In his dream he was dying on rocky ramparts at night in the rain, orc swords slashing his flesh. He'd dreamed this dream before, and each time the pain and shock woke him. Haldir sat up in his bed, gasping for air, both chilled to the bone and sweating.
He heard a noise in the room beside him and at first could not remember who it would be. He had no family left. They were all gone and dead, the long years of their lives taken away by orc blades and arrows. Alone, he served the White Lady as Warden. This was all he had left.
The door opened gently and an elven woman entered. Saarsta. Had Saarsta returned? No, that wasn't right. Saarsta too was dead. His jumbled thoughts fought for order, for clarity.
"You were crying out in your sleep," the woman said quietly, seeking Haldir's gaze, and as she stepped into the room Haldir remembered. Not Saarsta, but her child. Her half human child, named Mira.
He looked away, his breath rushing out in a hiss thought his clenched teeth.
"I am awake now." He didn't wish to explain himself to her. He wanted her to leave him be.
Saarsta had been close to him once like a true sister, before she'd left Lothlorien and her adoptive family behind for her human mate. All that remained of her now was this girl, in her thirties by human years, yet a babe by elven standards. Yet she was neither fully elven nor human. Worst of all, she was a stranger. There was little of Saarsta that he could see in her. Her figure and height were her mother's, yet her brown hair and dark eyes belonged to her human father.
Mira stood just inside the doorway hesitating between an instinct to comfort him and the dismissal she sensed from him. She looked very young, and moved with that lack of poise that humans were known for, full of unrestrained emotion and impulsiveness.
Two short months ago the Lady Galadriel had granted her sanctuary. She'd come to them after her family and village had been destroyed by an orc raid. As honour and tradition required of him, Haldir had received the half human into his family, what little was left of it, and sworn his protection. Saarsta had been his bond sister. Now she was dead.
He closed his eyes tight and swallowed the familiar wave of anger and resentment. The Lady had asked many things of him of late. Soon she would send him and those under his command to fight alongside the humans one last time. And in return, she'd given him a gift of sorts. He scoffed. She'd given him the gift of sight. Haldir swung his legs over the edge of his bed, and rested his forehead in his palms.
Thanks to the Lady's gift, he dreamed of his death almost every night.
Haldir still served the White Lady and honoured his oath, yet day by day he felt himself growing distant, resigned to the knowledge of his impending death. He knew he would never glimpse Valinor's skies, never set foot on that sweet shore. And all along the White Lady watched him, cold and beautiful.
Mira came and sat beside him on the edge of the bed. In her hands was a tall glass of water. She offered it silently to Haldir and as he took it from her hand, their fingers touched.
He drank thirstily and looked sideways at her. He had lived a long time, and in that time he had loved in the way of elves, or thought that he did. He had loved his father and mother and his brothers and his bond sister, and once an elven maiden who'd wedded another. Yet he still did not comprehend what kind of emotion would make an elf leave her kind and join her life to a mortal. He hadn't understood Saarsta all those years ago. He thought he understood humans, with their limited, boisterous and weak ways. But this child of Saarsta's that was neither human nor elf, he couldn't quite figure out, and it unnerved him. By all standards she should have been a child, yet he'd learned she was not.
"My lord Warden," Mira began softly, "the White Lady has granted me leave to join you when you set out for Helm's Deep."
"She has granted you leave to die," he replied cruelly.
"The elves are leaving Middle Earth," she said, speaking of the elves as a race neither she nor he belonged to. She reached boldly and took his hand between both of hers. She touched his skin the same way that he had drunk the glass of water, thirsting for connection. It reminded Haldir again, of the frailty of humans, their need for comfort in each other. She'd lived under his protection for two short months after her parents had been killed. She was surrounded constantly by elves and yet, Haldir knew her loneliness increased daily.
"There is nothing for me here in Lothlorien," she said to him. "You are the only family I have left. If I go to my death, so be it. I wish to fight beside you."
Haldir lifted an eyebrow.
"I want to come with you when you leave for Helm's Deep. Please, take me with you."
If the White Lady had given her permission, Haldir would obey.
"You can do as you please," he told her. "Choose ever which way you wish to die. I care not."
In that unrefined human way, she couldn't hide her hurt. Her eyes welled up with tears and she bit her lip to keep from crying. She dropped his hand gently and stood.
"Have you always been this hard, Haldir?" she asked bitterly and left him.
Haldir felt a wave of anger wash over him, at the world, at his fate, at the White Lady. He wanted to hurl the glass into the far wall of his bedchamber and watch it smash into a million little sharp pieces.
He drank the rest of the water and placed the glass noiselessly on the table at his bedside.