To new readers and all who are coming back to this story, I just want to say thank you. Thank you for taking the time out of your lives to read this drawn-out story of mine. And thanks to those who left encouraging reviews on previous chapters. It meant the world to me, and prompted me to keep going when self-doubt reared its ugly head.
I've been slow to update, and for that I apologize. But thanks to my new work schedule, I now have a lot more time to write. My hope is that I will be able to make up for lost time.
CHAPTER LXX
LOVE AND DUTY
Haldir shot into a sitting position. "Annalyn!" he gasped, his gaze darting all around. It was for naught, though; she wasn't there. To his chagrin, he had seen her only in dream, and only for a brief time.
It was night. His lonely bedroom was bathed in starlight, the stillness in the air overlaid with the sound of his pounding heart. Indeed, his head still swam with what he had learned just now.
That Annalyn, his firiel, had lied in order to protect him.
"You did not cage me, Haldir," she had told him in his dream. "My selfish heart is yours, has been since the night I first kissed you. But while being your wife is something I have yearned for, the last thing I ever wanted was to hurt you, to sentence you to unending grief. It is why I left, why I lied to you that final night, saying I could never be happy in Lothlórien."
With closing eyes, he remembered the look on her face, the misery in her voice. "Those deceitful words were ash on my tongue; this you must know. But I could not bear the eternal pain you would feel when my time comes."
He should have known. He should have realised that she would sacrifice her happiness for his wellbeing. Such was her character after all.
Too overcome to stay in bed, he flung the sheets aside, and rose. Shirtless and barefoot, Haldir grabbed the tunic he had previously tossed on the end of the bed. With swift motions, he redonned the garment, then fetched his boots.
There would be no more sleep tonight. He had to…
Granted, he had no idea of where he was going or what he was going to do, but he couldn't stay here. He needed air. He had to get out.
Nights were always tranquil in the great city in the trees, but Lothlórien's idyllic calm did little to sooth his restless heart. Staring at the lamplit city below, Haldir sat on his hidden flet, beneath a vast canvas of stars.
Ah, but he was torn. On the one hand, he wanted nothing more than to mount a horse and gallop all the way to the Westfold. To see his wife and talk to her in person. To kiss and hold her again. To make sure she was safe and no harm came to her. But war was on the horizon, and his duty bound him here. What am I to do?
"Come home… Please, come home." Those had been his words to her, spoken ere the dream had ended. With the truth now in the open, would she hearken to his plea? Would she soon return to Lothlórien?
Indeed, Annalyn had once told him of her wishes, late one night, in this very spot. It was before the lie, before their sundering, when things had seemed so hopeful between them. "Today, you asked me what it is I wanted. This is what I want. A home amongst friends… A life with you."
His fingers closing around the betrothal rings which hung upon his chain, Haldir tried to gain mastery over himself. Despite his growing hope, his emotions were in disarray. He was feeling too many things at once.
It was the reason he had climbed up here, the reason he couldn't be around anyone right now.
Somewhere below, Elves began to sing. A poignant song that spoke of all that had happened of late—so many things.
To say that these were turbulent times would have been an understatement. The Ring of Power had been found, and a single Hobbit now held the fate of the world on his narrow shoulders.
Having been privy to the Fellowship's council with Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel, Haldir remembered their weariness and sorrow, for prior to coming here, they had issued from the black mines of Moria, where a most unfortunate event had come to pass.
Following an encounter with a Balrog of Morgoth, Gandalf the Grey, whom the Elves called Mithrandir, had fallen into one of Khazad-dûm's bottomless pits.
The news of his demise had brought much grief and despair to the Elves of Lothlórien. At the time, Lord Celeborn, had believed that without Gandalf, hope had been lost. But Galadriel had believed otherwise. In her words, the Fellowship's quest stood upon the edge of a knife.
Sitting here, Haldir wished them well. For after resting in the city for several days, Aragorn, Frodo, and the others had boarded elven boats, and were now paddling down the Anduin to fulfill their quest or fail in the attempt.
These things combined had been news enough, but another event had recently stunned the Elves of Lórien, though this time, in a most heartening way.
As bleak as everything seemed, the miraculous event had come less than a day after the company had left on the Great River.
Late that morning, Gwaihir the Windlord, one of the great Eagles of the Misty Mountains, had swept into Lórien with a radiant being lying in one of his large talons. Though it was true that Mithrandir had fallen into mortal conflict with the Balrog of Moria, he had risen once more as Gandalf the White.
After he had been given new robes of the brightest, purest white, the wizard had fashioned a new staff with the wood of a mallorn-tree. Then off he had went, to aid in the quest to save Middle-earth.
Would they succeed?
Haldir could only hold to hope. His thoughts returning to his personal life, he reached into his satchel, and grabbed the bottle of miruvor he had brought with him. Given his turmoil, he wished it would have been stronger, like one of Rúmil's dubious bottles of wine.
Rúmil…
Though he gave no outward sign of it, Haldir was besieged by both anger and grief. Anger at what Rúmil had done—meddling in Haldir's love life as if he had a say in it—and grief for the rift that now yawned between them.
His mind going to the first and only conversation he had had with his brother since that explosive night, Haldir swallowed his pain in time with the cordial.
Their exchange had taken place at sundown, during a quiet watch on the Northern Fences. "I have wronged you, brother. I know that now. But though I have no right to ask for your forgiveness, I do so nonetheless." With that, Rúmil had bowed in contrition. On one knee, his downturned gaze on the flet, he had said, "Had I known that she is your chosen, I never would have intervened."
But Haldir's hurt had been too great. In the face of his brother's words, his reply had been silence, heavy and still angry.
Seemingly resigned, Rúmil had gained his feet, and produced a small roll of parchment. "Here." He had sighed.
"What is it?"
With sorrow and shame in his eyes, he had explained, "A request. One I hope you will grant me."
Haldir remembered the shock he had felt upon reading the missive. He hadn't believed it at the time. A part of him still couldn't believe it. Rúmil serving with Erynion… Erynion.
How did it come to this?
As upset as he still was with his brother, Haldir recognized the unwise decisions he, himself, had made. If only he had told Annalyn the truth. If only he had told her about the undying nature of his love for her, perhaps none of this would have happened. Perhaps she would be with him right now.
But she wasn't, and now here he was, caught in this chaotic situation, his firiel leagues and leagues away from him.
His thoughts going to her, Haldir wondered what Annalyn was doing. Why had she awakened so jarringly? Was something amiss in Rohan?
If only he had the answer.
And so his mind circled around a decision.
Should I go to her? Now?
For thousands of years, Haldir had put duty above everything else. To him, being Marchwarden was much more than a role. It had become his core identity, who he was.
But now, when his people needed him most, he was wavering. For the first time in his life, he was considering setting his duty aside for the sake of his heart.
Counsel, he thought.
He needed counsel. Desperately so.
And considering the gravity of this decision, there was only one person he could confide in. Only one person who could deny his request or give him leave to do his heart's bidding. The wisest woman he knew.
Galadriel.
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