"When will you leave?"

Celeborn was standing near the edge of the clearing of Galadriel's mirror and observing as she filled the basin with the clearest water. It caught the light, casting silver flickers over her features as it fell.

"The time is not yet right," she said softly. "The season I saw was that of the earliest spring. I cannot bring my vision to King Thranduil before then."

The water reached its final droplets and she set the silver flask in the grass near the basin's root and turned to her husband. "The winter harvest should be a suitable time for my arrival," she said with a small grin.

Celeborn returned the expression. His wife always did love a merry gathering, much as she pretended to give it no thought. "So you will head for the Last Homely House? Lord Elrond has already sent word that he expects you."

Galadriel's grin widened. "Of course I should take any excuse to see my grandchildren again." Her features fell slack and her gaze solemn. "The Council must be summoned."

Celeborn let his gaze travel over the earth at her feet as he considered his response. "You fear their decision."

"Yes." Her expression became distant as she recalled her visions. More had come in the days following the first and even she felt restless to sit idle in her home among the golden trees when such portents continued to rob her of rest.

"What I saw has the potential to change the course of future events, events Sarumon refuses to believe possible. Such as what I've seen, he will have seen as well. He must be made to view it objectively, rather than with fear. The fate of the Greenwood affects us all."

Galadriel lifted her sapphire eyes to her husband once again and smiled. "I should think Lord Elrond wouldn't mind if I spent the winter there."

Celeborn smirked. "Then you have but a single moon cycle to reach your destination, my lady."

"I will leave in the morning," Galadriel declared.

She turned to gaze upon the surface of the water in her mirror and Celeborn retreated from the clearing to begin preparations for her journey.

"I must admit, Seren: you are a quick study. Sindarin is not an easy language to master for those of the common tongue who were not raised speaking it."

Petite by elf standards, Varis stood shorter than Seren by only a couple of inches. Her auburn hair flowed around her as she stowed away books and supplies in the library.

When Seren wasn't in the field, helping with the crops, she went to the library to learn the language of the elves.

Eight days ago, on Ceridwen's suggestion, she went to observe as Varis taught the very young how to write in their language. In the course of that time, the woman had offered to help Seren with her first lessons in Elvish. Since then, the basics of syntax had followed and today Varis had tasked Seren with properly writing simple sentences. Once approved, she had to speak them. Part of her felt foolish to be, for all intents and purposes, back in school; but she knew she had to start at the beginning if she was to understand the Sindarin everyone else spoke around her. Thus far, she could only repeat certain things by rote and she looked forward to the day when she could put her own words together.

Seren blushed at the praise as she returned writing implements to their little wooden boxes at each station and placed any ink wells that had been left out in their little nooks on the desks. "It's a very… flowing language. I find it simple to understand and less simple to speak."

Varis laughed, her dark blue eyes crinkling. "That is most often the hardest part. Knowing the proper forms of the words for a given use or situation, takes time to master. Your pronunciation however is rather impressive!"

"Le Fael."

Varis laughed again. "Now you are showing off!"

Seren giggled and neatly ordered a stack of books alphabetically, pleased that she knew the letter order now.

Once they were finished putting the library to rights, they went to supper at one of the halls rather than reserve one of the many smaller kitchens for creating something themselves. It gave Seren a chance to check in with Menui about how her Niphredil was doing. The little plant had continued to grow and now stood four inches tall. The ailment it suffered before was nowhere in evidence.

Nuineri waved at her happily when she spotted the human in the large room filled with tables and hurried to join them.

"I hear you're taking classes with Varis." She winked at the other elf as she sat and Varis remained silent.

"That is what you've heard?" Seren asked. "Have you been spying on me?"

"It's not hard to do these days. I can never find you in your chambers, except at an hour it would be inappropriate to bother you." Nuineri leaned in close and whispered, "You do know the prince's Day of Beginning is in a few weeks, don't you?"

Seren pulled back, surprise on her features. "Is that like a birthday?"

Nuineri's expression fell and she looked worriedly to Varis.

"Elves celebrate the day they Began," the instructor said. "The day of birth is merely one phase of life but the moment that life started is what we celebrate."

"Conception you mean? On Earth, it is impossible for anyone to know when that has occurred without considerable effort."

Varis smiled. "Humans are like that here too. Elves, on the other hand, know from the Beginning. We don't beget constructs of physical form that are given sapience once they reach sufficient development. From the moment we Begin, we are."

Seren scrunched her features. "I don't understand."

Nuineri tried to explain. "A child's fea is started from the combination of its parents' fea and is then grown from the mother's soul as well as her physical body. No child is begun that a mother cannot birth."

Understanding dawned on Seren's face and she gawked at Nuineri. "So you – literally – gave a piece of yourself to Menui?"

The elf smiled. "That is the way of it. The magic inherent in our kind demands a magical well from which to spring. Every elf owes his or her fea to the well of their mother."

Seren smiled when she considered that, in a way, Legolas's mother was literally with him. For humans it was a figurative sentiment. "That's rather lovely," she said. She clasped her hands together. "So… Legolas will celebrate his Day of Beginning soon; what does that entail?"

The elves grinned. "There will be a party, of course."

"And presents and games!" Menui exclaimed, sitting at the round table they'd claimed.

Another space at their gathering was suddenly filled by Caireann, who sat and said nothing until everyone had become quiet and looked at her expectantly.

"I need your help, Seren," she said.

Seren's eyebrows rose and she swallowed the mouthful of roasted rabbit she had been savoring. "My help?"

"The gift I'd like to give the prince is that of being sat on his backside. I've heard you are well versed in a fighting style Legolas doesn't know."

Seren gulped and tried not to let dread fill her features. "You're referring to the martial forms of Bruce Lee."

Caireann nodded.

Seren wrestled with conflicting desires. She wanted to help Caireann and she did need the exercise since the king had forbid any to leave the kingdom's gates and running through the forest around its walls wasn't an option at the moment. But she was wary of how she would handle herself, doing something she'd only ever done with her family, chiefly her brother. She also feared the return of her nightmares. The thought of surprising Legolas was appealing, however. Perhaps, if she just kept to the instructions on the forms, she could avoid sleepless nights.

She began to warm to the idea and a sly grin spread over her features. "I can show you the forms; teach you the philosophy of their use."

"Good!" Nuinethir sat on Seren's left suddenly, setting a plate of food down. "I can teach Legolas once I've mastered them myself. He covets this knowledge but hasn't the heart to ask you to show him."

Seren stared at him, incredulous and Caireann appeared crestfallen. Her plan to surprise Legolas seemed to unravel until the quickstrider looked up from his plate and smirked at Caireann. "After you've bested him on his special day, of course."

Caireann grinned, followed by the rest of the table.

"What gift will you give him, Seren?" Menui half-shouted over the din of the large room.

The surrounding tables fell quiet and looked their way as Seren flushed and smiled nervously. When they returned to their conversations, she leaned forward and whispered, "It's a secret."

Menui's eyes alighted. "I like secrets!"

Seren laughed. "I'll tell you later."

"Ada…"

Thranduil raised his head from the scroll he was studying and saw Legolas standing in the center of the vault.

"You missed the evening meal. Again."

The elvenking stared in surprise at the lack of light coming into the room from the ceiling. He hadn't realized it had grown dark. The single lamp above his table barely illuminated him, dressed as he was in a dark red tunic and black trousers. His hair glowed a soft silver-gold in the light that nearly blended with the wall behind him, his crown unadorned and pointed ears no longer neatly holding back his hair but making it stick out haphazardly from the sides of his head.

The younger elf held a tray bearing roasted rabbit, bread, fruit and cheeses and crossed the room to where his father sat, placing it opposite the scroll on the table. He chanced a look while Thranduil watched him and saw a retelling of the revolt of the Noldor elves in Valinor depicted on the parchment.

"This seems a strange time of our history to investigate. Have you still not discovered any answers?"

He was speaking of the mystery Seren presented when she identified the Two Trees. Ever since, the elvenking was preoccupied with every piece of knowledge about a time ages past.

Thranduil tilted his head back. "She mentioned when she was young, she would have night terrors after sparring with her kin – Taliesin in particular – and what little she can recall of those terrors reminded me of the kinslayings that began the first age."

Legolas nodded. "I had asked her about that. She didn't say much. The Dreams must be truly terrible indeed."

"The kinslayings were a terrible time, Legolas. Many who survived were never the same again. Even those Mandos returned to Arda bore scars upon their souls."

Thranduil leaned back in the richly appointed chair he had brought in for himself, picking a wedge of cheese from the plate his son had brought him.

The prince frowned and took a seat in a – rather plain by comparison – chair opposite the king. "How can a human bear such scars? What human is returned from death in such a manner as Seren was?"

Thranduil let out a thoughtful 'hmm' and a long breath. "There may be clues even among the oldest and strangest events of our history. There must be. Seren knows the Trees and her abilities are such that I have found only the briefest mention of their like in the oldest scrolls."

Legolas set his mouth into a grim line. "Father… You may be looking for an answer that does not exist. It has been many days since you squired yourself away in here, looking for something that can explain Seren's existence. Perhaps there isn't one if our oldest scrolls offer little more than hints. Maybe it's time to accept things as they are and move on."

Thranduil swallowed the last of his cheese as he thought. The day he had brought Seren to the vault, he had spent hours asking questions about her life and hours answering them about the history of Middle Earth. At times, she would show surprising insight for one who hadn't been raised learning about the ages of Arda. For himself, there were seemingly minor things she'd divulge that he was certain were more than they appeared. Now, he had far too many scattered pieces of a very perplexing puzzle. It only made sense when he entertained a notion that wasn't possible and he couldn't rid himself of the feeling that he was only just beginning to uncover the tip of a very large iceberg.

"I must understand this Legolas, lest someone with more insight take advantage of that ignorance; the least of which could result in Seren being lost to us."

"She's not a gem to be hoarded, father."

"I was speaking more of her safety than her usefulness," the king retorted pragmatically.

Legolas's gaze narrowed. "But you aren't above using her as well?"

Thranduil smirked and sat back, crossing one leg over another. His son's protectiveness of the human was amusing, to say the least. "I'm not above letting her continue on as she has," he said deeply. "I'm quite certain Seren will do as she pleases if I cannot even command her to use my title as expected."

The last was said with such a petulant air that Legolas blinked. A laugh suddenly escaped him. "That truly bothers you?"

Thranduil exhaled through his nose. "She lives here but this is not her home. It may never be."

"She's making every effort to adopt our way of life and she has never defied your decrees," Legolas retorted. "Her brother lies in our soil here – father, the Greenwood is her home… whether or not she calls you king has nothing to do with that."

"She's known a level of freedom that no one in this kingdom can fathom," the king said as he stood and surveyed the dark room. "She may never truly be able to accept the sovereignty she agreed to live under."

Legolas watched him, an inkling taking root in his mind but he kept the thought to himself. "Unless you plan to banish her for it, there is little you can do."

Thranduil stopped and his head lowered toward the floor, pale hair falling over his ears. "I know…" He turned to Legolas suddenly, expression conflicted. "But I cannot have her addressing me so informally."

Legolas said nothing to that. No one in the kingdom cared that the strange human took such liberties because it was assumed she was rather eccentric and they often found it amusing when Seren wasn't paying enough attention to remember the proper salutation. Yet it seemed to bother his father so…

"I can speak with her," he offered.

"I fail to see what good it would do." Thranduil found himself gazing absently into the darkness of the room where a shelf offered a glinting golden-edged scroll he hadn't noticed before. He went over to it and gently pulled it from its circular nook and returned to his seat at the table. After unrolling it and securing the top with a weight, he took a sweet roll and tore a piece free but stopped in the midst of bringing it close to his lips.

"'Guardians of the trees'…"

Legolas looked at the parchment, eyes widening at the illustration. A dozen elves wearing a crest of entwined silver and gold branches stood before a rendering of the Two Trees and their reflecting pools in a wide circle. Wind was evident in the scene and the twelve stood firm while anything approaching the trees was blown away. Light suffused them, blinding and shining all around them, further driving away the depictions of dark creatures.

"'Among the elves in Aman the Guardians alone, as servants of the Valar and Maiar who created the Trees, were permitted to drink from the Wells of Varda, the pools of light collected from the rain and dews of the Two Trees'…" Thranduil stopped and gazed up at Legolas, wondering if he thought as he did.

"This looks like what happened at the doorway," the younger elf said.

"Indeed," Thranduil agreed and read further. "'The Guardians' abilities were for the protection and succor of the Trees, though they could be used to restore and protect other life a guardian deemed worthy, for the light expended was that of the Tree from which they drank and therefore precious to them and not casually forsaken to other causes. Once a guardian drank of the light from the Trees, they were forever tied to their fate and they all felt the death of the Trees upon their own fea. Many of the Guardians perished when Laurelin and Telperion were destroyed and those who survived took up the cause of seeking the silmarils for the Trees' restoration, knowing that their own lives would be forfeit in this action should they succeed for they would give the light they still possessed within during the course of the Trees' revival. Because of this, they were among the first to be slain by the revenge driven Noldor, who believed them to be complicit in the Trees' destruction in order to obtain the silmarils by an elaborate ruse. To date, the deaths of all but one guardian have been recorded'..."

Thranduil raised his head. He picked at his roll and sat back again in his chair, mind racing.

"How could the Noldor have believed such a thing of the Guardians?" Legolas asked. He was appalled by the cruelty the passage described.

Thranduil chewed a morsel of his bread before answering. "Sauron's master was quite adept at manipulation and none he had more success with than the Noldor. Even as they marched against Morgoth for vengeance, he was able to take a form none suspected and continued to sow lies among the elves who would listen."

He trailed off as he thought. Obviously the Trees' restoration wasn't to Morgoth's design but that could have been accomplished without the Guardians as well as with their aid. What good could have come of the Noldor believing the Guardians would have taken part in the Trees' destruction? The Guardians never had need of the silmarils.

"'The blessing upon the gems,'" Legolas read aloud suddenly. "'The Valar blessed the silmarils as divine, decreeing that no mortal hands or hands unclean could possess them.'" He pointed at another depiction for his father to see.

The twelve Guardians, before the time of the ills begotten by Morgoth, stood before the Valar named Varda and the Two Trees and hundreds of Eldar. Each silmaril was born by the hands of three guardians while a fourth poured water from the Trees' reflecting pools over the stone and Varda stood in attendance, looking on with approval.

"The blessing that protected the gems was carried out by the will of Varda and by the hands of the Guardians," Thranduil said slowly, awed by the implication. "They were killed because, by their deaths, the blessing upon the gems could be undone."

"And Morgoth would finally be able to bear them and behold their full power," Legolas added grimly. He sat back and reached for a roll himself and wondered what this could have to do with Seren.

Thranduil rose and wandered away again. "The doorway that closed on Seren could only have done so if she was the reason it was made at all."

Legolas's eyebrows lifted. "You're sure of this?"

Thranduil paused and offered a spooked expression to his son. "Yes…" He started walking again, chasing an epiphany. "The ancient scrolls are clear on this matter. Such paths are created when a great perversion or tragedy of our natural order has occurred. If anything is lost through such an opening, it will remain until the return or death of what was lost. The doorway could only have closed with Seren here if she belonged here. The most obvious answer is that, although she may have been birthed there, but she began here."

Legolas stared in shock. "Father, what you're suggesting…"

"Is not possible, I know," he sat once more and began cutting a morsel of rabbit free. "But what if it is?" He slipped the morsel between his lips and reached for something under the pile of loose scrolls. He produced Seren's sketch book and opened it to the back cover, toying with the leather lining that had come unglued along the edge. He dug inside and removed three pieces of folded paper and opened them for Legolas to see.

They were clearly old crayon drawings and each bore a small neat signature of what could only be an adult's hand, labeling them 'Seren age 6, first new day'. One page depicted the trees, crude and simply drawn, at the height of their life. Another displayed formless dark shapes with snarling mouths and shining weapons. The last beheld a star-filled sky with one particular dot shining bigger and brighter than the rest that hovered over a vague shape of a male form walking hand in hand with a red-haired little girl. At the bottom of the page, written in a child's scrawl was the name 'Mandos'.

Thranduil inhaled slowly as the images lay before Legolas and the rightness of his theory settled into his breast. "What if the last Guardian was slain and restored to life within a dying child in another realm?"

Legolas swallowed and released a long breath. "It should not be possible. No elf can live on Earth."

"Hidden within a human, the fea might be able to endure," Thranduil replied. "Seren did die. She was deceased for many hours, and the souls of men do not linger once released."

Legolas felt his head spin. "Then… the mind that continues is human but her soul… is elven…"

Thranduil stared again at all of the pages and scrolls before him, still not quite believing his own suggestion but unable to deny it felt correct. "The only reason that I can fathom for such a trick, that makes any sense to me," he held the scroll of the Guardians aloft, "lies on this parchment."

"She's elven…" Legolas repeated on a whisper.

"Hmm, yes," Thranduil said and returned to his meal. "So it would seem."