So the mysterious event has finally arrived. Many of you were curious as to what it would be. The event in question was mentioned in passing way back in chapter 36, in a conversation between Annalyn and Erynion. It was a small detail, easily missed. As for the colour of Annalyn's dress, I know many of you were wondering what she would choose. There were no hints on that one, but here her choice shall be revealed.
Thanks again to all who have been reading this story, and all who have commented since I last updated. Blue1258, Doria Nell, AshleyLeigh, WickedGreene13, Kelwtim2spar, leward1992, durinsdaughter2469btw, Cricklewood16, blasttyrant, Mayrahh, KathrannofQuade, MotherAiya, leelee202, mycarnation, Gandalf007, SarahELupin, and SmallLittleCagedBird. (Ruiniel and HaldirLove, thank you for binge reading and commenting on earlier chapters.)
CHAPTER XLVIII
THE HALLS OF STARLIGHT
"Your hands are fidgeting," Ithriel remarked as she and Annalyn walked in the gathering twilight. "You need not be anxious. You will have a magnificent time this night." She placed a hand on her friend's arm. "I promise."
But Annalyn could not help it. She was a bundle of nerves tonight, had been for the better part of the day. Relax, she said to herself, dropping her arms and rolling her shoulders back. They felt so stiff. It is a festival. Nothing more. Some mingling and feasting, a bit of dancing. Annalyn blanched at the thought. Gracious me… dancing… She had half a mind to turn around.
Of course, Annalyn could dance in the fashion of her people. But she was not in Rohan, heading to a noisy gathering in the mead-hall. Rather, she was to attend what the Elves called the Midwinter feast, a yearly celebration under stars, on this, the longest night of the year.
As her feet carried her up a staircase, toward a higher footbridge, Annalyn's throat bobbed. How do Elves dance? she wondered. Alone? In pairs? She had no idea. But given that Elves were gifted with natural grace of movement, seeing them dance would certainly be a sight to behold. Perhaps that is what I shall do. Watch and admire. Yes. She felt her shoulders relax a fraction, her heart calming in her chest.
"If you do not wish to go…" Ithriel's regarded her with mild disappointment, but her smile remained. "The choice is yours. Truly."
"No, I will go." Annalyn nodded to herself, and cemented her decision. She was no coward. "I wish to go. Only…" She sighed. "This is all new to me. These shoes." Her slender fingers grasped the sides of her dress, raising the skirt just enough to reveal the tops of her feet. "And this gown. Please do not mistake my meaning; they are lovely. Beyond lovely. They are exquisite, and there are no words to express how thankful I am." Her smile turned meek. "Simply I am not used to such finery. I am no Elf, nor am I a shieldmaiden of noble birth. I am a commoner of the Westfold. The finest dress I own is made of roughspun wool. A mere sac of grain by comparison."
It wasn't that Annalyn was bemoaning her wardrobe—if her clothing could be called such—nor was she ashamed of her modest means and roots. But the fact remained that her people were mostly peasants. Barring some exceptions, the clothing in Rohan was mostly unadorned. Simple garments made for long wear and practical use.
But this gown… This gown was so formal, so lovely, so elvish. Silver-white, it was fitted at the waist, with a floor-length skirt that was slightly longer in the back. The fabric was weightless, soft as it brushed against her bare legs. Raising her forearms, Annalyn admired the long diaphanous sleeves that flared past her elbows.
Never in her wildest dreams had she ever imagined wearing so fine a dress. During the fitting, when she had first beheld her reflection, Annalyn had found it a strange and startling sight, for the gown was incredibly feminine, hugging her figure in a way she was not accustomed to. But after turning this way and that, she had decided she liked the fit. It made her feel… beautiful? Womanly? Whatever the word, Annalyn had chewed her lip and smiled. Yet a trace of doubt had remained. "Are you certain it is not too much?"
"You look enchanting," Ithriel had said before lowering her voice to a soft but conspiratorial whisper. "It is a shame Haldir cannot be here to see it."
Annalyn had smiled at that, wistfully, but gratefully as well, for she and Ithriel had grown quite close these past few weeks. So much so that each now felt capable of confiding in the other, something Annalyn sorely needed at this time. "I could say the same for your husband," she had offered in turn. "You must miss him terribly when he is gone."
"There are times when I do miss him," Ithriel had allowed. "Although for Elves, weeks and months pass like the swift waters of Nimrodel." The comparison was sobering, reminding her of just how different their lives were. Mortal and immortal. "But when Orophin does leave, I hold him in my heart each and every day, and hope that no harm befalls him."
Annalyn understood this—the wondering and worrying. It was the price of loving a soldier.
"As for the feast, I shall not be alone, and neither will you." Ithriel's features had brightened. "We shall go together as friends."
And so they were.
Dusk was now slowly ceding to night, the stars emerging one by one in the moonless sky. All around, the lamps in the city were kindling in much the same fashion—one here, one there, until all was aglow in hues of silver, gold, and green.
As they strode down yet another footbridge, the two came to a fork in the path. Going to the right, they merged into a long line of Elves, all beautifully clad—in robes and tunics and gowns that seemed even finer than the ones they usually wore. Turning her head, Annalyn descried even more Elves on another footbridge nearby. They, too, were headed northeast, their silence and leisurely pace at variance with the excitement in their eyes.
For a brief moment, Annalyn envied them their serenity. But then, this wasn't their first Midwinter feast. They knew what to expect. Unlike her. "This place we are going, what do you call it again? The Halls of Night?"
"The Halls of Starlight," Ithriel corrected. With each graceful step, her sea-green gown winked and shimmered in the lamplight, for the fabric was bedecked with crystals, some no larger than a grain of sand. Her eyes atwinkle, Ithriel raised her chin and looked skyward. "Tonight, we shall rejoice under stars, with music and merriment, tales and sweet mead. A night of remembrance and one of thanks." Her sigh was one of gladness. "Out of all our celebrations, I think this is the one I favour most." She looked to Annalyn then. "I am happy you decided to accompany me."
The footbridge curved around a mallorn, and as they walked forth, Annalyn recognized the Lord and the Lady's dwelling. Lit from within, it shone like a jewel among jewels, spilling soft light onto the surrounding bridges and trees. Doubtless, the rulers would be present tonight, and a part of her was curious, for though she had met Lady Galadriel, Annalyn had never seen Lord Celeborn. Was he as beautiful as his wife? As regal? She had no idea but thought he must be.
Having reached the heart of Caras Galadhon, the two continued on, toward what looked to be an archway of some kind. Craning her neck, Annalyn tried to see, but the Elves were tall, and those walking ahead of her blocked the view.
The air was not as silent here. For the first time since arriving in this city, Annalyn discerned the faint sound of a gathering crowd, but since these were Elves, the voices were clear and fair, the echoing laughter even more so.
By the growing sound, and all the Elves who were filing toward the hall, it seemed that the entire populace was making for the festivities. Not everyone, she had to amend, and thought of Haldir.
Like all who served on the marches, he could not partake in the festivities tonight. It was a shame, but at the same time, it was part of his responsibilities, the ones he carried willingly. The notion filled her with pride, and yet it saddened her, too. Haldir served so that his kindred might live in peace, enjoying nights such as this one.
With a wistful heart, Annalyn gazed northward, and sent her thoughts to him. Take heed out there, and return to me. Gracious, how she missed him. Only two more days. Two endless days until she saw him again. Indeed, with every passing day, it seemed she missed him more and more. At night, it was even worse.
How will it be, Annalyn wondered, not for the first time, how will it be when you finally return? Where would they go from here? By the kiss they had shared on that staircase, it was clear they both desired more. A lot more. But love between them would be so incredibly complicated, fraught with such difficulties it bordered on the impossible. And yet, it appeared they were both seriously considering… what? A courtship?
Her insides did a little flip just then, as if a thousand butterflies had taken to flight at once, and were now swirling in her belly, making her feel wonderful and scared and silly all at the same time.
Still, there was much to ponder and much to discuss. Only then would she and Haldir decide.
Annalyn was now nearing the archway. White and graceful, it stood as if in welcome, at the end of the footbridge, in a gap between the boughs of two neighbouring trees. When she cleared the arch, the sight that greeted her was so incredibly breathtaking, she had to stop for a moment and take it all in.
It was a talan of sorts, but it was large, larger even than the Golden Hall of Meduseld, which she had beheld on several occasions, during her visits to Edoras, the chief settlement of Rohan, where King Theoden dwelt.
"What do you think?" Ithriel spoke with quiet pride.
Robbed of the ability to speak, Annalyn descended two steps and found herself on what she assumed was a dancing area. Spacious and round in shape, the smooth platform was supported by not one, not two, but seven mallyrn, each standing in a great and near perfect circle.
Though the hall was set in the upper reaches of the trees, the surrounding treetops stretched up and out, creating a sheltering wall strewn with thousands of tiny lanterns, whose gentle light fell on the long tables that had been set on two crescent-shaped platforms on opposing sides of the hall. To reach these, one had to climb the low, curving steps that lined the outer edge of the dancing area.
Between both platforms, at the northern end of the hall, was another section, three steps higher than the dining areas. A dais, Annalyn realised, with a long table and ten chairs, two of which no doubt belonged to the Lord and the Lady.
"Do you see why we call it the Halls of Starlight?" Ithriel uplifted her palm.
Ensconced within the ring of trees, the dancing area was open to the skies. And since tonight was a new moon, the celestial canvas would soon turn inky black, but with a thousand stars. The evening being young, however, only a handful could be seen at this time, some much brighter than others, but each beautiful in its own right.
The most prominent of these was the Goat Star. The second, in a separate formation below the other, was orange in hue. The fiery eye of the bull. The sky being in constant motion, in a few hours, these stars would sink westward, yielding the zenith to other formations, like the twins, and the hunter.
A smile tugged at the corner of Annalyn's mouth. Tearing her gaze from the heavens, she regarded the large number of Elves that were already gathered—smiling and laughing as they mingled. It was a good thing the hall was spacious, for many were still issuing from the three archways lining the southern edge of the hall. It was here that Annalyn now stood, speechless and mesmerised, as Ithriel beckoned her to walk onward, into the throng.
As she nodded several greetings, Annalyn couldn't help but admire those around her, for the Elves of Lothlórien were indeed quite beautiful tonight, resplendent and radiant. Seeing them now, the joy and merriment in their eyes, one could almost forget the woes of this world.
"Annalyn!"
Upon hearing her name, she turned to see who had spoken. "Ninael!" she exclaimed as this one made her way over, sauntering in that casual manner of hers. While Ninael was as fair as any Elf, it was strange seeing her in formal attire. Instead of a tunic and leggings, the soldier was dressed in a wine-coloured gown, her dark and lustrous hair devoid of the warrior braids she usually sported.
"Well if it isn't my sparring companion. Welcome," Ninael said to Annalyn before greeting Ithriel.
The two Elves exchanged a welcoming nod.
"I must admit, I did not think to find you here," Ithriel put in as a circulating member of the serving staff stopped to offer them each a glass of sweet mead.
"What can I say?" Ninael replied, reaching for a glass as her eyes darted toward the heavens. "A star shines on this hour of respite." To Annalyn, she asked, "How is your shoulder?"
"Never better," she lied on a laugh, then motioned to indicate the hall. "So I gather you normally avoid these things?"
"I care not for dancing." The soldier regarded the revellers with pursed lips. "But the city has grown sullen of late, and it has been dampening my mood. But, since our people are setting their sorrows aside for the evening, I reckoned it would be a nice change of pace. Plus there is sweet mead aplenty." Now she smirked. "That never hurts."
"Glirwen and Bestedir," Annalyn said upon spotting them in the distance. Tonight, it seemed they had traded their kitchen duties in favour of enjoying the evening. Arm in arm, they were navigating the crowd, greeting friends as they went. "They seem happy."
"As does Taerion," Ithriel chimed in on a laugh.
Following the healer's gaze, Annalyn saw that he was beaming tonight. With a gracious bow, the young Elf eagerly accepted a drink from one of the serving staff.
"It is his begetting day," Ithriel explained as they all watched him from afar.
"So he is finally of age. No wonder he is happy."
"I do not believe it." By Ithriel's tone, Annalyn could tell her smile had faded away. A glance confirmed it. "What is he doing out bed?" Ithriel was saying with clear disapproval. "Excuse me."
At a loss, Annalyn watched as Ithriel pushed past them, cutting a path toward a newly arrived Elf, a male with pallid skin and straight flaxen hair. While his posture was proud, there was a hint of weariness in his gait. Even at a distance, faint circles could be seen under his eyes.
"Stubborn as always." Ninael chuckled, seemingly unsurprised.
"Is he a friend of yours?"
Ninael hummed in affirmation, fondness curving her mouth. "We serve together on the marches. Come. You know how Ithriel can be. We cannot miss this."
"What are you doing here, Celegon?" Ithriel was saying to him, hand reaching to support his arm. "Need I remind you that you have been stabbed recently? By a Morgul blade no less. You should be resting!"
Although Ithriel was speaking in Sindarin, Annalyn found she could follow the words with relative ease, a realisation that filled her with a sudden and profound sense of achievement.
"I have rested. I have slept," the male replied. "Endlessly it seemed. If I stayed home one more night, I swear I would have gone mad." Once he had assured Ithriel that he could stand unaided, Celegon straightened to full height and tugged at the hem of his tunic. "This is the Midwinter feast. Never have I missed it." His eyes now searched the crowd. "At any rate, I was told that Agoron might attend. Likely he is already mingling about somewhere. And Celondir would have come as well were it not for his leg."
Ithriel crossed her arms. "Agoron's wound was not as grave as yours. And neither was your brother's. Now in case you need reminding, you are still under my care. And as your healer I cannot—"
"Ah, Ninael," Celegon said when he finally noted her presence. "Rescue me, I implore you."
"Alas, I am afraid you are on your own," Ninael teased on a smirk. "I am merely here for amusement."
"I might have known," he said but did not seem to mind. If anything, there seemed to be genuine friendship between the two. Perhaps even a bit more, if his lingering gaze was any indication.
"Celegon." Ithriel waved a hand before his face.
When his eyes slid back to hers, he sighed in mild annoyance. "I am well aware of my recent injuries, but I am mending. I promise you, I feel strong enough to be here. Besides, I came prepared." He patted the silk pouch attached to his belt. "Strengthening draught. Three phials to be exact, prepared by none other than yourself, the finest healer in all of Lothlórien." In a show of flattery, Celegon bowed to Ithriel—though not without difficulty, it seemed. He even winced a little.
Ithriel arched a skeptical brow before heaving a sigh. "I suppose I cannot force you to leave. Very well. I will leave you be, but only if you promise to retire at a reasonable hour. And if you are feeling weary at any time during the night, you will rest. Understood?"
"Perfectly." Now his attention shifted to Annalyn. "Ah, you I remember from the forest. However, I do not believe we have been formally introduced. Celegon is my name. And you are?"
"Annalyn. I am pleased to make your acquaintance."
"I am told you are from Rohan."
"From the Westfold, yes."
"The Westfold. Never have I travelled tither, but I have heard tell of it. According to our messengers and scouts, the grassy fields are a sight to behold."
"That they are." Annalyn smiled.
Their exchange fell flat, but then Celegon returned her smile, shifting on his feet as he cleared his throat. "As you have probably guessed, I serve on the Northern Fences with Ninael." He indicated his shoulder. "At least I did up until I received this little scratch. But no matter, I fully intend to return to duty before long. Especially with war looming on the horizon."
"Must we speak of war?" Ithriel lamented.
"Of course, you are right. Tonight is for merriment." Opening the pouch at his hip, Celegon unstoppered one of the phials, and downed its contents in one gulp. As it took effect, Annalyn noted that it could not fully erase the weariness from his features. "Now for a proper drink." As he scanned the hall, Ninael offered to fetch him one.
"Not you as well," Celegon protested.
But Ninael was already ushering him toward the tables, casting a conspiratorial look at Ithriel when she said, "Lest you wish to keel over before the feast even begins, you are going to sit for a while."
Celegon arched a dubious brow. "I never knew you could be so nurturing."
Ninael leveled a look at him. But ultimately, she rolled her eyes and huffed a laugh. "Pen-channas," she said, shaking her head.
Since that last word was yet unknown to Annalyn, she leaned closer to Ithriel, and asked what it meant.
Unable to suppress her amusement, the healer watched the retreating duo. "She just called him an idiot. I might have done the same. Now come." She grabbed Annalyn's hand. "Let us mingle."
And so they did, circulating among Ithriel's many friends. As they drained their glasses, talking and laughing as the stars twinkled above, they were soon joined by Glirwen and Bestedir.
"I am happy you have come. The dress suits you," Glirwen said to Annalyn, who blushed and mumbled her thanks.
But then, with returning ease, Annalyn motioned to Glirwen and her husband. "I must return the compliment. You are all so beautiful tonight, and numerous. I never knew there were so many Elves in Lothlórien."
"Appearances can be deceiving," Glirwen allowed before addressing Ithriel. "I have not seen Orophin tonight. Is he not here?"
"Alas, he remains at the border with his brothers."
The wedded pair graced the healer with sympathetic smiles, but it was Bestedir who said, "Their service is greatly appreciated. Let us raise our glasses to them."
Once all had taken a sip, Bestedir sent a loving gaze to his wife, one that Glirwen returned with equal measure.
Love, Annalyn thought on a pensive smile, and couldn't help missing Haldir.
As friendly conversation continued around her, Annalyn drank what was left of her drink, and found that she kept shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Her lovely little shoes, it seemed, had been made with slender elven feet in mind. Lengthwise they were fine, but the slippers were a bit too tight on the sides.
Since the walk to the hall had been long, and the night promised to be a lengthy affair, Annalyn thought she might spare her feet for a while. Only for a moment, she promised herself. With everyone laughing and talking, it seemed like an opportune time to slip away unnoticed. But when Ithriel caught her quiet retreat, a silent question forming in her eyes, Annalyn raised her now empty glass, and mouthed that she was going to get another drink.
Satisfied that all was well, Ithriel resumed a lively discussion with Glirwen, while Annalyn scanned the hall before making for the eastern platform, doing her best not to hobble along the way. Smiling at those who glanced in her direction, Annalyn eventually made it past the crowd. Relieved, she retreated beyond the empty tables, where she set her glass on the outer rail, and wasted no time in toeing off her shoes.
"Good gracious me…" She hung her head and wiggled her toes. Free at last.
Knowing she would have to don them again before long, Annalyn turned her attention to the lanterns that were strewn in the lofty branches above her head. Their light was soft and enchanting, a perfect match to the candles that flickered atop the banquet tables nearby.
Breathing in the night air, Annalyn faced the rail fully, and stared beyond the mighty boughs. With everyone gathered in the hall, the city would be mostly empty. Yet all was aglow.
There was no denying that she loved it here. But as timeless as everything seemed, Annalyn now knew the truth. The Elves were leaving—perhaps not in her lifetime, but someday. And when they did, this city and its people would fade into memory.
Drifting on the eddying current of her sadness, Annalyn recalled a conversation she had once had with Haldir.
"The days are passing swiftly," he had said to her as the two had sat on his balcony, watching the lamplit city late one night. "Soon you will depart. What will you do upon your return?"
It had been a good question, one she had struggled to answer. "I have not yet decided. I know that war is brewing. That it is a treacherous time. Yet a part of me thinks I should do as I have always done—wander the mountains in search of healing herbs, which are always needed, especially in times of war. But I shall see… What of you? What will you do following all of this?"
"Supposing we are victorious… I suppose I, too, shall do as I have always done. Guard the realm… for as long as it endures."
Back then, Annalyn had failed to grasp the full meaning of his words. Now she understood.
It was remarkable in a way, for unlike mortals—who lived to see but a fragment of history—Elves could see entire realms come and go. Unless the unthinkable happened, and Haldir somehow fell in battle, he would live to see the end of Lothlórien, the only home he had ever known. How will he bear it?
As if that wasn't enough, he was now losing, or had lost, his heart to her. A mortal. In the eyes of an Elf such as him, her life would be over in an instant.
He knows this. Still he loves me.
Pushing against her mounting guilt, Annalyn considered the possibilities. If they pursued this, what might his life be like once she had gone? Surely, the passage of time would assuage his grief. He would find healing over time, would he not? Annalyn chewed her lip. Who knows, maybe he will grow to love another someday—an Elf such as him. While the idea of him loving another woman distressed her a little, Annalyn could not expect him to spend the rest of his immortal days alone. Nor did she want him to. For Haldir to live again, love again, these were her secret hopes, the only things to soothe her conscience.
But what of me? If she were to choose a life with him, what would she do with the years that were given to her? Haldir was wholly devoted to Lothlórien. Unless he was forced to, he would never leave his home or his people—nor would she ask him to.
So then what would she do with her time here? And what of the people of the Westfold who relied on her to provide their medicine?
Annalyn ran a fingernail along the wooden rail. One quandary at a time, she told herself. Have patience, Annalyn. The answer will come to you.
Seconds turned to long minutes. Thinking her friends would soon notice her absence, Annalyn frowned at her discarded shoes, and somehow talked herself into wearing them again. Resigned to her fate—or rather that of her toes—she bent to retrieve each shoe, straightened and was about to—
The air left her lungs in a gasp, her mouth falling open as she stood not five steps away from the last person she had expected to see this night.
"Dhe suilon," A gentle greeting, as soft as the amusement on his beloved face.
Haldir.
Haldir was here, looking more fair than…
One of her shoes slipped from her hand, yet Annalyn was too stunned and captivated to pay it any mind.
Granted, Haldir had always been beautiful in her eyes. But tonight… Tonight, he was resplendent. Wearing grey trousers with a tailored tunic of the same muted blue as his knee-length over-coat, he reminded her of a winter prince, ageless and dignified.
With a hand to her heart, Annalyn drank in his appearance, and tried to swallow.
Haldir, for his part, watched her with that private smile of his, taking her breath away.
*Dhe suilon – "I greet you." (formal speech)
