EDITED ON 5 MARCH 2015

Hi, you guys. You all are lovely, y'know that? Only 8 chapters and already 174 reviews, 220 faves, and 409 follows. I should do something special for you guys. What do you think?

So a couple of people asked which actress looks the most like Areth. I actually had no legitimate face for her. I actually just chose Rosamund Pike off the top of my head.

I'd like to thank you all for sticking with me this far. Even though it's been only nine chapters.

The intervals for my updates got longer, and I am sorry. I just needed to prioritize some things.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything that Professor Tolkien wrote.

The amber light was dimmed, casting a soft glow upon the light petals of the growing flowers scattered about the enclosed space. Areth could distantly hear the quiet flow of water as the course was guided to a small pond, causing the water's surface to ripple. The subtle sweetness that emanated from the plants was calming. To the wanderer, the placed seemed to be the garden of her imagination.

Areth let herself take a small breath, and she allowed her tense attitude to fully lax. Placing her open palms behind her, her eyes closed and she rested her head against the wall. And so, she surrounded herself around the quiet peace that the growing life could offer.

So peaceful was it, it fact, that Areth almost grew unconscious of Ernil's presence.

Tilting her head towards the Silvan Elf, she kept her voice but a quiet whisper, as if to avoid any sort of disturbance to the room's calm, and said, "Where have you taken me, Ernil?"

Matching the volume of her quiet lilt, his accented voice then spoke, "Do you not recognize this place? It is the Elven King's Garden."

Areth's eyes opened and she took a look about her surroundings once again. Her light brow rose slightly upon the realization that she had, indeed, once been to this part of the Palace. How different it had been then.

"Surely, you do not mean the dreadful Inner Gardens," she exclaimed in surprise. Areth instantly quieted her voice upon hearing the slight reverberation of her words.

So dreary and utterly dead had it been when she had first been welcomed into the Elven King's Halls that she would never had guessed that it was capable of growing life. The shadow emanated from the dark room had once reached to her heart, filling her with the remnants of a sorrow that had long since left by time. It had clung to the walls and the air, and had not allowed even a sliver of light to escape.

And yet, as she looked about the Garden, all she could see was life. From the growing plants to the flowing water, she could feel the presence of quiet life, much like the feeling that filled her whenever she travelled through the forests. I've not had any reason to keep it alive, Thranduil had once told her, and yet, as she looked about the Garden, Areth could not help but wonder about this peculiar King.

She had only been away for a few days, but apparently, it had been enough time to revive a dead garden.

"This is the first chance I have for proper conversation since your return and you are silent," Ernil commented, moving his head slightly to look at her properly. "Your thoughts are burdened, mellon nin. I had hoped that the Inner Gardens would help."

Areth's green eyes trailed from Ernil's light eyes to his long, auburn hair, following with his movements as it trailed onto his shoulder. Her brow furrowed when her attention drifted once again to his wound, and her lightened heart once again felt heavy.

"I am sorry, Ernil."

The edges of Ernil's pale lips fell ever so slightly. The way she spoke her apology—it was as if she were referring to something else entirely. His eyes followed her gaze, and his features softened.

"I truly am sorry, my friend," she repeated with more feeling. With a final lingering look at the guard's healing injury, she then said, "I do not mean to appear so brooding in your company. I suppose my mind is elsewhere at the present."

"I am happy to ease your burden in any way I can," he replied, if only to ease the worry of his friend.

"How kind of you to offer help to one who seems unappreciative of such gestures," said Areth, granting a smile. She may not have been the most pleasant company at the moment, and so she appreciated his efforts.

She could only repay him with her friendship.

"I would like to think that you are merely one who prefers a quiet sincerity over flamboyance."

"It is as if you have known me for a lifetime," she uttered in dry jest.

"It does not take extensive wit to observe your evident reserve, Areth."

After a beat of hesitance, she admitted, "I am glad that you had been the one ordered to follow me."

The Elf seemed taken aback by this admission. But when he looked at her, he realized that she was not accusing him of anything.

Ernil gave her a wan smile before offering his friend his uninjured arm to take. How natural it felt to be in her presence over those he had known for centuries. What had started off as a mere order became something truly genuine. The Silvan led the mortal from the entrance to the heart of the garden, where there stood a fair, sculpted figure, surrounded by a circular enclosure of water.

However unconscious the action may have been, Areth was grateful that he had used his uninjured arm. While it was selfish on her part, she was gladdened to be rid of the sight.

She allowed herself to be led away and be seated on the edge of the fountain. Just as Ernil was about to sit beside her, his keen ears were quick to hear light footsteps that entered the Inner Gardens. While Areth may not have possessed the refined senses of the Elvish race, she was able to notice the entrance of a new presence.

"How unexpected."

Melhros' voice was as whimsical as when they had first met in the Feast of Starlight, but Areth was quick to notice the subtle heaviness, as if weighed by an unknown burden.

"Uncle," Ernil exclaimed, slightly taken aback. Straightening himself, he then regarded Melhros with respect and inclined his head.

Areth's eyes sharpened upon the unforeseen entrance, but she only watched.

"Ernil," said the elder Silvan, not seeming at all surprised. In fact, while his light eyes were on his nephew, the constant shifting to Areth confirmed her suspicion that his business laid solely with her. "Henig, you are needed."

Sensing his uncle's quiet solemnity, he then excused himself with a few words in his common tongue.

"Goheno nin, mellon. Boe I 'waen," he said quietly, the apology evident in his eyes. He laid a gentle hand on her shoulder as a last farewell.

He did not depart without sending his uncle a meaningful, if not slightly questioning, stare. Melhros, however, merely sent Ernil a small, enigmatic smile.

A moment of silence ensued after Ernil's exit. It was evident that the barriers were once again in place, for Melhros could practically observe a tangible aura of wariness that emanated from the mortal. Areth was not oblivious, he knew, and while the reason for such guardedness was foreign to him, he understood enough to dismiss it as merely part of her character.

And so, he was the first to speak.

"Hiril Vuin," he uttered in mere greeting. Taking the seat that Ernil would have taken, he then said, "I trust that you are well accommodated for here in the Palace."

"Yes, of course," she responded shortly.

Upon their first encounter at the Feast, Areth had considered Melhros one of the most intriguing of all her new acquaintances. He was knowledgeable in not only the affairs of his kin, but also of many beyond the borders of Mirkwood. However, she acknowledged that the conversation they exchanged then was under a pretense. While, indeed, sincere and polite, it was under a formal guise that was necessary for mere custom.

In an enclosed space with no other to bear witness, social expectations would be lowered, and both parties understood this.

Forcing her expression to remain lax and indifferent, Areth prepared herself. She already had an idea as to what Melhros wanted to speak of.

"And what of the Elven King?" he said in a rather airy fashion, his hands clasping before him, "The friendship you share had grown in strength."

Areth, however, remained silent.

"He is fond of you," he continued, eying the mortal carefully, gauging her reaction to his words, "Understandable, I should think, considering his attraction to growing life. When in the company of the undying, there are seldom any changes. The same faces appear, and as time passes, the seasons turn, but the short years blend together into one. Life is beautiful as it is tedious for my kin."

"Forgive me for my impertinence, Melhros," Areth interrupted quietly, careful to keep her tone even and polite, despite her impatience, "but speak what you must."

I have not the patience for riddles, she wanted to say. That would have been quite impertinent, however, and so she held her tongue.

He was reminded briefly of his King's curt, dry tongue, minus the authority and the sardonic jest. Melhros noted the subtle habits she no doubt caught from their time spent together. If it were so, then it would be better to speak to her as he would with Thranduil.

Very well, he thought. Unconsciously straightening, the counsellor regarded Areth solemnly and said, "What is your purpose here in the Woodland Realm?"

"I know not of what you speak of."

She had the gall to utter such words, Melhros thought. He caught the blatant lie despite the dryness in her tone even before she spoke.

"Do not take me for a fool, Lady Areth," Melhros said coolly, the whimsical quality of his accented lilt hardening. It took the mortal by surprise, but she allowed nothing to show. "You and I both know that a mere horse rider's life is worthless to such Men. It brings me to wonder who you truly are."

"I am nobody worth mentioning," she uttered tightly, silently insistent.

"It is no coincidence that these attacks of the Dunlendings coincide with your arrival within these borders," he pressed strongly.

Areth ran her tongue over her dry lips as her eyes closed. He was throwing these facts as if she did not already know.

Melhros pressed his curled finger against his chin. He allowed his tone to deliberately soften before saying, "I watched as your eyes drifted to my nephew's injury. You hide your emotions well, but not well enough to shield your guilt."

Areth's eyes opened quickly, revealing her green irises blazing like a forest fire. "I have had no dealings with the enemy."

"I daren't assume the worst of you, Hiril Vuin," he assured, "My confidence in my nephew's judgment is far too great."

"However…" she uttered dryly.

Melhros nodded. "However, I cannot say that I trust you. While King Thranduil's forged attachment for you may perhaps have grown, it is blinding his reason."

Areth remained silent, but her narrowed stare suddenly turned keen when she realized the implication of his words. Behind all of these other emotions, the irritation and indignation of such accusations, Melhros could read her curiosity when he uttered the King's name. He changed his tact and attempted at a different approach.

"You are merely using the King's affections to gain… what? Protection?"

Melhros knew this to be a better method when he saw her eyes narrow at the implication. It was a start, he knew, for it at least broke the immovable façade she so insistently wore.

"The High Council gathered. We spoke of the concern regarding your stay in Greenwood. Many spoke of their desire to see you gone for the welfare of our ward—I, myself, was unsurprisingly against your stay. What was surprising, however, was the King's immovable insistence in your defense."

Leaning close to her, his eyes narrowed as he then said, "Do you not wonder what has induced this unexpected fondness? This unquestionable, explicit trust that he uncharacteristically bestowed upon your arrival?"

Areth was unmoved in her position. While her eyes only hardened and her brow narrowed, her voice remained even and quiet. "Why?"

Melhros turned from her, his long, auburn locks spilling from his shoulders like a dark waterfall, and his lilt once again returned to its usually whimsical nature. "You need only to ask him. Perhaps he will answer, perhaps he will not."

A small silence ensued.

"Beautiful—this place," he uttered absently, waving his hand as if in demonstration. Turning his head to catch her forest gaze, he then said, "Is it not?"

When she did not respond, he then continued, "The Elven King likes to keep in the company of growing life. Think about why exactly King Thranduil bears an unnatural attachment to you."

Melhros then stood from his seat beside the mortal and made for the open door of the Inner Garden's exit.

"And if I leave…" she spoke slowly, warily, halting the Silvan's steps, "are you so certain that these enemies you speak of will follow?"

Melhros' head turned only slightly to regard her.

"I am. The affairs of these cruel beings are driven by incentive."

As he spoke those last words, his light gaze became meaningful.

"What did you hope to accomplish by telling me this?"

Quickly, he then said, "The wound that you see on my nephew's arm. This is only the first of many. A mere flesh wound today, but who is to say of what tomorrow will bring? "

Areth's expression unsurprisingly did not change. The subtle clenching of her jaw was the only visible reaction that Melhros could discern.

"I know that you are not the kind of woman to risk the lives of your friends," he uttered slowly.

Melhros spoke of his concern regarding his nephew, but this conversation managed to plant a seed in Areth's mind, questioning Thranduil's true motives. To question the sincerity of his friendship, of his trust. If nothing else, he gave her plenty to think of.

When Melhros parted, a short moment ensued in which she sat alone, in the center of all growing things beautiful and foreign.

The Lower Grounds was hardly a sound place to wander, but to those unwilling to suffer the company of the crowd, perhaps it was the best place to roam. With the presence of no other but the Silvan Elves who were left in charge of the Palace's care, Areth was ignored, and she was utterly content by this.

And so, she ascended and sometimes descended some stairs. She did not particularly think about the situation thoroughly, trusting herself to find a way out of this maze should she get lost. Her mind was rather preoccupied with heavier thoughts.

Her pace was slow and sluggish while her mind was racing and fast. Melhros certainly gave her plenty to ponder over.

The train of her silent contemplations was broken then by a familiar voice—one that she had not heard in quite a while.

"I seldom see you about these parts of the Halls."

Areth turned to regard the Elf silently. Her eyes then shifted to the space about her, slightly surprised upon realizing that she managed to absentmindedly make her way to the trail that led to Thranduil's personal study.

"The Palace is vast, but our meeting is inevitable."

"My apologies, Lady Areth," Prince Legolas said, his voice smooth and sincere as he placed his hand on the leather of his chest and inclined, "I do hope that my absence has not caused your offense."

The Prince was as fair as the rest of his kin, if not even more, sharing the features that his father possessed. Areth regarded his dirtied guard's attire briefly and noted that he must have only returned from patrol at the borders.

"Not at all, Prince Legolas," she said, returning the gesture. Not wanting to seem impolite, she continued, "Perhaps it would be I who needs pardon, as I have been imposing on your home without your leave."

"You are here with the King's welcome, and so you need no other's approval," he uttered quite sincerely.

Areth noted the deliberate impersonal use of his father's title, but said nothing regarding the subject. It was made in passing observation, and perhaps she noticed it for much more than it truly was.

"But it is still your home," she said quietly in a half-hearted attempt at conversation, "Should it not also be in your power to speak against the intrusion of a stranger upon your Halls?"

If Legolas had noticed anything to be amiss, he held his tongue. Instead, he smiled and said, "Perhaps you misunderstand me. I have never uttered a single word against your stay in the Halls of Greenwood."

"Truly?"

His quiet sincerity took Areth aback, and even she could not hide the slight surprise behind her façade.

Legolas noticed a short lapse in her reserved countenance for just a brief moment.

"Truly."

A moment of silence ensued in which Areth and the Prince merely lingered on the path, walking with no intent or purpose. To Legolas, the very idea of idleness was foreign, as the duty to his realm was never at rest.

However, when in the company of no other but his thoughts and Areth's silence— company that was present but not loud—Legolas felt at ease. Away from the duties that required full attention, away from these feasts that required forced conversations with aspiring wives, away from expectation, Legolas felt almost ordinary—liberated.

"What is it you do when away from the confinement of the palace?" said Areth, surprisingly being the one to break the silence.

"My duty to my Realm is to command a potent defense. I stray mostly guarding the southern borders." He then glanced sideways at his companion before clasping his hands behind his back and said, "But you must know this already."

Areth met his cerulean gaze—so similar to Thranduil's—and threw him a questioning look. A tilt of his lip was easily detected, reminding her heavily of his father. It was a wonder how alike they were, but so different in their manners. However, it was concerning how quickly the simplest observations turned her mind to the Elven King.

"Your friendship with Ernil has grown considerably for such a small span of time," Legolas explained, once again turning his eyes forward, "His constant recount of your stories had left me feeling as if I have known you for much longer than I actually have."

Areth said nothing in response. Legolas was left feeling a slight concern upon observing a soft frown that marred her features. In a quick attempt to recompense, Legolas changed the subject of conversation.

"You are also in the King's favor."

It seemed to work, for the mortal's face soon maintained the usual calm.

"I do not believe that your father is one for such admittance."

"And you assumed correctly. But as I am his son, such observations cannot be eluded, you understand. I do admit that your friendship has left him in better spirits as of late."

"You give my presence far too much recognition, Prince."

And once again, the conversation trailed off to silence. While Legolas did not mind the quiet, for the silence was not uncomfortable, he did hold a slight concern upon seeing the subtle furrowing of his companion's brow. Her thoughts were far away, he could see.

"I can sense that your mind is burdened," he stated. The Prince's tone was not expecting, nor was it prodding, but, rather, was uttered as a mere fact.

The edges of Areth's lips lifted half-heartedly.

"How very keen of you to notice, Prince Legolas."

It was not his place to pry, for they were hardly what he would call friends. His father or even Ernil would be in better position to inquire, and so, Legolas was quick to drop the matter. However, he did not leave. Sometimes, someone's mere presence is enough of a solace for another.

However, as he regarded the faraway look of his companion, he could not help but wonder…

"You once said that I resembled someone you knew," she uttered quite suddenly. She stopped walking and instead diverted her full attention to the Prince.

He stopped as well. Legolas eyed her, but merely offered a cautious nod. He wondered briefly if this question was what lingered in her mind throughout this time.

After a beat of silence, he then said, "My mother."

Legolas continued walking.

"I remember very little of her," he trailed off, "but…"

His cerulean eyes drifted to her hair, golden against the soft amber of the light, and he said no more on the matter.

The subject of his mother did not particularly hurt Legolas, but to him, Areth was no more than an acquaintance. He had given his answer to her question, and that was enough.

Areth's eyes closed slowly, hiding her disappointment, and she breathed quietly through her nose. Her suspicions were thus confirmed. From Morhir's subtle hints to Thranduil's strange fixation on her golden hair to the stares she received from the Elves of the Realm…

She had hoped that she was wrong on the matter, but she supposed that she was seldom wrong. Areth had often wished that she was wrong in many cases. This was no different.

Placing a bare hand upon the silk of her breast, Areth's brow furrowed as she shook her head in slight. What surprised the mortal most was the weight of sadness upon the confirmation. Perhaps she should not care so much. After all, as she told Aldamir, seldom do good things on this earth last. But then perhaps she should not have cared at all.

Legolas was the first to hear the quiet shuffling of silk against the polished ground. The light steps were familiar to his keen ears, and it did not take him any guesses to confirm that they belonged to his father.

And there King Thranduil stood tall and fair, his golden hair emitting a soft glow. He was not burdened by the weight of his crown, and so his head remained bare of all except his expressions.

The King gave his son a look of acknowledgement, of silent affection, before his cerulean gave then shifted to his mortal companion. Upon observation, Legolas was able to note the subtle softening of his father's features from the quiet lifting of the edges of his lips. It was barely noticeable, but it was there. Had he shifted his gaze to Areth, he would have seen her terse expression, broken only by her half-hearted attempt at sincerity.

"King Thranduil," she said quietly, her expression guarded.

The King's brow rose slightly, and his façade once again returned. This sudden wariness had oddly became foreign to him, as he had been so accustomed to his friend's open sincerity. He frowned. It reminded him of the silence he received upon their first meeting. While then he had been nothing but amused, Thranduil suddenly found that he did not like it at all.

The King turned to the Prince. With a slight tilt of his head, he then coolly commended, "Ionneg. Agoreg vae."

Legolas inclined his head in acknowledgment.

With a slight nod his way, he then said, "Replace Ernil's charge in the western borders until he recovers."

Legolas turned fully from his course and regarded his Father with his brow slightly furrowed. "Ma mauya?" Legolas questioned, "I am needed south."

Thranduil raised a hand. When he spoke, his commanding tone left no room for any arguments.

"And you shall return to your regular post once Ernil is fully healed."

After a beat of silence, Legolas then acquiesced, "Be iest lin, Melda Tar."

The Prince bid the mortal a farewell before turning and heading to see to the King's wishes.

When Legolas was gone, Thranduil regarded Areth silently before beckoning her closer with a hand. "Tolo, a pedo ah nin."

"What do you wish to talk about?" said Areth.

At the present, she had not the energy to retain a game of charade that she did not even know she was playing. Even so, she allowed herself to be led to his study, and so she took his hand.

"It is not what I want, but what you wish," said Thranduil, allowing the hard edge of his commanding lilt to soften. "Tell me of your troubles. Do not even attempt to lie to me," he said, his cerulean eyes regarding her meaningfully.

Areth was quiet for a moment. She merely took the time to scrutinize the Sindar. However, she was the one to break the silence.

"Tell me of your wife."

Thranduil did not even look surprised when she asked. Instead, he sighed and allowed his eyes to close for only a moment. The King led the mortal to the vacant seat in the heart of the room, where he then sat beside her. Areth vaguely noted the absence of his usual beverage, but had not the incentive to jest.

"I see that Melhros spoke to you," he stated coolly, calmly.

Turning to face her, he used the back of the seat as support as he rested his chin on his knuckles. Thranduil's other hand reached for her hair, his lithe fingers running through its golden length, unrestricted and surprisingly affectionate. His face, however, remained cool and impassive.

Areth's first instinct was to move away, but she merely stood still. While she was used to Thranduil's unexpected actions, he was always watchful of his limits. The King could see that he was very close to crossing the unstated line and abruptly drew his jeweled hand away, slowly resting it against his lap.

"I married my wife shortly following the Battle of Dagorlad," Thranduil began, and while his thoughts strayed from the present, his eyes never once wandered from hers, "after I had inherited the throne. It was a period of war and loss, and the consummation of our marriage during such a time of chaos and death went against the values of our kin.

"You must understand, Areth, that while I was married to my wife, above all else, upon receiving my Father's title, I was married to my people. Such responsibilities could not be ignored, and while I was immersed in my duties as the Realm's king"—he paused, as if for once struggling for words—"I had failed my duties as a husband."

"The birthing of my son was far too much for her soul, and so…"

He stopped himself.

"Sometimes, I see you, and my mind wanders," he whispered. And finally, his eyes strayed to look at her golden locks. "It is as if my mind was convinced that you were sent here to haunt me."

And then their eyes met once again.

His voice regained its strength, and he uttered with all the sincerity that he could muster, "You must not feel as if my affection was borne by a misplaced sense of compensation for my mistakes."

Areth had allowed Thranduil his explanation, and while the burden had slightly lessened in weight, it was not enough to expel the doubt. Try as she might to fully take the King's words as truth, even he could not deny that their friendship began through this misplaced compensation.

It was then when Areth did what Thranduil loathed from others.

She evaded the absolute truth.

"I do not wish for the roots of our friendship to be from an unfair expectation."

"Goheno nin," he apologized instantly, "I did not mean to burden you with my troubles, Areth."

"No, you have nothing to apologize for. If nothing else, such a revelation only brought clarity to my eyes. We can move past such misunderstandings."

"I am glad."

Unlike any silences that Areth shared with Thranduil, this one proved to be uncomfortable. It seemed as if she was the only one able to feel the thickness of the air, as the King looked to be perfectly content as he traced the outline of his ring.

Areth knew that he was waiting for her to speak.

But she had no words She had found the answer to her question and she did not want to hear anymore.

In an attempt to alleviate her mind, she took the King's hand in both of hers. At the sudden action, Thranduil could not hide the evident surprise. His eyes shifted to hers in question, but her forest gaze was drawn to their intertwined hands. With acceptance, Thranduil then locked their fingers together. Areth could feel the warmth of his palm and the hardness of his rings.

"What is her name?" said Areth haltingly.

"Her name was Isilthel."

"Do you miss her?"

It was a foolish question– and that Areth berated herself for. Of course he missed her. She was his wife.

"I… She is happier away from the pain that this world is capable of."

She is happier away from me.

Areth could hear the implication.

"I have a brother," she said suddenly. Her eyes suddenly drew upwards to meet his.

Thranduil's expression changed little, though his grip on her hand then tightened only slightly. It was a silent indication for her to continue, she knew. It was then she smiled. It was only fair to tell him of her life before their meeting. A quid pro quo of sorts.

"There is not much to tell," she confessed, using her free fingers to draw aimless patterns on the back of his pale hand, "but there was once a time when I would have followed him to his death."

"Where is he now?" Thranduil asked quietly, as if to maintain the peace.

"We follow separate paths," she said. Offering him a weak smile, Areth whispered, "He is where I am not, and I am here with you."

The intense darkness of the night did not change from when the wanderer first traveled within the Forest of Great Fear. The only difference that she could detect was perhaps the great chill from the snow. While the tall trees protected her from the falling snow, it only made her path darker, as it hid the light of the moon and stars.

Areth drew her cloak closer to her body before throwing the lit torch in the running water of the black river that she used as a guide. It was better to be undetected. She did not need to know where she was going. After all, she knew that they would be the ones to find her.

And so, she waited.

The extent of her wariness never once dissipated. With her gloved hand wrapped around her bow, she was prepared. Beyond the strong running of the water, she knew that she needed only to listen beyond the noise.

And that was when she heard it.

The rustling of the leaves was the only indication of their presence, and before her enemy could do anything more than breathe, Areth was quick to draw her bow and shoot the intruder.

A low groan could be heard as he fell on his knees.

The rugged man, dressed in dirt and ragged leather, was now coated in running crimson from his shoulder wound. It made no difference to Areth what he looked like. The darkness shrouded him, and that was enough.

Walking towards her injured enemy, the wanderer was quick to kick his weapon away from reach. The man looked up with fear evident in his eyes, but he was unable to see beyond the silhouette of his assailant.

Crouching on one knee, Areth wasted no time.

"Who commands you?" she demanded quietly.

The enemy only groaned, but then quickly drew his hand that gripped a dagger.

Areth was quick to predict his movements, however, and applied a great amount of pressure on the arrow imbedded in his shoulder. The Dunleding cried in agony before dropping the knife on the ground with a clatter.

Gripping his collar with her gloved hand, she pulled him closer. Areth could smell the repugnance that emanated from his entire being, his stale breath, his unwashed clothes. He was repulsive, but she needed the confirmation.

"I shan't repeat myself," she said with strength. "Tell me."

"You are the woman, are you not?" he said instead. His accent was rough and broken in the Westron tongue.

"If you go about this quicker," she uttered tightly, "perhaps I would consider allowing you your life."

"You speak as if you do not know the answer already, horse rider," he coughed, inadvertently spitting blood on her face.

In one swift movement, Areth threw the man in the Enchanted River.

Lifting herself from the ground, the mortal allowed herself a small sigh. It was true, then, when she heard of the brutal death of many of her companions. It was then when she finally understood Gildhel's purpose by sending her to Mirkwood.

Wiping the traces of blood on her face, Areth made her way back from whence she came.

It was a shame, for she knew that she would have to leave soon.

Unbeknownst to her, a pair of crystal eyes stood watching where she could not see.