Chapter the Eighth:
A moment ago, it seemed that someone had been calling him. Calling him, again and again, urgently. A name, a voice, echoed in his memory. Alfred? That seemed familiar. Was that his name, or someone else's? His head ached as he tried to remember, and the voice grew more distant and indistinct.
He opened his eyes experimentally, squinting at the golden sunlight that pierced the shade of the leaves overhead. He seemed to be in a forest, but somehow it was more pristine, more beautiful than any wood he'd ever visited. He sat up slowly, gazing at his surroundings in wonder. He had been reclining on an exquisitely carved bench that looked as though it might have grown, enchanted, from the rich earth under the trees. Nearby a narrow, scenic path twined away from him through the glade. He turned and realized that he wasn't in the wilds at all, but was within a few paces of an elegant palace that seemed, like the bench, to have been woven of living things. The bench was just off the end of a wide patio that ran the length of the building, decorated with golden vines and silver leaves and altogether ethereal.
He was equally surprised at his own clothing. He was dressed inexplicably in richly-embroidered silks and velvets that, despite the many layers of fabric, were lightweight and cool. He reached up to run a hand through his hair, but his fingers tangled at his temples. He extracted his fingers and prodded curiously at the delicate braids that traced back from his face. He followed them around the side of his head, and his hand paused as his fingers grazed his ear. He blinked.
By the Valanya, it felt as though the top of his ear were pointed…
He blinked again. What was a valanya?
His head was starting to hurt again when he heard voices – real ones, he was reasonably certain, and not imagined – coming toward him. He pressed himself into the corner of the porch and watched as a very short person came into view along the path. Beside him walked an even shorter person. Both were dressed in breeches and tunics, though their garb was not as elaborate as his own. Alfred drew his cloak tight about himself.
"At least Frodo seems to be recovering well," the even shorter person was saying.
The very short person nodded enthusiastically. "That's true. Frodo is grea…" The sentence trailed off as the very short person slowed, peering suspiciously into the corner. "Who is that?" Alfred heard him whisper to the even shorter person beside him.
The even shorter one followed his gaze. "Where? I don't see anyone."
"I thought I saw an Elf there a moment ago."
"Ah, it was probably just a figwit of your imagination, Pippin," offered the even shorter person. "When we get back to the Shire, you'll be seeing Elves under every bush, you mark me." They laughed and continued their walk, passing within arm's reach of the man – elf? Did they call him an elf? – crouched in the corner.
Alfred lowered his cloak tentatively and stepped out onto the path, staring in the direction the two very short persons had gone. Should he follow them, or stay where he was?
"My lord?"
The voice came from behind him. He spun, reaching instinctively for a weapon he didn't have.
"The council is about to meet, and your presence has been requested."
Alfred gaped at the woman before him, dumbstruck. She was beautiful beyond imagining. Her eyes were eternal black pools, her hair a cascade of black perfume plaited with red cord, and she was wrapped in a silken gown that paled beside the perfect cream of her skin…
"My lord? Are you ill?"
Belatedly, he realized he was staring, and he tried for several seconds to speak before his voice began to cooperate. "I… Your pardon, my lady, but I seem to be a bit… lost…"
She returned a quizzical glance, and he wondered if he had spoken inappropriately. But how was he to explain to her that he had no idea who, or where, or what he was?
"Perhaps you should come with me to see Master Elrond," she said slowly, enunciating each word to be certain that he understood. She gestured with her hand and waited for a response, watching him closely.
Alfred shrugged mentally – he had no choice, really – and followed her toward the palatial building. After a few steps, he decided that if he were going to be completely in the dark, he might as well enjoy himself.
"Pardon, my lady, but I seem to have forgotten many things…" There was that odd look from her, again. Perhaps he was using the wrong form of address? "If it please you, might I have the honor of knowing your name?"
"I do not see how the name of a servant may give honor to a lord of the house of Finarphir, but if my lord wishes it…" Flirting, yes, she was definitely flirting with him now. He hoped. "I am Belardess, daughter of Gilrendir, the steward of the house of Elrond. But it may please my lord to call me Bess."
Alfred, gazing at the soft, dark waves of her hair, nearly tripped on his own cloak. Finarphir was new to him, but lord of the house of anything sounded promising. His newly discovered rank, the black-eyed beauty before him… This could be quite interesting.
---
From somewhere far away, a young man with honey-colored hair watched as Alfred's new story began to unfold. There was a glimmer of mischief in his blue eyes. "Nicely done," he whispered into the ear of the young woman beside him. "Thank you, Verdandi."
Verdandi blushed and lowered her eyes. "Any time," she answered, drawing closer to him. "You need only ask, Loki."
Owari
…ka?
[AN: Yes, that was the one and only Figwit. And Alfred finally got his Bess (you all figured out who Alfred really is, right? Good! That means you stayed awake in English class). Now, the question remains... who is He? I'm curious to see if anyone recognizes Him. I'll like to hear your guesses!]