Story Downloaded from Open Scrolls Archive (https://www.openscrolls.net)

Title: The World Is Changing (#3947)
Author: Aearwen2
Chapters: 2

Archive: Tolkien
Category: Lord of the Rings
Description: Thranduil looks for help as the Age of the Elves comes to a close. Sequel to "In The Dark", "Anniversary", "MidSummer" and "Sanctuary". It is recommended that you read those first, in order, so as to understand the characters and situation.
Published: 29 Nov 2008
Updated: 06 Dec 2008
Warnings:
Type: General
Characters: Thranduil; Original Character


Chapter 1 - Chapter One

The harp music was, as usual, exquisite.

Elara smiled as she reached out to the little table just to her right – between her seat and that of King Thranduil – for the last of the goblet of wine she’d been nursing that evening, kept where she could find it without too much fumbling. She never had more than one goblet in an evening, and always made it last. Knowing this, the King always made certain a small table near her seat at the entertainment was made available for her use.

After two years, she was finally beginning to get accustomed to having wine with her evening meals, especially during those times when the King would ask for her company at his table and afterward, in his Great Hall for whatever entertainment was prepared. Thranduil assured her that the Dorwinion served to her was the best Middle Earth had to offer – and Elara had no doubt that the wine, just as the music and so much else in his hall, certainly was of the best quality available.

Except for the fact that she now lived in the endless darkness of blindness, her life as a whole had definitely improved in quality since she’d been brought, more dead than alive, into the Elvenking’s hall. She now lived in a comfortable suite of rooms of her own; and she enjoyed an occupation of sorts that kept her busy over the course of a day, friends and work colleagues with whom to spend the day and sometimes the evening, and a royal patron who made it his personal business to see to her welfare on a regular basis.

No longer only called forth to participate in feasts for festivals or to honor the occasional guest to the realm, she now dined with King Thranduil at regular evening mealtimes as well. A foiled attempt to remove her from Mirkwood had infuriated the King and caused him to take action – the most obvious of which was moving her apartments to the royal wing, where her safety could be guarded as closely as was his own. Since her recovery from the injuries stemming from the assault, he made certain she was escorted to evening meals every night; and from time to time – often without obvious reason – made a public point of personally escorting her to a place at the high table and then later to a seat at his side in the Great Hall to enjoy the evening’s entertainment.

This evening had been one of those random evenings at the King’s table - the meal a congenial one shared with Thranduil, his seneschal, Tarion, and his wife and Míriel and her husband. It wasn’t the first time Elara had found herself in such a grouping, although she sometimes wondered at her inclusion. Invariably she found herself doing far more listening than speaking – which was fine with her – although the Elvenking usually managed to draw her out and into the discussion at least once an evening.

Tonight, however, the King seemed content to let the conversation of the others flow during the meal without participating much himself, and even now had let the music to have its gentle way with her without interruption. As the evening wore on, the others left to join the rest of the household in taking part in the dancing over an hour earlier, leaving the two of them sitting alone at the edges of the gathering. She could hear the occasional whisper of a slipper against the smooth floor in front of her, and the part of her mind not enchanted with the music sometimes painted provocative pictures of what the dancing might look like, based in part on her recollections of what dancing in the forest with Thranduil for the past two MidSummer celebrations had felt like.

Elara was surprised out of her reverie when her right hand was suddenly captured by the King’s the moment she had carefully replaced her nearly empty goblet in its spot on the nearby small table. “I haven’t been a very good host this evening,” Thranduil’s deep voice announced in a tone of contrition. “I have indulged myself in preoccupation and ignored you. My apologies.”

She turned her fingers in his and squeezed gently. “There is nothing to forgive, Sire. The food was excellent, the discussion around the table during the meal interesting, and the music is always relaxing.” She smiled in his general direction. “I am quite content. Besides, it isn’t your job to keep me entertained.”

“Hmm.” There was a long pause in which Elara could only wonder at what was going through the mind of the volatile Elvenking – especially since he retained hold on her hand. When Thranduil grew silent, his thoughts could take him in many unexpected directions that could catch her completely by surprise when and if he finally decided to share them with her. Tonight he shared, but his tone sounded guarded. “You should be aware that we will be receiving visitors tomorrow – the Lord and Lady of Lothlorien. The Lady will be taking ship across the sea from the Havens, and would farewell some of her more distant kin along the way. There will be a feast tomorrow in her honor – I would have you sit at the High Table again.”

“As you wish,” Elara nodded. She’d heard enough about some of the other Elven realms in her time in Thranduil’s hall to know of the reputation of the Lady of Light. The thought of actually sitting at the table with such an illustrious personage was a little daunting; but if Thranduil wanted her at the high table, she’d be there – no doubt intimidated into awkward silence, but there.

She also knew, however, that even the remotest touch on the topic of Elves leaving Arda tended to send the King into a tailspin of moods for days – from dark and brooding to unpredictable, explosive anger. This visit would be more than a remote touch – and the resulting mood would no doubt be equally intense. “You’re also warning me, I take it, to steer clear of you until you are more yourself again after they leave?”

There was a moment’s pause, and then a sigh. “Actually, I’m afraid I’m hoping that you’ll do just the opposite.”

Now he had her thoroughly confused. Of late, Thranduil had been very conscientiously keeping her safe from his temper after the attempt to remove her from his hall resulted in her being in much closer proximity. “Sire?” she asked, frowning slightly.

“Elara…” The deep voice sounded vaguely uncertain, something that Elara rarely heard from her proud and capable host.

She squeezed his hand in hers again and leaned in his direction. “What’s wrong?”

Elara felt the Elvenking suddenly surge to his feet, his hand pulling her with him. “Come walk with me.” Without waiting for her assent, he tucked her hand into the bend of his elbow and, with his normal care, helped her down from the slightly raised platform on which they’d been seated before heading off full speed away from the music. She could feel the barely restrained tension through his velvet sleeve and did her best to trust that her feet wouldn’t tangle in his robes as he pulled her along. The music from the Great Hall faded into the distance, and then the feel of fresh air and a small breeze told her that he’d brought her outside – with the heady scent of rare autumn flowers announcing her entrance into his private garden that lay just beyond the royal residence itself. This was his private refuge, into which he’d brought her only once before, not quite two years before. Something had to be very wrong for him to bring her here again.

“Thranduil?” She deliberately pulled back now, slowing him. “Talk to me. You’re starting to frighten me.”

Immediately he stopped moving, and she bumped into his side awkwardly, only to be caught by a steadying arm before she could unbalance or fall. In a single, unbroken movement, that same arm swept her close and up into a tight embrace. “Forgive me,” he rumbled over the top of her head. “I fear I’m not exactly myself at the moment. I didn’t mean to cause you alarm.”

Elara stiffened for a moment, and then relaxed against him. This was Thranduil, she reminded herself – one of a very few in her world nowadays that she trusted implicitly to mean her no harm. “Tell me what’s wrong,” she urged when he showed no signs of letting go of her.

He was silent for a very long moment, as if mustering what it would take to answer her. “It’s beginning,” he finally whispered in the most broken tone she’d ever heard from him. “I’m losing them, Elara – it is the beginning of the end – and nothing I can do will stop it or even slow it. I thought I was ready, but…”

Slowly her arms went about him, her cheek pressed against his robe. As always, the King smelled of green woods and sweet, new-cut grass, scents she had come to associate with safety and security. His embrace was unexpectedly needy, however, and her concern increased. Usually he comforted her – to be the one he approached for comfort and then clung to worried her. “What do you mean, you’re losing them? Who are ‘they’?”

He took a long sigh and rested his cheek against her hair. “When the Lady Galadriel continues on toward Imladris after her visit here, she will take a goodly number of my people with her to the Havens and beyond.”

“Oh.” Míriel, in one of their long discussions, had explained to her in detail about the history and the many reasons behind the elves leaving Middle-earth. Elara knew of the pending loss of Thranduil’s son to the Undying Lands, but the concept of a departure on a massive scale from Eryn Lasgalen staggered her imagination past all acceptance. Now, suddenly, the idea was brought home and made reality – the unbelievable was happening.

The embrace loosened at last, but Thranduil still kept a possessive arm about her. “Come, there’s a bench over here where we can sit and talk,” he said, again pulling to guide her along – and then guide her to a seat. He sat down with her on the short bench, of necessity sitting quite close. “The long war was hard on all of the Eldar,” he sighed. “Many of my people died and will eventually be re-housed to wait in Aman until their loved ones come to join them. And with the greatest of us already taking to the ships, for many here there’s little to hold onto to keep them in Arda anymore.”

“Míriel tried to explain it to me once, but I still don’t understand. Are your people not loyal to you? Is not the honor of serving their King enough to keep them here?” She was almost incensed at the idea of Eryn Lasgalen being abandoned by any of her people.

“I declared long ago that I would never cross the sea,” Thranduil told her quietly. “I was born here in Ennor, I have nurtured and cherished the land even in its darkest hour – I am a part it. I have sworn oaths; I cannot leave. And so, if the foretelling is to be believed, I will eventually fade – along with any who remain behind with me. I would not be so selfish as to condemn all of my people to my fate.”

“But… what about Lalaith – and Legolas?” Elara asked very cautiously and quietly, knowing full well she was treading on extremely sensitive ground. “Both of them will be in Aman soon – would you not go to be with them then, when the time comes for all Elves to leave?”

“I cannot leave,” Thranduil’s voice shimmered with grief and frustration. “I swore an oath to Lalaith’s father – the leader of the Avari who were a part of this forest before my father ever set eyes on it – that I would nurture and protect the land with every ounce of my being until the breaking of the world. This was the price I was asked to pay to take his daughter to wife; and at the time, I was glad to pay it. But now… If I were to leave before then, I would be foresworn – an oath-breaker – and I could never look Lalaith or my son in the face again.” He fell silent for a moment, and from the way he trembled next to her, Elara knew he was struggling with strong emotions. “She was supposed to stay with me, Elara – to be at my side through the Ages – to fade with me when the time came, not perish only hours after giving birth to our son and leave me to face this alone.”

“Would you go to her, if you were freed from your oath?” she asked in a whisper.

Thranduil seemed to pause for a moment, and then she could feel him moving as if shaking his head. “No. This is my home. This is my forest. The oath changes nothing other than taking from me the freedom to change my mind.” He paused again and sighed. “But it isn’t the same way for most of the others here. They are tired – tired of the long fight, tired of the need for constant vigilance even in times of peace, tired of the separation between themselves and those who lost their lives to the Enemy. They would go on to their rest and their loved ones, and I don’t begrudge them that, except…”

“Except…” Elara understood now why the topic of Elves leaving Arda always sent him into such a black mood. She could hardly blame him. But she still didn’t understand why he wasn’t pushing her away to keep her safe from his moods as he usually did. “But if you don’t want me to stay away, Sire, what do you want then?” she asked quietly.

“What I would ask of you I can ask of no other,” he told her hesitantly, “certainly from no Elf, at any rate – for a number of reasons.”

“Ask, then,” she directed him, leaning into his side slightly. “If it’s in my power, I’ll do it.”

The Elvenking slowly moved as far away from her on the bench as he could, as if steeling himself for disappointment. “This… this departure will test me in ways I have not seen since Lalaith left me – and knowing I face losing Legolas in the same way soon as well will make this leave-taking even harder. I cannot do this alone – not again.”

“You’re not alone,” Elara stated with certainty. “Even if, as you say, many will take their leave, you will still have those who love you and care about you here – even me, such as I am. Whatever you need to get you through your dark times, you need only ask.”

Thranduil shifted on the bench almost nervously. “I know that – and so I’m asking. The worst times will be those times when I am left alone too long with my thoughts and fears. I need… someone willing to be summoned when the despair grows too deep – to keep me from doing things that don’t help the situation. I… am not proud of the way I handled Lalaith’s death, Elara – it put a great strain on my counselors and advisors to deal with an elf who… who drank to excess alone night after night in order to forget… And it never worked…”

“Thranduil…” Elara’s heart went out to him. These admissions of a past weakness and inadequacy had to be agonizing for an Elf as intensely proud of his self-reliance and power of will as was the Elvenking. “Grief does strange things to people – we both know this. There is no shame in having to withdraw…”

“But I little served my son, who was but a helpless infant, to trust him to a nurse while I emptied cask after cask… And my realm, neglected… For a whole year…”

“Listen to me.” Her hands reached out and found his arms, and then followed them down to where she could grasp his hands for a change. “That was two thousand years ago. You needed a time of withdrawal back then, and had the resources to do so without lasting damage to either your son or your kingdom. Leave the blame behind with the pain, where it belongs.”

Thranduil’s hands turned in hers this time, and his grip on her was strong. “But I fear I will do the same again – and in so doing, waste time I no longer have in abundance. And worse – even if you agree to be the one I summon in my dark hours, I fear my despair will make me fight your efforts to keep me from falling down the same hole again.” He shuddered, and his voice dropped to a desperate whisper. “I fear that you will abandon me too when, in a fit of madness, I say or do something that would rightly offend or drive you away.”

He paused, then continued with a note of warning, “There is a reason I’ve protected you from my temper, you know. I’m well aware of what I’m capable. A wise man takes care of the gifts entrusted to his keeping by the Valar.” He took a long and shaken breath, and then set her hands carefully back in her lap. “I have no right to ask this of you, but I find myself unable to keep from asking. Will you help me – and try not to let me drive you away when my mind is too clouded to know what I’m doing?”

“I have nowhere else to go, Sire, but where you would have me,” she told him gently. “I have no kin – no family out there in the world of Men. All that I have here, you have given me. I belong here – like you told the Men from Esgaroth once. But if it is an oath you require from me to blunt the frantic edge from your mood tonight, then I’ll willingly give it to you here and now.” Elara drew herself carefully erect on her seat. “Hear me, then, Thranduil. As long as I have breath in me, by my life I swear I will not abandon you. If you summon me, regardless of the hour, I will come willingly – and I will stay, regardless of what happens, until you bid me go, knowing full well what you ask of me. So say I, Elara Vardoniel of Eryn Lasgalen.”

“You would swear such a thing?” Thranduil’s whisper sounded deeply surprised – and moved. “Without knowing what such a vow might entail?”

“I just did,” she replied with a soft smile. “Be at peace, my friend. You will not have to endure this loss alone. I won’t allow it.”

His grip on her hands dropped away, but he wrapped his arms around her again and pulled her close, holding her very tightly for a long time without speaking. Finally he whispered to her, “You are truly a gift beyond price from the Valar, Elara! I don’t know what I ever did to deserve your trust and loyalty, but I vow…”

“Hush.” Elara interrupted him, shaking her head as she leaned into his chest. “I need no vows from you.”

“You deserve them,” he rumbled into her ear. “You deserve them far more than you’ll ever realize.”

“It is enough to know I’m valued by one whose opinion matters to me,” Elara told him with a contented smile. Knowing him to be relieved was intensely satisfying.

A feather-light kiss ghosted over her forehead. “Never doubt that you are valued, my gift,” Thranduil whispered in a tender tone that made her catch her breath, “and valued most highly.”

oOoOo

If Elara had learned to judge Elven beauty by the sounds of Elven voices, then Galadriel had to be by far the most gloriously stunning elleth she’d ever heard. With a voice as clear as a crystal bell and low in the register of female voices, Galadriel didn’t so much speak as she sang; and her laughter was infectious. By contrast, her husband Celeborn’s voice was a soft baritone, but held a level of majesty and grandeur – and subtle sadness – that Elara had never heard before, not even from Thranduil.

For the very first time, Elara was grateful that Míriel had taught her the proper way to curtsey. Although she normally felt coarse and rude in the company of Elves, to be even more so through deliberate ignorance in the face of such elegance and refinement was not an embarrassment she wanted to endure. As it was, Galadriel unexpectedly stopped in front of her, put out a gentle hand and then raised Elara’s lowered face with a finger beneath the chin. “It is well your heart is healed at last from the deep wounds that brought you here, fíriel, for it will be much needed in the time ahead of you,” the beautiful voice said very quietly. “Be strong – and hold to your vow.”

“Lady?” Elara started away from the gentle touch. Just what did Galadriel know – and how did she know it? What did she mean, her heart was healed?

The Lady’s soft touch brushed the very edges of the scars on her cheeks before she could form her question. Galadriel pitched her voice lower still and bent very near Elara’s ear, and Elara realized that her words were meant for her alone. “What will be must remain hidden from all but a few – this cannot change and should not. But do not let that become a burden. Know that Thranduil has chosen his companion well in you, and that you will be rewarded for your steadfastness. Your coming here has purpose, which now will begin to come clear. You need only be open to that which presents itself to you, and to know that the Valar do not give their gifts – even to the Second-born – lightly.”

That didn’t help explain anything, but by the time Elara could put together a coherent question, Galadriel had quickly moved on to be introduced by Thranduil to his Marchwarden. Elara’s opportunity to have the Lady explain her puzzling statements had been lost.

“She is beautiful, is she not?” Míriel whispered down into Elara’s ear.

“She is… something,” Elara agreed, still stunned and confused by the soft words.

“You’d think Míriel had never met the Lady before,” Randirion commented wryly from just beyond his wife. “But then, I should be used to this. The Avari are absolutely enchanted by the Noldor…”

“Hush, you!” Elara could hear the light slap that Míriel administered to her husband’s upper arm. “We Avari marry Sindar, not Noldor – we just enjoy watching them up close from time to time.”

Elara sighed away her worrying at what Galadriel could have meant for the moment, and then couldn’t help the chuckle that bubbled up at the antics of her friends. She reached out for and then clung to Míriel’s arm when she found it. “Just make certain I look decent for the feast,” she begged her friend. “I may not be able to do anything with the scars on my face, but at least I can dress well tonight.”

“Your scars have never been an issue, Lady,” Randirion told her firmly, moving from beyond his wife to claim Elara’s arm to his own, “not for those of us able to see beneath that which is skin-deep. I’m a lucky ellon indeed to have two beauties on my arm this day.”

Elara smiled as Randirion guided her back through the crowd and then back to her apartment, and yet her mind remained unsettled. She knew that Galadriel’s reputation as a seer was deserved – and it made her long for the peace of her apartment to review the Lady’s quiet words very carefully. What gift of the Valar had she received that the Valar didn’t give lightly? She knew Thranduil often called her his gift – although she’d yet to figure out why he did so – but had she received a gift without knowing it? And how had the Lady known that she’d given the King an oath?

She counted her steps to the comfortable chair near the open door to the garden and seated herself with a sigh. She’d carefully folded the material she’d been stitching earlier and left it on the small table next to the chair, along with the needle and rawhide thimble where they could be easily retrieved. Elara pulled her work into her lap and let her sensitive fingers roam the stitching she’d already done to find just the right place to resume. Normally she would have Irieth and Anariel to keep her company with their light-hearted chatter as she sewed – but with the preparations for the feast no doubt occupying their time, she could use the time alone before Míriel came to get her ready for the feast to review the unusual events of the recent past.

She remembered how her cheeks had burned once she was alone in her bed the night before at the thought of the vow she’d given to the Elvenking. While it hadn’t occurred to her at the time, the only other vow she’d ever given to anyone before had been the one she’d given to Timon on their wedding day. With that realization, she lay there searching her memories and her feelings for her dead husband – and found that she couldn’t really remember him half as well as she thought she should. Indeed, her reminiscing about Timon brought to light that she hadn't thought of him for quite a while, and that in itself was jarring.

Worse, she could easily bring his face to her mind, but the sound of his voice had faded away. And while she could still remember their passion for each other, her memories were filled only with a comfortable warmth. No sting of grief kept the memories sharp for her any longer, however. She had told herself that nobody had ever touched her soul as Timon had – but now began to doubt herself. How could she so easily let go of someone so important to her? When had that happened?

Now she understood that perhaps this was what Galadriel spoke of – that the healing her heart had undergone had sent her husband back into the mists of fading memory. She shook her head in disbelief. To what end was this a good thing – and how did that have anything to do with Thranduil or the vow she’d given him?

With that question, her musing moved to Thranduil himself. Today, she’d heard his deep voice be as clear and strong and optimistic as it had ever been in greeting his latest guests – but she couldn’t help compare it to how both his voice and his very being seemed just the night before. He had been uncertain of himself – and uncertain of her. But then, he’d been bothered by what he’d seen as a need to ask of her something that he felt he couldn’t ask of his own subjects. It was difficult to imagine what that something might be, and what she could imagine was just too fantastic to even consider.

If his description was to be believed, there was even a hint of a possible lack of propriety to the kind of situations she might find herself summoned into soon – especially if those “dark hours” the King spoke of happened late at night. Perhaps knowing this bothered Thranduil as much as it bothered her, now that it had occurred to her. And yet Galadriel somehow knew of this – and voiced her implicit approval of the situation, stating that “what will be must remain hidden”? What had she gotten herself into that the Lady of Light felt moved to encourage her to continue on the path she’d been set?

Something told her that her answers wouldn’t be all that long coming, but Elara regretted feeling that she had better not voice any of her reservations or thoughts to anyone else. Unless, of course, the Lady of Light was willing to shed light on some of her comments herself. Elara positioned her next stitch as she shook her head. Such a stew!

“Put that sewing down now, Elara!” Míriel’s voice broke through her musing. “Didn’t you hear me knock? I was delayed coming here – I’m sorry – but I thought you would have started getting ready by yourself before now.”

“I’m sorry,” Elara stammered, quickly folding the material again and positioning the needle and thimble for quick retrieval again before standing. “I must have been gathering cobwebs as well as stitching seams.”

“You don’t often do that,” the healer commented as she moved quickly behind Elara and began the task of loosening the laces on the gown she was wearing. “Is something bothering you?”

No, this wasn’t the time to talk to Míriel – not when she herself didn’t know exactly what was going on. “No. I suppose I’m just a little dazed from rubbing elbows with folks my race consider nothing but legend. To think the Lady of Light actually spoke to me!”

“I saw that.” Míriel lifted the gown over Elara’s head. “I also saw several of Auriel’s and Gelírwen’s crebain hatchery give you looks that would have melted mithril when the Lady bent and whispered privately into your ear. It’s probably just as well that they’re part of the group leaving Eryn Lasgalen with her, isn’t it?”

Elara twisted in Míriel’s direction. “They’re leaving with the Lady? All of them?”

Míriel put her hands on Elara’s shoulders and turned her back around again. “Stand still. Yes, they’re all leaving – and I seriously doubt that there are many here outside members of their own families that will miss them.” A thin and gauzy material fell over Elara’s head to be gently tugged into place. “Not that there are many of those either.”

“How many are staying behind with us, Míriel?”

The healer began tugging on the laces to pull them uniformly tight before tying them. “For now, about half.” She fell silent for a long moment. “Some stay to succor the ones who feel they cannot leave – like Aran – at least, for the time being or until their own sea-longings grow too great to ignore. I have heard some say that Lord Celeborn will eventually lead the Galadhrim who remain behind to Imladris, abandoning forever Lothlorien. They say he is like Aran and not ready to leave the land either. The sons of Elrond will likely rule there with him for a time, I’m told. Ernil Legolas has his colony in Ithilien – but how long the others will remain once he departs or where they will go is questionable.”

“What about you? Will you be staying – or taking ship eventually?”

The hands busying themselves with adjusting the crown of braids on Elara’s head paused in their efforts. “I am Avari,” Míriel said quietly. “My people have no wish to depart these shores, and I share their sentiment. I will stay – unless something happens to Randirion. My life is with him now – and if he needs to depart, then I will depart with him.” She resumed her gentle tugs on Elara’s hair. “But, Valar willing, that will be a long time from now, if ever.”

Elara’s lips lifted in a small smile. “Good,” she stated with a slight nod.


Chapter 2 - Chapter Two

The halls were quieter now that so many had departed, Elara had to admit, and the chorus of voices thinner that sang the songs and hymns that marked the passage of the day. Several levels of residential space had been emptied within the hall itself – whole corridors shut down and closed off. Most of the Elves from the villages in the wood itself had joined the caravan to the West, and those who remained had moved inside – but their numbers were too few to offset the loss. If it weren’t for her friends and sewing companions, all of whom had chosen to remain in Arda for the time being, Elara would have found the diminishment of Eryn Lasgalen quite distressing.

From Baradion and Anariel, she heard that Thranduil now spent the greater part of his days closeted with Tarion, making plans for gathering and harvesting and trading enough to keep the hall provisioned for the coming winter – and having to consider opening more trade with the Men of Esgaroth and Rhovanion to make up the difference in lost outside workers. Meals at the Great Hall at night were quiet affairs – many of the back tables had been removed permanently since the population they seated no longer dwelled there. And Thranduil himself was quieter, more reserved. He still included Elara at the high table from time to time, but seldom took part in the discussions or tried to draw her out anymore.

Elara was beginning to miss the Elvenking she’d come to know. Little had she realized how much enjoyment she’d gotten from his dry and slightly twisted sense of humor in describing scenes or recounting memories for her, or how much she looked forward to the banter they sometimes shared. The Elf whose hearty laugh had so brightened her heart over the past two years had evaporated into a soft-spoken, extremely guarded individual who answered her questions readily enough but volunteered little other than just the answer. Were it not for the very soft occasional brushes of his mind against the back of hers, she would have thought he’d forgotten her entirely. From what she heard from the others, his mood was beginning to affect everyone in the hall.

Autumn turned to winter without any appreciable change in either the mood of the hall or the mood of the King, both having grown much colder with the passing of time.

Late one stormy winter night, however, a frantic pounding at her door brought Elara out of a sound sleep. Without even thinking, she rushed to the door. “What is it?” she demanded, still half-caught in slumber, clutching her sleeping gown closed at the chest against the cold of the corridor.

“Lady Elara.” It was the Marchwarden of Eryn Lasgalen.

“What is it?” she asked again, this time more awake and concerned. She opened her door further. “Baradion - what’s wrong?”

“It’s Aran, Lady – he won’t listen to reason. He’s called for more wine – but he told me just after the Lord and Lady of Lothlorien left that if he ever started doing things like that again, I was to summon you instead.” Baradion carefully took hold of Elara’s hand. “Will you come, Lady? I know not what else to do.”

“Of course I will,” Elara nodded, now completely awake. “Let me go get…”

“There’s no time. Aran’s angry – and he’s beginning to throw things. I don’t want to seem rude, but…” Baradion’s worry and the fact that he didn’t release her hand so she could get some sort of wrap convinced Elara of the urgency of the situation. With a small shiver, she let the Marchwarden draw her from her apartment and speed down the corridor.

Indeed, the sound of something shattering came through the door as Baradion opened it for Elara. The King’s voice sounded slurred and angry. “Nuath, Baradion – you’d better have that wine…” There was a pause, and then he continued in a shocked tone. “What’s she doing here? Get her out of here at once!”

“You told me to summon her when you…”

Thranduil’s voice lashed out. “I don’t care what I told you! It isn’t safe for her to be here right now, Baradion! You should know better! Elara – please…”

Elara knew herself to be completely lost – she’d never been in the King’s chambers to know where things were – but she knew that this was what she’d sworn to see him through. “I’m not going anywhere,” she said with much more certainty than she felt and took a step forward into the cold apartment, trusting she wouldn’t yet trip over anything and fall.

“You will be well, Lady?” Baradion asked her in a quiet tone.

“She will not!” Thranduil bellowed. “She cannot stay here.” He turned his most demanding and authoritative tone on Elara. “Lady, leave me. You are not welcome here.”

“I’ll be fine,” Elara replied in an equally quiet tone.

“You will call if you need me?”

“I will.” She could hear the reluctance in the Marchwarden’s voice at the idea of leaving her alone with the irate monarch, but Elara took in a deep, strengthening breath. “We both know he will not harm me. Be at peace.”

“Thank you, Lady.” Baradion said, his voice shimmering with gratitude. “I will be nearby if you have need.”

“Thank you.” Elara heard the door open and close softly behind her. She waited, but there was no sound from the King at all to tell her where he was other than an occasional scuff of a soft slipper against the weft of the thick carpet on the floor that told her he was pacing. “You’ll wear yourself out like that,” she commented dryly.

Thranduil snorted but said nothing, and continued to pace. Elara shivered – if there had been a fire in the King’s hearth that evening, it had long since grown cold. She should have insisted Baradion wait until she could draw on a robe before coming here, but regrets served no useful purpose now. When time passed and the King continued his pacing, she asked, “Could you at least stir up the fire a little – it feels as if there should be snow on the ground rather than carpet.”

“I feel no chill,” the King replied tersely.

“Can you at least show me to a chair then?” Elara asked after standing there for another long, silent moment. This was definitely not the gentle, considerate Thranduil she knew, or even the politely aloof one she’d come to know of late – and her bravado at facing him alone in his lair late at night was beginning to ebb. “Or do you expect me to stand in place all night?”

“If you wish comfort, you should seek it in your own bedchamber, fíriel,” Thranduil snarled in her ear. He came out of nowhere, his hand strong and tight on her upper arm. “I told you, it isn’t safe for you to remain here.” With a rough jerk, he pulled her a stumbling step backward – toward the door. “You need to leave – now!”

“You’re hurting me,” Elara said softly, tears swimming at the bruising grip the King had on her arm. No, this was not what she had anticipated at all when she’d made her promise.

The hand dropped away from her arm as if she had burned him, and she could hear him colliding with furniture in his flight away from her. “Forgive me,” he gasped finally, from what sounded like another room entirely. “Please, Elara, do not stay here. I am… not myself.”

Heartened, she took a cautious step forward in the direction of the King’s voice. “I swore an oath that I wouldn’t leave you,” she reminded him gently. “I will not be foresworn.” She took another step, her hands stretching out in front of her and seeking for something – anything – to hold onto. “You asked for my help, Thranduil, remember?” She had been right after all, he would not willingly harm her. It had taken but a soft word of reproach to snap him out of whatever mood had made him capable of bruising her arm. Now all she had to do was rediscover the gentle friend that existed inside the unfamiliar and frightening creature somewhere in the dark before her.

“I should not have,” he replied fiercely. “I had no right…”

“Talk to me,” she urged, taking another step.

Once more, the only answer she received was silence. She turned her head, listening carefully, but couldn’t even discern the sound of the King’s breathing. She stood there, getting colder by the moment, until finally she crouched down and carefully found a seat on the carpeted floor. “I’m still not leaving,” she announced stubbornly, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms about them.

From somewhere in the distance, off in the direction she’d last heard Thranduil’s voice come from, she thought she heard a soft sigh, but then nothing more. The long silence stretched out; and despite her shivering, Elara felt her tiredness creeping up on her again. She straightened herself once, and then again, only to sag once more against her knees to hold in what little warmth she could get from her own body.

And somewhere in the night, she laid her head against her knees, shivered one more time, and then slept.

oOoOo

Elara stirred, and then roused slightly. She was warm – toasty and comfortable beneath a soft cover with something heavy lying across her shoulder – and her head rested on something hard covered in what felt like silk. A rhythmic thumping pulsed into her ear from within that hard pillow, and she could hear the welcome crackle of flames from somewhere behind her. She breathed in deeply and smelled the familiar and well-loved scent of rain-washed forest and fresh, new-cut grass, and it reassured her. She was with Thranduil – and safe.

And with that, she snapped suddenly into full awareness of exactly where she was.

Yes, she was with Thranduil – draped across his lap in what had to be a very roomy and comfortable chair, with her head pillowed on his chest beneath his chin. It was his heartbeat that drummed into her ear. The weight across her shoulder was an arm that held her close to him. Another hand moved up from where it had rested at her waist to tuck the warm cover into her neck again from which it had shifted as she awoke, and then dropped back down to pull her in just a little closer and more securely into his lap. “Shhhh…” Thranduil soothed her in a gentle whisper. “Go back to sleep, Elara nîn. All is well.”

“Thrandu… What?” She roused further. “Where am I?”

“Where else would you be?” the deep voice replied with a note of amusement. “You’re with me in my apartment. You were chilled – and the fire had gone out. I understand such things are dangerous for the health of the Second-born, so I couldn’t allow the situation to continue. I wrapped you in my warmest blanket, rebuilt the fire, and pulled a chair over to sit and hold you as you warmed up again so that you wouldn’t awaken alone in a strange place.”

“I should go…” Elara muttered and sat up to the extent that the Elvenking’s arms would allow.

“Relax. No one other than the two of us ever need know that whatever didn’t happen here between us just now, never happened.” He chuckled, his voice a deep and soft rumble as he gave a very gentle tug on her. “Besides, it’s too early to be worrying about things like that. Wretched wine!” His hand came up and cradled her face in his large palm. “Trust me, Elara. Go back to sleep. I will watch over you – and awaken you in good time to keep your reputation intact. Baradion will say nothing – and no one else need know you were here through the night.”

Slowly and warily, Elara relaxed and settled back against the King, her head almost instinctively finding its place against his chest under his chin. “At least you’re sounding more like yourself again,” she commented quietly, the gentle pressure of his arm about her and the fingers that brushed loose strands of hair from her face like balm to her spirit. Her friend was back – the one she’d missed for so long now. She had no idea how it had happened, but she was relieved and grateful that it had.

“Yes, well, I suppose it’s about time, isn’t it,” Thranduil replied wryly. “I tell you truly, watching you shiver yourself to sleep in the middle of my floor was like taking a bath in a glacier stream in the midst of a fever. So many others lately have been warning me, advising me this way and that in very strong terms, sometimes even getting angry with me – to the point that you could have screamed and talked yourself blue in the face without making the slightest difference to me. But quietly sitting down in the middle of my floor in your too-thin sleeping gown and suffering the cold in order to keep your vow to me was something I could not ignore.” He began to run his fingers more thoroughly through her hair, which Elara realized now tumbled in uncontrolled abandon about her shoulders instead of being caught back in the braid Míriel had woven only hours earlier. “You shamed me into taking a good look at what I was doing – and I didn’t like what I saw. It helped me wake up and finally find myself again.”

“I wish you had called me earlier, before your despair grew so great.” Elara closed her eyes, stifling a sigh of pure contentment and trying not to allow his gentle caresses to affect her so much. It was hard, though – too long had it been since last she had enjoyed the loving touch of another. Already her heart picked up its pace.

“I couldn’t,” Thranduil admitted simply. “As happened the last time things got this bad, I had to have all my defenses stripped away from me before I could accept help from anyone.” His hand slipped from playing with her hair to her shoulder and then down to her upper arm where he had grabbed her so roughly. The hand stopped knowingly at the sore spot, which immediately ached at the sudden touch. “I hurt you, though. I feared I might.” He left his hand there, and Elara caught her breath when his touch grew warm and soothing, and the ache slowly faded until it was barely noticeable.

“I wasn’t badly damaged,” she soothed.

“Any damage is and was unacceptable.” The King’s voice rang with remorse. “Forgive me.”

She snuggled more comfortably into him. “Forgiven, Sire.”

Thranduil snorted, and then chuckled. “Elara nîn, when we are alone in the night, and you are in my arms…”

“Thranduil…” Elara groaned, her face heating up into what she knew was a blush.

“You can call me many things, but ‘Sire’ is not one of the ones I’d prefer to hear,” he finished in a deep and rich tone that made her tingle inside, with his fingers tangled in and playing with her hair again.

“I won’t be ending up in your arms again, and you know it,” Elara shook her head, letting her common sense act like a splash of cold water in the face of her reeling feelings. They had been through some of this before – very briefly – and somebody had to say it. “I appreciate waking up warm and rested after what happened earlier – and you make a very comfortable cushion, I must admit – but we both know better than to let this happen again.”

He sobered immediately. “You’re right.” The long fingers continued to toy with her hair, in direct contradiction to what was being said. “This must never happen again.”

“Then I need to go back to my…” she began, moving to sit up and then stand – but once more was held firmly in place before she could get very far.

“Not yet. Please.” Thranduil’s voice was soft. “If this is to be a never-to-happen-again moment, then let it last. Nothing more will happen between us than has already happened – in the end, you will return to your bed and I will return to mine – but rest here in my arms for just a little longer, Elara. Please. You vowed you would stay until I bid you go.”

She hesitated and then nodded, relaxed and then closed her eyes as his arms gathered her to him again and held her tightly. “This isn’t wise, you know,” she murmured.

“I know.” His long fingers no longer played with the ends of her hair, but stroked her head as it lay against his chest. “But at the moment, I don’t care. I need this – I need you here. You remind me of who I am, who I need to be. Let me hold you until I can trust myself to know these things on my own without assistance.”

Unable to resist the temptation any longer, Elara turned into him, her hand clutching the collar of his sleeping shirt, knowing even as she did the danger involved in turning to him in that way. “This is very hard for me,” she said, her voice unsteady. “I told you once that I was in danger of liking you too well.”

He was silent for a moment. “And I told you that I was in danger of the same. I remember,” he admitted at last. “Everything we said to each other that evening is still true – and yet…”

“I think I’ve discovered something that demonstrates the difference between us,” Elara said quietly, following her own train of thought. “A while ago, I spent a good part of the night trying to remember Timon – and I discovered that my memories of him are fading. I’ve had time to think about things since then, and I’ve come up with an idea…”

“An idea?” Thranduil sounded confused, and his hand fell away from her hair. “About the difference between us?”

“Between Men and Elves when it comes to matters of the heart, yes. I think my people don’t have the time or luxury to remain true to only one mate when one of a pair dies so very soon – and that our minds are… arranged… to ease moving from one mate to another, when necessity demands it. I know that if I had remained in the world of Men, I would probably already be remarried – and even blind and scarred as I am now, I was offered a place at the hearth of one of those Men of Esgaroth in exchange for… well...”

“I knew I should have had my archers shoot that offensive mortal when I had the chance,” Thranduil spat, his arms tightening about her possessively. “He had no business touching you…”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” she chided him, “and that’s beside the point I’m trying to make. You, on the other hand,” she continued, “will remain completely true to Lalaith until the breaking of the world and beyond. Your entire way of living life deals in terms of eternity – immortality – and reunion in the Undying Lands someday, even if one of a pair dies too soon. Elves have the time to remain true. That changes everything.”

Thranduil was silent for a long moment. “I didn’t realize you were forgetting your Timon,” he commented sadly. “Do you know why?”

“Yes.” She whispered, knowing her secret could stay secret no longer. “Forgive me.”

“Forgive you? For what?” His whisper was tender.

It was still incredibly difficult to say. “I… had… you…” Elara felt her face heat fiercely.

She could no longer avoid the truth – and it was tragic: she loved him, beyond all reason and logic. No wonder her memories of Timon had faded into the mists of the past with the reality of a larger-than-life Thranduil ever-present in her life, talking and laughing and joking and teasing her into learning to live again – learning to love again – despite his being out of reach. There had been daydreams, yes – imaginations that she’d dismissed as resulting from too little sleep and too strong wine of an evening – and she’d forced herself to be content with them.

“Elara nîn.” The endearment was spoken with a resonance in the deep voice that shattered her sad reverie and took her breath away. “Do not make the mistake of believing that your feelings are not returned to some degree.”

She grew very still and listened to the steady heartbeat beneath her ear for a long moment. “What?” she asked finally, still not entirely certain of what she was hearing.

“I think,” he began, shifting in the chair beneath her and then settling her just that much more comfortably against him, pulling the blanket up to cover her again, “that it would be better if we speak plainly during the rest of our once-in-a-lifetime moment together. In a very mortal fashion, as you described it, we neither have the time for nor can we afford the luxury of vague references and talking around the issue any longer. We need to settle this, once and for all. Do you agree?”

Slowly Elara nodded.

“Then I need to tell you that I have become very fond of you – I even love you, in my own way.”

“Love?” She was stunned – had he really said what she thought he’d said?

“And you?” He sounded as if he really wanted to know. “You said you ‘had’ me – what did you mean? I need to understand you, Elara.”

“I meant that I had you in my life now – that…” Her voice fell to a whisper again. “…that I had fallen in love with you,” she admitted, dismayed to find that actually saying the words out loud, no matter how softly, brought a downpour of tears. “I’m sorry… I’ve tried so hard not to…”

He bent over her and shushed at her. “I know you have, my gift – and that makes the vow you made to me so very precious. When you bound yourself to me so securely, I had my suspicions. That is why I told you that you deserved vows from me in return. The Valar forgive me, but even though I can never give you those vows, I can also never release you from yours – you mean too much to me.”

“I don’t want to be released…” She would have said more but for the long finger that landed gently on her lips, silencing her with a simple touch.

“And I know I will never be able to express my feelings for you again after this special moment ends because you’re right; this can never happen again between us for several very good reasons. So I want you to know that you have found a place in my heart where you will be loved and cherished until the very end of time. Lalaith will just have to understand and accept that you have become a part of me, just as you must understand and accept that I can never be more to you than I am right now – as unfair as that will be to you.”

Elara put a hand out from beneath her blanket to find and then trace the lines of the face above hers – to “see” him in the only way open to her – in a gesture she knew she’d never allow herself again. He sat very still as first one set of fingertips, and then both when she sat up and added her other hand to the first, ghosted along the delicate curve of his eyebrows, through the heavy silkiness of his long hair, and over the warm smoothness of the skin over his high cheekbones and the soft fullness of his lips. “I never meant for you to learn of this,” she admitted, her face heating again as her touch lingered over his lips, and then her hands dropped back into her lap. “I didn’t even want to admit it to myself.”

“I know you didn’t,” Thranduil whispered tenderly. “But I’m glad we have been honest with ourselves and each other at last. As uncomfortable as the truth might be, it can be also quite liberating – especially now that we both know exactly where we stand. The only question left us now is whether or not our being in such close contact all the time but prevented from acting on our feelings will end up being a form of torture to you – and if the kindest thing I could do for you would be to find you a decent place in the world of Men, where you would receive the care and consideration you deserve.”

Elara gasped, his words a dagger to her heart. “You… would send me away now?”

“Not willingly, no!” His arms tightened around her possessively again and pulled her very close. “You are my gift, and I do not share that which is mine easily with anyone! Surely you know me better than that by now!” His large hand cradled her head against his chest. “But I also would not have my selfishness do you irreparable harm in the process. I am ready to live with you close at hand, knowing we can never be more to each other than what we are now – knowing that I will never again hold you like this, or…”

He pressed his lips gently to her forehead. “That kiss and this little moment will be all I can ever give you, my gift – for both our sakes, I dare no more. Will that be enough for you – or will your heart bleed every time I must turn away from what you really want of me until the day comes that you regret ever having made the effort to survive the fire that brought you here?”

“I have always known that you would never be mine,” Elara answered him after another long moment of just enjoying the sensation of his arms around her, of remembering the feel of his lips against her skin. “But I have already lost everyone that I loved once – please don’t ask me to lose what little I have here now. I will be content with what I have, Thranduil, I swear it. Don’t send me away!” The mere thought of it was enough to make her shake and the tears to fall.

“Hush, Elara nîn. Don’t cry.” His fingers teased the tears from her cheeks. “If staying here is what you want, then it will be my honor and privilege to share the seasons of your life. As I said, I would not send you away willingly. You are my gift – you belong to me; and what is mine, I keep.” He pressed his cheek against the top of her head. “But I would have another vow from you, then, if you insist on staying here.”

“Another vow?” Elara’s heart was pounding in her chest.

“I need you to promise me that if this ever becomes too much of a burden – if what we cannot have together becomes too painful to bear – that you will tell me so that I can make arrangements for you to travel to my son’s realm in Ithilien. At my request, he will see to your comfort and welfare, and help you find a place for yourself among the edain of Ithilien – or let you remain with the Elves, if that is your preference. Swear to me that you will not allow yourself to suffer needlessly, but rather let me to see to your comfort elsewhere if it becomes necessary.”

“Thranduil…”

“Give me your word that you will do this.” The deep voice urged vehemently. “I would protect you if I can – even from yourself, if it comes to that. Swear it.”

Elara turned her face into his chest and wept. He was right – living so close to him, loving him and yet knowing that he could not return her love in equal measure, would be a form of torture. But the mere thought of living removed from him – where she couldn’t hear his voice, enjoy his laughter and sly teasing – would be greater torture still.

“I can guarantee I will never ask it of you – but I swear that if my life here becomes too painful, I will tell you,” she agreed finally, when the tears had ceased again. “But you must promise me something in return, then.”

“What is that?”

“That you will not pull away from me to keep me safe.” She made an effort to steady her voice. “We have been close friends before now – and I have greatly missed having your laughter in my ears these past few months, and your voice telling me what is going on in the Great Hall with all the commentary that you add that makes me laugh and blush. Don’t take that away from me just because you don’t want to hurt me. You want me to speak plainly? Well, I know I can never have you as a lover or husband – and I can accept that – but I would not lose you as a friend. Promise me…”

Now it was Thranduil’s turn to think for a long moment. “Very well,” he said at last. “We will continue on as if this night never happened – and as if I had never gotten into one of my “moods.” We will not change the nature or the closeness of our relationship at all, until or unless you ask it of me. I, Thranduil, swear this to you.”

Elara relaxed finally against him, engraving the feel of his arms wrapped around her into her memory to last her the rest of her life. She was exhausted – and while her heart was full, her emotions were raw and sensitive. Thranduil must have been tired as well – he settled himself back against the tall, cushioned back of his chair, and she could feel him relaxing beneath her. “Sleep, Elara nîn,” he whispered to her. “Rest and let me watch over your dreams this one time only. I will see you back to your bed long before Míriel comes to help you get ready for the day.”

She closed her eyes and felt him adjust the soft blanket over her shoulders. “I promise I will never say this to you again,” she spoke finally, “but I want to say it one last time, then, as our moment ends. I love you, Thranduil – and I always will.”

His lips touched her forehead again as gently as they had before; and for the first time in over a year, his voice sounded clearly in her mind – soft and comforting. And I love you, Elara – and I always will. Aloud he whispered, “Sleep now. All is well.”

Elara fell quickly to sleep again with the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her ear and the smell of fresh-cut grass and warm forest telling her she was safe and secure, and that all was truly well.

oOoOo

“Come,” Elara answered the soft knock on her door. She reached for the folded pile of material that was the day’s sewing.

“Lady – I wish you good morning.”

“Baradion!” Elara smiled in the direction of the Marchwarden’s voice. “This is a surprise.”

A small click told her that the door to her apartment had closed again. “I came only to make certain all was well with you after last night…” He sounded hesitant.

She shook her head at him. “I suffered no ill use – I am quite unharmed and well. I told you he would never hurt me.”

A very gentle touch landed on her upper arm where Thranduil had grabbed her. “You wear the mark of a hand this morning that you did not have when I saw you last night.” Baradion’s voice darkened. “He did hurt you – and you didn’t call for help…”

“It was a mistake – and there was no harm done,” Elara insisted in a quiet and firm tone. “I didn’t call you because I didn’t need your help at the time. This is nothing.” She set aside the material, rose and then counted her steps to her closet, from which she took a light, crocheted shawl and draped it over her arms and shoulders in a way that would hide the mark from any others to see her that day. “I told Míriel about it, if that makes a difference.”

“I will speak to Aran…”

“No. Don’t. Please.” She held out a hand and counted her steps back to her comfortable chair to sit down again. “I don’t want your accusations to drive him back again toward the mood that brought you to my door last night. I have settled the matter with the King myself – and it is finished. Please allow that to be the end of it. Míriel treated it with a salve this morning – with any luck at all, the mark will be gone by tomorrow.”

Elara heard the Marchwarden give a frustrated snort. “If you are certain that is what you want…”

“I am.” She held out a hand in his direction. “I am most appreciative of your concern on my behalf, however – never doubt that. I knew I was safe either way, and it gave me the strength I needed to do what had to be done. I think… I hope… you will find the King in a much improved mood this day.”

“If so, then all of Eryn Lasgalen owes you a great debt, Lady.” Baradion took her hand and kissed the back of it. “The Valar gave us all a great gift on the day they brought you into our midst.” Elara’s smile was a sad one, hearing another ellon call her what was now one of Thranduil’s favorite endearments for her – an endearment she wasn’t sure she’d ever hear again. Their moment was gone now…

There was another soft knock on Elara’s door, interrupting her thoughts, and Irieth was the elleth who entered at her call. Irieth sounded surprised to discover who else was in her friend’s sitting room. “Baradion, I didn’t mean to interrupt…”

“I was just leaving,” Baradion said quickly, and Elara began to smile at the tone in both voices. Both were pleased to have encountered the other, and uncomfortable at the same time. Something was going on – something very interesting. It was enough to raise her mood again.

“You don’t have to leave quite so quickly, do you, Marchwarden? I’m certain that Irieth would enjoy your company as much as I do…” she began, thinking to provide an opportunity for the two of them to enjoy each other’s company a little, with herself as chaperone to make things more proper.

“No… I appreciate your kind offer of hospitality, Lady Elara, but I need to hear the nightly reports from the hall wardens and begin planning schedules. I should go…” Baradion sounded as if he was already retreating toward the door, albeit reluctantly.

“Until next time, then.” Irieth answered this time, and Elara’s smile grew. She knew that tone of voice, whether from Man or Elf. Irieth was enamored of Baradion – and from the sounds of it, the feelings were reciprocated.

“Ladies…” The door clicked shut again.

Elara turned to her friend. “Irieth…”

“Don’t say it,” the elleth sighed and then moved to the chair next to Elara’s. “My father thinks that I have my sights set too high – and that I will suffer disappointment if I keep thinking…”

“Nonsense. I don’t need eyes to know what both your hearts are saying without words.”

“Baradion said he would speak to my father, but he hasn’t had the opportunity yet.” Irieth explained in sad frustration. “I just know that if he says something, my father will have to believe that it isn’t just my overactive imagination – and that I have truly found the one for me.”

“It will all work out in the end, my friend.” Elara reached out her hand and patted Irieth’s arm when she found it.

“I never knew it could be so hard to be in love, Elara. Was it so for you too – with your husband, that is?”

“Being in love is a very difficult thing,” Elara admitted, her mind on the events of the previous evening spent with the Elvenking and not on a husband she could remember only with difficulty. “But when it is true, it will abide almost anything.”

Galadriel had been right. What was between her and Thranduil must remain hidden from all until the end of time – something that would give both of them no small amount of grief, each in their own way. Love was a very difficult thing when it couldn’t move forward – but she decided in that moment that she would do her best to see that Irieth and Baradion could find the kind of love that she herself was now denied. They deserved their happiness.

She’d had happiness once – and she had friendship and a different kind of happiness now. Considering everything, she had everything she’d ever need in this life.

And for what she could never have, she had her dreams. Oh yes, she could dream!

FIN
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