Rúmil Meets His Match

This is intended as a stand alone story, yet it is vastly enhanced by first reading 'Haldir's First Love'.




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“Take care of the carcasses; burn them and then return to the city. Tell the others to be on their guard,” ordered Haldir as he climbed down from the talan with the elleth Rúmil had always thought of as his sister, draped over his shoulder.

“Aye. Go swiftly brother. All will be as you command,” Rúmil returned and watched as his eldest brother began to run toward the southern gate of Caras Galadhon. He prayed Lorinaura would make it to the Lady. The dark poison of the Orc’s arrow worked swiftly. He could only hope the herbs Haldir used to draw it out would, as well. The Lady of light would surely be able to finish what his brother started. If she could keep the Golden Wood from deteriorating, she could certainly keep her foster-daughter from dying.

Rúmil immediately climbed down from the talan and took command of the clean up. Thirty-nine loathsome, foul-smelling Orcs were piled and burning. The stench of them was putrid enough to sicken several of the wardens’ apprentices and the smoke it gave off permeated every fiber of his clothing. If he did not smell bad before, by just being out on patrol for the past month and a half, he certainly did now.

He held his breath and briefly closed his eyes as the smoke drifted toward him. “Fuiol!” he muttered under his breath as a light breeze pushed it in the opposite direction, now plaguing several other wardens. Loose embers swirled above his head, occasionally singeing his hair and uniform as they fell. ‘How could anything smell this horrible,’ he thought as he brushed the ashes from his cloak and then whispered, “Evil in life, vile in death.”

Rúmil was deep in thought and so did not notice the young elf approaching from behind.

“Why did Haldir carry an Orc back to the city?” Gelrin asked.

Rúmil’s jaw clenched shut. No warden dared question the actions of his brother and here this apprentice was doing so! When he and Orophin were apprentices, if either had referred to Tolidan as anything but Marchwarden or my lord, they would not have seen another day. Not even to mention the repercussions of questioning his actions. However, this whelp of an elf had the nerve to hold reservation in his voice. He was no more than a privileged elfling. One who had never worked a hard day in his life and here he was, acting as if Haldir had not proven himself the best of the Galadhrim for the last two thousand years. Rúmil closed his eyes and took a deep cleansing breath. “I suggest you go to your talan and keep an eye out for more Orcs. They usually do not travel in such small numbers.”

The insolent elf looked stunned and a little scared as he hastened back to the talan that held his father. Perhaps his Ada would tell him Rúmil was joking with him. Perhaps he would tell him not only was it inappropriate to question the Marchwarden’s actions, but also dangerous. Perhaps he would be told Rúmil, though usually light-hearted, would not hesitate to take him down if another such inquiry were made.

“Rúmil! There are no more!” yelled Gelrin from the talan in a snide tone.

“Perhaps not,” he muttered with a sigh.

“My lord, I heard the Marchwarden say you were to go to the city once we were done here. What can I do to help you?” asked Lindar as he walked up to Rúmil.

With a small sigh, he replied, “Thank you, Lindar.”

“For what?” he inquired rather perplexed.

“Nothing...well, yes there is something you can do for me. You can teach the other apprentices propriety,” he said in a gruff tone, as he walked back to his talan.

“I’ve been told it is a lost art, sir,” Lindar muttered to his elder.

Rúmil knew full well that he was one of Lindar's three heroes. He and his brothers were as gods in this young elf's eyes and he wanted to be just like them.

“I’ve noticed,” Rúmil said, laughing a little. “Come, Lindar.”

He climbed up the ladder and Lindar followed. Rúmil walked to the edge of the talan and kicked a piece of the discarded armor he had taken from Lorinaura. “As soon as the bodies have burned I am going back to the city. I would like you to come with me.”

“Yes, my lord, but is there anything I can do to help you, now? Watching a fire burn is not my idea of keeping busy.”

He smiled at the young elf. “Why are you here?”

Lindar’s brow furrowed as he considered the question carefully. “I don’t understand your meaning, sir.”

“I mean Eärlan has been in the city for the past three weeks and yet you’re still here. Why did you choose to pull extra duty without your instructor?”

As he grasped the question, his face reddened slightly. “Oh, well...” he started, stopped and took a deep breath. Looking Rúmil in the eye, he began again, “Sir, I mean no disrespect to Eärlan, but the Marchwarden, you and Orophin are the three finest of the Galadhrim. If I’m to be a warden, should I not study and emulate the best?”

Rúmil turned away from him and gazed back out at the fire, trying to hide a great smile, “Lindar, you’ll make a good warden. I’m to inform Lord Celeborn of each apprentice’s abilities upon my return. Do you think yourself ready to test?”

“I believe my swordsmanship and healing abilities are above the skill level of the other apprentices, but in archery I could use improvement.”

“If I were to help, how long would you need?” Rúmil asked, unsure why Lindar thought it necessary to compare himself to the rest of the apprentices. Not one of them was much good for anything except distracting their instructors.

Eärlan was an able warrior, but his terse manner kept him from being a proficient teacher. Lindar had been admitted into training late and at the time, the only instructor with no pupil was Eärlan. He could kick himself for not putting Lindar with Orophin.

“Perhaps a few weeks,” he said, dropping his head, obviously hating to admit he was lacking skill with a bow. “Perhaps more.”

Lindar had wanted to be a warden since his father told him of the position. To serve the Lord and Lady in this way was his life’s ambition.

“Fair enough,” said Rúmil. “When the fire burns down, we will leave for home.”

As they watched the flames take the bodies, Rúmil’s thoughts were drawn to Lorinaura, once again. He replayed how the Orc dragged her from tree to tree. Why did they shield her? Of what significance would a she-elf be to them? He was overjoyed they had found her alive, but the reasoning behind it was not there. Then again, whoever said an Orc was reasonable?

After a long while of standing beside Rúmil, watching the fire, Lindar’s curiosity finally got the better of him. “If you do not mind me asking, sir, who was she?”

“Who, Son?” Rúmil inquired, his mind several leagues away.

“The beautiful elleth the Marchwarden carried from here?”

“She was my sister,” he said dryly, for if he were to show emotion now, he may not stop. It was one of the pitfalls of being a poet. At times, emotional sensitivity came in handy, at others it was definitely a nuisance. Here on the border it hindered him. He was the Marchwarden’s Second, but the men did not have the blatant fear for Rúmil, Haldir’s rhyming brother, as they did for Haldir himself. Nevertheless, they knew they could only push him so far. Most kept their tongues stayed and maintained their distance.

“I have no doubt she will be fine. The light of the Lady will bring her back to health.”

“We should all have such optimism, Lindar,” he said and noted several things the young elf just said. He determined it was no Orc taken from the woods and healed. He also discerned it was a female. Not only was he respectful, but very observant. Rúmil had thought Lindar would make a decent warrior since he began his training, but now he bumped the assessment up to an excellent warrior. “By the way, your father would be very proud of you. I know I am.”

“Thank you, my lord, though...I do not know why.”

“Someday, you will.” Rúmil turned to him, giving him a labored smile and then seeing the fire was finally dying out, he said, “Let us go. If we hurry, we can be in our own beds before the morning.”

“Edenúr, the men are yours,” Rúmil said to an older warden on the next talan.

Edenúr mouthed back the word ‘Aye' and with Haldir's orders duly followed, Rúmil and Lindar made their way to the path that would lead them home.

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Fuiol – disgusting