The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater.

-Haldir of Lórien

Empty homes tell tales, long after those who lived within their walls have perished. It brought the young girl much amusement to imagine the souls who lived there, weave their stories of grandeur, and dream that those souls would have similar stories to tell if they lived still to tell them.

What brought her to this home in particular was a single rumour that its inhabitant had composed the anthem of the Reunited Kingdom as a gift for King Elessar. Of course, it was only a rumour; nothing gave particular credence to it.

It surprised her still how modest the home was, for legend pegged the lady who lived there as one with a penchant for pretty and often extravagant things of immeasurable value – had the legends held true, in this little house made of stone she would have met her sad, lonely end.

Every surface imaginable was blanketed with thick layers of dust and in some places, the carcasses of insects. Silky cobwebs covered every corner. Elerossë jumped in panic as a mouse scurried outside; she had left the door slightly ajar. She ventured further into the house and examined the bedroom; it was empty save for a small bed and a simple wardrobe.

But there was something behind it.

Elerossë furrowed her dark brow as she carefully gripped the edge of the wardrobe, pulling it to one side, wincing as it screeched against the floorboards. It exposed another door leading into the cellar.

Something told the Elf not to venture downwards and biting her lip to ease her nerves, she tucked a stray tendril of black hair behind her pointed ear. A wicked, raspy voice hissed behind her to get away, and Elerossë could have sworn it sounded incensed at the sudden intrusion. It was passionate, surely, but the disembodied voice did not persuade and she started the trek downwards. It took her eyes a few moments to adjust to the dark, but she found when she placed down a rock to keep the door ajar there was enough light that she could see clearly. Some musical instruments laid strewn about and carelessly forgotten – a viol and a cello amongst a small sea of emptied wine bottles. In the corner was a large chest.

"You must have something more to tell me," the girl whispered as she tiptoed to the chest and flipped over the latches.

A cloak of deep red laid folded neatly at the very top; Elerossë recognized the brooch to be of elven design. Beneath that were two jackets suitable for formal occasions, one of a deep rose and the other embroidered in sky blue. The collar on both pieces was outlandishly high, golden buttons laced intricately down one side and the seam skirted out at the waist. Some jewelry had been wrapped in black lace – hair clips and combs, several necklaces and a number of the rings, some had evidently been made too large to belong to a woman.

But it was what lay buried at the bottom that caught her attention. One was a large pile of letters, teased together eternally with withered rope and the other was a folder or rather, a portfolio. Whatever its contents were, she could not yet tell though its thickness suggested the contents were many.

Gathering everything in her nimble arms she left the cellar in a hurry, placing the bundle on the table. She decided to investigate the letters first, as those probed her curiosity the most, and using her nails she released the knot and plucked the first from the pile. Several of them she could not read for she recognized the language as Rohirric.

Still ever curious, Elerossë plucked another from the pile. They were scattered and of no particular order. This one was dated 2 Ivanneth, 2977.

Dearest sister!

I do hope this letter reaches you swiftly! I must tell you that I am with child. While I doubt you will be able to arrive in time for the birth, I would be delighted beyond words if you would attend the Naming Ceremony. Father hopes for your return as well, he is bearing through a trial of ill health and speaks often about having all his children about him. Please, I beg you, come home!

With love,

Finduilas.

The next was folded over itself many times; it took her several moments to unravel it. Other than being folded, it had been crumbled, seemingly crushed between someone's fist, that much was evident. Whether in anguish or anger, that much was not as clear.

Beloved, it read in a delicate cursive. No date provided any hint to when it was written.

It has been three years since you left me and I should tell you the universe appears a mighty stranger! It is so very hard to think myself a part of it when you are not! But alas, the King keeps me busy, odd in my old age but yet, it is this occupied time that keeps me alive.

The nights are the worst, my darling. Without fail, so embedded is your face in my memory that each time I close my eyes I see your smile... it is as if your likeness had been permanently imprinted on my lids. I do not know if it is a gift or a curse, most times I reckon the latter.

Strange that in life we talked so often about my death, as if it was a certain thing that you would outlive me. And you were prepared to do so! But I was never pre – a splotch of ink caused the rest of the sentence to become indiscernible - for even when you marched to Rohan with your brothers, in my heart of hearts, you were an elf, made of stronger stuff than myself and somehow you managed to convince me my despair was misplaced. You would come back, you said, and I believed you.

Foolish on my account, surely. Blind, childish faith I placed in your wicked lies. Had I known – again, here she could not decipher the writing - have bound you to that tree you love so bloody much until the end of the war! And you would hate me, surely, but you would be safe.

I thought of the first time we met the other day, I know the few times we spoke of that day brought you no joy or visible delight, but I quite-

The text faded significantly beyond those words and it was no longer legible. The girl mindlessly fumbled with the clasp on the red cloak. How might they have met, she wondered silently, turning over the parchment in hopes that there might have been more writing, some further narration of the story.

Nothing.

And then she recalled the abandoned instruments strewn in the depths of the little house, and she used that knowledge to spur her wild imagination into weaving the answer.

It was the Yuletide Music Fair, an annual tradition for the citizens of Dol Amroth. An Elf, cloaked fully in gray save for the shadows of his face, walked amongst the line of vendors and brightly-coloured booths. Some children played with puppets while men and women alike traded instruments and tips and others sang to the tune of their harps. Unlike many of his kind, he held a particular fondness for venturing beyond the borders of his realm. He had made several acquaintances during his sparse travels, and open to him they would be, for they told him much of their lives and frequently possessed rather colourful commentaries on the current state of affairs within their borders. He was on his way to visit one such gentleman now, but thought a detour through the fair would be charming.

He came across a child, sitting at the bottom of the castle steps – her home, he reckoned, judging by the elegance and intricacy of her clothing. "Not right! It is not right!" With the mannerisms betraying her rather spoilt status, the little girl pushed the viol and the bow away, dramatically crossing her arms with a sigh.

"What is not right, little lady?" the elf crouched beside the girl and pulled back his hood, gingerly picking up the miniature instrument. She pointed to one of the strings and he nodded, "yes, it has come loose... there." He turned the peg, tightened the offending string and handed it back to the little girl. "Try it now."

She eagerly took it from his hands and brushed the bow across the strings in the beginnings of a song, and Haldir took immediate notice of her tender skill and technique. It reminded him much of a rather accomplished violist. He had not expected such a sound from one so young. "Le hannon!"

Hearing his own native tongue in Dol Amroth was not uncommon, and thus provided no surprise. "How old are you, young princess?" She held up her hand in her response, but folded her thumb over to indicate she was four. Watching her as she counted her fingers to check, the corners of his lips curled upwards to form a smile of amusement as her eyes widened - she realized she was incorrect and quickly unfolded her thumb.

"No, five!"

"Yes, I am glad you have not forgotten about your birthday so soon, it was only yesterday." A young woman picked the little girl up, and Haldir concluded it must have been her mother. Both were fair of face, with similarly rounded gray eyes and unruly masses of chestnut curls. He sensed a faint strain of elven blood in the girl's veins that the mother did not herself possess. "It has been very long since the elves have ventured here," she said with the tiniest hint of hostility.

"My apologies, m' lady." The sight of a woman protecting her child had always been endearing to him. "My name is Haldir and I hail from Lothlórien; there I serve as the Lady Galadriel's March Warden," with his hand over his heart he bowed to the adaneth, who returned the gesture with a simple nod on account of the fidgeting child in her arms.

"You have been here before."

"Yes, indeed I have," he answered, "there was a settlement of elves in Dol Amroth during the second age, myself included. Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel dwelt here for a time as well."

"I have heard stories that the elves left when their King was lost at sea."

Haldir shook his head. "Stories they were not. Amroth was our King, and your house bears his name. He drowned in the Bay of Balfalas searching for his beloved and betrothed, Nimrodel," he looked to the child again, "I understand your people to be masters of the harp, and yet, this one plays the viol with the hands of a seasoned musician. Who is her teacher?"

Her eyes smiled as she turned her attentions towards her child. "She has not been taught. Not formally, at least. Her father plays with her, but she seems to have her own ear for music."

The elf smiled kindly in turn. "I see, it is important to nurture whatever gifts a child has been birthed with." There was a pause, a brief moment of silence before it appeared he would speak again, "I must be on my way now, my lady," he seized hold of her hand, brought it to his lips and took his leave swiftly thereafter.

Sincere thanks to Availre and Darkwinter999 for beta-ing this for me! xo