A/N: I was overwhelmed with your heartfelt reviews last chapter. I didn't expect to make you so sad and some of you a little angry. I wrote an explanation to the common question of "why?" on the Tumblr (vezely . tumblr post/67909561099/why-did-you-do-that-in-the-newest-chapter-sobs), but I hope this chapter mends some of the heartstrings I tugged. Love you all!

Chapter 53: In Valinor

"...Has she not fulfilled the purpose the second chance allotted her? Has she not aided in bringing peace to greater Middle Earth?" Gandalf inquired politely of Manwë, as they strolled together in the gardens of Irmo.

"My dear Olórin, Nienna has already spoken to me of your cause for she has also shed tears for mercy to be shown to the one you speak. But you, the wisest of all the Maiar, understand that the Firstborn sent to Mandos's Halls must go through a period of cleansing before being re-embodied," the head Valar responded unconcerned. He had come there to visit Nienna when Gandalf, who had taken to again enjoying these gardens upon his return to Valinor, asked for a brief council.

"Of course I understand my lord," Gandalf replied steadily, keeping his stride adjacent the tall and imposing figure, adding carefully after, "But she is a case unlike those prior. I fear that such cleansing would erase her very nature, for she is of the distant Secondborn as she is of the First." Those in Valinor used the distant Secondborn to refer to the "evil" men; those who were easily seduced by Morgoth and his servants in order to do their bidding.

Manwë considered his reply as he slowed his wide gait to a halt. He turned to look down upon the Maiar who he respected even more than before he sent him to Middle Earth, "Her dual nature is known Olórin, but we would move to have her in harmony with these blessed lands and all those within it."

"You speak as if you deem her ill-suited to walk among us," Gandalf queried, still watching his tone.

"Even Fëanor's sons required time in the Halls and their hands were less stained," he reminded him.

"Less stained perhaps, but they did not go through such trials and hoops to amend their deeds before the end," Gandalf added is a huff, thinking the comparison slightly unfair.

"The Halls offer healing. Does this not suit the one in question?" This made Gandalf mute as he tilted his head to the side, unsure if he should respond. Though his hesitation only made Manwë more curious, so he sought to ease the Maiar's tongue, "I allow you to speak your concern freely on this matter, Olórin, and I will consider your words advice, as you are wise in the ways of those across the sea."

"I believe, my lord," Gandalf clasped his hands together to plead respectfully, "Having had the opportunity to meet with her prior setting out to her task and knowing the extent to which she has suffered, even at the hands of the enemy she served, that she would heal better among loved ones rather than in solitude left to her own thoughts."

The Valar stared off to the side pensively before bowing his head down; a brief display that he would consider what was said. He then turned and proceeded his stroll; leaving Gandalf behind.

"My dear Rovian," Gandalf greeted Vezely's wary eyed mother cheerfully, taking her hands in his.

"Master Olórin..." Rovian greeted back, knowing why the wise sage was at their doorstep.

The couple lived just north of the port of Alqualondë, on the expansive grounds of a great chateau where Eluréd's parents, Dior and Nimloth resided. It sat high on an ocean cliff, overlooking the Sea of Belegaer to the east.

Rovian and Eluréd led Gandalf to an outside veranda where they would be served tea while the sun warmed their backs and the ocean waves hummed in their ears.

"...I have done what little I could," Gandalf told the concerned parents carefully of his intervention on Vezely's behalf. When the wizard first heard of Vezely's admittance to the Halls of Mandos he felt it necessary to inform them of it, not only because as her parents they had a right to know, but in order for them to prepare for her possible reappearance in their lives - to be the ones that help her adjust to a new and different life.

"It is more than a little," Rovian corrected him in admiration of his quest on their daughter's behalf.

"It is," Eluréd added in solidarity with his wife, gently placing his hand on top of the one she rested on the table, "And we appreciate it greatly."

Gandalf ducked his head and stared at his black tea, saddened with the thought that this couple had parenthood snatched away from them far too quickly and now gauging their earnest desire to aid their child in need, especially when she was so close yet so far away. However, the Maiar would have spoken on Vezely's behalf even without their request, as would Lord Elrond and others who knew well of her situation in Middle Earth. Vezely was not without respected acquaintances in Valinor, nor was her heritage unimportant. The House of Dior was of highest repute among the Teleri and she would be welcomed here, or at least that is what was hoped if she could receive the Valar's pardon. The Valar, however, were often slow to decide such matters.

"If the Valar accept my advice," Gandalf carefully continued, bringing up an even more touchy subject, "You will be given a high responsibility of helping her adjust to this world." The two looked upon him uncertain what he meant. "This land, these people, they are not known to her, and her estrangement goes beyond your own when first re-embodied on these shores. The Valar fear her Mannish manner. They believe the Halls suit cleansing her of these attributes in order for her to better adjust to Eldar society. But, and this is what I and all those who have met your daughter believe, these differences are her very essence. And if they can be accepted as not uncouth or unkind, for her heart is true, then she can also accept herself and finally live in peace among her kin."

Eluréd squeezed his wife's hand slightly, answering for both of them, "We are aware she is not the same young child we once loved and lost, but we are prepared to love who she has become..."

"You still linger in these halls, Bellethiel." Vairë, the wife of Mandos and weaver of the storied tapestries which spanned the Halls where the spirits of the dead waited, found Vezely's fëa yet stationary in the room whose weavings spoke of the Easterlings' history.

"That is not my name," Vezely responded, finding the reoccurrence of being called her Elvish birth name unsettling.

"It was once your name," Vairë replied, her warming presence getting closer to her, but she stopped and lit a juncture in the weaving. "At this point is when you were given a name by the distant Secondborn, but the first was not lost." Outlines of figures previous hidden in the tapestry's crowded scapes suddenly lit up, moving through pieces of Vezely's history - the Elf child stolen from Mirkwood by Orcs, brought before Sauron and handed over to the Balchoth to raise and prime as a warrior of Evil Men, the invasion of Calenardhon and slaying of Eorl the Young, the first king of Rohan, at the Battle of Wold, and the centuries spent as one of Sauron's enforcers - all woven within the greater history of Rhun.

"But for me, that name was lost," Vezely returned, watching the glow of the outlines fade. She had spent what felt like days in this room, though unbeknownst to her time did not run as it did in the outside world. What could feel as hours in these halls could be years or vice versa in Arda.

"But now it is yours again," Vairë told her slowly, "For you are Firstborn by blood and by the choice given only to one of the Peredhel." But Vezely did not respond leaving Vairë to inquire, "We have noticed, you deny nothing of your past defilements nor do you ask for forgiveness. Instead, the fear you hold are for those left behind; the distant Secondborn of whom these tapestries speak."

Vezely had spent her time searching the history woven of the people of Rhun, hoping for a glimpse at their present. She needed to know whether peace had come, if they had won the battle at the capital, if they had won the war, for these worries were the ones she died with. However, instead of finding answers of the present in the weavings, she discovered gaps of the past; gaps expected when ones history is written by an adversary. Desiring answers of the world she left behind, she inquired hopeful, "We were one victory away from the promise of peace. Please, I need to know the fate of my men."

"They are no longer your concern," Vairë replied firmly, "You should think of yourself now. Why is it that your future, your thoughts go not?"

Vezely briefly wondered if this was a test, though if they could already hear her thoughts it made little matter what she answered. "I know I have died, and that I am in the Halls of Mandos. I dare not think further," she told her, leaving it there.

"All the children of Ilúvatar must wait in these halls before moving on," the Valar told her, "Unless they desire to stay."

"You are given a choice?" she admitted to not knowing.

"A choice to stay indefinitely, yes. But not the choice of when to depart. That time is decided for you. I leave you now to think about the future. For we fear you believe you do not deserve one."

Her form floated off leaving Vezely bewildered. The future. What future? The future she held onto by mere threads prior her death was now completely unstrung. She did not live to see peace resettled in Rhun or stand on the field of victory alongside her men knowing the task they fought long and suffered much for was accomplished. Nor would she ever see Cyane ascend further in rank, and help lead the nation in this new era. Never would she return West to visit the forest homeland she was taken from as a child or hear the waters of the Forest River sing within it. She would never again be in the company of those Western warriors she had the privileged of fighting alongside during the great war. And she would never ride into the tranquil forests of Ithilien, in the hopes of being in the arms of the one she promised to return to. Legolas, I am so sorry. Please forgive me. I failed... she began to weep.

Mandos would find her fëa wallowing in despair over an unfulfilled goal and a broken promise. Curious, he thought, observing upon her suffering. Manwë had spoken to the Doomsman of the Valar about Olórin's request; that this Elf would heal better among her estranged family on the shores of Valinor rather than within his Halls. He found it an odd proposal, seeing within her a need to forgive herself before venturing into a new life still filled with regret.

Forgive myself? The thought was suddenly implanted in Vezely's mind and she became aware of her surroundings once more. I wanted to set things right. To aid in something greater. To do good when I have done only wrong, she worked through her emotions, But it was not enough. Nothing will ever be enough.

Then you would condemn yourself to wait here for eternity? The query entered her mind as did the first.

Her thoughts conflicted; she did not want that but believed she deserved it.

To live among the Eldar in the Blessed Realm, you must be at peace with yourself. She realized Mandos was reading her thought as he was manipulating them, and she could now feel his presence near her. Do you understand the peace I speak of? He asked more openly.

Peace? Just the word turned her thoughts to what was a fleeting moment in her past; the briefest time when she experienced peace with herself and her surroundings. It was a day spent in Ithilien with Legolas. There, she felt at peace lying under the trees, listening to the sounds of the forest, having the warmth of his body next to hers, and her hand in his. There, she felt whole.

This thought was revealing to Mandos, who indeed was searching for more to this Elf than a warlord filled with regret over an unfinished war. It was enough for him to confirm her fate.

Not long after Cyane's visit to Ithilien, Legolas travelled home to the greenwoods of Eryn Lasgalen, but it was the journey he never envisioned having to take. With his father by his side, he buried Vezely's ashes in the ceremonial grounds of their fallen kindred.

Thranduil stood at his son's side as he completed this grim task, giving him no grief for the decision that landed him here. He had remained quiet since Legolas returned with the dark news of his betrothed's demise. What he feared would happen, happened; this Easterling-Elf his son unexpectedly fell for failed her quest and left his son to despair. He wanted to be angry, and to direct his anger at her for allotting such a fate to his son. But after standing in the frigid winter air underneath the leafless trees as his son buried her ashes, he came to realize these desires were all to dismiss the fact that he knew not the correct words to consul his son's broken heart. "If I do not come back, make sure he sails," Vezely told him the night of their confrontation in Minas Tirith; a bargain wagered and one he agreed to see through.

"When will you sail?" Thranduil finally broke the silence, lightly cupping a hand on his son's shoulder.

"I will not leave my friends, not yet," he responded firmly, his eyes yet adrift.

It was at this juncture that Thranduil felt ready to confess his own plans, "I have decided to sail with you when you decide the time is right..." The king's decision was not a light one. Thranduil would be giving up his rulership over the remaining Elves of Eryn Lasgalen, and in Valinor, while he would be a great lord, such power he would not possess. But Legolas's wellbeing remained his top priority. In Valinor he would see to it that his son was healed of grief; that this brief love affair became only a fleeting memory in the long span of time. The king did not believe nor hold onto hope as his son did for Vezely's re-embodiment.

Legolas and his father did not sail until after the death of Aragorn...

[The Grey Havens, Year 120 of the Fourth Age]

...Legolas slowly lifted the heavy lid of an intricately carved cedar trunk he had brought with him from Ithilien. Within was assembled the remnants of his Middle Earth life that he would journey with to Valinor. He attempted to organize the various odds and ends that got shuffled around during the trip there, one by one taking out the books and his formal robes realizing he would need to re-fold them. But after pulling several out, he found on the bottom, seemingly forgotten, the dark plum Rhunic style gown that Vezely wore to Aragorn's coronation so long ago. His breath caught in his throat and his fingers apprehensively ran across the delicate fabric before pulling it from the trunk towards him, finding underneath it the gold tip of her general's sword peeking out. He breathed in deeply before slowly bringing the fabric to his cheek, closing his eyes and trying to imagine what she looked like wearing it the night before she departed Minas Tirith for Rhun.

He had not let his thoughts stray to Vezely for some time, finding himself too lost in grief over the passing of Aragorn that he could not also face the dread of leaving these shores and not finding her upon the ones he set sailed to. His grief increasingly became mingled with fear. As more of his mortal friends passed over the years, the weight of both his present and future wore heavily on him. The Elf needed to sail. His father knew this; all members of the colony in Ithilien knew this. In Valinor, they said he would be healed of his broken heart. In Valinor, they said he would feel at peace again. Yet for him, the possibility of bliss in Valinor was not in the perfection of the land itself, but in the possibility of being reunited with the one he so briefly loved and lost.

"Vezely," he whispered with tears forming in his eyes as the fabric yet touched his cheek, "I need you to be there."

...With cane in hand, the wizened dwarf slowly walked up the wooden plank to the deck of a grey ship, whose white sails were ready to be unfurled. Gimli had grown grey himself, though despite a weary body, his mind was sharp as ever, and he was ready for one last journey alongside his dear Elven companion.

"So an Elf and a Dwarf stand side by side as the last members of the Fellowship," he stated with head held high, looking in the direction of the open harbor and the glistering blue sea beyond, "Not a likely outcome considering our initial disagreements."

"Not likely at all," Legolas agreed looking out in the same direction, listening a moment to the gulls mewing above them, "But I am glad to be aside you Master Dwarf, to share in the sight of another marvel neither of us have known..."

The first breath filled her lungs with moist seaside air; the second breath filled her body with the warmth of life. Her hands greeted the touch of fine grains of sand; her eyes, the casted shadows of moonlight. Cool silk fabric fell onto her bare back, and a kind voice spoke, breaking over the sound of waves crashing behind her, "Belethiel." Rovian knelt beside her daughter and took her into her arms, wrapping the robe further around her.

"Mother?" Her eyes turned onto the face of the one who cradled her, and feeling another hand gently on the back of her head, her eyes met another's, "Father?"

"Yes child, you are finally here with us," Eluréd told her gently, as she rested her head on her mother's shoulder. Rovian's tear filled eyes met her husband's. Finally, both confirmed silently, they had their daughter back.

They led her to their residence, telling her to rest until morning for it was not a slight experience being re-embodied. Vezely did not take much heed of the candle lit surroundings they walked through; the long hallways, open verandas, and spiral staircases. Upon waking, all she could remember from the evening before was the feeling of falling upon a cushioned mattress and being covered in soft linen blankets as her mother stroked her hair back and told her to sleep.

The morning sun blared through the slates of the room's white shuttered windows. Vezely sat silently in front of a mirrored vanity as her mother slowly brushed her long dark hair, reminiscing about doing the same for her when she was a child.

"You have grown into a beautiful woman," Rovian told her warmly while placing the brush down and taking two side strands of her hair and twisting and pinning them back.

Vezely, whose eyes had been downcast the entire time, finally looked up at herself in the mirror. But she did not recognize the reflection that greeted her. Gone were the gold earrings lining her earlobes, gone were the tattoos that should have peeked out from the low cut collar of the seafoam colored robe, and her dark hair, once cut bluntly shoulder length, now fell down to below her elbows.

Knowing her daughter would still be adjusting to her surroundings, she did not prod her to speak and continued to share her own thoughts, "I remember every morning brushing your hair and afterwards your father would braid it. You desired it braided after seeing the Woodland Guard pass through our village..." Vezely smiled slightly during this telling, realizing the memory was one she also held onto and cherished. "...There," Rovian praised her simple braid work, bringing her hand gently to her daughter's shoulder and speaking softly to her reflection in the mirror, "Once you're dressed, we'll tour you around the place. And your grandparents and aunt and uncle desire to meet you. But if it is too much for today, please just let me know," she squeezed her shoulder lightly before letting go.

"Mother," Vezely finally broke her silence before Rovian left the room, causing the woman's tall poised form to turn around. "Thank you," her voice cracked slightly and she shared with her a brief smile.

Having experienced re-embodiment, Rovian understood her daughter would need a period of adjustment to the sensation of being wholly fëa and hröa again. But for Vezely, the new reality was one much more surreal. Now alone, her gaze returned to her reflection in the mirror. She apprehensively brought her fingertips to her earlobe, running them down its smooth surface before moving them along a strand of her long hair. She slowly gathered her locks in full, pulling it up from her neckline and turning to confirm that her clan words were no longer marked down her spine. Letting her hair drop back down, she lifted the sleeve of her gown, finding also erased the runes on her wrist and forearm. It was her body, but the markings of her old life were gone. Cleansed, the Valar she encountered, Mandos and Vairë, spoke of her needing to be cleansed before being permitted to walk in these sacred lands.

How long? Looking at her face again, the question suddenly consumed her. How long has she been without her body? How long has time gone on around her? How long has she been dead? Her hand clutched her abdomen in the spot where a guard's spear had pierced it. She felt her neck where a blade hit, fatally bringing her down. Dead. She hesitantly looked at her hands, expecting them to be red, stained in blood, and that this was all a test and that she was still in those halls, waiting and weeping in despair. But they were not stained. Instead, they were clean and uncannily soft; gone also were the calluses on her palms which she had accumulated through years of weapon use. She clenched her fists tightly, feeling the expected pressure before feeling the relief of release.

Alive. Those were truly her parents, and she sat in their home in Valinor. Valinor. The Undying Lands. Her eyes began scanning the high ceiling room, finding the large four poster bed she fell asleep upon, and the ceiling length white shutters with beams of bright sunlight streaming through their gaps. "Once you're dress…" the sound of her mother's voice resounded in her mind as she saw the large wardrobe next to the bed, causing her to stand and set her fragile mind to accomplishing the one task laid out for her.

Pulling the wooden door open, she found inside, meticulously spaced apart, a row of floor length gowns in a myriad of jeweled tones; the style of which she had not seen since meeting members of the Elven delegation in Minas Tirith so long ago. She chose the first one on the right, a dress of periwinkle and golden brocade; though the choice was not due to preference but to the simplicity of choosing the first one in line.

Dressed in Elven refinery, Vezely headed to the white shutters lining the far wall, desiring to see the view that the sunlight streamed in from. With a light tug, the wooden slates slid and folded to the sides easily, revealing behind them a terrace veranda overlooking the seascape and beach below. Stepping outside, her eyes squinted from the light pouring down from the sun, but adjusting she looked upon the glistening crystal waters, the white sparkling sands, and the perfect blue sky above. Gulls could be heard mewing in the distance. Perfection. The view was breathtaking, but her thoughts returned to where they were before. How long? How long has she been without her body? How long has time gone on around her? How long has she been dead?

"Legolas, are you still waiting for me?" She asked in a sad whisper, "Or am I now waiting for you?"

On the beach below a group of horsemen could be seen riding along the shoreline. They were cloaked in silver and blue, and riding white stallions. She noted one of their eyes upon her, to which her own gaze narrowed.

"...Who is that Elleth?" the Noldor lord asked his riding companions, as his eyes remained glued on the vision set above him.

"I do not know," one in his company replied, bringing his horse aside him. All knew whose residence sat upon the hill, leading him to add, "Though it is said Lord Eluréd and Lady Rovian have a daughter, the youngest descendent of the great line of Elu Thingol and Melian the Maiar, but she should yet be across the sea."

"But no ships have sailed into the harbor for years," the lord replied with common knowledge, for steadily the Moriquendi had stopped migrating to these lands. Many arrived between the two great wars and after the transition to the Fourth Age and the dominion of Men, many more had made the decision to leave Middle Earth and live with their already departed kin.

"Then perhaps she came from the Halls," his companion replied seemingly unconcerned with his lord's interest, for it had become difficult to keep track of all those who were re-populating of Valinor over the years.

"I want to know who she is," the lord declared, finding himself surprised and slightly intrigued as his lingering gaze of admiration was met with one of hostile suspicion.