ELANOR'S REVENGE

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Surprise, surprise! and Merry Christmas and Happy Everything! Here is a gift for our ER readers. I really think we deserve a few scantily clad elves on our doorsteps for getting this chapter out so fast, lol... and before Christmas too. Anyway, hope you enjoy. Feedback VERY much appreciated!!!!
Love to all, J&F

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Chapter Thirty-One


Open space . . . sharp, whipping leaves . . . a mallorn branch lashing cruelly.

A lifetime of memories flashing past with the upward rush of the wind, crystalline quick, tearing at her with their poignancy.

Another branch . . . terrible, knifelike pain . . . regret.

Darkness.

~*~

Rúmil stared in horror, unable to take in the reality of the scene that had just unfolded before him. Elanor was gone. She had made no scream or cry. All that lingered was an eerie silence and an emptiness where she had been but a moment before.

Haldir hunched awkwardly at the edge of the flet, his posture twisted and frozen, his head bowed in appalling defeat. Lurien still sprawled where he had landed in his attempt to reach Elanor, his sword lying a short distance behind where he had dropped it. Neither elf moved.

Orophin and Beredain’s forward movement jerked Rúmil from his paralysis. The three of them hurried to Haldir, ignoring Lurien, who was slowly dragging himself to his knees.

“Haldir,” Orophin murmured, crouching alongside their ashen-faced brother. He put an arm around Haldir’s shoulders while Beredain and several others peered wordlessly downward. Rúmil knew the view would be blocked by several huge mallorn branches, some of them holding bridges and walkways, any of which Elanor could have struck on the way down. If there was anything to be seen, someone would have said so.

Lurien crawled to the edge and looked over, leaving a trail of blood behind him. “The fault is mine,” he said in a hollow voice.

No one contradicted him.

Giving the sentinel a contemptuous look, Rúmil leaned down to remove Haldir’s sword from his hand. “Let me take it,” he said gently.

Haldir slackened his grip on the hilt, but otherwise he did not move.

Several elves had joined them on the flet, while others stayed where they were and still others soundlessly retreated. Quick footsteps echoed in the distance.

Haldir slowly lifted his head and gazed with haunted eyes at the shocked faces of those who surrounded him. The only people he seemed to recognize were his brothers, and although he glanced briefly at Lurien, he seemed hardly to see him. His short, ragged breathing told Rúmil how desperately close he was to being sick.

Then his hand moved to his chest as though beseeching the hidden indwaedh for a miracle. A long moment passed before his eyes widened, jerking from one brother and to the other.

“She lives,” he whispered incredulously. Rúmil had rarely seen such ragged emotion in Haldir’s face. “She lives!” he repeated, and leaped to his feet.

~*~

They’d had hardly enough time to reach the place where the mirror showed they should stand, hardly enough time to ready themselves before the catastrophe occurred. And then she came crashing through the leaves above them, her downward progress slowed by the very branches that injured her. It was Celeborn’s steel-like strength that saved her, his muscled arms snatching her from the air as she hurtled toward them like a small shooting star.

Galadriel’s arms locked around her husband’s waist as she strained with all her might to keep him from being dragged over the flet’s edge by the force of Elanor’s fall. Behind her, a sentinel encircled Galadriel’s waist with one arm while he gripped the small but sturdy mallorn branch with his free hand, anchoring them to the tree. Had she not foreseen that it could be done, she would not have attempted such a dangerous rescue. But the mirror had spoken just in time.

Working together, they hauled Elanor back onto the flet and placed her gently on her back. At once Celeborn and Galadriel bent to examine her. Her gown was torn, exposing long lacerations in her flesh, but there was very little blood.

“Send for Elrond,” Celeborn told the sentinel grimly. “And a litter.”

As the sentinel hurried away, Galadriel gazed at the unconscious elleth with compassion and placed a gentle hand on Elanor’s brow. “Come back to the light,” she whispered. “Come back, Elanor. Your place is here. Haldir needs you. You cannot leave him now.”

By this time others had arrived, but neither Celeborn nor Galadriel looked up.

“How does she fare?” The voice was Healea’s. To Galadriel’s approval, Cothion’s wife carried a blanket, which she quickly spread over Elanor before kneeling down next to Galadriel.

Celeborn glanced briefly at Healea before catching Galadriel’s eye. They both knew that the fëa had started to leave, but had heard Galadriel’s call and returned.

“She lives,” he replied. “Barely.”

~*~

Haldir arrived the same moment as Elrond, but he had no eyes for anyone but Elanor. She lay so still with her face so pale that he would have thought she was dead had the jewel on his chest not told him otherwise. He moved forward, as closely as he could go without interfering with the work of the healers. His wretchedness was as acute as a physical pain, stabbing at his heart like a dozen sharp knives. And yet the worst of his despair was gone, for he could see that she was breathing.

He stood still and kept back, watching miserably while Elrond shifted the blanket aside and examined Elanor with a grave expression. After a brief period, the Elf-lord glanced up, looking straight at Haldir. “Come,” he said. “You can help her.”

Feeling many pairs of eyes on him, Haldir moved forward while Galadriel rose and stepped away, allowing Haldir to take her place at Elanor’s side.

Elrond’s voice resonated deeply. “It is because of you, Marchwarden, that her fëa remains, but it is weak. You can strengthen it by placing your hand here, directly over her heart where she wears your jewel. Keep the indwaedh beneath your palm and reach out to her with your own heart.”

Haldir did as he was told, pressing his palm reverently against Elanor’s chest so that he could feel her fluttering heartbeat. He had done minor healings before, directing healing energy into cuts and bruises and sore muscles, but this was very different. This demanded much more of him, calling for a deeper commitment, one that drew strength from his very fëa.

Even so, he instinctively knew what to do. Closing his eyes, he focused on his own fëa, sending it out to find hers, quickly enfolding her in a tender and healing embrace. It was the most intimate thing he had ever done, and he did it willingly, praying that it would be enough. After a few moments, he could hear that Elanor’s breathing was more steady and natural.

How long he stayed like this he did not know, but when he opened his eyes it was Galadriel who knelt where Elrond had been. “Enough,” she said in a low voice. “You may rise, Haldir. We will see that Elanor is cared for. You have done all you can.”

Aware that he was being dismissed, Haldir moved away, reduced yet again to the role of observer while the healers carefully transferred Elanor to a litter and covered her with the blanket. He could feel Orophin’s hand on his shoulder, but he did not turn to look at his brother. Rúmil stood on his other side, his stance shielding, as though he thought Haldir might need to be protected.

At this point, Healea walked over to him. “I will be assisting with Elanor’s care,” she told Haldir calmly. “She will require a female attendant, and I have trained in the healing arts, though it is not the area at which I excel. Elanor knows and trusts me, and I will do what I can for her. Galadriel has agreed to it.”

Haldir met her eyes squarely. “Thank you, Healea.”

“I do it for her, of course,” Healea added, as though she sensed his surprise, “but I do it also for you.” She paused for a moment, as though searching for words that were difficult to speak. “I knew something would happen. I have been watching Lurien for weeks, knowing he was up to no good, but I thought it had to do with Elanor. I sought to protect her, and yet I was not there when she needed me. For that I deeply apologize.”

“You owe no apology,” he said evenly, pushing aside old memories that no longer mattered. “You have been good to Elanor. You have my trust.”

Healea bowed her head slightly. “I will care for her as though she is one of my own flesh. She will recover fully, Haldir. I will accept nothing less.”

Haldir’s gaze shifted to Elanor’s litter, which was just disappearing around the curve of the steps. “Nor will I.” When Healea turned away he began to follow, but his brothers’ hands stopped him, each of them clamping onto one of his arms with iron determination.

“Wait,” Rúmil advised. “They will not allow you inside the talan while they work on her, any more than they allowed us inside when it was you lying there half dead from your wounds. And we are your kin.”

“They cannot stop me.”

“Yes, they can,” Orophin countered. “You know it as well as we do. Let us take you to your talan instead so we can tend your wounds. You can wash and change into a clean tunic.”

Haldir shook his head with impatience. “I need no tending. I must be near her.”

His brothers exchanged a glance. “Then we will go, all three of us,” Rúmil said patiently. “We will wait with you, Orophin and I. Outside the healing talan.”

Haldir only nodded. He had no more words.

~*~

Lurien sat alone on the flet where they had fought, entrapped in a strange stupor that prevented him from feeling anything at all. He had watched the others rush off, but had found he could not seem to move, as though every joint in his body was locked in aching paralysis. For a little while and without thinking very much about anything, he listened to the rustling leaves and voices filtering up from below. They did not seem real to him. Even he did not seem real. He felt completely and utterly alone.

Eventually, he looked down and observed the spreading blood on the front of his tunic. As he stared at it, he began to feel the pain that must have been there all along. It hurt rather badly, he was surprised to note. Why had he not noticed it sooner?

Little by little, he dragged himself to his feet and tried to force his mind to function once more. Haldir had said that Elanor lived. She was alive. The fall had not killed her. It was the only thought that seemed to make any sense, and he clung to it with dogged tenacity as he began to stagger back to his talan.

He reached his home without passing anyone at all, which was just as well since he had nothing to say. Inside, he shut the door and sagged against it while he stared at his personal belongings as if he had never seen them before. Where was his sword? He did not remember dropping it, but he must have done so when he had thrown himself toward Elanor.

Someone was trying to open the door at his back.

“Lurien, let me in.”

With an inward sigh, he moved away, watching dully as Tarwë came inside and quickly shut the door. “You are wounded,” she said in a low voice.

He glanced down at his bloodstained tunic. “Yes, it seems so,” he agreed.

“You sound indifferent.” Her shaking fingers fumbled with the fastenings to his tunic, tugging sharply when one of the many soft leather ties resisted. He heard a ripping sound as she tore it away and went on to the next.

“I *am* indifferent,” he said, gazing at the gaily colored woven rug in front of him. “I care not if I live or die. Let me bleed to death. I will do so gladly.”

“Do not be a fool! You will allow me to wash and bind your wound, or I will be very angry with you.”

“You are not angry yet?” he asked with idle curiosity.

She did not answer him until she had his tunic off and had heaved it onto the floor. “Yes, I am angry,” she said curtly. “I do not think I have ever been this angry in my life. But I can be angrier still, so do not try my patience.”

“Then what can I do but obey?” He did not understand why he was being so flippant, but he saw the way her eyes flashed with a fury he had never seen in her before.

“Do not make a jest of this, Lurien.” She walked away from him, returning shortly with a length of clean linen, healing salve, and a basin of warm water. “Come here and sit down,” she ordered, her lovely face taut with control.

He did so meekly. She was not gentle with him and her ministrations hurt, but he made no protest because he knew that he deserved it. He watched her face as she tended him; her lips were tightly pressed together and her eyes avoided his, but she still looked beautiful to him, as beautiful as she ever had. He still wanted her, even at this moment, and the knowledge filled him with deep and unexpected shame.

“There,” she said tersely, once the linen was secured into place. “The wound will remain clean and should heal well. You are fortunate it was not any deeper.”

“Fortunate,” he repeated with irony.

She collapsed into the nearest chair and frowned at him. “Yes, fortunate, Lurien. It is bad enough as it is.” She had grown remote now that she had tended to him.

His lips twisted ruefully. “It hurts quite a lot.”

“I imagine Elanor hurts more,” she responded in a cool tone. “Your recklessness nearly cost Elanor her immortal life, and you have not even asked about her. Do you care how she fares?”

He was shocked to see disdain in her eyes. “Of course I care,” he said harshly. “I was told that she lived. I am glad and relieved.”

“Well, that is something at least.” She paused, her hands clasped tightly together as though she feared she might strike him. “Well, you have made your mark. Are you proud of yourself?”

Flinching at her sarcasm, he looked away. “Of course not. I failed miserably.”

She was silent, and when he looked at her again, he saw great pain in her face. “Lurien, you do not understand what you have done. There will be a price to pay.”

Her words echoed in his head. “I know it,” he said, after a long silence. “Whatever the price, I will pay it.”

She rose to her feet, her chin high and her gaze level. “Yes, Lurien, you will.” With those words, she walked away from him and out of his talan, closing the door quietly behind her.

He sat very still, listening to the thud of his own heartbeat. His breath burned his throat. There were no other sounds. Nothing at all.

~*~

Haldir sat numbly on a bench outside the healing talan where they had taken Elanor. Despite his choking guilt he maintained a stoic expression, allowing no one a glimpse of the anguished self-recriminations that were eating him alive. He did not share the depth of his suffering with his brothers, for they would already know of it, and he did not wish to hear what they would say. Most likely they would try to lay the blame on Lurien, but that would hardly help, and it was not even true. The blame was his own.

It seemed ironic to him that Elanor should lie in the same talan where he had lain, on the very same bed. He had pushed himself inside once, briefly, and had seen her lying there, so still and white, her body perhaps broken beyond all hope of repair. Hírion and his associate were in there with Elrond, and Elanor’s gown was being cut away while Healea stood nearby. Healea had sent Haldir a compassionate look, but the others had ignored him until Elrond, without even glancing up from his examination of Elanor, had crisply told him to go and wait outside. After a brief internal struggle Haldir had capitulated, but the yearning to return and kneel by her bed was so strong that to resist was torture.

Heartsick and frozen, he stared downward, his elbows resting on his knees. He felt shattered, as though there were pieces of him strewn around, here and there, and all that was left of him was this deadened, swirling sense of unreality. Over and over he replayed the entire scene in his mind, mortified to realize that he had not even tried to resist the urge to draw his sword. His anger had been too great, with a power that had devoured his capacity to deny it. What had happened to Elanor was entirely his fault.

His fault.

He who had prided himself on his strength of mind and self-discipline had failed to control his temper. He had allowed Lurien to goad him. His weaknesses and flaws were more numerous than he had known, and he was unspeakably shamed by the knowledge.

He felt his brothers stiffen even before he looked up and saw Lurien standing a short distance along the walkway to the nearest set of steps.

“What do *you* want?” Rúmil demanded with belligerence.

Lurien spread out his arms, palms upward. “I want nothing. I come because . . . there is nowhere else for me to go.”

“I could make a few suggestions,” Orophin said grimly.

Haldir lifted his hand. “Let him be.”

He did not address Lurien, however, nor did the sentinel reply. He simply walked over and sat on the second bench, set at an angle with the one upon which Haldir occupied. Lurien’s face was empty and had taken on a grayish tinge, and the cut on his cheek looked painful. At the moment Haldir could summon up no feeling for Lurien, not anger, not dislike, only . . . nothing. Just emptiness.

No one spoke.

Every moment went by with tortuous slowness. A white-faced Nerwen arrived with a flask of wine, but when she offered it to him, Haldir shook his head, unwilling even to tend his own thirst until he knew how Elanor fared.

And then Doria appeared, her face swollen and streaked with tears. Orophin started toward her, but she gave him a watery smile and shook her head, turning instead to Lurien. Quietly, without a word, she sat down beside him, but though she covered his hand with her own, she said nothing and neither did he.

Orophin paced. Rúmil glowered. The silence and tension was palpable and might have been impossible to endure had the dark wall of Haldir’s pain not overwhelmed all other emotion.

After what seemed like an eternity, Elrond came out and gestured to Haldir. “Come,” he said, his gaze inscrutable. “You may see her now.” His voice gave nothing away.

Haldir rose and followed.

Within the talan, the scene had changed little. Elanor lay beneath the blanket, showing no signs of consciousness although he could see the rise and fall of her chest. Through the power of the indwaedh, he could feel the hum of her feminine life force, and it seemed to him to be steady and stable.

He moved to her side and went down on one knee, silently willing her to open her eyes and speak to him, but she did not. From the corner of his eye he saw Healea take hold of Hírion and the other healer and pull them out of the talan, leaving only Elrond behind.

“What are her injuries?” he asked, keeping his tone as level as he could manage.

“We are uncertain. She struck a number of branches as she fell. It appears she attempted to catch hold of one of them, for her shoulder was dislocated. We reset it and tended the wounds in her flesh. She also suffered a blow to the head, and another to the chest. At least one of her ribs is broken. Perhaps more. We will know more when she awakens. When that will be, I do not know.” Each word pierced Haldir like a knife.

“I see,” he said bleakly. He rose and faced Elrond. “And you can make no guess?”

“I fear not. If I could, I would tell you.” Elrond’s eyes held compassion, and he spoke none of the condemnatory words that Haldir expected and thought he deserved. Instead, he said, “I know this is difficult, Haldir, but she lives and will continue to live. You must take comfort in that.”

Haldir grew suddenly conscious of exactly who it was who stood before him. This was an elf whose own wife had suffered far greater travails than Elanor had. The thought was followed by the stunning revelation that he had actually begun to think of Elanor in such terms without even realizing it. His wife. That was what he wished her to be. When had he made up his mind about that? Yet would that ever happen now? What had he done?

“Go now and rest,” Elrond advised. “You have an accounting to face.”

“I do not wish to leave her.”

Elrond inclined his head. “Then stay until they send for you. I doubt she will wake, but if she does, I know I need not remind you that the healers are near and easily summoned. Do you wish me to tend your wound?” His penetrating gaze rested on Haldir’s side, where Lurien’s sword had sliced into his tunic and along his ribcage. It was not a serious wound, but it had bled.

“Nay, ‘tis nothing,” Haldir muttered, trying not to sound as impatient as he felt. “You have my thanks,” he added belatedly, and felt himself flush for his slight impertinence.

With a lift of one eyebrow, Elrond took his leave.

~*~

Tarwë lay shielded within a leafy arbor in one of the smallest gardens in the city, far away from Lurien and all her friends. Her tears had flowed nonstop ever since she left Lurien, but now at last they were beginning to taper off. Still, she could not have felt more misery had he been slain.

She had believed in him. How could she have been so wrong? She had believed that the goodness in him would prevail, but instead he had yielded to his dark desire for vengeance. She could not understand it and never had. Why had she been unable to stop him? Why? The question tore her apart. She had failed . . . failed . . .

“Tarwë,” said a quiet male voice.

Startled, Tarwë jerked her head up, her mouth falling open when she saw who had addressed her. “Y-yes?” she quavered, very conscious of her tear-blotched face.

“My wife asked me to find you,” Cothion said calmly. “She is staying near Elanor for now, but she is concerned about you.”

Surprised that this high-ranking elf was here for her, Tarwë sat up and brushed back a few strands of hair, knowing she must look dreadful but not caring very much. “Please tell her I am w-well. There is no need for her to be concerned.”

The tall and dignified elf regarded her thoughtfully. “May I sit?”

Tarwë hesitated. She had only wanted to be alone, but the idea of companionship now seemed unexpectedly appealing. “Please do,” she said, her tone subdued.

Healea’s husband lowered himself, carefully arranging his robes around his raised knees before he looked at her again. With compassionate eyes and a faint smile, he drew a handkerchief from some hidden place and handed it to her. She accepted it rather self-consciously. She dabbed at her eyes and tried to smile. “It was kind of Healea to think of me.”

He studied her, his expression kind and wise. “I know why you grieve, but there was nothing you could have done. Lurien’s mind was set. No one could have swayed him from his chosen course of action.”

Tarwë bit her lip, afraid she might start weeping again. “I suppose you are right,” she said, trying not to let her voice wobble.

“Perhaps now it is over for all time,” Cothion added.

“Perhaps.” Tarwë lowered her gaze to a tiny insect crawling along the ground between the blades of grass.

“Good can arise out of the greatest evil, do you understand that? I have seen it happen.”

Her eyes flew up. “Good?” she echoed bitterly. “Elanor lies broken and silent. Lurien is wounded, and perhaps Haldir too, for aught I know. Nothing has been proven or gained. What good could possibly come from this?”

Cothion was silent for a long moment. “I do not know. Perhaps he will learn something. Perhaps we all will.”

Tarwë trailed a finger along the grass, following the insect’s path. “I know what I have learned. I have learned that I gave my love to the wrong ellon. I have learned that love is not enough.” She glanced up in time to see Cothion’s pale eyebrows lift.

“I am sorry to hear this,” he remarked. “Some lessons are cruel, I agree, yet I am not so sure this is one of them. Love is the greatest power there is.”

“If I give my love again,” she said doggedly, “it will be to one who deserves it, one who is noble and good in his heart.”

“You truly think you are free to make that choice? You can wipe out your love so easily?”

Stricken by this viewpoint, she lowered her chin, pressing the handkerchief to her mouth as she whispered, “If I cannot . . . then I am doomed.”

Cothion sighed. “I am not helping, I see.”

“Your intentions are kindly meant and I appreciate them,” she said hollowly.

“Tarwë . . . make no hasty decisions. Give Lurien time. Perhaps things will fall into place and give this day’s events a meaning that is as yet unclear.”

Tarwë bowed her head. “Thank you, Master Cothion. I will try to heed your words, for I know them to be wise.”

~*~

For a short time they were alone. Haldir sat beside her bed, as close as he could get and still have room for his legs. She was alive. Over and over he reminded himself of that fact while he gazed at her face and listened to her soft, even breathing, cherishing the sound of it. Her eyes were closed, her dark lashes pressed against her cheeks. She was so achingly beautiful and precious to him.

“Elanor, I am so sorry,” he whispered huskily. “This should not have happened. I should have been able to catch you. I should have . . . ” His voice drifted off. He reached for her hand, wrapping his fingers around hers. “I love you,” he said fiercely. “I love you.”

It was the first time he had said those words to her, and it hurt him to know that she was unaware of it. “Hear me, my love. Hear me and open your eyes. Look at me.”

She did not respond. That she was alive at all seemed a miracle, but he was greedy and wanted more. He wanted her awake and alert and talking and moving and laughing and in his arms. He wanted to hear her voice. He wanted her softness enfolded around him for all time.

Why could he not heal her? He could heal her bruises and aching muscles but not this? It seemed preposterous, but that was the way of it.

*Wake up, Elanor! Wake up and look at me!*

He wanted to shout out his frustration, but he suppressed the urge.

He seldom shouted. Only in battle did he raise his voice, but rarely in anger or impatience. Yet right now he could not seem to stop himself from feeling rage. It boiled up inside of him, a cauldron of seething frustration and fury and horror that any of this should have happened.

He lowered his head and kissed each of her fingers. “I love you,” he said again, very softly. “You will wake up, sooner or later. I know you will, for I will accept nothing less. And when you do, my Elanor, I fully intend to claim you as my own.”

~*~

He was summoned just before dusk.

Haldir left Elanor reluctantly, taking the nearest winding staircase while trying not to think too much about what lay ahead. Many times had he climbed these steps into the heights of this, the greatest of all mellyrn, but only once with the knowledge of his own offense against the laws of this city . . . and never with such a heavy heart. He had erred badly this day. Even the trees seemed to rustle in agreement, bending away from him as if displeased.

Healea had taken his place at Elanor’s side; he only hoped he would be allowed to return to her later. As Elrond had said, there would be an accounting and a price to pay for this day’s sorry work. Still, he would face whatever came and pay whatever price was required of him. His pride demanded it, and in any case, he had no other choice.

He arrived at the landing, silently crossing the leaf–shaped platform to stand before the short flight of stairs leading to the uppermost reaches of the High Talan, Galadriel and Celeborn's seat of power. Usually he went even farther, but today he waited like a supplicant, facing the two tall sentinels who stood guard at the foot of the stairs. To his left and right, two wardens and two sentinels stood at attention, their hands folded behind them, eyes trained straight ahead. He knew they were here to bear witness to whatever transpired during the gathering of Lórien’s high court.

A few moments later Lurien appeared and took his place a short distance from Haldir, facing the same set of stairs that Haldir faced. Haldir’s sole glance in his direction informed him that Lurien’s face was as grey as it had been earlier. He wore a clean tunic and had obviously been tended to, which was more than Haldir could say about himself. He wondered briefly how much blood the Sentinel had lost, but could spare him no sympathy in that regard. He also wondered if his own face was grey.

A faint sound behind them announced the arrival of another, one who had every right to be here notwithstanding that he was not of this realm. Lord Elrond did not glance at either Haldir or Lurien, but a gesture from his hand told them it was time to proceed. Wordlessly, they followed the master of Imladris up the final set of stairs, with the two sentinels and two wardens filing behind them.

So lofty that it was nearly above the forest canopy, the High Talan offered spectacular views of both sky and city. This chamber was not large, holding no more than eight benches and six chairs, and its long windows allowed the breeze to flow through from all directions. During an early morning council meeting the light was soft and inviting, while at dusk, magnificent sunsets often etched the pale pillars in shades of orange and peach, giving them a magical appearance. But tonight the sky held only clouds and the room seemed filled with gloom, the fading light bleaching away all color.

As Elrond walked over and took a seat, Haldir glanced around, noting the others who were already assembled. To the left, in one of the finely carved chairs, sat Elorean. Tall and very lean, with piercing sapphire eyes, he was both councilor and adjudicator, and was held in high esteem by Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel. Haldir had spoken with him many times regarding his wardens and knew Elorean to be fair and mindful of all aspects of a situation. He was pleased that Elorean was here.

Near Elorean sat Nadië, a longtime friend and advisor to Haldir and his brothers. She had always supported him yet now her lips were flat, her gaze disapproving as she looked at him. Of course Cothion was present. An advisor to both Celeborn and Galadriel, he was a respected council member with a superior knowledge of Elvish history--including the unfortunate and intimate details of Haldir’s other long-ago confrontation with Lurien. The final member of the court proved to be Lurien’s superior, Earon, Captain of the Sentinels. He was frowning at Lurien, and for the most part ignored Haldir.

All awaited the arrival of Lórien’s lord and lady.

At long last the door to the inner rooms opened and the two rulers emerged from the private living area of the High Talan. Galadriel was dressed in white while Celeborn wore silver; both appeared very stern as they moved toward their usual seats within the council chamber. Haldir watched dejectedly as Galadriel sank gracefully into her chair, her demeanor one of icy calm, her blue eyes giving nothing away. Celeborn, on the other hand, turned a wrathful gaze upon Haldir and Lurien.

Elorean stood, moving to bow before the ruling couple. “My lady, my lord, the court has convened as requested. Before we start, I must ask all who gather here to keep an open mind and heart and put aside other emotions.”

Celeborn lifted a brow. “I thank you for the reminder, Elorean,” he said dryly.

Elorean bowed again and returned to his seat.

“We are all disheartened by this day’s happenings,” Elrond put in, in stentorian accents, “but I agree that open minds are needed.”

Silence engulfed the room, and then Celeborn rose to his feet, his irate gaze directed toward Haldir and Lurien. Haldir lowered his eyes, forcing himself to remain motionless. The low throb of the indwaedh was his only comfort, reminding him over and over that Elanor lived, that no matter what else happened, she was still alive.

“All these long years,” Celeborn began, “we have lived in this wood, and we have lived in peace. We have fought enemies, true, but never have they passed beyond the borders of this land. This city is our refuge, our sanctuary. Yet today that peace was broken.” He walked closer, halting in front of them. “You two have much to answer for," he said, his words slicing like a knife. “Your attempt, in the very arms of our beloved mellyrn, to destroy each other for the *second* time is inexcusable. Yet we will follow protocol and hear your words on this matter.”

Haldir lifted his gaze as Celeborn turned away from them with a swirl of his robes. Galadriel looked on silently, her sapphire gaze hiding her emotions. What was she thinking? Was it sadness that darkened her eyes? Disappointment? Or was she as furious as Celeborn?

Celeborn paced with an angry step that made his robes flare at each turn. His gaze swept over them accusingly. “You have broken my trust, destroyed my faith in you! Did we not pardon you when you fought over Healea? Did you not tell us it would never happen again? And now you fight over Elanor!” Celeborn stopped and stared at Haldir. “I thought better of you, Marchwarden.”

Haldir held Celeborn’s drilling gaze, but said nothing in his own defense.

Cothion rose to his feet. “If I may speak, my lord.”

Celeborn gave a short nod and stepped back.

“It is true they have faced each other in this way before, yet I ask that we consider only the events of today. Healea’s involvement is not relevant. And may I remind you that my wife was as much to blame for that other incident as either of these two.”

Celeborn looked at him. “Perhaps so, but that day long ago does bear noting. My question is this: who next will be injured when they lose their tempers without a care for anyone else? Will it be within the dining hall? Or at a social gathering? Must we all fear for our lives when they are near? I am well aware that Elanor may yet die of her injuries.”

“If Elanor dies,” Lurien said in a low, clear voice, “I will offer my own life as recompense.”

“Elanor will not die!" Haldir said in sudden fury.

Shocked silence greeted this unprecedented offer and reaction.

Lurien did not flinch or glance at Haldir. “If I may speak, my lord?”

Celeborn nodded tersely. “You may. Haldir, you will remain silent.”

“What happened today is my fault. I am solely to blame. If anyone is to be reprimanded it should be I.”

Celeborn arched a brow. “Indeed, Sentinel? But it takes two to fight. Haldir has as much to account for, as do you.”

“I forced him to his actions, my lord.” No emotion colored Lurien’s voice. “As I said before, if Elanor dies, I will gladly forfeit my life.”

“Enough.” Galadriel's voice cut through the murmurs. “That will not be necessary, Lurien.” The Lady of Lórien rose to her feet and walked over to stand beside Celeborn, resting a light hand on his shoulder. Celeborn glanced at her, and with a faint nod returned to his seat.

Galadriel faced Haldir and Lurien, looking deeply at each of them in turn. “Elanor lives,” she informed them, “only because of the warning I saw in my mirror. Without it, her body would be lying broken on the ground and her fëa would be in the Halls of Waiting. That would have been a huge tragedy for us all.”

Haldir found he could hardly breathe. Never had he felt so dishonored or ashamed as he did at this moment, and he knew that she knew it.

“And even though that did not happen, you are here in this court to provide an explanation for your actions. Tell me, Haldir, why did you fight?”

“I fought for Elanor,” Haldir said wretchedly. “I fought for her honor.”

“You had reason to believe her honor was in question?”

Haldir hesitated. “She was in Lurien’s arms. In my talan.”

“Not by her own choice?”

“Not by her own choice,” Haldir concurred, through gritted teeth. He would have stopped there, but felt the Lady brush his mind with her own. In answer to her unspoken command, he added reluctantly, “She loves me and I love her. I wish her to be my wife. She would never willingly accept Lurien in such a way. I know this absolutely.”

“I see,” Galadriel said slowly. “So this is a very different situation from the first time you fought Lurien, when you sought to protect your own pride and reputation. Today you fought to protect the elleth you loved.”

“Yes,” Haldir admitted, feeling a flush rise in his cheeks. He did not wish to discuss his deep feelings for Elanor any more than he wished to discuss Healea or that other incident, especially in front of Healea’s husband. He forced himself to bow his head while an ill feeling settled in his stomach, escalating the tension already knotted there.

Galadriel turned to Lurien. “And you, Lurien? Why did you fight?”

“I fought for vengeance, my lady,” Lurien answered, his tone humble and flat.

“Vengeance? For what reason would you desire vengeance?”

Lurien’s face turned red, but he answered evenly, “I have been humiliated by Haldir in the past. I wished to repay the favor.” He paused while the Lady stared deeply into his eyes, most likely urging him for further clarification. “It was a question of . . . pride and self-respect,” he added in a low voice. “I created the situation with Elanor so he would be forced to fight me. I knew he would refuse any other kind of challenge from me. I wished to prove myself his equal . . . or better.”

“And did you do so?” she inquired, her tone unrevealing.

Lurien looked down. “No, my lady, I did not.”

“Did you intend to slay him?” The sharp question came from Celeborn.

Lurien’s body jerked visibly. The tension among those present pressed like a physical force. Everyone knew Lurien could not lie about this; Galadriel would know the truth no matter what he said.

“No, my lord. I would have wounded him gladly, but I did not intend his death. I would never willingly slay another elf.”

Earon released a sigh of relief. Nadië shifted in her chair as if easing taut muscles.

“Haldir, what say you?” Galadriel asked. “Did you best Lurien in this fight?”

Haldir considered the question carefully. “No, my lady. I would say the fight was even. Lurien fought well. He is a worthy opponent.”

“He challenged you? Or you challenged him?”

“We challenged each other. We share the guilt.”

“Did you intend to slay him?” she asked.

“No,” Haldir said evenly, glancing at Lurien. “But it could have happened. I was very angry. Either of us could easily have died.”

Galadriel transferred her gaze back to Lurien. “It has not escaped my notice that you have sought to make things difficult for Elanor since the day she arrived. I said nothing to you about this because I thought she had adequate protection and because I did not think you would carry it this far. I also knew that Tarwë was the best person to reach you and teach you. You would have done my bidding, but learned nothing from it, whereas Tarwë’s love and loyalty could have taught you a great deal and helped you grow wiser. Yet you did not choose that path. You chose to hurt the one who loves you most, along with Haldir . . . and Elanor.”

Lurien said nothing, but his face was now ashen.

Galadriel’s expression was calm, but something implacable glinted in her eyes. “Is there any other misdeed you would care to confess, Lurien? If so, now is the time for it.”

Lurien swallowed hard. “I read Elanor’s letters from her family. I tried to blackmail Elanor into leaving Lórien . . . and Haldir.”

Haldir looked at him in astonishment. “You did what?” he snapped, without thinking.

“I was looking for another means to wound,” Lurien went on stolidly, his gaze remaining on Galadriel. “I regret it now. It was wrong.”

Haldir stared at the sentinel, stunned by Lurien’s lack of scruples.

Galadriel looked long at Lurien, and then glanced back at Haldir. “Does either of you have anything further to say before the counsel discusses this?”

“I have nothing to add, my lady,” Haldir replied, “except that Lurien did try to save her. We both did. We were not fast enough.”

“The fault is mine,” Lurien reiterated in a dull, stubborn voice. “I willingly accept any penalty you see fit to give me. My life is yours to do with as you will.”

For a long moment Galadriel did not speak, but looked at each of them in turn, her intense gaze suggesting that she searched their hearts and minds once more. “You may both wait outside,” she said finally. “You will be summoned again soon.”

~*~

Lurien avoided looking at Haldir as they left the council chamber, but he was extremely conscious of him. Pretending indifference, he strolled around the flet with his back to Haldir, his stomach churning with terrible anxiety. All the numbness was gone, replaced by wild emotions, most of them disturbing and unpleasant. Mixed with these was his amazement at Haldir’s words concerning himself. Haldir had not stooped to kicking him in the face when he was down, but had spoken fairly of him and his fighting skills. Despite everything, Lurien could not help respecting that.

He walked to the edge of the flet and looked down, imagining how it might feel to fall, to strike branches or edges of flets, to bounce off balconies or roofs while flailing frantically for something to stop it all from happening. He imagined the ghastly horror of it, and felt deeply ashamed and guilty. Poor little Elanor. The irony was that he had always liked her. What could he ever say to her now, assuming she ever woke up? How could he ever ask her to forgive him? He was a hateful, contemptible creature, no better than an Orc. He deserved death.

He should have listened to Tarwë. Why had he not?

He turned to look at Haldir, who stood rigidly facing away from him. Nearby two sentinels—his own friends—stood at attention, guarding the steps of the High Talan. Lurien suddenly longed to talk to Haldir, to offer some kind of apology, but he could not speak such words in front of the sentinels, nor did he know what words to speak.

Tarwë would have known, but she was not here with him.

And likely never would be again.

~*~

“Haldir, Marchwarden of Lórien, it is my will and the will of the council that as of this moment Elanor ceases to be your ward.” Galadriel’s sapphire eyes held Haldir’s captive as she continued, “She will no longer serve you, but will complete her year and a day of service as my own ward and one of my ladies. I will have her belongings removed from your talan and placed into one of her own. This decision takes into account Elanor’s expressed desire to remain in Lórien rather than return with Elrond to Imladris. She is hereby extended the right to live here among the Silvan elves for as long as she wishes.”

Haldir had been braced for something worse than this, but it was still a shock, and he barely prevented that shock from showing in his face. He could feel the eyes of the council members watching him closely.

“You have recovered from your injuries,” the Lady went on. “Your absence from our borders grows lengthy and your wardens desire to see you among them once more. However, I am mindful of your long and selfless service to our land, and I am merciful. Therefore, if you so choose, I grant you leave to stay on in Caras Galadhon until Elanor’s condition is resolved. Or you may return to the Fences at once. It is your choice.”

Haldir hesitated. What did she expect him to do? His heart cried out that he must stay with Elanor, yet she was implying that he was shirking his duty. Or was she? He forced himself to gaze directly into her eyes, and in those eyes he saw only compassion.

“By your leave, my lady,” he answered, speaking stiffly because of his intense emotion, “I would choose to stay with Elanor a while longer. It would tear out my heart to leave her when she is . . . as she is.” An image rose in his mind of Elanor’s face as she had looked when he had left her--so beautiful, so beloved to him . . . so still and silent.

Galadriel inclined her head. “So be it. I will not force you to abandon her when your heart holds such grief and fear. I foresee that your presence will help her to heal. I give you leave to see her as often as you wish when you are unoccupied with guarding our borders, for I know she is very dear to you.”

She turned to Lurien. “Lurien, Sentinel of Lórien, I have watched the dark shadows creep into your heart for a very long time, but I hoped you would find the strength to defeat them. The eager young ellon who joined my guard so long ago has been lost, yet somewhere within the darkness I hold faith that he can be found again.” She reached out to lift Lurien’s chin with the tips of her fingers. “Because you have admitted your crimes and have asked for no mercy, the council and I have agreed that you should be given one last chance. Use it well.”

“M-my lady,” Lurien stammered, clearly overcome. “I do not deserve—”

She held up a hand. “I have looked into your heart and seen your potential for change. Light still glimmers inside you, my sentinel, even if you are unaware of it. Therefore on this day we grant you the opportunity to redeem yourself. Look deeply within your heart and find new meaning in each day. Once you understand the capacity for good that lies within you, you may come to me and speak of it. Until then I relieve you of your duties as my sentinel. Your sword lies in my chambers, and there it will stay until you have earned the right to wear it once more. In the meanwhile, it is up to you to find new ways to make yourself useful to our people.”

Looking shocked, Lurien shuddered visibly and then bowed deeply to Galadriel. “Thank you, my lady. I will endeavor to prove myself worthy once more.”

“But understand this,” Galadriel continued, speaking to both of them. “If I were not so merciful, I would take both your swords for what you have done. By my command, this feud ends today . . . or next time there will be no mercy.”

~*~

Haldir sat by Elanor’s bedside throughout the long hours of the night, watching her face for the tiniest hint of alertness. Healea occasionally slipped in to monitor Elanor’s progress or offer him a drink, but the rest of the time she waited outside to give him privacy with Elanor. Twice, the healers came and went. Elrond also came twice. Rúmil visited once with Nerwen, and Orophin came by a little later with Doria. None of them stayed long, for they all knew he wished to be alone with Elanor.

“Wake up,” he whispered, every so often. “I am here, Elanor. I will not leave you.”

She did not stir, and the hours passed.

He recited love poetry to her.

He sang, very softly, near her ear.

He held her hand.

Once he could have sworn he saw her eyelids flutter. “Elanor,” he said urgently. “Can you hear me? If you can hear me, move your fingers or . . . do something.”

She did not move.

He sang another song to her, one of love and passion so powerful that if she had been able to hear, he knew she would have let him know.

“I love you,” he murmured, over and over. “I love you. Wake up for me, darling. If you wake up, I promise . . . ” He stopped, not knowing what he meant to say. “I promise to be your husband,” he said at last. “If you will have me.”

Near morning, her eyelids fluttered again.

He pressed her fingers. “Can you hear me? I am here, Elanor, my dearest love.”

Her fingers twitched.

“You hear me,” he whispered with relief. “Thank the Valar.”

Her lips moved slightly, and he bent closer, straining to hear.

“Where are you?” she murmured, very faintly.

“I am here,” he soothed. “I am holding your hand. Can you feel me?”

“Yes, I feel you,” she said with relief. “Do not leave me.”

“I will not,” he said. “My heart never will.”

*****

[To be continued . . . ] FEEDBACK APPRECIATED!!

** fëa – the elf’s spirit, the part that continues after the body (Hroa) has been killed. The fëa is the part that goes to the Halls of Mandos.