The sun was scorching hot, and Mira was glad for the cool breeze. Her arms ached from lifting pots all morning.
Legolas and Gimli had asked her to join them and a band of Gondorian solders to drive out any leftover of Sauron's host from the south at Emyn Arnen to Osgiliath, and north to Cair Andros. She'd turned them down. As much as she'd have liked to spend more time with them, she was sick of battle.
She'd joined the women of Minas Tirith who were busy feeding the remaining armies of Rohan, still camped outside the city gates on the Pelennor fields. Some had already headed home, but others stayed behind, waiting on their new king.
She'd volunteered to load and unload the carts. By midday, her arms felt weak and shaky with fatigue.
"You've earned a rest, My Lady," one of the women told her, handing her a cup with water and a bowl of stew. She'd tried to get them to call her Mira, but her elven blood, evident in her features and bearing, made her stand out, and the women couldn't bring themselves to dispense of the formality. Mira watched them settle for their own meal, familiar and at ease amongst each other, and sighed. She was apart no matter where she went.
She walked through the gates and sat on a slab of white stone in the shadow of the wall and looked up at the city above her.
Minas Tirith was a beautiful place. The sun shone off the white stone, and Mira had to shade her eyes not to be blinded. Somewhere up there, on the seventh level, Haldir was probably having his midday meal with the elves of Lothlorien.
She closed her eyes and buried her face in her hands.
Her mind drifted again to the days after the final battle. They'd returned from the Black Gate and marched into the city. She'd been shaking with exhaustion, but after stabling her horse, her feet took her straight to the House of Healing.
Haldir had been asleep. She couldn't bear to wake him, but stood by his bed and watched him until the healers had made her leave. The next day, she woke up late, washed and rushed back only to be told that he had gone.
"Gone where?" she'd asked, trying to hide her panic.
Elves had come, the healer told her. She'd given her the sort of pitying look one might give a child who'd just learned that all that lives must die. An elf did not belong amongst humans. What did it matter where he went?
Mira rushed to find Aragorn. He, at least, was easily spotted. The entire city's eyes were on him, their hopes and dreams anchoring themselves to him. The king who had returned.
"Aragorn, where's Haldir?" Mira asked him as soon as she reached him.
"His kin are here," he said. "I think they are above," he glanced towards the terraces. "In the rose gardens."
Mira had rushed in that direction and found herself in a walled garden full of blossoms. She looked around her bewildered. This beautiful place had survived in the midst of all the madness.
She walked quickly down the stone-paved paths. She couldn't see anyone at first, but then, at the far end of the gardens, she found them. The elves of Lothlorien, in their beautiful white and golden garb, tall and serene. One heard her, turned towards her. The group parted and she saw amongst them the Lady Galadriel. Their eyes met.
"The time for partings has come, daughter of man," the White Lady spoke into her mind. She stepped aside and behind her stood Haldir.
"Haldir!" Mira called.
He looked well. So well! Gone were his bloody armour and weapons. He wore the white garb of Marchwarden, and his eyes were clear and well rested.
And his face was a mask.
"Saarsta's daughter," he greeted her, and his voice was cool and light and completely devoid of any feeling. "Well met!"
"You are well, Haldir," Mira said. Call me by my own name, she wanted to yell at him, but bit her tongue. The host of Lothlorien had come to claim their own. This was the Haldir she had first met when the elves had offered her shelter, and he was a stranger.
She walked to him and took his hand in hers. The elves parted before her to give her room. Haldir's eyes stayed on her face, and his hand rested lightly in hers, ready to let go as soon as she did. She supposed she should be grateful that he was letting her touch him at all. After all, it was not the elven way.
She wanted to tell him that she'd missed him. She wanted to tell him about the horror of the battle, and the relief of victory, knowing he would listen and understand. The Haldir she'd known these last few weeks would have understood. The words lodged in her throat and she searched his eyes for a sign that they would be welcome.
His gaze was not unkind, but distant.
Mira swallowed and nodded. She looked around her at the other elves. She'd hoped they would move off, give them some measure of privacy, but they stood in a circle, watching.
She let go of Haldir's hand. For a second, she though he would hold on to her, but then his fingers loosened and were gone.
"I'm glad to see you well," Mira said, attempting a smile. She glanced at the elves again. "I will leave you." She knew her own composure could never be as convincing as theirs. She was, after all, half human. So she turned quickly and walked away. She pushed the tears and the grief down, felt it lodge in her chest, beneath her ribs like a stone. A few more weeks and he'd be gone. And then she could cry.
"Come and eat with us, lass," one of the women spoke, breaking Mira out of her memories. She lowered the hands covering her eyes and had to blink against the bright light to focus on her face. The woman smiled at her. She was older, with deep wrinkles etched into her face. She'd called her 'lass', and not 'My Lady'.
Mira felt something break in her chest and suddenly she was crying.
...
"Haldir, walk with me a while," Aragorn asked as the council broke up. Haldir nodded and followed him outside on to the terrace.
They looked out over the low stone parapet to the lower levels and the fields beyond. Repairs were underway. The city was teeming with activity and energy. People were solemn still, but they were out from under the shadow. Despite a lack of outward celebration, there was a thrum of life bubbling beneath the surface.
"You've been very busy," Haldir commented.
"There is so much to do."
"You are looking forward to it, I think."
Aragorn nodded. "I am. This, at last, is not a labour born of despair. We are granted another chance to live. How can we not take it?" He turned to Haldir. "And you, my friend? You would enjoy this also. I know this much, for you gave me good advice earlier during the council."
"My story is at an end," Haldir said tonelessly. "The White Lady rests here until your coronation, and to see her granddaughter come. And then we will depart."
"Is it what you want?"
Haldir glanced at his friend in surprise.
Days ago, before the White Lady arrived, he was filled with anger, despair and confusion. Mira, alone at the Black Gate, while he lay helpless in a hospital bed. The terrible ache in his chest at being apart from her, not able to protect her. He remembered the sharp stab of relief when Aragorn had told him that she lived.
And then the Lady Galadriel had arrived. She'd hastened the healing of his arm. He had no need for the healers any longer. He'd left the Houses of Healing and the elves took him to a rose garden on the terraces of Minas Tirith. The garden he'd dreamed of so often of late, where he'd waited for Mira to speak her mind. What would she had said? Now he'll never know.
"What happened to you, Haldir, when the elves arrived?" Aragorn asked him, startling him out of his recollections.
Haldir looked out over the fields. There were hundreds of tents still set up, people milling about, carts and wagons with provisions streaming in and out of the city. Women had been wheeling out food for the riders all morning. Haldir looked down but saw none of it.
"She took it away," he spoke finally.
"Mira?"
"No, the Lady Galadriel of Lothlorien, whom I serve."
"What did she take away, Haldir?" Aragorn asked urgently.
"The sight. The gift of sight." Haldir turned to his human friend and for a brief moment there was a look of despair in his eyes. "She gave it to me and now she took it away. She told me my need for it was over. And now I will never know, for it may never come to pass." Mira, the garden, the joy in her eyes, all gone.
"Know what?"
Haldir shook his head. The despairing look was gone.
"It matters not."
But in his mind's eye, he still saw Mira's face, the hurt and betrayal he'd seen in her eyes when she'd come to find him in the gardens. He was a warrior. He knew that a clean cut made a wound heal faster. In the undying lands, perhaps the hole in his heart would heal. After all, that is where those with wounds too grave for this world had gone. Or perhaps he would stop feeling anything at all. Anything would be better than this.