Chapter Six
The return journey to Orome felt like a breath of relief to Manwathiel. After months of travel and political pleasantries, they were finally on their way home. Legolas noticed her flagging energy, insisting they stop often to rest. He remained by her side constantly, aware of her pallor and exhaustion. Despite her protests, he had grown increasingly worried.
When they finally arrived at the palace, it was twilight. A crisp breeze greeted them as the forest opened into the familiar sprawl of Thranduil's halls. Manwathiel dismounted, leaning against her horse briefly before Legolas caught her arm.
"You need to lie down," he murmured.
"I'll be fine," she assured him, though even her voice betrayed her fatigue.
Thranduil met them in the courtyard, stepping gracefully from the entrance with a look of anticipation. His regal bearing was undercut only by the flicker of warmth in his eyes.
"Welcome home," he greeted, clasping Legolas's arm in greeting and planting a brief kiss on Manwathiel's forehead. His eyes lingered on her. "You look weary."
Manwathiel gave him a tired smile. "The road was long."
Legolas wrapped an arm around her. "I'll get her settled. We can talk after dinner."
Thranduil nodded, but his gaze sharpened with concern as they headed inside.
Later that evening, after Manwathiel was tucked into bed with tea and a blanket, Legolas joined Thranduil in the great hall. His father was sitting at the large oak table, a glass of wine in hand, visibly pleased about something.
"How was the tour?" Thranduil asked, gesturing for Legolas to join him. "You wrote me but I haven't seen you in months."
"Tiring but successful. Palyar will send goods by spring, and Tirion was particularly generous. They're sending goldsmiths to train artisans here," Legolas said, taking a seat. "But I've been more worried about Manwathiel than the negotiations. Something's wrong."
Thranduil nodded, filing the information away but focusing on his son. "You'll have time to care for her now that you're back. And I have news."
Legolas raised a brow. "About Mother?"
"Yes." Thranduil leaned forward, an unusual excitement creeping into his voice. "She is… radiant. Different, but familiar in all the ways that matter. It's odd courting her again. We write to one another often."
Legolas grinned. "How is she responding? Is she receptive?"
Thranduil gave a rare chuckle. "She agreed to court, though I suspect she finds me a bit puzzling. It's odd not to call her Meleth. And she… dreams. Dreams of her past life."
Legolas tilted his head in curiosity. "Dreams? Does she remember anything?"
"Not yet," Thranduil admitted. "But she told me her dreams are strange and unsettling. It won't be long before she begins to recall fragments. The soul bond will help anchor those memories—if I can deepen it."
Legolas smiled warmly. "I think it's incredible. After all this time, she's within reach. And you grew her irises."
"Indeed." Thranduil gave him a sly look. "And she liked them."
Legolas shook his head with an amused laugh. "You're going soft."
Thranduil's expression softened just slightly. "It's been a long time since I've felt this kind of hope, Legolas."
They sat quietly for a moment, basking in the stillness of the evening. Thranduil's eyes drifted to the hall that led toward Manwathiel's chambers. "You should take care of your wife. She looks unwell."
Legolas nodded, his worry deepening. "She'll be alright. I'll see to it."
Meanwhile, in their chambers, Manwathiel lay curled beneath a warm quilt. Though her body ached with exhaustion, sleep didn't come easily. When it finally did, it brought dreams that felt too real.
In her dream, she stood in a vast forest, draped in green and gold. The air smelled like cedar, and far in the distance, she heard the sounds of music—lutes and harps playing a melody she recognized but couldn't place.
She heard herself call out a name: "Elessar!" Mawathiel turned and saw a man she didn't recognize in the distance. She heard hoofbeats.
She turned, and there he was—Elessar dressed in armor that gleamed like moonlight, his crown of leaves perched regally atop his head. She instinctively knew him though she had never seen him before. He had Legolas' coloring but this elf was younger, fiercer, and the way he looked at her sent a pang of love and loss straight through her chest. She knew this man. She loved him. She worried about him.
Before she could say anything, the dream shifted, and she found herself running through a battlefield. There was fire. Screaming. The sound of metal on metal. Her chest tightened as she struggled to breathe.
Then she woke with a start, gasping for air.
The next morning, Manwathiel rode to Eryn to visit her father. Her mother was in the capitol visiting her parents but her father was waiting for her. The dreams left her feeling disoriented, and she hoped some time with her family would help clear her head. But Elrond, ever perceptive, noticed the change in her almost immediately.
"You look pale, daughter," Elrond said, his brow furrowed as they sat in his study.
"I've just been tired," she replied with a dismissive wave.
Elrond gave her a knowing look. "It is more than exhaustion, I think."
Manwathiel shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. "I've been traveling nonstop. That's all."
He leaned forward, studying her with the precision of a healer. "Tell me honestly—when was your last cycle?"
Manwathiel blinked, her mind spinning. She hadn't thought about it, but now that he mentioned it…
"Father…" She stared at him, the realization dawning slowly. "Do you think—?"
"It's possible." He smiled gently. "I suspect you are with child."
She gasped and replayed scenes in her mind. She starting counting. He was right. It seemed likely.
"There was no begetting." She whispered, still replaying the past few months in her mind. She was numb with shock
"Sometimes the valar have other plans, my dear. I did warn Thranduil you would need a nursery." Elrond said.
Manwathiel looked at him in surprise. "You warned Thranduil?" she asked.
"I foresaw children long ago." Elrond nodded. Manwathiel sat back, her head spinning.
"When does mother return from grandmother's?" she asked. She was everything all at once. Excited, confused, afraid, happy and hopeful. She felt like she might burst.
"A couple of days. I'll send her to you when she comes back." Elrond said reassuringly. Manwathiel nodded.
"Let's keep this between us until I can tell Legolas." She asked hopefully. Elrond nodded and patted her hand.
Manwathiel returned home in early evening. The soft glow of twilight filled the room, casting long shadows over the bed. Manwathiel sat on the edge, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her dress. She glanced nervously toward the doorway. The heavy weight in her chest wasn't just fatigue—it was anticipation, tinged with uncertainty.
When the door creaked open and Legolas entered, she felt her breath hitch. He gave her a tired but warm smile, his hair slightly mussed from a long day. His expression shifted as soon as he saw her sitting so still.
"Are you alright?" he asked, crossing the room in a few long strides. His hands rested gently on her shoulders, his thumb stroking the fabric of her sleeve.
She hesitated, suddenly nervous, the words sticking in her throat. *Why am I nervous?* she thought. This was Legolas—her Legolas.
Taking a steadying breath, she looked up at him, her eyes flickering with both excitement and apprehension. "I... I think I'm pregnant."
For a moment, time seemed to freeze. Legolas blinked at her, as if her words hadn't quite sunk in. And then it hit him, all at once. His lips parted in shock, his bright blue eyes wide with wonder.
"You—what?" he whispered, leaning closer, as if needing to hear it again to believe it. "Pregnant?"
She nodded slowly, biting her lip. "I think so. I haven't felt well for weeks, and… Elrond thinks it's likely." Her voice wavered slightly as she finished, her nerves rising.
Legolas stared at her, his emotions flickering between disbelief, joy, and the tiniest glimmer of worry. "Pregnant," he repeated, this time with reverence. And then his face broke into a smile—wide and brilliant, as if the world had suddenly become brighter. He dropped to his knees before her, his hands sliding down to rest lightly on her waist.
"We're going to have a child," he whispered, his voice filled with awe. "A child, *our* child…" He laughed then, a soft, incredulous sound, and leaned his forehead against her stomach. His hands stayed steady, but his breath shuddered with the depth of his emotion.
Manwathiel's tension eased, and she let out a breathless laugh. "I knew you'd be happy," she murmured, her fingers threading through his hair.
"Happy?" He looked up at her, his expression a mixture of joy and amazement. "I don't think I've ever been this happy." He rose to his feet in one fluid movement, pulling her gently into his arms, cradling her against him like she was the most precious thing in the world. "Manwathiel... I can't believe it."
But beneath the joy, there was also a flicker of something else—a shadow of concern. His brow furrowed slightly as he held her. "You've been unwell," he said softly. "Is it... is it making you sick?"
Manwathiel leaned into him, her arms sliding around his waist. "I'm just tired, mostly. Elrond says it happens sometimes."
Legolas pressed a kiss to the top of her head, holding her a little tighter. "We'll get through it," he whispered fiercely. "I'll be here every step of the way. Whatever you need—whatever it takes."
She smiled, reassured by the determination in his voice. "I know," she whispered back.
He pulled away just enough to look into her eyes, brushing a stray curl from her cheek. "And you—are you alright? Really?" His expression was serious now, as if he could wrap her in his love and shield her from any discomfort.
"I'm alright," she said softly. "It's just... a lot to take in."
He kissed her then, slow and tender, his hands cupping her face. When he pulled back, his smile returned, softer now but no less radiant. "We're going to be parents," he whispered, still marveling at the words.
She laughed, light and joyous, and for the first time in weeks, the weight she'd been carrying seemed to lift. "We are," she whispered, her heart swelling with love for him.
Legolas rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closing for a moment. "Father is going to lose his mind," he said with a chuckle.
Manwathiel grinned. "I know."
He pulled her close again, rocking her gently in his arms. "We're going to be a family," he whispered, the words heavy with wonder.
In that moment, everything else—the tension with finding his mother, the weariness, the uncertainty—faded away, leaving only joy and the promise of a new beginning.
Legolas was elated at the possibility of a child. Manwathiel, however, was overwhelmed by the news. With her health already strained, the added responsibility weighed heavily on her. She tried to meet her duties, but her fatigue worsened, making it difficult to keep up with her schedule.
Thranduil noticed almost immediately.
"You've been late to every meeting this week," Thranduil remarked one afternoon, his tone sharp but not unkind. "This is not like you, Manwathiel."
She sighed, massaging her temples. "I know. I'm trying, Thranduil. I just—" She hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal.
He crossed his arms, his gaze stern but curious. "If you are unwell, you must tell me. I cannot afford to have uncertainty in the ranks."
The words stung, though she knew he meant no harm. "I'm not unwell. I'm just…" She trailed off, looking at Legolas for support.
Legolas stepped forward. "We think she may be pregnant."
Thranduil's eyes widened, the irritation melting away into surprise. "Pregnant?"
"Yes," Manwathiel said softly. "I didn't realize it at first, but now it makes sense. I just… need some time."
Thranduil's expression shifted from stern to thoughtful. "This is joyous news," he said slowly. "I didn't realize you planning to have a child."
"Neither did we!" Legolas laughed.
"The child was valar sent?" Thranduil asked in surprise. Valar sent children were rare but they had had a named foretelling. Perhaps the hand of the valar were involved in every aspect of their marriage.
"I will try to keep my commitments." Manwathiel promised dutifully.
Legolas' eyes flashed. "No, you will take care yourself and the child and I will cover you commitments as needed." He glared at his father, daring him to defy him. Thranduil gazed back calmly.
"My dear I am thrilled. Anything I can for you, you need only ask." He said warmly to Manwathiel.
Manwathiel hugged him happily. "Thank you, Thranduil." She said.
The tension eased, but there was still a lingering discomfort between them. Thranduil was not used to delayed duties or unexpected changes, and Manwathiel's inability to meet expectations—even for a valid reason—tested his patience. He also was concerned about the destined nature of it. Elrond had told him that it was important he be close, was this child why? Had Elrond kept the child from him or had the child been hidden from his sight? The questions swirled but Manwathiel was smiling happily and he kept his concerns to himself.
Over the following weeks, Manwathiel spent most of her time resting, while Legolas handled their shared responsibilities. He took over the building of the school and covered any other meetings she had. Meanwhile, Thranduil continued to write to Massira, his letters growing increasingly personal. She began sharing her dreams with him—dreams that mirrored their life together in Middle Earth, though she didn't understand their significance.
In one letter, Massira confessed, "I feel as though I've known you forever, though I cannot explain why. Sometimes, when I dream, I see a younger version of you. You wear armor and look at me as if I were the only thing in the world."
Thranduil smiled as he read her words, his heart swelling with hope. The dreams were a sign. Soon, she would remember.
And when she did, he would be waiting.
In Tuile, Massira's nights continued to be filled with strange, vivid dreams that left her breathless upon waking. They felt more real than any dream she'd ever known. In these visions, she saw herself as someone else entirely, wearing elegant gowns, living in grand halls filled with ancient beauty—and always, there was a man by her side.
In one dream, she found herself in a vast forest, her bare feet pressing against soft moss. The trees seemed to whisper her name—*Meleth… Meleth…* She turned toward the sound and saw a tall figure, his face shrouded by shadow, but his eyes shone with fierce devotion. She knew him somehow, though she could not recall from where.
"Come back to me," the figure whispered.
The dream shifted abruptly, and Massira stood in the middle of a battlefield. The sky was blackened with smoke, and the air was thick with the sounds of war—swords clashing, cries of pain. Her chest constricted with panic as she searched desperately for something—or someone.
Then she saw him again: the same man, but now clad in armor, his long hair flowing behind him as he fought through a sea of enemies. He turned, locking eyes with her, and the intensity of his gaze struck her to the core. She felt an overwhelming sense of love and loss, as if the man before her was someone she had cherished for an eternity… and lost.
Before she could cry out to him, the battlefield dissolved into smoke, and she woke in her bed, heart pounding.
The next time Thranduil visited, she decided to tell him about her dreams. They met at the White Owl's back garden, sipping tea under the shade of a tall tree. She hesitated for a moment, unsure how to begin.
"Do you ever have strange dreams, Thranduil?" she asked cautiously.
Thranduil tilted his head, studying her. "What kind of dreams?"
She toyed with the hem of her dress, feeling foolish. "Dreams where I… where I'm someone else. Or… someone I used to be." She gave a nervous laugh. "That sounds absurd, doesn't it?"
Thranduil's gaze softened, his heart aching with the weight of centuries. "Not at all," he murmured. "What do you see in these dreams?"
Massira shook her head, struggling to describe the overwhelming emotions that accompanied them. "It's always the same man… I feel like I know him. Like I've known him forever. But when I wake, it all slips away."
She looked up at Thranduil, confused and vulnerable. "Do you think dreams like that mean anything?"
Thranduil's hand twitched with the urge to reach out and touch her—something he'd done a thousand times in their past life, but which now felt like a forbidden act. "Dreams are curious things," he said gently. "Sometimes they show us what we miss. Sometimes, what we need."
Massira nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful. "I feel… like I've lost something. Something important."
Thranduil's heart ached at her words, but he kept his voice steady. "Perhaps your dreams are trying to guide you back to it."
He was keeping things light with her but he was bathed in hope. She was remembering him. He wondered when she would remember Legolas. He reminded himself to be patient but he felt he was so close to having his wife back after millennia of being alone.
Thranduil felt a growing sense of anticipation. She was remembering—he was certain of it. Though her dreams were fragmented and confusing, they hinted at the life they had once shared.
He knew it wouldn't be long before the memories fully returned. But he would be patient. This time, he would court her gently, without the weight of a crown or the pressure of war hanging over them.
As he wrote his reply, Thranduil allowed himself a rare smile.Soon,he thought.Soon, she will remember. Deep down fears nagged him. What if she wanted to stay as Massira? What if she remembered him and rejected him and Legolas in favor of her new life?