Disclaimer: All The Lord of the Rings characters, places, events, etc belong to NewLine Cinema and the Tolkien Copyright Trust. All original characters, events, etc. are property of author Araindil and may not be used without written consent.
Nota Bene: I would like to say that this story may not be for everyone. You should not read this if:
1. you are such a stickler for Tolkien-accuracy that you cannot even stand me using creative license to put some of the "movie-mistakes" into a new light.
2. you love the movies so much you cannot stand me writing/altering them in any way.
3. You hate Haldir and can't stand to see him in anything.
4. You love Haldir and can't stand to see him suffering/in angst.
Just to warn you all. Now, if you're still with me, one with the fic...
The Shores of Aman
by Araindil
Chapter One - Alone in the Rain
It is raining again.
The Celebrant rushes by, swelling on its fair banks, silver waters turned dusty grey by the rains. Arien has been lost behind the dark storm clouds for nigh on three days now. Storm clouds from the Misty Mountains. Clouds bearing great burdens of icy rain.
So cold. And so alone.
No one is meant to be utterly alone in the world. And no one truly is. Illuvatar has willed it so. And yet, the world has forsaken me.
Cruel is fate, cruel is the destiny of my days. The Halls of Mandos stealing away the only one I ever had in all of Arda.
Why? Eru, why?
Not so long ago, I had stood beneath these very mellyrn still with him. With a perilous love. How can it all be gone so quickly?
Silver mellyrn opened their branches above us, forming a living roof as the grass became a carpet of emerald beneath our feet.
"What is it melethril?"
Fair eyes. Such fair, guileless eyes. What could I say to him?
I put on a smile and shook my head, but kept my eyes averted. I did not think I could meet his gaze and still keep my control.
"'Tis a great honor the Lady has bestowed upon you," I said instead, forcing my voice to be mild and conversational. "To lead our noble guard, to battle, it is a high honor."
"Yes," he replied. "Yes, 'tis a great honor indeed."
I did not look up, but I could feel his smile. His beautiful smile. I knew that he truly believed this. To lead the Lothlorien guard to battle side by side with the people of Rohan. Against all of Curunir's army, all of Isengard.
To put his life rashly on the line.
How could this have been the decision of Lady Galadriel and Lord Elrond, wisest of the Quendi in Arda? How could this reflect their wise counsels for eons past?
Bitter was the taste on my tongue, but I swallowed it along with my fear, anger, and indignity.
I looked past the lush grass and my eyes fell on the glowing Celebrant, humming with light and watery music.
What did my thoughts matter in these matters anyway? He was glad of this honor. And I knew that I only had bitter, angry words to say. Useless words.
I could only stay behind. And hope.
"It will be a deed remembered as a union of friendship between the Quendi and the Atani for generations to come, will it not?" Again, I could feel his smile.
But, oh...
You fool, my heart cried. You poor, honor-bound fool.
My hands clenched into fists of their own accord, deep in the folds of my pale-blue robes. Pale-blue to match my eyes, I had thought that morning. Now it seemed unimportant, choosing of robes and little flightful fancies.
I jerked with surprise at the touch of another's hand on my own.
"Licuma?"
I looked up.
And my heart failed at his bright fair eyes. Fair, perilous eyes.
A simple touch, a soft-spoken name, and a single glance broke all the dams, all the hard-won barriers over years of grief. Fear, loss, and anger took me.
I wept.
Of sudden all the tears were released and I wept as I had never before. Tears flowing as waters held behind a floodgate, now unleashed and unchecked. I could not care any longer. I cried and cried, the sobs racking my entire body and my heart pounding so quickly it grew difficult to breathe.
He sat beside me in silence. I could feel the shock emanating from him. And why should he not be? After all, the calm, gentle-spoken maiden he had known for so long had suddenly broken down utterly with neither reason nor warning. Why should he not feel surprise?
Tears spilled from my eyes, from my heart, from the very core of my soul. Cascading to drench the front of my robes. I covered my face with my hands and fought for control. But control had long been in fraying, and was now broken beyond repair.
He was headed for a mission of suicide. A portion of Lorien's already small guard sent to help the pitiful men? Two small, hopeless armies against the full force of mighty Isengard? Feh, if this was not suicide then nothing was. It was beyond miracles to hope for life in face of such certain death. It was beyond hope to hope.
My beloved was walking to death. Sent to death by the Lady.
For an instant, my thoughts turned bitter and angry upon Galadriel. Why? Why did she have to involve Lothlorien in the affairs and grievances of men? Especially in such dangerous affairs. Were we not safe in Lorien, impregnable Lorien, bound to time and protected by the power of Lady Galadriel? She herself should know this, she should have chosen more wisely. She should have chosen any other warden beside him, I thought desperately.
But then reason came back. He had not had the task forced upon him. The Lady had given him the choice, and the fool he was had taken it willingly. More than willingly, he had taken it on gladly.
And it was not surprising. More loyal another could not have been to Lorien as he was. Loyal enough to put his life on the limb.
The tears kept flowing, though I fought weakly.
I was so lost in grief I did not even feel his hand on my arm.
"Licuma, why these tears?"
So comforting, so real was his touch it shocked me back to reality with doubly sharpened senses. Warm and solid, his touch drew my soul in, as his hand drew me closer to him, though I was still turned away from him.
I hid my face in the curtain of my dark hair, suddenly ashamed of the tears. I did not want to look at him. I did not want to be near him.
And yet I longed more than ever for him. To be with him, to watch him and stay forever at his side. To see his smile, to feel his love.
I was hopelessly smitten, hopelessly drowned in love and foreboding of loss. Hopeless as his mission.
Suddenly, every fiber of me turned to irrational anger. Anger at him.
I turned about violently, breaking his hold on me.
"Why?" I said angrily, brokenly. "Why must you go? Why you? Why?"
In desperation of loss I pulled at my long hair. My face turned to the skies, eyes closed, tears still streaming down my cheeks. My heart was breaking, a cruel archer shot arrows of pain into me, and with each hit a bit of me was drawn away, to be replaced by grief and madness.
"Licuma, what do you mean?" I sensed confusion in his voice. "Did you not say just before that it was a great honor-"
Oh, the fool. The fool!
"You do not understand, do you?" I cried. I lowered my tear-dampened face to meet his gaze in desperation. "You do not go to a battle of honor, you go to your death. There is no honor, for there will be none left alive to remember your deeds..."
I meant to continue, but I broke under his gaze. I could not force the words out through the knot in my throat, and my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, disabling speech. I dropped my face into my hands and the tears returned in a fresh flood. I could not stop myself. Now that I had voiced my fears, it had intensified. I suddenly saw all the terrible deaths liable to occur in battle, and I saw again and again him dying every death my cruel mind forced me to recognize. Death covered all my thoughts, death and blood. So much blood...
Suddenly he clasped his arms around me. I was so taken aback my tears were stopped by the wall of shock. He drew me close until I was barely half a hand's width away from him. I trembled from head to toe, and could not trust myself to speak - much less look up at him. But he placed a hand beneath my chin and gently lifted my gaze to meet his.
"Licuma," he said. "Do not fear for me. No matter what happens, even if all you say comes to pass, we will not be lost forever to one another. We are the Firstborn of Illuvatar, forever in this world to remain. No matter where or how we are parted, we will always meet again in the Blessed Realm. Not even Mandos has the power to sway this truth."
I quivered inside at the sound of his voice. It was so melodious, as it always was. But now it was also solemn, and filled with trust and conviction.
And I knew that he was right. Through all the ages of the world, no matter what takes him away from Arda, we shall always be reunited in Valinor.
It was the promise of Illuvatar to his Children, unbreakable unto the end. But it did not comfort me. I did not think I could bear to wait that long if his mortal body were indeed slain. How could I bear to face the ages of the world alone, and waiting for a time that I did not know when should come to pass?
"No..." My voice was soft and hoarse from weeping. "I cannot bear to be separated from you for so long. I cannot survive like that." I shuddered. "Do not do this to me..."
"Do you not think that I have thought of the same thing?"
I looked up. This time, I managed to meet his gaze. I was so weary I could hardly shed many more tears.
"Licuma," he said gently. "I have thought of all the outcomes of this battle countless times. Even the darkest fates that should await us paled in comparison to what should happen to Middle Earth if Sauron and Saruman win control of the lands. Licuma, understand that though I worry for us, the fate of Lothlorien and the other lands of Arda weigh heavily on my mind at all times."
I nodded. Yes, the fate of the world was certainly more important than the happiness of me, a small elf lost in the world.
Arien sailed slowly Westward, every nearing the horizon with every passing word.
"And I must lead our warriors, there is none other."
"What of your brothers?" I blurted. His brothers were every bit as able as him in the skills of battle.
His eyes hardened. "They do not have the experience of leadership, and they do not speak the tongues of men as I do. Licuma, I would never, ever place others in risk to save myself, least of all those I love. You should know this."
I hung my head in shame. Of course, I knew. I was just being selfish, and desperately thinking of some way to save him. There was no use hoping he would survive, the battle would be a massacre. Rohan was already lost.
"The company leaves at dusk on the morrow," he said quietly. "Will you come to see us off Licuma?"
My lips tightened, trembling. How could I stand to see him leave? How could I...?
I could find no reply.
"Ce melin," I whispered instead. It was all I could manage before my throat closed again.
"I know," he replied softly. "As do I you."
He placed a hand on my arm, his touch so gentle.
"I still remember when I first saw you Licuma, thîr vain gín darn thûl nín."
The sun sank over the treetops in a brilliant gleam of gold, casting warm fire across the silver mellyrn.
"Even if I am taken from you," he added in a whisper. "We will meet again. Await for me on the shores of Aman, I will be there."
I could not trust myself to speak.
He pulled me into his arms, and I collapsed in his embrace. I buried my face into his cloak, trying to stem the tears forcing their way from my eyes.
"Ce melin Haldir," I said, my voice breaking.
"Ce melithon anuir, Licuma."
Sindarin Translations:
Arien - the sun, or more accurately the Maia who guides the Sun
melethril - beloved
ce melin - I love you
thîr vain gín darn thûl nín - your beauty took my breath away
ce melithon anuir - I will love you forever
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