Hello everyone, I just want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for all the comments I received for these past few chapters. I meant to reply to each and every one of you, but the website glitched for a few days, and your comments weren't showing up. I could only read them in my emails. The issue is fixed now, but I haven't taken the time to reply individually like I meant to. Instead, I was focused on editing this longer chapter, which I wrote a good while back. I don't know if I'm doing the right thing by updating this quickly. I have many pre-written chapters still in the line-up, with many more to be written. But this story is always evolving and changing. Some chapters, like "A Very Cold Night" and "A Quiet Flame" didn't even exist when I assembled the first draft. Instead, I wrote them at the last minute. The same for extra scenes that I added here and there throughout the story. Every time I change something, it has a ripple effect in those later chapters that I have previously written. That means extra editing and tinkering to make it all fit. So for now, I've changed tactics a bit. In lieu of plowing ahead with later parts to the story (which I am sure I'd end up rewriting anyway), I am going to focus on these present chapters. And if I run out of pre-written drafts, so be it. I'll just double-down so as not to keep you waiting too long between updates. I think I can do it! Come on, CygnusRift! Lol *fingers crossed*
Now here I will thank all those who have commented since I last updated. And because comments are still filtering in from earlier chapters, I will go ahead and thank those readers as well.
SmallLittleCagedBird, Erinnichole1560, totomax, DarkLordofMemes, SarahELupin, Gandalf007, Blue1258, Addicted-to-GazettE, Bawks, durinsdaughter2469btw, KathrannofQuade, Rogue's Queen, Tobiramamara, MotherAiya, Cricklewood16, AshleyLeigh, blasttyrant, leward1992, leelee202, Guest, lovinghumanity5, Auriene, helenaxo, LadyConfidential, Hansloch, Ruiniel, and mycarnation… THANK YOU!
CHAPTER XLVI
CERIN AMROTH
A charred and desolate landscape lay before her, with black and leafless trees spread here and there.
Not knowing where she was, or why, Annalyn swept an anxious gaze around her, before taking a tentative step over the ash-covered ground. Though her footfalls were gentle, her boots kicked up dust as she walked, intensifying the smoky smell that hung upon the air.
As she walked, leaving vanishing imprints in her wake, Annalyn couldn't help but feel for these poor trees. Hundreds of them, she tallied as a haunting wind sang around her, stirring the dust and churning the clouds overhead.
At first, the scenery was unchanging, but then she came upon a blackened shield. Additional scrutiny yielded dozens of arrows, scattered all around, and a scimitar, crude and angular—an Orcish weapon, then. Looking ahead, she perceived a banner of some kind, the wooden shaft jutting at an angle, its pointed head embedded in the powdery earth. Hoping for answers, Annalyn approached the banner as it swayed hauntingly in the wind. While the standard itself was too dirty and tattered to be identified, she guessed that it had once been white or gold, maybe both.
Puzzled, she turned. There were no bodies anywhere, but a battle had clearly taken place here. Now if only she could figure out where "here" was.
Resuming her aimless journey, Annalyn soon noted a section of forest up ahead.
How strange. The trees stood in a near perfect line, their leafy limbs seemingly untouched by fire, as if a great power had abruptly stopped the flames.
The forest loomed closer with each of her steps, its colours muted by all the dust in the air. When Annalyn recognized the trees, dread coiled in the pit of her stomach.
Mallyrn.
This was the Golden Wood, or what remained of it.
But then where were the Elves? Where was Haldir?
Fearing the worst, Annalyn raced on ahead. She had just reached the treeline, and was scanning the forest in search of its guardians, when out of the corner of her eye, she perceived a lone figure in the distance to her left.
Annalyn's eyes misted over, relief settling over her heart. For even from afar, she knew it was him.
Haldir stood on the very edge of the woods, his crimson cloak snapping in the wind. As Annalyn ventured forth, keeping close to the treeline, he beheld the devastation with a blank expression on his noble face. Alas, before she could net his attention, Haldir turned away from the lifeless landscape, and was promptly swallowed by the shadowy woods. Wait, she wanted to call out, but could not find her voice.
With no other option, she followed and soon found him again, catching a brief glimpse as he walked between the trees. But no matter how fast she ran, the gap between them remained. How could that be?
Onward he walked, and onward she ran, endlessly it seemed. Until, at the last, Haldir reached what looked to be a wide clearing. When Annalyn finally emerged into the open, she noted the flowers that grew upon the windswept grass, some white, some gold. She had never seen their like before. In the midst of all these was a mound, over which stood two circles of trees, one inside the other. The outer trees had white bark, whereas the inner circle was formed by mallyrn. In the very center of the circle grew another mallorn, with a white flet of some kind.
It should have been a fair sight, and in many ways it was, but a dreariness lay over everything.
With a growing sense of foreboding, Annalyn looked away from the mound, and tried yelling out for Haldir, but again there was no sound, as if the air itself was swallowing her voice. What manner of devilry was this?
Haldir had already passed the mound, and was continuing onward when the impossible happened. Without warning, the scenery dissolved before her very eyes. A great rushing sound envelopped her, and a strange pressure filled her ears. Suddenly, everything was moving, hues of grey and green passing in a blur, as if some unseen force was carrying her at great speed.
The colours stilled, then the world took shape. It was night. Annalyn was on a bridge somewhere. Before her was a gate set amidst a great wall of green. She knew this place. This was the entrance to the city.
Caras Galadhon.
For some strange reason, the lamps that adorned the gate had not been kindled this night, and the doors creaked and thudded in the wind. Annalyn's throat bobbed, and her feet moved toward the narrow opening. Passing beneath the arch, she looked up and out, only to be met by darkness, forlorn and devastating.
A bolt of lightning pierced the heavens, illuminating the once great city. Deserted now. Its bridges and dwellings groaned as the treetops swayed in the howling wind.
At a loss, Annalyn surveyed her surroundings with sheer disbelief.
What's happened here? Where is everyone?
"Annalyn?"
Guided by his voice, her eyes finally found him.
Haldir stood a short distance away, his brows creased in confusion as he turned to face her.
Before Annalyn could say anything, the world dissolved once more, turning to absolute blackness before brightening again.
She was blinking, staring at a white ceiling.
Unsettled, Annalyn sat up at once and clutched her blanket over her racing heart. Eyeing the room, she recognized the dresser, the four poster bed with its delicate carvings. She was in Ithriel's home, in Rúmil's old room. A glance at the sunlit curtains revealed it was morning.
What a strange dream. Disquieted and wide awake, Annalyn fell back against the pillow. All this talk of war must be getting to me.
Indeed, it was ever present these days. Last night, during the evening meal, Annalyn had listened in on a conversation between Ithriel, Bestedir, and some of the other guests. Despite losing a few threads here and there, she had followed the discussion well enough to gather that the Elves were troubled, and that many were bracing for the unknowns ahead.
Doing the same, Annalyn rose to face the day, yet her thoughts kept circling back to Haldir. How are you faring out there? As she made her bed, taking care to smooth the creases from the sheets, she had to remind herself that he knew what he was doing. Haldir had been a Marchwarden for over a millenium, a soldier for nearly three. He can handle himself.
Still, she worried for him, each and every day he was out there, simply couldn't help it. With ten days between now and his return, Annalyn opened the curtains, and wondered what she might do until then.
Like most other mornings, Caras Galadhon was bathed in beautiful golden light, its stairs and footbridges dotted by serene-looking Elves, one strolling here, one strolling there.
The view was comforting, the air warm as it ruffled her nightdress and kissed her bare arms. At length, like it often did these days, her gaze lowered to the mallorn's main staircase, where she and Haldir had finally thrown caution to the wind, kissing ardently before he had left for the fences.
To think, one moment she had been dead-set on leaving, convinced it was the right choice, and the next she had been in his arms, no longer able to let go.
Are we mad? We must be.
Indeed, the wisest course would have been to part ways, to end this madness once and for all, but each seemed incapable of doing so.
"All I will bring you is pain," she had said to him then, only to be silenced by the most fervent of kisses.
"Pain I can endure," Haldir had breathed against her mouth. "But losing you like this… today? I cannot. I will not."
Like moths to a flame…
A part of her was insanely happy, butterflies whirling in her stomach even now, yet a sobering question remained. If we do this, if we explore that which exists between us, how long before our differences catch up to us? How long before we burn?
"Alright Annalyn," she said to herself. "Enough with the idleness." You cannot stand here all day.
Once she was dressed, Annalyn exited the room and found that Ithriel had already left the house. Thinking she must have gone to see the soldier under her care, Annalyn grabbed a small breadroll from the dining table, and bit into it as he feet ferried her outside.
With her sword and waterskin at her hip, she descended the spiral staircase, and was nearing the terrace when she noted an elf-woman she had never seen before. Bearing weapons, she was clad like a sentinel of the wood. Tall, even by Elvish standards, this elleth had waist-length hair, sable in colour, which was gathered in typical warrior braids. At present, she was eyeing a bowl of fruit that had been laid on the long table outside. Leaning forth, she extended a slender arm, and promptly skewered an apple with an elegant but lethal looking knife.
Perhaps she served on the Northern Fences with Haldir. Or maybe she was one of Erynion's soldiers. When Annalyn strode by, the Elf looked sidelong at her, but instead of issuing a greeting, her features remained neutral. All she gave was a small, almost imperceptible nod. As Annalyn returned the wordless acknowledgement and walked on, it felt like the Elf was following her with her eyes.
"Ae! Annalyn!" Glirwen's cheerful greeting echoed from the nearby kitchens, where the baker was kneading a cabbage-sized ball of dough. Her hands were covered in flour, her brown hair loosely tied back.
"Galu!" Annalyn replied and felt reasonably certain the word meant "blessings", or something of the sort. Feeling alive and spirited, she continued past the kitchens, descending the weathered steps that hugged the side of the hill. At the bottom, Annalyn did not take to the path, but rounded the slope until she came to a grassy area below the mallorn, one that was hidden from the terrace. There, she drew out her sword and beheld the blade as it caught the light. "Good morning, old friend."
Annalyn had been training for some time and had just parried to the right when a voice broke through her concentration. "Watch your wrists."
Startled, Annalyn whirled around, then looked up.
It was the Elf from the terrace, the soldier. Presently, she was perched high up on a root that protruded from the hillside. Her feet were dangling in the air, her boots crossed at the ankles. Taking a bite of her apple, the Elf chewed and swallowed, then raised her closed fist and turned it over. "When you parry, twist your hands a bit more."
Though her pride bristled at this stranger's meddling, Annalyn thinned her lips and readied her stance. For stranger or no, this Elf was obviously of the Galadhrim. And if Haldir's skills were anything to go by, the Galadhrim could fight.
Why spit on freely-given advice?
Her sword in a two-handed grip, Annalyn flexed her jaw. As the Elf watched, she parried right, taking care to turn her wrists, then lunged forward with a downward thrust.
"Better?" she challenged with a raised brow.
The Elf considered her for a moment, her cool features revealing little. "Better."
Before Annalyn could right herself, the tall Elf had gained her feet, and was springing easily down the hill. When the two were face to face, a smirk found its way to the stranger's mouth. "You must be Haldir's friend." By the twinkle in her narrowing eyes, and the way she had emphasized the word "friend", Annalyn could tell that this Elf suspected they were more than that.
"Mae govannen." The Elf bowed. "Ninael is my name." Like Haldir, she spoke the common tongue with ease. Confident she seemed, and proud. But her demeanour seemed more fiery than Haldir's.
Annalyn introduced herself in turn, then watched as Ninael brought the apple near to her lips. "I may have corrected your form," the Elf said, "but overall you seem to fight well. It shall make my task that much easier, should we encounter Orcs along the way."
"Along the way?"
"Oh, I thought Haldir would have mentioned it. I received a missive from him the other day. He spoke of your need to return to the Westfold and has asked that I ward you during your travels."
"He has spoken of it," Annalyn allowed grudgingly, then sheathed her sword. "You should know that I resisted the idea. I can fend for myself."
Ninael did not appear to take offense. If anything, there was a measure of respect on her features. "In that case, I shall treat you not as a ward, but rather as a companion. How does that sound?"
"I could live with that."
"Well then, I shall leave you to your exercises. I have been on the marches for nigh on a month. My bath awaits." With that, Ninael bit into her apple, winked, and strode away.
Readying her stance once more, Annalyn went to resume her exercises, but her gaze trailed after the Elf. A most interesting elleth, she thought, very different from Ithriel and Glirwen.
It was nearing midday when Annalyn concluded her training. But while she felt the burn in her shoulders, a restless energy remained in her legs. She needed to move, to walk or run. Her eyes trained southward, she thought it would be a perfect time to see Cobalt. After a quick detour to the kitchens, Annalyn was on her way to the gates, with an apple in one hand, and a fistful of almonds in the other. Eating them one by one, she was walking along a narrow stream when she heard someone call her name.
"Out for a stroll, I see."
Shielding her eyes from the sun, Annalyn halted and looked up to see who had spoken.
"Over here." Following the voice, she saw that Taerion was walking along a footbridge, clad in a light blue tunic and grey leggings, with a book clasped under his arm.
"I was going to find the stables," she said at last. "I have not seen Cobalt, my horse, since arriving here. I reckon it is high time I do so."
"A journey beyond the city! What a splendid idea. Are you in need of a guide?"
"A guide, no." A touch of disappointment crossed Taerion's face, but he perked up at once when Annalyn said, "However the company of a friend would be most welcome."
Moments later, the young Elf joined her on the green avenues, and together they walked southward.
"I meant no disrespect earlier," Annalyn said after a time. "The truth is, I believe I know where the stables are, but I do not know for certain. Only I thought it would be nice to explore and discover on my own."
"That I can understand. You like doing things for yourself." Taerion nodded. "Very well, then, I shall not say a word. Unless, of course, you lead us far astray. I would rather remain in the Golden Wood, if you do not mind."
His teasing made her laugh. "Agreed."
When the gates finally came into view, Annalyn couldn't help but marvel at the accuracy of her memory. For though she had once slept near here, rarely had she passed before these gates. She had never taken the time to examine them at length. And yet the lamps, the sturdy doors, even the encircling wall of green… they were exactly as she had seen them in her dream, down to the last detail. Except the gate was closed now, and a bright sun shone on the other side.
Annalyn and Taerion were almost at the doors when—to her surprise—they opened without a sound, seemingly on their own.
Startled, Annalyn looked to see who had opened them, but saw no one.
Taerion laughed. "You need not be alarmed. There are hidden sentries here. Come."
And so they passed beneath the arch, then over a bridge. The last time Annalyn had done so, she had been lying helpless on a litter. Now at least she was on her feet.
Once over the sparkling ribbon of water, the two found themselves on a cobbled road that appeared to circle the city. But which way to go? As Taerion waited to see which direction she would choose, Annalyn scanned the horizon, until she descried what looked to be a field of some kind. Just west of here. Perhaps the stables were that way.
Turning right, she waited to see if Taerion would correct her. When he said nothing, matching her stride as he hooked his hands behind his back, Annalyn assumed she had chosen correctly.
They kept to the stone road for a short time, but as they took to the grass, nearer to the field, Annalyn caught a whiff of something familiar. "Now I know I am on the right path." Laughing, she glanced at Taerion. "It seems horses smell like horses, even in fair Lothlórien."
Being from the Riddermark, Annalyn had been around the gentle creatures her whole life. Back on the Westfold, not only were horses part of the landscape, their upkeep and training were woven in the fabric of everyday life. Horsemasters her people were called, and rightly so.
When the stables finally came into view—a beautiful wooden structure before a verdant field—Annalyn felt a peace come over her. At present, thirty or so horses were grazing in the meadow. Beautiful steeds, all running free under the stablehands' watchful but caring eyes. Comical as it might seem, the familiarity of the sights, smells, and sounds made it feel like a homecoming of sorts.
"Which one is yours?" Taerion asked as her smile broadened into a full grin.
"That one." She pointed and went to meet her horse. "Cobalt! Ah, but I have missed you," Annalyn said when she finally reached him. Stroking his muzzle, she leaned her head against his, then drew back to look him over. "Your coat is glossy, and your hooves are clean. You look well, my friend!"
Cobalt blew a gentle breath from his nostrils.
When one of the stablehands came over to greet them, Taerion translated for Annalyn. "He says you have a fine mount, and that Cobalt has been happy here."
"My heart rejoices at hearing it," she said to the stablehand. "This horse means the world to me. I thank you for taking such good care of him."
Taerion translated again, and the Elf smiled. As the stablehand inclined his head and strode away to watch over the other horses, Annalyn looked to Cobalt again, but her words were for her companion. "Do you ride, Taerion?"
"On occasion," he answered. "Though it is long since I have done so. Why? Do you fancy an outing?"
"More like itching for one. What say you, Cobalt? Do you feel like going for a run?"
It was a glorious day for a ride. Once Annalyn had saddled her mount—Taerion, it seemed, preferred to ride without a saddle—the two rode around the field a few times before halting on the very edge of it. As they stared out at the stone road, their horses stamping calmly beneath them, Taerion looked sidelong at her. "Where to, young one?"
A snort of laughter echoed before she could stop herself. "Did you just call me 'young one'?"
Taerion raised a brow, much like a certain Marchwarden, but unlike Haldir there was a youthful innocence to his face. "Being the youngest in a city of immortal Elves, I seldom have the opportunity to use that particular expression. So if you would indulge me, young one, just this once, I would be most grateful."
"You may call me so if you wish. It is a nice change, if I am honest." With lingering amusement, Annalyn recalled a gathering late last year, and how she had been called the exact opposite. Launching into the tale, she explained that the mead hall had been filled to overflowing that night. "I was standing off to the side, watching the festivities, when I overheard a woman, a short distance behind me. While she spoke in whispers, the word 'spinster' carried clearly to my ears. Turning, I saw that she and her friend were staring at me, mockingly it seemed."
Taerion looked genuinely appalled. "How discourteous!"
Annalyn shrugged, but her smile was undimmed. "I did not care for the name, but I refused to let it get to me. Besides, she later tripped on her own feet, and went sprawling to the ground in the middle of the crowd, a few paces from where I was sitting. Seeing as she was unhurt, save for her pride, I did not bother to hide my amusement. I might even have laughed out loud."
"Sweet vengeance for you, and a just punishment for her. Good!"
Recalling his earlier query, Annalyn pondered the road again. "How about we head north?"
"North it is."
And so they set off, first following the road, then the sunlit meadows that lined the inner edge of the surrounding woods. As she nudged her horse into a light trot, Annalyn felt a growing sense of exhiliration. How she had missed this. The freedom of open spaces. The wind on her face and in her hair.
In the end, they rode for the better part of the afternoon, but always kept within sight of the city. When at last they reached what she thought was the Silverlode, the two stopped to let their horses drink. There, Taerion retrieved his book from his saddle pack and went to sit, cross-legged, in the shade of a birch tree.
Intrigued, Annalyn watched him from the water's edge. From the pocket of his tunic, he retrieved what looked to be a handkerchief. Inside was a small lump of… coal?
"What do you have there?" she asked and went over to investigate.
"You shall see."
Finding a spot beside him, Annalyn watched as he proceeded to draw faint, sweeping lines over a blank page. At first, she couldn't decipher the image, but soon it started to take form.
A horse. And not just any horse. "Is that Cobalt?"
In lieu of answering, Taerion merely smiled and kept on drawing, his elven eyes flickering to Cobalt every now and again.
"Remarkable," Annalyn breathed. "That looks exactly like him."
With a graceful hand, Taerion added some shading, and a few more details here and there. At length, he set the stick of coal aside, and pondered his work with a critical eye. "There. I believe it is finished."
Reaching into his boot, he unsheathed a small knife, which he then used to slice the inner edge of the page. The drawing now in hand, he held it out for her to take. "For you."
"Me?" Touched by the gesture, Annalyn admired the image for several moments. "Your work is truly masterful. I shall treasure this, thank you."
"The pleasure is mine."
"Are there other drawings in that book of yours?"
"A few," he replied and handed it over.
From birds, to animals, and trees, it seemed there was nothing he couldn't draw. "That is the Lord and the Lady's dwelling!" She beamed and perused ahead. "And the terrace with the kitchens. These are exquisite." Impressed, she turned yet another page, only to blink in puzzlement.
Wait, no… Is it?
Before her was a mound with two concentric rings of trees, at the center of which grew a single mallorn with a large flet.
I know this place. But how could that be? She had only seen it in a dream. "Taerion, where is this?"
"It is called Cerin Amroth." As Taerion went on, explaining that long ago, a king had dwelt on the high flet, Annalyn remembered that Haldir had once mentionned such a place. Now his words came back to her. "The light was fair on the mound where the king's high house had been built… Thus I stood before Amroth and all those assembled and, giving my answer, assumed the mantle of Marchwarden of the North."
But had he mentioned the circling trees? The central mallorn with its white flet? Annalyn didn't think so.
"If you wish to see it, the mound is not far from the gates. I can guide you there upon our return."
Closing the book, Annalyn sought to hide her confusion and accepted his offer. An hour later, they were there.
"Is something the matter?" Taerion asked as he drew rein beside her. "You look like one who has seen a ghost."
Not a ghost, she thought, but close enough. The trees, the flet, even the flowers… They were eerily similar, if not identical, to her dream. It made no sense, unless she had been here before, when the Elves had borne her across the forest and into the city. Annalyn had been so delirious at the time, perhaps she had forgotten and was only remembering now.
That must be it.
"Nothing's the matter," she lied and challenged Taerion to a race to the stables.
But the enigma of Cerin Amroth was not so easily forgotten. By the time evening came around, it troubled her still. So much so that Ithriel took note of it as the two were returning home from their evening meal. "You have been rather quiet tonight. Something weighs on your mind."
"Have I?" Annalyn absently rubbed her arms and snapped out of her musings. "I suppose I have been preoccupied. It was a peculiar day, and now a question gnaws at me."
"By all means, give voice to it." Ithriel regarded her curiously as they crossed the threshold.
Ambling into the lamplit home, Annalyn made for one of the lounging couches, while the healer fetched two glasses and a bottle of miruvor, which she then set on the low table before taking a seat on the other couch, opposite her friend.
As drinks were poured, Annalyn expressed her thanks, and began, "When I was first brought here, did you and the litter-bearers carry me through Cerin Amroth?"
"Cerin Amroth? No. Why do you ask?"
"Are you certain?"
Ithriel laughed mid-sip. "Quite." But then, with narrowing eyes, she lowered her glass to her lap and waited to hear more.
Annalyn sighed. "How can I put this? It is so strange." Needing to steady her nerves, she downed some of her miruvor, then told Ithriel about her ride around the city, about Taerion's drawing, and the moment she had seen Cerin Amroth with her own eyes.
"You might think this is mad, that I am mad, but the place was known to me. I swear it was as if I had once been there. But now you say that we never passed in that meadow. But I have seen it. I know I did."
Ithriel appeared to weigh the enigma, pursing her lips before asking, "May I venture a guess?"
"By all means."
"You say you have seen it. Is it possible you beheld it in your dreams?"
"How did you know?"
Having set her drink on the table, Ithriel considered her for a long moment, thoughfully it seemed. "I suppose it makes sense. Such a thing is not unheard of among the Elves."
"I fear you lost me."
"In your dream… You were not alone, were you?"
Her mouth worked. "Well, no. Haldir was there, but what does—"
"Search no further, my friend," Ithriel said, and spread her elegant hands. "For there lies the answer."
"The answer. With Haldir?" she echoed, then stammered. "I am sorry, would you do me a kindness and elaborate? Because what I think I am hearing is…" She couldn't even put it into words. It was absurd! "What are you saying, Ithriel?"
"Namely that the dream was not entirely yours."
As Annalyn grappled with the information, the healer explained, "My guess would be that Haldir took a rest while you were sleeping, and what you saw were his dreams. Such bonds are not unusual, especially between those who share deep bonds of kinship or love."
As Annalyn struggled to absorb these words, a stray memory surfaced—that of starlit mountains and a quiet conversation on horseback. "Sanwe-latya," she remembered aloud, and Ithriel nodded.
"Haldir explained it to me once." The concept known as thought-opening. Annalyn went on. "Only I never realised it could manifest in dreams." Then something occurred to her. "Oh, Ithriel, do you think he knows?"
"He might."
Given how guarded he was, Annalyn wondered how he might feel about her witnessing his dreams.
"You seem troubled," Ithriel stated gently.
"Taken aback more like. Shared dreams…" Huffing a faint laugh, Annalyn abandonned her drink. "Please say nothing of this to anyone. He would hate it."
"My lips are sealed. I give you my word."
Thinking their discussion was at an end, Annalyn was about to bid Ithriel good night. But her friend was regarding her with keen interest, an impish smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.
"What?"
"Just a small matter that we have yet to speak of."
A blush crept onto Annalyn's cheeks. Somehow, she knew what Ithriel was going to say.
"I see the change in you. Unlike a few days ago, there is hope and joy in your eyes. I am happy for you."
"So you know, then."
"It is not hard to guess. You have been daydreaming for days."
"Have I?" Annalyn allowed a tiny, albeit bashful smile. Oh, who was she kidding? Of course, Ithriel would have noticed. Annalyn had been on a cloud since the other day, since that bone-melting kiss on that staircase. Relenting, she dropped all pretense and felt herself relax.
She was in love with Haldir. Deeply and madly in love with him.
"I suppose there is little point in denying it. I have been rather joyful of late. Gracious, it feels so incredibly surreal at times, dreamlike. Even now, I do not know what we were thinking. It was all so sudden. There was no time to think, let alone discuss it. One moment, I thought our story had reached its end. But all of that changed in an instant. And then he had to leave." Her mood turned pensive. "Do you think we are being foolish? Is it folly to pursue this?"
"Does your heart not hold the answer?"
Annalyn chuckled as she rolled her eyes. "I seek your counsel, yet you answer with riddles. I should have known."
Ithriel beheld her with amusement. But then the expression faded. Kindly, she said, "Such choices are never easy, and seldom have our kindreds joined in such a way. This choice, in the end, belongs to you and Haldir, and no other. However, if it is wisdom that you seek, it is my belief that one should always look within. For the heart is wise, and will not lead you astray."
Annalyn weighed her friend's words, and mulled them over long into the night. It is true? Am I sharing dreams with him? Lying alone in bed, her hand tracing idle patterns on her moonlit pillow, she recalled a recent and rather heated dream, where Haldir had gathered her into his arms, pressing his mouth to hers as he had carried her up to his bed.
"I thought of this, dreamed of this, so many times," he had said to her the other night, as he had hovered over her, breathing hotly against her abdomen. "Having you in this very bed. Ae..."
The dream... Was it truly him? Annalyn felt those flutters again. Biting her lower lip, she recalled their conversation. The one they'd had late one night, just prior to her falling ill. "The Elves call it sanwe-latya," he had said to her, in reference to the ease with which he could converse with Cobalt and other animals. "In the common tongue, it means 'thought-opening'."
"Could it be?" she now whispered to herself. "Have our minds become linked somehow?"
Not knowing how else to explain all this, Annalyn circled back to her latest dream—Haldir's dream. A nightmare actually. The decimated forest. The abandonned city. So bleak and disquieting, much like her own dreams of late.
But what about tonight? If an invisible bridge had indeed formed between her and Haldir, would their minds interlock again? Since the hours of darkness were a time of vigilance on the fences, it seemed doubtful that Haldir would sleep while the stars were out. Perhaps in the morning, then.
Baffled but very much intrigued, Annalyn closed her eyes in hopes that sleep would provide the answer. But her slumber granted no such boon. After a restful but seemingly dreamless night, Annalyn awoke to another idyllic day in Caras Galadhon—though by the glistening leaves outside, it seemed a fine misty rain had fallen during the early morning hours.
After breaking her fast with Ithriel, she promised to meet her later that day, to resume her language lessons and share a meal. Thus it was that she made her way to the green avenues beneath the mallorn, where she drew out her sword and started training. She had barely started when, much to her surprise, Ninael dropped in on her practice once again. Unlike the previous day, however, the soldier had come bearing swords. Training swords to be exact.
"It is a glorious day for sparring, is it not?" Ninael said, and tossed a wooden sword her way.
Amused, Annalyn caught the practice weapon and bit back a laugh. "You have only just returned from the fences, and now you wish to train?"
"The Enemy is not resting. Why should I? Besides, even in times of peace, it is my wont to train once I awake. It invigorates me."
"A warrior through and through, then."
Ninael grinned at that. Sable hair haloed by the sun, the Elf swung her practice sword a few times, the motions as smooth as water. Instead of Galadhrim grey, she had opted for green and gold today, the sectionned hem of her knee-length tunic swaying as her long legs carried her across the grassy space. "Our departure is fast approaching. Have you gathered your supplies?"
"Most of them. Haldir is seeing to the rest. As for my horse, the stablehands have arranged for new shoes. All should be in readiness soon."
"I have seen him. He is a fine mount. Have you had him long?"
"Nigh on twelve years. My mother and I trained him together, or at least we had begun to before she…" Annalyn stopped herself. She hadn't meant to speak of her loss. But since it was already too late, her chin dipped downward. Softly, she admitted, "Before she died."
"I am sorry for your loss."
Now Annalyn shrugged. "Cobalt was not fully trained when it happened. He was skittish and wary. Luckily my mother had taught me enough. In time, he grew to trust me. He is a good horse. I am fortunate to have him."
Warmth reached the soldier's eyes. "He is your companion, then."
"He is a friend."
"Well, I look forward to riding alongside the both of you. Ready?" Ninael asked and assumed a battle stance.
Annalyn nodded, and found she rather liked this Elf. "Let us do this."
And so began the first of her daily training sessions with Ninael. Tireless and incredibly quick, the soldier never made it easy for her. It was energizing, and she learned much. However, being no Elf, Annalyn was not immune to fatigue. By the fourth day, her body ached from head to toe.
Having just returned from a full morning of training, with a sore shoulder and a lingering stitch in her side, Annalyn went in search of the soothing salve she kept in her dresser, but opening it, saw that she had run out. Tilting her mouth, she stoppered the jar once more, then left her room in search of Ithriel.
After stealing a glance toward the master bedroom, she believed her to be downstairs, but as Annalyn crossed the upper landing, she noted that a door had been left open. A door that was usually kept shut. Curious, she neared the threshold. "Ithriel? I was wondering if you had…" But Annalyn slowed to a stop, her hand falling away from her aching shoulder as she beheld her friend with interest.
Presently, Ithriel was sitting on the floor, her yellow gown spread about her legs. Her hair and profile were lined by a beam of sunlight that was streaming through a high window. Upon noting Annalyn's presence, the healer looked up, startled, and laughed as she replaced an item in the open trunk by her knees. "Annalyn! My mind must have been leagues away. I did not see you there."
Intrigued, Annalyn entered what was clearly a storage space. Trunks of various sizes were stacked along the walls, and a tall cupboard stood next to a smaller one on the right side of the room.
"Is there aught that you need?" Ithriel asked.
Her aching muscles all but forgotten, Annalyn answered that it was nothing, that it could wait. "What's all this?"
Ithriel folded what appeared to be a tunic of some kind. "Memories mostly. I was rummaging in here, in search of something, when these mementoes ferried me to bygone days. There are so many treasures hidden away in here, some I had nearly forgotten." Her smile brightened and she waved her in. "Well do not stand by the door. You may join me. "
At her friend's invitation, Annalyn ventured into the room, her gaze sweeping all around as she sat cross-legged on the opposite side of the trunk. Unlike the openness of rest of the house, the space was crammed, nearly filled to the brim. That being said, the air was neither closed nor musty in here. If anything, it smelled of mallorn leaves, courtesy of the breeze that was now flowing through the open window above. "Is this all yours?"
"Goodness no, though some of it is. The rest is an amalgamation of garments and heirlooms, some of it dating back to the Second Age. Most of it belonged to Orophin's mother and father. The rest belonged to my kin."
"And those?" Annalyn inquired tentatively, and tipped her head toward the open trunk between them.
A look of fondness crossed the healer's face. "These belong to me. Gifts from my mother err she departed over the sea."
"To Aman," Annalyn assumed.
Ithriel regarded her curiously. "Haldir has told you of it?"
"He touched upon it briefly," she allowed, recalling the night the two of them had sat on the edge of his talan, watching the Lady Galadriel and her maidens stroll along a footbridge. "But truthfully, I do not know much of it, except that it lies somewhere in the west. Surely it is a perilous journey, and quite far. Why did your mother choose to leave?"
Perhaps she was being overly inquisitive, but it struck her as rather curious. Caras Galadhon was a haven of peace. Why leave it? And why leave Ithriel?
Before her friend could answer, a memory surfaced—the statues she had seen near to Lady Galadriel's dwelling, the ones carved in the likeness of King Amroth and his beloved Nimrodel. They, too, had chosen to leave, so that Nimrodel might live without fear, far from the evils that had awoken in Middle-earth. Sadly, neither she nor Amroth ever made it there.
"For immortal beings like us," Ithriel began. "Aman is a blessed place, one we are drawn to in many respects."
Sensing Annalyn's lingering questions, the healer opened her mouth to elaborate, but then hesitated, as if she was debating the wisdom in saying more. "Forgive me. I assumed you already knew."
"Knew what?"
Ithriel chewed her lip. "Perhaps Haldir would be better suited to explain. You should ask him upon his return."
"No, I am asking you."
One might have said she was being overly assertive, but Annalyn was not going to yield on this. Ithriel was being evasive. She was also ill at ease. Annalyn wanted to know why.
The healer lowered her eyes, her voice small when she said, "Very well. If you insist... We call it the Undying Lands for it is the home of the Valar, most of the Maiar, and a great number of my people."
"What about the race of Men?" Annalyn frowned. "Dwarves and other mortal folk?"
"Aman is now set beyond the sphere of the world. Mortals cannot reach it, nor should they."
"That seems rather unjust."
"It is not meant to be unjust. If anything, the ban is a kindness, for the land is hallowed by the Deathless who dwell therein. Mortals would not long endure it."
Try as she might, it was hard not to be insulted. "Are you saying we are unclean somehow?"
"You mistake my words," Ithriel replied. "The ban of the Valar was put into place not because you are unworthy, but for the reason that you bear the gift of mortality. Should you wander the unchanging grass of Valinor, you would wither and grow weary and die all the sooner. The ground of Aman is not meant for mortal feet."
Annalyn's mood softened somewhat, yet worrisome questions remained. Wordlessly, she looped her arms around her knees, and waited to hear more.
Ithriel went on. "It is said that long ago, the Valar sought the Elves who had awoken in Middle-earth in hopes that they would agree to dwell alongside them in Aman. Although there were some who chose to stay behind, a great number of my people made the journey in those days. Ah, indeed it is a long tale, much too long for one sitting. But this I will say: the world is not as it once was. Our glory has waxed and waned, and the Dominion of Men is near at hand."
"Why must Men have dominion over Middle-earth? Your people are strong and wise. Can we not live equally, side by side?"
But Ithriel was shaking her head. "Alas, with every passing year, the light in the world loses its strength, and the shadows grow darker. There are many who feel we have dwelt too long in Middle-earth. The time of the Elves is ending, Annalyn."
Stunned into silence, she scarcely felt the breeze as it swirled in from above, stirring the topmost pages in a nearby stack of parchments. "The time of the Elves is ending?" Her stomach dropped even as her mind struggled to follow.
Regretfully, Ithriel said, "It has been foretold. Elves are not meant to remain hither. Many of my people have already made the journey, my kin among them. For Aman is the land that ultimately calls to us, to my kind, though some say that it is the sea that calls."
Ithriel ran a finger along the edge of the wooden trunk. "Some describe it as a longing for the sea, but in my estimation it runs deeper than that. It is a yearning, intrinsic and profound, that lies within us whether we wish it or not. As the sea crashes over the shore, its song is borne upon the wind, travelling over forest and over mountains, beckoning us, always," Ithriel said. "For some, like myself, the song is but a whispering echo, faint enough to be ignored. But for others, the echo changes into clearer notes, a melodious call to home that cannot be silenced. Indeed, those who hear it are forever changed. I know this for I have seen it firsthand, in my kin."
While Ithriel spoke, Annalyn sat motionless, rendered speechless by the knot of alarm that was now tightening in her gut. The sea calls to them… They are leaving…
"My father heard it first, and then my mother. And as they hearkened to it, their wish was for me to follow."
Reaching into the trunk, Ithriel produced an embroidered handkerchief. As she stared at the delicate stitches, her mouth set in wistful remembrance, she resumed her quiet tale. "Torn I was, for I loved my kin. But the sea did not yet call to me. I loved Lothlórien, and I do to this day. But more than that, I loved and was betrothed to Orophin, whose heart remained hither, among the mallyrn."
Annalyn's distress must have been apparent, for Ithriel studied her for a long moment, guessing rightly when she said, "You are thinking of Haldir. You are sitting here, wondering if the sea calls to him."
"Does it?"
"If it has, he has said nothing of it. But it is my belief that it has not." Ithriel scrunched her eyes, her silver hair swaying with the subtle shake of her head when she decided, "No, my husband's brother remains wholly devoted to Lothlórien. His heart has not yet turned toward the sea. And when the day finally arrives, I believe he will fight it for as long as he is able."
It might have been selfish of her, but Annalyn was relieved to hear it. Quietly, she said, "He has never said anything. Why do you think that is?"
"I suspect that, like many amongst us, he is neither willing nor ready to contemplate such a future."
"But it is inevitable," Annalyn said, though she wished it wasn't true. "You are all leaving."
"In one hundred years, mayhap even a thousand. We do not know for certain, save that we are meant to leave someday, or else we will fade."
Fade? She blinked. Why must Elves be so complicated? Though seemingly idyllic at first glance, their lives seemed laced with secret sorrows. "What does that mean? To fade."
"Much like mortals could not withstand it in Aman, Elves would not long survive in a darkening world. Over time, our bodies would weaken, and the light of our spirits would consume us from within." Ithriel leaned forward to lay a hand atop of hers. "If my words have troubled you, please know that it was not my intent. Take heart, my friend, for most of us are not leaving just yet, perhaps not for many lifetimes."
While it was hard to know how to feel, Annalyn chose to heed her friend's advice by shifting her focus to Ithriel's parents. "Is it long since your kin made the crossing? You must miss them terribly."
"Many long years have passed since they took to the seas, shortly after Orophin and I wed. There were many tears at our parting, but they were not bitter, for the day will come when I will see them again." Ithriel replaced the handkerchief in the trunk and was about to shut the lid when something netted her attention. Laughing through gathering tears, the healer retrieved what looked to be a doll. But unlike the pristine items that were stored here, it was worn and weathered. Made of cloth, it was modest yet charming, with an embroidered face—a happy expression.
Latching on to memories of her own, Annalyn smiled in spite of herself. "I had one similar to it when I was a child. My grandmother made it for me. Though if memory serves, it was much dirtier than this one. I kept it with me at all times, and carried it everywhere."
As Annalyn studied the doll, comparing it to the one she had owned, Ithriel explained that it had been a token of farewell, given to her by a small child, a girl she had met long ago. "You see when my kin departed, I made the journey alongside them, so as to prolong our time together. Yet I meant not to reach the Havens, for it was said that the sound of the gulls and the waves could stir our longing, and I did not wish it," she said. "So I went as far as Lebennin, in the south of Gondor, and it was there, while we tarried near the mouth of the Sirith river, that I saw them. A boy and a girl of similar bearing. Twins I later learned."
Annalyn's mouth curved in a smile.
"While it is difficult for an Elf to judge the age of mortals, I reckon they were around ten years of age," Ithriel said. "It was their wont to run and play by the river, and it was there that we first espied them through the trees. Now in the beginning, I did not reveal myself, and neither did my kindred, for we do not usually concern ourselves with mortals. But we saw them and smiled."
"One morning, I was gathering berries within view of the banks when the boy fell into the water. As he thrashed about, his mouth and nose unable to breach the surface, his sister went after him, alas neither of them could swim. Thus, I revealed myself at last and dove in. I will always remember their eyes as I hauled them to shore, wide-eyed and fearful despite my aid."
"When the boy had stopped spitting up water, I explained that I was a healer and that I meant them no harm. Being children, they soon forgot their fears." Ithriel sank further into her thoughts. "Seeing as they had never beheld an Elf, the two were greatly fascinated by my ears. 'Turn your head so I can see' they kept saying as their little hands reached and beckoned me to kneel."
Fondness suffused Ithriel's features. "Strange but beautiful they were, with curly brown hair and toothless smiles. I think I was as charmed as they were. But then, that very night, as we were readying to resume our journey, I heard her voice, the girl's. She was calling my name over and over again. Frightened she seemed, and frantic. My kin and I could hear her little feet as she ran and stumbled along the riverbank, nearly blind in the dark."
"I went to her at once. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, and she begged me to follow. Her brother was ill, she said. So I gathered her in my arms, and ran in the direction she told me to, until I found their humble dwelling."
"At first, the mother and father were greatly startled by my presence, but since they knew not what to do, they accepted my aid, and watched in quiet anguish as I tended to their son."
"In truth, a part of me felt responsible, for the boy had swallowed more water than I had reckoned. In a way, he was drowning after the fact. As he struggled to take breath, I toiled for much of the night, and for a time I feared I was losing him. But he had such a will to live. By daybreak, he was much improved. My kindred and I tarried in the area for a few days more, until I was certain the danger had passed. When at last it was time to leave, the girl begged me not to go." A hint of sorrow touched her features. "After I had explained that I could not remain, she raised her little chin and declared, 'then one day I shall pay you a visit. I shall travel the land, and I shall find your Elf castle.'" Ithriel laughed. "Those were her words to me."
She went on, "'What makes you think I live in a castle?' I said to her. Then she motioned for me to come closer and she whispered in my ear, 'Because you look like a princess. A healer princess.' Oh, how I laughed. Sweet child. It was then that she insisted I take her doll. A gift, she said."
Ithriel's shoulder rose then fell. "Of course, I never saw her again, nor her brother." By now, it was clear that those children were no longer of this world, that their mortal lives had been extinguished long ago. The healer heaved a sigh, her voice low when she said, "I never forgot them. I never will."
"Do you have any of your own?" Annalyn ventured after a pause, for she had never thought to ask. "Children I mean." For all she knew, they might be grown now, as ageless as Ithriel was.
"Nay." The healer smiled, yet it could not conceal her yearning. Having replaced the doll in the trunk, she closed the lid, gained her feet, and changed the subject. "You must be wondering what I am doing in here." Turning, she peered into another trunk.
"I admit, the question had crossed my mind. Are you searching for something in particular?"
"As a matter of fact, I was. Ah! Here they are!" Ithriel faced her once again, a look of triumph upon her face.
"Shoes," Annalyn stated in question.
"Lovely, are they not?"
"A far cry from my boots." Delicate and feminine, they were the kind one would wear with an elegant dress.
"It pleases me that you like them. Now you must try them on to see if they fit."
Before Annalyn could make sense of her friend's request, the shoes were in her hands. "You wish for me to try them on?"
But Ithriel had already whirled around and was searching for something else. At a loss, Annalyn stared at her friend as she approached one of the wooden cupboards in the corner. "Apparently not in this one," Ithriel whispered before opening the neighbouring wardrobe. "Ah yes! Triumphant at last!"
With that, the healer stepped to the right and swept her arm in an invitation for her to look inside.
Dresses. At least ten of them, ranging from deep blues and reds, to peach, yellow, and pale green. "Apparently, I own too many dresses. Because we were running out of space in our bedroom cupboard, Orophin begged me to move some of my things in here."
"I am not following," Annalyn said as apprehension coiled in her gut. What do these dresses have to do with me?
"We might have to alter the hem, but one of them should do nicely."
"Nicely for what? What are you up to, Ithriel?"
But the healer only smirked. Hand reaching for two of the dresses, she held them up in front of Annalyn. "I am not up to anything. However, I do wish to extend an invitation."
"An invitation? Where?"
"All in due time." Deciding against the red dress, she reached for another one, and studied it with a critical eye.
"Ithriel!"
But the healer only seemed amused. "You need not be anxious. I will tell you. But first…" She held up the dresses, her eyes alight when she said, "Silver white or blue?"
