There wasn't a single swirl of dust as Charlotte slammed the book shut with a groan of frustration. Of course, everything in the library was impeccably kept and written in the beautiful, flowing Tengwar.

And she couldn't read a word of it.

Foolishly hoping she might be able to puzzle her way through it on her own, she'd grabbed books that looked promising and was quickly smacked with her own limitations. The sealed doors on the far side of the chamber loomed over her. Maethor and Haedirn stood guard just outside, but they didn't know about her soul problem yet.

She fiddled with the skirt of her borrowed gown. She'd had no reason not to wear one of Celebrían's dresses, and it felt divine to be both clean and swathed in silky fabric. Her dinner with Thranduil had absolutely nothing to do with the level of attention she'd applied to her appearance. At all.

There were only a few hours before her self-imposed deadline, and she had somehow not accounted for the massive language barrier when she planned her excursion to the expansive library on the lower level of the Elven caverns. She'd wanted answers before she told anybody. Now her hand was forced.

Without a translator, she couldn't get any research accomplished. Learning Tengwar had been on her massively long list of things to do, but it had slowly flittered to the bottom of her priorities, dropping far below things like: don't let the Greenwood fall, stop accidentally cursing the populace, cure previously mentioned cursed populace, and then get back to the river to undo her damage. She still had to find someone willing to teach her Tengwar, and though she was surrounded by elves who read the language, she'd learned long ago that the possession of knowledge did not automatically make a person a good teacher. Plus, she was essentially persona non grata with most of the elves in Eryn Galen.

They really needed to form a school in the Greenwood. Meluieth could only get training for a single week once a year after a month-long journey; two months if the return trip was included, and she was fortunate enough to be friends with a king who could make the trip happen. How many elves wouldn't be able to make such a journey? And what about the elflings? There weren't many—scratch that, there was only one elfling, but surely there had been more at one point? Or elves who hadn't grown up with private tutors and lacked access to education? She'd have to ask Thranduil about it later. Someone should definitely look into it.

Even if they did open a school, it still wouldn't be in time for her to learn Tengwar and hunt through all the books and scrolls in the library.

The heavy door groaned open, and Charlotte sighed, dropping her face into her hands. "Perfect timing," she said. "I seem to have forgotten that I can't read these myself." She'd never felt so dependent, and now she was forced to ask for help in something she considered to be tantamount to her career.

"Well, I can help you!" A cheerful voice replied, and Charlotte jerked her head up. She had been expecting Maethor or Haedirn, but it was Legolas who padded silently across the stone floors, dressed as regally as his adar in a silver tunic and a dainty twisting circlet. The elfling noticed her gaze and pulled the crown from his hair with a sheepish grin. "Adar let me attend his meetings today," he explained.

"By yourself?"

"He was there too," Legolas said. He plopped into the carved chair beside her and dragged one of her books over. "I wouldn't want to meet Lord Cúthon alone again." His eyes widened. "I mean, it's not that I don't like him, it's just— and I—"

"Legolas, it's okay." Charlotte patted his hand soothingly. She didn't like the sneaky ellon either, but she imagined that, as the prince, Legolas needed to avoid speaking ill of his advisors. "I understand. Cúthon can be intimidating."

Legolas nodded, but he was still frowning, his fingertips tracing the curls on the book cover. When he caught her stare, he shrugged, and his lips twitched into a weak smile. "What are you looking for?" He asked, tapping the book twice.

How much to say? She wouldn't tell him about her fëa before she told Thranduil, and she didn't want to tell him before she had answers. "I'm looking for information on Elven gods."

Were they even gods? She'd never seen a place of worship in any of the Elven settlements, though she'd heard the occasional invocation. They were obviously powerful enough to create a soul and shift a mortal into a different world and body.

Legolas shoved the books away. "You won't find much about them in these books. These are all the citizen records: begettings, deaths, sailings, beheadings."

"Beheadings?"

Legolas laughed. "I'm just joking. We don't behead elves, silly."

"No, of course not." She thought about it for a moment and asked, "Is everyone in here? Would I be in one of these books?"

"I don't know. You weren't born like an elfling, but you are a citizen now, right?" He didn't wait for her answer. His little hands shifted the books around, stacking the ones he didn't want and shoving them aside until he flipped open a heavy leather-bound tomb. Thumbing through the pages, he said, "I think they would have written your name in with your arrival date, instead of guessing your begetting day. Or maybe they would've considered that your begetting day since you didn't exist here before then. Aha!" He pointed triumphantly at a half-filled page, his finger dropping on the last line of sloping letters, and waited for Charlotte to read them.

Charlotte pinched her lips to hold her laugh. Legolas looked so pleased with himself. He'd yet to realize the problem.

"Oh, right, my apologies." He cleared his throat and flushed, before reading aloud, "'Charlotte Anniuel. They left your adar name blank, but they wrote, 'Beget by the Valar.' Is that why you want to know about them?"

Charlotte chewed her lip. "Sort of."

"Well, I know all fourteen of them," he said proudly. "Even Melkor, though he's not a Valar anymore. Elbereth is my favorite, but all elves love her most because she made the stars."

Stars. She remembered the orbs popping into existence when she'd been trapped in limbo and the beautiful elleth who'd glowed just as brightly. But she hadn't been called "Elbereth." She'd had another name. "Does she also go by Varda?"

Legolas nodded.

One of the puzzle pieces wiggled into place, and her stomach lurched with the implications. "And what about Nienna? Do they share any connections?"

His tiny brow scrunched as he thought it over. "Nienna is one of the Valar queens, like Elbereth, but she's known as the Lady of Grief and Sorrow. Golodhon says she's also the Lady of Pity and Courage, but most elves only think of her first title."

Charlotte leaned forward on her elbow and dropped her chin onto her fist. There had to be something tying the two elleth together... some reason these two particular queens would take an interest in a mortal. Her free hand tapped against the wood grain, beating staccato. What she wouldn't do for a computer… not that any search engine she knew of would host the answers she was looking for. When computers failed in her research at home, there was always another avenue. Books were beyond her reach at the moment, so she was left with the next best thing. "Who is Golodhon?"

"My tutor," Legolas scrunched his nose in distaste. "I have to spend the entire morning studying with him before I'm allowed to practice my archery. But a good prince must be able to maneuver the throne room as well as the battlefield. Even though battles are much more exciting."

Charlotte chuckled. No matter where she was, some things never changed. "I can't imagine that would be that spectacular." Now it was her turn to scrunch her nose. "All the blood and the smell and the noise." She shivered dramatically, and Legolas laughed. "No, thank you, you won't catch me prancing about a battlefield."

"I'll protect you!" Legolas straightened in his chair, grinning wildly. "I can be your gwaethann."

"My what?"

"It means 'bonded shield," Legolas said. He practically bounced in his chair. "They're incredibly rare. I think Glorfindel is Elrond's gwaethann, but I'm not sure."

She really needed to formally meet this other reborn elf lord. It seemed like he had all the answers, and she was beginning to wonder if she was supposed to stay in Imladris after all. She'd only made a mess of things in Eryn Galen. But then she remembered Nienna's warning was specifically about the Greenwood falling.

"Does Lord Glorfindel go everywhere that Lord Elrond goes?" Charlotte asked, her brain working over the possibilities. "Say, for example, if Lord Elrond went to visit Lórinand, would Glorfindel follow him?"

"Absolutely. He doesn't travel anywhere without his captain. That's why I think Glorfindel is his gwaethann. Adar doesn't take his captain with him everywhere."

Thranduil seemed infinitely more lethal though. She still remembered the first moment she saw him in Imladris, parting the crowd of elves without so much as a glance. As if those around him sensed a predator and adjusted accordingly. He would have no need to be under constant guard.

If Glorfindel truly followed Elrond everywhere, then he would arrive with the elves from Imladris when they came to visit. She hoped Thranduil had already sent the letter inviting them to attend the council. Glorfindel might have the answers she was looking for.

"Charlotte?"

"Hmm?"

"Is there anything else you need help with?" Legolas asked. There was an odd hopeful gleam in his eyes that she narrowed her gaze at. The elfling squirmed in his seat, crossing and uncrossing his ankles and ducking his chin down to avoid her gaze.

"Legolas?"

"Yes?"

She raised a brow, and that was all it took for Legolas to crack.

He sighed dejectedly and mumbled, "I know a prince is never late, but I really don't want to go back to the meeting with Lord Cúthon."

Charlotte bit her lip. She wanted to get him out of the meeting, but would that benefit him in the long run? "I know you're not fond of him, but he's your adar's advisor. Wouldn't it be best for you to understand his role and see how he helps your adar?"

"But he's not helping him!" Legolas shoved the book away and crossed his arms. "He's just worried about his betrothal contract with Lady Lothuial."

"I doubt that's entirely true," she said, thinking of Thranduil's plan to bond with her. It did raise another concern: what would Cúthon and Lothuial do when they found out their plan had been thwarted?

"You didn't see them," Legolas insisted. "Lord Cúthon told Lothuial they'd be married by Mereth Nuin Giliath."

"I don't think your adar is interested in an arranged marriage with Lothuial."

It was clear that Thranduil hadn't had a moment to talk with Legolas yet regarding their recent relationship development. It had only been a few hours, so not much time to break the news, but a part of her wondered if he was feeling just as uncertain as she was about where they stood. Their impending dinner suddenly felt weightier.

"It is true," Legolas grumped. He flicked an imaginary piece of lint from the tabletop. "I saw the contract. Adar signed it. It had his seal and everything."

"What?" She shook her head. No. Thranduil wouldn't lie to her. He'd said he hadn't signed it. "Maybe it's another contract."

"Maybe," Legolas said, though he didn't sound convinced. He bit his lip, then frowned as he studied his hands. "Do you think I'll have to call her Naneth?"

Her eyes drifted closed, and she huffed. This was such a mess. If Legolas knew, he wouldn't have to worry about Lothuial, but Charlotte didn't know where she stood with either of her favorite elves. Thranduil would probably want to speak to him himself, right? What if it wasn't the fact that it was Lothuial? Legolas was abandoned by his naneth only a month ago. Maybe he didn't want another naneth at all.

Legolas seemed oblivious to the pale sheen that had stolen over Charlotte's face. He clenched his fists and spoke to the table. "She's not my naneth. I will not call her that. Ever."

"Little leaf," Charlotte gently nudged him with her shoulder until he looked at her. His enormous blue eyes were glassy, and his teeth had ripped through his lower lip. "I'm sure if— when your adar marries, he'll consult you first. Your adar loves you very much. If such an event were to happen, you could decide together what to call his wife. Maybe you'll use her name, or you'll come up with your own special nickname."

"You mean like, 'Nana' instead of 'Naneth?'" His little face crumpled. "Naneth only ever let me call her 'Naneth' in private. Otherwise, I was supposed to call her Princess Nemir." His boot scuffed across the floor. "She said a prince must always address the nobility using their proper titles. She was really angry with Elrond and Celebrían for not making me call them lord and lady, but it's alright because we used their titles when Naneth was around so she wouldn't be upset. Do you think I'll have to call Lothuial' Queen Lothuial' all the time?" His mouth warped as if he tasted something foul.

Charlotte barely heard his question. Her skin was itching; she was so livid with Nemir. Was there any way this elleth hadn't shoved Legolas away? Why not let Thranduil have Legolas when he wanted him so fiercely, and she obviously didn't? She had half a mind to sail west just to shred the elleth apart herself for emotionally abandoning both Legolas and Thranduil and then gaslighting them into thinking they deserved it. Both ellyn were surprisingly courageous enough to risk trying for love again, and it was despite that horrible, wretched elleth.

Legolas's happy sigh wrenched her out of her cloud of temper. "Have you figured out how you do that yet?" He asked. His eyes were gently closed, and he had tilted his head back to rest against the chair, the glow of her necklace lighting his face. "Because sometimes I have nightmares and—" He bolted up as if he'd said too much, and his pale cheeks flushed with color.

"I have them too," Charlotte said. She left the details out. Her favorite elfling didn't need to know that she still regularly dreamed about her mother turning into an orc, or enormous spiders chasing her through the forest, or the feel of hot, black blood racing endlessly over her fingers or those moments where her curse had pulled Thranduil apart in front of her. Instead, she said, "You're more than welcome to come find me, no matter what time it is, as long as you let someone know where you're going."

"Really?" His skepticism ripped the wound open again, and she felt the rage bubbling beneath her skin. He didn't even trust that someone would be willing to soothe him after a nightmare.

"Listen to me, Legolas." She pulled him around until she could lock eyes with him. "I promise you, I will be there for you in any way that you need me. You can come to me when you have a nightmare, and I know that your adar would want to be there for you too."

"I don't know..."

"I promise." She gave him a one-armed hug and then ruffled his hair. "I was thinking about sneaking into the kitchens for a little baking this afternoon. I couldn't possibly think of going without my assistant pastry chef."

In reality, she had about a million other things to do, but she was more than willing to spend at least two hours focused on making her favorite elfling feel loved. She could talk to Thranduil about meeting Galadhon at dinner and ask if Lord Elrond's invitation had been sent.

The shadows flew from his face, and he grinned. "I'm in! I just have to tell Adar first. He told me to wait here for him, but he won't mind if I'm with you."

"Excellent." She stood and pulled him with her, leaving the books abandoned on her table for later research. Maybe she could persuade Haedirn or Maethor to give her a history lesson.

...

Hours later, she found herself standing in front of the royal chambers, this time with a fresh apple tart in her hands. It seemed the Greenwood had an endless supply of apples after the harvest, and Idhrenes was more than willing to toss some to Charlotte. Especially after the cook saw Legolas. Idhrenes had immediately put Legolas to work on the crust and, by the end of it, they all wore enough flour to make five pies.

Charlotte popped by her room to bathe and switch out of her dusted gown, exchanging the calming blue for the thickest dress she possessed. The deep burgundy coloring and sweeping bell sleeves made her feel regal and, more importantly, warm. The temperatures were dropping steadily as they marched into winter, and though the caverns were mildly warmer than the house in Imladris, they could be drafty. She'd have to invest in winter clothes eventually, one more thing to add to her list.

"Are they not letting you in?"

Charlotte jumped, hands scrambling to save the tart. It flew up, and her eyes widened as she watched it begin to turn before Ellavorn scooped it out of the air.

"Apologies," he grinned, his eyes glittering. His rough hands held out the picturesque tart, and she accepted it with a sigh of relief.

"I hadn't knocked yet."

She eyed the imposing doors. It was just dinner. With Thranduil. And maybe a painful discussion about her wonky fëa.

Maethor and Haedirn were waiting further down the corridor in an illusion of privacy, and she briefly wondered if they would leave as soon as she was ensconced safely in the royal chambers. It felt a little like having a parent drop her at the movies for a date.

Ellavorn was still staring at her, and she imagined she looked ridiculous standing in the corridor clutching a tart. She shook herself and gave him a lopsided grin. "Just admiring the woodwork." Her fingers rapped on the door, which whipped open so fast she was left knocking on air for a moment.

"Wow," Thranduil breathed as his eyes trailed over her, and just like that, all of her anxiety fled.

His hair flowed loose around his shoulders, draping over his charcoal tunic, and his face was relaxed and happy. This was her Thranduil. The version he only showed to those closest to him. Her heart raced, and a swarm of Beorn's bees invaded her brain.

"You look…" she started. Her mind went blank. Dashing? Handsome? All the adjectives in the world felt trite.

"And you…" Thranduil inched closer. His lips parted as if to say more, but no words came.

"Maybe you should take this inside?" Ellavorn suggested, his lips twitching with amusement.

"Right," Thranduil nodded, his cheeks pinking. "Yes, please, come in."

She swore she heard Ellavorn chuckle as the door closed behind her, but Thranduil was escorting her deeper into his chambers, sweeping her further into his home.

They passed a sitting room with plush couches, a dining room with a table long enough for twenty, and an office with an enormous oak desk. She caught a quick glimpse at best, and Thranduil didn't divert into any of the rooms. Instead, he aimed for another set of double doors at the end of the hall.

The rooms they passed were immaculate yet cold. They lacked any of the intimacy she was used to seeing in a home. There were no knick-knacks, no personal items. They reminded her of the fancy showrooms in the city's furniture stores—the empty space echoed around her, devoid of any signs of life besides Thranduil and her.

"I'm surprised this place isn't crawling with guards," she said. Her earlier hesitation would have been far more embarrassing with strangers as witnesses.

"Ellavorn sent them away," Thranduil said. "He's volunteered to guard the corridor for the first part of the evening, and then the regular guards will resume duty for the night. With Maethor and Haedirn included, there will be more guards posted outside than usual."

"Ah." She nibbled her lower lip and searched for something else to say. Finally, she fell back on her manners. "Your home is lovely."

"The entrance and the first few rooms are for meeting with guests," he explained, and for some reason, she felt relieved. He stopped in front of the double doors, his infectious grin wide, and he said, "This is the divide between the king's chambers and our family rooms. No one is permitted beyond these doors without the family's consent."

"So it's just you and Legolas then?" And now me, she thought.

"Mostly, yes. Of course, there is the staff, but that's limited since we don't have a large household right now. It's just Legolas and me. Most of the extra rooms here haven't been fully opened."

He shoved the doors open with a flourish, revealing a circular entrance hall with an enormous skylight filled with glittering stars. She could see another sitting room with a fireplace to the left, but Thranduil took her to an intimate dining room on the opposite side. The long table was already set for two, and covered silver dishes reflected the flickering candles that lined the center.

"I'm afraid Idhrenes might have sent more than we could possibly eat," Thranduil said. His free hand rubbed the back of his neck.

Charlotte found this shy side of him just as endearing as the seductive one she'd encountered in the forest, and she realized she wasn't the only one with a reason to be nervous. Thranduil's last relationship hadn't been amicable, after all. Squeezing his hand to reassure him, she said, "Where's Legolas tonight?"

"Idhrenes is keeping him occupied for now," Thranduil said, pulling out a tall-back wooden chair for her. "He's taken a sudden interest in baking, apparently." He smiled meaningfully at the tart in her hands before gently taking it from her to place among the other dishes.

The cook had really overdone it for their dinner. Between the roasted venison and silverfish, potatoes, a huge bowl of salad, and a dish of roasted pumpkin seeds, they could've easily fed ten people.

"I made sure to avoid rabbit when I requested this," Thranduil said, offering her the platter of roasted meats. "You don't seem to like it any more now than at the wedding."

Charlotte grinned beneath her blush. "You noticed that?" Elrond and Celebrían's wedding felt so long ago, and it was just after she first met Thranduil.

"I told you: I notice everything," he said. "Which brings me to another point, albeit sooner than I had intended."

"Oh?"

"When I mentioned our bonding to Haedirn, you looked upset." He pushed his potatoes around with his fork before setting it aside, folding his hands, and locking onto her eyes. "If you're not ready…"

"No," she dropped her own fork, and then realizing what it sounded like, said, "Well, yes, sort of, but it's not that. I honestly was surprised, but I shouldn't have been. I just... there's something I need to tell you before you commit to this, to me."

Her stomach was twisting. She didn't want to let him go, didn't want to do this, but she wasn't starting a relationship with him with lies, and he deserved a chance at a real bond.

Thranduil sighed and reached for a dark wine bottle to fill his silver goblet. "I have a feeling I'll need the Dorwinion. You look like you're going to be ill. Would you like some?"

"No," she said, but then, "Actually, yes, please." A small bit might ease her nerves. What if he walked away?

Thranduil poured her a full goblet, far beyond what was probably healthy, and then took a healthy sip of his own.

She was working up the courage to tell him when he said, "Legolas said you used the necklace on him today."

The wine sloshed in her hand as she turned. "I did. By accident, that is."

Thranduil's eyes narrowed, and he studied her as if searching for the answer to an incredibly frustrating problem. "And you're still standing?"

"Obviously?"

"Hmm." He tipped his goblet, and the red-tinted his bottom lip for a moment before his tongue darted out to trace the moisture.

"You're making that face again," she blurted.

His brow shot up, though his lips twitched in amusement. "Oh? And what face might that be?"

"The one where you've noticed something, and you're waiting to see how it plays out."

"Perhaps." He shrugged. "Or perhaps I'm enjoying a lovely evening with a fascinating elleth."

"You have a different face for that."

"Do I?" He smirked. "And what does that one look like?"

"You'd have to ask Lothuial."

Charlotte laughed as a look of horror consumed his face. His expression quickly morphed, and his eyes glittered at her.

"Wicked little elleth," he murmured. "But you will not distract me. Tell me."

Charlotte bit her lip hard. Some small thing was finally going well, and now… Now she would potentially unravel it. She shoved her plate away, resigning her twisting stomach to wine.

"When I…" Died? Passed out? Hung around in limbo? Already she was hitting roadblocks. How was she supposed to break them like this? "I told you that, when I was with Námo, Varda and Nienna appeared and forced him to release me?"

Thranduil nodded, swirling his wine glass between two pinched fingers. "A rare occurrence indeed, given that Námo is the judge of our fëa."

"Well, they told him…" She closed her eyes. "They said that I was not his. That I belonged to them, both of them." She heard the thunk of Thranduil's goblet as he set it down but did not dare open her eyes, knowing she'd lose her nerve. "Varda said that she made me."

"We had assumed someone had a hand in your transition from a mortal to an elf."

Charlotte's brow furrowed, and she dared a glance at him. He looked utterly unruffled, having not put the pieces together yet. His mouth twisted as he studied her eyes, and his shoulders sagged as he said, "There's more, isn't there?" His eyes stared at the open doors, toward the chamber of stars.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. He was going to walk away. She wouldn't blame him, not after Nemir, but this would be the last blow she could take. "Varda said that, because she made me, my fëa is different. 'Like but unlike.'"

Thranduil was a statue beside her. His hands had long abandoned his wine, and she was certain he hadn't blinked since she'd opened her own eyes.

"And…" she mumbled, "it is 'unstable.'"

"Unstable?" The word whispered across the sudden chasm between them.

Moisture gathered along her lashes, and her throat grew painfully tight. "When I put the elves to sleep that night, I drained my fëa. Should I use too much…"

Thranduil gazed at her in horror. "You would burn yourself out."

She squeezed her eyes closed and nodded, unable to eek the words out. The first hot tear tracked its way down her cheek, and she jerked when she felt a warm hand caress it away. Thranduil had abandoned his seat and kneeled before her, eyes misted with sorrow to match her own.

"You knew this, and you still attempted to heal Galion?"

"Of course." She sucked in her wobbling lip. "He's sick because of me. Even if he weren't, how could I let him suffer? Let Meluieth suffer?"

"As she has allowed you to do?"

Charlotte shook her head and gently placed a hand over his own. "Thranduil, I…" The words overfilled her mouth. She couldn't say them. Not with a giant "but" at the end. Not when her heart was being cracked into pieces. He had so quickly burrowed his way into her incompatible soul. "I know that after Nemir, you said you would never enter into another relationship unless it was a bond. I completely understand. It's alright."

Thranduil sat back on his heels and shook his head, confusion warring in his eyes. "Charlotte? I noticed you were upset about the bonding comment earlier, but we can wait if you're not ready. I have waited millennia; I can wait however long you wish."

"It's not that. Well, it was that, a little. I'm twenty-seven. That's a child in your years. In my world, people don't often get married after a mere month together."

"But some people do?"

"Well… yes… I suppose so." She wiped at her eyes. "But that's not the point. Thranduil, my fëa is different. Different enough that you may not be able to bond with me. I can't ask you to throw that all away."

"I see," he said. She couldn't tell if he was angry or not. His face had been wiped off all traces of emotion. "Come," he ordered, and he was tugging her by her hands.

This is it, she thought, blinking back tears as he pulled her from the room, and their once-romantic dinner, the only night they'd ever have, faded behind her. She expected him to escort her out, turning left outside the dining room, but instead, he walked across the hall.

Her feet sank into plush rugs as Thranduil guided her to a settee in front of the crackling fire, and then he quit the room so quickly that she only caught a flash of blonde hair as it whipped around the corner.

Chest aching, she wondered if she should just see herself out. She swore somewhere she heard a clock ticking away, the moment stretching its jaws wide. Where could he have gone? Why? Her mind ranged through the worst conclusions. Most of the elves already called her Rhudoleth. She was unwanted here, and she lacked usefulness. Especially now that Thranduil knew she could kill herself trying to heal them all. He was kind and self-sacrificing. It wouldn't be unlike him to send her far away from his realm, for all their sakes. Maybe it would be easier for him if she were to do it herself?

Just as she tensed her muscles to stand, he returned, grasping her hands and pulling her to her feet. "Charlotte." He wrapped his fingers around hers, guiding her palm to settle over his racing heart. "You beautiful, stubborn, compassionate elleth. Remember that I did this first, please." He chuckled nervously, his thumb smoothing across the skin of her hand. "I know that things may be done differently in your time. You seem appalled at our brief acquaintance, but I am an elf. We possess a deeper understanding of each other than any mortal will ever attain."

"Thranduil…"

"Please," he pressed her palm harder against his heart, "let me explain. I know now that I should have been clearer. When I said 'bonding,' I meant I wish to be with you. Always. I want us to raise Legolas together. I want to show you the entirety of our realm and worship you in our bed every night. And anywhere else you'll let me have you."

She let out a watery laugh at his smirk.

"I want you crowned and at my side, equals, ruling over our realm." He caressed her cheek with his free hand. "Don't you see? Legolas and I have wandered Middle Earth apart for decades, both of us searching for the same thing."

Charlotte shook her head slowly. "I don't…"

"You." His whisper was reverent. Silver eyes studied her with awe. "Legolas and I have craved family so desperately. You are a part of that. Can't you see it? How we both love you? How you belong with us?"

Charlotte felt her lip quivering, and she bit down to steady herself. This was insane. She was crazy for considering this. For feeling the joyous swooping in her soul at his words. "Shouldn't we know each other better? I've only been here for a month."

"Unveil your fëa," he commanded gently. His thumb stroked her hand at his chest. "Please."

His eyes were so earnest, vast and unyielding. She burrowed into that space that was inherently her and allowed her fëa to burst through the room, casting glittering light along the walls and ceiling. Heat, like a fireball across her skin, exploded around her as Thranduil revealed his own golden fëa, and she marveled as his soul twined through hers, caressing her fëa like a lover.

Thranduil dropped his forehead against hers, panting heavily. "Our fëar allow us to know each other completely. I know the entirety of your soul, as you know mine."

Charlotte scrunched her nose. Was soul mates enough for a marriage to work?

"If you want the finer details," he whispered, his voice husky, "like your favorite color is blue, and you don't like roasted rabbit, and your heart breaks every time Legolas cries… we have time for those."

"How did you…?"

"We may not have discussed them, but they're a part of our everyday life. I see the way you glance at Meluieth like you miss her. I know that Haedirn makes you laugh with his audacity, and Maethor is your equal in calmness, and Legolas makes you feel protective. You prefer those tunics to your dresses. You'll choose your boots over the finest slippers, and you prefer your hair just like this." His fingers combed through the loose tresses. "Wild like you. Free. I've watched your heart breaking for my people, even when they didn't understand or respect your pain. Do you think Idhrenes is the only one who knows you bury your hurt and anxiety into baking? Do you think I don't notice that Legolas flocks to you when his heart hurts? That you meet everyone you encounter with compassion and grace? How could I not love an elleth like that?"

When he put it like that, she could see his point. In their time together, she'd witnessed his loyalty to his people, his adoration for his son, his penchant for elegant robes, his love of sweets, the gentle regard he held for Idhrenes, the way he quietly guided and protected Meluieth and Galion; all the things that made him Thranduil.

"Marry me. Bond with me," he whispered. "I beg you. Be with me, with Legolas. I'll even let the damn elk sleep inside if you wish."

Charlotte laughed, tears leaking down her face. "I'll hold you to that."

Thranduil opened his mouth, words forming on his lips before he froze. He pulled back, eyes wide with surprise and his face beaming. "Is that a 'yes?'"

She nodded—her throat tight around the words.

His hands cupped her face. Desperate joy stole over his expression. "Please, meleth nîn, I need to hear it."

She could see the vulnerability in this moment for him. The wounds Nemir had inflicted were deep and true. "I would be honored to marry you."

His lips crashed down on hers, his hands diving into her hair to pull her closer, and she lost herself in him. The heat of his body scorched her as the light of their fëar burned brighter. The strange urge she'd felt in the forest grew beneath her skin, pushing her, coaxing her to do… something. It surged and crested as his hands slid over her shoulders, down her spine, pulling her against his frame.

"Do you feel that?" He breathed against her ear. She arched her neck and bit down on a moan. "That need," his tongue darted out to lick the hollow beneath her ear, "the yearning coming from your fëa?"

"What is it?"

"We call it faefelf."

His feet shuffled them back until he pressed her against the nearest wall, which freed his hands. He instantly sent them roving. She thrust her hips against him, trying to ease the longing she felt ravaging her body, her fëa. His hands were driving her wild.

"It means 'soul impulse' in the Common Tongue, and you would not feel it…"

Joy radiated across her face as she met his eager gaze. "I wouldn't feel it unless our fëa were compatible."

He beamed, running his fingers lovingly through her hair. "Exactly. You are my fëamate, as I am yours, should you choose me."

"You can really bond with me?"

He thrust his hips against her, pinning her to the wall, and arched his back to meet her gaze. "I can, and I will. If you'll have me for the rest of your life?"

She'd been such a fool this whole time. Constantly trying to decide where she belonged: Virginia or Middle Earth, Imladris or Eryn Galen. It had never been a matter of where but with who? "I'm only just now realizing," she said, "that I have been homeless for ten years, lifeless. You and Legolas, and Maethor and Haedirn, and Ellavorn. Even Meluieth. You all are my family. Wherever you are is where I belong."

Thranduil swooped in to press his lips to hers but left her hanging when he just as quickly pulled away. His hand dove into his trouser pocket and emerged with a delicate silver ring pinched between his thumb and forefinger. It shone brightly in the light of their fëar, reflecting the gold and silver hues in its twisting band and petite leaves.

"It belonged to my naneth," he explained. "It was her betrothal ring from my adar." He slid the ring onto her right index finger and kissed it.

"It's beautiful," she whispered, touched by the gesture. "It fits perfectly."

"I could claim it's another sign that you belong with us," Thranduil smirked, "but Haedirn had a hand in that. Now," he ghosted his lips along the shell of her ear, "I believe I owe you an anatomy lesson."

She grinned. His revenge would have to wait. "What about Legolas?"

Thranduil good-naturedly sighed. "Would you like to come with me to collect him from Idhrenes? I believe we may have some information of interest to him."

Charlotte couldn't remember feeling so happy in a long time. For a brief moment, she allowed herself to savor this small slice of peace. "Let's go tell him." She was a bit worried about Legolas's earlier outburst. He'd never said if he had an issue against a step-naneth entirely or just Lothuial. Worst case scenario: it would finally eliminate his concerns about the other elleth. But it made Charlotte wonder what would happen when Lothuial realized her wedding planning had been for naught.


Translations/Notes:

faefelf— This is not canon nor is the word itself canon. The word was labeled "fan-created" on one Elvish dictionary I use (Elf-dict), as was the "felf" half of the word. The way it's used here is not canon and is of my own making.

gwaethann— Also not canon, but an original word derived from the Sindarin words for "Bonded" and "Shield" = "Bonded Shield."

Author's Note: Whew! The past two months have been wild: Mr. Novelette gave himself a concussion. Our indoor senior cat went missing for nearly a month after she slipped out the door (turns out she was having an affair with a look-a-like down the street). I took an unapproved journey down my stairs (I do not recommend the in-flight service for this). And then jury duty, which is a massive story of its own, and I wasn't even called in. I don't even think that was all of it and none of those incidents were related. But all's well and whatnot, so here is (FINALLY!) a little bit of (plot-relevant) Thranduil, Charlotte, and Legolas time! If you're still here, thanks for sticking with me through the massively long wait! I promise, the rest of the story is plotted and it's just a matter of putting words to cyber-paper and, of course, editing! Hope you like the newest chapter!