WinterDragon: I admit, it's been a while since we've seen Elladan, and he was in a bit of a pickle last time. But worry not! Our dashing hero will return shortly (as in next week). In the meantime, forgive me as I try to build some tension around said return ;)

Chapter 53

August 25th, TA 3020

There was, oh what there was, in the oldest of days and ages and times, a magnificent city in the heart of the desert. Its people were starving, yet one couldn't find a prouder folk. What gems they dug up from the thankless sands went into adorning the high walls of their city, what gold to cover the rooves of its many towers rising towards the firmament. The Sultan who reigned on the land was a faithless man, the proudest of them all, and vain enough to claim the minarets his people had erected with their bare hands surpassed the beauty of His creations. One day, a violent storm rolled in from a cloudless sky; the ground shook as it opened, swallowing the city and its people, down to the last man, and only scorpions now wander between the towers jutting from the dunes.

The tale, recounted by Lalla Nafiyah's creaky voice, echoed in Mehreen's ears as she staggered back, numb from head to toe and sweating all over. "It's impossible." Even her voice came out hollow, as though rising from the very depths of the earth.

"There is a letter, in the King's study in Minas Tirith, that begs to differ." Despite the lightness of his words, Lord Legolas was far from amused. "Prince Anwar is very much alive."

"No, my Lord, I meant…." Mehreen wrung her hands against her stomacher. "It's impossible for him to have chosen me. My sister Hanaa is next in line for marriage. She's prayed so much for this…." Poor Hanaa. Mehreen raised her eyes to cast a pleading look towards Lord Legolas across the expanse of the deck. "Surely you are mistaken, and the Prince only bid me come attend their wedding?"

Yet his face remained grave. "I wish I were, Mehreen. Truly."

The whole scene had an air of familiarity about it, and Mehreen needn't dig deep to find from whence she remembered it.

The same shade of green than that of Lord Legolas' pourpoint had draped the windows of her father's study, fringed with gold rather than veined with it, when he'd notified her of her 'betrothal' to the King of Gondor. Mehreen had barely had the time to process the news as already her belongings had been stashed into a row of chests, so that she'd erred, lost and bewildered, through the last days before her departure for Pelargir, finding neither her favorite comb nor the embroidered shawl Hanaa had gifted her with for her last birthday. Only a few months past, a chair much like the bench Mehreen now sank onto had supported her, sculpted armrests digging into her palms as the man she'd thought would become her husband informed her of his decision to displace her to Ithilien, like an onerous but cumbersome piece of furniture one no longer wishes to see yet can't afford to discard. Now she was to return to Minas Tirith; a mere stop on her way back to Harad. Her time decorating the hallways of Bar-Lasbelin had come to an end, the illusion of usefulness crumbling like the sandcastles Mehreen used to build as a child.

Now now, don't act surprised, a voice quite akin to Lalla Laila's sneered into her ear. An empty vase serving as a chamber pot is wasted space still, no matter how you try to divert its purpose.

"I…Thank you for telling me, my Lord." Mehreen tugged at the hem of her sleeve as she tried to keep her dignity about her. "When am I to leave?"

"Never, if I have anything to say about it…though seldom before have I felt so helpless."

Though Lord Legolas had pushed himself upright upon seeing Mehreen arrive, he'd soon reverted to his initial slouching, bursting with pent-up anger he had no means to spend. Even now, his long hands clenched and unclenched over the baluster and, for an instant, Mehreen feared he'd tear it off in frustration, undoing Elladan's efforts of repair.

"It's not your fault, my Lord," she muttered from her bench, listening fearfully for sounds of ripping wood.

He threw her a sharp glance, though his sad smile mellowed it. "Must you still call me that? Now, of all times, when I come begging for your forgiveness for not being able to do more?" He opened his arms, encompassing not only the pavilion, but the entirety of the settlement. "To keep you here?"

Mehreen gaped. "You?" she stammered, fingers stilling in the unravelling of her hem. "My forgiveness? My Lord, there is nothing to forgive. I'm no child, I know how such things work. You've made a mistake, and honorably tried to amend it. You've treated me well, with more kindness than I'd expected. Others would've sent me back at once, or married me off to the first man who came along. Instead, you've given me a glimpse of what it feels like, to be important in my own right…and I'll cherish that memory."

"You speak as though you've given up all hope," Lord Legolas quirked an eyebrow at her heartfelt declaration, and Mehreen shrugged.

"I've often been told that hope is for children. In life, men carve their way out, and women are left to trust in them, and the One, to guide them."

To follow the ruts, like a carriage drawn by a force greater than itself, and without which it lost its purpose. Or so would Lalla Nafiyah have her believe. It occurred to Mehreen how learnt the old woman had been, and how much she could've accomplished, had she only been allowed to envision a life outside the harem. The happiness Lalla Zahra might've found, if given the chance to search for it beyond the walls of her brother's palace, or the many other children Lalla Ishtar could've inspired with her tales.

How many women had seen their talents wane, or wither in the bud for lack of watering? And which was preferable: to never know one's potential, or to get a borrowed taste of it, as one licks a spoon that'd served to prepare a meal meant for another?

She wouldn't complain.

The One had kept His end of the bargain, had He not? So far, Lord Legolas had made no mention of Elladan, nor of any grievous thing that might've happened to him in the wilderness. In a way, his fate was suspended to Mehreen's lips, and the grace with which she'd bear this new humiliation.

"Do you believe this is the One's will for you, then?"

At least, Redhriel needn't worry; no longer would Mehreen pose a threat to her healers, nor offer undue hope to her patients, if that's what the Steward had feared. Yet perhaps could she keep helping in some way from beyond the desert, living in the memory of those she'd left behind.

"I cannot presume to know His ways, my Lord, only to pray He treats me as gently as you all did." She raised her eyes to face him, yearning to convey how ardently she meant it. "It's more than I'd thought to find here…which is why I'd ask a favor of you. Or three, actually," she added, blushing under his stare. "It's customary…of sorts."

A custom straight from a children's book, but Lord Legolas didn't know that.

"I am listening." He crossed his arms upon his chest and leaned back against a post; perhaps had he merely decided to humor her, driven by either guilt or the pity her fate inspired him. Whatever it was, he hadn't outright refused, and Mehreen wasn't about to be picky.

She bit her lip, gathering her courage, and stood to walk over to the railing that faced the Houses, so as to see everything she'd come to care about: the ancient walls overgrown with vine, in the confines of which she'd learnt she was stronger she'd thought herself to be. The people that moved beyond the windows of stained glass – Saehild? Beylith? Or even Dúnwen? Mehreen tried to guess – whose stories had changed her forever. And the pavilion itself, with its sumptuous crown of roses and the promises it'd held.

"First, that you take good care of Ahlam. I've brought her here as baggage, and I would that she stayed as a free woman."

"She may yet choose to follow you once more," Lord Legolas objected behind her and, having expected the question, Mehreen shook her head.

"Oh, she will, and this is why I must ask of you that you prevent it." Running a hand along the glossy wooden surface, she sighed. "Her life in Harad has been one of servitude and suffering, and though she claims all was not as dark as I now make it out to be…please. If you truly wish to oblige me, you'll ensure Ahlam stays in Bar-Lasbelin, safe and cared for."

"On that I can give you my word, though I believe Ahlam's life here will be much unhappier without you."

The baluster creaked under his weight as he came to stand beside her, his elbows resting on the railing, hands suspended over the fragrant blooms. Not so long ago, Mehreen would've shied away from such a dangerous proximity; now, she was grateful for his unspoken comfort.

"She will heal." Mehreen turned to look at him. "Is this place not meant for that very purpose?"

Another tight smile as Lord Legolas nodded, acknowledging her victory. "Very well, consider it done. And your second wish?"

"That you send Saineth a gift from me, something I've made for her daughter. Elladan was to do it, which is why I'm now asking you. And that you help Dúnwen, as well," Mehreen added hastily, remembering the harrowed mother. "She's too proud to ask for it, too much for her own good and that of her son."

Belatedly, she realized it wasn't one wish but two, and had expected Lord Legolas to object as a more experienced genie would have. Instead, he tilted his head in that bird-like manner of his, and narrowed his eyes. "You surprise me, Mehreen. I would have expected you to bid me help you, instead of others, whose prosperity I have already vowed to ensure. This is not to say that your plea falls on deaf ears, quite the contrary."

A bee circling the ruffled, red-rimmed petals buzzed around them. Mehreen hunched her shoulders, afraid of the sting, and was relieved when it came to land upon one of Lord Legolas' idle hands. Instead of shaking it away, however, he watched it crawl along his skin, the fuzzy body waddling as the bee fluttered its tired little wings, as though imploring his patience. He turned his wrist, offering the bee a palm to which it went readily, scaling the rounded mount of his thumb after a moment's hesitation. Once it'd reached the crossroads of the lines that creased the inside of his hand, however, Lord Legolas closed it with astonishing speed.

"This could be a way, you know." Mehreen, who'd been watching the display with a mix of awe and apprehension, startled, thinking he'd squashed the hapless insect, only to hear a muffled hum of wings inside the cage formed by his fingers. "To hide you in my father's realm, in the depths of Eryn Lasgalen, where Anwar and his men never find you before their lifetime is out." Lord Legolas opened his hand, revealing the bee, safe and sound, if somewhat bewildered as to what'd happened. As it took flight – not without a trace of reproach inside those faceted, black eyes, if Mehreen was any judge – he added: "Or send you to Imladris. Though Elladan is not here, I believe he would be of a mind with me to do just that. In the Hidden Valley, whose gates have never been breached, you will be safe, until we can find a way to…."

"No, my Lord." Mehreen watched the insect rise into the cloudless sky that'd engulfed into the space left by the canopies. "I wouldn't have another life lost because of me." If Anwar didn't find her, who knew what kind of vengeance he'd exact upon the people of Ithilien?

Mehreen also refrained from pointing out that, just like the bee, she would've been a prisoner inside those walls he'd mentioned, condemned to wait on a man's goodwill for the rest of her life. What difference did it make, then, whether those walls were made of brick or granite?

"It may not come to that," Lord Legolas protested, and Mehreen understood it was he who cradled the very hope he'd accused her of losing.

"You don't know Anwar. You don't know Harad. We are Aadilim, and we fight until the end for what we deem to be just. Anwar will not stop at a subterfuge. Not unless you give him a reason even the One cannot refute."

"What would you have me do, then?"

"That what you must. What we all must. Our duty."

"You make it sound as though we have no other choice, but I have not given up as of yet, and neither has Aragorn." With a jerk of his shoulders, Lord Legolas propelled himself up and stomped across the deck, his silver-gold hair flying in his wake. "He, too, chafes against this duty you speak of, the thought of trading in your life as abhorrent as other, more blatant evils he has fought against so far." He made a sharp turn, and paced back towards her. "If there is anything history should have taught us, it is that it is rich with villainy in disguise. Some hidden behind the mask of tradition, or fairness, or even profit…but what worth has peace obtained at the price of innocence?"

His youthful face twisted with despair made Mehreen's chest ache. He was tormenting them both needlessly; couldn't he see she'd almost accepted her fate, and that the hope he kept spoon-feeding her was making it all the harder not to maintain her resolve?

Mehreen waited until he came at arm's reach, and lay a beseeching hand upon a green-sleeved forearm. "Peace is still peace, my Lord," she murmured. "Perhaps, to elves is it only a transition, but to most people living here, it's a relief to know they'll not know another war in their lifetime, and neither will their children. Besides, I'm not only thinking of the people of Gondor. There are women, back in Harad, who fear to raise sons only to have them taken from their arms come adulthood, bedecked in armor and sent off to die. I'd spare them the grief as well."

He hung his head, the tension leaving his body together with the fight. "And you?" Lord Legolas pleaded, "What will become of you?"

"I'll get what I've always wanted, I suppose, only not in the way I thought I would."

"And what is that?"

What do you wish? Elladan had once asked her, sending her heart aflutter. A man interested in knowing a woman's desires was a rare enough occurrence to be noted, and here she was, being asked the same question twice in a row…and tempted to give wildly different answers depending on who did the asking.

To Lord Legolas, she said: "I've always wanted to become a mother."

Hardly a lie, for as long as Mehreen could remember, the image of a babe nested in the crook of her arms had never failed to evoke a tender longing. He, of all people, didn't need to be privy to the tempest that arose inside her at the thought of how said babe would come to be…and of its father. To how the imaginary child's skin had grown paler over the last months, and how she'd found herself wishing that the grey of its eyes would remain akin to a dove's wing or a stormy sky long after birth. Above all, Mehreen yearned for it to be loved with all the fierceness of its father's temper, to be held with gentle hands, and raised with an unwavering faith in its abilities, be it a boy or a girl.

"My own mother was taken from me when I was young," she disclosed, struggling to swallow as her throat constricted with the regret that such a beautiful dream would never come to be, "and Ahlam is the closest thing to one I've known since. Oh, make no mistake," Mehreen added quickly upon seeing Lord Legolas' expression shift towards compassion, "I've been lucky. She's loved me as a daughter despite my ignorance and, ofttimes, my clueless contempt of her position. I didn't deserve someone like her and so, when I came here and learnt that you wouldn't marry me…." He had the grace to blush at her artless jibe, the faintest color deepening the shadows under his cheekbones. "…I thought it a just retribution for my behavior. Now, at least, I have a chance to raise children of my own."

Whatever became of her, it wouldn't be a repeat of Lalla Zahra's bleak fate, condemned to haunt a place full of children, surrounded, yet forever alone.

"But you do not love Anwar, do you?"

Had Mehreen not known Lord Legolas to be an elf, as attested by the piked helix framed on each side by intricate braids – the meaning of which Mehreen still couldn't decipher – she would've deemed him very young, and very naïve. Though perhaps did people's customs in the matter differ from those of Men; a delicate topic, which Bruiven hadn't yet found the time to tackle, and would likely never get to.

"Isn't there someone else you would've chosen, given the choice?" Lord Legolas insisted, driving her to the edge of dismay.

"Why speak of things we cannot change? There is no-one here but you and me, and you are no suitor for me, are you?"

That'd come out somewhat more testily than intended, and they both flushed; she with guilt and Lord Legolas, with anger.

He stepped back at once, towards the stairs that led onto the path, hands curling into fists. "Do not think I would not have done my duty," he ground out, and only the implacable control he wielded over his voice prevented him from snarling at her, "had I been in a position to do so."

Mehreen blanched, retreating in turn before his repressed fury. Harun's surges of unbridled rage were still too fresh in her memory to stand the sight without trembling, nor feeling her legs turn into something useless and jelly-like. Yet, as soon as her lower back collided with the baluster in her haste to distance herself from the threat, Lord Legolas' face fell, and so did his hands, limply, by his sides.

"Forgive me," he muttered, his eyes downcast, "I have frightened you without meaning to, though it is hardly an excuse. The truth is, my helplessness in preventing your return to Harad vexes me beyond words."

Mehreen gaped for the second time that day, like the fool she was. An utter, insensitive, self-centered fool. It wasn't even for her Lord Legolas was fighting, but for the woman he'd lost, the one Godwyn had spoken about. It dawned upon Mehreen she may not have left him of her own volition, and that he still blamed himself for it.

"You miss her," she whispered and, realizing she'd said it aloud, clamped her hands over her mouth.

"I do," Lord Legolas confessed quietly with a rueful shake of his head. "I always will."

For how many years, or decades…or centuries had he carried such sorrow?

I promise you that as long as you wish to remain in Bar-Lasbelin, I shall see to it that you can.

So had Elladan spoken, pouring his heart into the vow with all the determination he was capable of, without a sliver of hesitation or reserve. The One must've forgotten to add such subtleties during the creation of his soul, so that it'd come out pure, unadulterated in its sincerity, to don a raiment of black and white befitting its character. Another failure would hurt him deeply, but to be made forsworn in his absence, robbed of a chance to even try….

"Had she chosen to leave to save you, would you have forgiven her?"

Lord Legolas frowned as he turned to glance at her, already halfway down the steps. "I would have forgiven her anything."

"Then all is well." With an encouraging smile, Mehreen wiped her sweaty palms on the front of her dress and came to peer into his saddened face. "Tell Elladan…tell him it was my choice to leave. He's promised to let me stay, and it's not his fault he's not here, or that he can't. Tell him I've left with no regrets nor reproach, of my own free will. My last request would be to spare him any more pain than he's already endured."

Her voice might've broken sometime before the end of her plea, but Mehreen had pressed on, driving her nails into her palms with all the strength her hands were now capable of. Lalla Nafiyah had taught her it was a wicked thing to break a promise, but Mehreen found herself thinking it was more wicked still to let a promise break the man she'd come to love.

Lord Legolas appeared to consider her plea with a narrowed gaze. "Is that truly what you want? For Elladan to think you've given up?"

"I'd rather he blamed me than himself."

"Very well," he ended up sighing, much to her relief. "I shall tell him of your choice."

"Thank you, my Lord. I'll keep you in my prayers for it."

As they slowly made their way back towards the Houses, Mehreen turned around one last time to take in the scene: the roses, the trees and the pavilion, all fitting snuggly together to create the most breathtaking place she'd ever seen, more magnificent even than her father's garden. It was a place that soothed the senses and appeased the mind, perfect for nurturing that which needed to be nurtured, until one could walk down those steps with renewed strength, and face the rising sun with newfound hope. Elladan could use it for his patients, and Dúnwen would bring her son to play in the sun while she sat on the bench, enjoying the shade and the quiet while remembering her beloved.

They'd never know there was a piece of Mehreen's soul buried in the soil, where she'd scratched her skin while tending to the rose bushes, and another piece hidden in the rafters, where she'd wrestled them free of vines. And, lastly, a third in the very center of the deck, where she'd stood with Elladan. Someday, Saehild and Gárdred may stand in that same spot, and see a happier ending to their story, though Mehreen dared not complain.

She'd been granted her three wishes. It would've been a sin to hope for anything more.