I did not create Erestor, Glorfindel, Lord Elrond, Estel/Aragorn, Greenwood the Great, King Thranduil, Lothlorien, Galadriel, Noldo or Silvan elves, nor Valinor. Tolkien did and I am extremely grateful. I did however, create many other characters mentioned in this chapter.

This story is for entertainment purposes only so please read and be entertained.

Should I worry you are here near a waterfall holding a knife?"

Erestor turned to see Glorfindel standing behind him still in his armor and traveling clothes, arms folded over his chest, and a gentle smile on his lips.

Erestor turned back toward the waterfall some ways beyond the ledge he stood upon. "Did our lord send you?"

"He says he wishes to speak with you. Do not worry. He is not angry. In fact, he is rather relieved, perhaps even impressed. A man and a manling have been ill with summer-fever in our valley in the last two months and both apparently weathered and recovered from it very well in his absence." Glorfindel softened his voice still further. "We … may have attempted to expose Estel to it purposefully when he was older if he had not caught it now. Though we would have waited till his strength was greater and Elrond himself was here to see him through it, we would not wish him to catch it far from here and us even as a man."

Erestor nodded. "So … my position is still secure?"

"If my lord's tone, expression, and demeanor is to be believed and I am not a fool at reading them, then yes. So, you can put the knife away and step back from where this ledge ends."

Erestor turned and gave Glorfindel a rueful grin before tossing him the knife. "It is Mellolaes'. She gave it to me."

Glorfindel caught the weapon by its hilt and immediately began to examine it. His eyes widened. "It is very like his workmanship!"

"If he ever worked with stone, which he did not." Erestor held an open hand out to the other Noldo who slapped its hilt back into his palm. Erestor wrapped his hand around it and placed it in his belt again.

Glorfindel grinned at the blade peeking out from the steward's belt. "You won't be able to wield it nearly as well as your own made by him. That blade was made for her. Tis even more obvious than it will be when Estel gets his first wooden and then metal sword."

"Indeed," Erestor nodded and then continued, "it seems her 'moss-covered boulder' is quite the crafter and knows her well."

"One of Greenwood's adopted Noldos?"

"Yes, she told me of him and made a comparison I believe. That is why she gave me the blade."

Glorfindel nodded to himself while staring at the waterfall with the other elf. Then he gave a smug grin. "Ever wish you went to the 'Singing woods' instead of Doriath?"

"No."

"Not even now you and Mellolaes seem to be getting along better?"

Erestor paused longer before he answered, and his expression softened. "She is not what I feared. Not at all, but I am content in my lord's service."

"I suggest you get back to it then."

Erestor nodded. "Yes." He turned and began walking back down into the valley and toward the houses.

Glorfindel followed hand on the pommel of his sword, but in the casual manner of a soldier used to being ready for anything even at ease. His voice was still casual, but sad when he spoke next. "Do you still carry his blades?"

"Yes."

"Have you had need to use them?"

"A few times."

"Then … his legacy has not been in vain."

Erestor strode in silence a few more moments before he replied. "I suppose not."

"He would be proud of how you have served others, Erestor. He would not want you to live your life as if it matters not to you."

"I know. But considering how his ended, it is difficult for me to shake the guilt mine continues so well."

"Would it make any but a happier difference to him if you were happy?"

"I know not. But I cannot force myself beyond this grief."

Glorfindel bent and shook his head. Then he heard a call from high in the sky. He turned his face up to smile at the eagle, who seemed to smile back before flying on into the east.

. . .

Sarnhael Celuant strode home after a day in service to his king. He had stood guard while Thranduil received query after query, reviewed case after case, and pronounced judgement after judgement. Now, he and the king had finally been released to return to their private rooms and respective wives.

When they had parted ways, Thranduil had sighed in relief at being able to fully lift his head. Sarnhael's lips had twitched at the sound. Many of the woodland realm's underground halls were chiseled out with Silvan and Doriath Sindar in mind. Neither branch of the fair folk were famous for their height. Thranduil was an exception. All the halls of the royal wing had high ceilings.

Sarnhael's head did not brush against earth as he went to his rooms. Stooped shoulders and a bent back had long negated his natural stature. At moments like these, he did not mind.

Yet, the soldier's steps remained slow. He had no good news to share with his bride. Twas unlikely she had any to greet him with either. Dark had grown the days of Greenwood the Great.

The ancient ellon's gaze grew blank. His mind drifted back in time. An elfling used to rush to him through this hall.

Like his bride's had been the grinning face lifted to his. Sarninian's skin, however, had shone like his once had long before she was born. Silver eyes, less hard and purer than his otherwise matching ones, had brightened as she cast herself into his arms. He would lift and carry her back to her mother standing in the doorway smiling and seemingly proud to welcome such a pair home.

Centuries later, their son had rushed to meet him instead. The eyes that had laughed up into Sarnhael's then had been amber; apparently, the hues of Sarnin's dark brown and his clear grey had mixed in those of their second babe. Heniavas' spirit, though, was most certainly Silvan. A mischievous smirk had often graced the elfling's face. Millennia later, he still grinned so.

Some of Sarnin's sweetness was in their son, too. Few saw it, for he'd also gained his adar's stubbornness. Both their children had gotten that. Sometimes, Sarnin claimed their unfaltering will came from her also. She "was" one who did not easily give up. He had learned that many times.

Sarnhael smiled at still older memories. Then his mind slowly turned back to he and his wife's descendants. Both their elfings had eventually had elfings of their own. All those little ones were grown and flown from the nests they had hatched in. His heart's desire still remained for him to return home to today, and every day, however. Hopefully, she would be until the Woodland Realm's fortress was taken or the darkness surrounding it took him from her first. Either possibility could occur any time now.

The ellon paused before his closed door. He blinked. His bride always knew when he approached. She stood in the doorway long before he arrived and peered out at him whether with a smile or tears.

Fear shot through Sarnhael's curved spine. He flung the door open and stepped inside. Then the ellon stood as straight as he could.

His whole family smiled back at him. Sarnin grinned from the back of the room. Their daughter, Glosien, and her husband stood at Sarnin's right with their daughters and son standing beside them. Upon his bride's left stood their son and daughter-in-law and their daughter. Just before him, though, stood his youngest grandson holding the hand of the only non-family member there.

The sweet elleth often made Sarnhael think of his own beloved. She smiled at him blushing as some Doriath Sindar did. (She'd not been born in that realm, but her parents had.) Stars seemed to blink at him from the velvet darkness of her eyes. Everyone in the room wore smug smiles, but those of the two standing just before him were brightest of all.

The eldest ellon's shoulders fell. He stepped inside, closed the door behind him, and folded his arms over his chest. "Alright then … what occasion have I missed?"

Tirven and Nithrestil turned their faces to gaze into each other's eyes. A long moment passed. Then they turned their grins back to Sarnhael and lifted intertwined hands. "We've become engaged!"

Sarnhael stepped nearer and stared down at their fingers. Silver rings winked up at him. He smiled. They were the ones from Valinor. Once, he'd placed one on Sarnin's finger, and the other upon his own. They still wore their matching gold ones. These silver circlets, though, had been passed through every couple in the room.

He lifted the lady's hand to kiss her ring finger. "Congratulations … I will be most honored to have you added to our family, lady Nithrestil. Are you certain though …" He tilted his head toward the light coming from a nearby beeswax candle, "you wish to look upon this face at every family gathering?"

Others in the room chuckled. The maiden of Doriath heritage, however, lifted her hand and laid it gently against his cheek. Dark eyes moistened. A soft voice, melodious as a dove's coo came from her lips. "I do not mind at all." She caressed the scars.

He smiled at her before stepping back and slipping gently from her touch. "Alright then, as long as you recall this reply when your elfling is born with the same face."

Sarnin had been creeping up to his side. Showing a spark of Silvan spirit, she slapped his upper arm. "Celuant!"

Sarnhael turned a grin upon her. Now and then someone else tried calling the name she'd given him long ago. He simply ignored them until they stopped.

Tirven rolled his eyes, bent his head, and whispered into his betrothed's ear as if they would not all overhear anyway. "He said that to my mother too, and my sister and I are both smooth-cheeked."

All the "youngsters" in the room, including the blushing bride-to-be, laughed. Nithrestil did so with tears. This showed how new she was to their family still.

Tirven, his sister, father, aunt, and cousins had never mentioned the scars on the head of their family's face. Heniavas had once glanced about at other gathered ellon when he was very small and asked why they didn't look like his ada. That had also gained a laugh.

Hopefully, Nithrestil would learn to see his scars with tearless eyes someday too, if they all remained in Arda long enough. Manwe and Elbereth had said the bend in his back and stoop of his shoulders would disappear in Valinor. Perhaps the scars would do the same.

Soon the members, and soon to be member, of their family sat cross-legged around a long, low table. There they devoured honey, bread, and salad. Instead of the staple it had been, Mirkwood salads were beginning to be saved for special occasions. They must, therefore, eat it on "this" night.

Twas Tirven's mother who first questioned the bride-to-be about the wedding. "Have your nanneth and you already begun sewing your wedding gown, Nithrestil?"

Nithrestil pursed her lips before replying. "No … she and I have begun to draw out its pattern, but we are uncertain about where to get the material. We were thinking of asking Malthedui if she knows of weavers in Lothlorien who would be willing to part with some of their cloth. Members of my mother's kin still live there. Maybe they will wish to help us."

Tirven turned to his betrothed. "Why not wait and see if we can find a fitting weaver in Imladris? Then you can have an excuse to discuss your dress and other details of the wedding with your heart-sister."

A sudden clang sounded through the room. Nearly every head at the table turned. Sarnhael had been cutting through a hunk of bread. After his grandson spoke, the blade had shot through and struck his platter. Troubled eyes rested upon him. He kept his own stare upon the bread as he spoke. "The two of you are going to Imladris?"

Tirven's lips tightened together. Then they parted to reply. "Yes, Grandfather. I have been planning on going there this Yule. I will now take my betrothed, so she can visit her heart-sister. Nithrestil wishes to see Mellolaes and 'I' wish to show my beloved the Hidden Valley and guard her well there and on the way back." He turned his stare upon his to-be-bride again.

Nithrestil gave her beloved a peck on the cheek. Then she turned dark, worried eyes on the oldest ellon there. "You … do not mind … do you ... Sarnhael? I …"

"It is a dangerous journey …"

Tirven turned hard eyes to face his grandfather again. "We will be going with the king, queen, Beldoron, and their entire guard. We will be far safer than Mellolaes' company was on her way to the Hidden Valley."

Nithrestil's brow furrowed slightly as this. Her betrothed didn't notice as he kept narrowed eyes upon his grandfather.

Sarnhael raised his gaze. He glanced first to his grandson before staring upon his soon to be granddaughter-in-law. The ancient ellon studied the Sindar elleth's face. He kept his own expression almost unreadable. His steel eyes flashed at first. Eventually though, they melted. "Just remain near my grandson's side or Mellolaes' at all times, Nithrestil. We would hate to lose you to any tragedy before you are even kin."

Sarnhael looked back to his food and drink. Others broke in to fill the void of silence. He let the conversation go every which way around him while listening to all and commenting on naught. As those who no longer lived there prepared to leave their family heads in peace, Tirven departed from Nithrestil's side to stand briefly before his grandfather. "Is there something else you wish to say tonight, or sometime tomorrow you wish to meet?"

Sarnhael glanced at Nithrestil over his grandson's shoulder. Tension screamed in her eyes. The ancient ellon then looked back to his grandson. "Your betrothed wishes to see Mellolaes again. And she should. But take as many blades as you can openly wear on your person and hide upon it as well. It is a dangerous journey you wish to take. Protect her and yourself with all you have."

A grin flashed over Tirven's face. "Thank you grand-adar. I will. I shall fail neither her trust nor yours."

He gave his grandson a half-grin and slight bow. "You are most worthy of my trust, grand-ionneg."

After Tirven left with his bride-to-be, walking her to the halls of her own family, Sarnhael turned to his beloved. She was gathering and stacking the dishes. He snuck up behind her and moved her hair aside to kiss the back of her neck. "That was lovely, my own fair bride. Even in these dark times, you put together a grand family gathering."

He felt more than saw her smile, but definitely felt her arm snake around his middle and clutch him close, hip to hip. She lifted her lips. He stilled his breathing as the whisper into his mis-shapened ear. "Come with me to the lakeside."

They stepped out the back way. Most homes nestled among the tunnels of Greenwood had them. All that did not, had a tunnel to those which did.

Even if it was finally taken, trying to stop the wood-elves from escaping their fortress would prove difficult. It would also be difficult for an orc to discover let alone use any of their exits. They were often opened and closed by trees. Others were quite a tight fit for elves let alone orcs. This one was the latter. The gap was barely wide enough for Sarnin to lift her dishes through, before Celuant lifted her up through it, and dragged himself up and out. It was oddly shaped to allow her slim form and his bent one to slide through.

With one arm wrapped around each other and their free hands holding dishes they walked down to the lakeside together. There, Sarnin set aside the dishes, stepped into the waters and began to drag her husband in. Celuant laughed. "Beloved. The dishes."

She lifted a smiling face and stuck her tongue out at him. "They can wait."

He laughed again, set his dishes in the sand, and followed her. Soon they were both waist-deep. She lifted her face up to his. "Water is special isn't it?"

Celuant cradled her face in his hands and raised his eyebrows. "How can 'I' argue with that?"

Sarnin wriggled her toes in the pebbles beneath them. "And stones found in the water are special too."

"Of course … we both know that."

Her smile twisted slightly in discomfort before she spoke again. "Do you ever think … it could be Tirven's preference for water and stone, which he inherited from us, that causes him to favor Imladris?"

Sarnhael's brow furrowed. He looked from her face to the tree-lined shore. "'That' is what you brought me out here to discuss?"

"Yes. Lothlorien is wonderful, and it would be safe, but you know where his heart is set … I would not be surprised if, once she sees it, Nithrestil will have her own heart drawn to Imladris too, and not just for his sake, but from her own interests as well."

"Both are too young to have 'seen' Lothlorien. They do not know it. Once they do, the woods will reassert themselves in their hearts again. They are Doriath Sindar and Silvan."

His wife cocked her head and took a slight step around to look her husband in the face again. "And one of them is part Noldo too."

Celuant slumped and closed her eyes under her gaze. "I always knew our son falling for the half-Noldo maiden from Doriath would bring our kin troubles."

"Celuant!"

He smiled and turned his gaze upon her before shrugging. "You know I love our daughter-in-law as much as do you. She cannot help her birth."

Sarnin rolled her eyes before knitting her brows at him again.

Her husband continued. "And yes … I admit it … some of our grandson's love for such things also comes from me and you. But I'd prefer he stay with lakeshore and river-stones as you always have my love."

She now laid her own hands against his scarred cheeks and whispered with tears. "But Tirven won't. I know it in my heart even if you refuse the truth, Celuant. When this land falls, when we fall, he may run first to our woodland kin, but then he will go on to Imladris and take Nithrestil with him. Even their wedding may take place there."

Celuant stared into her eyes tears filling his own. He reached out and cupped her face in his hands. "When 'we' fall, Softest-of-hearts? You will not flee with them, our children and grandchildren? They will continue to fill your life with joy, and I'm sure there are river-stones in Lothlorien."

"There may be, but I cannot say, until that day, if I will have the strength to run away alongside them if you do not flee with us."

Celuant exhaled a long sigh as he lifted his gaze to the stars. For a moment, he was silent, and then, "I cannot abandon our king, nor our queen. I cannot abandon the remainder of this people and land that welcomed me, helped me heal along with you and The Merciful."

His wife's reply was soft. "I would not ask you to."

"And much as I respect Celeborn and Galadriel … I do not know if I could serve them."

"Because of Galadriel?"

Celuant turned toward the tree-lined shore putting his back more fully to the Lonely Mountain.

His bride continued. "She might recognize you."

"Not in form nor face, perhaps not even in voice. Even that has been changed somewhat, but … she has ways. She might even know of me now. I do not wish to know if she does."

"Are you still ashamed?"

"Tis the pity. 'Your' face, and the faces of your niece and nephews, and finally all your kin were filled with it at first, and much as I grew to love them and you, I would not go through that again. Besides … Valinor …"

She snaked her arm around him again and leaned into his warm flesh. "Do you want me to go there with you?"

He shrugged. Another silence fell over them before he gave a sigh. "Tis a wondrous life beyond the sea, but I hate the thought of them losing us both. A broken world needs your gentle heart, Beloved."

"And your own strong one and sharp mind as well, Celuant."

"Neither are doing the trick this time. The shadow grows. All good things in our woods retreat. We are falling now. My weapons, calm, and strategy do little to stop or slow it."

"They still do much. Any place we flee to would be happy to have you there with your talents, strength, and generosity."

"I cannot trust them, Sarnin. Cannot you grasp this even after … Tis hard enough letting 'our' kin walk among them knowing what they would do if something happened. And no. I do not like the thought of Tirven living among them for who knows how many centuries, an age maybe, with his bride and maybe elflings growing up among such cowards."

"It has been an age. And the great enemy is gone."

"But his second may not be, not fully. 'He' might still recall me. His master was not happy with me in those days. I do not want my kin among the Noldos who lived then, and I doubt, if they knew, they would want my kin with them either."

"I think you judge them wrong at least Lord Elrond would not be so."

"He is half Doriath Sindar and brave Edain. I wish I could have given Beren and Luthien aid when they went through those dark halls together to best 'him.'"

"Do you?"

He looked back into her eyes. His own gaze softened. He rubbed the back of his hand against her cheek. "Perhaps not."

She blushed and then squeezed her husband's waist again. "I happen to know even then, all Noldos were not so bad."

He gave her a soft smile. "Thank you, my sweet."

If you liked something, please tell me. If not, you can tell me that too.

God Bless

ScribeofHeroes