"The world is indeed full of peril and in it there are many dark places. But still there is much that is fair. And though in all lands, love is now mingled with grief, it still grows, perhaps, the greater."

JRR Tolkien

A/N: For more story-related notes that may contain answers to your questions, I encourage you to check out my blog on Tumblr. I go by "le petit creationist" and my blog is called Eryn Lasgalen. Thanks for all your support and feedback thus far, I hope you enjoy this extra long chapter.

She was there, sitting beneath the lonely limbs of barren trees. He walked toward her and thought she'd soon notice him. The snow was thick beneath his boots. He was mildly alarmed by the depth of the snow as he trod through it before he grew accustomed to the feeling. She, on the other hand, did not look at all bothered, perched on a massive tree root.

"You'll catch your death if you stay out here." He said, voice ringing through the clearing. It was something he had heard Men say to one another, wives to their husbands and children. Oropher once encouraged him to learn the ways of other races while they journeyed over the EredHithui through the wilderness toward the old Greenwood. It was folly to say that to her-elves did not succumb to human illness and she was a hardy specimen. Regardless, it felt right by some strange instinct.

She craned her neck to look up at him. Her eyes were vibrant green in the winter light. He did not know how he'd never noticed their true color before. Forest green with tawny flecks.

"No I won't, my lord."

There was no tinge of mockery there even though he deserved it. It was only in the absence of her scalding wit that he realized how much he relished it. Her sharp mind and sometimes unforgiving remarks often piqued him in the beginning of their acquaintance.

Through time and closer understanding, his opinion changed. She was the catalyst of so many changes in him. He perished the thought; he clearly recalled the day he first laid eyes on her as an orphaned young maiden barely past maturity. He remembered her trepidation. The way she strived to earn her place in his Halls, in his ranks, in his regard. They were entirely different people in those days.

He remembered also the way she gave her affection too easily to Dwarven princes with roguish smiles whose lives were just as easily extinguished by sword as sickness. He remembered when she outgrew that naivety, becoming older, wiser and more dangerous. And he remembered, most painfully, how her antipathy toward him evolved into something else and the welcome in her eyes, her touch, was summer to the endlessness of his deep winter. How fitting that she should rest here, where the fire of her hair blazed amid the bluish white.

He lowered himself to sit next to her, leaning against the base of a tree where its roots parted and burrowed into the soil. They did not touch. He could feel her warmth at this proximity. It was unmistakable amid the ice and wind. She was striking, so very young, and he felt every bit as ancient as the twisted trees around them.

Now another memory. It floated to the surface of his thoughts; the funeral of Thorin Oakenshield and his sister-sons. The Noegyl had a saying oft repeated during royal burials: all are from the dust, and to dust all return. He turned the phrase around and around in his head, beautiful as it was macabre.

"If you could make the choice for yourself, barring any and all connection you have with this world, would you choose to sail west?" Before the words left his lips, Thranduil realized he had already asked her this question and therefore knew her answer. She rested her elbows on her knees and pursed her lip in that way of hers, whenever she was weighing her thoughts before responding.

"I was born of this earth and will not willingly go. Some struggle is necessary to appreciate the good in our lives. I realize now that pain is not always something we should run from."

"How can this be a better alternative?" His voice cracked as a bough splinters under a burden heavier than it can bear. "Tell me, wife—when will I be allowed to stop running?"

Looking at her was beyond his present ability. She kneeled before him but he avoided her searching gaze.

"You will have rest, herven nin. Do you remember what you told me? The fortunes of the world will rise and fall but here in this kingdom, we will endure."

His cheeks were wet and the wind was stinging when it blew past. Tauriel ran her thumbs over his cheeks to wipe his tears away-he did not realize that he'd been crying. Only that the merciless force of his grief robbed him of breath and speech. The fires of Angmar claimed Glawardis, Legolas's mother—and on the cold northern plains of Rhovanion at the base of that forsaken mountain, Tauriel Silivren lost her life.

Thranduil opened his eyes to find he'd fallen asleep in the chair beside her. His cheeks were damp as they were in his dream. He lifted his arm and roughly brushed his sleeve over his eyes to dispel the haze of sleep. He wondered if Melethril was similarly plagued by dreams of these sorts, if the pain that had become his defining feature likewise began to take root within her. He strongly hoped not but he knew how futile that hope was in the days of fresh and early grief.

The hanging lamp above was on its last candle. The light flickered, shadows danced over them. He was so very, very tired. Until sunrise he would stay, and then there was ever more work to be done. Minutes turned into hours and Thranduil knew that he was here on borrowed time. As expected, the peace of Tauriel's room was disturbed by a soft rapping of knuckles at the door.

"Enter," Thranduil stated aloud, cringing as his own voice cut through the silence. The door opened to reveal his adviser Lord Tirithon. He wore ceremonial robes of rich damask that befitted the reception of dignitaries. That could only mean one thing.

"My lord," Tirithon began, and Thranduil felt particularly mean-spirited at the interruption of his counsellor who never stopped laboring. He felt foolish in his pared down clothing that he'd arrived in the previous night compared to Tirithon's stately mien. Trivial as it was, the exhaustion combined with a plethora of other emotions kindled Thranduil's temper over the relatively small matter of his vanity.

My lord, the Woodmen require more supplies than expected. My lord the granaries will soon be depleted and we must implement stricter rationing. My lord, Celeborn and his infernal wife are due to arrive. He imagined Tirithon informing him of all these things and would that he could simply respond with all the acerbity he wished to infuse in his reply. Instead, he shoved away his irritation and faced his busybody counsellor.

"Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel await you in the Keep. They arrived at dawn's first light and come bearing gifts. The wizard Radagast the Brown has also arrived from Rhosgobel."

Thranduil withheld an unbecoming snort at that—it sounded like the opening of a bad jest: a Sinda, a Noldo and a Maia walk into his throneroom…A punchline eluded him so he banished his caustic humor and composed an answer before Tirithon truly thought him mad.

"I shall meet them at my leisure—"

Perhaps Tirithon had finally overworked himself and his nerves were frayed beyond all pretense at patience for he cut Thranduil off, clearly annoyed. "My lord, I urge you to make haste."

That was all the justification the king sought to make his displeasure known.

"You forget yourself," Thranduil snapped. "I do not heed their beck and call like one of their own subjects. They have come to meet me and until I am ready, they shall have to wait."

Tirithon's eyes widened at being addressed so rudely by the king. He glanced at the commander's body upon her deathbed and then back at Thranduil. The elven lord inhaled a calming breath and let it go; he could not afford to truly invoke the king's anger before so important an audience.

"Very well, sire. I shall inform them that you will appear shortly."

With that, Tirithon began to withdraw from the room. His mind was already rifling through the numerous platitudes he could offer to the rulers of the Golden Wood that did not seem too blatantly false regarding what delayed the king. He took but a few steps before Thranduil's voice rang out once more.

"Tirithon—your son…He was called Daeron." Thranduil said slowly. His face was nearly stoic again, his eyes bright and inquisitive. The king regretted his curtness as quickly as his temper flared. Tirithon was the ideal courtier and had ever faithfully served him. His father had known Oropher and marched with him out of the West in the early days. Tirithon looked pained at the mention of the name. His fingers curled into his palms to make loose fists before they relaxed again.

"He…he perished, sire." There was pride still in Tirithon's voice, for what Daeron had been. "At his post, guarding the Western Gate. His blood was not spilt in vain for they were able to secure the palace from all breaches." The counsellor's words were so quiet that even Thranduil had to strain to hear.

Thranduil raised his hand over his heart and extended it in sympathy and apology to Tirithon. He remembered Daeron as the upstart who challenged Tauriel for her position as commander in his army. He also remembered how he demoted him after he lost in combat to her. Last he heard, Daeron had been a lowly dungeon guard. It was an embarrassing assignment for a son of nobility but such was the punishment for mutiny.

Tirithon seemed to lose himself in his thoughts. His eyes were fixed on the stone floor.

"My son was a skilled boatwright, sire. Despite what you might think of him. He had talent. There is a small ship he labored upon down by the river, nearly finished. My wife...my wife," his voice suddenly caught, "-she wants to sail West and meet him there. I will stay until my work is done and then we will leave, my king."

Thranduil knew not what to say. It suddenly made sense why Tirithon spent all of his waking hours at some task or other. It was his way of coping, not unlike Thranduil in his habit of keeping constantly occupied. There was guilt in him at the thought that Legolas lived and was coming home while Daeron had fallen in defense of the realm. There was honor in his death and redemption for his defiance though he knew that those words did more harm than good to a grieving father.

"Then it shall be so." Thranduil said. He had no grounds to demand Tirithon remain in Middle Earth if it be his and his wife's ultimate choice to go to the Undying Lands. He would honor all of his subject's wishes.

With a final look of impassivity, Tirithon left the room and closed the door behind him. Thranduil rose and moved close to the bed. He trailed his eyes over Tauriel, letting his gaze linger on her shuttered eyes, the delicate nose and cheekbones, and her lips. Even thusly, she was still beautiful. Her hröa would ever remain so and he would ensure it was protected and cared for.

With difficulty he tore his eyes away and steeled himself to see to his guests.

The arrival of their foreign kindred stirred rumblings of anticipation among the Elves of Mirkwood. The Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood were closer to legend than living beings even among the reclusive Silvan elves of the north. The whereabouts of Caras Galadhon were unknown to many save for Thranduil, whose father so resented the lady's Noldorin influence that he and his people began their northward trek to escape it.

They were also a distraction for his people, who had thus far only dealt with the reconstruction of their realm and the sorrows that accompanied it. So while Thranduil was still not overly fond of them, he was glad of the spectacle they could provide. He and Celeborn were acquainted from their time in Doriath, where the latter was a fair prince. Celeborn's father Galadhon was friend to his own father Oropher. Celeborn praised the design of Thranduil's Halls, as it was reminiscent of the halls of Menegroth. They both admired Elu Thingol and thus shared common cause against the Dwarves but that was an animosity of the past.

Galadriel, on the other hand, was as irritating as Thranduil remembered upon her arrival in Doriath from Aman. Thranduil held his tongue at all that triggered his dislike of her in an effort to be diplomatic—when he felt her gaze boring into him, he took care to shield his mind from her. Whether or not she could sense his recoiling, he did not know precisely. It was disconcerting as it was rare, he admitted, to be in the presence of an elf older than him with a real claim to omniscience.

The four of them, the three Elves with the addition of the wizard Radagast, discussed the terms of agreement with regard to the cleansing of the wood. It began amicably enough, which is to say Thranduil refrained from snide remarks every time Galadriel spoke or gave voice to her opinions. She intended to use Nenya, the Ring of Adamant, to cast out the remaining shadows that were invisible to their eyes and Celeborn would assist in leading more sorties alongside Thranduil to eliminate the Giant Spiders.

After the clearing of the shadows, Galadriel and Radagast would see to the nurturing of the wildlife. The lady's gifts to the kingdom included the seeds of birch trees of Lothlórien. The significance of the birch was not lost on Thranduil. It was a symbol of new life and renewal, and he knew this species of tree would grow far faster than trees untouched by elven magic. They would stand tall by the autumn and be full grown by the next spring. In the elder days, the strains of Yavanna's music may have graced their ears. This day, the signs of the Ainur were too subtle even for Elven senses. Yet the mosses and ferns sprang to life, the Enchanted River no longer bewitched those who fell in it and the shaded paths were free of all illusions that distorted them.

Thranduil grudgingly came to respect Celeborn when he saw his ability in a fight. They and their soldiers made quick work of the weakened spider population, a considerable feat when taking into account the sheer amount of land they had to cover from end to end of Mirkwood. How he hated the name his realm had been dubbed by the rest of the world!

When Galadriel cast her arms upward and spent the remainder of Nenya's waning power, he watched the blinding light erupt from the ring and he trembled when every last hint of Sauron's lingering influence was driven out and doused at last. When they came to inspect Dol Guldur, he imagined the glory of Amon Lanc as it should have been but it left a bitter taste in his mouth. He had no need for opulence in his solitude. He wanted no ownership of his father's former stronghold, so to Celeborn's realm it would pass.

When the cleansing and nourishment of the forest took effect, Radagast called back the animals— a slew of woodland creatures including the insects and birds, frogs that sang near the creeks and rivers, herds of deer and elk, predators ranging from wild lynxes to grey wolves. The purity of the forest resounded throughout as a beacon for all that once inhabited it. Thranduil knew that with more time and direction, all would be as it should. His people need not live in fear any longer. For this, even he could swallow his disdain for the Lady of Lórinand.

The day arrived when the cleansing was done and between themselves, they granted Mirkwood a new name: Eryn Lasgalen, the Wood of Greenleaves. Thranduil took all the northern region as far as the mountains that rose in the forest for his realm; and Celeborn took the southern wood below the Narrows, and named it East Lórien; all the wide forest between was given to the Beornings and the Woodmen. Radagast the Brown was to return to Rhosgobel where he would continue tending to the forest, undisturbed by Man and Elf.

It happened during their return trip toward his Halls when Galadriel halted suddenly and her fair hand flew to her chest. She looked deeply affected by some unseen force and Celeborn went to her, supporting her when she sagged against him. Her gown of white and gold rippled delicately as the wind blew past and perhaps Manwë whispered to her truths that evaded all else who were not attuned as she was.

"She must rest," The silver-haired lord said gravely, "For Nenya's strength has taken much from her and she has expended more than she ought to have."

"No, it is not that," said the lady. Her voice was soft, her bright eyes lifted to rest upon Thranduil. He immediately sensed that she'd come into knowledge that somehow pertained to him but he could only speculate as to what it was. He was in no mood to invite her into his head so his defenses stayed firmly in place. Galadriel knew this. It was in the way she smiled in that all-knowing manner she had long perfected.

"Long have you waited, Thranduil-king, for these shadows to depart your lands at last. Your patience shall be rewarded a thousand times over." Galadriel said directly to Thranduil. Grey-blue eyes clearer than his own bore through him.

"I do not know of what you speak," He responded. It unsettled him the way her eyes shone with the light of awareness that eluded him. "Come, in our Halls you may avail yourselves of sustenance and rest ere the next leg of your journey."

The couple would soon be bound for Gondor to see their granddaughter wed and crowned queen. Celeborn nodded sensibly and moved forward with his wife tucked securely against his side. That smile remained on Galadriel's face though she turned her eyes forward and away from Thranduil, and the Elvenking was relieved for it. The three Elves continued their walk through the wood until they reached once more the caverns of Thranduil's palace.

At the nadir of her aimlessness, Tauriel heard a voice call out to her. She thought she was the lone spirit in the sick-room but she felt a displacement of the air. A shift in the composition, like a gentle rending of fabric hardly noticed. Tauriel turned in a full circle, startled, but found nothing and no one beside her. The healers in the room paid her no mind, they could not see her.

"Who…who are you?" She asked simply. There was no fear in her voice. There was nothing left to fear now.

Before long, she had her answer.

"One who seeks to aid you, and one who has long admired your spirit. Your fëa is steadfast, your heart true, and your hröa still harbors life if you would return to it."

The concept of reincarnation was less abstract to her, these Quenya words that before held little meaning, but she was still impatient at how disjointed everything was.

"Speak not in riddles; they serve neither of us now." Tauriel said hotly. Perhaps it was irrational to be short-tempered with a bodiless voice yet she was. There was soft laughter, so delicate they might have been the sound of precious bells.

"There is purpose left for you in this world. I would see that you remain to fulfill it—but it is your choice, even if you entrusted your happiness to me. You must choose for yourself."

The longer the forest daughter wandered, the farther removed she felt from all around her. She roamed the woods beyond the Halls where she once dwelt—for there was joy in the budding green that held a world of promise. Tauriel watched the progress and lamented that she was not part of it. She knew her husband stayed at her side in the darkest hours of the night. Despite knowing of his constancy, she could not bring herself to witness it. Even at great distance, she heard every anguished breath he took and her inability to console him was to plunge a knife into her heart again and again.

This night, she had the distinct feeling that she was no longer alone.

"Why do you hide yourself? I know you are there." Tauriel called out boldly. The feathery reed grasses at her feet whistled softly as the breeze picked up and the presence grew stronger.

"The music is resilient within you and you will know it when it manifests. There is hope suffusing these lands. It shall be thy pride and glory."

"Who are you?" Tauriel asked urgently. She had taken a path that led out of the dense forest where the trees eventually thinned and revealed a meadow. The purple and blue of the evening sky was illuminated by the infinite light of the stars and moon, unrestrained in their brilliance.

In this clearing, Tauriel envisioned her people in celebration—dancing and singing in laud of the unearthly magnificence. They would ride and hunt and live by starlight ever more. Beneath the Valacirca, Telumendil, and Soronúmë in the silence of the meadow, she knew not where the boundaries lay between earth and heaven, the temporal and extemporal.

"There is life in you yet, and it reaches toward you for your fëato return." That same delicate voice answered, Tauriel could confirm it was the same one she heard in Dale.

"Then tell me, why am I here? Why do I wander listlessly on these paths?"

Among the rustling grasses, there appeared an elven lady of such sublime beauty that Tauriel instantly thought it was Fanuilos descended. She walked in Tauriel's direction with her shining raiment undisturbed by the brush underfoot. When she at last stood but a few paces from Tauriel, she could see her porcelain features framed by golden hair. She was somehow familiar though they had never met before.

"I am sent as a messenger by the Valië whom I serve. My mistress has long known of your plight, forest daughter." Her voice was lilting and kind, she used the same dialect of Sindarin spoken in these parts. Tauriel knew that it was no great mystery on whose behalf this lady had come.

"It must be Elbereth Gilthoniel that you serve, and her husband Manwë. I would ask an audience with them that I may be heard directly. I ask for a chance to fairly represent myself before them." She was both afraid and determined to ask for a trial before the Valar. There was nothing for her to lose by simply asking though this was a different kind of battle that seven hundred years of training in arms and combat did not come close to preparing her for.

The lady's head dipped in a regal nod. On her lips played a smile that spoke of neither condescension nor delight. It was serene, the essence of the evening personified.

"Yes, child. You elected to stay in Arda, and my mistress has heard your entreaty. You have been delayed here in this state while your case was argued among the Valar. I have served them for nigh on two thousand years when I first came to their realm." There was a subtle inflection in the voice. There was more to this tale and Tauriel was compelled to know it.

"How did you come into her service?" She inquired bluntly.

"I was known by the name of Glawardis when once I walked in Arda as you did, and I called the same place home. In those days it was known as the Eryn Galen and I ruled over it with my husband. I bore a son to him and we lived happily until the time came when I had to choose, as you do now."

Tauriel contemplated the words. She now truly knew to whom she spoke and the knowledge caused an avalanche of realization. She feared retribution for stealing what was perhaps not hers to claim. Was that why her fëa was homeless, neither welcome in Aman nor Arda?

"I'm so...so sorry, if ever I have caused you grief in my weakness." For ultimately it was her weakness that led her to initiate the wedding vows that bound her to Thranduil without regard to his previous union. They had not known in the moment whether or not the Valar would bless their union. Tauriel did not expect to ever discover exactly if their marriage was acceptable by those faraway deities but evidently it had been recorded among them.

"Hush and be at peace, I have long been parted from him and our marriage is dissolved by my refusal to become incarnate once more." Said the elven queen in reply. How strange it was to have one's questions answered and panic alleviated without speaking, Tauriel thought to herself.

"Then have I committed a crime against Mandos's statute? Is Thranduil condemned too?" She asked with sudden anxiety.

"No, for I chose to go to Valinor and remain because I saw the tapestry of Vairë. The threads of Thranduil's fate and mine ran parallel until mine changed its course. Yours and his have since come together and cannot be undone. Her maidens have woven them intricately together but it will be a great many years before your parts in the tapestry are finished."

"If you bore great love for Thranduil and…and Legolas, I do not understand why you would elect to stay in the Undying Lands rather than be with them." Tauriel's questions arose like rapidly loosed arrows and she was incapable of stopping them from leaving her lips.

"There was great love between Thranduil and I but the threads of our lives took us on paths we could not take together. For mine was the choice of Míriel, and it is consolation enough to know I will soon be reunited with my son. Legolas will hear the gulls at Pelargir and the sea-longing will kindle in his heart."

Tauriel could not process what she was hearing. Legolas was destined to sail but his father was not. Now the reason for Thranduil's silence regarding his first marriage became eminently clear. He did not grieve for her death—he had grieved that she refused to return to him. There was no obstacle or hindrance to a second union and the statute of Mandos remained unviolated.

"As I've said before, my lady petitioned on your behalf for she has heard your plea and in her compassion asked Manwë to dissuade Namo from taking you into his Halls. It has been decided between the three that you shall return, for a sundering of a union so new is far too cruel for a child of Ilúvatar."

She fell to the ground prostrate but did not feel the solid earth under her as she was filled with boundless gratitude. She almost could not trust it—the moment was surreal in how Glawardis was the chosen messenger from Elbereth.

"My lady, I thank you and your mistress from the very depths of my fëa for this compassion."

The gentle breeze sped into a stronger gust, and the elven queen's voice rose in volume far mightier than expected from a being so slender and fair. Her voice resounded through the meadow and the power of it was like a great wave that built and crashed over Tauriel.

"Arise, Silivren! Thou shalt return for thy final task is yet unfulfilled. You will bring hope to the Eldar, for all but the Silvan of the North shall soon come to Aman. But of those who stay, you will raise among them hope the likes of which none have seen for millennia."

And it showed in her face that she still did not comprehend what it all meant, so Glawardis smiled and said, "Tumnë talmar rahtainë nixenen umir. Yúlallo nárë nauva coivaina, cálë lómillon tuiuva."

This speech was in an archaic dialect she did not understand. It was too beautiful for her not to be moved despite her lack of comprehension. Through Glawardis spoke Varda Elentári, Elbereth Gilthoniel, and she knew she'd been graced by a power beyond anything she could hope to experience.

The air suddenly warmed in the meadow, it became a fount of invisible energy that diffused throughout and even Tauriel's fëa was not immune. The cleansing of the wood by Nenya eliminated the final barrier; the rip in the gossamer between worlds reformed its ethereal seam. It parted now and Tauriel's will was not her own anymore. Her spirit was drawn back toward her body, she viewed the world from a multitude of perspectives, over rock and glade she flew toward the depths of the Halls—it was frightening and she did not understand until she inhaled sharply and she realized she was looking up at a hanging lamp indoors rather than the evening sky.

Tauriel looked down and saw her body clad in green silk robes with the ring at her neck though it fell to the side as she struggled to sit up. Emotion and sensation were returned to her in their excruciating fullness, the flesh where her wounds had been was healed but there was a jolting pain in her middle that elicited a small moan of discomfort. She looked up and saw Thranduil, seated at her bedside with a wine-skin in his hand which he quickly set down when he saw her move. His eyes were wide and incredulous, and she was so disoriented that she almost couldn't believe it either.

"Ni veren an dhe ngovaned," He whispered. His voice had been unused for the length of his vigil in her room. He had no other words for her—his shock rendered him utterly silent. There was reluctance in the way he came closer to her, like he'd become accustomed to tricks of the light and his own imagination combined with his visceral longing for her taunting him with false visions.

Gingerly sitting up, Tauriel opened her arms and he fell against her. She held him securely as he went slack with wordless gratitude and took a shuddering breath that became a sob against her collarbone. He was wine and tears and heartache—the ever familiar sandalwood and sage—and she cradled him in her arms and stroked his back through the storm of his relief, her own tears streaming down her face.

"There was something I had to rectify, lest your accusation prove true." She said slowly as if testing her voice. She smiled at him in a way he never expected to see again. The dimples formed in her gaunt cheeks and all he wanted to do was to kiss those imperfections for their presence meant she was alive and so very real.

"To what are you referring?" He ran a gentle hand over her forehead and then down to cup her cheek in his warm palm, his thumb ran over the slight indentation that he'd been previously thinking of.

"I..left without permission." She saw his confusion and clarified further, "My most exasperating tendency."

And when he remembered his own words quoted back to him, he barked a short, harsh laugh. The sound turned into something grievous and raw, he was dazed beyond measure at seeing her eyes vivid green once more. When the force of his shock eased, she kissed his cheek and whispered to him, "All of my life has been war and running and running. But you…you feel like peace. You will have rest, my husband, and I have been sent back for reasons yet unknown to me."

NOTES:

Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;

Tumnë talmar rahtainë nixenen umir
Yúlallo nárë nauva coivaina,
Cálë lómillon tuiuva

The above clue is taken from the Riddle of Strider, translated into Quenya, courtesy of fenxshiral on Tumblr. This will be important throughout the remaining chapters.

Sindarin translations: (from Southern Sindarin dialect phrasebook at realelvish dot net )

1) Noegyl – Dwarves

2) Ered Hithui – early Sindarin name of the Misty Mountains

3) Herven nin – my husband

4) "Ni veren an dhe ngovaned." - I am joyous to see you

5) Valacirca, Telumendil, and Soronúmë – Quenya names for important stars/constellations

"All are from the dust, and to the all return." Ecclesiastes 3:20 (I'm Catholic and I wrote part of this on Ash Wednesday in February, this quote seemed very fitting for this fic)

I relied on the following excerpt from the essay "Death in Tolkien's Legendarium" by Amaranth as the basis for this chapter.

After a time of waiting in Mandos's halls, the Elvish fëa may, if it chooses, be reincarnated in a hröa identical to the one in which the fëa was formerly housed. The Valar were given permission and power by Eru to see to the construction of a new hröa for the 'houseless' fëa, and they can judge that a fëa may not be reimbodied, or at least not yet, in certain situations. Normally, the reincarnated Elf remains in Aman. Only in special cases is the Elf sent back to Middle-earth, generally because they have some task yet to complete there.

This section is a direct quote from LOTR wiki: Thranduil took all the northern region as far as the mountains that rose in the forest for his realm; and Celeborn took the southern wood below the Narrows, and named it East Lórien; all the wide forest between was given to the Beornings and the Woodmen.