Charlotte woke with a pounding headache and squinted against the bright sun. Her stomach turned at the swaying motion of Berior's trot, and a firm body kept her from sliding off the elk's back to vomit.

She both felt and heard the rumbled, "Thank the Valar, you're awake."

"Coffee," she grumbled, gazing blearily at Thranduil. "Why doesn't Middle Earth have coffee?"

She winced at his laugh, and he said, "At least it appears your brain is still functional."

"Depends on who you ask."

Berior snorted as if to agree.

"Hush, you," she said, which only made Thranduil laugh harder. She sighed and let her heavy head fall back against his chest. It wasn't like she could hop off Berior anyway, and her head hurt. Might as well be comfy. "Alright. Since I'm getting used to waking up in strange places: where are we this time?"

"We're almost to Emyn Duir," Thranduil said.

That made her sit up. The trees spun for a moment before the forest settled, and Charlotte saw the grey mountain erupting above the treetops. The road wandered into its shadow, curling through the woods at the river's side.

Thranduil held her snugly to his body with his free arm, and when she peeked over his shoulder, she could see the line of cheerful elves stretching along the length of the river. The water seemed to glitter in the sunlight, and her fuzzy mind conjured the memory of Thranduil, clutching her in his arms as she broke.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. She stared at her calloused palms, running her fingertips over the raised bumps where the reins had shaped her skin. She glanced up and found him staring at her, his mouth open and a small pucker between his brows.

"What for?"

"Last night I…" She'd been such a fool. So many people had it much worse than she did, and she bawled and let herself fall to pieces, and poor Thranduil had been stuck dealing with it. Legolas was handling his separation from his mother much better, and he hadn't had as much time as she had with her mother. Nor as much warning. Plus, he was, essentially, mentally a young child, despite being twenty-two years old. She'd let that weakness take over when she needed to batten down the hatches and get focused.

Thranduil's lips pinched, measuring his words carefully. Just when he opened his mouth to speak, he glanced over his shoulder, and his eyes shuttered. "We'll have to discuss this later," he said.

She welcomed the reprieve, dreading hearing the potential disappointment from him, the "suck it up and move on," she felt she deserved for moping.

Legolas rode up beside Berior, and tentatively asked, "Are you feeling better, Charlotte?"

"Much," she forced a smile. "Your presence is the best medicine in the world."

Legolas puffed up, his two dimples proudly displayed. "I told Adar I could make you feel better." He turned to pink-cheeked Thranduil, "See? She would've felt better last night, and you could've slept in your bed instead of that grumpy chair."

"I stole your bed?" Now she felt even worse.

"It was freely given." Thranduil reassured her, before dipping his lips to her ear to whisper, "I believe I told you once before that you were welcome to it."

Her face flushed. Her body itched with heat. What did he mean by that?

His eyes were focused on her, searching, and she admired the silver, flecked with sky blue. His blond, pin-straight hair was held back by the imposing branching crown he'd worn in Imladris, and he was dressed in his dark silver tunic and leggings with the matching burgundy-lined cape draped dramatically over his shoulders until it waterfalled over Berior's rump. He looked just as regal and predatory as the first time she'd seen him wear the ensemble, weeks ago, standing at the top of the stairs in the open doors of Lord Elrond's estate.

She probably looked frightening in comparison.

But when she checked herself over, she wore a thick oversized tunic similar to her prized borrowed one, and her hair had been braided back at the temples in the usual style of the Greenwood elves. Thranduil supplied the answer before she could ask. "Meluieth took care of you this morning when you didn't wake. We would have waited, but it was best to get to the mountains because of the injured elves."

Another person to be indebted to. That was twice Meluieth had to fix her up while she was unconscious. Though she wasn't sure how she had overslept or remained sleeping while someone changed her clothes and styled her hair, she resolved to find a way to pay her friend back later. Maybe she'd "liberate" more sweet buns since Meluieth had expressed such adoration for them. It would be a start, at least.

It seemed the morning would be full of shame and guilt, not only for adding to Thranduil's already overwhelming list of responsibilities but leaving him to wrangle her unconscious body onto a horse, or an elk as it were, to get his injured people to safety. Not to mention, they were only wounded because of her.

Guilt. She silently wallowed in it, mentally giving herself five minutes for self-pity and shame, and then forced herself to get it together.

There was a soft trill in the canopy above, and then another, before the towering mountains ahead trumpeted in welcome. Through the trees, she could make out a tall arched doorway, teal blue with scrollwork etched on the surface. The beaten path climbed up the rise to the mountain, until it disappeared in the mouth of the high wooden fence made from pale tree trunks lashed together.

As the horses and Berior streamed through the opening, Charlotte tried to adopt Thranduil's regal mien and failed miserably. There was a crowd of elves in leather armor, neatly lined on each side of the open courtyard beyond the gate. Behind the guards, eager elves gathered to watch the procession, and she could tell when their eyes caught the Elvenking in the lead. Of course, he was difficult to miss considering he rode atop Berior, the only massive elk in the group.

Admiration rippled through the crowd with Thranduil's approach. Seeing their bright eyes and wide, natural smiles, it was clear that they adored their king. However, when they caught sight of her, slung sidewise in the king's lap, their brows furrowed, and smiles thinned. Charlotte attempted to straighten further. Would it be too noticeable to shimmy a leg over Berior, so she at least sat astride? She'd ridden the three weeks to Emyn Duir, and the moment that mattered most, she appeared as incapable as an elfling.

A quick glance at Legolas had her correcting that: she looked worse than an elfling. She really needed to rethink how she saw the abilities of elven children. Then again, there were human children whose riding skills far exceeded her early attempts. Not that any of her hands-on, bruising training mattered now. How was she supposed to prove to these elves that she could be useful? That she could, albeit temporarily, belong with them? Her arsenal of usefulness included: a sparkly necklace she didn't know how to use, a pretty fëa, and some rudimentary riding skills.

The armored elves seemed to close in on her. Would Beorn truly take her back if these elves decided they didn't want her? She tried to picture herself spending the rest of eternity tending to his garden and avoiding the massive bees until she could find a way back to Virginia. Maybe when she epically failed, whoever sent her to Middle Earth would pack her up post haste and ship her back just to be rid of her.

Thranduil shifted behind her, climbing off Berior with ease and grace she'd never be able to emulate. Falling in front of these people would be even worse. He looked confused when she ignored his offered hand and slid from her perch with wobbly legs. Dirt puffed around her boots as she landed, and she barely contained her sigh of relief.

The village was small, with clusters of wood houses and peaked roofs, and a single stone home with square utilitarian stairs leading up to a pair of matching carved doors, the only decorated structure besides the gate to the village. Everything was surprisingly simple, considering the artistry of both Imladris and Beorn's house.

There was a distinct lack of plant life in the village. It was overwhelmingly brown: soft powdery dirt, faded log houses, the air thick with dust because of the horses. Even Berior looked displeased with his surroundings, and Charlotte wondered if he'd leave for literally greener pastures.

The only spot of color came from the grey stone house and its teal doors, which groaned open to emit a sharp-featured blond ellon. The ellon raised his arms wide in welcome, and Charlotte was convinced that she had seen him before. She was able to mostly understand the string of elvish he greeted them with, thanks to the intense Sindarin lessons during the journey.

"My heart sings to see you returned home, my king!" The ellon stopped a few feet from Thranduil to deliver a short bow, and then he was off again, "It has been a long two months without you. When word reached us that your party had been waylaid by beasts in the forest, I expected you to be away even longer. It is a relief to have you among us again. I imagine you have much to tell of your journey. Galion will arrange for the rest of the party to be settled while we talk."

Thranduil offered an arm to Charlotte, which she took after a moment's hesitation. "See to it that a meal is ordered for the entire party," Thranduil said to the ellon. "Ellavorn, Charlotte, and Legolas will join us in the hall, and we can discuss while we eat."

"Of course, my lord." The ellon stopped, a single dark blond brow raised, "I mean no disrespect, but would it not be preferred for matters of state to be discussed only between us?" His eyes flickered briefly to Charlotte, before alighting on Legolas.

"It would not." Thranduil swept past him, as regal and aloof as when she'd first encountered him in Imladris.

The house was as plain on the inside as it was without, and Charlotte was surprised, given the extravagant designs of Thranduil's robes, how few possessions were in the building. The entrance hall, if the small square foyer could be called such, was barren. The aged wood planks creaked and groaned under their feet as they followed the hallway that drilled straight through the house, passing militant wooden doors lining each side, and she couldn't help but feel like the elves were out of place in such an environment.

When they reached the dining room, Charlotte had to pinch her lips to keep from smiling. She definitely could not picture her proud, elegant Elvenking at the long, scratched dining table, seated in one of a handful of mismatched chairs. An iron chandelier twirled, its candles freshly lit, and already she could see beads of wax blooming beneath the flames, trickling down the sides like pale tears.

Thranduil pulled out a high backed chair near the center of the table and patiently waited for her to realize that it was for her. Once she was settled, he took the seat to her right and called Legolas to sit at his other side.

The strange ellon narrowed his eyes at her proximity to the king, and she fought the urge to shift away. Ellavorn, bless him, distracted the ellon with an irreverent clap on the shoulder and his usual broad grin. "Come, Cúthon, I'm starved. I say we eat first and talk second." He dropped into the chair across from Charlotte with a wink. "Fresh meat has been limited since we entered the forest. With giant spiders hunting us and all."

Cúthon. She'd heard that name before, nearly a week ago in Thranduil's tent when the Marchwarden spoke of the three missing elves and the canceled search for them. This had to be one of Thranduil's advisors. And that thought put the final piece into place. The familiar blond hair and sharp face, the commanding tone, as if the ellon was used to being obeyed; this was Lothuial's adar.

She felt instant distaste, though she fought hard to restrain it. He could be the opposite of his daughter, and, so far, had done nothing to earn her dislike besides spawning the little she-devil.

Charlotte shook her head, trying to banish her thoughts, just as servants trickled in bearing steaming silver trays of roasted game, bowls of crisp, sweet bread, and tureens of crushed cranberries, skinny green beans, and a warm, spiced, pumpkin soup. Then came crystal glasses half-filled with red wine so dark it was nearly purple, followed by smaller glasses of cold water.

She gently nudged her wine back and sipped the water instead. She had a feeling she needed to be alert around Cúthon. He had a broad viper's smile that made her feel like a mouse in a cage.

"Sweet bread." Legolas's smile pushed his dimples into existence, his eyes concentrated on the overflowing bowl of rolls placed in front of him, and that was enough for everyone to chuckle, the tension evaporating as they dug in.

Charlotte was about to select a slice of the roasted game, when Ellavorn moaned around his bite and said, "Cook has outdone herself, this venison is delightful. Especially after weeks of rabbit."

Sweet Berior popped into her mind, his wide silver eyes judging her, and she dropped the serving fork, switching to soup instead and trying to ignore the twitch of Thranduil's lips. She'd eventually succumbed to eating rabbit on the journey. Deer would probably be next. There were thousands of years ahead of her to adjust to new things, after all, and that thought made the soup cold in her mouth.

"Tell me about the search for the missing elves," Thranduil said after everyone had cleared their plates. Legolas's eyes were drooping, and Charlotte worried he would smack his head on the table once he fell asleep. Even as she watched, he jerked his little head up, fighting to stay awake.

"There isn't much to tell," Cúthon said. He shot another quick glance at Charlotte. "It was called off when the border patrol couldn't find a trail."

Thranduil hummed and sipped his wine. "Ellavorn and I will be meeting with the Marchwardens tomorrow morning. The elves have been taken by spiders, descendants of Ungoliant. Because of Lady Charlotte and the border patrol, we were able to rescue Haedirn. Now that we know what we're hunting, we'll resume the search."

"You do not think they're still alive?"

"I'm thinking that we will not abandon our people without knowing. There is a nest somewhere in this forest that needs to be eradicated, lest they seize more of us. Lady Charlotte has already found one elf alive. There is still some small hope that the others can be recovered as well."

Cúthon's lips pinched. "My thanks, Lady, for your assistance in this matter."

"She will be staying with us for the foreseeable future," Thranduil continued. "I want her settled in the house, preferably near Legolas and myself."

The lord's eyes widened in understanding, and he nodded quickly. "I'm sure we can find suitable lodgings nearby for Legolas's tutor. In fact, Lothuial's maid has an extra bed in her home. I can arrange for Charlotte to be—"

"Lady Charlotte is not a tutor," Thranduil said. His fingers twirled the stem of his glass, slowly swirling the burgundy wine, throwing glimmers like bloodstains across the table. Should she tell him that, technically, she had been a tutor in her old life? She studied their cool, emotionless faces. The two ellon were locked in an invisible battle that clearly had very little to do with her, so she sat back to watch.

"If she's not a tutor, then—"

"She is a representative of the Valar, and she will be remaining within the house."

"I'm afraid we only have one available room, my king," Cúthon said. "And I assumed Prince Legolas would be taking it."

"The prince will stay with me," Thranduil said, and even he looked surprised by it.

"I will?" Legolas jerked up. There was a red imprint on his cheek where his fist had propped his sleepy head. "You want me to stay with you?"

Thranduil was quiet for a moment. He glanced at Charlotte, and she could hear the echo of his question from the morning outside of the cave: What if he hates me? She took a deep breath, watched his own lungs match it, and gave him a small smile. He will love you, she tried to say silently. Just reach out and let him.

Shoulders squared, he turned to Legolas and softly said, "Of course, ion nin. If you would like it, I would be greatly pleased to have you close."

Charlotte felt her eyes watering at the radiant smile Legolas bestowed on his adar and the matching one that brightened Thranduil's expression. She swore for a moment that she saw their fëar reach out to each other before their glow dimmed to their natural level once more.

Cúthol had soured. His mouth twisted, and he sighed as he rose from his chair. "It appears that's been settled then. I'll ensure Galion is made aware."

"Have him inform Meluieth as well, and send Maethor to meet me once he arrives."

"Maethor arrived this morning, Your Majesty."

"Excellent. He's here earlier than I expected. Galion can send him to me in the morning then." Thranduil said with a dismissive wave. Galion would apparently be very busy.

Once the advisor had vanished to see to his tasks, Ellavorn grumbled and speared a slice of venison. "I warned you not to leave him in charge," he said. "He's plotting something again."

"He's always plotting something," Thranduil rolled his eyes. "That doesn't mean he'll be successful. That aside, you know there was no choice. Who else would the people have followed?"

"Them following him is what worries me."

"For now, we need to focus on moving north," Thranduil said and finished off his wine glass. "I don't like that these spiders are hiding, moving undetected, through our forest. We leave as soon as the harvest is completed."

"So soon?" Ellavorn switched Charlotte's untouched wine with his empty glass. "Is it ready?"

"Charlotte and I will find out in two days. It gives the horses rest, and hopefully, Haedirn will be able to assume his duties by then. We'll need to find a temporary replacement for Maethor as the Northern Marchwarden. Legolas should come as well."

"To tomorrow's meeting or with you and Charlotte?"

Thranduil pinched his lips in thought before saying, "Both, however, I want you here keeping an eye on Cúthon. He's been left to his own schemes long enough."

Charlotte looked past Thranduil, surprised that Legolas hadn't jumped at the opportunity for another journey, only to find his head pillowed on his arms, his mouth slightly open and eyes glazed in sleep.

"I think," she whispered, a soft, amused smile forming, "the only place Legolas will be going is to bed." It had been an exhausting day for everyone, and they would all probably benefit from an early night.

"Ellavorn, would you see to it that the horses and Berior have been taken care of? Charlotte is correct. I need to move him to bed." Thranduil glanced uncertainly at Legolas before gently scooping the elfling into his arms. He froze when Legolas shifted, his eyes wide with panic until Legolas settled, still deep in sleep.

"I'll help you," Charlotte whispered. "Just lead the way."

She followed him into the hallway, opening a door midway down. The room inside held two narrow beds, and a crumbling chest of drawers with a candle balanced on top.

Thranduil slowly placed Legolas in the only bed with blankets, and then stood back to admire his efforts. She nearly chuckled, but instead said, "Would you like help taking off his boots?"

He took her gentle hint and nodded, and together they quietly attempted to unlace the elfling's leather boots, slipping them to the floor when they were successful, and then Thranduil hit his stride. Charlotte watched him loosen the braids in Legolas's hair, dragging his long fingers through the strands until the tight braids fell away. He tucked the blanket over his son, brushed the back of his hand, and they both tiptoed from the room.

Thranduil was silent as he led her into the room beside his, and shut the door with a soft thud behind them. Meluieth and Galion had worked quickly. One of the beds had already been made, and her pack sat on the opposite one. The furniture and layout were a carbon copy of Thranduil's room, and the sliver of pink sunset danced through the window panes and warmed the walls.

"I wasn't expecting closed windows here," she said, her voice still low.

"We could open them if you like?"

"I meant I wasn't expecting them to be sealed with glass panes. The ones in Imladris are open to the elements."

"Imladris rarely receives ill weather, and elves are more adaptable to heat and cold than men." He pulled her to sit on the bed beside him. "I've noticed that you do not have that same protection for some reason."

"No worries. That mysterious kind ellon who gave me his cloak has yet to reclaim it. I'll be warm enough tonight. The windows are just an added bonus."

Thranduil squeezed her hand, his eyes glittered with humor. "Do not get accustomed to them. This is merely a temporary home. We move north as soon as we're able to harvest enough rations for the winter."

"And will this new home have windows?'

"Like these?" He shook his head. The branching crown cast shadows on the walls, and she itched to take it off, to watch his silver hair sway loose about his face. "This is not an elven settlement. These homes were built long ago by a group of Northmen who abandoned them during the war. We stay here now because Amon Lanc was crumbling around us, and we were too few to repair it and defend it."

"So, where will you go now? Aside from the vague 'north?'"

"Years ago, I sent our elves to excavate and prepare a series of caverns found in the northeast near the Forest River. Their work is nearly completed, and we've been transporting our belongings and supplies up the Tithenduin in preparation for the final journey. We should be safer there. Even here, with the mountain at our back, it would be difficult to survive an outright attack, and something moves in the south. You've seen it. Darkness creeps under the boughs, searching, seeking. We felt it weighing on our fëa in Amon Lanc, though we could never determine from whence it came."

"Have you felt it in the song?"

He shook his head, "Not since that night with you."

That magical night where her soul had been free for once, soaring through the forest with his. She hadn't been able to fly through the song like that again. "Maybe, we can try again?"

Thranduil cocked his head, considering, before he said, "Perhaps another night. Something drained you last night, cast you into a slumber none of us could wake you from. Whatever magic your necklace wielded, it pulled its power from you."

"You didn't feel it?" This whole time, she'd sworn that the necklace had targeted him like it had soothed Legolas. If he hadn't felt it, then what activated the necklace? And what had she done?

"I only saw its light," he said, and, as if hearing her thoughts, he grasped her hand. "My feelings and actions were entirely my own."

She dared a glance at him, saw the softness in his eyes, the gentle smile she adored. "Thank you," she whispered, "for being there."

"Would you like to tell me about her?" His interest was so sincere.

She bit her lip, searching his eyes, and finally decided that if one person in all of Middle Earth knew about her mother, she'd want it to be him. "The night I was pulled here, the night I showed up in those fields outside of Imladris, she died. I had just come home from visiting her…"

The truth spilled out, all of it. The hours she'd spent working multiple jobs. Dropping out of college to take care of her mother. The fire that almost burned the house down and led to hiring Betsy and picking up an extra job. Her mother's slow, agonizing mental deterioration. How she had cried in her car in the driveway the first time her mother treated her like a stranger. Hours of hearing her mother ask for her absent sister. Friends who slowly vanished. The pain of learning that sometimes doctors can only make a "best guess." The first time she had to wash all the sheets in the night while her mother sobbed in the bath. She told him about sleeping for a year on Dora's couch, hearing the baby monitor's crackle while she tried to rest and praying her mother would wake her if she got up.

Pain spilled out of her mouth, tumbling over her tongue, and Thranduil patiently held her hand, and later, her, when the tears overwhelmed her. This time, she could breathe. The ache lessened with each word until it settled at a dull, distant throb behind her bones. Thranduil sat with his back against the wall, his long legs stretched until his bare feet dangled over the edge of the bed. They'd ditched their boots, and he'd pulled her up beside him with her head on his shoulder.

He offered no platitudes, no vague apologies. There were no attempts to fix her or tell her to "suck it up and move on." He simply held her and listened, every now and again asking a small question to clarify or rubbing her hand or shoulder.

"I feel lighter and heavier somehow," she murmured. Darkness had settled over the room, though neither of them moved to light the candle. It felt like a blanket, a cocoon sheltering this moment from the wild world she'd found herself in.

His thumb grazed her shoulder again. The branching crown sat beside him on the bed, and his hair fell over his chest. She longed to run her fingers through it to see if it was as silky as it looked. "I mentioned, when we talked about my adar, that my naneth's death left a wound on his fëa. When I looked at you that first night in Imladris, covered in dirt and in your shredded clothes, I could see it. In both your eyes and your fëa, that same agonizing wound."

"So that's why you've been so kind to me," she said.

"Partially."

She raised a brow at him, but he said no more. "Does that mean it's healed now?"

"Don't rush it. A wound like that takes time, and it never really heals all the way. It's like any severe injury your body suffers; the right circumstances will make it ache."

"I just don't want to forget her," she said. "I have nothing of my old life here. Even this necklace is from this world somehow, because mithril doesn't exist in my time. After a thousand years, will I even remember her face? Her voice? The way her laugh sounds?"

"You'll find our life span both a curse and a blessing. You'll form new bonds, and, if you're lucky, you'll find a bonded."

"How are you doing with that?"

"With Nemir?" He sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "I cannot lie and say that I miss her. When she left, I was filled largely with guilt at my own relief. Relief that I would no longer have to battle her for Legolas, that I would finally have a chance to strengthen my bond with him. Guilt came quickly after. How could I feel relieved when it caused him pain? I carried betrayal and hurt for so short a time I left them in Imladris. We were never in love, and I knew we would never bond. It finally set me free to find the bond I've waited millennia for."

"How do you know?" She asked, her eyes felt heavy, and his body was wonderfully warm. "How did you know you'd never bond?"

"You're half asleep as it is," he squeezed her hand. "Another time. It's late now, and we both need rest. I'll see you in the morning. Rest well."

He vanished so quickly, scooping up his boots and crown and ducking from her room, she hardly believed he'd been there at all.

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AN: Thank you so much for your reviews/follows/favorites! They're cherished! I look forward to hearing your thoughts!