The days flew by and Haldir had to learn the hard way how very much indeed his job was in a never-ending competition with Daëra. He spent his time out at the borders mostly, and when an errand all of a sudden did indeed bring him to Caras Galadhon, Daëra wasn't there but somewhere in the woods — either with the caretakers or on her own. More often on her own of late, as he'd heard. Their relationship didn't really go into the intended direction — Haldir wanted and needed to see more of her, even when he was on duty. There had to be a way, even though he was March Warden. Other wardens had partners as well. Hadn't he known better, Haldir would've suspected Daëra was avoiding him, yet since there was no reason for her to do so — there hadn't been an argument or anything — it was a ridiculous thought.
Haldir was on his way back to the city once again when another warden came running towards him. "Haldir, my lord..." The elf was quite young — his reckless years weren't lying far behind him. — "I just wanted to report that I just accompanied Lord Elladan to the outskirts of Lórien. He has departed." — Haldir raised his eyebrows. "Has he now? — I do wonder what kept him so long." — "He did not say anything about it, my Lord." — For some reason, after all those years as March Warden Haldir still hadn't got used to being addressed as 'lord'. "No, I do not suppose he would have." Haldir looked at the young elf — he had never really noticed him before. He frowned. "What is your name? — I do not know you." — "Rohir, my lord. I have not officially been admitted to the wardens yet, but your brother said it would not be long now: he said I was ready." — Haldir nodded slowly, Rumil had taken the task of training the new wardens on him. "Walk with me, Rohir." A few minutes passed in silence, then Haldir said: "Tell me — why do you want to become a warden? — Lots of elves are already departing to the Undying Lands. Our time in Middle-Earth will be over soon." — Rohir stood up tall. "I have no wish to see the two districts of Mithlond just yet. I am not going to run. Even more, if there is any part of Middle-Earth that is worth being defended, it is Lórien." — "You are certainly right about that," Haldir agreed. There was no place in the world that was quite like Lórien — not even Imladris. To be quite honest, Haldir had pretty much given up hope for everything outside the Golden Wood.
"A... friend of mine grew up in Mithlond," Haldir remarked after a while. Rohir looked at him, astonished. "And he is still in Middle-Earth?" — "Indeed, she is. Her father is Círdan, the boat-builder." — Rohir seemed to ponder at that for a few seconds, probably imagining Círdan sawing planks and hammering in nails, his pretty daughter working industriously beside him. "Does it mean he will be able to leave soon, his daughter pursuing his trade for him?" — Haldir slowly shook his head. "This is not going to happen, since his daughter lived with her mother during her younger years; her father only took her to his district after her mother had died." — "Oh," Rohir looked disappointed. "That is such a shame. Just imagine all the things her father could have taught her — she could have grown up doing nothing but building boats, by now she would have been a master in this art." Rohir said a few more things on the topic, but all of a sudden the world around Haldir seemed to be going on without him. Her father only took her to his district... Something had come to his mind and a cold shiver ran down Haldir's spine. Yet he still might be mistaken, maybe he had memorised it wrong back in the days when he got educated in Mirkwood. Not caring that Rohir was in the middle of a sentence, Haldir interrupted, praying the answer wouldn't be "two": "How... how many districts are there in Mithlond?" — Rohir, taken aback, just said: "Two, my lord. The human district and the elven one. They do not mix very often... Not that anyone could blame them, if I am allowed to speak freely. Elves and humans are just so very unlike each other."
Afterwards, Haldir couldn't really remember how he dismissed Rohir, but somehow he must have, since all of a sudden the young elf was gone. Daëra had moved from her mother's district to Círdan's after her mother's death. The world started spinning when all the puzzle pieces flew to their places. It explained why Daëra "didn't fit" — why she fell off trees, was a little quicker out of breath. It explained why she'd never really had reckless years but had been travelling instead. And most of all, it explained why Daëra had actually gone to Imladris. For one, of course she had wanted to learn the art of healing and how to use her ring. Yet more importantly — at least for herself and her own life: she had needed to talk to Lord Elrond, the half-elf who had decided to join the elves while his brother had joined the humans and died thousands of years ago. Haldir sat down on the thick root of a Mellorn tree that stuck out of the earth almost as if it were made to be a low stool. He covered his eyes in his hand. She had never said a word. He didn't know why: she would be an elf soon; there was no reason for not telling him. There was even no reason for delaying her decision. Unless... But it couldn't be. She wouldn't. Certainly she never would... Haldir rose with one fluent movement, struck out and hit the trunk of the nearest tree in full strength. He felt his skin tear open and one or two of his metacarpal bones cracked alarmingly — but Haldir didn't mind. He had felt worse pain. He had felt a hand — blazing like red-hot iron — holding on to his wrist, setting his cuff on fire. He had felt pure heat flowing through his veins while being fire-healed, the pain erasing every other thought on his mind. Haldir wished his bloody knuckles would hurt like that. He wished they would scorch with flames that took over the whole of his body, burning out the disappointment and incredulity — a pain so much worse than the kiss of fire.
It's a shame not everyone will be able to go. — Every elf is welcome in the Undying Lands. Every elf.
Daëra let the cold water run down her spine until she was shivering violently — it didn't work, though. The cold numbed her fingertips and toes but unfortunately, it didn't numb her thoughts. Daëra stayed beneath the small waterfall until she couldn't bear it any longer, then she climbed out of the pool that was supplied by a brook. The season still being spring, the water was cold as ice and Daëra — only being half-elf — felt the bite of the cold full-force. Elladan had talked to her again. He had been wondering as to how long Haldir and her relationship could possibly have been going on, for her to be so very much attached to him. She had just returned to Lórien after all, merely a few months ago. He had never suspected a thing... Haldir had been in Imladris so often, never of his own accord of course, but still... He had been there and Elladan had never thought anything about it. Had never noticed. And now Elladan had left as well, he said he needed to talk to his father. Daëra was left on her own, trying to come to grips with her life. Or the ruins of it, rather.
Since the bath in the pool had been a spontaneous decision, Daëra hadn't brought a towel and by the time she was halfway back to the city, her soft dress was wet through. As it was white, Daëra almost ran all the way to her flet so no one would see her: the white tended to become quite transparent when wet. Dripping, Daëra climbed the steps to her flet — it wasn't really hers, the Lady had given it to her and it was situated in the outskirts of Caras Galadhon with lots of other flets in the same tree above and below hers. Up to now though, Daëra had hardly ever been there — she had been at Haldir's flet or out in the woods most of the time. Daëra slammed the door shut behind her in a fruitless attempt to shut out the cheerful birdsong that came wafting in from the outside. By now she was so cold her teeth were chattering audibly and her hands were white as wax, shaking like leaves. The second she had closed the door though, Daëra noticed that something was different. She was not alone.
For a split-second, Daëra thought Orophin or Rumil had been waiting for her to ask why Haldir... why she hadn't done anything yet. Then, though, she recognised... his smell, his breathing, his presence. It wasn't like him to sneak into her flet, waiting for her in the dark. When Daëra slowly turned around, she heard him suck in a ragged breath. "You are soaked," he stated somewhat superfluously in hardly more than a whisper. It was when Daëra saw him standing in the corner of her flet in the semi-darkness — watching her every move with ever-so-calm, but empty eyes — that she knew. Knew that he knew. Another shiver ran down Daëra's spine, but she wasn't sure it was from the cold. "Tell me...," Haldir finally began, his gaze fixed on hers. "Tell me it is not true." — Daëra couldn't find the courage in her to answer, yet Haldir seemed to think she didn't know what he meant. So after a while he continued and now the effort was clearly visible on his face. "Your mother. Was she... was she human?" — Daëra saw the pained look on his face and it was clear he did know everything. For some reason he had even found out what her decision would be. Which side she would choose.
Having all forgotten about her wet clothes, Daëra nodded, tears welling up in her eyes. Even though he must have known the answer, Haldir stared at her incredulously. "It cannot be," he breathed, his voice barely audible. Daëra tried to compose herself, she wanted to show him. She closed her eyes, imagining herself back at the Grey Havens, the place that had been her home for so long. She pictured her mother and her school friends, the smells that used to flow in from the outside: the typical smells of the market place, some flowers, but above all the salty scent of the sea. Daëra felt a shudder running through her body and when she opened her eyes, she was human. Or rather: she felt human again and according to Haldir's more than astonished expression it must be visible to him as well. Daëra exhaled. She had not allowed herself to do that for a long time: just letting everything go, not standing as straight as if she wanted to grow as tall as the trees, not hiding every slightest hint of emotion from her face, not trying to see through everything but letting intuition guide her. Not pretending to be one of the elves. "I told you, didn't I? On that very first day in the clearing: I said I could fool most eyes and ears. I can try and be like an elf, I can be like a human, depending on what people expect." Daëra tried to smile, but it cracked and faded in a matter of seconds. — "Which side are you going to choose?" Haldir's eyes confirmed Daëra in her belief that he already knew. He had to ask the question, though, nevertheless. Daëra shook her head and now she was crying. "I am no elf. I have never been one. Not on the inside."
The world had started spinning around Haldir. The first clear thought that stood still long enough for Haldir to grasp was that he could lose his immortality. That he would lose his immortality. Everything he had wanted his life to be... The Undying Lands had always been part of the plan. And he didn't want to die. He wasn't meant to die: he was an elf after all! Haldir felt it all taking over and went to sit on the edge of the bed. "When..." He made himself look at her. "When were you intending to tell me?" She wouldn't have kept it from him until it was too late, would she? She would have told him anyway, and soon. When she shook her head, the world started to shrink around him, hardly leaving him any air to breathe. — "We... they... I would have found a way to... undo your affection for me. So you wouldn't have to die." — Haldir briefly closed his eyes. "Who is we?" — Daëra looked at him as if caught in the act, but she seemed to realise that now she could do nothing but tell the truth. She lowered her gaze. "Your brothers. They overheard me when I was talking to Elladan." — "They knew?They knew?" Haldir would have said things, asked things, but he didn't seem to be able to find any words at all. It hurt more than he could possibly express. Had everyone, everyone he loved and cared for been keeping secrets from him? Daëra tried to meet his eyes, but Haldir looked the other way. — "I just didn't want you to get hurt," she said, her voice pleading. At this, he finally met her gaze. "You did not want to have me hurt? — As I see it now there are two options: either you are leaving for the last time on the morrow, or I... become mortal, you will die and I will live on— until I finally do die as well. Do you see where the mistake is?" He didn't wait for her to answer. "The mistake is that I am going to lose you either way, and it is going to hurt no matter what I do. Or you do. Or anyone does, for that matter."
Daëra was crying so much now Haldir wasn't sure she would ever be able to stop. He would have loved to comfort her but he felt he couldn't. She had lied to him, had been lying all the time when he had thought he was her... friend, lover, call it what you will. She had known all the time that she would break all they had together. Haldir didn't even try and plead with her, try and make her change her mind and become elven instead of human — he couldn't muster the strength for it. Daëra's voice was choked when she spoke. She said something about the Valar telling her in a dream she would be human like her mother. Haldir felt the last bit of hope leave his body like the last ray of the sun disappearing off the earth after the golden orb had set behind the horizon. So pleading wouldn't even be worth it. It seemed as if fate was set in stone this time. Slowly, Haldir got up and left the flet, knowing that he most likely wouldn't come back. He had best start to let her go right now, perhaps then the time without pain would come sooner.
"What has she done?" — His wife's voice was a mere whisper. Celeborn wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "You and Círdan both told her to keep her parentage a secret, yet you knew it was going to be found out some day. I am quite surprised it stayed unnoticed for so long. I would have thought someone would have... seen it and made the right conclusions. Elladan for example. He is an excellent warrior, yet he is more like his mother than his father. He took her on his travels with him and never even wondered why she was not in her reckless years as every other elf her age would be. Nor did he know there was something between Daëra and Haldir." Celeborn looked down at Galadriel out of the corner of his eye. "You, though, did know, did you not?" — She met his gaze and it was all the answer he needed. He had suspected his wife knew about the March Warden's relationship, yet Celeborn had gone through great pains to prevent himself from speaking to her about it. He had kept his promise not to interfere with Díniel's sons for so long and was still sticking with it. Celeborn slowly shook his head. "Why did you never put an end to it? — You knew she wanted to become human." — A slightly longer look at Galadriel told him. "You hoped he might change her mind, did you not? When their love was but new, you hoped it for her, since you would not want to see your friend Círdan grieved. Yet later, when their love had grown strong, you hoped for Haldir's sake he might have her change her mind."
Suddenly, the Lady stepped out of Celeborn's embrace and looked at him sadly and fiercely at the same time. "He would have changed her mind. In cases like that I believe love is the only thing that can prevent us from doing something we believe we owe our mother. That we believe we owe ourselves too, the only path we see for us, since we have never actually contemplated the other. I do not know why... it seems as if her becoming human cannot be changed, yet I cannot think of a reason, why. The future is never decided until it has happened." — Celeborn didn't know what to say at that. Once again he wasn't able to help his wife — he had given her free rein to do whatever she felt was right with the brothers, yet that also meant he could not help her carry the burden, either. Celeborn stepped closer. "Haldir is in a much better situation alive and grieving than in Mirkwood and dead. I am very much convinced he would agree," he said with the slightest hint of a smile. Galadriel's gaze though went out of the window and lingered somewhere on the horizon that was lined with trees. The branches were wearing the first soft shades of gold. Celeborn was just about to say something when he felt a presence — or rather two — not too far away from Lórien: in the mountains, to be more accurate. There were only so many people in Middle-Earth who did have a noticeable presence at all, ring-bearers and wizards mostly. Galadriel looked at him, a slight smile on her lips. "Mithrandir and the halfling," she said. "They are almost here." — Celeborn frowned. "They took the darkest path possible. Orcs have taken over the Mines of Moria, do they not know? Mithrandir must know about the Balroc of Morgoth." — Galadriel just kept looking into the distance, never answering. Celeborn though felt a subtle sense of relief flush through him. Wizards were of a different stamp, their council was very useful, since they never ceased to surprise with their answers — especially Mithrandir, stubborn as he might be. Perhaps Mithrandir would know what to do: in any case Celeborn desired very much to speak with him.
*A/N: In the Tolkien-books, Elrond is a half-elf who has chosen the elven side. His brother though decided to become human and — as humans do — died. Just mentioning it for all of you who were wondering at me writing about Elrond the half-elf =)
Did you recognise the allusion to the movies in the last sentence? =D
Please comment and voooote!!! Love, Jazzlin*