By: Lady of the Rings

Rating: PG-13 for some tense moments and poisons.

Disclaimer:

 The lyrics in this chapter, namely those from Wild Child in the CD A Day Without Rain, are not mine and I do not claim them so do not sue me. They belong to their respective copyright. The only characters in this story that are mine are Celebmîr, Nionë, and Annos. All else belongs to Tolkien and I in no way claim his creation as my own, I am not making money off this, and this story was written for pure enjoyment only.

Spoilers: None

Feedback: LadyoftheRings35@hotmail.com

Summary:

This is placed in a tiny pocket of time when Gil-galad and Elrond brought their army to Rivendell in the Second Age to meet with Elendil. Elendil's niece, Nionë is being poisoned—but why, and by who? I know, bad summary, but I really loved writing this and I think some of you might like reading. So give the first chapter a try, eh?

Series:

None yet!

Additional disclaimers:

Within this text there are likely to be quite a few errors, and while I have gone over it numerous times with a fine-toothed comb, there are lightly to still be errors. Please forgive any that you find. I am not a Tolkien expert and do not claim to be. I will to my best to keep everything looking spick-and-span, but even writers make mistakes on their manuscripts. I know that things would have been really grim in the time that I am writing about, but such stories depress me. Just think of this as a little alternate reality story with Tolkien characters in a Tolkien world, and that it actually might have happened. Thank you for being so understanding.

And now you can find out why I haven't updated my stories in a month!

Chapter One

Let the rain fall down

Everywhere around you

Give into it now

Let the day surround you

You don't need a reason

Let the rain go on and on

Wild Child, sung by Enya

            "My lord? We will be late if we tarry much longer."

            Gil-galad, High King of the Noldor, let out a sigh. "Yes, Elrond, I know. But I seem to have lost my…"

            "No excuses, my lord," Elrond said firmly. Gently but resolutely he took the elf-lord's elbow and steered him out of his room. "We must meet with Elendil and his court."

            "Elendil I like. His court is something to be desired."

            Elrond laughed out loud. "My lord, really! They are our guests."

            "A very wise human once said, 'Fish and visitors begin to smell after three days'. They've been here three weeks. The stench is making me dizzy."

            Elrond shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. "My lord…"

            "Elrond, no more lectures for the evening. I can not take another one."

            "It takes many to pound them into your hard head, my lord."

            Gil-galad pulled his elbow away with a harrumph. "If we must go, then I will not be dragged in by my herald."

            "No? I could have the rest of our court jump you and drag you in. I know *Celebmîr would find it amusing, among others."

            "Elrond, you know I hate social events."

            "You also know you are only complaining so you can complain. Come. You said yourself you like Elendil, and this Alliance is serious. I can be a buffer between you and the rest of the court. I will sit upon one side of you and Elendil upon the other."

            "My friend, I envy you," Gil-galad said calmly as they strode down the long, well-lit corridors. "I feel as though every marriageable daughter from a thousand miles around, all her sisters, and all her female cousins, friends, aunts, and grandmothers have come to attack us."

            Elrond hid a smile under one hand. "Us my lord?"

            "Me," the elf-lord said grudgingly.

            "We could fight them off." Elrond's clear voice was light and ringing with barely-contained laughter.

            "You could be a little more sympathetic."

            "Forgive me, lord. But seeing you chased by a pack of mortal children and their mothers is highly…entertaining."

            Gil-galad gave a derisive, highly un-elven snort. "For you, maybe. Why do humans never take no as an answer?"           

            "Because they love the challenge," said a voice from behind.

            Surprised that someone had overheard, both elves stopped as a girl, who from her appearance was no more than twenty years old emerged from a doorway into the hall. Her eyes were dark, almost black, and twinkled merrily. Elrond blinked and looked again. For a moment he had thought her an elf.

            Both lords bowed to her. "My lady, to what do we owe this honor?" Gil-galad asked courteously, recognizing Elendil's niece.

            She smiled impishly, showing that she was younger than Elrond had thought her at first. She curtsied. "I merely wish to walk with you to the banquet, my lord Gil-galad, my lord Elrond."

            "You are very welcome to join us, lady," Gil-galad answered warmly, smiling. "Perhaps my herald and lore-master, Master Elrond, could escort you?" Elrond shot him a sharp look.

            "It would be my pleasure," he said nonetheless, promising himself revenge when he and his lord were alone. "My lady?" He offered her his arm.

            She hesitated and then stepped forward. Elrond looked into her eyes and frowned. She caught his eye and smiled a bit shyly.

            "Lord Elrond, how kind of you."

            "Please, I am no lord. Elrond will due fine."

            Gil-galad gave Elrond a subtle wink; his gray eyes shone with barely delight. "I would escort this beautiful lady myself, but I am afraid if any of your women-folk here see me with another woman, lady, you might be dead before it could be straightened out."

            The girl—for now that she was closer they could both see that she was still quite young in the measure of Númenoreans—laughed. "I have much sympathy for you, my lord. I am Nionë, and being the King's niece means I have more than my fair share of suitors. I just wish they would go away and leave me in peace."

            "Luck to you then, my lady," Gil-galad said gravely, a smile turning up the corners of his lips. "With your beauty you will find that very difficult."

            "My lord, you flatter far too much!" She blushed, ducking her head. Elrond caught Gil-galad's eye and slowly raised an eyebrow. Gil-galad gave him that look that clearly said what he'd been told by his lord many times; "Please, Elrond, not the eyebrow thing."

            Elrond glanced over at the girl and tasted the name in his mouth. Nionë. It was a pretty name. "Would you sit by me in the court?" he asked suddenly. She seemed intelligent enough—better to talk to someone with a head on their shoulders than the other tittering girls her age.

            "Why, I would be honored." She sounded surprised. Elrond glanced at her again. Her eyes were distant and unfocused, as though her thoughts were miles away. When Gil-galad was not looking, Elrond moved his arm until her hand rested over his. He could feel her pulse beating against his hand, and he frowned. Nionë gave no response and he quickly shifted his wrist under her fingers again.

            She wore a long, sweeping dress of dove gray. Her long, rippling black hair tumbled unhindered down her back, and a silver coronet woven with pearls rested on the soft masses of her hair. Shorter locks curled around her face, framing a small nose and wide smile, a few freckles splattered a crossed her nose, and a soft chin. She was beautiful in even by an elven-sense. But he sensed sadness about her that Elrond did not yet understand.

            The hall for feasting was large, noisy, and already crowded. The herald announced the two elves and the lady, and everyone stood and bowed to them. The majority of the people were human, but still there were many elves there, tall and slender and dressed for the occasion. Gil-galad himself was a bit irritable from all the finery—he was much more at home with a sword than formal robes—seeing as he considered finery to be nothing more than, as he had once put it, "Flush and such, and everything mush."

However, at his herald's insistence he wore a silver tunic over a royal blue shirt and breeches. His boots, elven-crafted, embroidered with silver thread and soundless, came up to his knees, and a heavy over-robe of silver lined with blue lightly swept the floor. A circlet of silver leaves rested upon his brow.

            Elrond was dressed much the same, but without the over robe and circlet. His long dark hair was elaborately decorated. Silver and blue beads were woven intricately into his hair. He looked every inch his lord's second hand man, and was completely oblivious to it.

            Elrond gently led the girl—Nionë, he reminded himself—to a seat between him and the rest of his court. He sat on his lord's left, and Elendil was upon Gil-galad's right. Elendil rose to greet them, clasping forearms in greeting to Gil-galad and Elrond, and bowing to Nionë.

            The two lords, elven and human, immediately fell to discussing their plans for the upcoming battle, as the food had yet to arrive. Elrond held the chair as Nionë sat carefully down. Her eyes still held that slightly blank expression.

            "They say you are a lore-master," she said softly, her voice oddly soothing to hear in the noisy room. Elrond sat beside her and poured both of them a bit of wine.

            "I study history and medicine, yes."

            "Do you speak Quenya?"

            "Yes. Yes, I do." Elrond studied her face closely as he sipped the heady red wine.

            "Would you be willing to teach it to me?"

            Elrond was so startled he nearly dropped his goblet. "I would be honored to, lady—but if I may ask, why do you wish to learn?" 

            "I know Sindarin already, though everyone tells me my accent is off. Perhaps you could help me learn Quenya? I know a few words, but that is all. It would be a great help to be able to speak to your people in your own tongues. Goodness knows you've done us that favor a thousand times over."

            A genuine, warm smile broke across Elrond's face. "I would love to teach you, my lady."

            "Please, just Nionë is fine."      

            "As you wish, Lady Nionë."

            They had no more time to speak. Even as Elrond finished speaking, a servant clapped twice and many servers began to bring out the food. The high table, where Elrond and his lord sat, were served first, and then progressively on down. Elendil waited until everyone had been served. Then he rose and raised his wineglass. "A toast, to our friends and companions, the Eldar race!"

            All stood and toasted with a cheer. Gil-galad then stood. "A toast to our Edain kindred—may your lives be long and joyful." Another round of applause.

            There were several more toasts, and before long Elrond noticed that Nionë was hiding a yawn. It was then he noticed the weary, dark circles under her eyes, carefully concealed by makeup. He ached to find what was wrong with her, but dare not touch her in public. It would cause a ghastly scandal, and place Gil-galad in a seriously degraded position. No, he would have to wait and see if he could deduce what was wrong with her from just watching.

            After the foot was eaten, Elendil stood again. "If I may, I would ask a small favor of our minstrels and of our very own Lady Nionë."

            Nionë lowered her head slightly. Elrond glanced at her. Her cheeks seemed to have lost some of their color, and her skin was lusterless. He narrowed his eyes. He seemed to remember seeing these symptoms before, but where?

            "I would ask a dance from thee, lady," Elendil said kindly, bowing.

            Nionë stood up, tall and graceful. Indeed she was tall for her kind, for she was no shorter than Elrond, and she smiled as she spoke, hiding her fatigue.

            "I would be honored to, my lord." She curtsied.

            Nionë walked slowly down the aisle, and it was only then that Elrond noticed she wore no shoes. The cold stone floor must have been harsh on her bare feet.

            She took her place at the head of the table, nodded to the minstrel and began to dance. As she danced, her voice wove into the song, reminding Elrond of sweet spring days, and rain dripping off of silver leaves.

*Ever close your eyes

ever stop and listen

ever feel alive

and you've nothing missing

you don't need a reason

let the day go on and on.

Let the rain fall down

everywhere around you

give into it now

let the day surround you

you don't need a reason

let the rain go on and on.

Here there was a pause in the lyrics. Her body twirled gracefully, her hair and her dress flying as she moved, graceful as any elf in dance.

What a day, what a day to take to

what a way, what a way to make it through…

what a day, what a day to take to

a wild child.

Only take the time

from the helter skelter

every day you'll find

everything's in kilter

you don't need a reason

let the day go on and on.

Every summer sun

every winter evening

every spring to come

every autumn leaving

you don't need a reason

let it all go on and on.

Her body moved like a fluid, smooth, with no rough edges. Every movement was refined, every motion beautiful. There were more lyrics, but Elrond was not listening to her words anymore, but rather her voice. She moved like an elf, sang like an elf, had to be an elf—there was no mistake. She was at least a half-elf, or he was a dwarf.

At last Nionë finished, her head tilted back, her hair falling over her shoulders like a black river, one long, slender arm stretched towards the sky, as though beckoning the stars.

The applause was nearly deafening. Blushing, Nionë made her way back to her chair beside Elrond. He stood and bowed and she laughed, happy and breathless.

"Oh, how I love dancing!" she gasped, eyes alight. She seemed younger now, happier, healthier and more at peace. She beamed as she sat, still blushing, and tried to regain her breath. "I've never gotten that dance right, before now."

"It was beautiful, lady. Tell me, Lady Nionë…where did you learn it?"

"My mother taught it to me. Why?"

"May I ask you a personal question?"

            "Of course."

            "Was your mother an elf?"

            She looked startled, but nodded. "Is it that obvious?"

            "Not at first, but your movements are too graceful to be truly human, and you are very beautiful, even by our standards."

            She relaxed back into her chair, and sipped her wine. "Yes, I am a half-elf. Do your people have a taboo against such things?"

            Elrond smiled reassuringly. "No, and I hope we never do. Such marriages are not evil, though they are sad."

            "Sad? How?"

            "When one so long-lived gives up their life for a short period of time, we mourn their passing. In only a short period of our time they have passed beyond this world."

            She looked at me for a long time. "Your people really do see time differently, don't you?"

            "Yes. For us it moves both very fast and very slow. Fast because all else fleets by, and we ourselves do not change. Slow because we do not count the passing seasons as a year."

            Suddenly she went terribly pale and let out a faint gasp. Her cheeks lost all color and her goblet dropped to the table, spilling her wine on the silver cloth, spreading a blood-red stain. Sweat beaded her brow.

            "My lady?" Elrond exclaimed, concerned as he leaned forward.

            Just before his fingers brushed her wrist she sat upright again, calm once more. "It is nothing," she said dismissively, and that was the end of their conversation.

*     *     *     *

            "I am sure of it, my lord. Lady Nionë is very, very sick."

            "Then why has she not sought help from a human healer?" Gil-galad was struggling with his heavy over-robe. Elrond helped pull it off and grimaced at its weight. It was as heavy as the armor Gil-galad wore into full battle.

            "I do not know. I believe it is her half-elven blood that is sustaining her. But whatever ails here, it is serious and getting worse."

            "Elves and Númenoreans do not get sick, Elrond."

            "I know. I think she's been poisoned."

            Gil-galad swung around sharply. "Poison? Do you know what kind?"

            "Until I can examine her and study her symptoms, I can only guess. I have a suspicion, though."

            "What?"

            "Belladonna."

            "Why belladonna?"

            "Have you seen her eyes? At first I thought her eyes were just very dark in color, but when I saw them closely I realized that they are largely dilated. Also, she ate nothing but the mildest foods, and didn't touch the wine, suggesting stomach upset. She was out of breath after her dancing, though being half-elf the dance should hardly have changed her breathing at all. Belladonna poisoning has all these symptoms."

            Gil-galad looked very grave. "What do you suggest?"

            "I think someone is trying to kill her. Right now the best cure is stopping the poison before it kills her. She might not even notice the small amounts that are being put in her foot or drink, but the result is the same. Such poisons are very serious, my lord."

            "I know that, Elrond. I'm not that naïve. But why didn't you tell her what you suspected?"

            "I wished to tell you first. It would not have done to make a scene in front of the court."

            "Elendil should know."

            "Yes, he should."

            Both elves were silent for a long moment. Gil-galad carefully removed his boots and sat down in a chair, relief fleeting across his face as he propped his feet up. "You had better tell her, Elrond. Do you want me to come with you?"

            "No. No, it's all right. I'll go alone."

            Elrond stepped out into the corridor and closed the door behind him. He took two steps, jerked sharply, and was out before he even hit the floor.

*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*

The more reviews the fast I update! :-) I have the next chapter ready, you know…so please review! Celebmîr, by the way, means silver stream and is Sindarin.