Author's Note:

Just to tell those who haven't noticed that I've changed the title from The Tale Of Fëagurth, even though the title of each chapter (as shown below this somewhat long Author's Note) will always remain, for example this chapter, The Tale Of Fëagurth Part 7: Telling Tales, etc. It is after all my biography, my life in Middle-Earth: the tale of my life and of my darker side.

I've fixed up all the errors and some motifs in the previous chapters due to the fact that my friends and I have decided to change some events in this, both past and future. If you wish please go back and skim through the pages.

Swa a.k.a. Avardelothien, enjoy your love affair with Dee a.k.a "Ninrusco" :) I'll try and make it as sleazy… I mean romantic… as possible. *Cough! Cough!*

Also, there's a part in this chapter where I mention that Dúnedain look only two-thirds their actual age. I know it's meant to be about a half, but consider this an AU. Some of the dates that occur are already fixed in Tolkien's books and are unchangeable, but if I follow some of those dates I will either be too young for any of the events or would have to be born when my parents are about the age of three, which is… well… impossible :P so, following the dates that Tolkien already kindly provided, I hope you don't mind that all the Dúnedain in this story would look in the range of half to two-thirds their actual age, inclusive.

To other readers, which I doubt there's any at all *cries* there is a section in this chapter in which I mention something about all Dúnedain Humans knowing at least one language of Elvish. I forgot which book I got this from, Silmarillion or LotR, but I'm telling you now I didn't make this up. To hard-core Tolkien fans who already know this and are offended that I made you sound dumb, I'm terribly sorry but there may be a few people out there like my dear friend Finlos who doesn't take notice of the smaller, more acute aspects of the books.

Sorry, didn't mean that in the offensive way :)

Fëaruin Urulókë

The Tale of Fëagurth

Part 7: Telling Tales

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"So," Fëaruin stated as she and Avardelothien began to walk away from the other three, "what do you know of what happened that led to the betrothal between you and my brother?"

Avardelothien smiled. "Are you truly heir to the throne, Fëaruin?"

"Of course not," Fëaruin shook her head firmly. "The heir to the throne of Gondor is my father. My grandfather Eärnil is King, and only when he passes away and my father becomes King will I become heir to the throne."

"Ah yes, that's right," Avardelothien blushed, for she had known that before and merely forgotten it. "What is it like, being a female heir?"

Fëaruin grinned, looking very young, for indeed as a (presently fifteen-year-old) child of Dúnedain blood she looked approximately two-thirds her age and always will until the day of her death. "I know not, for not yet am I heir. But you are right. It is rare for a female to become heir, but unless my father has a son of his blood when he is King, I will be in line to receive the crown." (A/N: see Author's note at beginning of chapter)

"You mean Ninrusco is not… ah, I understand," Avardelothien remembered how tidings of Ninrusco always referred to him as stepson of Eärnur, and she smiled. "Forgive me, the excitement of arrival of personal guests for me has made me forgetful today."

"It is quite alright," Fëaruin patted the Elven Princess' shoulder sympathetically.

"So who is Ninrusco's blood father?" Avardelothien questioned. And as she spoke she felt the taste of him, his essence, that she had experienced during the kiss. She shuddered and forced herself not to retch, though it was admittedly somewhat sweet and enjoyable.

"I know not his name," she replied. "Ellasil my mother has several times told me, but very seldom do I remember."

"Oh, I see. What is your mother like?"

"She is beautiful, with orange-red hair like Ninrusco's- as you know mine is a very dark brownish-red by inheritance of brown from my father. And she knows perfect Elvish, as do my father and Ninrusco, whilst I am not extremely fluent yet."

"Your family knows Elvish?" Avardelothien was shocked. "How?"

"All Dúnedain know at least one Elven language, Avardelothien, from the close bonds that Men and Elves used to have long ago. And it is always passed down from generation to generation, so that sons and daughters would speak with our close friends also." (A/N: see Author's note at beginning of chapter)

"Amazing. I have learnt something new today," Avardelothien smiled. "Anyway, about your first question, Father and your father thought that it would fasten the bonds between Gondor and Mirkwood, as well as Men and Elves, if Ninrusco and I were to wed. According to our fathers the marriage between your brother and I was a perfect idea- since my brother is heir, and you will someday be heir, it ruled out your brother and I as mere Prince and Princess."

Fëaruin nodded understandingly, giving the future- or non-existent- relationship between Avardelothien and Ninrusco blessing, to which Avardelothien laughed and gave her thanks. As they walked to no particular place the midday sun shone rays of light through the tall trees, highlighting most of Fëaruin's brown-red mane into the legendary ruby-red which many have heard of but few have seen. Avardelothien saw this and smiled, taking time in the opportunity to bask in the warm red light.

"By the way, about your brother Legolas," Fëaruin suddenly said as she remembered his first expression, "he always looks so… I mean, he is very…"

"…Strange? Dispirited? Downhearted and despondent, never smiling, always having an expression as though he is about to weep?"

Fëaruin nodded. Avardelothien laughed fakely and nodded as well.

"Believe me, Fëaruin, many have said that in these last few years, even Father. Everyone can see his sorrow, for recently he has lost the maiden he loved more than anyone else in Middle-Earth."

"Really?"

Avardelothien bowed her head, a solemn look on her face. "Let me tell you about a Lady named Finlos."

* * * * *

"YOU KILLED HER?!" Ninrusco and Menellómë gaped in disbelief. Legolas sighed at their reaction, resisting the temptation to scowl, for he wished that they hadn't uttered the words so loudly.

"I told you, it was an accident. I didn't realize the werewolf was Finlos…" he shook his head sadly. "Now because of my folly gone is my lover who brought to me everyday a light greater than the stars. I only hope now that she is presently at peace over the sea."

"I pray your grief lessen soon, Legolas," Ninrusco comforted. "I like you less when I see you so sad."

"Then who is this Alatamoth, who you claim to love greater than anyone but for Finlos?" Menellómë asked. Legolas flinched and ignored the question.

"So, Ninrusco…" he stated, "Whatever made you and Avardelothien scream before I came?"

Ninrusco raised an eyebrow, for he felt that Legolas was hiding something. All of a sudden a different thought came to mind as for the slightest moment he felt the kiss, and the sweet taste of the Elven maiden's breath… he shuddered and shook his head, reminding himself how bitterly he loathed arranged marriages because of the way it led to loveless bindings, and in thought he forced himself to detest Avardelothien. Although it didn't seem wrong to reminisce the taste of the kiss…

"Stop," Ninrusco's eye twitched. "Let's not go into that, please. For the sake of keeping my food down."

Legolas laughed and patted the Dúnadan's back sympathetically, feeling light-hearted already. "My brother-to-be, whatever happened, now I believe it may not be wise for me to know. I will disturb you of it no longer."

"Thank you," Ninrusco grinned.

There was a brief silence, which Legolas quickly broke. "Ninrusco, can I ask you something that has been plaguing me for a little while now?"

Ninrusco looked puzzled. "Yes, of course."

"…Does your sister always wear leggings?"

* * * * *

Silence was dominant as the family of Thranduil and the company of Gondor sat on the wooden feast table that lay in the shelter of the King's home. Poor Thranduil sat quietly at the head of the table, hoping that someone would happily volunteer beginning a conversation, though everyone was hoping the same- for someone else to commence speaking. Fëaruin and Menellómë sat facing each other- perpendicular to and on either side of the King, forming three sides of the shape of a square. Avardelothien took her place next to her new friend Fëaruin, which gave her a good glaring angle at Ninrusco, who sat across her next to Menellómë. Legolas sat at the end of the table with Avardelothien and Ninrusco on either side, looking quite amused at the glances everyone was exchanging.

Eventually Ninrusco grew weary of sitting across someone who kept glaring at him as he ate. However, the others did not seem to notice save Legolas, for Menellómë and Fëaruin were musing over the tale of Legolas' lover Finlos that Avardelothien and Legolas himself had told them, and Thranduil was almost too busy picking at his food in the impatient wait for a conversation to begin. In the end it was Ninrusco who reacted, unable to sit through it any longer.

"Are you trying to prove something?!" he gritted his teeth in agitation, breaking the silence and making Avardelothien narrow her eyes with even more scorn. "I hold nothing against you and I do not remember doing anything that was so bad that I actually deserve the poisonous stare of a stubborn Elven maiden whose eyes are far less safe than the burning fire of Orodruin!"

Avardelothien started at the insult. "Neither do I, sir, until you coughed and spluttered after meeting me and acknowledging my name. I had done nothing to you, and nothing did I hold against you… wait a moment, I hadn't even met you before! Suddenly a random Dúnadan walks up to me and loses his stomach in my presence! Unless you are not normal, you would perceive that I and everyone else in Middle-Earth would call that strange!"

"You are strange, to consider yourself everyone in Middle-Earth," Ninrusco retorted. "Why, anyone who met you would not last five mere seconds beneath your venomous glare. Very well then, Lady. If you hate my insults let me compliment you on being the only maiden in Middle-Earth who has a nature uniquely stubborn enough to be more frightening than the Witch-King!"

"At least I am that frightening," answered Avardelothien angrily. "Whoever runs away beneath the valiant power of oh-so-mighty Slender Fox of Gondor may not even exist in your dreams!"

Ninrusco feigned a smile, though it quivered due to the fact that his heart was furious with insult deep within. "Why would I need to dream of someone who cannot match up my power? A few already can't, although I realize that many others still can. Many have heard of my skills at youth, whilst I've never even heard of you until my stepfather arranged for me to marry you!"

"Maybe you've heard nothing of me because my father had kept me from all eyes and ears of the public. Mayhaps I possess some great beauty that was too secret to reveal?"

"Or mayhaps NOT!"

Avardelothien almost choked with insult when she finally understood what he implied; that she had been hidden due to horrendous looks, which she herself knew was not so because she was in truth and admittedly very beautiful. She stood angrily and beckoned for him to take the fight outside as she stormed out, Fëaruin rising as well, following worriedly and frantically rambling at the headstrong she-Elf to cease the madness. Ninrusco followed right behind Fëaruin, clenching his fist and gritting his teeth again. Thranduil sighed, although he had expected worse from the way his daughter reacted to the arranged marriage in the first place.

"Legolas, why don't you go after them," he uttered.

Legolas nodded and followed last, genuinely worried about his new friend. He and Ninrusco had indeed grown quite close for brothers-to-be who had just met that very day, and he was more concerned that Ninrusco would end up half-dead on the ground because of Avardelothien rather than of the image of him slaying the Elf maiden in the merry war.

Running outside beneath the trees he came at last to Avardelothien raising a powerful fist, Ninrusco sarcastically looking afraid, and Fëaruin standing in between to try and stop the argument. Somehow as Legolas gazed at the three he felt that something was the way it was not meant to be; and after pondering long enough to give Avardelothien time to bruise Ninrusco's nose (although she didn't) he let out a gasp of shock, causing three heads to whirl around to him, startled half to death.

"U… Urulókë!" he shrieked.

"What's wrong?!" the three of them cried, seeing his horrified expression.

"…Is wearing a gown…" he uttered, and fell to the ground.

=MEANWHILE=

Thranduil and Menellómë looked at each other as they continued to eat, being very curious. After some time Thranduil began to realize something that seemed very strange. The foster child of Eärnur looked similar- if not identical- to Legolas, save the color of her eyes and her hair. However, he ignored it in the belief that it was possible for any Hobbit child, including Menellómë, to possess a likeness to his son.

"You know, the only way for those two to ever wed in peace is to play match-maker in order for them to like each other," Thranduil suddenly jested to the Hobbit-child. "It seems that going any other way, they would both end up mortally hurt."

"Indeed," Menellómë smiled sweetly at the King who she knew was trying to provide some light relief, before realizing exactly what he'd said.

"Hmm… match-maker…"

To be continued…