Hundreds of eyes stared down at her from the branches, and a heavy breeze swarmed up from the south, tinged with the odor of carrion and decay.

This was not how she pictured her bonding to Maethor and Haedirn.

Her guards had clearly not exaggerated the rarity of what they were about to do, as hundreds of Woodland elves had pulled closer, temporarily abandoning their posts to fill the surrounding branches, a rapt audience in nature's colosseum. On the spongy forest floor, her bare feet wiggled through the prickly grass, and her loose hair fluttered wildly around her cheeks.

Oropher had readily agreed to guard them and spent the thirty minutes of her deadline rounding up additional protection. Which was unnecessary, considering so many warriors came on their own just to view the ceremony.

She shifted her feet, staring up past the curious eyes to the stars, and hoped that wherever he was, Thranduil was safe. A warm hand, steady and gentle, Maethor's, came up to resettle one of the many white flowers woven into her few braids. Her two guards had been attentive and delicate, their calloused hands moving swiftly through her hair as they'd braided it for the occasion and adorned her with a borrowed collection of blossoms. And then each had walked her through the process of braiding theirs. She insisted on removing some of her flowers to add to their hair.

"You're sure?" Oropher whispered to her.

Maethor and Haedirn tensed beside her, but she felt her bones turn to steel, her back straight and proud. She faced her two guards with a soft smile. "When you're ready," she said.

They had drilled the words into her again and again, reassuring her that they were largely ceremonial. It was the intent that mattered. She'd wanted to pledge the same oath, but doing so would be tantamount to marrying them. She could just picture explaining to Thranduil that she'd accidentally married her guards.

Maethor and Haedirn's low voices filled the clearing, rising up to the elves and the sky above, and she tightened her hands around theirs.

"I call to you, my fëa to yours, vowing

from this breath until the last breath of the world

to bind myself to you."

Her soul stirred beneath her skin, her light writhing until it burst from her pores. The elves closed in around them, faces solemn as their own fëar lit the forest.

She felt a brief surge of panic. This much light would be a beacon to the orcs.

Maethor soothed a thumb over the crest of her knuckles. "They're coming for us anyway. We have time."

After a reassuring nod from Haedirn, Charlotte shakily exhaled and then let the full force of her fëa free. She sent out a prayer that maybe, wherever he was, Thranduil would see it glowing above the treetops.

She forced the words from low in her belly, "I, Charlotte Anniuel, born of the stars and the will of the Valar, will hear your pledge."

They tried to drop to their knees before her, but she resisted. They had started this together as equals, and they would continue until the end of their days as such. For the first time in Elven history, two elves delivered the pledge on their feet before their charge. Pride blossomed in their eyes as Maethor and Haedirn offered the final piece of their oath.

"My sword shall cleave your shadows,

And my fëa will shield your soul.

Neither field nor mountain shall divide us

And death will bow to our bond.

In my heart will your sorrows rest

And our bond shall be your sanctuary."

Their fëar swirled around hers, Maethor's as warm as the springs beneath the mountain and Haedirn's as playful as an otter. It felt like… home, as they settled beneath her skin.

Heat flared in her body, and a fragile thread formed between her fëa and Maethor and Haedirn's. The elves pressed forward in the trees above. In the distance, an owl hooted twice and was silent.

A hush settled over the clearing, the trees cocooning them, sheltering them from the world, and Charlotte's next words were a whisper.

"I accept your vow

And pledge with my fëa

To honor the sanctity of our bond,

Shield the integrity of your fëa,

And carry your souls in the safety of my own."

The threads thickened, burning bright and hot between them, though she was certain the others could not see it. Maethor and Haedirn's grins were blinding, their lights merging with hers, surging past the treetops and into the stars.

And then she saw nothing at all.

— O —

She was eight.

Sitting on the chipped tire swing in the front yard, the scent of old rubber thick in the air, listening to the creak and sway of the fraying ropes as she twisted and twisted them around until they bunched and looped.

And then she raised her feet.

The world was a blur, whipping faster and faster until her stomach lurched into her throat, and despite the chaos in her eyes, laughter poured, wild and careening over her lips.

— O —

And then she was fifteen, wondering why her mother had thought she was Abby for a moment.

— O —

Seventeen, and staring down the crisp, burnt cabinets on the kitchen floor. Her vacant eyes staring at the flashes of red and blue splattered across the linoleum.

— O —

Eighteen. Agony burning beneath a tired smile. Writhing and twisting in a mass of sweaty dancers, a faded fluorescent stamp atop her hand, and a "borrowed" beer sloshing in a red plastic cup. Hands groped. Her heart thundered. The bodies pressed closer. Foam splashed across shoes, and angry voices filled her ears. She fled for the cold, eyes searching over her shoulders, leaping at shadows until the click of the lock from her aged dormitory door.

— O —

Twenty-one, studying the bold typography littered across her counter.

Final warning.

Collections.

Overdue. Overdue. Overdue.

— O —

Twenty-seven. Her mind revolted.

Not this one. Please, please, not this one.

Seated cozily on her bed, feet worn out and shoulders aching as she slipped beneath the wrinkled covers. The buzzing, violent staccato lashes across the wood nightstand.

The ghost of her own voice. "Hey, Betsy. Did Mom give you trouble this evening after I left?"

Pain. So much. Burning beneath her ribs. The quick whip of air through her lungs. Fingers clenched tightly around the familiar antlers and her phone.

Alone.

Alone.

Except.

There was warmth here. Warmth and playfulness, and her soul shuddered as she felt them at her side, and there was relief in the sobs that echoed in the memory of her room.

Never alone. Never again. They seemed to say.

— O —

And then she didn't know how old she was. Until she realized she wasn't anything at all, and a small, thin boy with straw-colored hair and pointed ears tumbled from the canopy leaves above her.

The crack and scream reverberated through her bones.

— O —

Everything swirled faster then, as if she were once again on that weary tire swing, twisting and flinging herself through memories.

A dark-haired elfling nursing his first cut from a training blade.

A blond, gangly-limbed ellon training long into the night.

An elleth, a near twin to Haedirn, pressing her lips to his forehead before climbing atop her mare. "My heart will weep," Haedirn managed before his throat sealed around the rest. "Gi melin— I love you— Naneth."

Maethor, young but grim, squaring off against an enormous horned creature made from flames. The slash of its whip across his side. Burning. And darkness. A fevered cry as a flash of gold and flare of heat tumbled over his head.

Haedirn clasping the hand of a short, bearded man and watching him march into the darkness, knowing he wouldn't return. The smog pressed against his nostrils, wafting down from the dark mountains ahead. "Be safe, mellon nîn."

Maethor staring into the sunset, positioned high in the trees, the echo of screeches in his ears and his fingers pinked from scrubbing in the river.

Headirn sobbing over a blood-soaked ellon, half-submerged in marshy water, his clothes damp and stained red.

Charlotte scrabbled at the crushing armor, the vile stench of the orc overwhelming. Her blood-soaked hands slipped across the jagged metal, and she screamed and screamed until her throat was raw.

The surge in his ears, in his fëa, the neverending crash of the waves. The squawking gulls. Maethor could picture them swooping, slashing through the surf, and flapping, higher and higher until the sun obscured them.

Herded against the stratified rocks, the walls rising high above her, Charlotte's hand shook around her dagger as eight beady eyes descended.

Trapped and tightly bound in darkness, delirious with venom, Haedirn's limbs refused to move, and his heart pounded. The world tilted around him, and he could tell he was swinging upside down high above the forest floor. "Help," he tried, but his lips wouldn't move. "Please…"

Alone, alone, alone. The memories cried.

And Charlotte knew.

Not anymore, she whispered.


AN: A quick second posting because this is such a short chapter. Though there is no shortage of overall words. With this chapter posted, Sorrow's Starlight has officially reached over 200k published words! (Not including author's notes/translations.) Thanks so much for your lovely reviews and feedback along the journey! (Lacrea Moonlight, you were correct! "Tomorrow" morning!)