There was shouting all around her, and Charlotte sprung up from her bedroll just as a body toppled over her spot. She couldn't have been asleep for more than a few minutes since the fire that illuminated the camp was still steadily burning. The elf on her bedroll moaned and rolled over; it was one of the crazed elves she'd been unable to heal or put to sleep.

Two guards ran over and scooped him up under the armpits to drag him back to Meluieth's area. It was the third night in a row that the same elf had tried to run out of camp when his sedative wore off, and he woke confused.

They'd been on the journey north for four days, traveling adjacent to the Tithenduin, before turning east at the forest bridge. The party had been tense and waspish each night they set up camp beside the glittering, enchanted river, especially after Cúthon almost fell in one night. She was relieved they had passed beyond it. Now, the entire settlement of elves was camped between the bridge and the caverns, though Maethor had said they would come upon the finished sections of the new elven path by midmorning and then the caverns by nightfall.

"Are you well?" Maethor asked. He and Haedirn had taken to sleeping on each side of her when she finally tumbled onto her bedroll. Though they wouldn't admit it, she knew they stayed awake until after she fell asleep, and she stayed awake for as long as possible to keep her fëa burning for the sick elves. It worked better than any of Meluieth's tranquilizers at maintaining peace among the hoard of enchanted elves.

"I'm fine," she nodded, rubbing a hand across her tired eyes. "Let's see if Meluieth needs help."

"Maybe you should rest longer," Maethor suggested gently, his eyes full of concern.

"I'll rest when they're better," she said and picked her way through the camp to the section reserved for ten cursed elves.

Moments later, she heard it, a whisper with her new epesse. "Rhudoleth," the guard who'd tackled the runaway muttered to his fellow. She'd heard the nickname frequently over the past few days.

Charlotte tucked her head down and grabbed Maethor's wrist as his hand reached for a dagger. "Please, don't," she quietly begged. She knew what Rhudoleth meant, not only from her Sindarin lessons but also because it was Lothuial's favorite insult. Unwelcome elleth. Charlotte felt herself collapse inward. How quickly these people had turned on her. One moment, she was a possible savior, the next: an interloper. And she deserved it.

The worst part wasn't their disdain, but Meluieth's. Thranduil had told Meluieth, Ellavorn, and Charlotte's guards about the enchantment on the river. While a part of her wished the knowledge of her loss hadn't been shared, she knew that Meluieth needed to know the specifics so she could better treat the elves, though the healer wasn't having any further luck in developing a cure or treatment. Thranduil had sent a missive to Lord Elrond before they left the settlement, requesting aid, but it would be at least a week before they would hear anything back.

The healer grew continually shorter with Charlotte as they journeyed, and, at one point, Charlotte swore the elleth heard another elf call her Rhudoleth and said nothing. Charlotte stayed to help regardless, spending the ride dazed and attempting to heal her curse, though she came no closer to healing the elves.

Maethor and Haedirn were her only regular companions. She'd distanced herself from Thranduil by her self-imposed placement in the rear with the healing wagon, and she was avoiding Legolas as well. The elfling had been through enough already; he didn't need to be immersed in the negative attention she was getting.

When Charlotte arrived at the healing wagon, Meluieth was preparing herbs for the runaway elf, angrily crushing pungent stems and blossoms beneath her stone pestle. "Just go back to sleep," the elleth said without looking at Charlotte.

Charlotte froze and felt Maethor and Haedirn tense behind her. "I can still use my light to keep them calm," she said softly.

"No, thank you."

"But—"

Meluieth's shoulders tightened though she didn't turn around. "I do not want nor need your meager assistance," Meluieth muttered, her elbow pulling up as she ground the herbs to a pulp.

Days of disdain from the elves and little sleep had worn her down, and Meluieth's biting tone ripped away what little strength remained. "I'm sorry…" she started.

Meluieth's pestle slammed on the wagon bed. "You're sorry?" she hissed. Her hands ran through her frazzled hair. She spun, glaring at Charlotte and said in a low voice, "You should be. You were supposed to help us, and now you've poisoned the river, and you can't even fix it. Figure out your damn necklace instead of moping around here with all your useless guilt."

"Meluieth, I—"

"Do not make me ask again," her teeth clenched. "Leave."

It was Maethor's warm hand on her arm that tugged her away, just as the tears surged over her lashes. She stumbled away from the elleth, blindly wandering into the forest, trying to put as much distance between her and the miserable camp.

Far beyond the hearing of the elves, she dropped to her knees, squeezing her body as if to hold it together. She didn't trust her tears, not now, not again. She'd known better than to let herself fall apart, and she'd stupidly done it anyway, and now she'd cursed innocent people and lost a friend. Maybe Meluieth had never been her friend.

Charlotte tried to put the cage back together in her mind, but then there were arms around her, a strong scent of leather enveloping her as Maethor cradled her against his frame. "She's wrong," he said, squeezing her tighter. "This isn't your fault."

"It is," Charlotte whispered. "If I hadn't— If I didn't—" She couldn't get the words out over the tightness in her throat. Tears fought their way down her cheeks, and more slipped out from anger. She used to control this, contain it, and somewhere in Middle Earth, she'd lost that ability.

Maethor held her while she silently cried, biting down on her lip to contain the worst of it. Haedirn resolutely stood watch, one hand resting on his dagger. When she was too exhausted to deal with anymore, Maethor tugged her to her feet and gently directed her back to camp and her bedroll with a firm hand on her back.

As she settled on her side, her body curled into itself, she sought Maethor's calm eyes. "Rest," he said, his voice husky. "We'll keep guard."

"I'd be happier if you slept too," she whispered. Her eyes were burning. Her lip chewed raw until it cracked and bled.

"I'll pretend," he smiled, soft and reassuring, "just for you."

Charlotte found herself reaching out to clasp his hand, desperate for connection. "Thank you," she whispered and let her swollen eyes close. Maethor kept her hand safely ensconced in his for the remainder of the night.

The following day was miserable. She mostly ignored the worried glances her guards exchanged over her head as she rode three horse lengths behind the healing wagon. Despite the gaping distance, her light still worked, and the glazed-eyed enchanted elves tracked her fëa eagerly.

Elven flashlight. Glorified glow-stick. That's what she was. All she was. She hardly looked like a Valar-heroine. She'd been riding in the back of the party for days, trudging through the clouds of dust kicked up by the wagons and horses, and she hadn't slept much since Thranduil had figured out that she'd cursed the river and they rushed back to the settlement, abandoning their lunch and training.

She tried again and again on the ride, begging her necklace to activate, but whatever power it possessed, she had no access to it. She was so focused on the stone that she didn't notice groups of elves peeling away from the party.

"Look," Haedirn said, drawing her attention to the trees ahead.

High in the branches, on spacious round platforms wrapped around the tree trunks, were beautiful wood houses with domed roofs and arched windows. Wide walkways without railings connected the platforms, and near the bases of the broad beeches were similar cottages made of stone and decorated with the chiseled vines and arched windows popular in elven architecture.

"How do they get up there?" Charlotte wondered aloud.

Maethor pointed to a tree further back, "See there? Around the trunk?"

Stairs whirled around one of the center trees, high up to an open platform that branched off to connect the various houses.

"They are called telain. Or a talan, if you're only referring to one," Maethor explained, pointing to the thick wood platforms around the trunks. "They're common in Lórinand as well, since they're predominantly a Silvan population, and the Noldor and Sindarin elves have adopted the same style in that realm."

She tried to picture Amroth living in a treehouse and failed, and then she remembered sweet Celebrían would have lived in one of these talan houses as well. She wondered which style the elleth preferred: the breezy, open talan in the woods or the stone manor in the mountains. When Charlotte finally got to write the elleth a letter, she would ask her.

The traveling party dwindled, elves detaching from the leading group to move into the cottages and telain. Three elves directed the crowd to their homes, and lines began to form of ellyn and ellith, their belongings strapped to their horses and bodies. According to Thranduil, most of their possessions had been sent upriver before the Tithenduin had been enchanted, and from the looks of things, those belongings had already been delivered to their owner's homes.

Soon, only the royal family, the guards, and the various palace staff remained. Of course, Meluieth and her charges and Charlotte and her guards made up the party's rear.

As they passed beyond the telain and cottages, the ground climbed upward, the angle slowly revealing five curved double doors embedded into the side of the mountain. Thick rounded columns, carved to resemble trees with interlocked roots and branches, supported a great half-dome chiseled from the mountain's overhang, and the Forest River churned far below the caverns. Only a stone bridge with no parapet connected the forest to the mountain.

Thranduil and Legolas led the party across the bridge to the teal doorway, the hooves of their horses clacking against the stone. Then came the guards and Meluieth's wagon, which fit perfectly between the edges. Charlotte didn't want to think about how terrible things could have gone if it were slightly too far to one side at any point.

Berior was the last to cross, and though he didn't hesitate, Charlotte still didn't like the feeling of being suspended above a rushing river with no walls to stop her from falling. Thankfully, Maethor sensed this and kept as close to her as Berior's enormous antlers permitted.

The sick elves were unloaded by guards and carried into the caverns first, and Meluieth disappeared with them. As Charlotte watched the elleth ordering guards and organizing patients, she wondered if she'd see the healer again after this, or if their relationship, whatever it had been, had ended with Charlotte's possible usefulness.

The thought made her body feel cold and tired, and she held back as the elves trickled into the caverns, leaving their horses behind to be escorted up a side entrance.

Maethor was very aware of her flickering emotions. He nudged her gently with his elbow, and his gravelly voice said, "Would you like for us to show you the stables?"

She nodded, grateful for a chance to delay facing more of Eryn Galen's citizens. Maethor and Haedirn directed her to the left of the entrance, where two of the turquoise doors swung out to expose a tunnel through the mountain, blessedly wide enough for Berior's antlers.

Berior didn't need coaxing. He entered the dim passageway, lit only by sconces dangling from the vaulted ceiling on long chains. The clopping sounds of the horses and Berior echoed off the rough walls of the mountain, and the tunnel sloped upward until a tiny pinprick of light appeared. At first, it was so small, she blinked, and it vanished into the darkness, but as they climbed, it grew until it was a gaping hole in the mountainside that let out into a grassy bowl.

The mountain curved in reaching spires around the field, protecting it from outside viewers, and Charlotte felt like she was sitting at the bottom of a birdcage. On the far side, doors wide enough for two horses had been cut from the mountain, and the elven steeds were led inside.

The stable consisted of a single corridor with stalls on either side. Columns, carved like those at the cavern's entrance, marched in twos to the rear of the stable, and Maethor led her halfway down the row before he stopped them in front of a Berior-sized stall.

It looked like it had been two stalls at one point, but someone had removed the dividing wood and switched the single-door gate to a double. Fresh straw was already spread across the floor, and Thranduil's horse, Belegroch, happily munched on oats in the adjacent enclosure. Berior looked disgruntled about his accommodations but allowed them to lead him into his new housing with quiet dignity.

"I promise you," Charlotte told him as she brushed out his thinning coat, "I will visit as often as I can. I'll take you out into the forest every day if I'm able."

Berior pressed his forehead against hers and huffed a breath across her face. She worried he'd grow weaker trapped in the mountain. Already, he seemed smaller somehow. Maybe she owed him a change of scenery.

"I need to fix my mess," she said, "and then we can go wherever we want."

She wasn't sure how to take his answering head shake.

Charlotte spent the hours afterward with Maethor and Haedirn, who were both happy to give her a tour of the caverns. Her guards walked her back to the front of the cavern, with Haedirn insisting, "You need to see it for the first time from the main entrance, not some dark hidden stairwell."

Charlotte was thankful for his intervention when she walked into the caverns. The main teal doors opened into a circular entrance chamber with towering ceilings supported by the same chiseled columns. Corridors, lit with rounded sconces like glowing bubbles, branched off on each side, but Maethor and Haedirn led her under the elaborate archway across from the entrance.

Her breath left in a whoosh. She stood on the edge of an enormous cavern, with walkways carved like roots twisting through the vast space. Stalactites descended from the dark ceilings high above her, and in the upper walkways, there were arched openings where palace elves fluttered between the columns, utterly unconcerned by the lack of railings and the awaiting plunge to the bottom.

Maethor held an arm out for her, and she gladly took it, allowing him to escort her carefully across the winding path to the rock island in the center of the cavern. As she got closer, she could make out a set of stone stairs leading up to a broad platform: Thranduil's throne. She was expecting something more ornate than the high-backed, smooth, wooden chair in the center, though the back had been carved with the interlocking trees. A smaller identical throne sat on its left, and Charlotte chuckled as she pictured sweet Legolas perched atop it.

"I've hardly seen anything, and already I'm in love," she said honestly. "I never imagined a cave would be so warm and spacious."

"The elves will be pleased you like their work," Haedirn said, stepping beside her. Somehow Charlotte doubted the elves would be pleased by anything she thought unless she thought to leave.

That caught her for a moment, and she pretended to study the cavern to hide the whirling in her brain. Should she go? She was obviously unwelcome. Her body tensed at the word. Rhudoleth. It echoed in her mind. Rhudoleth. Unwelcome. Meluieth's harsh words joined the fray. Maybe it was time to take Beorn or Amroth up on their offer. As beautiful as this place was, it became clearer each day that she would continually be forced to prove she belonged.

She wrapped her arms around herself tightly. She was tired of fighting for space in the world. Sick of being forced to pay rent for existing, with her wellbeing as currency. Her spine hardened. Berior didn't seem to like it here anyway. Her feet turned to carry her back to her elk. Her few belongings were already in her pack, slung over her shoulders, and she was sure they could be halfway to the forest bridge by nightfall if they left soon and rode hard.

With shame, she tossed the thought aside. She would not leave the elves until she had healed her curse. Once that was done, she could disappear, quiet as a whisper, just as they wished.

Legolas and Thranduil popped into her mind. She wasn't sure how they fit into everything. Legolas wanted her, of course, but Legolas was kindness incarnate. Now she understood what Thranduil had meant when he said he wanted Legolas to like him versus "not hate" him.

Maethor rested a hand on her shoulder and said, "It's been a long journey. Would you prefer to save the rest for another day? We can show you to your chambers?"

Charlotte shot him a grateful smile and nodded. Her body felt empty, and sleep sounded like a great idea. She didn't want to be awake at the moment.

Haedirn stopped her from turning to the entrance with a hand at her elbow. "There's a hidden stairwell behind the throne," he said, guiding her behind the towering pedestal to where an arched opening was tucked in the jutting cavern wall.

The stairs curled upward, and Charlotte counted the rotations to keep her other thoughts at bay. Maethor and Haedirn were respectful of her quiet mood, and without their usual lively conversation, they were silent as they tiptoed up the stairs. She'd feel better after some rest, and then she could go back to figuring out the cursed necklace she'd been gifted. Mother, what did you give me?

Her day got worse when she reached the top of the stairs and stepped from behind a tapestry depicting a golden-haired, elven warrior battling an enormous dragon. The ellon's sword rose high above his head, pointed toward the heart of the raging beast. The dragon's spiked head tilted back, its maw filled with scorching flames, and Charlotte was sure that the ellon was about to be crisped. She wished the dragon would spring to life and eat Lothuial, who was slowly making her way down the corridor, her head close to Eithoril's as she angrily whispered. It sounded like a snake hissing.

The ellith hadn't noticed her yet, since their backs were to her, and Charlotte hoped it would stay that way. Her eyes pretended to study the tapestry, praying they didn't look over their shoulders, and Maethor and Haedirn held perfectly still beside her, determined to shield her presence.

"The gown must be done by next week," Lothuial hissed to her lady's maid. "Tell the seamstress that I want a final fitting before the wedding, and see if you can get an update on the flowers I requested from Lórinand. My wedding will be greater than even Lady Celebrían's. Not that it would be difficult; she's a bit simple, you know. Although, she did manage to snare a Noldor lord, so maybe she's more ambitious than she first appears."

Eithoril hummed and nodded dutifully. Charlotte debated slinking into the passageway again but decided that the three of them shifting under the tapestry would definitely gain attention and alert the ellith to the hidden stairwell.

"Just consider," Lothuial sniffed, "how quickly she latched on to that horrible, uncouth mortal. The daughter of the Lady Galadriel with that wretched little imposter. That creature will be meeting her end so enough. Such a shame, I had hoped she'd bear witness to our wedding."

Eithoril knocked at the grand doors, and Charlotte heard a familiar, deep voice bark, "Enter!" Both ellith slipped gracefully inside, and Charlotte swore the soft thud of the closing doors echoed in her heart.

"Those are Thranduil's rooms," Charlotte said, though she wasn't expecting a reply.

Maethor and Haedirn exchanged glances over her head before Haedirn slowly nodded. "Yes, my lady."

"Fascinating." Something was chipping inside her. She'd tried to keep her faith in Thranduil, but now dresses were being sewn and flowers ordered, and Lothuial was in his private chambers.

Charlotte was extremely grateful she'd never asked him how he felt about her. She'd been foolish enough to believe Meluieth was a friend, but the elleth had shredded her as soon as she lacked usefulness. Was Thranduil the same? Maybe not maliciously, but a concerned king trying to protect his people any way he could?

"I think," Charlotte murmured, her mind replaying the insulting epesse, Meluieth's angry words, and the thudding doors to Thranduil's chambers, "I'm going to rest for a while."

Maethor surprisingly squeezed her hand, escorting her to her chambers on the opposite end of the hall, far away from Thranduil. "I'll be waiting right outside should you need me," he said, and she thanked him before he softly pulled her door shut.


Translations:

Rhudoleth— Unwelcome one / Unwelcome elleth

AN: Telain in the Greenwood are possibly canon based off Chapter 8: "Flies and Spiders" from The Hobbit. "In fact the subjects of the king mostly lived and hunted in the open woods, and had houses or huts on the ground and in the branches."

Thank you all for your wonderfully kind reviews! I treasure your words and I hope to have another chapter out to you soon.