Some days later (Farothwen had lost count of the time she had spent in the sanctuary), Elrond walked in with a smile upon his face. Farothwen looked at him hopefully.

'Some good news, Lord Elrond?'

His grin became broader. 'Yes indeed, Farothwen. My wife, sons and I have taken counsel with one another concerning you and Glorohtar. We unanimously agreed that if you wish to remain here, you may with our leave.'

Farothwen was too shocked to say anything for a second. 'My lord, surely... we are already far in your debt.'

'You have no debt with us. We have become fond of you both over the past, what...' Elrond looked at the moon outside. 'Goodness, it has been a full month since Elrohir found you.' Elrond sat down gently upon her bed. 'You have nothing to fear while you remain with us. My sons in particular adore you, and would gladly protect you.' He clasped her hands. 'Will you stay?'

Farothwen smiled. 'Of course we will. That is... if you will do one thing for me.'

'What is that? You may ask anything of me.'

'Glorohtar has sent word to my father in Mirkwood, the one who took pity on me and raised me. He should be arriving soon, with your leave.'

'He shall have it before he even asks me of it.'

'When he arrives...' Farothwen took a deep breath. 'Glorohtar and I would like to ask you if you and Lady Celebrían would marry us.'

Elrond smiled. 'My dear child... why did you not say so earlier? Of course we will! When should your father be arriving?'

Farothwen thought for a moment. 'Glorohtar sent word on the swiftest line he could find about three weeks ago. I should think we have a month before he arrives.'

'What is his name? I must send word to my gatekeepers to keep a watch for him so he can be welcomed immediately into Imladris.'

'His name is Beleglor, minstrel of Mirkwood.'

'Minstrel? Well, it just so happens we need a minstrel. Our best minstrel, my daughter, has gone to Lothlórien to stay with her mother's kin. Will he stay for a while?'

'I should think so.' Farothwen just realised what Elrond had said. 'Pardon, my lord, but I knew not that you had a daughter.'

'Her name is Arwen, also called Undómiel. The fairest maiden to walk upon the earth since Tinúviel, they say. You shall meet her one day, not to worry.' He suddenly remembered the package he had brought with him. 'Oh! I forgot my main purpose - to check your wounds.'

Elrond took her right hand and unwound the bandage. The scarring was lessened, the swelling had almost disappeared, and it was healing smoothly. Farothwen only suffered a small amount of pain, and she was able to use her hand, albeit very occasionally. This was the worst of her injuries by far. The lashes on her back were now closed and scabbed over. Sometimes she felt twinges of pain when she was moving around, but it was nothing major. The cut above her eyebrow left a small scar that would be there for the rest of her days. She was healing quickly, quicker than most had expected. In fact, the cold night when she was brought into Rivendell, the air heavy with snow and wind and Elrohir's cries for help, most had expected that she would not survive at all. All they could do was hope.