Part
1 – First Meeting
"According to the map, we should reach the Lothlórien woods this day. Surely by nightfall, at least." With sharp eyes, Amarië scrutinized the landscape ahead for signs of danger. Seeing nothing to be alarmed about, she cast a quick glance at her brother.
"Aye," Ennis responded, his voice quiet. "And I pray your kinfolk will not slay us on sight." He did not sound optimistic, for he shared the acute distrust and dislike of Elves so prevalent among their people. "The further we travel, the more I feel that our plan is madness. They will never share their knowledge with us, nor accept you as one of their own. I confess I have come to doubt my own plan and it is most unsettling."
Amarië was weary, her own optimism waning. Six weeks had passed since they had left the land of her birth—six weeks of walking with scarcely a rest, through deep forests and over snow-capped mountains, wading through ice-cold streams and rivers, always on the lookout for Orcs and other evil creatures of the wild. Two dozen stalwart men traveled with them, more or less under her command, though it sat ill with some to accept a woman as their leader. They only stood it because of the respect they had for her young half-brother Ennis, who, alone among them, knew the secret of her heritage.
And even Ennis had never hidden his distaste for the fact that Amarië's own father was a Lothlórien elf. He considered it a blessing that she had not inherited the pointed ears that would have betrayed her origins. In his eyes, her heritage was painful and embarrassing, a family scourge to be concealed from all. Yet her heightened senses, doubtless passed to her from that same source, had proven invaluable, especially during the past month.
Amarië brushed back a long strand of dark auburn hair that had escaped its braid. "It would be helpful to me if you would not speak so dismally. I will need all my confidence to do what I must do. Besides," she added with a sideways glance, "you forget how adept I am at handling males."
A small, bitter laugh escaped him. "Nay, I do not forget. I thank Eru you are my sister, else I might fall under your spell like all the rest. You are a witch, Amarië. It is the main reason these men follow you. That, and your skill with the bow."
Yesterday they had been attacked by Orcs. Fortunately, it had been but a small party, and although the creatures had come upon them suddenly and with great ferocity, no one had taken serious hurt. Amarië had killed three before some of the men had even drawn their swords. The memory hovered near, making the men uneasy. None of them had been bred to be fighters, but they had taken up the sword and the bow as the dark times worsened and the need to defend their homelands increased. Ennis had more skill than any of them, thanks to Amarië's instruction.
She had received her first hunting bow at the age of ten, gifted to her from her stepfather, whom she had wrapped around her finger from the moment they met. When other girls were playing with more feminine items or helping their mothers with women's work, Amarië had begged and wheedled for a bow until at last Ennis's father, a simple country farmer, had given in.
From the moment she held that first bow in her hands, she had been fascinated by it. Long hours had she practiced for years on end until later, with a larger, better quality bow, she could hit the smallest targets from great distances, although not with consistency. Being self-taught, she had no one to show her how to improve, what to do differently than she was doing, or how to fashion better arrows. But she had the advantage of being fast—faster than Ennis—another legacy from her elven father, she supposed. She could fire off three arrows to every one of Ennis's, much to her brother's frustration. It was to his credit that he did not begrudge her skill—or at least not much.
"How is your leg?" Ennis's sudden question caught her off-guard.
"Well enough," she answered evasively.
In truth, her leg ached damnably, but she would never admit to the weakness. She had sustained the injury two weeks ago during another orc attack. An Orcish sword had swung too close, slicing through the fabric of her leggings and into the soft flesh of her thigh. An inch deeper and she would have been crippled, but instead it had only been excessively painful. Ennis had bound the wound and it was healing, though not as quickly as she'd hoped. No one seemed to notice her slight limp, or if they did, they did not mention it. With satisfaction, she recalled that the orc who had caused the wound had not lived long enough to see her bleed.
"Perhaps the Elves can heal you of the scar," Ennis commented, his tone pensive. "I've heard it said they have all sorts of strange powers."
Amarië frowned. "I don't mind a scar. It bears witness to my courage."
"No one doubts your courage."
Oh, but I do, she almost said aloud.
It was a humiliating truth she would never utter to Ennis.
Deep on the inside, she was always afraid, deathly afraid, though not of Orcs. What frightened her was the sick knowledge that she was caught between two worlds—the world of humans and the world of Elves. Belonging to neither, she felt eternally alienated, torn in half, drowned in a well of uncertainty.
What was she? How could she ever know herself? Even Ennis considered her an aberration, a freak of nature, an embarrassment. Her mother, lying on her deathbed, had apologized for her weakness in allowing herself to be seduced by Amarië's handsome elven father. A wanderer, he had been. A gatherer of knowledge and hearts. Never trust an elf, her mother had whispered before she died.
Amarië had taken the warning into her own heart, at the same time wondering if she even dared to trust her dreams. Was her father truly dead? Weren't Elves supposed to be immortal? If he was dead, he must have been slain. And if he was alive, who had spoken to her in dreams, taught her the elvish tongue?
She sighed heavily and stifled a yawn. Too many nights had she lain awake while the others slept, her ears attuned to the night sounds. She doubted she had elvish hearing, but she did seem to hear things that others missed. Perhaps, like her heritage, her hearing and her eyesight lay somewhere in that misty border between the two worlds, elven and human. And so she was a watcher and a listener, ever vigilant, ever attempting to earn acceptance from those around her while at the same time masking half of her true being.
Always hiding and deceiving in order to fit in. Seeking the unattainable.
When she was younger, she had used her beauty as a weapon, to achieve a desired goal, to draw a man near. She was very good at it. At times she knew she had been heartless, yet at the same time she had known untold heartache because such methods had seemed the only pathway open to her.
And still she was alone.
For even though the human males did not know of her elven father, they thought her strange and different. The witch, they called Amarië behind her back, not realizing that she heard. The sorceress. Their eyes followed her, invariably with hunger and lust, but also with fear. Without knowing why, they were afraid of her, all except Ennis.
The knowledge appalled her. She did not want to be feared. The feminine side of her yearned for a strong male, a lover, one who accepted her as she was, one who would value her uniqueness. She had reached an age where her soul longed for a mate, but with the passing of each year it seemed less and less likely that she would find one, at least among the world of men. Acceptance eluded her. Love eluded her.
And so she was determined to go to Caras Galadhon to seek her kin. In dreams, she had been told of her grandfather, though she knew not of any details concerning him. All she knew was his name--Lord Celeborn. The name suggested he might have the authority to grant her leave to live with the Elves. She prayed it would be so. In her mind, Lord Celeborn had become her last and only hope. If she could not fit in with her father's kin, there was indeed no place for her to go.
"Have you considered how best we should approach them?" Ennis inquired, breaking in on her thoughts. It was a subject they could no longer avoid discussing, even if it meant an argument.
As far as Ennis was concerned, the essential piece of the plan was that the Elves must be persuaded to train the men in their fighting techniques, perhaps show them how to make more effective weapons. Then they would return to their home and pass that knowledge and training on to those who would learn them. Ennis, as well as many others, had come to believe that these dark times called for drastic measures. Too many innocents had been slaughtered by Orcs and other sinister creatures. For the most part, the people of their homeland were farmers, peaceful and peace-loving, unprepared for violence or evil, unable to fight back against the mindless hate.
Perhaps because of Amarië's skills, Ennis had become convinced that the Elves could be their deliverance. Though young, Ennis had displayed his leadership in that he had managed to convince the men who accompanied them that such a plan was feasible. After all, an immortal people must surely have a little extra time on their hands. Elves also possessed skills and knowledge that Ennis's people lacked. The least they could do, Ennis had argued, was to pass on some of that skill and knowledge to the world of men.
Only four-and-twenty men out of hundreds had been convinced enough and intrepid enough to make the journey, but it was better than nothing. Of Amarië's own plan, they knew naught.
Amarië glanced over her shoulder, making sure they could not be overheard. Worn and disheveled, the men trailed behind them in a long line as they wended their way down the steep mountain path. Ahead, flat plains stretched out before them, and far in the distance, on the very rim of the horizon, the Lothlórien Forest loomed.
"I have thought of little else," she admitted.
"Well?" Uneasiness laced Ennis's voice.
"I will approach them alone."
"Out of the question," he countered at once. "Are you mad? What if they harm you or take you captive?"
"And if we approach them as a group, they may slaughter us all. In any case, what if they do not speak the common tongue? I may have to communicate in Elvish, and I don't wish our people to know I speak it unless I have no other choice."
"You think you speak it," he said dryly. "You've never met an Elf. You've had no chance to find out. Mayhap those dreams of yours meant nothing."
"Mayhap, Ennis. But I doubt it. And if they do speak the common tongue, I can conceal my knowledge of their language. That might prove invaluable if we spend time in their midst."
Ennis was silent for a long moment. "True enough. But I still don't like it."
"I do not fear them," she said. "And do not forget they will be males. Nothing I have ever heard has led me to believe that elven females guard their borders. I can handle males. Of all things, I have the most confidence in that."
Ennis sighed. "I hope so, Amarië. For your sake as well as ours."
Amarië bit her tongue to prevent herself from responding sharply. Ennis loved her, but he always persisted in putting her into her own category, and everyone else into another. For your sake as well as for ours. He didn't mean to hurt her, she knew. Yet, something inside her hardened a little, giving her a much needed spurt of defiance and courage. Nothing would prevent her from achieving her goal—to gain access to Lord Celeborn. Certainly no mere border Elf!
Newly determined, she clenched her teeth and trudged along, ignoring the throbbing ache in her left thigh, her eyes fixed on the glitter of a distant river. The best strategy was to make use of the water to wash and tidy herself. She would free her hair from its bindings so that its full length hung to her waist. She seldom wore it so, but in this instance it would be wise. Long had she heard that the Elves admired beautiful hair above all else. And because she wore the clothing of a male, she wanted to be sure they knew she was female. She might be wrong, but she suspected it might give them enough pause to prevent them from putting an arrow into her chest before she could persuade them she was not a threat.
An hour later, she waded into the chill water, still mulling this over. All her life she had heard whispers about Elves—what they looked like, what they did and did not do. Their beauty was renowned, as was their height, their vanity, their agility and grace. It was said that an Elf could walk upon the surface of snow and could climb any tree with no effort at all. She had heard much, some of it surely lies, some of it truth. It was hard to believe that she would soon find out.
She sank into the water, knowing that Ennis guarded her privacy. As quickly as possible, she rubbed her small bar of soap into her hair and over her naked flesh, rinsed herself in the icy water, and got out. Quickly, she dressed, wishing she had clean clothes to wear. Although she had always enjoyed men's garb, she also appreciated the idea of beautiful gowns. She had never had one, however, because her family were poor and simple folk. Briefly, she wondered what elven females wore, then dismissed it from her mind as irrelevant. She had far more vital things to think about.
They were soon on their way. The sun sank slowly into the west as the Lothlórien woods drew nearer. Exhaustion weighed upon every member of their party. Amarië plodded on, feeling that if she faltered, then everyone would. Ennis looked grim.
They encamped approximately a quarter league from the edge of the Lothlórien forest. Amarië's hair was nearly dry, and while the men gathered twigs for a fire, she ran her small comb through its length, smoothing out the knots and tangles. Watching the men, she noticed that none dared go close enough to the forest to gather larger branches. This was just as well, for it should serve as an adequate excuse for her to wander nearer, giving the Elves ample opportunity to observe her closely. It would at least ensure that they knew she was female. As she did so, she would contrive to look helpless and unthreatening, though she had no intention of leaving her weapons behind.
The tiny fire the men were able to produce flickered feebly in the encroaching darkness. There was little food at this point, though a pair of rabbits had been shot earlier, and most everyone had the remnants of dried fruit and berries in their pockets. The fire was not enough to cook even one rabbit, or to provide much warmth in the growing darkness.
Amarië tucked away her comb and rose to her feet. "I will gather more wood," she said to the nearest group of men. "Remain here and do not fear for me."
They looked at her with consternation clearly writ upon their faces, but by now they had learned better than to question Amarië's actions. She could almost feel their inner shrugs. If Ennis did not object, who were they to do so? The witch would fare well enough wherever she went, she imagined them thinking.
Maintaining a calm façade, she strolled casually toward the forest. As she walked, she tried to appear as though she searched the ground for firewood, while keeping her real attention on the swaying of the mighty trees. How much was caused by the wind? Probably all of it, she thought.
She bent and pick up another branch, then walked a few steps further. Another glance into the woods revealed nothing but tree trunks and shadow. She chose yet another branch and moved even closer. Still nothing happened. And yet…and yet, her senses told her that she was indeed being watched, and by more than one set of eyes. All her life she had been the subject of scrutiny, but this sensation was wholly different and most uncomfortable. Her leg throbbed painfully as she scooped up another branch.
"Amarië! Wait!"
She spun around at the sound of Ennis's voice. He was striding toward her, interfering with her plan. Quickly, she returned to him and handed over the pile of wood.
"Take this," she hissed. "Get them started cooking those rabbits. I don't want them to pay me any heed right now."
"Must you do this now? Why not wait until morning when at least we can see them?"
"Do you think you would see them in the light? I think you are wrong."
Ennis looked indecisive. "What should we do if you do not come back?"
"Do nothing. Give me time to talk to them. I have no idea what will happen, but I do not think they will harm me."
"Not in the way you are thinking, but—"
"Not in that way either," she interrupted, rather testily. "Please, Ennis, go back."
"Very well." He sounded cross. "I'll see you anon."
She watched him walk away, wondering what ploy she could now use to get near the forest. No ideas came to mind, so instead she opted for boldness. Keeping her hands well away from the small sword she wore at her waist, she moved slowly and carefully toward the trees. Nothing happened. Step after step took her closer and closer. And then she was swathed in the shadow of the first of those great trees.
Still nothing happened. Could she be wrong? Would they do nothing to stop her from entering the wood?
She took another step, then a second and a third…and found herself surrounded.
xxx
Amarië froze, rather stunned by the number of arrows pointing directly at her from every direction. Stunning, too, was her first sight of elven males. Tall they were, and dressed in shadowy gray, with long blond hair, high-arched brows, and the pointed ears she'd always heard about. She could just make out their faces in the dark; their expressions seemed more neutral than hostile.
"You may go no further. Humans are not permitted in our land."
The haughty voice came from behind the Elves directly in front of her. Immediately, they parted, revealing another male Elf—tall, with long silvery blond hair and dark, finely arched brows. Although garbed like the others, he was an imposing figure, greater than all the other Elves both in authority and sheer physical perfection. At the moment, he seemed to be looking down his nose at her, his expression quite insolent and his cool gray eyes taking in far more of her appearance than she liked. For the first time in her memory, Amarië felt the urge to fidget under a male's regard.
Despite his command to her, the arrows still crowded close, giving Amarië no room to retreat even if she desired to do so, which she did not. "So many arrows," she protested in annoyance. "Am I truly so threatening?"
Instinctively, she tried to regain control by pushing one of the arrowheads away, but the Elf did not yield and the sharp point punctured her flesh. She snatched back her hand, trying not to gasp though she could feel the blood pooling on her palm.
The Elves showed no reaction to her movement or wound. The arrows remained in her face, at her side, and behind.
The arrogant blond Elf continued, in the common tongue, "Do not be foolish, woman. Return to your people. You have no business in these woods."
"And who are you?" she countered, lifting her chin in defiance.
"I am Haldir, Marchwarden of the Golden Wood."
The name was vaguely familiar, though she could not recall details associated with it. Indeed, it did not matter except for the fact that he might hinder her mission.
She widened her eyes and tilted her head, a feminine trick she'd used many times with great success. "Well, Haldir, I do have business in Lothlórien and have traveled a vast distance to be here. My purpose is to obtain entrance to Caras Galadhon."
His narrowed gaze assessed her, though not in quite the manner she'd hoped. "And why would you wish to go there?"
"I seek an audience with Lord Celeborn," she answered with dignity, though she did not like to tell him even that. Her reasons were far too private and delicate to be revealed to a perfect stranger.
"That cannot be. You will leave now if you value your life."
"I refuse to leave. You threaten to kill me, but I don't think you will do it." She tossed her head, aware of the seductive sway of her hair. Men found it attractive, why not Elves? "I have come so far," she added plaintively.
His eyes flicked over her, but he seemed immune to her charms, even a little amused. "What a pity," he said, and reached for her hand.
He brushed his thumb over the small, bleeding tear in her palm, then before she could blink or react, he bent and heaved her facedown over his shoulder. As she gasped with discomfort and embarrassment, he carried her out of the woods and set her down in such a way that she fell backward to the ground. Pain jolted her thigh, but it was nothing compared to the indignity.
"How dare you!" she sputtered.
"Go back to your men," he commanded. Turning, he strode back into the forest and melted into the darkness.
Speechless with outrage, Amarië leaped to her feet. For a fleeting moment, she considered returning to Ennis and the campfire, then her stubbornness reasserted itself. She would not be so easily defeated. Surely this male Elf could not be totally impervious to her! Or so unreasonable!
Abruptly, she realized that her hand had stopped hurting. She stared at her palm. The wound had closed. What had he done? It must be true that Elves had healing powers, but…it had happened so fast. Bemused, she considered the fact that he had taken the trouble to ease her pain. Surely it was a favorable sign.
Feeling more confident, she stalked back into the forest only to be greeted with the same treatment. Except this time the beautiful faces looked inquisitive and the arrows were not held quite so near.
The haughty Elf called Haldir seemed exasperated, even annoyed. "I have warned you," he said with sternness.
"So you have," she answered sweetly. "And I now realize that you did not understand." She moved toward him, ignoring the arrows, which drew back enough to allow her access to Haldir. Yet at least one arrow stayed close enough to give her pause. One sudden movement, she sensed, would be her last. They were very protective of their Marchwarden.
Slowly, ignoring their audience, she raised her hand and laid it on his chest, near his heart. "Now, Haldir," she purred, gazing soulfully into his gray eyes, "I think we could come to an agreement on this, if you would but consider. All I ask is an audience with Lord Celeborn. I think you have the power to arrange that, do you not?" She gave him her most melting look, yet she suddenly knew she was flirting with danger.
One corner of Haldir's mouth quirked. "You think to bargain with me, lirimaer?"
"It crossed my mind," she answered softly. She was definitely making progress; he had called her "lovely one" in Elvish. Her heart hammered faster as though the danger had just heightened.
His hand suddenly pressed against the back of her hair, forcing her head close to his. He said nothing, only looked down at her in an odd, appraising way.
She could have sworn he meant to kiss her. His gaze centered on her mouth for an instant, and his eyes glinted strangely, almost as though he were amused. "Much as your offer tempts me, I must decline. Humans are not allowed to enter Lothlórien, and with good reason. It is my task to be sure they do not." And in Elvish, he added, "So out you go, fair temptress."
Once again, she was unceremoniously carried out of the wood beyond the line of trees, though this time she was set down more carefully than before. As Haldir walked away, Amarië clenched her hands into fists of fury.
Where had she gone wrong? What could she do?
Once again, the Elves retreated into the gloom of the forest until no sign of them remained. Yet this time her eyes discerned a shadow here and there amongst the treetops, and her keen hearing picked out what could almost have been a ripple of elven laughter.
"I'm not leaving!" she called out to them. Clinging to her pride, she moved directly under the nearest tree and sat down, wrapping her cloak around her. She would sleep here tonight. She would show them that she was not so easy to dismiss.
Show him, that is.
No one answered her challenge. Coldness settled into her bones and the pit of her stomach. The wind moaned through the trees, rustling the leaves into a thousand whispers. Your coming here was wrong, useless, doomed to failure, the whispers seemed to say. You belong nowhere. You are a half-Elf, an aberration of nature. No one wants you. No one.
As Amarië closed her eyes and tried to sleep, she wished she could just slip quietly into some crack or fissure in the earth, and be forgotten by all.
tbc
