CHAPTER EIGHT

Dabria stood in the middle of the woods of Mirkwood on the edge of where the elven kingdom lay. She wasn't quite sure what her real reason was for being here. Perhaps it was to see the truth for herself, or to find a closure of sorts. Perhaps it was for something more selfish, but was it truly selfish of someone to want to see the face of their beloved one last time before they're stolen away from them forever? Perhaps she wanted to see that Fandas was happy, that she was not bonding herself to an elf out of necessity, that the new King was not forcing her to be his bride. Nay, she needed to see that Fandas was happy. If she were happy, then perhaps Dabria could find it within her to be happy for her old love.

Before she truly realized what she was doing, she had found herself on the edge of a river where she and Fandas frequented often. It was, in a way, their own small spot of paradise. It was where they could disappear from the world and instead, into each other. She was even farther from the kingdom than she was before, but this felt like the right place to visit before she took a glance into the castle's walls. She needed to feel the energy of this land once more, to feel the memories that were soaked into its soil. She closed her eyes and she could smell the sweet scent of Fandas' soap, she could feel soft skin at her fingertips with nothing but dancing water between them.

Movement stirred her from her thoughts and quicker than a breath, she disappeared into the shadows of the treetops. Her chest felt heavy at the smell of lavender that caught up in the breeze, she could see them clearly as they wandered through the forests as if they had nothing to fear. They trailed the path that she once walked with her love, sat at the spot that she once did, and her chest tightened. She knew that elves were what was considered beautiful by most, but she knew that there were none as beautiful as Fandas, especially now that she was adorned with the most expensive dress and rarest jewels as she sat beside whom Dabria could only assume was none other than Fandas' chosen husband.

"I tell you, my King," Fandas insisted fondly with a smile, her hand tightly clasped with his, "It is true. I will swear to all the Valar that the legendary Hinnorwen lives and breathes as I."

"And how would you know this, my love," the blonde and fair elf spoke - Thranduil, Dabria reminded herself, though it pained her. His voice held no contempt, merely lighthearted fondness as if he were entertaining a fantasy of a young child.

The fact that her once lover had chosen to bring the now King of Mirkwood to this spot spoke more than Fandas ever did or could. The doubt that Fandas was forced into the King's hands slipped like sand between her fingers, as did the small hope that it was an unhappy marriage - a marriage that she could sneak around or prevent with no remorse. But a truly happy, trusting marriage, she knew, were rare, and if Fandas trusted this elf enough to bring him to a spot that was soaked in the energy of their previous and old love, then perhaps she could….

She stole a look toward Fandas, the way her cheeks puffed with mild irritated annoyance, as she huffed and puffed about not being believed by her now husband. She hesitated briefly and wondered if this was the right thing to do, morally, to bring herself back into Fandas' life.

Perhaps it wasn't and she knew within her heart that it was selfish of her, but she took a step forward and off of the treetop that she had grown quite comfortably in.

Thranduil took a step back when she revealed herself, startled that he never heard her coming nor saw her before. A part of him cursed Fandas for convincing him that they should venture out without cover from their soldiers - though at the time, a moment alone in a more romantic part of Mirkwood that was left untouched by the evilness in its depths with his newlywed bride was too good of a thought to turn away.

But this woman, who lacked the ears of an elf yet didn't quite seem like one from Men, walked with more grace than any elf could dream of with an elegant, dangerous air about her. She emerged from the shadows as if she were once part of them. The darkness cascaded off of her like an old friend as light seemed to shine deep within her irises, as if someone lit an eternal flame in their depths. Her eyes spoke much of war and battle and lost love with an eerie otherworldly aura that unnerved him to his core. Her skin was fair and smooth like fresh marble and seemed as if nothing could break upon it, as if it were just as hard. Her hair wove down behind her, longer than he had seen any elf's. Her clothes spoke not of the beauty and grace of a woman of the court, but of a harden traveler in need of a brew, yet lacked any armor like he would have expected her to wear. Her fae made his own ache, with its old scars and large missing chunks as if something had bit straight through it or tried to swallow it whole, and it told a tale older than anything he could comprehend. Behind her back, hung a long sytche, an odd weapon of choice, yet a suiting one as the gleam from its blade seemed so sharp that he could cut himself from staring at it for too long.

She was nothing like he expected and everything he expected all at once. But whether her clothes matched her portraits, whether she was anything like he expected, didn't change who she was.

Hinnorwen.

He was a king that bowed to none but her, dipping his head low in respect. He could feel his wife nudge him, not quite gently, in his side, as if she were amused that he would bow in the first place - or perhaps she was tickled to death that she just proved him wrong. Wrong. By Valar, did she ever prove him wrong. He wondered why the legend would step forth before them. He got his answer when Hinnorwen barely spared him a glance as she took a step toward Fandas.

He wasn't sure what he expected to see, but there was something between the hero and his wife that told of their history. He wondered how deep that history went and what the nature of it was, but his answer came when Hinnorwen took Fandas hand with the ease of an old lover and kissed the back of it gently, causing a large flush to form on his wife's cheeks. Hinnorwen looked at him through the corners of her eyes, as if taunting him. But all he could feel was pride that he managed to wed the one elf that Hinnorwen herself had once taken.

"My lady," Fandas' voice wavered slightly, her heart beating wildly in her chest, "I would like you to meet my husband. King Thranduil, of Mirkwood."

Hinnorwen suddenly stood tall and cold, like an unwavering old oak, "Olorin told me of this."

Her voice was not close to what he expected her to sound of. It was deeper, darker, with an underlying tone of danger, like a primal predator waiting to strike. She took a step toward him and he stood his ground, reminding himself that he was a king that would not show fear, even to the likes of her even as she stalked around him, looking at him closely. When he still did not waver, a twinkle sparked in her eyes.

He tensed when she removed her weapon and it was merely inches from his throat. His shoulders went back and his head high. He is a king, he will not waver. He bowed once to her, for respect of her power, but it is not something that he will do again.

"Your wife is dear to me, new king," she taunted, "She is stronger than you can ever give her credit for and if you were to cross her, I'm sure she would strike before I ever could. But my ear is tuned to her heart, new king, and I know it's beat well. I have heard it shatter once and it is a sound I am not willing to hear again."

Fandas released the breath in her throat as Hinnorwen strapped her weapon back to her back and took a step away from her new husband. While unsure of what to make of it, Fandas couldn't help but feel a warmness that Hinnorwen had came not only to her wedding, but still cared enough of her to make sure that she would live nothing but a life of happiness. Something that she herself wasn't sure if she deserved, not for how she acted on in her youth and certainly not for the actions that she had encouraged her old love to take.

"Hinnorwen," Fandas spoke, her voice soft in the wind as she put a hand on her lady's shoulder.

She looked into the eyes that she could lose herself in, and an unspoken message passed between them - an apology, an acceptance, and a love. Hinnorwen relished in the touch, and tried not to dwell on hard it was for her to look away from Fandas' eyes.

"I have forgiven you, my dove," Hinnorwen answered, "Perhaps not myself, but you deserve a life of happiness with this elf, if that is what you wish."

Fandas stood close to the legendary warrior, too close to be merely friends, "It is my wish, my lady."

Hinnorwen bowed her head, signaling her understanding, Thranduil was glad that at least she understood for he surely did not. Something, however, told him that this would not be their last visit with the legendary Hinnorwen.