Hey everyone,

before anything else, I just want to say how sorry I am for breaking your hearts with the previous chapter. I know hopes were high and I went ahead and yanked the rug anyway. At this juncture, I realise this story is heavy on the angst, and I appreciate the fact that most of you are still following Haldir and Annalyn's journey. That being said, I just want you all to know that there is a purpose to every scene I write. Sometimes, that purpose is hidden from my readers, depending on the POV I choose for the scene. But I always write with future chapters in mind, and each scene is another building block toward the story I am aiming to tell. Annalyn and Haldir have been through a lot—my fault, I know lol. And the road before them will have many more bumps and twists and turns. For the readers who might be despairing, know that all is not lost, that there is joy to be found even in the bleakest of times. I would say more, but then, you know… spoilers. ;-)

As always, a heartfelt thank you goes to all my readers. With a special shout-out going to those who commented on the last chapter: Blue1258, DarkLordofMemes, KathrannofQuade, leelee202, durinsdaughter2469btw, Doria Nell, WickedGreene13, Auriene, Addicted-to-GazettE, Cricklewood16, twibe, Tobiramamara, lovinghumanity5, LadyConfidential, mycarnation, MotherAiya, SmallLittleCagedBird, xXxLaLaxXx, leward1992, and SarahELupin.

Each and every one of your reviews, I treasure as a gift. A thousand times thank you.

This one's for you…


CHAPTER XLIV

CHOSEN

Haldir hit the first target with frightful accuracy, the wood splintering as the arrow shook then grew still. At full sprint, he reached over his shoulder, retrieving another arrow as he launched himself on a nearby tree limb. Without breaking pace, he shot the second target, then the third, and leapt on another branch.

On and on he went, circling the moonlit training yard until his quiver was empty. As he hooked his bow upon his back, Haldir grasped a sturdy branch, swung forward, and fell upon the turf in a silent crouch.

He was moving again, hand closing about the hilt of his sword.

Since the city never really slept, the air should have held the echo of songs—and it most likely did—but Haldir was deaf to everything except for the thundering of his heart and the laboured cadence of his breathing.

Ah, but he was reeling.

His world had toppled end over end tonight—not once but twice—and naught would ever be the same again.

The first upheaval had come by way of a discovery, most startling and unforeseen. But the second… the second had come by his own hand, a most unfortunate blunder that he wished he could take back. More than anything.

If he had been stronger, braver in his words, the night might have played out differently. Maybe Annalyn wouldn't be hurting as badly as she was now.

To be sure, Haldir should have handled things differently. Instead, he had made a mess of things, and in so doing had done the unthinkable; he had wounded the woman he loved. The love of his life, he had called her immediately after breaking her heart—though she had no idea, for he had said it in Sindarin.

Had he spoken in Westron or Rohirric, she likely would have thrown his declaration back in his face, and would have been right to do so after what he had done. Though he had known it wasn't right, he had indulged, touching her, kissing her, feeding her hopes only to deny her in the end.

If Haldir had had any sense, their evening would have ended with a stroll, with shared smiles and a heartfelt kiss to her hand. Instead, he had invited Annalyn into his home, to dine with him at last. And then—though he hadn't meant to—he had bruised her heart.

And yet, as much as he regretted his loss of control—or rather the pain it had caused her—those maddening moments had opened his eyes to a vital truth. A truth that might have gone unnoticed otherwise, masked by ignorance or denial. Oh, he might have learned it in time, maybe years from now, when it was too late. But the pieces had come together at last. And now he knew.

Tonight on the couch, after tempting fate one too many times, his will had finally crumbled, and he had kissed Annalyn, deeply and thoroughly, like he had long desired to. Just this once, he had promised himself as he had wrapped his arms around her delicate frame.

But as he had finally lowered the walls, expressing more than he had planned, a strange awareness had crept into his thoughts, similar to what he had felt as he and Annalyn had stood beneath the fruit trees, then again as they had spoken of their past loves and hurts. Up until tonight, this particular feeling had been foreign to him, but during those maddening moments on the couch, he had finally learned the truth.

Even now, Haldir recalled the moment he had made the connection, how wonderstruck he had been. Overcome, he had briefly severed the kiss to peer into her hazel eyes, where he had seen the truth, staring back at him. "By the sea and the stars!" he had said then, in Elvish.

Am I so blind? How could I not know? It seemed so obvious now.

For the first time in his immortal life, Haldir's spirit had stirred in recognition of another. Annalyn. The woman he loved. The woman he wanted above all others. And she loved him in turn.

Amongst his people, such bonds were thought of as a blessing. But this gift, Haldir knew, was not given to all. Even those who longed for it, like he once had, in those quiet years before he had broken Nethrien's heart, before she had died.

Following that most painful chapter, Haldir had turned away from the idea altogether. He was a soldier, a Marchwarden, the eldest of three brothers. Duty and kin. That was his life.

For centuries, guilt had consumed him. To cope and forget, he had devoted himself to what he knew and did best, guarding the realm against the evils of this world.

But then, on a fair autumn day, Annalyn had wandered into these woods and into his life, like a warm rain that finds you unaware, the kind that nurtures the loam and brightens the leaves. And now he was drowning.

For he and Annalyn were of two kindreds, and the gift of Eru Ilúvatar could not be set aside. Like a streaming light cast from the heavens, her passage in life would be distressingly fleeting. While he, like the everlasting stars overhead, would linger behind, forever remembering and grieving, for the remainder of Annalyn's life, and long after her body turned to dust—no matter where they went from here.

The edge of his sword sliced the air in desperate anguish, yet the action failed to quiet the raging storm in his heart. Hastening in speed, Haldir gritted his teeth, but his turmoil crested anew, like a colossal wave breaking upon a grey shore.

When two soldiers approached the training yard, Haldir shot them a look, a warning that this was not a good night to train alongside him. The pair halted at once, blinked in surprise, but then, exchanging a nervous glance, they mumbled their apologies and hastened off. But no sooner had they gone, than he slowed to a walk, then halted altogether, his ragged breaths severing the stillness as his hand rose to pinch the bridge of his nose.

Throughout his life, Haldir had sometimes been called aloof, cold. But guarded though he was, his heart was not made of stone. If only it was. Things might be easier now. To be sure, he would not be suffering so.

When he had pulled away from Annalyn tonight, ceasing the madness he had started earlier in the evening, Haldir had been so lost and conflicted. For truth of the matter was, he could have wed her a thousand times this night. And though he sensed that their joining would have been profound and meaningful to her, Annalyn did not yet know how it was with the Elves, that by lying with her, he would have been hers, and she would have been his. A bond absolute and eternal. A marriage in every sense of the word.

In the end, he had stopped, though—as he should—for such a union could only be made in full knowledge and consent, from both man and woman. Amongst the Elves it was both custom and law.

As for the Secondborn, they too had their traditions, beliefs and customs, and the rite of marriage was one of them. In his role as scout and messenger, Haldir had had a unique opportunity to observe the race of Men over the centuries. Some, he sensed, loved with a fierceness that rivalled that of the Elves. After the loss of their spouse, some widowed men and women chose to spend their remaining years alone. Of those he had known, some had been widowed rather young. But the race of Men differed from the Elves in many ways. While some widows stayed true to their lost loves, others chose to remarry, for it was in their character to heal and trudge forth. Resilient creatures they were, with much diversity from one person to the next.

Some, he had learned, were wont to love in secret, outside of the bonds of marriage. Haldir's keen eyes missed little, and he had noted such things—young lads and maids sometimes slipping away from late-night gatherings, their dancing eyes betraying their intent. Although such dalliances clashed with the elven way, Haldir found there was beauty in such unions, so long as the lovers were true of heart. But some Men, he now knew, were not so faithful in love.

Earlier in the night, when Annalyn had spoken of the fool who had betrayed her and broken her heart, Haldir had been so stunned and angry for her. How could a man who claimed to love a woman do such a thing? If she was mine, I would never… But she wasn't his, even with the stirring of his fae.

Remember this.

Thankfully—for a mercy—Annalyn had discovered the truth in time. The idea that she might have wed such a man… If this Wilmaer could be called such.

Undeserving cur.

For the second or third time this night, Haldir wondered if Annalyn had shared her body with him. While he couldn't know for certain, and fervently hoped it wasn't the case, it was a distinct possibility, one he found rather distressing. The notion grieved him, if he was honest. Not because it lessened her worth in his eyes—nothing ever could—but because she deserved so much better.

His thoughts eddying back to earlier in the night, Haldir remembered the words she had said to him in his room.

"I know that our story must end. I know that I am but a fleeting spark next to your eternal light. But I thought that… tonight… if you wanted…"

Though beguiled by the tail-end of her declaration, her opening words had saddened him. Fleeting she might be, but a spark she was not. To him, Annalyn was a shining light, as radiant as the Star of Eärendil. In simple terms, she was his everything. And tonight, when she had bravely come to him, her intent writ clear in her eyes, he had nearly fallen to his knees.

Their earlier encounter on the couch had lit such a fire in him that Haldir had been reduced to pouring cold water over his head in hopes of cooling his blood. It hadn't worked. Frustrated by his lingering lust, and reeling from the earth-shattering discovery he had made earlier on the couch—that his fae called to hers—Haldir had cursed aloud a few times, unaware that Annalyn had been waiting outside.

When he had re-entered his room, and found her standing there, nervous and hopeful beneath his startled gaze, the embers in his blood had reignited.

Consumed by a blazing need to touch and love her, Haldir had closed the space. So tempted was he that it had taken all his strength just to keep from pulling her against him. If she only knew how close he had come to ravishing her right then and there.

Her body shaking like a leaf, Annalyn had summoned that indomitable courage of hers, and bared her hopes to him, even going so far as sharing her innermost desires.

What she had said to him… they were the boldest, most intimate, and arousing words he had ever heard. And when she'd turned the tables, asking him what he wanted, begging him to show her, his control had finally buckled, and he had hoisted her up into his arms, setting her upon his bed like he had long dreamed of doing.

But Haldir had erred. He was an Elf. He could not lie with her in the way she wanted, as a final indulgence before they said goodbye. No, for him, it didn't work that way.

"I would lose my heart, Annalyn," he had said to her then, hoping she would know how utterly sorry he was. But though he had spoken the truth, Haldir had withheld a crucial fact, that she already owned his heart. Indeed, his fae had chosen, and his choice was her. She does not even know.

Going back to those final moments in his room, he wondered what he could have said. To be sure, she deserved better than the cowardly path he had chosen—declaring his undying love for her in a language she struggled to understand. When had he become such a craven?

With bitterness in his heart, Haldir was on his way to retrieve his arrows when a voice echoed over the turf. "When I saw you leave your home, with your bow slung upon your back, I had a strong feeling I would find you hither."

Orophin.

Shuttering the pain from his features, Haldir turned to see that his brother had followed after him, and was now standing on the edge of the training yard. By the compassionate look he wore, it seemed he had guessed some of what had happened tonight. Quietly, Orophin said, "Annalyn seemed quite distressed upon her return."

Hearing this, Haldir hung his head, his brows furrowing as guilt threatened to consume him once more. He had hurt her tonight, humiliated her even. When he had pulled away from her, it wasn't a rejection. Far from it. But Haldir was not blind. Although Annalyn had tried to hide it, he had seen how utterly devastated she was, how rejected she had felt. Could he ever hope to set things aright?

Prior to leaving his home, Haldir had debated walking over to his brother's dwelling, so he could apologize to her, and explain. But his thoughts were so jumbled, he had thought better of it. If he went to her now, with half-formed explanations and a hastily constructed apology, she might slam the door in his face. He wouldn't blame her if she did.

No, he thought. The safest and wisest course was to wait until morning. And that's what he would do.

Walking forth, Orophin sighed and regarded his older brother. "It grieves me to see you thus."

"You should not have come." Haldir whirled away and made for the nearest targest, thinking— hoping—that Orophin would honour his wishes and leave. Alas…

"I am your brother. Where else would I be? A sorrow is upon you. Do not think I cannot see it."

Haldir bristled at the scrutiny, yet he did not deny his brother's observation. As he yanked at an arrow, Orophin's words pierced his breaking heart. "You love her."

His eyelids fell heavily. More than you could ever know.

"I had begun to think that you did, but now it is plain to see." A murmur, laced with both gladness and sorrow. The latter overshadowed the former however, for—like all the Elves—Orophin knew what would come of such a union. Should Haldir pursue his love for her, he would buy it at a terrible price.

"Have you told her?" Orophin asked.

"She knows." About his feelings at least. The stirring of his fae, on the other hand, was known only to him, and would remain that way.

"What will you do?"

Orophin's persistence rankled him. "Can you not let this rest?" Despite what his spirit wanted, this was by no means an easy choice.

Even if he was to give in and court her in hopes of joining his life to hers, how could he bear it? How could he bear seeing her wither away and die? Indeed, there was a limit to the amount of suffering one could endure.

And then, what of her wishes? For the fact remained, Annalyn was mortal. And life spans aside, there were striking differences between their two peoples. Not only in how they viewed the passage of time, but in the way they generally lived their lives.

Even if she desired a life with him, would Annalyn be content among the Elves? Or would she grow restless? Then, when time had robbed her of her youth, how would she feel seeing him unchanged—at least on the outside. Would she grow to resent him? Would she feel shame at the wilting of her body? Would she mistake his grief for revulsion or pity? There was no way to know these things.

When Orophin failed to move, his solemn gaze undettered, Haldir stalked toward the next target.

"Our fates are sundered. It is best if she departs," he said to himself or his brother, he did not know. "The blood of the Rohirrim runs through her veins, the restless fire common to all mortals. Annalyn loves the Horse Plains and her people. Yet she yearns for the mountains, and hopes to wander the world again someday."

Haldir, on the other hand, had pledged his life to safeguarding Lothlórien. He could not, would not, forsake his people.

Having retrieved his arrows, he returned each one to his quiver. "We Elves are not the same. We tarry and we wait. We remember and watch the world go by, and we are grieved to see it so changed. Arda is marred, Orophin. It was marred long ago, and repeatedly. And now its wounds are deepening."

The weight of it was crushing. If Lothlórien should fade

Now Haldir faced his brother. "And in case you need reminding, war is looming. I am certain you have heard the whispers. You and I both know what lies ahead.

"That the time of the Elves is over? Yes, I have heard such words of late. But there are some who believe otherwise, that these evil days shall pass and that Lothlórien will endure."

"Is it your belief as well?" Haldir challenged, though he desperately wished to believed it, too.

A weighty pause ensued. "I do not know."

"The world is balanced on the edge of darkness, and yet here I stand, my heart in turmoil and my thoughts diverted." It was unbecoming of a Marchwarden.

Perhaps it will be easier once she has gone. No sooner had he thought this than an image flashed in his mind—Annalyn sitting atop her horse, riding southward and away, never to return. His fae riled at the thought.

Indeed, Haldir had come very near to asking her to stay tonight. But as he had held to her, he had restrained himself, for Annalyn had responsibilities of her own. "Erna deserves to know," she had said to him once, referring to the woman Aldin had loved. A woman who still awaited her beloved, and deserved to know of his passing. Haldir understood, for he had borne similar responsibilities in the past. Thus he had amended his musings. Go to Rohan and do what must be done, but return to me. Yet his secret wish had remained unspoken.

"So then you have decided," Orophin said to him. "You are truly going to let her go?"

He approves of her. The sorrow in his brother's words gave it away. Quite frankly, Haldir was stunned. But then his heart hardened again. Whether Orophin approved or not was beside the point. It changes nothing.

"Do you not see that the choice is out of my hands?" His biting words resonated over the training yard. "It was made long ago, by Ilúvatar himself. She is lost to me no matter what I do." Whether by her leaving, or by the temporal nature of her life, Haldir would lose her regardless. And unlike the elven descendants of Beren and Lúthien, he could not alter his fate. He could not choose a mortal life and follow her soul in death. He could fade, yes. He could languish in the Halls of Mandos. But once they were parted by death, Annalyn would be lost to him, until the world ended and was remade. And even then, there were no guarantees. For none could say what awaited their kindreds beyond the ending of the world.

"That may be so," Orophin went on. "Yet a choice you do have." His brother said no more. There was no need to.

As powerless as Haldir currently felt, Orophin was right. He did have a choice. Much like he had done with Nethrien, Haldir could accept their parting, letting Annalyn go in hopes that she would find happiness someday. Or else he could ask her to stay—to go to Rohan, then come back to him—so they might explore their feelings and find joy in what little time they could have.