So this was supposed to be two separate chapters, but to move things along I decided to merge them into one. Sorry if it's lengthy.
As always, I want to thank all who have been reading this, as well as those who have favourited or are following the story. Last but not least, I want to thank my reviewers: leelee202, Blue1258, durinsdaughter2469btw, leward1992, FriendlyNeighborhoodHufflepuff, Raider-K, SmallLittleCagedBird, Cricklewood16, AshleyLeigh, Rogue's Queen, and WickedGreene13. You guys are awesome. I cannot thank you enough.
CHAPTER XXVII
ECHOES OF THE PAST
She'd had the nightmare again. With the mist, her disappearing loved ones, and that awful chill. But this time, the dream had unfurled a bit more, and malevolent shapes had come into view. Warg riders, she had soon realised. Hundreds of them, circling all around like shadows in the mist. Her heart in her throat, Annalyn's dream-self had readied her sword, the point shaking in the air before her. But then, without warning, she had heard her name again, spoken in a drawn-out whisper that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere, enveloping her as the dream came to an abrupt end.
Back in the waking world, she blinked at the stone ceiling, her rapid breaths echoing in the cave. Desperate to leave the nightmare behind, Annalyn swallowed against the tightness in her throat, and rose on her forearm. Cool air kissed her neck and back, the sensation heightened by the sweat that now dampened her tunic.
There are no Wargs, she told herself, and willed her heart to slow. It was a dream, and now it is over.
Night had come to an end. A pale grey light was filtering in from the mouth of the cave, where Haldir yet remained. Silent and steadfast, her watchful guardian stood facing the light, and seemed not to have moved at all.
Doubtless he knew of her nightmares. Her waking gasps were often loud enough. But for a mercy, he never said anything, never asked. Instead, he always let her be, and for that she was grateful.
Swallowing her embarrassment, Annalyn quietly donned her boots, then adjusted her sleep-rumpled clothes.
"The rain has not lessened," Haldir told her when she came to stand to his left. "Nor will it. Not on this day."
Looking past the unrelenting downpour, Annalyn saw a gathering layer of ice on the ground outside. Freezing rain. She could hear the wind as well, and it was howling.
"It might be perilous to travel in this," Haldir was saying.
This storm was not what either of them had hoped for. Still, he might be right. Marching in this, not knowing if they would find shelter along the way… We might freeze to death. Well, I might, she amended before conceding. "We shall wait it out, then."
Rubbing the chill from her arms, Annalyn moved away from the blustery entrance. "I will venture a guess and say that you have been standing there all night." Not waiting for a reply, she indicated their small fire. "You should sit. Rest for a while."
But Haldir made no move to join her. "This storm might hinder us for a few days." He leaned out to get a better view of the clouds. "I can feel it; this rain will turn to snow before day's end." His bow was resting by his feet, but as he turned to face her, Haldir slung the weapon on his back. "We have exhausted our supply of lembas. If we are to maintain our strength, we will require sustenance."
"Wait, you are heading out?" Her brows shot upward. "In this?"
"The conditions are far from ideal," he allowed. "but there is small game in this valley. If fortune is upon us, perhaps I can skewer us a meal."
"Do you want me to go with you?"
Before she could grab her cloak, Haldir looked to their campfire. "Lest we lose our sole method of cooking, someone needs to feed the flames."
"And that someone would be me."
A teasing glimmer crossed his features. "Only one of us has a bow."
A smirk tugged at her lips. It was all she could do to keep from rolling her eyes. "Very well. Go on your hunt. I will take care of things here. But Haldir… take heed out there."
"I will stay close by." As he exited the cave, pulling up his hood as he faded into the rain, Annalyn took stock of their wood pile. By the looks of it, Haldir had fetched a few more deadfalls during the night. But if this storm was as slow-moving as he feared, they would need a lot more.
Best get to it, then. Setting herself to purpose, Annalyn fetched her cloak and headed out. The deadfalls would be wet, she knew. But if she took care, feeding the fire one piece at a time, the wood was bound to ignite sooner or later. At least, that was her hope.
Thus it was that Annalyn braved the rain, eyes scouring the ground beneath the few trees that had taken root here. But Haldir, it seemed, had gathered all the deadfalls. Refusing to abandon her search, Annalyn turned her attention to the trees. Although winter had robbed them of their leaves, they looked like healthy trees—old and weathered perhaps, but sturdy in their slumber. No, these wouldn't do.
Discouraged, Annalyn wove her way between the rock formations until she spied what looked to be a dead ash tree. Twisted and stunted, it was small for its species. From the many hollows in its trunk, it appeared the wood had rotted out. Annalyn chewed her lip. This might work.
Drawing nearer to it, she studied its lowermost limbs. Choosing one at random, Annalyn reached up, grasped the bough with both hands. It was tiresome, but using her body weight, Annalyn managed to snap two of the boughs. Should they need more, she figured Haldir could fetch the higher ones.
Hands on her hips, she considered her bounty. The sections were much too long. Dragging both pieces toward their refuge, Annalyn wondered how she might break them into more manageable sections. Spying a nearby boulder, an idea came to mind.
Since the wood was encased in ice, she started by swinging the boughs against the rock, shattering some of the ice in the process. This she repeated a few times. Her success, however, proved marginal. Since there was nothing else for it, Annalyn wiped the rain from her face, and proceeded with the second part of her plan.
Using the boulder to set the wood at an angle, she stepped onto one of the boughs in hopes that it would break. Alas, the wood only flexed at first. "Come on." It was freezing out here, and the rain was quickly seeping through her clothes. With a series of muttered curses, Annalyn brought her foot down, hard. This time, the tree-limb snapped in two.
Repeating the process with the second piece, Annalyn stood in triumph. Once she had hauled the narrow logs inside, laying them alongside the fire so they could dry, Annalyn pondered her wood pile, and realised something.
She had missed this. She and Haldir made camp every night, it was true. But this felt different. In a way, it reminded her of those times she and her kin had set up camp, staying in the same spot for days at a time while they gathered and prepared the plants their village needed.
Granted, her present situation differed greatly, and it wouldn't do to tarry too long. But it was long since Annalyn had felt like she had accomplished something. And though her meagre pile of wood didn't seem like much, fire could make all the difference out here. Fire was warmth. Fire was life. Adding a log to the flames, Annalyn had to own that there was power in that, in being able to look after yourself, in seizing control of a situation and doing what needed to be done.
Speaking of what needs to be done…
Haldir might have gone hunting, but game would be hard to come by in this weather. Wanting to increase their chances of finding a meal, Annalyn headed out once again. At first, her search yielded naught but frozen grass, but when she rounded a bend, her eyes fell upon a narrow section of ground that had escaped the downpour. There, amid the grass were mushrooms. Oh please, let them be edible.
Kneeling beside her find, Annalyn examined them with a critical eye. These were definitely bonnets. The questions was, were they the right kind? If these were lilac or rosy bonnets, eating them would be disastrous, for they were highly poisonous. But these, she thought, looked more like common bonnets. Plucking one from the ground, Annalyn held it up for closer inspection, and smiled. Definitely a common bonnet.
Heartened by the find, she gathered all the mushrooms she could find, inspecting each one—cap, stem, and gills—just to be sure.
Going back to happier times, Annalyn remembered how her uncle and cousin had favoured these mushrooms. Sending her thoughts to them, she looked skyward. What I wouldn't give to see you again.
Drenched from head to toe, Annalyn turned her attention to the valley. Although Haldir was likely nearby, it was hard to see in this weather. She headed back inside.
Morning waned. The rain, however, persisted. Sitting by the fire, her legs akimbo, Annalyn wondered how Haldir was faring out there.
As midday came and went, the idleness proved too much, and she ventured out again, her feet breaching the thin crust of ice blanketing the grass. Moving through the gap in the rock formation, she had to shield her eyes from the wind and rain. Where is he? Annalyn rose on her toes, squinting and craning her neck in hopes of seeing Haldir. Alas, the downpour acted as a curtain, hiding much of the valley from her.
But then, "Annalyn!"
At the sound of his voice, a weight seemed to lift from her shoulders. When she failed to spot his location, he called to her once more.
Following the sound, she saw a vague outline through the heavy rain. As Haldir slowly came into focus, she noted that he was carrying something. A game bird, she thought when he held it up. Her features brightened at once.
"And that is not all I found!" He turned then, as though he was waiting for someone. With her focus on Haldir, Annalyn had not seen, until then, that another shape had come into view. Large and grey, it followed in his wake, in a slow but familiar gait.
"No…" A gasping breath. "Is it?"
With everything that had befallen her on this cursed journey, she'd had little cause to smile, much less rejoice. Until now.
"Cobalt," she breathed, her feet already moving, practically stumbling over the ice.
It was him. It was really him!
She closed the distance. "My friend." Her voice faltered, tears rolling down her cheeks as she finally reunited with the animal. How long she remained like so, with her head leaning against the horse's muscled neck, Annalyn had no idea. When she drew back, seeing the gentle eye beneath the familiar forelock, she had to shake her head in amazement. "I thought you were lost to me."
Overjoyed and grateful beyond measure, Annalyn spun around without thinking, threw her arms around Haldir, and held fast. "Thank you," she whispered against the rain-soaked hood of his cloak.
He seemed stunned at first, as if he was unsure of what to do. But then, even as the storm raged around them, Annalyn felt him relax, his arms rising, enfolding her at last.
Haldir was roasting the ptarmigan on a makeshift spit when Annalyn finally came in from the cold. When she set her newly-returned hunting bow and saddle bags by the cave opening, throwing back her hood as she righted herself, he noted that her cheeks were pink, her eyes alight with the same joy he had seen when he had returned with Cobalt.
It had been an extraordinary stroke of luck, if truth be told, for the land was vast, and the horse could have wandered anywhere. But shortly after Haldir had spotted and skewered that bird, he had sensed a presence nearby, and glanced over his shoulder. And there he had been, plodding through the rain, his large head bobbing up and down.
"It appears my concerns were misplaced," Annalyn said, sounding slightly winded because of the cold. "Cobalt seems to have fared rather well on his own." Facing the interior of the cave, she removed her cloak. "His tack required cleaning, same for his hooves, but he appears in good health."
"He is a strong mount." Haldir agreed without surprise. The people of Rohan were renowned for their horses after all.
"That he is." With her cloak laid out to dry, Annalyn crouched by her saddle bags, and peered inside. "Let us see what we have here… It's all there. And it's all dry!" Astounded, she took note of the items inside, her features brightening with every discovery. "A cooking pot, my favourite cup, tea leaves..." Hand reaching in, she retrieved a cloth-covered bundle. "Fortune is upon us it seems. Look!" Extending the item, she drew the cloth aside, revealing several strips of dried meat.
Shifting her focus to the second pack, Annalyn unfastened the buckle, and opened the leather flap. Upon seeing the contents, she closed her eyes, smiled brightly, and bowed her head, as if in thanks. On a grateful sigh, Annalyn soon produced a blanket, a wash cloth, spare clothing, and a bar of herb-infused soap. "Thank the fates," she whispered and laughed.
Suddenly conscious of the fact that he was staring, Haldir looked to the fire instead.
Moments later, soft laughter echoed in the space. "Oh, that is cold." Glancing up from the sizzling meat, he saw that Annalyn had moved to the mouth of the cave, and was now washing her hands in the shimmering curtain of rain outside. Soap in hand, she scrubbed vigorously. "I have been without supplies for so long, I had forgotten what it feels like to be clean." Having rinsed, she retraced her steps. Then, setting the soap to dry, she glanced down at her attire, and winced. "Though I grant you, I still have a long way to go. What a wretched sight I must be."
She wasn't though. Dirt or no, Annalyn was beautiful in his eyes. Eager to shift his attention, Haldir turned the meat over. "I believe this is cooked through."
"Is it? I am famished. Oh, which reminds me!"
Curious, Haldir waited as she rummaged through her uncle's satchel, the one she had been carrying since they had built the cairn.
"I found something today," Annalyn said then showed him.
"Common bonnets," he said, impressed by the find.
"See? You are not the only one who can provide." Her eyes twinkled as she boasted.
And so it was that they settled for their meal. In contrast to the violent storm outside, it was quiet and warm in the cave, the aroma of actual food filling the air. Midway through their meal, Annalyn glanced at Haldir, made a quiet confession, "You know, I had wondered if Elves hunted at all."
At his questioning gaze, she lowered her eyes, and shrugged. "You seem to have such a profound connection to the trees and the animals that I thought… perhaps…"
"We never kill lightly, if that is your meaning," he began. "But when we do hunt to sustain ourselves, we do so with a humble heart."
Annalyn smiled a little at that. As the fire crackled softly, the two went about finishing their meal. All told, there wasn't much of it, but it was good. Afterward, as they lingered by the fire, Haldir noted the way Annalyn pondered her belongings, her hand lingering on the clean clothes she had retrieved from her saddle bag.
Now that she had soap and a pot in which to heat some water, it occurred to him that she might wish to wash and change. Given where they were, and the respite it offered, he figured she might not get another chance—at least, not until they arrived in Lórien. "I shall have another look outside," he said. "I should like to stretch my legs for a while."
With that, he rose to grab his bow, but paused near the threshold when she said his name, telling him to be safe out there.
Glancing back at her, Haldir saw that she had discerned his intention, her mouth curved in gratitude. He also noted her eyes. They were lovely in this light. Smothering that last observation, he cleared his throat, nodded once, and stepped out into the cold.
Looking around, he found that the rain had not subsided. If anything, it was more intense. Scanning their hidden clearing, he pulled up his hood, and was about to leave when, through the lashing rain, a sound reached his ears—a low snort, followed by a soft neigh.
His features softening, Haldir approached the horse who now stood beneath a lip in the rock, not far from the cave. The gentle creature lowered his head to chomp on a patch of grass that had been spared the worst of the freezing rain.
"Are you weary, my friend?" Haldir asked in the elven-tongue.
For such was the way with Elves and good beasts. While they did not share the same manner of speech, they understood one another. Awareness was a good word for it. Deep and innate, it allowed the Elves to perceive the world, and the benevolent creatures who lived upon it, in a way most could not.
With a lazy blink and a gentle blow of his nostrils, Cobalt conveyed that he was indeed weary—weary but content.
Hand rising to stroke the horse's neck, Haldir smiled a little, and gave voice to what the animal was thinking, "You missed her, and are glad to be with her again." It was not a question. He knew it to be true. Then came the realisation that he, himself, was going to miss Annalyn once she left for home.
Must I keep doing this?
In truth, Haldir was slightly irritated with himself. Whether he wished it or not, it seemed Annalyn was anchored in his thoughts. Even now, he was thinking of earlier in the day, of that moment in the rain, and how she had felt in his arms.
Haldir immediately discarded the thought. He was being reckless. A fool. Lest he become besotted to the point where he might throw reason to the wind, he had to cease thinking of her in this fashion. That he had yet to do so baffled and troubled him, for he was usually more disciplined than this.
Genuinely at a loss, he sighed. The situation was so conflicting to him, so new—not the falling in love part. Haldir had known that before, or at least he had begun to, many long years ago. But loving a mortal…
That was new, unforeseen, and so incredibly unwise.
Was it truly surprising though?
His gaze straying toward the cave, Haldir could not deny that Annalyn appealed to him. Without even trying, she had won him over—with her kindness, her determination and bravery, even her faults and vulnerabilities—captivating him in a way he hadn't felt in a very long time.
Behind the dust and weariness of travel, Annalyn was fair of face and of heart, the latter being the most alluring, if he was honest. When she smiled, the warmth reached her eyes, soft hazel flecked with gold, the sight reminding him that there was still a fair amount of goodness in this fading world.
Even so, he thought, it changes nothing.
They were friends, companions. No longer could they blur the lines and hover on the edge of more. Doing so would only lead to heartache, his and hers, and Haldir didn't want that. He didn't want to cause her pain, nor did he want to intensify the ache he would feel when Annalyn would leave for home.
Falling for her with eyes partly shut was one thing, but they were open now. The kiss had opened them.
Thus, as the rain fell unabated, Haldir set his wayward heart aside, and turned to more pressing matters. War was looming, and as a warden of Lórien, he had to think of the realm, and of the threat that was gathering all around. With a lingering look toward the cave, Haldir slung his bow over his shoulder, bid Cobalt to rest well, and left for another patrol.
It was getting dark when Haldir finally announced his return. "Annalyn?" she heard him call from somewhere beyond the cave. Seemingly mindful of her privacy, he remained out of sight until she bid him to enter.
"I am decent," Annalyn assured him and pulled on her left boot.
When he ducked through the opening, his hair and clothing soaked through and through, Annalyn couldn't help feeling a little guilty—guilty yet immensely thankful—for here she was, clad in warm, dry, and clean clothes. Honestly, after all this time, it felt a little strange being clean.
Granted, her ablutions hadn't been as efficient as washing in a stream in the summer, or in a wooden tub at home, but considering where she was and all she had been through, scrubbing with soap and pouring warm water over her hair and skin had been more than she could have ever hoped for.
"I looked in on Cobalt. He is doing well," Haldir informed her while setting his bow against the wall.
"You know I never thought I would see him again. Even now, I scarce believe that he is here."
"The rain is turning to snow out there," he said, then shared his belief that the storm would rage all throughout the next day. "Hopefully, it will lift by the morrow. Once the weather clears, we should strike out as soon as we are able." That they could agree on.
"Well, if we are to tarry in this cave, we might as well make ourselves comfortable. Come. Sit by the fire with me. I was thinking of brewing some tea."
"I would like that, thank you," Haldir said, before removing both his cloak and quiver then, much to her shock, his tunic. As her face grew hot, Annalyn swallowed hard, only to realise that he wished to unwrap his bandage so as to check his wound. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, Haldir fetched a tiny blade from his satchel, which he then used to cut the thread that was looped through his skin.
Though she was trying not to stare at his strong and well-defined frame, Annalyn found it difficult not to. Hoping he wouldn't notice her ogling, she soon busied herself by sprinkling tea leaves in the boiling water. But when Haldir cursed under this breath, Annalyn realised he was having a bit of trouble, for his wound ran at a downward angle, toward the back of his arm.
"Do you need a hand?"
He frowned and tried one last time before finally giving up. "I cannot reach the last few stitches."
Amused by his frustration, Annalyn rose and rounded the fire. While he accepted her aid, Haldir fell silent as she worked. His posture was straight and rigid now, and he was staring intently at the flames.
Annalyn understood then that the tension had returned—not so cold and distant, but definitely cautious. Suppressing whatever it was that she felt, she accomplished her task and reminded herself that it was better this way—the only way it could and should be.
"Your wound is barely noticeable. I doubt you will even have a scar. There." She sat back to examine her work. "As good as new."
With a nod of thanks, Haldir reached for his tunic while Annalyn gained her feet, and went to sit opposite him, with the fire safely between them. Leaning forth, she then checked on the tea, and found it was ready. Taking care not to spill anything, she leaned forward to hand him a small earthenware cup, which he accepted with a courteous nod. "Careful not to scald yourself," she said.
As he took a sip, she found herself watching him, waiting to see if he liked it as much as she did. While she would never admit to it, Annalyn secretly hoped it would please him, for the blend was of her own making, with herbs she had picked during her travels.
"It is quite good," Haldir declared at length, making her smile. "Fragrant."
"Well the blend is mostly mint. But there is fennel also."
As the rain continued to batter the exterior of the cave, the muffled sound blending with the gentle popping of the flames, they both sat in silence, listening, resting, each borne on their own thoughts. Little by little, Haldir's posture became more relaxed. After a time, he even draped an arm over his knee.
Content to remain like so, Annalyn turned her attention to the collapsing logs near the center of the fire. Then, as she absently spun a dry leaf between her fingers, Haldir surprised her by breaking the silence and venturing a question, "What do you have there?"
She extended her hand to show him. "Gearwe. We found them near a pine grove beneath the Misty Mountains." It was a bittersweet memory, the last cheerful days spent with her kin. "Aldin carried the bulk of it. I kept but a little in my pack."
"You hold a significant fondness for growing things," Haldir remarked at length, refilling the cup and handing it over so they could share the tea. "Was it always so?" The fact that he wished to know surprised her a little, though she did not mind in the least.
"Close to it." She shrugged then took a sip. "As a child, I was naturally curious, and would often inquire about the plants my uncle brought back, or even the ones growing out in the meadow." Adrift on distant memories, she fixated on the fire, her voice becoming more subdued. "But it was only later, when the sickness came, that I truly began paying attention, seeking to learn all I could."
"A sickness?"
Annalyn nodded. "A fever," she clarified. "The people of the Westfold remember it as the burning summer. It started with one of the villagers, then two. Within a few days, it had spread like wildfire, striking one dwelling after the other."
Haldir did not speak, instead waited for her to say more.
"With so many people falling ill, it was not long before the healer's stores ran out. My uncle… he tried to help." Setting the Gearwe aside, she wrapped both hands about her tea cup, her fingers suddenly craving its warmth. "He thought to gather more medicine, and rode off in the middle of the night. But there was not enough time."
Lost in sorrowful reminiscence, Annalyn went on, "My aunt sickened and succumbed during his absence. Aldin was only three and ten at the time. So young," she whispered. "So utterly unjust." Ten long years had passed since then.
"My mother caught it. And finally my father… The healer came when he could, but with more and more people falling ill, his visits grew few and far between… I tried to help them. I remained at their bedside and did all I could to lower their fever. But there was naught to be done in the end. My mother died late one night. Two days later, my father followed. It was the hardest thing, seeing the life leave their eyes."
Tears veiled her sight, blurring the flames.
Haldir said, "It is wrong for a child to lose a parent so young."
Annalyn sat a bit straighter, sniffling as she blinked to clear her vision. "It is, though I was not as young as Aldin. I was seven and ten at the time."
"Still."
Silence fell upon the cave like a shroud. Lifting her gaze, Annalyn saw that Haldir was staring at the fire, a crease between his brows. Her story had pained him, she could tell.
"It is a terrible thing losing one's kin," he said, before confessing, "I, too, have lost."
His words reached into the very heart of her, twisting it. She had to ask, "Whom did you lose?"
A long pause ensued. "My mother and father. Among others."
"I am sorry," Annalyn whispered, not knowing what else to say.
Given the boundaries they had set, and how fiercely private he was, the last thing she expected was for him to elaborate. But much to her astonishment, he did exactly that. "I was not with them when they died, but the memory of that day has stayed with me, and forever will."
For a moment, she thought he would lapse into silence, that he had shared as much as he felt capable of, but he continued. The stormy blue of his eyes obscured by sweeping lashes, Haldir stoked the fire and told her of what befell them, late one autumn, over a millenium ago.
"My father was leading a patrol up in the mountains," he said then sought her eyes. "Do you remember the area that I warned you of? In the mountains west of the Golden Wood?"
Annalyn remembered, albeit vaguely. "You had mentioned something about a mine?"
He nodded. "Moria, though in elder days, it was known by another name. Khazad-dûm it was called. A thousand years ago, the Dwarves who dwelt in the mountain suddenly began to flee. At first, the Elves believed that the caverns had been overrun by Orcs, for evil things had been multiplying in the Misty Mountains. Given how much the Dwarves valued their riches and their work, we assumed they would return and take back their halls. But the seasons changed and the mines remained empty."
As he spoke, Annalyn hung on to his every word, her cup halfway to her lips.
"Concerned by these changes, Amroth, who was King of Lórien at the time, dispatched a company of soldiers to look into the matter. When my father's patrol failed to return, a second company was mustered. Orophin and I were on sentry duty that day, on the south-eastern edge of the woods." From this, she gathered that Haldir had not always held the rank he did now.
"What about Rúmil? Where was he?" she asked.
"Being a late addition to our family, he was only eighty at the time, and was therefore too young to join our ranks. No, he was home in Caras Galadhon when all of this came to pass." A fact for which he seemed grateful.
Resuming his story, he said, "By the time news reached me, the second company had already departed." His voice lowered a notch, sorrow lacing every word. "I soon learned that my mother was among them."
Her heart broke for him. Lacking a suitable response, she asked, "Your mother was a soldier?" Why she had chosen that particular question, Annalyn did not know. Still, she had asked, and he answered.
"She was. For a time." Though muted by sadness, there was an air of pride about him. He even managed a small smile.
Annalyn pondered that for a moment, comparing it to the Rohirric way of life. Back in Rohan, it was not unusual for women to wield swords. Most could. But unlike a shieldmaiden of noble birth, a common woman did not generally have the time nor the opportunity to train in the arts of battle. Perhaps it was different for the Elves.
"When elven women bear their children," Haldir went on to explain, "much of their strength passes over to them. And so, once I was begotten, my mother set her duties aside, and remained in Caras Galadhon to care for me and then my brothers. But as we grew and came into our own, the forest would beckon to her every now and again, and she would travel to the border to see my father. Having served with the Galadhrim, she was welcome on the marches, always. It chanced that when his company failed to return, she had gone to see him. When the second company was mustered, my mother was resolute in her desire to accompany them, and the Marchwarden chose to grant her request."
A look of fondness pierced through his sorrow. "If my mother was one thing, she was indomitable, a force of nature, especially when her heart and mind were set. With my father's life at stake, I daresay none could have kept her from going, not even Amroth himself."
His words moved and resonated with her. Indeed, Annalyn could understand his mother's determination. She would have likely done the same.
"Orophin and I hastened to the border, and had just reached the northern fences when sentinels reported seeing smoke in the distance. Suspecting an ambush, the Galadhrim made hasty preparations and, ere nightfall, we were on the mountain, a hundred or so of us, outfitted for battle. Alas," he said, "when we arrived, we were greeted by a smoldering mountainside, the remnants of a savage battle. Based on what we saw, it appeared that my father's patrol had been ambushed upon arrival, the search party as well. Off in the distance, we spied hundreds of Orcs and Goblins scurrying into the mines, taking some of our fallen with them." Hearing this made her shudder, and she couldn't help thinking of Aldin, imagining a similar scene.
"Unwilling to leave our fallen brethren, not knowing whether they were still alive, we pursued the creatures into the caves. But even as we fought and gained ground, retrieving a few of our wounded along the way, we came face to face with a foe so terrible that many of our soldiers stood frozen, stricken with fear."
Both intrigued and alarmed, Annalyn blindly set her cup aside, and wondered what manner of foe would frighten a full company of Elves.
"Indeed, we had long believed that the Balrogs were no more. And yet one towered before us. Never had I beheld anything like it, a whip-wielding beast of shadow and flame."
A chill ran down her spine.
"The Dwarves…" The edge in his voice could not be missed. "They dug too greedily, and in their quest for mithril, they unearthed and awoke this thing, this demon of the underworld, a slumbering remnant of the days of Morgoth."
Balrogs. Morgoth. Annalyn had never heard such names before tonight. Still, her blood ran cold.
"At this point, we had lost several in my company, and more were wounded, including our Marchwarden and his second in command. As our soldiers wavered in fear, I rallied them as best I could, and together we gathered those of us who had been hurt and hastily fled the mines."
This she could imagine, Haldir stepping up to take charge of a dire situation. It was engrained in who he was.
"Day had broken by then, therefore the Orcs did not pursue us. In the end, we lingered only long enough to gather our fallen, most of whom had been shot down or slaughtered on the mountainside," he explained, adding that some had been doused in pitch and burned alive. It made her feel sick.
"I looked and looked, but at first I saw no sign of my mother and father. For a time, I feared the Orcs had snatched them, or that they had been among the ones whose bodies had been left to smoulder on the ground." The muscles of his jaw flexed and tightened. It was a moment before he could continue.
"I had nearly lost hope when, at last, Orophin found them." A small mercy, she thought even as her heart broke for them.
"All things considered, their deaths were clean—or as clean as I could have hoped for."
The fire popped and crackled, sending sparks toward the roof of the cave.
"Of the soldiers we managed to save, there were some who relayed the story to me. My father, I was told, had fallen in the early stages of that first ambush, skewered by Goblin archers. As for my mother, it was said that she fought bravely, with a level of strength equal to that of her days amongst the Galadhrim. But when she found my father…"
Haldir cleared his throat, his voice made rough by grief when he said, "When she saw that he had been slain… her will crumbled, and her strength deserted her. Heartbroken, she knelt by my father and had been cradling his body when she, too, was shot by an arrow."
Haldir dragged a tired hand over his face, no doubt to conceal the pain he still felt.
"I am so sorry," was all she said, all she could say.
"It was a difficult time. I do not usually speak of it," Haldir confessed, and she wondered why he had chosen to do so now, with her. Somehow knowing what a privilege it was, she remained silent, a look of commiseration on her face when he continued, "Neither do my brothers. In the years following my mother and father's deaths, I took it upon myself to look after them. Rúmil especially."
Perhaps it was the way he spoke, but something told her he watched over him still, over both his brothers, much like she had for Aldin in those early years of wandering the mountains together, when he had been but a boy.
"They must be anxious for your return," Annalyn said then.
A small smile broke through. "Doubtless they will be watching the valley. Indeed, it is likely they will be amongst the first to greet us." His eyes brightened somewhat, and she couldn't help the smile that spread across her mouth. Clearly Haldir was quite close to his brothers. It gladdened her heart.
It also made her wonder about his life and the people currently in it. The people he loved.
Later that evening, as she sat with her blanket wrapped around her shoulders, Annalyn looked beyond the flames, catching sight of Haldir through the rising curls of smoke. He had resumed his watch, his back to her as he stared out into the gathering dark.
"There is no one," his words lingered in her mind, the admission he had made the other night, following her mistaken assumption that he already loved another. "At least, not for a long time."
Annalyn wondered why that was, what might have happened. Perhaps his feeling of responsibility toward his brothers had played a part in it. But then, perhaps she was grasping at straws. For love was a fickle thing, could end in a great number of ways. She would know.
While Annalyn never spoke of it, she too had known love. For a time.
All told, it was a rather brief story, one that had ended in profound shame and disappointment.
Wilmaer.
It had been a good while since she had given any thought to him. Though honestly, she hadn't wanted to think of him.
Originally from Edoras, he had been serving under Théodred, heir to King Théoden and commander of the Westfold, for nearly two years now. The muster with which he rode was charged with guarding the West-Mark. Every other fortnight, their patrol route would bring them to her village, and it was during just such a halt that she had first seen him.
Unattached and charming, he had caught her eye late one evening, when she had gone to fetch Aldin from the mead-hall. As she had stood by one of the tables, helping her jovial and slightly inebriated cousin to his feet, Wilmaer had noticed her, too. Brown of hair, he had held her eyes from across the room, his curved mouth hovering just over his cup. When his smile had broadened, Annalyn had noticed the dimples in his cheeks. She had smiled in kind, but her words had been for Aldin. "Time to go home."
Wilmaer had sought her out the next day, as she was gathering supplies for an upcoming journey in the mountains. She had found him gallant and pleasant. He had even made her laugh. What had struck her the most, however, had been his broad-mindedness. Unlike most men, Wilmaer was not mystified by what she chose to do with her life. "A free spirit," was what he had called her, and she'd liked that.
Thus, began their story.
It was not conventional, by any means. But then it had been long since she had lived a conventional life.
Between his patrols and her lengthy wanderings, they had seen each other only when they could, usually for a day or two at a time. They had also kept their feelings a secret, though she sensed Aldin had known.
Forced to steal brief moments here and there, Wilmaer had been wont to seek her out in the stable, oft surprising her as she tended to Cobalt.
In the mead-hall, while keeping to their respective circles and tables, they had often thrown fleeting but knowing looks to one another. Annalyn had found joy in those moments, and when Wilmaer had broached the subject one night, she had actually entertained the idea of a betrothal and a more sedentary life.
Alas, keeping in theme with the rest of her existence, her happiness had been short-lived.
One day, upon returning from the mountains earlier than expected, Annalyn had thought to surprise him. But when she had walked into the soldier's stable, and found him with his arm laced around that other maiden's waist, their mouths fused in a lingering kiss…
The air had rushed out of her lungs.
Disbelief. Hurt. Betrayal. Annalyn had felt all those things. She had also felt foolish. Desperate to leave, she had stumbled backward, the heel of her boot thumping against the stable door. Wilmaer had released the maid at once.
"Annalyn." She would never forget the stunned expression on his face, nor the way he had looked afterward, when he had taken a step toward her and stopped, seeing the rapid shake of her head.
Too late, she had thought, discerning his shame, his regret. There is no coming back from this.
Instead of confronting Wilmaer, Annalyn had merely stared—ignoring the other maid altogether—before finally spinning on her heel and walking out the door.
"Wait!" he had called after her. But she had never looked back.
A year and many months had passed since then. Annalyn had not forgotten that awful day in the stable, nor had she forgiven Wilmaer. But she had moved beyond it in the sense that it no longer hurt in the way it used to.
It had been a gradual process, the slow healing of time. In the days immediately following his betrayal, hurt had turned to anger, which in turn had yielded to profound disappointment. That, too, had lessened over time. Looking back on it now, Annalyn felt a dull kind of acceptance—though a fair amount of shame remained.
Shame for believing in Wilmaer. And shame for what she had so foolishly granted him, in a heady moment of weakness late one night. Unwilling to dwell on that particular memory, Annalyn stoked the flames, and turned her thoughts to the future.
It was a strange thing, the passage of time. How quickly it went. In a few short years, she would be thirty. Most of the girls she had grown up with were now wed, some with two or three children in tow.
But to experience love in that way, to truly live it, was not her lot in life. Annalyn had made peace with that. And in the wide open spaces of the world, she had found another kind of contentment, a feeling born out of knowing she was contributing, making a difference in the lives of those back home. A purpose.
As for Wilmaer, she would cross paths with him every now and again. They had even spoken once, or rather he had spoken to her—a quiet and subdued greeting as she had walked by him at market. He regretted. That much was clear. But he had lost her forever that day, for love without trust is but an empty promise. She would rather be alone. So she was.
Daring another lingering look, Annalyn spied her beautiful guardian standing nearby. Haldir would never do such a thing, she knew. One might have said she was merely guessing, but she did not believe so. He was too disciplined to engage in such a reckless betrayal. He was also loyal, wholly devoted to those he loved. Annalyn had seen that tonight, when he had spoken of his brothers. It was also evident in the honorable and dutiful way he served his realm, his beloved Lothlórien.
No, he was nothing like Wilmaer. Not that it matters, she thought wistfully, but had to correct herself. It mattered.
It mattered because he was her friend, because she had come to trust him with her life.
It mattered because, deep down—despite the uselessness of it all—Annalyn knew she had fallen for him.
