27
The next morning dawned bright and crisp over the golden leaves of Lothlorien. A warm breeze wafted through the dry leaves. Down below their tower room, the elves went about their daily business, their merry voices piercing the otherwise calm air. Saryn, though, noticed none of this. She was bent over the brass chamber pot, vomiting up the remnants of last night's bountiful supper.
"Shall I call the healer?" Legolas asked anxiously, stroking her back.
"No, no need," she rasped, swiping at her mouth. "It is the normal course of things for a woman with child."
She picked up the pitcher from the bedside table and took a sip of its contents, swirling it around in her mouth and spitting it into the pot. Then she stood and crossed the room to the bureau, passing the now cold tub of bath water they had used after their lovemaking. She was content, happy, and she hummed as she picked up a brush and began to tend to the numerous snarls in her long blonde hair.
"Here, let me," he said, moving behind her and slipping the silver brush from her hand.
"Ere long, I will have forgotten how to do everything with all your pampering," she laughed.
"Yes, but you will have learned new and better skills, like suckling a new born babe and changing dirty swaddling. A fine mother you will make." His free hand roved to her belly and stroked it fondly.
"I hope you are right. I feel so unprepared, having no mother of my own from whom to learn and seek advice."
"We shall learn together, and what we do not know will be discovered through experience. I will support you always. Besides, there are plenty of experienced mothers in Mirkwood who would be only too happy to lend a hand in raising a crown prince." He smiled, running his fingers through the spun silk of her hair, gathering it and twisting it into small braids.
"What do you wish for most, a girl or a boy?" she asked, smiling at his reflection in the mirror.
"Though I wish I could say it did not matter, in truth I hope for a boy. I want to teach him how to shoot, how to track the prints of the smallest bird in the deepest snow, how to be a warrior. But," he added hastily, "I would not be any less glad if it were a girl."
"So," she said, raising her eyebrow in mock indignation, "my prince does not fancy the fine arts of garden tending and sewing. How else do you think food arrives at your table, my lord? Or your clothes masterfully mended? 'Tis not magic, sir."
"No, but with your skillful hands, it surely seems so," he said, planting a kiss on the top of her head.
"Silver-tongued flatterer," she snickered. "Would that I were not so skilled. Mayhap then you would spend more time out of your trousers for me to admire."
"Such a saucy wench!" he rebuked, giving her hair a playful tug.
"Aye, and you would have me no other way," she agreed.
He chortled, fastening each of the two tiny braids in her fine hair with a bit of black twine. His skilled hands moving deftly, he then joined them together in the back, forming a tiny halo. When that was done, he grasped the last remaining strands of hair and used them to make a thicker third braid that tapered to her waist. It was his favorite hairstyle, but one she seldom wore. She said it was too fancy for garden work. If he was lucky, she wore it to the annual banquets and balls, but those were rare happenings. Most of the time, she let her hair hang free or merely put it into a simple braid.
When he was done, she inspected his handiwork in the mirror.
"Oh, Elbereth, Legolas, you are always so elaborate," she groaned, touching the top of her head.
"But you look so beautiful that way. Why do you not like it? Wear it for me, please?"
She looked at his plaintive face and relented. "Oh alright, love. I never could refuse you," she sighed, turning to kiss him on the cheek.
Just then, there was a knock on the door, and a young sentry entered carrying a gown in his arms.
"Delivery for Lady Saryn," he chirped, snapping his heels in salute.
"From whom?" said Legolas warily. "I have requested nothing."
The sentry suddenly looked very uncomfortable. "I'm not at liberty to say, sir," he said, ears going a mild pink.
"Why not?" asked Legolas.
"I was told to deliver this to Lady Saryn. That is all I know. Shall I put it on the bed?"
"Yes, thank you," Saryn spoke up, keenly aware of her husband's inexplicable reticence. "And could you send someone to retrieve the bath water?"
"Yes, of course, m'lady," said the sentry, relieved to have escaped from the prince's interrogation.
When he had gone, Saryn and Legolas moved to look at the unexpected gift. The gown was exquisite, a dainty thing fashioned from black crushed velvet. The bodice and hem were studded with tiny pearls, and the laces were of a shimmery, gossamer material Saryn had never seen before. Beside it lay a flowing cloak with an enormous black onyx clasp that winked in the sunlight. On top of this was a pair of thin, black velvet slippers, also decorated with minute pearls.
"Oh…it's gorgeous," she breathed, trailing her finger across the soft fabric.
Legolas said nothing. There was something about the dress that angered him, though he wasn't sure why. He was certain Saryn had no clandestine suitor; her kind heart would never abide infidelity. Still, he found himself quietly furious as he gazed down at the breathtaking dress in front of him. Something about it bespoke presumptuousness, unentitled familiarity. It was the kind of thing he should have bought for her but never had. She had simply never asked for such things, and he had never thought that she might want them.
Yet here she was holding the dress against her body and standing before the mirror, making soft coos of delight. He had to admit that she looked stunning even without putting it on, and the realization only increased his agitation.
"Oh, how lovely!" she cried, spinning around to face him. "I can't wait to try it on." Her eyes were shining with excitement.
"I don't think you should wear it today," he said. Though he knew he was being unreasonable, he didn't want to see her in that dress.
"But why not? You just said you wanted me to be beautiful. In this dress, the queen of the orcs would be a fetching personage."
"Be sensible," he barked, much more sharply than he had intended, "you are with child now. It's far too hot to be traipsing about in such a dress. Your beauty should no longer be your chief concern."
"Forgive me, husband. I have angered you," she quavered, stung. "I will do as you say." She dropped her eyes and returned the dress to the bed.
Legolas was horrified with himself. Never had he spoken to Saryn in such a tone, and now he had reprimanded her without cause. While she carried his child no less. I am a thoughtless brute, he berated himself as he watched her slip her simple white gown over her slumped shoulders. What had come over him? So a dress had come? What if it was a gift from Galadriel and not Elrond, as he suspected? He mustn't let his fury at his uncle spill over onto Saryn again.
He felt even worse as they descended the stairs and Saryn's eyes remained fixed on the ground. Though she tried to hide it, he could see the bright sheen of unshed tears in her eyes, and his heart nearly broke in remorse for his baseless anger. He would make it up to her. They would take a moonlight stroll, and he would sing to her. He would make a wreath of lilacs for her hair. He would do anything to make her smile at him again.
He consoled himself with these thoughts as they crossed the Great Common Room to the large, formal dining hall where the rest of the fellowship had already gathered. Galadriel and Celeborn presided at the head of a long table. Elrond sat on their right, and two vacant seats sat on their left, presumably saved for him and Saryn.
"Good morning, Legolas, Saryn. I trust you slept well?" Galadriel greeted them, her serene smile faltering the slightest bit when she saw Saryn's crestfallen expression. "Come, sit and eat with us."
He led the silent Saryn to her place at the table and gallantly pulled out her chair. He winced inwardly as she sat stiffly, her usual grace strangely absent. Galadriel shot him a questioning look but said nothing. He took his seat, excruciatingly aware of everyone's eyes fixed upon them. He took her limp hand in his own, but there was no reassuring squeeze in response.
He cleared his throat. "Everyone, may I present my lovely wife, Saryn."
Saryn raised her bowed head, a smile pasted onto her lips, but Legolas knew it was not the genuine, carefree smile of true happiness. It was the polite, professional smile she used when forced to be in the presence of his father. His heart ached as he watched his normally vivacious wife exchange banal pleasantries with each member of the group as they introduced themselves. What a terrible hurt I have caused. All she wanted was to look beautiful in my eyes, and for her desire to please me, I have rewarded her with harshness, he thought miserably as he filled his plate from the brimming table.
Only the hobbits were oblivious to the strain between Saryn and Legolas. They were busy devouring everything within reach. Their plates were sagging beneath the weight of eggs, bacon, sausage, and a plethora of fresh fruit. Pippin, the most jovial of them, was talking excitedly about the best strain of tomatoes, a yellow dollop of egg dribbling down his chin. It was a scene that should have brought him solace, but he could find none in it. His eyes were inexorably drawn to his wife's expressionless face, as if his conscience was trying to remind him of his error. He could hardly bring himself to eat.
Celeborn, who was not nearly as dull as Elrond supposed, looked at Saryn with kind, concerned eyes.
"Is everything well, child?" he asked in his distant, lilting voice. "You seem troubled."
"I am well, sir. I suffer only the normal trials of a woman in my state. I am grateful for your concern," she replied in a prim, formal voice, and returned to her meal.
Though Celeborn was a kind man, she had no desire to discuss personal matters with him. She still burned with humiliation and confusion. She had never been spoken to like that by Legolas. For a terrible moment, he had sounded just like his snarling father. What had she done to provoke him? She could remember nothing out of the ordinary. Whatever had happened, it was nobody's business but her own. She impaled a chunk of melon on the sharp tines of her fork and shoveled it into her mouth, eating only because if she didn't, the tears would come.
In his chair across from her, Elrond had no trouble guessing the reason for Saryn's melancholy. The dress. He had hoped it would be received as a peace offering between he and Saryn, but it had only caused more trouble. How had Legolas guessed the gifts origins? Intuition, most likely. There were only four people that could afford such finery. He, Galadriel, Celeborn, and Boromir. Of the four, only three would have reason to send a gift at all, Boromir having never made her acquaintance. And only one of the remaining three would have had any knowledge of her measurements. A healer learned his patient's body rather quickly. No, it would not be hard for intelligent Legolas to surmise the truth about the dress. He should not have bothered with secrecy at all. It had only made things worse.
Such is the way of things with you, jeered the voice inside his head. Everything you touch crumbles into dust. You are a blight and a scourge to all who suffer you.
Finally, Legolas could take no more. He wiped his mouth with his napkin and pushed back his chair.
"I thank Your Highnesses for the wonderful breakfast, but now I must speak with Haldir. Saryn, will you accompany me?" he said, offering his arm.
"No, I will not," she answered, ignoring the arm.
The unflappable Celeborn spluttered into his cider.
"Methinks the prince does tread on brittle ground indeed. We will see his sleeping form on the cold sofa in the Great Common Room this evening. There will be no carnal embrace for him tonight," Boromir muttered under his breath.
Now, it was Strider who spluttered into his goblet. Gandalf dealt Boromir a swift kick beneath the table, eliciting a yelp, but the sly grin never left his pale face. Legolas narrowed his eyes and glared at Boromir's smirking face, but he said not a word. He could find none. Saryn had never refused him the slightest whim, and now she would not acknowledge his arm. The pain of her rejection, even one so small as this, crushed him.
"Very well, m'lady," he said with as much dignity as he could muster. "Then I leave you to your leisure." He kissed her hand and retreated from the room before the pain in his heart spread to his face.
When her husband was gone, Saryn turned her attention to Boromir, who was surveying her with a mischievous gleam in his eye.
"You take far too much interest in my affairs, sir," she said in a soft, speculative voice.
"How could I not? Your affairs kept the whole hall from peaceful slumber last night," he countered.
"Are you so desperate a man that you would concern yourself with the tender dealings of an elf and his wife? There are houses available to take care of such urgent needs."
Boromir was flummoxed, but only for a moment. "Why lay blame for your unabashed wantonness at my feet, lady? I expected better from a lady of your breeding."
"Of my breeding? You know not of what you speak. Besides, can I be held accountable for my husband's prowess as a man?" Her voice rose dangerously, and her fingers curled tightly around the stem of her goblet.
Boromir eyed the simmering elven lady with wry interest. She was feisty, this one. She had hardly batted an eyelash when he had mentioned her tryst with Legolas the night before. He had expected a burst of embarrassed indignation, a snit of red-faced spluttering, a hot denial of the pleasure she took in her union with Legolas. Instead, she was bandying about witticisms and insults like a man. For a woman to exhibit such behavior was disconcerting and intriguing at the same time. He decided to press her further, to see how much she would take.
"My lady," he said in a deliberate, even voice, swirling his index finger around the rim of his goblet, "how is it that you can speak so assuredly of his prowess? Have you known many men?"
Gandalf groaned and sank lower in his chair. Frodo was watching them, his fork raised halfway to his mouth. Boromir was moving into extremely personal territory now. Galadriel and Celeborn were observing the unsettling display with dim alarm, the latter chewing softly and thoughtfully on a slice of apple.
Saryn's already troubled brow darkened further. "I have known no other man of any race, sir," she answered, her voice heavy with implied threat.
"Then how is it that you are so certain of Legolas aptitude as a man? To make such a claim without first having tested the facts is unwise."
"What delicious-," began Gimli, desperately trying to curtail the violence he saw brewing around them like an ominous thunderhead, but he was cut off by Saryn's acid retort.
"One need not taste filth to know quality. For instance, I have seen no other man of Gondor, but I do not need to see one to know you are the most wretched of the lot, though your bearing suggests you to be of noble rank," she said coldly, slamming her hands down onto the white linen tablecloth.
There was a watery snort of laughter from Strider, whose brawny shoulders quaked with silent amusement. Gandalf steepled his gnarled hands in front of his face and bowed his head. This was going from bad to worse. Celeborn coughed, choking slightly on the apple he was eating.
"Have I touched upon a nerve, lady?" he jeered. "You are a buxom lass, and rather unapologetic of your pleasure in the most carnal of acts. I cannot believe that Legolas is either the first or the last to have enjoyed your…bounty," he said calmly.
Deep inside, Boromir knew he was going too far, but he could not stop himself. He had to keep going, had to know her breaking point. From the look on her face, it wasn't far off. He also couldn't deny that there was something sensual about her in her anger. When she had appeared, silent and grave, on Legolas' arm, she had barely merited his notice. She was just an ordinary-looking elf, pretty certainly, but with far too many angles for his liking. But her anger had done something to her, transformed her into an entirely different creature. It had made her brighter, more vital. Her blue eyes were now cobalt with fury, and as he watched her, her small nostrils flared. The bosom of which he had spoken so crudely was now heaving. Yes, he had awakened something powerful and bewitching insider her, and he did not intend to let it go dormant again.
"You take far too much liberty with your tongue, sir," she said through clenched teeth. "My conduct before and after my union with Legolas is beyond reproach. I do not have to prove myself to a bawdy urchin like you. I am not like a loose-skirted wench of Gondor. If I may ask, Lord of Gondor, why do you concern yourself so mightily with the cries from my bedchamber? Is it because, in all your years as a man, you could never inspire such pleasure in the women you sought to ravish? If so, you are more pathetic than I first believed."
There was a clunk followed by a muffled burbling sound as Strider laid his head on the table and used the tablecloth to stifle his unseemly merriment. Gandalf pull the brim of his hat down over his foggy blue eyes, no longer able watch the eloquent carnage. The fork Frodo had been holding all this time plopped into his pile of scrambled eggs that had been long cold. The dim alarm in Celeborn and Galadriel's faces had ignited into obvious distress. They were accustomed to quiet, serene fellowship, not this chaotic, undignified row raging before them. They exchanged consternated glances.
"A lady of Gondor would never comport herself like a common whore in the royal palace," he snapped, wiping his bangs from his eyes.
"Ah, in that case, your conception is a great mystery to me," she sneered, rising from her chair with her goblet in hand.
Whatever game Boromir had been playing ended at the questioning of his mother's virtue. A terrible, red rage colored his vision. How dare she disparage his noble mother thus. He had conveniently forgotten all of the vulgar insults he had so carelessly and glibly tossed at her feet. Trembling with self-righteous rage, he hurled one final slander at her retreating back.
"Uncouth wench! It seems Legolas has sold himself too cheaply to the first trollop to pass through his bedchambers. Though of royal rank you must be, you are as foul as the leavings of an orc. You are not worthy of Legolas."
The rage he could not achieve with all his jesting, exploratory barbs found its voice at last. She rounded on him, china doll hands clenching and unclenching with fury. Her pale face was contorted, and for a moment Boromir thought he was looking at a cleverly disguised orc. Then the paroxysm passed, and her face smoothed out again. She was looking at him with smoldering eyes. The air was pregnant with a nauseous tension.
"Be not offended, Saryn," began Galadriel, but that was as far as she got before Boromir got his reward.
A guttural, feral snarl clawed from Saryn's lips, and she lobbed her goblet at Boromir's head. It missed, but barely, skimming over his hair and crashing into the wall behind him. He felt some of the cool black liquid rebound and splash onto his shirt. He looked up at the sound of high, frantic Elvish. Saryn was unleashing a torrent of invective in her native tongue. He couldn't understand a word, but whatever she had said, it must have been vile, because Elrond's jaw unhinged with an audible creak. Galadriel's feeble pleas for decorum were drowned out by Saryn's caustic ravings. She had lost her senses.
As suddenly as the tirade started, so did it stop. She closed her mouth and glared at him, eyes brimming with scalding, baleful tears. They stared at each other across the room, predator and prey. Boromir was seized with the sinking feeling that he had made a dreadful mistake, awakened a terrible beast he should have left alone. Her eyes were searching him, marking him for future retribution. There was no fear in them, no respect, no jest, only a burning hatred that made him feel small and sad. He was just about to apologize when she whirled and stalked from the room, hands still opening and closing like an external heartbeat. He wondered if she even realized she was doing it.
The room was silent for several long minutes after Saryn's departure. No one trusted themselves to speak. When he had collected himself, Boromir asked in a strangely muted voice, "What did she say just now? I'm afraid I don't understand Elvish."
"She said," answered Elrond in a musing tone, "'Now I understand why the race of men make such a show of their swords. They use them as compensation for that which the gods forgot to give them at their birth."
"Oh," he said. He had severely underestimated her indeed.
28
For her part, Saryn was storming up the endless spiraling staircase to her room, muttering imprecations under her breath. The blood was still pounding in her ears, and her eyes felt strained and hot. The day had not gone well. First Legolas had turned on her with his inexplicable fit of temper, and now a dirty, wretched human had insulted her virtue. Filthy bastard, she thought, how dare he presume to question my worth. Damned humans. In their arrogance, they think themselves better than everyone else, fit to judge the deeds and actions of others when it is they who are the weakest and most corrupt of the lot.
What of it? said the bland, unerring voice of her inner self. Vulgar as he may be, he intrigues you. No one has ever been so bold and so frank about matters of the flesh. Most elves speak of such things in whispers. His irreverence for so sacred a things offends you, yet it stimulates you in ways you would prefer to express. For all your propriety, you know that part of you admires such openness, such forthrighness. You love Legolas, yes; of that there is no doubt, but all the same, you sometimes wonder what it would be like in the carnal embrace of another. Like Telvryn, for instance. Back in the bog, you pondered ever so briefly, what it would be like to touch him in the most delicate of manners. And now this crass human arouses your most base of curiosities. That is what angers you, is it not? The fact that this brutish creature titillates you in the darkest, headiest of ways.
She gave a contemptuous snort. That was ridiculous. She was hardly attracted to that slimy, reprehensible rabble. And the brief lapse over Telvryn in the swamp could be explained quite easily. She had been under a great deal of stress, not to mention the fact that the swamp had preyed on her already fragile mind, used its malevolence to coax out the darker side of her personality. Even if she were attracted to the muscled, rugged visage of this Boromir of Gondor(and she wasn't), she didn't intend to do anything about it. Legolas was the most important thing in her life, and she had no intention of hurting him. Now or ever.
She had reached the top of the stairs and was about to enter her room when a flicker of movement caught her eye. She turned and peered into the hallway, half-expecting to see Legolas there, but it wasn't. It was Telvryn, and he stepped forward with a broad smile on his face.
"M'lady," he said affectionately.
"Telvryn," she said happily.
She almost hugged him before she realized what she was doing. She dropped her arms abruptly and stepped back. Now that she was reunited with Legolas, such contact was forbidden. No matter what they had been through together, proper decorum must be observed. Besides if that Gondor fool happened to come up and see her hugging another elf, albeit innocently, his tongue would be wagging the news before they could disentangle themselves. She gave Telvryn a wistful smile.
He returned the smile, painful understanding in his eyes. "It is good to see you up and around, m'lady. You were in quite grave condition when the prince brought you inside. Forgive me for not calling upon you sooner, but I did not think it would be…proper," he said.
"No offense was taken by your absence," she reassured him. "I have been very busy by all accounts, much to the disdain of some. Besides, you had your own injury to tend. How is it, by the way?" She gestured at the rigid brown wrap covering his left arm.
"Oh, it's not so bad as it seems. At least not anymore. Lord Elrond is an excellent healer. He says I shall be fine in three weeks," Telvryn said, a note of admiration in his voice.
"Yes, he is quite proficient," she conceded. "And what of Cerek? Has he yet passed into shadow?"
"Miraculously, no. He survives beyond all expectation, yet it seems impossible that he can last much longer. The fever still consumes him," he told her, his face grim.
"I wish to see him," she said.
"My lady, I do not think it wise. He is not fond of you, and if he should see you, he may try to do you harm."
Saryn rolled her eyes and crossed her arms across her chest. "Please. If he is in the shadow of death and burning with fever, I doubt he will have much success. If he were to attack me, surely you would come to my defense?"
"Without hesitation," he confirmed, standing a little straighter.
"Then I have nothing to fear. Let us go," she commanded.
They set off down the sun-flooded corridor, careful to keep the requisite six inches of space between them. It was a sweet torture for Telvryn, having her so near to him, yet so out of reach. She was more beautiful than ever now, free at last from the weight of worry she had been carrying. Her ivory skin glowed with an ethereal vitality, and her hair trailed behind her like a crown of golden fire. Her pear scent, no longer masked by the foul reek of bog mud, was dizzying, and it took all of his will to walk straight. He was becoming aroused again, much to his chagrin, and he fervently prayed that she would not notice. If only you were mine, he thought wistfully.
The room in which Cerek lay dying was in a quiet recess off the main hallway, a small, cozy room whose thick walls blocked out all sound. You'll die in silence, my friend, she thought, and shuddered. Though well- lit by a large bay window and several wall sconces, the room seemed dimmer than the rest of the castle. The oncoming death had muted the light, sapped it of its warmth. The air was heavier in here and smelled of infection and decay. There was such an air of hopelessness and desolation that her heart dropped in her chest and tears threatened to spill down her face for the third time that day.
The approached the gargantuan bed that cradled Cerek with heavy footfalls. Saryn fought to stifle a gasping sob. This was not an elf. This was a dried-up husk that somehow drew breath. What was left of Cerek lay rasping against cool white bedsheets, eyes open but blind. He was emaciated, his fingers hard, scrawny twigs covered in flesh. His face was gaunt; his cheekbones thrust against his papery skin like brittle pikes. Pus still suppurated from the scabby cuts, oozing its malignancy down his hot face. The smell was sickly-sweet, like meat left to rot in the sun. That's what he is now, just rotting meat. He's rotting from the inside out. She gagged as she sank to her knees beside him.
"How…can…it…be…that he still draws breath?" she asked, struggling to speak as horror clamped around her chest like a vise.
She trailed her finger lightly down the length of his body, starting at his chin and wending and whirling her way down his caved-in chest and shrunken stomach. He burned like a sack of hot coals beneath her fingertip. It was like touching a dead animal, and she recoiled.
"I do not know how he survives. Lord Elrond is amazed," he answered.
She bowed her head and moaned softly, her face pinched and miserable. All of his suffering was her fault. She had shot him, after all. If she had been more prudent with her bow, he never would have been in the bog. She cursed her carelessness. She had always said she would kill to protect Legolas, but now that she very nearly had, she felt a terrible guilt wash over her in a poisonous wave.
Telvryn, sensing her misery, tried his best to comfort her. "M'lady, you are not to blame," he said, wanting to touch her but not quite daring.
"Heh," she scoffed, not looking up, "what a pretty lie that is. You know I am to blame. I shot him."
"Yes, that is true, m'lady, but your arrow did not mar his face with the cuts that carried the sickness to his blood. That was the work of my hands," he reminded her.
"Ah, then I am not a murderer but merely a collaborator. What consolation that brings me!" she snapped.
Telvryn retreated to the other side of the room. Her guilty rage made him want to cradle her in his arms, but he knew it could not be. In her present demeanor, doing so was likely to carry dire consequences, perhaps even physical reprisal. He contented himself with watching her as she sat on the edge of the bed and stroked Cerek's forehead.
She wondered what it must be like for Cerek as the last of his life was slipping away from him. Did he feel any pain? Did he understand what was happening? Did he dream, or did he only float on a sea of black tranquility? Was he fighting for his life, or had the last sentient part of him already ceded the battle? She would never know. She sighed and began unbuttoning his tunic.
"What are you doing?" Telvryn asked.
"Trying to make him a little more comfortable that's all," she said, pinching the filthy article of clothing between her fingers and gingerly pulling it off Cerek's fevered body.
"I'm not sure that's wise," said Telvryn.
"What's it going to do, kill him?" she spat. "If it does, it will be a far gentler death than the one that awaits him now. Why has he been left in such filthy clothes?"
"Well, they were clean yesterday. He sweats uncontrollably. Besides, everyone was worried about you."
"About me now? Fine thing! Why? Because I am the wife of a prince, and he is a lowly sentry? That speaks well of Lord Elrond."
"M'lady, you must understand, Legolas was frantic about you. He insisted Elrond tend to you at once, the others be damned. If he had tried to leave you, your husband would have fought him," he pleaded.
"Yes I suppose you're right," she said, her mouth twitching with a reluctant smile. "But…how do you know this?"
"I was conscious when they brought me inside about thirty minutes after you. You could hear him bellowing at the healers upstairs. When Elrond arrived with our company, he left us at once to see to you. I could hear him berating his lordship, telling him that if he did not heal you and atone for his betrayal, he would pay with his life," he explained.
"Did you indeed?" she mused.
She said no more to Telvryn, but she turned this revelation over in her mind as she dipped a cloth in cool water and ran it over Cerek's still form. What her faithful companion had said explained much. Long had she been perplexed by the heavy tension between Elrond and her generally relaxed husband. Now it was apparent that Elrond had breached Legolas' trust or honor in some way, but how? It must have been a grave affair indeed for noble Legolas to threaten another royal with death. She would have to ask him when he returned from his visit with Haldir, though Elbereth knew when that would be. He was extremely fond of conversation, especially with those he had not seen in some time. In all likelihood, he would not return until long after the moon had ascended to her throne. Not to mention the other matter that lay between them.
She grimaced as she remembered the quarrel between them. Such a silly thing! She had been far too sensitive. Her pregnancy must be getting to her. Legolas hadn't been himself, either. His arduous journey had made him irascible, and the news of his impending fatherhood must have come as a shock to him, especially so soon after nearly losing her. A lesser man might even have raised his hand to her. Yes, she had overreacted. She would apologize when he returned, make amends to her beautiful lord for her baseless anger. Maybe then they would take a stroll along the moonlit forest pathways and he would sing to her. How she loved his voice. It caressed her as deftly as did his fingers, made her feel warm and protected and loved.
The room was quiet except for Saryn's lilted, tuneless humming as she bathed Cerek. The grime came off his sallow skin in dark streaks. She had to refill the dirty water several times before she arrived at the daunting task of washing his fetid, tangled hair. She forlornly recalled how beautiful it had once been, golden like liquid sunshine. Now it was matted with mud, blood, sweat, pus, and vomit. It felt like stiff yarn beneath her fingers. He made neither sound nor movement as she pulled him toward the washbasin, only lay still as a corpse in her arms.
"Telvryn, please bring me a chair," she asked, struggling to hold Cerek's upper body off the edge of the bed.
Telvryn hurried to her side carrying a heavy mahogany chair that he set behind her. She fell into it with an ungainly flop, unable to support his dead weight any longer. Doubtless this was an activity of which Lord Elrond would not approve. She waited until she had recovered a bit to reach for the wash basin. She sat it on her lap and gently placed Cerek's head into it.
The water turned black immediately. She sighed and refreshed it, only to have it turn blacker still. She refilled it half a dozen times more before it remained clean long enough to do any good. She moved her hands through his hair in smooth even strokes, pausing only to dislodge stubborn clots of crusty vomit and pus. Her humming grew louder the harder she worked, and soon the room was filled with her nightingale song. Back and forth, back and forth went her small hands, until, little by little, she coaxed a glimmer of its former glory from beneath the filth.
When she had done all she could, she smoothed his hair upon her knees to dry in the light of the sun. It was still hopelessly tangled, but she had no comb, so she made do with running her agile fingers through the tangles, pulling apart the one she could and fretting over the rest.
"M'lady, what troubles you?" Telvryn asked, startling her out of the meditative state the soothing, rhythmic work of caring for Cerek had induced. "Since I have known you, you have been burdened by the weight of much worry. You are reunited with your husband, and yet you seem no better. What could still deprive you of the tranquility you surely must once have known?"
She snorted. "My life has been a string of troubles ever since Thranduil conceived to send his son on this strange mission. I know not yet what it is, but it most be of considerable importance if all the races are gathered together. I endured untold hardships to reach my husband's side, only to find myself confronted with a loathsome, boorish human named Boromir of Gondor who saw fit to publicly question my virtue."
"Where is this cad?" said Telvryn, leaping to his feet in indignation. "I'll make him pay for his tawdry insinuations." He grasped the hilt of his sword.
"I should waste neither my time nor my energy on the endeavor if I were you," she said. "He is incorrigible."
"All the same," he huffed, "I'd like to teach him a lesson."
Saryn laughed, a pure unadulterated sound of quiet joy that made him smile. "My dear Telvryn," she managed at last, "what a noble friend you are to me. What would I do without you?"
He smiled. He was glad to be called her friend, but his heart ached to be called something more. He wanted to hold her, dance with her, bury his nose in the soft down of her hair. To look at her filled him with a crushing longing, but the thought of losing her forever because of words foolishly spoken was insufferable. He held his peace.
"Come, help me put Cerek back into bed," she said. "I can do no more."
Together, they rearranged him in the bed, Saryn pulling the sheets up to his chin. He looked so lost within the sea of sheets that she lingered a moment longer before stepping out of the room and closing the door behind her. Elrond was waiting for them outside.
"My Lord," she said, surprised to see him there.
"Ah, Saryn, I was hoping to find you. Do you mind if I examine you?" he said.
"No, not at all," she said.
"Excellent. Let us retire to your chambers. You have soiled your clothing," he said.
She looked down at herself. He was right. A slimy, gray streak of dead skin and old sweat from Cerek's body traveled the length of her dress from the skirt to the hem. She flushed a little, embarrassed that so high an elf lord should see her covered in filth, and very nervous. Suppose he wanted to confront her with her actions in Rivendell. No matter how noble her intentions, she had broken several sacred elven laws, and sooner or later, there would have to be retribution. The same thought must have going through Telvryn's mind, for he drew closer to her, his hand tightening around his scabbard.
They stopped outside her chamber door, and Elrond said, "You may go, Telvryn. This is a private matter."
"If you don't mind, sire, I'd like him to stay with me," she said quickly, reaching out and brushing her fingers across Elrond's robed arm. If she was about to be arrested, she would prefer to have a friendly face nearby.
The king stared at her a moment, surprised. His murky brown eyes flitted to Telvryn, who was standing rigid as a tentpole at her side. Then he nodded.
"Very well," he said slowly, "but you both know the rules."
They nodded, and he bid her enter, following closely behind her. Telvryn went to stand on the opposite side of the room, eyes riveted on the wall behind the bed. When an expectant woman was being examined, only the father and the healer were generally present. In the rare instance when a stranger was present, he was forbidden to look at the lady under any circumstances. Saryn settled into a chair by the bed, and Elrond knelt in front of her.
"Turn around and face the wall, Telvryn. It will be easier that way," said Elrond as he probed her belly and muttered and hmmed to himself.
It was obvious to Saryn that the healer's mind was not on his work. His hands were inattentive at best, often slipping, sometimes staying in one place for minutes at a time. He asked no questions, only made vague noises in the back of his throat. His eyes were dim and far away. Finally after his warm, dry hands had circled her abdomen three times, she could stand it no more.
"An exam was not foremost in your mind when you called me in here, was it?" she asked.
"No…no, it wasn't," he admitted, dropping the pretense and getting to his feet. He sat on the bed, hands in his lap. "I was hoping to discuss other matters."
"If it is about my escape from Rivendell, I am prepared to accept the consequences. All I ask is that I be allowed to celebrate the joyous occasion of my child's birth with my husband first," she said, jutting her chin in an unconscious gesture of defiance.
Elrond uttered an odd, barking laugh. "The incident in Rivendell? My dear child, that was the furthest thing from my mind at the moment, though it will have to be dealt with later. No, I came to talk to you about the dress."
"The dress? But how do you know about the dress?" She was shocked. This was the last thing she had expected.
"I know about it because I ordered it done," he answered almost guiltily. "I was hoping to make it a peace offering for my ill-advised conduct. I am as much to blame as you are for all that came to pass there. If I had told you the truth instead of locking you away, perhaps everything would not have descended into madness as it did."
She gave Elrond a sad smile. "If peace be what you intended, sire, I'm afraid your little gift has had the opposite effect. Legolas was quite upset by it, though I don't know why."
"More of my doing, I'm afraid," he said. "After you escaped, I feared you dead. I raced to Moria hoping to intercept Legolas' party. When he saw me there, away from the sanctuary and stronghold of Rivendell, a place I have not left for many centuries, his suspicions were aroused immediately. He knew it must be a matter of the utmost gravity for me to be traveling unescorted. He asked me about your welfare, and I lied to him, told him I knew nothing, when all the while I was certain you were no more. His suspicions were not allayed. If anything, they grew stronger. All the while, I was planning how best to tell him the dreadful news. When he discovered your joining pendant entangled in the bushes outside the Bog of Basylis, he realized the reason for my journeying with them and flew into a rage. He called me a deceiving snake, which all things considered, is true. He is still angry at being so ill-used, I suspect. It is unlikely he will forgive me in the foreseeable future."
"Well can I understand my love's displeasure," she said when Elrond had finished, "but I do not understand what he thinks he could have done had he not been so cruelly deceived."
"Nor I," agreed Elrond. "If I had told him the truth, he may have found you faster, but it is more likely that he would have taken leave of his senses and fallen to the orcs at Moria. Worse still, he might have turned back to Mirkwood, hoping you had returned there. If that had happened, we never would have found you."
Saryn considered this, rounded chin resting against her folded hands. "I know my husband, sire. He is a man of passion, but he is also a good and just man. When his rancor has died down a little, I am certain he will come to understand that you meant no harm."
"I hope you are right," he said bleakly.
"I trust that I know my beloved better than you," she said gaily. "In the meantime, the gown I am wearing is no longer serviceable. As there are no other dresses currently at my disposal, I am obliged to try the one you have so graciously given me. I can see no reason for Legolas to object, lest I be forced to cavort naked through this splendid castle." There was a mischievous glint in her eye as she spoke.
"I can find no fault in your logic," said the king, trying to remain stern, but the merry glint in his eyes betrayed him. "Shall I summon a handmaiden?"
"Yes, I think it would be wise. The dress is delicate and far more elaborate than any I have ever worn," she said.
"Splendid," said Elrond, obviously pleased. "Come, Telvryn," he said, turning to the sentry who was still standing with his face to the wall. "Close friends though you may be, this is not a sight for your eyes."
The pair headed for the door. The king opened the door, then turned and stood in the half-open doorway. "If it please you, I would very much enjoy a stroll in the garden when you have dressed. Does that suit you?"
"Very much, sir," she answered, bowing her head in deference.
He nodded. "Very good. I shall await you at the bottom of the stairs." He turned and closed the door behind him.
The handmaiden arrived almost as soon as the door closed, a ruddy, cherub-cheeked lass with an open, pleasant face. Together they struggled into the elaborate dress, the merry little nymph giggling as she adjusted the skirt and refastened the too-loose cloak. Lord Elrond had measured well, and the dress clung to her, accentuating every swell and curve. A small trane flared out behind her, and the sleeves were a diaphanous black mesh that tapered to a point halfway down her middle fingers.
"Lord Elrond instructed me to give this to you," said the cheerful handmaiden.
In her outstretched hands, she held a stunning black diamond circlet. From its fragile middle dangled a small, black diamond surrounded by hundreds of pinprick white diamonds.
"Oh, Elbereth, it is beyond my power to describe," Saryn breathed, eyes aglow.
She took the priceless object and tried to fit it on her head, but her hands were shaking too badly, so the eternally happy handmaiden did it for her. The black diamond came to rest in the center of her forehead.
"There you are," she chirped, "all finished. Oh, what a vision you are, if I may say, m'lady." She took Saryn by the hand and led her out the door.
For Telvryn, watching Saryn descend the stairs in her elaborate gown was a beautiful agony. She was a vision in black velvet as she made her way shyly down the stairs. The dress complimented her lithe grace and fragile beauty. She deserved such finery. Now that he had seen her this way, he could picture her as nothing else. He turned his head so that she could not see the dewdrop tears in his eyes.
Elrond, too, was moved by what he saw, but not for the same reason. She was stunning, this being he had watched from afar for so long. Never had he imagined she would be so gorgeous. Looking at her in all her royal regalia, he understood what Legolas must have seen in her two hundred years ago. This is what my sin has wrought, he thought. How can something so exquisite have come from such ugliness? He swallowed, trying to banish the lumped that had suddenly formed in his throat.
"How lovely you look," he said when she reached the bottom, hoping she wouldn't notice the tightness in his voice. "Shall we go?"
"Of course, my lord," she said, smiling.
Elrond watched her as they emerged from the shadowy castle into the bright, fragrant gardens. She lifted her face to the warming rays of the sun like a rose unfurling its petals to the sunrise. She seemed oblivious to the curious stares and lustful gawks of the other elves as she meandered the winding stone pathways through the garden, her small feet gliding along, stopping long enough to admire one plant or another, then dancing away again.
"My lord," she said after they had been walking a while, "tell me of humans. Are they all so barbaric?"
Elrond laughed, a rich, deep laugh, the kind he had not enjoyed for many days now. It felt wonderful to him. "They are strange creatures indeed."
As he whiled away the hours meandering through the endless gardens of Lothlorien alongside his deepest sin and greatest pride, Elrond was filled with an emotion he had never truly known before. Contentment.
The next morning dawned bright and crisp over the golden leaves of Lothlorien. A warm breeze wafted through the dry leaves. Down below their tower room, the elves went about their daily business, their merry voices piercing the otherwise calm air. Saryn, though, noticed none of this. She was bent over the brass chamber pot, vomiting up the remnants of last night's bountiful supper.
"Shall I call the healer?" Legolas asked anxiously, stroking her back.
"No, no need," she rasped, swiping at her mouth. "It is the normal course of things for a woman with child."
She picked up the pitcher from the bedside table and took a sip of its contents, swirling it around in her mouth and spitting it into the pot. Then she stood and crossed the room to the bureau, passing the now cold tub of bath water they had used after their lovemaking. She was content, happy, and she hummed as she picked up a brush and began to tend to the numerous snarls in her long blonde hair.
"Here, let me," he said, moving behind her and slipping the silver brush from her hand.
"Ere long, I will have forgotten how to do everything with all your pampering," she laughed.
"Yes, but you will have learned new and better skills, like suckling a new born babe and changing dirty swaddling. A fine mother you will make." His free hand roved to her belly and stroked it fondly.
"I hope you are right. I feel so unprepared, having no mother of my own from whom to learn and seek advice."
"We shall learn together, and what we do not know will be discovered through experience. I will support you always. Besides, there are plenty of experienced mothers in Mirkwood who would be only too happy to lend a hand in raising a crown prince." He smiled, running his fingers through the spun silk of her hair, gathering it and twisting it into small braids.
"What do you wish for most, a girl or a boy?" she asked, smiling at his reflection in the mirror.
"Though I wish I could say it did not matter, in truth I hope for a boy. I want to teach him how to shoot, how to track the prints of the smallest bird in the deepest snow, how to be a warrior. But," he added hastily, "I would not be any less glad if it were a girl."
"So," she said, raising her eyebrow in mock indignation, "my prince does not fancy the fine arts of garden tending and sewing. How else do you think food arrives at your table, my lord? Or your clothes masterfully mended? 'Tis not magic, sir."
"No, but with your skillful hands, it surely seems so," he said, planting a kiss on the top of her head.
"Silver-tongued flatterer," she snickered. "Would that I were not so skilled. Mayhap then you would spend more time out of your trousers for me to admire."
"Such a saucy wench!" he rebuked, giving her hair a playful tug.
"Aye, and you would have me no other way," she agreed.
He chortled, fastening each of the two tiny braids in her fine hair with a bit of black twine. His skilled hands moving deftly, he then joined them together in the back, forming a tiny halo. When that was done, he grasped the last remaining strands of hair and used them to make a thicker third braid that tapered to her waist. It was his favorite hairstyle, but one she seldom wore. She said it was too fancy for garden work. If he was lucky, she wore it to the annual banquets and balls, but those were rare happenings. Most of the time, she let her hair hang free or merely put it into a simple braid.
When he was done, she inspected his handiwork in the mirror.
"Oh, Elbereth, Legolas, you are always so elaborate," she groaned, touching the top of her head.
"But you look so beautiful that way. Why do you not like it? Wear it for me, please?"
She looked at his plaintive face and relented. "Oh alright, love. I never could refuse you," she sighed, turning to kiss him on the cheek.
Just then, there was a knock on the door, and a young sentry entered carrying a gown in his arms.
"Delivery for Lady Saryn," he chirped, snapping his heels in salute.
"From whom?" said Legolas warily. "I have requested nothing."
The sentry suddenly looked very uncomfortable. "I'm not at liberty to say, sir," he said, ears going a mild pink.
"Why not?" asked Legolas.
"I was told to deliver this to Lady Saryn. That is all I know. Shall I put it on the bed?"
"Yes, thank you," Saryn spoke up, keenly aware of her husband's inexplicable reticence. "And could you send someone to retrieve the bath water?"
"Yes, of course, m'lady," said the sentry, relieved to have escaped from the prince's interrogation.
When he had gone, Saryn and Legolas moved to look at the unexpected gift. The gown was exquisite, a dainty thing fashioned from black crushed velvet. The bodice and hem were studded with tiny pearls, and the laces were of a shimmery, gossamer material Saryn had never seen before. Beside it lay a flowing cloak with an enormous black onyx clasp that winked in the sunlight. On top of this was a pair of thin, black velvet slippers, also decorated with minute pearls.
"Oh…it's gorgeous," she breathed, trailing her finger across the soft fabric.
Legolas said nothing. There was something about the dress that angered him, though he wasn't sure why. He was certain Saryn had no clandestine suitor; her kind heart would never abide infidelity. Still, he found himself quietly furious as he gazed down at the breathtaking dress in front of him. Something about it bespoke presumptuousness, unentitled familiarity. It was the kind of thing he should have bought for her but never had. She had simply never asked for such things, and he had never thought that she might want them.
Yet here she was holding the dress against her body and standing before the mirror, making soft coos of delight. He had to admit that she looked stunning even without putting it on, and the realization only increased his agitation.
"Oh, how lovely!" she cried, spinning around to face him. "I can't wait to try it on." Her eyes were shining with excitement.
"I don't think you should wear it today," he said. Though he knew he was being unreasonable, he didn't want to see her in that dress.
"But why not? You just said you wanted me to be beautiful. In this dress, the queen of the orcs would be a fetching personage."
"Be sensible," he barked, much more sharply than he had intended, "you are with child now. It's far too hot to be traipsing about in such a dress. Your beauty should no longer be your chief concern."
"Forgive me, husband. I have angered you," she quavered, stung. "I will do as you say." She dropped her eyes and returned the dress to the bed.
Legolas was horrified with himself. Never had he spoken to Saryn in such a tone, and now he had reprimanded her without cause. While she carried his child no less. I am a thoughtless brute, he berated himself as he watched her slip her simple white gown over her slumped shoulders. What had come over him? So a dress had come? What if it was a gift from Galadriel and not Elrond, as he suspected? He mustn't let his fury at his uncle spill over onto Saryn again.
He felt even worse as they descended the stairs and Saryn's eyes remained fixed on the ground. Though she tried to hide it, he could see the bright sheen of unshed tears in her eyes, and his heart nearly broke in remorse for his baseless anger. He would make it up to her. They would take a moonlight stroll, and he would sing to her. He would make a wreath of lilacs for her hair. He would do anything to make her smile at him again.
He consoled himself with these thoughts as they crossed the Great Common Room to the large, formal dining hall where the rest of the fellowship had already gathered. Galadriel and Celeborn presided at the head of a long table. Elrond sat on their right, and two vacant seats sat on their left, presumably saved for him and Saryn.
"Good morning, Legolas, Saryn. I trust you slept well?" Galadriel greeted them, her serene smile faltering the slightest bit when she saw Saryn's crestfallen expression. "Come, sit and eat with us."
He led the silent Saryn to her place at the table and gallantly pulled out her chair. He winced inwardly as she sat stiffly, her usual grace strangely absent. Galadriel shot him a questioning look but said nothing. He took his seat, excruciatingly aware of everyone's eyes fixed upon them. He took her limp hand in his own, but there was no reassuring squeeze in response.
He cleared his throat. "Everyone, may I present my lovely wife, Saryn."
Saryn raised her bowed head, a smile pasted onto her lips, but Legolas knew it was not the genuine, carefree smile of true happiness. It was the polite, professional smile she used when forced to be in the presence of his father. His heart ached as he watched his normally vivacious wife exchange banal pleasantries with each member of the group as they introduced themselves. What a terrible hurt I have caused. All she wanted was to look beautiful in my eyes, and for her desire to please me, I have rewarded her with harshness, he thought miserably as he filled his plate from the brimming table.
Only the hobbits were oblivious to the strain between Saryn and Legolas. They were busy devouring everything within reach. Their plates were sagging beneath the weight of eggs, bacon, sausage, and a plethora of fresh fruit. Pippin, the most jovial of them, was talking excitedly about the best strain of tomatoes, a yellow dollop of egg dribbling down his chin. It was a scene that should have brought him solace, but he could find none in it. His eyes were inexorably drawn to his wife's expressionless face, as if his conscience was trying to remind him of his error. He could hardly bring himself to eat.
Celeborn, who was not nearly as dull as Elrond supposed, looked at Saryn with kind, concerned eyes.
"Is everything well, child?" he asked in his distant, lilting voice. "You seem troubled."
"I am well, sir. I suffer only the normal trials of a woman in my state. I am grateful for your concern," she replied in a prim, formal voice, and returned to her meal.
Though Celeborn was a kind man, she had no desire to discuss personal matters with him. She still burned with humiliation and confusion. She had never been spoken to like that by Legolas. For a terrible moment, he had sounded just like his snarling father. What had she done to provoke him? She could remember nothing out of the ordinary. Whatever had happened, it was nobody's business but her own. She impaled a chunk of melon on the sharp tines of her fork and shoveled it into her mouth, eating only because if she didn't, the tears would come.
In his chair across from her, Elrond had no trouble guessing the reason for Saryn's melancholy. The dress. He had hoped it would be received as a peace offering between he and Saryn, but it had only caused more trouble. How had Legolas guessed the gifts origins? Intuition, most likely. There were only four people that could afford such finery. He, Galadriel, Celeborn, and Boromir. Of the four, only three would have reason to send a gift at all, Boromir having never made her acquaintance. And only one of the remaining three would have had any knowledge of her measurements. A healer learned his patient's body rather quickly. No, it would not be hard for intelligent Legolas to surmise the truth about the dress. He should not have bothered with secrecy at all. It had only made things worse.
Such is the way of things with you, jeered the voice inside his head. Everything you touch crumbles into dust. You are a blight and a scourge to all who suffer you.
Finally, Legolas could take no more. He wiped his mouth with his napkin and pushed back his chair.
"I thank Your Highnesses for the wonderful breakfast, but now I must speak with Haldir. Saryn, will you accompany me?" he said, offering his arm.
"No, I will not," she answered, ignoring the arm.
The unflappable Celeborn spluttered into his cider.
"Methinks the prince does tread on brittle ground indeed. We will see his sleeping form on the cold sofa in the Great Common Room this evening. There will be no carnal embrace for him tonight," Boromir muttered under his breath.
Now, it was Strider who spluttered into his goblet. Gandalf dealt Boromir a swift kick beneath the table, eliciting a yelp, but the sly grin never left his pale face. Legolas narrowed his eyes and glared at Boromir's smirking face, but he said not a word. He could find none. Saryn had never refused him the slightest whim, and now she would not acknowledge his arm. The pain of her rejection, even one so small as this, crushed him.
"Very well, m'lady," he said with as much dignity as he could muster. "Then I leave you to your leisure." He kissed her hand and retreated from the room before the pain in his heart spread to his face.
When her husband was gone, Saryn turned her attention to Boromir, who was surveying her with a mischievous gleam in his eye.
"You take far too much interest in my affairs, sir," she said in a soft, speculative voice.
"How could I not? Your affairs kept the whole hall from peaceful slumber last night," he countered.
"Are you so desperate a man that you would concern yourself with the tender dealings of an elf and his wife? There are houses available to take care of such urgent needs."
Boromir was flummoxed, but only for a moment. "Why lay blame for your unabashed wantonness at my feet, lady? I expected better from a lady of your breeding."
"Of my breeding? You know not of what you speak. Besides, can I be held accountable for my husband's prowess as a man?" Her voice rose dangerously, and her fingers curled tightly around the stem of her goblet.
Boromir eyed the simmering elven lady with wry interest. She was feisty, this one. She had hardly batted an eyelash when he had mentioned her tryst with Legolas the night before. He had expected a burst of embarrassed indignation, a snit of red-faced spluttering, a hot denial of the pleasure she took in her union with Legolas. Instead, she was bandying about witticisms and insults like a man. For a woman to exhibit such behavior was disconcerting and intriguing at the same time. He decided to press her further, to see how much she would take.
"My lady," he said in a deliberate, even voice, swirling his index finger around the rim of his goblet, "how is it that you can speak so assuredly of his prowess? Have you known many men?"
Gandalf groaned and sank lower in his chair. Frodo was watching them, his fork raised halfway to his mouth. Boromir was moving into extremely personal territory now. Galadriel and Celeborn were observing the unsettling display with dim alarm, the latter chewing softly and thoughtfully on a slice of apple.
Saryn's already troubled brow darkened further. "I have known no other man of any race, sir," she answered, her voice heavy with implied threat.
"Then how is it that you are so certain of Legolas aptitude as a man? To make such a claim without first having tested the facts is unwise."
"What delicious-," began Gimli, desperately trying to curtail the violence he saw brewing around them like an ominous thunderhead, but he was cut off by Saryn's acid retort.
"One need not taste filth to know quality. For instance, I have seen no other man of Gondor, but I do not need to see one to know you are the most wretched of the lot, though your bearing suggests you to be of noble rank," she said coldly, slamming her hands down onto the white linen tablecloth.
There was a watery snort of laughter from Strider, whose brawny shoulders quaked with silent amusement. Gandalf steepled his gnarled hands in front of his face and bowed his head. This was going from bad to worse. Celeborn coughed, choking slightly on the apple he was eating.
"Have I touched upon a nerve, lady?" he jeered. "You are a buxom lass, and rather unapologetic of your pleasure in the most carnal of acts. I cannot believe that Legolas is either the first or the last to have enjoyed your…bounty," he said calmly.
Deep inside, Boromir knew he was going too far, but he could not stop himself. He had to keep going, had to know her breaking point. From the look on her face, it wasn't far off. He also couldn't deny that there was something sensual about her in her anger. When she had appeared, silent and grave, on Legolas' arm, she had barely merited his notice. She was just an ordinary-looking elf, pretty certainly, but with far too many angles for his liking. But her anger had done something to her, transformed her into an entirely different creature. It had made her brighter, more vital. Her blue eyes were now cobalt with fury, and as he watched her, her small nostrils flared. The bosom of which he had spoken so crudely was now heaving. Yes, he had awakened something powerful and bewitching insider her, and he did not intend to let it go dormant again.
"You take far too much liberty with your tongue, sir," she said through clenched teeth. "My conduct before and after my union with Legolas is beyond reproach. I do not have to prove myself to a bawdy urchin like you. I am not like a loose-skirted wench of Gondor. If I may ask, Lord of Gondor, why do you concern yourself so mightily with the cries from my bedchamber? Is it because, in all your years as a man, you could never inspire such pleasure in the women you sought to ravish? If so, you are more pathetic than I first believed."
There was a clunk followed by a muffled burbling sound as Strider laid his head on the table and used the tablecloth to stifle his unseemly merriment. Gandalf pull the brim of his hat down over his foggy blue eyes, no longer able watch the eloquent carnage. The fork Frodo had been holding all this time plopped into his pile of scrambled eggs that had been long cold. The dim alarm in Celeborn and Galadriel's faces had ignited into obvious distress. They were accustomed to quiet, serene fellowship, not this chaotic, undignified row raging before them. They exchanged consternated glances.
"A lady of Gondor would never comport herself like a common whore in the royal palace," he snapped, wiping his bangs from his eyes.
"Ah, in that case, your conception is a great mystery to me," she sneered, rising from her chair with her goblet in hand.
Whatever game Boromir had been playing ended at the questioning of his mother's virtue. A terrible, red rage colored his vision. How dare she disparage his noble mother thus. He had conveniently forgotten all of the vulgar insults he had so carelessly and glibly tossed at her feet. Trembling with self-righteous rage, he hurled one final slander at her retreating back.
"Uncouth wench! It seems Legolas has sold himself too cheaply to the first trollop to pass through his bedchambers. Though of royal rank you must be, you are as foul as the leavings of an orc. You are not worthy of Legolas."
The rage he could not achieve with all his jesting, exploratory barbs found its voice at last. She rounded on him, china doll hands clenching and unclenching with fury. Her pale face was contorted, and for a moment Boromir thought he was looking at a cleverly disguised orc. Then the paroxysm passed, and her face smoothed out again. She was looking at him with smoldering eyes. The air was pregnant with a nauseous tension.
"Be not offended, Saryn," began Galadriel, but that was as far as she got before Boromir got his reward.
A guttural, feral snarl clawed from Saryn's lips, and she lobbed her goblet at Boromir's head. It missed, but barely, skimming over his hair and crashing into the wall behind him. He felt some of the cool black liquid rebound and splash onto his shirt. He looked up at the sound of high, frantic Elvish. Saryn was unleashing a torrent of invective in her native tongue. He couldn't understand a word, but whatever she had said, it must have been vile, because Elrond's jaw unhinged with an audible creak. Galadriel's feeble pleas for decorum were drowned out by Saryn's caustic ravings. She had lost her senses.
As suddenly as the tirade started, so did it stop. She closed her mouth and glared at him, eyes brimming with scalding, baleful tears. They stared at each other across the room, predator and prey. Boromir was seized with the sinking feeling that he had made a dreadful mistake, awakened a terrible beast he should have left alone. Her eyes were searching him, marking him for future retribution. There was no fear in them, no respect, no jest, only a burning hatred that made him feel small and sad. He was just about to apologize when she whirled and stalked from the room, hands still opening and closing like an external heartbeat. He wondered if she even realized she was doing it.
The room was silent for several long minutes after Saryn's departure. No one trusted themselves to speak. When he had collected himself, Boromir asked in a strangely muted voice, "What did she say just now? I'm afraid I don't understand Elvish."
"She said," answered Elrond in a musing tone, "'Now I understand why the race of men make such a show of their swords. They use them as compensation for that which the gods forgot to give them at their birth."
"Oh," he said. He had severely underestimated her indeed.
28
For her part, Saryn was storming up the endless spiraling staircase to her room, muttering imprecations under her breath. The blood was still pounding in her ears, and her eyes felt strained and hot. The day had not gone well. First Legolas had turned on her with his inexplicable fit of temper, and now a dirty, wretched human had insulted her virtue. Filthy bastard, she thought, how dare he presume to question my worth. Damned humans. In their arrogance, they think themselves better than everyone else, fit to judge the deeds and actions of others when it is they who are the weakest and most corrupt of the lot.
What of it? said the bland, unerring voice of her inner self. Vulgar as he may be, he intrigues you. No one has ever been so bold and so frank about matters of the flesh. Most elves speak of such things in whispers. His irreverence for so sacred a things offends you, yet it stimulates you in ways you would prefer to express. For all your propriety, you know that part of you admires such openness, such forthrighness. You love Legolas, yes; of that there is no doubt, but all the same, you sometimes wonder what it would be like in the carnal embrace of another. Like Telvryn, for instance. Back in the bog, you pondered ever so briefly, what it would be like to touch him in the most delicate of manners. And now this crass human arouses your most base of curiosities. That is what angers you, is it not? The fact that this brutish creature titillates you in the darkest, headiest of ways.
She gave a contemptuous snort. That was ridiculous. She was hardly attracted to that slimy, reprehensible rabble. And the brief lapse over Telvryn in the swamp could be explained quite easily. She had been under a great deal of stress, not to mention the fact that the swamp had preyed on her already fragile mind, used its malevolence to coax out the darker side of her personality. Even if she were attracted to the muscled, rugged visage of this Boromir of Gondor(and she wasn't), she didn't intend to do anything about it. Legolas was the most important thing in her life, and she had no intention of hurting him. Now or ever.
She had reached the top of the stairs and was about to enter her room when a flicker of movement caught her eye. She turned and peered into the hallway, half-expecting to see Legolas there, but it wasn't. It was Telvryn, and he stepped forward with a broad smile on his face.
"M'lady," he said affectionately.
"Telvryn," she said happily.
She almost hugged him before she realized what she was doing. She dropped her arms abruptly and stepped back. Now that she was reunited with Legolas, such contact was forbidden. No matter what they had been through together, proper decorum must be observed. Besides if that Gondor fool happened to come up and see her hugging another elf, albeit innocently, his tongue would be wagging the news before they could disentangle themselves. She gave Telvryn a wistful smile.
He returned the smile, painful understanding in his eyes. "It is good to see you up and around, m'lady. You were in quite grave condition when the prince brought you inside. Forgive me for not calling upon you sooner, but I did not think it would be…proper," he said.
"No offense was taken by your absence," she reassured him. "I have been very busy by all accounts, much to the disdain of some. Besides, you had your own injury to tend. How is it, by the way?" She gestured at the rigid brown wrap covering his left arm.
"Oh, it's not so bad as it seems. At least not anymore. Lord Elrond is an excellent healer. He says I shall be fine in three weeks," Telvryn said, a note of admiration in his voice.
"Yes, he is quite proficient," she conceded. "And what of Cerek? Has he yet passed into shadow?"
"Miraculously, no. He survives beyond all expectation, yet it seems impossible that he can last much longer. The fever still consumes him," he told her, his face grim.
"I wish to see him," she said.
"My lady, I do not think it wise. He is not fond of you, and if he should see you, he may try to do you harm."
Saryn rolled her eyes and crossed her arms across her chest. "Please. If he is in the shadow of death and burning with fever, I doubt he will have much success. If he were to attack me, surely you would come to my defense?"
"Without hesitation," he confirmed, standing a little straighter.
"Then I have nothing to fear. Let us go," she commanded.
They set off down the sun-flooded corridor, careful to keep the requisite six inches of space between them. It was a sweet torture for Telvryn, having her so near to him, yet so out of reach. She was more beautiful than ever now, free at last from the weight of worry she had been carrying. Her ivory skin glowed with an ethereal vitality, and her hair trailed behind her like a crown of golden fire. Her pear scent, no longer masked by the foul reek of bog mud, was dizzying, and it took all of his will to walk straight. He was becoming aroused again, much to his chagrin, and he fervently prayed that she would not notice. If only you were mine, he thought wistfully.
The room in which Cerek lay dying was in a quiet recess off the main hallway, a small, cozy room whose thick walls blocked out all sound. You'll die in silence, my friend, she thought, and shuddered. Though well- lit by a large bay window and several wall sconces, the room seemed dimmer than the rest of the castle. The oncoming death had muted the light, sapped it of its warmth. The air was heavier in here and smelled of infection and decay. There was such an air of hopelessness and desolation that her heart dropped in her chest and tears threatened to spill down her face for the third time that day.
The approached the gargantuan bed that cradled Cerek with heavy footfalls. Saryn fought to stifle a gasping sob. This was not an elf. This was a dried-up husk that somehow drew breath. What was left of Cerek lay rasping against cool white bedsheets, eyes open but blind. He was emaciated, his fingers hard, scrawny twigs covered in flesh. His face was gaunt; his cheekbones thrust against his papery skin like brittle pikes. Pus still suppurated from the scabby cuts, oozing its malignancy down his hot face. The smell was sickly-sweet, like meat left to rot in the sun. That's what he is now, just rotting meat. He's rotting from the inside out. She gagged as she sank to her knees beside him.
"How…can…it…be…that he still draws breath?" she asked, struggling to speak as horror clamped around her chest like a vise.
She trailed her finger lightly down the length of his body, starting at his chin and wending and whirling her way down his caved-in chest and shrunken stomach. He burned like a sack of hot coals beneath her fingertip. It was like touching a dead animal, and she recoiled.
"I do not know how he survives. Lord Elrond is amazed," he answered.
She bowed her head and moaned softly, her face pinched and miserable. All of his suffering was her fault. She had shot him, after all. If she had been more prudent with her bow, he never would have been in the bog. She cursed her carelessness. She had always said she would kill to protect Legolas, but now that she very nearly had, she felt a terrible guilt wash over her in a poisonous wave.
Telvryn, sensing her misery, tried his best to comfort her. "M'lady, you are not to blame," he said, wanting to touch her but not quite daring.
"Heh," she scoffed, not looking up, "what a pretty lie that is. You know I am to blame. I shot him."
"Yes, that is true, m'lady, but your arrow did not mar his face with the cuts that carried the sickness to his blood. That was the work of my hands," he reminded her.
"Ah, then I am not a murderer but merely a collaborator. What consolation that brings me!" she snapped.
Telvryn retreated to the other side of the room. Her guilty rage made him want to cradle her in his arms, but he knew it could not be. In her present demeanor, doing so was likely to carry dire consequences, perhaps even physical reprisal. He contented himself with watching her as she sat on the edge of the bed and stroked Cerek's forehead.
She wondered what it must be like for Cerek as the last of his life was slipping away from him. Did he feel any pain? Did he understand what was happening? Did he dream, or did he only float on a sea of black tranquility? Was he fighting for his life, or had the last sentient part of him already ceded the battle? She would never know. She sighed and began unbuttoning his tunic.
"What are you doing?" Telvryn asked.
"Trying to make him a little more comfortable that's all," she said, pinching the filthy article of clothing between her fingers and gingerly pulling it off Cerek's fevered body.
"I'm not sure that's wise," said Telvryn.
"What's it going to do, kill him?" she spat. "If it does, it will be a far gentler death than the one that awaits him now. Why has he been left in such filthy clothes?"
"Well, they were clean yesterday. He sweats uncontrollably. Besides, everyone was worried about you."
"About me now? Fine thing! Why? Because I am the wife of a prince, and he is a lowly sentry? That speaks well of Lord Elrond."
"M'lady, you must understand, Legolas was frantic about you. He insisted Elrond tend to you at once, the others be damned. If he had tried to leave you, your husband would have fought him," he pleaded.
"Yes I suppose you're right," she said, her mouth twitching with a reluctant smile. "But…how do you know this?"
"I was conscious when they brought me inside about thirty minutes after you. You could hear him bellowing at the healers upstairs. When Elrond arrived with our company, he left us at once to see to you. I could hear him berating his lordship, telling him that if he did not heal you and atone for his betrayal, he would pay with his life," he explained.
"Did you indeed?" she mused.
She said no more to Telvryn, but she turned this revelation over in her mind as she dipped a cloth in cool water and ran it over Cerek's still form. What her faithful companion had said explained much. Long had she been perplexed by the heavy tension between Elrond and her generally relaxed husband. Now it was apparent that Elrond had breached Legolas' trust or honor in some way, but how? It must have been a grave affair indeed for noble Legolas to threaten another royal with death. She would have to ask him when he returned from his visit with Haldir, though Elbereth knew when that would be. He was extremely fond of conversation, especially with those he had not seen in some time. In all likelihood, he would not return until long after the moon had ascended to her throne. Not to mention the other matter that lay between them.
She grimaced as she remembered the quarrel between them. Such a silly thing! She had been far too sensitive. Her pregnancy must be getting to her. Legolas hadn't been himself, either. His arduous journey had made him irascible, and the news of his impending fatherhood must have come as a shock to him, especially so soon after nearly losing her. A lesser man might even have raised his hand to her. Yes, she had overreacted. She would apologize when he returned, make amends to her beautiful lord for her baseless anger. Maybe then they would take a stroll along the moonlit forest pathways and he would sing to her. How she loved his voice. It caressed her as deftly as did his fingers, made her feel warm and protected and loved.
The room was quiet except for Saryn's lilted, tuneless humming as she bathed Cerek. The grime came off his sallow skin in dark streaks. She had to refill the dirty water several times before she arrived at the daunting task of washing his fetid, tangled hair. She forlornly recalled how beautiful it had once been, golden like liquid sunshine. Now it was matted with mud, blood, sweat, pus, and vomit. It felt like stiff yarn beneath her fingers. He made neither sound nor movement as she pulled him toward the washbasin, only lay still as a corpse in her arms.
"Telvryn, please bring me a chair," she asked, struggling to hold Cerek's upper body off the edge of the bed.
Telvryn hurried to her side carrying a heavy mahogany chair that he set behind her. She fell into it with an ungainly flop, unable to support his dead weight any longer. Doubtless this was an activity of which Lord Elrond would not approve. She waited until she had recovered a bit to reach for the wash basin. She sat it on her lap and gently placed Cerek's head into it.
The water turned black immediately. She sighed and refreshed it, only to have it turn blacker still. She refilled it half a dozen times more before it remained clean long enough to do any good. She moved her hands through his hair in smooth even strokes, pausing only to dislodge stubborn clots of crusty vomit and pus. Her humming grew louder the harder she worked, and soon the room was filled with her nightingale song. Back and forth, back and forth went her small hands, until, little by little, she coaxed a glimmer of its former glory from beneath the filth.
When she had done all she could, she smoothed his hair upon her knees to dry in the light of the sun. It was still hopelessly tangled, but she had no comb, so she made do with running her agile fingers through the tangles, pulling apart the one she could and fretting over the rest.
"M'lady, what troubles you?" Telvryn asked, startling her out of the meditative state the soothing, rhythmic work of caring for Cerek had induced. "Since I have known you, you have been burdened by the weight of much worry. You are reunited with your husband, and yet you seem no better. What could still deprive you of the tranquility you surely must once have known?"
She snorted. "My life has been a string of troubles ever since Thranduil conceived to send his son on this strange mission. I know not yet what it is, but it most be of considerable importance if all the races are gathered together. I endured untold hardships to reach my husband's side, only to find myself confronted with a loathsome, boorish human named Boromir of Gondor who saw fit to publicly question my virtue."
"Where is this cad?" said Telvryn, leaping to his feet in indignation. "I'll make him pay for his tawdry insinuations." He grasped the hilt of his sword.
"I should waste neither my time nor my energy on the endeavor if I were you," she said. "He is incorrigible."
"All the same," he huffed, "I'd like to teach him a lesson."
Saryn laughed, a pure unadulterated sound of quiet joy that made him smile. "My dear Telvryn," she managed at last, "what a noble friend you are to me. What would I do without you?"
He smiled. He was glad to be called her friend, but his heart ached to be called something more. He wanted to hold her, dance with her, bury his nose in the soft down of her hair. To look at her filled him with a crushing longing, but the thought of losing her forever because of words foolishly spoken was insufferable. He held his peace.
"Come, help me put Cerek back into bed," she said. "I can do no more."
Together, they rearranged him in the bed, Saryn pulling the sheets up to his chin. He looked so lost within the sea of sheets that she lingered a moment longer before stepping out of the room and closing the door behind her. Elrond was waiting for them outside.
"My Lord," she said, surprised to see him there.
"Ah, Saryn, I was hoping to find you. Do you mind if I examine you?" he said.
"No, not at all," she said.
"Excellent. Let us retire to your chambers. You have soiled your clothing," he said.
She looked down at herself. He was right. A slimy, gray streak of dead skin and old sweat from Cerek's body traveled the length of her dress from the skirt to the hem. She flushed a little, embarrassed that so high an elf lord should see her covered in filth, and very nervous. Suppose he wanted to confront her with her actions in Rivendell. No matter how noble her intentions, she had broken several sacred elven laws, and sooner or later, there would have to be retribution. The same thought must have going through Telvryn's mind, for he drew closer to her, his hand tightening around his scabbard.
They stopped outside her chamber door, and Elrond said, "You may go, Telvryn. This is a private matter."
"If you don't mind, sire, I'd like him to stay with me," she said quickly, reaching out and brushing her fingers across Elrond's robed arm. If she was about to be arrested, she would prefer to have a friendly face nearby.
The king stared at her a moment, surprised. His murky brown eyes flitted to Telvryn, who was standing rigid as a tentpole at her side. Then he nodded.
"Very well," he said slowly, "but you both know the rules."
They nodded, and he bid her enter, following closely behind her. Telvryn went to stand on the opposite side of the room, eyes riveted on the wall behind the bed. When an expectant woman was being examined, only the father and the healer were generally present. In the rare instance when a stranger was present, he was forbidden to look at the lady under any circumstances. Saryn settled into a chair by the bed, and Elrond knelt in front of her.
"Turn around and face the wall, Telvryn. It will be easier that way," said Elrond as he probed her belly and muttered and hmmed to himself.
It was obvious to Saryn that the healer's mind was not on his work. His hands were inattentive at best, often slipping, sometimes staying in one place for minutes at a time. He asked no questions, only made vague noises in the back of his throat. His eyes were dim and far away. Finally after his warm, dry hands had circled her abdomen three times, she could stand it no more.
"An exam was not foremost in your mind when you called me in here, was it?" she asked.
"No…no, it wasn't," he admitted, dropping the pretense and getting to his feet. He sat on the bed, hands in his lap. "I was hoping to discuss other matters."
"If it is about my escape from Rivendell, I am prepared to accept the consequences. All I ask is that I be allowed to celebrate the joyous occasion of my child's birth with my husband first," she said, jutting her chin in an unconscious gesture of defiance.
Elrond uttered an odd, barking laugh. "The incident in Rivendell? My dear child, that was the furthest thing from my mind at the moment, though it will have to be dealt with later. No, I came to talk to you about the dress."
"The dress? But how do you know about the dress?" She was shocked. This was the last thing she had expected.
"I know about it because I ordered it done," he answered almost guiltily. "I was hoping to make it a peace offering for my ill-advised conduct. I am as much to blame as you are for all that came to pass there. If I had told you the truth instead of locking you away, perhaps everything would not have descended into madness as it did."
She gave Elrond a sad smile. "If peace be what you intended, sire, I'm afraid your little gift has had the opposite effect. Legolas was quite upset by it, though I don't know why."
"More of my doing, I'm afraid," he said. "After you escaped, I feared you dead. I raced to Moria hoping to intercept Legolas' party. When he saw me there, away from the sanctuary and stronghold of Rivendell, a place I have not left for many centuries, his suspicions were aroused immediately. He knew it must be a matter of the utmost gravity for me to be traveling unescorted. He asked me about your welfare, and I lied to him, told him I knew nothing, when all the while I was certain you were no more. His suspicions were not allayed. If anything, they grew stronger. All the while, I was planning how best to tell him the dreadful news. When he discovered your joining pendant entangled in the bushes outside the Bog of Basylis, he realized the reason for my journeying with them and flew into a rage. He called me a deceiving snake, which all things considered, is true. He is still angry at being so ill-used, I suspect. It is unlikely he will forgive me in the foreseeable future."
"Well can I understand my love's displeasure," she said when Elrond had finished, "but I do not understand what he thinks he could have done had he not been so cruelly deceived."
"Nor I," agreed Elrond. "If I had told him the truth, he may have found you faster, but it is more likely that he would have taken leave of his senses and fallen to the orcs at Moria. Worse still, he might have turned back to Mirkwood, hoping you had returned there. If that had happened, we never would have found you."
Saryn considered this, rounded chin resting against her folded hands. "I know my husband, sire. He is a man of passion, but he is also a good and just man. When his rancor has died down a little, I am certain he will come to understand that you meant no harm."
"I hope you are right," he said bleakly.
"I trust that I know my beloved better than you," she said gaily. "In the meantime, the gown I am wearing is no longer serviceable. As there are no other dresses currently at my disposal, I am obliged to try the one you have so graciously given me. I can see no reason for Legolas to object, lest I be forced to cavort naked through this splendid castle." There was a mischievous glint in her eye as she spoke.
"I can find no fault in your logic," said the king, trying to remain stern, but the merry glint in his eyes betrayed him. "Shall I summon a handmaiden?"
"Yes, I think it would be wise. The dress is delicate and far more elaborate than any I have ever worn," she said.
"Splendid," said Elrond, obviously pleased. "Come, Telvryn," he said, turning to the sentry who was still standing with his face to the wall. "Close friends though you may be, this is not a sight for your eyes."
The pair headed for the door. The king opened the door, then turned and stood in the half-open doorway. "If it please you, I would very much enjoy a stroll in the garden when you have dressed. Does that suit you?"
"Very much, sir," she answered, bowing her head in deference.
He nodded. "Very good. I shall await you at the bottom of the stairs." He turned and closed the door behind him.
The handmaiden arrived almost as soon as the door closed, a ruddy, cherub-cheeked lass with an open, pleasant face. Together they struggled into the elaborate dress, the merry little nymph giggling as she adjusted the skirt and refastened the too-loose cloak. Lord Elrond had measured well, and the dress clung to her, accentuating every swell and curve. A small trane flared out behind her, and the sleeves were a diaphanous black mesh that tapered to a point halfway down her middle fingers.
"Lord Elrond instructed me to give this to you," said the cheerful handmaiden.
In her outstretched hands, she held a stunning black diamond circlet. From its fragile middle dangled a small, black diamond surrounded by hundreds of pinprick white diamonds.
"Oh, Elbereth, it is beyond my power to describe," Saryn breathed, eyes aglow.
She took the priceless object and tried to fit it on her head, but her hands were shaking too badly, so the eternally happy handmaiden did it for her. The black diamond came to rest in the center of her forehead.
"There you are," she chirped, "all finished. Oh, what a vision you are, if I may say, m'lady." She took Saryn by the hand and led her out the door.
For Telvryn, watching Saryn descend the stairs in her elaborate gown was a beautiful agony. She was a vision in black velvet as she made her way shyly down the stairs. The dress complimented her lithe grace and fragile beauty. She deserved such finery. Now that he had seen her this way, he could picture her as nothing else. He turned his head so that she could not see the dewdrop tears in his eyes.
Elrond, too, was moved by what he saw, but not for the same reason. She was stunning, this being he had watched from afar for so long. Never had he imagined she would be so gorgeous. Looking at her in all her royal regalia, he understood what Legolas must have seen in her two hundred years ago. This is what my sin has wrought, he thought. How can something so exquisite have come from such ugliness? He swallowed, trying to banish the lumped that had suddenly formed in his throat.
"How lovely you look," he said when she reached the bottom, hoping she wouldn't notice the tightness in his voice. "Shall we go?"
"Of course, my lord," she said, smiling.
Elrond watched her as they emerged from the shadowy castle into the bright, fragrant gardens. She lifted her face to the warming rays of the sun like a rose unfurling its petals to the sunrise. She seemed oblivious to the curious stares and lustful gawks of the other elves as she meandered the winding stone pathways through the garden, her small feet gliding along, stopping long enough to admire one plant or another, then dancing away again.
"My lord," she said after they had been walking a while, "tell me of humans. Are they all so barbaric?"
Elrond laughed, a rich, deep laugh, the kind he had not enjoyed for many days now. It felt wonderful to him. "They are strange creatures indeed."
As he whiled away the hours meandering through the endless gardens of Lothlorien alongside his deepest sin and greatest pride, Elrond was filled with an emotion he had never truly known before. Contentment.