In which poor Yavanna has way too much work to do.

Not knowing what else to do, Tauriel lays down and tries to sleep. Still the mattress feels too soft, and her mind will not quiet.

Part of her dreads what Thranduil might do, but most of her cannot help but pity him, much though she doesn't want to. She does, after all, understand his pain, and that understanding is his fault. She should take some manner of satisfaction in it, but she can't. Unlike him, she is not, at heart, a cruel person. She has paid him back; she can't stomach inflicting worse upon him.

She pulls the covers over herself, wincing as she shifts her leg. The sheets smell of lavender, but the scent does not soothe her.

How can she disabuse him of this mad delusion? She has a feeling her life will go very ill if she does not. How, she isn't sure, but it could, very easily.

And part of her, though she really doesn't want to, mourns. Would she have forgiven him, if he had apologized long ago? Maybe. She would never have trusted him again, but perhaps she would not have hated him so.

Well, she'll never know. He said nothing until it was far too late, and now he's convinced himself that he loves her. It is, as the Edain would say, a pretty kettle of fish.

"Yavanna, what do I do?" she whispers, shutting her eyes. Though she's in a cavern full of thousands of other people, she feels so very, very alone.

In truth, Yavanna is uncertain what to tell Tauriel. Thranduil is even more unstable than she realized.

Tauriel might no longer wish to wound Thranduil, but neither will she be satisfied if his pain ceases to soon. She suffered for twenty years, and Yavanna fears that he will have to suffer just as long before she can forgive him.

The problem with that is that Tauriel is young and strong, whereas Thranduil is ancient, with a past filled with countless horrors. Yavanna isn't certain he could last twenty years like this – with Legolas gone, he has no personal reason not to Fade.

Tauriel can't leave him like this for the next two decades, but Yavanna is afraid that is exactly what she will decide to do. And while it is justice, it will also break him. It didn't take long at all for Tauriel to learn how to cope again, but Thranduil is incapable of it – not without outside help. And Yavanna fears even she cannot give it to him.

Something has to happen. Something has to give. And Yavanna has no idea what it must be.

Thranduil's depression is so deep that it is all he can do to make it back to his rooms.

It's chilly, and dark, but he can't even bring himself to build up the fire or light a lamp. He sits and stares at the glowing coals, scarcely registering anything around him.

His heart feels so raw that it is physically painful – a dull, thumping ache that rises and ebbs with each heartbeat. He is alone – so very alone, and he wonders how he ever could have been mad enough to think he is better off that way.

It was almost easier when Tauriel hated him. Yes, it was painful, and tore at him every time he saw her, but at least she felt something. Knowing that she has completely washed her hands of him…it is good, for her sake. She is healing. And yet it hurts him in ways he never would have imagined.

He's glad she is healing, for she seems now more like herself, like Tauriel as she should be, but part of him is selfish enough to wish that she still thought of him, even when she wasn't directly confronted with him. Eru knows he rarely gets her out of his head for more than five minutes at a time.

She will not believe him, he realizes dully. No matter what he does or says, she will never believe that he loves her, because she does not want to. She will lurk in the forest for centuries, forever out of his reach, and he will be alone.

Thranduil has done his utmost to be a good King again, but he knows that few to none would truly miss him if he was gone. Even his son cannot stand the sight of him. Anameleth does not wait in Valinor – and in any case, after all he has done, he does not deserve to set foot upon that shore. No, he is not Maglor, not a Kinslayer, but he has been bad enough.

He looks at his hands, his long, white fingers. They have loved and healed, but they have also hurt and killed. They are stained with millennia of bloodshed, a stain he can feel, even if neither he nor anyone else can see it.

What startles him, however – what breaks his malaise – is the light of his own fëa. It's dimmer, if only but a fraction, but he knows well what it means.

He is Fading. And he cannot say that he minds.

Try though she does, Tauriel can't sleep, even after another dose of poppy. The floaty feeling in her head is a distraction, but not enough of one.

Oh, how she wishes that she could pace – that she could run away and never return. Damn Thranduil – he's shaken her badly, in ways she can't ignore, however much she wants to.

Eru, she wants her treehouse – wants her bed of leaves, on which she can lie and watch the stars. She isn't used to living underground anymore, and she misses the sky.

She misses many things, and she can have none of them here.

If only Maglor was awake. Talking to him would certainly be a distraction – an unpleasant distraction, but a distraction nonetheless. She has so very many questions for him, though she knows already she will like none of the answers.

Frustrated, she rolls to face the ceiling. The scent of smoke still lingers, the ashes of Thranduil's letters still lying where they fell. Even now she's trying to reconcile them with his precise, measured cruelty that morning, and she still cannot do it. It's as if he is two wholly different people.

She could have loved him, easily. She had loved him, in a way – just not that way. The fact that he deliberately crushed that is not her fault, and she cannot now forgive him for it, even if she wanted to – and she has no interest in trying. His misery disturbs her, but it is not her fault, nor is it her problem. He has to deal with it alone, as she did. Soon she will be gone, and then he will learn how to move on, as she has done. It's simple.

So why does she feel so guilty?

Even now, Tauriel doesn't have it in her to wish he should be happy, for he does not deserve to be. But the sheer depth of his misery seems wrong, too; he's taking this far worse than she ever did.

Legolas, she decides, needs to come home. When her leg has healed, she will seek him – though she cannot tell him precisely why he is needed. If he knew, he would never forgive Thranduil, either, which would not help in the slightest.

Is there no one left in this world who truly loves him? Tauriel doesn't think so. And, although he's deliberately driven everyone away, that is still beyond sad. She herself might have no family, but she has many friends among the Guard. Thranduil doesn't even have that. No wonder he's such a wreck of a person.

Eventually, she gives up, and swings her feet over the edge of the bed. While she can't put real weight on her leg, she had better figure out how to limp. The sooner she can get out of here, the better. For everyone.

The Elf knows he knew his name, but he's lost it again. Tauriel – Tauriel, this name he remembers, but not to whom it belongs. He wanders a nebulous dream-state, neither asleep nor awake, unsure what is real and what is merely the product of his fractured mind.

Tauriel. Tauriel. She is important, though something in him believes he has harmed her somehow.

He must wake. He must find her – perhaps she can make him remember. Someday, he will find a way to keep things in his mind, and perhaps she is key to that.

Yavanna shakes her head, nearing despair.

Thranduil, Maglor – they both want to take from Tauriel. Maglor most obviously, but Tauriel wishes her to know he loves her for his own sake, not hers. If he cannot have her love, he craves her absolution – but what does he offer in return? Thus far, nothing but words and desperation.

Perhaps Yavanna needs a word with him. Maglor, at the moment, is a lost cause; him she can do nothing with until a little more of his mind returns.

But Thranduil – oh. Oh no.

Thranduil is Fading.

It is frowned upon, in this Age, for any of the Valar to assume physical form in Middle-Earth. There's no actual law against it, but it is nevertheless discouraged. In this case, however, she is sure she can be excused. Legolas has too much to do, but there is no other who can inherit, if his father Fades. Taking up his father's crown will leave him trapped in Mirkwood, unable to take part in what is brewing.

No, she must see Thranduil – and Tauriel. The trouble is that she can give him no hope – and Tauriel will not want to. As things stand, Yavanna doesn't think the girl could force herself to care if he Fades.

Thranduil sits in the dark, surrounded by empty wine-bottles. If he is Fading, he no longer has any need to hoard his precious alcohol.

He feels…strangely relieved. Still numb, as he has been for months, but it is as if a great weight has been lifted from his shoulders. No longer does he face the prospect of living forever like this.

He is Thranduil, and he will be free.

It is said that the Lingerers have no memory of who they once were – that they merely wander, houseless and unseen by most. The thought is inexpressibly comforting.

He drains the last of another bottle, and lets it fall to the floor with a chink. While the length of time it takes to Fade differs from Elf to Elf, he does not think it will take him long at all. And that thought too is comforting.

His eyes drift shut, his muscles and limbs loose from the effects of his truly heroic consumption of drink. This is not fair to Legolas, but not even for his son can he halt this process. It is not as though Legolas will truly miss him – he has held the boy at arm's length far too long for that.

"You must stop this, Thranduil."

He jerks upright, his eyes snapping open, for he knows that voice, though until now he has heard it only within his own mind.

Dark though the room is, he can see Yavanna clearly. She stands in a pool of her own radiance, her red-gold hair glowing, the smooth dark skin of her face and bare arms flawless. Her gown is some shifting, shimmering green fabric that catches and sparks with her own light.

"I will not," he says flatly. "I have driven away my son, and the one I love wishes nothing to do with me. What, exactly, have I to live for?"

"Nothing, yet," she retorts, just as flatly, "but you will. Of that I assure you."

He snorts, slumping in his chair again. "Can you re-write history? Can you tell my younger self not to be such a fool? To cherish my son, and to tell Tauriel I love her before I take her to bed with me? To even admit to myself that I loved her then? I have burned every bridge I had, Lady Yavanna, and even I am not fool enough to truly believe they can be rebuilt. I hope, and I wish, and I delude myself so that I might function, but in my heart I know the truth. I have made my bed, but I cannot endure lying in it."

Her eyebrows rise. "Are you truly so weak?"

"Yes," he says bluntly. "Yes, I am. And I no longer care."

Yavanna sighs, and shakes her head. "Stop it, Thranduil, or I will stop it for you. And you will not like it, if I do."

"Lady Yavanna, you know as well as I that the process of Fading cannot be halted," he says. He's always thought that rather tragic, but he's grateful for it now.

"It could, if you tried," she says, grabbing his arm. She hauls him to his unsteady feet with a strength that is rather terrifying – Thranduil is far from a weakling, but she could break him in half. His head spins, and he would fall if not for her grip. "You do not need me to tell you that you have been an idiot, Thranduil Oropherion," she adds severely, "but you need not compound your idiocy by Fading. Your life will not always be a tale of bode and woe, but you will never find out why or how if you do not stop this nonsense. It has only just begun – you can halt it, if you try hard enough. And you had best try as hard as you can, or I will send my husband to shadow you until you succeed."

That thought is legitimately terrifying.

Tauriel actually crashes to the floor when Yavanna appears in her room without any manner of warning. The poppy has worn off enough that pain jags up her leg and all through her, so intense she has to grit her teeth against a cry.

The Vala picks her up as though she weighs no more than a child, carefully setting her on the bed. "I apologize, little Tauriel,' she says. "I did not mean to startle you so."

Now that Tauriel is truly in her presence, she can find neither voice nor words. In the dream-world, she had not sensed the sheer magnitude of Yavanna's power, but she is very, very aware of it now. All she can do is nod, inanely.

"I bring news that may not seem so ill to you, but it may well be very ill for Middle-Earth." Yavanna takes Tauriel's hands, her fingers warm and satin-smooth. "Thranduil is Fading, little one."

For a moment, Tauriel is convinced she hasn't heard that right. The thought of one as proud and arrogant as Thranduil, Fading…she cannot wrap her mind around it.

But Yavanna would not lie to her about such a thing, nor is she likely to be mistaken. Tauriel can easily guess why, too – and a small, shameful, terrible part of her, a part she thought she had extinguished, thinks that it serves him right.

It truly is terrible, and she truly is ashamed, for she should never wish Fading on anyone. Most of her doesn't wish it even on Thranduil, but a tiny part of her can't help it.

"I do not know what you think I can do about it," she says, forcing herself to meet Yavanna's eyes. "I cannot make myself forgive him, and I am a terrible liar. There is no hope I can give him – not even false hope."

The Vala gives her hands a gentle squeeze. "Stay," she says. "Do not flee as soon as you are able. I know I ask much of you in this, but Thranduil cannot be allowed to Fade. In what is to come, he will be needed."

That sounds ominous, but Tauriel knows Yavanna will not elaborate. She sighs, bowing her head. "I will stay, my lady," she says, "but I do not know that I can face him again. I pity him, but I can't forgive him – and even now, after all I have healed, I still do not want to." She's a little ashamed of that, too, but she can't help it.

"You fear that if you do, he will hurt you again," Yavanna says gently.

Tauriel looks up at her. "I know he would," she says simply. "It is all he knows how to do. He lies, to himself and to others. Perhaps once he was a good person, but he is not one now. I do not know how much good my presence will do, my lady. He will never cease this mad delusion while I am here."

Now it is Yavanna who sighs, and sits in the chair facing her. "It is not a delusion, little Tauriel," she says, more gently still. "Thranduil truly does love you, though his love is as damaged as he is. It alters nothing that has gone before, but you must know that his love is no lie, to you or to himself."

It's not what Tauriel needs to hear, and she tries to turn away. "If that is how he treats those he loves," she says, "I would not want to be his enemy. If his love is real, that only makes it worse." And it really does. To use her and discard her is terrible enough in its own right, but to love her, and use her anyway…she shudders, disgust roiling in her stomach. "I can never be what he wants, my lady," she says, extricating her hands and curling in on herself. "If he cannot accept that, he must Fade. Even if I was willing to lie to him, he would know it for what it was."

Yavanna lays a gentle hand on her hair, and the touch suffuses her with comforting warmth. "Talk to him, little Tauriel," she says. "You need not lie, or pretend to grant him absolution you do not have it in you to give. Merely listening to what he has to say may halt his Fading."

She doesn't want to give him even that much, but she can hardly disobey Yavanna. When a Vala asks you to do something, you can't exactly say no. "All right, my lady," she says, shutting her eyes in silent pain. "I will try." She will even try to keep her temper, should he somehow stir her ire again. "But I can do no more than that. I cannot offer forgiveness I do not feel."

"I know," Yavanna says, carding her fingers through Tauriel's hair, "and I would not ask you to. He will come to you soon, so make ready." She kisses the crown of Tauriel's head, and then she is gone.

Tauriel stares at her hands. She can't disobey Yavanna, but oh, she wants to. She wants to scream, to smash everything in the room, because how dare Thranduil love her, yet treat her as he has? How dare he? How can he love her, yet let her suffer alone for twenty years? She spoke truth when she told him it would have gone on until she could bear it no more, and left.

That is not love – certainly not love as she has ever understood it. Yavanna would not lie to her, but still. Her mind rebels at the very idea.

She hugs her midsection, trying to ignore the low, dull pain in her heart. It really is so, so very much worse. She's known for decades that Thranduil is fundamentally selfish, but strangely, it was easier when she thought she meant nothing to him. She spent so long thinking he was a hateful user and nothing more, but to know that he has loved her, and let her suffer anyway…it hurts so much that she can't even sustain rage.

Tauriel wants to run – to crawl, if she has to, and never face anyone again, Edain, Elf, or Dwarf. She feels she will go as mad as her so-called father if she stays.

But she can't run, or crawl, so she curls up on the bed and tries to fight the burn in her eyes. She swore she'd never let him make her cry again, but it's a battle she's losing by the moment. Eventually she has no choice but to give in, pressing her face into her lavender-scented pillow to muffle her sobs. Her tears are hot and bitter and physically painful, her chest burning as much as her eyes.

Naturally, this is how Thranduil finds her.

She doesn't hear the door open, and so isn't aware of his presence right away. Not until a tentative hand rests on her shoulder does she realize she's not alone.

She swats it away on instinct before she even knows who it belongs to, but when she turns and sees that it's him, she recoils so much she almost falls off the other side of the bed.

"Don't touch me," she hisses, though the venom in her voice is undercut by the hoarseness of her tears. "Yavanna said I have to listen, but don't you dare ever touch me again."

His white face is entirely stricken, but she's too raw to care. Yavanna spoke truth – he is Fading, and right now she hurts so much she wants him to. It can't be any worse than what she felt for twenty years.

"I should go," he says softly – so very softly, soft and broken.

Yes, you should, she thinks, but what she says is, "No. Yavanna told me I must listen, so speak. Let's get this over with."

These two…it's a good thing Tauriel has a very strong sense of duty. It's probably the only thing that's going to get her through the first – and worst – of this.