I can't remember whether I've mentioned this before, but the final length of this story is 64 chapters, so we're officially past the middle point. As always, I'm ever so grateful to everyone still following, and even moreso to those taking the time to let me know they are 3

Here is a sweet little chapter, for a change, before our heroes are separated and have to work their way back towards one another. Minimal drama, though emotions are running high.

Enjoy!

Chapter 40

August 18th, TA 3020

Mehreen's stomach rumbled – a not-so-subtle reminder she hadn't eaten. With little choice but to growl back to explain that it would not see any food until sunset, or setting to work, Mehreen chose the latter, giggling under her breath at the prospect of the former.

At this hour of the day, the doors to the rooms were yet closed, so that her first round of cleaning could not yet be started. Nevermind! Mehreen now relied on notes left by Redhriel on the tablet bearing her name hanging from the roster at the entrance of the Steward's study. Said notes today mentioned another elderberry tincture to be made, and waybread to be gathered in the meadows. Much to Mehreen's guilty relief, not a word had been etched into the wax regarding the herb garden, even though she'd promised Elladan to give it another try. Surmising the time needed to accomplish these additional tasks, Mehreen found that she may yet find a moment to make a detour by the pavilion before she finished her day.

The prospect invigorated her more than any meal could have.

A few days past, one of the elven healers had shown her how to proceed about the gathering. Though she had already met him once – right before that awkward moment when she'd had to warn Saineth about her terrible memory – Mehreen hadn't managed to remember his name, and he'd not seemed all that interested in making conversation, either. Mehreen was used to it. Most elves harbored little interest for all things human, and the humans mostly kept to their usual clans and groups, which Mehreen herself was no part of. She would've lied, if she'd said she wasn't lonely, but at least she had Ahlam, and Bruiven, and Elladan.

And the other Elladan, if only for a few hours here and there. A few precious, unexpectedly pure hours, in which she became someone else…if only in his eyes. Someone witty and clever. Someone important. Those moments Mehreen cherished more than any jewel she'd ever possessed.

Picking up a basket from the well-stocked pile in the pharmacy corner, she looped her arm under the handle and headed towards the door when a familiar voice called out to her.

"Trouble sleeping?"

Her heart soared. Hiding her smile under her hair until she could rein it in, Mehreen slowly turned around. "Not at all. But today is Al-Siyaam, so I thought I'd make an early start."

Elladan was standing by the open door of one of the cabinets, a line of jars and vials on the table beside him. In addition to his usual tunic and jerkin, he was wearing a cloak of silver grey, fastened below his chin with a star-shaped brooch and thrown over his shoulders so as not to hinder his movements.

He quirked an eyebrow at the mention of Al-Siyaam, and so Mehreen hastened to explain.

"There is wisdom in such a habit," he then admitted, much to her surprise, while storing the jars away. So far, her and Ahlam's stubbornness to keep observing the ritual had been met with indifference at best, and ofttimes exasperation, as Ahlam had once recounted. "It reminds me of a tradition once practiced by the Nandor, who chose not to eat anything that bleeds for a month each year, so as to be more mindful of Yavanna's gifts."

Mehreen watched him stash a handful of small pouches into a leather satchel hanging by his side. "Are you leaving?"

The words had left her mouth before she'd had the time to think them through. What business of hers was it, if and where he was going? And who was she to even ask? Yet her heart, so giddy but moments before, was aching.

Please don't go.

"Indeed. It has come to our attention that a village may have been infected, not far from here. It is my duty to help those people."

"Oh."

"I shall not be long." Elladan closed the cabinet door, its metallic click cold and grating in Mehreen's ears. Her cheerful mood had vanished as surely as if he'd locked it up as well. "Were you going somewhere as well?"

"To scour the lawn for plantain," she mumbled into her basket, unwilling to look him in the eye lest he noticed her disappointment. People were dying and here she was, bemoaning her fate and the oh-so-awful prospect of having to find herself another occupation than their conversations for the few days to come.

Lalla Nafiyah had been right. She was wicked, weak, and foolish. So very foolish…because she'd allowed herself to become attached to someone who'd never look at her the way she wanted him to.

And which way is that?

Prompted by his extended hand, Mehreen preceded him out of the pharmacy. "Would you wait for me?" he said in her back and, at once, a rushed "Yes!" tumbled from her lips. Mehreen whirled around, bereft, only to find Elladan watching her in amusement.

"Wait here," he instructed, and left her standing in the empty hallway.

He returned quickly, in time for Mehreen to be finished scolding herself for her naivety, and handed her a small, rectangular package wrapped in what looked suspiciously like a swath of linen from the laundry. "I believe this is yours," he smiled, yet Mehreen suddenly found herself unable to so the same.

From up close, the shadows of his face seemed to have darkened, coalescing beneath his eyes. They sharpened his already grave features with arresting cruelty, murmuring of exhaustion and sorrow, from the sunken-in cheeks to the pallor of his thin lips.

"What happened?"

Elladan frowned, his gaze flickering between her face and the package in her hands. "What do you mean?"

"Something's amiss, isn't it?" There must've been a line, somewhere, which Mehreen shouldn't have crossed, but here she was, skipping over it in her concern for him. To say he was unwell would've been an understatement as big as if she'd declared Lalla Laila to be merely unpleasant. "Is it because of the people, in that village?"

Elladan pressed his mouth into a bloodless line, stormy eyes narrowing, and Mehreen understood she'd overreached. He was offended, that much was certain, and she took an unvoluntary step back, cowed into silence and meekness as she clutched the package with unfeeling hands. It wouldn't be the first time she made a similar mistake, confusing honesty for equality, yet it was the first time she hoped for the same old punishment, if bearing it meant she didn't have to lose the one beautiful thing she possessed. Those same shadows that laid siege to Elladan's eyes settled inside her chest, cold and scalding at once, sinking their claws of despair into everything within their reach. No wonder he was suffering, Mehreen thought dimly.

But she wouldn't cry. She wouldn't; not until he'd left her, as he was about to, and she was alone once more.

"How is it, that you can see right through me?" Elladan then murmured with a disbelieving shake of his head. "You should not look." His mouth, so hard the moment before, twisted into a grimace of woe. His shoulders, once taut with pride, slumped as his fists unfurled at his sides. "It is a dangerous endeavor."

Clenching her jaw in defiance, Mehreen lifted her chin. "I've seen worse."

"I doubt it. You have no idea of what I have done. How many lives I have taken in vengeance. Perhaps is this my punishment."

A heavy silence bled between them as he appeared to shrink, turning once again from a distant, unreachable being into a man of flesh and blood. A man Mehreen could touch, if she dared to, if only to show him he needn't face his grief alone.

And if this wasn't reason enough to throw propriety to the wind, then what was?

Elladan startled under her touch, muscles stiff under the fabric of his sleeve, before his entire body heaved a long sigh of acceptance. "I failed to save him. The boy who came to warn us. I tried, but I could not." His voice was raw, coming out in ragged bursts through some terrible pain lodged in his throat. "He was too gravely wounded. I could have managed to pull him back, if only until I could find a way to cure his burns, but I had spent too much of myself while saving Ferwen's twins." The confession poured from his lips, like poison being drawn from a wound. "I keep wondering whether I should have done something more. Or been something more, for that matter."

A first of borrowed sorrow seized her heart. "I'm sorry."

When Mehreen's mother had been sent away, the women of the harem had pressed around the lost little girl she'd been in a flurry of solicitude, assuring her that all would be well, and that it was best for everyone involved. That her mother would regain her health somewhere more fitting, and that it wasn't Mehreen's fault. No-one had told her they were sorry for her loss, and that they understood her chagrin. As Mehreen peered into Elladan's eyes, relieved to find the familiar crow's feet at their corners – a sign he had not yet lost the power to smile – she yearned to do just that. She didn't even know who Ferwen was; she was only sorry he'd lost this new fight.

"If not for who and what you are, there are many people here who otherwise wouldn't be. If you weren't who you are, these same people wouldn't love you as much, and I, for one, couldn't imagine you any better, anyway."

Her babbling seemed to at least have had the effect to amuse him. "I shall take it as a compliment, then, coming from someone with your imagination."

"What was he like?" Mehreen asked, remembering her own yearning to speak about her mother. Her hand still lingered upon his sleeve, and it took all her effort to remove it.

"I do not even know his name."

"Perhaps you will yet find it."

"I will try." Elladan glanced at his arm, where her hand had been before she'd claimed it back. And then to the package she was holding against her breast. "I would have you open it before I leave," he said quietly, "so that I know there is something, at least, I have done right."

Mehreen would've wanted to protest that, in her eyes, he'd only ever done so, but refrained under his beseeching stare. Instead, she unwrapped the folds of plain linen…and gasped. Her mother's book lay in her grasp – the same as before, but not quite. The old scratches were still there, etched into a cover that shone brighter than ever, the golden grooves standing out against the dark, polished leather and, when she turned it to see the spine….

"It's not torn anymore!" she exclaimed, unable to keep the emotion out of her voice. All but crushing the tome against her heart, uncaring of the corners that poked her between her breasts, she raised her eyes to peer into Elladan's. "Thank you," she croaked out, breathless for no other reason than the look upon his face.

Like that. I want him to look at me like that.

The claws were gone from her chest, the void they'd left quickly filling with something new, something warm and tender and needy.

"Take good care of it," Elladan murmured, bowing slightly as he took a step back while his stare still clung to her despite the growing distance between them. "And of your rose. I shall see you soon."

Had there been hope in his voice? Mehreen would wonder long after he was gone, striding away in slightly lighter steps, his chin held just a little higher, his silver cloak floating in his wake like a hero from her childhood tales.

oOoOoOo

The rest of Mehreen's day was spent in a daze, to the point where she ended up wondering whether it'd been plantain she'd picked or some ordinary weed, and went to check the stocks surreptitiously when Redhriel was otherwise occupied. Yet it seemed that her encounter with Elladan had had no other adverse effect beside an exacerbated giddiness that would leave place to turmoil as abruptly as one misses a step when going down the stairs.

He'd mended her mother's book…and then he'd left. But he'd promised to be back….

Oh, why must things be so complicated, here in the North! In Harad, a man with the intention of marrying a woman would send a delegation to her father, and the father would respond in her stead – as simple an approach as it could get, with no place for guessing nor worrying, if only perhaps that her future husband would be a caring one. Such was the substance of Mehreen's last, yet unfulfilled wish; sometimes, she even dreamt of a man loving her enough to content himself with only her, and whom she'd love as much in return. But a woman's affection was for her children, as Lalla Nafiyah had oft instructed her. No sense to squander it upon a man.

It was something of an irony, then, that the only place Mehreen felt compelled to seek was the very one that reminded her of Elladan the most. As soon as she stepped into the clearing, she was filled with a sense of peace.

The days of summer were growing shorter, and nowhere in the settlement did Mehreen feel it as acutely as here, surrounded by pines and majestic beeches that had been left to grow wide and tall because of the space that'd been cleared out for the pavilion, decades ago. The sun had all but set behind their peaks, the sky a soft purple, the air fragrant with resin and roses. The shrubs, left to their own devices ever since the manor had been abandoned, had spread to engulf the pavilion, their boughs laden with heavy blooms seeking to join over the wooden steps.

Careful to keep her skirts out of reach of their thorns, Mehreen ascended onto the deck and inhaled the sweet, lemony scent. Crickets chirped from the whispering grasses; a mockingbird trilled out its song from a nearby canopy.

Someday, this place would be the loveliest of all Bar-Lasbelin.

She lay a hand onto a baluster and, instead of the dry, peeling roughness, found a railing of smooth, brand-new wood. Someone had replaced the balustrades and, as Mehreen found upon closer inspection, scoured the posts as well. Intrigued, she left the shelter of the pavilion roof and, craning her neck, searched the dark outline for its fallen spire.

It stood against the mulberry sky as though nothing had happened.

Fondly remembering Elladan's gaucheness with the vines, she understood he'd asked someone to intervene – someone like the dark-haired elf who'd risked his life rescuing Déordred from the treehouse, his claws like those that Majid, one of her father's gardeners, had used to climb and trim the palm trees of the palace.

Did that mean their work was almost done, and that she'd no longer be able to see him as often?

Once again, doubt claimed Mehreen's heart…

…And hunger, her stomach.

The sun had set; nothing more prevented her from eating, if only to quench her unease. Mehreen had no choice but to retrace her steps back to the Houses, and then southwards to the crossroads before turning left. There wasn't yet a path from the pavilion to the Great Hall, and perhaps was it best, so that this small corner of what felt like home would remain hers a little longer.

Thus preoccupied, Mehreen didn't notice the woman before she came to stand next to her table, her shadow falling into a plate of what would've been steaming venison stew at the beginning of the evening, and that now seemed tepid at best.

"Are you alone?"

Mehreen flinched. That voice…!

She raised her gaze to see Dúnwen standing before her, a plate in one hand and a cup in the other, a look in her eyes as though she'd rather be elsewhere. Mehreen almost hadn't recognized her; her reddish hair, once long and thin, had been cut above the shoulders, and her face, however bony, bore a pinch of pink at the cheeks.

"Do you mind if I…?"

Dúnwen's voice petered out, and the hand holding her plate trembled with effort. Taking pity on her Mehreen nodded, both wary and intrigued; though the hall stood almost deserted, some late diners like herself still lingered at the tables closer to the kitchens, including a few women. Appearing to having mustered her resolve, Dúnwen came to sit in front of her, the rolling of bones beneath the skin of her wrists a painful thing to watch as she picked at her dinner, nibbling a morsel here, a piece of carrot there, but mostly pushing the food around so that the plate would look like she'd eaten. Did she, too, fear Godwyn's booming wrath? Once or twice Mehreen caught her fleeting stare, as though checking Mehreen hadn't fled in the meantime and wondering, perhaps, if she ought to do so first.

As Mehreen reached for her cup, the scraping of metal on wood drew her attention.

Dúnwen had reached under her collar to produce a silver locket on a chain, which she'd lain on the table and was pushing towards her, her jaw clenched in resolve. "I just wanted you to know his name," she demurred, her gaze pinned to the image of the man inside. "Erkenleth. His name was Erkenleth." Her voice trembled as her white-knuckled fingers pressed the locket against Mehreen's plate with a clink as resounding as though she'd slammed her fist upon the table. "He was killed during the final charge, I'm told. He died a hero."

Mehreen swallowed, gathering her hands into her lap, away from the disquieting token. Inside the locket, the man was forever smiling, oblivious as his picture had been captured of the fate awaiting him.

"My brother died on that battlefield…." she murmured. Harun too had posed for a painting before he'd left for Gondor, decked out in his golden-scaled armor with his sword at the ready, anticipating the victory before the battle had even begun. Upon remembering his cruel grin that now leered from a wall in her father's study, a shiver crept up Mehreen's spine. "…And I wish I could say the same of him." If Elladan could find the courage to someday speak the name of the boy he'd tried so hard to save but couldn't, she could well utter that of Dúnwen's husband. And if Lord Legolas had had the strength to apologize for his friend's actions, she could at least try to amend for those of her brother. "I know it won't change what happened to your husband…to Erkenleth," Mehreen said, her voice wobbly at first but gaining verve as she spoke, "but for what it's worth, I'm sorry."

She held her breath, waiting for the earth to open or the One to strike her for her impiety, yet nothing happened.

Or almost nothing. Dúnwen released a shaky breath, her shoulders slumping with the certainty she'd been heard, her relief such that Mehreen felt it in her own chest, as though a chain had been dropped from around her heart.

"If I ever return to Harad, I promise to tell the truth of what I've seen here. Of the people I met. Of you, and Déordred, and Erkenleth, who died to keep you both safe." She paused to catch her breath. "I think he would've been proud of you, and of the love you bear your son."

"I just wish…I wish Déordred could've grown to know him," Dúnwen choked, grasping the locket with all her might, burying it between her fingers with the desire, no doubt, to feel the touch of the man hidden within. She offered her face to the darkness outside, shying away from Mehreen's stare. Mehreen guessed she wanted very much to be angry, but all she found was sadness. "He doesn't understand why his father isn't here. I don't…it's just so hard, going on without him."

"It feels like the world ought've stopped, doesn't it? And that you alone remember him." Jabbing her chin downwards in forfeit, Dúnwen squeezed her eyes shut and wept. "But you're not, and you don't have to face it alone, either. I too thought there was no hope in this place. That the elves were an indifferent folk, too righteous to understand the troubles of mortals, and that I was alone. Only I wasn't, and it took me far too long to see it."

Remembering the grass bent by the hail, Mehreen yearned to tell Dúnwen that sometimes one's strength lie in one's gentleness, even if said gentleness was directed inward. That a fortress of solitude, however reassuring in its impregnability, could well turn into a prison, and that even someone as proud as Elladan could falter, and doubt, and even weep. But she didn't, keeping that side of him for herself, like a stolen treat best savored thoroughly and in secret, for such was the taste of their shared moments – rare and bittersweet.

"There are people here who would help you," she ventured instead, "and, with your permission, I would like you to count me amongst them."