Authors' Note: Here is my eighth chapter. I can't thank you all enough for the reviews. They have truly helped me to better my writing and this story. Thanks! I really hope you enjoy this chapter!

Disclaimer: I do not own Tolkien's work.

Chapter 8 Love Poetry and Questions

            Lindir smiled kindly down at his pupil. The young elf looked quite troubled as his teacher reviewed his work. He was rubbing his hands together and tapping his feet on the floor in a very nervous manner. After a few minutes of thorough inspection the instructor's smile widened even more.

            "Very good Figwit, you have managed to find a suitable rhyme for cat this time," he laid the paper down and pointed to his student's wonderful use of the word. "You are getting much better at poetry." The advisor relaxed when he heard the librarian's approval and stopped his many anxious body movements. "Now, let's try to base a poem upon this maiden of yours. Can you think of any rhyme's that might suit her?" Lindir let the other take his time, for he was still quite shaken up by his near death experience with Haldir. Figwit had come running up to him, his broken bow in his trembling hands.

            "Lindir look look!" he had cried, sheer terror filling his brown eyes. "What am I to do?" The librarian had tried his best to calm down the young councilor, even though it was in vain. But finally, the frightened elf calmed down enough to hold a quill in his now steady hand. They had been working on the arts of poetry for the past few hours and he had to admit, that Figwit wasn't that bad at it. Even his early poems dedicated to the Lorien maiden were almost enjoyable. Now, if he could just improve his grammar and vocabulary some, he might turn out to be a halfway decent writer.

            "Here, Lindir," the advisor held up the parchment for him to inspect. With a well trained eye, he swept quickly over it.

            "Hmm," he rubbed his chin, imitating a well read scholar. "It is very good, my dear boy. But you just need to edit it slightly."

            "How so?" the elf's eyes were wide and full of innocence.

            "Well, I think you should remove all these foul curses that obviously point to the March Warden. I don't think that will impress Minyoiel very much."

            "Oh, but it doesn't say that they are necessarily directed to him," Figwit's mouth formed a soft scowl.

            "Yes, but it still is not proper to include the words "filthy" and  "orc" so many times in a love poem."

            Word had reached the ears of Rumil and Orophin, that their dear brother was about to be married. And to be quite honest, they weren't sure how they felt about this. Minyoiel was a nice enough maiden, but they didn't like the idea of their sister-in-law being their commander. It was bad enough that Haldir was the March Warden, but now her! Oh, how their palms had begun to sweat. They did love their eldest sibling and his intended, but like Ada had always told them, "Mixing pleasure with business is one way to ensure an orc's arrow in your forehead." But maybe Minyoiel would get pregnant and retire early to care for the elfling. Yet this also had its troubles, a niece or nephew would be a wonderful gift from Eru, but a spoiled brat wouldn't be. And so it was, that Rumil and Orophin began to count down the last days of their lives as the wedding approached. The event itself would be a small affair, with neither Haldir nor Minyoiel wanting much of a fuss. News arrived from Lorien that Galadriel and Celeborn would be coming to the end of the summer festival as was tradition. They would also attend the union of their two most senior wardens. Oh, it was truly a match made in Mandos! This was one of the many memorable events that always defined Imladris' celebrations.

            Lord Elrond was in his usual seclusion in his legendary study. A troubling thought crossed upon his already heavily laden mind and showed in the frown that creased the corner's of his mouth. It was quiet, too quiet. There were no indignant screams of the twin's practical joke victims to be heard. Erestor and Glorfindel had not once burst into his study asking for advice or giving it. Arwen was no longer floating around, her face pale and dreary. And Figwit, his youngest councilor, he had not seen in several days. The Lord of Imladris was very uncomfortable with this. The last time silence had presided over his residence, the outcome had not been pleasant. Finally, Elrond could take it no longer. This peace and quiet was disturbing his work! He summoned Glorfindel and Erestor to his study. He needed answers and now. For some strange reason he had a feeling that it had something to do with the presence of the Lorien maiden and Figwit's obvious infatuation with her. His two advisors and close friends stood with their eyes downcast. It reminded the lord of the time when Erestor had accidentally set the kitchen ablaze and Glorfindel had helped cover for him. But there was no scent of smoke in the air and no screaming servants could be heard. Elrond looked them over carefully.

            "Is there something that I should now about? Something that needs to be brought to my attention as the Lord of Imladris?" he kept his voice indifferent

and calm.

            "No hir nin," the both replied in unison, their eyes glued to the plush carpet beneath their feet.

            "Are you sure? Nothing regarding Figwit and the Lorien maiden?" It was at this question that Erestor and Glorfindel's answers differed greatly. The flaxen haired lord played dumb, stating that he did not even know of the Lorien maiden while the raven haired councilor just shook his head slowly. "Well, if there is I should like to know. The commander Minyoiel is engaged to the March Warden and they are set to be married by the end of the summer."  When he had finished this statement the two elves' heads snapped up.

            "By the end of the summer!?" Glorfindel looked horrified. "That doesn't give us much time." Erestor stamped on his foot hard and threw him an infuriated glare.

            "Time?" Elrond smiled in curiosity. "Why would you need time?"

            "Oh, no reason," Erestor said with his hand firmly clamped on Glorfindel's mouth.

Hir Nin: My lord