painless wounds ;; the hobbit

home at last ;;

[Lots of elvish ahead]

Cyrille woke up in a bright room. It smelled of lavender and gardenia plants. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. She didn't want to move, and she laid there, on the cot until someone came in.

She stayed there silently, and the person didn't notice she was awake. So when she opened her eyes, she saw Thranduil, looking at her, hand on her stomach. "Thranduil." She said.

He jerked his hand off her stomach, eyes widening. "Cyrille." He coughed.

She smiled. "I'm in the healing room?"

"Yes. You are fine."

She paused. Thranduil was wearing a white robe, with a simple silver crown.

"Did you find...Tauriel?"

Thranduil's expression darkened. "...yes. She is safe and unharmed."

"And Legolas?"

The Elvenking nodded.

"I...I am sorry for saying that to you." Cyrille said, sitting up.

Thranduil looked confused. "What are you speaking of?" He sat at her bedside.

"The thing...when I said you had no love in you. You do have love, lots of it. You care for your people, you care for me and Tauriel, even, in your own way. And you do love your son, Legolas."

Thranduil said nothing, but he felt like his heart was whole again. It was stitching itself up because of her words.

"Amin hiraetha."

"I'm sorry too. For everything." He said.

Cyrille hugged him, wrapping her arms around his waist. He hugged her back. When they let go, Thranduil stood up. "I think I should leave you now. You can come out whenever you want. Reverie."

"Wait."

"Yes?" He said, turning around.

"How did I not lose my arm? I felt the axe pierce right through my shoulder."

"Look at what you're wearing. The dwarves sure were generous to you, even if you're an elf."

___

"Here, I think you should have this."

"Really?" Cyrille said. "Bilbo, you need it more than I do."

The hobbit was holding up his shirt of Mithril, the one that Thorin had so generously offered him. "No, no. You don't understand. I won't be getting into much fighting, you will. You even refuse to wear proper armour!"

"Because it's bulky, and I can move better without it."

"Well then, wear this. It's just a precaution!"

"Alright, then. But you had better wear that bulky armour I hate. You can't go into battle wearing a robe."

___

Cyrille strolled into the throne room, wearing her normal green and brown fit. There was a hole now in the left shoulder, and the flare at the bottom was a little shredded, but her skin was covered by her brown undershirt.

Thranduil took one look at her and said "You look terrible."

Cyrille laughed. "Because my hair is short and slightly frayed? Not everyone can have perfect locks like you, O Elvenking."

"No, because of your clothes. I set out a dress for you, did you see it? Even though you are Captain of the Guard, you almost died, you deserve to wear what you want."

"This is what I want."

Thranduil breathed. "Anyway, It has come to my attention that...you might not want to stay in Mirkwood anymore."

Cyrille didn't argue.

"Would you like to go back to the Shire?"

"Yes." She said after a moment. She was absolutely sure of her choice. Even thought they wouldn't fully accept her, she missed tea with Bilbo, eating actual meat, and playing with the halfling children.

Thranduil sighed. "Be iest lin. I hoped you would stay here for longer, but I feel it is time to do as you wish." He smiled sadly, standing up from his throne. "You may leave after you have packed all your belongings, and said your goodbyes."

Cyrille smiled back. "This is my goodbye to you." She hugged him tightly, knowing she probably wouldn't see him in a long time.

___

Cyrille looked for Legolas, in the many halls of Mirkwood. She found him in one of the gardens, looking at the roses.

"I heard you were going away." He said, turning to her.

"I am." she said. "I've come to say goodbye."

"I'm going away as well. I'm heading north, to the Dúnedain."

"Goodbye, mellon nin. I hope to see you soon."

"Goodbye, Cyrille." He said.

___

"Tauriel?"

"I'm here."

Cyrille found her other friend in her quarters, sitting on the bed, reading. She sat down beside her.

"Amin hiraetha."

"Inston." Tauriel replied.

"Goheno nin."

"There is nothing to forgive, mellon nin."

"I couldn't stop him from dying...I'm sorry. I know how much you loved him."

"It wasn't your fault."

Cyrille nodded. "I'm going away."

"Where?"

"The Shire."

"This is goodbye, isn't it?"

"Well, I'm not leaving until tomorrow."

"Goodbye."

___

The next morning, Arnarra was combing her hair. "What's the occasion, Miss?" She asked.

"I'm actually going away."

"Oh! Miss, why?"

Cyrille smiled, and turned around to face her maid, accidentally messing up her hair. "I'm going home."

"Oh...okay." The maid seemed genuinely sad.

"Don't worry, mellon. Agoreg vae."

"Hannon le."

___

Legolas, Tauriel, and Arnarra came to see her off. She took Collius as her steed, the black mare Legolas was intimidated by. There were some tears, mostly from a flustered Arnarra, who was so nervous around Legolas when he put his hand on her shoulder she almost kicked him.

The journey to the Shire took about a week and a half, and she was welcomed warmly by Bilbo into his home. She breathed in the smell of daisies, and she could swear that she heard soft music coming from the air.

Finally, she was home again.