Finding the stables had been much more embarrassing than Charlotte could have anticipated. She had slipped from her room just as the first pink rays of dawn broke over the valley, slowly pulling her door shut to avoid waking Celebrían. The other woman was kind and sweet, but Charlotte needed some time alone. Then came the difficult task of navigating the estate.

The mansion was bustling with energy as the elves prepared for the wedding ceremony the Lady Galadriel had mentioned the night before. Charlotte passed several harried elves carrying floral arrangements, linens, gold-rimmed plates, and, at one point, a carved wooden archway.

She had already been wandering for over ten minutes when she finally decided she needed to ask for help, and a man carrying an entire tray of crisp rosemary-scented bread loaves popped around the corner.

Remembering that most elves did not speak Common Tongue, she mimed her intentions with the hope of being understood. "Which way to the stables?" She asked while holding her hands in front of her as if she were grasping reins and bouncing in a gallop's soft imitation.

A flush warmed her cheeks when the grinning elf pointed to the corridor behind him and gave her directions in Common Tongue. She'd chuckled, thanked him, and committed to confirming that any elves she spoke to didn't speak her language before resorting to charades.

Finding the stables was simple after that, and she reached the collection of buildings nestled in the cradle of the valley before the sun had cleared the mountains. Without needing to ask or mime, an elf mucking the stalls and pulling in fresh hay paused his work to guide her toward the largest of the three stables. Two small barns flanked a worn field where she could already see an elf guiding a pristine white Andalusian through morning exercises. The last and largest stable nestled perpendicular between its smaller counterparts, forming a U-shape that encompassed the small field.

The interior was constructed with dark oak wood, delicately carved with vines and leaves, so the towering columns that lined each side of the broad center aisle gave the illusion of an avenue of oak trees sprouting from the earth and their thick boughs embracing to comprise the roof of the cavernous building.

Stalls were erected in between the columns, and most were occupied with stunning horses with shining coats of chocolate, brilliant white, and grey dappled with sooty smudges across their flanks. Their neatly brushed tails swished lazily as they dug into their breakfasts, and not a single horse glanced up as she was escorted to the final stall in the back, though their flickering ears indicated they were aware of her presence and didn't care.

When her guide deposited her in front of the stall's low arched door, her elk was happily munching on a full woven basket of clover.

"A reward for his heroism." Gwenestadren, the elf in charge of his care, popped up from his examination of the elk's injured foreleg. "He's healing well," he assured her. "It was shallower than it first appeared. He should be ok to return to his home after he finishes his treat. I will wrap his wound, but he ripped off the last one, so I do not expect it to stay long."

He made quick work of bandaging the elk, gave Charlotte a slight bow, and vanished, leaving Charlotte alone with her rescuer.

The elk dwarfed the small stall, and Charlotte was surprised at how calm he was in the enclosure. The day before had been so overwhelming she hadn't had the time to really examine him. Now she was packed too close to see all of him at once. His height meant she was looking up into his chin each time he lifted his mouth from the basket.

He did look better than the night before. Her makeshift bandage had obviously been removed from his foreleg and replaced with a clean strip of linen. The strong sweet scent that pervaded the stall hinted that the elk received the same poultice as she had, and he seemed to have no issues with bearing his weight on his injured leg. Elvish medicine was clearly beyond what she expected for a medieval era civilization.

Noticing her inspection, he turned his massive head to gaze at her. His silver eyes studied her for a moment before he shocked her by thrusting his wet nose into her neck.

"What are you doing?" She craned her head back as she heard him sniff and felt his nose twitch. "I'm not going to lie; you're enormous, but that is absolutely adorable how your cute little nose quivers like that."

He jerked his head up, whacking an antler on a column. It gouged a vine and eradicated one of the exquisite leaves. Charlotte hoped the Lord wouldn't notice. The elves of Imladris didn't seem like the kind of people that would possess imperfections in their art. The elk stared at it briefly, and Charlotte watched the creature's mouth twitch in pleasure before the expression vanished, and he glared at her.

"Don't look so offended. It's a compliment."

He snorted and then stamped his hoof before lowering his head again. This time he nudged her right foot and looked up. When she didn't say anything, he stamped again and pushed her foot with his nose.

"Now, what are you doing?" She shuffled away from the probing nostrils. The elk tilted his head. "My feet? They're sore. The Lord Elrond bandaged them up and smoothed some poultice on it, stopping the burning. The boots fit a bit better this morning, so the swelling is down, I guess." She shrugged and then rubbed her arms.

There had been no cloak or coat when she woke in her chambers, shivering under the thin linen bed sheet, and after the hike to the valley floor, she was covered in a light sheen of sweat that seemed determined to frost her in the cold air blowing through the open stable doors. At least the cool breeze and the low temperature kept the smell of horse and manure to a minimum.

The elk nudged her again.

"We need to come up with some kind of code besides pushing on me." Charlotte huffed and hesitantly reached out to run her hand down his muzzle. He froze at first, but then his eyes drooped closed. "And probably a name for you," Charlotte said and smoothed her hand down his neck. "You're far too intelligent to not have a name. Are all the animals here like you?"

She immediately tossed that thought out. The horses she'd passed on the way to his stall seemed to possess no extra awareness beyond that of an average horse. "I know one thing for sure," she smiled, "I would love to have warm fur like yours. Nobody here seems to be particularly bothered by the cold, but I've been shivering since I got here. I guess I'm not a very good elf, huh?"

Her eyes burned, and she swiped angrily at the tears rolling over her lashes. "I have no idea what I'm supposed to do. I can't survive here. I don't know anything about this place. I can't wield a sword or speak the language, and I'm supposed to be some godsent questing hero for the King, and he's so rude! You should have heard him last night acting like I was interloper poised to destroy his precious invitation-only kingdom."

She scrunched her nose and bit her lip to keep it from wobbling. "Imladris is beautiful, and maybe this King's land will be stunning too. I've always wanted to travel, but I don't think there is any sight in the world worth putting up with his haughty Royal Highness. And going anywhere with him would mean giving up on going home. My mother's things are all I have left of her. I don't even have a photo of her."

The elk was anxiously shifting his forelegs and staring at her with wide, panicked eyes.

She let out a watery chuckle at his expression, took a deep shuddering breath, and shoved the tempest swirling inside her down into a small box in her heart and locked it. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you."

He took an uncertain step, and then with a swell of confidence in his eyes, he surged forward until she was face first in his chest, and he settled his furry head over her shoulders, carefully avoiding smacking her with his rough antlers. Charlotte burrowed her face into his silver fur. It was soft and glossy with hints of the thick undercoat to come, and it smelled like pine and lavender. She sighed happily in the warmth.

"Did they bathe you?" She asked, and his chest seemed to purr in answer. She wrapped her arms around herself and cuddled into the breathing blanket of fur. "What do I do now? There's nothing back there for me but memories. Not anymore. I haven't spoken to my sister in almost a decade, and I don't think I'd be able to forgive her for deserting us anyway."

The storm she'd locked in her heart rattled against its confines, but Charlotte refused to hear it. Instead, she lost herself in the soothing motion of her fingers through the elk's hair, and she whiled away the morning, eventually curling against the elk like a pillow after he settled in the corner of his stall with his legs neatly tucked beneath him. He laid his great head on the straw bed and partially shielded her from view with his enormous antlers while he protected her from the cold with his thick coat. It was easy for her to drift off into a peaceful slumber against his soft fur and rumbling chest.

It was the shouting that woke her.

"He has not heard the call of the sea! I dare not take him." The woman's voice was angry and sharp, and Charlotte peeked through the elk's antlers to find the source. She had to shift around him when he shoved his own head up at the next voice.

"Feeling the sea's summoning is not a requirement for traveling west." King Thranduil paced in front of the stall door, and Charlotte felt the blood drain from her face. He would not be pleased for her to overhear this.

She vacillated between announcing her presence and hunkering down until they passed by with her unnoticed, but with growing horror, she realized that they had hidden at the end of the stable on purpose for privacy and likely switched to the less understood Common Tongue for the same reason. Yet here she was accidentally thwarting both measures.

"All the same, I will not take him," the elven woman said. "His fate is far better in your hands." Charlotte couldn't see her face since the elf had her back to the stall, but the woman was nearly as tall as Thranduil. Where he had broad shoulders and a lean predator's figure draped in extravagant robes, she was as thin and willowy as a breeze, with long blonde hair that fell down her back until the stall door blocked it from view. She had obviously been traveling as her spring green gown was coated with a layer of dust from the road.

"Better?" Thranduil seethed. "Without his mother? I have no one able to assist in raising him and a wounded kingdom fleeing from the darkness eating our southern border. Sauron may be vanquished, but orcs and wargs still roam. Yesterday they hunted a young elleth on the plains, and she was lucky to have escaped."

"The Woodland Realm should have sufficient troops to guard an elfling."

"Even the elves of the Greenwood can be outnumbered. Or have you already forgotten the hundreds of us slaughtered at Dagorlad, Nemir?"

"I could not forget it, though I have tried for over a century," Nemir hissed. "I need no further reminders of my agony from you or any other."

"Your agony?" His eyebrows rose, his expression thunderous. "What agony do you have to speak of? You were not on the plains in the shadow of Mordor. Since the birth of our son, you have remained coddled and sequestered in the Havens. What do you know of loss as I- as my, no, our people- have suffered? What grief of yours can compare to the losses the citizens of the Woodland Realm have faced? The realm you are supposed to be the queen of?"

"I do not want your kingdom!"

"Then what do you want?"

"Iruion!"

"Pardon?"

"Iruion. I met him after I returned to Lindon," she said softly. "He was everything…"

Thranduil's eyes narrowed. "What you already had was insufficient?"

"We bonded, Thranduil."

The king froze. His face fell slack. "You forsook our oath?"

"Empty promises meant to unite two peoples, and I have served my century demanded by the contract!" Her arms crossed. "We tried for peace, prayed to the Valar for love, and gained misery and hate in their stead."

"We gained Legolas!"

"He should have been Iruion's child!" She screamed.

Thranduil looked like he'd been walloped over the head, and Charlotte felt the stirrings of pity for the king before he buried the expression beneath a cold mask. "Nemir, you cannot just abandon your son."

"And yet, I cannot stay with him." She turned her back on the king, and Charlotte watched the woman's shoulders hitch and the grief track down her cheeks. "My heart is heavy, and though you condemn me for my sorrow, I have never held the bond I should have with Legolas, though I have tried. Your son tramples my soul with the knowledge that, if not for the farce of our promised union, I could have possibly savored hundreds of years, thousands perhaps, with my fëa mate and our children born of love instead of duty. I cannot gaze at your son, with all of your features so plainly visible, without seeing all that I should have possessed."

"It is clear that you possessed far more than you deserved." Thranduil took a firm step back from her. He ripped something from the index finger of his right hand and cast it at Nemir's feet. Charlotte could see the silver ring glinting against the dark wood through the narrow gap under the door. "I renounce our vows with the Valar as my witnesses and strip you of all titles within Eryn Galen. You are no ruler for my people, and they will not grieve over their long-absent promised queen."

"I care not." Nemir scooped up the ring, before calmly twisting a matching band from her own hand and holding it out to him.

"That is the entirety of the issue," he said and plucked it from her narrow fingers, neatly avoiding contact with her skin. "May your selfishness soothe your traitorous heart in Valinor."

"Think what you will, Thranduil," she turned, casting the last words out into the bright afternoon sun pouring through the stable doors. "I have suffered enough, and though I do not love him as a naneth should, I care for him enough to know that I am not sufficient for him."

Thranduil seemed tempted to chase after her, but he remained rooted to the spot, as still as the columns that held the vast roof of the stable. Charlotte was quickly running into another issue: the elk was shifting, moving his legs under him as if to stand. She panicked. There was no place to hide in the small stall, and Thranduil would be furious to discover an interloper.

The king glanced at the silver band in his hand, shoved it into his robes, and strode off with his cape thrashing in his wake.

Charlotte almost moaned with relief. "You nearly got me caught," she said to the elk and pursed her lips in disapproval. She quickly softened when she caught the poor animal's heartbroken expression. "I know. I'm not sure who I feel more sorry for right now." Her hand smoothed the hairs on his neck though it seemed to do little to calm him. "Woah, big guy, you can't go breaking down the stall doors. Here, let me open it for you."

She pushed the latch free and glided the wood open, allowing him to saunter out. "I supposed this is where you go back home?" She shuffled her feet through the clean straw. "Thank you again for saving my life. I've only known you for a short while, but I'm going to miss you."

The elk cocked his head to the side, before nudging her again with his wet nose.

"Go on then," Charlotte smiled. "Be free and whatnot. You've been away from home long enough, I'd say. Who will rescue strange damsels with you holed up here eating your weight in clover?"

He snorted at her, his great antlers swaying above him, and turned. He was through the stable doors and into the training field, passing a crowd of newly arrived horses waiting to be led to the smaller barns, and beyond her sight, before she bothered to start the long journey up the mountain to the main house. She had questions and knew at least two elves who would be willing to answer them.

But Charlotte could not consult Celebrían or Elrond when she arrived at the Lord's house. The doors were flung wide open, and the stairs were illuminated by squat candles floating in shallow bowls of glittering water. A large group of Elven women was singing, their voices bright and high, as they took turns releasing tiny silver and gold flowers to swim in the dishes.

A little voice whispered near Charlotte's hip, "You're supposed to say a prayer to the Valar for the Lady Celebrían and Lord Elrond, and then place the flower in the bowl."

She glanced down and found a small elven boy staring at her with a solemn expression. He was dressed impeccably for a child, with not a wrinkle or grass stain in sight. His neat forest green leggings and silver tunic were immaculate, and his waist-length blonde hair was pin-straight with sections on each side pulled back into simple braids. He couldn't be more than six or seven by Charlotte's estimation.

The little elf was studying her in return, and finally resolutely nodded his head. "Adar says you're a strange elf, but I think you look nice." He lowered his voice, "He also says Lord Elrond is a 'sanctimonious meddler,' but he's nice too. If you ask him politely, he will sneak you to the kitchens for oatcakes and honey at night."

"I'll keep that in mind, thank you." Charlotte laughed. "And how did you know I was this 'strange elf' your Adar mentioned? And what is an Adar?"

The young elf laughed loudly, and a few of the women paused their singing to smile indulgently at him. "Adar is my father, King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm, and my Naneth is Princess Nemir of Lindon." He grinned proudly, displaying two cute dimples at each side of his mouth. "And I'm Legolas of… well, of both, I guess."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Legolas of 'Both.' I'm Charlotte." Charlotte gave him a dramatic curtsey, which only ensured another round of giggles from the boy.

"See?" He said. "It's obvious you're my Adar's strange elf: you even curtsey funny! And you have straw in your hair. My naneth says, 'A prince is a representative of his people and must be presentable at all times.'" He recited, before taking a huge breath and barreling onward. "She would never let me play in the stables. Is it true you have a giant elk? Can you really talk to it? I saw one once when Naneth and I visited Adar in the Greenwood, but he was a small elk, and Lindir said your elk was taller than my Adar. Do you think Naneth will let me go with you to meet him?"

"Oh." Charlotte's brows creased with worry, and she dropped to meet his eyes with her own. "I'm so sorry, Legolas. I set him free earlier, and he's on his way home."

Legolas frowned, and Charlotte was sure she'd have a sobbing elfing on her hands, but he smiled and placed a hand on her arm as if to soothe her. "It's alright," he said. "I'm sure he'll come back soon. Lindir said he saved you from the yrch. Your elk won't abandon you."

"Sometimes those we love must leave us, even when we wish they could stay," Charlotte said, thinking of her own mother and the grief she kept carefully tucked away. She realized that Legolas would soon learn this lesson as well, based on the argument she had overheard in the stable, and her heart broke for him. She couldn't imagine the sweet elfing who comforted her over the departure of her erstwhile elk companion facing the swell of agony that continually threatened to drown her.

He was oblivious to her turmoil and instead thoughtfully asked, "Have you given him a name yet? All the best horses in the stories have names. I don't have a horse of my own yet, but when I do, I'm going to name him Limlug! It means 'sea serpent.'" His twin dimples were back, and Charlotte felt herself fall the tiniest bit in love.

"Ion nín?" King Thranduil stood at the top of the steps, and Charlotte noticed the singing elves had left. The king had changed since the altercation in the stable and wore a heavy silk robe with a matching charcoal cloak that trailed regally behind him as he descended. He unfolded his arms to beckon to Legolas, and Charlotte saw the cloak's underside was a shiny blood red. She thought the ensemble made him look like he was smoldering. His silver eyes met hers for a breath, and she corrected herself: he was aflame.

Legolas shuffled slowly to meet Thranduil at the base of the steps. "Yes, Adar?" He said. His eyes were intently focused on his feet.

"A prince should make eye contact with the elf he is speaking to, Legolas."

Legolas sighed and briefly glanced up. "Yes, Adar."

"Go inside," Thranduil twisted his head toward the mansion's open doors. "I will see you in five minutes in your room."

Legolas bounded up the stairs without a word, turning just inside the doors to send a quick wave to Charlotte.

"You should prepare yourself for the wedding," the king said as if he were commenting on the weather.

"I didn't think I was invited."

"All here are welcome." He pulled his cloak closer to his body. "And Lindir has been searching for you for an hour. I believe he has found a formal gown for you to wear."

Charlotte grimaced. She hated that poor Lindir had been wasting his time tracking her down when he no doubt would have ordinarily been helping the Lord Elrond prepare for the ceremony. She hitched up her skirts and took the steps two at a time, intending to head straight for her room. Thranduil's rich voice froze her at the top of the stairs.

"Lady Charlotte?" He had turned slightly toward her, and his head arched gracefully over his shoulder. His silver eyes locked on her green ones. "You have straw in your hair, you know? You may want to clean up before the ceremony."

Charlotte glared at him. It was drastically less cute when he pointed it out. Why hadn't she pulled the offending straw out when Legolas first mentioned it? Thranduil's lip twitched, and she spun in a whirl of skirts before she could catch the full-blown grin that softened his face.

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Translations:

Adar: (formal) Father

Naneth: (formal) Mother

ion nín: My son

yrch: (plural) Orcs

AN: I need your opinion. This story is set in the 109 of the Third Age and won't likely cover the events of The Hobbit. But Thranduil is only an active character in The Hobbit, though he gets a brief mention in the Lord of the Rings story as Legolas's father. I want to make sure it's in the correct category because I've been hearing of some instances of stories being reported for the incorrect category. So for the sake of being nit-picky, I suppose: what do you, the readers, think? Should I move this to the Lord of the Rings category or stay here in The Hobbit? It would be a quick story description change, and shouldn't affect your follows/favorites/reviews/alerts. Let me know in the comments. I always look forward to hearing your thoughts on the story! Thank you.