Set in Stone - Haldir's Story -

Chapter 17 - The Districts of Mithlond

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.