Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any recognizable characters and/or places thereof

Author's Note: This chapter took a long time. . .sorry about that. . .I'll try to have the next up sooner.

"Take me home, country road/To the place where I belong"

-John Denver

*****

Things work out well, for the next three years. Morwinyon visits Imladris every winter, catching up with her sister and brother-in-law, and keeping an eye on her young nephews. Some times Celeborn and Galadriel journey with her, other times she journeys alone, and her parents follow at a later time. She always leaves early in the season, but Elrond sends his scouts out--just in case.

On the fourth year, Morwinyon arrives very early. Celebrían is playing with the twins in the gardens, having quite a time of keeping them away from the roses. Hearing footsteps she turns, smiling in a child's carefree manner, to see Elrond approaching. Morwinyon follows after him, to his left. She seems to be very self-conscious, keeping away from the plants and other Elves. Celebrían knows that something is very wrong with her sister.

The sisters embrace, Morwinyon falling almost desperately into Celebrían's arms. Confused and shocked, Celebrían catches the younger girl before she can hit the ground. "Ammë, Ammë!" chorus the voices of two worried and protective young lads.

"It is all right," she tells the boys. "Ada is going to play with you now, all right?" Luckily the twins are too young to feel rejected, and they totter happily over to Elrond, who accepts his new duty bravely, picking up Elrohir when he falls and distraction his attention before Elrohir decides to cry. Morwinyon watches this little play, and a tear slips down her cheek. Celebrían's intense gaze is locked on her sister. And she knows. She can hardly speak; her voice is an airy whisper. "Morwinyon, no."

Celebrían leads her sister into the house and sits her down. "Who was it? Was it Minnó? It was, wasn't it? Sweet Eru, Mor, I knew you were young but I never thought you would be so stupid! Does mother know?" Morwinyon begins to cry. Celebrían is too angry for sympathy. "Morwinyon, do not do this. You are old enough to be responsible for your own actions."

"No."

"No?" if it is as it sounds, Celebrían is ashamed.

"No, it was not Minnó. He has not ever. . .touched me. Mother thought I needed to get away from him, so she took me with her to Mirkwood forest. . ."

~*~

Morwinyon didn't mind attending feasts. There was eating, talking, sometimes dancing. Being a child she was often ignored, but she enjoyed listening to the witty banter of sophisticated adults, and did not fully mind the pervert humor of drunken Elf-lords; both were present, depending on the amount of alcohol imbibed. On that night, Morwinyon waited until her mother had had a glass of wine, then asked, "Mother? May I have some wine, as well?"

Galadriel was not as drunk as her daughter suspected, nor was she oblivious. She knew well that Morwinyon had sneaked wine before and not enjoyed it. "All right," she said, and poured a very small amount of alcohol into her daughter's glass. When they returned home, Galadriel decided, Morwinyon could drink as much as she liked and learn first-hand about the accompanying headache. This lesson was never necessary with Celebrían, cautious and logical, but despite her sister's influence Morwinyon was headstrong and needed to learn some things for herself.

Surveying the room over the rim of her glass, Morwinyon allowed the tiniest amount of the tart drink to slip between her slightly parted lips. She tried not to shudder as it touched her tastebuds. It was about then that she caught sight of another person, an Elf staring at her with a look she could not identify, a look that made her feel rather uncomfortable. Not knowing what else to do, she looked away, staring at the napkin in her lap.

Later, she asked Galadriel, "Mother, who is he?" The Elf was dancing, no longer looking at Morwinyon, and so she dared to look at him. He was handsome, blonde-haired and blue-eyed, but his face had a look to it that warned Morwinyon: this is no stranger to anger. By the gold circlet he wore, she guessed that he was of high rank and let no one forget it.

"He is King Thranduil, our host. Why do you ask?"

"No reason." Morwinyon could have told her mother then, and things might have been different. But instead she held her tongue, with the pride of youth, and took another sip of wine. After a moment she noticed Thranduil leaving and stood up. Too often that night she had felt his eyes on her, and she aimed to put a stop to it. Faking a stumble, she caught the back of her chair and said, "Perhaps I have had too much wine. I am off to bed, if this pleases you. . .?"

"Aye, go ahead."

Morwinyon doffed her drunken act the moment she reached the hall, although her vision was blurred slightly--perhaps she truly had taken too much. No matter. She followed after Thranduil. He was just entering his bedchamber when she caught up to him. "My lord," said she, "the way you looked at me tonight, with all respect, was completely inappropriate. I am hardly out of childhood, sir, and you a married lord!"

"No. . .no, you are correct. I apologize, it will not happen again."

"See to it that it does not."

~*~

"Is that all? Mor, you know babies don't come of that!" Celebrían laughs.

"No!" Morwinyon shrieks. She has stopped crying now, forcing herself to keep back tears. "He made me do things, Cel. Things I planned not to do until I was married. He--" she lowers her head and drops her voice in shame. "He made me give myself to him."

"And you did not fight back!" a question in appall.

"I couldn't! He made me believe I wanted it, he threatened me and said things. . ."

"There's a word for that, Mor. It is called rape."

A whispered half-sob, "I didn't tell him no."

~*~

Thranduil gave Morwinyon a glass of whiskey, which she fully intended not to drink. But she hated to be treated like a child, and when Thranduil said, "I am sorry, I should have realized you are too young--" and moved to take the glass away, Morwinyon protested, "No, it is fine--" and took a deep drink to prove her maturity. The liquor went straight to her head, making her feel dizzy.

"Morwinyon, let me return you to your mother--" Thranduil said. By now he had her completely wrapped around his finger, knowing exactly what her reaction to his every word would be.

"No, I am fine, I only tripped." She looked around, then, in desperation not to appear young, asked, "May I have another glass of this, what ever it was?"

"Of course," said Thranduil with a secret smile. He poured her another drink, which she swallowed in one gulp. Now she was very much drunk. Thranduil moved in, putting his arm around her neck and kissing her. When he drew away her eyes were wide with wonder. He knew that she was his for the taking.

~*~

"Oh, Morwinyon."

"Wait! No! I--I never meant--I--"

"Why did you not tell Mother?" Celebrían demands.

"I. . .after he had his way with me," Morwinyon says under her breath, "he sent me back to her. 'Go back to your mother, little girl,' he said to me, as I sat, shivering, wrapped in a white sheet. 'But if you tell her of what transpired here, your life will be over. No man will want you. I will deny this, and whose word shall be taken? You are little more than a prostitute.' I was so upset, I didn't know any better. . .Celebrían, it hurt! I was crying and he told me it would ruin my life. . .in a daze I returned to the rooms I was sharing with Mother, but she was not there and I fell asleep on the hearth. After that, I. . .I could hardly think of it, let alone speak. You are the first person I've told." Morwinyon hides within herself. She crosses her ankles, raises her knees and lowers her head, wrapping her arms around herself.

"Come now, Morwinyon," Celebrían says. She is shocked and angered that anyone would violate her sister in such a manner, but her first priority is Morwinyon's well being. Vengeance can wait. "Come with me, let's go and have a cup of tea."

"Oh--all right," Morwinyon says, getting to her feet with shaking knees. Celebrían takes her sister's elbow, leading her gently out of the chamber and to the dining hall.

"Here. Sit down," Celebrían instructs, easing her sister onto one of the wooden benches. Morwinyon obeys, still shaking. With an eye on the younger she-Elf, Celebrían gathers two mugs and tea leaves, and sets a small cauldron filled with water to boil over the hearth fire. She sits across from Morwinyon, but does not know what to say to her. What has happened is too terrible to think of. Instead, Celebrían places her hands over Morwinyon's. "You will make it through this."

"Oh, Cel. . ." she dissolves into tears, trying hard to keep them at bay but in vain.

Hours later, after many mugs of strong tea, Morwinyon has fallen asleep on the wooden bench. Celebrían has not left her side, but sits beside her, stroking her hair. Elrond enters, seeking his wife, and sits across from the two women. "The boys have gone to sleep," he told her. When Celebrían only responded with a small, detached sound, he added, "asking for their Ammë."

"Oh, Elrond, I am sorry," Celebrían says, meaning it, "but Morwinyon. . .were you there when she arrived?"

"Aye," he says.

"What was she like?"

"Death," he replies after short meditation. "Emaciated, somehow, but not physically. She shook and would not let anyone touch her. She would not even let me near her." Elrond's voice shook with slight offense at this, for his relationship with Morwinyon had been very strong, but still a bit uncertain.

Celebrían shakes her head. "I need the Lord and Lady." She has gotten into the habit of referring to her parents in this manner.

"Surely they are coming?"

"I do not know. Mor was--" she stops herself just in time. "Something happened to her. Something our parents need to know about."

Elrond nods grimly. He does not know what it is, but waits patiently, knowing that Celebrían will tell him.

"She thinks she is with child."

"What?" Usually Elrond is master of his emotions, but at this he cannot contain his amazement. "She would never--"

"It is not as it sounds."

Before Elrond can reply--he has a good idea of what is going on--a shout interrupts them. "I'll go--" Elrond says, heading for the door.

"No, I will," Celebrían says. The two realize for the first time how uncomfortable they are, and together they head down the hall to the room their twin sons sharing. Elladan is standing upright, screaming as loudly as he can, while Elrohir sits and watches, his thumb in his mouth. Elrond goes to Elladan, lifting the child into his arms and singing to him softly, as Celebrían comforts Elrohir, taking his thumb from his mouth and smoothing his hair.

It is, not surprisingly, Elrohir, who notices the figure standing in the doorway. She wears a white gown and her hair seems alight about her head. She is pale and unkempt, yet she glows. Something in her silent sorrow glows.

"Ammë!" Elrohir shrieks, and when he has her attention he points one chubby finger at the doorway.

Celebrían turns, but the figure has disappeared. "What is it, Elrohir?" she asks, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. Elrohir gasps and buries his head in the pillow, believing that the figure has simply blinked away, instead of taking noiseless steps away when the child's attention was turned away. For many years to follow, Elrohir will be afraid of the figure, the wraith, the spirit, which he believes to be an Imladris haunt.

*****

Concerning Thranduil: I'm sorry, but I have hated him ever since I read The Hobbit. I thought he was racist and very unkind to Dwarves and Hobbits that meant him no harm, and that very much tainted my opinion of him. If you like him, I apologize, but I do not.