Whispers In The Stream by just_jenni

Chapter 1-Winter Winds

Read Chapter 1-Winter Winds

“I am a guest of Lord Caranthir,” said Haleth, handing her worn and faded cloak to the butler who stood waiting. She looked at the thin Elf with his hand outstretched, and thought him a passionless creature. He neither smiled nor spoke, but simply nodded, took her cloak and glided silently away with it. He neither directed her nor asked her to follow him, but left her standing as a lone sapling tree whipping in the wind upon an insurmountable hilltop. She glanced up at the sweeping staircase before her, grand and resplendent with its marble banister and intricately carved gold railings, and her youthful apprehension was stilled by the sight of the figure that descended the stairs.

“My Lady Haleth,” the tall Elf-lord responded, smiling at her with what she perceived to be uncharacteristic sweetness. She detected with surprise a note of playfulness in his voice. The only other time she had met him, he had seemed to be in a foul mood. Of course, there was reason for that, but it nevertheless precluded her first impression of him. She had been awed by his majestic height and impossibly handsome appearance, but he had also been austere and unsmiling that day. She had thought him haughty and proud, yet appropriately so, since that first meeting had occurred under trying circumstances, following the deaths of her father and her brother.

“Do you mock me, my lord?” she asked him, her cheeky vitality returning. Somehow his presence comforted her. She extended her hand and the Elf took it in his graceful fingers and bent low to kiss it. When he raised his handsome head he stared at her as if he wished to ask her a question.

“Mock you, my lady?” he asked, his finely-arched brows lifting. His grip tightened around her fingers, as if to reassure her that she was managing everything well.

Haleth’s stance and visage softened. She removed her hand slowly from his grasp and sighed. “I am not a lady,” she replied, “and yet you persist in calling me so. I have not your standing among the peoples of Thargelion and I never will have it. Not even among my own kin, I fear.” She did not know why she felt a stab of pain when she spoke these words. A fleeting sense of loss of her family and perhaps awareness of lost opportunity swept over her, leaving a feeling of sadness in its wake.

“I am sorry,” said Caranthir. “I meant not to upset you by my greeting.” A puzzled note was in his voice. “I meant only a gesture of friendship. But I do not share your low opinion of yourself. Neither do your people, of that I am sure. I feel that they would gladly have you as their leader were you but to ask them. News of your brave deeds has reached me.”

Haleth walked away from him, putting the distance of a few steps between them. She felt confused by him. She was a mortal woman and he was an Elf, a strange being to her, not that much unlike mortals in some ways, but in others very different from the people she knew. He had been her savior and she was acutely aware of this. She would love to depend on him, but he seemed so remote, although more so in the beginning of their acquaintance. Now she was taken aback by his solicitousness.

Haleth struggled constantly with conflicting feelings. Part of her still wanted to feel protected by the men in her life as her father and brother had done when they were alive, but another desired to feel the exhilaration of being in command, with no one else to claim lordship over her. Taking the reins and leading her tribe was an important and challenging task that the largest part of her strove to master.

“Why have you called me here today?” she asked, changing the subject and walking away from him toward the window. She looked out at grey skies that lent a silvery cast to the green meadows. There was no breeze stirring in the trees, and everything—the trees, the shrubs—had a look of stiffness to it, as if apprehensively awaiting the winter.

He regarded her with his dark brows furrowed, but a gleam in his eyes that looked like a twinkle. His elegant lips curved upwards. “I will explain. The winter season approaches. Already the snow begins to fall upon the evergreens. Soon, harvesting will stop, the people will retreat indoors out of the cold, and the only activity in the region will be the Dwarves who undoubtedly will still be laboring in the mines.”

Haleth turned to him, a few lines of puzzlement creasing her fair, even features. She was a young woman in her twenties, her face not yet lined from the aging that either afflicted or graced humans, depending on how you looked at it.

“I desire to begin a tradition here,” continued Caranthir. “I thought it might be a welcoming gesture to hold a winter festival in these lands when the days become their shortest. It is a gesture designed to bring everyone together—your people—the Dwarvish folk—my own Elves—and we will share our food, our wines and spirits, our stories, songs and histories. I believe such a series of gatherings will enrich all of us and serve to make each winter season pass quickly and without the hardships that have been experienced in the past when some of us have been deprived of warmth, food and shelter.”

“A noble cause,” said Haleth, looking upon Caranthir with admiration and some measure of surprise. “However, I did not take you for the type of person who enjoyed frivolity,” she said, and regretted her words immediately for their shallowness in light of the grand gesture he had been attempting to make.

“Do you like the idea?” he asked, ignoring her remark. He was beaming. She thought he looked happy.

She did not wish to appear too enthusiastic in her response. “It may perhaps come to pass that such a gathering would have a good result,” she said stiffly.

“I sense some reluctance in your response,” he replied. “And I do not understand it. I do not see that there would be any harm in bringing such diverse peoples together for a celebration. It should serve to unite us all if future need requires us to come together in defense of our lands and our peoples. In time of war against our common enemy we should stand united.”

“Do you think war is inevitable?” she asked, changing the subject once more.

“We Elves know that it is always inevitable,” he replied.

Haleth turned away from him. She began to consider her future.

The first festival was a success. The Elves had organized the celebrations to run seamlessly, from the start of the winter solstice and lasting about a fortnight afterwards. Haleth looked around her at Caranthir’s great halls. They felt warm from the many people bustling about and the lighting of many candles. A couple of Dwarves, laughing merrily, passed her carrying mugs of ale and large, soft buns stuffed with salt pork. The fragrance of the meat wafted past her nose, making her realize how hungry she was. She had foregone eating anything in favor of exploring the different rooms in Caranthir’s mansion. She was enjoying looking at the splendid decorations, the small glowing candles affixed to special ropes of silver strung about in the rooms, small trees brought indoors, planted in huge pots and decorated with colorful ribbons. On them were placed various jewels, bells, and tiny carved wooden or metal figures of birds and animals or trees and flowers, attached to their branches with silver wire.

She saw some of her own Men sitting around a table, enjoying a conversation over ale and the smoke of their pipes. She felt thirsty when she smelled the ale but did not stop to ask for some. Finding the pipe-smoke cloying, she fled this room and emerged into a wide hallway. In one corner she noticed one of her kinswomen standing enthralled in front of an Elf in Caranthir’s guard, a strong-looking Noldo with dark, gleaming braids, bent over the woman, talking to her closely and making earnest gestures. Haleth felt a pang of loneliness in her heart and turned away from the couple with a sigh.

She almost bumped into Caranthir in her haste to escape the crowded room. He had approached in silence behind her.

“Come,” he said. “Let us go for a walk. You look in need of fresh air.” He took her hand and led her toward the main hallway and the front door.

“But my cloak, my lord,” she protested. “I will need it and I have left it with your butler. Outside it is freezing, and I cannot go as I am dressed.” She glanced down at her raiment of brown and green tunic and leggings that fully covered her but was not heavy enough to withstand the wintry winds outside.

“Come and see. I have something for you,” he said, and led her around a corner to a small parlor in which stood a small yew tree planted in a barrel. Beneath it was a tiny table, upon which sat three parcels, each wrapped in a colorful scarf. Caranthir picked up one of these parcels and placed it in her hands. “Here is a gift for you,” he said.

Surprised, she unrolled the parcel to find that it was a new cloak of brown wool trimmed with green velvet. It was thick, beautifully made, and much nicer than anything Haleth had before owned.

“M-my lord,” she stammered. “I-I cannot accept this from you.”

“It is to show my friendship and goodwill towards you,” he said. “We are friends, are we not? I wish to reward your friendship with a gift. It seemed like a good time to do it, as we are in the midst of our feasting. Exchanging gifts seemed an appropriate gesture.”

“Thank you,” said Haleth humbly, and looked into his eyes. She saw an expression of deep interest and a spark of affection in their grey depths. “You have a generous spirit, my lord,” she said. “I feel ashamed that I cannot return it. I have nothing for you to reciprocate your kindness.”

“Do not concern yourself with such a triviality,” he said, fixing the cloak around her shoulders, and wrapping the new shawl about her head and neck. “Perhaps we could begin a tradition, to be continued the next time we hold a feast such as this. The exchange of gifts could become a favorite thing; to be done every year, but only if the people wish it.” He took Haleth’s arm and led her down the hallway to a door that led outside.

“Perhaps, my lord,” Haleth replied. “But my people are not wealthy, such as yours and the Dwarvish folk. We cannot afford to give such grand gifts as you have given me.”

“I am sure that people will give of their free spirit,” said Caranthir. “If they cannot purchase, or commission something to be made, they will make a unique gift with their own hands, or give something beautiful that they have found, perhaps.” He held open the heavy oak door for Haleth, and she stepped out onto steps of flagstone leading to a walkway of granite that wound through the gardens.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Perhaps.”

“That brings me to a subject I have wished to discuss with you for some time,” he said.

They had been walking for several minutes outdoors in the gardens surrounding Caranthir’s palatial house, with its vegetation dormant in the winter season. The stark grey limbs of tree and bush, skeletal and brittle-looking, stood against the white of the snow cover. They passed a row of tall cedars, their treetops iced with fluffy white snow. The feet of the Elf and the mortal left dark patches in the light covering of whiteness that lay upon the pathway as they strolled. The air was still and damp. With no breezes to break the silence, all was as quiet as a sigh.

Haleth felt her heart beating fast. “Yes, my lord?” she asked, her voice echoing among the cedars.

“Yes. I have had in mind to suggest another idea to you,” Caranthir said slowly, as if he were choosing his words with care.

“You seem to be full of ideas, my lord,” she said, joking.

“Yes,” he said again. He sounded serious. “I have been thinking to ask you if you will consider staying here in Thargelion.”

Haleth felt a tightness in her chest when she heard this question. It was almost as if she anticipated it in some deep recess of her mind and dreaded that he might ask it.

“You were thinking of asking me to live here?” She repeated his words with a look of stunned surprise, regardless of the fact that she expected it.

“Yes, Haleth, but not yourself alone,” he said with a smile. “I meant your people as well.”

She blushed and stopped walking. She stood still, slightly swaying. “What is your reason for this generous offer?”

He turned to look at her. “Your people are strong and resilient,” he said. “They are good-hearted and valiant, and my heart is full of sadness to see them suffer from poverty and deprivation. A nomadic life is extremely hard, and many wandering people die without proper shelter and food. If you stay here you may help us in protecting our borders and you will share in the wealth of this region, as do the Dwarves. We will all benefit from such an association. You and your people need not feel that I offer you charity.”

She listened to his words but her spirits were low, as if she were not happy with hearing them. She looked at him closely. He was so beautiful, as were all of his race, but to her he had more than the outer beauty that Elves possessed. His inner beauty was such that it shone from his eyes for her, and he was surrounded by its aura. Perhaps others could not see it, but she could and she was smitten but would not admit it to herself. Courageous as she was, however, she could not enquire directly of him if he felt that romantic interest may be growing between them.

At his suggestion, a few months before this she had made the decision to apply for leadership of her tribe and she had been accepted as such. She blossomed under the responsibility of this role, and had matured greatly in the past few months. But she was still young and possessed the uncertainty of youth in matters of love.

Yes, she felt she was in love with him. And while his kindness to her was revealing of his nature, so was his offer for her people to stay on his lands and live among the Elves. But she knew not if he loved her in return, and thought that he only had concern for her people because of his generous spirit. And she knew not if his love of wealth and beautiful things had caused him to make his offer to her, thinking as he may have, that the addition of Men to his realm would serve to make his wealth increase. Ultimately, she did not believe that she meant anything special to him, other than as an oddity, her people to be pitied. She sighed.

“I don’t know, my lord,” she said, her words slow and deliberate. “I shall have to think upon your offer. Let me speak at length to my kinsfolk. We had planned to be gone when the spring thaw comes, and move on to Doriath, where most of the people of our race have gone to live. But I will put before the people of my tribe your offer, and let them determine which choice would be the better one for us.”

He nodded. He stepped forward and took her hands in his. His bright grey eyes sparkled at her. “Would you stay for me, Haleth?” he asked.

“My lord, what is your meaning?” she asked, throwing back her head and gazing up at his handsome face.

“Do you not feel that there is something special between us?” he asked.

Her heart was beating very fast. She took a deep breath and summoned forth all of her courage and decided to tell him. “I do feel it,” she whispered. “But I do not know if it is your Elvish beauty that overwhelms and bewitches me, or if it is truly meant to be that I should love you.”

“It is easier for Elves, perhaps, in these matters,” he said. “Our lives are long and we have much time to ponder our future. Never before have I been in love with an Elf-maiden. But you truly bewitch me, Haleth.” He bent toward her. He was more than a head taller than she, although she was tall for a human female.

She felt the initial thrill of his lips upon hers. They were delicate, exquisite. She placed her hand on his cheek, and it was as smooth as silk. No stubble grew there as it did on the males of her own race. Her hand moved to his hair that fell long, thick and radiant. So much more of it did he possess than did her people. She felt stunned by the unique presence that emanated from him, through his lips to her own, and she felt wrapped in his Elvish glow, his spirit touching hers and enveloping her in its tranquility as her new cloak, his gift, warmed her with its fine quality. She broke free of his embrace.

“Oh, that I had your long life,” she gasped. “I would gladly spend every day of it with you. But my life is destined to be short, and I will not spend it loving you and thinking every day that soon I shall die and leave you alone. What kind of love affair would that be?” she asked.

“Brief, yet intense like the forge-fire,” he replied, pulling her back to him, holding her hands tight against his chest, his hands wrapped around her wrists. “Would it not be worth discovering?”

“Oh,” she whispered. “You tempt me, my lord. But I have everything to lose.”

“Haleth.” He cupped her face in his hand, and gazed at her with his deep grey eyes. “It is I who will lose. Yet I would gladly enter into this short life of love with you. But my name is Caranthir. Never again call me ‘My Lord’.”

Chapter 2-Spring Rain

Read Chapter 2-Spring Rain

It fell in torrents—wet, gray, cold rain, bouncing upon the river-surface like silver beads dropped on glass. She had been screaming for an hour but the sound of her frantic voice was lost in the fog and the rain, smothered like a gray cloak cast over a child’s string of bells. She sniffled but did not feel the tears on her cheeks. They were deadened by pelting shards of cold rain hitting her face.

Turning her attention from her misery, determined not to dwell on the uncertainty of rescue, Haleth concentrated on her predicament, and stared down at her feet which were caught in the sucking mud of the riverbank where she had led her horse to drink. It had just started to rain while she rode through the southern pastures of Thargelion and down into the river valley, heading toward the Dwarf Road. There had been no one in the vicinity when her mount had stepped into the unexpected bog and become stuck. She had jumped from the horse and freed it, but it immediately ran away in fright, leaving her alone and hopelessly trapped.

“Stupid, flighty damned Elvish animal,” she cursed as she watched its white flanks disappear into the fog. She called for help regardless, knowing that it would probably be only a waste of her energy.

“Help! Help! Someone, please!” she cried. “Is anyone there?”

To her horror, she saw that her feet had sunk lower into the mud, and it reached her calves. The enormity of the situation struck her like a heavy blow and for a split second she almost panicked. But she swallowed firmly and resolved to steel her mind to remain calm and lucid.

In an hour of calling for help no one heard her. She could not see more than a few feet in front of her because of the fog, but she knew she was not far from the Dwarf Road.

‘If I cry out every five minutes for five minutes at a time, I will have a good chance of being heard by someone on that road,’ she thought. She was a frequent traveler in the south of Caranthir’s lands, and she knew how light the traffic was on the road, but she hoped that someone would hear her cries before she was sucked below the river’s surface.

Her thoughts turned to Caranthir. Since the winter festival she had not seen much of him. The kiss they had shared had been too intense and had frightened her. She felt drawn very strongly to the Elf-lord and at this point in her life, full of uncertainty and doubts about her own abilities to cope with all her obligations, she did not want to become involved in a relationship with Caranthir. She felt that in such a pairing her personality might be crushed beneath his, and that she would not have any resistance to him once she submitted. Not only that, but she was striving to learn how to be a good leader of her people at every opportunity that presented itself. If she forsook them for him, she felt she would be going back on a moral obligation.

However, it had been winter at the time and that was not a good season in which to undertake a long journey, so she decided to stay in Thargelion for the present. Her plan to leave in the spring for Dorthonion remained, although she was not as determined to lead her people there as she once had been. The lord Caranthir’s presence, even as a memory, was always with her however much she wished for it not to be. It was for that reason that she tried to avoid him.

‘I would be no less than his thrall if I became his wife,’ she thought, ‘and that I could not abide.’ So she had run away from him, though she knew not why she was weak and had stayed in his lands with her people, but she had not seen him since the night of the kiss. She had gone back to her home and had put away the Elven cloak he had given her, intending never to wear it again. Such riches had nothing to do with her or her life.

Haleth stopped thinking and counted to three hundred and then she started screaming. She screamed out the numbers until she had reached three hundred and then she stopped again and rested her voice. Her body ached to sit or lie down but she knew she could not do that in the deadly sucking bog or risk being pulled down faster and further.

After three hours, she had sunk to her knees. She tried to keep as still as possible while she continued to scream for help. Suddenly, she heard a horrible screeching noise as of large birds above her head and then a terrible cracking of branches. She looked up into the swirling fog but could see nothing. However, a large bough from an olive tree broke off and came crashing down next to her on the mud between her and the water. She saw it appear out of the fog when it was about five or six feet above her and she felt lucky that it hadn’t hit her in the head.

‘Or maybe I would have been luckier if it had,’ she thought, ‘especially if it knocked me out. Then I would have been unconscious when the bog claimed my life.”

She realized with a start that the bough could be her savior. She stretched forward carefully and grasped one of its branches with trembling hands. She pressed down on it very carefully to test whether it would sink, and was thankful when it did not. She very gingerly leaned her body forward and tried to pull her legs up and out of the mud. She could only manage to free about an inch of leg, but that tiny victory gave her an overwhelming sense of relief such that she wanted to burst into tears.

She lay forward upon her savior bough and resting her head on top of its leaves, she fell asleep.

“Haleth,” the deep voice, soft to hear like velvet was to touch, whispered in her ear.

“Is this a dream…?” she asked, sleepy still but awakening.

“Haleth,” it said again, more sharply this time, a note of concern reaching into the depths of her consciousness, causing her alertness to grow keener.

“My lord—Caranthir,” she sighed happily, and tried to pull herself awake, but not succeeding. She felt strong hands on her, clasped about her waist.

“Here, help me,” she heard the sweet, welcome voice say, and then more sounds, some rustling and some grunting, and the sound of something plopping onto the water surface. Something jiggled her body, and she felt a strong pull around her waist. She could feel she was being stretched. She tried to open her eyes. Redness shone against her lids. Was the sun shining now? More jiggling and pulling ensued and then she heard a great, sucking sound and a huge plop and her legs came free. Oh, Blessed Beor, she was free! Then blackness overtook her and she fell into a swoon.

When she next awoke it was to the sensation of water enveloping her skin, warm and soothing. Her eyes fluttered open and she saw the kindly face of an Elf-woman who gently began soaping her neck and shoulders. The scent of lavender assailed Haleth’s nostrils and invigorated her senses.

“Where am I?” she whispered.

“You are in Lord Caranthir’s house,” the Elf-woman said, her voice soft and pleasant. “In his bathtub.”

Haleth started violently and abruptly sat up. “No. Oh, no. I cannot be here,” she cried.

“But my lady, he has given up his room to you until you have recovered fully,” said the Elf-woman, a look of concern crossing her pale face. “I have been asked to look after you until you are well.”

Haleth softened. “He has not—seen me?” she asked, her hand flying to her chest as if to cover it in modesty.

“No. He has not seen you since you were rescued,” said the Elf. “You have been sleeping on and off all day. It is now early evening. Do you not remember?”

“No, I remember nothing,” Haleth whispered, blinking her eyes and trying to will her memory to come back.

“You were awake a few minutes ago and I decided to give you a bath to wash off the mud from the bog that had coated you head to foot,” said the Elf-woman. She stood, and Haleth could see that she was very tall and though willowy, she looked to be an elleth of great strength, capable of lifting and carrying a small mortal woman such as Haleth.

Haleth relaxed and leaned her head back to rest upon the rim of the white porcelain tub, and looked around the spacious bathroom. It was well-appointed, its floor tiled in white ceramic that mirrored deeply everything that stood upon it. Solid gold cornices graced the corners of the room, with the sweet faces of children carved into them. White curtains billowed at the tall windows, which had been opened in order to let in the waning sun’s rays after a day of heavy rains.

The Elf-woman took a white towel from some shelves at the foot of the bathtub and brought it to Haleth.

“If you would step out of the water, I shall wrap this around you so that you can dry yourself if you feel strong enough,” she said.

“Thank you,” said Haleth and raised her body out of the water, holding gingerly onto the sides of the tub. She took the towel and held it about her shoulders. “What happened to me? Why am I here?”

The Elf-woman relayed the story of how Haleth became trapped in the bog and how two Dwarves who had happened to come down the road from the mountains had found her. They had heard the screaming cries of large vulture-like birds circling over the spot where she lay, and had gone to investigate. They spotted her white riderless horse grazing nearby, its reins hanging loose and they became concerned for its rider so they made a thorough search.

When they came across Haleth they knew immediately who she was, and one of them took the horse and rode to Caranthir’s home to tell him of the discovery. He came straight away to rescue her, and with the help of the two Dwarves, managed to free her from the mud.

Haleth gazed at herself in the mirror, and at the Elf-woman standing behind her. “I remember nothing at all of that,” she said in wonder.

“It will come back in time, I am sure,” said the Elf, brushing Haleth’s wavy tresses away from her face.

Haleth watched her reflection while the Elf-woman brushed her hair until it was dry and shone like satin. Somehow, in this room with its warm glow that emanated from many candles and a cozy fire, she thought she looked rather pretty. Her hair was a bronze color—not blonde and not quite red—and her eyes were deep blue and shone with intelligence. Today her skin was flushed, giving her an attractive glow. There was a smattering of freckles across her nose, but not as pronounced as they would be in summertime.

“Would you like me to arrange your hair for you?” asked the Elf-woman.

Haleth shrugged. “What for?” she asked.

“Lord Caranthir has told me that if you gained strength enough this afternoon, he would like you to join him for dinner,” said the Elf.

Haleth felt a welcome thrill of anticipation course through her and she thought for a moment. She felt feminine and attractive for once, and very much alive. “Yes. Very well. That would be nice,” she said, willing her voice to remain even. She was annoyed with herself for feeling such an attraction to Caranthir at the mere mention of having dinner with him. Was it because of her accident and the fact that she was now more acutely aware of the difference between life and death and the realization that she was truly mortal?

But she assured herself that nothing about her resolution had changed. She was still more committed to her people than to him. But was it the thought of losing him through death when she was trapped in the bog that made her realize what that loss would have meant? Her people would have been left leaderless. And she would never have known Caranthir in the way that deep within herself she ached to know.

The Elf-woman smiled. “I will fix your hair in a becoming style,” she said, “half up and half hanging down around your shoulders. I shall lend you one of my daughter’s dresses, if you like. She is your size, I think. Unfortunately your clothes were ruined in the bog.”

Haleth gave a short laugh that was more like a derisive snort. “My clothes—such as they were—were not more than a few tatters of rags,” she said. “I shall quite like to wear a dress for a change. Thank you.”

The Elf-woman nodded and both women beamed at each other through the mirror.

They stared at each other across the long expanse of table. They were seated in his dining room, languishing over a formal dinner that neither of them was interested in eating. There were many dishes laid out upon the polished walnut surface.

‘This room could hold an army,’ Haleth thought, her silver wine cup held to her lips, her gaze taking in the vast space in all its ornate splendor. It was a huge room, a crystal chandelier suspended from the center of the ceiling, casting golden candlelight upon the two lone diners.

“Haleth.” Caranthir’s voice echoed across the room.

She came out of her reverie slowly, her somnolent gaze finding him seated at the opposite end of the table. ‘This wine has gone to my head,’ she thought, ‘for I feel stirred by his beauty. He has never looked more magnificent.’ She stared at Caranthir, noting his black braided hair, its reddish highlights brought out by the purple color of his formal robes.

“Haleth!” The look on his face showed his concern. He stood abruptly, leaving his meal untouched, and came to her side, sitting upon the chair next to her.

Up close, he was even more beautiful. She tried to bite the rim of her cup in order to bring herself back to reality, but her teeth slipped and she bit her lip instead. Her focus returned with a start. “Yes?” she asked, her brow furrowing in pain, her tongue emerging to lick her bleeding lip.

“I am worried about you, Haleth,” said her concerned host. “Are you fully recovered as you told me you were, or are you only trying to please me by saying so?”

She could not take her gaze away from him. His hair, braided and pulled away from his face, allowed her to see every feature, every plane of his perfectly sculpted countenance. His eyes were the most beautiful thing about him, she thought. Tonight they shone large and dark. He looked youthful because of his helpless expression.

“Oh no—I am fine,” she replied. “I feel very well indeed.”

“Haleth,” he said, repeating her name for the fourth time, as if he could not stop himself from saying it. “You are not yourself.”

“How would you know me, my lord?” she asked. “You have not seen me for nigh on three months.”

“And I have missed you. It is not my fault that we have not met before now. Have you not considered my offer from the winter season? Why have you not spoken to me of your decision? You torture me, Haleth, by forcing me to wait so long to hear it.”

“I…” She faltered. She looked down at her cup and looked up at him again. “I…was afraid,” she said.

“Afraid of me?” he asked. “But why, Haleth? Have I not told you before—I am the one who will go on living after your death. I am the one who shall miss you all the long years of my life. You can live in comfort, in riches, in this house—“

“To be cooped up like a bird?” she asked. “Until my life is spent? To see nothing of the world except this place, forever, as beautiful as it is? That is not my wish.”

His dark eyes widened in surprise and he slumped in his chair. “But you need not be chained to this house, or to these lands,” he said. “If we were to marry, you will be free to roam where you will, and you can still be a leader of your people.”

“And if I choose to lead them to Dorthonion, I may do so?” she asked, her voice and countenance a challenge to him. “What, then, would be the point of marriage?”

“Of course you may lead them wherever you wish,” he said, picking up her hand from the table surface and holding it to his lips. “As long as you come back. The point of marriage, for me, is to bond and be one with the woman I love. It is not to keep her in a cage.”

She sighed and stared at him. ‘He is so tempting…’ she thought.

He stroked the back of her hand with a gentle finger. “I think only one thing will convince you,” he said.

“And what would that be, my lord?” she asked. She leaned closer to him as if drawn by an invisible rope that pulled them together.

“First, you must stop calling me ‘my lord’,” he said, rising to his feet as gracefully as a cat, while still holding onto her hand. He bent and swept her into his arms in one fluid motion.

She gasped and dropped the silver cup. It rolled across the white linen tablecloth, spilling a single drop of red wine onto its pristine surface, like a drop of blood upon a virgin’s bed.

Swiftly, he carried her up the sweeping staircase to his bedchamber where she had lain only hours before. He laid her gently upon the white and gold coverlet and sat beside her, caressing her cheek and smoothing her hair away from her forehead.

“My Haleth,” he whispered. “When I thought I had lost you this morning…” His voice trailed off into silence, his eyebrows knitting in distress.

“I remember nothing of this morning,” she murmured, gazing up at him in wonder.

“You shall remember this night,” he said, and took her into his arms again to devour her mouth in a kiss of such passion that she was lost in an exquisite torrent of pleasure, igniting her.

She remembered the touch of his lips from three months ago although she had not seen him since, and the way his breath felt in between his kisses. The smell of his hair was intoxicating, like inhaling the scent of lavender for the first time. Her hands flew to his braids and she ran her fingers through them, trying to unravel the strands.

“What are you doing?” he asked, breaking the kiss, his lips next to hers, soft on her cheek like the petals of a flower.

“I want to feel you all over, to experience every touch from every part of you,” she whispered, bold now and unafraid. “You are such a wondrous being.”

He smiled as if enraptured with her, his lips curving in a sensual smile. He allowed his body to touch hers in a gesture of familiarity that endeared him to her. In a moment he sat up and began unraveling one side of his hair while Haleth loosened the other. When his hair was unbound she stroked it with her fingers until it tumbled, gleaming, about his shoulders, its ends falling to mid-torso.

She sat and loosened her own hair, letting its waves unravel loosely down her back. She slipped her hands beneath the collar of his robe and began to unclasp its silver fastenings, and slipped it from his shoulders when it was undone. She marveled at his smooth yet muscular chest, his nipples peaked and sensitive when her fingers gently drifted over them.

“Ai!” he cried when she did so and when she licked the tip of his pointed ear with her curious tongue.

Clad in only tight leggings of soft gray suede, he stood and let her untie their lacings. She let her gaze linger upon his taut, slender belly, narrow waist and slim hips, and she lowered the garment very slowly so that she could savor the sight of every exposed inch of his wondrous body. Unlike the men of her tribe, some of whom she had seen naked, Caranthir had very little body hair—in fact, nothing at all above the navel, and below just a faint covering of dark hair surrounding a beautiful cock of perfect proportion. She gasped in wonder and dropped her trembling hands.

He sat quickly beside her, gracefully kicking off the leggings from his slender feet. “You are not afraid of me, are you?” he asked, his eyebrows arched in concern. “Shall I darken the room?” He stood and moved to smother the flame in a sconce on the wall.

She stared at his back, transfixed by the fluid movement of his sculpted buttocks. She trembled, disbelieving that it had come to this and she was in his bed. She loved him passionately but she did not know how to tell him that.

“No, no,” she whispered. “I have never…” She started to explain.

“You have never made love before?” he asked, his voice soft and caring. “You are a virgin?”

“No,” she said. “No, I am not. When I was sixteen I had a lover…but no, it is not that. I have never seen anyone as beautiful as you. It is as if you are not real.” She could not help but stare unabashedly at the exquisite Elf before her. The combination of his appearance in the candlelight, made ethereal by the golden glow as if he were surrounded by a halo, and the wine she had consumed, made her become mesmerized by him.

His dark eyes flashed. “I am real, I assure you,” he said and bent to kiss her again. “I will show you,” and he took her lips forcefully, deepening the kiss this time, his tongue probing the depths of her mouth. When he broke the kiss he sat up and began to unfasten her dress. It was a simple garment, and it came off quickly. Her petticoats and shift soon followed.

He slipped his hand beneath her underpants. She felt his warm flesh sliding over her buttocks, moving swiftly to her belly. She gasped when she felt his touch briefly between her thighs, before he pulled her undergarment all the way off. Her tongue touched his ever so slightly—she tasted his flavor—like a mixture of apples and oranges—before his lips devoured hers again.

They lay together in their nakedness. She could feel the silky hardness of his length against her thigh, and she reached down to wrap her fingers around it, and to stroke it and feel its throbbing heat.

“Oh Haleth,” he sighed. “I love you so.” His tongue sought her ear.

His fingers slid between her thighs and explored the warm flesh before drifting to the crevice between her buttocks. He pulled her tightly to his body and she guided his arousal to her mound, where he thrust and pressed his aching need against her.

Haleth’s breathing became heavy. Her desire was exquisite. She grasped the tip of his member between her fingers and felt the wetness oozing from it. She stroked the sides of his shaft and positioned it at her entrance, her body trembling with need.

“Wait,” he moaned. “Oil—there is oil in the drawer.”

He pulled away slightly and stretched his body so that he could reach the nightstand. He pulled open the drawer, searching for the elusive vial.

Haleth shivered, admiring his catlike stretch and she trailed her hand along the smooth expanse of his skin from flank to shoulder. “You are so lovely, Caranthir,” she murmured.

“Haleth,” he whispered, turning to her with the vial in his hand, and gently stroked her neck just below her chin. He poured some of the oil into her hand so that she might smooth it onto his straining shaft. “Please touch me,” he said.

She could not resist. Before she used the oil she shifted her body lower so that she could take his length into her mouth. It was smooth as satin, warm and delicious. She sucked and licked until its taste caused an aching in her loins and then she let it slip from her lips.

Caranthir groaned at the loss of contact, but quickly Haleth repositioned herself and took his shaft in her hand and slicked the oil over its length and down onto his sac, kneading it carefully in her fingertips. “So beautiful…” she said, breathless with desire.

She quickly guided his cock into her, crying out with pleasure when it filled her completely and pressed against her sweet spot.

He gave a lusty moan and thrust into her, taking care not to hurt her, but pumping ardently, and after a few bucks of his hips he spent himself, crying out with passion when he came.

Haleth climaxed immediately after him. “Oh, Caranthir, my love!” she cried, tears of joy bursting from her eyes, her body trembling from the long-awaited release. “I love you! The Gods curse my stubbornness in not telling you before now!”

He took her face between his hands, and kissed her softly, tenderly. He kissed her a long time, his caresses gentle, yet attentive, tasting her lips as though for the first time.

“Haleth,” he whispered, his lips gentle against her ear, his breath blowing a tuft of her hair upwards, like a drift of sand upon the beach. “Should we marry right away?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said happily, running her hands through his glorious black hair. “Yes, we should. The sooner the better.”

Chapter 3-The Uncertainty of Summer

Please be warned that this chapter introduces a subject that may be extremely distasteful to some people. And yet to say what it is would give away an element of surprise, and so let me just say that it involves a discussion of a possibly incendiary political issue, even in this country (Canada) which is more leftist-leaning than our beloved neighbours to the south. The act is legal here, but still comes under fierce debate from time to time.

Read Chapter 3-The Uncertainty of Summer

Haleth awoke with an odd sensation trickling through her stomach. She turned over onto her belly, feeling the coolness of the sheets beneath her prone, naked body and she reached out to stroke the silky skin of Caranthir, lying next to her. He stirred slightly at her touch and murmured something unintelligible. His voice was soothing and melodic, stilling the nightmarish fears that still clung to her memory. She looked at him but he was not awake.

Removing her hand from Caranthir’s back where it lay like a limp flower, Haleth felt the trickle in her belly become more uncomfortable. She pushed back the covers, swinging her legs over the side of the bed so that she could seek to soothe her feet upon the cool wooden floor.

‘Oh Gods,’ she thought. ‘I am going to be sick.’ She had just enough time to reach an empty plant pot and she bent forward to heave into it, trying to be as quiet as possible so as not to awake the still-sleeping Elf while she evacuated the contents of her stomach.

Passing an unsteady hand across her forehead and feeling the slick sheen of perspiration, Haleth returned on tip-toe to the bed and sat upon its edge. Hanging her head between her knees, she attempted to help the sense of nausea pass. She noticed that the weight of her breasts caused them to feel sore, and she was puzzled by this. They had never felt heavy before upon bending. She lay back slowly on the mattress, shivering from the sensation of the cool sheets that had only a few moments ago felt soothing.

She glanced at Caranthir again, letting her gaze wander over his luxurious black hair that covered the pillow with its dusky strands. She admired the sensuous curve of his shoulder, shapely with muscle and smooth of skin. Wishing for a moment that she was an artist so that she might put brush to canvas and render his exquisite form to posterity, she laughed when she realized that since he was an Elf and would live forever in comparison to her own kindred, it would be completely unnecessary to have to paint a portrait of him. He would last long after she would.

Her thoughts wandered to her parents and brother, all dead, and she wished that she had had the foresight to preserve their memory in even as much as simple drawings so that she could hang them on the wall of her room or place them in frames upon a sideboard. She felt sad that there was nothing she possessed, no token with which to remember them.

She had never seen any portraits of Caranthir’s father or mother in his house—her house too, as he had told her. “My home is yours now too, Haleth,” he had purred to her in a seductive voice like dark velvet against her skin. It was a voice that always soothed her fears. Curiously, although she knew he had many brothers, she had never met them and he rarely spoke of them. He never spoke of his parents. She realized she did not know very much about him.

She had only met his cousin, with whom he was close—a warm and friendly Elf named Finrod, who was as fair as Caranthir was dark, as open as Caranthir was close, and as talkative as Caranthir was taciturn.

She delighted in Finrod’s company. They both did. And they had good times together, the three of them, laughing at so many things that she and Caranthir would never have found amusing together. Finrod was a fairly able singer and would play for them on his small harp and sing all the songs he knew. Times were merry when he was with them. He brought joy into their world. But when he was gone and they were alone, their mutual passion for each other overwhelmed them and they were lovers more than anything else, coming together in their frenzied passion day after day, night after night. Caranthir was insatiable and Haleth could not get enough of him.

“Live with me in my house,” he had said, but she had been reluctant.

“My people—“ she had protested. “I cannot leave them.”

“Move them here, onto my lands.” (He had said “my lands”, not “our lands”.) “You can govern them from the house and live here with me.”

When he spoke these words, the intensity of his earnest gaze disintegrated Haleth’s resolve. When he held out his strong arm and pulled her to him, she had acquiesced to his wishes, feeling all the time that her freedom and the freedom of her people to make their own choices were being eroded, bit by bit. Yet she could not resist Caranthir and willingly moved her small tribe onto his property after all, though reluctance clung to her and almost pulled her back to remaining true to her original purpose—to leave Thargelion. She felt like a person trying to move forward while wearing a cloak whose hem clung to the mud and stuck to the ground.

Haleth sighed and threw an arm behind her head, running her hand through her mass of curls, and rubbing her head with the exasperation she felt at her weakness and indecision.

Caranthir stirred and rolled over to face her. His hand reached out with automatic familiarity to rest upon her breast, his sensitive fingers gently squeezing the swollen flesh. His eyes opened in surprise and a knowing look flitted across his face but he said nothing. He left his hand on her warm skin but lowered it to her belly, softly stroking its gentle swell. He smiled but did not speak to her.

Haleth breathed a heavy sigh and raised her head from her pillow. “I need a bath,” she told him and got up slowly, testing herself. She felt much better and when she rose to her feet she did not feel dizzy. She walked into the bathroom with steady gait and pulled the cord that would summon her personal servant.

When the Elf-woman entered the bedchamber, she nodded briefly to Caranthir who remained in bed, sitting with the sheets draped without shyness over his thighs and perusing a book that he held in his lap. She was the same woman who had helped Haleth on the first day she had slept in Caranthir’s house. Haleth later discovered that she was married to Caranthir’s butler, whom she had at first thought to be a spiritless creature.

The butler and his wife had turned out to be two kindly, trusted people who took care of both Caranthir and Haleth, who depended on them a great deal. One had to look hard to find them during their time off, for they were reticent and usually retired to their own cottage, keeping to themselves. They suited their lord well, since he was almost as untalkative as they.

“Orithil,” said Haleth. “I’d like some water drawn for a bath, if you don’t mind, and later—“ Her voice trailed off and she reduced it to a whisper.

“Yes, my lady?” Orithil asked, also whispering.

“I’d like to talk to you about something—er—very personal,” Haleth murmured. “It is private. I don’t want Lord Caranthir to know about it.”

Orithil looked at Haleth silently for a moment. Her face looked to Haleth to be etched in sharp melancholy lines. “Yes, my lady,” she said finally, and left to summon other servants to come and fill the bath.

Haleth picked up a robe from her wardrobe and wrapped it around her body. She glanced at Caranthir, wishing to talk to him. Noticing that he looked to be deeply engrossed in his book, she perceived from his stillness that he was unapproachable for conversation and after a brief hesitation and a struggle with her conflicting emotions, she decided to leave him alone. She held her robe tightly around her body and walked back into the bathroom to sit by herself and wait for Orithil to bring the servants to come and fill the tub.

Once the tub was filled and Haleth was lying back in the warm water, letting it soothe her chilled limbs, she made her concerns known to Orithil. Speaking in a quiet voice so that Caranthir would not overhear, she asked the question that worried her most.

“Orithil,” she began, and bent forward, wrapping her arms around her knees and watching her toes appear to be moving beneath the rippling water when she moved her feet.

“Yes, my lady Haleth?” Orithil enquired, gently spreading lather over the back of Haleth’s shoulders.

“May I ask you something that may seem like an odd question, but to which I would most like to know the answer?”

“Of course, my lady,” said Orithil, her eyebrows raised.

“Well—it seems that I have some odd symptoms,” Haleth continued.

“Symptoms, my lady? Are they of a physical nature?”

“Yes, they are,” Haleth replied. “I have been sick this morning, and my body is changing in the most peculiar ways—“

“You need not say more, my lady,” said Orithil. “I know what it is that troubles you.”

“You do?” asked Haleth. “How could you know?” She turned an incredulous stare upon Orithil, her eyes open wide with curiosity.

“Yes. You are with child. I know this because I have had a daughter. I did notice that one of the plant pots smelled rancid this morning. I shall remove it right away and then I shall return to speak with you, if you wish.”

Haleth nodded and Orithil got up and left Haleth alone with her thoughts.

‘I cannot be with child!’ Haleth thought upon her servant’s words with a sense of horror. She was shocked into silence and sat still as stone in the bathtub. She picked up her sponge and continued to soap herself, pondering her situation.

‘Caranthir must not know of this. I do not want this baby. It will tie me to his house and I cannot allow that to be. That such a thing should happen to me must be a lesson. I never should have let him turn me from my intended path. I shall never have this baby. Once the thing that I must do is done I shall leave here with my people as I should have many months ago.’

When Orithil had left the bathroom to retrieve the soiled pot, Caranthir slipped out of bed, his tanned skin glowing with warmth, and made his way to the bedroom door in order to hold it open, enabling Orithil to pass with the planter. Unabashed by his nakedness, he stared at her intently as she went through the door. She did not look at him.

Once she had passed through the door, Caranthir closed it behind her and crossed silently to the bathroom. He watched Haleth scrubbing herself vigorously with a sponge, murmuring quietly to herself, before he padded to the bathtub to join her. His long, lithe legs allowed him to step easily into the tub, where he slid gracefully behind her.

Haleth gave a great start and clapped her hand to her chest. “Caranthir! You have startled me! What are you doing here?” she cried. She turned to face him.

“An odd question,” said Caranthir, one brow raised higher than the other, “considering the fact that we bathed together just last night.”

“B-but you did not want to talk to me this morning,” Haleth stammered.

Caranthir’s brows drew together in puzzlement. “But how could you know that?” he asked quietly. “Have you now the gift of prescience?”

“You were reading your book,” said Haleth, meeting his gaze with a steady, determined look. “I did not think you wanted to talk to me.”

“Not reading—merely looking at it,” he said gently, and reached out to touch her chin lightly with his long fingers. He tipped her head slightly backwards and gazed deeply into her eyes.

Haleth stared back at him. His dark, unbraided hair fell about his face, softening its features. His steely grey eyes with their intense gaze made him appear to be reading her most private thoughts and intentions.

‘He knows,’ she thought with sudden panic. ‘He knows. And what, I wonder, will he do about it?’

“Caranthir,” she said, her voice beginning to rise despite her desire to remain calm.

“Yes, my lovely Haleth?” he asked, his voice a whisper.

“Do you love me?” she asked, willing herself not to falter and drop her gaze or in any other way to give away her thoughts.

“Of course I love you,” he replied. “Have I not said it often enough, Haleth?”

“It is not that,” she said softly. “Do you love me enough to let me do what I want—what I think is best, no matter what it is?”

He was silent for a moment before he drew back from her and rested his back against the opposite wall of the tub. He dropped his hands under the surface of the water. His smile had disappeared. He looked both puzzled and disappointed, and she did not know what to make of his answer.

“I do,” he said.

Later, after Caranthir had dressed and left the room, Haleth sat brooding at her dressing-table while Orithil brushed her hair.

“Orithil, do you know how to rid yourself of a pregnancy?” Haleth asked.

Orithil had begun to plait the bright strands into the braided style of the Elves. She paused. “I do know of certain—potions—one can take,” she said. “There are also other—less pleasant ways to achieve the same desired result if the potion were not to work.”

“Are there?” Haleth asked her. “Well, Orithil, you are knowledgeable. You must tell me about them. Do not worry—I am—or was—a warrior-maiden. I can abide whatever unpleasantries you tell me, no matter how harrowing they may be.”

Once Orithil had finished telling Haleth about the various methods used to cause a pregnancy to be interrupted, the young mortal woman’s face was pale with distaste and horror.

“This is wrong, is it not?” Haleth asked. “It would be an affront to your Gods for me to rid myself of this child. What will they do to me, I wonder?”

“It seems to me that it is no lesser wrong than taking lives by means of war. The Valar do not have control over us. Only Ilúvatar, the Father, has authority over what happens to our fëar. But if you ask me for my opinion, the Valar have approved of war.” Orithil spoke quietly, her brows drawn in a thoughtful expression. “You and Lord Caranthir are not married in the usual way between Elves, but I know not of laws concerning Elf and Mortal. However, if there has been union between your bodies, then pregnancy could have come to be. It is not my business to delve into the most intimate parts of your life, my lady, but if you and he have not wed in the way of the Elves, speaking the name of Ilúvatar and blessed by Manwë and Varda, I do not think it would have any bearing on your ability to have children.”

Haleth turned and clasped Orithil’s hand. She squeezed it with affection and looked upon her loyal servant with a sympathetic gaze. “I would not have believed that it could have happened,” she said. “ But it did. You do know the most intimate details about me, Orithil, because I have no one else in whom to confide. My mother is dead. Can you please arrange to have a potion made for me? I have made up my mind that this is what I shall do. Lord Caranthir must know nothing of it. Please promise me that you shall never tell him what has happened to me. I plan to leave within a few days, gather my people, and begin our journey to Dorthonion, where I should have gone more than half a year ago. If I do not leave now, winter will set in, and then it will be too late for us to go.”

Orithil put down the ornate silver hairbrush with which she was using to plait and brush Haleth’s curls. “I shall miss you, my lady,” she said, her soft hands gently squeezing the tops of Haleth’s shoulders, tears forming in her eyes.

A few days later, Haleth sat across from Caranthir at the breakfast table. She feigned eating, picking up morsels of food and breaking them into even smaller pieces before pretending to put them into her mouth, and alternately raising the heavy ceramic cup of steaming tea to her lips, taking only tiny sips of the refreshing brew.

Caranthir was munching heartily upon thick toast spread liberally with butter and honey, and left-over sliced ham. “ Today I leave to meet with the Dwarves about excavating a new mine where that vein of gold I was telling you about was discovered,” he said. “ It is in the north, near Lake Helevorn, therefore I shall be gone for many days.”

Haleth put down her cup and regarded him with a somber gaze. She steadied her hands on the sides of the warm ceramic mug. ‘This will be our last meal together,’ she thought, and pain like a cruel steel blade pierced her midsection. ‘I will not see him again.’

“I shall miss you, Caranthir,” she whispered, her lower lip beginning to tremble.

He looked at her sharply. “Would you like to accompany me?” he asked.

“No,” she said firmly. “I mean that I would like to, but I have promised Rodyn, my second-in-command, to help him organize this year’s midsummer festival. If I go with you then it will be too late for me to do so by the time we return.”

“Very well,” said Caranthir. “ What is to be will be.”

When he was gone and their farewells had been made to each other, Haleth found herself traversing the hedged pathway to the small cottage where Orithil lived with her family and knocked upon the closed wooden door. The sound her rapping knuckles made rang hollow and resonated sorrowfully into the air of the cool summer afternoon.

Orithil opened the door and Haleth spoke swiftly. “This evening I shall go to my people and tell them to prepare for our departure in the morning. Can you bring the potion to my bedchamber tonight, Orithil? I plan to take it with me. I will commit the act in Dorthonion, our new home, once we have reached those lands. I will not leave the products of our union here, where Caranthir lives. It would be the worst kind of insult and I cannot do such a thing to him.”

Pressing her fingers to her burning eyelids, Haleth fell sobbing against Orithil’s shoulder.

Chapter 4-The Desolation of Autumn

WARNINGS: CHARACTER DEATH, SOME GRUESOMENESS, MORE POLITICAL ISSUES INVOLVED.

Read Chapter 4-The Desolation of Autumn

Haleth sat in the shallow waters of the stream, her hands pressed beside her into the muddy bottom. She was looking up at the sky. Grey clouds in the distance, trimmed in purple hues, looked to be moving closer. They would bring with them the first snows of the new season.

It was then that Haleth realized her lower body and hands were cold, freezing cold. Her hands felt like lumps of snow, big and puffy. She shivered and looked down. Red clouds of blood billowed out around her body, and their circumference was wider now than it had been an hour ago when she had waded into the water, limping on fragile feet and sat down.

Orithil’s potion had not worked. After taking it two months before, Haleth had given it time to take effect, but nothing had happened. Finally, she had decided to try to cause a miscarriage by using a sharp instrument, and though she had tried to be careful, it had caused her to hemorrhage, and she had much pain with it.

She sat and looked down into the water. She thought she could hear a voice calling to her but she could not see anything except the red clouds, making the water murky. She tried to stand but she found she was unable to move her legs—they were too weak. So she laid her head back in the water, letting it float for a while on the surface, and she tried to listen harder to the voice.

“Mother,” the faint voice spoke. It sounded like a little girl. “Mother, please don’t leave me. I need you. Please stay here and help me.” Haleth sighed with regret but she felt numb.

After awhile her eyes closed and her face sank below the surface of the stream. Her arms were folded over her belly.

~ ~ ~

Caranthir had returned from his trip to Lake Helevorn a few days early. The vein of gold had been sound, and miners had been dispatched to work on the excavation. The capable Dwarves were left in charge of the project, everyone happy with the promise of the new riches that had been discovered.

Caranthir was especially pleased because this promise of new wealth would allow him to establish a community of houses for Haleth’s people in Thargelion. He planned to set them up in trades that would be beneficial to all that lived there. He could not wait to get home and surprise his love with his idea.

But when he reached his home and found that Haleth was gone, he was extremely upset at this news and turned his rage on Orithil. Furious, he paced around the room in his tall black leather boots, their heels clacking on the polished wood floors beneath them, and he raised his voice to her.

“What do you mean, Orithil, that she is gone?” he demanded, his deep voice creating a cacophony when combined with the striking sound of his boot-heels.

“She told me, My Lord, that she needed to take her people as quickly as possible to Dorthonion before the winter set in, or it would be too late.” Orithil’s voice was quavering, and she sat at the dining table, watching her master become angrier, his pacing becoming quicker as his anger grew.

His legs, encased in tight-fitting black leggings, were a blur before her eyes. When he turned, his steely grey eyes flashed sparks at her.

“Is she planning to come back?” he asked.

“What, My Lord?” she asked, her voice trembling.

He stopped walking, placed both palms on the table-top and bent his steely gaze towards her. His knuckles were white.

“Is it her plan to lead her people to Dorthonion and then return to us here?”

“I—I cannot say, My Lord.” Orithil’s voice was shaking as much as her hands. She tried to steady them by placing them in her lap.

“You cannot say or you do not intend to say because you made her a promise not to?” he asked, his voice becoming a little quieter, but cold as ice.

“My Lord, I am so sorry.” Orithil burst into tears. “I cannot tell you that which I promised her I would not.”

Caranthir hurried around the edge of the table to Orithil’s side. He fell to his knees, took one of her hands in his and held it to his lips. With the warmth of his breath and the touch of his trembling mouth against the back of her hand, he entreated her with his tear-filled grey eyes, their lashes beaded with tears. His voice was a soft whisper when he spoke.

“Let me just tell you this, Orithil,” he said. “I love Lady Haleth with all my heart, more than I have ever loved anyone. I cannot lose her, Orithil. You need not tell me any of her secrets. Allow me the privilege of hearing them myself, from her own lips, when I find her. Give us the opportunity to know each other—to find out every secret, dark, silly or otherwise—that each of us possesses. Let us find out everything we can about each other. Give us time, Orithil, to do this. In time she will come to know that she loves me in return. How long ago did she leave? Please tell me that, at least.”

Sobbing uncontrollably, Orithil squeezed Caranthir’s hand and with the other she tentatively touched the side of his face. Her fingers became wet with his tears. “One week,” she said. “She was to take them west first and then turn north after crossing the river at Sarn Athrad.”

“Thank you.” Caranthir stood, pulling Orithil up so that he could embrace her. “Do not worry,” he said. “I shall find her and have her back here in a fortnight.”

He left quickly for the stables, ordered his grooms to ready his prized dappled grey stallion, Mithroch, for a long journey, and when the horse was ready, they galloped away in the direction Orithil had given him.

~ ~ ~

Rodyn, Haleth’s second-in-command, came across her in the stream. “Haleth!” he cried upon first sight of her.

When she did not answer, fear crept into him. He waded into the frigid water and pulled her into his arms. He could see that her lips were tinged with blue.

He lifted her out and carried her back to camp. In their tribe there was a healer, an old woman with a perfunctory knowledge of health care, whom Rodyn entreated to examine Haleth and tell him, if she could, what had happened to their leader, and how she came to be in such a terrible predicament.

Rodyn was a young man of twenty—very young to be assuming the responsibility of leadership. But he was physically mature for his years, as well as intelligent and imperturbable. Haleth had chosen the best possible person to be her successor. Rodyn retired to his tent alone and awaited the healer’s verdict.

Removing his outer jerkin and sitting down on his pallet, he wrapped himself in his blanket and uncorked a bottle of fortifying wine, taking a small sip to steady his nerves. He passed a hand through his shock of blond hair, smoothing it away from his forehead, and stroked his mustache. He pondered on Haleth. Her behavior over the past two months had been strange. First, after telling Rodyn that she wanted to leave Thargelion first by way of following the Dwarf Road, she changed her mind after they had started out and told Rodyn that it would be better to travel first north through Thargelion, following the River Gelion. She said she thought the way would be safer if they stayed as long as possible in Caranthir’s territory, and then turn west into Dorthonion by way of the Little Gelion, traveling past Himring.

That was fine; it made no difference to him which way they took, as long as they got there safely in the end. But Haleth’s demeanor had changed. She had been sullen and she was practically unresponsive to everything that he had asked of her. She had become incapable of making decisions on the least little thing, where before she had always been strongly decisive on matters concerning the tribe, except where Caranthir was concerned. Rodyn suspected that some sort of ill will had befallen Haleth and the Elvish lord and that it had caused her unhappiness.

When Rodyn found Haleth in the shallow stream, covered in blood, he suspected that she had tried to take her own life, probably because of what had transpired between her and Caranthir. He vowed that if that were the case, he would return to Thargelion and have words with the lord.

Presently, the healer approached his tent and asked to speak with him.

~ ~ ~

Because of the change in Haleth’s route and the delay caused to the tribe by her indecisive actions, Caranthir did not discover the mortals who were slowly making their way to Doriath along the Gelion river. In fact, the tribe had stopped traveling altogether in order for Rodyn to make his journey back to Caranthir’s home near Sarn Athrad.

Orithil was seated at her kitchen table mending a hem when she heard knocking at her front door. The sound was hollow and it rang in the wintry night like a portent. When she opened it, she saw a tall, blond man with facial hair standing on her doorstep.

“Rodyn,” she said with surprise. She knew him from his association with Haleth, but she never thought she would see him again. Her heart was beating rapidly.

“Yes, madam,” said Rodyn. His manner was abrupt, purposeful, but his voice shook with nervousness. “I have news that I would like to impart to you, but first I must give this news to the lord Caranthir. I wonder if he is home, and if so, if you would accompany me to his house, where I can give you both my news together?”

Orithil held her hand to her throat. “I am sorry, Rodyn, but Lord Caranthir is away at present.” She stared at the young man with wide eyes filled with dread, for he looked deathly pale and stricken.

“Please come in and sit down,” Orithil offered, only just realizing that they stood on the threshold with door open wide, letting the cold winds blow into the cottage. “Can I get you something to eat and drink?”

“Yes, ma’am, I would be thankful for that,” he said, and practically fell down into a chair. “I have been riding for many days, trying to sleep and stop for food as little as possible so that I could reach here in the fastest possible time.”

Orithil set before him a mug of hot tea and poured him a bowl of warm broth, accompanied by a loaf of bread baked that day.

When he began his meal, Orithil asked him, “You have brought news of Lady Haleth, have you not? Have I guessed correctly that is why you have come all this way to see us?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said between sips and bites. “Although my news is not good. I am sorry, but Haleth is dead.”

“Dead?” cried Orithil. “Haleth is dead? Oh no, this is the worst possible news.” She buried her face in her hands and burst into tears.

“Yes. I am sorry to bring news such as this. I know you and she were close. I thought I should come and let you and Lord Caranthir know too, of course.”

“Yes,” sobbed Orithil. “Yes, we were close and Lord Caranthir loved her very much.”

After a few moments of silence in which the only sounds to be heard were those of Orithil’s sobbing and Rodyn’s chewing, the young man cleared his throat and spoke again.

“Would you like to know how she died?” he asked, his eyes a somber grey.

“I have an idea,” cried Orithil, her sobs becoming quieter. “Now there is no more need for secrets. I know she was carrying a child and she meant to rid herself of it. I suppose that something went wrong and Haleth died because of some mishap.”

“That is the strange thing about it,” said Rodyn. “I found her lying in a stream, with blood all around her. She had drowned. Our healer said that she had punctured herself with something sharp, most likely to cause a miscarriage, and had caused herself to hemorrhage.”

“Oh, Ilúvatar, please forgive me!” Orithil’s sobs became louder. “This is all my fault.”

“I don’t understand,” said Rodyn. “How could it be your fault, ma’am?”

“Because I told her how to rid herself of child!” Orithil cried. “I knew of her state, and I should have told him! I should have told Lord Caranthir about it and if I had done so, she may yet be alive today!”

“But ma’am,” said Rodyn, reaching out to touch her arm. “Haleth wasn’t even pregnant.”

~ ~ ~

Orithil sat at her kitchen table, her hands clasped tightly together as if to keep herself from shattering, looking like a statue made of fragile stone.

“My dear,” said her husband, “you have been sitting there for days, waiting for him who never comes. Come and have something to eat and give yourself some strength.”

“No,” she whispered, “I cannot. I wait for him. I wait for my lord Caranthir. I have something that I must tell him.”

She waited many weeks, her husband prying her away from her kitchen vigil to drag her to bed to catch a few hours’ sleep at night. During the day he would try to force-feed her. Orithil grew very thin and her appearance became that of an old woman. She struggled with her grief and the strain showed on her.

Orithil waited a long time, the innumerable days blending into each other, until finally, she heard it—the unmistakable rapping of Caranthir’s boot-heels upon her pathway.

She leapt from her place at the kitchen table and ran to the door, flinging it open. She looked at Caranthir walking up the path. His black hair blew behind him in the bitter wind. A red flush of cold was on his cheeks, and his eyes shone sharply at her like two beacons. He moved with the lithe, predatory grace of a cat.

Orithil’s breath caught in her throat at the sight of him. He looked lost, vulnerable, aching.

“My lord,” she said with faltering voice. “I have something to tell you.”

THE END

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Chapter End Notes

Many, many thanks to Dawn_Felagund for beta reading this long story.  Without her help I don't think I could have finished it.  Your hard work is very much appreciated, Dawn.