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queen-scribbles · 1 month

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Healing Hurts

First LOTRO fic, only, what, five years after I started playing the game? Better late then never. \o/ ---

Halthiras first met Aelinril because of the rain, though it was a meeting she would not remember.

In the days of his youth, before the return of the Shadow, Halthiras was given to walking the woods and valleys surrounding Imladris, exploring the vales of the Trollshaws, learning their secrets, befriending the animals that inhabited them. Though he'd held to this habit unbothered by rain on many occasions before, this was no gentle mist or soft silver showers but a harsh outpouring, fiercely accompanied by thunder and lightning.

So rather than wander the woods, Halthiras wandered the halls of Imladris itself. Even being his home, there was much yet unexplored. He had no plan for these wanderings, simply allowing his feet to carry him where they would. And so his path wound its way through many peaceful hallways and turnings to Tham Send. The Hall of Rest was quiet, as befit its purpose.

Most of the beds stood empty, freshly made and ready for use should they be needed. And the ones occupied he could see, the Elves slept peacefully, resting from long labors or deep hurts. There was, however, a small bustle of hushed activity in a back corner of the hall, so Halthiras was naturally drawn in that direction, with steps deliberate rather than idle.

A cluster of healers stood around two beds, murmuring among themselves as they worked. It was another Elf nearby, differently clad and standing as if to guard the invalids, who noticed his curiosity.

She gave him a questioning look of her own, one brow arched in silent wonder of his purpose.

"Is everything alright?" he asked at the prompting in her eyes.

"As it can be," she replied, concerned gaze lingering once more on the Elves in the beds before she looked back at him. "The last and most gravely wounded from our battle at the end of the Age. We hold hope of healing their wounds ere they succumb, but the servants of the Enemy did them great harm. Hithgol" --she nodded to the male Elf, dark hair, and his face twisted in uneasy slumber--"was struck by what weapon we know not, but its effect on him is most grievous. And Aelinril"--a gesture to the female Elf, long brown hair and features only faintly troubled for the moment--"was pierced by a morgûl-blade, a foul weapon wielded by the chief of the Enemy's servants, meant to linger and wither those it wounds until they are mere shades bound to his will."

One of the healers, indeed, was tending a wound in Aelinril's shoulder, not yet closing though the battle was a century past.

"Why does it refuse to heal?" Halthiras found himself asking.

The guarding Elf shook her head. "They know not. Some foul magic of the Enemy. And so they work on, to delay the fading until a cure is found."

"Is the aught I can do?" He had not seen the great and terrible battle of the Last Alliance, but it made his heart sit heavy that some remained still suffering so.

She studied him. "Unless you are practised in the healing arts, I fear watching over them is the only aid to offer." A sad smile played at her lips. "If you wish to do so, I would welcome the company in my vigil."

"Then you have it," he said with a bow. "When I can lend it."

"Indeed? And might I know the name of my new companion?"

"Halthiras of Imladris," he said.

"Ah, this is your home," she said, smile tinged with melancholy. She placed a hand to her chest and bowed low in returned greeting. "Harthalín, previously of Gondolin and elsewhere, though now I suppose my vigil makes Imladris my home as well." She looked to the beds. The healers had withdrawn from Aelinril, but two lingered over Hithgol. "Aelinril is one of my dearest friends, and Hithgol a brave comrade in arms. I will remain here as long as I may, to watch over them until Lord Elrond comes to tend them."

"And... how do we help?" Halthiras asked as he and Harthalín seated themselves in the chairs by Aelinril's bed.

"Simply be here to keep vigil," she answered. "The healers have said there's a chance they can hear us though they slumber, so if you wish to tell tales or sing songs it might ease what dreams they have." Her brow furrowed. "It has not seemed to help Hithgol, but there are times it does appear to hold Aelinril from fading."

He nodded, studying Aelinril's face as she slept. She still looked peaceful, with only the faintest edge of disquiet. "Whatever I can do, though I fear the songs I know are of celebration, merriment, joy. Hopefully the result of this vigil will warrant them, but I'm unsure they would be fitting now."

"Calling to their minds the joys of the world seems a fine way of helping them cling to it," Harthalín said. "And it is the wont of those young and not touched overmuch by loss to focus on such things."

And so was a new habit begun, on a rain-soaked day, in the Hall of Rest in Imladris.

Halthiras would come when he could, even on days Harthalín was absent. Sometimes days in a row, sometimes with weeks in between, though that was rare, through the long years that followed as Master Elrond and the healers endeavored to pull the sleepers from the Shadow.

Harthalín knew all the tales he did, and told them better, so he spoke of the world now. Things he saw on his exploration of the woods, tales and news passed on from scouts who went further afield into the Trollshaws and Lone-Lands. When he was apprenticed to Master Talagan. When his sister was born. He learned the songs of peace Harthalín knew, and sang them.

Hithgol sank into a deeper slumber, where no voice seemed to reach him. Aelinril's dreams grew more troubles by turns, Master Elrond's skill stayed her from fading but did not yet draw her back, and the wound remained in her shoulder.

And still Halthiras came whenever he could. Once or twice, as she came of age, he convinced his sister to visit, but Hiraneth was too restive enjoy long days of peaceful vigil. He talked to Harthalín, heard her tales of resisting Morgoth, the glory and peace of Gondolin, the might and deeds of Turgon, Glorfindel, Gil-galad and others, alongside reminisces of quieter blissful days over centuries building her friendship with Aelinril.

Some days, when he kept vigil alone, he would braid Aelinril's hair if her dreams grew especially troubled. Like he did for Hiraneth, a simple plait meant to keep it from tangling. And he would sing the songs he learned from Harthalín as well as the ones he knew, and speak of his lessons with Master Talagan, his parent's decision to leave for the Havens. The things Hiraneth would tell him she had seen, grey eyes alight and gestures avid as she explained.

He wondered what color Aelinril's eyes were. But they remained closed, though her dreams eventually seemed to grow more peaceful under Master Elrond's ministrations.

And so it went through the centuries, as the world rolled on outside the valley. It was with mingled joyous anticipation and regret Halthiras told Harthalín--and by extension Aelinril--of his master's decision they would go study at Edhelion for a time. He was excited to travel further than the valleys of his home he knew so well, to see the world a little and study at an Elven refuge known for its history and beauty. But an absence of months or years would be an odd change; he would miss his time with them in Tham Send. Harthalín encouraged the former while understanding the latter.

"I have found myself in new homes a few times in my life," she said with a wistful smile, "it can take time to adjust. But you will not be gone forever, and I will send word of any changes. You have spoken often of how you love to study and explore, you should enjoy the opportunity to do both to the full." She gave his arm a bracing squeeze. "I shall keep my vigil and look forward to your return."

With her blessing and a final farewell, unheard as it likely was, to Aelinril and Hithgol, Halthiras departed for Edhelion alongside Master Talagan and a select company of others, including Hiraneth. Edhelion was wonderful; woods and libraries to explore in equal measure, a place of safety, beauty, and learning. And he did enjoy it. But a portion of of his thoughts remained on Imladris always; missing home, missing the vigil he'd kept in Tham Send. He only made it a year before writing to Harthalín to ask how things stood. Her reply was a few months coming, and what he expected. No change, Hithgol still slept so deeply nothing disturbed him, Aelinril was more prone to restless dreams alternating with peaceful slumber. Perhaps she would wake soon, perhaps not, even Master Elrond did not know. He had some thoughts of cures to try, she would write with updates. And she did, though they were sporadic and rarely altered in content. They both sleep still, but there are more things to try, and they have not faded. That was something, at least, that they lingered yet. It gave hope they would wake eventually, and the Elves could wait long for such a change.

And then came news, in the form of Master Elrond visiting Edhelion. Halthiras had been hoping for a letter from Harthalín, as it had been moths since the last. But though Master Elrond brought no letter, he bore the same glad tidings a missive would have contained.

Aelinril had awakened. Only briefly, before lapsing back into slumber. But it was now the sleep of true rest, untroubled by lingering Shadow. He had every hope for Hithgol as well, indeed, he had come to avail himself of Edhelion's libraries for ways to further ease their slumber, and record the cures that had been successful in treating morgûl-blade wounds, should such knowledge be needed.

"Centuries keeping vigil and keeping hope, and she wakes when I am absent," Halthiras commented to his sister, amused at the timing more than anything.

"Yes, but she woke," Hiraneth returned. "With every indication now that she shall do so again, with the other hopefully not far behind. Focus on that, rather than regret you were elsewhere at the time."

There was wisdom in her words, and he knew it, though she was the younger. "I am sure Harthalín is greatly relieved by this turn, the proving her vigil has not been in vain for her friend." He drew a deep breath, resting one hand on the carven rail as he looked out to forest. "As for myself, I shall enjoy the time here, and hope for more such turns after we are home in Imladris once more."

It was a return marked rather more by sorrow and loss than anticipated. Only a few short weeks after Master Elrond's arrival came an assault by the Dourhand dwarves. By the time they were driven back and their leader killed, the attack had cost much--Edhelion lay in ruins, its libraries destroyed and a great many lives lost in its defense, including Master Talagan.

Harthalín did not press for details when he rejoined her in Tham Send, did not ask him to speak of his mentor, and Halthiras was grateful. There was an understanding in her eyes, a familiarity with grief too near and new, and she let him hold his silence. Which he did, on the days he joined her. But despite the shift in Aelinril's condition and the hope it heralded, he found the forests called to him more than before. The rustle of wind through leaves was a balm to his grief, and he spent much time walking the woods or sitting under trees to heal his heart. It took centuries for the pain to ease, but it did ease. And as it did he found himself in Tham Send more and more again, the peace of the Hall equal to the peace of the woods once more. First in silent vigil, but on an occasion Harthalín was absent he spoke of the loss to Aelinril. Unsure whether she could even hear or not--he almost hoped not--but needing to speak of it to someone, and Hiraneth's anger had driven her to remain in the woods around Edhelion, a watchful guardian of its repose, but also absent from her home. No change came to the sleeping face and he was glad not to disturb her dreams, but speaking of it aloud began the mending.

He began to speak of tales and happenings once more, sing songs both wistful and joyous. Halthiras maintained the renewed vigil through the whispered rumor of returning Shadow, through Dwarves traversing Imladris valley, through Harthalín departing once the Shadow was no longer rumor, foreswearing the Havens until the Enemy she had helped lay low was defeated for good.

"Tell her for me, when she wakes," she asked, and he promised to do so.

But then came word of Dwarves, Dourhands, settling Thorin's Gate, near the ruins of Edhelion. As Master Elrond had recently been given a worrisome dream, he purposed to send his sons and a party of Elves to investigate. He asked Halthiras to be among them, given his close ties to the loss of Edhelion, and in truth, Halthiras would have volunteered if not asked. The next few weeks were full of preparation, wondering if Hiraneth had been the one to send word, and regretting his departure would perhaps mean Aelinril being alone when she woke. He bid her farewell the day before departing so as not to rush, torn between hoping for her to wake soon and hoping for it to be after his return. He tied back her hair once more as she shifted with her dreams.

It was raining as they prepared to leave the next day, a gentle mist the party was protected from by hoods and cloaks. Elladan and Elrohir emerged from their final council with their father, trailed by another hooded figure.

"We go at my father's behest to investigate the Dwarven presence near Edhelion," Elladan addressed those assembled, "but we shall have another companion for part of the journey." He moved to lead the company as he spoke, and Elrohir guided their late addition to join them. "She has been recovering in Tham Send from a most grievous injury and Lord Elrond has given leave for her to depart to the Grey Havens, should she wish to. As our paths align for a time, we shall travel together until Celondim."

Something strange pierced Halthiras' heart at the words. Hope and shock and regret mingled as one. If that meant who he thought...

The figure fell in near him as the Elves began their journey, and one look was all that was necessary. It was her, her hair still tied back as he'd done it. She had awakened at long last and he hadn't been there as he'd promised Harthalín, and now she would be leaving Middle Earth, forever. He wanted to greet her, be courteous, but didn't know how to start.

He caught the knowing look in Elrohir's eye before the son of Elrond spoke. "Aelinril, this is Halthiras, one of my father's household, and a friend I believe would serve well as traveling companion."

She looked at him, then, and her eyes were blue, tinged green, bright and radiant though haunted by long memory. "Halthiras."

He bowed in greeting. "Aelinril."

And so they met for the second time in the rain, and however long or brief the acquaintance would prove to be, it was one she would remember.

#queens fic #halthiras #aelinril #harthalín #lotro #god iwrote lotro fic #the muses have teased so long i didn't know if it would ever actually happened xD #OBVIOUSLY aelin winds up not going the the havens #but the timing is such hal doesn't know that for a while :3 #this turned into more of a hal and harthalín friendship fic lol #i'll have to write part of the journey to celondim now to focus more on hal & aelin. what a shame /s #writing in a mix between my usual style and tolkien-esque dialogue was interesting and fun and nerve wracking af

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