Charlotte was dripping with sweat, her hands slick enough that she nearly dropped her dagger. Again.

Ellavorn had sent Meluieth to drag her from bed before sunup, and she'd been training with him on the worn field near the eastern fences since. She'd stayed up late into the night speaking with Thranduil, so she was hungry, sweaty, tired, and irritable. And she had a knife.

"Damnit, Ellavorn," she growled, as he leaped into the trees to avoid her strike. "Get your ass down here so I can stab you."

She heard his stupid, gleeful laugh overhead, and spun just in time to see him land behind her. He lunged, and she tried to jump out of the blade's path. But Ellavorn feinted, turning in time to seize her backward against his body with the blade at her neck.

"Again," he said and released her.

Berior lay just outside the makeshift training ring, watching her every move with a laser focus that had her thinking he too would start barking orders and critiques.

"Why are we doing this again?" She said as she took her stance across from him. Her feet shifted, trying to get a secure footing in the loose dirt.

"Because you're terrible at it?"

"Ha. Ha."

"Because you let yourself be cornered by a spider and forgot you had a weapon at your disposal." He nodded at the ornate dagger in her hand, the one Amroth had gifted to her after her first lesson weeks ago.

"Did you see that spider?" She said incredulously. "Nevermind. Of course, you did, but still! How on earth was I supposed to kill that thing with this?"

"And that is why we're training." He flipped his own blade, smug and victorious. "Now, defeat me."

"Fine," she huffed and dove at him once more. She hated how out of shape she was compared to him. Hated how her clothes stuck to her body with sweat, but he looked like he'd been out for a morning stroll. Secretly loved how freeing it was to learn to trust her body this way. Cherished the peace that came with the morning technique exercises that they did before this trial. It made her feel useful and strong, things stolen by the past two nights of emotional upheaval.

She kept her blade moving, kept her body away from his dagger, watching, waiting. Her opening was small, but it came, and she lunged for it, jamming the blade up through the gap under his arm, aiming for his side. He danced out of the way before it landed.

"Good. Do it again." Ellavorn had the same mischievous look he gave her right before he intentionally did something to piss her off. "Speed up. I'll let you have lunch if you can draw blood that's not yours."

A hit at the moment where she'd nicked her own arm somehow. She threw herself into it again, the clash of blades echoing through the dusty ring. The tiny opening he provided would come soon enough.

Just as she spotted it, he said, "Thranduil found you hours before you woke in that cave."

Her dagger went wide. Ellavorn kicked it from her hand, and she flung herself at it, scooping it up and rolling to her feet the way he'd drilled her a thousand times that morning.

"Your point?" She debated throwing it at him, but that seemed like an excellent way to lose her only weapon against him.

"You asked why we're training," he said innocently. "Someone managed to sneak up on you and remain unnoticed in your proximity for hours."

"Thranduil is hardly a threat to me," she said, even though she knew what he'd say next. She used it to her advantage.

"But you didn't know it was him. You didn't even notice— ah, sneaky, but not enough."

He jumped back from her attack, but she was ready. Following him, she knocked the blade from his hand and tackled him until she sat over his hips with her dagger at his throat.

"I could buck you off."

"Could you do it before I stabbed you?"

Eyes narrowed. "Probably not. Besides, your hands are already shaking. You're probably going to kill me on accident at this rate."

"Try not to kill one of my best guards," Thranduil said, and she nearly toppled off Ellavorn at the sound of his voice.

"He would deserve it for denying me sleep and breakfast," she joked.

Thranduil looked well-rested, despite being up just as early as her to attend a meeting with the Marchwardens. She'd seen a bleary Legolas trudging to the dining room as Meluieth ushered her out into the predawn grey mist to train with Ellavorn. Thranduil was dressed as the king again, with his crown and extravagant robes flung over his trade-mark split tunic and leggings. They matched the dark silver of his eyes perfectly. She forced herself to look away, to study the two ellon who flanked him.

Suddenly, the world tilted, and her back slammed into the dirt. This time Ellavorn sat on her.

"What did you forget?" His smile was infectious, and she laughed.

"Yes, I know."

"Good," he helped her up. "Stay focused, or the distraction could be the last thing you see. Now go find food and stretch to keep the soreness down. You're training tomorrow morning too before you head north."

She tucked her dagger into its sheath in her boot, and called to his retreating back, "Thank you!"

Food seemed to be further off yet since Thranduil spoke before she could stumble her way to the stone house in the old settlement.

"Charlotte," he bowed his head, a short quick movement. "This is Maethor," he indicated the elf to his left, and this nudged his head over, "and this is Haedirn. They'll be your personal guards during your stay with us."

Maethor gave her a quick militant nod and said nothing. Tight braids ran from his temples, the rest of his straw-colored hair loose about his broad shoulders. His jaw was squared, severe, as if he'd long ago forgotten how to smile.

Haedirn's bow was deeper, reverent, "My thanks to you, lady. I am told you are responsible for my continued existence." A single loose braid, decorated with a silver ring around the strands, swung free with the rest of his dark hair, framing his sharp face, highlighting his narrow nose, bright eyes, and plush mouth. He shifted as she studied him, and she could tell, looking at the eager way his lips smiled, a well-practiced come-hither twinkle in his eyes, that he was used to being ogled.

His companion gave a long-suffering sigh, and deadpanned, "I was almost free of him. I suppose, in time, I will forgive you, lady."

"Well, I'm pleased to meet you both," she said, her manners taking the lead. "I hope our trip will be uneventful, but I'd be delighted to get to know you while we travel."

Both guards looked at Thranduil in concern, and he fidgeted, shifting his weight. Whatever he was going to say, she knew she wasn't going to like it.

"Maethor and Haedirn will be assuming their duties immediately," he said.

"As in right now?"

He raised a brow, practically a challenge. His body was firm and unyielding, the full presence of a king. "Yes."

"Why do I need two guards while I'm in the village?"

"This village is not as safe as you imagine." He lowered his voice, "Do not forget you are an outsider here."

That stung more than she wanted to think about. She crossed her arms and widened her stance. Maethor and Haedirn shifted back.

"Does Legolas have two guards?" she asked, knowing that he did not.

"Legolas is different."

"How so?"

"Legolas is an ellon." He said as if it explained everything.

"That's incredibly sexist," she stepped closer. "The fact that I'm an elleth is insufficient reason to put me under constant guard."

"You misunderstand me," he matched her step. His body curved over hers, and anger and heat burned in his eyes. "Ellons start training from the moment they're able to stand and hold a weapon. Legolas has over a decade of training, far surpassing your few sessions with Amroth and Ellavorn."

"Am I a guest or a prisoner?"

"A guest," he snarled. "A guest under my protection, whose wellbeing I am responsible for."

She jerked back. She'd let herself forget again in the darkness of the nights where he'd held her like she meant something to him. She was an asset, a resource, nothing more than an elleth he was "responsible for."

"I need to bathe." She moved around him as if he were nothing more than a chair in her path. "Send your guards to watch for all I care."

Haedirn made a choking sound and banged on his chest with his fist. Thranduil looked apocalyptic, a vein throbbing in his forehead.

"Charlotte," he started, but she sped up, storming up the low hill toward the house.

"She's fiery," she heard Haedirn say.

"Follow her. Try not to get burned." Thranduil's deep soft voice rolled toward her. "I need to find Ellavorn."

Contrary to her sarcastic invitation, both guards remained posted outside of the bathing room while she soaked the sweat and regret off. Had she been too hard on Thranduil? She'd lashed out when he implied that they weren't as close as she'd thought. Friends. She thought they were friends. Her traitorous mind whispered something else: more. She ignored it.

It wasn't fair for her to be angry with him for lack of feelings. Loyalty, which he felt so strongly for his people, was admirable. His complete lack of regard for her feelings about being shadowed by guards… she could be angry about that.

Her fingers pruned while she thought it over. Was there really a threat to her within the fence? In the house? She could hear the quiet murmurs of Maethor and Haedirn in the hall. Either they agreed that there was a risk or they were just following orders. It could be both.

She couldn't shake the feeling that Thranduil's belief in her vulnerability came from the night in the river. The moment she let herself break. Had it warped his view of her? She tried to tell herself she didn't care, but somewhere in the past month, she'd started concerning herself over what he thought of her. And not just him, but his people.

She'd never belonged anywhere before. Not really. Especially not during the decade of her early adulthood, a time that was supposed to be devoted to setting out on her own and figuring out who she was, who she chose to be, without boundaries dictating her.

You have that chance now, her mind whispered. She could leave for Amroth's domain today if she chose. Or brave the month-long trek all the way back to Celebrían. Or return to Beorn. Her hands splashed the water as if swatting the ideas away. She'd never make it alive. Not with spiders and orcs and who-knew-what-else chasing after her for some power she didn't know how to use.

That seemed like the path to follow for now. She'd focus on figuring out her necklace and decide where she wanted to go from there. In the meantime, she would discover her place among the elves. Whatever she had thought existed between her and Thranduil could wait. Her mother died a month ago, and Charlotte had shifted into a new world with strangers. This wasn't the time for more life decisions.

She sighed, stepping out of the tepid water, hoping to leave behind the thoughts she didn't want to hear: she had at least wanted to try to have something more with him.

Dried and armored in one of Celebrían's borrowed gowns, a gauzy forest green dress with beads climbing the skirt like vines, she swept into the dining room, chin high, guards on each side of her. She was grateful that she'd taken such care with her appearance when she spotted Lothuial seated beside Thranduil, both so immersed in conversation that they didn't glance up when she took a seat opposite.

Ignoring Thranduil was proving to be challenging already. She found herself eager to talk to him in the way they had been. She wanted to share her training with Ellavorn with him, ask him about the Marchwarden's meeting, apologize for getting short with him. She hoped he'd be willing to discuss reducing her guard detail. She was used to taking care of herself. Steeling herself, she turned to Ellavorn, whose mouth was twisted in disgust at the pair, and asked, "Could you please pass the sweet bread?"

Thranduil glanced up briefly then, his dull eyes taking in first her and then the guards stationed against the walls, and resumed his conversation.

Mentally, she tried to shrug it off. If he didn't want to be civil, it was fine with her. Ellavorn nudged her and said, "You look like an elleth for once."

"Flattering, Ellavorn. Real smooth."

"Before I forget," he reached into his tunic and pulled out two rolls of parchment. "These came by messenger bird for you."

Who would be sending her mail? She cracked open the amber blob of wax on the first, and slowly unrolled it, feeling a surprised smile steal over her face.

Sketched in perfect detail, fine lines and deep shadows bringing it to life, was a thick bumblebee atop a rose. His furry body and translucent wings leaped off the page at her, and though it wasn't signed, she knew exactly who had sent it. She ran a finger down the bee's fuzzy legs and resolved to write Beorn back as soon as possible.

The second roll was sealed with deep blue wax, imprinted with two trees tangled at the branches and roots, a single star in the center: the seal of Imladris.

Celebrían's letter was much more verbose than Beorn's. Her neat, looping handwriting filled the page, blessedly in Common Tongue. Charlotte knew she would have to add Tengwar to her list of things to learn.

My dear new friend,

I hope this finds you well and safely ensconced in Eryn Galen. I find myself already missing your presence, and that of our family, here in Imladris. Elrond has agreed to arrange a visit to Eryn Galen after the spring thaw, and I hope to continue the journey south to Lórinand after. I would be exceedingly pleased should you decide to join us. My husband— oh, it is such a delight to finally write that! He will send a letter to Thranduil directly to plan the journey and issue the request. I genuinely don't know why they both bother with such formalities after millennia together as friends, but if protocol is the price we must pay to be within each other's company once more, then I shall gladly bow to it.

On a more troublesome note, Glorfindel has seen fewer orc patrols on the eastern plains. Skirmishes have occurred in the Misty Mountains, but the orcs vanished before we could hunt them all down. If they have a nest there, we've yet to discover it.

I pray to the Valar that you are well. Something is chasing you, my friend. Whatever task you have been assigned, someone does not want you to succeed. I feel it, even from here. How I wished I possessed my mother's mirror!

Promise me that you will be safe. Trust yourself, and though I know you do not wish to yet, trust Thranduil. He is fierce in the protection of his people, to which you are now one. I hope to find you well and at home in his domain when I visit.

My heart will weep until we meet again.

She'd signed her name with a flourish.

"Where could I get some parchment?" She asked Ellavorn.

He pulled his eyes from Thranduil and Lothuial. "I'll have some sent to your room today. Meluieth could show you how to use the messenger birds. She loves the ratty things, and they love her. Just let her do the attaching. They're eager to bite."

She glanced down and, sure enough, his hand was littered with thin red slashes. "I was hoping to visit her later anyway. Completely unrelated question, but which one of those doors leads to the kitchen?"

He pointed to the farthest door on the right, and before he could ask why, she was on her feet. The soft steps behind her reminded her of her two shadows, and she clutched her letters a little tighter, like talismans against another surge of pique.

The kitchen was surprisingly cool when she entered. Windows had been thrown open to allow the breeze to whip through the room, and a handful of elves flitted from one table to another, preparing to serve dinner in a few hours. It was synchronized chaos, a well-practiced dance of flames and knives and brightly colored vegetables. At the center of this culinary ballet was a short elleth, her hair braided like a coronet, elbow-deep in a puffy dough.

"Can I help you, my lady?" She said when she spotted Charlotte standing on the threshold of her domain. She wiped her hands with a linen towel and eyed her warily.

Maybe she shouldn't have come here. But she really wanted to do something to thank Meluieth. "I was hoping I might be able to exchange some work for a few sweet buns?"

The elleth dropped her towel on the table and crossed her arms. Her eyes took in Charlotte's fancy dress and hair. "You want to work? In exchange for sweet buns?" She said slowly.

"Please," Charlotte said. "I can wash the dishes or help wherever you send me." She didn't want to steal the sweet buns, especially after everything these elves had done for her. And she definitely didn't want to sit around all day with nothing but her thoughts when she could be useful.

The cook was still sizing her up, her ageless eyes flickering to the two guards shifting behind her. "Very well, my lady. You can start by cleaning the seeds from those pumpkins over there."

Clearly, it was a test to see if she'd balk at the slimy innards with her dress. Poor elleth didn't know her family used to carve them for fun for Halloween every year.

Charlotte took her place at the table groaning under the weight of the bulbous orange vegetables and eagerly set to work.

"The king is not going to like this," she heard Haedirn say to Maethor. She sniffed. Thranduil was not her keeper.

Maethor apparently agreed. His rough voice said, "I don't think he'll have a choice."

Charlotte smiled with victory as she popped the top of the pumpkin off and scraped out the gunk and the seeds. She separated the seeds out and carefully rinsed the strands of pumpkin from them and set them aside.

From the corner of her eye, she saw the elleth's lips twitch in delight and surprise before she turned back to her bread. Charlotte let herself get lost in the rhythm of cleaning pumpkins and not once thought of a certain blond-haired commanding Elvenking.

Two hours later, Charlotte stood back to admire the rows of gutted pumpkins and her neat pile of glossy white seeds. She'd have to see if Legolas wanted to learn how to carve jack-o'-lanterns next year. Her brow furrowed. Would she still be here next year?

The cook came around to inspect her work and was delighted and confused. "You've tossed out the innards well enough, but why did you keep the seeds?"

"They're delicious roasted. Or raw. You could plant them, of course. Seemed a waste to throw them away," she shrugged as if she didn't care what happened to the seeds she'd painstakingly pulled out.

"Hmph." Cook seemed to be tossing around ideas before she said, "Well, you've certainly earned your sweet rolls. Come over here, and we'll pack you some of the warm ones."

"She'll be so excited. Thank you for letting me do this." Her feet ached, and she smelled like pumpkin, but it would be worth it.

"These aren't for you?" The elleth asked. She plucked a woven basket and stretched a linen towel across its bottom.

"They're for a... friend." Meluieth was a friend, right? Not just a maid who stuck around because she had to?

"These wouldn't be for Meluieth, would they?"

Too late, Charlotte remembered that Meluieth and the cook weren't on good terms at present, and she wondered if the elleth would rescind the bargain for sweet rolls.

"I just want a chance to thank her for everything she's done for me. Please. She loves these."

The cook humphed and narrowed her eyes. "You want to thank her? For doing her job?"

What was with all the reminders today that she was just another responsibility to these people? First Thranduil, and now this elleth was implying the same about Meluieth. She felt her shoulders sag, and settled on saying, "Just because it's her job, doesn't mean I can't show my appreciation for her work."

"Indeed," she said, though there was something warm to her tone. She started filling the basket again. "After all that work, you want nothing for yourself? You're not at all what I was expecting if you don't mind me staying so, my lady."

Charlotte was sure this elleth would've said it whether she minded or not. "I'm covered up to my elbows in pumpkin guts. I think it's safe for you to call me Charlotte."

The cook nodded thoughtfully. "I am Idhrenes."

"Thank you, Idhrenes, for the sweet rolls." Charlotte turned to her two guards waiting for her by the door.

"You are welcome in my kitchen anytime, Charlotte Annuiel," Idhrenes said, and it sounded as much like a proclamation as any of Thranduil's orders.

Meluieth screamed with glee when Charlotte gave her the basket of rolls.

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Clarification: The sweet bread Legolas is in love with is literally just bread that is sweet. :) Not to be confused with sweetbread, a dish of cooked thymus or pancreas from a calf or lamb.

AN: Posting early because today has been rough, and hopefully a new chapter brightens someone's day. Thank you all for the lovely reviews and feedback! Seriously, from your guesses, to the moments you loved, to the ways you've connected to this story: I love reading all of them. Thank you for being on this journey with both these characters and myself!