Initially, I thought I would finish this chapter by next weekend, but I neglected to check the weather forecast and I found myself snowed in. Normally, I dislike snow storms, but this time I was quite happy because it gave me the quiet time I needed to finish this chapter. So anyway, here it is. I hope it reads okay.

As always, thanks go out to all my readers, with a special shout-out going to my reviewers: Erinnichole1560, durinsdaughter2469btw, Blue1258, starrat, Doria Nell, Ruiniel, Cricklewood16, SmallLittleCagedBird, leward1992, leelee202, GaaraSandNiN, fantasticferret, AshleyLeigh, SarahELupin, HaldirLove, Raider-K, princessnerra, Laurel1234, blasttyrant, and mycarnation.

Sorry I haven't replied individually like I usually do. I aim to remedy that soon.


CHAPTER LII

A GREAT HONOUR

Annalyn couldn't pinpoint the exact moment when she had chosen, when her heart had decided that this place, and the Elf who now walked to her right would, in fact, become her home. A second home, much different from her homeland and kin, but just as dear to her heart.

Perhaps her decision had fallen into place during their debate earlier today, when each had bared their thoughts regarding where they might go from here. Or then maybe a part of her had known all along. Haldir was the man—the Elf—for her. And after her trip to the Riddermark, Annalyn meant to return to him. To love and hopefully marry him, if such was his wish—which it certainly seemed to be, if his earlier declaration was any indication. "I would have you nonetheless, meleth nîn."

In addition to revealing the true extent of his feelings, his words had conveyed that he would not have her journey all the way to Rohan and back just to toy with her heart. No. A tentative courtship this was not.

Against all hope, and perhaps in counter to what was wise, this honourable, intense, and immortal being was willing to give his heart to her, a mortal.

For Annalyn, the idea that they might soon bind their lives was incredibly humbling. Her thoughts turning to the nature of what they both were, she reasoned that if Eru—the One whom the Elves called Ilúvatar—had not intended for his Children to love one another, he would not have fashioned them in such a similar image.

With enough strength and courage, the two of them could do this. It was her hope, the belief she would cling to henceforth.

Growing up in the Mark, Annalyn had been raised to believe that life was governed by fate and doom. But what was fate, if not for Eru's will? The Eorlingas believed in the afterlife, but they also believed in glory and remembrance. And though glory had never been Annalyn's aim, just knowing that Haldir would remember her, that he might speak her name in fondness long after she had gone, was comforting in a way. And yet it was most conflicting, too.

Indeed, her most fervent wish was for him to go on after her death, to find joy again and live. Annalyn had told him so today, and though he had bristled, she believed he was willing to try. That, too, had helped in tipping the scales.

At peace with her thoughts, Annalyn proceeded toward the City of the Trees, her pace a perfect match to Haldir's leisurely steps.

Dusk was now falling, and the lamps adorning the gates were already kindled. Except for the soft whisper of her own footfalls, the air was altogether silent, as it often was in the moments before the first stars appeared. Indeed, an even deeper sense of peace had descended upon the Naith, and soon music would fill the air, first with the hymn to Varda, then many other songs. It should not be long now, Annalyn mused then cast another sideways glance at Haldir.

Eddying on his own thoughts, he had not spoken since they had left the horses at the stables, but his silence was neither cold nor distant tonight. In fact, his noble features were soft and devoid of cares for once, and his mouth was curved in a rare, lingering smile.

Does he know? she couldn't help but wonder as the silent gates opened before them. Does he sense my choice? For Annalyn had yet to tell him, had thought to wait until they were ensconced in the home that might soon be theirs. Haldir had yet to invite her, it was true. But since they both desired to spend the remainder of the evening together, it seemed likely they would end up there. Indeed, it was her hope, for tomorrow would be devoted to last-minute preparations for her long travels ahead.

Thinking of her upcoming journey, Annalyn tallied the distance from here to her village. With a fortnight between here and the Entwash, then an additional ten days to reach her home, it could take over two months before she returned to Lothlórien and saw Haldir again. While it might be a mere blink for an immortal such as him, Annalyn did not possess the patience of Elves. Those weeks would be a time without end for her.

Unable to help herself, Annalyn drank in the sight of Haldir, her chest growing heavier with every step. His bearing was proud, his gait calm yet powerful. Just being next to him was an almost sensual experience.

Her heart sped up. She had to look away.

But Haldir was nothing if not discerning. As they ambled along, he looked sidelong at her. Doubtless, he would note her blush. He might even hear her racing heart. To be sure, he heard the sudden growl that emanated from her traitorous stomach. His voice, when he spoke, was soft and calm, his eyes even more so. "You must be hungry. We can stop by the kitchens if you wish."

"I would like that," Annalyn answered shyly, smothering her desire to be alone with him for the reason that he was right. They had not eaten since earlier that afternoon, and she was famished.

His home tree now came into view. They were about to scale the stairs leading up to the terrace when an echoing whistle netted their attention, and caused them to stop.

"What was that?" Annalyn asked and tipped her head toward the boughs. "It came from up there. Someone whistled."

Haldir seemed as perplexed as she was. But then, comprehension—or suspicion—seemed to dawn on his features. "A whistle you say?" Now he feigned ignorance. "Curious. I heard no such thing."

A smirk tugged at her mouth. Liar, she thought and glanced up the stairs before looking to Haldir one last time. Fine, then. I will see for myself.

So it was that Annalyn scaled the stairs. The higher she climbed, the more she noted a change in the ambient lighting above. Instead of the bluish glow of the lamps, the mallorn's mighty bole was tinged in warm orange light. When the terrace finally came into view, Annalyn realised why that was.

Braziers, several of them, spaced around the terrace, much like the braziers in a mead-hall. In the midst of these was the communal dining table, laden with food and drink. And finally, just off to the side, were a dozen smiling faces. Ithriel, Ninael, and Glirwen, just to name a few.

Some were acquaintances, Elves she sometimes dined with on the terrace. The rest were her dear friends.

"Here she is!" Recognizing the jovial voice, Annalyn turned in time to see Taerion sliding down a low-hanging tree-limb. Beaming, he dangled in the air for a moment before his booted foot touched upon the balustrade. Doubtless, it was he who had whistled so as to warn the others of her arrival.

"Our guest of honour," Bestedir said to Annalyn as his wife inclined her head in welcome.

"What's all this?" she had to ask.

"Do you not know?" Ithriel countered warmly.

By now, it was clear what this was. Moved beyond words, Annalyn beheld the terrace and all those assembled before turning to Haldir who clearly hadn't known—at least not until he had heard the whistle and figured it out.

As the decorative flames danced in the evening breeze, Ithriel stepped forward. "Since you are leaving for Rohan on the day after next, we thought it was high time we honoured you, not only as a cherished guest, but as a beloved friend. Tonight is for you, Annalyn."

Now it was Ninael's turn to step forth. "And given how far you are from the Riddermark, we thought we would bring the Riddermark to you." Stopping by a large cask, the soldier leaned against it, and nudged her head as if to say, "What do you think?"

"Is that mead?"

Ninael patted the cask with pride. "Same as they serve in Edoras."

Laughing through gathering tears, Annalyn placed a hand over her heart. Her eyes went to the other Elves: Tellil, the chamber maid, Lanthir, the minstrel who happily graced them with his voice every night after dinner, Taerion and a few others. "I know not what to say… Thank you… All of you."

And so they gathered for the meal. Once Haldir had removed his bow and quiver, setting them to the side, he gallantly pulled out Annalyn's chair, before rounding the table so they might sit across from each other. He was laying a napkin across his lap when their eyes met in a silent exchange. "After," he seemed to promise with dancing eyes.

Her insides awhirl with anticipation and longing, she agreed with a secretive nod. After.

As dishes were uncovered, Annalyn looked them over, and quickly realised something. "I know these recipes." There was chicken stew, vegetable pie, roasted pork, and sliced potatoes. These were hearty meals, delicious and soothing, but very unlike those usually served by the Elves.

"I hope we have done them justice," Glirwen said from further down the table. "Bestedir and I know little of your homeland and the foods you favour. But Ninael has travelled to Rohan in the past, and she has feasted with your kings of old. Without her guidance, I fear we would not have known where to begin."

"It is perfect," Annalyn told them, then smiled at Ninael who tipped her glass.

In all the time she had spent in Lothlórien, Annalyn had seen and experienced many remarkable things. But this… This was perhaps the most touching of all.

As Annalyn partook in the feast, a profound sense of comfort washed over her. This place had truly become a home away from home, and these Elves had earned their rightful place in her heart.

After the wine, it wasn't long before mead was poured. "Ninael, you spoke truly. This is a taste of home. Wherever did you get it?"

"One of my soldier friends dabbles in the making of spirits and mead in his spare time. He owed me a favour."

"Please extend my compliments. He is gifted in his craft."

Ninael speared another morsel of food. "I will tell him you said so."

Her cup halfway to her lips, Annalyn couldn't help thinking of her uncle and cousin. They would have loved this. Keenly aware of their absence, she wished they could have been here tonight. To be sure, they would have marvelled at this place. And like her, they would have grown fond of these Elves. Of this she had no doubt.

Lifting her gaze, Annalyn saw that Haldir was watching her, the look on his face suggesting that he sensed her musings. With a sad smile, he lifted his cup in a secret toast, which she returned bittersweetly as laughter and conversation went on around them.

Dessert had been served, and now the empty plates were being cleared away. The evening, however, was not yet over, for Taerion soon rose, and approached her with a gift. His sketch book. "So you might remember fair Lothlórien," he explained, and held it out for her to take.

Of course, he did not yet know of her decision to return. No one did. And though she wished she could tell him, Annalyn first had to tell Haldir—and she would, later tonight. Her throat clogged with emotion, Annalyn swept a hand over the book's leather spine. "I shall treasure your gift in my heart. Thank you."

The young Elf bowed in Elf-fashion, and replied with heartfelt words of his own. "And I shall treasure the memory of our friendship." Again, her heart twisted with the desire to soothe her friend's sadness. As Taerion returned to his chair, Annalyn's gaze went to Haldir who was still watching her from behind his glass, his features softened by candlelight.

As their visual connection held, Annalyn could scarce believe how profoundly her life had changed of late. After all she had suffered, and all she had lost, she had somehow found her way to this place, to Haldir whom she loved. Perhaps by wandering in this forest and meeting him, fate had made it so she wouldn't be alone in the world. It was a comforting thought.

On either side of them, Elves were now leaving the table, and moving to choose their spots in an informal circle of chairs in a cozy corner of the terrace. Since this was a nightly ritual, Annalyn understood that it was time for the telling of tales.

"I suppose we should join them," Haldir stated softly. As he gained his feet, yearning tugged at her heart again, and she secretly wished they could slip away, just the two of them. Knowing it would be discourteous, however, Annalyn swallowed her impatience, and followed so they might listen to the evening's stories for a while.

Usually, the honour fell to Bestedir, for he loved story-telling nearly as much as he loved preparing their meals. But tonight, instead of standing before all those gathered, he took a seat next to his wife and appeared to be waiting. For what, she did not know.

Curious, Annalyn looked to Ithriel. With a wave of her hand, the healer patted the vacant chairs to her left. "You both can sit with me." Her straight hair was completely unbound tonight, and it framed her smiling face. So full of joy, Annalyn thought then realised they might soon be sisters. She had never had a sister before. It would be nice.

Once she had lowered herself in the chair, Annalyn leaned toward Ithriel to whisper, "Who is the night's story-teller? Do you know?"

But Ithriel only smiled, as did all the Elves. "Tonight, we thought…" The healer cleared her throat. "I mean it was our hope that… you might accept the honour?"

The blood drained from Annalyn's face. "Me?"

"Surely you know tales we do not," Glirwen interjected in Sindarin. "It would please us to hear one."

Unprepared for such a request, Annalyn blew out a breath, and rubbed the back of her neck. "It is long since I tried. My cousin Aldin was always better suited at telling stories."

"But you remember them, yes?" Glirwen asked with hope.

"I remember them," Annalyn conceded. Perhaps it was due to the rich oral traditions of the Eorlingas, but she had always been good at remembering stories and songs. But remembering was not the same as spinning a full tale. Indeed, there was a skill to it, one she had never honed. Moreover, Glirwen, Bestedir, and most of the others understood no language other than their own. Even if Annalyn's knowledge of Sindarin had improved by leaps and bounds of late, she spoke haltingly most of the time, and often made mistakes.

Even so, the Elves had done much to honour her tonight. Potential embarrassment aside, the least she could do was try to honour them in turn. And so, bolstered by Haldir's subtle yet encouraging nod, Annalyn searched her memories until she settled on a story—a favourite of Aldin's. Then, she gained her feet and faced her friends.

Here goes…

"Tonight's story begins ere the founding of Rohan… with the man who sired our first King. Léod was the leader…" Her mouth went dry all of a sudden. "He was the leader of the people called the Éothéod… who lived..." For pity's sake, Annalyn! Sindarin and Westron and Rohirric—her nervousness was such that the words to the story had become a jumbled mess in her mind, impeding her ability to translate with fluidity. I sound like a witless fool.

With a wicked blush rising to her cheeks, Annalyn wiped her sweaty palms on the front of her breeches, and looked to Haldir in hopes that he might be able to translate. He must have divined her thoughts—that or he had seen them writ on her panicked face—for he had already risen and was making his way over.

As he came to stand at her side, facing those assembled, Haldir beheld their friends. And then he spoke in smooth Sindarin. "The Éothéod were among those Northmen who dwelt in the Vales of Anduin between the Carrock and Gladden."

Annalyn scarce believed it. Not only had he jumped in of his own accord, saving her from further embarrassment, but Haldir had expanded on the story, telling it in much the same way Aldin had done on their second night in the Golden Wood—except he was doing so in the elven-tongue. Touched that he remembered it so well, she watched him with gratitude until he sought her eyes, nodding, as if to remind her, "You know this story."

Annalyn raised her chin. She did know the story, having heard it countless times. Finding her courage at long last, she was about to tell it in Westron when a most startling thing happened. Haldir lowered his voice a little, and addressed her… in Rohirric. "You may tell the story in your mother-tongue, if you wish. In fact, I would love it if you did."

Annalyn's mouth was agape. Never had he spoken the language in her presence; he had been far too embarrassed. Nevertheless, in spite of his discomfiture—which he hid rather well—Haldir had done so now, in front of everyone. Annalyn had never felt so honoured in her entire life.

"I would like that," she answered softly. And so, with renewed confidence, she turned to the Elves again, and resumed the story in her own language. "A strong and fair race, the Éothéod were great horsemen and men-at-arms." Annalyn had not realised, until then, just how much she had missed speaking in her native language. As harsh as it might sound to outsiders, the words were like honey on her tongue, carrying her back to those nightly campfires with her kin, with Abrax, Heremod, and Cobalt resting nearby. How sad that it was just her and Cobalt now.

"Their leader, Léod, was a tamer of horses. When his son, Eorl, was six and ten, Léod stumbled upon a wild horse, the likes of which he had never seen. Silver-grey, the horse was a descendent of the magical race that Béma—the Vala whom you call Oromë—brought out of the West long ages ago."

Pausing to give Haldir time to translate, Annalyn noted that the Elves were spellbound, their smiles broadening at the mention of Oromë.

"But the silver horse was proud and willful, and Léod was killed while trying to tame it," she went on to say. "For this, the horse was called Mansbane."

When Haldir translated that last part, the Elves grew more subdued. As he fell silent, Annalyn moved ahead with her tale. "Seeking vengeance, a grieving Eorl hunted the horse but, rather than kill him, decided he would tame the horse so that the beast might serve him, surrendering his freedom as a Weregild. But to Eorl's astonishment, there was no need to tame the horse, for Mansbane harboured great remorse over the slaying of Léod, and therefore surrendered of his own free will, as a gesture of atonement."

Haldir picked up the thread again, then it was her turn. "On that day, Eorl—who would later become the first King of Rohan—renamed him Felaróf, meaning 'father of Horses'." With a swell of pride at her heritage, Annalyn straightened to full height. "From that day forth, the Éothéod became known as the Rohirrim, the 'horse lords', and our banner now bears the image of Felaróf running on a green field." A warm smile broke through. "From him were descended the Mearas, the proud steeds who bear none but the Kings of the Mark."

Once Haldir had translated, the Elves turned their eager gazes on Annalyn.

"Have you ever seen one?" Ithriel asked in Westron.

"Fortunate are those who get to see the Mearas. Alas… I, myself, have never beheld one." A light shrug and she added. "Perhaps one day."

With the story now concluded, Annalyn sent her thoughts to her cousin. I did it, Aldin. Wherever his spirit had gone, she imagined he was smiling down on her, with that glimmer in his brown eyes. She could practically hear him say, "That was not so hard now, was it?" To which she would have replied, laughing. "Oh, shut up."

How she missed him.

Turning her focus to Haldir, Annalyn flashed a smile, and addressed him in Rohirric. "You," she began, pointing for emphasis, "are much too hard on yourself. You spoke beautifully."

If Haldir had been prone to blushing, his cheeks might have turned red at the praise. As it was, he led her back to their seats, where he reached for his cup of mead—that he had previously set by his chair—and gave a self-effacing smile. "I spoke very little."

The pride of Elves, she thought, not bothering to hide her amusement. She even rolled her eyes.

"That was superb!" she heard Ithriel say. Seated next to Annalyn, the healer leaned forth to better see her husband's brother. "Was she not wonderful, Haldir?"

"That she was," he replied softly, his eyes brimming with admiration as he watched Annalyn.

Thus the evening progressed. Since Annalyn had chosen to regale with a story about the origins of her people, Bestedir opted to do the same. But the account he told was far older, dating all the way back to the First Age, when the earth was veiled in perpetual night.

As the guests hung on to his every word, he spoke of the Awakening of the Elves, by the mere of Cuiviénen, in a land far away in the East. "Their eyes beheld first the light of the stars, which were kindled by Varda, whom we call Elentári," Bestedir went on to say. "When the light entered their eyes, it was held there, so that ever after it shone from those eyes."

Enthralled, Annalyn listened as he told of the coming of Oromë whom the Elves feared at first, but soon grew to trust.

"Nahar was his horse, and the Valaróma was his horn, the sound of which was a terror to the servants of Morgoth," Bestedir said, then went on to describe the summons that led to the Great Journey. "Fearing for the Elves, the Valar prepared a place for them beyond the seas of the West. Eldamar it is called, and it means 'elven home'."

As riveting as it was, Bestedir's story struck a note of sadness in her, for Annalyn now knew of Aman, and the foretold fate of the Elves who were not meant to live in Middle-earth forever. Sending her gaze to Haldir, she wondered as to his thoughts. But his features were shuttered, and he was staring at his drink.

Bestedir continued, "Although some of the Elves refused the summons, those who made the journey proceeded to build cities whose beauty is reportedly beyond compare. Indeed, it is said that their towers are domed with silver, their streets paved with gold, and that great stairs of crystal can be seen shining from a great distance." As he spoke, describing hallowed lands bordered by sandy shores, none could miss the longing that arose in his eyes.

As the story finally reached its end, Haldir downed the rest of his mead in one go. As some of the Elves gained their feet, he asked Annalyn if she wanted a refill.

"Thank you, but I think I have had enough." Concerned, she watched as he headed for the cask, his posture more rigid than before.

"He sometimes gets like this when others speak of Aman," Ithriel confided in hushed tones. "Give him a moment; he will be alright."

Even so, Annalyn's heart ached as she watched him from afar. Thankfully, as Ithriel had predicted, a change gradually came over him. As Haldir beheld the surrounding mallyrn, he seemed to draw strength from them. Before long, he looked over his shoulder at her, with nothing but warmth in his eyes.

"You both seem happy," Ithriel remarked as Annalyn returned his smile. "It gladdens me, for it is something I never thought I would witness in him. I see the way he looks at you. I daresay we all can. He loves you. And you love him in turn." A beat went by. "Have you both come to a decision?"

Finally tearing her eyes away from her beloved, Annalyn regarded her dearest friend.

"Will we see you again?" Ithriel asked with guarded hope. "Will you return to Lothlórien someday?"

With nothing but love in her heart, Annalyn's gaze slid over to Haldir who had turned to stare at the city again, his hands resting on the balustrade. "I just might."

"I have kept you long enough. You should go to him." The sparkle in Ithriel's eyes was unmistakable. "Tomorrow we shall speak, yes?"

"Definitely."

Smoothing a hand over the front of her vest, Annalyn excused herself, then brought her empty cup to the serving cart outside the kitchens. Her eyes scarcely leaving the warrior who had earned her heart, she waited to see if he would sense her gaze. He did. Looking over his shoulder, Haldir locked eyes with her from afar.

With a thousand butterflies in her belly, Annalyn clamped her teeth over her bottom lip, and glanced ever so briefly at the spiral staircase. It was terribly bold of her—and maybe the mead was partly to blame—but she couldn't wait anymore. She had to be alone with him. She had to tell him of her choice.

Hoping he would recognize her invitation, Annalyn maintained the visual connection and started walking. At first, he observed her with an unspoken question, but then his gaze darkened.

He was slowly setting his cup down, abandoning it on the edge of the balustrade. When Haldir reached for his quiver, donning it without a word before he slung his bow upon his back, Annalyn could tell that he understood. Even more thrilling, she knew he would follow.

With a nervous sort of excitement, she slipped away, and dared not look back until the curving staircase had carried her around the bole, safely out of view of the terrace.

There, she waited with a quickening heart. Until, at long last, she saw him.

His eyes were on her at once.

Her palm coming to rest on the mallorn's silver bark, Annalyn watched as he scaled the steps. By the time he finally reached her, her heart was beating so fast, it was a wonder it didn't burst from her chest.

She and Haldir were standing on the same step now, not far from where they had shared that fervent kiss a few weeks ago. If she didn't kiss him soon…

By the way Haldir was now staring at her mouth, it was clear he was thinking along the same lines. Yet something seemed to hold him back. Self-control perhaps.

"I wished to be alone with you," she said by way of explanation. "Is that selfish of me?"

His voice was strained. "Nay."

Anxious and excited all at once, Annalyn issued a wordless challenge. Her back met the mallorn. She waited. The next move was his.

He made it without hesitation.

Haldir bent his head toward her. Instead of kissing her mouth, however, he turned her knees to water by pressing a gentle kiss to the underside of her jaw, another on the pulse-point of her neck.

Annalyn melted into the mallorn. His hands found her waist, his breath tickling the shell of her ear as he said, "Maddening woman."

Arching into him, she revelled in the firm press of his body, and countered with breathless words of her own. "Maddening Elf."

Haldir was now kissing his way toward her mouth. At last.

But then, to her dismay, he suddenly grew still, and drew back a little, as though he had heard something.

"What is it?" she whispered, then heard it, too. Clear voices and laughter, from somewhere nearby. Following the sound, Annalyn saw that some of their friends had left the terrace and were now ascending the neighbouring tree.

Embarrassed yet glad they hadn't been seen, Annalyn covered her mouth to stifle a laugh, while Haldir grabbed her hand. "Come," he said.

Ascending to the very top of the stairs, they set out across the footbridge leading to his home. "Wait, I forgot Taerion's sketch book."

"You need not worry. No one will think of stealing it." Doubtless, he was right.

To her surprise, Haldir did not lead her to the door. Rather, he guided her along the front of his home. "Where are we going?" she asked.

He only looked to her, his features bearing the barest hint of a smile, the kind that touched her heart and made her feel incredibly special.

At last, they reached the very edge of his talan, where he stepped off the flet, onto a broad tree-limb. Hand still linked with hers, Haldir turned to face her.

Eyes wide, heart pounding, Annalyn looked to him and laughed. It was a nervous laugh. But there was delight also.

He grasped her other hand so she wouldn't fall. "Do you trust me?"

What sort of question was this? "Always."

And so Haldir beckoned her onto the tree-limb. With graceful balance, he stepped slightly to the side, so she might go first. Then, holding both of her hands, he guided her along the tree-limb, one careful step at a time.

"This is madness!" Annalyn was still laughing. She should have been terrified—and perhaps she was—but she also knew he would never allow her to fall.

At length, they reached a spot where the tree-limb met another one, somewhere in the heart of the mallorn. Here dangled a ladder made of silver rope. Reaching for it, Haldir gestured for her to climb first. Her cheeks flushing with exhilaration and something else, she looked to him, and did as he wished.

The tree was tall. Taller than its neighbours. Upon reaching the very top of the ladder, Annalyn emerged onto a leaf-shaped platform that was slightly higher than the surrounding trees.

Caras Galadhon… it was even more beautiful from up here, a sea of leaves lit from within. And the stars… They were spread in a vast canvas of gems, unobstructed by the boughs.

"Haldir…" She could scarcely find her voice.

Turning, she saw him pull the ladder. Once it was pooled by the opening, Haldir straightened, and proceeded to remove his weapons, setting them off to the side. "Is it to your liking?"

A broadening smile as her answer, she looked all around, while his feet ferried him to a narrow cupboard nestled in a fork of branches. Opening it, he produced two bundles. Furs, she realised, then watched as he laid one of them down, making a comfortable place to sit.

Leave it to Haldir. Warmth burgeoning in her being, she removed her sword-belt, laying it beside his own as he proceeded to secure a wind-screen on one side of the platform.

"The air can be somewhat cool up here," he told her when he finally sat down next to her. Unrolling the remaining bundle, Haldir draped the pelt over her shoulders, asked, "How is that?"

"It is perfect, thank you." Glancing about them, she shook her head in amazement. "Your own little refuge..." Annalyn chuckled. "This is remarkable. Ridiculously elevated," she added, "but enchanting."

Haldir responded by curving his mouth and looking out. He had stretched his legs, and was leaning on his elbow. "I thought you might like it."

Her smile fading, Annalyn watched his profile for a moment longer, then quietly reached for his hand.

When he met her eyes, she said, "Today, you asked me what it is I wanted… I think I have my answer." Actually, she didn't just "think", she knew.

"My answer is… this." When he failed to grasp her full meaning, she motioned to the city below. "This is what I want. A home amongst friends… A life with you."

It was a moment before Haldir absorbed her words. In silence, he blinked an extended blink, then his chin dipped downward. "So then—"

"I have chosen," she stated softly and without hesitation. "My choice is you."

His lashes lifted and there was moisture in his elven eyes—the sight so moving, tears gathered in her own. His hand brushed her neck, a caress so light she barely felt it. As a lone tear finally trickled onto her cheek, he leaned in, and pressed his lips to hers. A slow, lingering kiss, imbued with quiet devotion, with the gentle grace of Elves.


I know I'm a bit evil for ending the chapter there. But fear not, the next one will pick up where it left off. ;-)