Chapter Text
Aubrey was woken by the rain. Disorientated, she sat up, blinking against the rapidly strengthening downpour. Her mouth fell open in disbelief. For instead of the four walls of her bedroom, a vast, open plain stretched before her. The sea of grass was broken by small clusters of trees and, in the distance, the tall trees of a massive forest obscured the horizon.
She stood and looked around, eyes wide in wonder. Behind her, the same deserted openness stretched until it was broken by the dark slopes of a tall mountain, only one peak in a range that stretched as far as she could see.
Aubrey frowned, completely baffled. The last thing she remembered was preparing for bed in her small house in Skipton. And indeed, to her dismay, she was still wearing her pyjamas. She turned back to the forest and shivered; her thin cotton pants and oversized t-shirt did nothing to protect her from the cold rain.
This must be a dream, she decided. A very . . . very realistic dream. Except, she realised with rising dread, when you’re dreaming, you don't know you’re dreaming.
Reality, then. Or a vivid hallucination.
Her skin was beginning to prickle in response to the cold. “I can’t stay here forever,” she reasoned aloud.
Looking between the mountains at her back and the forest before her, she began to walk towards the trees. They would offer better cover from the atrocious weather, and anyway, the mountains looked to be the best part of a day's hike away. Deciding to debate the likelihood of abduction versus extreme prank once she was out of the rain, she began to walk.
As she walked, Aubrey looked around, trying desperately to ascertain where she was. The landscape was unfamiliar, she realised straight away. The mountains were larger and sheerer than any she knew of in Britain.
The distance had looked deceptively short before she had set off. She judged it to have been almost half an hour before she eventually reached the shadow of the mighty forest. Though the rain had finally abated, she was soaked to the skin and shivering violently. Her bare feet were caked in mud up to her ankles and felt bruised and tender from her trek over harsh grass and stone.
A great fear stole over her, then. She had nothing but the clothes she was wearing and she had seen no sign of civilisation in any direction. Already, her throat ached with thirst and the first pangs of hunger spread through her body. A keen hiker, Aubrey knew well the dangers of becoming lost without adequate food, water or clothing. A sudden urge to cry built in her throat. I’m lost. I don’t know where I am, or how I came to be here.
Angrily, she set her jaw and scowled determinedly at the forest before her. I am not going to die, she told herself sternly. One foot in front of the other. It was with this resolution that she started forwards once more, her expression determined, and entered the forest.
o0o
A shrill bird call caught Haldir’s attention. He looked up sharply from the arrows he had been fletching and stood, walking swiftly to the edge of the flet.
The call came again. It was the swift, harsh whistle of a blackbird's warning call, a signal often used by his wardens. Something is coming.
He felt a shift in the air behind him; his brother, Rúmil, at his shoulder. “What is it?” Rúmil asked.
Haldir shrugged. “Let us find out.”
They leapt from the flet as one, landing silently side by side on a wide branch only a few dozen feet from the forest floor. Movement drew Haldir's eye to the forest undergrowth below him; he turned, taking his bow from his back and smoothly drawing an arrow to the string.
When he saw the intruder, he nearly dropped his arrow in surprise. A young mortal woman walked over the border into Lórien, oblivious to her audience. Haldir frowned. Her strange clothing was drenched by the rain and plastered to her body. He met Rúmil’s eye and found a matching unsettled frown on his brother's face. Inadequate maid’s attire was, she was a trespasser.
Haldir whistled a soft bird call to the wardens he knew would be watching for his signal. He made sure that when he dropped, he landed as close to the mortal woman as he could without crushing her beneath his boots.
o0o
The forest Aubrey found herself in was breathtakingly beautiful. Soft golden light filtered down through the canopy to dapple shadows on the mossy floor. She wound her way through silvery birches and spreading oaks, their leaves familiar to her, and yet there were more trees that were entirely unfamiliar; their bark was smooth and silver, and they were taller and broader than any tree she had ever seen before. Tilting her head up, she realised that the leaves of the trees themselves were pale, shining gold.
A short, sharp bird call caught her attention and she frowned, gazing up into the canopy. The wood was deserted, yet she had the strangest feeling that she was observed.
The bird call sounded again—a blackbird, she thought. The feeling of being watched intensified, and, just as she began to turn once more—there was a rush of air directly in front of her and a man appeared not two feet away.
Aubrey shrieked and stumbled back, her heart thudding. It took a few dazed moments for her to realise he had dropped from the trees above and not actually materialised from thin air. Between one heartbeat and the next, she was surrounded, twenty or more men closing in a tight circle with her and the first man in its centre.
Aubrey's eyes darted around the circle. They all wore the same tight leather leggings, calf length boots and tunics, and each had a grey-green cloak around his shoulders. More disturbingly, they had longbows in their hands, arrows notched and aimed at her face. She noted daggers at their belts and the man in the circle with her, presumably their leader, had a sword sheathed at his hip. They each had silvery blonde hair worn long and braided at the temples, and their faces were fair and handsome. Raised in a time of guns and other modern weapons, Aubrey had never considered a bow and arrow a particularly dangerous thing. She took in the taught bow strings and the arrow heads, sharp enough to split a hair; an arrow would kill her as easily as a bullet, she realised.
The leader observed her with an inscrutable gaze, his own bow strapped across his back. He towered over her, clearing her 5'6" by at least ten inches. His stern face was handsome, his eyes a shade of silvery blue that seemed to pierce through her. She shivered, becoming suddenly aware of exactly how unprotected she was in her thin pyjamas. His gaze was so intense it was almost psychical.
“Greetings, mortal,” he said. His voice was deep and strong, yet lilted over the words, almost creating a melody. He had a slight accent, as though English was not his first language. “You are trespassing in Lórien. What have you to say for yourself?”
“What do you mean, ‘mortal’?” She demanded.
His eyebrows rose in derision. “I mean that you are not of the Eldar.”
Aubrey frowned, uncomprehending. She stared at him again, taking in every detail of his appearance. Aside from the odd, medieval style of his clothes and the fact that he had both a sword and a massive bow, he had appeared fairly normal at first glance. But now she looked again—the strong lines of his face were almost too perfect, too handsome. She saw that what she had first assumed to be the sun on his face was in fact a faint, almost imperceptible luminescence to his skin. And there—obvious, now that she saw—his ears swept up into delicate points.
“You're not—you're not human,” she gasped.
He glared at her, seeming affronted that she would mistake him for her own race. “No indeed. But you are a trespasser. You will come with us.”
“I’m not trespassing, I’m lost!” She protested, backing away.
“You are lost in the wrong place, then,” he declared, striding forwards and seizing her arm.
“Get off,” she hissed, attempting to jerk her arm away.
His strength was iron and she succeeded only in gaining herself more bruises and a pissed off non-human. “You can come with me willingly, or I can carry you.” He snapped.
“Go fuck yourself,” she said, with feeling. Eyeing the arrows trained on her, she reluctantly stopped struggling. “I can walk by myself, if it’s that or be shot.”
He shrugged and released her. “Do not try to run,” he advised her. “We are faster than your kind, and I do not wish to waste my time chasing petulant mortals.”
He turned away and addressed his men in a beautiful, flowing language. They relaxed their bows and replaced their long, white feathered arrows in their quivers. They turned as one, and half of them vanished into their trees, their grey-green cloaks making them invisible as soon as they passed into shadow.
The leader in front of her and another ten of them behind her, Aubrey was marched further into the forest.
o0o
Aubrey limped after the leader, glaring at his broad shoulders. She had no idea where this Lórien was, but clearly, they did not welcome guests. Though she could discern no path in the undergrowth, the man before her led them purposefully, never once pausing to check their direction. The forest floor was a soft carpet of mosses and fallen golden leaves, but the tangling underbrush and the wide roots that stretched across the ground made walking hard, especially with bare feet.
It was not long before the leader paused before a tree. He whistled, perfectly imitating a bird call. Seconds later, a rope dropped down from the canopy with a soft rustle. Startled, Aubrey gazed up at the tree. She could not see how tall it grew, due to the thick canopy that obscured her vision.
“Climb up,” the leader ordered her tersely.
She looked back at the thin, white rope that had been lowered and levelled a glare at him. “With that thing? I’ve seen shoe laces thicker.”
“You would be unwise to doubt the hithlain. Elven rope does not break.” He said flatly.
She stared at him blankly. “Elven? As in, elf?”
“Yes,” he replied. “Elven. We are elves. How can you not know this? Are you simple?”
There was a shade of doubt in his eyes and something approaching pity. Aubrey scowled at him and resisted the urge to slap the expression from his face. “I’m not the one with brain problems here. Elves aren’t real.”
He grasped her arm above the elbow and pulled her towards him. Leaning down into her space, he snarled, “Elves are very real, mortal. Climb. The. Rope.”
His hand was hot on her bare skin, and tight enough that she could feel her fingers tingle. “I can’t,” she cried, shoving him away. “I can’t climb with just a thin little rope, I’m not Tarzan.”
He let her move him, then matched her heated glare with an expression so cold she shivered under its weight. He called something in his strange language and waited; a moment later, a rope ladder was dropped from the tree.
Aubrey moved to climb the ladder before he could snap at her once more, her face burning with fury. More than anything, the pity and dismissal in his eyes had stung her pride. The ladder twisted as she climbed and more than once she slipped or missed a foot hold. She seemed to climb forever before she broke through the first leaves of the tree and beheld her destination: a large wooden platform supported in the tree’s branches. Two men—elves, she thought with derision—stood upon the platform, watching her unsteady progress. Neither of them offered her help, though the branch the ladder was attached to was several feet from the edge of the leaf-shaped platform.
Grunting with the effort of her exertion, Aubrey managed to swing herself onto the platform. Her poor, abused feet met the shaded wood with a dull thud. From her vantage point, she could see her escorts down below, but she also saw how the leaves and shadows between herself and the ground had shielded the platform from her vision.
The elves that had been on the platform passed her silently and began to draw up the ladder and rope, rolling them neatly and stowing them upon the platform edge. Aubrey frowned; how would her escort reach them now?
She peered over the edge of the platform and her lips parted in shock. One by one, the elves on the ground took magnificent leaps into the tree, jumping as much as six foot into the air to snag a branch with their reaching arms. From there, they swung themselves into the branches and swarmed up the tree like monkeys, never faltering in their smooth grace.
The one she had taken for their leader reached their level first, jumping down from a branch above Aubrey’s head. He landed soundlessly, his boots raising not a whisper from the wood. To her extreme irritation, he looked as though he had exerted no more effort than she would to walk up a flight of stairs. He had probably taken less time in his ascent than she had with her ladder.
He spoke to the elves in their language; his tone denoting authority. Sure enough, they bowed their heads, collected bows and quivers from where they had been set against the tree trunk, and leapt from the edge of the platform without a backwards glance.
“You will spend the night here,” the leader informed her crisply. “Allow me to attend to your feet.”
Still smarting over his rude, aggressive manner earlier, Aubrey backed away. “I don’t need your help,” she snapped.
His eyes cooled and his jaw set, irritation if not anger on his features. “Suit yourself,” he said simply. He was gone before she could reply, leaping from the platform like a coiled panther. His men followed him, and she was left alone, high in the trees of Lórien.
o0o
Haldir flung himself from the flet, anger rising despite his best attempts to maintain his cool. The rage unsettled him; it had been a long time since he had last been drawn so easily to anger. Dismissing his wardens with a single hand signal, he ran lithely from branch to branch through the canopy until he reached the next flet. It was deserted, as he had known it would be.
Settling on the edge of the flet, he placed his bow on the floor beside him and shrugged out of his quiver, letting his legs dangle from the edge of the carved platform. He stared out over his beloved Lórien and let the gentle sounds of the forest soothe him. It wasn’t long before the inevitable occurred, and he sensed the presence of his youngest brother.
“Good afternoon, Rúmil,” he sighed.
Rúmil moved to sit beside him, folding his long legs to sit cross-legged upon the flet. “Well, that was interesting,” he smiled.
Haldir took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “That’s one word for the encounter.”
“She got under your skin, brother,” Rúmil observed.
Haldir grimaced, wishing, not for the first time, that his brother was not quite so perceptive. “Perhaps.”
“Haldir, you were ready to run her through with you sword!” The younger elf said.
Haldir snapped. “Don’t be absurd, the creature is mortal. She is an inconvenience, not a threat.”
“You don't think she's come to over take the Lady?"
“Thank you, that will do, Rúmil.” He said quickly.
With a grin, Rúmil subsided, reaching for the Marchwarden’s bow. He ran a finger down the taught string of his brother’s weapon, squinting critically at the woven hair. “Your bow string is worn,” he observed.
Haldir cleared his throat and stood, gazing down at his youngest brother. “Then you shall re string it for me,” he said.
Rúmil snorted inelegantly. “I shall not.”
“That was an order, Warden,” Haldir said smoothly. He left the flet quickly, Rúmil’s glare scorching his back.
o0o
“Get up,” came a low voice.
When she did not immediately stir, Aubrey felt a boot nudge her in the ribs. “Hey!” She cried, rolling away. She looked up into the cool gaze of the leader. “Good morning to you too,” she muttered.
After he had left the night before, another elf had brought to her a flask of water, a small platter of waybread and cheese, and a light blanket. The food had been filling and the water refreshing, and, though thinner than silk, the blanket had been warmer than her goose-down quilt at home. She was reluctant to leave its warmth for the chilly morning air, but one look at the leader’s face told her he was not in the mood for arguments.
“I’m up,” she grumbled, standing and stretching. It was only after she had stretched her arms behind her head that she realised she was shivering without the blanket. She folded her arms quickly.
The elf raised an eyebrow, and extended a neatly folded bundle of cloth, allowing it to unfurl into a cloak. "You should clothe yourself.”
She took the cloak from him, finding it spun on the same fine, light but warm material as the blanket. “Thank you,” she said grudgingly, fastening the clasp at her throat. The cloak flowed over her shoulders all the way down to her ankles, with a deep hood that she could have used to hide her face.
He did not acknowledge her thanks any more than to turn and walk to the edge of the platform. “Come,” he said, gesturing down towards the forest floor.
She hurried to his side. “What? I can’t jump that! Listen, Elf, you might—”
“Haldir,” he said crisply.
“Huh?”
“My name is Haldir, not ‘Elf’.”
She glowered at him. “And mine’s Aubrey. Hasn’t stopped you calling me ‘mortal’. I can’t jump down the tree.”
With a long-suffering look, he reached up and freed the rope ladder she had used the day before. “There. Now descend.”
“Stop telling me what to do!” She cried, but reached for the ladder anyway. Climbing down was no easier than ascending had been, and if anything was made harder by the long cloak tangling her legs. She had not taken five steps down the ladder before she felt the air rush past her and Haldir landed lightly on a branch below her. He didn’t even look up at her before he jumped again, and she lost his trajectory in her focus.
When she eventually reached the floor, he was waiting for her along with two other elves. “At last,” he commented acerbically. At a nod from him, one of the other elves walked forwards and offered her a pair of boots. They were the same calf-length style as the elves wore, but smaller and with none of the decorative tooling the elves had. Aubrey accepted them gratefully, her abused feet already throbbing from the trip down the ladder.
“Thank you,” she said, pulling them on. She winced as the soft leather rubbed against her tender, blistered feet.
Catching the movement, Haldir offered her a thin smile. “That looks painful,” he commented. “You should have had someone look at them last night, when you had the chance.”
His sarcasm was by no means lost on Aubrey; she narrowed her eyes at the pompous elf and seriously considered throwing a boot at his smug face. Before she could launch her missile, he had turned his back and begun the long trek into the heart of Lórien.