In which trouble looms.

The healer with the strange machine printed Lorna a picture of the two blobs that were their children, which she insisted on showing to everyone in the pub. She all but dragged him out into the sunshine, beyond elated, clutching the picture as though it was made of pure gold.

Thranduil wasn't quite sure why, given that they were, well, blobs, but it appeared to be yet another Edain thing he didn't understand. It gave her joy, which was what really mattered.

She led him to the pub, sneezing a few more times along the way (and really, what purpose could that serve?), but paused.

"What is it?" he asked.

"That car's not from here," she said, pointing to a silvery…thing. "Might be best if we avoid the pub, for now. I'd rather nobody who isn't local know you're here."

Quite honestly, he would prefer that, too. He had dealt with m more than enough staring for one day.

"Tell you what," she said, tucking the picture into the pocket of her jacket, "come to my house and we can watch Shaun of the Dead in the lounge, while no one's home."

He wondered if he was going to regret this.

It occurred to Lorna that before she could have Thranduil watch a movie, she had to explain what a movie was. It was surprisingly difficult, because apparently Elves didn't even have plays.

"It's a story," she said, digging her keys out of her pocket, "acted out by people. Basically, what you're watching isn't real, but people acting parts from something somebody wrote."

"So they are not really zombies?" Thranduil asked, a little dryly.

"Not yet," she said. "It'll happen eventually, and then we'll all be down in your caves while the surface world falls apart."

"That remains a horrific thought," he said, following her in once she got the door open.

"It'd be amazing and you know it." She shed her coat, and struggled to shed her boots, almost tripping over the right. The ultrasound she stuck to the fridge with a Hello Kitty magnet. "Shoes off here, or Mairead'll kill us both."

Thranduil wanted to scoff, but he didn't quite dare. Lorna's sister reminded him of the warrior-women he had occasionally run across in his travels when he was young. Besides, having been married once before, he knew the importance of family-by-marriage.

He hesitated to tell Lorna of Anameleth and Legolas, though he didn't know why. She herself had been wed once before, and even isolated as he was, he knew the Edain didn't consider re-marriage the sacrilege that the Eldar did – or had. He was the only one left now, so he supposed he made all the rules.

"All right," Lorna said, leading him into a room with a dark-green divan – a very large divan, that wrapped around two sides of the room. "Let's begin your education."

Mairead was deeply troubled, and she knew she wasn't the only one.

She drove home as fast as she dared, praying Lorna was there. Her hands weren't quite steady on the wheel, nor was her foot on the gas. Of all the rotten luck.

When she pulled into the driveway, she slapped the e-brake almost before the car had stopped, and hurried into the house. The door was unlocked, but there were two pairs of boots beside the wall – Lorna's, and some of extremely fine grey leather, that Mairead could only imagine belonging to one person.

Shit.

The TV was on, very loud, and when she went into the lounge, she found something she never, ever would have thought she would see:

Lorna and Lord bloody Thranduil were snuggled up on the sofa, watching Shaun of the Dead.

What.

"This is absolutely disgusting," he said. "How can these film-makers make such carnage look so real?"

"That," Lorna said, "is the magic of special effects."

Mairead shook her head. She couldn't even. "I need a word with the pair'v you," she said, marching over to the DVD player and hitting the pause button.

"Oi, you've still got your shoes on!" Lorna said, pointing an accusing finger at her feet.

Mairead rolled her eyes. "I was in a hurry. Lord Thranduil, apparently old Orla's actually had guests the day'v the storm, and one'v them saw you. They've been asking after you ever since, but I don't think anyone's told them anything."

Her sister paled, but visibly rallied. "So what if they did see him? Sure, he's creepy, but it's not like he's got a third eye on his forehead or something. He could pass for human to someone who didn't know any better."

"Not with those ears, he can't," Mairead retorted. "Lord Thranduil, you'd best stay out'v town until they've gone. Most people wouldn't believe what you are if you were standing in front'v them, but these two sound like crackpots who would. Nobody in the village'll rat you out, but you might find a few poking around your forest anyway."

He didn't look at all pleased by that, and she couldn't blame him. It really was terrible luck – nobody ever came through their sleepy little village. It was one of the sort that was shrinking, not growing, with the majority of its young people moving away to find jobs. It wasn't near enough any tourist destinations to garner many tourists; usually the only people old Orla's inn were those who had got lost on their way to somewhere else, and it was far past the end of tourist season.

"I thank you for the warning, Mistress Mairead," he said. "Trust me, no one will find me."

She wasn't quite sure she wanted to know what would happen to anyone who did. Lorna had assured her he'd never killed anyone, but still. That didn't mean he wouldn't start, if he felt it necessary to protect his secret and his forest.

Big Jamie was about ready to punch these two. Well, the man, anyway; he couldn't hit a woman, no matter how unwittingly obnoxious she was.

They were an American couple, twenty-three and twenty-four respectively, and unlike most strangers, they were actually here on purpose.

"We're paranormal investigators," the man – Bryan – said. He was brown-haired and tanned, with the whitest teeth Big Jamie had ever seen outside of a pensioner's dentures. "We read that you've got a local legend about one of the Fair Folk."

Big Jamie dearly wondered where they read it. Everyone in the village had known about Lord Thranduil for generations, but he was rarely spoken of, and certainly not to outsiders.

He snorted. "Lad, if you're going to investigate myths and stories, you'll be a long time looking for what doesn't exist," he said, polishing a mug a little more vigorously than necessary.

"But we saw him," the woman – Jennifer – said, pulling out her phone.

Big Jamie very nearly swore. She'd actually caught a picture of Lord Thranduil striding through the rain, perfectly dry himself, with those bloody ears of his clearly visible.

"That's no fairy," he said, thinking fast. "That's just Jimmy. He's got that same thing for plastic surgery that Michael Jackson did. He's a bit weird in the head, to be honest."

The girl seemed undeterred. She too had unnaturally white teeth, and her blond-streaked hair was just as unnaturally sleek. "Then why is his hair dry, even in all that rain?"

Again, Big Jamie thought furiously. "Because it's not really his hair – it's a wig. It is wet, only you can't tell. I saw him without it once, and he's bald as a baby." He prayed Lord Thranduil would forgive him for that one, should he ever hear of it. "If you're going to travel in Ireland, you'd best realize that every village has at least one right eccentric. Granted, Jimmy's weirder than most, but they're all a bit touched in the head."

Jennifer looked disappointed, but not disappointed enough, and he had a sinking feeling that they were going to keep digging. Somebody had to warn Lorna to keep Lord Thranduil in his forest, until someone could find a way to get rid of these two.

Thranduil left at dark, and Lorna was in no good mood. She couldn't go with him – she had more appointments that she couldn't miss – and he couldn't safely come out of his forest until the strangers had gone.

She'd asked him why he couldn't just hunt them down and wipe their memories, but he said it would only work inside his forest. The two would leave on their own, probably sooner rather than later.

Meanwhile, Lorna sat on the sofa, moodily eating ice cream straight out of the tub. He was supposed to go her Lamaze class on Friday, and if this pair kept him from it, she'd lamp both their lights out and leave them tied up in Big Jamie's beer cellar until it was over.

Damn it. He was less likely to want to come into the village if he thought he might be discovered. He'd go back to being isolated in the forest save for her, and eventually the twins. She wanted to show him the world outside his woods, wanted him to learn some of the things she was learning alongside her. In a very real sense, she'd been outside of the loop herself, always having been so impoverished and/or homeless. Her generation had supposedly grown up living and breathing technology, but she sure as hell hadn't. Lorna hadn't even touched a computer until she moved in with Mairead, and she still didn't have a mobile. Some aspects of the modern world were as much a mystery to her as they were to Thranduil.

And they were supposed to be figuring it out together, dammit. If the strangers weren't out of town by tomorrow night, they were each getting a boot up their arse.

Lorna got little sleep that night, mostly because the twins were apparently knocking the stuff out of each other in her uterus. She woke in an even worse mood, not helped by her annoyingly decaf tea. God, she was never doing this again. Such clean living absolutely sucked.

She was too restless to loaf about the house, so she swapped her pyjama trousers for jeans, grabbed her ultrasound picture off the fridge, and waddled her way into town. (And Christ, she was actually waddling. The next three months were going to be a nightmare.)

She saw the strange little silver car parked outside the pub, and her eyes narrowed. Don't do it, Lorna, she told herself. She'd show Big Jamie and the regulars her ultrasound, and she'd behave herself. Surely she could manage that.

The pub still had all the windows open that could open, letting in the fresh, chilly air, and letting out some of the mildew smell. She wondered how long it would take to get the floor fixed.

The strangers were sitting at the bar, talking to Big Jamie, who looked annoyed. Lorna did her best to ignore them, and went to rescue him, slapping the ultrasound on the counter.

"They've already started beating each other up," he said. "I hope that's not a bad sign. If they're kicking each other in utero, Christ knows what they'll be like when they're born."

He laughed, brightening immediately, and held the picture up to the light. "Christ, they're big."

"I know," she grumbled, struggling up onto a stool. "Nuala says I might have to go to Dublin for a C-section. I haven't told Mairead – she'll piss herself."

"Boys or girls?" the stranger-woman asked – American, by her accent, and she sounded perfectly nice, which made Lorna feel rather bad about still wanting to kick her.

"One'v each," she said instead. "They've still got three months to finish cooking."

"Their dad must be glad to see that," the man said.

Lorna had a brief flash of panic. "He is," she said, hoping like hell they wouldn't ask any more questions. "How'd you wind up here, though? We're not exactly a tourist destination."

"We're amateur paranormal investigators," the woman said, smiling. God but her teeth were white. It was a little scary. "I'm Jennifer, and this is Bryan, my boyfriend. We've read that you have one of the Fair Folk around here, living in those woods."

Time to lie. Lorna snorted. "What, those out north'v town? I've been up there a few times – there's nothing but trees and about seven thousand squirrels. I wouldn't go in, if I was you – there's no paths, and it'd be really easy to get lost."

"Locals have, from time to time," Big Jamie said, following her lead. "And it's easier to freeze to death on an Irish night than you'd think."

The pair were visibly disappointed. "You've really never seen anything?" Bryan asked.

"Nothing supernatural," she said. "I came out with six ticks on my legs once, though."

Jennifer shuddered, and Lorna hoped like hell that would be enough. If they went to the forest, she doubted it would end well, even if Thranduil did wipe their memories.

"If it's ghosts or whatever that you're after, your best bet'd actually be Dublin," she added. "I grew up there, and Trinity's said to be haunted. As for Fair Folk, it's Scotland you'd be wanting, not Ireland. If they even exist, they wouldn't stay in a country this crowded."

"We couldn't afford that until next year," Bryan said gloomily. "Maybe we'll go up to the woods anyway. We can take some pretty pictures, at least."

Shit.

Lorna had no idea what to do. She ought to get up to the forest and warn Thranduil before the Americans got a chance to head that way themselves, but she simply couldn't walk fast enough.

And now she'd just wee'd herself.

Wait, what? No, that wasn't wee…

Oh, shit.

"Jamie," she said, her voice high and strangled, "I think my waters'v just broken."

He paled. "Lorna, it's—"

"Too early? I know. Doc Barry said twins were usually premature, but – fuck, Jamie, what do I do?" He had three kids, he had to have some idea.

"I'll ring Doc Barry," he said, tripping over his own feet as he ran for the phone.

"If you haven't been feeling any contractions yet, you should be fine," Jennifer said soothingly. "There's plenty of time to get you to a hospital. You said you're what, six months? With good antenatal care, your children will be okay."

"Are you a doctor?" Lorna asked, fighting her rising panic and losing.

"Pediatric nurse. Three months is pretty premature, but any competent hospital ought to be able to take care of the three of you just fine. Meanwhile, let's get you lying down somewhere."

Lorna had absolutely no idea how that would help anything, but she wasn't the one who knew what she was doing. She slid off the stool, grimacing at the feel of her wet jeans, her heart lurching in her chest. God, she wanted Thranduil, and with these two here, she couldn't have him. Not that there was any way to get ahold of him even if they hadn't been.

Jennifer helped her up onto at able, holding her hand, and oh, how Lorna wished she could hate her. She wished she could hate them both, but they were too damn genuinely concerned. Why did they have to actually be nice?

Big Jamie came hurrying over, still white as a sheet. "I've run Doc Barry and Mairead," he said. "Doc's sending over the ambulance to take you to Dublin."

Lorna groaned. "You called my sister? Sure God, Jamie, I can't deal with that on top'v everything else!"

"She can bring everyone else as needs to go," he said pointedly.

Oh.

"They can't all go," she said, just as pointedly, and hissed as sudden pain tore through her. It wasn't unendurable, but it hurt nonetheless. "Shit, either that was a contraction, or I really need to fart."

Bryan choked back a laugh, and Jennifer kicked him. "There's no hurry," she said. "Your family will have time to follow. With twins, it's usually a long labor."

"Sure I didn't need to hear that," Lorna groaned.

"In your case, that's a good thing," Jennifer said, squeezing her hand. "You'll be safe in the hospital by the time they're ready to come out."

The wail of sirens approached – really, that was rather unnecessary – and the ambulance skidded to a halt outside the window. The driver and Nuala actually trundled a damn gurney out the back, which also seemed like overkill, but at this point Lorna was hardly going to complain.

"I guess they really don't like sharing, if they want out this early," Nuala said, as soon as they'd burst through the door.

"At least neither'v them's tried to strangle the other yet," Lorna grunted, as another wave of pain passed through her. God damn she wanted Thranduil, because no matter what Jennifer had to say, she was terrified. Yeah, Doc Barry had said twins could be premature, but she'd meant like a month, not two and a half. Jennifer didn't seem at all worried, but Lorna was sweaty and dizzy and ready to pee herself, which at least no one would notice, given how wet (and cold) her jeans were.

She let herself get manhandled onto the gurney, mostly because she couldn't actually help, and grit her teeth against another contraction. They weren't supposed to be coming this close together yet, right? Shit. If she popped these kids out in the ambulance, she'd kill someone. She wasn't sure who, but someone.

Mairead's heart was just about crosswise when she ran across the fields to Lord Thranduil's forest. As much as she wanted to follow Lorna straightaway, he needed to know what was going on.

She hesitated briefly at the forest's edge – she had, after all, been told her entire life it was too dangerous to enter. But it was broad daylight now, the trees like beautiful torches, and she had a mission, dammit.

"Lord Thranduil?" she called, stepping under the canopy. She had no idea where he lived in here, or how to find him. "Lord Thranduil, I need to talk to you. Lorna's gone into premature labor – I've come to take you to Dublin."

No answer. Dammit. She really needed to get him a mobile, and find some way for him to keep it charged.

"Lord Thranduil – oh. There you are."

There he was indeed, tall and terrifying, swathed in his black coat. At least it looked semi-normal, if extremely posh.

"Take this," she said, holding out a hair-tie, "and tie your hair back so it covers your ears. We're going to Dublin."

Take it he did, his fingers so very unnervingly long. "It is too soon for her to birth those children," he said, pulling his hair behind his shoulders. Though his face was like a porcelain mask, there was worry in his creepy eyes.

"If she can hold on until they reach hospital, they'll be fine," she said, and hoped she was right. "She'll want you there, but you've got to try to act like one'v us, if you can. Not that anyone'd believe you are what you are, but still. Better safe than sorry."

He said nothing, but he followed her. With his ears hidden, he was still imposing and creepy, but at least he could pass for human.

"All right, when we get to the hospital, let me talk," she said. "They'll want paperwork, so I'll do that. Say you're her boyfriend, not her husband, or they'll wonder why you're not the one doing it. All you've got to do is sit and wait to see if they'll let you into the delivery room."

"Why would they not?" he asked.

"If they give her a C-section, they'll not let anyone in. She'd either be drugged or unconscious anyway, so she'd not know if we were there," Mairead said, digging her car keys out of her purse.

"There is a very strong chance the twins will have my ears," he said. "I hope that will not be a problem."

She groaned. "Well, they'll be so small that I hope nobody'll notice. A baby this premature would probably fit in your hand, if not in mine."

When she turned, she found him eying her SUV with visible unease. "Come on," she said. "It's an Explorer, not a monster." She hopped in, turning it on, but he was noticeably hesitant when he got in himself.

"Seatbelt," she ordered. "And be glad I don't drive like Lorna. There's a reason she's not allowed to use my car."

It had been centuries since Thranduil had been truly terrified, but he was now – and not just because he feared for Lorna and the children. By the time they reached what Mairead called a motorway, he decided that cars were one Edain thing he could definitely do without. Nothing, he was sure, was meant to travel so fast.

And if this was how Mairead drove, he never, ever wanted to ride with Lorna. The woman wove and dodged her way around all the other cars, racing more swiftly than the rest of them, swearing rather like Lorna whenever anyone got in her way.

"Is the city going to be like this?" he asked.

"City'll be worse. I'll get us there in one piece."

Perhaps she would, but only after leaving broken things – and people – in her wake.

Thranduil, Lorna decided, was an absolute dead man.

Lying in the back of an ambulance, an oxygen mask on her face, lacking both boots and trousers, with great, dragging pains tearing through her at alarmingly close intervals – why would anyone want to do this? This was all his fault, the bastard, and he wasn't even here to let her break his hand.

"Hang on, Lorna," Nuala said. "You're doing fine."

"Bloody easy for you to say," Lorna snarled. "You're not the one – Christ, how has Mairead done this four times? And why?" It felt like someone was trying to hacksaw through her gut.

"Couldn't tell you that one," Nuala said, adjusting her oxygen mask. "Just keep breathing. I'm sure Mairead'll drag Thranduil by the hair if she has to."

God, there was a terrifying thought. Lorna had no doubt at all that she'd do it, though she also doubted it would be necessary. Thranduil would come all on his own.

That could end badly.

"Nuala, when we're there, you've got to corral him when he turns up," she groaned. The oxygen was making her even dizzier, but at this point it was welcome. "You don't even understand how unprepared he is for Dublin. This could go so, so badly wrong. Christ, why'd he have to knock me up with twins?" A normal baby she could have just had at the surgery, no hospital trip needed.

"Technically, that's your fault," Nuala said, her warm fingers pressing over Lorna's pulse. "Blame your ovaries for dropping two eggs at once, and I need you to breathe deeper, Lorna. Try to relax."

Oh, right, like that was going to happen. She was cold, she was in pain, and the village was fifty miles from Dublin – God knew how long it would take to get there.

Yeah, Thranduil was a dead man.

An ambulance went screaming down the M7, scattering the cars before it. A dark red Ford Explorer, weaving through traffic rather like the motorway was a pinball machine, came up behind it, followed by a silvery Prius, a battered green Jeep, four motorcycles, a rusting hulk that had once been a Dodge Dart, and a black minivan stuffed far past capacity. Half the village was following Lorna to the hospital, because where she went, so did Lord Thranduil, and someone had to keep him out of trouble Nobody thought for a second that he could handle that himself.

By the time they reached the hospital, Lorna wasn't having contractions so much as one long, endless note of pain. The only speech she was capable of was a litany of cursing.

She was going to kill Thranduil. She really, really was.

Shelagh Reilly was bored.

She'd thought working the triage desk of a big A& E would be exciting, like in all those American shows, but the reality of it was far more boring.

Or had been, anyway.

An unfamiliar ambulance pulled up outside, offloading a gurney containing a young, very tiny pregnant woman, cursing so loud Shelagh could hear her all the way through the door.

A tall redheaded woman came rushing up from the car park, followed by an even taller man – possibly the most attractive man Shelagh had ever seen, his long hair so blond it was nearly silver. And behind them were about thirty or forty other people, all following the gurney in.

"I'll kill you," the little woman snarled, gripping the blond man's hand in a way that made Shelagh wince. "I'll snap your spout off and shove it up your damn arse!"

The redhead burst out laughing, and tried to smother it behind her hand.

The nurse accompanying the gurney rolled her eyes, though she too was laughing. "She's twenty-nine, six months along, with twins. First labor, and her contractions are – well, pretty much continuous, but she's nowhere near dilated enough."

"D'you hear that?" the patient snapped, glaring up at the blond man. "You and your demon spawn broke my snatch!"

Shelagh choked on her own spit. She couldn't laugh, shouldn't laugh, and yet she couldn't help it. "If you're the da, you can go on back," she said, tapping information into the computer. "The rest'v you…." God, where could she put the rest of them?" "The cafeteria's the only place you'll all fit."

"I'm her sister," the redhead said. "I'm going with her, too. Her boyfriend's English, he's not got a clue how things work here."

Shelagh waved her away. This, she thought, might get really interesting.

The hospital would have been overwhelming, if Thranduil had let himself focus on it, but he didn't. He couldn't, not when Lorna was all but crushing his hand. For an Edain, she was shockingly strong.

She wouldn't let go even when a number of white-garbed healers approached. "He got me into this," she snarled. "He can damn well suffer, too."

The man who appeared to be the head healer looked at him, and Thranduil shrugged. "Gainsaying her would not be wise," he said.

"Then follow me," the healer sighed.

They were led into a room rather like those in the village's healing wards, though much larger, and Thranduil had to fight not to break the man's neck when he removed Lorna's undergarment to peer between her legs. That was his job.

"I'm afraid you'll need a Caesarian, Miss Donovan," he said. "Sir, you can't be in the surgical room."

Lorna released his hand, albeit reluctantly. "You'd best be here when I wake up, or I'll murder you in your sleep."

"I will be with your sister, Lorna," he said, as soothingly as he could. "I will come to you as soon as I am able."

It took all his willpower not to follow her, but he didn't. Instead he went to Mairead, and prayed to whatever Vala might still be listening that he was not about to lose his wife.

Lord Thranduil's pacing was going to drive Mairead insane.

It was what all expectant fathers did, especially the first time, but still. He was worse about it than anyone she'd ever seen. If there was one thing she'd learned about her sister in the last nine month, it was that Lorna was tougher than old shoe leather. She had to be, in order to have survived the wreck that killed her husband in the first place. And if those twins were anything like either parent, they'd be just fine.

He was freaking everyone else out, too. The waiting-room had a large number of people not from the village, and all of them were watching him warily, this agitated blond giant with eyes like ice. Lord Thranduil might not kill people, but Mairead had no doubt at all that he could, if he wanted to.

And that made her nervous. On the off chance something should happen to Lorna, Mairead really didn't want to know what he would do.

"Will you calm down?" she said eventually. "My last was a C-section. They've been at it about half an hour – another ten minutes and they'll come tell us she's fine."

"You cannot be sure of that," he said tersely.

"I can't be sure'v anything, but I'm close on this. Lorna and those sprogs'll be fine, so sit down before you give someone heart failure."

His glare made her quail, but he sat anyway, tense and ramrod-straight, staring at nothing.

For the first time, she wondered just how he'd conned Lorna into sleeping with him the day they met. Lorna wasn't that sort – she'd only ever gone to bed with Liam, and that was well after they'd known one another. Had he bewitched her somehow? He'd said he could wipe memories, so it stood to reason he could manipulate them, too. Did he somehow manage the Elf version of date rape, and Lorna hadn't minded?

Had Lorna even worked it out?

Oh, he seemed to genuinely care about her, in some way, but still. That just wasn't how people were meant to go about things. Once everything was safely over, Mairead was confronting him with it, because if she was right, that was just wrong.

Eventually, a tall, dark-haired nurse appeared, and called her name.

"It's all done," she said, leading them down a corridor that smelled too much like disinfectant. "Little boy and little girl, as healthy as they can be at this stage. They'll need to stay in pediatric for at least a fortnight, just to be safe, but there've been no complications at all."

"Thank bloody God," Mairead sighed. "How is she?"

"Asleep, at the moment, but you can go see her. She ought to wake up in about half an hour."

They arrived at a recovery room, white and sterile, the lights muted. Through the small window, they could see the sun setting red over Dublin, the buildings casting long shadows over streets and cars.

Lorna was indeed asleep, and looked even smaller than she actually was. She was a little person, but she projected such energy that it was easy to think she was taller. Her long black braid had come half undone, her fringe stuck to her forehead with dried sweat, and her skin ashy.

Lord Thranduil moved forward before Mairead could, taking Lorna's tiny right hand – it looked even tinier in his. Yes, there was something there, all the more obvious when he sat on the edge of the bed and leaned down to kiss her forehead, but there was no way he actually loved her, because he simply hadn't known her long enough.

"Well, that's adorable," the nurse said, and shut the curtain before she left them.

Mairead pulled up a chair, sitting at the left side of the bed. "Lord Thranduil, how the hell did you seduce my baby sister?" she asked. "Sleeping with somebody she's just met isn't like her."

"She felt my desire," he said, still looking at Lorna, "and mirrored it. Which I did not do out of conscious will, before you ask. You must understand, Mistress Mairead, Eldar do not lightly lie with another, either. It was the first time she had seen me, but not the first time I had seen her. And yes, she has made me very aware that your people would count that as 'creepy'."

He looked at her. "I married her, Mistress Mairead, because I knew that I could love her, given time. I had not planned on telling her that, however, until I managed to earn her love in return. She has assured me I may still court her, so long as I no longer keep secrets where she is concerned."

"And have you?" Mairead asked suspiciously.

"No. Where Lorna is concerned, I have none. Yes, there is much I have not told her, but I have six thousand years worth of things to tell. That will take rather a long time."

"I knew it," someone said, from the other side of the curtain – a woman. An American woman.

Lord Thranduil froze, and Mairead felt the blood drain from her face, but Lorna, her voice thick with sleep, spoke for them both:

"Oh, fuck everything."

Yeah, things couldn't remain simple for long.

Title means "fuck everything" in Irish. As always, your reviews give me love.