Agarwaen

Part Thirteen
~True Colors Bleed~

Amber shafts fluttered through the mellyrn leaves and patterned onto the smooth floorboards, slowly cooling to crimson and twilight. It felt too large, this place. Revenants lingered in the empty rooms, memories of smooth laughter and echoing footstep. Silence permeated the talan like the shroud that covers a loved one. As the room deepened around him, he didn’t bother to light a candle.

Haldir sat back against the headboard of his long bed, still with his mud-spattered boots on the quilt. His mother would have been angry if she were capable of feeling anything other than despair. One leg drawn up to his chest, his arm curled around his knee and a fist pressed tight against his lips as though to break the silence would shatter him. His mother finally lay asleep in the other room, wearied beyond endurance. Rúmil and Orophin were probably still awake but he couldn’t summon the energy to go and comfort them. Not when he needed to be alone. Haldir squeezed his eyes shut and gripped his hair maintaining his silence. The old saber balanced precariously on the edge of the bed toppled to the floor with an ear-splitting clatter.

Silence flowed in to fill the gap left by the noise. He didn’t pick it up, couldn’t even look at it. So he started when the blade scraped the floorboards.

Fedorian examined the weapon critically, turning it this way and that to catch the little light coming in from the window. “This is disgraceful.” His voice held no contempt and despite being accustomed to roaring orders on the parade ground did not disturb the silence.

Lighting a lamp, he retrieved a wet rag and meticulously wiped all traces of battle from the deep fuller before sliding it back into its battered scabbard. As he set the sword on the mahogany writing desk, he directed a long slow look at the younger elf before saying softly as though fearing to wake a sleeper, “Geilrín will look after her tonight. She gave her some tea to help her sleep.”

He and his wife both were staying to look after the household, now reduced by one. Silivren, though young, had her mother’s gift for healing and intuition and was looking in on little Rúmil and Orophin. Rúmil was too young yet to fully understand what had happened and Orophin was too shocked to break it to him.

Haldir nodded, white-faced. He knew it was his duty to console his brothers but he was grateful to Silivren for doing a duty he didn’t have the strength to yet. His gaze drifted around the room, looking anywhere but at his saber or into his sergeant’s face. His eyes landed on the dented, scarred armor tossed negligently into the corner of a room. Dark splotches of orc blood crusted in the chinks he hadn’t managed to reach. He could find no joy in the destruction of the Dark Lord’s armies and the scattering of his most fearsome servants. Victory had come at far too high a price and not just with the deaths of Elendil and Gil-galad though those had been by far the worst blows. For some.

When he continued to sit without speaking, his sergeant scratched at a bandage beneath his loose tunic which hid a near-mortal injury taken on the plains of Dagorlad. His green eyes measured the young elf keenly. “Our lives are but leaves in the river. Come the floods, we spin and writhe beyond ours or any other’s control save Fate’s. And she can be cruel. We must take things in stride as the Valar will it.”

“Please, Sergeant, spare me platitudes. I have had enough of useless attempts at comfort.”

Fedorian cocked his head, taking in his disheveled appearance. “I daresay you have. Your father is not yet consumed on his pyre and already you disregard his words and wallow in self-pity.” If the young one would not react to condolence, perhaps he would to provocation.

A bright wash of hurt crept up Haldir’s neck and flooded his face. “Are you saying I dishonor him!”

Fedorian closed the bedroom door and perched on the edge of the mattress. “Your father was an honorable and brave man. He died in a manner befitting his station; and he did not forsake his duty though it meant leaving you. He sacrificed himself for our people, for freedom from a great evil so Middle-Earth could be cleansed.”

Haldir retreated into silence again but Fedorian did not stop.

“Soldiers like your father, like you and I, are warriors born and do not forsake life easily. Though the Firstborn are not meant to taste death, we seem to more often in these darkling days. We may choose it in battle or it may come to us unexpectedly. But if you give up now and succumb to despair, your body will linger far longer than your spirit. You will live but you are dead inside. And there’s no sense in that. You have a lot to live for, Haldir. You have many who need you—your little brothers not the least of them. And I daresay your new command will need you as well. The Dark Lord of Mordor may be gone but his servants still plague the land. There is much work to be done. Work must suffice while the heart aches.”

Fedorian, having said his piece, paused a moment and heaved a quick sigh with a prolonged glance towards the door. “That being said, there is no shame in releasing grief. It is better to let it go then to hold onto it and let it devour you from the inside.”

Reaching forward, he cupped a dry cheek; his green eyes searched for and at last caught the glistening silver. Their gazes held for a few seconds longer before something broke and the younger elf closed his eyes, letting his head sink into one hand, his shoulders quaking.

The older officer hooked his fingers behind the back of the younger’s neck and pulled him tight to his shoulder. “Quietly, quietly.”

Though he comforted his young charge then, Fedorian, who eventually became Captain of the Northern Fences, could not let go his own grief when it came for him. It swallowed him whole. Haldir shook his head and banished the unpleasant memories back into his mind’s darkness. So many years had passed and so much had changed between that endless night of outpoured grief in his family talan and where he sat now in a very different talan, a very long way from his home. Haldir let out a slow breath and rested his head back against the smooth bark, his gaze drifting upward to where his companions slept in hammocks strung between the boughs.

Silently, he got his feet under him and stooped to pick up his knife which scraped ever-so-slightly against the floorboards. He stiffened but all stayed still and quiet. Nevertheless, he remained partially crouched, breathing lightly through his nose, every muscle tensed. Minutes passed and his feet began to go numb. Nothing. He gradually let out the inhale he’d been holding and straightened.

“Where are you going?”

Arenath’s wide eyes met his as he whirled round. The smaller elf’s spare frame could scarcely be seen as he leaned over his hammock-bed. But Haldir saw his blue gaze glimmer.

“I am restless, that’s all. Go back to sleep.”

“Nightmares?” Arenath’s bare feet brushed the ground.

Haldir wondered what made the other jump immediately to that conclusion. “Please, Arenath, go back to sleep.”

The other elf shot a nervous glance up into the trees though there had been no movement there to make him do so. Haldir did not follow his gaze. Every hair on the back of his neck stirred with unease. Without pausing for more words, knowing that every second brought him closer to discovery, he glided down the ladder. He didn’t know Arenath had followed him until the elf touched his shoulder.

“He knows where you went this afternoon.”

Fedorian hadn’t been there when Haldir returned. He had been too distracted to notice until his mentor sauntered back some hours later. He’d been hunting. Hunting what he hadn’t said and neither Arenath nor Haldir wanted to ask.

”I know,” Haldir was still walking. Not willing to be left behind, Arenath, after a moment’s pause, caught up with him as they ducked through the willows’ waving branches.

Arenath recognized the path and checked himself sharply, grasping at Haldir’s arm to make him halt too. “Where are you going?” There was a faint trace of panic in the other’s voice.

Haldir shook him off lightly. “I am going to see Brenn.” He couldn’t get the boy’s accusing eyes out of his head. Nor that word. Monster. Especially now, after he had stabbed that man, after Estel found him in the stream… the ranger shouldn’t have had to see him like that.

“What? No, Haldir!” Arenath hissed, glancing back. “Don’t. He’ll know. I cannot lie to him.”

“You haven’t seen him have you?” Haldir suddenly whirled on his heel. “You haven’t gone there once. You don’t even know what he looks like.”

“I don’t want to know,” Arenath squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, his voice dropping another octave until it was barely a whisper. “I—I only see them… when he’s finished with them. I bury them.”

That stopped him. Haldir turned slowly to regard the blue-eyed elf. Mingled revulsion and pity tugged at his heart as he noticed for the first time the heavy circles under Arenath’s eyes, the waxy pallor of the elven skin and the lack luster of his hair. Even the shimmer of starlight around all elves seemed dim around him.

“Say what you wish. It doesn’t matter now.” He still heard Arenath’s footsteps following behind him, soft and tentative but catching up as he hurried through the undergrowth. The moon speared through the bare branches. It was a clear, cold night.

“Why can’t you just leave it alone?”

“Because what he is doing is wrong and you know it.”

“He’s…he’s not well, Haldir. He doesn’t—”

“He knows exactly what he’s doing. And he will not stop.”

“Would you?” Arenath grabbed his arm again, his expression suddenly fierce. His jaw twitched. His blue eyes caught the moonlight and seemed to glow as he stared up into the taller elf’s face. “Would you stop if you knew what he did? If you saw what he did?”

“You forget, Arenath, I did. I watched the mellyrn burn. Rúmil still bears the scars on his arms from it.”

“But at least he still lives,” Arenath almost spat. “You have something to anchor you here.”

“I know their loss hurts still.”

“It has never faded! Not ever! You find it easy enough to wrap yourself in your high virtues and justify yourself by aiding their killers!”

“Don’t you ever tell me that I forget Geilrín or Silivren, Arenath. Do not,” Haldir’s eyes glinted. Their names had been in his thoughts all night and he would not stand Arenath castigating him for forgetting those he had loved as dearly as his own family. It was in part because of them that he refused to join Fedorian’s cause.

“I loved them as much as you did, Arenath. Or has living out here dulled your memory as well as your good sense?”

Arenath felt himself thrust back a pace as Haldir pulled brusquely out of his grip again.

In chilly silence they walked until Haldir began to recognize the trees and the land dipped down sharply into the defile. Ahead he could see the twisted trees bathed in moonlight. A flicker of orange showed the brazier was burning brightly.

A shadow passed before the flame. Arenath drew his breath in sharply.

“You can’t go down there now.”

Haldir didn’t need Arenath to tell him that. He could see Fedorian just as well. His eyes flicked instantly to the little figure he could scarcely glimpse in the yellow light. With the hood over his face, he couldn’t tell if Brenn was awake or not but his heart renewed its throbbing. Tiny rivulets like red ribbons were running down his arms.

“We have to get him out of there.”

Arenath had already started back towards the talan but stopped at those words. A sigh escaped his lips. “You are determined to do this?”

“He is a child.”

The smaller elf beckoned him away from the top of the defile. “They would not have liked this. Geilrín and Silivren. If they knew…”

“I know.” Haldir said, his fingertips brushing the other’s shoulder.

A beat of silence passed. Arenath licked his dry lips, his fingers tugging idly at the loose, ragged tunic he wore for a sleep-shirt. “If I help you…we can go home?”

Haldir could not bear to break the hope behind those blue eyes though a vision of Carlóme’s face if she knew what he was about to do flickered vaguely over his thoughts. He nodded. “I will take you there myself. But if Fedorian discovers our plans too soon all is lost.”

“What would you have me do?”

----------

The camp was quiet in the pre-dawn. Flexing her chilled feet into fur boots, Carlóme rose, wrapping a blanket over herself as she prodded the fire into life. She had just got water boiling for morning tea when Branock strode into the camp looking as fresh as rainwater in a clean tunic and new dye. He smiled on observing the heavy circles under her eyes that were two full shades darker than her usual complexion.

“Trouble sleeping?”

“Something you never have trouble with, I know.”

“My, we are out of temper this morning.”

“Seeing you always puts me out of temper,” she growled, tossing a handful of dry leaves into the water.

Aragorn who had been taking last watch kept a careful eye on him. The man had said his business with the huntswoman this morning was important. But if he insisted on causing trouble, the ranger had no compunction against tossing him out. Zaren who had waited up with him apparently had the same idea.

“Watch your tongue, Branock, or I’ll show you some manners with my boot up your backside.”

“Easy, Cut-throat,” Branock surveyed the thinner man with amusement. “You might start bleeding again.”

Zaren lunged a step forward but Carlóme stopped him with a look.

“Speak your piece, Branock, then get out. You’re spoiling my morning with your ugly face.”

Branock laughed and helped himself to a mug of the tea. “First a thief, then a scruffy ranger—your band’s turning into mine, Dark Car.”

“I don’t take in ruffians, Bran,” she smiled but it was with far less merriment than his. Her words seemed to imply a slight for his face flushed the color of weather-stained brick.

“I didn’t come here to be insulted.”

“Then you really shouldn’t have come here at all.” Carlóme’s eyes had hardened to steel. The javelin she kept ever within arms’ reach was stuck in the ground beside her.

Branock’s eyes flickered over it before his face broke into another disarming smile. “But then I wouldn’t have the pleasure of your company. I always shouldered my fair share of the work, Dark Car, not that you appreciated it.”

“Speaking of shoulders…” Her eyes landed on the grimy bandage peeking out from beneath the man’s loose collar. “What’d you do? Threaten to halve your boys’ coin again?”

By his post Aragorn stirred. He had said nothing to either Carlóme or Zaren about his encounter with the hunter yesterday. Nor of Haldir. He didn’t want them—Carlóme, especially—thinking that maybe the rogue elf had turned Haldir onto his dark path.

Branock glanced all too obviously over his injured shoulder at Aragorn and gave him a tiny wink. “You were there, boy. Why didn’t you tell them? Nearly had the elf in my pocket yesterday. Had him on the ground but didn’t even see the knife ‘til it was in me. He’s fast, I’ll grant him that.”

Behind his back, Aragorn shook his head ever so slightly. Carlóme’s eyes narrowed.

“Whatever happened to that waif, Car? That skinny little pet of yours—what was he… ten? Eleven maybe last I saw of him?” He squinched his eyes under the paint at her stricken face. “He run off on those pretty legs of his?”

“Get out.”

“Oh, come on now. Surely you’re not still sore—”

The javelin’s tip spattered dirt on his jerkin as she yanked it out of the earth.

The pouches at his belt swished against one another as he tossed the rest of his tea out on the ground and got to his feet. “All right. All right.” He adopted an injured tone as he passed the ranger. “See how they treat me? I only come by for a friendly chat and they say ‘get out.’ Fine bunch of friends.”

“Branock if you don’t start moving, my javelin’s going to be your new friend.”

“I think you should leave,” Aragorn’s eyes revealed nothing more than polite expectancy and the man’s bristly face twitched up in a grin.

“You’re a fine, young lad too, aren’t you?” He swatted the ranger’s shoulder in a comradely fashion then heard movement behind him and sprang through the hedge. “Give any more thought to my offer?”

“I am staying here,” Aragorn’s hand gripped his broadsword lightly though he could still feel the man’s touch burning on his arm like a brand.

Branock looked disappointed but shrugged it off. “Can’t say I blame you for staying I suppose—enough poke in this camp to keep a decent man happy for the rest of his life. Offer’s still open though if you ever want it.”

Carlóme appeared in the hedge entrance, shouldering Aragorn roughly aside.

At the sight of her, Branock threw up both hands. “I’m going, I’m going.”

“Rotten as an old tree, Strider. Don’t share his company more than you can help it. You might get something on you,” she muttered as she stalked past him, the javelin nearly clipping the side of his face. “Wish the elf had had the decency to finish him off for us.”

A soft whistle pierced the air, making them both pause. Birds were scarce at this time of year and they hadn’t heard a jay in this part of the forest at all. Both exchanged a look then Carlóme nodded shortly and went back into the hedge while Aragorn circled around in search of the noise.

The hedge loomed like a massive bastion on his right side and the forest sprawled, naked and wide on his left, angling slightly downward. It was empty. Frowning, Aragorn walked a little faster, straining for the sound again.

Something hard and small like a pinecone struck him neatly on the back of the head and he spun, swearing under his breath. The ranger rubbed the offended spot pointedly. “You might have picked a place that has not already suffered more than enough.”

“Yes, but that got your attention did it not? I didn’t know you knew words like that,” Haldir appeared beside him as though he had stepped out of the earth, his grey cloak stirred lightly by a damp breeze.

“You could have just come in,” Aragorn muttered, pulling his arms around himself for warmth. The woodland outside the enclosed hedge felt too open and his keen ears picked up small sounds in the brush, watchful eyes in the trees. Chiding himself for nervousness, he forced it aside. Haldir would not have called him out there if there was any danger. “Carlóme will want to hear your report herself.”

Tension strained behind Haldir’s eyes as though something inside him were strung taut, ready to snap with only a little more pressure added. He had seen the green-painted man enter the camp. “It is quieter out here and I can’t stay long anyway.”

Aragorn appraised his friend. He seemed calmer than yesterday, more like himself, but darker, somehow; his eyes still bore their hauntedness. “What news of Brenn?”

From the way Haldir hesitated he knew instantly the news was not good. He swallowed down the bile that rose in his throat and listened as the elf told him in scant detail what he had seen, the layout of where Brenn was kept. He didn’t say much of what he’d been doing those three days and Aragorn didn’t ask.

“Arenath has agreed to help me and we will get him out of there. Are the others ready?”

“Yes, though they don’t know what they should be ready for.”

“Arenath will lead Fedorian out for the night. They go hunting together. Our snares haven’t been so lucky of late.”

Aragorn frowned at the use of the word “our”—a slip Haldir hadn’t intended to make and continued over.

“I want you to tell Carlóme to choose whichever two she likes—make them fast and lean—we need to do this swiftly. Have them meet me at the bridge at sunset.”

Aragorn started to give a slow nod then stopped. “And what would you have the rest of us do?”

”You,” Haldir said with careful emphasis. “will wait.”

“I’ve been waiting for three days. I am tired of waiting. I am in fact an adult among my own kindred and no child to be shunted from one place to the other at the bidding of others.”

“Others elder than you who know better,” Haldir corrected. He didn’t want the ranger anywhere near Fedorian should worse come to worst. “There is no reason for you to risk your life for this.”

“Brenn is a reason.”

“I will go with those freeing Brenn, just in case,” Haldir said without acknowledging the ranger’s comment as though every second spent in useless argument put them in graver danger. Which it did. “Now, once Brenn is free, take to the road—it is the quickest way. Take shelter in the inn until—”

“I’m not going to just leave you there!”

“—until I join you,” Haldir finished firmly. “There is no time for argument, Estel, and I won’t brook it. Not from you. Not now.”

“How many times do I have to remind you that you can’t order your friends and expect them to obey you like your recruits?” Aragorn planted a glare on the elf that would have done Lord Elrond proud.

“This isn’t something I will negotiate, Strider,” the use of his human name stung though Haldir had not raised his voice. “It never was.”

Still fuming, Aragorn trampled his blossoming frustration. He knew they could very well stand arguing here all day until night came and neither of them would give an inch. It was an unfortunate symptom of being friends that you sometimes clashed with them. Especially if they happened to be bull-headed elf captains who insisted on treating you like a little boy playing at warrior.

“A group of hunters has joined us under a man called Branock. They’re after the bounty.”

Haldir paused, already half-turned. Something rippled over his profile but it was gone before Aragorn could decide what it was. Anxiety? Anger? “They must forget the coin. If I have my way, Fedorian won’t be anywhere near you. Secrecy and silence will be the better allies in this.”

“Huh, never would have thought I’d see this in all my days.”

Outwardly Haldir remained the epitome of calm. He showed no sign of surprise when the man stepped out from his hiding place behind an old birch. Indeed he seemed almost to be expecting it. But the brightness in his eyes darkened in an eclipse as he nodded towards Branock’s bound shoulder. “You have been well-tended I see.”

“It hurts like some devil pierced me with a knife.” He cast a sly glance at Aragorn. “That’s a clever bit of work, Strider. So what’s the arrangement? You keep the hunters off his trail while leading Car a merry dance to find him. Raking in a steady profit on both sides I bet. That’s clever; wouldn’t have thought you the deceptive kind.” He laughed. “I guess that’s the point isn’t it? Not being suspicious.”

“You have it wrong. Haldir is not the one you seek. He is helping us find the one who is.”

Branock gave an exaggerated nod and wink though his regard had not left Haldir. “Right. The “ghost” out there. Car’s no fool though. Believe me, she’ll find out sooner or later and I’d rather not be you when she does. Give me a cut and she’ll never hear a word of it from my lips. Though I understand why if you’d rather keep both for yourself…” The man’s eyes dipped lower than the elf’s face, smoothing over where his golden hair fell over his open collar and the longknife sheathed at his waist.

The Galadhrim captain bristled under such blatant inspection. He crossed his muscular arms over his torso more to keep himself from reaching for his knife again than to intimidate the other.

Aragorn’s hard, flat gaze flashed from his friend to the man’s face but it wasn’t he who spoke.

“Didn’t I tell you to get going?”

Branock found himself sprawled on his back, a javelin butt grinding hard against his windpipe with Carlóme bending over him. He coughed and tried to push the instrument away but she only leaned down harder.

“You’ve gone soft in the head, Dark Car…” he croaked, still trying to wriggle free. “Course you always did go for a pretty fa—” His breath abruptly choked off.

“I saw the rogue myself, ass. It’s not him,” Carlóme thrust her belligerent chin in Haldir’s direction. “My boy alive?”

The marchwarden’s eyes were trained on the unsavory man. “For now. I have given Estel instructions for tomorrow. You had better let him up. He’s turning blue.”

Branock rolled out from under the weapon, coughing and gasping as he massaged the circular bruise already forming on his throat. He rubbed watery eyes as he glanced over at the dark woman who still looked all too ready to put the javelin back in him, point first.

“You let this demon in among your girls?”

“Let you in didn’t I? Unlike others, he manages to keep his hands off them.”

“Or maybe he doesn’t like them until he’s got a knife in ‘em.”

Aragorn stepped between the two combatants before things got even more out of hand. “This is doing no one any good. Obviously, there’s a conflict of interest.” He addressed Carlóme pointedly in a low voice. “We want to get Brenn back alive and safe. You don’t need any more enemies.”

She didn’t take her eyes from the grinning bounty hunter. “I don’t want him anywhere near us.”

“You go your way and let us go ours,” Aragorn told the man who was still rubbing his throat pensively. He nodded with a small smile gracing his face.

“Fair enough. You’re a fair-spoken deviant, Strider, if ever I saw one,” his grin suddenly hardened. “But I’ve got the warrant and the signature of the town. That price is mine.”

Haldir had been watching the exchange with something between surprise and wariness. Aragorn positioned himself between the two fighting parties, keeping his own concerns out of it and never once batting an eyelid or backing down. He seemed to have grown taller than either Carlóme or Branock and his voice was low and fervent when he spoke. He managed to convince both of them without having to raise even a finger.

With a slight jerk of his head, Branock stepped back from both of them, straightening his belt. As he did so, his eyes fell on the elf once more. His eyes glowed under the dye. But he didn’t say anything more and soon slipped out of sight between the tree trunks.

Haldir waited until he could barely hear his footsteps. “Distasteful man.”

“You’re not wrong,” Carlóme agreed, the mask creeping back over her eyes. She looked at him suddenly as though seeing him for the first time. “Did I hear aright what you said to that buzzard earlier? You stab him?”

“He attacked me,” Haldir said, a trifle more defensively than he’d meant to.

“Next time you should kill him. He was admiring more than your knife, elf, you better watch it.” She said. The unspoken concern behind the words seemed surprisingly sincere. Her eyes had lost their ferocity. “How’s he look?”

It took him a second to realize she was talking about Brenn. “The sooner we get him out of there, the better.”

“You need to go then.”

Haldir nodded but hesitated a moment longer, his gaze finding Aragorn’s. “I almost forgot.” Silently and perhaps unconsciously asking for forgiveness for his harsh manner earlier, the elf touched Aragorn’s elbow. “Bring your supplies with you. And my saber if you can spare it.”

“I shall.” Aragorn squeezed his friend’s forearm back. “Take care of yourself, mellon nin. We will have both of you out in a few hours.”

“Ilùvatar and luck willing.” Shockingly it was Carlóme who whispered that under her breath as the elf took once more to the trees.

Time was running out.