Haunted

Disclaimer: I wrote this strictly for my own enjoyment and will receive no monetary compensation. All elves and Middle Earth belong to Tolkien. However, the OFC in this story belongs to me
Cast: Thandronen/OFC, Haldir, Ferevellon, Fereveldir
Timeline: Sometime in the midpart of the Third Age
Spoilers: None
Summary: Thandronen is delayed during a solitary mission and stumbles upon someone unusual with an unexpected history


Chapter 1 - An Island of Stone


You'll remember me when the west wind moves
Upon the fields of barley
You'll forget the sun in his jealous sky
As we walk in fields of gold
----Fields of Gold - Sting

They were lucky that neither one of them had broken their necks.

"We could've both broken our necks, you know," the elf remarked as he paused, surveying the terrain ahead. His companion halted beside him and snorted in disgust. "Yes, it could've been much worse." Thandronen scratched the velvety gray nose of his mount and soothed, "Not much further now. If memory serves, we should find shelter just over that rise and I can tend to your wounds." He cast a glance at the lowering sun and started forward again, "Come along. I do not relish the thought of being orc bait out here in the open."

Early and frequent fall rains had steeped the ground into a treacherous quagmire slowing his progress considerably. He'd picked his way carefully along a steep ridgeback but the softened ground had given way beneath his mount's hooves. They’d both tumbled down into the steep ravine, carried on an avalanche of loose rock and mud. The panicked and thrashing horse rolled over the elf in his struggles and crushed him into a rock bed onto a particularly vicious boulder. The audible snap of his ribs echoed in his head along with his hoarse shout. When at last they'd slid to a stop, scratched and bleeding, it had been many minutes before Thandronen was able to make his way down the slippery incline to where his mount had come to rest. The horse lay unmoving and at first he feared what he would find. The sight of heaving flanks was a momentary relief until he could ascertain how badly the stallion was hurt. Running his hands over the gray dappled coat of his mount in a cursory exam, Thandronen was relieved to discover no broken bones and with soft encouraging words, urged the stallion to his feet. The right foreleg was bruised and bleeding from a long and jagged cut but thanks to the Valar, that appeared to be the worst. Slowly, a hand pressed to his own side, he led his limping horse along the slopes of the ridgeback until he could find a suitable place to climb and regain the path.

By now, the Marchwarden would know something was wrong. Thandronen was both punctual and reliable, a few of the many traits Haldir prized greatly in this particular captain. He was expected to meet up with the rest of the Lorien wardens at midday and Thandronen was now a half day late returning from his solitary assignment. The captain knew Haldir would wait a reasonable length of time before continuing on to Lorien. Thandronen was sure Haldir would send someone to search for him, even though the Marchwarden had great respect for the ability of his captain to take care of himself.

The worst, Thandronen mused, was being caught out in the open here in this place. The land varied little between relatively flat and gently rolling terrain for leagues. It was covered by mostly tall wheaten grasses golden now in autumn ripeness and some brittle scrub with a few rock-strewn and gritty patches. A sparse copse of trees here and there did little to relieve the eye.

Being a silvan elf he was much more comfortable high in the leafy branches of the forest. He traveled this part of the journey with mild unease, his broad shoulders itching as though they expected an arrow or a blade between them at any moment. No elves approached this day long passage happily and were most pleased to get it behind them. Moving towards the towering stone monolith he'd skirted countless times before, Thandronen knew he was no different from the others.

He stopped and surveyed the dull gray rocky outcropping adrift in a sea of golden grasses. Rearing against the overcast heavens, it resembled a giant fist with the two stubby fingers pointing skyward. It was a welcome spectacle once sighted since it marked the halfway point yet no one ever stopped here to take their midday meal. Most of the time, elves avoided this area giving it a wide berth. Men, too. It was too good a hiding place for an orc ambush.

And it was said to be haunted.

A less pragmatic elf may have been a little daunted by the tales told around the fire in late evening. Not Thandronen. Being a seasoned warrior of more than four millennia, he was well respected for his astute nature and imperturbable demeanor. He listened with amusement but otherwise paid scant heed to low voices recounting stories of food and clothing vanishing into thin air. Nor did he give any regard to yarns of ethereal songs warbled by unearthly vocal cords, or teasing laughter or a quick touch from an unseen sprite. These were tales to give elflings delighted shivers before burrowing into the safety of their parents arms. Thandronen remembered telling such stories to his own sons when they were elflings. He recalled his youngest, the twins, Fereveldir and Ferevellon, being most particularly wide eyed with delicious dread.

As a precautionary measure Thandronen circled the island of stone his keen eyes searching the nooks and crannies for any occupied hiding places. Eastward on the far side he was pleasantly surprised to find a clean, bubbling stream hidden near a tumble of rocks that formed a semi-circular haven. Across the stream appeared to be several fair sized trees. They were small in comparison to the great mallorn of the Golden Wood but still the closest thing he'd seen to a forest since early morning. After studying the trees for a bit he turned back to the rocky mound. A pronounced overhang promised shelter should the heavens decide to shed rain. It was to this the tired and bruised warrior led his horse as the sun sank closer to the horizon.

Unsaddling his weary steed, he used handfuls of the dry grasses to groom the horse, rubbing its coat briskly before seeing to his own needs. The elf cast a cautious eye to the sky. There was no wind and the cloud cover was sufficient to hide the smoke from a small fire, so the elf went about picking up firewood. He came across the baffling mystery of a small tree standing no taller than he but completely denuded of its leaves. Others of its kind stood nearby, all thickly covered with deep green, heart shaped leaves no longer than his smallest finger. He tested a bare branch and found it living and pliable. Thandronen was most puzzled. He shrugged and continued to gather wood until he decided he had plenty to carry him through the evening.

He settled on one knee beside a couple of dead, dry bushes to pull enough for tinder. Feeling a tug on his braid, he reached behind to free it from an entangling branch, only to find its silky length still lying against his back. He lifted his head to glance around and saw nothing but dragonflies floating nearby. A small smile tugged at his lips and he dismissed a fanciful thought playing around the edges of his consciousness.

Dropping his burden within the rocky confines, he dusted his hands together before rummaging in his pack to find his flint and iron. Carefully laying his fire, he struck a spark on the second try, nursing it until a small blaze flared and caught. Once he was satisfied it wouldn't die, he fetched a small metal pot and headed for the stream. After stripping off his gloves and tucking them in his belt, he washed his face and cupping his hands, drank several mouthfuls of water. Filling the pot, he returned to place it near the fire to heat. He intended to steep medicinal herbs from his pack to make a poultice to bind to the injury on his horse's foreleg

While the water heated, Thandronen gathered his bow and crossed the stream where he'd heard birds calling earlier. Lembas did not appeal to him this night, not if he could find something better.

His somewhat glum mood was improved with his success. Returning with a brace of partridges, he cleaned and spitted them. They soon sent a savory aroma to tickle his nostrils as they sizzled propped over the fire. Nearby on his blanket he laid a pile of greens, picked on the far bank of the stream and washed in its cold running water. They would make a tasty addition to his meal. While he waited for the birds to cook, Thandronen busied himself spreading his bedroll between the fire and the rock wall. Ignoring the pain of his ribs, he dug into his pack again. He set out a wine skin and a cup and retrieved his pouch of herbs. Measuring and mixing a select few in the warmed water and adding the moss he'd found on his trip across the stream, he packed it around his horses wounded leg. He wound a strip torn from his cotton under tunic to bind it tightly. "At least there's clean water and plenty of grazing for you," he murmured to the animal. "Do not wander far." Gripping its mane, he pulled himself upright. He straightened slowly and let loose a few well chosen curses at the sharp pain lancing through his side.

Wind puffed, teasing a few strands of deep auburn hair across his mouth. He pushed them aside and turned his face into a soft breeze blowing from the west. Good. If the air must stir, he'd much rather be upwind with smells carried toward him and his rocky lodging than his scent carried away to tickle some eager orcish nose. He let his eyes wander the horizon and seeing nothing untoward, turned back to his fire and his meal.

Lowering himself gingerly, he sat cross-legged on his blankets. He reached for the wineskin and looked around for his cup. He blinked. He was certain he'd left it next to the skin. Searching he found it sitting on a rock next to his elbow. Thandronen stilled, sitting for many moments listening to nothing but the pop of the fire and the quiet noises of night insects. Finally he snorted quietly and filled his cup. Tasting the dark red wine he made a face finding it sweeter than he normally liked. But it warmed him as he swallowed another sip.

Strong, deft fingers removed one of the birds for his evening meal and set aside the second for his breakfast. He ate the greens while he allowed it to cool a bit and then devoured it quickly. With good appetite he tore the small fowl apart with neat, sharp bites and washed it down with sips of wine. He grunted with pain only occasionally whenever he'd forget his tender side and move too suddenly or took too deep a breath. Licking the grease from his fingers, he tossed the bones into the small fire and added more kindling. Propped up on his saddle as comfortable as he could make himself, he drew his sword and laid it close to hand, preparing to pass the night.

Idly, he watched the firelight play on the rock walls. A fine place in which to defend oneself, he mused, barricaded and enclosed within these three sides. Or, less comforting thought, a most excellent trap. Craning his head back, he noted foot and hand holds and decided he could scale the walls if need be but would hate to leave his horse behind. With a kind eye from the Valar, it would not be necessary. Besides, his ribs were aching terribly. Now that he had no chores to occupy his hands and his mind was quiet, the pain came to the forefront. *You have suffered far worse*, he chided himself. *Ignore it.* He shifted slightly and pulled his cloak over himself to ward off the chilling evening air.

Click-click.

Thandronen lifted his head and listened intently. He'd dozed off but judging from the height of the flames, it had been for just a few moments. He shifted trying to find some sort of ease when the sound of a soft humming chilled him. Looking across the fire his own hazel eyes widened when they met glittering eyes as dark as the night sky, the corners crinkling with secret amusement. He reached for his sword and was surprised by low, lyrical laughter when he wrapped his fingers around the hilt.

"You need not bother, Elf. Had I wished to harm you, I would've already done so."

The owner of the voice lifted a head crowned with silvery white waves from where a small pointed chin had been resting on forearms braced atop bent knees. A smile curved full lips while a dimple peeped shyly from the right cheek. A slender and delicate hand made a graceful gesture, "I've replenished your fire twice while you slept."

Thandronen slowly pushed himself upright, catching his breath against the pain. "Who are you?"
Pursed lips and a tilted head regarded him with slightly less humor. "That should be my question, should it not Elf? You, after all, are the trespasser here."