"Hello, Storm."

"Firith," Storm greeted the young elf, whom he hadn't seen for almost half the latter's life. "And you're Tathor, then."

The elfling nodded.

"How's healer training?" Storm had heard about this from Felrion and Kilvara, whose house they were waiting for Legolas at.

"Hard." The elfling shook his head in amazement.

"No kidding; I had a phase when I wanted to be a healer, but Felrion changed my mind pretty quickly."

"What happened?" Tathor immediately asked his mentor, causing Storm to groan.

"I had him help while I tended someone with a nasty puncture wound. And..." Felrion gestured for Storm to finish.

"I passed out," Storm finished grumpily. "Hey, nephew!"

Legolas gasped and dropped his books on human culture, which he'd been told he would be studying with Felrion and Kilvara today. "You came back!"

"I told you I would, didn't I?" Storm sounded mildly offended as he squeezed the elfling.

"Well..." said Felrion. Storm glared at him.

. . . . . .

"Oh, you wanted to parry that one."

"You missed," Legolas argued.

"Yeah, but it would've been a better bet to knock it aside as you dodged; still, ducking's better than nothing. You're quick, just like your mother, but you'll be stronger, too."

Legolas straightened up proudly.

"Storm!"

He winked at Legolas and turned around. "Yeah?"

"Why are you sparring in the living room?" Kilvara stood with one hand over her eyes and the other on her hip, with Felrion snickering silently behind her.

"I told them," Firith muttered from where he and Tathor were perched on the back of the couch (which was scooted into a corner), while his brother mostly looked surprised this wasn't allowed.

Kilvara turned to Felrion, who shrugged. "Outside," the she-elf ordered. "And fix the couch."

"Got it," Firith and Tathor said at the same time, already pushing it back to its original spot; Storm mused that there was no question they were related to Galion.

Storm held up his hands in surrender to his friend and went out the door, twirling his swords, only to find himself face-to-face with someone he'd both hoped to see and desperately wanted to avoid.

Silana crossed her arms and raised one eyebrow. "I notice you did not even stop by."

Storm licked his lips and looked down at the ground, thinking of several responses and discarding each in turn. "I didn't know there was anything to say."

She sighed and dropped her confrontational pose. "I am not going to bite you, Storm. I just wish you had let me know you were all right."

Storm kicked a twig off the side of the balcony—all the Silvan houses had those now—and remembered all the things he had planned at various times to say when this moment came—many of them including the words "sorry" and "please"—but somehow he didn't feel like saying any of those now. "I should have."

The other five were standing in the doorway, watching the extremely awkward conversation with varying degrees of confusion, especially Felrion and Kilvara, who had assumed the two were still together, at least in theory.

"You're still not staying, are you?" Silana asked him quietly.

He made himself look her in the eyes. "No."

"You are running away from your problems."

"I know."

She considered him. "Have you found any friends?"

He shrugged. "Humans."

"More words, please. Do you like it out there? Have you found what you wanted?"

Storm had meant for this conversation to go very differently, but he reminded himself that things couldn't work out between them anyway; he knew that. It was over, and it was no use wishing he'd done things differently anymore. He took a deep breath and leaned against the railing, changing his tone. "It's... honestly great, if a bit lonely. It reminds me of when Sky and I were young and we and Kilvara would go exploring for years at a time... I've been in the north mostly, but some in the west, and I traveled with a band of human monster-hunters for a while, clearing out the land around their villages, but they're getting a bit old for adventuring now." And he was back where he'd started. He'd never been so lonely before, with Kilvara and his sister to keep him company. "And you?"

"Babysitting a prince," Silana said cheerfully, gesturing to Legolas and thus reminding Storm they had an audience. "And Tathor," she added as an afterthought.

"So you're happy." Storm wanted to strangle his past self for falling in love.

"I'm moving on."

They both looked away.

Kilvara broke the silence, speaking quickly to Storm. "I'm sorry, I wouldn't have told her if I knew..."

"It's fine."

Another silence.

"Well," said Silana finally. "See you later. I think I'd better not tell my parents; Ada will feel like he ought to tell the king, who... you have heard. I did ask, and you are still banished; he still blames you."

Storm nodded. "Later," he agreed, more because it was what he was supposed to say than because he thought it would happen.

"Right." She hopped onto the railing, and from there, to the nearest leafless branch that would hold her weight, then the next one.

Storm meant to watch her go, but another part of him had a different idea. "Wait!"

She caught onto a slanted branch and swung up to land lightly on top of it, then did as he asked.

"If I asked you to come... would you?"

She bit her lip. "I would have," she admitted, and for a moment he thought she'd misunderstood, but then she shook her head.

He nodded and turned to go inside, having lost all enthusiasm for sparring with Legolas.

"Storm?"

He didn't turn around.

"There's somewhere you belong. Find it."

. . . . . .

A while later, Felrion tapped on the bathroom door. "You all right in there?"

"I hate myself," the healer heard from about two feet off the ground, directly on the other side of the door.

Felrion smiled sympathetically and sat down to lean against the door; the tone was glum rather than really upset, and he liked to think he could identify when Storm was really upset after all these years; he wouldn't have been truly concerned unless his friend sounded like he'd been crying. "Rejection hurts."

"What my sister did to you doesn't count."

"It stung!" Felrion replied, offended.

"You just shrugged and went on. Now, Ereinion, he had some trouble getting over it."

"Gil-Galad was interested in Sky?"

"He asked exactly two decades after you did; she told him the exact same thing as she told you."

"Two kings after her, my goodness."

"You should see the suitors I chased off."

Felrion chuckled, remembering her stunning green eyes. He believed it.

"...Felrion?"

"Yeah?"

"I miss her."

"So do I."

"Not like I do."

"No, probably not."

. . . . . .

—Three weeks later—

There's somewhere you belong.

Storm sat in front of his campfire with his chin in his hands, trying to narrow down the list of options. Civilized elven society was out of the question, as was any human kingdom or remote village. Dwarves? But while his claustrophobia wasn't as bad as Sky's, he wasn't excited to spend the rest of his life in dwarf-style tunnels. Maybe I shouldn't have left.

But as long as he could remember, he'd had... a feeling.

Click.

Storm's head shot up, his gaze settling on a green and gray-cloaked figure at the edge of the firelight. The head tilted curiously, and slender hands reached up to flip back the creature's hood, revealing a clearly elven—Noldorin—face, male, with dark red hair, piercing blue-gray eyes, and a wry grin. Another elf appeared behind him, this one with wavy black hair and a definite tint to his skin, and a rounder point to his ears.

The first elf tapped his chin thoughtfully as he approached Storm, who stayed seated, trying to pretend he wasn't unnerved by their silent, almost predatory movement, half familiar and half not. The elf circled him with confident yet careful steps, sharp eyes running over the Silvan elf. The word that came to Storm's mind was wild.

Storm stayed where he was, deciding he wasn't going to speak first.

When the red-haired elf spoke, it was in heavily accented Silvan. "Know who this is?" he asked his companion.

The half-elf shook his head.

The red-haired elf knelt in front of Storm, posed so he could leap up in an instant. "This is Rose's son."

Rose. Meril in elvish, or, as Storm's mother had pronounced it and this elf said it now, Miril.

The stranger grinned at Storm's surprise. "Well met, kinsman."

I sense confusion among the readers. Fear not, that is exactly how I wish for you to feel.