Galadriel looked up at the tall winding staircase, not daring yet to ascend. There were so very few times she had been afraid of anything. Now her fear was second only to her grief. Celebdreth was watching her intently. As he shifted his weight, she heard a soft whimper of pain, and knew how hard Haldir was trying not to worry anyone.

Hands placed themselves upon her shoulders and her tears began to fall. “We can’t get him into the tree and the healers have all been sent to Rohan with the soldiers.” Celeborn nodded to her words, then silently moved to his grandson. Crouching down, he quickly examined the damage that had been caused.

“Take him to the garden. We can not manage him up all of these stairs, but you will be able to carry him down there.” Celebdreth nodded and walked away. Celeborn looked around the area beneath the tree, and when he could not see who he was looking for, called out, “Rumil!”

Rumil was down from his perch in the tree in an instant. “Go with your son, Rumil. Build a fire, not too large or high. Go.” Rumil flew toward the garden as Celeborn turned to Orophin who was soundlessly tending to his own injury. “Fetch from the wine cellar two bottles of the strongest drink you can find. Be sure one of them is as pure as we have, and it must be clear.” Orophin went to the side of the Great Mallorn, wiped the blood from his nose on his sleeve, and uncovered the hidden cellar. Jumping down into the tunnel, it was the only time he would never complain about the spiders that resided in the passage.

Celeborn took hold of Galadriel’s fidgeting hands. “I need you to get something for me.”

“Anything. Name it and it shall be retrieved.”

“I need you to get your sword.”

Galadriel stepped back. “Celeborn, no! We can save him, we may not be the best healers, but we can try. We must try, please, we have to try.” He words were sobbed to him as he drew her against him, her head resting on his shoulder.

“Galadriel, I shall do all I can for him, this you know. I do not plan to use your sword to kill but to heal. I cannot use mine, nor his, for there are inscriptions upon the blades. Yours is clean, and has not seen battle in many long years,” explained Celeborn to her softly.

“The Valar may not approve,” was her answer. “It is the blade of a kinslayer.” The last word was spat from her mouth, as if it was something of the black speech. Celeborn smoothed back her long golden hair, trying to soothe her.

“Have you ever thought to ask them? Have you ever told them you were sorry?” Now didn’t seem the most appropriate time to bring up the subject, for he knew it was always the one taboo topic, Galadriel’s pride saw to that. Now the words flowed from him easily, questions he had always wished to ask her and never had.

She pulled back from him. Perhaps if it had been any other day she may have stormed off, become angry, and even have thought to raise her voice to him to explain that it just didn’t work that way. Instead, she folded her hands, bowed her head, and quietly began to speak an apology she had long thought to say though never had spoken. When she finished, she waited.

Celeborn tilted his head as he watched her, standing perfectly still with her eyes closed. She appeared to be listening to something or someone. Suddenly she gasped, and her eyes flew open as she fell to her knees. Celeborn hit the ground the same time she did, enfolding her within his arms.

“They bid me come to the West,” she sobbed. “They have forgiven me.”

“That is good news. Now, I need you to bring me your sword.” Celeborn helped his wife to stand, and she nodded to him. He led her to the stairway, firmly but gently keeping her steady, her strength renewed with each step. She gave his hand a tender squeeze as she gathered up the fabric of her dress so as not to let it hinder her and began running up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Orophin had reemerged by now, and Celeborn motioned for him to follow. “Come. There is work to be done.”

“Down in the valley, my lover waits for me,

Sings softly to me, and calls me from the sea;

Though my heart is heavy, and I wish to flee,

I shall stay until the day that I can go with thee.”



Haldir tried to place the words of the song Nenniach sang and hummed. The tune was familiar enough, but it was melancholy compared to how he was used to hearing it sung. And the words were most definitely not the cheerful ones he so often heard Rumil sing as he accompanied on flute during the long, cold nights on the borders.

When the words trailed off, Haldir feared he would be left alone again. He was awake now, and planned to stay awake as long as possible. His dreams grew tiring – images of the battle he had fought in always came to him, whether in reverie or slumber. What was more, his mind played tricks, sometimes showing him elves who were not at Helm’s Deep, who had not fallen. On the first night of his recovery, he had seen in his mind the deaths of his brothers. His hoarse scream had brought Nenniach to his side, and since then, she hardly had left.

“Please...don’t go...” he rasped as he attempted to reach an arm out in the direction of the music. The most he was able to move was a few fingers on his right hand, and they felt numb and heavy, and so these he set back upon the ground.

Nenniach rushed over without a moment’s hesitation. “I would not have thought to go anywhere, Haldir,” she said, stooping down. “I am right here, and will get you anything you need.”

“Water?” he asked, and his voice was apologetic. He blinked his eyes open, but his vision was still blurred, so he shut them once again.

“Of course, dear, of course.” Nenniach patted him on the cheek before whisking away to retrieve the garden pitcher.

Haldir hated being so reliant on anyone, but his sister-in-law reminded him so much of Celebrian. Celebrian after she decided Haldir was her brother and not a half-orc, that was. Haldir chuckled softly, but this soon turned into a weak cough. Nenniach was back at his side quickly, and he could imagine her frown.

“What is it you’re laughing at now?” she clucked, although she wasn’t really sore at him. The medicines she had been giving him for the pain in his back seemed to make him giddy at the oddest of times. Short outbursts of laughter for no apparent reason were becomming common.

“Just wondering how we plan to manage this feat is all,” he lied. Indeed, Nenniach was unsure just how Haldir was intending to drink the water. After Celeborn had cauterized the wound, Haldir was placed on his stomach so that his back could best heal. He lay on the ground in the garden, atop a number of quilts that had been brought from the Great Mallorn. His chin rested on his arms, which were folded in front of him. If it had not been for the obvious injuries, it would have seemed that he was merely lounging in the garden.

In the nude.

Thus far, the only complaint Haldir had made was regarding the choice his caretakers had made in not clothing him after the hasty and quite crude surgery which had taken place. Luckily, the only one who had been given leave to be in the garden now was Nenniach, and Haldir finally decided it could have been much, much worse.

“Alright, I have an idea.” Nenniach placed the pitcher in the grass near the place Haldir’s head rested and lowered herself to the ground in front of him. Haldir finally opened his eyes, blinking them until his sight was fairly clear. “You have seen birds feed their young, have you not?”

Haldir raised a brow at her, still able to look completely unamused about the situation regardless of the position he was in. “I do not think I like where this is headed.”

Nenniach ignored him, cupping one hand as she poured water from the pitcher into it until she had a small pool of it in her palm. “Open your mouth.”

“Please, Nen, let me keep what is left of my dignity and find another way to do this,” pleaded Haldir.

“You have two options, dear. You may keep either your dignity or your thirst. I promise you, I shall tell no one of anything which transpires in this garden.”

Haldir lifted his head what little he could, tilting his chin up. “Not a single word. Not even to my mother.” Nenniach nodded as she lifted her fingertips to Haldir’s mouth so that he could drink.

“Much better,” he said when half of the pitcher was empty. “Thank you.”

Nenniach nodded, dabbing at the drops of water on Haldir’s chin and arms with the sleeve of her dress. “Would you like to talk?” This had been the question posed many times since his return to the woods, and was once again answered negatively.

“I would like it if you were to sing again. What was that sad song you were humming before? I wonder what the words mean.”

“Perhaps later I might tell you,” said Nenniach, settling against the trunk of a nearby tree. “But I shall sing for you, if that is what you wish.”

“It is,” he answered, closing his eyes as she began a merry tune. He did not yet have the strength or courage to speak with anyone regarding not only what had happened, but what would happen now. Valarda had not returned with Orophin, that much he was certain of. The presence of his brothers and his nephew he could not feel in Lorien, nor had he seen them since the day he had returned. Worse still, the knowledge that he had not seen either of his parents since that day nagged at him as well. He also had the strangest desire – nay, need – to look into the mirror, not twenty paces away.

Little less than an hour later, he had a nagging feeling about something quite different.

“Nenniach?” he finally called out, interrupting her between songs.

“What is it, dear?”

Haldir blinked his eyes open again as he raised his head slightly. “I was just thinking...I mean, I drank all of that water...eventually...I’m going to have to...what are we going to do about that?”

The corners of Nenniach’s mouth twitched as she fought desperately against smiling. “We shall cross that bridge when we come to it, dear.”

“Oh, good. You’re as clueless as I am about that.” He settled his head down, resting the his cheek on his arms, for his neck was getting a bit sore. He tried to roll it back to alleviate the discomfort he felt, but his back would have none of it, and he rested once again.

“Worry not. I shall think of something,” promised Nenniach, moving close enough so that she could rub the back of his neck. “As a nana, I have been called upon many times to achieve near impossible tasks, and I am confident that I will...figure something out.”

Haldir smirked, thinking of some of the ‘impossible tasks’ he had heard about through Rumil throughout the years. His mind finally turned away from thoughts on war, and he fell peacefully asleep.

Voices on the stairs above awoke Haldir and he lifted his head to better hear what was being said.

“We sent for Master Elrond. We need a healer,” came the stern sound of Nenniach’s voice, but he could tell it was wavering.

“I am a healer,” answered the deeper voice coolly. “Master Elrond is currently indisposed.”

“A healer? You fix thrown shoes and help birth foals, you don’t ‘heal’.”

“Then I shall return to Imladris and wish you the best of luck with your patient.”

“I will throttle you if you do,” threatened the elleth, close to tears.

“Dear Nenniach, I wouldn’t really...Ah, come here, child.”

Haldir settled his head back down. All of his eavesdropping had earned the tired warrior a little nap, so he did not hear the remaining conversation. However, he felt safe enough to be in the care of Nenniach and the elf who had arrived, and fell back into a light slumber.
- - -


At the top of the stairs, Erestor coaxed Nenniach into his arms and hugged her fiercely. “Sweet child, do not worry. He isn’t going to die. He is very much like I am – too ornery for Namo to deal with. The Valar would send him back immediately.”

“I know,” she sniffled. “I don’t worry about Haldir.” Nenniach shifted to look up at the dark elf, her surrogate father in many ways. Although he had not known her until she was grown, she had been shifted from one family to another after being orphaned at a young age, having had no other living kin. During her time in Imladris, she had apprenticed with Erestor briefly, and a fast friendship grew out of immense respect and common interests. He formally adopted her just prior to her marriage to Rumil. The event turned out to be quite amusing considering the entire ceremony had to be rewritten, as the ‘elfling’ Erestor adopted was hundreds of years old.

“Your husband will return, my child.” Erestor spoke soothingly as he stroked the hair on the top of her head. “Rumil will come back to you.”

Nenniach bowed her head. “I hate this waiting. He farspeaks to me when he can, between fighting and scouting. The battles are fierce. I worry for him. I worry for my son. Celebdreth went with him, he argued that if Elrond was not keeping his sons from fighting in this war, he would not be left behind. He has the stubborn nature of his grandmother.” She gave a half-hearted smile. “For my crazy brother-in-law and his wife, I worry not so much.”

“Valarda went as well?” questioned Erestor.

“Valarda stayed in Rohan,” Nenniach sighed. “I suppose she is having the same fears for her husband that I have for mine. I envy Lady Galadriel,” admitted the scribe. “Although I would be afraid beyond words to fight in battle, she will be beside her husband. They will be with each other...if one of them falls...”

Erestor hugged Nenniach tighter. “Do not say such things, sweet one, do not think them.” Erestor glanced down the steps. “I should see to his wounds, if you trust the healing skills of an old stable master.”

Nenniach nodded and pulled away, wringing her hands. “He was sleeping. We may have awoken him.”

Erestor took hold of Nenniach’s chin with his thumb and forefinger and peered deep into her eyes. “How long since you rested, child?” Nenniach shoved her hands into the pockets of her skirt and did not answer. Instead she squinted her face, thinking long and hard about the answer. “If it takes that long to remember, it has been far too long. To bed with you, and I would chase you there myself if I did not have work to do.”

“But Haldir-“

“But Haldir is not your responsibility until you have had reverie, a bath, and a hot meal. Off you go, then.” He gave her a final pat on the head before giving her a nudge in the direction of her tree.

Nenniach reluctantly took a few steps toward her flet before circling back to hug Erestor and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you for coming. I shall send my deepest and most sincerest regards to Lord Elrond for sending you.”

“You shall do no such thing,” he scolded and Nenniach blinked in surprise. “Lord Elrond did not send me,” he explained. “He did not permit anyone to leave Imladris with the situation at hand. When he did not answer the summons, I came in his stead.”

“You disobeyed Elrond.” Nenniach’s voice was little more than a whisper, and she was in awe, but also fearful, of this revelation.

“He would not come, for he needs to protect his realm, and I cannot argue with that. My services, however, are of little need in Imladris at the current time.”

“I suppose he is greatly angered with you.”

Erestor smiled sadly and did not answer. “Off to bed, I will speak more to you when you have rested.” Nenniach nodded once more and left Erestor alone at the top of the stairs.

Having already left his horse to wander, Erestor lifted up the pack he had brought with him and made his descent into the gardens. Candles had been lit already by Nenniach, though some small amount of light from the sky still lingered in the lush green chamber of the Mirror of Galadriel. When he found Haldir, he settled his pack onto the grass and began to remove various items from it.

“Erestor?”

The dark haired elf nearly dropped a roll of cloth he was taking from the sack, thinking that Haldir had been asleep. He looked over his shoulder from where he was crouched down only a yard away. “Yes, penneth?” Haldir’s eyes were still closed, his breathing a slow mimicry of slumber.

“You did not tell Lord Elrond you were leaving Imladris,” guessed the captain. He had been awake since hearing them speak his name, and continued to listen to the rest of the conversation.

“No, penneth,” confirmed Erestor gravely, “I did not.”

“Go back to sleep, penneth.” Erestor did not have to look up to know that his charge was awake.

“I can’t sleep,” groaned Haldir. “My back hurts too much. Where is the medicine Nenniach gave to me?”

Erestor crumbled a sheet of parchment in his hand and tossed it sideways. “Your body can not heal if you continue to dull your senses with what she was giving you. It was a temporary solution until a healer arrived.”

“Can you give me anything for this?” asked Haldir.

“Time is all I can offer you, penneth. You should rest.”

“You try resting when your back feels as if it shall split open,” grumbled the elf of Lorien.

Erestor scratched at another sheet of parchment. “The medicine I offer is bitter, but you would be wise to take it. Sleep.”

Haldir tried to huff his displeasure, but it ended in a wince of pain. “I hurt, Erestor,” he said with pleading eyes, but the advisor simply balled up another sheet and tossed it with the others.

“And I hurt for you, penneth,” admitted Erestor. He finally looked up from his writing to address Haldir. “I could ease you into a state of slumber,” he offered. Such a sleep would not be as beneficial as true sleep, but it was something, and he truly did feel badly that he was not allowing Haldir the painkillers he wished for.

“No. I am restless and will not be placed under a spell.” Haldir’s gaze drifted to the pile of discarded parchment. “What are you doing?”

“Writing a letter to Lord Elrond explaining my actions.” Another ball was added, and caused the pile to spill out further. “At least, that is my intention.”

“Ah.” Haldir looked around lazily, leaving Erestor to his work. He could tell by the scratching that Erestor was nearly out of ink, and by the looks of the wads of paper that covered the ground, nearly out of parchment as well. He studied the advisor for a bit, and was humbled by the fact that an elf of Erestor’s stature would come to his aid without question or thought to his own welfare. He prayed that Elrond would not be too harsh on Erestor.

His attention was caught briefly by something on Erestor’s ankle. The dark elf had removed his boots and stockings – in fact, he sat only in leggings and a loose shirt. Haldir strained to see exactly what it was – it appeared to be some sort of markings on the advisor’s skin. Haldir pulled back when he realized the advisor was looking at him again.

“Is something the matter?” questioned Erestor, shifting his legs so that they were tucked underneath and off to the side.

Haldir shook his head what little he could manage. “No, nothing at all. Just the fact that I am in excruciating pain.”

Erestor nodded, knowing he would have the pleasure of listening to Haldir’s comments until the elf fell back asleep. Ignoring him was likely the best idea, he decided, and he returned to his half-finished letter.

Haldir sighed, trying to think of something to keep himself busy in the position he was in. He wondered if Erestor was just as bored as he was, and a thought came to him. Erestor was not likely meant to come just to heal him. “If you have to check on the others, Erestor, I understand completely. I do not wish you to think you much watch me every moment.”

Erestor looked up again. “What others?”

“The other elves. The rest of my troops. The survivors from Helm’s Deep.” Haldir’s stomach clenched and he felt ill at the expression Erestor wore.

“No one told you...” Erestor said softly, tossing his writing tools aside. He reached out and placed a hand on Haldir’s folded ones and looked at him sadly.

“Oh, no...no, please, Erestor, tell me there were other survivors,” begged Haldir, laying his cheek against Erestor’s hand.

“No, penneth.” Erestor swallowed hard, using his free hand to gently smooth back the hair on Haldir’s head. “There were no others.”

"Haldir!"

The captain began to open his eyes, but squeezed them shut again. Sunlight was streaming directly where he was on the ground. It was odd, that in the evening he had no desire to sleep, but when day came, he wanted nothing more than to remain slumbering.

"Good, you're awake. Here, drink this," insisted Nenniach, helping to prop Haldir up slightly. Over the last few days, Haldir's back had healed enough so that he could lay upon many comfortable quilts and blankets that had been piled up into a sort of nest next to the stone wall. This greatly helped to increase his range of motion, and also, on an even brighter note, had allowed him to insist he at least be given a pair of pants. Without thinking, he began to drain the contents of the cup, but suddenly spat out the bitter liquid.

"Erestor said not to!" he hissed.

"Erestor does not hear your painful moans in the darkness of the night," whispered the elleth back, trying to tilt the cup back to Haldir's lips. "There is not much, just enough for the worst of the pain."

In no mood to fight, Haldir finished the rest of the drink. Nenniach set the cup to the side and gathered up a corner of her apron, wiping away what little had dribbled down from the corner of the elf's mouth.

"You've been making lembas," commented Haldir as he leaned back into his nest.

"Someone has to keep this place running," answered Nenniach, brushing away the stray flour that was on her arms. "Rest now, Erestor said he will come to check on you shortly. He said you're improving well, perhaps you might even move up into the trees in a day or two." She tucked the cup away into her apron, and Haldir knew he must not have been the only one to hear the approach of another elf.

Haldir smiled weakly at his brother's wife, unable to tell her there was no possibility of him climbing stairs or rope, but he nodded all the same. He knew how dreadfully worried she had to be, and was upset that what he had attempted to prevent had still come to pass.

Nenniach turned at once, and behind her, Haldir could see a tall and dark figure. "My child, there is an issue in the Great Mallorn. Something regarding the wine cellar and the reserve of ice," said a low voice. Nenniach nodded and swiftly left.

Settling down on the grass near Haldir once Nenniach had gone, Erestor set a small pile of letters and scrolls aside. "How is your foot?"

Haldir smiled. Erestor had somehow developed some sort of an odd game, and instead of asking him how his back felt - for it was on the third time the question was posed that Haldir answered using a string of colorful Dwarven phrases - that he began to ask about the rest of him. "My foot is fine," he answered, wiggling his toes.

"What about the other one?" questioned Erestor.

Haldir wiggled the toes on his other foot. "Appears to be in working order."

"Ears?"

"Haven't fallen off yet."

"A good sign. Elbow?"

Haldir bent his arm, feeling a slight pressure from his back as he did so. He winced, but replied, "It's doing well."

"Tongue?"

Haldir stuck his tongue out and tried to waggle it and blow spit at the councilor, but the breeze just happened to catch at the moment, and Haldir was next wiping his own drool off of his chin.

"Your recovery is coming along well. Already, I see your sense of humor is at full strength. We'll have you out of here in no time," said Erestor, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and handing it to Haldir, who silently thanked him with a nod. "I hope you are hungry, I am having something sent down for us."

"I have no appetite," Haldir said, shifting a little.

Erestor clicked his tongue. "Not that I worry that you might waste away, penneth, but you must eat. Will you try at least? Just a bit."

"I shall take the suggestion under consideration."

"Silly stubborn elf," murmured Erestor as he began to shift through the correspondence he had brought with him. "Just like his mother," he said with a sigh, sorting the letters. Haldir knew with certainty what the elf searched for - a letter from Elrond, a response to the apology that had been sent. Whether it contained forgiveness or banishment, he had overheard Erestor tell Nenniach that he just wanted closure to the matter. Erestor dumped the stack back to the ground, and Haldir assumed what he wanted had not been found.

"Thank you." Haldir paused, uncertain of whether Erestor quite understood his words, and added, "Thank you for coming, Erestor." Erestor waved a hand dismissively, but Haldir did not stop. "I know the trouble you may face for this."

"If Lord Elrond cannot manage a month or two without my services, he may as well leave for the West now and leave Imladris to ruin," answered Erestor. His voice held little conviction, though, and Haldir decided not to press the matter. Instead, he noted that once again, the councilor wore no shoes, nor boots, his toes bare and hiding in the grass. What was unhidden was the mark Haldir had noted when Erestor had first come.

Catching where Haldir's gaze had wandered to, Erestor reached down to tug the leg of his pants over the design, but stopped. "You're curious, aren't you?" Haldir couldn't stop himself from nodding. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted Nenniach coming down the stairs with a tray of food. "I'll tell you about it over lunch," offered Erestor. "As long as you keep eating, I'll keep talking."

"You're a wicked one sometimes, Erestor," smiled Haldir, "but I shall agree to your terms."

"To agree that quickly, you must truly be curious," laughed Erestor, moving to Haldir to help him into a more suitable position for eating.

Halfway through lunch, Erestor casually rolled up the leg of his pants and slid his foot closer to Haldir.

"I don't think you'll understand unless I start at the beginning," said Erestor after everything was set out on the grass for the meal. Erestor had preferred to eat wherever it was easiest for Haldir. As the younger elf still had trouble standing or sitting, the ground was where most everything happened, including meals.

"By all means, then," said Haldir. He waited patiently, but when Erestor said nothing, he remembered their deal and picked up a slice of the bread and began to eat.

"When I was in Gondolin-"

"Gondolin?" Haldir swallowed quickly so that his words would not be muffled. "Gondolin, Erestor? I never knew you were there. I had thought you to have been born in Doriath. That is what everyone says."

"I came from Doriath, aye." Erestor paused. "What I am going to tell you has not been spoken of since the sack of Gondolin, at least, I have spoken naught of it. I must ask you for secrecy, until a time when I and those involved allow the knowledge to be shared with anyone who wishes it. Do I have your assurances?"

Haldir nodded uneasily. "If you do not wish for me to know-"

"I am here to heal you, penneth, and something tells me that the tale I have to tell may help," said Erestor.

"So…I am somehow led to believe you were not born in Doriath, then."

"No."

"Valinor?" Haldir tried, knowing Erestor was a Noldo, but hoping the fear he had in this was unfounded.

"Before Valinor," smiled Erestor. "I know what you are thinking. No, I did not slay kin to make my way here. I came another way."

Helping himself to another slice of bread, Haldir gave Erestor a look of mild disbelief. "That's the only way the Noldor came," he said.

"That's the only way the Noldor came that was worth writing about," Erestor corrected him. "Rather boring to say, 'And then later a few more left Valinor in search of the bloody idiots who left and killed some Teleri along the way'. Think who wrote the histories, Haldir - anyone who could write and owned pen and parchment. There is more than one version of practically everything - I've seen versions of texts that name Amroth as your parents' son, I've heard tales of your father being one of the Teleri present on a ship during the slayings, I've read nineteen different translations for Elrond's name, and I'm sure to find one or two more before the end of the age."

"So, you're telling me not to believe anything I read?" asked Haldir.

Shaking his head furiously, Erestor said, "I'm telling you to use caution. Or at least, consider the source."

"When you did come to Middle Earth-"

"Came back to, penneth. But we'll get to that later if we have time."

Closing his eyes, Haldir tried to sort things out so that he didn't get sidetracked. "You came back…fine…you came first then to Doriath?"

"Oh, yes. Doriath was first, but when Gondolin was being built, I went there. Doriath was caves and darkness, Gondolin was fresh air and light," Erestor explained. Haldir opened his eyes once more and continued to eat, and Erestor began to retell the tale of his coming to the city.

---

Erestor was happy he had decided to travel light. He had presented himself to the king as a scribe with letters of recommendation from Oropher and Thranduil of Doriath, and that seemed well enough to appease them. His accommodations here were much better than those he had had in Doriath, though twice he was apologized to that they were the most that could be offered. Now in the courtyard, he looked for a spot to sit and ease the weariness of his legs.

At the center, a large fountain seemed to call to him, and he wasted little time in finding a spot on the ledge. It was early in the day, and few were busy at work. When more came, Erestor decided, he would likely retire to his room for the day. He was here to work, not to make friends. Opening his book, he began to read, paying little attention to that going on around him.

"Lo, but someone is sitting on your fountain," he heard a voice whisper after a short time.

"Hush. He can sit there if he likes."

There was a pause, and Erestor concentrated less on his reading now and more on the voices nearby.

"You told me the penalty to sit on your fountain was death," the first voice said.

"The penalty of death comes to those who dance on the edge and decide the fountain should be anointed with the fluid of one's bowels."

"I was drunk."

"Isn't that always the way?"

"I should never think to do such a thing while sober. Besides, you didn't kill me the first time."

"A mistake I intend never again to make, Fin."

Erestor let his eyes flash up, and across from the fountain on a bench he saw a pair of elves. One was golden-haired, dressed in silver and white that sported marking of deep blue 'round the throat and in patterns on his breast, while the other was clad in gold and red with hair much like Erestor's own in color. They had been talking to one another, but watching him the entire time, and Erestor attempted unsuccessfully to pretend as though he had not heard them.

"You do not blend in that well with the scenery, master scribe," the darker elf said, this time loud enough so that there was no mistake to whom he was speaking.

"I apologize. I shall move away from your fountain." Erestor began to stand, but was stopped by a raised hand.

"It's not exclusively MY fountain," said the elf, moving to sit next to him. "I mean, I call it my fountain, I'm quite particular to the fountain, but it isn't really my fountain."

Erestor turned slightly to regard the structure, closing his book as he did so. "It is a rather nice fountain."

"Yes it is, isn't it?" The elf smiled and said, "You don't remember me, do you?" Erestor shook his head. "I am Ecthelion, one of the elflings you used to threaten you'd tie up in the tree in your garden if we didn't stop trampling your flowers whenever we ran through."

"Ah. Yes." Erestor nodded with realization. "I had not known what had happened to you."

"You know why we left," answered Ecthelion, puzzled. "I assumed you…well, I had thought you must have crossed the Helcaraxë, for I came on the ships and did not see you numbered among us there."

Erestor shook his head. "I came another way," he simply said.

"Of course, leave me out of the conversation, as per usual," sulked the other elf, stepping forward.

Ecthelion regarded him with a wave of the hand. "This is Glorfindel of Beleriand. He is a moody thing, and please feel free to tie him upside down in a tree if he comes nearer to my fountain than he already is now."

"I was drunk," protested Glorfindel once more in a calm voice. "And what's more, a troubled youth."

"Aye, you were," agreed Ecthelion, giving Glorfindel a grin and a wink. "Good thing I straightened you out when I did."

"Pleased to meet you," Erestor said, bowing his head.

"You're the first," laughed Ecthelion as Glorfindel bowed his head to Erestor, standing solemnly by the fountain. "Don't worry, he does not bite, and he may even smile now and again if you catch him quickly enough." Ecthelion looked to the sky and said, "It is nigh time we found our way to our posts, friend Erestor."

"I assume you both guard the city."

"Aye, but not just any guards, for it is Glorfindel's job to guard the Fifth Gate, and mine to see to it that the Sixth Gate is guarded, because Valar forbid he would have to try to actually protect his gate," winked Ecthelion. Glorfindel did not look very amused at this, and arched one brow as if issuing challenge to his ability as a guard, but Ecthelion either did not notice or did not care. "It is pleasant to see you; I should like to talk more with you at dinner."

Forgetting that his plans had been to eat alone, Erestor nodded, and actually gave a little smile. "I shall see you then."

---

"Glorfindel? Solemn? Not possible," Haldir said.

"Ah, but he was. His father had taken the oath, and something about that didn't sit right with the youth when he discovered it. He was troubled, and ran away from his home in Dorthonion, coming to Gondolin after wandering for a brief time. Glorfindel was a lonely lad, and it was his good fortune that Ecthelion took a liking to him, despite his ability to have greatly insulted most of the city within a day of his arrival," Erestor told him. "I was not in Gondolin for that, but I was told that Glorfindel was soon well loved by all, and well trained by Ecthelion. His want was a family who listened to him and saw him for the young warrior he was. Gondolin adopted him wholeheartedly.

"I did not arrive until the city was near complete. Glorfindel quickly became a good friend of mine in those days. Along with Ecthelion, we were practically inseparable while off duty. Although we didn't dance on the fountain - well, actually, there were a few times when Ecthelion and I did, but never Glorfindel," chuckled Erestor.

"You danced on a fountain."

"On the edge of it. With Ecthelion, though, he once fell in shortly after we began," recalled Erestor with a smirk. "Glorfindel thought us immature and told us so, but fetched us then towels, for I was drenched by Thel as he climbed from the fountain, and Glorfindel had tea waiting for us in his study when we were drier and more sobered."

Haldir attempted to imagine this scene, but it was difficult for him to visualize. "I always thought you and Glorfindel disliked one another. You seem to have been downright civil, dare I say good friends, from what you're telling me," said Haldir.

Erestor folded his hands, his smile slowly fading. "Most forget that Glorfindel of Imladris is not the same as Glorfindel of Gondolin."

"But it is the same Glorfindel, is it not?" questioned Haldir.

Nodding, Erestor said, "Glorfindel of Gondolin was killed when he was barely more than four hundred years old. He spent centuries awaiting his rebirth after such a short life of service and duty. He was not the same after his time as Glorfindel of Mandos."

"I never thought about it in that way before," admitted the younger elf. "Not to seem impatient, but when do we get to the part about the markings on your ankle?"

"Why seem impatient when you are impatient?" asked Erestor with amusement. "You haven't finished all of your dinner."

"I did finish. I just don't want anymore of this, that's all," he said, lifting the glass of juice that had been brought with his meal. "Please, Erestor?"

Shaking his head, Erestor began to put the empty dishes onto the tray. "We shall have to wait until our next meal to continue," he said.

Haldir gave the glass a resigned look, and then quickly swallowed the rest of the liquid. "Now can you tell me the rest?" he asked when he had finished.

"If I did," said Erestor, taking the glass from him, "I'd have nothing to bribe you with for next time."

~Interlude - 495 First Age - Gondolin~

"What is all this?" demanded Erestor, finding a number of large wooden trunks and a few smaller packages piled in the center of his chambers. Though he normally didn't keep his doors locked, feeling quite safe in Gondolin, he still found is disturbing to think others would come in and out of his room without his permission. His temper eased a little when he noted Ecthelion and Glorfindel sitting in two of the three chairs by the window, sharing a bottle of wine.

Each of them regarded him with a nod and a raise of their glass. Pushing the door shut, he greeted them with a smile and a nod, loosening his collar as he walked to the bed that was situated to the immediate left of the door, knowing he would be expected to drink with them and discuss some matter or another. If they wished conversation of a less serious nature, they took themselves to the soldiers' rest hall, where ale flowed fast and maidens from respectable houses did not enter. This evening they had chosen Erestor's balcony, so this evening was for peace, reflection, and discussion between three noble lords of Gondolin.

There was something strange about the way they would sit and drink, Erestor had always thought. The pair was never dressed in anything less than the finest that was to be offered, even when the days were hot or the patrols long and uneventful. Even when they relaxed, even now, here, where no one but Erestor would have discovered them, he found them in full dress with not a stain of grass nor dirt upon breaches or jerkins, shirts perfect, boots symmetrically laced, and so on.

Never one for the rich clothing of his class, Erestor favored darker garments, and those that did not accentuate a thing. Not because he disliked his appearance, but because he did not think it proper for eyes to rove over him as they did with these two, the guardians of the splendid gates. In the privacy of his rooms, however, Erestor did not need to think twice about removing his heavy burgundy robes and tossing them onto the bed. He eyed up his two grinning companions as he sunk down onto the mattress of the bed, pulling off his boots and stockings, and then his shirt.

Barefoot, he padded across the room and joined them, pulling a goblet from the shelf of the private bar as he passed it. He held out the glass by the stem and it was filled almost instantly. Erestor sipped the drink ever so carefully, as it was not usually his want to partake of such pleasures, for he found himself rather willing to agree to the random acts of silliness suggested by Ecthelion while influenced by the wine. Closely, he watched the reactions of the two elves sitting with him. He didn't need to wait long for his question to be answered, in the only manner these rogues in lord's clothing knew how.

"Oh, go open them, Erestor," prodded Ecthelion, his eyes sparkling in anticipation. Glorfindel, the outward model of perfection, calmly smiled around the mouth of the bottle as he drank from it.

"Then I take it you are both aware of what is inside," said Erestor. His friends nodded to him, and Glorfindel reached into a pocket of his jerkin, pulling from it a thin silver chain on which was a silver key, larger than the ones used in the doors. It spanned almost the length of Erestor's hand, and he took it as it was offered to him. "This opens the crates, I assume?"

"No," said Glorfindel as he took another drink from the bottle. "But you will need it, nonetheless."

Clutching the chain in one hand and the goblet in the other, Erestor stood and walked back to the chests. Setting his goblet onto the floor, he knelt down and then lifted up the unbolted cover and pushed it back, letting it catch on the leather that hinged it. Puzzled, Erestor began to sort through the rich clothing he found within. "Whose are these?" he dared to ask.

"Yours, whose would they be? There are, after all, in your chambers," said Glorfindel, pulling a scroll from some hidden place under his cloak as the pair joined Erestor. "A Proclomation of the King Turgon, stated thus in the Year 495 of the coming of-"

"Only the important things, Glorfindel," scolded Ecthelion, taking the scroll from the other elf's hands. "It is the choice of the King and his court to appoint to the Seven Gates of Gondolin the Seven Guardians of Gondolin. The Warden of the Seventh Gate-"

"They are reappointing the guardians?" Erestor interrupted. "Why would such a thing be done?"

"It is the will of the King," replied Ecthelion and Glorfindel in unison, and Erestor sighed.

Glorfindel could not help but to chuckle. "By now, had you not realized, we are all the pieces upon his great chess board? We move at his will, on his command. And sometimes, the bishop becomes a knight."

"That's silly, Glorfindel, it is a pawn that can become a knight, though it makes more sense to promote it to queen."

Laughing harder, this caused Ecthelion to grin, and Glorfindel said, "Ah, but wouldn't the queen be jealous of that? Fine then, a pawn you may have been, but not any more."

Erestor didn't like the way Glorfindel was looking at him - somewhat like a cat about to pounce a ball of yarn that had fallen to the floor. "What are you trying to tell me?"

" 'The Warden of the Seventh Gate," Ecthelion began again, "the Lord Guardian Ecthelion of the Fountain. The Warden of the Sixth Gate, the Lord Guardian Glorfindel of the Golden Flower. The Warden of the Fifth Gate, the Lord Guardian Erestor of the Silver Stars.' " Ecthelion skimmed the rest and replied, "Well, all the others have stayed in their spots, of course, so I shall not bore you with that."

Glorfindel took back the scroll after it was rolled, bent down, and used it to tap Erestor beneath the chin. "Best to close your mouth, Lord Guardian, no need to attract flies."

"Lord Guardian I am not!" he finally managed.

"Lord Guardian, you are now," confirmed Glorfindel. "Rider of horses, keeper of knowledge, and a fierce fighter as ever - and we should know, we know the elves who taught you," he smirked.

Shaking his head, Erestor looked around, realizing the packages likely contained various weapons and things proper to the station he had been appointed to. "I shall have to tell the King I can not accept such a position. This will never do."

"What are you worried about? Nothing will ever reach you, with Fin and I guarding the outermost gates. It's more of an honorary position, really. Those at the first four gates have others standing in for them more oft than they are there themselves. Of course, you do have the Fifth Gate - we should hope that you would show as much respect for it as we have in the past." Ecthelion lifted the silver cape from the chest and held it so that it draped over Erestor's bare shoulder. "As you can see, silver does a great deal more for you than it had for Fin. And I myself prefer a gate of steel to a gate of gold."

"You only took the job because you're getting an entirely new wardrobe," Glorfindel said, sorting through a bowl of fruit that was perched on a table off to the side. To Erestor, he said, "I asked for the seamstresses to take in my garments as soon as they were able, and they were only too willing to comply when I told them who they did the favor for," he said with a wink. "I am looking forward ever so to wearing your- I mean, MY- splendid red-gold raiment, Thel."

Ecthelion waved off Glorfindel's comment, drawing out a silver belt, most of the rest of the wardrobe contained within the chest being white in color. "This may not do, Fin's waist is thick, just as his head sometimes appears to be. You may very well need a new belt."

"I had them adjust it as well, dear Thel," spoke up Glorfindel, who had found his way back to his chair and the wine. "I told them to consider the size of your brain, and double that to fit 'round Erestor."

"Ah, very good," said Ecthelion, trying to decide if Glorfindel's jest had been meant as a slap against his intelligence, Erestor's weight, or both. Ecthelion frowned when he saw that Erestor was not smiling, not even at his playful banter with Glorfindel. "Erestor, my dear friend, you had to think that someday King Turgon would decide to place you in a position of higher honor and rank."

"I'm a scribe, and that's all I want to be," protested Erestor as Ecthelion handed him one of the white silken shirts from the chest. "I'm not a Lord or a Guardian or a Warden or anything that should be capitalized in a properly written sentence!"

"You are a scribe," nodded Ecthelion. "A scribe who can best most of the army with a sword, race every hunter upon horse, and match intelligence to none save the King himself."

"That is too bold a statement," warned Glorfindel from his spot. Ecthelion gave him a challenging look, and Glorfindel answered, "Everyone knows Erestor's the smartest elf in Gondolin."

The comment was not unappreciated, and Erestor bowed his head in thanks of it. Ecthelion answered him by tossing a few more items at the elf. "There you are. Try the fit of the clothes, you only have three days before you are expected at your post."

Trembling slightly, Erestor took the items and went to his bed, dressing once more, but now in the oddly bright clothes. The white was near blinding to him, and he was thankful for the silver cape that seemed to somewhat subdue the white. He studied the indigo patterns that swirled around the collar and across the front of the jerkin before pulling it on. At last, he was brought the key once more, which he had accidentally let slip to the floor.

"Never let this out of your sight," commanded Ecthelion, holding the chain before Erestor. Erestor gave a nod, and then Ecthelion took the chain and placed it around Erestor's neck. "The guards who will stand in for you all have similar keys while they are on duty, but it is important you never take it off. There is only one key. One key for your gate, one key for Glorfindel's gate, one key for each of the rest."

Erestor now noticed the chain that he had sometimes seen around Glorfindel's neck must have been this one that he now wore. He glanced over to see that now almost but not quite hidden was a chain of fiery gold that disappeared down around Glorfindel's neck, at the end of which was likely a golden key. Ecthelion's neck bore a similar chain, a deep grey metal that gleamed, much of which was not to be seen. Taking hold of the key, Erestor did as they had done with theirs, slipping it down beneath his jerkin so that it was between this and his shirt at his breast. Ecthelion smiled and Glorfindel gave a nod, raising the bottle to the new Warden.

"Is there just the one key for your gate, Ecthelion?"

Ecthelion grinned. "You don't miss a moment, do you? I shall have but one of the keys of the gate, for Turgon has one also, and Maeglin another."

"Maeglin shouldn't have one," Glorfindel said in a wary voice.

"We've been through this, Fin," Ecthelion replied. The conversation stopped abruptly as Glorfindel shrugged, and once more, Erestor was addressed. "When the need arises for you to be at the gate, if you are not at the gate, there is a horn you will hear sounded. It is very loud, and we do not blow it unless there is need. You will know the sound of it. That is, if ever it comes to that. Other than that, you will be needed for formal functions, weddings and gatherings and such," explained Ecthelion. He gave Erestor another appraising look. "It appears these clothes were really made for him and not for you, Fin."

"I feel completely out of place," admitted Erestor.

"Oh, come take a look at yourself," prodded Ecthelion, but Glorfindel held up a hand.

Rising, he went into the washroom and called, "Undo those awful braids of yours, Erestor. We're not going to have you looking like a homely scribe at every watch."

Reluctantly, Erestor began to unravel the long braid that hung down the left side of his back, mostly because Ecthelion had already begun work on the one on the right. Erestor had found that keeping his hair back in this manner was much easier for work conditions, but that it was extremely unflattering - not that he much minded. This was remedied soon enough, as he was moved to the nearest of the chairs, and fussed over by the two frowning warriors.

"Really, just leave me to plait it again," insisted Erestor after he had been pulled at more times than he deemed necessary.

"Just do something simple, Glorfindel," instructed Ecthelion, ignoring Erestor's pleas. "Can't you clip it back, just to get it out of his face?"

"Yes, I'm trying, but there's so much of it," complained Glorfindel.

"You're not cutting it," Erestor warned them both, quite aware that he was criticized for having hair that challenged the length of many of the maidens, yet he was so very vain of this if of nothing else. "Stop tugging it, or you'll pull my head clear off, Glorfindel."

"There, I've finished," Glorfindel said, putting down the brush he had retrieved from the washroom. "To the mirror with you."

He was pulled to the reflective glass that was in the hallway, eyes widening at the elf that stared back with the same expression. "That does not look like me," he said, touching the glass with one hand to be sure it was truly his image and not a trick. "But, aye, it is."

Behind him, Glorfindel and Ecthelion smiled, patted one another on the back for a job well done, and left Erestor to gaze at himself. After a few minutes, they came back into the hall. "I think he's been frozen," remarked Ecthelion, who now held the nearly empty bottle.

"I just don't think he ever actually saw himself before. Don't they have mirrors in Valinor?" joked Glorfindel, but he wiped away his smirk as the heads of the elder elves shook back and forth. "Oh. Well." He waited for either of them to say something before asking, "Erestor, this isn't the first time you've looked at yourself is it?"

Erestor continued to look at the mirror, touching it now. "I never knew my eyes were so dark," he said, somewhat in awe of the image he saw.

"I don't suppose you've ever known that you choose some fairly ill colors, have you?" questioned Glorfindel, edging closer.

Erestor shook his head. "I just choose the most practical things..."

Nothing more was said for some time, but Glorfindel, unable to stand the silence much longer, clasped his hands together. "I am thinking that now would be an excellent time for us to head to the hall and see what is in store for supper. Erestor can take the time to thank the King for his decision, and we can all fill our empty stomachs, and most importantly, we shall see the faces of the rest of the kingdom when they ask us who that lovely elf who is dining with us this evening is."

Erestor turned his head slightly and asked ever so seriously, "Do we have a fourth with us for this evening's meal?"

"Oh, do not fake modesty now, Lord Guardian, we will not fall to such deception," said Ecthelion as he brushed down the velvet of his vest and waved a hand in the direction of the hall. "Shall we, then?"

"Down in the valley, my lover waits for me,

Sings softly to me, and calls me from the sea;

Though my heart is heavy, and I wish to flee,

I shall stay until the day that I can go with she."



Seldom were the times that Haldir had heard Erestor singing. The voice was deep and yet soft and it nearly put Haldir back to sleep. "I have heard that tune before," said Haldir when the singing stopped.

"Shhh, to sleep, Haldir. The sun has yet to rise."

Rolling to his side so that he faced Erestor, he winced slightly, taking a deep breath. "Nenniach was singing something nearly the same, just the other day. Please, Erestor, tell me where the song is from."

"Listen to you," chuckled Erestor. In a tone of voice reminiscent of Haldir, he drawled out, "Erestor, tell me about the song. Erestor, tell me about the markings on your ankle." Shaking his head, Erestor said, "You're worse than the twins were when they were but elflings and had excuse for it."

"Yes, the markings on your ankle," said Haldir, remembering. "You didn't tell me about them last night."

"And you'll be lucky if we get to them at all today."

Resignedly, Haldir carefully sunk back into his nest. "I will eat my meals without question, and will not beg for anything to rid me of this pain. What's more, I won't even complain about the pain."

"Is that because I have your word on it, or has Nenniach found yet another way to sneak your medicines to you?" Erestor smiled a bit wickedly as Haldir looked at him with a slightly fearful expression. "I know, she gives you less and less, but it has not gone unnoticed. I'm old, yes, but despite jokes told at my expense, I am not senile."

Resting his head back again, Haldir sighed. "I won't take it from her anymore. You have my word. How is that?"

"It's a start," said Erestor, stretching and looking around. Nenniach had been fairly punctual about having a cold breakfast ready to greet them before they awoke, but today, both the tray and the elleth were missing. He did not wish to leave, and so, looked at the young elf that lounged and stared up at the hazy sky through the trees. "It appears breakfast will be late this morning."

"I can wait," Haldir assured him, adding, "And whilst we wait, you can tell me about your song."

"Or, we could forget that song," suggested Erestor, "and I could sing you another."

Haldir considered the offer. He was apparently not going to learn the origins of the song, at least not from Erestor. "I shall allow your compromise," he said, raising a hand in the air and make a regal sort of gesture like those he had seen the Mirkwood royals do when they wished something to be done.

"Practicing, are we?" teased Erestor. "I thought you gave up your crown to Orophin."

"Aye, but I need no practice," said Haldir. "I come from a long line of very noble Sindar."

"A long line?" snorted Erestor, relaxing more than he had since he had come. "I can count your past sires and grandsires on a single hand and have fingers left to spare."

"Kindly make better use of your mouth, Erestor, and open it in song and not insult," said Haldir, in a tone that mocked the voice of Elrond.

"For that," warned the Noldo, "I should not only refuse song, but refuse story later as well."

Lips that wanted to smirk were held down in a loose pout as Haldir moved to his side once more. "Ah, Erestor, I jest."

"As do I, penneth. Now, as for your song…" Erestor leaned more comfortably against the tree. "Something that you've not heard before, I should think." And he began:



The Evenstar, the Golden Flower

The Silver Queen who sailed West

The twin princes, the minstrel elf

The wandering lord when he needs rest



Each has a story you may've guessed

Ruled and led by the Peredhel

'Tis in the last house in the West

In a place they call Rivendell



"I've not heard that one before," admitted Haldir. "Is there more to it?"

Erestor nodded. "It is a song with choices. Some are intrigued by the twins, they choose that part of the song, while others have begged the tale of their sister. There is little call to tell the story of Lindir, while many want to know of Gildor's adventures. Glorfindel, also popular, as is Elrond. It is your choice what you wish to hear, though, to ask for the story of the Silver Queen is not worth your time - you know your sister well enough, and your name is mentioned but once."

Haldir made a sour face. "And Rumil's?"

"Twice," admitted Erestor, "But there is more to rhyme with his name than yours!"

"Oh. Of course. So few words in Sindarin have an 'ir' at the end. Whatever was I thinking."

"The song is in Westron, or have you spoken the tongue so long you have it confused?"

Haldir narrowed his eyes and began to tick off on his fingers. "Leer. Sneer. Spear. Beer."

"Yes, all wonderful words to describe your sister. How could I have neglected their use?" asked Erestor, picking the twigs and grass from his leggings.

"Apparently, you didn't know her as well as you say you did," huffed Haldir. "She had quite a temper and drank heavily with Adar. Some occasions, one could not be sure which of them had the more colorful Dwarvish vocabulary." When he found that Erestor was no longer indulging him, he sighed and asked, "What use is a song with so many endings?"

"I used it when we had visitors who did not speak our tongue. Because there were so many paths, it gave the listeners time to break between the stories. Some," Erestor further explained, "think our songs long."

"Mortals," shrugged Haldir as if he were indifferent to it.

Erestor chuckled. "I wouldn't say that around his Lord Elrond or any of the children. Right, so, which is the tale you wish to hear?" questioned Erestor, glancing to the steps in hopes that breakfast would soon come.

"Tell me of the horse master of Imladris," answered Haldir.

Erestor shook his head. "I do not have a song for him."

Haldir shrugged. "Make one up."

Shaking his head again, Erestor was interrupted as a young elleth came carefully down the steps to the garden, holding a large tray. Her wide eyes took in the surroundings of the garden, looking this way and that. Erestor gave a glance to Haldir, who took a look at the elleth and mouthed 'Seamstress' to Erestor.

Rolling his eyes, Erestor motioned that Haldir should give him the maiden's name, but Haldir widened his eyes, and gave a blank look to Erestor. Giving a nod, Erestor stood and approached the elleth, who had paused three quarters of the way down. "My lady," he said with a bow. The elleth curtseyed upon hearing his voice, but continued to take in the garden.

"May I…help you with this?" asked Erestor as he met her on the step below, but his height still caused him to stand above her. She nodded without a word, her eyes now on the great mirror. Erestor slid the tray from her hands. "May I inquire as to why my daughter did not bring the tray?"

"She is tired…was speaking with her husband…" the elleth began to come out of her daze, but her sight was still fixed upon the mirror.

"Rumil is here?" interrupted Haldir, trying to get up.

"Oh!" The elleth looked past Erestor down into the garden, blushing at the sight of the Captain, dressed only in baggy pants, haired braided loosely and thrown around his shoulder. "Oh, no, I beg pardon. She was farspeaking and I was asked to bring the tray to you. I am told to give word that the war is mostly over. The orcs have been run out of the forest by our troops and those of the elfking. And the tower has been felled by the Lady Galadriel."

"Which elfking? What tower?" questioned Erestor, and the maiden blushed.

"I don't honestly know. I'm just repeating what she said before she fell into a deep sleep."

"She is sleeping?" asked Erestor excitedly. "Praise Eru, that poor child needed sleep." The elleth began to look around once more, and Erestor said, "Ah, you may, uh…" and was distracted as she turned to watch a bird swoop low and then out of the garden. He found himself watching her as she watched the bird, wondering first if she herself had sewn the golden gown she wore, and then, what, if anything, might be beneath it. He blushed instantly, unsure of how such an inappropriate thought had come into his mind, and shook his head to clear it.

"Be dismissed?" she asked, focusing her attention once more.

Coughing, and turning to cover his blush, Erestor said, "Yes. Yes, that's it. You're dismissed." The elleth nodded, but Erestor had turned quickly and did not see as she went back up the stairs.

"Well…" Haldir grinned and leaned back as Erestor came back into the space they had been using most often.

"Well, nothing." Erestor started to reposition the items on the tray.

Closing his eyes, Haldir said, "I don't know if I'm very hungry anymore. Not with this searing pain in my back."

"Well, I think it may well be years before you learn the rest of my tale," said Erestor as he lifted the knife from the tray and cut off a slice of bread.

"Well, I think I'm going to find out all about you today, or else, I think I'm going to have to invite that…whoever she is down for lunch."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Erestor said quickly.

Arching his brow, Haldir slowly sat up and leaned forward. "What was it? Her eyes? Her figure? Perhaps her voice?" His grin was positively indecent, and Erestor told him so. "My grin? My, but I do wonder now what you are so eager to keep secret."

"Haldir, please!" Erestor rolled his eyes. "She's a child. Nenniach is probably ten times her age!" he insisted, but his cheeks colored again, and he bowed his head.

"So, it would be a lovely January-December romance," Haldir reasoned. "It would be such a scandal, wouldn't it?" he added slyly.

Erestor tossed the knife back onto the tray. "Butter your own bread," he said, settling back against the tree once more. "Now, where did we leave off?" he asked, ignoring Haldir's grin.

"You pulled him out of the fountain?"

Erestor nodded solemnly as Haldir felt his eyes begin to burn. "Oh, Erestor…I am so sorry. I can't even imagine…"

"I would think you could, penneth. It is part of your life, everyday. I have great respect for those like you. You, Glorfindel, anyone who goes into battle, anyone whose job it is to lead others into peril. When I left Gondolin," he said, handing Haldir his handkerchief, "I couldn't do it anymore. Fifteen years, that was enough for me. There was only one other time that I fought, and it was a time when it was unthinkable not to."

"Dagorlad," guessed Haldir. "I believe Valarda mentioned that Lindon and Imladris were practically emptied for it."

"I led the cavalry from Imladris - I was master of the stables then, it was expected of me. When we returned from the war, I gave up my post and locked myself in the library. War is simply not for me," he said as the cloth was handed back to him and he touched it to the corners of his own eyes. "Too many lost. I have not the stomach for it."

"No one truly has the stomach for war," replied Haldir. "Not those pure of heart, at least. There are days when I wish nothing more than to sit in the trees and sing songs while my brothers write and whittle, but if someone does not keep watch-"

"Penneth," said Erestor, holding up his hand, "you are a brave one, and though some may think I hold those who are warriors in a lesser regard, the truth is I think you all, from the highest Captain to the lowest of the scouts, to be worth more than the elf who hides away in his study for fear of orcs and death."

"Erestor! Stop that!" demanded Haldir. "Do not speak so lowly of yourself."

Shrugging, he said, "You are the ones who keep safe the dwellings of those who sit in trees and sing and write, while we appear to think little of the great freedom you grant us."

"Yes, but Erestor, we have to have something to protect," said Haldir. "Much as I love the trees, I love those who live in them even more. I am not much of a musician or a poet, but I enjoy the singing of the minstrels within Lorien and the words recited by the maidens who walk below my talan in the evenings. I am proud to be the one they see fit to have protect them."

Erestor was silent for some time, and then continued to speak the tale. "After pulling Ecthelion's body out of the fountain, I knew we were doomed. If he had fallen, there was little chance for the rest of us. We decided to flee, as you've heard before I'm sure. At first we thought we might evacuate easily. Then it came."

"A balrog."

"The balrog. The orcs. There was panic - we had so many children with us, Haldir, my first thoughts were of them. As I scrambled to keep them together, from running back, I was struck by the worst pain in all my life." Erestor rolled up the leg of his pants, displaying his ankle. All of Haldir's previous times in seeing it had been but brief glances, and he studied it more carefully now.

Haldir saw first the twined leaves of green and golden flowers, but beneath these markings made with ink, he saw another mark. It was pale, yet dark, an angry and evil looking thing. He felt compelled to touch it, and Erestor did not pull from him as he traced two fingers around the scar that encircled Erestor's ankle. "I do not recall seeing such a scar on an elf before," said Haldir.

"It is from fire, and those of fire do not fade," Erestor told him. Sadly, he added, "You may have one yourself, penneth. On your back, where your wound was cauterized."

Moving his fingers from Erestor's scar to his own, Haldir shuddered as he noted for the first time the length and width of it. "It never goes away?" he asked.

"Perhaps yours will," Erestor said, "for mine was not made by fire alone, but from flame and shadow."

"It was the balrog that made this?"

"I was an easy target with my back to that demon, and he lashed his whip around my leg. I thought I surely would be pulled into the abyss. In that moment, I had a thought." He shook his head and gave a somber sort of laugh. "I thought, 'Not me. Anyone but me.' I was so selfish, I did not care who it was, as long as I left with my life." Stopping suddenly, Erestor bowed his head and drew a hand to his face. It took Haldir some time before he realized that Erestor was crying, and his chest ached at the sight of one of the strongest elves he knew trying to hide his tears.

Pulling himself up enough to crawl the few feet to the counselor, Haldir leaned himself against Erestor and put an arm around him. "Please, Erestor, forgive me," he whispered. "It was wrong of me to ask you." Haldir's free hand reached down to push the cuff of the pants back over Erestor's ankle, but a hand stopped his own.

"I felt something jerk me toward the edge, and then, it stopped. When I turned, I saw Glorfindel with one foot atop the whip of the balrog, holding it down. He brought his sword down, slicing off the end of the whip, freeing me. Do you know what his last words were?" Erestor paused and took a deep and ragged breath. "Of course you do not know. He said, 'I am Glorfindel, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower and Lord Guardian, Warden of the Sixth Gate. I am chief protector of this city now. You have to fight me first.' The next moment, he had somehow raced up the whip and jumped across it, up to the foul creature, and he-" Erestor's voice cracked, and it was some time before he began again.

"He always makes it sound like a simple duel - a glorious battle between elf and demon. He never mentions the smell of flesh burning or singed hair, of all of the blood that was spilt. I don't know if he remembers that part of it, or if he intentionally forgets it, but it stays in my mind, clear as a calm lake in the summertime. As he fought, the rest escaped, but I was frozen in my place. I think I might have run, but I could not. My ankle was so badly wounded that I could barely crawl. So I hid best I could, and I watched." The emotional storm seemed to have passed for the counselor, and Haldir withdrew himself slightly now that Erestor was looking at him once more as he spoke.

"Do you recall that I said previously to consider the source of information? There is a chapter in the Quenta Silmarillion - a book that, contrary to popular belief, was not written entirely by one elf. I am fairly certain of the validity of the majority of Chapter Twenty-Three, because the words are my own. It is… mostly accurate."

"Mostly accurate?" pressed Haldir.

"Mostly in that 'they' who buried Glorfindel was really 'me', because how stupid would it have been for everyone to have stood around while Glorfindel and the Eagles took care of the balrog and the orcs instead of fleeing. I was too weak to walk, but when Thorondor brought up Glorfindel's body, I could not have it left for scavengers to find, and so I piled rocks over him best I could. He does not know that is how it happened.

"I asked then to have them fly me back into the city before being taken to what was left of the elves of our city, and did the same for Ecthelion, though instead of rocks, I placed over him the stones that had been knocked away from his fountain. I wish it could have been more, but it was the best I could do. It was a very bad day," reflected Erestor at last. "I still do not know how they could fight them, how they found within the courage and strength to battle such foes."

Unsure of what to say, Haldir took hold of Erestor's hand and squeezed it, hoping to offer comfort. He received a small fleeting smile before he was told, "You are the first who has heard the entire true account of the Fall of Gondolin, or the majority of it at least."

"I am honored that you have shared the tale with me," said Haldir.

"If you look carefully you will see blue lines beneath the flowers, those are meant for the fountain," said Erestor, pointing to the markings on his ankle, "and in them, the swirls of 'water' spell out their names as a reminder to myself. So many times they saved my life, so many things they taught me. It was a difficult loss."

"But Glorfindel came back," said Haldir.

"Yes, yes he did," said Erestor. "He is not exactly the Glorfindel I once knew, but yes, Glorfindel came back, and Ecthelion will come back, if he's not already running around Valinor and stomping on the flower beds of unsuspecting elves." He paused, and said, "Yes, elves come back."

Not particularly liking Erestor's tone, Haldir asked, "What are you trying to tell me, Erestor? You have hidden something in your tale."

Erestor pulled his hand from Haldir and stood, walking then to the pile of correspondence that was stacked on a bench close to the mirror. Pulling his handkerchief out again, he blew his nose once, twice, and deposited the cloth on the bench before pulling a fresh one from his pocket. "Not many days ago, a rider came from Rohan. I did not tell you at the time, because I did not think you were ready for the news that was brought." He picked up a scroll and carried it back to where they were sitting.

"It isn't Valarda, is it?" questioned Haldir with alarm.

"No, she is safe, or as safe as can be expected. She is alive, at least, for she wrote the document which I hold. The list of the soldiers that you brought with you to Helm's Deep," said Erestor, helping Haldir back to his nest.

Sighing, Haldir rested back down again. "I have such a list, it is in my office. I had meant to have it brought here so that I could begin a list of kin to speak with and give my condolences to." Erestor was crouched next to Haldir, lips pressed together and thinking very hard on how he planned to respond. He stuffed the cloth back into his pocket and moved once more to the tree and the scroll.

"I think," Erestor said, unfurling the scroll as he sat, "I should read this to you."

"Thonnas. Sub-Captain. Naith Company. Pengedhel. Warden. Naith Company."

"I didn't realize how many were hers," murmured Haldir, referring to the fact that many of those who came to the battle were from Valarda's troops in the south.

"Shall we pause again?" asked Erestor, looking up from the scroll.

Haldir closed his eyes. "How many do we have left?"

"Seven."

"Please proceed," said Haldir.

Erestor cleared his throat. "Ordulus. Warden. Ephel Company."

Slamming a fist weakly into the ground, Haldir shook his head. "I shouldn't have let him come. He was just a youth, he had such promise…"

"Thandronen. Com-"

"Wait! That's a mistake." Haldir looked at Erestor in hopes he would correct himself.

Erestor licked his lips and began again. "Thandronen. Commander, retired. Tarag Company." Looking up, Erestor gasped and rushed to his feet, dropping the scroll. "Haldir, you cannot get up, you may injure yourself again," said Erestor, placing Haldir's arm around his shoulder before the young elf could stumble back to the ground. "You are weak, you need to rest."

"Take me over there," said Haldir, motioning across the garden.

"Haldir, you-"

"Help me, Erestor, or stay out of my way!" he growled, pulling away from the advisor and to his destination.

"Wait, Haldir, stop!" Erestor drew a breath, and replied, "I'll help you over. Don't strain yourself." The pair slowly walked to the mirror, Haldir relying heavily on Erestor to get him there.

"Pitcher," Haldir pointed, and Erestor left him to lean himself on the empty basin while he took up the silver vessel and dipped it into the fresh water, pulling it up and letting it glisten in the sunlight. Erestor handed it to Haldir with a slight nod, stepping back again as Haldir lifted the pitcher shakily above the mirror, and then slowly tipped it to let the water pour down.

As the last of the drops fell into the small pool, Erestor said softly, "I was not aware that Artanis had taught anyone else her art."

"She hoped Celebrian would be the one." Haldir handed the pitcher back to Erestor and closed his eyes, drawing his strength. "Rumil wanted to and tried with great enthusiasm to learn, but never succeeded. Orophin wanted no part of it. I have varied degrees of success, and I fear, I am not of a mind to bring the images forth, but I shall try."

Noticing that Haldir was still clinging to the basin, Erestor stepped forward and asked, "Would you like for me to help you stand?"

Haldir shook his head. "No. I want to hear what they are saying," he said, his eyes closed in concentration. When Erestor said nothing, Haldir reached one hand out in the direction he guessed Erestor to be in. As he reached back, Erestor found his wrist gripped and pulled gently to the basin, where his palm was rested on the side of the mirror. Immediately, he began to hear sounds - whispers of words.

"Echoes," Haldir told him, eyes still closed. "They'll go when the images come and then the echoes will come together with the pictures." Erestor watched, placing his other hand on the mirror as well. The echoes became louder, and then ceased.

"Is it-"

"Shhh!" Haldir squeezed his eyes shut tighter, and let out a long breath that made slight ripples across the top of the mirror. Inhaling again, he opened his eyes slowly and gazed into the mirror.

---

"Adar, we need to speak to you-"

"-about something important."

Thandronen put down the quiver that he was filling with arrows and approached his sons. They were alike, perfectly identical. Even the twins of Imladris differed, greatly in some ways, whereas the sons of Thandronen were near perfect copies. Only he and his wife could truly tell them apart by appearance, and Ferevala had sailed for the West long years ago.

The twins stopped, one with his arms crossed, and the other with his hand in his pockets. Thandronen placed one hand on the first elf's shoulder and said, "What is it, Ferevellon?"

"The troops are leaving now, not in the morning."

"Well, it is good that I readied myself this afternoon past," replied Thandronen, moving back to his weapons.

Ferevellon looked to his brother, and Fereveldir bit his lip, then said, "We are here to say goodbye, Adar."

Turning, Thandronen laughed. "I may have been away from the patrol for some time, but I do think I am capable of helping to cut down a few thousand orcs."

"The Captain is taking no one who is bound, especially not those with children. We wanted to say goodbye to you before we left, even though we disobey orders by doing so," answered Ferevellon.

Thandronen nodded. "I see." He picked up his sword and held it in his hands, turning it and looking at the inscription and smiling fondly. The names of his sons, newborn at the time that the sword was forged, could still be read for they had been etched sharply into the metal. "But I will choose my own path. I am not bound to service as you or the rest of the soldiers are." He sheathed the blade and gathered his armor and provisions. "I am leaving now, and I will meet up with you at some point down the road. Do not look for me, and say nothing when I fall into line. I will bring my own food so that the Captain will not notice me. But I will fight in this battle," he declared.

His sons smiled at this news. Fereveldir threw his arms around his father and hugged him tightly, while Ferevellon clasped hands with Thandronen after Fereveldir stepped back. "What of Naneth?" the younger asked suddenly. "What if something should happen?"

"Nothing is going to happen," said Thandronen confidently. "If anything does go wrong, she is in Valinor, there are those there who will keep her strength and spirit up until the time that I would return to her. Wouldn't mind it, honestly," he joked to them. "I've been grown so long; it might do me a bit of good to be an elfling once again."

---

The image in the mirror swirled and became nothing more than a haze of blue and violet. "So that is the answer. I should have known such a thing would happen." Haldir looked across the mirror to Erestor, who was holding the handkerchief out to him again. When Haldir looked at him quizzically, Erestor replied by looking down into the mirror. Drops were hitting the surface, and Haldir reached one hand to his face and found he was crying.

Taking the cloth, he nodded and wiped his eyes. "He was a good elf. All three of them were good elves, friendly and very peaceful. Thandronen, after he retired from his position, he often sat below his talan and made kites from fallen branches and mallorn leaves for the elflings. His sons never married, I spoke with them often, and they were always so courteous and happy." Sighing, he bowed his head. "I destroyed that."

"No, penneth, you did not. 'Twas the Dark Lord who has brought this upon us."

"I was the wrong choice," Haldir mumbled, watching the cloudy water of the mirror. "If someone else would have led, perhaps so many would not have fallen. I had not been part of a battle this great before, and so I put my trust in Estel to give us direction. He gave the orders, but I cannot fault him. I was chosen to lead, that is what I should have been doing."

"You did something many of us would not do. There are more experienced elves, those who have seen battle before who could have led the army. You did better than they did in marching the troops to Rohan, and fighting with them at the front of the line. It reminded me of Elrond."

"I'm not sure if that's a compliment," Haldir said, smiling ruefully as he handed the cloth back, "but thank you." Dipping his hand into the calming water and drawing his fingers through it, Haldir added, "I wonder how he fell. Thandronen, that is. He taught me much of archery and swordplay. I should like to have gotten my hands on the neck of the Uruk who took him down, though, he was a mighty warrior, and I do not think he would have been taken down by just one."

---

Turning his sword in a wide arc to whip the blood from it, Thandronen scanned the area for more of the Uruks. When the battle began, he had enjoyed himself, but now after fighting in such close range for so long, he was beginning to tire both physically and mentally. Looking to his right, he saw that Haldir was still killing the creatures with a mad lust for their blood, but then, if the rumors of what happened to his sister were indeed true, Thandronen felt no pity for the beasts.

To his left, Thandronen was surprised to find no Elves in view. Searching once more as more of his foe came forward, he began to slay them, still watching for signs of his kinsfolk. There were a few Men, but still, none in the brilliant armor that had been sent from Imladris. As soon as he had cleared a path, he made his way across the piles of bodies, fighting as he went.

Something made him look down, where the wall had broken away, and as his sword plunged into the gut of the nearest Uruk, he spied an Elf below who was being rather effectively backed against a part of the wall that still stood. Grabbing over his shoulder, Thandronen cursed that he did not have any arrows left, though he knew it had been the case for some time.

Swinging his sword in a circle waist-high as he turned, he cut open four of the creatures, and gave himself the time he needed to judge the jump down. Bracing himself as he hit the ground, he rolled out of the path of an enemy axe before taking down the wielder. Enraged that their task was no longer as easy, the Uruks doubled their efforts on the elf they had circled. Thandronen let out a hoarse battle cry and lunged at the attackers, mercilessly cutting them down, slicing throats and in the confusion, even causing them to maim or kill one another.

As the last of them fell, Thandronen could have jumped for joy when he saw that the elf that stood, covered in mud and blood, was none other than one of his dear sons. "Father, Fereveldir-" began Ferevellon, but he stopped suddenly, his eyes wide, and he choked and grabbed at his neck.

Thandronen nearly dodged the second arrow that was fired, a heavy crossbow quarrel that grazed his leg before skidding across the ground into the wall. Without chance to miss the opportunity, Thandronen fell to the ground and retrieved the arrow. His sword was out of his hand, and his bow in it, and the quarrel fired through the skull of the Uruk before he could think that he had done it.

His next concern was his son, who had fallen to his knees. Thandronen took hold of the shaft that had come through to the other side and broke it off, then yanked the other end out of Ferevellon before ripping a section from the dark cape he wore. One arm was around his son while the other made an attempt to bandage the injury, but the rag was soaked within moments, and Thandronen desperately tried to rip another section from the cape.

"Ada," Ferevellon managed, spitting out a mouthful of blood away from his father best he could. "Ada. Fereveldir, he is fading, I was trying to get to him. Go to him for me, I am going fast and cannot make it. He fell West of here," said Ferevellon, his head lolling in that direction.

"We're going to him together," Thandronen said as he tied off the third piece of cloth, then hoisted Ferevellon up and over his shoulder while picking up his sword in the other. Engaging only the Uruks necessary to make it to his destination, Thandronen found his strength renewed - until he found his other son.

Settling Ferevellon on the ground next to Fereveldir, he assessed the extent of his younger son's injuries and was amazed that Fereveldir still clung to life as badly broken as his body was. Inch by inch, Fereveldir's hand found its way to Ferevellon's. "I waited for you to come," he whispered in a faraway strained voice. "I prayed Namo would let me see you both once more. I'm sorry, Vel. I distracted you."

Ferevellon's fingers curled around the hand that found his while Thandronen placed his sword on the ground and took a hand of each of his sons into his. "No regrets, Dir. No regrets," he said, rubbing the fingers of his little brother. "I am ready," he said after a cough, turning his head to look at Fereveldir.

"I'm scared, Vel," admitted the younger as he looked back, and received a squeeze to his hand.

"We'll go together. I'll be with you, I promise, I won't leave you."

Fereveldir nodded slightly, closing his eyes. "Don't leave me."

"No, Dir, no, I won't," Ferevellon made a gagging noise and spat again. Regarding their father, he said, "We love you, Ada," and Fereveldir nodded, his eyes squeezed shut and tears streaming down the sides of his face as he forces himself to keep breathing just a little longer.

"I love you both. My little warriors," whispered Thandronen, kissing each of his sons. When he drew back, they were gone. He took the precious time to close Ferevellon's eyes, ignoring the call to fall back. Careful not to disrupt the hands that were held, he took up his own sword and Fereveldir's, and turned with a vengeful look to the Uruks that approached.

The orders to fall back were still in his mind, and he now worried. He had heard them shouted out in Westron, and then repeated in his own tongue, but cut off abruptly. Heading to the stairs that were still standing, Thandronen headed in the direction that he had last seen Haldir. "You bastards," he said in regards to the Uruks. "You'll take all our sons to make up for your lot as fatherless beasts," he said to himself, stooping to close the eyes of the fallen Captain. Dead. 'No, not dead,' he told himself, 'just sleeping in the Halls of Mandos until the time they reawaken in Valinor.' If there was any consolation to this, it was that all who fought this night secured their rebirth into a better place. "Sleep, Haldir. Your father could not be here with you, but I shall make him aware of your valiant deeds here."

Thandronen made his way to the keep, but his ears picked up the terror-filled cries across the way. He found himself running toward the shouting while others ran past in the opposite direction. On the wall, he found a Man, and not one who was a soldier, looking fearfully down the wall below. "Please, my son!" He pointed down, and Thandronen looked below, seeing a boy of no more than ten or twelve trying his best to fend off three approaching Uruks with nothing but a hunting knife, the blade of his sword shattered at his feet.

"He could not climb the wall, so I reached the top and found a rope, but I threw it down and then had to drop it when the enemies approached me. I killed them now, but the rope is too heavy, and-"

Thandronen held his hand up for silence. "Are there any stairs leading down?" he asked urgently in broken Westron.

The Man shook his head. "Please, help me," he begged. "I've seen the rest of my children killed tonight, and he is the last child of a widowed old man."

Growling at the impossibility of the situation, Thandronen sheathed one of the swords he carried. "I will do what I can, but I ask of you a favor, from one father to another. My sons," he said, pointing in the distance, "are dead, you will find them yonder. If I do not survive, if the battle is won and you find them, please find a way for them to make it home."

"How will I know them?" asked the Man as Thandronen prepared to jump down the wall.

"They are twins," he shouted as he fell. His landing was rougher than his first, but he had more time to steady himself. Though the Uruks approached, he had another few seconds, for they had been walking slow and steady, laughing at the youth that they had cornered. Now, they became enraged, and stopped to scream their cries of battle and attract more of their kind.

"Boy!" yelled Thandronen. The youth looked at him suddenly, still frozen in his place while Thandronen took one end of the rope and threw it up to the Man above. "Climb!" he commanded. No further direction was needed, and as the child climbed the rope, his father above pulled the line up. Thandronen swung his sword to and fro at either side, awaiting the approach of the Uruks.

"What have we here?" one of them grunted.

"No Elves left is what I was told," another said.

"He's mine," growled a third, and Thandronen tilted his head with a wicked smile. There were fifty at least crowding around him, with more coming. Drawing out his son's sword, he crossed it before him with his own, keeping the wall to his back. This, he decided, was going to be fun.

---

"Penneth?" Erestor touched Haldir's shoulder, but the younger elf did not move. "Penneth, what is the matter?"

Blinking, Haldir looked down, finding the water still clear. "I…nothing, I just thought I saw something else, but…" He looked up at Erestor. "Did you see anything?"

Erestor shook his head. "Nay, there have been no more images, but I worried, for you were not answering me." Drawing out another handkerchief, he handed it to Haldir. "You kept weeping, but it seemed your mind was elsewhere."

"Erestor, if you do not mind indulging me," sniffled Haldir, "how do you come to have so many of these on you?"

Shrugging, Erestor said, "If you like elflings, you keep a lot of handkerchiefs in your pocket."

Bowing his head over the mirror once more, Haldir said, "There are but five names left on your list, and among them are Ferevellon and Fereveldir, and that would leave but three."

Saying nothing of this, Erestor led Haldir away from the mirror, back to his spot on the ground. "It grieves me to give you such news, but the pain of withholding it has been just as great." Erestor hastily picked up the scroll and came to sit next to Haldir, who was shivering.

"Let's put this around you," he suggested, pulling the top blanket around Haldir's shoulders. "Do you want to rest? I can sing to you, or I can have the medicine brought for the pain, enough for you to sleep awhile."

"Erestor, I have a terrible fear of what you will read to me, for if Valarda is the one who wrote it, she has stayed true to her nature. In battle, in everything, her reports give me the news of least pain first, gradually building, stacking atop something bad something worse, and atop that something awful." Haldir pulled the blanket around him and closed his eyes. "You have read the list."

"Aye, I have, penneth."

"Tell me the last name," he said calmly.

"Do you not wish to know-"

"Erethón. Lieutenant. Naith Company. He was Valarda's secretary, and an excellent chess player. Years ago, he began organizing a parade and feast once every twelve years, not in honor of the guard or anything of the sort, but to honor the mothers of those who fought and protected and especially those who lost children in battle or on patrol. Calaglin. Sergeant. Ephel Company. The only elf trusted to run messages of a private matter to and from the city. I trusted him with my life nearly everyday, for he knew the positions of my wardens better than I did, and without keeping anything written. It was all right up here," Haldir said, tapping his head. "Brilliant, both of them. I will greatly miss them."

Erestor bowed his head respectfully, and Haldir reached for the scroll.

"I can tell you-" began Erestor, looking up, but Haldir shook his head.

"It isn't fair to give such a burden to you." He took the scroll. "It is strange," he said, holding the scroll tightly. "I know whose name should be listed, hope that is the name listed, and yet, in my heart, I know it will not be. How sad, that I should hope one elf dead over another."

"How can you know?" asked Erestor.

Smiling at first, Haldir's lower lip trembled, and he said, "He has not tried to visit me since I returned." Swallowing hard, he hesitated to open the scroll, and said, "I don't suppose you have another handkerchief on hand, Erestor. I think I shall be needing one."

It was late afternoon, some number of days later – Haldir had lost count of the days now – that he awoke to find someone other than his usual companion in the garden. “You’re not Erestor,” he said sleepily.

The elf shook his head. “That I am not. I was informed by he who you named that you would benefit from a visitor.”

“Nnnmmhh.” Haldir rolled over so that his back faced the elf.

“That’s fine, we don’t have to talk,” said his visitor. A few moments later, he held out his arm, and a large falcon swooped down into the garden and perched gently onto the waiting gloved hand. “We can just sit and brood together.”

Sighing, Haldir turned back again. “Are you saying I should not be sad?”

Palentil shook his head as he took a treat from his pouch. “I miss him, too. You are not the only one who mourns for him, but I don’t think he would have liked to have seen you mope about because of his death.”

“You don’t look very sad,” accused Haldir.

“Well,” said Palentil, offering the falcon the bit of meat, “I have dealt with my anger and sorrow – not just for him, I knew many of those who went with you – in other ways. My early morning was spent having breakfast with the lovely Lady Nenniach, during which I told her of the numerous acts of valor so performed by Thandronen during his many long years. Do you recall those wonderful little flutes he could make using mallorn leaves and tree sap? How the elflings would flock ‘round him as the spring leaves came?”

Unable to stop himself, Haldir smiled and nodded. “I begged him for many myself when I was but a boy.”

“I can tell you stories of Thandronen’s days centuries before you came into these woods. He is not here to make his flutes and his kites, but those of us who knew him can still remember him." Palentil fed his feathered companion another treat. "Thandronen had a youthful spirit, I cannot say I am surprised that he has been given a chance to be reborn. The Commander, if I may be so bold as to say, did not have the happiest of childhoods."

"If I had known of that earlier..." Haldir trailed off, and he reached for one of the handkerchiefs Erestor had left for him.

“Wipe your tears, warden. Do not suffer, do not consider it a loss. I think you shall meet him again in Valinor, he was a kind and noble elf who deserves a second chance at life. You knew him well. Tell his stories.”

“He was like a son to me.”

“Please, Haldir,” said Palentil. “He was your son. With the way his own parents treated him, you should have been able to invoke some sort of rule or right to claim him, because it was clear to me that they did not care.”

Palentil’s bold talk surprised Haldir, for the falconer did not often express such strong views, nor was he known to speak in such a manner about anyone. “Erestor made inquiries as to why he was with the company and not his brother. I must admit, if I had been in his position, I would likely have done as he did.”

“That is because you raised him well,” Palentil said simply. He stroked the falcon’s breast, the bird looking very tired. “I’m not sure if I should really tell this to you, but I am leaving for the havens and soon after that to the West, so if I do not tell you now, it may be some time before I have another chance. Twice, the Lord wrote orders to have his parents and brother banished from Lothlorien, and twice, he went to them and pleaded his case for them to stay.”

“I did not know that ever happened,” said Haldir softly.

Nodding as he stood, Palentil said, “On the one hand, one could say he was the reason his fate was as it was. On the other hand, one might say he knew his fate and did not wish to run from it. No one can rightly say. Nor does it change the fact that he no longer has to worry about those three nasty elves that he thought were his family.”

“Why do you say that?” Haldir asked.

Palentil answered, “His family is staying here, or at least, staying in Middle Earth. If you think they speak ill of other Elves, ask them their views of the Valar sometime, you will get quite an earful. He would have hesitated leaving while they stayed, no matter how great his desire would have been to see the blessed realm." Palentil smiled at Haldir and said, "I must return, I took his duties in the city after we discovered he had left, but I enjoyed our talk.”

“I believe I may have enjoyed it more,” said Haldir. “Thank you, Palentil.”

“Halli!”

“Oro!”

“Halli!”

“…Oro!”

“Halli!”

“Rumil!”

“Ru!”

“Ru?”

“Ru!”

Rumil shrugged. “Oro!” He embraced his brother and Haldir chuckled from his spot on the garden bench.

“You’ve spent all this time traveling with him, and you’ve not seen me for weeks and weeks, and he gets two hugs?”

“You keep wincing when I hug you,” complained Rumil, giving Haldir a pat on the head.

Orophin dropped to the ground and embraced Haldir’s legs. “Here, these are fine to hug, no pain here.”

“Oro, stop that!” laughed Haldir, overjoyed to see his brothers returned - uninjured and once again on speaking terms with one another.

“What is this, your magic staff?” teased Rumil, poking at the large stick Haldir was partly leaning on.

Orophin looked up at the stick from his spot on the ground. “It’s a cane, you numbskull.”

“It’s a walking stick,” Haldir said pointedly. “I’m having a difficult time with my balance, but I was tired of being such a burden on Erestor.”

Erestor, who stood nearby, shook his head. “You were no burden, penneth,” he said.

Voices could be heard at the top of the stairs, and soon after, a party came down into the garden, with Celeborn in the lead, and most unusually, Galadriel trailing the procession. Currenly, Celeborn was discussing something apparently rather amusing with Torech.

“-and when I asked him how well the meat of spider legs tasted, he gave me such a wide smile and said, ‘Dear Cousin, you are eating them now, tell me how they taste’. Since then, I have learned to ask Thranduil the menu before taking him up on an offer to dine with him,” chuckled Celeborn.

“How did they taste, my Lord?” asked Torech.

Celeborn let out a loud laugh, proving contagious for some. “Were you present at the our final day’s stay in the great realm of the Elven-King?” Torech nodded, and Celeborn patted him on the back before walking toward his son.

“That isn’t what we ate, was it?” Torech asked of Celebdreth as the younger elf passed by.

Celebdreth nodded and said, “I have to admit, they go well with lemon.” He paused before further entering the garden, spying the dark-haired elf. His mouth opened in surprise one moment, and the next he had nearly knocked the elder elf over. “Grandfather Erestor! I knew not that you were here!” Celebdreth hugged Erestor tightly, and did not let go until Erestor made a sound akin to a small animal being choked. “Does this mean the party from Imladris has arrived?”

“Party from Imladris?” Erestor looked around with worry. “I was unaware that a party was arriving.”

“Erestor came to heal Haldir and arrived just after our departure,” explained Galadriel to her youngest grandson. “The party from Imladris will be here within a few days time.”

“Party from Imladris?” repeated Erestor.

Galadriel nodded. “Lord Elrond and Lord Glorfindel are escorting the Lady Arwen. First they will come here, and then we shall travel together to Gondor for the wedding.”

“The wedding?” questioned Haldir, and Galadriel nodded once more.

“Elessar has completed his tasks, he will soon be rightfully crowned as king,” answered Galadriel.

“Who the hell is Elessar?” questioned Haldir, but the realization hit him. “Estel.” He paused, now that everyone was looking around and at him quite uncomfortably. “Isn’t it proper for them to wait a year?”

“It is proper for elves to follow such ceremony. Arwen will join Elessar in Gondor to take her place as the queen.”

“So she plans to forsake her immortality after all.”

“Haldir,” interrupted Erestor, “she already has.”

Numbly, Haldir bowed his head, one arm circling Orophin’s shoulder. Orophin tightened his grip on Haldir’s legs, though whether to return the hug or keep him there, he was not sure. Rumil dropped down next to his eldest brother and leaned his head on Haldir’s shoulder.

“Come, everyone,” commanded Galadriel. “We have a wedding to attend, and none of us, least of all myself, are in such a state to do so. There is much to prepare.”

Everyone nodded in agreement and began to make their way out of the garden. As Haldir began to stand, Celeborn placed a hand on his shoulder. “Rest,” he said. “I will have Orophin gather clothing and such for you for this journey.” He paused, and then said, “On second thought, we do not need you coming to the wedding in a green shirt and purple breeches. Perhaps Rumil can- hmm. Fear not, I will retrieve what you need,” he finally said, and Haldir gave a nod. Celeborn walked to the steps, and then turned back. He opened his mouth, but seemed to reconsider his words, and simply settled upon, “I am glad you are recovering from your injuries,” before walking up the stairs.

Left alone in the garden, Erestor came to Haldir and sat down beside him. “If there is any knowledge you wish for me to impart, you may ask for me to do so now, for when Lord Elrond arrives, I cannot guarantee how long I will remain before he sends me to the Halls.”

“Erestor, I do not believe he will do such a thing.”

“He has not written,” said Erestor. “Seventeen letters I have sent, and-“

“Seventeen? Erestor!” Haldir shook his head.

Erestor crossed his arms. “I’m very proficient at writing letters. I have to be, someone must answer all of Lord Elrond’s correspondence.”

“I see,” said Haldir. “How much of Lord Elrond’s correspondence does Lord Elrond answer?”

Thinking for a moment, Erestor said, “I am not sure if he does answer any of it.”

“Exactly. You couldn’t very well correspond to yourself from here, could you?”

Debating this in his mind, Erestor replied, “Well, he knows how to write. I think. He might have sent a note, something short, only a few pages, explaining things.”

“I fear to ask how long your letters to him were,” sighed Haldir. Erestor shrugged. “It seems Celebdreth really missed you,” said Haldir, trying to find a new subject to discuss.

Nodding, Erestor smiled. “It is a true joy to be a grandparent, even if I didn’t do all that much in creating either him or my daughter,” he laughed. “But, she is my daughter. Even if we someday discover who her parents were, Nenniach is always going to be my daughter. And Celebdreth shall forever be my grandelfling.”

“And Rumil?”

“He knows the consequences if he ever hurts either of them,” warned Erestor. He shook his head. “He won’t. I think I might have had a fit if she would have brought someone like...Orophin home, but Rumil is tame, as far as the sons of Celeborn go.”

“Tame? Rumil. Tame.” Haldir supported himself on with the walking stick as he laughed.

“Compared to the rest of you,” Erestor said. As Haldir’s laughter diminished, Erestor leaned back on the bench, steadying himself with the palms of his hands. “I should like it very much if you would tell me about your son, penneth.”

“Oh, Erestor,” Haldir sighed. “I do not think such claims should be made while his parents yet live.” When Erestor merely raised a brow, Haldir added, “You’ve been talking to Palentil, haven’t you?”

Erestor nodded. “We had a long conversation the other night when you were sleeping. I knew you had taken in the warden, that his parents did not care for him, and that you were fond of him, but I was not aware of more than that.”

“I’m sure Palentil filled you in on quite a lot of things.”

“Indeed he did. But I don’t want Palentil to tell me about him. I want you to tell me about him,” insisted Erestor.

Haldir considered the request. “It’s going to cost you two handkerchiefs. At least,” added the Lorien elf as two of the squares were pulled out of Erestor’s pocket.

“You can have all that you wish, Haldir, on the condition your tears are from laughter and not from pain, joy and not sorrow. I want to know about the happiness in his life, and in the lives of those who knew him.”

Smiling as the memories began to come back to him, Haldir said, “I will admit, the silliness in that tree began the first day he moved in. Allow me to recount the tale of the annoyed squirrels of the Lesser Mallorn.”

“Please do,” said Erestor. “I look forward to hearing every silly thing he ever did.”

“Get comfortable,” advised Haldir. “You’re going to be here for a while.”

~ Interlude – Lothlorien – The Night Before the Archers Left for the Deep ~



“You will be staying here?” asked the elleth.

The elf nodded. “We can’t leave Lothlorien defenseless.”

“I’m surprised he hasn’t left you in charge of the Galadhrim while he is gone,” she said.

Shaking his head and coming around to the elleth, he replied, “Someone has to keep the inner city safe. I think he worries that there could be retaliation, and that the city could be breached. He wants someone in front of that mallorn who would be ready to give their life to protect the Lord and Lady.”

“Are you ready, if it should come to that?” pressed the elleth.

The warden sat down on his bed. “If you would have asked me that when I took this position…” He answered by shaking his head. “Now, without a second thought.”

“Will you not see your brother off?” pleaded the elleth again. “This may be the final time you see him. He asked for you to come.”

Closing his eyes, the elf said, “I thought I wasn’t supposed to go back there ever again.”

“Your father is worried,” the elleth admitted as she sat down next to her younger son. “He didn’t really mean what he said that day.”

“What about all of the days before that?” He sighed. “He hates me. Lothir hates me. I hope things go well for him in Rohan, but I don’t think I need to see him before he goes.”

The elleth began to wring her hands and suddenly broke into sobs. Heaving a heavier sigh, the warden drew his mother closer and pressed kisses on the top of her head. “I will come with you, but only for a short time.”

They walked silently from the Lesser Mallorn to telain further from the inner city. Many of the telain were still lit, those inside preparing for the coming march and battle, and spending time with loved ones before leaving. Grasping the rope, the elf bit his lip as he climbed to the lowest of the flets, where candles glowed in the early evening. He was surprised to find an elleth he was not familiar with sitting in the parlor.

Lothinal turned in time to see his wife coming onto the flet after their son, and though he looked ready to throw the unexpected guest from the tree, he was stopped by their other son.

Approaching slowly, Lothir hesitantly said, “Brother?”

The other elf nodded.

“I suppose you’ve heard, then,” he said.

“Nana said you were leaving. I came to…see you off,” answered the younger. Sitting silently off to the side until now, the unknown elleth suddenly burst into tears.

Lothir rushed to her side, gently easing her up from the couch. “Brother, you have yet to meet my lovely bride,” he said, trying to lighten the mood. The elleth held out one hand in greeting, while the other helped to restrain her sobs.

Taking her hand, their guest kissed it and then bowed. “I suppose that would make you my sister, in some way,” he said, and the elleth did little more than nod. “When did the blessed event occur, if I may ask, or is it still to come?”

“Just today,” answered Lothir. “Well, we had discussed it for some time, but it seemed the opportunity might be lost if we waited.” He shifted one foot against the floor and said as he stared at the ground, “I should have asked for you to come.”

Smiling, his brother placed a hand onto Lothir’s shoulder. “It means so very much that you have invited me here and told me your news.” Not wanting to outstay the welcome, he added, “I wish you both the very best in the years to come, and safety to you on your journey and task ahead. For now, I must return to the city.”

Lothir nodded. “Maybe when I return, we could talk a bit more,” suggested Lothir, and his brother’s smile widened and he gave a nod.

It took him little time to climb back to the bottom of the tree, but as he was about to leave, he heard a rustling of the leaves, which caught his attention. He walked back to the ladder, and steadied it as his mother made her descent.

She stood there, wringing her hands once again that evening. “I have a favor to ask you,” she said. “Go in his place. Please.”

“I have a duty to this city. Lothir does not know what needs to be done here, but I do. He can, however, march to Rohan and fight.”

“He can’t fight,” whispered the elleth. “He did not keep up with it after you became a warden. Compared to the experience you have, he will be useless in the battle.”

Narrowing his eyes, he said, “What is it, really.”

“What? Nothing, I-“

“Does father fear losing his favored – I’m sorry, his ONLY son?” he countered with raised voice. “Am I still of no use to him but to die? So that he can claim his son a victim of a noble battle he cares nothing about?”

“She is pregnant.”

He stopped with his mouth open and blinked. “They only just…today, they…”

His mother nodded. “I know. They married and they bonded, without telling any of us. Now, she is pregnant, and he will leave. He is too proud to talk to the Captain and explain. Please, Dinendal,” she appealed to her son, “you have a chance. Give them a chance, too.”

He backed against the tree and slid down to sit at its base. “I need time to think on this news,” he said quietly. His mother nodded, and climbed the tree to leave him alone.

There he sat for a great long time, watching as the lights in the surrounding telain were dimmed, and then, as the last of the city drifted into a state of reverie, twinklings of light came from some again. Candles were lit to guide those who would leave before dawn. As the elves who were leaving began to climb to the ground, Dinendal felt someone move next to him, and he looked to see that the lady – THE lady – was standing just to his right. He stood to bow to her properly, and she in turn bowed her head to him in an extreme concession on her part. Dinendal blinked, for no matter how close he thought he got to understanding her, it seemed there was always one more thing he just could not figure out.

She placed her hand on his cheek and looked into his eyes. “You must make your choice,” she told him. “The hour draws near.”

“Such a simple decision. To stay or to go, and yet, I feel I would not have the time to decide even if I had to the end of Arda,” he said sadly.

“Perhaps I can help you.” She leaned closer and whispered a name into his ear, then drew back with a sad sort of smile.

He tried not to look surprised, but he was surprised, and either way, he knew she knew this. “I finally understand,” he said, looking at the talan above his head. “I say often I would give my life to protect this forest, but what I have meant is… that I would fight for it.” Boldly, he put his hand on her cheek, kissing her brow. “What you have told me, though, I would gladly die for.”

“Then you know what you must do,” she said, stroking his face.

Dinendal looked at the talan above him and nodded. One of the scouts suddenly came to the tree and looked up about to climb, but he was touched on the shoulder by Galadriel, and with a nod, he moved away.

“They call for those willing to protect Arda,” she said.

“I will answer that call.” Dinendal grasped the rope and turned once more. “Thank you, my lady. Until I see you again,” he said, bowing his head.

She nodded back and turned to go, but was stopped by a hand on her shoulder. Dinendal had come back down the ladder for a moment, and gave her a hopeful look. “Can you say it… just once more, please?”

Galadriel took his face in her hands and kissed his forehead. “Fight bravely, Gimlin Haldirion.”

Dinendal suppressed the urge to throw his arms around her. Nodding once more, he took hold of the rope and climbed swiftly back up into the tree.