Galadriel's voice
filtered away the memory of his brothers burrowing beside him in bed, nightly
terrors robbing them of what precious sleep remained unto them. He did not want
to remember Orophin's hot denials of what had happened or Rúmil's hot tears
against his skin as the younger Elf wept for what he did not understand.

<where is ada haldir why hasn't he come home i want to see him make him
come back>

There were too
many for him to go on fighting alone. Deep in his heart he knew it, and yet he
could not stop. Desperation, determination, loyalty to the ideal that had
brought him here -

<long ago
we fought and died together>

- whatever one
wanted to call it, it kept him together, kept him sane, as battle raged on
below him, beside him, around him. Just upwards of him he heard the faint cry
of an Elvish voice in distress, knew more than just the sound, but the pitch
and tone, for it was one of the many warriors who had sung a lament for
Mithrandir, Galadhon by name, a friend of yén beyond the lifespan of
mortal men.

He looked
helplessly for Galadhon, knowing that in the sea of black and armor, the shape
of his friend would be nearly impossible to find. But to his horror he found
Galadhon mere footsteps away, brown eyes wide with shocked dismay, fingers
still clenched to a wound in his side.

The victor of the
contest, an orc whose conquering screech grated on Haldir's ears, stood just
beyond the fallen warrior. So close, a footstep away, and the enemy's victory
would be shattered by another death.

His mother's eyes
floated down from the rafters of memory; the shock made him pause. Had he truly
forgotten how her eyes had deadened in the aftermath of his father's death, how
they had pleaded with him so eloquently to take care of his brothers when she
too was gone?

<i cannot do
what you ask of me naneth please do not make me do
this alone>

Haldir never
cried out in battle lest it was to warn his men to retreat; 'twas not the Elven
way to give forth with unnecessary sound, at least not the way his father had
taught him. Earlier, he had seen Legolas fighting, and it seemed Thranduil's
son followed his own heart on these matters. Yet now the sound of rage filled
his ears as he uttered it, and with a step and thrust the offending enemy's
head was severed from its shoulders.

But what good
would it do? Would it bring Galadhon back?
hissed a voice in his ear, a voice that was no more real than this battle was a
game. He tried to dismiss it, but the starless pools of his friend's eyes
deflected the stratagem.

<you must
haldir i need you to be strong for me ion nîn >

The step of the
March Warden faltered a moment, and then regained its speed, the swing of his
blade its confidence. To be anything but would be to deny the last wish that
echoed in the dimmest recesses of a child's broken heart.

A sudden shout of
his name broke through the crimson haze that had clouded his vision and he
turned instinctively toward it, finding the Ranger through the crowd equally on
instinct. The two leaders' eyes met, and for an instant it was as if they
shared one thought. The men of Rohan and the Elves of Lórien and Imladris could
not press too much further.

"Nan barad,
Haldir! Nan barad!"

<mae govannen haldir you are most welcome we are proud to fight
alongside men once more>

The Dúnadan was
right. The retreat must come, and must come swiftly. Too few remained to
continue this fight for too long; and those who did remain could barely stand,
exhaustion amply evident in their slowing movements. He saw this from where he
stood and nodded down to Aragorn, beginning to order his men to flee to the
safety of the keep. Those who could not walk on their own were aided by those
who could, and Haldir checked them as they passed, the names echoing in his
head.

<too few are
they who will return from this i would have given my life to spare them>

The desire for
revenge, the knowledge of the weakness of both forces and position, juxtaposed,
ready to do battle in his mind for the control of the March Warden. But he knew
his duty first lay to his men.

"Nan
barad," was the order that was repeated, and it was what filled his ears
as he turned to aid still others past him and safely to the staircase just
beyond him.

He would not
leave until all that could be moved into the keep were moved.

<he would not
leave them there to die does that make ada a hero
haldir>

Filigreed blades,
flashing in darkness, flailing to uphold the light - 

<yes ada was a hero just like the ones naneth used to tell you
about don't you remember>

- the spin of a
dance so delicate and yet so timelessly full of anger, the dancers suspended
between life and death. Each one a composite of yin and yang, for what were the
orcs but darkly twisted elves and what were the elves but light-embracing orcs?
A seed of both dark and light had once existed in each race, now worn away in
one. Would the other wear away in Elves, too? Could that bring them back into
balance?

Orophin's knowing
eyes, feverish with anger as Rúmil was given the consoling lies one tells a
child when numbness and youth void all else from being said, filled his mind
suddenly. Those bitter eyes flashed defiantly before him then and he did not
pause as the sarcasm of his brother's words filtered through his memory.

<if it makes
him a hero to die then can he just be normal and alive like the rest of us>

There was no
moonlight to guide his eyes as he fought his way free of a knot of uruks,
allowing four Elves to pass him, dragging a wounded comrade. His gaze swept beyond
them, and there were still more fighting their way towards him. So he remaineherehere he was, even as the cry came unto him again, more desperate-sounding this
time. "Nan barad, Haldir!"

The retreat was
finalizing, then. Most of Aragorn's men were pulling desperately away from the
battle. But what about those who were still embroiled in their life-and-death
struggle? Should they be abandoned?

Starless skies
above, hear thou my prayer! Look'st thou on me with kindness, o holy Elentári, thee who art the Star-kindler, in my hour of need;
guide my hand so I might give aid to all those within my reach…do not let me
fail now, I beseech thee, Elbereth…

Retreat was
promised below him, and safety. The stairs were close; but memory and the
sickly sweet stench of death was at hand, and ready to strike down upon those
nearby. He found his voice and uttered the cry.

<remember ion nîn think not of yourself but of your men else no better
are you than the yrch>

Plunging back
into the warriors, he pushed as many as he could towards the stairs. Towards
safety. Towards the dawning of the fifth day and the coming of Gandalf. Towards
anything but what was about to befall him.

He grasped the
hands of an injured warrior, shouldering another's burden until the staircase
was reached and the wounded safely brought away.

Yet how
poignantly sad, to realize only now that the danger which had surrounded him,
the danger which had enveloped his life in grief, the danger which had robbed
him of a father, was now the very same danger which threatened him.

Was this dying,
then? The slow loss of feeling in one's nerves, a numbing of the soul, a
spreading shock seeping from a well of rage that something so undignified
should happen to one not meant for death?

<ada nîn tell me is this what i shouldfeelfeeling>

He felt the world
tilt beneath him, and the freezing stones of the wall were rushing toward him
when there came hands to catch him, the embrace of someone who had done this
before, someone whose shoulders shook involuntarily with grief.

<at last i
understand death ada nîn at last i know what it was
for you to sacrifice it all>

Aragorn tried in
those moments to keep him alive, Haldir could dimly feel the touch still
through his body, though numbness had pervaded most of it. But at last the
Dúnadan had to give up, and allow Haldir's body to join his companions in their
sightless observation of the night sky.

<i can no
lr ser see him from afar>

Isildur's Heir
did not have time to pause further; retreat was all that was on his mind now.
The dawning of a new day would not come fast enough for him and all living
beings that fought in that corner of Rohan known as Helm's Deep.

But for the dead,
their still bodies would keep the night long company, and whatever halls they
went to after their departures, be it Mandos, heaven, or some unnamed Valhalla,
were filled that night. Some of these souls had been born seeking de oth others
had been born for immortal lives and decreed themselves worthy of sacrifice.

Haldir of Lórien
was one of the latter.