CHAPTER III
A NIGHT IN THE GOLDEN WOOD
"A night amongst us," Rúmil remarked as he and Haldir stood just outside the company's encampment, eyeing the outsiders as they saw to their horses before the night. With the end of his longbow resting lightly before his feet, Rúmil observed the newcomers with puzzled interest before looking sidelong at his brother. "A bold and curious choice. May I ask why?"
Now normally Haldir would have bristled at having his directives questioned, for as Marchwarden he did not have to explain his reasoning to those who served under him—nor would his sentinels usually presume to ask. But because this was Rúmil, and because Haldir knew his youngest brother was merely being curious, he tolerated the query, but raised an inquiring brow.
Rúmil asked, "Why not send them back from whence they came?"
A fair question, given that it was standard practice, barring those instances when dubious intentions were suspected. If such had been the case, if Haldir had had the slightest inkling that this company was up to no good, he would not have hesitated. He would have had them detained and hauled before the Lord and the Lady of the Galadhrim, to be judged or released as the rulers saw fit. But fortunately for the outsiders, Haldir had sensed neither deception nor malevolent intention. If anything, they seemed genuine, wearied yet eager to get underway, to leave the Golden Wood to find and gather the plants they coveted before winter arrived.
Returning to his brother's query, Haldir watched the older fellow—Feran—lead his horse toward the river's edge so the animal might drink. "The thought had crossed my mind," he admitted in Sindarin, recalling how he had first meant to turn them away.
But when the man and his niece had explained the company's purpose, even going so far as revealing where they were headed, the new information had given Haldir pause for thought. With a stern exterior, he had weighed his choices with great care, before conferring with his brothers, namely to ask what they made of this company. Their perception falling in line with his own, he had turned to the company and granted them a rare boon, if only to appease his conscience.
"I do not relish their presence any more than you do," Haldir said to Rúmil. "But had I barred their route, it is likely they would have taken to the mountains to circumvent the river and resume their journey north." He leveled a look at his brother. "You and I both know what lies at the end of Nanduhirion."
Moria. A labyrinthine system of caves and mine-shafts. Long abandoned by the Dwarves, yet far from empty.
A shadow of understanding came over Rúmil's features. For a silent moment, distant and haunting memories unfurled in both their minds. His focus shifting to the upcoming watch, Rúmil slung his bow upon his back. "They were quite fortunate, then. Although something tells me they fail to see it." His mouth tilted and he jerked his chin toward the far side of camp. "Her most of all."
Haldir had noted it earlier; the maid was not pleased.
Like her kin, she was courteous enough, had complied with the conditions he had set upon them. Still, the arch of her eyebrow, and the way she was now pursing her lips told him she was displeased. Perhaps their dealings had offended her in some way—not that he would loosen his concession. Haldir had done much already, more than he normally would have.
It was a rare allowance. Downright generous was what it was, a privilege denied to most, if not all, who trespassed upon these woods. Making camp out here, crossing the River Celebrant? It was more than uncommon, it was exceptional. Haldir was in a very giving mood indeed.
A rhythmic swish-swish cut through the otherwise peaceful forest, and Haldir looked up to see that a ladder had been thrown down. As it uncoiled, he spotted Orophin, descending from a hidden talan way up above. From his right hand dangled three lanterns.
Once he had reached the ground, the middle brother made his way over and extended his arm. "Here they are. As requested." Relieved of his burden, Orophin looked to the outsiders but addressed Haldir. "How fare our guests?"
"They are behaving." The absurdity of his own words was not lost on Haldir. But then this was an absurd situation, for instead of watching for actual threats, his attention was now centered on this company, mostly to ensure that no harm came to these woods. Like watching over a group of careless children. "What of our patrols?"
"All appears quiet," Orophin answered. "If anything stirs, they promise to alert us at once."
Satisfied with these tidings, Haldir carried the lanterns over to where the younger fellow was checking his supplies. At his approach, he ceased what he was doing and regarded Haldir with an air of distrust.
"We have a rule here," Haldir said coolly and without preamble. He held out the lamps. "Lest you incur the wrath of the Galadhrim, you should think twice before harming a tree in these woods." The young man—Aldin—swallowed hard at that. Haldir was not sorry to see it. The fool had tried to fell a precious mallorn after all, a slight he had neither forgotten nor forgiven.
It took a moment, but the young man somehow mastered his disquiet. Stone-faced, he raised his chin. "Understood." His gaze darting to Haldir's outstretched hand, Aldin eyed the lamps before taking them and peering through the glass. "No wick. How am I supposed to light these?"
"You do not. Fire is not permitted in the Golden Wood. As for the lamps, they will glow on their own once night has fallen."
The chains clinked as Aldin raised the lanterns at eye-level, scrutinizing them with a skeptical look. "A curious form of magic."
Having neither the time nor the desire to explain, Haldir turned to leave, but the young man called after him, "Wait."
Aldin set the lamps on the ground, and straightened to full height—he was not so tall. "May I have a private word?"
Though weary of discussion, Haldir indicated a grassy avenue between the trees, and started walking. Aldin fell into step beside him.
"You are wary of us," the young man said and was not wrong. "I do not blame you. If our roles were reversed, I would likely do the same."
Haldir maintained a cool stride, but did not lower his guard.
At length, Aldin slowed to a stop and faced him. "But rest assured, I will honour your forest and your ways." Courteous words. Perhaps he was being sincere. "But as you guard this place, know that I, too, guard my kin." It was not a threat, but a word of warning. Not only could Haldir see it in his eyes, but he sensed it as well, a knowing as it were.
He is loyal that one. Protective of his kin. Haldir could respect that, said, "I would not bring shame on myself by telling a falsehood. So long as you follow the conditions set upon you, I shall treat you fairly, and will lead you past the river." Consider yourself fortunate, he almost added, because it was true.
Had the company entered the woods just a few leagues east of here, Haldir doubted they would have been given the same courtesy. For Erynion, the Marchwarden who commanded the neighbouring fences, would not have cared where the company meant to go afterward. Moria or no, he would have turned them away at once. That or he would have dragged them to the city—as punishment for the near-felling of a mallorn—or sent them scurrying by sending a volley of arrows, aimed to miss, but by a hair.
For such was the way in the Golden Wood. The protection of the realm was paramount, and neither Haldir nor his fellow warden liked to take chances.
Indeed, there were two Marchwardens in Lothlórien, one for each half of the forest—regions that were commonly referred to as the Northern and Southern Marches. Named thusly, one would think that the line between the two would have spanned from east to west, in a relatively straight line, but such was not the case.
The Southern Marches, for instance, curved to include the entire eastern edge of the woods, whereas the Northern Marches included the entire western side—where it chanced that Feran's company had entered the woods. By dividing the forest in this fashion, the elven companies could maintain a focused watch on the threats that loomed west and east of here: one in the deep caverns of the mountains, the other in the dark forest of Mirkwood.
In the gathering twilight, Haldir observed the younger fellow, and returned to the topic at hand. "Are we in agreement, then?"
Aldin endured his gaze better than anticipated. After a long moment, he gave a reluctant nod. "Very well. I will place my trust in you." But should you prove false, his face seemed to warn.
Haldir might have smirked at that, but he restrained his features, and remained aloof. "You are quite bold for one of the Secondborn. And brave."
Aldin gritted his teeth, perhaps to stifle a retort. As the leaves rustled in the treetops, the two exchanged measuring stares, silently weighing the other to see if further distrust was warranted. In the end, it was Haldir who broke their impasse, mainly because he had tired of it. "I have not deceived you." With a bow of his head and a hand to his chest, he looked the young man square in the eyes. "So long as you respect these woods and yield to my authority, I am willing to guide you out of this forest,"—and thus be rid of you—"I give you my word."
With nothing more to say, the two double-backed toward the encampment and went their separate ways. As Aldin returned to his supplies, Haldir approached the maid—Annalyn, he remembered—as she brushed her horse's coat.
"A beautiful mount. Does he have a name?" In truth, he had not meant to strike a conversation with her. Or at the very least, he had not planned to until his feet had brought him here.
But then again, as Marchwarden was it not his duty to get to know these outsiders? Satisfied with his reasoning, he watched as she spared him a glance. Her voice, when she spoke, was not discourteous, but it was not exactly warm either. "Cobalt."
Eyes on her horse, she did not slow in her task. Her chin was slightly raised. There seemed to be a hard set to her jaw.
His gaze straying across camp, Haldir considered the leader of this group. The older man was still somewhat on guard—as a company leader should be in their present situation—but his disposition was not as frigid as Annalyn's.
Haldir surveyed the encampment but addressed the maid. "You are displeased."
At first, she did not answer. But then, "Would it matter if I was?"
He pondered her query for a moment. "I suppose not."
"I thought so."
Haldir realised she was watching him with a sour tilt to her mouth, her brow raised in a smug sort of challenge. The brazen display had his nostrils flaring, but before he could summon a reply, she turned away from him, and rounded her horse. "Arrogant Elf," he heard her say in Rohirric, her voice so low it wouldn't have carried to mortal ears. But Haldir was no mortal. He had heard her quite clearly. In lieu of calling her out on it, however, he pinned her with a hard stare—one she failed to see or deliberately chose to ignore.
As the maid tucked the brush in her saddle-bag, he started to leave, but halted mid-step to remind her, "Were it not for us, you would have no hope in crossing the river tomorrow."
A pause ensued. Annalyn considered him with an up-turned brow. He did the same. Perhaps she disliked his candour, but he had merely spoken the truth.
At length, she fastened her saddle-bag—annoyance edging her quiet motions—and met his gaze once again. "So you say."
Her trust, it seemed, was not so easily won. Perhaps they are not as reckless as I first believed. Partly insulted and partly impressed, Haldir made to leave. "So I say. And so I shall."
Whether she believed him, Haldir had no idea, but the maid inclined her head at that. Doing the same, he calmly strode away.
And so it was that they settled for the night. As the stars first appeared in the sky, Feran sat sharpening his blade while, several paces away, Annalyn and Aldin huddled near a silver lamp provided by the Elves.
"An odd sort of light." Slender fingers touched the exterior of the lantern then hazel eyes met golden brown. "Like the moon almost, or the stars. But no heat." Perplexed, Annalyn set the lamp back down.
"No heat," Aldin echoed in Rohirric. "Because fire,"—he tried to mimic Haldir's cool, imperious expression—"is not permitted in the Golden Wood."
Annalyn started to laugh, but quickly stopped herself. "Careful," she warned her cousin who was more like a brother to her. "It wouldn't do to insult these Elves."
"How can they be insulted?" He nudged his chin across camp. "Those two have not uttered a word, save in their own language, since they've stopped us. And the one in charge only answers when we speak Westron. Believe me, they have not the faintest idea of what we are saying."
His assumption was not unreasonable, though in truth how could they be sure? As she mulled this over, Annalyn heaved a breath through her nose, her stare directed at Haldir. "Do you want to know what I think?"
When Aldin made no reply, she went over what her cousin had told her regarding the rules here. "I think what he truly meant was that he does not trust outsiders to make a fire. It would not surprise me at any rate." Her eyes flitted upward. "This forest is clearly very old. Maybe it is sacred to them."
"They guard it well, I will give you that." Aldin gave a non-committal shrug. But then, as Annalyn reached into a folded square of linen to produce her latest find, his eyes went to the sliver of green in her hand. "Is that what I think it is?"
With a proud little smile, she popped a small leaf into her mouth. "It is. I found a small patch just before we entered these woods. This far north, can you believe it?" Annalyn laughed and fetched another leaf. "Would you like some?"
Aldin reached forward. "Now you know I love chickweed."
As the two savoured the little treat, a lengthening silence fell between them. Annalyn soon sank into her thoughts, pondering the Elves who stood nearby.
At present, the two named Rúmil and Orophin were patrolling the periphery of the dell, their watchful eyes directed at the darkened forest beyond, while Haldir approached her uncle and said something she could not hear.
"Were it not for us," he had said to her today, "you would have no hope in crossing the river tomorrow."
Arrogant words. Yet for all she knew, he might be misleading them.
Perhaps she was being overly distrustful, but Annalyn could not discount the stories she had heard as a child, stories that warned against magical forests and fair-looking Elves.
The evening deepened. But as the sounds of night gradually enveloped the encampment, nature's lullaby failed to soothe her troubled mind. Suspicion gnawed at Annalyn. What if the Elves meant to ensnare them? Or slay them in their sleep? Eyes on Haldir, she set her chickweed aside, and scratched that last thought. She was being ridiculous. If the Elves had wanted them dead, they wouldn't have waited. They would have shot them outright.
Not murderers, then. But were they guides or captors? She couldn't decide, and wouldn't just yet. Not until Haldir made true on his promise to guide them across the river and out of the forest—if he made true on his promise. As badly as she wanted to believe him, a series of images kept flashing in her mind. Today's ambush. Dark elven eyes set in cold stares. And that arrow, aimed directly at her head.
Stamping down on her fear, Annalyn tried to ignore the icy shiver that ran from her neck all the way down to her tail-bone. Wary, she swept a gaze over the surrounding woods. Will we ever make it out of here?
"What was that?" Aldin asked, making her realise that she had breathed the question aloud.
"I am wondering…"
"Wondering what?"
She considered the Elves before narrowing her focus on Haldir who now stood still as a statue, on the outer edge of the dell. His face, unsurprisingly, yielded nothing. "Do you think they can be trusted?"
"Let us hope." Aldin chewed on his chickweed for a moment. "I spoke to the tall one today, and while I cannot be absolutely certain, I believe he is being genuine." He leaned back on his forearm to stretch out his legs. "At any rate, what else can we do? If they do not aid us, we shall have to bring the horses around and return home with little to show for it."
"Not this time." It was out of the question. The healer's stores would be replenished, one way or another, even if she had to go to the ends of the earth to find the herbs they needed. For Annalyn knew full well what could happen when medicine ran out. It had happened before, years ago. Never again.
Aldin, who was now deep in thought, reached into the breast pocket of his tunic to produce the faded map that had been their guide. The parchment crinkled as he opened the folds, revealing a vast landscape of mountains and valleys, of rivers and lakes and realms whose names Annalyn knew but could not read, having never learned.
As Aldin rubbed his chin, he pondered the map before pointing to a wall of jagged peaks. "Unless we take to the mountains… There, just west of here. If we keep to that band of trees along those mountain ridges, perhaps we can climb high enough to avoid the river altogether." But even as he spoke, Aldin's doubts were apparent, and mirrored her own, for she had heard the rumours. They all had—that evil creatures lurked in that part of the mountain range. Orcs and Trolls and Wolves, just to name a few. It was the reason they had been keeping to the valley these past few days, the reason they had sought the cover of the forest, only to be ambushed by Elves.
"No," Aldin was saying, as if to himself. His attention remained on the map. "Unless we must, we should avoid the mountains. At least until we reach the valley north of here."
Annalyn was relieved to hear it. At the last, Aldin folded the parchment, said, "For now, I say we follow these Elves." Though honestly, what else could they do? "I spoke to father earlier. He agrees."
"Indeed, I do," Feran said as he neared. With a grunt and a wince, he sought the ground next to his son.
"Your knees again?" Annalyn asked him as he sat.
Feran huffed a raspy laugh. "The price of old age."
"You are not so old." Her uncle might have been past his prime, but at sixty, he remained stout and solid, stronger than most men his age. Reaching into her pack, Annalyn produced a jar of pungent salve for aches and pains, and lobbed it over.
"Kind as always, but I am old enough."
As Feran rolled up the hem of his breeches, Annalyn frowned. "You should have ridden today. We could have swapped horses on the morrow. I do not mind walking a second day."
But Feran waved a hand. "You know, I believe you were right the first time around. I am not so old."
It was an effort not to roll her eyes. "Men and their pride."
"Ha!" It was Aldin who spoke. "That's the pot calling the kettle black."
"Are you saying I am prideful?"
"That is precisely what I am saying." He laughed.
"Very well, then." She crossed her arms. "Name an example."
"You are serious?" With no small amount of amusement, Aldin reminded her of the time she had challenged a boy to a race across the wide stream that bordered their village. It had been long since Annalyn had thought of that embarrassing day. She couldn't have been more than eleven or twelve at the time. "You boasted you could beat him," Aldin was saying, "but as I recall, you slipped on the rocks, fell flat on your rump, and twisted your ankle quite nicely."
Annalyn tried to look insulted, but Aldin was undeterred. "I was young at the time, but I remember. The older children offered to carry you home, but you scrambled to your feet and said they were being hens, that it was nothing and you could walk without their aid. And walk you did,"—his shoulders bobbed up and down—"stomping all the way back, putting your full weight on it just to prove your point." Looking to his father, Aldin formed a globe with his hands. "You remember the following morning. Her ankle had grown to the size of my head."
Annalyn chuckled in spite of herself. "There you go again. You and your embellishments. My ankle was not the size of your head."
But her kin were still laughing. And so was she.
Looking back on it, Annalyn could admit that she had been foolish. Stubborn was the word her mother had used. By stalking home, she had worsened the injury, and paid for it with a painfully swollen ankle, not to mention a bruised ego. Forced to use a crutch, she had hobbled around for weeks afterward. It had been quite the lesson. Luckily, she could laugh about it now.
Her eyes straying across the dell, Annalyn realised that Haldir was now watching them, his haughty features inscrutable as always. As their laughter died away, she and her kin retreated into their own thoughts for a while, until at the last, Aldin spoke softly. "A perculiar folk they are." He was watching the Elves again, but then his gaze went to the boughs overhead. "Doubtless there are many more hidden in the trees. I cannot see them, but I can almost feel their eyes, watching our every move."
Annalyn did not say so aloud, but she sensed the same thing, and found it unnerving.
"It is late," Feran stated in brooding resignation. "I shall take first watch this night. You two should take some rest."
Conceding that he was right, Annalyn gave him her bundle of chickweed, and bid him good night. A brief search later, she found a suitable spot to sleep. There, at the foot of a large tree, Annalyn unrolled her blanket, and draped it over her cloak. The forest floor was soft, she noted. Much better than the hard ground onto which they had slept the night before. Her head pillowed on her pack, Annalyn heaved a tired sigh and closed her eyes.
Some time later, she was roused from sleep by a gentle shake of her shoulder. "Your turn," Aldin whispered, his outline dark and distinct against the star-studded sky.
Annalyn rubbed her eyes as she sat up then got to her feet and rolled up her blanket. A few paces away, her cousin had lowered himself to the ground and was now tossing and turning, testing the forest floor to find a comfortable position. Soft snores were coming from somewhere beyond him. Uncle Feran. She had to smile.
Shifting her attention to the Elves, Annalyn saw that they were guarding the periphery. Despite the late hour, none of them seemed weary. Do they not sleep?
Spurred by curiosity, Annalyn allowed her gaze to linger on Haldir. She knew little, if anything of him. Yet some things she could clearly see. He was grave and proud, self-assured to the point of being arrogant. Even in silence he annoyed her. Even so, he was willing to help them cross that impossible river tomorrow—or so he claimed. Was he telling the truth though?
"Quiet night?" Annalyn asked in Westron.
"Indeed." His tone straddled the line between serenity and boredom.
"Good." Annalyn nodded, but said no more. Instead, she turned her attention to the forest, fingertips drumming on the hilt of her blade as her feet ferried her toward a nearby tree.
Save for the whisper of leaves, the chirping of crickets, and the soft rush of the river, the forest was indeed very quiet. Eyes skimming the immediate horizon, Annalyn watched, listened, and waited for what seemed a long time.
Still nothing.
As a lone cloud scurried above the branches overhead, Annalyn crossed her boots at the ankles and leaned back against the tree. Somewhere to her right, a movement caught her eye. It was one of the Elves, the most youthful looking of the three. Rúmil, she remembered. As he moved among the trees, his footsteps were altogether silent.
Thinking back to the ambush, Annalyn had to admit that these Elves were masters of concealment. Having stood on the wrong end of their arrows, she suspected they were formidable warriors as well. The quiet but lethal intensity in their eyes had been unsettling to behold, making her more than a little relieved when Haldir had decided she and her kin posed no threat.
But what of these Elves? Could they be trusted? Were they a threat? Thinking she might gain more insight by speaking to Haldir, Annalyn cleared her throat. "So. Tomorrow. How long before we reach that crossing, do you think?"
"If we leave at first light, we should reach the shoal by midday. Late in the afternoon at the most."
"And the forest edge?" In truth, she couldn't wait to see the valley again. Open air, with no guides, no guards. Just her and her kin. Freedom.
"You seem quite eager to leave," Haldir remarked coolly.
"No less eager than you are to be rid of us." It was pure speculation—or maybe it was hope—but when his brows shot up by a fraction, Annalyn sensed she had guessed rightly.
Haldir neither confirmed nor denied her observation. He did, however, answer her query. "In my estimation, you should reach the valley in two days."
"That long?" she said before she could stop herself.
"At a trot, you would likely arrive in half that time, but I would advise against it. The ground here is uneven and treacherous for horses."
"Your concern is touching," Annalyn stated dryly. "But I do see your point. We will not risk our horses." A purse of her lips and she crossed her arms. "Two days, then."
As Haldir inclined his head, Annalyn watched him closely. His eyes retained a slight air of superiority, but try as she might, she saw no lie in them.
But am I mistaken? I could be.
Her instincts were not infallible after all, as she had learned not that long ago—albeit in a much different situation. Such a fool I was. On certain days, Annalyn felt the sting of it still. But mostly, she just wanted to forget.
Back to the present, Annalyn pondered her company's predicament. Tomorrow would be the real test, she knew. Haldir would either follow through with his promise, or he would not. Until then, it seemed there was little she could do except to wait and see.
"Aldin says that you call yourselves Galadhrim," Annalyn ventured after a time, figuring that, so long as she was stuck here, she might as well gather some knowledge. "The name is not known to me. What does it mean?"
A pause ensued, as though he was debating whether or not to answer. "In the elven-tongue, it means Tree-People."
"Tree-people," Annalyn echoed, trying to sound aloof. A fitting name, she supposed and wondered if the Elves abode up there, amongst the boughs.
The watch continued, the two standing in silence while Rúmil and Orophin circled the encampment at a distance. Surprisingly enough, despite her lingering doubts, Annalyn found she did not mind Haldir's company—at least not as much as before. With the deteriorating state of the world, and the ever-increasing number of foes, standing watch had become a necessity on most nights, a task which varied between tedious and unnerving. Yet tonight, it felt like neither.
There was much beauty here, even in starlight. It was difficult to imagine Orcs in such a setting. Even if they did venture in here, she thought, they would not get very far. Not with these Elves standing watch.
Reassured, Annalyn looked up and out, past the interweaving boughs, to the shimmering stars in the velvet blackness. She loved the stars, how timeless they were. At length, the forest floor drew her gaze. Although most of the colours were muted to hues of blue, a tiny patch of yellow flowers could be seen at the foot of a nearby tree. The delicate petals captured her attention at once, sparking a memory. They were the same species of flowers she had seen hours earlier, near that lovely stream where she and her kin had shared a light meal.
"Mallos. The golden flower." Annalyn looked up at the words, spoken softly by Haldir. Her eyes finding him, she saw his enigmatic gaze on her, the corner of his mouth curved just so.
"They are very beautiful," she found herself saying, stammering as her mind grappled with this sudden shift. Was he actually smiling?
Haldir said no more. His deep respect and fondness for growing things were clearly visible in his features. Oddly enough, it resonated with Annalyn. Even so, it did not sway her view of him. So what if he loved flowers? He had yet to prove his quality.
Night wore on and a humid chill settled on the forest. Feeling her skin rise in goose prickles, Annalyn wrapped her cloak more tightly around her frame. If not for the fact that she might look weak or stupid, she would have grabbed her blanket. Instead, she tried her best not to shiver and decided to tough it out.
"You are cold." Haldir's words broke through the stillness, startling her.
"It is but a slight chill," Annalyn replied, making light of it. Her breath was now visible, each exhalation a rapidly vanishing swirl of steam.
Looking to his brother, Haldir said something she could not understand. Perplexed and intrigued, she then watched as Rúmil nodded and disappeared among the branches. A moment later, he returned carrying a small phial filled with what appeared to be a clear cordial.
Handing it to her, Rúmil gave a small bow before resuming his watch.
When she looked to Haldir, he must have seen the question in her eyes. "An elven drink," he explained. "It will help ward off the chill."
Caught completely off-guard, it was a moment before she could say anything. "Thank you."
Haldir bowed slightly, his features unreadable once more. "I 'ell nîn Annalyn."
With that, he turned and she watched him go, her eyes trailing after him until he had reached a new vantage point, a little farther away.
Phial in hand, Annalyn remained motionless for several heartbeats, her thoughts on his mysterious words.
I 'ell nîn Annalyn…
She did not know what they meant but—arrogant Elf or not—she loved the sound of them.
* I 'ell nîn — "It was my pleasure." or "My joy."
