this one is long and i spent a lot of time editing it because i am insane and the original was very directionless and nonsensical. i still am not happy with it, but i refuse to trim any more. oh also happy holidays to all those celebrating, i have had a wonderful winter break and am going to be returning to the grind shortly. wish me luck! had some technical difficulties w the last upload btw so we're fixing those lol. also, new cover! because...i keep drawing anya and cora! but that aside, i think this one is the prettiest so far, so it's probably going to stay.
Walking down mountains sucks. This feels counterintuitive. You would think the up part is worse because you are working against gravity. And let us be clear— that does suck. But worse, far worse, by any measure— is having to actively keep yourself from tripping the entire time. We've probably gone over this. But I am a klutz. I didn't once fall. But I got damn close, and getting caught and saved from tumbling down a mountainside when I am trying to prove I do not need a babysitter, is not the best look.
In any case, Gimli caught me by the arm, and I laughed. Laughing makes anything like this feel less humiliating. It was half a day to the edges of Lothlorien. I was not looking forward to it, honestly. I still had those complicated weird feelings about elves. I didn't trust them. I didn't like them. And I wasn't expecting the lady who could totally read minds to convince me any further. At least I knew Cora wasn't reading my mind with any sort of effectiveness, and I knew Denethor wasn't some— extremely immortal, thousand year old judge, jury, and executioner of queenly elf willpower. He was human. He was— fallible, I guess. That, and I was worried she'd see what I was thinking about the Ring.
It was taking more and more restraint with every passing hour. How was everyone else doing this! Were they just— were they better people than me? Was there more inside me to feed the Ring's more sinister intents? Was I an easy tool because I was a bitter, jaded young woman far from home? Did it know how I felt about Numenoreans and elves and such? Was I an easy snack? Whatever it was, it made it very difficult and it was making me irritable. I stayed away from Frodo just in case, and I was beginning to feel like I did not deserve to be here.
That's about when I saw the trees.
Birch forests are always a treat to see. They're beautiful, and there's something particularly lovely about the white bark against snow. It reminds me of Christmas along the Mississippi in southern Minnesota, heading down towards Winona. The sort of forest that makes you want to be a hare running to your borough to eat little red berries in your cozy little hole. Very fairy-tale. I took off my cap, letting the wind stir my hair. It was refreshing, I thought, even if it was just for a few moments. And this felt strange and special, I thought, as we passed down into the woods. It almost put me at ease, even though I knew I shouldn't have been. The urge to build a snowman struck me then.
"Be on your guard," warned Aragorn, and I nodded. My hand went to my glaive, grasping it confidently in my left hand, but he shook his head. "Not for your arms."
I didn't know what he meant, but lest I offend someone's sensibilities, I set it back over my back again. I ducked a little, craning my neck ever so slightly to try to get a better look around. It was misty. It seemed like the snow was more candy fluff than the slushy wet stuff. It was strange, and getting stranger.
"It's beautiful," breathed Frodo, and I suppose it must have been beautiful. But that wasn't what I noticed. I was just unnerved.
"Mhm." I reached up and pushed some of my hair out of my face, and when I lowered my hand, there was an arrow in the tree, right by my head. My right arm instinctively went for my glaive before I winced in pain and had to lower it— shoulder twinge, shoulder twinge.
"Peace, peace," said Aragorn, holding out an arm. "What is the meaning of this? Has Lothlorien grown so hostile to the outside that even friends may not pass?"
I heard a voice long before I saw a single elf. He was speaking elvish, obviously, and Aragorn replied, and so did Legolas. I really, really wish I caught more than a few phrases along the lines of "that is unfair," and "we shall not bind them," but I didn't, and next thing I knew, I was face to face with a new, different elf. Great. Excellent. Gimli said some things very, very loudly— and I wished I knew Sindarin better because the pieces I caught were rather insulting— until the conversation changed tone again.
"Bind them and cover their eyes," ordered the one that I assumed was the leader, and the one in front of me nodded.
I did catch a glimpse, though. These were not Rivendell elves. These were— different. Rivendell was all bronze and copper and gems, beautiful lovely trees and natural mountains and stone. They were something else. Something wild. Perhaps something older. White as milk on the skin, with hair like spiderwebs, fine and glittering and cast in light no matter where they turned, and that white. Their armor, too, was just as bright, and if it was as bright as natural daylight in the woods, it would have been blinding.
Then on came the blindfold. For everyone. There was a matter of insistence that we were welcome, but we were not meant to remember the way, and I thought it was rather unfair that we were all blindfolded and had our hands tied behind our backs, while missing out on such a beautiful forest, and so tired from walking.
It hurt my shoulder, too. Not that I'm going to complain about that forever, but if I wanted to, it was perfectly understandable.
We walked for what felt like hours. They stopped for a water break, and our hands were unbound so that we could drink. But I had refrained from complaining too loudly, and so had everyone else. Gimli had opinions that maybe weren't great to say loudly, but honestly— I could not blame him for this one. He was perfectly within his rights. Funny enough, I remembered watching the extended cut at one point. Wasn't it just Gimli that got blindfolded? Maybe I changed things. Maybe they didn't trust me.
Not that I blamed them.
"Camp shall be broken here."
The guy escorting us was very stiff. But our blindfolds were removed, and our hands unbound. "You are to remain in our sight at all times."
I looked around, drinking it in. Misty and silvery, beautifully cast into twilight. What kind of place had mist thick enough to not see for fifty yards, I don't know, but here, it was hard to see. But it was warm— not physically warm, but I wasn't chilled to the bone here, as if the entire place was cozy and comfortable, which I would have resisted were I not so tired. But I took off my armor anyways.
"Take some." One of the guards held out a biscuit to me. It smelled good. Buttery. Cinnamony. I broke off a corner, trying to be courteous. I popped it in my mouth— it was really good. Really good. Like a scone my mom used to make, but less white chocolate. Thank god. I hate white chocolate.
It filled me up. That's when I remembered lembas existed. That was in the movies! So this must have been lembas! It was delicious. It tasted like home. I saw how this could keep a couple people going for a few months.
So on that note, Sam started talking about Gandalf again. This time it was a nice poem. A really nice poem. Frodo fell asleep on his shoulder. This place— I realized, then— I hadn't thought about the Ring. It must have been weaker here. Boromir sat aside Aragorn and Sam, the three of them talking quietly. I was alright with being left out if it meant I got sleep. And I did fall asleep. I didn't dream.
I woke up with my yellow quilted cloak tucked over me like a blanket. I blinked awake, sitting up and fixing my cloak. Aragorn, Legolas, and the guards were talking and went quiet when I sat upright. I found out later that they were probably talking about the orcs that they had routed the night before, and I had fallen asleep before half of them had been forced to leave the encampment.
"Anya." Aragorn gave me an arm up, and I gratefully took it.
"Help me with my armor?" I asked, picking it up. He nodded, and helped me around my right arm.
Oh. An update on that. I can write again. But the muscles and tendons are still in a sorry state. I can't lift my arm higher than my head even though most of my hand motions are back in business. On top of that, my elbow is still really rough to move. But usually once I get the armor, it's rigid enough to keep my arm pretty solidly at my side without issue. One-armed horse riding is difficult when my right arm gets tired, and I still can't grip perfectly, but mostly it's just hard to dress sometimes, and I'm not too worried about that because when you're on the road, you're not exactly changing daily. Usually Cora helped me when I needed it. But it looked like I'd be on my own after the armor. Good, I thought. I needed practice.
"It is a beautiful set." He helped with the last fastening. "A kind gift."
"I know." I glanced down at the engravings, feeling a bit of— god above, was it guilt? Unworthiness? I pulled my hair out from the collar. "It's the nicest thing I own."
"It's plated steel." He backed away. "I can't imagine better protection."
"It hasn't seen any use," I said. "But I imagine so. Why don't you wear armor?" I asked, frowning ever so slightly.
"I don't need it." He reached for one of the ties for his hair, and began wrapping it low at his neck. "It would be too cumbersome for me."
Well, Boromir wore armor. But Boromir was also twice as wide as Aragorn, and all beef. Aragorn was quick and sly. Boromir was more like a…well, a bear. Was I an armor person? Well, now I had to think about it. It was heavy, and difficult to move at speeds faster than a walk in. But it offered protection, and I had gotten beefier.
"Oh." I nodded. "I understand." I put my glaive back on its strap over my back, and stretched. "Do you think we're going to get wherever we're going today?"
"Caras Galadhon." Aragorn paused. "Do you truly know so little, yet so much?"
I shrugged. "I guess." Was there really that much to say about it? "The stories I know of your land are fables and tales in mine, not encyclopedias and atlases." Well, that was a lie, and I knew it, my older brother Noah had tons of the books on this- but I had never read them, so to me they did not count.
"Confounding," he muttered, and I shrugged again. It was confounding for all of us. Get used to it, bud.
"Prepare to depart," said one of the elven guards. I had a hard time telling masculine and feminine elves apart, and I wasn't sure if they were even sexually dimorphic in ways that humans were. They were all as smooth as sea otters and seemed to have very similar body types. But when it came to voices, I thought this one might have been a woman. Which had the following headline flashing through my brain: Feminism win! The elven guard blindfolding you and leading you deeper and deeper into a magical forest is a woman!
I got to helping Aragorn wake the hobbits. It actually physically hurt me to do. Three of them, I had no shame about, but Frodo? He was sleeping so soundly. Who knew when we'd get an opportunity for rest somewhere so peaceful again? Boromir, I nudged with the side of my boot, and Legolas woke Gimli.
"Good morning," I said, beginning to pack up everyone's things like a mother does when she's trying to leave a hotel before the continental breakfast runs out.
"M-mm." Boromir sat up.
"Having good dreams?" I asked mildly, beginning to wrap up blankets and things and set out packs.
"No dreams." Boromir rubbed his eyes.
"Me neither."
"Me neither," said Pippin, who helped me pack things now, of all times. "Just saying."
"It's interesting." I thought for a few minutes. "I don't dream very often on the road, but it's different here."
"I do," said Pippin. "Recently I've been having dreams about the barrow-kings east of the Shire, and all of the trees of the woods of Buckland. But here, not even a wisp of dreams."
"Barrow kings?" My eyes went wide. "This would be the first I've heard of this sort of thing."
"Oh, sure," said Pippin. "I could tell you all about it while we walk."
"You'll mess up the details," said Merry pointedly, and the elf guards let us get our packs and things all on our backs quite courteously, before the few of them that there were, stood there awkwardly waiting to blindfold us.
I stuck out my hands, and the woman from before bound my hands and tightly fastened the blindfold over my eyes. "Right, well, now would be a good time for that story then." I adjusted my shoulder awkwardly, trying to situate it so that my right side wasn't stretched uncomfortably.
"Well, it all started when old Frodo here got to leaving the Shire. He was going to leave alone, you know, and had Merry arrange for him a new house outside Buckland, in Crickhollow, so's that he could leave and not a soul would notice. But when we met with him, handing off the keys and what have you, me and Merry told him- well, Frodo, we already knew about all that. And believe us, we did. He's a very intelligent fellow, Frodo is, but not terribly subtle."
I giggled at that. He was right, but I don't think there was such a thing as a subtle hobbit.
"Well, Frodo said we might as well be along with the journey to Rivendell with him, then, and so we headed through the Old Forest. Now-"
And Pippin proceeded to go on a long ramble about hobbit history with the Old Forest that included quite a bit of conversation about Tooks, Brandybucks, and some fellow by the name of Bullroarer who apparently rode horseback. I am not going to lie to you and tell you I thought that it was uninteresting, unworthy of writing down, or that I was bored in any capacity. Pippin is a riveting narrator. He could talk about the growing habits of tobacco and make it interesting. But writing everything he said down, when he talked for a few hours about hobbit history as buildup to something like this, feels like a bit much.
"That's what the Old Forest is like. So with that in mind," he said, carrying on as if he hadn't just dumped an anthropology lecture on my lap, "that's how we encountered Old Man Willow. He was this great tree- and he quite nearly swallowed us up until Tom Bombadil came and freed us. Now, he's a very queer man-"
I stiffened a little at the word, but then remembered it didn't mean the same thing here.
"Not quite a man, not quite an elf, and terribly jolly, really. He sang nearly every instant we were with him, I promise you. And you sing, but not half so loudly or happily as him."
"I am not volunteering for a demonstration regardless," I said, "but continue."
"He led us out of the forest, and east to the Barrow-Downs, and we were having a lovely time romping in the hillside, prepared to get on our merry way with this adventuring business, and right as we laid down for an afternoon nap- we found ourselves in the tomb of a barrow-wight! With the last of his strength, Frodo there cried out for Tom Bombadil, and would you believe it, he came!" Pippin smiled. "And that, then, is how we got these fine knives we've got."
"What a tale," I said, although his telling had been short, and most of it had been him explaining the customs of the little folk to me. "In my home, we have… Well, we have some stories like that." America's weird obsession with cursed burial grounds sprung to mind. "You know, in my homeland it was my job to study such things as burials?"
"Study them!" Merry said, turning his head to hear better.
"Yes," I said, nearly defensive. "You see, the way we bury and preserve things, and people's lives, can tell us a great deal about how they once lived, and when we have no information from them about such things, it can be useful."
"Why does that matter?" asked Pippin. "If they're gone, does it count for too terribly much? Well, I know all of these things like great dwarven cities and the like count, certainly, but it just doesn't seem like something a person would need to study."
"You know, I can think of a half dozen different fields that say that about us too," I sighed. "Understanding how people lived can tell us about how we live now, how we might grow or improve, or how we can learn. But sometimes it's valuable for cultural heritages- that this is your family, your people, your identity." I hadn't felt that way specifically at most sites, but I knew a lot of people who had at one point or another, whether on sites where I worked in New Mexico and Texas, or in Greece and Turkey.
"We have such folk among the dwarves," said Gimli, and I nodded. Gloin had mentioned that when we had conversations at Rivendell for those few weeks.
"I think it would do well, perhaps, for such people to exist among men. Though your scholars and historians are perfectly fine, of course," I added, since I knew Aragorn and Boromir could hear me. "I suppose there's not much need of it for elves, though?"
"Perhaps," said Legolas simply, and I felt like that might have been the most I had heard from him this entire way. He mostly spoke Sindarin.
"Ah." I wished we weren't bound and blindfolded, because the subtle body language cues I did had fallen upon blind eyes. "In any case, I don't think it's been much use to know all about such things on this journey yet."
"Keep heart, Anya. Your sciences may serve purposes yet unknown," said Boromir.
"Yeah, like identifying rock formations and soil types." I hoped the dry sarcasm came off just right. "How much further?"
"Very little," said the guard, her tone sympathetic.
"What's your name?" I asked, while the rest of the Fellowship began a conversation about how hungry they were. I was starving, but I wanted to know whoever this guard was.
"Neledhil," she said calmly. I think that meant third daughter, or at least, it was that or fourth.
"Nice." I paused. "Why all the security?"
"It is because of the darkness in Moria." Legolas again? Two times had he spoken to me today. World record. "When the evil laying beneath the mountain was awakened, the darkness spread through the hillsides. Even the woods of Lorien were in peril of succumbing to what was awoken there."
"It was not something we could have known," said Gimli defensively, and he wasn't even alive for this, so I don't see why he should have to defend himself here.
"So now you guys make sure there's patrols and such. For orcs?" I asked.
"And worse," said Neledhil, without extrapolating. I frowned at that.
There was a call from far off, and I picked up the casual "na!" Nendir had used a few times as a "what's up" sort of gesture, though I had no idea what the literal translation was. A conversation began between the guards, and Legolas made some sort of snide remark under his breath I barely caught, but knew the intonation of, very well.
"Good news." The leader, a fellow by the name of Haldir who I only very vaguely remembered, said. "The lady says your bonds are to be removed."
"Oh, thank god," I said. The relief was palpable from everyone. I stuck out my wrists, and Neledhil began untying that business. I was more glad to get the wrist bindings off than the blindfold, if I was being honest, just because my arm and shoulder were painfully stiff, and Neledhil thought it was funny that I was practically gleeful long before she had gotten to the blindfold.
"I injured this arm," I explained to her.
"We can tend to it," she said hurriedly, and I shook my head.
"It's healing already. It was tended to in Rivendell." I smiled. "It's just stiff when it's healing."
"I understand," she nodded. She was ethereal and scary like most elves I had met, including the other members of the guard. But Neledhil also seemed to be very- easygoing. It made her a little less terrifying to be around. "I too have been injured before."
"I'm sure you have," I said, nodding. I reached up and began untying my blindfold left-handed, since my right arm couldn't really make the motions to raise it behind my head.
"Many years ago," she explained, "in the last war on Sauron, I stood upon the field, by my brothers' and sisters' sides. It was very fierce, and I took a blow to the leg."
"That was… Wait, that was three thousand years ago. If not more." I stared at her agape. "You don't look a day over four hundred." Neledhil only laughed.
"She is funny," she said, gesturing her thumb at me. "Very funny, for a human."
One of the other guards whispered something to Neledhil that made her giggle even more— and I caught the words "since" and "woman". Yeah, apparently women also think women are funnier in Middle Earth too. I realized now, more than anything— I wanted to be their friend. This wasn't like Rivendell. The women I met here weren't like any of the elves in Rivendell, or like the women in Minas Tirith that I had barely been able to communicate with. They were— they were soldiers. They had a good idea of what they were up against. And here they were, laughing and joking even though they had responsibilities, even though the darkness was encroaching all around them. Barely careworn at all, as sunny as a summer's day!
But I looked up around me, observing the forest. My god. It was beautiful. I imagine someone more into such comparisons than I am, would call it silver and gold. But that wasn't what came to my mind. I thought it looked like a confection. Perhaps I just missed sweets. But I thought of honey and caramels, I thought of a whole world dusted in white powdered sugar and cocoa and baked of the fine white sugar cookies my mother and I used to make. Heaps of royal icing were conjured in my imagination, like banks of snow. It smelled like rosemary here, like juniper and rosemary and mint and all such things.
My dad's favorite Christmas cookies. The rosemary shortbread. I could practically smell them, the melt-in-your-mouth butter cookie dough and the sharpness of the rosemary, the way the strange taste clung to your senses, the mildness of something so medicinal paired with something so rich. It was— it was so strange. Why was I so nostalgic for it now?
Suddenly, tears welled in my eyes, and even as the snowflakes stung against my cheeks, I could feel hot, stucky tears run down them. I had never been so far from home, somewhere so terribly different and familiar and the same all at once. And, I thought, glancing at Sam, someone thought the same thing. He looked so forlorn and joyful— Sam seemed to have a wonderful understanding of how sad beautiful things are, and it made me wonder.
"Come," said Haldir, waving a hand, and we fell in line, walking through the woods almost as quietly as churchmice, if churchmice stomachs could growl.
"Do you think they'll feed us wisps of cloud and kegs of snow, or shall we have something hearty?" I overheard Gimli say.
"I should hope they've at least got bread," observed Merry.
"Lembas bread is a very fine food," said Legolas pointedly. "It can sustain a man for a whole day, even the largest among them, easily, and has a flavor unlike anything else."
Merry thought about that for a few moments. "Yes," he agreed carefully, "but you can't exactly smother it in gravy, now can you?"
"That is if they feed us at all," pointed out Boromir. "We may well be escorted out as swiftly as we arrived. I have heard of the grace elves often have to unwanted visitors. I would not rely so soon on their hospitality."
"They know us to be friend," said Aragorn quietly. I wish my friend Jamie was here. They would've known all the trivia for this. I feel like they had mentioned once that Galadriel was related to Arwen somehow? This felt relevant.
"I think we'll be fine," I said quietly, remembering how hot I thought Galadriel was in the movies. I am sorry everyone, but Cate Blanchett did things to my psyche in 2015 that cannot be explained by science or reason, and she is beautiful, and I will not repent.
"I am inclined to agree," said Legolas. "The elves of Lothlorien have ever been friends to my kinsmen and have not yet been dimmed by the shadows of this world."
"That is the river Silverlode," said Haldir, who had been diplomatically ignoring the talk of whether or not we would be starved. "Do not drink from it or touch its waters."
Spanning the hundred meters or so was a rope bridge. Sweet god. Not one of these. On the other side, I could even see the start of what I would assume was Caras Galadhon. I scowled. I was not afraid of things. I was just clumsy.
"One by one," said Haldir, easily striding across the bridge. He made it look easy. Aragorn, who followed him, made it look less easy. Then came Legolas, two of the guards, Boromir (who took it slowly, but made it just fine), and then each of the hobbits went with a guard. That left me, Gimli, and one guard— Neledhil had gone with Pippin.
"I ought to go," I said, bracing myself. I took hold of the handrails before I began walking, frozen as my feet, one in front of the other, shook. If I fell to my right, I would not be able to catch myself.
The river frothed below, and I could hear it like a low roar in my ears. Like it was ready to swallow me. I tiptoed slowly across. Around the midpoint, I teetered ever so slightly, and steeled myself. Don't look down, Anya. Don't look back. Don't look down. Don't look up. Keep your eyes ahead. I grasped tightly with my left hand to the rope, and kept going. Finally, my feet hit solid ground, and I could have kissed it. Sweet land! Beloved, sweet land. The nausea hit me, too, and I leaned against a tree, steadying my poor head.
"You look how I feel," said Boromir, and I nodded wearily.
"I haven't had a good rest since I joined the rest of you." I paused, rubbing at my temples. "Even here."
"I admit to the same." He leaned against the tree as well, and raised his water canteen to his lips, taking a thoughtful swig. "In the months since the departure from Rivendell it has been difficult to rest or feel at ease."
"It's the Ring," I said, barely realizing I had even said that— as if I was possessed, as if something came over me. The back of my mind, dragging it forward, perhaps, or maybe it was that I knew deep down I couldn't resist it forever.
"Speak not of it."
"It is." I shook my head. "It— it tugs at my mind, pulling me closer, as if it's calling me. It keeps me awake, sets me at the edge of my seat. I know what must be done. I am not stupid." I could feel my nails digging into my palm, I could feel sweat on my brow as I said this. "But somehow I still have such difficulty resisting it when I even think about it."
"Is this the reason you remain distant from Frodo, even knowing that you must follow him deep into the heart of the enemy?"
I froze.
He didn't realize the Fellowship broke yet.
"I'm afraid of what I might do. It is easier to stay parted, then, and not tempt fate." I left it simply at that. "Not that I could do any real harm. You've seen me in a fight." I forced the tension out of my mind. "I shouldn't have even said a thing. It's too— It's too near. I know we must both resist it. And we are in the presence of…" I paused. "Someone in these woods who can see into minds."
"What is there to fear in that?" asked Boromir, and I remembered his father used the same skill.
"She's terribly powerful," I said softly. "And good, very good, but the Ring is dangerous and she knows that if it has us now, we have endangered the quest." I reached up to my neck to touch where, under my armor, Cora's locket lay against my skin. "She sees the future."
"There is little to fear," said Aragorn, turning from over his shoulder to glance at myself and Boromir.
But I wasn't comforted. I stayed quiet even as we walked through Caras Galadhon, ascending the great tree to see the lady Galadriel.
I had been through many things in the last few months. I had been thrust into a new world, I had done my best to educate myself in a people I had not even known were real until then, I had trained in two weapons, I had gone on a very long, arduous journey on horseback, I had bared my soul and been professed a seer and been injured terribly in a fight that I still won. But I had never felt half so weak and powerless as I did now.
I shivered as we lined up, waiting for her to arrive. Trembling and nervous and a wreck, standing there in armor I didn't deserve, with a glaive from a man I might have sent a friend to her death to save, with a locket around my neck that was too precious to even say from someone who would likely be appalled at me now. She would say, Anya, how far have you fallen! Or perhaps she would say that I knew better. I did know better. I did. But my heart was weak. I was weak. And I was crumpling under pressure.
"Be at peace," said a small voice in my mind. I knew what Cora's mind voice sounded like. This was not her. "You are laden with turmoil and sorrow, wracked with guilt. Lay these things aside, child."
"For you," I heard the same voice, but corporeal, physical— "are now in the realm of Lothlorien, and safe under its boughs." I looked up. And there was the most horrifying, terrible, great, beautiful woman I had ever seen. Some elves, I had a difficult time believing had seen the many ages of the world. Nendir had a certain fastidiousness that was worldly, natural— and Elrond seemed similar in nature. Legolas I had grown accustomed to; he was very natural, almost too much so, and seemed to blur into the world in a way nearly ethereal. But Galadriel was like a column. A pillar. A jewel. You couldn't hide the years she had lived. It was like looking at the Acropolis.
I looked to the rest of the Fellowship, and they were all equally shaken. "I know that set out by your side was Gandalf the Grey. Where now is he? For I fear that his guidance is needed most of all."
"He fell to the Balrog," said Aragorn before anyone else could raise a cracked voice to answer her.
"Why the kinsman of those who raised such an evil is here, I cannot say," said her husband under his breath. I detected a bit of peevishness underneath that high elven facade and I would have been amused were it not so… Well, I guess I was just mad people kept blaming Gimli for this.
"Peace," said Galadriel, "he is not to blame."
She stared very intently while she talked. There was a certain fire to her that was very fearsome, and even as she told us she'd accommodate our needs and we were welcome guests, I couldn't help but feel as though I was being seen through. It made it very hard to listen.
"Anya." That cool, clear voice. "You have a great deal to lament, don't you?"
I very aggressively thought happy thoughts, and it was not working.
"It is difficult to see someone so lashed at by the waves of the years yet so young. So sad. And you try so very hard." Happy thoughts! Happy thoughts!
"There is no need for that. I need not even ask what you seek. If you turned away now, my child, you could live a peaceful life with no more weeping and nights of restless lament. Your heart would no longer be lonely. She would one day come to you as a companion that would never leave your side. If you turn away now, I know this would be your fate."
It tempted me. More than anything else. A quiet domestic life on a small farm. Plenty of sunshine. No more pain. No more crying. Peace, somewhere far from all this, where it would be a footnote in my journal. I could leave now. And Cora would still return to me. She would understand. She hadn't wanted me to come in the first place, but we were both in so deep— it would relieve her, wouldn't it? That thought tempted me more than anything else.
"Perhaps, if you took the Ring, you would even find your way home. Home to your father, your brother, your dearest friends. Do you not miss knowing the world around you?"
More than anything. I miss feeling skilled and valued and worth keeping. I miss not being babysat. I missed teaching.
A vision came to me. Me, in yellow clothing, casual and calm, teaching children as I sat on the stone floors of the library at Minas Tirith. Cora walks behind me and kisses my cheek, and I laugh. A little house sits in the woods, and there are goats and a dog and apples in the autumn. And it is a beautiful dream.
But it was a dream. I shook my head, and whispered softly, to myself— "I have to stay."
"Your strength has shone through," she said. "You have passed the test."
"I didn't know it was a test," I mumbled. As soon as we were back where we were meant to be holing up (a small enclosure of private tents), I got twitchy and wandered off.
I didn't want to stay. I could overhear the hobbits talking about missing home. I could hear Legolas and Gimli in hushed tones talking about Moria. I could hear Boromir and Aragorn talk about Gondor, about the future. There was a blank patch here in my mind, perhaps– or a blur, the way that the color pink is your brain trying to rationalize what could not come between red and violet, since they are not neighbors on the ultraviolet spectrum.
And I was feeling like a coward.
This was the kind of mood where I used to drive out to Las Cruces in the middle of the night to let the air clear my head. The kind of mood where you put the gas on the floor with your window down. The kind of mood where you go as fast as you can. But I couldn't. I was too tired, and there were no cars. I couldn't even climb a tree to get that needed adrenaline. It didn't feel fair. I wanted to feel less alone. It had never occured to me that I would be lonely out on this quest. It should've, sure, but it hadn't. And now I was facing that reality. I was lonely.
I missed my dad. I missed my brothers. I missed my friends. I was worried about my students. Marcel, especially— Isabella wouldn't wander, but if he was out with the rangers, then what if something happened? I was worried about Cora. I had finally found someone I felt safe, and less alone around— and the same went for Boromir, too— and like that, they were off with some other responsibility. I knew I couldn't be the center of everyone's world. But it's lonely. And I hate being lonely more than anything else.
I curled up and cried. Under a tree, beside a stream. Like a pathetic little kid. But I needed it. I really did. I hadn't had a good cry since I got here. Eight months and not a moment to grieve! I cried until I was out of tears. I washed my face and drank some of the creek water, which was cool and crystal clear, and took a nap, and then cried some more. My dad. More than anything, I wanted my dad. He always knew what to say.
The stupid, babyish crying stopped when I realized there was someone standing over me. I looked up, poking my head up from the crook of my elbow.
Haldir? That cobweb silken hair? The face like a moon? The white gear and equipment?
Haldir?
"You have strayed a great ways from your companions."
He didn't console me. He didn't give me a hand up. He just stood there. Looking. I was so startled I stopped crying.
"I hadn't realized." I wiped my face on my cloak.
"It's clear you're very different." He sat down and began peeling an apple with a knife, barely looking up.
"If you're going to give me the woman lecture, don't even start," I said defensively.
"Elves don't mind such things often. We do as we are suited to do." He sliced off a sliver of apple and handed it to me. "It's more obvious that you are foreign in some way. Your dress is not one that you are accustomed to. You do not speak as they do. You have very different habits. And you hang back from them as if you are waiting to do as they do once they have shown you how. It is like watching a child. Yet you are not a child, and I have heard you speak with great competence, and you have the maturity of one of your age in human years."
"I feel like that sometimes." I paused. "Is it that obvious that I'm not from here?"
"Terribly." He hesitated. "Where is your home? You do not look as though you are from Gondor or the southern coasts, or the Harad. Yet, you are not from the north or west."
"My homeland is too far from here to describe." I had figured that one out on day 3 of reading through atlases in Minas Tirith. "It's another world entirely. I wish I could explain how I came here, but I have almost no memory of it but for a woman who told me that I had a hand yet in fate."
"What that could mean, I know not."
"And neither do I." I took a bite of the apple sliver. It was sweet and tart and wonderful. "I never introduced myself. I'm Anya." I stretched out my hand, and he took it and turned it over, inspecting my palm.
"You do practice with that glaive after all, then. Not just for show."
"Mhm."
"I am called Haldir."
"I know." I frowned. "I've seen you in the—"
"The what?" He looked startled.
"There's no sense in keeping it, when Galadriel knows already, I'm sure." I sighed. "In my world, your world is in stories. This is one of the stories. The final fight on Sauron. You're in the stories."
"I do not think you say that in a particularly heartening way." He frowned.
"They're not happy stories, really, regardless of the end." I thought for a moment. "I don't want to say anything else."
"I understand." He stood up. "I can escort you back to your encampment if you wish. There's plentiful food and drink."
I nodded. Looking up at the night sky, I felt a little strange.
"Wasn't the moon full just two nights ago?" I asked. It was nearing a half moon, waning now. That took a week to pass usually.
"Ah." He offered out his arm for me to walk with him, and I took it, as he seemed— gentlemanly, and courteous, if not a little bit too elvish for me. "So you have noticed."
"Hm?"
"It's been many nights since your arrival. You have eaten, slept, mulled about, with little memory of it. It has blurred to you, for time in the woods of Lothlorien passes as though you are elf-kind. It rests the soul better, and nourishes the heart, yet I see why it may seem frightening."
"I've been crying in the woods for a week?" I said, alarmed.
"It has only been a matter of hours," he said hesitantly, "but it is not unheard of for many days to pass unbroken in such circumstances. I thought to follow you and prevent such a thing."
"Oh, god, I'm sure everyone is worried sick." I shook my head. "I feel terrible."
"They have barely noticed." Haldir sighed. "It's that time is, again, different for you. For them it likely seems only a brink, though the young ring-bearer certainly seems to have some idea of how these matters work, and has asked questions now. So too has Gondor's commander been aware of time's passage."
"Oh, my word." I covered my mouth. I did feel better, way better— after crying it all out for a full week. "Thank you for telling me, in any case."
"I thought you would notice," he admitted.
"I'm a little dense."
The grove of our encampment was close, and I let go of his arm. Wait.
Wait, Haldir dies, right?
I stopped, a sick feeling of dread again taking me. Like Theodred. Like Boromir. Like Denethor. People died, I reminded myself. But people who showed me kindness, it was hard to imagine them dying.
"I'll see you," I said, doing a mock salute, and trying to make sure my puffy eyes were hidden.
I liked Lothlorien. It was beautiful. The kind of pretty that can't really be captured or described. After quietly eating what was left out (river fish in a beautiful wine cream sauce, wild vegetables, a rye bread so wonderful it had me floating, and some sort of sweet I found indescribable, but the closest approximation is a cream cake), I took off my armor, and laid down to sleep. When I woke I asked a guard where I could bathe and wash my clothes in privacy, and she showed me to a stream far from the encampment. So I did both those things— I had gotten used to doing my own laundry in privacy on the trip to Rivendell, and Boromir and Aethelred would keep their few hundred meters of distance or deal with their own situations while I handled mine, so I knew how to smash fabric against rocks. I used the coarse lye soap from my pack on my skin. I stank. Terribly. Very sweaty, grimey, and gross, so I was happy to clean my hair. I let my clothes dry on the tree branches while I enjoyed the calming water on my skin and gave myself a good look-over.
I had muscle. I had never had muscle like this before. It didn't get rid of the solid layer of fat, mostly— so really it was just like I was a little firmer and more solid, not narrower than I had been at Rivendell, but— a core? Probably from the horseback riding. A very strong left arm, from my glaive training. Firm legs from walking and riding and having to get on and off a stupid horse so often. I was… I was hot. I had become the beefy hot girl I had wanted to date for so long as a joke. And now I was strong. My joints still ached like the dickens, and I still had bad days, sure— being fit didn't get rid of the chronic illness and pain. But my god, was it surprising. I poked at my stomach— it was actually hard. From muscle, not even just because I had gone out the night before!
I dried off after I was sufficiently clean, and smoothed the salve Nendir had given me onto the psoriasis scales that had cropped up on my legs. Humming quietly, I waited for my clothes to dry. I wasn't even cold. I missed my dulcimer, though. So after my clothes were dry— the yellow riding gear, and then the cloak, scarf, and coat— I dressed myself again and walked back, feeling like an entirely new person.