Disclaimer:

I have no permission to use these characters or events of Middle-Earth. This story was written for enjoyment only. I do, however, own several original characters herein and the basic plot is mine. Please do not use either without my permission.

A Warrior’s Experience

By: The Lady of Light

Part One

Nighttime Revelations

Creak. Creak. Creak. Pause. Creak. Creak. Creak. Pause. Creak. Creak. Creak…

Aragorn stared up at the dark wood ceiling, listening to the soft, regular rhythm. Moonlit shadows spilled across the bedclothes tangled about his knees. Over the sounds upstairs, he could hear the whispering of the mallorn trees all around. The young human sighed, comforted by the relative silence but disquieted by the darkness, unrelieved by candle or lantern light.

Since the captain’s quarters were ideally placed between the borders and healer’s quarters it was agreed that the human stay there until his injuries mended. It was a large bit of property for the use of only one person and Haldir freely admitted he really only needed two rooms in his talan. The loft Rameil, as second-in-command, slept in, leaving the lower bedroom free and unused.

It was little furnished but comfortable enough for Aragorn who had known nothing but hard earth and open sky for over a month on his journey over the mountains. It felt good to have a roof overhead again though he missed the wide expanse of stars as he fell asleep. They reminded him of home.

And it was that that stirred the young man from his slumber. He had dreamed of it again, of wintry sunlight streaming through the long upright windows of his bedchamber, the open terraces where he would sit for hours just staring out over the valley that even in autumn was beautiful with all the trees changing from deepest green to crimson copper and gold. He missed seeing his father reading in the library or poring over ancient lore volumes, his brothers planning their next venture into the hills ever on the search for orcs.

What would Father and Elladan and Elrohir say when he found out about their youngest family member’s latest mishap?

Aragorn could only imagine. But thankfully, the continuous noise coming from the room above did not allow him to dwell on such thoughts. Though an elf’s footsteps were completely soundless that didn’t mean the planks beneath them were as well. Aragorn had been listening for at least an hour, unable to fall back asleep due to the turmoil of his own thoughts and those of his upstairs neighbor.

Sliding out from under the covers, his bare feet touched the cold wood. He shivered a little but, summoning his courage, reached for a clean tunic in the old pine drawer beside the door. The plain white cloth slid easily over his head though the shirt was actually a little big on him, being a generic garment provided by the healers for injured soldiers whose tunics were ruined by the hardships of battle.

He had gotten rather well-practiced in slipping it on one-handed with his left arm still healing. He had to keep it bound up in a sling during the evening. His disastrous venture in the cleft just north of Lothlórien where he had dislocated his shoulder and taken an orc arrow had nearly ended very badly. The wound however had nearly completely healed, over save for a white mark near his collarbone which would eventually just be one more scar among others already marking the human’s body.

Late autumn night shone through his small window and a nearly full moon waved bright silver light onto the floor swirled by the shadows of leaves. The ranger in him took over as Aragorn slipped out the door as silent as a shadow. The corridor was pitch black but after a few days Aragorn had learned the way by heart.

His bare feet made no noise on the wood floor as he followed it up a set of narrow winding steps. The inside of the tree trunk brushed his shoulders on either side until he emerged onto a shadowy landing in the main corridor. It was dark here too but a lantern at the far end of the hall glowed and cast just enough blue luminescence to see by.

The relentless pacing had ceased. In the corridor, Aragorn paused too, filled with reluctance to intrude now if Haldir had at last gone to sleep. But then a new sound filtered through the wooden walls, a beautiful and unearthly melody that stirred longing in Aragorn’s heart.

His right hand trailing the wall, he felt his way down the corridor with the lantern light slowly growing brighter. He passed a door on his left, following the sounds towards the center of the talan. They grew clearer with every step he took and the lantern dazzled his eyes when he halted on the threshold of the biggest room in the talan.

The noises were muffled now only by the tree trunk, still massively thick, that passed right through the middle of the floor and disappeared into the ceiling which had been built right around it. Aragorn rounded it slowly.

Haldir had not heard the ranger enter, so absorbed in the melody his long fingers provoked from the large wooden harp in a corner of the room. The base rested on the floor with the gilded strings fanning out and curving gently upwards like a swan’s wing. The rain-drop rhythm, the soft tuneful vibrations always soothed him, no matter what troubles plagued his mind. They were swept away by the tide of sound. He let the music swell around him, forgetful of the time, of the night, of the shadows, his eyes more than half-closed, his ears attuned only to the harp.

Aragorn grinned, a wicked idea beginning to form in his mind. It wasn’t often he managed to catch an elf unawares. His brother and father always heard him no matter how stealthily he crept up. And only on one very memorable occasion had he managed to startle Legolas who had chased him halfway back to Thranduil’s palace. It had become a sort of challenge for the maturing human, a test of skill.

It was a chance he couldn’t afford to miss.

But the elf’s reaction was completely and frighteningly unexpected.

At the light touch of the man’s hand on his shoulder, Haldir sprang out of his seat as though electrocuted, knocking over the harp with a vibrating crash. The saber Aragorn had not seen lying beside it bit hard into the flesh of his neck enough for a tinge of blood to stain his tunic’s white collar.

The ranger kept still as the discordant echoes died away, not daring to breathe for fear he’d slice his own throat.

It took him a minute but as soon as Haldir recognized who he held at sword point, the elf’s face whitened to the shade of parchment and the saber rang almost as loudly as the harp as it hit the floor. “What the devil are you doing in here?”

Aragorn too had gone very white when he saw the blade whistle to within a hairsbreadth of hewing off his head. But he recovered quickly and grinned. “Scared you.”

Haldir was decidedly less amused. “You are an idiot. I could have killed you!” The thought of seeing the young man stretched on the floor with blood flowing from his severed neck haunted the elf so much he sank back onto the harp stool, his hands white-knuckled on his knees.

Sensing uneasily that he may have touched an unseen nerve, Aragorn immediately regretted his impulsive action. “I am sorry. I should have announced my presence.”

“You’re not hurt are you?” Haldir had spotted the crimson trickling onto the man’s linen collar.

Aragorn fingered the scratch which stung a little. “My head’s still attached.”

Haldir leaned his head back against the wall and momentarily shut his eyes before bending down and righting the fallen harp. “What are you doing up at this hour anyway? I didn’t wake you did I?” he asked while carefully checking the strings and the wood gild for scratches.

Aragorn replied, only partially untruthfully, still abashed for having so badly startled the other. “I was already awake. I couldn’t sleep.”

“And?”

Aragorn frowned, confused. “And what?”

“There is always a reason for not sleeping. What troubles you?”

Though he had been a guest in the elf’s house for almost a week now, though they had eaten and sparred and lived together, Haldir had still managed to keep himself somewhat apart. Night after night when he couldn’t sleep, Aragorn listened to the restless stirrings above his head but this was the first time he had actually come up.

“I am not sure,” Aragorn admitted quietly, sinking into a chair at the dining room table.

“Something is not right. I feel… restless. As though I should be doing something or going somewhere.”

“This season since it keeps you indoors could be the cause of your restlessness,” the elf said but he didn’t look as though he believed his words and watched the human with penetrating eyes.

But Aragorn didn’t notice his new friend’s intense gaze for he was looking at the wooden table for the first time, noticing it was covered in sheets of parchment traced with spidery lines. “Thinking of traveling?” he inquired looking over the scrolls, the largest of which was a map of the three main peaks of the Misty Mountains just west of Lothlórien.

“Considering. Though perhaps not until spring. Traveling so close to winter is… unwise to say the least,” Haldir said, self-consciously rolling up the handrawn maps and replacing them in a cabinet at the far side of the room. “And I have duties here to fulfill. I cannot lightly leave.”

“When was the last time you took leave?”

Haldir reseated himself beside the harp, the strings humming lightly under his touch. “There is always much to do. Nothing is ever done.”

It was a phrase Estel had often heard his father use when overwrought. The elf still looked rather white in the face.

“No wonder you’re so twitchy!” Aragorn said, trying to joke but the smile slid off his face at the grave expression Haldir leveled him with.

Aragorn had thought the ice between them had begun to melt a little… maybe he was wrong to presume so much. Fearing he had offended his host beyond repair, Aragorn stood up with lowered eyes and tried to apologize once more. “I guess I should go back to bed.”

Haldir had been lost in thought, the past swirling too much with the present for him to concentrate on what he was talking about or listening to, but as the ranger stood up his eyes focused. “You do not have to go.”

Aragorn paused.

“Unless you’re tired, then by all means… But if you cannot sleep you might as well sit down,” Haldir pushed out the chair so recently vacated with a boot.

The ranger smiled and immediately took it. He was starting to feel a little tired again but this was the first time the elf had voluntarily asked him to stay. “I really didn’t mean to startle you like that.”

“Stop apologizing! I heard you the first two times. Honestly, ranger, it was only a jest… Valar knows, I appreciate them more than people think,” Haldir’s mock-irritation turned reflective. “Some habits are harder to unlearn than others that’s all.”

It was the only explanation he felt comfortable giving and Aragorn didn’t push him. He understood in part. Even after years of peace when their home had not been threatened for millennia, some of the lords of the household still carried blades at their hips. He knew for a fact his own brothers still had theirs lying within easy reach under their beds.

“I guess a soldier never stops being a soldier even at the end of the day, huh?” Aragorn gave a sheepish smile and felt a wave of relief wash over him when the elf at last smiled back.

“All too true.”

They lapsed into another silence but it was a far more comfortable one than before and Aragorn took the time to glance around the room, his curious eyes landing on the harp. “I didn’t know you played.”

“You never asked.”

“Do you sing too?” Aragorn asked immediately.

Haldir chuckled. “Only after a fair amount of encouragement and a fairer amount of wine.”

“Well,” a broad grin spread across Aragorn’s face as he made a sweeping gesture with his palms upturned. “Do you have any wine?”

For a moment, the elf stared at him as though unsure whether to laugh or cuff the man. Then he stood up abruptly and, going to a dark corner cabinet, rifled around in the back before emerging with two tumblers and a carmine-colored bottle about halfway full.

“I’ve been hiding this from Rameil so not a word,” he slid a glass a third of the way full across to the ranger. “I’m afraid though you won’t get ice until winter sets in properly.”

Aragorn sipped appreciatively at the lightly spiced wine, cool from sitting in the back of the cabinet for so long. After a moment when Haldir offered no more for conversation, he lowered his glass thoughtfully, taking the break to examine his host more closely.

Haldir’s loose-necked tunic which he wore for the sake of modesty seemed to glow in the soft radiance of lanterns set at intervals along the walls. He had rolled the sleeves back to the elbows so he could play. But he still wore his worn parade ground boots with the cuffs of his dark green sleeping trousers tucked into them.

Scarcely a night had passed since Aragorn arrived in that house and not heard those boots creaking upstairs or the softer sounds of the harp. To the point where he had begun to wonder if his host ever slept. Haldir was very reserved in talking about himself but the more Aragorn talked with him, the more intrigued he became. Ghosts lurked in the shadows behind the soldier’s hard, guarded eyes.

But Aragorn didn’t have the gall to ask anything. Instead he sat back and refilled his tumbler from the carmine bottle. “What about Rameil?” he asked glancing up at the silent loft overhead. “Will we wake him?”

“Oh, Rameil could sleep through a pack of wargs leaping over his head. Come to think of it I think that did happen once…” The captain looked pensive for a minute before shrugging and tucking back a few loose strands that had worked out of the ponytail he messily pulled his hair into at night.

“So what keeps you awake?” Aragorn asked, taking another draught of his cup. The wine, a little stronger than he was accustomed to, made him bolder.

“I am several hundred years behind in my completely useless paperwork pile.”

“Several hundred years?” Aragorn wasn’t sure if the elf was exaggerating or not.

“Laboring for hours on end, writing down things horribly obvious to anyone with a grain of common sense… To be read by no one,” Haldir leaned back in his chair, gazing unseeingly at the lamp hanging behind Aragorn’s shoulder. “I think I’ve finally decided I’m just too handsome to fill in requisition forms. It’s not just.”

This time Aragorn really did laugh causing the elf to look round at him.

“What? You don’t think so?” He stood up with a sideways glare at the ranger. “At least, I don’t look like a mendicant.”

“These are your clothes!” Aragorn protested without any real indignation, too pleased the elf felt comfortable enough to joke with him to care about the slight. “I do not look like a mendicant.”

“You’re pouting.”

“No, I’m not.” The young man abruptly checked himself.

Hiding a triumphant smirk, Haldir picked up his sword and set it on the table with obvious reverence before retaking his seat and beginning to check it over for possible nicks incurred by its rather abrupt fall. Interested, Aragorn leaned forward to examine the blade.

It was beautifully crafted. The finest steel, to Aragorn’s untrained eyes, with a long slightly curved blade tapered to a tip as keen and deadly as a scythe. A filigree of golden inlay in the shape of mallorn leaves twined the hilt and smoothly sank into the deep blood channel that ran the entire length. He leaned his elbows on the table, squinting curiously at the saber.

“How old is it?”

Haldir glanced up at him as he ran a polishing cloth over the already shining steel. “It belonged to my very first commanding officer when I joined the guard. After he was killed, the blade passed on to the officer promoted to captain after that and so on. It has been handed down for generations from officer to officer. Even I do not know all of its history.”

“Like Hadhafang,” the ranger murmured, meaning the relic of the Last Alliance that hung above the mantelpiece in his foster father’s study.

“Perhaps not quite so legendary. But in essence.” The marchwarden tapped his fingers lightly over the leathern hilt as he said quietly, almost to himself. “It has seen much blood spilt. And drunk its own share.”

“Still,” he sheathed the saber in its battered scabbard. “it cleans up well. Go on, you finish it.”

Aragorn tipped the last splash of wine into his mug and for a while just stared at the crimson liquid swirling in it. “You have seen a lot of battles.”

“You have not. What’s your point?” The elf set the saber on the table between them.

Aragorn shrugged still without lifting his eyes. “I have never really… aside from a few skirmishes… ever fought in a battle like… the one in the ravine. Is it always like that?” The bloody slaughter a week ago still preyed on his mind even now. He saw it still in his dreams and had waited for days to summon up enough courage to ask the captain about it.

Haldir seemed to guess the younger man’s thoughts. “No. Usually a lot more soldiers get killed. We were quite fortunate. Your father would probably skin me if I brought you home d–”

“Don’t you two ever sleep?” a new, sleep-filled voice growled from the door.

Both Aragorn and Haldir looked up guiltily as Rameil shuffled in looking disheveled and grumpy, his eyes still heavy with sleep.

“‘Could sleep through a pack of wargs leaping over his head,’ huh?” Aragorn grinned dryly at his friend.

“What?”

“It was the human’s fault,” Haldir immediately pointed the blaming finger at Aragorn who blustered with righteous indignation.

“Wha-? Me? I was content with being quiet. You were the one who wanted to talk all night. I’m a human. I need sleep,” Aragorn said, skirting his companion who moved as if to cuff him.

Rameil shook his head at the pair of them but a tiny quirk at the corner of his mouth suggested he was more amused than annoyed and the look he gave his fellow housemate was distinctly meaningful. “I don’t care whose fault it was — where did you get that?” He had caught sight of the empty bottle on the table.

“Goodnight!”

Still laughing, Aragorn abandoned Haldir to settle with Rameil and escaped back downstairs to his bunk. He listened for a few minutes but heard no further sounds from above and as the house settled into quiet once more, Aragorn relaxed and let his eyes close. Tiredness sweeping over him in waves, he settled into now-cold sheets, wondering what the next day would bring.