Chapter thirteen: The Zephyr of Home

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"Beren!!!"
Niphrediel jumped from Draconic's back, the weight of her gown and cloak suddenly insignificant to her tired shoulders as she tumbled onto her knees; armed outstretched to embrace the creature sprinting to her. Beren's coat gleamed in the sun as he made a direct line to Niphrediel's position, and as she came close enough to take him in her arms, he perked up on his hind legs; as to let his front paws come to settle on top of each of her two shoulders.

The weight of him knocked her back, but it was a pleasing thing. Laughter emitted from Niphrediel's mouth; as did from those of the ellith and edhil on their assorted steads behind her, and Maerhelm sitting happily on his saddle, holding the reins of Niphrediel's horse that he had diligently grabbed after Niphrediel's departure from her mount.

Niphrediel could positively taste Beren's joy— and could also sense his anger. "Oh, boy," she said against his soft pelt. "I am sorry for leaving you. I had no choice in the matter, I swear!"

"Niphrediel Herontil."

Sobering quickly, Niphrediel looked up to met the gaze of the Lord and Lady of Caras Galadhon. Patting Beren's neck and settling him on the hearth, Niphrediel casually stood back up, her hand stroking Beren's head by her hip all the while.

"It is just Niphrediel today, my lady," Niphrediel said to Galadriel.

Smiling, Galadriel nodded once and reached out with her pale, slender hand to brush away a stray tendril of Niphrediel's hair. "And it be just Niphrediel tomorrow, no?"

"Aye."

Glancing to Arwen watching from her horse, Galadriel sent her granddaughter a knowing smile, and a quick wink. "What happened to you in Rohan, Niphrediel?" she pondered, looking back to Niphrediel.

Moving her footing, Niphrediel gave the lady a curious look. "You knew about that?"

"Of course I did," Galadriel replied.

Niphrediel nodded, before giving a small shrug. "Many things."

"Well…" Galadriel gestured to her prepared and waiting entourage behind her. "We have a long while to talk about it."

Niphrediel and scratched Beren's neck, sending the lady her innocently joyous smile, "We do, indeed!"

And so, the united companies of Imladhrim and Galadhrim— and Niphrediel and Maerhelm— left the borders of Lothlorien. It was a long, lingering journey, but very pleasurable still. Arwen spoke secretly to Galadriel of her plan to keep Niphrediel's true identity hidden, and Niphrediel reacquainted herself with rolling about on the floor with Beren. At first, Niphrediel could see Galadriel's scepticism, but the queenly elf abiding to Arwen's request— she would pretend to be Niphrediel's great-grandmother, and in tune, Celeborn agreed to be a great-grandfather.

So it came that, eventually, Niphrediel began to tell Arwen and Galadriel of all she had seen out in Rohan. There was plenty of time— so Niphrediel never had to rush, and nor was she encouraged to do so. She told them of her parting with the rogue elf that stole her from Caras Galadhon, and of the disposition Saruman had brought upon those in power of Edoras. And, after a great reluctance, Niphrediel also told them of her Théodred.

Arwen was not stunned beyond recall, though she was surprised that Niphrediel had been given favour and had, afterwards, returned favour to someone— much less the late Prince of Rohan. Arwen was thoughtful about the topic— perhaps she is not as much of a child as we assume, she thought.

Galadriel listened with the same calm expression, and an intent smile; making sure she heard everything Niphrediel said, as if it were so very important to her. Niphrediel liked that. Words flew from Niphrediel's tongue like rays of sunlight through a pain of glass. She held nothing back, and felt better for it.

Glorfindel and Ivanneth were always present, yet remained somewhat out of the conversions between Niphrediel and the two ellith, endowed with open ears but spared with lapping tongues. Not that they disliked having to converse with each other, but rather they saw more importance in Niphrediel becoming on better and more familiar terms with Galadriel, and thought it best that she spend as much time as she could with both the her faux-mother and grandmother before the arrival at Minas Tirith. Both elves were old enough to know that it was important, wether Niphrediel thought so or not— and were happy to keep to themselves mostly with Maerhelm nearby, talking to anything that moved.

Niphrediel came to learn the Celeborn was acquired with a sense of humour as well as an astounding amount of knowledge concerning anything from a butterfly to a mountain. Niphrediel loved him instantly! Though she knew it took a little bit longer for him to feel the same, she slowly felt him churning over time. She respected that his outlook on mortals was something she had not encountered for a while. Mortals lives were short, and so Celeborn did not pride himself in involving himself to such an extent with one. For that reason, Niphrediel felt guilty for pursuing the kind of relationship she wished for in a great-grandparent with him.

But her need for companionship was far greater— Niphrediel realised it to be her bite of selfishness, as strange as it might have seemed.

Niphrediel imagined it must have looked like a great parade to those watching upon the higher tiers of the White City as the company came to stand before the great gate. But, Niphrediel knew that whatever mystical any Gondorian inside the city must have seen that day could not compare to what her eyes looked upon.

Though Niphrediel had read transcripts about the city, and had seen small sketches and paintings of it in scrolls, she did not picture it to be so grand. As she had been told, the city was built before Mount Mindolluin, looking as if it had been built atop of a hill. Honestly, Niphrediel could not tell if the great thing was a mountain or a hill— it was so high! Niphrediel was a slack judge at landscapes.

Everything looked so gigantic, as if the walls were built by giants. Like a tower in itself, the embrasure loomed over the fields, standing so far behind the great gate yet appearing so close. And, almost too high for Niphrediel's eyes to reach, the Tower of Ecthelion stood like a silver arrow to the sun. The rooves of houses and large, beautiful buildings peaked over the walls of each tier, and large, bright banners swayed in the wind whilst being connected to those very same walls; like large rows of terraces and railings.

The great gate, completely built anew, had already been opened. Niphrediel guessed that meant that the company was expected, but she could not have known for sure. For all she knew, perhaps the gate was always open.

There were, however, guards flanking the door. Niphrediel stared at them for a moment, her 'kinsmen', with their foreign faces and their unfamiliar armour and garb— subtle features that should not have seemed so alien to her.

Niphrediel's eyes ran over their helms; beautifully crafted, with wings like from the back on an eagle protruding from the sides, and their faces underneath. She looked at their garb; so different yet so the same, and her own hands fell gingerly upon the hips of her gown, rubbing the fabric between her fingers, almost in distaste. Lastly, Niphrediel looked over their armour and their weapons. They did not look light and slender like the weapons Niphrediel had been raised to use. They looked heavy, sturdy— weapons that no warrior could master in a day. Briefly remembering Boromir, who had really been the only one who Niphrediel could have took as an example of Gondorian fashion, Niphrediel felt a lump form in her chest and began to hear her heart beat with fears that she had attempted to keep at the back of her head since the journey into Gondor began.

Niphrediel looked to her left, seeing Arwen upon her stead, immaculate as always, and seeming completely relaxed at being a stranger walking into an unknown place— an unknown world within a world.

Not even having to glance Niphrediel's way, Arwen shifted her grip on her black reins. "What is wrong?"

Shunning herself quietly, Niphrediel was quick to look away from Arwen, her eyes once again rising to look upon the neck of the embrasure. "I am afraid."

"Of what?" Arwen's voice was quiet, even though it did not have to be. The flanks of both her and Niphrediel's horses were practically touching; there was no strain on Niphrediel's ears to hear what Arwen had to say.

Niphrediel tightened her grasp on her reins and shifted on Draconic's saddle. "He is a king now," she said, her voice almost hoarse as it struggled to be both quiet and clear. "What if"—

"I know what you are going to say."

Glancing at Arwen, Niphrediel noted her calm expression. Niphrediel could tell already that Arwen thought her worries were nothing but the workings of a paranoid and nervous (not to mention illogical) mind. That was what had Niphrediel possessed, too, at that moment. Yet, in her head, what troubles and ideas popped up were all supported with reasonable justifications.

"And?" piped Niphrediel.

Arwen took a deep breath, preparing to indicate for everyone to enter. "You should not even consider worrying about any of those things."

"So much has changed," Niphrediel thought aloud.

"But the things that he holds dear has not, Niphrediel," Arwen countered smoothly, trying not to sound too insistent in her arguments.

Niphrediel frowned and squinted, trying to look at the very top of the embrasure. She was almost certain there were people standing there, but they looked no larger then ants from where she was mounted upon Draconic. "Do I look horrible?" Niphrediel tried to sound as nonchalant as possible, pretending that she really did not care what Arwen's answer would be.

With something of a sigh, Arwen turned and regarded Niphrediel. Her eyes trailed over her hair and garb, and lastly her face. Then, without saying a word, she reached out with a beautiful, pale hand and subtly adjusted the silver circlet upon Niphrediel's brow; perhaps 'plain' in comparison to the Evenstar's, yet still one of the most beautiful yet simple things she had ever worn, and brushed back a lingering tendril of hair, letting it sit back with the large grouping that sat upon her breast. That was Arwen Undómiel's answer.

Following Celeborn's two finest Knights that entered just before Galadriel, Arwen took her reins and began to follow her grandmother inside. Niphrediel, however, was more reluctant. Instead, she waited for Maerhelm, and only began moving when he came to be beside her.

Niphrediel look a deep breath, and heard foreign trumpets play in the distance, and the cheering of crowds. Draconic moved inside the gates of the city without Niphrediel's control, keeping pace with Maerhelm's horse.

Would Maerhelm leave her company soon? Her beloved friend, who she had come to acquire a bickering sibling-like relation with, would return to his home and never return?

"Nervous?" asked Maerhelm, a big smile on his face and a glitter in his eye that spoke of genuine pride and joy. He was excited for Niphrediel— he was proud of her!

Niphrediel reached forward and took up his hand with a tight grip. She nodded and swallowed hard to rid herself of the lump at the back of her throat. The noise of the crowds was becoming louder. They were closing in.

Maerhelm chuckled loudly. "Oh, do not be! You will be the greatest princess Gondor has ever seen!" He lowered his brow and brought Niphrediel's hand upon it; gently letting her knuckles touch his silky hairline.

Niphrediel frowned as she watched him bring her hand onto his head in such a gesture of loyalty, as if she were something greater then he. Niphrediel shook her head and brought her hand to her stomach when Maerhelm released it. "You sure?"

Maerhelm looked her in the eye and nodded, "Positive. I calculate that if we somehow find a way to fit your fat self through the gateway and convince the people your size is due to an allergic reaction to a bee sting then you will, undoubtedly, fit the profile of a perfect royal daughter."

Niphrediel rolled her eyes, but could not help but laugh. Maerhelm's humour brought a light to any situation. She loved him so dearly for it. "You are terrible," she muttered under her breath.

Maerhelm took her words as a sort of victory, his face adopting a bright and proud beam. "Whatever you say, my little Porky Princess."

They entered then, at a faster gait. And, almost like a wave of sound, the voices of Minas Tirith's thousands alighted even louder in cheer when Niphrediel upon Draconic walked through the great gate.

Niphrediel looked for the first time upon the faces of her kin. She looked at their black hair— so like hers, and their bright eyes hued primarily in greys and misty blues. Like she had always been told; they were a tall and a fair folk. She sighed and smiled. She was home.

Up and through the gates that lead up into the higher tiers, rode the company with Celeborn's knights and Galadriel leading the way. Crowd upon crowd had gathered; Niphrediel felt almost embarrassed. She hoped they would not be too…disappointed.

Slowly, the cheering and yelling began to dim as the company passed the Houses of Healing; the road to the White Tower becoming shorter with each passing moment. Finally Niphrediel could see the knights moving to a halt upon their horses, before the tunnel way of the citadel, and Maerhelm gently urged for both he and Niphrediel to move forward; to stand beside Arwen.

There, Niphrediel could see the faces of heroes; some familiar, most unknown. Though, she barely had chance to regard most of them, for her eyes were immediately drawn elsewhere— to the centre of the pack where there stood a man more grand and more beautiful a-sight then any other Niphrediel could imagine.

He was tall, dressed in magnificent in a garb that was of a style foreign to Niphrediel's eyes. His hair, a slightly wilted ebony was well groomed and combed back, so that the crown that sat upon it looked all the more perfected by that grand man— that King, of whom wore it. But, above all, it was his face that Niphrediel looked to, and it was his face the conveyed his true self to her; no Gondorian garb or hairbrush could alter his face, and it was so lovely. His features expressed no smile, no hint of joy, but his eyes glittered with tears as he looked upon her, and Niphrediel's own began to surface in return. Remembering there were others present, however, Niphrediel tried her best to keep herself poised; it was a formal return.

It was her Aragorn. Her Aragorn, now a King— and a powerful one at that. To Niphrediel he looked like a great painting of old, a character in an old tale set in ancient Numenor. Almost elvish, she thought.

Aragorn… Niphrediel's dry lips mouthed the words as a tear sprung from her eye in joy. She turned to Arwen, and smiled at her. The elleth smiled back, her smile no larger yet so much more beautiful. Niphrediel wished she had her smile. With an inclination of her head, Arwen motioned for Niphrediel to meet with Aragorn first. It took a moment for Niphrediel to properly realise that; and had she not spent practically every waken moment with her since she reached Rivendell, she might have been shocked.

Suddenly one to tarry, Niphrediel held her bottom lip nervously as she slowly demounted from Draconic's back, but when both of her slippered feet happened upon the ground; she lost all motion of patience. Niphrediel ran then from Draconic, her grey cape fluttering heavily in the wind behind her, and flung herself helplessly into Aragorn's waiting arms.

It seemed she was not the only one that was eager for their embrace, for as soon as they collided, Aragorn began raining kisses on her forehead as he held her tightly, as if meaning to never let go… or, perchance, to use her as a human shield.

Niphrediel let out a joyous laugh. She could tell he had missed her more then she had missed him. Niphrediel had Imladris and it's inhabitants— oh, and Maerhelm. Aragorn had Legolas and Gimli. Save Maerhelm, Niphrediel had the upper hand when it came to whose company would have been more of a comfort and a thing to keep their mind off darker things.

Remembering Arwen, and the 'secret plan', Niphrediel brought her head up from Aragorn's shoulder. "Aragorn?" she asked quietly, her eyelids closed as to keep her eyes safe from Aragorn's continuous kisses.

His pecks came to a stop, then, and Aragorn released her from his hold. His eyes scanned over Niphrediel's face as if he had forgotten what she had looked like from their time apart. He smiled, and brought his left hand up to cup it. Those that looked on must have done so with swelling hearts; behold a man and his beloved daughter!

"You needn't say a word," Aragorn countered in a hushed whisper, the meaning in his intense stare telling Niphrediel that he knew far more then she thought he had. "I know." And then he smiled; and it was such a glorious and familiar sight that Niphrediel physically felt her heart weep.

"Look, one and all!" he said loudly, taking Niphrediel's hand and rising it. "Lo! and behold… my daughter!"

Behold… my daughter! Niphrediel could nearly see birds swirling over her head as his words repeated in her mind, over and over like an echo that became louder with every turn. Especially with the last two words. My daughter! My daughter! My daughter!

Niphrediel closed her eyelids in pure ecstasy, and a tear fell from the corner. She leaned forward with her eyes closed in momentary ecstasy, and Aragorn held her against his heart again, with his lips upon her head.


"Niphrediel, Princess of Gondor and Arnor.

"Princess Niphrediel of Gondor and Arnor.

"Princess…Niphrediel."

Niphrediel paused and sighed. The wedding celebrations were about to begin within the citadel, and the day was still golden. Niphrediel had changed, and had often checked the mirror to remind herself what she looked like in Gondorian garb—she had never worn such garments before, the garments worn by any of her fellow Gondorian maids.

Among them, Niphrediel felt herself become invisible. There was nothing remarkable about her that they did not have themselves. Her dark hair was a trait that was duplicated in each one of them (unless they were the subject of mixed-heritage), her height was somewhat over average but nothing extraordinary, and her features, though perhaps of smoother stock or shape, were of the same type. Yet somehow the feeling was both horrible and soothing; Niphrediel was with her people, she was one of them, she belonged; she was home!

Her hand came up to feel the silver hairnet that had been placed upon her head to keep the most of her hair up, and then the locks that were free from it, which curled upon her shoulders or simply fell down her back. The hairnet was connected to a circlet that came around her forehead; Niphrediel loved it— it made her feel…. like a princess.

"Niphrediel?"

Niphrediel visibly jumped, and took her hand down from her hair as if it would be embarrassing for someone to have seen her preening herself. She turned around, the skirt of her gown swishing. All the luxury was something Niphrediel could not get accustomed to. Niphrediel liked to think she was more adapted to what could be described as a… quiet life.

Niphrediel's eyes widened as they focused upon the person before her, and she stepped away from the end of the embrasure. "Legolas?"

Legolas stood before her with a smile. His hair was lovely, styled how Niphrediel had always known it to be, and his garb was a tunic of blue silk and leggings of dark grey with boots of navy upon his feet. He looked happy, even shy!

He inclined his brow to her, taking his hands behind his back. "Niphrediel?" he called, with a knowing smile, his eyes twinkling in mirth. "Well, nice to see you speak!"

"Oh…" Niphrediel's eyes misted over subtly with tears of joy as she felt her heart swell. She ran to the elf, enveloping him into a long hug. She held him tightly, what relief she had kept contained from her meeting with Aragorn spilling out on Legolas as a tear fell from her eye.

Legolas was somewhat taken back, and it took a moment or so for him to return the embrace. As always, he treated her lightly, as if she were so easily breakable— too delicate for elvish hands. "Niphrediel?" came Legolas' voice, mingled with gentleness and slight worry. "Are you all right? Did I say something wrong?"

Releasing him slowly, Niphrediel shook her head. "No, no— I am fine. I am just…. so happy to see you!"

"You are?" Legolas seemed surprised, his brown brows high in wonderment.

Niphrediel's stare upon the elf lost much of its cheer then, and her smile ceased to grow. "Well… of course," she said. "Aragorn, Gimli, you… Of course I would be happy to see you."

Legolas shook his head. "Of course," he said, then, with an uneasy laugh. "Why are you not inside, preparing for the wedding with the others?"

"I needed to take a little time to think for a moment," Niphrediel replied with a shrug of her shoulders. "Think about everything that has happened, you know? So much has changed."

Legolas nodded once, a grin drawing out the corners of his mouth. "Aye," he said, "You are a princess now."

Turning her head away, Niphrediel's cheeks momentarily flushed. "Stop," she said bashfully.

"I mean no harm by it. By all means, it is no curse being a royal," Legolas winked wryly, his grin shifting more into a dry smirk as he held out his hand to her; a silent offering to accompany Niphrediel to the citadel.

Rolling her eyes, Niphrediel laughed quietly, taking Legolas's hand and beginning to walk beside him towards the citadel at a sluggish pace. "We will see about that," she said. "It will be a while til I get used to any of this."

"Any of what?"

Niphrediel simply waved to the circlet upon her brow. Legolas understood immediately. "Oh," he let out, with a nod. "Well, if it helps, it looks rather fitting on you"—

"Hush," Niphrediel cautioned quickly.

With a quirked eyebrow, Legolas shot Niphrediel a curious glance. "Hush?" he echoed.

Niphrediel simply nodded. "I have not yet mastered the ability to take a compliment. If anything you say resembles one, my cheeks will become as red as a tomato. Especially now— I am extremely uneasy."

"It would be rather entertaining," Legolas said dryly, with a sly grin.

Catching the elf's look, Niphrediel took a moment to send him a forewarning gaze. "No, it would not," she countered, her voice firm.

"Oh, come now!" Legolas suddenly exclaimed, pulling Niphrediel into a quick hug, "I jest, I jest. You have been without my humour far too long."

Unresponsive for a moment, Niphrediel took a moment before sighing and allowing herself to adopt a wide smile. "Aye, I have," she said. "That will have to change over the next few days, then!"

Niphrediel paused as she heard the sound of horns being played from the citadel. Her eyes widened as she then remembered that there was a wedding that was to take place at any moment. "Oh dear," she whispered, "We will miss it!"

"Not if we rush," Legolas grinned, before giving Niphrediel just enough time to hike her long skirt up a fraction, and setting off again in a run; his hand connecting him to her, as it was in Moria. Except, unlike the account in Moria, they were both laughing all the way til they were safely inside.

So it was that upon the day of Midsummer that Aragorn married Arwen, the wedding declaring that the Evenstar had officially made the same choice as Lúthien, accepting her fate to be parted from the fate of the Elves and her family.

The ceremony was beautiful— but more so was the celebration afterwards. Niphrediel sat beside Arwen for that moment, upon a chair less ornate then Arwen's, but just a little grander then the seat of Maerhelm (who sat to her left) and whoever else was present.

They all sat upon a great table at the front, and some nobles took it upon themselves to declare their loyalty and hope, personally, to Aragorn. They would bow, and smile— some even took it upon themselves to compliment the beauty of the bride, and one or two even tried to flatter Niphrediel; declaring she looked as lovely as her mother (which resulted in an exchange of grins by the two females, of course).

The food was tainted with alien herbs, which were wonderful all the same; certain tastes somehow so familiar to Nieninquë's hungry stomach despite she was certain that she had never come across them before. She ate all that was on her plate, and then a little more, for there was always someone who came along to top it up. The music of the elvish lutes was bright and raised in song, yet there was still enough freedom in its volume to speak comfortably at the same time.

After the feast, people began to pair up and dance in festivity. Niphrediel took that time to take a short pardon from the table to speak to Éowyn, who she had not had a chance to speak to beforehand. From that talk, Niphrediel came to know that Raewyn and the children were a mere few days away; travelling in a small company towards Gondor to see her.

Though Éowyn did not have enough time to tell Niphrediel of Faramir, Niphrediel had already guessed. No one had told her of their relationship, of course, but Niphrediel noted the certain look in Éowyn's eyes when she glanced his way. Just because Nieninquë had never adopted that particular look upon her own person did not mean she could not identify it. Niphrediel was ecstatic for the daughter of Éomund. Someone could finally make her happy!

She returned to her table soon enough, and felt pleased enough to watch the couples dancing. Their skirts swirled in bold colours and fabrics she had never seen before. The black hair of the women swished as their handsome partner's twirled them in their arms, and their faces held a glow that was so similar but so different to the light of elves. Niphrediel was completely fascinated with him.

"Daughter Niphrediel?"

Niphrediel blindly turned her head, focusing on Aragorn standing before her; his hand upon the shoulder of a young women, who looked no younger then herself, as if to display her to his newly adoptive-daughter.

Niphrediel's brows unconsciously lifted, and her eyes flickered quickly from the maid to Aragorn. "Ah, yes?—Yes, father?" Niphrediel quickly corrected herself.

"This is… ah, forgive me, my lady, what was your name again?" Elessar, King of the Reunited Lands, shot the maid an apologetic look.

The maid gave a short giggle, and shook her head; Aragorn's forgetfulness had not embarrassed her. "Sarilya, my lord," she beamed.

"Ah, yes," Aragorn shook his head in disappointment with himself. He could not even remember a name! "Sarilya, that's it. Lady Sarilya, this is my daughter"—

"Do not fuss, Majesty," Sarilya charmingly interjected. "I know her name."

Aragorn grinned and shrugged his shoulders, before turning his attention to Niphrediel. "Niphrediel," he said, "this is Sarilya; she and a few others will be your chambermaids. The Lady Sarilya has taken up task as your handmaiden."

"Aye, my lady," said a courteous Sarilya, with a perfected curtsey. "If the royal daughter approves, I will happily and loyally serve her as loyally and obediently as I possibly can… til she grows tired of me and banishes me." Sarilya grinned mischievously, and looked upon Niphrediel with unbounded attention.

Niphrediel did not know how to reply! She looked to the girl, then back to Aragorn, a somewhat shocked expression on her face. What could she say? She shrugged her shoulders and nodded. "Very well," she chuckled, "I will it."

Niphrediel noticed Sarilya's excitement, and the way her chin and shoulders rose as if she had won a prize but was too humble to cheer loudly and throw a fist in the air in celebration of her victory. "You will not regret it, my lady!" she promised, and Niphrediel could tell she meant every word. Sarilya's intentions were neither false nor single-minded. She would be a fine handmaid, though Niphrediel was still getting used to the idea of actually having one.

With a last, large smile to her King, Sarilya swept off to return to her mother and father's place at another table. She knew her mother would be proud of her; she always was, but her father would not be so joyous. He wanted to marry her to the son of one of his associates. Alas, Sarilya had already pledged herself to another… at least in body. But that was nothing that she was planning on detailing to her parents any moment soon.

Hence, Sarilya had decided to promise her body and passion towards the throne and her new princess; she belonged to them now, and so any plans her father had on arranging a marriage for her, would have to wait another four years (which was the minimum number of years of service a handmaiden was expected to serve to her master or mistress).

Sarilya put a skip into her gait; the evening had just become sensational!

Whereas, back at the royal table, Niphrediel slumped against the arm of her chair; the arm connecting to Arwen's own throne.

"What is the matter?" Arwen asked, sitting back in her chair, idly reaching out and taking Niphrediel's hand with her own.

"Nothing," Niphrediel confessed. "Nothing at all."

Arwen's brow quirked, but she said nothing. She merely raised her hand and guided the back of Niphrediel's hand to her mouth, and kissed it. Her lips did not linger, but nor was she inattentive. Her caress was motherly and sisterly all at one; Niphrediel had learnt to consider those gestures casually.

"Come," spoke Arwen, rising from her chair… and leading Niphrediel along with her. "Come and dance with your mother!"

"No!" Niphrediel had not meant to sound as loud as she did, but she ignored the various glances on she received from those unknowns sitting upon the royal table. Aragorn merely watched, mouth agape. He had seen suggestions of the greater affection the two had suddenly harboured for each other, but he had not seen it so clearly! He nearly fell out of his chair. He nearly chocked on his mouthful of wine.

"Arwen, no!"

As Niphrediel predicted, Arwen did not stop heading towards the 'dancing arena' (as Niphrediel had put it). Niphrediel realised quickly, so her protesting did not last long. She did not want to make a fool of herself before dancing.

The others around them continued to dance, though. Niphrediel felt that comforting. She did not want all eyes upon them; though she knew that most pairs of working ones were, even with so many people dancing. It was easier to pretend that way.

While the Gondorians danced a dance of their culture, Arwen and Niphrediel began to dance in the elven way. Niphrediel felt so utterly stupid, having her form so close to the most beautiful being under Eru's heavens. It was so simple to compare Niphrediel's lack of grace when the most graceful being was right before her, completing the circle that Niphrediel was skipping around; their hands joined high above their heads.

Niphrediel closed her eyes, where she could pretend she was an elf. But, she had to open them when Ivanneth joined them. Each pair of feet moved with the light-footed movements of the elves—even the mortal's own. Niphrediel's feet had to attempt to keep up with the eloquent dance; it was one of the first dances she had ever learnt as a child! It was a classic!

Niphrediel looked down, to where multicoloured skirts fluttered and bellowed about their feet, making their heights gracefully rise and fall as they continued to dance about in a circle, twirling sporadically when the rhythm of the music called for it. Niphrediel only recognised her easy way of moving then. She realised that she did not need to worry; no one who watched would see any fault in her way of moving. She made no mistakes to a train of movements she had known since childhood.

Niphrediel laughed, and her twirls became more exuberant and energetic, following those of the ellith. Niphrediel had fun, and what fun it was. Forever, she would remember that night, and that dance, as one of the brighter moments before the great fall; where things began to head downwind, even when they were not necessarily unpleasant at times.



Niphrediel looked up at the ceiling of her new bedchamber. The moonlight shone through the windows onto her face, and she welcomed it. She could not sleep, and that way it felt like she was not so alone. The moon was, after all, one of Niphrediel's most astounding friends; one of her more familiar companions. Perhaps it was because she was sleeping on an unfamiliar bed. It was a little smaller then the one she had in Rivendell, yet it's craftsmanship was beautiful. A large divan made of wood, situated in one of the corners of the chamber, with silk layered over its body, and plush cushions over it's head. It was, by no means, uncomfortable. Niphrediel could not understand why she could not sleep, really; she was used to sleeping outdoors, on a mattress— or sometimes, not—so it should not have felt like such a knew thing for her. With a sigh, Niphrediel drew back the covers of the bed and sat up. She knew then that she would not be sleeping that night, and, with a tiny groan, she stepped up onto the cold floor and replaced the long plate of her hair over her shoulder. Though Niphrediel spared a glance to her nightrobe, she didn't bother with it. She was tough enough to fight the chill through her sleeveless nightgown.

Her nightgown was actually quite a lovely thing. Made of some textured silk, she was certain, or perhaps some sort of lace. It fell from her shoulders, of course, and simply gathered under the breast and cascaded downwards. The only thing that was of some concern was its neckline. Its slope was a little too low for what she was used to; it would have looked far more becoming had she had a slightly larger… er… bust.

Maybe Niphrediel was just being picky. She had seen maidens wearing the same design of dress when she had gone through the gates; it was more then a mere nightgown to them. Any normal maid could wear it during the day!

Niphrediel sighed and yawned, and made her way to the balcony through two, finely panned glass doors. The wind was not too cold; Niphrediel just had to get used to it. In fact, to the more adapted observer, the night was quite a humid one. Niphrediel walked to the edge of the balcony and leaned heavily on the stone railing with her elbows.

The night was beautiful where she was. From the highest tyre— much more the highest level of the King's House where the royal bedrooms were situated— Niphrediel could see over the entire city. The flames of tavern's candles and fires sparkled like stars amongst the lower tiers, and even from where Niphrediel stood, the gentle breeze carried the music and laughter to her. The celebrations of the common folk were far from over.

Niphrediel smiled, somewhat thrilled at the idea that the people were so happy. Perhaps it was then when her mind began to contemplate, and it was only when Niphrediel found herself looking down at the hearth of the garden from her balcony, to see how far she was from the bottom, that she took a step back and shook her head.

"No, Niphrediel," she mumbled under her breath, and gave her hand a small smack. But, alas, that did not stop Niphrediel from plotting. It would be so much fun to celebrate with her own people! To dance and cheer and mingle with the people whose very existence would be the centre of her universe!

But, Niphrediel's playful smile fell when she remembered the guards who were in charge of entrances and exits between the first tier and the second. They would not give her passage. They would recognise her immediately. Then, of course, they would tell Aragorn, their liege, the next day and Niphrediel would have to handle his displeasure. He was still so happy to have her in the city; Niphrediel did not want to bring an end to such a good thing.

Perhaps she could get someone who could give the guards a distraction, so she could sneak through? Niphrediel shook her head. No, that would be far too complicated. Either way, it was easy for Niphrediel to come to the conclusion that she would need a little help.

But who would help her? Who could she possibly manipulate into joining her with a little celebration?

Niphrediel crossed her arm over her chest, and with the other, she simply leant her elbow on it, so she could easily scratch her chin. Glorfindel would not help her… He knew her too well, as did Ivanneth.

Niphrediel's eyes widened as another person came to mind. Legolas! Niphrediel pondered. He would say no…. initially, she supposed. But he was too much of a darling to say no for long. Niphrediel almost felt horrible at the idea of using Legolas's gentleness to her advantage… But she was far too proud of herself for coming up with the idea in the first place.

Niphrediel bit her lip, and silently giggled to herself before unconsciously patting herself on the back as she shoved a pair of slippers onto her feet. Her steps were silent, as she made for the door of her chamber.

She crept as quietly as she possibly could out from behind her opened door, her head turning from one side of the corridor to the other, like a thief looking for a guard. She licked her lips mischievously, seeing there was no suggestion of any midnight corridor-walkers, before making a run for it.

Niphrediel ran down the corridor, and then turned left into another. She even dared to laugh! But, how could she not? It was simply too much fun! Niphrediel almost commended her childish antics, but was too busy keeping her skirt out of her way with her hands, and admiring the way the silky fabric fluttered heavily as she moved.

Blinded by her bounciness— Niphrediel noticed the presence of another before it was too late for her to back away and find another route around. Whoever the person was, they had already seen her.

Niphrediel almost skidded to a stop, and fought away a blush to appear as composed as she possibly could. She tried to ignore the disarray her hair must have appeared in, suddenly slumped upon her shoulders like discarded black cord. She coughed nervously and held her hands behind her back before continuing on in a slow, laid-back walk.

Though the candlelight was bright in the corridor, Niphrediel's eyesight would have been enough to be able to see the person clearly. Her eyes were, by all means, adjusted to the darker times of the day. Even though Niphrediel had been living in the day for quite some time, her acute sight had not changed.

Niphrediel knew it was a guard. An armed one, at that; but that was something Niphrediel did not have to worry about. He stood straight against the wall, his great sword upon his belt. He wore what Niphrediel assumed was the Royal Guard's uniform, with a coat of arms upon the chest. Though he did not wear his helmet, Niphrediel guessed that was what he was holding in his spare hand. Even with the little light, it was obvious the man's hair was very shinny; even the short-cropped hairs upon his chin. Niphrediel guessed him to be a few years older then herself. Had he not reminded her of a younger Aragorn, Niphrediel might have thought of Théodred.

Though Niphrediel did not wear a crown, the man bowed as she passed, and she could see he was rather handsome— and she had no doubt he had a dazzling smile; his lips appeared lovely, protruding from fair skin which might have seemed lighter in the lack of light.

A charming grin stretched his mouth as he straightened from his brow, and Niphrediel was so inclined to offer him a nod of her head. Niphrediel's opinion of the young man shrunk; he knew he was beautiful all too well. "Such urgency at midnight, Highness?"

Niphrediel tried to keep her pace slight, though she did want to hurry along. She offered an innocent smile and a little laugh and shrug, staying as casual as she possibly could. "Well I might as well, sir," she said, before giving a shy wave. "Goodnight."

As soon as she was out of the guard's sight, Niphrediel hastened a little more, before turning left once more, and coming to a stop in front of the first door on the corner; one of the many that rowed the walls.

Niphrediel barely hesitated. She reached out and slowly turned the doorknob, and silently opened the door—so quiet Niphrediel supposed a zephyr could not compete. Her eyes scanned the modest room on the other side as she took a step inside, and a smile stretched the tips of her lips when she noticed that the bed was not empty. Turning for a moment, Niphrediel closed the door behind her, before taking another step inside, towards the bed.

Legolas did not toss nor turn. Though it was not necessarily impossibility for him to do so, it was a rare nonetheless. He was tired. Though he had taken so long to finally rest, he was exhausted still. On his third hour of rest, his body had regained its vigour, while his mind was somewhere else, a mixture of the ceiling above and his own imagination.

He blinked dreamily, his eyes blank and dark like the blind stare of a newborn. Yet all the colour, brightness and twinkle reappeared when a quick hand swept forth out of nowhere and came upon his mouth. The sudden movement was enough to wake him up—and in the name of Eru, he was startled! His eyes were wide and pupils incredibly focussed as they looked up and down, trying to spot the head of this late visitor as he readied his hands into a fist; ready to lash out.

From the side of the bed, Niphrediel's own eyes widened when she saw Legolas's fists clench, ready for a punch. That was not supposed to happen! So, almost with a jump, she lifted herself up onto the side of the bed, very quick to display her wide—though uneasy—smile.

"Relax, relax!" she whispered, her brows high in earnest. Almost immediately, she could see the elf losing the edginess he harboured a mere second before! But his eyebrows also furrowed, Niphrediel could see he was not pleased.

"Wahduduwohn? Wahdehat?" Niphrediel could hear the displeasure in his voice.

Niphrediel cocked her head to the side. "What?" Suddenly, it struck her, and Niphrediel shook her head at her incompetence. "Oh, sorry!" she said, quickly removing her hand.

Lifting himself up from his pillows, Legolas yawned into the back of his hand. "What is it?" he asked, readjusted the neck of his white tunic.

"I need you to do something for me," Niphrediel said brightly, crossing her legs on Legolas's bed. "Please, please, please say yes!" Niphrediel held out her hand to the elf like a beggar to a noble.

"All right, all right," Legolas yawned, pulled Niphrediel's hands down, and shuffling underneath his unneeded blankets. "What is it that you want from me?"

Niphrediel took a deep breath before answering, and within her eyes Legolas tried to ignore her unspoken plea for his acceptance. "Come with me."

Legolas frowned, confused. "Where ever to?"

Niphrediel bit her lip, and simply motioned with her head towards the window… and the city beyond it.

Legolas understood immediately, Niphrediel could tell by the recognition in his stare that had followed her gesture towards the window. "No!" he exclaimed, before shoving himself back into the very heart of his resting place and replacing his head upon his lovely pillow, with his back facing the mortal girl.

Niphrediel let out a loud whine, bouncing on the bed instead of stamping her foot. "Please, Legolas!" she cried, letting herself collapse on his side like an annoying rash he could not scratch. "Please, please, please!"

"Never," he exclaimed, reaching out for another pillow to place over his uncovered ear in a motion to drown Niphrediel's voice out. It would not work, but it was the gesture that counted.

Struggling to crawl over Legolas onto the other side of the bed so she could show him her sad face, Niphrediel almost swore under her breath as she grabbed at his pillow and threw it across the room to kiss the wall.

Legolas inwardly sighed, but did not have the energy to roll over to face his other side. He had the slightest inkling that would not work.

"Pleeeeease?" Niphrediel allowed her eyes to glaze over a fraction.

"No."

"Ple"—

"Niphrediel, no!" Legolas said, before reaching over for the spare blanket and throwing it on her. "Be quiet and go to sleep."

Shooting the blanket a hateful look before ripping it away from her body, Niphrediel watched it rest upon the floor before returning her attention to the other person on the bed. She made her face sombre, and as sad as she possibly could. "…Please?"

Legolas closed his eyes tiredly and rolled onto his back, his hand rubbing his brow. "Do you have any idea how much trouble you will get me into?"

Niphrediel had to swipe the smirk from her mouth. She was winning! "I thought all about that! No one will ever know we left!"

"…I…I will be blamed! You realise this?" Legolas was completely incredulous with both himself and Niphrediel. How could she talk him into it so simply and why on earth was he making it so easy? Perhaps Legolas was far more bored then he thought.

Niphrediel almost groaned, "We will not be caught, I swear! And I promise that I will insist it was all my fault if we do."

Legolas sighed and rubbed his eyes with his hand. He almost seemed to be disappointed in himself. "You will be the death of me, you know that?"

Niphrediel had won. She smiled brightly and flung herself on the elf, hugging his middle like a child. "I know, I know," she said, before hopping up from the bed. "Hurry along and put some clothes on so we can go."

"That will not be the problem, Niphrediel," said Legolas, strangely not so much as budging from his position in his bed. "I know most of the soldiers that will be celebrating tonight… or at least, they know me— how do you expect any of them to not notice me."

Niphrediel had not predicted that problem. She frowned in thought; eyeing Legolas's ears and hair like she imagined a painter would look upon a bowl of fruit. "I have an idea!" she exclaimed proudly, and ignored the disappointed expression on the elf's face as she turned around and snatched the brown tablecloth from the nearby end table.

"This might work," Niphrediel thought aloud, inspecting the spread tablecloth before her as she walked over to the bed again, sitting down on the edge nearest to Legolas. It looks big enough… "Get up," she requested, folding the tablecloth diagonally on her lap.

Though he frowned, Legolas did as what was requested from him. "What in the name of"—

"Shhh." Niphrediel ushered the elf silent. Holding the corners of the tablecloth with the thumb and index of her hands, Niphrediel carefully pulled the blunt side of it across Legolas's forehead, keeping it low enough that the top half of his ears was not visible.

"Careful, careful," whispered an anxious Legolas. Niphrediel always knew elves' ears were sensitive, so she was careful to avoid so much as brushing up against his. Her care made it quite difficult when it came to knotting the ends of the tablecloth together at Legolas's neck— but Niphrediel succeeded eventually.

"I look like an idiot."

Niphrediel shot Legolas an unmoved look. "Legolas, you do not look like an idiot."

"Perhaps," he replied, suddenly smiling. "But I do not look mortal, either."

"You do so!" Niphrediel defended her handiwork. "Like a… Rohir."

"A Rohir?" Legolas did not think so.

Niphrediel nodded once. "Yes. A Rohir."

Legolas rolled his eyes as he gathered himself out of the comforts of his bed. "Uh huh."

Niphrediel sighed and got up from the bed. "Just hurry up and get changed."

In the end, Niphrediel had to get Legolas a new tunic after dubbing his one a little too…. elvish. They snuck out of the King's House like shadows… Or, at least Legolas did. Niphrediel blamed her dress for making her clumsy. When Niphrediel and Legolas appeared before the guards, they simply walked through without any trouble. Niphrediel had known that the hard part was going to be going back in, not going out.

In the streets, people bustled to and fro. It did not seem to matter what the time was! Celebrations were everywhere, though the real festivities were kept within the taverns, especially 'The King's Ale'; which Niphrediel learnt was actually the largest and most popular tavern in the entire city.

Niphrediel quickly noticed the difference of nature between the women of the city and any other place she had come across. And yet it was in a way that did not require any of them to so much as speak to her, for none of them did, of course. But there was something in the air, an unspoken agreement that was shared between a woman with a man, and a woman without. Niphrediel reached back and took Legolas's hand instinctively.

Perhaps people did not realise he was an elf… but the glow of his skin, and the utter perfection and beauty of his person was something a tablecloth could not hide for long. Niphrediel tried to counter as many lustful glances Legolas received with a polite smile of her own. The ladies of Gondor might have had their wanton few (including men), but they were respectful. To a degree.

Niphrediel eventually persuaded Legolas to dance with her. She was not very proud to say it had taken a few minutes of arguing, however. Legolas insisted she frolic about with the other maids while he drunk his ale and watched, and Niphrediel countered by…. erm….well, whinging. Niphrediel realised Legolas took to whinging real well, so she saw no point in doing anything else.

Though his arguing made Niphrediel suppose that he was not a very good dancer, she discovered he was actually quite a fine one! How could she have thought any differently, even with his squabble in her eye? Niphrediel was almost disappointed in herself.

The music was so different. Beautiful, but different. Niphrediel could listen to the musicians playing on their foreign instruments all day. There were instruments Niphrediel recognised, though: the lute, flute, harp, and several others. Yet the Gondorian music-makers made the sound seem so different to anything Niphrediel had ever heard… It was strange, bright, ethereal, but ultimately beautiful.

Legolas and Niphrediel tried to mimic how the Gondorians danced. Perhaps it was the ale that they were drinking after each song, but whenever they made a mistake, a long laugh proceeded immediately afterwards. It dawned on Legolas that it was the first time Niphrediel had drunken such alcohol-induced ale after she had finished her fourth pint. He unconsciously slapped himself.

"My lady?!"

Niphrediel turned around from the bar blindly, expecting to see Legolas despite that the voice that had spoken to her clearly belonged to a female. "Sarilya?" Niphrediel was stunned. She did not expect to see her there.

Sarilya, who had obviously been out and about the city for some time, stood before her lady in a dress not unlike Niphrediel's own, with her hair decorated with lilies. Her hand was connected to another; a young man who stood behind her, talking to a friend. He was a marvellous sight; the young couple perfected each other in the eyes of any whom looked upon them.

Niphrediel guessed the lad was the same age as Sarilya, or perhaps a two or three years older at most. His hair was a dark brown, which Niphrediel remembered was a trait of the folk whose blood had mingled with those of the mountain men, or did not have as stronger bloodlines. The trait also suggested that the young man was not of noble birth, for those that were had features more pure to those that travelled to Gondor from Numenor. His tresses were curly and soft looking, and he wore them combed back, as to keep hair out of his face. His skin was a tanned gold, and his eyes a bright blue. He was tall and built supplely. From his garb that consisted of a plain white tunic, brown trousers and simple, undyed leather boots; Niphrediel guessed him to be a forester or a hunter.

Niphrediel looked from Sarilya's partner to the girl herself, and noted the unspoken plea in her stare. "You say nothing, I say nothing?" Sarilya prayed aloud, brows high. "I am so sorry to ask you of it, High"—

"Shhh!" Niphrediel placed a finger over Sarilya's mouth. "I say nothing, you say nothing."

Sarilya let out a sigh in relief. "Thank goodness!" she said, before tugging the hand of her partner to beckon his attention.

The young man immediately turned from the other youth who he had been talking to, his brows high as he stepped against Sarilya's shoulder. "Hmm?"

"M'lady, this is Aradras," Sarilya said, lovingly holding Aradras's arm and laying her head on his shoulder. "Aradras, this is my lady Niphrediel." The last sentence, Sarilya whispered quietly in Aradras's ear.

Aradras shot Sarilya a perplexed look. "The princ"—

"Shhh!" Sarilya laughed, putting her hand over Aradras's mouth. "Yes, yes, yes, be quiet about it."

"Well… what a rebel, my lady!" Aradras laughed, his face brightening like a star as he did so, taking Niphrediel's hand and grazing her knuckles against his brow. "See, Sarilya, even the royals know where the real celebrations are."

Sarilya rolled her eyes, releasing Aradras from her hold. "Oh, be quiet. Go, talk to your brothers," she said with mock-scorn in her voice.

Aradras shrugged his shoulders with a cheeky grin. "Fine. I will meet you at the bar in a little while." He bowed his head to Niphrediel before leaving, and Sarilya waved to his retreating back before turning back to Niphrediel.

"Why in the world are you here?" she asked, still rather surprised, taking Niphrediel's arm and leading her to the side of the tavern, where it was more quiet and people could not hear their chatter if the tried.

Niphrediel let out a nervous laugh, struggling with an attempt to find the right way to explain. "Well… I just heard the music and decided I want to come and… join in."

Sarilya put a hand over her mouth, as she and Niphrediel came together in laughter. "I could not blame you," she said. "What better way to spend the first night in your new kingdom then to celebrate with your commonfolk."

Niphrediel shrugged her shoulders and nodded, "That was what I thought."

"So… you came here alone?" Sarilya asked with raised brows. She hoped it was not the case. "Well, if you did Aradras and I will take you home whenever you like. We have servant passes."

Niphrediel was touched by Sarilya's kindness, and was quietly proud of herself for having such a lovely handmaiden. "No, no, I did not come alone," she smiled, before pointing to the man….. er….. elf having a drink of ale on the other side of the room.

Sarilya quirked an eyebrow at Niphrediel before following her stare— and when she did, she immediately turned her head back and bent over in a fit of giggles. "Oh my!" she cried, having to cramp her hand over her mouth again. "You brought him!"

Niphrediel bit her lip, smiling broadly but somewhat bashfully. "Is the idea that awful?"

"Oh, no, no, no, I do not mean it like that," Sarilya said, sobering a little. "I just mean that… I do not know… He seems so orderly, so noble, like your father. I would not have guessed that he would have allowed you to come all the way down here, much less come with you!"

Niphrediel beamed, looking again to her immortal friend, chin up in pride as if what Sarilya said was absolutely true and it was only because she was special to Legolas that he would have left the citadel and brandished his conscience.

"I know what you mean," Niphrediel said with a grin, after a pregnant pause.

Sarilya smiled. "He is a very dear friend of yours?"

Niphrediel nodded, turning to regard Sarilya with a happy expression. "Yes," she replied proudly, then ran her thumb over the tiny, half-faded scar upon the corner of her jaw. "He gave me this."

"Ai, my lady!" Sarilya exclaimed, horrified. "That is terrible! How dare he!"

Niphrediel's eyes widened. "No, no! It was not like how you think— really, if you knew the entire story, you would think it rather funny."

Sarilya shot Niphrediel an awkward look, but she gave up after a moment or so. "Oh… well, very well then. But, you had better explain things for me."

Niphrediel laughed and nodded once. "If you insist, then I shall."

"Brilliant!" Sarilya cheered, before glancing towards the bar. "Let us talk over ale, my lady. It'll be most enjoyable."

And so, the two maids swept towards the bar and ordered two pints of fine ale. Naturally, Sarilya knew which brew was, in fact, the finest. Niphrediel discovered through their conversations that Sarilya's father's business in trade was through exports in meats— and wines and ale. Needless to say, Sarilya's family was a relatively wealthy one.

They danced. Of course, by then, they were both rather tipsy— and uncoordinated at that. Though, it was of no surprise that Sarilya remained relatively sober, even through her moments of clumsiness. Since Sarilya had been accustomed to the taste of ale from a young age, the brew's affects were not as prominent. Luckily, instead of becoming horribly silly due to the influence of the alcohol and embarrassing herself completely, Niphrediel became quickly exhausted. Of course, her tiredness set in after her and Sarilya's great many dances.

"Niphrediel, is that you?" asked a sarcastic Legolas as he sat upon his comfortable armchair, directing his question to the head that had fallen onto his shoulder, and the body that was suddenly slumped against the same limb.

"No," grumbled a groggy Niphrediel, her numb right cheek visibly squashed against Legolas's shoulder and her eyes half-open . Somehow, through her exhaustion, Niphrediel still managed to come up with something to bite back at Legolas's sarcasm. "My name is Lúthien."

"Of course it is," Legolas smirked good-heartedly, sweeping his arm up and around to balance her; and eventually straighten her up on her own chair. "And my name is Beren."

With that, Legolas stood up from his chair and jerked Niphrediel onto her feet. With a yawn, the newly crowned princess rubbed her eyes and leant dependably on Legolas's shoulder as he looked around for her handmaid who was waiting for them both nearby.

Niphrediel looked up affectionately and thankfully at Legolas. If it were not for him, she would not have had such a brilliant time! For that, she held his arm all the more tightly. He was so kind to her! So nice and generous and gentle!

"We should depart now," Sarilya nodded, smiling once at Niphrediel and nodding towards Legolas. She tugged on her partner's arm, who then seemed to agree with her.

Aradras gestured towards the door. "Aye, we should," he stated the obvious. "Once we reach the gates to the last tier, we will use mine and Sarilya's servant passes to get you through. Have no fair, they are residency ones; and we are familiar with the guards anyway. Chances are, they shan't even question us."

Aradras's guess was right; the guards did not so much as second glance the group of four. Not even when they all let out a miniature cheer once they were on the other side. After Sarilya said that one of them were a close cousin of hers, it was less of a mystery as to why they did not so much as eye the elf.

"Thank you for taking me out, Legolas," smiled a genuine (and immensely tired) Niphrediel, as she stood with Sarilya at the door to her bedchamber. "Really, it was so much fun."

"It was not like you gave me much choice, your Highness," grinned a wry Legolas, who was obviously proud of his cheeky reply since he received something of a glare in return.

Niphrediel poked her tongue out crudely. "And here, I was trying to be nice."

"Do not pretend to be offended, that would only entertain me more," Legolas said with a laugh, taking a step backwards. "I will see you in the morn. Oh, and never fear, for you were my favourite Lúthien."

Noting how much sarcasm was spoken in the last sentence, Niphrediel smirked before opening her door. "Yes, well, you were a useless Beren," she replied, then moved through into her room.






Note: Oh, how eventful. Seems like a perfect ending, huh? I mean, Aragorn and Arwen are married and Niphrediel is all happy and stuuuuuff..... But no. I'm evil. I make people wait so bloody long for a chapter while I'm writing the last ones of the same story and totally destroy the lives of my main characters. Ah well. Hope you enjoyed this chapter, anyway. I'm not very proud of it, but I got to get the ball rolling for what's going to happen next and whatnot. Also, thank you all for such possitive and helpful feedback. I mean, really. It's possitively amazing. And, also, after reading one in particular-- the one in which an awesome reviewer has noted Niphrediel's pure thoughts and lack of... well... knowledge of her sexuality you have somewhat uncovered a part of Neph's character that I have pounced on through eventual character development. Wooooo, I'm quite stoked someone's noticed this... it was a part of the plan to, chapter by chapter, give complexity over complexity to this otherwise 'pure' character. Also, to answer a certain inquiry: No, I don't draw pictures of Neph, sadly. I have discovered I'm not as much of an artist when it comes to that form of art. Not only that, but the mental picture I have of Niphrediel is something I just can't sketch. I don't know why... I just can't! I always get her features wrong. Nothing different from me drawing anything else, really :) Hit me back. Good, bad, really horrible????? Oh, and I know: it's smaller then usual. Sucky as. It was supposed to be a mega-huge one but I decided to split the chapter, and make it two seperate ones. I thought it would be better as two different doses.