My soul is leaving my body. This is the THIRD, thrice-cursed time I've tried to upload this chapter! Ugh!

Anyway, Thank you to all who liked/followed my story - you make me grin like an addlepated fool. :)

And special thanks to leelee202 (whose LOTR story I beta - go check it out!), Ragityannie, ColdOnePaul, Aralinn, and FromHellWithLove for their marvelous reviews - I damn near swooned with joy! Have a virtual cookie (and a contemplative, Lothlorien Legolas) for your trouble!


"Lying under such a myriad of stars. The sea's black horizon. He rose and walked out and stood barefoot in the sand and watched the pale surf appear all down the shore and roll and crash and darken again. When he went back to the fire he knelt and smoothed her hair as she slept and he said if he were God he would have made the world just so and no different" - Cormac McCarthy


ooOoo

Erestor left Merrill at her chambers with terse efficiency. He informed her that a maid would be by, shortly, to assist her in whatever ways she needed and then bid her a clipped farewell.

Well, that solves that riddle, then. Erestor was definitely not her biggest fan.

Merrill closed the door before leaning back against it and shutting her eyes. Much was changing, she knew. But the only way she was going to overcome this was to fake it till she made it. And keep distracted at all costs. Merrill knew the moment she was left to her thoughts they would eat her alive. With that in mind, she set to exploring her new home. The chamber, itself, was modest in size. It contained a wardrobe, a twin bed, two nightstands, and a vanity of some sort, with a slightly wavy glass mirror that made her cringe. She didn't need to be reminded of her very pointed ears, thank you very much.

Another doorway led to a bathroom. In one corner stood a sturdy copper tub that damn near had her panting like a dog with a milkbone; she couldn't wait to try it out. Behind a sort of privacy curtain at the opposite end was a stone bench with a wooden seat. A privy, she realized. An honest-to-goodness privy. With a zeal she did not know she possessed, she internally grieved the lack of modern plumbing and prayed to whatever gods existed in this godforsaken reality to implement some. Stat.

Beside the privy was a stack of some sort of paper, and just in front of that stood a brazier and a stand full of sand. She supposed the brazier was to burn the paper, and the sand… well, best not to think on that too hard. This is temporary, she reminded herself. I can live with this for two months. I mean, I went camping that one time in Girl Scouts, and the restroom situation was pretty much identical to this, and I survived, then.

Barely, her practical and overly honest self pointed out.

Merrill returned to her room and flopped down on her bed. The sheets were white and crisp and smelled of lavender and sunshine. She inhaled deeply and ordered herself to relax.

A crisp knock came almost immediately at the door, and Merrill called, "Come in!"

A dark haired elf with gray eyes swept into the room. She wore an amethyst gown with a golden girdle set low on her hips, and her sleeves were overlong and wide, making her every gesture a production.

Che cavolo! Would it kill whatever gods had created this world to make a single average looking elf? Just one? She had to get out of here before Middle Earth killed her self-esteem. (1)

The beautiful elf bobbed a curtsey before smiling shyly at Merrill from beneath her dark lashes. "Le nathlam hí, my Lady. My name is Cailiel. Lord Elrond has instructed me to care for you while you remain under his protection."

"Thank you, Callal… Calleel..." Merrill lumbered through the syllables like a bull in a china shop; a drunken bull hopped up on starbursts and five-hour energy.

Cailiel interrupted her, and Merrill couldn't help the sigh of relief that escaped her. "It is 'Kay-Lee-El'."

"Cailiel - I'll remember that. My name is Merrill, it's nice to meet you."

The other elf dumped a pile of clothing onto the bed beside her and smiled. "Your name is lovely. Our people have had only one nightingale in our history, but I am pleased to find another."

Merrill's confusion must have shown on her face, for Cailiel said, "Your name. It means nightingale. I apologize; I was informed that you did not speak Elvish, but I must have forgotten. As to the first nightingale, that was Luthien Tinuviel. She was the most beautiful elf in all of Arda and she fell in love with Beren, a mortal man. Surely you've heard this tale, before?"

"No…" Merrill shook her head and asked, "Will you tell it to me?"

Cailiel snapped a dress in an attempt to remove the wrinkles. "Well, it's not a happy tale. And quite a long one. It ends with death for them both."

"Wait, what do you mean? Wasn't Luthien an elf?"

"Yes… but she gave up her immortality to be with Beren. The choice was given to her by Mandos."

"Oh!" understanding dawned. "So just like Arago-" She clapped her hands over her mouth and attempted to conceal her words by coughing.

"Just like who, dear?" Cailiel asked absently.

"Nothing. I was confused. So what happened in between?"

"Well, Beren was ordered by King Thingol, Luthien's father, to steal a silmaril from Morgoth's mighty crown and give it to him if he wished to marry Luthien. Luthien was enraged, and so, too, was Melian, for it was a task that would lead to nothing but death; no mortal could ever hope to survive such an encounter with the dark Vala. But Thingol was adamant. Beren would return with a silmaril or he would not grant him his daughter's hand."

Merrill tucked her knees up beneath her chin. "What an ass."

Cailiel's expression became quizzical. "I beg your pardon?"

She waved her question away. "What's a silmaril?"

"It is a jewel that holds the light of the sacred trees of Valinor. They are supposedly the most beautiful in the world, and desperately coveted by many."

Merrill made a mental note to avoid all jewelry in Middle Earth; shiny baubles just weren't worth it when they might contain the soul of a dead villain or some mystical tree light that made people greedy. "What happened, then? Beren didn't go after this silmaril, did he?"

Cailiel's lips twisted. "He did, at that. Beren left Luthien behind and began his journey to Morgoth's stronghold. But he was intercepted and imprisoned by two of the sons of Feanor, the elf who created the silmarils. Finrod, the elven king of Naglathond, was captured, too, along with all of his men. None survived but Beren, and that because King Finrod chose to die for him. They were friends, you see."

"How did Beren survive, then?"

"Luthien, of course," Cailiel said proudly. "She was not content to wait at home whilst her fëa mate courted certain death. And so, going against her father's wishes, she escaped from the tower in which she was locked and flew across the land. She was briefly captured by Curufin and Celegorm, two of the sons of Feanor, but escaped with the help of Huan, Celegorm's hound. When she came upon Angband, Sauron's fortress, she demanded he submit to her. He refused, and, with Huan by her side, she attacked. Huan injured Sauron and slaughtered a whole army of werewolves. Ashamed and injured, Sauron transformed into a vampire and fled, leaving Luthien in control of his tower. She raced to the dungeons and set Beren free, but she insisted he take her with him if he were to continue his quest."

"As she should. He wouldn't have even survived if she hadn't disobeyed him in the first place. They were stronger together. I don't get why men in fairytales don't understand this," Merrill agreed earnestly.

"May I continue?"

"Yes."

"And so they set off. Much happened: Luthien transformed herself and Beren into the likenesses of two of the enemy to gain entry into Morgoth's domain and then sang he and his court to sleep, allowing Beren to steal the silmaril. But just as Beren was prying the stone from Morgoth's crown, his dagger slipped and cut Morgoth's cheek. The dark lord awoke and Beren and Luthien fled. But they were intercepted." Cailiel paused for dramatic effect, and Merrill crawled across her coverlet and poked her.

"You are more impatient than an elfling!" she admonished, but there wasn't any bite to it. "They were stopped by Carcharoth, the true opponent of Huan and a giant werewolf. Before they could do aught else, Carcharoth ripped the hand holding the silmaril from Beren's wrist and swallowed. But the silmaril burned him from within and he ran, crazed, out of sight. The eagles came and flew them back to her father's kingdom. After they'd explained all that had happened, Thingol softened and allowed their marriage. They were happy for a few, brief years, until tragedy struck."

Merrill smacked her lightly with a pillow. "What tragedy?!"

Cailiel huffed. "If you cannot behave like a proper elleth, then we will finish this tale another time."

"I'll be the properest elleth of all elleths," Merril swore, not even caring to learn what an 'elleth' was. "Scouts honor."

The elf scrutinized her dubiously, but sighed and continued. "Carcharoth had been sighted outside their kingdom. Beren and Huan went out to meet him in battle, and they managed to kill the fell beast, but both were slain in the process. With his dying breath, Beren gave the lost silmaril (taken from Carcharoth's stomach) into King Thingol's hand and departed this life. Luthien faded from grief at this loss. Upon coming to Mandos's halls, herself, she began to sing of her heartbreak, lamenting the fact that, even in death, she would never see her beloved again. Her sweet voice touched Mandos' heart, and he returned Beren and Luthien, both, to life. But Luthien would have to make a choice: lose her love forever, or die with him when the time came. Luthien accepted mortality and they returned to Arda, moving to Ossiriand where she lived out the rest of her days beside Beren and died a mortal death."

"So, does Luthien mean nightingale?" Merrill finally asked once she could speak around the emotion in her throat.

"No. Beren named her Tinuviel, nightingale, upon first laying eyes upon her dancing in a meadow of flowers. From that very moment he claimed his heart was no longer his own."

Merrill considered this as Cailiel worked her way through the pile of dresses; Luthien and Beren, then, were the original Arwen and Aragorn.

"Now," Cailiel held up a deep red gown and said enthusiastically. "What do you say to crimson?"

"I say, 'Where are the pants?'"

Cailiel laughed, a tinkling sound that lifted Merrill's spirits. "I can, of course, provide you with breeches and a tunic, if you would prefer. Though it might be wise to wear them another time if you are to dine tonight with the Lords and Lady of Rivendell."

Merrill did her best to conceal her distaste.

Cailiel held it up, once more. "I will not cinch the laces tightly. I swear it."

Merrill acceded with bad grace.

"Excellent! Would you care to bathe before I ready you for dinner, my Lady?"

She squirmed with excitement. "Yes, please! And please don't call me 'my Lady'; I'm just plain Merrill. No need to stand on ceremony, here. I mean, I smacked you with a pillow – we're practically related."

"You have peculiar views on what constitutes kinship, but I will do as you ask. I shall return, Merrill, with your bath water directly." Cailiel began to curtsey but met Merrill's narrowed eyes and chose to dip her head, instead.

She would break these elves of their empty courtesies if it was the last thing she did.

One elf down, she thought wearily, only a thousand more to go.


A/N:

You know the drill, my darlings! Favorite, Follow, Review, Yodel, Mime, or play something by the Irish Rovers on the flugel horn at 2:37 in the morning to the stray cat in the alley behind your neighbor's garage... you know the one. But talk to me! I welcome constructive criticism!

Best Wishes ~ (Please, all things good in this world, let this be the last time I have to retype all of this!)

(1) What the hell? (Lit. What cabbage). Italian