Part Four

Que Sera, Sera

Aragorn scrubbed his hands clean in already crimson-tainted water. Back and neck stiff and aching from crouching so long, he rinsed his knife as well in a small puddle collecting at the foot of the wall where the middle of the tunnel sank into a slight depression. Trying not to think about the horrid, frantic work of the last half hour, he set aside his blade and took a long swig from the refilled flask. Splashing a little over his face and neck, he rubbed a tired hand over his face with a sigh and glanced back. The small flicker of their only light barely illuminated the pale face of his friend.

Golden flame suffused the elfÂ’s face with the deceptive glow of health. But, touching his cheek, Aragorn found him cold and unresponsive, his lips bloodless and most worrying of all with eyes closed. Some heavy sedative must have laced the dart tip but Aragorn, squinting until a headache began to pound behind his eyes, could find nothing. Stabbed in a vital place with a much bigger dose than should ever be used on a person Haldir had been out cold for a while now. Aragorn pressed his fingers under the elfÂ’s jaw lightly, seeking the pulse, unusually fast under his fingers. The ranger dropped his hand away and tried to think. Hunters usually killed their game themselves and so would not use a dart to do the job for them. At leastÂ… he hoped that was so.

Sitting back on his heels, he resisted the urge to check the bandages sliced from his cloak again. He had had to cauterize the hole to stop the bleeding and was glad the elf had already surrendered to unconsciousness when he did. Even so he had had to hold him down when the white-hot knife searedÂ… Aragorn dashed a hand over his face again.

Without supplies, he could do very little except wait and trust in the elfÂ’s body to heal itself. He was too afraid to leave him alone to go search for herbs that might help. With the frost, theyÂ’d probably all be dead anyway.

Having done for Haldir all that he could, Aragorn sat back to tend his own wounds in what remained of the firelight. He eased his boot off, grimacing as dried blood caked the inside and stained the cuff of his leggings. The snare had left a neat elliptical cut around his calf but thankfully nothing more serious than that. Aragorn cleaned and dressed it quickly but pulled his boot back on because of the cold. The slash in his side however was a little tougher to manage. The hunterÂ’s sword had not cut deep but it stung painfully. Peeling his tunic back, he pressed a folded, dampened rag against it and leaned against the cool stone wall, letting his eyes flutter closed.

A hideous yell roused him like a bucketful of ice water in the face. Blinking, he sat up, rigid and instantly alert, groping at his side for his sword. Steel on steel clashes sounded almost outside their tunnel entrance. Extinguishing the lantern swiftly, Aragorn crawled up the stone stairs, readying his blade. As he peered out into the darkness, he expected to see flashing swords, bloodied figures. He strained his eyes in vain. There was nothing, the sounds still perfectly clear though further away than he had first believed. He thought he heard the whine of arrows but the wind rose up with a fury, drowning the noises in leaf-rattling. Silence fell again. Uneasily, Aragorn backed back down the stairs, Dyral’s ominous words ringing in his ears. ‘You only have a reprieve.’

He kept the light out.

Shadows and nightmares lengthened. HaldirÂ’s head tossed restlessly on the bundled up cloak under his head. Even in the sparse starlight peeking through the crack, the sweat beading on his upper lip glistened visibly. DyralÂ’s special poison played havoc with his system as it poured through his veins; it would ravage and torment until it exhausted itself and fizzled out. Dark shapes flickered at the edges of his consciousness, contorting, menacing. Though Haldir was no coward he shrank back from them, too weak to suppress the old memories that surged up out of the cavern of his mind at the first sign of his defenses crumbling.

A lash grinding into his backÂ… chains tight around his wristsÂ… that horrible feeling of helplessness and vulnerability writhing like snakes in his stomach. Though he was the captain of the northern fences, a renowned warrior and ferocious fighter, Haldir had known bonds before. But this time the restraint was neither a chain nor rope but his own body. And he couldnÂ’t stop them if they came. He knew they would. Dyral had promised as much. They were coming for him again and he could do nothing to stop it. Just like last time. The starvation he could cope with, his elven body was strong enoughÂ… but the beatingÂ… the whippingÂ… he didnÂ’t-No, no. DonÂ’t think about it. It will only be worse if you think – so much worse. DonÂ’t think. DonÂ’t think. DonÂ’t thinkÂ…

Aragorn crawled over to where Haldir lay and touched his cheek. The elf shifted restlessly away from his hands, tiny tremors running through his muscles. With a damp sleeve the ranger dabbed away sweat which trickled into the golden hair and tenderly sponged off blood which had crusted over the elfÂ’s split lip. Maybe it would help if Haldir just knew he was there. That someone was there – just as the elf had once done for him. But if anything his touch seemed to disturb the elf even more and he began to toss in earnest though no sound broke his lips.

“Shh, shh,” Aragorn enclosed the longer fingers in his, not knowing what else to do as the elf tried to fight him almost ripping off the bandage in his desperation. “Haldir, it’s all right. It’s all right. You’re safe. I promise… nothing’s going to hurt you.”

Suddenly the marchwardenÂ’s eyes flew open. They were staring fixed and widely dilated, the silver-grey almost lost in black. The fingers in AragornÂ’s twitched and tightened as those haunted eyes searched every contour of the humanÂ’s face without seeing him at all.

“Am I dead?”

Aragorn almost pulled away, startled after sitting so long in silence. It took him a minute to register the elf’s bizarre question. “No, of course not.”

The long fingers in his relaxed grip suddenly snatched his wrist and squeezed. Hard. The elf didn’t even register his words. “Forgive me.” He was very groggy and his sentences slurred together. Aragorn knew he wasn’t fully conscious or had any idea what he was saying. But those eyes looked at him so pleadingly…

“There is nothing to forgive, mellon nin,” Aragorn said with what he hoped was reassurance instead of confusion. His fingers were beginning to tingle from the relentless grasp on his arm.

Haldir stared at him as though he couldnÂ’t quite believe the humanÂ’s words, his lips slightly parted with disbelief.

“You’re hurting me,” Aragorn gasped, wincing.

A clouded expression that had nothing to do with the pain of his wound flashed across the elf’s face as his fingers slowly released their death grip on the ranger’s arm. “I am… so-so sorry… Tergon…” He closed his eyes and turned his face towards the wall, a shudder wracking the length of his body.

Aragorn had no idea what he was talking about but it was beginning to frighten him. Backing away, he rubbed his wrist as blood flowed painfully back into his hand. Already bruises ringed his skin in a little half-circle.

Minutes passed like hours, one dropping into another, melting away into a long river of silence. Aragorn didnÂ’t know if it had been one or four, the dark remained unchanged and no more sounds came from outside though he made sure to keep his blade close to hand. Haldir remained silent though he still twitched from time to time as though struggling with some unseen demons in his sleep.

Only slowly did the shadow begin to fade before his eyes. Fighting furiously against the drug that longed to pull him back under, Haldir struggled into the living world again. Reality and dream shifted and separated at last as he blinked, light gradually coming to focus. But it was not the warm golden light he remembered. Moonlight brightened the tunnel stairs, its ethereal shimmer only barely reaching the smooth floor under him. Did he still dream? The piercing headache pounding away behind his left temple convinced him otherwise.

His wrist throbbed dully against the makeshift bandages but the agony – either imagined or real – that had plagued his nightmares was gone. He rested his head back against the rolled-up cloak and hesitantly lifted his eyes to the pale-looking manÂ’s face. “Have you been watching over me all night?”

Relief brightened Aragorn’s tired eyes as the elf lucidly met his gaze. “You’re awake.”

“So it seems.” Haldir levered himself gingerly up on one elbow in spite of a sharp headache and the feeling that his arm was slowly roasting in a fire. “Do you have any water?”

Aragorn uncorked his flask. “It’s a little brackish.” He tentatively made as if to put it to the elf’s lips but Haldir took it from him with a pointed glance and a steady hand.

“It’s fine.” Once he cleared his throat a little, Haldir leaned his shoulders back against the wall and unfastened the top buttons of his black undertunic, the grey one already lay folded by his feet. “How long have I slept?”

“A few hours, I think. I heard fighting… I’m not sure how long ago,” Aragorn glanced towards the silent stairs. “Do you feel better? You worried me for a while. I wasn’t sure if-” He pulled back at the last moment, tactfully deciding not to mention the momentary delirium. It might embarrass his new friend and even thinking about it made Aragorn extremely uncomfortable.

Haldir didnÂ’t seem to notice, his grip tightening around his wrist. He still felt terribly weak and tired as though he had been fighting a battle all those hours instead of sleeping. His head hurt, his back complained from long hours lying on stone and his wrist burned like fire but the cloudy dark of memory had receded at least, a small mercy but a welcome one.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have anything for the pain,” Aragorn offered apologetically, seeing the marchwarden grimace.

Haldir shook his head minutely and set his jaw, his gaze fixed on the stone floor. “I’ve had worse.”

“So it seems.”

The marchwarden looked up and followed AragornÂ’s gaze. Where his tunic hung open, a thin ragged scar stretched over one shoulder along the collarbone and disappeared at where his shirt hid the rest from view.

The elf’s eyes flickered with an unfathomable expression. “An old wound. It complains every now and again.”

“It looks like a sword cut,” Aragorn said with another cursory glance.

“A knife actually.” Haldir let out a slow, steadying breath as his eyes drifted shut, the cool darkness on the backs of his eyelids more comforting than the too-sharp moonlight. “It has never really healed.”

“That’s unusual.” Aragorn had never heard of a wound to elven flesh that eventually did not close. He leaned a little closer. “How old is it?”

“Have you had no word from any others? My brothers? Or my patrol?”

Aragorn realizing that he might have pushed a little too hard pulled back and glanced at the extinguished lantern. “No.” Unconsciously, he scooted closer to the elf, resting his shoulders against the wall beside him. “What is this tunnel anyway? How did you know it was here?”

Haldir threw him a mock-supercilious look. “I know everything, master ranger, every cleft, every vale, every hidden part of this realm. This tunnel was built years and years and years ago – when the Elves were still friendly with the Dwarves of Moria. How they managed that, IÂ’ll never know. They shipped stone down the Celebrant so this could be made in case the elves were ever attacked in great force or needed a swift, invisible retreat across the river. ItÂ’s not oft used though Amdir, our last kingÂ’s father, was said to have fortified it as a holding place against the Enemy before he marched off to join Lord Elrond, the last High KingÂ’s herald…”

“I know who he is. He raised me,” Aragorn said so quietly he wasn’t sure he had even heard himself speak.

But Haldir had clearly heard for he lifted his head a little, surprise glimmering in his eyes. “Did he? What happened to your parents?”

“My mother has been spending more and more time among her northern kin of late,” Aragorn kept his eyes on his hands which fiddled with his flask’s shoulder strap. “My father was killed by orcs in Eriador.”

Haldir lowered his eyes. “It is hard to lose a father.”

Aragorn shrugged. “It was long ago. I was very small at the time.”

“Nevertheless, that is something you do not forget.”

The ranger could only nod; he still had nightmares from time to time of that rainy night eighteen years ago. Determinedly shaking off the gloom, he tucked knees up under his chin and wrapped his arms around them, suppressing a shiver. The cold was beginning to seep into his bones as the night deepened. “How long do you think before your brothers find us?”

Haldir had begun to close his eyes again but he opened them at the ranger’s query. “Rúmil’s tracking skills are appalling at best.”

“That’s not very encouraging.”

“Yes, well, I hadn’t exactly planned my evening thinking I would be trapped here with you all night either,” Haldir retorted with a sideways glare at the ranger which was softened by the twinkle in his eyes. “I’m feeling better… perhaps we can make it back…” He started to rise but a sickening lurch in his head and Aragorn’s firm hand on his chest brought him back down.

“Not quite yet I think,” Aragorn said with the smallest smile twitching his lips. The elf still looked too white in the face for his liking.

Leaning back obediently, Haldir echoed the ranger’s wry grin. “You know, you could give Rúmil a run for his mother hen title.”

“I would be sore tried to best one as fussy as your brother.”

For a few seconds, they only stared at each other then simultaneously began to laugh, all the fear, worry and relief washing through them in a bubble of mirth. Aragorn clasped a hand to his side, his ribs aching but he couldnÂ’t stop even if he wanted to. Suddenly, Haldir clapped a hand over the manÂ’s mouth, stifling his laughter as he looked towards the stairs.

Instantly sober, Aragorn gripped his sword tightly and rose to a crouch as a bright blue light gleamed like a star above their heads. Someone was coming down. The glare of a lantern half-blinded the ranger but he gamely rushed the half-seen figure, his blade at its throat before he was conscious of drawing it. The figure snapped back but found its escape barred by the tunnel wall and narrow stairs.

“Daro! Im mellon lin!”

The human lowered his blade instantly, recognizing the voice. “Rúmil?”

Haldir laughed. “Save us! My brother has come! Now we’re both in trouble…”

The sergeant pulled his hood back and offered the ranger an overly tolerant smile. “For a moment there, Estel, I had believed you my brother. But the sword point was unfamiliar.”

“Very droll, Rúmil, I’m sure,” Haldir said dryly as he pulled himself to his feet, ignoring Aragorn’s supporting hand. “Where are the others?”

Rúmil turned on his elder brother with distinct irritation. “So here I find you. And why exactly would you rather dine under the Celebrant than in my home?”

Haldir rolled his eyes despairingly at Aragorn who began to chuckle. “Where, Rúmil?”

“TheyÂ’re right behind us, Haldir.” But it was not Rúmil who answered. A soft rattle of falling stones and Rameil slid down the stairs to join them, his dark hair matted about his shoulders and his sword unsheathed and glittering. “We found poachers on our borders with their dogs. Over a score of them. We didnÂ’t pick up your trail until after we found them. I left Ancadal to finish rounding them up – they didnÂ’t offer much of a fight. No casualtiesÂ… save maybe one,” Rameil frowned as Aragorn lifted up RúmilÂ’s dropped lantern and the pale light glimmered on dark reddish stains.

Rúmil’s irritation immediately melted away as he scrutinized his brother’s white face. “You’re hurt.”

Haldir hastily pushed himself away from the wall. “I’m fine.”

“How bad is it?” Rameil knew better and addressed his questions to Estel.

Aragorn explained in brief what happened. “I tended it as best I could but I would feel better if Eremae took a look.”

“We’ll do that.”

“Yes, you do that,” Haldir said, pushing past them. “I for one would rather the wind in my face. It’s too crowded in here.” He faltered on the stairs and Rúmil hurriedly caught his arm.

“When I said I would drag him back, I didn’t think it would be literally,” Rúmil muttered to Rameil as they clambered up out of the dark mouth towards the starlight.

———-

After a torturous ordeal at the healerÂ’s, what felt like half a million dosages of some vile concoction and so much gauze and tape he could scarcely bend his arm, Haldir had been released with a clean bill of health, much to his relief – and EremaeÂ’s as well. Now, he stood, tall and stern-faced above the group of men, roped together with unbreakable hithlain and staring at him in mindless terror.

Dyral and his remaining man had not made it to the border before they were apprehended by HaldirÂ’s patrol, led by Rameil. The battle Aragorn had heard in the night had been theirs, brief and futile. Now the captured poachers knelt on the frosted grass, shivering with more than cold, awaiting the marchwardenÂ’s judgment.

With an odd air of déjà vu, Haldir ran his eyes over the line of men, searching every sallow face for eyes that refused to meet his. Rubbing his sore wrist absently, he knelt beside Dyral at the end of the line who brokenly lifted his gaze.

Haldir sucked thoughtfully at his split lip as he considered. “It seems I caught the entire flock,” he observed with only the slightest trace of smugness. “I warned you before that hunting here was not permitted. You did not listen then and you do not listen now.”

“Oh, I’m listening, sir, to be sure I’m listening,” Dyral fawningly raised his head in mockery of attentiveness.

Haldir ignored his obsequiousness and instead pinched a bony forearm. “You are a little lean but there are others here who have much more meat on their bones.”

“Ah, please, sir, we weren’t going to harm you or the boy. It was just a jest,” Dyral was getting desperate, beads of sweat shone on his forehead despite the cool morning. He knew very well that poaching deer on royal lands was punishable by death. “I swear! We weren’t going to do anything!”

Dyral grimaced as at HaldirÂ’s nod his guards jerked him roughly upright and set him on his painful leg.

Aragorn watched, tight-faced, as the elf captain summoned his command to him.

“Take them deeper into the woods and shoot them,” Haldir relayed to Rameil in Westron, knowing perfectly well the only ones able to understand him were Aragorn and the men behind him.

“No! My lord, please!” The poacher’s lame leg gave way as he half-knelt, half-sprawled and grasped beseechingly at Haldir’s cloak.

The elf stepped back, tugging his clothing brusquely from the manÂ’s grasp then turned and spoke rapid Sindarin in RameilÂ’s ear. The second lieutenant smiled and nodded.

Dyral watched this exchange with growing horror. “No, please… really… we never meant any harm to your lordship!”

“Quiet, human.”

“Haldir, you can’t-” Aragorn tried to intervene. The hunter was really rather pathetic. “Really. We’re all right. They don’t need to be-”

“Did I not call for silence, human?” Haldir snapped at him.

Aragorn stared after the unfortunates with numb shock in his eyes as Rameil gathered them up like dogs on one leash. The menÂ’s animals that had been left free bounded after their masters as though puzzled by this bizarre reversal of roles. Uncertainly, the young man turned towards his friend only to find him smiling quietly to himself.

“How can you find any humor in this?” he accused him, appalled. “You just sent those men off to die!”

Several of Rameil’s remaining sentinels stared at the young man in puzzlement. Déorian was the only one who ventured to vocalize his confusion. “What are you so angry about, Estel? He told Rameil to escort them to the border and release them.”

Aragorn gaped at his friend, open-mouthed. Realization finally dawned. “You are evil.”

A decidedly wicked grin passed across the usually austere commander’s face as the trembling humans stumbled into the brush. “And after this they will never think of poaching here again.”

“You made them think they were going to be slain!”

“Yes.”

“You lied!”

“A white lie. Perfectly harmless.” Haldir shrugged one shoulder and turned towards the Nimrodel which sparkled under a coppery, late autumn sun. “Are you coming?”

Still shaking his head, Aragorn followed after the elf, tugging his thick woolen cloak closer about his shoulders. “WinterÂ’s coming early this year. But I donÂ’t think I can stay for much longer. My father was expecting me some weeks back – he might send Elladan and Elrohir after me.”

Haldir pulled a face of mock dismay. “Good grief, those two on the perimeter are about as helpful as a pair of wargs in a pantry.”

Aragorn grinned widely brushing a golden leaf off his shoulder as it swirled down from the heights. “I’m not so restless anymore, now that I know where I’m going. I finally know where I wish to wander. Home.”

“Who were your parents?”

The sudden question caught Aragorn off-guard and he hesitated; not that he didnÂ’t trust Haldir but fear of SauronÂ’s spies had been drastically impressed on him since he had learned of his true heritage. They were everywhere.

“In Lothlórien there can be no evil,” Haldir uncannily saw his thoughts in his face. “You have nothing to fear but even if you will not say perhaps I can guess.” His eyes narrowed scrutinizing the young man. “ItÂ’s been bothering me since last night, how you speak Sindarin as fluent as any elf, which most men cannot do though they be the foster-son of Elrond. He is a charitable lord, good-hearted, generousÂ… and half-elven. His kin chose humanity did he not? So there is a strain of elven blood in all those of the House of Elros. Naturally, Lord Elrond would take in his brotherÂ’s kin-even long-distant kin – such it was when Elendil rode off to war. Isildur left his son in the house of Imladris and never returned thereafter. Unless I am very mistaken then, you are descended from that kin. And most hunted by the Deceiver.”

Aragorn stared at him, astounded. Then slowly nodded. “It is so. I am Aragorn son of Arathorn, untimely Chieftain of the Dúnedain with my father’s death and only living descendant of Isildur son of Elendil King of Gondor. How did you know?”

“I met Isildur once… during the War… I liked him. He was a good man but a little proud,” Haldir’s smile tightened slightly; bitterness of the war’s failure flashed briefly across his face. “You have his father’s chin. And the sword you are wearing was one Isildur gave to his son before he left for the war. It stands to reason you would be kin.”

Aragorn bit his lip, not quite sure whether to be assured by that or not. IsildurÂ’s failure was well known to the peoples of Middle-Earth and had carved a great ragged hole in the nobility of his kin from which they might never recover. The young human, still unfamiliar with his new name and his new responsibilities wasnÂ’t sure if he was up to the task of reversing all that his ancestor had done and meeting an elf, one who had witnessed the destruction of the House of the King no less, made him feel intimidated and even more unsure of himself than before.

But Haldir smiled and it was a softer, warmer smile than anything Aragorn had yet seen on his oft-severe face and automatically he returned it, his heart brightening for a reason he did not know. The marchwarden paused, fingering his worn saber. “I took an oath before the feet of my king to defend the elven people and their alliance with the Kings of Men, to honor them and to fight for them whenever they had need. That oath still holds for me though it was made more than an Age ago. I gave my word and I never break it. To that, I also owe you my life for last night and will give it to you in service should you but ask.”

Aragorn grasped the proffered hand tightly in a warrior’s clasp. “All I ask of you is your friendship. Your service I leave for you to give when and where you choose.”

They walked on in easy silence until they came to the foot of a large mallorn with long white stairs twining upwards to a porch far overhead. When they reached the landing Aragorn folded his hands against the railing and sighed.

“I would rather just be Estel for in that name lies all my childhood, all my happiness.”

“Then Estel you shall be.” Haldir offered a little half-smile as he turned towards the green door that marked the entrance to his brother’s talan. “I would like to learn more of you, Estel of Imladris.”

Aragorn returned it mischievously, echoing the captain’s earlier words. “That is what friends do I suppose?”

“It is.”

The End