A/N: From about halfway through the chapter there are some small movements back and forth in time between sections.

Chapter 12: The Parting

'Elrond!' Glorfindel strode towards them, his golden hair streaming past his shoulders, his face fearless and ready. A beautiful white horse stood nearby, his dark eyes alert and intelligent. The clearing was empty, all traces of the Feast and the celebrations cleared away.

In silence, Elrond helped Astrid dismount before turning to his friend. 'Glorfindel; thank you for coming. I did not summon you lightly. There is a matter of immense importance that I would entrust to you and no other.' Then he paused and looked at Astrid. It was the first time he had looked at her since they had left the clearing.

His gaze sought her permission. She nodded.

Glorfindel looked on gravely as Elrond reached into his cloak and drew out a small drawstring bag, then approached him. Astrid stood some distance away, watchful and silent. Solemnly, Elrond pressed the package into Glorfindel's hands.

'There is little time; all I can tell you at present is this. It contains a lesser Silmaril, the last of its kind still remaining in Middle-earth. I entrust it to you to take to the Grey Havens, and from thence to send it to Valinor.'

Glorfindel did not move for some time, silent with wonder. His eyes searched Elrond's, and Astrid felt that there was some deeper meaning behind Elrond's solemnity as he handed over the jewel – the same depth of feeling there had been when he had gazed at it after she had given it to him in the forest. Then he tucked the package under his cloak, bowing his head. 'Asfaloth will bear it with me. We will not tarry until it is out of our sight, safe in the care of our people as it is borne away across the Great Sea. We shall not fail you.'

Elrond's smile was warm. 'You have my deepest thanks, and my complete faith. When you return to Rivendell, there will be time for me to tell you what I cannot speak of now.'

'I will ride swiftly.' Embracing Elrond, Glorfindel went to his white horse, Asfaloth, and mounted. 'N'i lû tôl.' Asfaloth sprang into motion, streaming across the clearing and vanishing into the trees.

'I could think of no swifter rider,' Elrond said quietly, his eyes fixed on the patch of darkness into which horse and rider had melted. 'Nor anyone I would trust more with such a task. I hope I have your approval.'

'Of course.'

'My lord Elrond.'

They both turned to see an elf standing nearby. He wore the armour of the Mirkwood guards. It did not escape their notice that his hand rested on his sword hilt.

'My king bids me tell you I am to escort the Woman of Dale to her chamber, which she may not leave until he so consents. He awaits you, Lord Elrond, in his throne room.'

Elrond's face grew grim. He gave Astrid a quick, unreadable look. Then he dropped his gaze. 'I cannot thwart his orders a second time. I will speak to him on your behalf.'

She kept her eyes lowered. 'I understand. Do not trouble yourself on my account. I will wait for word from you.'

Elrond stood before the Mirkwood King's throne. Outwardly he was calm and dispassionate as he waited for the king to speak.

Thranduil's eyes were cold, never leaving Elrond. Behind him stood Legolas, his face set with scorn and distrust.

'I gave orders that no one was to leave these Halls until I allowed it.' Thranduil spoke in Sindarin. Now he paused, his voice growing soft and deadly. 'You saw fit to flout my orders, Elrond Peredhil. Will you not tell me why?'

Elrond met his gaze unwaveringly. 'I cannot. It was a matter of the White Council. It is forbidden for me to speak of it.'

Thranduil's eyes narrowed, displeasure rising off him like a wave. 'So you say. Then why did you take the human into your counsel?'

Elrond did not answer at once. 'She was the one who alerted me to the matter.'

'So it was she who took you into her counsel.' Thranduil's voice grew softer with each word. He was no longer looking at Elrond, but gazing at the floor, his chin on his hand. 'Or perhaps you were in each other's counsel. Perhaps even before she came to Mirkwood.'

Silence drew out, stretching and expanding until it filled the vast space.

Thranduil spoke at last. 'Leave us.' He spoke to his son.

Legolas's brow darkened and he was about to protest, when he thought better of it and strode out of the hall, shutting the doors resoundingly behind him.

When the echo had at last faded, Thranduil lifted his head. 'I do not think you have been much pleased with your stay here,' he said quietly.

Elrond frowned but stayed silent.

'You came with such hopes of forging friendship between Lothlórien and Mirkwood, between Mirkwood and Dale. Yet my ill reception at every turn disappointed you. If I had done otherwise … I suspect you would still refuse to tell me any more of your business outside my palace, or your connection to "Astrid of Dale", as she calls herself.'

Elrond spoke openly: 'I take no pleasure in keeping this from you. This is your kingdom; it is your right to know what takes place within its borders. But this is one matter that cannot be spoken of. The White Council forbids it.'

Thranduil's gaze never moved from his face.

'I have two requests I would ask of you, if you will grant them,' Elrond said at last.

'Speak.'

'First: let Astrid of Dale go free. Her part in this is done. There is nothing you will learn from her, and nothing that her presence here can resolve.'

The king's reply was curt. 'I make no promises. And your second request?'

Elrond hesitated. 'Allow me to speak again with the Harad prisoner. This time she will speak to me, I am sure of it.'

Thranduil's eyes flashed. 'Then she, too, must be involved in these White Council matters.'

Elrond's expression did not flicker.

'And if I do allow this visit, how am I to be sure that you will report faithfully what she tells you? You alone are able to speak to her in her native tongue. But she is my prisoner, not yours, or the Council's.'

'That is true.' Elrond's voice was now troubled and regretful. He did not like to anger and incense Thranduil like this, or be forced to go behind his back. Nor did he like to hurt Thranduil by keeping secrets from him. No matter their differences of late, he respected Thranduil, as an individual and as a king. 'I cannot promise I will be able to tell you what is said. But I must repeat; it brings me no pleasure to keep secrets from you within your own Halls. And yet I must ask to be allowed to speak to her again.'

'Very well,' Thranduil said at last. 'Have one of my guards take you to her. When you have finished speaking, come back here at once, and report her confession.'

'Le fael,' Elrond said, inclining his head deeply.

Thranduil made no response.

With one last glance at the king, Elrond turned and walked quickly from the hall.

Nat had been full of questions when Astrid was escorted into their room, and ordered to remain there. When the guard had departed, she begged Nat to keep his questions for another time, and he had complied, clearly worried by her weariness and her distant manner.

Thranduil's order to imprison her here had not surprised her; he had warned her that he would not tolerate any attempt to leave his halls without his permission. And now that the jewel was safely gone, she no longer had any reason to desire immediate release. Without any pressing responsibility to fasten her mind on, her thoughts turned to Elrond, and the clearing, and all that had happened there.

She did not regret her actions; they had been pure instinct, a giving of herself; an expression of her hope and her longing, her love for his goodness.

He had returned the kiss – and she had known in that moment that her hopes had not been misplaced. All those times over the last few days when their eyes had met, or a certain silence had fallen between them, she had hardly dared to hope that he still felt their connection, the unique closeness forged between them in the Tombs, brought back to life after fifteen years apart, but remade anew; for neither of them was the same person they had been fifteen years ago. She had known that he felt it, just as keenly as she did.

But he had pulled away from her. When he had avoided her eyes after Glorfindel rode away, she had known he did not blame her. He blamed himself, and sought to hide himself from her, not wanting his guilt to hurt her. He regretted that brief moment when he had given into his feelings for her, and now could not look at her.

She saw all this whenever she looked at him; and so she could not look at him.

With a groan she forced herself to rise and began to pace the room to distract herself.

There was a knock at the door. 'It is Elrond.'

Astrid faltered. Gathering herself, and ignoring Nat's curious look, she went to the door and opened it.

Elrond stood in the doorway. He was solemn and grave, his eyes meeting hers guardedly. 'Things are not as we thought they were.'

Before she could react, a figure appeared beside him. Astrid's mouth fell open in astonishment. It was Zaniyah, the Harad priestess who had pursued her to Mirkwood. Her clothes were travelworn and dirty, but her eyes were fierce as they fixed on Astrid.

Astrid felt a shock go through her as she returned that dark, steady look. She remembered in a flash first standing by as Zaniyah made her priestess's oath, and then her dread and fear on returning home to find Zaniyah leaning over her paper-strewn desk, the map of the jewel's location pinned down with a knife, and finally the terrified scuffle for her blowpipe; ending in Zaniyah lying unconscious on the floor, her hands and feet bound, a dart sticking out of her shoulder.

Zaniyah stepped past Elrond. 'Tell me,' she commanded in Harad, her voice quick and impatient. 'Did the elf-lord speak truly when he said it is gone? Soon to go across the sea?'

It took a moment for Astrid to find her tongue. 'It is true.'

Zaniyah stepped closer, her dark eyes keen and unyielding. Astrid felt a frisson of fear. 'You swear it to me?'

'I swear it.'

Zaniyah seemed to sway, her eyes closing. 'The goddess be praised.'

Astrid stared. She felt sweat break out on her palms. Surely she had misheard –

'We were mistaken.' Elrond's eyes were lowered. He spoke in Harad. 'It was not her wish to take the jewel, but to destroy it.'

She gazed past him, trying to process this revelation.

He began to frown. He met her eyes; but with an effort. 'I cannot remain. There are things I must attend to. I will leave her – Zaniyah, with you, and let her tell you what she told me. Her explanation will have to be a hasty one; there is not much time. I will return shortly.' And he left, closing the door firmly behind him.

Zaniyah stood with a hand pressed to her brow. Her presence and energy no longer filled the room but had retreated back within the boundaries of her body. Her whole being emitted only a quiet, profound relief, a release from a burden which had been slowly consuming her.

'I see what you are going to ask.' Thranduil's eyes were cold as he regarded Elrond. 'You want me to release the Harad – the assassin responsible for the deaths of four of my scouts – my subjects.' His eyes flashed; his anger sudden and hot. 'What possible reason could you give me that would make me release her without punishment?'

Elrond met his gaze, respectful and grave. 'I understand your anger; and I am deeply grieved by their deaths. I wish they could have been averted.' He paused, and when he spoke his voice was grim. 'But they tried to prevent the Harad woman from completing a task in which she could not fail at any cost.'

'Of course. White Council business.'

Elrond did not look away. Stern and severe was his manner and bearing as he stood before the king; his voice firm and unyielding. 'Every action she took was with the purpose of preventing bloodshed which might well have led to war. A terrible war, in which your people would have been the first to suffer and die. That is all I can tell you. I am sorry for it, but you must believe me. She bears no malice against you or your people, but sought only to prevent a conflict which might have torn asunder the peace we have fought to preserve for so long and with such sacrifice.'

Thranduil was silent. 'And so you claim protection of her, along with Astrid of Dale, who has defied me at every turn, through her silence as well as her words and actions. No matter that she had your protection; she knew she was disobeying my explicit orders when she went outside my halls.' His voice grew strained, his gaze fervent with emotion. 'And still you will not give me any true explanation for your request that I let them both go free, despite their defiance and crimes towards myself and my people.' For a brief, painful moment, Elrond glimpsed the intensity of Thranduil's anger, bound up with ancient loneliness and grief. No matter what Elrond said, Thranduil could not but see Elrond's defence of the Harad as betrayal.

Elrond was quiet, his brow heavy, but he met the king's eyes steadily. 'I cannot.'

Astrid cleared her throat. It was time for introductions. 'Nat. This is Zaniyah, of Harad.'

'You mean where you were once a priestess.' Nat watched Zaniyah with awe and suspicion.

'That is right. And this is my brother, Nat,' Astrid turned to Zaniyah, hiding her unease as best as she could. 'My half-brother, I should say.'

Zaniyah nodded, not moving from her spot just inside the door. Her initial relief had faded somewhat, replaced by caution.

'You are safe here,' Astrid said gently.

The other woman did not respond. A long silence drew out.

'Will you not sit down?' Nat gestured to a chair, blushing.

Zaniyah stared, taken aback. Then her face broke into a smile. Even while sullen, she was striking; but smiling, she was beautiful.

She crossed the room and sat down hesitantly on the chair.

'There is so much I don't understand,' said Astrid, beginning to pace back and forth. 'I was so sure you wanted to take it back to Harad and hide it away in the darkness.' Then she stopped. 'Are you able to speak comfortably in the Westron tongue?' She hesitated. 'Nat does not know Harad.'

'I speak it well enough.' Zaniyah glanced at Nat. 'How much does your brother know?'

'He knows that I had to flee from you, as a matter of urgency, and that I sought the Lady Galadriel's advice - she rules Lothlórien, an elven realm. Nat knows nothing of the jewel.'

'What jewel?' Nat turned to Astrid accusingly.

'I am sorry I could not tell you before. Later I will answer all your questions. But for now, listen.'

Zaniyah began to speak slowly, deliberately. 'As you know I was not the first priestess to come looking for you. But we all came with the same intent. We were sure you had fallen under its spell and taken it only to possess it, thus risking setting that chain of possession and bloodshed – that we had kept at bay for so many centuries – into motion all over again. Only a year after you fled with the jewel Ikara – our head priestess – became very ill. She had been losing grip on her sanity for many months, and one night she went running down the stairs into the tombs to seek out the jewel – and fell. The fall paralysed her, and left her drifting in and out of consciousness. She lingered for several days, then died.'

Astrid shivered. She would never forget the look of triumph in Ikara's eyes when she had been told that Amtar's prisoner was dead. Pushing aside that memory, Astrid could not help reflecting how much Zaniyah had changed since she had last known her fifteen years ago. Then she had been ever-watchful, near-silent. Now she retained her cautiousness, but her speech flowed richly and pleasantly, despite the occasional search for the right word in the Westron tongue.

'With Ikara's death, it was as though a spell was broken. Many of the priestesses had long grown uncomfortable with the burden of keeping the jewel safe – and now they had failed in that task. It became clear that the only way to keep it from ever causing wars again, was to find it and destroy it.'

'If you wanted to destroy it, why were you satisfied with Elrond's – the elf-lord's,' Astrid amended, aware of Nat regarding her with his interested look, 'plan to send it across the sea?'

'I trusted him. Besides,' Zaniyah said, frowning, 'I was not as sure as some of the other priestesses that such a thing could be destroyed.'

Nat opened his mouth; then quickly shut it, with great effort.

Astrid closed her eyes for a moment. Zaniyah spoke of Elrond as though this was not the first time she had met him. She forced her mind back to those days in the darkness of the tombs, fifteen years ago. Had she not felt, sometimes, that someone was watching?

'It was you! You followed me to his cell, and looked at us through the spyhole. It was you.'

Zaniyah looked at her with her dark, unreadable gaze.

'Yet you never told anyone that he was alive,' Astrid went on, wonderingly. 'That I kept him alive after he saw the jewel, when such disobedience was punishable by death.'

Nat was now almost hopping from foot to foot with curiosity. Astrid stilled him with a look.

'Yes, I kept silent. I listened while he spoke to you of places neither of us would ever see, and I understood why you kept him alive. I never spoke of him after you let him go.' She paused. 'He never saw me, or knew I was there. He has no idea that I know of his connection to the jewel.'

No one spoke for a while. Then Astrid asked at last, 'Will you return there? To the priestesses? What is their purpose, now that the jewel is gone?'

Zaniyah gazed into her lap, her eyes far away. 'They care for the sick and the desperate. They raise the children whose parents are too poor to keep them. There is purpose enough; more purpose, now that their lives are not directed downwards, into the earth, protecting a thing which could give nothing back to them but its light and its bloody legacy.'

'And its beauty,' Astrid said softly.

'Yes,' Zaniyah agreed.

'Then will you return there?'

'I do not know.' She smiled, briefly. 'I have not yet recovered my strength from chasing you. While I thought the jewel lost, I had energy enough – it spurred me on to do something with a terrible consequence.' Her face closed, a veil falling across her eyes. Astrid saw there was something she was hiding, but did not press her. 'But now that the jewel is gone I find I am weary. And Harad lies many leagues away. Besides, I do not think the elf-king will let me go so easily.' The veil returned.

For a while no one spoke. Astrid glanced quickly at Nat, who nodded. She looked at Zaniyah. 'Come with us to Dale. See how you find it there.'

Zaniyah looked up.

'If you find you like it, it will be your home.'

'It will be winter soon,' said Nat shyly. 'There'll be snow.'

Thranduil's eyes did not leave Elrond's, hard and cold. Then at last he looked away, his face closing.

'It is over. Tell the woman – Astrid of Dale, that she and her brother may leave. The sooner the better. Warn her never to set foot in my kingdom again.' Thranduil rose fluidly, his robes pooling as he stepped down from the dais. 'You will get your wish; the Harad assassin will go free, as well. She is banished forthwith from my kingdom, under pain of death. But I warn you, Elrond Peredhil, if your stay were not due to end so soon, I would banish you, too.'

With those words he swept from the room, his back straight and imperious, and yet it seemed to Elrond that those stiff shoulders bore the weight of too many burdens.

A messenger came with Zaniyah's belongings, and the news that Astrid and Nat were to leave at once, taking Zaniyah with them – she was banished on pain of death. She took the news without a flicker of emotion. The messenger then informed them that Astrid and her brother were also banished hitherto from Mirkwood, never to return. This news did not trouble Astrid at all; she heartily welcomed it. But poor Nat looked crestfallen. She quickly thrust his pack into his arms. 'Get packing.'

The messenger still lingered in the doorway. 'Yes?' Astrid asked.

'I have a message from the King intended for you personally.'

Astrid felt her skin chill. 'What is it?'

'He said only this: "Remember my words." He said you would know what he meant.' With a grave look, the messenger left.

She knew well the words he meant.

'You are out of your depths, mortal. Your life is as fleeting and meaningless as a mayfly's is to a dragon. I almost pity you.'

'Astrid?' asked Nat. 'What is wrong?'

She shook herself. 'Nothing.'

Her own pack had been returned yesterday, after having been searched by Thranduil's guard. She set about bundling their few possessions into it.

She was glad to leave, she told herself. It was true; she could hardly wait until she was free of the lofty palace and the claustrophobic forest. And yet a part of her, undeniable and pervasive, felt more desolate than she had since leaving the Tombs.

There was a knock at the door. Nat ran to open it.

It was Elrond. His eyes found Astrid's at once, before lowering. She felt her throat close. She looked away quickly.

'Come, Nat,' said a rich, female voice. Astrid looked up to see Zaniyah press Nat's pack into his arms and shoo him from the room, pausing to look at Elrond, and meet the half-frowning look he gave her in return. Nat managed to give Elrond one curious, awed look before he was bundled out by Zaniyah, who shut the door firmly behind them.

They were alone. Astrid longed to call Nat back inside, but was too proud to do so. Elrond was looking at her with a frown; she turned away, rolling spare clothes into a bundle.

He spoke quietly. 'I am sorry it came to this. I fear your stay in Mirkwood has not been a pleasant one.'

'It was certainly an unplanned one,' she managed. Out of the corner of her eye she saw his eyes soften slightly, and she bent her head with a frown.

'Will you return to Dale?'

'Yes.' Her voice sounded like someone else's. 'I have offered Zaniyah a home with me while she recovers from her journey.'

He spoke cautiously. 'Elrohir and Elladan will be sorry to have missed you and your brother.'

There was a knock on the door. A voice called: 'Make haste! The king will not allow you to linger.'

Their eyes met for a fleeting moment, then she looked away, pained. She feared he might say he was sorry again, but he didn't.

By now everything was packed. 'I had better go,' she said flatly, 'before I am marched out.'

Now that time was running out a new intensity seemed to take hold of him. He stepped closer. 'I have arranged an escort for you and your brother, and Zaniyah. They will take you as far as the borders of Mirkwood. From there you should be safe.'

She avoided his eyes. 'Thank you.'

His voice was low and earnest. 'In a week's time, perhaps sooner, I will be returning to Rivendell. Glorfindel will meet me there. As soon as I have news I will send you word.'

'Thank you,' she said again.

He was quiet; his silence was like a reproach. She could feel his eyes on her. When she glanced at him she saw his frown; the hesitant pain in his gaze. It was her formality which hurt him, her distance. With a pang she recalled his eyes as he had looked at her as they had stood outside the Tombs, fifteen years ago. She would never forget that look. In that moment nothing had been hidden between them. He had looked at her with such vivid compassion and openness, ready to help her at any cost to himself, offering her an escape, a new life.

Her chest felt tight; each breath hurt.

She forced her voice to remain steady as she looked into his eyes, knowing she would not see him again. 'Savo 'lass a lalaith.'

Then, before he could recover from his shock at her knowledge of Sindarin, she shouldered her pack, let herself out and was gone.

A/N: N'i lû tôl means 'Until then', or 'When the time will come'.

Le fael is a reverential way of saying 'Thank you', translating literally as 'You are generous'.

Savo 'lass a lalaith means 'Have joy and laughter'.