The Half Breeds

Author: Bird
Title: Half Breed
Chapter: Arrival in Lorien
Rating: NC-17 overall
Warnings: None really.
Disclaimer: I own the OCs … but not much else, Nurwë and Morwë are Tolkien’s
Timeline: Post War of the Ring during the early-ish Forth Age (no exact date will be given)
Setting: Endore (otherwise known as Middle Earth, and basically the whole of Arda.) All places will be in their elvish names as this story is completely from Elven points-of-view.
FEEDBACK - I always accept feedback. If you wish to make a critical analysis, do not hesitate to PM me...I'll read through it and take into consideration your questions and suggestions...Thanks. Just a reminder, I am playing loosely with canon…
Archived: Finally…:D www.scribeoz.com , adult-fanfiction.org , www.tongueincheekscribe.com

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Ranohtar opened his eyes; his head pounded and ached with the incessant rocking of…of whatever he was on.

Blinking a couple times, he attempted to shield his eyes from the blinding light, but was unable to move his arms. He could feel them and see them beside him, but he seemed to not have the strength to move them. A moan escaped his lips from his frustration.

Vaguely he remembered the voices of a little girl and man soothing him. Then a warm room and a silver-haired male whispering healing prayers into his ear, but in an Elven tongue he did not recognize.

He was weak, but as the moments grew longer, the rock and turn of wheels became more apparent. He was in some sort of cart, on hay with crates of clinking glass and sloshing liquid. It was all very familiar and he drew another connection to the girl and man. But the voices he heard were not in the Easterling tongue.

Be easy, he thought to himself. If they had wanted you dead, they would not have kept you alive this long. However long it had been, he wondered.

The feeling in his hands returned, and Ranohtar wiggled his fingers. Blood flowed through his veins and tingled in his limbs. By the gods he was weak, and he cursed loudly.

Ranohtar winced and shut his mouth. He had no voice but an unrecognizable hoarse cry. Blurry memories of why he could not speak rush in his mind, a blur of blood and fury.

As quickly as he shut his mouth, the cart halted and the voices grew louder around him. An ellon jumped down from a horse in back of the cart and crawled in beside him, kneeling so that Ranohtar could fully see his shadowed features. Silver hair fell over him, pooling on his chest; silver eyes of sincere compassion gazed down at him. A firm hand held his forearm as the owner bent down to whisper in Ranohtar’s ear.

Ranohtar startled the elf by jerking back his hand. It was difficult, and his arm tingled with the effort, dropping limply back into the hay. But his eyes spoke volumes of his desire not to fall back under a spell.

The elf stared and blinked at him a moment, then leapt from the cart and reappeared with a skin of water. Ranohtar tried to lift his head to drink the water, but his body would not move. Setting down his water skin, the other elf moved some of the hay around behind Ranohtar’s head.

--Be at ease, friend.--

Ranohtar knit his brow, narrowing his eyes at this strange elf. He was weak and at this elf’s mercy.

With a smile and a gentle touch, the silver elf lifted Ranohtar by his underarms and sat him up against a pillow of hay.

His mind reeled and Ranohtar grew dizzy with the sudden change of position. His stomach hurled, and he dry heaved to the side, unable to completely hold himself up without help from his companion.

Sitting back up again, he drank from the water skin offered to his lips. Water dribbled out the side of his mouth, the absence of his tongue making it difficult for him to drink. His face flushed with embarrassment.

The elf dabbed at the corners of Ranohtar’s mouth with the sleeve of his tunic.

How could he be at ease when things were this way? Silently, Ranohtar cursed Morwë.

--We will not harm you, but seek to heal you.--

Ranohtar looked up. Beyond the illuminated silhouette of the elf at his side stood two other elves at the end of the cart. They were speaking, and one of them left and returned. In his hand he carried a cloth-covered package, and gave it to the one beside him.

It was bread.

The elf broke off a piece and offered it to Ranohtar. His stomach hurled, and he retched again into the hay, the acid of his stomach bittered the taste of the water he had drunk.

-----

Rumil glanced up at the gray clouds rolling across the sky; a streak of lightening touched ground in the distance, a jagged line of light. Thunder cracked. Snow dotted the ground. They were much farther south than the deeper snows, but it had still covered the plains between the lands of Rhun and Dorwinion, and Lothlorien.

They had only been traveling four days, and the three brothers had noticed the dark elf’s stirrings long before Ranohtar reached consciousness.

The younger of the brothers knew that it could be a month or longer by the time they reached Lorien. How he longed to be home. There had been a thrill and awe in seeing the eastern land of wine, but Rumil pined for the solitude and simplicity of his home, even empty as it was now.

Orophin rode ahead of the cart, scanning the distance for danger. Rumil took up the rear and Haldir rode beside the cart, checking on the elf nestled inside.

Rumil grimaced, remembering what he had seen. The exotic ellon’s mouth had gaped open in a strangled cry upon his discovery of his missing tongue. He briefly pondered what kind of being would have marred the elf so, then left him for dead. That is if the dark man’s account was truthful.

Again he mentally bemoaned the continuity of the road. It had been only four days, and he saw mere drudgery as they traveled onward. Yes, the scenery was beautiful, but his heart was already home.

------

Who are you? What happened to you?

Haldir longed to ask the elf these questions.

Where are you from?

But he did not. The ellon was barely recovering, and Haldir thanked Elbereth that they had come in contact with the human traders. Yes the old man had kept the elf alive, but the healing abilities of the human were nothing compared to an elf’s.

If as much time had passed since the humans had discovered the elf in the desert, Haldir wondered why the elf’s own internal healing capabilities had not kicked in. Unless the will to live had not been strong, but still somewhat there. As he was not elven, the man could not have entered the injured ellon’s mind, like Haldir could, and see the source of pain in the elf’s heart and mind.

Who is the female? And the darkness that bars you from her?

He did not ask anything, but offered the ellon more water and food. The elf took food occasionally, keeping it down better, no longer retching at the mere smell. Water did not dribble as much out of his mouth, as he learned to swallow without the aid of his tongue.

Days passed in silence, except the occasional word to break the monotony.

The storm was still a few days in the distance. The elves had watched it steadily moving closer, the thunder echoing over the vast distance of the plains. It was a dull roar of rain miles from them. In this region, the winters consisted of bouts of freezing cold weather and snow, then periods with warm winds from the south and east bringing rain to melt the snow. This was one of those storms. But it was possible that it would turn colder before the storm reached them, and it would be ice or snow that fell on their heads.

“We should look for shelter soon,” Orophin spoke up, offering the shelter not necessarily for the three brothers’ safety, but that of the recovering elf in the cart. And to protect the wine in case of hail and other possible damages.

Haldir nodded his agreement, “There is a human village not too far from here where we can stop.” Through their minds, Haldir apprised the dark elf of the situation.

----

Ranohtar did not sleep. The storm raged. He was chilled. But then it was winter in this place.

He was gaining strength quickly though he was not yet walking. Carniwen. He rolled over, exerting great energy in the process. He laid in a bed of straw and he saw the other three, his companions, resting in a small mound. They were taking their shelter in some sort of barn it appeared.

Ranohtar opened his mouth to wet his lips; they felt parched. Memories of Morwe’s confrontation filled his mind, clouded his vision. He knew his tongue no longer existed.

What had happened exactly? Morwe had left with an entourage. He had remained behind. Carniwen… Fuck.

Ranohtar slammed his face into the straw. Wept. What had he done? Surely, Carniwen was dead. Overwhelming need to find her, find Morwe. He had been caught off guard and that had been nearly fatal. His wounds should have been. Morwe must believe him dead.

The more time he spent here, the more uncertain things would be come. Ranohtar tried to pull himself forward and up onto his elbows. He grimaced with the effort. Soon he propped his body up. By pure will alone, pure Elven will, and he realized that he was actually on the verge of fading. That something deep inside him had kept him alive, though barely.

He had a knee almost up when he felt a presence behind him. Immediately he knew it was one of the western ellyn. Keeping his eyes forward, Ranohtar exhaled through his nostrils. Closed his eyes and let his head drop.

A hand extended toward his as he reached for the wall, and with an amazing show of strength he swatted it away. This was something he had to do on his own. The other elf remained silent. Palms against the wall, Ranohtar forced himself up, but his legs did not want to cooperate and he slid back to the floor. He banged his forehead against the wall and welcome the pain that jolted through to the back of his head.

-Stop.-

Ranohtar did it again, reveling in the pain as it distracted him from his thoughts.

-Fool.-

Ranohtar felt the ellon grasp him by the shoulders and pulled him from the wall. What kind of elf was he now? He could not defend himself, felt weak. What existence was this to live? He would fade.

-I saw her in your mind. Would you leave her to die?-

It was the one called Haldir, and the Lorien elf turned Ranohtar to face him. Silver-blue eyes watched him, met his and exhibited no emotion. Ranothar’s black eyes glittered with a new flame of life. He clung to Haldir as the other helped him to his mutinous feet. His knees threatened to collapse, but Ranohtar made himself stand.

“Orophin! Rumil! Help me. A bottle of wine.” The other two awoke immediately. Rumil rummaged around searching for wine while Orophin caught Ranohtar by the waist.

-Why do you help me? You do not know me…-

Haldir smiled.

-You are Elven and cannot harm us now. I figure you are in debt to us now.-

A life debt, Ranohtar knew the ways of warriors. He was beholden to them now.

Rain splattered against the roof, and a few icy drops leaked through, spilling on Ranohtar and his companions. It refreshed him, the jarring chill.

----

Days and then weeks passed after the storms and the four made their way toward Lorien. Warmer weather was making its way to them, and the snows were melting quickly.

Orophin rode up to the moving caravan, several rabbits tied to his saddle. They were roasted and the skins saved. A bottle shared between them. Rumil took note and privately shared with Haldir how Ranohtar was spilling less if at all now when he drank. Food still had not taste, and never would now, and Ranohtar merely satisfied an ache in his belly.

Standing on his still weak legs, he half walked, half stumbled to the back of the cart, holding on to the told edge for support. Orophin offered to help, but stepped back when Ranohtar fixed him with a harsh look, his eyes dark.

There were his things that had been left on his body when Morwe had left him on the Sands of Khand. The mortals had kept them for him, why, he did not understand. These elves had cleaned and wrapped them carefully. One was Carniwen’s dagger. His fingers hesitated as he reached for it, jerked back as if it burned. This is what Morwe had used…

A fit of ire and Ranohtar grabbed the weapon, flung it far into the surrounding grasses. He was half mad with rage and despair.

Rumil and Orophin watched as their brother moved close to Ranohtar. Their brother had shared what he had learned about the elf, at the very least the basics of his knowledge. Rumil bent over his sword, cleaning, polishing, purposefully averting his eyes from the dark elf. Purposefully giving Ranohtar privacy with his torment. Orophin sat beside him and continued to watch.

“We have healers in Lorien.” Haldir was speaking aloud this time, as the elf had learned to understand their sylvan tongue. “We can help you. Already you have grown much in strength.”

Ranohtar stiffened.

“You hold yourself back, stubborn elf.” Haldir moved away from Ranohtar and retrieved the dagger from the grass. He examined it as he had done many nights while Ranohtar was in a healing sleep. It was a stunning piece of exotic art. His fingers drifted over the dragon worked into the leather.

-She made it.-

That was all Ranohtar offered, and when Haldir neared him again, the dark elf snatched it from him, tucking it into his belt.

-I need a walking stick.-

Haldir smiled and Orophin jumped up suddenly, going off in search of something suitable.

During the nights, Ranohtar leaned against their packs for support, carving designs into the cherry wood limb Orophin had found for him. Rumil watched with fascination at the work. He talked to the other through Haldir. Listened as they sang the songs of their home. Listened to the stories of Lorien’s position in the infamous War of the Ring. It was interesting to see if from his companion’s points-of-view. Ranohtar himself had participated, but with disinterest, merely at his lord’s request, a token warrior for the dark forces. He had killed more orc than anything or one else. The creatures were foul and he despised them.

After another week, the stick was finished and Ranohtar easily moved around with it. His legs were becoming stronger and stronger, and one of the two horses tied to the cart was released for his personal use. Settling on the barebacked animal, Ranohtar sighed with pleasure at the half forgotten feel and power of such a creature as his rear slid down. It was not the same as the one he had ridden in Khand. But this dappled mare would do for now. His walking stick was forgotten while they traveled in the wagon, and they made quick time across the plains.

------

“The Anduin!” Rumil rode back, racing Orophin to the two still sitting over breakfast. Haldir paused as he raised his cup of water.

“Just a few more days, my friend.” Haldir smiled, containing his excitement for the nearness of their home. Ranohtar allowed his first smile, feeling something akin to desire to see the home these elves seemed to truly love.

Within hours they were at the banks of the fast moving river, deadly icy and swift with the melting winter snows. At least to a mortal that might fall in. Another hour till they found a place to cross safely and not damage the wine they ported. Refreshed from the waters, the four elves and their horses jumped to the other bank, the cart rolling and creaking behind them. A rock became lodged in a wheel, and Rumil jumped into the water to dislodge it. He climbed out of the water, laughing and shaking the water from his hair and body. They continued on their way.

An exotic scent drifted on the breeze, and Ranohtar took note of the delight in the other three.

“Lorien is not far…” Another day and they saw the shadowy edge of Lothlorien.

Then they stood at the tree line.

Ranohtar felt the peace of the place and he felt unworthy to enter. Rumil rode in followed by Haldir, Ranohtar hesitated till Orophin slapped his horse’s rump. With a jolt the mare whinnied and rushed in, and Ranohtar shot the elf an angry glance but dropped it. He held to the mare’s mane and when she slowed down catching up with Haldir and Rumil, Ranohtar felt the presence of others. Orophin followed guiding the cart.

“Other guardians live in these trees.” Orophin pointed to the flets. “Not many of us remain since our Lady sailed for the Golden West. But our Lord does remain.”

Ranohtar expressed that he did not understand.

“The Lady Galadriel of Valinor.” Haldir explained who she was, and Ranohtar knew of her, having heard the stories of the elf-witch of the west.

None stopped them as they traveled, two days and two nights, no stop for rest. Ranohtar sensed the anxiousness of the others to reach the city of Caras Galadhon they spoke of.

The Deep Fosse proved disconcerting for Ranohtar as he leaned over the edge and stared into its dark shadow. A small bridge, wide just enough for a cart to pass over, crossed it and ended at a large and ornate set of gates. With a single word, the gates opened and the four entered the city.

Haldir and his brothers felt great sadness at the virtually empty city, but soon smiled as the few that remained welcomed them home. All ellyn, not a single ellith, and Ranohtar frowned at the small group. This was nothing like the bustling caravans and encampments of the nomads. He waited for a signal and invitation from one of the brothers before he dismounted. Orophin brought him his walking stick.

The others that greeted them watched the Eastern elf with unmasked curiosity. One male, with silver hair much like the brothers, but with a marked difference in age in his eyes, walked toward Ranohtar as he worked his way toward them.

“I welcome you personally…”

“Ranohtar,” Haldir answered for him.

Celeborn smiled. “I hope we can help you, but as you see, there are few of us left. And all warriors.” Two dark haired elves of matching appearance, obviously twins, came swiftly down the grand staircases winding around the massive mellyrn. Two other came down after them, a golden haired elf and a white haired one.

Rumil and Orophin rushed the twins, embraced and slapped each other on their backs. Warm friendly welcomes. Soon their greetings were turned on the other two fairer elves.

“Elladan, Elrohir, my grandsons.” Celeborn leaned closer to Ranohtar, pointing at the jubilant and playful ellyn. The more serious ones are Legolas and Celegrod, friends from the Realm of Mirkwood. Legolas is the son of Thranduil, king of Mirkwood. They come to visit.”

Ranohtar hesitated. His mind was still wrapping around how far he had come from one choice, one night with one elleth. And how he would kill all in his way just to get her back.

-Perhaps you will tell me of what bothers you. At least at a later time.-

Celeborn walked away, retrieved a bottle of wine and opened it. He drank. “This is what I love.” Others began to take bottles away to be stored, whole crates lifted and carried up the stairs. Celeborn wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and smiled. Then drank some more.

“Only the best for our lord and people,” Haldir clapped Celeborn on the back, jostling the elflord’s wine. A few red drops splashed onto his tunic, and he laughed.

“Haldir…Haldir.” Celeborn did not hide his mirth. He turned and looked at Ranohtar. “Come with us.” Elladan and Elrohir heard their grandfather and saw the ill state of the dark elf. Immediately both appeared at Ranohtar’s side.

Ranohtar’s eyes widened as the two came to help him, two mirror images on either side of him. It was unsettling for someone not used to them. He waved them away with his stick. The whole thing made him uncomfortable. These were elves he had been enemies of for so long, and here they were embracing him. Of course, he was weak and hardly in a position to do anything against even this small number.

“Ranohtar, you are welcome among us,” Haldir said to him quietly as he shooed away the twins. “Come, lean on me.” He offered the ellon a discreet elbow, and the two walked up the stairs. “The twins are natural healers, you should let them spend some time with you. If anything their humorous antics could make you smile and heal you with laughter.”

------

Erestor peered through the curtains of their guest talan. “I have not seen one of those elves in many years.” He shut the curtain and sat back on the couch.

“He is half Elven.” Glorfindel mulled over the game he and Erestor had been playing. He tapped his lip once then made his move. He did not look up, turning the board around to play Erestor’s turn.

“That is the only explanation for the extreme darkness of his skin. But none that I have known of have come this far north. At least not in many years. Ages.” Erestor stood and leaned over Glorfindel’s shoulder. “Move that one.” He pointed to a gold piece nearest the left corner next to Glorfindel.

“That move will put that one in danger.”

“I know.” Erestor poured himself some wine at a side table. He settled on the couch again. Stood up and paced. “Why would one come so far north unless something ill had happened?” Dangerous creatures were those southern and eastern elves--nothing like their western kin. “We have fought against their kind before.”

“Settle down, Erestor. Surely, it is nothing. The dynamics of Arda are greatly changing. Perhaps they are hearing the call of the sea.”

Erestor snorted. “Manwe would not allow it. They are worse than the kinslaying Noldor.”

Glorfindel looked up sharply. “Perhaps Eru has forgiven them, they have reconciled. It was made clear that those who stayed in the darkness would be welcome if they ever felt the desire.”

Glorfindel knit his brow. This was unlike Erestor.

“We will meet them at dinner. Sit, Erestor, and play your damned turn.”

------

Ranohtar felt a pair of eyes staring at him the entire time he sat at dinner. Celeborn had ordered a feast prepared. Roast venison, and other wild game. Several bottles were opened, and all feasted, especially Ranohtar’s traveling companions. Only one other appeared to have no appetite as himself.

He did not know the elf, one he had not been introduced to yet. A dark and surprisingly slender ellon among these warriors. He sat next to a golden warrior that shone brighter than the rest, an otherworldly aura about him. Bright turquoise eyes stopped on him as the darker elf leaned in toward his ear whispering something. The large one nodded and stood, much to the chagrin of the other one.

-----

Erestor covered his eyes, suddenly feeling foolish. He peeked up a little to see Glorfindel squatting next to the table where the dark skinned Easterner sat. Glorfindel was speaking, responding to the elf, but did not see the other open his mouth.

When Glorfindel returned, Erestor saw the other elf stare at him a moment before taking a bite of some cheese then turn to listen to Haldir who sat beside him.

“He has no tongue.” Glorfindel sat down, picked up his wine and sipped. He casually leaned back in his chair. “Some one cut it out in personal battle between them. It seems, as far as I could sense as he would not tell me, there is some ancient bad blood between him and his assailant. Haldir and his brothers saved him from certain death and fading.”

Erestor frowned at his own foolishness. This elf did not pose a threat, and appeared to be escaping from something personal.

“He didn’t tell me much else, seemed reluctant to speak to me, but could not hold his thoughts back.” Glorfindel popped a grape and slice of cheese into his mouth.

------

Legolas barely took notice of the new elf, except through curiosity. He talked with Rumil, the brother he was closest to in friendship. All three were much older than him. Every time they were together, Legolas tried to get from him stories of the Last Alliance, the battle against Sauron, but Rumil would change the subject.

Celegrod, Orophin and Elladan laughed as Elrohir related some bawdy tale, which would be then fiercely challenged by Elladan. Celegrod’s gaze drifted to Legolas often, something weighing heavily on his mind. Legolas’ spirit had lifted much since their arrival in Lorien and much more so since Rumil had returned. But something was still amiss.

------

Ranohtar thought back to when he and Carniwen stood in Morwe’s council tent. The maps of Morwe’s plans. It would threaten the safety and haven of these elves. And in just the one night he had been here, sharing this meal, he had known that something was unjust in the separation of their races.

If he recovered fully enough to have his revenge, would he find a companion among these?

Celeborn stood and raised his goblet of wine, his eyes sparkling with the merriment.

“Welcome home to our friends and fellow wardens,” he nodded to Haldir, Rumil, and Orophin. Turning to Ranohtar, he continued, “And may you, our Dark friend, find healing in our forest.” Everyone drank, and Ranohtar spilled not a drop watching those around him with curiosity fascinated with such acceptance.

Legolas felt something pierce his soul in those words and saw Celeborn glance at him then quickly away. He drank his wine, mulled over his thoughts.