Epilogue

Many Years Later

"They're going to have your skin for this."

"I know."

"I can't believe you did that! You know you are a cruel old slavedriver. A stone-hearted tyrant! A soul-sucking martinet!"

"Are you finished?"

"… yes."

A door opened. "Goodnight, Linwen."

"Goodnight, Captain."

With a jaw-cracking yawn, Haldir shrugged out of his cloak and draped it over the chair sitting beside the entryway for just such a purpose. "I am not a soul-sucking martinet," he said to the closed door as he kicked off his boots and set them beside his cloak. The recruits would just have to buck up and bear it if they wanted to join the Guard— he only took the best. He paced down a short corridor combing tangles out of his hair as he went.

More work was still waiting for him when he entered his study with a steaming cup in hand. Leaflets of parchment lay scattered all over his darkly stained desk in messily organized piles: supply requisitions, applications for transferals, post lists… It made his eyes ache with tiredness and boredom. Paperwork was definitely not his strongpoint. Setting his cup near to hand, Haldir, staring reflectively at the ceiling, rocked his chair back against the wall, Maybe he'd bully his adjutant into finishing those requisitions tomorrow—or else the Nimrodel post would have to hunt for their lunch.

Rameil, yet a bachelor as Haldir was, slept on the floor above: the captain had had room to spare after Lord Celeborn's generous grant some years ago. It had worked well thus far as a mutually beneficial if a little odd arrangement. But his friend would most likely not be bullied or prevailed upon to take on extra paperwork when he had his own. Haldir heaved an exasperated sigh and resigned himself to several hours' torment.

Grumbling, he sifted through a pile on his left and glanced at a few sheets. A list of applicants—more recruits for the replacement guard. Haldir smiled a little. His youngest brother had a job ahead of him. Yet, Haldir's smile quickly faded to dismay: it would take him some hours to sort through all the formal requests and weed out the chaff which meant replying to every single one of them. Looking for distraction—any distraction—to put off that ugly business a moment longer, he noticed his quiver had been slung somewhat haphazardly underneath a hand-drawn map of the borders.

Haldir frowned. How had that happened? He was never so careless with his gear. He spent the next few minutes trying to figure out the problem when he remembered the skinny lad who had volunteered to clean and put away the officers' weapons: the boy liked to watch the guardians compete and, though a little young, was probably one of the applicants in Haldir's massive paper pile.

Leaping up, the captain scooped up his quiver and bow laid them carefully to one side in a wardrobe in his bedroom. He had almost closed the wardrobe door again when something shifted and fell with a soft flump within: his quiver had knocked one of his tunics off its hook. It slumped in a dark pile on the cedar floor. Haldir pulled it out, fingering the midnight blue fabric absently, the velvet whispered under the strokes of his fingers. He had not worn this in a long, long time though he took care to keep it meticulously cleaned and brushed. It smelled like cedar after so many years in the back of the closet.

Carrying the material back to his desk, Haldir frowned thoughtfully. He draped the elegant taper-sleeved shirt over the back of his chair. If he cocked his head just right and narrowed his eyes, in the dim candlelight he could almost imagine another sitting there. He smiled with distant memories and sad. He still thought of his friend from time to time.

Fedorian had been gone for long years and no tidings had ever come back to Lórien. Haldir hoped that he had found peace—perhaps across the Sea, reunited with his wife and daughter at last. Adjusting a gold-embroidered sleeve, a faint, true smile touched his lips: the bitterness that had lingered between them even with Fedorian gone had transformed even as the seasons into regret.

"Le adtirathon, mellon nin. I will see you again, my friend," he whispered to the half-seen shadow of memory.

He had no inkling just how true his words were—or how soon his half-velleity would be granted (but that is another story entirely.)

The elf captain folded the tunic carefully and replaced it in the wardrobe even as he set the memories on a shelf in his mind. He still had work to do before he caught a few hours' sleep before the dawn patrol. And he had to tell his brother about the new recruits. They had a busy summer ahead and Haldir welcomed it with all his heart.