Agarwaen

The horses didn’t hear a step. Feeding contentedly, few of them stirred. Only Maethor and Lintedal lifted their heads, recognizing the familiar yet unfamiliar scent that may have reminded them of the golden land of their birth, of rich leaves and silver mornings or of long-ago battlefields, dank, wet and hot. Lintedal side-stepped, confused by the contradicting scents.

But the newcomer did not bear the hunched, loping shape her mind registered as evil. Nor did it move on four frighteningly powerful legs like those beasts that ripped at her belly. So with ears twisting, she watched, nervous because of the smell but not yet alarmed.

Extended in the outstretched palm were two, tempting morsels. The horses’ ears perked forward and Maethor, the bolder of the two, took a step and stuck his nose towards the sweet, allowing the stranger to stroke his coat with black-gloved fingers.

Aragorn had been too preoccupied with other things to bring his saddlebag into the camp earlier. It lay on the ground with the rest of the horses’ jumbled tack. As the creased and battered leather slithered open, the mild tang of spilled sword oil wafted out.

The gloves withdrew, revealing pale hands which reached in to extract a blanket tangled messily amongst other provisions. Watched by the horses, the stranger brought the wool fabric to his face and inhaled deeply, the ranger’s warm scent flooding his senses, that uncanny mixture of leaves in smoky autumn, of fresh life, of sweat and leather. And something else…something he couldn’t identify that lingered at the back of the throat, tingling like lightning.

Interesting.

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”I thought I told you I didn’t want you armed among my girls!” Carlóme flew at the marchwarden as soon as he and Aragorn stepped through the hedge with their cumbersome burden of firelogs. “How did you get it back?”

Haldir cast only the merest side-glance at Brenn to warn the boy not to interrupt. “You have greater concerns than my weaponry.”

“How do we know you will not send for your friends? That we will not all be murdered in our beds some moonless night when none of us can watch you?”

Haldir stared at the dark hedge as though searching for answers to her questions in the thorny branches. “It is a matter of trust.”

She snorted.

“And I know that you do not trust me—but have I ever given you a reason not to? Have I ever once acted violently towards any of yours?” If anything Haldir thought he had earned the right not to trust them after what they had done to him. And though his innocence had been painfully proven, this woman continued to treat him like some kind of criminal. As though she saw something in him that made her uneasy. Maybe there was and he just didn’t see it. Hadn’t he acted violently in the past? What was there about him to trust? Dark, doubting questions chased themselves so loudly over his thoughts, he barely heard her reply.

“Sneaking off last night was a good start.”

“He saved us!” Brenn spoke up bravely, getting to his feet. “I saw it. I was half-awake anyway because of the snow. One of them was standing there and Haldir led him away.”

But that wasn’t it either. Haldir frowned a little. His curiosity had gotten the better of him the night Arenath had come for him. Certainly, he had considered the safety of his friends but wasn’t that just an excuse to get him away from their company? He couldn’t deny that seeing Fedorian and Arenath again after so long had woken something in him he had thought he had forgotten. She was right to question him. He was questioning himself.

Haldir half-expected Carlóme to berate the boy with a blow but she met his level, defiant gaze with a serious one of her own. He was as much a voice in the group as any of them. She knew the boy she had taken under her wing liked the elf—a bit too much in her opinion; and she more than suspected he had had a hand in getting the elf his sword back though she couldn’t prove it.

“You don’t know him, Brenn,” Carlóme said quietly, shaking her head. “You don’t know anything about what he’s done—or what he’s capable of.”

Aragorn stiffened. What did she mean by that? Only the look on Haldir’s face prevented him from saying anything, determined to wait the dark woman’s fury out.

Brenn, however, didn’t get the message.

“You blame him for everything even if it’s not his fault,” he shot back so fiercely that Zaren clamped his hands around his shoulders to quiet him. He twisted in the older man’s grasp to look up at him. “But it’s true! Just because she’s against him all the time because of Carden—”

Zaren shoved a hand across the boy’s mouth and hissed in his ear. “Brenn, shut it. Calm down first and think about what’s in your head before spitting out things you’ll regret later.”

Carlóme’s nostrils whitened around the edges. Clearly the name Brenn had been about to speak meant something to her. “He’s allied with the one we’re hunting, Brenn! Known him all his life. Surely something that evil rubs off.”

The lad struggled free of Zaren’s hold and hand, his face brilliantly red but his eyes calmer. “You don’t believe that. Zaren was a thief when you met him. He told me. And you didn’t blame him for what he’d done before.”

“That’s not the same.”

“Why not?”

This had gone far enough. “Brenn.” Haldir shook his head slightly to still his protests. He wouldn’t let the boy fight his battles for him.

Carlóme turned an amused look at her charge into a frown at the elf. “Well, it seems you’ve got Brenn on your side at least. What’d you offer him?”

“You have nothing to fear from me. I will give you my solemn word that I will not harm them.”

“Your word’s not good enough.”

Haldir closed his eyes, fighting the anger that clawed at his chest. What did she know of his worth? Of his concept of honor? He dumped his pile of firewood on the ground with a little more aggression than he’d intended and began sorting out small twigs to feed to the flames. “What then would be good enough for you?”

Carlóme’s dark eyes swept over his rigid shoulders and met Estel’s across the fire. “Swear on something you care about. Give me an oath. Swear on Estel’s life,” She snapped her eyes back to him when he stood incredulously. “You like him, don’t you? Swear it and I will let you keep your sword.”

Haldir looked at Estel. The ranger had stood quietly off to one side, disregarded until now. Such an oath was no small thing that she asked. Oaths of blood and life had bound Fëanor and his sons to ruin. It would leave him wholly in her control. She could ask anything she wished by evoking the oath and he would have to obey or be proven faithless. And yet if he didn’t give it, he would still be proven faithless and worse, perhaps, traitorous. Could he give that? For his freedom? Even for his own peace of mind?

Aragorn knew the importance of a sworn oath as well and his expression darkened still further as he glared at the dark woman forcing his friend into this choice. “He has nothing to prove to you.”

“I beg to differ, Strider, he’s got everything to prove,” Her eyes glinted. “Well, elf? What say you? Give me an oath.”

Even the girls had gone quiet, looking uneasily at one another. Zaren still had his arm around Brenn who was watching the elf avidly though he didn’t seem to understand the seriousness of what was going on.

The silence spiraled while they waited for his answer. Haldir kept his eyes on the ground for longer than a minute, considering. At last, he raised his head, meeting the woman’s gaze squarely. “So be it. I so swear.”

Carlóme stared straight into his eyes and when he didn’t look away, she nodded tightly. “I will hold you to it. There are worse things than death, elf. Remember that and know what I could do to you if you go back on your word.”

“I already do.”

He did not stay in her presence any longer than necessary. Contrary to what he had told Estel, he ate very little and afterwards retired near the hedge, seeming to sleep.

Carlóme tossed another log on the fire, sending hot sparks showering up into the dusky sky. She caught Brenn’s eyes. “You can thank the elf later for saving your hide. You know I would have beaten you black and purple for helping him.”

Recognizing the emptiness in the threat, Brenn grinned triumphantly. “Yep.”

“Good. Long as we’re clear. Now get to bed. We’re up early tomorrow.” She turned away when she made sure Brenn was kicking off his boots and glanced at Aragorn wh had gone to fetch his saddlebag from the horses’ tack. He retrieved a curious, long-stemmed pipe from beneath the blanket folded neatly on top.

“Not tired, Strider?”

“No.” His voice was tight and did not encourage the woman to continue speaking to him as he packed a small bit of tobacco into the bowl.

“You mad at me because I talked to your friend like that?” she guessed, sitting with the fire between them.

“I have trusted him with my life more than once in the months that I have known him,” Aragorn said. “He is a soldier and his word is not given lightly.”

“I hope so. But being a soldier tends to knock the softness out of you,” her eyes hardened imperceptibly as though seeing other images in the flames. The fingers of her left hand cradled her right wrist. “You see a lot of things, do a lot of things that you never thought you’d do. Even if you’re sorry for it afterward; it doesn’t change what happened.”

Something in her tone made him look up from his smoke. He sensed they weren’t quite talking about Haldir anymore and his brow furrowed as he watched her.

She seemed to realize she had gone off a little and ripped her eyes from the fire to dart a penetrating stare at him. “There is something… you don’t know what it is but you see it under the surface of his eyes. It makes you uneasy. He doesn’t tell you everything.”

“I do not ask him to.” Aragorn didn’t let the discomfort her words provoked show on his face. He trusted Haldir. That much he knew and would not let her convince him otherwise. “He saved my life,” he said simply.

“People can do good without it being their intention. I am not going to lose any of them because I wasn’t cautious enough,” She replied as if to herself as she let her gaze wander around the quieting camp.

Most of them had taken refuge near the granite rock, comforted by its bulk and strength. Kari and Narturi, Saeryn and Miren slept beside each other, even Yyrin had curled up near them at a chivalrous distance. Zaren was standing watch at the narrow rift, peering out into the forest with attentive eyes though his ears were obviously elsewhere.

Blue smoke swirling above his head, Aragorn watched her go to him and listened as they spoke softly together in low voices.

“Saeryn reported a group of orcs a little ways off the path—long dead. Said they’d been killed by white arrows.”

The rogue was hunting in the area. If orcs had been drawn to his quarry, they must have come under his eye too. And his arrows. It was worthy of further investigation. Carlóme’s voice trailed away as she gazed out into the darkness. Zaren shifted at her side.

“Brenn shouldn’t have said what he did.”

“No. He was right to remind me. I’ve been…forgetting. He wouldn’t want me to forget. Ilùvatar’s blood! That elf is going to pay dearly for Carden—I’ll see it finished!”

“Is it worth it?”

She laughed. “You think we should have asked for a higher price? There’s enough coin on this thing’s head to have us living like lords for the rest of our lives. That’s worth it. Brenn won’t be sleeping on leaves and rocks anymore. You can have those new boots you’ve been wanting…”

There was a silence but Aragorn didn’t turn around to see if they were looking at him. He could feel their eyes briefly on his back and Zaren lowered his voice as the ranger extinguished his pipe.

“We’ll go to Rhûn after this is done. What do you think? No more caves or sloppy inns. Just fatness and comfort living off the lord’s land.”

“I won’t ever go back South.”

“I know.”

They fell into a contemplative watch; and Aragorn decided he’d heard enough. Stretching the cracks out of his back, he walked away from the main group and lay down beneath the hedge. Haldir, his form softly illuminated by an unearthly glow the distant firelight could not explain, was asleep on his back. His hands were folded over his breast, elven-open eyes staring up through leaf-cloaked evergreens. The sight was so familiar to Aragorn that he smiled, the bad-feeling leeching out of his chest as he tugged off his boots and laid them in the grass.

Shadows draped the branches like nets and Aragorn peered through them at the silver-blue stars as he wedged his pack underneath his head. It was a chill night and he shivered, wishing Haldir could have picked a spot a little nearer to the fire as he rolled himself in his ground sheets and blankets. At least, he’d come moderately prepared for a winter journey this time around. He didn’t need to get sick.

“Daro.”

Aragorn glanced over at his friend. For a guilty minute, he thought he had woken the elf with his moving around. But Haldir’s eyes continued to stare past him, not focusing on anything. He stirred restlessly, the cloak sliding off his body as he rolled over, murmuring to himself in his own language.

“Daro… osp… hain edraith!” His elbow caught Aragorn in the ribs, his breathing labored, gasping as though he couldn’t find enough air. “Naur! Naur tolon!”

Rubbing his side, Aragorn grabbed the elf’s arm in a vain attempt to wake him. Whatever he was dreaming about didn’t sound pleasant. “Haldir… wake up…”

The elf didn’t hear him. His voice was louder now and Aragorn cringed at the sound. “Lachiel galadhrim…Daro hain lachiel!”

He gripped his friend’s shoulders, his fingertips digging in, though the elf fought him. “No one’s burning, Haldir, wake up!”

The marchwarden’s eyes snapped clear. He didn’t even see the ranger at first, his eyes darting around the hedges, still green, his companions, sleeping—not dead. A bead of perspiration disappeared into his shirt collar as Aragorn released him enough so he could sit up, his gaze finally finding the ranger’s wide one. He inhaled slowly through his nostrils, easing away from the man’s hands and rubbing a hand over his too-pale face.

“Are you all right?” Aragorn watched him concernedly, his hands drifting to rest on his knees. “What were you dreaming about?”

Sweat glistened all the way down the elf’s neck as though he really had been burning. He looked like he was going to be sick.

“Do you always make that noise in your sleep, elf?” Carlóme growled from her post.

His eyes flickered to her and just as quickly away again as he swallowed hard and sank into the cool, green embrace of the shrubs behind him. Even the thorns stabbing into his back felt welcome. They were release. He closed his eyes to force the afterimages away and the wind chill on his overheated skin brought him fully out of the lingering nightmare; he could breathe again. His nightmares were getting worse and he still couldn’t shake the feeling of a great shadow sweeping over him like an approaching thunderhead.

A tentative touch on his knee roused him out of a dark spiral he was sinking into. Aragorn was still staring at him, obviously very anxious, unsure of what exactly he had evoked. “I’m—I’m sorry if anything I said earlier… If I upset you.”

“Oh, Estel, it wasn’t you,” the elf said with eyes still closed, still visibly shaken. At least this time he could tell the entire truth. “Not you.”