. His tanned palomino coloring shone as he stopped just short of reaching her, forelock shielding much of his sight, but ears attentive to her as she moved to meet him with a weary smile. “Aren’t you a handsome beau?” Though her voice still held the tremors of weeping, Gwaeron sought to calm herself and change her focus, if but for a little while.
His nostrils flared at her outstretched hand in greeting and nibbled with fuzzy lips to test for a treat lying therein. Drawing near until his hooves stood at her boots and his muscular neck leveled to her height, the stallion allowed her hands to pet him though the careful touch of her fingers merely made his skin twitch until she began to rub more steadily. The rhythm she stroked soothed her and the ranger softly spoke words of praise until it lulled them both into a comfortable stillness. When he nickered after some time they both lifted their heads to see someone approaching and Gwaeron swallowed down some nerves to see it was Haldir, his sharp gaze already locked upon her.
“Gwaeron.” The warden’s voice was impassive as he addressed her, to which she responded in a subdued ‘hello.’ The moment dragged before he turned his attention the horse before them and commented. “It would seem you’ve found a companion in my Voronwië.” The elf’s capable hands began to move over his steed in assessment before rubbing him down with the grooming brush he’d brought.
“Yes, he came over as I sat here. I didn’t know he belonged to you.” The answer hinted that had she known the ownership of the horse, she would have left well enough alone. There were a few awkward minutes of silence that confirmed Gwaeron’s decision to leave him be, yet just as she moved to do so he spoke once again.
“Why are you not with Orophin? I could count on one hand the times I have seen you without my brother at your side.” The inquiry was as valid as his reasoning and he looked up to study her when she did not immediately respond. His eyes found a distressed woman whose troubled expression belied the guilt that riddled her. “Gwaeron…” Haldir pressed her when she began back away, bringing restless hands up to cover tears of shame. The ranger could not escape in the state she was in, however, not especially when the Marchwarden held her in his aim to question.
The woman gasped softly when strong hands took hold of her wrists for the second time that evening, though she could have written a list of how many ways the same action differed from between the brothers. There was no gentleness in his grasp, not relenting until her breathing had settled enough to voice her protests. “Haldir, please, I don’t…”
“What has happened? Tell me.” Coolly, he commanded of her and waited with tightened grip for the reply as an interrogator would of his prisoner.
The last thing Gwaeron wanted to do was confess her woes to the unfeeling Marchwarden of Lothlorien, but at present it seemed she had no choice in the matter. The elf had made it abundantly clear over the years that he held no concern for her, but ever the protective firstborn son, she relented he deserved to know the cause of his brother’s heartache from the source. “I have ended my relationship with Orophin.” The statement disgusted her as it came forth as succinct fact. Feeling the need to explain, to show that it was not some petty conflict that could have been resolved or mended in a day or two, she went on. “I could not ignore our differences any longer… I can’t bear the thought of him following me in death when that is not his lot.” Tears seeped into her voice at the last, but her eyes leveled with Haldir’s and fought to show him her conviction.
The elf was silent a moment as he examined her, finally releasing her arms from the vice of his hands when he had found whatever satisfied him. “Your decision is admirable, ranger. I respect you for making it.” A sense of relief could be felt in his reaction and he took a step back from her to regain propriety’s distance once more. “It is the right solution, and wise of you to see it.”
Gwaeron could not swallow back the bad taste in her mouth as she listened to his approval, thought she willingly tried to accept it. “Will you say so to Orophin, should you see him?” At his nod the woman lowered her gaze and allowed her legs to take her away from the austere elf at last. “I’m doing the right thing.”

The abandoned elf sat frozen in place where she’d left him, in shock of what had just occurred, a hand straying to his lips where only moments ago he had felt hers pressed. ‘I cannot continue to withhold you… I waste time in finding a husband of my own… I am still bound to this earth.’ Her words forced themselves repeatedly through Orophin’s head and they tasted like the bile that had risen in the back of his throat. It was over. Could it be she had truly just left… to spare his heart? Before he could quell it, a brief, bitter whim spoke the thought of what a thorough job she had done of sparing his heart. No, he could not think unkindly of his beloved, not when her heart was clearly as broken as his. All their years together, loving one another yet just shy of saying the words. He could still the despair in her eyes.
“Orophin?” Rúmil came down the hall calling for his brother, hesitantly entering the room with a lantern in hand. “Orophin, what has happened? Gwaeron just left, weeping as I’ve never seen her do… and you are close to the same state.” The last he spoke when he set his light down and finally saw the elf’s despondent face. Kneeling at his brother’s side, Rúmil looked him over with evident worry. Orophin’s eyes stared moist and unseeing ahead of him, his hands lying palms up in his lap as he sat on his haunches before the bedside. The younger brother put a hand on his shoulder and was met with the slow focusing of hollow eyes, as if death were already trying to take its hold.
“She’s gone.” His voice cracked and tears that had barely been withheld before were now released to stain his cheeks. “She left so that I wouldn’t die.” Rúmil’s countenance fell as he realized what had occurred. Pausing only a moment, he pulled his brother to him and enclosed Orophin in a strong hold, feeling the elder cling to him as grief shook sobs from his body. “I love her, Rúmil. I asked her if she loved me… she would say nothing.” Orophin strained to speak and held his brother in a harder grasp.
“She loves you, brother… she always has.” The assurance in Rúmil’s voice was what he needed and Orophin tried to force himself on the truth. Gwaeron did love him.

Anauriel took her time walking to Orophin’s flat from Rúmil’s, trying to bounce and comfort Véredhiel in whatever way she could, though every attempt proved fruitless. The elfling had not ceased her frantic cries since Gwaeron and Orophin had begun to be at odds, and nothing calmed her as the evening wore on. For more than one reason now, Anauriel hoped fervently that the lady ranger would return.
The elleth jumped slightly when a shadow manifested itself into Tar’s broad form, tail wagging slowly as he looked up with a whine. Sparing a hand to scratch his head as they climbed the steps, she crooned to the great dog. “You’ve been out here listening to it all, haven’t you pup? Come on, then, let’s wait for your mistress to come home.” Amidst the baby’s crying they moved into the talan and were rewarded when after some time Gwaeron walked feebly through the doorway.
No matter Ana’s efforts to coax an explanation out of her, to speak at all, the woman would only shake her head as more tears leaked down her face. Wordless, still, she took the child into her arms and cradled Véredhiel close to her chest as they wept together. The she-elf sat with her for a while, until it was clear she could do nothing to console the young woman in this trial, and with a kiss to her temple left the pitiful sight to settle as it would. Anauriel’s feet followed the same path she had taken earlier in return to Rúmil’s home and found herself met by the elf at his door once she reached it. They shared a disheartened look.
“Has Gwaeron come back?” He asked quietly, so as not to disturb the fitfully resting elf a few walls away.
The elleth answered him with a nod before sighing. “She will say nothing to me. It gives me cause to think she’s spoken with someone already, for she is like to share her feelings with another rather than hide them.” With a pause and half-hearted smile, she made to remark dryly. “It would be no surprise to know Elrohir gave her that hound to always have a being to talk to.”
Rúmil remained uncharacteristically somber as he led her to the bench his porch provided and they sat side by side. Running a hand through his hair with a weary breath, he leaned forward till his elbows planted on his knees, thoughtful. “He told me she’s left him, Ana. She’s frightened that her mortality will kill him of a broken heart in the end. But Elbereth knows they are made for one another… I cannot help thinking Véredhiel is bound somehow, too.”
His last comment straightened the elleth’s back and she faced him. “I have thought on this, also. You could feel her despair as soon as they began to disagree, how she reached for Orophin even as you took her.”
He nodded. “It was much the same even on the borders.” A feminine hand moved to hold his forearm and he paused to cover it with his own, meeting her eyes with a spark of hope in his own. “Should we tell them of this connection?”
“It is a delicate matter. Perhaps we should first consult the Lady.” Her suggestion was agreed to and they were quiet for a moment before Anauriel glanced within the talan. “How does Orophin fare?”
Rúmil’s shook his head solemnly. “I gave him some miruvor, tried to make him rest… I know he does not sleep. Tomorrow will see him on the sparring field working too hard, I do not doubt it.”
His arm was squeezed in concern. “Would that be wise?”
“I shall see to it he does not harm himself. A worse fate is for an elf such as him to be kept indoors with his grief. There is little else to be done.”
She relaxed a little, appreciating after half a moment how his hand still rested protectively upon hers as they sat closely. The pleasure was denied when she took the initiative to stand up and face him gravely. “Tomorrow you must seek out Lady Galadriel to speak of this. I will remain with Gwaeron and wait for word from you.”
The warden answered with a nod and took her hands gently into his own as they shared a look. “I shall hasten my return to you, my lady.” His voice was as soft as the gaze he rested on her and with a fond smile Rúmil moved until their mouths joined in a slow, affectionate kiss. “Anauriel…”
“I will wait for you, tomorrow.” Her words were breathless as she pulled away from him reluctantly, their eyes meeting once more as he kissed her knuckles and released her from his hold. His keen galadhrim eyes followed her until she had turned on the path home and he smiled to remember her warmth on his lips.

Anauriel approached her friend’s talan the next morning with a basket on her arm filled with gowns and dresses for Gwaeron to try. It was a piteous attempt to draw the woman’s mind off of desperate things, but it was something, and perhaps later her friend would wish to attempt something mundane. There was no sign of the ranger when first she entered the flat and so she laid down her light burden and called out. “Gwaeron? Are you here, dearest?” Her ears led her to the sound of quiet breathing in the washroom and sympathy furrowed her brows at the sight that met her.
The Dúnedain woman lay curled and fully clothed in an empty tub with a blanket-swaddled Véredhiel tucked in her grasp as they slept. Tar lounged on the floor beneath the tub and lifted his eyes to the approaching elf. Gwaeron’s face held lines of unrest from a doubtless long night, and the baby looked as though she’d only just settled, still hiccupping a little from a recent cry. The elleth pet her fingers behind Tar’s ears and turned into the kitchen to fix some tea and perhaps something to eat when the woman awoke.
Gwaeron shifted and moaned weakly in her sleep. She had tried to rest so many times in the night, but always disturbed and roused by the same terrible dream…
It was a large battle being waged within a fortress she didn’t recognize. Elves and men fought with desperation against orcs the size of men that penetrated the high walls. She witnessed it all as if a shadow, unable to touch or affect anything around her and having no heed given to her presence. Blood stained her as it splattered from bodies being slaughtered, something the ranger wished she had never felt before, but had only too often experienced. The more she wiped at it, the more it seemed to cling to her flesh. They were losing. Old men and young lads fell all around her, falling amidst the massacre as orcs pushed their way into the keep. Her legs pushed her forward almost against her will, stepping over the bodies of elves and yrch alike.
A voice drew her attention upward and she saw upon the highest wall stood Orophin, blood of red and black covering his face and figure, but clear eyes shining as he gazed down at her. The moment Gwaeron realized he could see her she immediately wished it were not so, for his focus on her kept him from deflecting the orcish blade that cut deep into his back. She screamed his name in horror as he dropped heavily to his knees.
Suddenly she was at his side on the battlement and he leaned into her embrace limply. Tears flew from her eyes and onto his skin like rain until the drops manifested into true rain upon them both. The eyes of Orophin she had been searching were now the lifeless eyes of Véredhiel’s father, Beriohtarion. The screaming grief that fled her lungs woke her up after every revelation.
These kinds of dreams were not foreign to her, and it was this knowledge that frightened the woman so much. It was foresight, the gift of few Dúnedain that her father had passed on to both she and her brother. In years past she had seen her mother’s departure from Rivendell, and eventually the precious woman’s demise in the Northlands.
With each awakening of the night she was met with a cold sweat and Véredhiel’s cries, bringing the same sorrow to her voice and the long period of duress to pain before either calmed enough and found unconsciousness. The bed linens smelled decidedly of Orophin, a torture Gwaeron found her emotions were unable to bear, and had moved to the tub in desperation after the third vision. The woman’s scream at this latest nightmare jolted the babe awake in her tense hold and signaled the frightened weeping that was all too familiar after losing count to so many during the night. Miserably, Gwaeron sat up a little and cradled the child soothingly, crying in aching exhaustion. “Shh, shh, my love… I’m here, you’re safe, Véredhiel.”
The woman’s habitual rocking was interrupted at a gentle touch from Anauriel, looking down on her kindly and holding a warm bottle. “Gwaeron. Here, let me feed the darling and you lie back down to rest. Why are you not in bed?” She took the squalling baby reverently and quieted her after a moment to nurse.
Gwaeron slumped submissively back into the tub’s bowl and covered burning eyes with her hands. “The sheets smell just like him. I could not bear it.” Her throat hoarse from sobbing, the lady ranger hardly recognized the crack of her own voice. Tar’s large head peered at her from over the side of the bath and she spared a hand to caress her sweet animal that whimpered in concern. Her wakefulness was unsteady at best, and Gwaeron vaguely listened to Ana’s assurances not to worry about Véredhiel or anything until she had recovered to take care of herself. Heavy eyelids shut out the soft light of morning and enveloped the woman once more in a sporadic sleep.

Rúmil arose with the sun’s rising, determined that by the end of the day he would have found some way to save Orophin’s relationship and restore him to the peace and happiness he’d known only a few days before. Dressing quickly, he checked the extra bedroom his brother was supposed to use, his hope soon dashed of finding him there. With a sigh he was out the door, hoping his brother had not yet harmed anyone on the sparring courts in his state. When he arrived he found Orophin in the farthest practice ring as was usual, and Rúmil stood patiently at the rope to watch him perform his sword flourish.
The noble elf was a true sword master among the galadhrim and practiced often against the better warriors of Lórien, including both Haldir and their own lord Celeborn. To the untrained eye it would seem his beautiful motions did not tire, but Rúmil could see it in his eyes, in his stance, and even the grip of his sword that the elf had found no rest during the night. Sweat hung low on his brow, muscles tensed without need, and often he let gravity carry the blade instead of what were now wearied fingers. These troubles ran deep, and Rúmil knew he would recognize the turmoil in his elder brother from these signs alone even had he not been present last night.
Ending his flourish in the ox position, Orophin efficiently sheathed his weapon and moved to the sideline where a towel lay draped for him, addressing his brother without looking in his direction. “What do you need, Rúmil?” A mirthless voice commanded of his youngest brother.
“It would seem your night fared about as well as Gwaeron’s.”
The remark snapped Orophin’s attention to him and furrowed his brow in concern. “What? Why? Is she all right?” Hastily demanding, he took a few steps nearer.
Rúmil put his hands up disarmingly and conceded that it had not been the right thing to say. “She’s not harmed. I only say so for I heard her night terrors several times when she cried out… Most often it was your name she called.”
Hearing this made Orophin turn away in pain, gripping his scabbard with white knuckles. “Have you seen her?” Quietly did he ask, eyes fixing the hilt of his sword and unable to rise for the guilt that pierced him.
“No, that is Anauriel’s honor today. I will check on her, though, if you wish me to.” He was answered with a nod when they neither spoke for a few moments. “Are you going to be all right, Orophin?” The concern in Rúmil’s voice brought his somnolent gaze up once more.
“I’m not sure, Rúmil.”
The younger took his brother’s shoulder in a firm grasp. “Have faith, brother. Things are wrong now, but they shall turn aright again.” Squeezing once more, he turned to leave him. “I must go now. There is someone I must speak to.”

Gwaeron willed herself to scream his name much sooner this time, imploring him to turn around and defend himself before it was too late, but his steady gaze would not waver from hers. Those blue eyes she had long memorized now went distant as the jagged blade cut into him, the pain she felt blurring the number of times she had seen the horror repeated in her mind.
The woman caught him this time before he collapsed amongst the bodies that already littered the ground, his head falling against her chest. “No.” A tremulous breath was all she could manage as he looked up to her with fading vision, his throat constricting as he choked on his own blood.
“I love you.” Strangled, he forced out the words from pale lips that dewed with her tears. When those eyes at last clouded over they held no more the brilliance of Orophin’s gaze, turned now to become Beriohtarion’s dead eyes staring coldly at her.
The woman jolted awake in the tub and quickly smothered her mouth to keep from crying out and waking Véredhiel. Her child was no longer in her arms, though, and the panic that accompanied this realization was soon quelled upon hearing Anauriel’s gentle singing in the other room. Tar stooped over the tub from his great height and licked her arm a few times, nudging her as if in concern. Gwaeron let out the breath she hadn’t meant to hold and stroked him for a little while until she could quiet herself, wiping at tears with a shaking hand.
At length she felt confident enough to see to the baby and climbed out of the empty bath, closely followed by her obedient hound. Véredhiel was tucked securely into a hold of warm blankets and sleeping soundly on Orophin’s bed, chest rising and falling evenly as it should. When Gwaeron moved to find Anauriel she noted with a smile that Tar plopped down at the bedside, no doubt proclaiming himself the child’s guardian in her absence.
“I’d expected you to sleep the rest of today, you look exhausted, love.” Ana remarked in a caring voice and rose to take hold of the ranger’s hands, finding them clammy and chill to touch. “You’re hands are cold, are you unwell?”
Pulling away resignedly, Gwaeron shook her head and massaged her stiffened neck and shoulders from an uncomfortable night. “I spent every moment asleep in terrible dreams… nightmares. I am well, only tired.”
It didn’t take much for Ana to see through the poor excuses her friend offered. “Have something to eat, Gwaeron, it will do you good.” The elleth practically forced a piece of fruit into her friend’s hand and watched the dour face she made before taking a bite. Gwaeron could taste nothing, feel nothing but the pain, the weeping, and the exhaustion, and it sickened her to obey well-meaning orders. She had never felt so averse to food.

“Though the choice fills her with anguish, Gwaeron holds fast that her actions must Orophin’s life.” The Lady of the Golden Wood now spoke after having heard the warden’s tale of his brother and the mortal ranger. They stood on a dais overlooking and enshrouded by one of her gardens, the light of morning only just peering in through the ivy and trailing flowers that seemed to uphold the structure itself. Galadriel stood as though a beautiful sculpture in its midst while her lord and husband sat nearby, a faithful admirer and caretaker of her light.
The Lord of Lórien turned now to Rúmil and voiced his own thoughts on the matter. “It is clear enough the Valar have meant them for one another. A forced remedy, however, is not something I deem wise, not so soon after the trial has begun.” The silver gleamed in his hair as Celeborn turned to his lady-wife, sensing a foreboding from her.
Ancient eyes of a noble-born elf turned now to Rúmil and he discerned warning in his mistress’ gaze. “I have felt the distress of this maiden in dreams of terror during the night. You have heard her to have them, Rúmil.” Her pointed words were answered in a nod. “The blood of Númenor runs in her veins, granting her this untried nature of foresight. It shows what will come to pass should Gwaeron and Orophin continue in this manner… It shows her his death.”
Rúmil’s body tensed in alarm and his eyes locked with Galadriel’s like lightning. “No. Something has to be done! It cannot be…” Looking pleadingly between his Lord and Lady, the younger elf gestured frantically, frightened now for his brother’s fate.
It was Celeborn who spoke first, calming his panicked warrior. “Only wait, Rúmil, and hear the matter out. How would this come about if the ranger keeps to her decision, meleth nin?” He inquired as he turned to his wife.
“Gwaeron dreams of a battle, one in which our galadhrim will fight, and her eyes behold Orophin struck by an evil blade. She cannot yet see that it is her rejection of his love that causes him to welcome death, believing that no reason remains to live without her.”
“What can be done, then? And what of the elfling, Véredhiel? The babe is a part of this, she must be.” Rúmil sought answers and racked his mind for anything of use in what had now become a mortal dilemma.
Galadriel’s knowing smile seemed to bring more light into the morning-filled balcony. “The child shall become Orophin’s life. Gwaeron’s fate will ultimately join her with her ancestors in death, and her thinking is correct to believe Orophin would fade at her end. Their fëar are Valar-bound, this is known to me. His love for the child of their bond shall serve to carry him out of grief and through life again.” The Lady moved toward her galadhrim and touched his hand, bringing relief through the contact and speaking in his thoughts. “You are right to say Véredhiel is a part of this, her connection is for a reason.”
Rúmil’s countenance eased for the moments her voice filled his mind, but as soon as she withdrew he put a hand to his face in contemplation, concern clouding him again. “What must be done now? Orophin holds onto hope by a thread and pushes himself to the threshold, and if Gwaeron has these visions as you say, she will be wan to nothing before a month is complete. Is there nothing we can do to aid them?”
“Support them with strength in these weaknesses that cannot be avoided, their bodies must pay at the will of thought and feeling. When their minds have come to the need of answer, I shall be here to give them.”


Chapter 4 - *Chapter Four

Title: Faril Nin [My Huntress]
Author: Codi Lyn { iluvobiwan91
Genre: Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Rating: PG-13 – R (for descriptive battle scene/wounds)
Pairing: Orophin/OFC [Gwaeron]
Timeline: Begins before the Fellowship enters Lórien in Third Age 3018… concludes during Fourth Age 250
Chapter: 4/13
Chapter Summary: His hand rested as a comforting weight on her head and he urged her gently. “Tell me what you see.”
A shaking breath came into her lungs and Gwaeron swallowed past a sore throat before letting her answer pass. “He dies.”
Author’s Note: I don’t know quite what season it is when the Fellowship are in Lórien, and so there are a few changes in time-flow versus how things played out in the movies. Follows movie-verse, but I make a few references to things that happened in the books. But little things like these I have the license to play with, as the author. J.R.R. Tolkien and Peter Jackson have rights to the important stuff, this story is written purely for pleasure.

Chapter Four

The days passed slowly for the separated lovers, even pulling those close to the couple into the gloom that weighted them. Gwaeron’s visions continually lengthened and grew in detail night by night, leaving her with little or no rest, and plaguing her days so that a moment’s remembrance would leave her unable to stand for trembling. Orophin’s days were spent in the sparring courts, punishing himself with hard exercise in the desperation to put her from his mind. Had it not been for Rúmil’s intervention, the elf would have willingly stayed fighting with himself until unconsciousness forced itself upon a drained body. Instead of dropping wholly into sleep, Orophin was banished to his chambers where unrest met with the faint cries of his beloved’s nightmares, keeping any peace from resting within the broken edhel’s thoughts.
At times he felt strong enough to go to his huntress, to pull her from the terrors that overwhelmed her and feel the touch that haunted him. Before he could even leave his room Gwaeron’s words would pierce him once more and halt all forward-movement, crumbling him to his knees where Rúmil would find him cracking in tears come sunrise. There was so little his brother could do, but it was done.
Though it did nothing but hurt, Gwaeron would sometimes peer out of her window in the half-light of morning to see Orophin’s path to the training grounds. His shoulders were burdened in uncharacteristic posture and his normally long strides were halved and sluggish, hinting at unrest. The lady ranger herself was much more visibly changed after so many days of depravation. With no energy, no desire to leave the flet, to see her friends or wander the forest, the murmur began that her Dúnedain vitality would leave her too soon. With Anauriel’s help Véredhiel was cared for, and basic tasks completed such as taking in what nutrition she could stomach.
In so dismal a way this month passed and at the appointed time Rúmil and Orophin were summoned to return to the borders and hold their watch of the Golden Wood. Outside of his talan that morning Rúmil stood closely with Anauriel, a tightly bundled Véredhiel nestled between them as they spoke their hushed farewells. His warmth spread to her fingers as he pressed them to his face and lightly against his lips. “This shall be one of the loneliest guards I’ve gone for. I shall miss seeing you each day.”
“It won’t be long until you’re come back. I’ll miss our moments of peace at the end of each day… I’m afraid there won’t be much peace to be had.” The last she spoke unhappily and he answered with a sigh.
“I’m afraid you’re right. With each day my brother worsens and I cannot force him to speak with Galadriel, nor can you urge Gwaeron.”
“I shall try to keep from pushing. It’s so difficult being this helpless.”
Rúmil lifted her face nearer to his and admonished sweetly. “You are not helpless when you care for our ranger and her child as diligently as you do. They are in your protection while I’m away…”
“As Orophin is in yours.” She finished for him and was answered by his adoring smile and nod. Closing the distance, the warden took her mouth into his own and held the elleth for a blissful moment, savoring the new love that blossomed between them.
“Take care, dear one. I’ll return in a month’s time.” He assured her and placed a sweet kiss upon the baby’s forehead before departing at last and joining the others in his group of galadhrim.

“No!” Gwaeron screamed and pressed her fists into the mattress beneath her as sobs tumbled without consent from her mouth. She lay shaking and weak on her back, the darkness of her foresight sapping life and strength from her bones. “What must I do? How can this end?” Her cries echoed softly through the rooms of Orophin’s flet until they beckoned Anauriel by her side and the ranger rolled into the touch to embrace her friend. “What can I do?” The woman begged feebly, wishing all of this misery to be over with.
Unable to hold back, Ana carefully spoke. “Perhaps if you spoke of these dreams, it might serve to…”
“No.” With voice shaking Gwaeron cut her off, turning away to curl around herself. “No, I could not bear to speak them aloud. I cannot.” Choking up with the imagery so fresh in mind, the fear in her hushed tones pleaded with Anauriel to release her.
The elleth rose after laying a steady hand on her friend’s back, silently willing her to take comfort, and moved to where Véredhiel was still blessedly asleep. The baby clung to a soft jerkin that belonged to Orophin and was nestled among the bed of blankets that had been arranged especially for her. Ana covered her further with the jerkin and smiled as she lightly stroked a rosy cheek. “She does know her father.”

“You have entered the realm of the Lady of the Wood. You cannot go back.” Haldir informed the half-caste group of travelers and grimly ordered the members of this ‘fellowship’ to be blindfolded immediately.
Orophin quickly found the Aragorn at the head of the group and leaned close to murmur discretely. “You will stay by me, my friend, your company is in good hands. There is much I must speak with you about.” The ranger glanced intrigued at his long-known friend but was interrupted by dark cloth obscuring his sight. As the band made its careful way into Lothlorien, the elf told Aragorn all that had happened, from the moment Gwaeron had arrived soaked and holding a babe in arms to the Wood, up to the last night he had seen her run from him in tears and all Rúmil had shared of her since. “I know not what tortures her at night… I cannot accept that they are merely dreams. Whatever she’s hiding away is tearing at her from within. She needs you, your counsel can only do good, I beg of you.”
The heartfelt plea struck the Dúnedain to the core as the grasp on his arm tightened with his words. It was clear enough that whatever was tearing at Gwaeron had also been wearing heavily upon Orophin. “As soon as we have met your Lord and Lady I shall go to her, you will take me.” A distressing thought came over Aragorn in his hopes for his sister. “I need her well…”
“As do we all.” Orophin prayed desperately that having Gwaeron’s brother near would bring some kind of change for her good. From Rúmil’s accounts he knew that the lady ranger deteriorated day by day, falling into a shadow of the beauty and strength that once filled her person. The week he had now been on the borders brought back memories of what had once been his huntress, each tree and brook reviving her spirited visage to his thoughts. The depression that stained the elf mused if he would ever have the same woman again, but he pushed the idea away. Every hope now grew all the more difficult to sustain and the effects were easily reflected in his outward appearance.
Aragorn, who had studied his comrade intently upon his approach, also saw these changes and grew concerned at the differences made. Orophin’s eyes held little glow and showed clearly the weakness in a gaze that hid little, and every move seemed a great effort to be made as though he had half the energy to work with as before. There were many ways in which the Dúnedan understood his sister’s choice. Gwaeron held the strings of innocence and nurturing within her that struck fiercely when it came to any death but her own or her enemy’s. It was a simple truth to comprehend that the woman could not bear the fading of her elven lover. Such a truth was easy to read when the same knowledge haunted his heart as well.
In the matter of her ‘dreams’ Aragorn felt the worry rise in him again, for he knew well what they meant. The sighted trait of Númenor had been shared between he and his sister all their lives, and through the years Gwaeron’s sense of foresight had proved more distinct than those that he had experienced but rarely. Whatever was being shown to her mind’s eye held a disturbing verity that brought such pain. The only solution was to know what she saw, and he could be the only one to draw it out of her. The ‘Strider’s’ wonderings were silenced and brought to the now as his company’s sight was restored and they found themselves arrived at Caras Galadhon.

“Where is Gwaeron, Ana? Where has she gone?” Aragorn questioned the elleth in Orophin’s talan with urgency, eager to find his sister after having the news of her worsened condition confirmed by the Lady of Lórien herself.
While the ranger dealt with the she-elf, Orophin had found his attention quickly drawn to where Véredhiel played contentedly lying on her back. Coming to sit on the bedside, he leaned over the child and ran his fingers carefully along her face and over the soft curls that grew slowly at her crown. Smiling at his touch, the baby cooed for him and fisted her fingers open and closed reaching upward, giving the elf cause to smile genuinely for the first time in too long. It hadn’t occurred to him amidst his darkness how greatly he had missed seeing the elfling. Answering the little girl’s request, Orophin gathered her into his arms and found her perfectly situated against his shoulder with ease.
His friends’ discourse finally reached to gain his focus again and found it at an impasse. “I don’t know where she is, Estel, only that she took Tar with her.” Aragorn frowned at Anauriel’s apparent lack of knowledge and glanced about in frustration before resting his eyes on Orophin in astonishment. It seemed his companion had all at once become the vision of a proud father cradling his new daughter. The ranger took a step toward him in realization of the child, herself. “This is Véredhiel, then?” As he drew closer he could not help his surprise. “By the Valar… She has every look of Gwaeron but for her eyes.”
Orophin smiled sadly at the recognition and pressed a hand to the infant’s back to hold her nearer. He saw the change in Aragorn’s gaze and knew he thought of his sister. “You must go to her, Estel.” With a nod, the man stood straight again and turned to leave the flat, finding anyone still out who might have seen the young woman.
All answers brought him in the direction of the few fields of Lórien, and then another spoke that she had seen the girl go to one in particular which held the mounts of the galadhrim. It was this pasture that he found the lone mallorn in the center and a blue haired hound sitting obediently at the rise of a great root from the tree. Startling a few horses nearby, Aragorn ran toward the only evidence of his sister and turned the corner of the tree to find a frail, quivering form curled against the wood. She wept with eyes shut and he realized then that she was sleeping.
Coming to kneel beside her, Aragorn called to her gently. “Gwaeron? Gwaeron, wake up.” Tar began to whimper and fidget, but remained at her feet faithfully. The man laid his hands on her shoulder and brow and touched her with care, breathing to himself in sorrow. “What have you done to yourself?” Too many nights of unrest had drawn lines on her face and darkened her eyes harshly against fair skin. Gone was the smile that he remembered frequently danced on her lips, and in its place the expression of an aged pain. “Gwaeron, it’s Estel. Please wake up.” He begged quietly and saw her at last begin to shift toward consciousness, opening green eyes that had lost much of the vitality he had once seen.
It took a moment for her gaze to focus, and then another to believe the sight they gave her. He smiled encouragingly as her fingers reached up to his grizzled beard and finally took him in. “H-how?” The fragility of her voice only moved him to take her into his embrace and she clung to him with trembling limbs as his shoulder stifled sobs of disbelief. “I’ve missed you, Estel.”
He felt the whisper against his neck and turned to press kisses into her hair. “And so have I. Most dearly I’ve missed you.” Holding her at last, the grief of Gandalf’s death and the struggles to keep safe Frodo with the others released through the tears that dewed on his sister’s hair. Aragorn let them calm for a few moments’ respite before holding her out enough to see the heartache in her look, letting his smile fall at the sight. “What have your visions revealed?”
Surprise filtered through before Gwaeron lowered her eyes from his perceptive gaze and inquired. “Who told you of my visions? I’ve said nothing but that they are dreams.”
The weary ranger sat back and took her hands within his calloused pair, still bloody from fighting his way out of Moria. “Orophin has told me much of what has passed since your arrival to Lórien.”
These words brought her head up abruptly. “Orophin?” Her beloved’s name felt almost foreign on her lips now, though the elf in question had never strayed long from her thoughts.
“He knows only what Rúmil and Anauriel have told him, I gathered the rest for myself.”
Again her eyes dropped from her brother down to their hands brought together, trying to fight off images of Orophin’s lifeless eyes and bloodied body in her arms.
Aragorn continued after watching her reaction. “He worries for you… as do I. You are not the same girl I left in Imladris this spring.” Carefully he lifted her by the chin to see tear-welled eyes and trembling lips.
“I am not well, Aragorn. I cannot find rest anymore, my mind is filled with him.” The woman’s voice spilled out brokenly for the hard lump that had formed in her throat and she leaned again into his embrace, finding a comfort in his touch that she could not receive anywhere else.
Softly, he supported her and stroked the curls of his mother that graced her hair. “I will help in whatever way I can, Gwaeron. I swear it.” The nod against him spoke that she had heard, but she remained quiet. “I know this vision frightens you, that you do not wish to speak of it… but I cannot help the fear that keeping it inside will only let it consume you.” His hand rested as a comforting weight on her head and he urged her gently. “Tell me what you see.”
A shaking breath came into her lungs and Gwaeron swallowed past a sore throat before letting her answer pass. “He dies.”

With Véredhiel still in arms, Orophin sat on the cot to feed her with a bottle Ana had fixed for him. Keeping one hand on the bottle and the other tangled in his hair, the babe was fast approaching sleep with his loving embrace protecting her. In the room adjacent Anauriel paced slowly with her arms wrapped about herself, glancing out of the entryway every few minutes anxiously. “Do you think he’s found her? They’ve been gone some time now. I feel so foolish for having lost track of her.” There was rebuke in her voice as she voiced the questions, asking for some sort of assurance that she had not made a dangerous mistake.
Orophin took a deep breath and followed her gaze to the view out of his talan, frowning slightly. He couldn’t rebuke the elleth when he had also been worrying for the past few hours that Aragorn had been gone. “I’m certain he’s found her, it’s only a matter of where they are.” His words reassured her only slightly, and brought him no relief at all.
Sighing, the elleth walked into the room and quietly took the bottle from him when it was plain enough Véredhiel drowsed soundly and had little need of it. “Would you like some tea, Orophin? I think I’m going to make some for myself.” She offered in a kind attempt to break the silence of waiting in some way.
The warden shook his head politely and rose to put Véredhiel in her cradle of blankets, situating her snugly amidst the clothing and blankets and smirking when he noticed his jerkin had taken its place in her tiny hand. “I thank you, no. I should be getting on to relieve Rúmil of duty, I’m sure he’s wondered where I’ve gone.” It was as he took his leave of the flet that Orophin saw Aragorn walking alongside his sister coming toward them.
At first he could make no move to do anything as he watched his beloved huntress making a weary path in his direction. The moment of seeing her now brought forth like a thunderclap in his ears the reality of his love for this woman. Orophin was so ready to do anything for her, anything that could bring back the life in her veins that seemed now utterly drained.
Gwaeron eventually looked up from her steps and saw him standing on the deck, watching her approach intently. With no warning a lightning glimpse of his dead body formed in her mind, causing her to stumble with faintness before her brother swiftly caught her. Aragorn’s arms held her securely as her legs sought to find purchase again and he asked her in concern. “Are you all right? What is it?” Following her line of sight, he realize it was Orophin’s presence that had effected this shock and shared an unspoken exchange with his younger sister as desperate tears stung her eyes. Nodding, Aragorn swept her up into his arms and allowed her face to hide in his neck and shoulder as he made his slow progress up the steps to the talan.
Orophin could only stand by and look on as Aragorn passed him with the precious woman held so close. It was like being dealt a blow to the face when he knew that no matter how willing he might be to save her, she was not yet able to let him.
The ranger gave him a solemn look of sympathy as he paused by the entryway, speaking softly. “She is not ready yet, mellon nin.”
The elf looked long upon her shattered figure and let his emotional resolution show clear on his face as he met Aragorn’s gaze steadily. “I know. Let her know I will wait as long as she needs.”

Orophin joined his younger brother at his perch above their guests’ allotted quarters, finding that the little ones and naugrim had already made their beds among the mellyrn roots and were sleeping comfortably. Their watch did not include the prince Legolas Thranduilion, allowing his free passage anywhere in the Golden Wood, but the galadhrim kept their eyes on this Boromir of Gondor who alone sat awake. “He’s done nothing but set his eyes to the east. I feel a shadow on this man that is more than just grievance for Mithrandir.” Rúmil expressed his concerns before sending a wary glance to the elder brother at his side.
“Thus far he has done little but stare eastward, brother, there is no wrong in it.” When the younger warden conceded with a nod, Orophin clapped him on the shoulder like he used to do. “Take your rest and go find Anauriel. I will watch them tonight.” A cursory look was shared between the two and Rúmil offered him ‘good eve’ before picking his path back to their talans to do as he was bid.
Several hours passed before at length the lord of Minas Tirith settled into his bedroll and all was perfectly still in Caras Galadhon, only the distant singing of lament and the breath of the forest creating any noise. Orophin’s mind wandered until its focus returned, as it always did, to Gwaeron. He couldn’t help the prod of jealousy when he recalled how easily she had slipped into her brother’s embrace, readily accepting his touch, his comfort. Their separation made him long more than ever to only hold her hand, perhaps finger one of the curls at her shoulder, and the ranger received such devoted affection without ever having to ask.
“Your mind is elsewhere, mellon nin, than perhaps keeping guard over your visitors?” The Mirkwood prince’s voice swayed like a young aspen’s leaf beside him and Orophin smirked.
“Were you not also elsewhere, Greenleaf? How does your Meldiriel do this late in the evening?”
Legolas grinned as warmth spread to his ears. “She is fair, as always when I come to her in Lórien. A glow surrounds her here that is missed when we are met at Father’s courts.” The warden only nodded, easily understanding the love Meldiriel held for Lothlorien and certain of her loyalty to its Lord and Lady. The noble elf sighed quietly, forcing himself to be at peace. “It does me good to see her at such a dark time, when shadows grow heavy upon too many hearts.” The prince knew not how distinctly his words matched his friend’s current state. After another moment’s silence Legolas studied his companion and inquired. “And how does your Gwaeron fare, Orophin? Meldiriel told me she is staying here… but I take it from your look that she is unwell.”
Orophin chuckled without humor and glanced at the prince before turning away. “You ask the wrong elf, for I am the last to know anything of her these days.”
“But you have seen her, yes?”
The warden pinched the bridge of his nose and sought to breathe deeply. “Yes.” He swallowed back a hard lump in his throat during the silence that followed, and then broke it in what came out as though uttering an oath. “By the Valar, I miss her so much. I can’t even go to her, Legolas… She doesn’t want me.”
Quickly, Legolas came to turn him back to face him and held him by the shoulders. “You can’t know that, Orophin. I’m certain she longs for you as much as you do her. It is not like her to keep away from those she loves, and has loved for so long.”
Sagging in resignation, Orophin could not hold tight enough to his hope before murmuring the words matter-of-factly. “She is not herself, anymore.”

With significant effort and cajoling on Ana and Estel’s part, Gwaeron was at last induced to venture out and meet the fellowship that had accompanied her brother, a valiant effort to take her mind off brutal visions. Bringing Véredhiel turned out to be a hit with the halflings, who were fond of, and much used to the children of their friends and kin back in Hobbiton. Even Gimli felt a soft spot to the babe, such a rare thing among his kindred, and admired her kindly from a safe distance.
“Where do you think Verry’s parents were from?” Samwise asked of the lady ranger as he sat next to the squirming baby in Frodo’s lap, using the pet name they had formed as soon as the child’s full name became too difficult for a simple hobbit’s application.
“I don’t know exactly, Sam. Though I never saw her mother, her father seemed to have the look of a Sindarin of Lórien, but I did not recognize him…”
“And do you know every elf in the Golden Wood, m’lady?” Boromir’s accented voice addressed her from where he propped against a tree, arms crossed with a doubtful tone in his question.
Gwaeron turned to look at him and shrugged slightly, unaffected by the sarcasm he obviously meant by asking in such a way. “Not perhaps by name, but certainly by sight, my lord. You may well be unaware that much of my youth passed in this forest among the elves.”
The dare in her answer earned the man’s silent admiration and a half-smile briefly lifted the corner of his mouth. At her side, Aragorn watched this exchange warily, edging protectively closer to his sister while something about this ‘brother-in-arms’ suddenly put a bad taste in his mouth.
The longer she sat among the Shire-folk and their company the more the unstable walls Gwaeron had erected about herself were steadily picked apart to reveal her old nature. Easy laughter from Pippin, and the gentle playfulness of Merry reminded the woman of better times she had started to forget once surrounded her.
After a while, she began to notice Boromir drawing closer into the group and joining in conversation when it involved her, contrasting to the brooding figure he had previously posed. Her reaction to the subtle interest he paid her soon filled Gwaeron with guilt, finding herself warming with his attention. In the back of her mind her thoughts drifted to how she ought to be settling down, finding a good man to care for her and build a family. Orophin should be doing the same. Seeing herself as a woman available for courtship was almost too foreign, she had so long been attached to Orophin that there had been no desire for any other’s attention. Gwaeron could not be sure she even desired it now.
Aragorn watched his sister vigilantly, finding those far away eyes being drawn to troubled thoughts, and placed a well-timed hand at the small of her back to silently ask if she was all right. Turning, Gwaeron gave him a nod and understanding smile, moved by the protective nature her brother tended to when they were together. He had been tight since she sat with the fellowship, and the woman gauged his reactions as she conversed more easily, finding that he tensed with every interaction she had with Boromir.
Soon the lady ranger encouraged her brother to have a turn holding Véredhiel and it brought a grin to her face to see his reaction of awe, hesitantly carrying the child as though she were made of blown glass. They shared a wondrous smile as he glanced up and met her eyes and it seemed to ease that tension he had been holding onto. The image he made brought immediately to Gwaeron’s mind the similar sight Orophin made, holding the elfling as though she were his own. Unwelcome pain troubled her from behind her eyes and the woman shrank back a little from the scene, putting a hand to her brow and drawing the attention of at least one of the group.
“Are you all right, my lady? Gwaeron?” Boromir’s hand touched her arm carefully as he voiced his concern.
This, in turn, brought Aragorn’s attention back to his sister and restored the ranger’s anxiety. “Gwaeron? What is it?” Speaking her name elicited a wince as she tried to obey by opening her eyes.
The ache now clawed its way past her vision to throb at her temples. “I’m all right.” Supplying weakly, she sought to assuage his fretting. “Just a sudden headache.”
“You should lie down and rest. I’ll take you back to the talan, now…” The worried brother made to stand, but was kept seated by a hand on his shoulder.
“No, no you stay here with Véredhiel and your friends. Please. I can take myself.” Gwaeron forced a smile and he conceded reluctantly, watching her rise and slowly make her way. When the ranger’s attention returned to the baby in arms, another gaze remained fixed on his sister until she had walked out of sight, the owner of that gaze quietly removing from his company to follow the woman.
Gwaeron moved gradually toward Orophin’s flet, focused on easy steps to lessen any jarring to her head, and therefore did not sense the presence of another until Boromir’s footfalls were well within earshot. She paused to glance behind her and made a small smile to see him some ways behind her, but clearly in careful pursuit. “You could have asked to walk with me instead of stalking quite so conspicuously.”
Quickening his pace to catch her up, the captain bowed his head discomfited. “Forgive me. Would you allow a poor prowler to escort you, my lady?” The man’s voice was burly and warm, bringing the familiarities of Men back to awareness and a softened expression to the maiden’s face. “Stealth has always been my brother’s talent and not mine, I’m afraid. I prefer open battle to hiding among trees.”
Gwaeron took his offered arm, finding herself grateful for the stability, and drew an irony from his comments. “What a contrast we make, then, for my skills lie with stealth and concealment.” The taller Gondorian looked sidelong down at her, his brow knit in confusion. “I see my brother’s not told you I’m a ranger the same as him.”
“I was unaware… In fact, Aragorn never made mention of you in our few conversations.” An intrigued look crossed his battle-worn face and his next words sent a queer feeling to settle in the woman’s stomach. “I should like very much to know more of you, my lady.”
In her uneasy silence, Gwaeron broke eye contact with the noble-born soldier and took a breath to sort herself out. Before he could speak again, their attention was turned quickly to the galloping of a great hound straight for them, barking menacingly and clearly aiming for the man touching his mistress. Tar bounded at break-neck speed, ready to tackle the stranger when Gwaeron put out her hand, fingers straight, and commanded firmly in elvish for her hound to halt. The dog silenced and skidded to a stop a few lengths before reaching them, still poised on his haunches, itching and ready to jump the man who dared hold her. In the meantime Boromir had drawn the waist knife he always wore and pushed the weakened lady half behind him to defend her. Almost irritated by such display, the lady ranger pushed down the strong arm holding out the dagger and reproved him. “There’s no need for such measures, sir. He’s no danger once I give command.”
Unconvinced, the Gondorian gestured to the lowly growling hound with blade still out. “I would more easily believe so if the beast weren’t making sounds like a warg at my throat.”
Brushing past him, the woman moved to her great ‘beast’ and took his head in her hands to effortlessly calm the dog, waiting until the tail started thumping the ground and his body relaxed. She turned back to her armed escort with a little impatience. “Put away the knife, Boromir.”
“You mean to say this is your hound?” Skirting around so that he came closer with the woman still between the dog and himself, Boromir chuckled nervously. “I can see he’s well equipped for your protection.”
Gwaeron answered that he was and told the captain how she’d been gifted him as a pup from Elrond’s son, Elrohir. The tenseness drained after a bit more talk and she began again in the direction of the talan, closely followed by the two males on either side of her that were dubious of each other and more than attentive to herself. Her steps matched the length of the captain’s stride and, though she met his gaze but rarely, Gwaeron could feel his eyes surveying her as they walked. Her headache returned to full force when they reached the base of the stairs and she stumbled slightly from the pain, soon feeling Boromir’s hand supporting her elbow and his inquiring voice.
Another called to her from behind them, but she could not at the moment move to see its source. “Gwaeron!” It came closer now and soon the woman was traded from one set of hands to another, catching a glimpse of blonde hair before being pulled to this one’s chest. “Thank you, Boromir, I’ll take care of her. You may go back to the others.” She now recognized Legolas as the speaker and immediately calmed in her friend’s caring embrace. The prince’s voice was somewhat clipped as he dismissed his comrade and pulled her into his arms, mounting the stairs with Tar close on his heels.
Setting her gently on the cot, Legolas sat beside her and asked what he could do to ease her discomfort and was answered merely by having his hand brought to the curls at her crown. They said nothing more as he carded his fingers soothingly through her hair and waited for the pain to pass; Gwaeron with her eyes shut tightly, and Legolas with his keen pair finding every change that had come about in his friend who was as dear as a sister to him. “What has happened to you, huntress? Whatever wounds you have born have made you unwell.”
“You have never been in such a place, Legolas… You have never loved someone you could not share your future with, because to share that future would mean their death should they love you in return.” The breath she took was shaken with emotion and he put his other hand on her arm to give any strength he could. “I don’t see how I can take another, for every man who could show interest would only bring my thoughts to Orophin. I can never be rid of him, and nor do I wish to be.”
The elf brought her gaze to his from where it had fallen and spoke fervently. “Have you not thought to yield to your heart’s guidance? That its path ends well in your favor?”
A small light flickered hopefully in her eyes before being quickly put out. “In my favor, only. If I should keep him bound to me… he’ll die, and it would be my doing.” Crumpling to tears at even the mention of such a future, Gwaeron covered her eyes and let herself be pulled again into the hug of her friend.
Legolas cradled her and made to speak his mind, to tell her exactly what she was doing by leaving Orophin, but was stopped by the firm warning of Galadriel in his mind. “No, my prince. It is not yet time for her to receive Orophin’s fate and understand the choice she’s made.”
Sighing, the young royal conceded and rubbed the ranger’s back to comfort her what little he could. “When, then? They neither of them can endure this torture of distance much longer. Something must be done, my Lady.” He let the words convey his worried urgency as his fingers felt the woman’s thinned frame beneath his touch, pain in her every move.
“It will be done. Your concern is rightly felt, but Gwaeron shall come to me soon. This will not occur while your Fellowship remains, however, and that is all I may say.” Nodding, Legolas accepted the much wiser Lady’s counsel and tried to content himself with the time he spent at her side while he could.

An hour had not passed in full before Aragorn returned to the flet with Véredhiel sleeping easily in his vigilant hold. Legolas greeted him with a nod, pressing a hand to the brow of his own charge who lay in a fitful sleep of her own, and spoke soft words before rising to meet the other ranger. Having only heard of the child and yet to see her for himself, the elf approached with keen interest and smiled at the sight of something so long forgotten as an elven baby. “This is their daughter, then?” His fingers played wondrously at feather-soft curls of their own volition.
Aragorn could not hide his frown at the word. “She is not of their blood, but was found.” His correction seemed almost to be ignored as Legolas reached to hold the little one, his eyes never leaving her.
“But do you not see she was meant to belong to them? Your sister’s colors and Orophin’s eyes could not have been better bestowed upon a child of their making… The Valar have truly given them to be her parents in all but blood.” His words seemed to change the man’s view enough so that Aragorn’s face could not belie his realization. Legolas watched this with a sad smile. “You see? Gwaeron must return to Orophin before another life fades needlessly e’er the end of this war.”
The ranger’s grey eyes moved across the room to his sister, desperate as they regarded her state. “If you are right, then what can be done?”
Shaking his head, Legolas shifted the babe more securely in his arms. “We can’t but care for and encourage her as needed…”
Aragorn fell into a seat facing the woman of his blood, his heart clenching for the inability to heal this hurt that engulfed her. “I cannot sit by and do nothing.”
“Your presence, alone, gives her the strength she cannot draw from herself. There is nothing we can force her to understand or change. She must come to it as she is ready, and I believe she’s started on the way to doing so. Gwaeron has come to see there will not be a man she can give herself to in Orophin’s place.”
A quizzical look came from his friend. “What do you mean?”
Finding a seat across from him, Legolas explained. “I met her today as Boromir brought her to the talan, and it was no great task to see the Captain admires your sister. I believe she tried to see him in the light of a potential mate, but could not. Gwaeron spoke to me when I took her inside and said how every feeling another could bring her, only returned her thoughts to Orophin.”
“Her heart has long been with Orophin, I can understand her not being able to truly withdraw it again. But her love is too great to let him fade with her death.” The clean, but wearied ranger reasoned aloud and sat a moment in silence before realizing his brother in arms had made no response. Legolas’ expression bore a shadowed gravity that did not suit the fair prince, causing Aragorn to press him. “What is it, my friend?”
The Greenleaf paused a breath before meeting his eye and speaking plainly. “Orophin is already fading.”


Chapter 5 - *Chapter Five

Title: Faril Nin [My Huntress]
Author: Codi Lyn { iluvobiwan91
Genre: Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Rating: PG-13 – R (for descriptive battle scene/wounds)
Pairing: Orophin/OFC [Gwaeron]
Timeline: Begins before the Fellowship enters Lórien in Third Age 3018… concludes during Fourth Age 250
Chapter: 5/13
Chapter Summary: “What am I to do?” Her whisper was too quiet to disturb the calm of the woods surrounding her, but still managed to draw an answer.
Author’s Note: I don’t know quite what season it is when the Fellowship are in Lórien, and so there are a few changes in time-flow versus how things played out in the movies. Follows movie-verse, but I make a few references to things that happened in the books. But little things like these I have the license to play with, as the author. J.R.R. Tolkien and Peter Jackson have rights to the important stuff, this story is written purely for pleasure.

Chapter Five

The Fellowship made their quiet goodbyes to Gwaeron and Véredhiel on the dawning of their departure, sadness tingeing every look at the babe as the halflings each took their turn holding ‘Verry’ while the mother made her own farewells. The lady ranger could hardly be consoled as she embraced Legolas and her brother once more, uncertain of their outcome. “Swear to me you’ll live, Estel, that we’ll see each other at the end of all this.” Tears kept her from begging him in a voice any louder than a whisper.
He fingered through her curls familiarly. “Only if you promise me the same, Gwaeron. You must take care of yourself, not for my sake, but for Véredhiel’s.” His sister responded with a miserable nod before he pressed one more kiss to her temple and forced himself to turn away where lord Celeborn beckoned him.
The cheerless eyes of a bereft sister followed him a moment before turning away, wandering aimlessly until they connected with those of Boromir. He approached slowly, but with purpose, and stood before her in silent regard until the proper words finally came. “My lady, it is my wish to come to you when these things are brought to end… to ask leave to court you.” The Captain wisely paused his speech to notice the trembling of her hands. “There are few certainties in such dark times as these, I do not know my fate. But I beg you to consider me.”
Gwaeron stayed quiet until she felt some semblance of composure fill her to speak, her eyes lowering to his chest before daring to meet his hopeful gaze again. “You give me honor, Boromir, to make such a request.” Her hands found each other to hold at bay the visible weakness in them.
“But…” His voice stained at the edges with bitterness.
She lifted her eyes to his and sought to convey the sincerity of her apology. “I can grant no promise, my lord, that is not mine to give. I pray for your protection as you go, but please, do not set your hopes on me.” The kindness that had showed in his eyes moments ago now melted away to a cold indifference, but the Gondorian said nothing more, only nodding to her briskly before moving away back to their supplies. The lady ranger felt her expression crumple further in guilt and tears once more wet her cheeks.
Of the hobbits, Meriadoc and Peregrin came up to her with Véredhiel bouncing carefully in Pippin’s arms. Gwaeron smiled sorely at the pair, trying to dispel the sadness in her countenance that theirs seemed to echo in kind. Pippin gave up the baby to her arms and landed a peck on the little rosy cheek before letting go. “We’ll see each other again, miss. And you mustn’t let Verry grow up too much before then, if you please.”
The request made her laugh a little, squeezing a few more tears from her eyes that were not all miserable, and she dabbed at them with the back of her hand as she bent down to give both young hobbits an earnest kiss on the cheek. “I shall certainly try, Pippin, though I’ll make no guarantees.”
Recovering from his blush a bit more quickly than his cousin, Merry hooked his thumbs through his suspenders and managed a light-hearted remark. “Don’t you worry for it, my lady. With mine and Pip’s luck, she’ll be twice our size in a month.” The few of them shared smiles in farewell and then the Grey Company collected themselves and took the borrowed boats of Lórien to continue their journeys. Elven bards sang as they took their leave in the mist of morning and as the last stern disappeared down the river Gwaeron turned away from the gathering, trying not to hear each sorrowful tone of music ripple through her.
Véredhiel fell back to sleep as her mother walked, awoken for goodbyes much earlier than the child was used to, and through sufficient wrappings gave Gwaeron the warmth to stay out of doors while her thoughts raced. Images of those she cared for flew behind her eyes as her mind saw the hurt reflected in their faces: Rúmil, Ana, Legolas, Boromir, her brother, Orophin… Each pierced her with guilt as loneliness crept into her bones. “What am I to do?” Her whisper was too quiet to disturb the calm of the woods surrounding her, but still managed to draw an answer.
“There is counsel to be taken, if you would have it, lady Dúnedain.” The voice, and soon the vision herself, of Lady Galadriel came forth in the clearing and approached with the grace ever-present in the monarch. “And you are not alone, Gwaeron, when there are so many who care for and love you. Yet you have not let them in. Why?” Moving to a living bench molded of mallorn roots, the Golden Lady beckoned the ranger to sit beside her.
Obeying the silent summoning, Gwaeron sat and adjusted the babe in her hold who now made a great yawn. Smiling, Galadriel shared a glance with her before moving to take the little one and cradle her fondly. The mortal woman seemed to glimpse the similar sight of long ago when Celebrian or Arwen curled resting in those same loving arms. “You see that I’ve held my share of elflings, child.” She remarked with a side-glance of piercing bright eyes and a smirk.
Gwaeron bowed her head with a weary smile, acquiescing. “Yes, my Lady.”
“You still do not answer my question.” The silence was cut with her solemn reminder.
Sighing with the wretched feeling of tears returned to burn her eyes, the woman fidgeted with empty hands and glanced fruitlessly for any semblance of an answer to give. “Am I keeping them out? If I do, it is to keep them from the agony that fills me each night and day. If I let them in… to tell them of what I know, what I feel… it would do naught but bring pain unbearable.” As she reasoned, the maiden’s eyes were finally drawn in desperation to the high-elf beside her and seemed to plead for a way out of the torment fate was dragging her through.
Rising to her full height, Galadriel extended a hand to the young mortal to help her stand, leading her away. “Come, there is something your waking eyes must see.” As they walked, Gwaeron found herself recognizing the path to the Lady’s mirror, a place she had never fully entered for fear of what had been spoken in her youth. It was only a moment before the vine-sculpted basin came into view, its beautiful silver bowl already full with deceptively calm water. A chill crept over her skin.
Looking to where she had left the lady ranger a safe distance from her stand, the Lady regarded the Dúnedain for a moment before inquiring calmly. “Does it frighten you, daughter of kings? What does your thought anticipate?”
“I am—I am frightened to know I shall see him.” The woman’s voice trembled slightly.
Galadriel’s head tilted to fan waist-long golden hair like a curtain around the child still in her grasp. “Does Orophin give you cause for such fear?”
“Not himself. Only, only what I know will happen if I…” The end of her sentence died in her throat.
“What has been shown to you, child?”
Shaking her head, Gwaeron broke the petrifying stare she had held upon the mirror, blinking hard and looking up at the elf Queen. “You ask, but already you know, don’t you? Half the elves in Lothlorien have heard my grief in the night… But you know as I do they are more than just nightmares.”
Galadriel granted a nod in answer before posing another question. “Why have you left him when you know he will die even without you?”
The words ran through the maiden like spear through her chest, causing her to seize with guilt as she explained brokenly. “H-he falls because I am there… because he sees me and loves me and, and it is my fault that he dies for loving me!” Gwaeron’s body shook now with panic from this new perspective and felt her eyes pulled once again in the direction of the basin.
“Look into the mirror, Gwaeron. See for yourself.” The offer was molded into a gentle command and she obeyed, taking step upon step until her starved and ill-treated reflection stared back at her.
Soon the water rippled and her eyes were full of Orophin holding Véredhiel for the first time, the babe’s fist tight in his hair while his brilliant eyes shone up at her and at last Gwaeron recognized the look of a man deep in love. Her face burned when the scene shifted to their argument, her rejection, and she stifled a sob to see his face in those moments as though she were reliving them. Next were her visions, the battle played out as she had seen a thousand times until the differences regarding Orophin were made clear.
Her beloved fought tirelessly, but could not escape being caught at every turn by sword, axe, claw, and metals flying at odd angles. The wounds slowed him down until he appeared as a mortal man drawing his last breaths. Hunched over and stiff with pain, Orophin looked up to see an on-coming uruk run at him with sword drawn. ‘Gwaeron.’ He whispered to himself, watching his enemy come as time seemed to move as slowly as his pulse. ‘Take care of what’s ours, faril nin.’ Forcing his legs to stand firm, his weapons now cast aside, Orophin turned his hands palm up and let the uruk’s blade cut through his body.
Gwaeron staggered away from the mirror and fell hard on her knees as she cried out through trembling fingers. It was her fault. How blind had she become not to see that the blade would be welcome, that he would let himself fall… all for the loss of her love? Vaguely she heard the echoing cry of her baby, only for the sound to fade with the expert soothing of another experienced mother. That soothing presence was not long in coming to her side and Gwaeron felt a hand rest on her forearm.
Struggling to grasp at anything, the woman sobbed. “Even should I return to him, I put off his death only as long as my own life lasts. There is nothing I can do to save him from fading.”
The Lady of the Wood smiled knowingly and set Véredhiel in the ranger’s arms carefully as she spoke. “Do you believe you are the only one Orophin loves, Gwaeron? It is a man and woman who begin a family, but add a child and it extends that love further beyond merely the couple.”
Watery green eyes moved to the innocent baby in her lap and were accompanied by a few weapon-calloused fingers stroking the sleeping face. A smile blossomed across Gwaeron’s face as realization struck, blissful peace swelling in her chest. “Can it be I have held the answer so close this whole while, and only now understand?” The words were more to herself than anyone and her body calmed from its distress as she gazed down at the perfectly beautiful infant. Any doubt of Véredhiel’s parentage now fled with the utmost clarity that she was she and Orophin’s daughter. Gwaeron turned quickly to look at Galadriel. “I must go to him…”
“He is already gone, child. Orophin’s watch on the borders was extended by his own request.”
“Will you not allow me to go to him?” The ranger begged.
“Gwaeron, you do not realize your own weakness if you seek to make a journey such as this. My borders carry greater threat now even than when you came to us, and not a threat I would expose you to in your state.” As if needing evidence to prove that her health was much the worse for wear, the Lady assisted her to stand and had to steady her in the simple task of finding balance. “You must recover your strength now for his return. The sleep you get now will bring the rest you’ve been missing all this time.”
At her assurances Gwaeron felt a weight leave her as if a blanket of snow and ice had finally fallen away, leaving her wet and trembling, but finally growing warm. It was a feeling she so desperately wanted to share with Orophin.


Chapter 6 - *Chapter Six

Title: Faril Nin [My Huntress]
Author: Codi Lyn { iluvobiwan91
Genre: Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Rating: PG-13 – R (for descriptive battle scene/wounds)
Pairing: Orophin/OFC [Gwaeron]
Timeline: Begins before the Fellowship enters Lorien in Third Age 3018… concludes during Fourth Age 250
Chapter: 6/13
Chapter Summary: Orophin could make out the shadows that remembered past horrors. Glimpses of battle, of flight without hope for escape, of death, of love lost… and he knew. “I will go.”
Author’s Note: I don’t know quite what season it is when the Fellowship are in Lorien, and so there are a few changes in time-flow versus how things played out in the movies. Follows movie-verse, but I make a few references to things that happened in the books. But little things like these I have the license to play with, as the author. J.R.R. Tolkien and Peter Jackson have rights to the important stuff, this story is written purely for pleasure.

Chapter Six

Gwaeron felt life returning to her bones enough in the next month that she devoted all her time away from Véredhiel to the running, riding, and training that gave her back the look of ranger. The woman’s appetite returned, to Anauriel’s relief, and soon restored the healthy curves to her waist and legs and a hearty blush to her cheeks. The visions ceased in the night and one could enter the talan at evening’s noon to find mortal mother and immortal child curled up in linens belonging to Orophin, both soothed and brought to peace with his scent foreshadowing his presence. Filled with hope and conviction, Gwaeron now eagerly waited for her beloved’s return, determined to heal the wounds she had inflicted upon him and repent of the wrongs that had scourged them both.
It was early, just after the sun had begun to peer through Lórien’s canopy, that the lady ranger walked quietly past her sleeping daughter and into the kitchen where Anauriel was already brewing tea for them. Gwaeron’s hands were occupied with the task of trying to weave her curls into the submission of a braid as she sat at the table across from her friend, sharing a ‘good morning’ smile. After taking a drink of steaming serenity Ana inquired of the woman. “You’re dressed in your warrior’s garb, where are you off to?”
“Meldiriel and some others asked me to join their sparring this morning.” Her answer was given as she tied off the knot at the nape of her neck and then reached for the sword called for her care as she rested it in her lap. “Véredhiel may be another hour or so asleep before needing her bottle, will you be all right to stay with her until I return?”
Smiling, the elleth nodded. “Of course. Perhaps after a while I will bring her down to the fields so that we can both watch you train.” Gwaeron could not hide the mirth in her eyes as she glanced to her friend. The look brought a mock-indignant expression to Ana’s face, but a blush all the same. “If Rúmil happens to be training as well, then I cannot help the galadhrim my eyes choose to follow.” Both ladies giggled softly at the pitiful attempt at justification and sipped at their breakfast until Gwaeron had finished tending her weapons and laced up her boots to depart.

Sweat dripped heavily from her brow to eventually land in the kicked dust of a sparring court. Gwaeron’s breathing was ragged after a mere twenty minutes in the ring with a quite agile elf, and she couldn’t help but feel rather age the way this centuries-old lad was besting her. His name was Daugion, ‘of the army,’ and it took little time to understand why the title fit. He drilled the ranger with moves and combinations that she had either grown lax in practicing, or that were entirely new, and it took all her speed to move out of his long reach. The unfortunate fact was that their spar had put her entirely on the defensive, and often necessitated her retreat.
“Come now, ranger. I’ve seen you fight before, should I not be learning from you?” Her galadhrim opponent goaded, fueling the frustration Gwaeron turned at herself and sparking the fire that beckoned her to attack. Lunging with a thrust, she watched him twist easily out of the way and adjusted her steps accordingly, narrowly missing his waist with her blade. Daugion arched an eyebrow at the change in her and then began to change his own tactics, not wishing her anticipate what he would do next.
Throwing herself into each move, Gwaeron blocked and cut aggressively, earning a nick here and a bruise there which she took pride in knowing had been a struggle for him to make. The weight of his strikes hardened to match hers and when their swords clashed together it shook her stance with the vibrations of singing metal. With arms twisting in a swift and complicated maneuver, Gwaeron suddenly had the elf’s sword trapped flat between her hilt and chest and kicked out forcefully, landing him on his back without a weapon. Daugion made to throw his weight and regain fighting stance when she quickly cast his sword aside and leapt to tackle him back down, her knees pinning his shoulders to the dirt below and the shaft of her sword laying coolly against his throat.
“Surely you realize there’s not enough weight in you to keep me down…” His hands grasped her thighs, ready to throw her off until another blade was pulled from behind her and aimed atop his heart.
“The weight of my blade is not enough for you, then?” The dagger poised at his chest pricked its tip through his tunic and threatened the firm muscle beneath. “Is this not where you yield?” A hard look and silence were all she received in answer. Letting the amusement in her eyes absorb his disgruntlement, Gwaeron sheathed the knife and stood to remove herself from him, putting away also her sword before inspecting the few tears he’d left in her clothing.
“Well done, lass! Daugion does not get enough challenge from us, sometimes.” Meldiriel trotted up to her with a smirk and playful push on her arm.
“I think the challenge was given more to me. But I need this sort of exercise, it’s been long enough now, I’ve gotten soft.”
“It’s just good to see you with us, again, Gwaeron. We couldn’t help but worry when… Things changed.” The elleth was uncertain how to mention the woman’s former grief, but soon reassured.
“Thank you, it’s good to feel myself again. Seeing my brother helped many things, and I’m sorry if I kept Legolas from you while they were here…”
A pleasant blush spread over the lady galadhrim’s face. “No, I am glad he was able to bring you comfort. He did not leave me wanting for affection.” They shared a knowing smile before the ranger’s attention was drawn to Tar’s barking and the sound of her daughter’s playful voice. Anauriel stood close with Rúmil as he encouraged the great hound to jump up with paws on his shoulders and scratched on his coat, enthralling the elfling who looked on safe in Ana’s arms. It was a sweet setting they made, and Gwaeron longed for the moments she and Orophin could make such a picture.
Turning back to Meldiriel, she raised her brows puckishly and tilted her head. “When shall the Prince of Greenwood make an offer for your hand, do you think? He has courted you long enough for elven years.”
The elleth’s smile was tight, seeking to display mirth, but not quite reaching it. “When my Greenleaf agrees to live among the gold leaves of Lothlorien.” Her words gave Gwaeron pause and looked at her silently in question. “I cannot leave my home, nor my Lady, Gwaeron. It is where I was born, where I have always been. Thranduil’s halls stifle me, though they house his son whom I love, and the forests there have grown dark and men do rightly name it Mirkwood now.”
“Legolas would never keep you where you do not feel your heart to belong…”
“I know, and he has told me as much. I do love him, and one day we will be bound, if it is the will of the Valar. The sea does not yet call to him, and has not called to me… perhaps we will remain in Arda together.”
Talk of the elves’ future tasted bittersweet in her mouth, but the ranger touched Meldiriel with meaning and smiled encouragingly. “If it is so, then our children will play together in the woods and fields of these lands while we watch on and laugh.” Brightening at such a thought the galadhrim nodded, grinning in all her radiance.
“Will you join our hunting party tomorrow, lady ranger?” Approached by a humble Daugion, Gwaeron glanced over to her daughter before making answer to his offer.
“Don’t worry about the little one, Gwaeron! Ana and I can watch over her for you.” Rúmil happily supplied from where he stood with the elleth and babe a few paces away. Laughing, her answer was given and she mingled amongst the galadhrim naturally as they discussed setting their departure before dawn on the next day.

Orophin sat perched high in a tree on the western border of the realm, invisible to man and elf behind long branches and boughs fleshed with leaves to cover him. Across a distance, he could spy another of his galadhrim and heard his subtle call to confirm there were no disturbances at the edge of Lórien. He tried to calm his mind, to let the sounds of his forest speak to him through the rustling of morning birds and gentle blowing through trees as old as he was, but the face of one woman gave no rest to his thoughts.
With ears still trained on his watch, it was only a moment before Orophin recognized the foreign sound of approaching hooves in contrast to the woodland’s typical silence. Shifting his focus back to the task at hand, the elf descried the familiar sight of a pure white steed galloping through the trees directly toward the city and murmured with a smirk. “Imladris.” Signaling for his counterpart to remain up-tree, Orophin climbed and leapt down effortlessly from his roost and stood directly in the on-comer’s path, appearing as though a looming sprite or shadow of the forest in his galadhrim panoply.
Sitting back to steady his spirited horse, the rider held a hand up in greeting and dismounted the elegant creature when it calmed its prancing. “Well met, Orophin.” The lord that approached him held the same resonance in his voice as the Lady of Lórien, their eyes related in their witnessing the ages of old.
“My lord Glorfindel, your journey was swift. What word do you bring from the House of Peredhil?” The warden’s welcome was to the point, shorter than what they had been accustomed to over past centuries, but the noble elf seemed to echo his abruptness with a tone of exigency.
“I bring urgent tidings from lord Elrond that must be brought to your lord and lady at once.”
“Then come. Give your steed half a rest while we fetch my own horse, and I shall bring you to them.” Leading the warrior elf down one of the invisible paths of the galadhrim, Orophin glanced back to see Glorfindel gathering the reins and following closely with his animal at a walk. “Messages from Imladris are not often your duty to bear. What news is it that must come from your lips and not the correspondence your lord holds with my lady?” There were no qualms felt for probing such details. Orophin learned long ago and fully understood he ranked high enough among the guard of his liege to hear such reports from the source.
Glorfindel knew this, but was at an age of wisdom, also, that did not concern him to judge critically with whom he spoke when his words were truth. “It will be known soon enough to the whole of the galadhrim.” Though bright in form, the countenance of the aged warrior darkened with the words he prepared to speak. “The Istari… Saruman the White.” The title was nearly spat out in contempt. “Holds no longer the honor of ally among the free peoples. That wizard has been drawn into service of the Dark Lord and has bred an army from Isengard that now makes its way to where Theoden king seeks to protect his people at Helm’s Deep. It is my task to advise lord Celeborn that he send a number of your elves to aid these Second Born.” Gravity pulled his speech to a momentary pause, and the two elves shared a look that reflected it. “Without aid, Orophin, those people will fall to slaughter. It will affect the future Men should Rohan be taken.”
The meaning of such statements were made all the more significant by the weight of experience in Glorfindel’s gaze. Through it, Orophin could make out the shadows that remembered past horrors. Glimpses of battle, of flight without hope for escape, of death, of love lost… and he knew. “I will go.”
Such conviction was not hidden from his mistress when Orophin stood among the consulting lords and lady. While her husband discussed details with Glorfindel and Haldir, Galadriel glanced subtly to her silent galadhrim warden at the entrance of the natural room and knew, with no need of her especial senses, what Orophin would do. Unable to protect Gwaeron from the intangible foe that he believed assailed her, he would go to fight the enemy that assailed these people, at whatever cost. It was this fact that worried the queen of Lórien.
With orders to muster the galadhrim by the sun’s setting and make ready for the journey to battle, the Marchwarden and his brother exited the chamber and set out to do as their liege instructed. A soft call in his thoughts beckoned the younger elf to halt his determined stride and turn to see his Lady standing up the stairs with her eyes upon him. “A moment, Orophin.” The graceful wisdom in her voice brought him to stand obediently before her, waiting for whatever task or words she had to give him.
“My lady, should I not be preparing…” His obedience was not, however, without its query.
Galadriel smiled indulgently, but shook her head to answer him. “Have you seen your huntress of late?” She could feel how his countenance fell at the mention of their endearment.
With eyes dropped to his feet, anywhere but his Lady’s gaze, Orophin answered. “No, my lady. I have been defending your borders and unable to inquire after her since my return this morning.” The silence he received after his vague response evoked a fuller response and, breathing deeply as if in pain, he spoke again. “Last I saw her, she was curled weakly in Aragorn’s arms. It was at my talan… she would not look at me.” The last words made his heart clench within him and the warden turned away as if to prevent his Lady from seeing the organ falter in his chest.
“Do not misinterpret this woman, Orophin. Gwaeron is young and full of love, two reasons that have encouraged this confusion tangled inside her. She was caught in an ocean’s wave, seeking the shore but swimming away in the tumult.”
Orophin pinched his brow as he listened patiently to her, then a key turned to unlock something she had said and he turned his head quickly. “Was?” Facing her fully now, the strength seemed to return to his posture and he prompted. “Tell me.” When his queen said nothing Orophin took the few strides to close the distance between them, drawing near enough to reveal the fragile hope building in his care-worn eyes. “Tell me.”
A hoarse breath begged her in the guise of her warden’s voice and Galadriel lifted her warm hand to his cheek with a gentle smile. “Gwaeron has cleared the salt from her eyes to find her sky is up, her earth down, and her heart most assuredly with you.” With each word Orophin’s heart swelled and his hopeful prayers were answered, returning amidst tears the vibrant blue that his eyes had once been. Taking his lady’s hand to kiss the knuckles devotedly, the elf bowed his thanks and with one more look of gratitude fled down the stairway.
Long legs filled with renewed energy carried him at a sprint down the mallorn and through Caras Galadhon toward his talan. She was back. It was his Gwaeron again. The locked-away desire to take her in his arms had now been given freedom and allowed permission, and his body sprang to life for it. “Gwaeron!” Without realizing it, or caring, his voice called out for her in the gloom of a clouded midday. No longer did that veil over the sun mirror the dark clouds over his hope.
He flew up the steps of his home and burst through the open entry, the name of his huntress on his lips and his eyes darting through every room to find her. Halting suddenly in the bedroom, he found Anauriel sitting to play with a well-pleased Véredhiel in her lap. The elleth started at his arrival, but soon smiled when surprise faded away. “Orophin! You’re back…”
“Where is Gwaeron?” Quickly, but without bite, he cut her off in his need.
“She has gone hunting with some of the galadhrim who spar with her, they left before dawn.”
His face fell a little, then further when he remembered his departure for Rohan that night. “Where have they gone?”
The elleth was apologetic for her ignorance, telling him she had only trusted to their return and not thought of the particulars of direction or distance. Some of the weight returned to Orophin’s chest, though not as heavy as before, and his gaze came to rest upon the babe sitting upright in his friend’s lap. Véredhiel. Warmth spread easily through him at the sight of the growing child and he stepped toward her. With matching blue eyes, she watched him draw close and smiled a toothless infant’s smile as she reached up to be held. “Véredhiel.” He murmured softly as the elfling fit perfectly in his arms, laying her head for a few moments on his chest before finding his braids to tempting for little fingers to resist. The elf pressed his lips to her temple and whispered sweet elvish words the child could not yet understand. How strong he felt, holding his daughter again like this.
Reluctant to interrupt such a moment, Anauriel could not keep herself from asking just what was going on. “Why have you returned, Orophin? Your coming was not looked for or else Gwaeron…” The galadhrim turned to her expectantly. “She would have been here to meet you, had she known.”
With a nod, Orophin’s eyes unfocused and he smiled gently, remembering his joyful revelation. “I know.” Seeing her eyebrows gain height in surprise, he affirmed it again. “I know. I came to see her, to speak with her before I depart.”
The elleth’s face fell. “Depart?”
Grimly nodding once more, he explained the situation and why they were to muster arms and galadhrim to the call. “The people of Rohan are in desperate need, we cannot linger beyond dawn.”
Anauriel tensed at the mention of soon-coming battle, remembering with panic the description Rúmil had given of Gwaeron’s dreams. Orophin could not die in battle, not now that his beloved’s heart was returned to him, not when things were poised to restore their happiness together. Standing, she put an urgent hand on the elf’s arm and entreated him. “Orophin you must come to her. Tonight. Before you depart, you must. Please don’t leave until you have spoken with her.”
Surprised by such a reaction in the elleth, Orophin assured her with a slight nod and turned his eyes away in thought, holding the child closer and pressing his lips to her small fingers. “I will come.” A grim resolve set in his movements, he almost painfully relinquished Véredhiel back to Ana’s arms and touched her once more before leaving the flat.
With a soft whine, Véredhiel reached for the retreating form of her father and put a fuss until Anauriel gently bounced the baby on her hip. “Hush now, Véredhiel… You will see him again.”


Chapter 7 - *Chapter Seven

Title: Faril Nin [My Huntress]
Author: Codi Lyn { iluvobiwan91
Genre: Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Rating: PG-13 – R (for descriptive battle scene/wounds)
Pairing: Orophin/OFC [Gwaeron]
Timeline: Begins before the Fellowship enters Lorien in Third Age 3018… concludes during Fourth Age 250
Chapter: 7/13
Chapter Summary: “You would take this mortal and her orphan as your own… You sell the life Eru gave you for such a paltry sum.”
Author’s Note: I don’t know quite what season it is when the Fellowship are in Lorien, and so there are a few changes in time-flow versus how things played out in the movies. Follows movie-verse, but I make a few references to things that happened in the books. But little things like these I have the license to play with, as the author. J.R.R. Tolkien and Peter Jackson have rights to the important stuff, this story is written purely for pleasure.

Chapter Seven

The familiar figure of a ranger strode easily through the paths of the Golden Wood as night fell. Exhausted, but content with what her day had produced, Gwaeron smiled to herself as the talan holding her child came into view. A note from Anauriel greeted her on the table as she came in, explaining that the elleth had left the baby sleeping sound so that she might take time with Rúmil. The woman smiled and touched her finger to the parchment, earning a copy of the well-scribed runes printed on her skin. “It seems I only just missed her.” Musing to herself, Gwaeron stepped further into the flat to assure herself that Véredhiel was indeed sleeping deeply.
Fondly touching the little hairs of her head, the ranger pulled back her cowl and pressed her lips to the blanket draped over her shoulders. “Had I known how I would miss you, little one, I would not have stayed away so long.” Speaking softly so her daughter would hear only in dreams, Gwaeron was satisfied to watch the child breathe for a moment before moving away to clean herself from the smells of the hunt. A forgotten lullaby Arwen had taught her long ago came to mind and the huntress hummed it until she remembered the words, scrubbing quickly and dressing lightly to lay back down with her daughter and finally falling asleep with the sweet tune on her lips.

With skilled hands Orophin suited quickly in his armor, readying himself sooner than necessary in the hope of having time enough to see her before the march to Rohan. The stillness of an empty armory was soon disturbed when Haldir entered and stood watching his brother prepare, barely acknowledged by a glance from the younger. Crossing his arms, the firstborn lifted his chin and broke the silence. “Rúmil has made mention that your ever-changeable ranger wants you back.” Orophin visibly bristled, but continued to fasten and adjust his panoply efficiently. Dissatisfied with the lack of response, he pressed on. “And will you receive her? This girl who alters her words with every wind?” The annoyance he felt toward the mortal bled into his speech, having believed her to be firm in her denial of his brother. A decision he had condoned when she told him of it months ago.
Before the Marchwarden could speak anymore against the woman, Orophin whirled from where he had stood facing away and strode up to his brother until the flames in his glare licked at his face. “I never released her, Haldir.” Without raising his voice, the threat in his tone was still delivered through clenched teeth. “And by Elbereth’s light, if that girl asked me to give my life for hers, I would fall on my own sword with pleasure.”
What distance there was between them closed when Haldir took a step to meet him squarely. “You would take this mortal and her orphan as your own… You sell the life Eru gave you for such a paltry sum.” The quiet that followed his words could have split the ears of a son of Man.
Orophin looked him up and down, pity passing through the eyes that had hardened in righteous anger toward his eldest brother. “You know nothing. You cannot know.” Backing away half a step, he stood tall and gestured openly. “You do not see that my heart is already in her keeping, that in all but deed I am Gwaeron’s bonded. You cannot comprehend the knowledge that Véredhiel was given to us, that it doesn’t matter whether mine or Gwaeron’s blood gives her life, all that matters is when I hold that baby she is my daughter.”
Bafflement and incredulity were all the Marchwarden could spare for emotion in his features, shaking his head slightly in disbelief. “Do you not know you forsake your immortality? You must know will die, Orophin.” Though urgency remained, his voice had calmed and was now almost pleading with his brother.
“We may die in battle, Haldir, do we not still fight?” Sighing, Orophin walked a few steps away in resignation, glancing outside to see the sun setting into darkness. There were precious few hours left. Turning his head only, the second-born spoke once more and hoped the elf would understand. “Should the Valar will that I live for all ages and have been able to love a mortal woman, then so be it. If not, and I do fade at her death, then I beg you to accept and know it is my happiness to be ever at her side. Please grant me that, Haldir.” With his back to his brother, Orophin took up his sword and left.

Meeting Tar at the door to his flet gave Orophin more relief than he would have thought, for sighting the hound held the promise of seeing his lady, and nothing could have given the galadhrim more pleasure than knowing she was close. Stroking the dog’s ears and neck absently, Orophin moved into the talan and silently padded through the rooms, halting when tears nearly choked his vision at what he saw. “Elbereth…” He breathed the Valar’s name in awe and knelt carefully before the image of the child asleep in his cot and his huntress wrapped protectively around her. Trembling, he took the hand draped over Véredhiel and held it to his lips in reverence, hoping his beloved would wake but unwilling to be the cause even as tears of relief slipped unchecked from his eyes.
He studied Gwaeron faithfully, taking in the damp hair that curled above her head and draped freely on her shoulder, long eyelashes that fluttered over freckled cheeks and told of dreams he prayed were peaceful. Unable to withhold a caress to that cheek, Orophin smiled to find it rosy and fuller than when last he had beheld her, frail and weakened. Health had restored her vigor and contentment settled upon her figure that he longed to take part in.
An elven horn sounded in the distance to muster the galadhrim and he turned briefly at the offending noise, returning his gaze to her with measured breath. Hovering over them, he laid a kiss upon the child’s head but dared not to touch his lips to Gwaeron’s, instead pressing his face into the hand he had claimed and breathed her in once more. “I will miss you, faril nin, my love.” Murmured against her skin, he closed her fingers and placed the precious hand back against the elfling. With great effort Orophin rose from the bedside and gathered up his deeply colored warden’s cloak, fastening it under his armor and taking his helmet in hand before sparing a final look for those he held most dear. Another blow for the galadhrim carried him away.

“I will miss you, faril nin.” Gwaeron heard Orophin’s voice distantly, but knew it to be his without a doubt. Véredhiel’s frightened screams soon filled her ears and the woman found herself at Mirkwood’s border where Tar had first heard father and child amidst the trees. The baby’s voice now came from the darkened wood. Thoughtless to danger, maternal instincts guided the ranger’s body into action and dove into the forest in search of her beloved oath.
Warmth and freezing cold seized her body when again she heard him. “My love…” Orophin’s soft words now originated where Véredhiel’s cries sounded. Sprinting at her utmost could not bring her to them fast enough and she wove between shrub and oak to come upon Beriohtarion’s body, already dead, and the frightened child barely held in his lifeless arms. Rushing to catch her daughter, Gwaeron tucked her safely against her bosom and sought to calm the fretting infant. Her eyes scanned the clearing she stood in for danger, surrounded by shadow and darkness through the ring of trees.
A faint light at the edge of the shadows drew her in, and as she stepped closer the outline of her beloved came just into view, like a tower on a foggy day. Orophin stood in elven armor, his blood-red cloak fanned about him as she reached out to touch him, his actions mirroring her own. “Faril nin… I will miss you.”
Gwaeron jolted awake and immediately sought the face to match the voice she had just heard, to hold the hand that had reached out for her own and met only an empty room in muted light. Véredhiel still slept easily at her side and the woman rubbed a palm over her eyes, glancing out the window toward a sunless dawn. An overcast sky put a chill in the air and goose flesh on her arms. Getting out of bed with some stiffness and a shiver, Gwaeron situated her still-warm blanket up and over the baby’s ears and tucked her in, wrapping a shawl around herself and moving to stand out on the porch.
Tar awoke gradually and perked up when his mistress stepped past him, hopping up so he could lean into her side, tail wagging comfortingly against her leg. The clouds let out a steady stream to dampen the woods and Gwaeron watched it fall, thinking of Orophin on the borders in such weather. “Orophin, come back soon. I feel farther from you than ever.” She spoke softly, half to herself, half hoping for an answer. When the rain didn’t calm her as it normally would, she turned to go back inside but stopped when she heard her name being called.
Smiling tiredly at her friend, she ushered the hooded elleth inside out of the rain and took her cloak to dry. “Come and have some breakfast with me, Ana.” Trying to sound more pleasant than she felt, Gwaeron soon dropped the pretense as she turned to Anauriel and found her already distressed. “What is it?”
Obviously worried, the elf touched Gwaeron’s arm and asked. “He has not come to you? Do you not know?” Seeing Gwaeron’s confusion Anauriel now panicked, assuming Orophin had not kept his word, that danger would follow him before ever he met the enemy.
“Who? Ana, who do you mean? What do I not know?” The elleth’s worry now rubbed off onto her friend and a knot tied itself in Gwaeron’s belly.
“I mean Orophin, and that you do not know the galadhrim have already left.” All color left the woman’s face and Ana quickly took her hands in her own to steady her as she spoke. “Yesterday Orophin came to the talan and he was… he was himself again! He wanted to see you, he told me—“
“Where? Where is he?” Gently, Anauriel brought them to sit at the table and tried to hold in her own tears as she explained that Rúmil and Orophin were among the galadhrim traveling to Rohan and war. Trembling in fear, Gwaeron stifled a sob to keep from waking Véredhiel. Had his voice been as near as she felt it was in her dreaming? She prayed fervently that Orophin had at least come in the night, had seen the child and had spoken his endearment with the same love she heard still in her mind. Faril nin.


Chapter 8 - Chapter Eight

Title: Faril Nin My Huntress
Genre: Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Rating: PG-13 – R (for graphic violence detail)
Characters: Orophin/OFC
Time: Begins before the Fellowship come into Lórien in TA 3018… Ends FA 250.
Chapter(s): 8/12
Summary: No creature lived more than a moment after they crossed blades with him. But something was amiss and he could feel it drawing closer by the moment. He had only a second to turn and look before it happened.
Author: Codi Lyn
Disclaimer: I realize that Arwen was the last elf born in Middle Earth but I am changing it with my license as the author. Also, I don’t know quite what season it is when the Fellowship are in Lórien but I’ve also changed a bit of stuff in the timeline as well (i.e. Legolas having just left and then a few months later they’re in Lórien, which is not movie or book-verse…oh well). I don’t own anything (except for my OC’s) and it all belongs to Tolkien, the mastah.

Chapter 8

Orophin marched at an amazing pace at the head of the other galadrim through the oncoming storm. Their travel kept nonstop through the night, silent but for the subtle chinking of mail and armor. With any luck their speed would take them to Helm’s Deep before Saruman’s grand army arrived. Orophin ran next to his elder brother and captain at the forefront of their own small army of three hundred, there were no words spoken, nor songs sung as they continued on. It was not such a joyous occasion to join with men at this time.
They ran without cease into Rohan and before Orophin knew it, the elf on the far end of the front line blew his elvish horn loud and clear to signal their arrival. They had just made it. Upon looking beyond their humble force he could see the thousands of torches in the near distance portentous of the horrendous army’s arrival.
The gates were opened for them automatically and Orophin, though sober enough for the battle ahead, could not help himself but smirk at the awed looks they received from their rohirric allies. Haldir moved ahead to greet the King with lord Elrond’s message and Orophin stood at attention with the rest of the troop. At his signal they turned sharply and came into position about face to Theoden. To the warden’s surprise, he saw Aragorn stood at Haldir’s side and was obviously overjoyed to see the galadrim company.
The elves fanned out and distributed throughout the stone Keep, some on the lower parts with swords and many upon the walls of the battlement with their long bows. Haldir was one of these while Orophin commanded those on the lowest floor of the fort with their bows and blades. Aragorn came up to him after inspecting all their defenses and clasped the elf’s arm in greeting.
“How are you, mellon? It is good to have you.” Orophin nodded and gave him a genuine smile.
“I am well, my friend. As is your sister.” Aragorn’s smile turned inquisitive and Orophin relieved him quickly.
“The Lady has spoken with her and her thoughts are clear at last. Alas, I have not seen her but once and she was asleep with Véredhiel.” The ranger nodded and put a hand on his breast.
“I pray that we both live to see her once more. Valar protect you, my brother.” He then turned and quickly climbed the stone stairs to stand with Legolas and Gimli among the rows of elven archers.
The sounds of the army nearing the enclosure set off many young soldiers who were not accustomed to the sounds of battle or the feel of a weapon in their hands. Orophin glanced toward a young lad who was wiping tears from his eyes; he looked at the elven warrior and sniffed. Orophin gave an encouraging smile to the boy, who now stood a little taller and gripped the axe that was given him a little tighter. The lad was too young, Orophin knew, too young to be on the field in such a manner. Though a strong heart was sure to be grown in him, it was not developed enough and he would do no good but to be a terrible waste of a child’s life. But that was not his decision and he would do nothing but try his hardest to protect all he could.
The uruks sounded close now, just out of arrow range at the least. The rain was finally let loose began to fall hard upon helm and head, unfortunately letting the reek of death and refuse drift from the dark army toward Helm’s Deep in a fowl smog. They stomped and screamed and clashed their armor to intimidate the miniscule rohirrim force and were successful for the most part, excluding only the seasoned warriors of whom there were few.
Orophin gave the command to ready bows as Aragorn did the same on the wall ahead of him. Suddenly an arrow was let fly, on target, yet prematurely, and the orc noises ceased for a pregnant moment.
“Dartho! Hold!” Aragorn commanded to hold fire while the enemy army became roused in anger and at last started the charge toward the wall.
“Tangado a chadad! Prepare to fire!” Orophin commanded his galadrim and readied his own bow, aiming it high above the wall and its occupants with the rest of them.
“Hado i philinn! Release arrows!” Quickly and precisely they shot their arrows and were given the command by Aragorn to hurl to flow. It lasted but a moment before the ladders began to draw up to the wall with berserk uruk warriors at their heads. Orophin was able to shoot several of them down from below his comrades but soon there were simply too many coming over and they filtered their ways through the soldiers, coming swiftly down the stairs killing as they went.
Orophin called for swords and drew his own before charging the first orc to arrive on the bottom level. More came, seeming to double in number after each kill before him. Orophin tasted uruk blood on his lips as it splattered from his victim’s vital arteries, the rain not washing it away quick enough for his like. Several blades came too close and clashed against his breastplate and outer armor. Already he could feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins with the rush of battle swarming around him. No creature lived more than a moment after they crossed blades with him. Yet something was amiss and he could feel it drawing closer by the moment. He had only a second to turn and look before it happened.
An explosion larger than he had ever seen erupted with a spine-numbing crack on a nearby section of wall, while boulders and bodies flew high with the blast. Shrapnel from broken stone and steel shot at him and hit in many places, including a breech in his chest near the arm and many places on the face though his arms had covered his eyes effectively enough. When he opened his eyes there was an enormous gap in the wall with rainwater rushing out to drain as uruk-hai flooded in the Keep to attack.
He got up with a light head and ran hastily to Aragorn who had fallen before him in the explosion, gathering the ranger in his arms he pulled him back from the charging danger. He roused quickly and Orophin helped him up, gathering the galadrim behind him to draw their bows. A volley of arrows slowed the enemy’s charge only a little and they were soon replaced. The elves charged at Aragorn’s command, many instantly falling to the uruks’ long lances with terrible noises of demise.
Orophin sliced through the first beast to challenge him and efficiently fell three more in its wake. An arrow grazed his neck, catching him off guard, as it was a stray from a rohirrin archer. Distracted, he turned round too late and received a stab in the same inflicted shoulder as before, wincing at the wretched pain that tore through the muscle. The uruk was soon, and angrily, taken care of before he painfully ripped out the serrated knife, cursing under his breath as he did so for the shrapnel was now deeply irritated within him.
“Nan barad! To the Keep!” He heard the command shouted over the sounds of battle and Orophin looked around him to gather those who had not heard above the ruckus. Several rushed past him and Orophin covered their retreat by destroying those that would have pursued.
“Haldir! Nan barad!” Aragorn called out his brother’s name and he turned quickly to find him among the carnage upon the wall. The Marchwarden called his galadrim to retreat to the inner Keep, but himself stayed and fought until a crooked blade caught his arm and ripped through the flesh.
Orophin called to him in horror and ran up the stairs three, four, at a time. But too late, for as he reached the top an unfortunate uruk cut through his brother’s back and his eyes numbed in excruciating pain. Orophin slaughtered the beast in rage and managed to catch Haldir before his body fell back fully to the stone of the wall. Aragorn, also, had come up to the wall and now protected them as Haldir spoke his last to the younger brother. Orophin held his captain to him firmly while tears threatened to burst forth and occasionally succeeded. Haldir looked up to him regretfully, knowing this to be his end.
“To die for those you love… is not a waste, my brother. I, myself, have done so. You take… my blessing?” Orophin nodded quickly and gasped as he choked and went limp upon his arm, death finally taking his spirit from Middle Earth. Aragorn put a hand on Orophin’s shoulder and beckoned to him urgently.
“Come, we must leave. We can not linger.” Orophin nodded and stood from his brother who now lay broken and alone.
“Come!” Someone shouted to him and he ran behind almost blindly, killing those unfortunate enough to cross him in his infuriated state. He stopped with many others and defended the Keep fearlessly, going numb to every wound he received as he went into a deadly dance of fist, sword and knife. Giant iron grappling hooks shot over the walls and killed many with simply the power of their weight, but Orophin knew better and could already see the uruk-covered ladders being pulled slowly up.
“Pendraith! Ladders!” He shouted as a warning to those below and several drew bows to pick many off from where they stood. It seemed as if there was no end to the uruk army as bodies piled around Orophin and his comrades, many of them, also, falling to join the dead that littered the ground.
Something grabbed his arm from behind and he whirled around to strike but was stopped by its sword. His brother, Rúmil, stared at him with a frightened expression as he beheld the raw hatred shining in Orophin’s eyes.
“Orophin! Have you not heard the call for retreat? The castle is taken, we must fall back!” At last it finally registered to him that they had lost the fight and Rúmil put his arm under his back to help him flee to the final gate. Orophin had received a gash of a leg wound and limped best as he could with Rúmil’s help as a crutch. When they got into the large room he was set down against the wall carefully. It was scarce within, he noticed; so many had fallen. Orophin looked around as his younger brother inspected his numerous wounds.
He could not find any elves within the chamber and it sickened him to think once more of his fallen brother. Rúmil saw the pain in his eyes and guessed it partially, though his heart truly did not wish to know.
“Where is Haldir? I did not find him on my way to you.” Orophin could not bring himself to look his youngest brother in the eye and shook his head with a clenched jaw.
“He… died in my arms, Rúmil. He is gone from us.” He held the side of his head and neck to hold it firmly; giving him what comfort he could but leaving none for himself. Rúmil closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to keep his emotions in check and speaking a silent prayer for his eldest brother.
Quickly Rúmil distracted himself by assessing the damage taken by his middle brother and took it upon himself to remove several large pieces of shrapnel from his left side. Orophin gasped at the pain and took breaths difficultly as he turned his head to the doorway, watching a few men get ushered inside before the gate was closed and barricaded with whatever they could find in the room. Uruks on the other end began to shove a battering ram against the weak gate and it shook the room through to the very stone.
Orophin spat out blood as the last larger piece was pulled free of his flesh and he shook his head to rid himself of the droplets of sweat and rain on his brow. Aragorn was there and asked the King of ways in which the women and children could escape from the caves and afterward it was decided that the remaining soldiers and men would ride out to their last stand. Horses were sent for and Orophin forced himself to stand, costing him a flare of pain up his right injured leg.
“Orophin, you need not…” Rúmil attempted to dissuade him but he was immovable.
“No, my brother. I can still wield a blade, and I would not let you go to die unless I was already dead myself.” He was resolute and his eyes shone with a determination the younger had never seen before. Their horses were removed of their tack by the elves’ request and they mounted easily enough, Orophin bidding his shining bay to kneel so that he would not overly stress the leg wound. The King spoke what he believed to be his last to the men even as the gate was breaking through, and let out his battle cry once the first uruks could be seen.
“Forth Eórlingas!” At the King’s command they burst forth through the gate, bowling through the uruks as the monsters foolishly charged their trained war-horses. They fell quickly before them and those that did not were killed mercilessly before a sword could be raised in defense. The remaining company galloped out onto the causeway and down into the swarming field of enemy creatures and beasts. Orophin’s mare cleared a charge spear easily and landed upon two uruk-hai on her landing.
They fought until the sun rose over the eastern ridge and showed to them a great white rider, with a mounted rohirrin at his side. Many of the orcs turned and gathered to the base of the ridge, seeing the éored rush up behind the two riders and start a charge down the immensely steep mountainside. There were many of them and it took a moment for all of the army to become visible over the crest of the hill as the survivors’ spirits rose in the hope that they may yet live.
And indeed they did, for as the rohirrim charged into the orc army, the sun rose fully and blinded all the evil things that would have done any more harm, destroying or discouraging enough of them so that the remainder of Saruman’s forces fled and ran off into the newly arrived forest of huorns. Orophin and Rúmil smiled victoriously for they both knew of the living tree shepherds and their flock within Fangorn’s realm. In times past they would often visit the great forest so that they might learn to speak with the living things.
As victory was claimed Orophin felt his blood-rage and energy drain from him as his life-fluid slowly streaked his steed’s coat a dark red. He knew he was weakened from dark poisons injected into him by several different weapons of the foul army. He slouched heavily over his mare’s neck, his weight suddenly becoming a great burden, and urged her into the Deep so that he could account for losses and search for any survivors. Rúmil noticed this and urged his horse to follow him into the fortress. As he pulled up to one of the crude orcish banners Orophin drew his sword and hacked the wooden pole in half, causing the white hand to fall as his army had.
He dismounted painfully and patted the faithful mare’s neck, speaking to her gratefully in his native Sindarin tongue. He left the horse there and began to search through the bodies for galadrim who still yet lived. Rúmil was at his side in but a moment and helped him to search for any living and silently noting those who had fallen. Orophin came upon the crushed form of the lad he had seen before the battle and he gently removed him from the rubble and dead bodies that surrounded him. He held him weakly, but close to his heart. By mortal years he could not have been any more than nine or ten summers old.
As the wives and mothers came with their little ones out of the caves, a young girl left her mother’s side and walked over to Orophin as he carried the forever-sleeping lad in his grasp. He slowly knelt before her, coming to her level and she began to tear up while she neared him, carefully touching her elder brother’s blood-smeared cheek. She looked up to Orophin with sad brown eyes.
“Is he asleep?” She asked innocently, too young, he thought, to be so brutally introduced to the cruelty of war.
“I’m afraid he will not wake up, little one.” He told her softly and her bottom lip trembled, breaking his heart as only a child could.
“I have also lost a brother, dear one. We must keep on for them. It is all right to cry...” He soothed as she tried to wipe the moisture from her eyes feebly. She nodded and reached out to hold the edhel’s bloodied and battle-worn hand, Orophin squeezing hers gently in assurance.
“Karina? Oh no…” Her mother came to her and knelt before the injured elf carrying her son. The woman let out a sob and reached for him, reverently taking the child into her grasp and weeping over his body. The little girl hugged her mother and as he stood away from them, Orophin could hear her whisper softly to the woman,
“It’s alright to cry, Mama.” Orophin smiled sorely and she looked up to him one last time as he murmured,
“May you be blessed, Meltithenniel.” Rúmil came up behind him and led him away from the sad scene, like so many others happening around them.
“The rohirrim have assured me they will bury our dead. There are too many and you are too weak to aid me for us to do it ourselves.” Orophin nodded somberly.
“And what of Haldir?” He asked while Rúmil continued to assist his brother to walk and answered him,
“He would want to be buried with his men, Orophin, you know that. The men of Rohan will take care of him, they are a good people.” He nodded numbly as Rúmil silently led him to the healing room, seeing if he couldn’t discretely force him to be healed. As they entered Orophin seemed to awaken out of his stupor and shook his head vehemently once he realized where he had been brought, pulling away from his brother.
“No. I will heal in Lórien… We must return now, Rúmil.” But his brother persisted and grabbed his arm.
“You are in no condition to return, Orophin. You can barely walk of your own!”
“It matters not! I have already talked with Theoden, their King; he will lend us the horses and we’ll set them loose at the borders of Lórien. They will find their own way home.” Orophin limped determinedly towards the stable; angered from his losses and from his wounds, which now plagued him sorely now that some infection had set in as effect to the poison going untreated. He was the only being who knew of the poisons. He was certain if he told anyone now, they would keep him bed-ridden for weeks; which was another reason for his haste to return, if the poison was left alone overlong it would certainly prove his death.
They found the horses they had ridden that morning and mounted once more, this time Orophin heaved himself up on his own, eager to close the distance between them and Lothlórien. They trotted out of the Keep and galloped once over the fields of Rohan, the horses more free as they wore no saddle and harness to inhibit movement. Even the armored elven galadrim upon their backs seemed to weigh nothing. Rúmil followed his brother closely at the high speed of their gallop for several hours until the sun began to set and they were in great need of rest, both horse and rider.
Orophin slowed his mare gently and tried to calm his breathing before Rúmil caught on to his ragged condition. He knew he could not for long though, his brother was no dotard. The horses were both coated in sweat and foaming at the mouth from the hard ride. Orophin led his horse over to a smallish creek and let her drink her fill before dismounting with a hard grimace at the aggravated pain. Rúmil came up behind him to help but Orophin shook his head, keeping his back facing him so that he would not suspect by his expression. They were still close enough to return to Helm’s Deep rather than press forward to Lórien and he did not want to chance it.
“Ready a fire, my brother. I shall need it this night.” He told him, exerting his authority so that he could buy enough time to at least lie down and rest a little. Near midday he had felt his body begin to tremble uncontrollably and he could only hold it at bay for a moment when Rúmil had come behind him, but now he felt sick to his stomach and freezing besides. Limping and staggering, he made his way to a small tree growing near the water’s edge and collapsed as best he could to the ground without looking desperately sick, which was a difficulty, since he was. Turning on his side away from Rúmil, he wrapped his cloak around him and shivered as more nausea drew near.
“Orophin?” Rúmil called to him after hearing nothing for quite a while. He walked over to him and immediately noted his constant trembling. He pulled the hood off of his face and cursed upon seeing an unconscious and extremely feverish Orophin lying on his back.
“Blast, you are not well!” The elder’s face and skin was clammy and cold, indicating the fever, and raising open his eyelids showed yellowish coloring around the iris. This was much more than infection. Quickly he put some water on to boil and took off the warden’s dense armor, fully revealing wounds that should have been tended hours ago. He slapped his cheeks several times and finally splashed water over his face to rouse him and keep him awake.
“Do not take me back to Rohan, Rúmil…” Orophin mumbled once he knew he’d been found out, but Rúmil scoffed.
“We’re still in Rohan, brother. And I’d say that’s the least of your worries at this point.” He ripped open the sweat and blood stained jerkin and grimaced at the severely yellowing puncture wound that currently oozed fluids and some syrupy blood.
“Why did you not tell me, Orophin? This could have been prevented!” Orophin breathed in ragged successions and shook his head.
“I thought I could… hold on until we reached Lórien. I had no idea how… bad it had come to be.” Rúmil tore extra clothes angrily to make rags.
“Liar. You knew it was poisoned and yet did nothing!” Orophin coughed and winced at the pain that accompanied it, his lungs seeming to constrict with some foul mucus.
“Forgive me, my brother.” Rúmil glanced up to his face while he used the rags and boiling water to clean his nasty wounds. It was a wonder he could even lift his left arm. The younger dabbed his emotion-filled eyes with the back of his wrist and reasoned somewhat heatedly with a mask of anger to cover his concern.
“I do not wish to be the only son left. If you leave me then who would be the responsible one?” Orophin coughed out what sounded to be a laugh and attempted to smile at his brother.
“I’d say you are being the responsible one now, while I’ve gone and done something thoughtless.” Rúmil smiled reluctantly but made a face as Orophin coughed up some thick blood and spit it to the side, laying his head back so that he might take a deep breath. Rúmil lifted a palm-full of water up to his lips and let him rinse out the muck in his throat, giving him another swallow before he continued in his ministrations. Orophin knew it was the stab wound from the serrated knife he had received in battle, with every blot and touch from the hot rag he could feel its pain double over again.
It took a long time to clean all of just the one wound, so bad it was, and after some convincing Rúmil placed a broken stick between Orophin’s teeth so that he would not bit his tongue and mayhap endure a little longer. The tremors had not ceased and they nearly turned to seizures at times when the pain was at its most intense. Orophin’s shouts of anguish began to disquiet the horses but obediently, they stayed where they were and did not budge.
Orophin was thankful his brother had not faired as he had; having been one of the archers on the higher battlements, he’d not come down to sword fighting till he had run out of arrows. For once, Orophin was thankful for Haldir’s over protectiveness concerning Rúmil.
Blood and puss stained the ground where Orophin lay, emitting a foul smell that only served to make his stomach sick. The flesh about the wound was now splotched in green, purple, and black, though it had been cleaned as best as could be done while it still secreted mucus and fetid blood. Rúmil dared not to stitch it shut for that would but seal the toxins within. The sun began to rise after long hours of rigorous labor with no rest and Rúmil looked up to his brother’s bruised and pale face, rousing him as he took the chewed branch stub out of his mouth.
“Can you ride?” The younger stroked his brother’s forehead with the warm rag and Orophin opened his eyes briefly before shutting them for the strain of the sunlight.
“Not of myself. But I could bare it, I think.” Rúmil nodded and took off his own jerkin, shredding it into long strips to wrap around his brother’s waist. Orophin grunted as it was tied off a little tightly and tried to aid Rúmil in helping him to stand.Rúmil whistled to his horse, a dark brown colt with white socks and a white star upon his face, called Ramses. Obediently, the horse knelt down to assist Orophin mount and the sickened elf hunched over his neck in pain, grasping the thick mane so he wouldn’t easily tumble off.
The younger warden gathered their small amount of belongings and put out the embers of the fire. He fastened their armor to Orophin’s mare and spoke to her in elvish, directing her to follow them closely. He knew she understood her master’s condition and had faith that she would be obedient. Securing their things once more for the hard ride, he walked over to where his brother sat on the colt shaking. He mounted up quickly and wrapped his cloak around Orophin, urging the horse on into a gallop after leaning into his brother and confirmed with him.
“You will tell me if you must rest. I’ll need to check your condition from time to time in any case, so there’s little use in persevering unnecessarily.” He received a nod and a sound of pain as the colt rocked beneath them. It was going to be a very long ride.
They did as he said and stopped every couple of hours to rest, cleaning and rewrapping his bandages and wound. Orophin had never experienced so much pain at one time in his several thousand years. He knew others had, others that he had fought with and watched die before him in much the same way he was suffering now.
He couldn’t die. He would not succumb to grief and despair… he had so much to live for, more than he ever thought he’d have. A beautiful maiden waited for his return and the elfling child she cared for that he felt in his heart, was his daughter. He had to live; no pain mattered now compared to leaving them alone on this earth.
Rúmil knew his brother worsened by the moment and rode hard through the night, finally arriving at the borders some time after midnight. He knew the watches would recognize them and therefore galloped straight through to the supply flets where he was relieved to see they brought fresh horses for them to continue into Caras Galadon. The Lady had seen them coming and must have known Orophin’s injuries to be grave. Rúmil trotted up to one of the fresh horses that he recognized to be his own, a much quicker thoroughbred than Orophin’s half-draft which also stood nearby. He lifted Orophin over onto the lithe stallion and mounted himself from the rohirrim steed, speaking his thanks before instructing a nearby elf that the two horses were to be released back to their land.
Rúmil held to his brother and instructed the stallion to give him all speed to the City. The pearly-white horse obeyed his master completely and flew from the outposts with a speed even he had never tried over such terrain before. When they arrived at the Lord and Lady’s mellorn home, he found they waited out side for him with a stretcher-like bed and elves to carry his brother securely. Rúmil dismounted and, with the help of Lord Celeborn, carried Orophin down from the tall steed to gently lay him on the stretcher. Galadriel led the elves carrying him while Celeborn followed behind with the youngest brother close by his side.
“I was not aware he was in such a terrible condition. Surely he could have been healed earlier on in Rohan by their physicians?” Celeborn inquired of a weary warden and the younger sighed as they climbed the stairs considerably slower than the others.
“He could have, my lord. But he refused, at that time preferring to come back to Lórien immediately. He neglected to tell anyone that his worst wound had been poisoned.”
“I see. And you are the only survivors? You made certain to leave no one?” Rúmil did not make eye contact with his Lord, but nodded in reply.
“We scoured the Keep in search of our own, my lord. There were none alive, and we would all have died if their mounted reinforcements had not arrived with Mithrandir the White.” Celeborn nodded, having heard the way things had gone from his wife.
“Not even our Marchwarden survived, then.” Rúmil shook his head with a heavy burden.
“Orophin told me he died in his arms. I was not able to see him before it…” Celeborn put a hand on the young one’s back, silently bidding him to say no more, but to just let his Lord comfort him like a father would.
“Go and take rest, Rúmil. There are those that wish to see you, I’m sure.” He looked to him curiously but the Lord only smiled and continued to climb the stairs far behind his wife and her charge, leaving Rúmil to return home on his own.
Véredhiel refused to sleep this night and Gwaeron had a feeling why. It set her on edge more than anything especially as she began to cry harder, for she knew not if Orophin was troubled, hurt, or worse. She sat against the wall of the talan on the front porch and held Véredhiel close in her crossed legs; the baby had quieted down a little about an hour before midnight but still whined from time to time in her sleep. He had been gone nearly a week; she ran with Tar and fought in the sparring field endlessly in attempt to keep her thoughts positive and away from the dangers she knew he faced. He had to come home to her alive.
She had just allowed herself rest when Tar perked his ears and wagged his tail, the rhythm of it thumping against her thigh woke her up and she looked ahead to see someone walking towards their flet slowly. Gwaeron stood carefully, letting Verry sleep as long as she may. She stepped down the stairs quietly and watched as he came toward her. For a moment she thought it was Orophin, coming home to her at last; but he didn’t carry himself right, wasn’t as tall as her elf. Finally the edhel looked up from his boots and his face was that of Rúmil’s. A bit of relief flooded through her, but not all. She was glad he was safe… but where was his brother? Why did he not return also?
She went to him and embraced him without a word as he grasped her also, careful to avoid Verry on her shoulder. He pulled back and kissed her cheek, seeing the concerned expression on her fair features he immediately guessed her thoughts.
“He yet lives.” She nearly collapsed in joy and looked down with a smile and tears in her eyes.
“He is in Galadriel’s care, now. It would be good if you went to him.” She looked up alarmed once more.
“What’s happened, Rúmil?” He sighed.
“He has been terribly injured, Gwaeron. The worst wound has poisoned his blood.” She gasped and he put a hand on her shoulder gently but told her clearly of his exhaustion,
“Gwaeron, I am weary and have not slept in six days. Where is Anameleth? I have given her a promise that I would not soon go back on.” She turned a little and gestured to his own talan beside Orophin’s.
“She sleeps now in your bed, as she has for the duration of your absence.” He could not help but smile as he looked toward his flet. He bid her good eve and left her to walk alone to the great tree of the Lady and her hurt elf.
Gwaeron grew anxious as Véredhiel started to cry afresh in her arms, no doubt sensing her father’s grief in pain. She walked as quickly as she dared, thinking all the while of the many terrible things that might have happened to him, what agonies he must be going through. Her eyes welled up and tears streamed down over rosy cheeks. She missed him so much; even his scent had begun to fade from the tunics she slept with and Verry had seemed to sense it, too.
The baby wailed over her shoulder and clenched and unclenched her hair that had been let down for warmth on the cool, early spring evening. She finally reached the tree castle and began to climb the many flights of stairs, a breeze from the east giving her chills as it rustled through her long skirt. Her toes were bare for she had not bothered to pull on any boots before leaving the talan and each smoothed grain of wood felt like hot coals as she ascended higher and higher.
She stopped dead in her tracks as a man’s cry, she recognized only too well, rent the air in exasperation of pain. Véredhiel, she noticed, was no longer screaming but miserably weeping into her mother’s neck in too sad a way for but an infant to know.
The further she climbed the louder his shouts of suffering became and soon she stood before the closed door that he lay beyond, just out of her reach. She knew it was no place for a child and did not try and enter. If Rúmil said that he was under Galadriel’s care, then she would know that she was waiting. Gwaeron prayed to every Vala she could think of for his protection and was forced to sit down on a nearby bench as his screams reached her ears and from there, her aggrieved heart.
“Dear Illúvatar, do not let this child lose another father before ever she knows him.” Gwaeron bowed her head in tears and rocked back and forth, holding Véredhiel close to her as something of a harbor while her emotions sought to drown her in their rage.
Orophin writhed terribly on the cot he had been laid upon. Four elves, including their Lord, tried to hold him down as their Lady operated on his numerous shrapnel wounds, her long fingers buried deep within his flesh to remove even the most insignificant piece of rubble that could cause pain or infection. He was stronger than they had anticipated. His mind battled futilely over his body’s desire to resist the seemingly torturous treatment of his wounds. His body had retched considerably on the journey to Lórien and, though now felt nausea in the worst way, had nothing left to give.
He knew he must stay conscious to allay the power of the dark poison within him; but as he healed from one wound, the others must be tended to as well. At this moment he dearly regretted being so close to that blast. Orophin’s muscles flexed against his elven restraints and Celeborn, himself, putting all his weight and more upon the warden’s right shoulder and arm to keep him from striking anyone again. Once more, he shouted in fierce hurt as Galadriel removed another shard of steel from his side.
Orophin grew light-headed from excessive loss of blood and he heaved every breath miserably during the brief respite. His muscles trembled weakly as they strained to be freed and he felt nauseated and cold once again. He was so sore from pulling against the good elves and his Lord at his sides, and their pushing against him did nothing to alleviate that pain.
Gwaeron waited for hours outside the private healing rooms, hurting in her heart at every gasping shout of torment that was heard from within. She feared the worst for nearly half an hour when there was no sound at all, not even the talking from elf to elf. Her hands shook from nerves and the fear of the unthinkable having happened.
She jolted when the lord Celeborn emerged out of the room with a weary sigh, Véredhiel stirred only slightly in her deep sleep. Gwaeron stood and attempted to peer over his tall shoulders into the chamber, yet to no avail. He looked on her sympathetically.
“Have you been here this whole time, young one?” She nodded, hardly able to meet his gaze without collapsing into a nervous wreck of tears and hiccups. He sensed her distress and reached forward to take a hand of hers in his own gently.
“Orophin has endured much that I do not believe he would have lived through had it not been for you, Gwaeron.” The lady Galadriel appeared at his side and linked her arm through her husband’s.
“He murmured your name several times as I aided in curing the poison. It would do him good, I believe, if you went to him now.” She suggested to the worried ranger and they stepped out of her way to go, no doubt, to their own rooms. The other elves, also, were removed from the bedchamber and one smiled at her with a subtle ‘it’ll be all right’ wink.
She entered the room hesitantly, humbled by the amounts of soiled and bloodied rags there were to the corner area of the room in large bowls and basins. How much had he gone through? She could not even imagine. There were very few men that had been as bad off as she believed him to be, and those poor souls had not lasted. She trembled at the possibility.
He lay on the bed with his head limp to one side, only covered up to his lower waist, which revealed the many bandages that were faintly stained with his blood. His chest rose and fell slowly with the sporadic hitch in his breathing that frightened her. He shifted slightly and she sat herself in the chair beside him, holding Verry tenderly in her lap as the elfling slept off her exhaustion.
“O-Orophin?” She whispered hesitantly and brought herself to touch his bruised fingers cautiously, not sure if she wanted to wake him after such an excruciating ordeal. He said nothing at first but she felt his hand close around hers weakly, bringing it up to press against his heart while turning to look down at his lady ranger. He smiled.
“Faril nin.” His voice was quite raw but still just as she remembered, deep and gentle with his delightful accent. She could no longer contain herself when he called her by his favored name and she wept openly, smiling all the while. She was overwhelmed. She had not spoken to him in months, had rejected and wounded his love deeply, nearly starved herself in depression and guilt, had waited anxiously for him to return from a terrible battle, and now that she saw him just barely alive and with the same affection he’d always held for her, it was just too much to hold inside.
“I love you, Orophin… I am so sorry for what I’ve done to you.” She sobbed and bowed her head at his arm on the bedside. Gently he shushed her and stroked her hand, now that his left arm was temporarily immovable.
“I know, shh I know, my Gwaeron. But I am all right now, I am alive and you are with me. I don’t remember a time when I’ve been happier.” He assured her softly and finally she sniffed and looked up to him with those bright and shining green eyes he had missed so desperately. She wore her hair down and curled around her oval face, her cheeks were flushed and freckled as he remembered and in that moment she was more beautiful to him than Galadriel and all the elven maidens combined. He could not help himself.
“Gwaeron, daughter of Arathorn and Gilraen, faril nin… will you bind to me and be my wife?” He was moved to do the thing he had dreamt of for so long and brought her hand up to his chapped lips, kissing her knuckles with loving care. She laughed through her tears and managed to nod, blushing an even deeper pink than before.
“I’ve never wanted anything more, Orophin. I always wanted it to be you… I always knew it would be you.” Tears came to his eyes, also, as he looked down to her lap and saw their tiny daughter smile in her sleep.


Chapter 9 - Chapter Nine

Title: Faril Nin My Huntress
Genre: Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Rating: PG-13 – R (for graphic violence detail)
Characters: Orophin/OFC
Time: Begins before the Fellowship come into Lórien in TA 3018… Ends FA 250.
Chapter(s): 9/12
Summary: No words were necessary, nor adequate, to express the way she felt for him in return. It was all too clear to him in her eyes with every glance and gaze.
Author: Codi Lyn
Disclaimer: I realize that Arwen was the last elf born in Middle Earth but I am changing it with my license as the author. Also, I don’t know quite what season it is when the Fellowship are in Lórien but I’ve also changed a bit of stuff in the timeline as well (i.e. Legolas having just left and then a few months later they’re in Lórien, which is not movie or book-verse…oh well). I don’t own anything (except for my OC’s) and it all belongs to Tolkien, the mastah.

Chapter 9

Véredhiel was laid upon the bed with her father while he kept his arm around her protectively. Gwaeron situated the chair nearer so that she could rest her head by Orophin’s and together they all slept until the middle of the next day. Gwaeron awoke second to the sound of their daughter playing with her mouth and fingers, making jibber jabber happily as her mother picked her up to check the elfling.
The baby needed diapers as well as Gwaeron needed some things to have in the room with Orophin, for she did not plan to leave him much, if at all, this day. She looked over to her betrothed lying peacefully on his back; the many cuts and bruises that covered his fair skin no longer mattered. He was safe.
Gently she brushed her fingers against his cheek, content that he would sleep for a long time yet and that she’d certainly be back by that time. Véredhiel giggled as only babes can in the quiet of a room and, carefully, they shut the door behind them once they left.
Orophin rested on his own for a little while but awoke when he could no longer feel Véredhiel in his arms or Gwaeron’s breathing beside him. He opened his eyes and painfully lifted his head to scour the room in search of them. They weren’t there, or at least not nearby, and he pushed himself to sit up against his body’s commands to lie still. He listened for any movement, but there was none. Had it been a dream? Could it be she had never come to him at all?
As he thought on it his knife wound began to hurt fresh once more and it effected acute suffering from even the tiniest of movements. The poison, he thought. It must still have its potency to negative encouragement. He turned to see the door open very quietly and Gwaeron backing in with Verry in one arm and a large basket in the other, trying to be as silent as possible in case he was still resting. Véredhiel looked over her mother’s shoulder at him and almost instantly the flaring pain in his arm faded to a dull ache.
“Faril nin.” He breathed in relief, for the fear that she had not been real then lifted from his mind. She smiled and glanced to him before laying a large blanket over the wood floor and setting Véredhiel onto her belly. With a small spoon and cup placed before the infant to play with, the lady ranger stood and went to her husband-to-be, frowning only a little as she noted he had sat himself up. Carefully, she situated herself at his side and he took her hand, bringing it up to his lips without breaking eye contact. She blushed with a grin.
“I thought you had only been a dream when I awoke. That I had never seen you, either of you.” He pressed her palm against his cheek in his reassured happiness and she stroked it with her thumb affectionately, careful of a few lingering scars about his nose.
“I can promise you truly, my love, it was very real… just as you are before me now.” She leaned forward and briefly touched her lips to his, only a tentative brush to leave him wanting more. He opened his eyes and gave her a very nearly feral look once she pulled away and stood up from the bed to kneel beside their daughter.
“If I were not so weak, Gwaeron… sweet Elbereth!” He exclaimed in a mix of humor and frustration and laid his head back against the pillowed headboard. She giggled easily on the floor with Véredhiel as the child played with her voice and lips like she had that morning.
“And this will be the only time in my life that I would wish you to be physically weak, orod nin.” She gave him a bat of her eyelashes and caused him to sigh as he watched her interact with their elfling.
“I love you, Gwaeron.” He breathed softly to himself, believing she wouldn’t hear, but then she turned to him and gave him an appreciative smile, modestly turning away before any more could be spoken. No words were necessary, nor adequate, to express the way she felt for him in return. It was all too clear to him in her eyes with every glance and gaze. She loved him.
The month that followed was much easier to bear with the support of one another. Orophin had come to tears once more when he told her of Haldir’s death and final blessing to his new family. He still held onto that last remnant of fury that drove him to think he could have saved the Marchwarden. Rúmil had talked with him for the entire afternoon in attempt to dissuade his brother’s mutinous thoughts, but Orophin would hear none of it.
“I must deal with this on my own, Rúmil.” The elder stormed to pace the room weakly, limping, though he ignored the pain as best he could in his growing anger. Rúmil stood from the chair he had previously occupied and raised his voice to gain Orophin’s full attention.
“But you should ask for help! There are many elves that have lost dear ones, including myself, that can…” Orophin turned upon him viciously.
“Get away from me! By Morgoth’s chains, just leave. Me. Be!” The agony in his voice lashed out like a flame barbed whip and Rúmil recoiled instantly, both hurt by and afraid of his brother even in this weakened state. The heated passion in his eyes licked painfully at the youngest son and finally Rúmil straightened to turn away from him without a word, shutting the door sharply in his frustration.
Orophin’s firm stance declined and he slouched against the wall, sinking to a knee as he bowed his head in grief and ran a hand through loose hair. He had physically taxed himself by exerting so much force with Rúmil. Why am I so angered by this? One part of him debated the reasoning for his temper while the other combated it righteously. Because you could have saved him, you saw the danger. You should have been faster.
“I failed him, I wasn’t strong enough.” Berating himself, he gasped when a movement triggered searing pain to split through his side. Blast, if I haven’t inflamed my wounds again. He stood and placed a hand over the afflicted area, breathing deeply to calm his body from the inferno of emotion he had just previously displayed. A gentle knock was heard on the door before it opened quietly behind his turned position, and only a few steps were made before he felt careful hands wrap around his hanging shoulders.
“Would you like to sit? Come, I’ll fetch you a chair.” Gwaeron offered to him tactfully. After many long years she knew how to approach those who were willful, but still wounded. Having been one such person on many occasions, she was thoughtful enough to make them feel more useful, and independent, rather than useless and weak. It was a rare occurrence when she could not get them to accept even a little assistance.
Calmed by his betrothed’s voice and touch, Orophin leaned heavily on her to move forward and she brought him to the side of his cot. Leaning back with a slightly concealed grunting moan, he placed a hand over his midsection and a hand on top of her knee once she sat beside him. She smiled for her love but her cloudy green eyes betrayed a touch more concern than she was letting on. He sighed and opened his eyes to her as she watched him begin to regain his strength.
“Where is Véredhiel?” He asked casually and she held the hand resting on her leg.
“She has been with Ana today. The poor elleth has been trying to get her to crawl all afternoon but I don’t think Verry has it just yet.” He smiled for a moment but it was soon lost to his previous thoughts. Gwaeron saw his mood darken as his brows furrowed together in thought and she looked away from him to study the movements of his fingers and battle-hardened knuckles, the large hand gripping and releasing her knee while he still warred within himself.
“I don’t think you’re this anxious over the thought of our daughter learning to crawl…” She began, drawing him gently from his thoughts. He frowned further, though not to her, and shook his head.
“No. No, I am not. I, have been thinking about Haldir’s death… I should have prevented it!” His quickly made fist jerked away from her and pounded into the mattress at his side. The other rose to his forehead and pinched the bridge of his nose in aggravation. Gwaeron gave a concerned frown and leaned forward to lay a hand on his chest, steadying him from anymore painful movements she knew he was inflicting upon his body.
“Orophin, calm down. Now, please, listen to…”
“NO! You know I could have been there! I could have been faster…” Startled by his outburst, she reflexively cut him off with her own opinion and a voice to match his in volume,
“You could have died, Orophin! By the Valar, I could have lost you!” She gripped him and then shoved against his leg to stand up, crossing her arms over her chest once she was turned away from him. Orophin stopped and looked to her, angry with himself even more now for upsetting her.
“Faril…” He began but she waved him off and wiped at the tears coming from her eyes, struggling to quell this spike of emotion she still carried from his leaving for battle. Slowly he stood and stepped but a hair’s breadth away from behind her. Sensing him there, Gwaeron shook her head as he turned her round and pulled her against his jerkin, stroking the long curls she had let down to please him.
“I did not intend to distress you so, faril nin. It was selfish of me, I wasn’t thinking.” He murmured deeply in apology and lowered his chin to the crown of her auburn head. She sniffed a few times, his gentle soothing helping enough to allow her coherent speech.
“I only wish that you would be thankful for your own life, Orophin. I have tried so hard to forget the battle, to forget that so many were lost. My friends as well as yours. But every day I come to this room, every time I look at you and see the bandages and scars… I remember as clear as day that you could have so easily died and I would have been alone again.” His jaw twitched as he struggled to hold himself together, his face burned hot when he thought of all his lost comrades and fellow galadhrim. He could not have saved Haldir any more than he could have been everywhere at once to save their lives. His brother was simply another casualty to the Dark Lord’s forces. There was nothing he could have done differently.
Gwaeron’s breathing finally calmed beneath him and her arms now wrapped around his waist comfortingly. Somehow she could sense he was now digesting all that she had said. Taking a steadying breath himself, he raised his hands to either side of her face and tilted her gaze up until their eyes met.
“It has never been your fault, meleth nin.” She whispered as the understanding shifted into place in his mind. He smiled at her and glanced to her lips briefly.
“Meleth nin.” He repeated in a daze, lowering down until their mouths brushed against one another’s in a rejuvenating display of affection. Smiling at the touch of his lips to hers, she pulled her arms a little tighter around him and after a long moment pulled away from the careful kiss to rest her head upon his shoulder. His body relaxed under the simplest of her movements and they stood as such for many blessed moments, allowing all grief and anger to melt away like the ice from Spring’s first leaves.


Chapter 10 - Chapter Ten

Title: Faril Nin My Huntress
Genre: Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Rating: PG-13 – R (for graphic violence detail)
Characters: Orophin/OFC
Time: Begins before the Fellowship come into Lórien in TA 3018… Ends FA 250.
Chapter(s): 10/12
Summary: How he couldn’t wait to share this feeling with Gwaeron; this happiness in conclusion, in the end of the evil wave that the storm of Morgoth had started ages beyond ages ago. It was the end and at last a beautiful beginning.
Author: Codi Lyn
Disclaimer: I realize that Arwen was the last elf born in Middle Earth but I am changing it with my license as the author. Also, I don’t know quite what season it is when the Fellowship are in Lórien but I’ve also changed a bit of stuff in the timeline as well (i.e. Legolas having just left and then a few months later they’re in Lórien, which is not movie or book-verse…oh well). I don’t own anything (except for my OC’s) and it all belongs to Tolkien, the mastah.

Chapter 10

That week Orophin and his huntress began to take walks through the City at Lady Galadriel’s consent. His strength grew stronger every day and the pair went longer and longer on the natural paths with fewer breaks for his breath and energy to be recovered. Even with their lives returning to somewhat normalcy, when he had been offered to return and live in Rúmil’s talan Orophin refused adamantly, explaining that he would be better to sleep further away from Gwaeron until the day of their marriage had passed. This caused a deep blush to stain the ranger’s cheeks and afterward she could no longer bring herself to push the topic.
To her very little knowledge, elven weddings consisted of the couple consummating the marriage first and then afterwards there would be held a celebration lasting a week at the very least. Her mountain himself, had told Gwaeron that he would give her the gift of performing a traditional mortal ceremony. This chivalrous attitude never ceased to increase her love for him and she thought this the best gift he could have bestowed.
Rúmil and Anameleth had already plighted their troth the night the galadhrim left for Rohan; and had secretly performed the marriage the night of his return. Indeed, Orophin and Gwaeron had only found out a few days after the bonding had been made and regretted having missed the celebration that they, oddly enough, had heard nothing about.
“Oh no! There has been no feast yet.” Ana explained to them with a smile and stole a glance at Rúmil before he went on,
“We decided to prolong our blessed secrecy a little longer…” He grinned with a wink to his new wife.
“If you neither would mind it, we’d like to announce our bond during your own reception. It will be almost a double wedding!” Anameleth explained happily and Orophin burst out laughing, to his hurt, while Gwaeron clapped her hands in amusement.
“That’s perfect! I think it a wonderful idea.” Their mortal friend pronounced with an infectious smile and it was settled between the four of them.
Passing the seventh week from Orophin’s return from battle, Gwaeron arrived home, as she called his talan now, from visiting her beau for a few hours. Véredhiel settled into a deep slumber on her cot with blankets all about her and Gwaeron now combed the lively curls of hair into some semblance of submission after her quick bath. The ranger felt, rather than heard, a presence at the door and soon after there was a gentle knock upon the frame.
“I’m coming…” She called out softly and pulled the wet mass of auburn hair to one side of her neck. It had grown quite long since arriving in Lorien some months ago. She opened the door and was met unexpectedly by the Lady of the Wood herself.
“Good evening, Gwaeron. Am I disturbing you?” The elven queen inquired politely, even though the answer was already evident, else she wouldn’t have bothered her to come.
“No, of course not. Verry is just sleeping on the mattress… Please, do come in.” She gestured into the large room and offered her a seat at the kitchen table. Both ladies sat down quietly, though one with a more flowing grace than the other.
“I have come to give you news, and an offer I doubt you will refuse lightly.” The Golden Lady began with a serene smile and the mortal ranger responded in kind. Until the first bit of news was released.
“The One ring of power has at last been destroyed.” Gwaeron could only sit in silent shock, yet Galadriel continued,
“The young halfling you met upon passing through our Wood, Frodo Baggins, has completed their journey with Samwise Gamgee at his side.” The woman sat on the edge of her seat and finally interrupted,
“But what of the others? My brother… are they-“
“They are well, and rest in Minas Tirith now. But I am afraid that only the Steward’s son has been the casualty of the Fellowship’s quest. He fell in Amon Hen, defending two of the other hobbits, Meriadoc and Peregrin.” Her face fell sullen as she remembered the fellow mortal that had befriended her briefly during his time in Lothlorien. Amon Hen… they were not very far down from Lorien at all when he was killed. She remembered his last look had been dark and not himself, could he have known that so soon it would be his end? Galadriel drew her attention away with her next encouraging piece of news,
“Your brother has been working hard to rebuild the destruction of his city. I daresay the White City shall shine brighter than it ever has in all the long line of its Kings.” Gwaeron’s eyes shot up at the meaning of her words.
“His city? King? Has he decided…” The elleth’s smile and sparkling gaze were enough to know. The mortal raised her hands to her cheeks and choked before a happy sob rang out, the tears shining in her eyes only served to reflect her broad smile. Laughing and crying intermingled issued from the young woman’s mouth and she could hardly contain such happiness that filled her. At last, he had chosen to be their father’s rightful heir! Galadriel placed a hand on the child’s hand and grinned.
“There is more, young one. Can you stand it?” The younger laughed and nodded vigorously in assent.
“My grand-daughter will soon be on her way from Imladris to meet him and, though my husband and I will not be traveling to the White City, we will send a group of representatives from the Golden Wood to attend both the coronation and then union of the King and Evenstar. Seeing as you have strong ties now to this realm and your brother’s City, we were considering adding you to the party?” Tears flooded her deep green depths until everything was tremendously blurred no matter how the woman blinked in her excitement.
This was so much, so wonderfully much for her to take in at once. She would see him, see her brother take the crown of the King of Gondor, and see him marry the elven maiden he had plighted his troth to so very long ago. He would be truly happy and it made her all the more joyous to know of his peace.
“Yes, yes of course! I would be deeply gratified to you, my lady. How could I refuse such an offer?” She coughed out and smiled with bright eyes and an equally bright face that lit up every corner of the room. Gwaeron found herself unable to stop laughing and truly did not care if she ever did as the White Lady, also, began to join her. How could she be happier than she was in this moment? Immediately she thought of her fiancée deeper within Caras Galadhon.
“Will Orophin come with us? Has anyone told him aught?” Her mind raced when she though that he may yet be still too weak to travel so far so soon.
“My husband is with him now, young one. And if your company leaves soon, you may not have to travel so quickly to meet up with my son-in-law’s procession. Orophin’s strength should not be a problem for him with you at his side.” The wise she-elf assured her calmly and stood from the table with the elegance born of a Noldor.
“I cannot thank you enough for this visit, my lady.” The mortal ranger walked her to the door and smiled at the beautifully ethereal queen.
‘And it was good to see you again, young one. I am glad to see you smile once more.’ Gwaeron heard within her mind as the Lady of the Wood gazed down on her serenely, an air of friendship behind those all-seeing eyes.
“Do not sleep overlong tomorrow, Gwaeron. You will need to have packed your things by breakfast.” She finished aloud with a motherly tone of voice and the lady ranger smiled, waving as Galadriel glided down the stairs and walked alone into the peaceful night.
Turning to the bed where Véredhiel rested unmoving, Gwaeron smiled and brushed the last of her happy tears away from her face in a tired motion. She had woken early that morning to ensure Orophin would not be alone upon waking in his rooms. But now, after staying awake when he and the child had napped together, and after receiving some of the most joyous news of her young eighty-six years, she was physically and mentally exhausted. It had been a delightfully long day. The little one’s steady breathing was measured by her tiny back rising and falling continuously, the consistent movements comforting the ranger as a yawn escaped her lips.
Gwaeron sat gently upon the bed and leaned over to be face to face with her daughter’s sleeping eyes. Almost as if sensing her mama’s presence, Véredhiel stretched and curled on her side into Gwaeron’s chest. The lady ranger giggled softly in content and stroked the little swirls of reddish-brown baby fine hair until she, too, fell into a steady pattern of breathing and sleep claimed her.
Orophin, however, could not find rest easily, not after what Lord Celeborn had just informed him of earlier that day. They had gone over every detail of the significant battles that had ended the war. Every wave, every charge was fresh in his mind after so well a description given to him by the king of Lorien.
How he couldn’t wait to share this feeling with Gwaeron; this happiness in conclusion, in the end of the evil wave that the storm of Morgoth had started ages beyond ages ago. It was the end and at last a beautiful beginning.
Finally restless enough to get up and out of bed, Orophin pulled a linen jerkin over the bandages that covered his sides and chest from the worst of his wounds. Tar sat up from his comfortable end of the elf’s mattress and watched the edhel growl in discomfort at the raising of his arms. The hound now happily served as Orophin’s company during the night and had hardly left his side since arriving. At the eager thud of his tail thumping against the covers, Orophin turned and grinned as the hound waited for commands obediently.
“Come here, lad. Let’s go see your mama.” At the mention of his mistress the hound leapt off the bed and galloped ahead of him as soon as the door was opened. Orophin laughed quietly and shut the door behind as he began the slow trek down several stairs to reach the ground floor of the City.
The wood was calm that night with a gentle breeze flowing in cool from the east, the freshness of it seeming to blow away the old shadows of evil that had too long dwelt in the dark. Silent it was, also, Tar’s happy panting and claws against the gravel of the path made the only noises to speak of. Orophin sighed as he kicked a stray pebble in his limping, unable yet to put all his weight on the right leg that had been deeply wounded at the thigh and hip. He cursed quietly under his breath, he wouldn’t be able to train without risk to his health for some months. He loathed being idle. Perhaps this trip to Minas Tirith would take his mind off such things for a while.
“Or it could simply remind me.” He muttered miserably as Tar leaned against his left side, attempting to steady his master. Orophin gave the over-large dog a good pat.
“You’ll keep me company, though. Won’t you Tar?” He panted up at him in a funny sort of smile and Orophin chuckled good-naturedly. Of course it wouldn’t be that bad. He had Gwaeron and his daughter to keep him busy along the way. No doubt Véredhiel would grow frustrated on the long rides, unable to lie on her belly or back and play, as she had been every day in his rooms. He smiled happily when he thought of her, remembering his own childhood and that he had been restless when constricted as well, always wanting to move or play with his eldest brother.
“Verry would do well with a brother or sister, herself.” He spoke quietly but with a grin that brightened his face and countenance, helping him make the final steps up to his own flat. Tar trotted up easily and took his place on the porch by the door, plopping down in a heap as he waited on his master, sensing it would not be welcome for him to greet his mistress just yet.
Orophin smiled at the hound and, gently as he could, limped over the threshold into the large open room. The sound of soft breathing came to his sharp ears momentarily and he turned to the familiar sight of Gwaeron with their daughter tucked securely beneath her arm. He sighed blissfully and leaned against the wall a moment to admire them.
How had he gotten so lucky? Surely the Valar had worked this perfectly to their plan, but how had he been chosen to become so wonderfully blessed? It was entirely beyond his comprehension.
A deep expression of peace filled Gwaeron’s fair features and her eyes gradually fluttered open and settled upon his subtle, yet powerful presence. Sweet Elbereth, he is such a vision to behold! His comfortably fitted jerkin hung open-laced to the center of his chest and several pieces of hair now framed his face from the loose braid she had situated for him that morning. His clear blue orbs flitted over her form once and she smiled under his appreciative gaze.
“What time is it? Morning yet?” She whispered with a tired hitch in her voice that hinted at her recent sleep deprived schedule. He shook his head gently and stepped carefully over to the simple cot.
“It is nearly midnight; you can rest longer yet, faril nin.” Bending over her slowly, he murmured the assurance and kissed her temple affectionately. She closed her eyes and sighed happily, tingeing on a yawn.
“When will we get married, Orophin?” She asked sleepily, reaching out to hold his large and masculine hand that lay dormant at the edge of her bed. He brightened at the subject and could not help but convey the plans he’d been thinking over for the duration of the week; the conclusion of which had only come to him during Lord Celeborn’s visit.
“I had thought to ask the King of Gondor for your hand, since now you are royalty as well, my love.” She beamed up at him.
“What better place for a wedding ceremony than the White City of your own people? Your brother will want to give you away, I am certain.” He continued and sat on the opposing side of the cot directly behind her, and leaned against the wall at his back. One hand was held caringly in hers while the other stroked her slightly damp strands of auburn hair across the pillow. The movement was relaxing to both parties and, while Gwaeron had almost instantly gone back to sleep at her fiancée’s gentle voice, Orophin rested his head against the living wood behind them and slowly (despite himself) saw everything blur into a peaceful oblivion and he knew no more that sweet night.


Chapter 11 - Chapter Eleven

Title: Faril Nin My Huntress
Genre: Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Rating: PG-13 – R (for graphic violence detail)
Characters: Orophin/OFC
Time: Begins before the Fellowship come into Lórien in TA 3018… Ends FA 250.
Chapter(s): 11/12
Summary: “Gwaeron… Are you sure of what you are doing? You must know that he cannot choose between mortality and an elf’s age as my line can. When you die it could likely break his heart, and to an elf, my daughter, that is fatal.
Author: Codi Lyn
Disclaimer: I realize that Arwen was the last elf born in Middle Earth but I am changing it with my license as the author. Also, I don’t know quite what season it is when the Fellowship are in Lórien but I’ve also changed a bit of stuff in the timeline as well (i.e. Legolas having just left and then a few months later they’re in Lórien, which is not movie or book-verse…oh well). I don’t own anything (except for my OC’s) and it all belongs to Tolkien, the mastah.
Author’s Note: “Orod nin” means “my mountain.”

Chapter 11

Things came together quickly the next day concerning their belongings and then happily discovered that the rest of their party was to include Rúmil, Anameleth and a few other elves, one of which being Gwaeron’s sparring-mate, Daugion. He seemed quite joyful that particular day and greeted them both with a slightly hidden grin. Véredhiel seemed to catch his eye, especially.
“Is this the elfling you talked of, ranger?” He stopped his work briefly and turned to Gwaeron and the small child she carried on one hip. Verry smiled and hid behind her shoulder, playfully flirting with him.
“Yes, this is our daughter, Véredhiel.” Gwaeron took the baby’s arm and managed to get her to wave at the tall elf, causing his seemingly stern features break into an enthralled smile as he stepped toward her. Once his hand came close enough Véredhiel leaned forward and grabbed his forefinger in her petite hand, giggling wildly.
“Perhaps you would like to hold her, Daugion? She’s been blessed as a great judge of character, I think.” Gwaeron remarked with a knowing grin and she easily helped the child into his arms once she received a dazed nod from Daugion, the little one already reaching out for him. Bouncing her slightly against his broad chest, Verry reached out and clapped her little hands to his jaw and mouth, pulling his lips inadvertently into a smile.
“You like to make faces for me, do you?” He asked the baby sweetly and she started mouthing ‘d’ words to try and reply. Gwaeron turned away at the sound of her name being called by her fiancée and let Daugion have a moment with her daughter to go to Orophin. Her beau stood leaning heavily against Rúmil, for his injuries bothered him most in the mornings, both standing beside the large half-draft palomino that she remembered as Voronwië, Haldir’s horse. She came up to Orophin and he shifted his weight to take her hand, addressing her with a reminiscent quality to his voice.
“Rúmil and I have agreed that you should be the one to inherit Haldir’s mount. You have a way with creatures, I know. I believe he would trust you with his Voron, you are too kind to deal harshly.” Gwaeron smiled sorely and reached out to rub the stallion’s great muzzle.
“We should leave soon, the sun is almost up.” Rúmil suggested and with a nod from his elder brother left to help everyone finish readying for the journey. Orophin led her to the side and helped his lady ranger to mount the tall horse, strapping a few extra belongings onto Voron’s back.
“He will serve you well, faril nin.” Orophin said to her while brushing the horse’s mane meaningfully, no doubt thinking of when Haldir had sat in her place upon Voronwië’s back. Gwaeron leaned down slightly and put a supportive hand on his, gaining his attention and a faint smile.
Orophin’s massive dappled gray was brought to him and he stubbornly mounted on his own, wincing only a little as he swung his right and injured leg over. Bringing the brutish mare around to face Daugion’s mount ahead, he trotted over and retrieved his daughter from the galadrim’s lap, placing her carefully in his own so that she played with his fingers intermingled with the mare’s long mane. A grim, very protective, look passed between the two edhil before Gwaeron beckoned Orophin and he led the dark gray over beside her equally large palomino.
“Is everyone ready? I was told that the Lord and Lady would meet us at the gates of the City.” She informed her fiancée and he looked around and nodded, guiding his horse into a comfortable trot, smooth even for the mare’s magnificent size. They made it quickly to the edge of the wooded city of Caras Galadhon and were given beautiful leaved brooches- not unlike those given to the Fellowship- and a fond goodbye from Celeborn and Galadriel.
Their plan was to follow the Anduin South until the South Undeep, and there they would meet with the party from Imladris, traveling through the East emnet of Rohan and over the Entwash through to Minas Tirith in the East. It would take little over a month at the leisurely pace they intended to keep to, and by nightfall the day they had reached the beginning of the field of Celebrant. Every other horse had a tent packed onto it and it was not long before the efficient elves had set up light camp and a singular fire for cooking. The company not in such a rush this time as to only eat waybread for the length of the trip.
After thoroughly rubbing down Laesneniel, Orophin let his steed loose to graze with the others and limped through the medium length reeds and grass to his huntress and their daughter. Verry lay stretched out on her back in her mother’s crossed legs, her healthy baby’s belly rising and falling with each breath of slumber. Her ada knelt stiffly by them and sat on the grass with a grimace thinly concealed. He wrapped his arm around Gwaeron and kissed her temple as she leaned against him.
“How are you? It was a long ride today.” She asked him and commented quietly, looking up at him from his shoulder. Orophin sighted gently and glanced down.
“I have never been so sore in my life. It is frustrating beyond belief.” He growled the last and looked skywards. Gwaeron stroked his knee and smiled, gazing down at her little one sleeping soundly. The smell of wood fire and boiling soup wafted over to them and eventually Orophin’s stiffness relaxed and she felt him melt into a more comfortable position.
“You could have stayed home, my love.” She murmured in jest and he turned to her sharply.
“Never would I allow you to leave me… it is impossible to rid yourself of me now, faril nin.” Orophin declared in all sobriety before tightening his hold on her shoulders. That was all she needed to hear.
The next few days passed in much the same manner, and finally the night before they were to meet with the Rivendell troupe, Gwaeron managed to convince her betrothed to let her tend his injuries. He brought her into his tent and hooked the flap open so that anyone could freely see within. She knelt on the ground and laid out her fresh bandages and salves, bidding Orophin to lie down beside her. He took off his large tunic and made a pillow for himself before lying on his back.
“You should have let me change these the other day when I first asked, my love. Your poison wound is still partially infected.” He plucked a few reeds from the earth as she peeled off the encrusted cloth pressed against his shoulder, grimacing though he bit his tongue in attempt not to. She wet a small rag and wiped at the dried puss around the puncture wound, pressing her other hand against his chest when he would not be still.
“I could swear, Orophin! How did you act when Lady Galadriel tended you?” She exclaimed and he smiled through a grunt, baring his teeth at her like an animal.
“Lady Galadriel,” He ground out,
“Had four strong elves and my Lord Celeborn himself holding me against that bed. You are strong, faril nin, but I doubt strong enough to overcome my stubbornness.” She laughed and flashed him a warning of a grin before pushing heavily on his gut, making him groan for the loss of breath. As he growled and gasped for air she quickly finished cleaning the injury and put a fresh amount of ointment and bandaging on top.
“Blast you, wicked woman! You’re going to kill me.” He caught his breath at last and cursed her with a mischievous glint in his bright blue eyes. Gwaeron pretended to pout and leaned over him to kiss his nose.
“Forgive my actions, love. It’s reflexive, I’m afraid, if someone challenges me.” She giggled and finally managed a chuckle out of him, his hand reaching up to hold the hair out of her face and against her head.
“I shall be certain never to do it again.” He murmured gently and pulled her forward until their lips almost touched.
“It’s a good thing you left that flap open! Who knows what could’ve happened otherwise!” Rúmil bellowed in a boisterous voice and the two jolted away from each other, blushing profusely at having been caught. Gwaeron rose and stamped menacingly toward her soon to be brother-in-law.
“Now leave us be, you dunce! I can hardly expect you didn’t steal a kiss from Ana before you got onto binding yourselves in secret!” The elf ran from her with a laugh and she threw a well-aimed clod of dirt and weeds at his rear end before returning to Orophin with a self-conscious chuckle. Kneeling once more beside her betrothed and pushing him onto his back from where he had so suddenly sat up, she wrapped a roll of gauze around his shoulder and across his chest silently, not fully meeting his gaze.
Orophin studied her first with amusement at the blush that covered her cheeks and neck, but then reverently as she cared for his infirmities quietly and more proficiently than he had seen anyone besides the Lady do herself. She glanced at him sidelong and her blush deepened to crimson on fair skin in the dark of the firelight.
“You’re quite a mother hen, you know that?” He remarked to lighten her embarrassment and she laughed and tilted her head modestly.
“I can only hope you’re right on the ‘mother’ account at least. It has been too long since I had an example on the matter.” She shrugged, though the thoughts of her own mother could be plainly seen in the emerald pools that served as her eyes. He steadied her busy hand upon his right side and drew her attention as calmly as he could, though his blood pumped nervously through his veins at their proximity and his desired topic.
“I can assure you, I would like to prove that you are. I confess I have thought, perhaps a bit much, of Véredhiel having brothers or sisters. Would, once we are married, would you be opposed to such?” Gwaeron’s gaze grew darker and softened at his tone of voice, causing her to glow beautifully.
“I must say I would not at all be opposed. There is no doubt between the two of us we’ve enough love to supply a couple or few children.” She helped him back into his tunic as she said this and she noted his smile only grew brighter. Orophin took her by the shoulders and ran one hand up to touch her cheek, his expression elated.
“Gwaeron, you cannot know how much I love you.” His voice was deep and allowed no argument to oppose this statement as he took her lovingly and parted her lips with his own, caring not that their entire camp could come upon them if they wished.
“Arwen!” Gwaeron called to her step-sister without decorum, receiving an enthusiastic wave from the young Evenstar. Their respective parties met near the river’s edge and all dismounted to greet and make something of a lunch. Véredhiel sat before her father on his great mare and watched the curious exchange between her mother and this unknown dark-haired elleth.
“Gwaeron, how I’ve needed you since you left! I have such wonderful news to tell, and I want to hear everything that I’ve missed.” Elrond’s only daughter gushed to her best friend while the Lord of Imladris himself went to greet Orophin, the latter in the process of his painful dismount. Taking Véredhiel off the tall horse and holding her comfortably to his chest, Orophin bowed to half-elven lord, receiving one in turn.
“It is good to see our kin from the Golden Wood once more.” Elrond greeted very diplomatically and the marchwarden briefly wondered if he had done something offensive to receive so cold a welcome. His fears were soon allayed, however, when the dark-haired elf looked down and smiled at the sleepy infant in his grasp.
“And this is the little one my mother-in-law has told me of, is it?” He got a tired smile from her as he reached for her tiny hand and Orophin held her proudly for him to see.
“Yes, my lord. This is my daughter, Véredhiel.” Elrond glanced up to him.
“Your daughter?” Orophin nodded, glancing with a spark in his eyes to Gwaeron.
“Yes, lord. It has been agreed that Gwaeron and I are to be her parents, we will be married soon in Minas Tirith.” Gwaeron then came up to them at hearing her betrothed speak her name and stood on his other side facing her step-father. Arwen cooed and scooped Verry gently out of the warden’s grasp, the little one playing up to her attention and grabbing at the long braids of her newfound aunt’s hair. Elrond looked expectantly to Gwaeron and the seemingly small ranger shrank back slightly under her foster-father’s scrutiny, looking like a child who had broken an expensive furnishing.
“Ada, will you not congratulate us?” She asked him hopefully, begging him silently to approve of their mortal and Firstborn union. He paused for a long moment as she held her breath. His smile appeared seamless once the tension was at last broken and he reached out to grasp Orophin’s forearm in a companionable gesture, but Gwaeron saw an air of duality in it though she said nothing at present.
“Of course I will congratulate you, I was simply waiting until the evening meal when it would be more appropriate to toast you both in front of everyone.” Sensing his underlying purpose to stall for time, Gwaeron received his embrace naturally but sent him a silent look to inform him she wanted to have a word. He understood, perceptive as he was, and linked her arm into his. She turned to Orophin and gave him a small, lingering kiss on the lips before assuring him,
“We’ll be back soon, love.” He nodded and kissed her cheek as well, glancing warily to the Rivendell lord as he took his faril away.
“Ada, where are you sons? Arwen only told me that they were not in your party.” Gwaeron began, attempting to draw his attention away from her betrothed for a moment at least. He sighed and looked away from her at a few wild flowers springing out of the hardened ground.
“They went with a group of Dúnedain to aid your brother. It was they that brought him the shards of Narsil re-forged into Anduril. They wait with him in Minas Tirith for us to arrive.” Her eyes brightened naturally at the mention of the sword and her brother. Somehow the mention of it all was so surreal, she could hardly believe their prayers had finally been answered. Elrond stopped then and gently turned his foster-daughter to face him in all seriousness.
“Gwaeron… Are you sure of what you are doing? You must know that he cannot choose between mortality and an elf’s age as my line can. When you die it could likely break his heart, and to an elf, my daughter, that is fatal. It was almost so for me when Celebrían left for Valinor. Who would be a parent for that child? This is not something to be taken lightly.” She remained obediently silent for most of his speech but could not help herself when he implied that they had not thought deeply or simply decided this on a whim.
“It has not been taken lightly!” Her green eyes blazed gem-like in her gaze and they, for a moment, took him aback.
“Ask any elf in our travel party and they can assure you how long and hard we’ve deliberated over this. I spent nearly months in agony after having rejected him upon my arrival. I was plagued by visions of his death and could not eat or sleep because of it! Orophin, also, was so close to fading when I released him to find his own mate. Had not Lady Galadriel, herself, given him hope of my love before their departure to Helm’s Deep, he would have let himself be killed for our love! He would die for me and we would both gladly give our lives for Véredhiel’s safety. Ada, please let me assure you, not one of our actions in this has been made lightly or in haste.” Tears fell down her cheeks after prodding such fresh wounds in her memory and she watched as Elrond’s expression changed from surprised, to concerned, then to admiration at each turn.
“I had no idea, Gwaeron…” He murmured but as she made to turn away, he pulled her to him in a fatherly embrace, nestling her head against his shoulder.
“So there’s no telling you he’s not good enough?” He added slightly in jest and she looked up to him with a smile and shining eyes.
“I’m not letting go of him again, Ada. The last time nearly killed me.” He smiled sorely down at her and glanced back to their bivouac, seeing Orophin on the ground feeding their daughter a bottle. She would be well protected and cared for, that was certain above anything.
“Blast it.” He mumbled remorsefully though his expression was not bitter and his daughter looked up to him in surprise, he rarely cursed.
“What is it?” He looked back to her and sighed, forcing a smile.
“It’s just that I seem to be losing both of my daughters at the same time. My only commiseration is that they are both going to good men.” His face was sad and she knit her brows together before going on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek warmly, like she used to every cold morning in Rivendell when she awoke. The elven lord smiled at her, remembering that time as well as her, and wrapped his hand around her waist as they began to walk back to their parties.
“You look well, lad. It is a blessing you returned from Rohan when you did.” Glorfindel came up to Orophin as he sat feeding his daughter and knelt down beside him to get a glimpse of the sleepy infant. The golden elf gave him a secretive smile and nodded to the babe in his lap.
“It would seem you had more to live for than you originally thought… She has your eyes.” The balrog-slayer said and carefully brushed his palm agin to Véredhiel’s curly hair, silently recognizing where she got that trait from as well for he knew that coloring better than most. Orophin only nodded, beaming down at his child until he looked up to see Gwaeron coming to him with a slightly moistened face. She came to kneel at his side and smiled at Glorfindel warmly before beginning to rub her beau’s stiff shoulders. The golden lord inclined his head and smiled in turn as he took in the precious sight of their small family. There was no doubt in his mind their circumstances had been divinely thought out and planned. He rose with an informal nod and left to help with the setting up of a lunch.
“Where is Arwen, my love?” She asked Orophin lightly, for she knew he’d seen her distressed state and hoped to take his mind off it for a small moment. He shook his head and then lolled it to one side as she rubbed a particularly pleasing spot between his shoulder blades.
“I’m not sure, perhaps assisting with the meal.” Véredhiel burped gently when he sat the lethargic child up and he nestled her into the crook of his arm to sleep. Gwaeron smiled down at their daughter, sighing when Orophin turned to kiss her near her ear.
“Are you all right, faril nin?” He asked her quietly and she leaned on his back contentedly, surveying the surrounding commotion and enjoying their little oasis of calm.
“Right now I am perfect, orod nin… perfect.”
The next few days riding into Rohan were pleasant until one morning dawned darker and every elf was on edge with the feeling of alarm. Orophin didn’t let Gwaeron stray from his side and likewise kept Véredhiel close in arms or in his betrothed’s care. Gwaeron had never seen him tenser and she was convinced along with everyone else that there was something terribly wrong in these horse-lands she had so often frequented in her ranger years.
“Daugion, take someone ahead and scout for danger.” Rúmil ordered the galadrim and he and Meldiriel galloped out of line and over the nearest knoll of boulders in their immediate path. The caravan halted for several moments instead of going through the rocky area that could very well hide a small army behind its boulders. The horses became fidgety and the silence was broken only by their snorts and Tar’s uneasy whimpering as he paced around them. Gwaeron glanced to her fiancée and noted he had already strung and readied his long bow.
Their attention was drawn quickly at the sound of a mangled bellow that was certainly not elf-kind. Orc. Meldiriel was quickly seen hurrying back to them on her faintly painted mare and shouted her warning as more noise formed behind her.
“Yrch! Yrch! They are nigh upon us, three score at the least!” She pivoted her high-strung animal and drew another arrow as more hastily armed elves rode to aid. Those that walked were quick to lead the supply horses away and Anameleth rode instantly to Gwaeron and took Véredhiel out of her arms.
“Go with them, quickly! You are needed.” Ana pushed her ranger friend in the right direction and Gwaeron hesitated only to draw her sword before digging her heels into Voronwië’s girth and bolting the stallion into forward motion. Tar barked and ran after the fleeing horses to help get in on the action.
As Gwaeron rounded the nearest rock she was surprised to see clearly more than thirty orcs and goblins attacking them from behind near every stone and bush. Arrows buzzed in the air of both elven and orcish design and she rode fearlessly through their hasty flights to plow over an unfortunate monster in her path. The war-horse crushed many an advancing enemy and it was not long until the abundant black blood stained her long blade.
A shriek from above shocked her and a thrawn goblin jumped down on top of her from a tall rock formation, knocking her clear off the tall steed with a crash onto other fallen orcs. Their landing jarred her head terribly but before she could think of defending herself, the sallow creature sat stunned and fell to the side away from her. At second glance she saw a long elven arrow protruding from the beast’s back and thanked the Valar her death her not had been so needless a one.
“Above! Watch from above!” Someone called out and Gwaeron drew her attention to the taller rocks where nearly half of the enemy had been hiding in wait. Her sword had fallen out of her grasp earlier and she stood to look for it when it appeared behind an advancing orc with its spear pointing to her chest. Reflexively, she ducked to her belly and then rolled into his way to try and trip him. But the monster hopped over her easily and dragged a spurred boot against her side in the process. She gathered her sword quickly and stood on guard as he swerved and thrust his long pike at her several times before, with a well-aimed hack, Gwaeron chopped the volatile end off and made quick work of the defenseless creature.
There was hardly time to look about her and twenty uruk, at least, had fallen by her hands when all was settled and over. She glanced up when Tar barked and bounded towards her, Orophin following close behind. His expression visibly eased when their gaze met and he ran the last few strides before crushing her against him with a deep sigh.
“When I saw your horse running without you, I feared you had been got.” He breathed heavily into her hair and stroked her back to reassure himself that she was all right.
“Voronwië bolted when an orc jumped on me and I was pushed from his back. I’m all right, but what of you?” She checked him over and he could help the grin from crossing his features, grimacing only when she grazed his right shoulder.
“I could be better. But I am in no great danger, I assure you.” He comforted her and was granted only a wary look before Lord Elrond rode up to them and confirmed that they were both all right.
“We have accounted for everyone, I think. The yrch must have come from Mordor, for I have not seen this kind myself in long years. I would not have believed them to be so violent without a leader whipping them on.” Orophin looked at the carnage around him in disgust.
“They’re desperate. They must know there is no longer hope for their survival.” His voice was grim. With one foot he flipped over a shield to reveal the faded symbol of a blood-red eye, and he felt Gwaeron shiver at his side. Looking down at her, he brushed gently through her hair with his fingers and felt a small amount of blood staining her scalp. Before he could reproach her she put a hand to her brow and shut her eyes with a sigh.
“I don’t feel well… a headache.” Orophin caught her arm as her knees gave way suddenly and she held to him with the last of her strength. Elrond called her name in alarm and Orophin instantly let out a shrill whistle to beckon his draft mare to him. Running obediently to her master, Laesneniel sidled up beside them with a nicker and at his command folded her fore legs beneath her while Gwaeron was helped into the saddle. Orophin mounted behind her and dug his heels into the mare’s flanks to speed them alongside lord Elrond’s hastening dark andalusian.
“She told me an orc felled her from the horse’s back. It could be from the fall she was hurt.” Orophin informed his destined father-in-law as they rode back to the ellith and supply horses. They rode over the hills before finding the rest of their party and Elrond dismounted and carried his daughter from Orophin’s grasp before the galadrim could even swing a leg over, himself. Gwaeron held her head where it hurt and groaned once she was laid down.
“Hush, rest now Gwaeron. You will be taken care of.” Elrond soothed and passed a hand over her eyes, allowing her furrowed brow to ease and relax. Orophin was soon at her side and took her hand, only then noticing the cut on her side.
“Shall I fetch you some bandaging? Gwaeron carries them in her saddle-bag.” He offered but the peredhil Lord waved him off.
“That will not be necessary. I have salves enough to care for her wounds.”
“Orophin…” She murmured his name softly and turned toward the silver-haired edhel though her eyes remained closed. Elrond glanced between them as he cleaned the spots of blood away from her head and a sudden spike of jealousy overcame him.
“Orophin let her rest. She stays awake only for your sake. Go and see to your child, leave me to mine.” The Lorien elf glared at him only a moment before leaning down to press a lingering kiss against her cheek
“I’ll be back when you’re finished.” Elrond acknowledged him only with a slight nod and Orophin stood to tether his horse to a proper hitch.
“Orophin! I have your wife’s steed.” Glorfindel rode up to the injured galadrim with Voronwië close in tow beside his Asfaloth. Orophin smiled.
“She is not my wife yet, my friend. I thank you.” Glorfindel laughed and tossed him the reins of the great palomino before dismounting his own pearl-white thoroughbred. Glancing to his half-elven friend and his injured step-daughter, Glorfindel then watched Orophin carefully.
“How is your huntress? I caught an orc upon her during the battle with my bow, I did not see her again after that.” Orophin turned his head around back to her and frowned when he saw her already up and talking with her father.
“She appears fine now. Not a moment ago I had thought her unconscious. I think lord Elrond does not approve of me.” He sighed and turned back to his golden-haired friend. Glorfindel only put a hand over his good shoulder and explained,
“You must understand, Orophin, that Gwaeron is very much a daughter in Elrond’s eyes. He has always been her only living father figure and that is not something one gives up willingly. You will understand soon enough when it is your turn to give a daughter away. Elrond must now have two taken from him.” Before Orophin thought of how to respond he was called behind him by Anameleth and turned to see her approaching with Véredhiel reaching for him in her arms. She giggled happily when he took her and clapped her little hands against his chest with a squeal. Orophin smiled genuinely and cooed to his daughter, rubbing his nose into her cheek playfully as her lips formed nonsensical baby words in a high-pitched voice.
It was then that Glorfindel’s words hit home and he could think of nothing worse, short of seeing Gwaeron taken from him, than Véredhiel leaving him alone. Ana left them upon seeing her husband approach and Glorfindel needed only to look Orophin in the eyes to see that nothing else need be said. Orophin had now, a small taste, of what Elrond would probably feel for the rest of his life. Véredhiel placed her chubby hands on either side of his face and seemed to study him closely as tears began to well in his eyes. She jabbered something unintelligible in a softer voice and then simply laid herself on one shoulder close to his neck in exhaustion, breathing deeply while he rubbed her back with one large hand. All he knew was right then, he would hold and protect her as a father only could.


Chapter 12 - Chapter Twelve

Title: Faril Nin My Huntress
Genre: Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Rating: PG-13 – R (for graphic violence detail)
Characters: Orophin/OFC
Time: Begins before the Fellowship come into Lórien in TA 3018… Ends FA 250.
Chapter(s): 12/12
Summary: “I can assure you, the man waiting to be crowned king of a long monarch-deprived land such as this will not achieve slumber on the eve of it.”
Author: Codi Lyn
Disclaimer: I realize that Arwen was the last elf born in Middle Earth but I am changing it with my license as the author. Also, I don’t know quite what season it is when the Fellowship are in Lórien but I’ve also changed a bit of stuff in the timeline as well (i.e. Legolas having just left and then a few months later they’re in Lórien, which is not movie or book-verse…oh well). I don’t own anything (except for my OC’s) and it all belongs to Tolkien, the mastah.
Author’s Note: “Aiya” means “hail” in Sindarin, I believe.

Chapter 12

Orophin maintained a low profile around lord Elrond for many days after his revelation, though he was by no means less affectionate towards Gwaeron, and contented himself with spending as much time with Verry as he could. There were no more attacks, although few villages had not been affected by the marauders, and they gave their aid wherever they were able without staying too long. Once passed through the Eastfold, spirits and nerves rose each day they came closer to Minas Tirith. Orophin and his lady grew anxious for their wedding to take place, Gwaeron could hardly contain her joy on seeing her brother crowned, and there were mixed feelings all around when it came to Estel and the Evenstar’s union, though the majority were thrilled.
The largely elven company passed into Anórien at a comfortable pace and took a rest for the night at a distance of some fifty miles from the City. They would arrive in three or four days at their leisure.
As the meal was being partaken of that evening Arwen and Gwaeron sat together and spoon-fed Véredhiel some mashed vegetables as Elrond ate his dinner peacefully beside the ladies. Orophin sat across from them a good distance from the fire and watched with a smile as Verry babbled and spit her food out to dribble down her chin.
“Come now, love. Swallow your din, Véredhiel.” Gwaeron made faces and coaxed her daughter to keep a bite down. Arwen held her sitting up in her lap and wondered to her step-sister,
“Do you think she doesn’t like these peas? Perhaps something else would be better.” The lady-ranger merely shook her head and laughed in defeat as she playfully wiped Véredhiel’s mouth.
“Oh no, she likes them all right. She’s simply toying with us. She’ll let us know when she’s hungry, just let her down for now, Arwen.” With a shrug she did so and put the baby on her belly on the short browning grass. As Gwaeron and Arwen continued to eat and talk, Orophin set aside his empty plate and watched his daughter intently, propping his elbows on his knees. Craning her neck, Véredhiel noticed her father and her eyes brightened to match his. Eagerly she pushed down on the ground and shuffled forward a little before realizing her knees could support her and worked them forward as well one at a time. Orophin smiled encouragingly and reached out a hand to beckon her closer. With a delightful squeal she moved a little faster and, though she stumbled, crawled in a straight line toward her ada. When her tiny hand hooked onto his fingers, he pulled her up into his lap and laughed as she squealed baby sounds.
“Ah-dadadadadadah!” Elrond and the others turned to look at them and Gwaeron clapped her hands with a laugh.
“She said Ada! Orophin did you hear her?” He looked at her and grinned before holding his daughter up to see and hear. Elrond could not help but smile at the scene he, himself, had once been a part of and felt a bittersweet sense of pride in his daughter for choosing so worthy of an elf to be this child’s ‘Ada,’ her father.
The White City glowed in an ethereal light as the moon reflected off the ivory-like walls against the mountainside. They reached the city not a moment before midnight and, though hardly a soul stirred in the whole place, they were escorted by the new steward, lord Faramir, in a beautiful procession. The young man still wore a sling from his injuries sustained during the war, but was surprisingly a very respectful and wizened man beyond his years from even their first impression of him.
The company was quiet and rarely spoke as they rode up the many levels to where their rooms had been supplied for them and awaited only the occupants. Gwaeron was caught up in a mix of feelings upon entering the city and was nothing short of giddy in anticipation of the coronation. She remembered many aspects of the white castle from long ago trips here with her brother and felt remorse where certain buildings and battlements had been destroyed by the war.
“Lord Elessar has been in the tents on Pelennor these weeks until his coronation and instructed me to convey his deepest regrets and apologies for not being able to greet you. I believe he thought it inappropriate to welcome you to a city not yet his. Though most already accept him as our leader and would not object, there are still those here who keep to the oldest ways.” Arwen and Gwaeron’s expressions were clearly disappointed, but his sister clearly understood the symbolic reasoning behind his actions and accepted them. Faramir continued as they dismounted and servants approached to tend their many steeds.
“His coronation is set for tomorrow, so now if you will excuse me, your maid and man servants will lead you to your chambers.” He bowed low with a hand on his breast and left them to follow the men and women assigned them.
Véredhiel was carefully transferred to Gwaeron’s shoulder from Orophin’s as she slept and a chambermaid came up to Gwaeron with a curtsey.
“My lady, you are Gwaeron? The Elessar’s sister?” With a proud smile, she nodded and adjusted Verry upon her chest.
“I am, and what is your name?” The lesser woman blushed and curtsied again.
“Ceana, my lady. If you would follow me, I’ll take you to your rooms.” Before following her, Gwaeron backed away to Orophin and let him lean down to kiss her gently.
“You’ll come to me shortly and change my bandages?” He confirmed with her and she grinned while raising an eyebrow coyly.
“You have a servant to do that for you, my love.” She teased, yet he growled.
“I would rather have you, faril nin.” She giggled and kissed him again with a nod. Orophin stroked his daughter’s hair and kissed her plump cheek sweetly.
“I’ll see you soon, meleth nin.” She murmured and turned away to walk behind her maidservant.
Ceana led her down several halls and at last into a large room with a balcony and mattresses fit for royalty. In the corner across from the bed, Gwaeron was delighted to see a small carved out crib for Véredhiel to sleep in. She walked over to it and smiled at a tiny garland made of baby’s breath hanging off of one corner. Verry snuggled comfortably into the tiny pillow and covers as she was set down while Gwaeron, herself, yawned and began untying her braids methodically.
“Shall I help you undress, my lady?” Ceana offered as the ranger walked toward the balcony and admired the luminous view. She shook her head but leaned to one side and fluffed out her hair as she answered,
“Oh no, that’s all right. But I am going to another’s room to freshen his bandages and I should like it if you would stay here with my daughter. Is that alright?” The chambermaid nodded hastily and opened the door as Gwaeron made to leave, adding,
“Lady Gwaeron, if it is the lord Orophin you seek, his rooms are left down the hallway at the very last door.” Gwaeron smiled with a light blush as Ceana curtsied again and let her make her way down the torch-lit hall.
The afore mentioned door opened just as Gwaeron came to it and she nearly collided with a tall young man she assumed to be her fiancée’s manservant. He immediately apologized to her and bowed in respect before she could silence him, but, with a smile, she curtsied as well and he was quickly on his way with a rushed, ‘good eve.’ Stepping through the partially opened door, she peaked in to see Orophin stretching out and flexing his right arm. He gasped audibly when it pained him but turned around quickly when the noise of her footfalls at last reached him.
“I thought you would be a little longer. Herumon set out fresh cloths for you to use, they’re on the bed.” She listened to him and went to sit on the mattress and sort the gauzes from the salves to her liking. He pulled off his jerkin and sat next to her with an arm over his head to give her access to the wrappings around his waist.
“These shrapnel marks are healing well. I don’t think they will leave scars for long.” She remarked tiredly and barely suppressed a yawn. He chuckled and stiffly put down his arm once she had finished.
“I daresay they won’t. You are exhausted, faril nin, will you not rest tonight?” Gwaeron shrugged.
“I believe my fatigue is quickly overpowering my excitement, orod nin. You need not worry, tonight I will sleep soundly.” He kissed her brow affectionately and lingered briefly.
“I certainly hope so. Tomorrow is going to be a long day for us.” His huntress smiled, leaning into the embrace he freely offered.
“I love you, Orophin.” She sighed peacefully and said nothing for a while, vaguely monitoring his breathing and heartbeat that drummed out so steadily against her. This felt like home. Her family around her and resting in the arms of the elf she loved more than her own life.
Orophin felt her relax completely against him and only a moment passed before he was assured of her slumber by her slackened hands around his waist. He began to hum a gently melody and leaned her back on one arm as he stood and bent over to gather her to him. He was thankful for his increasing strength now that his wounds were mending and continued his song as he carried his betrothed down the empty passageways. Then he stopped.
“Blast.” He cursed quietly under his breath. He didn’t know where her room was. Contemplating how to proceed he looked down to the woman in his arms. He didn’t want to wake her, she was finally calm in her sleep. He sighed and shook her gently.
“Faril nin, Gwaeron, wake up my love.” She shifted her cheek on his bandaged chest and waited a moment before mumbling,
“Where is Verry?” Orophin smirked.
“I was about to ask the same thing, meleth nin. Where are you rooms from mine?” She smiled with her eyes closed still.
“An elf is lost? Never have I heard such a thing.” She teased him and he tickled her underarm until she opened her eyes and giggled delightfully.
“A miscalculation not to be repeated, I assure you, faril nin. Could you kindly direct me?” Sleepily, she pointed ahead of him and mumbled,
“Six or seven doors down, I think.” His brow rose intelligently.
“You think? Well, is it six or seven, Gwaeron? I cannot be waking everyone.” Her eyes slipped closed again and she murmured near incoherently,
“Mmm… six.” Orophin walked to the sixth door and managed to knock on it with his hands still thoroughly occupied. Steps whispered behind the door and in an instant he was face to face with the balrog-slayer in a large jerkin and hastily applied breeches. Silence. Glorfindel eyed the shirtless warden and slumbering damsel and crossed his arms with a knowing, yet amused, expression. Gwaeron opened her eyes long enough to peak over her shoulder at the golden elf and then tucked herself away again without a word.
“Can I help you?” Glorfindel asked smoothly and smiled as a light blush crept up Orophin’s neck to his cheeks. He cleared his throat.
“Ah, wrong door. Sorry, good eve.” He inclined his head respectfully and turned sharply to make for the next door down. Gwaeron began giggling against him and it soon turned to a quiet laugh.
“Seventh.” She squeaked out as he came up to the door and let her down. He rolled his eyes.
“Remind me never to trust you with directions again. Surely lord Glorfindel by now thinks we’ve skipped the ceremony and gone straight to the wedding night!” She covered a smile with her slender hand and composed herself, whispering to him more seriously once calmed,
“He does not. Lord Glorfindel knows you and I are too mature and sensible to forgo decorum and modesty so lightly as that. He knows we would never do anything so blatantly foolish.” Her reasoning was well founded from having known the balrog-slayer for most of her life in Rivendell, and there was nothing for Orophin to do besides roll his eyes and flush yet again. Crossing his arms he leaned heavily on the doorframe and tilted his head to look at her with a small smirk in the corner of his mouth.
“It is nearly dawn, faril nin. Go and sleep while you can. I will come for you in the morning.” She smiled at him sweetly and lifted onto her toes to kiss him softly. She opened the large wooden door as quietly as she could and slipped through it with silent steps. A gentle ‘good night’ was whispered through the crack and Orophin turned to walk to his rooms alone.
But he had yet more to do this night e’er the sun rose, and quickly he pulled on a tunic and girt himself with a belt to make his way to the stables once more. There was no stable hand to assist or hinder his progress and he found Laesneniel in a stall close to Voronwië and the elven steeds. He led the great mare out and massaged her thick muscles before mounting upon her bareback.
Motioning her down several levels of the city, Orophin mentally went over all that he needed to do and say. There was no doubt in his mind of his being permitted to marry Gwaeron, but nerves were getting the best of him all the same. He and Aragorn had come to be as close as brothers in his lifetime and each would trust the other with his life. After the war and hard times that had lasted for so long, Orophin, himself, could think of no better end than for both the King and his sister to be married and happy. A relatively alert guard attended him at the city gate and inquired respectfully,
“My lord, may I assist you?” Orophin nodded in response.
“Yes, I am going to speak with Elessar. Could you let me through?” He earned a furrowed brow and shifting in stance from the soldier and the man reasoned,
“My lord, surely the Telcontar is resting. Perhaps in the morning…” He trailed off when Orophin began to laugh and shake his head at him.
“I can assure you, the man waiting to be crowned king of a long monarch-deprived land such as this will not achieve slumber on the eve of it. But I beg you to allow me through for I am a comrade of your Elessar and my business with him is not mundane.” With a smart nod the guard relented and summoned for the smaller horse-gate to be opened and Orophin was let through.
The Pelennor was quiet as his mare picked her way through several tents and lodgings where the men lay sleeping, many simply resting on the earth outside for as nice as the evening had proved to be. Continuing on, Orophin heard amidst the silence one tune being played upon a harp and a rugged voice singing in the fair speech. The warden dismounted and led the animal onward and around a small canvas-tethered home where a fire burned and two figures sat beside it. In a moment, and before he could grasp Laesneniel’s reins tighter, Orophin felt a hard shoulder ram into his back and he was tackled forward into the light where the musicians silenced and almost at once began to laugh.
“Aiya! It is Orophin come to greet us at last, Elrohir. Release him!” Elladan arose and set aside his small harp to assist the fallen galadrim. Elrohir quickly stood and laughed himself as he offered Orophin his hand as well. With a groan he stood without any of their aid and cursed them colorfully in the woodland tongue, making his way to the frightened mare dancing anxiously in place not far from them.
“Forgive my step-brothers, Orophin, truly it was in jest.” Aragorn approached him and gained a smile from the hurt elf before embracing him heartily. Orophin groaned once more.
“Last you saw me I was dying, my brother. Even one saved from death must needs recover.” Aragorn let off and the twins shared the same expression of a confused frown. Orophin waved them off and sat stiffly on the bare earth close to the fire where Aragorn sat at his side.
“Last I saw you I had not known your injuries to be so severe, my friend. Is that why you left so suddenly with Rúmil?” Orophin nodded.
“Aye, it was foolish of me to hide it for so long, and it nearly cost me my life, for I had been poisoned.” Wincing, he placed a hand over his affected shoulder wound.
“How did my sister react to you?” The ranger inquired carefully and Orophin significantly relaxed at her mention.
“Gwaeron was thankful that I had lived at all. She has been caring for me these months, and very well, I would add. In fact she is the reason I come to you this night, Aragorn.” The Dúnedain tilted his head curiously and beckoned Orophin to continue.
“For nigh on sixty years I have loved your sister, my friend and, were it not for the objection I felt she carried against binding to one of the Firstborn, I would have done this a fortnight after meeting her. Have I your permission to make Gwaeron my life-mate and wife?” A wide grin had been building upon Aragorn’s face throughout his speech, but now it erupted into a laugh of pure joy as he clasped arms with the fair-haired elf soon to be his brother.
“No man could take more of my sister’s heart than she has already given you, my brother. Truly, you deserve her.” Aragorn consented gladly and was pulled into a firm embrace of quaking laughter. The group celebrated and congratulated until sunrise. At last Orophin dragged himself away in remembrance of promising to come to his huntress in the morning.
“Surely you will want the ceremony to be as soon as possible.” Aragorn offered as he walked him to his horse. Orophin nodded.
“At your earliest convenience; it need not be a large ceremony. Indeed, I believe Véredhiel has risen enough suspicion as it is than for us to publicly announce that we have an illegitimate child, though a farce it would be.” He rubbed his bearded jaw in thought and agreed with Orophin that it would not be wise.
“I feel the same, the people would hardly believe the truth of the matter if they caught sight of the child. She could be no one’s daughter but yours and my sister’s, that much is certain.” Orophin mounted his tall mare with a grimace and settled on her back as Aragorn laid a hand on his leg in assurance.
“Tomorrow night, then, we shall have a small ceremony for you. Gandalf can do the honors of binding you, unless you desire my step-father to do so.” Orophin sighed.
“I do not think lord Elrond has approved of me completely just yet, my friend. I would not force him into that and Mithrandir, I know, would be glad to bind us. I thank you, my friend.” Aragorn nodded with a smile and clapped his knee.
“I look forward to having you as my brother at last, Orophin. I will see you soon.” With a nod Orophin trotted off to the gleaming city and yelled back to the ranger,
“Next I see you, you will be Elessar Telcontar! Till then, my king!”
Ceana woke Gwaeron that morning much earlier than she would have liked but there was much to be done in preparation for the day. Two seamstresses arrived just after she had broken her fast and draped the loveliest silk chemise of pearly cream and gathered sleeves on her with a deep blue velvet skirt and matching bodice on top. Once ensured that the fit was near perfect, the ladies set to work embroidering silver leaves and tiny jewels into her bodice and matching designs at her request for Véredhiel’s linen baby-gown.
Ceana teased and fussed over Gwaeron’s deep auburn hair but at last contented herself by braiding satin ribbons the same color as the chemise on either side of her head so that the mass of curls cascaded down her back. The lady ranger broke free from her eager ladies-in-waiting long enough to bathe her daughter and freshen her own face. Elbereth only knew what the women would have made her up to look like with their creams and powders.
Once outfitted and given a set of dyed blue slippers, Ceana came forth and held out to her mistress a beautiful, but simple, mithril circlet.
“My lady, master Elrond bade me give you this, only this morning. He said your father was the king of the Dúnedain and that you are his princess.” Gwaeron took the tiara carefully and smiled at it, moving over to the looking glass as she set it on her head. The metal fit her perfectly and rested just above her brow to highlight the clear gleam in her eyes.
“La la la, mamanananama…” Véredhiel drew her mother’s attention as she crawled uncomfortably in the long gown given to her. Gwaeron knelt down, picked her up and bounced her on one hip with a laugh.
“How do we look, Verry? Are you ready to see your uncle?” Verry grinned a toothless smile and clapped her hands as a knock sounded from the door. Ceana went to answer it while her mistress played happily with her daughter as they waited.
Orophin was led into Gwaeron’s chambers and upon seeing his faril could not resist but just to stop and stare at the beautiful creature before him. She looked every bit the royalty allotted to her family but with the added charm of a gloriously happy woman. At last when she looked at him she, also, paused to admire her betrothed in his deep burgundy red and black tunic, black leather breeches, and captivating blonde tresses that hung low around his face and over his chest.
Stepping at once to her, he reached for her hand and kissed it with a new tenderness. Véredhiel lay quietly cozied against her mama’s shoulder while Gwaeron’s gaze locked with the elf she loved.
“Would you do me the honor, my princess, of letting me escort you this day?” Ceana giggled in a hushed voice to one side of the couple and Verry looked over to her and waved innocently with a gummy smile, earning the maidservant’s wave in return.
The wonderfully deep lilt in Orophin’s voice distracted Gwaeron for several moments until she registered what was actually spoken and inclined her head regally.
“I would have no other, orod nin.” Smoothly, he took her hand in the crook of his arm and led her slowly to the door. As they walked through the many halls Gwaeron looked on happily at the numerous banners and garlands draped and positioned just so on every mantle and sconce. Eventually, she thought of this and decided to ask Orophin subtly,
“How do you know your way already? Was it not only last eve when we could not find my own rooms without mishap?” She sent him a sly smile and he rolled his crystal blue eyes humorlessly though his grin reached her momentarily.
“I was not idle while away from you faril nin, and this morning I have been on the ceremony grounds while waiting for your ready. A good many of your friends are here and wish to see you.” She smiled and shrugged in attempt to lessen her jitters. Their progress was not terribly fast, as Orophin did not want to stress his leg wounds by overdoing it so early in the day. A moment passed before he stopped and leaned toward her a little, holding his fingers out for Verry to grasp.
“I went to your brother last night.” He mentioned by the by and his eyes glanced to her face as he smiled in forewarning of good news.
“You and I shall be bound tomorrow night. Aragorn approved for us to have a small ceremony spoken by Mithrandir.” Gwaeron turned to him fully and threw her available arm around his neck tightly, squealing quietly in delight.
“Oh I’ll never be able to contain so much joy, Orophin. It’s really happening!” He laughed at her excitement and joined her in it as he teased,
“Did you not believe that it would, faril nin?”
“Of course I knew it would, it is just so suddenly very close when we have waited for so long…” Véredhiel played contentedly with Gwaeron’s loose curls as her Ada finally stole a kiss from her radiant Mother.


Chapter 13 - Chapter Thirteen

Title: Faril Nin My Huntress
Genre: Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Rating: PG-13 – R (for graphic violence detail)
Characters: Orophin/OFC
Time: Begins before the Fellowship come into Lórien in TA 3018… Ends FA 250.
Chapter(s): 13/13 Would you look at that? There’s a surprise!
Summary: “But I would also like to honor someone, and those would be my sister Gwaeron, her life-mate Orophin of Lothlorien, and their young daughter Véredhiel. May the Valar bless your lives together. You have both certainly earned your happiness.”
Author: Codi Lyn
Disclaimer: I realize that Arwen was the last elf born in Middle Earth but I am changing it with my license as the author. Also, I don’t know quite what season it is when the Fellowship are in Lórien but I’ve also changed a bit of stuff in the timeline as well (i.e. Legolas having just left and then a few months later they’re in Lórien, which is not movie or book-verse…oh well). I don’t own anything (except for my OC’s) and it all belongs to Tolkien, the mastah.

Chapter 13

The coronation was beautiful; everyone stood on the highest deck to see their new king speak for the first time and greet them all on his journey through the crowd. Gwaeron’s eyes shone with tears as he sang and she waited patiently as her brother made his way to them through the throng of his people. Véredhiel giggled and squealed happily in her father’s arms, unable to keep still as he tried to hold onto, and quiet, her. But her happy laughter had drawn the king’s attention to them and as Orophin and those around him inclined their heads in respect, Gwaeron found herself unable to do so, nor was it necessary. Immediately, Aragorn met her with a fiercely strong bear hug and she returned it fully as much as she could.
“I’m so proud of you, Estel.” She murmured against his shoulder and he pulled away with a smile more content than she had ever seen as he looked her over.
“You look beautiful, Gwaeron.” She laughed as he spun her round and then looked to Orophin and the little one in his arms. Aragorn reached for her and tossed the young toddler before resting her against his breastplate, both of them laughing as he did so.
“My niece has grown too much since I last saw her!” He exclaimed with a playful look and clasped Orophin’s forearm companionably.
“She made for her first crawl not a week ago to her father.” Gwaeron informed her brother proudly and linked arms with her fiancée while the king played with his niece. Glancing back, the lady ranger caught sight of her nervous step-sister standing beside her father and, discreetly, Gwaeron beckoned her to come.
Arwen stepped forward gracefully and came into the Elessar’s view just as Gwaeron took her daughter back into waiting arms. At first Aragorn was in shock upon seeing his beau; after dreaming of her for so long to keep sane on the lonely nights, after almost losing her twice and nearly losing his hope along with her. She stood timidly in the midst of the other on-lookers, yet all he could see was the grace and beauty he had missed from the moment he parted from her so long ago in Rivendell. He made his way to her and after a moment of uncertainty she curtsied low out of respect to his kingship. Quickly lifting her by the chin, Estel hesitated only a moment at the gentle touch of her skin before lurching quite suddenly forward and pulling her into a kiss that had waited too long to be partaken of.
The immediate crowd clapped in congratulations to their king and Orophin pulled Gwaeron close into his side as they watched the tender reunion take place before them.
It was no surprise that the king and his betrothed were inseparable the remainder of the day. Immediately after the grand ceremony, the enormous crowd adjourned to the very large feasting room that had been rearranged by their own Elessar in the style of the Rohirrim halls in order to fit the multitude into the great feast.
Gwaeron was seated to the left of her brother, with Arwen and Lord Elrond on his right while Orophin sat by her. The soon to be king of Rohan sat close by, and in Orophin’s lap Verry squealed and made faces happily at the fair-headed rohirrin. Noticing his daughter’s impolite behavior, Orophin soon had her distracted with a crunchy bread roll to gum on. Eomer leaned over to the warden.
“How old is your little one, lord elf?” Orophin looked down fondly to his elfling and carefully grazed the child’s pointed ears.
“Véredhiel is nearly a mortal year of age, lord Eomer. Have you any children yet?” The horse-lord laughed heartily and then took a draught of ale.
“Nay, the right lass has yet to catch my eye, though there are plenty of beauties roaming about.” Orophin laughed as well, though not as blatantly and nodded in agreement. Then looking to Gwaeron at his side, he remarked,
“The Valar have blessed me tremendously to give me such a woman as I now have.” Gwaeron turned to her betrothed once she felt his eyes on her and smiled at him and then Eomer once she caught sight of him. After a nod, Eomer looked back to Orophin and slapped his shoulder.
“If what I have heard from my cousin and seen for myself is still true, then I would agree you have a fine woman, my friend.”
“Indeed, I have.” Gwaeron looked back at him and exited the conversation she was listening to between her brother and Arwen to hold her betrothed’s hand. With a pleasant kiss on his lips, she smiled up at him and leaned on his shoulder contentedly, reaching out to hand her daughter the breadcrumb she had dropped on the table.
“Will you last the night, faril nin? Already I see you tire.” She took a deep breath and sat up straight after blinking a few times.
“I will last for a number of dances, I think. That, after all, is my favorite part of any celebration. I just hope they begin soon.” She gave a small yawn after the last statement and then laughed as her daughter immediately mimicked the action. To her right Aragorn rose with his goblet and turned to his left with a toast to propose.
“My guests, and my people… You have honored me today more than anything I’ve ever known, and I thank you. But I would also like to honor someone, and those would be my sister Gwaeron, her life-mate Orophin of Lothlorien, and their young daughter Véredhiel. May the Valar bless your lives together. You have both certainly earned your happiness.” The large crowd toasted to them and well wishes could be heard throughout the great hall in more languages than one.
Once the dancing commenced, Gwaeron found herself lasting much longer than she had anticipated. Frodo, happy but still weak, approached her with Sam close by his side and asked if he could take Verry for a bit, since he did not intend to dance. With a grin for the halflings she let him sit with her and it was not long before Orophin took her hand and led her to the enormous floor now clear of tables and chairs. With a laugh and glance around the crowded room, she let him take her near the center and deftly slide an arm around her waist.
“You look incredibly beautiful, faril nin. I am unable to direct my gaze in any other direction.” His murmur against her ear sent an enticing tingle through her and she smiled warmly up at her handsome fiancée, her mind hardly registering the dance steps as he led her expertly through the music. Gripping his hand a little tighter she remarked,
“I am pleased to have caught your interest so, my husband. A wife’s duty is to hold her spouse’s attention, I believe. It is good to know I am ahead of the game.” Before Orophin could compliment her further, Glorfindel and his elleth partner, Meldiriel, interrupted them.
“Husband and wife already, my friend? I am afraid I missed the joining.” He jested rather loudly, hinting at a few ales gone by on his part. Orophin elbowed the waltzing elf in the chest and shot him a warning eye.
“I will invite you proper, my friend, when you are no longer intoxicated with the king’s good mead.” The golden-haired elf laughed in full cry at the insinuation but did not deny it and continued to twirl the lovely elleth in his arms with surprising finesse. Flirtatiously Glorfindel leaned over and pressed a warm kiss against Gwaeron’s blushed cheek and winked at the warden before he could react.
“It’s lucky you got to her when you did, Oro… tweren’t for you, she’d be my huntress.” Tersely, Orophin led his young fiancée away from the boisterous edhel and returned his regard back to her diligently.
“Now, where were we my love?” She introduced once more and bat her long lashes attractively in his direction. He chuckled deep in his chest and nuzzled the curls above her ear.
“I believe you were ahead of the game…” In a moment off-guard, Gwaeron squealed as two fingers came behind her and jabbed her ribs under her arms in a ticklish manner. Shocked, but with a ready smile, she turned around in Orophin’s grasp and cried out again upon seeing Legolas gazing at her with a puckish smug. He laughed as she threw her arms around him and he spun her in the air as her husband-to-be looked on the reunion with a grin.
“Where have you been? I expected to see you at the ceremony this morning!” She chastised him playfully and pulled back as he held her hands to get a good look at her.
“I was at the ceremony, but arrived later than the rest with Meldiriel. We couldn’t get through the crowd until the end, though we could see, and by the time we had, you were all come here. You look beautiful, Ron, every bit the princess you are.” He explained before touching her circlet with his middle finger and leaving a kiss on her cheek. Blushing at her friend’s compliments, she backed into Orophin’s chest again and turned it on the young Prince, teasingly,
“Late with Meldiriel, hmm? You two are at last bringing it to a head, are you? I can hardly believe you are not joined yet.” He winked to her knowingly and glanced around the room before his bright azure gaze fell on the golden blonde elleth dancing far off.
“I assure you, I mean to remedy that very soon. Tonight, even, if my luck is about me.” He turned back to the loving couple before him and smiled in happiness for his friends. More than luck had brought them together, he knew.
“It seems this is the season for lovers to be united. Your brothers, both Rúmil and Estel, are bound or bound to be so, I understand.” They nodded and he leaned in to shake the tall warden’s hand and kiss his young ranger’s knuckles affectionately.
“I can only hope Meldiriel and I will be half as happy as the two of you… And speaking of a certain sly elleth who has been avoiding me all even, I believe I shall go and stake my claim. If you’ll both excuse me…” With a laugh they watched him skillfully weave through the crowd of dancers and instantly doubted his shallow excuses from earlier concerning him and Meldiriel amongst the crowds of the coronation ceremony. Orophin pulled her back into his arms and began a different style of dance as a new song rang through the heated air.
Throughout the evening it seemed Gwaeron was a popular choice of partner; Mithrandir claimed her for his only set, Faramir was discovered as an obliging conversationalist and must have found her as likewise for he, with Orophin’s permission, claimed her for the five dances in which his rohirric love interest was occupied with another. Eomer asked her once, along with Rúmil, Legolas, and her step-brothers; and before her legs finally gave way, Orophin guided her through her last and escorted her back to their rooms.
Gwaeron was happy to find that Ceana had put Véredhiel to bed with no problems and had been sitting with the child until her mistress returned. Tenderly, the mother kissed her young elfling and rubbed her rounded back until she was comforted and assured of her daughter’s content. Orophin came behind her and gently pulled the ribbons and braids from the soft mass of curls, her tiara carefully being laid upon a nearby table.
“I’ve never seen a woman so lovely as you were tonight as you danced, faril nin. I could not have been more proud to call you my own, for my own you soon shall be.” Taking a steadying breath she turned around and folded into his embrace, smiling as his long hair tickled her eyelids and mingled with her dark lashes.
“I cannot wait. I know this is right more than I know my own name.” She leaned her head back to gaze up at him.
“Every time your eyes see me I feel my heart swell and I know I am safe. I cannot express how happy I am with you and Véredhiel…” Unhesitating, Orophin swooped down and steadily held his lips against hers in a tender kiss. He did not relinquish for some time but when he did at last, he remained only a breath a way from her warm skin.
“You just did.” His simple reply took her breath away as he pulled her to him for one last good night kiss.


Chapter 14 - Epilogue

Title: Faril Nin My Huntress
Genre: Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Rating: PG-13 – R (for graphic violence detail)
Characters: Orophin/OFC
Time: …Ends FA 250.
Chapter(s): Epilogue
Author: Codi Lyn
Author’s Note: Thank you everyone who’s invested their time in my story. This has been my best fan fiction, by far the most time consuming, and I appreciate every encouraging comment I’ve ever received for it. Enjoy the last of my story… Unless, of course, there’s more…
Epilogue
Daugion hunted through the vast gardens of Lórien in search of his elfling son, who’d once again gone missing. Verry would have his ears clipped if she found out the toddler had scampered out of his sight one more time. Thirteen years old and already skilled at hiding from his Ada, it was not a promising start, especially with another on the way. A deep murmuring and childish giggling reached the warden’s elven ears in a benched area of the naturally manicured garden and he silently made his way to it. Around a wall of ivy he let out a sigh and folded his arms in consternation.
“Nínuion, where are you supposed to be, my son?” His voice cut through the lad’s merry laughter and both Nínuion and the elf carrying him turned to see the chastising father, though one was less surprised than the other that they’d been caught. With a grin, Orophin lifted his grandson higher against his chest and glanced to the curly-headed elfling before addressing his son-in-law.
“Daugion, come now, he just wanted a bit of a story.” Nínuion puckered his lower lip out and hugged tighter to his doting grandfather.
“Orophin, please, my son knows the answer, let him speak it.” Daugion looked pointedly to the child as he was set down and walked before his father guiltily.
“Da, should been with you at les-le-…book time.” The warden could not restrain a small smirk from passing over his face and shared a wink with Orophin before kneeling.
“By the sound of it you are needing a new lesson, young one. But it is already getting late; you get on to your mother this instant. I want you there when I arrive.” His tone brooked no room for argument and the bright green-eyed elfling nodded furiously before running off out of the gardens as quick as his little legs would allow him. Daugion stood and smiled at the retreating frame of his firstborn, chuckling along with Orophin as he did.
“He never tires of the stories, my son, it is the reading he does not yet take pleasure in.” Both elves began their way to the talans and Daugion shook his head.
“Yes, well enjoy it or not, it must be learned. You are returned earlier from Imladris than we had thought. Is all well with our lord Celeborn?” Orophin nodded absently and hooked a thumb through his bow-strap.
“My Lord is well enough. The longing for our Lady is clear in his eyes and I think very soon he plans to sail.” The younger of the two let silence fall for several moments, but eventually noted the melancholy in his father-in-law’s countenance and inquired gently,
“And your brothers, there, how do they do in their father’s home?” Then the marchwarden grinned, happier times leaking through his expression at last.
“Still two of the most fool-hardy elves you will ever look for. Though Elrohir seemed to have an elleth in his sights, I saw no sign of slowing down for either of them. Elladan, I heard, has been making several trips to Ithillien for Eru knows what reason. He hasn’t let a word loose for anyone and seems quite proud of the secret he’s been keeping.” He paused to look about him and then turned his attention to Daugion.
“I haven’t asked you yet, how is my daughter? Does she yet have the twins I’ve been warning you of?” The edhel laughed out right and shook his head, clasping his hands behind his back.
“I can only hope you are wrong about the twins, Orophin. One at a time is fast enough for my liking. No doubt by the end of a century Véredhiel will have given me more sons than I can count on one hand. But she is a beautiful mother.” The widower draped an arm across his shoulders and smiled wistfully, looking ahead at something not quite there. With a quirk to his lips he looked sidelong at his son-in-law and pat him on the back.
“I think I will visit my children in Gondor in some weeks. They remind me so much of her, you know, the Dúnedain. Ostoher’s son has just had his second and his brother Elendur with his wife are expecting a child. Soon I will have grand and great grandchildren to fill all of Arnor.” They climbed the steps to Daugion’s talan and were welcomed by the warm aroma of a hot dinner. Véredhiel was a wonderful cook, especially when with child, for she always hungered for the heartier meals of Men. Entering the wooden flet, she recognized her husband’s footfalls and called behind her as she stirred a thick soup,
“Daugion, can you change Nínuion into some clean clothes? He got into Elbereth only knows what on his way home and I’m nearly finished with dinner.” With a wink, he went to tend his son and informed his wife fleetingly,
“My love, I brought someone for our even meal, I didn’t think you’d mind.” Turning to look behind her she smiled brightly as her father walked toward the kitchen. With a squeal of delight, she went to him and he wrapped his arms around his pregnant daughter as tight as he could.
“Ada! Oh, I thought you still in Rivendell! When did you arrive? I hope I made enough soup, I’m running low on potatoes but I could throw in a few more.” With a laugh he kissed her cheek and let his hands feel of the child within her.
“Calm, my love, there is enough food to feed all of my galadrim for a fortnight! You need not add more for myself alone.” She scoffed and put her hands over his on her pregnancy.
“Da, I don’t think you know how much this elleth eats when there’s a little one on the way.” She giggled and kissed his cheek sweetly as he grinned, leaning down to whisper in jest,
“Can you feel the twins yet? I told you not two months after you conceived there were two in your womb.” She smiled and looked around for her husband before murmuring in reply,
“At night when they won’t let me rest, I could swear I’ll feel more than two sets of feet kicking at me.” He shared a secret grin with her and let her return to cooking as Nínuion and Daugion came into the room. The little one went straight to his grandpa and was in his arms in no time as the warden came behind his wife and wrapped his arms around her and her full belly, kissing her neck with love. But suddenly she stiffened and the spoon fell as her hand went to her stomach.
“Oh.” Daugion turned to her and asked in concern,
“Verry? What is it?” She shut her eyes.
“Ow.” He put his hands on her belly and felt it clench. He glanced to Orophin and the elder nodded. It was time. The marchwarden took his grandson and ran quickly to fetch a healer, exciting the elfling with news that he’d soon be a big brother.
Many anxious hours later Orophin, Véredhiel, and Daugion each held a tiny little bundle with tightly shut eyes and gently pointed ears. Two girls, and one boy with green eyes and faintly blonde hair.
Orophin could never bring himself to sail into Valinor and leave his family, leave her. Daugion and Verry stopped having children after twelve children and their seventh daughter, whom they gave the name Gwaeron.
Anameleth and Rúmil sailed to Valinor with the Lady Galadriel and left Orophin as the Marchwarden of Lothlorien. Meldiriel and Legolas were bound only a few weeks after Orophin and Gwaeron in Minas Tirith and lived in Ithillien for over a hundred years before Meldiriel’s longing for Lórien overcame her and she returned. But more of their tale is to be expanded upon in another story and not to be spoiled here.
Orophin stayed with his firstborn daughter in Lórien but throughout his life visited every one of his grandchildren and told them of their grandmother, their family, and their love that now spread throughout Middle Earth through their children.

Vethed [End]
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