Elrond's shock had worn off by the time Elrohir had called the rest of the family and dragged in enough chairs. Arwen eyed Morwinyon as critically as Elrohir, but Elladan and Elrond peppered her with questions about her survival almost gleefully. When she mentioned the twins Elrond's entire face lit up.

It was disconcerting.

"And you, master dwarf?" Arwen asked finally, when Morwinyon had answered so many questions she had forgotten what all her answers had been. "We thank you of course for returning our cousin to us, but we wonder why she was gone so long."

"She called him brother," Elrohir commented. "I do not think she meant metaphorically."

"Morwinyon married my brother," Kili said. "You can tell by her braid she's a widow."

Elrond's face fell for the first time, and he murmured a quiet condolence.

"My family has taken excellent care of me," Morwinyon said firmly, and Elrond's face fell further. She had not meant to imply that Elrond was not family.

Kili nudged her elbow with his own - a feat, considering the distance of their chairs - and smiled crookedly when she looked at him.

Well, when had Elrond and his family really been family to her? They had left as soon as it was clear Laeriel was not going to be found.

That was not entirely fair. She tried to rein in her unreasonable irritation, but she was more closely related to Dis and Kili, even if through marriage, than she was to her closest cousins - Elrond was something like Morwinyon's third cousin removed once or twice. She would have to sit down and write out the family tree to be sure.

"If you had arrived earlier your brother could have known of this happy event," Elrohir said, which made Morwinyon feel guiltier. Of the people she had not contacted, Legolas deserved it least. It had not, after all, been his job to parent her, so she should not have felt bitter that he parented her so little.

It had been Tauriel's job even less, but she had done the lion's share anyway.

"I did not know he was here at all," Morwinyon said truthfully. "Perhaps I should go after him when my task is done."

"And your task is?" Arwen asked.

Morwinyon did not sigh. She wanted to, but she did not. "I am to determine the character of Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and why he should - or should not, I suppose - have the support of the clans of the Dunedain, when he does not live with us or ride with us."

All four of her cousins exchanged glances, and Morwinyon realized she had said 'us' instead of 'them'. Aragorn had not lived with her or ridden with her, though. She let it stand.

"My foster son is an honorable man," Elrond said, stiff for the first time. "And a good one, and I have seen to it that he is knowledgeable in the ways of ruling."

"But he has not," Morwinyon pointed out. "Ruled, I mean. He may be all things good and all things true and all things honorable, but what kind of prince does not seek to know his kin who he would rule?"

"What kind of princess seeks not to let her kin know her?" Elrohir asked.

Morwinyon did not have an answer aside from the kind that is me, but admitting it would be as good as admitting she regretted her decisions, which she did not.

She did not think she did, anyway.

"Your father does not come out from his wood," Elrond said into the silence. "Will you not go to him?"

"My father has not come out from the wood since my mother went missing," Morwinyon replied, for this she had an answer to. "My father would not let me leave the wood - he would have kept me, like the treasure he named me, and you would have let him."

There was silence again, until she asked finally, "Am I wrong?"

"No," Arwen said when her father did not reply.

"It is difficult not to understand him," Elrond said.

"Perhaps if I had asked, or insisted, or-" Morwinyon shook her head. "It does not matter. He could barely look at me, and when he did he saw only that I was my mother's daughter, and not a person on my own. When he came to the mountain he would not listen even a little and he would have fought my kin when I asked him not to, for some gems, for those treasures we all have lost, because they were more important."

"We have more treasures to lose, some of us," Elrond said.

"We all have treasures left to lose," Morwinyon agreed, "but I am not a treasure. I am his daughter, and I am not a thing to be lost. Where I choose to go, I choose."

Arwen softened nearly imperceptibly and looked at her father, who in turn looked down at his desktop.

"Maybe I should have told him I lived still," Morwinyon said, "but I was selfish and irresponsible. Would you suggest now that I should rule anything?"

Elrohir frowned.

"Alia of the Dunedain has asked a service of me, and I will give it. I am best qualified to do so, you see. One might say uniquely qualified. You yourselves have listed the reasons."

Elrond stared at the desk still, as if answers were carved into it. Maybe they were. Elrohir leaned against Arwen's chair arm, and Arwen herself looked steadily at Morwinyon.

It was Elladan who said, "Ask after Estel all you like, Morwinyon. I do not think you will find any who speak ill of him here."

Elrohir barked a laugh, and added, "Speak to your brother when you can - he knows our brother well."

Morwinyon frowned and exchanged a glance with Kili. "My brother does?"

"Oh, yes," Elrohir said. "It was Legolas who declared him the king of Gondor and Arnor before the assembled council, after all."

"That wasn't so terrible," Kili said later, having taken over Morwinyon's bed. She stared out the window. "I mean, you got a lot off your chest."

"Says the dwarf who has not yet revealed his own identity."

"I don't think you were selfish or irresponsible," Kili said, and so she turned to look at him. "You made a promise. You kept it."

"It is kind of you to say so," Morwinyon said, coming over to flop gracelessly on the bed beside him. "You are biased, though, I think."

"Never."

She smiled up at the canopy. "I am selfish, you know. Or afraid maybe? The result is the same. I could have spared my brother grief, at least."

Kili said nothing.

"I do not regret much," she said. "Just that. Not the selfishness, or the irresponsibility. I regret hurting Legolas. He must already have been hurting, with Tauriel dead, and I probably made it worse."

"Are you sorry?" Kili asked. "Not about your brother. About leaving, or staying with us, maybe."

Morwinyon fiddled with her widow's braid, feeling Fili's clasp there. She had raised two children who loved her, and who loved their grandmother and their uncle and each other, and she could do things. She was useful with the Dunedain, and she was useful with Tari and Angion and Dis and Kili.

"Not even a little," she said.

Messengers of the enemy did not often make themselves from previously formless shadow, but this one had, and in Thranduil's throne room. It was nothing but a voice wrapped in smoke and darkness, but they all watched it warily.

"I have no curse to put on you, Thranduil of the Greenwood," the black shape said, sounding all-too amused. "Your curse is on you already. But if you would hear it-"

"I would not," Thranduil snapped.

"As you will. Ever your kind walks unknowing into our plans."

A tug on his robe made Thranduil look down. His daughter clung to it with one hand, though she stood straight and looked at the black shape curiously, head cocked to one side.

"Morwinyon," Thranduil murmured, smoothing a hand over the top of her head, "you should be in bed."

The thing chuckled. "What a name! How high you reach for your child, Thranduil Elf-King."

"It is my amilesse," Morwinyon said, voice high-pitched with youth but unwavering. "Therefore did my mother give it to me."

"A wise woman, your mother?"

"Yes," Morwinyon retorted.

It chuckled again. "Be careful with that one, King. My master enjoys pretty little trinkets that he can display."

"Go back to bed, Morwinyon," Thranduil ordered.

She flicked a glance up at him through her lashes, but returned her steady regard to the messenger. "I would not make a good display," she said.

"That, elfling, I do not believe." Teeth, suddenly visible, flashed in a twisted grin. "Your father's treasures must be great indeed, to let you wander so freely."

"Morwinyon," Thranduil snapped, harsh enough that she jumped. "Legolas, take your sister."

She took her brother's hand obediently, smiling at something he murmured to her as he tugged her back towards the door.

"Keep her close, while you can," the messenger said. "But in the end, daughters belong with their mothers. Don't you agree?"