A/N: This is a sad one, folks! Herein will be unexpected events and some secrets revealed. It's also got some dark themes, so be prepared. After this there are two more chapters plus an epilogue. I hope you enjoy, and thank you again for reading.

Dawn came. It was just like any other dawn – cool, quiet and still. The colours in the sky were starting to melt into pure gold as the sun rose above the horizon. The view over the valleys was beautiful, from the white foam of the rushing streams to the red, brown and gold of the leaves falling from the trees. Birdsong began in the nests high up, and there was nothing to disturb this tranquil. Most were still sleeping. The guard around the borders had been extremely relaxed. The fear had gone for the winter. The distant mountains were covered in snow. Everything was as it should be in the hidden valley, the last homely house east of the sea.

No one was prepared for the screams that were about to rip that peace apart.

'Help!' a lone, anguished, desperate voice cried. 'Help!'

No answer.

He rode his horse hard and fast, his mind on nothing else but getting to safety. He carried his precious one in his arms. He was getting closer, and closer. He prayed she could be saved.

He was home. He stopped, dismounted and gathered the bundle in his arms. He ran as fast as he could up the stairs.

'Help!' Tears were streaming down his face. His voice was choked. 'Lord Elrond! Help me!'

Elves came scurrying out in their nightwear to see what was going on, Elrond the first among them. When he saw who it was that was screaming for his help, his heart plummeted. He pushed his way through the shocked crowd.

'Glorohtar!'

Glorohtar sank to his knees. He carried Farothwen in his arms, wrapped in her cloak. He held her tightly. Her body was limp and her eyes were closed.

Elrond unwrapped the cloak and surveyed what he found with horror.

A crudely made arrow was embedded in her chest, blood running down from the wound. The shaft was snapped off, but Elrond did not need to see the feathers to know it was of orc-make. He checked Farothwen. She was not breathing. Her heart was not beating. Her skin was cold.

Glorohtar was too late. She was dead.

Glorohtar looked to Elrond for some answer, some hope. He was covered in cuts and scratches, and splashes of dark blood. All Elrond could do was shake his head. All colour drained from Glorohtar's face as he gathered Farothwen to his chest and wept.

Beleglor was among the last to come. The Elves all stood around him and whispered, or wept. Glorohtar's cries grew louder. Beleglor had no idea of what he faced once he pushed his way through the crowd, which was starting to clear out of respect for Glorohtar.

All he could do when he saw the body of his daughter lying in the arms of her husband was give a choked cry, a scream that never made it. His face grew ashen as he looked to Glorohtar for answers. He was too hysterical to give any as he cradled Farothwen. All he could manage was to whisper over and over again, 'I'm so sorry, Ada. I'm so sorry.'

As a father sat and cried for his daughter, far away in the early sunlight a son cried for his mother, who only had one name on her dying lips, that of her daughter – Ilirdin.

That afternoon, as soon as Beleglor and Glorohtar were ready, Farothwen was prepared for burial. Elenion gently took her and laid her out on the table, where he removed the arrow that killed her instantly. It struck her heart.

Arwen and Celebrían took it upon themselves to dress her, which they did with Faerien's help. Faerien was weeping openly at the loss of one dear as daughter. Faerien deeply regretted not telling Farothwen of her and Beleglor's impending marriage; she would have loved Farothwen to think of her as her mother.

The decision to dress Farothwen in her wedding gown was the only easy decision of the day. It symbolised all they loved about her, and it brought back the happiest memories of her. Even in death, she still looked beautiful in it.

Arwen undid Farothwen's riding braids and set her hair loose about her shoulders. Farothwen still wore the white daisy Elrohir gave her in her hair, and Arwen let it be. As Celebrían smoothed the last of Farothwen's locks into place under her silver circlet, she leant down to kiss her brow, a tear sliding down her cheek. Arwen and Faerien both kissed her goodbye. All who wished to see her before her sunset burial were allowed to. Lindir came, as did Glorfindel and Erestor, and all of Celebrían's maidens. Elrond was there also.

Lindir was the last to say farewell. He kissed her, and whispered soft words that none heard. Celebrían thought she also heard him singing to her. He left, and there was only Celebrían, Arwen, Faerien, Elenion and Elrond remaining.

Elenion said nothing, but took her hand and kissed her. He would miss her company greatly.

Elrond softly whispered a prayer for her and kissed her brow. He would only hope that she kept her promise to him – that she would find his brother and pass on his message of love.

As he left to prepare for the burial and the feast afterwards, he stopped to wonder if he was the only one to know of Farothwen's secret. He did not even think that she herself knew it, otherwise she never would have left. He too, like Glorohtar, saw the dark haired, blue eyed Elf maiden dancing in the woods in his dreams. But when he asked her name, she said she had none. Now he understood why. She never lived.

Farothwen's burial took place at sunset, under a large oak tree behind the yard the party for her wedding was held in. Glorohtar and Beleglor needed her to stay close to home, and Elrond did everything he could to oblige them.

Elladan and Elrohir themselves insisted on building the stretcher on which Farothwen would be placed. This was ready, as was the stone that would mark her grave. It said, very simply: 'Ilirdin Farothwen – Beloved of all who knew her.' It bore her Adûnaic name, at both Glorohtar's and Beleglor's request.

When the dreaded sunset eventually came, only those who knew her best were present – Elrond and his family, Beleglor, Glorohtar and Faerien, Elenion, Lindir, Erestor and Glorfindel. She lay on a stone plinth nearby, ready for her final resting place.

The twins were the first to say goodbye. They wept, spoke softly and kissed her. Elrohir was taking this particularly hard, especially when he saw that Farothwen still wore his flower, which by now was crushed and shrunken. He kissed her scarred hand and held it.

'I'm sorry I could not save you this time,' he whispered.

Elladan gently touched her hair as he stood back to let Glorohtar and Beleglor say their farewells. This was the hardest part of all.

Beleglor was first. He was crying, but his words to his daughter could be heard as he took her hand.

'My daughter, my beloved,' he said, recalling the words he wrote to her so many years ago. 'I did not expect you to leave me so soon. You may have been with me only but a little while, but you will always be my daughter. I loved you from the first moment you looked at me with those green eyes of yours, and I will love you still unto the ending of the world. I can only pray that you are at peace, with your kin, and that we will meet again one day.' He gently kissed her cheek and kissed the hand he held and then let go, where he was comforted in Faerien's arms.

Glorohtar was unable to speak. He cradled Farothwen in his arms once again, unwilling to let her go. He stayed like that for a good while, until Elrohir gently laid his hand on his shoulder. Glorohtar knew that his time with her was over. He knew this day was to come, but only when Farothwen was an old and fragile woman after many happy years together, not in the prime of her life when they had been together only a short while. Glorohtar laid her back down, smoothed her hair, and gave her one last kiss on her cold lips. It was time.

Beleglor, Glorohtar, Elladan and Elrohir stood either side and picked her up, ready for the short but agonising walk to her waiting mound. Celebrían, Arwen and Faerien stood ready to receive her, the tradition being that women cared for the dead.

When the men had reached the mound, Celebrían stood on one side, Arwen and Faerien on the other, and Farothwen was safely delivered into their hands. They gently placed her inside the mound and stood by her side, bowing their heads. As was tradition, it was the lord's turn to speak.

Elrond sighed as he took on his unenviable task. 'There is nothing that has been unsaid about this day. We all knew it would come, as Farothwen was blessed with the gift of mortality, but we all prayed it would not come so soon. Farothwen was a beautiful woman, who showed tremendous strength in the face of adversity. When she came to us, battered and broken, whether she would survive was uncertain, but survive she certainly did. She both gave and received love easily, and could never fail to raise a smile or laugh. We loved her dearly, and shall miss her even more. We pray to Ilúvatar to keep his blessed child and for those who came before her to watch over her, forever more.'

Everyone held a bunch of flowers and blossoms in their hands, and let them fall upon Farothwen's body. Elladan and Elrohir held bouquets of white daisies. They all silently bowed to her, and said their own prayers in their hearts.

The burial was over, and the feast was about to commence. Lindir and Elenion had volunteered themselves for the horrible task of filling in Farothwen's mound, which they did as carefully but as quickly as possible.

Everyone else went into the hall and sat with their fellows, waiting for the feast to start. Before they ate, Elrond stood to say a quick speech.

'As you all know, today we lost one who was dear to us all. Hail Farothwen, daughter of Beleglor, wife of Glorohtar! She will live forever in our hearts.'

'Hail!' the Elves cried, and they all drank to her, and the sombre feast started. Glorohtar drank little and ate even less, picking at his food. Beleglor was too lost in his own misery to notice. Faerien was worried about both of them. A short time later, Beleglor looked up and noticed Glorohtar was gone. He sighed. He had to speak to him.

Beleglor found Glorohtar exactly where he expected – at Farothwen's mound. He knelt near the fresh earth, and his fingers gently brushed the engraved stone bearing her name.

Glorohtar looked up, and Beleglor looked slightly menacing in the dim light.

'I know why you have come. You blame me for her death. For not protecting her.'

'I did, at first,' Beleglor replied. 'But then again, I was not there. I do not know what happened.'

'It happened so quickly. I did not even hear the bow string. It was only when it flew past me that I saw it strike her. She fell immediately. There were six of them in the forest. I hunted them all down and slew them. I rode through the night to get her back here, but then I knew it was already too late.'

'Elrond told me that it was instant,' Beleglor said quietly. 'She did not suffer. She was not in pain. There was nothing you could have done.'

Tears welled in Glorohtar's eyes. 'If only I did not convince her, if only I did not say anything in the first place…'

Beleglor's heart filled with pity, and his own sadness. He was glad that Faerien sensed his anger and his blame earlier in the day and did not allow him to do anything rash. He did love Glorohtar, and he knew in his heart that he was not at fault. He did not want to lose him as well.

Beleglor knelt beside Glorohtar and embraced him, his own grief mingling with Glorohtar's. They wept together for the one they both loved more than anything else, even life.