Here's another chapter! So nobody gets confused, the fོa is the spirit, and the hroa is the body. :-) Read, review, enjoy!

Legolas dismounted and handed the reins of his horse to a stableboy. He anxiously waited for Elrohir to reach the foot of the large talan. Once he did, the Prince sprinted up the stairs, taking them two at a time, with Elrohir on his heels. His mind was still reeling from the knowledge he possessed, but it was trivial now. All he wanted was to see Irime.

The two elves burst into the room which she had been given, only to find that they had been beaten there. A fair-haired sinda, dressed in common clothes, sat beside the bed. He was talking animatedly with Irime. Legolas was unsure as to how he should react, and by the look on his companion's face, Elrohir did not know either.

Irime looked up, her eyes sparkling with laughter, and she saw them. The dancing twinkles in her eyes faded almost immediately. Elrohir stepped forward, somewhat reluctantly. There was silence, for neither knew what to say.

"Irime . . . ."

She straightened, whether she did so physically or if it was only her air, Legolas was not sure. "Brother." The word had a knife-edged finality to it. "Welcome to Lorien. Let me introduce Orophin."

"I think we already are acquainted. Sister." His voice had an undercurrent of temper.

Orophin made a short bow, almost impudently. "My lord."

"Warden." said Elrohir, in sindarin. "Has there been much trouble with orcs on the border?" It was a stinging reminder that Elrohir outranked Orophin tremendously, and would not tolerate any overbold behavior.

Orophin took it all in stride. "Lord, there is nothing that you need to worry yourself over. Your guards are well trained; they will defend you."

"I have no guards."

The warden did not hesitate for a second. "Pardon me, lord, I thought that since you sent none with Lady Irime, they had all stayed with you."

"Iluve nan seldor! Pusta!" (You all are boys! Stop!) Irime yelled.

Orophin was able to understand enough of her high elven speech to know she was wroth, and for good reason. His pride, now battered by her harsh words, had not let him step down from Elrohir's blatant challenge. He had rather enjoyed acting insolent.

"Avatyan." It was Elrohir who spoke first. (Forgive me)

"Nen ོཾsahtië, avantyan." (I was wrong, forgive me) Orophin surprised them all when the quenya phrase flowed from his lips. He looked at Elrohir, as if waiting for something.

Legolas shook his head, and spoke. "Lord Elrohir and I desire to speak to Lady Irime alone, if it is not much trouble."

Orophin looked the prince in the eyes and saw nothing but kindness. He was ashamed of his childish behavior. Indeed, he felt like a grubby elfling next to the Prince. "None at all, Prince." He bowed and left the room.

As soon as he was gone, Elrohir sat down on the edge of the bed, taking Irime's hand. She jerked it away. Although the action stung him far worse than any slap could have, Elrohir did not move.

"Irime, will you forgive me?"

"No."

"Will you look at me?"

She reluctantly turned to face him. "What more can you want from me?"

He saw the pain in her eyes, and knew it was mirrored in his own. For a brief time, time had not mattered. The rise and fall of Anor, and the phases of Isil, were irrelevant. It had been far too fleeting, brutally so. The ties between them had collapsed, and yet simultaneously rebuilt themselves. That new bridge that now connected them was different. It was not the firm, solid foundation of love, but, instead, distrust, doubt, and pain. Physical pain, and pain of the heart. The fོa can only withstand so much suffering - especially when the hroa is collapsing.

"Nothing. I was a fool to think there was still hope." He stood and strode across the chamber, and yanked open the door. The whole flet shuddered when it was slammed closed.