There was no weight in the darkness. Charlotte couldn't tell if her eyes were open or if there simply wasn't a speck of light left in the world. And then she blinked, and she knew.
She'd been here before.
Her heart hurt knowing that she'd returned to Mandos' realm, to the liminal space between life and his halls. Maethor and Haedirn would be forced to sail west. Thranduil… she'd never gotten to say goodbye. And Legolas. Her last view of Legolas squeezed her lungs. He'd been bloodied and unconscious, his eyes closed. Would he even remember her hundreds of years from now? She'd been a mere blip in his lifespan, there and gone.
The darkness pulsed. Her bones throbbed, and she felt Mandos arrive, like satin sliding over her skin. Her fëa, weak and flickering, feebly rose, called by his presence, and she noticed the familiar weight was missing from her neck. She shouldn't have expected the necklace to follow her into death, but its loss was still an ache in her chest. Her mother had given it to her, whether by design or not.
Mandos's face materialized from the blackness, his fëa a shimmering halo around him. His brows settled low over his dark eyes, considering her, and Charlotte bit her lip. Where would she go from here? Oropher hadn't shared anything pleasant about his time in the Halls. Fear twinged her muscles. Her lungs tried to breathe through it, and she was at least comforted by the knowledge that she'd never lose control, never fade out of consciousness again because of her unbalanced fëa.
"I find myself in a rare predicament." Mandos's voice rumbled like thunder across her bones.
Charlotte didn't dare ask.
His silver hair poured over his shoulders, and slowly, more of him coalesced into being. His dark robes misted around him, and Charlotte shivered as one of those wisps caressed her skin. "My sister has claimed you, and yet, once more, you have wandered into my domain."
A star flickered to life, small and struggling. It was quickly snuffed out.
"No interruptions this time, I think," he murmured. "You pitted yourself against him, knowing that which hid beneath the skin of the beast."
"Will he stay gone?" Charlotte asked.
Mandos was silent for a moment, and she wondered if he said anything without thoroughly considering the words before they left his lips. "No," he finally said. "He will rise once more."
Charlotte's shoulders would've sagged if they weren't boneless already. Everything she'd done… it had meant nothing.
"Your efforts, and the efforts of those who followed you, were not without meaning," he said. "It will be many years before he gains the power he requires once more, especially as you have now bound him with Nienna's own gift. Though I doubt she intended for it to be used in such a way."
He crossed his arms and tapped a long slender finger against his sleeve. "Eryn Galen is shielded from his beasts for now, and the Woodland elves will thrive for a time."
"Only 'for a time?'" Charlotte asked, dismay coloring her tone.
"Sunlight is always temporary, little one," he said, and the endearment sounded vastly different from his lips. "Always the darkness returns. It is there that the stars shine."
A pinprick of light burst through the abyss once more, as if he had allowed it.
"What happens to me now?" Charlotte asked.
A second star burst into being.
Mandos's eyes narrowed. "My predicament once more," he hummed. "Your actions have greatly reduced the suffering of my beloved sister, and yet they have equally enraged my wife."
More stars broke through, cracking brilliant holes in the darkness, and Mandos hummed again. "There is that to consider as well." He unfurled his arms, having clearly come to a decision. "A compromise between the two then. I gift you this, Charlotte Anniuel: a choice, where before you had none."
"Sir?" She felt silly calling him that, and his indulgent smile made it worse. What did one call a deity?
"You may choose," he continued. "Either return to Middle Earth and live out your existence as you are now: an elleth."
"Or?"
"You return to your world, to Virginia and your old life."
Could it be so simple? Everything she had craved when she first arrived was a few words away. She would leave everyone she'd grown to love in Middle Earth. But all her memories were in Virginia. Every piece of her mother was there.
"Would I—" she hesitated. "Would I see her eventually? Would her soul have gone to you?"
Mandos shook his head, shadows deepening beneath his eyes. "Your mother was mortal and would not have come to my domain. Nor will your soul follow hers."
"What?" Why wouldn't she go to the same place as her mother? She stared down at her hands as if she could see all the blood on them. Was that why? Was she so painted in death that she'd be barred from whatever beautiful after-place her mother had gone to?
"Your soul is elfkind now," Mandos explained. More stars burst behind his shoulders. "Varda has formed your fëa from her own stars. I cannot undo what has been done."
"But I would be mortal?" Charlotte asked, brows twisting in confusion.
"I would give you the lifespan of a mortal. Death is my domain, and mortality is merely the bridge. I would shorten that bridge for you, grant you the ability to live like those around you would live, to age as they do."
The stars burned brightly, and Charlotte's fëa strengthened in their presence.
"Choose quickly, little one," Mandos said, eyeing those stars with a raised brow, the only emotion in his otherwise apathetic expression. As if, whatever she chose, the result would be the same for him.
An elleth's silhouette formed, bright and brilliant, and Mandos turned his gaze to Charlotte.
She chose.
— O —
Charlotte hissed as the steaming tea sloshed over the rim of the plastic cup, spilling over her fingers. She reached over the counter and grabbed a handful of the tiny square napkins with the coffee shop logo stamped on them. It was another reason to despise Doctor Lewis.
In the morning, he insisted on having a large English breakfast tea with enough sugar and steamed milk that it turned a pale caramel shade, and it had to come from the downstairs coffee shop. Why he couldn't get it himself when he walked right past it to enter the three-story brick building that housed the history department was beyond her.
She shouldered the door open and stepped into the early morning rush between classes, guarding the tea against her chest. One of these days, she should just pour it on him.
Her feet froze. Where had that thought come from? She wasn't usually so… vengeful. She shook her head. She couldn't help the feeling of wrongness that stole over her. Even being in the crowd of students was jarring for some reason, and she couldn't shake the heavy, tired feeling of age on her shoulders. Which was completely irrational, considering she barely had a few years on these people.
She tried to cast it off and dove her free hand into her jacket to pull out her staff I.D. and keyfob. She'd need it to get into the faculty room where she'd left Dr. Lewis pouring over her translation of an old Welsh text they'd managed to loan from another university.
Her heels clacked against the marble as she slipped into the atrium, bringing a burst of frigid air along with her. The sound of each step bounced off the bronze plaques littering the walls, the endless list of benefactors thrusting it back at her. She winced and fought the urge to cover her ears. Maybe she was coming down with something? Her head did feel a little fuzzy, pressure strained against her skull, and she was sure her sensitive ears were probably some upper respiratory thing.
The glossy elevator trudged her up to the third floor, and when it dinged, and the doors slid wide, she was met with a floor-to-ceiling wall of glass windows that overlooked the city. It used to awe her, the sight of the sprawling university elegantly encrusted with manicured trees and gardens. Now, she strangely felt… nothing.
Maybe she was falling ill.
She just wanted the day over with. She eyed the door at the end of the hall. Dr. Lewis had scared all of the interns from the room just before she left, and now two of them stood, shifting their weight, outside of the door.
"I'm not going in until Professor Li arrives," one of them whispered. "He won't tolerate that man's behavior." The woman caught Charlotte's eye and winced. It was well known who she worked with.
"Hang in there," Charlotte told her. "It's only a matter of time before they either fire him or he wiggles his way into another university." She really hoped that was true. She wasn't sure she could handle another year under his control.
The light flicked from red to green on the electronic lock as she held her fob against it, and the door let out a heavy click. Charlotte jerked it wide and slipped into the room, locating her boss at one of the many tables spread along the back wall. On a clear podium before him, the Welsh text gently rested with its pages spread wide like wings.
Dr. Lewis jerked his head up as she approached, and the wrinkles along his forehead deepened. His pale white hair had been meticulously combed back, and a pair of thin wire glasses balanced atop the bridge of his nose. He would have appeared kindly if not for the scowl that twisted his lips.
She stopped before the yellow painted line on the floor, the demarcation that shielded the texts from ruination via food and beverages. A boldly printed sign hung on the wall: all staff required to wash hands before handling resources.
"What took you so long?" he barked. "I called you twice." He stood, coming around the table as he gently tugged white gloves from his fingers. She grimaced at them, having told him half a dozen times that the university prohibited the usage of cotton gloves for handling texts. If he damaged a page or transferred the ink in the manuscript, they'd be lucky to loan so much as a Dr. Seuss book from another institution.
He shoved the wretched things into her hands, took his tea without a word, and swept past her. At least he obeyed the food and drink policy.
She followed him into the small kitchen off the hallway, and her nose wrinkled as he set the cup down on a round table with two chairs. He hadn't taken a single sip.
"Do you have any idea how highly coveted your position is?" He asked, not bothering to search her face as he blew past her to return to the text. "I could fire you tomorrow and find a dozen people with the same skill set, eagerly waiting to take your place."
"Of course, sir," she said, though she rather doubted it. If that were the case, he'd have fired her already. He raised his brows at her tone, and then he was shuffling through the papers strewn across his research table. "Where are those damn—"
Charlotte reluctantly held out the white gloves, and he glared.
"Why in the blazes do you have them, girl?" He snatched them from her fingers and tugged them on before diving back into her translation, a clear dismissal.
She'd be stuck with him for the rest of the morning, and then she would abandon him to his Wednesday afternoon class while she opened at the bar on Main Street.
From behind her, the door clicked open, and the head of the department, Dr. Davis, popped her head through the slight gap. "Charlotte?" She said, a slight frown set into her face as she studied Dr. Lewis. "A word, please?"
Dr. Lewis didn't bother glancing up as Charlotte followed the woman into the hall. As soon as the door closed behind her, Dr. Davis was tugging her away from the skittish interns. "Honey, I'm surprised you're here today. Saira saw you come in and asked if you'd changed your mind about the bereavement leave."
Bereavement leave?
As if from far away, a memory surfaced: the cold wood floor under her knees, her phone crushed between her fingers, Betsy's voice… her voice saying…
Invisible hands crushed her throat. What was she doing here? At work? Her mother had just died. How had she even managed to crawl out of bed and drag herself here?
"I tried calling you," Dr. Davis continued, her deep brown eyes studying Charlotte in concern. "If you want to stay for the morning, you can, but don't feel like you have to. That man can't fire you. Your job is safe, and you're legally entitled to bereavement leave as a full-time employee here."
Charlotte shook her head as if it were filled with water. Dr. Davis and Dr. Lewis had tried calling her, but she didn't remember hearing her phone go off. She patted her pockets and came up empty. Maybe it was in her car? But her keys were missing too.
How had she even gotten here?
"I'm sorry, Dr. Davis," Charlotte murmured. "I think I'll take you up on the offer. I'm not feeling much like myself today." She brushed her hair back, pinning it behind an ear, and froze as her fingers grazed the point.
Dr. Davis must've noticed Charlotte's wide eyes and racing lungs because she smiled and gently guided her to the elevator. "Why don't I drive you home, honey? You look awful. I have to go that way anyway for an appointment; it's no trouble."
"It's okay," Charlotte said, swallowing her panic. She had to get it together or she was going to meltdown in front of the head of her department. "I can walk. It's not far."
"I know." Dr. Davis swept her into the elevator and pressed the button for the first floor. "It'll make me feel better to know that you're not wandering the streets this way." She hesitated, biting her lip before she asked, "I thought the funeral was this afternoon?"
The funeral? So soon? They'd planned everything in advance, but Charlotte didn't remember anything. The entire space between Betsy's phone call and the coffee shop was blank. What had she been doing all that time?
The elevator dinged, and Dr. Davis said, "Did you need to grab anything before we leave? I probably should have asked you that while we were upstairs, but—"
"No," Charlotte said. Her brain was full of water again. "No, I don't think I brought anything."
Dr. Davis nodded, and then she was herding Charlotte through the double front doors. A young student with uncommonly long blond hair held it open for them, his blue eyes intent on her.
"Please, come back," he said, and his pleading tone didn't match his polite expression at all.
She was pulled along before she could ask him about it.
Dr. Davis kept up a string of chatter as they walked the block to the parking garage, but Charlotte didn't hear a word of it. She felt like she'd woken up in that coffee shop in the wrong body, like she was missing something vital. Her hand rubbed at the sudden ache in her chest.
"Winter is approaching quickly," a feminine voice said. "A nice thick sweater would keep the cold at bay."
Charlotte whirled, brows lowering at the small pavilion set up on the sidewalk and the blonde, elegant woman holding an emerald sweater between her dainty fingers. "Or perhaps one of my other works?" She tucked the sweater against her body and waved a free hand at the tent behind her.
Two tables ran the length of each side, and piles and piles of tapestries were stretched and stacked delicately atop each other. A loom proudly stood at the back of the tent, an image already forming at the base of its warp threads. The little she could see looked like a winding river made from diamonds. It would no doubt be stunning upon its completion, and she could already envision the pale bark of the soaring trees, the thick branches heavy with autumn leaves.
"No, thank you," Dr. Davis said, shuffling Charlotte away, her tight curls shaking in a halo around her head as she gave the weaver a disapproving glare.
Charlotte couldn't tear her gaze away from the strange woman in the tent. Her hand smoothed over her chest once more, as if she had strings tied to something she couldn't see. Her heart tugged, like a thin thread wrapped behind her ribs and into the organ.
"I have to call Stephen," Dr. Davis muttered. "Have him verify that she's applied for the permits for that."
But Charlotte had the strangest feeling the woman would be gone before security got to her.
The ride to Charlotte's appointment was brief, and Dr. Davis walked her all the way to the entrance before saying sternly, "You take all the time you need. Your job will still be waiting for you when you come back, and we can discuss re-enrollment when you return."
Charlotte nodded and muttered her thanks, and then she was in the warmth of the building, climbing the stairs to the second floor.
Her apartment was neat and orderly when she stepped inside. It wasn't hard, considering she owned so little. Her feet followed the familiar path to her bedroom, and Charlotte dropped face-first onto her mattress, burying herself into the pillows.
What was happening to her? She'd drifted through the morning as if she were asleep, a passive victim to the world around her, and she had whole days missing from her memory. Had she blacked out? Where was Betsy? Who had contacted the university about her leave? She had hundreds of questions, but none of them felt more important than the overbearing feeling of having forgotten… something. Maybe more than one something?
She rubbed her chest. The ache there only grew.
Charlotte dug around for her phone. She knew it wasn't in her car; her keys were lying on the floor where her phone charger curled across the wood. "Where is it?" She grumbled. She fluffed the sheets, dug through the pillows, lifted the mattress. Her phone was gone. "Great," she huffed. "Like I can afford to replace that."
Even with her mother gone, Charlotte was still buried in debt from her medical expenses, having paid the bills she couldn't cover on a multitude of credit cards. She'd been working the balance down steadily, but she was still a long way from financial freedom.
A knock sounded through the apartment, and Charlotte flung the pillows back into place as she darted across the small space. When she whipped the door open—
"Charlotte?"
Charlotte stood frozen, one hand still clutching the knob. "Abby?"
Her sister had changed very little. There were still freckles across her narrow nose, two wide blue eyes set into a round face, but tiny wrinkles settled at the corners, as if she'd constantly been smiling since she'd left all those years ago.
Charlotte wanted to slam the door in her face.
"Don't," Abby said, reading the clenched muscles and anger in her sister's eyes. "I— Could I come in?"
The door closed a fraction, hesitated, and then swung wide. Charlotte was silent as she stepped back to allow her sister to enter.
Abby's eyes roamed the sparse apartment as she stepped inside, her eyes taking in the mattress on the floor, the lack of possessions. "Your place is—"
Sparse. Empty. Achingly lonely. Charlotte thought.
A ghost of a memory peaked through: a man's voice, deep and soothing, like the crash of waves against sand, and her own.
Never alone.
Never again.
Where had she heard that? Her chest tugged again. Was she having a heart attack? She definitely couldn't afford that.
Abby was talking, and Charlotte had missed everything. Goodness, where was her brain today? She vaguely caught bits about the weather in Virginia. Some man named Craig thought it would be lovely to vacation there.
Finally, Charlotte said, "What do you want, Abby?"
Abby whirled, brows twisted in confusion. "I told you," she said patiently. "I spoke to Betsy at the viewing. When I asked where you were, she said she hadn't heard from you since… you know. Wouldn't answer your phone or texts. Only your brief email to the company stopped her from filing a missing persons report. She was going to come check on you today, but I volunteered."
Even Betsy didn't know where she'd been for those blank days.
Charlotte just wanted to go back to her bed and sleep the day away. "Well, I'm alive," she said, hovering a hand behind her sister's back and herding her toward the door. "You've done your duty. Now you can go." Her skin itched at her own rudeness, but… Abby had walked out and never looked back. Never cared enough about her own sister, about her mother, not when they'd desperately needed someone to care.
Pressure swept down her head, as if someone had run their fingers across her brow and down the curve of her cheek. Charlotte gasped at the sensation, and her hand flew to her face, but there was nothing there.
"Let them in, Charlotte."
It was the same pleading voice she'd heard earlier. Was she losing her mind? Her hand clutched her chest. Was she deteriorating as her mother had?
"If you change your mind," Abby said, "Craig and the kids are waiting downstairs. You're more than welcome to ride with us to the funeral. We're heading there now anyway."
"No," Charlotte said and then hastily tacked on a "thank you" before she urged her sister over the threshold.
"It's really no trouble—"
Charlotte closed the door with a snap. It was probably the rudest thing she'd ever done. The lock clicked loudly in her empty apartment, but her brain was still chasing that voice. It was the key to those missing days; she just knew it.
"Let them in?" She asked the blank walls. "Let who in?"
She felt the tug once more and had the oddest urge to tug back. So she did.
And then she felt it: warmth, like stepping in a hot spring, and something playful and twisting.
She knew that feeling. From where? She wasn't sure. It was crazy, complete lunacy, but she knew there was someone, two someones on the other side of that.
The sensation pulled at her again, and she closed her eyes, trying to follow it back. "Who are you?"
"Come home," she heard from that same deep voice, and she could picture the plush mouth, the sharp cheekbones that belonged with that voice. Her heart thundered wildly. "Come home to us."
A soft voice, a child's, echoed through her mind. "Please, Nana."
Nana? Memories raged against an invisible cage. There was a final tug, and Charlotte imagined grabbing hold of that invisible thread and yanking hard.
The cage shattered, and Charlotte dropped to her knees, her hands flying over her eyes as everything broke free. Imladris. Legolas. Thranduil. The long trip to Eryn Galen. Ellavorn and Idhrenes and Meluieth. Maethor and Haedirn. Oropher. The memories flew past her in the longest second of her life. Scenes of death and war and blood, memories of friendship, of love.
Bright golden light burst between the cracks of her fingers, and then Maethor and Haedirn were there, kneeling on the floor of her apartment.
"Oh, thank the Valar," Haedirn cried.
Maethor's arms came around her, and Haedirn pulled her hands from her face to wipe her tears.
"I swear," she said, taking in the heartbroken expressions of her gwaethainn, "I didn't choose this. I wanted to go home, not here. I chose you and Middle Earth. I promise I did."
"We know," Maethor said gently, though his arms squeezed her tightly. "We know you did."
"I promise," she said again. "I don't know what happened. He told me I could choose and I did."
Maethor shushed her, his arms tightening around her, but it was Haedirn who softly said, "You're in the healing hall right now, Charlotte. You're with us, I swear it."
"I am?"
"We have not left your side," Maethor vowed.
She jerked her head up, the fine details of her memories peeking through, and then her eyes pinged to Haedirn's side. "You were injured," she said, and there was an unspoken question in her tone.
Haedirn winked. "An Imladris healer had me stitched up before we even left the bridge. Nearly all healed now. Meluieth has been teasing me for days."
"She's right though," Maethor said, "it is the longest you've stayed in the healing hall without attempting to sneak away."
"But you both are well?" Charlotte insisted. The last time she'd seen them, she worried Haedirn would bleed out on the bridge, worried that, even if he didn't, both he and Maethor would be forced to sail.
"We are," Maethor promised.
"I heard Legolas, I think, and Thranduil." She leaned back to study their faces. "They're okay? They're safe?"
Haedirn nodded. "Both are waiting for you to return, as are we. Thranduil has been with you since the battle. When he found you on the bridge—"
The images flashed before her eyes as if they were her own.
Thranduil's skin was streaked with blood, and his sword hung limply at his side. His eyes scanned the bodies sprawled throughout the forest. Around him, elves picked through the armor, searching for survivors, ending the orcs consumed by the river's enchantment.
Maethor called out to him, and Thranduil's gaze followed the sound, passing over the ellyn entirely when he spotted the chestnut hair curling to the stones from the petite body clutched to Maethor's chest.
He was running, sheathing his sword, and he slid to his knees beside them. "Is she—" Grief etched into the lines of his face. An agonized sound ripped from his lungs as he beheld the shreds of her fëa. "Why?" he cried. Tears dripped from his pointed chin, and he slowly scooped her from Maethor's arms.
Maethor felt his chest constrict as her head lulled before Thranduil straightened her, clutching her body to his like an infant. The sounds… Maethor could live a thousand years more and never forget the utter rage and grief and pain in those sounds. He heard the echo of them in his own mind.
An Imladris healer was cleaning and stitching Haedirn's wound, and the ellon grunted as the needle pierced his skin, but then he said, "We can still feel her, Thranduil."
Maethor nodded. "We're bonded to her. We might be able to hold her here. That's why we're keeping her as close to the forest as possible."
Thranduil's nostrils flared, and Maethor gave him a moment to find his words. "Why was she out here at all?"
"She was out here," a voice said, "because her people needed her to be out here."
Thranduil's body turned to stone, and then he was clutching Charlotte tighter, his arms vibrating.
"Will you not face me, ion nín?" Oropher's face fell as he stepped around his son to settle on his knees before him.
Thranduil crumbled. "Adar?" He croaked.
And then Oropher wrapped his weeping son in his arms, Charlotte crushed between them. "I cannot—" Oropher swallowed thickly. "The grief I have caused you, I cannot atone for it. Ion nín, I wish I could undo it all."
Thranduil pulled back but kept one hand clasped around his adar's arm. "I do not," he said. Tears ran freely down his face, dripping off his chin. "It would cost me Legolas," he looked down, releasing his adar to settle his palm on Charlotte's pale cheek. "It would've cost me what time I was blessed with." His mouth twisted, and he clenched his eyes tightly. He took a steadying breath, pulling Charlotte's limp body against his chest, as if he feared someone would take her from him. "How?" He asked Oropher. His voice shook. "How is it that you've returned?"
"You are holding the answer," Oropher said solemnly. He reached out and brushed a lock of hair from Charlotte's forehead. "She is the reason that many of our people survived today. Including Legolas."
"Legolas was here?" Thranduil looked on the verge of his own mental breakdown. His wild eyes scanned the bodies once more, searching for the tiny elfling amongst the dead.
"He's safe," Haedirn grunted as the healer finished the stitches and spread a thick paste on his skin. "Meluieth took him inside not long ago, and he was already coming around."
"What happened?" Thranduil eyed the three ellyn. "I left you in charge of their safety, and both of them were not only outside of the caverns but in the middle of the battle."
"We were betrayed, ion nín," Oropher soothed. "Both of us. All of us. Cúthon nearly killed her, would have killed her if they hadn't pulled her from the river in time."
"Accidentally?" Thranduil's eyebrows scrunched in confusion.
"Intentionally, and I am afraid there is much more than that," Oropher said and tilted his head to Maethor.
Maethor did not want to be the one to tell Thranduil any of what followed. As it was, he already felt miserable at the knowledge that Oropher had found out by accident while trapped in his elk form. But he covered everything: from Charlotte's early suspicions to her plans and success at breaking into the archives, all the way up to the moment he pulled her from the river, tied and terrified.
And then he explained the orders they'd found, the proof that confirmed Cúthon had all but killed the last queen and her unborn child while her husband and son had been in Imladris. Even without his confession to Charlotte as he'd gloated about her upcoming execution, Thranduil would have enough evidence to send him west to the Valar for kinslaying.
Thranduil stood, cradling his betrothed like one might hold a broken bird, and he said, "First, we see to her safety and check on Legolas." He turned to his adar, "Find Ellavorn. I want him to throw that spineless worm in the smallest cell we possess. I want Cúthon to feel every bit of terror and pain she suffered before I send his miserable soul west for judgment. Either by ship or by sword."
Maethor bolstered Haedirn, dragging his gwador after their elleth and her betrothed. Injured or not, they would not leave her side.
Charlotte snapped back to her own body, and the walls tilted for a moment before her mind settled. Maethor frowned as if he knew what she had seen, and almost as if to test the connection, she suddenly saw a brief vision of her, stretched out and paler than the white sheets of her bed in the healing hall. Thranduil sat at her side, gently clutching her hand, occasionally smoothing his fingers across her face as if he were pushing hair from her eyes. Legolas was curled around her torso, his eyes too bright and ringed in red. Haedirn lay in the bed beside her, with Maethor and Oropher sitting in chairs between the beds.
A silent, pained vigil.
Charlotte's mind cleared much quicker this time, and she nodded to confirm Maethor's questioning gaze.
"That will be useful," he said.
"How do we go home?" Charlotte asked. "I didn't ask Mandos to be here, and he didn't seem like the trickster type."
"You're technically not here," Haedirn said. "Your body is still in Eryn Galen. I'm not sure that here is real."
"How long have I been…" She couldn't find the words she needed.
"We've kept you stable, but your fëa is weak right now," Maethor explained gently. "A few times, we thought you were slipping away from us. It's been that way for four days now."
Four days. She'd been out for four days, and in this place, it had barely been one. How much time had passed since Maethor and Haedirn had arrived?
"So, how do we go home then?"
Maethor shook his head and squeezed her softly. "I'm not sure," he whispered, "but we're here with you now."
Haedirn nudged her, "How did you return the last time? After the healing incident?"
"Last time, I had two of the Valar to supercharge my fëa, but I have no idea how to reach them now."
"Try calling them?" Haedirn suggested with a shrug.
Charlotte felt silly, scrunching her eyes closed and calling for Nienna and Varda in her mind. "Hello? Can one of you help me return to Middle Earth?" She hadn't expected it to work, so she wasn't surprised when it didn't. "Nienna?" She called aloud, the word bouncing strangely off the empty walls of her apartment. "Varda?"
Nothing.
"What about the first time?" Maethor asked. "When you arrived in Middle Earth?"
Charlotte shook her head. "I had the necklace then. Nienna was able to use my…"
Her grief. Nienna had pulled her after suffering the distress of her mother's death. "I think," Charlotte said, her shoulders sagging with the task ahead, "I think I know what I have to do."
The absolute last thing she wanted to do was attend the funeral. She would much prefer to return to Middle Earth, leaving in ignorance, so that she might fantasize that somewhere, sometime, her mother existed and was happy. That there was the possibility, however infinitesimal, that Charlotte might see her once more.
"We'll be with you the entire time," Maethor promised.
Charlotte's eyes burned, but she let out a weak laugh to cover it. "I think we'll have to find you something to wear," she said, eyeing their clean tunics and the swords and daggers strapped to their bodies. There was a formal wear rental shop on Main Street. If she hurried, she might be able to find something for them to wear and still arrive at the funeral on time.
Even as she thought it, their clothes morphed, weapons vanishing, clothes darkening, until they kneeled on the floor beside her in two crisp black suits. Charlotte's eyes went wide, and she scurried back, ripping her hands away from the shifting fabric. Had she done that? She glanced down at herself, searching for the glow of her fëa or the vibrant light of her antlered necklace. But her skin was dull, plain and unlit, and her collarbones were bare.
Haedirn pulled open the side of his jacket and studied the satin lining inside. "Do you think we can have the seamstress make some of these? I like it. Look! There are hidden pockets for daggers!"
Charlotte snorted, but it was Maethor who said, "I suppose this answers the question of where we are. I do not believe you mentioned magic in your world?"
She pinched her lips against a laugh. The poor ellon looked so uncomfortable with his new outfit. She could have stripped him naked, and he'd have been happier than being stuffed into the suit. He shifted his shoulders as if trying to adjust the jacket and only grimaced.
"No magic in my world that I know of," she said finally, and then she pictured her own outfit, the same simple tea-length black dress she'd purchased from a clearance rack.
Her long-sleeved blouse and dark dress slacks remained.
"Odd." She scrunched her brow. "I can't change my own clothes like that." She eyed Maethor in Haedirn in their suits. They were real; they had to be. Maethor grabbed her hand and squeezed, knowing she needed that proof. His skin was warm, the muscles firm. Real. At least, as real as anything was for her in this place.
"You're unconscious in the Greenwood right now," Haedirn said. "Maybe, because you've drawn us here, you have control over this particular aspect?"
"I'm controlling you?"
"No?" Haedirn said, his eyes searching the ceiling. "I can hear myself thinking, so I'm certain my choices are my own."
Charlotte dropped her face into her hands. "This is getting too 'existential crisis' for me," she said. "If it's in my head, and I have control over parts of you, then who's controlling the rest of this?"
"We can only play it out and see what happens," Maethor said. He helped her to her feet and pushed her toward her room. "We'll wait here while you prepare."
Charlotte was quick, darting into her room, flinging off her work clothes, and throwing on the black dress. It felt strange to wear something so revealing after months of modest Elven gowns and tunics and leggings. She was once again grateful that elves seemed to lack body hair.
When she stepped out again, Maethor coughed and blushed and turned away from her, but Haedirn grinned.
"Do all the women dress like this?" Haedirn asked, nodding toward Charlotte's exposed legs.
She rolled her eyes but returned the offered smile.
"Elbereth save us." Haedirn turned to Maethor. "Let's never tell Thranduil we saw her this way."
"Maybe the seamstress can whip up another one when we return home," Charlotte deadpanned.
The more she thought about it, the more she liked the idea of bringing a few of her world's options to Middle Earth, even if she only ever wore them alone… or with Thranduil.
But first, she had to get home, and that meant facing the one thing she'd thought she'd moved past. Maethor picked up on her sudden shift in mood and tugged her hand.
She didn't need to hear it aloud. She saw the words in his eyes, in Haedirn's offered arm. She wouldn't face it alone again.
AN: I sincerely apologize for the delay. I was in the ER maybe a day or two after I last posted, and it took days to fully recover so that I could edit. I'm feeling better though! So hopefully back to a quicker editing/posting schedule for these last few chapters! Thank you for reading!