As always, I would like to thank all my readers and all who have commented since I last updated. Tobiramamara, durinsdaughter2469btw, GaaraSandNiN, SmallLittleCagedBird, MotherAiya, leelee202, Wickedgreene13, leward1992, Gandalf007, blasttyrant, Doria Nell, mycarnation, SarahELupin, Cricklewood16, FriendlyNeighborhoodHufflepuff, Rogue's Queen, Blue1258, Auriene, Ruiniel, and HaldirLove.

Your reviews have been the best reward I could ever hope for. You all make me want to write more!

*** Sidenote #1: this chapter does not pick up where the other left off. It actually opens a few minutes before the end of chapter 48. Oh, and it starts in Haldir POV ;-)

*** Sidenote #2: if this story had a soundtrack, the song for this chapter would be "Beautiful Mess" by Kristian Kostov.


CHAPTER XLIX

VISION

It had been a close thing. Haldir had made it with little time to spare. By the time he had reached the city, bathed then donned appropriate attire, the gathering was already underway.

Mouth set in a line, Haldir had paused at the entrance to the hall, and was now scanning the expansive platform. Crowded though it was, he was quick to note that the Lord and the Lady had yet to arrive—same for the members of their household.

At least that. He was not so late after all.

Pushing his shoulders back, Haldir smoothed the buttons lining the front of his silk tunic before weaving through the assembled guests, nodding to some, murmuring quiet greetings to others.

Having lived here for three thousand years, he could put a name to every face he saw. Some he knew only in passing, but others were counted among his friends. Among these were the Elves who lived near to his home, and then there were his fellow soldiers—those fortunate enough to be on leave tonight. The rest would be guarding the forest, watching for intruders, keeping evil at bay.

Part of him was glad to be at the feast, if only to see Annalyn—if she was even here—but he also felt guilty, for a Marchwarden's primary role was to safeguard the realm. But the Lord and the Lady had extended an invitation. They wished for him to be here. He understood why.

A shroud of disquiet had fallen upon the Golden Wood of late, and fear was growing in the hearts of those who dwelt here. As if that wasn't enough, a growing number of Elves were now talking of leaving, stating they no longer felt safe, even in fair Lothlórien. Thus the Lord and the Lady had asked Haldir to attend, if only to bring a sense of normalcy to the night's festivities. Indeed, having both Marchwardens at the feast would send a message of strength and unity to the populace. Hope perhaps.

Though he preferred serving with sword and bow, Haldir would fulfill his appointed role, and honour his rulers' wishes. Tonight, he would walk amongst his kindred. He would listen to their songs and stories and, sitting at the Lord and the Lady's high table, would partake in the feast.

At present, the banquet tables were mostly vacant, for the night was young, and the Elves were only mingling at this point. Like him, they had donned their finest clothes for the event. A visual sweep revealed everything from sea green gowns, to amaranthine robes, raiments of white, grey, amber, even blue. But what of Annalyn, he wondered. Would she wear such formal attire? Was she here at all?

Hoping she was somewhere nearby, Haldir was searching the crowd when a male voice said his name.

Turning, he saw his russet-haired counterpart. "Erynion." He, too, was wearing a tunic and over-coat tonight, but his colour palette was warmer than Haldir's—warm orange-browns with subtle patterning.

"I was wondering where you were," Erynion said as he drew near. "It is nice of you to come."

"Celeborn and Galadriel wished for us to be here. I do as my Lord and Lady bid."

"Indeed. As do I." His smile only engaged his lips. Haughtiness personified. Hands linked at his back, Erynion asked about the Northern Marches. "I hear you have been tasked with destroying Morgul weapons. A most unpleasant undertaking, I am sure."

"It is laborious," Haldir allowed cooly. "But the smiths are diligent, and their work is continuing apace."

In spite of their personal differences, Erynion seemed glad to hear it. His demeanour growing more sombre, the warden produced a parchment from a hidden pocket in his over-coat, and held it out with a murmured, "Here."

Haldir drew his brows together. It was a report, one that sent icy shivers down his spine. According to what was written, a large winged shadow had been seen weaving back and forth in the eastern skies last night. A massive and beastly creature bearing a dark rider. By the lingering disquiet on Erynion's face, Haldir guessed that it was one of the Nazgûl, a Ringwraith enslaved to the will of Sauron.

Pushing against his unease, he pocketed the report, gave a brisk nod of thanks. Erynion might be a thorn in his side at times, but like him he was a Marchwarden first and foremost, capable of setting his quarrels aside for the good of the realm.

Their attention drawn to nearby laughter, the two wardens acknowledged some off-duty soldiers before turning to survey the crowd, uncertainty weighing heavy on their minds.

A Nazgûl. If it was prowling the skies, Haldir reasoned that it must be searching for something. And with the Ringwraiths, that "something" was not hard to guess. The One Ring.

Is it found?

While he was often privy to the Lord and the Lady's councils, neither Celeborn nor Galadriel had made mention of the Ring. Whether they knew of its whereabouts, Haldir could not say, and would not presume to ask, for some things were only discussed among the very Wise. But since the Ring had never been destroyed, Haldir knew it would be out there somewhere. Waiting. Biding its time and manipulating anyone unlucky enough to stumble upon it. Indeed, the Ring was bound to Sauron. No doubt it wanted to be found.

"I thought you would have sought the company of your guest by now," Erynion said after a moment. "How is she faring, by the way?"

Haldir tensed a little, knowing of whom he spoke. With a neutral expression, he eyed the surrounding guests before asking, "You have seen her?"

In lieu of answering, Erynion cast a casual glance toward the eastern side of the hall, where Haldir glimpsed a chestnut head of hair.

His booted feet were already moving. "If you will excuse me."

"You are most welcome," Erynion called after him and laughed.

Paying him no mind, Haldir cut a path through the crowd, toward the eastern platform. Given the number of guests, his view was obstructed at first, but as he got nearer, Haldir caught a better glimpse of the lone figure beyond the vacant tables.

It was her. Annalyn.

When he finally emerged from the throng, seeing her as she stood, arms braced on the rail, with her gaze on the city in the trees…

Haldir slowed to a halt. There was no other word for it, he was spellbound, not to mention relieved. For though he had believed she would stay, a small part of him had feared she would take flight, like she had nearly done just prior to his leaving.

But she hadn't left. She was here. And Haldir couldn't take his eyes off her.

Instead of a pragmatic braid, Annalyn had gathered her hair in a plaited twist at the nape of her neck. The style must have been unique to her or her people, for Haldir had never seen a woman's hair gathered in this fashion. After all, Elves usually favoured long, mostly unbound locks, appreciating the way they flowed over and down one's shoulders. But standing before her, seeing the elegant column of her neck, Haldir could not imagine a fairer sight.

At present, her feet were bare, her shoes lying haphazardly nearby. As endearing as it was, the creamy skin of her upper back soon drew his eyes. As did the way her gown hugged her narrow waist. Silver-white, the dress was made of a light fabric which flared at the sleeves and pooled at her feet. A delicate belt was cinched around her waist, of the same silver as the shimmering thread that was woven in her hair.

Although she was likely of average stature for a mortal, Annalyn had not the height of an elven woman, nor was she as willowy. Nevertheless, Haldir had always loved the smallness of her frame, the simple beauty of her face. From the moment he had first espied her through the trees, on that fair autumn day not so long ago, her eyes had captivated him—their shape and colour, and the way they would light up whenever she smiled. But tonight, Annalyn was a vision. Ravishing, he thought as he finally willed his feet to move.

Unaware of his presence, she was now fetching her shoes. But when she straightened and saw him, her surprise was such that she gasped, her mouth falling open as she stared and stared.

"Dhe suilon," he said at last, amused by how stunned she was.

In fact, Annalyn was so taken aback, one of her shoes inadvertently slipped from her hand. "Wha… What are you doing here?" she stammered breathlessly.

"Are you not glad to see me?" Haldir teased with feigned seriousness.

It was a moment before she returned to herself. "Of course! I am happy to see you. Delighted!" Now she was smiling—a joyous smile that encompassed her entire face. "Only I did not think to see you here tonight. When did you return?"

"Just now."

Their eyes held. Then he realised she was staring at him, looking him up and down with definite approval. "Blue suits you."

Unaccustomed to such flattery, Haldir rubbed the bridge of his nose before deflecting the attention. "I gather you are having some sort of problem with your shoes?"

She made a face. "Ah, yes. My shoes… Torture devices more like. They are much too narrow for my feet. I should have worn my boots." Now she eyed his feet, teasingly it seemed. "Yours look comfortable enough."

They were.

"Feel like making a trade?" she asked, and Haldir arched a brow.

Willing to play along, he eyed her shoes for a second. "As lovely as they are, I fear I must refuse. My boots are far too comfortable, you see. And your shoes would be much too small."

"Doubtless. A shame, then."

Their mirthful gazes held, then a familiar tension asserted itself. It always did. Softly, she said, "It is good to see you."


Ah, but he was beautiful, silent and smiling in the wake of her confession.

If not for all the eyes in the hall, Annalyn might have stared at his perfect mouth. She might have done more, like wrap her arms around his frame, and thank the fates he had returned from the watch unscathed. But since she had more restraint than that—would never embarrass him in such a way—Annalyn merely watched him, and took heart in the possibilities that now lay before them. A chance at love. A chance at a new and happy life. Perhaps.

Mindful not to get ahead of herself, however, Annalyn rubbed her arms, then finally sought her shoes. "As much as my feet enjoyed the respite, I suppose I cannot walk barefoot all night."

"You may leave them if you wish. No one would mind."

At first, she thought he might be jesting, but his eyes said otherwise. "Walk around without shoes?" She snorted. As tempting as it sounded, Annalyn could not envision going barefoot. Not in the middle of the hall, and certainly not during a feast. "Although my feet would certainly be thankful, I am not Lady Galadriel. I neither have the grace nor the confidence to walk unshod amongst your people. Besides..." Now she smirked and, having donned her shoes, stood to full height. "I was born and bred on the Westfold. I will not allow a wee bit of pain to put a damper on my evening."

His eyes sparkled at that. He even seemed joyful. Indeed, Annalyn saw no trace of the turmoils he had felt of late. It made her think that, maybe, this truly was a turning page for them.

Having gotten over the initial shock of his arrival, her gaze drifted down once more, allowing her to catch some details that had escaped her initial notice. His muted blue over-coat bore subtle patterns, silver accents that brought out the pale gold of his hair. When her gaze travelled to his face again, she found that he was watching her, with softness in his eyes.

"You stayed," Haldir said quietly. Despite the kiss they had shared on that staircase, Annalyn realised that a part of him had feared she might slip away during his absence, ending what they had.

Her heart twisting at his confession, it was a moment before she could speak. "I could not bear to leave."

Perhaps he meant to conceal his relief, but Haldir's face dipped downward at that, his eyes falling closed for a moment, then two. When he finally reopened his eyes, he was smiling that subtle smile again. Annalyn couldn't help but smile in turn.

"Shall we?" she asked, wanting nothing more than to spend the evening on his arm.

Acquiescing, Haldir bowed in Elf-fashion and held out his arm. At the edge of the sea of guests, he searched the crowd, then signaled for one of the serving staff.

After accepting two glasses of miruvor, Haldir handed one to Annalyn. As she grasped the crystal stem, his fingers lightly brushed against hers—not by accident, she knew. It wouldn't be, not with him. Haldir was much too aware for that, his keen senses tuned into his surroundings and all that he did.

Smiling behind the rim of her glass, Annalyn sipped at her drink and was scanning the space for Ithriel when a gradual hush fell upon the crowd. Like a wave, it started at the back of the hall and rolled forth. As she and Haldir both turned to look, guests parted in a rich whisper of fabric, revealing the Lord and Lady of the Wood.

As the wedded pair proceeded toward the dais, issuing silent greetings as they went, none could miss their splendour. As always, an ethereal light lay upon the Lady of Lórien. As for Lord Celeborn, he too was beautiful. White was his raiment, and silver was his hair. Unlike Galadriel, however, there was no light upon his noble features. Recalling what Haldir had once told her, Annalyn deduced that the Lord of Lórien had never beheld the two trees of Valinor. If memory served, those who had were called Calaquendi—Elves of Light.

Her gaze returning to Galadriel, Annalyn saw that she was now looking in her direction, her blue eyes atwinkle as she nodded in greeting and spoke into her thoughts.

I bid you welcome, Annalyn of Rohan.

Caught by surprise, it was a moment before she could gather herself and reply in kind. Thank you, my Lady.

Whether anyone was aware of their silent exchange, Annalyn had no idea. The Lord and Lady had already passed them by, and were now ascending the stairs leading to the dais. Shifting her focus to the rest of their noble household, Annalyn's eyes were immediately drawn to an elf-woman, dark of hair and fair of skin. Even at a distance, Annalyn could see that her beauty rivalled that of Lady Galadriel.

"Arwen Undómiel," Haldir supplied quietly by her shoulder. "The Evenstar of our people."

Not knowing what that title meant, Annalyn trailed her with her eyes, and had the distinct impression that this Elf—Arwen—was kin to the Lord and Lady. Somehow sensing her question, Haldir explained that she was their granddaughter.

Next followed the Lady's maidens, then a few others Annalyn had never seen until now. Then finally, at the very back of the line, was a face she knew. Proud and gallant features. Sharp eyes. Russet hair.

Erynion, Marchwarden of the Southern Fences.

"Now I fear I must leave you." Haldir turned to face her, genuine regret tugging at the corner of his mouth. "As Marchwarden, I am expected to join them."

Though she hated to be parted from him so soon, Annalyn understood. "There is no need to explain," she assured him and meant every word. "I shall find Ithriel." To set his mind at rest, Annalyn relieved him of his glass, then said, warmly. "Go. I shall see you later."

And so, Haldir took his leave of her, netting quite a few stares as he dutifully fell into step beside his counterpart. Pride stirred in her heart, for as she watched him and all those around, it was clear that Haldir was held in high esteem in the realm. Even if he seemed cool and aloof at times, the Elves must have known that he would lay down his life for them. Such was his devotion to his kindred, to Lothlórien.

But what about the other warden? Curious, Annalyn sent her gaze over to him. While she, herself, did not know what to make of Erynion—nor could she explain the underlying tensions between him and Haldir—she couldn't help but wonder how he was regarded in the realm. Did the Elves love and respect him?

A sweep of the crowd told her that they did. He must be a good warden, then.

The procession was nearly at an end when clear voices rose in song. A song Annalyn had heard on several occasions, always at nightfall. The hymn to Elbereth, the Vala also known as Varda. Soothed by the music, Annalyn looked to the dais once again.

Haldir and Erynion had assumed their place at the Lord and the Lady's table. A high honour to be sure, and a fair sight. Her heart swelling in her chest, Annalyn fixed her attention on Haldir. His features were guarded, yet his eyes soon found hers from across the room. Breathless, she watched as he smiled, just a little. Just for her.


Her laughter floated over the music and drone of conversation, reaching his ears from afar. As Haldir partook in the feast, seated a few chairs down from the Lady Galadriel, he could not help but look toward Annalyn's table every once in a while. At present, she was seated to Ithriel's left, with Taerion, Ninael, Bestedir and Glirwen and many others sitting nearby. For the most part, these Elves dwelt near to his home. Friends, and a family of sorts. To see Annalyn among them, with joy and laughter in her eyes, did something to him. In truth, it made his life to see it.

She is kind of heart. Galadriel's silent words seeped into his thoughts, making him look toward her. Even though she was presently speaking with Lady Arwen, little escaped the notice of the Lady of the Wood. Her wisened gaze flickered over to his. Now a choice lies before you. Her mouth curved just so. Even if a part of you has already chosen. By these words, Galadriel made it clear she knew what no one else did—that Haldir's fae had already made its choice. Now all that was left was a choice of the mind.

Unable to gainsay her words, Haldir sent his gaze across the hall again, to Annalyn. Mindful not to reveal all of his thoughts, however, he took a long sip of wine.


The feast had been a treat for the senses—elegant dishes with so many succulent tastes and smells, Annalyn would have gladly licked her plate, were it not for her manners.

When all had eaten, a quiet had settled upon the hall, for the Lady of the Galadhrim had risen and was now speaking words of welcome. But though she stood in gladness, the mood turned bittersweet when her fair voice rose in a song, poignant and sad. "Ai! laurië lantar lassi súrinen, yéni unótimë ve rámar aldaron…"

For though the language was unknown to Annalyn—Quenya, she later learned it was called—the Lady's words settled into her thoughts, but in Westron this time.

Ah! like gold fall the leaves in the wind,
long years numberless as the wings of trees!
The years have passed like swift draughts
of the sweet mead in lofty halls beyond the West,
beneath the blue vaults of Varda
wherein the stars tremble in the song of her voice, holy and queenly.

Who now shall refill the cup for me?

For now the Kindler, Varda, the Queen of the Stars,
from Mount Everwhite has uplifted her hands like clouds,
and all paths are drowned deep in shadow;
and out of a grey country darkness lies on the foaming waves between us,
and mist covers the jewels of Calacirya for ever.
Now lost, lost to those from the East is Valimar!

Farewell! Maybe thou shalt find Valimar.
Maybe even thou shalt find it. Farewell!

Valimar. A realm, or a city perhaps, beyond the waves in the West—in Aman. From this, and the sorrowful longing in the song, Annalyn soon construed that the Lady Galadriel lived in Exile. If so, her heart went out to her, for it was a sad thing being parted from home, even if your new home was as beautiful as Caras Galadhon.

It was now well past midnight, but the Elves were tireless and the celebration was far from over. With their empty plates long cleared away, most of the revelers were now swirling about the dance area, moving with such elegance and grace, Annalyn couldn't help but stare.

Their steps and turns were smooth, though not as intricate as she had first believed. After a time, Annalyn found she could even anticipate their movements—when they would turn, and how.

"Do you dance, Annalyn?" Ithriel asked while the two remained at the table, several chairs away from where Ninael and Celegon were downing their latest round of wine.

"On occasion, though never like this."

"How do your people dance, then?"

"In groups mostly." With the clapping of hands and lively steps and turns. Sometimes, dancers would even hold hands, moving in sequence, creating patterns. "It is quite spirited," she went on, thinking of those warm gatherings in the mead hall. "When I was young, I rather enjoyed it. Though in recent years, I mostly watched from the side. Now I wonder…"

"What is it that you wonder?" Ithriel prodded.

"With the approaching dark, it seems doubtful that my people will have much reason to dance and rejoice. The Rohirrim are valiant and fierce in battle, and they will fight to the very end to defend our homeland. But this war is unlike any we have ever known. I fret, and cannot help but wonder what will become of Rohan."

Ithriel traced idle patterns on the white tablecloth. "That, I understand."

"When my kin and I left our village, I felt certain that our journey would be like all the others—that within a few months, we would have returned with full stores of medicinal plants. But our journey turned out quite different. And now I shall return empty-handed and alone."

As Ithriel waited in silence, Annalyn went on, "My uncle and cousin were well liked in my village. The news of their demise will grieve many, I am sure. Erna, especially. Ah, the poor girl."

"Your cousin's beloved?"

Annalyn nodded. Needing to think of other things, she looked to the dancers once again. How long she sat there, Annalyn had no idea, but after a time, she caught glimpse of an orange-brown over-coat. Erynion. At present, the Marchwarden was dancing with an elven woman—his wife perhaps.

"Have you met him?" Ithriel asked, then clarified, "Haldir's counterpart."

"We have been introduced."

"I see it in your gaze. The unspoken questions lurking behind your eyes," Ithriel said at length. "You may voice them if you wish."

"It would seem that little escapes your notice," Annalyn countered with faint amusement. Not knowing if she should broach the subject or not, she chewed her lip for a moment, her eyes darting back to Erynion. Oh, but what business is it of mine?

Being terribly curious, however, Annalyn ultimately went for it, lowering her voice when she began, "When Haldir first introduced me to him, there seemed to be some sort of tension between the two. Why is that? Is there bad blood between them?"

"So you have noted it." Ithriel sat back and regarded Erynion. After a long pause, she asked if Haldir had ever told her about the night his parents had died.

"He has told me of it, yes. It is a sorrowful tale."

"It was a tragic time. Naught was ever the same again. The loss of so many soldiers, combined with the knowledge that a Balrog now lurked in the Mines of Moria, brought along many changes for the realm. Amroth, who was our King at the time, was set to leave for the havens. However, err he departed, it was his wish to strengthen our defenses," Ithriel said then went on to explain that the Galadhrim's ranks were already lessened in those days. "You see, we had lost a sizeable part of our forces many long years before, in the Battle of Dagorlad."

"During the War of the Last Alliance," Annalyn offered, recalling how Haldir had once told her of it.

Ithriel gave a nod. "Thus it was decided. More soldiers were needed, with improved patroling to ward against the evils that were gathering beyond our borders. Instead of a single watch, Amroth declared that the Golden Wood would thence be divided into two garrisons, the Northern and Southern Marches, with two Marchwardens."

Annalyn's brows rose by a fraction. It was now starting to make sense.

"When Haldir's parents were slain, Erynion was not yet a Marchwarden. Rather, his father was."

"Erynion's father?"

"Yes. But that being said, Erynion was not some lowly sentinel. Seasoned and capable, he was second in the line of command in those days."

As Ithriel spoke, Annalyn couldn't help stealing glances at him from afar.

"When it became known that his father would be leaving for Valinor, Erynion fully expected to be given command of the outer Fences. Not just the Southern Marches," Ithriel clarified, "but the entire Golden Wood. So naturally, when he learned that his territory would be greatly reduced, that a second Marchwarden would be appointed, he was not exactly pleased with the idea."

Ithriel toyed with her empty glass for a moment, twirling the stem between her fingers. "And when he learned that Haldir had agreed to assume the mantle of Marchwarden, that Galadriel herself had chosen him, well…"

"He resents him," Annalyn finished for her.

A nod confirmed it.

With the mystery finally solved, Annalyn's gaze strayed over to the dais, where Haldir was now conversing with Lord Celeborn.

"You might not know it, but he is changed," Ithriel offered after a time.

Not knowing what to say to that, Annalyn reached for a nearby flagon of wine and refilled both their glasses. "In what way?"

"There is joy in his eyes, where there was none before." The curve of Ithriel's mouth suggested that Annalyn was the cause. "You should go to him. Ask him to dance."

Annalyn nearly dropped her flagon before setting it down. "You mean go up to him while he is sitting with the Lord and Lady of Lórien? Then ask him to dance?" She cringed even as she laughed. "Have you gone mad?"

But Ithriel's mirth was undimmed. "It was but a thought."

"And what thought would that be?" A voice suddenly interjected.

It was Taerion. Drink in hand, he approached the table and pulled up a chair.

"It is nothing," Annalyn answered on a chuckle and promptly changed the subject. "Rumour has it that it is your begetting day."

Now Taerion beamed. "The rumours would be true."

"One hundred years young," she teased as flutes and harps fell silent.

On the dance floor, dancers bowed and curtsied. Some lingered in wait for the next dance, while others dispersed.

Taerion was now eyeing the far side of the hall, a contemplative expression on his face.

"If I didn't know any better," Annalyn said to him. "You look as if a great debate has come into your thoughts."

"Indeed. I thought I might ask the Lady Arwen for a dance."

A snort of laughter echoed over the table. It seemed Ithriel had come very close to spitting out her wine. But then, with a lowered gaze, the healer soon mastered her mirth. "Forgive me. That was rather ill-mannered of me. But… Lady Arwen?" A soft warning flashed in her eyes. "Her heart is taken, Taerion."

"Fear not. My aim is not to win her heart, nor would I ever hope for such a match. But Lady Arwen has ever been kind to me. Do not forget, she and I are kindred spirits in a fashion. I may be the youngest Elf in Lothlórien, but she is the last High Elf begotten this side of the Great Sea."

"How old is she?" Annalyn asked, unthinking.

"A few centuries younger than Haldir," Ithriel answered.

As Taerion and Ithriel continued their discussion, Annalyn was reminded of all she had learned in her time here thus far. The Elves of Lórien, she now knew, were comprised of different cultures, like the Silvan and Sindar. The Lady Galadriel, Haldir had said, was counted among the Noldor. She was also Calaquendi, an Elf of Light. Now Taerion had spoken of High Elves. Clearly, there was some sort of societal hierarchy among the elven peoples, one she was only beginning to understand.

The Sindar, for instance, were not native to these parts at all. Rather, they had once lived in Beleriand, a part of Middle-earth that had long since fallen into the sea. Lord Celeborn, Ithriel had said, was counted among the Sindar, just like she was. "After Beleriand was destroyed," she had relayed to her one night, "the Lord and the Lady retreated to Lindon, where they dwelt until they decided to move again, helping to establish another elven realm. Eregion it was called. Many of the Elves of Beleriand made the journey and abided there, my grandsires among them. Thus it was that my mother and father were begotten in Eregion. When it fell, my parents and others followed the Lord and the Lady as they journeyed to the Golden Wood, where the princeless Silvan Elves lived under the rule of King Amdír. He, too, was a Sinda who had journeyed eastward after the ruin of Beleriand. That is how the Sindar came to dwell here." Groups of them arriving in waves.

When prodded further, the healer had revealed that a great number of the Sindar were scholars and deep thinkers, scribes, and healers.

Not so for the Silvan Elves—or so it seemed, for the most part at least. As unlearned as she was, Annalyn had always been good at spotting patterns. Spurred by that insatiable curiosity of hers, she had observed, listened, and learned much these past few weeks. With the exception of Ithriel, those who lived in or around Haldir's home tree were mostly of Silvan descent. Chamber maids there were, along with farriers, smiths, and stablehands, just to name a few. A working class.

Earlier in the night, when Haldir had taken his place at the Lord and the Lady's high table, Annalyn had noted the love and respect with which the Elves had beheld him. But if her powers of deduction could be trusted, it was more than that. The Silvan Elves were proud. Proud to have one of their own serve as Marchwarden of Lórien.

Like countless times tonight, Annalyn's gaze slid over to the dais, but she was surprised to find that Haldir's chair was now vacant.

Where has he gone?

Before she could find him in the crowd, his voice reached her from behind her chair, a simple greeting to those seated at the table. Then, honing his attention on Annalyn, he cleared his throat, asked, "I trust you are enjoying your evening?"

"I am." Like earlier in the night, his beauty nearly devastated her.

"It heartens me to hear it." A moment passed, but he did not look away. "Would you dance with me?" he asked, taking her aback.

Stunned into silence, Annalyn kept staring up at him, and only blinked at first. Haldir was waiting, his upturned palm hovering in the space between them. "Unless your feet require more rest," he added. There was that teasing glimmer again, the one she loved so.

In a brief moment of alarm, her gaze shot to Ithriel, who was nodding in encouragement. "Go!" her eyes seemed to say. Same for Taerion's.

So Annalyn gathered her courage, but felt the need to warn him. "I might embarrass us both. Never have I danced in this fashion."

He only smiled.

And so, with her heart pounding in her chest, Annalyn stood on slightly trembling legs, laid her hand atop of his, and followed as he led her around the long table, down the steps and across the dancing area, until they had reached a spot near the very center of the hall. There, he turned to face her, his eyes never leaving hers even as he let go of her hand.

Annalyn felt her face grow hot, partly because Haldir had that effect on her, but mostly because of that cursed pride of hers. What if I make a fool of myself? All around, couples were readying for the dance. Swallowing, she did her best to ignore them, but had to will herself to breathe.

The music began.

As the Elves in the hall moved in graceful, swirling patterns, Haldir noted her hesitation. With a twinkle in his deep blue eyes, he spoke with calm assurance. "You need not be nervous. I shall lead you well." Whether it was the low richness of his voice, or the way he held her gaze, something kindled in her being, a flame of courage that guttered a few times before righting itself. Her chin rose, her back straightening as a smirk curled her mouth, then his.

Haldir gave a bow while Annalyn grasped the sides of her skirt and curtsied in return. Her head inclined, she lingered for a moment before rising again. Doing so, she saw that he was offering his hand once more. She took it. Beneath the twinkling stars, he narrowed the gap with a single step, while his other arm framed her ribcage. Tipping her head back, Annalyn beheld the beautiful contours of his face, and as he gazed at her through long midnight lashes, she felt the steadying warmth of his hand on her shoulder blade.

And then he was moving, leading her to the left, before easing into a smooth turn that blended seamlessly into the next step. On and on it went, a simple dance at first, no more difficult than a parry. But with each additional step and turn, it felt as if they were getting better acquainted as dancers, partners. Soon, Haldir released her frame and raised her hand, guiding her into a turn that had her spinning on her feet before locking into their form once again.

A short while later, when he repeated the motion, Annalyn caught the way he raked his gaze over her figure, in a manner that left little doubt as to what he felt for her. Her lips parting ever so slightly, she wondered if he saw the same emotions on her face, if he could hear how her breath would catch whenever he looked at her that way.

This cannot be real. Can it? It was, though. She was truly here, dancing the night away with the most magnificent male in all of Lothlórien.

But while some might know him in his role as Marchwarden, to her he was simply Haldir, a beloved friend who she now felt certain was the love of her life. Surely, he knew this. With a brief look at the surrounding revellers, Annalyn sensed he was not the only one.

"People are staring," she whispered to him and felt rather than heard his snort of laughter, warm, low, and not the least bit concerned, which was surprising considering how guarded he was.

"And you are troubled by this?" He sought her eyes.

"No. Only I thought that you might not—"

"Let them stare." Three words, soft and direct, letting her know that if they were going to explore the possibilities between them, he would do so without shame or diffidence. Confident, that's what he was, assertive in every decision he made. Annalyn liked that part of him, and felt that wonderful ache again, deep within herself, at being the object of his affection.

How long they danced, she could not say, for it seemed to her that the world had come to a beautiful standstill. Despite the music and the numerous Elves in the hall, it felt very much like she and Haldir were the only two people left in Middle-earth. As one song blended into the next, Annalyn held his gaze, and secretly breathed him in as they danced. Goodness he smelled nice. However, the scent that now clung to him was not cedar and cloves. Rather his scent was reminiscent of a spicy autumn wind. Unable to help herself, she moved a little closer, and recalled the bottles that lined the edge of his bath—liquid soaps or fragrant oils. As he swept her to the left then fluidly to the right, his clean scent wafted to her nose, as wonderful and maddening as the time she had unstoppered the bottle to satisfy her curiosity.

One graceful turn yielded to another. Beneath the shimmering stars, they danced.

"We can take a rest if you wish," Haldir offered after a time, searching her face. "I reckon your feet would welcome the respite."

Suddenly reminded of the tightness of her shoes, Annalyn had to agree with him. Dancing with Haldir was delightful, but her feet were rather sore at this point. "You are quite right, though I did enjoy dancing with you tonight."

"The pleasure was mine," he confessed on a murmur before ending the dance and sketching a reverent bow.

Once she had curtsied in turn, Haldir offered her his arm, and they started across the hall. Though proud to be by his side, Annalyn was unaccustomed to the attention they received. Nodding and smiling to those who greeted them, Annalyn was halfway to the tables when she sensed a gaze on her. Looking to its source, she saw that beautiful elleth again. Lady Arwen.

Presently, she remained at the high table, watching them from afar, her fair features radiating gentle warmth. Unless Annalyn was mistaken, the Lady's eyes bore a tinge of gladness underscored by something more wistful. As Haldir acknowledged the elleth with a respectful nod, Lady Arwen graced them both with a smile, inclined her head in turn, then shifted her attention to Galadriel.

Slightly puzzled by the wordless understanding that seemed to have passed between Haldir and Arwen, Annalyn allowed her gaze to linger on the elleth. What was all that about, she wondered. But then, remembering why they were here, she chose to set the question aside, and followed Haldir so they might enjoy the rest of their evening.

Once the two had made their way to Annalyn's table, Haldir pulled out a chair for her. Once she was seated next to Ithriel, he then sat beside her.

"You both must be thirsty," Bestedir put in from across the table as he poured them each a glass of wine.

Accepting their proferred drinks, Annalyn had just taken a sip when Ithriel leaned in to whisper in her ear. "You worried for nothing. You danced beautifully out there." Nudging her chin toward Haldir, Ithriel lowered her voice even more. "Never have I seen him so entranced. You two are radiant together."

Annalyn might have blushed at that, but the sureness of his love for her banished such insecurities. Spending time with Haldir, exploring that which existed between them… come what may, it felt right. Whether this hopeful feeling would hold, she had no idea. But for the time being, Annalyn clung to it.

"We did not expect to see you here tonight," Glirwen was saying to Haldir. Seated by her husband, her brown hair burnished by candlelight, the baker beheld him with joy. "It is good that you have come. Watching you all on the dais tonight, it felt like simpler days." When the threat of open war was not upon them.

Haldir merely inclined his head at that. Perhaps he was unsure of what to say.

As conversations continued around them, Annalyn scanned their cluster of friends. Ithriel, Glirwen, Bestedir, Ninael with her friend Celegon. It was nice being here amongst them.

"I scarce believe my eyes. He did it." Ithriel's voice severed her musings. The healer was gawking. Following her gaze, Annalyn saw that Taerion had gone ahead and asked Lady Arwen for a dance.

The two were dancing near the front of the hall. Whatever Taerion had just said to her, Arwen's clear laughter echoed out over the other dancers.

"Taerion spoke truly. Lady Arwen has ever been kind to him." Ithriel said on a smile.

"He is a bright soul," Glirwen stated as she turned to watch them.

Since elven children were a rarity, Annalyn could imagine that he had been something of a treasure in Caras Galadhon.

Glirwen said, "It is hard to believe how much he has changed these past few decades. I remember when he used to wander in the kitchens, barely tall enough to peer over the counter."

Fond laughter ensued.

"And now he has reached maturity," Bestedir said as though he could scarcely believe it.

"I have never seen his parents," Annalyn said by way of question, her eyes going to Haldir.

But it was Bestedir who answered. "Just over yonder, near the end of the table."

Once Annalyn saw them, there was no mistaking who they were, especially his father. Taerion was the spitting image of him. How strange it was, to compare grown Elves to their parents. Because of their ageless appearance, it was nigh impossible to tell which generation came first.

Shortly thereafter, the music ceased, and a gradual hush fell upon the hall. Looking to the dais, Annalyn saw an Elf she did not recognize. As he addressed those in the hall, she realised that the time had come for the telling of tales.

As the dancers regained their chairs to listen, the Elf waited a moment longer before launching into the first tale. In all, he told several of them, from both Middle-earth and the Blessed Realms. Fascinated, Annalyn hung on to every word—at least those she understood. When their meaning was muddled, Haldir would somehow sense this, and he would retell some parts in Westron. Lulled by the comfort of his company, and all the wine she had imbibed, Annalyn drifted in contentment. She learned a great deal that night. Tales of courage, great deeds of old. It was a lot to absorb, yet she knew that it was but a glimpse into the long history of the Elves.

When the last story had reached its end, music followed in its wake. But as the Elves reclaimed the dancing area, Annalyn's attention strayed to her companion. Oh, how she had missed Haldir these past twelve days.

Even with the magic of this night, she wanted nothing more than to be alone with him.

Though she was careful not to reveal her selfish and secret wish, Annalyn soon sensed that he was watching her.

"The night is late," he offered, drawing her eyes to his. "You must be weary."

Recognizing his words for what they were—a socially acceptable excuse to slip away before the festivities ended—Annalyn's heart quickened with guarded hope. Playing along, she did her best to look tired, even going so far as faking a timid yawn. "Ah, pardon me. I admit it has been a long day."

Amusement flashed in his gaze, but was gone again when he said, "If you wish to retire, I can walk you home if you wish."

Leave it to Haldir. Schooling her features into a cautious expression, Annalyn went along by voicing a question. "It would not be rude?"

"Nay," was all he said, and seemed to mean it. With graceful movements, Haldir rose and offered his apologies to their friends. Whether they saw through the pretense, Annalyn could not say. But none of them seemed to mind. In fact, their eyes fairly twinkled as they bid them both good night.

And so it was that Annalyn and Haldir finally exited the Halls of Starlight.

At first, Haldir walked with his hands linked at his back, but when the hall had faded from view, Annalyn felt a feather-light graze on her knuckles. Glancing between them, she realised that he had sought her hand. Her insides awhirl with a giddy sort of excitement, she watched his elegant fingers as they slipped around her wrist, toward her palm, before linking with her slender digits. As simple as the gesture was, there was something inherently intimate about walking in this fashion.

Thus they strolled across the city, neither speaking as they moved from one mallorn to the next. With the remainder of the night stretched out before them, Annlayn couldn't help but wonder what it would hold. So many possibilities, she thought and looked sidelong at him. So many things to say.

When Haldir met her eyes, the same musings were etched on his fair features.

"At the table back there," he began. "I meant what I said. If you are weary…"

"I am not." A smile curved her mouth, then his. "Lead the way," she said and walked onward, into the peaceful night.