 Series Title: "Hidden Hero" 1/WIP xxxxx The battle was raging all around him. Like the others of his elven company, he fought with speed and courage against the seemingly impossible odds, using his bow as never before. The fierce rainstorm had drenched enemy and comrade both, making footing slippery and hearts heavy before ever the first blow had been struck. The enemy had breeched the walls and Aragorn gave word to pull back to the keep. He directed his men and began to make his way back; the fighting now was hand-to-hand. Suddenly he felt a tremendous bolt of pain. He reached his hand to his midsection and came away bloody. There was nothing to be done now but try to ignore the pain and fight on... Then he felt a blow from behind. He fell to his knees on the stone ground and his body convulsed as he made rough contact with the mired battlefield beneath him. He was struck down by orcs. He glanced in front of him and saw a sea of bloody faces -- dead elves, elves he had known for many years. It was unthinkable -- he was dying. He could feel his life flowing out of him. Haldir of Lorien -- proud Captain of the elven army -- had been killed while fighting side by side with men. He encountered a silence deeper than any recalled from his long life in Middle-earth. He was moving inside a solemn region; walking in a place he had not walked before. Haldir saw the stately dwellings and his heart knew -- he had come to the home of Mandos, to the Houses of the Dead; he had arrived at the Halls of Awaiting. He now realized he was a spirit; he was a spirit among other elven spirits. He must ready himself to reside here, waiting for the End of that world he had known while still among the living. Haldir felt no regret -- no pain -- as he moved through the imposing doorway; yet he wondered without emotion of the outcome of the battle in which he had fought. Fought and died. === It was night in the Golden Wood when Haldir returned to walk there once more. His body ached, but he pressed on, ignoring his discomfort. Remnants of the terrible pain he'd borne in crossing back from the Halls of Awaiting clung to him still. He even stumbled in an entirely un-elf-like fashion as he traversed the familiar paths on his way to Caras Galadon, The City of Trees. It was among the greatest of honors for an elf to lay eyes upon those of the Valar. He had felt something akin to surprise when Mandos had appeared and bid him come and follow. He found Manwe -- the Lord of the Valar -- nearly too beautiful to look upon; Haldir had bowed his head in awe and amazement as Mandos approached Manwe and spoke alone to him. Haldir had no thought to what was being said -- nor why it required his presence. Then Mandos returned to his side and bid him fall to his knees to hear Manwe interpret the will of Iluvatar... Naturally, Haldir had known that elves could be reincarnated, but it was expected that each elf would reside a great while in atonement before -- if ever -- being granted this miracle. Therefore, Haldir had been unready for the question asked of him. This decision had seemed a terrible one. Haldir had felt the greatest fear of his existence as Manwe's words filled the space around him. Yet he had known what was required of him; he must return to life in Middle-earth. He must finish his role -- whatever it might be -- in the world he had so quickly and unexpectedly departed. His answer had been difficult. He knew he would have to face the pain of crossing back; he knew it was also likely he would one day face the horrors of death yet again, part and parcel of his personal destiny. To Haldir, it would have been lacking courage to remain in the Houses of the Dead, however simple and removed from all pains. So he raised his hand and made a gesture of honor to the Valar before speaking the few soft words required of him in offer of his willingness to return to Middle-earth. Now he wandered in Lothlorien, dazed and weary, wondering that he had not yet encountered others of his kind... The lamps were few as Haldir finally reached Caras Galadon. Where once many lanterns had glowed in bright profusion, he now saw only a few orbs winking here and there among the trees. He leaned for a moment at the base of one sturdy mallorn tree, catching his breath and pondering. What had happened to his home? Had Sauron, Saruman, the Nazgul, orcs and trolls -- had the evils ones -- ruled the day? Was this the end of Lothlorien as he had known it? His heart felt heavy, but somehow he could not summon strong emotion. He was too spent to worry and wonder further. He needed to rest and regain his famed strength as one of the Marchwardens of Lorien. He began his weary climb to the talan he had shared with his brothers, pulling himself upward as he went. He didn't dare to wonder of the fate of Orophin and Rumil. He hoped that he might find them both safe and whole when he reached their flet, but he forced himself away from what might prove to be hollow expectations. There was no welcoming lamplight inside his talan when finally he reached it. Haldir moved to the sleeping place of the lofty platform and sniffed the air around him. The scents of his brothers were faint -- clearly well exhausted. He could only guess at how long a time had transpired since they had been here. 'The weeks have indeed passed,' he thought, running his hand randomly through his hair. He hadn't thought to wonder if this were the same day -- or even the same year -- in which he had fought and died. After all, Time had little meaning in the Halls of Mandos. There you entered in to begin the long period of healing -- and to experience the true comfort known in the repenting of those many wrongdoings of your life. A peace fell upon those waiting there -- such a peace as was not known in life. The urgencies of the living did not hold sway in those Halls. Inside Time was a friend -- not an enemy; Time was something to embrace -- not something to be endured. Haldir reached for a water skin and swallowed his disappointment to find it empty. He'd do without, just as he had many a time in his long first-life. But it was added bitterness to suffer thirst as he longed for the embrace of his kin and fellows. He pulled off his tunic and removed his other garments, neatly folding them from long practice of his former orderly life. Then, exhausted beyond thought and sick of spirit, he fell to his bed pallet and pulled a blanket over his naked skin. He would have spoken then, exhorting the Valar to guide his steps. But sleep drew him quickly into a dark and quiet realm. Haldir, the returned elf of Lorien, slept. -the end part one- Part Two |