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Dark Journey	By : rigby Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 2512 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Dark Journey - Part VI

Fourth Age 20

Cresting a small rolling hill, Anaria paused and sank to
her knees. There, across the glittering ribbon of a wide river, rose a
green-gold wall that marked the edge of a forest. Reaching out, she rested her
gloved hand on the top of her companion's furred head. "Do you think our
destination may be in sight, heartsister?" The great cat gently rubbed against
her shoulder and growled softly. "Aye, I too pray this be the end of our
journey. I am weary and greatly wish for naught more but a chance to rest.
Listen, the water of the tributary sings; that is a good sign."

The tiger purred briefly and rubbed her ears against
Anaria's fingers.

Anaria gave her heartmate a tired smile, the cat�s head
level with her own. "Will you cross the water and enter the trees with me, or do
you prefer to stay and hunt these plains until it is time to return?"

Blue eyes blinked at her and the white head tilted to gaze
first at the trees and than out over the plains. With a quiet huff, the cat
nosed under Anaria�s veil and gave her cheek a rough lick before turning and
vanishing back into the long waving grasses. Anaria watched as her companion
disappeared from sight adding another pang of loneliness to the constant ache in
her heart.

�Hunt well, heartsister. Run free, drink deep, fight with
honor. Eru�s blessing on you �til we meet again.� Anaria spoke the Sundancer�s
traditional benediction at parting. With a heavy sigh, she climbed back to her
feet, adjusted her pack and weapons, and moved on toward the woods.

Half an hour later, after crossing the river she had
followed for so many days, she stepped under the eave of the great trees. Almost
at once she felt their welcoming call and could not help but reach out to caress
the great bole that rose next to her. True, the species were greatly different
from those she was used to, but they still called to her f�a, offering a
soothing balm for pain long held inside. Even knowing that the surcease was
temporary, it gave her hope. Perhaps the wood held healing and hope for her
people. With renewed determination, she headed deeper into the wood, moving
silently with typical elven grace.

Sunlight still shone through the leafy canopy overhead,
dappling the ground, when Anaria became aware that she was no longer alone. An
elf, she decided as she continued on her way. No other race could move silently
enough or hide well enough to escape her attention. Rather than be surprised at
being tracked, she was surprised it had taken so long for someone to appear. If
these woods were, as her people�s legend held them, home to an elven realm, the
surely they would not allow strangers to enter so far unchallenged. She
hesitated, allowing her unseen watcher to approach. Nothing. After a time, she
shrugged in resignation and struck out once again. Undoubtedly, her follower
would show theirself when ready.

Dusk drew near, shadows beginning to fill hollows, before
Anaria stopped at a clear stream. Kneeling, she scooped cold, crystal clear
water with her hands, relishing the icy feeling so different from the waters of
her home. It must come from the mountains to the west that she could glimpse the
tallest peaks of at times. Their towering heights still fascinated her. The
stories she grew up with did nothing to convey their awesome majesty. Slaking
her thirst, she made to rise, but froze when her eyes fell on a pair of soft
brown boots beside her.

�Rise, and name yourself and that which you seek,� a
masculine voice spoke in Sindarin.

Anaria uncoiled gracefully, careful not to make any sudden
movement. Turning to her left, she studied the elf standing there. Tall,
white-blonde hair, grey raiment, hazel eyes. Handsome, she noted
dispassionately. And well-armed. He was undoubtedly a seasoned warrior�confident
and proud.

Mustering her rehearsed Sindarin, Anaria met his gaze
boldly. �I am kin from far away and ages past. I seek Laurelind�renan and the
elves who live there.�

�You have found both. Why have you come?�

�To save my people.� Anaria swallowed hard, the anguish of
her people�s plight threatening to choke her. �In the name of Manw�, Lord of the
West, and Elbereth, The Kindler, I beg your aid for the last of my kind.�

Those hazel eyes studied her for a seeming eternity, then
the elf looked over her left shoulder and beckoned. A second elf, who could pass
for a twin to the first, stepped from the shadows. Anaria cursed her inattention
that she had not noticed his presence. Surely the weariness from her journey and
worry for her people were responsible for her lapse.

The newcomer placed his hand over his heart and inclined
his head in traditional greeting. �We shall guide you to our Lord and Lady for,
if any in Middle Earth may provide the aid you seek, �tis they.�

Relief flooded Anaria. No, she didn�t have what she had
journeyed so far from her home to get, but now she had hope. Before there had
been only faith�faith in old, half-forgotten legends. Now there was hope. She
had found the fabled realm and elves still dwelt there and they had not turned
her away. She returned the greeting. �My thanks.�

The second elf spoke again. �I am Orophin. The noisy one
you heard following you earlier,� he nodded toward the first elf, �is
Rumil.�

�You were there all the time,� she guessed.

�Yes, my lady with no name.�

Anaria felt herself blush and thanked the Valar for custom
that required her to travel fully garbed so that the two warriors couldn�t see
it. Not naming herself was rude, but she dared not trust that these elves were
of those she sought and until she had that assurance she would guard her
identity and the details of her quest closely.

�A mysterious n�s from far off who bears herself as a
warrior might and speaks as sweetly as nightingales sing.� Rumil said. �The path
to Caras Galadhon shall prove both too short and too long.�

Smiling slightly, Anaria felt herself warm at the implied
compliment, then followed Orophin as he leaped lightly across the stream.

#

Returning to Caras Galadhon, Haldir and his bondmates moved
with easy grace through the woods. A summons had arrived from the Lord and Lady,
commanding their immediate presence. No reason was given for pulling them from
their duty on the northern border, but they could easily guess. Someone had come
to petition for Syshae�s aid in healing. Though Sauron�s fall lifted much of the
evil in Middle Earth, remnants of it still lingered, drowning some places still
in dark and despair. Supplicants had come in delegations, in twos and threes, or
alone to seek help as word of Syshae�s gift spread among the remaining
Firstborn.

As the three mounted the steps to the royal talan, Haldir
noted nothing out of place. No strange elves met his seeking glance. No
unfamiliar horses stood nearby. No Lorien elves hovered, hoping to discern the
goings on. As they stepped into the audience chamber however, they met each
other�s startled glance. A single figure, cloaked and hooded from any casual
perusal, stood before the chairs of Celeborn and Galadriel. No weapons were
visible, but the outlines of several were easily visible against the light
fabric shrouding the stranger. Celeborn nodded at their entrance and beckoned
Syshae forward. Haldir and Legolas stayed back, watching, and sensing their
love�s curiosity grow. As Syshae moved into view of the stranger, the hooded
head turned to follow his progress across the floor. Once he stood beside the
Lady�s chair, Syshae turned to face the chamber and the mysterious figure
quickly dropped to the floor, kneeling and bowing their head.

�Gifted One,� the female voice held a mysterious flavor,
though the greeting was spoken in Sindarin. The tones hinted at something exotic
and, through their bond, Haldir felt both his princes shiver slightly. The voice
seemed to stroke across their skin in a brief caress. �In the name of Manw�,
Lord of the West, and Elbereth, The Kindler, I beg your aid for the last of my
kind.� Haldir heard pride in the voice, as well as a desperate plea. The
stranger stood and pushed back the hood before removing the cloak. Haldir heard
more than one indrawn breath from those in the chamber.

Exotic didn�t begin to describe the appearance of the elf
that stood revealed to their gaze. Hair the color of rich brown soil, with
highlights the red and gold colors of leaves in fall. Rows of tiny braids hugged
the top of her head then swung free, reaching to mid calf. There seemed like
hundreds of them, decorated with silver beads that danced with every
movement. From Haldir�s position
towards the back of the hall, he could see that a small stud pierced the tip of
her right ear. Her clothing was loose and flowing, giving the impression of
gauze shifting in a light breeze. Pants were tucked into a low pair of soft
leather boots. Over that, a belted, knee-length tunic sported wide flowing
sleeves tucked into soft gauntlets. The clothing showed nothing of the body
underneath, yet hinted at sensuous curves and lines. The colors were light,
bringing to mind rolling plains and grasses at the height of summer.

A definite flash of desire through their link brought
Haldir�s attention back to Syshae, whose eyes still stared at the stranger�s
face. Even the Lord and Lady seemed stunned by the appearance of this elf.

Legolas, who�d been standing slightly more to the side,
stepped closer to Haldir and whispered to him in a low voice. �Her skin is dark,
nearer the color of light cinnamon, and her face is veiled. All that is visible
are her eyes, which are lined in a manner similar to those of the Haradrim.�

The n�s turned slightly, affording Haldir a glimpse of her
face. A headband covered her forehead, with jeweled strings running down from it
on either side of her eyes and atop the line of her nose, joining a beaded gauze
panel that masked all the features below her kohl rimmed green eyes. Set in the
darker skin, the look was undeniably erotic.

Lord Celeborn spoke, stilling the growing murmurs. �How are
you named and where are your people from? Never in all my days have I seen one
of your appearance in the First Born.�

She turned back to him and offered a respectful bow. �My
Lord. Three seasons have I journeyed, northward from lands beyond Harad. My
people are the Sundancers. I am named Anaria, First Daughter, speaker, and
second war leader.�

Haldir noted that the Lady Galadriel�s gaze remained
concentrated on the n�s, yet had a slightly unfocused look that told him she was
reading Anaria rather than seeing her. Suddenly Galadriel blinked and sank back
against her seat, blanching in surprise. �Galathil,� she whispered the name.

Anaria�s stance stiffened almost imperceptibly as her eyes
shifted to stare at the Lady. �You speak the name of the Anor Adar, the Sun
Father,� her oddly flavored words were tinted with a hint of suspicion and
something else, something Haldir could not quite place.

Celeborn visibly started before standing and quickly
approaching the n�s. �What know you of my brother?� he demanded.

Anaria swayed where she stood, staring at the Lord for a
bare second, her eyes moving over his features searchingly, before she seemed to
fold in on herself and sank gracefully to her knees. She bent forward and
touched her forehead to the floor in front of his feet, prostrating herself
before him.

The silver lord bent and gently guided Anaria to her feet.
Haldir felt a flash of jealousy as Celeborn�s hands touched that flesh�even
through the concealing garments�and he felt the same emotion from his
bondmates.

�Rise, brother-daughter. Tell us of our long sundered kin
and your need. You are in Lorien, and in my keeping. Know no fear, for nothing
shall harm you here.� Celeborn beckoned and a chair was hurriedly placed beside
his own. He guided the bemused n�s to it.

Once seated, Celeborn leaned toward Anaria, his
concentration on her total. His voice betrayed his tension as he spoke. �Long
years have passed and new Ages have come since my brother left this land. Ever
the wanderer, eager to see what lay beyond the horizon, Galathil passed south,
seeking new lands and people. Until this day, neither word nor rumor of him came
ever back. I greatly desire to hear your words, kinswoman, for I would know my
brother�s fate.�

Much as Anaria loathed the time taken away from her
mission, she could not begrudge this elven lord his request. His obvious love
for his brother and his ready acknowledgement of her as kin touched her deeply.
Her people were secretive, guarding knowledge of their history, trusting no
outsider, but this elf was the Anor Adar�s brother and these were his
people�

�My people know not our origins. For long ages we dwelt in
our forests, keeping to ourselves. Then men, who we learned later from the Anor
Adar were called the Atani, came, and enslaved my people. Long we served them,
but of that time we do not speak, for we were bereft of dignity and lived with
empty f�a. The Anor Adar freed us and led us back to our forest home and
returned us to Anar�s light. He remained among us and taught us of much that we
did not know: the Valar, Cuivi�nen and the Great Journey, Aman, the Silmarils
and the Darkening of Valinor, the elves� return to Middle Earth�and the evil of
the Dark Lord. This and much more did he tell us. My people do not bond as is
your custom, but the Anor Adar sired a child, a son, my sire. He is now First
Father, our leader.

�A rider on a silver horse appeared one night, and from the
Anor Adar�s tales we knew it to be Orom� on his great steed Nahar. He beckoned
and the Anor Adar mounted behind him. The forest cried and we knew he would not
return to us. Nahar turned and bore the two away. The Anor Adar did not look
back, but we felt his blessing, and that of Orom�, upon us. I can tell you no
more of my sire�s sire�s fate.�

Celeborn clasped one of her small hands in both of his. �It
is enough, brother-daughter. Galathil�s fate is no longer in doubt. His deeds
were honorable and he won the favor of the Valar. There can be no higher
honor.

�Blessed are your people to have beheld Orom� and Nahar.
There are few among us now that remember the Great Journey or Aman, yet we know
them in our f�a as surely as the earth knows the trees and the streams and the
mountains.�

At that point, Celeborn released Anaria�s hand and sat up
straight. His face took on a solemn mien and his voice was resolute. �Tell us of
your people�s need and why you request my daughter-son�s aid.�

The spell which had held all present rapt dissipated.
Haldir felt the awe of his bondmates at the revelation of Galathil�s fate. To be
taken from Middle Earth by Orom� himself� And Anaria�s people, undoubtedly a
branch of the Avari, The Unwilling, those who heeded not the Valar�s summons,
but remained by the waters of Cuivi�nen. What had their history been? What were
they like? What were their customs? Studying Anaria�s exotic attire and her
green eyes, Haldir was determined to unearth those secrets.

A hand rested on the small of his back. Legolas. Lips
brushed against his ear as the blonde prince spoke softly, seemingly reading
Haldir�s thoughts as so often happened among them. �Aye, we shall know those
answers, nin bain. For where our love travels, we go also.�

�My people are few, as we have ever been. We have not great
lands, nor do we desire such. To live in harmony and peace has ever been our
goal. For long years, the evil of The Dark Lord ruled the Haradrim, and they
sought to once again enslave us. Deep into the jungles of our home we retreated
and so eluded them. The great war drew many to its cause�and their doom�and we
thought ourselves safe at last, but it was false hope. Leaderless, without
purpose, they seek battle and carnage�and slaves. �Tis enough that they capture
our people, for we do not bear elflings enough to replace those lost, but they
have brought among us despair�a black melancholy that corrodes the f�a and
leeches it from the hr�a. My people wither and pass away in deepest despair.

�A dream my sire had, words from our Anor Adar who still
watches over us. He showed First Father of a golden wood far to the north where
dwells one who can counter the despair.� Green eyes turned to Syshae, as did
everyone else�s. �A f�a healer, our Anor Adar named him. The Gifted One. Hope
for our people.�

Anaria moved to stand, but the months of unbroken travel
and years of unending heartache had finally taken the last of her strength. Unable to stay upright, she slid to her
knees once again, her eyes never leaving Syshae. �In the name of Manw�, Lord of
the West, and Elbereth, The Kindler, I beg�I beg your aid for the�last of my
kind,� she repeated her earlier words, her voice dropping to a whisper on the
last words.

Taking two steps forward, Syshae knelt close in front of
her and drew her into his arms. �All of my gift shall your people have, even as
I give it to you. Accept my gift and be at peace.�

Hesitantly, Anaria nodded. Oh, how she wanted to believe
him but could there be any healing for her? Did she believe strongly enough and
could she trust anyone so fully?

Legolas stepped forward and loosed Syshae�s hair so that it
fell around the two kneeling figures like a curtain, even as the Sindon prince
began to sing the same low, haunting melody Haldir had heard numerous times.
Words and melody intertwined, weaving a call impossible to refuse.

Against her will, Anaria dropped her head to Syshae�s
shoulder. Sighing deeply, she let a part of her burden slip away for a time and
embraced the comfort the dark haired elf provided.

#

Blinking, Anaria returned to awareness. At first, panic
flooded through her�scents were unfamiliar, the room strange�then she remembered
her journey, and the charge laid on her to find hope for her people. An ache
deep inside marked her separation from her heartsister. Rolling onto her side,
she eased into a sitting position, giving silent thanks that her garments had
not been removed. The lights of Caras Galadhon spread outside a nearby window
like fireflies, and the sound of many voices filled the trees with soft
melodies.

An elf sat against the far wall, leaning back to that their
face was in shadow, but Anaria know well enough who it was�the Gifted One. There
was a presence about him that she felt like a physical thing, and she shivered,
torn between wanting to move nearer him and wanting to order him from the room,
the city even.

�Greetings of the eve, little bird. I trust your rest has
served you well.� Syshae rose and moved into the ~~candlelight.,~~candlelight, a
whimsical smile curving his lips.

Anaria�s breath caught at the sight of his perfect face and
something unfamiliar moved inside her but she shoved the feelings aside.
Instead, she allowed herself a thread of anger at his casual use of an
endearment to refer to her. Among her people, it would be considered
presumptuous, borderline rude. Still, he was the Gifted One, touched by the
Valar, the hope of her people.

She nodded, only a shade more than minimum good manners
called for. �Greetings of the eve, Gifted One.�

Something of her pique must have been conveyed in her
voice, or else he had other gifts that allowed him to read her feelings, she
thought, for he stopped and regarded her seriously.

�Forgive me, Anaria of the Sundancers. I meant no harm in
my words. As a beautiful bird do you appear to me�finely wrought perfection clad
in rich satin colors, yet inside the strength of armies and a fierce, free
spirit.�

Unable to hold his gaze, she dropped her eyes. How many
times had the elders admonished her for her pride and her temper? She could not
afford to offend this elf. �Forgive me, Gifted One, but my people are not at
ease with outsiders. We would not speak so casually to them. Your words startled
me.�

�My words offended you,� he replied bluntly. �Again, I ask
you to forgive me. I would not have so small a misunderstanding mar our
meeting.� He smiled, fully, and the sight was dazzling.

Never had she dreamed of an elf so physically beautiful.
Blessed by the Valar indeed. She thought of her own scars, though she accounted
them marks of valor, hard earned memories of vanquished foes. One such as the
Gifted One would not understand. Only another warrior would. Realizing he waited
for her reply, she nodded.

�Come,� he held out a hand. �The others wait in the council
chamber. It is a smaller room where we may discuss your need, and how to best
aid you.�

Ignoring the outstretched hand, she stood, then swayed as
black dots danced across her vision and her head filled with a roaring sound.
Strong hands grasped her shoulders, holding her upright. Anaria took a deep
breath. Anar Adar! What ailed her? She was no sickly elfling.

Gradually, her vision cleared and the roaring muted to a
hiss. Inches in front of her, the Gifted One�s eyes stared at her in
concern.

�Slowly. You are still weak and I could not fully heal
you.�

�I�do not understand, Gifted One.�

�Syshae. I am called Syshae. As we are to travel together,
and we are kin, it would please me to hear my name from your lips.�

�Aye, Gif�Syshae.�

�Seeing your lips form the sounds of my name, hearing such
a familiar word transformed by your voice gives me great pleasure.�

For a stunned moment, Anaria thought he meant to lift her
veil and kiss her. It could not be! She was a warrior. Stern, unyielding,
scarred. She was no beautiful siren to entice such an exquisite creature. He
toyed with her! Were all outsiders so forward and superficial? But he was the
Gifted One. Surely the Valar would not have touched one so�so�

Syshae leaned back, removing his hands from her shoulders.
�It seems I must once again ask your forgiveness, Anaria of the Sundancers. In
my defense, I will plead that the words were truly meant. I vow to you, never
will you have false words from me.�

Further confused, but unwilling to show it, Anaria
straightened her spine and lifted her chin. She eyed him through the window of
her veil. He seemed to be telling the truth, but how was she to judge? She knew
nothing of these outsiders and their ways�other than that the elf before her
possessed the power to save her people. She drew dignity about her like a cloak.
She was the First Daughter, descended of the Anar Adar himself. Gradually,
through her mental turmoil, she realized Syshae was speaking.

��traveled hard to reach here. Your body is exhausted, as
is your will. This darkness of your people lies heavily on you. I would take
this away, yet you denied me. When I held you, you allowed me to heal the outer
f�a, but you resisted when I tried to heal those memories which most haunt
you�those that leech the life from your innermost f�a. Though wrapped in the net
of my gift, you refused my aid. It is a gift that may not be forced on the
unwilling. All I was able to do was assuage your immediate anguish and send you
into a peaceful sleep.�

�I ask aid for my people, not for myself,� Anaria responded
proudly.

�Yet, you are most worthy of it.�

Memories of the past�things she had done as well as things
done to her�flashed through Anaria�s mind. No. She did not deserve such grace.
She was soiled. Flawed. She could not even provide her people with the heir, the
hope, they so desperately needed. Resolutely erasing such thoughts from her
mind, Anaria looked Syshae in the eye. �In the name of Manw�, Lord of the West,
and Elbereth, The Kindler, I beg your aid for the last of my kind.�

A sad smile flitted across his lips. �A most stubborn
warrior, but I have known more stubborn. We will speak more of this later. For
now, the council awaits us. We must make plans for our departure.�

Following Syshae across walkways strung high among the
towering mallorns, Anaria allowed herself to marvel at the differences from her
own home. Yes, the Sundancers dwelt in the trees, shunning the dangers of the
forest floor, but the wood itself was so different, so�exotic. The canopy was
airy, the trees further separated rather than crowded together like those she
had drown up among. The foliage was wider apart, almost sparse in comparison,
and of a much lighter green. There were none of the vegetal smells of wet
greenery, or the humidity and steaminess that marked her own woods. Aye, Lorien
was beautiful, but it lacked the intensity and pulse of life that her realm
held.

Entering, behind him, what Syshae named a talan, Anaria
felt all the tension she had harbored on her journey return. Suddenly, the few
moments alone with the Gifted One, in the room where she had slept and on their
walk along the torchlit paths of Lorien, seemed a haven. Before her was reality.
Responsibility.

Lord Celeborn and Lady Galdriel, as well as the other two
elves in the room, stood and greeted her, hand over heart. Anaria responded in
kind.

Gesturing her to a seat, Celeborn spoke. �I trust you are
better for your rest, brother-daughter. I feel the weight of your concern and we
will not waste time. Your party shall leave for your home in five risings of
Anor.�

Five risings? No! She had not traveled all this way to see
any postponement. �My Lord, I beg you no. I must return immediately. My people
worsen with each rising of Anor and the way is long.�

�Your journey will go faster with aid. Not only Syshae, but
Haldir and Legolas shall accompany you.� Celeborn gestured to the two other
elves present.

Anaria remembered them vaguely from earlier. Two tall
blonde elves�one silver, one gold. Handsome and fit with the bearing of warriors
though they were unarmed. She started to object again, but Galadriel
interceded.

�Nay. It shall be as my lord says. Syshae does not travel
without Haldir and Legolas, and your body screams for rest. You do your people
no good if you cannot complete the journey and lead my daughter-son to them.
These risings of Anor, you will more than recover and you will be able to travel
more swiftly when rested.�

In her mind, Anaria heard other words�words meant only for
her.

<My daughter-son tells me your f�a resists his gift.
This is not well, kinswoman. To save your people, you must save yourself. You
must bring ultimate hope to your people. Open to him, lest your f�a be lost.
Strange though our ways seem to you, he seeks to heal you of what you believe
not healable. Release the anger and loathing of yourself, Anaria of the
Sundancers, lest it doom you all.>

#

Stepping through the talan doorway, Legolas paused to
admire the scene. Haldir, already dressed for the evening�s celebration, lounged
on the bed, head propped on one elbow as he watched Syshae. The fea-healer stood
nude, beginning to braid his hair. Legolas stepped close behind him and wrapped
his arms around the sleek body.

Syshae murmured happily and dropped his head to one side,
allowing Legolas to kiss and lick his way up the creamy flesh.

�Later, I shall devour your entire body,� Legolas
promised.

�A promise I shall hold you to.�

Legolas picked up the two slim braids Syshae had woven and
deftly wrapped them about the column of hair that hung loose. He ended on his
knees, clipping the ends in place. �Much would I give to see our mysterious
visitor�s hair unbraided. It would rival yours, lirimaer.�

�I desire to feel it against my skin and see her clad only
in the light of Ithil. Her eyes alone are a carnal delicacy.�

Haldir laughed, a rich sound. �My two insatiable princes.
You have seen no more than her eyes and you are nigh obsessed with this
n�s.�

Narrowing his eyes, Legolas rose to his feet. �And you are
not? I feel your desire for her.�

�Ai, gladly would I see her in my bed, but��

�Our bed,� Syshae interrupted.

�I fear she may be beyond even your reach,� Haldir
continued. �Her people�s ways are obviously different. She does not show her
face, nor any other skin save her eyes. Pleasures of the flesh may not be shared
as the Galadhrim do. Also, she may not be interested. Of a certainty she has
shown no discernable attraction so far. It seems your infallible charms have
failed.�

Two sets of narrowed eyes regarded Haldir, who was hard
pressed to keep a straight face and stifle his laughter. Cunning, his lovers
might be in war and diplomacy, yet both had the same weakness�a total inability
to believe any elf could resist them. Both were proud and stubborn and
unaccustomed to failure. The challenge he had just given them by doubting their
eventual success would goad the two to unparalleled efforts to attract Anaria.
And Haldir? Well, he could sit back, watch the pursuit, and enjoy the
victory.

#

Halting on the edge of the clearing, Anaria felt numerous
eyes come to rest on her. Unused, even after the previous four days, to such
attention, she fought the urge to flee. She was Anaria, First Daughter of the
Sundancers. She would not shame her people. Lifitng her chin, she walked
gracefully to where Galadriel beckoned her and bowed, hand fisted over heart.

Galadriel returned the bow. �Greetings of the eve,
Anaria.�

�Greetings of the eve, my Lady.�

�Now,� Galadriel�s eyes twinkled, �I believe that observes
propriety. Let us make merry this eve.� She clapped her hands and unseen
musicians filled the air with a lilting air. Conversation picked up on all sides
as elves strolled between groups, chatting and laughing.

Low, round tables, large enough for six elves to sit at and
surrounded by pillows, ringed the center of the clearing which contained a fire
pit. Lights, made of holders containing fireflies that would be released later,
winked among the branches overhead. Gaily colored silk banners floated on poles.
The atmosphere was festive but serene, not raucous or frenetic.

Galadriel turned away to speak with an elf who approached
her, leaving Anaria alone for a moment. Anaria shifted her feet, looking around
her. She had kept to herself since arriving, and met few of the elves. All were
unfailingly polite and interested in her and her people, yet she was unused to
much attention. Shaking the reticence of her people was difficult.

A nudge in his back turned Legolas� attention and he turned
to see Anaria enter the clearing. His gaze ran over her appreciatively, as his
determination to have her mounted. In contrast to her clothing to that point,
the outfit she wore revealed as much as it concealed. Layered strips of gauze,
in hues of green, formed a skirt that just brushed the tops of her bare foot.
Designs painted in gold, and gems that sparkled in the light, formed a wide band
around the lower edge and decorated the brief top that ended just below her
breasts. From its lower edge, slender strings covered with crushed gems hung
down to meet the skirt�s waistband, itself richly decorated with embroidery. A
number of bronze and copper bracelets graced Anaria�s bare arms. Her veil and
headband, in the same style as her daily one but matching the outfit, remained
in place, as did the braids in her hair.

Legolas heard the gasps and murmurs of surprise around him
as the Galadhrim caught sight of the exotic beauty in their midst, but ignored
them. Let the others look, and comment, and desire. This rare gem would be
his�and his bondmates. He strode through the gathered elves until he reached her
side. As Anaria turned to him, he heard a light chiming and saw that the lower
edge of her skirt band, which rode low on her hips, was fringed with strings of
tiny metal discs that danced against each other when she moved.

Sensing someone approaching from her right, Anaria turned
to see Legolas. The golden prince smiled and she felt that nameless something
move inside her again. Sapphire eyes slid over her appreciatively and she felt
herself blush as heat rushed through her. Was this what other n�ssi meant when
they spoke of physical attraction? Never had she felt such a roil of
emotions.

�Greetings of the eve, Anaria of the Sundancers. Your
beauty outshines the stars.�

Though she told herself that the flowery compliment would
be retracted if Legolas knew of the scars she carried on her body and f�a,
Anaria allowed herself a moment to enjoy it and imagine that such sentiments
could truly be directed at her before reminding herself that the Galadhrim elf
was merely flirting, doing his duty to be kind to a visitor, that his words
meant nothing. She inclined her head. �Greetings of the eve, Prince Legolas.
Your words are kind, but surely meant for one fairer than myself.�

�Nay, there is no fairer n�s. L�thien herself would weep
with envy.�

In spite of knowing that he wasn�t sincere, Anaria smiled
behind her veil. If he was so insincere, why was she so charmed? And so drawn to
him? Perhaps it was the knowledge that he would be one of the three to journey
with her to save her people.

For a time, elves approached, spoke to her, then left to
mingle with others. Legolas remained beside her. Anaria enjoyed his presence but
couldn�t understand why the handsome prince didn�t seek out other company.
Surely there was a lover or mate he would rather be with?

A horn call summoned all to the tables which were, by that
time, heaped with food and pitchers of wine and water. As the gathering was
informal, everyone seated themselves without regard to rank. Somehow, Anaria
wasn�t sure how, she found herself seated between Galadriel and Celeborn with
Mithaelin, a female Guardian Anaria had met earlier, across the table between
the two elves who had guided her to the city. Rumil and Orophin, she remembered,
even as Galadriel introduced the two as Haldir�s brothers.

After an initial toast by Celeborn, the feast progressed,
interspersed with toasts and an occasional voice raised in song. Conversation
ranged freely, from questions about Anaria�s home and people, which she answered
reticently, to those about her journey, which she answered more readily. When
Rumil discovered that Anaria was also the Second War Leader for her people, the
talk switched immediately to weapons and tactics and past exploits.

As dusk gave way to full night, torches were lit casting
flickering light and shadow over the gathering. Anaria found herself homesick
and fell quiet. It had been long years since her homeland was safe enough for
everyone to gather on the ground without fear.

<Soon you shall rejoin them, bringing hope. Mourn not,
this eve, but rejoice that aid has been found, as we rejoice in the finding of
our lost kindred.>

Startled by the words in her mind, Anaria looked at
Galadriel who raised her goblet in a toast.

<Hope.>

Anaria returned to toast silently. Looking into the Lady�s
eyes, filled with ancient wisdom, Anaria felt that perhaps her hope would not
prove in vain.

A horn note signaled the beginning of the dancing. Those
seated with their backs to the inner circle, joined those facing it. Several
elves moved into the center. Music, fluid and haunting, filled the air as the
dancers began to move. Turning, spinning, gliding, graceful elven bodies molded
themselves to the music, drinking it into their f�a and expressing it in their
movements.

Song followed song; dancers replaced dancers. Anaria saw
that participation was not necessarily planned. Whoever wanted to join the
dance, joined. Yet, there was an overall cohesiveness to it. These were not
individual dancers. They formed a living, breathing whole, a perfect symbiosis.
Rumil joined in, as did Orophin and Mithaelin. Anaria noted Haldir and Legolas
among the dancers, their silver and gold blonde hair shining. Her blood felt
hotter in her veins as her own excitement rose. Never had she seen such dancing; her own
people celebrated differently.

The tempo slowed, the dancers gradually melting away until
the area around the fire pit was empty. A lone n�s, clad in a short, sleeveless
tunic, the light of the stars and fire playing across her alabaster skin stepped
proudly into the ring and began to dance. So caught up in her movements was
Anaria that at first she failed to notice that the n�s no longer danced alone.
Another had joined her�a dark haired elf, a n�r, clad only in leggings and his
wealth of hair. Syshae. Anaria�s heart leaped for reasons she couldn�t define
and a hand seemed to close around it. Suddenly the air seemed hot and close, too
heavy to breathe, and she realized she was holding her breath watching the two
as they wove magic with their bodies.

��Tis the bond of Est� and L�rien that they honor.�

Galadriel�s voice startled her and she looked to the Lady.
�And are they��

�Nay. My daughter-son is bonded, but not to the one he
partners in this dance.�

�Then wh�� Anaria stopped herself and silently cursed
herself for her curiosity. What business of hers was it who the prince was
bonded to? And why should she care? Looking back to the two who continued their
sensual homage, she sought to shift the subject. ��Tis much different in my
home.�

With a small smile, Galadriel let the matter drop. �The
dance?�

�Ai, my Lady. My people are not so�open. To dance so many
together on the forest floor would invite danger. Therefore it is our custom to
dance alone, each in their turn recreating the legends of old.�

�Dearly would I value seeing you dance, kinswoman. Would
you honor us so?�

Syshae and the n�s finished their dance, each gliding into
their separate shadows, but leaving no doubt of the connection between them.
Anaria�s eyes followed the dark prince until she could no longer see him.

�Anaria?�

Starting, Anaria drug her attention back to the question.
�I would be honored, my Lady, but I have no music.�

�Ai, you do.� Galadriel touched her fingertips to Anaria�s
temple. �Your music is in here. As you hear it in your memories, I shall share
it with the Galadhrim gathered here.�

Anaria�s eyes widened. �You can do this?�

��Twould be my pleasure.�

#

�Pleasure? �Tis like watching a Valar come to Middle-Earth!
She bewitched all there!�

As tempted as Legolas was to laugh as he watched Haldir
pace back and forth in their talan, gesticulating with both hands, he resisted.
Though he enjoyed the sight of Haldir losing his much maligned self-control, he
agreed with his lover. Anaria danced exquisitely. He would willingly bet that
not an elf who witnessed it was unmoved or unaroused. Ai, she had captured the
imagination�and libido�of the Galadhrim.

�And you,� Haldir paused and turned toward Syshae, who lay
naked upon a sleeping platform, his hair forming a silken blanket. �What say
you, my dark prince? You are obviously affected by her.�

A tiny smile quirked the corners of full lips as Syshae
shifted his hips enticingly. �Of a certainty, for I still see her in my mind and
I burn for her touch.�

Anaria�s touch. Ai, Legolas would welcome that. Others had
shared their bed in the past, was there a possibility that the mysterious,
exotic, alluring n�s would be another such? Three seasons. It had taken her
three seasons to reach Lorien. It could not take them much less to return. Three
seasons. Oh yes, they would entice her in far less time than that. With that
entrancing thought, Legolas turned back to the bed where Haldir and Syshae were
entwined.
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Dark Journey

Dark Journey - Part VI