Chapter XXXVII: In the City of the Hwenti

Early in the afternoon, they arrived at Kopellin, the capital city of the Hwenti; similar in looks to Bârlyth, this town was only a little more than half the size of the latter. It was built on the junction of the Rinnen with the Sirlechin, a smaller river coming almost exactly from the east, directly from the Orocarni.

At the entrance of the walls surrounding the town stood two sentinels, who looked at them in surprise. One of the soldiers bowed to Aryon, having evidently recognised him, and let them pass without stopping them. Nerwen thought amused that, if it would be just her, she would have to show the queen's safe-conduct, as it already happened in the previous days.

Aryon dismounted in front of the booth: as he had explained to his partner, they had to declare themselves to the captain of the city militia.

"Lord Aryon!" the captain greeted him, "Welcome to Kopellin! We weren't expecting you…"

"This time I'm not on official business, Captain Glorgan," Aryon explained, "I'm just a traveller like anyone. My travelling companion is Nerwen the Green," he concluded, pointing to the Istar.

Glorgan watched her doubtfully, probably wondering why the queen's brother associated with a female of the race of Men, but he didn't comment.

"Very well, I'll check you both in. How long will you stay here?"

Aryon looked at Nerwen: she was the one who had to decide.

The Maia shrugged:

"We don't know yet," she answered, "It depends on various factors. Surely, at least two or three days."

The captain of the guards nodded and didn't enquire any further; certainly, Nerwen mused again, if she was alone he would question her thoroughly, but being with Aryon, brother to the High Sovereign of the Avari, protected her from such nuisances.

Exiting the booth, Aryon commented:

"Usually, when I come here, I stay at the royal palace: the king of the Hwenti, Séredor, is a good friend of mine. Even if I'm not on official business, he'll host us gladly."

Nerwen nodded while they mounted again, then they headed for the centre of Kopellin, where the royal palace stood: another advantage to be in Aryon's company, she thought, pleased. It would last only as long as they were inside the territory of the Six Tribes of the Avari, but in the meantime, she would gladly grab the opportunity.

As they arrived to the palace, a groom came to take their mounts. Recognising Aryon, he bowed low, but he looked Nerwen suspiciously up and down. She reciprocated firmly his stare, glowering, which was normally enough to put anyone in his place, but instead she obtained only a colder stare of dislike. Not again! she thought, exasperated. She felt like having gone back to the day when she met Aryon for the first time, on the shores of the Sea of Rhûn.

"I'll take care personally of my horses," she said brusquely, refusing to give him the bridles of Thalion and Thilgiloth. This upset the Elf even more, but she didn't care a fig; grasping the situation, Aryon cast a ferocious glance at the groom, but he had turned and didn't see it.

The prince followed Nerwen into the stables and, when the groom left them to tend Allakos and Nordhir, he crossed his arms on his chest and asked her in a low voice:

"You want me chopping him?"

Aghast, Nerwen turned to look at him:

"What?"

"I won't have anybody looking at you the wrong way," Aryon explained, mortally serious. The Aini stared at him for some moments, then burst into laughter:

"You forget the way you looked at me at the beginning..."

To her greatest surprise, the prince blushed:

"You've got no idea how much I'm sorry for treating you like that…" he began, but she placed one hand on his arm and interrupted him:

"Water under the bridge," she reassured him, "You were just doing your job," at his doubtful glance, she smiled, "If you must know, I'd have gladly kicked your ass, that day, therefore we're even."

Heartened and amused, Aryon cast at her his typical half-smile, which she came to love madly, as much as she madly loved the person who was giving it to her.

Nerwen began to unsaddle Thilgiloth, and therefore the prince, feeling uneasy to just watch by, began to unload their baggage from Thalion.

When Nerwen finished taking care of the Chargeress and the packhorse, she and Aryon headed for the palace entrance; again, the prince was recognised and they could pass with no formalities.

They waited in the hall while one of the guards was going to call for the Lady of the Palace, Lindir's equivalent in Rivendell and Nimgil's in Caras Galadhon.

About ten minutes later, they were joined by two female Elves, with the typical raven-black hair of the Avari, very alike to one another; the first – clearly the older one, with a solemn air – wore a simple, but elegant gown the colour of saffron, while the second one was sheathed in a tight black dress, highlighting her supple body; she sported her long, curly hair in an bun, while the plunging neckline of her gown revealed generous curves.

"Welcome, Lord Aryon," the older one greeted formally the prince, bowing respectfully, and then studied the unknown human accompanying him, curious but – for a change – without the usual distrust so typical to the Avari.

"Thank you, Lady Kilven," Aryon answered, "Nerwen, may I introduce you Lady Kilven Barhevel, the Lady of the Palace, and her daughter Meledhiel. Ladies, my companion is Nerwen the Green."

N ow the resemblance between the two Elven ladies was explained, Nerwen thought, addressing them both with a greeting nod; Kilven answered to it, but not Meledhiel, who stared at the Maia from head to toe with a spiteful expression. It lasted just one moment, then her stunning face, highlighted by striking eyes the colour of amber, pulled back into a smile addressed to Aryon solely.

"I'm happy to see you again," she stated in a slightly hoarse voice, indisputably fitting to her seductive looks, "It's been over one year now, that you didn't come to visit us," she added in a familiar, almost intimate tone that annoyed Nerwen.

Aryon paid no attention to the remark and just nodded to confirm, then he addressed Kilven again:

"I know I'm here unexpectedly, because mine isn't an official visit, but I nonetheless came by to see if my good friend the king is willing to let us stay here."

"You can ask him yourself, Lord Aryon," the Lady of the Palace answered, "Please, follow me."

"I'll take care of this, Mother," Meledhiel offered, "After all, I'm your assistant, and so you can go back checking the account books."

"Thank you, Meledhiel," Kilven accepted, grateful, "If you'll excuse me, I have this boring but necessary task to carry out, but then at least I can forget about it until next month," she explained with a certain humour that Nerwen found appealing. As much annoying was the daughter, as the mother was likeable, she pondered.

"Of course, Lady Kilven," Aryon said, "No problem."

Therefore, the Lady of the Palace took her leave and walked away. Meledhiel got back smiling at the prince and, ignoring Nerwen completely, she turned and took one of the corridors radiating from the hall. Aryon glowered: he was surprised by Meledhiel's attitude, he knew her for many years and they had shared an erratic friendship-in-love, that is, it was valid only during his usual official visits to Kopellin, but they had put an end to it several years ago. Perplexed, he motioned to Nerwen and together they followed the beautiful Avar.

She took them to Séredor, who received them in his office, not unlike Eliénna did in Bârlyth.

" My dear friend!" the king welcomed Aryon, smiling; Séredor was shorter than him, but emanated an aura of calm authority very appropriate to his position, "What a nice surprise!"

"Thank you, Séredor," the prince answered, calling him by name because of their long friendship; the monarch looked at Nerwen, showing, like his Lady of the Palace, only interest and not also mistrust.

Answering to his silent question, Aryon introduced them:

"Nerwen, this is Séredor, king of the Hwenti; Séredor, this is Nerwen the Green, member of the Order of the Istari that, contrary to what we thought, are neither a fable nor a legend."

Séredor didn't mind to hide his amazement:

"An Istar…? I confess I can hardly believe it."

Nerwen curtseyed.

"Nonetheless, it's true, Your Majesty," she stated in the serene tone of one who knows what's she's saying and has no fear to prove it.

Meledhiel's eyes widened in astonishement.

"Come on, Aryon, are you kidding us…?" she muttered, looking again at Nerwen up and down with a hostile stare. This time the prince didn't let go: as he said earlier, he would allow nobody to look down on Nerwen or, worse, to treat her less than politely. Nobody, included any of his ex-friends-in-love.

"I've never been more serious in all my life, Meledhiel; Lady Nerwen is an Istar and has to be treated in a manner befitting her rank," he said coldly.

"What kind of rank can a woman of the race of Men have, passing herself off as a legendary character?" the Avar female snapped, too blinded by her own prejudices to fear the dangerous light that was flaring up in Aryon's gaze.

Nerwen was sick and tired with the distrust and latent contempt of the Avari for Men.

"Do you want to put me to the test, Lady Meledhiel?" she asked in a scathing tone, stressing the title so that it sounded almost like an insult.

"I'd really like to see what you're capable of…" the vice-Lady of the Palace began rudely, but Aryon cut her short:

"I wouldn't advise it, Meledhiel: I know what she's capable of, and I assure you, it's very preferable to be her friend than her enemy."

Nerwen had crossed her arms on her chest, frowning in a dark way that didn't bode well.

"Enough now," Séredor intervened, using his authority, glaring at Meledhiel, "Lady Nerwen is Aryon's guest, and that's enough to treat her respectfully."

Silenced by her king, the female Elf pressed her lips together, annoyed, but didn't dare to reply.

"I'll make arrangements to prepare two chambers," she said instead, her teeth clenched.

"One will be enough," the prince said, by this way stating publicly that Nerwen and he were lovers.

Nerwen had kept her eyes on Meledhiel; she saw her stiffening, then casting at her a fiery glance. She realised she was jealous of Aryon and held her stare without blinking an eye.

"Did you hear, Meledhiel?" the king asked, very irritated by the provocative behaviour of the assistant, as well as daughter, of his Lady of the Palace.

The female Elf stirred and curtseyed rigidly to her sovereign.

"I'll give orders about it," she stated with an evident effort.

When she was gone, Séredor opened his arms in an apologising gesture:

"I'm sorry about Lady Meledhiel's behaviour," he said, "Usually she's a lot friendlier."

Nerwen would have liked to slap her hard, if she could.

"It's fine, Your Majesty," she declared instead, in an apparently serene tone, "It's obvious she dislikes me."

The king nodded, not very convinced, then he turned to Aryon:

"What brings the First Sword of the High Sovereign to the realm of the Hwenti, my friend?"

The prince shook his head:

"I'm not the First Sword anymore, Séredor: I asked my sister for permission to leave my office in order to take up another mission."

He said no more: it was up to Nerwen deciding to whom disclose her purposes.

Séredor was endowed with a noticeable perspicacity and realised that the prince was deliberately remaining vague; however, even if he wasn't the First Sword anymore, Aryon was nonetheless the brother of the High Sovereign, moreover, they had been friends for a long time; therefore he didn't press him to learn more. Instead he looked at Nerwen, who intrigued him much.

"And meanwhile you met this pretty woman," he commented, "or better, this Istar, according to what you say. Lady Nerwen, forgive me if I'm still sceptic, but for all my life I thought Wizards were a myth, and now it's really difficult for me to believe they aren't, even if a trustworthy person like Aryon is assuring me it's true."

"This isn't the first time someone doesn't believe me," the Maia placidly replied, casting an amused glance at the black-dressed prince. Aryon stretched his lips in his characteristic sardonic half-smile:

"I needed the great and good to be convinced myself, Séredor, I assure you," he told him, "but in the end I gave up to evidence."

"Fine, then," the king nodded, "I trust your word, my friend. Are you two hungry?"

"Indeed, we didn't dine yet," Aryon answered for both.

"Well, I'll have some food brought to your chamber," Séredor concluded, "I think you're tired, therefore you're free to leave: freshen up, eat and rest. We'll talk more, tomorrow morning."

Nerwen curtseyed, while Aryon just nodded: Séredor was the king of the Hwenti, but he was higher in rank than he, being the brother of Eliénna, and he didn't have to pay him homage.

A maid was waiting for them outside the office, with the task to take them to their chamber, where they found their baggage, brought there from the stables.

The room was less spacious than the one Nerwen had had in Bârlyth, but not less cosy, even if the furniture was more austere. In the small bathroom, covered in fine majolica tiles, a bathtub full of lukewarm, perfumed water was waiting for them.

"When you're ready for dinner, ring it," the maid instructed them, pointing to a small gong next to the door. At the confirming nod of the king's guests, she took her leave and left them alone.

"I don't understand Meledhiel's attitude," Aryon grumbled, unbuckling his belt with the sword and placing it into a corner.

"She's jealous of you," Nerwen revealed, in an obvious tone; how could he possibly not realise it?

He frowned.

"Jealous of me?" he repeated, "We've been on-and-off friends-in-love, but we split up by mutual agreement several years ago now: she's got no reason to be jealous."

The Istar raised one eyebrow, confronting his evident blindness.

"Did you ever introduce to her your current friend-in-love?" she asked him.

He thought about it for a minute.

"Well, no," he admitted slowly, realising his mistake, "In this case, I was insensitive in asking her one room for the two or us; but after all, she made me believe she had no interest in me anymore."

"Clearly, it is not so," Nerwen concluded, "and maybe she didn't know it, either, until she confronted with the situation."

Aryon looked at her intensely.

"Well, anyway she doesn't have the least chance, against you," he stated. The Aini came up to him and placed her arms around his neck.

"But she doesn't know it yet," she pointed out with false calmness, "Tomorrow I'll see to it, informing her in plain terms."

Her low, menacing tone made his hair stand on end: he thought he wouldn't want to be in Meledhiel's shoes for the entire world.

He embraced her tight; his eyes shone mischievously:

"You're not jealous, are you…"

"It would make no sense," she denied, but her eyes had a nasty light: true, it didn't make any sense to be jealous, because Aryon was her partner for life and this meant he would love her till the end of time; but it didn't mean she would tolerate anyone's hostility. Usually, the revelation to be partners for life was enough to put an end to any issue. If instead, like in this specific case, this wouldn't prove enough, she was willing to use an iron mace to get it into the head of that arrogant Elven female.

They bathed and changed, donning house-clothes, and then put away their meagre belongings; finally, Aryon rang the gong. A few minutes later, several servants arrived; two of them brought new towels and busied themselves in emptying and clean up the bathtub, while other two carried large covered trays, which they set on the small table in front of the bed. Again, the two guests were left alone, discreetly; they sat and had roasted chicken with vegetables, some cottage cheese and a peach tart, and drank water and a pleasantly sour cider, very refreshing.

When they finished, they rang again and two handmaids came to clear the table; before taking their leave, they asked if they needed something else, and at their negative answer, they reminded them to call, should they change their minds.

At last definitively alone, Aryon looked Nerwen deep in her eyes.

"I crave kissing you for hours," he stated, pulling her into his arms. She raised her face to his, smiling allusively.

"So what are you waiting for?" she provoked him.

Of course, they did more than just kissing.

OOO

The next morning, a page came, inviting them for breakfast in the garden with King Séredor and his wife, Lythelen.

"Nice to see you again, Aryon," the queen greeted him warmly. The prince kissed gallantly her hand.

"My pleasure, Lythelen," he assured her, "May I introduce you to Nerwen the Green? Nerwen, this is Queen Lythelen…"

Nerwen curtseyed, while the queen gave her a polite, even if formal, nod.

"My husband told me about you, Lady Nerwen," she said, "Are you truly an Istar?"

Her question was intrigued, just streaked with doubt, and the Maia didn't feel irritated at all.

"So it is, Your Majesty," she answered, "Wizards are not a mere legend."

They took their seats at a small table loaded of food, where they received immediately the bergamot tea the Avari loved so much.

"It's difficult to get rid of a general conviction that's lasting for centuries," Lythelen observed, lightening the mood with a little smile, "but Aryon states it as true, therefore I want to believe it. Unless it is proved wrong, of course," she added, prudently. Nerwen responded to her smile, but didn't reply; after all, the presence of the High Sovereign's brother ensured her enough credibility as not to be hindered in any way: she was satisfied with this, for the moment. Anyway, she cared little if her professed identity persuaded them for good or not, as long as Aryon was.

Seeing Séredor picking up a bowl of ertan, she did the same: she truly loved this food, especially if sweetened with honey.

"So, what takes you to Kopellin?" the king enquired, uncertain if he should address one or the other of his guests.

"I'll tell you," Nerwen answered, having never planned to conceal the goal of her journey, "but know that another legend will prove instead reality."

"Good Valar, I am terribly intrigued!" Lythelen stated lively, "Very well, tell us…"

"I'm looking for the females of the Onodrim, the Entwives," the Istar explained. The king and queen of the Hwenti were taken aback for a moment, then simultaneously cast a glance at Aryon, who held their gazes firmly, in this way confirming Nerwen's statement.

Séredor took a deep breath. His trust in his old friend's judgement was very strong, but he was already struggling to believe his protégée to be an Istar, and now she came up with… this.

"The Onodrim actually exist, then?" he asked quietly.

Nerwen couldn't tell him she actually had met one just a little more than a year before without betraying Treebeard's request not to reveal his existence, therefore she had just to hope that the king's trust in Aryon was great enough to make him taking her word.

"Yes, Your Majesty, they truly exist," she confirmed in an equally quiet tone, "I'm a follower of Yavanna Kementári, who created them at the beginning of Time: that's why I know it."

"As far as I know, we've never seen one, in the lands of the Six Tribes," Lythelen stated slowly. Nerwen turned her eyes at her:

"We're just passing through, actually; we're heading for the lands beyond the Orocarni."

"There's no known pass to get over them," Séredor stated.

"So I've been told," the Aini nodded, "but all mountain ranges have passes. However, should we find none, we'll get round them."

"We don't even know where they end," the king warned her.

"Mayhap your brothers the Kinn-lai know this," Nerwen replied, referring to the Avarin tribe dwelling in the Red Mountains, "and if not, mayhap the Dwarves they do business with."

"The Ironfists and the Stonefoots?" Lythelen mused, doubtful, "Contacts with them happen only three of four times during the warm season, for the exchange of a small variety of goods; as for the rest, they don't want to have anything to do with us, nor we with them, as for this. We don't even know the exact location of their towns."

Nerwen sighed inwardly: the well-known hostility between Dwarves and Elves was evidently harshened by the latter's typical aversion to the foreigners, which anyway mirrored the former's characteristic isolationism.

"I'm a follower of Kementári, their creator Aulë's spouse," she mused, "and speaking their language, I have some hopes to be better welcomed."

"Besides, you don't belong to the Elven race," Séredor pondered, "this advantages you for sure."

"You speak their tongue?" Lythelen asked her instead, looking at her appreciatively; Aryon, too, cast a glance at her in surprise and admiration, learning of this ability of hers he didn't know about, "You're full of unexpected talents, Lady Nerwen…"

"Thank you for saying so," the Aini smiled, "Sire, may I ask you a favour?" she addressed then the monarch.

"Sure, if it's in my power to help you, I'll do it," he assured her.

"I'd like to see all the maps of the Red Mountains you have here, would it be possible?"

"In our archives there are some, but they're not as accurate as the ones you'll find at the Kinn-lai," the king informed her.

"Never mind, meanwhile I can get an idea."

"Very well, then I'll issue immediately orders to make them available to you."

"Thank you, Your Majesty…"

When they finished breakfast, Séredor had Nerwen accompanied to the palace's archives, where the Maia found an official waiting for her, who delivered her half a dozen of maps she could study at her leisure.

OOO

Aryon stayed in the garden with the king of the Hwenti; Lythelen, too, had retired, wanting to leave the two friends free to talk.

"Forgive me, my friend," Séredor began, "I don't want in any way to disrespect your Nerwen, but I'm surprised you chose for a friend-in-love a woman of the race of Men, and that for her you even renounced your office as the First Sword of Queen Eliénna."

"It wasn't my choice, actually," Aryon answered, who had expected this question from his old friend, "She's not just a friend-in-love: she's my partner for life."

Séredor didn't hide his wonder:

"Are you serious? But… the previous unions between Elves and Men are more a legend than history: how is it that you, the son of a Maia, are destined to a mortal?"

His doubtful tone slightly irritated the prince, who in no way was willing to tolerate the least denigration towards the woman he loved; he glowered and answered in a rather curt tone:

"Perhaps she's mortal, and perhaps she's not. I told you, she's an Istar, and the Istari are known not to age: this means they could be non-mortal. She herself confirmed it."

The king of the Hwenti realised he had offended him and rose one hand in an apologising gesture:
"Sorry, I didn't mean to upset you. It's just that it's hard for me to believe what you're saying. In the past, there have been only two unions between Men and Elves, and never with an Avar…"

"This because we've lived apart from our brothers who abide more to the west of Middle-earth," the prince pointed out, calmer, "Besides, I remind you that one of these unions involved the child of a Maia, exactly like Nerwen and me, therefore there's nothing unheard of in my situation."

Séredor pondered Aryon's words, then he nodded slowly:

"You're right," he admitted, "I didn't think about it. Besides, I cannot deny that I like Lady Nerwen, as a person: she looks strong, resolute, but also sweet and nice. Am I right?" he enquired, diverting the subject.

Aryon grinned in his characteristically sarcastic way:

"Sweet and nice? Yeah, she's both… except when you get her angry. I saw her with my own eyes chastising hard an Elf who attempted to have her murdered; but she could have killed him, and she didn't do it. Like my sister said, this tells us much about her character."

Admiration showed through Séredor's expression.

"It tells much, indeed," he agreed, nodding, "Well, I confess I was worried about you, but now I'm not anymore: from the way you speak of her, I think you found a partner worthy of you…"

The two friends chatted for over one hour and a half, then Séredor dismissed Aryon, having to take care of his duties. The prince then thought about heading for the stables to see how their mounts were doing. While exiting the palace, he thought he glimpsed somebody following him, but turning around he didn't see anyone.

Once he arrived at the stables, he checked on the boxes of all four steeds, whom he found well lodged, clean and properly fed.

He was closing Thilgiloth's box behind him, when he heard Meledhiel's hoarse voice addressing him:

"My dear Aryon, just the one I was looking for…"

He spun around.

"Really?" he asked, rather coldly: he hadn't forget how much unpleasant she had been to Nerwen, the day before.

"Yes… I wanted to talk to you," the beautiful Elf stated in a vanilla tone, "but not here where everyone can see us. Come," she invited him, heading for the entrance of the stables. She slipped into an empty box.

Aryon hesitated, then he followed her: maybe she wanted to apologise for her earlier behaviour, and possibly even clarify the reason of it. At least, he would learn if Nerwen was right, claiming she was jealous of him.

In the box, Meledhiel had turned and was waiting for him. The prince thought that her dress was more low-cut than usual, but perhaps it was just an illusion.

"I didn't mean to be rude to your friend," she began, "I was just surprised you would go with someone of the race of Men, that's all."

"It doesn't look like a good reason to me," the prince shot back, still annoyed she dared to treat Nerwen with so much discourtesy.

Meledhiel pressed her soft lips together, surprised at his coldness: Aryon had never been unfriendly, with her. Quite the reverse, in fact… She changed her approach:

"But I don't understand what she has more than me… Is it because she claims to be an Istar that makes her interesting in your eyes?"

He made an irritated gesture that induced her to stop immediately.

"She doesn't claim, she is an Istar, believe it or not. And anyway, that's not the only thing I like about her, for sure," he stated. He didn't understand what Meledhiel was getting at and thought about leaving her there high and dry.

"I think so," she hastily said, changing tactics again, "You liked me, too, once…" she added, straightening her back to raise her torso, "We had much fun, together, remember?"

Attracted by the movement, Aryon's gaze fell involuntarily on the curvy mounds of her breasts that the cleavage generously revealed.

"Yes, of course I remember," he admitted, perplexed.

She came near him, shaking her head to wave around her long black curls, and staring at him with a captivating expression.

"Aryon, I am always available for you…" she whispered.

By Nahar's mane, the prince thought, Nerwen had been right: Meledhiel still had designs on him. He had to tell her how things really were, between him and the Istar, this would surely convince her to back off her clear purpose to seduce him; he searched for the right words, as to not hurt her any more than was necessary, but there weren't any, therefore he chose to do it head-on:

"I'm sorry, Meledhiel, but Nerwen is my partner for life," he stated in a low voice.

This took the beautiful Elf aback, but it lasted just one moment: in all her life, nobody she had eyed had ever resisted her. Not even he, as for a long time, every time he came to Kopellin, he had spent his nights in her bed. No, she told herself, it wasn't possible, it was absolutely not possible that a Human could be his partner for life! Aryon had gotten it all wrong. No, even worse: he was under a spell. An Istar, sure… that Nerwen was a sorceress and had charmed him with her witchcraft. There was no other explanation.

But she would break the spell, oh yes she would, on the spot!

"I see… What a shame we can't be together anymore…" she murmured, taking on an air of regret; she pretended to hesitate, then her smile became more seductive and she began to untie her bodice, "What if we have fun one last time, parting in a friendly way…?"

Automatically, Aryon's glance descended on those curves he knew well and that, once more, were to be displayed in front of him; he realised he was flattered, but completely uninterested.

"Meledhiel, this is not the case…" he tried to stop her by using a firm tone.

"Don't tell me you don't like what you see…" she provoked him, "Come on, touch me…"

Taking him completely by surprise, she suddenly grasped his hand and pressed it against her almost naked breasts; shocked, Aryon froze, open-mouthed.

OOO

Between studying the maps and asking for clarifications and thorough examinations, Nerwen needed a couple of hours to feel fully satisfied. Thanking the officer, who had proven a true gold mine of information, she left the archives and got back to her room, seeking Aryon, but she didn't find him; therefore she exited and headed for her kelvar friends, to see how they were.

As she entered the stables and passed by an empty stall, she heard Meledhiel's hoarse voice:

"What if we have fun one last time, parting in a friendly way…?"

The deep voice answering her got Nerwen frozen halfway through a stride.

"Meledhiel, this is not the case…"

"Don't tell me you don't like what you see… Come on, touch me…"

The Aini felt her blood rush to her head and she flung the door of the box open: she found Aryon and Meledhiel, standing one in front of the other, with her pressing one hand of his against her lavish breasts.

Both spun around as Nerwen burst in. Seeing them, the Istar stood still; slowly, she crossed her arms on her chest, while her face became icy. She uttered no word, staring at Meledhiel with a gaze that, should it have been a dagger, would have stabbed and cut her in thousand pieces.

The statuesque Avar turned pale like a ghost. Stifling a cry, she backed away from Aryon and rushed out the door, brushing Nerwen while she passed her, running. Viciously, the Maia stuck out one leg and tripped her over; Meledhiel screamed and fell, sprawling on the hay covering the floor. Under Nerwen's implacable stare, the Elf pulled herself up, her face as red as a tomato; she slanted one last, hateful glance at her rival, then ran away with her tail between her legs, her hair and gown full of straws, her dignity shattered.

Nerwen realised she had made an enemy, but for the moment, she decided to ignore her. She turned to Aryon, looking into his eyes; in his gaze she read embarrassment, but not fright.

"Care to explain?" she exhorted him, in a neutral tone. She wasn't accusing him of anything: from what she had heard and seen, it looked pretty clear that it had been Meledhiel the one taking the initiative, trying to seduce the prince with a brazen behaviour, not at all appropriated to her office as vice Lady of the Palace; but she wanted to hear it from him.

Aryon sighed:

"You were right: Meledhiel still had an interest in me," he began, "I came to check on the horses; apparently she was keeping an eye on me, because I saw her stepping out all of a sudden in front of me. Under the pretext to talk with me away from prying eyes, she dragged me here and tried to tempt me recalling our history together; I told her clearly that you're my partner for life, but she grabbed my hand and shoved it down her cleavage… and then you showed up."

Nerwen nodded slowly. She had no reason to think he was lying: not only, after what she had heard before and seen later, it was obvious that things had happened exactly how he had reported but, but above all, she completely trusted Aryon, who had renounced his office, the most prestigious in all the Six Tribes, to be with her and help her in her mission, even if he still found it hard to believe in the actual existence of the Entwives. Despite all this, however, the worm of jealousy didn't spare her: after all, being partners for life didn't mean never giving in to temptation. Therefore, while her shoulders fell, she asked him:

"And what if I hadn't shown up…?"

More than suspicious, her tone was miserable; the prince felt his heart going out to her and instinctively took a step toward her: he couldn't bear to see her upset. He wanted to pull her into his arms to reassure her, but he was afraid she would reject him.

"I'd have told her to take a cold bath," he answered firmly, "A very cold one," he added through gritted teeth.

Nerwen stared for a long moment into his eyes – those gorgeous eyes the colour of the sky, where the light of Valinor shone – and found no trace of deceit.

Aryon took her hands and, looking at her, brought them to his lips, placing small kisses on each finger, with such a tenderness she felt like melting.

"You could tell me that the sun shines by night and I'd believe you," the Aini muttered.

"That would be mutual," he stated in total earnestness, then he grinned in that peculiar way she couldn't resist and caressed the tip of her ring finger with his lips: the night before, he had discovered it as a particularly sensitive spot, and indeed, Nerwen shivered.

"Oh, you smutty rascal…!" she babbled. Actually, he was a very handsome rascal, she thought, while he continued looking into her eyes and kissed the palm of her hands, then the inner side of her wrists; finally he made her slide her arms around his neck, bent his head down and took her lips.

He kissed her slowly, deeply, putting in the kiss all the love he felt for her; he loved her unconditionally, unshakeably, and no Meledhiel in the world could stir the least interest in him.

Finally, he backed off; Nerwen looked at him, her eyes slightly glazed. She felt her heart like overflowing, flooded by the love she felt for him. Her lost gaze moved him deeply; struck dumb, he kissed her again, fervently, and she responded with equal ardour.

When their lips parted, he whispered:

"Now it's me, the one in need of an icy bath…"

Nerwen's lips bent in a grin very similar to Aryon's typical one: against her belly, she was clearly feeling his desire for her.

"Then it's better we stop right now," she whispered, "because there's two of us, in need of it…"

OOOOO

Author's corner:

The sexy Elf trying to seduce Aryon wasn't planned at all! So, here's another character jumping out and forcing me on describing a totally unexpected situation XD Anyway, now we know for certain – by facts and not just by words – that no one has the slightest chance, trying to get between Nerwen and her Aryon…

I want to thank again all those who are following this fan fiction, which is developing far more than I planned… I'm more or less like the Professor when he began The Lord of the Rings, which had to be just a sequel to The Hobbit and became instead the long, wonderful masterpiece we know; this without intending in any way comparing myself to him, of course!

Lady Angel