She flits through the trees ahead of him, a shooting star amongst the branches, silver-pale hair floating in the night behind her. Sweet, melodic laughter ripples through the breeze that stirs the great leaves about them. Haldir smiles; a faint, yet just perceptible curl of those serious lips. With graceful ease he leaps from the wide branch he stands upon, landing on the next at the run.

The hunter and his prey, he thinks as he trails her giddy, moonlit form through the treetops. Where does she come from? Who is she? Always he seeks her, and always she runs - with that coy, mischievous smile upon her fair features. One day he will know. One day he will catch her. But not today. Not this night.

For to speed up, to close the tantalising gap between them, would end the hunt, cease the thrilled pounding of heart as it flies after her in the dark. For now the chase is all.

With hard eyes fixed downwards he stalks through the towering trunks of clustered trees. There is no smile on the warden's face now; lips are a thin line as he sets arrow to bow. Long gone are the carefree hunts in the gentle starlight, they have been whispered away by the war and unrest that rustles through the Mellym like a fell winter wind.

There is no laughter, only calculated, deadly silence from around him, and the foul sounds of even fouler creatures from below.

Where is she? How does she fare? The questions that besiege him at the mere fleeting memory of a beckoning finger are coldly pushed aside. A warden does not have time or station to be seeking after maidens in such perilous days. It hurts. And he makes them pay all the more dearly for it.

Coarse shrieks and guttural cries mingle with the low whistling of arrows. And then there is silence.

He hopes with all hope that he did not let his previous prey of a wily maiden slip away.

The darkness has been cleared from the woods, cleared form the land in its entirety. While it brings peace, for Haldir it brings only a new restlessness. The marks of evil are abundant, slowly healing yet painful to behold. And the mounds of earth cause his throat to tighten: it had been long since fair Lorien saw a grave.

He begins his desolate, heart rending hunt amongst the mounds and groves, through the filth stained trees. Days pass and there is no trace of her, neither sign she lives nor sign she fell. Laughter and song echo through the realm but it is not the soft notes or wickedly sensual tones he remembers as if from a dream. He traces and retraces their old paths amongst the sheltering boughs and carven arches, ever hoping for a glimpse of radiant white and silver.

When hope is all but spent, he sits with face drawn and eyes that seem unusually tired as they stare out across the Goldenwood. It is then, in the stillness and silence of despair, that he hears it and his heart wildly jolts. Someone is sobbing. The low, keening tone seems to be familiar; the short and shallow breaths seem light enough.

Wary to give into fantasies or delusion, he cautiously picks his way through scattered leaves toward the sound. Heart and mind guarded, jaw firmly set, he steps into a war torn clearing and beholds the source of the sound.

His eyes widen and his heart races as she whirls to face the one who would intrude upon her mourning. The full lips tremble with emotion and she brings her hands up to cover the strangled gasp that escapes them. Frozen in shock they stand apart, a timeless wealth of unsaid words hanging between them. Finally she draws her hands away, shakily reaching toward him with a single whispered phrase:

"Catch me."

Thanks to all those at the Hall of Fire for their suggestions and advice!

He chases behind her, steadily and determinedly. She laughs wildly at the straight expression on his face. Will her warden be so serious in everything, she wonders with a mischievous grin. Bare feet glance against the solid branches beneath her as she faces forward again, running with the light wind and the heady pounding of her heart.

This moonlit game had become their ritual; a thrilling, unending race through the waving treetops. She revels in the just perceptible, faint sounds of his breath behind her; almost close enough to feel on the back of her neck, but not quite close enough. The suspense sends a shiver through her, a wild exhilaration. It is everything to know that he pursues, to know he could catch and claim her.

It is a feeling she refuses to lose. Waiting until his outstretched fingers can just grasp the trailing skirts of her gown, the last moment before glorious touch, she closes her eyes and dreams at their sudden closeness. And then she drops down amongst the darkness, catching her ragged breath with a smile as she loses him amongst soft shadows until the next night of starry pursuit.

Foul cries and unearthly shrieks fill the night around her. She shivers under the light shawl about her shoulders from where she looks out into the gloom. Never had the woods of her home looked so foreboding, so unwelcome. The boughs and branches appear like wicked arms reaching darkly out towards her. It is only death that chases her now through the fraught woodlands.

And he is out there somewhere. Hunting new prey with deadly intent. Knowing his honour to duty she wraps her arms about herself in some form of comfort: for death would be at his heels too.

She wishes she could creep out to see him, wishes she had courage to traverse the branches once more and just lay eyes on him to assuage her anxiety. But it would not be wise, she would only become a burden, it would tempt a dark fate even more. The battlefield is no place for a forest maid.

The endless unknowing makes the waiting all the more unbearable. Alone in the darkness the shadowy Mellym feel all the more desolate as they surround her pale figure.

They run with garlands and ribbons through the trees around her, bedecking the woods for peace and celebration. Their noise is incessant, irritating and grating against her worry. Her stomach knots with it, as days after the battles she has still not seen him. No word has come; grave or fair tidings of a warden's fate elude her as the over-bright days crawl on. Surely one such as he would be noticed, would be … remembered.

She lingers on old paths, possessed by memories both frightful and glorious. There is no charm in the cool nights, she walks rather than runs along the broad branches, her hair a silver curtain that hides her downcast face. Paths once fair and flower-strewn are ripped and torn with the marks of war and cruel intent. Shadows become pools of blood in the darkness, the twigs on the floor are broken arrows and with every step she sees his face looming before her in death and agony. Cursing herself and her past foolishness she drifts on. If only she'd let him catch her, possess her and be hers in return…

The sun has risen again when she reaches the first clearing, with its sad mounds stretching out into the tree line. Shock floods through her as with wide eyes she struggles to take in the harrowing scene. Cloaks and weapons are laid out upon the raised earth, both testament and honour to their former owners. Courage deserting her she flees weeping through the scarred woodlands, flinging herself against a sturdy trunk for support. For a time she leans there, clinging to the familiar bark and letting her tears finally flow. There is a sound. Breaking off a sob she steels her face, trying to force the emotion from it as she turns.

Utter disbelief and frenzied hope fill her. Her lips tremble with emotion that threatens to overspill yet again as she stares across the clearing to one who stands waiting warily as if he dreams. Frozen in shock they stand apart, a timeless wealth of unsaid words hanging between them. In sudden relief and stunned realisation she unclasps her hands from her mouth and reaches out for he whom she loves. As her legs begin to give beneath her she manages to whisper:

"Catch me."

Special thanks to Aearwen and Erulisse!