THE HERALD

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Story Information

Title: The Herald
Author: Scribe of Imladris © 2007
Pairing(s): Haldir/Elrohir (major), Erestor/Glorfindel (minor)
Rating: R
Timeline: 2511 of the Third Age
Summery: Deep foreboding stirs the northern territories of Middle-earth, and all evidence points towards Carn Dum, former seat of the Witch-king of Angmar. When the Elves are reluctantly drawn into the puzzle, they unearth a dark secret that poses a threat to the free peoples of Arda.
Disclaimer: These characters & Middle-earth are copyrighted by the Tolkien estate. This story is not meant to infringe on that copyright, nor is any profit being made.
A/N: Set a century before the Quest. While there are AU elements to this story, it adheres to the general canon.

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Chapter Three


The sun descended over the Rhudaur in a rich multitude of hues, casting dusky ribbons of light across the emerald dale of Imladris. It had been a long, arduous day in which the triumvirate of elven realms sifted through the fine details of their plan to surmount the Witch-king of Angmar. Covenants were signed, glasses were chinked. It was decreed that the commission would depart Rivendell within a week, thus overthrowing the enemy’s expectation of an immediate retaliation.

Erestor retrieved a bejeweled comb from the mossy riverbank and cast it through his freshly washed, dark tresses. He sighed as a pleasurable tremor rippled through his muscles, and delighted in the blessed solitude of the pearlescent waters. Soon he would have to reconvene with the others in the mess hall, but not now, not yet. A distant splash resounded in the creek. Erestor twisted around, his eyes quickly scanning over the horizon and the thin, wooden dock that lay perched on the Bruinen several hundred yards away. There he spotted Haldir, light against the misty currents of the river, swimming rapidly toward him.

“Le suilon,” Erestor smiled as Haldir hoistered himself over the ledge.

“What a coincidence,” Haldir raked a long hand through the soft, platinum locks of his hair, gently shaking out drops of water. “I wanted to ask you something, and hoped I would be able to confer with you in privacy before supper.”

“How very auspicious for us both, mellon, for I too wish to confer with you.”

Haldir’s eyes scanned the vicinity. “There are no spies abound?”

“Only the lizard by the hedgerow. I do believe he is one of the enemy’s agents. But I wouldn’t worry, he has just scurried off after a badger. What’s on your mind?”

“By spies I meant a certain balrog slayer,” Haldir chuckled. “And Lord Elrond.”

Erestor blinked. “Nay, I am alone.”

“Very well,” Haldir nodded. “While I have the utmost veneration for Glorfindel and Lord Elrond, I am unsure whether we should be dallying in Rivendell any longer. If our suspicions vis-à-vis the contingent of Uruk-hai to the Angmar are correct, why are we biding our time here instead of engaging them in battle before they reach Lindon and the defenceless Dúnedain realms of the north?”

“I thought we had already discussed this,” Erestor furrowed his brow. “Lord Elrond, Glorfindel and I believe we should wait for Thranduil’s regiment from Mirkwood before you charge off to the Angmar, affording us with the element of surprise when you finally do engage them in battle.”

“Respectfully, you are wrong. The element of surprise is obsolete. Any initiative on our part will be anticipated and well prepared for. This is madness.”

“Why did you not voice your reservations before the forum?”

“I did, but you were all too busy congratulating yourselves on a brilliant plan. Bar Saelbeth, he didn’t seem particularly impressed either. With all do respect, Erestor, there is a reason why the Galadhrim are considered the mightiest warriors in elvendom, and we did not earn this reputation by twiddling our thumbs while the enemy grows stronger.”

“Be that as it may,” Erestor commenced buttoning his leggings. “We need reinforcements. Lórien is three-hundred legions away, and Mirkwood is closer. Besides, while our forces here in Rivendell may not be as renowned as the Galadhrim, they are a force to be reckoned with. Do you not trust Glorfindel?”

“Of course I do. My admiration for your Marchwarden knows no bounds. But I am loathe to sit here aimlessly when I could be doing good in the Ettenmoors.”

“Patience is a virtue, Haldir.”

"I have no patience."

"And from what I hear, no virtue either. Or was that rumour about you and Glorfindel just idle chatter?"

Haldir frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

“Never mind,” Erestor heaved a sigh. “’Tis none of my business.”

Haldir’s eyes widened in bewilderment. “Erestor,” he implored. “We are friends. Brothers in arms. There is absolutely nothing untoward between Glorfindel and I.”

“It matters not,” Erestor fastened his belt.

There was silence for a moment, and as Erestor’s steely gaze held Haldir’s own with a steady bearing, only the constant ripple of water upon the riverbank could be heard.

Haldir shivered. “Perhaps I should gather my own robes and head back.”

“Haldir.”

“Erestor,” Haldir lilted humourlessly.

“If you have any further reservations pertaining to our military ploys, please voice them before us all. We should not bear secrets from one another.”

Haldir nodded. “I am sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable.”

“That’s quite all right, now I can reciprocate.”

“Ah,” Haldir smiled. “That’s right, you had something to ask me.”

Erestor nodded, and the pair began to walk towards the wooden dock where Haldir had discarded his robes.

“What do you make of the twins, Elrohir and Elladan?”

“Elladan is a tremendous swordsman,” Haldir enthused. “I had the pleasure of sparring with him on the practice fields this morning. He is a superb archer, too. A worthy appendage to Rivendell’s guard. I have invited him to Lórien, and he positively glowed at the prospect of spending some time with the Galadhrim.”

“I do not wonder. I wouldn’t be surprised if he asked you to join!”

“Nay,” Haldir shook his head. “Elladan is loyal to Glorfindel and Imladris.”

“That’s good to hear,” Erestor smiled.

“As for Elrohir,” Haldir paused. “I cannot say. I haven’t swapped more than a couple of words with the lad. He’s rather aloof. A simpleton, is he?”

Erestor laughed. “Nay, mellon. He is exceptionally brilliant.”

“Oh,” Haldir frowned. “Well, he is lacking in social skills.”

“Aye, much to his Adar’s displeasure. Elrohir is going through a period of reticence at the moment, though I daresay he is strangely flustered in your presence, which brings me nicely to the next question. Have you said, or done, anything to unsettle him?”

Haldir smirked. “Hardly. I have barely spent more than a few minutes in his company since my arrival, and mostly at dinnertime, with everyone else present.”

“True,” mused Erestor.

The pair walked on in relative silence until they reached the wooden dock where Haldir had left his belongings. Haldir descended the small hillock, retrieved his clothes from the railing and proceeded to dress. Erestor considered the matter of Elrohir’s strange introversion in the Marchwarden’s presence, before his attention bowed to the sound of chortling, the bearer of which soon proved to be Elladan, flanked by Elrohir, who were walking rapidly in his direction.

“Well fancy that,” laughed Elladan. “I told you he went for a swim,” he said to Elrohir.

“Quel undome,” smiled Erestor. “’Tis no secret that I bathe at dusk every day.”

“Nay,” Elrohir grinned. “You should consider bathing in the mornings, or Valar-forbid, nightime!”

Erestor chuckled. “Stir it up a little, eh?”

“I’m with Elrohir on that one,” smiled Haldir and joined the others on the footpath. “I adore bathing in the moonlight.”

“Captain Haldir!” beamed Elladan. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Aye, lurking in the shadows is one of my strengths,” he winked, and turned to face Elrohir, who was staring at his boots. “Quel undome, Elrohir, how fare thee?”

“Hannon lle.”

Haldir arched a brow at Erestor. The counsellor sighed, and an idea formed in his mind.

“Elladan, we need to discuss your progress with astronomy. Would you like to accompany me to the library so we may have a quiet interlude before supper? Elrohir can show Captain Haldir to the mess hall.”

“But Tor, I do not study astronomy!”

“My point exactly. Come along now.”

Haldir chuckled as Erestor sauntered into the dark foliage with a bemused Elladan in his stead. He turned to look at Elrohir, who was studying him with intense, iridescent eyes and a glare that could have devoured Mordor and most of Middle-earth.

“And then there were two.”

Elrohir cleared his throat. “Aye.”

Haldir smiled and took a leisurely pace closer to Elrohir, who buckled and stepped away. An awkward silence ensued, as Haldir deliberated the best way in which to approach the young elf, while Elrohir willed himself to calm down.

“Labradorite.”

Elrohir furrowed his brow. “Captain?”

“Your eyes. They are like twin labradorites shimmering in a brook.”

Elrohir flushed. “Oh,” he swallowed. “There are quartzes in the caves of the Hithaeglir, north of the border, by the High Pass.”

“Indeed,” Haldir nodded. “’Tis dangerous land, Elrohir, how far have you travelled?”

“Up to Langwell,” Elrohir shrugged. “There are magnificent amethysts by Ered Mithrin, some the size of a turret. Like star-studded citadels in rock.”

Haldir smiled. “How often do you and Elladan venture out to Ered Mithrin?”

“Oh, I never ride with Dan anymore,” Elrohir sniffed. “I make my own adventures.”

Haldir frowned. “You mean to say that you ride alone to the northern territories?”

“Aye, what of it?”

“It is dangerous. Does your Adar know about these solitary excursions?”

Elrohir sniggered. “I’m not an elfling. I venture out as I see fit.”

Haldir raised a brow. “I would not dream of riding alone to Ered Mithrin, especially without leaving word of my journey. Do you know what evils lurk in the terrain?”

“I care not,” said Elrohir indignantly. “Shall we go, the hour grows late.”

Haldir sighed. “As you wish.”

Elrohir nodded and stalked briskly down the shady footpath, with Haldir strolling at a more leisurely pace behind him. They walked in silence for a couple of minutes. Haldir contemplated Elrohir’s irresponsibility and mulled over whether to advise Erestor of his recklessness.

“Captain Haldir.”

Haldir snapped out of his reverie. “Apologies,” he murmured and caught up with Elrohir, who stood by a hedge a few meters to the fore.

Elrohir’s breath caught in his chest as Haldir ambled up to face him, now closer than he had ever been, his striking facade bearing an unmistakable air of dignity. Haldir’s eyes seemed to soak up the fading light, in turn reflecting back a colder blue glint from behind the dusky curl of his lashes. He smiled warmly, and racked a hand though his silvery, damp braids.

“Perhaps I should dry my hair before I face your Adar at the dinner table,” he said.

“Nay,” replied Elrohir. “You are exquisite,” he added and flinched at his choice of words.

Haldir grinned. “Why thank you.”

Elrohir turned brusquely in his stead, when Haldir placed a strong hand on his shoulder.

“Elrohir,” Haldir prompted, and Elrohir’s eyes pored momentarily into his own. “Do you remember me, when you were an elfling I mean, on your visits to Lórien?”

“Aye,” Elrohir said thoughtfully, his dark tresses wafting in the light wind. “Both Dan and I practically idolised you. We must have been a nuisance.”

“Not at all,” Haldir smiled. “You were a very smart child. I remember your astute calculations of the shelob population in Greenwood. You were fascinated in the damned things, and even scolded Fin on one occasion when he recounted the number of times he had slain the creatures!”

Elrohir laughed. “Yes, I always had a penchant for wildlife.”

“Wildlife indeed! It was always wargs, crebain, or those detestable spiders. Could you have not appreciated the unicorns of Cardolan, or the stunning butterflies of Lórien?”

“Meh, they are boring,” Elrohir grinned.

Haldir chuckled. “You have an inimitable dark side, pen-tithen.”

Elrohir crossed his arms, his handsome features furrowed into a scowl. Haldir tilted his head at the younger elf, whose gaze was now fixed on a towering gardenia.

“Elrohir,” Haldir sighed. “Is anything amiss?”

Elrohir kicked a knoll of shrubbery into the dense thicket of the tree, and slid down its trunk, quietly suppressing a sigh. Haldir followed suit, wordlessly sinking into the sweet-smelling foliage by Elrohir, his back against the weathered hedge of the ancient tree. Haldir glanced at Elrohir, the length of his neck, the elegance of his shoulders, and his furrowed, troubled brow. He decided to let Elrohir speak when he was ready, and a surprisingly comfortable silence ensued.

“Please do not call me pen-tithen,” Elrohir murmured. “I’m not an elfling.”

Haldir reclined further back against the tree-trunk and crossed his arms against his broad chest, looking up at the starry night and the Valar’s humbling, munificent sorcery.

“Captain Haldir,” Elrohir prompted. “Did you hear what I said?”

Haldir smiled. “Aye. I am merely admiring the magics of Ilúvatar.”

Elrohir followed Haldir’s gaze to the heavens. “Sacred dwelling of the Ainur, where I have often travelled in the dream-state. The most loving of all pilgrimages.”

“What a noble undertaking.”

Elrohir closed his eyes. “My faith brings me much solace.”

“Only solace?”

“And meaning.”

“Ah.”

“I doubt a heretic such as yourself could understand.”

“Ha! My reputation precedes me. On the contrary.”

Elrohir twisted a braid around his index finger. “How so?”

“My lack of faith brings me solace.”

Elrohir faced Haldir. “Explain.”

“I feel empowered. I do not subscribe to the fatalist creed that many elves do. If our fate has been orchestrated by Ilúvatar, what of free will? Why bother making any choices, if our lives are preordained and we are merely playing out a script.”

Elrohir sighed. “Why must having a destiny negate having free will?”

“’Tis an oxymoron, Elrohir.”

“Nonsense.”

Haldir looked into Elrohir’s eyes, and set the loose fold of his collar aside with light fingers. “Tell me why you feel so ill at ease with me. It can’t be my heretic inclinations.”

“Nay,” Elrohir smiled coyly, breaking his gaze away from Haldir. “It matters not.”

Haldir tilted Elrohir’s head up. “It does to me.”

Elrohir heaved a deep sigh and sat up, tucked a dishevelled braid behind his ear and wrapped his arms around his knees. Haldir touched the leather folds of Elrohir’s leggings, trailed a finger around the crinkle, and tugged slightly. “Well?”

“Haldir,” Elrohir paused, and met Haldir’s eyes. “If I may call you that, captain.”

“Are you a member of my guard?”

“Nay.”

“Then I am not your captain. Proceed.”

Elrohir smiled. “Haldir,” he said again, savouring each syllable. “Do you really not know what troubles me?”

Haldir considered this. “I have my suspicions. But if there is one thing I have learnt in my long years, it is not to jump to conclusions.”

“Interesting,” Elrohir said pensively. “And if there is one thing I have learnt in my short years, it is to trust my instincts.”

Haldir smiled. “Erestor was right.”

“Erestor is always right. That’s another thing I have learnt,” Elrohir grinned. “What about?”

“He said you were exceptionally brilliant.”

Elrohir flushed. “Tor has a flare for hyperbole.”

“Perhaps,” Haldir tilted his head, and decided to drop the matter of Elrohir’s feelings. They had reached a hard-earned equilibrium, and Haldir thought better of stirring the hornet’s nest with more questions.

Nightime swept over Rivendell, and the scrabbling, scurrying and raucous wisps of nocturnal animals resounded in the plateau while the leaves shook and swayed in the cool air. Haldir and Elrohir were unperturbed by the dark canopy of stars overhead, too immersed were they in their intricate discourse to note the passing of time. The minutes and hours converged into a bright tapestry where fables were shared, and masks unveiled. Elrohir animatedly expressed his theological beliefs and savoured the soft smile that shot across Haldir’s half-parted lips as he spoke, and the way his stare followed the movement of Elrohir’s tapered fingers as they darted through the air at the whim of his pleasure. Haldir, in turn, relayed before an enraptured Elrohir legends of the Golden Wood and stories of the celebrated prowess of the Galadhrim.

“Elbereth!” Haldir exclaimed, studying the moonlight about them. “Elrohir, your Adar will have my head on a spear. We must head back to the palace.”

Elrohir smiled. “Calm down, Haldir. I have spoken to him.”

Haldir furrowed his brow. “Spoken to him?”

“Aye,” Elrohir nodded. “Father and Grandmother are not the only Seers in our family.”

Haldir nodded. “I had no idea. Elladan too, Arwen?”

“Nay,” Elrohir shook his head. “’Tis the subject of much debate. Dan swears by Ilúvatar that he does not possess the Gift, though I am unconvinced. He persists in exhibiting the aura of a plain legionnaire, a soldier that harbors little to no interest in the spiritual realm. You know how soldiers are, they are a crass lot.”

Haldir raised a brow, clearly amused. “We’re not all crass!”

Elrohir laughed. “Hit a nerve there, did I?”

Haldir smiled, and admired the numinous glimmer of the moon as it was caught and consumed by the scintillating depths of Elrohir’s eyes. Elrohir felt himself caught in Haldir’s gaze, tumbling into the silvery depths that seemed at once to be pools of distant worlds. Haldir leaned closer, finally bridging the breath between them, and touched Elrohir’s cheek. When he didn't flinch, Haldir traced his fingers down Elrohir’s lips, jawline, and neck. Then, he gently pulled Elrohir towards him by his collar. His lips grazed over Elrohir’s own, lightly at first, and then more fervently as they meshed with considerable ardour.

Haldir pulled Elrohir closer, his hand firmly spread upon the cool, bare skin of the other’s nape. With the tips of his fingers Haldir stroked the taught muscles there and the consistent form of the spine. Elrohir shuddered in Haldir’s arms as shimmers of desire soared through his flesh, the maddening impulse that drove him towards the handsome warrior had finally found its expression. The tender flesh of Haldir’s lips, a meal that satisfied a deeply inherent hunger, filled Elrohir with a brandy-like warmth that stifled the nocturnal cold surging through their tunics. Haldir pulled Elrohir underneath him, and situated his right thigh between Elrohir’s legs, pressing delicately against Elrohir’s arousal. The rough leather of his riding breeches created a delectably sinister friction against Elrohir’s rapidly heating body, and he moaned softly.

A grey owl perched on the brink of a coiled branch. It skewed its beady eyes at the writhing couple in the underbrush, and surveyed the fervent display with aloof disinterestedness. The dark wraith veiled by an adjacent tree, however, found it very interesting indeed.

CONTINUED IN CHAPTER FOUR......