2063: After the battle of Dol Goldur, the evening of dinner at Uncle Olwes and Aunt Indis.
Legolas was sure he would have found her down here in the kitchens. He had left behind a months worth of reports on his desk, and many of the days tasks remained undone for he had not been able to focus in weeks. Instead he had spent sleepless nights pacing the halls, and sneaking gossip from healers, and begging the wizard to tell him of Unede's condition. But save for a streak of blood leading from his fathers study and the worried look of the guards he knew little more than that she lived, and that she would come to stay in the palace as one of his father's Councilor. So, he had chosen a room, and tried to bide his time making arrangements for her comfort. She would not see him, nor anyone, and for many days she had refused food. He felt her soul sad and distant and worried that she would fade, and his heart became cold. The darkness of Sauron had burdened her, and all the whispers in the kingdom said they would find her dead and faded before the fall was ended.
He turned the corner and made his way down the stairs and prayed that in the warm musty bakery he would find her with her hands floured and her wiry hair bound up kneading a dough, or sipping tea and waiting for her work to rise. Instead all he found was an empty room. The kneading stones were clean, and the fire was in embers, and the wicker proofing baskets sat empty. Stale tarts lined racks, and the tea kettles were cold, and he slumped into a seat and lay his head in his hands.
It was over. He had allowed himself this foolish dream for an entire age, even though he knew that this was how it would end. All the evenings they had pretended to love and court in a tent had been only that- pretend. A dream that he would crown her in flowers, and dance in the gardens, and wake in the night to stoke the fire so she would wake up warm. They would never stroll the market hand in hand, or do more than sneak tarts and train young soldiers. What a fool he was to think he saw more in her eyes with all her secret loaves of bread, and drunken jigs at feats, and begging him to pair with her for a quadrille. Now she lay on her death bed and turned him away at the door.
Perhaps, he thought, she had never loved him. All the years he had waited for her, let her chase demons in the woods, watched her blood thirsty, and razing battalions of orcs. She was fear, and blood, and sweat, and doom and he had loved her through it all. Perhaps, he thought, she had only ever wanted revenge and death. She did not love him, or his people, she loved duty and war. Yes, he thought, her silvan blood was weak, she was a Noldo, cursed and bent on revenge, willing to loose everything for a chance at slaying the dark lord.
The Prince felt his heart harden, and suddenly understood what it was to be a King. For all the love he had for the captain slipped from him, and his fea became cold with anger instead of grief. He needed no mate, no heir, no great love to warm the hearts of his people. They needed protection, and food and drink, and a fire at night. And his thoughts grew darker in the lonely room, and words of forsaking their love and his oath sat sticky on his tongue, until at last he heard the quiet whispers of the bakers, and felt them peek at him through the doorway.
"Your highness." Anaire whispered.
"What is it." He grimaced.
"Have a tart, or a spot of tea." Amarie trotted in behind her and sat a tray before him, and offered a smile to bright for dark times. "Be not shy, we shant have you sulking about any longer."
"He's in grief Amarie be gentle."
"Gentleness is not what he needs right now." Amarie pushed a tea cup at the Prince, and set a crusty tart before him. "He needs truth."
"I have truth." He muttered and pushed away the cup. "She lives and she does not see me. I was but a toy for her for all of this age."
The sister's looked at each other, and touched the Princes clenched hands, and he felt his anger fade a little.
"That is not what we heard." Amarie took a seat beside the Prince and pushed the tea cup back towards him. "We heard her heart is sad, and that she wakes in fits of evil dreams. We heard now that she heals, the King has placed burdens on her that she is afraid to carry. We heard that she prepared for an age to face the darkness, and now she has no idea how to face the person she was meant to be after words."
"Who is she meant to be then?" Legolas muttered and finally took the drink that was before him.
"Well she thought she was meant to be dead." Anaire said flatly.
"She's meant to be our Princess, and Queen of the Noldor one day. But she never prepared to meet that fate. And she is quite unsure how to council a King and love a Prince, and not deal insults to the other elven kingdoms all the while."
"She does not want the burden." Legolas whispered bitterly. "She never has."
"So perhaps." Amarie began carefully. "It is a lot for a heart to bear the thought of that burden, after facing such an evil. Which is why Miriel has been taking her from the halls and forcing her to paint. The color is good for her spirit, and the tree's talk her out of dark thoughts."
Legolas ate the food before him in silence and pondered the words of the sisters as he let the crumbs fall between bites. She loved his Kingdom he knew, despite is doubts, the trees sang and whispered to her and shook with joy as she walked with them. And in his heart he knew that for all her stubbornness and single minded goals that she loved him, and instead of cursing her, he cursed his crown. His heart warmed again at all the nights they had shared a tent, and pretend that they were destined for an ending that was happy. He remembered promising to meet her in the halls of mandos when he had faded, and to find her again in Valinor. He remembered finding her in his bed, and how she would sleep each night clutching his mothers necklace, and tucking it gently beneath her clothes each morning.
"I have been selfish." He said at last.
"Yes you have." Anaire was ever the voice of reason. "And so we have taken it into our own hands to make it right." She nodded at her sister, and from the folds of her dress Amarie pulled a jar of hazy red honey and placed it before him on the table.
"Honey?" He asked confused.
"Celebrant honey. Curufin led an envoy south to trade for it since the roads are finally safe."
Legolas lifted the jar and peered at the hazy red liquid and felt his breath still. He had heard tell of the honey for a millenia, and now he finally had a bit in his hands. He wondered if it was enough.
"It was expensive." Anaire said tentatively.
"It is worth any price." The Prince said quickly.
"The red stallion?" Amarie breathed. Legolas raised an eyebrow.
"How did you get him from the stables?"
"Do you really want us to answer that question, or can this simply be a grand and kingly gesture?" Anaire said quickly.
But the Prince did not break her gaze, nor lower his eyebrows.
"Ingwe took his Majesties seal when he was guarding the King's study, and put it on a trade order. He gave the order to a messenger who had Daeron bring the stallion to the emissary, and Curufin led them all south for the trade." Anaire said simply.
"We also got lovely silks, and a heady wine." Amarie added quickly.
"How am I supposed to feel about all this?" Legolas muttered and placed his head into his hands. "That was my favorite horse you know."
"We know." Anaire dismissed with a wave of her hand.
"Happy, you're supposed to feel happy." Amarie suggested. "Indis is cooking tonight, and we gave Unede all her favorite berries, and you can go to the dinner and give her the honey."
"I cannot show up uninvited to dinner."
"Hardly uninvited when you have been a hundred times, your practically expected." Anaire pressed. "Go, go and see her. It will be well."
Legolas thought for a long moment, before he nodded his head, and decided in a breath that perhaps these ladies were right, and that he was a fool. He stood quietly and gathered himself and smiled at the ladies, the bid them good day, and set off for the home of Olwe and Indis, praying that they would have him for dinner.