TWENTY-ONE! You guys totally rock, sticking with me all the way. I know I was excited about twenty, but I have a feeling that the story is coming to a close. Or not. 'Cos there are still plenty of things to write about, so you can expect one-chapter stories too! Or other small stories.

Are you excited? Because I am! Twenty-one. Let's roll.

Oh, and...I've finally decided to drop the bomb on you guys. This is the point of no return.
Haha, actually, I don't really know if it is. I just go with the flow here.

I slowly placed the last of my wardrobe into the bag that I had brought with me. It was one of the decent things I owned. And one of the most useless unless I was traveling to some place and staying there for the rest of my life. On second thought, it was one of the most convenient things that I owned. I loved my bag. I'm so glad that I brought it with me.

Great, I groaned internally, plopping down on the bed. Now, I am speaking to myself.

Then I glared at the bag, my source of insanity.

There was knocking at the door, and a voice drifted through the wooden door.

"Silmalir! Are you packed yet?"

For a moment, I considered not responding. But then, my mouth opened, and I replied with a 'Yes!'

The door opened, and in came Fánamaril. Then there was an obvious groan as she caught sight of my bed, covered with trinkets and trash. Well, I didn't say that I packed anything other than my wardrobe, and I sure as well didn't say that I was even closed to finished. She pulled me off of the bed and ordered me to finish cleaning up the...mess that I had on my bed.

All the while, Fánamaril supervised me, telling me to fold the cloth this way, or ordering me to place the magnets together so it wouldn't become a jumbled mess. Prince Fëanáro really did wonders in his forge, creating what he proclaimed to be 'magnets.' I might have heard wrong, but I was pretty sure he said magnets. Then I was snapped out of my thoughts as my hand landed on the bed bad-temperedly to snag the next unfortunate item in the midst of my wrath. There were no items left.

I faced the fact that I was simply stalling because I hadn't seen Makalaurë yet, and I hoped he had some brilliant plan that wasn't stupid and didn't involve eloping. My bag was taken from me, and I could tell that Fánamaril was going to dump it on the back of the carriage, like it had been dumped originally when I first came to this cursed place. And met him.

It was getting harder to breathe. I went over to the washroom and splashed water into my face, gasping as water trickled down my throat uninvitingly. Coughing now, I stumbled outside of the washroom and walked to the window, admiring the view before me. It was never too late to appreciate what you were about to leave, and that's what I was doing right now.

Promptly, I was snapped out of yet another daze as knocking resumed to torture me. I tucked hair cantankerously behind my ear before going over to yank open the door...

...and meet the surprised face of Makalaurë as he received my moody greeting.

"Silmalir," he sighed with relief. "You're still here."

"Makalaurë," I said, lip trembling with the effort not to cry. I suddenly felt like I wanted to pool out the water in my eyes, but I couldn't do that in front of him. I wouldn't. Because I wasn't weak enough to cry in front of people. "Of course I'm still here."

A grin stretched wide on his face. "Is it the absolutely worst time to tell you that I love you, for the first time today?"

I rolled my eyes, but it was endearing to me. "No. I think I need it right now."

"Then I love you."

"I love you too."

"Great. Ready to run away with me?"

"What?"

Makalaurë laughed at the expression on my face. Of utter disbelief and shock and anger. "I'm sorry, Silmalir, but I just had to see your reaction to it if I said it. I'm joking. I promise that we aren't going to do anything stupid like that."

I sighed. "What's the plan?"

"I'm going to plead our case."

I gaped at him like a fish. "That's the plan?" He smiled, pulling me into his arms, and for a moment, I felt my heart melt all over again. Tears kind of fought their way to the surface, but I staved them off. "I don't think it's going to work."

"It will, love. I'm ready to get on my knees and beg for assent, if that's what it takes. Or, if you prefer, I'll just kidnap you, and we could run away to Taniquetil. Or Alqualondë. My uncle is married to one of the Telerin maidens."

I pulled back. "That's...wonderful, Makalaurë, but what makes you think Lady Alquasar will agree? I'm still under her guardianship, and she's not going to let it go that easily if I married into the royal family."

"She'll come—"

"Silmalir!"

Immediately, I jumped back from Makalaurë's embrace and greeted the person who called my name: Lohtilin. She didn't even give Makalaurë a glance (probably didn't notice him) as she dragged me out of the room, telling me all the way how her mother was waiting, and that I shouldn't keep her mother waiting, even though I didn't give a single grain of thought for it.

I was pulled down the stairs and through the main entrance of the palace, and I saw a saddle and horse waiting for me. Right there. I almost groaned, remembering that I was still a servant, despite the fact that I was basically treated like a respected individual at the palace. Lohtilin gave me one smirk before climbing into the carriage, and I resisted the urge to throw the nearest rock I could find through that shield of paper they called a window.

Of course, there were more interruptions as Maitimo, Makalaurë, Tyelkormo, Caranthir, and Findekáno came down to say goodbye, though I appreciated it. But it was a little unnecessary, considering that the entire royal family—meaning King Finwë, Queen Indis, Prince Fëanáro, Princess Findis, Prince Nolofinwë, Princess Irimë, and Prince Arafinwë—was there to wave us off. Nevertheless, I said my goodbyes to all of them, similar to Fánamaril, who gave Tyelkormo a particularly large hug, but I felt a tingling sensation down my spine as I realised that this was it. I was leaving him.

Makalaurë came closer to my horse, and thankfully, I hadn't mounted, for he had something important to say to me.

He bent down and whispered in my ear, "If Father and Grandfather approve, look to the east for a white horse, alright?"

I smiled and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Goodbye, Makalaurë."

As I mounted, he stood there silently, looking up at me with those calculating icy blue eyes that were ever so intelligent. Then, I tore my gaze away and followed after the carriage that started to leave, and I could only imagine how much pain filled those eyes after I broke our connection.

I tried not to let the tears fall freely.

I failed.

We got back to the estate as soon as the light of Laurelin turned to Telperion's. I walked after my horse was taken to the stables, finding it even harder to breathe than in the palace, and I stumbled up to whatever it was in front of me, and I thought about my room and my bed, where I would happily collapse onto a comforting reminder of the unfair life that I had. Fánamaril chuckled at my eagerness as I nearly fell over myself trying to get up the stairs to the entrance of the residence.

Instead of collapsing on my bed—scratch that. Instead of making it inside the estate, I fell to the ground right as the door opened in my face (courtesy of Arátor), and light shone upon the slightly darker atmosphere around us. Then everything went black, and I felt the familiar rush of fear run through my body before I succumbed.

This wasn't exactly the 'welcome home' that I expected.

Makalaurë, after feeling worse than ever, went back into the palace after a long moment of striding around the gardens, thinking about Silmalir. Already, the palace was much more quiet, and he could hear the birds sing no longer. The leaves and brances of the trees did not dance in the wind, to his knowledge, and he strode inside, a heavy feeling settling on his chest. He never felt so much like being run over by Oromë's horse, Nahar.

Then he concluded that being run over would probably make him feel better, as he walked towards the impending double doors leading to his grandfather's court. He pushed open the doors and stalked inside, knowing he was being watched as his every step brought him closer to his father and grandfather and uncles. Then Makalaurë reminded himself that every step brought him closer to seeing Silmalir again, and he sucked it up.

"Makalaurë!" Fëanáro exclaimed, slightly surprised, but pleasantly surprised. "What are you doing here? You were never one to take interest in matters of court..." His expression turned to a worried one. "Is your mother alright?"

"Yes, Atar," Makalaurë replied, sighing heavily. "I wish to...ask for permission to do this."

King Finwë leaned forward, raising an eyebrow towards his grandson. "To do what?"

"To court Silmalir."

Uncle Arafinwë blinked. "My nephew, I'm afraid you must be mistaken...but Silmalir left hours ago. Why are you asking for permission now?"

Makalaurë felt absolutely horrible now. He didn't know what to do, now that he had realised that his family's reactions were entirely different from how he had predicted them to be. "Because...I was afraid...that...I... I was... I am so stupid."

Chuckling could be heard from Uncle Nolofinwë, and the entire court (now completely visible and obvious to Makalaurë) turned to him.

"Ah, Makalaurë," Uncle Nolofinwë finally said. "We respect the fact that you worried about our opinions on your relationship to Silmalir. Or at least, I do. If she's what it takes for you to feel complete, then go for it."

Makalaurë almost sighed in relief. Then Uncle Arafinwë added his input; "You are so young, and intelligent. Except on love. But perhaps, it is because you are young, and are not educated in the mysteries of affection. Still, I agree with Nolofinwë on this one." Arafinwë turned to Finwë himself. "What do you think, Atar?"

Finwë grinned. "Simply put, as you youngsters would say, 'I am all for it.' Silmalir is truly a respectable woman. Speaking of respectable women, what is this about Tyelkormo and Silmalir's friend? I assume that Miss Fánamaril is under guardianship of Lady Alquasar as well...and..."

"Does she truly love you, Makalaurë?" a quiet voice suddenly broke in.

"Yes, Atar."

"How can you be sure?" Fëanáro prompted.

"Because. I know she is." Ignoring how pompous that sounded, Makalaurë continued. "Every time I tell her that I love her, she would reply in kind. And the look in her eyes when she sees it's me that interrupts whatever important thing she's doing; it's geniune. It wasn't purely of coincidence that only I could rouse her from her sleep. She—I know—" He was getting a little flustered, trying to explain. "I know that I love her."

Fëanáro smiled at his son. "I do not doubt your love for her, Makalaurë. But I cannot be sure of Silmalir. You may not wish to go through with this, but I would have her prove her love for you."

"Prove her love for me?"

"Makalaurë, meet Lady Calwilmë," his father replied, moving aside to provide sight of a golden-haired Elf-lady, walking towards Makalaurë with her blue eyes focused on him.

She curtseyed. "Greetings, Lord Kanafinwë."

Makalaurë suddenly had a horrible feeling about what his father had planned for Silmalir.

No one was quick enough to catch him as he fell in a dead faint to the hard marble floor.

Names:
Calwilmë - 'calwa' + ' ilmë' - beautiful starlight

You guys are probably going to hate the crap out of me now that I've introduced this new lady.
I wouldn't blame you. I think I hate me too.