"There is one true king in this room— there always has been. And he is not sitting on that throne. There is a queen in the north, and she has already beaten you once. She will beat you again. And again. Because what she represents, and what your son represents, is what you fear most: hope. You cannot steal it, no matter how many you rip from their homes and enslave. And you cannot break it, no matter how many you murder." —(Captain) Chaol Westfall

Author's Note: Hey, I'm so sorry that this is so late! I've been really busy and then (sorry) forgot about you guys and had a Star Wars marathon instead. There's a giant hint to who Durdirith is in this chapter, if you can tell! For another chance at a dedication, find the two Star Wars quotes that I accidentally inserted in there…I had to change them in the end, to make it fit the story. Thanks for all of your support! (If you find any errors, please tell me, this chapter was rather rushed.) As a bonus for being patient for me to update, if you can't figure out who that dang Elf is at the end of the chapter, I'll let you ask one question about him that I'll answer truthfully.

Also, sorry to any Arwen fans out there…she gets even more dense.

PS: Sorry if I haven't answer your reviews! I promise I'll try really hard to get all of this chapter's ones!

She snuck a glance at Durdirith, and wondered what he was thinking. His hood had been pulled back up, so she could not read his face. Not that that would help, anyway. There had been virtually no time when she could read his face—even when he had been angry, it was still passive and unreadable. For a second, she allowed herself to think that someday she might be able to do that, like him. When she was angry or sad or joyful her emotions splattered all over, making themselves known. A great advantage came from the talent of not expressing what went on inside when it was not needed. She recalled that first moment when she had seen his face and conceded that he had, once, shown her something. The haunted look that he had worn.

The half-eaten apple in her hands seemed to grow heavier as she ate it. They had stopped again, night had fallen, the shadows draping over the two Elves. Durdirith had told her that they would reach his home the next day—and that was all that either of them had said to each other since the "fight" that they had. She knew that she had stepped over the line when she called him out, telling him that he had no family. If someone had said that to her…she bet that she would have done more than that. Her family was everything to her. Should his not be everything to him?

"I apologize," she spoke, rotating her apple in her hands. "It was wrong of me to say those things."

Durdirith did not answer her from where he leaned against a wall of rock. Instead, he ran the nail of his left forefinger over his own apple. His head was tilted slightly to the right, and again, she wondered what was going on inside that mind of his. After a few grueling moments of silence, he spoke, "A long time ago, in a place far, far away…" The Elf paused his voice and his finger to turn the fruit over in his hand. "I met a mortal woman. At first, I scorned her and her people." Arwen watched his hands intently, eyeing the way that they gently caressed the apple. For a second she—but then she shoved the thought down her throat. A crunching sound emitted from the apple as he sunk a nail under its skin. "She proved me wrong." He pulled off his hood, and Arwen was surprised to see that there was a true emotion expressed on his face. Anger—and sorrow—crushed his features, making him look every inch of what she was afraid that she would see. It was only there for a second or two, until he schooled his features back into a neutral expression.

When he did not continue, Arwen prodded softly, "What did she do?"

"Kept her people alive," he whispered, so quietly that only Elven ears could hear. "For seven days straight, with no aid." The apple shifted from one hand to other other, and she kept her eyes sealed to it. "We came at the end of those seven days, and liberated her encampment. She…was unlike any mortal that I had seen before. Not only because she was courageous enough to lead every single one of those people throughout that entire siege; but because she was female as well. There were so many prejudices against women in their culture, and yet she surpassed them all. She did not bother with those who thought her not worthy—she just ignored them and kept pushing forwards." Durdirith met her eyes in the darkness. "She changed the way I thought about them all, and the way I saw life as a whole."

Silence covered the area, Arwen rolling her tongue around in her mouth as her eyes still gazed at the apple that the ellon held in his hand. Barely more than breath, she asked, "What was her name?"

"I would rather not speak it, lest she come and haunt my name," he breathed, arching his neck so his face tilted upward.

Since she had already crossed the line once, Arwen decided that it would not hurt to try again, in a more passive way. "Did you love her?"

With his voice a step towards the eerie side, he answered her, "Maybe I could have, if she had stayed. Maybe if I had been mortal, or if she had been immortal." He flipped the apple again, not bothering to glance at it when he caught it. "But as it was, no. All that is left of her is a mere memory now."

"What does it all have to do with me?"

He had the nerve to laugh. "Mortals are not to be underestimated. I do not believe that an Elf could have held a village together for that long, no matter their strength."

"My father could," she protested. "You have no right to say that!"

"It is my personal opinion, youngling, I did not say that it was true. And as I have never met your father before, I would not know." That haughty tone joined with his voice again, and Arwen felt her anger curling up inside of her once more.

Instead of speaking to him, she finally tore her eyes away from his apple—not missing the way he tilted it back and sunk his nails into it like they were claws. She bit off a chunk of her own apple and chewed it thoughtfully. Suddenly, she exclaimed, "I do not want to be mortal!"

"No one does. Not even mortals themselves do." He chuckled softly, "Unless you are a dwarf, perhaps." It took everything in her not to laugh. She was supposed to be mad with him, not having a fun camping trip.

"Am I…" she almost stopped, her stomach clenching up. With a deep breath, she started over again, "Am I…really mortal?"

"You're Elven. Check your ears."

Furious blinking met his statement, and she ground out, "I know that. Am I part mortal? At all? Really?"

"If you are truly the daughter of Elrond Peredhel, then you are."

"Per…" she trailed off, swallowing a large chunk. "Peredhel? That… If it's true, then—everything would change! For me, anyway."

"You can't stop change any more than you can stop the sun from setting." Durdirith twisted one side of his lips upward.

"I just…I hope no one thinks lesser of me."