The words didn't register in Legolas's brain. It was as if a gear had gotten stuck or his brain had simply shut down. How could he understand the phrase after months of believing he had been orphaned?

The words simply did not compute.

"What did you say?" It wasn't very princely, but at that moment, he didn't care.

The guard nervously shuffled on his feet, his soft armor brushing familiarly, and gripped his long spear tighter. "King Thranduil ordered the patrols to pull in closer to the villages. He fe—"

"When did he say this?"

The guard blinked. "A fortnight ago, my Prince."

That would've been months after Legolas had heard his father was dead.

Through the numbing shock, Legolas felt Lumornel step up beside him. "Is he well?"

Garavon furrowed his light eyebrows in confusion. "Who? The King?"

Lumornel nodded, her luminous white hair shifting.

"Yes, the King is well."

"So... he's not dead...?" Lumornel asked bluntly with hesitation. An odd combination, but very much her.

The fire of alertness sparked in Garavon's eyes and in a blink, his posture tightened and his hold on the spear was loose enough for him to thrust forward.

"Daro," Legolas said firmly. "She means no harm."

"My Prince—"

"Up until just a few moments ago, I myself thought the King dead."

The guards blinked again in surprise, but he didn't back out of the threatening posture.

"If you cause her harm, you will have my wrath descended upon you," he nearly growled. Legolas then returned to a lighter tone, trying to act as if his blood wasn't racing with joy, doubt, and anticipation all at once. "But you needn't worry about that. Lumornel would have you on your back before you could even move your spear."

It was a reprimand as much as any, to openly doubt a warrior's skill—as much as it was true. Legolas knew he'd have to patrol with Garavon at some point soon, at least boost the ellon's morale and let him know his prince was not angry with him. And let him know that no warrior could go one-on-one with Lumornel and win. Not while she had that star-light singing within her. Maybe even while she doesn't.

Legolas, with Lumornel at his side, briskly walked into the entrance of his home. The long, wide 'hallway' was more like a long, empty corridor with stone pillars carved into the likeness of trees. A perfect place for an elfing to hide from a nanny, then slip out the exit into the awaiting forest.

Lumornel gazed upon the carving and guards in amazement, her eyes struggling not to become the size of saucers. Then he remembered she hadn't been through here as much as he. Legolas tried to keep his gaze from her, tried to stop the pain. Yet it came. His eyes always found their way to her, she was like his personal magnet. Not looking at her and acknowledging her loving spirit and blinding beauty was like trying to catch the wind.

Legolas strode through his home, trying to keep himself from running. So, he drank in his surroundings, the fact that he was home. For so long he had wanted out, had wanted an adventure of his own. Like the elves of old. But he didn't realize how much he would miss his home, his people, his father. Mirkwood was simply the place for him to be. To belong.

The guards acknowledged him as he passed, either in a phrase or in the straightening of their posture. As if their spine had been a string and it was suddenly pulled taut. Their commander, general, prince was back. Finally.

"Where is the King?" Legolas asked strongly to a guard outside the throne room. Only two elves here, his father must not be within the doors.

"In the Study. My Lord."

"Welcome home, Caun Legolas," greeted the veteran from the other side of the doors.

Legolas was so caught up in finding his father that he didn't respond. Allowing his feet to quickly travel through the familiar halls, he gave up on a brisk pace and settled for something much more efficient. Noblemen and guards and maids were all startled at the sudden sight of seeing their long-gone prince running through the halls.

And then he was jolted to a stop, right in front of his Father's study. Neatly clothed and armed guards stood outside of the doors—another good sign.

"My Prince—" The guards both intoned, fist placed above heart.

Legolas, in his haste, ignored them. His heart was hammering in his chest, feeling as if a horse was running over it. The feeling of a thousand bees made his blood race, making him feel as if he could fly. His throat felt like a fist of clay had been jammed in it.

He threw the doors open, his mind so overrun with emotion he didn't knock.

The curtains were drawn—like they always were. The room was immaculate, except for the desk, which had papers astray—all in separate 'stacks' that made sense only to Thranduil.

And there was Thranduil himself, sitting at the desk in an ornate chair. Alive. Rubbing his brow, he sighed. "I had ordered th—"

He broke off midsentence, jaw slackening.

And then Legolas witnessed something he ever rarely saw; his father's icy eyes thawing. He stood slowly, as if seeing a waking dream.

"Ion nin."

"Adar," Legolas's voice broke. He didn't know what to do. He stood there, awkwardly, staring at his father in disbelief. Was he real? If Legolas put a hand out, would his fingers pass through an apparition?

Thranduil suddenly strode forward, maroon robes fluttering, and clutched his son to his chest.

"Little-leaf," he murmured in relief. "You're home."

Legolas clutched his father back, first in stunned silence, then in joy and solace.

He felt at home in his father's warm embrace.

*********

Legolas pulled back from his Father's hug, seeming to glow. But his eyebrows creased in thought. Perhaps wondering how his Father could be alive.

I shifted from where I awkwardly stood in the doorway. The guards hadn't stopped me from going in but... I didn't want to risk—

The King's eyes flickered up and met mine.

"So she's the one," the King mused.

As always, the deep baritone of his words startled me.

Legolas started, as if he thought the King's words had meant something else.

"Yes, Father. She is the Prophecy-Written." Legolas gazed at me, seeing something in me that I did not. "She is the daughter of Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel."

"How can that be?" The King asked while raking criticizing eyes over me. I wanted to squirm.

"We know not yet, Father. 'Tis something not even Galadriel knows of."

The King stilled in thought, gazing intently at me. His eyes so intense, I swear I could feel them boring holes in my skin.

"Child," the King spoke, "how does the Prophecy fit you?"

If I wasn't so tense, I would've jumped a foot into the air. The King, speaking to me?

"Um," I said quickly—then cursed myself for being so inarticulate. "I still have not figured out the meaning of the prophecy, but the first verse seems to fit my appearance."

I held my breath, watching the King's icy eyes asses me, wondering what biting reply he'd say. Maybe he'd call me out to be a fraud. Call me a fake. Or too much of a child to 'save Arda.'

Suddenly, Thranduil's gaze felt like ten tons of weight pressing on me and the very air seemed suffocating. I couldn't maintain eye contact, so, feeling my face flush, I turned my iron-gaze to a large leather bound-book on the desk—

Yellow pages; must be old. Hmm, dark leather. Stained maybe—?

"Father, perhaps Lady Lumornel could be dismissed?"

Oh, Valar bless you, Legolas.

His blue eyes were already soft when I met his gaze. I tried sending every bit of how thankful I was through my eyes.

The King waved a hand in dismissal.

"I will meet you in the Library," Legolas said with a reassuring nod.

I nodded back, clenching my teeth, and scurried—well, tried not to scurry out of the room.

*********

I huffed in frustration, shaking my head as I sat back down. How hard was it for someone to get me some ink? The "librarian" obviously wanted all my inspiration to work gone. Obviously, the scrawny ellon wanted me to bounce on my toes as I had waited for a simple inkwell and quill.

Shaking my head, I flattened a piece of parchment, placing paperweights on its corners. Then, I dipped my quill in the long-awaited ink.

Then paused as the quill met paper.

What to write?

Sighing dejectedly, I wrote the entire prophecy. I had read and reread the thing so many times, it'd be impossible for me to get it incorrect. Letting my eyes skim over the words for the thousandth time, I tried to untangle to words, the hidden meaning. If only I could reach through and just ask what it meant. It had to be so blatantly simple that once I find out, I'll smack myself in the face for not noticing it.

Biting my lip, I rewrote the first stanza;

'Name of tree and shadow that she will be,

hair of winter,

eyes of green,

Daughter of Elves she will be.'

Okay, I thought, this part's easy. Lumornel—having the meaning of 'tree shade.' My hair is white, same as Celeborn's. Like snow catching the light of a wintry sun. My eyes—simply green. And... big surprise! My parents, both adoptive and biological (somehow), are elven.

Okay. Okay. Easy part's done.

With a foreboding sense of frustration, I scratched out the second stanza.

'Power of none, except thee

Only in times of darkness,

where there may seem no light,

there,

alight,

she will be.'

I bit my knuckle. Referring to my starlight-energy-thing? Right?

'Unforeseen, forbidden endearment.'

"What in Valinor is that supposed to mean!" I throw my hands up in exclamation, making the inkwell tremble as I brought them down sharply.

Forbidden—uh-maybe—maybe—forbidden (by myself) to command the Uur Rauko? Unforeseen—Saruman's torture? Endearment—as in a compliment? How can a compliment be forbidden...? Of course, a compliment is 'unforeseen' but... forbidden...?

I nearly crushed the quill in my fingers, in fact, the ink bottle on the table wobbled and shook from the trembling of my power. Why, oh why, did prophecies have to be so obscure?

With the fire of frustration burning in me, I wrote the next stanza. What tangle of meaning would I find in this one? I was tempted to just push the paper of notes away and curl up in a cushioned chair I found a little ways away, pulling out my hair. Maybe I'd come back later.

'Poundings she will encounter,

Tales of new and now and then,

Less be of mind and more of another.'

Great. Just great. Poundings? Like orcs beating me to a pulp? Just what I needed.

But the 'tales of new'?

... visions...?

I pushed away from the table, nearly succeeding in having ink bleed all over the surface. Elves gave me side glances as I rushed past, desperately trying to push the rest of the prophecy from my mind. But the next couple of sentences came anyway.

But in new times where she will be greatly needed,

no need will she be.

Worst fear confirmed. Lovely. Not only did I suspect I'd fail every innocent being of Middle-Earth, but this bit of future-telling sets my failure in stone.

I stopped in a dark alcove, resting my forehead on the cool polished wood of a bookcase. Terrible tears squeezed past my closed lashes. And I gave up on trying to hold it together. I had been holding in my fears since before Rohan, trying to keep myself from completely losing it from my worries. So many things I didn't know. So many uncertainties. And now this certainty of my failure.

I didn't care if an elf came strolling past, I didn't care if someone heard me.

I let myself slip down the shelf, sliding until I hit the floor, and laid my arms and head upon my knees. And cried.

But it'd be alright. At least for a little while, I knew.

And strangely, when I at last sniffled and wiped my sleeve across my eyes and nose, when my throat felt like I swallowed a flaming oliphant, I felt renewed. I felt weirdly better.

So, I smiled wobbly to myself.

Everything would be okay, for a short time.

And I was okay with that.

*********

"I'm right here," I called out after seeing Legolas peek behind a bookcase. I had moved over a few alcoves—until a big enough one appeared that a sitting chair could fit in the space. I sat in the chair, then, started picking through an interesting tale about a farmer's son and an echoing well that swallows children. Creepy, actually. The son could hear it whispering to him when he—

I shook my head, trying to detangle myself from the fantasy and into the real world.

Legolas padded over as softly as ever. If I hadn't spared with elves, then I would've wondered if they weighed anything at all.

"What next?" I asked. I closed the book, hoping I'd remember the page, and set it aside. Legolas stood before me tall, with nowhere to sit.

His mouth loosened, his eyebrows rose a bit. "How are you faring?"

I immediately tensed. He could tell of my... crying... that easily? I didn't think my eyes were red. Maybe I was so dirty the tears left streaks like shooting stars in the sky.

"Now," I began, testing how the words felt in my mouth, "I'm okay."

Legolas's face softened, and he quirked a bit of a smile, shook his head lightly.

"It's just... Everything seemed to come at me at once, what's happened over the last several months. I'm okay now." I bit my lip. "Anyway, what's next?"

Legolas nodded in understanding and leaned up against a sturdy bookshelf. "The King does not approve of what we are to do. He will not let me do what has to be done."

"And that—Never mind." I must not know what he has planned.

"We only have a fortnight to spare and less than that to convince my Father. Preparations must be made, people organized, th—"

"Don't tell me this."

He straightened, no longer using the bookshelf for support. "You're coming with us, so you'll find out soon. But, if you wish, I'll keep the specifics from you, for now."

I nodded. "Don't tell me anything." My mind can't be trusted.

Legolas held out his arm. "Allow me to show you to your rooms?"

"Wanting me gone that fast?" I struggled to quirk a brow, but my unfit face-caterpillars both went up instead.

"No, no!" Legolas said appalled. He held his hands up in defense. "But the librarian had been complaining about a terrible smell. I do believe I owe him a favor."

He held out his arm again.

I scowled. "I'd love too. But I have things to do."

*********

I held onto the tree, barely feeling the rough bark trying to bite into my skin. Barely felt anything except an overpowering, overwhelming sense of relief. Nostalgia. Joy.

The air never felt clearer, never more lightweight. It was as if staring at a painting, marveling at how realistic it appeared. How vibrant the colors popped, thinking that if you reached out, your hand would touch a real scene, not canvas and paint.

But this wasn't canvas and paint.

It was real.

Like a dream come true.

I took an unbelieving step forward, feeling weightless. Maybe if I had not been focused on my goal, I'd have sat down and run my hands through the vibrant, soft grass. Like I used too. Maybe stand and enjoy the feel of the breeze running coolly through my hair. Or go and find a certain tree I had always read in.

Visit places where I had been a different person.

Instead, my unwavering gaze was locked on a tree wide enough that it could fit a small family of elves. Expertly carved hundreds of years ago, probably longer, allowing for the 'house' to grow with every century.

Suddenly, I wished oh so very much to have been elven—like I was supposed to—so I could watch the pattern in the bark change with the ages.

My eyes—that had seen so much—wandered around to where I knew other 'houses' would lay, buried through the layers of trees. My ears had become accustomed to listening for danger, so I heard the laughter of chatting elves and the shrieking of playing hîn, very faint through the green woods.

I padded softly through the grass to the home of my childhood. The wooden door, a pane of glass embedded in its grain, came closer with every step.

I stopped. My palms began sweating, trembling in time with my racing heart. It wasn't a dream anymore, surreal no longer. This was real.

I was standing there as Lumornel. But not the Lumornel Mother and Father knew. I could feel in my bones how I had changed. Not just my skin had changed due to scars that would stay with me forever, but my spirit too.

Breathing in and shaking out my hands I—hesitated.

Gulping, I settled for knocking.

No person answered.

So, I walked around the 'house' that felt oh-so-familiar and entered the vividly green and red and purple garden.

And there she was, Esgarbes, my mother. Not by blood—but by what mattered—right.

She knelt in a patch of freshly tilled earth, hands covered in the cake of earth, flower-bulbs being planted expertly. Not only could she stitch the impossible, she could turn any garden into a vision of perfect colors.

A lilting tune hummed its way out of her closed mouth, eyes calm with the reflection of nature. A spade lay by her side, as did a can of spring water, but her nimble seamstress hands cradled a flower-bulb, placing it perfectly within the earth.

My lungs were clenched by some unseen giant, tears pricked my eyes, and one word escaped my lips breathlessly:

"Nana."

Mother distractedly gazed upward, patting dirt upon the nestled plant. "Hm?"

Her eyes found me, and all motion stopped. Her mouth parted in a silent cry, her eyes filled with disbelief—then to joy, unbelievable happiness as she jumped to her feet.

"Ai, iell nin!"

Her bare-feet thudded as she ran to me, while I remained unmoving, unable to move.

I didn't think her body was real as it collided with mine, arms wrapping around my waist. For a terrifying moment, I thought this could be a dream. An illusion conjured by Sauron.

But I decided, then, that even if this was an illusion, I'd treasure it. For it was a glimpse of my mother I hadn't seen in many months. The chance to feel her warmth, her love.

Her tears on my shoulder.

"Iell! Lumornel nin!"

Numbly, I hugged her back—loosely. Her warm real body clutched mine, happiness shaking her limbs. Then, I crushed her, clutching at her the way a babe clutches a toy. She became an anchor as I sobbed into her hair.

"Nana. I came back," I babbled, the words probably lost in the midst of emotions. "I came back."

I...

Came back.

*********

"False hopes are more dangerous than fears,"

J.R.R. Tolkien, The Children of Hurin

Translations

Hîn---children.

Iell—Daughter

Lumornel nin—my Lumornel

—

What'd you guys think??? Any predictions? Hopes?

I thoroughly enjoyed reading this chapter, it made me hahppayyy.

Anyways, I got an AP World History final to take within the hour... *death*

See you all next week and blessings to all!

Novaer, mellyn
~awatin~