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Silent Song

Summary: Badly injured and grieving, Rúmil struggles to rebuild his life in Imladris. In Lorien, Haldir falls ill, believing his brother to be dead, leaving Orophin to hold his broken family together.

Parings: Rúmil/Lindir also Elladan/Orophin

Warnings: LOTS of angst, severe injuries and depression

Author’s Notes: In FOTR Haldir introduces ‘Rúmil and Orophin’ in that order, and the Encyclopaedia of Arda says ‘Haldir, Rúmil, Orophin.’ I have taken this to mean that Haldir is the oldest, Orophin is the youngest and Rúmil is in the middle, despite the trend of portraying Rúmil as the youngest. Just so there’s no confusion! *smiles*

Apologies for the dodgy elvish!

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The blond elf staggered along the woodland path in the last light of the day. Blood flowed from dozens of wounds, the worst being a deep gash along already-broken ribs. Breathing was becoming increasingly difficult as the broken bones pressed dangerously against his lungs.

It should have been a simple trip, deliver a message from Lord Celeborn to Lord Elrond, stay a day or two in Imladris, then return to Lothlorien. But the wandering bandits had changed everything. His party had fought well, but they were only four and there had been at least twenty of the men. Out of all them, elves, men and horses, he was the only one who now lived.

Now he tried desperately to reach Imladris, the letter to Lord Elrond clutched tightly in his bloody fingers.
Rivendell was only a few miles away now, but with the wounds he had sustained it seemed like forever.
He clutched his ribs as he staggered on, trying to block the memories of his friend’s deaths from his mind. The men had been merciless, he had only survived because he had been trapped under one of the men who had been killed and thought dead. They had enjoyed killing his friends and he could still see the joy in their eyes as they’d stabbed and hacked at the elves.

He’d been in battle, seen death before. But never had he seen any take such joy in slaughter. Even the orcs had never seemed so ruthless, perhaps due to lack of skill. The men had known where to strike to cause the most pain. It was already haunting him, grief creeping into his heart.

So preoccupied was he that he didn’t hear the orcs creeping up on him. Not that he could have escaped, even if he had heard them.
He cried out as the first arrow struck him in the shoulder and almost fell. Glancing behind him, he saw that there were at least a dozen of them, all heavily armed. He tried to run, no longer able to fight, but his injuries were too severe.
A blade sliced into his side causing him to hiss in pain. He grabbed his knife and tried to defend himself against the orc that bore down on him, but the beast grabbed his hand and increased his grip, crushing the bones.
The pain took his breath away and he fell to his knees. The orc laughed, enjoying the elf’s pain and grabbed the other arm, crushing that hand too.
The elf squeezed his eyes shut, trying to rise and push past the pain. But he could not help the small sob that escaped as the blunt edge of a scimitar crashed down on his leg.
He was helpless as the orc grabbed him and put the large knife to his throat. All he could do was pray to Mandos for a quick death.

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Elladan and Elrohir rode through the forests on their way to the misty mountains. Rumour had it that there was an orc lair there, that was swiftly growing. The twins planned to see if the rumours were true and if they were, eradicate the orcs.
They had not gone more than a few miles from Imladris when the foul stench of orcs reached them. Shooting a look at his brother Elladan urged his horse into a gallop.
Elrohir followed and a few minutes later, they came upon a sickening scene that caused rage to flow in their veins anew.

A dozen orcs had a lone elf surrounded. The elf, wearing the uniform of the Galadhrim of Lorien, was badly beaten and barely conscious. Most horrifying of all was the orc blade pressed to his neck.
The brothers froze, knowing that one wrong move would result in the elf’s death. Elrohir held an arrow to the string, not releasing for fear of worsening the situation. The orcs had not yet seen them, their one advantage. Elladan leaned closer to his brother. “If you can hit that orc in the arm, he’ll drop the knife.” Elrohir nodded.
“Keep an eye on the others. I need a clear shot.” Elladan drew his own bow, his eyes on the orcs closest to the captive elf.

The blade dug into his neck, the orcs laughter ringing in his ears. This was it, the end. He tried to calm himself, there was no strength left in him to fight, struggling now would only make his end more painful.
Suddenly the orc holding him cried out and the knife fell from his throat. He opened his eyes as he fell forward and saw two identical warrior elves bearing down on them.
He tried to get out of the way, but he was too badly injured and couldn’t move.

The twins fell upon the orcs in rage, determined to destroy the beasts that had hurt one of their own. Bow and sword quickly felled the orcs, who did not stand a chance against the savage elves, until only three remained. Elrohir sliced the head off of one, while Elladan drove his sword through the dark heart of the second.

A black laugh caught their attention and they turned. Elrohir cried out and dashed forward, but too late.

The orc, knowing that death was inevitable, had grabbed up the fallen elf again. Before either twin could react, he drew his blade across the injured elf’s throat, slicing it open. “No!” Elrohir thrust his sword into the orcs neck and it died in a gurgle of black blood. He dropped to his knees beside the galadhrim and pulled him into his arms. Blood flowed freely from the open gash in his neck and he was deathly pale.
“We’re too late.” Elrohir said brokenly. “We failed.” Elladan bowed his head and picked up the fallen elf’s hand.
He stopped.
“Elrohir! There’s a pulse! He lives, hurry, we must get him to Ada!” Elrohir gasped and looked at the elf. Sure enough, there was a faint rising and falling of his chest, hardly noticeable, but there.
Elrohir grabbed some bandages from his pack and bound the elf’s throat as tightly as he dared. The other injuries would have to wait.

Minutes later they were galloping back to Rivendell, their precious burden held tightly in Elrohir’s arms.

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“Ada! Ada!” The twins raced into the house heading to the healers. It had not taken them long to get back, but the elf was getting worse. That he had lived this long was a miracle in itself.
Lord Elrond hurried out of his office on hearing the cries. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the limp figure in Elrohir’s arms. He ushered them into the halls and set to work. Questions could wait.

He paled when he saw the extent of the injury and the implications it would have on the elf’s life if he survived this. But they could worry about that later.

Eventually, Elrond stepped back from the pale figure. He had done all he could; it was up to the elf now. The terrible throat injury was repaired to the best of his ability and was covered by thick bandages. The crushed hands had been splinted and set, as had the broken leg. The various other injuries had been tended to. The elf, Elbereth willing, would survive.

It had become apparent during treating the galadhrim that he had been attacked more than once. There were semi-healed injuries on the pale body that had not come from fighting the orcs. Conversation with his sons had only revealed how the latest injuries had been sustained.

Also was the question of what the elf had been doing alone, so far from Lorien. Had he been a messenger, had there been others? There were many questions. The answers however, would be long in coming.
He turned back to his waiting sons. “I want you to ride to Lothlorien and tell your grandparents of this. They may have an idea as to his identity.” The twins nodded
“We will leave immediately.” Said Elladan.
“Ride swiftly but be careful.” Elrond said, gesturing to the pale figure. “I would not have you end up thus.”
“We’ll be careful.” Elladan promised. “Have no fear.”

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Haldir and Orophin hurried through Caras Gladhon, answering an urgent summons from the Lord and Lady. Normally Rúmil would be with them, but he had been sent to Imladris on an errand and wouldn't be back for another month. Although this was not a long time for elves, the three brothers had rarely been separated and deeply missed their middle brother.

Swiftly ascending the great mallorn tree where the lord and lady resided, they made their way to the large chamber used for meetings. Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel were already waiting when they arrived. Both elves bowed in respect.
"I apologise if we have kept you waiting my lady." Haldir said politely.
“Nay, you have not.” Said Galadriel with a gentle smile. Haldir felt inexplicably nervous and was sure he saw deep sorrow in the eyes of both the lord and lady.
“Is something wrong?” He asked quietly. Celeborn stepped forward. “Bandits have attacked the Mountain Pass, Haldir.” He said. He heard the two gasps of horror that came from the brothers. “We tried to send reinforcements, but we were too late.”
For a moment, Haldir didn’t fully understand the meaning behind Celeborn’s words. Then realization hit him like a knife to the heart.
“Rúmil! Oh Valar, Rúmil was on the Mountain Pass! Please, tell me he’s alright!” Celeborn placed a comforting hand on Haldir’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry.”
“No!” The cry came not from Haldir, but from Orophin. He’d gone deathly pale and was shaking like a leaf. In an instant, Haldir had enveloped his brother in his arms and was holding him tightly. “He can’t - he can’t be dead.” Orophin whispered brokenly.
Indeed, it seemed impossible. The three of them were only a few centuries apart in age and had been together for over three millennia. Haldir clung to his brother and looked to the Lady Galadriel.
“Are you sure?” He whispered. She nodded.
“I no longer see any of them in my mind. It is the only conclusion.” She said with great compassion. Haldir felt his knees give way and he would have fallen if Orophin had not been holding him so tightly. He clung to his brother, as much being comforted as comforting Orophin. Tears rolled down his face as he cried into his brother’s hair, Orophin’s tears falling onto his shoulder. The brothers were as a rule proud warriors, not easily given to being overwhelmed by their emotions, but the loss of their brother was simply too much for them to bear.
“Rúmil.” Haldir sobbed. He simply could not conceive of a life without his brother.
“What are we going to do?” Orophin whispered into his ear. Haldir shook his head.
“I do not know.” Was his broken reply.
Galadriel stepped forward. “Rest.” She said softly. “I know the coming days will be hard, but you must take comfort in the fact that you still have each other.”

The walk back to their talan was almost unbearable. They clung to each other all the way, those that they passed moving away in silent respect. Though the news had not yet been announced, those that knew them knew that only a family tragedy could reduce them to such a state. Many Laments would be sung that night.

Haldir barely remembered getting home. His mind was stuck on the horrible truth - Rúmil was dead. His brother and companion for almost three millennia: gone in an instant. His heart screamed.

Orophin was also lost in his pain. The youngest of the three he had practically been raised by his older brothers after his parents died when he was only twenty years old. He barely remembered his parents, but his brothers were his world. The knowledge that Rúmil was dead gripped at his soul and made it difficult to breathe. He didn’t know how he’d ever get past the heartache.

End Chapter 1

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