A few hours passed before Legolas had his second visitor (Firlowen came in at certain intervals). Tauriel was very distressed, and wanted to see how Gilrael was doing.

Legolas sighed sadly. "Not much better, I'm afraid. The singing helped, but I'm not sure it will heal her entirely."

Tauriel gazed at the still-unconscious elleth, then suddenly asked, "Can you sing the tale of Luthien and Beren?"

Legolas blinked. "What?"

The elfling peered at him. "Don't you know it? Naneth used to sing me that, before she…"

Legolas nodded. "I know it. Tis a lovely song, but I'm not sure I can manage it, with Gilrael –"

Tauriel giggled. "Do you love her? Like Beren loved Luthien?"

Legolas flushed to the points of his ears, and Tauriel laughed more. "Come! Sing it!"

Suddenly, Gilrael stirred, and the elfling stopped laughing. The elleth stilled.

Legolas frowned. "I…think laughter helps. Do it again!"

Tauriel crossed her arms. "I can't just laugh on command!"

Legolas heaved a sigh. "Will singing the tale of Luthien Tinuviel make you laugh?"

She gave a sly grin. "Maybe."

With that, the prince began the song, and Tauriel promptly burst into giggles.

Legolas faltered, and stopped. "Am I that bad?"

The elfling leaned against the wall, laughing. "Oh, this is hilarious! You, a hardened warrior, singing so beautifully, like an angel!" And she was off.

Legolas rolled his eyes, but caught his breath when he saw Gilrael stir again.

She groaned, and mumbled something. Legolas leaned forward eagerly, holding her hand while Tauriel quieted and watched. But again, Gilrael stilled.

The next time the elfling laughed (which Legolas found easy to do), Gilrael did not move a single centimeter, though her breathing stayed normal.

Tauriel placed her elbows on the bed with her chin in her hands, and announced, "I think a kiss will heal her."

Legolas shrugged. "Kiss her if you want to."

The elfling threw her head back and laughed, like ringing bells. "Oh, Eru, you are so funny! I'm not kissing her! You are!"

The prince reddened. "Why?"

Tauriel clapped her hands. "Have you never read the tales? True love's kiss will heal the sick princess!"

Legolas crossed his arms. "Two things. First, I'm not her true love. Second, she's not a princess!"

"If she marries you she is."

Legolas glared at her. "Why would you think she loves me? She doesn't remember me! She thinks I'm just a convenient rescuer, nothing more! And why am I speaking to you of this? You're just, just…"

But he could say no more, for Tauriel stared at him with teary emerald eyes. "I'm just an elfling," she miserably announced.

Standing, she sniffled. "I'm sorry, Legolas. But I'm just trying to help. Why wouldn't she love you? You saved her life. You are skilled and talented. You are handsome and kind. You clearly care for her. What more could an elleth want?"

A stunned Legolas watched the elfling walk out.

He took a deep breath. Under usual circumstances, he would climb his favorite tree and sob into the branches, or stare out into the woods. But he couldn't leave Gilrael.

Legolas gazed at her beautiful face. Did he love her? He had never truly loved anyone before, except Naneth. But with Gilrael…he could imagine spending eternity with her, on the shores of Valinor with no worry, no pain. Did she feel the same?

Either way, Legolas couldn't kiss her. Not that he didn't want to, particularly, but it was for married couples. A special thing. And he didn't even know if it would work.

The Sinda stroked her hand, pale and still by her side. Like death. An overwhelming feeling that she would die washed over him, an instinct so dependable he relied on nothing else.

Swallowing, Legolas felt tears grow, but he blinked them back. His hands went to her face, which he cupped in them. He leaned his head in, so it was touching her forehead, but he didn't kiss her. At least not on the lips.

"Oh, Gilrael! I couldn't bear it if you died! Please, awake. Open your eyes, your beautiful, golden and brown eyes, so I can see you looking at me one last time…my…love."

Legolas gently kissed her forehead, staring at her closed eyes. But suddenly, she flinched, and groaned. "S-Sauron…stop."

The prince frowned, and Gilrael's eyes fluttered open. She blinked. "You are…right in front of my face."

Legolas laughed. He couldn't help it. He collapsed on top of her, hugging her tightly, exclaiming for joy.

"Gilrael! You live!"

When he finally drew back, sitting with his legs on the bed with a bright smile on his face, she wasn't happy. At least, she didn't look it.

A stunned expression was on her face. "You mean…you kissed me. You kissed my forehead."

Legolas pursed his lips. "I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"Don't apologize!" Gilrael gasped, taking in quick, short breaths. "I…can hardly believe it! You really do care for me!"

The prince frowned. "Of course I do."

She looked up at him. "No one has ever cared for me, at least in my memory."

"What about your parents? Or your mother? You remembered her."

Gilrael shook her head. "I know of them. And I know her name. But I don't really know them."

Legolas glanced down. "What about me?"

She reached up, and laid a hand on his shoulder. "I remember you, Wenyalasse."

Legolas widened his eyes. "Your…made-up name for me. 'Greenleaf.' Literally."

Gilrael smiled. "Suits you. Especially if you had green hair."

His eyes danced. "You remember me! You're not so lost after all!"

The elleth dropped her hand, and rubbed her shoulder. "Maybe not lost, but still recently freed from captivity. I have much to learn, and much to heal and fix. Many lands have I traveled, leaving destruction and turmoil in my wake. Glurdag they hate. Gilrael, I hope they will come to know. Legolas, it has been so long!"

She reached up, and Legolas bent down to hug her. He was overjoyed for her consciousness, and hoped with time she would be fully healthy. He knew she would.

Suddenly, Firlowen burst into the room, and exclaimed, out of all things, "This is so cute! Should I get the palace painter to sketch the pose?"

Legolas leapt up, and yelled, "That's where Elladan and Elrohir were last time! With you!"

Gilrael turned to the side, and smiled.

The messenger widened his eyes. "Gilrael! You live!"

The elleth gasped. "No, I don't! Oh, Legolas, I forgot! Come here!"

The prince was by her side in a second, as she panted, "The poison…it's still working. I woke because of the contact on my face, and because Sauron apparently had other things to do, but you must listen to me or I will choose to fade than endure the pain and eventual death."

Gilrael took a deep breath as Legolas scanned her face worriedly. "Yes? You know how to heal yourself?"

Firlowen sprinted out of the room. "I'll get Iriador and Solwen if he's done with Galion's daughter."

Gilrael nodded. "Good. Legolas, remember my Morgul blade your father showed us?"

"The one he dropped?"

She nodded again. "Get that."

"Why?"

"JUST DO IT!"

Legolas stood quickly. "Right! I'll see if it hasn't been destroyed yet."

"Unlikely," he muttered as he rushed through the halls.

…

Gilrael's only emotions were anger and fear. Fear of Sauron, and anger towards everyone else. But that was before she had stumbled upon Legolas, or rather, he had found her.

Gilrael had, of course, expected to meet with him when she first set out into the Greenwood, but she hadn't expected memories of him to come flooding back. And with Legolas, others connected to him.

A tall, golden haired ellon. A Balrog-slayer. What had Etrielle said? Glorfindel won't be happy to hear that. Glorfindel. Gilrael tried to remember more, but she could only capture his hair. And smile. She had admired him.

Then there was an elfling, a young one about Tauriel's age. She was beautiful, even as a young elleth, and Gilrael recalled playing with her. Protecting her from…her brothers.

Twins. Legolas had shouted…Elladan and Elrohir. They liked to play pranks. Gilrael was sure of that.

But she could remember nothing more, other than all of those elves lived in a place called Imladris. Streams.

Gilrael clenched her fists. Sauron took those golden memories away from her, and pretended to be her protector. There were no words to describe her hatred.

Legolas suddenly came running in, loud as a dwarf. "I fear it is no more! My father has done away with it. He deems it as a black claw, clenching around his heart. He will not allow it."

Gilrael sighed. Now she remembered that the Sinda tended to be quite dramatic when he was distressed.

"I thought as much. But in the closet, underneath the rug, is another Morgul blade. Not as powerful, but it'll work."

Legolas promptly returned with the knife, holding it carefully by the hilt. "You carry weapons like these?"

Gilrael exhaled slowly as she took it from him. "Worse weapons, but yes."

Legolas sat on the bed next to her. "What are you going to do with it?"

The elleth rolled up her sleeve just as Firlowen and Iriador rushed in and heard her say, "I am going to stab myself."

Iriador gasped. "You're not serious!"

Firlowen remarked, "She looks serious."

Gilrael snapped, "I am serious!"

Legolas frowned. "You do know that a Morgul blade is-"

"Powerful, Legolas. Very powerful."

The prince stared at her. "Yes, in a bad way."

Gilrael took a deep breath. This was the only solution she could think of, but she knew it was risky. Dangerous. Deadly if she didn't do it right.

"Legolas, I need you to sing."

"Sing? Is it…magical?"

Gilrael glared at him. "No! It just…soothes me. It's comforting."

Firlowen grinned, but Iriador knit her eyebrows. "There must be another way, dear."

Gilrael ignored her, and without another word, plunged the knife into her forearm.

She screamed, a chilling shriek that pierced the heart of every elf in the palace.

…

Firlowen swallowed as he accepted a terrified Iriador into his arms, who was crying for Rychell.

Legolas, the most experienced warrior, merely winced, and closed his eyes as another shriek sounded, and Gilrael thrashed and swore.

At least she was still conscious enough to hurl every insult she knew to both Roquen and Sauron. The latter in particular.

But it did not last. When Iriador ran off to find her husband as Firlowen went to tell the king, Legolas' spirits plummeted as Gilrael stilled, no longer visibly breathing. The prince fell on top of her, sobbing. She was dead, and he was quickly fading.

…

Gilrael didn't know where she was. It was a large hall, detailed in its decoration, with a shimmering light of dark blue. A very tall being stood in front of her, long hair glistening silver, with grand robes embroidered with stars.

"Welcome to the Halls of Mandos."

The elleth gasped, and took a step back. "M-my lord Mandos?"

The Valar nodded slightly, and Gilrael widened her eyes in despair. "Am I dead?"

Mandos' sapphire eyes glimmered. "Not quite. Someone with great power is holding thy spirit to Ea, and pleaded with Manwe to send thee here, to my halls, rather than the pits of Morgoth, where thou would have gone otherwise. Curiously, Manwe accepted that request almost immediately, and here thee stands."

Gilrael frowned. "I am not dead but I am in the Halls of Mandos? How can this be?"

The Valar nodded. "Strange, indeed. To be honest, I have no idea what to do with thee, unless thee would like to go to Valinor?"

Gilrael curtsied, finding herself dressed in a glowing gown of golden. "I must deny that offer, my lord. I am needed in Arda."

Mandos sighed. "I thought as much. What Manwe should have done was deal with thee himself, but…"

The Valar's eyes suddenly shone with realization. "Ah, I see know. Tis a very unusual, improper command, but it is the Lord Manwe. I will do as he wishes."

Gilrael was afraid. "W-what is it?"

Mandos stared down at her. "Thou art right. Thy knowledge is needed in Arda, and thy experience. Sauron will do more damage if he knows thou art here. Just remember this, fair maiden."

Gilrael frowned. "Yes?"

The Valar leveled his eyes at her. "There is greater evil than Morgoth himself, and all his evil combined. Beware Nura Dúaith."

A great wind swept the halls, and Gilrael's hair billowed behind her. The Valar raised a hand in farewell, and the elleth found herself falling, down, down, into Nura Dúaith. Deep Darkness.