A/N: A huge thank you needs to go out to everyone who has been following this story and have left such wonderful comments - you guys really are the best.
This chapter is a bit long, but I decided to add Carl's scene instead of leaving it as a chapter on it's own.
When I started this story, this is how I originally planned to end it. But I am having way too much fun with this story and I, too, want to explore how Charlotte adjusts to life in ME. So onwards, I guess... :D
Here is the next chapter - I hope you enjoy it :)
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Thranduil stood frozen in shock, though there was no denying the hope that was slowly unfurling in his heart. As the seconds ticked by, he had still yet to move as he stared down at Charlotte with wide crystalline blue eyes.
Charlotte lay on the bed, as though in a deep sleep. The grey colorations of death that had tainted her flesh with death had now been replaced with a healthy pink glow. Her chest rose and fell with each peaceful breath - this small detail assuring Thranduil that not only was she alive, but she was also very much well.
As he gradually drank in the sight of her, he noted that her old clothing had been replaced with a simple, yet beautiful, white satin gown that draped over her form like a silky waterfall. Her once unruly hair was now splayed around her head in a lustrous halo of dark waves, making her seem like a vision from a dream.
Charlotte was beautiful - she always had been in his eyes. The very sight of her would always steal his breath away.
"How is this even possible? I watched her die in my arms," he whispered, still unable to tear his gaze from her.
Was this even real?
He yearned to reach out and take her hand, but part of him was afraid that if he did so, she would vanish under his touch like a cruel and teasing illusion.
"Charlotte was not dead when I pulled her into our world, Thranduil," came Galadriel's soft voice from behind him.
Thranduil glanced over his shoulder at her, frowning. He had been certain that her life force had faded, but maybe he had been too consumed in his grief that he had not noticed that she was still holding on.
"Once delivered to our realm, I managed to pull her from the brink of death and heal her," came another voice; a voice he immediately recognized.
Thranduil whipped his in the direction of the familiar voice, his eyes landing on Lord Elrond, who was now walking towards the bed. Elrond assessed Charlotte with wise eyes that shone with kindness before meeting Thranduil's gaze, a shadow of a smile playing on his lips.
"Charlotte is a fighter," he intoned in his rich, smooth voice as he folded his arms in front of him, his rust colored robes rustling at the motion.
Thranduil could only stare mutely at his old friend, his mind now a deluge of shock and endless questions that burned to be answered.
Finally, he turned his sights to Galadriel, his voice a hoarse as he stated, "You sent for Elrond to heal Charlotte."
