"Tauriel is alive and no one told me?" Morwinyon demanded.

"I did think you were dead," Thranduil said.

Just because he had a point did not mean she had to like it.

"Do you speak to her? Does she come home?"

"She does not come home," Thranduil said, though he smiled a little as he said it, which Morwinyon did not think appropriate to the situation at hand. "I am sorry to say I speak to her little. She writes on occasion, when she thinks she learns something worth my knowing."

It was harder to stay now, Morwinyon realized. Postponing her duties to Alia and Arwen had not been nearly so difficult as keeping herself from haring off to look for Tauriel, or to Kili to tell him the news.

But Tauriel would have stayed in this situation, Morwinyon was sure, so instead of running immediately into the hinterlands she made herself say, "I am glad she lives."

"Yes," Thranduil agreed. "I am as well."

"You exiled her," Morwinyon pointed out, unable to help herself or the bitterness.

"I was angry."

"Being angry does not excuse hurting people," Morwinyon said, as angry at herself as she was at her father.

"No," he agreed. "Nor does being afraid. I am afraid-" he grimaced. "I am afraid I was both, and used them. That Tauriel taught you better is a credit to her."

"She tried," Morwinyon said. "I am not very good at not being angry."

"You are not very good at being afraid at all," her father said severely.

"I was afraid when I faced Azog," she said. "When he took my eye."

Thranduil's hand flexed - the burned one.

Morwinyon shrugged.

"I suppose I should be grateful to Thorin then," Thranduil said, striving for lightness, "that Azog is dead."

"Adar," she said reproachfully. "Thorin saved my life the once, but you should be thankful to me that Azog is dead."

It was Thranduil's turn to laugh. The sound edged into nervousness, but not by much. "I can only imagine he did not see you coming."

"I suppose I might have damaged his vision when I hit him with a rock," she mused. "No, I rather think strangling him to death let him know."

Thranduil bit his lip and looked away, towards Laeriel's armor, and said after a moment, "I should not find that amusing."

Morwinyon shrugged again.

"Well," he said. "I suppose we should rest, and eat, and ensure the armor will fit. The enemy arrives soon, you said."

"Very soon, I think."

He nodded. "Morwinyon- Fili-"

"We were doing so well," she said.

"I wanted you to be happy," he said. "I did not want you to marry someone who would die before you, and who would leave you with - I know how it feels, to be that lonely, after having been… not alone."

Morwinyon sighed, but he continued, "He was not even a human. Your life will never end, not really, and you are not Arwen, who may choose mortality, and the human's fate, and a chance at forever."

"If you knew you might not see Laeriel again, would you have married her?" Morwinyon asked.

She realized she had slipped, implying that Laeriel might not be in the halls of Mandos, but Thranduil did not question the idea. Morwinyon supposed he had considered the possibility in the century or so that Laeriel had been gone.

"And look at me!" Thranduil gestured, managing to encompass himself and Mirkwood as a whole.

"Was that an answer?"

He glared at her. "I was never going to say no to your mother. Laeriel is - was-" he fumbled, and Morwinyon, who knew the difficulty of using past tense when you wanted to use present, did not press.

"Laeriel was singular," he finished.

"It is good to know you are still a hypocrite," Morwinyon said. "I do not think I would have liked it, if you changed too much."

Thranduil closed his eyes and took a breath.

"We want more for our children than we have for ourselves," he said after a moment. "Would you want Tauriel or Angion to be lonely, as you have been?"

Morwinyon felt the anger suddenly fall away, and it left only sadness. "Adar," she said. "I have not been lonely. I have had my children and my family and my friends. Did you not?"

"To be a king is to be alone," he said. "Alone but for-"

"Inwiel?" Morwinyon suggested. "Your other advisors? Your son? Me? You had me, Adar. You had Tauriel and Legolas. I left, but them you sent away."

"It is not the same."

"No," she agreed. "None of them are the same as the others. Does that make them less important?"

"Logic," Thranduil said venomously, just loudly enough that she heard it. Morwinyon could not help but smile just a little.

"You go out now, Elien said. Do you enjoy it?"

"Not even remotely," he said. "I am terrified the entire time, and my hands shake, and Inwiel must fix my shoulder for me all too often. But it is necessary, for your mother-"

He swallowed. "Laeriel is not here to do it for me, and will never be again."

Morwinyon briefly considered mentioning the idea that her mother might, in fact, be back soon, though not in a capacity either of them would appreciate. Thranduil would never raise a sword to Laeriel knowingly, though, and knowing she was coming would only, what?

I know why you fled Mirkwood, Gloin had said. Would you have liked all of your options laid before you then? Or did you prefer your father giving you so few?

Morwinyon blew out a breath. "Ada," she said. "I think there is something you should know, also."

Thranduil had accepted the news with many fewer dramatics than Morwinyon anticipated. He had, in fact, seemed to take it as confirmation of something he already knew.

"We never found her body," he pointed out, sat comfortably on a chest he had closed for the purpose. "What I take umbrage with is your belief she would ever come to harm the Greenwood or its people."

"I think everyone wants to believe that of anyone taken by orcs," Morwinyon said. "I have yet to meet someone for whom it is true."

"In the dark, you said," Thranduil murmured, staring past her, and blinked. "No, Morwinyon. If we have not seen her, they have not succeeded."

"And if we do see her?" Morwinyon asked.

Thranduil said nothing, but he pressed his hands between his knees, looking down at them.

"Adar," she said.

He smiled grimly down at his hands. "I cannot," he said, and raised one visibly shaking hand, hair falling to hide his face. "I could not, even if it was not Laeriel. I go out, I observe, I even sometimes hold Delu - I fought at the mountain and I do not know how. My memories of it are not clear enough. I dream of dragonfire when I sleep, and when I wake I dream of it too. "

When she made no reply he let his hand fall and his head sink lower, and he said, "I am sorry that I am not as I should be. This is what happened to the king who faced a dragon."

Morwinyon had seen a great deal more of the world since she had hurled that at him before the gates of Erebor. The Dunedain were a people in near constant trudging war, and they all reacted to it differently. Some lost the capacity for fighting and found it again: some did not. Alia's mother had been one of three survivors of an ambush and never been able to pick up a weapon again, and Alia had never blamed her for it.

"You are not wrong to be afraid," Morwinyon made herself say. "You cannot control that, and you can only do what you can do. But you have counselors to help you, and guards. They will do what needs to be done, if you tell them what that is."

"Have you always been wise, or did you learn from someone?" Thranduil asked.

"The Dunedain are extremely pragmatic," Morwinyon replied. "If you cannot do something, someone else can, and you can move to a different task to which you are better suited."

He laughed a little. "Very well. I will delegate better. Send in Inwiel and Nurchon, if you would. As for the other matter..."

"I will take care of it," Morwinyon said, and he flinched, drawn in again, but made no response until she was almost out the door.

"If you must," he said, "it is you who should come back. Do not - if she tries to harm you, she is not your mother anymore, and if she still is, she would rather be struck down than the alternative."

He looked up again finally, and said, "I would rather you return than the alternative."

"Is it better to see her and know," Morwinyon asked, "or not, and… not?"

"I think both options are truly horrendous," her father said frankly.

She could not argue.