It is not long before Thranduil remembers.

The Lórien messengers, and the battle preparations, and the Woodland horn warning, and the unexpected attack. He soon remembers it all, save for his injury. I tell him what I know, the good news and the bad, and more than once I try to prevent him from leaving. It is not in his nature to stay sequestered in a bed while others pick up the pieces of his broken kingdom. I reassure him my father is acting in his stead, but it does little to calm him.

I wish to know how it is possible he lives, and how he heard me beyond death, but it seems I shall have to wait. His mind is intent on his kingdom rather than his journey back to the living. The few moments we shared after I woke were only a few heartbeats in time. When his memory returned, so did the King.

Feeling awkward, I make to leave his bed, but he reaches out a hand to keep me. I do not ask why, but I guess perhaps he needs the close comfort of a friend.

"The enemy would have breached the keep doors if not for you," I say, hoping he will realize he has already done his kingly duty. "I was there, mellon. I heard the wood crack and groan. You died for it…"

"It was not enough. Far too many lives have been lost. We are not strong enough to withstand another attack."

I prop myself on my elbow and look down at him. "I do not believe they have the number to return a second time. The other half of their army went to Lórien. Perhaps Lady Galadriel's power has defeated them by now."

"I hope you are right."

He winces as he makes a sudden movement. I know his pain must be agonizing for him to cast aside his usual stoicism. Remembering the clear liquor Ada set on the side table, instructing me to give it should he wake, I leave the bed before he can stop me again.

"Drink." I hand him the flask.

He studies it and holds it up to his nose. "Miruvor."

Miruvor is a reviving cordial of the Eldar which has power to grant renewed vigor and strength. I know it will not give him the ability to leave his chambers, but I hope it will lessen his pain for a time.

I smile, and sit down by his hip. "From my father."

"He was here?"

"For a long while. Our vigil lasted through the night. We both had a part in your healing, though we cannot claim to be the reason you are still here. For that miracle you must thank the Valar. Your wound was too deep for Athelas alone to heal…"

Having finished the Miruvor, he returns the flask to the table and then moves his eyes to mine, his expression unreadable. It is not the first time I am unable to decipher him.

"What is on your mind?" I finally ask, giving up the attempt.

"That you look like you have not slept in days."

"You, my lord, look like you have been to the Halls of Mandos and back."

It was meant as a jest, but not even a trace of a smile touches his mouth. I duck my head. It was a poor choice of words, and I blame it on my exhaustion, and my emotions being dragged through the length of the Anduin.

I open my mouth to apologize, but Thranduil finds his voice first.

"Rîneth-"

The door opens, and my father strides in. His solemn eyes widen at the sight of Thranduil awake, and his face breaks into an uncharacteristic broad grin which shows his teeth. His relief is palpable, cutting through the room's chill.

"My king!" He bows.

"Gailon, I am forever in your debt," Thranduil says weakly, and readjusts his position on the bed to appear more presentable. "And Rîneth's. What you have both done -"

"I cannot accept your gratitude, though I did what I could," he interjects. "From the very moment they carried you through the keep doors, it was my daughter who was at your side. Lord Ferdir told me she was adamant about saving you, and even heard her yelling orders at your youngest guard."

I feel a flush of warmth cover my face as they both look at me. Thranduil's eyes flicker with what I recognize as amusement.

"Just because I do not often raise my voice does not mean I am incapable of it. It was a dire situation." I look pointedly at Thranduil. "I feared your spirit to be passing on. Time was the enemy."

"It was, without doubt." Ada approaches the bedside and touches his friend's shoulder. "How are you feeling?"

It is now time. I cannot wait a moment longer to tell him about Thranduil's return from death. I inhale deeply before forming the words. I still can hardly believe it happened.

But Thranduil lightly brushes his fingers over my hand in a subtle message, silencing me. He obviously knew what I was about to say. I throw him a questioning glance, but his eyes are focused on my father. I do not understand. Why would he not wish his advisor and friend to know about his miraculous return to the living?

"Never mind how I am feeling," says Thranduil. "Tell me everything you know."

Appearing oblivious to our silent exchange, Ada lowers himself to the bedside chair and begins to speak. The casualties of the night were many, but not as many as first feared. The villagers who escaped into the northern forest are still unaccounted for. Ada is stubborn in keeping hope for their safe return.

I have a sudden remembrance of the twin children I saw after the horn gave its warning, as our world and everything within it was changing forever, and I hope with all my heart they found safety.

"Many are now tending to the wounded. Most shall recover with time and healing. The Woodland Realm endures, my lord."

"As it always has," I whisper.

Thranduil has kept his silence during the detailed account, but upon Ada reaching the end of it, he closes his eyes in what appears to be pain. I suspect it is no longer due to his wound.

"Would you like some more Miruvor?" Ada asks.

He declines with a brisk wave of his hand. When he opens his eyes again, he averts his gaze to an unknown point on the wall. "Have a message sent to Legolas, wherever he may be, though he will not receive it well."

Legolas. Fear strikes me like a balrog's fiery whip. I do not know if he is even alive. I have heard nothing of the Fellowship or their mission. If the Halfling does not accomplish what he set out to do, there will be many more battles to come. We will certainly not win them all.

"Of course." My father stands. "I believe it is best for you to rest and allow these tidings of war and death to settle in your mind. Sleep would be prudent, if you can manage it."

Ada gives me a pointed look, and I nod in understanding. Yes, it is best I leave, if only for a little while.

888

The large cavern hall, which was barren and silent in despair the last I saw it, is now teeming with hundreds of injured, and perhaps a hundred more tending to them. The air appears to carry a soft glow from the healing power of my kin, containing a warmth which travels through my blood and strengthens my still-weak body.

I walk carefully through the maze of bodies, my eyes searching for faces I recognize. Not far from Thranduil's empty throne I see Gwendes' mother beside her husband. Her eyes are reddened from crying.

I kneel down beside her and reach out my hand to touch Tadion's arm. He is alive but sleeping.

"How does he fare?" I ask.

"I do not know how it is possible, but in time he will be fine." Gilrin's almond eyes fill with tears, and she shakes her head as if to clear them. "I had believed he was dead. When I saw him breathing, I could not trust my vision…"

"He is stronger than you know." I look over his body, and see no wound or blood. "What happened to him?"

"Lord Feren told me it was a cave troll. It lifted him and then dropped him from a great height. The bones in his legs are broken in several places, but his heart beats stronger than it ever has."

I notice his legs do not lie straight. I inwardly wince. If Tadion was of a different race, he would perhaps never walk again. It is not the first time today I am thankful the Eldar have been given the gift of recovery from grave wounds.

"I have remembered your husband through the long night. I am relieved to see he is alive," I say. "Where is Gwendes?"

"I do not know. She left shortly before you came."

Where else would she be? Perhaps she decided to help the other injured while her father sleeps. I leave Gilrin and continue a slow walk through the halls, inspecting the faces of the wounded and pausing to speak words of encouragement.

I kneel down by an auburn-haired lady I recognize as the chandler's youngest daughter. Her wounds have been tended to, but her face and neck are still marred with dirt from when she fell while fleeing with her children. I find some water and linen and wipe away the dirt. I doubt my words offer much comfort, but she seems to appreciate my feeble effort.

"Where are your children, my lady? Should I search for them?"

She shakes her head weakly. "Inuhel and Ianion are sleeping with the other children in a nearby chamber. A guard is watching over them."

"Are…are they twins?"

"Yes, my lady."

I smile, and feel a warming flood of relief that they are safe. Though my mind and heart have been focused on Thranduil through the night, I have wondered about the fate of the children, and many others I know and love.

Ferdir is also among the living, the only evidence of injury a jagged gash a mere fingertip under his eye. His usual sideways grin makes an appearance when he sees me, and he walks over to meet me halfway.

"Lady Rîneth," he greets warmly. "Please accept my apology for…earlier. I had just been in the heat of battle, and-"

"There is nothing to forgive. I, too, was not in my normal frame of mind. In a life and death situation one cannot be expected to act their usual self. I am glad you were there to help carry him."

His expression becomes somber. "How is he?"

"He woke not long ago. His injury is grave, but I believe the danger is over."

Ferdir exhales a relieved, ragged breath. "I witnessed it from the start, Rîneth. It is little wonder where Legolas learned his acrobatics while fighting. I have never seen anything like it. If not for him, the battle would have turned the other way, and perhaps none of us would be alive."

I feel a surge of tingling warmth. It is one thing to hear it from an admiring young guard, but quite another to hear it from one of Thranduil's skeptics.

"Every soldier here knows it was the King's victory."

"Tis high praise coming from you," I say. "You have not always thought so highly of him."

"I do not deny it," he admits. "I did not have the respect for him I should have. But then I witnessed him fight, ploughing through the enemy with no effort, as though it is something he does daily before the evening meal."

I stifle a laugh. "He does not like to be reminded, but he is very old. He has had much practice."

"Time and again I heard my father speak of his legendary skill in battles of old, the battles they fought in together. But all I could see was a vain ruler who hid in his caves."

"Most who do not know him believe the same. It is ironic since he had a similar view on you, believing you too arrogant to fight for your people. At least you have proven him wrong."

Ferdir has the decency to look sheepish. "I hope you are right. Soon I shall be residing in his kingdom. After Lórien came under attack my aunt and uncle said they could endure no more. If they survive, they will make their journey to the Havens, and I shall leave the Golden Wood. But I must return for a short time to say farewell."

"I look forward to you not leaving us again."

"I do as well," says another voice, high and soft.

I turn to see Caewen approaching with a smile as wide as her petite face, her dewy eyes fixed on Ferdir as though he is the only one present. When he pulls her in his arms, someone could tell me the Misty Mountains had turned to dust and I would believe them. He kisses the top of her golden hair before loosening his embrace.

Feeling bewildered, I can only stare at them. It takes a few moments to find my voice again. "Are you…"

"Yes," Caewen answers, her smile unwavering. "I apologize we kept it from you, but it was not without reason. We have been betrothed for a long time."

I look at Ferdir, my mind running in a hundred different directions despite my fatigue. "The harp. You were both playing a cruel jest on me. Why should you have kept it a secret? I see nothing wrong in this union…"

"My aunt does not approve. She has an elleth hand-picked for me in Lórien, one with great nobility," Ferdir explains calmly. "An instant refusal would have caused a rift between myself and my aunt."

"Then why did you not come to live here?"

Ferdir glances away, rubbing the back of his neck. "I am…to acquire a large inheritance once they leave. It will be more than enough for Caewen and I to live comfortably for our duration here. And while silver is not everything, the world is changing…the Men run on currency instead of good will…"

"So you were afraid you would not receive the inheritance should you leave them?"

He nods, still not meeting my eyes. "I have been waiting for them to depart before letting our betrothal be known. Now that it is happening so soon, I do not feel the need for us to stay in secrecy among friends."

It is now obvious why Caewen stayed so long in Lórien, and why she returned home so suddenly. Countless things I once found confusing begin to make sense. I shake my head and fight the childish urge to roll my eyes. All such trouble for an inheritance of silver…

"I did not wish for you to suspect anything in the slightest; your friendship with nobles and King Thranduil put us at great risk of the secret being quickly exposed," Ferdir continues. "I tried my best to lead your thoughts astray, but I felt guilty for it. I tried telling you before I left for Lórien, but-"

"I see."

I wonder if Caewen is aware how often her betrothed insulted her to keep up the act. It would be unkind to mention Ferdir's overt use of flirtation to deceive me, but if I was not so tired perhaps I would do so regardless. Not only had he lied, he had slandered the King's reputation, causing me to go against my nature and boldly ask Thranduil if he had given Caewen the harp.

I had believed Thranduil's disdain towards Ferdir had everything to do with him choosing to live with his aunt and uncle in Lórien instead of returning to his homeland and his father. But now I wonder if Thranduil suspected this deception from the beginning.

"I apologize, Rîneth. I hope you will forgive us in time," he says, visibly uncomfortable at the sudden barrier I have erected between us.

Caewen nods vigorously. "We would never have deceived you otherwise."

I remember Lady Aethel, and I know this news will bring her a wealth of deserved happiness. For her sake alone I force a smile and hold my tongue. But I am unsure if I can ever trust them again, regardless of their seemingly harmless intentions.

The day has been far too long and I have been through far too much; I do not wish to continue the exchange further.

"I wish I could say I understand fully. Nevertheless, I wish you both every happiness."

I make my way back through the sea of bodies. My legs are barely able to hold me up, and my mind is in an overwhelmed whirl. Before I turn to leave the main hall, a glimpse of strawberry hair catches my eye.

Gwendes is kneeling beside someone with a familiar face. Her hand is resting on his chest. He appears injured but is speaking to her ardently, his focus far away from his wounds. My chest constricts when I realize it is Sírdor, her gardener friend.

This time I do not have to force a smile.

A/N: A huge thank you to everyone who is reading and reviewing, and also to my guest reviewers: sleeplittleadult, Mahiai, Amanda, and the unnamed ones. ;D