Bonjour mes amis! I am so sorry, I know it's been a million years since I last updated, but y'all can understand, what with this being my junior year of high school and all those technical difficulties FF.Net was having earlier. I'm glad things are back to normal! Well, here's a juicy new chapter for you. Hopefully I'll get back into the swing of things and update more regularly from now on. Everybody, fasten your seat belts for a sensory overload, cuz there's just oodles of descriptive language in here. This really should be called the "super-descriptive-didn't-know-the-elf-lord-has-wandering-eyes-did-ya?" chapter. Gosh, I'm evil. As for that part in one of the paragraphs about fifteen hundred years, according to my calculations using the timeline in the back of The Return of the King, Elrond's wife Celebrian left him approximately that many years ago. Well, from PrettyDoe (a.k.a. Miss Elrond Freak) to all of you I say, enjoy! Oh yeah, by the way I need a disclaimer here: I don't own Elrond or Middle Earth or Rivendell, or any of that stuff Tolkien invented. The only characters here that are all mine are Narwen and NoireRae. If you take them I'll kill you.
Rubies and Fire
Chapter 9: Enchantment of an Elf Lord
The head caretaker blithely chatted on and pretended not to notice the unpleasant expression that crossed her master's face every time the sun dared to foist one of its impertinent rays through an open window.
"She's quite a great deal better today. These youngsters, they heal so quickly, why, they bounce right back like puppies!" the caretaker cheerfully exclaimed as she opened the door for her lord. "Really, I think you'll find her much improved. The little lady isn't nearly so listless. Still not very talkative, but she can actually manage to sit up today. She even asked the nurse to get a book for her. Those two, they've become quite good friends these past few days."
Elrond could hardly stop himself from grinning like a fool as he and his loquacious companion made their way to the back of the Rooms of Healing. Everything suddenly felt so weightlessly happy, so pleasant, so right. Almost every elf that had lain ill before was gone, and Elrond was sure he had never felt more elated to see so many empty beds. The caretaker allowed her one-sided conversation to trail off when her master slowed his long strides and halted to watch the lamp-lit scene that unfolded in front of him.
Facing the shaded window, Narwen sat cross-legged on her bed. She remained still and straight, studiously concentrating on the ponderous tome that rested in her lap. From behind her, Elrond could make out several lines of Sindarin runes describing the tragic exploits of Feanor. But his eyes soon found more attractive things to explore than the story of the Silmarils.
The tall elf lord saw that the fire-maiden no longer wore just the simple white shift he had always seen her in theretofore, but over it she had donned a skillfully embroidered blue dress whose laces snugly embraced her bosom and whose skirts flowed freely and loosely downward. The deep blue provided the exact complement, the perfect artistic contrast to her flame-colored hair.
Narwen sat still, completely engrossed in her book, while the nurse gently ran an ivory-handled brush through the bright waterfall of hair that cascaded down, down into a molten puddle on the smooth floor. Elrond found himself nearly slipping into a cobra's trance while he watched the slow, swooping motions of the nurse's pale, silvery arm against the fiery backdrop.
The mesmerized elf lord dared not move for fear of disturbing what he saw before his eyes. He felt as if he was watching from very near by, yet very far away. It was like looking into a dewdrop by moonlight and seeing an entire little world suspended within it. Elrond was afraid to reach out and touch what he saw, afraid he would destroy it.
Finally, after what may have been a minute or an hour, the Master of Imladris found the courage to move. He swept soundlessly to the nurse's side and motioned for her to remain silent. She wordlessly surrendered her chair to him and walked into the shadows, taking her place beside the caretaker. The two women made eye contact, understood each other, and smiled knowingly as they turned to view the flowering of a tenderness the Last Homely House had not known for fifteen hundred years. They became the privileged observers, the ones who watched the ripening of a new and fragile fruit, yet remained separate from it by Destiny's invisible barrier. But Narwen, following the Sindarin words on a distant journey across the pages of her book, never noticed the change.
Elrond sat as still as a meditative feline. He felt oddly pleased that she didn't realize he was there. It was a mildly voyeuristic feeling, a gladness for the chance to look at her, to memorize ever angle and curve of her with his eyes, to let her luminescent profile sear itself into his brain. True, he had done quite a good deal of memorizing while she lay unconscious the day before, but it felt different now that she was awake. Elrond gazed on the unsuspecting little maid, who remained bent over the old Sindarin volume and never knew that the eyes of a mighty Eldar were having their way with every part of her there was to see.
At last, the Half-Elven convinced his eyes to cede their hold over to his hands. He reached out, and ever so lightly touched the fire-maiden's hair. The fine strands parted and nestled between his long fingers. To Elrond, it was like opening a flask of some enchanted perfume. A scent, a heady, spicy, burnt-leaf scent he couldn't place, wafted from the flaming gossamer recesses, invading his body and forcing his skin to rise up in ecstatic shivers. Elrond bit his lip and wrestled his headstrong reactions to silence.
After a short time, the elf lord allowed himself to slip carefully into the arms of waiting elven magic. With deft gentleness, his hands, guided by the motions of the Universe, braided and plaited and twisted the multitudinous strands. No ribbon needed he, nor clasp. When the Master of Imladris commanded, the blazing spider strands of hair obeyed and remained bound where they were. The only ornaments the Lord adorned his maid with were the sliver-blue flowers from a nearby vase. How lovingly he wove them within each braid, how carefully set them amongst her loose hair that flowed downward to the floor and sternly commanded them to cling with utmost loyalty to each strand. And still, borne away on other adventures, Narwen did not notice the rare attention being paid to her.
After a long while Elrond completed his work to his satisfaction and decided it was time to move on to other matters. Reality was slowly reclaiming its hold on him and he knew there were many things he wished to discuss with this girl, including where she came from and why she had come to Rivendell. The nurse had left a mirror lying on the bed. Elrond picked it up and, resting his left hand on Narwen's shoulder, leaned forward far enough to hold it in front of her, effectively cutting her off from her book and waking her back to the reality of Middle Earth. The stunned maid gaped at her own reflection, unable to believe the artistic intensity of the twisting braids and sparkling flowers, unable to believe she was seeing herself. She felt sure she was looking at one of the airy nymphs who were known to flit about the house of Manwe in the Divine West.
"Nurse!" she exclaimed, "You're a miracle worker!"
Amused, Elrond chuckled and tilted the mirror so Narwen could see that it was indeed not the nurse she was speaking to.
"Thank you," he purred across her shoulder, "I have been known to work a miracle or two in my time."
Elrond thought he'd seen the girl gape before, but nothing could compare with her surprised, shocked, and embarrassed expression now. She whipped herself round to face him so quickly that her nose barely missed colliding with his chin. The elf lord dropped the mirror and found the only thing he was holding was Narwen.
Narwen's eyes bored straight into his. They appeared a fresh green color, like sunlight glimmering through newly sprung grass, no longer the flat grey Elrond had seen yesterday. She has those kind of eyes he mused. The kind that never seem to be the same color twice. Her face, so close to his, was scattered with freckles, like cinnamon across white cream, and framed by her amber braids.
Elrond could not read Narwen's expression. He wasn't sure if she was about to cry, or slap him, or faint. Maybe she had plans to do all three, but the Lord of Rivendell was too busy resisting the urge to taste her small, surprised lips to really give it any thought. Just when he was seriously starting to wonder why he shouldn't kiss her, the atmosphere was bitterly shattered by a most ill-timed sneeze.
Elrond and Narwen both turned to see the nurse wiping her pretty little nose while the caretaker stood appalled, seemingly unable to believe the moment had just been ruined in such a way. The extremely abashed and self-conscious nurse sniffled, laughed a quiet, half-hearted little laugh, and tried to make amends.
"Oh, sorry. Please, don't mind me, do continue," she said as she blushed deeply and looked toward the floor. The caretaker could not contain and exasperated sigh. She turned and leaned against the wall. Elrond thought he could hear her muttering something about "the Queen of Idiots".
A musical giggle diverted his attention back to more pressing matters. Narwen, emboldened by the assurance that she was not the only fool in the room, laughed freely at the nurse's ill-chosen words. It didn't take long for the absurdity of the situation to dawn on Elrond and soon both of them were doubled over with mirth. In the meantime, the other two women had disappeared, the much annoyed head caretaker having pulled the nurse out of the scene by her pointed ear.
It took a few minutes for the elf lord and his maid to calm down. When they were finally able to speak, he asked her if she felt strong enough to leave the Rooms with him.
"Why?" she asked.
"There are many things we need to discuss, and there is much I wish to know about you. And I'm sure you must have a few questions about… her," he replied, motioning to the still visible bite marks on Narwen's neck. She shuddered and touched the place.
"You've spoken to her?"
"Ssh, the walls here have curious elven ears. We should go to the Hall of Fire. It is empty and quiet this time of year, there are no windows, just the fire."
"I'm not sure I can walk the whole way."
"I'll carry you as soon as you ask me."
So, Narwen acquiesced to leave the Rooms of Healing. She and Elrond departed that moment, and began making their way through the labyrinthine halls of the Last Homely House.
