The Shores of Aman
Chapter Three - Valiant to the End
'Ce melithon anuir...'
His words still echo in my mind, haunting my every moment, waking or dreaming.
The rain has begun to lessen slightly. The clouds seem to lighten. 'Soon, they will lighten to a small drizzle, then perhaps stop altogether,' I think dully. 'He would have been pleased... He had never liked the rain...'
Shimmering drops of rain trickle down my face, taking the place of tears I no longer have left to cry. My heart is empty, any emotion that filled it has been stolen away.
I keep my eyes to the ground, where the grass droops from the relentless rain.
I wonder what he would say if he could see me now; a black cloak falling from my shoulders to just above the ground, the hood shading my downcast face. His silver maid, all dressed in mourning.
This place will be marked with sorrow evermore; this small lawn of grass by the Celebrant, silver mellyrn leaning in to form a roof. A hollow is scooped into the earth now, covered by white niphredil blossoms. Lovely, but bearing no joy.
Everything that shall come to pass, will come to pass. I cannot reverse or alter fate. I can only play along.
And fate has brought me to this dreadful moment.
My beloved lies upon the bed of niphredil. Dressed in garments of clean white, his hair is as gold upon his shoulders. He is so pale, and peaceful. His eyes have been closed, and they feign sleep. It is a mockery of rest. Teasing the dreaming on earth.
And yet in a way, he is sleeping.
He rests in a sleep brought by Mandos; his expression now forever frozen by the moment of his passing.
I am dimly aware of many elves passing behind me, all of Lóthlorien seems to have gathered to pay their final respects.
They come to farewell the great Marchwarden of the Northern Borders.
An honorable warrior, valiant even to the end.
Haldir of Lórien.
They pass by quietly, each bowing their head and placing a stalk or two of pale niphredil at his feet. Some pause a moment longer to whisper words of farewell, mostly those who knew him as dear friends or distant kin, none closer to him than I. For the last I knew Rumil had fled at the news brought two days past, taking to wandering aimlessly about the Eastern Borders since then. Orophin has since withdrawn to his talan, not heeding the duties of the Watches and speaking to no one.
'Their pain must be as mine,' I think. 'Yes, perhaps they too have felt the pain... But it is gone from me now. And without it I feel nothing, I know nothing...'
The tread of soft footsteps and swish of rain-dampened cloaks form a morose drone, punctuated by the watery voice of the Celebrant.
I sink slowly to my knees, the dark strands of my hair spilling from the hood blends into the folds of my cloak. The niphredil in my cold hands are limp, glistening with the rain.
"...even if all you say comes to pass, we will not be lost forever to one another..."
'But my words have come to pass Haldir,' my mind echos hollowly. 'When now shall I see you again...?'
The slender white blossoms drop from my cold, senseless hands. White as his garments were the niphredil, but infinitely more alive.
Such a clean white I have scarcely seen before. White as the most pristine snow atop Caradhras. White as his cold, empty skin.
I can scarcely describe how it felt to first fully realize that he was gone. It had hurt, but more so than any other pain. I tremble at the very memory, but I know I will never forget when the company returned to Lóthlorien two days past...
Ever southward my gaze wandered.
Southward to where he was.
To where he should be returning soon. Alive or...
"He will come back," I murmured automatically. My traitor heart always told me the worst, and I refused to belive it. I had tread this familiar path of thoughts for many days, every day spent in watching at the Southern Borders. Watching for his return.
It has been, how many? Seven days? It seemed longer, every moment of light or dark in my past days were spent in wakefulness. At first it was a restless worry and anxiety, fearful to sleep lest troubled dreams haunt me. Then it had turned into a part of my being, rest was a long forgotten memory. All that existed was the waking world, thrown into sharpest relief by my wretchedly strained mind.
Still I waited and watched as I did that day.
I knew a guard of the Southern Borders was watching me. It was their job, after all, to watch and protect. And I knew that it was Talagan. I did not know how I knew it, I just did. Talagan, perhaps the greatest minstrel in Lothlórien. It was common enough to find him sitting by the fountain in Caras Galadhon, playing away at his silver lyre. Many often went there to listen to him play, so great was the beauty of his music. I had known Talagan since we were both little elflings, though we had hardly spoken for many seasons since he had taken up as a guard of the Southern Borders. He was a great friend of Haldir, dear as true-blood brothers they were, and I knew that it was only from duty that he had not followed the company to Rohan.
But I was not thinking of Talagan on that day, for I watched intently for the company's return, knowing that enough time had passed to when they should be back.
The sun was setting...
I watched the beams of light flicker across the shadowed skies. My tired thoughts slipped to idleness as my eyes watched the sunset.
Suddenly I snapped to attention.
There was a dark shape quickly emerging from the south, illuminated eerily in the dying daylight.
My heart pounded. It must be them. It must be!
I took a step forward, my feet moving of their own will.
"Lícuma."
The sharp voice halted me, and I looked up to see Talagan shaking his head.
Feeling impatient yet awkward to be reprimended as an unruly elfling, I stepped back to the shadows.
I nearly cried out as an elf seemed to materialize near me. So silent had been the runner that I had not noticed him until he was almost beside me. His gaze passed over me to Talagan, who descended gracefully. I walked a distance away, to give them the semblance of privacy. Though in truth I was well within earshot to hear their conversation.
"The company has returned," the runner said, quite uselessly. "I need to speak with Lady Galadriel."
Talagan began to answer, but another voice halted him.
"There will be no need to send for the Lady, Talagan. I have come."
Talagan, the runner and I all turned to see Lady Galadriel gliding between the mellyrn toward us. I dropped quickly into the best curtsey I could manage, and the others bowed. As she passed me, her eyes gave me a searching look.
The runner stepped before her and bowed again.
"It is with joy to see that you have returned," Galadriel said imperiously. "What tidings of the battle Celussë?"
The runner, Celussë, replied in hushed tones. "The victory is of ours and Rohan my Lady, the armies of Curunir were vanquished. However..." He faltered for a moment. When he continued, his voice was strained. "However, many fell in battle..."
Talagan drew in his breath with a hiss, though it was none more than what we all had expected. A silenced stretched for several moments before the Lady spoke again.
"How many?"
The question hung heavy in the atmosphere, a prophet of doom come upon the earth.
Celussë closed his eyes for a moment, and I saw that his face was taut. "More than half of the company, my Lady. We lost..." I saw him begin to tremble, and was shocked that even a hardened warrior could feel so violently as this. But I was more anxious to know who had been lost that caused him so much grief. I longed to know, though my heart wailed in despair - already knowing the answer. I shut out my heart, keeping all my thoughts checked by my mind.
Lady Galadriel scrutinized him with her ethereal gaze.
"He has fallen then," she said softly.
Celussë looked up at her with the startled eyes of a rabbit, then closed them and bowed his head. "Yes, my Lady."
Who has fallen? Perhaps a dear friend to Celussë? But why was the Lady so wrapped up in such affairs when the news of victory seemed much greater?
I could see Talagan tense as he looked to Galadriel. "My Lady, what...?"
She turned her somber gaze to him. "This subject shall rest at the moment Talagan. No doubt you shall learn all when the company returns."
The silence hung for long moments before broken by a shrill bird's call. I turned instinctively toward it, recognizing the Guard's signal. Talagan cupped his hands and returned the call, softer and less shrill. Soon, an elf appeared from the shadows with quick steps. He bowed low before Lady Galadriel.
"The company returns, my Lady."
All eyes turned to across the Celebrant, and there saw a bulk in the gathering dusk, swiftly and silently crossing the Celebrant at a ford downstream. Moments later they reached where we stood. I shrank further back into the shadows, not wishing to be seen. I felt Talagan's eyes note where I had moved to, but I was too preoccupied to care. So few had returned, so few of the warriors that set out days before. My eyes scanned the company for Haldir - they had moved in a neat column, but with none at their head as commander. My heart beat faster.
Someone stepped forward from the group and knelt before the Lady. "The battle was concluded barely two days past, for our company has made great speed on the road. We have victory, my Lady. Though at a great cost." I heard his voice shaking in the slightest degree, tormented with what was suspiciously close to tears. "The Marchwarden..." He faltered. My heart leapt to my throat. Surely, Haldir had won great renown in the battle, and now his deeds would be made known to the Lady and all of Lórien. Yes, that was it, it had to be...
After a moment's hesitation, he spoke again; I was impatient to hear of my beloved's valor in battle, then see him again. "Marchwarden Haldir was most valiant, taking on more yrch than many other of our warriors combined. He fought as a hero to the last..." He swallowed.
"Cuedhel." The Lady's voice was gentle, but laced with authority. "The time for military tales will come, but at the moment, the end result is what is needed to be heard." She glanced at Talagan, and her sharp eyes espied me hid in the shadows.
Cuedhel nodded numbly. Silence hung, then he finally spoke again. "He has fallen, my Lady. Marchwarden Haldir, of the Northern Fences, was struck down by the enemy on the walls of Helm's Deep of Rohan."
I heard Talagan draw in his breath in a sharp hiss, but the words dropped into my mind hollowly. I could not comprehend, my heart was so shut out of matters at the moment.
Cuedhel beckoned to some others in the company. They stepped foward bearing a bier covered by clean white cloth. They laid it down before the Lady with bowed heads.
My head whirled terribly. What were they doing? Where was my Haldir?
Lady Galadriel bent down with grace and drew back the cloth. She closed her eyes a moment. "Hodo vae Haldir, gornon rochir."
My gaze dropped to the bier as the Lady's words filled my mind with tortured screams.
I saw his face, he lay there cold and unmoving.
At once all the truth came flooding in, my heart wailed as I kept it back no longer. He had fallen. Haldir, Marchwarden of the Northern Fences. My Haldir.
Fallen.
The trees swayed and the ground tipped as I fell to my knees.
Gone.
It could not be...!
I felt someone at my side, I felt a hand on my shoulder. Dimly, I heard a voice and recognized it as Talagan.
"Lícuma! Can you hear me? Lícuma...!"
The world dissolved to darkness, and I felt nothing as I strayed into a long, dark dream.
There you go! Now we can actually get the plot moving along a little more. That return took so long to figure out - everything just seemed so awkward to write...
Sindarin Translations:
-same as previous chapters except:
Hodo vae Haldir, gornon rochir - Rest well Haldir, valiant knight
Thanks to all my reviewers, you guys are the best!
And just for fun, I present you with a:
OC names by definition:
Lícuma - candle (taper)
Talagan - harper
Celussë - freshlet, water falling our swiftly from a rocky spring
Cuedhel - elven archer, literally elf-bow