All Roads Lead Home

In those cool grey eyes, Druri felt he glimpsed all things at once: youth and age, great laughter and terrible sadness, unquenchable fire and unbreakable steel. The lad’s breath caught somewhere halfway between his gut and throat as those eyes swept over, around, and through him. The Elf lord’s expression was patient but expectant.

“Druri...” the name gushed out in a gasp of awe, “son of Dwoin... at your service, m’lord!”

The young dwarf bowed as low as his knees would allow, pressing his chin to his chest and avoiding Lord Elrond’s gaze for as long as he could.

“Well met, young Druri,” came a steady voice that easily filled the entire room and seemed to expand its walls. “Though I know that is not your true name.”

Druri glanced up in some confusion.

Elrond gave a thin smile. “I have learned many things of your folk over my years of dealing with them,” he said. “But no dwarf has ever given me his name in Khuzdul.”

The lad wet his lips, unsure of how to react.

“Why do your people hide their true selves in that way, I wonder?”

“I...” Druri cleared his throat. “That is for a wiser tongue than mine to answer, m’lord.”

The Elf lord laughed, and the candle and fireplace burned all the brighter for it. “Well spoken, youngling! Your uncle has taught you quite well, it seems. But please, do have a seat.”

It was an indisputable order wrapped up in the soft tones of a suggestion. Druri shuffled over to the bed, and lowered himself gently upon it. An involuntary sigh welled up from within him as his feet finally bequeathed the weight of his body to the mattress. How long had it been since he last sat down...? Druri’s drowsy memory couldn’t remember.

Elrond settled himself into one of the room’s chairs, positioned just an arm’s length away from the dwarf. His robes seemed to expand to cover the entire seat, making it his own from the moment he touched it. Druri clasped his hands in front of him and tried to stare a hole into the floor. But some unknown force pulled his gaze upward, straight into the heart of Elrond’s bottomless eyes.

“Tell me, Druri... what brings you and your uncle to my realm?”

“Well, m’lord,” Druri’s fingers fidgeted amongst themselves like writhing worms, “my uncle has received an offer to become an officer in the Blue Mountains, where most of our kin now dwell. He decided to take it, and to bring me with him.”

The Elf lord nodded calmly, as if that were the only explanation Druri could have possibly given. “A warrior, then?”

“A great warrior,” Druri nodded with a flash of filial pride.

“With the wounds to show it.”

Druri grimaced, and nodded.

“You did not know of his injury before tonight?”

Druri felt Elrond’s sure hand guiding the conversation just where he wanted it to go, and could only give another helpless nod in response.

“But you had witnessed its repercussions.”

“Headaches,” Druri managed, unable to look away from the grey mists that hovered about the Elf lord’s pupils.

“How many have you observed?”

“Three,” said Druri, quickly. “Two since our journey began.”

“And he lost consciousness every time?”

“Every time.”

“For how long?”

“Usually just through the night.”

Elrond nodded, and then the intensity of his eyes and voice seemed to loosen their grip on the lad. “I ask you these questions, Druri, because I wish to ascertain the severity of your uncle’s condition... and if it is worsening.”

Druri swallowed heavily, and gave a timid nod. Elrond regarded him in silence, and Druri suddenly felt like they were the only two beings left in Middle Earth. Every part of the young dwarf wanted to revolt in fear, but something about the ancient Elf’s presence calmed and steadied him.

“From what Master Haluin tells me, you and your elder have proven the mettle of your race once again. I commend you for your bravery.”

“My deepest thanks, m’lord,” Druri whispered.

“But I shall detain you from your rest no longer. My healers, Lindir and Avenhel, shall watch over you and your uncle through the night.”

Druri nodded, feeling a great heaviness beginning to drape itself over his senses. Elrond stood with a soft rustle of his robes, picked up his candle, and began to glide toward the door. Halfway there, however, he stopped and turned to cast one grey eye over his shoulder.

“Druri...”

“Aye, m’lord?”

“Do you know of any reason that your companion Haluin would have to fear me?”

The lad felt a shiver slither through his core. “Nae, m’lord. I can think of none.”

Elrond gave the barest of nods, but his lone eye lingered on Druri for another moment longer before turning away. In a few seconds, he was gone.

Druri’s head crashed back upon his pillow. Too weak to even pull the covers over himself, he slipped gradually into slumber. But thoughts and fears — for Jokim, for Haluin — held him from giving in entirely. What would become of them all now? What could he do? What could he do?

The lad gave one last desperate sigh, before his head sunk under the waves and the swift tides of sleep pulled him out into a shadowy ocean of dreams. He was smothered on all sides, but utterly alone.

I feel utterly alone...

Those words echoed in Haluin's mind, for even as he lay gazing out through the large open windows at the stars fading in the first blush of dawn, he suddenly found himself envying Earendil. What is it like for you, Mariner? Is there some astral wind that soothes your brow as Vingilot plies her way through darkling seas? Does Elwing yet fly to meet you, or are you also now bereft in your eternity?

Unable to bear his thoughts any longer, he turned his head away as silent tears slowly coursed down his cheeks. He wished with all his heart that Elrond would come to him, that he could confess everything, knowing that whatever judgement the wise elf would make, it would be over and he could rest at last.

The pain of being among my people is too much for me to bear. Ah, Elbereth, would that it were otherwise and that I could rejoice with them, be a part of them once again, rather than burden them with the unrest my presence will surely bring about. A tortured sob shook his body. At least Jokim and Druri are safe now. That is all that matters.

The once mischievious elf that was Haluin found his thoughts becoming more and more disordered and he was at a loss how to control them. Guilt formed them into whips that his mind used to scourge him with, until at last he cried out, "Enough, enough! I cannot bear it!"

The door to his chamber burst open and Haluin found himself staring tearfully at a worried Eldarin. "Haluin? Mellon, is your fever worsening?" The tall elf came to sat on the side of the bed and pressed a cool hand to Haluin's forehead, his brow furrowing. "What are you doing here?" Haluin asked hoarsely, his voice rough from weeping. "I was concerned." came the ready reply, "It is not often we find our kinsmen wounded in the high passes." He looked closer at Haluin's red-rimmed eyes. "I fear you suffer grievously from your wound. Shall I call Lord Elrond from seeing to the dwarf?"

Haluin chuckled dryly. "Yes, I suffer from a wound...but not this one. Please, do not worry Lord Elrond on my behalf. My friend's condition is more serious, I deem, than my own." Eldarin did not look convinced. "Come, toron, we are warriors, and warriors should not lie to one another."

Haluin replied evasively. "Will you help me up, so that I might watch Arien as she rises? I weary already of this bed." Eldarin eyed him sceptically, but after a few more persuasive words, he steadied Haluin so that he could walk the few steps needed to watch the sunrise.

It was not long before Arien rose, joyously heralding a new day, clad in brilliant hues of orange and yellow. The last shreds of violet night scattered and Haluin found the courage to hope once more. Here, perhaps, in this sanctuary of peace and serenity, Haluin Gilmirion would no longer be exiled, but welcomed.

Elbereth, Lady, if you hear me still, heal Jokim and ease young Druri's mind. They have become surprisingly dear to me in this short time.

"Come, Haluin...you must rest." Eldarin said quietly, but Haluin was reluctant to return to his sick bed. "Nay, Eldarin. I wish to enjoy all the beauty I see stretched out before me. This valley is perfection itself." "Aye, long may it remaion so, yet I fear...I fear for the future, mellon. Silence fell between them at that, for Haluin knew all too well of the darkness brooding in the south of Mirkwood. The Elves of Middle Earth were fading even as their enemies seemed to be gaining in strength and neither Haluin nor Eldarin dared to look into places only the Wise could see.

Somehow, at some point during the night, someone had slipped the covers out from under Druri and buried him with them. The lad hadn’t so much as stirred.

When his thoughts drifted back ashore, Druri found himself burrowed deep within a pair of quilts, curled up into a ball and feeling shamefully comfortable. Beams of full morning sunlight burst from around the edges of the drapes, coating the guest room with a fuzzy glow. Druri murmured to himself and rolled over onto his opposite side, drawing the covers closer. He had never been allowed to fully embrace such indolent pleasures before. Why, on any other morning, Uncle Jokim would have long since shaken him out of bed, with a grunted curse and maybe a quick shove to spark the lad’s senses...

Wait... Uncle Jokim!

Druri suddenly remembered the events of the past night, and felt a stabbing need to see his uncle and know of his progress. He attempted to roll out of bed in one fluid motion, but his legs tangled in the blankets, and the lad and all of his wrappings tumbled to the floor with a dull thud.

Just as Druri was wading out of his cloth maze, the door gusted open to reveal Avenhel. She placed a single hand to her lips in surprise and barely contained her amusement.

“Good day, m’lady!” came Druri’s chipper young voice, with a quilt’s soft corner still hanging over his head like a cowl.

Avenhel struggled to maintain a courteous and professional distance as she replied. “Are you in need of any assistance this morning, Master Druri?”

“Nae,” declared Druri, casting the last cotton tentacle off of his body. “None!” He stood, and gave a slight stumble, but quickly regained his balance.

“If I may...” Avenhel approached him with airy steps and placed the back of her hand to the young dwarf’s forehead. “Well! It seems you have overcome your fever.”

“I had a fever?” Druri rubbed the spot where the Elfess had touched his skin.

She nodded, her dark tresses bobbing slightly as her autumn eyes held sway over Druri. “Only a slight one, when I tucked you in last night.”

“So that was you,” Druri blushed without noticing it as Avenhel gave him a patient, mother’s smile. He felt predestined to say the wrong things in front of her, as if wicked spirits were ever swaying his words in the wrong direction. Her gaze was slowly weakening the lad as he bobbled for a statement to make.

“My uncle!” he blurted, with unexpected force. He took a deep breath and then continued, “How is he today?”

Avenhel knelt to pick up the tangled mess of blankets on the floor, her every move seeming carefully choreographed. “Lord Elrond attended to him throughout the night. Your uncle’s skull has settled into its shape over the years that he has borne his injury, so there is little that can be done there. However...” her gaze tensed for the hint of a moment. “My Lord spoke of a spiritual healing that has yet to commence for Sir Jokim. I do not fully understand his meaning, for he practices his art on a different plane than Lindir or I.”

She stood, with the cloth bundled in her elegant hands. “Yet I witnessed a silent struggle between the two of them, even after we had sedated your uncle. Lord Elrond placed a hand upon the wound and closed his eyes. He was... searching for something, it seemed. And I could see in Sir Jokim’s face... the desperation, the fury... of a warrior mounting a determined defense. So it went for several hours, to little or no gain. In the end, however... it was as if they suddenly reached a mutual understanding. Your uncle finally dropped into a deep repose, and Lord Elrond broke off the contact with a placid look in his eyes. What it all means, however...”

Avenhel shook her head, and set to making the bed again. Even as she retold the events of the previous night, she sought to comprehend them herself. Druri wasn’t quite sure what to make of the tale, either, but shuffled his feet and made an offering to fill the silence that followed her speech.

“He is rather stubborn, my uncle,” he said. “Even an Elf Lord would have great difficulty calling him out from behind his defenses.”

“I hear that word applied quite often to your folk... stubborn.” Avenhel remade the bed, casting the sheets and quilts back atop the mattress one after the other.

Her back was to him when she spoke, and Druri tried to read between her inflections to catch the true meaning of her words. For all his effort, he still found her impossibly distant. “May I visit my uncle, m’lady?”

“Quietly,” she replied, giving him a brisk glance. “He is slated for a full morning of sleep today, and we do not wish even his nephew disturbing him.”

“I shall tip-toe,” said Druri, giving a dramatic bow.

“And take some fruit, Master Druri. I shall have the rest of your breakfast delivered shortly.”

The lad glanced at the bowl of fruit, sizing up its delicacies eagerly. He began to reach for an apple, but reconsidered upon imagining all of the crunchy noises it would make in Jokim’s room. Instead, he cupped a bunch of grapes in his hand.

“Well done,” remarked Avenhel, sending the young dwarf on his way with another sunburst smile.

---

Druri traced the outline of Jokim’s dented skull, squinting his eyes as if trying to decipher a line of Elvish text. Even knowing it was there, seeing the ghastly wound’s silhouette still shook him. His breakfast — seed cake, cheese, honeyed tea and his handful of grapes — went untouched. The lad sat slumped in a too-large green armchair, watching his uncle’s body rise and fall while Lindir stood nearby.

“There is little you can do for him now, beardling,” the Elf said. “He shall remain this way through the evening, at the least.”

Jokim looked completely at peace, sleeping on his left side with his head sunken so deep into the pillow that Druri could make out only one shut eye and the hint of his uncle’s gaping mouth. They had dressed him in what looked like a green dressing gown, something that Jokim would no doubt object to when he awoke, Druri thought. Outside, birds twittered and sang over the top of each other, while a set of wind chimes whispered mysteriously in the light morning breeze.

Druri leaned his head into the side of his fist with a sigh. “I don’t understand why he never told me about it...”

Lindir smoothed out his sleeves and turned his gaze toward the window. “Pride...” he suggested, then paused. “Fear.”

The young dwarf glanced up in surprise with an unknowing scowl of anger. “Fear?”

“He murmured your name quite a few times throughout the night,” Lindir replied, with head tilted back as his cool eyes regarded Druri along the length of his nose. “Lord Elrond had to settle him down by force.”

Druri shook his head emphatically. “I do not believe you.”

Lindir shrugged his shoulders. “Believe what you will, Master Druri. Believe that any mortal can live without fear.”

A look of frustration flashed over Druri’s face before he tore his gaze back to the slumbering form of Jokim.

The Elf chuckled with a noticeable lack of amusement. “Go on, little master, eat your breakfast. I can see you’ve been forcing yourself to refrain. Once you’re through with that, pay Sir Haluin a visit. He shall benefit from your presence more than this snoring lump here, I can assure you.”

Druri glanced up, giving one last silent message of resentment before tucking into his meal. He ate without relish and left without a word, going across the hall to ask Avenhel to escort him to Haluin’s room.

"Lindir said I could...no, I won't stay too long...yes, I'll speak quietly!"

Weary though he was, Haluin grinned at the exasperation in Druri's voice. The young dwarf was apparently just outside his door and being lectured by one of the many pedantic healers caring for the injured elf. He made an effort therefore to rouse himself. It would not do for Druri to find him looking as bad as he felt just now.

The door opened soundlessly and a hand, closely followed by an anxious face appeared from the other side. "Haluin? Haluin, you're awake!" Druri's head disappeared again for a moment. "See? I told you he wouldn't be sleeping!" Smugly, he entered Haluin's spacious room, then promptly sneezed violently as he breathed in the scent of sandalwood and cedar that had been burning in a censer near the bedside.

Chuckling to himself, Haluin waved his young friend over, delighted to see how much better he looked. "It seems elvish food and drink agree with you, young Druri. Come, sit near me and tell me how it goes with you and your uncle. I must confess, I have missed you." Haluin's heartfelt words soothed Druri's irritation with Lindir somewhat, so he dragged a chair up to the opposite side of the bed from where the incense still burned, slumping into it with an air of annoyance.

"Elvish vittles are fine, Haluin...but some Elves..." Despite his discomfort, Haluin sat up a little further. "What has happened, Druri? Has someone said something to offend you? Not all elves are as open to your people as I am, so if there has been any..." Druri glanced up at the elf with a frown. "You don't have to protect me, Haluin. I can take care of myself."

"I have no doubt on that score, youngling. I ask so that I might speak with whomsoever caused the affront. Lord Elrond is not the most tolerant of beings and we need his goodwill just now. Think of your uncle and tell me." Grudgingly, Druri told Haluin what Lindir had said to him as Haluin listened quietly. When he had finished, Druri glanced over at his friend. "I know you think Uncle Jokim is proud, that all dwarves are proud...is that wrong?"

A wry smile was his only answer for a few moments, as Haluin closed his eyes in thought. Not half so proud as some Elves, my young friend. The elf reached out and clasped Druri's shoulder. "Of course I think you are proud! Your people have much to be proud of. My people on the other hand...ai, they think they are "Eru's Chosen". The only beings fit to grace Valinor, to be in the presence of the Valar." His hand fell away as he became suddenly withdrawn.

"Does Lord Elrond feel like that? That he's better than us?" Druri's question held a tinge of panic and Haluin instantly sought to comfort him. "Nay, nay, Druri. Do not let the thoughts of a feverish mind distress you. Forgive me for misleading you. Lord Elrond is one of the most powerful Elves still living in this Middle Earth and we are very, very fortunate that he has taken us in as he has. I have no doubt whatever that he will do all that is in his power to heal your uncle, never fear!"

The conviction in Haluin's voice was like the sound of hammer on stone to him, solid and reassuring. Haluin had never misled them, so he placed his trust in the wounded elf lying before him. "Oh, I never told you how Uncle is! Lindir says that there is more to be done, but that he rests well. He didn't say when Lord Elrond would be here to see to you though." As though suddenly nudged, Druri asked, "Would you like some water, or...or something?"

"Some water would be wonderful. Thank you, young master." Haluin replied softly. Dread returned at thought of Elrond coming to tend to him and he found himself wondering if such dread was warranted. After all, he had just assured Druri of Elrond's gracious nature...but had it been truth, or merely reassurance?

Druri dutifully returned with water in hand, but the glass he carried was the only thing that passed into Haluin’s room. The healer at the door stood to ward the young dwarf off, launching a stiff gaze that promised great discomfort if the lad were to attempt to disturb his patient any further. A sense of powerlessness numbed Druri, as he once again found himself set against an Elf’s eternal well of experience.

So he turned, dejected and uncertain, shuffling back down the hall with eyes downcast. He almost failed to note Lord Elrond approaching him, sensing the regal aura only at the last moment. In an instant, the lad attempted to shift from his sulking gait to an ornate bow, but the gesture came off as forced and choppy. Druri looked up just in time to freeze under the Elrond’s pale grey eyes and witness a slight cant of his head in response.

The dwarf’s gaze swung to follow the Elf lord to the entrance of Haluin’s room. There came no gesture or sound from Elrond, but the healer’s taught exterior melted and he stepped aside with a lowered head. Elrond entered Haluin’s room, closing the door with a stern sense of finality that reverberated throughout the hall. Druri lingered in the abject silence that followed, only to turn and hurry away.

“Good luck, Haluin,” he muttered under his breath.

Retracing his steps back to his room, Druri found Avenhel standing by the window. She had opened the drapes, exposing the room to a flood of sunlight that cast her figure into shadow. She had been looking out through the glass, into the lush maze of trees that lay beyond. The sound of dragging footsteps turned her head. There stood Druri, appearing trapped within the entryway. He leaned on the doorframe, looking at her but not quite looking at her.

“Welcome back, Master Druri.” She turned to face him fully. “How does Sir Haluin fare?”

The young dwarf took a few wandering paces into the room. “Weary, but much improved. Lord Elrond is attending to him now.”

“And you?” Avenhel’s brows shifted upward, and Druri immediately knew that she saw everything. Yet he still puffed out his chest and pressed a dashing smile.

“One night’s sleep was all I needed.”

“You are fit for a walk, then?”

“Why, lead the way!”

Druri followed the Elfess without really knowing why.

---

They strolled along the terraces that swept down to the valley, before handcrafted stone gave way to clean-cut dirt paths. Avenhel swayed in time with the winds, her eyes closed as she listened to sounds that Druri strained to hear. Music and voices seemed to hide just beneath every noise — the rustle of leaves, the babble of running water, the chirp and scuttle of unseen animals. The young dwarf glanced to the stream that snaked alongside their path, and thought he saw a figure standing in the water’s reflection. When he looked up, however, there was nothing.

Suddenly, Avenhel broke from her trance.

“Where is home for you and your uncle, Master Druri?”

The lad grimaced as he considered the question. It was not so easy to answer as it seemed. “Everywhere... and nowhere.” He had stumbled upon the response, but nothing could sound more correct to his ears.

“Why do you say that?” She slowed her pace to regard her patient more carefully.

Druri’s gaze plummeted to the ground. “Well... Uncle was born in the Grey Mountains, but the dragons forced our folk out when he was very small. And then he lived all over... in the Lonely Mountain, the Iron Hills and abroad. My parents raised me in Erebor, but then... well, I had to move, too.” Pure dwarvish rage twisted his expression for a moment, but it soon went rubbery and confused once again.

“And that is how you fell into his care?” Avenhel’s words seemed to weave their way around the walls of fear and distrust that might have prevented Druri from speaking any further.

“Aye,” Druri nodded, and looked directly at her. She silently coaxed him onward. “We fled to the Iron Hills after the attack. They put all of the children who could not find their parents into one ring of tents. I kept waiting...” Hours and hours he waited, but he would not tell that part of the tale in full, even to Avenhel. “And eventually Uncle Jokim came to claim me. I’ve lived with him ever since.”

For the Elfess, the most revealing parts of Druri’s speech lurked in the long shadows between the words he had chosen. Avenhel kept an eye on Druri even after he had lapsed into sullen silence. She had never before seen a dwarf so young, and marveled at how stiff maturity and adolescent uncertainty seemed to do battle over every action Druri took. “How old are you, Master Druri?”

The lad kicked at a pebble as his cheeks flushed to match the curling red hairs on his cheeks. “Twelve.” He tried to prop the number up higher than it was with a proud and defiant tone, but he withered under Avenhel’s laughing smile.

“You are quite remarkable, young master, for a lad of twelve years.”

“Thank you...” He fled her eyes, which glinted with sunlight and merriment.

They crossed a bridge over the stream and ventured deeper into the forests of Rivendell, where meadowlarks called after one another and the light dimmed. It felt like a land of dreams to Druri, and suddenly his steps became all the more uncertain. Memories that he had once scattered to the winds came gusting back to fill his mind. Fear seized him, but still he followed Avenhel, unable to break from her gentle wake.

In truth, he would follow her to the darkest corner of the realm, if she willed it so.

The soft sound of the door opening drew Haluin's attention from speaking with the elf attending him. It had come at last, the moment which he dreaded most.

The lord of Imladris nodded to the attendant for privacy and he wasted no time in leaving their presence. Elrond drifted closer to the bed where Haluin lay, his eyes never leaving those of the great elf. A swift, feather-light touch unwrapped the bandages, exposing the draining wounds. Briefly, Elrond's brow creased ever so slightly as he explored the torn flesh with the expertise born of millenia of experience.

"How fares Master Jokim, my lord?" Haluin asked nervously. "The lad tells me he has not died, yet his wound was terrible..." " Rest easy, Haluin Gilmirion." came the soft reply. "He is made of very stern stuff. I have no doubt that my humble skills can yet be brought to bear on his behalf." Haluin smiled tentatively. "I am certain that young Druri will be most grateful to hear that, my lord, as am I."

Elrond's piercing glance flicked to Haluin's face for an instant as he cleansed the elf's arm with herb-infused water that had been set aside for the task. "It is not for the dwarf that I am concerned, my impetuous friend. News has reached my ears of the impending arrival of some of your kin from Mirkwood, as many now call it. Alas for the beauty that was once Eryn Lasgalen!" he sighed.

Haluin's eyes widened in fear. "But why, my lord?" "Ah, Haluin. Can you not guess?" Elrond reached across and gently lifted the damning braid into view. "B-but how? Why now?" He could feel his face drain of colour and his arm began to throb painfully as he thought frantically, trying to remember what had betrayed him.

"You must calm yourself, mellon. I will not have you undo the healing I am about to work upon you." "Forgive me, my lord. I have no wish to hinder you." He said as he lay back against the pillows then, trying with all his might not to think of what awaited him once they arrived. After a time, his efforts were rewarded as the pain that had been his nemesis for days began to fade away under Elrond's ministrations.

His mind clear for the first time in a long while, Haluin turned gratefully to Elrond, who sat next to him, silently assessing his improvement. "My lord...what will happen? Will you deliver me into their hands? If it must be so, I ask for your protection for my companions until they can continue on their journey."

A gentle, sorrowful smile graced Elrond's lips. "I see you lack neither courage, nor loyalty...though perhaps a little wisdom. Your lack of forethought has brought you to this pass, therefore you must face the consequences." Haluin held his breath as Elrond looked away for a moment before continuing. "I...cannot restore to you the full strength of your arm. Some of the tissue had died before you reached us. I cannot restore what has already been destroyed."

Haluin blanched. "Am I to be a cripple then?" he whispered in anguish. "If I cannot shoot a bow..." "Then you can wield a sword. You are not only one of our people to suffer such a loss." said Elrond firmly. "You face many trials yet, young Haluin. But know this. You will not face them alone. The courage of your actions have made for you allies among my folk since your arrival. Therefore, I would not have you despair."

Their hands clasped as Haluin swallowed, overcome. "Then, if that be so, I have another request." A raised eyebrow was the only reply. "Do not tell Jokim of my affliction, nor of the arrival of my kinsmen. I would not have him needlessly concerned on my behalf."

The lord of Imladris smiled as he shook his head. "You fascinate me, Haluin. Many of our people, myself included, would deem your loyalty to your dubious companions misplaced. Dwarves and elves are neither friends, not enemies in these times, yet you ask this of me..." He seemed to withdraw into himself for a moment before continuing. "Yet, for your sake I shall, though I see no advantage in doing so. May such a course not become a bane to you." He then reached forward to lay his hand on Haluin's forehead as though in blessing. "Sleep now, son of Gilmir." he commanded and Haluin slipped into dreamless slumber.

It began with the premonition of a thought... a tingling itch in the fingertips and toes... a faint sense of presence. The endless sheet of darkness that had engulfed Jokim began to divide into separate patches, each piece gradually developing into its own shape. Soon the dwarf’s other senses began to dimly pulse, bringing form to his dormant body. The dryness in his throat cropped up first, an arid desert that parched his slumber. He became aware of his leaden limbs, weighted down by fatigue. A melody seemed to unfurl from somewhere far overhead, as if Jokim stood at the pit of a deep chasm, straining his ears to catch the notes.

Even with all of these sensations budding about him, Jokim might have yet sunken back into oblivion. But it was that smell... it teased him onward and upward, beckoning him to crawl out of his hole, hand over hand.

Jokim smacked his lips and inhaled deeply. It was Lindir’s first sign that something was amiss. The healer glanced up from the lute he had been plucking to pass the time, and eyed his patient with professional suspicion. Was the dwarf waking...? No, it was far too soon for that.

But then a tangle of slurred sound came rolling out from Jokim’s lips, causing the Elf to stand and lay his instrument aside.

“Just like the Naugrim to disobey medical orders without even knowing what they are,” thought Lindir, hurrying over to his mortar and pestle. He would put this insubordinate dwarf back down if he tried too hard to wake up.

Yet even as Lindir’s practiced hands mixed and blended the proper herbs to blacken out the dwarf’s thoughts, Jokim was starting to stir. His hands gripped at the sheets, and his face began to twitch out signals of his impending return to consciousness. The Elf’s gaze leapt between his labors and his patient as he raced to beat Jokim to the punch.

A groan shambled forth from the dwarf, and his eyes made their first tentative flutters. Quickening his pace, Lindir stirred his potion into a glass of water with whirlwind speed. Just as Jokim’s head began to make a laborious rise from its pillows, the Elf was at his side with the concoction in hand.

“Drink this, Master Dwarf,” he said in a honeyed whisper. “It will ease your weary head.”

Jokim seemed to attempt a drowsy appraisal of the Elf with slit eyes. But suddenly his head crashed back down, his eyes shutting along the way. After pausing for a moment, Lindir carefully tipped the dwarf’s head back and opened his mouth, bringing the glass toward the pair of cracked lips...

He nearly dropped the drink when Jokim’s hand burst upward to clench his wrist. A spray of droplets spilled from the glass into the dwarf’s beard.

“Nae, Elf,” came the croak. “I’ve had this trick played on me once before. I demand untainted water.” His eyes split open in a vivid burst, and Lindir now saw that his patient was fully conscious. “You may fetch it now. I shall wait.”

For a silent moment, healer and patient eyed each other as mutual foes. Lindir summoned ages of icy detachment to bolster his gaze, but Jokim did not relent. In fact, his clamp only seemed to tighten as the sense of grip and feeling returned to his hand.

“So be it, beardling.” Lindir slipped his hand free and left in a flash of white robes.

---

“My nephew?” Jokim took a cautious sip from his new glass of water. He had propped himself up into a sitting position while his attendant was away.

“Fully recovered.” Lindir stood with his hands clasped chastely in front of his body, trying to illustrate with a furrowed brow just how sorely this dwarf was testing his patience.

“And Haluin?”

“That is another matter.”

“But alive?”

“Of course.”

“Splendid!” Jokim took a long, loving pull from his glass. Then he pulled the sheets from his body with an aggressive flourish, eying his legs skeptically. They were covered with the same soft, green fabric that made up his sleeping gown. A pair of light brown socks sheathed his still-aching feet.

“What, exactly, have you dressed me in?” Jokim shot an irritated glance Lindir’s way.

“The same garments that all of our guests wear. Your clothing is being cleaned and dried at the moment.” Lindir attempted to maintain the rigid, knowledgeable tone he always used when speaking with patients.

“Hmmph... well, I would hardly wish to visit either of my companions in such threads.” Jokim began to search the room, leaning left and right to gaze around the bed.

Lindir flexed an eyebrow. “Master Jokim, you are only in the proper condition to receive visits, not to make them.”

“Ah! There it is!” Jokim spotted his traveling pack, ignoring the Elf entirely in its favor. He gripped his right leg at the knee with both hands, and swung it over the side of the bed. By the time he had done the same with his left leg, Lindir was standing directly beside him, leaning in with a face reddened by disapproval.

“Not another inch, dwarf. You are under orders to rest throughout the remainder of today. Your condition is too delicate to accommodate anything more.”

Jokim wiggled his toes on the rug that lay beside his bed, and gave a provocative smirk. He regarded the grand window at the far end of the room, sizing up the Elf without a glance in his direction.

“I suppose you think yourself an expert on my condition, Sir... what is your name...?”

“Lindir.”

“Ah... Lindir. Jokim at your service.” Jokim gave a half-bow. “I do not doubt that you have practiced medicine for a good many centuries. But I know my body better than any other, and just how much it will take before resigning. After all...” he tapped the indentation on the side of his head. “This wound kills anything but a Khuzd, aye?”

“It is precisely because you misjudged your limits that you are sitting where you are at present, Master Dwarf. Now listen carefully to me. There are several steps for you to complete in your recovery before we permit you to walk.”

“Well, let’s see...” Jokim grunted and rose to his feet. It was all Lindir could do not to shove him back to the bed. The dwarf placed his right foot forward. “One step...” His left foot followed. “Two steps...” Jokim’s course began to lead him toward his traveling pack. “Three steps... four... five...” He glanced over his shoulder at Lindir with a glint of triumph. “Are those enough steps, Sir Lindir? Am I not recovered?”

The Elf appeared miles away from amused, his arms folded in a white cross over his chest. “And are you done behaving like a child, Master Dwarf? Honestly, your nephew has shown more maturity.”

Jokim smiled, starting to rummage through his pack. “Well, I suppose each generation strives to see that the next one improves upon its designs.”

Lindir perceived what the dwarf was searching for. “You wish to change clothes?”

“Certainly!”

“I propose a compromise, then: I will let you don new garments, and summon your nephew for a visit, if you give your word to stay in bed through sundown.”

“And then what?” The dwarf glanced up, intrigued.

“And then... if you prove you can behave yourself... you may just have the honor of supping with our Lord Elrond, if he wills it. For reasons I’ve yet to fully unravel, he is rather intrigued by you and your young nephew.”

“If I prove I can behave myself...” the words were nearly lost amidst a rolling chuckle. “Agreed. Go out and send for my nephew, and I shall change in the meantime.”

“Where shall I find you when I return?”

“Snug in my bed, Sir Lindir.”

“Good.” The healer gave a glare to remind Jokim just who gave the orders in the Last Homely House, before making a curt exit. Jokim gave a salute to the Elf’s retreating back, before his nose snagged on the enchanting aroma that had lifted him out of his black slumber. What could it be?

The dwarf searched the room, sniffing all the way like a hound closing in on his prey. Suddenly, Jokim found himself standing directly in front of the source. His jaw almost unhinged itself in disbelief. It was a fresh loaf of lembas, carefully wrapped and sitting on a table beside the door. Jokim clamped his teeth shut again.

“I must be more out of sorts than I realized...” he muttered, before returning to his pack to free himself of the hideous green pillowcase that the Elves had draped over him.

The courage of your actions has made for you allies ...

Elrond's words of hope lent Haluin strength as, with the help of his caretakers he dressed, needing to be up and about before his kinsmen arrived. He frowned at the remains of his arm, partially withered now by the filth of the warg's mouth. He could flex his fingers weakly, but bending his elbow proved nearly impossible, as tendons and ligaments destroyed by the warg's bite no longer functioned properly.

Sickened, he tentatively moved his shoulder and found to his relief that it moved without pain. So...I have full movement from shoulder to elbow and I can make a fist, if my enemy waits long enough...Wonderful! I have definitely been in better situations. However, as Elrond said, I can wield a sword. Therefore...

Quickly pulling the left sleeve of his doublet down, Haluin set off to find Eldarin. He recalled seeing his new friend carried not only bow and arrow, but a sword as well. Maybe, with any luck, Eldarin would also be willing to become his tutor.

As he made his way along the many open porches and pathways in and around Elrond's home, the elf began to notice that occasionally he would meet with stony disapproval or a haughty stare. News travel fast, I see. he thought grimly, but nodded courteously to them nonetheless. He refused to allow himself to act in any way other than he normally would. Besides, he had anticipated this.

Suddenly, movement on the pathway below caught Haluin's eye and he paused in his search for a moment. Young Druri, if my eyes deceive me not...with an elf-maiden! Jokim must still be unconscious. Haluin chuckled to himself as he watched the two walked slowly onward, talking together like lifelong friends. His heart warmed by the sight, Haluin turned again to the task of finding Eldarin. Perhaps the smithy...

Three elves on horseback made their made in through the eastern gate of Rivendell. Two males and a female, all with grim faces, their backs rigid with purpose. Swiftly there came eager hands to take their mounts from them as they leapt lightly down to make their way inside. One glanced keenly up to the many terraces overlooking the path where they now stood and his eyes narrowed. With a whisper of apology to the others, he left them and began to trail after the figure he had glimpsed briefly from below.

Unaware he had been spotted by once friendly eyes, Haluin continued to make his way along the winding paths until he heard not far off the clang of metal on metal, then the hiss of water. He smiled as he thought of Jokim. How he would love to tell these elves all the things they were doing wrong!

A friendly voice called out to him as Eldarin stepped away from the forge mopping his brow. "I thought I might find you here, but I had no idea you made swords yourself. I am duly impressed, Master Smith!" Eldarin grinned. "And why should I not? The greatest weapons ever forged were made by our people, after all."

Haluin laughed aloud. "I have an injured friend in one of those rooms yonder who, I am certain, will beg to differ with you, mellon. I cannot wait to hear that debate!" Eldarin arched an eyebrow as he set about changing his tunic. "Such strange companions you keep, Haluin. I would hear the tale of how this came to be." The dark-haired elf sighed. "Your wish may be granted sooner than you think, Eldarin. I understand that some of my kinsmen are on their way here." "This troubles you?" Haluin raised haunted eyes. "More than you know." he whispered.

A concerned glance met his own as Eldarin led them both under the shade of several oak trees towering nearby. The taller elf slipped a horn cup from a loop hanging at his side, then knelt to scoop a cooling draught of clear, clean water from a rushing stream where it flowed past the smithy. "Sit with me, Haluin and tell me your tale. Ever since I found you and your companions upon the mountain ridge, it has seemed to me that you bear more than your share of sorrow."

"You see more than you should, Eldarin. Nor am I unable to unburden myself to you...not yet." Haluin leaned against a slender beech growing at the stream's edge, his head cradled in the young tree's crown. "I mentioned earlier that my kin are on their way here. I fear their intentions, truth be told. Not that it matters now..." He gestured dispiritedly at his arm, then chuckled mirthlessly. "And to think I came to ask if you would tutor me in swordplay. As you can readily see, I will never shoot my bow again, but I had thought to learn an alternative method of warfare and defense."

Eldarin's brows furrowed as he listened. "Of course I will teach you, Haluin, but why are you so downcast regarding your kin? What has happened betwen you?" The injured elf looked away, unable to meet Eldarin's gaze. "I-I cannot speak of it. The memory of my shame holds too much pain for me still, even decades after my crime..." "Crime? What crime could you possibly..."

"Haluin!"

Both elves startled and Eldarin scrambled to his feet. Haluin's eyes widened as he stared over Eldarin's shoulder at the face of one he never thought to see again. The face of his slain friend's brother.

Avenhel’s very first patient had been a baby sparrow. She had discovered its broken body on a springtime walk through the depths of Rivendell’s forests. The air was sweet with budding aromas, the sun just peaking above the treetops... and then suddenly there was the horrific sight of the scattered nest and the tiny, writhing form upon the path.

She ran home with it cradled in her hands, and begged her father to make the bird well again. He was a renowned healer, and could have easily handled the endeavor himself. But he assigned it to her instead. Avenhel shook her head, claiming she would only worsen the bird’s condition.

“With my guidance, you can restore this creature to the full glow of health,” her father had said reassuringly. “And you shall learn much along the way.”

She did. Patience, tenderness, concentration... these were things a small child such as her had yet to comprehend. And yet, day by day, Avenhel’s hands and self-confidence steadied as her father instructed her at every turn.

By the time the sparrow had begun to flap its revitalized wings again, Avenhel knew she wanted to continue in her father’s trade. The bird eventually flew off, but she would see it around the woods from time to time as it aged. Every time they met it would sing a song for her, and she would smile knowingly.

That sparrow had been dead for centuries. But seeing Druri’s eager smile and listening to him talk about his adventure to Rivendell instantly reminded Avenhel of the little bird. The lad was hopping about, reenacting the pitched battle that his uncle and Haluin had fought against the great warg. He was such a child, brimming with so much fiery life that he seemed ready to take wing. Throughout the course of their walk, she had managed to pull the little fellow out of his shy cocoon. Now he seemed determined to tell her everything he could.

“And then Uncle swung his axe like this!” Druri slashed at the air with his invisible weapon. “And the warg fell over in a pool of its own blood!”

“Magnificent!” Avenhel said, canting her head in approval.

They were now nearing the end of their circuit around the forest grounds, with the Last Homely House coming back into view. The Elfess gazed ahead to see Lindir standing upon one of the sweeping terraces. Their eyes met, and she instantly perceived his displeasure at discovering her on a stroll with one of the Naugrim. She gave an apologetic smile, but her eyes flashed with a determined defiance. Let him scoff and pout about it, if he wished!

Then Avenhel noticed Haluin moving along one of the neighboring balconies. His left arm was yet withered and rotted, but he seemed to be carrying himself well enough. Yet there was still that haunted, stiffened look to his movements.

“Now,” she found herself asking again, “what is that one doing by traveling with these two dwarves?”

Druri had mentioned to her that Haluin and Jokim had met each other many years ago, but she sensed there was something more that continued to link those two unlikely companions together. With her young patient so swiftly recovered, perhaps she could find some more time to spend with Haluin...

Now Avenhel could see Lindir descending the steps from the walkways above. He stopped at the base of the stairs, waiting for her and Druri to arrive. When they approached — with Druri just beginning to detail how his uncle had carried Haluin through the mountain passes — Lindir cut in with a curt announcement.

“Master Druri... your uncle is awake.”

Druri’s half-finished sentence came tumbling down. “He is?”

Lindir nodded. “I shall lead you to his room.”

“Never mind, I can find it myself!” By the time he finished his declaration, Druri was halfway up the stairs, conquering them two at a time.

Lindir followed the lad’s ascent with a disdainful scowl. “They are not much for orders, are they?” He turned to Avenhel, and a familiar smile dawned on his face again. “But that leaves us free, yes?” And he leaned in toward her, anticipating a moment of confidential tenderness.

She brushed past him. “I shall fetch Haluin. This news should interest him as well.”

Lindir’s breath caught in his throat as he now found his gaze chasing after Avenhel as well. “Tonight, then,” he said, his tone clipped and unfazed.

---

Avenhel tracked Haluin to just outside the entrance of Eldarin’s smithy. There was another Elf standing there, and judging by his garb, he came from Mirkwood. He and Haluin were leaned close in private conference, but Avenhel could feel the heat of their words emanating forth. Haluin glanced up for an instant over the other’s shoulder, and there he saw Avenhel standing there, unsure of her place.

He whispered one last thing to the other Elf, and then stepped around him to approach the healer.

“Yes, what is it?” Haluin’s face had that drawn quality to it as he spoke... Avenhel could see the conversation he had just finished still coursing through his thoughts.

“Sir Haluin...” she gave a light curtsey, remaining as dry and formal as she could manage. “I have been sent to inform you that Sir Jokim has awoken.”

Haluin seemed to forget everything for a moment in a burst of surprised happiness, but all too quickly he turned back to face the Mirkwood Elf, who had been staring at his back with arms crossed.

“Mellon...” Haluin began, wary and full of hesitation, “a dear friend of mine is recovering from illness here. If you would but allow me a moment to visit with him, and then we may finish our business.”

“Jokim...” said the other. “What sort of name is that?”

Haluin shook his head. “Please, I ask only a slight favor.”

“Make it brief.”

Haluin nodded, resigned to a fate that Avenhel feared to comprehend. He turned to her now. “Lead the way.”

Avenhel nodded, and did as requested. She felt the Mirkwood Elf watching them the whole way. “Who was that?” she whispered.

But Haluin did not answer.

The ever-viligant Eldarin watched as several, very interesting vignettes played out before him; the eager shout and hurried footsteps of young Druri as he ran to greet his uncle, the storm-filled eyes of the blonde stranger from Eryn Lasgalen, the hesitant tension in Haluin's shoulders as he turned to meet said stranger. All of these things he noticed in an instant, then acted instinctively, coming to stand at Haluin's left hand.

"Mae govannen, mellon. What brings you to the house of Elrond?" The blonde paused, then bowed his head in greeting, his eyes never leaving those of Haluin. "Ask this one, for it is he that brings me." was the calm, restrained reply.

His face a picture of shame and humiliation, Haluin whispered softly in Eldarin's ear. "I must speak with him alone, mellon. I would not have you become needlessly involved in this." Against his better judgement, Eldarin nodded, then pointedly gripped Haluin's arm gently in a show of support. "I will leave you alone, at Haluin's bidding. Should you require anything, I will be in the smithy yonder."

As the injured elf glanced at Eldarin's retreating back, a soft, mirthless chuckle brought his head snapping back around to face his former friend. "
"Still able to charm both bird and beast, I see. Haluin, tell me, do you know how long it has been since we sent you into exile, kin-slayer?"

"More decades than I care to count, Culuin. I know you have not come here on your own, else you would not now be speaking so hurtfully to me. No, no...let me guess. Neniel at least, am I right? She always did bring out the worst in you, old friend."

For a moment, Culuin's eyes softened as though ashamed of his words, then looked away across the gardens as they spread out across the valley. "Thranduil heard of your return. You were too careless, Haluin. You know how everything carries in the Wood! Now Neniel wants your head and neither I, not anyone else can stop her getting it, not after you came back inside the Boundary."

A young healer Haluin recognised approached the two hesitantly. “Yes, what is it?”

“Sir Haluin...I have been sent to inform you that Sir Jokim has awoken.”

“Mellon...” Haluin began, wary and full of hesitation, “a dear friend of mine is recovering from illness here. If you would but allow me a moment to visit with him, and then we may finish our business.”

“Jokim...” said the other. “What sort of name is that?”

Haluin shook his head. “Please, I ask only a slight favor.”

“Make it brief.”

As they quickly made the short journey up the stairs to Jokim's rooms, Haluin could almost feel the healer's head bursting with questions. Had he been in her position, he had no doubt he would have perished of curiosity by now and he regretted leaving her in the dark.

Moments later however, all was forgotten as the companions stood once again, face to face. The reluctant smile that fought to show itself amid the thatch of Jokim's beard vanished at the sight of Haluin's arm. "I had thought that Lord Elrond could heal anything! Why are you still wrapped up, elf?" He thumped his own chest. "Look at me! Whole and tough as granite, says I."

Here he sheepishly glanced at Lindir who hovered not far out of earshot. "My headache's gone and they say my hair might even grow back." he whispered. "But someone needs to speak with whoever makes the sacks we have to wear!" He said, raising his voice purposely.

A snort from just outside the room greeted the remark and Jokim's eyes glittered in amusement. Druri, who'd been sitting on the end of his uncle's bed was speechless with delight. Not only was Jokim in a better mood, but he was also baiting the healers. It didn't get much better.

"Who was that you were talking with down there, Haluin? That stringy, blonde fellow. Friend of yours? Can't say I like his look much." The tall, dark elf sat himself down next to Druri, laughing softly as he did so. "Ah, my bearded friend. It seems you miss nothing, even shut away here in an elven eyrie. That "stringy, blonde fellow" is...was, an old friend of mine. Now he comes to bring me back to Mirkwood. Something about justice and my head on a platter."

Jokim's brows formed thunderclouds at Haluin's words. "Has this got to do..." "Yes, yes, it does." murmured Haluin as he glanced pointedly at Druri, who was looking worriedly from one to the other. "He can't do that, can he?"

"By all rights, they can demand of Lord Elrond that he release me to them. I wonder what he will do?"

In the hallway, Lindir listened with increasing outrage. How dare someone from the Outside come and demand that any patient of his be taken from his care before they were declared fit? Carefully, lest he break the thin glass out of sheer irritation, he set down the beaker he had been measuring with and vanished down the hall in an indignant swirl of white robes.

Jokim first heard a growing din of footfalls as Druri raced down the hallway. Next there came the skid of worn boots on polished floor as the lad tried to stop all at once. Finally, a startled and delighted gasp cut through Druri’s ragged breathing as he spotted his uncle, seated perfectly erect and awaiting his arrival.

Jokim answered it with a single, sustained note of mirth: “Ha!” He beckoned the lad over. They embraced, and for nearly an entire minute, there was only silence.

“Have they treated you well?” Jokim murmured the question into Druri’s left ear, not ready to let go of the lad just yet. His broad arms threatened to engulf his nephew entirely.

“Very!” replied Druri, visions of Avenhel parading through his thoughts.

Jokim released the lad from their embrace, but quickly latched his hands onto his nephew’s shoulders. He held Druri at arm’s length, giving him a skeptical eye. “Very well, you say? Is that the truth?”

Druri scrubbed the dreamy look from his face and grew serious again to match his uncle. “Well, some of them have. There is one Elf, however...”

The uncle picked up on his nephew’s irritated tone immediately. “The one who cares for me.”

“Aye... how’d you guess?”

Jokim snorted. “He’s taken enough pains to remind me that I am a whelp by his reckoning. Wagging his nose high and preening his feathers! Well, remember what I have always told you about Elves. They...”

And then Haluin entered the room.

“You, Elf!” cried Jokim, hopping to his feet. But the joy of reunion fled quickly, between Haluin’s blighted arm and the arrival of his vengeful kinsfolk from Mirkwood. Of course Haluin spoke of it in that laughing cadence of his — “something about justice and my head on a platter” — but that enraged Jokim, for the fearfulness in the Elf shone so obviously in that moment. His was the laugh of a prisoner resigned to his execution.

“By all rights, they can demand of Lord Elrond that he release me to them. I wonder what he will do?”

Jokim did not hear the flutter of robes outside the door. He had his gaze steeled on Haluin, and shook at him with rough words. “Why sit and wonder while your limbs are not yet shackled? Go to Elrond and make your case!”

Haluin shook his head. “I cannot just yet. I still must have words with my accusers. This visit is my momentary reprieve.”

The dwarf gave one of his formidable growls and pressed a fisted hand deep into the covers of his bed. “What brings them howling for your head now after so many years?”

“I have violated the terms of my banishment... I foolishly overstepped Mirkwood’s borders. Now a debt must be paid.”

Jokim’s brow furrowed, for he saw the seriousness of this offense. His folk valued the sanctity of oaths, orders and obligations more so than any other. The actual kinslaying Haluin spoke of... that he could overlook as a lapse made in a moment of childish fear. But why... “But why did you return, when you surely knew...?”

Haluin gave a sigh laden with many years of disappointment. “It matters not...”

Jokim lowered his gaze for a moment, but then plucked it back up in a moment of fervor. “So... you have your battle to fight, and I have mine.” He stood from the bed again.

“What is this of battles? You may still claim to be built of stone, friend, but do not forget what brought you to this bed.”

“If you are to be so detained,” grunted Jokim, clearly trying to ignore Haluin’s remark, “then I shall be the first to make your appeal to Lord Elrond.”

The thin smirk dropped from Haluin’s face. “That is not necessary.”

Nothing seemed to register with the dwarf, who was rolling his shoulders and flexing his neck, as if preparing for a wrestling match. “Do not forget why I brought you along on this little hike of ours, Haluin. I will find you a home, just as my old friend has found me one in the Ered Luin. That is my aim, and nothing shall stand in its way.”

“And for whose benefit is this, Jokim?”

The dwarf folded his arms and eased back into his familiar, defiant posture. “No games, Haluin. A dwarf speaks his intentions and nothing else.” He eyed his nephew. “Come along, Druri.”

An instinctual obedience brought the lad to his feet, but his gaze hovered on the Elf. “Would you like me to accompany you, Haluin?”

The Elf smiled, but pushed Druri along toward his uncle. “I’m afraid your presence would only further inflame the hearts of my kin.”

Druri gave a meek nod and wandered over to Jokim, who took him by the shoulder. “Best of luck,” said the elder dwarf.

“And to you,” replied Haluin, with minimal inflection.

Within a moment, both dwarves were gone, their footsteps retreating down the hallway. Haluin stood alone for a moment, gazing at his toes, before lifting himself erect and making determined strides out the door.

Despite his roiling thoughts, Jokim's outrage on his behalf and Druri's offer to accompany him, touched his heart deeply. How odd his world had become, when a dwarf would, if necessary, do battle to defend him against the machinations of his own kin? His lips quirked in a crooked smile as he went in search of Culuin, his spirits strangely lightened after visiting Jokim and finding him well. At least all was right with his friends and for now, that was what mattered.

As he walked along the terraced steps leading back down toward the smithy, Haluin pondered Jokim's words. "Go to Elrond and make your case!”
That was precisely what he intended to do after speaking with Culuin, but as he approached his former freind once more, a slow, subtle sense of anger began to grow deep within him, a feeling of resentment, of outrage. How could those he had lived with, come into majority with, laughed and wept with, do this to him?

The very sight of Culuin caused his fist to clench at the injustice of it all. Was it not enough that he could never return to Eryn Lasgalen and his family? Yes, he had slain his dearest friend, but not intentionally! It had been a terrible, horrific accident and now he, Haluin Gilmirion, had been hunted down like a beast...and why? Because he had had the audacity to climb once more among the boughs of a favourite tree which had always stood at the westernmost edge of the wood, to hear its voice once more, before leaving for lands west of the mountains. never to return.

"How fares your friend?" Culuin asked, as he stood up from where he had been sitting near the smithy door. "Well." Haluin replied. "Far better than I, it would seem." He faced Culuin now, his right arm crossed protectively over his left. "Now, what does she intend? Does she think I will return willingly? If so, she would be mistaken, for I have no intention of doing so." Culuin's eyes flashed angrily, but Haluin held his hand up before he could speak.

"I...I realise I crossed the Boundary. It was but to say farewell to the trees. As I was about to leave, I heard voices on the Road and so I waited, until I knew who it might be, friend or foe. To my delight, it turned out to be an old friend I had travelled with many years ago in Rohan." Culuin arched an eyebrow, his face a mask of distaste.

"This...friend. This Jokim. The name has a dwarfish ring to it." Haluin sighed heavily. Now it comes."Aye, Culuin, he is a dwarf and he is accompanied by his young nephew. They were bereft of their home once the dragon returned and they seek a new life in Ered Luin. What of it?"

"You have become strange, Haluin. Wandering in the lands of Men, consorting with dwarves. Has the slaying done this to you?" Haluin's jaw dropped. "What else would you have me do? I am banished, condemned!" He began to pace, then stopped abruptly, turning to face his former friend. "Earendil's Light, Culuin! What would you have me do?"

"Indeed, stranger to Imladris. What would you have him do?" Two heads turned swiftly at the intrusion, to see Eldarin standing in the smithy doorway, hammer in hand, looking like a thundercloud. "I know not what Haluin has done to merit such treatment, but I can tell you that I have witnessed his bravery and his loyalty and I can find no fault in either. I would be glad of his courage at my side in battle, this I know!"

Culuin paled slightly, but to his credit, he didn't flinch. "Indeed? Then it might interest you to know that this one slew an elf who counted him dear, as we fought orcs in the south of Eryn Lasgalen. Our king declared him Kin-slayer and banished him from our realm." His accuser sneered. "Show him, Haluin. Show your defender just what he defends."

Haluin felt the blood drain from his face completely as he fumbled for the braid, the accursed sign of his crime. Eldarin watched as Haluin closed his eyes in shame as he held up the braid for him to see, then threw down his hammer in disgust.

Haluin flinched, but he found that it was not he, but Culuin who bore Eldarin's fury. "You were once his friend and you make him do this? You make him humiliate himself before me...to impress me, to "open my eyes"?" He stepped so close to Culuin that the other almost stepped back instinctively. "I deem you cruel and cowardly to treat a former comrade-in-arms so callously. I have heard tales of your kind, of your king and how he meets out judgement without thought before now..." He drew back, glancing at Haluin, who was dumbfounded.

"Go your way, elf of Mirkwood. Get you back to your companions and tell them that Haluin has supporters here and they will not see him harmed."

The blonde elf glared icily from Eldarin to Haluin, then bowed stiffly to Eldarin before walking swiftly away.

"I...hardly know what to...my thanks, Eldarin." Haluin blurted out as he stood rooted to the spot. "You sounded like a certain dwarf I know." he said with a light laugh.

Suddenly, the pain so long held at bay surged through his arm and he clutched his arm tightly. Eldarin called for aid and between himself and his apprentise, they helped him back up to his room, where Lindir waited, his face tight with concern.

"Thank you, Eldarin, that will be all...and see you if you can keep those fools from Mirkwood away from him, will you? That female has been worrying my staff with her wheddling questions and I'll not have it!" He began to whisper curses under his breath as he unwrapped Haluin's arm. "Tell Lord Elrond I need to speak with him also." he called over his shoulder as Eldarin and his helper quielty left the room to do Lindir's bidding.

The healer turned sad eyes on the patient who seemed to have suffered a severe setback and sighed. "Master Haluin, what hinders your healing? What demons do you fight in your heart?"

Haluin only turned his head away as the pain grew, blotting out the anguish in his soul.

Just before he left his room, Jokim’s eyes caught upon his old traveling hood. The crumpled, weather-stained thing hung limply atop his pack at the far end of the room. He hesitated for a moment, stalled by the urge to pick it up and once again conceal the wound that festered upon the side of his head. One foot twitched in its direction.

“Nae...” Jokim thought. “All here know what I am. ‘Tis time I accepted it as well.”

He pulled himself back, turned, and strode out into the hallway. His hand grasped Druri’s out of habit.

They encountered Avenhel in short order. She startled at the sight of the wounded Jokim barreling down the hallway, his head lowered slightly as he marched ahead.

“Where is Elrond?” he asked, his voice all the more frightening for the fact that it was dead calm.

“In his study,” Avenhel responded quickly. “Down the hall and on the right.”

The dwarf gave a snappy nod and muttered a “thank you” before continuing on his way. Druri tried to give the Elfess an apologetic look as his uncle dragged him along, but she didn’t seem to notice it.

Lord Elrond was standing and waiting for the two dwarves by the time they reached his door, for he had heard them coming down the hall as one hears an oliphaunt trampling through the forest.

“Good afternoon,” he said upon their appearance, somehow twisting the simple greeting into a question and a reproach at the same time.

Jokim’s step faltered, and he found himself frozen at the gateway to the study. It was not merely the sight of Elrond so prepared for their arrival that surprised him; it was the impossible depths of the Elf Lord’s stare. The dwarf suddenly felt like an infantry private again, staring down a commanding officer whose eyes could judge his entire worth in a single, fleeting gaze.

For his part, Druri did not exactly hide behind his uncle, but still positioned himself at an angle so that Elrond could not so easily spot him. Their dream-like conversation from the night before reemerged, pale and vivid, in his memory.

“I’d request that the two of you have a seat,” Elrond continued, “especially you, Master Jokim, for it seems you have wandered out of your bed without my healer’s permission.”

It was a father’s disappointed voice that rang in Jokim’s ears, and he moved to obey — almost meekly. Druri followed, gazing about the room as they approached the ruler’s great oaken desk. Two towering shelves hemmed them in from either side, packed with countless unnamed volumes whose origins spanned leagues and ages. A grand window, tall and broad in the familiar Rivendell style, looked out on an astonishing view of trees and streams, with a waterfall roaring at center. Afternoon light flooded through, painting Elrond’s figure in a bright gold.

“How many books are there in here?” whispered Druri, trying to fend off the room’s solemn silence.

“Many. Some would say too many.” Elrond sat behind his desk, eyeing each dwarf in turn.

“Have you read them all?”

“Yes.”

“Every page?”

“Druri!” Jokim grunted, before clearing his throat. “Forgive him, m’lord. He is only curious.”

“Curiosity need not be forgiven,” Elrond shifted in his seat, facing Jokim with a half smile. “For without it, we would never so much as peak our heads out from under the covers each morning.”

Once again, Jokim found himself thrown off-balance by the Elf’s words and gaze. Before he could get his thoughts level again, Elrond had already changed his whole manner.

“What, then, brings you to me against orders, Master Jokim? It is more than a mere insubordinate streak, I hope.”

Remembering his cause, the dwarf refocused his attention and hunkered down in his chair. “This concerns my friend, Haluin.”

Elrond’s brows jumped briefly at the word “friend,” but he nodded. “Continue.”

“Perhaps you have already heard, m’lord. His so-called ‘kin’ from Mirkwood have arrived to claim his head.”

“Their approach has been known to me, yes.” Elrond stroked his chin.

“As lord of this realm, you have the power to deny their request.” Jokim furrowed his brow. “And you must.”

“Do you understand his crime?” Elrond leaned back slightly in his chair, appearing to take a full stock of this strange dwarf and what he stood for.

Jokim nodded. “He told me all, m’lord. I have seen the braid.”

“And still you defend him?” Elrond made his counter with a peculiar nonchalance, sinking back further but never detaching his focus from Jokim.

“The story of that day is his alone to tell,” said the dwarf, undeterred. “I shall not repeat it here, even in his defense. Suffice to say, he struck not out of malice. I cannot claim to have known him for anything longer than one year’s time. But during our journeys together, I have never seen so much as a hint of such wickedness in him.”

“The heart can hide many things.” Elrond folded his hands together in front of his face, and his intimidating, grey stare only seemed to redouble its pressure on the dwarf.

“But it cannot hide a pain such as the one he feels,” Jokim responded, leaning forward and jabbing his right index finger down on the edge of Lord Elrond’s desk. “His own people — family and friends — have disowned him. He has lived without a realm to call home for centuries, longer than any dwarf may ever live. It tears at him, m’lord. It is a remorse that a true murderer could never feel.”

Elrond considered the words in silence, but gave no outward indication as to his contemplations. Then he spoke, in an ancient rumble. “Tell me, Master Jokim, for I have never known: what do the Naugrim do with their kinslayers?”

“We... we have not had many.”

“But the ones you have had?”

Jokim inhaled deeply. “Banished.” He exhaled.

“And what if one should disobey and return?”

“That has not happened.”

“Then tell me, if you were arbiter of such a case. A dwarvish kinslayer has returned to the scene of his crime, in clear defiance of his banishment. What would you have done with him?”

“I... could not say.”

“Perhaps you begin to see my predicament, then?”

Jokim’s gaze had retreated to the edge of the desk, but now it rose again.

“There is no ‘must’ about my decision,” Elrond continued. “You have defended Master Haluin with a friend’s ferocity, and for that you have my respects. But that great emotion blurs your vision. You do not know this, but the King of Mirkwood is a dear old friend of mine. Am I to defend a kinslayer’s life over his royal decree?”

Elrond leaned forward now, as if to dismiss Jokim and his nephew. But the elder dwarf did not waver, not even in the face of such a sharp rebuke. He folded his arms across his chest, his signature expression that Elrond saw now for only the first time. Jokim seemed to seal himself to the seat of his chair, wholly stolid and immovable.

“Then take this blind dwarf’s words for whatever worth they may hold,” he spat back defiantly. “You have two choices, as I see it: you may throw away this life, as you would a rotten fruit. Or you may offer him sanctuary, and grant him the hope that he has lacked since the day of his fatal mistake. You can forge a new life for him, if you so will it.”

A silence followed. Time stretched and stalled. Druri’s gaze leapt between the two powerful figures, fearful of what was to follow.

“Your words are duly noted,” spoke Elrond, finally. “Now return to your bed.”

Jokim rose in a slow, measured gesture of obedience, and then bowed deeply. “I thank you for your time and consideration, m’lord.”

Druri neatly mimicked the bow, but whereas Jokim lowered his eyes to the ground in traditional deference to royalty, the lad tried to spy a hint of Elrond’s temperament by stealing a look at him. The Elf Lord snared Druri’s gaze with a sudden flick of his eyes.

“And have you anything to add, Master Druri?”

“Me?” Both Druri and his uncle rose from their bows in awkward surprise.

Elrond nodded, looking as serious and receptive as he had been when Jokim spoke.

“Eh...” Druri’s hands instinctively clasped together in a jumbled embrace behind his back. “Only that... Haluin... I trust him greatly, m’lord. He has saved our lives, and we have helped to save his. I... I...” he stammered to a halt. “I can only echo the words of my uncle, m’lord.” As if to apologize for his stumbling speech, he gave another bow.

Neither dwarf noticed, but Elrond was smiling ever so slightly. Before they could glance his way, however, a pair of elves appeared at the study’s doorway.

“Lord Elrond,” said the elder, with his fist to his breast. “Lindir requests your presence. Master Haluin’s condition has worsened.”

Both dwarves spun about, and Elrond stood. “I shall come,” said the Elf Lord, walking out from behind his desk.

“May we accompany you?” Jokim glanced over his shoulder at Elrond’s approaching form.

“Your nephew may,” said Elrond briskly as he passed by the dwarf. “You shall return to your bed, as ordered.”

Jokim did not appreciate the Elf Lord’s tone, but did not so much as grumble his discontent. By now, he knew better than to get smart with the ruler of Rivendell.

A female elf with long, flowing blonde hair sat at the end of the corridor, brushing out the dust of the road from the folds of her dress, watching as Elrond and, oddly enough, two dwarves left his personal study. Fascinating! she thought. How is it that all who come to know Haluin fall under his spell? It is not as if he holds some ancient magick such as the Ainur do...or even dragons, come to that. Nay, but he has...something, some power...

A hand gripped her shoulder lightly and she glanced up, then back down the corridor. "Aye, Neniel. He wields a power far greater than you will ever understand, that of friendship."

Neniel threw back her head and laughed a soft, bitter laugh, then shrugged off the hand in annoyance. "Cerilin, you were never his creature before. Why do you speak in such a manner now?"

The elf who's hand she had brushed aside merely quirked an ironic eyebrow at her. "I was never yours either, which is why I am here. Our king has no wish to seek Haluin's death even now and were it not for your incessant whisperings in his ear, we would not be here! Is it not enough that he will most likely die of his wounds? Must you speed his passing by throwing his misdeeds in his face to torment him?"

"Yes! I owe him nothing! He refused me and then, when I had a chance to wed into a house with even greater standing and position, he took that from me as well! He has made of me a mockery and now I have the chance to repay him in full!"

Cerilin looked at her narrowly, his lips curled with distaste for what he read on her face. "And what of your brother, Culuin?" He asked softly. "What of myself? We have lost not only one brother, one friend, but two. Haluin was both brother and friend to us as well! You are not the only one who still suffers!"

She drew herself up imperiously, ignoring Cerilin's words. "Do you not see how he has fallen? He consorts with naugrim! How can you possibly defend him? He has taken the life I rightfully deserve!" she cried. "But I will see to it that he suffers first, you mark me, Cerilin. After I have spoken to Lord Erond, none here will defend him and whatever you might have to say will be discounted, I will see to that. My brother agrees with me, that Haluin deserves death now, though in the past 'tis true he did not."

"Because you poisoned his mind against his friend!" Neniel waved a dismissive hand. "If you choose to believe that, I cannot stop you. But know that you came on a fool's errand." She glanced thoughtfully down the long corridor. "If you will excuse me, I have some business to attend to."

Cerilin's dark grey eyes watched as she gracefully walked away from him and she reminded him of nothing more than the darkening shadows that threatened to choke the life-giving light out of his beloved woodland home. It took him only moments to come to a decision before he turned to go in search of Culuin.

The retreating footsteps behind her brought a smile to her lips as Neniel made her way along the many sunlit hallways toward her destination. Now that she had seemingly put Cerilin in his place, all she needed was to assess the only unknown factor she could foresee. The dwarf. Having listened in to the conversation between the dwarves and Lord Elrond, she had been astounded at the depth of friendship the creatures had for Haluin. Now she would test that friendship for herself, by speaking with the one called Jokim, for she suspected that the dwarf was far more necessary to Haluin than he would ever let on and therein lay his weakness.

Feeling a sudden rush of charity, she determined to rid Haluin of said weakness before Elrond could convene any sort of council. Let him then deny her her right to have Haluin slain!

Drawing a deep breath, Neniel willed her face not to show the disgust she felt as she knocked lightly on Jokim's door. The sound of heavy footfalls and grumbling in an uncouth tongue greeted her ears as the door was yanked open. "Durin's Beard, what..." Jokim stopped abruptly as she stared up at the tall elf standing before him, then a look of suspicion mixed with surprise crossed his face. "Yes?" he asked abruptly.

"Greetings, Master...Jokim, is it? I am Neniel, a friend of your Haluin. I had heard tell that you were injured saving his life. Is this true?" Jokim squinted at her for a moment, then replied, "He is not my Haluin and I took a hard knock, nothing more."

Seeing that heseemed disinclined to ask her in, or even move from the doorway, she switched tactics. "I have heard it whispered among the healers that he may not live, his wound has festered so." This statement contained only the barest grain of truth, yet it was enough to cause Jokim's face to change just for an instant. That instant told her all she needed to know. "Why are you asking about him? You're one of elves from Mirkwood, aren't you. What is it, are you afraid you'll be cheated of your sport?"

A look like ice lanced through him, raising the hairs on his head. "I ask out of concern, nothing more.Forgive me for interrupting your rest, master dwarf. You so obviously need it." With that, she turned away from him, leaving him to glare after her as she went to seek out Culuin and Cerilin. It was time to cut off Haluin's support.

What had she meant?

Again and again, Jokim tore through the memories of his fleeting conversation with Neniel, searching for the answer. There she was, standing poised and aloof, and he watched her lips twitch upward in a mocking smirk...

"I have heard it whispered among the healers that he may not live, his wound has festered so.”

What was that dancing behind her eyes? A calm superiority... a hardened hatred... no, more than that... a plan. This was an Elf he was dealing with, after all, Jokim reminded himself.

“And what other plan could it be? She wants Haluin dead. But how...”

A soft rap on his door pulled his thoughts up from their circular musing. The dwarf was seated on his bed, in the same position he had assumed as soon as Neniel had left: head slumped and shoulders shrugged high, each hand resting palm down on the mattress.

“Who goes there?” Jokim muttered, hardly in the mood for another visitor.

“Only Avenhel,” the voice whispered in a timid melody.

“Only who?” The dwarf grunted and stood, preparing himself for another unwelcome intrusion. But then the door cracked open, and he recognized the young Elfess who had directed him to Elrond’s study.

“Hmm... it’s you.” He motioned for her to come in, which she did with a halting care. Their eyes met, just before hers slipped away. “We have not been introduced,” said the dwarf, expectantly. “Avenhel, you said?”

“Yes,” she curtseyed slightly. “I have been caring for your nephew, Sir Jokim, while you were... indisposed.”

Something about her diplomatic choice of the last word gave the dwarf a grin that refused to leave his face. “And has he behaved?”

“Wonderfully.”

“Ahh... but you must be careful with him,” Jokim wagged his finger. “He will charm you to no end on first meeting, and then will seek out the most vile naughtiness while your back is turned.”

She nodded, still lingering in the doorway. “I can only hope that this trait does not run in the bloodline.”

Jokim chortled. “I have never been accused of too much charm, m’lady Avenhel!” Seeing her to be an agreeable antidote to the icy Lindir and scheming Neniel, he plopped back down on his bed, relaxing himself for the moment. “So now that the lad is back to scampering about, you have come to care for me and fluff my pillows, eh?”

She approached with light steps, looking somewhat relieved herself but still maintaining a measured distance. “Your healer Lindir is occupied with Sir Haluin.”

“Oh?” Jokim’s face clouded with concern, as it had when Neniel had passed on her wicked rumor. “How fares he?”

Avenhel, surprised to see such a plain look of worry of the dwarf’s face, moved quickly to settle his doubts. “He has taken a step back, but now Lord Elrond is at his side. His wisdom and skill shall guide Haluin back to the path of recovery.”

“Not... near death?”

“No, Master Dwarf, far from it.”

Jokim snorted. “Well, so much for the whisperings of the healers!”

“Excuse me?”

The dwarf stood again, pacing an agitated half-circle around the bed, arms crossed and head lowered. “What do you know of this Neniel... the Elfess of Mirkwood?”

“Not a thing,” Avenhel shook her head. “She only arrived this morning, and I have but seen her in passing.”

“Then know this...” Jokim halted. “She is plotting something, as sure as my axe is sharp! You know what brings her and her kindred here from Mirkwood, of course.”

Avenhel lowered her head, but still gave a slight nod of acknowledgment. “Those whispers I have heard.”

“She will tear through any wall to find the revenge she seeks,” Jokim said, gazing to the ceiling in thought. His eyes followed the spiraled engraving that decorated the surface above his head. “That any fool could see. But how, that is my question...”

“Do not strain yourself,” Avenhel said, trying to soothe him with her lilting voice. “As soon as Haluin is fit again, Lord Elrond shall hold council to hear the grievances and render his decision. He cannot leave a matter such as this unsettled for too long.”

“All the same... you and the others must be on your guard.” Jokim paused, stroking his beard. “And I do not want that Neniel within shouting distance of my nephew, understood?”

“Eldarin is watching young Druri now,” Avenhel said. “He is the most trustworthy guardian I could name in Rivendell. You trouble yourself too much, Master Dwarf. Do sit down.”

Half-appeased but still uneasy, Jokim returned reluctantly to the bed. “Were I not under the Lord’s orders to remain in bed, I would feel a greater calm, knowing that I had some power over what’s to come.” He glanced at Avenhel, who had now settled upon the chair beside the bed. “My mind is prone to suspicion, you see, but I find that its doubts most often prove correct!”

“Have faith,” she said. “If but this once.”

“Faith...” Jokim grumbled. “I place no stock in fantasy.”

Avenhel shifted in her seat, thinking of ways to change the course of the conversation during the silence that followed. “How did you and Sir Haluin come to grow so close?”

The dwarf closed his eyes and smiled. “Ask him. For all my effort, I cannot fathom how such a ridiculous thing should happen...”

---

Druri could feel his voice stirring, but dared not speak. For as soon as Lord Elrond entered Haluin’s room, a deathly silence had fallen over everyone within. The lad quickly got the sense that he was here watching at the Elf Lord’s mercy, and if he distracted Elrond from the delicate procedure at hand, a hard grasp would quickly whisk him out of the room. So he sat in the back corner and held his breath, Eldarin standing at his side.

Elrond studied the wound for several minutes, with not a word spoken. Lindir was at his side, waiting intently for any indication that his assistance was needed. But none came. The Elf Lord partially undressed the wound, eyeing it sternly before looking to Haluin, who lay in bed with his head turned away. Even though he hid his eyes, Haluin's shame was apparent.

“It is as with Master Jokim’s wound.” Everyone in the room seemed to jump a bit and stare at Elrond, Haluin included. “It is not merely a physical injury.”

Haluin’s good hand clenched itself into a fist.

“Would you not say so, Haluin?”

The Elf Lord looked down on his patient, calm but utterly exacting as he awaited a response.

“Speak.”

"What would you have me say, my lord? Are you implying that the warg's foul bite is not the only poison that flows through my body?" A dry, humourless chuckle escaped the elf. "It is not to be wondered at, I suppose." He turned feverish eyes to Druri and Eldarin and felt guilt rise within him. He was not worthy of such kindness...

Elrond grasped him almost painfully by shoulder, forcing Haluin to look into his eyes. "Why do you torment yourself thus, son of Gilmir? You are more than worthy of my efforts...and of the friendship and concern that many bear you..."

"Nay, lord!" Haluin cried in despair. "It was by my hand that one closer than a brother to me died. Culuin has every reason to hate for taking his brother's life, as does Neniel for denying her a mate. Thranduil judged me well." He then closed his eyes and drew a long breath. "My friend Jokim nearly died and young Druri was put at risk for my folly. Is it not plain, my lord, that I deserve death?"


A cry came from the corner where Druri had sat so still and silent, listening with growing dismay to Haluin´s account. "Master Elrond, don't listen to him! He-he is ill, he doesn't know what he's saying! I saw him shoot the warg and he wasn't even afraid, he even went for help after! He helped my uncle and me find the best mountain passes and he showed me things about the stars, all their names and how to..."

Eldarin squeezed Druri's shoulder and he fell silent, his eyes pleading. "Master Druri, we doubt not Haluin's courage, he does and it is that which works against my lord's efforts to heal him. Be at peace, young one. My lord will not allow it. Quiet now and listen." Eldarin's words gave Druri a little hope, but when he looked on the pallour of his friend's face, he couldn't help but doubt.

Disbelief washed over Haluin as he heard the young dwarf speak for him in such earnest. He had nearly cost all of them their lives and still he was trusted! Perhaps...perhaps he had been wrong after all.

Swallowing his fear, the stricken elf looked up at Elrond once more. "It was never intended, my lord...my friend's death. And Culuin spoke for me before my king...it was Neniel...I had refused her, before she and...Daeron were betrothed..." He choked on Daeron's name and tears long unshed spilled down his face.

Unbidden, both Druri and Eldarin came to his bedside and the dwarf scrambled up beside the elf, patting his shoulder awkwardly. Elrond smiled enigmatically as he carefully redressed Haluin's arm afresh. Grief long denied had ofttimes in his experience been the bane of true healing. Now it could begin, while he weighed in his heart everything that had been said.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^


Selfish she might be, vindictive she was for a certainty, but she was also cunning.

Neniel had always known what she wanted and should she find herself opposed, she liked nothing better than to slowly, with patience only the near immortal can know, find the way to achieve her goal. Once, that goal had been Haluin. In the face of his denial of her charms, the goal had become his everlasting pain and eventual destruction.

At first, she had sought out Daeron. This had surprised many in Thranduil's court, as she had never shown him the faintest hint of interest. Now, he was her world and to her annoyance, Haluin had been delighted when they had announced their betrothal. Then inadvertantly, Haluin had given her a gift. He had slain Daeron accidently while on patrol and with his death came the perfect opportunity for revenge.

Alas, she was to find her purpose thwarted once again, as even her brother Culuin had spoken for the hated Haluin. Angered, she had demanded his death, in payment for Daeron's life and she had been within her right. Thranduil had pondered long over his decision and Haluin had taken the Kinslayer's braid before being expelled forever from his home. This had pleased her initially, but then...he had returned! She simply could not believe he had not had the grace to get himself killed in all the years since his expulsion.

Now, she was bent on what she saw as justice. To find that he had gravely injured had delighted her no end, but now that he threatened to recover, she had no choice. Neniel would strike where he was most vulnerable, at his friends.

Humming a song her father's bard had taught her as youngling, she sat looking carefully through the contents of a small chest she had brought with her from Eryn Lasgalen...in case it was needed. It contained medicines and herbs, some common, some rare as rare, all potent and many deadlier than the sharpest sword. Smiling, she lifted several small bottles to the light, turning them this way and that, admiring the swirl of colour within each carefully cut crystal. Which was it to bè? Spider venom? No, too easily recognisable. Powdered dragon scale? Possibly, though her intended victim might be immune. No, something even more subtle...ah, yes!

Deep in the bottom of the chest there lay a small wooden box. What it contained hadn't been used in centuries and therefore would most probably go undetected, even by the venerable Lindir. Having decided, she carefully repacked her bottles and potions, then slipped the box into a pocket in her dress before going in search of the cooks. There was a dish she wanted prepared specially for the convalescing patient and if it he chose to share it with the dwarf youngling...so much the better! Now all she had to do was find Cerilin and have him request it be made for her.

Without the fair warning of a knock, the door to Jokim’s room stuttered open. The dwarf opened an eye, and withdrew his hands from behind his head as he sat up in bed. In the doorway stood Druri, his gaze lost and his lips trembling slightly. Behind him hovered the lean figure of an Elf — the guardian Avenhel had spoken of, most likely.

The Elfess was now standing from the chair beside Jokim’s bed, but the dwarf opened his mouth before she could.

“What news of Haluin, then?”

Druri said nothing, walking over to the bed and sitting at its foot. The tall Elf made a broad step into the room, gave a look to Avenhel, and then fixed a studious gaze on Jokim. “His recovery will be long indeed, and I fear the wounds on his arm are the least of his worries.”

Jokim glanced at Druri, who sat with his head bowed. The uncle reached over to clasp his nephew’s shoulder, and held it silently for several moments. Druri looked up, and Jokim spoke. “What have you heard, my lad, that pains you so?”

“Haluin... slew his friend?”

“His dearest friend,” Jokim said gravely, making no attempt to soften the words. He watched as Druri’s face twitched in a reflex of horror, and he could see the lad wrestling with all the terrifying thoughts and images of his young imagination.

“He struck in the shadows, without knowing,” Jokim said, holding Druri steady and not allowing him to look away. “And the ghosts of that mistake still torment him. But how long can one live with such a burden and still not forgive himself?” He turned to the Elves now, addressing the question to them.

Eldarin shook his head. “One cannot live, not truly, with such a blight on his spirit. Haluin has allowed guilt to infect his thoughts. He now blames himself for your injuries in the mountains, Master Jokim.”

The dwarf growled and stood in a burst. “I will not allow that fool of an Elf to bleed himself dry! I must speak with him.”

The Elf took a precautionary step forward, as he well knew how unpredictable a dwarf’s rage could become. “Lord Elrond has closed Haluin’s room to all visitors for the remainder of the day. Your friend needs time alone, to recover. As do you.”

Jokim gave a resounding smack to his chest. “I’m as full well as I’ve ever been.” Eldarin narrowed his eyes, and the dwarf seemed to smell a losing battle. “... If Lord Elrond orders it, however...” He scowled, and sat himself back down on the bed, with his right hand balled into a fist as it rested on his knee. The others all watched the dwarf, fully expecting him to dictate whatever might happen next.

“Haluin needs a good shaking, is all,” Jokim muttered, more to himself than to his onlookers. “You cannot be gentle with those types... they will wallow in past mistakes and never escape the fear of repeating them. But what can we do until tomorrow?” He rapped his fist against his knee, possessed by an idea. “Those Mirkwood Elves... they need to be handled.”

“I fear they are rather set on their mission,” Avenhel said, looking out the window as if consulting the trees for guidance.

“Only one,” spoke Eldarin, with an intensity that seized the others’ attention. “Only the female truly wishes to see an execution. The other two are... pliable.”

“You are certain?” Jokim stared at the Elf, measuring Eldarin’s trustworthiness with each minute expression he made and word he spoke.

“Master Dwarf... like yourself, I have danced the warrior’s dance. And I know, as you know, when someone has a lust for the kill and when he is merely pretending.” Eldarin’s eyes flashed... and Jokim immediately knew that he had found a reliable accomplice.

The dwarf formed a wry smirk and opened his mouth in a slight sneer. “So you aim to set to work on the female’s rear guard?”

Eldarin nodded. “Isolate her. If she finds herself alone, she will act rashly. And then my Lord will not fail to see the folly of her arguments.”

“Yet be wary of her!” Jokim raised a single finger, precise and erect. “I spoke hardly a breath’s worth of words with her, and I can already sense a web in the weaving.”

“Then we must fashion one of our own... invisible to her eyes.” Eldarin’s quiet confidence seemed to embolden each statement he made. He made a quick turn for the door, his thoughts already revolving about the figures of Culuin and Cerilin.

“Hold!” Jokim stood again, forcing the Elf to halt out of respect. “Eldarin, your name was?”

“Indeed,” the Elf threw a glance over his shoulder.

“Why do you pledge such support to one you barely know?”

“Why do you?”

Jokim snorted. “I cannot stand for the torture of a gentle spirit.”

“Then you have my answer.” Eldarin gave a fleeting flash of a smile and... was that... a wink? But he had disappeared into the hallway before Jokim could tell for certain.

The dwarf turned to Druri, one hand resting on his hip as the other tugged at his beard. “Well! It seems I’ve placed all of my trust in an Elf once again. I’d advise you not to follow in this habit, lad.”

“Yet have we ever disappointed you, Master Dwarf?”

Jokim furrowed his brows and gave Avenhel a surprised look. “Perhaps not. But I still hold my breath every time.”

"A confection of ground acorns, honey and nutmeg? Is he serious? If that is what passes for a sweet in the halls of Thranduil..."

The elf who served as Elrond's chief cook had been irate when she had heard the request made by one of the Mirkwood elves. How could this possibly be Haluin's favourite dish? Had his tongue been injured as well? She had held forth in no uncertain terms on dead palates and lack of taste in general until at last most of her staff threatened to walk out if she didn't calm herself. The elves of Mirkwood should know better than she want he preferred and wasn't it good that he finally wanted something special to eat?

She huffed, but did as she was bid, even if it was her better judgement.

***

Druri had finally screwed up his courage enough to want to sit with his friend again. It had been hard, hearing that a person he had come to trust had killed a friend. After all, he and his uncle were Haluin's friends. What if...? No. His uncle had defended Haluin, saying it was an accident, that it couldn't have been helped and that Haluin was still suffering because of it. That had been what had decided him. That, and a talk with Eldarin.

As they had taken supper in Jokim's room, the three of them discussed at length Neniel's plans and Haluin's illness. That was when Eldarin grinned and whispered to them of his plan for Haluin, should all go well after the council meeting. It was his intention to fashion a device that Haluin could wear, a type of lightweight metal hand that he could wear over his lower arm, thus lending strength to the crippled limb. With it, he would be able to regain his balance when using a sword and even use it to parry other weapons if need be.

Jokim's eyes lit up with interest and he sat forward eagerly, questioning Eldarin closely about the device, finally deeming it practical and sound in its conception. It made Druri smile to see his uncle almost happy and not as moody as he had been so often in the past. "Eldarin? Do you think...I mean-I know that Lord Elrond said for him not to have more visitors today, but do you think...just for a minute or two...?"

The elf smiled at him, laying a hand on the youngling's shoulder. "I am certain that a minute or two of your company will cheer him, Druri. Jokim, may I borrow your nephew for a moment?"

He waved them both away impatiently. "Just be sure you return before long." he said, sucking on a chicken bone. "I have more questions for you." Eldarin smiled disarmingly as he bowed. "At your service and your family's. We will not be long."

A young elf from the kitchens was just entering Haluin's sick room after tapping shyly on the door, when Druri and his guardian entered quietly behind her. "He asked for these special, Eldarin." she whispered as she set the tray of sweets on the table next to Haluin's bed, then slipped silently from the room. She sighed with pleasure as she fingered the beautiful stone in her pocket. It would make a lovely necklace, she thought to herself as she made her way back down to the kitchens. How lucky it had been she who had been chosen to bring the little tray of sweets up to the sick elf's room. The lady of Mirkwood had been so kind.

"What is it, Haluin?" Eldarin asked as he pulled a chair close to the bedside as Druri clambered up onto the foot of the bed once more. The dark haired elf was staring strangely at the tray, a worried look in his eyes. "I-what are these doing here? I haven't tasted these since..." Something wasn't right. He couldn't remember asking for anything, least of all the sweets he and Daeron used to steal by the dozen when they had been elflings together.

"They look delicious, Haluin! Can I have one?" asked Druri eagerly. Convinced after tasting lembas that anything elven had to be good, his eyes had flown greedily to the tray, where several sweets sat swimming in honey. Eldarin passed the tray over and Druri made to take one. "NO!" Haluin cried, knocking the tray from Eldarin's hand. Druri cringed, suddenly afraid as the elven smith grabbed Haluin's shoulders tightly to keep him from leaping out of bed. "Let me go, Eldarin! he shouted, struggling.

"Calm yourself, Haluin, or I shall call for Lord Elrond." The words, spoken calmly, forced Haluin to breathe deeply. Had he been mistaken, or had he indeed smelled something a little...off about the sweets? "Release me and listen." he said quietly, shaken. "I did not ask for them. Do you understand? Only Neniel and Culuin know how Daeron and I used to love them...do you see?"

Nodding tightly, Eldarin took Druri's hand. "We must return to your uncle now, Druri. Say nothing of this to him, I beg you. I must speak with Lord Elrond first, understood?" Druri nodded meekly, then turned back to Haluin who's eyes now burned with a slow fire. Haluin extended his hand and Druri took it firmly and shook it, the shake not of a youngling, but an adult. "I thank you, Haluin. I and my family are in your debt."

The elf shut his eyes for an instant, then pulled Druri to him, hugging him fiercely. "No thanks are needed, my friend. What would I have said to Jokim?" Eldarin barked a laugh. "Indeed! I believe you have saved more than one life this day, Haluin." He stooped and carefully gathered up the broken sweets from where they lay scattered on the floor. "Handle them carefully!" cautioned Haluin. "It is possible I was wrong, but I will rest the better for knowing what Master Lindor will make of them."

The sticky, shattered remnants of the dessert treats sat on the table in front of Lindir. He glanced up from them to scrutinize Eldarin, who had brought the tray into Lindir’s private quarters with accusations flying from his lips. The smith had backed away from the table, clutching his hips as he visibly tried to keep himself under rein. His eyes, piercing and fierce, clung to Lindir’s in silent provocation.

Lindir sensed he would have to form his words carefully. He sat back in his chair, drawing his hand up to brush aside a lock of hair that dangled above his left temple. “This is a precarious line of thought you are taking, Eldarin.”

“It is the only sensible line I can see.” Eldarin took a step forward and leaned upon the table.

“That they would poison him? In the heart of Elrond’s kingdom? On the eve before they were to argue their case to the Lord himself? None too subtle a plan, I daresay!”

“And what other possibilities are there? This dish is certainly not native to our realm. Only a Wood Elf would know the recipe. And only Haluin’s acquaintances would know of its importance to him.”

Lindir shifted in his seat uncomfortably. Eldarin’s words were leading his thoughts to places they dared not tread. “And our guest denies having ordered this confection?”

Eldarin nodded. “But the youngling who served it to him claims he did.”

“Well, allow me to suggest this...” Lindir leaned forward, making a show of proving that Eldarin could not intimidate him. “Perhaps Haluin did order the dish, and then raised a fuss about it being tainted to throw suspicion on his accusers.”

Eldarin’s palms barely rose an inch above the table, but they smashed back down upon the polished surface with such force that the whole room seemed to quake. “You miss the point, Lindir! We mustn’t leap ahead and attempt to guess at motives. What we need to know is whether this dish is indeed poisoned.”

His eyes shot wide from Eldarin’s outburst, Lindir stood slowly, his gaze falling back onto the sweetened acorns. “And you would risk needlessly accusing our kin from Mirkwood...? With accusations wielded by an avowed kinslayer, no less?”

“No one need know but you and I. Do not misplace your nerve when it is needed most, Lindir.” Eldarin clutched at the edges of the table. “Outside of Lord Elrond, only you know the proper tests to determine if this food has been tampered with.”

Lindir folded his arms in front of his body, throwing his head back to regard Eldarin from what felt like a safe distance. He had known the smith since they were both small. They had grown up to travel in different circles, pursuing different trades, but Lindir had always known Eldarin to be a fellow of raw honesty and staunch integrity. It seemed that he had taken a shine to this Haluin, even if that half-mad wanderer traveled openly with Naugrim and had an innocent's bloodstains upon his conscience.

His judgment might be questionable, thought Lindir, but he would never knowingly spread a lie.

The healer’s chin dipped slightly, and he and Eldarin stood in the silence of the tidy living chamber. An unseen breeze seemed to shake at the flickering candles that lit the room.

Lindir cleared his throat and spoke. “If I am to spend time examining this specimen, then you too must go out in search of facts.”

Eldarin nodded, almost trembling with eagerness. “What shall I seek?”

“Find the youngling who delivered this food. Question her. We need to know who gave the dish to her, and who handled it before that. Follow the chain back to its source. Perhaps that will give us some proof — or dearth thereof — as to the poisoning question.”

The smith had to conceal a smirk at Lindir’s clinical tone. “And what if your tests reveal a taint?”

Lindir sighed and looked away. “Then I must examine all who have had direct contact with this food.”

“And after that?”

“We... must alert Lord Elrond.”

“Good. That is all I wish to hear.” Eldarin gave a brief bow and turned swiftly on the carpeted floor, making a swift exit from the room.

Lindir wanted to call out to stop him... not necessarily because he had any more orders to give... but because he was loathe to let the smith think he had won this little argument. His voice, however, caught in his throat, and Eldarin was already well gone before Lindir could think of a good excuse to detain him.

The healer glowered to himself for a moment or two, but then turned his attention back to the dessert plate. Eyeing it as a child might eye an unwanted chore, Lindir turned to fetch his gloves. Not knowing what the supposed poison might be, it would likely take several hours of tests to discern the truth.

Jokim held his hands with each palm facing outward, and then placed one against the back of the other to form an “X.” Sitting directly across from him, cross-legged on the bed, Druri screwed up his face and tried to remember the meaning of the hand signal.

“Eh... ‘All is safe?’”

Jokim shook his head.

“Oh! ‘Danger is near,’ then!”

The uncle groaned.

“What? That’s right... isn’t it?”

“Indeed. But had you followed your first guess, you would have fallen into a deadly trap!”

“Well...” Druri stared at the leaf-patterned quilt beneath him for a moment, before plucking up. “Now I know!”

“I should certainly hope so,” Jokim muttered. “I have been neglecting your lessons this past while, I suppose.”

“And how were you supposed to teach me while you were asleep?” Druri smiled, and even laughed a bit at the thought.

“Hmmph... you ought to have woken me as soon as we got here, before those Elves could change me into those dratted pajamas of theirs.” Jokim folded his arms as if to express his paternal disapproval, but his mustache had curled up in a half-grin.

Druri slapped his knee. “Aye! Avenhel tried to get me to change, too. She said they’d bring clothes for me. But I didn’t let ‘em.”

“Good lad. But it seems you’ve been rather accepting of their food!” The uncle reached over to poke his nephew’s belly.

“And you, too!” Druri had to reach a bit further in an attempt to return the favor, but Jokim smacked his hand away, and then suddenly rubbed his knuckles against the lad’s head.

“Hey!” Druri leapt at his uncle in a surprise pounce, bowling the unsuspecting dwarf back into his pillows. They tangled for supremacy, bouncing up and down on the mattress.

“Hold!” barked Jokim between heaving laughs. “No wrestling lessons until tomorrow! I’ve not yet fully recovered!”

The door opened, and Avenhel peaked her head in. Of course, her pinpoint hearing had told her all that was happening inside Jokim’s room, but actually seeing the dwarf and his nephew at play nearly sent her into a fit of giggles.

“Druri!” she shouted, with a surprising sternness. “Are you aggravating your poor uncle’s condition?”

“Eh...?” Druri glanced up, just long enough for Jokim to heave him off and back to the foot of the bed.

“‘Poor uncle?’” Jokim grunted indignantly.

“Oh! Nae, m’lady. We were just having fun.” Druri looked genuinely repentant, and Avenhel could only shake her head and smile.

“Do keep it down, then, if you must roughhouse.” She began to close the door.

Druri nodded, rubbing his right arm where Jokim had gripped it as they wrestled. “Avenhel...?”

She pushed the door open again. “Yes, Master Druri?”

“May I spend the night in here?”

“Oh...” she gave a frown, more for show than anything, and glanced to Jokim. “Will he behave?”

Jokim sat up with a snort. “Under my watch? Of course. The lad knows better than to cross his uncle by now.”

“Ah. I see. In that case, I shall trust your heavy hand, and fetch our young master a cot for the evening.” She and Jokim exchanged a brief, knowing look before her face retreated back into the hall.

Druri, however, still wasn’t in on the joke. “Is your head really hurting, uncle?”

“Nae, lad. It feels quite well now. But you certainly put it in peril, for a moment!” He laughed again, settling down upon his back and holding his sides.

It was almost shocking for Druri to see Jokim in such high spirits. He had grown so accustomed to the grey cloud that had always seemed to hover between them back in the Iron Hills. Their first year together had been one of emotional frost and impossible distance, even with the two of them crammed into Jokim’s one-roomed dwelling.

They had both been mired in mourning... for Froma, mostly... but also for the sense of security that they had each lost. Neither quite knew how to approach the other, and so they circled at a wary distance without ever drawing closer. Even through his uncle’s hour-long silences and hard stares, Druri vied to understand his elder and the secret thoughts that motivated him.

Now, after only a few weeks out on the road, winter had thawed and a new affection bloomed between them. Maybe, then, Druri could voice the question that seized at his thoughts without angering his uncle. But the lad was so fearful of returning to their past estrangement, he almost couldn’t bear to ask it.

Finally, it gushed out all at once. “How did you hurt your head, uncle? And why did you never tell me about it?”

Jokim’s chuckles died a quick, wheezing death. He stared at Druri from his back, his features unguarded and riddled with surprise. A gust of air gushed out from his core as he sat up to face his nephew’s question. Both hands reached out to grip the lad’s shoulders, and he pulled Druri close, so that they sat almost nose-to-nose. Druri fought the instincts that told him to look away and gazed deep into the heart of Jokim’s bare eyes.

“That, my lad, is a long tale to tell in full. I only wish to tell it once, and Haluin deserves to hear it just as much as you do. Once he reconciles with his past... I shall do the same with mine, for the both of you to hear.” Jokim’s brows were knit tight, and he spoke each word as if it carried the weight of his whole life with it. “Suffice to say... I suffered the wound in battle. And I hid it from you... out of fear... that you might see your old uncle was not so invincible, after all.”

Druri’s eyes drifted for a moment to take in the sickening curve of Jokim’s dented skull. He still could not get used to it. But when his gaze returned to his uncle’s eyes, he saw the same old spirit flickering behind them... proud, strong, stubborn... and utterly devoted. The lad shook his head and embraced Jokim tightly. “It doesn’t matter,” he whispered, as a surprised Jokim returned the hug.

Avenhel entered the room with a cot tucked under her arm, but nearly dropped it as she saw the two dwarves exchanging an embrace. She had never seen or even known that their kind could express such tenderness. Her breath fled her, and she could not exhale until Jokim glanced up to acknowledge her.

“See?” the dwarf said, nodding to Druri. “Look at how well-behaved the lad is now.”