Hey, everyone. Because the next week might prove rather busy, I thought I would post another chapter while I can. This one is the longest so far.

As always, I would like to thank all my readers. And thank you to all who left a review on the last chapter: AshleyLeigh, Cricklewood16, durinsdaughter2469btw, Blue1258, Auriene, Doria Nell, leelee202, mycarnation, and LadyConfidential. Your comments are encouraging and much appreciated.


CHAPTER XXXVI

THE LADY OF LIGHT

The path led them to the southern face of the hill, where the morning sun lent a golden glow to everything it touched. After a short but silent walk, Annalyn and Haldir came to the base of a staircase which was wrapped about the bole of the giant mallorn. On either side stood two guards, clad in grey mail, with long cloaks fastened about their shoulders. At full attention, they were staring straight ahead, each with a longbow in hand.

As Haldir and Annalyn came into view, one of them blew on a horn, an echoing call that was promptly answered from above.

With a nod to the guards, Haldir led Annalyn toward the immense staircase but, looking up, a brilliance caught their attention. It was a raiment of pure white, a jewel encrusted gown as radiant as the Elf who wore it.

Though she had never seen the Lady with her own eyes, Annalyn immediately knew it was her. It had to be. Lady Galadriel. Lady of Light.

Transfixed, Annalyn watched as the Elf descended the stairs. She was tall. Her steps were graceful, her bearing high and proud. Her feet, surprisingly enough, were unshod. Her gaze sweeping up once more, Annalyn had to marvel at her hair—a cascade of gold that fell all the way past her hips. A circlet of silver lay upon her head, its delicate curving lines evoking both water and leaves.

For some reason she could not explain, Annalyn felt that she should kneel. So she did. Not out of fealty—for she was of Rohan, and Théoden, son of Thengel, was her king—but because she was… moved. With her head bowed, a hand on bent knee, Annalyn briefly closed her eyes, and wondered if all who looked upon the Lady felt the way she did now.

"I bid you rise, Annalyn, daughter of Éadmód."

Astonishment washed over her then, for Annalyn had not mentioned her father's name—not to Haldir or any other Elf in Lothlórien.

At last, Annalyn gathered herself enough to rise. To her left, Haldir stood like the proud and grave warden that he was. His eyes, however, were sparkling. As for Galadriel, she folded her hands in front of her, but did not yet speak.

Her gaze was keen but soft, her beauty luminous beyond compare. Yet to call her young would have been a mistake. Indeed, there was wisdom, ancient and knowing, in the ruler's blue eyes. If Haldir was three thousand years old, Annalyn could not begin to fathom how long Galadriel had walked the earth. Ages perhaps. An Immortal in the truest sense of the word. Fair. Powerful in a way the other Elves were not. Of this Annalyn felt certain, for she sensed it somehow.

The Lady broke the silence. Her voice was clear and kind. "It is long since I have beheld a daughter of Men in the city of the Galadhrim. Be welcome here. I am Galadriel, Lady of Lothlórien."

It took a moment, but Annalyn found her voice at last. "Well met, my Lady. And gratitude." Recalling the words Haldir had taught her, Annalyn bowed in Elf fashion, and spoke haltingly. "Ni elvellon." I am a friend of the Elves.

The Lady's mouth curved in a discerning smile, and her eyes flitted ever so briefly to Haldir. Indeed, her gaze implied. But then her expression softened. Subdued it seemed. She spoke once more into her mind. I know much of what has befallen you. Your path has been wearisome, filled with sorrow.

By now, it was clear that Galadriel could peer into her innermost thoughts. It was a strange sensation that, quite frankly, made her feel rather exposed.

Still, Annalyn could not deny the Lady's observation. Weary she was, and hurting, at least on the inside. Despite the tranquility of this place, and the kindness of the Elves, an emptiness remained, as if her chest had been hollowed out.

There is grief in your heart, Galadriel said, for you have lost much on your journey.

She could not deny it, even in thought. There is—then another silent admission—I have.

Annalyn had lost her last remaining kin. She missed them terribly, and oft wondered if she would ever feel whole again.

"You have walked a long and sorrowful road," Galadriel said aloud. "Set your burdens aside, and know that you may rest here, amongst the Elves, for as long as you wish or need."

Thankful for the privilege, Annalyn gave a small but genuine smile. "You are very kind."

For a moment, the Lady's gaze slid over to Haldir. In the ensuing silence, Annalyn wondered if the Lady now spoke into his mind.

Finally, addressing them both, Galadriel wished them a pleasant stroll. "May your paths be green. Until next we meet."

Thus it was that Annalyn met the ruler of Lothlórien. After their brief but unforgettable exchange, Annalyn thanked the Lady once more, and took her leave. With Haldir leading the way, she proceeded down the path from whence they had come, and headed north until they came upon another set of stairs. At the very top was a footbridge roofed with interlacing branches and golden leaves. Wide and sturdy, the bowered pathway was lined with elegant rails, with lamps hanging at intervals. They must look beautiful at night.

A short walk took them beyond the sheltering branches to a fork in the path, where Haldir turned to her and asked, "Have you thought of where you might wish to go?"

Hesitating, Annalyn halted, and shifted her weight from her heels to the balls of her feet. "Well, there is one place." As he waited, she chewed her lower lip, and gave a bashful smile. "Would you show me your home? It would please me to see where you live."

Haldir regarded her with amusement, inclining his head when he answered, "As you wish. But the city is great, and there are numerous ways to reach my home. Is there aught you might wish to see along the way?"

"Well…" Annalyn turned on the spot and blew out a breath, thinking. So vast. So breathtaking. What shall I choose? "People."

Haldir blinked at that.

She explained, "I wish to see people. To hear laughter, and see common…" Annalyn searched for the word. "…everyday… life."

His mouth twitched, but there was no mocking in it. At length, he jerked his chin toward the east. "There is a place nearby, where Elves go to share their respective crafts. Would that please you?"

Her face split in a grin. "More than you know."


Jewels. Instruments of music. Bolts of luxurious fabric, and fine-looking clothing. All were arrayed before her, the elven market nestled along a flet that was so vast, the end of it could not be seen as it curved behind the bole of a nearby mallorn.

Some of the displays had been set beneath a long lattice roof, while others were shaded by boughs and leaves. There was music here, for someone was playing a flute of some kind. Wanting to see, Annalyn craned her neck, but there were quite a few Elves gathered in this place. Serene or smiling faces, not to mention curious ones as some turned to look.

Surprised though they seemed, the Elves never stared at her for long. Rather, their attention almost always turned to Haldir, whom they acknowledged with quiet greetings or by simply bowing their heads. There could be no doubt, Haldir was held in high esteem in the realm, but then he was a Marchwarden, a fact that was sometimes easy to forget.

To Annalyn, he was simply Haldir. A dutiful and commanding soldier, true. But a friend of equal standing.

"So," she began as they meandered along. "This feels different, does it not?"

"What does?"

Acknowledging a nearby merchant, Annalyn cast a sweeping look at his wares, before glancing back to Haldir. "You and I, on a stroll like this. It is not the same as before, when we were out there in the wilds, chasing after Orcs, or hiding from them."

"That is quite true," he stated simply, and followed in her wake. "What do you make of our creations?"

Annalyn made no reply at first. Rather, she trailed a finger along a velvet-covered table, admiring a delicate mirror on display. Gazing past a line of hair brushes, her eyes settled on a selection of ornamental hair combs, all nature-inspired and beautifully wrought. But while they were all lovely, one in particular drew her gaze. Made of silver, the comb was crafted in the shape of a mallorn leaf. Delicate and flawless, it winked in the light as she passed by.

"Honestly, I have never seen such a selection before, not even in Edoras." Back in Rohan, life was not as forgiving as it seemed to be here, and the people mostly traded in necessities: vegetables, grain, salt, even livestock. On the odd occasion, a merchant might offer exotic spices and various items from faraway places, but not often, for the roads were no longer safe, and travelling merchants were few and far between.

Annalyn and Haldir strolled forth. When a nearby craftsman acknowledged her with a graceful bow of his head, she did the same, but her words were for Haldir. "It is surprisingly peaceful for a market."

Though her village was small by comparison, its streets were much noisier. On market days, a constant bustle could be heard, and merchants vied for people's attention, oft calling to the villagers as they walked by. But Annalyn could not fault them for their eagerness, for their trade was how they survived. As much as she loved the Mark, and as proud as she was to call it home, her village was indeed very modest, and the people struggled at times. Not so in Lothlórien. One just had to look around.

Here, it seemed that the Elves were driven less by need, than by a desire to share their creations, which they wrought with obvious love and care.

"I suppose it is more a gallery than it is a market," Haldir allowed. "The Elves are most skilled in crafts of all kinds. Ever they strive to create or enrich the things which they love."

Lifting her gaze, Annalyn observed all those around her, noting yet another difference from the markets back home. There were no elderly people here—though that went without saying—but curiously enough, there were no children either. Her smile turned wistful, her mind supplying images of giggling babes chasing after clucking chickens, or older children playing with their dogs while their parents bartered nearby.

It felt strange to her in a way and, for a brief moment, made her long for home.

"Is something wrong?" Haldir's query was discreet, uttered as he brushed past her.

"No." Her shoulder rose then fell again. "Simply… there are no children here." While Annalyn had never borne children, and likely never would, she liked having them around. There seemed to be a light in them, their laughter as infectious as the unquenchable curiosity in their eyes.

"That is not entirely true." With a subtle tug on her arm, Haldir turned her just so. "Look over yonder, the one that is clad in a grey robe."

Following his line of sight, Annalyn saw the Elf in question—male, she guessed, with golden hair. Trying not to stare, she lowered her gaze and feigned interest in a nearby display. "You jest. That is a child?" He was taller than she was.

He gave a soft chuckle. "Not a child, no. But he has yet to come of age."

"How old is he?" Please, do not say he is older than I.

"If memory serves, he will be one hundred on Midwinter night. Only then will he be of age."

Annalyn had to keep from wincing. That was as old as she could ever hope to be—if she even lived that long. Most did not. Though she wished it didn't, this latest bit of information made her feel rather small, a sobering reminder that her life-span was a mere flicker in comparison to theirs.

"So elven children are not common, then?"

Haldir led her away from the most crowded displays, his hands linked behind his back. "As a rule, marriage and the begetting of children is of chief importance amongst the Elves, or most of them at least," he added, perhaps to exclude himself. "But seldom are children given to us." He glanced toward the young Elf once more. "Taerion is amongst our youngest here in Caras Galadhon. And with war on the horizon, it is likely to remain that way for some time to come."

So the Elves rarely had children, and refrained altogether in times of war. It made sense to Annalyn, even if a small part of her thought it was sad.

The further they walked, the quieter it became. As the crowd gradually fell away behind them, Haldir turned his thoughts to more practical matters. "Your supplies," he began. "I would see them replenished ere you depart. A tent you will need, and furs to keep you warm at night." His words were casual but assertive, his manner befitting his rank. "And food enough so that you do not have to hunt or forage along the way."

Not knowing what to say, Annalyn stammered a bit. "That is quite thoughtful of you."

Rounding a large mallorn, the two found themselves alone. As a footbridge came into view, Haldir raised a hand to guide her way. "Unlike Rohan, Lothlórien does not have a full cavalry. But horses we do have, in small numbers. Since one of my soldiers will be accompanying you on your journey, I have seen to it that she, too, has a steed to ride, so that you may reach the Westfold with as little delay as possible."

Annalyn blinked, for this was the first she had heard of this. An armed escort?

Haldir noted her confusion, narrowed his eyes. "You seem displeased."

Pondering her reply, she hoped he wouldn't take this the wrong way. "I am grateful for your aid. Truly. But…" She sighed but kept on walking. "Food I can accept. The same for a tent and furs. But an armed escort? Haldir, your soldiers are needed here."

"You think I cannot spare a soldier?" By the way he cocked his brow, Annalyn could tell that she had nicked his pride.

"I would travel only by day," she assured him, and stifled an exasperated sigh. "And I know how to stay hidden at night. In case you have forgotten, I can fend for myself."

"Travelling alone in such times is a perilous thing. You of all people should know this."

Now she frowned, and came to a sudden halt. "I do."

He faced her. "Then why refuse my aid?"

"Why?" Annalyn echoed, even as her mind grappled with the answer. Granted, she too had pride, and much of it. But was she being reckless? Foolish? Her heart constricted, her features falling as the truth finally revealed itself. "My kin are gone. Every last one of them. Whether I cry or rage against it, nothing will ever bring them back to me."

At these words, some of the tension left his jaw.

Annalyn said, "I have not wanted to admit it, but the truth is, ever since you found me that night, I have relied on you." And as grateful as she was, a part of her hated that. "I have eaten your food, shared your waterskin. I have slept soundly while you guarded me at night. But Haldir..." Annalyn raised her chin to catch his eyes, to make him understand. "At one point, I will have to face the world alone. The sooner I do, the better it will be."

"What of your people?" His tone had gentled to match her own, but his face remained grim. "Friends? Neighbours? Surely, there are some who would wonder and grieve should something befall you along the way."

Perhaps, but the fact of the matter was making friends had ever been a challenge for Annalyn. Though they seldom said so to her face, many of the villagers felt that she lived a strange life. There were times when the men would shake their heads, and the women oft whispered amongst themselves. To guess their words was not very difficult. Annalyn overheard them at times.

"She lives like a man that one. Why her uncle has indulged her is beyond me."

"Will that girl ever wed?"

"A girl? A woman grown is what she is. She will be thirty before long. No husband, no children. An odd one to be sure."

Though she mostly ignored the whispers, the words left their mark nonetheless. But Annalyn was self-reliant. Her life was hers to live, and always would be.

But all that being said, Annalyn was not exactly shunned either. Only she didn't fit in at times, especially with other women. But she did have a loose circle of friendly acquaintances, people with whom she would sit at the mead hall.

And then there was Erna, the kind young woman who awaited Aldin's return. If something were to happen, and Annalyn failed to return, Erna would wait and wait for her beloved. She would fret and cling to false hope, until the passage of time forced her to accept his loss. And then she would wonder, harbouring questions no one could answer, save Annalyn.

While she, herself, did not know the whole of what had befallen Aldin, Annalyn knew part of the story, a story that Erna deserved to know.

"Could you do it?" Haldir asked, awaiting an answer. "Could you take such a risk?"

Sighing, Annalyn took a long, hard look at herself. Was she that prideful? Her shoulders sagged a little. She started walking again. "Very well," she relented, for Erna's sake.

"You are mistaken, you know," Haldir said a short time later.

She waited for him to elaborate.

"That day, by your uncle's cairn, you said something to me. That you would follow the Orcs with or without my aid. Or have you forgotten?" He gave her a pointed look. "Those were not the words of a woman who relies on anyone."

While the memory was a painful one, her heart lifted slightly at his words. However, before she could form a reply, someone called to Haldir.

Turning, Annalyn saw a russet-haired male, clad in grey clothes and a matching cloak. Staring she saw that he, too, was wearing a sword-belt, with a long curving blade that was quite similar to Haldir's. A fellow soldier, then.

"Gi suilon," he said—in greeting, she assumed.

As he neared, Annalyn noted the way he carried himself, a cool but assertive presence, much like Haldir's, yet different also. More open.

"I did not think to find you here," the Elf said to Haldir, in the common tongue this time. His eyes flickered to Annalyn for the briefest of instants.

"Erynion." Haldir inclined his head in greeting. But though he remained courteous, Haldir's posture hinted at an underlying tension. It was barely discernible, for he was adept at concealing such things, but Annalyn knew him. She saw, and couldn't help but wonder as to the cause.

"I thought you were making for the marches," Haldir said.

"I will be. Presently." The Elf turned his focus on Annalyn, his elven eyes sparkling when he said, "It is good seeing you again."

Again?

Her confusion must have been apparent, for he said, "It pleases me to see that you are in good health."

Though she summoned a polite smile, heat rose to her cheeks.

Annalyn had never spoken to this Elf, had never laid eyes on him, yet he had seen her before, at the height of her illness no doubt. He and how many others? she wondered miserably.

"Forgive me. We have not been properly introduced." The Elf raised a graceful hand to his chest, then looked to Haldir, who supplied, "Erynion is a fellow warden. He commands the Southern Fences." Haldir swept his arm toward her. "Erynion, allow me to introduce Annalyn. A daughter of Rohan, and a friend of the Elves."

Unless she was mistaken, something seemed to pass between the two wardens. Haldir was staring at Erynion, chin slightly raised—a subtle challenge it seemed. For his part, Erynion merely stood there, his features and his voice not entirely contrite when he said, "Indeed." His eyes returned to hers, and he flashed a smile again. "Be welcome here. I trust you have been provided with all that you need. May you find friendship and respite amongst the Galadhrim."

Haldir inclined his head at that, his features laced with stoic satisfaction.

Before she could make sense of their puzzling exchange, Erynion said, "Well, I must depart."—to Annalyn—"It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Perhaps we shall see each other again. At the Midwinter feast possibly, unless you depart before then."

Annalyn smiled once more. "Possibly." Though, having never heard of said feast, she had no idea.

Their encounter at an end, Erynion gave a small bow, glanced to Haldir one last time, and was on his way.

"Is he a friend of yours?" she asked once the warden was out of earshot.

"At times." Before she could ask what he meant by that, Haldir said, "Come. My home is this way."


The mallorn was gargantuan, its golden crown so lofty, it obscured much of the sky. Head tilted back, Annalyn paused at the foot of the hill onto which the tree had taken root, and stared at the mighty limbs and the many dwellings that were perched at varying heights.

"So this mallorn is your home? Remarkable."

"It is that." Haldir's profile was serene, his voice laced with quiet pride. "Come."

And so they ascended the hill, where the mouth-watering scent of freshly baked bread permeated the air.

"Something smells divine."

"That would be the kitchens." Haldir indicated the large structure that was now coming into view. Overlooking the stone terrace, it was mostly open on one side, with elegant archways that revealed a work surface laden with herbs and vegetables and cloth covered mounds of freshly kneaded dough.

"Glirwen," Annalyn beamed when she spotted the baker.

Noting their presence, Glirwen glanced up from her task, her brown locks limned in the orange glow of a nearby oven, and inclined her head in greeting.

Doing the same, Annalyn widened her smile before addressing Haldir. "She and I have met."

"So I was told."

Passing by a long vacant table, Annalyn guessed that this was a communal dining area of sorts. Enchanted, she threw one last look at the kitchens, where Glirwen was sprinkling flour onto her work surface. "Is she making lembas, do you think?"

"Nay," Haldir said then explained that Waybread was not common fare, that as a rule it was only given to those who had to journey far in the wilds, or to those who were gravely hurt. "Here in Lothlórien, none but the Lady can make it, for she is Breadgiver."

"Breadgiver," Annalyn echoed.

"It is a title held by the highest woman among any Elvish people, provided she is among those who learned the craft long ago." As they left the dining area, Haldir looked sidelong at her. "I have said much this day. I hope I have not overburdened you with the complexities of my people."

"Not at all. Your culture and history are far from simple; that much I will own. But I find it quite fascinating. It is kind of you to explain these things to me."

"Think nothing of it."

The two were now at the base of the tree. As they climbed the spiral stairs, Annalyn stayed near to the bole, and tried not to think of the increasing height beneath their feet. Indeed, they were already quite high. Higher than the market they had visited earlier.

Dwellings in trees. An impressive feat to be sure, but so very elevated.

Luckily, the steps themselves were level and sturdy, and Haldir remained by her side. Reassured, Annalyn allowed her fingers to skim the bark. The mallorn was smooth, clearly ancient yet full of life. It seemed a fitting habitation for immortal Elves.

Upon noting her interest, Haldir explained that the mallyrn had been Galadriel's gift to the realm, and to King Amdír, who ruled the forest at the time. "Indeed, the city would not be as it is today without the Lady Galadriel." They were passing by a house at this point. Haldir said it belonged to Rúmil. "As for Orophin and Ithriel,"—Haldir indicated another house, one that was slightly larger—"they reside just over yonder. It is the home in which I was raised."

"Is it?" Surprised, Annalyn surveyed the home and tried to envision him as a young Elf—a golden-haired child, running and playing on the platform outside. It warmed her heart.

"This way."

Snapping out of her reverie, Annalyn followed Haldir toward a footbridge, beyond which was a lone dwelling. His dwelling.

It, too, was enchanting, with a white exterior and elegant double doors that had been left open. "Here we are." Haldir halted once they had reached the threshold. Smoothly, he swept his arm in invitation, and watched as she walked in.

His home was beautiful; such was the first thought that came to mind.

As she halted beyond the threshold, Haldir standing behind her left shoulder, Annalyn allowed her gaze to float around the room. It smelled of him, she thought, and felt her smile broaden.

To be sure, his dwelling looked nothing like the humble houses back home. Before her was a cozy sitting area with a grey lounging couch and a graceful wooden chair. Near to it was a small table, onto which sat a delicate lamp, similar to those which hung about the city, but much smaller.

Additionally, the room contained a desk, over which sat three large tomes and some scrolls. Of these, one was unfurled and appeared to be a map of some kind, its curled edges held in place by a dagger and inkwell. A soldier's desk, she mused, then sent her gaze across the room.

Haldir had a small dining table as well, beyond which was a balcony, or a flet of some kind. Though partially obscured by long gossamer curtains, the view beyond the open archway was of silver and gold, the hues made warmer by the sun.

At a loss for words, Annalyn stepped further into the room, and slowly spun around. His bow and quiver, she noted, hung near the door, within immediate reach should the need arise. Smiling fondly, she lifted her gaze, and her mouth fell open. Above her head was a white vaulted ceiling veined with swirling patterns of branches and leaves. To her left, a curving staircase led to a smaller room above. Given its height, she couldn't quite see it from here, but the space was open on one side, reminding her of a flet up in a tree—his bedchamber, she reckoned and found it endearing.

"Your home," she said at last, but could not find the words.

But Haldir was not looking at his surroundings. Rather, he was staring at her, and though his features were guarded, there seemed to be gladness in his eyes. "It pleases you," he assumed and was not wrong.

With an open palm, he indicated the surrounding space. "You may have a look if you wish. Or you may find a seat and rest your feet, for you are welcome in my home."

It was true that they had walked along many paths today. And while they had taken their time, resting along the way, Annalyn's feet had grown weary, especially after climbing all those stairs. But curiosity being part of her nature, she chose to wander the room first, slowing as she neared his desk. "What are these?" she asked of the books and scrolls he kept there.

"Elven histories mostly. Great deeds and written accounts of past conflict and war." Haldir came to stand beside her. "To understand the present, one must know the past, or so I have always believed."

"Then your belief is mine." Annalyn lifted one of the tomes. "May I?"

"By all means," he said before asking, "Do you enjoy reading?"

Her smile turned wistful, but it was not out of shame. "My people write no books. Yet we do sing many songs, in honor of great battles and valiant heroes of old." Like Eorl the Young, the first king of Rohan, of whom the men often sang.

But with darkness spreading over the Riddermark, Annalyn had to wonder. What songs would be sung in the years to come? Should doom fall upon them and evil prevail, who would be left to sing? Who would remember? The brave will, she told herself, for her people were not without courage. They had pride and fire in their hearts. They would not fall. To believe otherwise… No.

As Haldir went to the small serving cart near the side of the stairs, Annalyn set the book down, then reached for another one. Unable to read any of it, she leafed through the first few pages and was about to abandon her perusal when a drawing caught her eye—a battle rendered in ink.

When Haldir called her attention to him, she politely declined his offer of cordial, but took him up on his earlier invitation and made for the lounging couch, tome in hand. Sitting on the very edge of it, she set the book on her lap and opened it in search of the fine renderings inside.

At first, her eyes beheld a wide assortment of weapons and armour—shields, swords, daggers of all kinds—but skimming ahead, Annalyn found a battle scene similar to the one that had first piqued her interest. On the page was a long line of elven soldiers, standing shoulder to shoulder, swords at the ready. The vanguard, it seemed, with a full army behind them. Their shields were tall, their banners caught in the wind. Before them was an advancing legion of Orcs, their hideous faces twisted in bloodlust. Though the rendering was fixed in time, Annalyn could easily envision the initial clash; Orcs breaking upon the vanguard like a wave onto immovable rock.

"The Battle of Dagorlad," Haldir explained, and she remembered that he had spoken of it the other night. His drink now in hand, he capped the crystal decanter. "My mother and father fought there."

"You admired them," she guessed, for his eyes said so.

"I did. And still do."

"What were their names?" she found herself asking.

"My father's name was Halon, whereas my mother was named Esteril." Just hearing him speak, it was clear that he missed them dearly, as much as she missed her own parents, she supposed.

"What were they like?"

In lieu of answering, Haldir downed some of his cordial, and went to fetch the third and last tome on his desk. As he flipped to a specific page, he made his way over to her, and held it open so she could see.

At first glance, the rendering appeared to be of an elven king—the crown gave it away. Perhaps it was King Amdír. But behind him, and slightly to the side, stood a group of three, two males and one female, clad like the sentinels of the Golden Wood. Scanning their faces, her attention settled on one in particular, then her mouth went slack.

Broad shoulders. A pale head of hair. Stoic but beautiful features. The resemblance was striking, so striking in fact that her eyes kept flickering back and forth, from the page to Haldir, then back again.

Her reaction seemed to amuse him. "My mother always said that I took after my father, both in likeness and in temperament." Now he pointed to the woman. "My stubbornness, on the other hand, I inherited from her." Unsurprisingly, Haldir's mother was tall and beautiful, but unlike her sons, her pale hair fell in cascading waves.

Closing the book, Haldir settled in a nearby chair, then pointed to the tome she still held on her lap, the one with the battle rendering. "They never forgot that war."

The image drew her gaze once again.

"Indeed, it proved costly for the Elves. We lost nearly half of our forces, including Amdír, who was King of Lórien at the time. In an Age when our people had a king. After he fell, his son became ruler. Amroth, whose statue you saw this morning."

She remembered. Amroth and Nimrodel.

But Haldir's words, twinned with the drawing before her, sent her thoughts in a new direction, namely the coming war, and what might come to pass. As Haldir went on, oblivious to her musings, Annalyn saw him in her mind's eye, envisioning him in the heat of battle, leading a charge against Sauron's forces. A devoted soldier, Haldir would fight valiantly, she knew, and the Orcs would fall before him. But the tides of war were capricious, and victory was never assured. Not for the Elves. Not for anyone.

But would she ever know? By the time Haldir marched off to war, Annalyn would have undoubtedly returned home by then. If her fears were made real, and he somehow fell in battle, it seemed unlikely that the news would ever reach her. Whatever the outcome, whether he lived or died, she would spend her life wondering. Wondering and hoping and, yes, missing him. Terribly.

Sitting here, trying to conceal her musings, it was hard to believe that just a few months ago, Haldir had been a potential foe in her eyes. And now… Now, she was fretting for his safety, and couldn't imagine a world without him in it. She didn't want to.

Engulfed in growing sadness, Annalyn listened as he spoke of other elven kings, Oropher of Mirkwood, and Gil Galad, High King of the Noldor, both of whom were slain in the war. "But the Elves were not alone in their grief," Haldir said. "For the Men who fought alongside us sustained heavy losses as well. The slaying of brothers, fathers, and sons. And their king, Elendil son of Amandil."

"It is a shame," she said at length, "When good men fall. At least, they did not die in vain."

"Nay," he agreed and fell silent.

Several heartbeats passed before she closed the book, then a few more before she could lift her gaze.

"Annalyn?"

There was no fooling him.

She summoned a polite smile, one she hoped would hide her distress. "On second thought, perhaps I will accept that cordial." Seeking to escape her turmoil, Annalyn set the book on the couch, and regained her feet. But when Haldir began to rise, she lifted a hand, saying she would go, and made for the serving cart herself. Alas, even as she poured, Annalyn could not shake the gruesome vision in her mind. A battlefield carpeted by the fallen, Orcs and Elves numbering in the thousands, with Haldir lying lifeless among them.

"What is it?" he asked, his voice closer this time, and softer.

Leave it to Haldir.

Observant and discerning, he had sensed her sadness—sensed and known that it stemmed from something other than the story he had just shared, something closer to her own heart.

Yet what could she say? "When you march to war, please do not die? Promise me you will not fall?" A mirthless laugh threatened to escape. She had to shake her head. What purpose would it serve? Even if she asked it of him, it was not in his power to grant such a request.

With her back to him, she raised the glass to her lips, but did not take a sip just yet. "You wish to know the truth?" A pause. She was stalling. Could he tell? "War frightens me."

For once, she actually heard him come up behind her, his footfalls measured and slow. "War frightens all," he confessed at length. "Warriors and rulers alike. As it should." Soft but earnest words. In the ensuing pause, Annalyn took a sip, and closed her eyes. The cordial had spicy undertones, strong yet surprisingly comforting, much like the Elf behind her.

"I do not fear the Orcs," Haldir continued. "Nor do I fear falling in battle. But I do harbour fears."

As she waited for him to say more, Annalyn felt that, perhaps, he was stalling as well, gathering his courage just like she had.

"As a warden, I hold many cares. Whether in battle or on patrol, I bear the weight of every decision and every command. If I err, the price is paid for in blood and in lives."

Thinking he had finished, Annalyn turned her face just so, and was about to—

"I fear for my soldiers, Annalyn."

Now she did turn around, noted how subdued he was, how exposed, his vulnerabilities laid out for her to see. Quite frankly, it was a remarkable sight, as poignant and profound as what he said next.

"I fear for my friends, for my brothers, and all those who dwell here." His brows creased ever so slightly. "I fear for Lothlórien."

She weighed her words. "Your burden is heavy. I do not envy it."

But then he squared his shoulders. "It is heavy at times," he allowed. "But I carry it freely."

"That I know," Annalyn said and smiled a little, for it was one of the things she loved about him. "When the time comes," she began at last. "When you march into battle… be mindful out there?" This, at least, she could ask.

Their visual connection held. His hand rose to his chest, a lock of his hair falling away from his shoulder as he gave an assenting bow. Yet as heartening as it was, his silent promise could not assuage the grief that was now growing in her being.

Time, she thought ruefully. If only they had more of it. Indeed, Haldir was leaving for the marches in less than two days, and would not return for a fortnight, by which time she would be set to depart—or very near to it. Ill-timed, ill-fated, or simply unfortunate. Whichever way you put it, their time together was nearly at an end.

"Gracious, I am going to miss you," Annalyn said before she could stop herself. Her pulse quickened. She turned to escape his gaze. Her glass coming to rest on the serving cart, Annalyn smoothed the front of her vest, and prayed for the floorboards to open up. For there was a line in place, one they had drawn together and been careful not to cross—at least until a moment ago, when she had opened her mouth.

Nevertheless, embarrassed or not, there was no taking back what she had just said. She had meant it. She was going to miss him. More than he could know.

With a sudden, piercing need to see his face and divine his thoughts, Annalyn faced him again—wisdom be damned—and watched as he took a single step forward. Then one more.

So close.

"And I you, mellon nîn."

Mellon nînmy friend. Touched by his words, Annalyn looked up into his night blue eyes. "It is remarkable when I think of it. How far we've come." Subdued laughter broke the stillness. She wiped her tears away. "If I am being truthful, I was quite frightened of you in the beginning."

A glimmer of interest crossed his beautiful face.

She said, "I remember it so clearly. When you dropped from that tree, with that steely expression on your face, a part of me thought you would toss us in a dungeon and throw away the key. How wrong I was."

"If memory serves, you were none too pleased when you made camp that night."

Annalyn snorted. "Furious more like. When you refused to let us pass, I thought you were unreasonable and overly rigid."

"I had guessed as much, but I believe you are forgetting one word."

"And what word would that be?"

"Arrogant," he supplied on a sly little smile, completing the list for her.

"That, too." Emboldened, Annalyn angled her head to the side. "Now you. What did you make of me when I first wandered in these woods?"

When Haldir failed to answer, her palms found the edge of the serving cart, and she leaned back against it. "Come now, it is only fair. Unless you're afraid."

He cocked a brow, but his mouth curved anyway. "I most certainly am not. I am simply weighing the risks."

"Risks? This should be interesting."

As she waited, Haldir gave a long-suffering sigh. With narrowed eyes, he asked, "Are you certain I am not courting trouble by answering this query?"

"I promise you are quite safe."

As a gentle wind ruffled the curtains nearby, he considered her with feigned seriousness, then he crossed his arms. "Very well, if you insist. I believe my first impression was that you were reckless."

"Reckless," she echoed.

"Well you were not exactly subtle. My sentinels heard you clear across the forest."

"Fair enough. What else?"

"More?"

"What can I say, my curiosity is boundless."

Hand rising to rub his chin, Haldir tapped a finger to his bottom lip. "When you made camp that evening, and I approached you while you were brushing your horse's coat, I thought you were difficult."

"Difficult? Me?" Annalyn guffawed but bit back a laugh, while Haldir spread his hands in mock surrender.

"But that was then."

"And now?" she found herself asking.

The warmth on his face was distracting. So was his scent—cloves and cedar mixed with something else, something new. Elven soap, she guessed, or a bottled fragrance.

"Now." Haldir narrowed the gap even more, and touched her face, the backs of his fingers grazing her jaw-line and making her ache. "Now," he whispered again.

As she waited for his revelation, Annalyn had to remind herself to breathe. Alas, before the moment could unfold, something netted his attention, making him look toward the door. Regretfully, he said, "Someone is coming." His hand fell away from her face.

Feeling oddly bereft, Annalyn watched as he excused himself. A part of her cursed the timing. But then, rationally speaking, perhaps the interruption had been a blessing in disguise, for they had been skirting a dangerous line just now.

No sooner had Haldir stepped outside than someone spoke to him. The voice was male. She did not know it, nor did she understand what was being said. Thinking she might calm her racing heart, Annalyn busied herself by retrieving the book from the couch. As she returned it to his desk, she darted a glance toward the doorway, and glimpsed a soldier, tall and gold of hair. As he waited, standing at attention, she saw that Haldir was pouring over a parchment. News from the fences perhaps.

Ashamed of her eavesdropping, Annalyn moved to the far side of the room, where she gazed out of the open archway overlooking the outside.

Though their walk had been lovely, this day was proving more difficult than she had reckoned it would be—loving someone and saying goodbye. It hurt to admit, but that's what they had been doing just now.

From now until the time she left these woods, each and every moment spent with him would be a farewell of sorts. Might as well make them count.

Her back resting against the archway, Annalyn closed her eyes against the anguish in her heart. Birds were chirping away out here, their song clear and lively. Glad for their melodies, she listened until fatigue came over her.

Whether it was due to all that walking, or the fact that she had not eaten since early that morning, Annalyn's knees felt rather unsteady. Thinking she might head back inside, she made for the couch again.

"I cannot sit all day." Those were the words she had said this morning, when Ithriel had found her in that clearing, practicing her sword-skills. But now the healer's warning echoed back to her. "Nay, but what you might do is overexert yourself."

It seemed she had done exactly that.

Irked by her lingering weakness, Annalyn considered the strengthening draught Ithriel had given her before setting out. She unstoppered the phial and was downing its contents when Haldir re-entered the house. "Forgive the intrusion. It was a report from the armoury," he said only to halt when he caught sight of her on the couch. "Are you feeling poorly?"

"A little fatigued is all.

"I shall fetch Ithriel."

"No, please. It is nothing." He stopped mid-step and regarded her as she went on. "I need but sit a moment. In fact, I believe the draught is working." Annalyn breathed in deep. "Yes. Much better now."

Haldir arched a dubious brow.

"I promise." Annalyn would have gained her feet again, but he was already making for the serving cart.

Once he had poured a glass of water, Haldir retraced his steps, and handed the goblet over. "The city is vast. Perhaps we ventured beyond what was wise."

"I do not regret our stroll. Our walk was delightful, and long have I wished to see your home. If anything, it is my fault. I ate but a little this morning."

Annalyn sipped at her water while Haldir crossed the room to fetch an apple from the fruit bowl that sat atop his dining table. When he brought it over, he regarded her for a moment. "It occurs to me. We have never shared a proper meal together. Not since we arrived in the city. Would it please you to do so?"

Annalyn stopped just short of biting the apple, delight pulling at her mouth. "I would love to dine with you."


And so it was that Haldir left Annalyn, and made for the kitchens, where he found Bestedir, cook and husband of Glirwen, preparing some of the evening fare. As he pulled a tray of golden cakes from the oven, he smiled fully, and said, "It is long since I have seen our Marchwarden in the kitchens."

It wasn't that Haldir never saw the kitchens—he walked by the open archways each day he was in the city—but since he usually stuck to his favourite dishes, and often dined alone, there was no real need to visit the kitchens. For whenever he was home, Glirwen and Bestedir would send a meal without him having to ask, unless he dined at Orophin's. Either way, it was a most convenient arrangement.

Bestedir set the tray on the counter. "It gladdens my heart to see you hither. Will you be joining us this evening?"

Haldir approached the work surface. "Soon," he promised evenly.

Now as far as personalities went, Haldir and Bestedir were on either ends of the scale. Welcoming and quick to laugh, the cook radiated cheerfulness, and the Elves loved him and flocked to his table because of it. Admittedly Haldir liked him, too, and enjoyed his company, but in smaller, less frequent doses.

"Tonight I am hosting a guest," Haldir said.

Surprise crossed Bestedir's face. "A guest?"

Haldir suffered the cook's curiosity with a cool but courteous expression. "Indeed." His brow rising toward his hairline, he saw Glirwen step around her husband, with a stack of plates in her hands. Though she promptly lowered her gaze, the furtive but knowing smile on her lips was unmistakable. Choosing to ignore it, Haldir looked to Bestedir and made his request.

"Would you do me a kindness and send whatever you feel is best? Three courses should suffice, with sweet mead to drink. No," he suddenly amended. "Wine if you please." For theirs was the very best in Middle-earth, quite possibly the best in all of Arda, though he couldn't know for certain, having never been to Aman.

If Annalyn had a taste for wine, she would like this one, he thought. Something told him she might even love it. In any event, tonight he wished for them to share a glass or two, an early goodbye as it were, and a private toast for having met her—this kind, stubborn, and maddening woman who had found her way into his heart.

Indeed, despite her young years, he saw her not as a child—as many Elves might—but as a woman grown. In less than three decades, Annalyn had borne many hardships, more than seemed fair. She had loved and lost and seen much of this world. Despite the perils, she and her kin had ventured beyond her homeland. They had seen the mountains of Eriador, the wilds of Rhovanion. And now, she was returning home—or soon would be—to forge ahead with what remained of her life and build it anew. His heart clenched painfully at that. A life without kin, he thought with much regret. But not without friends, he hoped. As for eventual love—his mind supplied a brief flash of her with another man—well…

It was best not to think on it.

"Certainly," Bestedir replied once he had recovered from his initial surprise. As for Glirwen, she had already stepped out of the kitchens at this point, presumably to set the long the table outside.

Thus it was that Haldir left the kitchens. As he started across the terrace, he noted the arrival of several Elves, most of whom lived nearby. Some were making for the kitchens—to arrange for their meal, or prepare it themselves—while the rest sought a place at the table.

Such was the way in Caras Galadhon, where individual trees—or small clusters of them—often gave shelter to distinct communities. Some, like this one, were comprised mostly of Silvan Elves, others of the Sindar. But that being said, the Elves of Lórien were unified also. Silvan or Sindar, it mattered not for the most part. There was friendship between them, and much mingling. Some even fell in love and intermarried, like Orophin and Ithriel, who had wed shortly before her parents had hearkened to the sea, and left for the Undying Lands.

His thoughts on dinner, Haldir had almost reached the spiral staircase when a sense of foreboding crept over him, like icy fingers trailing down his spine. Turning, he approached the edge of the terrace to peer at the green paths below. He heard his name then. When he looked to its source, Haldir saw a guard, one that was usually stationed near the gates. Thannor.

Presently, he stood by a maid who was now pointing in his direction.

"I believe he is on the terrace," Haldir heard her say from afar.

What's this?

Expressing his thanks, Thannor hurried past the elleth. As he approached the hillside and took to the stairs, there was a grim look upon his face.

When Haldir met him at the top of the stone steps, the guard halted and swallowed hard. "Pardon the intrusion." He held out a missive. "You are needed at once."