Note: This is a work of both poetry and fan-fiction. I made it several years ago, trying to imitate Tolkien's alliterative poems. Unfortunately, at the time, I didn't really understand the rules of this kind of poetry - I mainly thought that alliteration was enough. It *isn't*. So, (for this and other reasons) I have to present this with a bit of embarrassment, and mainly for the sake of completion.
Disclaimer: The setting belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien as does Hathaldir. The rest is mine. (not that anyone else would want them :-)
Have you not heard of Hathaldir the young whose courage with many competed; though youth he was in the body in skill of the bow most mortals surpassed; and with might the spear he used when needed and often it was. A Bëoring his father, his mother brave and free a Haladin daughter; but Hathaldir grew in the land of Ladros; though lithe and shorter than the people of Bëor he learned there wisdom and pity he had and in love would hold the creatures of Arda. Half-elven some called him for mighty he was among the sons of Men. When evil came in a cold night and Dagor Bragollach was kindled and death the Orc-legions gave to those unprepared with pitiless cruelty his parents were killed. Thus Hathaldir learned woe and he would be slain but his skill saved him and the sword of Barahir, the father of Beren and Bregors son. And because Hathaldir from Bëor descended and a long friendship he once had with his father Barahir took him as son and Beren as brother. When Barahir bold with twelve brave companions alone was left not least among them was Hathaldir in courage and near Aeluin wan from boy to manhood he grew in mind and body. When Doom came at last and Death called them the faithful Men there Hathaldir fell but last by his king he was to be killed and bid the world farewell. Freedom he found beyond the bounds of Eä and the bars of Time. The birds brought the news from the bitter North that Barahir was slain and Bregolas' sons, that Gildor and Ragnor, Radhruin and Gorlim, Dairuin and Arthad and Urthel and Dagnir and Hathaldir had fallen their home defending the filled now with foes: Dorthonion's forest. The minstrels would make many dirges for them but among the Halethrim one mourned for Hathaldir above all the others: Aerlin the lonely. No comfort she knew and now she lay trying to forget folded in two her knees embracing and mourning Hathaldir. Then a sleep of grief slowly there came enfolding her sorrow embracing her soul leading her mind to hills and meadows to days in Dorthonion ere Death had come. When spring was green like children would play there hand-holding she and Hathaldir and lightly laughing on the grass would lie or softly singing would gaze at the stars; Then sleep would come and slowly take them and love was born before the light of morn. All these the figure of Aerlin the fair saw and remembered but sudden her smile died and strictly she bid to her dream: "Vanish, oh vision," her voice demanded "Nor make me further to fall into mourning by reminding me things best not remembered, both fair and vanished, broken by violence. Your hand I will hold never again, Hathaldir!" Like thunders they echoed the words of her anger the dream demolishing destroying the vision... back in the land of Brethil bereft of joy or light enfolded in loneliness Aerlin was left. The new Sun arose now with the sound of the rain falling on fragnant flowers. Refreshing and cool it came to her body with the tears mingling of the mourning maid; the weather was trying to comfort her woe. A calling for courage by a kind Nature. The rain stopped. The rays of the Sun to her beautiful body, the burdened with sorrow, came shining clear in silent condolence. Then slowly waking from woeful sleep her face she turned to Taur-nu-Fuin the haunt of horror the grave of Hathaldir. "Our hope was high but hollow and grim comes now the morning to these cold meadows. Mighty the hand of Morgoth, Hathaldir, that the realm of Ladros he laid to ruins. Yet still you remained through years and sorrow in hopeless efforts your homes to hold from him. My ways were other but no less woe was mine." When woe first came the winter was cold but colder fell yet the awful year that followed. A spear from foes had slain her father, dauntless Belegarth, both brave and dear. But more would follow of mourning and woe: Her mother fell ill with fever of anguish while sleepless Aerlin stayed at her side. As the news of war arrived worse and worse Emeldir would lead them all to the South. Her land she left and her love behind, the brown-haired boy, brave Hathaldir. Under skies of lead they said that they loved but faithfulness kept by kissing farewell (a comfort too cold for such a cruel parting) and embracing wept and went to their ways; she by her mother, by Barahir Hathaldir. But ere much passed of the mournful path the boy seemed to be but just a distant shadow. Then smitten by anguish she suddenly cried filled with foreboding and frightened calling: "Will I hold your hand ever again, Hathaldir?" And hearing then the hopeless echoes back on the barren hills he broke into tears. "Ill see you once more I swear it by Manwë! Well turn the woe to joy and wipe away our tears!" Through pain and hunger and paths filled with horror where water is poison and madness walks with might Emeldir then led them to the land of Brethil where sweeter the air and bright still the stars. But evil the voyage and vain for Aerlin: her mother had died in the dreadful hills; A Haladin hunter adopted her then. In dreaming the deeds of daring Hathaldir against the Orc-legions of the evil lord she found some comfort and flight from sorrow for always their minds met ere evening fell, until the birds said the bright-eyed boy had died. Westward the Sun was slowly sinking and staining with red Aerlins white raiment. A minute she stood moveless as statue both slender and fair but shining clothed in fire. In loneliness left loudly she cried radiant and tall terrible in wrath of sorrow. "You said and swore youd see me again and wipe my tears and turn our woe to mirth. But never more now will night change to morning with the birds singing above the sleeping children. Your hand I wont hold ever again Hathaldir." The flame of the Sun and silence fell. A wind from the west came wild and free arising in the lands where rule the Lords that care. It fell on the woods with such a wrathful fury as if the world to shatter but softly and warm it blew to her body and her heart embraced. Alone stood Aerlin in wonder and awe while wailing around her was raging the wind and breaking the world by bending the rules. A lightning struck the hill that stood beside her and sudden the wind fell into slow whisper. A figure stood there fair and shining in the soft breeze beneath the bright starlight. She deemed him so tall as to tower above her than Thingol of Doriath she thought him more kingly, than Noldo or Maia more mighty and noble. His eyes surpassed the stars of the skies holding the splendour of the high heaven. A spear he bore, a sword and a bow, and a grey cloak glittering clothed him above the white armor and the warriors arms, but barefoot he walked while blossoming flowers sprang as he went wherever he stepped softly and silent approaching Aerlin slowly. She suddenly fell for awe surpassed her pride and filled her heart with strange and high fear. Then direly trembling Aerlin dared to ask: "Who are you, my Lord? From the lands of Aman I deem that you come, from the Deathless shores. A king of the Eldar are you but above what the Noldorin songs that I know have said? A Lord of the Maiar; or among the Mighty?" But to her feet lightly laughing he lifted her softly and gently, saying soothingly "Just plain Hathaldir your playmate of old." Backwards starting she stumbled astonished but Hathaldir caught her with caring hands. "Your eyes grew dimmer in despairs grief." Then lifting her face she looked at his eyes and saw there within the starlight that shimmered as thousand dewdrops that dance ere daybreak. But she deeper still searching beyond delight and laughter and light undimmed, she found the form of a fair lady -mirrored in beauty unbearable but true- attired like a queen and upwards looking. My song now falters for mirth and for sorrow. Too weak are my words to weave into verses the lore revealed and renewed love of that wondrous night. Never would woe again defeat Aerlin. As dawn arrived its marvellous hues of hope and magnificence embraced her body. Bright and beautiful stood she glistening shining in glorious joy and loveliness; like jewels of light fell to her feet her flowing tears. Thus woke Aerlin from this world of woe and softly a song slowly began whose rising power passed oer rivers oer meadows and hills, and mountainous heights and realms of shadows. Sheer and renowned to heights incredible and the hearkening ears of Manwë Súlimo it managed to rise in elven-words bright, unbittered and woeless. Of mortal minstrels mightiest was she! A messenger of light modest and little that came to countries cold and beleaguered and offered her services in exchange for shelter. The sick she healed and the sad heartened, tales told to children and tended the wounded. But her songs defeated despairs darkness, her voice the fear of forgetfulness vanquishing, till Hathaldir she found in the fields of hope, beyond the bounds of Eä and the bars of Time. Renowned she is, remembered shell be, and her words I await at the worlds ending.
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Last updated: 01 Apr 2002