All right: The 'Lord Rondy' part was meant to be a somewhat subtle joke… Lunian had trouble with names, if you'll recall—it's why she calls Legolas Egola. Elladan was Ladan, and Lord Elrond was (dum du dum) Rondy. For obvious reasons, she chose to keep that information from elves who might later meet him, and need to think of him as Lord Elrond.

Thranduil is back for the chapter… which is rather amusing to me, since I had this chapter mostly written before I read any reviews on the last, and I got two expecting something from him. Who's anticipating who?

As for what happens… I've just given up and let Lunian take over. Hopefully that'll work out, but I'm sick of thinking about it.

I'm going to assume that by the time elfgurl1024 gets to this point in the story, the question in her review has been answered. If not, elfgurl1024, let me know!

And as always, thanks to everyone who reviewed!

Nea

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After making sure Legolas would be stuck with duties for a while, Thranduil left the hall to speak with Lunian. He had been wrong about how long it would take them to resolve it, and he was beginning to get worried. Yes, Legolas loved her, and he would bet Lunian loved him as well. Yet she didn't show it, her elven training made apparent in the way she could hide her feelings behind shadowed eyes most of the time. Once in a while, usually when her hand was clenched over something which she would roll through her fingers, then he could tell what she was feeling. The rest of the time, she had remarkable control over her expressions, especially considering her humanity and age, which surprised him after his first meeting with her, having assumed she was like most mortals, though with an odd gift for knowing what emotions were generally suppressed in elven faces… at least to human eyes.

He walked quickly down the hall, a grim expression sliding through his stony mask as he looked at her door. As he passed Legolas's, though, a faint noise came from within, making him pause in confusion. With a frown he quickly opened his son's door, startling the person inside into a surprised shriek.

Lunian's hand flew to her throat, and then recognizing him, she lifted it to her forehead as she sighed and closed her eyes. "You nearly scared me out of my skin, Thranduil," she murmured softly. As he stared at her, he could see the instant she realized he had just caught her in his son's room. She opened her mouth, her eyes wide, her mind racing as she tried to come up with an explanation.

He held up his hand. "Silence." Her mouth closed. "Did my son invite you in here?"

She winced. "In a manner of speaking, but not the one you mean," she murmured, her eyes not quite meeting his.

"How so, then?"

"He said if I needed anything he was in the adjoining room." She blushed as she realized how that could be taken. "Not that we…" she trailed off, looking helplessly around.

Thranduil's eyes narrowed on the unmade bed, the indentions from heads on the pillows. "You've slept in here?"

"Yes," she agreed softly, her chin coming up as she faced him squarely for the first time. "I have trouble sleeping in new places. Being near someone I trust allows me rest."

"Your room should no longer be a new place for you."

"This palace, as ornate and beautiful as it is, is much colder than Imladris. The wind howls, the constant fire crackles and pops, hisses. The sounds and chill toy with my mind, darkening what little sleep I have been able to find when not near Legolas."

"All you do in here is sleep?"

"Generally. Occasionally we talk as well. Two or three times he has braided my hair." She was beginning to relax, now that the truth was out in the open. She sat on the foot of the bed and resumed brushing her hair.

But he had been coming down this hall to speak with her concerning his son, and finding she slept in his bed, and probably in his arms, didn't exactly let her off the hook. "And what are you going to do about him?"

Her eyes widened and flew to his face once more, the light of the fire shining on her, making her eyes appear reddish gold until another flicker of the flame hid her eyes in shadow. "What do you mean?"

"Have you told him you love him?"

She paled, looking back at the fire, her hand clenched around the handle of her brush. "He knows I love all of my friends."

"You do not see him merely as a friend any more than he sees you as such. Why do you deny him the pleasure of knowing that? The happiness that would come from having his love returned?"

She sighed and lifted her free hand to her forehead again. "I am mortal," she murmured softly. "Human. He deserves to be loved by someone who can love him in the way he loves me. Completely, selflessly. I would hurt him simply because I can't love anyone like that. I don't have the wisdom or time to do so."

"And you think this distance you have forced doesn't hurt him?"

"I know it does," she conceded, staring into the fire as if it would tell her the words she was looking for. "But what would hurt him more? To have what he most desires turn to him in love, only to die? Or to be kept apart, loving him as a friend for as long as life lasts?"

"You do not love him as a friend. But let us set that aside for a moment. What if he goes on patrol in the woods and is killed?"

At his blunt words she looked up at him again, her eyes wide and dark against her blanched skin. She looked at the stonework around the fire and shivered suddenly, pulling her legs up on the bed with her, wrapping her arms tightly around her knees. "Then I would die as well."

He blinked in surprise. That was not the answer he was expecting. "How so?" he asked, letting himself be distracted for a while to explore her answer.

"I have enough of my mother in me to fade. I have nearly done so before."

"Your mother?"

"Lenaith, an elf of Lothlorien who moved with her father to Imladris, and who was loved by Elrohir. She died giving me life." She looked up at him, her eyes dull, as if there had been so many emotions flickering through her she had simply been numbed by them. Slowly her head sank back onto one knee, the other falling down once more as she studied him. "He did not tell you that?"

"He did not," Thranduil agreed, blinking in some slight surprise even as his mind made a quick few connections. He felt a bit better, knowing why his son loved a mortal. She was much more elf-like than human-like, but mortality had made its claim on her by letting her come into the world with rounded ears as its sibling, death, had taken her mother. He moved a bit closer, sitting in the chair beside the bed. "You claim you would fade if he died?" She nodded slightly, her gaze glued to the fire again. "And what if he stopped loving you? If he suddenly found you beneath him, not worth his time or attention?" he let that sink in for a split second, cutting off her protests by making his point. "Then why do you inflict the same agony on him? You may not be intentionally cruel in your distance, but it is cruel, nonetheless." He looked around the room for a while, his eyes stopping on the stars above them. "I came to tell you you should give him some hope, so he doesn't begin to give up, but it seems you already have been giving him hope."

She looked up at him, followed his gaze back to the pillows that rested against the headboard. A blush colored her cheeks, and she shook her head. "What I told you was true. Ever since I was little, I would crawl in bed with Elrohir when I couldn't sleep."

"Legolas is not Elrohir. He does not see you as a daughter any more than you view him as a father or a brother." Thranduil frowned, briefly wondering which one it was, but there were more important matters at hand. "He already has the pain of loving you. Why not allow him some of the happiness? Allow yourself that happiness," he amended, seeing the slight shadow in her eyes. "I think you need to as much for your sake as his, and not simply because you can feel his pain and sorrow."

Her eyes closed, her hand tightening over the brush she had been turning again and again in her hand as he spoke.

A soft noise in the doorway went unnoticed by her, but Thranduil stood as Legolas came in, looking curiously between them. His eyes met his father's without hesitation, even as he laid his bow and quiver aside, walking to kneel on the bed behind Lunian, rescuing the brush from her fingers. He slid it through her hair even as he glanced up at his father. "Did you come to see me about something, Father?" he asked softly.

Thranduil watched Lunian's eyes close as the brush returned to her crown, and slowly shook his head. "I wished to speak to Lunian. I have, so good night to you both."

"The same to you, Father."

Lunian heard Legolas, and slowly forced her eyes open and then to look at Thranduil. He smiled faintly. "Good night," she offered softly. He bowed his head and left without another word. She sighed when Legolas stopped brushing her hair a few minutes later, moving away from the bed. He took his clothes into the bath room, closing the door so he could change into something more comfortable for sleep. It was mostly for her, she knew. Those shirts were scratchy on the outside, though lined with soft material so the wearer was unaware of their duel nature.

With a sigh she crawled up to her half of the bed, drawing the covers up until she couldn't look past the edge. She heard and felt Legolas come closer, though, the mattress shifting as he laid behind her, the blankets moving out of the way, pulled down slightly as they accepted him into their warmth as well. He put an arm around her waist and tucked her against him, his front to her back, his breath warm against her ear.

"What did he want?" he asked softly, running his thumb over the back of her hand.

She shook her head slightly. "I need to think about it, not recount it," she murmured, turning her head as far as she could to face him.

He frowned slightly, but kissed her cheek, the skin behind her ear, and her nape before getting fully settled against her, his hand tightening for an instant before he let out a deep breath into her hair. "Sleep well, my love," he murmured as he had every night since she had first come to him for a peaceful night's sleep. Within a few minutes she could feel he was asleep, but despite the warmth of his body and the blankets, sleep proved elusive for a long time as she fought within for an answer. Part of her, the annoying little voice that didn't know the meaning of the word caution, to be exact, insisted she tell him. In fact, it began urging her to wake him up just to do so.

The rest of her was a little smarter, urging she take things slowly, wondering if the wise elven king was right about this, or if her youth had granted her something he couldn't see for loving his son.

You love his son too…