The likelihood that they were indeed trapped in the distant past hung like a shroud over each of the hapless survivors of the Battle of Helm’s Deep. Each time they fell asleep, it was with the hope that they would awaken to a bright sunny day in Lórien. However, that desperately desired morning never came. Though their physical strength returned in time, Haldir and his brothers and friends struggled to find healing for their fae.

After each meal, Gilwen accompanied Haldir on a walk through the settlement. Sometimes she led him along the rope bridges suspended between trees which joined the different telain while other times she introduced him to different parts of the forest nearby. However, the constant darkness wore at him. At the midpoint between each meal, she would lead him to a place where he and his warriors could meet and talk amongst themselves, but even this only seemed to remind them of what they had lost.

At one such meeting, the chieftain and the host families joined them rather unexpectedly.

“My friends,” Chieftain Saelon greeted the small group with the salute he had learned from Haldir as the host families assimilated themselves amongst Haldir and his warriors. “I have been watching you for many turns of the stars. It heals my heart to see each of you grow in health. Every ellon added unto the settlement makes our people that much stronger.” He smiled his pride at the group gathered there.

Haldir and his retinue carefully returned wary smiles in response. The chieftain never met with them as a group – preferring to meet with them individually among meals with their host families.

“We have been watching you in your recovery and I have spoken with each of you and your host families many times now. It has not escaped our notice that the color which had come to your faces begins to fade. The daughters who watch over you in your sleep say your dreams remain troubled. They say that you awake in sorrow no matter how peaceful your rest. They also say that no matter what wonders they show you or how fondly the trees look upon you, you still yearn for what you have left behind.”

Haldir heard his fellows’ guilty sighs as they each looked away at the chieftain’s words. Anger flared, threatening his own composure at the chieftain’s admission that their every move was watched – even their sleep! However, even he could not meet the chieftain’s eyes, for despair at being stranded so long and far from home ate away at him as well. Alas for fair Lórien which he loved!

Gilwen, who had seated herself on the ground beside him, quietly took his hand into hers and gave it a reassuring squeeze. He squeezed her hand briefly in return, but did not entirely disengage his fingers from hers, finding her presence oddly comforting.

“It is clear to me that you need some purpose, something for which to strive in our community,” Lord Saelon continued, the tone of his voice drawing the eyes of all present to his face. “A time of hunting draws nigh for your host families. I invite each of you to join the ellyn of your families in their turn at the hunt. I deem you are ellyn of great spirit and I believe that the thrill of the chase may be what you need to draw your breath more deeply.”

The thought of going hunting did not inspire Haldir and, if he correctly interpreted the unenthusiastic glares of his slump-shouldered comrades, they remained uninspired as well.

“Besides,” the chieftain added with a glint of challenge in his soft yet steely gaze, “We have never met warriors before we met you and we would know if spending many ennin in training to protect others really does make an ellon a better hunter.”

Almost as one, the warriors met Haldir’s eyes. Pride may have been a bane of the Noldor, but it was one shared by the Galadhrim as well. Drawing themselves up a bit straighter, Haldir received their barely perceptible nods then regarded the chieftain again, silently cursing his own pride and the conniving ellon’s wisdom as he spoke. “If you would allow us some time for target practice to regain our bow arms, then we will certainly join you in the hunt.”

***********

Haldir cursed and swore as he moved through the dense foliage, snagging his hair on yet another branch. When had he become so clumsy among the trees? It was bad enough that the practice sessions had proven just how weak he and his comrades-in-arms had grown from idleness. Their wounds had been quite severe, but still they all unerringly should have hit the center of the mark on the target every time – especially considering how small the bows were that these Galadhrim had given them to use. These bows had none of the power or force of the bows to which Haldir’s warriors were used. The sword play had been disgraceful as well (at least those weapons had survived the journey from Helm’s Deep) with each of them barely able to swing their weapon with any level of finesse or proficiency. He did not even want to think about how badly they had done with the spear throwing.

Captain Haldir never would have tolerated such sloppiness from any ellon under his command in Lórien – and yet here they were, supposedly Lórien’s finest, but performing as mere shadows of their former selves. Angaril even suggested (only half in jest) that they all commit suicide to keep themselves from having to die of disgrace on the hunt.

Even wearing warrior braids earned them criticism.

“Why not wear your hair pulled back away from your face and bound in a single braid like the rest of us?” Gilwen’s brother Brethil had asked during one of the practice sessions. “It is far more efficient than...” he cautiously examined one of the braids which held Haldir’s hair away from his eyes. “It is more efficient than this…this ornamentation. Perhaps putting more time into practicing with the bow and spear and less into fastening your hair would make you better fighters.”

“We earned these braids in combat!” Ferevellon growled. “They are a sign of accomplishment.”

“Is that so?” one of the ellyn had asked mockingly. “A sign of how poorly you can defend yourselves more like it!”

“Perhaps their settlement uses the braids to identify the ellyn who the ellith should avoid if they desire mighty sons,” one daernaneth with many generations of children had observed.

XXXXXXXXXXX

“For what it is worth, I like the braids,” Gilwen told Haldir after that particularly disastrous practice session. “They do a better job of keeping stray hair away from the eyes than a single braid down the back.”

Carefully, she helped him wash the still tender scar on his back then proceeded to apply a salve to the spectacular new bruises blossoming across his torso and forehead.

When she finished tending him, she sat on the floor across from him, taking his hands in hers. “Haldir, please forgive my people for what they say. You still are very much strangers to us. Who can say how long it will take you to completely heal or if you ever will fully regain what you once had? My people seem to have forgotten that you have endured and overcome so much by simply surviving your injuries let alone the poison.”

When he did not move or respond, she slid closer, drawing Haldir into a comforting embrace. “You and your brothers and friends have my admiration and that of the other ellith who have tended you all since your arrival here. We at least are willing to give you all of the time you need to heal and adjust to living in a strange new place.”

Haldir silently rested his head on her shoulder, too ashamed to even reply.

***********

In all ways, the ellyn of Celos Galen were suitably unimpressed and quite frankly, Haldir could not blame them. To add to the humiliation, he had overheard the edair of their host families talking about how wasteful it was for ellyn to train solely as protectors when gatherers and craftsmen were better with simple bows and spears.

Even worse was when one of the ellith commented to her friends that they must have needed to train all the time because they ‘had such terrible aim that they would have starved as hunters. Lórien was probably glad to be rid of such burdens to the village even if they were handsome ellyn.’

The Lórien ellyn worked themselves as never before trying to regain their skills, but there simply had not been enough time before the hunt. Now they were struggling clumsily with weakened muscles and straining bodies just to keep up with the other ellyn who moved like wraiths through the night-dark trees and underbrush.

Even after three turns of the stars, Haldir and his warriors had nothing to show for their struggles while the other ellyn carried enough meat to feed the village for a good while.

“I do not hold you ellyn at fault,” Damrod reassured them as they picked their way through some underbrush. They were trailing behind the other hunters. “Travelling through the trees and using the bow and spear require great physical strength and prowess. And those ridiculous long knives – I mean…swords – that you carry? They are too long and cumbersome for moving with stealth and speed. It may be that in Lórien the need for folk of your…ah…skills…is…well…different from the needs of our village, however…” He paused a moment shaking his head in obvious disappointment. “I will speak with some of the craftsmen upon your return and see if we can find tasks more suited to your abilities. It may well be that the hunt is not for you.”

The six ellyn of Lórien scowled, their faces flushed with shame at these sentiments which they had heard often enough put far less diplomatically throughout the hunt. The snickers from the others on the hunt who overheard this latest comment did not help matters either.

“No matter how politely put, he is saying we are pretty damn useless,” Fereveldir muttered in Sindarin so the ellyn of Celos Galen would not understand.

“It is not fair that they judge us thusly,” Ferevellon added, glaring mutinously at the adar of his host family making his way ahead of them.

“Silence,” Haldir quietly commanded. “I agree it is not fair, but how should they judge us when they have seen naught but this hunt? Now stop complaining for it makes us appear even weaker than we already seem.”

Switching to the language of the Galadhrim, Haldir wearily conceded for all to hear, “I readily admit that we clearly are not at our best right now. I think that our injuries and the poisoning affected us more deeply than we realized. However, it is our hope that you will...”

Haldir stopped suddenly, his hand instinctively going for his sword. A glance to either side told him that his suddenly still Lórien comrades had sensed it, too: a brush against the fae of something evil even such as they had felt countless times while patrolling the borders near Moria.

They were not alone.

Damrod patiently made a show of stopping though the other ellyn continued on, shaking their heads in disapproval and some laughing at the silently drawn swords and wary stances Haldir and his men had assumed.

“Haldir,” Damrod called in mild exasperation. “What…”

“Hsst!” Haldir warned quietly. “Up in the trees…”

Damrod looked around perplexed. “I see nothing. What are you so....”

But Haldir sternly waved a cautioning hand, hissing. “Be silent! They pass over our heads even now.”

The trees cried out as black shapes moved swift as shadows through the branches. Familiar chills ran down Haldir’s spine while he watched.

As soon as the creatures moved away, Rúmil murmured, “I counted ten of them.”

“Damn, they were big!” Orophin quietly exclaimed.

In worried wonder, Damrod whispered, “I never even heard them coming. What are they? How did you know?”

“It is our job to know,” Angaril replied as if that were explanation enough. “The scent of fresh blood must have drawn them.”

“But they ignored us…,” Ferevellon said gesturing to Damrod’s kill.

Nearby, screams rent the air.

“In favor of greater prey,” his twin finished, nodding in the direction of the screaming hunters.

Leaving a stunned Damrod behind, Haldir and his warriors charged ahead, the lust of battle surging through them, giving them strength. Reflex took over as many ennin of training and the experience of many battles took charge of their bodies. Under a thickness of trees, hideous black hairy creatures with many legs attacked the other hunters. Sharp pointed legs tore elven flesh while other monsters sucked blood from the dead animals. The hunters never had the chance to draw their bows and only the swiftest managed to raise a spear in hapless defense.

Swift and deadly, the march wardens engaged the giant spiders. Swords slashed as the wardens danced around the claws, hacking limbs and stabbing glowing eyes. The twins dove and each rolled under a spider, slashing upward into the soft unprotected bellies before rolling away again, barely escaping the spray of black blood. In a short amount of time, the spiders all lay dead in crumpled heaps, while the other hunters, many of which were wounded, stared in amazement.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Edair-fathers

Fae-spirit(s)

Ennin- Sindarin form of yéni - a period of 144 years