Check out my poll: The Best Prince Charming out of the Seven Sons of You-Know-Who (and it's not VOLDEMORT, SILLY!)

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to Lord of the Rings, Silmarillion, or the theme of Cinderella.

Oh, and...did you know that Silmalir is a jacked-up anagram of Silmaril? I just realized it...and I'm still mind-blown. I think I spelled anagram right...


Makalaurë waited for Maitimo and Tyelkormo at the doors. Yesterday had been quite a day, especially the event in the kitchen. He distinctly remembered Tyelkormo dropping the pie into an unsuspecting Lady Alquasar's arms, and the expression on her face at having arms full of pie was priceless. Then he remembered the not-so-exciting aspects of it—meeting Lady Alquasar's daughters, Aicenel and Lohtinil.

They were indeed fair; the poets were as true as their word, but they lacked severely in the ability to adapt, what with servants waiting on them during Laurelin and Telperion's light.

"Did we keep you waiting, Makalaurë?" Maitimo asked.

"You were very prompt," he replied with a straight face. "I am glad we are going to help out at the banquet hall—"

"—for then we shall be able to avoid Lady Alquasar's daughters," finished Tyelkormo. "They raise their noses at anything involving dirty work."

"Let us go then," Maitimo said cheerfully. "I do not wish to encounter them on the way to the banquet hall."


I sat upon a high stool, staring at the garland that circled the room. It reminded me of stars in a sky, for though it did not shine, it fit in perfectly with the colors of the alabaster walls. The large room itself was lit with light from Laurelin, and the white roses between the clumps of ivy vines were bestowed a brilliant sheen of a chalkish-ivory. I had then come to a conclusion that the servants of the palace were much more versed than the servants of Lady Alquasar's house.

Upon this conclusion, I felt absolutely no shame; in fact, I could not wait to learn from them.

Fánamaril stood beside me, holding a piece of parchment and small wooden board in her hands. When she looked up, it seemed that she was checking off each of the criteria to see if it were adequate enough to present to the royal family and Lady Alquasar's family. Then she met my eyes and smiled. We exchanged looks and turned to our own work—my work being an excruciatingly long list of guests that I was to place in a seat. Basically, I was given the task of seating arrangements with the third section of the table, and the left-over names that had not been crossed out were my duty sort.

Beside each name was a description of the Elf, and I wondered why, if Fiondo had bothered to put hand-written information under each name, couldn't she sort the names herself in three minutes? I mentioned this to Fánamaril earlier, and she simply pursed her lips and shook her head in exasperation.

If I had not the patience of dealing with Lady Alquasar, Aicelen, and Lohtilin, I would have thrown the scroll down (yes, the guest list was that long) and stormed out of the hall, screaming up and down the palace halls about how unfair it was that I, a newcomer in the palace, would have to be assigned one of the most painstaking tasks that required discretion unless I wished for someone to be under the impression of utter offence in the name of King Finwë!

Alas, I have patience, so I do not really have a valid statement that allows pardon. Fánamaril has seen the extent of patience that I exert every single day, and I remember quite frankly reaching the zenith of my patience, as it was wearing very, very thin. I also recalled it to be yesterday, in the kitchens.

I looked over three names at a time: Lord Hyandaman, Lord Axoluntë, Lord Airacurwë. It impressed me that there were so many Elf-lords in Tirion—and a dwindling amount of Elf-ladies, evidently excluding Lady Alquasar and her rogue offspring.

Fiondo came over to look at my work, which I had nearly finished by then. She raised a fine eyebrow several times at what I had done, but nodded.

"Satisfactory, I suppose. That is to be expected though; you are new here."

I did not shrug, as I would have liked. I was interrupted before I could.

"Lord Nelyafinwë! You and your brothers are not allowed in the banquet hall 'til dinner!"

As if it made a difference—they were going to come into the doors at dinner; why not allow them in now? It would show them more etiquette than to run around stealing pies and dropping them into random ladies' arms (which I found out, to my amusement, to be Lady Alquasar).

"Oh, come off it, Ringalannë, we just want to help," said a voice that I recognized to be Turcafinwë's. "It would help you all finish a lot faster, and then you will be able to relax!"

It was a tempting offer, for all of us were getting tired of all the parchment, garland—despite the pretty rose flowers—and table-setting. After all, the plates still had to be arranged, and the silverware as well, in the proper position.

Then, the two cursed words came out of Ringalannë's voice (so much for cold-cloth!*); "Ask Fiondo."

The three brothers came over to where Fiondo stood, which happened to be right next to where Fánamaril and I were. When they were in close proximity, Fiondo had an outright smirk on her face. If I were one of the sons of Fëanáro, I would have been afraid. Fiondo and smirks were not a good combination—or, rather, they were interrogating smirks. She would barrage you with an inhumane amount of questions. I learned this the hard way yesterday, when Ringalannë came to us saying that Fiondo needed us in the banquet hall.

Fánamaril and I were subjected to 'A Thousand Questions on Where You Were When I Needed You in the Banquet Hall,' courtesy of a certain head-servant, and by the end of the interrogation, I was so tired that I couldn't even pick up a plate and drop it onto the table.

"Well, well, my lords," said Fiondo. "Why the sudden urge to help out, hmm?"

Nelyafinwë smiled. "Aiding others is a refreshing experience. The bond that is created is reward enough."

More like punishment, I thought.

"Are you trying to hide from someone?"

Ha, caught dead. I took one glance at the elder brother's face and saw shock at being discovered, surprise that he was read like a book, and guilt that he had been caught. I have to admit, he was like an open book. Before he turned to meet my eyes, I had already looked down with a slight smirk mirroring Fiondo's.

"I assure you that we are not hiding from anyone," said Kanafinwë smoothly.

"You are not hiding from Lady Aicelen and Lady Lohtilin?" Fiondo countered. Ah, my memory failed me; Fiondo was in the category of the all-knowers. She had obviously heard about Aicelen's disaster with the horse from Ringalannë. Servants were just full of surprises, were they not? I think Fiondo would have refused their help, if not had it been for their pleading looks and reluctant admittance that, yes, they were hiding from my step-sisters.

In the end, I came to the realisation that I was finished with my task, and so I was to help set the plates. I wordlessly handed her the parchment and set off to the kitchen—adjoined to the banquet hall, surprisingly enough—to receive plates. She spoke before I could fully be out of hearing range: "Take one of them with you."

I suppose I really couldn't have put on a surprised expression and said, "What, me? Why?" Instead, I grudgingly linked arms with one of them (I didn't bother to see who it was) and dragged him away without much resistance. Why me?


It turns out, I had dragged away Kanafinwë and received many odd looks from the servants all around, especially from the females. I had not seen his face yet, so when they stared after us, I wondered frankly if there was something on my face, or if my hair was in disarray, or something that detracted from my already detracted appearance, as Aicelen or Lohtilin would put it. Then I wondered, for just one moment, I promise you, if Kanafinwë remembered my name, or at least my face.

"Silmalir!" greeted Rínaquinë, the cook that I mentioned earlier (the one who engraved the emblem onto the apples). Then her eyes widened considerably, and I thought, Wow, I didn't know an Elf's eyes could get that big... "Lord Kanafinwë?"

Orc-dung. I mean, I personally didn't care which of the sons it was, but surely I didn't have to pick, in my opinion, the most handsome one?

"Hello, Rínaquinë," his voice greeted. It was silkier than I remembered.

Orc-dung, orc-dung, orc-dung! There was no doubt that this was Kanafinwë, the wonderful poet. I turned around to see if it was true, that my ears were not playing tricks on me. My gaze was met with an icy blue one, and I almost wanted to wince at how intense it was. But I held my ground, and thankfully, I did not make a fool out of myself.

"Your name is Silmalir?" he asked, the corners of his mouth twitching.

I think he found it amusing that I frankly resembled an elfling caught with a hand in the cookie jar, or in this case, caught linked arm-in-arm with one of the most handsome Elves in Tirion. By said handsome Elf. My expression was probably not unlike a shocked expression of Lady Alquasar realizing that I had been invited to a gala that only nobles attended. Without her knowing of it. Of course, she came into knowledge after seeing my face there...

Because I couldn't speak (I was shocked, could you blame me?), I only nodded. He allowed his mouth to curve into a smile.

"I am Kanafinwë." Forget what I said earlier about not making a fool of myself.

"Evidently," I deadpanned.

Balrog-dung. Valar help me—I was definitely going to be spending a long time in the Halls of Mandos.

To my infinite surprise, and relief, he broke out into a grin and turned to Rínaquinë. "Where are the plates?"

Rínaquinë simply pointed to a tower of pearl-white plates with golden flowers and sapphire gems decorated on the bottom. Perhaps King Finwë had a sense of humor and wished for his guests to look like absolute idiots when they tried to examine the bottom of their plates. Or perhaps it is just me that sees the stupid side of things.

"Let us get started, shall we?" Kanafinwë said cheerfully, taking a small stack of plates into his hands.


I found out that Kanafinwë was quite funny.

"What do you call five elves balanced on the Mindon?" He has an odd sense of humor. But mine was probably even odder.

"A black, black blasphemy."

Kanafinwë chuckled. "Your answer is better than mine."

We had quite a nice time setting the table, a very long table that extended from the high seat of King Finwë to the other end of the room, which was directly open to a beautiful rose garden and pond. Tirion was beautiful, and those who did not pay the respect that was due were foolish.

He was very polite as well—not at all what I thought him to be when he and his brothers sped through the kitchens like ruffians. The plates were very heavy, so I had to be very painstaking in setting one while holding a few in my other hand. It took time, and he finished before me with just as much gracefulness and diligence, but he waited for me to finish so we could walk back together. I told him that he didn't have to wait and that it would delay the process, but he adamantly stood there, humming.

At last, we finished, and I was immensely relieved at being rid of heaving plates. I wrung my hands and washed them in a basin filled with water, that I had graciously filled for both of us, wiping them on my apron.

Then, it was an hour before dinner, and Kanafinwë had to arrive in decent clothes. He bowed elegantly and smiled.

"Thank you for your time, Silmalir."


I just have one question: Is Silmalir a Mary-Sue?

Meaning of Names:

1. Hyandaman - 'hyanda:' blade; 'aman:' blessed - blade that is blessed
2. Axoluntë - 'axo:' bone; 'luntë:' boat - bone boat
3. Airacurwë - 'aira:' copper-colored; 'curwë:' craft - copper-colored craft
4. Ringalannë - 'ringa:' cold; 'lannë:' cloth - cold cloth*
5. Rinaquinë - 'rina:' crowned; 'quinë:' crest - crowned crest

To be continued...with a fire in the banquet hall!

Are you brave?

Go on then. Press that button right there. Then type your review, and your job is done!