Cúthalion

by TheBlueDreamer

This story is the beginning of the "Warriors of Doriath" trilogy, and follows Beleg Cúthalion throughout his life, through parts of his childhood, and up until his death at the hands of Túrin. {1 "Warriors of Doriath" Trilogy}

10. 9: The Stallion and the Harvest Festival

Hey guys! Thanks for waiting and here we go again! Warning, major plot twists ahead!

TRIGGER WARNINGS: BLOOD, INJURY, PAST ABUSE, GRIEF, AND LOTS OF HUGS AND FLUFF (3

Disclaimer: I do not own anything belonging to the esteemed Professor John Ronald Ruel Tolkien!

---

"Ready, ion?"

"Ready, Ada!"

"Alright, so when you're swiping desserts off the cooling rack, the best place to be is right under the cooling rack, but as close to the wall as possible so that no one sees you."

"Like we're doing now!"

"Exactly. Now, when everything above you has gone quiet, you reach up behind you like this, you feel around until you find something, and then you grab it and pull it down as quickly as possible. Go on and try it." he watched intently as his child reached up, felt around, and eventually brought down a small honey cake with a beaming smile of delight.

"I did it! Ada, I did it!" the child squealed in excitement, laughing gaily.

"That you did, penneth! Keep your voice down!" his father chuckled quietly at the youngster's joy. "Now, I'll give it a go." he reached up stealthily, feeling around until he eventually found something. He swiftly pulled it back, wrinkling his nose in disgust once he found that his prize had pistachios on it.

"Yuck!" the child quipped, honey dribbling down his chin as he looked at his father's catch with distaste.

"Now, now. This is actually a learning experience. When you end up with something you don't want, you should put it back so they don't realize how many are missing. Now, to do that, you take the dessert, you reach up the same way you did to take it, put it back, and then feel around for something-GAH!" he yelped as he brought his hand back swiftly, rubbing at his reddening wrist.

"Uh-oh…" the child mumbled, nervously looking up to find an unsmiling elleth glaring down at them as she leaned out the window, a wooden spoon in her hand. "M-mae-govannen, Nana!" his father looked up slowly, a sheepish grin on his face.

"Good morning, Elei! You look lovely today!"

"Daecrist Gaeredhelion, what in the Valar's name are you doing?"

"Ada was teaching me how to get dessert before the festival!"

"Callon!" Daecrist groaned. "I thought we were in on this together you little traitor!"

Two more ellith appeared at the window, looking equally angry.

"Honestly, Daecrist, you ought to be ashamed of yourself!" Alquawen scolded, frowning in disapproval.

"Aye! Imagine, a retired General teaching his son how to steal!" Maewen chimed in, looking equally annoyed.

"It's not stealing, it's snacking!" Daecrist retorted with a sniff as he picked himself up, still a little wobbly on his brace alone. "And it's an art form!"

"Well, whatever it is, I don't want to catch you doing it again! Or else!" Eleithel snapped, waving the wooden spoon, her weapon of choice for the day, under his nose. "Why don't the two of you make yourselves useful and help set up for the festival? There'll be plenty of dessert later tonight! Your stomachs can wait!"

"Very well." the General-turned-carpenter said with a reluctant sigh. "Fare thee well and may thy cooking taste good tonight!" he said sarcastically with a bow. "And may there be no more pistachios." he added, tilting his head up slightly, his nose wrinkled in repugnance.

"Cheeky." Eleithel muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes as she fought back a smile.

"I'm sorry that you didn't get any dessert, Ada." Callon mumbled as he walked alongside his limping father across the wooden bridges, making their way towards the town square.

"Who says I didn't?" Daecrist said with a laugh as he pulled a strawberry tart out of nowhere.

"Wha-?! How?!"

"Not a chance I'm telling you!" Daecrist laughed, taking a bite. "Magicians never reveal their secrets, and if I told you, there'd be no dessert left for the festival!"

---

"A little higher to the right! No, no, Mablung, not you! Mornar!" Culdôr groaned in frustration as he was trying to help Mornar and Mablung set up a string of lanterns evenly.

"Well, maybe if you addressed us when you wanted us to do something, things would be easier!" Mablung said with a huff as he looked at his friend in annoyance. Mornar could only nod as he swayed precariously from where he was leaning out from a ladder.

"Oh, very well." Culdôr grumbled. "Mornar, lift your end up about an inch, and Mablung, move your end down slightly, now, hold it there while we wait for Beleg to come back with the nails.

"He'd better hurry his sorry behind up!"

"Just remember who's saved your sorry behind on more than one occasion Medli!" Beleg said with a smirk as he walked into the courtyard. "Remember that one time when we were scouting ahead and you decided that it was a fine idea to climb that tree?" He asked as Mablung's cheeks turned a bright shade of pink. Culdôr snickered.

"I most certainly do!" He laughed.

"Hey, don't start this again!" Mablung snapped.

"What happened?" Mornar asked, unable to keep the grin off his face as he lightly laughed along with Beleg and Culdôr.

"Don't you dare!" Mablung cried, failing miserably at trying not to smile, as his two friends shared a look.

"We-we were part of a caravan coming back from Menegroth a few years back, and we were sent to scout ahead. Well, Medli here decides that we could do it all quicker if one of us climbed a tree to see everything from a bird's eye view. So he climbs this tree, and-and-!" Culdôr couldn't even finish his sentence before he fell over laughing.

"The next thing we know he's got a vine tangled around his foot and he's hanging upside down about twenty feet above our heads!" Beleg finished, tears of laughter in his eyes. "And I had to rescue him lest he be left out there all night!"

"What's going on here?"

"Mae-govannen, Mornar!" Callon exclaimed cheerily as he darted over to the ladder.

The poor Nargothrondian hardly got a moment's peace when the elfling was around.

"Hello, penneth!" Mornar laughed.

"We're trying to hang up the lanterns." Culdôr explained to Daecrist, who nodded in understanding.

"Make sure you hammer the nails through the strings and all the way into the posts. The lights won't fall down that way."

"How are the ellith doing?" Beleg asked.

"They're doing great! Everything tastes really good!" the elfling quipped.

"They let you do a taste test?!" Mablung gaped disbelievingly. "It's impossible to taste anything those three are cooking before it's done!"

"Aye! How'd you do it?" Beleg asked, his green eyes wide.

"Ada taught me how to steal dessert off the cooling rack!"

"CALLON!" Daecrist groaned with a smile as the others laughed. "I swear, you're only saying this stuff out loud to get me in trouble! What else needs to be done, by the way?"

"Ruscdîr and Arafhind are helping to get the ale down from the tavern, Faron and Asgarsîr are getting the tables set up, I know Captain Seregthoroniel is bringing something, an apple crumble, I believe, and I think Niphredil is bringing something from the teahouse."

"Would you mind keeping an eye on Cal? He'll be more than happy to help. I think I'm going to go see if Niphredil needs any help." Daecrist murmured, thinking about his late friend.

It was high time he checked on Amlug's family.

"Afterall, he'd do the same for Elei and Cal if our places had been switched." he thought to himself.

"Alright." Mornar agreed as Callon darted all around him, trying to see what he was doing.

"Hannon-le." Daecrist said gratefully. It was strange how the Nargothrondian had little to no experience with children, yet was so good with Callon. "I'll be off now. Good luck, Mornar."

"Thanks." the dark-eyed ellon said with a smirk as he climbed down from the ladder once Culdôr and Beleg had finished nailing the string of lanterns to the tree, only to be greeted by an excited elfling.

Daecrist chuckled as he watched his son dart all around the Nargothrondian.

They really did share a cute sort of friendship.

Daecrist hobbled away, walking towards the teahouse. He suddenly stopped, his sharp ears detecting a small, pitiful noise in the bushes.

He listened intently.

He heard it again.

A small sob.

Clearly a child.

The fatherly instinct kicked in, and he found himself walking over towards the noise.

He looked over the bushes to find a small elfing with black curls, sobbing inconsolably.

His heart clenched.

Gîlgorn.

Amlug's daughter.

"Oh, penneth…" he found himself murmuring as he made his way through the brush and brambles. She whirled around, her blue eyes glistening with tears.

"Uncle…" she managed to choke out, racing over, and firmly attaching herself to his leg. He sat down in the dirt, cradling her against him, as he gently smoothed her wild curls. "Wh-why'd he have to go?" The question sent a stabbing pain to his heart, as it was a question he'd asked himself all too frequently.

Why did his parents have to go?

Why did his brother have to go?

Why did Amlug have to go?

"Why? Why'd Ada have to leave? Uncle, why?" she looked up into his face, tears streaking her own.

He bit his lip, trying to figure out how to answer.

"Sometimes," he began slowly, wiping away her tears, "the Valar take away the ones we love for reasons we don't understand, but… even if we don't understand why, the Valar still know what they're doing, and they know that it's just… it's just time…"

"But… Why was it Ada's time?"

"I don't know that, penneth." Daecrist said with a sigh, gently rubbing comforting circles into her back. "But there are some things I do know."

"Like what?" she sniffled, curling up against his chest, her eyes distant as she looked into the woods, as if searching for the answer to her questions in the forest, or perhaps searching for her father himself.

"I know that he loved you and your Naneth dearly and that he would want you to enjoy yourself tonight. But, more importantly, he wouldn't want you crying. He hated seeing you all sad and mopey." he said, pulling a pouty face, making the elfling giggle a little. "But, even more importantly, I know that he's always with you. And that he's always watching you, even if you can't see it."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"But… am I still allowed to miss him?"

"Of course, penneth."

"Then why doesn't Nana seem to miss him?" she asked, nearly causing Daecrist's heart to stop.

"What do you mean?" he asked, trying to keep his voice calm. He couldn't imagine Niphredil being unfaithful to Amlug, but grief could make a person do things that weren't normal for them.

"I haven't seen her cry!" Gîlgorn cried, her eyes beginning to brim with tears. "She doesn't talk either!" despite the child's distress, Daecrist couldn't help but feel a sense of relief.

"Sounds like she's just in a state of shock…" he thought to himself as he held the crying girl.

"Now, now," he murmured gently. "I'm sure your nana misses him, even if it doesn't seem like it… I'm actually going over to your nana's teahouse to see if she needs help with anything, so I'll see how she is, but for now, why don't you go down to the courtyard to see if they need any help, hm? Callon's down there, and I'm sure they could use some help from a strong little lass like you!"

The child sniffled, wiping her little button nose on her sleeve.

"Okay." she managed a smile with the words. Daecrist grinned a little as she picked herself up in more ways than one.

"That's it, penneth. You go see if you can help, and if you can't, you can always just play with Callon."

"Alright. I'll go see what I can- Uncle! What happened to your leg?!"

The waterworks started yet again, and Daecrist found himself wondering how on earth Amlug had managed to calm the emotional little girl when she was upset.

"Now, now. I'm fine, it's nothing to worry about." he murmured, pulling himself up onto a knee, as he hugged her gently, trying to quell the tears. A small squeak escaped her, causing him to laugh quietly, a sympathetic smile on his face. "Poor thing. You've worked yourself up so much you've given yourself the hiccups!" he chuckled, making Gîlgorn dissolve into giggles. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, gently cleaning off her tearstained face. "Now, off to the courtyard with you, little miss! If you keep crying over here you might just drown the grass!" he joked, ruffling her short mop of curly hair. She laughed, her voice as bright and boisterous as her father's had been, as she hugged him, her little arms around his neck.

"Thank you, Uncle Dae! See you later!" she thanked him quickly before running away to find Callon.

"Goodbye, Gîl!" he laughed quietly, shaking his head in amusement as he watched the little girl run as though her feet had wings. "Just like her father." he thought to himself as he stood up, going back on his journey. "Emotional as anything one minute, and as happy as a clam the next!" He walked up the rickety old ramp leading up to the courthouse deck, before making his way across the bridges, eventually reaching the now empty teahouse. He paused at the closed door, hearing the sobs from inside. He sighed softly.

Apparently, he'd been correct in his assumption that Niphredil had waited until her daughter was absent to cry.

He stepped inside, not bothering to knock.

Amlug had always told him not to, anyway.

His gray eyes roved around the sunlit room, eventually finding the shaking form of his friend's widow, slumped over the counter, a mug of some sort of tea left cold and forgotten by her hand. He quietly sat down in the barstool next to her.

"Hey," he murmured, gently placing a hand on her shoulder, causing her to jump.

She looked up at him, her pale silver eyes red, and her moonlight white hair mussed and tangled.

She looked miserable.

"Oh, Daecrist… sorry to keep you waiting. What can I get you?" she asked far too quickly as she leapt up, drying her eyes on the back of her sleeve as she rushed towards the gate that led to the other side of the counter, intent on doing something, anything, to get her mind off her grief.

Daecrist darted over at a limping run, somehow getting there first, miraculously without falling flat on his face.

"Niphredil, I'm not here to drink tea as though nothing happened." he said, trying to catch his breath as he intentionally blocked her way.

"Then why are you here?" She snapped, her eyes sparkling furiously as her pain and anguish got the best of her. "If you're not here to buy anything, then quit loitering and get out!"

"You know exactly why I'm here, Niph." he responded calmly to her outburst, using the nickname that Amlug had given her to hopefully soften the mood. "I'm here because I lost my best friend, who had a wife and daughter, and I know for a fact that they're taking his passing a whole lot worse than I am. I came to see if they were alright, because that's what friends do. Niphredil, where are they?"

She stared at him, stunned, before tears filled her eyes once again.

"Dae, I…" a choked sob silenced whatever was left of her apology, and she darted into his arms, seeking comfort as she cried. "I-I just don't know what to do!" He held her close, slowly swaying back and forth to try and calm her.

"I know. I know. I wouldn't know what to do either."

They stood together in silence.

"Thank you, Dae." Niphredil murmured as she pulled away, wiping her tears on the back of her sleeve. "I don't know why I closed myself off like that."

"I do. You did it so Gîl wouldn't have to see you cry."

"I suppose. Poor child… she's been so distraught ever since we got the news."

"I know. Found the poor thing crying on my way here." Niphredil looked up sharply at his words.

"What? Varda above… I didn't even realize she left!" The tow haired elleth groaned as she buried her face in her hands, fighting back tears. "I'm so sorry, Daecrist… you must think I'm incredibly selfish for not being there for her… Valar, how am I going to make it up to her?" she whispered the last part so softly Daecrist had to strain his already sensitive ears to hear her, before crying again.

He reached out to her, gently tucking a rogue curl of her wipsy hair behind her ear.

"Niph, she needs to see her mother cry. As much as you want to protect her, being stoic isn't always being strong." Niphredil nodded, drying her reddening eyes.

"Hannon-le." a small smile spread across her fair face. "It's sort of funny, really. I've been a mother for longer than you've been a father, and yet you know more than I do!" she laughed.

He smiled gently.

"We all have our own strengths. Now, do you need any help bringing stuff down for the festival?"

"Actually, I do."

---

"How many more barrels do we need to bring down?" Arafhind asked, wiping sweat from his brow as he set down his burden, a large barrel of wine.

"I have no idea." Ruscdîr huffed, rolling his shoulders.

A shock of raven hair suddenly caught his eye.

He turned around just in time to see Dînaerlinn leap down from a tree, out of uniform, a warm cake pan in her small hands guarded by a pair of oven mitts.

"She ran through the trees with a dish? She's braver than I thought. Or incredibly stupid."

She placed her burden down on a nearby table, the gentle breeze blowing the scent in his direction.

All he could do was use whatever self control he had to resist.

"For such an insufferable elleth she can certainly cook well… I suppose I'll try some of whatever that is tonight… just not when she's looking. I don't want her to think that I like her."

"Valar, that smells good." Arafhind murmured, his mouth watering.

"Probably poisoned." Ruscdîr muttered under his breath, glad that his cousin had thought that he was focusing on the food and not the elf-maid.

Despite his best efforts, however, he could not help looking back in her direction.

She was talking with Asgarsîr, laughing, a fair smile on her sharp features, framed by her wispy black locks.

"She's actually kind of cute when she smiles-WHAT THE HELL AM I SAYING?!" he thought to himself, mentally banging himself over the head as he looked away.

"What do you mean, poisoned?!" Arafhind yelped, a horrified expression on his face

"Pecans! I meant pecans! Where on earth did you get poison from?! I said it probably has pecans in it!"

"Pecans?" Arafhind asked, confusion in his eyes, as he sniffed the air. "Smells like apples to me… and cinnamon."

"Oh, quit sniffing the air!" Ruscdîr grumbled, his face going as red as his hair. "You're making yourself look like a hunting dog on the trail of a doe, and me like a fool!"

"But… you are one." the silver-haired private said with a smirk.

"As are you!"

"Oi!"

"You both are for standing around arguing about something as stupid as this!" a voice said with a warm laugh. They turned around to find Daecrist hobbling alongside Niphredil, assisting her in carrying a satchel full of teabags and a pitcher.

"Good Morning, General, Niphredil." Arafhind said politely with a nod, his brown eyes traveling to Daecrist's brace, scanning it over, worrying.

"Arafhind, I haven't been a General in a week! There's no need for you to call me that!" Daecrist chuckled, his gray eyes meeting Arafhind's.

"Are the two of you going down to the courtyard?" Niphredil asked.

"Aye, we are." Arafhind answered before Ruscdîr could say 'no'.

The redheaded Lieutenant gulped, glancing down at the courtyard, dismayed to see that Dînaerlinn was still there.

She was the last person he wanted to talk to.

"Then why don't we all go down together?" Niphredil suggested.

In all honesty, it was good to be with some of her husband's old friends.

Perhaps he wasn't really gone after all.

"I think that's a good idea… my condolences, by the way." Arafhind replied, looking her in the eye before looking down at his boots.

"Thank you." Niphredil replied, doing the same.

The private and the widow walked ahead, leaving the Lieutenant and his former commander to walk behind them.

Ruscdîr kept risking glances at the courtyard, praying she'd leave before he got there.

Daecrist noticed his friend's strange behavior, and followed his gaze.

A look of surprise slowly crossed his face.

"And here I was, thinking you didn't like her!" he said with an arched brow and a sly smile.

"I most certainly do not!" Ruscdîr squawked, embarrassed.

"You're blushing."

"Am not!" he retorted, despite the fact that it felt like his cheeks were on fire.

"Oh, come on Rusc!" Daecrist laughed. "Stop lying to yourself! It's obvious!"

"You-you honestly think, in some twisted way, that I would harbor feelings for-for that insufferable midget?!"

"Yes."

"And I thought she was annoying!" Ruscdîr grumbled under his breath. "You're ten times worse!"

"Well then! Considering we've been friends for so long, you should have no trouble living with her once you're wed!"

"That is most certainly not happening!"

"Could it, though?" he found himself wondering. "Could we ever learn to- no. no, that's enough of that! But… what if we could learn to love each other?" he thought about the glares they'd given each other. "Forget love. We'd have to learn to tolerate each other first!"

Before he knew it, they were in the courtyard, and of course, she was still there.

"Just ignore her. It's not that hard. Just ignore."

Dînaerlinn's smile faltered for a second as she saw the Lieutenant enter the scene, carrying a barrel over his shoulder. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing his muscular forearms, decorated with a few small scars from various misadventures he'd had over the years.

He seemed to tower over her a bit more than she remembered, making her feel a bit more small and frail than usual.

"Dînaerlinn!" Niphredil cried as she bustled over, honestly happy in the moment.

"Niphredil! Good to see you! It's been too long!" she smiled as she rushed over. The teahouse was one of the few places she went in the rare cases when she went to town, and Niphredil was a fond acquaintance.

"That it had been! How are you?" The tow haired elleth asked.

The reclusive Captain only ever came to the village center once in a blue moon, so Niphredil always felt the need to ask how she was, just to make sure.

"I'm alright, but how are you?" she asked, her duo-colored eyes soft with sympathy. Niphredil's smile faltered.

"I'll be alright." she murmured, looking down. Dînaerlinn took her hands into her own.

"If you need anything, let me know." she found herself saying, much to her own surprise.

"Ai, I think Alquawen might be rubbing off on me a bit…"

"Thank you, Dînaerlinn. I'm afraid I have to run though; I have to finish setting up and then run back to the teahouse and get more. Are you going to be at the festival tonight?"

"Aye. I-I also decided to bring my daughter. I think I've been sheltering her a bit too much, but I'm still nervous."

"Linn, I hardly think any of the elfings will tease her about being a peredhel. If any of them try, however, Brennil can always stay with Gîlgorn and Callon. I'm sure she'll be alright with them."

"I hope so. See you tonight." They parted ways, only for Dînaerlinn to nearly walk straight into Ruscdîr.

He was much taller than her, her head only coming up to his chest. The sunlight filtered through his red hair, making his wild locks look almost like flames. The golden light also brought out the warmth in his eyes, highlighting the gold flecks amid the brown depths.

"Excuse me." she sniffed almost haughtily, as she forced herself to snap out of it, as she turned away.

What in the Valar's name was she doing?

"You're excused." He growled, forcing himself to look in the other direction.

He hadn't realized until that moment just how small she was.

How delicate.

How fragile.

How much she needed someone to protec-

"What the hell, Lieutenant Ruscdîr Elgonion! Snap out of it!" he thought to himself, glaring at Daecrist, who had a triumphant smirk on his face, almost as if to say, 'I told you so'.

Dînaerlinn bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from saying anything smart as she retreated to the trees. She climbed a short distance, stopping at a rather large branch on the opposite side of the tree. She sat down, her back against the trunk of the tree, as she buried her reddening face into her hands.

What was she doing?

How could she ever feel anything for that-that absolute bastard?!

She shyly peeked around the tree at the courtyard.

He was still there, toiling to help get everything set up, his strength on display.

His scars were now far more visible now that his skin was glistening with perspiration.

She wondered how he'd got them.

If they were really as different as they first thought.

She shook herself out of it.

It would never work.

She'd decided the day that Brennil was born that she'd never get married.

And even if she hadn't made that decision, she was a wild spirit, and a fiery one at that.

Anyone who wanted her would have to accept that she was independent.

Even as a child she was headstrong.

Even to the point that she would dare to discover things her family wished to keep secret…

---

"Grandmother? Why don't I have a Grandfather? Everyone else does." she asked. It was a question that her seven year old mind had been thinking about for quite some time. Her grandmother looked up from her knitting, the mysterious darkness of the Avari radiating from her.

"You have one, little one. He is merely hidden."

Dînaerlinn's brow furrowed.

"What do you mean?"

That mysterious smile crossed her face yet again.

"One day, little star, when you're older, you'll know."

It was an answer she didn't want, so she decided that she'd have to discover the answer herself, but how?

Her opportunity came sooner than she thought.

That night, she looked out her window at just the right time to see her grandmother leave the talan and go into the woods with a basket filled with food and some of her charcoal drawings.

When she came back, her basket was empty…

"Nana, may I go exploring in the woods today?" She asked, her fingers crossed behind her back. "I want to go see my animal friends."

Her mother laughed.

"Of course you may, penneth. I'll make you lunch before you leave, my little explorer!" A smile was on her mother's fair face as she ruffled her daughter's soft black hair, causing the elfing to giggle.

Soon she was on her way, clambering over rocks and fallen branches in her pale green dress, her satchel over her shoulder.

"Grandfather!" She called, her sweet, high voice echoing through the woods.

There was no answer.

"Hello?" She tried again.

Nothing.

She kept searching.

Eventually, her growling stomach convinced her to stop for lunch. She found a pretty spot by a small pond with a waterfall.

She had finished eating, and was about to lie down in the grass and flowers, when something caught her eye.

There was a faint blue light shining from behind the waterfall.

Two minutes later, she found herself rock climbing next to the waterfall. She gasped, the spray cold against her skin. She looked up, her duo colored eyes widening when she realized there was a cave behind the waterfall. She climbed towards it, her fingers eventually finding the ledge. She pulled herself up, squealing in shock as she got drenched by the waterfall.

She looked around the cave in awe.

A strange lantern that glowed blue hung in the corner by some packages wrapped up carefully in some deerskin. She walked over, stepping over an old blanket.

The glowing orb hung from a thin silver chain, its light dancing in her eyes. The glass was not dyed blue, nor was there a flame inside the lantern. Rather, there was a crystal. The metal of the lamp had intricate designs etched into it, as well as writing that she couldn't understand.

She soon grew bored of the lamp, her attention turning to the packages.

She carefully opened one of the small ones, gasping in surprise as she found a helmet nestled in some dried grass.

She gingerly lifted it out, gazing at the incredible craftsmanship. The helmet was made of either steel or iron and plated with bronze. It had many of the same patterns she had seen on the lantern. She put down the visor, looking at her reflection in the metal.

A scream burst from her lips as another reflection suddenly appeared beside her own! She dropped the helmet as she whirled around to find a fully grown ellon behind her, who had pulled out a knife when she'd screamed.

But what a frightening ellon he was!

He was missing his left arm entirely, and a massive burn of some sort covered the majority of the right side of his face.

She stumbled backwards, tripping over the helmet she'd found so intriguing just a moment before, and landed hard on the stone floor, scraping her small hands.

She looked up at the ellon in terror, her wide eyes silently pleading with the knife weilding menace.

He suddenly lowered the knife, his eyes frozen open as he was looking between her and something behind her.

She looked over her shoulder.

A drawing that her Grandmother made of her recently stared back at her.

She looked back at the strange, one armed elf.

His eyes were the brightest shade of blue, like the color of the sky on a warm midsummer's afternoon.

The same color of her father's right eye, as well as her's.

"Grandfather?" She tentatively asked.

"Dîn… Dînaerlinn…" He murmured, mispronouncing her name.

His voice was heavily accented.

"Grandfather!" She exclaimed, brightening as she realized her assumption had been correct. In the blink of an eye she'd leapt up, rushed over, and firmly attached herself to his leg, giggling joyously.

He said something, his tone concerned and confused all at once.

"Huh?" she questioned, looking up at him in confusion.

It took a few seconds for her to realize that her Grandfather spoke an entirely different language.

He knelt down, carefully taking her small hands into his one, carefully assessing the damage that had been done when she'd fallen. Her palms were scratched, dirty, and slightly bloody. He drew in his breath sharply, murmuring either to himself or to her in whatever language he spoke as he grabbed the nearby blanket, carefully dabbing at her wounds. He frowned, squinting as he tried to see her hands properly. He stood up with a growled huff of frustration, glared at the dim lamp and smacked it, causing it to go out completely before sputtering to life again, glowing far more brightly than before. He knelt back down, carefully placing her hands on his knee, palms up, so that he could care for her injuries.

Dînaerlinn noticed that her Grandfather kept blinking rapidly every now and then. When she looked closer at those bright blue eyes of his, however, she noticed a slight film covering part of his right eye, lining up with the burn on the side of his face.

"Perhaps he's slightly blind…" she thought to herself. "Poor Grandfather. I wonder what happened to him…"

"Ettul-si." he murmured, standing up and walking to the waterfall.

"What?"

"Ettul-si." he repeated, beckoning to her.

"Oh, you want me to come over!" she exclaimed, realizing with excitement that she understood what he meant as she walked over.

"*Yes*. Ettul-si." he said with a small smile as he watched his Granddaughter learn, right before his eyes. It was clear to him that she was an incredibly bright child, and that the wisdom of both his people and her Grandmother's people had not been lost upon her.

"Nonda."

"What?" she tilted her head to the side, a baffled expression on her face. He held up his hand. "You want my hands?" she asked as she held up her hands. He nodded, carefully taking one of her hands into his own, completely enveloping it in the warmth of his scarred and calloused hand. She gave a small yelp of pain as he carefully held her hand beneath the waterfall, gingerly rubbing at the cuts with his thumb, working with the water to free them of dirt and grit.

"Áva, hína. Lev-áva. Har-en… tiutalë, tiutalë."

She had no idea what her Grandfather was saying, yet she listened anyway, as the musical words brought a strange sort of comfort to her heart.

Years later, she would feel as though the ancient language held a certain part of her soul. As though it had always been a part of her, despite her not being able to understand.

He released her hand, carefully taking the other to do the same.

Once he was done, he gently dried them off with the blanket, taking care not to cause the child any more pain. Dînaerlinn watched in amazement as he spread the blanket out, standing on it to pin it down as he used his knife to cut strips of the fabric.

It was truly incredible how he learned to adapt to his handicap.

He carefully held her hand, laying one of the strips of fabric on top.

"Har-en." he murmured, slipping his hand out from beneath hers.

She looked on in astonishment as he used his hand and his teeth to tie the bandage around her hand. He carefully did the same to the other, and then carefully pulled her into a gentle hug.

"Avatyar-nyë."

The embrace caught her slightly off guard, but she quickly hugged him back, burying her face into his chest. The scent of grass and wood clung to his garments.

He suddenly pulled away, a weird expression on his scarred face, before fussing over her yet again.

"What? What is it?"

He lightly squeezed the corner of her dress, water spilling onto the floor through his fingers.

She abruptly realized that she was still sopping wet from the waterfall, and had just gotten him soaked as well with the hug. She looked up into his face. He was doing his very best to look stern, but was fighting back a smile all at once.

"Sorry." she mumbled, a sheepish smile on her face as she looked at her now wet Grandfather.

He laughed, facepalming as he tried to quell his mirth.

"*Rascal*!"

---

Dînaerlinn shook herself out of her reverie with a sense of sadness.

She'd grown incredibly close to her Grandfather during the short time she'd known him, despite the fact that they couldn't understand each other all the time, or the fact that her mother and her side of the family didn't even know about her Grandfather.

They thought he was a Nando soldier who'd been killed in an ambush several years prior.

They didn't know he was a Noldo.

"But it was better that way." she reminded herself, burying her face into her hands. "If they knew, he'd be hunted down and killed to 'avenge the Telri'. It was better that the only people who knew about him were Grandmother, Adar, and I. Naneth might have learned to love him, but if my other Grandfather knew about him… valar, he would've demanded that she leave Adar. As selfish as it sounds, it's also better that no one else knew, because if they did, things would be so much harder for Bren and I… they never would have taken me in if they knew… an elleth who's both an Avar and a Noldo who has a peredhel daughter." she stood back up with a sigh.

She had to get back home for Brennil.

Try as she might, however, she could not help thinking about him.

---

They walked back through the forest, the leaves crunching beneath their feet as they headed back to the village. She'd spent all day with him, and now, having lost track of time, it was far past her bedtime.

She stifled a yawn.

Her Grandfather suddenly stopped.

"Grandfather? What is it?" she asked. He pointed down the road. She looked over her shoulder. "I don't see anything." She tried to go back to him, but he gently pushed her away, and gave her a light nudge down the road.

The realization suddenly hit her.

He wanted her… to go?

"Grandfather, I…" he pointed yet again. "Grandfather, I don't want to leave! I want to stay with you! I only just met you!" tears pooled in her duo-colored eyes, dripping down her cheeks.

"Ui, ui, áva yaimë… áva yaimë…" he knelt down, pulling her into a firm, yet gentle embrace, allowing her to cry on his shoulder. He lightly pulled back, brushing her tears away. "Ai, Queldërilla… pitya tavaril." a small sympathetic smile rested on his scarred features.

"Dînaerlinn! Penneth, where are you?"

"Ada!" she called out, her sadness forgotten.

"Won't he be surprised to see that I've found Grandfather!" She thought to herself, a smile on her face.

Seregthoron came crashing through the brush, a look of surprise on his face at the sight of the two of them.

"Atar!"

Dînaerlinn looked at her father in disbelief. He knew Grandfather's language?

"Yórsornë!"

They rushed over to each other, touching foreheads together in a loving sort of silent greeting, before having a quiet conversation in the strange language. She looked back and forth between them, causing them both to smile as they looked down at her occasionally.

"Seregthoron! Seregthoron, have you found her?"

In the blink of an eye, her Grandfather had darted into the woods, racing away like a deer in the sights of a hunter. She was about to call out to him when her father scooped her up, holding her against him.

"Aye, I found her!"

Footsteps crashed through the brush.

"Not a word, penneth." he whispered in her ear, a gentle sadness in his tone. "Pretend to be asleep."

"Thank the Valar!" someone cried

"Little rascal!" another laughed.

She recognized the voices as some of her father's men.

"You can say that again!" Seregthoron chuckled. "Poor thing's all tuckered out. She was asleep on the log over there!"

"Ai, Elbereth! She must've been really tired then." The speaker was the one who'd called her a rascal, and she assumed it was the new private in her father's troop, who was kind, yet boisterous. What was his name again? Asgarsîr. That was it. His voice had softened considerably at the realization that she was "asleep", and she felt him gently tuck a rogue curl behind her ear.

"Aye! You lads go back home; I'm going to go slowly so I don't wake her."

"I can go with you, Captain. I'm in no hurry." Asgarsîr, again.

"No, thank you, Asgar. I appreciate the offer, but it's a miracle that the foghorn you call your voice hasn't woken her up yet." the others laughed at her father's gentle jibe at the young private.

"Right then. Goodnight, everyone. And don't any of you dare think that you can just show up late to drill tomorrow just because you all came out here to help me search for little sleeping beauty here! You all better be there at six o'clock sharp! Actually, scratch that! Let's make it five thirty!"

One "Yes, sir!"echoed after another, and she heard them all slowly leave.

"Alright, iel, you can stop pretending now." her duo-colored eyes snapped open, and a million questions poured out at once.

What happened to grandfather?

Why does he live alone?

Why does he stay away?

Why did he run away?

Why?

Why?

Why?

He raised his hand, silencing all her questions.

"Dînaerlinn… we have a lot to talk about." there was a touch of sadness in his eyes, which were identical to her own. He started down the pathway, his steps heavier than usual.

All that could be heard was the crickets singing softly in the darkness.

"Many years ago, the Noldor sailed across the sea, chasing after the dark one. They committed many crimes along the way, some far worse than others. The worst was when they slayed our kin in Alqualondë… Your Grandfather was a Noldo soldier in his yesteryears. He was part of Fingolfin's host, and crossed the grinding ice with his kin. I'm not sure how, but he somehow got separated from his house soon after." She listened to the tale of years past, her eyes aglow with wonder. "He wandered for a long time, eventually falling into the hands of orcs." an icy fear gripped her heart at the thought of her Grandfather as a captive to orcs. "They… they hurt him very badly… but he was rescued by your Grandmother's people, the Kinn-lai tribe of the Nelyarin Avari. They didn't, and still don't, like the Noldor by any means, but they helped your Grandfather because they thought that he might have some information. Grandmother was assigned as his healer, and was tasked with getting that information out of him. However, that didn't happen because they didn't speak the same language, Grandfather didn't have any information to begin with (he was only a footsoldier, afterall), and because-"

"Because they fell in love…"

Dînaerlinn finished, her voice hardly above a whisper.

Seregthoron looked down at her, a small smile playing on his lips.

"Aye… without even knowing the same language, they fell in love. They left the tribe together, eventually finding the Sindar."

"But why does Grandfather stay away?" she asked.

Her father sighed.

"Because the Sindar still hold a grudge against the Noldor for what happened at Alqualondë, and if they knew about Grandfather, they would not treat him kindly… not even Naneth knows about him. It's a secret that you now must carry with Grandmother and I." Dînaerlinn was stunned into silence by her father's words.

"I don't like keeping secrets from Nana…" she murmured.

Seregthoron held her tighter.

"I don't either… and I don't like making you keep secrets from Nana either. To be honest, I wasn't going to take you to see Grandfather again until you were much older."

"What do you mean, 'again'?"

"Believe it or not, I took you to see him many years ago."

"But-but I don't remember!"

"Oh, penneth, you wouldn't!" Seregthoron said with a gentle laugh. "You were only a babe! Grandmother and I took you to see him one night when your Nana was asleep." His voice softened as his eyes went misty, almost distant. As though he were looking at another place and time. "Valar, you should've seen his face when he first met you." a gentle chuckle resonated through his chest, and she found herself giggling as the vibrations seemed to reach out and tickle her. "I thought his eyes were going to pop out of his skull! He was buzzing all around me, trying to get a closer look at you. But when I tried to get him to hold you, he backed off!"

"Why?!" Dînaerlinn wailed, somewhat hurt because he hadn't wanted to hold his own granddaughter.

"Oh, iel," Seregthoron murmured, planting a loving kiss on her brow "he was scared stiff of dropping you. He eventually held you though. Once he was sitting down in the grass, away from any rocks, and meleth, I thought he'd never let you go." they fell into a warm, comfortable silence.

"Ada?"

"Yes?"

"What's his name? Grandfather's?"

"Rávasoron."

---

"Come on, Mornar! We have to bring the decorations this way!" Callon called over his shoulder as he raced back over to the courtyard with an armful of streamers.

"Aye! Hurry up, slowpoke!" Gîlgorn added with a giggle as she flew after Callon, carrying some painted pinecones, her black curls bouncing up and down.

"I'm trying!" Mornar laughed as he hurried after them, walking as quickly as he could with his still-sore leg and shoulder and the heavy boxful of various table ornaments, vases, and tin figurines on strings.

A strange noise echoed through the air, causing the three of them to stop short and listen.

"What is that?" Gîlgorn whispered, hiding slightly in the Nargothrondian's shadow.

Mornar frowned slightly.

He closed his eyes, intently listening.

The noise happened yet again, and the elflings crowded about his legs, making sounds of worry.

"It… it sounds like a horse…" Callon mumbled.

The exile's violet eyes slowly opened.

"The two of you continue down to the courtyard. I'm going to investigate." Mornar murmured, gently placing his burden down.

"Are you sure? It sounds scary…" Gîlgorn whimpered, looking up at him fearfully.

"Yes, I'm sure." He said gently, lightly pushing the elflings in the right direction.

"Are you super sure?" Gîlgorn asked yet again, her blue eyes pleading with him.

"Positive." he replied, giving her a gentle nudge towards Callon. "No need to worry about me, lass. Off you go."

He frowned worriedly as he watched her run off with Callon.

"Valar, I can't tell if the loss of her father made her scared to lose others, if she's looking for her father in other people, including me, or both…"

He winced as the noise filled the autumn air yet again. He followed the noise at an awkward, limping jog.

Unfortunately, he knew pain well enough to know what it sounded like…

---

"Where's Mornar?" Alquawen asked as the two elflings darted into the courtyard. "I thought he was with the two of you."

"We heard a scary noise, an-and Mornar went to go see what it was." Gîlgorn replied quietly, burying her round face in her mother's skirts.

"It sounded like a horse, only, it was hurt…" Callon added, rushing to Eleithel.

Culdôr listened intently, his hazel eyes widening slightly, before gently pulling Alquawen aside.

"Culdôr, what is it?" she asked, keeping her voice down as she noticed the urgancy in his face.

"Alquawen, I'm not entirely sure, but I believe Seregmîr and his uncle were going to be breaking in a stallion today…" Alquawen's brow furrowed.

"Culdôr, how is that relevant to-"

Her eyes widened.

"Oh, Valar. You don't mean- you don't think…?"

"What's going on?" Beleg asked as he walked over.

"Mornar may or may not have gotten himself in trouble…" Culdôr murmured, glancing at Alquawen occasionally.

She felt an odd sort of tightness in her chest, constricting her, scarcely allowing her to breathe.

The thought of Mornar in harm's way weighed down on her mind heavily, even though she knew that he very well could be fine, and she could just be worrying over nothing.

Yet she could not shake the tightness, or the worry, or the anxiety, or any of the other feelings she felt.

It was almost like when she had a bad feeling before treating one of her patients, or a bad feeling about something her brother or their friends were doing, but far more intense.

"Am I doing something wrong?" She thought to herself. "If my worry for someone I haven't even known for a month outweighs the worry I've felt for my own twin, what does that say about the kind of person I am? Not a good person in the slightest…"

"Stop that."

She looked up sharply, meeting her brother's eyes.

He stood silently, his green eyes soft, yet firm all at once.

An unyielding forest of concealed emotion.

Part of her wanted to be angry at him for eavesdropping on her thoughts, yet she could not help but wish to hear whatever he had to say.

"Stop second-guessing and questioning yourself, Al. And stop hiding and lying to yourself. It's obvious."

"What is? I don't know what you're talking about, Beleg."

"You do. You know exactly what I'm talking about, gwathel." Beleg thought to her as they agreed to Culdôr's proposal of heading down to the riding arena to check on the Nargothrndian.

They started walking, her heartbeat matching her footsteps beat for beat.

"Alquawen, relax."

She looked up to see her brother looking down at her, his eyes gentle as anything.

"You love him. It's not a sin."

"How did you know?" She asked quietly through their bond.

Silence.

"I started feeling that loving feeling through our bond. Only, it wasn't directed at me…"

"Beleg, I'm so sorry, I-"

"Stop that, Al. Your heart's too big for me to keep all for myself. I'm glad you finally decided to share it with another. And to be honest," A relieved sort of smirk spread across his face "I'm glad you shared it with Mornar and not a total lowlife like Seregmîr."

"Hopefully he's not treating Mornar like one…"

"Alquawen, if he dares to try harming Mornar in any way, just remember that he'll have Culdôr and I to contend with, and Mornar will have you there to help him. Actually, now that I think about it, it would be the other way around actually: Mornar would have Culdôr and I, and Seregmîr would have to deal with an angry lover! And a fierce one at that!"

"Beleg, cut it out!" Alquawen thought with a laugh. "I'm no warrior by any means!"

"Maybe not, but you have the heart of a lioness. You just need the courage to let it show, and that courage often comes from a need to defend another rather than yourself… You're selfless, gwathel, and you've shown that on more than one occasion. Don't be ashamed of what you are."

---

The sight that met Mornar's eyes was one that took his breath away.

A large, wild stallion galloped around the riding arena, trapped, yet still pining for freedom, valuing liberty above all else. His silvery gray coat shimmered in the sunlight, and his black mane and tail blew wildly in the wind, like tongues of dark flame leaping out from the horse's fiery spirit, reaching out to lick the warm air. His coat darkened from the metallic gray to a dark gray at his lower legs and muzzle.

He reared, kicking at one of the stablehands, earning him another lash, adding to the many across his muscular body.

Mornar winced not only at the sound of leather striking flesh, but also at the noise the horse made after.

It was like a groan this time, rather than the equivalent of screams he had heard with the children. Like one, who, after a long and hopeless battle, gives up, moaning in defeat.

Yet, although the horse was seemingly admitting failure, he continued to fight back, his brown eyes burning madly.

Hot tears pricked his violet eyes.

In a way, it was one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen: a powerful creature, although wounded, refusing to cave in, valuing his freedom over his life.

Yet he could not understand what could drive someone to harm such a majestic, beautiful, free, creature.

He flinched as the stallion was struck yet again.

The light suddenly hit the horse from an angle, showing the horse's bloodied right shoulder.

His eyes widened.

"Stop it!" He found himself screaming as he raced over, knowing very well that he probably looked like, and was coming off as, a lunatic. "Just stop!"

The noble from his arrival whirled around, eyes blazing.

What had Alquawen called him, again?

Seregmîr, that was it.

"Who asked you?!" He thundered, getting just as loud, if not louder than the Nargothrondian. "I thought I told her to keep you on a leash!"

"Stop this! It's wrong!"

"I never asked for your judgment, Nargothrondian!" He shouted in reply, shoving the larger ellon back a few paces. "If anything's wrong, it's the fact that you're here!" Mornar was taken aback by the harsh words, yet his strong sense of morality would not let him back down.

He walked away, all the while pondering what his next course of action should be, unknowing of the fact that at that very moment, his friends were running to his aid, as they'd heard the shouting.

The horse whinnied in pain yet again, the sound pulling sharply at his heartstrings.

What he did next was something he did without thinking, allowing his heart and conscience to guide him rather than his mind.

He jumped the fence, putting himself between the nobles and the stallion.

"Stop!"

The whip, which had been in midair at the time, suddenly came cracking down against his chest, leaving a burning, stinging sensation in its wake, causing him to gasp sharply in pain through his clenched teeth.

A scream echoed through the air.

A feminine scream.

Mornar looked over his shoulder in a panic, his fears about Alquawen's safety being under threat becoming a reality.

She was rushing to try and defend him, but, blessedly, Beleg caught up to her and held her back before she could get very far.

"Thank you, Eru." He thought to himself, quietly sending the simple prayer on its way. "Thank you for giving Beleg speed."

The guard holding the whip gawked, his eyes wide as he stared steadily at the Nargothrondian's chest.

Mornar looked down.

Blood was slowly seeping through his light gray tunic.

He looked up, finding himself looking into Alquawen's sapphire depths.

Her eyes were filled with fear, but not for her.

All the other fearful individuals he'd seen in his lifetime flashed before his eyes.

They'd all been afraid for themselves.

Afraid of him.

Yet she was afraid for him.

"Don't worry about me, Alquawen. I'll be alright, angel. I'll get out of this scrap, I promise you…"

"WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU?!" Seregmîr shouted, his blue eyes blazing.

"Nothing's wrong with me. What you're doing, on the other hand, is wrong."

"I'm not the stupid imbicle who ran in front of a whip! If you'd simply walked away like I'd told you to, you wouldn't be in this position, now would you?! Why the hell do you seem to care so much anyway?! It's not your horse! It needs to be broken so that it will listen!"

"Hurting him is hardly going to help!"

"What do you know about anything like this?! You come from nothing, and nobody's family! You are no one!"

"I came out of nobody's pain but my own, and far more than you'll ever know." Mornar countered evenly, the calm of his voice not matching the way his eyes looked like flint.

A shiver ran through Alquawen's slender frame.

The unknown amount of pain and trauma he was suffering through weighed heavily on her mind.

"Valar, please grant me whatever virtue I need to help him…"

"Now, now, let's be civil." Thoronmîr said, his tone eerily calm as he put himself in between the Nargothrondian and Seregmîr, his dark eyes glinting dangerously. "Seeing how much you seem to know about horses, I assume you ride, correct?"

Alquawen's heart fluttered in her chest.

Mornar stayed silent.

He knew better than to say one thing or the other.

"If you can mount this stallion, and ride him around the arena at a trot, he's yours. Do you accept this challenge?"

"Yes."

She felt her heart rate quicken.

"Uncle, what are-" Seregmîr hissed before his uncle cut him off.

"I know what I'm doing, nephew." Thoronmîr murmured as he watched the exile approach the horse. "That stallion's far too wild; he won't succeed in anything other than humiliating himself."

The stallion struck out with his front hooves, narrowly missing Mornar, who'd dodged just in the nick of time.

"Whoa! Easy, easy, boy… easy…" He said softly, trying to keep his voice down so as to not frighten the beast anymore. "Calm down… I'm not going to hurt you… " the horse still continued to run, kick, and fight.

Mornar suddenly found himself quietly humming.

It was a tune that he often hummed to himself when he was trying to calm himself down, when he was suddenly mentally transported to his painful past, or, when he just needed peace of mind.

It was a melody that had always been in his heart and soul, despite the fact that he did not know the words.

He had no idea where he'd heard the song, but he faintly recalled it being sung by a woman with the most beautiful voice he'd ever heard.

There were times, late at night, when he tried to imagine what kind of a face went with such an enchanting voice…

Alquawen suddenly noticed how the sunlit area was now filled with shade.

She looked up to see the tree branches, swaying, almost spreading outwards in the wind.

She closed her eyes, listening intently to Mornar's humming.

The song was beautiful.

Haunting.

Eerie.

Mysterious.

Sorrowful.

Dreamy.

Almost wishful.

Just like him.

She opened her eyes to find that the arena had grown even darker, although she was the only one who seemed to notice.

"A good thing too!" she thought to herself as she thought about the conversation she'd had with him on the bridge that night.

"It would explain a lot, wouldn't it?"

She'd heard many tales of the Avari being able to summon darkness…

Mornar watched in amazement as the stallion calmed down, slowly but surely.

Apparently, the song was calming him down.

He continued humming, averting his gaze as he reached out, placing his hand on the horse's bloody neck.

The stallion did not move.

He continued to gently introduce the horse to kind hands, waiting several minutes before swinging himself up onto the animal's broad back.

The stallion panicked with a renewed energy, bolting as he tried desperately to buck his rider off.

Mornar clung to the horse's mane for dear life, praying all the while, his head snapping back as the horse attempted to throw him off.

Alquawen buried her face into her brother's shoulder.

She couldn't bear to watch!

Beleg held her, watching the Nargothrondian with a hawk-like gaze, his green eyes filled with worry.

Mornar racked his brains for a solution, his mind racing faster than the horse himself.

Out of pure desperation, he placed a hand on the horse's neck, humming the song again. The stallion began to calm slightly, but still flew around the arena.

Suddenly, it clicked.

Erynaur used to make him transfer his energy to his employer on various occasions, particularly after sparring sessions.

Mornar still remembered the horrid feeling of having his very life force sapped from his body, yet the action always seemed to give Erynaur a renewed feeling of energy.

Maybe, if he passed some energy to the horse, it would ease the stallion's pain, and make him calm down…

The Nargothrondian closed his eyes, putting all of his focus into what he was about to do.

His hand started to glow slightly.

He gasped sharply as the horse quickly started draining the elf of his energy.

"Please let this work… please… saes, Eru, grant me the strength I need to do this…" He wished, closing his eyes as if it would alleviate his pain. "Saes… saes…"

The stallion suddenly slowed to an easy canter.

Mornar's eyes snapped open in response to the change of pace.

It worked!

He readily gave the horse more of his energy, slowing him to a trot.

Beleg's eyes widened in surprise.

"Alquawen, look!" he cried, watching the stallion trot around the ring like a showhorse, inwardly chastising himself for doubting the exile's abilities.

His sister looked up, gaping in shock before letting loose a joyous squeal of excitement.

Her smile faltered, however, when she noticed the amount of red coating the Nargothrondian. The injury on his chest had soaked his tunic thoroughly and the arrow wounds had reopened, drenching him in his own blood.

She looked over her shoulder just in time to see Seregmîr and Thoronmîr's faces turn a bright shade of pink.

"Oh, they're not happy…"

Mornar gasped in pain as he dismounted, his legs shaking.

The stallion lightly nudged his head with his velvety nose, as if he were asking the elf if he was alright.

The exile gently placed a hand on the horse's broad forehead, ignoring the way his hands were trembling.

"Mornar!"

He whirled around, nearly falling over, just in time to catch the healer flying towards him, crying aloud in pain as she crashed full force into his injured chest.

She was weeping.

He couldn't understand a single sentence of what she was saying, but he kept hearing phrases like "Thank the Valar!" and "You're alright!" over and over and over again as she clung to him.

He gently hugged her back, holding her, rubbing comforting circles between her shoulder blades.

He didn't know what else to do.

He suddenly felt the odd sensation one feels when they lose their sense of balance.

"Easy, Mornar."

Now voices were sounding fuzzy.

He slowly looked over his shoulder to see Beleg and Culdôr supporting him from behind.

"Steady, mellon. You took quite the beating…" He couldn't see who'd spoken the words, as both marchwardens were now terribly blurry, but it sounded like it was the strawberry blonde.

He looked forward again at Alquawen, praying that he'd be able to see her.

She was blurry as well, but he could see that the front of her dress had been stained red by his blood.

"We need to get him back to my talan! He's going to pass out!"

Although he was not exactly the most stable in the moment, even he could hear the urgent edge in her voice.

It was the last thing he remembered before the world went dark…

---

"-nar…"

"Morn-..."

He opened his eyes slightly, quickly shutting them with a groan as the bright light stung them.

"Echuia. Sae-..."

He tried again, faintly seeing a figure leaning over him.

"Saes, Cú-..."

She slowly started coming into focus, her blue eyes filled with a motherly sort of worry.

"Cúron…"

Only one person called him Cúron…

"Cúron."

Finally, Alquawen came into focus, and he could see her clearly.

He was laying on his back, in her talan, in a room he hadn't been in yet.

He tried to sit up, propping himself up on a hand, only to gasp as lightheadedness suddenly overcame him.

Alquawen must've seen something in his face, for she quickly, yet gently, pushed him back down.

"Take it easy. You've been out cold for a few minutes." She murmured gently. "To be honest, part of me wishes you still were… I was about to take care of your chest when you started coming around."

He suddenly realized he was shirtless, and that his shoulder and leg were bandaged.

He looked down, grimacing as he saw the angry, raised welt, which was still oozing blood.

"Here." she murmured, nudging a night table with a small plate of crackers and a glass of water towards him. "Try eating something. It will help."

Suddenly, it hit him.

There wasn't a night table in the room he shared with Beleg.

Therefore, he was in the only other bedroom in the talan, which happened to be Alquawen's.

He quickly tried to get up again as he came to the realization that not only was he in her room, he was also on her bed.

He was on his feet for approximately five seconds before falling to his knees.

"Cúron!"

She was at his side in an instant.

"Why on earth did you do that?" she murmured, looping his arm over her shoulders like she'd done those two weeks ago at the field infirmary when she'd taken him to the clearing by the stream.

"I'm in your room, and I was on your bed! I'm invading your privacy, which is exactly what I didn't want to do!"

"Mornar, if anyone's privacy is being invaded here, it's your's, not mine." she responded calmly to his outburst. "I asked Beleg and Culdôr to bring you in here because it would be harder to take care of you in the cot, and all of my healing supplies were in here already. I also knew that Beleg would be in and out of your room, and that you probably wouldn't want him seeing this." she added, gently tracing one of the many scars on his back with a gentle finger.

Guilt stung the back of his eyes.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't-"

"Don't apologize. Just cooperate with me for a few more minutes." she replied with a gentle smile, carefully helping him to his feet.

The memories of that day washed over him the same way the dizziness did when he stood up.

"What happened to the horse?" He found himself asking as she assisted him back onto the bed.

"He's yours!" Alquawen said with a laugh. "Thoronmîr came over with a rather reluctant Seregmîr a little while ago, and told Beleg that Tinnuhâl is in paddock thirteen!"

Mornar breathed a sigh of relief.

"His name is Tinnuhâl? Why did Seregmîr refer to him as 'it' then?"

"It's Seregmîr, Mornar. To him, anyone who isn't part of his social class is an 'it'." Alquawen said, rolling her eyes. "Hold still, now. I've got to do this."

She carefully tended to his wound with a damp cloth, gently clearing up the blood.

He winced, clenching his fists when she applied the towel soaked with alcohol.

"Ai, that's going to scar…" she murmured softly, her beautiful, sad eyes tracing the injury.

"Another one for the ol' collection!" Mornar commented with a smirk, trying to cheer her up, doing his best to be funny.

She wryly grinned in response, although the sadness didn't quite leave her gaze..

"Can you sit up? I need to bandage this."

He sat up, reaching for one of the crackers, lightly nibbling at the corner as she carefully wrapped the bandage around his chest.

A whispered gasp of shock escaped him as she tied the bandage at his opposite side, her cheek lightly pressed against his pectoral.

His face turned a deep shade of red as he prayed with all his might that she couldn't hear his heartbeat speed up.

"Sorry." she said sheepishly, her cheeks pink as she looked up at him. "The bandage wasn't as large as I thought; I thought I'd be able to tie it around your right side, but it only reached to your left."

"It… it's okay…"

"Are you feeling any better?"

"A bit." he answered truthfully.

He knew from experience that he'd only feel better once he'd rested enough to replenish his energy.

He suddenly noticed that she was still covered in blood.

His blood.

"Sorry," he murmured, indicating her dress "I'm afraid I've ruined it."

She looked down, her eyes widening in surprise as though she'd only just noticed the large stain.

"Don't worry about it. Beleg destroyed one of my dresses last Harvest Festival when he got drunk, tripped, and spilled his drink all over me!... Sorry for running into you like that earlier… I hurt you, didn't I?"

"It's alright. You can run into me all you want." he replied, inwardly grimacing at his words.

"I seriously said that? Ai, Valar… I'm starting to get soft…"

"But I don't want to!" she protested, a playful pout on her face. "You've been bashed up enough already!"

He laughed in response to her words, although he seriously meant his own.

"But I wouldn't mind if you were the one doing it, Angel. If you were the one beating me up, I don't think I'd have the heart to be mad at you…"

"Alquawen!"

They both looked up in surprise at the sound of Beleg's voice, which was laced with panic.

"Coming!" Alquawen replied as she tossed a clean shirt to Mornar.

He swiftly pulled it over his head, and stood up, intending to follow her.

He staggered, the ground spinning beneath his feet. He sat back down, not wishing to fall over.

Beleg burst into the room as soon as his sister opened the door.

"Th-That horse! Oh, Valar!" he exclaimed, heaving for breath. "He-he nearly kicked Culdôr's head clean off his shoulders!" His gaze settled on the Nargothrondian, who was working on the crackers and the glass of water in an attempt to quell his dizziness. "Mornar, you're going to have to care for Tinnuhâl's wounds. He trusts you."

Alquawen could only watch as he slowly nodded.

"Alright. Give me a few minutes and I'll go over to the stable."

"For the love of Estë, Beleg, he needs more than a few minutes…" she thought to her brother through their bond. "He can't even stand."

"I know, Al. I didn't intend for him to go over this soon, but that poor stallion's anxiety is going through the roof. If he gets any more stressed than he is already he could hurt himself even further… I just hope that Mornar's presence will be enough to calm him down… I have no idea what he did in the ring, but whatever Mornar did to get Tinnuhâl to trust him was an incredible feat to pull off. Apparently, according to the stablehands, at least, he's lashed out at everyone else."

"... so he's basically another Nar-emel?" she thought, a light smile on her face as she thought about the fiery stallion.

"I'm afraid so." Beleg huffed a small laugh as he saw her thoughts, images of their childhood in Menegroth. "Why don't you go with Mornar to the stable? Perhaps Tinnuhâl will trust you as Nar-emel did."

"I hope so. I was planning on going with him anyway."

"That's good… no kissing behind the hay-!"

"OUCH!"

Mornar looked up sharply at the noise, just in time to see Alquawen chase her brother through the talan, waving a hairbrush like a war hatchet.

He blinked, confusion written across his face.

---

Horses whinnied, calling out to one another, the ruckus having been started by the new stallion, who was kicking the walls of his confinement and whinnying without a breath. Mornar walked through the aisles, only needing to listen to find paddock thirteen.

"He does not sound happy…" Alquawen murmured, her blue eyes full of concern.

Mornar couldn't help but agree.

They turned the corner, only to nearly be run over by a bunch of stablehands.

"Don't go back there!"

"That stallion's insane!"

They raced away, their warnings heard, but unheeded.

"I'll go in first. Don't follow until I let you know it's safe." Mornar murmured to Alquawen, his worry for her safety growing yet again.

If Tinnuhâl was truly as dangerous as the stablehands claimed, the large horse could easily crush her in one swift stroke.

Valar, the stallion could even kill him if he wished, despite the fact that the exile was far larger than she was.

"Stay here. I'll let you know when he's calmed down." she nodded, stepping lightly into the stall next door, its occupant, a young filly, nickering in response to the intruder.

Mornar carefully approached the stallion, who was still kicking and bucking violently.

"Easy… easy, lad… calm… calm, Tinnuhâl." The horse quickly calmed down, particularly in response to his name. "You're alright… you're safe…" he reached out, placing a hand on the stallion's forehead.

"Mornar, is it safe?"

"Aye. You can come over now, just come slowly…"

The silver-haired elleth walked over to the stallion's stall slowly and calmly.

Tinnuhâl reared slightly in response, but calmed swiftly, watching her approach. She reached out to him, her palm facing upwards. Slowly, almost hesitantly, Tinnuhâl carefully sniffed her hand.

Mornar sighed in relief.

Apparently, Alquawen's trustworthy nature shone true for animals as well.

"You poor thing…" She murmured softly, gently stroking the stallion's muscled, proudly arched, neck. He lowered his head, gently pressing against her, as if sensing that her soul was gentle and comforting.

Mornar smiled sadly.

He knew exactly how Tinnuhâl felt.

"Beleg and Culdôr left some healing supplies here." he said with a small sigh as he carefully tied his hair back out of his face. "Let's get to work." he took the sponge out of the nearby bucket of water, and carefully started clearing away the blood as Alquawen carefully checked the horse over for more serious injuries.

"His leg will need to be bandaged." She sighed softly, her gentle hands carefully exploring a gash on the horse's right front leg. "I'm going to go get some." she left, presumably to get the bandages from wherever they happen to be stored.

Mornar quietly moved to Tinnuhâl's shoulder, carefully taking the sponge to the dried blood.

What he had seen in the arena… was it just a trick his eyes played on him when he thought he'd seen it beneath the blood?

He continued clearing the blood away, ignoring the way his hand shook.

His breath hitched slightly as he caught sight of what he'd feared he'd seen.

"I'm so sorry…" his voice cracked in an almost pitiful whisper. "You didn't deserve this… but, you're not alone…" he turned around, pulling up his shirt once he ensured that no one was in the vicinity. "See? It happened to me too." he murmured as he felt Tinnuhâl brush his velvety nose against him as he sniffed the exile's skin, before lightly nibbling at the bandage wrapped around his torso. "See? We're exactly the same, I-"

"What on earth are you doing?"

He whirled around, standing up straight, his face turning about five shades of pink all at once as he rubbed at the back of his neck in an embarrassed fashion, realizing that not only had he been caught showing his scars to a horse, he'd been caught talking to a horse as well!

And of course, she was the one to catch him doing so!

"Oh, for the love of the Valar! She saw me talking to a horse! A horse!"

Alquawen looked at him, confusion written across her face.

He stood there awkwardly, rubbing at the back of his neck like he always did when he was nervous, looking down at the floor like an elfling who'd been caught with their hand in the sugar bowl.

"It's actually kind of cute when he gets all flustered like that…"

She suddenly noticed the scars on Tinnuhâl's shoulder, glaring out at her through his hair, in the shape of a crest she knew all too well…

"So that's why you were so quick to defend him…" she murmured softly, catching him off guard with a hug.

"Yes… " he huffed, his barriers crumbling for her as they always did as he hugged her back.

Exactly why the stone walls barracadeing his heart always fell for her specifically was far beyond his knowledge.

So, consequently, he'd long ago stopped trying to find the answer to that question, and just tried to trust Eru and his decisions.

There wasn't much else he could do.

Alquawen relaxed slightly in his embrace, content to be lost in the silence.

Well, it wasn't really silent.

From where she was, her head against his chest, she could hear his heart beating, steady and gentle. It was a sound she enjoyed, and enjoyed it to the point that she wouldn't mind listening to it for forever if she had to. In fact, she might even choose to, if she'd been given the choice.

Tinnuhâl suddenly shoved his head in between them, as if wanting to be part of the embrace as well.

"Attention seeking, are we?" Mornar asked, and although she couldn't see him around the horse, Alquawen could swear he was smiling.

Tinnuhâl neighed boisterously in response.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'."

She couldn't help laughing.

---

Music lightly filtered through the trees as Dînaerlinn and Brennil walked down the path towards the village.

"Nana, I'm so excited!" the peredhel giggled, clinging to her mother's hand tightly. "What's the harvest Festival like?"

"It's basically just food and dancing." Dînaerlinn replied, her eyes somewhat wistful as she thought about her own childhood, going to the festival with her family. As much as she wanted Brennil to be able to experience the same joy, she could not help but feel a slight sense of trepidation.

Would Brennil be bullied?

"It's going to be so much fun!" She rambled on in excitement. "Just you wait and see!"

"Aye, Linn, just you wait and see." the voice in her head whispered encouragingly. "She'll have fun and it will be over before you know it! Really, what could go wrong?"

---

"There's an inn, there's an inn, there's a merry old inn…"

Daecrist sighed, covering his all too sensitive ears with a wince.

An hour into the festival and of course, of course, Ruscdîr and Arafhind were already roaring drunk, loudly singing drinking songs at the top of their lungs, much to the amusement of some and to the dismay of others.

"What's the matter?" Eleithel asked, gently placing a hand on her husband's shoulder.

"Nothing, other than the two of them are tone deaf."

She wryly shook her head with a chuckle.

"Ah, well. At least they're not as bad as we were that one Harvest Festival after we got married, before Cal was born, and-"

"Elei, we are not revisiting that." he groaned, blushing with a smile as he buried his face in his hands.

"Why not?" she teased.

"Because we woke up the next morning not only with the mother of all hangovers, but also with the realization that we'd passed out under one of the tables! My men still won't let me live that down!"

His smile faltered.

"I mean… my former men wouldn't let me live it down…" he mumbled, still trying to come to terms with all that had come to pass. He could put up a brave face in front of his little one and everyone else, but Elei… Elei was a different story.

She knew him too well to believe him.

A gentle kiss was planted on his cheek.

"I know." she whispered, lovingly hugging him. "I know." he didn't notice he was crying a little until she wiped the tears away.

"I'm sorry, it's just-"

"We're married, Dae. You're allowed to be vulnerable with me too."

---

Faron silently watched as Callon raced over and whisked Alagos away to go play with another elfling, General Lhûgrovalion's daughter, if he wasn't mistaken. He sighed softly, thinking about his late commander.

He looked up to find himself staring at a creature with goddess-like beauty across the dance floor. Her soft features, rosy cheeks, and crystalline hazel eyes seemed almost unreal.

What could he say?

Maewen was unlike any elleth he'd ever met before.

He just didn't know if he was ready to try again.

Culdôr watched silently from where he was seated at a table with Beleg, Daecrist, and Eleithel.

He sighed.

That cadet… he was perfect for Maewen. Their personalities just blended together so well…

"We're going to have to do something." Beleg huffed. Culdôr looked up to find Beleg looking between his twin and Mornar. The latter of the pair was standing in the shadows, watching from a distance, whereas Alquawen was talking to some other ellith, her eyes betraying her wish and her fear to ask him to dance.

Culdôr snapped his fingers as yet another idea suddenly fell prey to his steel-trap mind once again.

"I've got it!"

"What?" Beleg asked eagerly. "What have you come up with now, mellon?"

"A way to get not only one couple together, but two." he said with a smirk, indicating Maewen and Faron as well as Mornar and Alquawen. "But we're going to need some help from my sister and from Alagos…"

---

Alquawen turned around at the tap on her shoulder.

"May I have this dance, milady?" Beleg asked, a cheeky grin on his face as he playfully bowed to her as a knight would to a princess.

"You may!" she replied, laughing, delighted by her brother's antics. As soon as they were on the floor, Beleg looked around, finding Maewen in the crowd, and gave her a pointed look. She nodded in reply and walked over to the Nargothrondian.

"Mornar?"

He looked up, startled.

"Oh… Maewen, what is it?" he didn't know the young apprentice very well, if he were to be honest with himself. He'd only met her when she was helping Alquawen.

"Can you dance with me? Please?"

He was confused by the request.

"I… I've never danced before, so I'm probably terrible. You might want to find someone else."

"It doesn't matter if you're good at dancing or not. No one's going to care. Please?"

Her persistence was unusual.

What was she really trying to do?

"Please?"

Now she was giving him doe-eyes.

He sighed.

He couldn't say no to that.

"Very well. But don't say I didn't warn you!"

Culdôr watched with bated breath as she led him to the dance floor.

"Oh Valar, he really is quite bad at this…" Maewen thought to herself as Mornar immediately tripped over his own feet two minutes into the dance. "Looks like I'll have to help him learn 'ere he accidentally steps on Alquawen's toes! He's nearly stepped on mine twice already!"

She looked over her shoulder at the twins.

"Actually, Alquawen is a far better dancer and teacher than I." she decided as she watched her friend gracefully slide across the dirt floor as though she were in a ballroom. "She can teach him."

A nod from Beleg told her to make the next move.

As soon as the tempo of the lively song picked up again, they made their way towards each other, quickly switching partners as they came together.

Beleg and Maewen smiled as they watched Mornar and Alquawen turn deep shades of red as soon as they were in each other's arms.

"Cheek."

Beleg looked over his shoulder to find Alquawen playfully glaring at him.

"I can't believe you, meddling with a lady's love life!"

"Not just yours." he thought back, giving Alagos a grin and a nod. The elfling smiled broadly, rushing off to find his brother.

"Shall we go back, Beleg?" she asked, looking up at him, her eyes aglow in the lantern light.

"Not quite yet. There's still one more step to your brother's plan."

"Another step?" she asked, confused. "I don't remember another step…"

"That's because it's a secret step!" Beleg said, playfully placing a finger to his lips, as though shushing her.

"Ah, the secret step!" she said with a laugh, rolling her eyes. "You just want to keep dancing!"

"No, there is a secret step!" he insisted. "It's just a secret!"

"ALAGOS! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

Culdôr gawked along with several dancers and bystanders as Alagos practically dragged his brother to the dance floor, spinning around crazily in haphazardly circles at breakneck speed.

He groaned, burying his face in his hands as he realized that neither of the brothers knew the dance.

"Damn, you fool!" he inwardly chastised himself. "You should've known better than to ask a child for help!" he looked on, praying all the while.

"Here he is, Beleg!" the elfling chirped cheerfully, apparently unaware of the havoc he was causing.

The marchwarden quickly made the move to switch partners, just as he'd done before, only this time he had to switch partners with a whirling blur.

"Oops." he muttered with a grimace upon realizing that he'd accidentally grabbed Faron by mistake, leaving Maewen with Alagos.

"Beleg, what is going on?!" the cadet yelped as they swiftly made their way back over to Maewen and the elfling.

"HUH?! You're not Beleg!" Alagos cried in surprise as he found himself "dancing" with the elf maid.

"Sorry about that!" Beleg exclaimed as he switched partners again, this time grabbing the elfling. "Wrong Forvenarion! Here you go, Mae!" he shoved Faron into her arms, and darted off the dance floor with Alagos in tow.

"So that was the 'secret step'." she murmured to herself as she found herself lost in his deep brown depths.

"The what?"

As soon as Beleg and Alagos returned, Culdôr rushed over to the musicians, who were just as confused about the strange exchange on the dance floor as everyone else.

"Would you mind playing a slow dance? Brand Gail, perhaps?"

"Very well." came the answer in a confused tone, the speaker obviously still questioning the utter strangeness of that night. The music gently started playing, lightly lilting through the air.

Maewen watched Alquawen practically melt into Mornar over her shoulder with a small smile.

Her mentor and the exile really did fit well together. They'd both needed someone and they'd ended up finding each other. To be honest, Maewen had long wondered when Alquawen would find her match. She was a very unique individual, so whoever her better half would end up being would have to be just as unique. Thankfully, Mornar not only fulfilled that qualification, he also was weak where she was strong and strong where she was weak, complimenting her perfectly, as she complimented him. He was someone she could always heal, and she was someone he could always protect.

She became abruptly aware that Faron was trembling beneath her touch.

"Are you alright?" She murmured, looking into his eyes.

He did not meet her gaze.

He just kept his gaze trained on the ground, his warm brown eyes glistening in the lantern light.

A sparkle fell from his face, glittering like a diamond under starlight.

Her heart skipped a beat.

"Faron… Faron, do you need to get out of here?"

A sharp, hardly visible nod was her answer.

"Let's go, then."

They danced off the floor, their forms quickly lost in the trees. Maewen stayed silent, following Faron's lead as he continued dancing, as though in a trance. Finally, once the music faded into the distance, he broke down, fighting back tears.

She knelt down beside him, gently placing a hand on his shoulder.

"It's alright… just breathe, Faron… breathe…"

"I'm sorry…"

"What? No, Faron, don't apologize…"

"... you shouldn't have to-"

"I shouldn't have to what? Faron, please." he finally looked up to face her, his eyes red from the tears he was fighting back, refusing to let them fall.

She couldn't help but choke back a small, quiet sob.

She had never seen so much pain in a face before… she'd seen pain on several occasions, but this was different… most likely because he'd never shared that pain with anyone.

Through the tears blinding her, she could only faintly see his pained expression turn to one of guilt.

"I'm sorry… I didn't mean to make you upset." He mumbled, unexpectedly pulling her into a hug.

"No, you didn't… you didn't make me upset." she huffed through her tears as she hugged him back, relaxing against him, enveloped in warmth and safety.

"Then why are you…?"

"I'm crying for you, Faron, not because of you." she murmured, burying her face into his shoulder. "... why did you start crying?" he tensed under her touch.

"A couple of reasons, actually." he replied before she could say sorry, pulling away from their embrace as he roughly wiped the tears away. He stood up, offering her a hand.

They walked together in silence, aimlessly wandering through the woods. After a few minutes, they settled down by a calm little pond under a weeping willow.

Maewen looked at him in silence as he gazed across the still waters, his eyes distant.

"I'm sorry." he murmured softly, his eyes traveling to the dirt ground. "It's just… I haven't danced in years and Brand Gail was my parents' favorite song."

Maewen nodded sympathetically.

"Why haven't you danced in years?" she found herself asking gently. He stiffened at the question, but quickly and forcibly relaxed, not wanting to upset her any further.

"It… it's a long story." he replied simply with a small sigh.

"Well," She replied, her voice as gentle as it always had been, a stark contrast to the elleth he once thought he knew "we do have time, if you want to talk about it."

He remained silent, thinking about how those emerald eyes of hers used to glitter so beautifully when they were together, before they sparked with anger when she'd slapped him for reasons that were hardly his fault. It had been an endless cycle that had gone on for longer than he knew, and when they finally went their separate ways, it had been because she'd left him, saying things that weren't true, and that he was too difficult to be with, even though he couldn't recall doing anything other than saying yes, doing what she wanted, and silently taking her harsh words afterwards.

It was by far the darkest point in his life.

Luckily for him, his father had quickly noticed and hauled him out of it.

---

He sat high in the branches, hardly feeling anything as the tears slowly rolled down his cheeks.

It was odd, really.

He hadn't even felt anything when the words had come out of her mouth, largely because he wasn't sure exactly what to feel.

Should he be heartbroken because she'd left him?

Or should he be relieved that she was finally out of his life?

He didn't know…

"What's going on up here?"

He turned around sharply to see his father settling down beside him on the branch.

"Nothing."

"It doesn't look like 'nothing', ion."

He had no response to that one.

He knew it wasn't nothing.

What's more, he didn't even know why he'd said it was nothing.

He knew exactly what it was, and it was confusion due to abuse.

So why couldn't he bring himself to say it?

He and his father had always been honest with each other…

"I was wondering when the two of you would finally split." Forvenar remarked offhandedly, leaning back against the rough bark beside his son. "It wasn't a good match."

"No." Faron thought to himself. "No, it wasn't."

Yet he still couldn't bring himself to say the words.

"I know what happened, Faron." he admitted quietly. "I just didn't get involved because I knew you needed to find your own way, but that doesn't mean you need to hide from me."

"I just don't know what to do." he murmured. "They say that the firstborn can only love once…"

"If the love is real." Forvenar quipped before softening considerably. His warm, rough, yet gentle, calloused and work-worn hand gently brushed his son's dark hair out of his face, revealing a fading bruise on his temple. "Faron, it's not real love when this is the result."

At that moment, a wave of relief washed over him, and before he even knew what he was doing, he was in his father's arms, clinging to him as he tried not to cry.

---

"Faron, I'm not going to be like her." Maewen murmured, gently wiping a few emotional tears from his face.

"I know. You're not like her at all. To be honest, you're not like anyone else either." she blushed at the praise, giggling a little. He didn't know why, but seeing her happy made him forget why he was even sad in the first place.

"Neither are you."

---

Beleg smiled as he watched his sister and the exile gently swaying, totally lost in the moment.

"Where's Mablung?" Culdôr suddenly asked. "I don't think I've seen him all night!"

"He went off that way with a blonde at the beginning of the festival." Daecrist murmured tiredly from where he was dozing off with Eleithel. "Perhaps if you paid more attention to your surroundings you'd have known that."

"Ever chiding us, eh, General?" Beleg chuckled.

"Well, someone has to." The seasoned warrior answered, cracking an eye open to look at them for a tired second before lightly dozing off again, his arm around Eleithel as she pressed herself into his side.

Culdôr huffed a laugh.

"I don't know what we're going to do without him." He mumbled sincerely to his fellow marchwarden.

"I'm not dead yet!" Daecrist snapped, not even bothering to look at them, though they both knew that he'd be giving them one hell of a glare if he did. "So quit that talk! I feel like I'm at a funeral!"

A sad sort of smile crossed Beleg's face.

It was frustrating, sad, and admirable all at once how Daecrist could put up a brave face the way he did.

"I'm still not going to let you live that one down, sir." He said gently, referring to the conversation he'd overheard earlier between Daecrist and Eleithel.

A sort of comfortable silence followed.

"I know you won't, Sargeant. I know."

---

"Who are you?" Brennil turned around in surprise, finding another elfling behind her.

"I… I'm Brennil. Who are you?"

"I'm Gîlgorn. Do you want to play with us?" Before she could even ask who was 'us', two more elflings appeared behind her. "That's Callon and that's Alagos."

"Yes, I'd like to play with you very much."

---

"What is it?" Alquawen asked as noticed the concerned expression on Mornar's face.

"I should probably go check on Tinnuhâl. It's been a few hours." He muttered almost reluctantly, as though he didn't want to leave her. "Are you alright with that?" To be honest, he felt rather guilty, letting her spend the night alone.

"Of course. Do what you need to do. I'll come by in a bit with some food. I noticed that you haven't had anything to eat."

"Sorry." he apologized, a sheepish smile on his face. "I suppose I forgot. I'll get going now."

A small smile spread across Alquawen's face as she watched him walk away, a little more happiness in his gait than before.

"Valar, he loves that horse." she thought to herself with a smile.

A figure at the bar caught her attention.

Dînaerlinn leaned back against the counter, an oaken mug of ale in her hand.

She watched her daughter nervously, ever vigilant. They seemed nice, the other elflings, but you could never judge books by their covers…

"Didn't know you were the type." Alquawen murmured as she slid into a bar stool next to Dînaerlinn, indicating the alcohol.

"Never thought I would be." she answered quietly, somewhat ashamed, as she took a sip. "Before I was… before everything… I wouldn't even touch the stuff. It's not because of Brennil, though." She said quickly, hoping that Alquawen wasn't assuming that she drank occasionally because of her own daughter. Though, if Dînaerlinn were to be honest with herself, Brennil did set off some triggers once in a blue moon. Mostly because she looked like a smaller, more feminine version of her father.

She had his eyes.

But… there was no malice in them. They were warm, but not smoldering.

Kind, not furious.

"I know. And there's no reason to be ashamed of having an occasional drink." Alquawen murmured gently, a small smile on her face as she held up her own glass of wine, causing Dînaerlinn to giggle slightly. Perhaps she and Alquawen weren't as different as she'd originally thought.

"I guess it's just nerves." Dînaerlinn murmured as she watched Brennil run and play with the other elflings.

"Is that Brennil?"

"That's her. Do you know who the others are?"

"Aye, I do. The other girl is Gîlgorn Amlugiel, the smallest one is Alagos Forvenarion, and the other is Callon Daecristion." Dînaerlinn nodded as Alquawen spoke, relieved that Brennil had ended up with Niphredil's daughter and her friends. She looked up, judging the time by the position of the moon.

"I'll have to go soon." She murmured, almost reluctantly. She had to admit that it was nice to be in a group of edhil again. "It's past her bedtime and even though I'm off from work I have to work around the house a bit. It looks like the place was ransacked!"

"Do you still need a babysitter on Wednesday?" Alquawen asked, her voice gentle.

"Please. If you're able."

"Absolutely. What time?"

"Nine. But if it's easier for me to bring her over to your talan, I can do that."

"I can get to your place easily enough. I have to go now though; I told Mornar that I'd get some food for him."

"Hannon-le in advance then."

"Don't worry about it, mellon."

Alquawen walked over to a table stacked high with food, and filled a wooden plate, a small smile gracing her face as she placed one of the blackberry tarts she'd made on the side. She hoped he'd like it. She also hoped that everything she'd heard about how 'the right way to get to a man's heart was through his stomach' was true.

Though a small part of her knew that she had his heart already.

She turned around to find Beleg silently staring her down. He smiled softly, giving her a playful wink.

"Just because I won't be there doesn't mean you're allowed to go ahead and get married just yet." He teased.

She gave no response other than sticking her tongue out at him.

She had no idea she was being watched by another as well.

She walked over to the stables, oblivious that she was being followed from a distance…

---

Asgarsîr watched Dînaerlinn silently from where he sat, unwilling to let her out of his sight.

He'd already lost her once, and he wasn't about to lose her again.

It was strange, really. To some degree, the elleth he'd known was gone entirely, replaced by a cold, hard, warrior. And yet… he couldn't help but believe that the beautiful, gentle hearted woman was still there, buried beneath the icy shell.

She was there, he was sure of it.

The warm, loving soul still lived on.

Someone just needed to melt the ice and snow from her heart.

He sighed, bowing his head to the point that it nearly touched his mug of ale.

---

His breath came in clouds that floated above his head in the cold February air, just as everyone else's was. The trees' gangly, lifeless limbs reached out, almost as though they'd been frozen in time as they were trying to grab the passing soldiers off their mounts. General Caranmîrion rode in front of him, his neat midnight hair falling almost to his waist.

Asgarsîr couldn't help but be somewhat envious, pulling his hood higher to shield his scalp from the cold wind.

"Why the hell did I think a side-shave would be a good idea?" he thought to himself, regretting his decision in the moment, only to remember that he'd be the only one not complaining come summertime.

"We're almost there. Be on your guard." Thoronmîr called over his shoulder.

His hands slowly traveled to his crossbow.

They'd left Pessmenel earlier that morning after receiving news that something or someone had crossed over Melian's girdle. They knew not what they would be running into, so they'd come armed, just in case something should go sideways.

They abruptly broke into a gallop, a tactic they used to catch their opponents off guard.

They swiftly surrounded the area in question, their horses standing shoulder to shoulder, their weapons pointed at the figure standing in the shadows, who backed up in surprise.

"Come into the light!" Thoronmîr snapped, his sword gleaming menacingly.

Asgarsîr looked over his crossbow at the silhouette in the dark.

Whoever it was was small of stature, and clearly female.

Normally, he'd never even dream of daring to point a weapon at a woman, but there were unfortunately some in Middle Earth who could mimic others, as well as some questionable females who pretended to be harmless.

Slowly the figure came into the light, her hands raised, fear in her eyes.

He immediately lowered his weapon, and motioned for his men to do the same, despite not receiving any sort of order from Thoronmîr.

He gaped.

Her dress and shoes were old, torn, dirty, and hardly providing her any sort of warmth, made evident by her reddening skin. Her hair was long, equally dirty, and matted. She was thin, so much that Asgarsîr could tell that she'd been starved, with the exception of her swollen abdomen. Her eyes were dull, and full of fear.

He couldn't believe it was her.

"Valar, Dînaerlinn, what happened to you?"

"State your name and business!" Thoronmîr growled, completely unfazed by her haggard appearance.

"My… My name is Dînaerlinn Seregthoroniel. I've come home."

Thoronmîr dismounted, striding towards her with purpose. She backed up a few paces, having grown accustomed to fear over the past two years. However, she suddenly paused, and Asgarsîr could tell that she'd come to the realization that the only way she was going to get what she wanted was if she held her ground. He circled her, the way a wolf would a deer, ignoring the tremors shaking her frame.

Whether she was trembling from the cold or from fear remained to be seen.

"And how do I know, 'Miss Seregthoroniel', that you're not lying? Or that you're not bringing some cursed orc spawn into our kingdom?" The General hissed, indicating her unborn child.

It took all the strength he had to keep himself from leaping off his mount so he could come to her defence.

"I am the daughter of a deceased Captain of Doriath's guard, and I demand to be treated as such." She countered, the edge of winter's coldness in her tone, making the cocky General balk slightly. "And what reason would I have to lie?" The two stared each other down, and he couldn't help but smirk as Thoronmîr seemed to lose his composure slightly under Dînaerlinn's unrelenting gaze.

He was relieved to see that despite the hardships she'd suffered, her fighter's spirit hadn't been diminished. If anything , it had grown.

"My apologies, my lady." He moved to brush her wild hair out of her face. "I-agh!" Thoronmîr swiftly pulled his hand back, his finger bleeding. A baby red squirrel who had been hidden beneath Dînaerlinn's hair now sat on her shoulder, chattering angrily at him for daring to touch her caregiver.

Dînaerlinn quietly stroked the squirrel's head with her fingertip, calming her down as though nothing had happened, as some of the men snickered at the sight of the General being bested by a baby rodent.

"Charming." Thoronmîr hissed through his smile of clenched teeth. "Quite charming indeed."

He turned to Asgarsîr.

"She's riding with you."

A sigh of relief quietly passed his lips.

He rode over to her, making up his mind not to say anything about their shared history quite yet. It would be too much of a shock for the poor thing to hear that he'd survived the attack. He dismounted, not missing how she backed away as soon as his feet touched the ground.

"Here," he murmured, taking off his cloak "you're freezing."

"Th-thank you." she hesitantly took the garment, almost as though expecting to be struck, and placed it around her shoulders, fumbling with the clasp.

"Here," he murmured, carefully doing it for her "let me do it. Your hands are awfully chapped." The hem of the cloak brushed the snow covered ground, as it was several sizes too big for her. "You're going to have to sit in front of me because-" he paused, unsure of how to phrase it.

"Because of my stomach?"

"...aye. I don't want to run the risk of you falling off. If you're sitting in front of me I can hold onto you. Not too tightly though." He added quickly as he noticed her tense.

He led her over to the horse.

"Mauroval has a smooth gait, so you should be alright." He murmured as he noticed Dînaerlinn's trepidation to get on the horse. She nodded quietly, shyly placeing a hand on the mare's neck. He couldn't help but smile as he noticed a grin spread across her face.

"We need to move out!" Thoronmîr shouted, his annoyance apparent. Asgarsîr quickly scooped her up, placing her on Mauroval's back, wincing as she squeaked in fright.

"Sorry." He whispered in her ear he swung up behind her. "But we need to leave." he reached around her for the reins, and urged Mauroval onwards.

---

He was nodding off in a chair outside the healing ward, his anxiety for his late commander's daughter finally driving him to the point of exhaustion. It had been two long hours since they'd arrived in Pessmenel.

"Lieutenant? Lieutenant Eregdringion?"

His pale green eyes snapped open.

"Aearon, how is she?"

The healer sighed softly.

"Other than being underweight and dehydrated she's actually not that bad. All injuries were minor and-"

"Injuries? What injuries?" He demanded, inwardly cursing himself for not noticing earlier.

His hands clenched the arms of the chair tightly, his knuckles turning white, as Aearon detailed her wounds, causing his blood to broil.

"Under normal circumstances, I would request that she remain here with us, but she keeps saying that she wants to go home. I don't recall her ever living here before though…"

"Because she never did. She used to live in Nellnên before it fell, but her mother's family owned a house in Pessmenel, so I assume that's the home she's referring to. Her grandparents were slain in Nellnên because they came to mourn their daughter, so by rights the property belongs to Dînaerlinn, as she is the last of her line."

"Then perhaps it's best if she stays there, because it will give her a sense of security… Do you know where the property is?"

"Aye, I do."

"Can you take her there?"

"Of course."

"I'll leave her in your charge then. You know her better than any of us. Just make sure she gains some weight over the next three months. She's far too underweight to deliver her baby safely."

Asgarsîr nodded, already taking his role as guardian very seriously.

"How is the baby? As far as you can tell?"

"The peredhel or Chatter?" Aearon said with a chuckle.

"Chatter?"

"The squirrel. That little monster bit me twice!"

Asgarsîr couldn't help but smile at the squirrel's antics.

"I mean the peredhel."

"The peredhel seems to be healthy, blessedly enough. According to Dînaerlinn the little one has quite the kick. To be honest, she seemed more concerned about the baby's health rather than her own."

"She always was selfless like that." Asgarsîr murmured, remembering how she'd always be so worried about her father and his troop when they'd return from patrol. "Though I thought she'd be traumatized about this…"

"I suppose it's different from case to case, but, I think, Asgarsîr, for this case, it's more accurate to say that she's traumatized by how she came to be with child, rather than actually being with child."

"She's a strong elleth…" he mumbled quietly, still amazed by her resilience.

"That she is. She should be out any minute now- ah, here she is!"

Asgarsîr turned around to see Dînaerlinn carefully make her way out of the healing ward.

Her hands had been bandaged, protecting the ice-bitten skin, some adhesives on her back peeked out from beneath the collar of the dark blue dress she'd been given, she'd been able to cleanse herself of the dirt and grime, and her hair had been detangled and brushed smooth.

"How are you feeling?" Asgarsîr asked, his worry apparent in his tone.

"A-alright."

"He's going to take you back home, Dînaerlinn, and you're to be in his charge." Aearon murmured softly, as though he was afraid of frightening her. "Lieutenant Eregdringion is trustworthy and will take care of you. If anything happens, you tell him, and he'll report back to me. However, I'll be coming around every so often to tend to your injuries. Is that alright with you?"

She nodded.

"Can… Can I go home now?"

The question practically melted his heart.

"I'm more than happy to take you there." He replied, offering her his hand. She looked at him hesitantly before placing her hand in his.

Soon, they were on their way, Mauroval's hoofs making absolutely no noise in the snow. Birds soared above their heads, singing cheerfully.

A small smile graced Asgarsîr's stoney features as Dînaerlinn leaned back against him, ever so slightly, starting to fall asleep.

"Poor thing, she's been through a lot for one day…"

"We're here." he murmured softly to her, gently shaking her shoulder.

He dismounted, carefully helping her down. She paused, staring quietly at her grandparents' old talan.

"I never thought I'd see this place again…" she whispered, blinking back tears.

"Welcome home." he responded, giving her shoulder a light, but reassuring, squeeze. Together, they made their way towards the stairs.

Asgarsîr frowned as he watched Dînaerlinn struggle with the steep steps, each one seemingly harder than the one before.

"Here. I can carry you up the stairs if you're comfortable with that."

"O-okay…"

He carefully picked her up, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck.

Suddenly, without warning, the plank gave way under his left foot, and he found himself with his leg sticking through the step, Dînaerlinn's surprised shriek echoing in his ears.

He quickly pulled himself back up and onto the next step.

"Are you alright?" he asked breathlessly as he looked into her wide duo colored eyes.

She shakily nodded, too shocked to say a word.

He quickly made his way inside, getting her out of the cold.

Everything had remained untouched since her grandparents had left. A cross stitch had been left on the table, along with a sewing kit, and a candle. Everything was coated in a thick layer of dust, and there were cobwebs in every corner.

"You… you can put me down now." He quickly did as he was told, setting her down on the wooden floor. "Thank you, Lieutenant."

"No trouble at all. Get some rest, Linn."

Her nickname slipped out of his mouth before he could stop it.

She gaped, speechless.

"How… How did you… Do I… Do I know you?" she asked, scanning him over, searching for a sign of recognition.

"Aye… we know each other. I don't blame you for not recognizing me though. To be fair, I've changed quite a bit… It's me, Linn. Asgarsîr."

Her eyes widened.

"A-Asgar, I…" She rushed into his arms without warning. "I-I thought you were dead!" He held her gently, rubbing comforting circles into her back as she buried her face in his chest, wetting his tunic with her tears. "What happened to you?" she whispered, scarcely believing that he was truly alive and well. "I saw them shoot you…"

Asgarsîr swallowed hard, remembering he excruciating pain he'd felt when the arrow slammed into his back, the last thing he'd seen being the looks of terror on Seregthoron and Dînaerlinn's faces before the world went black.

"My horse bolted and ran back to Nellnên." He choked, next remembering the panic he'd felt when he'd woke up in the healing ward. "I regained consciousness the next day, only to be told that you all were dead or captured… I gave up hope some time ago, believing that I was the sole survivor of the ambush… Yet here you are." He managed a smile as he pulled away slightly, wiping some of the tears from her face, a smile on his own.

She gave him a watery smile in return.

"Here we are, you mean."

---

A feminine scream rent the air, causing Asgarsîr to look up sharply.

He gasped as he saw that Arafhind had grabbed Dînaerlinn from behind, but before he could make a move, Dînaerlinn had already broken free from his grasp.

"GET YOUR DAMN HANDS OFF ME!"

The entire crowd turned around just in time to see Dînaerlinn deck Arafhind soundly, giving him what surely would be a black eye later.

The ellyn and ellith at the bar roared with drunken laughter as Arafhind fell on his rear with a yelp of surprise.

"By Yavanna, Ruscdîr, that was a cruel dare!" One of them laughed. "Poor Arafhind just got floored!"

Dînaerlinn backed up several paces, her arms crossed over her body in defense, tears stinging her eyes.

Now, they would see her as even more of a misfit and monster then they already did.

She swiftly walked away, knowing she'd run her welcome thin.

"Linn! Linn, are you alright?!"

She brushed past him without a word.

"Aye, that's it! Run away like you always do!" Another jeer came from the intoxicated group.

"Brennil! Brennil, we have to go!" She called, catching sight of the elflings, who, blessedly, had not noticed the hullabaloo.

"Why, Nana? Why do we have to go now?" Brennil asked as Dînaerlinn scooped her up.

"Because it's well past your bedtime, and I have a headache." She murmured, placing a gentle kiss on her daughter's cheek. "Don't worry though, you'll get to see your friends tomorrow, I have to go to the market at some point in the day, so you can go play with them while I do that. Is that alright?"

"Okay, Nana. See you guys tomorrow!"

Dînaerlinn couldn't help but be grateful that at least Brennil had had a good time.

Daecrist watched the whole exchange with wide eyes, furious that his friend had made such destructive decisions.

He suddenly noticed Asgarsîr making a beeline for Ruscdîr out of the corner of his eye, grabbing him by the collar, and pulling him into the woods.

"Watch it, Rusc!" Someone laughed. "He's going to beat you like Seregthoroniel did Arafhind!"

He got up quickly and followed, knowing the situation was only just starting to escalate.

---

Ruscdîr found himself slammed into a tree, his back against the rough bark.

"Do you have any idea what you've done, you bastard?" the other Lieutenant hissed, the pressure he was putting on Ruscdîr's chest making it difficult for him to breathe.

"Oh, come on, Asgar! It was only a joke! Besides, Araf is fine! Lighten up a little!"

"I'm not talking about Arafhind, you sick drunk!" he growled, pressing down on the redhead's chest even harder, to the point that his ribcage was creaking under the weight.

Ruscdîr's eyes narrowed.

"You'd come to the defense of that elleth?" he wheezed, struggling for air. "You're more of an idiot than I thought."

Before Asgarsîr even knew what he was doing, he'd unsheathed his knife, placing the tip against Ruscdîr's throat.

Ruscdîr froze.

Even drunk, he knew he was in serious trouble.

"Do you have any idea what she's been through?!" He yelled, drawing a drop of blood.

"No." Ruscdîr replied, reckless as always despite the danger. "And I don't see why I should care."

Asgarsîr pulled the knife back with one intent in mind, only to be stopped when a fist came flying out of nowhere, hitting him squarely in his jaw. His knife was soon wrestled away from him, and he was harshly thrown to the ground.

"What in the nine hells were you thinking, Asgarsîr?!" Daecrist said, his voice dangerously low.

Asgarsîr looked over Daecrist's shoulder, glaring furiously at Ruscdîr, who had a triumphant smile on his face, despite the shame he now felt for having his fellow officer at knifepoint.

Daecrist suddenly whirled around, backhanding Ruscdîr across the face.

"Wipe that smirk off your face, you slobbering drunk." He snapped, glaring his former Lieutenant into silence. "And stay put, because I'm going to deal with you later."

He walked over to Asgarsîr, yanking him to his feet. After leading the silver haired Lieutenant away a few yards at a forced march, he slammed him into a tree, just as he'd done to Ruscdîr.

"You see this?" He asked, his grey eyes burning as he held up the knife. "I shouldn't have to explain what this is to a Lieutenant of Doriath. You realize that what you just did is seen as treason, even though you were doing it on the behalf of someone else? You could've killed him, Asgarsîr!"

He put the knife in Asgarsîr's hand and shoved it against his chest.

"Keep your knife. I hope it reminds you of what you did, and what I said, even though no one will hear about this. But I'll promise you now-" He hissed. "If I catch you threatening anyone with that thing again, I will not hesitate to turn you in. If you wanted to be a kinslayer then you should've left Doriath, gone to Himring, and joined Maedhros' army."

He stormed away, leaving Asgarsîr trembling behind him, close to tears from guilt, and holding a knife, the tip still stained red with Ruscdîr's blood.

Ruscdîr sat by the tree quietly, knowing better than to run.

Daecrist would just hunt him down if he did that.

There was suddenly rustling in the foliage, and Daecrist came into view, walking towards him.

He took a deep breath, knowing what was to come.

"General, I-"

"Quiet!" Daecrist barked, cutting him off as he sat down beside his former Lieutenant. "It's high time you and I had a serious discussion: about your drinking problem, and about Dînaerlinn."

---

Alquawen walked through the stable, careful not to spill any of the food she had for Mornar. The stable was completely silent with the exception of the occasional nicker from a horse. It was the conditions she liked best when she was in the stable. It was comfortably warm from the lantern light but not so hot that the flies were sent into a frenzy. The windows were open, allowing the air to circulate.

She paused, breathing in the scents of horse and hay.

It really was such a calming environment.

She continued on her journey to paddock thirteen. The young filly from earlier in the day stuck her head out of her stall, whickering in delight at the sight of both Alquawen and the food.

"Hello!" Alquawen laughed as she patted the fiilly's head. The horse craned her neck, trying to steal a piece of food off of Mornar's plate. "Oh, cut it out! that's for a friend of mine!" The filly persisted. "Oh very well." Alquaen murmured, giving her a leaf of lettuce. "Don't tell Mornar, though." she paused, lightly stroking the filly's forehead. "I really don't know what to do." she murmured softly to the horse, unaware that the person following her had hidden in the shadows. "I know I love him, yet I can't help but be afraid. I know he's not going to hurt me, at let, not intentionally, but I just can't shake this sense of fear."

The filly nickered sympathetically.

"I'm not afraid of him, but I'm afraid for him, really, I think is the best way to put it. I'm afraid of what might happen to him, should I fail to heal him, because he's hurt in more ways than one. And… and I'm not sure I have the skill to heal all of those wounds, but he needs someone to do it… I think that's how I know it's true love. I want what's best for him, even if it means he ends up with another elleth to love and care for him. Eru knows he deserves one. I just hope it's me."

The filly nudged the plate.

Alquawen wryly smiled.

"You're right. I should stop worrying and let nature take its course. And get this to Mornar! I made the blackberry tart myself. I just hope Elei was right when she said the best way to get to an ellon's heart is through his stomach!"

She walked to Tinnuhâl's stall, only to pause in shock, a smile spreading across her face. A laugh bubbled out of her as she lightly shook her head in amusement. Mornar had fallen fast asleep in the hay and Tinnuhâl had laid down beside him, his head against Mornar's chest. Her laughter faded to quiet giggling as she watched the pair sleeping together. She quietly sat down beside them, the plate in her lap.

Neither elf nor horse stirred in her presence.

She leaned back against the paddock wall, enjoying the silence.

A whispered gasp of surprise escaped her lips as he shifted slightly in his sleep in response to her presence, slipping a protective arm around her.

She couldn't help but feel a sense of security when he did that.

It really was a comfort knowing that he'd defend her if he needed to, yet she couldn't help but be somewhat frightened by the prospect of him fighting for her. What if he got hurt in the process? What if his wounds were beyond her skill to heal? What if… what if he died? What if his fae went were her's couldn't follow? What if he died because she couldn't get to him on time? What if he died because she failed to heal him? What if he died because she only made it worse?

What if?

What if?

What if?

The question was drowning her, overwhelming her, dragging her down to the very darkest depths of her own mind.

A quiet sound of discomfort caught her attention.

She looked over at Mornar to see a small frown on his face.

Her heart broke a little as a tear rolled down his cheek.

He'd been through too much.

Seen too much.

All of the 'what if's' racing through her mind came to a halt.

There was no 'what if' in this situation.

For his sake more than her own, she could not accept failure or second guessing.

She reached over, wiping the tear away, her heart melting as he leaned into her hand slightly, as though seeking comfort.

"It's alright. I'm here, and I always will be."

Without even thinking, she softly kissed the brow of the gentle warrior who'd come into her life, and immediately stole her heart.

It didn't matter how broken he was. She was too, and her broken pieces happened to fit his perfectly.

Why have two broken hearts when you can piece them together into one?

Soon, the heat radiating from the lanterns, Mornar, and Tinnuhâl worked its magic, lulling her into a peaceful sleep, her head resting against his strong shoulder.

It was only then that the figure in the shadows came forward.

He walked over, staring in utter hatred and disbelief at the pair soundly sleeping in the hay.

How could it be that a lonely exile had so swiftly won the heart of the elleth he'd loved for years?

He'd swooped in like a vulture, like the dirty scavenger he was, and stolen her from under his nose.

Seregmîr angrily struck the side of the paddock, tensing as he expected them to awaken.

Blessedly, they didn't even stir.

He silently watched her sleeping peacefully, the lantern light reflecting off her skin.

How could it be that an exile could win the heart of such a beautiful woman, stealing her away from him?

How could she ever love an outcast like Mornar?

He stormed away, his blue eyes sparking all the while.

This wouldn't be the end of it for the Nargothrondain.

One of these days, there would be hell to pay, and he was going to make sure that Mornar was on the receiving end.

---

"Valar, Rusc! Why'd you think making that dare was a good idea?" Arafhind drunkenly groaned with a hiccup as the pair staggered back to Ruscdîr's talan across the bridges.

"I'm sorry, Araf. I should've thought twice about that one." He murmured quietly, unable to stop thinking about everything Daecrist had told him about Dînaerlinn.

He couldn't help but feel guilty.

He had to apologize and find a way to make it up to her, but how?

The sheer look of hurt in her eyes… that look would never cease to haunt him.

"Here," Ruscdîr murmured as he pulled out a chair for his little cousin "let me go get a damp cloth you can put over your eye."

"Thanks." Arafhind mumbled as he watched Ruscdîr walk into the kitchen. He'd changed, and he'd changed quite a bit since before everything had gone down in their family. It was just harder to see.

He was suddenly handed a cloth.

He took it, quietly watching his cousin as he sat down in the chair beside him. Ruscdîr ran his fingers through his red hair with a tired sigh. He looked so much older than he did all those years ago, Arafhind now noticed. Haunted, almost, by the things he'd seen. He hadn't been home in years either.

"Rusc?"

"Aye?" He looked up in surprise, looking at his little cousin, who was looking at him almost thoughtfully with his good eye.

"What happened? To our family, I mean?"

His cousin tensed.

"You… you were never told?"

"Rusc, I was only eight."

Silence.

"Meluilind, my step-mother," Arafhind noticed that his cousin sort of spat her name as though it was poison "claimed that your father said some rather, erm, unpleasant things about her figure shall we say."

"Wait. You mean like-?"

"Yes, Arafhind, I mean she actually accused your father of that!"

"But-but he wouldn't! Ada would never have said a thing like that!"

"I know! I know your father never said those things, Arafhind! I'm sure my father knows that as well, but he's so smitten with that- that witch that he'll believe whatever she says! That's why I don't go home, Arafhind! Because I can't stand her! She's always trying to get me to call her mother when she knows I could never do that! I'm not going to just stand aside and let her replace my mother! I-I just can't do it!"

He buried his face into his hands, trying to hide any tears that would come. Arafhind watched quietly as he saw his cousin for what he truly was: broken hearted, yet trying to hold on to all of the frayed strings holding him together.

"What was she like?" he asked softly. "Your mother?"

"She was… she was wild. There's honestly no better way to put it." He looked up, his eyes distant as he thought of her. "Her hair was as black as midnight, long, and totally untamable. Her eyes were grey, almost like… like a cloudy afternoon. She studied magic, and could do all sorts of different things, but her main field when it came to practicing magic was healing and growing plants. Her… her name was Taurlind." He briefly wondered how long it had been since anyone had said her name. "She was aptly named, really, because she'd spend hours in the woods searching and hunting for ingredients for her spells, healing plants and animals, or just practicing archery." his voice trailed off as his gaze traveled to his bow and arrows leaning against the doorpost should he need to leave in a hurry. "That's her quiver." he murmured, nodding to his arrows. "Because she taught me how to shoot. I have her bow and arrows in my bedroom."

"Rusc, I'm so sorry…"

"Don't be." He said, looking at his cousin, refusing to let the tears fall. "You didn't kill her… Valar, she would've loved you." He said with a watery smile as he playfully flicked his cousin's ear.

"Hey!" Arafhind laughed as he quickly got payback, earning a giggle from his older cousin.

They sat together in comfortable silence.

"Perhaps," Ruscdîr thought to himself, his eyes sliding shut "life's not so bad after all."

There was suddenly tapping at the window, causing him to groan.

"What now?" Arafhind muttered, cracking an eye open.

"I'll go see." Ruscdîr muttered as he stood up, his joints creaking.

"Valar, you're getting old." Arafhind commented.

"Shut up. Not all of us are as spry as you, Cabor." He said with a smirk as he watched his cousin's cheeks turn a bright shade of pink.

"I was hoping you'd forgotten that nickname." Arafhind huffed.

"You mean, you were 'hopping' I'd forgotten, eh, Frog?" He snickered, trying to muffle his laughter behind his hand.

"Oh, shut up and go get the mail!" the private squwaked as he hurled a cushion at him.

Ruscdîr ducked, rushing over to the window, throwing open the wooden shutters and letting the carrier pigeon in.

It was an ingenious way of communication between Menegroth and the provinces that had been developed in Pessmenel, earning her her name, meaning "Feather-Haven" in the common tongue. With the help of what little magic the Sindar had, the birds flew directly to the house of the person they were carrying a message for, rather than needing a base.

He caught the tired bird, cradling it against his chest. After extracting the message from the capsule around the pigeon's leg, he put the bird in a nearby cage with some food and water, allowing it to rest before taking the long trip back to wherever it came from.

"What is it?" Arafhind asked curiously.

"Not sure yet." Ruscdîr replied as he opened the message.

Arafhind watched as his cousin read the message, before growing very, very pale.

"Rusc? Rusc, what is it?"

Ruscdîr opened his mouth to say something, but no sound came out.

"Ruscdîr, I think you ought to sit down…" Arafhind murmured as he gently grabbed his arm, guiding him to a seat.

He shakily sat down, the letter held loosely in his hands.

"What's wrong?" he asked as he squatted down in front of his cousin so that they were more or less eye to eye.

"It… it's from my father…" he whispered, scarcely believing what he was saying. "I… I have a half-sister."

---

And here's the terrible, horrible, cliffhanger!!! Haha! (oK, i kNow ThaT wasN't An eVil laUgh buT i'M trYinG) Anyhoo, I do have a little bit of an announcement to make:

I'm going to try and actually stick to a schedule from now on with this story, which means I won't be writing astronomically long chapters anymore, because I'll have to limit myself to keep to the schedule. The reason I'm doing this is because I feel like this story isn't really moving along because I add too much detail and I really do need to start limiting myself so I can update more! My goal is to update on the first Sunday of each month, which means, if I stick to it, I'll have about 18 new chapters by next December. It might end up being 17 though, because I'm going to try and have a buffer chapter, which basically means I'll have to write 2 chapters within the course of this month… so I'm not sure if I'll meet the August deadline, it all depends on how well I manage to limit myself, but I'm going to try.

I'm definitely going to try and update "For the Love of Swans" next month though, and I'm going to be updating from England because I'm going next month! Yay! If it doesn't work then I'll update when I'm back in the states :).

Love you guys and thanks for sticking with me on this crazy ride!

HAPPY 4TH OF JULY!!! GOD BLESS AMERICA!!

(Here are the translations of some of the elvish words!:))

Áva - Don't (Quenya)

Hína - Child (Quenya)

Lev-áva - Don't move (Quenya)

Har-en - Stay still (Quenya)

Tiutalë - Word of easement/comfort (Quenya)

Avatyar-nyë - Forgive me (Quenya)

Ui - No (Quenya)

Yaimë - Cry (Quenya)

Queldërilla - Quiet-song, loose translation of Dînaerlinn, which means Silent-hymn in Sindarin (Quenya)

Pitya tavaril - Little dryad, an endearment Rávasoron uses for Dînaerlinn (Quenya)

Atar - Father (Quenya)

Yórsornë - Translation of Seregthoron, which means Blood-eagle in both Sindarin and Quenya

Brand Gail - Lofty light, Sindarin love song (not canon)

Cabor - Frog (Arafhind's nickname)