It was a shock of course.

I had no thought that this golden fëa should not be my kindred. A Silvan perhaps, or possibly a Noldo. Not a Sindar, for Legolas was the only one of that line in Eryn Ithilien. And although I knew we had a new Healer in the halls, a man and a son of Gondor's Steward no less, my beleaguered brain did not retrieve it. for though many songs have been sung of the fabled unions of the Eldar and Edain- Idril and Tuor, Lúthien and Beren, Arwen and Elessar—but rarely have they joined. The lives of the First- and Secondborn have entwined for good and ill in Arda but those few fëa–mated have braved peril and suffering, long years of privation, to cleave to the one who made their spirit whole.

I had not met Théomund before-he frequented the evening hall but little and I was often out on patrol—but as that moment stretched thin as gossamer, ringing with heartsong, I had no doubt. The bond was true. The thread of deep and pure rightness was unmistakeable. I knew it. Had not felt its like since a young Noldo guard set a Prince of Mirkwood upon his backside in a friendly sparring bout; reached out to help the loser up and changed utterly the course of his life.

The memory is so clear. Amron with his father's silver hair stuck with brittle November leaves, tunic and laces askew, cheeks as sharp as knives. A storm tossing in his gaze but underneath the haughty armour of the exterior, a heart of purest starlight. My fëamate. The thought then was truly terrifying. His frown swiftly melted like snow in the first spring shower and events raced just as fast.

I am quite certain the most frightened I have ever been in my three millennia was standing before my Lord Elrond and his father the Elven-King, hands-clasped and almost vibrating with nervousness Amron, of course, was quite unperturbed by his father's glowering countenance. He faced Thranduil, chin up and shoulders set proudly back.

"I'll not be separated from Thalon. If not here, then I will follow wherever that he will."

That caused a ripple of surprise to run throughout the hall. It was hard to say who was more displeased, his Lord or mine, but in the face of a truebond neither would deny the truth.

Elrond raised one dark eyebrow and folded his arms within his sleeves as he turned to his kingly host. "I have little need of a Princeling in Imladris. Glorfindel is quite enough."

I believe I held my breath. Amron squeezed my hand for reassurance in the now ringing silence of the hall and then there came a truly terrifying development:

Thranduil put off his habitual expression of utter boredom and smiled.

"I suppose I can find space for another guard."

With the flick of a royal wrist the ambassade I set out on was inked to a more permanent position. I moved into Amron's rooms, was honoured with a captaincy and became an accepted part of palace life. The 'Prince's ellon' I was called at first, but as decades slipped quickly past the Silvan folk came to know me well. I gained their respect for my battle skills even as I learned to love their ancient forest and sweet voices raised in song. Thranduil and Legolas became as easy with me as Amron, and I was honoured and amazed to have found so close a family. We were happy- truly, deeply. Until the Shadow rose again. Until the cursed day upon Fornost's rolling plains that Angmar came crashing down and I lost him to an Orc's errant parting-shot.

In all the centuries since I had put away these memories. Avoided them. Did not give them life, and yet to do so I had to be not myself. I served my honour brother and my father-King as best as I could. Grieved. Fought battle after battle. Waded through the mired blood of Dol Guldur and Erebor, even Mirkwood at the end, to emerge now honed but hollow. A shell of the ellon that I had been.

And then, into my spare and careful world there came that touch. Ai, its aching gentleness was a shaft of sun in a darkening haze of agony. I was so eager to know its source, to know that fëa, and if I was shocked, one who had known the pull before, how must it be for him? I saw the wonder and the fear within Théomund's wide eyes and my heart went out, remembering my own uncertainty. How must it be for a Man to bond with the Eldar? A thousandfold more startling than simply adjusting to Thranduil's house at the least, and so I said his name (delighting to hear it pass my lips) and reached to touch his hand. Show compassion with my touch.

Sadly that did not help. My speech was still unruly. My words too slow and halting, and so, in compensation, I let my joy and need and urge to help flood out. Perhaps, nay almost certainly, a little strong.

An understandable yet inopportune mistake.

In its wake Théomund took his leave and I, abashed and anxious, waited for a chance to speak again.

It did not come for two full days.

In between I fretted; relieved that the potion helped my head, encouraged to have more feeling in my arm, but worrying. Why had he not come back? Had I so badly frightened him? Was he repulsed by me somehow? There were rare times that one of pair did not return the bond but I had not felt that about him. Not anger or disgust. Only shock and a muddied pulse of fear.

Reluctantly, I screwed up my courage to ask Master Healer Saralinde his whereabouts straight out.

Her auburn brows shot up. "Théomund? He will be back. He has taken some days of leave. Simply needed some time to rest."

Ah. The faintest tightening about her mouth made me feel that somehow there was more but I did not press her. He had worked very hard and so I waited, impatient, filling the dragging hours with simple exercises to improve my strength until on the third morning a sound set my heart fluttering within my chest.

"Saralinde, how fares the Commander?"

It was his voice! I could not hear Saralinde's light reply and so waited with almost coltish excitement, craning my neck to catch a glimpse of the blue robe as it arrived outside my door.

I watched and waited but the slow, measured step I recognized went the other way.

A stab of pain that had nothing to do with poisoned swords flared briefly within my chest.

Was Théomund avoiding me? Deliberately leaving my care to others? At first I did not want think it true, but when one spends too much time in enforced idleness, there is leisure to notice things. Even those the size of mumaks.

We had not spoken at all since he came to know. Nor had he come to check the notes kept by my bed.

Then yes, avoiding. More shocked and upset at the revelation than I had first hoped. Give him time Thalon. The admonition to myself was wise but hardly easy to obey. There was an awareness, a prickling sense of him nearby and so I forced myself to lay back against the pillows and fret more patiently.

I succeeded somewhat until the rudely healthy sunshine of Legolas arrived.

Through the half open door I had a new view: Legolas's bright head inclined gracefully, accepting Saralinde's quick half curtsey; Théomund walking slowly, almost haltingly, toward my Prince, touching one hand to his heart in greeting.

"Ernil, a pleasure to see you here."

"And you, Théo," answered Legolas, smiling in return. He gestured toward my space. "I am here to see my brother. He mentioned he wished to rise. Do we have your leave?"

From my vantage I saw blond brows pull together in a sudden frown. "You will not go far?"

"Just to the river then back for 'second breakfast'."

I shook my head. The Anduin was an hour's ride from our town that lay nestled in Ithilien's southern reach well off the Harad and Pelargir roads, but Théomund was obviously used to Legolas' sense of humour. His pointed look was met by a mock-solemn salute.

"Just to garden then. You have my word."

Legolas may have been only half in jest but in the end neither of us reckoned with reality. The effort to become vertical was taxing. The brief turn about the ward moreso. This valiant first effort merely proved that I had no muscles left.

"Come on Thal, put your thighs into it." Legolas had one arm steady at my waist, the other bracing me from behind. I was not so much walking with support as being dragged bodily across the floor.

I rolled my eyes so hard it felt I might tax them too. "Thank you for that pointer, tôren. I had completely forgotten how to walk."

The tone was sarcastic but actually I was rather worried that I had. My legs had the consistency of jelly and after a few dozen feet I was panting with the effort. The proud warrior in me was abashed. The entire ward and one particular Master Healer were witness to my pathetic feat. Assuming that Théomund was watching. I forced myself not to look. "Do you not have some other guard to torture? Maldrin. Or Govon. They must be due."

Legolas blessedly paused to let me catch my breath. "Not one I can so easily best. It is the perfect time to ask you for a foot race. Would you wager your Haradi mare?"

Lalainte, ebon and high-hearted, with nostrils to eat the wind and a gait as smooth as silk, was my pride and joy. A gift from the Emperor for training his personal guard to shoot. "Never!"

He grinned at the fierceness of my growl and mercilessly started us moving once again. This time we wobbled our way across the ward to near the courtyard door. The morning's light was thin and wan, struggling to pierce the grey blanket overhead but still more welcome than the plain walls of my temporary prison. Tomorrow, perhaps, we would make it actually outside. I was eager for it, for the feeling of air and life upon my skin, but just then I really rather needed to sit down.

We turned and gathered energy to make it back. With an effort I pulled myself more upright, snuck an illicit look beyond Legolas' hide and there, in dark indigo and single braid, was Théomund. Perched upon a stool, notionally perusing a copious set of notes but with one eye to our proceedings.

And the faintest small smile of pride upon his handsome features.

Manwe's grace. My heart swelled enough to burst. He was watching. And pleased. Monitoring my adventure even if he did not speak.

I ducked my head back down before he could catch my gaze.

After not too many tortuous minutes we were back where we began and I plummeted back onto the bed, limbs trembling, overtly proud but privately aghast at how weak I truly was. Nienna, how long before I was hale again? A month? Or more? The thought was truly dismaying and Legolas, knowing me better than I knew myself, was trying to distract. Fussing with blankets and pillows, attempting to help but mostly getting in the way of the assistants who fluttered about the bed. It was endearing, and more than made up for his earlier wisecracks, but I said nothing for my head was starting to pound again. Intensely. As if the former host of Mordor was tramping round my skull and soon I was gritting my teeth so hard I thought I might hear them crack.

"Pardon me, Ernil."

A blue sleeve and a cup appeared before nose. And soft grey eyes that narrowed thoughtfully above a worried frown. "Commander? The headache is back again?"

I nodded very, very gently. Legolas looked on in startled surprise. "Théomund! How did you know?"

His mouth twitched wryly. "It is my vocation to notice such things."

A cup was proffered to my unaffected hand and I found myself dazedly looking into those eyes. "Thank you, Master," I whispered.

He nodded slightly. "You must drink it all."

The soft tone was soothing. I reached out and took the cup, and as I did, our fingers brushed just once. Mine were callused by bow and sword. His were thin and smooth, softened by the unguents all the healers used to combat the wear of work. A fleeting thrum of energy spilled down my nerves, stirred another muscle quite unaffected by the headache or the antidote.

Nienna. I was rattled like an untried youth.

I hid my flaming cheeks within the cup. Drinking all the posset down, I carefully willed myself to calm, handed the empty vessel back and laying deeper into the pillows. The mingled scents of athelas and lavender and mint eased into my awareness.

"Better?"

"Not yet."

There was no gain in lying to one's healer. I turned a little, tried to mold the feather-down below my cheek more comfortably and caught Legolas looking back and forth between Théomund and I. His bottom lip was bitten quizzically. There was a line between his brows and I realized in that moment there were two things I was unprepared to face:

Théomund's uncertainty. And Legolas's.

Neither of us had spoken those last words aloud and I had the strangest feeling that my tôren knew.

Thereafter the rapid recovery of Elvenkind mercifully began to win. I walked more and farther under my own steam. Ventured down the halls to the bathing rooms. Took tea in the burgeoning gardens beside the aspen grove.

As I gained in strength, reassuringly I began to feel more in my affected hand and arm. Théomund had been right in his assessment and I was pleased to find I had to chance to tell him so. We saw a little of each other on each day- at morning and midday rounds, sometimes when I sat in the bright sunshine to take my meals, and so I began to notice things. The subtly strange thinness of his hands. The careful and slightly stiff, almost hauty way he held himself, as if avoiding contact where he could. I began to wonder at this display and thereafter I noticed more. That the assistants hastened to do things for him unasked. That they were quick to bring seats for him to sit. That ewers or any heavy thing was passed to him most slowly and held until certain he had the grip.

There was a difference about him, a standoffishness that I did not understand, but had not the courage to ask about. And so I puzzled, treasuring each brief interaction as the days slipped too swiftly by. Soon there came the morning when I was pronounced hale enough to recuperate at home. The headaches were gone and my speech was clear. My once recalcitrant hand and arm were mostly whole, and so, in an eyeblink the deed was done- I gave heartfelt thanks and brief hugs to all to helped, made Saralinde laugh at my promise to sniff each sword I met for poison, and forced myself to smile at Théomund's polite farewell.

Was this to be it? I had watched and waited—given him time to adjust to this new thing and now I would hardly see him? The only hint that leave-taking was as hard for him as me was the faintest trembling of those thin fingers has he raised a hand to wave. Valar. There was a dull heaviness in my chest that had naught to do with any dosing. I did not know what best to do and so I did what I understood. Followed Legolas to my home, began a regimen of rest and light exercise, worked to regain what I had lost and worried at the stone of my dilemma like a rushing rivulet in spring.

This did not bring enlightenment, only fatigue and gloom, and so knowing that distraction could come with work (even if I was not to have active duty for some weeks yet) I sat in the beaming sun on a handy hay bale and watched the new recruits to take a measure of their progress. They were doing well. Four ellyn and two ellith, grown elflings I knew well from Mirkwood. All keenly copying Captain Govon's defensive stance.

Presently, the solid shape and long chestnut braids of Maldrin my more than able second-in-command, appeared. He had obviously just come from the range for a long bow and quiver were on his back. "Mae govannen Thalon! A blessed thing to see you here."

"And you my friend. A much more salubrious space than four white screens." Maldrin had been one of the first of my troop to visit in the Healing Hall. He had particular responsibility for the soldiers' training, and I knew, and approved, that he had reviewed with all of them the best defense against the type of ambush and poisoning that had struck me down.

We shared the swift hug of friends before I resumed my seat. He leaned against the split rail fence that ringed the practise yard, . "They are shaping up well are they not?" he remarked, nodding to a pair now circling with practise knives.

"Yes. And are a credit to their trainer."

He smiled, flushing a little at the unexpected compliment for I tended to save them for when they meant the most. Beyond grateful that he and Legolas had stepped in to ensure the settlement's protection had not flagged one bit in my absence- I was more than happy to shower him with praise. Legolas, by contrast, needed no more puffing up.

True to form, Maldrin took it modestly. "I cannot take praise for her," he said, gesturing toward a tall, brown-haired elleth. "Caranae's guard is total instinct."

He was right but I did not answer straight away. Away to our left, a sudden flurry of motion caught my eye. A small knot of ellyn and my Prince had come forward to greet a pair of riders glad in green. A man and a woman: the one dark-haired and handsome, the other gold as Yavanna's sun. Mounted on a pair of proud, grey stallions. Surely it was the Steward and his Lady? As I watched, they dismounted and pulled off gloves and cloaks and yes indeed it was Lord Faramir and Lady Éowyn, turning all smiles to Legolas, bowing briefly and being greeted with his warm embrace. This was clearly not an official visit. Captain Beregond was not with them and they had no retinue, only a small, unembelished group of welcome met them, and so I surmised their easy journey from their Emyn Arnen home was to see their son. Théomund would be here! Excitedly I scanned the space for a flash of indigo but found it not, at first sagging a little with disappointment but then I found him.

Théomund, long hair unbound and with two temple braids, in breeches and finely embroidered shirt, looking every inch a young Gondor lord, sat a chair behind the welcoming party waiting for formalities to cease.

"Thalon?" Maldrin, puzzled, set a hand upon my arm.

"Just a moment, my friend." I waved it away in hasty acknowledgement, suddenly drawn to the square as if pulled into a river's eddy. He was there. It was a chance to speak. It was—

"Commander Thalon!"

Lord Faramir, a Ranger to the core, had spied my course. He turned and smiled, inclining his dark head to me. I saluted hastily in return. "Forgive me, my Lord. My Lady. I did not mean to intrude." And yet, I had. Legolas was frowning quizzically. Anpher, his secretary who prized decorum above all else, looked anywhere but at me and quickly became entranced by minutiae in the dirt.

Valar. Feeling caught out as an elfling who is somewhere he should not be, I flushed but Éowyn, the ever beauteous lady of Ithilien, was quite unruffled. She turned her sunny smile up to me. "You look well, Commander. I understand you have been hurt."

"I was but am on the mend. And most grateful for your son's skill and speed." Against their will, my eyes slid to the quiet occupant of the chair. His blue-grey gaze was wary but not unfriendly, not discomfited to see me there and a first band of worry unknotted by an inch. There would surely be meals and revelry—even a friendly visit was a cause for celebration—and I, excited by the thought of seeing him in the feasting hall, kept chatting, uncharacteristically so long that Legolas decided to intervene.

"Let us not monopolise Faramir and Éowyn 's time and keep Théomund waiting long. Thalon?" He looked discomfited. As if he could not decide whether to be amused by my odd antics or annoyed. "Come and see me in my study."

I hesitated, feet firmly rooted to the spot. Théomund was there and in that moment I had no wish to be elsewhere but Legolas reached and unobtrusively took me by the elbow. "We shall see Faramir and Éowyn presently again at the daymeal."

Both nodded with alacrity and so I took my leave, reluctantly following my brother toward the small meeting hall that adjoined his study, half of my heart still back behind, the other half now seriously worried I had overstepped.

By the first arch of the colonnade I not resist the urge to look back once.

With the Prince and I no longer the centre of attention, Théomund had risen. He pulled from either side the chair a pair of low wood canes, set his hands upon the rests and moved forward with practised ease. His face was clear and quite untroubled, smiling with such warmth as his parents reached out to enfold him in a slow and carefully delicate embrace.

Understanding finally dawned. Nienna's tears. The canes and rolling stool within the ward. The almost halting gait. The way he held himself carefully and apart. It was not aloofness or haughtiness, but balance. And strength, as the warrior in me intrinsically understood. Théomund could not move far without support and without aid, too abrupt a movement would knock him to the ground.

Flys could have settled in my throat.

All through that day and eve I puzzled, heart heavy, over what I had then seen. That beautiful voice, and fea, and caring spirit were trapped within a body that was what? Broken? Damaged? It looked to be not of a wound but rather something more essential. An accident of birth? A malady? I knew that wasting sicknesses afflicted the children of the Dúnedain, sapped their legs of strength, but it was something Elrond's healing could cure. Was this different? I did not know-I knew little of the ills of men, save that they were not so robust as we.

It seemed cruel that the music should deign he be stricken so.

All through the long afternoon (spent with Anpher reviewing my long delayed reports-never let it be said my Prince was not vindictive) I yearned to know the right of it. To see Theomund and hopefully this time find courage to speak up. But the world conspired otherwise. Reporting lasted until the supper bell. A pleasant evening after in the torchlit hall passed with me seated at the high table but to my consternation as far from Théomund as I could be.

He sat on the left hand of his father, dressed now in a fine tunic of pure blue, hair all unbound and but little less glorious than his lady mother's. Riveting. Stunningly handsome. And miraculously also noticing me. Although I did my best to pay heed to my seatmate, now and then I would feel a prickling at my nape and look up to find his blue-grey gaze. Each time he would quickly look away. Each time I would catch a quickly stifled flash of twining sorrow.

Did he regret keeping himself away? Ache for me as I did him? A first flicker of real hope made me dizzy, drew me to him as a moth to flame and thought I tried, I failed to keep from staring. Flanked by the Lord and Lady I could see that his smile was hers-wide and free and unaffected, but his brow and that striking narrow, face was of his father's line. Side by side one could see the stamp of Dol Amroth on them both, of Mithrellas and Imrazor, even though his colouring was Rohan fair.

I could also see what I had not before. Masked by a healer's flowing robes was a sharply angled chest and slanting back. A twist that made him sit out of true and with this further knowledge a pit lodged in my stomach. Did it hurt him? Did he suffer to work even as he cared for others? Who treated muscles that must ache from simply holding still?

"Commander, how are you? Not overdoing it I hope."

For the second time that day I failed to notice someone arrive. Saralinde, green-eyes shining in the low guttering torchlight, had replaced my seat mate and sat with her deft fingers thoughtfully fingering her cup.

So much for my vaunted soldiering skills. As the embarrassed flush crept up my cheeks I turned and tried to give her all my attention. "No Master Healer, I am being most careful. The only part of me in danger of overuse these days is my backside. Or my tongue."

She smiled. "Formal evenings are not your forte?"

"No. There is Legolas for that. He needs some punishment for his perfection."

She laughed as I had intended and while she sipped from her brimming goblet I wracked my brain for some excuse to bring the conversation around to the question that consumed me. Outside, a summer evening graced with Varda's stars deepened to blue-black. Inside, our harpist pulled back her instrument and began a softly lilting tune: Ruimenírë. One of my favourites. About good fellowship and friends and the flame of welcome that burned ever in the Hall of Fire.

As I let the music seep into my bones, I realized that we rarely saw Théomund there. At table, yes, but hardly ever when the evening's song and storytelling began. "It is unusual for the Master to be in the hall so late," I said, nodding down the laden table.

If Saralinde was puzzled by this comment she did not show it. "He retires early. And often chooses to dine within his rooms." She reached for a sweetmeat and took a slow bite of rose-scented cake. "Is there a reason why you asked?"

Was this a healer's natural perceptiveness or I had looked from far from disinterested? What should I say? Perhaps the truth, Thalon? But it felt not right to speak so of one who was just some feet away. "He looks fatigued," I finally settled on for this was quite true: Ithil had barely climbed above the trees and there were dark smudges below Théomund's eyes, a noticeable droop to his thin set shoulders. Had the day's responsibilities left him overtaxed? Had he not slept well?

Saralinde saw my worry and gently shook her head. "You are correct. I urged him to rest before the meal but, of course, he spent every moment catching up. It is rare that the Steward can take so many days for just a social call and Théomund is busy here." She sighed and turned to me, gaze thoughtful and at once apprising. I had the distinct impression she choosing carefully what words to say.

"There is an explanation for it Thalon but it is personal. You must ask that question for yourself."

Of course in the end I did not.

I was one ellon faced with speaking to one man and yet I could not find the way.

I went back to my talan and began the long convalescence in earnest. The days were filled enough in theory: the camaraderie of the troop, the daily workouts to regain my strength, the oft-needed rest after the mid-day meal, but I felt wrong. Itchy underneath my skin. Unsettled and unhappy. The lingering stiffness was an annoyance and to compound my temper I saw little of Théomund.

The space beneath my heart carried a hollow of need that grew a little more day by day. The dull aching emptiness soon became a burn, fierce and unrelenting, and as it waxed I grew angry with myself. Snappish and short with all around. Barking at younglings and veterans alike. Not fit company for others or even for myself but determined more than ever to not press him any more.

Théomund knew well where I could be found. If the bond was true and he was willing he would seek me out.

Another clutch of days found me alone in my small courtyard. I sat on the curved wood bench, book in hand, trying to focus on my grammar of Sindarin and Haradi-the Emperor's now mostly peaceful lands lay just to the south and we oft met Haradrim trading on the road-but I was not truly concentrating. The night was clear—soft and velvet and sprinkled with the fairest of the evening's stars. A perfect evening to celebrate and out in the main square many voices rose in song. The sound drifted on the wind, sweet and soaring, praising below the Sickle and the Swan our lady Elbereth who sees farther than us all.

For the first time many centuries I felt a tug, a swell of longing to join them. But I did not stir for grief both old and new stopped up my throat.

"I remember the beauty of your voice."

Legolas, by silent ways, had come. He was dressed not as his people's prince but simply as himself; tunic laces loosened, warrior's braids let out. He set a bottle of Thranduil's prized Dorwinion upon the cool stone of the bench and pulled the cork, filling two chased silver goblets. One he raised to Ithil above in toast and the other he passed to me.

"You should be there, my brother, on such a glorious night. Honouring her with your song. Not hiding in the dark."

Ai, I knew it. For long the hard core of anger that fueled my thirsty sword had kept me apart; unwilling to venerate a world that I felt not of, but, in time, that red anger had passed and in its place left pain. And focus. Ruthlessly eschewed those parts of my life that reminded me too much of him, like a youngling closing their eyes as they passed a darkened door. I missed Amron's exuberant, if not always pitch- perfect, tenor. To wish to join again was easy. To actually do it was something else.

I took a bracing gulp. "You know well I have not sung since Amron sought the Halls. I'll not start now."

Legolas sighed softly and sat down beside, crossing his long legs before him and loosely fingering his cup. I noted what I had not at first: both vessels were adorned with a hawthorn tree set with garnet berries and tiny mithril thorns.

The forest's contradiction. Balance and duality found in one everlasting whole. The symbol of his family's house.

Strong, sure fingers traced over the design before he chose to speak. "For so long you have not been living, Thalon, but existing. Doing your best for us but merely flowing unresisting in the stream, ignoring the wonder that lies around. Each meal, and word and song we know is a precious gift. The past for good or ill is not forgotten but should not have too much power in the present. It can blind us to the beauty here." He turned to hold my gaze. "Especially if you have found another love."

The tone was mild but the words made me start straight up. The deep red claret shimmered as it sloshed upon the stone. "No! How-?"

Did you know? My face must have been a picture for he smiled wistfully and shook his head. "I remember a pair of shocked ellyn who had just wrestled in the dust. He so certain and another overwhelmed by what it might mean, yet still pulled toward my brother like a leaf caught in the river's current." He studied me intently. "I am right am I not?"

It took an act of will to find my tongue. "I have been faithful to him."

He nodded. "I know it. But he released you from your bond."

I shivered as with sudden cold. Yes, he had. Lying there upon that cursed field of sedge and mud, the glow still fading from his eyes. Lifeblood running freely. Amron had whispered to me of love and life and time, and years to be and I, unlike Legolas, had been too angry then to weep. We had won the day—a glorious victory for my Lord Glorfindel- but all of it was as so much dross. Shorn of happiness. Sundered from all that was good.

"I told him he should not."

Legolas' eyes darkened with remembered pain. "But he did for he loved you beyond all the circles of the world and knew what you would do."

Stay.

He knew me well. I, who could have taken ship and waited for his time of cleansing could not abandon my adopted home. For my Father-King to lose his eldest and his queen in the selfsame year was nigh too much to bear and though not an elfling, Legolas had been young as our people reckoned such things. Not yet a Captain. I, his honour-brother, felt honour bound to ease his hurt how ever little that I could. The years afterward fell swiftly-the time of peace was through, and though other ships did sail, there was always another battle. Another troop of Orcs or Spiders to deal with. The Shadow grew. And no ship could come for the Silvan folk I laboured to defend.

"I could not abandon you."

Legolas bit his lip and reached to take my hand, cold though the air about was warm. "I know it and Father and I have been beyond grateful. We have been of like mind, helping to restore these woodlands torn by war, but we also know how much it has cost you. You do not sing. Or dance. Or even walk below the stars, for you are grieved and lonely. It is not what he wished for you."

"No." I shook my head and shrugged. It was a very Silvan thing to consider a lack of song a direst ill. To the Noldor it would be akin to lose joy in craft, in doing with their hands, and I suppose I had done that too. What had filled the flying years? War, for the most part. And preparation for it.

I dropped my head and examined the marks of battle upon my hands. "We do not all of us get what we wish."

"No." A shadow of yearning crossed Legolas' face. He let me go to reach and clasp my shoulder, to stroke my long sable hair in a gesture at once sad and soothing. "Now some ellon has stirred your heart and you are far from overjoyed. Either they do not return it or you are uncertain. Or both. Shall I guess who it could be?"

I laughed, short and sharp, for this would be amusing. There was no way that he could know. I had not spoken Theo's name to him, not sent the formal blooms of apple that signified a courting. Against my better judgement I motioned for him to try.

"Govon?"

"No."

"Maldrin's son?"

"Nay, not ever. He is like my own."

"Listtan, then?"

No and no. I shook my head and Legolas mentioned other guards, all fine, fair ellon, but he was way wide of the mark and yet I had the sense he knew it, was teasing me for my hesitation. His mouth quirked slightly as he spoke. "I am at a loss, tôren, unless you have hidden some exotic traveller in your rooms."

"Saes, no, I am not a squirrel hoarding treasures out of sight. There is none here but you and I."

"You disappoint me."

Against myself I smiled. Ah, but it felt good to be light after so long held too tight. He grinned back and squeezed my shoulder once again and I wondered if he knew, was making me smile to ease the way.

Perhaps, after all, I could take the leap.

Drawing in a deep breath I raised my eyes to his and spoke. "Théomund."

The word hung a while between us. My stomach clenched in fear but his expression was far from shocked; it was reflective, even thoughtful. The cup was steady in his spare hand and his face was soft and unlined by care.

He nodded slowly, never lifting his gaze from mine. "That explains much that I hear."

I sat straighter up. "It does?"

"Saralinde has had a snappish second-in-command also."

She has?! My heart leapt. Was I not entirely repudiated? Could he feel the longing as much as I? "He… has been upset and uncertain," I stammered. "I do not know if he would ever cleave to me."

Legolas sighed heavily. "You must be careful."

This puzzled me again. Saralinde was not the only one hesitant about Theo. "About what?"

"I do not wish to speak out of turn."

"Why? You are the second to tell me so." Why were those around Théomund concerned? My frustration with the lack of answers took refuge, as it always did, in darker humour. "Has he some egregious, illegal past? A history of stealing? A string of bastards in every town?"

This was ridiculous of course. A son of Gondor's famously honourable Steward was most unlikely to be a rake but I could not hold my tongue. Legolas wisely ignored my crack. "He is different tôren," he said, rubbing his brow unhappily.

"I can see that!" I exclaimed. "And that means I should I have a care?! How? Why? I have seen his frame. And gait. I know there is some malady but Saralinde says I must ask him for myself." The first flush of pique gave way to worry. I shook my head a little mournfully. "I find I do not know how."

Legolas heaved a long slow sigh, swirling the wine slowly in his cup. "That is fair. It his story to tell and Saralinde is a good friend indeed, but I understand your feeling. In Gondor it is no secret. That, perhaps, gives you leave to know." He reached for the bottle and poured another measure; took a bracing draught. "Théomund has a malady from birth. I know some of the details but not all. Faramir and Éowyn were greatly grieved, for it is not a simple static affliction. His muscles are decaying slowly. First his hands and feet, legs and hips. Now his back. It slowly moves to his core and in time it is possible that he will not breathe."

I stared at Legolas horror-struck. "Why, that is…!"

"Cruel? Heart-breaking?" His face was a mask of regret. "Yes. Many such maladies afflict the Secondborn but not the First. He is dying, Thalon. Very, very, very slowly."

I reeled at the import of his words. Dying and weakening steadily? The pain that Théomund must suffer. The grief and fear. "How long?" I asked, struggling to understand. The life of Men to us was short and his would be shorter still. I had just found this precious gift and too soon it could be snatched away.

Legolas shook his head. "Elladan has said there is no certain way to know. For some the weakening is swift. For a lucky few it is quite slow-perhaps two decades less than a man's span. And those of Númenor are blessed with a long and vigorous life for the Edain. He has his father's blood."

I sat in shock. Two decades less than man's span. He might live to sixty years. That was scarce the time to grow a proud sturdy oak or ash. An eyeblink to we who measure life in Ages, for whom the seasons are as ripples in a swiftly running stream.

How could I find him now and know he would be lost untimely? How could I face the certainty of death again? I was not Peredhel. No choice lay before me. I could not die with him and must endure, again, alone.

"I…he…has the most beautiful fëa I have ever known."

I was babbling, words pouring out in anguish, sitting trembling beside my honour-brother who regarded me with not with pity, but certainty. His next words shocked me to my core.

"I know you see the sea's pull within my heart. The tide of it. And the sad changes that girt us round. The seasons and growth here in Ithilien are different than Lorien or the Greenwood. The Rings have left. There is no power to preserve, keep the world we knew while all else flits by, swift and slowing; and we live perhaps now closer to the rhythm of the new Age." He reached to lace his fingers through my own, speaking softer, as if sharing a secret with the night.

"When Aragorn at last lays down his duty and lies forever still and under stone, then I shall build a ship and sail. But for now I tarry here to help rebuild these ravaged forests. Make of them a new home for our folk. So it could be for you. Tarry here in purpose and new life. Bringing joy each day to one who deserves their cup to be ever full, and then, when Théomund too is called to Mandos, leave this Middle-Earth with me and find solace in the Undying Lands."

The world around me staggered.

Could I do this? Could I deliberately cleave to one who would be lost? Suffer that pain again? I, who thought myself courageous, was riven utterly by the choice. To watch one I loved whither swiftly; change inexorably as the forest that sheds it canopy and is remade again. Or walk away and abandon one whom I loved to a fate of suffering and silent hurt.

An arrow of uncertainty pierced my breast. I felt the urge to flee, but then, I hung my shame behind the curtain of my hair. If I felt that way then how should he? Did he not deserve to have support? Be eased of fear and know the solace of a love? And if I who felt the purity of his fëa could not find it in me to try, whom else would make the choice?

My honour-brother brushed my hair back from my now tear-streaked face and saw it-the struggle, the need, the fear, all twirled within the bitter cup. Slowly he reached into his tunic pocket and pulled out a worn but glimmering band of gold and mithril; placed it on my trembling palm and closed his hands over mine.

His fingers were lithe and elegant, warm where they touched my own and far too thin to have ever worn that ring.

I breathed and tried to slow my pounding heart. It was Amron's marriage ring, twin to the one that rested on my sword hand. I had refused it once, unable to countenance having it there, too much a reminder of the gaping loss. But now? To hold it felt so much of a blessing I hardly dared to breathe.

Legolas held my hands close a moment more and then rose and drained his cup. Set it with its mate upon the bench, before walking to the little garden gate. He paused, one hand upon the threshold, tilting his bright head up to the streaming silver light and letting it bathe his face again. And then, silently as he came, walked out into the pellucid night.

His parting words anchored me to the ground.

"You have bravest heart of any ellon I know."
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Thank you so much to those who are following and to Carawyn, Altariel and Willow for their encouragement!