A/N: The lyrics below are by Marc Gunn. It's a fun drinking song.

She had been born during a Spring evening, slow burning candles and moonlight illuminating the small room within a cottage. From outside the room, he heard the pained wails of the woman in labour and could not help but go hastily through to door to join her side. It had been more than a day that the woman sat on that wooden slab, her body moist with sweat and slacked with exhaustion. She had whispered to him that she could not do it, she could not continue to push and she could not know the fate of her child. But he urged her, grabbed her hand and kissed her forehead as another contraction came and with it, another cry.

Deep into the night, the cries of a newborn baby pierced through the silence followed by the soft laughter of a mother. It was a girl. A beautiful, perfect baby girl.

Vorondil gazed upon the young woman on occasion. Poppy, she called herself. Or rather, it was the name her mother and the halfling midwife had given her shortly after her birth. He, on the other hand, gave her a much different name. That night felt so long ago, it was difficult to believe it had only been twenty years. There she was, sitting and speaking to her Elven friend, long legs like him but all the beauty of her mother. How often he thought of Meggy's affection, her gentle touches and soft, pale skin. And how much she detested him now.

For the next few days, Poppy did not speak nor approach Vorondil with questions of her father. It was something that struck Merilien as odd, in addition to the girl's unusual silence. She did not speak of any comfortable homes and blue windows, not of gravel roads and smooth stones, and not of cool rivers during a hot summer. Conversation was dry between them, Merilien sometimes asking her of her thoughts and Poppy only replying with a single word: "Nothing."

It brought her a bit of pain, Merilien admitted, to see her friend so uncharacteristically quiet and withdrawn. A part of her wanted to approach Vorondil herself, ask him the questions she knew plagued Poppy's mind, but she refrained from doing so. It was not her place, Merilien kept repeating to herself. The family matters in Poppy's life had nothing to do with her. She simply was a friend to the girl, and she would stand by her side in unmoving support but never in active interference.

During the evenings, Poppy was, strangely enough, more lively. She still avoided Vorondil's gaze, still walked away from him in disbelief when he even came near her, but she sang at times. Merilien had never noticed how soft and smooth Poppy's voice was, a girlish pitch in contrast to Merilien's own deeper timbre. To hear that soft and feminine sound sing of drinking with Hobbits and dangerous ales came as a humorous surprise to the elleth, but still, she would laugh and clap along on occasion.

They were thoughtful and kind when they invited me to drink,
A lone human among hobbitkind.
They bought me a half, then another and one more
And told stories of days long gone by.

I left Hobbiton a few days later.
My head was swollen and sore.
It felt like a dwarven anvil
After a terrible war.

I don't think I'll ever recover
From the food, the drink and the cheer.
Now I swear I'll never drink with hobbits again
At least, not till I see them next year.

What a young girl like her was doing in celebration among Hobbits was beyond the rangers, but they laughed jovially at her song and danced with her. "Much different than when we first saw you two," Arahad said to Merilien, chuckling as he sat beside her.

Merilien smiled in agreement. "It...it brings me great joy to see her so festive."

Arahad nodded and leaned back. "If you'd like, you can dance. We won't be saying anything."

"No, I would rather not."

"I had always thought Elves were rather fond of dances and music...especially a Woodland elf such as yourself."

Merilien glanced at him in questioning. "How did you know that I-"

"I know these things. Been around longer than you think," Arahad replied and tapped his head with one finger. Merilien looked away from him and back at Poppy once more. She shook her head. "Very well, then I shall press you no more."

Poppy moved back to Merilien's side and grew quiet again. It was uncomfortable to the elleth whenever Poppy was too quiet, too brooding as well. The woman took a deep breath and laid her head gently against Merilien's shoulder. The elleth did not protest it and instead wondered if another position could perhaps bring her more comfort.

Her head moved slightly to the side and Merilien could feel the soft flutter of her eyelashes against the slight exposure of her collarbone. Still, the elleth remained rigid. There was something she never did speak to Poppy about, Merilien thought. Elves, she mused, were not very fond of such touches unless received from suitors and lovers. "Why do you touch me that way?" Merilien asked.

Poppy looked up at her. "Do you want me to stop?"

The question caught Merilien off guard and she shook her head. "I am only curious as to why you are so comfortable close to me."

"Oh. Isn't it obvious?" Poppy said, giggling. "You're my friend. Friends are supposed to hug and kiss and comfort each other. A friend who is distant from you, well, that's not a friend at all!"

Merilien raised a brow at this. "What a queer thought."

"So you don't like it when I hug you?"

Merilien stammered for a moment, but shook her head. "No, I do. I only mean that it is strange among Elves. We reserve certain things for our husbands or wives or I suppose lovers."

Poppy huffed and leaned back. "A pitty! That's all that is!"

"How so?"

"Because affection brings us happiness and warmth," Poppy explained. "I know you're happier when someone shows you how much you mean to them. So why reserve that for lovers? Do friends not love each other? Do friends not wish to spend their lives together as well? Do friends not want the best for the other and do you never look at your best friend and think of how lucky you are? When we feel so strongly about them, why can't we show it? A love is a love, each one should get a kiss I say."

Merilien, still confused, took a deep breath and considered what Poppy had said. Poppy approached her and grabbed her hand, speaking once more. "You once told me that there is no greater bond than that between friends. So why do we deny it affection?"

The elleth shut her eyes for a moment in thought and eventually nodded. "No," she said softly. Poppy scooted back, hurt evident in her eyes. "No, you are right," Merilien continued. Merilien pulled off her cloak and set it beside her. With that, she wrapped her arms around Poppy's torso and relaxed when Poppy rested her chin against the elleth's shoulder. "Your affections do mean a great deal to me."

Poppy smiled and gave Merilien a gentle kiss on her cheek before pulling away. There was no confusion among them, only a sort of understanding forged by their experiences of near death and a wandering life together. With another soft laugh, Poppy leaned back against Merilien's arm and stared up at the stars. Merilien spoke about the stars a bit, their light and the way they sparkled. It was always good to share the sight with someone else.

"I'm jealous of you now," Poppy whispered once the rest of the camp was asleep and Toby had closed his eyes in exhaustion.

"Why is that?" Merilien responded.

"Your father was a warrior. He was brave and true, died in battle beside his king to defeat a great evil threatening his wife and children."

"My father is dead."

"My father has been dead to me since my birth, so what difference is there really? Only one: my father was a coward and I hate him. I never wanted to hate him, but I know he's alive now and he never once came to see me or my mother. I hate him, Merilien."

That was it. That was what Merilien waited for from the start, and there it was. Her chest tightened as Poppy let out a soft sob and she instinctively wrapped her arms around the girl. Poppy shook her head and sat up, pulling herself away. "He's alive and he never bothered to visit us, not once. I spent years wondering what was wrong with me and I chose to believe that maybe he had something terrible happen to him. I was wrong. Something terrible happened to me. I was cursed with him as my father!" Poppy cried. "I hate him. I don't want to know anything about him. Why should I when he never cared to know a bloody thing about me? To the pits with him!"

Merilien attempted to whisper the words of comfort she knew, although the pain in Poppy's heart weighed heavily on her own body.

From the distance, Vorondil lied awake and felt his heart sink into his stomach. He had to tell her the truth, he simply had to do it. He could hear Merilien telling his daughter to forget the transgressions the absent father had committed against her family, even if she could not forgive for the sake of her emotional state. To think about the blue windows she so loved and the ten babies she wanted or her gallant Todd Wickerbee. A familiar name, Vorondil thought. Just a boy when he last saw him, no more than two years old. It seemed as if his daughter had fallen in love with him, and he silently hoped this Todd Wickerbee was a better man than he ever was, and less of a coward.

"He never loved me, Merilien," Poppy whispered, weeping against her shoulder. "Why didn't he love me?"

How close Merilien now held her, she couldn't know and didn't care. "It was his loss," Merilien whispered in return. "You are easy to love, Poppy."

"No, I'm not. I'm clearly not. I'm still a stupid, stupid girl whose father never wanted her."

"Your father's decisions have no bearing on your worth. How can you suggest otherwise?"

"Because he left me and never came back. Not once. Not a single time," Poppy wept.

"And you have no fault in that. The fault is on him, his own pitiful judgements are to blame." Merilien pulled back from her for a moment and gripped her shoulders. "I love you."

Poppy stilled for a moment and looked up at Merilien. "And I love you as well, but that doesn't heal what my father did to me. Some wounds need more than just a kiss."

She was right, Merilien thought, and gave her whatever space she needed. Poppy closed her eyes and pushed herself to stop crying, deciding her father wasn't even worth those tears. Alive, he was alive, and he had never thought to see who she had become after bringing her into the world on that Spring evening.

Another fortnight had gone by since Poppy had wept openly to Merilien, but to Merilien's relief, she spoke more now. Poppy had taken the custom of holding Merilien's hand as they walked, something rangers would look upon with interest. This elf was extraordinarily strange, many of the men decided. Even for a silvan elf, Merilien's tolerance of Poppy's open affections was rare. There Merilien was holding the hand of the mortal woman tenderly while the girl spoke of horses and fabrics. The horse she walked was so beautiful, she wondered if she could keep the rugged creature.

The young woman had a great deal to say about fabrics and their sensitivities. Her dress was made of linen, she said. It's resilient to crumpling and very easy on the skin, it was one of her preferred fabrics along with silk and wool. The softness of pure silk was difficult to find in their parts, more commonly they're sent north from the south east. And they had to be cleaned with great care, she recalled many times where they would receive one silken dress from the wealthier halfling women and just how ornery her mother got towards her.

There had been no incidents on the open road, something Arahad found both welcomed and strange. It was likely, some rangers suggested, that orcs would not approach such a large group of men but smaller companies could be facing more combat. They had a group of only ten far more to the west, north of the Grey Havens that encountered goblins. But that was nothing knew, goblins were akin to insects. Everywhere and nothing but a thorn on their side. They would be arriving to Rivendell in only a few more days, where word had already been sent to Elrond of their coming.

Vorondil and Gaeron travelled together as normal, although Gaeron would scowl at Vorondil who hung his head in shame. "Tell the girl the truth," Gaeron said. "Or I shall do it myself."

Vorondil closed his eyes in pain and refused to face the man. "She already despises me, what good can come of it?"

"She is your daughter and she is owed the truth from you."

There was so much Vorondil wished to say to Poppy. He wanted to hold his girl for the first time in twenty years, wanted to tell her of his courtship with her mother and how deeply he loved them, of his duties as one of the Dunedain and plead with her to return to Combe. He had never stopped thinking about them, and his greatest regret was precisely what Poppy had cried over: he had failed to make the journey to see them again. That was his own failure to which he confessed full responsibility.

Gaeron sighed and motioned his horse forward. "I had never thought you a coward until now, Vorondil."

Vorondil took a deep breath and stopped his horse. Getting off, he pulled from his knapsack a small assortment of flowers. He had collected them every morning, and every morning he had the intention of giving them to Poppy. It was a pathetic attempt to warm her up to him, he knew, but it was all he had for now. Charm and good looks had left him long ago, and he had no interest in using either to speak to his own child.

He walked beside his horse until they came to a small rest. It was then that he would do it. Poppy was laughing with her friend about something, some memory she had of a halfling boy standing on a box to reach her height so he may try to court her. It was adorable, she said, and perhaps she would have considered him if the boy had not been Tulip's little brother! The girl was madly protective of him, such a small boy, and Poppy would not dare her.

It pained him in a way to interrupt her good memories and her laughter, but as he gripped the small assortment of flowers in his hand, he knew he had to do what was right. So he moved forward to approach her, and before he was too close, he noticed Merilien whispering something to Poppy.

The girl turned towards him, pain and discomfort already evident on her expression. Merilien stood behind the girl, stoic and resolved. "Poppy," he said softly. The name was still odd to him. "Take this, I collected them for you."

It came as a pleasant surprise that Poppy accepted the flowers and even smelled them. "Thank you," she said and stepped back from him.

"There are things we should talk about, if you don't mind."

Vorondil's eyes drifted to Merilien, who whispered something once more to Poppy before the girl nodded. It seemed the girl was simply agreeing to her absence as Merilien then left and began to brush the horse's mane.

"What is it?" Poppy asked.

Vorondil motioned for her to sit and followed her. He was nervous, she could tell, but she was not going to be the one to ask about her father. "I have not been honest with you," he said. He remembered then what Gaeron had said. The worst roads are best travelled quickly.

Poppy stilled. "What do you mean? Is it about my father?"

"Yes," he admitted. "I know where your father is."

Poppy felt her breath hitch and her arms tense. "Don't bother telling me. I don't care. If he's never cared about where I was, I won't care about where he is now."

"He has cared about where you were. He's thought a great deal about you over the years."

She scoffed. "You don't know what you're talking about. Did he never mention that he hasn't seen me yet since my birth? My mum told me he was gone by the summer, did he tell you that? Hasn't returned yet."

"...I know," Vorondil said softly. "It pains him more than you can understand."

Poppy shook her head, swallowing a sob. "Well if it pained him so much, why isn't he here?!"

"He is."

Poppy's face twisted in confusion and she pushed away from him. "He's here?"

Vorondil nodded. "He is." Vorondil faced her then. Poppy stared at him for a while, noting his tall forehead and square jaw. Both things her mother had said of her father. And then his guilt clouded his eyes and twisted his lips into a pained frown. "I'm sorry."

Poppy dropped the flowers he had given her and stood, pulling further away from him in shock. "You," she whispered, although it sounded more like a whimper. "You're my...you're my-"

He stood and approached her cautiously, although she pulled back suddenly. "I'm your father, Pengwen."

Her eyes widened and she trembled, slowly shaking her head. "You lied to me. You're lying to me."

"I'm not lying, my girl."

"I'm not your girl! You're a stranger! Even if you were my father, you'd still be a stranger."

"I am your father, and yes, I won't stop you from calling me a stranger. I am. But you are my daughter, and I have thought of you every single day-"

Poppy shook her head, picking up the dropped flowers to toss them at him. "Shut up! Shut up, I don't care. You're not telling me the truth. You're lying."

Vorondil approached her once more, and once more she pulled back. "Please, Pengwen, listen to me."

From the short distance, Merilien listened. As if a horse and a few steps south could stop her Elvish ears from listening in on their conversation. At that moment, Merilien felt a new sort of discomfort. She suppressed an amused smile with a vengeance. Poppy's true name...was Pengwen. But on the other hand, the situation at hand was a rather serious one but oh how she wished it had been anything else besides Pengwen.

"Stop calling me that! My name is Poppy! Poppy Appleby! I want nothing of yours!" Poppy shouted, now earning the attention of the other rangers.

Arahad's eyes met with Vorondil and the man nodded towards the other. He instructed his rangers that there was nothing to see there, and to continue their own affairs. They would be riding again soon and there'd be no other stops for the day.

"You have every reason to be angry, Poppy, but please just listen to what I have to say," Vorondil pleaded.

Poppy shook her head. "No! I don't trust you, I don't believe you at all. Everything you say is a lie. Everything!"

"Do you at least believe that I'm your father? Do you believe that much?"

Poppy bit her lip, but soon nodded. "Yes, and I believe that I don't want to talk to you again. Leave me at Imladris and never speak to me again!"

"I want you to go back to your mother in Combe."

"She wanted the same of you for a long time, but neither of us are going to do that anytime soon."

If words could cut, he would have been left without a head and most of his limbs. He winced at her words and hung his head in shame. "I loved your mother-"

"Bollocks! I'm not a child anymore, at least try to come up with something I haven't already read in stories! You loved my mother? Let me guess, you love me too, don't you? You haven't stopped thinking about me every day? You look at the sky and the clouds form into my bloody shape? Is that it?"

"It is!"

"Proper poet, aren't you? Bugger off, whatever you have to say, I'm not interested. Either that, or I've already read it. There are much better wordsmiths than you."

Poppy scoffed and ran off towards her friend, suppressing her urge to cry. Beside him, Gaeron approached Vorondil and folded his arms together. "Still better than I expected," he said casually. Vorondil wanted to glare at him, wanted to pull out a knife and slice his throat, but he refrained and instead continued to stare at Poppy as she left him.

"Not now," Vorondil said.

Gaeron sighed and shook his head. "I still remember Meggy, myself. Raised that child with the same sharp tongue, would you look at that? Really should've thought of something better than what we can already read in stories."

"What do you propose then?"

"How am I supposed to know? I'm not the one who fathered a child with a Bree-woman and then never even sent a letter."

Vorondil scowled. "You know damn well why I couldn't."

"But you could've tried."

Vorondil fell silent. He was right. He could've tried. And that would be something that plagued him every day for the remainder of his life. He should've tried.

She wanted to scream and collapse within her own body. Instead, she fell onto Merilien's arms who embraced her tightly and assured her that she was not wrong in what she did. The wrong one still remains her father, whether that be Vorondil or Who-cares-il. There was no shame in being indignant for the wrongs committed against her and her anger was entirely justified. Once a child is brought into the world, Merilien told her, it is a father's duty to care for them. Should a father fail that duty, he does not deserve to be regarded with the esteem of a father nor does he deserve any respect from his children.

The rest of the day, Poppy refused to even look in Vorondil's direction. She remained besides Merilien, uninterested in the rangers that had rescued her and even more disinterested in the miserable man who called himself her father. He shouldn't have. He was nothing to her. Fathers watched their children grow, father's provided for them and loved their children. Vorondil did nothing of that sort and deserved nothing in return. Vorondil, in kind, did not protest it and accepted that he had been, in a simple sense, a wretched man to his lover and their child.

Throughout the night, Poppy wept while clutching onto Toby. The small dog did not try to wriggle away from her grip, and instead whined gently and licked the girl's face every once in awhile. "You're the only man I love from now on, Toby," Poppy whispered. "All the others are worthless sods."

It reminded Merilien of their first few weeks together, when Poppy often wept for her mother. The young woman cried often throughout their journey, but it was nothing Merilien judged her for. Tears were natural, and the strain their long journey has had on the woman was nothing to be underestimated.

Merilien sat beside Poppy then, remembering the first time she had seen her so frail. "Pengwen?" she asked.

Poppy looked up at her and laughed. "Don't call me that."

"So that is your true name? Pengwen."

"Yes! Now stop it! It's horrible!"

Merilien chuckled and grabbed Poppy's hand once more, meaning to comfort her. "No worse than Poppy, in my opinion."

Poppy laughed again and shook her head in resignation. "While that may be true, at least I like the name Poppy."

"You know, we can always give you a new name."

"A new name?" Poppy asked.

Merilien nodded. "Something besides Pengwen." Goodness, that was a horrid name.

Poppy smiled at her and giggled, allowing Toby off her lap. "Alright, what do you have in mind?"

Merilien looked up at the sky in thought. "Meldis."

"Meldis? What does that mean?" Poppy asked.

"Friend."

A/N: Sorry this chapter felt so rushed and wonky. It's been the most difficult one I've written so far and I hope to do better from here on out. What's so frustrating is that it's an important chapter due to the new name Poppy receives. Poppy and Merilien have a strong platonic relationship, and I thoroughly believe that friendships should be affectionate so I portray them as affectionate towards each other. I also get that vibe from Tolkien so I think it works out, considering Frodo openly kisses Sam lol.