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Until the Day Comes
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It is the enthralling voice that first captures Haldir’s attention, one that sings the tale of Nimrodel and Amroth. The lyrics weave through the trees and enliven the forest; when they reach his ears, he is enamoured by their beauty and heartfelt longing. He turns towards the voice, and, for a moment, bathes in their allure and forgets his suspicions for foreign voices in his land.
“Beside the falls of Nimrodel,
By water clear and cool,
Her voice as falling silver fell
Into the shining pool.” *The familiar tale engulfs him; visions triggered by the song surround him. His bow is loose in his hand as his eyes fall shut, and he is pulled into a memory that has long eluded him.
The sun is suddenly brighter and the trees lighter. The trickling of water mingles with his father’s voice as he sings. The grass is soft beneath him, although the blades tickle his legs through the thin material of his leggings. His legs appear thinner and shorter, and when he stands he feels considerably lighter.
His mother’s laughter accompanies his father’s song and his brothers burst from the foliage and sit by him. He glances up and sees his father watching him, singing of Nimrodel and Amroth.The song fades, and he snaps back from the memory, his sense of duty returning as he is seized by the realization that strangers have passed the borders. Silently alerting his brothers, they move quickly through the woods, lightly running across the paths he knows will take them to the river. He has guarded these borders for many years, and knows the quickest roads through the trees. The brothers move like they are hunting, and he knows that they shall be if the enchanting voice belies a darker body.
As he runs, his mind returns to the brief memory, and a half-smile comes to his lips as he remembers his father’s wonderful voice and his mother’s laughter. His chest aches as he thinks of them, but he pushes it aside, forcing himself to think only of the disturbance in his woods.
As he draws closer to the song’s source, he feels no evil, but a strange, united light that hasn’t entered Lórien in a long time. The trees, familiar to him by sight and smell, pass by swiftly, and he catches a brief glance at the intruders. In front of him stands a company of eight. Haldir would have loosed an arrow in that instant had he not been forewarned of their coming. His mind works fast, and he knows the news of a wandering fellowship; an unusual group walking over the Nimrodel is no coincidence.
Orophin and Rúmil branch away without instruction, and the three of them follow the company for a while, studying and watching them.
The four Halflings perplex him most when he recovers from the surprise of their presence. He thought of them as a dying race, and yet he has been told of them recently; now, he sees four. They are filled with fear, curiosity, and a hope not often seen in these times. Their innocence is almost blinding, and would be, if not for the small, but spreading taint of darkness that hovers above them.
The elf moves to climb one of the trees.
“Daro!” Haldir calls out, and the company freezes.
He laughs lightly at their shock and fear, and listens as Rúmil tells the elf that the hobbit breathes so loudly he could have shot him in the dark. The elf replies in the same light and engaging voice that sang not long before. Haldir climbs quickly but silently up the tree nearest to him and leaps into the canopy of the next one – the mallorn the elf was about to climb. He bids the elf to climb up with the Ring-bearer, and he feels Rúmil and Orophin settle behind him.
Leoglas is the name of the elf with the golden voice, and Frodo is the Ring-bearer. Haldir sees that the shadow floating above the company stems from this tiny creature, and he wonders of the power that lays only an arm span away from his grasp. It pulses from the hobbit’s chest in waves, flowing over and piercing him.
It whispers to him and he tastes the bitterness, feels the poisoned claws and sees the darkness. He recognises the endless depth of the shadows, the relentless evil, and he pities the Halfling. But his thoughts are mingling, changing, and he knows that with one swift movement such power could be his…<br>
Haldir could forsake his duty as warden of the borders of Lórien, and instead use the strength of the One Ring to forever thwart the dangers that threatens the forest. His home will become the safest place on all of Middle-earth, and after he ensures this he will lead the last alliance of men and elves to victory over the Dark Lord. The shadow will pass, and all will know his name and revere it, even more so than the Lady of Lothlórien, Galadriel.
The power he will command will be the greatest ever seen, and he will have lords and ladies bowing to him, offering him their lands and legions. He would never again have to stand guard for a fortnight without rest, never have to engage in battle after battle with minor foes, never need to defend the borders of his home.
His eyes are drawn to Frodo’s chest, and it calls to him. His heart beats faster, his skin itches all over, and his head throbs; the need he feels for it screams inside him louder than the sea-longing has ever cried. It feels as though his muscles are stretching, and the pure, carnal
lust causes his hands to shake.
He can take it if he wants. It ought to be his. He
deserves to have it. He and his brothers have defended these borders long enough. They have lost so much because of the evil in this world, and they have tirelessly fought to hinder the spread of darkness.
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