ELANOR'S REVENGE

*****

Chapter Twenty-Five

Something was wrong.

Elanor knew it, but could put no name to what it was. It had begun during the meal she’d shared with the others in Orophin’s talan, but what set off this feeling she did not know. She was not even sure when it had started. Everything had been pleasing and peaceful when she reached for the sweet roll, but by the time she had finished eating it, something had changed. And it was nothing to do with the food.

Hiding her uneasiness from Minden and Telrion, she took them on a brief tour of the city, starting with a few highlights at the ground level and then moving upward into the mighty trees, ending the tour on the terrace of Haldir’s talan. She was slightly amused by their amazement at the sophistication and craftsmanship with which his talan had been designed so that what was in essence a rather small area could appear both spacious and comfortable. Yet something still disturbed her, making her feel unusually tense.

Was it the ongoing problem of Lurien? She considered and then rejected this. Logic told her that it must be no more than the fact that her friends brought reminders of home—her parents and Lana included. Yet logic also told her this was no reason to worry. Galadriel herself had assured her that no one would make Elanor leave this place against her will.

So what was it that nagged at her frayed nerves and made her so jittery? Absently, her fingers touched the hidden indwaedh; she could feel Haldir as much as ever . . . and yet . . . no, she was being absurd. It was as strong as ever. She could feel him, and it comforted her.

She led her two friends out onto the terrace, whereupon Minden threw himself upon the bench set amidst an attractive grouping of blue asters. “It seems that all my cousin’s fretting has been for naught,” he said, cocking a dark eyebrow at Elanor. “You have settled into Lórien as if you belong here.”

“As indeed perhaps you do,” Telrion added thoughtfully. He walked over to the railing and gazed downward.

“What do you mean, Tel?” She studied his profile, with its slim nose and elegant cheekbones, trying to gauge how much the idea troubled him.

Telrion glanced back, his blue eyes studying her from head to toe. “You are different, Elanor. You seem more confident and less . . . mousy.”

“Mousy!” she said with a little laugh. “I was never mousy!”

Telrion returned to the bench and sat down beside Minden. “Yes, you were. You crept around with your tail tucked in, our co-conspirator in name only. Always hiding in the shadows, never brave enough to do anything on your own.”

Elanor looked at him reproachfully. “What a thing to say! I never thought I was so timid. What about all the times I saved your skins?”

Minden chuckled, while Telrion replied, “I think it best if we say no more on this. Instead, I would ask why you have not shown us to your own talan.”

Elanor lifted her chin. “This is my talan,” she said evenly. ”I live here with Haldir.” The expression on their faces made her quickly add, “It is my choice, so please do not start thinking things you should not think. Haldir has been good to me. Very good indeed.” She could feel the blush creeping into her cheeks, betraying much more than she intended.

“I see,” said Telrion, his voice unexpectedly amused.

Minden’s grin seemed a bit wolfish. “And rather what I expected to happen, though poor Tel here has had his doubts.”

Elanor blinked. “What you expected? Whatever do you mean?”

She saw the two cousins exchange glances.

“We thought Haldir might be interested in you,” Minden confessed. “In that certain way, I mean.”

“I beg your pardon?” She eyed them with astonishment.

Telrion surged to his feet. “For the love of Elbereth, Ellie, we were sick unto death of your selfish sister stealing all the attention away from you! We knew that business of Haldir toying with Lana was sheer nonsense! Minden said he had seen Haldir look at you once in a way that . . . well, we thought . . . he thought . . . ”

She folded her arms. “You thought *what*?”

“We thought it was time for you to catch a prize of your own!” Minden added defiantly. “Afterward, Tel thought we had gone too far. And perhaps we did. But here you are, thriving as beautifully as your rosebushes, which by the way Lord Elrond, Tel and I have been tending them for you. Keeping them just the way you like them in case you . . . ”

“In case I what?”

“In case you decide to come back with us,” Telrion finished. He was gazing at her earnestly, a question in his eyes that put an instant lump in her throat.

She shifted her gaze to the flowerpots, struggling to separate her strong emotions from their words. “I am confused,” she said slowly. “You thought I might attract Haldir, and now you think what? That he must be finished with me? I should pack up my things and go?”

“No, of course not! It is just that considering who he is . . . and your attachment to your little house and your garden and . . .” Looking uncomfortable, Telrion stopped and scratched behind his ear, then sat back down on the bench.

“Do you think Haldir means less to me than my rosebushes?” she said quietly. “I am sorry, dear ones, I do not mean to be cross with you. You are correct when you say I have changed, but I am still myself. I am less angry than I used to be, that is all. I am happier and more . . . content. I admit that I do care for Haldir. And I will not leave him unless—or until—he does not want me with him any more. Besides,” she added, “I am still his ward and must serve him for a year and a day. I would not break that bond even if I loathed the sight of him, which I do not.”

Both cousins fell silent for a time, and then Telrion remarked, “Haldir is most fortunate. I trust he knows this. If not, I will be sure and tell him.”

Minden elbowed him in the ribs. “So you can stop feeling guilty now. Everything turned out well despite our prank. Or rather, because of it. Pranks do have their uses, Tel.”

Telrion’s lips twisted into the mischievous smile she knew so well. “So what now, Min? Our Elanor is more than well, and we have come all this way. Shall we go and locate some of those fair Lórien hearts you were telling me about?”

“An excellent plan,” Minden agreed. “I saw more than a few lovely ellith during our tour. One in particular caught my eye. She fluttered her lashes at me.”

“She was looking at me!” Telrion protested.

“I think not!”

“You are hopeless, both of you,” Elanor said fondly. “Go on then and have your fun.”

But as soon as they were gone, her cheerful mood faded. Something wasn’t right.

She paced back and forth, mentally reviewing the morning’s meal. Everyone had been laughing. Orophin had been telling a story about his last visit to Rivendell, something about falling off his horse into a stream, and she had been listening. She had reached into the basket for a sweet roll and had begun to nibble on it. What had she felt? A quick surge of . . . something. From the indwaedh?

For several minutes she searched her memory, but could think of nothing substantial that would explain her growing state of unease. It was no more than a whisper in her mind, a nudging sense that something had happened. Back and forth she paced, her fingers curled so tightly that her nails bit into her palms.

Eventually she decided to rest. Since Haldir had given her the indwaedh, she had found that her dreams were more often of him, and more vivid and sweet and so reassuring. And just now she desperately needed that reassurance.

#

Breathing was difficult. The elves carrying the litter were careful not to jostle him, but Haldir’s pain was great. He lay still with his eyes closed, wondering hazily how long ago it had all happened while he assessed his injuries as well as what details he could remember of the battle.

The first blow had been the worst, the one that had seared into his side like liquid fire and broken two or three of his ribs. He had managed to turn, but had been unable to raise his sword high enough or fast enough to block the downward thrust of the blade that penetrated his shoulder. What had happened next was a blur. At some point his right arm had been broken, but by then his sword was in his left hand. That shoulder was also on fire, so he must have taken a wound there as well. He remembered that he’d kept on fighting, but had barely been able to do more than block the incoming blows. Lifting his arms had been incredibly painful and difficult, and he knew that if Rúmil had not come when he had, he would be in Mandos right now.

“Are you awake?” The quiet voice was Rúmil’s.

Haldir opened his eyes and for a moment saw nothing but golden leaves, then he shifted his gaze and saw the deep worry etched in his brother’s crystal blue eyes. Rúmil walked beside him while two other elves carried the litter.

“We are almost to the city,” Rúmil informed him. “I have done all I can for your injuries, but the Lords Elrond and Celeborn will do more.” He paused, his eyes on Haldir’s face. “Do you wish me to cast another sleeping spell?”

Haldir considered this. To be removed from this agonizing pain was tempting, but he wished to be awake, to know what was happening around him. His refusal came out as a bare whisper, very unlike his usual voice.

“Haldir, are you certain?” Rúmil persisted.

“Aye,” he muttered. “Leave me be as I am.”

Haldir’s thoughts drifted until he suddenly remembered the indwaedh, and with this came his awareness of Elanor. The indwaedh’s subtle hum had been there all along, soothing him in a way he had only just realized. A moment later he discovered that when he focused on it, it dulled some of the pain and eased his ability to breathe. Not the jewel itself . . . but the connection between them was what accomplished this. This surprised him. It also, most unexpectedly, lulled him into a deep and dreamless reverie that took him far away from his pain.

#

Túre heard their voices before she saw them. Unfamiliar and richly male, the sound sent sweet shivers of feminine excitement and expectation racing through her, but she instantly subdued it, fearing disappointment. She desperately wanted to stay in this peaceful place she had found, this place where life seemed good, where light held more power than darkness. She told herself that what was meant for her would find her, whether it was now or a thousand years from now. She could wait.

Even so, she could not resist taking a peek, and so she casually strolled a little further along the path, passing the gigantic trunk of a mallorn to obtain a clearer view. From there the path curved, following the line of the silvery stream that wound its way through the city, feeding the fountains, the bathhouse and the various pools with its gift of crystal-clear water. Near a small wooden footbridge that surmounted the stream stood the two male elves from Rivendell, and with them were Gwirith, Amerith and Isywien--flirts, all three of them, and by the look of things they already had both males in their hold. Túre stifled a sigh.

She could not bring herself to behave so, not to mention that it had been so long since she’d flirted with anyone that she had forgotten how. Still, she could not keep herself from studying them a moment longer, and could not help noticing how attractive they were.

Not that she would allow that to influence her; physical appearance was of no account. Character mattered. Kindness and strength mattered. And humor. Iridor had always liked to see her laugh, insisting that it was good for her, and that it made her even more beautiful to him. No one had told she was beautiful in such a very long time.

And then one of the visiting elves lifted his gaze from Gwirith’s face and looked straight at Túre . . . and there his gaze lingered.

Their eyes met for only a moment before Túre looked away. She felt foolish, and oddly youthful and awkward despite her years. What was he thinking? Did he think she was spying on them? Did he wonder why she blushed? To run away was craven, but to stare back was over-bold. Some might have done it, but not she.

In compromise, she bent and plucked a daisy, as though it was what she’d intended all along. From the corner of her eye she saw he had not moved and was now speaking with Amerith. Faintly disappointed, she turned away, forcing herself to walk slowly as though she did not care whether he followed. Yet she listened closely, part of her hoping to hear pursuing footsteps. This did not happen.

Instead, she continued on alone, yet this did not trouble her as it once had. On impulse she bent down and placed the daisy on a rock. Just in case he passed this way . . . perhaps he would see it and remember her. That would be enough.

She then proceeded on to the great kitchen where she frequently assisted with the baking of lembas and other food items. She was one of those who made sure that adequate food was prepared and sent to the border patrols, and also to the communal dining area where many elves chose to eat. This occupied her until well past the middle of the day, at which point she brushed flour from her hands, took off her apron, and made her way back to her talan. Upon reaching her door, she stopped abruptly, her gaze directed downward. A lone daisy lay at her feet.

Túre’s heart started to pound. She bent down and picked it up, examining it closely. It was the same daisy, she was almost positive. The only way to know for certain was to go back to the place where she had left hers, but she would not do that. She did not need to know that badly, and besides, she would feel silly.

She turned and glanced around, wondering if he were watching her from some vantage, either near or distant. She saw nothing to confirm this, but just in case she brought the daisy to her nose in a signal of appreciation. Then she turned and went inside.

The daisy went into a glass of water.

#

As they climbed the path that led to the great gates of Caras Galadhon, Rúmil glanced down at Haldir. At first he’d thought Haldir had fainted from shock and pain, but after observing him, Rúmil had decided his brother had somehow fallen into a deep healing sleep—without the aid of a spell. This was unusual, but good.

“I will go ahead,” he told Enetheru and Seidiron, the two wardens who had volunteered for the honor of bearing Haldir’s litter. They had not stopped to eat or rest, and had made only one brief pause to drink the clear waters of a forest stream.

Rúmil sprinted the remaining distance, knowing the gate guards had already seen them because the bell had started to toll---the bell that would announce to all that a wounded elf was being brought in. It would summon the Lord and Lady, along with Lórien’s most talented healers, and most likely Lord Elrond himself.

“Find Orophin,” Rúmil commanded the first Sentinel he reached, a much younger elf of lower rank whom he knew only slightly, “and tell him it is Haldir who is injured.”

The Sentinel saluted and swiftly left, but not before Rúmil had seen his shocked look. Perhaps he was another who thought his brother was invincible. Rúmil turned back to watch Haldir’s litter approach, and wondered suddenly who was going to tell Elanor.

#

Elrond was studying an ancient manuscript Celeborn had acquired, perusing the delicate writing with a fascinated eye, when he felt Galadriel stiffen. He looked across the table at her and saw that her eyes had closed, her beautiful face tight with distress. Elrond quietly tested his own gift to see if he could discern the cause, but nothing came.

“Galadriel?” Celeborn was watching her closely.

Her eyes flew open. “We must go,” she stated. At that instant a distant bell began to toll, a discordant, mournful peal that sent a tide of misgiving through Elrond, for he knew well what it meant. How many were hurt today? Would Mandos receive another fëa into his Halls?

Galadriel’s sapphire gaze fixed on Elrond as she rose to her feet, her hand held out toward Celeborn in silent gesture. “We must all go,” she repeated. “At once.”

“I will send for my satchel of herbs,” Elrond said quietly.

“Please do, Elrond. We can always use your aid.”

Elrond followed the noble couple out of the talan while the bell continued its toll. He paused briefly to speak to one of the Lórien sentinels, directing him to where he would find his collection of herbs, and bid him make haste. He then hurried after Celeborn and Galadriel.

They soon set foot upon the forest floor, for they knew that the wounded would be taken first to a healing area near the gates. As they headed in that direction, a grim-faced Cothion came quickly toward them. Elrond knew Cothion well, for the scholarly elf had spent much time in Rivendell and was friend to Elrond and Erestor both. Since Cothion’s marriage to the beautiful Healea, however, he had not left Lothlórien.

“My lady, my lords, Haldir has been brought in. He is gravely injured.”

Galadriel paused, her hand on Celeborn’s arm. “Are there others?” she asked, her voice very steady.

“Nay, my lady,” Cothion replied. “Only Haldir, but Rúmil accompanies him. The litter-bearers have taken him to the central tent.”

Galadriel was difficult to read, but Elrond could feel Celeborn’s concern and Cothion’s too. It would be a blow to all of Lórien for this elf to be in peril of his life. Not only was Haldir a skilled warrior and leader, but he was also held in the highest esteem by the Lord and Lady. And what of Elanor? How would this affect her?

They hurried forward, reaching the courtyard quartering a number of healing tents. These white fabric enclosures filled the perimeter of the square, a first response area where the injured could receive aid before being sent farther into the city to a recovery talan. Behind the tents grew a tall hedge that kept the whole area walled off from outside view.

All but one of the tents were open, their side panels rolled up to allow the air to flow through, but the tent directly opposite the courtyard entrance was shielded by its cloth walls. In front of it, a tall elf Elrond recognized as a well-known Lórien healer was struggling to prevent both Rúmil and Orophin from entering. A number of others stood nearby, clearly waiting to hear word of Haldir’s condition.

“I was just explaining to Rúmil and Orophin that they cannot enter,” the healer declared as the threesome arrived. He sent the two wardens an admonishing glance. “Too many inside will only make our work more difficult,” he said, glaring at the two brothers. “You will help best by staying outside.”

Elrond clapped a hand to each brother’s shoulder, propelling the two wardens aside so Galadriel and Celeborn could enter. “It would be best if you stayed out here,” he told them. “You must have faith that he is strong and will fight to live. He is too stubborn to do aught else.” He began to turn away, but Rúmil’s hand on his arm gave him pause.

“Haldir has been distracted lately,” Rúmil said. “His behavior had been . . . odd.”

“Odd?” Elrond arched a brow. “In what manner? Does he neglect his duty?”

Rúmil quickly denied this. “He is simply different, my lord. Distracted.”

“What do you mean?” said Orophin, looking confused.

Rúmil rubbed at his neck. “I cannot explain. ‘Tis such a subtle thing. I can only say he has not seemed like himself. I thought perhaps this knowledge might be of some use.” He stared toward the tent as if tempted to leap past the healer still guarding the entrance.

“I will bear it in mind, but you must remain here for now, both of you. After we care for your brother you may enter.”

Both brothers bowed their heads, and Elrond turned away again, pondering Rúmil’s words as he entered the tent.

#

Warmed by Haldir’s ardent kisses, Elanor lay in his arms, drowsing in the afternoon sun. His arms enclosed her, but she could not see him, for she faced outward, in the direction of a large white marble archway entwined with honeysuckle.

“Where are we?” she asked in sudden confusion. “I do not know this place.”

“You do know it,” Haldir replied. “It is where we live.”

“I do not know it,” she insisted. “What is this place? Where are we?”

“This is our home, Elanor. Our home in the Undying Lands.”

“This is Aman?” Why did she not remember?

She sat up quickly, trying to see more, but the sun shone bright in her eyes, obscuring everything else from her sight. Only the archway could she see, but the sun dazzled, forcing her to shut her eyes for a moment, and when next she looked the arch was gone. They were in Lórien again, near a glistening pond not far from the glade of the ninniach-loth. This time she faced him, for they were making love and he was buried deep inside her, his face near her own.

“Elanor,” he whispered. “Where are you?”

“I am right here. What do you mean?”

“I cannot see you.”

“I am here,” she gasped as he surged into her.

“Stop hiding from me, Elanor. Where are you?”

“I am not hiding!” she protested, her hands clamped on his shoulders. “We’re making love, Haldir. Do you not feel me?”

“I feel nothing,” he said. “Why are you hiding from me? I cannot see you.”

“He sees *me*,” purred a new voice.

Elanor turned her head, seeking the one who spoke. Lana stood nearby, watching them with those guileless blue eyes of hers, her golden curls woven with elanor blooms and tumbling over her shoulders. She held a bouquet of dark red roses in her hands, roses that came from Elanor’s garden.

“He will never see you again now that I am here,” Lana said tenderly as a bell began to toll in the distance. “You will always be invisible to him.” She tossed a rose so that it landed on Haldir’s back.

“No!” Elanor protested, even as Haldir continued to thrust into her. “No!” All pleasure had vanished, replaced by unspeakable horror.

Lana tossed another rose.

“Elanor,” Haldir muttered. “Don’t leave me . . . ”

“No!” Elanor cried out.

“He cannot see you . . . ”

“Don’t leave me . . . ”

“I will not leave you!”

An insistent hand was shaking her. “Ellie!” said a voice. “Ellie, wake up!”

Elanor came to with a cry in her throat, her heart pounding hard from the nightmare, but it was Doria rather than Lana who hovered over her.

“What?” She drew a breath and stared at her friend. “What is wrong?” Doria had never woken her like this before, and she could clearly hear a bell. It must mean something.

“It is Haldir,” Doria said gently. “My dear, you must brace yourself. He has been wounded.”

#

Barred from entering the healing enclosure, Rúmil paced. Now that he had time to relax and think, he realized how distraught and shocked he truly was. Until this moment he had been in warrior mode, doing what needed to be done with as much speed and efficiency as possible. Seldom did his friends see him like this, for under normal circumstances he reverted to his lighthearted persona the moment he returned to the city. But not this day. Even though he knew the best healers available were caring for his brother, this day his nerves stayed as taut as an over-stretched bowstring.

Orophin came over and touched his shoulder. “Doria has gone for Elanor,” he said in a low voice. “I thought to spare her for a little while yet, but Doria said she must be told at once.” He paused and lowered his voice even more. “You are not responsible for what happened, Rúmil. Haldir would not blame you, and neither should you blame yourself. At least we lost no other wardens. That should comfort you. I know it comforts me.”

Rúmil answered with a single nod, aware that Orophin spoke with wisdom. Vaguely, he noticed that people were gathering here in this small courtyard that served as a place of waiting. He wished suddenly that Nerwen had come. Instead, every other elleth with whom he had ever been friendly seemed to be here, but he ignored them for the moment. He then realized that Enetheru and Seidiron were relating their version of the tale.

“We pursued and slew them,” Seidiron was saying to those who had gathered, “but Rúmil was the one who saved Haldir. Never have I seen him fight so fiercely, as though he were three elves instead of one.”

“If it were not for Rúmil, Haldir would be dead,” Enetheru agreed, addressing his listeners. “He must have slain at least a dozen of the vile creatures—”

“Only four,” Rúmil corrected with a frown. “And ‘twas no great deed.”

“And more than half a dozen others did you cut down on your way to Haldir’s aid,” Enetheru replied with great respect. “You saved his life, sir. That is a great deed.”

Three ellith came up to Rúmil as a group. “Rúmil,” whispered one of them, with deep sympathy in her blue eyes, “I am so sorry about Haldir.” She slipped her arms around him and gave him a hug, which Rúmil returned out of courtesy and habit.

“Let us know if there is anything we can do,” commiserated another, who also hugged him sorrowfully. “We can bring you food or drink. Orophin too, although we know he has Doria to care for him.”

“We can keep you company,” offered the third. “It is difficult to wait alone when one fears for the life of a loved one.” She, too, slipped her slender arms around him, and rather to Rúmil’s dismay, he realized his bout of abstinence was about to come back to haunt him.

“Thank you,” he said gruffly, drawing away. “You are most kind.”

“You are so brave and valiant,” said a fourth who moved up to join the first three. She, too, gave him a hug and he found himself hugging her back, enjoying her warm curves and wishing she were Nerwen.

He began to feel a little better. None of them were the elleth he longed for, but at least someone cared about his welfare. Yet where had they been when Ainon died? Had they offered to help him through his agony of grief? That period in his life remained a haze to him and he could not recall. Perhaps they had and he had not accepted. It hardly mattered now. The only one who counted had been there when he needed her.

But where was she now?

#

Holding up her skirt, Nerwen flew down steps and across little connecting bridges in her anxiousness to reach Rúmil. She had heard the bell and thought at once of him with icy cold dread in her heart. For a moment she had been paralyzed, then she had run from her talan . . . meeting someone on the way that told her it was Haldir who had been wounded. She had learned, too, that Rúmil had accompanied him but was unhurt, so she had taken the time to go back and slip her little carving into his talan before heading off again. What she would say when she saw him she did not know, but if aught had happened to Haldir, she knew Rúmil’s grief would be nigh unbearable. Yet she rejoiced in the well-timed arrival of Lord Elrond. If anyone could help Rúmil’s brother, it would be the Peredhel, whose healing skills were legendary.

Haldir would be healed. He must, for the sake of everyone, for all of Lórien, for the Lady, for his brothers . . . and most of all for Elanor, who Nerwen knew loved him though Elanor had never told her so. There was no need.

Nerwen reached a place that gave her a direct view of the courtyard where she knew they would have taken Haldir. She was at least thirty paces away and one level above, but she could see very well that one tent was in use. They must have taken Haldir inside already. She could see wardens and others outside the tent, and yes, there was Rúmil . . . surrounded by ellith. As usual.

Her heart sank. These were not just any ellith but those she had reason to know had shared his bed. She could see them hugging him, and . . . he was clearly hugging them back. It was quite obvious he was enjoying their attentions. Perhaps he was already seeking a companion for later, when things settled back into normalcy. It would be just like him, she thought wretchedly.

She tried not to mind, but she did. It hurt more than she might have anticipated, striking so hard at her heart that she almost could not breathe. It came to her in a little shock of surprise just how much she had allowed herself to hope. All those hours of carving the little archer and dreaming about Rúmil had for some reason created the belief in her that it would be different between them when he came back. She had hoped that they would talk and she would be able to tell him how she felt about him. She had planned to give him her gift as a token of her sincerity. And she had hoped it would make a difference.

What a foolish self-deception.

Her eyes blurred with tears as she watched yet another elleth wrap her arms around Rúmil. She gave herself a mental shake, knowing she ought to keep walking, go on down there and be with him, even if it meant staying on the fringes of the crowd. What if he needed her?

But she could not do it, not this time. She could not bear to meet his eyes, nor see him with the other ellith, not after all the hope she had allowed to bloom inside her. Not after all the things she had dared to dream, all the secret fantasies . . .

Slowly, with sagging shoulders, she turned around and went back the way she had come. She would talk to him a bit later, and be strong for him if need be . . . but not just now. He had all the comfort he required at the moment.

#

Despite the indwaedh’s reassuring hum, utter terror filled Elanor’s heart. The recent dream had been so horrible, almost as though a part of her had known something had happened to him. She practically leaped down the stairs, heading to that place she had only peeked at once or twice, after having been told what those white tents were for. She had not allowed herself to envision Haldir being inside of one until this moment.

She arrived before Doria, pausing only long enough to locate Rúmil and Orophin. She rushed over to them. “Where is he?” she demanded unevenly. “Why are you just standing here? What is happening?”

“Calm yourself, Elanor,” Orophin said soothingly. “He is with the healers. He is being cared for.”

“He is alive,” she stated, her fists clenched at her sides.

“He is alive,” Rúmil agreed, pacing back and forth. “But you cannot see him now, and neither can we. We must be patient.”

Elanor watched Rúmil pace, straining to hear what was going on inside the tent, but the voices were low and did not carry. By this time Doria had arrived and was giving Orophin a comforting hug, whispering something in his ear as she did so. Others were gathering, more than two dozen so far, mostly wardens not on duty along with a number of ellith, most of whom had their eyes on Rúmil. A few were looking curiously at Elanor.

Elanor turned back to Rúmil. He had been with Haldir; he must be able to tell her more. “What happened, Rúmil?” she said flatly.

Rúmil stopped pacing long enough to summarize while Elanor’s imagination filled in details. Haldir, surrounded by evil creatures. Haldir, fighting for his life. Haldir, in terrible pain all these hours. No wonder she had been feeling so tense. Somehow the indwaedh had allowed her to know that something was wrong.

Once, she had wept over holes in his clothing. He had soothed her then, telling her the wounds he’d sustained had been nothing. Was this also nothing? She wanted to burst into tears, but she refused to allow herself that outlet, here in front of others. Haldir deserved a ward who was strong and dignified, one who would make him proud. One who knew how to conduct herself with decorum.

But she wanted to be in there with him, at his side where she belonged. She wanted this so badly that her jaw clenched and every muscle in her body went taut with purpose. She did not care what they said; she *would* go in there. She took a single step forward . . . only to be stopped by a firm hand on her arm.

Healea stood there, her golden hair flowing over her shoulders, her gaze locked on Elanor. “Do not be foolish, Elanor. You cannot go in there. Come now and sit with me. Cothion and I will wait with you.” Healea looked calm and composed, but real compassion shone clearly in those brilliant blue eyes. Behind her stood Cothion, his face grave and composed.

“I only want to see him,” Elanor replied in a low, stubborn voice.

“You will see him when the time is right,” Healea said sternly. “You must give the healers time to do their task. Right now he deserves privacy and dignity. And you must compose yourself so that you will be strong for him when you see him. It will not help him if you are weak. He deserves better than that.”

Elanor lifted her chin. “I will be strong, Healea. I am not the weakling you think I am.”

A hint of a smile curled Healea’s lips. “I do not think you a weakling. I think you have many strengths, some of them hidden from us all. I also think you are the perfect match for Haldir. I know that you care for him deeply, and therefore this is a distressing situation for you, even more than for me. And that is why I will sit with you now, because that is what friends do.”

“Thank you,” Elanor said, with humble sincerity. And that was what she did—she sat on a bench with Healea on one side and Cothion on the other, and she waited, while the minutes passed and the courtyard slowly filled with more elves.

****
[To be continued . . . quite soon, since most of Chapter 26 is done.]
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