Part Three
Haldir, Marchwarden of Lórien, was just returning from his five day patrol of the Golden
Wood when he saw his brothers running towards him anxiously, no doubt eager to share
news of their latest journey. He was slightly tired, but still eager to hear the voices of
Orophin and Rúmil, who were always a comfort to him. Well, almost always. Sometimes
they were nothing but trouble, and he was the one held responsible for them. Generally he
did not mind, though he never let them know that. After all, they had only each other at
the end.
He was proud of them, proud of how far they had come, from being known as the
mischief-makers of Lórien to being among the most trusted of Galadriel’s Galadhrim
warriors. He knew it meant more to him than it did to them that she often sent them on
her own mysterious errands, some of which were set for the simple purpose of teaching
them lessons. He wondered vaguely, as they approached, if this past had been one of
those.
Even Lord Celeborn was coming to admire Orophin and Rúmil, Haldir thought. There had
been a time when they were sent to him for punishment nearly once a month. Still, they
were older now, and in his deepest, unspoken heart Haldir feared the king’s interest in
them. There had been a time when Celeborn’s interest had been turned upon Haldir. Haldir
had turned him aside, and had felt the subtle hatred of the ruler since that time, though
never was it shown in the presence of Galadriel. He imagined that she knew, but such
discrepancies were never spoken of between them. Haldir pushed aside his dark thoughts
as his brothers drew near.
“Haldir!” said Rúmil, always the less reserved of the pair. “You will not believe what we
found in the Bay of Belfalas!”
“You make it sound like a treasure, Rúmil,” Orophin said, showing traces of the same
haughty scorn often apparent in Haldir’s own manner. It reminded him sharply of how
much they looked up to him and learned from him, both good and bad.
“Oh, but you find him a treasure, do you not, Orophin?” Rúmil teased. Orophin’s manner
became even more still and Haldir noticed a tinge of pink along his pointed ears, a subtle
sign of his embarrassment.
“Him?” he asked, interrupting. If he let them stand there and peck at each other, he would
never hear the news.
“We found an elf in the waters,” Orophin explained.
Haldir raised a brow. “Truly?”
“He was unconscious, barely alive,” Rúmil added. “Oro pulled him out and I taught him to
breathe again. Now he lies in the care of Galadriel.”
“It has been three days since we returned and he wakes not,” Orophin said with concern.
“Galadriel has sat by his side night and day.”
“Then this need not concern you any longer,” Haldir said, hiding the tease from his tone.
“You may go about your duties, and--”
The pair protested, unable to hide their excitement.
“Orophin has hardly left his side as well. If you ask, me--”
“No one asked you, Rúmil!”
“I think he is a bit smitten with our guest!”
“Who is he?” Haldir said, ignoring the implication to Orophin’s apparent relief.
“It is not known,” said Orophin.
“Galadriel knows. Surely she must,” Rúmil insisted. “She knows all.”
“She told us that she suspects the nature of his identity, but she has not revealed it to us,”
Orophin explained to Haldir.
Haldir nodded. Well, he thought, she probably did know, then. Something about this tale
was striking a bell within him, but he could not put a finger on exactly what it was. An elf
found drowning in the Bay of Belfalas...
“I think he is very old indeed,” Orophin added gravely, “And that perhaps he was in the
water for a very long time.”
“Without drowning?” Rúmil scoffed. “He could not have been there long--”
“Then how is it that Galadriel sent us to find him a week before?”
“Now who is it that questions the ways of Galadriel, Orophin?”
Ah, but there it was, Haldir thought. He wondered if his mind was following the path of
Galadriel’s in this.
“Rúmil,” he interrupted, “Perhaps you will go to Galadriel for me and tell her I have
returned. I have need of rest and will be in my talan. There is little to report from the
march. I will deliver the news later.”
“Very well.”
Rúmil looked at Haldir in surprise, but then he grinned and ran off to do as he was asked.
This pleased Haldir, as he was not always as obedient as Haldir would have preferred.
Orophin remained, shifting from foot to foot as if he would have liked to say more but
knew not where to begin. Haldir motioned for Orophin to follow him and together they
headed up the stairs into the large, ancient tree where both of their rooms lay.
“Tell me, Oro,” Haldir said as they walked together, “Do you know the tale of Amroth
and Nimrodel?”
“Of course, who does not?” Orophin said, clearly wondering why Haldir was asking him
about the ancient legend. “Please, do not ask me to sing it for you. It stuck in my mind
that entire summer I was attempting to learn the lute until I wished to kill myself.”
Haldir chuckled softly and hummed a few notes of the tune, until Orophin reached out as
if to push him. Haldir gave him a stern look and he withdrew, which disappointed Haldir
slightly. Orophin would never have hesitated to push Rúmil (even if shoving each other
around on a staircase was dangerous and foolish.) Had Haldir become so foreboding that
even his brothers dared not tease with him? It saddened him slightly, but this thought was
merely a distraction from the matter at hand.
They reached the top of the tree, where Haldir’s talan was, and he led Orophin inside. It
was a large and spacious room, and being here was a comfort to him. The view from his
windows and his small balcony was breathtaking. He could see nearly all of the Golden
Wood, which was important to his position as Marchwarden, but never failed to please
him nonetheless.
Haldir had little furniture -- a bed and a few chairs, and a trunk in which he kept his
clothing and his weapons, but he needed little and so it was enough. Luxuries in
Lothlórien were more sparse than in the great Elven cities of Imladris and Mirkwood,
which he had visited in his youth, but Haldir thought it was the most beautiful of all three.
It was home, after all.
Orophin sat down in one of the chairs, his posture straight and noble. Haldir slowly took
off his cloak and removed most of his weapons -- his bow and quiver, and his long sword.
He left his small concealed knives. Since he had become Marchwarden, he never felt
comfortable completely unarmed. He had seen too much on the borders of the wood,
especially of late. Danger was growing in Middle-earth, he knew. Eventually it would
come even to Lothlórien.
“Haldir,” Orophin said thoughtfully, “Something strange happened to me when we were at
the Bay of Belfalas. I stood at the edge of a cliff, and without thought nearly threw myself
off.”
Haldir turned around from his task, frowning. It took a great deal of reserve not to show
how alarmed this declaration left him. “Why?” he asked, his jaw set.
“I... I know not. Rúmil pulled me back.”
“I am glad that one of you possesses some sense.”
Orophin’s ears pinked again, and Haldir turned back to his bed, folding up his cloak and
putting his weapons where they belonged. He waited for Orophin to make the connection
between this near accident of his and what Haldir had asked him on the stairs.
“Haldir? The story of Amroth and Nimrodel. Amroth threw himself into the sea...”
“Yes,” Haldir said.
“You do not think that the elf we found could be this lost king of Lórien, do you?”
“I have not even seen him,” Haldir said, “So it would be foolish of me to have such a
thought, I imagine.”
“That story is a legend.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you mention it?”
“It simply came to mind when you told me of your discovery,” Haldir said.
He turned back around and looked at his brother. Orophin looked so concerned, so
genuine, that it moved Haldir deeply. His brother already felt something for this
mysterious, unconscious elf. It was written in earnest on his tender face. Haldir hoped that
this would not lead to disaster. Matters of the heart so often did.
“If he truly is Lord Amroth, he has been the prisoner of the sea for thousands of years,”
Orophin said, awe resounding in his voice. “What could have preserved him? How could
he remain alive? How--”
“Haldir!” Rúmil burst into the talan, breathless from speeding up the stairs. “Galadriel
wants to see you!”
Inwardly Haldir sighed. He truly would have liked to rest first, but he dared not refuse the
orders of the Lady of Light. He nodded, clapped Oro on the shoulder, and started out the
door. For a moment the Marchwarden paused in the doorway, turning back to look at his
brothers. Rúmil had thrown himself into a chair, sprawling over it.
“Do not touch my sword,” he said, then he turned and left.
Haldir found Galadriel in a small room that she kept in her own tree to tend to those
whom she wished to keep close when they needed her aid. The lady was alone, except for
the unconscious elf who lay on the bed. She perched at the edge of this bed, her long, pale
fingers stroking his waves of golden hair. The elf was unmoving, his eyes closed. He was
very beautiful, Haldir thought, immediately struck by the sight of him. No wonder Orophin
was so enraptured.
There was an air about him that told Haldir he was very old indeed, though he looked it
not. Yes, Orophin was right, and Haldir began to wonder if he was not right in his
supposition himself. There was always truth in Elven legends, even in annoying ballads
that were taught to beginning students of the lute. That had been an awful summer, when
Orophin had been discovering his lack of talent for the instrument. At least he had a clear
voice.
Could this be Amroth, the lost king of Lórien?
“I believe it is,” Galadriel said, reading his heart. “But you should not have brought this
news to Orophin. I do not think he is ready for it.”
“Forgive me, my lady,” Haldir said with surprise. “I simply spoke my thoughts.”
“I thought you had learned to keep your thoughts to yourself,” she said in a gentle tone,
but it was a rebuke just the same. He felt lucky that he did not blush the same way
Orophin did. “Understand, Haldir, what this means.”
Haldir was not sure that he did, but he nodded anyway. He had many questions, but he
dared not ask them now. He knew that she would answer them when she desired to, and
not before.
“What news from the borders?” she asked, looking deeply into his eyes, which he found
slightly unnerving, but he did not look away.
“There is much orc activity,” Haldir said gravely. “They stay away from the wood,
because they know we are watching, but I fear they will dare come closer, soon.”
“They will seek to replenish their ranks, as they fall,” Galadriel said, her voice heavy with
sadness. “They will seek to take elves as their prisoners.”
Haldir nodded again. “Every one of us is on his guard. While I am leader of the march
they will not ascend into Caras Galadhon.”
Galadriel smile, and this warmed him. “I have faith beyond measure in you, Haldir.”
“Thank you,” Haldir said.
He would have continued in the minor details of the report, but Galadriel glanced sharply
down at the elf who lay in the bed. Haldir followed her gaze. The elf’s eyes were open.
They were large and blue, but dull, without sparkle, as if he still lay at the border of death.
His lips moved slowly, but no sound came forth. Galadriel bent and kissed his mouth.
Haldir felt breath go out of his own body as her lips caressed the other elf’s with absolute
tenderness. When she sat back, the elf blinked, then smiled at her.
“Amroth,” he said. “I am Amroth.”
