That night, dinner was to be in Ecthelion for certain. Gathering around the table and spending time together all in one place was absolutely wonderful, and for the first time it seemed, they were all together. Even though Ecthelion was not as personal as the King's House, there was room for them all here and they were laughing in no time at all. It was a cool spring night and so the hearth in the room was lit, shining a splendid light all around and giving the atmosphere in the grand room to the comforts of a cozy home.

Thranduil had seated himself, much to his own surprise, beside Enguina and across the table from Erumar. It was an odd move for himself, as he found that he could study her better from this angle, and as he had also found himself doing continuously as the evening had gone on. She did not laugh often, or smile—she was fairly solemn, serious as he was—yet when she did it was beautiful. Still, he had seen beautiful women in his life, and that did not give him an inclination to get to know her better. Something else did…and he had no idea what that was, but he knew her beauty had nothing to do with it.

"So," she said to him, glancing up and finding him watching her as she ate a bit of potato, "you are King of the Woodland Realm. Someone neglected to mention that earlier."

"I am," he admitted. "I think Elessar might have, had he the time, and if we had not been interrupted by the screaming of a child."

She smiled. "I have heard of Mirkwood, but I have never seen it."

"It is the Greenwood now, Eryn Lasgalen," he replied. "There are yet dark places within it where the spiders have not all been vanquished, but for the most part it has returned to the green of the past, when it was fair and lovely. And you are from Lothlórien. I heard there were no elves living there since Celeborn moved his people. Are you now in East Lórien?"

"No," she said softly, "but let us not speak of Lórien; it is not as it once was."

He bowed his head slightly, acquiescing to her request. "Has Celeborn gone now?" he asked. "I heard that he may have once they were settled."

"I do not believe he has gone over the Sea yet," she replied, "but he was sad, lonely without the Lady. Caras Galadon had grown dim without her light." Thranduil nodded. "Tell me more about the Woodland Realm," she prompted him. "I have always wanted to visit there."

Thranduil began speaking quietly to her about the Greenwood, the trees, the rivers, the animals there within their borders. He spoke of Beorn, living on the entrance protecting their western border, and she laughed when he began to tell her of some of the silly things his people had been doing recently to decorate the forest and make it more beautiful, to plant, to return and restore its beauty and light. There was love in his voice as he spoke. She could hear it.

Beside him, Enguina listened as well with rapture. Legolas did not speak of his birthplace with the same passion as Thranduil did; perhaps it was because he had not lived there so long, or perhaps he had long viewed it as a prison. Whatever the case, it made Enguina want to visit it and see it for herself.

"Enguina never heard as many stories of the Greenwood as I had," Erumar said, gently bringing her into the conversation. Thranduil realized that he was leaning closer to Erumar on the table so that she alone could hear him and he sat back also to include Enguina. "It is good to hear them from someone who has lived there, not only visited."

"You can tell how much you love your people, Thranduil," said Enguina, smiling, "how much you love the Greenwood simply by listening to you speak."

"Yes," added Legolas, leaning forward and resting his chin on his hand. "It is coming along quite beautifully, last I remember."

"Even more so since you saw it," he agreed. "The herds have returned almost completely. I am hoping that within a few years we will have eradicated all the spawn of Ungoliant from the woods. Our armies razed Dol Guldur to the ground, and that is where Celeborn had brought up East Lórien."

"Is there light and song in your woods, Thranduil?" Erumar asked softly.

"Yes, at times," he replied, but he would not lie, "but not as much as there once was. Legolas could tell you more of those times." I have not the heart for them.

"There have been celebrations as you could not have imagined, Erumar," Legolas laughed. "The most wonderful ale and wine that flowed out of our cellars!"

Enguina laughed as well. "Thranduil, you did not say a word about such cellars before!"

"Well, some present at the table know them quite well. Master Gimli—"

"Here, here!" the dwarf shouted with a grin. "I'd toast to them, Thranduil, if I had my ale back from the kitchen!"

He smiled. "Of course you would, Master Dwarf, and to think I once despised the dwarves as much as they despised us." He looked across the table to Erumar. "Time changes perspectives."

She nodded. "All races have come together since the War. Middle-Earth is going to find its peace." She glanced down the table to see Aragorn watching them. "The King has healed this land."

"Ah, yes, Elessar also knows of my wine cellars quite well," he added with a twinkle in his eye.

Aragorn shook his head. "I will not go into any detail aside to admit that I was so drunk I could not sit upright."

"I think we call that drunk off your ass, Aragorn!" called Éomer from down the table.

"Éomer!" cried Éowyn, smacking his arm. "Watch your tongue around the children."

"And by that, she means me!" laughed Faramir.

Aragorn rolled his eyes. "Thank you, Éomer. As I said, I try to pretend that night never happened."

"It would have helped if I had helped hinder you," Legolas admitted. "But I did not."

"There was far too much drinking that night."

"Well here's to more!" hollered Gimli with a laugh as he lifted his mug of ale, toasting the cooks towards the adjoining room. "We should have dinner here more often! Not that I don't love a meal prepared by the ladies, but there's something about the atmosphere in here that's quite nice!"

Enguina giggled. "Gimli, we already know how you feel about our cooking."

"Enguina? Cook?" asked Erumar, staring at her with surprise.

"Quite well, in fact," added Arwen.

"She has had some help," reminded Aragorn, grinning at Legolas.

"I thought you would said you would never learn!" exclaimed Erumar.

"Now there is a story," insisted Legolas. "Tell it, Erumar, will you please?" He leaned forward at the table, but Enguina shoved him, glaring daggers at her friend.

"You will most certainly not tell it!"

Erumar held up her hands as if to ward off her anger, and Legolas laughed while Thranduil's eyes were immediately drawn to Erumar's hands. "She is so secretive! Why is no one on my side when it comes to finding things out about my bride-to-be? I can know nothing about her unless she tells the story herself!"

"I will not be telling that one," Enguina insisted stubbornly, crossing her arms.

Thranduil sat back, crossing his legs and eyeing her as he tilted his head. "Women are due a few secrets, Legolas. Let her have them."

Enguina sighed and gave Thranduil a look across the table. "Thank you, Thranduil. At least someone cares about my feelings…and not embarrassing me."

"Stories are in the past, dearest," Legolas stated, looking over at her and covering her hand with his own. "A story is nothing more than a fond memory."

"It is not fond," she growled. "No one is telling it to you. I forbid it."

"Forbid is such a strong word," Legolas said with a little smile. "When you say 'forbid' do you mean as in, forever?"

"As in never tell ever."

"Calm down, Enguina," laughed Arwen.

"Keep your story!" Legolas laughed gaily, in too good of a mood to be put off by Enguina's irritation, and he squeezed her hand again, unwilling to let her go. "I will find better ways of embarrassing you, I am sure."

"You are excessively good at it," Aragorn pointed out, "much to Enguina's annoyance."

"Indeed," added Enguina. "Embarrassing the woman who wants to be your wife is not quite fair, you kna—" Her words cut off as he leaned in for a sudden kiss, drowning out her words and then releasing her. As she stared at him in surprise, Éomer and Faramir toasted to Legolas while the rest of the table laughed. Enguina's blush made Legolas grin like a fool.

"I know. I am a complete troll," he murmured low to her in her ear.

"Completely," she told him flatly, and he laughed, kissing her quickly again before he pulled back. She continued to stare at him for a moment, and then sighed, thinking of how much she adored him, even if he did embarrass her.

When the food was beginning to be cleared from the tables, Annî heard her mother talking with her Uncle about being tired and heading back to the house, but she remembered that someone had made her a promise tonight. Suddenly, Annî leapt from her seat, running about the table towards Thranduil, who turned his head to look at her. He made no move to pick her up, even as she reached for him, trying to pull herself over the arm of the chair and into his lap.

"Andúnêiel," he said, his voice full of patience, "is there something you need?"

"Thandul!" she complained, and most of the table turned to look at her. "Thandul, you promised me that you would tell stories! Tell me stories!"

"I did?" he asked, and noticed that the table was staring at her. He raised his eyebrows at her, but eyed her solemnly. "Annî, I think you are mistaken."

"You promised!" she said, her voice angry.

"Annî!" chastised Éowyn, staring wide-eyed at her. "That is not the proper way to behave at the table! And we do not yell at other guests!"

"She is just two," Éomer said, nudging her.

"She still needs to respect others!" she said, horrified, her hands on her belly. "She does not belong climbing on laps without permission and hollering at Thranduil at the top of her voice!" She was astounded at her daughter's behavior as the little girl used the chair to climb up onto him, leaning her back against the table and sticking her thumb in her mouth.

"Thandul," Annî whined loudly, yet Thranduil continued to look at her.

"Faramir!" Éowyn said indignantly.

"Annî, your mother is talking to you," Faramir said firmly, and though she did not turn to look at her father, she lowered her head.

"Apologize to Thranduil," Éowyn said in her sternest voice and Annî continued sitting in his lap, touching the front of his tunic with her other hand. He had not moved; in fact, he was not even holding her. Legolas watched the exchange with interest, his father looking at the top of the girl's head as Éowyn's patience ran out. "Annî, we are going home this instant if—"

"Story…" the little girl whispered and Thranduil watched her shyly fingering the buttons on his tunic. He tilted his head down to look into her face.

"Can you ask me nicely?" he asked her softly, and she nodded, her thumb still in her mouth.

"Sorry, Mommy," she whispered. Then she looked up into Thranduil's face. "Can you tell me a story?" Her eyes were pitiful, but all he wanted was to teach the girl a bit of patience. He looked up towards Éowyn and nodded.

"I did promise your daughter a story this afternoon, Éowyn, so a story I will tell," Thranduil said and Annî's head shot up to look at him, to listen to his words. "And what, my dear, should the story be about?"

"A Princess!"

"Like yourself?" he asked, and she nodded. "Very well. What else?"

"A horze!"

"Ah, the noble steed. Of course." She grinned hugely and Faramir sighed.

"Thranduil, do not feel as though you have to, please." Faramir did not want Annî to offend him, but the elf simply shook his head. "She can go without—"

"No, no…I made a promise and I must keep it, Faramir," he said, "if you will give me leave to tell her." The man nodded and Thranduil turned back to Annî. "Now, where does this story begin?"

"With the Princess!" cried Annî, bouncing herself on his leg. Thranduil may not have noticed, but the rest of the table took an immediate interest in what was going on with the story, especially as Thranduil had not had the best of days with Annî. After Thranduil's long pause, she squirmed in her seat, very impatient.

"Once," he began, in his best storytelling voice, "in a land much like this one, there lived a young, beautiful princess. Her hair was long and red, as bright as sunlight," he added, touching Annî's hair as she giggled. "She was loved by all who knew her, and she had the best of everything. The one thing that she had that she loved the most was her horse, Beot. During the day she would ride him over the fields of the country in which she lived, her hair streaming behind her, carefree, as she never worried about anything. She lived to ride and discover the people of the countryside, for she found their lives, so very different from hers, very strange, indeed.

"Most especially, she thought the strangest was a young and very handsome farm boy who was a woodcutter. Each day, she would ride to where he was cutting down trees or carving and she would ask him what he was doing and why he was doing it. 'Farmboy,' she would say, 'why are you doing that?' He would reply, 'Watch and see, Princess. I am going to make something wonderful from this tree.' She would watch him a little while, thinking about how handsome he was, and then she would ride away confused for she never saw him make anything from the tree. Yet, every morning when she rode to where he was working there was a little something carved for her."

Enguina leaned on the table, watching his face as he spoke; Erumar was doing much the same. Everyone at the table was paying attention to his words, but Thranduil took little notice of them as he was focused on the story and the child before him.

"One day, the woodcutter did not see the princess and Beot pass by. He thought it strange, but he had been busily working with his knife, whittling away at some wood when he heard hoof beats. Lifting his head, he realized that it was Beot, rider-less, and he ran out suddenly to the horse. 'My Lady's horse!' he cried, seeing long deep furrows in the saddle and scratches on Beot's flanks. Even the sorrel's tail was singed."

Annî covered her mouth and squeaked; Thranduil paused and looked at her. "Where is the princess?" she asked. "Was Beot really hurt?"

"That," Thranduil said, continuing, "was when Beot spoke to the woodcutter for the first time. 'Oh woodcutter!' the horse cried. 'Terrible things have befallen the princess! She has been taken by the evil Dragon, Kesh, across the Great Sea, and he is a terrible and evil beast! No one is brave enough to save her, and even if there was such a man, they would surely never find a way across the Sea!' The horse was in so much despair that the woodcutter looked about at the trees around him and he said, 'I will build a boat. I, myself, shall save the princess!'

"And that very moment, the woodcutter began to fashion a ship just large enough for himself, the horse, and the princess. Beot refused to be left behind and told the woodcutter that a knight needed his noble steed, even if he was not truly a knight. So, the brave woodcutter and the horse worked day and night for a week on the ship—"

"How could Beot help?" Annî questioned, raising her hands in the air. "He has no hands!"

"The woodcutter would strap the horse to the trees and then Beot, with a mighty pull, would yank them out of the ground, Andúnêiel. When the ship was finally finished, the two of them set sail across the Great Sea to the Island of Silence where the beast lived."

Annî looked very worried, her hands in her mouth as the plates behind her on the table were removed by the ladies. Everyone else remained in their seats; there was very little talk around the table as each one sat and listened to the tale Thranduil was weaving. Again, he had no idea everyone was so enraptured, but he noticed Erumar's eyes on him.

"Why was it called that?" she asked, not really meaning to interrupt. "The Island of Silence?"

"Yes, why?" asked Annî, bouncing once on his leg.

He looked at her very gravely. "It was said that anyone who had ever ventured there was silenced forever by the dragon…and they never returned," he said, his voice low and quiet. "When Beot and the woodcutter arrived on the shore of the island, they disembarked from their ship and headed inland. The first trial they had to cross was a terribly disgusting-smelling swamp."

"Eww!" squealed Annî. "A swamp?"

"Yes. Then, they had to battle two monstrous and very ugly trolls, where the woodcutter was very glad he had Beot at his side. Once the trolls were out of the way, it was a straight journey inland to the dragon's lair. Carefully, they climbed the side of the mountain and made their way to the door and entered into the dungeon where they found the princess shackled to the wall. The woodcutter rushed inside, but he head the sounds of heavy breathing behind him, the rustling of wings, and he could see a reddish, unnatural light coming from near the stairs." Thranduil paused.

"Look out!" Annî cried, getting to her knees on his lap. "The dragon!"

"Yes, it was the dragon," whispered Thranduil. "Kesh was there, his terrible breath of fire and death waiting for the woodcutter." Thranduil's voice became very serious. "See, dragons are cunning and swift, and so Kesh hid very sneakily away from the woodcutter so that he could not see. The princess tried to warn him, but he did not listen, so afraid was he that she would be killed. He rode Beot forward to save her—" Annî gasped and so did Enguina—"and Kesh took a swipe at him with his dagger-like claws, slashing out and knocking him from the horse's back. The princess began to cry as the woodcutter lay still, gravely wounded by the dragon.

"Now there is something else to know about dragons, Andúnêiel," he said firmly. "Dragons are the most prideful creatures that exist in Middle-Earth. They believe they are never wrong, and sometimes they are prophetic about the future. This only makes them surer of themselves. So, when Kesh believed the woodcutter to be dead, he was very dead indeed. The dragon turned away, and that was the moment the woodcutter leapt from the stones and attacked the dreaded beast with his axes. Screaming a battle cry, the woodcutter lunged, even with a broken arm and partial blindness. The woodcutter fought, and even after an arduous battle, the dragon finally fell. Beot broke the shackles on the princess as the weak woodcutter fell to the ground.

"The princess rushed to hold her rescuer, but the woodcutter threw up a hand, shielding her from himself. 'No, my Lady,' he said, 'I am not worthy to look upon you. The fairest of the fair does not belong with one so scarred and ugly!' And indeed as the princess looked upon him, she saw he was scarred across the face and blinded by the dragon fire."

"Oh no!" cried Annî, gripping her face.

Thranduil was very serious as he began again, "The woodcutter thought for sure it was over, but the princess reached down and took his hands. She had come to learn of the woodcutter's kindness and bravery and goodness, and she knew that even if he was scarred, he was still the same man. She confessed, instead, that she loved him and that she would have him even if he was no longer handsome. After a time, the two of them and Beot sailed back from the Island of Silence, hand in hand in the boat that he had designed. And they would live happily together as rulers of their land for the rest of their days."

There was silence for a moment, then Annî said, "The end?"

Thranduil nodded, giving her a little smile. "Yes, the story is done."

"Again!" she yelled, and the rest of the table suddenly clapped. Thranduil lifted his head suddenly and stared at them; he was clearly embarrassed by how quiet the table was and that they had listened to him, but it did not quite show on his face.

"That was an excellent story," Éomer said as Faramir began gathering Éowyn and their things. "In a few years, perhaps, you can make a journey to Rohan and tell my children bedtime stories."

"I could listen to you tell that again right now," Enguina said softly, staring at him.

"It was a wonderful story," agreed Erumar. "Did anyone know you were so talented?"

"It is the first in many, many years," Legolas said, and he, too, stared at Thranduil. His father would not turn and look at him, but he still wondered at the story; it was familiar. Annî had been trying to get his father to tell her a story since he arrived, but he had kept declining. He could not comprehend the sudden change of heart.

Annî saw her family begin to get to their feet and she suddenly reached for Thranduil's face. "Again, please?" she begged, and just as she reached he immediately tugged his head back, lifting his chin out of her reach, and then took her hands to prevent her from grabbing his face in them. Faramir drew near and Thranduil looked at her very seriously.

"Some do not liked to be touched, child," he told her and when he released her hands, she stuck her thumb into her mouth. "Perhaps some other time," he said in response to her question as Faramir reached down and scooped her into his arms. She wrapped an arm around her father's neck.

Éowyn touched her arm, but was looking at Thranduil as she said, "What do we say, Annî, when someone does something kind for us?"

Annî pulled her thumb from her mouth long enough to say, "Thank you."

He gave her a little smile. "You are welcome, Andúnêiel."

"Yes, thank you, Thranduil," added Éowyn. Then she looked over towards Enguina and Legolas. "One more day?"

"One more day," Legolas laughed in agreement as he took Enguina's hand in his own.

"Good night, all of you," Aragorn said. "Until morning."

"I think I'll call it a night as well!" laughed Gimli as he got to his feet, and he clapped Thranduil on the shoulder. "Good story! I like that—she took him even though he felt he had nothing to give." The dwarf waved to the rest of them and then followed the family out.

After they had gone, the six of them remained seated. Erumar leaned forward, wrapping her hands around the mug of tea she held. "Legolas said your story was the first in a long time, yet you seem well-practiced. Do you have no cause to tell them?"

He gave her a little smile. "None at all," he admitted, "but I feel that some stories have a way of telling themselves. Have you never had this happen to you?"

"When my children were very young perhaps. Now they are grown and much wiser than I."

Thranduil smiled genuinely then. "That is how I feel about Legolas."

"I am in no way wiser than you," Legolas protested, but softly. "If anything, I am more foolish. You were there in the battles of Dol Guldur, the Five Armies, and even back to the Last Alliance and before. No, Adar, you are far wiser than I."

"Wars do not make one wise, Legolas," Thranduil replied, leaning back in his chair. "They give one experience. I have done many foolish things in my life and it is guaranteed I shall do many more."

"I hope Legolas does," Enguina said, trying to make the conversation a bit lighter. He glanced over at her and she smiled sweetly at him. "I want to laugh at him."

Legolas rolled his eyes. "Did you not have enough of that today?"

"No, not nearly enough, when you have all these occasions to laugh at me."

Arwen smiled. "You two are too much on each other."

"You know," Erumar said thoughtfully, "I have an idea that might help the two of you laugh at each other, if that is what you really want."

"What is it?" asked Legolas.

"No," Enguina said immediately, shaking her head. "Anything that he is interested in hearing more about, I am for the opposite. I want to laugh at him, but not at the expense of myself."

Legolas burst out laughing. "Oh, Erumar, tell! She is being snobbish."

Erumar smiled at her as Enguina stared open-mouthed at Legolas. "He is right, you know. I was thinking that sometime, perhaps even after the wedding, we could take some time and tell some funny stories about you both. Those who know Legolas very well can tell stories about him—"

"And we could tell hilarious stories about Enguina!" Arwen laughed, clapping her hands once. "This would be perfect!"

"No," both Legolas and Enguina said at once.

"That is a terrible idea," Legolas added.

"What were you thinking, Erumar?" asked a horrified Enguina.

"Really, you two," Aragorn said, raising an eyebrow. "It is not as though they have sentenced you to death. Let them have their—"

"Moreover," Legolas interrupted, "Enguina and I have plans tomorrow night."

"You do?" asked Erumar, her voice so serious Arwen almost believed she trusted Legolas's word.

"Yes, of course we do," agreed Enguina.

"Yes, night before the wedding and all that," muttered Thranduil, rolling his eyes.

"Yes," added Legolas, "we are going to spend the whole night staring into each other's eyes until the morning light." He said this with a smirk and Aragorn reached over and punched him in the arm. "Ouch!"

"Do not make fun."

"Can I not have a little fun?"

"Not about that," Aragorn stated. "We may have forgotten entirely about the wedding if not—"

"For Gimli?" interrupted Enguina with a stolen smile to Arwen. "Yes, I heard that one, as well."

"I honestly was thinking of taking Enguina for a ride near the Anduin," he said, looking at Erumar. "But…I will comply if you all would really want to—"

Erumar held up a hand. "It was a suggestion! It was hardly a demand; I thought it might make you both laugh before the wedding to hear some stories of each other, and I did offer for us to do it after the wedding. It need not be before."

Legolas sighed. "As long as I have time to give Enguina her wedding gift, I will enjoy the time, I am sure, though…I think it might be best to do it after the wedding."

"You are giving your wedding gifts before the wedding?" asked Erumar, confused.

"Yes," replied Enguina, looking unsure. "Is that wrong?"

"No, no, there is no wrong, Enguina," she said softly. "Just…not traditional."

Legolas laughed. "We are nothing if not-traditional."

"Though I tried," insisted Enguina, rolling her eyes.

Aragorn laughed. "Arwen and I had no wedding gifts for each other at all. There was no time, and we gave them long after the wedding." He gave them a smile. "Furthermore, I think the giving of gifts should be before or after the wedding not the night of; it will give you more time to focus on each other, not the gifts."

"I am embarrassed by this conversation," Enguina said, and then sighed, looking at Legolas. "I will go along with it after the wedding…as long as there are an even number of stories and no one tells that particular story…"

"You can tell Legolas that one later, if you see fit," Erumar reassured her.

"Am I invited?" asked Thranduil. "I may have a story or two to contribute." Legolas groaned and Thranduil shared a little smirk with Erumar; this did not go unnoticed by Arwen and Enguina.

Arwen sighed, smiling. "I cannot believe there is only one more day until the wedding."

"I never thought I would see the day," murmured Erumar, reaching across the table and touching Enguina's hand. "I am glad to be here, to share in your joy."

"I did not think I would see it either," said Thranduil, looking over at Enguina and his son. "It is something I have always hoped for, but never thought would happen. But…this woman…" His eyes fell on Enguina and she blushed. "She is something more. She makes you something more, Legolas. I am grateful for this…" He gave Enguina a little smile. "I am grateful for you, my dear. My son has found his happiness, his heart. He was content before now, but not happy. Now, he is not who he used to be. He is something more." He did not know how else to describe it.

"I am right here, you know," Legolas said wryly, but Thranduil ignored him, still watching her.

"I…" she stuttered, embarrassed, "I do not know what to say."

"Say nothing," Thranduil said, leaning back in his chair again. He crossed his legs and looked down at the table, his sharp eyes becoming particularly interested in the pattern on the silverware as he fingered it.

"I am happy," Legolas said softly, and Enguina looked at him, "and I am different with you here at my side. Everything is new." He laughed, squeezing her hand. "It should not be, but it is, and I love it." He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it.

Aragorn smiled and tapped the table with his fingers. "I think it is a nice evening for a walk in the garden. How about we leave these two lovebirds and take to the flowers?"

"I suppose we are pretty obvious," said Legolas as Enguina blushed.

"We do not mean to act as though we do not wish your company."

"We are unoffended," reminded Aragorn. "I was only teasing."

"We did not show you the gardens yet today, Erumar," offered Arwen, and Thranduil lifted his head.

"You have not yet shown her the gardens?" asked Thranduil incredulously. "Whyever not? Nearly all the beauty Minas Tirith has to offer is found within them."

Erumar laughed, a sound of tinkling bells to Thranduil's ears, and he smiled in surprise. "I suppose I must see the gardens. May I walk with you?"

"Please," Aragorn said, and rose, looking pointedly at Thranduil. "Join us, Thranduil. Legolas, Enguina, we will see you for breakfast?"

"Yes," Legolas said, answering for them. He was not about to hide the thought that he very much wanted to be alone with her. "We will see you in the morning—"

"Erumar, do not forget," Enguina said quickly, "about tomorrow after breakfast and service."

"Oh, yes," added Arwen. "We will be there."

"Be where?" asked Legolas, sitting forward.

"Never you mind," Enguina stated, and he rolled his eyes. "You do however, need to find something to do with yourself after breakfast tomorrow that does not require me to be there."

"That should not be a problem, to be honest," Legolas admitted. "In fact, it will work out quite perfectly. I have something I need to finish."

"Finish?"

Legolas smiled wryly. "'Never you mind.'"

Aragorn and Arwen had turned in for the night, but Thranduil had offered to walk Erumar to the guesthouse where she would be staying. She thought that was kind of him. They were walking slowly beside one another, and she had to admit that he had been right—the garden was the most beautiful place in all of Minas Tirith. They had not seen every bit of it, but what they had she could not help but admire; the beauty of Minas Tirith distracted her and yet…she could not help but notice the man who walked beside her just as much.

She was, in fact, very aware of him. Trying to be discreet, she took him in with her eyes, following the line of his neck, his chin, his jaw, his nose, his eyes. He had a strong, handsome face, proud and stern. She knew this from his shortness with Annî this morning; he had a temper that could be very cold…possibly even terrifying to witness if he was truly angry. His smile, when genuine, lit his eyes—she had seen this at dinner, and several times as they walked with Aragorn and Arwen tonight—and made him come alive. His laugh was comfortable and kind. He had a passion for flowers. He was the king of a realm. He enjoyed beautiful things. He was very tall, a whole head-and-a-half taller than she was!

Why was she even listing these things about him in her head? He spoke, and it broke her thoughts; she had to pay attention to him.

"I often walk at night and look at the stars," he said, and his voice was soft and thoughtful. "They are brighter here, in Minas Tirith, than at home. Is that not odd?"

"Perhaps it is because you are closer to them here," she offered. "You are on a mountain top, where in the Greenwood you are hidden beneath the trees." She looked at his profile again. "Or it could be that your perspective here is different."

He nodded. "I think it is the latter, not the former. Do you look at the stars, Erumar?"

"I have not in a very long time," she replied truthfully, but she slowed near the wall and turned out to gaze across the Pelennor and the moonlight, glancing up at the stars he was speaking of as she rested her hands on the stone. "They do shine more brightly here," she agreed softly. "I…have not seen them in so long. I suppose I had no cause to look."

"Such as my storytelling."

He was teasing her, and she smiled. "Yes. It was a wonderful story. I do not know if Annî understood it past her childish interest in a tale of adventure, but it was beautiful. The princess turned out to be quite wise, and yet, I had expected her to remain a simple damsel in distress."

He rested his elbows on the wall, his perfect posture gone for a moment. "The story rings with some truth, yes? That is why everyone enjoyed the tale. We all bear scars of our…misadventures, and everyone at that table has been seen through by someone, seen for who they are." He sighed. "I am not sure what I set out to tell, but…it was well-suited for the company."

She looked away from his face, back to the stars and sighed softly herself. "I would agree with you, Thranduil…everyone bears scars." She paused and then continued. "When I said that I was happy for Enguina, I meant it. I cannot tell you the joy it brings me to see her so changed. She is so different than she has been these past years, and Legolas looks upon her with such eyes…" She shook her head. "One would have to be completely dull to not see their love for one another."

"Enguina spoke only briefly of those scars," he replied, knowing that it was clear she was steering the conversation from herself. "Legolas bears some of his own, though they are nothing like hers. She is more closed than he is; that makes him very good for her."

She smiled and looked at him again. "Legolas is very open; he hides nothing. That frankness is refreshing, and for someone like her, a gift. You are right; they are good for each other. He draws her out, opens her like a flower."

He smiled. "I like your analogy."

"You love him very much," she stated. "Is he your only son?"

He nodded. "I do love him, though he is often headstrong and stubborn," he laughed softly. "Much too like myself: overprotective and fiercely defensive of those he loves. He would like to pretend he did not inherit that from me. Yes, yes…he is my only son." He smiled. "I suppose I would be remiss if I did not mention Tauriel in conjunction with him. She is not my daughter, but I raised her as one. She remained in the Greenwood for its defense though she wanted very much to be here. The spiders can still be a bit of a nuisance." He looked at her. "And you mentioned your children briefly at dinner."

She smiled, and he noticed it was wistful. "I have four children, and they are scattered to the winds. Macarion, Elentara, and Hrivë have left these shores for the Undying Lands not seven years ago. Aelin married and is living in East Lórien, though how long they will remain I do not know. She was speaking of leaving when the others did, but I do not know if she has gone. Part of my heart misses them…and part of it is glad they have found peace."

"That is the challenge of having children I suppose," Thranduil said thoughtfully. "You want to see them succeed, to do what is right, yet we have a difficult time doing that, of letting go." Thranduil hesitated, and then asked. "You did not go with them. What made you stay?"

He noticed her fingers tighten on the stone and the skin around her eyes tense. "I do not know." Her heart flooded with such weight in that moment, she thought her knees would buckle. Memories, slow and torturous filled her and she tried desperately to drive them back, looking immediately away from his eyes and down at her hands. The brittle shell she had built vibrated under the strain.

"It has been," he said gently, "a very long day. You must be tired. Let us finish the walk to your quarters so you can rest." She glanced at him and saw he had offered an arm. She was so grateful for it that she could have cried; she would not make it to the house without holding on to something. As the two of them walked away from the wall, she kept her eyes trained on the stones, not on him. He was too good a reader; he knew very well something was not right, just as she knew it about him. Both wanted to ask; both said nothing.

"Thank you," she whispered and he nodded.

He walked her home.