Laer o Faen

Ceritham sen

He gasped; knew he was trembling but could not abandon his foundling.

The warmth of another's hand closed over the ice of his own.

"Let me."

He felt the touch of her other hand at his shoulder, as though to draw him away, and opening eyes that he had not even realised he had closed, to his alarm saw that the palace guard, to an elf, had raised their weapons, aimed her way, as she touched him so familiarly.

"Farn! Daro!" he commanded, raising the hand he had snatched away from Tauriel to stay their actions. Then to Nieniriathlim, he shook his head barely, unable to stop the hint of fear from shining behind the ache in his ice-blue eyes. "I fear she is beyond all aid here."

In dismay and mounting worry, he watched her shake her head.

** ** ** **

She had not even noticed the actions of the guards until his urgent command, and the guard standing down in unison drew her attention to it. She had been drawn there, and acted on another impulse than her own – even her denial of his warning about Tauriel was driven from somewhere inside of herself.

"No," she said softly, "Let me try."

She saw the moment that his reticence acquiesced to possibility that she could save Tauriel from the Morgul energies that poisoned her Elvish light, more insidious than any poisonous substance could have been to any elf. She saw the hope, but also the worry and something else she could not understand, and once again ignoring his guard, and propriety – driven repeatedly by that same, deeper sense of purpose that had driven her to his side – reached out to lay her hand to the top of his chest.

"I will do what I can."

Without warning the courtyard tilted, shifted and another scene, another time imposed itself upon her, upon them both.

"If such a thing is possible, I shall not rest until I have seen it done," she answered.

He bowed his head in acknowledgement, then tugged gently at the reins of his horse, excusing himself softly as he did.

"Thranduil!" The soft gasp of his name on her outward breath refocused his obvious concern for her and he cupped her elbow in support and leaning down to her hissed.

"I cannot allow this."

"You cannot deny it," she countered, "please... I cannot abandon her now."

"You think I do?" She saw anger, pain and something akin to fear at war in the hardening expression in his eyes, and shook her head. She knew without a doubt, though she did not understand, why his efforts were both in vain and dangerous, despite his desires. He loved this young elf, and that too sharpened a tension inside him.

"I know you do not," she told him. "It is in your heart to heal her, but in your blood; a geas to deny her."

His fingers tightened about her elbows, almost painfully, as though what she said reached too close to the truth in the matter, and such a truth angered him. Thoughts and new memories rushed in on her, and from the tumult of them a clear cool sense of right took hold of her, and far from fight against his hold, she leaned closer, her lips beside the shell of his ear and she whispered, softly in a voice not quite her own.

"Lavo nin no i ven uin i anirad lin, aran nin."

She felt the tangible, physical response to her words and actions – the storm calming within him; the way his grasp on her elbows became once more supportive, almost gentle, as somehow – in spite of the reputation he carried as clearly as the crown on his head – she knew him to be.