Charlotte felt truly warm for the first time since she was dragged from her home. Her limbs were pleasantly heavy, and for a moment, she let her mind imagine that she was in her studio apartment in Virginia, waking up from a bizarre dream. In the delirium of her mind, she decided that it was a Saturday, and she could sleep for an extra hour before crawling from bed to the coffee pot.

A loud snort disrupted that illusion.

She cracked her eyes open and found the proud Elvenking asleep in a second bed beside her. Her grin was instantaneous. He had tangled himself in his sheet, his hair askew, his mouth open, and one arm dangling toward the floor. The moon splashed across his relaxed face, highlighting his dark lashes and caressing his pale cheeks.

The snort sounded again, and she was surprised that it didn't come from Thranduil's direction but rather from behind her. She rolled, and there was the elk, asleep on the floor beside her bed. Much like Thranduil, he had one foreleg and hindleg extended, his chin pressed against the straw bedding, and he was out cold. As she watched, following the curve of his belly as it rose and fell, the elk snorted again and shook his head, his antlers waving.

"That necklace packs a wallop," a voice, low and rumbling like thunder, came from across the room. "I can't blame you. If you hadn't knocked them out, I would've."

The man was two times her height, with long shaggy black hair and a beard that grew past his collarbones in a scraggly point. He carried a tray, though she couldn't see the contents from her vantage point.

"Thranduil says you killed an orc last night?" He said gruffly. "That true?"

She opened her mouth, tried to speak, and couldn't. Her throat was sore, but she cleared it, and hoarsely eked out, "It was an accident."

He raised a bushy brow and set the tray on her lap. "Drink. There's honey in the tea. It'll help."

Stomach rolling, she lifted the wooden mug and sipped. The rest of the tray held small chunks of honeycomb, a little pot of dark amber honey, soft slices of bread the color of molasses, cheese wedges, nuts, thick smooth butter, and clotted cream. There was no way she could eat all of it or even half of it.

The man pulled an enormous black chair to the foot of her bed and dropped into it, stretching his long legs across the floor. "Never seen an elf sleep with his eyes closed," he said. "A feat like that deserves a good meal."

"What did I do?"

"These two were pacing 'round your bed." He jerked his chin at Thranduil. "One moment, he was talking to you in your sleep, that stone of yours lit up like a fire, and then boom! The elk and the elf both fell dead asleep. Eat up, Thranduil says you almost faded."

Charlotte wasn't entirely sure what "fading" meant, but she could guess. She nodded, croaked out a brief thanks, and spread the clotted cream across a slice of the warm bread. Chewing gave her a moment to collect her thoughts.

The room she was in was wide and long, a hall of some sort, with a large firepit in the center. The flames danced and crackled, and the pungent smoke pirouetted up through a darkened hole in the roof. Much like the stables in Imladris, thick tree trunks sprouted from the wooden floors until they branched out to support the roof.

But the most stunning detail of the hall had nothing to do with its architecture. There were sheep, cows, and dogs strolling about the room. Huge bees larger than her palm buzzed, and she was sure, should they decide to sting her, she'd promptly swell up and die on the spot.

There was a startling, almost human quality to the animals. She watched as a border collie pushed through a door on the back wall, letting her have a brief glimpse of a moonlit garden before he loped to the man. The collie placed his paws on the man's leg and arched his muzzle up, and the man tilted his head down as if to hear a great secret.

"The horses have spotted the rest of your party camped about a half a day away," the man said. "Should be here tomorrow."

And then he was standing, striding away after the dog, calling over his shoulder, "I must go. Do not go outside if you value your life. Tomorrow, you can tell me how a scrawny female accidentally kills an orc."

Alone once more, though now concerned about the watching animals, Charlotte set the still heavy tray to her side and focused on slowly drinking the tea. It had an herbal flavor buried beneath a heavy dose of honey and smelled like the lavender sachets her mother put in all the dressers and closets at home.

She rubbed her chest, trying to ease the ache there, and glanced over to find Thranduil studying her.

"You're awake," he said. His voice was still rough from sleep, and she felt an involuntary shiver race down her spine.

"Are you hungry?" She sat up, tucking her legs beneath her, and patting the bed.

Thranduil raised an eyebrow and smiled. The soft expression she was coming to enjoy graced his face. "You wish for me to sit on your bed?"

"You are welcome to it," she teased, grinning, and she waved her arm over the burdened tray. "Besides, I doubt, even with your help, I would be able to eat all of this."

Thranduil didn't hesitate. He moved gracefully, tucking his legs beneath him at the foot of the bed, and snatching a slice of bread.

"I have yet to decide whether I should be displeased," He began, spreading butter with long sweeping strokes, "at being knocked unconscious."

"I would apologize, but I wasn't awake myself."

"No," he frowned, "You were not."

"Where are we?"

"This is the Hall of Beorn the Skin-changer," he said. "We're a short ride from the Forest Gate."

Charlotte nibbled on a small golden wedge of sharp cheese and contemplated her next question. She felt like she had one hundred of them. "Tell me everything?" she finally asked.

"It's a short tale, though I feel as if days have passed." He ran his fingers through his disheveled hair. "But I cannot blame you for wanting to know."

The moon traced across the sky, and the animals settled in the straw-covered edges of the hall as he told her the events following her capture.

"The orcs outnumbered us," he said. "Legolas and the women were taken to safety, and that reduced our number further. We were fortunate that you wandered into the woods because it allowed us to catch them and alert the others as the orcs attempted to sneak upon us. It likely saved a great number of my people."

"There were a few minor injuries. They will likely slow Amroth's journey north, but none of them were gravely injured. Your elk was a great aid in this, if not incredibly reckless. There were too many times where he nearly got himself killed trying to rescue another elf, and frequently, that elf was me. I can't regret it, because he was a fast mount, and he was able to track you quickly. I only wish we had arrived sooner."

Charlotte swallowed painfully, her mind forcing her to relive the weight of the orc, his rancid breath, the cold handle of his dagger, the warmth of his blood spilling over her fingers. She shoved it down, took a forceful gulp of the now-cold tea. It made her think of the crotchety professor she'd worked for, and the life safe from the kind of monsters that inhabited Middle Earth. She wasn't sure which was a more painful memory.

"What happened to my voice?" She croaked.

Thranduil looked haunted for a moment. His silver eyes met hers, and she saw hundreds of years of pain buried within. "You were screaming," He said, his deep voice roughened. "When we found you… and last night, as you slept."

"I'm so sorry," Charlotte twisted her fingers, "You must've already been so tired, and then you were stuck with me, and I'm sure I kept you from sleeping."

Thranduil laughed, though it didn't entirely erase the pain in his eyes, and he reached out to seize her fidgeting hands. "My son is correct," he said. "You are a strange elf." He frowned, squeezed her hand gently until her eyes met his. "You do not have to apologize to me for feeling your own pain."

Charlotte bit her lip. His gentle understanding made her feel anxious and flustered, and she fought the urge to look away. She tried to move toward safer ground. "You called me an elf."

"Are you not one?"

"I am now, I guess." She felt the first drop of blood well up from her lip. His hand was still wrapped around hers, and she found she enjoyed it. There was an odd sense of camaraderie and safety in his grip, and her skin warmed wherever his long elegant fingers touched. "But, you've been calling me a mortal."

"You didn't seem ready to be anything other than a mortal."

"I still don't know if I'm ready."

"Are you at least prepared to find out?" His thumb rubbed smoothly over her skin. It raised goosebumps on her arms, and she was thankful for the long-sleeved tunic someone had placed her in.

Then she realized. "This isn't what I was wearing when I was… When we were separated," she finished.

"Be at ease," he said, "Meluieth arrived this morning with a guard and supplies."

Charlotte's face lit up, and she straightened, nearly upending the depleted dinner tray. "She's here? Where is she? Did she bring Legolas?"

She could definitely use some Legolas and Meluieth time, though she found she didn't quite want to end her peaceful conversation with Thranduil.

"Meluieth is resting in another room," He said. "Legolas remained with Amroth where he could be properly guarded. Likely, my captain will give me an earful upon his arrival for riding out alone without guards."

"I'm sorry..." She started to say, but Thranduil waved her off.

"I have no regrets about my actions, other than I was unable to execute them sooner," he said. "You are not responsible for the choices of others, and it was my choice to protect one of my citizens."

Some part of her withdrew at being referred to as one of his citizens. She didn't know if it was because it implied she wasn't going back to Virginia or something else. Still, she gently pulled her hand free and rubbed it, as if bringing warmth back into her already burning skin.

There was a growling sound outside and a great shuffling that made Charlotte freeze.

"It's only our host," Thranduil whispered. "I've mentioned he is a skin-changer; he morphs into a bear and prowls his domain at night. He'll return to us as a man by morning."

"Is it safe?"

"As long as we stay in here," Thranduil shrugged. "We should probably rest."

"I don't think I can." She rubbed her arms, stared up at the moon high in the sky. "I feel as if I've slept both for days and not at all."

"Then, perhaps, I might offer my services?"

"In what?" A slow smile spread across her face. Thranduil's answering grin made her eyes narrow.

"I may have overheard my sweet little elfling attempting to teach you some Sindarin the other day," he said.

"He's a wonderful kid."

"He is," Thranduil said, and there was a note of sadness in his expression before it cleared away. "Since he is currently farther away than I would like, I humbly offer my services as an instructor."

Charlotte hesitated. When she'd indulged Legolas in a Sindarin lesson, it was really just a way to help him have fun while they traveled. It was why she hadn't taken up Galadriel's offer of instruction. That and the idea of the elleth rummaging around her mind made her feel uncomfortable.

"You don't look enthused by the idea." He arched a brow, and she worried she'd offended him.

"It's not you, honest."

"I know."

"Ha. Smug."

"Confident."

She grinned. "Very well, confident." She ran her hand through her hair, grimacing at the snarls and tangles.

"May I ask why?"

Her head jerked up, met his silver eyes. He looked so earnest. Could she tell him?

"Why are you here?" she asked instead.

His brows dropped, and he frowned. It was obvious he wasn't expecting the question. His long fingers idly twirled a bit of hardened cheese. She felt terrible that so much had gone to waste, though they had placed a sizable dent in the massive portion of food Beorn had given her.

Just as she thought he wouldn't answer, he said, "I trust Beorn, but I do not like the idea of leaving two elleths unguarded so far from Eryn Galen."

"Why?"

"Ah, ah," He smiled, waved his bare index finger at her. She could still see a slight line where the skin had darkened around his old ring. "My turn to ask a question."

"Oh, is that how it is then?"

"It is."

"Very well," She laughed, gathering her hair and pulling it all to lay over her right shoulder.

"No lies. No evasions."

Charlotte was nervous now. She knew, once she agreed, she wouldn't go back on her word, and she'd be at the mercy of whatever questions he asked. Thranduil must have seen her hesitation.

"Limit of three." He leaned forward, smiling wickedly. "Where's the brave elleth that told a room full of elvish royalty that she would not be following their plans for her?"

"Oh," she tsked. "Appealing to my pride. Keep in mind that elleth did, in fact, follow their plans in the end, and a certain king never for a moment believed she would do otherwise."

"Should I have?"

"Is that one of your three questions?"

He laughed. "You are a treasure."

Charlotte looked down at her fingers to hide the rush of heat in her face. "Very well, ask you questions."

"What is your favorite flower?"

"That's what you're starting with?"

"I stand by my question."

She scrunched her nose and thought. Sometimes she bought the cheap small bouquets at the grocery store when she had a little extra to spend, but she didn't believe that's what he meant.

She tried to think back, pictured herself pushing the metal shopping cart with the one wheel that whirled widely around. The minuscule flower section in her local supermarket was buried near the produce department and consisted of a single refrigerated case and a kiosk where you could order personalized arrangements or buy glossy mylar balloons.

"Don't laugh," she said finally. Thranduil was entirely still, his silver eyes on hers as if she were about to impart the secrets of the world. "It's cliche, I know, and maybe a little silly, but I love roses. The deep red ones are my favorite; there's something… passionate about them, I guess."

"Why would that be silly?" His soft smile reminded her that he wouldn't know about things like Valentine's Day or romance movies.

"Is that your question?"

"It will have to wait for another time, I suppose."

That, at least, confirmed that he had an agenda going into the game. She was getting the impression that he always had a goal behind his actions. "My turn, then?"

He nodded, though he now looked concerned himself, as if he just realized that he'd opened himself to her inquisition. She decided to start simply just as he had.

"What's your favorite thing about your kingdom?"

"My people," he said quickly. "They are strong. Resilient. We've suffered great losses, including the loss of my adar, their king. After the war ended, our stronghold in the south of the Greenwood was no longer sustainable. Much had been destroyed, and our population was too depleted to defend it. My people picked up their lives, thousands of years of memories and belongings, and followed me north to the Dark Mountains. My people love fiercely. They are survivors. Perhaps, it is another sign that you belong with us."

"I don't feel like I'm surviving much of anything," She swallowed hard and hurried to ask her next question before she lost herself. "Do you miss him still?"

Thranduil knew who she was talking about immediately. "My adar was a wise king and much beloved by our people. We all miss him. It's been over a century, and sometimes I think I see him in a crowd, or I catch a whiff of the oils he used in his bath. Think I hear his voice. He was distant, but kind when he was himself."

He stared up at the burnt hole in the ceiling where the smoke gave way to moonlight. His brows sat low over his eyes, and she could tell he was debating something, so she sat patiently, just as he had.

"My naneth, Renieth, was murdered during the early days of the war. She was out riding with her friend and stayed behind to distract the orcs so her friend could escape. We were in Imladris planning the war when the news arrived, and Adar was almost manic after that. He never returned home. Grief like that leaves a mark on the fëa; each day, the wound grew greater. He made decisions during that time that I think— I hope he wouldn't have made them if he weren't suffering so greatly."

She spared him the pain of hearing, "I'm sorry." She knew that it offered little comfort. Instead, she provided him a distraction. "I think I stole your turn."

"Why are you avoiding learning Sindarin?"

"I—" She bit the inside of her cheek, knowing she had to keep her word. "It's what someone would do if they're staying. You know?" And then she felt the words tumbling out. "Like, if I was just visiting Norway, I might get away with a few phrases in Norwegian, or maybe I could hire a guide, but if I moved there, I would have to learn the language to actually thrive."

"You're avoiding learning it because it would mean you're not leaving," he said carefully.

"I have to go home at some point," She looked down at her fingers twisting in her lap. "I want to help your people. I do. But I don't belong here."

"You could," he said softly, leaning forward to seize her twisting fingers again. "There's a place for you with my people should you want it."

She pulled herself free and grabbed the tray still sitting between them to cover her escape. She was shifting it to the floor, trying to distract herself from the flood of memories, when she spotted two large watery eyes staring at her from the straw.

The elk was awake, with his chin still pressed into his bedding. Long dark streaks in his fur descended from his tear ducts, and he looked utterly miserable.

"Good morning," Charlotte said, dropping to kneel in front of him. Thranduil turned on the bed to watch. She cupped the elk's face gently in her hands. "Or 'good evening' would probably be better. What's this then? Are you hurt?"

The elk leaned forward and nuzzled her cheek.

"I'm alright," she said and ran her hand down his neck. "Thanks to you and Thranduil."

"You seemed to have most of it well in hand, by the time we arrived," Thranduil said.

"Only by luck," she whispered, feeling the jolt's echo from the orc's weight as he impaled himself on the blade.

The elk made a soft, high-pitched cry, the first vocalization she'd heard from him. She lifted his face up, hands under his chin. "I'm so lucky to have your help. I don't know what I would've done after. Thank you."

The poor thing still looked despondent. Charlotte turned to Thranduil, "Are you still offering your services as a language instructor?"

"I'm at your disposal," he said with a half-bow that would've looked graceful if he hadn't still been sitting on her bed.

"Names in Sindarin have meanings, correct?" She asked. "What is the name for 'protector?'"

"Berior," he said with that soft smile of his. "It means exactly that."

"What do you think?" She asked the elk, who somehow looked closer to tears. "I know you understand me. Would it be alright if I called you that?"

He lunged at her, nearly knocking her over, and cradled his chin on her shoulder in what could only be an elk's version of a hug. "Berior, it is."

She stayed on the floor with her back leaning against Berior's side for the rest of the evening as Thranduil taught her the basics of the elvish language. He was an excellent instructor, and her existing knowledge of Latin and Welsh did help somewhat.

At some point, they both drifted off, and a confused Meluieth woke them in the morning. To her credit, Meluieth never asked why Thranduil was in Charlotte's bed, or why Charlotte was asleep on the floor with the newly-named elk.

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AN: Thank you so much for all your lovely comments! I promise, I am getting them. I'm not sure why they're not showing on the review page for this story yet, but I'm seeing them and I'm really grateful that you're all on this journey with Charlotte, all of her Middle Earth companions, and me. Your words mean the world to me! Thank you again!