Chapter 2.
Haldir smiled to himself smugly. Yes, he, March Warden of Lothlorien, had survived the battle of Helm's Deep. Of course, he mourned for the loss of his fallen comrades, but him, of all elves, could pick up the broken pieces. Granted, there weren't that many elves who were qualified as he was to serve his Lord and Lady, and he would try. And he would succeed, he told himself. His thoughts began to wander to the frosty lady of Rohan – cold to a fault and chilly as ice. He could see the streak of need, pleading with herself to accept the sad fate she felt she was resigned to. Haldir shook his head. Why was he even thinking about some ordinary mortal? Since surviving Helm's Deep, he had began thinking more about his past, unwittingly remembering things that we wanted to keep hidden.
Flashback-
He was the newly appointed March Warden of Lothlorien. The elves were in a frenzy over what they should have done about the Ring in the Council of Elrond, and Celeborn's idea had caused a controversy amongst them, which was to appoint one of their fellow Elves to destroy it. Obviously, not many were willing to take up the challenge, and the challenge issued by one of the Elves of Mirkwood to Celeborn had caused a stir. Haldir lost no time in seeking this opportunity to challenge him to a duel, anything to protect the pride of the Elves of Lothlorien.
On the day of the duel, he had practiced his best, swords only. Although he wasn't as adept with the sword as he was with archery, he knew that he could succeed. However, one thing that he didn't have was that he didn't have someone to second him; yet, he went on with the duel. As they parried and lunged, the mysterious cloaked elf of Mirkwood thrust his sword into the side of Haldir's ribcage, and left him there to bleed and die while he swept away. Haldir could easily have perished in the attack, yet with this close bond with the Lady and Lord of Lothlorien, they managed to save him in the nick of time.
End Flashback-
The night was silent and cold. Word had reached him about the survival of Haldir in the battle of Helm's Deep. Yes, he had heard. He had known that Haldir was a formidable adversary, but he knew that he could destroy the elf. Snobby, cold and elitist, there was no reason why he should have survived when so many more worthy ones had perished. He had known that the close alliance with the Lady and Lord of Lothlorien worked to Haldir's advantage, but he had something else – he had the will. He had the freedom, and he, above all others, feared none. He would not be taken in so easily. Why, Haldir should have perished by his hand. But there were things that could happen again – and again – and again. He would seize his chance well this time round, and regain his honour, once lost so many years ago.
Éowyn was sitting by the hearth, near the blazing fire. Haldir was showing signs of improvement - that could only be good, she thought. She was puzzling over a mysterious scar that the March Warden had, one that never really healed. As she asked him about it, trying to sound concerned and in passing, he had clammed up completely, refusing to say a single word concerning the events leading up to it. Not that he usually spoke much, she mused. It must have been traumatizing to be the only one of his men alive, and to know that he was miles away from the home he knew. Éowyn started feeling a pang of sympathy for him. Now, if only had he not brushed us all off like a piece of dirt, I might actually feel sorry for him, she told herself, yet she knew that beneath the cold exterior was probably another shattered soul.
As he stepped gingerly out of the bedroom, he saw Éowyn standing in a little ray of sunshine that illuminated the hall. She was really quite beautiful, he thought, as she turned around and smiled.
"I see you're finally out of the room," she said, laughing.
"Yes. It's actually rather cosy once you get used to it," he replied; even though he never thought that he would ever truly enjoy it.
"Well, I assume that in a few days you'll be all better, and you might want to take a walk around the grounds," she smiled.
"I think I might be up to it now, in fact," Haldir answered. This might be a good opportunity to see it by day, he thought.
They stepped outside Helm's Deep, where a chill hung in the air though the sun was shining, and Éowyn sighed. It was hard to imagine how serene it looked in the day, in light, yet forbidding in the night, and in battle it proved to cast a gloomy spell over the area.
"So many deaths, and yet, when it's all over, it seems as if it was just a dream, but deep inside, you know it was real," Éowyn said sadly.
"You might have thought that you'd be immune to it after seeing it all over again, so many times before," Haldir answered, realizing that what he said indeed was true. Somehow, he always felt that stab of guilt, even though as March Warden he had to maintain his cool, remain impassive.
"But you still carry on, and you step out every new day without feeling as if you were being dogged, and you don't need to take orders blindly, just because you're a lady," Éowyn replied bitterly, feeling a tear trickle down her cheek as she spoke.
"Sometimes, the past hurts more than the present does," Haldir answered simply. He could see the sadness reflected in her eyes clearly now, the longing to escape from her world. As he took her hand and wiped her tears away gently, she looked up and for once, she felt understood.
Haldir smiled to himself smugly. Yes, he, March Warden of Lothlorien, had survived the battle of Helm's Deep. Of course, he mourned for the loss of his fallen comrades, but him, of all elves, could pick up the broken pieces. Granted, there weren't that many elves who were qualified as he was to serve his Lord and Lady, and he would try. And he would succeed, he told himself. His thoughts began to wander to the frosty lady of Rohan – cold to a fault and chilly as ice. He could see the streak of need, pleading with herself to accept the sad fate she felt she was resigned to. Haldir shook his head. Why was he even thinking about some ordinary mortal? Since surviving Helm's Deep, he had began thinking more about his past, unwittingly remembering things that we wanted to keep hidden.
Flashback-
He was the newly appointed March Warden of Lothlorien. The elves were in a frenzy over what they should have done about the Ring in the Council of Elrond, and Celeborn's idea had caused a controversy amongst them, which was to appoint one of their fellow Elves to destroy it. Obviously, not many were willing to take up the challenge, and the challenge issued by one of the Elves of Mirkwood to Celeborn had caused a stir. Haldir lost no time in seeking this opportunity to challenge him to a duel, anything to protect the pride of the Elves of Lothlorien.
On the day of the duel, he had practiced his best, swords only. Although he wasn't as adept with the sword as he was with archery, he knew that he could succeed. However, one thing that he didn't have was that he didn't have someone to second him; yet, he went on with the duel. As they parried and lunged, the mysterious cloaked elf of Mirkwood thrust his sword into the side of Haldir's ribcage, and left him there to bleed and die while he swept away. Haldir could easily have perished in the attack, yet with this close bond with the Lady and Lord of Lothlorien, they managed to save him in the nick of time.
End Flashback-
The night was silent and cold. Word had reached him about the survival of Haldir in the battle of Helm's Deep. Yes, he had heard. He had known that Haldir was a formidable adversary, but he knew that he could destroy the elf. Snobby, cold and elitist, there was no reason why he should have survived when so many more worthy ones had perished. He had known that the close alliance with the Lady and Lord of Lothlorien worked to Haldir's advantage, but he had something else – he had the will. He had the freedom, and he, above all others, feared none. He would not be taken in so easily. Why, Haldir should have perished by his hand. But there were things that could happen again – and again – and again. He would seize his chance well this time round, and regain his honour, once lost so many years ago.
Éowyn was sitting by the hearth, near the blazing fire. Haldir was showing signs of improvement - that could only be good, she thought. She was puzzling over a mysterious scar that the March Warden had, one that never really healed. As she asked him about it, trying to sound concerned and in passing, he had clammed up completely, refusing to say a single word concerning the events leading up to it. Not that he usually spoke much, she mused. It must have been traumatizing to be the only one of his men alive, and to know that he was miles away from the home he knew. Éowyn started feeling a pang of sympathy for him. Now, if only had he not brushed us all off like a piece of dirt, I might actually feel sorry for him, she told herself, yet she knew that beneath the cold exterior was probably another shattered soul.
As he stepped gingerly out of the bedroom, he saw Éowyn standing in a little ray of sunshine that illuminated the hall. She was really quite beautiful, he thought, as she turned around and smiled.
"I see you're finally out of the room," she said, laughing.
"Yes. It's actually rather cosy once you get used to it," he replied; even though he never thought that he would ever truly enjoy it.
"Well, I assume that in a few days you'll be all better, and you might want to take a walk around the grounds," she smiled.
"I think I might be up to it now, in fact," Haldir answered. This might be a good opportunity to see it by day, he thought.
They stepped outside Helm's Deep, where a chill hung in the air though the sun was shining, and Éowyn sighed. It was hard to imagine how serene it looked in the day, in light, yet forbidding in the night, and in battle it proved to cast a gloomy spell over the area.
"So many deaths, and yet, when it's all over, it seems as if it was just a dream, but deep inside, you know it was real," Éowyn said sadly.
"You might have thought that you'd be immune to it after seeing it all over again, so many times before," Haldir answered, realizing that what he said indeed was true. Somehow, he always felt that stab of guilt, even though as March Warden he had to maintain his cool, remain impassive.
"But you still carry on, and you step out every new day without feeling as if you were being dogged, and you don't need to take orders blindly, just because you're a lady," Éowyn replied bitterly, feeling a tear trickle down her cheek as she spoke.
"Sometimes, the past hurts more than the present does," Haldir answered simply. He could see the sadness reflected in her eyes clearly now, the longing to escape from her world. As he took her hand and wiped her tears away gently, she looked up and for once, she felt understood.