A/N: Firstly, I know this is late, but I ask you please be patient with me with the coming chapters, uni work is taking a lot out of me at the moment.
Secondly, this is a loooong chapter, so I have put in a break about half way through for your convenience. Despite it being long I hope it is still enjoyable!
Chapter 7 - The feast
The feast was a formality, or so Gil-Galad was told.
The interval between arriving—dirty and battle weary—and the feast left enough time to prepare, but not to wind down from the event. He fancied his heart still ran fast in his chest, still anticipated when next his hand would need to grip hilt of dirk or sword. Padding out of his washing room, drying the ends of his hair, he stood for a moment and reiterated to himself that this was neither the War of Wrath, nor the Siege of Mithlond, but a skirmish. Nothing more.
A pair of glowing golden eyes flashed before his minds eye and he snapped to alertness again.
He did not expect to see those young women at the feast. And they would do well to take their time and recover from their shock.
He had not known what he would find when he came to Lorinand. King Amdír had kept his letter vague.
He had just finished fixing his tunic when an expected knock came at his door.
Galadriel. He had a deep rooted respect for his fathers cousin, though their paths seldom crossed. Her wisdom was rarely found in these lands, and her council was more precious than the rarest of gems.
"~Cousin, well met.~" He greeted her, closing the door behind them. "~I thank you for sparing me a moment of your precious time. The Ladies are well?~" He asked, showing Galadriel to a seat, then took one opposite her.
The Lady nodded, a sure sign of her fondness of them. One vote of confidence. "~Shaken, but well. Today has strengthened their desire for answers. They will be attending tonight.~"
Gil-Galad fought hard to stop his brows climbing his forehead. It appeared these ladies were full of surprises. He conceded with a nod.
Galadriel waited patiently as Gil-Galad gathered his thoughts.
"~I wish to hear your account of these women. Everything from arrival until today.~" He didn't need to elaborate on why he believed Amdír was not being entirely forthright in his account, or his letter. Three women from another land, one who 'knows things both past and of the world beyond tomorrows horizon'. It was clear there was much more to them than that—if they had been hunted and blamed for the death of a warden.
Galadriel obliged, and spared no detail. Her vision in the mirror of their arrival on the border, their various reactions to the new world around them, the blossoming friendship between them and by extension, the bond forming between them and her own family. He questioned Gunda-Toril's knowledge of Quenya, and Galadriel answered that though she appeared to have a gift for learning languages, her Quenya was woefully basic.
Gil-Galad sighed at that. So Gunda-Toril had not known what she had yelled at him on the battlefield. He was neither relieved nor comforted by that.
"~Amdír claims Gunda-Toril has foresight.~"
"~ She makes no effort to deny the fact.~"
"~Is she aware of the prophecy?~"
"~She has made no outright mention of it. She follows Celeborn's advice and keeps her council to herself after her misstep.~"
Gil-Galad huffed softly. She had not managed to remain completely discreet. 'Well I know that!' She had said.
If she was as powerful as Amdír suspected, and as Galadriel now hinted at, she was a liability to the safety of Middle-earth. Gil-Galad did not like that fact. They bore no inherent allegiance to anyone, no loyalty by birth or love. Their motivations needed establishing first before he decided anything further. If they leaned towards greed, to power, to anything that could sway them towards their enemies favour, he would not allow them the chance. He could empathise with what little of their situation he knew, but he would eliminate the threat before it grew. He would have to.
Even with their enemy's banishment to Numenor, the presence of such evil lingered in the back of his mind.
A moment of silence passed, and Galadriel spoke.
"~I come to ask a favour.~"
Now he was concerned. Galadriel was wise, forward thinking and self sufficient. He had never known her to ask for help outright. Again, he nodded once.
"~Amdír seeks to keep them here. Persuade him to let them go, take them with you if you must, for they will not find what they seek in one realm alone.~"
Again, she spoke of a concern for the women he had yet to understand.
"~And what is it they might be seeking.~"
"~Their paths now entwine with this earth.~" Galadriel said. "Of that I have been certain since their arrival.~"
Gil-Galad nodded slowly, reading between the lines as was often how he—or anyone—had a conversation with the Lady.
"~What has changed?~"
"~They have. Something beyond our reckoning stirs within them. Awakening since their arrival. Growing stronger with the enemy's presence.~"
Gil-Galad reclined in his chair, resting his chin on his knuckles as he sifted through his pullulating thoughts.
There was nothing normal about any of this. It felt as foreign to him as the day, long ago, when he had had a sword thrust into his hand and been told to lead HIS people to safety through desolate, war torn lands. That day, he had no idea what was expected of him, if what he decided would be the right thing, but he knew without needing to be told that there would be no one to tell him he was wrong. If a course of action failed, the onus was on him. His people had needed a leader, someone they could believe in and trust to keep them safe.
He had three young women, children in the eyes of the Eldar, in his hands now. Everything about them was new, untested, and unlike any challenge he had faced. He would face it none the less, his judgement swift and calculated.
Something beyond our reckoning stirs within them.~
There had been nothing normal about the woman he witnessed fight the onslaught of Yrch in the forest. Those eyes like molten gold ore made him want to shudder. They frightened him.
Opening a channel in his mind, he cast his thought—a question—to Galadriel.
'Are they dangerous?'
He could sense the power of the Lady ripple through the link he had opened between them. Then a resounding reply echoed back.
'Yes.'
x x x
Lorinand was projecting festive vibes like a four-year-old with a confetti cannon.
Excitable chatter drifted on the air mixing with the smell of spices and alcohol.
On our walk to the Royal dining hall which took a small eternity, Kimbela, Glenys and I walked hand in hand, faces as composed as we could manage. Our eyes kept vigilant watch in the tree tops. The accomplice was still out there. Waiting for their chance.
We would show them we were unafraid. A united front that would not be cowed by some fraidy-cat hiding in the trees behind a bow.
Our message was intended to be brave, but a phantom arrow still pierced my shoulder. Mind and body tender, bruised and aching from the act of unsolicited violence, the throbbing recollection of the willpower it took to hurt myself more to remove it—when I had thought I might die.
Celebrían smiled encouragingly over her shoulder as the steps to the mess hall came into view, the din of voices and aromas of the feast to come beckoning us.
Excitement unfurled in my gut, despite the heavy discomfort which had sat there for most of the evening. The grandeur and ambiance Lorinand emanated overwhelmed my senses. The smell of delicate flowers, honey cured meats and spiced wines. The gentle light from not only the lamps but the elves themselves too, cast the lilac bark of the gigantic trees in a dreamy luminescence. Surreal enough that I would not have been surprised should a fairy fly out from behind one of the golden leaves, or a will-o-the-wisp emerge from one of the many blue glowing lamps. Then there was the music. Voices, harps and flutes rose in gentle swells through the air. Rising and falling in a chorus that begged my every base instinct to follow, to be carried away on the promise of nothing more than enjoyment—soul fulfilling enjoyment.
"The trees are singing again." Kimbela said, her head turned as though fighting the same want as I.
"You two have gone native already?" Glenys winked, her voice laced with longing.
"Here," I said, veering towards the nearest bough. I pressed her palm to the velvety bark. "Let it come to you."
She looked hesitant for a few long seconds. Biting her lip, brow knitting together as if afraid of how she was being perceived by anyone who might be watching.
"What am I listening for?"
"You'll know when you hear it." I whispered.
Kimbela came up on Glenys' other side and pressed their hands on the bark too, and we stood, chained together, waiting.
I felt it before I heard it. A soft vibrating in the air around me, then the willowy, almost moaning song of the trees. Hauntingly beautiful. A few seconds later Glenys' jaw fell open in a gasp, eyes widening.
"What—" She cut herself off, sinking into the feeling that gently cradled all three of us. A tingling awareness of life ghosted over our skins.
Something moved on Glenys' upper arm. I thought it was a stick insect at first, but paying closer attention to it, it was her marking. A modest golden glow that more clearly defined the two arrows under her skin—a tattoo becoming visible.
Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew the symbol said something.
"What are they saying?" Glenys finally asked, breathless with wonderment.
I snapped out of my thoughts and shrugged, stepping back as the accumulative tingle from the trees swirled around my lower back, easing the tension I carried. "I don't think they are saying anything in particular. They are just happy to be."
Glenys stepped back, a hand placed gently over her marking. "That was magical."
I smiled, because it was. And I was inexplicably happy and proud she thought so too. Her guard down, she was like a curious child with her dark eyes wide and awe-filled.
I knew in that moment that this was what I was fighting to protect. Whatever came our way tonight, they were my main priority.
"Is everything alright?"
Celebrían and her father watched us with kind fascination. Galadriel had joined us too. Her depthless blue eyes watching with an awareness I had learned to accept as part of who she was—but there was something else in her eyes tonight. Something that made my skin prickle cold.
She is Gil-Galad's kin…
I froze.
Stop being paranoid.
Kimbela and Glenys vouched for the High-King's kindness and possible good-will. He had tended to their wounds after the bridge—a king's healing hands, or so he had claimed.
x
The hall went curiously quiet when we entered. We made sure to give those who's gaze lingered a little too long a good glare back as we followed the Lord and Lady through the centre of the hall.
The tables were rearranged around the perimeter of the room, allowing space for dancing before, during and after the meal, and the lamps let out a muted glow. Casting the hall in a charming half-light.
What Celebrían had described to us was more of a buffet than any of our idea's of a 'feast'. I had envisaged a roaring fire with a pig roasting on a spit—Lorinand style, whatever that might have been.
What greeted us was more like a dressed up version of every-day dinner. The knot in my stomach eased.
"Feel free to socialise. Our distinguished guests have yet to arrive." Celeborn said, turning to us with a warm expression.
We immediately gravitated towards Haldir and his brothers, who stood off to the side of us, when an announcement rang through the hall for all to hear. Then a loud voice called across the room.
"~Celeborn! Well met my friend.~"
My heart flatlined.
'Wild-eyes'—the High-King—strode towards Celeborn and the pair gripped forearms, smiling brightly like comrades reunited.
"~And you your Majesty.~" The Lord replied, turning to us. "~And these are my charges.~"
We each dipped into a curtsy as Celeborn introduced us, our eyes, if not our heads too, downcast.
"Ladies, this is His Majesty the High-King of the Ñoldor."
"Elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo." He beamed, eyes bright and voice jovial—the rich tenor I truly had not imagined.
But why speak in Quenya?
"Um… Mae Govanin?" Glenys attempted, brow arching in uncertainty.
"Govannen." I corrected in a whisper.
The King smiled kindly, looking over each of us in turn. "How are you faring after your ordeal?"
"Well, thank you." We replied.
Awkward silence fell for a heartbeat.
"It was good that you packed your wound with sphagnum moss." The King directed at me, asking about my shoulder.
"Growing up in a forest teaches you a few tricks." I said, "And it is alright."
"I am glad to hear it. I would advise chewing some Athelas into a paste next time."
"Oh yeah…" I mused, reminded of the healing plant—only I had no clue what it looked like. "I'll remember that."
Wild-eyes raised an amused brow, and then his smile bordered in a grin. "Do you swim?"
My brow furrowed, as did Glenys and Kimbela's. "Yes. Competitively. Why?"
He nodded, satisfied with something. "The broad shoulders give it away." He evaded my question with a practiced ease. I had to remind myself that he was, for the moment, neither friend nor foe. "I would dislike to see your injury hinder you in any way."
"I dare say swimming will strengthen it again."
He chuckled, light and airy, then moved onto asking after Kimbela's and Glenys' health respectively. He was genuine in his concern and interest in us—sharp too. Had Kimbela trained in a form of combat before? Her stance was firm. Was Glenys a seasoned rider? Her interactions with her horse had been easy and natural.
I observed him under the guise of polite interest. He wore similar clothing to earlier—luxury perhaps left at home while travelling.
Dark breeches and supple leather boots, flecked with mud at the heel where someone had missed while cleaning them. A smart short sleeve purple tunic, cinched at the waist with a slim belt, embroidered with silver ribbon designs around the hem and sleeves which exposed muscular biceps. On his forearms were gold leaf engraved arms guards, depicting some ornate, swirling design. It reminded me of the smoke drifting from a newly extinguished candle.
My eyes traveled further up, to his face which had made my heart stop with fright on the battlefield.
He had a darker complexion than the elves I had seen so far. Most of the Ñoldor I had seen did. Where Lorinand Eldar had porcelain or light skin, the Ñoldor were more honey tanned from dwelling in the sun.
The High-King had a beautiful rich golden colour, sun kissed. Fresh-faced with slim chiselled features, his high cheekbones fell away to a sturdy jawline and pointed chin. Those wild—no, lively—cerulean eyes sat evenly apart, accentuated by rounded eyebrows that followed the natural curve to his thin, straight nose. His dark, silver flecked hair was left loose to flow over his back and shoulders, save for a pair of small braids that curved over his pointed ears.
I wished to scowl at how my heart skipped a beat. His eyes caught mine and held my gaze. I instinctively followed the feeling in my chest, and took a step back.
He noticed that. Those kind eyes sparking with a shadow of what I'd seen in them on the battlefield, his face remaining composed and friendly, like it had been a message for me alone. I tried not to show the shiver that rattled up my spine.
"~I hope you will join me at the table at some point during the feast?~" He asked, indicating the head table where another grand chair had been given the honour of centre stage.
"~It would be our pleasure to join you.~" I replied.
Both girls squeezed my hands.
"~I had not expected your presence tonight,~" The King continued, "~however I look forward to getting to know you better.~"
I was baffled. He sounded more like a tutor approaching a prodigy child he had heard of but never met. As though we had not been fighting for our lives a few hours previously. Like we had not seen each other, blood covered and savage.
"~We are happy for this opportunity too, Gil—I mean, My King.~"
My King? Thor's beard!
Another squeeze at my hands.
I blinked, looking to either side of me. What had I said?
Kimbela tapped a finger on the back of my hand.
. . . _ _ _ . . .
SOS
I shot a glance at the King, who watched us with intrigue flaring in those mysterious pools.
"Sorry, my sisters don't speak fluent Sindarin yet."
He flashed us an apologetic smile, but his eyes conveyed another sentiment. "My apologies my Ladies."
Indignation shot up my spine like an electrical shot and I squared my shoulders, dropping my companions hands. I took a deep breath through my nose, not willing to let him figure out just how much he unnerved me.
He was dangerous, not just in the way all elves were. Strong, swift and able in a fight. No, there was something behind his demeanour that his eyes only hinted at. It was calculating, and absolute. He was playing the same game we were.
"It will be our pleasure to join you at your table." I said with a bow of my head. "I apologise for my abruptness with you, your Majesty. We are still on edge after today, but have come so that you may know us to be of benign intentions."
The look behind the King's eyes relaxed slightly.
"There was no offence taken. I must remember not all of you speak our tongue." The King said graciously.
I wanted to knit my brows together. He didn't strike me as the sort to forget little details.
Lord Celeborn and the High-King stepped away, falling deep in conversation.
Celebrían gave me an uneasy look, as though apologising for something she had no control over. I shook my head and chuckled.
"So that's the High-King?" Glenys whispered into my ear.
We all three gave him another thorough once over.
"He's hot."
My eyes nearly fell out my skull.
"Glenys! He's the High-King!"
"Yes, and? I'm appreciating a very well proportioned, handsome person. Women aren't the only things that can be eye-candy. Plus, I'm not saying it in public or to his face."
She had me there, and Celebrían backed Glenys up with an amused nod.
We turned to finally join Haldir, his brothers and Beinion, another warden in Haldir's unit. My stomach ached from the tight knot that had rebuilt over the course of our short interlude with 'Wild-eyes'.
Glenys made a beeline for the nearest table and began finding us something to drink.
"I'm glad to see you alive and well." Beinion, one of the few to speak common tongue, said by way of greeting. Soft brown eyes twinkling.
"Yes, very much so. Try two arrows next time." A tense grin sliced across my mouth.
Orophin snorted into his drink and Rumil hid a grin behind his hand.
"Gunda." Haldir shook his head ruefully at me. "May I remind you that your safety is our livelihood until further notice?"
"Oh, sorry. Make it three for good measure." I winked.
Rumil burst out laughing, his understanding of common tongue clearly better than he let on.
"Okay!" Glenys interrupted, shoving a colourful drink under my nose. "You need to relax. Here, have this, it's like a cosmopolitan on steroids." She chirped.
"A what now?" I asked, taking the drink and sniffing it. It was sweet, like sugared red currants or cranberries. "It's not alcoholic is it?" I couldn't afford loosing my wits tonight, plus, I'd never really drunk alcohol before.
She shook her head. "No. I mixed those two punch bowls together. One's juice, the other something called Mirrormore?"
I shrugged. "Don't know of it."
"Miruvor." Haldir interjected. "No it is not alcoholic, however—"
I didn't listen to the rest of Haldir's sentence, and downed the drink. A warm tingling spread from my gut. I felt light and fluffy, and the world had never seemed so in focus before. Glenys grinned.
"Good right?"
I nodded innocently, eyes going wide with the buzz that was quickly filling my body, from the roots of my hair to the tips of my toes, then asked; "Didn't you work in a bar before this?"
"Helga's. Only the finest cocktail bar ever!" Glenys preened, flipping her hair over her shoulder.
"It shows." Kimbela concurred, sipping her's leisurely.
The conversation turned to the heated race to save us, and then me from the river—one patrol had started casting nets to fish me out, fearing the worst. I smiled awkwardly at their praise of my bravery on the bridge.
An uncomfortable memory stirred, and I looked out into the quickly filling hall, my eyes all too swiftly finding the High-King.
Glenys wasn't wrong. He was tall, strong looking and handsome with his long, oval face and pointed features. He was like every male love interest in romance books ever. The looks, the body, the charm—dangerous.
Realising I was staring, I made to excuse myself when Beinion asked how I'd dealt with the arrow. Feet itching to move—to hide—as King Amdír and the Prince were announced, I told them.
"~You broke the shaft in half? Why not just pull it out?~" Rumil asked, face twisting as he imagined what I had described.
"~Aside from the awkward angle of the arrow, the head looked like it would have done damage if I tried.~"
Haldir's brow creased. "~What shape was the arrowhead?~"
"~Wedge shaped.~"
He nodded.
"~Why?~"
"~Did you keep it?~"
"~No. I dropped it before the Orc attack.~" I said, glad we had switched to Sindarin for this portion of the conversation.
Haldir nodded again, and said nothing more.
There was a high pitched shriek of laughter, and Celebrían, Vanya and little Lalwen cautiously joined us. Beinion smiled at his wife and swept his daughter into his arms.
Everyone greeted Lalwen fondly. The toddler sized child blushed, hiding her face in her fathers neck, then peeked out at us.
"Hello Lalwen." Glenys cooed. "I love your dress!"
Celebrían translated for Lalwen, who grinned, fingering the pink flower and lilac dress. Beinion answered for his daughter. The dress was her favourite, and made by her grandmother. He then turned his attentions back to her.
"~What are you still doing awake?~" He chided playfully.
Lalwen fluttered her eyelashes before looking over to us. She had joined her mother on a few occasions, helping Vanya and Celebrían bring us lunch. She had been shy at first, but that shyness had turned to a giddy familiarity. Bonding over music and singing and—
"~Gunda promised me a dance.~"
I bowed my head. Of course she had come to claim her reward from a rather easy game of hide and seek.
"~So I remember you saying. But it's late.~" Beinion reasoned, tapping the tip of her nose. "~And Gunda has had a looong day.~"
"~I don't mind.~" I interjected, smiling at Lalwen. "~We can have one dance, as promised.~"
"~She won't leave until she has had her dance.~" Vanya sighed, fondly smoothing Lalwen's dark locks.
I grinned as Beinion relented, placing Lalwen on her feet.
Not a heartbeat later music started, and Lalwen marched up and stuck her hand out to me, fluttering her lashes.
Well, with an invitation like that, I couldn't resist. We boogied—as toddlers excel at—on the fringe of the dance floor. I twirled her under my arm, bounced in time to the music and finally picked her up when she reached up for my neck. Balancing her on my hip, we migrated onto the floor among the other dancing couples.
Lalwen giggled loudly with delight, then took a deep interest in my ear.
"~Your ear is strange.~" She traced the shell of my ear, fingers tangling in my hair.
"~All humans have them.~"
"~Why?~"
"~Because we just do.~"
"~No, why are your ears like theirs? You're one of us, aren't you?~"
I let out a laugh. "~No. I am mortal.~"
Lalwen shook her head. "~No, you are one of us.~"
One of us. My heart thumped hard in my chest. Was I? Could I ever be 'one of them'—a part of their community. Looking around me at the mingling elves, chatting, laughing, dancing, not seeming to have a care in the world other than what they were experiencing in that moment, I could be like that. I wanted that. But my position as it was, a seer and the focal point of several notable figureheads of these ethereal people greatly hindered that vision. I would forever be branded with whatever stereotypes that came with my 'gift'. They would never look at me and just see…me…Gunda-Toril.
We were the 'Sellathelen'.
I was the seer.
I was, before any of that, mortal, and from another world.
We did not belong here. We needed to find a way home.
The weight of that bore down on me, and my lips turned down.
A small finger with a sharp nail poked into the corner of my mouth, pushing it up. I blinked at Lalwen. "~Sorry. I got caught up in my thoughts.~"
She frowned incredulously. "~Why do you think people will not like you?~"
"~Now where did you get that idea from?~" I asked.
Darn the forwardness of children sometimes. I missed it.
"~Your eyes are very expressive.~" Lalwen stated plainly. "~But you are one of us. I feel it. You should have pointed ears.~"
I hugged her tight, fighting back tears of emotion. "~Thank you Lalwen. That means a lot to me.~"
"~Friends?~" She asked, a knowing smile plastered to her face. I nodded, vowing that from henceforth, we were friends.
x
Beinion collected his rapidly wilting daughter with many thanks for making his job of putting her to bed easier.
I lingered on the edge of the hall, drinking in the feel of the world around me. Kimbela and Glenys remained with Haldir, their postures relaxed and at ease. Up at the head table, half cast in the shadow of the back of his throne, King Amdír picked at the food on his plate while half listening to the Lord who sat a few seats to his left. The chair immediately to his left was empty, and the one on the right—I assumed—was for the High-King.
It was a deep oak, lined with plush turquoise cushions, and the top of the backrest was shaped to resemble horns. The horns of what I couldn't tell. Ridged like rams horns, but with the curve of a bulls and the reach of a stags. It was impressive, and odd.
A bit like 'Wild-eyes' so.
I fetched myself a drink, about to head back to my group, when I spotted an intent figure weaving his way towards me.
The prince.
Golden hair braided back from his face and dressed in clothes of pale lilac that shimmered silver where the half-light of the lamps fell on him. He was nothing short of radiant.
A high-pitched tittering snagged my attention.
I was not the only one to think him eye-catching. A group of ellyth followed him with their eyes, turning into themselves and whispering excitedly. If that was how elves reacted to their royalty, perhaps Glenys truly hadn't been out of line to compliment the High-King as she had.
Interesting. I thought as I sipped my 'cosmopolitan on steroids', smiling inwardly at the pleasant tingling that filled my body after the first sip as the prince of Lorinand stopped before me.
I eyed him innocently. An unusual feeling of amusement sparking in my gut. Was it the drink? Whatever it was, I welcomed it.
"My Lady." He greeted politely in common tongue, and I returned it with a nod of my head. "Do you by change go by the name of Gunda?"
"I do."
"My father intends to introduce us as potential spouses."
My mind went blank.
The engagement! How had I forgotten that rather significant detail?! I pulled my thoughts together. One thing at a time, and now this was the immediate problem to deal with. If the worst came to the worst, maybe I could trade with the High-King.
My compliance in exchange for, well, I couldn't ask for freedom, but a way out of this arrangement. My gut tightened at the thought, at the implications of such an offer. Was bargaining with the Eldar like making a bargain with the faeries, where the human came out the end of it all worse off than before?
I didn't want to marry. But I didn't want to sell my freedom—or my soul—either.
"Yes, so I overheard." I said blithely, sipping my drink and keeping an eye on my group of friends—still deep in conversation, and on the High-King who stood strategically within earshot of them.
It wasn't a definite that he was spying on us, but if he were I could only admire him more for his hands on approach.
"I will not agree to any such proposal." The prince stated, reeling my attention back to him. "It is nothing against you personally."
I could kiss you right now, Prince.
"Likewise." I answered succinctly, grinning at him over the rim of my goblet as relief burst forth in a swarm of butterflies in my chest. I felt a great weight lifted off my shoulders and I could breathe easier. I sucked in what felt like my first proper breath all day. "I have little interest in such things at present."
"So... you aren't upset? Or offended?" He clearly hadn't expected my reaction either. His eyes widened slightly and his mouth formed a disbelieving, if not hopeful, shape.
"Heavens no! For one, I firmly believe you should marry who you love. And second, I dislike being used. So I am relieved not to have to refuse this rather odd means-to-an-end on my own."
He raised an eyebrow. "You are not what I'd ever expected from a daughter of men."
"I'll take that as a compliment, Prince." I joked.
"Twas meant as one." He paused for a moment. "Did I hear you right when you said you overheard my father?"
"Eavesdropped is the more appropriate name for what we did." I shrugged, adopting Kimbela's straightforward approach. It seemed to work with the Prince well. His eyes widened slightly.
"You and who?!"
"My 'sisters' and I." I said almost too proudly.
Amroth let out a hearty laugh. "Now I must meet you all! It's not every day I meet young girls gutsy enough to do that to my father. Does he know?"
I shrugged, ignoring his jib at our age. "It wouldn't surprise me if he did. He's been very efficient in finding out what he needs about us."
"Typical. Worry not, I shall come to your aid should you need it." He offered, a hint of mischief flickering across his face.
"Thank you."
I cast a glance over the hall again. King Amdír watched his son and I like a hawk watching its prey, and the High-King was watching Amdír, but quickly turned his eyes back to whatever Lord had snagged him in conversation.
I tapped the rim of my goblet. Thoughts swirling and forming into a plan.
"Come, I will introduce you to my companions!" I chirped.
The prince followed like a curious puppy. We slid into the friendly circle, with ease.
"Prince Amroth, these are my friends Kimbela from Denmark,"
"Hej." Kimbela waved cheerfully.
"And Glenys from the Northern Isles."
"What like." Glenys grinned, slipping into her natural accent.
"Charmed." Amroth returned before launching into conversation about our eavesdropping escapades. Haldir stifled a chuckle, and Rumil and Orophin's ears turned pink.
"You mean you snuck into the Kings private garden?!" Orophin sounded scandalised.
"Above it technically." Kimbela countered.
"Are you two related?" Amroth asked, indicating Kimbela and I. "You have similar accents, Yours being a bit stronger." He tilted his goblet in Kimbela's direction.
"Actually not. None of us knew each other before we came here." Kimbela said, sipping her drink.
"Really? So you were complete strangers? I wouldn't have believed it in any other circumstance." Amroth marvelled at our close-knit friendship.
Glenys shrugged a shoulder. "It was survival to begin with. But we're slowly warming to each other." She laced her arm through mine and rested her head on my shoulder. I raised a playful eyebrow.
"Yeah, we're getting there." I said, returning her half hug.
Another body joined our circle, casually sliding in between the prince and Rumil.
"Forgive my intrusion, but I couldn't help but overhear your fascinating conversation." The High-King's eyes sparkled with an easy mirth.
I smiled as naturally as if it were an old friend joining the conversation.
So he is spying on us!
"It's no intrusion, you are most welcome."
"Thank you, but do not stop on my account. You were just saying that you have only known each other since your arrival?"
"Yes, but there isn't much to add to that comment. This is very much an introductory questions and answers session."
He shrugged easily, turning his free palm up in a placating manner. "Ask away, I am somewhat of an open book—if I like you." He winked and the group chuckled, tensions easing.
"So am I, but I do wish to know something."
He looked attentively at me.
"Why is your horse called Rochallor?"
He chuckled, not having expected that question, and I got the sense he was pleasantly surprised or relieved. Truthfully, I hadn't been sure what to ask, and blurting out 'Why are you here?' was not likely to gain us his trust.
"Rochallor was the name of my grandfathers horse, from whom my horse is also descended."
Line of Fingolfin, not Finarfin. Glad to have that little detail sorted, though the hair is a bit of a give away.
"Fascinating. And what happened to the ribbon in your hair? I rather liked it." I continued, emboldened out of pure curiosity and for the thrill that fluttered in my veins, sparking in my chest. Something about interacting with him made me feel all sorts of things that I couldn't tell if they were good or bad—yet.
"Practicality. It ensures the braid doesn't come undone in an inopportune moment."
I hummed in agreement. So, no mention of Fingon. Perhaps a sore spot. I could understand that.
"And you? Do you make it a habit of yours to defend those you've only just met?"
My brow creased, and Glenys and Kimbela tensed, eyeing him sharply. He hadn't sounded harsh, but I couldn't help but suspect it was a loaded question.
He blinked. The only sign he was startled by our reaction. "You defended Rochallor for his bad manners while trying to de-saddle you."
I let out a laugh, equally caught off guard by his question. "Could you blame him? I nearly knocked you out the saddle before I properly knew either of you."
Near everyone in the group's jaw fell open at that.
"That is true." He conceded with a nod. "So can one take it that your moral compass steers true."
"I—pardon?"
My 'sisters' and I gave each other confused looks.
"You would do what is right in a tough situation." The High-King continued.
"I would strive to always do what I deemed right in the moment." I replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world about me.
He tilted his head, but not in a disbelieving or condescending way. "Your actions on the bridge speak in testimony to that claim my Lady."
I cringed. "Please don't call me Lady."
"Why not?"
I opened my mouth then shut it again, unable and unwilling to admit that it just felt wrong to hear that title from him.
"Well...I... never mind."
His eyes sparked with a question I felt he dearly wished to ask, but didn't. He regarded the three of us carefully.
A hand gently rested on my back. The touch small but reassuring.
After a short pause, he spoke again. "If I may turn philosophical for a moment, what would you say is life's greatest reward?"
"Loyalty, friendship and love. You must be true to yourself and others to earn them." I looked to my friends. "And kindness and a little bit of understanding are the first steps."
Glenys arched a playful brow and I added, finger wagging, "Except with you. You took a mountains worth of patience too."
"I'm hard to love!"
"Are not." I retorted. "Every rose has thorns."
x x x
Gil-Galad watched as Kimbela, Glenys and Gunda-Toril finished acquainting themselves with the Prince of Lorinand and moved on to find something to eat.
They were surprising him at every turn. Making his decision on their fate all the more difficult.
They had undoubtably gained the acceptance of many elves.
Sky blue eyes held vigilant watch over the Lady Gunda-Toril. Kimbela noticed a great deal more than she openly let on—her defensive stance between him and her friends when they were unaware, a hand protectively on Gunda-Toril's back, gave her away.
Glenys was too easy to get carried away chatting to. Her light voice coaxing conversation from anyone like a lovers song. Her slim frame aided in the illusion of a soft, kindly woman who wouldn't harm a fly. She was almost elfin, he thought.
Then there was Gunda-Toril. Where her friends where slender or petit of frame, giving no immediate threat of physical danger, she was another matter. Tall, broad and long of limb, she had the build of a warrior—the strength of one too. Aside from her eyes, bright like two burning suns and only a fraction from being luminescent, she was the most human-like. Like the women of the first houses of men.
But Gunda-Toril was also difficult for him to understand. She was not what he might consider 'the most discreet' with her gift, for she asked some odd questions and said things that were out of place.
It were as if her foresight had no order to it. Did she catch glimpses of events, but not always know when it took place?
How confusing for her. It would explain her blunder which had led to the discovery of her gift.
However, he couldn't deny that their interactions with the Wardens were friendly, and with other elves, natural. There was no falsity, no pretences other than genuineness.
He cast a last glance over them, eyes lingering on Gunda-Toril a moment longer than necessary before heading towards his seat.
The chair, magnificently carved to emulate and signify one of his greatest victories, made him cringe. Just the silhouette of those horns brought back a phantom taste of hot ash and sulphur. He swallowed thickly, and took his seat.
It wasn't that Amdír had ignored his dislike for the chair, but it held meaning for the people. For those who were long lived enough to have seen that battle, and their children who had heard the tale since. It was a symbol of hope as much as his epessë had become one.
By the time he had been served generous amounts of vegetables, roast meat and bread to mop up the gravy, Gunda-Toril was once more in conversation with the prince. She seemed interested in his arrival with the Ñoldor, and even more surprised to discover the prince travelled to Mithlond every five years to reunite with his 'gentleman's club'.
Gil-Galad fought to hide a curious smile as the Lady enthusiastically asked question after question.
Who were the other members? Friends of his? Did they live in Mithlond? Were they his friends from before the War—had he known them in Doriath?
That made Gil-Galad pause.
Amroth didn't seem to care much as he answered her questions happily.
And she listened. She wanted to know, to hear, to understand… to explore. Her eyes shone with a keen amazement and…worship. She sat, enraptured in the princes tales of hunts, grand Solstice festivals, the balls. Thankfully, Amroth voiced some questions Gil-Galad himself wished to ask. How did she know of these past events she alluded to?
Gunda-Toril looked awkwardly into her lap. She picked at the skin on the side other thumb. "There is no point denying that I know things. I am simply more comfortable discussing what has already happened."
"What if what you think happened is not the case?" Amroth asked, peering at her over the lip of his goblet, playfully goading.
"Then correct me!" She encouraged, eyes lighting with that thirst for knowledge again. "I am curious, and just want to understand. History is like a puzzle. With so many intricate details that are woven together to give us, well, now!" She had laced her fingers together to demonstrate the weaving of patterns, a broad smile touched her eyes, and a dimple appeared in her right cheek.
"Has your arrival mucked up what you already know, or have you always known the part you play?"
Gil-Galad rested his elbow on the table, leaning forward, not caring if anyone saw as he waited for her answer.
Gunda-Toril's face fell. "I am deliberately ignoring that because we will not play any part. I intend to find us a way home before long."
Galadriel's warning sprang to mind, and Gil-Galad felt a sudden pang of regret. They wanted to go home. He empathised with that feeling, the longing for familiarity. There were times he missed the high vaulted caverns of Nargothrond. But if Galadriel were right, then Middle-earth had yet to become their new home.
Would they turn to the Deceiver to find a way home?
"Have we frightened you?" Amroth continued without pause.
"Once I thought you were the last people on this earth I would have to fear. However now…" She sighed, and gave Amroth a look which conveyed what she wouldn't say. "I still have faith that not all of you are like that."
To that, Amroth raised his glass to her and discretely, so did Gil-Galad.
For a thought had taken root, and he was quick to tend to it.
x x x
I was pleasantly surprised when the prince asked me to dance. I cast a wary look at his father.
"~Don't worry about what he thinks, have some fun!~"
Maybe it was the glimmer of friendliness in his eyes, more likely the four 'Cosmopolitans on steroids', but I felt daring. And I so wished to dance. It had been too long since the last time—when Mamma had whisked me around the island in the kitchen to a polka tune on the radio.
The prince led me to the dance floor, he bowed, I curtsied, and we were off. It was unlike anything I'd danced before. I'd kept half an eye on the dance floor throughout the evening, picking up steps and movements and how it fit to the musical rhythms, so I was not completely lost as Amroth whirled me through a dance.
Partners rarely—if ever—faced each other, and certainly were never chest to chest.
Several others extended invitations after that, perhaps reassured I would not break their toes or, more likely, that I was not as hostile as my entrance to the feast had suggested.
Wildly out of breath but smiling like an idiot after four vigorous jig-like dances, I accepted Rumil's invitation. Thankfully the song was easy going, and the moves resembling a slow waltz, or one where the partners remained at arms length and side by side.
He grinned at me, still amused by the plethora of improper acts we had admitted to earlier.
"~You three are trouble. Please never change, it'll get incredibly dull if you do.~"
"~It would get boring to not cause some trouble.~" I responded, not entirely convinced but feeling a hint of truth gnaw in my words.
I caught a glimpse of Glenys leaning against a table corner, glass held delicately in her slim fingers, and her eyes cast to the figure approaching her.
My eyes narrowed as I was spun under arm, and when I came up again I saw it was Wild-eyes. My heartbeat picked up a rapid pace, and didn't stop until I saw Kimbela join the conversation.
A part of me began to prickle. Suspicion spider-walking up the skin of my back, every follicle coming alive.
What are they talking about?
"~You are still on edge.~" Rumil sounded concerned, his dark eyes, the same as his brothers, mirrored the feeling of having let us down.
I shook my head. "~I'll be fine.~" I lied, and then remembered, "~Oh, and you must teach me what Athelas looks like.~"
"~What?~"
"~Athelas. King's foil?~"
"~Never heard of it.~" Rumil said.
"~You're kidding!?~" I gawped. "~It's a healing plant.~"
Rumil still shook his head. "~Where'd you hear about it?~"
"~From… the Ñoldor.~" I admitted, growing hot under my clothes, suspicion scorching through me. That bastard.
"~Could be something only they grow.~" Rumil suggested, shrugging one shoulder.
But why suggest it to me then? Unless…
"~True. They were only trying to be helpful.~" I forced a pleasant look.
He planned that. I'm certain of it.
The girls were laughing. At ease in his presence. My teeth clenched, smile strained but convincing enough that Rumil didn't suspect anything was off.
I hated that suspicion was an instinctual reaction, but it was a necessary one.
Damn it Gunda, it'll be nothing! They're you're friends...
But that is just the problem, isn't it.
Why is he here anyway? To scout us out obviously, but what will he do then?
Having effectively shifted my mood from suspicion to worry over why he was talking to them, not what he was talking about, I finished the dance and excused myself. The need for fresh air suddenly more urgent than ever.
The balcony wrapped around the entirety of the feast hall. I paced its length, my dress swishing around my ankles.
All my problems suddenly felt a hundred times heavier. How much longer could I try to navigate plots and traps set by duplicitous kings? Marriage. Tricking me into letting on that I knew about Athelas. And what had he been speaking to Kimbela and Glenys about that could have them laughing? Was it me?
The world rushed towards me from all angles. I knew I would dart in and out of consciousness at any given moment from the swelling sensation in my head. My lungs pressed against my rib cage. Fear, hot then cold, washed through me. I tried not to gasp for air but did anyway. The end of the platform was in sight—a rail for balance. The sound of my feet were far off. My chest seized. My slipper snagged on something.
The floor was coming for me.
I couldn't breath.
I clutched my collar bone—the scar just above it.
I was scared.
I didn't hit the floor. An arm, securely wrapped around my shoulders, halted my fall. A hand rubbed circles on my back, and a cool voice spoke kindly.
"Breathe child, deep into the chest. That's it Gunda."
A waft of elderflower and pear reached me through the fog I'd lost myself in for a split second.
Galadriel.
I clutched her forearm like it were a life raft. She steadied me, counting in two, three, four and out two, three, four.
My eyes burned, but I refused to cry.
Galadriel kept talking to me, distracting me.
"You are handling your situation well Gunda. You need to be strong for just a little longer."
I nodded, understanding that I couldn't give up now.
Once composed enough to stand on my own, Galadriel pushed back a few strands from my sweaty temple before mopping my face with a handkerchief. A kind smile alight on her face.
"Gil-Galad is looking for you. Do you want to meet with him out here?"
I nodded, only realising afterwards that I was requesting a King come to me. Though it was reassuring that if the King was seeking me out, they had not been intentionally disregarding me.
Galadriel cupped my cheek gently. A maternal dynamic—more like an aunt—had formed between the Lady and us. I never imagined we'd cuddle up on a sofa and gossip, but she cared for us. More than Glenys' mother had for her, in a way Kimbela had never experienced, and in the way I knew my mother would were she there.
Mamma would approve of this otherworldly lady looking after her unintentionally misplaced daughter.
"Wait here. And have faith. All shall be well."
I waited, and sure enough the High-King found me. His countenance, masterfully crafted into neutrality, fell as he approached me. Concern flickering across his face.
Lost as to how to broach the subject of him wanting to take to me, I looked at him expectantly.
"You are curious as to why I am here. Aren't you."
His forwardness shocked me, and I barely resisted the urge to step back again.
"How—"
"It was to be expected." He said, having guessed my question before I'd spoken it. Not that it was a hard guess. "Given what we...know of each other. So far."
I swallowed, the tightness from my chest still sitting low in my stomach, waiting to spring forth again. "Yes, that would be right. I am indeed curious as to why you have come here. And with good reason I would have thought."
"I cannot argue that."
"So, why have you come?"
He cocked his head slightly, I thought it almost playful. "You cannot guess?"
"I dare not."
"I am told you can see the future. It has also been hinted at that you know things beyond that. You have a vague awareness of the past too."
I nodded, surmising that my conversation with Amroth must have given that away—when I'd mentioned the War of Wrath.
"You have come to learn of what I know, then."
He shook his head. "My curiosity of your gift comes secondary to the reason for my arrival."
I tensed, a new icy coil of fear curling right in my gut. He noticed that and the lines of his face softened.
"You need not worry. I do not deal out punishments unjustly."
That only made the tension in my body worse. I chewed on the inside of my lip, nails digging into my palms.
"Are we deserving of punishment?" It came out harsher than I intended, but I wouldn't apologise.
"No." He shook his head. "I came to investigate; to discern if you were a threat. While there is much surrounding your arrival in these lands that concerns me, I have reached the conclusion that you are not an immediate threat."
That didn't settle my nerves either.
"You...don't want to know what I know?"
"Does it pertain to me?"
I nodded.
"Then I would appreciate it if you kept it to yourself."
The relief that barrelled through me threatened to knock me to my knees. Until he asked, "Your visions, you are certain of them?"
"I do not know everything, nor will I ever claim to. But what I do know I am sure of."
"Then let us not dwell on the subject any more for the moment. We have other, more urgent matters at hand that require our immediate attention."
I was shocked. My 'foresight' wasn't a priority? A whisper of relief ran through me, quickly replaced with unease at whatever it was that took presidency.
"I thank you for your honesty with me." He spoke softly, the sound reminiscent of the kiss of a butterfly's wing.
Caught off guard by such a delicate, vocal caress, I started, then arched an impish brow. "How would you know if I am being honest?"
I was rewarded with an equally mischievous smile, a dark gleam in his untameable eyes. "Oh believe me, I would know. I have a way of knowing."
I didn't know why but I laughed softly.
He shifted in his stance. Remaining confident, but with an air of business about him. "I have spoken to your sisters already, pertaining to the situation regarding where you are to reside."
I nodded, prompting him to continue.
"Should you and your sisters find it suitable, I would like to formally extend an offer of sanctuary in my Capital."
"Is that truly possible?!" I asked, astonished. My heart jumping for joy in my chest but immediately settling with a thump. What was his intention with this? Was this better or worse than an arranged marriage? "I mean, we would have to inform King Amdír with haste. He intends to try to marry me off to his son."
The High-King's nostrils flared slightly. "And would you consent? The Ladies Kimbela and Glenys have . . . conflicting opinions on your decision."
I shook my head. "Neither the Prince nor I wish for it."
"Then I shall inform him such a scheme is no longer an option."
"You can just do that?"
He very nearly looked imperiously down his nose at me. Amusement tugging at his mouth. "Yes. I can."
A pleasant shiver ran down my spine. Heat rushed through every part of my body at the surety with which he spoke. In that moment I believed there was nothing he could not do, in feat of arms or words. The confidence pouring off him was overwhelming, like a strong scent of cologne that wrapped around him and followed him wherever he went—leaving the barest hint in the air.
Music started up again, the tune unlike anything played previously.
A sly grin sliced across his mouth at my searching expression. Then he offered me his hand, palm turned up.
"Do me the honour of this first dance?"
"It's hardly the first dance."
"It's the first Ñoldor tune played, and an excellent choice too I might add." He griped my hand gently between his thumb and fingers, leading me back to the strangely empty dance floor.
"The King's Minuet."
X
The rest of the feast was comparably uneventful. Amroth challenged Glenys to balancing spoons on their noses, then defaulted to shots. We positively scandalised the elves when Glenys pulled me into her arms and demanded a polka. She wasn't drunk, Miruvor was not alcoholic, but whatever it was had a livening effect if you drank enough of it—as Glenys gaily showcased.
Although I tried not to pay too much attention to the king's, I did notice both their absences late into the feast. I pressed my lips into a line and prayed for the best.
Festivities were still in full swing by the time Kimbela, Glenys and I decided to retire. Celeborn danced with Celebrían, having returned from his own brief absence with the kings. Amroth joshed around with other Lords sons, a few of whom I had danced with earlier and many of the Ñoldor host had descended the stairs to join the Silvan's in their revelry.
"I'll be along in a minute, I just want to see this." I said, waving Kimbela and a quickly fading Glenys on before sneaking down a flight of stairs to a low level flet to watch the celebration on the forest floor.
They were alive in a flurry of fluttery clothes and flower crowns as they sang praises in a harmony so perfect I shed a tear for the emotions it stirred in me.
The Ñoldor remained on the sidelines, but were game to join the singing, and as far as I could see, the Silvans didn't object.
What did that say about foreign relations? It hadn't escaped my notice how people reacted to the High-King. He was greatly respected. Haldir, and many others both Sindar and Silvan spoke of him like a friend to all.
That had made being fully mistrustful of him hard, even after the Athelas incident (about which I still had a bee in my bonnet). I could see why he was held in high esteem. His thorough and hands on approach for one, a prominent display of his character being the fact he'd come in person rather than sending an ambassador to see us.
And then there was him. Just him being him—or so I assumed.
I couldn't put my finger on it, but I was drawn to and slightly intimidated by him. I wanted to know more. He seemed witty, he laughed and put those around him at ease. Serious and light-hearted.
Wild-eyes was myst—
"You have no sense of self preservation, do you."
I started, causing my unexpected companion to step forward, a hand flung forth to catch me should I try and fall off the flet.
"And you have an unhealthy habit of seeking me out. I count three times today alone." I tried to sound nonchalant.
"You are a magnet for trouble."
"Oh, and you're better how?"
A knowing smile. "Do I need to be? That is news to me."
"Ha! Double trouble, but I thought opposite were meant to attract."
"And similarities clash."
"Touché." I relented, smirking when he didn't understand me. "It means that you made a good point I can't argue with."
He rolled the foreign word over his tongue, a delighted look crossing his features when he mastered it.
"I came to find you."
"I fail to see how you are not exhibiting an unhealthy habit, my King." I claimed dramatically.
"All virtuous intentions, I assure you." He said, beginning to lead me on.
"Oh?"
The King dropped a sweet smelling pouch in my hand.
"For when you next need it."
I opened the drawstring bag, the smell hitting me in the face with the force of a punch. "What is it?"
"Dried Athelas." He reached in and withdrew an elegant sprig of green with a small white blossom still proudly holding its shape. "Bite off the flower and a bit of the stem, chew well and use the paste on any open wound. It will fight infection and aid in the healing process." He smiled kindly.
"Oh… thank you." I mumbled, drawing the bag shut.
So it had not been a test. I felt foolish for judging him so unfairly—and harshly.
"And, eh—thank you for dealing with King Amdír on my, well, our behalf."
A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, the look in his eyes soft and genuine. "You are welcome. If it meant one less thing for you to have to deal with today, it is my pleasure."
I snorted softly. "You haven't had the easiest of days I imagine. Or is traveling hundreds of miles only to battle Yrch, then round it all off with a feast and political debating your idea of fun?"
A peel of laughter filled the air and his eyes sparkled. "You forgot the nearly getting de-saddled part."
"Semantics." I rolled my eyes, but couldn't contain my grin. "But I am sorry about that."
He bowed his head in thanks. "I would very much enjoy continuing this conversation, however I am needed elsewhere before long."
"Oh? Where? Haven't you had a long enough day already?"
"You need not concern yourself with it, but it is a pressing matter." He assured me.
I hadn't realised he had been gently accompanying me to Galadriel's home until we reached the arched porch.
"Thank you." I mumbled, my cheeks heating at the thought that I was beginning to like his company.
Turning to me, he dipped his head in farewell. "Sleep well my Lady."
"You too my King—when you get to, that is." The last half of the sentence felt clumsy and rushed, and I wondered if he could feel the heat radiating from me then.
"Thank you. I shall."
And then he was gone. His tall, powerful frame striding across the flet with determined purpose lacing every movement. His hair drifted then whipped on a sharp breeze that brought with it the rich scent of sandalwood and… a hint of spice. It was oddly comforting, I had smelled it before, but where?
By my next inhale, the scent was gone.
Shaking myself from my musings, I headed inside and to bed.
x
"Toril!"
I tried to turn, but my body wouldn't comply. My limbs met an invisible resistance, like I was trying to move through water, but I had to get to her! I couldn't let her run off alone.
Heart beating frantically, I had only managed a quarter turn when the forest floor suddenly came crashing up towards me. And she was screaming.
"Toril! Toril! Toril! TORIL!"
Then I was angry. No, I wasn't, the memory was. The jump from one place and time to another was instant, the transition like walking from one room to another.
"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you have a crush on her."
"Are you accusing me." Adam snaps and I recoil.
"No…" I frown. We're not together…yet. Dare I even hope? "It is just an observation."
Not this again! I'm passed this!
Memories collided, and this time I am worried, the whole band is.
"Hey, you weren't in practice today, is everything alright? Where were you?"
Kicking a small stone Adam looks sheepishly up from his shoes. "Oh…yeah I'm fine I was…"
"With Anne-Katrine." I say finally after a lengthy and telling pause. I hold back a sigh of disappointment.
Like running through a museum of memories and constantly choosing to look at the worse exhibits the dream moved on, and I remained trapped. Knowing what was to come and bracing myself for it.
"Toril, come play with me. Tell me a story." Her voice echoed far away. So out of context with the moments I was reliving.
"Why won't you just tell me what's going on? It's not like I'll get angry!"
"You can't promise that." He spits coldly, pushing past me again.
"What's that supposed to mean—Adam!" I run in front of him again, blocking his path, not caring if it's childish. "I'll be upset, of course, but please just tell me what's going on!"
"Nothing. Nothing is going on between us."
"You promise?"
He nods stiffly. I bite the inside of my lip, unsure if I believe him. The sting of preemptive betrayal is more bitter than I could have ever imagined, especially coming from him of all people. One of my best friends.
It is that fact alone that prompts me to give him the benefit of the doubt.
"Okay. I believe you. But please don't…don't assume to know how I'm going to react. That hurts."
"Whatever, I said nothing is happening between us."
A blink was all it took, and I was in the midst of a nightmare. Not the worst one I'd lived through, but still hard to face—even when I felt strangely removed.
"Nothing's happening between you. Really Adam?" I hiss, temper rising like a pot of water bubbling over.
"Hey, you said you wouldn't get angry."
"If you'd told me then! What is so hard abut being honest with me?"
"I didn't want to disappoint you." He says, looking to the side.
"Well you failed."
"See, this is what I mean! You're like a fucking bomb about to explode! You get so angry about the smallest of things."
"THIS ISN'T SMALL! You lied to me. For months, you've been lying to me. And you assumed I'd get angry all along, even when I gave you the chance to come clean before this got messy and you STILL LIED!"
"I've had enough. Come Anne-Katrine."
"Does our friendship mean nothing to you guys?" I scream after them as they grew smaller and smaller. "I'd have forgiven you had you been honest with me from the start…" I finish, knowing they couldn't hear me. To my surprise, Anne-Katrine turns around and my heart skips a hopeful beat.
She looks… torn.
"You're a nice girl Gunda, but…"
She doesn't finish the sentence. She doesn't have to. Her eyes hold the same feelings Adam once gave words.
'You're angry underneath, like a fire stoked behind your eyes, and that's when you feel dangerous to be around.'
"Toril will protect me." Her voice shocks me and suddenly grief is warring with the anger and hurt in my chest. "We will always have each other. Won't we?"
Big honey brown eyes gaze up at me with the light of life in them. An innocent curiosity.
Then everything morphed into the unfamiliar.
The tang of sweet metal coated the inside of my mouth, forcing its way down my throat. Dense, the air was so dense it was suffocating. I tried to draw breath but nothing happened. My chest wouldn't expand. I choked on raw energy, the wet dampness in the air, the taste of lightening on my tongue, it was crushing me. I felt the pressure on my chest from lack of air increase rapidly, spreading throughout my body—is this what death feels like?
I raised my head, an urge to scream to release the squeezing pressure becoming vital—
X
I awoke with a choked cry, my back bowing off the mattress, straining. But the feeling of being crushed from the inside had remained in my dream.
Both Kimbela and Glenys turned in their beds, waking up. I threw my hands out as if to cast my will upon them to remain asleep. I prayed they would. A few seconds later they had settled back into sleep and I let loose a breath.
I peeled myself from the bed to sit up, massaging my sternum.
The pain in my chest…I wanted to go home. The homesickness was overwhelming enough to make me nauseous. That hole in my chest had never stopped aching, though my companions lessened its presence.
I dragged my hand down my face, feeling the dull ache from hurt long passed returning. Why was I remembering this now?
I knew why.
I looked over to Kimbela and Glenys' sleeping forms. My friends.
Just like Adam and Anne-Katrine had once been. After that fight, they had ignored me. Content in their bubble of bliss. And I was happy for them. If not upset at having lost both my best friends, but I could never wish ill upon them. Even when they'd gotten engaged and Adam had been welcomed back into the band.
But I had promised myself to never trust anyone like I had them. I didn't want to open myself up to that kind of hurt again.
But with Kimbela and Glenys, it was different.
To think I actually thought they'd betray me…
I hadn't been in a good state of mind. It was all, quite frankly, too much. I needed a holiday, however justifying a holiday from a place that would turn most fans weak at the knees seemed ungrateful. However, most fans probably wouldn't think of the dangers and politics behind the cliché of landing in a fantasy realm.
I could have laughed.
We were living a bleeding' cliché!
Pulling on a thicker robe, I pushed open the window and leaned on the sill. The forest was a study in the many shades of darkness, from dark blues to pitch blacks and thin fingers of light through the trees. My eyes traced the vague outlines of houses and walkways, blanketed with the heavy cover of slumber.
Fatigue pulled at my eyelids, but sleep was the last thing I wanted.
'Toril will protect me.'
"We will always have each other." I whispered, a prayer on the breeze to whatever deity might have been listening. "I will try harder. I promise."
x x x
"~You will not co-operate willingly then.~" The deep voice sounded from inside the room the Ñoldorin Captain prepared to enter.
Thalion slipped in and closed the door behind him and turned to Gil-Galad, his friend and his King.
Hunched forward, his elbows on his knees and his chin resting on laced fingers, the High-King of the elves levelled the equally hunched ellon with a look that withered even the most hardy of Lords.
Gil-Galad was not a person to be trifled with, even if his path in life had been different, had his uncle not fallen along with his kingdom, he would have been a formidable prince among princes.
The young elf, Lainadan, only remained partially upright due to the bonds that bound him to the chair. Shaken by the events of that morning, the Silvan had thus far refused to speak, be it for remorse or for compliance with his interrogators. He had not rested in days, perhaps weeks. Dark bruises of exhaustion hung under his eyes, though his eyes remained alive, remarkably. Alive for one purpose. Revenge. But that purpose hung by a thread. Now all the boy had was what little remained of his honour.
Gil-Galad sat back in his chair. A sigh visible in his movements, but never expressed outwardly. Thalion knew Gil-Galad never betrayed anything he did not want others to see.
"~You have had fair warning, Master Lainadan.~"
Lainadan raised a pair of withering yet defiant green eyes. In his silence lay his ultimate decision. Thalion grit his teeth together. Frustrated for the young elfs apparent ignorance at his own circumstances. He would be punished, now for his insolence to the King as well.
Outside, Lorinand's youngest Marchwarden waited. Dressed in hunting garb and cheeks flushed, he had something of great importance to give the King. But whatever Haldir had found would not negate Lainadan's punishment.
Thalion knew Gil-Galad took no pleasure in saying what he did next.
"~Take the first two.~"
Thanks for reading!
Quenyan
Elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo - a star shines on the hour of our meeting