At the Edge of Lasg'len

by AnnEllspethRaven

A Thranduil story like you've never seen, set in modern day Ireland. As of Chapter 11, co-author Spamberguesa joins me in co-authoring this story. We both hope you enjoy this non-canonical adventure :-) Our story is published primarily on An Archive of Our Own, same username...NEW CONTENT IS ALWAYS RELEASED FIRST ON AO3!

38. Chapter 38

The second they stepped out of the elevator to round the corner and enter the lobby, heads snapped around at the sight of them. Earlene had called down to the concierge while they were getting ready, to have a cab waiting; this was not a time they were going to muck around standing on the sidewalk. She approached him regally, discreetly offering him a tip while his eyes widened at the sight of her obviously very real jewels. "Right this way, ma'am," he breathed, pocketing the money and very formally gesturing for them to follow him. "Your destination?" he politely inquired.

"One57", she replied, reminding herself to keep a straight face at the not so slight way in which the man's eyes bulged.

"Of course."

He held the cab doors for the women as they entered the back seat with Thanadir, and then for the King as he took the front. While Earlene had experienced hundreds of cabbies in her time, she noticed right away a certain elegance of deportment with this driver, and was pleased. The concierge clearly knew his business. In a way this was a bit silly; their destination was easy, easy walking distance, but one did not walk the streets of New York City flashing this kind of jewelry, no matter how short the journey.

At the lobby, they were greeted by the doorman. "We are guests of Mr. Sandgraust. Earlene Sullivan and party," she informed. With extreme deference, they were ushered toward the private elevators, and sent to the 89th floor.

Jesus, wasn't this posh, and yet even out here, it seemed...sterile. Cold. Nothing like the elves' Halls, which managed to be even posher while having some life to them. Lorna tried not to walk like an awkward idiot, doing her best to mimic Earlene's confident stride - problem was, Earlene was about nine inches taller, so Lorna gave up before she could trip over her own dress. She didn't have any handbag but the satchel, but the dress had a few pockets she'd managed to stick a few things into, including her mobile. Tacky it might be, but Ratiri would be wanting a few pictures, and she'd be happy to give him some, if only to illustrate how weird rich people were.

A knock on the door was answered promptly by a grinning man in his early sixties who looked as though he were already relaxed and happy. "Earlene!" he said. "I just won a bet with John Oehlert, because I knew it was you."

"And how was that, Michael?" she laughed, reaching up to peck him on the cheek in a more European style of greeting.

"My watch. It is exactly seven o'clock. He didn't believe me, of all people."

Earlene grinned. "Well, I do have a reputation, don't I?" she quipped, shaking her head. That level of precision was accidental, but sadly was just like her. Michael Sandergraust then stepped back a moment.

"I am told that a very lucky man has won your affections, Earlene?" he said kindly.

"It's all true," she smiled. "And I thank you for having all of us. Michael, this is my family, from Ireland. Fionn, my husband. Cian, his brother, and our very dear friend Lorna. You caught us just in time; it's our last night here in the City."

The ellyn's hands were shaken, and Lorna's hand was carefully and lightly kissed in an extremely respectful manner. "Friends of Earlene's are friends of mine," he said. "You've stolen away one of New York's brightest, but I can't fault you. I give you all my best wishes for your happiness and your future. And listen to me, when there are drinks and food waiting. Come in, please, and make yourselves at home. You'll find old Oehlert hiding out on the north side, you know how he loves to ogle the Park." He winked charmingly, before turning his attention to the next ring of the doorbell.

"Well, drinks and food are all in the same place, shall we?" Earlene gestured into the next room.

"Please," Lorna said. She'd been badly startled by that kiss on the hand, mostly because it was so unexpected. The place remained oddly sterile, though there was a bit more personality than in the hallway. The windows were gigantic - the heating bill for this place in winter must be a royal bitch, and she'd personally always be worried about someone spying in with binoculars or something. The recessed lighting in the bar was a nice touch - and Christ, was she glad there was a bar, even if it seemed a weird thing to have in a flat - and the floor, the counters, the cabinets, they were all so very shiny. It would either be a joy or an utter nightmare to navigate in socks, depending on your level of agility.

There was a lad at the bar, young, pleasantly attractive a cookie-cutter sort of way. While she wasn't certain if something so plebian would be served in such a swanky setting, she asked for a rum and Coke - and was impressed that she only got a momentary blank stare, before the lad lined up the syllables and figured out what she'd said. "Cheers, mate," she said, toasting him and doing her level best not to knock the whole thing back at one go.

The trouble with the entire setup, she soon realized, was that it had all seemed to have been designed for someone taller than average, so much taller than her. Sitting on something without her feet dangling probably wouldn't be possible, but oh well. "There's so much space," she said. "You'd not find a flat like this in Ireland, and probably not in England, either."

"This is a unique situation," Earlene said. She didn't think she'd mention that at its sale, it broke all cost records for a place in the City. "It would not be my choice for a home, but the views are amazing. I want the woods, which I suppose is why I left for Ireland."

Once they'd admired a few of the rooms, and the traveling trays of h'ors d'oevres had passed Thanadir enough times that she thought the edge might be taken off his appetite, she suggested seeking out John, who was known for his habit of settling in an attractive corner with a good bottle of Scotch. Earlene knew Thanadir would be popular as the evening wore on; sooner or later the wait staff ran out of their ability to tempt the guests with their tidbits, and had to spend longer and longer getting each tray emptied. And then, she bet, each one of them would realize he was still willing to take food, and keep returning. This could end up worse than with the Nonna, but for now she'd keep her peace.

"I'd be afraid'v some creep trying to look in my windows at night," Lorna said. She wasn't going to go too close to the windows herself, because the view really was amazing, and also very, very high off the ground.

She cadged some nibbles as they went - she had no idea what any of them were, but they were tasty, and she needed a bit more in her stomach before she drank too much. This wasn't bad so far, but there also wasn't really anyone here just yet. What it would be like when she was surrounded by the American equivalent of nobs remained to be seen.

"I thought I'd find you here or at the other corner, John," she teased. "And I'm sorry to hear I lost you a bet. Don't suppose you'd believe that my punctuality was purely coincidental?" she teased.

"I would not," he said, rising to shake all their hands, "but I should have known better than to take that bet. On the other hand, it keeps Sandgraust happy and a happy client…"

"...is a paying client," they both said softly in stereo, laughing.

"Tim might be by, later," John said while looking at Earlene. He was looking forward to one last party hurrah, but I took the liberty of breaking his heart for you. It didn't seem fair to withhold your good news," he said mischievously, seeing that Lorna's glass was lamentably empty. "Don't suppose you'd like to help me damage this bottle?" he said, eyeing Lorna. "Sandberger pressed into my hand when I got here." The label declared that it was Ardbeg Special Release Double Barrel 33 Year Old Single Malt Scotch Whisky, Islay.

Earlene's eyebrows shot up to her hairline, but she said nothing. Or rather, she did say aloud, "I think you'd like it, Lorna. Not to mention, when John gets going he likes to talk about his gran." She smiled when Lorna held out her glass, looking only slightly suspicious.

Well, this evening was certainly looking up. Lorna gave the whiskey a sniff before sipping it, and just about melted. "Bloody Christ, this is heaven," she said, and then nearly cringed. "I mean, it's grand. I've never had Scotch this good, ever, and back home my mate Jamie's got a good selection. He runs the pub I used to work at." This was actually something worth savoring, and she didn't say that often. "You'd find some who'd sell you their firstborn for that, back home." She was only half kidding, too. Scotch that fine and, well, alcoholism was called the Irish Virus for a reason. There were plenty who would go to some surprisingly extreme lengths to get their hands on alcohol of this quality.

John grinned from ear to ear. "You have no idea how good it is to find someone who can appreciate a real drink. My gran adored Scotch. Every year I'd give a good bottle for her birthday, and every year she'd see it, glare up at me, open the bottle, swig it, and then replace the cap before she'd smile and thank me. Bless her soul…" he smiled, shaking his head at the memory.

"I'm going to pop back to the bar and find something for myself, can I bring anything for anyone?" she asked, lacing her fingers into Thranduil's. Thanadir seemed content, having been bestowed with a Long Island Iced Tea. Not too frou-frou, but sweet, and with enough alcohol in it that the elf might actually notice he was drinking sooner or later. On their way out of the room, she flagged the attention of one of the wait staff and pointed out Thanadir as someone he might wish to keep in a steady stream of tidbits. Feeling like her duty was done for the moment, she made her way to the bar to ask for sparkling water and lime.

Meluieg, you can drink if you wish, Thranduil said.

I thank you, but there is no need. I am just as well off with this. Are you content to be here, so far?

Yes. Our host seems genial and was perhaps not what I expected. For one so wealthy, he seems irreproachable enough. I think I expected that an extremely wealthy mortal would be somehow...reprehensible, on some level.

I am trying to get Lorna to understand, wealth is not an indicator of character. There are reprehensible ones, to be certain. Perhaps a few of them will even be here tonight; you of all will see and know them. Michael has always been someone for whom I had regard.

Why did you react so strongly to the drink John offered Lorna, if I may ask?

Of course you may; you are my Lord. It is because that bottle of liquor cost probably what we pay her in a month. It is very expensive. I doubt she knows the value of it and I have no intention of telling her. Can I get you anything more to drink?

No, but I would like to try more of the food.

That makes two of us.

She procured small plates for them to fill, and they helped themselves to the elaborate and dainty foods on the trays in front of them. It was short work to enjoy these, after which Earlene thought she would show him some more of the rooms while they wound their way back to their group.

Lorna, meanwhile, just laughed, trying to sit without spilling her drink and barely succeeding. These chairs really were too big for her, but oh well. "Your gran sounds like my gran," she said to John, sipping her Scotch. "But I think all Irish grans are basically variatons'v the same woman. Tough as shoe-leather, no verbal filter, appreciation for fine booze, and all. My Gran told me she pinched Bono's arse in the 80's, and I'd believe it. It's the kind'v thing she'd've done." All right, John she liked, but she'd already got a good impression of him at Earlene's office, so she wasn't surprised. And she couldn't imagine Earlene being willing to work for an arsehole, no matter how good the pay was. "Where'd your gran come from?" She couldn't recall if he'd said or not, they'd met so briefly.

John leaned back. "You asked before, and I told you County Cork. But now that we're genuinely talking, the real answer is Skibbereen. Heard'v it?" The alcohol was relaxing his voice a little, and the barest hints of a brogue that he usually carefully suppressed started to manifest.

"Skibbereen?" Lorna asked, holding out her glass for a refill. "There's a song about it, back home. Tragic folk song, like so many are. Was it the Famine that drove your family out?" It had, she knew, hit Skibbereen especially hard - not that it went easy on anyone.

"It was stranger than that," he said. "Gran came in the early 1930s, poorer than poor, with her mam. She was only a little girl, but had plenty of memories of how godawful it was on the ship, and how godawful it was still once they got here to the City. They lived in Hell's Kitchen, barely getting by. But their family before them, that was the worst of it. Plenty of them died in the years of hunger, but mam's ancestors, as the family stories'v come down, went inland. For work. We really don't know who went where or who survived what; we only know someone did, else there would never have eventually been gran. In the mid 1920's gran's parents went back to Skibbereen, because apparently the first time around for the family wasn't bad enough. You know how it is, home calls. But in the end they emigrated; they had to. Gran eventually married and gave birth to my father; he was the one who near worked himself to death turning a few turnips and nothing into a successful restaurant. It was him that made sure I had the education and the opportunity I never had. Earlene and I have talked about it a great deal, how lucky we both are. Our grandparents had nothing but dirt under their fingernails, and two generations later, the likes of us got to stand on their shoulders. I never forget it. It'd be wrong." He broke off abruptly, shaking his head at how things turned out for some and not others.

Thanadir listened, fascinated. He knew nothing of Earlene's mortal family, save seeing her brother at a distance. Stories like this were yet new, in his mind. He also felt badly, because he was beginning to put together that not so long ago, those outside their Halls had suffered greatly from lack of food. They elves had been oblivious to this, as far as he knew.

"Home does call," Lorna said, sipping - she wasn't used to sipping, but that was just what you did with liquor this fine. "Christ do I know that. It was a bloody crime anyone had to leave, and even yet we've not forgiven the English for it. I'm pretty sure my great-great gran killed the tax man, actually, though Gran would never actually confirm it, or maybe I'd've been born here, too. Family...sometimes we get lucky, and they're the ones that'v suffered for us." Not in her case, but then again, it was partly yes; Mairead and Gran had certainly given all they could, when they brought her home from hospital, for all she was a literal stranger to them. "We're tough, us Irish, and if we don't take care'v our own, we're daft, drunk or dead, as my Gran used to say."

Earlene took Thranduil through a room with an indoor pool, which he confessed gave him ideas. Though his own, smaller pool was in so many ways more lovely and more functional; and yet this was for swimming and not for bathing. It fascinated him to see that for all the wealth needed to own this home, his own was far more beautiful, far richer in appointments, and needless to say more solidly constructed, but that was an unavoidable difference between a cavern and a skyscraper. The sun was setting, and in the twilight the city lights were coming on; here was a new view by which to appreciate them. Earlene pointed out the Chrysler building, so striking at night, and a few of the other landmarks that took on a different appearance when day turned to night. She could not resist stealing a kiss when they were alone; he was so attractive to her, in these lovely clothes, that it was genuinely difficult to control herself. There was little doubt in her mind what she'd do with access to a lockable bedroom, however socially unacceptable this would be. She made an effort to get her thoughts under control; she did not need to add soaking wet underwear to her list of distractions at this party.

Thranduil leaned down to nip at her ear. We will be home, soon, and I promise you I will make up for our lack of private time in a suitable manner . He did not tell her that her chest was flushing enticingly with her arousal, and elected to take pity on her. I will help you. I have created this monster, and it is not right that I leave you feeling this way at an occasion where we cannot join together.

His arm came around her, and she felt her lust ebbing away. Good grief, you can do that too?

He chuckled. I love you, sweet one. Let us return to Lorna and Thanadir.

Probably a good idea , she thought ruefully. And, thank you. In moments they had returned, just in time for the waiter to offer more tidbits and champagne flutes. This time, Earlene did accept a drink; she liked champagne. They joined the conversation and soon found themselves engrossed in all things Irish and Ireland. The drinks and food kept coming on a regular schedule, and not a few toasts to Erin were proposed. It was a moment of triumph when even Thanadir began to refuse food. A tastefully restrained cheer went up when John and Lorna killed the bottle of Scotch, and Earlene insisted on taking a commemorative photo of them with the bottle. A few other guests popped in from time to time, a few of whom Earlene knew and greeted, but once it was obvious that the conversation in this room was not shifting from the Emerald Isle, they would leave just as quickly.

It was just as well that Thranduil and Earlene had returned, because Lorna was, in spite of the rather heroic amount of Scotch she'd consumed, feeling quite awkward.

Others had drifted over to talk to John - others who looked at her and Thanadir quite curiously. He, however, blended in rather better, even with his long hair and the fact that he was rather more attractive than most of the men here, and he fielded questions with a serenity she envied.

"What is it you do for Earlene?" one woman asked - she'd given her name as Susan. She was tall and blonde and willowy, in a long, dark blue gown that probably cost more than Lorna's car, her teeth blindingly white. (What was with Americans and such white teeth? In Ireland, you were likely only going to find that shade on a pensioner's dentures.)

"I'm her P.A.," Lorna said, speaking carefully and slowly. "I take care'v all the Irish business for her, since it can be difficult to navigate for a foreigner. It's more different than you'd think." And it wasn't even a lie, so Thanadir couldn't glower at her for it.

To Susan's credit, she only blanked out for a moment before she lined up all the syllables. "How did you come into her employ?"

"Now this I have to hear," a man said. Lorna hadn't caught his name, but part of her instinctively disliked him, mainly because he seemed rather smug. And he, too, had frighteningly white teeth, in addition to what was obviously a spray-tan (though at least a high-quality one, that didn't leave him orange).

"I was out at her house one day when she'd got a delivery'v groceries. Gobshite driver tried to cheat her out'v two bottles'v whiskey, so I lit into him and dug through his van 'til I'd found them. She figured an Irish person could better deal with the Irish than an American could, and she's not exactly wrong." Again, broadly true. Lying was a lot easier when you were lying by omission.

That elicited blank stares all around, until John, laughing, translated. Thank God he was here - Thanadir could translate too, of course, but John was well-known among this lot. What he said would carry more weight.

"If it makes you feel better," Lorna said, "even other Irish people can have a hard time understanding me. Surprisingly, Earlene's never had an issue with it."

"Are you Earlene's brother-in-law, sir?" Susan asked Thanadir.

Lorna had to resist her immediate impulse to jump to his aid. He could handle this, but he so hated lying...on the other hand, saying he was Thranduil's brother was an agreed-upon lie, rather like his wedding-ring. Fortunately, Susan had one as well, so Lorna probably didn't need to worry he was about to get hit on.

The seneschal looked into the woman's eyes with a relaxed smile. "Yes and no. I have ever lived with Fionn's family, and we call each other 'brother'. Though as you might guess from our appearance, we are not related by blood."

What the hell, Thanadir? Oh well. Deviating from the script was fine so long as everyone stayed on the same page. Unfortunately, in deviating, he had just dug himself into a hole. "How long have your families known one another?" Susan asked.

"Were you orphaned?" the smug man added. "Whatever the reason, it was good of Fionn - that's his name, right? - Fionn's family. I've heard the Irish take care of their own."

Thranduil was smiling. For reasons he could guess at, Thanadir had changed their agreed-upon story, slightly, and now had himself in a slight….pickle, as the mortals would say.

Lorna fought the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose. In altering their cover story he'd opened himself up for this, and for once she was going to let him reap the consequences. They'd spun their story as it was for a reason, as he was finding out, and as he would no doubt continue finding out. Thranduil, please rescue him before this whole interaction turns into an utter hash , she said, pained.

He got himself into this, Lorna. Do not worry. Thanadir has not been my seneschal for all these long years for no reason. However he chooses to answer, this will be a lesson of sorts, for him.

That it will be , Lorna thought, a touch sourly.

"Our families are old ones," Thanadir answered more carefully, realizing that the ice under his feet had grown thin. He had a certain sense of dismay; he should not have created a variation on what they had agreed they would say. He had only managed to give these mortals fodder for curiosity by saying more than he needed to. He looked up briefly into the bright and amused eyes of his sovereign, and issued a silent plea for forgiveness. The barely perceptible nod he received in return let him know that he had not offended, but would now need to undo his mistake. Only one opinion in this room mattered at all to him; he could now speak without further hindrance. "There have been many generations." The demeanor behind his features now shifted to one that began to alarm Earlene, because she knew it well and would do a great deal to let it lie sleeping. In just a matter of seconds, the angelic cherub moved aside to a face that spoke of potential menace, and the tone of his voice deepened as his eyes locked with that of the smug man in open challenge. "You will excuse me, if I do not wish to speak of the circumstances of our families beyond what I have already said. It is not a fitting subject, especially in such gracious company. May I ask a similar question of you? So many here seem to have stories of family having come from other places. What of your own history?" The evasion was a disappointment to those listening, who had hoped for juicier fare from these relatively exotic strangers. Yet, not a one present missed the clear rebuff from the young man, who apparently was not such a pushover after all. Though as his words concluded, his features relaxed back into their usual charming appearance.

"I could do with another drink," Lorna said, making her way through the crowd. Jesus, how many people were here? More than she'd expected, and possibly more than she was aware of, given the flat had two floors. Freaking out the other party guests might not end well, either, and when Thanadir got like that, it was so damn jarring compared to his boyish appearance. Oh well. Not her problem.

What was her problem was the fact that literally everyone here was at least five inches taller than she was, but at least nobody accidentally elbowed her or anything. She needed the bar, and then she needed the loo.

Unfortunately for Thanadir, he'd attracted yet more of an audience, and at least one of its members was highly attracted to him . She was far too well-mannered to actually say so, but had no such mental restriction, and freely admired him rather lasciviously. Marie, her name was, who had recently turned forty-one and was rather depressed about it. This lovely young man was quite decorative, however, and his image would be quite a visual deposit in her spank bank.

The Elvenking's eyes flared slightly, and he felt vaguely relieved that his seneschal missed so much of what transpired around him. Though, these mortals were affecting him slightly, because he found himself wondering something he'd never wondered before. Were Thanadir to wed, just what sort of proclivities might he have? Glancing up at the city skyline, he chastised himself for even considering such a thing. His own ability to indulge once again in lust was clearly addling his reasoning.

"Earlene, I didn't realize you'd be coming with guests," Marie said, eying both Thanadir and Thranduil with outward decorum, her gaze lingering only a little too long. She was trying not to be visibly disappointed when she spotted the wedding-ring on Thanadir's finger.

"I wanted to come back and tie up loose ends here, and my new family has never been. It hardly seemed fair to miss the chance to show them around. And to be honest, I've managed to get myself over to see a few attractions I'd never seen, like Ellis Island or going up in the Statue of Liberty. I'll admit it's been fun, playing tourist." Earlene's eyes narrowed, but only slightly, as she possessively took Thranduil's hand into her lap. Marie was well known for being a fair, if far more discreet, imitation of Samantha from Sex in the City . There was little doubt what was going through her mind just now about either of the ellyn. Not that she could blame her for that, but no one was going to make eyes, however subtle, at her husband unchallenged.

"Of course," Marie said, sipping at her champagne. Unfortunately for all, while she was decorous about her admiration, they drew in another who was...less so. Iris Haverford, the much younger wife of one of John's golfing friends. Beautiful, blonde, a notorious flirt - and both she and her husband were equally notorious for cheating on one another with regularity. Which wasn't to say they were the only ones, but the other cheaters in that social set at least tried to be discreet about it.

Marie fought the urge to tread on her foot. She was quite enjoying the view here, and if Iris was...herself...Earlene would undoubtedly take it elsewhere. As it was, she rolled her eyes at the woman's blatant appraisal of Earlene's two guests. Really, there were standards . Yes, both of those men were gorgeous beyond all fairness, but looking at them like slabs of meat was just...crass.

"Earlene -" Oh, lovely, Iris was already drunk "-where did you find these two?"

"They're her new family," Marie said pointedly. There was no actual restraining Iris, but one had to try. Yes, she herself would later shamelessly use her toy collection while thinking of this lovely young man, but that didn't mean she was going to be gauche enough to let him know that.

Thranduil slipped his arm around his wife possessively but with an amused expression. "I am Earlene's husband, Fionn. It is nice to meet you," he said, though he did not extend his hand as he usually would have. In this case, it would only be adding some oil to the flames. "This is my brother Cian." Thanadir gave a brief nod of his head, but his features were once again clouding over at what even he could see of the lust painted on this woman's face. It was astonishingly unseemly . He expected better, of those with so much wealth and alleged status. Though why , exactly, he could not say.

Marie had done her best to mask her disappointment at spotting Cian's wedding-ring, but Iris didn't even try. She really was drunk. "Where's Andrew?" Marie asked, even more pointedly. "He must be wondering where you are, and I think you could use a bit more to eat , Iris." The woman had probably consumed all of four hors' d'oeuvres before breaking into the vodka.

"Oh, who knows?" Iris said, still eying Fionn with such disgustingly open disappointment. "Off drinking."

"Maybe you should be off drinking with him," Marie said, yet more pointedly still. If she was forced to march Iris out of here - if she was forced to give up such pretty eye-candy early - the younger woman was going to find herself very, very unhappy when she sobered up.

Lorna, who had witnessed this entire exchange from a slight distance, rolled her eyes. Good grief ...and she'd thought rich people were meant to be classy. This one had all the subtlety of Siobhan.

Lorna, the woman's husband is at the bar, where you just were. He had glasses, and a red necktie. He is older, she heard in her head.

Got it, she said back. Weaving her way through the crowd, she set her empty glass down, plucked the champagne flute out of Iris's hand, and said, quiet solemnly, "D'fhear céile atá ag lorg agat, tú shreel ré. A ligean ar a gheobhaidh tú ar ais sula ndéanann tú amadán níos mó de tú féin agus é." Your husband's looking for you, you bloody tramp. Let's get you back before you make a bigger fool of you and him.

By now, word of Earlene's odd little P.A. had spread - including the fact that the woman's accent was so heavy she was all but incomprehensible. Even Iris had enough standards to pretend she understood, though she hadn't caught a word. She did, however, eventually recognize the word 'Andrew', and somehow, found herself being led away by the hand, listening to a soft, soothing stream of nonsense.

"Sin é," Lorna said. "Tá mé cinnte go bhfuil do fear céile pósta tú ar chúis amháin nó eile, agus tá mé cinnte go leor go raibh sé do tits. Agus b'fhéidir do chuid fiacla. A ligean ar lámh tú ar ais chuige anois." That's it. I'm sure your husband married you for one reason or another, and I'm pretty sure it was your tits. And maybe your teeth. Let's hand you back to him now. The woman was surprisingly unresistant, and it wasn't difficult to dump her on a bar stool beside her husband. "You might want to keep her here," she told him, and hurried back to her little group.

The moment Lorna took custody of Iris, who John had always found to be generally distasteful (and more so after her second drink), a smile spread over his face. It was like a vision of his gran, come to life. He was only able to understand something about 'your husband' before the meaning was lost to him, but it was the most Irish he'd heard spoken in one place since her passing. Shaking with laughter at Lorna's take-charge attitude, he had to turn away to face the windows for a moment. However much he was enjoying this, it would be equally crass to be seen openly laughing at the amorous woman's comeuppance.

Well done, Lorna, said a very pleased Thranduil. He'd been tempted to do the same, but really, that would have been awkward on so many levels.

Earlene looked knowingly at Marie with a shrug and a smirk. "The more things change, the more they stay the same." Marie's own extremely subtle admiration of her husband was now completely forgiven, having been overshadowed by Iris' theatrical performance.

"Indeed they do," Marie sighed, taking a somewhat larger sip of her champagne than was necessary. "I wish my P.A. was that...forthright." Pushy was not quite the right word, and yet at the same time, it was. She was fairly certain Iris wouldn't have stood a chance even if she hadn't been drunk. "I am afraid you haven't missed a great deal, since you've moved away."

Lorna, shaking her head, reappeared at the edge of the group. "Hopefully she'll stay put," she said. "If her husband's got any manner'v sense at all, anyway."

"Lorna isn't just a P.A.," said Earlene very clearly, looking from Lorna back to Marie. "That part is at best secondary. She's my friend. Our friend. And she is a friend anyone would be lucky to have." There was something in Marie's tone that had far too much of an air of saying 'nice servant you've got there,' and Earlene would have none of it. Her own tone of voice was not angry or aggressive, but rather beyond matter-of-fact. "And while I do miss all of you...I was right to move. My heart is in Ireland, now."

"You'll make me blush in a minute," Lorna said, just a touch awkwardly. Outward displays of emotion while among strangers was something she still wasn't used to yet. "Meanwhile, I've got to go find the toilet."

Marie blinked, a bit startled. "Of course," she said. "It's a lovely place to live, and I'm sure they're lovely people." It was a bland inanity, but nevertheless appropriate. "And you really do seem lucky to have her."

These parties were dull, but Von Ratched attended them anyway. He had to keep an eye on his investments, but those investments had minds so tedious it was a chore more often than not.

Despite his height, he could be ignored when he wished - and he often wished, for he could only endure so much banal conversation. Money and power were the only preoccupations of many, and even those with nobler intentions lacked true intellect. They were cattle, with so little variation.

And then he saw her .

She did not belong here, and obviously so. Tiny, visibly uncomfortable (and a touch drunk), in a gown quite unlike the carefully stylish ones worn by the other women...who had brought her here, and why?

Her immediate thoughts were occupied with a need for the restroom, but he would waylay her a moment anyway. "You look lost," he said, when he reached her.

She twitched a little, turning to him, and froze.

Now that was interesting. Von Ratched could not help but be a touch intimidating, but this tiny woman recognized him on sight for the true threat he was. She didn't know what he was, but she knew he was dangerous. Sheer animal instinct knew a predator when she saw one, even if she were not truly cognizant why.

"Looking for the toilet," she said, in a very heavy Irish brogue. "Champagne'll go through you like that." Though she didn't look drunk, one touch of her mind told him she was. Quite a bit.

Lorna had expected a bunch of stiffs in suits, with hopefully a few bright spots like Earlene. So far the only real one she'd found was Earlene's old boss, John, who was such a good sort she wondered what the hell he was doing here. This guy, whoever he was, screamed 'threat' every bit as strongly as Thranduil, for all he was obviously human. As tall as Thranduil, probably around her age, a touch of grey in his blond hair, but his eyes - she'd thought Thranduil's eyes were creepy, but they had nothing on this guy's. They were so pale a grey they were nearly white, cold as glaciers.

"I believe it is this way," he said, with a smile that would probably have been charming if he hadn't been giving off blatant serial-killer vibes. Seriously, who the hell let him in here? She really didn't want to go anywhere with him, but she also really needed to pee, so her bladder made the decision for her.

"Forgive me, but you seem rather out of your depth," Von Ratched said, leading her down the hallway. She would not, he thought, pass a field sobriety test; it wasn't blatant, but she was weaving a bit. "Who roped you into coming here?"

"My boss," she said. He had to resist the temptation to touch that long, silky hair. The other women here used shampoos and products whose artificial stink quite put him off, but whatever she used was natural, infused with lavender. "We're not staying long."

"Lucky you," he said, for once not lying. "Can I at least tempt you into one more drink, before you go?" He infused the question with just the barest trace of compulsion - after all, she wouldn't want to be rude, would she?

"Just one," she said warily, once they reached the bathroom. "I'll meet you back out there." Why she agreed to that, she had no idea, but it seemed the thing to do. She'd promised she'd try not to embarrass Earlene, and telling off some creep in the middle of this swanky party would be sure to do just that.

"I don't think I caught your name," the man said, his gaze just a touch too intent. He'd actually be rather handsome, if he wasn't the creepiest thing that had ever creepied in the history of ever. As it was, even having him so close made her itch.

"Lorna," she said, and it was all she said. "Be out in a minute."

Lorna he thought - a rather lovely name. A gentleman wouldn't lurk, so he didn't; instead he returned to the party, and collected two flutes of champagne. Such a pity it would likely be impossible to take her home with him; as it was, he would simply monopolize her time until her employer took her away, and left him again to his tedium.

Lorna was not at all pleased. She stayed in the bathroom rather longer than she needed to before heading back out into the main room, hoping she'd get lost in the crowd. At her height, it wouldn't be difficult. There was no tangible reason that man should freak her out as much as he did, but freak her out he did, which pissed her off. He was a suit; unless he was some kind of cop, she could probably break both his knees and run like buggery, and yet he unnerved her in a way nothing else ever had. It would have been impressive, if she hadn't been so skeeved.

"While I cannot say you blend in, you are nevertheless difficult to find."

Lorna twitched again, but nevertheless took the drink he offered, doing her best not to knock it back at one go. Thranduil, help , she said. I've got a creeper. Beam me up, Scotty.

That gave Von Ratched pause. She thought someone would actually hear her… Surreptitiously, he brushed the back of her hand, careful not to let her notice. Seeking her deeper thoughts was risky - mortal minds were so easily broken, and this was not the place to do so - but he wished deeper insight into hers.

Unfortunately, she was so unsettled by him, and her mind so clouded with alcohol, that it was difficult to find anything else. While he could not say he had ever been likened to a zombie before, she certainly thought he resembled one. Such a pity he could not prove her otherwise. He was somewhat shocked at how very much he wanted to.

"I've got friends this way," she said, pointing toward the corner they'd been lurking in much of the evening. She'd feel a hell of a lot better with backup.

The Elvenking heard her with amusement until he saw in her thoughts the one of whom she spoke, and frowned; he did not particularly like the look of this man. His eyes scanned for Lorna and at her entrance into the room, all seemed well enough, until he saw what followed. It could not be. It absolutely could not be. And yet every ounce of his memory and his powerful perceptions told him that it absolutely was. How? And...just, how?

From across the room, those pale white eyes locked to his own of sapphire blue, as each registered the other. Thranduil was not about to stand here and evaluate this. He held out his arm to Lorna but did not speak to her, earnestly hoping she would for once without question accept the silent invitation to physically come to him; it was critical that he be able to touch her. With a sigh of relief, she moved to stand next to him, and in that next second his arm came over her shoulder in more than just a gesture of affection; this was a blanket of protection to her mind. Earlene stood across the room, having broken away for a moment to admire the views. We are leaving, immediately, Earlene, Lorna and Thanadir all heard in concert. Earlene, return to my side. All of you, follow my lead . He meant this in a more than physical sense, as he spoke aloud. "It has been a pleasure meeting you all, but we must regrettably depart. A pressing matter has come to my attention."

Earlene did not understand but was making her way to his side and did not hesitate to support him. "John, please give Michael my thanks and my regrets," she said, pecking him quickly on the cheek. "I hope you know you're always welcome, should you feel the need for a quiet vacation," she said quietly, so that only he could hear.

Thanadir, in the meantime received a very different message. Balrog.

His lips parted at what his King showed in his mind, but understood immediately what was wanted. Thranduil would go first with the firith, quite literally in his arms. He was to follow just behind, a buffer against the worst possibility. Foremost a warrior, he returned only one thought: Athon .

Now this... It was all Von Ratched could do to keep a feral smile from crossing his face. This was the last thing he ever would have expected, and yet the greatest find he had discovered in millennia. Elda , he sent the elf, his gaze shifting from lovely little Lorna to the elf - two elves. What were they doing here, now, after all this time? Disappointingly - yet intriguingly - as soon as the taller of the pair touched Lorna, Von Ratched had no more access to her thoughts. So this one was quite a powerful elf to boot…

The other woman, though...even before she went to the taller elf, Von Ratched could not touch her thoughts, a thing which ought to have been impossible. His eyes narrowed, bending more of his will upon her, and yet still there was nothing. How? She was mortal, firieth; none of them had ever been able to resist him. Surely it could not be her own doing - one of the elves must have done it to her, or for her. Perhaps the powerful one was even more powerful than he had suspected - but then, why was Lorna not protected as well? It could not be innate magic, but perhaps something tied to an object the taller woman carried or wore.

As they moved out in what was almost a formation, both ellyn locked eyes with this stranger, and Thanadir now fully saw for himself what his King had seen. His face blazed with strength and fearlessness. Thranduil, for his part, returned two words as he moved past the creature, the mortal women held firmly in his protective grasp: Elbereth Gilthoniel . That this abomination of the ancient world still roamed free disgusted him. It had assumed a fair form, and doubtless had hidden power. But even the mightiest of these had fallen before the Children of Ilúvatar. This was a dangerous enemy, but not an undefeatable one. The call to Varda was meant to imply one thing, though even as he sent it he knew that it would likely prove fruitless: Leave us alone .

Earlene felt lost, not comprehending the reason for this abrupt departure. She walked in her husband's hold with her head held confidently, and could not help but notice the strange man with the oddest and coldest eyes she had ever seen. Her gaze revealed no fear but rather a mild contempt. Whoever he was, she would rather meet one of the reincarnations from the Natural History Museum's carnivore collection than that . Who was he and what was he doing here? It wasn't Sandgraust's style to keep company with people who were disreputable.

Von Ratched could have followed them, but that was not how he worked. Direct confrontation was not his style, and in any event he had a position to maintain among the cattle. So he sipped his champagne, watching them retreat, smirking ever so slightly. He would find them, in due time; meanwhile, he had time to decide just what he wanted to do with them. Two lingering Eldar, a firieth who could block his mind, and another who was so oddly lovely he wanted to keep her in a cabinet, away from prying eyes.

Lorna, for her part, was just glad to be getting the hell out of there, away from Creepy McCreeperson - who had to be really creepy, if Thranduil was willing to hustle them out so blatantly. She had many questions, but she wasn't about to ask any of them until they were safely away from this building. She still shuddered a bit at the way the bastard had been looking at her. Gross.

Down the elevator and out the lobby, no cab was now waiting. Realizing from Earlene how close they were to the hotel, he made an easy decision. They would walk, unseen. And so it was that they wove their way down the sidewalks, past the mortals whose eyes did not perceive them. Into the lobby of their own hotel, and into the elevator there. Only then did he cease his efforts. Should they have been followed, no information of their passing would be available through the unprotected minds of others. Looking down at Lorna, who he finally released from his grasp, he worried. How much had...whoever it was...gleaned from her mind? She was rather drunk, which worked in his favor on this occasion. And another aspect that bothered him deeply was the look in the man's eyes, as he surveilled Lorna. Predatory, proprietary . It turned his stomach to think on it. But there was simply nothing to be done, except to leave this city and reflect with Thanadir on what small extra measures might be taken. It was with a sigh of relief that they entered their room and the door clicked shut behind them.

"I'm assuming he was more'v a creeper than I'd thought?" Lorna said, and it wasn't actually a question. She shuddered again, almost wanting to take a shower to get the skeeze of his gaze off her.

Thranduil gestured for them to take seats on their beds, so that they could converse facing each other. Thranduil heaved a huge sigh. "First I want to thank you both, Earlene and Lorna, for doing as I asked without question. That man was the most dangerous one you will ever meet, aside from me. And which of us is the stronger is something I do not know at this time." He smiled weakly. "You have laid eyes on a balrog, though not in the form in which you are accustomed to thinking. That word, 'balrog', it means 'demon' in our language. It is a word that can be assigned to any of the Ainur that elected to follow Morgoth, turning wholly to evil. He, it , is not an elf but rather one of the ancient race first created by our father Eru. Since he cannot be a Vala, it only remains that he is of the Maiar, the spirit beings but holding lesser power. Sauron was a Maiar, as were all of the wizards told about in the films you watched. It is obvious that somehow, one of these remained all through this long span of time, much as we ourselves did. I can tell you that he is evil, and would likely harm us if he could just on principle. I brought you to me, Lorna, to shield your mind, which assuredly is as clear to him as it is to me. Beyond that, I am afraid you know as much as I do." He hung his head, and shook it. "I never expected this. Anything, but this."

Lorna shuddered again, but tried to be reassuring. "Well, I doubt he got much out'v my mind," she snorted. "All I could think was how bloody creepy he was - and I called you with my mind, but given how badly I mangle pronouncing your name, I doubt he got anything off me that way. I wasn't thinking about Earlene or Thanadir or home. Having him so close was so horrifying I literally couldn't think'v anything else." This...she had no idea what to do with this, but they'd be going home soon - and while it didn't take a genius to work out her accent, he didn't have her last name, and Lorna was hardly an uncommon name in Ireland. Though Earlene...but had Earlene actually given anyone her address, or did she just say she'd moved to Ireland? Lorna was pretty sure it was the latter. Sullivan was an incredibly common second name, though she wasn't quite so sure about the name Earlene.

Shaking her head, she added, "I'd thought he was looking at me like he wanted to turn my skin into a person-suit. Didn't guess I might actually be right."

Earlene leaned in to her husband. "I will only do what you ask me to. But, I could have that man's name for you, quickly. I have never laid eyes on him before tonight. But clearly Sandgraust has, or he would not have been there. And...something John Oehlert said to me, when we visited the office, makes me wonder if he does not know of and disapprove of this man. If you would allow it, a few text messages might give you a name. I am the real liability here, because everyone at that party knows me. I will say that I have made myself less easy to find; I gave no forwarding addresses. While a few, such as my own lawyer and the company that shipped my belongings do have a location, that would take some doing to find. I have not used social media since moving to Ireland. Which is all to say, I will be difficult to find but anyone can be discovered in time. The unfortunate aspect is that once found, I am at your doorstep."

Thranduil considered. "You of all people know discretion, Earlene. You may inquire."

Earlene pulled out her phone, and in a few seconds had tapped out to John, Let me know when you've left One57.

Already gone, the reply came immediately. Everything OK?

Between you, me, and the wall, need to know who the tall man was with the very pale eyes at Sandgraust's?

Wondered if that had something to do with your swift departure. That was Raoul Von Ratched, someone you can be very glad not to know.

Thanks, John. I owe you one. Be well :-)

Earlene grimaced, but knew that John immediately deleted all text messages; he could not afford to have sensitive confidential information sitting around on a device that could potentially be stolen. And she did the same, as she obliterated the conversation, through long habit. "His name is Raoul Von Ratched, and I was right that John's opinion of him is not a good one," she said. "So, we have a name."

Lorna's eyebrows went up. "Raoul?" she said. Somehow, that creepy son of a bitch sharing a name with the gobshite from Phantom of the Opera took a touch of the menace out of him. Not much , but some - because he'd probably chose than name himself, and who in their right bloody mind would call themselves Raoul ?

"We are not without defenses, even against such a one as that," said Thanadir, with a resolute look on his face.

"Indeed we are not," said the King, realizing the truth of the matter. "Balrogs are not invulnerable. Glorfindel slaughtered one, as did Ecthelion." He did not mention, that both paid with their lives for their deeds. He shook off the notion. The point was, they could be killed. "And we must remember, for all our distance, we still are elves, we still have the blessings of the Valar. Morgoth has been chained away to the Void for a great span of time. Whoever this is, it has no master, and no purpose aside from evil. Morgoth did not stand, and neither will this one, should he seek to interfere."

"I can get us better weapons, too," Lorna said, kicking off her sandals. "Handguns and assault rifles aren't legal in Ireland, but Shane can put me in touch with someone who could get one or a dozen. If he can be killed, a mini-gun's worth'v bullets ought to do it. Even if not, it would sting like a bitch." Guns, flamethrowers...the modern world had loads of long-range weapons. They probably couldn't hurt to have around.

Thranduil smiled. "His body can be damaged and killed, as can ours. And he can likely heal non-fatal damage with skill similar to my own, Lorna. I am not certain that seeking to kill him with human weapons is the best choice. Do not forget, he is not as you are; his body is only a form, a manifestation. Kill him and his spirit can take a new one, though perhaps not the same as the old. Which is why a weapon that can damage his power would be entirely more useful, and those weapons were not ones made by mortals."

Earlene raised her eyebrows, and decided that once home, those books would be a priority. Too much was happening and she was tired of her ignorance of their people. Her people. It was like being an American and not knowing there was a Constitution, for crying in the mud. "I am going to change, I'll just be a minute," she said, grabbing her comfortable clothes. Jesus Christ, what an evening. She emerged thirty seconds later, carefully laying the gown on the bed to fold and roll it in a way that would allow for packing. Because packing was what they needed to do now; tomorrow at seven they would be getting their ride to JFK to begin the long haul back to their home. And to her surprise, she could hardly wait.

Lorna caved and took a shower, washing off whatever imaginary toxin had settled over her skin. It meant she could pack away her toiletries tonight, which she did. In her nice soft, warm nightgown, she felt rather more at ease as she packed away her souvenirs, all the odds and ends that had become strewn around the room, leaving out only clean clothes for tomorrow.

Before Lorna could emerge from the bathroom, both ellyn had changed as well, and Thanadir and Earlene busied themselves replacing the tuxedos and other accoutrements on their hangers and in their bags, until all was zipped up in perfect order. These would be dropped off to the concierge, in the morning. Earlene returned her bracelet to Thranduil, who arched his eyebrows at her and smirked. "Oh," she said, shaking her head. He'd no intention of taking it back; it was something said to assuage Lorna's sensitivities. "Thank you, then," she said. "It is lovely." Where she'd wear it was beyond her, but, maybe in the Halls? It wasvery pretty. It couldn't hurt to play Queen now and again , she reasoned.

Thranduil rolled his eyes. Alassëa had never been shy about wanting more jewels. And as his Queen, he gave them to her gladly. They were worn regally, but what had it been worth once he realized that she would far rather have another necklace than his attentions? He was far, far happier now, with this firieth who truly loved him as a whole being, and not for his vault.

Lorna arched an eyebrow. "Well, I'm giving you my necklace back," she said. "I'll happily borrow it again, but it's not like I'd have any cause to take it out'v the Halls anyway, and it's safer with you."

"A deal is a deal," Thranduil smiled, holding out his hand for it. "But it did look lovely on you. It will be sent to your rooms, when we return."

She laughed. "I've learned not to argue," she said, handing it to him, "much, anyway. Just when I feel like it." Lorna looked at her laptop, but she had no idea what to email to Ratiri. This was the kind of creepy-ass thing best told in person, so she just dropped him a note say they were all tired and ready to be home, and was he still able to pick them up tomorrow night?

Thank bloody God , she thought, this was the last day of our trip. She didn't fancy the idea of trying to hide in New York City, and she'd imagine trying to exchange tickets on such short notice would have been a nightmare.

Ratiri could tell her in more depth what Maiar and Ainur were, and she could give him all her little goodies. As much fun as she'd had here, it would be good to be home, in her own bed, an ocean away from this creep.

Everything was mostly packed away, but something did not feel right. Earlene looked up to see Thanadir staring at her. "Hîr vuin?" she asked.

"I said we would run again tonight, in the Park. Are you willing?"

Her lips parted in indecision. This was the last thing on her mind, after everything else that had transpired. It was late. And yet most of tomorrow would be spent immobile on an airplane, and it was indeed her last opportunity. "Yes."

"Lorna, I presume you do not mind being left here alone for a time?" Thranduil asked, already knowing the answer but wishing to be certain. "Because I would strongly prefer to run with Thanadir and Earlene."

"I'm good," she said. "Don't know how much longer I'll be awake, I've drank that much this evening." She really was weirdly exhausted, probably from all the tension, for all it hadn't started that long ago. She felt safe enough in here, and Earlene and Thanadir would be a lot safer out there if Thranduil was with them.

It only needed moments, to put on the correct shoes and depart their room. Earlene looked at her whistle and now useless pepper spray, the empty canister of which she would toss in the lobby trash. Why she could possibly need it was beyond her but, dammit, tradition. Wishing to avoid coming anywhere near One57, she led them over to 5th Avenue to pick up the tangle of paths that would eventually merge with East Drive. There was no question about her destination, tonight.

Thranduil felt impressed that even in the dimmer lamplight, Earlene unquestionably knew these paths by heart. He'd not run with her in a long time, and she set a pace that he found impressive. She was strong, and fit. They arrived at the inevitable obelisk, to which she reached out her hand to touch (like she knew she was not supposed to, but this was a special occasion, she reasoned) in a farewell she imagined was rather more final, though who knew. This visit had accomplished what she hoped it might, and perhaps a bit more. This had been home, but would never be that again. She was only a visitor now. Who she was exactly, had not been fully worked out, but it had nothing to do with her old existence. "Goodbye, Ozymandias," she said aloud. It was her pet name for the beloved monument.

"Ozymandias?" asked Thanadir. "I thought this was called Cleopatra's Needle?" the elf said, confused, as he kept a wary eye around them for any others.

"Ozymandias is the name of a poem. I will recite it for you. She took a deep breath and spoke to the pillar; this poem was one of many that she had memorized, to try to keep her pain under control when she struggled with the worst of her troubles:

I met a traveller from an antique land,

Who said—"Two vast and trunkless legs of stone

Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,

Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,

And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,

The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;

And on the pedestal, these words appear:

My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;

Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare

The lone and level sands stretch far away.

Do you understand?" she asked Thanadir, who shook his head No.

"I think I do," said Thranduil. "The poem talks of a ruler who was once mighty, and who built great monuments to his fame, and that declared his greatness. Yet time went by, and nothing remained of all he had made except for one lone inscription to his fame. Just like this obelisk, that praises a King no one recalls."

"Almost," said Earlene. "That King's name is still known to some; he was very famous. But for all practical purposes your answer is correct. And, I thank you, Cian. I would not have remembered to do this, and I am very glad for this chance." For another moment, she stood between them and held both their hands before they all turned to leave. It was fitting; her future was now with them.

They entered the room very quietly, to see the adorable sight of Lorna, passed out with her fingers still resting on her keyboard. With a smile, Earlene carefully slid out the computer and closed the lid, plugging it onto the charging cord; she'd no doubt want the full battery for tomorrow. Thranduil came up behind her and frowned, and laid his hand very softly on her forehead. This, as he saw it, was not only compassion but self-preservation; without intervention she would be most unhappy on awakening. He then ordered Thanadir into the shower, ignoring the arched eyebrows he received in response. Slipping off their shoes, they waited for the bathroom to be free, since Earlene at least was a sweaty mess and had no intention of going to sleep in this condition. Thanadir emerged wearing only a towel, which was unlike him, but then again Lorna was obviously lost to the world.

Without any threats of caterwauling, or as his diminutive friend thought of it, 'squicking', he paid his wife the luxurious attention he'd wished to for days. She was tiring, and he meant for her to sleep very well. But first things came first. She leaned against the tiled wall while as he kneaded her shoulders and back under the hot water, generally using shameless amounts of soap. He tended to her calves, legs and shapely rear end as well. For all Lorna went on about assorted 'arses', Thranduil mused, she clearly never considered female ones . Earlene's was as firm and desirable as one could wish. By the time he worked his way from her full breasts to the place that carried his children, he was thoroughly aroused. He lifted her off her feet as she gasped in surprise, having visions of cracked heads in a shower stall (what a 911 call that would be).

Estelio nin , she heard back with humor as she relaxed into his hold. He took his time, wondering how infinite the hotel's supply of hot water might be. He adjusted the spray so that the warm water fell on her breasts, that he occasionally indulged in giving more attention. He wondered if Earlene knew, of the delights her body would yet give her, as he imitated the suckling of an infant and immediately felt her clench against him. Eru had provided so many delights, and he admitted to yearning again for something he'd only enjoyed very few times; nursing at his wife's breast. To him it had been beyond erotic, and he felt himself hardening within her at the thought of it. Under his steady ministrations, Earlene was having greater and greater difficulty maintaining her silence. Please , she said. Though you tell me he is used to it, I have no wish to scandalize Thanadir. I hope to have better manners, but you are pushing me beyond endurance.

It was a fair request, and he was close to his own limit as well. He forcefully thrust into her as he kissed her fervently, their moans of bliss lost in each other. Earlene did not dare let go of her hold on him. He kissed her tenderly, all over her neck and face as she recovered in his arms.

I did not tell you this earlier, he heard, in fact I do not know how to say this, because you will tell me it is to be expected. At the party, when you took us out of there; your intention to protect both Lorna and I was so...obvious. I have felt the same from Thanadir; a sense that he would give everything before he would allow me to be harmed. It is not...usual, in our world. There is no manner in which I have not felt loved, by you. Expected or not, thank you. Wife, subject, or not, that you would incur risk for me when I am mortal and you are not...I want you to know that I am grateful, my Lord.

For once, there was no lecture, no further discussion. Only soft lips against her own, kissing her deeply.

Lorna woke the next morning mercifully free of any sort of morning-after. Since she'd already taken a shower last night, all she had to do was braid her hair, get dressed, and pack up her laptop.

She'd been so deep asleep she hadn't dreamt, which was also a mercy; she'd been half afraid she'd have nightmares about Creepy McCreeperson, but there had been nothing of any sort. She just needed food and caffeine and she'd be good to go. Mostly. She was not going to enjoy being on the plane. It just wasn't going to happen, but she wasn't half so freaked out by it going back as she'd been coming in.

It being the last day, she and Thanadir between them managed to clean out half the pastry case at the bakery, and Lorna snapped some photos of the menu, because if anyone could duplicate these tasty bits of deliciousness, it would be Mairead and Siobhan.

It really was a good thing this was the last day, because the heat and humidity had soared, and the interior of the airport was so crowded the air conditioning wasn't doing a great deal. Still, she stuck close behind the elves, so nobody stepped on her. Ratiri had confirmed he was in fact picking them up in Dublin; her worries, theoretically, were all dealt with. The thought of putting the Atlantic between the lot of them and Creeper was quite a relief, too.

Getting on the plane, she was torn. It wasn't fair to deprive Earlene of Thranduil as a seatmate, but Lorna had got a vague impression that Thanadir didn't actually like her all that much. Whatever, they'd work it out among themselves. She'd be taking a nice long nap anyway, if she could get Thranduil to put her under, so she'd wake up with some energy when they got home. There were loads of things to give and show and tell Ratiri, and the souvenirs to sort and wrap for her friends in Baile.

Thranduil pondered what he was perceiving from Lorna and frowned. He could guess at the origin of her impressions of Thanadir, but her views were clouded by their differences in personality. Thanadir would give his life to protect Lorna, but it did not mean he was inclined to endure flying toast. It was not about 'like' or 'dislike', and it bothered him that she would feel this way. And yet how to do something about it?

Thanadir's head tilted to one side as Thranduil...informed him. His eyebrows raised, and while they waited to make their way to business class, he considered for a few moments before leaning down. "Lorna, would you mind it, if I sat near you?"

Lorna blinked, startled. "Sure," she said. "You go on ahead and have the window seat. I know you'd appreciate it a hell'v a lot more than me."

"Thank you, I will," he said politely. They settled themselves; it was all much the same as last time. Thanadir watched Lorna furtively as her eyes betrayed growing agitation that she worked hard to dissemble, as the flight attendants went through their 'if we need to make a water landing' speech. He kept on watching, until the were within seconds of takeoff, before offering his hand to her. "Hold onto me," the old elf said in his kindest tone of voice.

Lorna took it with only the barest trace of hesitation. "Not sure I'll ever like flying," she said. "Once we get up, I'll just pretend we're not up. A lot easier to do if I'm not seeing out the window." The 'water landing' was the worst of it this go-round, too. Thought of it...no. Just...no.

It was harder for him, much harder, but he had healing abilities of his own, and he did his best to let his sense of peace flow into her. That he did not understand her fear and anxiety did not mean he would ignore it. He rather enjoyed the sensation of the great machine roaring to life, and the sight of them leaving the earth. He looked out the window in rapt fascination as the great city of men was left behind; in only one minute they were so very high and far away. He remembered, with chagrin, to release her hand, and as he fiddled with his video monitor that gave him wind speed, altimeter, and miles to their destination, he considered what else he might say to her.

"What did you enjoy the most? I think like us, you have rarely been so far from home?"

Now rather more relaxed, Lorna half-smiled. "I've never been anywhere near so far from home," she said. "I loved it, until last night, but I'm glad to be going home, too. New York's grand, but it's not Ireland. I'm happy we're headed back to open spaces, y'know? It's like...it's like being in canyons, in the city, big deep ones. I think my favorite was the natural history museum. So much I'd never've seen at home." She didn't want to say that he'd seemed a bit overwhelmed at times, so instead she asked, "What's the oddest thing you learned, while we were there?"

He laughed. "That was definitely what happened last night, but I think this is not a place to discuss that. But aside from that…" he frowned. "I learned so, so many things. But these dinosaurs, and that film about the heavens above us, those were both strange and important to me. And maybe besides that….was Nonna at the restaurant." He grinned, clearly remembering the first time in his long life he had ever over-eaten.

"Christ, Nonna," Lorna said, fighting back laughter. She was only grateful the old lady had patted his cheek, not pinched it. "I still wonder how it is you can eat so much and be built like you are. I mean, I eat a lot for someone my size, but still. My Gran, she'd've loved you. She'd've taken it as her personal challenge to feed you too much. Little old ladies, especially grans and nonnas, are just like that. I just wish I knew what she'd said to you. We'll have to ask Earlene later."

"I know that it is...amusing to others, how much I like food," he confessed, while keeping his voice deliberately low in volume. "And I am not sure how this began. My family were Silvan; people that preferred to dwell in the forest lands. They came under the authority of Fionn's father. When I was young, food was not plentiful. Everything had to be gained by hunting, fishing, or foraging. There were no places for gardening, and it was much work. I remember feeling hungry, often, but it was not right to ask for more than my share. Later on, I was accepted into the service of Oropher's household and there was food to enjoy, wonderful food. I worked as Steward, and the leftovers were abundant. Plus, the workers in the kitchens liked me," he grinned, clearly lost in his memories. He shrugged. "I do not ever seem to grow in the wrong direction. You do not see me every minute of every day, but many of the things I do are physically demanding. I do not mean to seem...excessive, but food, especially food like we have eaten on this trip, and the food Earlene cooks...it is wonderful."

Just then the attendant appeared, to ask what drinks they would like to have.

Lorna ordered a rum and Coke, and considered this. "Earlene really is a bloody good cook," she said. "I didn't exactly grow up with a load'v food myself. Might be why I'm so damn short." There hadn't been any place for her to garden, either - their surroundings had just been very, very different. Stealing counted as foraging, though, right? Sure it did. "Can your lot -" she'd just barely stopped herself saying 'elves' "- even get fat?" Somehow, she doubted it.

Thanadir frowned, after also ordering a rum and coke along with water. "It should theoretically be possible, were we to eat such as the Holey Cream all the time," but since we do not, probably it would take great effort. I wonder if Earlene knows how to make donuts," he said wistfully.

He was so wistful that Lorna laughed. "If she doesn't, I'm sure she can learn," she said. "Mairead's got recipes out the nose. I tried to help her once and just wound up burning myself on the hot oil. I'm a rubbish cook myself, so staying with Earlene so often's been spoiling me. Then again, I'd probably die'v malnutrition if I wasn't around someone who could cook. I actually managed to light pasta on fire a few years ago, and that shouldn't even be possible." Fortunately she'd done that at home, or Mairead would never have let her live it down.

Thanadir's eyes widened and he debated if he should swallow his pride in an offer of friendship. "I am not a good cook either. I tried, one time, to do the work in the kitchens, and it did not go well. Apparently there is more to baking bread than one would believe. All of my efforts were inedible, and finally I was asked to stop trying. That was very hard. I am not used to failure. Not like that," he shook his head, looking very sad. "I did not light pasta on fire but I found out that bread is flammable," he offered sheepishly.

She remembered what Thranduil had said, about his inability to bake, and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. "God isn't there ever," she sighed. "Gran tried to teach me to make it the old way, in an oven like you've got at home. What I wound up with was a charcoal lump. I think it managed to burn to a crisp without actually catching fire, which I'm fairly sure violates the laws'v thermodynamics." Not that she knew much about those, but still. It didn't seem like it should be possible, and the thing had actually crumbled when she took it out of the oven.

"No, it does not, because after I caught one loaf on fire I did what you describe to the next." They looked at each other and some form of shared humiliation started them laughing. Thanadir looked out the window briefly, shaking his head before turning back to her. "I know we are not very similar, Lorna, but I do like you very much. I am not very good at coping with things outside of what I think they should be. I am not always easy to be around, and I am sorry for that. I want to apologize, because I am sure there have been times that I have been….what was it you said, the night we watched the movie with the sword fight? No fun. It has often fallen to me to be...no fun, and I know that I do not always know when to stop." The doe eyes were being deployed in full force, though not on purpose. It was not usual for him to speak like this, and he was sincerely sorry for his increasing awareness of how mortals tended to view him.

Jesus Christ, the doe eyes...they could be a god damn super-weapon. "You like 'seemliness'," she said, which was not a word she'd ever even heard of before she met the elves, "and I'm about as seemly as a bag full'v rabid weasels. I'd figured I was just grating on your nerves, since Christ knows I'm good at that. The only people than can really stand me being me around them very long're my sister and my old boss, and even they call me childish sometimes. It's…" How the hell could she put words around this? Communicating with Thranduil was easy, because half the time he seemed to know what she was thinking before she did. Actually using her words was more difficult than it ought to be for a woman her age. "I've spent most'v my life just trying to have fun in the moment, because the future wasn't worth thinking'v. All I - hell, everyone I knew - knew when I was younger was that the future was probably going to be crap, so there was no point thinking or worrying about it. I'm not so bad that way anymore, but still. I'm kind'v used to people rolling their eyes and disapproving'v me, and normally I wouldn't give half a shit, because there's not that many people in this world I actually give a shit about . You lot, you're my friends." She shook her head, picking at the end of her braid. "I didn't have a childhood, Cian," she said. "I had a da who beat the shite out'v us, never enough food to go around - half the time, especially once I got older, it wasn't safe to go home, so I just went wherever I could take shelter. If I'm childish now, it's because I didn't get to be then."

The seneschal's lips parted at what he was hearing; it took considerable effort to not let his entire face betray his emotions. It was all so obvious, now. He had never asked his King why he invested such time in Lorna or what the reason was for his obvious closeness to her; it was in no way his place to do so. But to hear plainly now, that she had been treated by her own father as Thranduil had been treated by Oropher...it was horrifying. He would never forget the heartbreak of what he was forced to witness, or what it was like to hold the broken young prince in his arms as he tried to offer some kindness and comfort when it was safe to do so. "I am so sorry, Lorna. I did not know, and I hope you can forgive me. For a very long time, it was my role to do as I was asked to do, without questions. Everything is changing now, and I am slowly realizing that my old habits do not serve me well. I cannot promise that I will never become fixated again on what is seemly, but I will try to show more understanding. And, I would do anything to help you. You only need ask. You are strong, and have much spirit, but there are times all of us need others."

His sentiments were interrupted by the arrival of their beverages.

"You had no way'v knowing," she said, as gently as she was able, once they'd taken their drinks and the hostess moved on. "It's not exactly something I go around advertising, and I know Thranduil doesn't let on anything unless I tell him he can, which happens approximately never." She actually managed to give him a ginger pat on the hand, which for her was downright effusive. "And Christ knows what you've gone through, meeting the, uh, modern world. Must've been a shock and a bloody half, trying to get used to it, even before we went to New York. You've handled the whole mess'v it better than I probably could've, if we'd been in opposite places. Hell, you two've handled it better than I did , when I first went to live with Mairead." She glanced down the aisle, making sure the hostess couldn't hear. "You want to know something pathetic? I'd never used a proper butter-knife until I was twenty-six. When my brothers and sister and I were little, we'd get soup in a big pot, and just eat it out'v the pot - sometimes we didn't even each have our own spoon. My table manners weren't so much awful as nonexistent, and my Gran drummed them into me by literally smacking my hand if I got something wrong." She couldn't help but laugh at the memory. "I'm doing what I can for you lot, too. We do sometimes need others, though that's been a hard lesson for me to learn over the years. Even if some'v us are bloody different people," she added, giving him a crooked smile. Hopefully Thranduil could untangle anything she didn't get across well, since God knew there was probably plenty.

He drank his water, and with a slightly mischievous grin swapped out her empty rum and coke for his full one. "I will not tell if you will not," he smiled.

It was unavoidable for Thranduil to hear all of this, as he held his wife's hand. He wished that he had done a better job of introducing these two to each other. Gazing out the window, he thought of the many, many times he had taken Thanadir for granted. He had been a part of his life for so long, that life without him had become unimaginable. And in these past months, he had been forced to realize how much he had overlooked that reality. His stern and eminently capable servant had thoughts and feelings of his own, in addition to great love for him. He could not see precisely where their lives were headed, any longer. There would be children, and the joys of family, to which he was greatly looking forward. And beyond that, later?

You will be shown the way home.

His head snapped around. It had been Earlene's voice in his mind, but the same strange light he had seen in her eyes many weeks ago was present once again. He hesitated to respond, to say anything.

He waved his fingers carefully in front of her unseeing stare that was fixed on him.

You do not yet understand. But you will, in time.

Understand what, meluieg? he asked, unable to stand this any longer.

Earlene blinked, confused. I am sorry, my Lord. What are you asking?

Meluieg, do you remember what you were thinking, just now?

She shook her head. I was going to ask you a question, but now I cannot remember what it was.

He smiled, hiding his concern from her as he stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. If you recall what it is, I am here.

Nodding, she turned her attention to her video screen as Thranduil carefully watched her thoughts. He could see that she had a sensation of having 'skipped', of not recalling the last few moments, and that it puzzled her, but not enough to spend much time considering. He sighed. Frowning, he turned on his own video screen, and sought something to watch.

By the time they landed in Dublin, Lorna was a bit drunk and quite at one with the world. It was somewhat jarring to be arriving so late in the evening, but to smell the sea air of Dublin, to feel the nice, cool temperatures, was bloody wonderful. The airport wasn't even as crowded this late at night, so finding their bags wasn't too much of a difficulty. (Though God was she glad she'd sewed on the ribbons; it made everything exponentially easier.)

"All right, we've not forgot anything, have we?" she asked, counting the luggage. "I'm half plastered, I'll not know it otherwise."

Thranduil cocked an eyebrow and frowned at his seneschal, who looked mildly chagrined. He had tried to be friendly to Lorna, and thought that giving her all of his alcoholic drinks in addition to her own would be appreciated. Perhaps six had been too many? The King elected to not interfere, but did hover nearby since he was not having her fall down or otherwise incur bodily harm until she was able to greet Ratiri. Thanadir and Earlene managed the bags easily on their own; that was the marvelous thing about luggage with wheels.

Ratiri was lurking in the lounge near the entrance, drinking a very large Thermos of tea and reading, unsurprisingly, a volume of the Book of Lost Tales. He stood up when he saw them, and Lorna was drunk enough that she pulled him into a sloppy hug when she reached him.

"You've got souvenirs," she said, grinning up at him. "Be afraid."

Given that this was Lorna, he probably should be, but he was just glad to see her in person again. "You've already sent me some terrifying pictures," he said, inwardly so very, very glad she hugged him so readily.

She had even more terrifying things to tell him, but that could wait until they were all safe in the Halls, since she wasn't actually the one who knew what the hell she was talking about anyway. "But there's so much more," she said.

"Your sister made me promise to make certain you hadn't murdered anyone while you were away. I assured her that if you had, it would have made the news."

Lorna burst out laughing. "Just wait," she said. "Where are you parked?"

"Car park, second floor. You have everything?" he asked, of the group in general.

"We think so," said Earlene. "And I'm truly sorry about this beastly arrival time. It's dismaying that we've been heading this way since 7am in another time zone, and now we'll have you up past two." She came closer to give him a slightly awkward hug in greeting and by way of thanks. So much that was so surreal had transpired in five short days that it felt like half a lifetime.

"The nature of the beast, half the time," Ratiri said. "I've got tomorrow off work, so it's no matter if I'm up all night." He led them out into the beautifully cool night, and helped them get their assorted bags and suitcases stowed. It was a damn good thing Lorna had bought a van, because even his Bronco couldn't have seated everyone comfortably.

"I guess you'd best draw straws for seats," he said, somehow managing to shut the back doors without breaking anything.

"Ride up front, Lorna. I will improve your clarity if need be," smirked Thranduil, climbing immediately into the place behind the passenger seat.

Thranduil was going to know how grateful he was without the bother of saying anything - though that was also still a touch disturbing, because one day, Ratiri was bound to think something he'd rather anyone else not know about. Oh well. Lorna had said that Thranduil kept everything to himself, unless given permission to do otherwise.

Lorna hopped into the passenger's seat, fumbling with her belt a bit. Once everyone was secured, it was off and outward. The good thing about the utterly shit landing time was that there was next to no traffic on the motorway at all - unfortunately, he'd been warned about his driving habits by Lorna, and was stuck driving like a granny the whole bloody way to Lasg'len. A hundred and thirteen kilometers an hour was just sad - but sooner or later he and Lorna could take her Charger out and see what it could do.

The village, of course, was completely asleep, not a single window lit as they coasted through the silent streets. It stayed silent right up until they pulled into the drive at Earlene's cottage, the engine ticking a little when Ratiri shut it off.

Lorna had in fact fallen asleep, and took a vague swat at him when he tried to shake her away, very much like a cranky but highly lazy cat. Mindful of what her sister (and half the rest of Baile) had said, he opted to find a stick to poke her awake with.

Ratiri, allow me to help, he heard from Thranduil. He opened the passenger door and laid a hand on her shoulder, before undoing the seatbelt and lifting her out of the van while Thanadir and Earlene quickly dragged their pieces of luggage into the front door of the cottage. Ratiri and Thranduil walked around to the back doors. It was a clear night, and not too cold. Thranduil handed Lorna off to Ratiri. Take her, please. I will be just one moment. She will not wake. The man looked surprised yet pleased when Lorna was transferred to his arms. At the very least, it could be said that he did not appear to mind. Entering the cottage, he tried to determine what the delay was.

"I am sorry, Thranduil. It is cold here, for me, and I was trying to get to my cloak but…" she waved her hand in frustration, because they had neatly blockaded that part of the hallway.

"Leave it be, meluieg. Thanadir or I will ensure you stay warm."

She knew better than to doubt, and at once turned off the light and made ready to leave, taking Thanadir's arm. The white light had just ruined her night vision; it would take many minutes now for her eyes to readjust. They began the walk to the Halls. When you tire, Ratiri, tell me and I will take her from you. I know she is heavy to carry for such a distance. The King's eyes sparkled in the dim moonlight, and they entered the forest path.

As happy as Ratiri was to have his armful of Lorna, he had actually been wondering how the hell he could possibly get her that distance by himself. She was tiny, yes, but seven stone was still a bit for any human to carry on a thirty-minute walk.

"Lorna sent me a number of somewhat odd photos," he said, quietly so as to avoid waking her. The great thing about Elves was that he didn't need to speak up. "Was your trip as mad as she made it seem?" The video of the mating lions, and that child's distressed reaction, had made him laugh so hard he'd shared it with everyone at the pub.

"Madder," said Earlene. "I do not know where to begin. Wait, yes I do. This is far from certain, but did she tell you about what I found out on Ellis Island?"

"She said your great-uncle was a Donovan," Ratiri said, trying not to stumble. Hey, it was dark and he had human eyes. "She thought it would be something to look into, once you were home." There would be an odd serendipity to it, if the two did turn out to be some how related. Family finding family, without even realizing it. This would be so much easier if Lorna wasn't completely dead weight, but he didn't particularly want to give her up just yet.

"Yeah," said Earlene. "We never knew why gran wanted my brother named Aidan. She insisted on it. Turns out that Aidan Donovan was my gran's brother, turned back at Ellis Island, shipped back home. If it really turned out to be a connection, it'd be amazing. And that wasn't the half of it."

Ratiri was fairly sure someone in Dad's family had gone to America, but he hadn't realized Ellis Island would toss people back. God, what a horrible thing, and especially for a child - for if he recalled correctly, Earlene's gran had emigrated as a little girl. "Ireland's a tiny island," he said. "I'd be surprised if there wasn't some connection there, however distant. And she sent a lot of pictures of the place, and you lot. What did you have to do to get her to pose by the window in the Statue of Liberty Crown? She looked ready to run away."

"I did not realize how much Lorna dislikes heights until this journey", said Thranduil. "But even she could not possibly fall out of those windows. It was over with quickly," he chuckled.

Earlene chimed in. "As I recall it she did well enough. Everyone was fairly occupied with learning about the three hundred different hammers used to build the thing," she quipped.

"She hates heights, and yet she likes to climb trees," Ratiri said, shaking his head. "Whereas I don't mind heights, but you couldn't pay enough to get up into a tree." He was too tall, and weighed too much because of it - and unlike Elves, couldn't break the laws of physics and allow himself to walk along slender boughs. (Or on snow. Seriously, that just wasn't fair.) "But she didn't get herself arrested. Mairead owes me a fiver."

Earlene pursed her lips, wondering how close Lorna might have come to that, had she gone troddling off to Central Park the night of the 'incident', but said nothing. That entire story was best not told at after two in the morning. Thranduil allowed Ratiri to soldier on for awhile longer, but at the halfway point the poor man had more than exceeded expectations, and he took Lorna to carry the rest of the way. They all went first to their guests' rooms, to set Lorna into bed. Earlene gently removed her sandals and as the rest of her clothing was loose-fitting, decided to call it good. Thranduil pulled the covers over her and kissed her on the forehead, and Earlene dropped the curtains closed on her bed so that the elleth would not wake her in the morning. They said goodnight to Ratiri after ensuring his rooms were in basic order, and went each to their own rooms.

Thanadir entered his quarters with a smile and sat down at Lorna's sewing machine. He was just in a mood to work on a quilt square, for a short time. Thranduil and Earlene wasted no time undressing and going to bed. They did not make a drawn-out encounter of it, but did take full advantage of no longer needing to be completely quiet.

Ratiri, exhausted himself, changed into the strange, soft nightshirt the Elves had given him, crawled into the wonderful softness of his bed, and was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.