Chapter Text
Lothlórien basked in the lucid moonlight, filtering through the mallorn trees, as it coated the clearing with an ethereal glow. Thranduil stood across from Celeborn and Galadriel, stiff and detached as he held a tiny newborn elfling in his arms. The baby writhed in his grasp, fighting the confines of the tight cloth she was swaddled in - serving only to irritate the elven king further. The tension hung heavy from the branches, threatening to stifle them all if not for the elfling's gentle cries periodically piercing the silence.
"I cannot care for her. She is a reminder of my failures and a burden I cannot carry. Not after everything." Thranduil announced, voice cold and lacking any semblance of fatherly warmth as he held out the elfling to Galadriel.
"I cannot raise her brother." For a terse moment, Galadriel could have sworn she saw the beginnings of a crack in her brother-in-law's façade as he placed the tiny elfling in her waiting arms. Then, as quick as it came, Thranduil stepped back as though the moment was something he wished to be rid of entirely.
Galadriel gently cradled the tiny child, rocking the elfling ever so slightly to calm her unsettled cries. A moment of stillness passed as she looked down upon the elfling in her arms; her eyes lingering on the baby's delicate features as she committed them to memory. The sharpness of the cheekbones, the subtle tilt of her brow, the narrowness of her jaw. Galadriel's brow furrowed slightly as she traced the small pointed ears, the fine bones of her face, the tufts of russet hair she hadn't seen since the death of her eldest cousin - so familiar, and yet so ancient. Yes, the little elfling had the faintest traces of something old, something far beyond the bounds of the Greenwood - she was certain.
"You cannot simply cast her aside Thranduil, she is your daughter." Celeborn addressed his younger brother sternly, his eyes however, fixed upon his wife - sensing something of unspoken importance.
"She is nothing to me Celeborn, that is the problem. I have not the time nor wish for sentiment but even I can see that no child deserves to be reared in such an environment," Thranduil's voice rung entirely devoid of emotion, his abject detachment making Celeborn's blood run cold - and only serving to intrigue Galadriel further, "She will never know me and I have no desire to know her."
Galadriel held Thranduil's elfling closer still, her expression unreadable as she studied her with a quiet, imperceptible recognition. The weight of her thoughts pressed down upon her as memories of a past never spoken of - of bloodlines long buried - flashed before her eyes."We will care for her. She will have a home here in Lórien", Galadriel proclaimed wistfully, "But you cannot sever the bond of blood, Thranduil. She will grow, and when she is old enough, she will choose her own path. If she wishes to return to the Greenwood, you will have to accept her - whether you wish it or not."
Celeborn kept his voice steady, and yet was unable to dismiss the hint of reproach that encroached on his tone, "Her lineage is her own to claim brother, as is her future. You cannot erase the past nor her blood", his gaze flitting between his brother and his wife as he asserted, "She will be raised with truth."
"So be it. Let her choose then. But do not expect for her a warm welcome into my halls," Thranduil shrugged dismissively, turning away with finality as though the matter was settled. As though his words weren't steeped in the bitterness of unhealed wounds, "I will not stand in her way, but she is no longer my concern."
Galadriel watched closely as Thranduil took his leave, her eyes narrowing slightly as she watched his retreating form dissappear amongst the trees. Stuck between pity for the shell of an elf the once mighty elven king had become, and dismay towards his treatment of his newborn elfling. Her gaze softened as it landed on the tiny elleth asleep in her arms. Her thoughts however, remained distant, transfixed on the shadow of elven folk past.
"She is strong Celeborn. Stronger than we know," Galadriel admitted softly, as if it were some sort of mantra, "I will raise her as my own, but she will learn the truth of her blood when the time comes."
"Do you see it too?" Celeborn inquired, placing a gentle hand on Galadriel's shoulder as he studied the elfling closer - a knowing look settling upon his eyes.
Galadriel took a moment to pause, concealing the flicker of recognition that still lingered with a well practiced unreadable expression, as she met her husband's stare, "I see something in her Celeborn. A strength, a fire. But I will not speak of it - not yet at least."
Galadriel held the child tight in loving arms, her voice gentle and pensive, "For now, she is only a child. She deserves to grow without the weight of such knowledge."
"Yes. Let her grow in peace, and when the time is right, she will understand." Celeborn nodded sincerely in agreement, mindful of the weight of their unspoken realisations.
"We will raise her in truth. And when the time comes, Legolas will find her place in this world, no matter where it leads her." Galadriel concurred, her firm resolve not quite reaching the soft smile she gave Legolas - laced instead with an unmistakable tinge of sorrow that even the lady of light couldn't quite shake.
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600 years later.
The Greenwood was tranquil in the hours before dawn - the silver glow of the moon waning as the first hints of sunlight caressed the treetops. The caverns beneath the mighty trees remained shrouded in quiet, the early stirrings of elven life still hours away.
Legolas stirred, waking to the familiar cool morning breeze that seeped into her chambers. She shifted beneath the sheets at the draft, becoming acutely aware that the weight of her restless night had once again etched itself into her stiff limbs.
In sleep, her thoughts often wandered unbidden to Thranduil. His stern, detached gaze haunted her like a spectre, a constant reminder of his disapproval. Try as she might, Legolas could not recall a single moment in her life when her adar had looked at her with anything aside from indifference or just plain annoyance. Her elder brothers too, regular culprits in keeping her from much needed rest. She had once made efforts to form bonds with them, to carve out a place for herself in their lives. But these efforts were always met with polite dismissal at best, and outright disdain at worst.
No, she knew her place here. They were heirs to the Woodland Realm, the rightful princes of their people. And she? She was an afterthought. An inconvenience in a family that had no place for her. Though the hurt never truly faded, it was a bitter truth she had come to terms with long ago. Instead, she had thrown herself into the Greenwood's defenses, finding solace in her place as a warrior among her people. At least in battle, she had something meaningful and tangible to distract herself with.
Legolas rose from her bed, shaking off the last tendrils of sleep and the melancholy that lingered in its wake. Even so, her movements remained slow, and her head light as if she hadn't slept at all. She dressed as if muscle memory, pulling on her armour with practiced ease - securing her bracers, reaching for her quiver - only ever pausing to tie a single loose braid into her hair.
Her assigned patrol that morning would take her deep into the southern borders, into the heart of Dol Guldur’s shadow. A bitter smile tugged at her lips as she continued readying herself, contemplating her continual deployment in the region. A punishment, surely. Her adar’s unspoken way of telling her where she belonged.
As she moved towards the door, a wave of dizziness overcame her. Legolas faltered, clutching the edge of the doorframe as the feeling of nausea became too much to ignore. The sensation only grew until Legolas was keenly aware that the feeling of her stomach tying its guts together was creeping up her throat - she no longer had any option but toward rush to the privy.
Legolas' knees hit the stone floor hard as she leaned over, retching violently. The sharp taste of bile burned her throat as she clung to the edge of the basin, her whole body wracking; gasping for breath as her russet curls tumbled like a veil over her face. The cool air brushed against her flushed skin, but it offered no relief.
Legolas found herself again hunched over the basin, fists clenched at her side in a failed attempt to will the sickness away - accompanied only by the sound of her own breath, coming in shallow gasps. That was until the sound of deliberate, measured footsteps reached her ears and Legolas froze. She didn't even need to look to know it was Thranduil who stood in the doorway. He had always had a way with conveniently showing up at her lowest moments.
Thranduil moved closer, his presence looming in the small privy. Legolas felt his eyes rove over her, not with fatherly concern, but with a detached, critical gaze.
"So this is what has been keeping you from your duties is it?" Thranduil's cold and authoritative voice broke the stifling silence.
"I-" Legolas began before another wave of sickness overcame her. She doubled over the basin gagging, wincing as her throat began burning once more and her body kept pushing up more from her stomach. It let up for a brief serene moment before she felt it edging back up her throat, stomach clenching in pain as she dry heaved until something came out. Legolas had never felt anything like this before. It wasn’t the sickness of exhaustion; this was deeper, leaving her drained and unsteady like she had never felt before. For a long moment, she stayed there, breathing in ragged gasps until the nausea subsided.
Her heart sank as she straightened and faced him, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand before addressing Thranduil, "It is nothing, Adar. I am fine, just a moment of sickness I am sure."
"Is it now?" Thranduil narrowed his eyes at Legolas, his piercing gaze never leaving her as he leant against the doorframe, "I know exactly what you have been doing, you cannot hide it from me. Did you really think I do not notice what goes on in my own halls, Legolas?"
Her stomach twisted again, but this time, it was not borne of the nausea. There was something in her adar's tone, something accusatory - something that put the fear of the valar into her.
"What do you mean? I don't understand, Adar?" Legolas asked as she attempted to steady herself.
"Do not play coy with me. I know you, Legolas. You are not one to be taken off guard by something as simple as morning sickness." Thranduil spat, a sneer replacing his previously nonchalant expression.
His eyes scrutinized Legolas closely and for the first time, she realised where his gaze was transfixed. Her midsection. The curve that had begun to form, barely noticeable with her tunic on - certainly not enough that Legolas had given it much thought - a subtle change, but one Thranduil had clearly picked up on nonetheless.
"Adar, what are you-" Legolas began, voice imbued with panic before Thranduil interrupted, colder now than ever.
"You are pregnant, Legolas." Thranduil's words hung in the air, sharp and final, like a seal preventing either one of them from breaking the uncomfortable silence that had precariously formed between them.
"What?" Legolas whispered, voice breaking as is sliced through their tentative stillness, "That cannot be."
Thraduil's sneer deepened, purposeful and precise in his scorn, "Do not feign ignorance Legolas, the signs are clear."
His eyes turned hard as he met her tearful gaze, cold and unyielding in his cruelty, "You are not only unmarried, Legolas, but far too young for this; your naneth had seen three millennia by the time we had Oradaer. And you think I will allow this - half-breed to taint the line of the Greenwood?"
Legolas recoiled at his words, unable to hold back the unshed tears any longer. She knew well that Thranduil could be cruel and uncaring but she thought that even he had his limits, "What do you mean half-breed? That is my child adar - your grandchild," Legolas pleaded to him, her voice shaking with confusion and hurt.
"Do not look at me with that innocent face, Legolas. I have seen the way you look at the Peredhel. I will not tolerate you making a mockery of our house," his expression was unforgiving, absent of any semblance of paternal love. Legolas trembled at his overwhelming presence, until his voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, "You will rid yourself of this mistake before it grows."
Legolas' breath caught in her throat as she stared at him in revelation. Initial shock giving way to fury, as she rose shakily to her feet. This was the final straw, she knew now for certain that nothing she could ever do would even come close to overcoming her adar's abject hatred towards her. She had had enough. No more would she cower to him in hope of a scrap of fatherly warmth.
"No."
"You will not defy me in my own halls, Legolas," the contempt in Thranduil's tone was almost suffocating as he curled his lip, "You leave me no choice. I will not have you spreading your legs for every Noldor you see like some common whore."
Legolas had to hold herself back from punching him square in the face as she stepped forward, "I am not a whore, Adar." Her voice remained low and fierce, "And I will not be rid of my child."
"Then you will leave my halls. You will leave the Greenwood at once." Thranduil announced returning to his uncaring nonchalance.
"What?" Legolas found herself stumped, lost for words at her adar's proclamation - but resolute in herself nonetheless.
"I will not tolerate this. You will be escorted to the borders of Imladris, and after that, you are no longer my concern." Thranduil emphasised, his words dripping with vitriol.
Before Legolas even had the opportunity to protest, he turned his back from her, dismissing her as nothing more than an inconvenience, "You are no longer my responsibility, Legolas. You will leave, and once you are gone, I do not want to hear of you again."
Legolas stared at him, unmoving as she watched the withdrawing figure of her adar fade into the caverns, leaving her alone in the suffocating silence. She sank to the floor, a trembling hand coming to rest upon her abdomen as she memorised the feel of the swell beneath her palm - of the fragile life growing within her. Though her adar’s rejection cut deep, a new resolve hardened in her chest.
She would not let Thranduil break her. Even as it felt as though her entire world was caving in on her. She would not let him have his way.
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"You grow quieter with each day, mellon. Do you not trust me enough to share what burdens you?"
Tauriel rode close to Legolas, galancing sideways as she eyed her friend's pale drawn face with worry. Unable to ignore the unease that had begun to settle within her any longer.
Legolas offered her long standing friend a faint smile, but it did little in the way of disguising the weariness etched deep into her features, "There is nothing to say Tauriel, I am merely tired from the road."
Tauriel narrowed her eyes, unable to stop the sharpening of her tone, "You have never been this fragile before, not even during the most grueling campaigns."
"This is not simply exhaustion Legolas. I see it in the way you ride, the way you clutch your cloak as if to shield yourself." Tauriel's features softened as she pleaded, riding up beside Legolas to place a gentle hand on her arm.
Legolas straightened herself slightly in her saddle, an unconscious response to Tauriel's observations. "I am fine, Tauriel. Let it be," she snapped defensively, shaking off Tauriel's hand.
Tauriel did not let her gaze waver, concern only deepening at Legolas' irritability. "As you wish, but I will not leave your side until I know you are well," she hesitantly relented.
The journey continued in their well practiced game of silence, perfected after many a patrol related disagreement - both too stubborn to be the first to broach the tension. Upon finally approaching the borders of Imladris, Tauriel reined in her horse, dismounting swiftly before moving to approach Legolas.
Tauriel watched closely as Legolas began to dismount before she reluctantly decided she was going to have to be the bigger elf for once. "Legolas, this secrecy must end. You cannot even dismount a horse without trembling. This isn't like you. Tell me what ails you please," she implored her friend, unsure what else she could do for the elf that had saved her life so many times.
"It is not your concern. You are to leave me here anyway, what could you possibly do even if I did seek your counsel?" Legolas avoided her gaze, steady in her reply but distant, detached almost.
Tauriel's jaw tightened, and her voice hardened in turn, "Then it will become mine, for I will not leave you at the borders as Aran nìn commanded. Whatever this is, you need more than just an escort - you need a friend, Legolas."
Much to Tauriel's relief, Legolas finally relented - glancing at her, a flicker of gratitude and a small but genuine smile emerged from behind the wall she had erected between them, "Thank you, Tauriel."
The soft rustle of fallen leaves and gentle trickle of water permeated the courtyard of Imladris as Legolas and Tauriel's steeds slowed to a halt. The tranquility of the valley seemed almost cruelly indifferent to the mounting tension between them, appearing to taunt Legolas in her growing weakness. Tauriel moved to dismount first, sharp eyes never straying from Legolas who sat unnaturally still in her saddle; her hands clutching at the reins as if they were the only thing keeping her upright.
Maglor Fëanorian took in the scene from the entrance to the halls where he had been stood, unaware of their impending arrival - his black hair catching the dwindling sunlight as he observed their approach. His brow furrowed as he noted the pallor of Legolas' complexion, the slight tremor in her hands as she struggled to steady herself. Something was deeply wrong. He stepped forward towards the pair, concern already evident in his usually serene expression.
"Legolas? We were not made aware of your coming. What brings you back to Imladris?" Maglor inquired, tone light but laced with undertones of concern.
Legolas raised her head to answer, but the words died on her lips as quick as they came to her. Her vision began to blur as she felt herself slipping, her grip on the reins loosened and an onslaught of warmth and dizziness overame her. Tauriel, still holding the reins of her own horse watched as Legolas' strength gave out - her eyes widening in alarm as she cried out for her friend. Her fear momentarily replaced by action, as she dismounted swiftly.
Before she could fall, Maglor ran across the courtyard as if his life depended upon it, somehow still maintaining his Noldorian grace. Arms outstretched, he managed to catch Legolas' lithe body in his arms just as she began to collapse. The force of the motion brought him to one knee, as he cradled her with a gentleness that belied his strength and infamy.
Legolas' head lolled against his shoulder, her breaths shallow and uneven. The Fëanorian's expression darkened as he felt the unnatural heat radiating from her skin. He held the back of his hand to her forehead, his touch careful yet urgent.
"She's burning up," Maglor murmured to himself tightly. He shifted her weight ever so slightly in his arms, supporting her with ease as he looked up at Tauriel, sharp and with urgency he commanded "Bring her to the halls of healing. Quickly!"
Maglor's command carried an oppressive weight that stilled Tauriel in her tracks. Though his voice was calm, there was an undercurrent of authority to it like she had never heard before. An ancient power that seemed to shake the very air around him. Almost instantly, his being so ancient and vast, seemed to fill the courtyard in its entirety; she had never felt so small - so mortal - before than in the presence of an elf who had lived through ages so distant they were nearly myth. She had heard whispers of the sons of Fëanor and their fell deeds, but stood before Maglor Fëanorian in that moment, those stories seemed pale echoes of the reality.
As he swept Legolas into his arms, his movements were gentle - caring even - but the sheer force of his being was undeniable. Tauriel’s breath hitched in her throat, he was no mere elf but a relic of an age long past - carrying the weight of unnumbered battles and griefs. His silver eyes, sharp and unyielding, focused on hers - snapping her out of her thoughts. Leaving no room for argument or hesitation, "Tauriel. The healing halls. Now."
Tauriel swallowed hard and nodded, the briefest flicker of awe in her eyes as she turned to obey. Clearing the way ahead, her usual confidence faltered her and she couldn’t help but glance back at him, even in urgency, every step he took seemed to carry the echoes of a world far greater than her own. When they reached the entrance to the halls of healing, Tauriel hesitated, stepping aside to allow Maglor to pass. She watched intently as he carried Legolas - jaw clenched and silver eyes clouded with worry - with a gentleness that seemed in stark contrast to the force of his presence. Maglor laid Legolas carefully upon the nearest bed, his hands lingering for a moment as if reluctant to let go. Even as he joined Tauriel standing in vigil by the door, his gaze remained fixed on her pale face and his face set into a frown.
Elrond arrived within moments, entering the halls with swift purpose. Kneeling beside the bed, he placed his hands delicately on Legolas' forehead and then to her heart, his keen gaze assessing her all the while. The halls were silent, save for the faint rasp of her breathing and the steady rhythm of Elrond's movement - no one dared to break it.
Maglor stood to one side, his arms crossed and eyes fixed on the Lord of Imladris whilst Tauriel hovered nearby; the tension practically radiating from her rigid posture as they watched Elrond work. His hands moved towards Legolas' abdomen where his touch paused, lingering as something came to him. Steadily, his expression shifted, the realisation dawning upon him.
Gently, Elrond moved aside the folds of her tunic. And beneath the fabric, he felt it. What he had feared to be true. The curve of Legolas' stomach - faint but unmistakable. His face hardened, his shoulders tightening with the weight of what he had found.
"Oh, Legolas-" Elrond's disheartened whisper tore through the silence.
Tauriel caught his tone and stepped forward, her voice rising in urgency, "What is it Lord Elrond? What is wrong with her?"
Elrond straightened slightly, his expression grim. He hesitated, his gaze flitting between Tauriel and Maglor, as if weighing how much to tell.
"If there is something amiss Elrond we must know!" Maglor stood to his full height beside her as he echoed Tauriel, pressing Elrond for the truth.
Before Elrond could even attempt to formulate a response, Glorfindel appeared in the doorway demanding answers of his own as he looked upon the scene before him, "Elrond, speak. We need to know what ails her."
Elrond exhaled, shoulders sagging slightly as he met their expectant gazes; heavy with reluctance as he admitted the truth, "Legolas is with child." His voice remained quiet and steady as he continued, "The fever I can only imagine is the result of excess stress or not taking care of her needs as an expectant mother properly."
Elrond's words settled heavily in the air, and a startled silence followed in their wake. Tauriel's lips parted as if to speak, but no words accompanied them. Her hands clenched fiercely at her sides, trembling with both anger and disbelief.
"I'll kill him." The elleth muttered darkly. Without explanation, she turned and stormed out from the halls, her purposeful footsteps echoing through the quiet hallways.
Maglor remained unmoving, his gaze transfixed on Legolas' unmoving body. A flash of anger flickered across his face as his voice came out quiet and cold, "And what of Thranduil? Did he know of this?"
Elrond's expression remained grim as he turned to Maglor, "I would wager he did. Her condition was likely the reason she was sent here."
Maglor's jaw tightened and he found himself having to take a deep breath before speaking, to prevent himself doing something rash, "And discarded, it seems. Disgrace of a king."
"Peace, Maglor. The child’s safety is what matters now." Glorfindel reassured, placing a steadying hand on Maglor's shoulder as he moved closer.
The three watched as Legolas stirred slightly in the bed, a grimace taking over her freckled complexion momentarily before she returned back to her peaceful slumber. At his wits end, Elrond dismissed them from the halls - lest the storm of emotions around Legolas' bedside overwhelm the quiet sanctity of the halls of healing.
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The door to the halls of healing creaked open, and Elrohir slipped in sheepishly. His head slightly bowed in a lacklustre attempt to conceal himself from the expected wrath. Traces of the fresh bruises forming across his cheekbone stood out; deep purple marks visable against his fair skin that his fingers hovered near unconsciously.
Tauriel, leaning against the far wall, fixed him with a glare sharp enough to pierce mithril. Her arms were crossed tightly - almost threateningly - and her posture brimming with tenuously restrained anger. Across the room, Glorfindel raised an eyebrow at the newcomer but said nothing; whilst Maglor smirked faintly from where he stood near the window, his arms folded in quiet amusement.
"It seems you survived." Tauriel sent Elrohir a deadpan stare, her green eyes narrowing with displeasure as she gestured towards his cheek.
"I take it that you delivered that with love, Tauriel?" Elrohir inquired, light hearted as he attempted to broach the tension.
"If it were delivered with love, Elrohir, you wouldn’t still be standing." Tauriel asserted, fighting the urge to scoff at him.
Maglor's lips twitched into a faint smile as he placed a stern hand on Tauriel's shoulder, "Enough, Tauriel. Let them speak. He’s here to see Legolas, not face your wrath again."
Glorfindel titled his head at Elrohir, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he whispered, "Good luck" to his protégé.
With that, the three elves filtered out of the halls, leaving Elrohir alone in the room. He lingered by the door for a moment, alternating between clenching and unclenching his hands as though attempting to summon courage; until his gaze turned towards the figure on the bed.
Legolas sat propped up against a stack of soft pillows, her familiar complexion glowing meekly in the dim lighting. Though weariness still marked her features, her green eyes met with his in a quiet warmth that immediately dissipated the tension that had knotted itself together in his chest.
"Come here, Elrohir." Legolas' voice was soft in beckoning him closer.
His steps were fraught with uncertainty as he approached her bedside, the weight of guilt heavy in his movement. When Elrohir reached her, she lifted a hand - cool fingers brushing against the bruise on his cheek. Legolas' touch was gentle, but her gaze firm as she searched his face, "Tauriel doesn’t hold back, does she?"
"I deserved it." Elrohir admitted hesitantly, shaking his head as a rueful smile crossed his lips.
Legolas gave him a look, as she arched a delicate brow at him. Her expression softened though there was a resolute firmness to her voice as she spoke, "Did you? Tell me honestly, Elrohir, when we laid together did you intend to fill me with your child?"
Her words had barely even begun to hang in the air before Elrohir's breath caught. His eyes widened in horror and he stumbled over his words, "What? No! Legolas, I swear - I would never."
She silenced his rambling with the faintest of smiles, her tone turning almost teasing as she spoke, "Then there is no need to apologise, is there? We can’t change what’s already done."
Elrohir sank into the chair beside her, his composure faltering with him. Guilt and regret lingered in his expression, but Legolas' calm acceptance seemed to have eased the worst of it, "I was reckless Legolas. I should have been more careful."
Legolas' hand found his, holding it tentatively between her own. "From what I recall, we were both equally reckless. And now, here we are," she assured him, gentle but determined. She tilted her head ever so slightly toward him, her gaze softening as she continued, "I don't regret it, Elrohir, not even for a moment."
Elrohir slumped as her words sank in, affirmations washing gently over him. He hesitated at first, before he got a hold of himself - leaning forward to gather Legolas up in a long overdue embrace.
Legolas melted into the touch. She hadn't realised quite how much she had longed to be in Elrohir's arms until she was securely there in his hold. Instinctively, she lifted her hand, running tender fingers through his dark tresses in soothing strokes. Legolas' touch was light, compassionate, and it steadied Elrohir as much as it grounded her.
A comfortable silence settled heavy around them, filled with an unspoken understanding - only disturbed when Elrohir lifted his head to meet her gaze, his words leaving no room for doubt.
"Nor do I."
It was Legolas who ended up closing the distance between them, catching Elrohir's lips in hers and kissing him languidly. She's tired, so tired. Hasn't had any meaningful rest for some time now - what with the state of affairs in the Greenwood and relentless morning sickness. She couldn’t exactly press into the kiss in the way that she wanted, but she thinks Elrohir knows this, felt it in the way Elrohir smiled uninhibitedly into her lips. She had missed this so badly that she was powerless to do anything when she began to feel the tears that pricked the corner of her eyes.
I love you went unsaid.