The Forest Gate consisted of two towering trees bent at the waist until their branches twined together over a broad dirt track. The traveling party arrived around noon on the fourth day, and the kings decided it would be best to part ways immediately so the Lórinand elves could race to the safety of their home.

Which meant Charlotte had to say farewell to another new friend, and she began to wonder when she'd see Amroth again.

"Our kingdoms unite over the years, whether it's one or one hundred," Amroth said when she asked. He spotted her look of horror and chuckled. "One hundred years goes quickly. You'll see."

"Not that quickly." She bit her lip and pulled her arms around her body. The weather was turning colder, and most of the trees in the Greenwood were bare. "Be safe on your journey."

"What?" He laughed. "You will not beg me to write to you as you've done with Beorn?"

"Would you write, if I asked?"

He nodded solemnly. "A letter every day, if my lady wished it."

"I'd hardly be able to reply fast enough." She smiled, but it was short-lived. She would miss his carefree banter and easy manners.

Amroth opened his arms in invitation, and she surged forward. "Be safe," he echoed. His words stirred her loose hair. "Keep your eyes open and watch. I shouldn't say anything, I've promised, but don't let your guard down. Those orcs—" He cut himself off.

"Send a message when you're home," she said.

"I swear it. Nínion ned i vened wîn."

"Wait, I know this." She narrowed her eyes as she thought. "Nínion ned i vened lîn. Galo Anor erin râd lîn."

He beamed. "Mae garnen, Annuiel."

She knew "well done," since he had been coaching her in Sindarin for days, and he was fond of positive reinforcement, but he'd yet to tell her what Annuiel meant.

"It means 'Western Star,'" he said when she asked. "It's an epessë. The elves have been using it in reference to you. I think I first heard it on the night of the wedding feast."

"I don't think I get the reference."

"Your fëa is like starlight, bright and clear, and we believe you've been sent by the Valar who reside in the west. We don't know which Valar sent you or why They didn't speak with you beforehand as They did Glorfindel. It could be that They have always sent emissaries in such a way, and Glorfindel was the exception. We don't know."

"Will everybody call me that?" She didn't like the idea of losing her birth name, even if the epessë was beautiful. She already felt like Charlotte of Virginia was fading away to Charlotte the elf in Middle Earth, and her heart clenched when she realized she'd already been an elf for over two weeks. That was an entire paycheck gone if she still had a job waiting for her at all. It wasn't like she could tell her bosses that she'd been gallivanting around Middle Earth for half the month. Spotless employee records would not save her from being a "no show, no call" for two weeks. She'd have such a mess to get out of when she arrived home.

Amroth rested a thick hand on her arm. "You don't have to give up who you are to belong here. An epessë is an honorific gifted to an elf. Some adopt the name as their own, and some don't; you're always going to be Charlotte, no matter what else they call you."

Her smile was wobbly. "I might read those letters every day after all."

"My invitation will remain," he said, "if ever you decide to take it."

Shortly after, she watched the party of Lórinand elves vanish into the horizon and tried to bury the festering ache in her heart. Everything kept slipping through her fingers. Her mother. Her home. And now she'd been forced to say goodbye to one potential friend after another. Celebrían. Beorn. Amroth. She still saw Meluieth and Legolas, but for how long? Legolas was a prince. Meluieth was training to become a healer and still working as a lady's maid. She'd been assigned to Charlotte because she was the only available maid in Thranduil's retinue in Imladris. Forming bonds in Middle Earth seemed as impossible as her old life. Just as she was getting to know someone, they'd part ways, and distance and danger prevented easy visiting.

The Eryn Galen elves mounted for the ride through the forest, and Charlotte felt a chill steal through her as Berior took his first step under the Forest Gate. Meluieth had been riding with a friend, so Charlotte found herself alone for the first time in days, and she honestly welcomed it. It was peaceful to close her eyes, trust Berior completely, and feel the slight breeze across her skin, smell the damp earth and the crisp autumn air. Her mind felt numb, her body achingly tired, and she was past the point where she thought she could handle anything else.

Thousands of leaves scattered throughout the wood seemed to clap in the wind. The sound surged in her ears, and the melodic voices of the elves faded into the background, merged with the hum of the trees, and she was swept up in a tune only she could hear. Is this what it felt like to be an elf? She swore she could feel a beech tree swaying a mile away, hear a pair of squirrels scampering through the underbrush. It was the first beautiful dream she'd had in a week. Berior misstepped, and she tightened her legs, losing her focus. He straightened quickly, but she couldn't calm herself enough to find the odd ethereal place she'd been in.

And that's when an ellon dropped from the trees.

"Hail, Elvenking Thranduil," he said with a short bow. His long dark hair was braided back at each side of his high cheekbones, and she could see the tip of his bow arching over his shoulder. "Welcome home, Your Majesty."

"How fares the Elf Path, Súldil?"

"Clear to the next checkpoint, sir," Súldil said. "It would be an honor to escort you until you make camp. There is much to tell you."

Súldil was given one of the pack horses to ride since the food supplies it carried had all been consumed. Charlotte kept her eyes on the branches above, trying to spot the other elves she assumed were there, but whenever she caught a flash of movement, by the time she turned her head, the branches were empty.

Whatever Súldil had to share, he kept to himself, clearly unwilling to discuss matters of state with so many present. Charlotte detected the truth in his stance and the echo of Amroth's warning. Súldil lacked the relaxed riding style she'd seen in the elves during their travels. He was rigid, his free hand occasionally twitched as if reaching for his bow, and his eyes roved the forest.

Charlotte pressed her right foot against Berior, both to close the gap between her and Legolas's guards and to remind herself of Amroth's dagger in the outside edge of her boot. Ellavorn rode at the front with Thranduil and Súldil.

The Greenwood's trees towered over her, and the sun spattered through the naked boughs until the forest floor was speckled as if underwater. The horses kicked up the leaves, rustled, and crushed them. Reds, golds, and browns, a blanket for the earth before winter fell, all of them embraced over the roots of the trees. It smelled like the proud Elvenking, finally returned home.

The wind skittered through her hair, and she pulled her tunic tighter, slipping the long sleeves over her cold fingers. It was the same overly large shirt Meluieth had dressed her in after the attack. It was by far her favorite article of clothing in Middle Earth and the softest, though the neckline had a habit of drifting until it exposed part of her shoulder. For most of the morning, she'd been alternating between tugging it into place or holding the vee together at the center of her chest even though it wasn't truly considered "revealing" by her society's standards. She'd noticed that even the most daring of elven gowns in Imladris still kept the shoulders covered, and she wasn't sure if that was because they had yet to create a strapless dress or because they considered shoulders to be more private areas.

She could picture herself wearing it at home in her old life, curled in her bed with a thick book and a hot coffee cup. And her phone. Heat. Running bathwater. A bath would've felt divine. She might have allowed herself to be wasteful, and slowly drain the water when it grew cold so she could refill it again and soak in the warmth for hours.

Thinking about her unreachable modern conveniences had her wondering: had anyone noticed she was absent besides her bosses? Was she another vague face on an evening news report? Her mother's house would go to her sister if Charlotte wasn't alive, but Charlotte had never written a will and had no idea what would become of her own things. Not that there were many relatives to fight over her belongings, and not many belongings to fight over. Her studio apartment had a floor mattress and a dresser with a bottom drawer that didn't close all the way that she bought from a yard sale near her mother's house. The mattress had been a rare new purchase.

It had worked for her though. She didn't need a fully furnished apartment; she was always at the university, the bar, the library, or her mother's house. Sometimes she stayed the weekend with her mother and slept in Abby's old room. Her old bedroom had been cleaned out and repainted for Betsy.

Would her future accommodations in the Greenwood be even worse than her barren apartment? She fingered the tunic's soft fabric and wondered if it had been commandeered from a Lórinand or Eryn Galen elf.

The only two homes she had seen in Middle Earth were Lord Elrond's and Beorn's. One was a sprawling lush mansion. The other was beautifully rustic and constructed of thick wooden beams and tree trunks. Bears were carved into nearly every surface of Beorn's house: the beams across the ceiling, the doors, the chair backs, the headboards. The furniture was sized to match the great height of its owner. When she sat at the table for breakfast, it looked like Beorn was having a child's tea party with three little dolls. It was definitely a modest home, but it did not lack artistry or grandeur.

She didn't know what to expect from the Greenwood elves. Thranduil had only said that they lived in a place dubiously called the "Dark Mountains." And Meluieth had labeled it a temporary home, whatever that meant. She'd find out in a matter of days. In the final stretch of their journey, they were expected to reach Emyn Duir within a week, barring any further complications, and the silence of the forest, interrupted only by the sporadic trills from the birds overhead, hinted that they wouldn't face delays.

When the sun dipped below the trees, Thranduil called for them to set up camp in a glade in sight of the path. His tent was erected first and was likely large enough to fit thirty elves standing in its depths. Charlotte was removing Berior's bridle, dreaming of collapsing into sleep, when she felt the pressure of his eyes. Thranduil stood in the entrance to his tent, Ellavorn and Súldil behind him.

"Sir?" Súldil asked, confused as to why they had stopped.

"Charlotte should join us," Thranduil said, his eyes on hers. "Much of what I must impart pertains to her, and it would be unwise to disclude her."

Ellavorn looked oddly relieved, and Charlotte wondered if he too had been forced to make the same vague promise as Amroth. Thranduil waited until she approached the tent, and then waved her in first. Súldil glanced at Ellavorn with a raised brow.

The inside of the tent was as spacious as she'd imagined. Vines carved their way up the center support pole, and ceramic votives clung to the wood. Their flames cast a dreamy warmth in the otherwise spartan space. A suit of armor was proudly displayed in the corner, perfectly polished, untouched, and Charlotte's eyes danced over the narrow bed. She was surprised at its simplicity, given Thranduil's predisposition for extravagant robes; it held only a handful of throw pillows and a single thin bedsheet. She was exhausted enough after days of little sleep that it looked supremely tempting, and she idly wondered how angry he would be if she curled up to take a nap on it.

Not that it would matter; each night, she woke panting from a nightmare. All of them held the same theme; sometimes, her mother was the orc, and other times she became the monster. Always, she woke after suffocating under the crushing darkness. Dark bags bloomed beneath her eyes, and she was fortunate that Berior wasn't the type to wander.

The elves filed in behind her, and Súldil spared her a final questioning glance before Thranduil prompted him to impart his information.

"Two weeks ago, three elves vanished along the southern border. Their absence went unnoticed until their relief reported in the morning and couldn't find them. Lord Cúthon has ordered a temporary doubling of the guard at the border and issued an additional search party. There has been no trace of the missing elves."

"Does the search party continue?" Thranduil was pacing before the rolled entrance of the tent. "Which areas have been searched?"

Súldil frowned, his brow wrinkled, and he quietly said, "Lord Cúthon canceled the search last week, Your Majesty. With so many away, guards were summoned from the other borders to search the south."

"Why did he only command the south to be searched?"

"Sir—" Súldil glanced again at Charlotte.

Thranduil descended on him. "I have asked a question, Marchwarden."

"Apologies, sir." He flushed and cleared his throat. "I only meant to avoid offending the lady. We haven't found clues for the missing elves, but there have been animals. Deceased animals, wholly intact and frozen, paralyzed; their expressions twisted in fear."

Charlotte felt her eyes blow wide. Dead animals were one thing, but leaving the bodies untouched? Why?

Thranduil said as much. "If they were hunted for food, they wouldn't remain intact unless the predator found a better meal or sought them only for sport." He shot a brief glance at Charlotte. "Double all of the patrols. Let nothing move in the Greenwood without my knowledge. Are Maethor and Haedirn still on the northern border?"

"Haedirn was one of the elves on the southern border, sir."

Thranduil's face briefly fell. "Summon Maethor, he'll be on guard detail for a visiting dignitary from the west."

"Are we expecting guests from Imladris, sir?"

"In the spring," Thranduil turned, his long robes trailed behind him. "I speak of the far west beyond the sea. Maethor will guard Charlotte."

Súldil clearly had many questions, but he held his tongue. "Yes, sir."

Thranduil waved his hand in the same manner he'd used on her. How many days since they last truly spoke? Five? Six? Had a week slipped by so quickly in anger? She frowned. She would've been offended at having an assigned babysitter, if not for the bruises beneath her eyes, the nightly reminders of the punishment for being untrained and unprotected in this world.

She eyed the bed again, let her gaze dart longingly to the open tent entrance. If they were finished, maybe she could find Berior and her bedroll and sleep.

"You're dismissed," Thranduil said, and her body sagged in relief. Her feet shuffled toward the moonlight. "Stay, Charlotte."

She froze. Blinked once at him.

"Please," he added.

Her bed never seemed further away. She turned to him, arms crossed loosely. Her jaw cracked on a yawn.

"You're not sleeping," he said. His mask slipped. His dark brows creased with worry, and he took a hesitant step toward her.

"I sleep."

"Hmm," he said. His mouth opened. Closed.

"Did you want to see me for a reason?" She prompted.

"It can wait." His voice was soft. "Have you eaten?"

She shook her head.

"You could join me if you like?"

"Maybe another time."

His eyes shuttered, his face swept clean of emotion. "Very well."

Charlotte stumbled out of the tent, found Berior, and unloaded her bedroll. She'd just finished spreading it out when she flopped on top and succumbed to sleep.

Hours later, she woke in the dark, shivering from both the cold and her mind. Berior was gone, and the majority of the elves were resting peacefully. She was still unnerved by their open-eyed vacant expressions. She rolled over, tried to adjust her limbs, to find a shred of comfort, before she huffed and gave up.

Wandering the woods seemed a terrible idea, especially after the earlier warnings. Still, she itched beneath her skin; she couldn't just lay there. Luckily, she spotted Ellavorn patrolling the circumference. As he passed near her resting spot, she sat up and quietly called out, "May I walk with you?"

"I'd be pleased for the company," he said, with a slight smile and a wave for her to join him. As they walked, he said, "I find it terribly difficult to stay awake during these traveling night watches. If we're fortunate, they're horribly boring."

"If I could, I would offer to take your place," she said.

Ellavorn glanced down at her, studying her face. "As elves, we do not require much rest. I will endure. You could do me a great service, however."

"Oh?" She stumbled blearily over a loose rock and straightened.

"It would be a wonderful help if you assisted in keeping me awake," he said solemnly. "I understand Amroth was teaching you Sindarin. Would you like to practice?"

Sindarin would take everything her sleepy mind had to offer. She eagerly accepted. For the next few hours, Ellavorn slowly chatted with her in Sindarin, quieting only as they skirted the king's tent, for which she was grateful. She did not want to wake Thranduil or Legolas. Though both for entirely different reasons.

She was feeling reasonably confident in her Sindarin. After a full week of intensive lessons with Thranduil, Amroth, and now Ellavorn, she could easily hold a basic conversation. The hours whiled away quickly, and she was enjoying herself until Ellavorn's relief appeared.

"Anything of note?" Thranduil's smooth voice rolled over her spine. He'd abandoned his swirling robes in favor of simple leggings and a tunic, nearly the same outfit he'd worn the night of the attack.

She shivered and glared at the moon. There were still hours left before the sun would allow them to continue their journey, and she knew, despite her heavy eyelids, there would be no further sleep for her.

"Charlotte?" His voice was so soft. She blinked at him.

"Where'd Ellavorn go?"

Concern bloomed in his eyes. He took a hesitant step toward her as if he were approaching a skittish mare. "He left," he said, "to rest before morning. I would be greatly pleased if you would join me on my watch until you feel ready to sleep."

She studied his open expression, the soft smile she had started to look forward to before everything fell apart. Her arms wrapped around her, and she nodded. Speaking took energy she didn't have.

Thranduil held an arm out, like a gallant knight. She ignored it. Left him standing in her shadow.

"I'm sorry," he said to her back, and she grew still.

She was tempted to flee for her bed, uncertain if she could add this confrontation to the pressure building in her skull. Her arms dropped to hang loosely. God, she was so tired. She was an elf now; should she say, "Valar, I'm so tired?" She debated asking Thranduil but dismissed it.

A warm hand wrapped around her own, gently tugging her until she turned to face him. "I apologize for my deplorable behavior," he whispered. "I was curt and rude. It was unbecoming of a king, and I regret that I have caused you suffering."

"Why?"

He didn't ask her to elaborate. He sighed, dropped his chin toward his chest. She was mesmerized by the thick dark lashes that brushed his cheeks. "I'm unaccustomed to sharing so much of myself." His deep voice thrummed through her.

Her eyelids drooped. He was opening up to her again, but his voice, so calming and gentle, was lulling her to sleep.

"I'm unaccustomed," he squeezed her hand, "to the genuine interest and compassion you gift freely to others. There were things I told you that I've never spoken of. When I woke in the morning, you were gone; Berior was gone."

"I went for a walk," she said. "Sleep is… difficult lately."

"I know." His free hand rose as if to cup her cheek. Dropped. "I know. Each day I see you diminish. I fear I will fail my people before I can even get you safely to Emyn Duir."

And there it was. The confirmation of her innermost fear. His interest was for a savior to his kingdom, not her, not Charlotte. She'd allowed herself to become attracted to the first person to pay a smidgen of attention.

"I should try to rest." She pulled away, avoiding his gaze. Her bed sounded wonderful. She could hide there until morning with her eyes closed, pretending to sleep.

She vaguely heard Thranduil call out to her, a soft whisper that curled into her newly-pointed ears, but she ignored it, balled herself on her bedroll to shiver, and waited for the inevitable nightmares. He didn't attempt to approach her again, and she tried not to count his rotations around the camp as she waited for sleep to trap her.

She woke suddenly in the morning, the only way she woke lately, curled under a thick cloak that smelled suspiciously of vanilla and leather.

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Translations:

Nínion ned i vened wîn.— I will weep during our departure.

Nínion ned i vened lîn. Galo Anor erin râd lîn.— I cry on your going. May the sun shine upon your path.

Mae garnen— Well done.

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AN: Thank you all for the reviews/favorites/follows! It's been wonderful hearing your thoughts and having you on this journey. I hope you like this newest chapter.