CHAPTER II
THE SILVERLODE
It was late in the afternoon when the group of travellers finally struck the Silverlode. It was a welcome sight at first, for the march had been long, and it meant they were making progress. But their smiles soon turned to frowns when they saw the strong, eddying current. Too strong, Annalyn thought. And too deep.
She sighed.
"This is not good," Aldin stated flatly, before glancing at his father who was now standing silent, his stare directed at the fast-moving water.
His brownish-grey hair stirring in the wind, Feran drew a resigned breath. "We will have to find another way across."
With a lingering look at the river, Annalyn clicked her tongue and pulled on the horse's lead. "Come," she said softly to the gentle creature.
Turning east, they set out along the river, and fell into a long silence. Given that the detour had already cost them a few days, the change in direction was somewhat disheartening. Let us hope we can cross soon.
Putting one foot in front of the other, Annalyn tried to forget her weariness and focused instead on the strange forest around them. This place was unlike any she had ever seen before. Little by little, it felt as though they were stepping into a different world, or maybe even a different time. Everything seemed flawless somehow, and the colours… So crisp. So vibrant!
Even the breeze felt different. Unlike other forests, where the smell of decaying leaves could be clearly discerned, the air smelled solely of life, of newly bloomed flowers, and green things that grow. As a gentle rush of wind stirred the leaves to life, Annalyn closed her eyes, and inhaled deeply. When her eyelids fluttered open once more, she pondered the distance and saw a looming outline of trees that seemed even taller than the ones below which they walked. The awe-inspiring sight sparked a memory and made her wonder.
"Uncle," Annalyn started at length, "didn't Elves once dwell in these parts?"
Indeed, it was rumoured that Elves abode somewhere to the north of Rohan, in an enchanted forest filled with trees so tall, they defied the imagination.
Feran nodded. "That is what they say. Although there are some who believe it is nothing but old wives' tales. I, myself, know not what to believe."
Annalyn understood this, for back on the grassy plains of Rohan, there were many stories about the Elves, many of which were told to little children on cold nights. As a girl, Annalyn remembered sitting by the hearth as her grandfather regaled with stories of people who had wandered deep into elven woods, never to return. Whether or not the tales were true, she could not say. But seeing these beautiful woods firsthand, it seemed farfetched to think they could be treacherous.
"If you ask me," Aldin suddenly chimed in, "the Elves have long gone, if they ever lived here at all."
"And just how would you know this?" Annalyn teased.
"Have you ever seen one?"
Annalyn's mouth opened then snapped shut. At length, she shrugged. "I cannot say that I have."
"Well, neither have I. None of us have. And we are not so far from Rohan."
A valid point.
If the Elves abode here, surely someone would have seen them by now. But Annalyn had never heard of such encounters. Stories, yes, as well as faded accounts from long ago. But firsthand experiences? Never. Not even from the soldiers who patrolled Rohan's borders.
As the shadows grew long, the group walked deeper into the woods. To their left, the Silverlode continued to run swiftly eastwards. There seemed little hope of crossing before nightfall.
"We will have to make camp soon," Feran declared at last. Pointing ahead, he indicated a probable area—a small dell by the river's edge. It was roofed with interlacing boughs, making what appeared to be a natural refuge. More than suitable to pass the night, she mused.
If she was honest, Annalyn was grateful for the respite, for the day had been long and her feet were weary. Nevertheless walking had been her choice, and her kin's as well. It was something they did every once in a while, a gift of rest to the horses who carried them faithfully day after day, league after league.
Once the company had stopped, Annalyn stroked Cobalt's neck before unfastening her pack and rummaging inside.
"A warm meal, a night's rest," Aldin said as he retrieved an axe from his belongings, "but first, a fire." When he failed to find any deadfalls, he made for a thicket of trees, where he found a much smaller version of the huge silver trees that adorned the forest. "This might do."
Planting his feet firmly on the ground, Aldin lifted his axe and was about to swing when—
"Daro!" The commanding voice broke through the stillness, startling them.
Alarmed, they looked all around, then up, but saw no one. Slowly and carefully, they backed towards one another for safety, hands on their weapons.
Once back-to-back, Feran shifted his stance, called out, "Who goes there?"
No answer.
As the company kept their eyes on the canopy, Annalyn whispered to Feran, "Whoever is hiding up there might not speak Rohirric. Try the common tongue." Westron it was called. She and Aldin had learned it in their youth from her uncle who in turn had picked it up throughout his years of travel.
Feran nodded in agreement. In Westron, he demanded, "Show yourself!"
At first, there was silence. Then, "As you wish."
So she had guessed rightly. Whoever was hiding in the trees spoke the common tongue, but with a slight accent. One Annalyn could not place.
There was a faint creaking sound overhead, like strings being pulled taut.
Heart hammering in her chest, Annalyn lifted her eyes and saw an arrow, pointed directly at her head. She swallowed hard as her field of vision expanded to take in a bow, and then the archer. Her jaw dropped.
"You are surrounded." There was that voice again—rich and resonant, but stern—from somewhere to her right. "It would be wise to lower your weapons."
"Do as he says," Feran said through clenched teeth. And they did.
Caught between fear and awe, Annalyn beheld the golden-haired sentinels surrounding them. Elves! Three of them. Fair in appearance, they were wrapped in grey cloaks, their dark blue eyes filled with quiet but lethal intensity as they held their bows in readiness to shoot.
"My brothers and I have been aware of you for some time," one said. "Rare is the sight of Men in the Golden Wood." Doubtless trying to gauge their intentions, he pondered Annalyn and her kin for what seemed a long time. Apparently satisfied with his assessment, he then lowered his bow before dropping from his perch with nigh even a sound. His brothers remained where they were.
Standing in front of them, the Elf arched a perfect eyebrow, and scrutinized them each in turn. He was rather tall. "Far is the nearest settlement. Even at a gallop, it takes many days to reach these woods. Tell me, from whence do you come?"
As the Elf circled them, Annalyn couldn't help but wonder if the question was a test rather than a true inquiry. Her throat bobbed. Please answer truthfully, uncle.
"Rohan," Feran answered but cast a hard look at the weapons which were still pointed in their direction. "We have travelled for many leagues, and wish only to pass through."
"So we have gathered," the Elf said before addressing his brothers in a tongue she had never heard before. It was a command, Annalyn realised, for they immediately lowered their bows, but remained ever watchful.
"Have no fear. We mean you no harm. Haldir is my name." Pointing above, he added. "My brothers are Rúmil and Orophin."
After a reluctant pause, Feran introduced himself, then gestured toward his party. "This is my son, Aldin. And my niece, Annalyn."
Bringing a hand to his chest, Haldir gave a small bow, but his demeanour remained cool. "Mae govannen."
Knowing this to be a greeting of some sort, Feran replied in kind. "Well met."
But Haldir remained wary. "The lands beyond these woods are growing increasingly perilous, and are scarcely travelled nowadays. What brings you this far north?"
"Trade," Feran answered. "We have been gathering rare herbs along the Misty Mountains for a number of years now. Ordinarily, our route runs through the Gap of Rohan, then northward along the western flank of the mountain range. Alas our pickings have grown meager of late. Hence the reason we are here, on the eastern side."
"There are mountains in Rohan. Why do you risk such a journey?"
Feran opened his mouth to speak, but it was Annalyn who said, "The plants we covet do not grow in the White Mountains." Her uncle might not appreciate the interruption—and she had tried to hold her tongue—but she and her kin had done nothing wrong. Yet these Elves had fallen upon them as if she and her kin posed some sort of threat. Perhaps they mistook her company for common brigands, or spies.
Offended by the notion, Annalyn stood her ground. "And given that they are curative herbs, they are much needed by my people. Surely you can understand." She held his gaze without flinching. The Elf, however, seemed unmoved.
"Annalyn," her uncle warned her in a hushed tone.
Her blood near to boiling, she bit the inside of her cheek and tapped her foot on the ground. Fine.
Feran looked to the Elf once more. "We do not intend to linger. Conditions permitting, we are hoping to make it all the way to the Gladden Fields before crossing the mountain pass and heading back to Rohan."
"That is quite far." Haldir seemed impressed, but then his expression changed, hardening again. "Alas I am afraid we cannot allow you to wander freely in these woods."
Annalyn was incredulous. "What?"
"You cannot be serious!" Aldin said at the same time.
Forestalling any argument, Haldir lifted a hand, and addressed his brothers. What was said, Annalyn could only guess. As Rúmil and Orophin joined their brother on the ground, she opened her mouth to protest once more. "Wait," her uncle suddenly told her, his hand coming to rest on her forearm.
Her gaze shifting to the Elves, Annalyn watched as Haldir conferred quietly with his brothers.
This is ridiculous, she thought.
At last, Haldir turned to them. "While it is not our custom, we are willing to lead you across the river and out of the forest."
It was not the outcome they had been hoping for, but it seemed they had little choice in the matter.
"You will rest hither tonight. Tomorrow we depart." With that, Haldir whistled like a bird, and three more sentinels appeared.
How many more are there? Annalyn wondered as she spied the interlacing boughs overhead. It was remarkable, not to mention unsettling, how the Elves could move around like ghosts, unheard and unseen, until they wished otherwise.
When Haldir spoke to the sentinels, they nodded. Back to Annalyn and her kin, he clarified the exchange. "You need not worry about foes on this night. This area is well guarded."
"Thank you," Feran replied. "But if it's all the same, my kin and I will take turns watching as well."
At these words, a tiny smirk found its way to Annalyn's lips. Trust goes both ways, Haldir.
For his part, the Elf seemed to appreciate the reply. He nodded. "Very well. If it be your will."
