When Thranduil nodded again and opened the doors, Haldir stood at the front of the waiting elves on the other side. None of them bothered to pretend they were there for any reason other than the obvious.

"I do not know you," Thranduil said, ramrod straight and possibly glaring, which was when Morwinyon realized he had not put his glamor back up.

"He accompanied me," Morwinyon called, crossing the room. "Adar, this is Haldir of Lothlorien. Haldir, my father Thranduil, king of Mirkwood."

"Of course," Haldir said, sketching a quick bow. "There is some resemblance."

"Oh?" Morwinyon asked, laughing, tapping her scarred cheek.

"They look nothing alike," Inwiel said from beside Haldir, glaring at the side of his head. "She looks like Lady Laeriel."

"I am sure she does," Haldir said. "I meant no offense. Morwinyon, all is well?"

"You take your protection duties too seriously," she told him. "I am delivered appropriately. All is well. Hello, Inwiel."

"Morwinyon," Inwiel said. "You have been long away."

"Yes," Morwinyon agreed, holding out a hand. "I am sorry to have worried you, Inwiel. It was poorly done of me."

"Apologize to Cevendis instead," Inwiel said, but she pulled Morwinyon into a hug. Over Inwiel's shoulder Morwinyon could see Nurchon and the remnants of the Noldor in Mirkwood.

Morwinyon released Inwiel to nod to him and the ten other Noldor, three of whom she had left behind in the watchtower of Dale. Those three stood apart from the rest, nearer Haldir, and all of the Noldor stood a little apart from the rest of the silvan - but then, so did Haldir.

"Orvaie fought well," Morwinyon said. "She died saving my life, as did Wilyar and Vorosandon."

"That was what they swore to do," Nurchon said, and smiled crookedly. "I will hear about it when I return to the Halls - Orvaie liked to tell me that it did not matter, that I served Lady Laeriel first, but we knew better. I am sure it was good for her pride to know she served you first."

Morwinyon remembered Nurchon's face in the mirror, when he had seen her mother in all Laeriel's corrupted glory. Her expression must have changed: Haldir shifted so he could eye Nurchon, and Nurchon frowned at her.

"My mother was always glad of your service," Morwinyon said, though Laeriel had not told her so. Laeriel had not told Morwinyon much of anything through no true fault of her own: Morwinyon supposed it was difficult to impart wisdom to a four year old. What she remembered was as likely stories others had told her than actual memories.

There is a fire in us, Laeriel had said. Morwinyon knew that was a true memory. She had to do something or she would burn.

"I will need armor more suitable for a clash of armies," she said, and was gratified that no one batted an eye. "I survived the last, but I think I would have done better with plate."

One of the Noldor snickered.

"Armor," Thranduil said, sounding relieved. Morwinyon wondered if he had, after all, expected her to leave immediately. "Yes, of course. But plate?"

"I look like my mother," Morwinyon said, ignoring the tiny flinch her father gave. "I intend to take advantage of it."

Laeriel's armor hung in the treasury, cleaned and cared for as if she would be back for it at any moment. Morwinyon supposed she should not have been surprised.

"Will it fit?" she asked.

Her father said, sounding amused, "You are perhaps an inch shorter than your mother. Adjustments are easily made."

She nodded and looked around. Thranduil's treasury was not so gold-ridden as Erebor's had been, but it was bright nonetheless. Her father had a fondness for silver and silk and clear gems that alternately collected and reflected light. Even so a few golden trinkets still sat on shelves.

"The treasures of the Greenwood," she said.

"Almost all," he agreed, and frowned. "That is - I do not know how else to express that-"

"My brother is not here," Morwinyon said. "I understand."

He frowned again, but instead of saying anything crossed to a drawer and pulled it open, moving a gem-encrusted gold necklace aside with little care and turning to offer her something. "Here."

Morwinyon eyed the crown in his hands. It was solid and large and not silver, though it was silvery, with a point like a ship's prow. The tiny tremble of Thranduil's hands that never seemed to leave entirely let her see the cunningly laid chips of diamond along the side, as if waves broke against the side of a ship in full sail.

"It was your mother's," Thranduil said unnecessarily. "If you are going to pretend - well. There is little more intimidating than Laeriel Glingaerien in her fully-crowned glory."

He gestured, and she bent a little to let him put it on her head, reaching up to adust it herself when he stepped away. It sat heavily on her braids - not uncomfortably, but as if it wanted to make sure she knew it was there.

Thranduil laughed a little and she frowned at him.

"Not at you," he said. "It is only - when you wear her crown, you do not look like her at all."

"Oh?" she asked, curious.

He shrugged - just the one shoulder, she realized, the one that had not been burned by the dragonfire. "She wore it differently. I do not think she ever put it on straight, come to think."

The image of her mother, crown askew and no one brave enough to tell her about it, was so entirely at odds with any other story she had ever heard that Morwinyon was startled into her own laughter.

Thranduil looked delighted out of all proportion to the event, and added, "For true verisimilitude we should spot your hands with ink. She was never careful with a quill."

"Is that why she wore black?"

"It is why I gave her black shirts," Thranduil said with great dignity. "Your mother did not care whether she was ink-spotted or whether her clothes matched, or even what her clothes were if it did not have something to do with armor."

Morwinyon cocked her head at him.

"She stole my shirts and ruined them," Thranduil said, "and the worst part was she did not realize she was doing it."

"She had strong hands," Morwinyon said, "and a great many scars."

"Yes," Thranduil agreed, staring past Morwinyon again. "She was beautiful."

He came back from wherever he had gone and smiled crookedly. "That you like her has only ever been a compliment, Morwinyon, but I never meant to imply that you had to be like her."

"I wanted to be like her," Morwinyon said. "Only, you seemed set against letting me."

"Oh," he said.

"But then I wanted to be like Tauriel, and that did not work well either," she continued. "And Dis, too, but she cut that short early on. I have been only myself for decades now."

"I like yourself," Thranduil said immediately.

Morwinyon snorted, and he sighed.

"You are grown up and I did not get to see it, but that does not mean I do not like what I see now," he said carefully, and frowned. "Not that you have to care, I - have you seen Tauriel? Has she said - what is it?"

"Adar," Morwinyon said carefully, watching him just as carefully, "Tauriel died on the mountain."

Which she supposed did not mean Tauriel could not have been reborn, but surely if she had she would have come looking for Morwinyon?

Thranduil squinted at her. Morwinyon squinted back.

"I see there has been some confusion," he said.

["He will die before you, and you will live with that aching loneliness until the end of your days – which will be never. You are not Arwen, who may choose mortality and a chance at forever. Your life will never end, but his will, and he will go where dwarves go, and even when you walk the halls of Mandos you will be alone."

"I have lived with that knowledge for sixty years and more, Adar," Morwinyon said impatiently. "I have lived with it, thinking it had already happened. I congratulate you on loving more wisely."

Thranduil made a face. "Your mother would disagree with you there. She has been heard to assert – often – that the Noldor were cursed."

Morwinyon considered this. "Well. Elrond and Celebrian were certainly separated. You and Mother. Fíli will die before me, as you so helpfully pointed out. Arwen's ranger will die before her. Her brothers have not found love that I know of. Galadriel and Celeborn do seem to be doing well, aside from their daughter's torture by orcs, but then, their daughter was tortured by orcs."

"Are you saying she might have been correct?"

"I am saying there is the slightest of possibilities," Morwinyon replied. "Would knowing for certain have made a difference in your proposal?"

Thranduil, much to her surprise, laughed, his entire face lighting with mirth. "Ah, Morwinyon," he said fondly, to her greater surprise. "Marriage to your mother was never going to be easy, cursed or otherwise."

"Well, there," she said after a moment of recovery. She could not remember seeing her father laugh before. "Marriage to Fíli was going to be controversial no matter what happened, too."

"I did not want you to leave because of him," Thranduil said. "I did not want you to marry him to spite me."

"A fundamental misunderstanding. I left to spite you. I married him because of him."]