*** BEFORE YOU READ CHAPTER 20 ***
Last Thursday, when I posted chapter 19, which is titled "Side by Side", there was a glitch and my story didn't get bumped up to the top of the "just in—updated" page. The "updated on" date was also wrong. So for those who are not subscribed, and are relying solely on the feed to check for updates, please make sure you have read chapter 19 before reading this one. Since the opening lines of chapter 20 would spoil the ending for the previous part, I will provide extra spoiler space below.
As always, I want to thank each and every one of you for taking time out of your busy lives to read my fanfic. Also, a heartfelt shout-out goes to leelee202, HaldirLove, Cricklewood16, durinsdaughter2469btw, AshleyLeigh, FriendlyNeighborhoodHufflepuff, Auriene, Doria Nell, Blue1258, and leeward1992. Words cannot express how much I appreciate your reviews and words of encouragement.
Again, for those who haven't read chapter 19, there is a spoilerish chapter ahead!
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Do you think this is enough spoiler space?
Oh, what the heck. One more.
Spoiler space!
And now for the chapter…
CHAPTER XX
THE END OF THE ROAD
Blood was seeping between Haldir's fingers, his hand clamped tightly over the gash on his arm.
With the battle now over, Annalyn closed the remaining distance to him, her heart pounding against the confines of her chest. "Show me. Is it deep?"
"I do not believe so."
But with his tunic in the way, and the fact that it was yet dark, Annalyn had a difficult time assessing the wound herself.
Maintaining pressure, Haldir raised his arm so as to test his range of motion. As he moved, the dark stain on his sleeve broadened beneath his fingers, making her wince.
"Are you certain? The blood appears to say otherwise."
"Once I bind it, it will be fine."
Annalyn was not entirely convinced. Instead of voicing this, however, she stared at him, for his words were now coming back to her.
"Go. Follow this stream. It leads to the Anduin. I will hold off the riders… They are nearly here! Go!" The memory flashed in rapid sequence, reminding her of just how hurt she had been at the time. She still was.
His idea to send her away while he fought for them both…
Haldir must have noted the change in her. At his frown, she took a step back, then another. When he said her name, asking if aught was wrong, Annalyn whirled away altogether, for a list was now forming in her head. Nonsensical. Inconsiderate. She gritted her teeth. Men! Or in this case, an Elf who happened to be male. The more Annalyn thought about it, the more she felt her ire rise, until finally, without so much as a glance, she yanked her blade from the dead creature's back, the one that had nearly claimed Haldir's life—it would have, had it not been for her.
"What is it?" he demanded.
"Forget it."
"Annalyn—"
"I am not speaking to you." Her words severed the night, as bitter as the chill wind that was now blowing through the naked branches.
"For what reason?" Haldir's voice was controlled, but she could tell; he, too, was growing displeased.
But Annalyn ignored him. Truly, how could he not know? With brusque motions, she wiped the blood from her sword. The blade slid into its sheath with an audible whish and snap.
Out of the corner of her eye, she could tell that Haldir was watching her still. Hand nursing his wound, he waited even as his patience ran thin. When it ran out altogether, Annalyn heard his drawn-out breath, the kind one heaves when anger sets in. And then he was moving, shaking his head as he went to retrieve his arrows.
Annalyn should have been glad of it—he deserved her silence—but in the end she couldn't help herself; the words came tumbling out. "I truly believed we were in this together. But what you said back there, 'Go?'" A resentful scoff rose in her throat.
Haldir froze mid-step, but only stared. His face was unreadable, his tone grim and uncompromising when, at the last, he said, "This is not the time. It is dark still. When their riders fail to return, it is likely they will send more. We must go."
A deflection. Why am I not surprised?
Nevertheless, with dawn still an hour or two away, Annalyn reckoned he might be right. Thus, setting her pain and anger aside, she spun on her heel and started walking.
"I would not go that way."
Annoyed beyond belief, Annalyn halted in confusion, for earlier in the night Haldir had said that they should make for the Anduin. But now he was pointing east, away from the great river.
Too tired and much too irritated to press for an explanation, she gave up with a clipped, "Fine," and started marching eastward, her boots crunching the snow as she went.
"You should be running, not walking," Haldir stated as he brushed past her shoulder.
If looks could kill he would have been on the ground by now, for Annalyn had been running all night, and during that time she had fought in not one, but two battles. Haldir might not realise it, but she was spent, drained even beyond her limits. Even now, she feared her legs might give out.
But be that as it may, Annalyn bit her tongue. It might have been anger, it might have been pride, but she managed to quicken her pace somewhat.
After what seemed like ages, Haldir stopped at the edge of a bluff, somewhere in the middle of the forest. "I suppose this is far enough."
"I am sorry, far enough? Far enough for what?" Panting, Annalyn braced her hands on her knees. Ah, but her lungs were burning.
"Look behind you. Your tracks."
"What of them?" She turned to look.
Haldir came to stand by her shoulder. Though he was trying to contain it, aggravation rolled off of him in waves. Good.
"Tell me," he began, "if you were an Orc, what would these tracks tell you?"
Wearied by these riddles, Annalyn frowned, then relented on a shrug. "That we fled east. But Haldir, what does—"
He gave an exasperated sigh. "Now what of my tracks?"
She swept a gaze over the snow, looked and looked. Huh… Her mouth hanging slack, Annalyn had to snap it closed. "There are none."
How was that possible? Then the answer came to her. He was an Elf.
"So what now?" Annalyn raised a brow instead of rolling her eyes. "We change directions and you… what, carry me?" She had meant it as a sardonic jest, but when Haldir said nothing, she realised that was, in fact, his plan. "You cannot be serious."
The muscles of his jaw flexed, then came a challenge. "Should you have a better idea, by all means, enlighten me."
Annalyn held his stare for a tense moment. As her mind drew a blank, however, she gave up and chose to go along. Part of it was weariness, but mostly—having had her fill of battle—she just wanted to get out of there and evade the Orcs.
But as snowflakes landed on their hair and clothing, two or three catching on his eyelashes, Annalyn made no move toward Haldir. Instead, she removed her cloak, then drew out her sword.
"What are you doing?"
In lieu of answering, she made a small nick in the fabric, ripped a long sliver from the bottom, then donned the garment again. At the question in his eyes, she explained, "There seems little point in hiding our tracks if you bleed all over the forest."
Despite how upset she still was, Annalyn took it upon herself to wrap the fabric over his sleeve. As her fingers worked to tie the tattered ends, she sensed his gaze on her.
"You should have told me of your intentions," he said. "I have bandages in my pack."
Annalyn paused mid-task. The arch of his brow said that she had ripped her cloak for nothing.
With a sharp tug, the knot was secure. "This should do for now. Let us go."
Making no reply, Haldir went to sweep her off the ground, but she stopped him with a hand to his chest. "You should mind that arm."
He shot her a look, but held his patience in check. A moment later, Annalyn had climbed onto his back, and Haldir set out. Since Orcs could easily track their scent, he followed the wind, carrying her south for a while before veering west.
Somewhere in the distance, Annalyn thought she heard shouts and growls, and her pulse quickened. The Orcs were looking for them, in the direction where they had left her tracks. For a mercy, Haldir's little ruse had worked, and the creatures did not come their way. When the predawn sky lightened at last, Annalyn's fear lessened. Before long, even her anger began to fade. Oh, she was still hurt by what Haldir had done, what he had wanted her to do—leaving him behind—but her weariness chipped away at that edge until, when day finally broke, only a dull ache remained.
"This might sting a little."
With a gentle hand, Haldir turned Annalyn's arm, exposing the cut she had sustained just above her elbow. As minor as it was, the wound could not be left to chance. An Orc's scimitar was a vile and dirty weapon. If one was careless, even a small nick could turn foul. Haldir had seen such a thing before, felt that her cut required somewhat more than the water they had poured over it.
Initially, Annalyn had wanted to use pine sap, and it might have worked—nature was clever that way, providing all that was needful when one knew where to look—but Haldir had come prepared. Reaching into his pack, he had produced a jar of salve, the kind the Elves used on the battlefield.
Annalyn flinched a little at his touch, but did not react otherwise.
She was staring at his arm still, concern writ clear upon her features. Earlier, when she had asked to examine the gash below his shoulder, Haldir had deflected the attention, insisting they tend to her wound first.
Annalyn had not been pleased. And when Haldir had tried to reason with her, pointing out that she had had that cut longer than he had, she had shot him one of those looks before asquiescing, albeit grudgingly.
It was a little after daybreak. Snow was no longer falling from the sky. With the risk of pursuit now behind them, the two were sitting on a flattened section of rock on the very edge of the stream. Because of their detour, they were actually not that far from where they had fought the riders.
The Orcs and the Wargs were dead now. From where they sat, Haldir and Annalyn could hear the enthusiastic cries of the carrion birds. It hadn't taken very long for the crows to locate their grizzly repast.
Thinking back to the battle, Haldir had to own that it could have gone very differently. The Orcs had been relentless, the Wargs vicious and swift. Had there been a few more, they might not have made it out of there at all.
"You stubborn, honourable fool." Annalyn's words still echoed in his mind. When he had asked her to flee without him, she had been so angry and bewildered. He should have known.
Annalyn was brave, defiant in the face of adversity. She was also stubborn. "I am not leaving you," she had told him, and meant it.
Granted, he had been furious with her at the time. But now that they were sitting here, safe and relatively unscathed, Haldir could admit that he had erred. He admired her even, for Annalyn had saved his skin in the end, killing the Orc who had bested him.
"I was wrong," he began after a time. Fingers reaching for one final dab of salve, he resumed his task, not meeting her gaze just yet. "When those riders came, I was wrong in asking you to flee. Had it not been for you…" At length, Haldir looked to her. "What I mean to say is… thank you."
Annalyn was watching him, her expression revealing little.
"Apology accepted," she replied at last. "But do not do it again," she warned him, holding his gaze until he nodded in agreement and resumed his task.
When he had finished applying the salve, she made to pull down her sleeve. "Wait," he told her, reaching for his pack. A moment later, Haldir produced a small roll of clean fabric. Before he could dress her wound, Annalyn stopped him.
"You are hurt as well." Her brows were slightly furrowed, concern reasserting itself. "More so than I. Do not waste those bandages on me."
"There is enough for us both," he told her, and would hear no further argument. Indeed, the fabric was incredibly thin, woven in a way that ensured an abundant supply for the scout or sentinel who carried it. For her part, Annalyn seemed more resigned than annoyed. "Very well, but be quick about it," she said.
Barely had he dressed the wound when Annalyn shifted to face him. "Your turn. No arguing this time." With deft fingers, she untied the temporary bandage on his arm, and grimaced at the fresh surge of blood. Reaching for the end of his sleeve, Annalyn lifted the fabric with care, but pursed her lips when it wouldn't go past his elbow. "I do not suppose this will go any higher?"
Seeing that it wouldn't, she drew the sleeve back down. "May I?" Annalyn asked, her fingers hovering near the edge of his tunic as her eyes sought his permission.
Haldir assented with a nod, and once they had removed his quiver and sword-belt, he helped her to lift his tunic on one side. He felt the gash open and stretch as he moved.
"Forgive me." Mindful of his injury, she winced as they freed his arm from the sleeve. "I will be quick about it." Cool wind met bare skin, for the side of his torso was exposed as well.
With his wound finally revealed, Annalyn sucked in a breath. "Oh, Haldir." His name left her lips on a chiding whisper. She was shaking her head. "You should have let me look at this sooner."
When that scimitar had bitten into his arm, Haldir had felt it keenly, it was true. But it hadn't sliced as deeply as it could have. Rather, the blade had caught at an angle, filleting skin and flesh. It was painful, and somewhat unpleasant to behold. But the muscles were intact. He could still fight if need be.
Her mouth set in a line, Annalyn reached for the waterskin. "Would that I had a needle and thread."
"Over there, in my pack."
A brief search later, Annalyn found the items. When all was in readiness, she poured water over the gash. As displeased as she seemed, there was a quiet focus to her features, a gentleness that was inherently hers. It was a trait he had noticed very early on.
"This might hurt. It is long since I have done this." In one smooth motion, Annalyn pushed the needle through his skin and started on the first stitch. Haldir felt the sting of it, but did not flinch otherwise. His gaze flickering between her steady hand and her downcast features, he remembered the first time he had spied her through the trees, on the day she and her kin had wandered into the Golden Wood.
At the time, neither could have known what lay ahead, the dark and disheartening road their feet would tread together.
As she sewed the wound, Haldir considered his companion and the tragic events that had led her to this point. Such loss, he thought, such misfortune. She does not even know. Not all of it.
There was nothing for her here. Aldin was lost. Haldir had been fairly certain of that when he'd observed that wretched encampment last night. But afterward, when he had gone to retrieve an arrow from a dead Orc, and seen…
He had to tell her.
So focused was she that Annalyn failed to note the sombre look that had fallen over his features. With the gash now closed, she washed the blood from his skin, applied the salve, then wrapped the wound with a clean bandage. Once that was done, she assisted in donning his garment, before sitting back on her haunches to ponder her work. "How does that feel?"
Haldir tested the stitches by bending his elbow and slowly lifting his arm. "You did well."
Their wounds tended to, they proceeded to rinse their hands in the stream. Sitting side by side, each fell into silence. Drawing her knees up, Annalyn contemplated the water. When her head fell forward, her hand rising to massage her shoulder, Haldir sensed that the events of the night were finally catching up with her.
At length, she lifted her face but did not look to him. "Any thought on what we might do next?" Her voice blending with the peaceful rush of the stream, she continued, thinking aloud. "We could make another attempt tonight. Or wait a day or two. That might be more prudent."
Unaware of his inner turmoil, Annalyn went on, proposing they circle around, approaching from another side.
"Annalyn," Haldir finally said, gently cutting her off.
Staring hard at the water, he felt her eyes on him. "We cannot go back."
Silence fell like a shroud. As it covered them both, Haldir chose his words, then explained, "It would be folly to do so. There is nothing for us in that camp."
It was a long moment before Annalyn was able to respond. But then, "Aldin was not there."
Haldir clenched his jaw. "I looked and looked, alas… it was all for naught."
On a trembling breath, Annalyn lifted her grief-stricken gaze to the sky. As the news finally sank in, it became all too much for her, and she rose.
"There is more."
Annalyn stopped and looked to him as he, too, got to his feet. She waited. He had never seen her looking so defeated.
He continued, "Prior to hearing the riders, when I was retrieving my arrows from the Orcs I killed…" There was a heavy pause. His feet ferried him forward. "Annalyn," he started again. There was no easy way to say this. "One of them was wearing Aldin's baldric."
A part of him thought she would turn away, that her composure would fracture a little. But neither of those things came to pass. Instead, Annalyn blinked an extended blink, her voice infinitely low when she breathed, "Are you quite certain it was his?"
"I am certain."
At first, the baldric had caught his eye simply because it had been beautifully crafted—and Orcs were incapable of making beautiful things. But then, as he had looked upon it, he had recognized the leather-work.
There could be no doubt. It had belonged to Aldin. What's more, the strap had been stained with dry blood—dark red, not black. The filthy creature must have looted it after…
Annalyn was staring into nothing, her expression dull and vacant. As tears threatened to spill, she turned away from him, and made for a large tree that stood further away from them.
Knowing she would need time to absorb all of this, to acknowledge the loss and grieve, Haldir did not join her. Instead, he gathered his pack and waterskin, his bow. Once these were slung over his shoulder, he came to stand by the water's edge.
Beyond the bare branches, the sky had begun to clear. Every now and then, sunlight would pierce through openings in the clouds, casting beams of gold on the melting snow. Normally, Haldir would have said it was a fair day, but he could not appreciate it, not when Annalyn's world had just crumbled beneath her feet.
Standing near the foot of the tree, Annalyn did not weep, did not look to him, did not utter a word. It was as if she was merely existing. And perhaps she was. He let her be.
His mind adrift on "what ifs" and memories, Haldir absently watched the swift waters of the stream and thought of the time he and his brothers had guided her company across the woods of Lothlórien.
Throughout their years of travel, Annalyn and her kin had seen enough to know all was not well in Middle-earth. Their disquiet had been apparent—a feeling he had shared—but they had been hopeful as well. Content. Joyful.
At the time, they had not reckoned the cost of continuing north. And as he'd watched them leave on that rainy afternoon, Haldir hadn't either. If I had…
He had warned them of potential dangers, yes. He had told them of the lingering threat of Orcs near the mines of Moria. But that was before the hordes came. Before he knew that war was brewing, its forces amassing in places such as the camp they had just found. There would be other encampments, other armies, he knew. He could feel it in his heart.
As he stood there, Haldir thought of all those who had died at the hands of evil over the years. Among those he had known, some had been near and dear to him. How many more would have to die, he wondered. And what would come of the world? Looking up, he took in the trees, then the sky beyond, lamenting the beautiful things and fair places that were already lost. To him, it seemed that everything was fading, becoming less than what they'd been aforetime.
There were so many unknowns, questions to which there were no answers. If evil continued to spread, what would become of Middle-earth? Would it wither away? If it did… How will we bear it? he asked himself, thinking of the Elves who still dwelt this side of the great sea. Elves who, above all else, valued the beauty and goodness that was, that is, that could be. Immortal beings who were destined to linger in Arda forever and always, until the end of time itself.
And what of the Men who dwelt here, unable to leave these shores? What would become of them? As he pondered those questions, Haldir bent his gaze on Annalyn.
There was much toil ahead of her, the long journey home.
Home, Haldir thought somberly, pondering what it would mean for her. To turn around and make for Lothlórien—for Rohan—would be tantamount to letting go. Letting go of Aldin, of Feran, of the life she had known before the start of all this.
Sighing, Haldir looked to the south, toward the distant plains of the horse lords. He couldn't help but wonder what awaited her there. A home? Friends and kin who cared for her? Haldir certainly hoped so, but did not know for certain.
Even now, there was much he did not know about her life—a realisation that saddened him, for their paths would diverge before long. In a fortnight, a month from now, he could not be certain. But their respective journeys would branch out.
It was inevitable.
"Where? Which one was it?" Annalyn's voice severed his musings. When he failed to grasp her meaning, she made her way over and looked to him with quiet desperation. "The Orc who wore Aldin's baldric."
Annalyn wished to go back? Alarmed by her plan, Haldir hoped to dissuade her. "Annalyn, I do not—"
"I will not leave it. I cannot bear the thought of that creature, that thing wearing…" Her breath hitched, and she turned. "Remain here if you wish. I will find it."
Though it was against his liking, Haldir followed after her, and took the lead. When they had finally reached the place where he had skewered the Orc, he went to remove the baldric, but Annalyn grabbed his sleeve. "No," she stated firmly, her stare directed at the Orc. "I will do it."
Ceding to her wishes, Haldir remained where he was, and watched as Annalyn knelt by the creature. She hung her head for a moment, as if steeling herself, then started undoing the strap with increasing haste and fury. Once she had removed the baldric, and unsheathed Aldin's longsword, Haldir thought she might strike or kick the dead Orc. But as she stood over the creature, she angled the blade downward, and held it there. Given her grief, her anger, he expected a swift and wrathful blow—to cut off its head, or pierce its rotting heart—but she restrained herself in the end.
As a cloud moved before the sun, Haldir watched as Annalyn straightened, sheathed her cousin's sword and spun back around. With the baldric in her hand, she walked right by him, but did not meet his eyes.
"Let us go home." Four words, flat and dull, as if she was dead inside.
