With the windows open, Charlotte was forced to snuggle under her blanket and cloak, wearing the thickest dress she owned. But she couldn't pull herself from the window seat, couldn't tear her eyes away from the scurrying lights that danced around the forest as the Elven warriors arrived at the cavernous palace, summoned by the Elvenking for war.
She'd taken a quiet dinner with Legolas in the kitchens when Thranduil had been unable to leave his office to join them. One did not simply march to war without a proper plan. He'd been cooped up with Ellavorn and the Cardinal Marchwardens, as she'd dubbed them, for the entire evening. Of course, as the imminent acting steward, Cúthon had slithered into the meeting as well. She'd waited for Thranduil long after Legolas had gone to bed, clutching the white flower tightly in his little hand, and eventually, she decided she'd have to retire to her own chamber.
Except she couldn't find sleep there either.
A large part of her worried that she would sleep through their departure and wake to find Thranduil already gone. And then there was the other fear. War seemed so distant to her in her own world. It hadn't been in her immediate day-to-day. Was this how they felt? This gnawing hollow feeling in her stomach? This functional state of dread?
They'd had one night together as a couple. Just one night where she could run her fingers through his hair and feel his lips on her skin… hear him quietly breathing beside her as he slept.
And now he was leaving.
She knew he had to be aching too. He'd only just gotten Legolas back, and now he was forced to leave him in the care of another, possibly forever.
It was insane, sending thousands of elves to face tens of thousands of orcs and wargs. Short of dying again and hoping Nienna and Varda were willing to overcharge her fëa, she doubted she'd be able to send out the kind of blast needed to destroy that many orcs.
Tears scorched down her cheeks, steadily dripping against the blanket, and she let her head rest against the wall as she studied the towering evergreens. The roar of Forest River crashing over the falls lulled her, and she dozed in and out, wandering the bridge between dreams and waking.
Until a soft knocking pulled her firmly into consciousness.
"Come in," she called, and the door cracked open to reveal Maethor clutching two goblets.
"Haedirn and I were wondering if you wanted some company?"
She smiled softly and nodded. Somehow Maethor always knew what she needed, sometimes even before she did.
Her two guards strolled in, Haedirn closing the door behind them while Maethor handed her the goblet of wine. By the time Haedirn dropped onto the foot of her bed, Maethor had already rearranged her room, pulling an armchair beside the window so he could sit with her.
Charlotte took a sip of her wine and burrowed further into her blankets. "Thank you," she said.
"How are you doing with all of this?" Maethor asked.
"About as well as a porcupine in a balloon store." Charlotte chuckled humorlessly. "Thranduil will march off tomorrow to save his people, and there's nothing I can do to guarantee his safety or anyone else's. I'm no closer to figuring this thing out." She lifted the necklace, pulling it from beneath her cloak and blanket so it caught the moonlight. "It all seems rather hopeless. What about you two?"
Haedirn took a gulp of his wine and studied the lamps moving through the forest. He'd told her earlier that the host would likely depart at dawn. "I'll miss the chance to beat my old record, but I think I'll manage."
Maethor rolled his eyes. "Don't give up hope yet," he said. "We still have the creature in Amon Lanc to deal with."
"True!" Haedirn grinned. "I imagine that will be a good bit of fun."
"I'm worried about your definition of 'fun.'" Charlotte said. She swirled the wine around her goblet, watching the stars wink in and out of existence within.
Haedirn shrugged and tossed back the rest of his wine. "Empires rise and fall, wars are waged, and yet life always continues on in some capacity. Not always as we've known it to be, but still."
Maethor was nodding as well, but he said, "A first though? The first war, the first battle, those are burned into my memory."
"Bit different, isn't it?" Haedirn huffed. "You faced off against a balrog. I was just a wee thing fighting a simple orc skirmish." He turned to Charlotte with a grimace. "I took an arrow in the shoulder in the first five minutes and dropped like a stone. Nearly bled out on the field because they rushed us after. Don't really remember much after that until Maethor dragged me off to the healer to have the arrow cut out."
"The arrow wasn't that deep," Maethor said.
"Still twinges in the rain though."
Charlotte snorted and shook her head. These two had seen so much, endured so much, and yet they were still able to laugh and joke and find happiness. "What do we do now?" She wondered.
"We rest," Maethor said, "and in the morning, Haedirn and I will take turns helping you research if Golodhon can't."
"I'm not much of a scholar," Haedirn said, "but I can at least translate for you."
"Thank you," she whispered to both of them.
They dropped into companionable silence after that. Maethor seemed lost in his thoughts as he stared into the night, and Haedirn was content to spread out on the end of her bed and polish his dagger. She was sure some rule of propriety was being broken, but she didn't care. The peace they offered each other was well worth any whispering or censure they might get from the elves of Eryn Galen.
Charlotte abandoned her wine at some point, giving it to Haedirn, and she lulled against the wall of her window seat, watching the elves emerge from the forest to enter the caverns. The moon arched over the sky, passing low into the west, and her burning eyes eventually drooped, once, twice…
She heard whispers in the liminal space between dreams and reality as the two worlds merged together in her mind. Two voices, warm and compassionate, wove between a seductive dark shadow.
So close, little one… come to me…
"Should we tell her?"
"I don't think she's ready. If something happens to him…"
You know you do not belong there. Not with them. I know…
"She won't leave Legolas…"
"She'll have no choice. Cúthon will not honor a bond that isn't there."
"So where will we take her?"
"Ellavorn has suggested…"
You can go home. They lied to you. Even now, they withhold the truth that you crave. You could see her again before it is too late. You have the necklace now; the stone could heal her if you knew how to wield it. What price would you pay, little one? What service would you surrender to learn?
The soft voices faded away, leaving her alone with the demon in her mind. "Who are you?" She asked. Charlotte suddenly found herself walking the stone paths through Amon Lanc. The fortress was in pristine condition. Great banners hung from the walls, the gates opened wide, and her feet, shod in soft slippers, crushed roses and lilies beneath her toes.
You could save them all if you knew how to use it. They cannot teach you what they cannot comprehend, for they are too different to understand. But I am as you are: like but unlike.
The shadowed man appeared in the cobbled street, his body slowly coalescing until an ellon stood before her. His inky hair hung neatly around his shoulders, nearly blending with his dark iridescent robes. He glided toward her, deep blues and purples rippling across his body as if he had clothed himself in the wisps of a galaxy.
She stepped backward as he approached. "You've yet to answer my question. Who are you?"
Mairon, my lady. He bowed with a great swirl of his arm.
"Your words are polite, and yet it is rude and presumptuous of you to invite your voice into my mind."
There was a brief flash of anger in his eyes before he tucked it away beneath a veil of congeniality. "Apologies, Lady Charlotte. It is common where I am from that thoughts are to be shared freely. What is impolite to one is decency to another, is it not?"
"Is it also polite to drag souls from their bodies?" She was no fool. This was the same being that had ripped her away from her body in the forest.
Mairon grinned, though it looked more feral than friendly. "Only when the soul is difficult to meet. You are well guarded, little one—"
"Stop calling me that," she growled.
"So I am afraid," he continued as if she hadn't spoken, "that I was a bit… overzealous… once I was able to reach you. I do apologize for frightening you." His smile was soft, a lackluster imitation of Thranduil's, as he held out an arm in offering. When she raised a brow and crossed her arms, he sighed. "You are here at my leisure, and I am quite content to keep you here until you have heard my offer."
Charlotte closed her eyes and tried to force herself awake. She tried discreetly pinching herself, biting her tongue, anything to get her mind and body to reconnect. A huff of laughter blew across her face, bringing with it the scent of brimstone and the distant thunder of a hammer. Her eyes flew open to find him inches from her face.
"So stubborn," he said. "Must you always attempt to 'see' before you believe? It is such a poor characteristic amongst humans. One of the many."
"This is not convincing me to go anywhere with you."
"Still touchy?" he smiled toothily. "Loyal too? After all, you haven't been mortal for some time." He clicked his tongue. "If convincing is what you need…"
The scene shifted, the cobblestones fading into plush carpeting, the towers melting away as four walls sprouted around her. A cozy armchair came into focus, and a bookshelf she knew would be filled with vinyl records.
Her mother sat in the chair by the window, her wrinkled fingers smoothing over the glossy pages of a photo album. Her eyes were clear and alert, though the rest of her appearance was unchanged.
"Do you remember this one?" her mother said, looking up as if to catch her gaze.
"I do," she heard her own voice say, and then she shivered as a ghostly version of herself passed through her own body to join her mother. "That was such a great trip. We should do it again this year. But maybe let's skip that restaurant down by Eighteenth Street. I don't trust myself around all of that cheesecake again."
Her mother laughed, warm and free, an echo from her childhood, and the pain in her chest felt like it would slay her.
"It's not too late," Mairon said, waving his arm over the scene. Her mother was still laughing, and imaginary-Charlotte had settled in to cuddle against her mother's legs while they searched through the album, quietly swapping stories and jokes.
"She's already gone though," Charlotte whispered. Her throat was painfully tight.
"Is she?" Mairon nodded toward the happy scene. "The Valar ripped you away from your family, left your mother alone to suffer just to drag you through time and drop you unprepared in a dangerous world. Do you think it is not possible to send you home? To return you to any point you wished so that you may heal your mother? I'm willing to offer you that chance."
Charlotte couldn't tear her eyes away. Her mother was sitting less than six feet in front of her. Happy. Healthy. Remembering. Could she really have that? Did she want it? She loved her mother with all of herself, but she loved Thranduil and Legolas too. She'd made a new family with Maethor, Haedirn, Ellavorn, Berior, and Meluieth. She hoped to eventually regain the latter's friendship.
But could he really give her mother back? Charlotte's fingers stroked down the stone of her necklace. She could go home, live her life again. She could finally finish her degree and leave this whole mess behind.
She shook her head. What was she thinking? She couldn't, wouldn't leave them. She'd promised Thranduil. She turned on Mairon and growled, "Get out of my head. Now."
The ellon held his hands up in a placating gesture. "If you're having doubts, do not blame me. I am merely showing you that you could have your mother back if you loved her enough."
"Do not toy with me." She advanced on him, feeling pleased when he backed away a step in surprise. "I can feel your oily hands in my mind. Release me, now!"
The image flickered, her mother fading in and out, and she felt two familiar fëa brush against hers. Maethor and Haedirn. The thought made the living room vanish, revealing the crumbling walls of Amon Lanc, and when she turned to face Mairon, she instead found him draped in shadow once more.
"You lying son of a—"
Mairon snarled at her, his face devoid of all his previous charm. What will your choice be, little one? Your time is up.
"They will destroy you." Her grin was half-mad, feral. She felt some of the wild battle lust Haedirn had spoken of, a desire to tally her enemies as they fell before her. It swelled and raged in her blood. How dare he threaten her? Her people? What power did he think he possessed?
She froze, the pieces and memories slotting into place as she studied him. Varda and Nienna had warned her. "Sauron," she whispered. He was responsible for all of this. If not for him, she wouldn't have been torn from her home. Thranduil would not have lost his father or faced decades apart from his child.
"I promise you," she tilted her chin up, standing as regal as Thranduil, "whether by my hand or another, you will fall. I will see your ashes spread to the far corners of this world, and you will fade into obscurity, a long-ago memory of a failed lunatic."
You will give me the necklace! He growled. Maethor and Haedirn's fëar slammed into her, and as if from far away, she felt the physical sensation of someone rattling her body.
"Come on, Charlotte," Maethor's voice boomed through the dreamscape. "Fight it!"
Mairon screeched and lunged, his clawed hand reaching for her, and she did the only thing she could think of: she dove for the ground, rolling under his arm just as Ellavorn had drilled her to do time and time again, and came up with her hidden dagger in hand, jamming it through Mairon's ribs with a grunt.
She woke in a panic, still half asleep with her fingers clutching the blade's handle. The silver was invisible beneath a layer of dark blood, and she screamed as it dribbled over her knuckles.
"Charlotte!" a voice yelled.
She swung wildly, forcing Maethor to slide his arm along the outside of hers, deflecting the dagger over his head as he ducked, twisting her arm until she lost the blade and he could cage her within his arms. She slammed her head back, trying to catch her assailant in the nose.
"Charlotte, it's me! It's Maethor! It's Maethor!"
"Maethor?" she blinked against the darkness and flushed. On the one hand, she was glad she hadn't hurt him. On the other, Ellavorn was going to drag her back into training if he found out she hadn't managed to break free from a simple hold and she'd lost her dagger. Could she really be blamed after the mind games Sauron had just played? Her blood ran cold.
"Prove it," she suddenly said.
"What?"
"Prove to me that you're Maethor." She eyed Haedirn wearily, and he slowly backed away with his hands raised.
Maethor looked at her with such an expression of heartbreak and grief. "He is torturing you from afar."
"Proof, Maethor." She clenched her teeth, fighting the urge to sweep up her blade in case it was still a dream. "Please."
Maethor nodded, and suddenly the room felt as warm as summer, and Maethor's fëa burned brightly, brushing against her own. She slumped against him. "Haedirn?" she asked, though she was positive she was safely among her trusted guards.
Haedirn set his own fëa free, and it swirled playfully around her, twisting and twining until she felt every muscle in her body relax. "Feel better?" He asked, wrapping her into his arms until she was sandwiched between them. Charlotte nodded.
Maethor and Haedirn were content to quietly hold her, letting the distant roar of the waterfall and the warmth of their fëar ease her soul until Haedirn whispered, "I'll return in a moment."
Her back felt cold as he vanished into her ensuite. She heard water running, and then Haedirn reappeared with a basin of water and a cloth. He nodded at her blood-soaked hands. "I thought you might like to get that off your skin."
"Thank you, mellon nîn."
They stayed by her side as she scrubbed and scrubbed. The blood had caked and dried under and around her nails, and she'd been forced to go one-by-one, picking and scratching them clean. Her skin was flushed by the end of it, and the water had turned a dark red. Haedirn disposed of the filthy water, brought one last clean basin for her to rinse with, and she washed the blood from her neck and face. And then they were ushering her like a child to bed, piling in with her. Maethor tucked her under the sheet, and Haedirn doused the lamp before they cuddled up on either side of her, settling on top of the blanket, their fëar guarding her as she drifted into slumber.
"I am blessed to have friends such as you," she whispered, squeezing their hands. Whatever they said next, she did not hear it.
Her dreams were normal afterward, and though the usual nightmares attempted to make brief appearances, they didn't last long when faced with protective fëar from her guards. Still, she woke repeatedly, her hands scrambling to find them in the dark, and always one or the other would gently whisper, "We're here. You're safe," until she groggily succumbed once more. Sometimes she could hear them, the soft cadence of their voices as they talked over her, but it wasn't until she heard another voice that she roused herself to listen.
"Is she awake?" The voice asked.
"In and out," Haedirn said near her ear. "When she's out, whatever she sees, it's not pleasant."
"We had to drag her from the window a few hours ago," Maethor said on her other side. She registered the warmth of the two bodies pressed against her and snuggled closer. Her nose picked up the scent of pine and apples; Maethor then. "I suspect he tried to come for her tonight. Her fëa flickered and grew dim. Haedirn and I tried to bolster her, but we were rebuffed as if her soul wasn't there."
"Where did the blood come from?" Thranduil asked. He must've seen the pinkish water in the newer basin. Her back was suddenly cold, and she heard Haedirn cross the room and the sound of metal sliding across wood.
"She stabbed him," Haedirn said. "Ellavorn trained her well because she whipped her dagger out so fast Maethor barely had time to move, and then it was covered with blood, though she'd stabbed nothing but air."
"You're sure neither of you were injured?"
"Positive," Maethor rumbled. "She nearly got me when she woke though. Look at the blade. She had to have shoved it in to the hilt, and you didn't see her hands and her tunic."
"She still has the bloody tunic on," Haedirn said. "We didn't think she'd take well to us stepping out for her to change, and we weren't leaving her alone in case he tried again."
The bed sank behind her, and Thranduil's warm hand rubbed down her shoulder. "Charlotte?"
She grumbled and rolled to meet his eyes. Maethor slipped from the bed and said, "We'll wait in our chambers."
"Maethor? Haedirn?" Charlotte whispered. Both ellyn froze at the door. "Thank you."
"You never have to thank us, Charlotte," Haedirn said. There was such a look of tenderness on their faces that she nearly wept. "Rest. We will come back soon."
Once the door had closed behind them, Thranduil gently pushed her hair from her face and pressed a long kiss to her mouth. "I deeply regret that I was not here."
"It's hardly your fault. Thranduil, you're preparing to march an army north tomorrow; they need their king for preparations and planning. I understand that."
"But you and Legolas needed me too," he whispered. "I have failed you tonight."
"You've done no such thing. Legolas and I spent a lovely evening together, and he's tucked into his bed right now. Maethor and Haedirn, who you have assigned as my guards for my protection, were perfectly able to help with tonight's…" What was she supposed to call an abduction by a shadowy power? "Whatever it was, they managed. Now, how long do we have before you have to go?"
Thranduil glanced out her window, studying the sky and the treetops, before he said, "An hour or two at most."
She frowned. "An hour then. I'm sure you would like to see Legolas before you go? We could go now if you'd like? I know you have an enormous bed that's big enough for the three of us."
He shook his head. "The marchwardens and Ellavorn are constantly in and out of the outer chambers. Should they spot me, I would find myself with no time to share with you at all."
"Then I'll have to sneak you into your private chambers."
"You'll be sneaking nowhere with blood all over your tunic," he said, "and I suddenly find myself in need of a bath, if you'd care to join me?"
There was no way she was saying no to that. Haedirn was correct when he said she wouldn't have been ready for them to leave her alone long enough to change, which had chafed at her flagging pride, but she doubted she'd survive two encounters with Mairon or Sauron or whatever name he went by. She'd lost the element of surprise, and he would be prepared for her to attempt to stab him next time.
Regardless, she'd quickly decided at the time that she'd much rather stay in the bloodied, sticky tunic than face the shadows of her chamber alone. With Thranduil joining her, she could finally dispel the rest of the dried, itchy blood from her skin.
He led her into the ensuite and eyed the large copper tub with a sigh. "It's almost tempting to risk it."
"Risk what?"
"Sneaking into my chambers," he said, eyeing the bathtub with distaste. "Mine is much bigger."
"That sounds horrible." Charlotte winked when he turned his confused gaze on her. "I rather like the idea of sharing such a small space."
Thranduil laughed and shook his head before his smile softened, and he studied her with twinkling eyes. "After everything you've faced tonight, you still find joy and laughter. I am in awe of you."
"Don't be too dazzled," she quipped. "I'm fairly certain it's an unhealthy coping mechanism."
"Unhealthy or not—"
A soft knock echoed through her chambers. Thranduil's shoulders slumped in defeat.
"Hide," Charlotte said, squeezing his hand. "Maybe they don't know for sure you're here." She vanished before he could protest.
The visitor knocked again, slightly louder, and Charlotte hurried around her chamber, searching for something to cover the blood-stained tunic. She ripped her cloak off the window sill and wrapped it around her before opening her door.
"Legolas?" Her jaw dropped as she took in the puffy red eyes and the tears down his cheeks. He stood in the hall dressed in his sleeping tunic and leggings, his hair wild and tangled around his face. "Little leaf, are you alright? What happened?"
"Adar is gone," he sniffled. "He's not in his room. He left, and he didn't say 'goodbye' to me and what if he— he dies and he never comes back, and he didn't say 'goodbye?'"
Legolas was descending quickly, his lungs heaving as if he struggled to breathe, so Charlotte held out her hand for him to grab and said, "Shhhh, Little Leaf. Come inside. Your Adar is right here." Legolas squeezed her fingers, and she led him further into her chamber so she could close the door, hoping no one had followed the elfling. "We're so sorry, Legolas. I'm sure your adar didn't mean to worry you. He would never leave without telling you. Thranduil, could you come out?"
Thranduil stepped from the ensuite, a look of confusion in his twisted brows until he spotted Legolas. "Ion nîn?" He crouched as Legolas ran to him, gathering the elfling into his arms. "Legolas? Legolas! What happened?" Thranduil grew more panicked as Legolas sobbed into his tunic, grabbing small fistfuls of fabric.
"He thought you left, Thranduil," Charlotte whispered. She ran her hand soothingly down Legolas's back. "You two get comfortable. I'm just going to clean up, and I'll join you."
Her bath was quick, though she spent extra time scrubbing at the sections where blood had soaked through her tunic and stuck to her. But she couldn't stand being alone in the room, couldn't bear the oppressive silence, even with the door open and Thranduil within calling distance. She was still wet when she forced her arms into one of her borrowed gowns, and her hair was dripping down her back.
Legolas had already fallen asleep in the center of her bed by the time she'd returned, and Thranduil had curled beside him, looking as if he would drop soon too.
She ripped a brush through her hair, spraying water droplets all over the floor, before crawling in on Legolas's other side. Thranduil had removed the bloody blanket and stretched out their cloaks instead. She tucked herself under the edge of her own. "You should rest," she said to Thranduil, letting her hand settle over the one Thranduil had wrapped around Legolas.
"And who will shield you while you sleep?"
"I doubt I could sleep if I tried. Not with him out there just waiting for me to slip up."
"Did you discover his identity?"
Charlotte hesitated. In an hour, he would have to assume his role as the Elvenking and march his host north to defend the Greenwood. He couldn't afford to be distracted by Sauron's obsession with her necklace. She bit her lip. Unless Sauron tried to come after it personally, putting his people at risk.
This was all such a mess. There had to be something, anything she could do to actually help the Greenwood.
"Charlotte?" Thranduil whispered. "No secrets, remember?"
Damn him. "I remember," she smoothed her finger across the top of his hand. "I just don't know if the information will be helpful."
Bless him, he quietly waited for her to gather her thoughts, and listened to the entirety of her tale without questions, though she could see them brewing in his eyes. She was grateful, because even telling Thranduil made her feel as if she'd summoned Sauron to the room, as if his dark eyes were trained on her from afar.
"Mairon?" Thranduil asked once she'd finished. "I have not heard of him using that name. Even when he appeared in Eregion, he called himself Annatar, and under Morgoth, he was known as Gorthaur. Here, now, he is known as Sauron."
"Is it real? The name?"
"Aren't they all? Perhaps this is the truest of them since it was his first, the name he held as a Maia."
"I feel as if each question I have multiplies once answered," she groaned. "And I have promised you rest."
"I suppose it is fortunate that Golodhon has agreed to meet with you tomorrow afternoon then?"
"Really?"
Thranduil nodded.
"Thank you!" Finally, she might have the answers she needed. She was both dreading and anticipating the afternoon. Her heart ached. By then, Thranduil would be heading north to face a host far beyond the size of his own.
She fought the urge to beg him to promise what he couldn't: to safely return. Instead, she said, "Care to join me?" She unveiled her fëa, and Legolas sighed and cuddled closer to his adar, a loopy smile blossoming. Thranduil was seconds behind her, and together they illuminated her bedchamber, the sun and the stars dancing against the stone until the crisp grey dawn poured through her window.
AN: I'm proud, and a bit sad, to announce that I have officially finished the rough first draft of this story. There will be 53 chapters total, and I'm hoping to edit and post at least one chapter per week until they're all posted. Thank you all so much for coming on this journey with me and with these characters. I hope you enjoyed this chapter; more are coming soon!