Lord Amdiron is smiling.

I watch him across the King's table as his son speaks to him animatedly about his journey, and wonder when last the stone-faced lieutenant allowed himself the luxury. I cannot remember it. As a child I found him intimidating, as an adult more so. But his loyalty to the King and the realm is unfailing.

As for Ferdir, he carried a smile upon entering the capacious Dining Hall, and it has never faltered. Not even when receiving a frigid reception from the King while paying his respects. Thranduil gave him a mere nod, uttering nothing in acknowledgment. The others at the table seem overjoyed at Ferdir's presence.

My gaze moves to the King. He sits at the center of the long table, the high back of his oak chair carved to resemble a row of forest trees, the tops of their boughs tightly entwined. It is a smaller representation of his throne, and though it lacks the grandeur of the elk antlers, it is no less beautiful.

Its occupant is not engaged in any conversation, his glacier eyes staring at his plate of untouched venison and summer greens. I wonder if the hard set of his jaw and rigidness of his posture are caused by our visitor. What could Thranduil have against Amdiron's son?

"I had forgotten your excellent taste in wine, my lord," says Ferdir, addressing the King with a raised goblet. "I found the drink in the Lady's realm too sweet for my palate."

Thranduil tips his head forward slightly. I wonder if anyone else noticed the movement at all.

Undaunted, Ferdir continues. "Your great cave stores the finest wine in Arda, and I daresay the finest maidens. The ladies of Lòrien, though indeed fair, lack individuality. They seek to imitate their Lady of Light, whose beauty cannot be imitated. I prefer more...uniqueness."

Everyone's eyes shift to mine as they follow his pointed gaze, including Thranduil's. Elros clears his throat.

Feeling my skin flush and heart pound like a stampeding Mûmakil, I suddenly wish to excuse myself and hide away. But it would only provide more fodder for the gossips. What game is Ferdir playing? I am unsure whether to be offended or flattered by his brazenness.

"What is your occupation in Lòrien, Lord Ferdir?" I ask, ignoring his comment. "Do you help patrol the borders as you once did here?"

The others resume eating and lose their interest. I exhale in relief. It is only Elros who maintains a keen stare.

"Yes, alongside a friend of mine: Haldir. Have you heard of him, my lady?"

"So often of late that I am now curious. He accompanied Lady Caewen on her return journey this spring, but did not linger..."

"Ah, Lady Caewen." He takes a bite of melon.

"We were happy to see her return to the realm indefinitely. You must have been acquainted with her in Lórien..."

"Indeed, I was." Not elaborating, he reaches for the fruit platter and scoops more fragrant red melon on his plate.

His impassive replies about Caewen are puzzling, but I say nothing further. Would they not have shared a bond, being from the Greenwood and far from home? Perhaps he found Caewen's secretive demeanor off-putting, or perhaps there are ill feelings between them. My imagination lights up like the amber pendants which hang low down the length of the table.

Legolas leans forward. "I know your stay is short, but the Guard is in dire need of help. If you have other obligations, I understand--"

"My lord," Ferdir interrupts, "I planned to volunteer my service even if not requested."

I relax as they begin discussing the ongoing evil in Mirkwood, relieved the attention is no longer on me. When the staff from the kitchens arrive to clear the table, I notice Thranduil's plate is still full.

"...have not faced the same perils in Lòrien as here, and there are no spiders to contend with. If your realm asked for aid, it..."

In every topic but Caewen, Ferdir has endless enthusiasm, his angular face showing a myriad of expressions. If he is trying to be the stark opposite of his father, he is succeeding. Yet I am curious if he is overcompensating for being away from his homeland for too long.

A lone flutist plays a light, summery melody as the dinner comes to a close. Sírdor's mother is still absent from her place at the harp. Only an empty chair remains, a solemn reminder of what has been lost. I close my eyes.

"May I walk you to your chambers, my lady?"

Ferdir's cheerful voice lifts me from my dark ruminations. His hand is resting on the back of my chair.

I notice everyone is leaving. Thranduil stands from his seat, and for a moment his eyes touch mine. Too many evenings have passed since our last conversation. I miss his counsel, and long to know what troubles him.

I offer Ferdir an apologetic smile. "Another time, perhaps? I believe your father would prefer you to be in his company tonight, after so long."

"You are right, of course." He nods. "Tomorrow, then...Lady Rîneth."

Lord Amdiron smiles again when Ferdir joins him, making them look like twin brothers. I am soon left alone in the high-ceilinged hall with Thranduil. The sudden absence of the wafting, airy tune from the flute makes the silence loud.

"You knew I wished to speak with you?"

"You made it clear." He starts for the door. "Let us go outside first."

Thranduil takes the lead as we walk to his private rooms nestled far above the Dining Hall. His large living chamber is dark and cool when we pass through it. Afraid of stumbling, I lightly touch his back as we climb the spiraling steps to the familiar rock platform beneath the waning sunlight. I then let go.

He strides to the edge and leans over the railing in an unguarded pose.

"What troubles you?" I ask, joining his side.

He withholds a reply, his face carved stone. I know demanding answers will only heighten the wall he keeps between us. It is better to wait. That he has let me accompany him is sufficient proof he will tell me in his own time.

I breathe in the heavy, humid air and slide up my linen dress sleeves. The heat lingers even at eventide, making my lightweight garment a winter robe. A humorous image of my friend Mattie, the farmer's wife, springs to mind unbidden. One unforgiving summer she hiked her skirt above her knees and rolled her sleeves to her shoulders, not apologizing for it. Seeing my scandalized expression, she bluntly suggested I do the same, and that it would be good for my skin to see the sun.

Mattie knew the legendary propriety of the Eldar and delighted in my reaction. But I have since longed to be daring and do the same, and have even imagined the comical reactions from my kin. Now I imagine Elros, so distracted by the sight of my bare flesh that he runs into the cavern wall and injures himself. And Thranduil...he would likely banish me from the realm.

Even long after her death, Mattie's vibrant view of life holds a special room in my memory.

The resounding howl from a warg disrupts my thoughts, and Thranduil's as well. He finally turns to me.

"I received bad tidings today."

My heart lurches. "What is it?"

"On my orders, Legolas and Tauriel led a host to drive out the spider nests near our borders again. The mission was successful, but the youngest member of my guard was struck by a small band of orcs."

"Amathanar..." My throat tightens, remembering the bright-eyed youth who mirrored Legolas' every move for a time, eager to be just like him. "He did not survive?"

"I gave the news to his family before dinner."

I suck in my breath. It is no wonder why he did not touch his meal.

"Why did you not make an announcement at the table? It was not an occasion for trivial conversation."

"I have not seen such joy on Amdiron's face for a long time. I decided to wait before sapping it." His brows come together in a scowl. "Ferdir, home at last. He should have returned long ago."

I wonder again about his animosity towards Ferdir, but it is no time for probing further. Before thinking better of it, I place my hand on his shoulder. "The blame lies with Sauron alone. You had no choice but to remove the spiders. We cannot allow his evil to fester further, driving us from our home..."

He looks at the forest again. The moon has replaced the final traces of sunlight. "It is a malevolence which sleeps not, a raging fire across the lands. The flames have claimed many in my lifetime. Yet here I remain above the fading trees."

Knowing he not only speaks of his father, but his wife as well, a deep and fleeting sorrow grips me, a flash of his inner grief.

"Amathanar knew the risks. His family will see him again in the Undying Lands. He has not passed from this world forever."

"It is more troubling news to a people weary from it. We have already moved once, Rîneth. They no longer have faith I can protect them."

I study his profile, the way his ears taper to a point, larger than my own. The sides of his crown no longer rest upon them; he discarded it when passing through his chambers. He is vulnerable, perhaps more vulnerable than I have ever seen him. Tonight, he has let down part of his wall...to me.

Is this how he speaks with Ada when seeking counsel in private? Or is this a side even his closest advisor has not seen?

"You have protected them for three-thousand years. If they still lack faith, they always will. The Valar are on our side. They gifted us the strongest warrior in Middle-earth."

"Your idealistic view of me is perhaps mistaken."

"My views on most things are idealistic," I admit. "But I would be a fool to lack faith in you."

He captures my gaze, holding it intensely for a few breaths before letting go, and returns to that unknown point beyond the Wood.

"Thranduil, your people--"

"We shall speak of it no more tonight," he says, his impenetrable wall restored. "I believe you intended to discuss your friend."

I swallow my frustration. "Not anymore."

Discussing Gwendes feels insignificant now, even laughable. Why did he open up to me, only to close himself again in a mere blink? It was like catching a rare glimpse of a white hart, it disappearing into the shadowed woods before I could see it clearly, leaving me to question if I saw it at all.

"Gwendes will run back to you soon enough."

"It matters little..."

"Elros is eager to marry," he says. "I am sending him to Imladris on an errand. Perhaps there he will find a bride."

I look at him, surprised. "Perhaps."

"You rectified your mistake. She was warned; she cannot say otherwise."

"Your harpist is still absent."

"Gwendes should bear that guilt, not yourself. Let it go, Rîneth."

"She is no longer interested in my friendship."

"Then she has lost far more than she realizes."

A/N: Will you vote and comment if you like the story so far? It would mean all of Arda to me! ;) Thanks so much!