Heat burned her skin, and sweat beaded at the base of her skull as the flames devoured the trees around her. Thick smoke dove into Charlotte's lungs, seizing them, and she hacked and bent and clapped her tunic over her face. It did little against the gritty ash in her mouth and eyes.
The Greenwood was burning.
Walls of flame rose around her, and the once-great beeches were dark straggling fingers, clawing for the skies. A loud crack sounded behind her, and she spun, diving into the dirt to avoid being crushed by a burning tree trunk.
Her hands met scorching metal, the pain in her palms zinging through to the bone, blistering, and Charlotte screamed, a horrible pained sound wrenched from her body. The corpse within the armor was charred and silent.
She cradled her throbbing hands, curled herself over the peeling skin and blisters. Her knees dug into the dirt, and she tipped her chin up, searching for an escape.
They were everywhere. Bodies covered in gold armor, hacked and burned, cooked in the metal. The smell gagged her throat.
Flames inched closer, the ring collapsing, shrinking. She was an ant in a glass, the smoke caging her view of the sky, the forest crumbling around her.
There was no way out.
If her family was still alive, she'd never see them again. She'd failed them. Failed so horribly that there was nothing left of the forest she'd set out to help save.
"Will you do what must be done?" She heard a voice ask.
Charlotte flung her head around, searching through the fire for the source. Tears burrowed through the ash on her cheeks, leaving dirty streaks down her face.
The voice called again, powerful and feminine, "Are you willing to make the sacrifice? Do you understand now?"
"Where are you?" Charlotte coughed out, her voice was raw and every word grated against her throat. "Help me!"
The voice was gone. Trees crackled as they burned and fell to ash, and the ache in her hands traveled up her arms, boiling through her veins, straight into her heart, until she was screaming, the sound eaten by the flames.
— O —
Charlotte woke violently, her arms flying to shield her face, even as the echo of pain zapped through her palms.
Her knuckles cracked against something hard.
"Ouch, ah!" Oropher cried, followed by a muffled curse.
Her eyes flung open to find him holding her protectively against his chest, her body curled safely between his outstretched legs. He rubbed the blooming red spot on his cheekbone, his eyes studying her with a mixture of respect and concern.
"We warned you," Haedirn said behind her. "When she's suffering from one of these nightmares, it's best to wake her and run."
Maethor frowned but nodded in agreement. Her lungs were racing, her heart hammering as she beheld the beautifully green pines spiking above the ellyn. Still, a flush rose to her cheeks as she remembered nearly stabbing Maethor the last time she'd had a nightmare.
"Was it him?" Maethor asked gently. He settled on one knee beside her bedroll, confident that she was awake enough that he could safely approach.
"I don't know," Charlotte said. She pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes, swore she could still feel the ash, gritty and hot in her lashes. Her palms were unscathed, with no sign of the blisters or the angry red peeling skin.
Oropher's hands wrapped around hers, obscuring the curving lines in her palms from view. He squeezed once, as if to say, "I understand. You're real, this is real, and you're safe."
It couldn't have been Mairon— Sauron, whatever. She really needed to figure out who he was in her own brain. The elves called him "Sauron," but ever since that first introduction, she'd had trouble referring to him as anything other than "Mairon." Regardless, she was fairly certain it hadn't been him. He wouldn't have let her willingly wake up, and she wouldn't be sitting safe and untouched in Oropher's arms.
In the fuzzy way of memories, the pieces of her dream returned slowly, lacking the fine-tuned clarity she needed. "There was a voice," Charlotte said, uncertain. "A woman, or an elleth possibly."
Oropher stiffened against her, his arm tightening around her back. "Did this voice sound familiar?"
Charlotte tried. She dug through her mind, forcing her way back into that place where the world burned around her, but the harder she pushed, the more it slipped between her fingers. She shook her head, "I can't remember. She kept saying something like, 'Are you willing to do what you must?'"
Oropher's brow furrowed, and Maethor and Haedirn exchanged worried glances over her head.
"I'm sure it was just a regular nightmare," she soothed, not believing it herself.
Oropher's frown deepened, but he said to Maethor and Haedirn, "Get the horses prepared. I will watch her."
Her guards hesitated, but Oropher only tilted his head and waited, his expression almost daring. Maethor and Haedirn reluctantly rose to obey his order. They repeatedly glanced over their shoulders at her as the distance between them grew.
Charlotte wondered if they would ever trust her enough to tell her why they were acting so oddly. She was getting close to just demanding it out of them, but she wanted to give them more time. It didn't seem right for her to force them to share, no matter how close they were to her.
She sighed and slowly settled her head against Oropher's shoulder, the way she would have done if he were still an elk. He stiffened briefly, and she made to move away, disappointment roiling in her stomach, but then Oropher shifted his arm around her shoulder and tucked her in once more.
"Is it odd?" She whispered to him. All around them, the Imladris elves readied for another day of marching through the Greenwood, tucking away sleeping rolls, preparing horses, scrounging down quick breakfasts.
Oropher didn't need clarification. "In some ways," he said softly. His thumb smoothed against her shoulder, tentatively, as if he was uncertain. "I never knew before how much I needed this, how much my son likely needed more of this."
"I imagine there aren't many people lining up to cuddle the Elvenking," she joked gently. Already, her heart slowed and her fingers unclenched, the joints swollen and stiff.
Oropher's tunic smelled of pine and woodsmoke, and her head rose and fell as he inhaled deeply. His words were stumbling, slow, as if he'd never shared them with anyone. "I woke each morning before the sun. My butler, Ferior, would already be waiting with a full list of tasks and problems to solve, and strangely enough, it was the part of my day that I looked forward to the most."
Charlotte tilted to examine his face, and her heart tumbled at the sorrow in the twist of his lips, the pain in his eyes.
"In the morning, Ferior would put my cloak on me, and for just a moment, his hands would press across my shoulders and slide down over the fabric to settle it, and I…" He swallowed thickly. "I would want to beg him to leave his hands there, just a little while longer. It wasn't until I met you, so open, so readily affectionate with your hugs and quick kisses. You rained them on me, and I felt them burn against my nose and cheeks, and it moved me to tears. I hadn't realized until you that I had been starving."
Charlotte sniffled and squeezed her eyes tightly as she burrowed further into his embrace. She still had Berior, except now, she had Oropher too. And Oropher could finally have what he'd always deserved to have. She would make sure of it.
"What about your wife?" Charlotte asked quietly.
"She was not a— what did you call it? A cuddler." Oropher snorted affectionately. "Her love was in a hot meal after a long day or a warm bath after hours of training. She loved me through knowing. Sometimes it was being handed a cup of tea, made exactly as I liked it, or she ensured that my meals never included mushrooms." He dramatically shivered even as his smile turned fond.
"She once met me at the entrance to our chambers with my bow and my riding leathers and ordered me into the forest, commanded me to stay away from Aman Lanc until I felt ready to return on my own. Then she took over the running of the realm for three days. I tried to return after the first day, and she saw the shadows beneath my eyes and shook her head and threatened to have me knocked unconscious and dragged to the center of the Greenwood so I'd be forced to stay away long enough to heal."
"She sounds amazing," Charlotte said.
Oropher let out a huff of laughter, though there was a twinge of sadness in it. "She was wild, with one foot always in the forest. Even in Doriath, she craved nature. I often worried I'd caged her in the stone walls of Aman Lanc, but if she felt that way, she never showed it." His face crumbled. "I should have known that the threat of war would not stop her from wandering the forest. I should have done something, arranged for more guards, or begged her to stay within the keep."
"Would she have?" Charlotte asked, already knowing the answer. Oropher shook his head, and Charlotte said, "It wasn't your fault, Oropher. The blame lies singularly with Cúthon and the orcs."
"I should never have trusted him," Oropher said between clenched teeth. "I should have known he'd betray us."
"How?" she demanded gently. "In over a century of orders, we found only three forged by Cúthon. Three. He was wise enough to use it sparingly, and no one noticed because of it. Not the archivist or the marchwardens."
Oropher still looked unconvinced. "Even without her death on my soul, I have plenty of others for which I am accountable."
"At least you are aware of it," a voice said.
Both Oropher and Charlotte stiffened. Amroth stood mere feet away, and her eyes narrowed as she studied his tense posture and crossed arms. How long had he been listening?
Oropher was suddenly pulling away from her, retreating into himself, even as he respectfully helped her to her feet. He was silent as he left her, and Charlotte watched him leave with her heart tight before she turned her glare on Amroth.
"You have no right to—"
"I have every right," Amroth bit out. He quickly closed the gap between them, his voice dropping. "He has earned every bit of my disdain, and even he acknowledges it."
"He takes the blame for many things."
"As well he should!"
"And this is his to bear too, I suppose?"
"You don't know what you're talking about," Amroth snarled, leaning over her.
Charlotte only straightened her spine. Like hell would he tower over her, attempt to shrink her and her thoughts beneath his size. "I know enough to understand that your adar was a king and of equal standing. He answered to no one besides himself."
"Oropher could have stopped all of it," Amroth hissed, "but instead, he encouraged it!"
"And your adar went willingly along," Charlotte said. She fought to gentle her tone. "Do not diminish your adar in such a way as to imply he was too weak to decide his own mind. If he was anything like you, he was likely very opinionated."
Amroth opened his mouth but snapped it shut quickly, and she could tell she'd been correct.
"Holding onto this anger won't bring him back," she said, "and you and I both know that your anger is only masking what you actually feel."
"You know nothing of what I feel," Amroth said.
Charlotte drew back as if struck. Was he saying that she hadn't cared about her mother as much as he had loved his adar? Because she was mortal? And then her heart sank because she realized that, in the time they had been together, Amroth had never learned precisely how Charlotte had been transported into Middle Earth, had never found out the darkness she'd carried for months. She'd parted ways with him and had been days within the Greenwood before Thranduil had forced her to face her grief.
"I may not know exactly what you're facing," she said finally, "but don't pretend you're the only one to have ever lost someone important."
"Would you have me cozy up to his murderer as you have?" Amroth shot back.
"I wouldn't snuggle an orc if that's what you're asking," Charlotte hissed. "He died too, in case you've forgotten. Hasn't he suffered enough?"
"No," Amroth said, his feet splaying wide.
She found herself matching his stance. Oropher had spent over a century in Mandos' Halls, separated from his family by death, and then returned to serve as a riding elk, defending a naive woman-turned-elleth. What more did Amroth want from him? She fought hard to remember that Amroth was her friend too, that he was good and kind and honorable, but at that moment, she really wanted to pummel him.
Maethor and Haedirn blessedly rescued Amroth, or Charlotte, considering he'd likely see any attack by her as the equivalent of a tiny angry kitten nipping at his pant legs.
Her guards took positions on each side of her, and Haedirn rested a hand on her shoulder, his eyes never leaving Amroth as he said, "Your horse is ready. Lord Elrond is prepared to depart, as are the Imladris elves."
"Excellent," Charlotte said and spun on her heel.
"Ask him," Amroth called to her retreating back. "See if he agrees with you!"
She refused to turn.
— O —
Amroth's parting words haunted her for days, but she refused to heed them. So she rode quietly beside Oropher, gnawing the inside of her cheek until it bled, and tried to focus on learning to ride again. Her horse's movements were foreign to her. In the three days since they'd first stepped foot into the forest, with the dual hosts trailing behind them, Charlotte had still not warmed up to the difference between riding her borrowed chestnut and riding Berior. Soon they would reach the Tithenduin, and it wouldn't matter.
"Berior," however, was entirely at ease atop his own horse. At least in appearance. Every time she glanced at Oropher, his eyes wandered the forest, but it was clear he did not see the beeches and pines that soared overhead. Attempts she'd made at conversation were met only with quick grunts or monosyllabic answers. She tried to brush it off, knowing he didn't intend to be rude, but she craved the affection and reassurance "Berior" used to offer, the physical closeness she was just beginning to explore with Oropher.
Whatever their relationship was, it had temporarily stalled, and Charlotte was left floundering, uncertain about where they stood or what they were to each other.
Still, she let him have his space and reminded him when she could that she was there. It was the least she could do, considering he had seen her through so many storms. Antlers or not, Oropher had become someone important to her. She just wished there was something more she could do for him.
Oropher reached across the gap between them, and she shifted free of the reins to clasp his hand. Warm fingers tensed around hers, but his mind was still trapped, his unseeing gaze never turning. Had he even realized he'd reached for her? Was he so far away he couldn't feel her hand in his?
Her horse's ears flicked, and the chestnut shied beneath her, stepping back with a snort. Charlotte clutched the reins tighter, but that only worsened it, and the horse jerked his head, arching his neck and crying out. The muscles bunched along his side, and Charlotte panicked as he sidestepped.
Oropher seized the reins and held them firmly, his eyes finally alert and darting through the trees. Maethor and Haedirn closed in around her, drawing their swords.
"Steady, Rithoril," Oropher soothed Charlotte's horse. Charlotte felt a tinge of shame that she hadn't learned the name of the stallion before. It had felt too much like cheating on Berior at the time.
The Imladris elves curled around them, shielding them from view while groups of Lórinand elves scurried into the trees with their bows on their backs. The forest was silent for a moment, and then she heard a twang and whoosh as the first arrow spiraled from the canopy, finding its new home with a wet thwack.
A high-pitched screech rent the air, sending her horse into another fit, and then arrows surged from the canopy. Oropher swung down from his saddle, moving to calm her horse before it bucked her off, even as Haedirn was reaching up to pull her from Rithoril's back.
Maethor yelled, "Hold the lines!" His sword was poised before him, and he held one arm out to corral her back behind the wardens.
More screams erupted, though Charlotte couldn't see anything. Had they underestimated the speed of the orc host? It was too soon to intercept them! All of their careful plans had turned useless.
Oropher settled a hand on her arm, his other holding the reins for their horses, and said, "This is just a scouting party. A handful of orcs, maybe a few wargs. It will be dealt with quickly."
An idea occurred to Charlotte, and she shouted as Maethor had done, forcing her voice to carry across the ranks, "Keep one alive!"
It was the first actual order she'd given, and her heart fluttered in her chest to hear it echoed down the lines. Within minutes, the forest was silent again, save for the snarling of a single orc kept alive by her command.
The wretched thing had taken arrows to both knees, and two Imladris elves dragged him under his arms, dropping him without hesitation so that he kneeled before her and her ellyn.
The orc's eyes found hers quickly.
"He's coming to collect what's his," the orc cackled. "'Pretty thing,' he says and forbade us to eat. Pretty thing for Urukbúrz to play with." It wheezed, sucked deep in his throat, and spat blood at her feet. His jagged teeth were red with it.
Charlotte's lungs shuddered. Urukbúrz. She hadn't heard that name since her journey to the Greenwood, but now she had no doubt who Urukbúrz was. Thranduil had warned her. Mairon. Sauron. Urukbúrz. It seemed Mairon went by many names, indeed.
Maethor stepped in front of her, blocking her from the orc's view. "Haedirn, take her away from here."
"I am staying," Charlotte said. The fire in her eyes dared them to try to argue with her.
Haedirn dropped his voice low so that only she could hear him. "It's less about you and more about Maethor," he said.
Charlotte eyed Maethor, who thumbed his dagger, the muscles in his hand clenching and releasing. She tilted her chin up, "I am staying. Nothing I see here will change the truth I know."
Maethor's hand shook around the dagger, and Charlotte nodded at him, trying to force all the faith and affection she held for him in her gaze. He was her guard, her friend; she trusted him, and this would not change that.
His shoulders settled, he twirled the dagger in his hand. Charlotte looked to Oropher, but he was resolutely staring at the orc. She had hoped to run her idea through him, but knew that, at the moment, he was too far gone.
So her second order burned on her tongue, and something dark and viscous pounded in her veins, leaving a sludgy feeling in her chest. "When you're done, gag it and drag it behind the horses. I want it alive for now."
AN: Thanks so much for your reviews! They're food for my soul! :)