Sansa Stark had learned too much to be so foolish. Maedhros had seen the change, watched her blossom, just in the time he'd known her. He was intensely proud of her, and equally grateful he wouldn't be parted from her despite all his evils. He was better, he'd been told, his light and fire reawakened but tempered.

He could go home.

Gentle fingers fondly ran over her long hair and he smiled warmly down at her, waiting for her choice. He'd accept either, though a selfish part of him hoped she would leave the world which had treated her so ill.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "You always will," he accepted. Then a bright smile answered her choice and he hugged her close. "Then you had best make your farewells, for I think you will not return."