The mournful flutes and voices lifted slowly, and then settled down into lower tones. Haldir watched dry-eyed as Orophin wept over the body. Rúmil's brain was sending the wrong signals to his body, and breathing was becoming difficult for him. A thin sheen of sweat covered Rúmil's face.

            The trees waved their branches, and leaves falling like tears fell and caught in Haldir's hair. "Orophin," he said heavily. "He is gone. Let his body die in peace."

            "Look at you!" Orophin cried, his head snapping up, clenching his hands. "Sitting there, letting him die! Why do you just sit there? Do something!"

            "What?" Haldir asked, and started to laugh. "What would you have me do?" His wild laughter continued unchecked. "What would you have me do, brother?"

            Orophin hesitated, and then drew closer. A week after his injury, his arm was still in a sling. He touched Haldir, who flinched away and stopped laughing.

            "What would you have me do?"

            Orophin's eyes were bright. "I would have you hold him at least, while he dies."

            Haldir slowly raised his head. "What for?"

            "Haldir! Oh, Valar curse it, why do you wallow in your grief. Rúmil is not going to die!"

            Haldir stood slowly and sat, unanswering, on Rúmil's cot. "He is already dead. His spirit is gone, there is no life there in that shell."

            "Call him back," Orophin pleaded. It took a moment for Haldir to realize Orophin was not talking to him. "Lady, please call him back."

            Haldir looked up and tried to rise, but Galadriel motioned him back down. Gathering her white skirts about her, she knelt and placed a hand over Rúmil's eyes. "He is beyond my aid, Orophin," she said softly. "I can do nothing for your brother."

            Orophin started to weep again but Haldir snarled at him, "Silence! Keep your lament for other times."

            "You are heartless, Haldir."

            "I cannot bear to see you cry," Haldir said, and suddenly he sounded very old and very tired. "I cannot bear to see you cry anymore."

            Silver tears made silver roads down Orophin's cheeks. Galadriel glanced at Haldir. "Talk to him, my Warden. It may be his spirit is only lost, and is seeking your voices."

            "What is there to say?" he wanted to ask, but Galadriel was already gone, disappearing into the night as was her way. Orophin stood by Haldir as the elf slid Rúmil into his arms and leaned his little brother against his chest. Rúmil's head rolled against his shoulder limply.

            "Do you remember," Haldir said suddenly, "the first time you hunted orcs with us? It was not so long ago that I held your hands steady, showing you how to hold the bow, and shoot straight. Your excited gasp when the arrow actually hit the target. The way your eyes lighted up at the thought of your first hunt. And how I held your head when you were sick after the battle, your hands shaking with orc blood on your fingers. I can remember how when you sat back, still a bit green in the face, you looked at me and said, 'Haldir, if ever I die, please do not mourn over much for me. I do not ask for tears or a large funeral, I merely wish to be buried under the trees, and die under the trees, as I was born under the trees. I ask for no mourning songs and no tomb, nor tombstone. Let the grass mark my passing. I ask only for one thing; when I die, please remember me. Do not remember me how I am on my deathbed, in blood and tears, but how I am now, happy, healthy, and very much alive.'

'Rúmil,' I said. 'I will not let you die.' You smiled at me, and you said, 'Some things you cannot save me from, brother.'

"If this is real, I do not want to know. Silent and still you are in my arms, and cold. It is as though all life is gone from your body, though still you live. Still your body breathes, your heartbeats, and your brain sends messages through you. But can you hear me?

"What I wouldn't give to speak with you again! Hear your voice one last time; listen to your advice one last time.

"When Mîdhlim died in my arms she died horribly. She jerked and gasped, clawing at her throat as though she could claw out the blood that choked her lungs that finally, slowly, was killing her. I held her for three hours as the sun set in the west and the stars rose in the east, until she died. Near the end, she asked me to kill her. She said she could take the pain no longer, and asked me, with her last breath, as a Ranger and a friend, to kill her.

"I could not refuse such a request. I drew my dagger and I thrust it into her heart, stopping it forever. I wrapped her body in my cloak and threw her over my shoulder. Then I dragged your killer, the murderer Hithlim, back to our beautiful City, and he is awaiting the return of our messengers from Rivendell. Then we will kill him, for you, and for Mîdhlim, and for her sister Menel who I never met.

"Mîdhlim's funeral was yesterday, did you know? Many elves who knew Laegheneb came, for he, too, was buried. One flower, for Laeg, each elf threw into the river. I threw in two—one for him and one for Mîdhlim. It is the sort of thing you would do, brother, and for you I did it.

"We know now that Menel was captured by the enemy because she was one of the few rangers who knew of Aragorn's heritage, being his cousin and friend. The Enemy was seeking news on the Heir of Isildur, and where he might be. Mîdhlim was with Menel that day, and she always believed her sister was not dead but captured. For three years she was right, but then the Enemy killed her, for no word of Aragorn's name would she speak to them. Then Hithlim, working for the Enemy, and seeing how much Menel's memory influenced her, forced Mîdhlim here, to steal the two crystals. Oh, why did I not see it? I should have known no half-trained Ranger could defeat Laegheneb—and Hithlim was limping when we first met him…I let my anger blind me, and now it has killed you. I refused to listen to your hints and your suggestions, and when you finally got the story from her, Hithlim stuck up and tried to kill you.

"If you die, Hithlim has won. Please do not let him win." Haldir moved his hand in slow circles on Rúmil's chest. "Do not let him win."

Orophin looked at Rúmil and closed his eyes.

*     *     *     *

            Orophin was in a sleep trance. Haldir still held Rúmil, feeling the silk of his hair against his cheek. Rúmil had always been a bit vain about his dark hair. It was very beautiful, smooth and without tangles. Now he would never brush it again, or complain when Orophin snuck up and rubbed leaves and dirt into the tresses. Haldir was so weary, weary and sick at heart. He allowed his eyes to glaze, slightly, but only for a moment; he would not fall into a trance, no, he had his brother to look after.

            Warmth. It was not cold in death, but warm and inviting. Moreover, death was not total whiteness or darkness, as humans often thought, but a forest in spring. Light flitted down from between the leaves in golden shafts. There were mallorn trees, and pines, furs, redwoods, ash, oaks, willows, beech, and hundreds of others he could not name. Trickling brooks and streams laughed and danced, glinting clear in the morning sun. Birds twittered and argued from tree to tree, hopping and singing and a doe with her fawn stepped delicately through the flowers, nibbling at the grass.