Chapter 17

Roswyth woke Gilraen in the wee hours of the morning. She could barely open her eyes at the gentle shake of the elleth. Her body felt heavy with sleep, the effects of the elvish wine deep in her muscles. Her bed was so warm, the blanket to soft and weighty on her exhausted body.

"Child, Haldir is here."

The words swept the sleep from Gilraen's mind in an instant. She clutched Roswyth's hand, "He is? Take me to him at once."

"Of course, of course," the elleth held out a creamy cloak of grey to the princess as she slipped from the bed, "Softly now."

Gilraen slid into the warm folds of the cloak, her heart racing. It felt like an age had passed since she had seen him.

Roswyth, a hand in Gilraen's, guided the young woman from the room and through the corridors of the royal abode. No one stirred in the violet hours before dawn. They passed to the grand receiving chamber in silence. There, a few guards still stood in their ceremonial positions at the entrance and foot of the dais. Haldir stood, his back to his, in his full Warden regalia, his sword at his side, a hand resting lightly on the pommel. But his stance was wrong. The easy grace he usually bore was replaced, but a rigid back and ramrod straight posture.

He turned as they entered. His deep blue eyes scanning them both for a moment; yet, not looking at them—at her. Gilraen felt cold suddenly.

"I'll leave you," Roswyth murmured with a squeeze of her friend's hand. Haldir nodded his head and as elleth departed the remaining Galadhrim turned in unison and left as well. As the sound of their retreating step faded away, a yawning silence stretched between them. Haldir studied the floor between them, unable or unwilling to meet her gaze. Gilraen could not help but drink in the tense planes of his face beneath his furrowed brow. His lips were pressed into a tight line.

"Will you not look at me?" she whispered. He glanced at her a moment and then away. His breath hitched in his chest.

"Are you recovered?" He asked tersely, "Do you feel alright?"

Gilraen bite her lip, "Are you—Are you alright?"

A flash of something passed over his fine features and gone a moment later as he shifted his stance, "I was not the one who fainted."

"No," she answered slowly, "I suppose not."

She took a few quick steps to him, but he backed away before she could reach him. His hand came up in a smooth motion to halt her.

"What, am I not allowed to touch you?" she demanded feeling a blush or heat and shame flood her face.

"It is not that," he replied with difficulty, "It is I, who cannot touch you."

"For the love of the gods, Haldir," Gilraen said, "What is this?"

"Right now, your betrothed and his company are resting below under the courtesy of this house. A house I serve. I cannot -it would be wrong in every way." His voice was rough as if he dragged the words out painfully.

Gilraen stood frozen to the spot, his words falling on her like icy rain. He was rejecting her. Anger and hurt roiled in her stomach. She felt hot and cold all in the same moment, "So that is it then? Lord Arathorn arrives and we bend to his will without a fight?

"Gods, no," he swore brutally. His hand gripped his sword hilt until the knuckles were white, "But I am bound to my Lord and Lady. I must fulfill my duties to them. Your-Lord Arathorn is their guest and it would be a disgrace to my Lord's house if I were to force myself up his guest's wife."

"I am no man's wife," Gilraen said angrily.

"In your world, you are as good as his wife," Haldir's voice dropped, "And I must treat you as such."

Gilraen shook her head unable to process the coldness of his words. She pulled the cloak around her tightly.

"Do you mean to say, that now that Lord Arathorn is here, we will pretend as though all of these months, we have not loved each other?" she whispered taking a small step toward him. He did not move.

"That all we spoke to each other of love was wrong?"

Step

"That our love is less worthy than Arathorn's claim on me?"

Step.

"That you will be content to watch me leave the wood with him and never see you again?" She stepped into the circle of his warmth; her face upturned to him. She touched a soft hand to his cheek, "Is all we are to one another nothing, but a dream to be awakened from?"

In a moment, he was crushing her in his arms, his mouth to hers in a frenzied kiss. She moaned and wrapped her arms around him feeling his strength envelope her as she moved her lips with his. The taste of him, the smell of the Lorien trees on his uniform, the tense desire in their bodes as they desperately shared this moment. Gilraen felt tears spilling from her eyes, as slipped her hands into his hair, pulling him closer in. There was something bitter in their kiss aside from the salt of her tears. Haldir was kissing her and yet some part of him was holding back; detached.

She broke their kiss with a sob, "No! Don't you do that. Don't you leave me behind so swiftly."

"Gilraen," he said brokenly, his hands lightly on her arms, "I cannot. I do not leave you."

She shook under his touch, "But you are. You have already decided. I feel it, I can taste it,' she touched her lips, "You've already decided."

Haldir tightened his grip on her, "You misunderstand."

"I don't think I do," she shrugged away from his touch. His expression darkened, but he let her go, "I—I must go. I have much to do. No doubt, I will be meeting with my—husband-," Haldir flinched at the word, "—he has waited a long time to see me. Excuse me."

She fled. Haldir called after her once, but he did not pursue her. Tears poured blinded her as she stumbled back the way she had come. She turned a corner and Roswyth was there waiting for her.

"Oh child," was all she said before she took the sobbing girl into her arms.

The morning dawned soft, and misty with remnants of the previous day's downpour. Arathorn did not admit it to any of his companions, but his brief rest was deep and restorative. The smell of morning fires drifted in the glen they were camped the aroma of food drifting to where he stood on the edge of the camp. Soft snippets of conversation were whispered between them in a dialect rarely used outside their circles. With the Galadhrim nearby, it was unlikely they had any privacy, but the Dúnedain used the language to create a guise of secrecy. They need not have feared. It was wholly unknown to the elves, much to the chagrin of their Marchwarden.

Ygerna approached him, her eyes sharp, "You look like if you slept a week." Her voice cut through the misty morning in heavily accented tones.

"Very little," he assured her, "But some sleep is better than none."

"I'd sleep better if I didn't have the prying eyes of the Galadhrim upon me," she said with a false casual gesture around the area, "It is as if they want us to know they are there-watching us. They could be more—or less. They could be less-" Her hand waving in the air.

"Elvish?" Arathorn asked with a peaked eyebrow. A soft smile slide across his features and Ygerna's heart thumped in her chest. He was beautiful when he smiled, which was not often.

She nodded brickly shaking away the feeling as she asked, "Do you go to see the princess right away?"

"As soon as it is proper," he said his face becoming serious, "We need to make arrangements to travel back as soon as possible and –there is much to be discussed before we leave."

Ygerna leaned forward as if to arrange her clothing while she whispered, "Do you expect trouble?"

"There is no need for trouble," he said cooly, "We have no quarrel with the Eldar. This is a simple visit. We collect the princess and be on our way."

Ygerna pressed her lips together in doubt, "If you say so," she switched to the common tongue, "Shall we go and ask the elves if the princess is ready for visitors?"

"You could ask me yourselves," a clear voice said.

The Dúnedain moved quickly, a little too quickly to be casual at the sound of the voice. They whipped around to find Gilraen standing with her female companion and a single Galadhrim guard. Her eyes were bright.

Nothing reminded of the sleep disturbed woman from the night before. Here stood a young woman, her hair braided away from her face in the elvish fashion, a periwinkle gown peeking out from under a heavy grey cloak. Only Gilraen's full figure and slightly shorter stature gave the lie to her elvish garb.

"My Lady," Arathorn greeted her, taking her offered hand in his and bringing it to his lips. She blushed deeply at the gesture, but she did not faint or draw away from his touch as Ygerna expected, but the young woman was not comfortable either.

"Are you quite recovered?" he asked quietly.

Gilraen gave a faint smile and a swift glance passed between her and the elleth at her side, "Very much so. Thank you."

Before the silence could make the meeting more awkward, Gilraen turned to her friend and introduced her.

"This is Roswyth. She has been my constant friend and companion all these months. She has taken excellent care of me," Gilraen beamed warmly at her. Roswyth turned the smile demurely, "And this is Gault. He is one of the Galadhrim, but you already know that."

Arathorn glanced at the auburn-haired elf and nodded. He took the hand offered by Roswyth and pressed it warmly with his other.

"Thank you for caring for my Lady," he said with genuine gratitude, "I am most thankful."

The way he said 'my lady' made Gilraen feel strange. It was at once possessive and gentle.

Arathorn turned his glance to her, "Lady, might we walk together? Alone?" His flinty eyes settled on the two elves beside her, "We won't go far."

Gilraen nodded, "Of course, we have much to discuss after all this time."

She looked at Gault who nodded reluctantly, but moved toward the party of humans, "I shall practice my common." He said with forced lightness.

Arathorn offered his arm to Gilraen to took it loosely and they walked away from the rest of the gathered folk. He was true to his word; he merely led her a short distance away before they stopped.

The silence was thick between them. Gilraen heard her own breath like a roar in her ears. She felt the rough texture of Arathorn's sleeve under her fingertips. His arm was sturdy and well-muscled beneath. He was every inch the warrior king she remembered from her betrothal if less clean and finely dressed. She stole a glance up at him, but his grey eyes were focused ahead, scanning the area, the trees. A ranger on his guard.

He stopped and offered her a seat which she took if only for something to do. The silence was deafening. But now, he towered over her more as she looked up from her position. She would have laughed at the situation if she were not in the middle of it.

"I…I hope your journey here was as pleasant as may be," she ventured, "It is a difficult time to travel."

"Few times of year are fit for travel," he shrugged, "But we will take a gentler route home."

She started at the words. Home. His home. Their home.

"Oh?" she fumbled with the edge of her cloak.

He watched her fidget for a moment before smoothly sitting beside her, taking her hand in his. His hand was rough and calloused, but warm and board. He looked at her, his grey eyes suddenly softer and his voice kind, "Your hands are cold."

"It is a cold morning," she said truthfully. He nodded and cleared his throat.

"My lady," he said, "I do not mean to alarm or overwhelm you."

"No, of course not," she managed. He was so close she could smell the wind and rain on him. He traced a light pattern onto the back of her hand with his fingertip. The grazing touch was like fire on her skin. This was too much. His nearness was intense, but there was something in his face that she could not look away from as he spoke.

"I am aware that my coming it unexpected and leaves you unprepared in many ways. I do not wish to make you uncomfortable or unhappy. But my people need me at home as soon as we can return. The faster we travel back, the safer the way will be. I would not sure for you to be vulnerable on the road again."

Gilraen found she was looked at their clasped hands until he said the final words. She shuddered at the memory of those terrible days following the attack. As if sensing her thoughts, he wrapped an arm around her. The gesture was strangely intimate and comfortable. Why should it not be? She was his betrothed.

Gilraen shot to her feet and Arathorn followed a second later. She freed her hand without resistance and said as calmly as she could.

"I will need some time to arrange to leave," she said, "To—ready myself."

"Of course," he nodded, "I will send my captain to you to help you with anything you need."

"I have Roswyth to help me," she said.

Arathorn looked at her a moment and said gently, "Roswyth will not be making the journey with us. It would be better for my captain to help you. She is familiar with all the precautions we will need to take to ensure a safe passage."

Gilraen stood rooted to the spot for a long moment. Of course, Rosyth would not be coming with her. Kind, sweet Roswyth would stay in Lothlorien where she belonged and return to whatever life she had lived before Gilraen had arrived. But somehow, Gilraen had never thought of it.

"Yes," she said stupidly. Arathorn's expression softened once more and he touched her arm gently.

"She has been your friend," he asked.

"The best of friends," she answered feeling her heart swell at the thought.

"I am glad you were not alone," he said kindly, "I am glad you were among friends even if I could not be one of them."

"You would have come for me," she said dully, "You did come for me."

His eyes grew dark for a moment and he stepped closer, his hands closing over hers, "I will always come for you. Never doubt it."