Haldir’s diary: part 7
I can see the Dawn.
And it is beautiful.
As I lie here, oblivious to the world around me, all I care for is the glorious sunlight, all that is sustaining me at the moment.
The noise and chaos around me has softened slightly. The drum of horses hooves are still in my ears and I can clearly hear someone shout ‘Rohirrim, ride!’ in the background.
I take it we’ve won.
I REALLY hope we’ve won.
I try to move, but every time I do, I get a blazing pain down my spine. I manage to open my mouth, and desperately try to call out, but I can’t form words without my neck feeling like ice. All I can say are: “ung, uh” and other obscure sounds.
All I can do is wait.
I think the battle is over now.
I heard someone yell ‘victory’ and breathed a huge sigh of relief, which made me gag for the pain in my back.
I have to get someone to realise I’m not dead and help me.
I can just manage to turn my neck and get a better view of practically everything, but when I do, I’m revisited by the grisly corpse beside me: Rumil, my brother who I brought along to die. My brother who I could not protect.
I turn my head back and try to suppress the memory of the night. I was always told that Elves were unsusceptible to physical and mental trauma of any kind, but I don’t know how I can believe that. I don’t know if I can live on in this way. If I survive, I will never shake off the grief of this battle, and, in my present state, probably end up as an invalid.
Do I have anything to live for? (Apart from unceasingly humiliating Legolas?)
There are people around me: Rohan peasants gathering their dead. Poor fools. They will never get their loved ones back.
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Elven soldiers, Mirkwood regiment in fact. They look exhausted and I pity them. They take one look at the piles of corpses and wretch in disgust. They have lost friends and dear ones too.
More Elves are coming this way now, gathering the bodies of their friends and tending the wounded that still lay there. I try and call out, but it hurts too much.
One of the Mirkwood Elves spots me lying there. He motions to his friends and they come over and stare at their dead general. One of them whispers a prayer for me and the others lament of my fall. I try and say something like: “I’m not dead you idiot”, but all that comes out is a slight ‘erg’. I can manage no more.
One of them spotted my will. I knew i shouldn’t have put it in my quiver for the world to see.
Damnit. He’s reading it. There’s a small smile on his lips and I know what he’s thinking.
He shows it to his friends. Hello? ‘Corpse’ here!
Somebody please kill me.
The Elf’s friends are running off and I have an awful suspicion that they might be carrying out what they think is their praised and beloved general’s last wish.
I WISH I WAS DEAD