To those who are still reading this, your continued interest heartens and humbles me. 1000x thank you.

What to expect going forward...

Inspired by both the books and the movies, this story will contain events or elements that you might recognize. That said, many details will differ—some by mistake, other purposely—and the timeline doesn't quite line up. Also, this is fanfiction, so I did indulge my creative whims a bit. This tale should be considered Alternate Universe. Oh, and in case you're wondering, this won't turn into a 10th walker story.

To those who left reviews on chapter 58: silentmayhem, durinsdaughter2469btw, leward1992, Allana Winchester, Raider-K, Blue1258, princessnerra, Rogue's Queen, ladyville, Ruiniel, TheRadiantFire, leelee202, Cricklewood16, and starrat. Thank you!

Now the story enters its second arc. Like the Lord of the Rings books, I divided the story into sections, named Book One and Book Two (whether there will be more sections later remains to be seen). But unlike the novels, the chapters will continue in rising numerical order, meaning that Book Two begins at chapter 60, and will keep going from there.

Sidenote: if this story had a soundtrack, the song for this chapter would be Weightless by Black Lab.


BOOK TWO

CHAPTER LX

THE HORSE PLAINS

The Riddermark.

It was nearly three months to the day since Annalyn and her kin had crossed the Limlight, leaving their homeland for what would be their final journey together.

Now she returned to Rohan without her uncle and cousin. Though, thankfully, she was not alone. Bearing her grief behind a blank expression, Annalyn drew rein upon reaching the crystal-clear river that marked the northern border. In a soft thumping of hooves, her elven companion rode up and halted by her left flank.

While Annalyn had initially resisted the idea of having an armed escort, Ninael's company had been a great comfort since the two had set out from Caras Galadhon, three and a half days ago. As the two considered the landscape ahead, their horses stamping beneath them, they saw no sign of movement, only endless grass.

Beyond the flowing waters of the Limlight was the vast expanse known as the Wold. Due to a rise in Orc-raids, it was long since people had dwelt in the northern part of Rohan. At present, a vibrant sun shone upon the tall stalks of grass, making the area seem safer than it actually was.

"This is it, Cobalt." Annalyn patted the animal's proud neck, her hand brushing his braided mane. "The Mark. Twenty or so days and we'll be home." Normally, the idea would have filled her with joy, but this time her heart just wasn't in it. Not after all she had lost these past few months.

"It is long since I have journeyed hither," Ninael said as they lingered by the river's edge. "The plain is much quieter than it was of old."

Saddened by the rising evil in the world, Annalyn concurred with a nod, then jerked her chin to the right. "Come, we should be able to cross a little ways that way."

Eyeing the sparkling current, the two soon came upon a section of river that was shallow enough to traverse on horseback.

Having shed her cloak earlier that day, Annalyn inhaled the southerly breeze as she made the crossing. In contrast to the northern climes of Rhovanion, winters were always warmer in Rohan, making it feel like spring had arrived early. At present, the air smelled mostly of sweet grass, with the barest hint of salt from the distant sea.

After refilling their waterskins, the companions climbed in their saddles again. As they started across the plain, a dark forest lay to the west of them, far enough that it was but a shadow under the eastern slopes of the Misty Mountains. Amongst Annalyn's people, the ancient forest was sometimes known as Entwood. She, herself, had always called it Fangorn.

The piercing blue sky was cloudless all throughout that day. When they finally stopped for an overnight rest, a canvas of stars sparkled overhead, lending a subdued glow to the night-clad meads of Rohan. Since the air remained relatively mild, Annalyn decided to forgo the tent. Given the openness of the terrain, the companions opted for prudence and went without a fire, too.

Seated to her right, Ninael broke two bite-sized sections of lembas, and handed one over. Though her posture was relaxed, Annalyn knew the Elf was watching their surroundings. Alert and vigilant, she had the eyesight of a hawk, maybe even that of an owl. Given where they were, and the times they were living in, the keenness of her senses was reassuring.

"So still," Ninael commented as she gazed southward, her sable hair hidden by her hood. "When last I stood in the Wold, nomadic men used these lands to graze cattle. It grieves me to know they have gone, and that their descendants do not feel safe enough to return, lest they fall prey to Orcs."

"It is disconcerting. I hate what lurks out there." Annalyn popped her morsel of waybread into her mouth, chewing and swallowing before she said, "Sometimes, I wish I knew the future. For here we stand upon the brink, holding our collective breaths, waiting for this great evil to be unleashed, wondering where the hammer stroke will fall." Hesitating on her next words, she absently dragged the heel of her boot over the grass. "Does it frighten you as much as it frightens me?" However truthful, it made her feel small to admit such a thing.

"I am frightened at times," Ninael allowed. "I shudder to think of the armies we will soon face. If I was capable of such a feat, I would gladly rid these lands of Orcs, for they are a stain upon this earth, a mockery of the Children of Ilúvatar. They should never have come into being. Curse Morgoth and his foul and spiteful craft."

"Morgoth," Annalyn echoed, recalling the name. "Haldir once mentioned him. He was a Dark Lord, was he not? Like Sauron?"

"Oh, he was far worse than Sauron, greater in both might and malice."

As Annalyn waited in question, Ninael explained that he was once counted among the Powers of the world. "A Vala he was, and from the dawn of time, he clashed with the others, oft destroying what they made. Driven by shame and a lust for chaos, he corrupted many of the Maiar, including Sauron. Later, he sowed discord among the Elves. It is said that he waged five great wars against the Valar until, ultimately, he was driven from the Spheres of the World. Now, he dwells in the Void." Wrapping the remaining lembas in a mallorn leaf, she heaved a pensive sigh. "The Elves say that he is at the root of all that is wrong with the world. Arda was marred not only by his hand, but by the wars that he caused."

"When you said 'foul craft', do you mean to say he created the Orcs?"

"Morgoth was unable to create life. But twist it? That he could do, and did." The soldier stared hard at the horizon. "His was an act of blasphemy, the greatest ever committed against Eru Ilúvatar. In the First Age of the Stars, he sent his forces to Cuiviénen to capture newly risen Elves. Taking them to his dungeons, in the deepest Pits of Utumno, Morgoth used foul craft and hideous acts of torture to achieve his aim, twisting the Firstborn Children into this ruined and terrible form of life. That is how it happened. That is how the Orcs first came into being." Her delicate jaw flexed as she gritted her teeth. "I abhor them. All the Elves do."

Falling silent, Ninael turned her attention to the south-western skies. Little by little, the hardness in her features softened into a wistful smile, the expression reminding Annalyn of Haldir—for he, too, tended to stare at the sky at night, finding solace as he looked in much the same direction as Ninael was now. Having never asked, she wondered why that was, what he had been staring at, and what he had been thinking of. As if sensing her question, the elleth beside her said, "The Star of Eärendil. It is our most beloved star."

"Is it the bright one over yonder?"

Ninael looked to where she was pointing, and nodded. "At night, when all is quiet on the fences, the soldiers in our garrison can oft be found staring at it. For my part, I find it calming."

Enveloped by the sound of whispering grass, Annalyn drank in the sight of that particular star, hoping it would soothe her, too. The brightest in the sky, it blinked not like other stars. Rather, its light was pure and unchanging, holding her gaze as her thoughts went to a certain Marchwarden.

Is he on the fences this night? Are we both staring at the same star?

It had been but a few days since she had last seen him—parting ways for the very last time, without a proper goodbye—and yet it felt like an eternity. Will I ever stop missing him?

The answer to that question was already known to her; she never would. Her heart—her very soul—cried out for him even now.

"I am not like Ithriel. I am not..." Ninael searched for the word. "I am not… accustomed to speaking of such things. But… how are you faring? Truly."

Grateful for the proverbial shoulder to lean on, Annalyn gave it some thought. "I'm as well as can be expected. I fret for him. I ache for him. He is in my thoughts, always."

"Love will do that, I suppose."

Hoping to offset some of what she was feeling, Annalyn eyed her friend for a moment, her curiosity coming to the fore. "What of you?" A smirk now tugged at her mouth.

Ninael arched a brow. "What of me?"

"I have eyes, you know. I saw much on Midwinter night. Celegon," she fished at last, recalling the flaxen-haired Elf with whom Ninael had spent the majority of the night.

"I serve with him," the soldier answered nonchalantly. "He is an idiot." A sidestep, though the warmth in her eyes could not be missed.

"But you two are close." Now Annalyn was grinning. "You like him."

Ninael's discomfiture was endearing. As was her shrug when her mouth curved in a crooked smile. "Even idiots need friends."

Friends, right.

Sharing hushed laughter, the two bid each other good night.

Later, as she lay between thick furs, Annalyn found she kept looking westward, at the Star of Eärendil. Perhaps, if she stared at it long enough, she would draw strength from it. That was her hope anyway.

Ninael, for her part, had long since gained her feet, and was now ambling through the grass, her eyes directed outward as a haunting melody tumbled from her lips, reaching Annalyn even from afar.

Fanuilos heryn aglar

Rîn athar annún-aearath

Calad ammen i reniar

Mi 'aladhremmin ennorath!

The hymn to Elbereth, the Lady of the Stars. As the now-familiar words carried her back to those peaceful nights in the Naith of Lórien, Annalyn allowed her eyes to close. Her mind swimming with images of fireflies and golden leaves and dark blue eyes fringed with midnight lashes, she drifted closer and closer to slumber, her limbs growing slack as merciful dreams claimed her at last.


A gibbous moon could be seen through the open-air window, lending a cool glow to the empty bedroom with its smooth wooden floors and its four-poster bed.

Lost in thought, Ithriel lingered by the threshold, her hand resting on the doorframe as she listened to the fluttering leaves by the billowing curtains.

What a fortnight this has been, she thought on a drawn-out sigh. Indeed, fourteen days had passed since her friend had left the city for her homeland. Unless Annalyn and Ninael had encountered trouble along the way, they would undoubtedly be nearing the Entwash by now, though it would be several more days until they reached Annalyn's village. Wherever they were tonight, Ithriel hoped with all her heart that they were safe.

"I thought you would have joined me by now." Orophin's mumured words startled her from her musings, but as warm hands glided around her waist, coming to rest above and below her navel, Ithriel felt herself relax. Leaning back into her husband, she drew a contented breath, her eyes drifting shut as he kissed her shoulder, saying, "It has been many years since I found you standing here, borne upon regretful thoughts."

He spoke truly. It was long since she had stood outside their spare bedroom, longing for what they had both wanted and tried so hard for, to no avail.

When Rúmil had left the family home, two decades following his parents' deaths, Ithriel and Orophin had hoped to welcome a child of their own into this world. Situated near to their own bedroom, Rúmil's old room would have made the perfect nursery. But centuries of trying had passed, and though she and Orophin had both willed for seed to take hold, Ithriel's womb remained empty.

That in itself was not unusual, for elven births were few and far between—it had always been so and forever would be. But deep in her heart, Ithriel knew something was amiss, that her inability to beget a child might be due to the darkening of the world.

After all, her body was made of the stuff of Arda. And as evil grew in reach and power, tainting the world, the bodies of her kindred weakened and grew weary. It was a slow and barely noticeable process, but it had already begun. Ithriel knew it to be true.

"It has been a long day," she told her husband, her features softening in a fleeting smile as he nuzzled the side of her neck. "But tonight, I dwell not on the child we never had, but on my dearest friend who is now lost to me."

"You two were quite close." Orophin rested his chin upon her shoulder, the circle of his arms strong and soothing as he waited for her to say more.

"Annalyn is kind. I miss her." We would have been sisters, she mused and covered her husband's hands as they rested on her belly. Even now, Ithriel recalled the late-night conversation she'd had with Annalyn on the eve of her leaving.

"I lied to him," her friend had told her, grief suffusing every word. "I lied to him. He deserved and expected the truth and I looked him in the eye and I lied to him."

Because she could not bear his eventual pain, Annalyn had lied by saying she could never be happy in Caras Galadhon, that all Haldir could give her was a life of guilt.

Sworn to secrecy, Ithriel had not spoken of this to anyone. Not even Orophin. "I wish she wouldn't have left in the manner that she did. Oh how they must both be hurting. You saw him out on the fences. How is he?"

Easing away, Orophin grasped her hand, and led her toward their own bedroom. Tonight, he wore a sea-green tunic—a favourite of hers. And he had left his hair unbound. "You know my brother. Stoic and dour, he hides behind his mantle. The work of a Marchwarden is never done, and he keeps himself occupied." A silent beat went by as they walked onwards. "He hardly ever sleeps, and when he does, he sits not but walks to and fro. Never have I seen him so, not even after Nethrien. You would know if you saw him. He is restless. Clearly, he misses Annalyn, and seems utterly lost without her."

"You don't think…" But Ithriel stopped herself, for she couldn't even utter the thought. Does his love for Annalyn run deeper than we know? Fear gripped her, and her heart went out to Haldir. Nay, it cannot be. It would be entirely too cruel.

"Are you going to finish that thought? Or must I guess?"

Her eyes were rounded now. "Do you think it is more than simple heartache? Could it be that… Oh Orophin, do you think his fae has chosen?" The notion was too terrible to contemplate. If such was the case, Annalyn's leaving would be but a needless sacrifice, a tragic waste. A life of happiness—however brief for him—denied to them both, for naught.

The same realisation crossed Orophin's features, until he willed his fears away. With a quick shake of his head, he swallowed hard, and sought to reassure her. "We do not know if this is true. We are both merely guessing."

"But what if it is?" she pleaded as her hand flew to her mouth.

"There is no sense in fretting now. I will speak to Haldir once I return to the marches. I shall ask him. And if he answers not, his eyes will not lie to me. They never could."

But what if her suspicions proved true? What then? "Rúmil will never forgive himself," she found herself saying. If this was more than mere love, if Haldir had found his fated mate, he would grieve her passing as strongly as a widowed husband would grieve the loss of his wife.

In the privacy of their bedroom, Orophin sat on the edge of their bed, holding to her hand as he guided her to stand between his legs. When he looked up into her eyes, his features were more regretful than she had seen in a very long time. "Again, we do not know if this is true. We cannot leap to conclusions on this."

"Of course, you're right. My thoughts are racing ahead of me. Speaking of Rúmil, have you seen him?"

"I saw him but once since he returned to duty." His features fell along with the volume of his voice. "He has joined another patrol."

She gasped. "He has?"

"I think Rúmil did it so Haldir wouldn't have to see him each day. He grieves as well, knowing that by meddling in matters he probably shouldn't, he has likely damaged their bond as brothers. I understand why he did it. In his heart, Rúmil was looking out for Haldir. Only, I wished he hadn't. It is such a mess, Ithriel. Never have we been so fractured."

"They both have you," she encouraged.

The corner of his mouth curved into a dim smile. "They do. And I will gladly serve as the thread that keeps us somewhat anchored together. But will it be enough? I do not know."

"Time," Ithriel breathed with conviction. But was she lying to herself? "Time will mend their bond. They are brothers."

"Yes, but Rúmil has cost him the love of his life. You know it as well as I. Haldir loved her more than anyone he has ever cared for."

Tears filled her sight. When they finally spilled, Orophin reached up to wipe them away. Taking hold of her hand, he then guided her to sit upon his lap. His embrace was a balm, and as they both fell into a long silence, Ithriel returned it with gratitude in her heart.


Annalyn opened her eyes to the sight of starlit grass, slender stalks swaying and hissing in the night breeze. Curled up on her side, her cheek pressed against a velvet cushion, she slowly became aware of her surroundings.

Wait…

She was lying on a bed of some kind. No, a couch rather, set in the middle of what looked to be the Horse Plains. Using her palm for leverage, Annalyn rose on her forearm, and saw a gauzy section of curtain, swaying lazily to her right. Disoriented, she looked up to see what the fabric was attached to, only to find that there was no curtain rod, nor was there a ceiling. Rather, the upper edges of the fabric faded into transparency before a vault of stars.

Peering beyond the curtain, Annalyn descried a stone column of some kind, similar to the ones found on elven homes and structures. Only it wasn't quite solid; she could see through it.

As the impossibility of her surroundings became evident, Annalyn surmised that she was dreaming.

I must be.

A rustling sound netted her attention just then, making her look skyward. There, several feet above her head, were silver branches with golden leaves dancing at the ends. A glimpse of Caras Galadhon, she realised, amid a never-ending expanse of tall, windswept grass. Rohan and the Golden Wood combined.

Rising further, Annalyn swung her legs off the edge of the couch, but stopped midway through the movement. She wasn't alone. She sensed a gaze on her. Slowly expelling the air from her lungs, she turned, already knowing what, or rather who, she would see.

As startling as it was, Haldir was sitting on the opposing edge of the lounging couch, his eyes kind as ever, his mouth curved into a warm, if melancholic, smile. His garb was simple, a linen tunic twinned with grey leggings. As for her own attire, Annalyn was clad in her new riding clothes, sans the sleeveless overcoat.

"Haldir." The surprise in her voice surely matched that of her eyes. Angling her body toward him, she asked what he was doing here.

At first, he did not answer. Instead, Haldir looked to his feet, a look of guilt upon his face. "Like you, I found myself here quite by accident," he explained before meeting her gaze.

"We are both asleep," she guessed, and sensed the truth of it. It was him. He was really here, sharing her dream.

"I suppose we are."

As their visual connection held, a lingering silence descended upon them.

In the end, it was Annalyn who severed the stillness, her palms rising to rub the nervous shivers from her arms. "You weren't at the gates. When I left, you didn't say goodbye."

"I could not," was his reply, delivered as he frowned and looked away. "I could not say goodbye to you. Even now, I am unable to." Elbows coming to rest on his thighs, he sat forward and linked his fingers between his knees. "I should not even be here. If I was wise, I would go. I should have awoken as soon as I beheld you… instead I linger." Haldir shook his head in self-reproach, his silver-blond hair swaying with the movement.

From this, Annalyn gathered that sleep was a conscious choice for the Elves. And if such was the case, if he was dreaming with her now, it was because he was allowing himself to.

Not knowing how to respond to that, she shifted so as to face him fully.

At length, it was he who broke the silence. "When you said I wasn't at the gates." A pause ensued. "You were mistaken. I was there. Hiding in the tree that drew your eyes before you rode away." Haldir shook his head again, his voice lowering to a self-directed whisper. "Such a craven."

"I disagree. You are no craven. Of course, I wish you had come to me, but I understand why you could not. I might have done the same had our places been reversed."

Seemingly eager to change the subject, Haldir looked sidelong at her. "You seem well," he observed. "I trust you and Ninael are managing well out there?"

"We have avoided trouble thus far, so I suppose we are."

"Good. That's…" Haldir pinched the bridge of his nose, then rubbed his eyes. Weary he seemed, and lonely. It tore at her chest. "I am heartened to hear it," he finished at last, his smile weak but sincere.

"What of you?" Annalyn asked in turn.

This time, his answer was slow in coming. "Annalyn," he seemed to warn. His brows were knitted together, his irises hidden beneath his eyelids. Despite his obvious attempt at concealing it, Haldir was hurting. Deeply.

It was foolish and impulsive, but Annalyn found herself moving toward him. Gathering her legs on the couch, she came to sit on her knees. Before she could talk herself out of it, she touched his arm with one hand, while the other sought the side of his face. Only then did he meet her eyes.

Mistake.

Who moved first, Annalyn could not say. In an instant, she was in his arms, seeking and returning a closeness that went against her recent decision to end what they had. You are selfish, Annalyn. How could he heal and move on if she allowed and encouraged such intimacy?

And I touched him first, she blamed herself, but was unable to pull away. Oh, how she had missed being in his arms.

While this was but a dream, his scent was unchanged, the feel of his body as strong and bracing as she remembered. His proximity was soothing to the extreme, and so very needed.

"Firiel," he breathed against her hair.

At this point, her cheek was pressed against his neck, her nose buried in his hair. As tears stung her eyes, Annalyn clutched the fabric of his tunic, and nuzzled his ear.

His breath ghosting against her temple, Haldir started to ease away. But then, giving in, he turned his face just so, his nose and lips skimming her cheek, inching closer to her mouth. He trembled.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured as his fingers sank into her hair, cupping the back of her head so he could guide her lips toward his. "Push me away." His was a quiet plea. "For the love of Eru, push me away."

But Annalyn had not the strength to do so. In tears, she wept against his mouth, and shook her head. So weak, she admonished herself, you are a wretch for putting him through this. Still, she did not discourage him, nor did she pull away. She couldn't.

One moment, his lower lip grazed against hers, tentative and feather-light, and the next he was kissing her. Hot, demanding lips capturing hers as an agonised moan rose in his throat.

Whimpering in answer, Annalyn fisted his tunic and pulled him even closer. Having lost the ability to think, she soon ceded to her instincts. Desire burned within her, overtaking and lessening her grief for this single moment in time. She might regret it upon waking, but Annalyn was desperate to dull both their pain. Therefore she held on.

"I know this changes nothing," Haldir whispered between kisses, his words filled with love and distress. "You have made your decision. But if dreams are all we have left…" He was breathing hard now, his hands roving and clutching. "Annalyn, if you do not wish for this, tell me at once, and I will stop."

Discarding this one chance at reason, she reached for his hips. The hem of his tunic was now bunched in her rising hands. Up she tugged, until Haldir pulled back to help her along. In a rapid motion, his arms crossed before his abdomen; then they were rising, divesting him of the garment.

Innately, Annalyn understood that to wed an Elf, she had to physically join with him. As crazy and ill-advised as all of this seemed, this was but a dream, and the rules did not apply here.

"I desire this. I need you," she gasped as he returned the favour.

With a masculine groan, Haldir removed her tunic, and promptly tossed it aside. Her white undershirt was nothing more than a shift that she had shortened and hemmed. Thin and light, it wouldn't conceal much.

His naked chest rising and falling with his laboured breaths, Haldir beheld her for a moment. His eyes had darkened, his perfect teeth just visible between his parted lips. He was beguiled, lost to the sudden fire that had kindled between them.

Faring no better than he, Annalyn touched his muscled chest, exploring as one who is caught in a trance.

His mouth was on hers again, his hands guiding her toward the slanted backrest behind her. Once she was lying down, his fingers made easy work of the laces lining the front of her breeches. When he pulled at the garment, revealing her hipbones, Annalyn thought her racing heart might burst from her heaving chest.

Clad in nothing but her underthings, she lifted her head, and watched as he lowered her breeches past her knees, toward her ankles. Another tug or two and the garment came right off.

Desperate to feel him against her, Annalyn reached for him as he crawled his way back to her. "Firiel," he said again, his hands working on his leggings, loosening the laces as she watched and panted.

"Haldi—"

"Annalyn." A whisper, spoken in the wrong voice. "Annalyn," Ninael said again, alertness edging her name.

Coming to full awakeness, Annalyn rubbed her eyes and sat up. "What is it?"

The soldier towered over her, her gaze fixed toward the east. "Something moves in the distance. A large group."

"Could it be an Éored?" One of the many divisions of the Rohirrim, fully armed and trained for war.

But Ninael was shaking her head. "These are not Men."

"Orcs, then?"

The soldier confirmed it with a grim look. "They are travelling this way."

Annalyn's blood turned cold, memories of a tragic night surfacing in her mind. Grasping her bed of furs, she rose at once. "How many?"

"Thirty-six. If we leave now, I do not believe they will see us."

"Then let us go."

The two wasted no time in packing their belongings. Moments later, they were underway.

"It appears we passed unnoticed. They are veering southward," Ninael pronounced at length, looking over her shoulder. Though it was likely safe enough to stop, they thought it best to keep going. Morning was drawing nigh anyway.

As darkness surrendered to the light of dawn, revealing the approaching fens of Entwash Vale, Annalyn couldn't help but think of the dream she'd had. The dream she had shared with Haldir. Perhaps it was folly, a lack of judgement on her part, but Annalyn could not put it out of her head. The unexpected passion they had shared... The line they had nearly crossed...

The images and sensations were now engraved in her mind. Whether she would dream of him again remained to be seen, but in a selfish corner of her heart, Annalyn was hoping that she would.

But if one dream turned into two then three, what then? Instead of a clean break, their parting would become this jagged wound. One that could reopen with every subsequent dream. Would she be able to bear it? Would he? Was it wrong? Was it wise?

Though she gave no outward indication of it, Annalyn was a mess.

And yet, even as these questions warred within her mind, the majority of her thoughts were occupied by visions of her love, shirtless and panting, watching her with absolute reverence in his eyes.


(***UPDATE, January 17th 2020: Hey, everyone! Chapter 61 isn't finished yet, but I want you all to know that I'm working on it. Last week was pretty busy, and I had some medical stuff to deal with, so my progress was slower than usual. I did manage to write some of it, however. This weekend, I plan on writing a lot more. I'd love to update by next week if all goes well. *fingers crossed* In the future, if ever you notice that it's taking longer for me to update, you can always scroll to the bottom of the last chapter. That's where I'll write my progress reports. Anyway, I hope you are all doing well. Thanks for your patience. I really want to hit the right notes with the next part. So I'm thinking it's better to take my time instead of rushing.)

(***YET ANOTHER UPDATE, January 22nd 2020: I made progress guys! Like serious progress. This chapter is on the longish side. Three scenes in all. The longest of these is completely written. The second longest is halfway done. The shortest one I haven't started yet. But it should be pretty straightforward. Hoping to update by this weekend. *fingers crossed*)


Alright, so here it was. The first chapter of 2020. Now, however, I need your input.

Initially, this chapter was supposed to be short and simple, consisting of the first two scenes (where Annalyn and Ninael reach Rohan's border. And the scene with Orophin and Ithriel). But then, thinking you might wish for the story to move along a bit faster, I decided to write and include more, which took a bit longer. So my question is this: Would you rather I post shorter and more frequent chapters? Or would you prefer longer ones that take more time to finish? I'll likely opt for both of those things going forward, but knowing what you all prefer would be helpful when I can't decide when to end a chapter.

Anyway, thanks again for any input I might receive. I hope you are all doing well.

Sincerely,

CygnusRift