Part 8 – Connections

Amarië stood at the very top of the city, the place where Lord Celeborn had taken her to find Haldir a little over a week before, the place where Haldir had kissed her. As usual, she'd found the flet empty when she arrived. Each evening she came here, half-hoping and half-afraid she'd find him standing as she remembered, tall and proud, with his beautiful pale hair blowing in the breeze. But it seemed he no longer came here anymore. Was it because he knew she came here too?

She stood precisely where he had stood, and gazed out upon the same view that he had looked upon, though it was dark and veiled to her sight. A week had passed since Ennis and Haldir had fought, and it had been the longest week of her life. Each day she woke with the hope that Haldir would send for her, and give her permission to return to the practice field. Each night she went to sleep hoping he would knock upon her door and tell her that he was no longer angry. But it had not happened, and she was too proud and too afraid to go to him.

At the end of each day, Ferodir had escorted her down to see Ennis, but she had only seen Haldir twice, and each time he had barely glanced her way. According to Ferodir, all the men had made considerable progress on their skills, particularly Ennis. She also knew that Ennis truly believed that he had successfully scored points over Haldir during their fight, and this had apparently added to his self-confidence.

Was that what Haldir had intended? Since he had gone to all the pain and trouble to let Ennis hit him, he clearly had a motive—even though she could not appreciate it. Ferodir's explanation had seemed absurd to her. Why should Haldir wish to reinforce Ennis's dignity? And even if Ennis had been itching to fight the Marchwarden from the moment he set eyes on him, why would Haldir have granted that wish? Especially when he so scorned Ennis and the rest of the men.

But perhaps she misjudged the Marchwarden. Based on things Ferodir had told her, Haldir possessed a complexity she might never understand. The Guardian of Lórien must have much more on his mind than her or Ennis. According to Ferodir, ever since the Fellowship had passed through Lothlórien, Haldir had been unusually somber. She did not know much about the Fellowship except that there was a ring of power involved. To Haldir, she must seem unimportant compared to such as this.

Her thoughts returned to the evening of the fight. Before she had taken leave of Ennis, one of the elven bowmen had approached to offer her brother assistance with his healing. After a brief hesitation, Ennis had declined, but she could tell he was rethinking some of his former views about Elves. This was something to be thankful for, at least. She, on the other hand, had not recovered at all, but there was nothing anyone could do to help her. All she knew was that her heart had ached more this past week than at any other time in her life thus far, even taking into account some of the horrendous events she had witnessed, or even her tumultuous childhood.

All her life she had tried to be strong, to hold her troubles close rather than share her burdens with another. During her early years, while her stepfather had worked so hard to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table, she had often suffered beatings at her mother's hands. It seemed she reminded her mother a little too much of her elven father, something her mother had often found unendurable. Amarië had never told her stepfather about this, for he already bore enough pain in the knowledge that his wife did not and could never love him. Later, after her stepfather's unexpected death, times had become even more difficult. Ennis had still been young, their mother had been useless, and Amarië had upon occasion been forced to entertain male company in exchange for dire necessities such as protection and food.

None of this had she shared with anyone, not even Ennis.

She closed her eyes, trying to force away the memories. She had always done what she had had to do. She had tried to be brave, even when on the inside she had been a quivering mass of self-doubt and anger and dread. Yet to face Haldir's wrath and endure his continued contempt was one of the hardest things she had ever had to do.

Why should that be? And why did she care? Why did it hurt so much?

Days had passed and still he did not speak to her or send a message. Filled with misery, her chest tightened even more. What would her elven father have said? Would he have had any wise words? Had any of his dream-lessons really helped her? And why did she not remember any of them save for the teachings of the Elvish tongue? She knew the dreams and lessons continued, but the memory always faded with the morning's light.

Answers come when the seeker is ready.

Galadriel's voice jerked her from her reverie. The powerful yet baffling words teased her, sinuously winding their way into her mind. Had she imagined the voice? Or was Galadriel truly speaking to her right now?

Learn while you can and face your Truth.

Amarië whipped around, but as she had known very well, the Lady of Light did not stand behind her. She was alone, as always.

Why was she always alone?

Was it because she had pushed everyone else away? Was it her own fault? Tonight, she had even refused to spend time with Ferodir, as though it would be some kind of betrayal, although a betrayal of what kind she could not say.

Tonight she had refused Ferodir's escort, and he had seemed to understand. At once he had stopped flirting with her, and instead offered her a piece of what was probably very sound advice. "You ought to cry," he had said before he left her.

But right now she was unable to cry. There was only this horrific pain that seemed to be tearing her apart like some great claw raking at her insides.

She desperately needed someone to talk to, someone who could provide comfort. Who could she turn to? She drew a deep breath as she considered this. Lord Celeborn had been kind, but he did not seek her out. Yet he had told her that she might come to him when she chose. Perhaps that's what she should do.

Perhaps her grandfather was the person in whom she could confide.

Yes.

xxx

To her astonishment, she found him at the base of the stairway leading to the flet upon which she had just been standing. "My lord?" she said uncertainly.

The Elf lord slowly began to climb the stairs. "Finally, Amarië, you are ready to receive comfort. I am glad. And I am here for you now."

She swallowed, her fingernails curling into her palms so hard it hurt. There was no point in asking how he knew. What mattered was that he was here for her, this tall, magnificent Elf-being who discerned so much. "I know not what to say, my lord. You amaze me yet again."

"Come, child," he said with a smile, "there is a bench. Come sit beside me."

Together they sat, facing the night, though the entire scope of Lord Celeborn's attention fixed on her as though nothing else in the world existed. Once again it seemed as though he waited for her to speak.

She gazed into the darkness and asked the question foremost on her mind. "Why did you let me hide my knowledge of Elvish? Why didn't you tell me it was wrong?"

"That choice was yours to make," he answered. "And it was not necessarily wrong. It simply brought consequences you did not like. Still, to experience teaches more than to be told. It was a good lesson for you."

She nodded, her throat aching.

"Breathe in some sweet Lothlórien air for a few moments. That's it. Now tell me what its scent calls to your mind."

She closed her eyes. "Just . . . life," she murmured. "And . . ."

"And what?" he prompted.

"Unbearable . . . longing for something . . . something . . . I cannot have," she finished in a whisper.

"Not cannot," he corrected gently. "That for which you yearn is attainable."

"Is it? How do you know?" Her voice shook.

He put his arm around her shoulders and drew her close. "I have heard the call of your soul, Amarië. It cries out in pain, but its call is for that which should not bring pain. It calls for love, and the rewards that love can bring. And that is something you are destined to find once you have learned to trust. You know of what I speak."

She did not respond. Her throat felt squeezed, her lips clamped shut.

"Cry, Granddaughter," he said tenderly. "Cry, Daughter of Celebrenin. There is no shame in it. Release the dam that holds your tears. Only then can healing begin."

And much to her surprise she did, releasing all the pent-up emotion of the past few weeks, and of the months and years before that. She sobbed as though her heart had ripped in half, heaving great torturous shudders that tore great holes in the fabric of her inner armor. And her grandfather's arm stayed close, gifting her with a comfort that she had never known, the kind of comfort that could only come from a place of unconditional acceptance and love.

xxx

For every day of the past week, Haldir's mood had grown worse. Amarië haunted him, her image dancing through his mind so often it seemed likely to drive him mad. The only time he could forget her was during swordplay, and so he spent nearly every hour of the day drilling the various humans until they could stand no more, then turned to Ferodir or one of his brothers after that, until even they tired of the game.

This day had been the worst so far, for no discernable reason. Instead of fading, the memory of Amarië's last words still twisted into him like a hot knife. She hated him, found him despicable. And he was despicable; he readily admitted it.

In the beginning, when he had replayed the scene in his mind, all he had been able to see were her wrongdoings. However, as the days passed, that had changed and he had been able to see his own. He had treated her roughly, spoken cruelly. He had not tried to understand or ask for explanations. He had simply responded as though she were one of his soldiers, subject to his discipline and authority. He had reacted out of pride and arrogance—his worst failings, as his brothers were so fond of telling him.

And although she had indeed been guilty of deception and all else that he'd accused her of, none of that seemed to matter now. Without realizing it, his views had shifted enough so he could recognize her courage. He knew quite well that he had frightened and humiliated her, and had even threatened to strike her. Of course he would not have, but he had allowed her to think that he might. He knew quite well that he could be extremely intimidating when he chose to be.

But she had stood up to him and he admired that.

Moreover, she had stood up for what she believed. He respected that.

Filled with self-disgust, he moved to the window of his quarters and looked down toward Amarië's room. He sensed she was not there. Somehow he could always tell.

Likely she had gone to his own favorite spot at the pinnacle of the city. Ferodir said she often went there and so just lately he had avoided going there himself. He frowned, hating the way he felt, hating the knowledge of his own failings. Perhaps if she was there, if she would speak to him, if she would listen . . . perhaps he might find the words to set things right between them. On the other hand, he might make the situation worse, though he did not know if that was even possible.

Never before had he particularly cared what someone else thought of him as long as they respected him. But with her, it was different. He could not bear the thought of her hatred, her contempt. He must do something, take some action. Abruptly, he made the decision he had known he would make all along.

He would go and look for her.

Leaving his rooms, he walked deliberately up the various steps and along the walkways until he neared his destination and heard the sounds of weeping. He stopped, listening. It was Amarië. He knew it as surely as he knew the sounds of each individual bird in the Lothlórien forest. Why did she cry? Had his cruelty been as great as that? Or was it only his arrogance speaking, that he would think she might cry for him? Perhaps she cried for some reason he had no knowledge of.

Very softly, he mounted the steps until he saw that she was not alone. Again, he stopped.

In part he was relieved because it was right for her to take comfort from the Elf who was her grandfather. At the same time, he possessed an almost uncontrollable urge to go and comfort her himself. Why was that urge so powerful?

He felt foolish. Very foolish. She did not need him.

As quietly as he'd approached, he turned around and left.

xxx

Eventually, Amarië wiped her tears and rose, slightly embarrassed by her unrestrained display. No doubt she looked a sight with her puffy eyes and reddened nose. Did Elves behave in such a way? Or was this her human side displaying itself?

But Lord Celeborn merely smiled and offered to escort her back to her chamber. Thinking she had taken enough of his time, she opened her mouth to decline, but caught the slight lifting of the Elf-lord's brow. In his gentle way, he was teasing her, and so she smiled and accepted, feeling peaceful in his presence.

However, once alone in her room, her restlessness returned. She washed her face and combed her hair, then paced, not knowing what to do. The dreadful pressure in her heart had eased, but not entirely. She still felt fragile and rather lost. She did not feel that she could sleep.

After an hour or so, she decided to go and visit Ennis. For the past week, she had not done so without Ferodir's escort, but it did not matter. It was dark, but not so late that he would be asleep. He might be worried about her since this was the first night she had failed to come.

Quietly, she made her way out of her room, through the various walkways and down the many stairs, nodding politely to any Elves she passed along the way. They smiled and nodded back, though some gave her curious glances. At the base of the city, she passed the two Elf-guard sentinels, posted to be sure the humans did not attempt to enter the city. They did not speak or try to stop her as she slipped past them into the night.

It was very dark on the forest floor, for the great mellyrn trees allowed little of the moonlight to shine through. Still, she was able to pick out the path, following it until she came to the area where Ennis and the men lay upon their pallets. She had been wrong. The hour was later than she had realized and Ennis was asleep. The Elves must be working them hard.

She stood for a moment, listening to their snores, then turned and walked away, retracing the path she had taken a few moments before. Halfway back, she paused and closed her eyes, breathing deeply, taking in the air as Lord Celeborn had had her do. The forest scents mingled, the moss and leaves, tree bark and flowers, a pungent, life-sustaining perfume that pulled at her senses like a drug, heavy and sensual and sweet.

Too late she heard the crunch of a foot behind her. A large hand clamped over her mouth while a thick arm wrapped around her waist. "Don't make a sound, whore, or I'll break your little neck."

She knew at once who it was—Rufus, the red-haired man. He was the strongest of the men, the only one she had ever feared. She cursed herself; for the first time in months she had lowered her guard, and look what it had won her. No longer did she wear her knives strapped to her legs as she had done for so many years.

"How many of those Elves have enjoyed you?" he sneered. "I think it's time I got a taste too." His arm tightened as he dragged her, kicking and struggling, in the direction of the forest, away from the city.

Amarië could barely breathe from the weight of his hand pressed against her face. Still, she thrashed about, trying to land a blow that might stun him enough to enable her escape. Angered, he cuffed her on the side of the head so hard she saw pinpoints of light. Then suddenly she was on the ground, feeling faint from lack of air.

"If you make a sound it will be your last. Do you understand, witch?"

Frozen with terror, she nodded, hearing the truth behind the threat.

He freed her mouth, then stuffed his fingers into the neckline of her gown, ripping both gown and chemise down the front well past her hips. Kneeling between her legs, he pressed his knees onto her thighs, pinning her as he groped her breasts. His breath and body stank. Revulsion rose in her throat, and she instinctively grabbed for his wrists in an attempt to stop him, but again he smacked her across the face with the flat of his hand, then twice more, hard, as though it gave him pleasure.

"I'd like to do that again," he added, "but first I'm going to sample you."

She barely heard him. She could feel herself tumbling into blackness, into a void where nothing could hurt her, nothing . . .

Be strong, meleth. He is coming.

xxx

Haldir was with his brothers when he first felt her call. They had been drinking ale together in his room while Rúmil read them his latest attempt at poetry. The poem's subject involved a certain maiden with whom Rúmil had lately become entranced. It seemed a subject he never tired of, much to the amusement of his brothers.

Haldir's head jerked up so suddenly that Rúmil stopped in mid-sentence.

"What is it?" Orophin asked.

Haldir made no answer, but sprang to his feet and headed for his weapons. Moving swiftly, he seized his bow and quiver, and thrust his scimitar into his belt. "I must go," he said curtly. "It's Amarië."

Neither of his brothers questioned him further. They both jumped up and ran from the room, racing to retrieve their own weapons.

Haldir could not remember a time when he had sped through Caras Galadhon at such a pace. He knew his brothers would follow, but had no time to wait for them. Something was wrong. He knew it, but did not know how he knew it, or how he knew which way to go. It was as though he was being drawn or led.

At the forest floor, he sprinted past the guards, leaving them behind as he followed what by now had become so insistent a pull that he could almost see it. He reached Amarië just in time to witness the blow that knocked her senseless. With lightning speed, he nocked an arrow and aimed it at the red-haired man.

"Get off her, human, or you will die."

The man jerked around to stare, his broad face displaying shock. "You," he said in a confounded voice. "I might have known!"

"Get off her now," Haldir repeated, his voice cold and deadly.

The sudden appearance of Rúmil and Orophin seemed to tip the scales in the human's mind. With three elven arrows aimed at his chest, the man called Rufus seemed to realize that he was out of his depth. As he slowly rose to his feet, Haldir took in the fact that the man's leggings were still in place.

"If you had done what you intended," he said, "you would be dead right now."

"You would kill me for that?" Rufus seemed astonished, yet clung to his bravado. "What kind of creature are you, that you would defend the whore? Or don't Elves like to share?"

Enraged beyond reason, Haldir nearly released his arrow. "You try my patience, mortal. Say one more word and you will die. Touch her again and you will die. Do not speak to her again. Do not speak of her again. These are my warnings. Heed them not, and I will kill you."

xxx

For some time Amarië had been hearing Haldir's voice, but had not been taking in the meaning of his words. The first clear thing she knew was that he was bending over her, his hand pressed to her jaw where Rufus had struck her.

"Amarië," he murmured. "Look at me."

She opened her eyes, able to see him despite the dark. His face was close, his eyes examining her with an intentness that told her nothing. Memory surged back, and with it came the realization that she lay nearly naked in the forest on a bed of leaves. Sweet Eru, what must he think of her? Mortified, she tried to cover herself.

"Get me a cloak," he said to someone behind him. She felt him shift the remnants of her gown so that they lay across her flesh. "All is well, pen-neth. No, do not move. Rúmil is getting you something to wear."

She wrapped her arms across her chest, confused by the mere fact of his presence. "Why are you here? How did you know to come?"

"I know not the answer to your question. Where are you hurt?"

She lifted a hand to her jaw and cheek. "Here. But already it feels better."

"That is my doing. Nowhere else?"

She shook her head.

Rúmil made a sudden reappearance at her other side. "Here is a cloak," he said, squatting down. "Orophin has posted a guard over the mortal. Is she injured?"

"I think not. But very shocked."

"I am fine," she said in a quivery voice.

They wrapped the cloak around her, and Haldir lifted her in his arms.

"What are you doing?" she protested half-hysterically. "I can walk. Haldir, put me down!"

"I will not. Do not wiggle, Amarië. Do you want me to drop you?"

"No, but . . . put me down!"

"Rúmil." Haldir lowered his voice, saying something she could not hear.

She twisted her head to look at Rúmil, who gave her a charming smile and put his hand over her eyes. "I send you to your sleep, little sister," he murmured softly. "May only sweetness find its way into your dreams."

Rúmil watched his brother carry Amarië away with a mixture of amusement and awe. Thanks to his spell, she was now sleeping peacefully in Haldir's arms; he only hoped she would not be too annoyed with them when she awoke.

"Was that not the most extraordinary thing?" he said to Orophin, who had returned just in time to witness this. "He knew she was in danger. And where to find her."

"Indeed, I have never seen the like of it. What do you think it means?"

Rúmil shook his head. "I know not. Perhaps the Lady would know, but certainly not one such as I."

"Or I." Orophin rubbed his chin, engaged in thought. "I do not think it means he is becoming like Ferodir. Ferodir has been an empath all this life."

"No, it is something to do with Amarië. There is something that connects them."

"You know, our other wager may have gone awry, but there is nothing to prevent us from making another."

"Indeed." Rúmil's gray eyes lit. "What have you in mind?"

"I wager that he binds himself to her within a week."

"A week?" Rúmil considered. "That is very fast. Yet what I have seen tonight suggests that something truly out of the ordinary is happening. I will wager that he binds himself to her within the second week. Now what shall be the terms of our wager?"

"If I lose, I will clean your boots for two months. And I will listen to any poetry you write in the next year without complaint."

"And if I lose, I will clean your boots for two months. And I will write many poems and expect you to listen to them all."

"The loser should also clean Haldir's boots, but only for a single month."

"Agreed."

The two brothers smiled at each other.

"I do envy him a little," Orophin added. "She is certainly a lovely female."

"Indeed. And I'll wager I saw a little more of her loveliness than you did."

"Very likely," Orophin admitted with regret. "But I don't think we should wager on it. She may soon become our sister."

"You are right," Rúmil agreed. "It would not be suitable."

"Certainly not," said Orophin with a virtuous grin.

xxx

When Amarië awoke, daylight shone through her window. For a few seconds she lay still, wincing as the memory of what had occurred ran through her mind. Then she glanced over and saw Lornarië seated in a chair beside her bed.

"Good morning," the blonde Elf greeted her. "How are you feeling?"

Amarië brushed the hair from her face, touching the line of her jaw with her fingertips. All that remained was a slight tenderness. "Fine, I think. How long have you been here?"

"A little while. Haldir sat with you for much of the night. He told me what happened. I am so sorry. It must have been dreadful. I did not realize that mortals behaved in such a manner."

Amarië sat up, then realized she did not wear a nightgown and clutched the linen sheet to her chest. "Did he say anything else?" she asked uneasily.

"No, nothing else."

"Where is he now?" she asked, wondering if he had been the one who had undressed her and put her to bed. Perhaps it was better not to know.

Lornarië's fair head tilted. "I know not. It is possible he is resting, but more likely he has gone to the practice field to work with the mortals."

Amarië lay back against the pillows, suddenly very depressed. "I think I may sleep awhile longer, Lornarië. You do not need to stay."

Lornarië rose. "Certainly, Lady Amarië. Rest well."

In truth, Amarië was not feeling sleepy at all, but old habits died hard. When pain came, she wanted to be alone.

What must he think of her? Oh, granted he had rescued her, but knowing that he had found her in such a situation was almost more than she could bear. He knew what it was they called her, that dreadful word. Did he believe it? Well, how could he not, after she had shamelessly offered herself to him not once but twice? Surely she had forever lost any chance to repair his good opinion of her. Not that it was likely he had ever had a good opinion of her in the first place. What else could he feel for her but contempt?

She buried her head in the pillows, silent tears rolling down her cheeks. Now that she could cry once more, would she ever be able to stop?

xxx

Ferodir stood before Galadriel, waiting to learn if she had further instructions for him. He had gleaned all that had happened the previous night from Rúmil and Orophin, and deemed it worthy of Galadriel and Celeborn's attention. Both the Lord and Lady were disturbed by his report.

"Perhaps we should send the humans away," Celeborn said slowly. "There is evil in this man who attacked my granddaughter."

Galadriel looked at him. "They will be sent away soon enough. Haldir must complete their training. Each human has a purpose to fulfill, the brother most of all. He must be prepared when his time comes."

"What of the dangerous one?"

"His threat has been diminished."

Both were silent for a long moment.

Then Galadriel spoke. "The time I spoke of draws near. They are running out of time, these two. The bond must be forged soon."

"It has been such a short while since she arrived," Celeborn said.

"Since she arrived, yes. But the connection has been there since the dawn of time. Too long have they searched for each other. You know how it was for us."

As Galadriel's servant, Ferodir knew better than to ask questions, although his curiosity was intensely aroused. Instead, he only waited, content to know they trusted his discretion, a great honor for an Elf who had lived less than a millennia.

"Ferodir," Galadriel said, "you may go. Once again, I thank you for your services. Please continue to watch and report to me."

After the dark-haired Elf had left, Galadriel turned to Celeborn. "I think I should send them to the Pool."

Celeborn considered this. "I am reluctant to interfere. But since time is short, the Pool could serve them well."

"I am convinced of it."

"Very well, my love. Let it be as you wish."

tbc