She is loathe to release him, not when he is solid and his arms hold her tightly, but they are drawing undue attention. She draws a long breath and gathers together the scraps of her composure. When she answers him it is not a clean answer, it is littered with flitting bits of stray emotion, she cannot even focus for this she is so overjoyed, but it is clear enough.

Come, follow me.

With great force of will she draws back from him and, as she pulls away, she takes his hand in hers. She doesn't speak as she pulls him forward, her pace only slightly less than a jog, and her fingers hold onto his very tightly. She leads them into the Gallows, through the halls of the central tower until she comes upon Thranduil's office. It is strange to take refuge here, but she doubts he will mind overmuch. Once she has drawn him through the door she nearly slams it closed in her haste.

And then, at once, she is uncertain what to say. There is so much and, as she turns to look upon him, she is caught up in that same tangle of joy and shock that had overcome her in the courtyard. She is nearly upon the edge of tears for her gladness and relief.

"You are here," she repeats for both of them. We are safe, her mind whispers in the same breath. Still, she has not released his hand.