Seren clasped her pine hued cloak closed about her neck, smoothing down the dark chocolate colored tunic she wore. The wool garment fell almost to her knees and was embroidered on the hem with plum colored vines. It was strange to wear heavy trousers again and she tugged the thick black fabric away from her skin futilely. She let the cloak fall closed and checked her satchel one last time before shouldering it and leaving her chambers.

The day was dark and cold. Winter had fully set upon the land and snow fell softly outside. This was the day the elvenking had planned to set out for Esgaroth. Five days after Legolas's celebration, an elf she'd seen before but didn't know had unceremoniously reminded her that the king expected her to be ready to depart by dawn.

She inhaled against the ache in her lungs that came whenever she thought of Thranduil. In the days since they'd spoken, she hadn't seen him, not even in passing. She'd grown used to his random appearances during the day and the total absence of him bothered her more than she expected. She knew it was silly and it didn't help her at all but that didn't ease the hard feeling under her ribs. It was for the best. The direction her feelings would lead was a one-way street. Seren held no illusions about the king, though at times – for a brief and mad moment – he made her wonder a little. Her experience with infatuation was limited. Yet she did know that it always dwindled to nothing eventually. She would quietly let this fade. The boundaries surrounding their stations could help her keep a certain distance. The last thing she wanted was to be made a fool over something that could never be.

She sighed and tried to shake her thoughts away as she made her way to Nuineri's kitchen for breakfast. This early, there were few people about so her walk was quiet and she was left to study the architecture to keep her mind busy. When Nuinethir rounded a corner, nearly hitting her with the swing of his light brown locks, she was grateful to see a familiar and friendly face.

"Are you ready to see your first human city here in Middle Earth?" He practically bounced on his feet, obviously excited about leaving the kingdom for a little while.

"I just want to get this over with. I have a painting I'm anxious to return to."

"It will wait," the Quickstrider said with a laugh. "Surely it will be good to see others of your own kind?"

"There is a reason I was living high up on a mountain back on Earth, Nuinethir," she replied with a good humored scoff. "Still, I am curious about Middle Earth."

He chuckled and followed her to their favorite kitchen. They found Nuineri elbows deep in flour, making bread when they entered. There was a change in the scent of the humid air and Seren inhaled deeply.

"Cinnamon?"

The cook smiled. "I thought maybe something a little different might be nice. Help yourselves."

Nuinethir took two plates from a stack and handed one to Seren and they began loading them with fruit, rolls and a dish of some kind of small medallions of a light meat, prepared in a delicate sauce. The hall adjacent to the kitchen was nearly deserted and they ate in companionable silence. The Quickstrider would be among the guard the elvenking was taking and his travel clothes were of various shades of mossy green over light leather armor. They left the hall together and Seren kept close to him as he saw to the preparations that were being finished.

Soon enough, it was time to gather in the main hall and take final counts of everything. Seren spotted bundles that she knew to be tents and asked Nuinethir about them.

"The king prefers to stay in our own lodgings just inside the forest by Esgaroth," he said as he busied himself with checking his own equipment. After a moment of tugging on buckles, he looked up at her with a grin. "Don't worry, they will be plenty warm."

Seren smiled. "I never doubted that."

A shift in the activity around her alerted Seren to the king's presence and she was slow to turn around. She steeled herself but her nerves still felt plucked like a well-played instrument when she laid eyes on him standing on a higher platform behind them. An intricate antique silver circlet sat on his brow and bore a single gem in the middle of his forehead. She guessed his muted dark green tunic was meant to be practical but it suited him. It had the same tailored fit characteristic of all his garments and the absence of shining fabric allowed the contours of his form to stand out, though she really wished her mind hadn't noticed.

"Everything is in order, my lord," Nuinethir said and bowed minutely at the waist.

"Good," Thranduil said as he descended the stairs between them. The knee-length tunic swayed open from the waist to reveal black trousers, polished high black boots and a silver buckled belt. With a nod, he sent Nuinethir and the others to take up their burdens and they all dispersed, leaving Seren where she stood.

Thranduil's gaze took in her dark wool traveling clothes and scanned over the pack strapped on her shoulders before meeting her eyes. There was a cold quality to the look and it was an effort not to turn away but she kept her chin up and met him with a dispassionate stare.

"If you do not wish to do this, now is your last opportunity to remain here."

He'd come to stop in front of her and she had to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact.

"I said I'd go. I still wish to reject Lagdar's gesture personally." She adopted a lower tone but kept her words civil and bland. "If my presence will be a hindrance, however…"

He came one step closer, speaking as low as she. The shift from cold stillness to heated anger in his expression was instantaneous.

"Your presence is welcome," he said, his words dangerously soft. Somehow Seren knew he wasn't referring to their journey to Esgaroth. He leaned over just a little but it was enough for her to feel the warmth of him, and he spoke lower yet. "The only hindrance is your choice of words." Just as suddenly, he pulled back, brows furrowed. "Choose them with greater care in the future."

Seren swallowed and stepped back, staring at him. She couldn't answer him; not in the way he expected and the words stuck in her throat.

He tilted his head, his expression puzzled. Her stomach was jumping under her ribs and she dragged in a breath to settle it. "They were chosen with care, my lord."

She matched his stare for a few moments and then turned away to join the others, feeling Thranduil's scowl bore into her back. It would be easy to bow and move on but she couldn't bring herself to do that. She had only meant well and she couldn't accept anyone having the kind of command over her autonomy that he just demanded.

He said nothing else to her, instead passing to the front of their group where Legolas stood. They said their goodbyes and the king waited for his guard to begin leaving before slipping into their formation. Seren remained toward the rear with Nuinethir and Caireann. When she passed Legolas, he stopped her.

"He will let this go in time."

Seren glanced toward the departing party. "He told you?"

"No," the prince said with a soft smile. "He couldn't. That was all I needed to make a guess."

Her chuckle was mirthless as she studied her boots. "I'm surprised I wasn't banished."

"If anyone else had dared to mention my mother, I would agree," Legolas said solemnly.

That stirred Seren's curiosity. "What do you mean?"

"Never underestimate the gravity of the debt he and I owe you." After a moment's pause, he smirked and added, "But don't let it go to your head."

Seren shook her head, smiling a little. "Good luck keeping down the fort." She turned from him and headed through the doors. "And no wild parties or I will take away all of your toys!"

"I only have one!" he called back just before the doors closed behind her.

"Lady Galadriel," Elrond stepped into the circular pavilion at his front gate to greet his kin.

Galadriel embraced him with a smile while her retinue fanned out around them, speaking with other elves that had come out to welcome them.

"Your journey was not too arduous, I trust," he said as they parted.

"Winter comes quickly this year," she replied. With a word to her guards, they were left to see that everyone was settled in and she fell into stride with her son-in-law.

They strolled into a long, covered walkway that would take them into Rivendell's main estate and spoke idly of Galadriel's desire to see her grandchildren. It was an obvious topic and the reason for her visit wasn't broached until Elrond had escorted her to a deserted library.

"You knew I would come," she said suddenly.

Elrond tipped his head forward, his ebony hair sliding over a shoulder. "There is something I would show you."

Galadriel followed him with her gaze, head turning slowly as he strode to a shelf and removed a little wooden box. Her eyes never left him as he set the box on a table before her.

"You have seen what I have seen," she stated suddenly. "You know who has returned."

Elrond didn't deny it. His Sight was a pale shadow of her own but he did occasionally catch glimpses of the broader workings of the world.

"How?"

Elrond raised his guileless blue eyes to her. "This."

He opened the box and Galadriel fully turned to face the silver-white glow that spilled from it. "I can no longer wield its magic."

Her eyes were wide and her mouth went slack. "The sigil of the Trees… How did this come to you?"

Elrond stared down at the box between his hands. "I was entrusted with it and sworn to its safe keeping."

Galadriel studied the intricate shape, seeing through its light and finding the center dark. "One stone has no light."

Elrond smiled and it was almost joyful. "One Guardian still lives. The rightful bearer of this pendant has returned to Middle Earth."

Galadriel smiled in return. "Until this moment, I held a glimmer of doubt in the accuracy of my visions. It should not be possible."

Elrond tilted his head in thought. "Where Mandos is involved, I choose to discard the notion that anything is impossible." He stared down at the treasure he'd guarded for most of his years. "Whether her return is by chance or design, I cannot say; but the danger to the guardian is as real now as during the kinslayings."

"Ungoliant is gone but Shelob remains," Galadriel said with a touch of fear. "Like her mother, her thirst to consume the light of Telperion and Laurelin will drive her to seek the guardian out.

Elrond nodded slowly and closed the box. "Mandos chose to interfere because she so desired to see the light of her companions returned to Valinor. Her task remains unfinished."

Galadriel raised her gaze from the table to meet his. "You know what awaits her. You cannot give her this until she is ready."

"We will go to the Greenwood together," Elrond said, conviction in his words.

"If that is not what the council decides…"

"It is what is right. As she is now, Sauron can take the power she possesses. If she is made to understand…"

"Can we trust a human with that knowledge?" Galadriel studied him intently as his eyes lost their focus and looked back to a day ages past. "You know Saruman will ask if you believe it worth the risk. It is not unthinkable that she could be turned into a weapon to be used against us and he may demand that she be destroyed rather than take such a chance."

Elrond released a long held breath. "I knew her. I believe in her. I saw what she would sacrifice to thwart The Enemy. The same light shines within the human who bears her fea. I would not see it lost again."

"Here you are," Nuinethir said and held open the tent for her.

Seren entered and looked around the little octagon shape. "Well it's not home," she smiled, "but it'll do."

A small cylinder cage no higher than her knees held logs that were burning within and was set in the middle of the space. It was surprisingly warm, as Nuinethir had claimed it would be. Two bed rolls lay on the far side and her pack hung on a hook on one of the tent's poles. Caireann's hung on the opposite side.

The king had decided to make camp when the sun disappeared behind the mountains. Esgaroth was only a few more hours' travel along the river but it wouldn't do to cause alarm in the middle of the night. Seren had busied herself with helping to set things up and someone started handing out bundles of bread and fruit. When she finished hers, Nuinethir escorted her to the tent she and Caireann were to use.

It was small, like all the others except Thranduil's. The king's tent was impossible to miss. Two or three times as large as the rest and erected against the stone of the ridge behind them, guards were stationed at both entrances and it was flanked by a set of small tents for the guards on either side. Hers was set slightly behind the guard tent to the right, pinched in by yet another guard tent to the left of that. The gap between was just big enough for her to pass between them and to the opening of her tent. All of the tents were staggered like this – seven in total, arcing like a crescent moon with the king's in the middle. A large fire in the center of their camp site offered ambient heat to the assembled structures and the river flowed behind the tents on the left.

"I feel a little spoiled," she said as she gazed out to the guard tents. "You all have to crowd four of you into one while we are just two."

Nuinethir smiled. "You might feel spoiled but it is only out of necessity and propriety."

Caireann entered then. "Speaking of propriety, it's time for you to leave." She shooed a smiling Nuinethir out and closed the flap of their tent, turning to see Seren giggling quietly.

The warrior raised an eyebrow at her and a moment later, she smirked. When she reached behind her back for the laces on her armor, Seren stopped her.

"I can help you with that."

Caireann appraised her for a moment before turning around. Deftly, Seren pulled the knots out of the ties and began loosening the leather cords, mindful not to pull them entirely out.

"You're familiar with this?" Caireann turned her head to watch Seren from her periphery.

Seren smiled at her handiwork. "I used to help my father and brother with their costumes when they'd compete in tournaments and reenactments." She tugged once last time at all the laces and loosely tied the ends together so they wouldn't come out.

She stepped back and Caireann pulled the leather over her head. "You speak of them with such love," she said. "Their loss pains you still."

Sudden emotion trapped the words in Seren's throat. She swallowed. "The ones we love never really leave us."

"I suppose it is a comfort to keep them alive in that way." The elf pondered for a moment but soon, her grey eyes began to shine. "I miss Haavelas."

Watching her, Seren felt her own sadness swell within her and she did something she had needed to do since the night her brother died. She pulled Caireann into a tight embrace and taller woman accepted the hug with grateful relief. The hurt she felt echoed back at her and it was a cathartic release as they both shed tears for those they'd lost. Like Seren, Caireann had lost the last person she had to lose. She hugged her friend a little tighter.

After a few more moments, Caireann pulled back and wiped at her eyes. Her long pointed ears were as red as her cheeks.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Seren smiled, still wiping wetness from her face. "It was long overdue." She recalled Nuinethir's grin at the warrior as he left and in an effort to lighten the mood, she teased, "So, what do you suppose Nuinethir was smiling about before you sent him off?"

"I cannot say." Caireann smiled sheepishly and bent to unlace her greaves. "I do have a suspicion, however."

Seren's grin widened. "You could always ask him about it."

The look Caireann returned was devilish. "I could… but he believes he's being subtle."

Seren snorted and it brought a giggle from the warrior. "I will let him think that for now."

"You like his attention," Seren said, helping to pull a bracer from one of Caireann's wrist.

"I do. I will tell him soon but for the moment, I find the effort he's making while trying to hide how obvious it is rather endearing."

The second bracer was set down with its mate. Now free of all her leathers, Caireann pulled out a book and sat on her bedroll and it seemed the moment was over.

Not knowing what else to do with herself, Seren removed her cloak and took out her sketchbook and tried to begin a new drawing. The book spread open to the drawing of Legolas that Thranduil had been fond of. The spine was thoroughly cracked there and now she had to be careful when opening it. It struck her as an oddly appropriate parallel to the one who had broken it. She sighed as she turned the pages to the sketches she'd made a few days ago.

Everyone was rendered in the pages, except the king. He was indicated by the back of his head in a couple of the images from before the chat they'd had on the balcony. She had sketched them from memory, not wanting to seem as though she purposely excluded him from the depictions of the celebration. Yet, despite her best efforts, she couldn't render him. She had always had trouble and at first, she thought it was her grief for her brother stealing her motivation. Yet she could draw everyone else. She could picture them in her mind and produce what she saw on paper but Thranduil was less clear in her thoughts. She could see him but it was as if there another image of him, lying over what she recalled. It was like having one eye out of focus.

Seren opened the last drawing. It was another of Legolas, this time from his Day of Beginning and he was smiling with laughter. She absent-mindedly began to shade it, enjoying the busy work while her thoughts tumbled freely.

As always, they turned toward Thranduil. She groaned to herself mentally and continued shading. She had no idea what she could say to the king but it was clear that she must. She had to begin somewhere. It occurred to her that she could apologize as he expected her to, rather than antagonize him further. Arguing with him, no matter how well meaning, only made everything messier. She might not regret her intent but she did regret that her words seemed to wound him. It was presumptuous of her to speak to him of his past in such a way. In her conviction to say something she thought would help a friend, she had been blind to that.

Thranduil paced in his tent, agitation taking over his composure now that he had nothing to occupy his mind. He detested this waiting. Esgaroth was settled for the night and there was little else to do. It wasn't a consolation when he needed to not be idle.

A giggle from Caireann's and Seren's tent made him pause and he scowled in their direction. He wondered how the human could be at ease after their recent conversations. First she had the gall to speak to him of things she had no business to and then defied him when he offered a command that was as much an offer of truce as it was a decree. He was within his right to throw her into a dungeon cell for a few days for defying it. The command itself was unimportant. She had failed to acknowledge it. She had turned away from him without dismissal.

"They were chosen with care, my lord."

He understood that she meant well. He was willing to see that. In the moment before they left the kingdom, he had also seen he was unwilling to levy a punitive decision against Seren. When the time came, when it would have been appropriate; he had not considered the words, never mind utter them.

He wondered when his regard of her had changed so drastically or if it had never been what it should have in the first place, beginning with the moment he had allowed her to forego his title. Of course she used it now in most appropriate settings but she didn't stand on ceremony like everyone else. She respected his authority but her attitude toward him was too casual.

As he considered how their interactions should have been different, an uncomfortable truth emerged: He had failed to maintain his distance. Many times he had personally sought her out, rather than have her brought before him. They'd spoken often – at times of trivial things – and in casual settings. When she was provoked enough to use his name, he hadn't corrected her. He had told himself she was still adjusting and that he didn't wish to stall their conversation over something so minor. Now when he recalled those moments, the little jump in his chest that came with the memory proved that perhaps he had deceived himself.

He shook his head and went to a table set with a wine service. He was spending far too much time thinking about this. As king, he knew there could only be one response to his unease. Seren had been among his kin for nearly three months now. She no longer required his oversight. As he sipped his wine, he felt better telling himself that he simply needed to maintain an appropriate distance.

A round of raucous laughter echoed through the camp suddenly and Thranduil went to an entrance of his tent and peered toward a gathering by the fire. He saw Seren standing among them and her sketchbook was being passed around. Someone said something and more laughter rang out, Seren chuckling with them.

Firelight danced on her features as her eyes twinkled with mirth and Thranduil felt as though his wine had settled sour and heavy in his stomach. He swallowed and breathed deep to settle it.

Seren's neck prickled and she looked toward Thranduil's tent, startled to see that he was indeed standing there. Her smile faltered when he scowled at them and he gestured for her to enter before turning away. She inhaled deeply, coming to a decision and took her sketchbook from another elf. After carefully tearing a page free, she crossed the distance to the large tent. The guard standing by the entrance simply nodded as she passed and she stepped just inside, staring at the king's back.

Thranduil stiffened, aware he was no longer alone and stared out at the moon beyond the second entrance of his tent.

For many moments, neither said a word and Seren watched the king's back as he hadn't acknowledged her yet. When she did speak, her words were quiet, almost whispered.

"I meant my earlier words. I can't take them back. I did not intend to cause you harm, however. I will… respect your wishes on the matter."

Silence loomed heavy in the space for a few moments more before Thranduil replied. He sounded tired even to his own ears.

"You are here because you saved Legolas and because of the life debt I owe your brother. If these things were not so, you would have been escorted to a human city. I am in a quandary about what exactly to do. Obedience of one's king is all that is required."

His eyes fell closed as he said this. He hadn't turned around and even now he knew he was faltering again, failing to explicitly classify himself and her in their specific places. After a moment, he turned his profile partially towards her. "Who are you to tell me that you respect anything I decide? You are far too informal when addressing me. You seem to think you can pick and choose which acknowledgements you will observe and you openly refuted what I said this morning. These transgressions are enough to warrant putting you in the dungeon for a time."

Seren swallowed and stepped closer, lowering her voice further. "I haven't forgotten what I agreed to… but I cannot accept anyone's total command over my autonomy. I can only promise to be more mindful, my lord."

She used the title now to enforce the distance she wanted to keep. She needed to care less personally about him. The fact that it stung to hear him speak with bitterness toward her was proof of that.

"I won't make a promise that I don't know I can keep; that my tongue won't get the better of me again when my intentions seem better than keeping silent…"

Slowly he half turned toward her. "But you will try." It was more of a question than a statement.

He finally met her gaze and his expression was like hard glass bottled around a storm. She swallowed and slowly nodded.

"Good," he said abruptly, some of his usual demeanor seeming to click back into place. He gazed toward the view outside again for several moments. He was mollified to some extent and drew another breath to speak.

"What do you intend to say about Lagdar's transgression toward you?"

Seren blinked. "I suppose… simply that his courtship is unwanted and that the injury the Lothrim caused was an offense he should make reparations for."

Thranduil hummed in approval. "If you wish to be seen as a citizen of the Greenwood, I would suggest you wear the sigil you were given."

Seren smirked, more to herself than to him. She had brought the intricate bronze and gold clasp for that reason. "I have every intention of it."

That surprised him and he fully turned to face her, eyebrows high on his forehead. His mouth clipped closed when their gazes met. She stood there, confident in this and he had to remind himself that she hadn't forsworn her home just because she had slighted him. It eased his concerns a small measure.

Seren forced the jitters down and made her body still, appearing calmer than she felt. "If there's nothing else, my lord?"

The elvenking blinked. Still she stood there, hands clasped behind her back as she waited to be dismissed.

"No… That will be all."

Seren nodded her head down once and turned on her heel. Before she made it two steps, his voice stopped her.

"I did not forget that your intention was kind, Seren."

She didn't turn, feeling his eyes on her profile. "Of course. I'm glad."

He watched her, standing there and making eye contact from the far periphery of her vision and he wondered why everything seemed odd. After a moment, he simply bid her goodnight and she was gone.

When he returned his attention to the space she'd occupied, he spied a piece of the strange paper that he knew existed only in her sketchbook on the larger table he had set for meals. There was writing on it and he lifted the page to the light: "Legolas, Day of Beginning, TA 2946"

Thranduil's hand shook a little as he turned the paper over and his chest tightened as his son's smiling face stared back at him. It was a moment from the prince's celebration, captured on parchment. Unlike the rest of the sketches he'd seen, it was shaded and highlighted. Though it lacked color, he felt as though he was staring through a window into his own memory.

Thranduil sank slowly into a chair, almost missing it as he stared transfixed at the image. Gently, he touched the contours of Legolas's face, marveling at how precise the detail was rendered. Even the ears were the correct shape, unique to Legolas and the eyes shone brightly at him from laugh crinkled lines. Thranduil was so absorbed in the drawing; he didn't hear Nuinethir's approach.

The Quickstrider slowed to a halt just outside the tent and took in the King's countenance. If anyone could manage to appear tragically gutted and awestruck simultaneously, it was the elvenking. Nuinethir stood there, watching for a moment and smiled. To his own amusement he thought, "And the victor this round is Seren."

He turned away and resolved to try again to speak with the king later. His departure went equally as unnoticed as his arrival.