So turns out I'm a big fat liar lol. When I posted chapter 58, I thought it'd be my final update of 2019, and yet here I am, posting chapter 59. All told, it's a fairly simple chapter, not very long. But here it is anyway. I hope it reads okay.
Though I'm hoping to post chapter 60 sometime next week or the week after, it's nothing more than a messy and disjointed draft at this point. And I need to do a bit of research for it, too. I do love a challenge, though. For me, it's the best part of writing.
Anyway, I hope you are all doing well.
Once again, I would like to thank all my readers and reviewers.
durinsdaughter2469btw, fantasticferret, DarkLordofMemes, WickedGreene13, silentmayhem, Blue1258, Hexzhana, KathrannofQuade, Ruiniel, FriendlyNeighborhoodHufflepuff, Raider-K, and starrat. Thanks for commenting on chapter 58! I really appreciate it.
CHAPTER LIX
SOUTHWARD AND AWAY
The journey south began in utter silence.
As Annalyn and Ninael took to the woods south of Caras Galadhon, their horses plodding quietly beneath them, the rain returned, then persisted all throughout that first day. Like most precipitation in the Golden Wood, it fell not in sheets, but in a soft whispering mist.
The trees and plants no doubt appreciated it. Annalyn, however, only felt cold, her clothing dampened by the droplets that had long seeped through her cloak, that she had draped over her blue overcoat. To ward off the chill, she could have downed some warming cordial, but figuring it would be much colder outside the elven woods, Annalyn decided to save the miracle drink for the coming days.
Glancing at her companion, it was clear Ninael was unbothered by the rain—but then that was usually the way with Elves. If anything, her friend seemed to enjoy precipitation. Her face raised to the sky, the Elf swayed in the saddle, sighing as she soaked it all in.
Her mood as grey as the skies above, Annalyn envied her companion's serenity, her ability to enjoy the little things. Her features shadowed by her hood, Annalyn wondered about her own healing. Will I ever feel joy again? Somewhere down the line, she likely would—that was the nature of the human spirit, after all. But right now, she couldn't imagine such a thing. The pain was all-encompassing, and still too near.
As the cold light of day waned into a gloomy evening, she guided her horse around a knot of tree roots, then swept a gaze on the passing canopy above. Doubtless there were sentinels nearby—Erynion's soldiers—but she had neither seen nor heard anything today. It was likely Ninael knew exactly where they were. Perhaps she could even see and hear them.
With a full day of riding now behind them, the two drew rein in a semi-sheltered spot beneath a towering mallorn. At first, Annalyn thought they would pitch the tent Haldir had provided for them, but scarcely had she dismounted than a clear voice reached her from above.
"I see you are both well-supplied, but the ground is rather sodden this night."
Somewhat startled, Annalyn looked up and recognized him at once.
Erynion.
Hooded and cloaked, he beheld them from one of the mallorn's lower limbs. "Do not linger in the rain. Come now and rest. We have food and drink aplenty. Surely, you would prefer the warm comfort of a flet as opposed to making camp upon the ground." Without waiting for a reply, the Marchwarden nodded to an unseen sentinel. Before Annalyn could blink, a rope ladder unfurled not five feet away from her.
"Please, join us," Erynion said before vanishing up into the tree.
To say that Annalyn was taken aback would have been an understatement. Her mouth slightly agape, she looked at Ninael who had already dismounted.
Up we go, I suppose.
Once the horses had been given water and oats, Ninael addressed the gentle creatures in Sindarin, telling them not to wander off. To Annalyn she said, "You have never been on a hidden flet before. You are in for a treat, then."
While Annalyn chose not to reply, Ninael's assumption was only partly right. She had been on a hidden flet before, just not out in the wild woods. With her satchel slung over her shoulder, Annalyn removed her riding gloves and tucked them into a hidden pocket inside her cloak. As she started up the ladder, she tried not to think of the other night, when she and Haldir had spent those amazing hours on his hidden talan. But of course, trying not to think of it only achieved the exact opposite.
Even now, she recalled the rousing gentleness of his touch, those warm kisses, and the question that had stolen the very air from her lungs. "Marry me?" So many hopes. So many dreams. Gone now, discarded because it was the sane thing to do.
Grasping one rung then another, Annalyn dared a glance overhead. The ladder seemed to go on and on, the sight sparking another memory.
"You can do this, meleth nîn." Haldir's words remained with her even now. In her mind's eye, she saw them as they had been, the two of them descending from his hidden talan, his feet a rung or two below hers, his hands covering her own as he matched her cautious pace and spoke by her ear.
Knowing she would never hear those words again, spoken in his deep and honeyed voice, filled her with such heartache, she had to halt for a moment. At length, when she had gathered herself enough to school her features, Annalyn climbed the ladder until the flet came into view.
It was similar in shape to the one Haldir had built, but it was much larger. Looking around, she gauged it to be roughly the same breadth as the average elven dwelling. What's more, there were many more platforms in the neighbouring trees, with quiet figures sitting beneath water-repellent screens. Some of them were enjoying their evening meal, others were maintaining their weapons. All of them were staring, their curious features lit by the silver lamps that were strewn in discreet locations here and there.
As she lingered near the top of the ladder, with only her head and shoulders protruding from the round opening, Erynion towered before her, but held out his hand. Accepting his help, she grasped his strong fingers and climbed the rest of the way.
"Welcome," he said, bowing as he drew back his hood, revealing russet warrior braids.
As Ninael came up behind her, Annalyn bowed in turn, then her companion did the same.
"It is long since you visited the southern patrols," Erynion said to the sable-haired soldier.
"What can I say, I am a soldier of the North." Loyal to Haldir, her eyes seemed to say.
Nevertheless, there was much respect in her tone, for Ninael was a dutiful member of the Galadhrim, and Erynion outranked her.
"I hear you have a long journey ahead. Please, settle in and rest. You are amongst friends this night."
Unlike the first time she had traversed these woods—when Annalyn and her kin had been little more than trespassers to the Elves—this was quite the change. She never expected Erynion to be so… welcoming.
Recalling how the Elves had watched him with admiration during the procession at the Midwinter feast, Annalyn knew he would possess honourable qualities. His rivalry with Haldir wouldn't necessarily spill elsewhere. No, from what she now knew, the underlying tensions with his counterpart were rooted in history. Amroth's decision to break the forest into two parts, though wise, had diminished his area of command. Surely, it had been a blow to his pride. And Elves were prideful, with long memories.
As she and Ninael sat beneath a wide, slanted screen, Annalyn kept staring at her surroundings. In truth, it was strange being up here, amongst soldiers who did not serve under Haldir. Indeed, Erynion was the Marchwarden here, and though she had often felt uncertain around him, he proved rather gracious.
As promised, it wasn't long before food and drink were set before them. The fare of the Galadhrim was simple but flavourful. Nuts and fruit and sections of bread. Not lembas—though surely they had stores of it amid their provisions—but actual bread, similar to the kind her mother used to make.
The warming cordial tasted the same as she remembered. Strong and soothing as it slid down her throat, then pleasantly warm as it settled in her stomach, lulling her entire being with radiating heat.
Erynion not only stayed with them throughout their meal, but he also partook in it.
Given his duties, however, he did not linger overlong, which suited Annalyn's mood, if she was honest. With a long and tiring day behind her, she and Ninael soon settled in for the night. While her elven companion seemed content to sit cross-legged, in the sodden cloak she had worn all day, Annalyn opted for dry warmth.
While her cloak and overcoat were fairly soaked, her grey tunic and breeches were only slightly damp. It wouldn't take too long for them to dry.
Having removed her baldric and sword-belt, Annalyn draped her cloak and overcoat on a sheltered branch before making her way to the bed of furs that had been set up for her. There, she removed her boots so they, too, could dry. Doing so, Annalyn sought the hidden dagger in her boot, and set it aside.
Forged by Haldir, it was even more beautiful to her eyes than any other weapons of the Galadhrim. Although she had debated wether or not to keep it, the dagger had been a gift. He had wanted her to have it. To leave it behind like some unwanted trinket would have been greatly insulting to Haldir. This she knew. And so, for that reason, Annalyn had chosen to keep it, and would treasure it, always.
Thinking it would be best to put it away for now, Annalyn opened her pack, only to pause and stare in silence. For there, secreted amongst her things was an embroidered cloth that had been carefully wrapped over something. Baffled, she loosened the golden ribbon that held it closed, and beheld the beautiful item inside.
Her lip trembled, and tears stung her eyes.
It was an ornamental hair comb, the one that had caught her eye when Haldir had taken her on her first stroll through the market. But how did he know? She hadn't said anything, had only glanced at it for a beat longer than the others.
As she held it before her, the leaf-shaped comb gleamed in her hand. Silver and perfect, it winked in the light of a nearby lamp as she turned it over.
When her breath hitched, Annalyn feared Ninael would hear. Oh who was she kidding. The Elf most likely had. Desperate to hide her turmoil, she promptly blinked her tears away, smothered her pain, and wrapped the item before placing it in her satchel again.
Annalyn stared long into the rain that night. Lying on her side between the furs, she traced an absent finger on the wooden platform. Though it was difficult to gauge, she guessed she was facing north. And in the event that she wasn't, Annalyn pretended that she was.
Knowing him as she did, Haldir would be on the fences right now—or at the very least he would be halfway there. Like her, perhaps he was hiding from the rain, on a flet much like this one. And while his eyes would likely be directed westward, toward the many threats that loomed beyond the northern border, perhaps his thoughts would turn south. Perhaps, even now, he was thinking of her.
The wretched part of her hoped that he was. The rest of her wished he wouldn't. I hurt him.
After all the quiet and joyful moments spent by his side, it seemed cruel that her last memory of him was seeing the pain in his eyes. Pain she had caused—though his lie of omission had hurt her, too. If there was a magic spell capable of erasing one's memory, she would have done anything to learn and master it, to remove herself from his heart and mind, if only to spare him. If only he had never met me.
Closing her eyes in hopes that sleep would claim her, Annalyn sent her thoughts to him.
Heal and find joy, Haldir. Forget all about me. As visions of war besieged her, she tried to calm her fretful heart. Be mindful when the times comes. Be safe.
Long hours passed. Thankfully, for a mercy, sleep found her in the end. When she awoke the following morning, the rain had ceased. As expected, Ninael was still there, sitting in the exact same spot as the night before. After readying their things, and giving their thanks to Erynion, the two set out.
Same as the day prior, when she had willed herself to pass through those gates, leaving Caras Galadhon forever, Annalyn hardened her heart against all that she felt.
I am Annalyn, she thought as she climbed in the saddle. Daughter of Éadmód. Niece to Feran. Cousin to Aldin. Her eyes trained southward, she sat to full height, and spurred Cobalt into a walk. I am from Rohan, the Westfold. That is where I belong. On the green fields beside the White Mountains. In the village of my youth. And should my feet wander the world again someday, to explore for a while or simply be, that is where I shall return at journey's end, when I am too old to go on.
This, she repeated countless times that day, slowly gathering strength from each declaration as she rode southward and away.
