Hey, everyone,
sorry I took a bit longer with this part. I haven't felt so good these past few weeks and it affected my writing time. Also, when I thought I had finished the chapter, it occurred to me that an important conversation was missing. I had meant to keep it for later in the story, but felt it should go here. Because the scene was still only in my head, I took extra time to write it. Hopefully it will read okay. *fingers crossed*
As always, I wish to thank all who have read the story so far, and those who commented on the last part. Your words truly brightened my otherwise dreary days. durinsdaughter2469btw, Blue1258, starrat, leelee202, princessnerra, KathrannofQuade, Ruiniel, WickedGreene13, daughterofthechief, Ladyville, SmallLittleCagedBird, Auriene, and Cricklewood16, thank you!
Also, I must say I was pleasantly surprised by the number of favorites and follows that this story received this time around. It warmed my heart.
Before I go, one last thing. Up to this point, I've only written in Haldir's or Annalyn's point of view. But I thought I would give you a heads up that this might change. The story would still very much revolve around Haldir and Annalyn, but I'm thinking that it might make it easier to tell their story if I could write scenes with other POVs. Like Ithriel and Rúmil, for example. I might write other POVs, too. Of course, nothing is set in stone, but I'm seriously considering it.
Anyhoo, enough rambling. On to the story...
CHAPTER LV
A BROTHER'S CONCERN
Her belongings were laid out on the bed: her clothing, freshly washed and neatly folded, her hair brush and a new bar of soap. There were other things as well. Sentimental items like the sheath and dagger Haldir had gifted her with. Then there was her uncle's tinderbox, and the pipe he had crafted shortly before his death. These things were very dear to Annalyn. Same for Aldin's baldric and longsword. They were clean now. She had cleaned them herself late one evening, during their journey through the wilds.
Emotionally speaking, removing her cousin's dried blood from the leather-work had been incredibly difficult, but it had been cathartic, too. Now, the baldric rested next to her sword-belt. Tomorrow I shall wear it. These words, which she sent to Aldin, were also a promise to herself. And once I reach our village, I will present it to Erna.
Yes, this she would do.
It will not bring you back, nor will it assuage her grief once I deliver the news. But at least she will have something of yours, a memento she can hold on to.
Her eyelids fell closed for a moment. How will I ever do this? Give me strength, Aldin. Or else watch over me.
With a heaviness in her chest, Annalyn set the future aside, and glanced toward the rest of her belongings, which were set in the corner of the room. Pragmatic and essential items like her blanket, her hunting bow, her cooking pot and so forth. The rest, like a tent and spare furs, would be provided by the Elves—Haldir had already seen to it.
Now a warm smile broke through, memories of the previous night coming to the fore in her mind.
When a knock sounded, she turned to see Ithriel in the open threshold. "You are packing, I see. Is there aught I might help you with?"
"Thank you, but I am finished for now."
"What time are you supposed to meet Ninael?" Indeed, the two had planned on going to the stables together, so they might see to their horses before tomorrow's journey.
"I am leaving presently," she answered as a yawn snuck up on her. "Forgive me," Annalyn offered on a quiet laugh.
"Your lack of sleep has caught up with you, it seems." The healer arched a brow. Her mouth uplifted at the corner, she teased. "You never came home last night."
"I did catch a few hours of…" Annalyn realised what she was saying and immediately closed her mouth. It was too late, though. Ithriel's knowing smile conveyed that she had caught her meaning—that Annalyn had spent the entire night with Haldir, and slept in his arms.
As a blush crept onto her cheeks, Annalyn rearranged some of the items on her bed, while Ithriel watched her with a definite twinkle in those pearly blue eyes.
Leaning against the doorframe, the healer crossed her arms, and waited. "Tell me, are you going to share your news? Or must I keep fishing?"
Though she had meant to wait until dinner, Annalyn's excitement rose to the surface. How could it not? For Ithriel meant a great deal to her. Except for Haldir, the elleth had become her closest friend in Lothlórien. Her confidant. It is time she knew.
"You are right. I do have news. I promise I meant not to keep it from you. Only we thought to surprise you at dinner tonight."
"We?" By this, and the joy in her eyes, it was clear Ithriel sensed where this was going.
With joy in her heart, Annalyn relayed the news that she and Haldir intended to wed. "I admit, we are being rather hasty, but when I am with him… there is a rightness to it, Ithriel. I know not how else to explain it."
At first, Ithriel spoke not. Instead, she stepped forth and grasped her hand. "My heart rejoices. For the both of you." She meant it; Annalyn could tell. "I think I shall like having a sister."
Annalyn blinked back tears, so moved was she. "Never have I had a sister. I think I shall like it also."
And so the two shared a sisterly embrace, sniffling and laughing and wiping at their eyes.
"I realise I am keeping you." Ithriel drew back. "But there is something I wish for you to see."
"Oh?"
"A gift. For your travels. The first of two, as a matter of fact." Making for the doorway, Ithriel stepped out and bent at the waist to retrieve something that was just out of view.
As the healer re-entered the room, Annalyn narrowed her eyes in question. A box.
"Open it," her friend said.
Still unaccustomed to receiving gifts, Annalyn hesitated. "You should not have."
But Ithriel waved an elegant hand. "If you and I are going to be sisters, you will soon learn that doting is what I do."
"You are just as bad as Haldir," Annalyn whined even as she laughed. "You know he ordered a new bedroll and a tent? And other things as well. Extra furs and screens to block out the wind should the weather prove blustery when we stop to rest or eat."
"My husband's brother is nothing if not thorough." A smirk tugged at the healer's mouth. "Nothing but the best for his beloved. Now go ahead." She pointed toward the box. "Have a look."
Knowing it was pointless to argue, Annalyn did as she was told. Robbed of the ability to speak, she reached for the clothing that was folded inside.
"Your clothes are worn and weathered," Ithriel explained. "I figured it was high time you received new riding attire."
Though finely made, the garments were simple, practical, and unadorned. Made of a grey material, the riding breeches and long-sleeved tunic were paired with black riding gloves and a sleeveless overcoat of dark blue.
"I commissioned them a while back. I figured you would not mind this style."
Annalyn tried to speak but found herself tongue-tied. Despite being elven-made, the garments looked like something a woman of the Mark could wear. And for that, she was glad. It wasn't that she disliked elvish styles. But to return amongst her people, clad in clothes that outshone those worn by noble shield-maidens would have felt wrong somehow.
With a lump in her throat, Annalyn lowered the clothes, and looked to her friend. It was a moment before she could find her voice again. "These are perfect. Thank you."
Ithriel seemed pleased by her reaction. "Now for your other gift. Follow me."
Descending the staircase, Ithriel led her to the living area, where she presented her with a small wooden box filled with soil of all things.
"Why are you giving me this?"
In lieu of answering, Ithriel produced a linen pouch filled with what felt like seeds.
"I do not understand…"
"All these years, you have risked your life to bring medicine to your people. Ever since you and Haldir have deepened your relationship, I know that the future has been weighing on you, that you fret for your neighbours. Your sense of responsibility toward them is admirable, but it is no longer yours to bear." Her eyes went to the wooden box. "The soil is from the garden of Lothlórien. This I gift to you with the blessing of Lady Galadriel. You need but blend it in the soil of your village, and these seeds will grow. The plants you covet, that grow only in the mountains. Now they will thrive on the Westfold also. You have fulfilled your duty, Annalyn. Henceforth, the people of your village will have their medicine without the need to venture far and wide."
In addition to being unexpected, the gift was the answer to her worries, a blessing she had never thought to hope for. Though Annalyn hated to weep in front of anyone, her tears fell anew, and she let them. "Oh, Ithriel." Moved beyond reason, she threw her arms around the Elf who would soon become her sister. "This means more to me than… Thank you, my dearest friend."
Haldir had just left the armoury, and was making for the elven market by way of a footbridge when he noted a brightness down below. Slowing in his steps, he approached the rail, and beheld the Lady Galadriel. As the sun shone brightly upon her white dress, her leisurely steps carried her between the trees.
She was alone, it seemed. Though it soon became clear that she expected company.
Sensing his gaze on her, Galadriel turned and watched him from afar.
Walk with me, Haldir.
Curious but happy to do as she asked, he descended to the green avenues, and fell into step beside her.
"Much has changed since last I saw you," she said as birds chirped overhead. They kept on walking.
I suppose congratulations are in order.
Her silent words brought a guarded smile to his face. Of course, the Lady would know of his plans to marry Annalyn.
"The joy in your eyes gladdens my heart, but I cannot help but note the hidden pain beneath. Something grieves you." Now his smile faded, for Galadriel had spoken rightly. At his silence, she went on. "It has been many years since first I saw you, cradled in your mother's arms. I may be the Lady of Lórien, and you may be my Marchwarden, but ever since you assumed the mantle, I have felt a kinship with you. If it be your will, know that you may speak your heart."
He looked upon her kindly. Lowering the proverbial mask required of his station, Haldir allowed some of his sadness to show. "Your eyes see much. Something grieves me, it is true." As they ambled along, trading the worn path for a rich carpet of grass, he drew a heavy sigh. "As you know, I love both my brothers. Ever I strive for us to be united. However, recent events have caused strain between myself and Rúmil. He fears for me, and does not approve of my love for Annalyn."
"Long have you watched over him. Now he seeks to watch over you."
"I understand his worries, and a part of me shares them. But this choice is mine to make." His brows furrowed in silent anguish, his voice lowering when he said, "I love her. She is my chosen. I realise that I can only share one lifetime with her, but I would rather live and love for a brief moment in time than suffer in regret if I never do."
Galadriel was silent for a moment, her gait unchanged as she swept her gaze over the surrounding mallyrn. "The soul bond you have formed with her… she is not aware of it." It was a statement rather than a question. "Why have you kept it from her?"
His heart clenched in his chest. "I meant not to. I was going to tell her last night. I had begun to, after I asked her to marry me. But then she accepted my proposal, and…" Haldir fell silent. There was no need to say more. Galadriel would know what he meant, that the two had lost themselves in the moment.
Her mouth curved in empathy, Galadriel cast a sideways glance toward him. "A word of caution, if I may. In all your long years, you have always guarded your words and your heart. But in this instance, my heart warns me that you must be open and true. Do not hold back when it comes to her. No good can come of it."
"Annalyn values openness, it is true. Doubtless you are right. I will take your counsel to heart, my Lady."
Now Galadriel smiled in gladness, her wise gaze holding none of the sadness he often saw in others. It made him wonder.
"A question lingers in your mind," she soon noted. "You may bring it to light."
Though she likely knew what he was going to say, Haldir gave voice to his thoughts. "There are many among the Elves who feel much the same way as Rúmil. My friends mostly, and many amongst my soldiers. None have said anything, of course. At least not to me, but their worry is writ clear on their features. They fear for my fate, and do not understand. You, on the other hand… My Lady, forgive me for intruding on this personal matter, but I would have thought that… with Lady Arwen, and the choice that is yet before her…" Ill-at-ease, he allowed the sentence to trail.
"You wonder why I have not cautioned you against the choice you have made?"
He nodded. "Given what you stand to lose, one would think you would be wholly against such unions."
"I may rule this land, but I would never presume to rule over the hearts of those who dwell here, not even my own kin."
The two came upon one of the many streams in Caras Galadhon. Following its winding course, they maintained a restful pace. In time, Galadriel spoke again in a tone that was both low and subdued. "Like you, this choice belongs to my granddaughter, and no other." Now, she switched to Quenya. "For her love, I fear the grace of Arwen Undómiel will diminish." For unlike Haldir, the Lady Arwen was a direct descendant of Beren and Lúthien. She could alter her fate and choose a mortal life. If indeed she chose to wed this mortal man—the Dúnedain the Elves named Elessar—she would follow his soul in death, but in so doing would forever sunder herself from her immortal kin.
How it must weigh on those who love her. In this rare and private moment, Haldir saw the weight of it on Lady Galadriel's shoulders, for now she walked beside him not as the ruler of Lothlórien, but as an elleth who stood to lose that which was most dear to her—her flesh and blood, her daughter's daughter.
As the stream trickled to their left, the two walked in silence for a time.
"Long have I tarried this side of the Great Sea," Galadriel said after a while. "And long have I lived in exile. But when I crossed the grinding ice of the Helcaraxë, I was not alone amongst my kin." A pause ensued. "You never knew my brothers."
How could he? When they fell long before his time.
"Given the recent events in your life, I cannot help but think of him. Aegnor. Older than I, he was the youngest amongst my brothers."
Haldir had heard the name in their histories, but Galadriel had never spoken of him. He couldn't help but wonder why she was doing so now.
"Together with my brother Angrod, he held the highlands of Dorthonion against Morgoth." Having studied many maps, Haldir immediately recognized the name.
Set in the north of Beleriand, a section of Middle-earth that had long since fallen into the sea, Dorthonion had been partially walled-in by the Echoriath, otherwise known as the Encircling Mountains, and Ered Golgoroth, a place known as the Mountains of Terror. From what Haldir had read, the area had boasted great forests of pines, in the midst of which rose a tall peak called Foen.
Her features set in reminiscence, Galadriel said, "And it was there, by the shimmering waters of the Aeluin, that he fell in love with a mortal woman, one of the Edain. Andreth was her name, and though she was young at the time, she was later regarded as a wisewoman amongst her people."
To say that Haldir was surprised would have been an understatement, for he had heard of elven women giving their hearts to mortal men, but never the other way around. At least not until he had fallen for a mortal woman himself. Wanting to know more, he looked sidelong at the Lady. "Did he marry her?"
"He never did,"—her tone was regretful—"nor did he reveal his feelings toward her. For Andreth lived during the Siege of Angband, and the Eldar did not wed or bear child in times of war. Indeed, it is my belief that my brother sensed his own doom, that he knew he would fall in battle, in defense of his land and kin."
She sank into her thoughts for a moment. "Therefore, giving no indication of his love for her, he left Andreth in the days of her youth, choosing instead to remember her in the fullness of her life." Haldir could understand that, even though his choice differed from Aegnor's. "By the time he fell in the Battle of Sudden Flame, Andreth had lived for ninety-four years. I was told that she died later that same year. Like he, she never wed. She never bore any children. Rather, she loved him always, but spent her remaining years alone."
Not knowing what to say to that, Haldir waited to hear more.
"Aegnor never said so. Not to me, nor to any of my brothers, but I sense that his fëa had chosen this woman." Gazing westward, she continued on a murmur. "Now he tarries in the Halls of Mandos, and will forever remain there. For the thought of living in a world without his beloved is more than he can endure, and for that reason, he will never be reimbodied. This, I know in my heart, for I have seen it and felt it." As she spoke, her eyes fell closed for a beat, then two.
"Although he could not choose a mortal life, one might say he died all the same." She stopped now, and looked skyward. "While a part of me admires his devotion to his lands and his people, it grieves me that he never truly lived, that he forsook the life he truly desired, setting his happiness aside for the sake of honour and loyalty." Galadriel heaved a sorrowful breath. "If his heart had ruled, Aegnor would have fled with Andreth. He would have wed her, and would have remained by her side until the day she died."
Resuming her stroll, Galadriel continued, "So you see, love is not always a choice. It can strike our hearts whether we will it or not. Instead, the choice lies in the way in which we express and live that love. I may be counted among the Wise, but I would never impart wisdom on you. Nor would I seek to sway my daughter's daughter. Not when it comes to a choice such as this. For I have seen the other side of the coin. I have seen what can happen when one ignores the dictates of his or her heart." At last, she sought his gaze. "If you truly wish for a life with her, who am I to counsel you against it? Follow your heart, Haldir, wherever it may lead."
Evening was drawing nigh by the time Annalyn returned from the stables. With her horse now tended to, all that was left was for her to wash up, meet Haldir and Ithriel for dinner, and rest before her journey began.
As Annalyn made her way across the terrace, she saw that Taerion was leaning against the counter in the kitchens, watching as some of the Elves prepared their evening meal.
Clad in a grey robe, the golden-haired Elf seemed rather subdued, even when he looked up and spotted her. His mouth curving in a cheerless expression, Taerion left the others to their culinary creations, and exited the kitchens.
"You look glum, my friend," Annalyn said as she waited for him. When he lowered his gaze, his boot absently brushing the cobbled stones, she made the connection and immediately felt bad. Of course. He does not know. He thinks I mean not to return.
He said, "I do not understand. You seem…" Taerion paused to choose his words. "All too joyful. Are you not saddened by the thought of leaving fair Lothlórien?" His chest rose on an audible sigh. "I, myself, am most unhappy at your leaving."
"Taerion." A small smile broke through. Placing a hand on his shoulder, she sought his eyes. "Our friendship will not end today, nor will it end tomorrow. I mean to return."
It was a moment before he could absorb the news. "You will return. Here in Lothlórien." He blinked, and kept staring at her, his sadness yielding to amazement. Now Taerion laughed and Annalyn yelped as he embraced her, twirling her about in unabashed joy.
"It pleases me to hear it, young one," he said and set her down. "Have you told the others?"
"Not yet."
"This must be remedied." Taerion made for the kitchens at once.
"Glirwen! Bestedir!" he called to the wedded pair who were likely washing the dishes in an adjacent room made to that effect. "Did you hear the news? Annalyn means to return to us."
Let the chatter begin. A shake of her head, then she laughed.
An instant later, Glirwen appeared, and was followed closely by her husband. "Is this true?" the baker asked with guarded hope.
"It is. Haldir and I…" Heat rose to her cheeks.
Her friend seemed happy for her, she noted. Yet as Glirwen came forth for a celebratory embrace, the warmth in her eyes could not fully erase her worry. A worry she saw mirrored on Bestedir's smiling face. Though not what she wished to see, Annalyn understood. Honestly, she couldn't blame them.
"Well." Annalyn eased away with a bashful smile. "Ithriel will be waiting for me. I suppose I should go get ready for dinner."
As her friends promised to meet her the following morning, so they might wish her safe travels, Annalyn watched as they entered the kitchens. She was nearly across the terrace, on her way to a much needed bath, when she heard someone say her name. Searching for whoever had spoken, she turned and halted in stunned puzzlement.
"Rúmil." Her mouth opened to form a question, but in the end Annalyn only stared, so taken aback was she. Was he waiting for me? At present, he was seated on a nearby bench, with one arm draped casually over the backrest, his legs crossed so the side of one foot was resting over his knee. Were it not for the fact that his lips were pressed together, one might have said he was simply lounging.
"Might we have a word?" he asked, in Westron no less.
Strangely enough, his use of the common tongue did not jar her as much as the tone he had used. Aside from this morning, the last time she had seen him, one sunny day at breakfast, Rúmil had been rather cool toward her, haughty even. Now, his eyes were mostly sad.
"Since when do you…" But her question hung there, for Rúmil had already gained his feet, and was now making for the great staircase in an invitation for her to follow.
Discomfited, Annalyn trailed after him all the way to his dwelling. Only once he had shut the door behind them did she venture her question. "Did I miss something? I thought you did not speak Westron."
"It is a fairly recent undertaking," he threw over his shoulder and crossed the room. "Ithriel has been teaching me for the past two years."
As Rúmil approached the dining table, Annalyn tried to make sense of this. Why would he keep this a secret? "Why hide it? Haldir does not even know."
"You might be surprised to learn this,"—he grabbed his cloak from where it was draped over a chair, and tossed it on a nearby lounging couch—"but Elves are not above pride and vanity."
Now this she knew. "You don't say."
It might have been amusement, or it might have been something else, but Rúmil chuckled at this. Yet the sadness in his eyes remained. "At any rate, I wished to master the language before I said anything. As for Ithriel and Orophin, I had them both sworn to secrecy. You see, it is my wish to become a scout like Haldir." His love and admiration for his brother could not be missed, but then it was the reason he had invited her up here. It was writ clear on his deceptively youthful face.
At Annalyn's silence, Rúmil swept his arm toward his small dining table, atop which lay a deck of cards and a set of playing dice. "Please, have a seat. Would you like some wine?"
Annalyn made to refuse, but Rúmil had already turned away and was making for a serving cart, presumably to fetch some glasses. Chewing her lip, she stepped further into the room, her gaze darting upon its many features.
Unlike the precise neatness of his brothers' dwellings, Rúmil's home was rather untidy. Not quite a pig-sty, but definitely lived in, in a pragmatic yet careless sort of way. His weapons, she noted, were lying on a low table in the lounging area, with a polishing cloth and a bottle of what might have been linseed oil set next to them.
Books there were—here and there—along with empty bottles of wine. In just one glance, Annalyn counted at least three of them. As for the overall layout of his home, the space was nearly identical to Haldir's dwelling. The only notable difference was a lack of a desk.
The sound of clinking glass reached her as she was sitting down. After setting both glasses on the table, Rúmil bent at the waist to grab a bottle of wine from a nearby crate. The cork popped. He was about to pour her a glass when he stopped himself. "On second thought…"
Puzzled, Annalyn watched as he sought another bottle—not from the crate, but from a proper cabinet. Once he had removed the cork, Rúmil angled the bottle over her glass. "Forgive me. My thoughts were elsewhere. This wine is a much better choice."
Annalyn eyed the other bottle, then nudged her chin toward the wooden crate. "What's wrong with those?"
"One might say they are rather potent. I would rather have you walking out of here on your own two feet, than having you stumble out onto those stairs in a drunken haze. Haldir would have my hide if harm were to come to you."
Once he had finished pouring, Rúmil set the bottle on the table, and sat down. Hand reaching for the stronger vintage, he filled his glass nearly to the brim. With their respective drinks in hand, the two exchanged measuring stares.
The early evening breeze rustled a curtain.
Annalyn sat up straight and spoke first. "You have never much cared for me; that much is abundantly clear. Yet you've invited me here, wishing to speak with me. Now unless this is some sort of game, then by all means, say what you wish to say." I do not have all evening, she wanted to add but somehow held her tongue.
In the ensuing pause, Rúmil downed nearly half of his glass, while hers remained untouched.
"Contrary to what you might believe," he said, "my problem lies not with you, but with my brother."
"With Haldir?"
He raised his chin. "You might not see it now, but I am doing you a kindness. I also wish to right a wrong."
"A wrong?" she stammered as disquiet pricked her ears.
"What do you know of our kindreds?" At her lingering confusion, Rúmil asked, "Lifespans aside, do you know how we differ?"
Annalyn wanted to say that she did, but except for the obvious—things like strength, stamina, keen senses, and the shape of their ears—she had nothing to offer. Stunned and humbled by this realisation, Annalyn merely sat there.
"It is true that we are both Children of Ilúvatar, but the chasm that separates us is wider than you can possibly imagine—for if you knew how it truly was with the Elves, you would not be with my brother."
Molten lead settled in her gut, heavy and stagnant, yet her defiant streak reared its head. "You do not know me. How can you presume to know what I would or wouldn't choose?"
"I do not know you as well as I should, that I will admit," Rúmil conceded. "But like my brother, I am a good judge of character. When you first strayed into these woods, you bore no ill will toward us. You could not know how your chance encounter would affect him in the end. No one did, not even Haldir," he added, and swirled his wine around. "But to be sure, you captured my brother's attention that day, in a way I have seldom seen. In the centuries I have served, do you know how many outsiders we have led across the River Celebrant?"
A nervous knot was tightening in her belly, yet Annalyn refused to squirm in her chair. "By your question, I will say not very many."
"None," he replied at once, then lowered his gaze. "Save for you."
She swallowed hard at that.
"We Elves have dwelt in Arda for long ages, far longer than the race of Men. When Ilúvatar created my kindred, he fashioned us in two part. The first part is our bodies. Rhaw it is named in Sindarin. Our flesh, our bones,"—now he raised a hand and gazed intently upon it—"they are made of the material of Arda. But the second part, our fae, what you would call a soul, comes from the Secret Fire of Ilúvatar."
"We, too, have bodies. We, too, have souls," Annalyn argued, not knowing what he was getting at.
"That is true. Yet you are merely visitors in Arda, here to experience it for a brief moment in time, before death releases you from its confines." As she absorbed his words, Rúmil echoed something Ithriel had once said, "Unlike us, you are free. You are meant to leave Arda, going where none of my kindred can follow."
"But you can be slain," she said, struggling to make sense of all this.
"It is so, but our spirits merely travel to the Halls of Mandos, somewhere to the west of Aman. There we linger in Waiting. Unless one is undeserving or chooses otherwise, we are reembodied after a time. Thus we endure, and will linger on until the breaking of the world. We are bound to Arda, Annalyn. You are not."
Her heart cracked, even as her mind grappled with what he was telling her.
"When Men die, it is said that their souls go to Mandos, in a part that is wholly separate from that which is reserved for the Elves. But they tarry not in that place. Rather, the souls of Men soon leave the circles of the world altogether. Where to, I have not the faintest. According to Galadriel, even the Valar do not know."
That meant, even if slain, Haldir would never join her soul in death. Instead, he would tarry here on this earth, in Mandos or elsewhere, until the world grew old and died.
"You and he…" Rúmil's breath trembled, then he whispered, "He is riding off a cliff, Annalyn."
Silence fell between them. As it lingered, she could scarcely draw breath, so anguished was she.
"Has he told you?" His voice had gentled, regret or pity suffusing his gaze. "Has he told you of elven marriages?"
When she failed to answer, Rúmil said, "If you bind yourself to him, do you know what will happen once you have gone?"
Tears veiled her sight, but somehow Annalyn kept her face neutral.
"Has he spoken of this?" Sighing, he stared bitterly at his drink. "Knowing my brother, I will wager that he has not. To spare you, no doubt."
Unable to gainsay his words, Annalyn sat there. "I… We…" Her heart had turned to rubble in her chest. Rúmil was right. They had not discussed it. Rather, she had made assumptions, had asked him to go on without her, to heal and find love again someday. Though he had made no reply, she had assumed he would at least try. Her mouth opened. "He has not spoken of it. I—"
"He will never recover."
Now she looked to him. Really looked, and saw that he was not exaggerating. He meant it. Still, she couldn't bring herself to believe it. "Surely in time—"
"Nay."
Annalyn's body trembled, her hands closing into fists as she stared into nothing.
"He will rage and he will grieve, but Elves mate for life. There will be no other."
Something warm trickled onto her cheek—a single tear. Annalyn wiped furiously at it, then the chair legs scraped the floor as she rose.
"I do not say this to inflict pain." Rúmil spoke with genuine regret. "Only I thought you deserved to know. Forever is a long time to grieve."
As the world fell to pieces beneath her feet, Annalyn whirled away from him. Arms wrapped around herself, she then wandered the room for a moment.
This couldn't be…
No!
Honestly, a spear to the heart would have been less painful than this.
"If you do not believe my words, then go to him. Go to him and look into his eyes." Now she met his gaze. Through gathering tears, she saw his chin dip downward. Quietly, he said, "Ask him. He will not lie to you."
"I will." Anger laced her words. I will ask him and he will say it is a lie. Rúmil is lying. He has to be! And yet, in a tiny corner of her ruined heart, Annalyn knew that he was telling the truth.
"Here." Now he rose, her wine bottle in hand. "I suspect you will need this later." Silent footsteps carried him over. Rúmil held out the wine. A peace offering, or one of consolation. Not that anything could lessen the pain she felt. He spoke in a murmur. "It is not too late for him." You can still save my brother, his eyes seemed to plead.
Annalyn stood to full height, her vision blurred by a fresh surge of tears. Suddenly and without a word, she grabbed the bottle and left.
