Erienne looked at Thranduil, his face tortured with guilt, uncertainty, doubt and self-censure and at the forgiveness he begged in his eyes. And she looked at an equally upset Aradan. If he had at first been shocked into silence but he was beset with guilt. And, Galaden, he had sunk to the floor as well, lost of all of his usual gentle composure. He, too was kneeling by Aradan's side.
It was Aradan, who was the first to recover. "What is this, my lord? You kneel in front of me?" he protested. But Thranduil would not let him get away with that argument, "It is not the Elven King who kneels before you, Commander, though that would not be wrong either. Erienne is right. I owe much to you, Aradan." He held up his hand to be allowed to finish speaking and reached for Erienne's hand, "All these years have been so torturous. I would wake up at night, wondering if you were dead or alive and tortured. Do not take me wrong, Erienne, but there is some comfort in the knowledge that the babe died knowing only the haven of your womb and not set sight on the blackness of Dol Guldur. To be a father and a king and yet being unable to save your own innocent babe. So tortured have I been by these thoughts, that I had become a walking dead with no real concern for anything. Mirkwood lay in shambles, its army a mere excuse, its vaults empty, its elves leaving in doubt. Were it not for Aradan, who stayed by my side, I doubt I could have accomplished anything. Securing the borders, rebuilding the army, giving the confidence to elves and neighbours alike that the Woodland Realm shall remain strong. Mirkwood was rebuilt with the sweat of all its elves but all will agree that the return of its glory owes much to the blood, sweat and the unshed tears of its Commander."
Beside him, Galaden breathed in deeply, nodding through his tears. Erienne looked at him, remembering his words to her as he had brought her to the palace, "Galaden told me, my lord," she said softly, "If I needed to get anything done, I was told to approach Aradan. He will speak to Thranduil. In case, you haven't figured it out, Thranduil has deep respect for Aradan. Aradan can make decisions, he just won't, without the final word from Thranduil. That's Aradan. Those were Galaden's exact words, my lord."
Thranduil smiled through his tears, "Spoken like the wise healer he is. So, you have been using Aradan to get your work done, Galaden. You too fear your king."
"Leave fear aside now, Thranduil. You took my life away for a moment. You ought to spare a thought for an old elf. I am not as strong in spirit as Erienne or Aradan."
Thranduil smiled before turning to Aradan seriously, "It is your friend who kneels before you, Aradan. Do not take your King's hurtful words to heart and harbour any doubt or hatred. My actions were that of a desperate mate. It is a fool who throws away friendship and love given in full measure with neither doubt nor expectation. I trust that I am no fool. Foolish at times perhaps, but no fool am I." As Thranduil sought Aradan's eyes uncertainly, the latter turned his head away seeking Erienne's shoulders, his lips trembling in a release of joy and relief tainted with the sorrow and pain of the past.
With one arm around Aradan, Erienne looked at Thranduil, daring to touch his hands, "Thranduil, what is this, my lord? You too, Aradan? You are the Elven King and Commander of Mirkwood. All of Mirkwood love and support you. And here the two of you are, crying like wee elflings."
Looking at Thranduil, she said, "There is no point thanking Aradan. He would never agree to it. Besides, there is no thanks between friends, is there?"
Galaden nodded, "Let us be thankful instead for the joy that we have been blessed with now, Thranduil."
"But I would beg your forgiveness, my lord, for I have been hasty." As Thranduil drew her to him and the four friends finally sought comfort in one another's peaceful company, Erienne did what she had long given up hope of, shedding tears of joy.