The water was frigid, but it felt incredible on her sore muscles after riding all day. Meluieth and Charlotte had jumped in the Tithenduin after scrubbing the filth from their clothes, deciding that they would rather be clean too. Their tunics and leggings wept rivulets down the boulders that rimmed the river, the evening sun baking them against the rocks, and Charlotte thought that they were more likely to freeze than dry. She was well on her way to turning into an elleth-shaped ice cube.

"I'm going to dry," she told Meluieth, who nodded and waved her toward the two linen towels hanging over the branches. Charlotte whipped one down, wrapped it around her body, and then, in a move that would've surprised her old self, laid under the sun in nothing but the towel, feeling the prickly grass on her skin and crunch of leaves under her hair.

She'd felt off-kilter all day, like she was watching her body from above, disoriented and disconnected. Conversation and laughter had drifted around her while she rode, and though her ears heard the words, her mind couldn't make sense of them. And it had all started with sweet innocent Legolas, who had excitedly announced to the indulgent party that it was exactly one month until Mereth Nuin Giliath.

"Charlotte, you'll love it," he'd said. "There's a big feast and oatcakes and honey, and we get to stay up late. Well, I guess you get to anyway, but I do too because it's the longest night of the year, and we celebrate the stars and Varda, and I get to go to the party!"

"That's great, Legolas," she'd said, though she felt like she would vomit. She was right when she guessed that Mereth Nuin Giliath was a winter solstice celebration. Which meant that it was currently sometime in late November by her calendar.

Her birthday. Her mother's birthday. It was somewhere this week. Could she have unknowingly missed it already? She'd lost herself for the rest of the journey, ignoring the feel of Thranduil's worried eyes on her. Meluieth hijacked her in her zombie state to join her at the river, and Charlotte agreed, thinking that scrubbing the dirt from her skin and clothes would snap her back into her body.

But while her hands worked, her mind was free to tumble, over and over, the date like a key in a lock, until she was fighting back memories of her mother and vacantly staring at the half-washed tunic in her hands as it drifted in the current. Meluieth had gently pried it from her cold fingers and continued on as if nothing had happened.

Now, stretched out in the clearing beside the Tithenduin, Charlotte filled her lungs with crisp autumn air. The bronze sunlight drifted through the naked boughs, illuminating the backs of her eyelids, and she let herself settle into the warm, familiar underneath space Thranduil had shown her. There, in the cavern that housed her soul, the starlight of her fëa frolicked. She bathed herself in it, baptizing her mind in her truth, and grabbed the swell in two ethereal hands, bringing it up, up, up to the surface, rising like bubbles in champagne, until it burst through her pores.

"You're getting faster," Meluieth praised. "Soon, you will be able to unveil your light at will." She plopped down beside Charlotte, dressed once more in her damp tunic and leggings.

Charlotte had taken much longer than she imagined. A hazy blue veiled the sky, the only remnant of the dying sun, and the moon had peaked early over the treetops. She grabbed her beloved tunic, sliding it over her wild hair, and slipped into her leggings. They would hopefully finish drying as she slept by the fire; otherwise, she would be in for a long, painful day of riding with cold, moist leggings.

"Of all the garments you have at your disposal," Meluieth said as she gathered their towels and kneeled on the bank to wash them, "you select the one that fits the least."

Charlotte snuggled further into the sweet-smelling fabric. There was a hint of pine beneath, a nod to the forest around her. "It feels like home. I love big oversized shirts like this for relaxing, especially thick comfy sweaters. I would've had one on me when I arrived, but I had just taken it off to go to bed…" She froze, fought against the emotions that threatened to overtake her. "It would've been destroyed by the orcs anyway."

Every day that passed was harder. The memories rattled in their cage, waiting for the moment that she wouldn't be able to contain them any longer. Deep within, she saw her own hidden fëa flicker, watched the center compress and darken.

She needed to bury this for now. If she didn't, if she fell apart, it would never end. Wave upon wave would crash over her head, and she would drown forever in her own personal Sisyphean hell. There had to be a purpose for her being in Middle Earth, a reason for ripping her away, and she couldn't afford to collapse and ignore it. This mysterious task stood between her and any attempts to return to Virginia.

Did she even want to go back?

Thankfully, Berior interrupted that thought when he ambled into their small clearing. "Hey, big guy," Charlotte reached to rub his neck. "How are you doing this evening?" She usually didn't see Berior at night. She assumed he wandered the forest doing elk things, and he always returned in the morning to carry her on the journey to Emyn Duir. Would he stay once they'd reached their destination? Or would he be another "goodbye" she'd be forced to say?

"Well," Meluieth said, her arms full of their clothes, "I'm going to hang these by the fire to finish drying." Seeing Charlotte's face, she added, "Stop offering to help me. You know I'm going to say no, and I'll dump these all in the river if you try anything like last time."

Last time, Charlotte had scooped everything up and ran for it, laughing and insisting that Meluieth take a break while she rolled their clothes and packed them. Ellavorn helped keep her hidden while she worked, and Meluieth had no choice but to relax since she couldn't find her lady or their clothing.

"Fine. I'll catch up later," Charlotte said, forcing her lips into a polite smile. The words sounded hollow in her ears. "I think I just want to enjoy the view a little longer."

The first stars winked at her from the night sky, and she admired the thin sliver of the moon. She didn't think she'd ever get over the beauty of the night sky uninterrupted by city lights and pollution. Even her mother's house, tucked between miles of cornfields, far back on a road so unimportant the county had never painted it, didn't possess half as many stars.

She could picture the warm gold light pouring through the windows, stretching its fingers through the railings on the wraparound porch, down the long lawn where she played princesses and dragons with her beautiful younger sister and vibrant mother. Her mother was always the dragon by choice so she could soak in the shrieks and giggles as her girls darted around the yard to escape the dragon's flames. It invariably ended with them collapsed in a heap, tucked within her mother's arms, broad grins splitting their faces. She tried to picture it in her mind, her mother's cheeks pink from exertion, her nose sprinkled with freckles like Abby's, but although she knew those details, the image she conjured was fuzzy, like she had to construct it herself instead of pulling an actual memory. Was she forgetting already?

Charlotte took a shuddering breath and dropped to her knees beside the Tithenduin. In the smooth water, her wobbly form glowed softly against the vague reflection of stars. Berior settled beside her, head resting on the bank and the tips of his antlers visible in the water.

"You may be better off with Legolas tonight," she told the elk, patting his shoulder gently. "I'm afraid I'm not the best company right now."

Berior snorted indignantly and wiggled his body as if to say, "I'm staying."

Her mother would've loved Berior. Dora had always preferred the animal sidekicks to their companions in movies. She was the type of woman who greeted the dog before the owner. Charlotte still remembered the devastation when her mother had decided to quit volunteering at her local animal shelter because she'd phased out and left a kennel and a door open. The staff found her wandering the parking lot, searching for her car. Charlotte had dropped her off before work and had to leave the university early to pick her up.

The volunteers used to drop by her mother's house once a week with a dog or cat from the shelter, but as her mind dripped away, so did the visits. All those people. All the lives her mother touched, and in the end, she was alone. Not even her daughters beside her.

Charlotte's nose and eyes burned. Heat settled in her chest. She felt the air shift before she heard him and wondered when she had become so aware of him. Wondered how he always seemed to show up just as her soul's aching became too noticeable.

"Legolas is asleep," Thranduil said, by way of greeting, before he sank beside her. His cloak brushed her arm, sent shivers racing along her body, and she resisted the urge to lean into him.

They were quiet, listening to the symphony of the river over the stones and the chirping and chirring of the woodland insects. She could see the fireflies dancing across the river. Swore she saw two small girls giggling and leaping to catch them with their mother chuckling behind them. Berior's big eyes studied the water, searching for something only he could see, and Charlotte tried desperately to shove the tempest back inside its box. She'd faced so much already. She resented that this one minuscule detail, this huge monumental date, was determined to undo her.

"Only a day left," Thranduil said. "We should reach Emyn Duir by evening tomorrow."

Charlotte nodded. She wanted to answer. Wanted to hear his deep voice whisper the stories of his people and their home. Craved the distraction his tales provided. But the sinking sun had swept away all vestiges of her good mood, of her, leaving behind only a numbness, a feeling of being too small to fit inside her body. Loneliness crept through her at the thought. She was as alone in this world as her last. Trapped in a body that felt like putting on a jacket three times too big.

Thranduil grabbed her hand, squeezed gently. "You seem so far from here, to a place I cannot travel or pull you from."

"Just tired, I suppose," she whispered. Deep below her still surface, she felt the torrent of emotions raging beyond her reach. It was safer this way.

"When we reach Emyn Duir, you'll be able to rest better, I hope. It's a temporary home, but not without its comforts."

What wasn't temporary in her life? So far, nothing had been permanent. Why should she expect this to be any different? She studied her reflection in the water, the sharp lines of her elven face, the tips of the pointed ears peeking through her curls. Imladris was the last place she had seen herself. There were obviously no mirrors packed for the journey, and she'd avoided viewing herself anyway. Now, a single day's ride from Emyn Duir, it seemed impossible to ignore what she'd become and who she'd left behind.

"I saw you today," he said. "When Legolas mentioned the feast."

No. Her lip quivered. She couldn't talk about this. Anything but this. She opened her mouth and tried to say something, anything, to change the topic, but her throat was sealed. A sharp stabbing pain lanced through her as she swallowed her words.

Her eyes burned. She felt Thranduil shift closer, and she fought to hide the hitch in her breath. Clenched her fists on her thighs until her nails left crescents in her palms. She couldn't break down. Not here. Not now. She'd been so strong up to this point. Up to the precipice she now dangled over.

"I still have one last question," Thranduil whispered. She felt his fingers ghost over her hair, tucking a lock behind her ear. They wrapped delicately around her cheek, turning her until his silver eyes captured hers, and she knew, looking into the agony displayed in his eyes, long before his lips formed the words, that he was about to unhinge the storm inside her.

"Please," she whispered. It came out cracked.

"Who was it?"

She squeezed her eyes, felt the moisture rising above her lashes. Not even to avoid her pain would she lie, but she could flee. She stood, turning to run from him. From the clearing. From everything swirling inside her.

But he grabbed her hand and held tight. She couldn't bear to look at him when her emotions were so wild.

"Charlotte?" His voice was achingly sweet. "Don't run. Face this." He turned her to him, his pale hair glowing against his dark tunic. She stared at his chest.

"I can't. If I do, I'll never be able to stop."

"You can. You will." He ducked down until she was forced to meet his eyes, so soft and full of shared pain and understanding. "You've carried this alone long enough."

And then the cage burst.

"My mother," she sobbed, gasping for air, feeling her body shaking. Her chest was on fire. Everything she'd held for weeks tore free, intent on destroying her. Tears streamed down her face until Thranduil was no more than a blur before her. Something was shredding her lungs. A fist reached in and squeezed her heart.

Dimly, she felt Thranduil pull her into his arms. Felt the soft fabric under her cheek grow damp. "I'm ruining your shirt," she said stupidly. He couldn't see her like this, weak and fragile and useless, but she had no strength to walk away. Her lungs felt too small, her breaths rapid. She couldn't get air. Grief wheezed through her mouth, spots erupting in her vision.

"Let it all out," Thranduil soothed.

"I can't stop," she sobbed. "I can't get it to stop, and I can't breathe, Thranduil. I can't breathe. She's gone. She's gone, and she didn't remember me, and I wasn't there." The trees spun around her, the stars blurring into swirls. She swayed in his grasp.

Thranduil scooped her into his arms, and she tightened her grip on his shirt. "Hold on tight," he murmured. "I'm here. I've got you. You're safe."

There was a splashing sound, and she felt the cold water rising over her hips, up her arms, until she floated in the river, held tightly against his chest while the water parted around them. Tears surged down her cheeks, melding with the cold current to be carried away. Her heart was hammering, and she sought his glowing face. The stone in her necklace burned brightly, but she couldn't focus enough to tell if she was impacting Thranduil. Her mind was spinning. She fought the urge to claw at her chest, to rip her raging heart out. "It hurts," squeezed her eyes closed. "Oh, god, it hurts." Her sobs sounded feral to her own ears, animalistic.

"I'm here," he said. "You're not alone."

And that only made her cry harder, thick ugly tears that burned their way down her face. "Sh-she didn't even remember me. She forgot me, and she's gone. She left the world, not knowing she had a daughter who loved her, and now I'm alone."

It felt like hours, years, passed in the river as Charlotte cried for everything she'd lost and all that she'd faced. Her mother's slow decline played over in her mind: the erasure of her memories, the loss of identity, the constant begging for Abby, the accidents. Her mother died a little each day for a decade, and Charlotte had a front-row seat.

She sobbed as she remembered the feel of the orc blood on her fingers, the lurch of the blade as it entered his neck. Cried for her terror in those moments when she felt so alone and helpless. Broke over the knowledge that the spider had been after her and elves had been injured in the process. That she had nearly been killed again.

Thranduil remained steadfast as she purged it all. He'd tucked her head beneath his chin, patiently riding out her storm with her, swaying them in the river's current, until she was nothing but an empty shell, utterly devoid of anything besides numbness and the echo of pain.

She shook in the chilly water but didn't ask to move. Her mind felt startlingly empty, her body vacant. Thranduil smoothed a thumb over her arm, gentle strokes that caused her skin to pebble.

"Sink," he whispered, the warmth of his breath ghosted over her forehead.

"I can't." She didn't think she even had a soul any longer. Surely it had been swept downriver with the rest of her agony?

"You and I both know that you do the impossible regularly," he whispered. She cracked open her tired eyes, met his own tearstained face, and felt herself succumbing to grief again at the sight. "Sink with me."

She nodded, closed her eyes, and he whispered against her cheek, "Keep them open and on me. I'm here with you. You're not alone."

His silver eyes trapped hers. Her breath shook in her lungs, and she focused on descending, down into the vast cavern of her body, where the blue-white light of her fëa rested. It flickered, on and off like a dying bulb, weak and dim.

"Set it free," Thranduil said, and she did.

She cried out in pain and grief and exploded her fëa outward until it filled the clearing, chasing the night's shadows away and glittering across the Tithenduin. And then there was a change in the air, and Thranduil's brilliant golden light held hers, just as his body cradled her, the sun and the stars reunited once more.

She finally understood what Legolas had meant when he said her fëa felt like a hug; every bit of Thranduil's fëa embraced hers, protected it, strengthened it. There was a faint hint of something in it, before he shielded it away, always moving that vague feeling surging in his fëa before she could grasp it.

Her breathing evened, but her eyes were heavy. She sniffed, took a shuddering breath, and exhaled. "We're in the river," she said. She was surprised how hoarse her voice was, how wet and shaky the words sounded.

"Astute observation." His lips twitched.

"Why are we in the river?"

"You were concerned about ruining my tunic," he smiled softly. His thumb still rubbed soothing circles on her arm. "And it seemed the best solution to help center you when everything became too much."

She wiped her eyes and squeezed them shut, "You're wonderfully ridiculous."

"I can't decide if that's a step up from 'has potential.'"

"Thank you, Thranduil." Her heart hurt. She felt so drained, so empty. Her eyes followed the single remaining tear trailing down his cheek, and she slowly reached up, cupped his face, and smoothed it away. His glassy silver eyes locked on hers, and she swore he leaned into her palm, just for a moment, before he shifted his grip and carried her, shaking and chilled, from the river.

Berior made a soft cry behind her, and Thranduil huffed, "Of course, you can come. You're stubborn enough that I'd hardly be able to stop you anyway."

The elk let out a snort, and she could easily picture his smug expression in her mind though she couldn't see him trailing behind Thranduil.

Her eyes felt so heavy. It wouldn't hurt to close them against the burning sensation, just for a moment. Her head dropped against his shoulder. His words rumbled against her ear, the steady thumping of his heart in the background, "Rest. Release your burden. I will carry it tonight."

A final tear dropped from her lashes, filled with hope and gratefulness, and she let his swaying motion, his pine and vanilla scent, carry her into oblivion.

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AN: Thank you to everyone for the support. Your reviews/favorites/follows are cherished! I'm looking forward to your thoughts on this chapter and can't wait to share the next with you!