As the sword hilt slid between his ribs he thought, incongruously, of the time he'd been playing at swords as a child in the woods of Lothlorien. One of the others... he didn't remember who anymore, Glorfindel, perhaps... had got a lucky strike in on his side. It had hurt much worse than this. He didn't even register what had happened before the sword slid back out again and his body registered the shock.
I can't die here, he thought. I can't die here on top of some man's wall, for a King whose name I barely know and who has lived perhaps the span of an elven child. This isn't right. This is... ignominous.
Fate didn't particularly care.
I can't die here, he wailed inside of himself. I have to go home. I have to walk through the woods of Lothlorien again. They need me at the borders, they need me to patrol, to watch, to keep an eye on the young ones who would rather shoot intruders than lead them astray or politely turn them onto a different path. They need me to play the diplomat, to stand at the edge of the forest's borders and keep watch... they need my bow, they need me to command them. The soldiers, the archers, they need me to lead them to a resounding victory. I can't die here in this battle. There are other battles to be fought.
No deity of battles listened to him, and he bled his life out onto the stones. Behind him, he only faintly heard Aragorn screaming in Elvish... his name, and something else. The words were echoing hollow in his ears now.
I can't die here... he whispered sadly. The thoughts flitted through his head, the myriad reasons why he should refuse to let his life spill out onto Helmsdeep. The faces of all his friends swam before his eyes, most of them looking strained and sad. The face of Galadriel, his queen, Celeborn, his king, all of his companions and comrades in arms in Lothlorien. All of their voices rang faintly in his ears (he knew they were hallucinations but he heard them anyway, laughing and talking) calling his name. They were calling him to the shadow lands, he knew. He had to resist, for the sake of the living. He had to fight, for their sake.
For her sake. For the woman who adored him, whom he adored more than any tree or leaf in Lothlorien. He had to live, he had promised her to return alive and whole and healthy, and he was never one to break a promise. He wouldn't start now. Her face swam before him, pale eyes and pale hair looking as warm and alive as the day he had left her, weeping in the secluded stand, to lead the army to Helmsdeep and rescue the Rohan men. It seemed a paltry thing, now, to exchange for a life of peace and contentment with his beloved, even assuming it would do a damn thing to stop the advent of Sauron and the ring of power. He could hear her voice now, speaking soft words of comfort, of love. He missed her till it was an ache in his chest, almost twin to the one in his side...
He could feel his life dripping onto the stones, and barely noticed when he fell to his knees. Oh, beloved... he thought sadly. I am going to break a promise to you, the one oath on which I never wished to be forsworn. But by the light, I cannot hold on any longer.
Haldir's vision blurred. The last sight he took with him into the darkness was a pair of pale eyes, and a smile.
I can't die here, he thought. I can't die here on top of some man's wall, for a King whose name I barely know and who has lived perhaps the span of an elven child. This isn't right. This is... ignominous.
Fate didn't particularly care.
I can't die here, he wailed inside of himself. I have to go home. I have to walk through the woods of Lothlorien again. They need me at the borders, they need me to patrol, to watch, to keep an eye on the young ones who would rather shoot intruders than lead them astray or politely turn them onto a different path. They need me to play the diplomat, to stand at the edge of the forest's borders and keep watch... they need my bow, they need me to command them. The soldiers, the archers, they need me to lead them to a resounding victory. I can't die here in this battle. There are other battles to be fought.
No deity of battles listened to him, and he bled his life out onto the stones. Behind him, he only faintly heard Aragorn screaming in Elvish... his name, and something else. The words were echoing hollow in his ears now.
I can't die here... he whispered sadly. The thoughts flitted through his head, the myriad reasons why he should refuse to let his life spill out onto Helmsdeep. The faces of all his friends swam before his eyes, most of them looking strained and sad. The face of Galadriel, his queen, Celeborn, his king, all of his companions and comrades in arms in Lothlorien. All of their voices rang faintly in his ears (he knew they were hallucinations but he heard them anyway, laughing and talking) calling his name. They were calling him to the shadow lands, he knew. He had to resist, for the sake of the living. He had to fight, for their sake.
For her sake. For the woman who adored him, whom he adored more than any tree or leaf in Lothlorien. He had to live, he had promised her to return alive and whole and healthy, and he was never one to break a promise. He wouldn't start now. Her face swam before him, pale eyes and pale hair looking as warm and alive as the day he had left her, weeping in the secluded stand, to lead the army to Helmsdeep and rescue the Rohan men. It seemed a paltry thing, now, to exchange for a life of peace and contentment with his beloved, even assuming it would do a damn thing to stop the advent of Sauron and the ring of power. He could hear her voice now, speaking soft words of comfort, of love. He missed her till it was an ache in his chest, almost twin to the one in his side...
He could feel his life dripping onto the stones, and barely noticed when he fell to his knees. Oh, beloved... he thought sadly. I am going to break a promise to you, the one oath on which I never wished to be forsworn. But by the light, I cannot hold on any longer.
Haldir's vision blurred. The last sight he took with him into the darkness was a pair of pale eyes, and a smile.