Sorry this chapter took a little longer. I was away for a few days without a laptop, then work got in the way. To make up for it, I am aiming to post another chapter by next weekend or early next week *fingers crossed*.
As always, I am sending a heartfelt thank you to my reviewers: leward1992, Rogue's Queen, Blue1258, WickedGreene13, Auriene, leelee202, Doria Nell, Cricklewood16, SmallLittleCagedBird, gandalf007, FriendlyNeighborhoodHufflepuff, Guest, Raider-K, and KathrannofQuade. Your reviews are not only the best gift I could hope for, they're super motivating, too.
CHAPTER XXVIII
A VERY COLD NIGHT
The storm raged on, delaying their journey for one more night. The very last, according to Haldir, who was usually right about these things.
Because the wind had changed directions, cold air was now sweeping through the entrance, leaving a gathering layer of snow just inside the cave. As if that wasn't bad enough, Annalyn and Haldir had lost their fire today. The logs they had gathered earlier that morning had taken forever to thaw. And once the ice had melted, the wood had been too damp to hold a flame. It still was.
After the relative comfort of the past two days, this bout of ill-luck was a disheartening turn. Gone was the warmth of their fire, the dancing light of the flames. To get away from the intruding wind, Annalyn had moved to a sheltered corner of the cave, where she was now working to ignite the branches and wood shavings by her feet. This was their backup plan; Haldir was still working on the first.
"Come on, come on…" Her whispered words echoed in the gathering gloom.
Firesteel struck against flint, sending a shower of sparks onto the charcloth at the bottom of the tinderbox. Repeating the motion, Annalyn hissed a curse and shook the pain from her hand. This was the third time she had caught her knuckles on that flint. With fraying patience, she continued with her task until the charcloth finally smouldered. With a renewed spark of hope, Annalyn completed the steps necessary to transfer a tiny flame to her kindling.
But it was no use.
"The fire will not catch." Frustrated by her lack of success, she tossed the tinderbox aside, and hung her head for a moment. Calm yourself. Breathe.
Good gracious it was cold. Bringing her stiff and aching fingers to her mouth, Annalyn blew onto them, and glanced up to see how her companion was faring.
Working to restore the flames, Haldir was crouched by the powdery circle that used to be their fire. Thanks to his tireless efforts, a few embers remained—though by the looks of it, it wouldn't be long before they dimmed into useless ash.
Holding his hair out of the way, Haldir leaned over the steaming wood, blowing gently upon the kindling and the embers below. Each breath sent a ripple of intensifying light across his features.
"Still no luck?" Annalyn asked.
Haldir shot a gaze in her direction, his grim features telling her all she needed to know. "Here," she said, fetching her tinderbox and bringing it over.
Having travelled for many years, Annalyn was no stranger to cold nights. But this cold rivaled, even surpassed, the coldest nights of her life.
It was never supposed to be this way.
When she and her kin had set off from their village, at the turn of autumn, they had meant to head back south as quickly as their route allowed. If their journey hadn't gone awry, if her uncle and cousin hadn't been slain, they never would have stayed this far north. Not for so long. And the bulk of their supplies wouldn't have been scattered and lost—including those thick furs that could ward off the bitterest cold.
Indeed, if her company hadn't fallen prey to Orcs, they would have been well on their way to Rohan by now, where the air was sweet and mild, even in winter. Instead, Annalyn was stranded in a cave, somewhere in the vales of Rhovanion, cold and shivering, with nothing but a cloak and a blanket to survive the night.
At least Haldir was here. As was Cobalt.
Suddenly fretful for her horse, Annalyn grabbed one of her saddle bags, and went to check on him.
Night was falling fast. It would be completely dark soon. Hunched against the cold, Annalyn navigated the snow-drift that was accumulating outside the cave. Almost knee-deep, it slowed her steps until she was clear of it. As she approached her horse, the wind stung her face, so did the falling snow, for instead of fluffy snowflakes, the air was laden with tiny ice pellets.
"Hello, dear friend. Miserable night, is it not?" She ran a hand along the horse's muscled neck and, with an upward glance, thanked the fates for the overhang. At least the wind wasn't so fierce on this side, and the snow hadn't fully covered the ground either. Tall stalks of grass still protruded from the snow, brushing against her boots with every gust.
Reaching into her saddle bag, Annalyn produced a handful of oats. "Soon we will be home. The grass is sweet in the Riddermark, remember?" As Cobalt picked the oats with his lips, a lopsided smile broke through her downcast expression. "The grass in Lothlórien will be good, too. Fresh and green. I promise."
Satisfied that Cobalt was doing well, Annalyn retraced her steps, braving the wind until she entered the cave again. Crouched where she had last seen him, Haldir was rearranging the logs on the pitiful remnants of their campfire. The embers had mostly faded to grey. The damp wood wasn't even steaming anymore. Blowing into her hands, she offered to take over, but her companion refused, dismissing her with a sharp look and a quick shake of his head.
Annalyn raised her brows.
Haldir was in a sour mood. Not that she blamed him. The loss of their fire was dispiriting. Thinking it was best to let him be, she was edging the wall next to the entrance, seeking the corner, when a frustrated utterance reached her ears.
"Rhaich!"
Taken aback by the quiet outburst, she turned and blinked at her companion. Haldir was scowling at the circle of ash, his nostrils flaring like they always did whenever he was displeased. "It is no use," he said at last, tossing a log aside as he rose.
Though she understood and shared his frustration, Annalyn couldn't help it. Her mouth twitched. Haldir, the cool and unflappable Marchwarden of Lórien, was angered by his failure. Hoping to mask her amusement—for it was better to laugh than cry—she suppressed her smile, reached into her pack, and produced a dried strip of meat. "Here," she said, extending the meagre offering.
With a breath, Haldir gained mastery over his emotions. Nodding in thanks, he took the proffered food, and went to sit against the wall.
Joining him, Annalyn considered the cave in which they sat. Without their fire, the temperature was plummeting, the space darkening by the minute. Resigned to a night without light and warmth, she pursed her lips, her head thudding against the smooth stone at her back.
They had long since finished their humble meal when Haldir's voice carried over the haunting wind, his words unwontedly gentle when he said, "I am sorry for the fire. I wanted…"
She looked sidelong at him. "I know." He had wanted to save their fire for both of them, yes. But mostly for her. With gratitude in her heart, Annalyn watched his downcast features, his fair skin standing out in the dimness. "You gave it your all. We both did." Now she smiled a little. "It was good while it lasted. Now if only this storm would lift."
"It will. By tomorrow, I reckon."
"Well, if this is to be our last night in the cave, I should try to sleep."
Without a fire to betray their presence, Haldir relaxed his watch somewhat. Instead of standing by the entrance, he remained by her side, sitting cross-legged while Annalyn settled in to sleep.
Wrapped in her cloak and blanket, she lay curled on her side, her arms and legs tucked in close. When the shivering started, she tried not to think of the coldness of the cave floor, how the chill seeped through her clothing, her flesh, reaching her very bones. With the bottom half of her face concealed beneath her blanket, Annalyn had just closed her eyes—envisioning a warm summer day—when something ghosted along her shoulder.
Even in the dark, she knew what it was; its soft cedar scent gave it away.
The elven cloak.
Moved beyond reason, she rose on her forearm and looked to her companion, her dearest friend. "Haldir, no." Her refusal was gentle but earnest.
This was, by far, the coldest night they had spent without a fire. And elven garb or no, his tunic had a large gash on the sleeve. To lie here, wrapped in multiple layers while he sat in nothing but his clothes would have been wrong. Hoping he wouldn't take it the wrong way, Annalyn gave a subtle shake of her head. "You are not doing this. Not tonight."
But Haldir said nothing. Leaving the cloak where it lay, he regarded her with an unreadable expression. And then he was easing away. When he started to gain his feet, Annalyn stopped him by grasping his sleeve. She hadn't really thought about it. She had just done it. And now, with a nervous feeling in her stomach, Annalyn waited.
There are times when words are needful—to clarify or define—but in that moment, none were spoken.
Haldir wanted her to have his cloak, whereas she wanted him to wear it. It was a stalemate, a silent clashing of wills that ultimately ended in compromise. It was the only way.
Whether she moved first, or he did, Annalyn hadn't the faintest. But when she lifted her blanket in welcome, Haldir was settling alongside her.
Her throat bobbed. Hoping he wouldn't discern her nervousness, Annalyn laid back down, with her back to him. They were doing this for warmth, she kept telling herself. By necessity.
Perhaps it was a mistake. Perhaps it wasn't. But emotional awkwardness aside, it was the most sensible thing to do.
Painfully aware of his proximity, Annalyn told herself that they had done this before, after finding that war camp. But that was before their kiss, before their feelings had blossomed, complicating things.
As seconds turned to minutes, Annalyn willed her thrumming heart to slow. It wasn't as cold now. As conflicting as it was, Haldir's nearness was warm and comfortable. It was pleasant. A torment.
Unable to sleep, a part of her ached to see his face, ached to know what he was thinking right now. The effect he had on her was undeniably visceral. Was it the same for him? Haldir had feelings for her. Of that she had no doubt. But whether or not they ran as deeply as hers, Annalyn did not know. Maybe it was better that way.
How did I fall so quickly? she wondered with a sad kind of awe.
Somewhere along the way, without her realising, Haldir had gotten into her bloodstream, his comforting presence stirring her in ways she never would have guessed or imagined. Her thoughts turning to their journey—or what remained of it—Annalyn couldn't help the pang in her chest at knowing she would have to leave him soon. Just thinking of it…
Tears stung her eyes. One of them slipped free. As it rolled over the bridge of her nose, falling past her face, to the lining of her hood, she raised a hand to wipe the salty trail, only to realise that this single, careless gesture betrayed all that was in her heart.
She froze, breathless in the dark. As she waited in mild panic, her blanket shifted, then Haldir's hand was on her upper arm, squeezing gently.
He knew.
How long they lingered in this fashion, Annalyn had no idea. Her thoughts were tangled, her emotions too numerous and conflicting to name. Outside, the wind sang its haunting song, the notes at once angry and mournful.
The wisest thing to do would have been to close her eyes, to contend herself with the comfort of his warmth. Instead, Annalyn tested the waters by sidling a bit closer. Just for tonight.
Annalyn chewed her lip. An endless moment went by. Then Haldir shifted, moving the rest of the way until his chest was pressed firmly at her back, his arm slowly wrapping around her body, holding her to him as though he feared she would fly away.
In a perfect world, there wouldn't be this impassable gulf between them. She would be like him, or he would be like her. The same. Compatible. In a perfect world, turning in his arms and seeking his mouth would be an easy decision. Kissing him would be sweet instead of tragic.
And so Annalyn lay in the bracing circle of his arm. With closing eyes, she sent her hand in search of the muscled forearm that was now lying across her chest. He is holding me, she marveled even as her heart splintered in her chest. Haldir is holding me.
As tears welled in her eyes once more, Annalyn brushed her cheek against the hand he had curled around her shoulder, hoping it would soothe her turmoil and assuage the pain she felt.
It didn't.
How cruel and maddening it was, to love someone you couldn't have.
In the long hours that ensued, not a word was spoken, and neither of them moved. Lulled by his breathing, Annalyn drifted off to sleep after a time—a dreamless but restful sleep, after which they arose to find that the storm had lifted at last.
* Rhaich! - "Curses!"
