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CHAPTER LXXI

DARK VISIONS

Haldir was well on his way to see Galadriel when he noted a woman on a bridge up ahead. Even from afar he recognized her as being one of the Lady's handmaidens. Athaenis was her name, and brown was her hair. Tonight, she wore a pale blue dress with graceful sleeves and a long train which flowed like water behind her slippered feet.

When her eyes settled on Haldir, recognition dawned on her features. "Ah, Marchwarden," she greeted, then reached him and bowed. "My Lady summons you."

A summons? Just as he had been about to seek an audience?

Both intrigued and worried, Haldir conveyed his thanks, telling the maiden that he would report to Galadriel at once.

Eager to arrive, he traversed the bridges one after the other, until the Lord and the Lady's home came into view. When he arrived, Haldir was promptly allowed inside where he waited in an oval-shaped chamber, in the midst of which stood the mallorn's silvery trunk.

Normally, many Elves would be sitting on the chairs that wreathed the space, but tonight all the seats were empty.

In the calm of the room, Haldir waited until the Lady entered. Limned in the soft glow of the Calaquendi, Galadriel approached and bid him welcome. Her features were grave, though.

"My Lady." With a bow, Haldir greeted her with the reverence she was due. "I received your summons. In truth, I was on my way to seek an audience when I came across your handmaiden." Given the timing, he had to wonder if it was pure happenstance. "You wished to speak with me."

"Indeed." With silent footfalls, Galadriel started for the staircase which led down to the forest floor. "Walk with me, Haldir."

He did.

At first, he believed their path to be aimless—a simple stroll between the trees—but when Galadriel led him down a narrow lane flanked by a hill and some tree roots, he divined their destination and her possible purpose.

While the Mirror of Galadriel was known in Lothlórien, few had ever peered into it. Haldir, for his part, never had. Now the Lady guided him directly to the pedestal.

"Is it your wish to look into the Mirror?" she asked at length.

Both fearful and eager, Haldir weighed his answer. "What will I see?"

"The Mirror can show things unbidden, it is true. Yet many things I can command it to reveal, and to some I can show what they desire to see."

Haldir's heart lifted at that. Could he dare to hope?

"If you wish to see your wife," Galadriel continued, "I will command the Mirror to reveal her to you."

Recalling the jarring way in which Annalyn had disappeared from his dream, he said, "There is a feeling in my heart, the sense that something might be amiss in Rohan. Annalyn… If the Mirror can reveal her to me, I would be most grateful."

Acquiescing, Galadriel retrieved a silver ewer from a nearby fountain. With graceful movements, she dipped it in the small pool. As she transferred the water to the Mirror's receptacle, Haldir closed the distance between himself and the pedestal.

The Mirror was spotless, the water crystal clear. As a ripple disturbed the surface, an image began to appear.

Annalyn was standing near a modest dwelling in what looked to be the Westfold. Her home, he thought and saw that it was night. As was her wont, his wife held a cup of herbal tea in her hand. As she gazed into the distance, Haldir discerned the sadness and longing on her face. What was she looking at, he wondered.

No sooner had the question formed than the perspective changed. Annalyn hadn't moved, but now her back was facing him. Following her line of sight, Haldir recognised the stars she was staring at. The Valacirca, the "Sickle of the Valar".

North. Annalyn was gazing north. Toward Lothlórien. Toward me.

His heart clenched at that, then the water trembled, the ensuing ripples changing the vision therein.

Annalyn was hastily shoving things in a satchel, her brows creased in a troubled frown. Pushing a lock of hair away from her face, she looked about the room, then nodded to herself. After fastening her satchel, Haldir saw her reach for her sword-belt. Moments later, she was hurrying out of the room, then out of her home.

The vision progressed, changing once more.

Dawn was breaking. Villagers were hastening out of their homes, fear and worry writ clear on their features. Amid the chaos, he spotted Annalyn and… Ninael!

Reassured by the fact that Ninael was still there, Haldir watched the scene unfold.

The two were sitting atop of their prancing horses, watching and waiting in the middle of a growing line of people. The villagers were set to leave, he realised and wondered where they meant to go, and why.

Part of the answer came with the next vision.

In the Mirror, Haldir saw a cluster of modest houses, but the landscape differed from Annalyn's village. The sun was high in the sky. People were leaving here, too, except they were under imminent threat. As men, women, and children fled, wild looking men streamed into the village, burning homes and attacking villagers as they went.

"Rohan," Haldir said to Galadriel, his being filled with helpless worry. "Rohan is under attack."

His pulse pounding in his ears, he looked to the Mirror as a series of ripples crossed the water's surface, altering the vision yet again.

Annalyn and her fellow villagers were on the move, travelling in a slow-moving line. Some were on horseback, others were on foot. There were soldiers with them, but not very many. In the distance ahead, Haldir could see a fortified gorge amid a familiar mountain range.

"The White Mountains," he said, "They are making for Helm's Deep." The fortress where Helm Hammerhand, the ninth king of Rohan, weathered a siege during the Long Winter. "The people should be safe there. No one has ever breached the fortress walls."

But the Lady's expression dashed his hopes, her next words chilling him to the bone. "Mere walls will not be enough this time."

"What do you mean? Have you seen something I have not?"

Her reply came by way of a look, directed at the Mirror.

Another vision was unfolding. There was a tower in the distance.

"Isengard," Haldir said, then noted the surrounding landscape, how utterly ruined it was.

When he saw the culprits, anger rose within him. "Orcs."

As torches flickered in the night, the creatures worked in concert to tear down trees. Not only that, but they were digging pits, too.

Deep in the ground, great fires were being fed. Crude weapons were being forged. In the midst of it all was a being who had once been an ally, counted among the very wise. Saruman the White, whom the Elves called Curunír, was touring the pits, his staff in his hand. Proud was his stance, and cunning were his eyes.

As he walked, he neared a spot where Orcs were using sticks to stir the muddy ground. Looking to their feet, Haldir noted something strange. The ground was not only lumpy, it actually moved in some places. Creatures, he realised. There were creatures in the mud. Large in size, they moved within slimy, partly translucent sacs. As one of the membranes ruptured, a muscled arm reached forth, its hand closing about the throat of an unlucky Orc.

Haldir's dread turned to horror, for the creature who emerged from the ground was neither Orc nor Goblin.

Saruman's fighting Uruk-hai, Galadriel said into his thoughts.

Aloud, she continued, "This new breed of soldiers have greater strength and endurance than lesser Orcs. They are not only formidable in battle, but they are unafraid of sunlight."

"And these Uruk-hai… they will march on Helm's Deep?"

Her nod fueled his fears. She said, "Sauron uses Saruman to wage war on the people of Rohan. Isengard has been unleashed."

Now he blanched. "How many?"

In the end, it was the Mirror who answered. As Haldir held his breath, it revealed an army of thousands—tens of thousands, to be more precise. Clad in black armor and black mail, the Uruk-hai marched in a dusty haze, many holding banners that bore the white hand of Saruman.

"It is an army bred for a single purpose," Galadriel said, grimly. "The annihilation of Men."

Air finally rushed out of Haldir's lungs. It was as if he had been kicked in the stomach, his fear so great as to overwhelm him.

"Your wife," Galadriel began, knowing his thoughts. "It is your wish to go to her. To fight alongside her if need be."

Despairing, he addressed Galadriel once more. "Your sight is true, my Lady. Should something befall her…" His voice faltered, his stricken gaze lowering to the ground.

It was strange, less than a year ago Haldir would never have allowed himself to be so open and bare. But his firiel was out there, her and her people now in harm's way. It killed him to know this. But as much as he wanted to find her and bring her home, Annalyn would never abandon her people. Not at the brink of battle.

If the fortress were to fall, Haldir knew she would fight alongside her countrymen until the very end. Such was her character.

As a distant elven song yielded to silence, Galadriel began, "Even prior to these latest tidings, I have pondered long and hard. These are dark times. Sauron will have dominion over all life on this Earth, even unto the ending of the world." The Lady moved away from the pedestal, her hands clasped in front of her. "The time of the Elves is over. But while we have our own cares and labors, Lord Elrond and I have not forgotten the past, how Elves and Men once fought and died together. Now faced with a great evil, it is our intent to honor that allegiance and send an army to aid the people of Rohan."

Now she faced him once again. "Such an army would need a captain, which is why I turn to you. Would you do it? Would you lead them?" she asked.

A sudden fire lit in his belly. With a nod, he said, "I would, my Lady. I shall."

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