Marchwarden: Hidden Hero 7

Marchwarden: Hidden Hero

Part 7

Posted: May 26, 2006
Title: Marchwarden: Hidden Hero
Author: Kenaz.

*****

Lothlorien, 3018 Third Age: Rhîw

Haldir broke his fast with the sons of Elrond, but the simple meal soon gave way to talking and the sharing of news, and by the time Haldir left the brethren at their lodgings, the day was nearly spent. He delivered his mount to the stables and decided to pass the night in the garrison and return to his patrol at first light. His thoughts were all of Ausir, bittersweet now, his sorrow at hearing of the Elf's death mingled with pleasure at Elladan's tales of their mutual trickery. Each new plot Elladan unraveled for him made him smile, for every one bore the hallmarks of Ausir's quick wit and creativity. Oh, but the loss! For all his pranks and jests and bawdy songs, he was a stalwart ally and valiant warrior, and now he was no more.

And his wife, Nellas, the one who had charmed his wanton heart with her own laughter and cleverness, gone as well, that gaiety blighted forever beneath a weight of grief too heavy to bear. That was the prize of a marriage-bond: a love so great it brought death to the undying. The binding of souls had not shorn Ausir up, but it had torn Nellas down.

Unable to sleep, he took himself for a walk through the greening slopes near the garrison. He had not gone far when a pale fog began to traipse through the leaf and brush. The mist seemed to arise from everywhere and nowhere, and Haldir stopped dead in his tracks to watch its evanescent dance. He had no fear yet, just a dull sense of disquiet, but as he felt no immediate threat, he carefully continued down the path, squinting to see through the veil hanging fine as a spider's web before him. Soon, he knew, he would step into a clearing, and then take the left-hand path circling back around to the archery lists. However, his steps lead him not to the anticipated places, but rather to a set of stone steps clothed in pale lichens and moss.

A cautious and curious tread brought him down the long stairs and all at once, the vapor dissipated, rose up into the trees and vanished, and Haldir saw where he was, and what stood before him.

The Mirror of Galadriel.

Only once in all his years had he stood here, in the sacred grove. That night, he had given fealty to his land, to his Lord and his Lady, and spilled his blood upon the ground to seal his oath. He had known then that the way to this place would only be made known to one who had been bidden to come there, but he had received no summons.

The grass in the dell was the preternatural green of eternal spring, as if each blade pushed anew through the loamy soil and stretched to salute the sun each morn; in the crevices of the low rock wall which edged the clearing flourished niphredil and elanor, and rarer blooms which unfurled their ethereal pennants only in the cool shade of night. The air teemed with life, as if spirits gathered in the eerie glade patiently abiding their moment to speak. The song of the stream tumbling down from the fountain atop the hill alternately lulled and mocked, for it was the medium through which the Mirror spoke, and it had many secrets to reveal. Haldir had never thought to distrust water until now, but something in its laughing, placid tune seemed almost cruel.

"Welcome, Haldir."

He startled at the voice, unaware that he was not alone, but as his Lady approached, passing tall and straight through the high green hedge, he sank to one knee and bowed his head.

Rise, my guardian.

This time, the words brushed softly through his mind. When Haldir stood, he saw that her golden tresses were unbound, falling in undulating waves that reached nearly to her feet. Her shift was plain and ungirded and her feet were bare. This was not the mannered Elf-Queen to whom he had sworn his oath; this was the embodiment of living light, of Anor and Ithil, of Laurelin and Telperion. Her eyes flickered with a glimmering more ancient than the stars. Her radiance cowed him.

"What would you have of me, my Lady?"

"The Mirror called you here, not I. Will you look?" She poured from a swan-necked ewer till the shallow basin brimmed and gently blew across the surface, the water swirling translucent as mithril under her breath.

"If you wish it."

"It is not for me to decide."

He did not want to look; he feared the Mirror, and held out little hope that it would show him aught but horror. But it called to him, enticed him with an irresistible force. He could no more have turned from it than he could have plucked his dagger from its sheath and plunged it into his own heart. With trepid yet inexorable steps, he drew toward the pedestal.

When he had seen all that it would show him, he pulled hastily away as though throwing off unseen tethers and stumbled gracelessly backward. He sank silently to the ground, and he wept.

The remaining week of Haldir's tour stretched out before him like the terrain of a dream, alien and uncomfortable, the requirements of his patrol barely keeping him moored to the waking world. The men noticed that their Marchwarden was distant and preoccupied, did not join them for their meals and spoke little to them beyond issuing orders, but none dared comment on it.

When he returned from the borders, he did not return home. He set himself up in the Captain's quarters within the barracks, surrounding himself with the small but tangible remembrances of sacrifice and loss: Tathalion's armor, relinquished when he quit the land; Elemmakil's log book; a map of the western border and Hithaeglir inked in his father's fine hand.

It was not unusual for Haldir to be delayed after his return from the marches; the more prosaic aspects of his position clamored for his attention, and a day or two might be spent putting schedules and reports in order. However, when three days had come and gone with no sign of him, nor any word of when he might come home, Galion took it upon himself to seek out his absent consort.

Stepping into the barracks, he saw the narrow cot had been slept in, Haldir's pack disassembled as if he planned to sojourn there a while longer. The healer's expression hovered between irritation and concern and he waited with foundering equanimity for Haldir's explanation before determining which course his emotions would follow. Haldir did not look up from his desk when Galion came into the room, a fact the healer noticed with a growing ache in his chest.

"When you did not come, I worried. You might have at least sent word that you would be detained here."

"Forgive me," Haldir said remotely, still not looking at the healer. "Events have come to my attention...I...I need a few days more, Galion. I will come to you as I am able."

Galion's heart sank like a stone, accompanied by the distinct feeling that a cold, invisible hand had plunged into his gut and twisted it tight.

"Of course," he said, striving for an affable tone and no doubt failing. "Was there trouble on the borders? We had not heard of any casualties."

When Haldir gave only a half-hearted shake of his head in response, Galion circumspectly approached, and after a moment's consideration, he moved behind Haldir's chair and laid his hands on the Marchwarden's shoulders, his touch radiating the calming warmth of his healer-self rather than the sensual intent of a paramour, but all the same, Haldir's back stiffened under his ministrations rather than relaxed, as if Galion's touch repulsed him, and he quickly pulled his hands away, feeling hurt and vaguely ill. His presence here was not only unwanted, it was disturbing, and this saddened him profoundly.

"I will wait for you at home, then," he finished falteringly, and with foreboding in his heart, he turned away.

Haldir nodded but did not watch him leave. The very touch of those hands which had brought him to soaring heights of pleasure and offered tender comfort beyond compare had nearly broken him to pieces. One look into those grey eyes, one glimpse of the love present in their depths, and he would have been lost forever.

He sat rigid at his desk, even though his back ached and he longed for bed. He did not even undress for sleep. He saw no point to the effort.

Two days passed, and then two more. A sennight crept slowly by before Haldir arrived home to find Galion wearing a hunted look. The healer's graceful, feline movements had vanished in the wake of his confusion and anxiety and he flitted nervously as a sparrow, agitated and uncomfortable in his own chambers. Haldir was ashamed to see the ill effects he had wrought even in his absence.

Galion wasted no time in seeking the core of the matter. His questions were so simple and direct that no room was left for evasion or deflection. Haldir took a deep breath and began.

"I did not come home to you, Galion, because you will despise the message I bring."

"Give me your message, then," Galion said sharply. "I have been patient, and I am frayed at the edges from waiting."

"I told you when we spoke that events had come to my attention." Haldir kept his voice steady and even. "Those events have forced me to make a choice. It is a choice that destroys me utterly."

Galion paled. "What event is this that threatens you so? What choice have you been forced to make?"

Haldir could not meet his eyes. Already he had espied the ache of recognition within those shining orbs, as if Galion had gleaned the tale as yet untold. "I have loved you too much, Galion. I have seen the future of our union and it is disastrous."

Flailing blindly with one hand until he found the back of a chair to steady himself, Galion lowered himself to the seat, fixing his eyes to the floor, looking as if he might at any moment bend over and retch.

"What are you saying? Speak plain, Haldir! What do you mean?"

Haldir swallowed hard against the rising tide of acid scaling his throat. "I cannot stay here with you."

"Please tell me you jest!" Galion's face was a paling landscape of confusion and disbelief. "Tell me you would not hurt me so."

"I cannot!" Haldir cried, the sound of his voice like a wounded beast. "Think you this causes me no pain? I loathe every word of this dispatch and yet I have no choice but to deliver it!"

Galion's eyes brimmed with tears of unfathomable and utterly unexpected betrayal. The ballast of a siege engine plunging through the roof of their talan might have come as a lesser shock and done him lesser harm. "But why?" he implored. "What have I ever done but love you? What disaster looms that you fear so, and what is my role in it? Only tell me that and I will strive to prevent this doom in any way!"

"I have looked into the Lady's Mirror, and it showed me what would come to pass if I claimed you as my own. I will come to ruin. I will come to ruin, and my love for you will turn to hate."

Haldir sat on the couch, turning away from his lover's miserable face, and retold in a wrenched voice the full tale of his horrifying revelation. When he had finished, he peered out of the corner of his eye, cautiously seeking Galion's reaction. The healer was vehemently shaking his head, still as white as a ghost.

"Nay. You are wrong, Haldir," he adamantly proclaimed. "This could not have been the message. Even the Lady has said that the Mirror speaks in riddles, and that visions it gives are often only things that might be. Would you destroy our union over a mere reflection of things which may never come to pass?" His voice rose in desperation.

"I have told you what I have seen! I saw nothing but destruction and bloodshed and my own failures! I have thought on nothing else for all these weeks, Galion. I have sought any other explanation and I have found none. Do you not think I would spare you—spare us—if there were any way? But there is no way to spare us. I will not have you share responsibility for a death I could neither forgive nor forget..." He choked back an anguished noise, the atrocity of the oracle returning to him with vicious clarity.

"You put all your faith in a spectre, but none in me." Galion's voice was hollow, and he looked to Haldir like a lost child. No longer a beacon of hope and succor, no longer a strong body ready to give aid, or the virile lover with limbs and hands that thrummed with elemental energy. He looked young, and powerless, and bereft.

"Please, Galion... if I could see any other path, I would take it. Please know I have loved you, for I have! Eru blind me, but I have!"

"Do not speak those words!" Galion cried. "You have played me false with those idle declarations if you can so easily now withdraw them. Better they had never been spoken at all than wielded now as the cudgel that breaks me."

"I was never false, Galion!" Haldir's voice had gone hoarse. "You had my heart, all of it!" He did; for Haldir could feel it breaking even as he whispered: "You have it still."

A snide laugh sliced the air. "I suppose I ought be grateful that you allowed me to tarry with it as long as you did. Is that to be my consolation, then? That you let me linger with the illusion of your infinite care a while?"

Haldir steeled himself against the backlash. No loss had ever felled him quite so keenly. Each word from his own lips was a sword-blow aimed to take down the one he most loved; where was the justice in this? A part of his mind screamed for silence, begged of himself to curtail this mad scene and throw himself into Galion's arms, to beg him for understanding and forgiveness and to take back every word he had spoken. No task had ever been so devastating or so difficult. And at the last, he looked away and owned himself a coward: he could no longer bear to witness the pain in Galion's eyes, pain that he himself had put there.

End this, he told himself, as much for his own sake as for Galion's.

"I have maintained from the first that I would not marry," he pronounced tonelessly. "You know this, Galion. We have never spoken otherwise."

"And yet today you admit you have considered it!" the wounded healer shot back.

"I considered it, and I was shown the consequences of it. It cannot be. This is my fate: to be alone."

"But you would make it my fate as well!" Galion rose on shaking legs and crossed to Haldir with almost timid steps, his final stand. Once near, his voice fell to a whisper. "I disavow it. I will not accept this fate!"

Haldir's response was just as quiet, just as solemn. "It is done, Galion. Know that I have loved you but I must release your heart. Perhaps in time, you will understand. You will know that I do this not to hurt you, but because it is the only thing I can do to circumvent a death I could not bear to carry. And perhaps, when you understand, you will think fondly of me again, for I am loath to lose your friendship as well as your love." He reached out for his fair one, feeling the loss even now as if a frost were creeping through his veins, his fingertips just barely glancing off Galion's shoulder.

Galion recoiled from the touch and lurched backward, looking at Haldir in outraged stupefaction. "No! No more!"

He crossed the room back and forth with violent strides and nearing Haldir, turned on him abruptly, his arm poised to strike a punishing blow. But with great effort he stayed his fist, jerking his hands harshly through his dark hair with fingers curled like talons. "Know this, Haldir," he growled, "break with me now and you sunder all ties. If you would kill the love between us, then you must kill it entirely. I will not let my heart fester because you wish to salve your conscience with my friendship!"

"Tell me you know that I loved you, Galion!" Haldir felt the last vestiges of his control rapidly slipping and he lunged forward toward the healer who deftly avoided his advance. "Tell me you understand that I have no choice in this!"

"Go!" Galion roared. "Get thee from my sight!"

His eyes were dead and cold and flat as slate. In all his days Haldir had never seen him levy a look so devoid of kindness, so full of stark fury and disgust, on any living creature. Least of all him. It was a glare like a dagger, a weapon Haldir never imagined Galion possessed, and to watch him wield it knowing he alone had put it in Galion's hand was the bitterest blow of all. He felt keenly the pain of his heart being gouged from his chest by the vitriol in those eyes as surely as if the healer carved it out of his flesh in truth. But he knew Galion's misery was greater still, and that he was its sole cause.

This is what I do... it is what I am: I wound, and I maim, I destroy.

Galion's voice was barely audible this time, but no less absolute.

"Leave me. Go."

In the dead of night, the Marchwarden woke with a sudden start, tossing his blankets and throwing his legs over the side of the cot as if he would bolt, but no matter how fast he flew, he could not outrun the fate shown to him in the Mirror, and no matter how harshly he rubbed his raw, red eyes, he could still not divest them of the horrors that blazed over and over again in his dreams:

The black tower of Barad-dûr rising like a menacing fist from the wasted soil of Amon Lanc; the soul-rending shriek of a Nazgûl, the membranous wings of its fetid mount spreading in flight to occlude a pale, bloated moon.

Mighty arbalests of the black forces with fiery loads turned loose against the Wood, and wave upon wave of Yrch teeming toward the forest.

His land in flames, a mighty and impassable wall of heat and destruction rising from the forest floor, and a scream so terrible he shuddered to recall it: the sound of death.

Galion. His beloved calling his name over and over, each time with increasing desperation. Haldir with no other thought in his mind than to find him, to save him. He thought not of his men, not of his duty, only of Galion.

He did not know, in the hazy and strangely shifting waters of the vision, what made him turn back in that last moment, but when he did, he saw Rúmil plummeting from his perch, his descent seeming to stretch on and on. He toppled slowly and without sound, only the peculiarly protracted noise of breaking branches telling of his fall, and the sickening thud of his body meeting the ground. And then the beasts were upon him. Not Yrch, but something larger and more man-like. Something fiercer. They circled slowly and inexorably 'round his injured brother with their knives and their teeth, and he heard Rúmil groan and grind out his name through the pain of broken bones. But when Galion called, Haldir could do naught but heed him. The pull of their bond took him in thrall and against its tide he was powerless. Powerless to go to Rúmil. Powerless to save him. The knives of the beasts fell. Rúmil screamed. Again. And again. And again.

And then there was silence. Cold, black, impenetrable silence.

"You know now what you must do," the Lady had softly exhorted as he went to his knees in the glade. Her hand lit lightly on his head but he felt her power in its touch. "You know now what your heart demands."

Haldir had nodded without a word. He knew. He would not bind himself to Galion. Better his heart broken and the long years of his life consigned to bitter loneliness than to be faced with the choice between his beloved's life and his brother's death.

*****

Rhîw = The Sindarin name for winter; 72 days between modern 1 December and 10 February.
Periannath = Halflings; Hobbits
Úlairi = Ringwraiths, Nazgûl
Echuir = "Stirring-time;" The Sindarin name for spring between February and April.
Gwanûn = Twins
Firith = "Leaf-fall," the Sindarin name for autumn between October and November
Iavas = The Sindarin name for late summer between August and October

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