I pondered whether or not to add this in. It could be considered a filler chapter, actually. However, there's going to be one last chapter before the wedding chapter.
Remember guys; I'll have to act this out with my cousin in order to make it seem realistic.

So, if you see a laughing remark at the end of that chapter, it's probably Freyr, making some smart comment about how stupid it was at first.

Wish me luck?

Ancamir: jaws of jewel
Isilalas: moon marble
Alunter: leather lord

Tomorrow was the day of the wedding. Silmalir couldn't bring herself to storm out of the palace and put on an immense show for all those who loved drama. Despite all that had been done to her, she couldn't wreck Makalaurë's happy day. However, by the look on his face when she passed him by in the infirmary, one would have thought that he was walking to his demise. She would have laughed, had she not been hiding in the shadows, seeking to hide herself from view.

Perhaps she just didn't love him enough to tell him that she hated the fact that he was getting married to someone else.

No...that couldn't be true.

She did sneak out of the palace though.

It was quite easy if you had a ilsa-cambo direct you around the secret passages of the hallways to sneak out successfully.

Silmalir dressed in what she hoped was a male Elf. And then she slipped into a tavern and sat down at the counter, glancing around. The walls were dark brown and smelled of alcohol and mahogany. Then, without even raising her hand or calling for something, a glass was placed in front of her. She blinked and looked up at the hand's owner, meeting the blue eyes of a smiling Elf.

"I...didn't order," she started to say, but he shook his head.

"You look down, so it's on the house." Then he smiled charmingly. "Such a pretty lady shouldn't seem so sad..."

She tried hard to smile back. "Thanks."

He chuckled, catching note of her forced smile. "Don't push yourself."

Then she realised that she was still recognisable as a female and sighed, leaning against the counter as she glanced out of the window. The sky was amass with clouds, some marshmallow white and some grey as stone. She bit her lip and glanced back at the glass of whatever it was. It was a crimson red, much like the color of blood. Before she could process it, the Elf was back before her again, his smile almost enlightening and lifting as he looked into her eyes.

"What is this?" she asked slowly.

"Ancamir. Best in Tirion, it is."

"Alunter! Get the Isilalas out!" Alunter gave Silmalir one last smile before slipping away to the other side of the tavern, skillfully flipping a barrel right-side up and popping the cork in it.

Silmalir held the glass up to her mouth and hesitantly tasted it. Then, with a decisiveness surprising even herself, she tilted the glass upwards and downed the entire glass in one gulp. The ancamir burned down her throat rapidly, and she quickly placed the glass on the table, cupping her throat tentatively to check if it had burst into flame. Her eyesight started to blur, and she got from her seat, stumbling out of the tavern quickly as she tried to catch her breath.

The taste was sharp, like citrus, and it was defeating her bodily systems quickly, pooling through her veins a thread of fire.

She tried to keep a straight path on the streets, and the buildings seemed higher than ever as she walked beside them, flattening her right palm against the concrete for support. Breathing in and out, she shut her eyes and knelt down onto the cobblestone, throat still aching with the remnants of fire. That liquid was truly enflaming.

"Silmalir? Are you alright?"

Silmalir looked up, eyes opening slowly. At first, she thought it to be her mother, with the same grey eyes as before. She tried to blink a few more times, knowing that her mother was dead. Then she chastised herself for thinking that it had been her maternal figure—the Elf had blonde hair. She was severely off in her assessment of the person in front of her.

"I'm sorry," she said slowly, trying to phrase out her words before she said something stupid. "I don't think I...recognise you." Then she repeated her first sentence. "I'm sorry. Truly."

Light, sharp blue eyes narrowed as they scrutinised her. "You're intoxicated, aren't you?"

Silmalir shook her head, but then her mind almost turned to mush as she did so, so she held herself straight. "I prefer to say that I am simply dazed...but if that's what drinking ancamir does, then I suppose I am intoxicated... Oh dear, I'm rambling."

"Silmalir." The voice was worried. It was a nice, warm voice, like a motherly tone to a child who had just come home injured. "Are you alright?"

"I'm not intoxicated," she mumbled under her breath, standing up slowly. Then her voice rose. "I really must be getting back to the palace now... I think I am to prepare dinner with Rinaquinë, and she won't be happy if I simply shirk my duties because I am not currently right in the mind."

"I'll tell Rinaquinë to excuse you from your duties," replied the voice. "Here, let me help you. You are quite drunk, and I do not wish for you to end up somewhere other than your bed."

"I'm not tired," Silmalir protested, trying to walk forward.

However, hands prevented her from doing so and turned her back around. Trying to maintain her energy, she didn't resist and allowed herself to be walked away from the spot she had been kneeling on. Nails slightly dug into her arms, but she paid it no mind.

The question was killing her; she had no choice but to voice her curiosity. "Who are you?" she asked.

"Oh, Silmalir... I am Queen Indis."

At this statement, Silmalir tripped over her feet and fell to the ground. "What an anticlimactic moment," she said.

Sorry this is so short, but I really wasn't able to expand into being intoxicated, because I've never been intoxicated.