Because you have all been so patient, and because I feel a bit bad for the slow pace of this story, I decided to merge two chapters together. I hope you are all doing well. Thanks to all who have been reading this story. It means a lot.

WickedGreene13, leward1992, durinsdaughter2469btw, leelee202, grumpypirate, Auriene, AshleyLeigh, Gandalf007, KathrannofQuade, Blue1258, SmallLittleCagedBird, Rogue's Queen, barbaranob7, Cricklewood16, Raider-K, and FriendlyNeighborhoodHufflepuff… Thank you so much for your reviews on chapter 29. They made my week.


CHAPTER XXX

RETURN TO LOTHLÓRIEN

She couldn't sleep.

Wrapped in her blanket, near the foot of the lone pine tree, Annalyn kept going over that moment with Haldir, torturing herself with the memory. They hadn't kissed, hadn't done anything per say. But they had shared a moment. Without meaning to at first, she had leaned against him and, craving his proximity, had lingered. Haldir, for his part, had been content to let her. For a time he had seemed as transfixed as she had felt. But ultimately, thankfully, his good sense had won out, and he had eased away.

Shifting to find a more comfortable position, Annalyn readjusted her blanket, and cemented her resolve. You cannot lose your head like this. You cannot be so weak. She was, though. Clearly.

The feel of his chest, strong and firm against her back, and that of his hands on her hips… Gracious.

She opened her eyes, and found herself watching him. She couldn't help it; he captivated her.

At present, Haldir stood in silent watch, some distance away. A firmament of stars shone above him, for the moon had set, and was no longer washing out the stars. A faint breeze stirred his hair and cloak but, like all the Elves, Haldir could stand eerily still. His posture, however, was far from relaxed.

Before she knew it, he turned his face to look at her, as though he had sensed her gaze from afar. The set of his features conveyed that he was restless, troubled. She knew why.

They had indulged even though they shouldn't have. For a brief moment in time, they had hovered on the very edge of more.

If Haldir had not pulled back when he had… If he had kissed her cheek, or the side of her neck, she would have likely yielded, granting him aught that he wished this night. Such was the effect he had on her.

It was hard to believe she had loathed him at one time. She had been wary, even frightened of him at first. Oh how she had hated the way he used to stare down his nose at her, like she had been some bothersome little creature, beneath him and his elven brothers.

But now… now she loved him. And whenever Haldir looked into her eyes—like he was doing now from afar—it seemed that he loved her, too.

Her breath caught. Heat gathered at the crux of her thighs.

What is wrong with you? She chided herself, severing the visual connection by closing her eyes. War was coming. She had just lost her kin. And yet here she was, yearning for her companion, her dearest friend, wondering what it would be like to make love to him.

For an instant, she envisioned herself sitting astride him, their mouths nearly touching as their bodies rocked in a languid dance as old as time.

Mind your thoughts! Frustrated, she huffed a breath and turned to face the other way.

At daybreak, when it was time to leave, Haldir approached her as she was adjusting her saddle. Before he could say anything, Annalyn beat him to it. "We will part ways before long." Unable to meet his eyes, she kept on working. "I will visit your city, but my home… My home awaits me. Just as Lothlórien awaits you." Somehow, a wry little smile found its way to her mouth. "I am certain you will be glad to be amongst your brethren again."

Haldir remained silent, as though he was waiting for her to look at him. She did.

"Part we must," he said at last, his features grimmer than she had ever seen them. "But I take no joy in it."

A lump clogged her throat. Unable to endure his gaze, Annalyn promptly resumed her task, her voice strained when she said, "Let us go."

They went.

Because the silence was unbearable, Annalyn chose to practice Sindarin for most of that day. Sometimes aloud. Sometimes just in her head.

At one point, Haldir halted atop a hill. A moment later, Annalyn pulled rein beside him.

His eyes were alight, a tiny smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "Lothlórien," he said with quiet pride. "Do you see it?"

Staring off into the distance, Annalyn squinted in hopes of seeing his beloved woods, but the land looked all the same to her eyes—a rolling carpet of greens and greys with the occasional patch of barley gold. The temperature had been mild these past few days. If indeed it had snowed here, it had long since melted away.

"If only I had your eyes," she lamented on a half-smile. "The woods are much too far for me to see."

"Come." Haldir was moving again, his feet light and swift.

After their long and tiring journey, it was heartening to know they were almost there, and yet their impending arrival brought mixed feelings to Annalyn. Haldir wanted to show her his home, and she wanted to see it, but tarrying there overlong… that she could not do.

Annalyn needed to go home, she had to warn the Eorlingas of the threat that might seek to encroach upon their lands. Not only that, but she needed to break the news of Aldin's passing to Erna, the young woman he had hoped to marry, a woman who had loved him in turn.

And so they journeyed onward. All told, it was an uneventful day. But as late afternoon gave way to early evening, Annalyn noticed an aching stiffness in her hands. At first, she blamed it on holding the reins all day. But testing her fingers, she noted the same thing in her wrist. Not just one, but both. By the time they made camp, on the grassy banks of a dry creek bed, all of her joints were hurting.

Deciding it was nothing, Annalyn saw to Cobalt, then went about making a fire. Because the dried-up creek was nestled between two ridges, they reckoned it was a safe enough spot. But by the time she had prepared her nightly pot of herbal tea, her head was pounding, too.

"Are you alright?" Of course, little escaped Haldir's notice—and she had been rubbing her temples.

"I am just weary from all that riding." She hoped it was true.

Annalyn didn't even finish her tea that night. Wanting nothing more than to lie down, she had just settled in to sleep when a dull ache settled in her stomach.

It will pass, she kept telling herself and willed it to be true. By tomorrow morning, you will be fine. She and Haldir would resume their journey, and they would soon reach Lothlórien.

But that dull ache soon turned to outright pain—a sharp stabbing feeling just above her navel. Not only that, but her headache intensified, the throbbing heightened every time she breathed or moved a little.

No. This was most definitely not weariness. What is wrong with me?

Thinking back to the last few days, an image flashed in her mind—that of a dead pheasant floating in a foul pool.

But she hadn't touched the water. She hadn't drunk from it either.

Or did she?

With a growing sense of alarm, Annalyn remembered the stream from which she had filled her waterskin. Its source was unknown to her, but what if it was connected to that pool—it was spring-fed after all. That water had to spill out at one point; it had to go somewhere. And in her haste to get out of there, Annalyn hadn't thought to look.

The notion that she had swallowed dirty Troll water was sickening. Before long, roiling nausea washed over her, and her stomach contracted. Annalyn gagged and rolled. Crawling on hands and knees, she made it only far enough to clear her blanket before retching her guts up.

Between her heaving, and the wet sounds of vomit hitting the ground, she heard her name. Haldir had rushed over. "You have fallen ill," he said, stating the obvious with what she thought was mild panic.

With clenched eyes and gritted teeth, Annalyn warned him away by raising a hand and holding it there. She took a few gulping breaths, but her now empty stomach heaved again. She was helpless to stop it.

No, no, no, no.

Weak and trembling, Annalyn pushed a loose strand of hair away from her face, and waited. Her stomach was beginning to calm—thank the fates—but the inside of her body felt like a roaring hearth. For a mercy, her sweat speckled skin helped in that regard. But soon, the cooling sensation turned to outright cold. Moving away from the mess, Annalyn spit off to the side .

"I think I made a mistake." Her voice was hoarse from all that vomiting. "Remember that Troll pond? What if it was connected to that stream? The one I drank from."

Seeing the concern—no, the fear—in Haldir's eyes, Annalyn grabbed her blanket again. On shaky legs, she went to sit against a large boulder. When Haldir offered his waterskin—at least his wasn't tainted—she accepted it with a faint nod of gratitude.

In all truthfulness, she was sick of this, in every sense of the word. Barring a few exceptions, the past few weeks had been nothing short of a nightmare. Despite her desire to craft her own fate, her path was riddled with misfortune, and things kept happening to her. There was helplessness in that, no better than a leaf borne upon the wind, and she hated that feeling, that loss of control.

"Great." A mere rasp, delivered as the back of her head came to rest against the boulder. "Just great."


Annalyn had not spoken in a while. Not that he blamed her. The night had been taxing. She had vomited a few more times. Luckily, the nausea had subsided shortly before daybreak. The current set of her eyes, however, hinted at a lingering headache. That being said, Annalyn kept insisting she was fine, that it was nothing and it would pass. And so, shortly after dawn, she had gathered her things, climbed in the saddle, and set off, saying, "Are you coming?"

Despite her exhaustion, it seemed her focus had not flagged. Not that it ever did.

"Those clouds seem like ill-news," she remarked sometime after midday, as they proceeded beneath an increasingly dreary sky. Before long, the rains made their return. "And so it begins again." A sigh and she donned her hood with trembling fingers.

For a mercy, the water did not freeze upon the earth this time. Still, it was not pleasant, especially for Annalyn who was not impervious to miserable weather.

"It will be better in Lothlórien," Haldir promised as they skirted along the now murky waters of a stream—a tributary of the River Celebrant. As he followed Cobalt's pace, Haldir explained that the rains were never this intense in the Golden Wood. The cleansing drizzles never lasted very long either.

"I remember." Annalyn's features were drawn, yet she smiled anyway. "How about that cordial?" she inquired with guarded hope, speaking of the warming drink he had given her on her first night in the Golden Wood. "Do you think the patrols might spare some?"

Now it was his turn to give a faint smile. "I outrank them. I shall make certain they do."

"The perquisites of knowing a commander," she teased.

"Marchwarden," Haldir countered in a rare jest.

Her smirk remained. "I stand corrected." Alas her mirth soon gave way to annoyance as her body tensed with what he guessed was a wave of pain. Eyes closed, Annalyn breathed through it for a moment.

He frowned. "We might have something for that also." Well, the healers might.

Though it pained him to admit it, the journey had taken its toll on Annalyn. Worried by the possibility that she had drunk from a fouled water source, Haldir searched his mind for ways to help her. Wounds he could treat, the same for bone breaks and burns. But illness? He was at a loss, to be honest, for Elves did not sicken in this fashion.

Hopefully, whatever ailed her would pass sooner rather than later. If not, the healers of Lórien might know what to do.

Soaked through and through, they continued in the rain. Because of her discomfort, Annalyn had slowed their pace somewhat. At present, Cobalt was walking at a mere plod, his hooves thumping on the wet ground.

His eyes trained southward, Haldir noted that the elven forest was closer now. Home, he thought, his heart stirring at the sight. Yet, the joy of their upcoming arrival was tainted by a growing disquiet. His worried gaze slid toward his companion who was clearly in a weakened state.

The afternoon proved miserable. Their only consolation was the food Haldir stumbled upon—a meager meal if ever there was one, a cool-season plant commonly referred to as winterweed. When Annalyn managed to keep it down, Haldir thought it might be a good sign. But with every passing league, he saw her shoulders sag more and more, the swaying motion of her body growing increasingly pronounced.

By now, Haldir was concerned enough to consider climbing in the saddle behind her. About to make the suggestion, he glanced at her sideways, and saw the rapid blinking of her eyelids, as though darkness had begun to creep into her sight. "Daro," he called to Cobalt, and reached for the reins as the horse came to a halt.

"What are you doing?" Annalyn asked and raised the leather strap so Haldir couldn't reach it.

"You cannot go on like this," Haldir stated, his brows creasing in a hard stare. "You are about to fall off your horse."

"I am not," she scoffed, her tired reply holding a definite edge.

"We are taking a rest," he commanded more than asked.

"I am fine!" But then she blinked again, her eyes lacking focus as she shook her head. "On second thought. Perhaps a brief rest."

Annalyn was trying to hide it, but as she dismounted, he saw how her legs shook. Not wanting her to fall, he stayed close by. It was a good thing, too, for she stumbled forward all of a sudden.

His hands immediately at her waist, Haldir called her name just as her eyes rolled back. Then she crumbled into his arms.

Fear seized him. Her limbs were slack. Her head lolled to the side. Cradling her in his arms, Haldir gently lowered her, laying her head on his thigh as he knelt. Eyes frantically sweeping her face, he said her name again, louder this time. His stomach twisted in alarm when he felt the side of her cheek.

She was burning up.

"Wha…" Annalyn was coming to, a fragile form shivering beneath her sodden cloak.

As he leaned over her, his heart hammering in his chest, Haldir framed her cheek, wondered what he should do.

Rain was coursing down his forehead, his drenched hair curtaining both their faces, when she stirred in his arms, struggled to lift her head. "Cobalt. Is he?"

"He is here. He will not wander away." As Haldir adjusted his hold, she tried to sit, but was too weak to do so. Her breathing was ragged, her rain-dappled cheeks flushed with fevered heat.

Looking up, Haldir saw that Cobalt was lingering nearby. Saying his name, he beckoned the animal to come closer. As was the way with Elves, there was no need to tether the horse. "Understand, you cannot wander away this time," Haldir said in elvish. "She will fret."

Thus, secure in the knowledge that Cobalt would remain at their side, he looked to Annalyn once more, saw that her teeth were chattering, her irises partially hidden beneath her rain-spiked lashes.

"I fainted?" Her voice was thin, but her query caused him to smile, albeit faintly.

"Yes, you stubborn fool." Annalyn had called him the very same thing once. Though if memory served, she had also used the word "honourable" somewhere. By the dim smile she gave, Haldir knew she remembered.

Haldir was not a healer, but he knew a life-threatening fever when he saw one. Glancing up, he searched for a sheltered place from which he could further assess her condition. "Hold on." Spotting a copse of spruce trees, he lifted her up. On the ground near the mightiest tree, the carpet of needles was only slightly damp, the overhanging boughs thick enough to keep the worst of the rain at bay.

As he set Annalyn down, she winced a little, and he asked if she was in pain. The fact that she nodded said much about her current state. "Can you tell me where?"

"I… All over?"

"You should have told me," Haldir chided, but softly, before lapsing into a short silence. Her eyelids fell heavily. Knowing he had to do something, and quickly, Haldir searched his memory, then roused her. "The gearwe," he began. As a soldier, he had often seen it used on the battlefield, for in a poultice the plant could stem the flow of bleeding and prevent the fouling of wounds. But in a tea…

"Can it reduce a fever?" Haldir believed it could, but he was not entirely certain.

Annalyn seemed to think on it for a moment, and while the fever could have easily clouded her knowledge, he thought he saw clarity in her eyes. "If steeped… yes."

It was a risk, but he chose to trust her words. To trust her. "Rest for a moment. I shall not be long."

Haldir rose at once to look for firewood. Everything was wet, though. Too wet as it turns out.

"Amarth faeg!" he cursed when his efforts proved fruitless. The fire would not catch. He was only wasting time.

Knowing he had to rein in his emotions, Haldir took a few calming breaths before turning to Annalyn once again. "We are not remaining here." In one fluid motion, he scooped her up, and made for Cobalt.

When she moaned in pain and confusion, the sound ending in a whimper, Haldir swallowed his fear, and said, "There will be medicine in Lothlórien. We shall make it there. You shall see."

Carefully, he hoisted her up side-saddle, before mounting up behind her. As the rain continued to batter them, Haldir reached for the reins, and framed her with his arms.

"Run, my friend." Channelling his focus, he then spurred the horse into a thundering gallop. "She needs healing."

This would be the final leg, he knew. A race that would not stop until they had reached the distant woods on the horizon. Lothlórien. Annalyn's only chance.


Haldir rode hard. Eyes on the looming outline in the distance.

Night had long since fallen, and the rains had ceased. The clouds had receded to reveal a sky full of stars, below which stood the woods he knew better than any place on earth. Lothlórien. Home. With every league, the familiar forest grew larger and larger. Soon it filled his entire field of vision.

"We are almost there." Speaking over the pounding of hooves, Haldir briefly bent his gaze on Annalyn. Her eyes were partly closed and she was trembling. Her face was nestled in the crook of his neck. The strength had left her arms, but she somehow held to him. Just as he held to her.

As for Cobalt, the horse was lathered, but his strong legs never faltered. His hooves beat furiously on the muddy ground.

This wasn't how he had imagined it, their return to Lórien. But then, there was much about this journey that hadn't gone as planned. "Hold on," he kept telling her, begging.

Riding as fast as the horse would carry them, Haldir surveyed the approaching woods. By altering their course and leaving the Anduin behind, not only had they saved time, but their path had kept them away from the eastern fences. The trees up ahead were part of the northern marches. An area he commanded.

They were almost there now. And while he could not yet see them, Haldir knew they were there. The Galadhrim.

"Almost there, my friend," Haldir said to Cobalt, using elvish words. The horse had done well, had borne them here at great speed. But he was nearly spent, would have to rest soon.

At long last, upon reaching the eaves of the woods, Haldir drew rein, and slowed before entering.

To an outsider, the starlit forest would have appeared still and empty. But it never was. Knowing exactly where to look, Haldir glanced up, and spotted them immediately. Clad in their cloaks, the sentries peered down from the boughs, watching with concern and curiosity as their Marchwarden returned with a barely conscious woman in his arms.

Most stood in stunned silence. Some speculated quietly amongst themselves. Regardless of their reaction, however, each bowed their heads in greeting and respect.

"Haldir!" The familiar voice rang through the forest, shattering the calm. It was Orophin, his arms and feet moving swiftly as he made his way down a ladder made of rope. Rúmil was not far behind.

Prior to leaving the Golden Wood, Haldir had left Orophin in charge of the fences, a task for which he was more than suited. At present, both of his brothers seemed relieved to see him, but their eyes soon fixed onto Annalyn.

"What befell her?" Orophin asked as he neared.

"It is a long story." Now was not the time to tell it. "She needs medicine. Something to break a fever."

A frown marring his forehead, Orophin swept his gaze over her. Noting the dampness of her cloak, he called to the sentinels overhead, ordering them to fetch a skin and a spare cloak.

Grateful for his brother's swift action, Haldir turned his attention to Rúmil, asked him to look in the saddle-pack. "There is a plant," he explained. "Gearwe. You should find a pot and a tinderbox as well. " Once his youngest brother had retrieved the items, Haldir explained that the leaves needed to be brewed. "See it done."

There were a thousand questions in Rúmil's eyes, but he withheld them. "Certainly." And off he went.

Spotting a grassy patch between the trees, Haldir nudged the horse forward, but not so fast that Orophin couldn't follow. "The tea might help, but I sense it will not be enough. She needs a healer." Lowering his voice, he confided in his brother. "I would take her to the city at once." With or without permission, he conveyed with nothing but a look.

The move was brash and highly unusual, given their laws, but to his credit Orophin did not try to dissuade him. Rather, he nodded gravely. "Ithriel shall know what to do."

Haldir took heart at that, for Orophin's wife was incredibly skilled in the healing arts. She also had experience in treating mortals, something few in these woods could claim.

Caught in delirium, Annalyn stirred in his arms, mumbled what he thought was his name. His gut twisting in worry, Haldir channelled his focus. "Your feet are swift," he told Orophin. "Run to the river. Alert the patrols on either side. Have someone waiting for us when we get there."

With winter now upon them, the river would be impassable, the frigid water too swift and deep, even at the hidden shoal. In order to cross, they would have to leave Cobalt behind, and use a rope. It was the only way.

Inclining his head, Orophin was about to set out when Haldir spoke once more. "I may encounter difficulty." Erynion… "Should I be delayed—"

But his brother already knew what he was going to say. "You need not worry. I shall make for the city and fetch Ithriel myself." With that, Orophin inclined his head. But as he turned to leave, he paused, glanced over his shoulder. "It is good to see you again, brother."

Mirroring Orophin's sentiment, Haldir nodded in turn. "Likewise."

"Haldir." A familiar voice from the trees. Looking up, he saw Ninael, a trusted and experienced member of the northern patrol. Third in his chain of command she, too, sometimes watched over the border, assuming the role of warden when Haldir and Orophin took their leave in the city. "Do you require aid?" she asked, her sable hair dark against the starry sky.

"My brothers are lending a hand," he assured her, and saw that she was accompanied by two of their sentinels: Celegon and his brother Celondir. "I must make for the city. I trust you can handle things whilst I am gone."

"Certainly." Her confidence was reassuring, her next words devoid of all judgement. "May fortune be upon your friend." And with that, she turned, commanding the other sentinels to follow her.

Though it seemed endless, it wasn't that long before Rúmil returned, a round silver flask in his hand.

"I boiled the leaves as you said, and I left the others to extinguish the flames. Here."

Keeping a careful hold on Annalyn, Haldir dismounted, and gave the lead to his brother. Then, with the flask in his possession, he carried her at the foot of a mallorn. "Can you sit?" he inquired softly.

She was weak and barely coherent, but she somehow managed to sit against the trunk. Haldir unstoppered the flask, made certain its contents weren't scalding hot before holding it to her lips. "Easy," he said when she coughed. Trying again, he watched her take a first sip, then another. "It should help." Should being the operative word, he wondered if it actually would.

"Where are her kin?" Rúmil sounded troubled.

As glad as he was to see his brother again, Haldir had neither the time nor the desire to answer his queries. Not now at any rate. "Slain," was all he said.

Unable to drink anymore, Annalyn turned her head to the side.

A sentinel approached just then, bearing a skin and a neatly folded cloak. Wordlessly, Haldir turned to Annalyn, removed the damp outer layers of her clothing, and made the switch. "The horse needs to rest," he said once he had finished. "But she cannot linger here."

Schooling his features, Haldir instructed the sentinel to tend to the horse. "Unless we've already crossed the river, bring him to me once he is rested. Otherwise, head east and see that he is brought to the Naith." Luckily there were barges near to the city. It would be a simple thing to get the horse over the river.

"Understood."

"Come with me," Haldir said to his brother, then gathered Annalyn in his arms.

Only once they were underway did he look to Rúmil once again. "Did anything of note occur in my absence?" As fretful as he was, Haldir had not forgotten his responsibilities. Indeed, a shift in attention was a welcome thing at that moment, if only to quell the unthinkable scenario that was now coursing through his mind. What if she dies? Out here, in my arms

"There were several Orc incursions," his brother supplied as they hurried among the trees. "We dealt with them swiftly."

"Any losses on our side?"

"None."

At least one bit of good news.

But Rúmil had more to report. "Orcs have been filing into Moria every few nights or so. By our estimation, their ranks have swelled by a thousand at the least."

This news stirred bitter memories for Haldir, echoes of a tragic night, over a millennium ago.

Rúmil went on. "Reports from the eastern marches indicate that the same is occurring in Mirkwood. Erynion believes the Orcs are amassing in Dol Guldur."

Dol Guldur. The barren stronghold formerly known as Amon Lanc. For the past few months, a dark cloud had been seen hovering over it.

Without question, threats were gathering all around. Like a lonely isle, Lothlórien was surrounded by a sea of foes. And more are coming.

"Haldir?" It was Annalyn, her voice a mere rasp.

For a moment, he thought she was speaking lucidly. But a glance told him otherwise. She was mumbling, caught in what appeared to be a fever-dream. Time was of the essence. And unless she saw a healer soon, he feared she might never wake at all.


"Hail!" Dawn had broken, and they had already crossed the river by way of a rope when Erynion's voice echoed through the trees.

As the russet-haired warden came into view, waving from afar, he called again. "Haldir!"

Tightening his jaw, Haldir spared him a glance, but did not halt. Neither did Rúmil, who remained, grim and silent, by his side. As for Annalyn, her limbs were slack, her cheek pressed against Haldir's chest. The shortness of her breathing was worrying. So was the wheezing cough that would seize her every now and again.

"Haldir, wait!"

"Will you look after her for a moment?" Looking to Rúmil, Haldir set Annalyn down against a soft, grassy incline, and started toward the approaching warden.

"I was told you had returned," this one said as he neared.

"What are you doing here, Erynion?"

"She is hurt?"

"She fell ill," Haldir answered curtly, for he had no desire to linger here, or explain.

Erynion cast a curious look toward Annalyn. "I trust you have sent for a healer?"

Time was fleeting, but he answered anyway. "Orophin has gone to fetch Ithriel."

"Yet you are leading her to the city." A statement rather than a question. But then, Erynion already knew this. It was the reason he was here.

"I am. Now if that is all—" Haldir was already half-turned, but Erynion grasped his arm.

"Wait."

Forcing his features into a guarded expression, Haldir faced his fellow warden once more. He was roiling on the inside, though, gripped with nigh overwhelming distress. "Your attention should be on the southern border. Not here."

"I am concerned for you, Haldir. This is unlike you. First you allow outsiders to cross the River Celebrant, and now you return with—"

"She is a friend," he countered firmly. "I owe her my life, and I shall not risk hers by waiting out here."

"We are wardens, Haldir. Or have you forgotten? And is it not you who says that we are not masters of the law? That we cannot set it aside when—"

"There is a difference between being cautious and pitiless!" Haldir's voice rose unexpectedly, his heart thundering in his chest. "Since when have we become the latter?"

Anger flashed in Erynion's eyes. His nostrils flared. "I am not pitiless, but merely pointing out that there are other ways. Ithriel should not be long now."

Though the leaves were completely still, the sound of a whispering wind arose, drawing their attention.

She may pass. The susurrous words seeped into their minds, into their hearts, the voice grave and low, unmistakable.

Lady Galadriel had seen and spoken, sending her thoughts from leagues away.

Releasing the breath he hadn't known he had been holding, Haldir looked to his fellow warden again, saw the change in him. His face a mask of contrition, Erynion merely lowered his head.

As Haldir returned to Annalyn, scooping her up once more, his fellow warden said his name.

"For what it is worth,"—Erynion looked genuinely contrite—"I hope she lives."

Having nothing more to say, Haldir turned in the direction of Caras Galadhon, and stalked off with Rúmil at his side.


*Amarth faeg! - "Evil fate!"