Aftermath (LotR fic) [NC 17]
This is also posted at www.scribeoz.com/fanfic
Warnings for NC 17 / sexually explicit content. Bit of a PWP that came to me whilst watching The Two Towers the other night.
Features Book! Haldir and an OFC.
Aftermath
The rain seemed never to stop. Standing on the edge of the forest, gazing towards the Misty Mountains, it seemed that the world was out of focus, distorted, breaking apart. But in truth it was simply a curtain of rain, relentlessly washing the grey-green landscape with a steady hiss. The air, however, was warm and clung to the skin. Though perhaps when the storm was over, the clamminess might abate, at that moment all was still and humid.
The mountains themselves lay hidden behind a thick white fog, which blended with the overcast white sky. Only the boulders and cragged pillars at their feet broke through the surreal mist and stood, dark and ominous, before the group of elves who now crossed that empty countryside.
Blond hair plastered to his scalp, face and golden armour streaked with the black blood of a dozen orcs, Haldir looked wearily at the rocks and the tattered land, the patches of scabrous grass and clumps of heather, his keen blue eyes searching for any sign of life. Other elves wandered back and forth along the edge of Mirkwood, some stooping to collect discarded items from the ground. The place was littered with the evidence of recent fighting; broken weapons, splashes of black and scarlet blood, scraps of clothing torn by blades and small, personal items left behind in the panic.
Hideously, the bones of the dead lay bare and maggot white upon the grass, picked clean by crows in the five days or so since this battle occurred. Haldir stood over one sorry arrangement of bones and stared into the empty sockets of the grinning skull. The head of the skeleton lolled to one side, the jawbone drooping, like a happy drunk lying in a stupor. So transfixed was Haldir by the bones, and their stark message of mortality, that he did not sense Celeborn’s presence until the Commander of Lórien was by his side.
“The scouts report a group of six orcs headed north,” he said, and Haldir nodded. “They will not travel another mile, now we have their trail. Though I doubt if they are the last, I think we are almost done here. Our borders are free of the refuges of Dol Guldur; those who survived shall either be found by our scouts or driven into the dark places of the mountains. There, friendless, what can they do?”
Haldir drew in a slow, laboured breath. To hear that their task was almost through sent a ripple of excitement through his being, yet gazing at the bleak and dismal scene around them, he found it hard to imagine the battle could ever be over. His heart sank like a ball of iron in his chest and he looked down upon the bones again. He pictured Lórien, holding the memory like a treasured keepsake. Soon, he thought. Soon he would be home, back beneath the sunlight and whispering trees.
“By the look of the tracks, those who left this place alive made for the mountains,” Haldir said. “With your leave, My Lord, I should like to take a group of us and search the passes and caves, in case there are survivors.”
“Very well. I must return to our troops and see them prepared for the march home. We shall wait till sunrise on the morrow. Join us at the camp then.”
Haldir bowed stiffly. He called to three other ellyn nearby and sent them off towards the fog-swathed rocks at the foot of the mountains, spreading out the searchers so as to cover the most ground. Then he took the southernmost path and began to follow a trail of trampled grass into the arms of the fog.
He blew a few droplets of water off the end of his nose and sighed tiredly. The rain seemed to get heavier the nearer he got to the mountains. The grass and weeds soon gave way to thick mud, which tried to suck his boots into its grasp, though with elven grace he resisted and moved with ease. His cloak though grew sodden and heavy, as did his garments beneath his tight armour. Despite the warmth in the air, the wet clothes had turned cold and icy against his skin, thoroughly uncomfortable. He felt his flesh becoming clammy and cold, though he had no choice, other than stripping to that flesh, but to endure it.
Passing between two sentinels of stone, sitting like gateposts before a narrow depression in the ground that wended off towards the mountains, Haldir listened to the steady drumming of the rain, like grains of wheat flowing into a vat. In the distance, he heard Celeborn’s barked commands, the jangling of swords and armour, and the crackling of wood fires, where some of his fellows had set up camp for the night beneath what shelter they could find. Above those sounds, however, he sought to hear anything that might show there was life in this dreary place.
Slowly the natural path he was following began to climb upwards. The crows who had so ably disposed of the corpses below cawed noisily across the damp air, though he could not see where they perched. Still, he thought, if they were about these foothills, perhaps they had found what he was looking for: some injured soul about to breathe its last and become their next meal.
They had no way of knowing who the people had been, before the orcs fleeing the destruction of Dol Guldur had stumbled upon them. From the few scraps of clothes the elves found about the site, they had been Men, probably from Laketown or thereabouts. Probably innocent travellers simply trying to get home. Haldir tried not to imagine what they had looked like, or how they might have spent those last hours before they fell. If he thought of them merely as players in this great game of strategy, he could more easily forget their naked bones upon the ground. Perhaps, if he did not think of that waste of young life, he could sleep easily that night.
Haldir glanced over his shoulder and saw that he had climbed some way up the foothills, and could look down from there upon the foggy field where the battle had taken place. He then searched about his feet for any sign that someone had come this way, but found nothing but rain-washed shale and stone at his feet. Just as he crouched to inspect the stones more closely, his ears pricked. Somewhere above him, he heard someone draw a sharp breath.
Straightening, Haldir looked about the rocks, seeing a dozen hiding places amongst them.
“Is someone there?” he called out. “I am here to help you, have no fear!”
There came a scratching sound upon the rocks, and this time he was not taken by surprise. He was, therefore, able to place the sound and followed it towards a cluster of rocks. As he drew nearer he saw a dark abyss amongst the stones and gathered that they marked an opening in the mountainside, a cave reached deep into the earth. A good place to take shelter, he thought, and edged towards the entrance.
Though the cave reached deep, the widest part of it lay just behind the mouth, a low-ceilinged, rubble-filled round chamber, lit by what little streaks of daylight pushed through from the outside world. The entrance was slippery and gleaming with rainwater, but after a few steps the ground became dry. Straight ahead, a thin slit in the cave wall led into the mountain.
At first Haldir could see nothing, but his ears told him there was someone nearby. He heard their steady, excited breaths and even heard the thudding of their heart.
“I mean no harm to you,” Haldir said loudly, knowing that the person stood just behind the large column of rock just inside the cave. With a slick, rapid movement, he stepped around that rock and placed himself directly in their line of sight, but as he opened his mouth to speak, he saw a sword levelled at his chest.
His own weapon in its sheath, Haldir spread out his arms and gave the frightened mortal his most warming look.
“I draw no sword upon you.”
She seemed so thin, he thought, her clothes drenched, as his were, and her reddish brown hair bedraggled and damp. Her face was muddy, her hands caked with dried blood, though he could not tell if it was her own. Certainly she had wounds, though they seemed slight.
“My name is Haldir,” he told her. “You see I am no foe.”
Her large eyes scrutinised him for a long while. The sword shuddered in her trembling hands. Had an orc shown such weakness, Haldir would have snatched the blade away easily, but he chose instead to stand before her, immobile and unthreatening.
“Put down your sword. I mean only to take you to safety. We have food and blankets down below.”
Her lips quivered, as though she might burst into tears at any moment, while the terror of that recent slaughter burned fiercely in her eyes. With a rusty sob she dropped the sword entirely and collapsed to her knees. Haldir lunged forward and caught her by the waist before she flopped onto the ground, though as her head lolled against his shoulder he felt her become limp in a faint.
“Rest now,” he whispered, stroking her hair. “It is over.”
~*~
The girl blinked and stared for a moment like a wild deer, taking in all the strange surroundings. She looked first to the tent canvas above her, at the fluid elven patterns dyed onto the cloth, then she studied the baskets and clusters of arms in the corner of the tent, before finally she let her gaze fall onto the elf who sat on the edge of her bunk, a bowl of water in his lap and a wad of damp cloth in his hand.
Haldir had barely had time to discard his armour before the girl had awoken, so now he sat before her in his maroon shift and breeches, which still clung to him like slime. He smiled down at her benevolently, though with an air of great distance about him, and gently daubed the wounds upon her arms; shallow cuts encrusted with grime from the filthy orkish blades.
“Everything is all right,” he reassured her. “You are with us now. And you are safe.”
He washed away the dirt from the wound in gentle strokes, when suddenly she shot our her hand and caught hold of his wrist. She did not force his hand away, but instead sat up a little and stared intensely into his eyes, imploring him to answer a question that had not yet formed on her lips.
“No,” said Haldir quietly. “We have found no others.”
Closing her eyes, the girl fell back upon the bunk, shaking her head as if in the throes of a nightmare. Haldir grimaced for a moment in sympathy and paused to brush a stray lock of hair from her forehead, before he resumed his task of cleaning her wounds.
The rain, meanwhile, continued to drum its steady rhythm on the tent canvas, a sharp wind whipping up, like a serpent twisting over the ground, as night fell.
~*~
Outside, the other elves called to one another, idle conversations as they prepared to settle for the night. Haldir listened inside his tent, but to him the voices seemed distant and doleful somehow against the cacophony of the wind and rain. The storm grew wilder as darkness fell, and now the tents slapped and rustled loudly, the battering rain still there, still hissing.
At last though he could peel off that lair of clothes that almost had welded to his muscles. At once the cold air touched his skin and sent shivers all through his body. He snatched up a blanket to wrap around himself. He then sat naked inside it, waiting for his body to dry sufficiently for him to comfortably put on fresh clothes. A cold, damp world surrounded him and again his mind sought out Lórien, whose image called to him like the Evenstar through the clouds.
Two soldiers passed the entrance to his tent. He saw their silhouettes projected on the canvas as they passed in front of one of the campfires and heard their booted tread on the muddy ground. Yet once they had gone, the world seemed to fall utterly silent. For that prolonged moment, Haldir sat absolutely still, listening to the nothingness around him. The air took on a buzz of expectancy for an instant. Then with a rustle of fabric, the tent flap was pushed aside.
Haldir instinctively rose and wrapped the blanket tighter about his body, his expression stern as he waited to see who would enter. He saw a hand curl around the canvas, the figure pausing for a moment before slipping fully into the tent. With a sigh Haldir relaxed a little, though he still frowned. The girl, conversely, glanced about the tent with blank eyes, as if she had forgotten why she came in.
“Are you all right?” Haldir asked her calmly. “You ought to rest.”
The girl glanced at the floor, arms wrapped about herself. She looked lost, thought Haldir. Though he had seen enough death in this campaign, both of friend and foe, to know how stunned shock could overwhelm the survivor.
“Here,” he said, and gestured towards his dishevelled bunk. “Rest.”
Hesitantly, the girl shuffled towards him, her eyes darting nervously from his hand to the bunk before she finally slumped down and curled up on the woollen blankets. Haldir watched her until she had settled and then sat in a corner, pulling the blanket about his shoulders. The girl regarded him silently.
“I shall stay here,” he told her. “I shall stay with you.”
~*~
Hours passed and dreary evening sank into thick midnight. To Haldir it seemed as if the world began and ended in that tent, and outside there was only chaos. The booming thunder echoed like the roar of a thousand bears in the distance, the wind whined and shrieked and the rain lashed bitterly against the canvas, making it seem as though that chaos sought to tear Haldir’s little world apart.
Once the girl had fallen asleep, Haldir had discarded his blanket and dressed in a dry tunic, then he sat with his shoulders sagging, his legs bare and his feet stuffed idly into his boots, his hair still slightly lank from the onslaught of the rain and his expression sombre. Yet it was not long before he would be home.
Dreaming of that moment when he would step over the boundaries of the forest and feel that familiar warmth and welcome, Haldir stared at the ground for a long while, a faint smile slowly gracing his lips. He could almost smell his mother’s baking and feel her hand on his shoulder, the way she would when waiting for compliments on the meal. His brothers never stopped long enough at their parents’ talan to truly appreciate it. They had climbed to their own platforms as soon as they were able and rarely returned. But Haldir had stayed. And, if ever he had children of his own, they would live on that same talan, a complete family. There was nothing more important.
When at last he glanced up, he found himself observed once again. The girl lay on her side, hands beneath he cheek, her eyes fixed on him. She seemed, however, far calmer than before, and though a doleful glint still shone in her eyes, she no longer looked ready to run.
Haldir gave her a nod to acknowledge and reassure her. Still she did not speak, however, and instead contemplated him in silence, before finally she sat up and swung her legs down onto the ground.
“Everything is all right,” Haldir whispered, rising. “Sleep. I am still here.”
He stood in front of her and placed his hands gently on her shoulders, trying to ease her back towards the bunk. She looked away, sighing deeply, then fell forward against him. Haldir caught her, thinking she would pass out again, but instead she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and hugged him tightly.
“You have no one,” he thought darkly as he held her. “While I dream of going home, where shall you be sent? Do you even have a home? Do you have people who could welcome you back?”
In truth he did not know what would happen to her. Celeborn planned to march back to Lórien as soon as dawn arose. Perhaps they would send a few volunteers to escort the girl to Laketown or to Rohan. If only they could extract a few words from her, discover who she was and where she and her people had been heading, they would have a better idea what to do. But Haldir’s heart felt weighty as he looked down at his temporary charge. His only consolation was that Men had proved resilient in the war, and showed courage even when there seemed to be no hope. Perhaps this girl could endure also, and rise above the tragedies of the past.
The girl gave him another squeeze then drew back a little so that she could look up, her features unreadable. Haldir waited, trying to discern what she was thinking. If only an embrace could ease her troubles, he thought. But it would give only the briefest comfort. Still, it was all he could do in that moment.
“It will be all right,” he told her again, and pulled her back into his arms, holding her close enough to feel her fragile frame against his chest, her bones seeming so thin and delicate that he feared he might snap her if he clutched her too tightly. He wondered that any being could feel so slight, though had to admit that his experience with ellith was fairly limited. Or rather that it was non-existent, at least by his brothers’ standards. He could see then, however, why his brothers courted the affections of the Lórien females so voraciously. It was such a peculiar sensation to feel another’s warmth pressed against his body. He felt the gentle thudding of her heart and the subtle movements of her chest and shoulders as she breathed. In the midst of the darkness and feverish weather, he clutched onto that little spark of life.
Then he felt her squirm a little, angling to pull away from him, though she did not go far. Again she moved back just far enough to look up into his face. Haldir smiled and wiped a streak of dirt from her cheek with the edge of his thumb, then brushed her hair back from her face.
“I would so like to bring you back with me,” he whispered, “and show you the deep glades and sparkling rivers within our borders. Where there are a thousand shades of green and gold, and no sign of evil things. Yet I doubt if that will be. Still, your own folk should take good care of you, and show you equal kindness.”
The girl reached up, mimicking his earlier gesture, and set her palm against his cheek, touching him only tentatively at first. She traced the line of his cheekbone and then brushed her finger gently against his ear.
“We are elves,” Haldir told her. “Out of Lórien.”
She did not seem to hear or pay attention, and instead pinched a lock of his hair, holding it up so that the light from the tent’s one lantern shone through the strands and made them glitter. Then she combed her fingers through the full body of his hair, a look of rapt concentration moulding her features into a frown. As her hand came to rest again on his shoulder, she edged closer, standing on her toes, and leaned forward. Before Haldir could breathe or protest, she kissed him softly on the mouth, the movement cautious and experimental.
He froze for a moment, stunned by her actions yet somehow he had expected it too. But then as he gathered his wits, he prized her gently away.
“No,” he said quietly. She stared back, not insulted or hurt, but rather looking as if she wanted him to understand, as if her mind was trying to push out and touch his thoughts until he knew why she needed his touch. Perhaps she enjoyed the warmth of another living soul as much as he did, after enduring the wilderness.
Still he hesitated, when she reached to him again and caressed his cheek. He glanced towards the tent flap, half expecting it to fly open, and one of his comrades to come marching in upon them. Though he could only hear the storm outside. He had no idea what to do or indeed what he was doing, he found himself considering her, remarking the details of her face, the various shades of brown he could see in her eyes, the slight flush in her cheeks. Nothing felt real, even when he remarked those tiny traits. As the wind continued to lament outside, he could easily have believed this was a dream.
Holding his breath, Haldir brought his lips down to meet hers, shying from the soft touch at first, before he gathered his confidence and let his mouth explore hers, planting short, nibbling kisses until he was sure of his ground. The girl moaned softly and returned the gesture with great enthusiasm, her hands clawing his back. She accepted each kiss and dabbed her tongue against his lips, until it was able to enter his mouth. Haldir started, but closed his eyes firmly and allowed her to continue. Yes, he could now see why his brothers craved company so much. It was so intimate, so trusting. He felt naked already within her embrace, distinctly aware of his body in a way he had not experienced before.
Behind his back, her fingers continued to ravish him, grabbing handfuls of his tunic, whilst dragging heavily against his flesh. As the scratches and kneading moved lower, so his excitement increased, until finally he broke out of her grasp and held her at arm’s length, studying every detail of her. Then he slipped his tunic over his head and stood physically as well as mentally nude before her.
For a moment, doubt set in, as he watched her gaze travelling over his body, but he saw no disappointment in her eyes. He had no idea what females of any race would want, but had assumed he might not be it, since he was a little wider and fuller in build than his brothers, who were pursued throughout the Golden Wood. Yet the girl simply stared, acknowledging him and the course they were about to follow, before she too disrobed.
She moved stiffly, the wound on her arm giving her some slight trouble, though it did not seem to hinder her too much. She unlaced the bodice part of her tattered grey dress, then let it crumple to the floor. She wore nothing beneath. Her skin, the colour of milk, was streaked with dried blood and dirt, and Haldir saw that she was indeed a fragile thing, almost boyish in stature yet still pleasing to look at. His gaze travelled, as hers had done, from her head down her front, lingering over her small breasts before heading down to take in the soft snatch of russet hair between her legs.
She came towards him, taking his large hand into her own, then she placed it against her breast, showing him the motion she desired until he began to knead the mound on his own. He leaned forward and kissed her, pressing his thumb to her nipple, twirling it until he felt it grow hard. Meanwhile she massaged his back once again, though this time, as she drew him close to her, flesh touched flesh. Though they both still wore a chill from the storm, the sensation was still overwhelming to Haldir. Never had he been so close to another being.
As he began to lose himself in her kisses, however, she turned her face away and then moved towards the bunk, flicking the blankets into place before sitting on the edge. She offered a hand to guide him down to her. Feeling his muscles tighten and his hardness grow, yet afraid he would do something wrong, Haldir was glad to be led. She manipulated him subtly, placing herself beneath him. She hooked her legs around his hips and reached down to manoeuvre him into her, her touch sending shivers through his body. The blood pulsed to his loins until they seemed emanate warmth, and already ripples of pleasure coursed through him, from his buttocks to his shoulders.
She let out a faint gasp as he entered her, and Haldir bit his lip, bracing himself to endure this pleasure. He began with slow, laboured thrusts, concentrating intensely on each move, whilst at the same time he felt his control fading. The girl’s hands were on his back again, scratching him just hard enough for it to register. She raked her fingers against his flesh in time with his thrusts and breathed heavily through clenched teeth.
He picked up speed each time he glanced down at her and saw her body writhe beneath him, her modest breasts heaving as her breathing became more ragged. Growing bolder, he brought his mouth to one breast and let his tongue wander over her nipple.
Her rasping breaths became faint moans, and then throaty cries as his fervour increased, and each sound spurred Haldir on the more. His body though felt ready to explode, his tense muscles stretched to breaking point. He felt contorted, twisted, racked by passion and thrust as deep and hard as he could, increasing his speed as the pleasure became unbearable.
With a loud cry, he grimaced and released his seed, his body frozen for an eternity. The girl wailed in his ear but he was barely aware of it. Struggling to draw breath, he finally sagged, and with his fevered pulse still making his limbs quiver, he withdrew and crumpled onto the bunk beside her, his hand on his forehead.
Though there was barely room enough for both of them on that narrow bedframe, after a moment the girl draped her arm over his chest and rested her head on his shoulder. A few minutes later, Haldir sank into an odd, dreamless sleep.
~*~
He inhaled sharply as he awoke, startled by something, though he could not remember what. Glancing around the tent, Haldir found himself upon his side on the bunk, a blanket covering him as far as his armpits. The canvas gleamed white. Daylight had returned and restored the world outside, and he heard voices as the elves prepared to leave their camp.
‘The march,’ he thought, and scrambled out of bed to fetch his clothes. But as he pulled the garments from his bags, the night’s events finally broke through the veil of drowsiness and he turned sharply.
There was no sign of the girl.
Haldir frowned and stood for a long time before he resumed the task of dressing himself. Had it been unreal after all? Yet his tunic lay on the ground where it had been discarded that night. There were spots of blood on the mattress where her wound had pressed against the cloth as she slept. She had been there, he concluded, but had simply left.
Once ready, he left the tent and stepped out onto the path of trampled mud. A wispy fog hung about the place, but the rain had reduced to a drizzle at least. The other soldiers were busy dismantling the tents. Haldir wandered for a while about the camp, but still found no trace of the girl, and the few he stopped and asked shook their heads and shrugged.
Still unsure if he had imagined the whole encounter, Haldir finally drifted to the centre of the camp, a sombre frown upon his face. Outside one of the tents, Celeborn stood, clothed only from the waist down despite the chill in the air, with one foot on a stool as he laced his boots.
“Haldir,” he called over, his voice slightly muffled by concentration. “How goes it?”
“Well,” replied Haldir distractedly. “Only the woman from the mountains. She has gone.”
“Gone where?”
“I do not know.”
“We offered her sanctuary. We cannot force anyone to take our help. Perhaps she knows better than we do where she needs to go.”
“We should still search for her,” mused Haldir, slumping down onto a basket outside Celeborn’s tent.
“I shall leave word with the scouts,” said Celeborn. “They can look for her as they check the borders. Have no worries. If she has stumbled into any trouble, we shall get her out. Again.”
Having dealt with his boots, Celeborn leaned on his knee and breathed deeply. “Soon to be in Lórien,” he sighed. “And not only to be home, but to be safe at last from shadow. How is that, ay Haldir?”
“More than we might wish for,” Haldir said quietly. The night before, he had believed it.
“Why so solemn?” asked Celeborn.
Haldir did not reply at first. He stared for a while at the ground, at the dew-speckled grass, then finally he inhaled a lungful of the damp but fresh air and stood up.
“It was a strange night,” he answered finally. “An unsettling one.”
“It has been an unsettling campaign. We have all seen things in that mound of evil that no living being ought to have witnessed. We all shall need warmth and the embrace of home before those shadows are truly quashed.”
Celeborn smiled. Haldir nodded and continued to stare into the distance.
“And fear not,” Celeborn continued. “We shall have warmth and laughter again soon enough, if only we can get this place in order and ready ourselves!”
With that, Celeborn swept, rather theatrically, off the stool and strode back into his tent to don the rest of his armour.
Haldir, however, remained where he was, finding his gaze drawn to the vague outlines of the mountains. His mind travelled to that ragged, bleak landscape and he tried to think why the girl would want to return there. But then he had not understood her at all. Nor had he understood himself.
Even if the scouts found her, he thought, they would take her to her people. There was no chance of his seeing her again, unless he took to the search himself, and who then would lead his section back to Lórien?
He did not understand how to act or what path to take from there. Other than to think of it as a dream, how could he make that night settle within his memory?
Haldir sighed deeply. Perhaps Lord Celeborn was right, and this nightmarish uncertainty was some after effect of the battle. He certainly hoped it would be true.
But more than ever, he longed for Lórien.
Above all else, he wanted to go home.
Warnings for NC 17 / sexually explicit content. Bit of a PWP that came to me whilst watching The Two Towers the other night.
Features Book! Haldir and an OFC.
Aftermath
The rain seemed never to stop. Standing on the edge of the forest, gazing towards the Misty Mountains, it seemed that the world was out of focus, distorted, breaking apart. But in truth it was simply a curtain of rain, relentlessly washing the grey-green landscape with a steady hiss. The air, however, was warm and clung to the skin. Though perhaps when the storm was over, the clamminess might abate, at that moment all was still and humid.
The mountains themselves lay hidden behind a thick white fog, which blended with the overcast white sky. Only the boulders and cragged pillars at their feet broke through the surreal mist and stood, dark and ominous, before the group of elves who now crossed that empty countryside.
Blond hair plastered to his scalp, face and golden armour streaked with the black blood of a dozen orcs, Haldir looked wearily at the rocks and the tattered land, the patches of scabrous grass and clumps of heather, his keen blue eyes searching for any sign of life. Other elves wandered back and forth along the edge of Mirkwood, some stooping to collect discarded items from the ground. The place was littered with the evidence of recent fighting; broken weapons, splashes of black and scarlet blood, scraps of clothing torn by blades and small, personal items left behind in the panic.
Hideously, the bones of the dead lay bare and maggot white upon the grass, picked clean by crows in the five days or so since this battle occurred. Haldir stood over one sorry arrangement of bones and stared into the empty sockets of the grinning skull. The head of the skeleton lolled to one side, the jawbone drooping, like a happy drunk lying in a stupor. So transfixed was Haldir by the bones, and their stark message of mortality, that he did not sense Celeborn’s presence until the Commander of Lórien was by his side.
“The scouts report a group of six orcs headed north,” he said, and Haldir nodded. “They will not travel another mile, now we have their trail. Though I doubt if they are the last, I think we are almost done here. Our borders are free of the refuges of Dol Guldur; those who survived shall either be found by our scouts or driven into the dark places of the mountains. There, friendless, what can they do?”
Haldir drew in a slow, laboured breath. To hear that their task was almost through sent a ripple of excitement through his being, yet gazing at the bleak and dismal scene around them, he found it hard to imagine the battle could ever be over. His heart sank like a ball of iron in his chest and he looked down upon the bones again. He pictured Lórien, holding the memory like a treasured keepsake. Soon, he thought. Soon he would be home, back beneath the sunlight and whispering trees.
“By the look of the tracks, those who left this place alive made for the mountains,” Haldir said. “With your leave, My Lord, I should like to take a group of us and search the passes and caves, in case there are survivors.”
“Very well. I must return to our troops and see them prepared for the march home. We shall wait till sunrise on the morrow. Join us at the camp then.”
Haldir bowed stiffly. He called to three other ellyn nearby and sent them off towards the fog-swathed rocks at the foot of the mountains, spreading out the searchers so as to cover the most ground. Then he took the southernmost path and began to follow a trail of trampled grass into the arms of the fog.
He blew a few droplets of water off the end of his nose and sighed tiredly. The rain seemed to get heavier the nearer he got to the mountains. The grass and weeds soon gave way to thick mud, which tried to suck his boots into its grasp, though with elven grace he resisted and moved with ease. His cloak though grew sodden and heavy, as did his garments beneath his tight armour. Despite the warmth in the air, the wet clothes had turned cold and icy against his skin, thoroughly uncomfortable. He felt his flesh becoming clammy and cold, though he had no choice, other than stripping to that flesh, but to endure it.
Passing between two sentinels of stone, sitting like gateposts before a narrow depression in the ground that wended off towards the mountains, Haldir listened to the steady drumming of the rain, like grains of wheat flowing into a vat. In the distance, he heard Celeborn’s barked commands, the jangling of swords and armour, and the crackling of wood fires, where some of his fellows had set up camp for the night beneath what shelter they could find. Above those sounds, however, he sought to hear anything that might show there was life in this dreary place.
Slowly the natural path he was following began to climb upwards. The crows who had so ably disposed of the corpses below cawed noisily across the damp air, though he could not see where they perched. Still, he thought, if they were about these foothills, perhaps they had found what he was looking for: some injured soul about to breathe its last and become their next meal.
They had no way of knowing who the people had been, before the orcs fleeing the destruction of Dol Guldur had stumbled upon them. From the few scraps of clothes the elves found about the site, they had been Men, probably from Laketown or thereabouts. Probably innocent travellers simply trying to get home. Haldir tried not to imagine what they had looked like, or how they might have spent those last hours before they fell. If he thought of them merely as players in this great game of strategy, he could more easily forget their naked bones upon the ground. Perhaps, if he did not think of that waste of young life, he could sleep easily that night.
Haldir glanced over his shoulder and saw that he had climbed some way up the foothills, and could look down from there upon the foggy field where the battle had taken place. He then searched about his feet for any sign that someone had come this way, but found nothing but rain-washed shale and stone at his feet. Just as he crouched to inspect the stones more closely, his ears pricked. Somewhere above him, he heard someone draw a sharp breath.
Straightening, Haldir looked about the rocks, seeing a dozen hiding places amongst them.
“Is someone there?” he called out. “I am here to help you, have no fear!”
There came a scratching sound upon the rocks, and this time he was not taken by surprise. He was, therefore, able to place the sound and followed it towards a cluster of rocks. As he drew nearer he saw a dark abyss amongst the stones and gathered that they marked an opening in the mountainside, a cave reached deep into the earth. A good place to take shelter, he thought, and edged towards the entrance.
Though the cave reached deep, the widest part of it lay just behind the mouth, a low-ceilinged, rubble-filled round chamber, lit by what little streaks of daylight pushed through from the outside world. The entrance was slippery and gleaming with rainwater, but after a few steps the ground became dry. Straight ahead, a thin slit in the cave wall led into the mountain.
At first Haldir could see nothing, but his ears told him there was someone nearby. He heard their steady, excited breaths and even heard the thudding of their heart.
“I mean no harm to you,” Haldir said loudly, knowing that the person stood just behind the large column of rock just inside the cave. With a slick, rapid movement, he stepped around that rock and placed himself directly in their line of sight, but as he opened his mouth to speak, he saw a sword levelled at his chest.
His own weapon in its sheath, Haldir spread out his arms and gave the frightened mortal his most warming look.
“I draw no sword upon you.”
She seemed so thin, he thought, her clothes drenched, as his were, and her reddish brown hair bedraggled and damp. Her face was muddy, her hands caked with dried blood, though he could not tell if it was her own. Certainly she had wounds, though they seemed slight.
“My name is Haldir,” he told her. “You see I am no foe.”
Her large eyes scrutinised him for a long while. The sword shuddered in her trembling hands. Had an orc shown such weakness, Haldir would have snatched the blade away easily, but he chose instead to stand before her, immobile and unthreatening.
“Put down your sword. I mean only to take you to safety. We have food and blankets down below.”
Her lips quivered, as though she might burst into tears at any moment, while the terror of that recent slaughter burned fiercely in her eyes. With a rusty sob she dropped the sword entirely and collapsed to her knees. Haldir lunged forward and caught her by the waist before she flopped onto the ground, though as her head lolled against his shoulder he felt her become limp in a faint.
“Rest now,” he whispered, stroking her hair. “It is over.”
~*~
The girl blinked and stared for a moment like a wild deer, taking in all the strange surroundings. She looked first to the tent canvas above her, at the fluid elven patterns dyed onto the cloth, then she studied the baskets and clusters of arms in the corner of the tent, before finally she let her gaze fall onto the elf who sat on the edge of her bunk, a bowl of water in his lap and a wad of damp cloth in his hand.
Haldir had barely had time to discard his armour before the girl had awoken, so now he sat before her in his maroon shift and breeches, which still clung to him like slime. He smiled down at her benevolently, though with an air of great distance about him, and gently daubed the wounds upon her arms; shallow cuts encrusted with grime from the filthy orkish blades.
“Everything is all right,” he reassured her. “You are with us now. And you are safe.”
He washed away the dirt from the wound in gentle strokes, when suddenly she shot our her hand and caught hold of his wrist. She did not force his hand away, but instead sat up a little and stared intensely into his eyes, imploring him to answer a question that had not yet formed on her lips.
“No,” said Haldir quietly. “We have found no others.”
Closing her eyes, the girl fell back upon the bunk, shaking her head as if in the throes of a nightmare. Haldir grimaced for a moment in sympathy and paused to brush a stray lock of hair from her forehead, before he resumed his task of cleaning her wounds.
The rain, meanwhile, continued to drum its steady rhythm on the tent canvas, a sharp wind whipping up, like a serpent twisting over the ground, as night fell.
~*~
Outside, the other elves called to one another, idle conversations as they prepared to settle for the night. Haldir listened inside his tent, but to him the voices seemed distant and doleful somehow against the cacophony of the wind and rain. The storm grew wilder as darkness fell, and now the tents slapped and rustled loudly, the battering rain still there, still hissing.
At last though he could peel off that lair of clothes that almost had welded to his muscles. At once the cold air touched his skin and sent shivers all through his body. He snatched up a blanket to wrap around himself. He then sat naked inside it, waiting for his body to dry sufficiently for him to comfortably put on fresh clothes. A cold, damp world surrounded him and again his mind sought out Lórien, whose image called to him like the Evenstar through the clouds.
Two soldiers passed the entrance to his tent. He saw their silhouettes projected on the canvas as they passed in front of one of the campfires and heard their booted tread on the muddy ground. Yet once they had gone, the world seemed to fall utterly silent. For that prolonged moment, Haldir sat absolutely still, listening to the nothingness around him. The air took on a buzz of expectancy for an instant. Then with a rustle of fabric, the tent flap was pushed aside.
Haldir instinctively rose and wrapped the blanket tighter about his body, his expression stern as he waited to see who would enter. He saw a hand curl around the canvas, the figure pausing for a moment before slipping fully into the tent. With a sigh Haldir relaxed a little, though he still frowned. The girl, conversely, glanced about the tent with blank eyes, as if she had forgotten why she came in.
“Are you all right?” Haldir asked her calmly. “You ought to rest.”
The girl glanced at the floor, arms wrapped about herself. She looked lost, thought Haldir. Though he had seen enough death in this campaign, both of friend and foe, to know how stunned shock could overwhelm the survivor.
“Here,” he said, and gestured towards his dishevelled bunk. “Rest.”
Hesitantly, the girl shuffled towards him, her eyes darting nervously from his hand to the bunk before she finally slumped down and curled up on the woollen blankets. Haldir watched her until she had settled and then sat in a corner, pulling the blanket about his shoulders. The girl regarded him silently.
“I shall stay here,” he told her. “I shall stay with you.”
~*~
Hours passed and dreary evening sank into thick midnight. To Haldir it seemed as if the world began and ended in that tent, and outside there was only chaos. The booming thunder echoed like the roar of a thousand bears in the distance, the wind whined and shrieked and the rain lashed bitterly against the canvas, making it seem as though that chaos sought to tear Haldir’s little world apart.
Once the girl had fallen asleep, Haldir had discarded his blanket and dressed in a dry tunic, then he sat with his shoulders sagging, his legs bare and his feet stuffed idly into his boots, his hair still slightly lank from the onslaught of the rain and his expression sombre. Yet it was not long before he would be home.
Dreaming of that moment when he would step over the boundaries of the forest and feel that familiar warmth and welcome, Haldir stared at the ground for a long while, a faint smile slowly gracing his lips. He could almost smell his mother’s baking and feel her hand on his shoulder, the way she would when waiting for compliments on the meal. His brothers never stopped long enough at their parents’ talan to truly appreciate it. They had climbed to their own platforms as soon as they were able and rarely returned. But Haldir had stayed. And, if ever he had children of his own, they would live on that same talan, a complete family. There was nothing more important.
When at last he glanced up, he found himself observed once again. The girl lay on her side, hands beneath he cheek, her eyes fixed on him. She seemed, however, far calmer than before, and though a doleful glint still shone in her eyes, she no longer looked ready to run.
Haldir gave her a nod to acknowledge and reassure her. Still she did not speak, however, and instead contemplated him in silence, before finally she sat up and swung her legs down onto the ground.
“Everything is all right,” Haldir whispered, rising. “Sleep. I am still here.”
He stood in front of her and placed his hands gently on her shoulders, trying to ease her back towards the bunk. She looked away, sighing deeply, then fell forward against him. Haldir caught her, thinking she would pass out again, but instead she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and hugged him tightly.
“You have no one,” he thought darkly as he held her. “While I dream of going home, where shall you be sent? Do you even have a home? Do you have people who could welcome you back?”
In truth he did not know what would happen to her. Celeborn planned to march back to Lórien as soon as dawn arose. Perhaps they would send a few volunteers to escort the girl to Laketown or to Rohan. If only they could extract a few words from her, discover who she was and where she and her people had been heading, they would have a better idea what to do. But Haldir’s heart felt weighty as he looked down at his temporary charge. His only consolation was that Men had proved resilient in the war, and showed courage even when there seemed to be no hope. Perhaps this girl could endure also, and rise above the tragedies of the past.
The girl gave him another squeeze then drew back a little so that she could look up, her features unreadable. Haldir waited, trying to discern what she was thinking. If only an embrace could ease her troubles, he thought. But it would give only the briefest comfort. Still, it was all he could do in that moment.
“It will be all right,” he told her again, and pulled her back into his arms, holding her close enough to feel her fragile frame against his chest, her bones seeming so thin and delicate that he feared he might snap her if he clutched her too tightly. He wondered that any being could feel so slight, though had to admit that his experience with ellith was fairly limited. Or rather that it was non-existent, at least by his brothers’ standards. He could see then, however, why his brothers courted the affections of the Lórien females so voraciously. It was such a peculiar sensation to feel another’s warmth pressed against his body. He felt the gentle thudding of her heart and the subtle movements of her chest and shoulders as she breathed. In the midst of the darkness and feverish weather, he clutched onto that little spark of life.
Then he felt her squirm a little, angling to pull away from him, though she did not go far. Again she moved back just far enough to look up into his face. Haldir smiled and wiped a streak of dirt from her cheek with the edge of his thumb, then brushed her hair back from her face.
“I would so like to bring you back with me,” he whispered, “and show you the deep glades and sparkling rivers within our borders. Where there are a thousand shades of green and gold, and no sign of evil things. Yet I doubt if that will be. Still, your own folk should take good care of you, and show you equal kindness.”
The girl reached up, mimicking his earlier gesture, and set her palm against his cheek, touching him only tentatively at first. She traced the line of his cheekbone and then brushed her finger gently against his ear.
“We are elves,” Haldir told her. “Out of Lórien.”
She did not seem to hear or pay attention, and instead pinched a lock of his hair, holding it up so that the light from the tent’s one lantern shone through the strands and made them glitter. Then she combed her fingers through the full body of his hair, a look of rapt concentration moulding her features into a frown. As her hand came to rest again on his shoulder, she edged closer, standing on her toes, and leaned forward. Before Haldir could breathe or protest, she kissed him softly on the mouth, the movement cautious and experimental.
He froze for a moment, stunned by her actions yet somehow he had expected it too. But then as he gathered his wits, he prized her gently away.
“No,” he said quietly. She stared back, not insulted or hurt, but rather looking as if she wanted him to understand, as if her mind was trying to push out and touch his thoughts until he knew why she needed his touch. Perhaps she enjoyed the warmth of another living soul as much as he did, after enduring the wilderness.
Still he hesitated, when she reached to him again and caressed his cheek. He glanced towards the tent flap, half expecting it to fly open, and one of his comrades to come marching in upon them. Though he could only hear the storm outside. He had no idea what to do or indeed what he was doing, he found himself considering her, remarking the details of her face, the various shades of brown he could see in her eyes, the slight flush in her cheeks. Nothing felt real, even when he remarked those tiny traits. As the wind continued to lament outside, he could easily have believed this was a dream.
Holding his breath, Haldir brought his lips down to meet hers, shying from the soft touch at first, before he gathered his confidence and let his mouth explore hers, planting short, nibbling kisses until he was sure of his ground. The girl moaned softly and returned the gesture with great enthusiasm, her hands clawing his back. She accepted each kiss and dabbed her tongue against his lips, until it was able to enter his mouth. Haldir started, but closed his eyes firmly and allowed her to continue. Yes, he could now see why his brothers craved company so much. It was so intimate, so trusting. He felt naked already within her embrace, distinctly aware of his body in a way he had not experienced before.
Behind his back, her fingers continued to ravish him, grabbing handfuls of his tunic, whilst dragging heavily against his flesh. As the scratches and kneading moved lower, so his excitement increased, until finally he broke out of her grasp and held her at arm’s length, studying every detail of her. Then he slipped his tunic over his head and stood physically as well as mentally nude before her.
For a moment, doubt set in, as he watched her gaze travelling over his body, but he saw no disappointment in her eyes. He had no idea what females of any race would want, but had assumed he might not be it, since he was a little wider and fuller in build than his brothers, who were pursued throughout the Golden Wood. Yet the girl simply stared, acknowledging him and the course they were about to follow, before she too disrobed.
She moved stiffly, the wound on her arm giving her some slight trouble, though it did not seem to hinder her too much. She unlaced the bodice part of her tattered grey dress, then let it crumple to the floor. She wore nothing beneath. Her skin, the colour of milk, was streaked with dried blood and dirt, and Haldir saw that she was indeed a fragile thing, almost boyish in stature yet still pleasing to look at. His gaze travelled, as hers had done, from her head down her front, lingering over her small breasts before heading down to take in the soft snatch of russet hair between her legs.
She came towards him, taking his large hand into her own, then she placed it against her breast, showing him the motion she desired until he began to knead the mound on his own. He leaned forward and kissed her, pressing his thumb to her nipple, twirling it until he felt it grow hard. Meanwhile she massaged his back once again, though this time, as she drew him close to her, flesh touched flesh. Though they both still wore a chill from the storm, the sensation was still overwhelming to Haldir. Never had he been so close to another being.
As he began to lose himself in her kisses, however, she turned her face away and then moved towards the bunk, flicking the blankets into place before sitting on the edge. She offered a hand to guide him down to her. Feeling his muscles tighten and his hardness grow, yet afraid he would do something wrong, Haldir was glad to be led. She manipulated him subtly, placing herself beneath him. She hooked her legs around his hips and reached down to manoeuvre him into her, her touch sending shivers through his body. The blood pulsed to his loins until they seemed emanate warmth, and already ripples of pleasure coursed through him, from his buttocks to his shoulders.
She let out a faint gasp as he entered her, and Haldir bit his lip, bracing himself to endure this pleasure. He began with slow, laboured thrusts, concentrating intensely on each move, whilst at the same time he felt his control fading. The girl’s hands were on his back again, scratching him just hard enough for it to register. She raked her fingers against his flesh in time with his thrusts and breathed heavily through clenched teeth.
He picked up speed each time he glanced down at her and saw her body writhe beneath him, her modest breasts heaving as her breathing became more ragged. Growing bolder, he brought his mouth to one breast and let his tongue wander over her nipple.
Her rasping breaths became faint moans, and then throaty cries as his fervour increased, and each sound spurred Haldir on the more. His body though felt ready to explode, his tense muscles stretched to breaking point. He felt contorted, twisted, racked by passion and thrust as deep and hard as he could, increasing his speed as the pleasure became unbearable.
With a loud cry, he grimaced and released his seed, his body frozen for an eternity. The girl wailed in his ear but he was barely aware of it. Struggling to draw breath, he finally sagged, and with his fevered pulse still making his limbs quiver, he withdrew and crumpled onto the bunk beside her, his hand on his forehead.
Though there was barely room enough for both of them on that narrow bedframe, after a moment the girl draped her arm over his chest and rested her head on his shoulder. A few minutes later, Haldir sank into an odd, dreamless sleep.
~*~
He inhaled sharply as he awoke, startled by something, though he could not remember what. Glancing around the tent, Haldir found himself upon his side on the bunk, a blanket covering him as far as his armpits. The canvas gleamed white. Daylight had returned and restored the world outside, and he heard voices as the elves prepared to leave their camp.
‘The march,’ he thought, and scrambled out of bed to fetch his clothes. But as he pulled the garments from his bags, the night’s events finally broke through the veil of drowsiness and he turned sharply.
There was no sign of the girl.
Haldir frowned and stood for a long time before he resumed the task of dressing himself. Had it been unreal after all? Yet his tunic lay on the ground where it had been discarded that night. There were spots of blood on the mattress where her wound had pressed against the cloth as she slept. She had been there, he concluded, but had simply left.
Once ready, he left the tent and stepped out onto the path of trampled mud. A wispy fog hung about the place, but the rain had reduced to a drizzle at least. The other soldiers were busy dismantling the tents. Haldir wandered for a while about the camp, but still found no trace of the girl, and the few he stopped and asked shook their heads and shrugged.
Still unsure if he had imagined the whole encounter, Haldir finally drifted to the centre of the camp, a sombre frown upon his face. Outside one of the tents, Celeborn stood, clothed only from the waist down despite the chill in the air, with one foot on a stool as he laced his boots.
“Haldir,” he called over, his voice slightly muffled by concentration. “How goes it?”
“Well,” replied Haldir distractedly. “Only the woman from the mountains. She has gone.”
“Gone where?”
“I do not know.”
“We offered her sanctuary. We cannot force anyone to take our help. Perhaps she knows better than we do where she needs to go.”
“We should still search for her,” mused Haldir, slumping down onto a basket outside Celeborn’s tent.
“I shall leave word with the scouts,” said Celeborn. “They can look for her as they check the borders. Have no worries. If she has stumbled into any trouble, we shall get her out. Again.”
Having dealt with his boots, Celeborn leaned on his knee and breathed deeply. “Soon to be in Lórien,” he sighed. “And not only to be home, but to be safe at last from shadow. How is that, ay Haldir?”
“More than we might wish for,” Haldir said quietly. The night before, he had believed it.
“Why so solemn?” asked Celeborn.
Haldir did not reply at first. He stared for a while at the ground, at the dew-speckled grass, then finally he inhaled a lungful of the damp but fresh air and stood up.
“It was a strange night,” he answered finally. “An unsettling one.”
“It has been an unsettling campaign. We have all seen things in that mound of evil that no living being ought to have witnessed. We all shall need warmth and the embrace of home before those shadows are truly quashed.”
Celeborn smiled. Haldir nodded and continued to stare into the distance.
“And fear not,” Celeborn continued. “We shall have warmth and laughter again soon enough, if only we can get this place in order and ready ourselves!”
With that, Celeborn swept, rather theatrically, off the stool and strode back into his tent to don the rest of his armour.
Haldir, however, remained where he was, finding his gaze drawn to the vague outlines of the mountains. His mind travelled to that ragged, bleak landscape and he tried to think why the girl would want to return there. But then he had not understood her at all. Nor had he understood himself.
Even if the scouts found her, he thought, they would take her to her people. There was no chance of his seeing her again, unless he took to the search himself, and who then would lead his section back to Lórien?
He did not understand how to act or what path to take from there. Other than to think of it as a dream, how could he make that night settle within his memory?
Haldir sighed deeply. Perhaps Lord Celeborn was right, and this nightmarish uncertainty was some after effect of the battle. He certainly hoped it would be true.
But more than ever, he longed for Lórien.
Above all else, he wanted to go home.