Chapter 1.
"He is badly wounded. But he will recover with rest and careful tending." Aragorn said to Éowyn softly.
"Is that all I can do? Watch the sick, care for those fallen in battle?" Éowyn snapped.
"There is no other way. He let us through Lothlorien, and we have to help him. He has proved to be loyal," Aragorn replied. He knew that Éowyn wasn't happy with the arrangement, but he also knew that she would follow.
Éowyn was terribly exasperated. Once again, she had to look after another of the injured. And not just any one of them, but an elf. She had heard of their standoffish ways, and how they were scornful of mortals. Now this elf – the March Warden of Lothlorien – she wasn't even sure she liked his title. But when the higher powers command, she had no choice but to follow.
Haldir felt himself floating among the most peaceful of places, in the clouds, with the elves he once knew, those who had left for the Grey Havens. Was he dead? Why did he feel no pain at all? As he looked around, he saw Galadriel beaming at him.
"You will survive," she said sweetly.
"My lady!" he gasped, executing a perfect bow. Despite his arrogance and haughtiness to a fault, he never failed to show reverence to his lady and lord.
"You were injured in battle, yet you have not passed into darkness," Galadriel whispered softly, a melodious note in the air. As the hazy images around him faded slowly, he found himself in a room. All he knew was that he was miles away from the home he knew.
He found himself lying in a bed, a reasonably comfortable one, yet nothing like the once he used to have. Where in Middle-Earth was he? He recalled the battle of Helm's Deep, and how he had been wounded. Yes, it had been a good decision to help them, he mused, yet was it worth it? So many elves dead, men slain. As he thought, a knock on the door jolted him from his reverie.
"My lord?" A soft voice called from the door. Haldir looked up to find a mortal lady standing at the door, standing stiffly, yet there was a bitter, hard look in her eyes. He could look into the depths of her soul, the loneliness reflected in her eyes, where she tried so hard to mask. He beckoned to her imperiously, and decided to question her.
"Where am I?" he asked, trying not to show his confusion. Perhaps he had lost his memory, but no, that was nearly impossible.
"In one of the bottom rooms of Helm's Deep. It is a bit rustic, not like what you might be used to, but you'll soon love it as much as I do," Éowyn replied, smiling. However, she stopped short when she noticed the distinctly not amused look on the March Warden's face.
"In that case, who are you?" he asked.
"Éowyn, daughter of Éomund. I am under instructions from Lord Aragorn to look after you. He was rather insistent," she mused.
"Well, then what are you here for now?" he asked, partly curious why Aragorn would get a frosty lady of Rohan to tend to him instead of sending him back to Lothlorien, and also wondering what exactly her duties were.
"You do know that I have to look after you? It's time for me to dress your wounds again. There are some herbs here that you may need," she replied. He could hear an edge to her voice, as if she wasn't pleased about tending to her. Well, in that case, he would prove her right – he could, and would be rather a handful.
Éowyn was getting irritated with his tone, and the way he seemed to look down on her. As if she hadn't known that elves were almost renowned for their scorn towards mortals, here came one who was so full of himself. She tried to break the tension as she rinsed his wounds and wrapped it gently.
"Does it hurt?" she asked.
Haldir made no reply. Instead, he closed his eyes and sank back into the pillows, which surprisingly, felt rather good after a while, if you got used to them. Éowyn then contended with taking that for an answer and walked out of the room, closing the door silently behind her after her task was done.
What a snob, Éowyn thought to herself furiously. To her, it was one thing to perform your royal duties when the king commanded, but it was a totally different matter when some Godforsaken elf from Lothlorien treated you like a slave. She had never been so insulted in her life.
'Lord Aragorn!" she exclaimed.
"Lady Éowyn, I realize that you are not exactly pleased with the turn of events at having to look after Haldir," he replied.
"Not exactly pleased? Is that what you call it? Well, that would be a considerable understatement. He is giving me the third degree, either that or he's highly inquisitive!" Éowyn replied harshly.
"I understand, but we couldn't just let him die," Aragorn answered.
"If you were to be in battle with him, would he even remember you if you were to fall? Or would he just say that he's done his own duty?" Éowyn asked coldly before storming out of Helm's Deep.
"He is badly wounded. But he will recover with rest and careful tending." Aragorn said to Éowyn softly.
"Is that all I can do? Watch the sick, care for those fallen in battle?" Éowyn snapped.
"There is no other way. He let us through Lothlorien, and we have to help him. He has proved to be loyal," Aragorn replied. He knew that Éowyn wasn't happy with the arrangement, but he also knew that she would follow.
Éowyn was terribly exasperated. Once again, she had to look after another of the injured. And not just any one of them, but an elf. She had heard of their standoffish ways, and how they were scornful of mortals. Now this elf – the March Warden of Lothlorien – she wasn't even sure she liked his title. But when the higher powers command, she had no choice but to follow.
Haldir felt himself floating among the most peaceful of places, in the clouds, with the elves he once knew, those who had left for the Grey Havens. Was he dead? Why did he feel no pain at all? As he looked around, he saw Galadriel beaming at him.
"You will survive," she said sweetly.
"My lady!" he gasped, executing a perfect bow. Despite his arrogance and haughtiness to a fault, he never failed to show reverence to his lady and lord.
"You were injured in battle, yet you have not passed into darkness," Galadriel whispered softly, a melodious note in the air. As the hazy images around him faded slowly, he found himself in a room. All he knew was that he was miles away from the home he knew.
He found himself lying in a bed, a reasonably comfortable one, yet nothing like the once he used to have. Where in Middle-Earth was he? He recalled the battle of Helm's Deep, and how he had been wounded. Yes, it had been a good decision to help them, he mused, yet was it worth it? So many elves dead, men slain. As he thought, a knock on the door jolted him from his reverie.
"My lord?" A soft voice called from the door. Haldir looked up to find a mortal lady standing at the door, standing stiffly, yet there was a bitter, hard look in her eyes. He could look into the depths of her soul, the loneliness reflected in her eyes, where she tried so hard to mask. He beckoned to her imperiously, and decided to question her.
"Where am I?" he asked, trying not to show his confusion. Perhaps he had lost his memory, but no, that was nearly impossible.
"In one of the bottom rooms of Helm's Deep. It is a bit rustic, not like what you might be used to, but you'll soon love it as much as I do," Éowyn replied, smiling. However, she stopped short when she noticed the distinctly not amused look on the March Warden's face.
"In that case, who are you?" he asked.
"Éowyn, daughter of Éomund. I am under instructions from Lord Aragorn to look after you. He was rather insistent," she mused.
"Well, then what are you here for now?" he asked, partly curious why Aragorn would get a frosty lady of Rohan to tend to him instead of sending him back to Lothlorien, and also wondering what exactly her duties were.
"You do know that I have to look after you? It's time for me to dress your wounds again. There are some herbs here that you may need," she replied. He could hear an edge to her voice, as if she wasn't pleased about tending to her. Well, in that case, he would prove her right – he could, and would be rather a handful.
Éowyn was getting irritated with his tone, and the way he seemed to look down on her. As if she hadn't known that elves were almost renowned for their scorn towards mortals, here came one who was so full of himself. She tried to break the tension as she rinsed his wounds and wrapped it gently.
"Does it hurt?" she asked.
Haldir made no reply. Instead, he closed his eyes and sank back into the pillows, which surprisingly, felt rather good after a while, if you got used to them. Éowyn then contended with taking that for an answer and walked out of the room, closing the door silently behind her after her task was done.
What a snob, Éowyn thought to herself furiously. To her, it was one thing to perform your royal duties when the king commanded, but it was a totally different matter when some Godforsaken elf from Lothlorien treated you like a slave. She had never been so insulted in her life.
'Lord Aragorn!" she exclaimed.
"Lady Éowyn, I realize that you are not exactly pleased with the turn of events at having to look after Haldir," he replied.
"Not exactly pleased? Is that what you call it? Well, that would be a considerable understatement. He is giving me the third degree, either that or he's highly inquisitive!" Éowyn replied harshly.
"I understand, but we couldn't just let him die," Aragorn answered.
"If you were to be in battle with him, would he even remember you if you were to fall? Or would he just say that he's done his own duty?" Éowyn asked coldly before storming out of Helm's Deep.