"She followed slowly, taking a long time,

As though there were some obstacles in the way;

And yet: as though,

once it was overcome,

She would be beyond all walking

And would fly."

-Rainier Maria Rilke

ooOoo

The next morning her room was awash in sunlight. The drapes were pulled wide, a vase of bright white flowers was on her bedside table, and a fire sizzled cheerfully in the grate.

The door eased open and Radhrion entered with a tray. "Good morning, little bird. I've brought you some porridge, fresh apples, and a pot of herbal tea that should do wonders for your headache."

Merrill watched him place the whole thing on a table beside the fire. Only when the bowls were set just so did he look over his shoulder, one dark brow arched in query. "You will be joining me for breakfast at some point, won't you?"

She was surprised at the way he was handling things. Merrill had expected there to be some awkwardness after all that had passed the previous night, but Radhrion was still perfectly himself: sarcastic, a little condescending, and entirely too sweet for his own good. Suddenly, the world did not seem like such a frightening place, after all. Merrill rolled out of bed and stretched. "I smell meat."

Radhrion whipped a napkin off the table and placed it over his arm before pulling out her chair. "My lady has had a difficult evening. Her humble servant believed that such fare would be welcome. Your humble servant has also taken the liberty of providing you a selection of handmade fruit pies for afters, in case my lady has a sweet tooth." His voice was so stiff and his accent so exacting, Merrill almost thought Erestor was in the room.

Her stomach rumbled unpleasantly, and her mouth watered at the smell. When was the last time she'd had meat? Three days? Four? "Well, I would like to start with the fruit pies, then, and maybe some of that meat. And please, dear god, stop speaking that way! You sound so much like Erestor it's giving me indigestion."

The glare she received for that particular comment made her smirk; she was starting to feel more herself.

"Here," Radhrion filled her dish. "Eat, you little ingrate." She heard him mutter something about 'Erestor', 'indigestion', and 'ungrateful children' as he selected his own meal.

"Wait a second – you eat meat? I thought elves were vegetarians?"

Radhrion held her eyes with his own and deliberately ate a piece of the meat.

Merrill raised her hands in defense. "Okay, I get it. You're not most elves, right?"

He laughed at that. "Indeed, I am not. However, do not think that compliment entitles you to my forgiveness for your earlier comment. Erestor, indeed," he harrumphed.

"How do you say, 'I'm sorry', or 'forgive me', in Elvish?" She asked, spooning a dollop of thick, golden honey onto her porridge.

"'Goheno nin' will suffice for both." He lifted his teacup to his lips and sipped delicately. "If you should like to try and say it, I would be more than willing to listen."

She put her spoon down and cleared her throat. Radhrion watched her with some interest.

"Dear, darling, sweet Radhrion," Merrill clasped her hands together before her in a dramatic appeal. "Goheno nin!"

"And for that," Radhrion said imperiously, his shoulders thrown back and his chin raised. "You don't get to have dessert." He snatched the plate of pies and bolted out the door.

"Radhrion! You'd better get back here!"

Merrill had no choice but to chase him.

ooOoo

After discovering Radhrion in the garden with an empty plate and a guilty expression, Merrill returned to her rooms, her heart light and her mind set. Until she could leave for Lothlorien, she would throw herself into whatever work Lord Elrond assigned her wholeheartedly. She would not lose herself to fear, again.

With that resolution in mind, Merrill dressed in the blue gown Cailiel had laid on her bed and made her way in the direction of Lord Elrond's study. If she was to keep busy, she had to know what it was she would be doing.

She turned down a familiar looking hall and came up short. A remarkably tall, blond elf stood outside Elrond's door. His hair was longer than any she had yet seen, reaching the small of his back in an abundance of gold. His jaw was strong and sharp, his cheekbones angular, his nose long and straight. When he heard her approach, the full force of his eyes settled upon her. They were the blue of glaciers. A ring of cobalt ringed the outer edge of his iris, and gold flecks radiated out from his pupils like fractures in ice.

"You must be Merrill." He didn't smile.

"Yes. And you are?"

"Glorfindel." The tall elf inclined his head.

Merrill wracked her brain. Why don't I remember a Glorfindel? Maybe he wasn't important to the story? She took him in, again, and decided that that could not be the case; strength and charisma practically flowed off him. Wisdom sat on his brow and joy and good humor flickered around his lips. No, I definitely would not have forgotten him if he was in the movies… maybe the books? Merrill had read the books about a thousand years ago (translation: thirteen years) and her memories of it were not as clear as she might have liked.

"It is nice to meet you, Glorfindel." Merrill tried out the hand twist and hoped she hadn't accidentally flipped him off in elven.

"Alatúlië. I believe Lord Elrond is expecting us both," he said as he held the door for her. "If you would?" (1).

Merrill redirected her gaze and marched in. Though he was at least seven feet tall, Merrill could only tell Glorfindel followed behind her because of his smell; freesias and the smell of the cool night air clung to his clothing.

The Lord of Rivendell stood at their entrance and indicated two chairs before his desk. "Merrilinith, how are you feeling?"

"Oh, I'm alright, Lord Elrond."

Elrond observed her closely as she sat, and she did her best not to fidget under his scrutiny. Did elves not realize how potent their gazes were?

"Please forgive my sons their enthusiasm. They truly did not expect you to have such a reaction. The fault is mine for not explaining your situation to them. Goheno nin."

Merrill tried to bat his apology away with her hands, a little embarrassed by his grave demeanor. "It's alright. Shi- errr, stuff happens. There is nothing to forgive, though I don't think I will be trying Miruvor again anytime soon."

He smiled. "No, I expect not. Now," Elrond said, his tone brisk though his face became its usual serene mask. "I have been considering your request for occupation, and I have determined that you would be best suited to work at the training fields and in the healer's halls. Both areas require another set of skilled hands, and I believe you are admirably suited. Will these do?"

The silver button on her sleeve was loose and her fingers dug at it while she mulled his suggestion over. She didn't feel she was suited for either occupation; the closest thing she had to medical knowledge was a certificate in CPR, and a basic course in trauma first aid. As a teenager, Merrill had been involved with her school's search and rescue club. There, she had learned how to rappel down cliff faces, climb trees, leave trail markers, build fires, and perform basic first aid on lost hikers. Once or twice the police had called them out to assist in the search for a missing person. She had had reason to test her first aid skills when she and one of her friends had stumbled across the hiker for whom they had been searching; he was unconscious and bleeding from a deep wound on his leg. It had been infected. After emptying the contents of her stomach at the sight, Merrill had actually managed to bandage him together, cobble together a litter, and call for backup before throwing up again. It had been the best, and worst, night of her life. As for sparring, well… she had no idea what that entailed.

"I don't have any problems with either, though I do wonder if I have the necessary qualifications… What would be expected of me?"

Lord Elrond's eyes flicked towards Glorfindel, who spoke for the first time since entering. "The training field simply needs someone to care for, distribute, and collect weapons at the end of the day. You might be asked to rake the leaves off the archery ranges and sparring arenas, and possibly fetch gloves, weapons, and the like for those who are practicing."

"As for the House of Healing, you would be expected to assist in whatever ways the healers deem fit. This might mean you help make poultices, wind bandages, collect herbs, and change bedding one day, and clean, suture, and bandage wounds the next," Lord Elrond continued. "You would work at either place at different times of the day. Perhaps you would start in the healing halls in the morning and move on to the training fields in the afternoon. Also, if you would like, both Glorfindel and myself have apprentices who would be willing to train you. To have some knowledge of healing and defense will aid you while you travel to find your home."

"I…" What could she say? "Thank you, Lord Elrond." She paused and glanced over at Glorfindel, who looked bored. "And thank you, err… Glorfindel. I appreciate the offer, but I would like to think it over, if you don't mind. That's not to say that I don't want to work, I do, I am just not sure if learning to fight is necessary for me; I'll only be here for another two months, after all."

The Lord of Rivendell's eyes softened. "Of course. Take all the time you need to consider. In the meantime," he said as he turned and addressed Glorfindel. "Would you send one of your trainees to fetch Merilinith the second bell after noon? I should like to show her to the Houses of Healing, now."

"It will be done."

"Hannon le." Lord Elrond got to his feet as Glorfindel left the room. "The Houses of Healing are the pride of Rivendell. I, myself, spend a great deal of time there, though I have trained several very talented healers who see to the halls in my absence. It is from them you will be learning." Elrond offered Merrill his arm and they set off down the hall companionably. "Our healers are instructed in many methods," he continued, his dark gray eyes tranquil. "But the most potent type of healing is that of the Fëa Athae, which means something like 'Spirit Healing' in the Common tongue."

Whatever it was, Merrill's interest was piqued. "Will they teach that to me, do you think?"

He shook his dark head. "To tell truth, I am uncertain as to whether or not they will be able to do so. It is a challenging ability, and mostly reserved for the last of the High elves, such as the Sindar, of which I am one, or the Noldor, of which Glorfindel is one. Elves of Silvan descent, for example, would find it difficult, if not impossible, to learn to use such an ability effectively."

"Why is that?"

They passed over a white stone bridge spanning the top of one of the waterfalls. Milk white, frothy water spilled beneath their feet and Merrill watched it fall and fall and fall in a never ceasing cascade of wonder. The noise, however, was deafening, and Elrond didn't attempt to speak. Instead, he pointed out over the valley below, indicating the pale jewel of his city amidst the crisp autumn landscape, the bright, silvery quality of the sun's light as it ascended the heavens, and waved his free hand out as if to say, 'This beauty I share with you and, in the sharing, we become friends.'

Merrill released his hand and stretched out her arms as if to hug the sky. I love it, too, she wanted to say. The fine elf lord smiled in understanding, and it was as though the clouds that hung about his face parted to reveal sweet summer sunlight. He quite took her breathe away.

He offered his arm once more, but the ease with which they picked up their conversation was entirely new. Upon crossing the bridge and entering another part of Rivendell's halls, Merrill asked again, "Why do Silvan elves have such a hard time with the spirit healing thing if the rest of you can do it? Is it like some super power that is lost between generations or something? Did the rest of you get bitten by a radioactive spider? Or eat a piece of magic Lembas?"

"Ahh, Merilinith. I live in hope that I will come to understand your extraordinary turns of phrase one day, but it is most definitely not this day. Perhaps I should have asked Radhrion, along. He seems a most able translator."

"He's not my keeper, you know," Merrill said indignantly, but the sparkle in his eyes told her he was not convinced. She sighed the sigh of the defeated. "Yes, he is well-versed in the language of Merrills. But he is probably quite sick at the moment."

When Elrond quirked a brow in query, Merrill explained, "He ate about ten pies this morning in retaliation for an imagined slight."

"Bad luck, Merrill!" A voice from behind them called.

"That would be a great epesse for her, actually, do not you agree, father? Bad-Luck Merrill. It is quite fitting!" (2)

She and Elrond turned and the twin grins of Elrohir and Elladan met them. Elrond rubbed his forehead. "My sons," he said so mournfully that Merrill had to chuckle.

"I'm not even going to bother asking you what 'epesse' means. It would probably be bad for my health if I tried," she said drily.

The twins flinched.

One of the pair scuffed the toe of his boot against the floor and glanced up at her through his thick, black lashes. "Both my brother and I apologize for last evening. If we had known your reaction would be so severe, we never would have dreamed of offering you any Miruvor."

"Honest," the other said, his hands tucked resolutely behind his back, and his head hung low. He looked like a thoroughly chastened puppy, and Merrill found she could not quite hold onto her irritation with the pair.

"Fine!" She raised her hand in surrender. "Apology accepted, just stop with the faces – they're killing me."

"What do you mean by that, Merilinith?" the one she thought might be Elladan asked.

The twin she thought might be Elrohir threw his head back dramatically, a hand to his heart as he proclaimed, "Our faces are the work of gods, Merilinith! I do not believe you quite comprehend the divine majesty that –"

"Enough!" Elrond shooed them away. "Off with you! Merrill and I are currently occupied. Go amuse yourselves with Radhrion. If you are to leave for guard duty in two weeks time, there is no better way to spend it than in his company."

The twins did their best to appear wounded. "Adar! How could you speak so to your precious sons?"

"My heart bleeds at your rebuke; my soul keens at-" Elladan began, his voice trembling with false emotion.

Elrond dropped her hand and advanced on the pair. "Out!" He snapped one hand out to his side, his pointer finger indicating the direction in which he expected them to flee.

They fled.

"As I was saying," Elrond said as he directed her down the hallway. "The Silvans are unable to successfully perform spirit healing because… well, their fëar do not possess the same power as those of the Sindar or the High elves." (3)

"Why?"

He smiled. "That seems to be a favorite question of yours."

When Merrill did nothing but wait, he continued, "It is… complicated. I think you said something about it being lost between generations? It is similar to that, but not quite. I will loan you a book on the matter, and, if you wish to discuss it further, I would be more than happy to oblige."

Merrill's heart flipped in her chest; a book! The Lord of Rivendell was lending her a book! If she could have swooned without injuring either her body or her pride, she just might have indulged herself and done so.

Lord Elrond drew up to a pair of white beech doors. "This is the main complex of the House of Healing. It is the wing in which you will spend the majority of your time while you remain here."

Suddenly, Merrill felt nervous. Her stomach clenched. Hush you, she thought to herself sternly. It isn't like this is a job interview – you're a shoe-in. Nepotism is alive and well in Middle Earth, but this time it is actually to your advantage!

The room was… not what she had expected. When Elrond had called it 'the House of Healing' she had automatically assumed it would be somewhat similar to hospitals; lots of crap light that gave you headaches, a weird, indescribable smell that wormed its way into your clothes, and lots of stainless steel. She was wrong. The room was so bright she almost had to look away. The walls were white, the bed linens were white, the floor was white, and even the elves busy at work were dressed in white. The ceilings were high and vaulted. Rectangular windows were evenly spaced against the far wall, allowing shafts of pure sunlight to enter the room and bathe the beds in warmth, and it smelled of fresh mint and rosemary.

"A, Nestadis!" Elrond greeted warmly. "I have brought you aid, as you requested. Merilinith, this is Nestadis. Nestadis, Merilinith." (4)

Nestadis had the dark hair and grey-blue eyes that seemed to be synonymous with the elves of Rivendell. She was tall, slender, and dark skinned. Her lips were large, sensuously shaped, and the color of plums. She wiped her hands off on her no-frills apron and placed them firmly upon her hips. "Are you willing to work hard, girl? Because that is what healing work is – hard. You will not find time to daydream or sun gaze whilst you are in my realm. You will work until you drop, and then you will work some more, or I'll know why. Do you understand?"

Merrill did her best not to gulp. "Yes, ma'am."

The dark elf seemed to x-ray Merrill's insides with the intensity of her gaze. "You might just do, after all," she said finally.

"She will also be working at the training fields for part of each day, Nestadis," Elrond reminded the woman firmly.

"Yes, yes, my Lord. Glorfindel's shadow was here but a few moments ago." Nestadis did not appear too happy about this. "He has claimed the afternoons, so she will come here in the mornings, the sixth bell after midnight, to be precise. Now," she began to usher the Lord of Rivendell from the room as though he were a bad smell. "If you do not mind, I would like to begin training my new apprentice."

"Na linda ósë, Nestadis. He na gwein." (5)

"Boe?" Something in Nestadis' tone told Merrill she was being disagreeable. (6)

Elrond's eyes grew stern until she grudgingly inclined her head and twisted her hand over her heart. "Savo harthad, Hîr vuin." (7)

"Only if I must, Nesta," he patted the prickly woman on the arm and raised his hand in farewell. "Good day, Merrill. I hope to see you at supper."

"I hope so, too," she said, eyeing her new teacher doubtfully.

Nestadis closed the door and bustled across the room, calling over her shoulder, "Well? Do I look like a patient elleth?" When Merrill sprung into action, jogging across the room towards her, Nestadis snapped wickedly, "You are slower than an elderly edain!" (8)

I could be at home right now, she thought gloomily.

"Do hurry it up. We've many patients to see to, and the day isn't growing any younger."

She reminisced longingly on the days of yore (i.e. three days ago) when elves didn't exist, and her life was simple and normal and absolutely ordinary. Merrill sighed resignedly and trotted to keep up.

A/N:

Told you I would update, soon! :D

I hope you enjoyed it. As I think I've already said, Elrond is my imaginary BFF, and I love him to bits and pieces.

Also, this is going to be a long 'un, story wise. I'm not planning on breezing through to get to the 'good stuff', but, instead, will take my time, and the more scenic route, to try and make this as rich a reading experience as possible - think Tira Misu, or dark chocolate Truffles. (Having said that, I am now fervently hoping that I am capable of such a herculean task...).

The Fëa Athae is my own creation (the name, at least). Elves did use their Fëa (spirits/souls) to heal, if they had the ability.

Thanks to the magnificent leelee202, ColdOnePaul, KillerCupcakes, FromHellWithLove, Tibblets for your reviews! Your reward is a Pride and Prejudice lake scene, except Mr. Darcy will be replaced with Thranduil... Enjoy :D

And thanks for the follows/favorites.

(1) Welcome (F)

(2) Nickname

(3) Souls/Spirits

(4) Hello, Nestadis! (I)

(5) Be gentle with her, Nestadis. She is young. (I)

(6) Must I? (Lit. Is it necessary?) (F)

(7) Trust me, my Lord. (Lit. Have faith, my Lord). (F)

(8) Mortal