[Tinuviel of Denton]

Once again the Elven Wine flows free and the bards sing their songs to Greenwood the great.
Who in the Shadow of Darkness stood never defeated!
And in this new age she shines again the fairest wood in all the land.
A! Eryn Lasgalen!

Reynion drank in every nuance of Taurewen's face and posture. He felt sure that she would leave this place soon, and he would again be alone. He was determined to etch her face into his memory, so that in the dark nights he would have something to cling to, when the nightmares pressed in from all sides and he dared not close his eyes for fear of what he would see and feel. Her voice washed over him in a fall of liquid silver, taking him back to the days when he lived alone and content in the middle of Greenwood. When it was so easy to watch her from the trees without being seen.

He smiled, a real smile of joy and not of half-forced mirth, for the first time since he had left Mirkwood, years and years ago. He wondered why her mere presence could lighten his heart, when before all he could see was the terrible day he had lost all dignity as well as his leg. That day he remembered as the worst day in his entire life.

He reached out a trembling hand, and brushed Taurëwen's cheek, tracing the scar that marred her otherwise smooth skin. He wondered if she remembered that ill-fated mission as badly as he did, but he didn't ask. He knew how those memories could hurt, perhaps better than any of the other elves who'd gone. Some had died, others were wounded, though it seemed that none had been as stupid about their wounds as had he.

Her cheek was damp, and he drew back his hand, afraid that he had caused her tears. He wondered, sometimes, if she had ever joined up with Orodhin. He knew that she had once had some sort of feelings for the bowyer's son. Now, he thought he knew the answer to that particular question. If she had loved Orodhin, she would be by his side now, not sitting here in the Shire, facing the half-elf, as some of the more cruel Men in the lands outside of Greenwood had called him, a play on the well-known Lord Elrond Half-Elven and on Reynion's missing leg. He had to admit that he had felt like only half an elf since it was gone anyway.

His own cheek was not precisely dry, he suddenly realized and looked away, embarrassed. He hated to show weakness of any kind.

For a few moments, neither said anything. He tried to smile, and felt that he failed miserably. He felt rather miserable. "Taurëwen," he began.

"Yes?" she responded, looking hopeful.

"I-I—well, I—you—" Good Valar, he was stuttering like an idiot. He paused for a moment to collect his thoughts. "I, well, I suppose—I want—Dear Eru, I missed you so much!" He looked down. Now she would laugh because he sounded so stupid, and he would get drunk again, and he would be alone again. Just the way he'd always been, even when he'd left the forest for the halls of Thranduil.

____________________________________________

Niniel smiled back at Dynaviir shyly. As usual, she was uncomfortable with this stranger, though meeting strangers seemed to have become a habit of late. Soronume, Elwen, Dorelnar, Mardath, Dynaviir and now Novardaion. Soon she would know as many people as there were years missing from her life. Perhaps that would be a good thing.

"G-g-g-good d-d-day to you, Master Nov-Novar-Novardaion. M-m-may I-I-I ask how i-i-it is th-th-that you kn-n-now Dynaviir?" she asked, still annoyed that she couldn't get a word out without sounding like an absolute idiot. It wasn't nerves, it wasn't fear, she just couldn't talk right.

She wished she could remember what her life before she was sixteen had been like. It would be nice to know if she'd met someone before after all. And she wished that she knew what her parents were like, but...it was no use dwelling on such things. Besides, it was too nice a day to brood.