Anyone Perfect Must Be Lying

Part III: Mourning

Arwen reached into the broad, colorful array of various concoctions encased in the mirrored cabinet mounted opposite the princess' bed, reflecting the view from the window above its canopied posts. She withdrew a small glass vial of violently blue liquid and uncorked it, then took a delicate sniff before handing it unceremoniously to Cerise. "Drink it now," she ordered as she locked the cabinet again and the keys vanished within the folds of her lavender gown.

Cerise looked at the potion with undisguised distaste. It smelt of blood and other bodily secretions, and made her want to find a quiet basin and throw up in it.

"Now," Arwen commanded, and watched Cerise as she hesitantly popped the cork and raised the vial to her lips, then, after a moment's consideration, closed her eyes resolvedly and swallowed.

"You won't have to worry now," Arwen said briefly, and as she discarded the vial, Cerise glimpsed the black-inked label: Contraceptive. She seethed inwardly and turned away.

Arwen settled on the cushioned windowsill above her bed and motioned for Cerise to sit beside her. "We are alike, you and I," the princess remarked. "Each of us waits, without assurance as to their safety or even life at all, for our loves to return from the battle we cannot fight. I a princess, you a lady" she trailed off, her eyes lighting with some other thought. "You are the daughter of Lord Erasan of Mirkwood son of Narceleb, are you not?"

Cerise nodded silently.

Arwen clapped her hands in almost childish glee. "Why, then, you and Legolas are perfectly matched! A marriage between the two houses of Mirkwood would be most fortunate yes, most fortunate indeed"

"I- I cannot," Cerise whispered finally, avoiding Arwen's gaze. "He does not want me."

Arwen frowned. "I have known Legolas for many more years than you have been alive, Lady Starflame, and I know that he would not trespass the boundaries of Elven conduct in such a way for someone he did not love."

"But he does not," Cerise said desperately. "The letter"

"I imagine that Legolas was overcome by guilt and a fair amount of confusion upon waking," Arwen advised. "Without your assurance that you felt no ill will towards him, nor embarrassment, he was filled with doubt of your love. For it is a very rare thing that an elf-maiden as young as you are would be as mature as you have shown yourself to be in a situation like this."

Cerise looked down at her feet and gave a shuddering sigh. "It does not matter now," she said resolutely. "He is gone from here and will not return."

Arwen's eyes clouded with regret. "Do not say that, I was I was wrong. Legolas' will is strong. He shall return."

"You cannot prove that," Cerise challenged.

Arwen was silent. Cerise stared at her, trying to assess what she was feeling, for a long moment, before turning and half-running, half-flying down the stairs.

~*~

Legolas slept fitfully. The Halflings had insisted on making camp just after sundown, far too early for his tastes, and after the men shared with them a meal of some recently captured game, they tucked themselves in and fell into peaceful slumber. He, relegated to hobbit-guard duty, lay awake against a nearby oak for several hours as Gimli slept. Even when the dwarf exchanged watches with him, he sat against the tree, watching the dying embers of the fire until his eyelids closed of their own accord, leaving him to restless swatches of dreams infused with darkness.

Mainly he saw empty, void blackness, but once he saw two heads bent together in conversation- one luminous red, the other a familiar black- and the former turned toward him, and Cerise's pale, innocent face gazed accusingly at him. The dream-elf's lips were not moving, but he heard her voice, clear and echoing in his mind:

"Why did you leave me, Legolas? and you brought me to your bed please, Legolas, please, oh Elbereth, Iluvatar!"

"I'm sorry," he tried to tell her, reaching out for her as she slowly turned back towards Arwen. "I'm sorry, I did not mean to, I cannot- forgive me, Cerise! Please, wait-"

But she was gone, racing away down the stairwell, her hair a red flag of anger against the now-darkness of his dreamworld and her eyes flashing dark and sad emerald against its brightness. "He is gone from here and will not return," he heard her say tonelessly. "He does not want me."

"I do!" Legolas cried with unusual emotion as she faded into shadow. "Don't leave me, Ceriselen, wait for me" He was pleading confusedly at nothing now, glimpses and traces of things from long ago, fleeting too quickly to register. "Wait for me"

"No one's going anywhere, elf," Gimli said gruffly from his position across the camp.

Legolas looked up at him and was glad it was dark. "Never mind, I had a dream."

Gimli only raised one bushy eyebrow before returning his watch to the hobbits.

~*~

Cerise scowled into her supper and heard Nimuriel and Crilurion titter girlishly across the table from her. She glared angrily at them, silencing their giggles, but Nimuriel spoke instead.

"What has angered Lady Ceriselen so?" the blonde elf said mockingly, in a question to her companion. Crilurion smiled insincerely beside her. "Perhaps it's because Legolas left."

Cerise's head shot up. "Why do you care about that?" She felt suddenly superior to these inane, mindless girls, fantasizing about bypassing looks and conversation when she knew there was more so much more. And she had it, something she was almost sure Nimuriel and Crilurion could never hope to have.

Nimuriel's blue eyes narrowed suspiciously. "I'm going to marry him. Why do you care so much?"

Cerise almost snorted her soup through her nose. "You're- you're going to marry him, are you?" she gasped through bouts of laughter.

Nimuriel shared a look with Crilurion. "What is so funny?" she snapped.

"You- you're delusional," Cerise stated as her laughing slowed.

"Am I, now?" Nimuriel said slowly, her lips curling cruelly. "And you have a better chance of marriage to Legolas, I suppose?" She paused, sweeping over Cerise's unbrushed hair and rumpled robe. "You, the foulest excuse for an elf to ever walk the streets of Rivendell?"

Cerise's fists clenched. "Shut up, Nimuriel," she hissed under her breath, acutely aware of Elrond's watching gaze.

"Oh, I don't think so," Nimuriel said loudly, ignoring Cerise's warning. "I think I think that you have an attitude problem that only a stinking orphan would have! You think you're better than everyone else and you deserve more than your station permits. And you think that Legolas would jump at the chance to marry you, a peasant three thousand years his junior. Well, continue dreaming, little Mirkwood outcast, because no one-"

"LADY NIMURIEL!"

Nimuriel's golden head turned carefully to her right. The Lord of Rivendell was standing, and his blazing, accusatory eyes were fixed on her. Though he did not shout, his voice rang clear and lucid through the hall; all conversation stopped. "I believe it is time," he said, "for you to leave."

Nimuriel stared at him in disbelief. "No, Lord Elrond, you- you cannot mean"

"But I do," Elrond said simply. "Gather your possessions, and be ready to depart at dawn."

Nimuriel's mouth worked soundlessly. When she did speak, it was merely shreds of whimpering protest. "No Lord- Lord Elrond no I- I do not please"

"Go," Elrond commanded, reminding Cerise strongly of his daughter. At that moment her stomach convulsed and she bent over, cradling her abdomen.

"Are you all right?" whispered Medeasel from her side.

"I- I'm fine," Cerise managed, but a searing pain, as though she'd just swallowed a hot iron, shot through her innards and she cried out.

Elrond's all-seeing eyes shot from the silently weeping Nimuriel to the curled-up maiden on the floor. Arwen stood as well, and she knew the cause: the contraception potion had reacted negatively on Cerise because she did not want to rid herself of the child. Rushing to the girl's side, she pulled her away from the crowd and into the washroom at the side of the dining hall. Cerise willingly bent over the wash-basin and immediately retched. Arwen turned obediently away as the younger elf coughed and sat back; the pain would be receding now, and Arwen quickly fashioned a cold compress by running water over a cloth and patting Cerise's forehead with it.

Cerise looked up at her tiredly as some color began to return to her cheeks. "I'm sorry," she whispered to Arwen. "I- I don't know what came over me"

"You must give up the child," Arwen told her. "It is not your decision to make, Lady Starflame. You cannot raise a son or daughter on your own, and you would be an outcast in Rivendell were you to bring forth offspring without marriage to its father."

Cerise hiccuped and looked down at her flat, featureless stomach. "So I am with child, then?"

Arwen just looked at her, then brought from her robes a second bottle of liquid, this one writhing and bubbling in red discord. "Smell this," she said, handing the open vial to Cerise. It was viler than the previous one, and after inhaling its foul scent, Cerise turned and retched again. "Do you want to drink that?"

Cerise stared at the bottle in disgust. "No!"

"Then give up the child," Arwen said quietly, her hand outstretched. "For you will have to drink this many times in the months to come; Elven pregnancy is a rare and oftentimes horrible thing, and I would not wish it upon an elf who has lived for three Ages, much less a maiden like yourself. You will suffer madness and psychological disease unlike any other for sixteen months, and then spend several days in actual childbirth." She paused, taking in Cerise's ashen face. "Legolas would never wish for you to experience such pain. Nor would my father, or any of the other elves of Rivendell. Do not choose that path."

Cerise waited, her eyes filling with tears of confusion and indecision, then bent her head and nodded. Arwen stayed for a long moment, pitying the girl who was too young to understand the game being played around her.

~*~

Winter had fallen in Rivendell.

The autumn of the Elves had come and gone, and the time was approaching in which they would pass away to Westernesse, leaving the world of Men to its own devices. The haggard trees, which in Cerise's youth had already been burdened with golden leaves, were stark and bare; the ground was blanketed in cold, harsh snow, and the leaden clouds blocked the sun from view. Lanterns were lit now through the day, and ice frosted the eaves of the city; the ponds that Cerise had splashed in as a little child were freezing over.

The fire in Cerise's room was of little comfort, its licking flames spewing fumes through the small tower and heating it unevenly. Branches tapped against the color-stained glass of the windows, and the wind whistled eerily outside. Cerise herself simply gazed, unseeing, into the fire. The pain and confusion she'd had earlier were gone; she sat alone as the dead of winter overtook the Elven city she had lived out her years in. Nimuriel had vanished in the night, with her sister Crilurion, and no news had come of the Fellowship that Legolas and Aragorn had joined. January it now was, in the reckoning of Gondor; too dark were the skies and too pale the ground for Cerise's liking.

~*~

Across the mountains, surrounded by companions but also alone, Legolas walked silent through the mines of Moria. The crumbling, stone path illuminated faintly by the light of Mithrandir's staff was no comfort; his skilled eyes saw naught but dark, deep oceans of shadow flowing into the furthest reaches of these Dwarven caverns. He heard the distant screeches of Sauron's goblins, yet he did not alert the others, for these orcs were not near, and would not attack them. He could hear in their unalarmed voices that the Nine Walkers had gone unnoticed.

These days, Gimli Gloin's son and Aragorn son of Arathorn often glanced at him when they did not think he was looking, their eyes filled with a sort of searching concern. It was evident to Legolas' companions that their Elven friend was troubled, but both knew that elves do not idly tell their thoughts to others. And so they did not ask this of him, but instead watched him from afar, whispering beneath their breath and shaking their heads.

While the men and dwarves of the company were careful enough to not bother the tormented elf, the strange, childlike Halflings were much more open with their thoughts. Meriadoc and Peregrin had impressed him with their audacity earlier in the journey, but now, as they camped in the city of Dwarrowdelf and Legolas sat whiling away the dark hours in which the others slept, Frodo the Ringbearer approached him carefully.

Legolas was propped up against a nearby column, and a pad of paper Mithrandir had procured for Peregrin rested against his knees. The charcoal pencil scratched efficiently over the parchment, in curving, elongated strokes, and the elf's mouth was twisted in concentration as he considered his work.

"Who is she?" the Ringbearer breathed, cobalt eyes wandering over the Elven girl's long, shining hair and her quietly intelligent eyes, her soft-looking, elegant hands and the high swell of breasts beneath her gown. The only Elf-woman he'd ever seen up close was the Princess Arwen, but even she could not compare to the almost imagined beauty of this girl.

Legolas turned to the dark Halfling, forgoing questions as to why he was awake and instead answering. "Her name is Starflame," he said at last, pencilling in the long folds of her form-fitting robes.

"That's a lovely name," Frodo remarked, settling in beside the elf.

"It is," Legolas said in agreement, a half-smile quirking his lips.

With no mark of abashment, the Halfling whispered, "Is she really that beautiful?"

Legolas smiled fully for the first time in days at the small creature's impressed wonder. "To my eyes, yes."

Frodo seemed to accept this and was content to merely watch him work, adding the symmetrical architecture of Rivendell behind her and a glint of endearing curiosity to her eyes. "Are you going to marry her?"

Legolas did not look up. "Ringbearers need their sleep," he said finally, pocketing the pencil and standing. "And you are no exception."

~*~

"You must eat, Cerise," Medeasel pleaded from the doorway. "I do not know what troubles you, but starving yourself will not help matters."

Cerise's eyes shot from the fire to the maiden in the hall. "What day is it?"

Medeasel was a little taken back by Cerise's sudden response. "Er the seventeenth of February, I think."

Cerise nodded. Medeasel took this as a sign of affirmation and advanced toward her with the wooden tray of fruit and breads, setting it tentatively on the bed beside the other girl.

Suddenly Cerise stood and began searching in the nearby wardrobe, pulling out a long, grey cloak built for travel and a polished, locked case. Clasping the cloak about her shoulders, she hefted the case and grabbed an apple from the tray before pushing past Medeasel and out the door.

"Wait!" Medeasel cried. "Where are you going?"

"To see for myself."

"See what?" Medeasel asked, running after her. "Stop! Come back!"

The door slammed shut.

Cerise was planning to go to the stables, but stopped short on the bridge outside her room as she spotted Legolas' horse. The Fellowship had departed on foot; Naharendil stood proud and bright, tethered to the column beside him, and gazed at her expectantly. She stopped, however, before mounting him, and set her case down on the stone floor. Inside its velvet cushions rested one of the bows of Mirkwood, left to her by her father. Its dark, reddish wood curved and rested heavily in her hand, and the nearly invisible strand of resin stretched between two wooden points sprang readily back when she touched it. Nestled beside the bow was a silken quiver, supplied with arrows of the same wood and trimmed with white-gold feathers. Each arrow ended in a sleek, subtly fatal point.

"The weapon of my people," she said in wonder, strapping the quiver to her back and sliding her hand along the bow before drawing an arrow from its companions and notching it in the center.

Slowly she pulled back, raising the bow to eye level and aiming at the wooden door at the opposite end of the bridge. Cerise wasn't sure what she was doing; she'd never even held a bow and arrow before, much less learned to shoot. She'd probably end up hurting herself. But her hands seemed to know the patterns of archery, and they released the arrow.

It fired from her fingers, racing the wind towards its mark and hitting it perfectly with a resounding thwack.

What?

Cerise examined the quiet craft in her hands, withdrew the arrow from the door, shocked at how deeply it was buried. I did that?

Pleased if very surprised, she strapped the bow also to her back and replaced the arrow in its quiver before swinging her leg over Naharendil's golden back. "Lhûn," she whispered to him, and untied his rope. He galloped obligingly down the stairs at the bridge's end, glad to be free of his imprisonment, and Cerise pressed herself low against him. Her heart was pounding loudly against her ribcage as they set off west of the city. She wondered if Arwen was watching.

~*~

A/N: I sort of surprised myself with the speed with which I wrote this chapter. Inspiration, I guess! I already have the next chapter outlined and stuff, but I still love ideas and suggestions and criticism. Please keep reading, I swear you'll like the next parts!

See you soon!

~*~ goldenberry