Charlotte couldn't decide who she should find first. So when she stepped out of Elrond's pavilion, she planned to let fate dictate, and she set off through the neat rows of tents hoping to spot either Legolas or Oropher. The sun was low on the horizon, bathing the world in warm peach beneath the dark night sky, and for a moment, she could bask in the utter stillness of the world.

"Charlotte!"

Her shoulders stiffened. Of the few people she was hoping to speak to, Amroth was at the bottom of the list. She needed to find Oropher first and ensure he was well before she could handle Amroth. Charlotte briefly considered pretending she couldn't hear him, but Amroth had been her friend too.

She slowed her gait enough to let him catch up, though Maethor and Haedirn frowned at the way Amroth looped her arm through his. She wondered if Amroth was crossing some line of propriety considering her relationship with Thranduil.

"I feel as if time itself has ceased since we last saw each other," he said with a grin. "How has the Greenwood treated you?"

Charlotte snorted, which caused Amroth to scrunch his brows.

"That sounds promising." He frowned. "Don't tell me Thranduil's been unwelcoming?"

She felt her hackles rising again. Did Amroth know Thranduil at all? "Thranduil has been utterly perfect," she said primly.

"Then the others were not?"

She shrugged. He had her there, but he didn't have all the information. Amroth didn't know what she'd done to the elves, didn't know that she deserved their distrust and contempt. Cúthon's behavior being an exception, of course.

Maethor gently cleared his throat behind her, so softly she could've brushed it off if not for the fact that Maethor never made a sound he didn't mean to make. Her lips twitched. He always knew, always sensed the change in her emotions.

But that sound caught Amroth's attention, and he raised a perfect brow and peered over his shoulder with displeasure. A vee formed on his forehead, and he said, "Could we talk in private?"

"I'm afraid this is as private as it gets," Charlotte said, keeping her tone breezy. Haedirn puffed with pride in the corner of her eye. "Maethor and Haedirn are my guards; where I go, they follow." If needed, she knew she would do the same for them.

"Well, even guards must take rests," Amroth tried.

"Not these guards."

"Does Thranduil have you as his prisoner?" Amroth scoffed.

"Thranduil has been nothing but welcoming, and I go where I wish," Charlotte said through clenched teeth. To some extent, she understood his lingering anger at Oropher might have soured his mood and attitude toward the Greenwood. But, despite that, he was still planning on staying to help. She took a deep breath. "Why are you here, Amroth? I'm pleased to see you, of course, but still surprised considering you said you never received Thranduil's letter."

"You're sure these two cannot leave us for a brief period?"

"Positive." Charlotte quirked a brow.

Amroth frowned at them, but then his eyes widened, and his face relaxed. "Ah," he said, and there was a depth of meaning there that she didn't understand. She worried about what conclusion he had reached.

"Listen, Amroth—"

"I heard about the engagement," he said, the words tumbling over his lips, "and some… unpleasant… rumors about the elves' regard for you."

Charlotte shook her head, unsure of the connection between the two.

"Why didn't you write to me?" Amroth asked.

She lurched to a halt. The Imladris elves floated around them, parting like a river around a boulder. She had written to him at least once but had never heard more from him. "I did," she said.

"Yes, I got that one. 'Amroth, the caverns are so lovely. I've heard there is a spectacular library.' Every word carefully constructed to appear cheerful." He rolled his eyes, but then his face crumpled. "I mean…" He pinched his lips, eyes searching the pale green tents around them as if he'd find the words he wanted on their fabric. "I mean, why didn't you write to me and take my offer?"

His offer. To move to Lórinand. Her heart stuttered. He looked so wounded, his sad eyes boring into hers. She had thought about it on the day she'd first arrived at the caverns, when Meluieth's anger and the elves' hatred still scorched her heart. But it had only been a passing thought formed by pain; she'd tossed it away almost immediately.

"I would've protected you," he said, stepping closer, wrapping his hands gently around her arms.

"I already have protection."

"I know that we've only known each other for a short time," Amroth said, "but I want to offer you a place with my people—"

"Amroth—"

"— a place with me."

Charlotte's mouth dropped open, and her brain tripped over itself. Was he?

He took advantage of the silence and pushed on. "And when I heard about the betrothal..." he shook his head. "I know how Lothuial treated you, and I would never want you subjected to that."

"Lothuial?" She jerked back. "What does Lothuial have to do with any of this?"

"Her marriage to Thranduil would eventually lead to her being his queen," Amroth said as if it were obvious. "I know that we are not lovers, but consider this a political alliance, a marriage of friends. Perhaps it could grow into something more?"

Charlotte was sure she would catch flies with her jaw unhinged as it was. As far as marriage proposals went, that was pretty dismal. "Amroth, Thranduil isn't engaged to Lothuial."

He smiled softly. "I heard about her request for Elanor. I had to approve it since it involved the transfer of our forest's exclusive resources. She said it was for her marriage ceremony with Thranduil. I even sent him a letter offering my congratulations and approving the request."

"I have a strong feeling that letter never made it into Thranduil's hands," Charlotte said. "It seems someone has been pilfering both Thranduil's incoming and outgoing missives."

"A matter I'm sure he'll have settled before long," Amroth said. "But have you thought about where you want to settle? When all this is through, I mean?"

She knew exactly what he meant. But it didn't occur to him that, through his offer, he was asking her to settle. Far away from the family she'd built. Away from the elves she was starting to consider her people, even the distrustful ones. To settle for less.

Because a life without Thranduil, without Legolas and Maethor and Haedirn…

"Thank you," she said softly and then regretted her words when his eyes lit up, "but my place is in the Greenwood, with my soon-to-be bonded."

"Oh," he stepped back, withdrawing his hands as if she'd burned him. His eyes flickered to Maethor and Haedirn and then found the silver ring on her index finger. "Well, if you change your mind," he said, "about anything, you are still welcome to join us in Lórinand."

"I'm sorry, Amroth."

"Just," he flicked his eyes to her guards again, "just think about it."

She shook her head, but he was already bowing, and without meeting her gaze, he fled in the opposite direction.

"That was–" Maethor started.

"Painful," Haedirn finished gleefully. "I can't wait until he mentions to Thranduil that he thinks you're having relations with both of us."

Charlotte choked on her own spit. "What?"

Haedirn laughed, and even Maethor was grinning. They were handsome, she thought, and kind and funny. Maybe, in another life, she would have loved them both in such a way. But even that was hard to imagine. In every iteration of herself, Thranduil would always be the match to her soul.

She shook her head and motioned them onward. "We still have to find Legolas in this horde."

"Well, that should be easy," Maethor said. "We need only follow the scent of oatcakes."

— O —

There was so much she didn't know as a potential Naneth to an elfing. For example, she was sure other ellith knew not to allow their elflings to eat seven oatcakes before bed. She was sure Legolas knew he was not supposed to have so many, and she was positive that Galadriel had known better. Judging by the elleth's beaming smile, she had derived some variation of grandmotherly pleasure from it.

However, Charlotte, though she loved Legolas dearly, had decided that there was a special place in Mandos' Hall for people who overfed sweet treats to little elflings before bed.

"Charlotte?" Legolas asked for what felt like the one-hundredth time in an hour.

"It's time to sleep, little leaf," she said. Again. She'd settled into a chair at the foot of his cot in Elrond's pavilion, her eyes constantly scanning the wide entrance.

Elrond and Celebrían were utterly silent, seated side by side across the tent, both of them clutching a book. They were the picture of serenity, or would have been, if not for the fact that neither of them had turned a page in the last half hour. Celebrían's book had dropped open on her knees, and her hand had absently slid down the pages until she held her clenched fist against her body.

Legolas poked Charlotte's arm with a finger. He was perched on his knees at the end of his cot, and the sight had her forcing her palms flat against her thighs so she didn't yank her own hair from the roots. She'd just gotten him to lay down again.

"Legolas, sweetheart, I know it's hard, but you need to rest," she tried.

"But I'm not tired!" His hand shifted over his mouth as it opened wide, and his jaw cracked on a yawn.

"Mhmm."

"But I have a question!" He bounced on his knees, and Charlotte pinched the bridge of her nose and forced a deep breath through her lungs. Legolas needed stability and reassurance. Not an overtired elleth snapping at him to get to bed.

"Little leaf…"

"It's important!"

"Fine," she sighed, "last question." She ignored the chastising voice in her head that reminded her that she'd said that to him already. Multiple times. Was there a Middle Earth equivalent to parenting books? Because she doubted therapy existed yet and what if she messed this mothering thing up and Legolas hated her? What if she was so worried about him hating her that she became a complete pushover?

"Do you know the Lay of Leithian?"

She swore the room spun, and her vision went white. She forced air in her lungs and shoved aside the vague plans she'd been constructing for Galadriel's murder. "I do not, Legolas, and you need to lay down and rest. Head on the cot now and under your blanket."

"But I'm not tired," he insisted. "I need a story."

"Legolas, I already told you three."

"Yes, but those were strange. Why would she go to a royal feast in a pumpkin? And Adar says you should never insult a dwarf because they're 'temp-ra-mental,' so I don't think they'd be very pleased to be called 'Dopey' if it means what you said it means. And what about Bugman?"

"Batman," Charlotte gently corrected. The only "bugman" she could think of was Mothman, and she definitely wasn't telling Legolas about an enormous red-eyed winged creature right before bed.

"Yes, him," Legolas frowned and crossed his legs. "Why did he have to dress up like a big bat? It's strange, not like Beren and Lúthien." He shook his head. "They cut one of the Silmarils from Morgoth's crown after escaping from Sauron, but then Beren's hand was eaten by a giant wolf. It's alright, though, because he lives," Legolas chirped. Then his tiny brows puckered, and he said, "But then he dies. But then Lúthien dies and sings to Mandos, and they both live again."

Charlotte's left eye was twitching, and she was caught between the desire to laugh and the urge to thunk her head against the nearest hard surface.

A book snapped shut, and Charlotte turned to see Elrond standing. "If it would be acceptable," he said to her, "I know the tale and can sing a few lines to Legolas."

"You know it?" Legolas asked, bouncing on his cot once more.

"I should think so," Elrond said. He delicately placed his book on the nearest table, the large oak where they had shared dinner earlier. "I am descended from Beren, after all."

"Woah." Legolas rocked back on his bottom.

"But I will only sing a few lines," Elrond said with a stern twist of his mouth, "and only if you lay your head down and keep your eyes closed. Should they open, I will cease."

Charlotte sagged and rubbed her temples. "Thank you, Lord Elrond. That is very kind of you."

"Yes," Legolas trilled, "Thank you, Elrond!"

Elrond's mouth quirked into a smile, and he traded seats with her, leaving a thoroughly wrung-out Charlotte to join Celebrían as the first haunting lines of the lay filled the pavilion. Charlotte slumped in her new chair and had just allowed her own eyes to drift closed when she heard the thump.

Celebrían was pale and shaking, her book carelessly flopped on the hem of her gown, and her glassy eyes focused on the scene across the tent. Legolas had snuggled on his side, his blonde lashes tickling the curves of his cheeks as he tightly scrunched his eyelids closed, and Elrond had moved the chair closer to the head of the cot so he could hold Legolas's hand as he sang. Elrond glanced up briefly, concern and heartbreak etched in his gaze, but he continued weaving the tale as he'd promised Legolas.

Celebrían mumbled something and stood, stepping over her crushed book and fleeing the pavilion. Charlotte was quick to follow her. But when she stepped from the tent, Celebrían had vanished. "Damn."

"Lady Charlotte?"

She hadn't realized Lord Glorfindel had been standing guard at the tent entrance. She had expected him to be nearby; Legolas had been onto something when he mentioned that Glorfindel was always with Elrond. She couldn't believe she was finally alone with him and could ask him about his rebirth. But Charlotte hesitated. Celebrían had looked distraught, and Charlotte would never forget how the elleth had been there for her when she was first dumped in Middle Earth by the Valar.

"Which way did Celebrían go?" Charlotte asked, chin tilting in determination.

Glorfindel looked relieved, although maybe more relieved to see her two guards behind her, and he pointed past the tents to the south and said, "She has gone toward the skin-changer's home."

Which meant she would be wandering around Beorn's lands while he was in bear form. She should be safe. Beorn would have been wise enough to familiarize himself with their scents as he did the last time an army of elves had camped near his home. Still, she checked with her guards, "Do we need more people?"

"We should be sufficient," Maethor said. He turned to Glorfindel, bowing his head shortly. "We will escort her back."

"I am grateful, mellon nîn," Glorfindel said and reached out to clasp his arm. "I will inform Lord Elrond when he has finished."

The camp was hauntingly silent as they wandered through the rows of pitched tents and fires. Even the breeze had died, and under the waning moonlight, the trees to the east stretched long claws across the plain. A corridor dove south through the drying field, the crisp grass flattened by the march from Lórinand, and each step crackled as her heels crushed what remained.

Somewhere in the forest, an ellon was running through the trees, searching for an army of orcs bent on destroying her home. And somewhere, in this massive strange world, Thranduil was fighting to return to her and Legolas.

So she would keep fighting too.

She found Celebrían easily. The elleth hadn't made it far past the boundaries of Amroth's camp before she'd collapsed on her knees in the grass. In the darkness, her long sheet of golden hair glowed, and her arms were wrapped so tightly around her body her hands were white.

She didn't need Celebrían to tell her what happened. She knew this level of grief. It had been her companion for so long she had thought she'd drown in it, as Celebrían was drowning.

The grass rustled as Charlotte dropped and wrapped her arms around the elleth, and then the Celebrían was sobbing, her clawed fingers digging into her gown, piercing the skin of her belly as she tucked her head into Charlotte's shoulder. "Oh, Charlotte. It hurts."

"I know," Charlotte soothed. She ran her hand down her friend's hair. "I know." With her free hand, she gently pried Celebrían's hands loose before she could hurt herself, though her fingers stayed tightly fisted against her gown.

"When?" Charlotte whispered, her eyes already misting for what her friend had suffered.

Celebrían swallowed, "A few..." Her face scrunched as if pained, and she swallowed again. "A few days after you left."

Charlotte squeezed her tighter. "That's why Elrond brought you here?" She leaned back to study Celebrían's face. "You were fading?"

"I felt every second of it," Celebrían's voice wobbled. Her fists tightened, drifting down the front of her gown. "I think Elrond knew. He was never as thrilled as I was. I think… I think he saw it, saw it and hoped it was false. But seeing… Charlotte, it's not the same. I felt it. Felt every agonizing second as he faded from me." Her face twisted, huge fat droplets escaping from her delicate lashes, and she curled her body around her fists. "The pain that came after… it does not compare to that which I felt in those moments."

"Oh, mellon nîn."

"My chest, Charlotte." Celebrían cried. She wheezed in Charlotte's arms. "I want to shred this world to pieces, to burn it to ash," she gasped. "I need it to end. There is nothing—" Her chest heaved, a sharp, high-pitched sound, both a cry and a desperate draw of air, cut her words. "There is nothing left of him, no piece of this world that will show his existence."

Charlotte pulled her tightly against her body. "Rage, mellon nín," she said, tears marring her own expression. "I'm here. I have you." She repeated it, over and over, a prayer, a balm, in Celebrían's ear. In all the time she'd been gone, it had never occurred to her that Celebrían might be struggling as well. The last she'd seen the elleth, Celebrían had been blissfully happy, newly married and settling in Imladris. She hadn't even mentioned anything amiss in her letter, but that had likely been written before.

Maethor and Haedirn positioned themselves discreetly around the ellith, though Celebrían was so lost in her grief a horde of orcs could have stormed them, and she wouldn't have noticed. Worse: she wouldn't have cared. Charlotte could see it now, the way the elleth's once bright fëa had dimmed, fluttering like a broken butterfly.

"Charlotte," Maethor warned.

Too late, she looked down. The necklace warmed against her chest, the light in the stone flared, and Celebrían lifted her head in confusion just as the light encased her.

Charlotte frantically tried to yank the necklace off, but the light dimmed before she could. She closed her eyes and sighed. What the hell had she done now?

"This thing," she huffed. "It is a blessing and a curse." Her necklace had saved Legolas and brought Oropher back; she would never regret wearing it, but she was getting tired of it activating at random moments. If it were not for the fact that two deities had basically insisted she keep it on, and it kept Legolas safe, she probably would have buried it somewhere a long time ago.

But it proved its worth again because Celebrían took in Charlotte's disgruntled expression and giggled. It was watery, and her voice was rough, but it was still a laugh. "Mellon nîn, I have missed you." Her face crumbled, and a few weary tears slipped down her pale skin, but she sniffled and stole a shaky breath.

Charlotte raised a brow at her friend's sudden change in mood, worried that she'd stolen Celebrían's chance to grieve. "Did I…" She started but changed tactics. "How do you feel?"

"Do not worry," Celebrían said, patting Charlotte's hand. Her eyes were puffy, nearly as red as the tip of her delicate nose. "It is still there." Her voice was scratchy, and she swallowed before she spoke again. "Perhaps it shall always be so."

It felt odd being relieved at Celebrían's pain, but if Thranduil had taught her anything, it was that ignoring her grief, burying it, would only grow it. The last thing Celebrían would want or need was for Charlotte to steal that from her.

Celebrían shifted in her arms, her lips pinched, and a frown appeared on her forehead.

"You're sure you're feeling well?" Charlotte asked.

Her friend's cheeks flushed, and her wide eyes darted to Charlotte's. "Yes," she said quickly. She cleared her throat and tried again, "Only tired. I think I would like to return to Elrond. Would you walk with me?"

"Of course," Charlotte answered, tucking away her confusion.

The trip back was short and nearly silent. Celebrían was twitching. Her hands alternated between fisting her skirt and smoothing down the fabric, and every few seconds, her sighs would bloom over her lips to be swallowed by the night.

When Glorfindel spotted them, he said nothing, but offered a quick bow of his head to the group as Celebrían slipped her arm free from Charlotte's and led them through the entrance.

Legolas was asleep in his cot, his eyes glazed and unseeing, with his hand clutched loosely in Elrond's. The elf lord had his book spread across his bent leg, and was turning the page when he stiffened, his eyes flashing to find Celebrían in the entrance. Whatever he saw had him standing from his chair so quickly his book hit the floor with a thunk.

Legolas stirred, the whole tent froze, but the elfling rolled over and drifted back to sleep.

Elrond took a hesitant step toward Celebrían. "Would you—"

"Yes." Celebrían nodded, and then, straightening, she said slower, "Yes."

Elrond cleared his throat and adjusted his collar. His eyes never left Celebrían's as he said, "We are going for a stroll."

Charlotte was still standing in the entrance in shock long after the couple had fled from the pavilion. Maethor nudged her shoulder. "It would be best to rest while you can," he said gently. "We're expecting Raenor to return within the next few hours."

"So quickly?"

"It's easier and faster to move through the canopy in small groups," Haedirn explained. "It only took us so long to travel through the forest because we were on the ground; we had to navigate the terrain. Raenor will be able to take a direct route through the branches."

"That's if they moved west around the mountains," Charlotte said. If they had gone east, Raenor would have to cross the Tithenduin where it narrowed or use the bridge to confirm. She rubbed her forehead. Oropher was still refusing to lead the host, or even talk about the possibility of leading, and Charlotte was dreading the moment when she'd be forced to decide their fates.

"We'll know soon," Maethor said. "And though it might feel like it, I promise you, you are not alone."

She gave them both a soft smile. Maethor was right. Her heart warmed at the thought, and she reached out to squeeze their hands, craving the connection.


AN:

Friendly reminder: This work is rated M and I'm trying really hard to keep it within this site's description for rated M fics, both out of respect for the site owner's boundaries and because I do not wish to violate those boundaries and have this story removed. That said, if you prefer things a little closer to MA (but not full-tilt explicit), you'll want to switch over to reading this story on Archive of Our Own. It is under the same story name and author name.

Aquarius Black [or your mysterious other identity ;) ]: I'm so excited that you caught that! (Edited to add: the part about Queen Renieth.) As you can tell from this chapter and many of the previous ones, elflings are indeed extremely rare. Because of this, the elves tend to take on a collective parenting or caretaking mentality out of a desire to shield what is so rare and precious to them, which is why we see that caretaking mentality toward Legolas from all of the elves around him. It is exactly as you've said: Cúthon has fallen very far indeed.

I can address this now because it won't spoil anything: Cúthon essentially is Charlotte in many ways: someone who cares deeply about the people and places they love. The difference between the two, and ultimately the trait that turns Cúthon's love for the Greenwood into something toxic, is that Charlotte simply wants her people and loved ones to be safe. Cúthon wants to be the one who saves them. He is coming not only from a place of devotion but also a desire for that devotion to be returned, to gain power over it; it becomes an obsession and a craving for control. Essentially, Cúthon's love is selfish, where Charlotte's is selfless. And you'll see more of that throughout the story, where characters are forced to battle the societally accepted moral versus their own desires and beliefs about "what is right." And hopefully, you'll see that every character in this story has a point that they will not cross, a choice that exceeds their desire for their self-construed image of "what is right."

Thank you all for the wonderful comments! I normally don't say much here, because I'm concerned about ruining something for later in the story. But: I know for sure that I have a deleted scene from earlier in the story that I will be posting here as a bonus after Sorrow's Starlight concludes. If it's something anyone is interested in, I can always use that final "bonus" chapter to add a note where I would answer reviews more thoroughly. Thoughts?