So here's the next part. As always, a heartfelt thank you goes out to all my readers, those who have favourited or are following the story, and of course my reviewers: leelee202, durinsdaughter2469btw, leward1992, KathrannofQuade, Cricklewood16, WickedGreene13, AshleyLeigh, Rogue's Queen, Doria Nell, MotherAiya, SmallLittleGagedBird, Gandalf007, Blue1258, and FriendlyNeighborhoodHufflepuff. I really enjoyed reading your reviews on chapter 29! Your kind words are fuel to my writing flame.
CHAPTER XXXI
IF MY HEART SHOULD BREAK
Annalyn felt like she was partly submerged, the waking world ebbing and flowing amid the strange and distorted dreams she had been having.
She had to be dreaming. That or she was hallucinating. Presently, she was caught in a slow-moving eddy, her senses filled with the beating of wings, with the sight of birds, wings spread wide as they wheeled around her. But then, little by little, the birds faded away, revealing a silent forest.
It was a muffled sort of quiet, like she was floating in a clear pool, face-up, with her ears beneath the waterline. She wasn't floating, though, was nowhere near water—at least, as far as she could tell. It was disorienting and odd and… Not possible. She tried to clear her vision.
Her eyes were certainly cheating her, for out in the distance, walking silently amongst the trees were her mother and father.
They were watching her, kindness and compassion writ clear in their eyes. Oh how she had missed their faces. Her heart twisting in her chest, Annalyn watched them for a moment longer, until they, too, began to fade. Do not go, she wanted to say, but knew it was pointless.
Confused as she was, Annalyn knew she was seeing things, and was not well at all. Is this how it is, she wondered, when you are about to die?
She was cold, right down to her bones. But warmth also touched her face. Dappled light, she realised, from the sun. A weak cough, a slow blink, and she saw leaves. Golden leaves. She was swaying. No, not swaying. She was being moved.
"Noro." A strange word, spoken in a voice she knew, the sound rumbling against her ear, which was pressed against something smooth but firm, warm. Not a pillow, not her pack, but someone's shoulder.
With effort, Annalyn lifted her eyes. Her vision was out of focus. Still, she deciphered a few things: a lock of golden hair, the angular line of a jaw, an ear, the rim of which was delicately pointed. The sight, combined with the familiar scent of cloves and cedar, increased her awareness, loosening his name from the murky depths of mind.
Haldir.
Warm reassurance bloomed within her being, partially clearing her fevered confusion. She remembered—some of it at least. He had been carrying her for what seemed like many leagues now, for she had fallen ill, and was too weak to stand.
"Goston athen," he was saying to someone, with an urgency that matched the haste with which he was carrying her. "Noro Rúmil."
Rúmil. Annalyn knew that name. Slowly turning her head, she caught a glimpse of Haldir's companion—someone with long golden hair, and a profile that hinted at a youthful face. It took a moment, but things began falling into place. His brother. But before she could fully make sense of all that was going on around her, a deep throbbing rattled her skull, blinding her with pain.
What had befallen her? Her entire body ached, her head pounding with such intensity, she tasted bile at the back of her throat.
"Haldir!" A woman's voice suddenly cut through the pain, pulling her to the here and now. Annalyn opened her eyes, just a slit.
People were speaking, the exchange too fast and too strange for her to follow.
When her head fell back, Annalyn realised she was being set down, the ground soft beneath her frame. The woman—an Elf—moved into her field of vision, but her words were for Haldir. "Ma i eneth dîn?"
"Annalyn," he answered, continuing in the language she knew. "Annalyn is her name."
The elf-woman knelt by her side, her eyes assessing and grave. She was fair, with light blue eyes and hair that seemed even lighter than Haldir's. Silver almost. "Annalyn. My name is Ithriel," she said softly, in the common tongue. "I am a healer, and I have come to help you."
Setting herself to purpose, the elf-woman lifted Annalyn's head just enough to pour a small amount of strong-tasting medicine between her lips.
The liquid had barely made its way down her throat when Annalyn felt herself lifted once more. Head lolling to the side, she noted that Haldir was no longer carrying her. Instead, he stood beside the litter onto which she had been laid, his grave features subtly betraying his concern.
No… She could not be parted from him, not when he had been by her side for so long. Alas, before she could say anything or reach out to him, the medicine grabbed hold of her, dulling her senses and pulling her into forgetful sleep.
When next she awoke, Annalyn saw streaks of pink overhead, and a gradient sky of deep, deep purple. Dusk? The litter was still moving, its bearers marching with quick but soundless steps. To her left was a wall of green, beyond which stood trees so tall, they seemed to commune with the heavens. Drifting in and out of consciousness, Annalyn thought she saw a bridge, then a gate adorned with lamps that had yet to be lit. As it opened soundlessly, someone spoke softly. "We have arrived." It was Haldir, his eyes bent upon her as he matched the litter's pace.
Though she felt short of breath, her body aching from head to toe, Annalyn was relieved to see him, held his gaze for as long as she could.
Passing through the gate, they soon turned aside. Fighting against the heaviness of her eyelids, Annalyn looked at the imposing trees below which she was being carried, disbelieving their heights until they were blocked from her sight by a roof of some sort. White fabric, she guessed. A pavilion?
As the litter was set down, Annalyn noted the hurried but quiet bustle around her. The elf-woman—what was her name again?—was giving instructions to people she did not recognize. Elves.
Eyes searching for Haldir, she saw him just as he was being ushered out. But as he backed away, guided by a gentle hand to his shoulder, he looked in her direction, his fretful eyes finding hers just as a curtain was drawn, separating them.
Haldir had not glanced at his brothers in a long moment, not since he had noted their eyes on him, no doubt seeing through the figurative mask he wore. Rúmil and Orophin would discern his inner turmoil, he knew, if they hadn't already. They know me too well. Better than anyone, if truth be told.
Feeling oddly exposed, Haldir turned from them, and made for a nearby fountain, where he looked upon the starlit water without really seeing.
Annalyn was lying in that pavilion, fighting for her life, and all he could do was stand here and wait. It seemed endless, his mind supplying an outcome he would rather not entertain. If she succumbed to this, if he had looked his last upon the light in her eyes, and the smile he loved so—
You must cease this.
As Marchwarden, it was oft necessary to project an air of calm and detachment, to keep a tight hold over his emotions, no matter the circumstances. Difficult though it currently seemed, Haldir sought to do exactly that, if only to gain control over himself, and smother the unthinkable and devastating outcome he had just conjured.
Annalyn was not going to die. Not on this night. Not for many years. She was going to fight, tooth and nail, like she always did.
"Haldir."
He spun around at once, seeing Ithriel's inscrutable face through the pavilion's threshold. A nudge of her head spurred his feet across the lamp-lit path of ancient stone and grass. The other healers were stepping out at this point, leaving only Ithriel.
"Your friend is resting, and will not wake for some time," she told him once they had slipped inside. "I should warn you, her illness has not yet run its course."
His stomach dropped. "Can you not cure her?"
"A chance," Ithriel replied. "That is all I can give her. But to cure her of this ailment, that I cannot do." A pause ensued. "Nay, the best we can hope for is to manage her fever, which was dreadfully high when first I saw her, and perhaps shorten her illness. Weakened though she is, your friend must fight."
"She will." His tone was resolute, his jaw flexing as he looked to Annalyn's slumbering form. But as Ithriel crossed the space, hand reaching for the cloth that lay upon Annalyn's brow, Haldir voiced a question. "Why?"
Ithriel met his gaze. He clarified. "Why did she fall ill in this fashion?"
His best guess was the nasty water she had swallowed. But his question went beyond the obvious.
"She is mortal, Haldir." A simple answer. And a painful one. "Mortals are wont to sicken in this fashion. The reasons can be numerous. It is not always clear why." As Haldir's heart turned to rubble in his chest, Ithriel dipped the cloth in a bowl of water, wrung it out, and placed it upon Annalyn's brow once more. "Prior to reaching the city, you mentioned a foul pond. That she might have ingested water that issued from it."
He nodded.
Ithriel straightened, pursed her lips, and folded her arms on a sigh. Haldir could practically see the wheels turning in her mind. "If it harboured some sort of pestilence," she mused aloud, "it would certainly explain it. Clearly she is suffering from some sort of ague." As if to ease his turmoil, Ithriel leveled an earnest gaze at him. "You did well by bringing her here. I do not believe she would have survived otherwise."
With a gentle motion, she adjusted Annalyn's blanket. "She requires rest." Finished with her task, Orophin's wife turned and made her retreat. "You may stay a moment if you wish. I shall wait outside."
As the curtain fell shut, sealing them from the outside world, Haldir approached Annalyn's bedside, and sat in the chair that had been placed there. For the first time since reaching the Golden Wood, he hung his head and allowed the walls to fall. Anguish strained his features. Drawing a trembling breath, he reached for her hand, cradling it in both of his, then looked to her.
"Fight." A whisper, a plea, uttered as he mapped the contours of her face, committing them to eternal memory. "Live."
Ah, but it gutted him to see her like this, to know there was a chance she might never wake again.
Unable to leave just yet, he lingered, staying longer than he probably should. But as he finally persuaded himself to leave, rising on an grief-stricken breath, Haldir found he could not yet turn away. Heart over reason, he suddenly found himself leaning forward, eyelids falling heavily as he deposited a heartfelt kiss to her brow.
Night had scarcely begun to wane when Haldir received the summons, dutifully delivered by an Elf-Warden of the Lord and Lady of the Galadhrim.
Though it pained him to leave the vicinity of the healers' pavilion, Haldir had neither forgotten nor forsaken his duty. Long he had served, first as scout and sentry, now as Marchwarden, a position he held with grave solemnity and focus.
Yet tonight, he felt scattered, his heart in turmoil, his thoughts divided.
As he scaled the great spiral staircase, passing numerous arches and numerous lamps, Haldir thought of Annalyn, and the promise Ithriel had made upon his leaving. "Should there be any change," she had said to him, with earnestness in her eyes. "I shall send for you at once. I give you my word."
So it was that he had taken his leave, and was now making for the highest and fairest dwelling in all of Lothlórien.
It loomed now, seeming ever larger with each of his steps. Pure light spilled from its many arches and doorways, illuminating the surrounding mallyrn and their mighty silver limbs.
Upon reaching the wide stairs at the entrance to the dwelling, Haldir passed the silent sentries posted on either side. Elf-wardens who had been serving the Lord and the Lady for thousands of years.
"Hiril vuin." Haldir bowed to Lady Galadriel, before turning to Lord Celeborn, and greeting him in turn. "Hîr vuin."
"You have returned," Galadriel said.
Now that he stood in the Lady's presence, Haldir felt her keenly in his mind, as a brush of wind laden with grave and ancient wisdom. Doubtless she had perceived his thoughts long before he had reached the city.
Inclining her head, Lady Galadriel greeted him. "Welcome, Haldir."
"We know much of what you have seen," Celeborn said without preamble, his clear voice echoing on high ceilings and circular walls. "Yet we would have you tell us in your own words."
Nodding in acquiescence, Haldir recounted what he had seen, describing the army of Orcs and their preparations for war. "When last I saw the encampment," he went on to say, "the Orcs numbered three thousand at the least. I fear their numbers might have grown since then."
"Scouts we have sent, in many directions," Celeborn stated gravely. "All have said the same. Fell creatures are amassing, readying for war."
So it was as he had feared.
As a temperate breeze swirled into the room, the Lord and the Lady exchanged a look, a silent agreement seeming to pass between them.
Without a word, Galadriel rose and turned, her bare feet carrying her toward a tall open-air archway overlooking the great city in the trees and its myriad of twinkling lights. "The world is facing great peril, the likes of which has not been seen for thousands of years."
Haldir had sensed this for a good while now, a foreboding that was felt by many of his kindred. Rumour had spread amongst the Elves of late, hushed supposition regarding a nameless but impending threat.
"It is time you knew." The gravity of her tone was disquieting, a foreshadowing of the knowledge she was about to impart. Indeed, Haldir had long suspected the Lord and the Lady knew more than they had previously revealed, but it was not his place to question their wisdom, nor their reasons.
She spun, facing him with her hands clasped in front of her. "Evil stirs in Mordor."
Haldir tensed at once, the mere mention of that cursed land enough to make his blood run cold.
"Great hosts of Orcs and Men have been seen entering its gates, their numbers growing by the day." The Lady fell silent for a moment, then, "The tower of Barad-dûr has been rebuilt."
A shudder ran through him, followed by her voice in his mind. Sauron has returned.
Though the Dark Lord's first reign had been before his time, Haldir knew the stories, not only from his studies, but from firsthand accounts. The world had burned in those dark days, and a great number of Elves and Men had met their doom on the blood-soaked plains of Dagorlad.
The Lady's feet carried her away from the archway overlooking the outside, a declaration leaving her lips. "The time has come for all to know. And whilst war has not yet been unleashed, we must ready our forces for the battles to come."
Celeborn leveled his gaze at Haldir. "A council shall be convened. Two days hence."
Understanding that his presence would be required, Haldir nodded, and was dismissed. But as he turned to leave, he hesitated, his boots rooted to the floor. Despite the incredibly dark tidings of this council, his thoughts had circled back to the past few days, to Annalyn's sudden illness, and the decisions he had been forced to make.
Bringing her here, his decision made well before he had been granted permission, had been unlike him in many ways. And yet—even though he had bent the law—Haldir had acted in the way that felt most right to him. To his heart.
Eyes on the wide stairs below, he debated whether to give voice to his turmoil. With all that had happened, and the darkness that was presently falling on Middle-earth, perhaps now was not the right time.
After a brief deliberation, Haldir chanced a look over his shoulder, saw that Celeborn had already slipped out of the room. Galadriel, on the other hand, seemed to be waiting, as though she had known he had more to say—which was likely, he supposed.
Haldir approached once more. "My Lady," he began, and lowered his gaze. "Concerning the woman—"
"The maid of Rohan is welcome here." Clear words that rang throughout the room. But as reassuring as they were, they did not negate the fact that he had taken great liberties of late.
Annalyn might have been dear to him, but to Lothlórien she remained an outsider. The laws had always been clear on that front. Unless the Lord and the Lady decreed otherwise, strangers were to be kept well away from the Naith.
For Annalyn's sake, Haldir had chosen to disregard that law, to make for the city, hoping—no, expecting—that she would be given entry. To deny this would have been disingenuous, something he had never been. And so, here he stood, the truth laid out for the Lady to see.
As remote as the possibility seemed, had Annalyn not been granted entry… Well… Haldir had never begged for anything in his life, but he would have this time around.
"I see it," Galadriel said quietly. I see the truth in your heart. "You seek forgiveness where none is needed." Her features were still and serene, her eyes downcast, her chin slightly raised. "The maid of Rohan may rest here, for as long as is needed."
He loosed a breath, his voice surprisingly thick when he said, "You have my thanks."
Taking his leave—and he meant it this time—Haldir inclined his head and took to the stairs. Yet he had not taken two steps when Galadriel spoke once more, into his mind. Do not despair.
Haldir looked to her. He waited.
The course of the future, whilst uncertain, is not without hope.
Her words gladdened his troubled heart, for in addition to being wise Lady Galadriel possessed the gift of foresight, an ability that allowed her to glimpse possible outcomes for the future. Furthermore, she possessed a most unusual mirror, in which she could see many things. According to her, the visions were not definite—nothing ever was—but they rested in the realm of the possible.
There was hope for Annalyn. For the world as well. Holding to both outcomes, Haldir watched the Lady for a beat longer, and squared his shoulders.
He left.
* Noro – Run
* Goston athen – I fear for her
* Ma I eneth dîn? – What is her name?
* Hiril vuin – Beloved lady
* Hîr vuin – Beloved lord
