for not all tears are an evil

He had seen the horror of Mordor and could not forget it.

Gil‑galad: You are owed nothing.

They're bros your honour

Nimloth could not help but stare, the resemblance uncanny in so many ways. She had nearly called him Díor on instinct, her dead past revived-- or perhaps survived as she had-- but the name had died in her throat upon closer inspection. He was not Díor, though he had his face, and even the air about him which felt both otherworldly and grounded. Was it better or worse? She couldn't tell, but her heart elated and then fell so swiftly it ached to look at him.

Díor was indeed gone. So were the twins. So was Elwing. And her sons---ah... perhaps? It might account for the resemblance, or simply be an unrelated stranger.

At last, Nimloth shook off the shock and offered him a bashful smile, shaking her head. "Just someone from a long time ago." She replied softly, swallowing the desire to say exactly whom as she crossed from the door that separated her living space from the shop, and approached the counter. "You look very much like him, I almost thought you were him for a moment." The eyes were so similar, that silvery grey that he'd gotten from his mother, that same unearthly beauty she had seen in her children so long ago. It pained her to think of the boys, they looked like this stranger too.

Elrond. Possibly. Or how at least she would imagine Elrond to be.

Who was she?

He blinked and shook his head. This beautiful lady must deem his behaviour strange. "I am travelling and ran out of herbs."

Just when he was about to pull out the list he made out of a pocket, Lindir entered the store behind him. The list was in his hand. "Elrond, you left this in the saddle bag."

Before Thranduil let anyone enter the inner sanctum of his kingdom he had to make sure they were trustworthy and no threat. He did not find it easy to shake off the deep distrust that had often protected him from dangers, but also kept him from forming more alliances.

But it has been hours, and the Man, who claimed to be a king himself, stuck to his tale and insisted that they travelled far against their will. When the storm tore his ship apart, not all of the passengers had survived, but at least the Man's family did. Despite Thranduil not yet being fully convinced of his trustworthiness, he was glad for the man. Having lost much of his own family, Thranduil did not wish this pain on anyone.

"Very well. Baelor, was it?" Thranduil rose from his throne and descended the stairs to take a closer look at the Man. "I will grant you stay in my realm. I can tell that you are disoriented and in need of both rest and nourishment. However, for now I would not have you roam my halls unattended. At least not until you and I have become better acquainted."

Baelor was thankful that it was him who was here, and not his less personable brother. Since he could talk, he had been schooled in diplomacy and manners, his father wanting to shape him into a refined and effective prince. It had been worth it if now ensured his sons and servants would be cast hopeless adrift.

Certainly, this was a strange place. House Targaryen was famed for beauty and splendour, but in comparison to everything – and everyone – he saw here, they may as well have been carved of rock.

"Of course. I am certain we can provide for their needs. Do come along."

Thranduil lead the Targaryen King through his grand halls and winding hallways. The servant followed them at a polite distance.

"One can lose their way here easily," the Elvenking warned. "We would not want your people to wander off, never to be found again. To be forever lost in the Green is not a fate I wish upon them." 

Eventually they came to a large wooden door, hewn out of oak. Two guards stationed in front of it opened the door for their King.

@ranasta

The prospect seemed frightening indeed, and Fëanàro looked rather more hesitant than before. His life in the forest was a fragile sort of peace. As he saw it, it was one that depended entirely on him never crossing paths with the Ñoldor of Rivendell. Arwen’s father knew he was here, and allowed it, and he did not wish to test his welcome much more.

“Are you certain that is a good idea, my lady?” he asked. “Your father may have something to say, if I enter his home unannounced and unwelcome.”

He caught the glimmer in her eyes, and it was one he knew all too well. It had shone in Tyelkormo’s eyes when he’d hidden in trees to ambush his brothers, and in Ambarussa’s eyes when they’d laid their most elaborate plots. His lips twitched into a smile. A moment of silence stretched between them. 

“Alright then.” He exhaled, something between a relenting sigh and a groan of trepidation. He took the peach coloured shawl from her, looking sceptical still.

"I will vouch for you," she assured him. "I came by horse. Do you have one of your own? If not, Asfaloth can carry us both."

She moved into the tree line and emerged next to the white stallion, who of course belonged to Glorfindel but was always eager to join Arwen on her adventures.

Asfaloth gave Feanor an assessing sniff. The little golden bells that decorated his headpiece chimed merrily. He then huffed and shot Arwen a questioning look. This was who she came to get?

"Nor should you," Lómion replied, pushing himself off the wall with the parchment of questions still in his hand. "You deserve everything that can be given in a marriage, mellon nin, and though my respect and affection for you is unwavering, I cannot see a world in which I can give you what you need."

Perhaps it would have surprised her to know how much thought he'd given the subject when it had been proposed, following through each path to reach the conclusion he gave to ensure verity of his answer. Where the origins of his care had come from guilt, and once he had sought redemption as well as recompense--Elril had become much like a sister to him. He felt an unwavering protectiveness and love,a concern for her welfare, a desire for her future to be happy and well, a fondness for her companionship. . . but only in that aspect. However, with the proposed question, he had checked himself, if only to ensure that platonic love---filial love--- was indeed all he felt toward her.

Perhaps it was proof in itself when he was relieved to find it so. Even now, as he passed his hand over her hair and tapped her nose with a half smile, he felt most like a brother.

"But I will say this," he began again, voice lowered as he leaned toward her as if to share a secret. "If there was a duty, for whatever unknown and unearthly reason that had bound us, and if it was to protect you... and you wished it--" his finger lifted with the words to emphasize. "Then I would do it and do everything within my power to ensure your happiness. That would include intimacy, if you desired it, for I would not wish you to be without such an important aspect of existence. You are the type who is meant to be loved and loved well, and I am no fool who would waste you."

Leaning back again, he crossed his arms over his chest and sighed. "But apart from such a scenario, I cannot see a world in which I am what you want. You are far too lovely and bright for the likes of me, and I am a possessive sort of lover. I would accidentally dim your light and hoard it like some miserly dragon, and that is hardly fitting for who you are. Best that we are friends---nay, best that we are brother and sister, where I can watch over you until one who adores your light as I do can come and make you shine all the brighter." The parchment in his hands was crumpled and thrown into the forges fires, burning amidst the flickering flames as he chuckled and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"You are a very noble man and what you offer is gracious. But I assure you, there will not ever be a situation where such a sacrifice is required of you. Duty can only go so far and how could I look myself in the mirror if I deprived you of a fulfilling, loving marriage because I selfishly bound you to me?"

Impossible. She could never do that. It went against her very core. Perhaps that was why all her loved ones tended to leave? There was nothing binding them to her as she was all too willing to grant them their freedom?

"Besides, duty cannot replace or compensate for attraction or desire." Her tone was almost scolding. "You and I owe it to ourselves to let our hearts guide us. It is healing for me, to hear that you do not feel the way I do. All I need is time and I will have the clarity to be available for a partner who might be a good fit for me. So thank you, for being honest."

Interestingly Lómion seemed to have a good idea of what kind of partner would be a match for her, while Elril herself was unsure. It really must have been the safety he exuded, that she fell in love with.