Greetings, readers.

I know I took ages to update, and for that I apologize. But if you are reading this, I thank you for returning to this story.

This fanfic has so many different threads, I struggled to find my bearings again. It's the main reason I took so long. But your reviews have helped me tremendously. Your words of encouragement are the reason I decided to get over my nervousness and post.

Initially, this chapter was supposed to be a lot longer, but given how long you all had to wait, I decided to share this part while I continue working on what comes after. Please bear with me, this story will have many events coming up. In this chapter, I am mostly setting the stage.

Now onto the chapter...


CHAPTER LXVII

ILL TIDINGS

"Haldir…"

Alone in her bed, at the start of yet another lonely night, Annalyn whispered her beloved's name for the fourth or fifth time, and hoped that some way, somehow, he would hear or sense her aching plea from afar.

After trying and failing to fall asleep, she now stared at the wooden beams that made up the ceiling, and waited. Met by disheartening silence, the mysterious link between her and Haldir seemingly dormant for the time being, Annalyn shut her eyes, and cursed her inability to connect with him.

It was worrisome. She had noted the change these past few days. Haldir's emotions rarely ever reached her, and when they did, the nature of what he was feeling proved rather hard to read. The most she had gleaned from their mysterious bond had been a faint sense of uneasiness. Watchfulness perhaps. But nothing more than that. And never for very long.

Maybe I am simply too weary, she reasoned. Maybe her sleep-deprived mind was creating an obstruction of some kind. Never in all her life had she been so restless, or felt so alone.

Far away in Lothlórien, was Haldir experiencing the same divide? Was he fruitlessly searching for her in his heart and mind? If only she could dream with him.

Dreams. Annalyn resettled against her pillow and could have scoffed in bitterness. On the rare occasion when she managed to sleep, her dreams were downright unsettling, nightmares containing naught but Wargs and riders and terrible visions of war. Of Haldir there was no longer any sign, as though a shroud of mist had descended on their mysterious bond, keeping him from her dreams.

Ah, but she despaired.

No longer able to endure being in her room, Annalyn flung the blankets aside, swapped her nightdress for her day clothes, and exited her home as the stars twinkled overhead.

She had been in the village for a week now, an endless stretch of time where days would blur and blend into the next.

With her growing discomfiture, these nightly strolls had become a ritual, a means to tire herself out and wile away these lonely hours until exhaustion drew her to her bed once more.

Although Ninael was certainly out here somewhere, wandering the hissing grasses as she quietly sang to the Vala who had made the stars, Annalyn could neither see nor hear her at the moment.

Caught between unbearable loneliness and her current need for solitude, she looked skyward, but kept on walking.

Can one do it? Can a person so changed re-forge the shards of an old life?

Strange as it was, everything around her seemed foreign somehow, far removed. From the nearby mountains to the surrounding meadows, even her own home.

Do I even belong in this place?

Startling as it seemed, Annalyn wasn't so sure anymore. For the woman who had crossed into Rhovanion all those months ago differed greatly from the woman she was now. Changed, that's what she was. Grief and peril, love and loss… those things had left their mark, and now she had to pick up the pieces, figure out what she wanted to do with her life.

Despite the quiet of night, a faint echo of laughter floated on the air. While most of the houses were bathed in stillness at this hour, the same could not be said for the mead hall. Though the structure's double doors couldn't be seen from this angle, firelight poured from its narrow windows, casting warm shafts of light on the ground outside.

"Hail the glorious dead!" These haunting words, that the villagers had cried in unison six nights ago, still reverberated in her head. Her absent gaze falling to the earthen path, Annalyn could still see the raised goblets, the solemn faces of those who had gathered in the hall to remember and honour her kin.

"The glorious dead," she repeated with resentful grief.

Among the Eorlingas, falling in the heat of battle was deemed a noble thing, a death that was worthy of remembrance. And though a tiny part of her held to that long-engrained attitude, Annalyn found little solace in it now.

Her uncle and cousin had been simple peasants, peaceful men. They had never gone to war; they had never ridden with the Eorlingas. If given a choice, neither of them would have wished for this, to die in the manner that they did.

No, if they had been given a choice, each of them would be home now, living out their peaceful lives.

Her uncle would have enjoyed the respite earned by his lengthening years, and Aldin… Aldin might have been happily wed by now. There was not a trace of doubt in her mind; had he asked for Erna's hand, the young woman would have happily said yes. Instead, Erna was now cloistered in her parents' home. From what Annalyn had been told, the young woman was inconsolable and hardly left her room.

Watch over her, Aldin.

Eyes on the northern horizon, Annalyn couldn't help but wonder where her cousin was—his remains at least. Just knowing that he was out there somewhere, his bones scattered or worse…

Building a cairn wouldn't have erased her grief, she knew, but it would have brought a small measure of peace all the same.

"At least I didn't come home empty-handed," she murmured in hopes that, wherever he was, Aldin would hear her somehow. Remember that first night in Lothlórien? When you thought that we might have to turn around and return home without the plants we coveted? Without the plants our people need?

Annalyn had openly vowed that such a thing would not come to pass, that one way or another, the healer's stores would be replenished.

I did it, cousin.

Being relatively near to her home, she turned her burning gaze to the garden beside the stable, the one she and Ninael had tilled and planted together.

Though I admit, I would not have succeeded without our elven friends. Especially Ithriel. I believe you would have liked her. It was she who gifted me with special soil and seeds.

Having seen the magic of Lórien, Annalyn knew that the seeds would sprout and grow. Her aching heart the lighter for it, she gave a small smile, and sent her silent words to her kin. Our people will never run out of medicine again.

It soothed her to know this. But it also raised a question: what would she do with the remaining years of her life?

Just the other day, when a group of well-meaning women had invaded her house to bring her food and help her clean, Annalyn had been sweeping the steps leading up to the loft when she had overheard a discussion in the room upstairs. "She's all alone now," one woman had said. "I do not envy her."

"Maybe now she will do like the rest of us," another had answered.

"How do you mean?"

"Annalyn is not a young maid, but she could still marry, fill these rooms with a child or two."

The anger she had felt at hearing those words could not be described. Hands fisting at her sides, Annalyn had been tempted to throw the women out, every last one of them. But with stinging tears gathering in her eyes, she had opted for a cowardly retreat instead. Slipping out the back door, she had fallen back against the house, and raised her stricken gaze to the skies.

The notion of marrying for the sake of not being alone, of making a child with a man who could never measure up to the Elf who had earned her heart… Her skin, the very essence of who she was, recoiled at the thought.

Thankfully, those women had no say in what she chose to do with the years that were left to her. They could whisper amongst themselves and think what they wanted, but her fate was her own.

Annalyn was walking by the stream now, near to the spot where she had twisted her ankle during a race all those years ago. As the embarrassing childhood memory surfaced and receded, she recalled her first night in the Golden Wood. Aldin had teased her quite a bit that night. In Rohirric, he had recounted the events of that day, while Haldir had listened from where he had been standing, his haughty expression giving no hint to the fact that he'd understood every word.

Had she known, Annalyn would have been absolutely mortified. But now, she found herself smiling in a sad sort of fondness. For though she had once felt certain of Haldir's disdain, she knew the truth now. He had confessed to it not that long ago, during the last dream they had shared.

"I've desired you since first I saw you. Did you know?" These whispered words, spoken in the midst of their first and only joining, had stolen her breath and touched her heart.

The dream itself was now chiseled in her memory. In fact, not a day went by when she didn't call it to mind.

Haldir's warmth.

His touch.

The gentle passion with which he had taken her body. Only it wasn't truly her body. It was but a dream, she reminded herself. He has never claimed me in that way.

On that thought, her feet came to a stop, and she stood in silence, her unseeing gaze directed at the ground.

He never will…

Not because he didn't wish for it. Haldir would have wed her if given the chance. Something told her he still would, if she allowed it.

No, the choice to leave had been hers, for she had peered in Galadriel's mirror; she had seen what her death would do to him if they bound their lives.

A faint nicker of horses reached her ears just then, and she looked to see a soldier patrolling nearby. His name she knew not, but it was one of Théodred's men, for the prince's Eored had arrived in the village earlier that day. With the Riddermark being so vast, their patrols were long and tiring, not only for the men but for their horses as well. Thus, the soldiers would tarry in the village for a few days more, to rest, tend to their horses, and sharpen their weapons.

With the threats that were gathering all around, the soldiers' temporary presence was appreciated by all, especially after dusk when the risk of a sneak attack was at its greatest. Indeed, many of the villagers would rest a little easier this night.

Still, Annalyn couldn't help but think of the enormous threat they were all facing. Weeks ago, while she had been recuperating from her illness in Caras Galadhon, Haldir had spoken of the might of Sauron, and his renewed effort to conquer and dominate the world.

Could our doom be near at hand? she wondered not for the first time. Will he achieve his goal?

Annalyn pressed her lips in a line. She was not a soldier, but should the need arise, she would defend her home and her people. To the very end.

And so Annalyn meandered about, her footfalls slow and measured until a rustling noise arose just behind her. She must have been on edge, for she jumped at the sound, hand flying to the hilt of her sword as she whirled around.

"Peace, mellon nîn." It was Ninael, hands spread in a yielding gesture as she gave a small, apologetic smile. "I meant not to frighten you."

Lowering her guard, Annalyn abandoned her grip on her sword. "It is you."

"Another sleepless night," her friend observed rather than asked.

"I suppose I am growing accustomed to it. What of you? Do you not sleep, Ninael?"

"And miss the sight of the stars? Nay. I shall sleep when night begins to fade."

"And then only for a short time," Annalyn couldn't help but tease. "I must say, I envy your endurance. If only mortals could function with so little sleep."

"I have noted your sleeplessness. If Ithriel was here, she would fret and give you a sleeping draught."

"I suppose you are right. Alas, Ithriel isn't here, and all I have is mead."

"Perhaps that is the answer," Ninael countered, for they were both rather fond of mead. But then, her mirth fading, the soldier looked straight ahead and kept on walking. "The full cause escapes me, but something haunts and torments you, more so than before. I sense it. And I see it whenever you leave your home to stroll the meadows late at night." When Annalyn made no reply, Ninael went on. "It is not my wont to impart wisdom, but should you need to speak or..." Her frown deepened, as though she had come to a private decision. "It is not too late, you know. If you no longer wish to stay hither, my people would welcome you with open arms." Now the Elf met her eyes. "Lothlórien could be your home."

For a moment, visions of "what might have been" flashed in Annalyn's mind. She saw herself, wed and happy, living out her days with the Elves who had become her second home and family.

Squashing her selfish wants, Annalyn accepted her current misery, and said, "I wish I could. More than you know. But I cannot. Surely you understand. It would be most unfair to him."

When it appeared as though Ninael was going to press ahead, a look of doubt clearly visible on her ageless face, Annalyn put an end to this useless discussion by indicating the mead hall. "Let us get that drink."

Unsurprisingly, the mead hall was rather full when they arrived. Villagers and soldiers crowded the various tables, most of them men.

As Annalyn and Ninael wove their way toward the cask from which they would fetch their mead, some of the men stared, while others paid them no mind. Grabbing each a cup, the women filled them in short order. Glad for the drink, Annalyn downed a mouthful and was turning around when she inadvertently bumped into someone. "Oh!" By some miracle, her drink did not spill over. "Apologies," she said, then saw who she had bumped into.

"None needed," the man replied, an amused smile curving his mouth. Much to her surprise and mortification, it was none other than Prince Théodred himself. Unlike the last time they had met, he wore no chainmail, no armour, only a simple tunic and a pair of travel-worn boots and trousers. His sword was at his hip, however, and vambraces adorned his forearms. He spoke. "So we meet again. It gladdens me to see that you both made it safely to the village."

"Thankfully, the tail-end of our journey proved uneventful. My companion and I arrived seven days ago. What of you and your men? How was your patrol?"

"Evil does not rest, as you know. We encountered a band of Orcs, three nights past, but a few leagues south of here. We destroyed them and suffered no loss of our own, but where there is one band, there are bound to be more. And there will be, of that I am certain."

The prince fell silent for a moment, and seemed troubled. Who could blame him? None could deny that darkness was gathering all around. Young though he was, Théodred was a stouthearted commander. With determination and responsibility, he raised his chin and smiled in reassurance. "But fear not. While many of my men enjoy a well-deserved rest, a watch has been established all the same. You all may sleep soundly this night."

"I have no doubt we are well warded," Annalyn replied just as something caught his eye, somewhere beyond her shoulder.

Turning, she saw that some of his captains were waving him over.

"It seems I am being summoned," Théodred said to the women, and smiled. "Enjoy your mead." His eyes were on Annalyn now. "Doubtless I will see you again ere we depart." With that, Théodred nodded his goodbye, and went to join his captains.

Making for their own table, she and Ninael had just sat down when Annalyn overheard a nearby conversation between a group of farmers and stable-hands.

"Ill news, you say?" one asked another, a look of concern on his face. "Where did you hear it?"

"It was one of Grimbold's men. I was plowing my field when I saw him riding past. When he saw me, he stopped so his horse could drink and have a rest. He said that he heard the news from his cousin, who in turn heard it from a passing courier. He had quite a tale to tell." The man leaned forward in his seat, his voice lowering by a notch when he said, "There is rumour of impending defeat in Gondor."

Annalyn and Ninael exchanged a glance at these words. By now, it was clear that the elven soldier was listening as well.

The man continued, "Orcs have been pouring from Minas Morgul. They attacked Osgiliath."

Osgiliath was the old capital city of Gondor. Recalling the weathered map that had guided her company in the past, Annalyn knew that it straddled the Anduin River. For that reason, it was of great strategic importance to Gondor.

"The garrison still holds the western side," the man was saying, "but the realm is under siege. It is but a matter of time before Mordor launches a full-scale assault. If Gondor falls…"

The man took a nervous drink. There was no need to say more; Annalyn knew what he had been about to say. If Gondor fell, how long before Rohan met the same fate?

As the women slowly drained their cups, Annalyn couldn't help but send her gaze across the room. Tonight, peasants and soldiers drank the same mead and shared the same tables, with the prince of Rohan among them.

With war fast approaching, how many of them would meet their ends in the coming weeks, months, or within the next few years? If we even have that long.

Across the table, Ninael's guarded expression hinted at the same musings.

To be sure, darkness lay ahead.