Whew! I thought I would be a bit late posting this one, but here it is! (Thanks go out to my faithful coffee-maker for providing the caffeine I needed to see me through this somewhat hectic week lol.)

But seriously though, I want to thank the wonderful peeps who commented on the last chapter. Whether they are long or short reviews, know that I appreciate each and every one. Words cannot express how thankful and humbled I am by your continued interest.

leelee202, leward1992, Blue1258, Raider-K, glitterballx, and Cricklewood16, THANK YOU for your kind reviews! You guys are awesome, and you make me want to write even more!

Note: This chapter was initially intended to be two separate chapters, but to move the story forward, I decided to combine them. In any case, you get bonus stuff to read lol. Later, folks! ;-)

CHAPTER XIV

READY OR NOT

Annalyn was cold.

Haldir could see it clearly, had noticed her discomfort while patrolling the periphery of the dell. Wrapped in her cloak, at the foot of a tall birch tree, Annalyn had not yet fallen asleep. She wasn't even lying down. Her knees were drawn up, her lithe frame shivering beneath the fabric of her cloak.

It was true that the air had grown increasingly cold throughout the night. Presently, a chill wind was sweeping through the forest, bending tree limbs, stirring fallen leaves.

His brows creasing in concern, Haldir slung his bow over his shoulder, and briefly pondered what to do.

Earlier that evening, prior to making camp, he and Annalyn had agreed that a fire would not be prudent. While the majority of the Orcs were still beyond their reach, small bands might very well wander in the area, looking for trouble, fresh meat, or both.

But seeing her now, huddled tightly, chilled to the bone, Haldir worried that Annalyn might not make it through the night. He had seen it before, many years ago when a travelling group of Men had gotten lost in the mountains, less than a day's ride from the Golden Wood. He and his brothers had stumbled upon them while on patrol—a group of four, wrapped in woolen cloaks, forever caught in winter's endless sleep.

Unwilling to leave her like this, Haldir cast one last look at the surrounding forest—seeing nothing amiss—and went to her.

"Here," he said softly, removing his cloak as he neared.

At his approach, Annalyn tipped her face upward, regarding him with puzzlement at first, then alarm. "What are you doing?" she asked as he squatted on his shanks, extending his arms so he could drape the garment around her shoulders.

"Are you mad?" she protested even as her teeth chattered. "You will catch your death!"

Unwilling to debate this, Haldir leveled a look at her. "As will you unless you take this cloak."

His fingers making easy work of it, Haldir fastened the garment, while Annalyn watched him as one ponders an enigma. With the cloak wrapped around her form, he then reached for her shoulders, ran his hands up and down her arms, willing warmth back into them.

As he did so, Haldir stole glances at her every now and again. She watched him still. "Won't you be cold?" Annalyn inquired at last. The worst of her trembling had subsided, he noted, and previously tense muscles had begun to relax as warmth gradually returned to her body.

"You need not worry about me," Haldir murmured at length.

Though not impervious to extremes, Elves were rather well suited for the cold, could withstand it much better than Men. Moreover, Haldir was clad in elven garb. Neither thick nor thin, the expertly woven material provided excellent protection against the elements, keeping the wearer warm or cool at need.

Satisfied that she was comfortable, Haldir turned his attention to her hands and, covering them with his own, found that they were freezing.

No sooner had he done so than Annalyn glanced down. "Your fingers," she said, perplexed. "You wear no gloves, and yet… so warm." Her eyes sought his then. "How can that be?"

When Haldir gave no answer, Annalyn shook her head slightly, mirth suffusing her tired features when she said, "You are quite strange, Haldir of Lórien."

An amused glance as his response, Haldir continued to knead her fingers, her knuckles, the inside of her palms. In time, he sought her gaze. "Better?"

"Much." A beat went by, and then another. "Thank you."

Reassured, Haldir nodded once and rose. "Sleep well," he told her, hoping she would. While Annalyn shifted to lie on her side, closing her eyes as she pillowed her head on her arm, Haldir turned and resumed his watch.

Save for the wind, and the distant sounds he had discerned earlier in the night, all seemed quiet in the forest around them. But danger, he knew, would not be far off. He could sense it in the wind, could feel it in the marrow of his bones.

Tomorrow, he said to himself. Tomorrow would be the day they finally caught up with the Orcs. A part of him was glad of it—he had been tasked with tracking them, after all—but he was troubled also.

Disquieted, Haldir circled the dell, before glancing at Annalyn's slumbering form. If truth be told, he worried for her.

Though quite capable of taking care of herself, Annalyn was not a trained warrior. Oh, she had skill with a blade—he had seen her practicing a few times, usually in the morning prior to setting off—but how she would fare in actual battle, Haldir did not know. Having never asked, he wondered if she had ever fought before, against a real foe who was out for real blood. Because training and actual fighting were two very different things in his eyes.

As windswept leaves skittered over his boots, Haldir remembered how Feran had fought. Valiantly by the looks of it. But in the end, valour hadn't been enough, and he had fallen.

A shame and a waste, Haldir thought with genuine sadness for Annalyn. For losing a loved one was a hard thing to bear, the hardest even—he would know, having lost a great deal himself.

Looking to the stars, Haldir heaved a sigh. Death, he thought ruefully, pondering its meaning. In many ways, it was different for his people. Different but no less painful.

First and oldest children of Ilúvatar, Elves were, in essence, immortal. The passage of time did not ravage them, nor was pestilence ever a concern.

According to the eldest and wisest of his kindred, if an Elf was slain, or somehow lost the will to live, his or her essence merely passed into the Halls of Mandos, in the Undying Lands beyond the western shores. There, they would wait in solitary observation, seeing the world without being able to affect or touch it in any way.

In that time of Waiting, those who needed it could be strengthened and comforted. And to those who were healed, it was said that a choice would be given: to remain in the Halls of Mandos, or return to life and commune with the living once again.

Thus it was for the Elves. They were bound to the world. So long as it existed, they would endure.

Such was not the case with Men. For one thing, their lives were incredibly fleeting, and when they passed on it was said that their spirits did not linger in the Halls of Mandos. Rather, they departed, leaving the circles of the world altogether. But where to? Haldir did not know.

It seemed no one did.

Even as he pondered this, Haldir had to own that as ephemeral as their lives were, Men and other mortal folk experienced an incredible amount of things during their time here. From birth to adulthood, old age and death. With children in between. And grandchildren. And for an enduring few great-grandchildren as well.

Life. The good. The bad. The curiosity and the thirst for adventure. All of it stuffed into a few dozen years if one was lucky enough. One had to admire that, as Haldir had come to do—though admittedly, his opinion of Men hadn't always been so favourable.

Some might call it arrogance, but truth of the matter was, Elves were largely unconcerned with the race of Men—or any mortal races for that matter. Barring a few exceptions, Haldir felt that Men lacked wisdom and patience. To him, it seemed they were a restless people, born with an incessant need to shape and re-shape their lives. Indeed, change was often their aim, in a world that was evolving far too rapidly in his eyes.

But some, he now knew, yearned for naught but a quiet life. A life of laughter and kinship and simple pleasures, like warm meals and stories shared around a campfire. Annalyn and her kin had lived in just such a fashion. They had wandered far and wide, risking life and limb not for glory, but to provide medicine to those who relied on them, their friends and neighbours, proud peasants of the Westfold.

Though he had not known them long, Annalyn and her kin had shown their quality, and opened his eyes in many ways, broadening his long-held perceptions. During their march through the Golden Wood, Haldir had noted their determination, their vibrancy of life. Indeed, he had noticed those traits in each of them, first in Feran, then later in Aldin. But most of all, he had seen those traits in Annalyn, and still did.

In spite of the hardships she faced, Annalyn had not given up. She pushed ahead, day after day. And while her eyes were now tinged with sadness, she had lost none of her kindness. She was also brave.

Haldir had seen it during that first crossing, then again on that fateful night, when she had stood, weaponless but defiant, before that Warg-rider. She could have cowered and begged for her life—many would have—but she hadn't. Instead, Annalyn had lifted her chin and stared at the creature, flinching only when Haldir had loosed his arrows, killing the wretched thing and the beast upon which it rode.

Night deepened. All remained quiet. His bow in hand, Haldir approached a low-hanging tree-limb and hoisted himself up. Once he was sitting comfortably, he laid his weapon across his lap, then cast one last look at Annalyn.

Even now, she held to hope. The hope of finding Aldin, alive and unscathed. Though he, himself, found it doubtful.

Haldir's heart grew heavy. Whatever they would find tomorrow, whatever perils they might face, he would see her safely through it. Somehow.

But if anything went wrong. If—

No.

He would complete his appointed task, gathering knowledge about the Orcs while warding her as best he could, until she could go home again. It would not erase her pain, he knew, nor would it bring back her uncle, but it was something. And he would see it done.

Annalyn awoke at first light, warm and snug in her dual layering of cloaks. Blinking a few times, she stretched and looked up, beyond the naked branches, to a pale sky streaked with clouds.

"So she awakens."

At Haldir's words, Annalyn tilted her head back, saw that he was crouched nearby, his pack laying open at his feet as he rummaged through its contents. "I trust you are rested?" he inquired but kept to his task.

She stifled a yawn and rubbed her face. "I am." Sitting up, Annalyn thought about the previous night and the kindness he had shown her by lending her his cloak. It had been selfless of him, a bit reckless even—or so she had first thought. Elves, it seemed, were not overly bothered by the cold.

She might have known, should have remembered that clear autumn day in the woods of Lothlórien, when Haldir had braved the frigid waters of the Silverlode to come to her aid. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

Presently, he was closing his pack, and though his gaze was downcast, the set of his features left little doubt that he was preoccupied. When he glanced up, his stare intent as he pondered the eastern horizon, Annalyn understood his mood, looked in the same direction.

The Orcs were out there, much closer than she cared to admit. Even so, nothing was going to stop her at this point. Not her fears. Not her doubts. Aldin might be out there, and if he was, she was going to find him.

Since overthinking would do little good at this point, Annalyn got to her feet. "Here," she told her companion, managing a small but grateful smile. "Your cloak."

Extending the garment, she caught its now familiar scent—a woody blend that reminded her of cedarwood and cloves. How a cloak could smell so nice after so many leagues, Annalyn had no idea. But it did.

"This will likely be our last rest for a while," Haldir warned her as he donned the garment.

"I know."

"Light is gathering fast," he continued, looking to the sky. "The area should be safe enough now." Back to her, he explained that there was a hill nearby, with very tall trees—a good point from which to get a better sense of what lay ahead. "I should like to have a look before we set out again."

It had become a habit of his, these little excuses that allowed him to slip away in the mornings, affording them some much needed privacy. "I will return shortly," Haldir assured her before leaving.

For a few heartbeats, Annalyn simply looked after him, watching until he had disappeared through the forest. Her focus shifting to more immediate concerns, she started in the opposite direction, in search of a sheltered spot amongst the trees. Nature was calling.

Shortly thereafter, as she made her way back to where they had spent the night, Annalyn spotted a tiny pool of water near a cluster of cedar trees. In truth, it was too small to be called a pool. It was clear, though, remarkably so. If it hadn't been so cold, she might have washed up a little. If only I had supplies.

An iron pot would have been most useful. With it, she could have heated the near-freezing water. But when the Orcs had come within view of her camp on that awful night, and sent her company scrambling, Annalyn had lost most of her supplies. Some had been on her horse, the rest carried by her kin. Things like furs, spare clothing, the simple but effective soap that she had made using ash and animal fat. Traps and snares, a tent, a pot and a pan, even a bow for hunting wild game.

All gone.

But then, these were things, all replaceable, unlike her loved ones who could never be replaced.

Holding to a fraying thread of hope, Annalyn knelt by the water, rinsed her hands, and thought about what she might face today, what she might find.

Pondering various outcomes, Annalyn looked down at her distorted reflection, reached for her disheveled braid, and worked it loose. Given that she might have to fight, it seemed most sensible to tie it all back, if only to keep the strands out of her eyes. Using her fingers to comb it through, she gathered the length of her hair to one side, and plaited it once again.

Her hair secure, Annalyn continued toward camp, then reached for her blade. Her mind on the Orcs, she pulled it free of its sheath, and examined the hilt as she walked. So it was not the finest sword in existence, but it was hers, and it meant a great deal to her.

It would do. It had to.

With the flat of her thumb, she checked the edge of the blade, found it sharp. Then, holding the sword in front her, Annalyn tested its weight, swung it a few times.

Ready or not…

Apprehension growing with every step, she considered what she might be up against. It wasn't that she feared dying—for death was inevitable in the end, a fate shared by all who walked upon this Earth—but she was not fearless either. Truth be told, what Annalyn feared most was defeat, finding that Aldin had been killed or tortured, or simply not finding him at all.

Courage, she thought to herself. Do not despair yet.

Annalyn's sword sliced through the air one more time, on a downstroke, the blade glinting in the morning light. When she pivoted, as if to face an imaginary opponent, something moved at the edge of her sight.

Haldir had returned.

A flush rising to her cheeks, Annalyn glanced at him, but maintained her form. His blue eyes were watching her, a glimmer of curiosity just visible in his features. He started in her direction.

For an instant, she debated putting her sword away, but changed her mind when Haldir unsheathed his own blade. "What's this?" she asked, arching an eyebrow. "A lesson?" Does he doubt my skill? The notion irked her somewhat and scratched her pride—she could fight. Neverthleless, Annayn recognized the perils that surely lay ahead. And with Aldin's life hanging in the balance…

Readying her stance, Annalyn reluctantly swallowed her pride. With a newfound willingness to listen and perhaps learn something, she watched as Haldir came to stand in front of her. He crossed his blade with hers, held her eyes. "You see this part here?" He slid the end of his sword closer to the hilt of hers, and locked it there. "Your strength." His gaze did not waver. "Your opponent's weakness."

Ah, but this she knew. Emboldened, she smirked and twisted her wrist, easily dislodging his blade, Silverwind.

Seemingly pleased, Haldir inclined his head, and put his blade away. But then he ventured a question, asking if she had ever fought before.

"I have," Annalyn admitted. "Once," she mumbled under her breath. Her cheeks colouring a little, she looked away, then promptly busied herself by slipping her sword back into its scabbard.

Roughly five years had passed since that night, when Orcs had encircled their camp, somewhere in the Gap of Rohan. Numbering four in all, the creatures had crept in, hoping to catch her company unawares. But her uncle, who had been standing watch, had roused them with a shout, then a battle had broken out.

Back to back, Annalyn and her kin had taken on the creatures. The Orcs had been fierce, fiercer than she had anticipated. Nevertheless, she had held her own for a while. When it appeared that victory was at hand, Annalyn had swung what she had believed to be the killing blow, but not before Aldin had moved in, finding a weak spot between the armour plates and running the Orc clean through.

Though certainly grateful that the battle was over, Annalyn had felt rather cheated at the time. It wasn't that she had relished the thought of killing, but she had oft wondered how she might fare in actual battle.

"Why did you interfere?" she had demanded, turning to her cousin. "That filth was done for. I had him!"

But Aldin—barely a man at the time—had merely arched a brow, half-teasing, half-boasting when he had said, "You are most welcome, my lady."

She could have throttled him.

But then, after she had brooded for a full day, Aldin had approached her with a heartfelt apology. Even now, she remembered him saying, "I do not always show it, nor have I said it… but you have strength in you, Annalyn, and much courage. More so than some of the men in our village." His words had been repentant, his eyes even more so. "Next time, unless you wish me to, I will not interfere."

But there hadn't been a next time. Now that she was older, and hopefully wiser, Annalyn recognized that it was a good thing, for any battle could go ill. And she would not risk her safety, nor that of her loved ones, just to prove a point.

In the years that followed, her company had been rather fortunate. Seldom had they seen the creatures, and whenever they did, they had grown adept at passing unnoticed. Until recently that is.

Back to the here and now, Annalyn avoided Haldir's lingering gaze. Embarrassed by her lack of fighting experience, she readjusted her sword-belt and started walking, changing the subject when she asked, "What say you? Are you ready to track some Orc?"

They went.

Morning waned, and the clouds moved in. Thick and dark, they rolled overhead, threatening rain, perhaps even snow. Her gaze occasionally darting to the skies, Annalyn maintained a brisk stride, following her companion out of the forest, and across an increasingly open landscape.

Far in the distance ahead, she spied what appeared to be a tall ridge of some kind. Dotted with isolated clusters of trees, it rose like wave, and stretched for a long way, north and south. A thick line of evergreens stood at its feet, most of them spreading in a southerly direction.

Determined to reach the ridge before nightfall—when Orcs might come out and see them from afar—they filed along, stopping only for brief periods, during which Annalyn would sip some water and catch her breath.

Day was growing late when they finally reached the foot of the slope. From afar, it had looked rather smooth, but now that Annalyn had a better view, the terrain seemed a lot more rugged, especially near the top.

"What lies on the other side? Do you know?" She voiced her questions when Haldir came to a brief halt, his elven eyes trained on the stunted trees which grew up top.

"A narrow valley, beyond which stands the forest of Mirkwood."

"Mirkwood," Annalyn echoed. The name was unfamiliar to her. "It sounds ominous."

"It is not a pleasant place." Haldir seemed sorrowful all of a sudden. "Though it was not always so. Indeed, there was a time when it was quite beautiful. Greenwood the Great it was called."

She had never heard of it either.

Together, they started up the escarpment. It was going to be a long climb. Careful step by careful step, they rounded boulders, hopped over fissures, climbed and climbed until light started to fade. Before darkness had fallen completely, Haldir sought cover behind some trees, and lowered his voice. "The Orcs are close. Can you hear them?" She could, but faintly. Haldir continued, "With those clouds, night will fall quickly, and soon the top of that ridge will likely be crawling with Orcs and Wargs." He was moving again. "Come."

Gripped by an odd blend of anticipation and fear, Annalyn scanned the length of the escarpment, seeing neither Orc nor movement, and resumed the climb.

Night gained dominance over the sky. His gaze darting about the nearby hilltop, Haldir stopped by yet another tree, and appeared to be debating how to proceed. At length, he turned to her. She had never seen him looking so grim and serious, not even on that first day, when he and his brothers had surrounded her company in ambush.

"We must be cautious," he told her. "We cannot risk engagement."

Annalyn nodded, her panting breaths frosting in the air. Despite the cold, her hands felt clammy all of a sudden, her ears filled with the loud drumming of her heart. Whether he saw it writ on her face, or else he simply sensed her trepidation, Haldir gave a small, encouraging nod. "Follow my lead and they will not see us." The moment hung there. "Have trust in me."

With that, he turned, and she watched him go. I do trust you. A dim smile came to paint her mouth. More than you know.

She followed.

Up and forward they crept, toward the very top of the escarpment, which was now quite close. A few paces ahead of her, Haldir reached it first. Crouching low, he stole away toward a large rock, hiding behind it before chancing a look on the other side.

Although she could not yet see what he saw, Annalyn perceived the change in his posture, knew that it wasn't good. Sounds now filled the air, roaring voices, she thought, and metal clangs. Crawling the rest of the way, she made it to Haldir's side, swallowed hard, then braved a look.

She gasped.