The busy streets of San Francisco did little to give way to the rushed young woman that sped across the sidewalks on her bicycle. It wasn't a practical means of transport, but having to pick up a shift at work left little time to make it to the bus stop to catch the last bus to her college campus. It was frustrating, as the person's shift she stepped up to replace had asked if she could cover the remainder of their shifts for the rest of the week due to "doctor's appointments". The young woman couldn't say no, for she desperately needed the money to pay to keep from being homeless, let alone eat a decent meal.

The college scenery crept onto the horizon as she pedaled faster, catching the speed of gravity as the bike crested the hilltop and proceeded downward. Working overtime had it's perks, she tried to reason with herself, just not when it came down to making the evening classes.

Like many of the students that attended college, she was a drifter. Knowing that she wanted a degree but with no particular drive to seek something more specific, she chose to major in liberal arts with art history as her minor. She loved to create art as much as she did seeing the great works featured in her textbooks or in small pixeled graphics online. Attending one of the art museums in her area was both out of her time and financial budgets.

The young woman knew that there was something more "out there" that was meant for her, but for the life of her she couldn't figure out what it was. Something, something big was missing in her life, and she intended to find it. 'Can't do that without any money though' she thought to herself. 'or much of an education. But I have to go to school to get the knowledge to earn money, though I have to go to work to pay to go to college to cover the costs of getting that knowledge so that I might find out just what it is I'm missing.' she groaned, thinking of the mounting student loan debt that she was acquiring by going to college. The area wasn't the most economically affordable, but she couldn't afford to move elsewhere, thus finding herself in a pit of debt and no clear goal to look towards.

Some days life made it hard to get out of bed.

For eighteen years, she had grown up in the Shady Oak orphanage, with no record or hint of evidence as to whom her biological parents were. She wasn't even sure she was eighteen years old when they released her as a fully capable adult into the real world; they had just kept her for the allotted eighteen years and made her believe that it was her age.

Any information regarding her initial appearance was a blur as well. What she did know was that she was found on the doorstep, wrapped in soft, heavy linens that the attendant arriving for office work almost mistook for scattered laundry had it not been for the soft cries of the infant from within. There was no nametag, and no letter of resignation from the parents of the child, thus the secretary brought the small girl to the heads of the organization, fussing over her appearance and lack of knowledge as to handle the situation. From that day forward, the small infant girl was named Winifred Sioda by the woman who found her, in honor of her great grandmother and the silky touch of the infant's platinum hair. None of them would ever live to hear that the little Winnie was actually an elleth from the Golden Wood, Ithiliwen Haldiriel.

After securing her bike and running across the large campus courtyard, Winnie sped with haste up the stairs of the second floor of the Gee building to her biology lecture. The miniature auditorium was just beginning to fill up with students from the various course sections of the class. It was an odd arrangement for a summer semester; the typical sixteen week course was condensed into eight weeks over two months, making it more fast paced and harder to catch up if one fell behind in studies. Winnie had signed up for the summer course only because repeated attempts in the fall and spring continued to conflict with her work schedule. She couldn't afford to be fired, and with her student loans to remind her, she couldn't very well afford to fail the lecture and lab classes, either. One benefit of taking the evening courses was that she was surrounded more by adults her age than the just out of high school students who showed very little evidence that they had just earned their diplomas that May.

Winnie felt herself sink into the wooden auditorium chair, flopping her books down into her lap unceremoniously with a sigh. The guy beside her gave her a lopsided grin and commented, "You just made it, Wen. Instructor ain't even here yet."

"Probably stopped for supper on his way," another guy joked from the row behind him. "Wish he'd bring us something sometime. I haven't eaten since lunch!"

"Well I haven't eaten since last night, unless you count that doughnut hole that Gene made me eat when I went into work this morning." To prove Winnie's point, her stomach chose that moment to growl.

"Why haven't you eaten, Wen?" the first guy asked.

Winnie shrugged. "Haven't had time. Laurie called and asked me to take her morning shifts for the week, and I was up late finishing that lab report so I slept in. When I remembered that I had to get ready for work, I knew I had to skip breakfast or I wouldn't make it in time."

"Gene should be feeding you better," the second guy sniffed disdainfully. "Didn't he know that you hadn't eaten?"

"No and I intended to keep it that way," Winnie mumbled as the instructor passed them, the scent of a greasy fast food dinner making nearby mouths water like it were a five course meal. "I'll figure it out myself. I think I've done alright so far."

When her stomach growled again, both guys shared a look that clearly said otherwise.

Night had fallen well before the biology class had ended. Since the instructor was going out of town for a conference by the weekend, the third meeting had been combined with the current evening's lecture to help prepare them for the last unit test before finals. The breeze that shook the leafy trees on campus did nothing to cool the temperatures down either, but then, it was the second week in July.

"What?" Wennie ground out, not even looking at her friend.

"I'm concerned that you haven't eaten anything but a donut hole today," he said. "I still say that Gene could be doing a better job of looking out for you at work."

Bernard had been one of the first people Ithilwen met when she started college in her freshmen year. He was also a first-year student, coincidentally on the same degree path. Wennie met him during the freshmen orientation meeting, and they had quickly become friends as they struggled to make their way through the expansive campus the first day of classes. Bernard had stuck by her each year, and while she was truly grateful for that, she couldn't help but feel like he was being a mother hen at times.

"Look," she said, changing the position of the shoulder bag, "I've been trying to loose some weight anyway. It's no big deal."

"No big deal? No big deal?!" The dark curls shook as he began to sputter in disbelief. "How can not eating not be a big deal? You need food to fuel your body, Wennie! If you go without you'll crash eventually, and when you're laying in a hospital bed with a feeding tube in your arm how are you going to pay your rent, huh?!"

Wennie stopped and stared hard at her friend, a little annoyed that he brought up her financial struggles as a means of guilt. But Bernard continued to stare back at her, not looking the least bit sorry. He hated to be tough on the girl, but if it meant that she ate something, then it would be worth it.

"I've got some food at home, alright? Does that satisfy you, B?"

"Not until I see it and I see you eat it." He shrugged the bag off her shoulder and took the books in her arms. "Come on, we'll pick up your bike and I'll give you a ride home."

She knew it was pointless to argue by this point. When Bernard had his mind set on something, especially where it concerned her well being, he intended to stick to his plan. That meant that when it was this late at night, he refused to let her ride her bike home, no matter how many reflective stickers she had put on it.

Wennie's "home" was in fact a small apartment set in a decent neighborhood, but the owner of the building had chosen not to keep the interior as pristine as its exterior. It was always "on his list of things to do" whenever Bernard had asked the man in passing, but as he was led upstairs, it didn't look like much had changed. The walls were painted brick and the floor covering was a very thin grayish green carpet that had seen too many years and far more tenants that it should have. There was an old elevator that operated when it chose to, and the occupants of the building knew by now to take the stairs because the time for technical support to reach them was far slower.

"You know the drill, B. Come in and make yourself at home." Wennie moved out of the way after she had unlocked the door to let Bernard pass before entering herself.

Bernard looked around the apartment as Wennie dropped her keys on the nearest table and took her belongings back, only to drop them on the coffee table. He had often heard that the appearance of one's living space was often a reflection on their personality, and for Wennie...well it looked as if she were having a rough time of life. He had seen the rent receipt a few times and knew that for the size, it was way too small for it's monthly cost. She continued to live with it because she had no other options; it was close to the college and to her work, and campus rooming was too expensive to consider. The belongings she had were sparse and spread out, most of it second-hand furniture and the rare splurge of knick knacks she had acquired on her weekend trips to the local thrift stores. What she hadn't bought had been given to her by the previous tenants. In fact the "newest" items that she owned were the 4-year old laptop she bought on clearance for school and the flip cover cell phone whose battery cover was held on by duct tape.

He moved into the kitchen, remembering his original plan and began to open the cabinets, then the refrigerator. Wennie had, as of that day, about four packs of ramen noodles, two cans of great norther beans, a box of cheap macaroni and cheese, a quarter of a loaf of bread, a smidge of peanut butter, and a jar of mayo.

"I'm ordering delivery, Wen. What do you want?" He had grabbed the old leaflet on the counter and began to rifle through its deals with one hand while he began to punch numbers on his phone with the other.

"I. Have. Food. Bernard."

"Not from the looks of it."

Before Wennie could get the words out that she was capable of making something besides a hot mess with what she had, Bernard had held a hand up to silence her as he placed a rather large order from two neighboring eateries. It would have been funny to witness the rival company delivery boys appear at her door simultaneously, but Bernard was past a joking mood. He had seen firsthand what she had called "having groceries", and knowing that she wouldn't go shopping again for at least a week did not reassure him that she could sustain her busy schedule on starchy noodles and beans.

The coffee table had been cleared of Wennie's books to make room for the delivery boxes and drinks. Bernard stayed with her under the pretense that they could go over their notes, but really he was just making sure she ate. It was much later before he finally left, telling her to keep what was left so that she could make her "groceries" stretch until she got to the store. She tried to fix a plate for him but he declined each time, telling her he had gotten plenty to eat, and besides that, his roommate would have ruby tackled him if he smelled the greasy treat.

Wennie watched from her window as Bernard exited the building and found his way to his car. She really hated having people buy her food, but since it was her closest friend in school, she had to accept that he would insist until she caved. He was a really good friend to do that, especially when most would sooner complain of their own problems to make them sound more vulnerable.

That was something she couldn't bring herself to do. Wennie did her best not to complain about the stress that she faced every day and instead tried to find the things in her life to be thankful for. She had a place to live in an alright neighborhood, even if it was small, overpriced, and not in that great of condition. She had food to eat, even if it was preprocessed and likely to add more pounds to her hips. She was going to school to get a higher education, even if it meant that she was putting herself into tens of thousands of dollars in debt. She had work, even if it was a waitressing gig, but the perks of that were the atmosphere, and that said a lot. But right then, as she turned away to store the uneaten food in the refrigerator, she had a true friend that cared, and that was something she couldn't complain about.

Wennie then moved to her bedroom and changed into some nightclothes before crawling under the blankets. As she laid in bed she tried once more to convince herself that her life wasn't as bad as Bernard was making it out to be. She didn't like to ask for help because she felt that she didn't deserve it if she couldn't do something herself. The idea of handouts was nowhere near her philosophy of work ethic either. She would work as hard as she needed to to pay off her debts, and if that meant decades and multiple jobs, then so be it.

The only issue with Wennie's logic was that she couldn't bring herself to step back and realize that doing without and ignoring the offers of help was only going to make her life all that much harder.

The alarm began to buzz at 6:30, and as routine, a pale hand shot out from the covers to slam down the snooze button. The form in the bed shifted under the blankets before a mess of blond hair peeked out the top.

Wennie groaned immaturely as she willed her body to sit up in the bed. She had gotten about five or six hours of sleep roughly, but she felt like she could sleep for two days and not feel rested enough. The odd thought entered her mind, suggesting that she call in sick like the other girls tended to do, and Wennie would have done it if it weren't for the stack of bills that sat on the end table.

"Why I set them in a place that they greet me each morning is beyond me," she muttered, dragging herself out of the bed and to the shower.

She hopped out of the shower before the bathroom got a chance to get steamy and moved to dress. There was one thing about her work that she liked a lot, and that was the uniform. In place of black slacks and a set of colorful polo shirts with the embroidered business name on them, her place of work was built more around a theme than any specific rules.

Steampunk.

For people not familiar with the area, the notion of a steampunk-themed restaurant was ludicrous, but it was a weird part of San Francisco. The eclectic design and ambiance of the establishment set it apart from the numerous Boston-accented pizza places or the east-Asian cuisine where some were backed by Jamacian cooks. There was nothing wrong with these places of course, but for tourists, families, or couples that wanted something more than the "take-out taste", options were not as abundant. To make it more appealing to the local artsy crowd, the owner took a step back in time with his desire to make the place sophisticated, yet bring a fantasy world to life.

When Wennie had applied for the position as a waitress, she had inquired about uniforms. Her new employer told her that as long as it was comfortable for her to work in, modest, and fit the theme, she could get as creative as she wished. The good thing about this was that she could begin with distressed clothes tailored to her owner's ideals until she could afford to purchase more suitable pieces to work with.

That had been six years ago, and in that time she had learned enough to sew to build her own designs. There were a few pieces that she had to purchase, however, because she could not make them for less and be as sturdy. It had taken three months, but she had finally tracked down a corset designer that would craft her ideas and not want to bedazzle it with raunchy lace and bright colors. Some old jackets she had bought on a thrift haul were cut and refitted as short boleros, and an old pair of boots she picked up were remade with scraps of leather and brass metalwork in various places.

Wennie twisted her hair into a bun and applied a small amount of makeup before leaving her bedroom to go to the kitchen. She didn't have any classes today with Bernard but she was pretty sure that he'd come in during his break just to smell her breath to see that she ate some of the leftovers. He was a good friend, but an odd one.

With her bike tucked under one arm and her purse on the shoulder of the other, Wennie double checked to make sure she had everything before locking her place. She was leaving early enough that traffic wouldn't be too big an issue to weave through on her bike, but only if she hurried.

Outside, the day was looking to be another hot one as she climbed onto her bike and started off. Thankfully, her work had good air conditioning to combat the dark clothes she was wearing that day. It was only four blocks over from the apartment, and the restaurant stood out like a beacon with its brass and bronze sculptures set before the brick front. Overhead was an antiqued sign that read "Cogs and Coins Restaurant" in a gold typewritten font against purposely aged wood. The outside was fairly simple in decoration, but inside it resembled an upscale Victorian tavern with its shiny hardwood floors, dark cherry wood furnishings, and various art pieces that lined the walls.

Wennie steered her bike into the alley between the restaurant and the adjacent building to enter the side door reserved for employees. Her boss allowed her to stow her bike in his office where a lockable cabinet was set up for all of the employee's personal effects. Setting it carefully against the wall, she extracted her waitress' apron and tied it about her hips, double checking to make sure she had her notepad and pens ready for the day. It would be a long one with a double-shift, but at least she had a small break between and a little padding in her paycheck.

"Hey Wen-wen," a cheery male voice greeted her as soon as she left the office. "You ready to pull overtime today?"

"Not exactly, Gene, but I can't turn down the extra hours."

Gene was one of the cooks on staff, but the only one that would head out onto the floor with the food if the waiting staff was short handed. He was the only one out of them that had the boyish charm to handle grumpy, hungry customers.

"By the way, Bernard has a bone to pick with you."

"Moi? What'd I do?"

"It's what you didn't do, according to him," Wennie said, referring to her meager meal the day before. She sighed as she went to retrieve an abandoned basin that was left on a booth. The place was officially open, and one of those airheaded girls had gone off and left the dirty silverwear in plain sight!

Gene took the basin of silverware that Wennie had in her hands to take into the kitchens and propped it against one hip. "If I recall," he said with an air of sass, "You were the one to shrug off the plate I intended to make for you, babygirl."

Before Wennie could say anything, he had turned and left her, disappearing behind the swinging kitchen doors. "Yeah, well you can't eat when you're on the job," she grumbled, turning to clean up another booth that hadn't been touched. "And I'm always on the job..."

While the hours across San Francisco were just beginning for the day, in many other places across the globe the day was either well underway or drawing to a close. For many, that meant wrapping up the day's work to return home, settling down for the evening meal, or turning in for a night's rest before doing it all again the next day. However, there were some that pushed against this routine, continuing to work long into the hours of the night if it called for it.

Computers were booting up into their operating systems, the fans whirring with the command to keep the internal devices cool for their owners. Web cameras and microphone headsets were being plugged in and set carefully over delicate pairs of ears while the few that occupied the room settled into place. The one to work the computers opened the desired program, checking all of the connections before logging into the service. On the monitor screen displayed at least six other screens, each with a set of faces staring back into their respective cameras silently.

"Is everyone here?" The host asked.

"I think so," another voice said.

"Pretty sure," came another, followed by a succession of nods.

"Good," the host spoke again. "What news do you have on our...project?"

"Well the biodegradable bags are really-"

"He means the other project, you fool!" This voice happened to elbow the other speaker, which was seen on camera as a slightly delayed image.

"Right, sorry," the first voice replied to the host. "You know you really shouldn't hit your husband, melleth-"

Another figure on another screen sighed. "We are here to discuss the whereabouts of my daughter, not observe a lovers' spat," the male growled.

The figures that were previously arguing now looked sheepish. "We're sorry," the female replied. "And I mean about the search too, Haldir. We haven't had any luck with the search at all."

This time the host was the one to sigh, almost in a defeated way, as his hands reached up to finger comb his hair out of his face. This was the way it had been for years. Since they arrived in what weathered spit of land that was once the Gray Havens in what the mortals termed the late 1800s, it had been a struggle. First, they had to integrate into society; learn the customs, the language, and maintain the facade of being mortal as wave after wave of pestilence crossed the lands. It involved moving every decade until the lifespan began to lengthen, and then it was every few decades. They adopted new mortal names and personas, sometimes swapping identities for lack of inspiration.

The plan had been simple. Sail to the Gray Havens, make way for the lands of Arda, settle as mortals and search for their missing kin in the shadows. But nothing is ever that simple, they learned, having nearly raised suspicions twice during the first World War. Time had passed without slipping up, but this came with a lack of leads as well. The technology of this period was highly intuitive compared to their predecessors, but it could only do so much when you had no shred of evidence to work with.

"We will find her, ion-nin," Miraear said as she placed her hands on her sons' shoulders comfortingly. Tauriel silently nodded when her brother locked eyes with her.

Several sets of faces appeared guilty with the former queen's words. It had been at least three centuries with no evidence of the Valar restoring the fëa of Ithilwen into a mortal form, despite the declarations of the deed being completed. Of course this span of time was like the length of a month for an elf, but for one that had been yearning to find their mate it felt that much longer.

Legolas removed his fingers from his hair and stared into the camera. "Where are all of you now?" he asked.

"Haldir and I are in New Zealand," Morwen said.

"I'm down here in Rome with Finkle and Dinkle," Glorfindel grinned as he heard the twin's protest their nicknames.

"We're in Atlanta, Georgia," Melda said, motioning to Silima and Fiona. "I don't know about these two but I want to get out of this city! The traffic is insane!"

"Galion and myself are in a hotel just outside of Fresno," Thranduil answered.

"Fresno?" Bernard asked. "You should come through San Francisco and help me then!"

A regal voice broke through the chatter in the "conference" room. "I am sure that we will find Ithilwen soon enough, young prince. Do not give up hope on finding my granddaughter."

"Of course not, my Lady," Legolas told Galadriel sincerely. "I have come too far to lose sight of my life and soul. Forgive my dejectedness, for I am just exhausted."

"Then you should rest," Celeborn said. "All of you should rest." Before the couple left the room, he eventually asked how to properly log out of the room, because Galadriel had gotten onto him for just mashing the power button the last time. The wireless connection that had been set up in the Gray Havens was shoddy at best given its location, but Fiona was able to instruct her grandfather through the steps slowly as everyone else bid their brief farewells for the night.

Legolas closed out of the program once everyone else had signed out. Miraear and Tauriel had left him to his thoughts and to prepare some tea. He stared at the darkened screen sadly, wishing above all that he at least had a picture of his mate to look at. All that he had to keep him going was memories, but lately the only memories that have wanted to surface have been the last ones before her passing. He could still see how fragile she looked in the large bed, feel the coldness creep into her skin to overpower what was once so warm to the touch. He could see the burial plot they had built where the few other ones were situated, recalling how the light breeze of the sunny day had brushed the petals of the flowers he placed on her grave.

"I need you, melleth-nin," he whispered, feeling the dull ache in his chest. "I just want to see you and know that you are here, alive and well..." At that moment he didn't care if she still had no memories of him or their life together. He just wanted his Ithilwen back in his life somehow.

"Wennie!" Amber, one of the hosts sped past her in a rush to return to the front of the restaurant. "You've got two on table seven!"

Wennie nodded as she gathered a couple of menus on her way, briefly stopping to check on her customers at table four on the way. It was the lunch hour rush, and like most days it was busy, but today appeared to be a madhouse. She swiftly dodged a rambunctious child darting out in her path, smiling understandingly as the child's parent apologized profusely for their behavior.

When she reached the table she went into autopilot mode, setting a menu down before each person. "Good day, gentlemen. My name is Wennie and I will be your waitress today. Can I start you both out with something to drink?" She had extracted her notepad and pen as she spoke, ending with the "service with a smile" smile to hide how tired she was already.

However tired she may have been, the smile nearly faltered as she really looked at the two gentlemen sitting at one of her tables. The one on the left sported long platinum blond hair that hung delicately about his shoulders. His eyes were a very light blue that were accentuated by dark brows. He had the very air of a commanding person, and even if he wasn't wearing a tailored business suit, Wennie would have pegged him for being a leader. The man beside him was also wearing a tailored suit, but in place of blond hair, his was a chesnut brown and his eyes a darker blue. 'Business partners?' she wondered. 'Liberal arts professors maybe?'

"I will have a glass of Guilhem Red," the blond man spoke, breaking Winnie from her thoughts. Even his voice had the echo of a commanding officer to it, and he was speaking very kindly too; she could only imagine what his temper was like!

"I will have a cup of coffee," the brunette said warmly. "Black, please."

"More power to you, sir," Wennie laughed lightly. "I can't drink mine without cream or sugar!" She pocketed the notepad, excusing herself to place their order of drinks while they looked over the menu.

Returning shortly with a glass of wine and cup of black coffee for the table she silently dubbed the "long haired-business friends of Jesus", Wennie took down an order for an eight-ounce steak meal for the blond intimidator and a shrimp scampi plate for his companion. It was only after her departure that the two men began to converse, once they were certain their waitress was out of earshot.

"My lord," Galion whispered across the table, "Do you believe that is-"

"I do," Thranduil said before his assistant and friend could finish. "I would recognize that face anywhere, though it pains me to see that she has no recollection of her heritage."

"Can we be sure though?" Galion pressed on. "This young woman looks so different from the princess!"

It was true. The princess Ithilwen had longer blond hair that was not streaked with splashes of blue and green. Her ears had been pointed and untouched, whereas this woman's were pierced up the rims with metal. Her blue eyes sparkled unhindered, while their waitress sported a pair of dainty frames. The clothes were different, make no mistake, but the once-king could tell in his heart that he had been waited on by his daughter-in-law.

"We will keep this information to ourselves for now," he said seriously. "I do not want to raise hopes on a hunch."

Galion nodded. "Understood, my lord."

"In the meantime," Thranduil looked out across the restaurant to observe its peculiar decoration. "We must secure more stable accommodations than hotel rooms. It appears that our stay in San Francisco is...shall we say, extended?"

-x-x-x-x-x-

A/N: Sorry to keep you guys waiting on this chapter! I know a lot of you that followed me here from Call Me Maybe are probably in withdraw-mode, and I am too! I got so used to working on that one that now that I'm on this one it feels so strange. Okay, so this basically sets up where everyone is, or almost everyone. More of the previous cast will appear in the next chapters I think, and this one's hopefully moving quicker as well. I know my pacing was slow at the start of Call Me Maybe, so I'm working on all the feedback I've gotten. ;) I'm also officially a Night Owl now at WGU, and that's pretty cool. I've got the next couple chapters outlined, so between studies and work I'll take it a piece at a time! Lemme know your thoughts - I love to hear them!