CHAPTER VII

THE LONG WAIT

"Not bad for a day's work." Aldin was beaming, his gaze directed at the plants they had gathered in the foothills earlier in the day. Presently, they hung on a makeshift drying frame, the leaves fluttering in the early evening breeze.

Although the company was tired from toil, the mood in camp was cheerful. After all, it had been a good while since they had stumbled upon a healthy patch of gearwe. Elusive and short-lived, this curative plant was often used in the cleansing of wounds. When stored properly, it could retain its potency for up to five years, making it a much coveted remedy for the villagers back home.

"And now we wait," Annalyn said in reference to the time it would take for the plants to dry. Along with her cousin, she sat by a small fire on a rocky outcrop overlooking the valley. Behind them stood a grove of pine trees, over which loomed the towering peaks of the Misty Mountains.

While Aldin stoked the fire, Annalyn glanced at the skies. Clear as glass, she thought. "The weather seems to be on our side. Let us hope it holds."

Ever the optimist, Aldin looked up and said, "I have a feeling it will." But Annalyn was not so sure. The weather was bound to turn at some point. And it had been fair for many days now. The last they had seen of rain had been when they had left the woods of Lothlórien, more than a fortnight ago.

As she sat beneath the gathering twilight, Annalyn's mind wandered back to Haldir. It often did. Enigmatic and brave, he had piqued her curiosity. There was much she didn't know about him and Elves in general. She wished there'd been more time.

The fire popped and crackled, the flames licking the sides of the cooking pot. Looking rather famished, Aldin stirred their supper, inhaled deeply. "The stew smells good."

Content to watch the simmering repast, the two fell into a comfortable silence. After a time, Annalyn's gaze drifted to her uncle. Feran had been sitting alone for some time now, busying himself with his favourite pastime: carving wooden pipes. It was something he did every now and again, especially after a productive day.

The sight was endearing.

"Fashioning another one, is he?" Aldin chuckled. "Do you suppose he will ever smoke?" As much as Feran enjoyed making pipes, he never smoked himself, something they both found amusing.

"Who knows?" Annalyn replied before checking on their meal. "This is ready, I would say." Looking to her uncle, she called him over, but he did not move to join them. Instead, Feran had set his carving down and was now sitting much straighter, his eyes trained eastward as though he had spotted something in the distance.

He seemed… alarmed.

Aldin and Annalyn stood at once.

Before either of them could utter a word, Feran made his way over. His brows were furrowed, and there was a note of urgency in his gait.

"What did you see?" Aldin inquired.

Instead of replying, the older man removed the cooking pot from the fire, then promptly extinguished the flames. "There will be no fire tonight," he said once he had straightened. His mouth set in a grim line, Feran looked to the east once again, his voice low when he added, "We are not alone out here."


Orcs were not light-footed. Their iron-shod feet left deep impressions in the ground, easy to track, even for Men and Dwarves.

Sometime before daybreak, on the fourth day of his journey, Haldir stood atop a grass-covered mound. His eyes turned north to see the enemy's path. It stretched in a long, sinuous route and leagues away, he thought he saw the filthy mob itself.

There you are. A moving sea of shadows in the night. Haldir resumed his pursuit. Down and down he went. As he ran, tall mountains loomed to his left. At their feet was a narrow band of trees, mostly evergreens. The Orcs, he noticed, kept relatively close to them.

At first light, the horde scurried toward the foothills, where they would most likely hide for the remainder of the day.

When the sun had cleared the horizon, Haldir stopped for a brief rest. After rummaging through his pack, he removed a piece of lembas from its leaf-wrappings, and took a small bite before wrapping it again.

As a mild easterly wind arose, Haldir studied the land and the trampled path left by the Orcs. Thus far, the enemy's route had yielded few clues. Perhaps they were headed for the northern tail of the Misty Mountains. Or maybe the hordes would turn east at some point, and make for Mirkwood. While it was impossible to say at this point, their tracks suggested a purposeful route, and a purpose. And with Orcs, it could only be dark.

Haldir slung his pack over his shoulder, and looked up. The sky was a piercing blue and the sun was climbing higher. I have lingered long enough. He was moving again, traversing the land with long and steady strides. Somewhere in the foothills, the Orcs remained hidden.


Five days had passed since Annalyn and her kin had spotted a marching host, faraway in the gathering gloom. Not knowing whom or what they might be, they had taken care to pass unnoticed themselves. Upon seeing them, they'd extinguished their campfire and taken refuge in the tree line, hoping to stay out of sight. In the darkness, they had watched the moving cluster of shadows, holding their breaths, until the host had all but disappeared in the north.

Still, they remained on alert. At first light on the morning following the passing, Annalyn and her kin had moved their drying rack to the eaves of the forest and concealed it with felled branches and small trees. They talked of continuing their journey but hesitated since the host had marched in the direction they meant to take. To stay seemed like the sensible thing to do.

Throughout that first day, they had napped in turn and kept their fire low. Although they suspected fell creatures, none of them had been entirely certain of what they had seen.

Come two nights later, as they had sat in quiet vigilance, another host had marched up from the south, this time much closer.

"Orcs," Feran had whispered and no one had spoken after that.

Although Annalyn and her kinsmen were no strangers to Orcs, the size of the forces had unsettled their company. These were not small, isolated bands. They were travelling in hordes. Hundreds of them at a time.

"Do you see anything?" Annalyn asked in hushed tones as she neared her uncle. It was night. Feran had taken the first watch and was now sitting on a boulder on the very edge of the forest.

"Naught but grass and rocks, for a mercy," he answered and met her eyes when she sat beside him. "You cannot sleep?"

Annalyn shook her head.

The air was incredibly still on this night—still but not peaceful. The company was on edge, more so than they had been in a long time. As her uncle surveyed the moonlit valley below, Annalyn looked sidelong at him, saw the worry on his weathered face. It was true that, by nature, Feran had always been a man of few words. But over these past few days, he had grown increasingly quiet. Too quiet. And his brooding troubled her.

They sat in silence for what seemed a long time. Finally, Feran drew a sigh, murmured, "What's become of this land, Annalyn?"

She had often asked herself that very same question. And though she wanted to say it was a passing thing, that soon the Orcs would retreat into the shadows and all would be well again, she could not see into the future, nor divine the cause of… whatever was happening in the world. "I wish I knew."

Uncertainty and peril were ever present these days, and it filled their hearts with disquiet. Yet, even now, deep within her being, Annalyn clung to hope. She was likely deluding herself, but it was easier to believe that things would get better than to contemplate the alternative.

"What are we doing out here?" Feran's words severed her thoughts and took her aback.

When she failed to answer, he went on. "Look where I've brought us. We're far off in the north, sundered from everything and everyone while Orcs spread about the land in growing numbers."

"You've led us well," Annalyn countered with conviction. Gesturing to the drying plants nearby, she continued, "Look at what we have gathered these past few days."

"We've been fortunate this time around, it is true. But the land does not provide like it used to. We both know this."

He was silent for a moment. She had never seen such doubt in his eyes.

He said, "I was thinking that after this, we could head home, spend the winter back on the Westfold."

The winter on the Westfold. That would mean they would be skipping their yearly ride south, along the White Mountains, toward Edoras. "Maybe we could stay in the village a while."

Her heart clenched a little, for something in his voice told her that he meant much longer than just a while.

"I'm no longer a young man, Annalyn," he continued before she could say aught else. "Besides, I have not been fair to you and Aldin. You are both of an age to settle down, and have families of your own."

Settling down, she thought ruefully, remembering a time when she had briefly considered such a life. It felt like ages ago. Before I learned my lesson.

Sighing, Annalyn discarded her present line of thought and chose another. While she could not answer for Aldin, she was here because she wanted to be. "Remember when I asked, or rather begged, to come with you after…" Annalyn allowed the sentence to trail.

They both remembered that awful summer, when a sickness had swept through their village, taking many of their people with it, including Annalyn's aunt and her parents. She had been ten and seven years at the time.

"I remember," Feran said. His mouth curved in sad reminiscence. "You refused to take no for an answer."

Annalyn returned his smile, her voice a mere whisper when she said, "That I did." Her hand reaching for his, she held his gaze. "And I have never looked back." Ten years had passed since that ill-fated summer. Ten years of wandering and discovering, of seeing mountains and places most village-folk had never even heard of.

Loss had spurred her feet at first, it was true, but Annalyn had come to realise something over these long years. Home was not one place, but rather it was many things, like the feeling one gets when watching the sun break over the horizon, or the familiarity of the night sky and all the stars contained therein. Home was warmth. It was laughter, time spent with loved ones. And time spent out here—barring when Orcs were around.

Indeed, Annalyn had grown quite fond of the wilds, of wide open spaces bordered by snow-capped peaks. But if her uncle was truly growing weary, if he wished to stay on the Westfold to live out his days in peace… She would respect that. She had to. But as for her…

There is yet time to ponder and decide. At any rate, this was the dead of night, and they were both tired—not the best time to make such a heavy decision.

"It is late," Annalyn told him. "You should sleep. I shall keep watch for a while."

But Feran remained as he was, staring at her with something akin to guilt.

"What's wrong, uncle?"

"Nothing," he said then amended, quietly. "Well, no. That is a lie. There is something. You might not realise this, but I have been quite selfish over the years. It is high time I asked for forgiveness and gave you my thanks."

"Forgiveness?" But that seemed absurd. "Whatever for?"

Feran stared at the valley, his tone sombre when he said, "Just now, you spoke of the day you asked that I take you with us. You do not know the full truth."

At a complete loss, Annalyn swallowed her nervousness and waited to hear more.

"Aldin was but a boy when his mother was taken from us. Three and ten." He huffed a breath through his nose, the bitterness of those years coming to the fore. "So there I was, recently widowed, alone to raise a boy into manhood. You might not know it, but I was scared out of my wits, Annalyn."

Feran fell silent for a moment. At length, a dim smile curved his bearded mouth. "Then came that fateful morning when you knocked on my door, looking so much like your mother—my dear sister. With eyes of steel, you demanded that I take you with us, adding that if I refused, you would follow us whether I wished it or not."

It was hard not to smile at the memory. She had been quite stubborn. Pig-headed. But having lost all that she held dear, the idea of parting with her last remaining kin had been more than she could take.

"If I am honest," Feran went on. "I was selfish that day."

Around them, all was still and silent, but then a haunting call sounded from far away in the forest. An owl. "All these years, I have led you to believe that I resisted the idea at first. But nothing could be further from the truth." Feran smoothed a tired hand over his face. "Oh, for a fleeting moment I found courage enough to tell you that it was best if you remained in the village, with the woman who had offered to take you in—a close friend of your mother's." He sighed, shaking his head. "But as you stood there, resolute in your desire to journey alongside us, I took the cowardly road and relented more for my sake than your own."

Her brows furrowed. For his sake?

"With you being four years older than Aldin, he had long seen you as an elder sister. He has often said as much. But in those early years, I dare say you were like a mother to him."

Annalyn wasn't so sure about that. She had never seen herself as such—though it was true that she had watched over Aldin in those early years of travelling. Now it was more balanced. They all looked after one another.

Feran continued, "As we journeyed far and wide, you looked after my son, gladly and without complaint, in spite of the heavy grief you bore in those days. Indeed, oft were the times I overheard you quietly weeping at night."

Annalyn's chin dipped downward, embarrassment heating her cheeks. Still, she did not deny his words, for the loss of her parents had gouged a most grievous wound in her heart, one she carried to this day, in the form of a permanent scar.

"But then day would break, and you would rise to face its toils with an inner strength that soon shamed me into finding my own. You had such a will," he recalled. "It wasn't long before you learned all that I had to teach about herbs and hunting and finding your bearing out here amid endless grasses and never-ending mountain ranges."

A beat went by. "Not only did you survive in the wilds, but you found fortitude amid your grief, and then you thrived. I relied on you, Annalyn, as did Aldin in those early years before he grew to manhood. And for that I never thanked you." Emotion seemed to clog his throat. "But I do so now."

This sudden openness was so out of character for her uncle that Annalyn could only sit there, stunned yet humbled by what he had just said.

"Well, the hour is late," he declared at last. "I suppose I have talked long enough." Nodding to himself, Feran rose to his feet and took a few steps before stopping again. He looked to her. "I do not think I've ever said this, but your mother and father would have been proud of you… I know I am."

Lacking words, Annalyn smiled at her uncle behind a gathering veil of tears.