I stalked through the starlit forests for the remainder of the night, ignoring the curious looks of the elves that I passed as well as the lamp-like stares from unknown creatures. I suppressed all thoughts beyond my immediate surroundings, and so by the time I found myself entering the Halls of Varië as the rising sun struck through the marble pillars that surrounded them, I was still significantly wrathful.

I had not made an effort to visit the halls wherein hung weavings that told the stories of the world, but I felt that I had been drawn there all the same. As soon as my foot touched the steps leading in, curiosity burned in me and I quickened my pace.

I was alone. The soft paddings my slippers made quickly dissipated as I made my way from one weaving to the next, stopping briefly, mostly to admire the work rather than the event it portrayed. I was not truly interested in the scenes until I came upon a series that depicted the War of the Last Alliance. I paused before a tapestry that shows Oropher's final moment. The focus was on his falling body and golden armor, but as I looked closer, I saw both mine and Thranduil's faces in the background, accurate to a point, and looking upon the king in horror. I remembered the day, and seeing the death brought back fresh grief. But there was little purpose to grieving now, as the old king was now as alive and hale as I was. After all, he had befriended Belegorn.

I saw Thranduil's coronation, which I smiled to see his youthful face, marred by recent sorrow and so very frightened at the task before him. I wondered that I had not been fully aware of his feelings that were so obvious in the depiction. Hindsight, I decided, was all the clearer.

I passed a few more hangings, uninterested in dissecting the affairs of Gondor and Arnor. It was the beautiful weaving of my own wedding that brought my first tears.

How I missed him! The partner of my life and companion of my soul…I wished more with each passing moment that he was beside me now, that he could offer his own fresh perspective, that he could draw a laugh from me with the right words…

I could not bear it, and so I began to walk briskly further down the hall, passing events that I had barely heard of in the telling, as well as events from my own life that I could not remember now without acute pain. The flight from Amon Lanc, the birth of Belegorn and Legolas…Dol Guldur surrounded by darkness…the coming of age celebrations, the death of the white stag, and the death of Belegorn. Even the especially beautiful weaving that showed the bronze stag standing proudly among the blooming spring of the forest, brought more sorrow.

There were few tapestries left, and near to the last I found a pair that I dreaded to see, though now they were the primary reason that I had entered the halls.

It was strange to see something that I had experienced firsthand, from the sight of an observer. My figure stood against the evil Nazgûl, alone and fierce, with a fiery look in my eyes and drawn sword in my hand. The bow of Galadriel lay broken at my feet. I was decidedly grateful that that detail had not been overlooked, but could not stare at the scene very long. I had died then, after all.

I turned my head to the next, and even the first brief glimpse turned my stomach.

My earthly body had been borne back to the mountain halls on a wooden bed. It had been kind of the surviving warriors to do so, I decided, and I saw that they had even decorated my body with flowers. They were bowing with their burden on their shoulders, presenting it to the king.

Thranduil stood stiff on the stairs that led into the palace, and I admired the craftsmanship that showed the emotions in his visage that tore at my heart. His anguish was tangible in his bowed head, and one of his pale hands rested on my brow. Curious, I leaned in closer I saw a single tear, a finely cut diamond, woven into the threads that made up his face.

What had I done?

I reached my own hand to brush along his likeness with all the tenderness I had, but it was cold comfort. I remembered his warm skin beneath the same fingers, and the relief it had given me. My chin began to tremble, and tears like rain fell from my face and fell to the stone floor. I breathed raggedly, but even experienced I could not stop my heart from beating faster in its torment.

"It is difficult, even from our Blessed Realm, to see the heartaches of those we love…"

I jumped, and in my surprise turned to see Finrod standing behind me, his eyes fastened on the drapery and his hands clenched behind his back. I choked back a cough, and found to my shame that I had backed into the wall like a cornered animal. He continued to speak, ignoring my distress.

"Pain does not come often here. Even those that bring unhealed hurts soon find rest and peace. But to those that remain in Arda…we cannot help. I wish I could assure you that your mother and I have felt every ache that you have, and every joy. We have regretted sending you away a hundredfold, but we would not undo it." He turned his gaze to me. "I cannot ask you to excuse what we did, not yet, but I can offer you our love. We have waited to give it to you, saved it and treasured it. It is…most precious." He reached out his hand to me, and I took it.

We began to walk back the way I had come, and my father fished a handkerchief from a pocket, which he offered to me along with a small smile.

"I am sorry," I said, after I had blown my nose and mopped the tears from my face the cloth was thoroughly soaked. "I've ruined your handkerchief."

"It is of no importance. You may keep it, if you would like. I certainly would, if I were you," his smile turned teasing. "If only to burn it."

I returned his grin, feeling slightly refreshed though still spiritually sore.

"Your wit is your heritage from me," he said suddenly. "I have laughed over your words so many times…I am so very sorry for your contrary nature and even more for Thranduil for he has borne it."

I knew he wanted me to return the conversation, but I could not, and so we continued in silence. I pointedly ignored the hangings as we passed them, instead staring straight ahead. The sun was bright and high in the sky as we entered it, and the weight of the journey I had passed through began to fall from me.

I turned to Finrod. "I cannot forgive you," I said. "Not yet. But I will accept an offer of friendship, and mayhap with my own healing we may be kin in spirit as we are in body."

"Well said. And for now, I shall give to you what I know you most desire." He steered me to the east, and we began to walk. Despite my badgering questions, he refused to tell me where he was leading me.

We eventually came upon a small grove of beech trees, wherein stood several pedestals alighted with silver trays. A few elves lingered there, watching into the trays. Foreboding came over me.

"Oh, no…" I said. "I detest magic, even in pure forms."

Finrod laughed. "It's hardly magic here. And it is very unlike what you may have experienced at the hand of your aunt."

"Indeed," I said, but I was not convinced. I had to be pulled to the nearest podium, and I watched in reluctant fascination as Finrod bent over the mirror, and breathed on the clear water.

"Thranduil," he said, voice soft.

I could see from my vantage point, a step behind him, several images pass by before it settled on a scene.

"Here," my father said, holding out his hand to draw me near.

I peered into the mirror, and gasped. "But this is current!" I blurted.

"Aye, it is," Finrod said. "And now you may see what you yearn for. I will return for you when the sun sets."

I was too preoccupied with what was in front of me to watch him go. The king stood in front of the window in our chambers, and he stood still, staring from it. He looked miserable, but it was hidden behind solemnity. I watched his form for hours, entranced that I could be with him and yet without him, before he was disturbed. Legolas entered the room, without knocking, and bowed shortly before his father. Short words were exchanged, neither one exhibiting any graciousness, and they left the room together. I stood straight to clear my head and offer relief to my aching back, and found that the sun was nearly set. Had a full afternoon really passed? True to his word, Finrod came for me soon after. We did not speak, and he led me to the stone city that I had seen from my welcome feast the night before. I found the architecture appealing, even in the dim light of evening, but tiredness kept me from focusing as I wanted to.

"This is where you will live," my father said, stopping me before a wooden door. "It is small, but it is only temporary. Once you are reunited with Thranduil, you will be granted an inheritance of land elsewhere. Belegorn dwells to your immediate left, though I doubt he is there now. He spends most of his time with Oromë."

"Thank you," I said, and he bowed and left. I took a deep breath, and entered a new chapter of my life.