Chapter fourteen: Behind the Glass Doors

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Once upon a time Niphrediel would have given anything to have one more moment with her mother. Then, as time went by, she felt the same way towards Aragorn, when he had somehow fallen in a battle with warg riders on the way to Helms Deep, and, before that, Théodred. But, the morning after her great night out, she would have given that and more… just to sleep.

"Leave me!" she cried, forcing pillows over each ear and keeping her eyes tightly shut in defiance. A lump was in her throat, and her voice was croaky and coarse as if she was in dire need of a good cough. Niphrediel was so uncoordinated that she could not feel if it was actually her ears her pillows were pressed against or another part of her body.

Sarilya had no time for games! Yet, she recognised Niphrediel's disposition. Obviously the taint of her alcohol consumption did not stop at clumsiness from the night before— Sarilya had no doubt Niphrediel felt terribly ill. But there was absolutely no time. Celebrations and ceremonies were yet to be had and Niphrediel was obligated… no, sworn, to attend. It would be an insult to the other two members of the royal family and especially Aragorn if she did not attend.

Sarilya climbed over onto the bed, and hooked her arms under Niphrediel's armpits. Thank goodness the royal daughter had been lying on her back; it was hard enough to pull her up into something of a sitting position… Sarilya could not have imagined conjuring up enough strength to turn her onto her back, as much as a meagre activity as it was.

"Get… up!" Sarilya cried, as she attempted to pull Niphrediel up even more so. She did not care that Niphrediel's head had rolled back, and her eyes were still closed. Sarilya had no choice. Unfortunately, she did not notice how close to the edge of the bed she was when she put all Niphrediel's weight onto herself… and leant backwards.

With a squeak and a croaky groan, the two young maids fell into a mingled heap on the floor; limbs messily tangled to such a degree Sarilya almost mistook Niphrediel's hand for her own for a brief moment.

Niphrediel let out another groan. Her head had landed more harshly than the rest of her body. "What the"—

"Shhh!" Sarilya pleaded, tiredly pulling herself up to sit at Niphrediel's side. "Here, sniff this. I was hoping you would not be bad enough for me to have to use it, but here!" Sarilya took the lid off a tiny phial she took out from a pocket in her surcoat and waved it underneath Niphrediel's nostrils.

Like fire almost, the scent of the liquid inside it's small glass container slinked through into Niphrediel's nose. It spread like a plague, first jolting the muscles in her face out of their current numbness then moved up into her eyes. Only when Niphrediel opened her eyes, did the burning stop. The same happened to the other joints of her body; starting from her neck, then to her shoulders and arms, abdomen then legs. It was horrible, but in the next moment, Niphrediel was incredibly awake. It felt like the energy of one average person was alive in but one finger of her hand.

"I am up, I am up," whispered an awakening Niphrediel, her eyes open and wide as they looked upon the mysterious phial in wonderment. "What is that?" she asked, in awe. "It is… like wild fire."

"Aye," nodded a pleased Sarilya, tucking the phial into her pocket again. "It is like that the first times you use it. The more you use the herb, the less effect it has on you— after a while. You will need it a few more times during the day, I predict, so I will keep it in my pocket for you."

"It is a temporary lift?" Niphrediel thought aloud.

Sarilya shrugged her slender shoulders and nodded briefly. "Of course. Nothing like that can last forever, 'else we would never sleep or dream."

Niphrediel said nothing, but she understood Sarilya and bowed her head in agreement.

"Now, we really must get you ready," Sarilya said quickly, on a more sombre note. Her eyes were regretful, and her eyebrows high and furrowed in a silent plea for Niphrediel's cooperation. "We are already late."

"Late for what?" Niphrediel frowned, confused, pulling herself up onto her arms.

"The celebrations, of course," Sarilya replied simply, gathering up her skirts and rising to her feet.

Sarilya helped Niphrediel bathe, despite Niphrediel's constant insisting that she would leave her alone to do it. Sarilya respected Niphrediel's modesty, but she had no time to allow her to indulge in it. With two bars of soap between them, Niphrediel washed her body as Sarilya dealt with her hair and back. Needless to say, there was not an inch of her skin that did not come out somewhat sore out of harsh treatment once she stepped out of her lukewarm bath.

If there was, however, a centimetre of her flesh that was spared from Niphrediel and Sarilya's merciless scrubbing… it surely must have had it's time to ache when Niphrediel dried herself off with towels when Sarilya left to grab her garments and whatever else Niphrediel's body and hair would need to complete her overall look.

Sarilya insisted on making braids and little twists at the back of Niphrediel's head with her hair, which remained slick with water for most of the time she was preparing herself. The most of Niphrediel's hair, though, after being pulled back and interestingly dressed at the back, fell in a well-groomed train down her shoulder. A pearled comb was crowned at the top of Niphrediel's head, and a train of silver was placed around her brow.

Niphrediel sighed in relief when they were finally finished. She looked over at Sarilya beside her, who was finally overcoming her moment of panting, and nodded once in acceptance and respect. "You have never served anyone else?" Niphrediel was amazed.

Sarilya let out a tired laugh, and shook her fine head; her curls bouncing vividly with that one tiny movement. Her eyes danced and twinkled in her momentary laughter, and she almost seemed to glimmer in her dark green gown; snug and elegant, with a rounded collar that spanned around her shoulders, looking almost to overlap itself with fabric embroidered with gold—- the very same embroidery that was on the cuffs of the sleeves. She was so lovely.

"Oh, no," Sarilya grinned, adjusting the position of the taut bun at the very back of her head. It was almost like an unspoken rule, Niphrediel had noticed, that no servant was allowed to outshine his or her mistress or master in standards of style; strange, for Niphrediel could imagine people mistaking her for the handmaid, and Sarilya for the princess. "But I have sisters."

After a moment of laughter, Sarilya reminded Niphrediel that they were still late. After both took one deep breath, they rushed out of the room and made towards the main hall. When Niphrediel stepped through the grand doors into it, and noted that there were only her 'parents' and a few others inside; she shot Sarilya a glare.

"We are already late, huh?" Niphrediel hissed with a wryly arched eyebrow.

Sarilya smiled brilliantly, pleased at Niphrediel's reaction. "Of course," she murmured smugly. "Your parents are already here"—

"Niphrediel!" yelled a glowing Arwen, her remnant fair in a royal blue and scarlet red, rising from her chair to wave Niphrediel over. "Good morn, daughter," she said, the last word falling from her mouth with surprising ease. When Niphrediel stepped before her, with her mortal brow in line with Arwen's chin due to Arwen standing upon the dais, the elleth carefully brushed her hand over her forehead before leaning down and planting a motherly kiss upon it.

Aragorn, who already stood at Arwen's side, ready to greet those who would eventually arrive for the midday public celebration, smiled at the sight. "Glade to see you are awake, Neph," he said, his voice quiet, clear and gentle; as Niphrediel preferred it to be. With his arm out, waiting, Niphrediel moved over and embraced him; warmly, but briefly. She would have time afterwards. It was almost as if Gondor had parades coming out of it's ears!

Niphrediel stepped onto the dais, on Aragorn's right. The only way she knew that was where she was supposed to stand was because the same chair that she had been sitting in the night before was settled at the right of the king's throne, and Sarilya sat upon a cushioned stool beside it with her hands clasped upon her lap.

Like re-enactments of the previous night, the nobles and guests eventually arrived. They walked up towards the three tall figures at the rear, and bowed before separating to their own tables on the sides. Perhaps it was the attendance of the sun that made that particular celebration seem less formal then the ceremony the night before, or perhaps it was because Niphrediel was so much more relaxed.

Niphrediel smiled and tried to manage an inconspicuous wave to Glorfindel as he and Ivanneth arrived. The same did she give to Éowyn and Éomer, and then to the hobbits and Gandalf… then a well-groomed Maerhelm. Then came the inevitable arrival of Thranduil's eldest and only son.

His hands were held behind his back, and he walked with a smug, knowing smile on his face that Niphrediel just wanted to slap off. All in good humour, of course. Niphrediel was even amused to see that he did not wear his classy scarf. She could tell that such a thing would not be an entry to his everyday wardrobe any moment in what she would have predicted as the immediate future.

After he and Gimli, who he had escorted, had broken from their conversation; both he and the dwarf looked first to Aragorn. Gimli smiled, his cheeks rounding and brightening in joy, and waved; whereas Legolas gave Aragorn a broad, proud smile and an inclination of his brow.

Aragorn gave Gimli a deep nod and a grin in response, and to Legolas he simply smiled. So many smiley faces… Niphrediel almost felt left out. But, she smirked in a way when the though of Aragorn not being so smiley if he knew that Legolas had snuck out with her the night before and allowed her to drink so much ale. That was how Legolas saw her, then; the dark princess on the dais… with a playful smile halfway between a smirk and a grin, and a stare of complete and utter amusement.

Legolas's smile broadened and brightened, and a few more stars dazzled in his clear blue eyes. Niphrediel was not surprised, but she was pleasantly pleased. She had always liked to make him smile. Even though his face seemed crafted for that very purpose… she did not think that he indulged in smiling and laughing enough for her liking.

Niphrediel sent him a wry wink; a quick one, as to not be too blatant. Legolas visibly brightened, and it looked as if he had moved backwards to laugh— though he was too far away for Niphrediel to have heard it— and so it was a moment or so before he shot one back at her in response. He did eventually, though, and then it was Niphrediel's turn to laugh… but she did not. She sat back smugly in her chair with a proud, but taunting, smile on her lips.

By then Niphrediel and the King and Queen were sitting upon their chairs, as were the most of the hall, so it was easy for Niphrediel and Legolas's moment to go unseen from the couple to Niphrediel's left.

But it was not.

Aragorn noticed, and though his eyebrow quirked and his eyes narrowed on Legolas… he was not displeased at Niphrediel and Legolas's public show of mutual friendship. But, since the night before, the newly crowned king had become increasingly watchful towards those that gave Niphrediel attention. But he should not have looked twice at Legolas. Legolas was his friend, not a sleazy drunk or power-hungry lord looking for a young whore or an attractive, young wife to parade during parties.

It was a fun lunch. Though, instead of dancing, Niphrediel preferred to swap mock-glares with Legolas the entire time, and stifle laughter as best she could whenever he gave her one back, or some silly look that involved him being cross-eyed and having an expression like a dumb goat.

Aragorn noticed that, too.

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Niphrediel could hear the single drop of blood land on the leaf of the tiny apple tree as if it was a great rock landing upon marble instead. As it splattered upon the green surface of the premature blossom, the single red teardrop bounced off into four independent drops of blood— smaller, brighter, and somehow more sickening to see.

Those four drops fell slowly, exaggeratedly, like paper balloons falling from the sky, onto the ground and only then could Niphrediel see how horrible it was; murky and black. And there, half buried in it, with skin so pale it was no surprising that the skin was not already decaying; positioned in a somewhat upturned angle, was the severed head of a young child, barely out of infancy. Her eyes were wide-open, grey and so colour-less that it was difficult to guess where a pupil might have been— and yet they looked upon Niphrediel as if they knew everything. They could see everything.

Niphrediel screamed, horrified; the sight of that child tearing her heart, sickening her gut, and clothing her spine in ice all at once. Involuntarily, she stumbled backwards as her ankles gave— the feet set bellow them so numb Niphrediel had forgotten she even had them. She felt herself fall through air, and her hair flutter around her face.

And then, she landed.

A gasp took that place of Niphrediel's cry as she connected with a surface far more softer then the dirt she was expecting her back to meet with— and just the last breath ended on her lips, the very surface in which she landed upon swallowed her body whole. It was water.

Niphrediel spread her arms, preparing to attempt to swim upwards, but as soon as she had actually gotten her arms into such a position; she knew that time was different there. Everything was so slow; so exaggerated; and it took all the energy in her two limbs to get them out. Had the dark, foggy water not surrounded her face like a suffocating mask— there would have been tears falling down Niphrediel's cheeks.

She was sinking. As quickly as Niphrediel possibly could, she turned her head around and looked down, only to discover that there appeared to be no visible bottom. No end to her falling. No end to her sinking.

Normally, the very idea would have made Niphrediel panic— but she did not. Instead, an ill feeling in her stomach took her over. She knew for certain then that something was definitely, unequivocally and horribly wrong. Perhaps if she could see something— anything, except the never-ending darkness that suffocated her in every direction she looked…. except upwards, where it was hard to imagine that a sun or moon might shine from.

Yet something was shining. Or rather, something began to. Then two— two blue lights, like torches, could be seen, and yet it looked to Niphrediel that they were so very, very far away. And then, there were three lights— then four, and more and more appeared as quickly as the last.

Niphrediel squinted, trying to see through so many levels of blurry water to make out what was creating such illumination. A flicker of hope rekindled her motivation to move— as did her excessive loss of breath— and Niphrediel began to move her arms again. As her desperation for became more profound, Niphrediel started to move her legs, as well, and yet she could not move herself from the position in the way she was in; with her back flat and her front facing upward.

Suddenly it was, that a loud sound shock Niphrediel's eardrums to their very core; a sound that made it seem as if the very earth was breaking. Niphrediel's eyes widened in astonishment as she watched the blue lights join to form a face, dark, ugly, and sinister. A pair—large, dark and blue— plundered through the surface of the water, so fast that Niphrediel's heavy limbs could not possibly fend them off once Niphrediel realised exactly what they were after… her neck.

Niphrediel tried to move, but her strength was completely torn from her. She clasped the wrists of the unholy being as it locked around her neck, and tried to fight them in every way she could possibly think of. As those hairy, blood-dirtied hands locked around her neck and pressed down— Niphrediel felt the monster press down and could feel the water brushing up against her back and hair as she was forced down.

Despite what she had originally assumed, there was a bottom to the endless blue. It was the same dirty, bloody hearth that she had prayed to not have seen any closer before she had fell, and it hurt the back of her head and back as she banged against it. Gravity was dulled there, as it was in real water, but it was the force of the hand pressing against her that made the landing painful.

Niphrediel fought with all her might against the pair of hands, yet her greatest efforts were met with no reward. So large was this fiend that it appeared that even though his victim was pressed back against the pool-bed— the water-level only reached their forearms. The same blue lights shone greater then, and prevented Niphrediel from seeing a face or anything else.

She brought her heavy legs up and kicked. She squirmed and dug her nails into her enemy's thick, inhuman skin, but that only caused his grip on her neck to tighten. Niphrediel was running out of time; she was running out of air. And if this beast tightened his hands around her neck one more time, he could certainly chock her to death before the water even had it's chance to do it's work on her lungs.

In shear desperation, Niphrediel turned her head to the side. Wether or not she expected to see the face of the child sitting a mere inch to her left was uncertain, but the terror in which brought her eyes into round orbs of horror was completely unquestionable.

Niphrediel screamed as loud as she possibly could, and yet as afraid as she was; her eyes simply would not obey her plea to pull away. She could not look away. She could not blink. She could not think. She could not fight.She could not breathe.

Niphrediel was drowning.

"NIBEN-MÎR DREGO! DREGO! DREGO!" That was not her voice. But it was so loud, Niphrediel felt something inside her ears pop. She could not hear anything else after that— not the rhythm of the water, not the dull clanging of her body against the pool-bed. Not one forsaken thing.

Blood trickled from Niphrediel's ears; dancing out from them into the water like blossoms swept off by the wind. Finally, she closed her eyes, and cried out once more— before ceasing to move completely. Her mouth unconsciously opened, and Niphrediel could feel the water plundering through her lips and down her throat. She could feel herself dying, and she was absolutely petrified.

Niphrediel clasped her own hand on top of her mouth to keep her cry muffled. Her eyes were already red and stricken with tears by the time she had them wide-open, and a lather of sweat was upon her brow and down her back. She lay there in her bed for a moment, as still as a statue, before the sound of her own weeping brought her out of her temporary immobility.

She did not care that it was in the middle of the night. The lightning flashed outside her window, but Niphrediel could not see passed that glass pains. She decided not to; the weather was completely irrelevant.

Niphrediel practically jumped out of her bed and sprinted from her room. She did not think she was being childish in her decision to leave her chamber, where she was alone. If an adult had a dream like hers', perhaps there would be someone to reassure her that what she was doing was not wrong of a mature young woman.

She felt sick to her stomach. Niphrediel could almost taste the disgusting, dirty taste of the dark water on her tongue. She could still smell the scent of rotting flesh. She could still see those pale eyes; dull, lifeless and so horribly intense that she could not turn away from them.

Once Glorfindel opened his door, Niphrediel hurried inside… and vomited.

"Ai!"


"What is the matter, darling?"

"It does not matter, naneth," Niphrediel pulled her face closer to Glorfindel's pillow. Ivanneth sat on the side of Glorfindel's bed, her hands at her lap. She tried to be gentle and hear Niphrediel out… but it was just a dream, and she could not understand why it had affected Niphrediel so terribly. Niphrediel knew that was what the elleth was thinking; so she did not go into detail, even when Ivanneth asked her to.

Glorfindel stood at the door, his arms crossed. He looked upon Niphrediel helplessly, and with some concern—- more so because she was crying rather then the cause. He was just thankful his chamber ceased to smell of vomit. "She will be fine, Ivanneth," he said, smiling at Niphrediel. "She can sleep in my room tonight. I have yet to use the bed anyway."

"You have not slept?" Ivanneth was a little surprised, even though sleep was hardly an everyday requirement for elves.

Glorfindel smiled a little. "Nay," he replied. "These past days have been joyous. That I would not be awake to bask in the peace for a mere moment of this freedom would be a waste."

Ivanneth rolled her eyes at her friend, but she understood what it was that he was saying. She turned back to Niphrediel, and leaned over her. She reached out with her hand and carefully wiped away the moisture upon her cheek. "Go back to sleep," she whispered, before planting a kiss on her forehead. "We will leave you now."

Glorfindel appeared reluctant to comply, but he nodded in the end. Ivanneth would know best, anyway. He watched Ivanneth draw away from Niphrediel, and gave her a brief smile as she passed him.

"Glorfindel?" Niphrediel asked, as Glorfindel turned to follow Ivanneth out.

Glorfindel turned, and looked upon her again. He was so lovely. "Hmm? What is it?" he asked.

Niphrediel wiped her eyes on Glorfindel's pillow, and gave a sniff before answering. The sound she made declared it quite obviously that her nose was rather clogged from her endless weeping. "I would not want Aragorn to worry…"

Catching Niphrediel's gist, Glorfindel nodded and sent her a helpful smile. "There is nothing to worry about, Nieninquë. It was a mere… well, you know. I do not have to tell you something you have already heard." With a tiny wink, Glorfindel turned away and passed through the door. The door followed him; and he took care in closing it quietly.

Left to her own devices, Niphrediel let her head relax upon the pillow. Though her tears had created a large, damp spot where her head was laid; it did not bother her much. She just could not stop herself— the tears kept coming.She could still see the half-flesh covered head of some innocent child when her eyelids fell over her eyes.

She could not possibly express how thankful she was that there was no longer anything she could wretch up from her stomach. Since she was comforted that she would not pollute Glorfindel's lovely room again and she had brushed her teeth, Niphrediel was able to weep in some form of peace.

Niphrediel buried her face in the pillow, and pressed her hands against her temple as if in an attempt to push her down further. Her knees curled against her chest, pulling the blankets up with them, and the sound of crisp, fresh sheets chaffing mingled with the sound of Niphrediel's sobbing.

She tore at her hair, almost in a moment of anger and frustration. She could not stop seeing it. Niphrediel could still feel the hands around her neck; tightening its grip with every breath she made. She could still see herself fighting against it, with no avail and she still felt that same helplessness— that same disgusting weakness that convinced her that, in that moment, she was going to die. Even safely in the covers of Glorfindel's sturdy bed, her mind continued to tell her body that it was sinking.

It was that feeling that was the most unbearable. It was the very origin of the memories, and it was the most potent. In saying so, Niphrediel still picked up the sound of the door opening again. The sound was far too different from the rhythm of her crying for her to have not noticed it, though she could tell there had been effort made in an attempt to make it's opening silent.

Legolas mouthed a swearword as a creak came from on of the hinges that bound the door to the doorframe disturbed his otherwise flawless passing. When he set his eyes upon Niphrediel's lifted face, his expression softened extremely from the initial look of frustration. He noted how red Niphrediel's eyes were, the flushed hue of her cheeks, and the wet trails that adorned them.

"Niph… Niphrediel?"

Niphrediel could only see the outlines of Legolas, for the light of the fire in the fireplace had long since dimmed, and the last candle that rested upon the end table of Glorfindel's bed did not reach very far.

"Legolas?" Niphrediel was as quiet in her reply as he was. She did not know wether to be pleased or angered— but she was comforted in a way. "What are you doing here?" she asked, whipping her cheek on the back of her hand that remained draped atop of the pillow.

"I saw Glorfindel in the library," responded Legolas after a brief hesitation. He did not think his reason for arriving was very important— he would rather hear of what exactly had put such a dire expression on he thought should always, always, always, be a happy face. "He smelt… well, I suppose you already know. I asked him about it, and he told me you had… gotten sick over his robe. I was concerned, so I asked where you were."

Niphrediel clasped the pillow tightly and sunk behind it, a little embarrassed. "I bet you did not expect to see this, aye," she stated aloud.

Legolas walked closer to the bed, and carefully kneeled down at Niphrediel's side. "What is wrong?"

"It does not matter." Niphrediel turned away from him, and cursed Glorfindel for his big mouth. She was embarrassed, and was even more so when she could hear a huff of breath from a mildly irritated Legolas. She could practically hear his eyes narrowing.

"What?" he asked; not hiding his confusion at her motion. He rounded the bed and jumped onto it like a child into a pool. He bounced against the mattress a few times before settling down beside her, and he comfortably lay upon the spare pillow as if the bed was his own.

"You feel you cannot tell me?" Legolas asked quietly, his voice soft and understanding.

"No," replied Niphrediel, surrendering. She propped herself up a fraction on her elbows for a moment and stiffened before speaking again. "It was just a dream," she said, and sniffed. Though she felt the trail of one particular tear rolling down her cheek, Niphrediel did not wipe it away; she watched it fall from her jaw and land upon Legolas's open palm. She could imagine the splash.

Legolas closed his hands, and looked to his fist in interest as he rubbed Niphrediel's teardrop against his skin. It did not feel like a tear at all— more like a drop of melted snow, cold and so strange to have been borne from the eyes of what Legolas thought to be a warm person.

"Describe it to me," he requested gently, turning onto his stomach. Niphrediel envied how his hair remained immaculately in place no matter how mild or wild his movements were.

Niphrediel let out a sigh, letting herself rest upon her side so she could face Legolas, and clenched her fist against her chest for her own comfort. "It was dark," she said, beginning to explain and becoming reflective as a result. "So dark I could not see my own body. I looked down and… and I saw this girl."

"Girl?"

Niphrediel nodded, once. As her mind roamed, she let her hands rise over her mouth. "Sort of. Her head… her head had been… cleaved from its neck. She looked up at me; her eyes were dull and grey, but I could feel her stare on me so vividly. She made my heart skip." Niphrediel cringed, as she remembered. "Her skin was rotting on her cheek. I could… I could see the decaying muscle beneath."

Legolas's brows knitted darkly. "…What happened?"

"I… I don't know," confessed Niphrediel, glancing from the pillow, to Legolas's sympathetic face. "I fell. There was… water. I could not move. Then a pair of great hands fell through into the water. They came around my neck and… began to push me down. I sank and sank and sank til I thought there would never be a bottom. I tried to fight… but they just would not let go. I… I could not breath; I was drowning…" It was getting harder and harder for Niphrediel to describe the accounts then, and her hand unconsciously came to clench her throat.

"When I landed, I found it was the very same floor I had been standing on before. The more I fought, the tighter the hands gripped my neck. I turned around and…." Niphrediel lowered her eyes; which glimmered with unshed tears in the candlelight. "And I saw her again. Her face was as close to me as yours is now. I could see everything… the pieces of skin that broke off into the water. The very same water that would burst through into my mouth and into my lungs."

Niphrediel shuddered, and buried her head in her pillow. "I can still smell her rotting flesh," she whispered, still and pale. "I can taste her skin at the back of my throat, as if I had swallowed the polluted water. I can… I can still see her face when I close my eyes and I still feel…. I still feel the hands around my neck; squeezing, pushing, killing"—

"Niphrediel…" Legolas was at a loss of what to say. He reached out and patted the back of her head. "Come on," he whispered, more softly. "Do not cry."

Niphrediel chuckled nervously, dreadfully embarrassed against her tear-dampened pillow. "I am sorry," she said, rising from the cushion to give Legolas a timid and apologetic smile. "I am sorry you have to see me all upset."

"Do not say that," Legolas said with some scorn, but with caring eyes. He looked down on Niphrediel with distant affection. He tried his best to appear confident and wise. "It was just a dream. Go back to sleep— I will stay til' I am certain you are asleep," he promised.

With a shake of her head, Niphrediel was ready to refuse Legolas's offer, even if she would have liked company. "You do not have to do that," she said, with raised brows; tears involuntarily continuing to flow from her eyes. It had been so long; Niphrediel no longer appeared to notice. "I am fine."

Legolas shrugged his shoulders; his keen elvish eyes watching a certain teardrop roll over Niphrediel's cheek and drop onto her soaked pillow from her jaw. "I have nothing else to do," he lied, extending his arm and wiping her cheek with the back of his hand. He seemed rather proud at his motion; for he smiled to himself as dampness grazed his knuckles.

Niphrediel's heart swelled, and she jumped up and embraced Legolas; her arms coming around his stomach; and her head lightly planted just bellow his chest. "Thank you, Legolas," she said with a sniff, squeezing him tightly.

With an arm casually laid upon Niphrediel's shoulders, Legolas took up and inspected her pillow. "Get comfortable," murmured Legolas, spotting all of the tiny stains of water Niphrediel had made with all her weeping. "This cushion certainly will not do for a princess, child."

Niphrediel paused before saying something. She bit her lip for a moment, as if she was not sure wether or not the very thing she was thinking was… well, correct. "Don… Don't call me that," she whispered.

"Call you what?"

Niphrediel did not really want to answer his question. She chewed hard on the side of her mouth before replying. "Child," she said, her hesitation a very brief one.

Legolas was quiet for a long moment, then. He listened to the calm drum of Niphrediel's beating heart, which accompanied the voice of his thoughts. When he spoke, his voice was gentle and as hushed as Niphrediel's was. But there was something in his tone— not sadness, but something so similar. "Very well."

The silence stretched before them after he spoke, and as a last resort to bring an end to is; Legolas asked: "….You comfortable, Niphrediel?" When he received no reply, Legolas glanced down at Niphrediel. He was almost flabbergasted; she was already asleep.

Legolas smiled and lightly patted her shoulder. She nestled comfortably into her living mattress; her legs stretched out diagonally beneath the blankets. A hand, her left, which had come over her head, clasped a handful of his silken tunic as if it was her very lifeline.

"Oh well," he murmured, and was silent. "I suppose so."


Niphrediel did her best to maintain her closeness with all who had come to Minas Tirith with her. She knew Aragorn and Arwen were busy being… well… husband and wife, so she gave them as much space as possible. Rivanon remembered her completely; Niphrediel noted with joy that he had grown at least two inches since the last time she looked upon him. For some reason, he reminded her of each and every memory she had of Rohan. Raewyn and her orphanage were given their own apartment in the citadel; their stay would be a pleasant one.

Maerhelm continued to terrorise Niphrediel. Though the Elvish and Rohirrim companies were only to visit the city for a certain amount of time, there was yet a celebration that any of them had decided was to be their last. Niphrediel tried to avoid the idea of the Imladhrim returning to Rivendell without her. She refused to imagine living out her days in Minas Tirith without Glorfindel and Ivanneth.

For some reason, Beren liked sleeping in the horse stables. After a few days, he began to buck his head against Niphrediel's hip and kick up onto his back paws; pretending to be one of his larger, neighing friends. Niphrediel would laugh, and tackle the wolf appropriately with hugs and kisses.

It was not a stretch to say that Niphrediel spent more time with Legolas then she ever did before. They would lounge about together in the gardens, and would try to have a fair game of hide-and-seek with Raewyn's children. For some strange reason, Legolas would always volunteer to be the seeker first. And whoever he predicted would be the seeker after him, would always be the one who was found first. What a coincidence. If Sarilya was playing, it was almost like the two of them would seek out Niphrediel as a team.

Her relationship with him might have raised some eyebrows…. if they were not from two separate species.

And her dreams? Niphrediel never spoke of them again.

She had the same one every night.

"Where are we going?"

"I know I heard water last night when Éowyn and I rode passed this way."

"A hunch?You drew me away from the delightful ball and all the food on a hunch?"

Niphrediel looked back over her shoulder and shot Legolas a glare. They were both dressed for gallantries that the forests against Mount Mindolluin could not provide, with Legolas in his finest silvery-blue tunic and grey trousers and boots… and Niphrediel in an ornate white gown, with her hair held upon her head by the thick band of silver that wrapped around her brow. They were both sights to behold, the elf more so in his beauty-kissed form, as they dodged through trees and puddles.

"Yes, actually," Niphrediel replied firmly.

Stepping over a rock, Legolas's frustrated expression dissolved immediately. "Good," he said. "I would not have expected anything less from you."

Niphrediel shook her head at Legolas, but decided not to argue. "Where is Beren?" she asked instead, turning around and continuing forward on her march. She knew there was a spring there… somewhere. She had heard the trickling of water the day before when she had travelled passed with Éowyn after a kind journey across the fields.

"Chewing on a rabbit a few metres to my left," replied a casual Legolas as his pace quickened somewhat so he could easily jump over the nearby fallen log— for his own fun, of course, since it was not blocking his path.

Niphrediel knew it in her heart as she took one more step. She could hear the water falling, and beating… could she not? Or had she become so obsessed that it was her own mind playing tricks on her?

"Legolas?" she called behind her, as she neared the damp vines, which blocked her view, falling over the branch of a great oak like a veil. The trees glistened damply, as if it had just finished raining; and the scent of the blossoms was so poignant in the very heart of the forest.

"Hmm?"

"Can you hear the water?" Niphrediel asked, with a slight frown as she tried to concentrate on her ears and what noises they were picking up.

The sound of branches snapping and a body falling in a large shrub of vines and other such plants, was what Niphrediel heard at first. She did not have to be elvish to hear that disturbance.

Niphrediel turned her head, looking a little to her left. Legolas's legs fell out from a shrub, his upper half lost inside it. She laughed and put a hand over her mouth as she watched him force himself back onto his feet. "Buffoon!" she declared brightly.

Legolas ignored her, of course, bringing a hand up to his temple.

"You drank more then you said you did, did you not?" Niphrediel sobered quickly, an arched an unimpressed eyebrow at the elf. Beneath her skirt, Legolas could imagine that she was tapping her foot.

He did not answer the most recent question. Instead, he answered her first. "Of course I can hear the water," he said, taking steps forward that brought him to her side, just before the curtain of vines. It took him back to Caras Galadhon for a moment; and memories of seeing Niphrediel fall through into blinding light almost distracted him.

"A waterfall for sure," Legolas said. "The sound if far too loud. I have heard the sound for the passed two hours since we came here."

Niphrediel lashed out with her hand and lightly smacked Legolas's arm. "You have driven me mad, questioning wether or not I heard what I heard— and you could hear it?" she tried not to yell.

"Of course I did," Legolas replied with a wide smile. "It was your own fault for not stopping to ask wether or not my privileged senses had come upon anything important that might have helped you… which could have taken, say, an hour off our little stroll."

Niphrediel swallowed down a retort, as both she and the elf reached out with their hands and drew back the cover of vines. What they saw behind it, forced a gasp of surprise and delight from both of them.

There was a waterfall— a large one indeed, falling out from the side of Mindolluin like an overgrown leek. The highest peak of the water-fall was very high up, at least from where Niphrediel looked, yet the tips of the trees that surrounded that framed area entire area, as if it were an arena. The pool the water landed in shimmered an infinite number of blues beneath the moonlight, and it was happily framed with rocks and boulders that had become smooth over time. It was large, and Niphrediel supposed it would be very deep as well.

With interest, Niphrediel noted that each tree that sat upon the borders of the small waterfall had the same vines falling over their branches. She smiled in awe. "Look," she whispered to Legolas, as she took a step forward onto the boulder that the ground level was pressed against.

Niphrediel pointed to the vines. "It is as if someone has… has set them up secretly. So… so this place would be private."

"Aye," Legolas replied, his eyes roaming from one object to another. He walked passed Niphrediel, and began stepping from one rock another that would eventually lead him to the small patch of grass bellow. "This place is beautiful." He turned around and lifted Niphrediel down onto the rock, like an older boy would do to a tiny girl who could not step down herself. Really, Legolas just did not really trust Niphrediel to do the job without tripping on her skirt.

"It is a beautiful sanctuary, indeed," he mumbled, as he set her down on the rock and continued in his moment of admiration.

Niphrediel nodded, and jumped down from one rock to another; paved out like large steps, almost. She did not see Legolas watching as she hopped from one step to another; or that his arms tensed with every bounce, ready to reach out in case she would not land on her feet.

"It is late," he reminded Niphrediel, somewhat in disagreement that she venture. "We should go soon and return another night, Niphredil."

Legolas's last word sparked a fine thought in Niphrediel's head. Her hands unclasped the bound about her neck, which held the simbelmynë and niphredil seeds inside. She skipped further til she was in the heart of the patch of grass, and then carelessly sprinkled the seeds all over.

"I cannot believe you still have that!" said a surprised Legolas as he watched from afar.

Niphrediel smiled, and threw the useless phial and cord away. "I am full of surprises!" she said. "But lets go, they will wonder where we are. Will you come back with me another day?"

"Of course."

The night's merriment continued still when Legolas and Niphrediel snuck back inside the dining hall. They cleared their throats as they passed through the door; obvious yet inconspicuous. It had been effective in the passed…. But this time, there were neither strangers nor friends to notice their entry, for the dining hall was empty; with the side doors, great and high with ornate stained glass, swung open.

Niphrediel and Legolas's eyebrows quirked in unison; the evening's festivity had moved out into the garden.

"Walk in front of me," nagged Niphrediel, pulling on Legolas's sleeves so that he would stand in front of her.

Legolas did as he was requested, but he sent a curious look over his shoulder. "Why?"

Niphrediel gently shoved him forward. "So that no one can see the dirt stains on the bottom of my skirt."

Legolas wryly rolled his eyes, but he was too gentle a-sort to be incredibly sarcastic with such a motion. It just was not in him. "What a lady you have turned in to."

"Oh, be quiet," Niphrediel mimicked Legolas's dry tone, and they silenced themselves as they walked upon the stone porch outside, and then walked down the steps that led to the lower veranda. From there, Niphrediel stopped; she could see everything just fine from where she stood.

The throng of guests were standing in the large glade that was something of a foyer in the garden; the one place where each area of the garden joined together in a way— like a fork in a road, or a river or stream.

Niphrediel's eyes lingered on the forms of the elvish visitors; the Lady Galadriel and her lord, and Elrond, surrounded with their great circle. Her curiosity of what the large objects might have been which were covered beneath a great white drape of silk, which was what Aragorn was standing in front of, was brought to a suspension for that moment as she was reminded that the elves would, very shortly from then, be returning to their homes. And she would not be going with any of them.

However dim her thoughts might have been, Niphrediel sent Aragorn a genuine smile as his roaming eyes coincidentally rolled onto her.

-"and so," Elessar concluded, tearing his eyes away from Niphrediel so that he would not be distracted. "We will have these statues… as a reminder to us all of who the true heroes were— the ones who believed we could prevail, the ones who had hope! The lords who were slain throughout the numerous times… of our journey."

There was a large applause as Aragorn turned and placed his gemmed hand upon the drape. With one great tug, the fabric wisped away from the stone objects, which they once lay upon; and shrunk, like smoke, to Aragorn's feet. The appraisal of the crowd grew into great cheers of delight and pride as they all saw what was showed before them.

It was a great line of statues, most only a head or so higher then Aragorn; but just enough for it to be obvious to the skilled eye that the body parts had been enlarged slightly for effect. Most of the men were armoured; their faces hidden beneath helms. It made no difference to Niphrediel, since she did not know who most of them were anyway. The statues of Gondorian warriors more often then not had a hand on their breast; whereas some few were positioned in a salute. The Rohir— there were only a few— simply stood with their arms at their sides, and with one hand casually laid upon the hilt of their sword.

Rohirrim were more modest in so many ways, in their culture and appearance. Niphrediel noticed simply by comparing a Gondorian statue to another. Yet there was no favouritism in the hands of the man who created such monuments. His art reflected the distinct differences between the two cultures; and yet, with each warrior placed beside another…. it was beautiful, in that it represented how they came together. And, with Éomer as King, such relations did not have much chance of lessening.

Niphrediel identified the late King of Rohan, Théoden. He stood proudly, with his hands clasped over his sword, which he held against his breastplate. His helm was brilliantly sculptured to exact likeliness that it was astounding for Niphrediel to look upon it. Niphrediel thought that there had never been an hour in which he ever looked more kingly.

And, just as Niphrediel was about to turn around and make her way back inside to eat any of the fruit that had been left uneaten after desert; her eye caught onto a face so very familiar in the distance. She turned quickly, as if she had noticed a terrifying bat in the corner of her chamber who was waiting for her to sleep so it could drink her blood.

The stone statue of Théodred stood on Théoden's right, as it should have been. He was of the same slightly extended height and statyre as the others, with an additional helm of stone placed over his flowing strands of hair that fell perfectly over his armoured shoulders. His arms, covered with heavily-detailed armour, were simply held out; as if he was being offered a basket. Such was the stance of a few other lords, but Niphrediel did not have eyes for any other of them once she set her eyes upon Théodred.

He was so lifelike that, for a split second, Niphrediel almost believed that it was him. But then she noticed the unnatural hue of his skin and hair, and the way that his eyes did not sparkle, and she began to think logically. But that did not prevent the hurt from forming in her chest in stomach as she looked upon that which she had believed she would never see ever again. It was an inescapable ache.

Niphrediel turned and looked at Éowyn down in the gardens beside her brother and Faramir. As if her skin felt the prickle of Niphrediel's stare, Éowyn reluctantly tore her stare away from the statue's face and looked upon Niphrediel. Her eyes glistened with tears that she was too stubborn to let out in public company, and her mouth threatened to quiver.

A numb feeling came over Niphrediel's cheeks and lips, as the feeling in her chest became overbearing. The statue was too beautiful. It was so terrible to have something so real right before her that… that could not do anything except represent and advertise the beauty of the original being who was the basis of it's making. Such as owning the cover of an amazing book, without having any pages in between it.

Memories of Théodred ran through Niphrediel and Éowyn's minds in unison, and due to the numb sensation in Niphrediel's face; she did not feel her own eyes clog with the same salty tears of bereavement. Théodred would always be a sensitive subject, no matter how long he would be dead for. He was Niphrediel's first love; the sweet romance that was possibly one of the purest and most lovely ones that Niphrediel would probably ever have.

Éowyn eventually turned away when Faramir took her shoulders beneath his arm and guided her towards him into an embrace. Niphrediel looked away to the floor of the veranda and took a deep breath. She was not surprised when she felt an arm hoop into hers at that very moment, though she was not exactly expecting it.

Sarilya's stare upon Niphrediel was sympathetic as she noted Niphrediel's downcast (and glassy) gaze. "I spoke to some of the Rohir maids today," she whispered. "They said you were their prince's betrothed. Is…. Is that true?" Sarilya was curious, but Niphrediel could tell that the truth, strangely, would not surprise her.

Niphrediel awkwardly sniffed and nodded; rolling her eyes upwards to meet Sarilya's concerned eyes with her own. "It is true," she said quietly, a lump in her throat forcing her voice to lessen remarkable. "Once upon a time."

"You would have done good things for that kingdom," Sarilya said kindly, to make Niphrediel feel a little better. Though, she did genuinely believe what she said. "You would have"—

"It does not matter," Niphrediel interjected and smiled comfortingly at Sarilya. She rubbed the handmaid's hand warmly with her own, and shook her head. "What was done was done." Niphrediel gritted her teeth as she spoke.

Even then, people were beginning to wander back into the dinning hall. They would nod, bow or curtsy if they noticed the Gondorian princess, as she stood beside her handmaid. Sarilya received the gestures for her lady, bowing her head to each noble or elf in return.

Niphrediel barely noticed the decreasing population of the garden— but she looked up once when Aragorn, the last other in the garden, walked passed her. He smiled at her kindly, and lightly caressed her cheek for his brief moment. Niphrediel tried not to appear distracted, but she was far too disturbed to appear jovial.

After a long moment, Niphrediel felt Sarilya draw away from her. Like Aragorn, she left for the dining hall— but not without a concerned look over her shoulder to her lady who she was leaving behind. She said something; something that Niphrediel was too lost to hear. She suspected it would have been something along the lines of 'do not be too long'.

Then, Niphrediel was alone. She did not even realise she was moving forward til she found herself staring up at the face of the beautiful statue.

"Théodred…" Niphrediel whispered, neither to the statue nor herself, reaching out with her adorned hand to touch its cheek. However, after a mere moment when her fingers eventually came into contact with the stone face— Niphrediel drew her fingers away a fraction as if she had not been expecting for it to feel so… cold.

It is not Théodred, Niphrediel reminded herself with mild frustration at her incompetent fingers before replacing them on the face they had so recently rejected.

Slowly, Niphrediel closed her eyes, and placed her other hand upon the statue's other cheek. Her hands moved over each feature, identifying with each one as a blind man would.

With her eyes closed and her mouth shaped ever so slightly in a smile, Niphrediel painted a picture in her mind that the statue could not. She imagined that she could feel skin beneath her fingertips— smooth and golden-kissed. She could feel the shifting muscle beneath her palms, as a full mouth parted in a smile. She pretended she could smell a mixture of sweet grass and fresh hay, a scent that never left Théodred's clothes.

"Niphrediel?"

Niphrediel's eyelids drew away at once, and with the mildest reluctance, Niphrediel turned around. Her brows were raised, and her hands fell from the statue's jaw. She could see Legolas, standing at the first veranda, his brow knitted in a frown.

Legolas looked from Niphrediel, to the fantastic monument, and then back to Niphrediel again. He turned to his side, while his gaze never shifted again. "Come on." There was a firm note in his otherwise soft voice. Perhaps it was his way of being concerned that evening.

Innocently oblivious— or at least pretending to— of Legolas's darkened mien, Niphrediel nodded and drew her hands down to her skirts so that they would not hinder her as she walked up the steps to one veranda, and then again to another. Her pace slowed as she walked passed Legolas, who did not move. Niphrediel quirked him an eyebrow, but kept on moving. Only when she well on her way to the door, did Legolas follow; as if he half-expected her to turn around and head back down to the garden the moment his back was turned, and as if that was not a very good thing to do if she did so.

The music and dancing forms of both man and elf surely must have brightened Legolas, for it Niphrediel's spirits soared all the more. Her mouth formed a pleased smile, as she moved between each couple towards her throne. Sarilya looked up from her lap, and smiled; her white teeth dazzling between her pink lips.

With a gleeful sigh, Niphrediel skipped to her chair and sat down. Almost as soon as her arm was laid upon the chair's armrest, Sarilya leaned against it and clasped Niphrediel's hand. Niphrediel's chair was large enough for her to be able to curl her legs upon it at her side, so she did so; leaning towards Sarilya and resting her spare hand upon her lap as well. It was a marvellous position for them both to gossip freely.

"You took your time," Sarilya murmured with an arched eyebrow. "Have fun?"

Niphrediel shot the girl a mock-glare."Oh yes, an immense amount."

As they both giggled, Sarilya glanced away from her lady and let her eyes scan the dancing crowd and the folk who remained at their seats, chatting happily with each other. As if she had seen something scandalous, Sarilya turned towards Niphrediel and placed her spare hand over her mouth, giggling uncontrollably.

"What is it?" Niphrediel hissed to Sarilya, trying not to sound as interested as she really was.

Biting her lip, Sarilya cleared her throat of her giggles before answering. "Look over there. Be natural about it," Sarilya tried not to be too obvious as she gestured towards the northern table with a flick of her head.

Niphrediel tensed, before trying her best to seem subtle as she feigned a yawn and looked in direction of the northern corner. There was a group of five or so soldiers, standing against the wall with goblets in their bare hands. They were young men, eyeing the two young women upon the royal dais with confidences only young, beautiful womanisers could have.

It did not appear to matter that Niphrediel was the 'daughter' of their King; in fact it probably made her more appealing. The boldest one, standing at the centre, where only a leader of the pack would— with eyes the colour of onyx stones— winked, taking advantage of Niphrediel's attention. Her grinned straight after he had, visibly proud of himself for having the cheek to do so. His comrades, in united glee, laughed joyously, and one even patted the young man on the back.

They were lucky Aragorn and Arwen were at the other end of the room.

Trying not to blush, Niphrediel turned her head as quickly as possible, hoping Sarilya's ease in the situation would somehow soothe her. Her eyes were wide, as if she had just seen something horrible.

Sarilya giggled softly, til she noticed Niphrediel's terror, and she quirked an eyebrow at her. "What is the matter?" she asked.

"I'm embarrassed," Niphrediel stated the obvious, bringing her hand up to hold her lowering forehead.

Niphrediel's response must have been funny in some way, since Sarilya's smile grew so slightly. "You are like a child," she whispered without scorn. "Surely such attention cannot be so new for you, girl."

Niphrediel did not speak; her upward glance was grave enough to speak for her.

"Oh…" Sarilya was suddenly at a loss for words. "Do not be embarrassed, Niphrediel. Humility is a beautiful characteristic… Could I ask you a question? I promise you shan't have to answer it if you do not want to. It is rather personal."

With an uncomfortable sigh, Niphrediel took back her hand at her lap, and raised her chin so to be level with her handmaid."… Very well."

"Have you… hmmm," Sarilya paused, trying to think of a way to pose her question politely. "The late Prince of Rohan… did you know him?"

Niphrediel shot Sarilya a look. That could not possibly have been her question; it was far too silly. "Uh, of course I did, Sarilya."

"No!" Sarilya shook her head, realising her mistake. "I mean… Did you know him? As a man does when he embraces a woman."

Niphrediel's eyes widened and she drew them down again. Her cheeks flared crimson, and the heat of her skin multiplied. "No, no, no," she replied, shaking her head. "I… I have never known any man."

"Have you ever wanted to?" Sarilya pried with an arched eyebrow and a knowing smile.

Niphrediel thought long on how to answer. She had never been asked such inquiries. No one had cared enough for such a subject to ask. "Well… I cannot tell. What should I have felt if I did?" Was what she felt for Théodred, what Sarilya was talking about?

Sarilya chuckled, before clearing her throat and explaining. "I do not really know… For me, it is… just, a longing, I suppose… a deep longing to be caressed and to caress in turn. Lust is the same I suppose, though I do not think of that with the same hospitality. Lust is what felines feel when they catch the scent of female in heat… I like to think that longing is something more… special." Sarilya nodded twice, pleased at her description.

"You know of it far too well to have just been told of it," Niphrediel thought aloud, and watched Sarilya nod once and lower her eyes pensively.

"Aradras." His name fell from Sarilya's mouth with complete and utter adoration."Naturally, my father does not hold him in high esteem. His family is poor and he is hardly what my father would call a marriageable bachelor."

Licking her lips, Sarilya continued on. "That is why I became a handmaid. As long as I am in your service, I cannot marry."

"Clever."

Sarilya shrugged gently. "I suppose. It is a far better option then allowing my father to enter negotiations with the richest, oldest lord he can find. This way, I have four years to myself."

"Only four?" Niphrediel was surprised.

Sarilya nodded. "Yes, that is the minimum time of service. Traditionally, any way— and my father is a very traditional man."

Niphrediel understood. "I see."

There was a temporary halt in conversation then, and Sarilya let out a light sigh and looked out at brilliant dancers. The mistakes of those lesser-skilled dancers were… well…. barely noticeable. Niphrediel soon followed Sarilya's stare, and looked from one dancing body to the next. Sooner, rather then later, Niphrediel set her eyes upon Aragorn and Arwen. They were walking across the hall, towards the corner, smiling and laughing as they went.

Niphrediel realised why soon after. Legolas was there, standing beautifully and straight; his hands clasped behind his back. And opposite him, was a sight that made Niphrediel's eyes narrow and teeth grit. It was an elleth— an exquisite one. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders like rivers of gold, falling so long that the curled tips could graze the back of her long calves if there was not the skirt of her faint pink coloured gown.

After one glance of the elven maid, as she stood so close to Legolas that it was if she wanted him to smell her breathe, Niphrediel wanted to gag.

"Who is that?" Niphrediel spoke more loudly then she meant to, leaning forward and gesturing with a nod of her head.

Sarilya, surprised at the question, tried to find whom Niphrediel was asking of. "Who?"

"Her!" Niphrediel tried to stress the word, turning around and looking at Sarilya. "The one in the pink."

"With Legolas?" Sarilya asked, doubt in her tone; her eyes travelling from the elleth in question then to Niphrediel. It was hard for her not to be somewhat confused— why did it matter

Niphrediel's eyes brightened. "Yes, that one. Who is she?"

Sarilya shot her a look. "You should know! She travelled with the Galadhrim."

Niphrediel slouched against the back of her chair, staring blankly at Sarilya with cold eyes.

"Fine, fine!" Sarilya surrendered with two raised palms. "Her name is Elanor. She's a master healer— she dropped into the houses of healing a few days ago to see if she could be of any assistance."

"Her name is Elanor?"

Sarilya nodded, looking the elleth up and down. "Mmm," she let out, affirming Niphrediel's question. "Lovely elf, I suppose. A little overly… dramatic and sensitive for my taste."

"You don't like her?" Niphrediel arched an eyebrow.

Sarilya giggled slightly at that inquiry. "She is an elf," she reminded her princess. "I have to like her."

Niphrediel understood what Sarilya meant, and nodded once. "But…?"

"But she seemed rather… er… melodramatic in a way," answered Sarilya, remembering her moment with her. "It was as if she was going to have a collapse in tears when a boy came in with flu symptoms. Very sweet, very sensitive, very dependant was what I thought when I watched her in the healing houses."

"Really?" Niphrediel looked to Sarilya with a silent pleading in her eye.

Sarilya's smile faltered, however, and she sadly shook her head. "No, I lie. She is absolutely perfect."

Niphrediel sighed heavily, her shoulders slumping. "I was hoping you would not say that."

The handmaid arched an eyebrow. "Why?" she asked, her eyes dazzling suggestively.

"Because, look at that!" Niphrediel did not lie, she pointed her finger in Legolas and Elanor's direction.

"Aye," Sarilya thought aloud, studying the pair. "The wench is awfully flirtatious, and she is almost as beautiful as he is."

Niphrediel knew Sarilya was stretching her dislike for the elleth— but she was thankful as well. "You think he is beautiful?" she asked Sarilya, half-knowing the answer.

"Of course," Sarilya said without hesitation, as if it would have been preposterous for her to say no. "He is an elf, after all. He is exquisite."

Niphrediel shuffled uncomfortably, her eyes examining Legolas intensely through her hooded stare. With great reluctance and slight disdain, Niphrediel noticed her elvish friend's beauty for the first time. Or, at least, she did so consciously. Light shone from his pale skin, and his flaxen hair shone beneath the firelight. His features were lovely, neither pretty nor ruggedly handsome— but, rather, somewhere between them. His brows were rather straight in shape and darker then the hair of his head, and his lips were thin but full; curved at the tips in to a closed smile.

Extremely awkward with the things she had neglected to notice beforehand, Niphrediel tore her eyes away and forced them down. Her hands gripped the arms of her chair, and she paused to pinch her eyes closed for a moment. It was as if she had seen something horrible— something incredibly disgusting that would tarnish her forever.

"Horrible, isn't it?" Sarilya sighed. "That they are so perfect. Like a reminder of our faults— oh, curse me… I should not be saying this in front of you… "

Niphrediel frowned. "Why?" she asked.

"Well, your mother is an elf, Niphrediel," Sarilya reminded her lady. "Which means you have the blood of those beings in you, as well as the blood of Men."

Huh, yeah right. Niphrediel smiled dully at Sarilya, and was thankful as the musicians began to play a waltz— for folk began to talk around them, as they quickly went about picking their partner's for the traditional dance, while others went to their tables to watch.

"Danger, danger, danger," Sarilya murmured to Niphrediel under her breath, as her lady took a moment to yawn and take to the bowl of grapes on the table before her and the gilded goblet of wine beside it. Niphrediel did not even like wine, but that specific brew tasted more like mouthfuls of smooth syrup. It was lovely.

Drawn away from the rapture of her wine, Niphrediel arched an eyebrow at Sarilya gazed upon her. "Hmm?"

"Look at that sight," Sarilya nodded her head in direction of the ballroom. With a curious frown on her face, Niphrediel turned to look.

And there it was. Elanor swayed beautifully, the beaded train of her gown gleaming, with one of her pale hands poised on the gentle curve of Legolas's right shoulder and her other perfectly placed against his up-turned palm. She must have punned, for Legolas was laughing at something; his chin lowered so to gently brush against the silver collar of his tunic. He danced with her, one hand clasping hers, and his other placed upon the clothed slope of her waist.

Niphrediel wanted to vomit. Sarilya simply eyed the couple and shook her head, as if she looked at a whore and her innocent game— rather then two perfectly matched and virtuous elves. She stopped as soon as she felt Niphrediel's hand slip out of hers, and watched as Niphrediel stood up from her chair.

"Niphred— my lady??" Sarilya called her princess as casually as possible, watching Niphrediel round the ballroom in direction of the guard-flanked double doors at the end of the hall. With a sigh, the handmaid jumped up from her chair and lightly jogged after the fast-walking royal.

"Niphrediel?" Sarilya yelled out freely, once the doors of the hall were closed behind her from the citadel guards. She looked from left to right, finding Niphrediel heading down the hall on the later direction. "What are you doing?" she asked, as she skipped after her.

"I feel sick." Niphrediel's answer was genuine, as her heavy steps took her forward; her hands brushing against the left walls. She eventually halted, and turned to lean her back against the wall of fine stone. She sighed tiredly.

"Her name is Elanor," she said to Sarilya, as she came to stand in front of her; black locks tumbling over her slender shoulders. Niphrediel began to laugh helplessly at herself. "Her name is Elanor!" she repeated, her intonation suddenly higher.

Sarilya quirked an eyebrow, and nodded once. "Yes, her name is Elanor," she replied, puzzled. "Is that bad?"

"No," Niphrediel laughed, her head rolling back. "They will probably be married within the next year!"

Sarilya smiled slightly and put a hand onto Niphrediel's shoulder. She leaned in as she asked, playfulness alight in her eyes. "Niphrediel," she began, with something of a giggle. "Are you jealous?"

Niphrediel did not hesitate one moment to answering… "Of course I am!"

As Niphrediel laughed at herself, Sarilya's smile dwindled. Had Niphrediel denied it, wether in pun or no, Sarilya would have joined her in laughter. But, for some reason, her lack of contradiction was not met with humour. "In the bad way?"

"You mean, like if Aragorn saw Arwen kissing another elf?" Niphrediel grinned.

Sarilya simply shrugged. "Aye."

"Come on, Sarilya— he is my friend," Niphrediel suddenly began to argue. "He is sweet and kind and trustworthy— he is like a second Glorfindel to me."

Sarilya held up her hands. "I did not say a word," she said to her lady. "But usually people do not rush out of dinners because they see their friends with potential partners and kinswomen— even if they are scandalous little wenches like Elanor."

Niphrediel nodded and her shoulders slumped. "I just feel like I have been left behind," she murmured. "I am the youngest of the group. The baby, the child. I have only began to cringe when my loved ones use one of their old endearments on me… They are all adults. I want to be a woman."

"That has nothing to do with Legolas," Sarilya pointed out.

Niphrediel shrugged. "I have cherished my time with him. He listens to me like I am… important. I do not want him to spend his time in Minas Tirith with her. And… I hate him for allowing her to get his attention— I know they were only dancing…. But it still sickens me. It's the child in me showing. Is that so wrong?"

Sarilya did not answer that question. Rather, her thoughts lingered on Niphrediel's previous words. "You want to feel like a woman?"

"I want to know that… that is what I am," Niphrediel confirmed honestly, her hands clasping Sarilya's tightly.

"You know what you need, my friend?" Sarilya asked, pulling Niphrediel away from the wall and slinging an arm around her neck. "A handsome date!"

Niphrediel would learn later on in the night that Sarilya had discussed a few things with the winking soldier and his father on her behalf. The Princess of Gondor was told directly that the soldier appeared to be surprised and extremely proud as Sarilya spoke to him at his table, and that Aragorn shifted into grave orbs of intensity as they looked on. And the soldier, well, he was too overjoyed to notice.

His name was Sirion. And he was nothing like Théodred. In fact, if Théodred had been alive, Sirion probably would not have lived to see his twenty-second birthday. But, he would do. Sarilya reassured Niphrediel that the experience would be brilliant, and that she would learn a lot from it. A first date was something most young women would go through at some stage, Niphrediel imagined.

Niphrediel looked at herself in front of the mirror. She felt like a doll— one of Sarilya's dolls that stood behind glass doors on the shelves in her home. Her skin was perhaps darker then porcelain, but Sarilya had dressed her hair in what she had described as 'just right', and her body was fitted with a gown that, in Sarilya's judgement, brought out the bold darkness of her hair, the brightness of her eyes. The black garment might have made her skin appear less colourful, but it all did look rather nice-- perhaps not as lovely as Sarilya advertised, but fine enough nonetheless.

"Well?" Sarilya asked, readjusting on of the mother-of-pearl combs that kept some of her hair up. "What do you think?"

"I feel like an idiot," Niphrediel replied, without missing a beat.

"Yes, well," Sarilya began dryly. "If you think like an idiot, you will move like an idiot, you will talk like an idiot, and thus you will be an idiot— so quit it and be enthusiastic."

"Fine," Niphrediel sighed through gritted teeth as Sarilya stepped back from behind her.

"All done," said the handmaid, brushing her palms together after a long hour's work. "Well, I have done the best I could."

"Hopefully it will be good enough," Niphrediel smiled smugly at the fellow young woman. "So… what is the plan, anyway?"

"Dinner in southern tower," Sarilya explained. "Private, but still within the citadel. I feel like I am… fifteen again!"

Niphrediel smiled sadly at Sarilya, but her eyes lowered. She, herself, could not remember the exact time she might have been fifteen— she did not know how old she was. For all she knew, she could have been fifteen then! A mature fifteen-year-old, at least to the eyes, perhaps— but the point was, she had no possible recollection. All the years were scrambled, it was hard to think of an exact time when she could not rely on the age of herself when something happened.

"Are you coming?" Niphrediel asked Sarilya. Some noblewoman demanded that their ladies-in-waiting follow them everywhere. Some, Sarilya told Niphrediel, had compartments bellow the mattresses of their beds where a spare bed for their servant could be pulled out. Niphrediel was amazed that some folk could be so dependant on other people. None of them were even ill or cripple!

Sarilya shook her head. "No," she said. "I have to prepare things for tomorrow. Your dress… whatnot."

"What is happening tomorrow?" Niphrediel thought aloud, trying to remember.

"Just a little play time for the Rohir Raewyn's orphanage," Sarilya replied. "King Elessar thought it would be nice to organise games in the gardens for children. A few adults might join in, but the most of us are obligated to watch and laugh— it should be rather funny!"

Niphrediel sighed and nodded. "Of course," she said.

As if remembering their nightly course for the first time, Sarilya suddenly jolted. "Opps!" she began. "By me, I will make you late! Farewell, princess— have a good time."

Niphrediel received Sarilya's quick peck on the back of her hand before making her way through the corridors outside her bedchamber. By then, most of the paths had sunken into memory; though there was the occasional time when she had to backtrack or ask a guard for directions. It was a large place, and less sprawled out and open then Rivendell, but Niphrediel felt the walls of stone homely. It was where she was supposed to be.

Niphrediel's jaw set tightly as she moved passed Ivanneth, sitting on a stone bench with Elanor beside her. Lately, her Rivendell family had kept out of Niphrediel's business. It was strange for Niphrediel to walk straight passed Ivanneth, and only give the elleth a wave and smile, as if they were acquaintances. It was not so bad with Glorfindel— he stayed with Legolas and Gimli, but mostly Maerhelm. Maerhelm and Glorfindel complimented each other simply because their taste in jokes and bite in sarcasm were uncannily alike.

"My lady."

Niphrediel had not had to wait in the tower for more then five minutes when Sirion appeared. She had settled upon what she had chosen to be her chair, for the comfortable stone hall accommodated a lovely small round table in the centre with two chairs at either end. Niphrediel had decided on sitting on the chair facing the entryway. As a princess, she should not have sat anywhere else! Well, sort of.

She did not want to think of the evening as a date. Rather, Niphrediel preferred to think of it as a political dinner. It made her less self-conscious and less nervous that she was sitting opposite a handsome young man of appropriate breeding age; too early out of boyhood to be a man, but not so immature to remain a boy.

Yet, Niphrediel could see the boy in him. If not in his eyes that spoke of playfulness, slyness and pig-headed knowledge of his own sex appeal— then in his face and the softness of each crevice, and the lack of blemishes and wrinkles. He was young, like she was.

For some odd reason, Niphrediel was not embarrassed under Sirion's obvious scrutiny. She felt guilty to admit to herself, that she did not care for him enough to truly think that there was any importance of his thoughts in regards of her physical self. She should not have had Sarilya organise the dinner. Or perhaps that was the three pints of smuggled ale speaking…

"Your walk over was not too tiring?" Niphrediel offered as Sirion settled back into the cushion of his chair. His eyes glimmered grey in the light of the overhead chandelier and the torches lit upon the walls. There were also two candles brightly flickering from silver stands in the middle of their table, bringing an orange and yell tinge to both mortal's complexions. The light was enough to hide the beginnings of an unconscious blush on Niphrediel's face as Sirion's eyes moved upwards from his plate of superb food to Niphrediel's neckline. Niphrediel gritted her teeth together, and forced herself to seem nonchalant.

"Oh, no," Sirion said. "It was well worth the journey, in any case."

Niphrediel shrugged at his conclusion. "The evening has not really even started— how can you be so sure?" Niphrediel could almost hear the words popping up inside the soldier's head. Because you are the princess and my friends shall be so jealous when I tell him that you wished to have dinner with me! Niphrediel imagined Sirion to be a lady-killer. With a self-away arrogance, and the proud smirk; he had to be. Women were drawn to that sort of thing— that confidence.

The ale flowed much faster then the food was eaten, on both sides. Sirion and Niphrediel spoke of anything that came to mind. Niphrediel was informed that Sirion's father was the lord of a noble house, and that he was the heir despite that his eldest brother was supposed to inherit the house by blood. Sirion's elder brother, Sirwain, was described to Niphrediel as 'rather on the dim side of the blade'. Sirion had quite a touch for quips, though he spend most of his time trying to charm Niphrediel.

It was only when the two younglings were getting more and more intoxicated, that Sirion's charm began to work. Niphrediel could not believe she was drinking with a stranger— that she was making herself more vulnerable. In some strange way, as she took each sip… it was almost as if she was getting small tastes of rebellion. It was like a calm rhythm of adrenaline, simply because she knew that Legolas would not approve. Niphrediel knew she was being childish, but by the time she gathered the conscience to say it was enough; she was having too much fun in her drunken euphoria to care.

She was settled down on a sofa opposite Sirion beyond the table— near the farther wall of the hall. They both held their pints, like two children playing with teacups. They were both completely out of their depths; neither had ever drunken so much. Niphrediel had her anger… Sirion wanted revenge. He hoped news of his dinner with the fine princess of Gondor and Arnor would reach the ears of the commonfolk, and that his sweet little Rosenwen would hear the word on her daily stroll through the markets.

Sirion feigned a wide, dashing smile as he took a long scull of his tankard. As he closed his eyes momentarily, he imagined the look on her face as she went about her business, pretending not to listen to the gossips in the corner as they shared their story with each other— which, Sirion knew, would be a bastardised version of the truth, made more graphic for effect. He saw the scullery maid's face torn in pain in memory, tears flowing from her eyes.

A taste of her own medicine, Sirion thought as he remembered the way she brought things between them to an end a mere three days and two nights passed. 'It is not worth loving a stupid scullery maid when you can have any women in the city and become better through them,' she had told him, after he had confessed his love. As he attempted to give his heart to her, she had shoved it back into his chest before it missed a beat; but her grip on his tender organ had been far too harsh as she had done so. Sirion's heart no longer belonged to him.

The princess opposite him laughed, her head rolling back as her shoulders rose and fall slowly with each second chuckle. Her garb was magnificent— it was not something Sirion could ever imagine seeing his Rosenwen wearing. But… the scullery maid's beauty still polluted his memory. Could he not just enjoy the sight before him? Could he not just… genuinely want the figure that lounged so vulnerably in drunken delight less then a metre from him?

Sirion could not. But with the aid of alcohol and his own will, he brought up the courage to move onto the edge of his sofa and reach out. His hand found Niphrediel's jaw as she had slowly began to move it back around. He leaned forward, gripping the woman's chin with great expertise.

"You are," he began with a drunken pant. "So beautiful." As if there was another who was sober enough to hear the forced faithfulness of his words, for obviously Niphrediel was without the sharp wits to be able to tell, Sirion moved forward and kissed the girl.

Niphrediel visibly stiffened. Her brow furrowed into a dark frown and unlike the pinched eyes of her companion, Niphrediel's eyes remained open as she waited for Sirion to break away. She did not have to wait for long, since her lack of response was obvious enough for even the intoxicated young man to notice. As soon as her mouth was free, she stumbled onto her feet.

Automatically, Niphrediel wished she had not. Her mind raced and her head became heavy, as if it was a heavy ball connected to her head and she had stood up too fast. She faltered in her step again and again til she came to knock the far wall with her shoulder. She let out a long laugh as her head lost its heaviness, and she turned so that she could slump her back against the wall instead.

As if her sudden laughter was an invitation for Sirion to try again, he followed her to the wall. With her eyes closed, Niphrediel accepted him. She did not enjoy his touch— it was the first time any limb had given so much interest to her. His grip was too rough— too uncaring. Even in her stupor, Niphrediel knew that Sirion did not care about her.

His mouth was on her neck as Niphrediel opened her lost eyes. But, as if lost in some distant dream, Niphrediel did not see Sirion as she looked down at the face that began to pull back from her neck. There was no hint of imperfection, no hint of the malice that Sirion's clasp had expressed, and no hint of mortality. Sirion's black hair had been exchanged for strands of flaxen silk. Niphrediel's eyes showed her a pleasant fiction; it was not Sirion, but someone else. Instead of being disgusted and taking a step back, Niphrediel responded.

She let out a short pant before reaching out and wrapping an arm around the lad's neck, forcing his face downwards to hers with the same roughness. Her other hand gently cradled Sirion's cheek as she forced herself into his kiss. She pinched her eyes closed before her drunken vision began to fade.

Sirion must have been stunned at her sudden vigour, for her almost stumbled to the side as he shifted his footing. But as soon as he appeared sturdy on his feet, he kissed the girl back. He ate into Niphrediel, ignoring her preferred slower pace. Niphrediel's brow wrinkled, but she made herself adjust.

Sirion tasted like a mixture of stale ale and a disgusting mixture of pipe-weed. Recognising the tastes through her intoxication, Niphrediel felt her fantasy slip. She helped Sirion along as he began to reach downwards for the bottom hem of her gown. She did not understand why she would want to, for the rest of her body seemed to dread the eventual outcome. Wether Niphrediel knew it or not, she was shivering.

The enthusiasm of her left hand died as Sirion pulled her skirt up her knee, and gathered her leg up from gripping the bottom of her thighs and hiking them up. Niphrediel felt her heart beating in every joint, and could feel the heart from all the blood gushing to her head. She could hear her own voice inside her heading screaming for her to wake up and stop. It felt so wrong. His touch, his kiss, his taste, his face, his body, his voice. It was not right.

Her eyes bolted open, and her mouth ceased from moving against his. "Stop," she murmured blindly through her confusion, one of her hands coming to press up against the flat of Sirion's chest. He was himself again— glimmering brow, raven hair and all. "Sirion, stop."

In her last attempt to stop him in his trail up her leg, Niphrediel reached out with one of her own and forced his hand back down. There was a frown on her face, and she could understand how he might not have heard her in her own way. "This is not right," she said, her voice suddenly coarse and croaky.

Sirion took a step back, looking as if Niphrediel had slapped him in the face. His eyes glimmered under the firelight, and after taking another step backwards he collapsed onto his knees. "Forgive me, Highness," he wept. "Oh, please forgive me. I did not mean to force you so."

Feeling incapable of stepping forward and comforting Sirion properly, Niphrediel collapsed on the ground against the wall, her hands in her skirt. She watched Sirion weep, regret and guilt rushing through her very being. "Do not worry," she said. "It was my fault too."

Sirion shook his head. "No it was not," he said. "Your handmaid gave me a phial of white dust. She told me to sprinkle a little on our plates. It was supposed to relax the nerves…. She was afraid you were going to be nervous, or that I was going to be nervous…. Or something. I spilt the entire phial in our wine and did not think once about it. I did not think it would work."

Niphrediel moved her knees upwards and wrapped her arms around them tightly; hugging them to herself. "Drugged?"

Sirion nodded. "I think… I think so. I have a high tolerance for ale."

"Why did you come?" Niphrediel asked, letting out a long sigh or air.

"I wanted to hurt the woman I love," Sirion replied truthfully, his jaw set. "I wanted her to realise how much she loved me, Highness."

Niphrediel would have laughed, if she had not felt so nauseated. "Well… what should we tell people when they ask us what we did?"

Sirion looked at her, shook written in his wide eyes. "I will not be punished? But I have wronged you!"

"You made a mistake," Niphrediel corrected, unable to show kindness in her numb expression. "It does not matter."

"We will tell them that we played cards til midnight," Sirion offered then. "People know me to be endeared by such games. I was teaching the Royal Highness the art of a good game over a quiet dinner."

Niphrediel tried a smile, but it felt as if the nerves in her face had retired early. "Good plan," she said."We will not speak of what happened ever again?"

Sirion nodded. "I might seem pompous, but I am a might of my word. This never happened."

Niphrediel let out a sigh in relief, and nodded. She could not possibly express how thankful she was. "You know, about that woman? The one you love?"

"Yes?" Sirion's brows rose at Niphrediel's mention.

"You should try writing a love letter next time."

A few minutes later, Sirion called for servants and Sarilya to escort Niphrediel to her bedchamber, and to send for his horse. Sarilya gave them both a strong tea, which cured them of their harsh intake of powder a few hours past. Their energy returned, and the symptoms of eventual migraines dissipated.

Sarilya slept on the sofa in Niphrediel's room. She could barely tell that the other girl was in the room with her, expect the air had taken on a slightly sweeter scent. Even when Sarilya was not conscious to remind her that she was not without support and confidence, there was something that did so in her place.

Niphrediel lay in her bed, her head turned to the side. Her eyes were open, looking back again into the accounts of that very night. Not one muscle on her face so much as shifted as a tear fell from an eye. Her hands gripped handfuls of her blanket so tightly her knuckles turned white. Even the rest of her complexion had taken on a slightly more pallid tone.

She had thought about not only a friend as Sirion had been touching her, kissing her. Oh no, it would be so simple if it was someone like Maerhelm. Or, maybe Théodred. They were both lovely men, with their fair hair and bright eyes. But it was not so. Niphrediel had dreamed of an elf. What she had wanted to feel during the moment was not the caress of a Man. It was the touch of an Elf. A Prince. Her Legolas.

'It is just a little crush', Sarilya had said to her, trying to be some comfort. 'Stay away from him, and everything will be fine! You just wait and see!'

In the name of all that was good and holy… Niphrediel hoped Sarilya was right. To say the very least… Niphrediel was terrified.

Oh, please, Eru, she prayed as she closed her blood shot eyes. Do not inflict me so.







Note: You have no idea how many times I have rewritten the second half of this chapter…. Good god, I could've written an entirely different story with that many wasted pages. There were so many possibilities… and doubled with the fact that I'm so paranoid that I've completely screwed up this enter-romance stuff with Niphrediel that nothing seems to fit right to me…. well…. let's just say it's been a mission. Tell me what you think :) Oh, and Neph wants some Legolas loving…. If you haven't already guessed. She is a hooman, yes (or... is she??? ;) )... no elf4elf stuff over here, I need conflict dammit. Do you think I got it right? What approach would you think is appropriate? Humour me, I'm 100 percent curious ^_^

OH! And thankyou all for your amazing support this far. You can't how imagine how cool it's been to improve on my writing with such a great lot of you backing me through every chapter. I'm extremely sorry if any of the content in this edition didn't work for you… I tried my best. R/R me!

OOOOH! And Merry Belated Christmas! Hope ya'll enjoyed RotK.