[littlemanpoet]

Falowik stirred in Uien's lap and looked up, a question in his eyes. She hushed him. "Many hours must pass before dawn, Lauréatan," she whispered, caressing his brow. He sighed, smiling, and passed back into sleep.

Her Elven awareness heightened by his wakefulness, Uien sensed another Elf not far away, coming near. It was the burned one, he whom Falowik had named Lithmirë. He stopped suddenly, drawing a harsh breath, and labored away from them, his mind tightly shut. Uien sighed. There was much she could do for that suffering one, even though his hurt was worse than Falowik's had ever been. She let it pass. That one was not ready to be aided. She was not sure she could heal him, though that was her art, but she knew that she could assuage his pain. But only if he wished it.

Her awareness of that Elf, approaching the Inn, brought yet another Elf within her perception. Mithalwen was in a corner of the Common Room, writing. She also seemed closed. Uien sighed. A day ago Uien had called her "heart's friend", but this day that had just passed Uien had given her what was commonly known in the world of humans as 'the brush off'. 'I must go and make it right.' As she was about to lift Falowik's head from her lap, she sensed that Mithalwen was hiding from her! Then she would stay away. A tear slipped from her eye and she let it fall.

She looked up and saw that the hawthorn tree was still there. 'Do you see all the darkness that has not faded with the passing of the Dark Lord, hawthorn?' She did not speak her thought. Then she looked down at the Man who loved her. His face was peaceful. She thought it beautiful, though other Elves would think her daft or fallen to quaintness, but they did not know this one whom she knew. He had opened his heart to her, and had accepted all the difficult darknesses that were in her own heart. She smiled and bowed her head over his face, her long golden hair catching the gleaming stars as it fell around his face, and she kissed his brow. He stirred briefly, and the faintest echo of a smile passed his lips.

She was on the Swan ship with the Lady of Lórien as it floated down the Silverlode to meet the three small boats of the Company of the Ring. She held in her hand one of the cloaks, the one made for the youngest of the Halflings. She had worked hard at the brooch that would clasp it at his neck, and had wondered what the fate of this cloak and brooch would be.....