Written By: Armeniel

For: LeoD

A SORT OF DIFFERENT.

Disclaimer: I don't own, or claim to own, Lord of the Rings. This fic was written in response to a Fic Challenge on the PPC Board.

Rating: G

Summary: Haldir's journey from the mallorn-trees of Lórien to the Undying Lands.

Thanks to Ciela Night for setting this whole Fic Exchange up.

This fic was beta'd by Charlotte. Thanks, Charl. ^_^

This fic is dedicated to LeoD. Thanks for giving me such a great topic to write about! (It's post-LotR, I hope you don't mind- you said you weren't particular.)

A Sort of Different:

He wondered.

He sat in the Golden Wood, underneath the mallorn-trees that had seen more than he would ever see, and he wondered.

Would things have been different?

Of course they would have been different. If Frodo Baggins had not destroyed the ring of power, of course things would have been different.

That, however, was not really the sort of different he was thinking about this fine afternoon in Lothlórien.  There are many sorts of different: the kind that lingers in the air, plaguing you until you give in and search for it, the kind that willingly binds itself to you and fills your head with 'What if?'s and 'I wonder...'s on a clear day, the kind that you will never come across, no matter how hard you search for it and the kind that is already happening and that can never be erased. The sort of different Haldir of Lórien was pondering was the second kind.

He had been alert and watching for strangers entering the realm of Lothlórien when this particular sort of different came to him, grabbing hold and refusing to let go.

Where would he be now, had the ring not been destroyed? Perhaps he would have reached the Undying Lands already. Perhaps he would be leaving, fleeing to escape Sauron's wrath.

Sunlight shone from above, filtered through the great boughs above him. It directed itself on to his upturned face, lighting his complexion and brightening his eyes, the eyes that for so long had been tainted by worry and fear. Fear that if the power of the Lady Galadriel could not stop Sauron, then nothing could. Worry that it was ridiculous to send a hobbit to do an army's task.

But they had not needed an army.

It had not been the army, nor the Lady Galadriel's power, that had destroyed the root of all evil. It had been the hobbit.

So what did that say about him? Had he, Haldir, misjudged Frodo, or had Frodo misjudged his own ability? Creasing his brows and following this train of thought further, he concluded that it had indeed been Frodo who had misjudged himself. Frodo had not realised what he could become.

Either that, or he had not wanted, or needed, to realise.

Then his unconscious mind jumped to another subject, as minds tend to do when they are left to themselves without conscious supervision.

Haldir had lived a sheltered life of sorts. He had seen war and he had seen death, but he had never been alone when he faced them. Wherever there was war, wherever there was death, there was the familiar air of maybe. The maybe that reminded him when to stop when he had gone too far, and when he needed to take a step back and analyse his situation. The maybe belonged to him. It was his way of describing his own instincts, but a more comforting one. It made him feel as if there really was someone fighting for him, someone rooting for him, not themselves.

Did this make him somehow less brave than the hobbit from the Shire without the remotest idea that the maybe even existed?

Haldir sighed, distracted for a moment as he focused on a movement somewhere between the mallorn-trees, about three feet away to his east. Seeing that it was only a rustle of a branch, he settled back into his thoughts again, more aware of his surroundings this time.

It didn't make him any less brave. There are different sorts of brave, just like there are different sorts of different. It's like a flowchart that can lead off in many different directions to reach the same conclusion.

What was his conclusion?

His conclusion. It sounded so final to Haldir, so complete. He was not complete, that was part of his mystery, part of who he was. He never wanted to be complete, because then there would be nothing left for him to do, to think about. If he sailed to the Undying Lands, would he be complete?

Lothlórien was fading. The power of Nenya was all but spent, and the Elves were leaving. They had fought and they had won. There was nothing left for them here. Haldir would eventually leave with them, he knew, it was just a matter of when. He was delaying the moment as long as possible, unwilling to leave this beloved realm of peace, but knowing at the same time that it could not always be so. He must leave, and soon, if he were to make a new life in the Undying Lands.

He would miss the mallorn-trees, though. There had been no reports of mallorn-trees beyond the Great-Sea, and no realm was complete without them.

Could he give up on Lothlórien, this memorial of ancient days long-gone, with a clear conscience? It was the place he loved above all else. He'd learnt Westron and the customs of other cultures, always hungering after information in between serving the Lord Celeborn and the Lady Galadriel, toiling underneath the glorious sun. For it had been glorious, in those days. The world would never be as it had been of old, of that he was certain.

He had last seen the Lord Celeborn when he had left with a great army of Elves to go to Southern Mirkwood and fight against Sauron's troops. He had last seen the Lady Galadriel a little while after that. If they had not gone already, they would go soon. They too had felt compelled to leave.

Now it was time for him too to pass into the West. He had always felt himself being increasingly pulled towards the Undying Lands, and now he knew that the time was right. The last of the Elves were leaving, and he would go with them. There was nothing left for him here anymore.

He shook his head, clearing it of thought, and sprang up from under the mallorn-trees, hardly noticing the gradual decline from day to night. He glided away, soon lost in a cloak of jet-black velvet, the kinds of different forgotten for now in the momentary excitement of a realisation.

Haldir of Lórien gathered his brothers, Rumil and Orophin, together for a council that very night, and it was decided that they should leave as soon as they had gathered together sufficient supplies for their journey. They were able to join another ship leaving for the West, and they left Middle-Earth within the next few weeks.

The Undying Lands were all Haldir had expected, and more. There were no mallorn-trees, but he did not find time to miss them much. There were other things to occupy his mind there. There were other sorts of different for him to explore, now that this one was well and truly in his past.

There are always other sorts of different to discover, and no one has ever found them all. Perhaps no one is really complete, then.

"Maybe that's a good thing," Haldir spoke in his native tongue to his brother Rumil one day as he took in his new surroundings in the Undying Lands.

"Maybe," Rumil replied, also in his native tongue, "maybe."