The Tale of Marian

by Rana1

In today's world, a woman searches for her path and finds it laid before her in a most unusual way. A Haldir romance, eventually, but is it the Haldir we remember from the third age, or has he changed?

39. Ch 39: Epilogue

Title: The Tale of Marian

Chapter: 39/39

Rating: PG13 this chapter.

Pairing: OFC/Haldir

Genre: Adventure/Romance/perhaps a little Angst

Timeline: AU, modern times.

Beta: None this chapter.

Feedback: Welcomed. Constructive criticism always appreciated.

Warnings: Some angst; happiness could occur as well.

Author's Notes: This is a work in progress.

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1 for disclaimer.

THE TALE OF MARIAN

Chapter 39 – Epilogue

The debate was nearing the evening of its third day. The cool shadows of the massive yet delicately proportioned white marble columns around the Ring of Doom had grown longer and longer as Anar, even in the seeming timelessness of Aman, marked the inexorable passage of the day. Here, high on Oiolossë, the highest tower of the high white peak Taniquetil, the white gossamer clouds suspended around the mountain top were turning orange across the celadon- and lavender-tinted sky. The Vala Ulmo sighed. He came rarely to the councils of the Valar unless great matters were in deliberation. He had joined them only at Manwë's request, for it was he who had heard the whispers through the waters of the need of the mortal Child of the Earth, even before Mandos had received her fëa1 into the Halls of Waiting; indeed, even before Nienna had come to plead for the easing of grief of the immortal Child of Aman. Ulmo sighed again, quietly, and then smiled an apology to Varda when she turned her starry gaze his way. The Earth, he thought longingly – at least the seas that he had planned to be upon this day – would be nearing sunrise at this very moment, the slick backs of dolphins glinting in the new light of morning, and he had thought to be with them. Yet the council was no closer to a decision.

"It is forbidden for a mortal to enter Valinor, with hrondo2 or without," Yavanna repeated.

"I summoned her and her spirit came swiftly and gladly. Yet she waits neither in the Halls of the First Born nor in the Halls of the Second, but in some realm between that I knew not even existed in my own House," Mandos voiced their dilemma once more. "She is most persistent and impatient. She insists, but with the utmost deference, that she be allowed to dwell in Valinor; that by the side of the Child of Aman who alone of all elves in this Blessed Realm lives in sorrow, is where she belongs."

"Let us not so easily forget the arrogance of the Numenoreans," argued Oromë. "Though their doom was decreed by Ilúvatar to rise outside the confines of this World, they, too, forsook that gift and claimed they deserved immortality, claiming that their feet should walk upon the white sands of these forbidden shores. For this they set sail against us and were vanquished. How therefore does this mortal fëa claim the same fate of us that we denied her ancestors, influenced as they were by the poisonous whisperings of Morgoth?"

"She does not claim it, she asks it," Ulmo declared. "And let us not either forget that she is descended of the Faithful among the Numenoreans who fled to Middle Earth with the seven stars; not of those who took up arms against us. Neither does she ask it for her own immortality only, but for the sake of that Child of Aman for whom Nienna weeps, whose grief washes over the seas of Aman like a thunderstorm of Manwë unassuaged," he nodded his deference to the Vala at the head of the council.

"This woman," Nienna spoke, "is and is not a woman only. Though weakened through the Ages that have passed, still the line of Arwen has not failed. It survives in this woman's fëa, and in her children's. This was foretold long ago, was it not? The blood of the Eldar did run in her veins, and dwells still in her spirit."

"It is the first child only of Elf and Man who may choose their fate, and before their hrondo is forsaken," Yavanna stated. "Yet I pity her –she showed herself in life to be a friend of the forests, after my own heart. I do not wish to abandon her to an uncertain fate."

"Was she not welcomed into the family of this elf by elves themselves while her hrondo still served her, and does her hrondo not still bear the token of this welcome, the ring that was given?" Nienna pleaded. "And was she not a champion of the healing of Arda among Men? Shall these things be dismissed as of no consequence?"

"Aulë, what say you?" Manwë asked the Vala who had remained silent through most of the lengthy proceedings, and who asked for the counsel of others freely but spoke his own only when asked.

"This wavering between the Halls of Mandos. . . he began slowly.

"Not wavering, my friend, but a continued presence there by the sheer will of her fëa," Mandos corrected, chuckling at the persistence of this most unusual spirit.

"This presence," Aulë shifted in his chair and considered, "is a thing new and unthought-of. We here have no knowledge, and thus no power with which to determine her fate."

"The fate of mortals may be uncertain to us by design," Manwë agreed, and stood. "Yet to Ilúvatar is all of our Music and all things outside of our Realm known and considered. This is indeed a new thing, and in this matter the power of doom is not given to me. Only by the design of Ilúvatar himself can the decision be made. I shall go therefore, and ask Him."

The debate was over. The Valar rose as one and bowed their awed assent deeply to Manwë, for it was seldom in their infinite memories that such supplication had been made by Manwë directly to the Father of All.

Anar had passed on into the East, and Varda's stars shone bright and close in the oceans of the heavens. This night had fallen gently again on Valinor, and all its creatures were at rest, save but perhaps one who found that rest eluded him yet once more. Nienna shed another tear for him, and wondered what little comfort the next day might bring for him, if any.

Haldir was not overly fond of the Sea. He treasured it insomuch as any elf must who had been called to return upon it to Valinor, but it did not complete him, did not fascinate him as it did Cirdan or his shipwrights and sailors. Yet, he had chosen to become a sea captain, nonetheless.

It was true – there were no mellyrn trees in Aman. There were other, even more majestic and beautiful trees, and forests aplenty. He felt most at home in the trees, of course, and it was the forests he was drawn to. But within them he could no longer find peace. All it took was to stand under a canopy with the sunlight dappling the ground beneath, a brief stroll in the quietude of a simple wood, or the mere memory of Tar-caranorn, and the image of Marian would assault him like an arrow through his lung. No, it was impossible to shut away his longing for her in a distant corner of this mind when trees, or even thoughts of trees, were near. Only the rigors of the Sea, in those moments or hours when complete concentration kept his ship and crew from the dangers that the oceans presented with surprising frequency, could push Marian from his mind, at least for a little while.

So he had accepted Cirdan's offer to explore the vast seas around Aman. Such adventures kept him safely away from shore for months at a time, to the displeasure of his brother Orophin and his friends. Even, it kept him from his goddaughter Annawen. Still, on a calm sea, when he least expected it, he found himself musing about the sweet child, and actually smiling. Of late she had begun to twine herself around his heart and mind almost as much as Marian's memory. This he could not allow.

She had been his salvation, bringing him back from the depths of despair so deep that he had barely survived it. He had been aroused from his constant broodings by nothing else that Aman had to offer, and delighted in her presence almost from the moment that his friend had placed the babe in his arms and invited him to become her godfather. He almost suspected that this was why her parents had named him as such. 'Uncle Haldir,' he had been ever since to the brown-eyed, brown-haired wiggling bundle whose hand had emerged from its blankets to grab his finger with surprising strength, and whose eyes had fixed on him and held him in their gaze so powerfully that he was roused from an unexpected reverie only by her mother's shake on his arm and her complaint to him and her husband that she be allowed to hold her own child, at least for a few minutes.

Annawen grew to crawl and then walk, all the while wriggling herself deeper and deeper into Haldir's frozen heart, thawing it until he completely melted with godfatherly love for his friends' child. He would do anything for her. She was the only thing in Aman that made him happy, and he visited whenever his ship was in the harbor, bringing her shells and pearls and other welcomed bounty from the sea. She accepted his gifts, his games and his love with an innocent delight that, if he had been vain, he would have thought was more for him than for the surprises that he hid within his cloak and challenged Annawen to find. He walked on air when he visited, and he was saddened when he had to walk back down the meadow path toward the shore and his waiting ship, while cries of "Don't go, Uncle Haldir, don't go!" followed him. The emptiness would return, and the memories.

Yet Haldir's close relationship to his goddaughter was not without its hazards. To Haldir's dismay, during one such visit after Annawen had turned sixteen Haldir noticed, as perhaps he had not allowed himself to do before, that Annawen looked a little less like her father than before, and a little more like he would have imagined Marian would have appeared as a child. In fact, as Annawen grew the similarities became more pronounced in Haldir's eyes. He supposed that he was punishing himself by imagining such things. Still, even with all of his self-discipline, she would make a little movement, or laugh a certain way, and it would remind him in a flash of some thing that Marian had done, those untouchable years ago. Yes, it had been almost half an ennin11 since he had deserted Marian. She was surely dead by now. He would never forget the look of abandonment on her face there on the rock below the cypresses, or her whispered words that she loved him. He had walked away from her. How he could face himself each morning was a mystery even he could not fathom. It seemed that the Valar had chosen not to grant him the grace of fading.

Annawen was confused. Because she had been confused most of her short life, the feeling was not unusual. It was, however, almost unbearably frustrating. She was sixteen, after all. Most of her friends had already decided upon their chosen names. They hadn't told her what their names were, of course – that was for family. But they had told her they had made up their minds, and some of them had only been nine at the time. Her parents wouldn't tell her how old they had been when they had chosen their names, but she could tell by the way they looked at each other when she asked that they hadn't waited as long as she. They would only say that the right one would come to her when she was ready. The measurement that she compared herself to, though, was her uncle, who she admired and loved completely. She had learned it was not wise to compare oneself to others, but she could not help it. Uncle Haldir had chosen his name when he was ten.

Now how had she known that? He hadn't told her. Somewhere fluttering in the back of her mind, though, she knew it to be true: she had known, somehow, what Uncle's chosen name was. But try as she might, she couldn't remember. Such thoughts sprang into her mind quite often, and almost always these thoughts centered on her uncle. Sometimes, though, they were about her mother, or another elf that she couldn't quite envision. They were the source of Annawen's confusion, and probably shouldn't be discussed aloud.

As a small child she had not been so careful about it. And why should she have? How was she to know that the innocent observations she made to her parents would make her mother look at her in concern, or make uncle Haldir upset? Of course uncle Haldir never told her he was upset. He tried very hard not to show it, but she could tell.

Like that evening at home after dinner. She had been five, and the stars outside the house had been so beautiful. She had pulled uncle Haldir's hand until he had come outside with her to look. "That one!" she had pointed out to him in excitement. "It's your favorite one: Orion. He is guarding Aman from the sky, with his sword in his belt. Is he not magnificent?" Magnificent was her favorite new word. In fact, she thought, Uncle Haldir looked even taller and more magnificent than the bright group of stars she was pointing at.

She had waited expectantly, hoping she would make him smile. Instead, his face grew deeply sad, for just a moment. Then, with some effort she thought, he smiled at her and asked her, "Menelmacar is called Orion only by the mortals in Arda, Annawen. How did you know that name? Did your mother tell you?"

She stopped and thought. Would her answer make uncle even more upset? She thought of saying yes, nana5 had told her, but she was not a liar, and she would never lie to her uncle. How did she know what the other name was? She had never been far across the sea to the Outer Lands of Earth that nana spoke of sometimes. "No," she admitted hesitantly. "I know not how I know, I just know. Maybe you told me, when I was little."

"Well you are right, Annawen, it is my favorite," Uncle Haldir said with no trace of the sadness she thought she had seen a moment before, but a small quirk at the corner of his mouth. "Thank you for showing me. Now, can you find some of the others your ada has been teaching you about?"

She loved her nana and her ada6 very much, adored them in fact. Yet she knew without wondering why that she loved uncle Haldir even more. It hurt inside to see him sad, and he seemed to be sad a lot, though he tried very hard not to look that way. So, at the age of six, she resolutely decided that there was nothing more important in her life than making uncle Haldir happy.

She had tried to make him happy by bringing him the white flowers, but that had gone wrong too. When Annawen was nine, uncle Haldir's brother Orophin brought her mother some new flower bulbs for her garden. People were always saying what a lovely flower garden her nana had made, and they would often bring her unusual or rare plants to add to her collection. Nana would weave them into her garden so perfectly that people would "oooo" and "ahhh" in appreciation. Annawen treasured the flowers, too. She had made a ritual, with nana's permission, of sneaking in to Haldir's guest room and placing a generous vase of fragrant blooms on the windowsill before he arrived. No one else but nana knew she did this, every time. It was their secret.

Uncle Haldir liked flowers, too. She had visited his home with ada and nana a few times. His garden was as wonderful as nana's. It was even bigger than his small but well-built and tidy house. She supposed Uncle didn't need a big house – he was on his ship more often than he was at home, and when he was at home he always, always visited them. Annawen thought, though, that he never visited often enough, or stayed long enough when he did. She was always disappointed – panicked, even – to see him go away again. But, she comforted herself, he always promised her that he would come back, and Uncle Haldir kept his promises. And so she waited, counting every day until his ship would come into port again.

While she waited for him to return, she waited patiently for the buds to spring up on the bulbs that Orophin had given them. Would they bloom in time for uncle Haldir's visit? Orophin had told her that they were rare and beautiful, and only bloomed for a few days. She would have to watch for them, Orophin told her, to make sure she didn't miss them. So she watched every day, there in the garden, and crossed her fingers. And one morning in early Spring, near the time when uncle Haldir said he would visit again, her vigilance was rewarded. She had woken up early that sunny morning and run down into the garden to check the swelling buds, and there they were! How beautiful and fragrant the glowing white blooms were, fluttering light iridescent blue and violet in the gentle breeze. She was about to run and tell nana to come look, when she had by some instinct turned and looked down the sloping path toward the sea. Her heart leaped: uncle Haldir was walking up the path! She could just see him on a hill in the distance, silhouetted by the glittering sea and the sky beyond. She resisted the urge to immediately run to him. She had a better idea. Quickly she cut some of the precious blooms – just a few so that nana would not scold her – and ran to the guest room, adding them to the bouquet that she had started the evening before. Without thinking why, she knew that he would treasure them as she did. Then she ran through the kitchen and out the door, calling back to her startled ada that uncle Haldir was coming. Annawen pelted down the path through the yard and down the grassy slopes, running, running and calling, until at last she threw herself into her uncle's arms. He met her with open arms, scooping her up and twirling her high in the air. Her spirit sailed as high as her uncle lifted her, for he gifted her with a rare laugh, and a broad smile.

Later that evening, however, when she was sent to his room to call him for dinner, she had surprised him bending over the white flowers she had put there and cradling them in his hands, smelling their fragrance. Such an immensely sad expression was on his face that Annawen gasped. He looked up, and the expression was gone, replaced by the proud bearing and unreadable look that he wore more than not. But Annawen could have sworn she had seen a tear in his eye a short moment ago. Her heart sank. Somehow, she kept saying things or doing things that made him sad again, or look funny at her, no matter how hard she tried to make him happy. She tried not to say anything at all the rest of the evening, for fear she would say something wrong.

Allinde looked at her husband laughing with Elrohir and Master Elrond and told herself again that she was the luckiest elf in Valinor. For one thing, she was alive; that had been no small miracle. Lord Haldir, with Lomion at his aid, had brought her palfrey to the House of Elrond immediately upon their ship's arrival. The house's master had needed all of the skills he possessed to bring her back from the brink of fading. Of course, she remembered with a smile, Elrond's ministrations had not been her only medicine. There had also been his sons, Elladan and Elrohir. It had been the elegant dark-haired and gray-eyed Elladan, though, that had read to her and talked to her, first catching her eye and then capturing her heart.

She was happy – deliriously so. It was here in Elrond's study, with its tall windows overlooking the Bay of Eldamar from its grapevine-covered hillside just above the city of Tirion, that they had shared their love of books, and learning, and mysteries. It may even have been here in this very room, she thought with a private smile, where their daughter Annawen had been conceived.

Allinde mused that Annawen might very well be an even greater mystery than the palantiri had been. It had been little things at first. Allinde, Elladan, Elrohir, and certainly Master Elrond, had filled her head with knowledge and the thirst for knowledge since she had been a tiny thing. Lord Haldir taught her also, as often as he could. Someone had once wisely said that knowledge was not the filling of a cup, but the lighting of a fire. There was no lack of fire in Annawen. It wasn't just that she absorbed everything that was taught her and asked for more. It was that she knew things, sometimes, that no one seemed to have taught her at all; some things, even, that no one in Aman could have taught her. Elladan thought that when Annawen was a small child she must have overhead him and Allinde speak of Arda as they occasionally did to each other, or to Haldir or their other friends. As such incidents continued, however, both Elladan and Allinde realized that such conversations did not explain every odd reference that Annawen made to such things. They began to wonder, just between themselves, if Annawen might be one of the reborn. If so, they felt blessed by the Valar to be chosen as parents to an elf who had tragically died and now had been granted another life. Of course, they could be wrong – they had no experience with such things. That is why neither of them had as yet discussed the possibility with Annawen. But if they were right, the question that mystified them both was: Who was she?

"Annawen has been down by your workshop all morning," Allinde commented as Elladan came back into the kitchen for lunch without his daughter. "What is so absorbing her attention that she does not even want to stop to eat?" Allinde would have checked herself, but they were leaving later for an evening at Master Elrond's house, and she had work she wanted to finish in her library before they departed. Master Elrond had requested to borrow some of her more esoteric volumes, and for some reason she was having trouble locating one of them.

"Splitting shingles," Elladan answered, helping his wife slice the cheese she had placed on the table.

"Again? What happened to the stack of them that she spent all day splitting yesterday?"

"I do not know," Elladan answered. "They seem to have disappeared."

Allinde set the plateful of apples down and gave her husband a look he had seen many, many times. It was a look that meant that his wife was trying to put together the pieces again – the pieces that made up the puzzle of their daughter's behavior.

"It was very sweet of you to teach her how," Allinde prodded. It was a subtle prod, Elladan thought with amusement – his wife was very good at it, but he had learned to recognize it when it was happening.

"Actually, it was she who was teaching me."

"Elladan, she is only twenty-five. How could she have learned to do such a thing, without anyone showing her how?"

"Mayhap she read about it in one of your books," Elladan suggested, intending to shift Allinde's attention back to the library.

"I am sure we do not have any books about splitting wood shingles in this house," she answered confidently. "Your father's library is much broader, however." She shook her head and dismissed the possibility as insignificant. Elladan was missing the point. "Have you discovered any broken shingles on the house, or the workshop, or the stables since you checked yesterday?" she asked him sweetly.

"Not a one," Elladan replied without concern, and casually studied the surface of the golden apple in his hand. Allinde sat down and stared at him unblinking across the table. He put the apple down on his plate, and stared back at her.

"No," he said.

"But Elladan, this could be important."

"All children need their little secrets, my love," Elladan comforted his exceedingly curious wife. He was as curious as she, but he was more willing to wait for the opportunities that life presented to satisfy his curiosity. Allinde, he thought with a smile, had more of a compulsion to make opportunities happen – such as their dinner at his father's house this evening. Some elves might call that meddling, but he had never seen her do anyone any harm and the results were usually quite successful. Still, Annawen could use a little privacy, especially at her age. "She will tell us about it, in time.

Besides," he said with an appraising glance at his wife, "it is a beautiful day. She could be occupying herself out there all afternoon. How hungry are you?"

Allinde, finding that her heart was starting to race as it did whenever her raven-haired husband evaluated her in such a fashion, set the piece of cheese that she had been about to eat back down on her plate. "I find that I have completely lost my appetite. . . for food," she told him from under her lashes. With a swift kick of her chair, she ran giggling from the room, her robes and long golden hair flying after her.

Elladan took a bite of his apple and slowly slid back his chair. He was in no hurry. He would find her, and make her forget all about her fascination with books, and roofing shingles. Yes, he would make sure of that, he decided happily, licking the sweet apple juice from his lips.

Elladan smiled back at Allinde over his brother's shoulder, and Allinde blushed at the memory of their activities earlier in the day. She'd barely had time to find the book that Master Elrond had asked for and convince Annawen to put something on besides a shirt and leggings for their visit. She was glad that her husband had agreed to consult Master Elrond about the possibility that Annawen might be one of the reborn. Allinde was concerned about her daughter – she had stopped talking to her about just the things that Allinde wanted to know most about. It was fortuitous that Haldir would be there in the morning, too.

Allinde was not just Annawen's mother; she was her best friend and confidant. She knew that Annawen loved Haldir dearly, and that her daughter had become more and more troubled about upsetting him with the rather unusual things that she occasionally did or said. Invariably these things involved something from Arda. She knew this because her daughter told her about these occasions, and asked her for advice. Then, as Annawen grew older, she stopped talking to Allinde about such things. She even became shy around Haldir, and this worried Allinde. Of all the elves that Allinde knew in Valinor – and being the keeper of Master Elrond's extensive and renowned library, she knew many – Haldir was the only grieving one. Oh, he put on an outward attitude of serene haughtiness, but Allinde knew him too well to be fooled. She knew why Haldir grieved. She had tried again and again for him to open up to her so she could comfort him, but nothing and no one could penetrate the solid fortress that he had constructed around his broken heart. Except Annawen. And now Annawen had begun to withdraw from him too. Allinde was convinced that the things Annawen was afraid would upset Haldir had not gone away, but that Annawen had simply taught herself to bury them inside. This was not good for Annawen or for Haldir. That was Allinde's opinion, and she had told Elladan so.

The dreams had begun when Annawen was twenty. They were always small snippets of places or people that were strangely familiar but that Annawen knew in waking she had never seen: the broad wooden gates of a grand entry; the curved, translucent stone wall of a large gathering hall; a tall forest of red-barked trees that Annawen loved to walk in. There was a library where her nana and she sat in large, comfortable chairs in front of a glowing fire. Of course nana was always in a library, so that wasn't strange to dream about. Oddly, uncle Haldir was always in her dreams. As in her recent waking life, whether her uncle was present or not, Annawen had begun to regard him in a womanly, rather un-goddaughterly way, and always worried about whether she was making him happy and proud of her. What was most odd, however, was that in these dreams she was sometimes addressed as Marian. She had heard her nana and ada talk on rare occasions about one of nana's friends in Arda who was named Marian. She had been a mortal. Annawen had asked them both what it was like to befriend someone who they knew was going to die. Ada had told her that elves learned to love the things or people they might lose. Like a bird, or a dog? She had asked then, and nana had looked at her sharply and then pretended she hadn't. With a jolt, Annawen remembered that there were no dogs in Aman. When she thought about it, she realized something even stranger, which was that she did not actually know what a dog was, except that she had been calling to one in her latest dream.

Annawen quickly realized that talking about her dreams, especially when she knew something that she shouldn't and couldn't have known, was not an advisable thing to do. So she had stopped telling even her mother about it when it happened; had tried, even, to shut it out of her own mind. Yet these unfamiliar things invaded her dreams nonetheless, and as the next few years went by, she began to wonder: Had she been reborn from the Halls of Mandos? She had heard a little bit about elves that had been; mostly third-hand stories from her friends. It was unfortunate that she didn't know any of them personally, so she had no one, really, to ask about it. So she kept it to herself, and began to feel more and more alone. She wondered if she really had known uncle Haldir quite well before, and if she had done something to hurt him. She hardly knew what to say to her uncle anymore, and became awkward and silent whenever he visited. This shamed her more than anything, but what else could she do? One day, she thought, it would all become just too much to bear and she would simply explode. On that day, she feared, she might drive uncle Haldir away from her altogether. That, she could never bear, because she thought that she might be falling in love with him.

She liked the name Marian, though. It fit her, somehow, and she thought she would like it to be her Chosen Name. It was just that she was afraid to tell anyone about it.

Annawen tried not to stare at the strikingly beautiful and regal-looking elleth7 seated at Master Elrond's right at the dinner table, but she couldn't help it. Neither could she escape the image that had first jumped into her head when grandfather had introduced her. She had almost blurted it out, but had caught herself just in time not to say: "You are the Lady on the Doors!" Tongue-tied and trying to recall just what doors she was thinking about, she was searching for something safely polite to say when she found herself under the most incredible scrutiny she had ever experienced. She had looked the Lady directly in the eye, and she seemed to be held there. Time had seemed to cease to exist. Her very soul felt as though it was laid bare before this elleth, who grandfather had introduced as one of the Noldor: She had been born in Aman itself, governed a realm of her own in Arda and aided the defeat of the dark lord. She had led the victorious return of what had then been thought to be the last of the elves to come home into the West. The last, at least, until her Uncle Haldir and her nana had returned nearly two ages after.

Annawen had the uncanny feeling that the noble lady before her was reading her every thought; even, perhaps, her much-hidden thoughts that she might love uncle Haldir in a very different way than that of a goddaughter to a godfather. Instead of feeling intruded upon, Annawen felt relief, as though a heavy burden had been lifted from her young shoulders. Though the Lady Galadriel had not spoken, when she had released Annawen from her gaze and greeted her aloud, Annawen felt strangely comforted and understood.

Annawen was completely in awe of the Lady Galadriel. To think that she was the great-granddaughter of this incredible elleth! It was even more surprising to learn that uncle Haldir had been marchwarden of the very realm she had governed. Haldir had never mentioned this, and Annawen listened with rapt attention when songs and tales of the Third Age of Middle Earth were shared around the roaring fire after dinner. Later, as the Lady said her goodbyes, she nodded slowly to grandfather and took Annawen by the hand, strolling with her to grandfather's gate. "Do not fear to be who you are, child" the Lady told her in a low voice that was meant for Annawen alone, "for to do so would be to live only as a shadow of regret."

After the other guests had left and the family was preparing to retire, the Lady's word had given her the courage to ask her ada if they could stay with grandfather through dinner the next day as well, whereas they had planned to leave before midday. When ada had asked her why, she had straightened her shoulders and told him that she had decided upon her Chosen Name, and wished to share it with them at dinner the next day. Of course, her ada had instantly rejoiced, and shared an unguarded look with nana that clearly said "Finally!"

Annawen could not sleep that night. Things were so much easier when she stayed in the background. Why, oh why, had she done it? She knew why: The Lady Galadriel had been right – Annawen did feel like she was living in her own shadow. She was weary of worrying about everyone's feelings but her own – she hadn't realized how deeply weary until her great-grandmother had spoken. Besides, ada had told nana, uncle Haldir, uncle Elrohir and grandfather as soon as the words were out of her mouth. It was too late now.

The morning mist was rising from Elrond's vineyards. The rows of grapes on the shoulders of the gently rolling hillocks stood in bright shadowless sunshine. The dewy air, white with moisture, lingered in the hollows between. Haldir found Elladan and Elrohir on a sunny bench in the midst of the vineyard and sat with them to watch Annawen and Elrond a few rows away. Her grandfather was testing Annawen's progress in determining each vine's readiness for harvest. In Elrond's vineyards, as Haldir knew, an entire section was not harvested at one time. Each vine was checked individually, and only those grapes that were at exactly the right sweetness were picked and delivered to the crushers – even if that happened to be in the middle of the night. Instead of a few days, the harvest could last upwards of two weeks and involve a host of pickers, but such meticulous effort was well rewarded. Elrond's wines were prized throughout Aman. The results of each year's vintage were awaited with rapt anticipation by all, and the serving of a precious bottle was an honor for a guest at a host's table. It appeared that Annawen was showing some skill in the care of the vines, and a keen interest in winemaking. Elladan was considering starting a small vineyard in their own garden.

Haldir followed Annawen's movements as she and Elrond walked around the last of the rows between them and the bench he and the twin brothers waited upon. Annawen stood with her backs to the seated ellyn while Elrond waited for her to choose a vine. Haldir silently observed that the view from behind was quite as lovely as the view from the front. Annawen paused to choose a grape. She turned toward the bench, but Elrond shot Haldir and his sons a sharp look that warned them of dire consequences should they dare to coach her. Haldir watched Annawen as she raised the grape to her rosy lips and popped it inside her mouth. A most ungodfatherly stirring struck him and he wondered: When had this vision before him become a most appealing elleth, and not a child?

Elrohir laughed as Annawen's face twisted into an unladylike grimace and she spit the unsuitable grape onto the ground. She reached up for another, and let out an exclamation of pain. Both Elladan and Haldir flinched at the same time, as if their own fingers had been caught on the offending wire instead of Annawen's. Annawen moved on to the next heavy cluster of grapes, sucking her finger and apparently unconcerned. Elladan and Haldir relaxed.

"Grandfather, why not grow Zinfandel instead of these," Annawen suggested. "Zinfandel vines do not wish to rest on wires."

"The variety you prefer," Elrond patiently explained to her, "does not appreciate the cool ocean fog that blankets the hills about Tirion in the mornings and evenings. These, however, savor the moist air that drifts in and out from the sea."

"Just as we savor relaxing times such as these with our friend Haldir, who likewise drifts in and out from the sea," observed Elrohir.

A pair of gulls swept noisily overhead, as though to emphasize her grandfather's words.

Annawen sighed her good-natured disappointment. She would just have to grow her favorite grapes somewhere else, then. She tucked the offending strand safely into the thin wire rope, and gracefully moved on.

Every rose had at least one thorn, Haldir thought to himself, but he could see no thorns at all in Annawen, no errant strands escaping a well-woven rope. She was beautiful, with long, dark hair that had at first been nearly as black as her fathers but now glinted rich and brown in the brilliant mid-morning sun. Her eyes were as loamy as a forest floor, with hints of green that might appear in a certain light and made Haldir want to loose himself looking for them. She was keenly intelligent. Her quiet demeanor hid a core that was strong-minded and stubbornly persistent. Haldir saw this as a positive strength rather than a fault. The only thing that disturbed him about Annawen was that she reminded him increasingly of Marian. Marian had possessed the same brown eyes, the same underlying strength of will. Annawen had a way of suddenly jolting him back into memories that were precious and yet extremely painful, and that took a supreme amount of discipline to contain. This was not a fault of Annawen's, however. No, for his reactions he had only himself to blame. It was apparent to Haldir that he had not been successful at shielding Annawen from his inner turmoil. Her growing reserve around him could not be completely attributed to her age – Haldir knew that he was also to blame. She no longer threw herself unguardedly into his arms when she ran down the green slopes of her home to greet him – she stopped short and shyly took his hand, enthusiastic at his arrival yet carefully choosing her words as she walked with him back up the path. Haldir felt a loss and guilt that, for all of his years, he did not know how to repair. He wished, not for the first or last time, that Rumil would come home. Orophin was no less dear or close to him than Rumil, but Haldir did not wish to burden Orophin with a deeply personal pain that seemed to have no cure. Haldir both desired and dreaded Rumil's return. He wanted his brother safely home, yet with him would come news of Marian and perhaps the means of her death. It was news that Haldir craved, but it would reopen a wound deeper and broader than any mighty blow that he had seen in battle, and one much more difficult to mend.

No, it bode no good for what little peace of mind he could muster to watch Annawen laughing and gathering grapes with her grandfather, and think of Marian, and feel the stirrings of desire for Annawen that he shouldn't be having; that he refused to have. It wasn't fair to Annawen. It wasn't fair to Marian. Besides, if Elladan ever realized the way Haldir thought of his daughter when he looked at her, he would surely roast him alive.

Haldir wondered what surprises Annawen's Essecilmë9 would bring. He remembered his own name-choosing ceremony with fondness. He had included only his own father and mother – neither Rumil nor Orophin had yet been conceived. It had been a defining moment in his youth, solidifying his own self-awareness. He hoped it would be as proud a moment for Annawen.

Elladan was enjoying the morning immensely, yet his thoughts flew forward in anticipation of the evening ahead. His father had confided to him that he considered it possible that Annawen carried a fëa reborn. Perhaps the name that his daughter was about to choose would give them some clue as to who she had been in her past life, and who she would fully become in the future – a seamless mixture of her past and present self. Elladan's heart swelled with love and pride for Annawen. She was nearing maturity, and would soon trade her slight awkwardness for the goodness and strength that a father could recognize waiting just below the surface. Any ellon would be lucky to win her heart. He admitted, however, that he would prefer Haldir above all others. And if Annawen's guarded but almost worshipful glances at him were any indication, she might grow to prefer him in a more mature way as well.

Even with ages of patience learned, he could hardly wait until the Essecilmë.

"IMPOSSIBLE!" Master Elrond's outrage reverberated around the paneled walls of his study and startled a trio of ellyn walking by outside on the terrace.

Annawen was not surprised by her grandfather's outburst. The naming of an elf after a mortal was unheard and unthought-of in all of Aman. She had prepared herself for all manner of shocked reactions.

When all had gathered around the fire to sip miruvor after a most joyful dinner, Annawen announced that she had given herself the chosen name of Marian. Haldir's breath caught in his throat and he thought he might not be able to breathe ever again. Allinde came to his side and grasped his arm, but he waved her off. She then attempted to break the tension by asking Annawen if she had named herself after Allinde's mortal friend in Arda. She gave her daughter a reassuring smile that Annawen was grateful and relieved to see. But Annawen answered no, she had wanted to call herself Marian simply because fit her, and asked if there was something wrong with that. Allinde quickly answered no, of course not, and after a flicker of silent consultation with his twin, Elladan nodded his assent.

"I suggest," Elrond said tightly to Elladan, "that you discuss this with Annawen before she makes a final decision."

"I have the right to choose my own name, do I not?" Annawen stood and confronted her grandfather. Elrond might be outraged, but so was she. She was not going to hide in the shadows any more. Yet she glanced worriedly at Haldir, who had not spoken.

"My daughter is dead," Elrond said, his voice lowered but his hands shaking, "Arwen, your sister," he glared at Elladan and Elrohir. "Dead, because she chose to bind herself to a mortal. An elf, denied to ever set foot in Elvenhome. Now you tell me," he turned again to Annawen, "that you stand here an elf, reborn of a mortal. Here, in Valinor?"

Not until Elrond voiced his objection did the concept that she might actually be this mortal woman fully enter Annawen's mind. Now it sprang from a small spark to a bright light in her consciousness. She staggered with the realization of what her thoughts and dreams might foretell. Elladan steadied her with a reassuring hand on her arm. Still, there were so many unanswered questions, so many half-formed memories, especially when it came to Haldir. Could it be true? Inside her heart, she now knew it was more than possible. This mortal was part of who she was – Marian.

"Adan," Allinde spoke in her daughter's defense. "Because something has never happened before, does not mean that it cannot happen."

No," Elrond spoke decisively. "Not even Manwë himself can change the fate of the two races. Such a thing is not possible. Annawen, you must reconsider your decision."

"This is my decision, grandfather. I am sorry that I have disappointed you. I have chosen the name that I have long considered in waking; a name I have often held in my dreams. I will not relinquish it. My chosen name is Marian."

Annawen looked again at Haldir. His eyes were turned away and he seemed to be looking through, not at, the wall of the room. How very far away he seemed. Annawen began to be very afraid. What had she done?

"I wanted to share my name with you," she said, her voice beginning to waver. Annawen swallowed hard. She would not cry. This was supposed to be a happy occasion, but it had gone so very, very wrong. "You are my family – all of you," she emphasized, and her eyes stayed on Haldir. "It was a gift," she pleaded. Finally he looked at her, and his palpable anguish nearly made her cry out. She thought that she might lose her dinner.

"Annawen," Elladan said, putting his arms around her. He trusted that his father would understand that although he loved his sister and her memory, he had made peace with her decision. This was not Arwen – this was his daughter. "Marian. I am honored that you have shared your chosen name with us."

"As am I," Allinde said, and hugged her daughter. Allinde's mind was flying with excitement. It fit, all of it: Annawen's knowledge of things no one had taught her – things that Marian would know about; her strange behavior around Haldir; her very appearance; and Allinde herself feeling a bond of friendship with her daughter that was almost as strong, and yet so different, from a mother's love. She felt Annawen clinging to her, and a wave of sympathy washed over her. How difficult it must have been for her, all of these years, and how confusing! "I believe you," she said, and then stepped back to check on Haldir again. Haldir! At last he and Marian could be together. But Haldir appeared to take Annawen's announcement no better, and perhaps even worse, than Elrond.

Annawen waited for Haldir to speak. The few yards between them felt like a chasm. She loved him. Her dreams told her that she had loved him before. Had he felt the same? Did he feel anything for her now, other than the shock that he had just now managed to hide again beneath his stern façade? What had happened between them, and when would she remember?

"You indeed have the right to choose your name, and you have done so." Elrond came toward his granddaughter to kiss her on the forehead. "So be it," he sighed. "Your coming adulthood will reveal more to you than we here can say. Soon you will remember all, and then we shall see." He motioned to Elrohir, Elladan, and Allinde, and they quietly left the study. Elrohir squeezed Annawen's arm, kissing her on the cheek as he walked by.

Haldir held Annawen's gaze. His jaw worked, his nostrils flared with barely contained emotion. Annawen needed to know what that emotion was. Fearing the worst, she walked stiffly across the expanse of the study's rug to where he now stood, preparing, Annawen thought, to leave the room. A strong wave of physical desire washed over her body from head to toe. The sensation felt at once familiar and new. It excited her. Magnificent, she had called him when she was little. He made her breath quicken just to be in the same room as he, even under these circumstances.

"My Chosen Name disturbs you greatly, dear uncle," Annawen managed to say. "I would know why." Her heart pounded. Would he tell her what he was feeling, and why?

Haldir was angry. With a few words Annawen had placed his confusion about her and his broodings for Marian squarely before him. No longer could he attempt to relegate his grief to a private corner of his thoughts. Nay, she would have him speak of it aloud!

But Haldir was most angry with himself. Elves accustomed themselves to loss. It was a part of the nature of their immortal lives. An elf loved a flower no less for the knowledge that it would soon wither. Perhaps the flower was even more precious for its transitory beauty. Not until Marian had losing been so unbearable, and time had not lessened the sharpness of his pain.

Annawen had tipped him off balance as the outrush of surf might make one who stood ankle-deep in its waters dizzy, with the unseen sands washing out beneath one's feet. He had thought himself stronger than this. Yet an elleth almost still a child could humble him thus.

Annawen had claimed the impossible, and how he hungered to believe her! One part of him demanded that he sweep her into his arms here and now, ignoring that he floundered in a sea of emotion in which he could not separate his desire for Annawen from his desperate need for Marian. This part of him wanted to believe without question that Marian was here – impossibly, wonderfully here just inches away, and could be with him for an eternity.

Another part of him held him back from doing so, the part of him that had learned the wisdom of the ages he had experienced. Annawen had not yet the benefit of the same, though she would in time. This part of him reminded him that such experience carried with it an equal measure of responsibility toward this young elleth. This part of him told him that Elrond's words were not to be denied. The doom of Men was a thing unknown, yet completely separate from the doom of the elves. Annawen had been his salvation, a gift as sacred as these Blessed Lands themselves. Would she be his bane as well?

He must stop this fantasy before it grew; before Annawen was consumed by it, and he consumed with her.

Yet also because Annawen was young, because she had not yet fully remembered her former life – and Haldir acknowledged that she must have had one – he could not be sure. What if it was true? What if, for reasons unfathomable, an exception had been made, just this once? He would wait, and watch. In the meantime, he must not encourage her. Yet Annawen at least deserved to know a little about her namesake. He would tell her about Marian – as much as one of her youth, at least, should know.

Annawen listened to Haldir speak of her mortal namesake. She heard the unmistakable grief in his voice and saw it in his features as he spoke. This Marian, she asked in horror, had she hurt him?

"Nay, she loved me completely, and that love I returned, as best I could," Haldir told her. "I was fain to leave her, yet my vow held me to my cause. It was a bitter parting, and upon it I made a final vow: To never bind myself to another, for love of her."

Annawen would have been left hopeless and jealous of this woman, but for her newfound certainty that she was within her, waiting to be fully revealed.

"Don't you see," she told him excitedly. "I am she, and once I remember all, you may cast away such a grievous vow. For I will tell you now that I love you, Haldir," she confessed daringly. "Even as Annawen only, I love you."

Haldir cautioned her, and it nearly broke his heart to do so. "Pen-muin11, you touch my heart beyond measure. Yet be heedful of Elrond's wisdom. What you have said is not within the power of the Great Ones to make come to pass. This and my vow stand unyielding between us.

Dear Annawen. Consider these things for the months to come before we meet again. Dreams have many meanings, and there may be power in a name that is beyond what the name itself intends."

Haldir was almost relieved when he bade Annawen and the House of Elrond farewell, leaving once more for the harbor. He was almost so bereaved at the thought of leaving her that he could hardly straighten his shoulders and turn to go.

For Annawen's part, she was encouraged rather than daunted by Haldir's words. She understood at last why the things she said and did tortured him so – she reminded him of Marian. Annawen now knew how she could fulfill her deepest desire: To make Haldir happy. All that stood between them now was for Haldir to accept that she was Marian. This, she would make sure came to pass.

Elladan kept his eye half on Haldir, half on Annawen as they rode horseback through the new vineyard of Zinfandel grapes that he and Annawen had planted between the kitchen garden and the forest. Though years had passed, he remembered Elrond's warning when, some time after Annawen's Essecilmë when his heart had softened somewhat toward his granddaughter's assertions: "If Annawen is both herself and this mortal woman reborn, the difference in the races may be too much for Annawen's mind to bear. Be watchful as she nears adulthood, my son, and come to me in the slightest need." Elladan had assured his father that Annawen was strong, and that she would be fine.

Annawen was now mere months from her coming of age. So far, Elladan believed he had been correct. And she had remembered much; much that according to Allinde, only her friend Marian would have remembered. Elladan trusted his wife's judgment in this. His daughter was a most unusual elf indeed. Unusual, and delightful. Elladan was proud to be her adan. And he suspected that Haldir found her to be delightful as well.

Annawen felt more carefree than she had in a long time. She had spoken her Chosen Name, and had stood firm by it. Yes, she had shocked Haldir, and her parents, and certainly Master Elrond, but Haldir had not deserted her. He had returned several times since, exactly when he said he would. Tall and graceful, he was even now riding ahead of her and her ada to the top of the hillock that looked down into the forest. She wished that he would ride next to her instead. "Scouting ahead," her ada called it, but she could not imagine why such care was necessary. This was Elvenhome, not the forests of Tar-. . . Tar-. . . oh never mind, Annawen dismissed the half-thought with a huff. She was convinced she would remember what the name was, in time.

Annawen looked down into the woods to where her secret place would be were it visible. Just yesterday she had told herself that she was finished with it, having felt an urgency to accomplish such physically demanding work while she was young. After all, a part of herself warned, there was only so much time. Yet Annawen knew with an elf's wisdom that the small dwelling would never be "finished." She would expand or shrink or otherwise change with time. Plants would grow about it, claiming their rightful places up and around its walls, taking hold and sprouting on its roof. She had already gathered and set small seedlings around and upon it, training them to conceal and protect it. No, Annawen told herself, it was decidedly unfinished, and she had the rest of her immortal days to perfect it. She told the impatient part of herself to relax. Goodness, sometimes she felt like she wasn't even an elf.

Since her Essecilmë, her dreams of another, mortal life had increased in frequency, length and detail. Her dreams of Haldir had become more, well, personal. This pleased Annawen greatly, as her love for him was now stronger than ever. It didn't matter if it was because of her dreams of him or because of his very real, masculine presence. In both waking and sleeping he had continued to grow more attractive and desirable to her. Her physical reactions to him had grown in equal measure, now so pronounced that she blushed with the newfound knowledge of her own desire. How she wanted him, almost constantly, whether he was present or not. The simplest thought of him, so intensely male, brought images and sensations she had never before thought of – wanton, almost shocking images of what they might do to and for each other, in private. Annawen wanted these things with Haldir. She wanted his lips and his hands to caress her in waking, not in her fantasies only. She wanted him, and only him. What, she wondered, would it really feel like? That was the only thing her dreams, her Marian, could not tell her.

Every time Annawen would allude to knowledge that she thought only Marian would be capable of recalling, Haldir would now regard her with pity. He would find a perfectly reasonable explanation of how Annawen could have found the information: a conversation with her nana or her friends; the histories that Allinde had begun to compile of their time in Earth. Haldir's pity was more unbearable than his anguish had been before. Annawen knew she hadn't consulted anyone or anything. Her research was her memories, and her dreams. But how she would ever convince Haldir of this she couldn't see. It certainly wasn't from lack of trying.

Annawen watched Haldir out of the corner of her eye as he reined in his mount and looked down into the forest, the fair sun shining on his silver-gold hair. A light breeze played along her skin and lifted her hair as she and her ada stopped beside him on the rise of the hill. Haldir glanced at her for only a moment, like hot sunlight bursting through a sudden gap in a cloud. She wanted to be alone with him.

"Will you not walk with me among the trees, Haldir? Surely one who was for long a marchwarden of Lothlorien yet loves the trees; I can see it in your eyes when you gaze at them. Though a sea captain, I perceive that you favor the forest as do I, yet never have I seen you go within. Will you not walk with me in the forest now?

"That is a wonderful idea," Elladan offered, in direct conflict with the sharp look that Haldir gave him. "Why don't you both go ahead. I believe I heard Allinde calling."

"I did not hear Allinde call," Haldir told him decisively.

"You are not bound to her," Elladan sighed, not too dramatically he hoped. "I have much to attend to. I shall expect you both back for dinner." At that he turned his mount and cantered away, careful to hide his amusement. It was not often that he outmaneuvered his bold friend.

"There is a thing of my own making within that I would have you see," Annawen told Haldir, though she was afraid what he might think of her creation. "No others know of it. Though ada and nana have doubtless guessed they have not asked, and I have not shown them."

Haldir did not wish to encourage Annawen. Walking in the woods with her would only bring forth desire for her and memories of Marian. Both were best left untouched. Yet how could he deny Annawen a simple walk in the woods – what could be a reasonable excuse not to go?

Haldir dismounted and held the reins for Annawen, standing well clear of her as she gracefully swung herself to the ground so that he would not be tempted to place his hands around her waist. They left the horses untethered, for they would find their way to the stables on their own. Haldir accepted Annawen's shyly outstretched hand, and they entered the cool and silent woods.

A stray thought entered Annawen's mind - how odd that the leaves did not fall in this forest. She looked at the back of the hand that Haldir was not holding - why had it not yet begun to wrinkle? She shook her head to clear it. Of course the leaves did not fall in Valinor, and neither would she age; never grow stiff and wrinkled. That part of her that remembered growing old inwardly laughed with delight. The whole of her wondered how she would survive the ages if Haldir would not love her.

A refreshing breeze soughed through the canopy of trees and cavorted in small whirlwinds around Annawen's feet as she and Haldir stepped silently along the mossy forest floor. "Perhaps just a little push," a Voice in the wind murmured to the glistening drops of water on the bank of the sparkling woodland spring.

"We are not allowed to interfere," the Voice in the brook-water's mist quietly babbled back to the Voice on the wind. Haldir sprang lightly over the small stream, yet the toes of his sandals had somehow become wet. He held out his hand to Annawen and she crossed easily, droplets of mist clinging to the hem of her gown.

The green leaves rustled, dissatisfied, in the trees above. "How sad. . . " a third Voice among the branches lamented. "The ellon yet deems himself unworthy. He is wise, but loss and honor still blind him to the Gift bestowed upon them both."

Haldir stopped Annawen for a moment, listening. Had the trees spoken? He listened a moment longer. Perceiving nothing more, he allowed Annawen to guide him deeper into the forest along the faintest of trails by the stream. Here and there the sunlight dappled their richly brown and silver-blond hair as they passed beneath the trees, almost invisible to the eye.

"Just a little push. . . . " the Voice on the breeze whispered wistfully to itself.

The soft breeze strengthened to a strong wind as Annawen and Haldir approached the hidden retreat that she had built for herself. She waited to see if Haldir would notice it among the trees; his eyes were most discerning. She had toyed with the idea of building a talan, but she had decided instead to construct something partially sheltered into the earth - not quite a cave, but cozy and not apt to sway in the wind. And what a wind there was today! The sunny sky had darkened unexpectedly, and she felt the first droplets of rain.

Haldir looked up at the swaying branches above. He thought again that he heard a voice, whispering somewhere in the air. A sudden downpour fell on him and Annawen, like an invisible giant had tilted a bucket over their heads. Haldir looked through the heavy rain for shelter. It began to hail. There - just to the side and back a little from the stream, it looked like there was a place arched over with growth that they might take refuge in. "This way!" he told Annawen, and pulled her toward it. Annawen must have seen it as well, for she ran straight toward it with Haldir, and ducked into the opening without hesitation. Haldir looked around the suddenly dry space they were now sitting in. It was a shelter, much like those the march wardens had built in the forests of Tar-Caranorn. Annawen looked at him expectantly, and he began to understand.

"Is this shelter of your making? Is it this that you desired me to see?" he asked her above the beating of the hail just an arm's length away.

Annawen had never experienced an unleashing of frozen rain in Valinor. The weather was invariably perfect, with the ideal mixture of soft rain, warm sun, and cooling gentle breezes. But now the wind was cold, and gusted into the shelter's entrance along with the rain. They were both soaked to the skin. They needed to go further inside.

"Come," she told Haldir, and sliding to the back of the shelter found a hidden latch. Opening a small door, she led Haldir through and down five broad, curved stone steps, into her private domain.

Annawen shut the door behind them, and the drumming hail became but a soft whisper in the welcoming stillness around them. In the harsh weather this much larger part of the structure had been unnoticeable from the outside. Haldir wondered that he had not sensed its presence. He looked forward to seeing if he could in the sunshine that would surely follow.

Dim light that spilled down from the stormy sky through thin beveled glass skylights in the ceiling above. Haldir gazed around the room, taking in what he saw with fascination. It was like looking into the mind of an artist trying to come to terms with her own dichotomies.

The single room was small yet comfortably sized, with a tiered stone floor that began a few steps lower than the stair landing with a small pool. A slow-spilling fountain that Haldir guessed was fed from the stream outside filled the space with the soft music of its waters. At the other side, the room culminated in an inviting raised fireplace with soft cushions arranged round about in the center. The space was not stiffly symmetrical, but beautifully balanced and proportioned, with just enough variation and surprise to increase, not detract from, the aesthetic effect. It was formed by compacted earth at its walls and wood shingles set on polished tree branch framing that curved and arched in and out and up without a single square corner – the essence of elvish delight in building. Yet here and there he saw incongruities, as if some other force was at work that was not quite at one with the theme, or did not understand it. Joints between earth and wood where intent was confused and the skill to accomplish the transition did not come to graceful fruition. The entry door, another not-quite-right element, assembled in directions that the wood did not wish to go and so would not draftless endure the test of time.

Annawen glided easily across the patterned stone floor in the near-darkness and lit several candles. Next, she moved to light a fire with the tinder and logs that sat at the ready in the sculpted iron grate. Haldir walked around the room as it lightened in the flickering glow, running his hands over shelves and niches tiled in the shapes of birds and fish and other creatures of land and sea. Playful patterns revealed themselves in the floor's stonework. Shingles closely overlapped near the top of the walls, then floated up in an undulating rhythm of spacing, like the stanzas of a song. Haldir's hand stopped on a small, smooth, round knob as he examined the ceiling, and he looked down. There below his fingers was a pearl that had been set into the mantelpiece, and next to it another, and yet another. The pearls glowed in the candlelight, interspersed with shells, agates and many other tokens of the beach and the sea. Haldir was dumbstruck. Annawen – for this could be no one else's work – had arranged and embedded every item that Haldir had brought her since she was a small child on the mantelpiece of the fireplace, the most favored location in the room. He was deeply touched. Yet how to express his appreciation without giving Annawen the wrong idea? He was suddenly, acutely aware that he and she were quite alone in this warm, intimate and very secret room, and there was an unusually bitter rain outside. He suppressed the inviting images that this brought to mind as best he could. His body told him that he was not being particularly successful.

Annawen stood below the steps, intently watching for any telltale expression on Haldir's face as he looked at her handiwork. Would he be disappointed, or worse, amused? She knew her craftsmanship left much to be desired. Marian - her Marian - must have left it to others to realize the ideas that so naturally came to mind. How odd that was. It seemed her education, and her work, had been strangely unbalanced. Take the fireplace, for example. She had struggled for months trying to get it to draw right. She had torn it out three times. At last, in complete frustration, she had copied the precise measurements of the inside of Master Elrond's grand fireplace and reduced them in size until they fit her room. She had been successful. Only then had she pressed Haldir's precious gifts into the mortar of the mantelpiece where they would be safe and she would be able to dote on them, and him, whenever she wished.

Annawen had been pulled first one direction, then another while trying to decide each step of building her private retreat. The process of its building, though, had allowed her to come to terms, if not to completely be at peace with, the often battling tendencies in her own mind. Still, she feared that the results spoke of indecision and a decided lack of confidence. She almost began to wish that she had not brought Haldir here.

Be honest now, she inwardly chided herself: You very, very much want him here, all to yourself. She moved to sit on the cushions, then changed her mind and approached him when she saw him pause at the mantelpiece and finger one of the pearls he had given her. Annawen flushed with embarrassment. She hoped he would not think her childish for treasuring them, and wished she could read an expression – any expression – in Haldir's carefully controlled features.

Haldir looked tenderly down at Annawen as she joined him at the fireplace. The firelight played around and behind her, silhouetting her curves through the wetly clinging fabric of her gown in a most mesmerizing way. He wondered if she was aware of the effect, and if she was trying to seduce him. If so, she was doing so with more subtlety and skill than he would have expected from one so inexperienced. And the flush on her face was most becoming. Haldir felt a mixture of surprise, excitement, and acute discomfort. Excitement because, if she only realized it, not only was she capable of seducing him if she attempted to, but she could succeed just as well without even trying. Discomfort, because he absolutely would not allow it.

Haldir tried with increasing difficulty to bring his rising emotions under control. He had thought his heart to be true, but here he was, barely an ennin11 after leaving Marian and the Hither Lands, longing deeply, urgently for another. Yet Annawen insisted that she was Marian. It would be so easy to give in to the idea, so easy to lower his head and taste Annawen's sweet lips with his own. Then, before he realized it, that was exactly what he was doing.

Annawen had never felt such bliss as she did now, with Haldir's lips caressing her own – her first kiss! How wonderful he tasted – woodsy and male, with the slightest hint of almonds. Almonds. . . a memory flooded her mind – a most vivid memory of a room, and a white bed in the candlelight, and Haldir making the most exquisite love to her. The explicit memory overwhelmed Annawen's senses. Her pulse beat as quickly as the rain drumming on the glass above them. She leaned into Haldir and slid her hands up around his neck and into his golden hair, kissing him with a raw hunger that was shocking to only a part of her, lost in the pure pleasure of finally feeling him hold and respond to her.

Haldir felt Annawen shudder, and he found himself participating eagerly in a most intimate and intense embrace. The thin fabric of Annawen's soaked gown left little between him and what he most. . . he had to stop this! He groaned and forced himself to pull away, pushing her arms down off of his neck as gently as he could, mindful of how easily bruised her feelings might be. How could he have allowed this to happen?

Annawen's feelings were more than bruised. She felt utterly rejected and unbearably ashamed. The most incongruous fears assaulted her, one question rejecting the former in rapid and overlapping succession. Was the taste of her so unappealing? Was she too old? Her hair too gray? Ridiculous – her hair would never be gray – she would always look as she did now. Did he not wish to touch a mortal? She was not a mortal! Did Haldir not remember that he loved her? But Haldir had never told her that he did so in any way other than as a godfather! He had wanted to kiss her - did kiss her - but then he had pushed her away. Annawen grew dizzy with the effort of sorting it out. The room was so hot! She gasped for air that she could not seem to find, and reached for Haldir, who seemed to be growing further and further away, down a shrinking tunnel.

Haldir caught Annawen as she fainted, and eased her gently down onto the soft cushions. "Annawen, pen-muin10, hear me," he appealed, trying to rouse her. Her face glowed suddenly. Feeling warmth upon his neck, Haldir looked up and realized that the sun was shining through the beveled glass above, casting its rays upon them. The downpour was over.

Haldir was appalled with his irresponsible behavior. Picking his still unconscious goddaughter up and cradling her tenderly, he made for the door. He would have to answer to Allinde and Elladan. He would take Annawen home, and repair the damage he had caused to her.

Annawen and Haldir had missed the evening meal, and it appeared that they would miss dessert as well. Elladan decided that he would take full advantage of this rare opportunity to be alone with his wife. They waited a respectable amount of time, then consumed their share of the fine dinner. Elladan lit a fire in the grate and joined Allinde in the kitchen to finish preparing their favorite desert together. The recipe had just moments ago been modified to involve a bit of chocolate, and even though it was hardly needed, Elladan was looking forward to the effect that he expected it to have both on himself and on the lovely elleth that he was lucky enough to have by his side. But first he had something serious to reveal to her, now that they were alone and in no risk of being overheard.

"Haldir is in love with Annawen," Elladan announced profoundly to Allinde as he whipped sweet cream into the concoction.

"Really," Allinde snorted delicately, marveling at the density of ellyn in general. "And what prompted this revelation?"

Elladan stared at the side of his wife's grinning face as she laid out the small bowls in readiness for the confection that was his specialty. How long had she known before he'd even realized it? The near clairvoyance of his wife had always been a mystery to him. It was one of the many things that attracted him to her so completely.

"He thinks that I would disapprove," he continued, ignoring his wife's question, the answering of which would only be more embarrassing than the fact that she had noticed first. "I would not. I would be proud to accept him into our family. He would make Annawen happy."

"Then tell him so," Allinde suggested, receiving the mixing bowl from her husband's hands – such skillful hands, she sighed to herself – and ladling its contents into the waiting bowls.

"I can't," he stated the obvious. Why didn't ellith understand the simplest rules of male relationships? "Haldir must speak first, and you know he will not. He will not allow himself to believe that Annawen could also be Marian. Without such assurance, he will never allow himself to acknowledge his feelings for her. He is far too proud. And without him admitting to Annawen that he loves her, neither he nor our daughter will ever be happy." He took the ladle from her and set it down hard on the counter. "I am deeply concerned for both of them. Haldir is my friend as well, but you know him best, my love. What can we do?"

"We must have a party," Allinde said matter-of-factly.

"I am not following you," Elladan said patiently, knowing that his wife's reasoning, though often unfathomable, was sound.

"We will host a dance," Allinde said, becoming more excited as her mind flew with the possibilities. "in celebration of Annawen's coming into adulthood. We can arrange it for the next time Haldir's ship returns to the harbor – that will be close enough to her begetting day to be plausible. And being her godfather, he will have to attend. It is the perfect opportunity. When Haldir sees her as an adult – when he dances with her, as will be his duty – he will have to admit to himself how he truly feels."

"How will simply dancing with our daughter make Haldir suddenly admit he loves her?"

"Why do you think ellith plan dances to begin with?" Allinde gleefully asked her husband. "Because of the effect it has on ellyn," she confided sweetly, picking up two bowls to take into the living room where the warm fire and soft cushions awaited.

"Every elleth knows that males rarely dance solely for the purpose of dancing," Allinde told Elladan suggestively, and brushed against him with lowered lashes as she walked away.

As he watched his wife glide out of view, he felt his toes curl and his pulse quicken, as it always did when she spoke to him in such a tone of voice. He decided to follow her at once.

Elladan twirled Allinde and dipped her onto the cushions in front of the divan. He was just beginning to consider the best use for the whipping cream on top of his untouched dessert, when the front door in the entry was flung open with nary a knock. Elladan stood to look over the divan and saw Haldir's stricken expression and his daughter hanging limp in his arms. Thoughts of all else evaporated instantly.

"We were caught in the rain," Haldir began to explain as he carried Annawen to her bedroom.

"What rain? What has happened?" Allinde asked as she rushed after her daughter. It had been a lovely, sunny day with an even lovelier sunset. There had been no rain. Haldir and Elladan laid Annawen on the bed, and Allinde put a blanket over her, modestly removing her damp clothing underneath.

"I remember. . . " Annawen mumbled, yet still her eyes remained shut.

"What do you remember, Annawen?" Elladan coaxed, smoothing her hair with his fingers. Elrond's warning echoed in his worried mind – that a mortal's memories might be so discordant with their daughter's elvish nature that they could not be joined without harm to her.

"I fear I have caused her much distress," Haldir replied truthfully, ready to admit all and remove himself, as he should, from the honor of remaining Annawen's godfather. But at that moment Annawen opened her eyes groggily and to her surprise, found herself in her own room. "Like Dorothy and the Wizard," she mumbled to herself, blinking at her parents hovering over her. Then she saw Haldir, and turned a deep, beet red. "How long have I been here?" she asked him.

"Only a few moments," Haldir replied, taking her hand and sitting next to her on the bed.

Elladan wondered, among other things, which wizard Annawen was referring to. But both he and Allinde saw that their daughter and their trusted friend needed to speak privately. Explanations could wait. That Annawen had awakened and appeared to be sound in spite of her emotional discomfort, was enough for the moment.

"Stay," Haldir insisted.

"I remembered quite clearly," Annawen repeated to Haldir, "just before I fainted. I remembered – Marian – me - making love to you. I could see it in my mind.

Why won't you believe me?" Annawen said to Haldir's stony silence. "I do not lie – I have never lied to you! Nana, tell him you and ada know I speak the truth."

"We believe her fëa and Marian's are one and the same," Elladan spoke in his daughter's defense. "How else would she know such a thing?"

"Would it not be a wondrous thing," Allinde told Haldir gently, "and heal your heart at last?"

"I have considered it thoroughly" Haldir told them, closing his eyes for a moment. "Your daughter would never purposefully seek to mislead," he took Elladan and Allinde aside. "Lord Elrond your father has cautioned that with the memories of a previous life comes much confusion. Annawen has heard tales of Marian from both our and others – even from myself. However innocently, she may simply wish to be her when in fact she is not. I dare not err, for your daughter's sake more than for my own."

Haldir turned back to his goddaughter. "Annawen, do not seek to convince yourself you are Marian in order to please me. You are a most strong and lovely elleth. You need not try to be more, nor any other than your own self."

"I am not trying to be someone else – I only seek to have you accept who I am. I know you have feelings for me that you do not wish to acknowledge – I saw it in your eyes today, and in your embrace," Annawen insisted tearfully. "Why do you deny it? Must you not be truthful to yourself, if not to me?"

"I do not deny it," Haldir said quietly. "You have spoken frankly to me, pen-muin, and it is time I speak openly to you in return," he said, and laid bare his heart to them all. He told them of his inner struggle, his dreams, his doubts and his fears. For the first time in ages he could not see his way clearly, could not perceive the path that he should take. He must not fail them. He must be sure, beyond any shadow, any uncertainty.

"What would make you sure, Haldir?" Annawen asked, "for I am certain, beyond question or doubt."

Haldir looked to Elladan and Allinde, and they nodded their permission.

After a long moment, Haldir replied, regretting deeply that he must ask Annawen what he was about to ask of her. "If by the singular grace of Ilúvatar you are both Annawen and Marian reborn, then you must recall the one gift I gave Marian at our joining that no other could give you."

Annawen struggled to recall. There was so much more she remembered, but she did not yet remember all. And she had only just remembered that precious night. She chased the shadows of her thoughts, round and round. "I remember. . . you wished to give me something. It was. . . wait. I. . . " Annawen tried as hard as she could to recall Haldir's whispered words in her ear, but they would not come to her. "I will remember. I will. I just can't do it right now. I will remember!"

"Annawen, I am sorry to be so cruel," Haldir took her in his arms and held her tightly, trying to sooth the anguish that he alone was causing her and her parents, his friends. Demanding such a thing from her had done no good – he was still as unconvinced as before, and Annawen was still as confused.

"I will remember," Annawen whispered into his shoulder. "I will remember. I promise."

Haldir paced the deck in a dark mood, though outwardly his crew saw nothing in his manner save patience and the sure confidence that they had grown to know and rely on. So complete was their trust and respect of their Captain's abilities and judgment that not a one of them would hesitate to place their life in his hands. Most of them had done so more than once, for a voyage of adventure with Lord Haldir was not to be embarked upon lightly. He feared little, it was said among the elves of Valinor, save those things that only a fool would lack fear of. Some whispered that his stalwart courage was born of a lack of regard for his own safety, born in turn by some tragedy in his past that had left him grim and determined. Yet this stern outer countenance was balanced by his fairness and attentiveness to the well-being of his crew. When asked of the whisperers, none could name what tragedy might have befallen him. And as the Captain never put his crew purposefully at risk – the far reaches of the sea were risk enough for all - the whisperers became either silent, or were asked when next the ships dropped anchor in the harbor not to return.

Gwilhim considered the dark storm clouds roiling low and menacing off their port bow. One thing that only a fool might not fear, Haldir's First Mate mused, were the Shadowy Seas ahead. The sky had been clear with the promise of a bright day ahead when they had cleared the towered pass of Calacirya. The bay had lain calm as a lake. The plains of Valmar at the feet of the Pelori had been dewy green, their white beaches sparkling like diamonds. But as the ship had left the Lonely Isle far to stern and reached the open sea, the skies had darkened in the East, and the waters had swollen. The waves now rolled and crashed beneath them, sending salt spray high into the air. The clouds ahead loomed thick and ominous. A monstrous gale was afoot, and Lord Haldir had not yet ordered them to turn north, away from the Shadowy Seas and the Enchanted Isles that the Valar had set at the bounds of the Straight Road between the Hither Lands – Earth – and Valinor. To explore the northern waters in the few days they had allotted for this short jaunt had been their course. Yet the treacherous seas to the East drew their Captain with a power that Gwilhim did not understand. Each time they embarked upon a new voyage, they seemed at this juncture to have a Captain on the verge of forging ahead into disaster. Yet each time, at the last reasonable moment, he would turn away and give the command toward whatever destination they had plotted. Gwilhim was not concerned. Their Captain would turn the ship when he was ready.

"Ulmo is displeased this morning, it would appear," Lord Haldir calmly commented to his First Mate over the buffeting wind.

"Let us hope it is not with us," Gwilhim replied with a grin that disappeared as soon as it formed on his lips. Their ship was already at a point further east than Lord Haldir had ever taken his crew. The sky had grown dark and forbidding, and they were drawing uncomfortably close to the swirling storm clouds, heavy and black with rain. The gale flung the crashing waves at them first from one direction and then another, bewildering the crew. Their sails would be little use to them if they did not turn north soon.

"Captain," Gwilhim began.

"Hold your course," Lord Haldir commanded, peering into the darkness ahead. He was looking for something. The feeling had come over him as soon as they had passed out of the bay: The certainty that they should forge ahead, that something waited to be found in the shadows. He did not yet know what it was, but he had learned to trust his instincts long ago. "Tell the crew to keep a keen eye ahead, mellon.3"

Gwilhim shouted directions to the crew without hesitation. Then he searched his Captain's face, but it was as unreadable as ever. He did not ask what they were looking for; if his Captain had needed to tell him, he would. Gwilhim set his gaze to the east, and gripped the helm hard against the wind and the waves that sought, he felt from his fingers to his feet firmly planted on the soaking deck, to cast them in the direction they were supposed to be heading – north.

Haldir paced the rolling bow once more. The ship's white swan head dipped deep into a meeting wave and up again, drenching both him and those behind him with icy-cold seawater. He considered turning away: No feeling, however strong, was worth needlessly endangering his crew. And the wrath of Ulmo was not to be challenged. Was something really out there, or was his heart drawing him back along the Straight Road, which no elf in the Blessed Realm could travel back upon; back to the Earth where nothing, Haldir told himself sternly - nothing – any longer waited for him? He made his choice. Haldir took one long, last piercing look into the murky east, and turned away.

As he turned, out of the far corner of his eye he thought he saw a flash of white – a small sail, he thought, or was it an illusion cast upon them by the Enchanted Isles?

"Gwilhim!" he called, and looked back to the east. There it was again, a white flutter not far away from them in the growing darkness. "Do you see it? Ten degrees off the starboard bow!"

"I see it!" Gwilhim called back, shaking his head. What madness had driven a small boat here, and in such a storm? Surely it would break up before they reached it.

"Turn fifteen degrees to starboard, and furl the mainsail! Quickly!"

With consummate skill, the Captain ordered the large sailing ship close alongside the small craft, but not so closely that it would endanger it on the still-raging sea.

"What manner of boat is that? I have never seen the like of it before," a sailor declared. The crew stared at the small sleek double-hulled craft that sported orange and red stripes along its slender white sides and a canvas stretched between the hulls. Upon it a lone figure struggled valiantly with what remained of his tattered sails.

The boat was doubly fantastic, for it had been heading toward them, and no ship had arrived from along the Straight Road since the Lords Cirdan and Haldir had done so, many years past. Haldir could think of no elf left to travel thus - but one. His lonely heart rejoiced at the end of this elf's journey, just as his anger grew at the sheer foolishness of the means with which it had come about. It was no wonder that the Valar were angry. Yet the elf had made it this far, and Haldir had been drawn to sail this direction. This and the sudden dropping of the wind told him that though the Valar might be displeased, they meant the lone sailor no true harm.

"It is a catamaran," he answered his crew through gritted teeth, though they had no familiarity with the term or the unusual design of the craft floating below. "Bring the sorry fool aboard, and what is left of his little boat, before he drowns."

Haldir waited with an air of arrogant disdain while the shattered remains of the boat and its contents were fished out of the dark waters and hauled upwards to the main deck. Its crew of one stood wet and bedraggled but firm upon the canvas deck of his boat, gripping a satchel in one hand and raising the other in salute.

"Permission to come aboard, Captain?" the blond elf brightly asked to the gaping crew as though it was a sunny day and he had arrived stylishly dressed for a celebration instead of in tunic and leggings that were as tattered as his sails.

The crew parted as their Captain came forward to examine their new guest.

"Ah, Captain. Permissi. . . Haldir?" the elf gasped in delighted surprise until he saw the look upon the Captain's face.

Lord Haldir walked slowly and deliberately from one side to the other of the expensive and now shattered catamaran, ignoring the elf that stood upon it. He came to a stop and examined the writing on the boat's stern down his nose, arching one dark eyebrow in obvious disapproval. A crewman snickered, but Gwilhim silenced him with a glance.

"The Mary Sue. San Francisco, California," their Captain read aloud in the low, sarcastically dangerous tone that they had learned to avoid at all cost. He shifted his piercing eyes to the elf, silently demanding an explanation.

"I borrowed it," the elf shrugged. "Only yesterday its owner told me that I could use it whenever I wished."

The Captain looked far from satisfied.

"I left her a note," the elf added defensively, jumping lithely off of the canvas and onto the ship's deck, which now rolled only slightly upon a calming sea.

The crew stepped forward menacingly. "I have not given you permission to come aboard," Lord Haldir warned, though his anger was quickly turning to suppressed mirth.

"Truly I did not expect the rare honor of an escort," the elf continued undaunted, stepping directly in front of the Captain and bowing with his hand on his heart, "but since you have already gone to the trouble, I accept."

To the crew's amazement, their Captain's face burst into a wide grin and he clasped the elf in a hearty embrace. "Mae govannon, muindor.4 Welcome home," he said. "Gwilhim, turn one-eighty degrees to port. Take us back into the harbor. My brother Rumil looks as though stepping upon the solid shores of Valinor would benefit him greatly."

"Have you any wine?" Rumil asked Haldir when he had comfortably seated himself in Haldir's cabin. "Or bread, or cheese, or all three? I am famished."

Haldir gathered the requested foodstuffs and placed them on Rumil's side of his desk.

"Perhaps I should sleep first, and then eat," Rumil said, looking first at the food and then at Haldir's bunk in fatigue and indecision. Then he examined his older brother thoroughly. "You look terrible, by the way, has no one told you? And how is Orophin?"

Haldir stared back at his brother without replying, then began to laugh. How he had missed Rumil's annoying, cleansing companionship!

At length the two brothers wiped the tears of a hearty laugh from their eyes.

"Haldir, have I tales to tell you. You must hear what good and unforeseen changes have come to pass. Marian did well by you Haldir, she would have made you proud. I have something I have kept for you." Rumil opened the satchel he had grasped under his arm and refused to let go of. He pulled out a scrapbook, and handed it to Haldir across the desk. "It is a record of her work, Haldir, and of the accomplishments that sprang forth from her efforts. Of course it is from the mortals' point of view, but it is accurate enough in its way." Rumil searched his brother's face carefully, sensing the effort that it took Haldir to listen to his words. He sensed as well as saw Haldir's careworn brow and the deep sadness that flowed from his fëa. "I will tell you about her, when you are ready." Haldir took the book reverently, but placed it on the desk without opening it. He needed to steel himself for what it would contain before he could examine its contents.

"I have much to relate to you as well," he told Rumil.

Rumil was looking forward to attending the coming of age party for Haldir's goddaughter. He would finally see Orophin again, and he was eager for the three of them to reunite at last. Haldir assured him as they stepped off of the ship and started up the first of many staircases leading up through gleaming Tirion to the House of Elrond, that there would be ample opportunity to regale those assembled with some of Rumil's Tales of Arda. Allinde – Rumil was most pleased that she had recovered - would be there to confirm much of what he planned to tell of, so that none would wonder if he exaggerated. And he was excited about meeting Annawen.

"I am sure I can win her heart," Rumil told his brother, to which he immediately received the bristling reply that he was not to toy with Annawen's affections. Rumil read more in Haldir's reaction than he had intended - it was apparent to Rumil that Haldir cared for her. Upon further skillful inquiries, Rumil coaxed Haldir into revealing that this young elleth believed she was reborn of Marian. Rumil was to beware and tread lightly. It was no wonder, Rumil thought to himself, that Haldir seemed doubly aggrieved. "You are taking me to a party for an unbalanced elleth?" he asked to lighten his brother's mood. "She will be a new challenge." Haldir was not amused.

The brothers were welcomed into the foyer of Elrond's home. They could hear music and many voices from the large hall beyond. They were told that the Lord Elrond would greet them within and were relieved of their cloaks, but Rumil kept the scrapbook that he had brought with him tucked tightly under his arm. Haldir paused at the lofty open doors of the hall for Rumil's benefit.

"Lord Elrond's new abode surpasses even the Last Homely House," Rumil commented appreciatively. "Yet even more welcoming is that brown-haired elleth. She is far across the room but already is she so taken by me that she cannot stop staring. Look – even now she is making her way through the crowd toward us, with eyes for no other."

The moment that Annawen saw Haldir and the elf beside him appear in the doorway, a wave of familiarity washed over her. She knew this ellon! He was the other elf in her dreams, the one she had never quite been able to place. Now, as she drew closer, the sum total of all of her memories came rushing back. She ran the last few yards toward him, and threw herself into his arms. "Rumil!" she exclaimed, and held him tightly, refusing to let go. Rumil looked over her shoulder at Haldir in shocked delight – it wasn't every day that an elleth was so willing and easy.

But then she let go of him, stepped back with a frown and put her hands angrily on her hips.

"What took you so long?" she scolded him soundly, and a few elves close by in the room turned to look at the trio in curiosity. "Why did you tarry when your brother had need of you?

"Well I. . . he did?"

Didn't you promise me – PROMISE me – that you would go - I mean, come - back, immediately?"

Rumil gaped at her in utter shock. Haldir took both of their arms and pulled them aside into Elrond's study.

"Annawen," Haldir began calmly and firmly, "you have never met my brother Rumil, though I see you heeded the message that he would arrive by my side. I would introduce him to you properly."

"No introduction is necessary," Annawen replied equally firmly but reeling from the knowledge that she now possessed. "Rumil and I know each other quite well, as you would know if you would acknowledge who I have been as well as who I now am." Annawen turned excitedly to Rumil. Here was the perfect opportunity, she thought. If she could convince Rumil that she was Marian, then Haldir would have to admit it as well.

"Rumil, you recognize me, don't you." How hard could it be, Annawen asked herself? Surely Rumil would know her immediately. He had not seen her as a child in Aman, as Haldir had.

Rumil allowed himself to look at Annawen carefully, for in spite of his brother's warnings, he, Counselor to the Lord Haldir, fully intended to make up his own mind. Besides, this lovely young elleth was hardly difficult to look at, and now he had her permission to do so quite thoroughly. He put the scrapbook down on a nearby table, and slowly examined her features with pleasure.

"Rumil, be serious. Stop flirting" the rather strange elleth chided him impatiently. Rumil was taken aback: Stop flirting? He had yet to begin. "Please," she added almost pitifully, and he read in her eyes the desperation that she was trying to conceal. He could almost believe her; she did appear as Marian would likely have looked as a young woman. She had the dark brown hair that Marian had possessed before it grayed, and the dark brown eyes to match. Her tall figure was similar, but more perfectly proportioned. Certainly her bearing and her disrespectful, cheeky attitude toward him were identical to those of the Marian he used to know. A lump formed in Rumil's throat. He still missed his dear friend greatly, and always would. He could barely imagine the loss that Haldir still must feel at their parting – he could feel the grief emanating from him ever since they had reunited. In spite of this, he had quite enough experience not to allow such emotions to shift his perceptions of the elleth standing anxiously before him and his brother, begging to be believed. And yet. . .

"I will leave the both of you to continue becoming familiar with each other," Haldir said dryly, and began to step away. "Yet be brief, and mindful of Orophin and the other guests who await you both."

"Ask me anything, anything about you and Marian in Arda, and I will tell you about it," the elleth declared before Haldir could completely leave the room. "Ask me how we were – are - best friends. Ask me. . . ask me how it was that you stayed by my side when your brother and all of your kin departed," she went on, and Rumil could see her becoming more and more emotional, as if she really was remembering that most difficult moment. Haldir paused at the threshold. Rumil noticed the stiffness in his shoulders. This elleth's statements were tearing him apart. He noticed Annawen's eyes, focused on Haldir as though she would stop him by the magnet of her gaze alone. Haldir stepped over the threshold and into the company beyond.

"Tell Haldir who I am, Rumil," the elleth turned back to him and desperately shook his shoulders. He thought he saw a very Marian-like wave of self-doubt pass over her features. "Tell him I am Marian Elizab. . .. oh crap!" she stopped herself and swore. Annawen cursed her lack of control. She remembered that she had hated her middle name, and had never wanted Rumil to know it, for he would tease her unbearably.

She cursed! Rumil thought to himself. At the same moment, Annawen came to the same realization. "Did you hear me?" she asked him triumphantly. "Have you ever heard anyone in Valinor swear about anything? Do they even know any swear words? I know a lot of them."

Rumil held up his hand to stop her from listing them. "Dear lady, I have only myself dwelt in Aman for little more than a day," he protested, "and much of that in well-deserved sleep. In the few hours I have been awake in this fair land, I have heard no such offensive utterances save only from you."

"Rumil?" The door opened, and Orophin and Allinde stepped into the room to greet him like the long-lost brother and friend that he was.

"Annawen, you forget your manners. You must share Rumil with our other guests," Allinde grinned.

"You must be hungry, muindor, and you must tell me everything," Orophin said, grasping Rumil heartily by the arms. "Annawen, join us at table. I have seen through the crack in the pantry doors that Master Elrond is providing a superb repast in your honor."

"I will join you shortly," Annawen told them with a pleading look at Allinde. She needed a moment to compose herself. There was much now that she understood. All of the blank places seemed to be filling in with their missing pieces, but her mind was reeling with it all.

Allinde escorted the brothers out of the room, but came back to her daughter's side. "Tell me," she said gently.

"I have just remembered so much, nana," Annawen. "I think. . . I think that I now remember everything. I know without a single doubt who I am. And I am now doubly happy that you are my naneth, my dear, dear friend!" Annawen and Allinde hugged each other joyfully. "Please give me a few moments alone. I am very tired."

"Of course, Annawen. Just don't be too long. Your father will become worried. And you must tell your grandfather. He will be most intrigued – once he gets over it. And he will," Allinde assured her daughter. "I am so happy you have been granted the Grace to be with us – Marian. So very happy!"

Annawen sat at the table opposite her grandfather's desk and looked out the window at the twinkling lights of Tirion. She was so tired. She began fingering the travel-worn book on the table. Hadn't Rumil come in with a book under his arm? This didn't look like anything from Elrond's library. She opened it, and began to read the newspaper clipping on the first page. With growing excitement, she flipped through the scrapbook, scanning page after page and examining the faded photographs. A National Geographic cover: "Methentaurond – Archeological Find of the Millenium." The National Enquirer: "Elves – Are They Real and Living Among Us?" Annawen laughed – the picture under the headline was ridiculous! She remembered laughing with Rumil and the others about it. She turned another page. There was her picture, and there, a picture of a man she knew – Joel, she thought, with a caption: "Noted San Francisco Physician Finds Holistic Cancer Cure." And then another, later photograph of her. Good Lord, she had been old! Annawen stopped at a Scientific American article, and tears rolled from her eyes. It was the photograph of Haldir, the one that she had treasured so close to her heart for so many, lonely years. It had been Rumil, she thought with love, who had kept her going. She clasped the scrapbook to her heart.

The door opened behind her. A strong, warm hand touched her shoulder. "Annawen," Haldir's rich voice spoke her name. If only he would speak her other name as well, and accept that it was hers.

Annawen wiped the tears from her eyes, and turned to see Haldir and Master Elrond looking down on her with concern. She held the scrapbook out for them to see. Haldir looked at its open page, and his face turned white.

"I remember everything," she told Haldir triumphantly, trying to keep her voice steady. "I can tell you everything in this book without even looking at it. Just ask me – ask me anything."

Haldir lifted the book from her hands, closed it, and put it back on the table. "You already have looked at it, Annawen, though I have not," he said with a pitying look, and smoothed the hair back from her cheeks.

"Come into the hall with us, and leave this book and what lies within to its rest. This celebration is in your honor," Elrond reminded her. "Should you not attend it for at least a short time?"

"But grandfather," Annawen began.

"We will discuss this later," Elrond said firmly, and guided her into the hall.

Where had Rumil gone, Annawen wondered? Rumil knew what was in the book. She would find him, corner him, and not let him go until he believed her. There he was, sitting in one of the hall's windowed alcoves, deep in conversation with Orophin. Annawen started toward them, then stopped herself. In her eagerness to prove herself she had thought little about Rumil's reunion with his brothers. It was shameful of her. She would make herself wait, and speak to him later.

Haldir excused himself and joined Rumil and Orophin. Annawen regarded them fondly, for she loved each of them. Of course Haldir was the tallest of the three, and the most imposing. How beautiful he was to her and how very, very dear. Such heartache she was causing him, instead of the happiness that she so fervently intended. Was she really trying to make him happy, she wondered guiltily, or was it only herself she was thinking of?

The brothers took their places together at the long table Elrond had prepared.

"What is your impression?" Haldir asked Rumil in a low voice.

"I assume you are asking me if I believe that your lovely goddaughter, who thinks she is also Marian, could in fact be her instead of in dire need of a healer," Rumil said under his breath. He paused and straightened his knife and fork, then helped himself to a bowl of fruit. Haldir waited. He well acquainted with Rumil's dramatics.

"She is willful and impatient; she insults me without hesitation," Rumil ticked off each observation by lining up a strawberry on his plate. "She is completely indifferent to my considerable charms; she curses proficiently." He took a spoonful of cream and plopped it on top of the row of strawberries for emphasis: "I think she could be," Rumil answered to Haldir's frustrated reaction. "Already she has spoken of things to me that Marian would know. Orophin, what is your opinion?"

"I cannot say," Orophin leaned across the table to respond low enough so that their conversation was not overheard. "I did not know the woman as you both did."

"The words of Elrond cannot be denied," Haldir replied with a frown. "A mortal cannot become immortal, no matter how much I wish it to be so. I will not deceive myself."

"Does it matter?" Rumil asked him. He had almost forgotten how unbearably noble Haldir could be. "She is obviously deeply in love with you, and you with her – I can see it is true. Why not make each other happy, instead of making each other miserable?" Then Rumil became quite serious. "Marian would have wanted you to, Haldir."

"I will not have Annawen or I live a lie," Haldir pushed back from the table, his food untouched. "This must end, tonight."

"Haldir, what has become of you?" Rumil hissed at him. "Surely anything is possible. Have you no faith, no hope?"

"Faith that the very fates of elves and men have suddenly changed, for my benefit alone? No, Rumil, I hold no such faith - it would be blasphemy and arrogance unmatched. And what hope I yet have, I hold for Annawen and her future; not for myself. She must be free of me, so that she can prosper and love another, without the shadow of my grief to poison her.

That is the answer then," Haldir nodded to himself. "I must not see her again, not, at least, for a very long time. Then her mind will clear, and she will at last find her true self."

Haldir waited until the first polite opportunity to leave the gathering, then made his excuses to Elrond, Elladan and Allinde. Lastly, he walked Annawen outside to the grand steps of the house that cascaded down to meet the wide, descending stairs of Tirion, and from thence to the sea that lay sparkling in the starlight.

Haldir congratulated her formally, and bowed his goodbye. He could not bear to tell Annawen the full intent of his departure; only that he would be at sea, this time, for a very long while. Annawen argued with him, as he knew she would. Must he leave so soon? The evening was not yet over. Could he not stay for the dancing, and the telling of tales? He replied that he could not.

It was the book, wasn't it, Annawen said to him. She promised that she would not speak of it, or of Marian again, if only he would stay. He told her he must not. Heartbroken, she repeated Rumil's question - why did it matter, she insisted, if she was Marian or not, when she loved him so completely?

"Ever since I was an elfling," Annawen told him sorrowfully, "I have desired naught but for you to be happy. I have prayed to the Valar for you to see me for who I am – one who loves you now as I loved you before, completely and wholly. But I have learned a bitter wisdom: I cannot make you happy, Haldir. Only you can do so. You left me once because you had to, and I did not ask you to stay though my heart was shattered. Will you leave me now, again, when you are free to remain if you wish it?"

"Annawen. . . " Haldir began, but his voice caught in his throat and he could not go on.

"I am Marian, Haldir, and I love you. Can you not believe me?"

Haldir thought that he might lose his mind. There was only one way that he could truly know for sure. He forced himself to ask her again, "What gift did I give you then, that none other could give?"

Annawen tried to think back, but she was panicking. She had to breathe, and clear her mind. "It. . . it was your name! You gave me your chosen name!" Annawen said triumphantly.

"What is my chosen name?" Haldir asked Annawen, and held his breath. Could it really be her, in spite of everything he knew to be inviolate about the two Children of Ilúvatar?"

She remembered everything, she thought. She must know this. She lifted a silent prayer to the Valar that that this one last memory would not be denied her. It was useless. She just couldn't . . . "I cannot remember!" she cried out in despair.

Haldir bowed his head in defeat. "We are the First Children, Annawen. We are not the Followers. Their fate is not our own. You must come to accept this, for your happiness is my greatest desire as well. That is why I must let you go, pen-muin – because I took a vow I will not forsake, and no less because I love you too much to allow myself to stay. Namarie12."

Helplessly, Annawen sank to the steps as she watched Haldir – her Haldir – leave her again.

Allinde was afraid for her friend and daughter. She had eaten nothing in the two days since Haldir had departed, and had drank little. Neither had she risen from bed for anything but the barest of necessities. Elladan had summoned Elrond to her side, but even he had accomplished nothing. To all who looked upon her, it appeared that she was beginning to fade away.

Elrohir had suggested that they search for Haldir and bring him back, but Allinde had protested: It was not Haldir's fault, she had told them. He had made his choice. Who among them was wise enough to insist he choose otherwise?

Elrond had deferred to the truth of her words. It was, he agreed, Annawen that must now make her own choices. Instead of calling for Haldir, he sent for Rumil, and the scrapbook.

"I have spoken to Haldir," Rumil told them outside Annawen's door. "He will not waver in his decision. He believes he has decided rightly. Even now he prepares his ship to sail once more. I do not know when he will return."

"She is on the porch," Allinde said, guiding Rumil through to the back of the house. "She has lost all hope, and I know not what more to do for her. You and Marian were so very close. Perhaps you can rouse her, and convince her to eat."

"You truly believe her to be Marian?" Rumil asked Allinde.

"I do," she replied without hesitation.

"I would speak to her alone," Rumil requested, and stepped out on the wide balcony that looked over the garden and vineyard beyond.

Annawen was seated on a chaise lounge near the railing, a blanket clasped around her. Rumil was shocked at her haggard appearance, but pulled a chair up next to her as if he was making the most casual of visits. He set the scrapbook on his lap where Annawen could not help but notice it. She gave no acknowledgement that he was there.

Rumil cleared his throat and leafed through the scrapbook until he found the page that he wanted, and propped it up so she could see it as well. Marian had been an architect, so Rumil thought that he should start with the most visual items in the book first, to see what Annawen would do. He held up the cover of a news magazine that had been quite controversial among the mortal critics of the time. It was a photograph of the wooden doors to Methentaurond, with the Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel's figures clearly visible. "Before the Egyptians, before Cro-Magnon – did Elves Rule the Earth? Inside: Credible science, or incredible hoax?" he read.

He waited, but Annawen did not respond. He saw, however, that her eyes had shifted ever so slightly toward the scrapbook. He decided to consider that a good sign, and flipped slowly through the book, stopping at another page with a large photograph. "'Botanical print of newly discovered flowering plant, claimed to have been drawn by the elves. Park personnel have translated the accompanying caption, which indicates that the plant, found within the World Heritage Site and nowhere else on Earth, may have medicinal properties.' One of Gladrel's plates, I am sure. I remember it. The photograph was taken by – now what was her name, the one who was an art historian. She wore overalls all of the time, as I recall."

Annawen looked directly at the scrapbook. Her eyes were dull. "It doesn't matter," she whispered.

"It matters very much," Rumil replied. He turned to another page. "Ah. Perhaps you will remember this one: "Park Superintendent Claims Fairies Built Bridges." You found it particularly irritating at the time, as I recall."

"Idiots." Annawen's eyes flared for an instant, and she looked at Rumil at last. "I was angry, and you laughed about it. I rolled up the paper and whacked you with it. You had it coming."

Rumil stared at Annawen. He knew this elleth, knew her very well.

"Marian!" he cried, and jumped up to dance about the porch. "I cannot believe it! Marian!"

Elrond, Allinde and Elladan came out onto the porch, drawn by Rumil's exclamations.

Annawen had not moved from her position on the lounge.

"Annawen, I can no longer deny what is before my own eyes," Elrond said, bowing his head to her in amazement. "Forgive me for doubting you, granddaughter. The Creator of All must have brought you here for a great purpose, for it is beyond even the power of the Valar to grant such a favor. This truly is a thing new and unfathomable. Arise now, and treasure the Grace you have been granted."

Annawen was weak and listless, but she heard the wisdom of Elrond's words. She had been thinking upon exactly that for days: She had decided that if Haldir would not accept her, she no longer wished to live – how could she live without him? What would be the purpose? But deeper inside, she knew how selfish that was, how unappreciative of her for the chance she had been given. Still, she could hardly conceive of facing the endless years ahead without him. How could she? What could she grasp on to, to keep herself afloat?

"He always told me when he was going to come back," she said numbly. "This time, he didn't tell me. He is not coming back."

"I have changed my mind," Rumil said sternly and crossed his arms. "You cannot possibly be Marian."

"Rumil!" Allinde gasped. "You cannot mean that!"

"I do indeed," Rumil asserted. "The Marian I knew would not give up, lying in bed and fading away in self-pity," he went on cruelly. "My Marian would get up and go after what she wanted. My Marian was a fighter – she would not take 'no' for an answer. You cannot possibly be her." And with that, Rumil turned around and left the balcony.

Allinde and Elladan stood in shock for a long moment, watching silent tears well from Annawen's eyes and fall down her pale face. Allinde cried out and moved to go to her daughter, but Elrond restrained her, and led her into the house. Elladan followed, furious at Haldir's brother.

"What have you done?" Elladan confronted Rumil, who now sat silently outside the front door with his head in his hands.

"He has done what he had to do," Elrond said to his son, putting a hand on his arm. "Wait."

Long minutes passed in silence, and Rumil sat trembling at what he had said. He only hoped and prayed that he had not erred. He had never said anything so hurtful to Marian in his life, even in jest. At length, the three of them heard sounds within, and the door opened.

"Well," Annawen stood in front of Rumil with her hands on her hips, swaying with fatigue that she refused to allow to stop her. "Are you coming with me, or not?"

"I would be honored to accompany you," Rumil stood and told her with extreme relief.

"By the way, you are even more of a pain in the ass now than when I was a mortal."

"I aim to please," Rumil quipped, delighted that he had gotten the last word in for once. He was sure it wouldn't last.

Haldir paused with one foot about to step into the waiting longboat. In spite of his monumental efforts to appear calm and controlled in front of his crew, his chest was heaving with almost unbearable pain. He closed his eyes, torturing himself with the image of Annawen's anguished face when he had left her sitting on the stairs. "Don't leave me!" – her words echoed in his mind – "I love you!" How very cruel a parody it was of another woman, on another shore. He had left her, and now he was leaving Annawen. Haldir choked down the cry of grief that welled up into his throat from the very depths of his being. He could not think of himself, but of the poor misguided elleth that was his goddaughter. He owed her this. If he stayed, he could not help but succumb to her charms, and to her love. He would not do that to her – would not make her his bond-mate, like every fiber of his soul was demanding he do – would not make love to her, with Marian's face in his mind. Indeed, his love for Annawen and his love for Marian were now so tangled together that he could no longer separate them. There could be no honor in such a union, no truth to base a future on, only smoke and confusion. No, leaving was the only right thing to do. He was not worthy of her. Neither was he any longer worthy of Marian's memory. He had to provide Annawen with the time to learn to love another; and he was sure that in time she would. In time, she would give up her fantasy of trying to capture his heart by trying to become someone she was not – someone who was only a shadow to her – and blossom fully into her own unique self.

He would not fail Annawen or Marian. He would take his ship and whomever would follow him far into the northern seas, far closer to the stars and the Wall of Night itself than any had dared before. Let the Valar strike him down for his arrogance: He no longer cared. He must no longer allow himself to gaze upon Annawen's sweet face, for fear of what they would both become.

Do not look back, he told himself. He stepped heavily into the boat, with not a word to his crew, and stared darkly down at the hull as if his eyes would burn a hole through it to the bottom of the sea. With a look of grave concern for his captain, Gwilhim called the sailors to their oars, and the boat struck the first of the ocean swells, the salt-spray sparkling in the clear, Valinorean sun. Haldir saw none of its beauty, but only the blackness descending upon his own heart. How could he endure such loss, such guilt, for an eternity?

"Rumil helped me over the last of the low dunes along the shore, and I found myself at last on a beautiful beach with soft white sand," Annawen told the group of elves gathered around her near the glowing fire. "Clumps of low white-flowered beach plants and wild strawberries tumbled over the sand. Gentle waves swelled and sparkled in the bright, warm light, clear and blue-green, and the call of the white gulls was in the air. Little shore birds with long, spindly legs danced and pecked in and out along the frothy edges of the waves that rose and receded along the shoreline. They scattered nimbly at my approach. I ran quickly and desperately along the edge of the waves, lifting my skirts and shielding my eyes to try and see offshore past the bright light glaring off of the water.

A tall gray ship floated near the horizon, its white sails furled in the warm breeze. But the ship was not what I was looking for.

I cupped my hands around my mouth, calling a name unfamiliar to me, but I knew with certainty that whatever this strange name I was calling, it was Haldir I was calling for. I stopped and repeated the name to myself. It must be – it was – his Chosen Name! I remembered! Thankful that the breeze was at my back, I felt that I had some chance of being heard. I was frantic for him to hear me call him that name, before it was too late. Yes, the mortal in me feared that this would be my only, my last chance. And for once the elf in me held the same fear.

There it was! On the crest of the waves rose a small boat, making swiftly for the ship. It held four people, and one of them, I was sure, was Haldir. His waist-long silver-blond hair fanned behind him in the breeze and glinted in the everywhere-light, a brilliant light without source or shadow, making me feel unbalanced as I ran along the sand trying to draw closer to the boat so he could hear me.

I stopped and waved my arms. If only he would turn, just a little, so he could see me! But the boat was drawing further away.

Unexpectedly, a strong gust of wind hit my back. With all of my might, I called the strange name again as loudly as I could, praying for the wind and the Valar to carry my voice.

After an agonizingly long moment, the tall elf with the silver-blond hair turned, his gray cloak catching in the breeze.

I waved my arms, and called to him again.

He turned away. I had failed. Despair engulfed me, and I sank to my knees in the sand. I forced myself to look back up, to look upon him in the distance just one more time.

The boat hung on a wave as if it was suspended in time. Then slowly it began to turn back toward shore.

I struggled back to my feet, daring to hope again. The breeze died as if to ease the rowers' task, and the sea birds swooped low, escorting the boat toward shore.

Dressed in sea-farer's garb, Haldir lithely swung himself out of the boat and waded toward me, pushing through the surf and shifting sands with long, powerful legs.

He stopped a few yards from me, the tide swirling around gray leather boots that were buckled up to his thighs. His cloak, now soaked to the knees, tugged heavily back and forth with the tide unnoticed as he stared at me with eyes that looked as if they were seeing a ghost; dark, fathomless eyes the color of a moonlit, storm-tossed sea.

"Marian?" he said after a moment in a cautious, bewildered voice, his eyes searching my face like I was a stranger.

Yes, it IS me! I entreated, stepping through the water toward him. I repeated that strange name once more – his Chosen Name - drinking in his form, his face, his eyes, and begged him with trembling lips: "Believe that it is me. Please."

"Elizabeth!" he cried out with dawning recognition. I saw with a joy so profound because it had come from the depths of sorrow, that at long last he allowed himself to hope, to believe. He closed the distance between us, taking my face in strong hands that were shaking, and looking at me reverently like a precious, lost jewel.

I leaned toward him and threw my arms around his neck, and we drew each other into a long-awaited, thirsty embrace.

"Amin mele lle13," he whispered, stroking my hair and rocking me as we held each other tightly. "Amin mele lle, Elizabeth," he repeated as I cried. I felt his tears mingle with mine, salty as seawater, and his hair rose around us on the renewed breeze like a halo."

"And so," Rumil rose and came to stand next to Annawen's chair, "Annawen Marian Elizabeth, vintner of the House of Elrond, and Lord Haldir, marchwarden of Lothlorien, Lord of Methentaurond, and Captain of the Northern Seas, bound themselves each to the other and are living happily ever after, in this very house!

Out of the corner of her eye, Annawen caught sight of Haldir standing almost out of view behind the arched entry to the Hall. He nodded to her knowingly, and Annawen's heart swelled with love and contentment as he crossed the hall to join her. "Amrun nin14," he had called her only that morning, an endearment that she had not remembered until he had whispered it in her ear. And shortly before waking, she had experienced the most wonderful dream. She and Haldir had settled comfortably into the cushions of her secret retreat, and he had begun to make love to her. Then she had awoken and reached out for him, real and solid and warm beside her, and they had joyously finished what her dream had begun.

Haldir's eyes roved lovingly over his wife as he joined her and Rumil near the fire. He had experienced the most wonderful dream just that morning: Annawen and he had escaped to her shelter in the woods. He had lit the candles and kissed her tenderly, then hungrily. He had laid her on the soft cushions, and had begun to make love to her. Then he had awoken, needful of her, to find her soft and warm beside him, willing and more than ready to take him into her arms. Truly, he had been blessed. Tomorrow, unbeknownst to Annawen, he would sweep her off to that very hideaway and complete the dream. He had already started to pack a basket for the occasion.

Thus end Marian's Tales of Arda for tonight," Rumil told those gathered around her.

Annawen put her private thoughts aside for the moment and smiled up at him. An elf near the back of the group raised his voice in song, and soon the hall was filled with music and merriment, as was meant to be in the House of Haldir, in the Blessed Realm.

1Fëa: spirit

2Hrondo: body

3Mellon: friend

4Mae govannon, muindor: Well met, dear brother.

5Nana: mommy Naneth: Mother

6Ada: daddy Adan: Father

7Elleth: female elf Ellith: Female elves

8Ellon: male elf Ellyn: male elves

9Essecilmë: Name-choosing ceremony

10Pen-muin: Dear one

11Ennin: 144 years

12Namarie: Farewell

13Amin mele ile: I love you

14Amrun nin: My sunrise