Some many days were spent in a largely predictable pattern of whittling, overeating, oversleeping, and spending time with the King. Her body seemed to want it very much, and she did not fight it. Sometimes she walked, to better learn the Palace, and had found several routes by which to navigate to certain destinations. It felt like an achievement, to have any ability to understand the complex warren of his caverns. Once or twice she visited the forest briefly, at night, mostly to seek out the athelas by which she could replace her stores. She went late, well after bedtime, and did not know whether the King followed her or not; she had no interest in making games of it.

As he had promised, new clothing was made, of a kind she preferred far more. Some of the pieces were between a dress and her customary leggings and tunic, with split skirts that did not trail the floor. These allowed for complete freedom of movement, while still appearing more feminine. She felt stronger, and filled with vigor after this time. It was as if a constant drain had previously been set upon her, one that she could never replenish. The King noticed that her cheeks had filled out more, with an appearance of full health. Her beauty increased, and she became more appealing than ever, in his eyes.

One day, they breakfasted, and afterward he declared to her that they were going into the forest. She was instructed to change to her hunting gear. Excitedly, she returned to her rooms to change, barely remembering to store her carving knives and unfinished wooden elk elsewhere than in her pouch. Often now she left her hair loose, and she quickly wove it as she would for the forest. Returning to his rooms, she found him clothed as she had seen him on the day he took her. The sight startled her, a bit, as she realized how much had changed in such a small span of time.

"I have a gift for you, Miriel," he said. He gestured to a small table, where nearly two dozen arrows lay. They were very finely made, and perfectly balanced. Their tips were razor sharp, and the fletching was perfect. They were the finest she had ever seen, and she thanked him profusely as she added them to her quiver; she had never even had ten at one time. This was unprecedented bounty, to her.

Offering her his arm, they departed.

Once again she heard him whistle for the elk near the stables, and this time she watched as he adjusted the harness and saddle buckles. Miriel drank in the sight of the animal as she waited, noting again the details that would help in her carving. As she watched him spring up into the saddle effortlessly, she realized she would like to try it herself, sometime. His offered hand raised her up to sit in front of him, as before. Remembering, she removed her bow, reversing how she usually wore it so that the string was at her back, and not the wooden recurve. Her eyes shone in anticipation of the ride and the outing. She could barely fathom her feelings. Not two weeks ago, she was being taken to what she believed was certain imprisonment or hard servitude. And now, her heart would tear if he required her to return. There was confusion in her; had she really loved Ma and Braedon at all, to be so indifferent to being parted from them? No, she did love them. And she also knew the King had cared for them, and that they were far better off in this world because of having lost her.

They rode out for a long way at a walk, as she admired the sight of the autumn trees shedding their now golden leaves. The sight of the many birch enchanted her; the tall white of their trunks against the greens and darker hues of the conifers. There was pressure at her back, as the King leaned forward more, asking the elk to take them to a destination whose description she did not understand. His arm came around her, holding her to him as he did last time, before the elk sprang into a run. As the days had worn on, the walls around her heart had been cracking quicker than she cared to admit. The degree to which the feel of his arm around her pleased her brought a realization that could no longer be ignored. She had developed sincere and deep affection for him. If his treatment of her had been in any way to deceive or manipulate her, then it had succeeded. But as she had listened to him speak for long hours, it became more and more difficult to continue suspecting that something like this might be the case. His sense of honor, and duty to those he was bound to, seemed to consume him. In the odd moments he would speak some private thought aloud in Sindarin, the impression came over her more and more that his having taken her as a companion was an impulsive decision, and a lone aberration in a very long life.

Perhaps she should be offended to have been...used, in this manner, but it did not feel like usage. Moreover, he shared the deepest place in her heart. There had never been another, that would speak of the woods and the joy of hunting, using the same words as she did in her innermost thoughts. He had shown her chaste affection, and had not refrained from touching her in small ways and comforting her. She did not believe she was mistaken in her assessment that he had feelings toward her, as well. If she did err, the small test that came to mind would soon reveal any wrong in her thinking. These thoughts filled her head, as her left hand came up to hold onto his arm as the elk ran. But she did not leave it there, once she had adjusted to the motion. She slid her arm along his, to cover the back of his hand that held her. She rested her fingers so that each one lay over the small gaps between his own. It was her way of asking, and offering, the first small opening of a doorway to more between them, if he wished it. With gratitude, she felt his fingers part further, allowing her to press her fingers down in between his. She felt him change the angle of his hand, so that his long fingertips lifted and curled over hers. She smiled, happy that he had accepted. What she did not expect was for his other arm to come around her as well. With her remaining hand, she held onto that arm too, riding down the track in his embrace.

Her heart did not flutter or lurch, but rather a sense of deep contentment came over her, as though this was the most natural and ordinary thing. And in that moment, guilt tapped at her heart. It was no longer right, that she withhold secrets from him. If he was returning her affection, he must be told. She hoped there would not be a difficult consequence. If there was, she would have to face it. It was not in her nature to take advantage of the heart of another. What had begun as a contest of wills in which she believed she must retain any advantage had become something else, entirely. If they were to go forward, even if it was only for the shortest of distances, it must be with nothing between them.

They rode on for a long time, as she once again feasted her eyes on the sights and smells of the mighty woods. The rains of autumn had not yet begun, and the air had a dry crispness that spoke of the cold that soon would arrive. On occasion a breeze would waft, and golden leaves like snow would fall around them. The elk unexpectedly slowed, but the King did not loosen his hold on her. She saw a clearing ahead, with a very large, lovely pool. It was quite shallow, perhaps fed from a spring, and reflected the encircling trees like a mirror, along with the clear blue sky and delicate clouds of the autumn afternoon. Each light breeze caused the picture to ripple and change. The elk walked on. She saw tracks and droppings both old and fresh, at the edges. This pool would be a valuable resource for game, and a hidden place some distance away would prove ideal for hunting, should that actually be what they were doing here. When they had walked a suitable distance from the pool, Thranduil whispered for the elk to stop. At last releasing his hold on her, the King dismounted and helped her down. The jewel in his diadem blazed in the dappled sunlight, over a face lit by radiance and happiness. It warmed her heart, to see it...even as she fervently hoped the words she must soon speak would not transform the expression into something very different.

While not nearly as disastrous as her last dismount, she was yet not perfectly steady on her feet. Amused, he held her arm. The knot in her stomach tightened. As he moved alongside her and offered his arm to walk, he spoke in Sindarin. His voice was very quiet, so as not to alert nearby animals of their presence.

"I would kiss you, if I could be certain I would not endure your wrath."

She stumbled at that moment, and halted, her body stiffening. You have to tell him, and right now, she thought to herself.

Her whispered voice was not perfectly steady as she began. "My Lord, there is something I must confess. I have kept something from you, and it cannot continue." She paused, trying to find the wherewithal to speak further. His fingers raised her chin to look in his eyes.

"Yes, Miriel?" His face was kind, but puzzled.

"This is not easy for me to say; I fear your anger, but I must risk it in order to do what is right." She paused, trying to choose her words carefully. "The day you brought me to my living quarters, I did not trust you. I was upset, confused, and seeking any way remaining open to me to protect myself from you. You stood near the doorway, speaking in your language. I believe the words you said to me began with Pedig edhellon. Do you remember?"

"Yes, I do."

She paused, trying to find the last of her courage. "My Lord, I truthfully cannot speak Sindarin, and thereby justified remaining silent. But I can understand it, perfectly. Please, forgive me."

His eyes widened, and for what seemed like an eternity he looked at her, without blinking. Slowly, the corners of his mouth curled up in a smile. "I see," he said. Then he chuckled. "You are forgiven, Miriel. You have elegantly outwitted me, while yet keeping your vows." Relief washed over her. "Thank you, my Lord. I think it is plain, that my regard for you has changed since I first came here." She looked down for a moment, preparing the kinds of words she never thought she would speak.

"My Lord, you may be certain, you would not endure my wrath."

The light returned to his face, on hearing her words. Without hesitation, he leaned down, pulling her toward him by her waist, and pressed his lips to hers. They were soft, and sweet. This time her heart did lurch. His tongue gently sought entrance into her mouth, and she welcomed him, returning his affection tenderly. When he released her, his eyes sparkled. While she said nothing, the emotion that lit her bejeweled eyes said enough.

He brushed a stray strand of hair back from her brow. "As I reflect on some of the things I have said, I realize that you must have many questions, Miriel. We will have time to speak of all of them. But I wish you to know that however muddled my reasons were for bringing you here with me, my attachment to you has grown with each passing day, and is sincere. I do not give my affection lightly. I...have never given it, before now. There is an echo of my heart within you, that I never thought to find in another, and it has drawn me to you with an insistence both powerful and sudden. "

Miriel smiled at his words. "It is a relief, my Lord, to know that I am not alone in this. I do not ask you for any more than you wish to give. It is difficult for me to acknowledge how swiftly you have captured my heart. I never thought to develop affection of this kind toward anyone, much less so easily. But you are not just...anyone. As my person is pledged to your service, my heart now belongs to you also. I could not accept another. What that means, or where that leads, does not now concern me. My happiness and gratitude at being your chosen companion is already complete; to serve you in any way I am able."

"Then let our hearts unite, Miriel, where they already exist together. I brought you here today for the pleasure of watching you hunt. Would you do me the honor, my huntress, of allowing me this?" A large smile of delight spread over her face. "I believe the honor is mine, my Lord."

"Miriel, before your swift feet depart, there is another matter. You have shown me unwavering deference, but we have now chosen each other. I have a name, and have never once heard you speak it. It would please me, if you would now address me in private as I do you, and not as your ruler."

She looked at him, surprised. His name would need practice, on her tongue. The softness of the Th that began his name, and the trill of the r were not sounds to which her mouth was accustomed. With a smile, she gave a hesitant reply.

"I will do my best, Thranduil." She frowned. "Thranduil, Thranduil." He corrected her, slightly. "You are very close," he said, smiling before his face suddenly became more serious. "I do not need to tell you, Miriel, that the other consequence of your confession will be that you must begin speaking our language. And it is also time to remedy something else." His hands travelled to her ears. He spoke now, very softly. "You understand, do you not, that there are too many things about you that have only one explanation?"

Though she had not allowed herself to dwell on it, she did know. Before coming here, so many little reasons existed to not consider her past or connect the things about her that should not have been.

"Yes."

"You may feel stinging, but it should not be unendurable. Hold still."

The same sensation she had felt the time he'd worked on her legs built now in her ears as he laid his hands against her head, but swiftly gave way to a feel of...buzzing, for lack of better words, followed by increasing sensations of pinpricks. They were sharp, and surprising, but certainly no worse than insect stings. There was also warmth. And after a time, a sense of pleasure far in excess of what had happened in her leg muscles. It was this that took her aback more than anything, and she was grateful that he had specified to keep still. It was not easy, and an involuntary moan escaped her lips even as the feeling subsided. He removed his hands.

"You may move now," he said.

Miriel reached up, almost not wanting to know. Her fingertips trailed slowly up the edges of her ears, until they came to a gentle point before sloping back down.

"Thranduil, thank you," she whispered, as she tried to digest what she could no longer ignore. "Someone did not want it known. How could anyone do something like that, to a little girl? To anyone?" she asked in bitter disbelief.

"I do not know, Miriel. But it is as my heart suspected. Perhaps on some level of instinct, this is also why I took you. You belong with your people."

She frowned, realizing that his voice now sounded subtly different to her. But of course, she now had her ears catching more sound.

"I can hear more, now," she said, smiling. With her eyes full of love, she reached up on her toes to kiss him again on the mouth, quickly meeting his lips before withdrawing. With a mischievous look she said "The deer are not going to hunt themselves," and she bounded off in what seemed like a promising direction.

She reversed her bow to how it usually would be, as she jogged along silently, to put some distance between herself and the pleasantly emotional encounter. It would not do, though, to have that cluttering her head, and she allowed it to fall away as she brought her mind into the hunt. Slowing to a silent walk, she carefully opened her senses to the forest. At mid day, it was not the best time to encounter game. Nor was remaining on the forest floor advantageous to her goals. In the distance, but still within some sight of the pool, she saw a stand of conifers that looked better suited, and decided to track that way. Carefully now, she scouted the terrain ahead. Resting quarry were too easy to overlook, if one was not careful. At the base of a likely tree, she silently brought out her line and looped it so that she could ascend to the lower scaffolds. She did not like the positioning of this tree, and leaped into the next one. The vantage was much better, and she went out on the limb to exactly where she wished, looped her line, and froze into place. By quadrant, she concentrated, looking, listening, smelling. She was within easy shot of a game trail that appeared to be well used. Where the elk was, or the King, she had no idea. Her bow was removed from off her body, in the event there was an opportunity to use it.

She wondered, with some amusement, why he wished to observe her hunt. Nothing could be more boring, actually. It was ninety nine percent waiting, patience, and educated guesses and one percent actually having a chance to bring down quarry. Frowning, she realized that it was a challenge, in this long watch, to not daydream about the encounter she had with him. It seemed unreal, she thought, shaking her head. The great Elvenking, and...her? Yet she saw him perhaps less as a ruler and more as a...person, with needs, wants, and a wish for someone to alleviate loneliness. Well she knew, the wrong company was far more tiresome than being alone...yet that did not alleviate the desire for the right company. And an honorable male who thought that sitting and lurking for hours to outwit prey, and who loved running through the trees under moonlight...that was the right company. Enough, she thought, rolling her eyes at her girlish thinking and forcing her mind to pay attention. Given the season, she wondered if it might do well to take advantage of the rut. The question was, were the stags still in a territorial mood? She kept rattle bag objects bound tightly, designed to imitate the sounds of sparring antlers. Carefully fishing that out, she released the ties that kept it from making unwanted noise. Her decoy sounds carried wide, even in her own ears. The silence of the forest felt almost like a graveyard. That disturbed her, too. It was not normal. She felt suddenly uneasy, for reasons she could not determine, and went on alert. Instinct told her to release her loop and retreat toward the trunk of the tree, and pull her hood and cloak more tightly around her.

A scent of foulness was on the air. Wrinkling her nostrils, she could not ever recall such a smell, unless it came from a rotting carcass. Soon she caught noises, animal rumblings. Perhaps sixty feet over, she saw them first. It was like a wolf, but monstrous, larger than a horse by far. Astride it was a broken and distorted creature. While she had never seen either before, she had heard the stories. Orcs, and wargs. Was this what Thranduil had meant, when he said his forest was not entirely safe? He might have been more specific, she thought, frowning. Now she recalled the black arrow she'd taken from the deer. How dare they come into his woods, she thought. Everyone knew that they were foul, evil, and would hurt and kill merely for the pleasure of it.

She grimaced. Right now, they were an easy shot, but she saw three wargs and riders; that meant six arrows. And after the first arrow, the shot would no longer be easy. And were there more? What of the King's elk? she wondered. Hopefully it was far away from these. She hesitated. Skill in hunting was not skill in combat. Silently she fitted an arrow, and waited. Suddenly one orc fell from what appeared to be a thrown dagger, and she hesitated no longer. Her first arrow went into the eye of one of the wargs, as did her second. By bad luck, the third warg and rider tracked the shot, and began to run toward her. This warg too she brought down, but did not take into account that its rider held a bow as well. At the last moment she looked on in disbelief to see that an arrow had pierced through her arm, with part of the shaft protruding at either end. It did not yet hurt, and she quickly shot her attacker down just before the pain moved through her arm. A third orc she saw hurl something at a target away from her, and with great pain she loosed her last arrow. She could raise her arm no more. Her heart was racing, and it was difficult to think. Never before had she been injured from a weapon, and was thinking with some chagrin that this was why she trained so hard to kill on the first shot...nothing should have to endure this terrible feeling. She remembered the buck that died at Thranduil's feet, and now felt remorse for what it suffered as it ran from Braedon.

I have to get out of this tree, she thought...one handed. There was silence again, as she worked to hop to lower branches. She was a good twenty feet up, she reasoned, considering her options. Line and ladder, she thought. Quickly looping her line, she unrolled her ladder so that the opposite end was in her hand, the grapple dangling. She passed the loop ends of her line over each side of one of the wooden pegs of the ladder, and used her legs and her good arm to lower herself quickly. Once on the bottom, she waggled the line until the loop slid off the peg, allowing the part hung over the tree branch to come loose. She coiled and stowed everything as swiftly as possible, under the circumstances. Her discomfort from the arrow was rising swiftly. And now she second-guessed her decision to leave the tree. If there were more wargs, they would smell her blood. Though it would be agony to fire another shot, she nocked an arrow just in case. Waiting, listening.

She needed a way to break the arrow in her arm, she thought. It wouldn't do to have the ends sticking out like this. And the thing looked filthy, it needed to come out altogether. It wasn't a normal arrow, she reasoned, from those horrid things. If she did that, she needed cloth to bind the injury. Rolling her eyes, she realized that the best candidate was the scarf she used to bind up her bosom. It was far from ideal, but least she had a plan. She found a tree with a tight fork, and placed the arrowhead into it. Stabilizing it with her hand, she steeled herself and bent against it hard. The head snapped off, and it was all she could do not to scream. Tears rolled down her cheeks from the distress of it, as she tried to breathe silently. She had to get the cloth off, first, because she could not remove the arrow without having something ready to stanch the bleeding. Reaching inside her garment, she fished around with her fingers until she found the knot that held the silk, and painstakingly worked it loose. Finally it came undone, and she began to pull the entire length free. This could not be more ridiculous, she thought. She felt the last of it come off, freeing her breasts. Tossing it around her neck to keep it clean, she tried to prepare herself for how much this was going to hurt. Best just get it over with, Miriel, she tried to encourage herself. One, two, three. Unable to completely stifle a strangled sound, more tears rolled down her face as her breathing came hard. But at least the thing was out. She tied the end of the silk into a bowline, using the loop to create an initial slipknot, which she placed her arm into, leaving the knot relatively loose. This anchored it enough to allow her to make wrap after wrap after wrap, binding it, and finally putting in some half hitches to keep it in place. It still hurt a great deal, but in a way that now seemed bearable. She picked up the pieces of the arrow. Thranduil would probably want to see them.

Frowning, she realized now how odd it was, that he was...nowhere? She saw a cedar tree nearby, and scuttled over to it. Grabbing several sprigs of the fragrant growth, she rubbed it up and down near her wound, hoping to cover over any scent of blood. For good measure she tucked some pieces into the wraps of the silk. Cautiously, she looked around. There had been nothing but silence, so apparently the small pack of creatures was the extent of the incursion. Even more cautiously, she went to investigate their carcasses. She retrieved her arrows, disgusted at their filth. Three wargs and two riders were accounted for, where was the third? Stepping to the opposite side, she began to look...and smell...in the distance. The sight of a flaxen haired figure on the ground almost stopped her heart. She maintained caution, but went to him as swiftly as possible. The last rider was dead; the black mess on the King's sword gave the reason. Examining him, he breathed, and she could see no blood. I do not understand, she thought. But she caught a glint of the wrong color in his hair, and reached to find an ugly bruise against his temple. It was very swollen and had bled somewhat. She listened at his chest; his heart was strong. She was not sure what to do; she had never healed a person before. Try, she thought, what is there to lose? Reaching for her jar, she poured all of the dried plant pieces into her hand, and held it firmly against the side of his head. As it occurred to her, so she did. She kissed him on the lips, on his cheek. With her hands holding his head, she began to think her thoughts. Your head must be well, you must heal. You have my love, Thranduil, you must heal... This went on for a very long time, until once again she believed no more was to be gained.

Had it made any difference? She honestly could not tell. They needed the elk, she reasoned. She cleaned and sheathed his sword, and did her level best to imitate the sound he made when he called the animal, praying it would be good enough. Her relief when the animal came was incalculable. Figuring that she must speak to it in Sindarin was not so wonderful. In childishly simple sentences, she pleaded with the animal. "He is hurt. Please bring us home. You must come down. On your back, I need help." The magnificent animal lowered itself to its knees, right near them. With great difficulty, she moved the King, assorted body parts at a time, onto the animal's back. It was unavoidable, to use her injured arm, and there was considerable pain for her. But how was she going to keep him there? She would have to ride behind him, to hold onto him, but his body was heavy. It was then that she saw the buckles on the saddle, and had an idea. Using her line, she basically tied his thighs and waist into the saddle itself. And then she raised the stirrups, for her own legs. She held him, and spoke to the elk again. "I ride bad. Take us home please. Gentle but quick. I hold him." Tightly she grasped him as the animal carefully rose to its feet, but there was still a terrifying amount of lurching around for a moment.

They were headed home, she told herself, where he will be helped. Her vows to serve him would have no greater test in her life than this ordeal. As the miles wore on, her suffering increased. The filthy wound in her arm carried its own malice, while her legs increased in discomfort all the while. Her healing of him, which made more of a difference than she realized, had taken her strength. He had sustained a grievous blow to the head, from an unseen stone one orc had hurled at him. She had greatly diminished the damage from this, and shot down the Orc that might have killed him while he was defenseless. Steadfastly, she held his difficult weight against her much smaller body. Every possible thing she could think of to keep her focus and distract herself from her torments, she did. She recited rhymes, and nonsense childhood songs. The recipe for varnish, the names of the villagers. Anything at all, to distract her from the pain she could barely endure as the elk ran on.

Against all hope, the stables came into view at last. She was not shy about shouting "Help. The King. Hurt." at the first person who could hear her. Swiftly she began untying the line that bound him to the saddle, as many hands took him away from her. As it became apparent what was happening, an entire commotion followed the King into the Palace, leaving her quite alone with just the stable hands. Their expressions were openly contemptuous, and she turned her eyes away from them. She told the elk, quietly. "Thank you, friend. You saved him. Thank you from my heart. Please kneel? I not get down." The workers turned their backs on her and left, as the large animal knelt, allowing her to slide herself off of it very slowly. It felt hurtful, that they did not try to help her at all, and for the first time she wondered how the elves here viewed her. It would appear, poorly, she thought. Slowly, and in considerable difficulty, she walked the distance alone to their rooms. Her heart told her the King was being cared for to the best of anyone's ability, whereas she had just enough left in her to possibly make it to her bed. As she passed the guards at his door, she looked at them. Their stern faces stared rigidly ahead. In the eyes of one, she thought she caught a flicker of wavering, but they offered her no acknowledgement. Entering her own rooms, she willed herself to reach her bed. Standing against its edge, she fell back, pinning her bow to the mattress. At last she could yield to the pain and weariness, and she knew nothing else. When the sun rose the next day, she did not wake. As the hours wore on, her untended injury began to fester, and fever set in. Unaware, she slept on.

There was a point at which a voice penetrated the shadows of her slumber. It was cold, enraged, and frightening. There were hands on her, and then the shadows fell again.

"Miriel," she heard. "Miriel, it is time to wake. Please wake for me, Miriel." She did not want to, but she was probably oversleeping for breakfast again, she thought. Her eyelids were so heavy, and she was tired, but the King was asking her to wake. Just blinking felt like the hardest thing she had ever done. The images were blurred, and her eyes closed again.

"Miriel, you must wake. Try again. Wake, Miriel." She sighed heavily. He must really desire his breakfast, she reasoned. Again, she forced her eyes to open, and blinked again. Only then did she realize how thirsty she was. Turning, she tried to sit up, but was pushed back down. "Please, I need water," she whispered, trying to clear her mind. It was not working very well. Strong arms pulled her up to sit, and brought a bowl to her lips, from which she drank greedily. She did not know how many bowls she emptied before she finally sighed with relief. "Thank you. I am sorry, my Lord, to have overslept for breakfast," she whispered.

"Miriel, look at me," the King said. Trying, her eyes had to adjust for some time, before she could see clearly. He brushed hair from her face, patiently waiting until she could at last comply. "I am not concerned about breakfast."

"Oh."

As her senses returned, she saw that she was in his rooms, on his couch, and that they were not alone. There were others, standing in a group, looking on. Guards stood behind them, as well. And she remembered, now what had happened. She smiled, to realize the King had recovered. "You are well, my Lord?"

"I am, Miriel." He took her hand. "I want you to tell me everything you remember happening, everything you did. " She looked over at the others, feeling uneasy.

"Do not be concerned with them. They wish to listen, as well," he said.

The thing was, they did not look to her as though they wished to listen to anything. In fact, most of them looked ill, but, she turned back to look at the King. "Yes, my Lord." As she spoke, he repeated everything back, translating into clear Sindarin.

She narrated everything from the use of her decoys, killing the wargs and orcs, caring for her injury, trying to heal him, and the difficult ride on the elk. She felt embarrassed about the words she spoke to the elk, when he repeated those too. And that the elk helped her dismount, as no one else offered. She went to her rooms, not feeling well, and, here she was. Absentmindedly, she pulled her hair behind her ears, smiling as she remembered that they now no longer were mutilated.

Thranduil now turned to face the others, and his face took on an expression she prayed would never be directed at her. His voice was absolutely glacial, as he spoke to them in Sindarin.

"So from the account, as I understand it, she shot down two wargs, two orcs, took an arrow to the arm, treated her own injury, saved the life of her King, and exceeded her own strength and endurance to see him back to safety. Her reward from you, the fellow subjects of her King, was that she was ignored, unassisted, and left with untended injuries in spite of the fact that Every. Single. One. of you witnessed her distress, and chose to do nothing. My elk showed her more kindness than any of you. You chose to believe that she was the human amusement of your King, not deserving of her place, and that it would be preferable for her to suffer, or perish. Because apparently, each of you somehow have been granted the understanding and authority to rule over my private affairs." Their faces were dead pale, and not one of them dared raise their eyes to him.

He rose, pacing slowly around them. "Does she appear to be Edain, to you?"

A soft chorus of "She does not appear so, my Lord," rumbled through a group of very agitated faces.

He waved his hand. "Take them to the dungeon." The guards at the rear now moved forward, to lead away those who had earned the King's wrath.

Miriel was frozen in place as she watched this. They had all really done that to her? She looked down. I always thought elves would be...better than that, she thought. This is why I would rather hunt.

The last of his prisoners, some of which she supposed included the guards at his doors, left. The King stood, his hands holding the back of a chair, his eyes closed. It seemed wise to allow him a few moments, until a few moments became a great many of them.