Set in Stone - Haldir's Story -

Chapter 13 - One of the Three

"They cannot..." Haldir muttered rather to himself than the others, when one of the orcs threw his torch on the damp ground. Horrified, Haldir watched how the flames were flickering higher and higher, even though it was spring and the ground rather wet. "Kill them!" The elves were jumping off the branches from all sides, rushing towards the fire-bearing orcs first to prevent them from setting the Wood on fire. Haldir himself was down first and grabbed the torch that was already on the floor – only to see that it had already lighted the dry twigs on which it had fallen. Haldir cursed – elves did have some power over plants and water – parts of nature that they were – but there was no way for them to influence fire. He fingered at the buckle that held his cloak together to try and extinguish the flames with it – when he realised the flames weren't flickering towards the trees. As if guided by some mysterious hand they were blown towards the orcs, lighting the dirty rugs of the closest orc. At first, the creature didn't even notice; then it started running and screaming, setting other orcs on fire in the process. Haldir charged after it and beheaded it with one stroke – the dead body burned until there was nothing left of it, yet didn't light a single elf or plant. The air was filled with smoke and heat emanating from the burning orcs, almost half of the ones that were still alive by now were on fire. The fight didn't take much longer after that, the wardens didn't have much trouble killing the left-over orcs that were trying not to catch fire, or the ones who already had.

Finally, the wood was quiet again and the wardens were surrounded by dead orc bodies and smoking heaps of ashes. They were all standing a little bit at a loss, not quite sure what just had happened, until Haldir told them to start clearing away the bodies. When they were all gone and their footsteps had faded away – and only just then – did Haldir look up into the tree crowns to find Daëra still standing on one of the branches. He jumped, grasping the lowest branch and pulling himself up; in less than fifteen seconds he had climbed up to where Daëra was. She had her eyes closed and was slightly shaking. "Was it you?" – At the question Daëra's eyes fluttered open and she pushed herself away from the stem a little to be standing freely on the branch. This though seemed to happen with more force than she had intended, she was fighting to keep her balance – when Haldir caught her forearm. After a short while Daëra had steadied her stand on the branch, but she didn't let go of her grasp around his wrist. She was breathing heavily; her words were a mere whisper. "It is difficult to extinguish fire completely, it is easier by far to just divert it on to something else, something it is allowed to burn up. The orc who first caught fire was the only one who was meant to burn, I didn't anticipate... I didn't think he would set so many others on fire as well. I was so scared I would not be able to control all those fires, prevent the flames from flashing over to the grass and trees once again. I trained a lot with fires in Rivendell, but never... so many..." – Haldir tried to calm her. "It might not have been intended, but it was a great help. None of us caught fire..."

A sudden burst of heat drew Haldir's attention to his sleeve and his eyes grew wide: his tunic was burning where Daëra was still holding tight on his wrist, the silver ring glistening on her thumb. He yanked his hand free and tried to extinguish the fire by shaking his hand, but it was already too much aflame for that to work. The heat was steadily increasing and creeping higher and higher up his sleeve... And then it died down, as quickly as it had lit up. Haldir's heart was beating fast; he didn't dare look at his left wrist, but he looked at Daëra – just to make sure she hadn't done it on purpose, he needed to see the expression on her face. But it was a ridiculous thought, she never would. Daëra was reaching for him, the ring having disappeared from her finger. "I am so sorry," she whispered, something close to desperation on her face. She took hold of his arm – the good one, of course – and they jumped off the tree. By then the pain had set in, its force making Haldir gasp. The fabric of his lower sleeve wasn't completely burned; Haldir could hardly suppress a pained groan when Daëra carefully tugged at it. "You will have to take off your tunic or the fabric will burn into your skin. Quickly now." She helped him to take his cloak off and pull the tunic over his head. When the fabric scratched along his burnt arm the wave of pain was so violent Haldir saw stars in front of his eyes. He was only standing in his soft black trousers and boots now, the cool air felt good on his muscular chest, but it just added to the pain on his left arm. The fire that started to take over his whole body almost felt like being fire-healed, only this time the pain didn't recede after a while. Daëra took hold of his hand and her eyes wandered from his wrist – that was the most burnt, the skin was bloody-red and blistered – up to his elbow. "The one thing fire cannot heal, is burns," she whispered, adding: "But I can make an ointment... it is quite simple..."

They found all the necessary herbs and jars on the closest flet of the wardens and it didn't take Daëra long to mix the unction. The cold ointment on the burns almost made Haldir cry out loud, just as the slight pressure when she wrapped a dressings around it. While Daëra had been preparing, Haldir had finally dared to inspect his left forearm, even though he was almost sick at the sight. He could see where Daëra's fingers had been, and more: the worst burn was just about one and a half centimetres long, a dark red – almost purple, – stripe crossing the burn that marked where Daëra's thumb had been. The small band was lined with bits of fluff from the tunic that stuck to the raw skin. The ring. Fire was wayward, fire was unruly and unpredictable – and yet the ring could control it. It could transform it into healing powers.

They were standing outside, Haldir's hand was bandaged and slowly, very slowly, the pain started to diminish. The air felt cool on his bare upper body. Haldir exhaled. "Are you burned?" – Daëra showed him her right hand: it was flawless but for a red, irritated line round her thumb. "When I am wearing the ring for too long at a time, it burns me as well. Yet not as bad... Listen, I am really sorry, it always seems to be me that is getting you hurt - at least that hasn't changed over the years," she added bitterly. "I lost control... I should have taken the ring off, I did not realise I was setting your cuff on fire." – Haldir smiled slightly. "I will be alright." – "Yes, but will have to rest – almost your complete forearm was on fire. Your body will need time to compensate for this." She hesitated. "It might scar." – Haldir briefly closed his eyes. Fire. Why would anyone want to play with fire? It was the enemy of the forests, it had been an enemy always, only to be handled with care. Suddenly, Haldir was struck by a thought. The ring was just a silver band, inconspicuous, but it would explain, why it was so powerful... "It is one of the Three, is it not? The ring." One of the three rings given to the elves before Sauron had betrayed them all. – Daëra sighed without looking at him. And nodded.

*A/N: For all of you who haven't read J.R.R. Tolkien's books: it is actually true that one of the three rings for the elves was given to Círdan the boat-builder in Mithlond. When Gandalf came to Middle-Earth though, Círdan decided to give the ring to him, since he believed that Gandalf could use it more on his journeys through the land.

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Lots of looove, Jazzlin*