Brushing Berior's thinning fur allowed her to settle her nerves. With each stroke, she felt her racing blood cool and her mind focus. Maethor and Haedirn clung to her side, offering their silent support. At least at first.
"Charlotte?" Maethor's voice was soft and hesitant. "What happened to you out there?"
Flashes filled her mind. Her hands froze on Berior's coat. The shadow swarmed her memory as if thinking about him summoned him to her mind. His voice grated against her consciousness. "I have been waiting," he'd said. For her. Was this Urukbúrz?
"Charlotte?" Maethor rested his hand gently on her arm.
"He came out of the shadows," she whispered.
Berior whipped his head around, and Haedirn had to duck to avoid being clubbed by the massive antlers. "Easy, Berior," Haedirn said, but Berior ignored him, stomping his feet and nuzzling Charlotte's forehead with his nose.
"I'm fine," she told the elk, "or I will be soon."
"I don't want to pry," Haedirn started. Charlotte raised a brow at him. "Alright, I do want to pry, but only because I need to know our enemy. Where did you go? Who took you? What happened?"
Charlotte sighed. Haedirn was right. She didn't want to think about it, but leaving the others in the dark meant she was putting everyone at risk, so she took them through everything, every tiny detail she could remember from the moment she felt the first tug. Haedirn made her go through it twice, and by the end of the second round, her voice sounded remote even to her own ears. Berior kept his wide eyes on her the entire time, allowing her to smooth her fingers through his thin fur while she talked.
"It's a miracle you're still alive, let alone standing," a voice said.
Charlotte jumped, clutching her hand to her chest.
"Not for much longer, if you keep it up," Maethor said to Ellavorn.
Charlotte grinned and nudged her guard before turning to the captain. "What brings you here? I figured you would be with Thranduil."
"I was," Ellavorn said. "He's sent me to request your presence and apologizes that he could not grant you a longer reprieve."
"I'm sure he gave me as much time as he could," Charlotte said and heaved a sigh. In truth, it had been at least an hour since they had parted ways in the stable. Berior rubbed his nose to her cheek, and she chuckled. "I will be back soon, I promise," she whispered to him before pressing a kiss to his wet nose.
"Do elks blush?" Haedirn chuckled. Berior stomped at him, and Haedirn skittered backward, "Calm yourself, mellon nîn. I would too if a beautiful elleth bestowed such affections on me."
"Alas," Maethor deadpanned, "the last elleth to bestow any affection on him knocked him flat."
Haedirn flushed. "Who hits that hard during a warm-up spar?'
"Who's this?" Charlotte asked.
Maethor grinned evilly at Haedirn.
"Don't you dare." Haedirn shook his head.
"You've actually met her already, Charlotte," Maethor said, stepping away from Haedirn.
"Maethor…." Haedirn growled.
Ellavorn grinned, though the tension remained in his shoulders. "I'd forgotten that. You were bruised for a week."
Charlotte chuckled as her two guards shuffled around her before Maethor ducked under Berior's antlers and slipped behind the elk. "As much as I hate to break this up," she said, "we've been summoned, and if I can't practice on the river, I at least need to do some research."
"Then it's settled," Ellavorn said. He glanced at Charlotte and winced. "I mean no insult, but you may wish to sneak in and change first."
She glanced down at her bloody torn clothes. "Damn, I loved this tunic," she said. At least she knew where to get more.
When she spotted Eithoril pacing in Thranduil's office, Charlotte debating on returning to her own chambers, Thranduil's summoning be damned. But the lady's maid had come alone; for whatever reason, Lothuial had not been invited to the meeting with the Elvenking.
"Good morning, Eithoril," Charlotte said to the elleth before taking a seat on the far side of the room with Maethor and Haedirn flanking her.
Eithoril curtsied, low and graceful, and Charlotte raised her brows in shock. "Annuiel," Eithoril greeted. She opened her mouth to say more, but Thranduil walked in, and she snapped her mouth shut and offered a hasty curtsey. The elleth paid very little attention to Thranduil at all, her eyes scanning the line of elves entering behind him until she spotted the last dark-haired elf in line, and she bolted toward him, almost knocking him over with the force of her hug.
"Eithoril!" The ellon said, shocked. His arms came around her and squeezed her anyway. "What are you doing here? You must go. I will find you after, I promise."
"I could not bear to wait and wonder if the rumors were true," Eithoril cried. "I promise to leave at once and wait patiently for you to find me now that I know with my eyes that you are well."
"Mostly well," he winced when she squeezed him tightly. "Ah, yes, that would be the cracked rib you've found." The ellon ran his hand down her head, "Go, muinthel, I will find you shortly."
Eithoril nodded shakily and released him, and as she swept from the room, she paused in the doorway, her eyes scanning until they settled on Charlotte. "Thank you.."
She was gone before Charlotte could respond.
"Apologies, Your Majesty," the ellon said to Thranduil, but the Elvenking waved his apologies away.
"Do not worry yourself, Amdirgan. I, too, know the fear of losing one so dear to me," Thranduil said, his eyes darting so quickly to her that she might have imagined it. "I do not blame Eithoril for wanting to ensure your safety. Let us begin so that you may uphold your vow and return to her."
"Of course, my king." Amdirgan bowed before he closed the double doors and joined the group of elves surrounding the side table with the maps of the Greenwood.
"Would you join us, meleth nîn?" Thranduil sent her.
"Sometimes, I think you like to talk this way just to prove you can," she said as she joined the group. Thranduil's eyes twinkled despite the grimness of his mouth.
"I have summoned you all for two reasons, neither of which are to leave this room," Thranduil stated to the surrounding elves. There were nine of them altogether, counting her and her guards, Thranduil, Ellavorn, and Amdirgan. Súldil, the Western Marchwarden, stood beside Ellavorn, and two other ellyn filled in the remaining space around the table.
Maethor must've seen her confusion because he whispered into her ear, so lightly she had to strain to hear it, "Amdirgan is Haedirn's replacement, and these are the Marchwardens for the south and east." He nodded discreetly to each in turn: the dark-haired ellon led the south, and the blond ellon managed the east.
"You have been informed," Thranduil began, his long fingers circling the lower section of the Greenwood on the map, "that the southern forest is to be evacuated. No elf may travel there without my knowing. This morning, we discovered that Amon Lanc has been seized by a dark enemy, a creature of shadow and great power. I do not know if any others lie within those walls, but we are aware that orcs press our northern boundaries. Amdirgan, report."
"Two nights ago," Amdirgan said, taking over the map and pointing to a grey marking at the northern tip of the Greenwood, "a large company of orcs attempted to overtake the northern outpost and the adjacent Northmen settlement, swooping down from Ered Mithrem with at least half of the company mounted on wargs."
The horror on the surrounding faces was enough for Charlotte to realize how dire the situation had been. Suddenly, Amdirgan's few visible injuries, the bandages around his torso and left thigh, seemed like minor consequences for what they had actually faced.
"The battle was surprisingly brief," Amdirgan said. "We sent a messenger south, knowing that help would not arrive in time to spare us, but hoping the warning would give the realm a chance at defense. We were overrun, and many, if not all of us, sustained an injury. Five of our people have passed to Mandos's care."
"It was a miracle you all did not perish," Súldil cried.
"A miracle indeed," Amdirgan agreed. "Just after dawn, as the new waves crashed upon us, an explosion of light rent through the trees, like a star had burst in the forest, and the orcs were screaming and screeching, tearing at their faces, tripping over each other to flee. Some burned where they stood, though at least half escaped into the mountains. We were in no condition to give chase. We left a handful of our strongest in hiding there so that messages might be sent if the orcs attempted to cross the boundary again and trudged south for aid. We were fortunate we met the company of wardens the next morning. I doubt we would have made it home without further casualties should we have been forced to march south for another day. A small contingent escorted us home while the rest moved north to take over the watch. The wardens left behind caught up with us in the night." He reached into his tunic, pulling out a delicate white blossom.
"Are those…" The blonde marchwarden gasped.
"They are not the Greenwood flowers of old, though they appear similar. Our wardens brought with them handfuls of these. Apparently, by the next dawn, the battleground was covered with them, and we were sure then about our suspicions."
"And those suspicions?" The eastern marchwarden asked, though, by the way he studied her with awe, she suspected he knew precisely what Amdirgan was implying.
"We had heard rumors of Annuiel's power and suspected it was she who saved us. The flowers only proved it."
"How do flowers prove her involvement?" The southern marchwarden scoffed.
Amdirgan held the flower out to him. "Take it. Perhaps you will find your manners with it."
The blond ellon snarled and ripped it from Amdirgan's fingers, falling silent once it was wrapped within his grip. "It feels like..." He shook his head. "This proves nothing."
Thranduil deftly plucked it from his fingers. "The blast came yesterday morning?" He asked, and then his lips quirked in a smile as he studied the small flower. "Ellavorn, please summon Legolas."
If any of the elves were surprised by the sudden change in direction, they were silent. Ellavorn departed quickly to do as he was asked, with only a slight bow to Thranduil to acknowledge the order. The southern marchwarden did not wait for him to return.
"Your Majesty, I fail to see how this proves anything, nor do I see how it is of benefit to us here. Flowers will not save us from our northern enemies, and the only enchantments present in the southern wood are designed to annihilate us."
"Choose your words with caution, Alagon," Thranduil said, twirling the flower between his fingers. "Or I may design my next order to eliminate your questionable ascension to your current position."
"But Lord Cúthon—"
"Cúthon is neither the Elvenking nor is he the Captain of the Guard of Eryn Galen, and therefore was not within his right to select the replacement for the Southern Marchwarden. I have allowed you to continue in your role in the hopes that you would earn such a title. It is not often that I error, but perhaps, this once…" He quirked his brow and left the threat hanging in the air.
Alagon snapped his mouth shut, though his eyes were seething.
Blessedly, Legolas and Ellavorn entered the room and cut the mounting tension. Legolas was dressed as impeccably as always, and she proudly studied the double braids she'd done on the one side of his head. They were still holding up well, despite the chaos of the day.
"Yes, my king?" Legolas greeted, offering a short bow to his adar. Legolas had been in enough meetings to know that protocol was an unfortunate requirement in such proceedings if he wanted the others to take him seriously.
"Legolas has felt Annuiel's healing power on multiple occasions," Thranduil explained to the group. "Legolas, could you take a moment to explain how it feels to you?"
Her elfling straightened his back proudly and nodded. "It feels like…" His brows scrunched, and she could see him working to put his thoughts into words that made sense to the others. "It feels like a hug."
Alagon scoffed, but Thranduil's glare quickly silenced him. Still, Legolas shrank a bit, and Charlotte was ready to dive over the table at the pompous blonde ingrate who made her elfling feel small.
"Continue, Prince," Thranduil encouraged.
She saw Legolas take a deep breath, his face wiped clean of emotion, and he appeared as if he had taken on all the elegance Thranduil exuded in his kingly facade. "It feels like home, Your Majesty. Like warmth and happiness and safety. It feels a little like sorrow, a melancholy, bittersweet note in an otherwise triumphant song. Like all the memories of your life before and all the expected joys of tomorrow."
"Remind me to give Golodhon a raise for insisting on covering early Elven poetry with him," Thranduil sent, his eyes glittering as they bounced between her and Legolas. Thranduil handed Legolas the flower and asked, "And what of this?"
Legolas clutched the flower in awe and turned to Charlotte. "This feels like you, like your magic and your fëa. How did you do it?"
"Thank you, Prince Legolas," Thranduil said, cutting them off before the trouble of activating the necklace or her deadly visit with Mandos could be discussed.
Legolas turned to hand the flower back to his Adar, though his brows were scrunched, and he looked reluctant to part with it.
"If it would be acceptable to His Majesty," Amdirgan interrupted, "the young prince could keep the blossom. For his studies, of course. It is yet unnamed, and I have heard of the prince's skill for such things. I have brought with me at least one hundred more, and it would be no trouble to part with one for his inspection."
Legolas beamed at the compliment, and Amdirgan gave him a conspiratorial wink. Thranduil made a huge dramatic show of contemplating the request before graciously giving in. "I suppose one flower out of the field at our disposal would not be missed, and the honor of naming the new blossom is well earned. Very well, Prince Legolas, you may keep the blossom, and you will be responsible for its title. For now, you are dismissed."
The mood dropped once Legolas had departed with his treasure, and they had to return to the serious business of orc attacks and the shadowed sorcerer in the southern wood.
"However you did it, my lady," Amdirgan said as the door closed behind Legolas, "my companions and I are indebted to you for it. Our lives are yours."
"As are the lives in the healing hall," Alagon muttered.
"Do watch your tongue, Alagon," Amdirgan said with a toothy grin. "Or I will remove it."
"Enough!" Thranduil barked. "What is the current situation on the northern border?"
"I am afraid that is where our luck ends," Amdirgan sighed. He slid his finger into the mountain range and tapped twice on one of the peaks. "We've sent scouts into Ered Mithrem to verify the information, but after questioning three of the more lucid orcs, we've learned that a large host marches south toward the caverns. The number varied between the stories, but the consensus is ten to forty thousand, depending on whether they aimed to frighten us or have us underestimate the threat."
The faces were grim around the table, and Thranduil's shoulders were rigid. Once more, she saw the shadow of his crown cast around his shoulders. "How many are able to fight?" Thranduil asked Ellavorn.
"With the numbers already in the north? We could manage a few thousand, but it would take at least a day to summon them all."
"And we would be weak on our southern side." Thranduil frowned. He knew what waited for them down there, its jaws arching wide for just such a moment. "Gather as many as you're able. We march tomorrow, pending word from the scouts in the north. Marchwardens, you are dismissed to prepare your warriors. Messages will be sent to your wardens before morning."
Thranduil remained collected as the four ellyn trooped from his office, but once the door closed, his shoulders caved. "If my adar were here…" He mumbled, his eyes closing. "I must send an urgent message to Imladris and Lórinand and hope that we receive a response this time."
"If you write them now, I will have them sent immediately," Ellavorn vowed. When Thranduil was silent, he rested his hand on his king's shoulder and said, "We will face this enemy as we have faced all the ones before."
"Ellavorn," Thranduil sighed and studied his guard, "you know what must happen next."
Ellavorn shook his head. "I respectfully decline."
"Someone must guard Legolas."
"Do we not have other guards?"
"That I trust with my son? The way I would trust him to you? With the threat to the south, Haedirn and Maethor cannot be divided from their task. It's too risky. I need to know that both of them are safe if I am to do what I must."
Ellavorn looked defeated. His hands fisted, and he pressed them hard into the wooden table, crushing Aman Lanc beneath his fist as he tried to maintain his composure. "Thranduil, I have traveled with you to and from the Black Gate, fought beside you as you cut through the hoard in the light of the burning mountain… To ask this of me…"
"I know, mellon nîn." Thranduil clasped Ellavorn's forearm until the captain looked at him. "It is for those reasons that I ask."
Ellavorn's nostrils flared, and he squeezed his eyes tight. "I will grant you this wish, Thranduil Opherion, under the condition that you return to relieve me of this duty."
Thranduil was silent, and Charlotte felt her heart ripping from her chest as she realized how this could end for all of them. Ellavorn yanked Thranduil into his arms, roughly patting his back. "I have guarded your back for so long; you have likely forgotten how to do it," he joked weakly. "Faro vae, mellon nîn."
"Berio din," Thranduil said.
Ellavorn nodded, and they clasped each other's shoulders once more, squeezed tightly, and then Ellavorn vanished with a stiff spine, saying only, "I will return shortly to retrieve your letters."
Charlotte felt her eyes watering as Thranduil turned to her, but his next words were for Maethor and Haedirn. "I need not beg you," he said. "I know the lengths you will go to ensure her safety. For now, I can only thank you for them. Keep her safe."
Her guards nodded, and some small communication flew between the three ellyn before Thranduil said, "Please wait outside; I will only be a moment."
Charlotte didn't wait for them to quit the room before she flew at him. Wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him against her body as she tried to fight the tears pooling along her lashes. She would not dishonor them both by begging him to stay, but her heart was aching at the thought of him traveling to fight in a war that might not be at his doorstep if not for her presence.
"I can almost hear your thoughts, and they are incorrect," Thranduil whispered. "Do not forget that you were sent here because my people were in great danger. Orcs were testing our borders for months before your arrival. It is one of the curses of our position in this world."
He tucked her against his shoulder, letting his hand soothe her, drifting the length of her spine. "The Greenwood has always been a desirable realm. Possession of it would disrupt communication between the Elven and Dwarven realms, so it is not the first time we've fought to defend it. As you recall, the damage to Amon Lanc from the last war necessitated our departure north."
"This is not your doing, Charlotte. Do not forget the lives you have already saved. One of those lives waits for you outside this door. Let his presence be a reminder of the good you have done for my people. They will need hope in the coming days, and I am afraid, with my departure, I will be forced to leave Cúthon in charge. Be wary of him. He will care for the people of Eryn Galen, but he has not abandoned his desires. Do not let him convince you that you belong anywhere but here, with Legolas and me."
"I will be here waiting for your return," she promised, "however long it takes. But, Thranduil, promise me you will be safe?"
"As much as I can promise to do so." He softly pressed his mouth to hers, and she tasted the salt on her lips from tears she hadn't realized had been set free.
"Come back to me," she said fiercely.
Thranduil clutched her to his body, unable to make the vow she so desperately wanted. He held her for as long as he dared, running his fingers through her hair while she played with the swirling designs on his tunic. "I must prepare," he begrudgingly whispered.
She fought to keep her composure even as she left the room, forcing herself not to look backward, knowing neither she nor Thranduil would be able to walk away if she did.
Translations:
muinthel - sister
Faro vae, mellon nîn - Good hunting, my friend
Berio din - Protect them