The Long Way Home   von Glasschmetterling
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                            Kapitel 9: Chapter Nine
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Chapter Nine
March  the 15th,  Year 3019 of the Third Age.

The rode again together the next day, and now Arnuilas was awake  behind him,
making a much more enjoyable companion than before. While  silent brooding was
certainly suited to him and his temper, knowing  that she was there, sitting
behind him, pointing out the ruins of old  settlements or the first flowers of
the approaching spring to him, or  just humming quietly, greatly improved his
mood. That she was staying  with him instead of joining the Elves, maybe even
Haldir, improved  his spirit even further, because in their trek of about
thirty, she  was the only one he cared about enough to actually talk to, and was
 comfortable doing so. But after all those weeks they had spent  together, even
silence between them was not awkward – they were  both not very loquacious,
and when they spoke, he enjoyed telling her  of the South, and she was expanding
his knowledge of the legends of  both Númenor and the First and Second Age,
which he had not studied  as diligently as his father had wished when he was a
boy.
From her mouth, in her soft voice dripping over his shoulder from  behind, the
tales suddenly held an interest he had not felt before,  even those without
great warriors and heroic battles. Maybe it was  because she narrated them in a
way totally different to that of his  schoolmasters, with feeling and
enthusiasm, and with a keen eye for  the characters in them, their thoughts and
motivations. He thoroughly  enjoyed listening to her, and was faintly
disappointed when the sun  began to set and Haldir fell back to them, holding
his horse next to  theirs on a slightly wider strip of the path.
“Are  you exhausted yet?”
They both answered in the negative, and the Elf nodded. “We will be  riding on
then. My heart is telling me that I have to return home  soon, and we will only
be resting briefly to eat before we continue  again.”
He  could feel her nod at his back, and Haldir called out to his people  to
halt. They had to content with lembas  this evening and forego the pleasures of
a warm meal, but Boromir had  done without much more in the last weeks. When
they returned to their  horse after they had eaten, Arnuilas extended her hand
and took the  reins just when he wanted to, their fingers meeting on the
leather.  “Let me ride; you must be tired.”
His hand still held hers, unwilling to pull away because it would  have admitted
defeat, but the way she looked at him, nearly entreated  him with her eyes to
accept her generosity made him finally give in,  though reluctantly. “If it is
your wish.”
She smiled softly and leaned closer to him as his hand left hers,  making sure
none of their companions would hear her. “I know you  are strong; you do not
have to prove it to me every day.”
Her smile made it possible for him to take her words in jest, to  ignore the
barb they contained, but he felt their sting nevertheless.  Did she think him so
proud? Was she not appreciating his efforts to  help her, to honour the service
she had done to him? He sighed  inwardly, but did not answer, not knowing what
to say. Instead he  stepped back, allowing her to mount, and then followed suit
to sit  behind her. Only now, with her in front of him, her body pressed 
against his and his arms around her waist, felt he that, though tall,  she was
not a broad woman, but rather slenderly built. He had not  remembered her as
such from the time he had met her in Lórien, but  maybe she had lost weight;
who would not have after the trials they  had been through, the long hours of
walking and the lack of  nourishment.
“Are  you comfortable?” asked she from the front, and he nodded.
“Yes.”
They continued into the night, at a slower pace than during the  daylight hours,
because their path, though better than before, was  still treacherous and small,
and the horses had to take care with  their steps, just as they would have, had
then been on foot. They  only rested in the wee hours of the morning, before at
dawn, after  too little sleep, the Elves roused them again, so they could
continue  their travels at first light. Arnuilas insisted on taking the reins 
again, but after a few hours, he could feel her body relax, and,  without waking
her, he took over, enjoying he comfort of feeling her  sleep in his arms.

March  the 17th,  Year 3019 of the Third Age.

When Boromir had departed their bedside the next morning, citing his  need to
refresh himself, she saw Haldir approach her, and smiled at  the Marchwarden,
her grudge soothed by time and their peaceful trek.  “What is it?”
“I  need to talk to you.”
Her eyebrows rose, but she nevertheless followed him to the other  side of their
little encampment, not only away from Boromir, but also  from the other Elves,
and could easily guess the topic of their  impending conversation.
“Are  you going to tell me now what action of his makes you condemn him 
so?”
Haldir nodded. “We are nearing the Nimrodel, and before we can  enter our
lands, you must know the truth. Ten days after the  Fellowship had left Lórien,
the Lady Galadriel called me to Caras  Galadhon and assigned me to travel South,
for she had seen the  Fellowship break and Boromir attempt to take the Ring of
Power from  the Ring-bearer.”
She  gasped, and could not avoid that her gaze travelled over Haldir's  shoulder
to Boromir, who stood next to their blankets, staring in  their direction, with
a steadily deepening frown on his face, and  obviously very uncomfortable. But,
to her own disdain, she could not  bring herself to feel pity for his distress;
she was too busy sorting  all the pieces that now fell into place, furthering
her new  understanding of his character and actions in the last weeks. This  was
what had bothered him so, had driven him to tell her that it  would have been
better had he not lived, why he had seemed so  preoccupied when he had asked for
Frodo... So  much guilt,  she thought as if feeling it all for herself, and
sighed heavily.
“So  this is his treachery.”
“It  is. Lady Galadriel has seen it, and sent us out, looking for those of 
the Fellowship that might not have survived the breaking of it. I  fear that she
has not seen your intervention, though. You have saved  his life, have you
not?”
“I  have.”
Haldir sighed heavily. “Maybe it would have been better had he  died; he could
have rested in what little peace he will find after  what he has done, and I
would not be forced to decide what to do with  him now.”
“What  to do with him?”
“I  will not let him cross the Nimrodel and enter the soil of the Naith.”
She clenched her jaw, feeling her resolve strengthen despite what  Haldir had
just told her. “I have told you once, and I will tell  you again, I will not
leave him unless I know he is safe. No matter  what he has done, he is alive,
and he deserves a chance to redeem  himself, but he cannot, if he dies in the
wilds. He hides it well,  but he is still in pain, and his wounds will never
mend properly if  he is not treated, and soon.”
She knew that she took a risk in saying this, and Haldir frowned.  “You are
still speaking out for him after all he has done?”
“I  am.” She was nearly surprised to hear herself, but felt the truth  of
her words as much as Haldir did. “I do not know what has driven  him to do
what he has, to commit such treachery against all Free  Peoples of Middle Earth,
but I have seen him, Haldir, in a way you  have not and never will. He suffers 
for what he has done, he suffers and longs to redeem himself, and...”  She
closed her eyes and swallowed, remembering what she had thought  would be their
last moments in the high branches of an Oak tree.  “Even though you might not
see it, he is a good man, Haldir, and he  deserves a chance... to heal, and to
do whatever good he may to erase  the stain on his honour his treachery has
left. I will vouch for  him.”
“Lórien  is at war, and those who cannot fight have fled to the woods. This
is  where we would send him, if he indeed were allowed to cross the  river. You
would have to escort him there, to ensure that he does not  harm those of ours
who are without defence.”
She swallowed harshly. Even now, her forced idleness and inaction  were grating
on her nerves, making her feel useless and coward, and  this feeling would only
grow in the days, maybe even weeks, months or  years that would pass until
Lórien was at peace again, or the  Galadhrim could decide what to do with
Boromir. But still... she was  his only chance, or he would be doomed to near
certain death.
“So  be it.”
Haldir looked at her thoughtfully, until he softly nodded. “I see  that you
are willing, but consider this: He is a proud man, and yet  he feels his debt to
you keenly. You will only add to it, and there  is a limit to the obligations he
can stand. It might make him resent  you, despite all that you have done.”
She frowned, wondering how he had gained this surprising insight into  Boromir's
mind she should have considered herself, but finally only  shrugged. “It
might, and maybe it will, but you know as well as I  that I do not do this to
gain his services.”
“You  and I might know, but does he? Have you not seen how he looks at you, 
how he tries to ease your burden?”
She looked over his shoulder again, to the man she had spent so many  hours
with, and thought of the many instances he had tried to help  her, those she had
not noticed before... the night he had let her  sleep, not waking her, though
she had expected it and later berated  him for it, and sighed.
“I  have, Haldir, and I will consider your warning.”
He did not seem fully content with her answer, but yet seemed to have  no need
or desire to carry his point any further. “Then he is  allowed to enter our
lands, and you will retreat to the woods with  him, away from ours, until the
Lord and Lady of the Galadhrim can  decree his fate.”
“I  will.” She felt the slow trickling of fear in her stomach as she  told
him so, a feeling that was entirely new for her, at least where  Boromir was
concerned. Haldir's revelation and, more so, his  cautioning words, had made her
wary of his presence, and even though  she felt ashamed for it, the thought of
staying with him in the  woods, alone, was not very appealing. Yes, their
tempers had not  clashed in the long time they had spent together, something
that had  surprised her immensely, for the weeks and months she had often 
passed without talking to a friendly soul had made her sometimes wary  of human
company, but then, he had been weak and injured, and did not  resent her, as
Haldir had insinuated could happen. It would be  different with him being in
good health – despite her strength,  despite her reflexes, he was still a
tall, imposing man, and a  formidable warrior. If he intended to hurt her and
the Galadhrim,  there would be little she could do about it.
Haldir seemed to sense her doubts, for they mirrored on his own,  beautiful
features, but looking like he remembered something, he  reined himself in just
as he was about to speak, and instead turned,  leaving her to return to her
travelling companion, who, by now,  watched her with a clouded mien.
“What  did he want?”
“He  said that we are approaching Lórien.” It was not a lie, and yet,  he
seemed to feel that she had not told him the complete truth  either, for he
looked doubtful, and the heavy silence that descended  upon them did not lift
the whole day. They did not speak despite the  barest necessities, and she tried
to sleep to rest for her leg of  riding, but even that failed, as her whirling
thoughts and feelings  refused to come to a halt, even when she commanded them
to. When, at  first, she had considered him a mystery, one she longed to
unravel,  she now wished that she had not found out, that she could continue to 
hold him in the high esteem she had felt for him during the weeks  when he had
recovered. Now, she asked herself if she could trust him,  if she even wanted to
trust him, or if he would betray her at the  first opportunity as he had done
with those that had relied on his  friendship and strength for an endeavour so
much greater than her  insignificant dreams and fears.

March  the 19th,  Year 3019 of the Third Age.

After one day and one night, her silence began to grate on his  nerves. He knew
not what had happened, could only strongly suspect  that it had something to do
with her conversation with Haldir that  fateful morning, but he felt fear
gripping his heart ever since he  had returned from the river and saw her
looking at him with such...  fear? Disdain? Mistrust? He did not know, and part
of him did not  want to find out, hoped that time would return them to their
previous  state of easy companionship, but he doubted that this would happen. 
Something had changed irrevocably between them, he could easily feel  it in the
way she held herself rigidly behind him in the saddle, did  now allow herself to
relax against his body and sleep as she had done  previously. Oddly, he missed
the feeling of it, and the place where  her head had rested against his back
felt unusually cool as they rode  day and night, their Elven guides obviously
intent on reaching Lórien  in better time than Haldir had estimated. He could
feel his still  recovering body resent the exertion, but was too proud to ask 
Arnuilas to take his place, even when the path before him fell into  hazy
darkness and the Elven stead was forced to find its way on its  own during the
course of the evening.
It was only hours later, when a slender hand touched his forearm in a  gesture
of familiarity that bittersweetly remembered their former  closeness that he
jerked his head upwards again. “What is it?”
“Watch  out.” Her voice was only a pained whisper as she gestured towards 
the night sky over the receding tree line, and then he saw the black  smoke
dance in the reddish light of burning fires. “The Golden  Forest is
burning.”
Their Elven companions had not missed the signs either, and even  though Boromir
did not speak their tongue, he could hear their love  for their home and the
pain they felt on its destruction in their  mournful cries. He sped his horse,
as their group had picked up  speed, was racing through the last trees, and as
they left the  forest, they could see the fires in the distance, the burning
pyres  of mellyrn and the swathes of destruction breaking into the golden 
canopy of leaves.  “Ai!” cried Haldir before them. Even from the  single
syllable, his pain was just as palpable as that of his  companions, and even
though he was not fond of him, Boromir could  understand his pain better than he
cared for. Sauron's iron fist had  long ago reached the woods and meadows of
Gondor, but he still  remembered his anger when he first saw Orcs sully the
beauties of  Ithilien.
Haldir halted his horse, and Boromir approached him. “My heart told  me to
hasten my steps, and yet have I been to late. I should have  defended the Naith
instead of riding South.”
“By  Lórien has not yet fallen,” replied Boromir, seeing the golden  light
that still opposed the darkness longing to seep over the river  from the
fortress of Dol Guldur, and being surprised by his own words  of comfort.
“What was lost can be reclaimed, what was destroyed be  built again, and, in
time, Lórien might return to its former glory.”
Haldir sighted deeply. “I fear that time is what Lórien does not  have, even
if the Dark Lord should be brought down; but now we must  hurry, or the forces
of the enemy will find us before we can join  that battle and help defend what
is dear to us.”
They rode hard, harder than in all the days and nights of their  travels north,
though Elf, Man and horse were tired, rushing to pass  the Northernmost edge of
the field Field of Celebrant, and hoping  that it were not many Orcs that had
made their way into the edge  between the three rivers. But their promises of
safety were in vain,  for as they approached what used to be the southern border
of the  woods of Lórien, they found Orcs and Goblins cutting, burning and 
pillaging the beautiful trees which had only been hinting at the  first salute
of spring. Boromir found them beautiful even toppled and  torn to pieces, and
knew that the Elves would mourn them, and would  have done so now had they not
been under attack by the forces of  Sauron.
Boromir had seen Legolas fight, who was a strong and capable warrior,  one he
would always like to see at his side in battle, but Haldir was  different. He
rode front, coaxing his exhausted horse to even more  speed, sword drawn and
upraised, and the Orcs that found themselves  in his path fled his presence, and
dared not approach even as the  Elven warriors and Arnuilas at his back showered
arrows down on them,  killing plenty. But no matter how bravely the Elves
fought, their  battle was still a retreat, no excursion, and as soon as Haldir
had  seen the last of his companions pass into the woods, he turned, the  near
palpable glow of his power vanishing, and followed them onto the  hidden paths
of the Galadhrim the Orcs had not discovered.
Even in the growing darkness of the forest, Boromir could see that  not all of
their party had made it to safety. A quick count revealed  that at least two
Elves and one horse were missing, but they were not  of immediate concern to
him; he was worried for the woman behind him,  and as soon as Haldir called them
to a halt, he turned as much as he  could in the saddle. “Are you injured?”
His breath was still  ragged, and he had to press out the words, but at that
moment, he  cared not.
He heard her exhale with force and felt her draw nearer to his back,  her voice
a mere whisper in his ear. “I am not. You?”
Breathing a sigh of relief, he shook his head, and she quietly  pressed his arm,
waiting in silence as Haldir assessed the state of  his troops, finding what
Boromir had already seen, before they  continued through the darkness of the
night until they reached the  river of Celebrant. Even in the dim starlight,
Boromir could see that  its clear, cold waters were now marred with the blood of
what Boromir  hoped were Orcs, not Elves, and they dismounted as Haldir
approached  them and bade them to follow him down to the river. His whistle, 
clear and loud, echoed through the night, and nearly instantly, an  Elven woman,
clad in the grey garb of Lórien, appeared at the other  side of the river from
the dark shadows, only visible when she moved.  She cried out in Elven, and
Haldir answered, but even though he  wanted to know what was spoken of, he dared
not ask Arnuilas to  translate, until Haldir turned to face them again. “Our
ways must  part now.”
Arnuilas nodded, like she had expected him to say that, and again, he  wondered
what she and Haldir had talked of two days back. “I will  go East, to defend
Caras Galadhon against the threat from the East,  and you will travel to the
heart of the forest, where our people hide  from the dangers of war.”
Boromir looked up in surprise. Nobody had told him of this plan –  he wanted
to fight, to redeem himself by dying protecting the Elves  of Lothlórien,
though probably, from what he had seen just now, they  had no need for his hand
on a sword that was not even his own. And  that Arnuilas would not go to the
front, when she had told him that  she longed for her idleness to end, was
another mystery to him –  why would she do such a thing, let herself be hidden
away like a  child or a feeble, old woman? That was so unlike her that it 
increased his worry. Maybe she had been injured? Maybe she was not as  fine as
she seemed, and there was something he had missed...
“Please.”  Arnuilas stepped forward and touched his arm, her blue eyes
looking  up at him entreatingly, and he swallowed his pride and his protest, 
and nodded at Haldir tensely.
The Elf turned to face Arnuilas. “Are you sure of this?”
“I  am.”
“Then  it is settled. You will have to leave your mount behind, as it cannot 
cross the river, and continue on foot.” Both he and Arnuilas  nodded, and then
watched as Haldir and the woman swiftly constructed  a havering bridge like the
one he had crossed the Celebrant on the  last time. When they were finished,
Arnuilas stepped forward and  clasped Haldir's arm, then, after some whispered
words in Elven he  did not understand, released it, eyes dark and grave in the
receding  light, as the Elf turned to him. “Farewell, Boromir, son of 
Denethor, until we meet again in these uncertain times.”
“Farewell.”  His mouth was parchment-dry as he nodded, watching Cilian be
led away  by the Elves, and he heard Arnuilas sigh next to him, before she 
climbed the rope to cross the river. Boromir followed her, more  hesitantly, as
the pain in his shoulder and his limp, pronounced now  after so many hours of
riding, hindered him, but they nevertheless  made it to the other side, and
silently watched Haldir on the other  side disconnect the ropes from the trees.
After his work was complete, he stood, raising his hand in one last  greeting,
before turning away and leading his group towards Caras  Galadhon, where the
golden light of Lady Galadriel's power was still  opposing the forces of Dol
Guldur. Boromir longed to join him, but  for reasons he could not understand,
his path was a different one,  and he and Arnuilas followed their Elven guide
into the golden  darkness and silence of the woods.

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