A pounding ache had settled behind Charlotte's eyes, and she rubbed a hand against her brow as if to push the pain from her skull.

Meluieth shoved a wooden cup of water in front of her. "Drink," she said, her eyes worried and kind. "You won't be able to help anyone if you make yourself sick."

"I'm hardly doing anyone any good now," Charlotte sighed and took the cup. She held it in her shaking hands and stared into the depths, her mind racing over the same questions it had struggled with since they returned to the village hours before.

Meluieth had given all the affected and healed ellons a clean bill of health, and even Berior received an exam and declared cured by the horse master, Rocher. The same could not be said of the elves still in the healing house. Meluieth kept them on a rotated sedation schedule, and Charlotte tried to heal whichever unfortunate elf was conscious. Meluieth didn't have anything that could keep the elves fully asleep; at best, they stared vacantly, eyes glazed and wild; at worst, they had to be restrained. The benefit was Charlotte distracted them with her fëa, which meant they spent minimal time straining against their bonds and screaming.

"Get some rest," Meluieth laid a hand on her shoulder. "You can try again tomorrow if you would like to, but I'm ordering you to bed. You still need to pack as well."

Charlotte nodded and rolled her neck, which only made the tension worse. Thranduil had ordered the river off-limits to the elves and commanded the packing of the settlement. They were given two days to prepare for the journey north. Any longer and they ran the risk of running through their water reserves before they could refill their stock at the Forest River. Water had to be rationed in the meantime; Thranduil would take no risks. No elf was to approach or enter the Tithenduin.

She glanced out the window to where the smudged peach arc of sunlight faded over the treetops and corrected herself— one day left.

Seated on the bed before her, a confused ellon gazed dreamily at her light, and Meluieth used that advantage to press him into drinking a sedative. It took possession of him slowly, until his lids fluttered, once, twice, and tumbled over his dark irises.

Her stomach churned at the sight; it was unnatural. All elves slept with their eyes open, save for her, of course. Meluieth had jerked her awake the first morning of the journey, fearing that she'd strangely died in the night.

"Charlotte," Meluieth sighed, and forcibly tugged her up by her hands. She'd taken the untouched water from Charlotte's hands without her noticing, which was probably for the best since Charlotte didn't wish to use the healing house's rations. "Off to bed with you and stop by the kitchen on the way. See if Cook will relinquish food for you to eat. I haven't seen you eat anything since you arrived this afternoon, and I don't need another patient."

Figuring the best apology was obedience, Charlotte trudged to the stone house in the center of the village, Maethor and Haedirn trailing behind her. Her two guards had been especially attentive following their return to the settlement, but Charlotte was grateful for their presence. Few elves remained out, since most were packing for their departure, but the ones still in the dirt avenues of the settlement acted… odd around her.

An elleth spotted her walking between the wood houses, dragged her husband inside, and slammed the door. An ellon grooming his horse froze, the scratching sound of his brush suddenly silent. The worst were the two guards patrolling the border around the stone house, who narrowed their eyes until she passed beyond the teal doors. Maethor and Haedirn had likely been the only thing deterring the elves from approaching her. She tucked her shoulders in and hurried down the hallway to the kitchen, certain about the reason for the sudden severe unwelcomeness.

She was failing them. The elves had pinned their hopes on her, transported her to the safety of Emyn Duir, and she'd been utterly useless against rescuing them from whatever was poisoning their minds and fëar. She debated on skipping the kitchen, dreading more righteous condemnation from the elves, but a gentle nudge from Maethor kept her moving.

Dinner had already been served and cleared, so the dining room was mercifully empty. The dishes were washed and gleaming on the counters when she entered Idhrenes's domain, but a handful of elves were still wiping the work tables and packing supplies. Barrels and wooden crates lined her usual workstation and the surrounding floor, ready to be loaded into wagons for the journey. The door to the larder stood ajar, and the shelves were barren, not even a cobweb in sight.

She stood hesitantly on the threshold and nearly flew out like a coward when the elves paused their work. At least this time, they appeared uncertain rather than distrustful.

"Out," Idhrenes said, and at first, Charlotte was crushed, thinking the cook was talking to her. But Idhrenes shooed the elves out with a wave of her hand and said, "Report at the usual time in the morning for breakfast prep and afterward we'll finish the packing. Now, out, all of you."

In her usual no-nonsense manner, she swooped down on Charlotte and tugged her further into the kitchen. "Look at you," she tsked. "Between you and Thranduil, there's not a smidgen of self-preservation. Hopeless martyrs."

She shoved Charlotte into a stool and piled sliced red apple, wedges of cheese, and sweet bread onto a plate. "At least you were wise enough to eventually come," she continued. "Ellavorn had to chase Thranduil around with a plate." She tsked again. "You both are little good to us when you don't care for yourselves." This time a steaming mug with a faint herbal scent was clunked in front of her. "You think your friend, the healer, would've recognized you need a headache tonic." She sighed, the long-suffering sound of an elleth surrounded by perceived imbeciles.

It was the most aggressive affection she'd ever received.

"Eat," she commanded, and then gave Charlotte's guards the same treatment.

Only once the three of them were seated at the worn table did she return to polishing the workstations.

"Now," she swirled a linen rag in tight circles along the grain and glanced up at Charlotte. "How long are you going to torture yourself over this?"

Charlotte nearly dropped the slice of apple she'd been nibbling on. "Excuse me?"

"The crazy elves holed up in the healing house," Idhrenes said and switched to scrubbing another table. "You haven't healed them. You don't know how."

"I'll figure it out." She hoped.

"And if you can't?"

Her body tightened, and her stomach churned. She didn't want to think about that. If she wasn't able to help them, all of their efforts to get her to Emyn Duir had been for nothing. "I have to," she said, tossing the half-eaten apple wedge on her plate.

"Keep eating, or you'll waste it," Idhrenes dropped the rag with a wet thwack! "Wrong. You don't have to."

"But I—"

"But you what?" She scooped up the last of the apples and dropped them into a barrel. "Are you the healer?"

"No, but—"

"Have you been ordered by the king?"

"No—"

"The Valar, perhaps?" Idhrenes said. Charlotte didn't bother replying, knowing that the other elleth would likely interrupt anyway. Sure enough, the cook rolled her eyes and said, "Oh, I'm well aware of the supposed destiny they've thrust onto your back. It's much easier to leave the saving to someone else, after all. I've been watching them take advantage of Thranduil for years."

Her face softened, and she gave Charlotte's hand a quick pat. "It's not a lack of faith in you, dear. Just distaste for them. Thranduil didn't just go to Imladris for the wedding, you know."

"I assumed he was also there to pick up Legolas?"

Idhrenes shook her head, and Maethor and Haedirn suddenly looked livid, but it was Haedirn who explained, "Thranduil wasn't supposed to be escorting Prince Legolas from Imladris."

"What?" Charlotte's brows furrowed. "Then why…" Why was Nemir there? Did she know Thranduil was there? Was she just going to leave Legolas at the nearest elven settlement that wasn't hers?

"Nemir was invited to the wedding as Thranduil's betrothed," Haedirn said, "but she declined her invitation. Ellavorn was still fuming about the whole thing when we met him for the border report. Apparently, Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrían were quite surprised and displeased at Nemir's spontaneous arrival on their wedding day. And with a large party too. Such behavior, especially among our nobility, is unheard of. Nemir likely assumed if Legolas did not commit to attending, then Thranduil wouldn't leave the kingdom just to spend time with him."

"So, why did he?" Charlotte sipped her tea, letting the warmth seep through her body and ease the ache in her neck and head. She remembered Thranduil telling her of his desperate attempts to be with his son and knew, if Thranduil had been aware that Legolas would be in Imladris for the wedding, he would've turned his world upside down to be there as well.

Idhrenes tapped her finger twice on the wood. "One, so he could attend the wedding of a dear friend. I doubt Nemir knew Lord Elrond and Thranduil have always been close friends, nearly brothers with the way they sometimes squabble. The second reason was to beg for aid."

"Against this "darkness" in the Greenwood," Charlotte nodded knowingly. "But why didn't Lord Elrond send help, if they're as close as you say?"

"You arrived," Idhrenes said succinctly. At Charlotte's confused expression, she added, "I can only guess that he feared Galadriel and Celeborn would revoke their permission for the marriage if Elrond committed Imladris troops to aid the Greenwood. They would rather ensconce Lady Celebrían in Lórinand than leave her alone in Imladris and bound to an ellon at war. Should anything happen to him…"

"She would fade," Haedirn whispered.

Idhrenes nodded sadly, "They would be risking their only daughter's death. Luckily for Lord Elrond, you arrived: a Valar-sent savior for both the Greenwood and his impending nuptials. With their own Valar hero in residence, I'm hardly surprised he came up with such an idea. He'll no doubt show up eventually, now that the threat to his bond has been removed. He is a peace-loving ellon, always has been, and he will avoid confrontation for as long as possible."

"You've forgotten one thing," Charlotte set the mug on the worn wood, "I have healed elves from this already."

"You did," Idhrenes said, "but you miss my point. Your destiny is decided by your choices alone. Look at your friend, Meluieth. Her role was never to be a healer. She comes from a long line of woodworkers and servants. She runs the healing house primarily by herself since the actual healer is too drunk to tend to it most of the time."

She heard the words, and they made sense, but Charlotte struggled to shake the feeling of responsibility. Meluieth had said there was no known cure, except Charlotte's necklace. How could she shrug that off? And though Idhrenes, Maethor, and Haedirn seemed to think that curing the illness wasn't singularly on her shoulders, she clearly remembered the suspicion of the other elves, and even Meluieth appeared upset at Charlotte's inability to utilize the necklace. She could never quite figure out where Thranduil stood on anything. He was so warm one moment, and kingly and distant the next.

Idhrenes seemed to read her thoughts. She nudged the tea closer to Charlotte, a subtle hint to drink. "They'll all get over it. No elf should condemn you for what they cannot deliver themselves."

But they are anyway, Charlotte thought dismally.

Hours later, Charlotte lay in her small bed, staring at the cracked ceiling. Outside her door, the floorboards creaked each time Maethor shifted his weight. Haedirn had been relieved of duty hours before, and she was hoping that Maethor would leave his post soon as well. They hadn't been particularly clear about her guard schedule, and Haedirn had only let slip that they took breaks while she slept. That could mean the two split the night shift or took a break at the same time.

Finally, about halfway through the night, she heard the floorboard groan, and then Maethor's soft steps disappeared down the hallway. She counted to one hundred before throwing off the linen sheet and tiptoeing across the room.

When she cracked the door, the hall was empty. It let out a high-pitched creak as she slowly pulled it open, one hand on the knob and the other on the wood, before she shimmied out, and gently tugged it shut. Silence. No movement or rushing guards to indicate she'd been heard.

She wasn't brave enough to leave the house, though some fresh air in the moonlight, blissfully alone, would have been refreshing. Instead, she aimed her feet toward the kitchen. It would be a change of scenery from her small room, and she'd still be wonderfully alone.

The door to the kitchen didn't make a sound; she doubted Idhrenes would have allowed such a thing. The elleth was every bit a dragon guarding her hoard: shining pots, kettles, and knives and smooth, clean, wood surfaces. Squeaky doors would not be permitted in her domain.

Which is precisely how he snuck up on her.

"I warned Maethor you would attempt to slip their guard," Thranduil said.

She spun to find him leaning casually on the door jamb, dressed only in a loose tunic and leggings. Golden skin peeked out from the vee in his shirt, and he'd rolled the tunic sleeves almost to his elbows.

"Imagine my surprise when you did it during my watch," he continued. He pushed off the wall and walked past her into the shadowy kitchen, his bare feet silent against the wood floors.

Only the hearth fire burned, despite the late hour, and as he moved about the room, the flames both illuminated his skin and cast half in shadows.

Her brain finally registered his words. "Your watch?" She crossed her arms. She was angry when she had two guards, and now there were actually three.

"You didn't think I would assign guards during the day and leave you unprotected at night?" His back was to her, but she could hear him shuffling around Idhrenes's usual workstation.

She didn't bother telling him that, yes, that was exactly what she had foolishly hoped for. "Why you though?'

"I'm right next door and awake," his shirt bunched as he shrugged. "Until we've moved to the northern caverns, Maethor and Haedirn have been ordered to return home at night to rest. Otherwise, they'd be sleeping on the floor in front of your door, no doubt. Aha!" He turned, a look of glee on his face. In his hands, he held a small plate with a tart on it. When he placed it on the nearest table, she could see the neat spiral of thinly sliced apples tucked inside a golden crust.

"Idhrenes will probably murder you," Charlotte warned.

Thranduil grinned, "Intriguing."

"What?"

"That she allows you to use her name," he shrugged again and went back to Idhrenes's workstation. There was a clatter, and he sauntered to their table with two forks. "It is as I've suspected. You'll never be rid of her now." He said faux solemnly. "She even left a fork out for you."

"There are much worse things than being friends with the cook," Charlotte said. "Do you do this often? Pilfer the kitchen?"

"I'm the king; I can't pilfer my own kitchen," he said, before handing her a fork. She eyed it warily, not wanting to upset the elleth and lose her friendship and kitchen privileges. Thranduil rolled his eyes with a smile, "She makes them specifically for me. It's safe."

His warm fingers brushed against hers as she took the fork, and she nearly dropped it. To his credit, Thranduil didn't comment and focused on delicately carving a small triangular bite from the tart. She caught herself studying the muscles in his forearm clenching beneath his skin, and she jerked her eyes away.

"I owe you an apology," she said, finally carving a bite off for herself. The apples were sweet and had a warm spice to them she wasn't expecting. She nearly moaned at the taste. Middle Earth had been distinctly lacking in the sweet, processed sugar desserts she was used to at home. She nudged those thoughts aside. "The other day, when you assigned the guards, I might've— no, I was a bit harsh. Honestly, I'm just used to having autonomy, doing things for myself and by myself. Having babysitters constantly felt… degrading."

Thranduil pushed his bite around for a moment before he said, "I am the king, and my responsibility is to the safety of my people."

She sighed, feeling an ache in her heart she couldn't explain.

"But," Thranduil added, and she glanced up to find his silver eyes on her, "I probably should've explained why I was assigning guards to you."

Her fork poked at her next bite, though she didn't eat it. "And will you? Explain that is?"

"Some of it you know already," he shook his head, briefly chewing over his words. "My Adar was chosen by the Silvan elves to rule them, and the elves honored me when they continued the line and chose me to succeed him. Legolas will hopefully follow in my place."

"But there is a small faction displeased by our participation in the Last Alliance, believing it to have been a Noldor war where we were used as battle fodder." He ran a hand through his hair and his shoulders curved. "You've met Cúthon. He rallied the hardest against it and nearly succeeded at collapsing our army before it could march from Amon Lanc. Only the promise of equality, guaranteed by my betrothal and its terms, was enough to demolish his efforts."

"Why not punish him for going against orders?"

"Because Cúthon is royalty in his own right, of a sort. He is the oldest Silvan elf from the Greenwood, save for one other who has no interest in ruling or representing the people."

It was no wonder Lothuial considered herself a princess. She basically was one.

"Why keep him as an advisor then?" She asked.

"For the same reason: he is wise and cares greatly for our people. It is only that we differ in our approach and beliefs about what is best that keeps us from cordiality. As king, having an honest dissenting voice can be worth one thousand agreeing ones. It guarantees I consider multiple options and scenarios. I have other advisors, of course, but they tend to agree with me. It sounds arrogant, I know, but we are friends as well and therefore have similar views."

Half the tart lay abandoned, and the plate was pushed aside. Charlotte was tracing her index finger over a knot in the wood when Thranduil gently grasped her hand.

"Take tomorrow off from the healing house," he said, shifting the conversation away from guards and plotting elves. "If you're amenable to it, I'd like to take you into the forest."

Charlotte slipped her hand free with a defeated sigh. "I can't just gallivant around the forest when I'm, so far, the only thing able to bring these elves back to themselves. Meluieth is overrun. I need to keep trying."

"I admire that," he said, "but your way isn't working. Maybe it's time for a dissenting advisor."

"Are you offering to be my Cúthon?"

He shuddered, but grinned at her, biting his lower lip. Her eyes were locked on the movement, and a flush heated the tips of her ears. "Middle Earth does not need another Cúthon," he said. "I fear the Valar may rescind their oath should such a thing befall us."

She knew the Valar were the elven equivalent of gods, but her theological or historical knowledge was lacking in this world. "I get most of that joke," she settled on.

"The vow refers to the Valar's promise to avoid direct conflict with the occupants of Middle Earth."

"Wouldn't they want to help their people?"

"They have attempted to protect us since the first awakening of the elves thousands of years ago. There were at least two major wars they participated in, and they had great consequences. Mountains were leveled, seas rose and ate away at the land, cities were burned and swallowed, our people perished or fled these shores. Some of our people, the Noldor who had seen and lived in Valinor, were exiled due to their actions."

"So that's it then? They mess up, majorly, twice, and then abandon you all to your lot?" She crossed her arms and leaned back.

"No," Thranduil smirked, and she got the feeling he was amused by her ire. "They send emissaries. Elves like Lord Glorfindel, and a new representative, an elleth, I believe."

She narrowed her eyes, "Idhrenes said that Lord Elrond made that up to keep his Galadriel and Celeborn from stealing his bride back."

"Elrond is too good and pure to lie and put an innocent elleth at risk," Thranduil said, though it held all the affection of a sibling. "Galadriel wouldn't risk it either if it meant you would be ineffectual and Elrond would still be forced to march his troops to aid the Greenwood."

Any hope she'd felt at Idhrenes's assurances faded from her body, until Thranduil said, "I think, what Idhrenes might have been trying to tell you, if it's the same lecture I get every night, is that we may be pushed by others to a certain path, but that does not mean we must obey them. Every choice is our own to make."

"She gives you this lecture every night?"

Thranduil's smile was carefree and affectionate, "And she'll probably continue to do so every night until I 'see sense.' But enough of that. Tomorrow. Come with me."

He made it sound like both a request and an order. She chewed her lip and thought it over. "Okay, but no guards."

Thranduil leaned forward, grinning, a king invested in negotiations. "Both guards."

"Then, no."

"I doubt even I can keep them from tailing you at this point," he said.

"Try harder."

His laugh echoed through the kitchen, "Very well, Baraheth. Two guards, but they'll patrol at a distance."

"Don't condescend to me with cute nicknames," she humphed, but her lips pursed against a smile. "Fiery one," indeed. It seemed that would be the most Thranduil would concede, and all-in-all, it wasn't a bad option considering they would be out in the forest. She never wanted Thranduil's safety to rest solely on her unprepared shoulders again.

Still, she didn't wish to end the game between them. "How long will we be out?"

"Most of the morning and afternoon." His eyes narrowed in suspicion, and he leaned his arms on the wood between them. "Why?"

"I'm in charge of lunch then."

"I'm sure Idhrenes would be willing to supply whatever you request," he said, and Charlotte hid her own smirk and didn't correct his impression.

"Will Legolas be joining us?" She asked. Legolas would probably love another ride with Berior, and the elk had a soft spot for the elfling. Of course, so did she.

"Regrettably, he'll be training in the morning, and he has lessons with Golodhon in the afternoon."

She tried to hide her disappointment. It felt like she'd barely seen Legolas since arriving at Emyn Duir, and though she understood he had responsibilities as a prince, she still couldn't help the small twinge of pain at the absence of the elfling she'd grown to adore. Thranduil must've registered her upset anyway.

"He'll have more freedom once we're settled in the north. For now, I just want him to have some stability in his life." His sigh seemed to deflate his body. "I can't help but regret that his world is in upheaval right now. Not only did he lose his naneth, but his home as well. Now, all I've offered him is months of moving, of loss."

Charlotte's heart squeezed at the uncertainty in his face. She rested her hand on his arm. "You're about to offer him a permanent home, and a safe one, in these caverns of yours. He'll be alright in the end. I think that your schedule for him is a wonderful idea."

His lips twitched, "I doubt I'll ever adjust to your compassion."

"I think you give me too much credit. Maybe you just deserve it."

Thranduil twisted his mouth in a self-deprecating way, and rested his warm hand over hers, trapping it against his skin. "Allow me to escort you to your room?" he asked.

They cleaned the wood table, washed the forks, and Thranduil covered the half-eaten tart with a linen towel and smothered the smoldering fire. Moonlight bloomed through the kitchen, and he tangled her fingers in his before pulling her from the room.

At her door, he lifted her fingers to his lips, pressing a soft kiss between the knuckles of her index and middle finger. His mouth hovered for a moment, while her heart pounded against her ribs. "Rest well," he whispered, his breath dancing along her skin as heat flooded her body. He vanished into his room without another word, leaving her standing in the corridor with her eyes glazed and her fingers still floating midair.

As Charlotte slipped into her room and leaned against the back of her door, staring into the moonlight through her windows, she thought Thranduil was the most confusing ellon she'd ever encountered. One moment, he was distant, aloof, "the king," as she liked to call him in her mind. And then, he'd be sweet, attentive, and understanding, undoubtedly the best friend she'd ever had in her life. Which was real though? Both? Neither?

Sometimes, he made her feel like she might be considered a friend to him as well, and other times… other times, she was treated purely as an asset of the realm. Or maybe that was how he treated everyone he cared about. One thing was for sure, she couldn't keep bouncing back and forth and trying to guess, and she knew, somehow the truth of it resonating deep within her fëa, that if she asked him, he would be honest in his answer.

If only she felt brave enough to ask.

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AN: Much love to all of you! Thank you for inspiring me to continue writing!