Legolas lay back among the cushions, still shaking from Glorfindel's unexpected visit. He didn't like surprises, and having a stranger come in bearing breakfast had nearly upset him to the point of tears. He still didn't know what to do - should he bow when they came through the door? They insisted that he not call them 'sire' or 'lord', but he hadn't called anybody anything else. Except his mother. He hardly remembered her - he did have a vague memory of her singing to him, but even that was tainted by a choked voice and the dark noises around them. Darkness and loss was all he knew, and he didn't want to gain any happiness only to lose it again. He and Amariel had both had their share of Masters, Amariel more so than him, for she was older. A few of them had been mildly tolerable, and only one had been fair. Most had treated him as though he were invisible, expecting him to foresee their commands and most likely beating him when he did not comply with them. Many of them had been fantastically cruel, but there had been quiet spots in his long, painful life. Amariel was one of them.

She used to tell him about his mother, speak poetry about her beautiful face and figure, weave tales about her sweet singing voice. Legolas could sing as well - one of his old Masters had suffered harsh headaches and promoted Legolas to Head Entertainer. This meant that Legolas knew how to play the harp and the lyre, and Amariel had taught him a few songs to sing. She said he had inherited his mother's singing voice, and it was like listening to Leina all over again. She said that Leina had green eyes like leaves coming out in spring, and her hair was as golden as the rays of the sun. He figured this was a pretty story to cheer him up, but it was nice to imagine that he might have had a pretty mother. Certainly he had wondered about his parents, fantasizing that he was related to royalty and that his majestic father would whisk him away from all the pain and the hurt. But over the years, even that fantasy dimmed to an almost nonexistent spark, and he contented himself by doing his work and trying to stay in Amariel's shadow.

There was a smart rap on the door, and Legolas almost jumped out of his skin. How long had he been lying here, thinking? Surely he would be punished for staying in bed this long! He was about to get out of bed and start cringing, when the door opened and an ellon stepped inside. He was tall and slender, with cool blue eyes and a queer way of looking at things, as though he were flicking furtive glances from the corner of his vision. Several thick tomes were stacked in his arms, and when he set them down on the nightstand they made a soft thump. A quick little grin shimmered at the corner of his mouth. "Mae govannen, Legolas," he said with that queer little look. "I am Erestor, a friend of Lord Elrond. I've come to teach you Elvish, little one."

"Th-thank you," Legolas said, every muscle freezing like a hare caught in a trap. Erestor seemed nice enough, and he sat a respectable distance away on the bed, but he didn't like being alone with people. Amariel had always been the braver of the two, and without her help he felt as weak as a newborn bird. Erestor arched one dark eyebrow at his quivering, but said nothing and instead reached for a book. His actions were as quick as his eyes were - they flickered through pages lightly, as though stroking hidden notes in the air that only he could see, and then he found what he was looking for.

"I thought I'd start off with a few useful phrases," Erestor said calmly, his cool blue eyes scanning the pages. Legolas saw by straining his neck that the calligraphy on the pages were beautifully intricate, swirling letters and runes that made no sense to him whatsoever. His reading skills were rusty, to say the least, but he did have a basic grasp of them. However, these runes were in Elvish, and therefore he saw nothing but pretty lines and shapes. "'Mae Govannen' means 'Well met', and we traditionally use it as a greeting. Try saying that."

"Mae…Mae Govannen," Legolas fumbled. Erestor nodded once, silent praise for his pupil. Legolas stopped him. "Wait, this is … safe … right? We aren't going to be punished for this?" His voice sank to a half whisper. Erestor frowned.

"Yes, it's perfectly allowed," he said slowly. Elrond had warned him of the slaves' tendency to be wary of rules, but this was ridiculous. "Some elves have trouble speaking Common, and you need to know your initial language. You did not grow up learning Common at your mother's knee."

"Yes, I did," Legolas said, and instantly cowered slightly, horrified that he had corrected him. But instead of striking him, Erestor cocked his head a little and looked at him with that strange, searching gaze.

"How do you mean?" Erestor asked. Legolas fidgeted.

"Amariel … Amariel told me about my mother," Legolas mumbled, a blush coloring his cheeks. "She said that Leina - that was my mother's name - didn't speak Elvish to me. She only taught me Common. Amariel tried to teach me a few words, but I don't remember that many."

"Your mother's name was Leina?" Erestor asked, his voice rising a notch. "Are you very, very sure?"

Legolas hid his face and tried to stop the hot tears. "No, I'm not!" he cried. "I'm sorry, ask Amariel! Please, don't shout at me!"

Erestor's cool eyes softened, and he stroked Legolas's hair. "Shh, little one," he soothed. "You startled me. I know a Leina - or rather, I did." He twisted his mouth in a sour expression. "We had a … disagreement. She traveled to Mirkwood before I could set it right. What did your mother look like?"

Legolas sniffled, comforted by Erestor's soothing touch. "I-I don't remember much," he admitted softly. "Amariel remembers her best. She said she had green eyes like leaves coming out in spring, and golden hair like the sun."

Erestor sat back, his head spinning. Was it possible that Legolas's mother was the elleth he had pursued so relentlessly at youth?

09

"And … come out!"

Amariel held onto Arwen's arm, trying not to grip so hard. She had no idea how she looked, but judging by the way Glorfindel and Arwen were cooing over her, the dress must be spectacular. Her hair felt much different - the mats and tangles had to be cut out, and Glorfindel proved himself remarkably adept at cutting female hairstyles. Arwen had added a few aesthetic braids, but Amariel's hair was much shorter than most of the other ellith around Imladris. Her scarred eyes blinked once at the sound of a whistle, and blushed to the roots of her hair when Arwen said "Glorfindel! Stop looking at her in that fashion!" Amariel was used to men looking at her like that, but somehow it felt different coming from an ellyn. Perhaps there was hope after all. The next sound nearly shocked her out of her skin.

"Ah, and I see that our trembling little elleth has become a queen at last," said a deep, measured voice somewhere off to Amariel's left. She turned in the direction of the sound, and drew back a little towards Arwen. The beautiful elleth ran up to her ada and kissed him soundly on both cheeks.

"Ada! Does she not look wonderful?" Arwen said, tugging her ada over to Amariel. Amariel's blind eyes did not catch the flare in Elrond's normally brisk gray eyes as he examined her. She was dressed in a pale silver gown, white embroidery on the sleeves and hem, and it was tastefully ruffled and trimmed to hide the majority of her scars. Her scarred eyes were downcast, but a thick fringe of dark hair fell in her eyes and shadowed her face, masking a few scars by her temple. The new clothes and haircut made a world of difference. She was almost pretty, if not far too thin. As if reading his mind, Arwen continued. "She's a bit underfed, but a few weeks in the kitchens should have her right as rain. I'll make a few gowns of her own, but for now she and I can share dresses with each other. We're almost the same size, so we thought it might work."

Elrond took Amariel's hand and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. "You look lovely," he said. She shivered a little under his touch, resisting the urge to pull away. He couldn't believe what she was wearing. The dress had once belonged to Celebrian, and then given to Arwen. Apparently his daughter had forgotten where it came from and had dressed Amariel in it. The searing pain of his missing wife was gone, blunted by years, but he remembered her in that dress. She had been so beautiful, her long golden hair rippling over her back, those laughing blue eyes smirking at him from the silvery snow, her long gloves and thick white coat keeping her warm in the piles of frosty ice. She had been amazingly, immensely beautiful. She had been stunning. The scars which had been so skillfully hidden now emerged on his face as he struggled with his emotions. Glorfindel, noting this, broke in wonderfully.

"I wasn't sure about silver," Glorfindel said quickly, "Seeing as she's so dreadfully pale. But sire, are all of those treaties signed in your office?"

"Treaties?" Arwen asked, confused. "What treaties?"

"Dozens," Glorfindel said, covering Elrond's bewildered state. "Come, old friend, lets go see to them together." Glorfindel hurried his friend out into the hall, leaving Amariel and Arwen to change and play with more dresses. When they were safely out of earshot, Glorfindel turned sharply to Elrond. "Elrond, she meant no harm," he began. Elrond took a steadying breath.

"I realize that," Elrond said, setting his teeth. "But…Eru, I loved that dress." His gray eyes were cold and tight as he swallowed hard. "I will never heal, old friend," Elrond said softly. "I miss her too much."

"Healing does not happen when we are numb," Glorfindel said. "Healing only comes during the pain. Slowly, day by day, you'll feel more instead of less. You'll be fine, my friend."

"Yes," Elrond said slowly, "Perhaps."

09

A/N: I decided to start putting my Author's Notes down here so not to interrupt the flow of the story. Sorry for the short chapter, but I hope you liked the little plot twist with Erestor! Please review - I decided I haven't been showing you guys enough luv, so I'm going to start thanking you in my A/N's. :D Enjoy!