Chapter Summary: Alfirin takes away from Silmarien the one thing that makes a woman beautiful and differentiates her from a man.
Author Notes: SPRING BREAK! W00t! And this chapter was written with the help of Mercury Gray.
Shout Outs:
Sabre – She's going to need it for the feathers.
Dread Lady Freya – The wedding won't be for a while yet. Be patient.
Iluvien – I intentionally have short chapters so that you can read more than one in a single sitting. Glad you like my work, though!
Terreis – You haven't seen Glorfindel at his most passionate. Wait until later, my friend. But why is the rum gone?
Mercury Gray – Duilinn was thrown away because I grew to dislike it. I prefer other names for her, and she will be given a few names in Elvish. Some will stick better than others, and some will be pet names given by specific people. Just like we planned for Glorfindel, Silmarien will receive her own "special" name. The rest of the readers will just have to sit on the edge of their seats to find out what I mean.
Roisin Dubh – Kittens get hurt when they play with the big cats.
Glorfindel sought out his lady the moment he left Denethor. The father of his intended was not wholly against their marriage, but did not give his blessing on their union so soon. He instructed Glorfindel to wait until the summer, nearer the time of Faramir's own wedding before he again asked for his blessing.
"At least I asked," he smiled, kissing Silmarien softly when he found her.
"You're a bold sort," she smiled. "Bold and fearless."
"Though we cannot marry just yet, he granted us permission to announce our betrothal, my heart."
"Oh happy news!" Silmarien practically squealed. "There will be feasts and well-wishes and gifts pouring in. You must announce it tonight at the evening meal, Glorfindel."
The elf threw back his head and laughed. "There is nothing like an engagement announcement which turns a woman's head."
"Don't think I'm silly," she pouted. "There will be gifts for you too!"
"The greatest gift I cannot have until the summer," Glorfindel smiled suggestively.
"Beware, I might have you work to earn it," Silmarien warned. The threat fell flat as her eyes glittered with the same mischievous light he had.
Winter passed pleasantly enough. It seemed that Alfirin had receded into the dark cold brought on by the season, for even the lords Elladan and Elrohir did not see much of her unless they went out of their way. Lord Anaron seemed to be no threat though it was known that he had become a sable knight. A warning rang in Silmarien's spirit that she should beware, and yet she did not heed it. Instead, she enjoyed the peace and Glorfindel's ever-loving company.
Spring was fast approaching, and Glorfindel had been putting off the return to Rivendell. At last, he could no longer make excuse as he watched the last finger of frost let go of the White City, and went to take leave of Silmarien.
"Beloved I must return to Imladris," he said. "I would be a poor husband indeed if I did not provide for my wife's needs. My dwelling place must be prepared for your living in it."
"You already know how selfish I am," Silmarien sighed. "But I cannot keep you entirely to myself. Go to Rivendell and do what you must. But I demand that you write to me often."
"Shall I write to you of the longing I have in my heart already?" he murmured as he pulled her closer. "Shall I tell you that I miss the aroma that belongs to you? Shall I tell you that I am lonely for you at night?"
"Glorfindel, what scandalous thoughts!" she gasped even as he held her tighter.
"You must learn that my love for you is hungry and improper," Glorfindel whispered, his breath tickling her ear. "If you do not, you will have too much to learn after we are wed."
Silmarien smiled into his cloak, savoring the smell of him - a mix of woody airs and a slight musky scent. "You're a sly devil, melethron," she whispered, so as not to let anyone else hear.
Kissing her quickly, he smiled. "I shall return as soon as I can, my love. Farewell."
Several weeks passed, and Silmarien's heart warned her further, but she could not see why. Looking across her battlefield, she could see no threat. But it was in a shadowed corner of the chessboard where the sable queen met her ebony knight, handing him a bundle. "Only a little blood, Anaron. You've taken virgins - you know how it looks."
Anaron nodded. "I shall return later tonight. Take up your usual habits, Alfirin."
The lady nodded, a cruel smile forming at her mouth. "And thus was the daughter of the haughty steward disgraced."
Aragorn let the cloth fall from his hands, not wanting to look at Denethor. The graying steward had his head in his hands, not weeping but very near.
"Send for Silmarien," the king said quietly. Arwen sat at her husband's side, her face ashen. The lady was brought, confused and anxious, to the feet of her king.
"My lord, what troubles thee? Why was I sent for by such a stern messenger?" she asked, her voice quaking. Elessar pointed to the wretched stain.
"What foul trick is this?" Silmarien asked after a shocked pause.
"The laws of this country state that as a woman of the house of the Steward, you may not marry without the consent of the king," Elessar continued, his voice steady, but struggling not to shake.
"But my lord, did you not give Glorfindel and I your blessing when we announced betrothal? I do not know what this means!"
"Silmarien," Arwen said quietly. "You are accused of throwing away your virgin pride and bedding a man you were not wed to."
"Who accuses me, your majesty?"
"I do. " Alfirin stepped forward. "Who better? I have seen them, majesty, as I have told your tribunal already, cosseting in the halls of this palace, and other places besides, well beyond the bounds of decency."
Silmarien's rage reached a new level. "You cursed liar!" she spat, rushing at Alfirin. Two royal guards held her back and had a time of it as she struggled. "You lying wretch of a woman! Tell him the truth! Tell him the truth!"
"I already have, lady," Alfirin said with a sickly sweet smile.
Aragorn had to take a deep breath. "Lord Denethor, you know the law better than any man in this room. What is punishment for such a crime?"
Denethor turned his head away. "Public humiliation, my lord king, to have her hair shorn short."
Silmarien's eyes grew wide. "But I am innocent! Glorfindel has never laid hand on me with such wicked intent. This is all a lie!"
"Does this bed dressing not belong to you," Alfirin asked, feigning scrutiny.
"It is mine," Silmarien admitted. "But my future husband has never set foot in my bedchambers. We are innocent."
"Come, such a cool liar. Even when you are caught, Silmarien, I am ashamed to see you with such a wicked tongue," Anaron's voice spoke.
"Is there no one who will speak in my defense?" Silmarien pleaded.
"Your...betrothed could...but, he is away, is he not?" Alfirin said.
"It would be weeks before he could return, even with such a fleet horse as Asfaloth," Silmarien said half to herself.
"Then as there is no one here who will attest your innocence..." Alfirin turned her head aside, hiding a victorious smile.
"Your punishment will be served on the morrow," Aragorn said, his voice not as sorrowful as it had been. He had been speaking to Arwen quietly in Sindarin, and the king and queen of Gondor were resolute. "In the meantime, you will be guarded in your chambers. Prepare yourself, Silmarien."
The daughter of the steward blinked fast, holding back tears. "I will not weep," she told herself under her breath as guards escorted her back to her chambers. "I am a daughter of Gondor. I will not weep."
Only immediate family members were allowed to speak to Silmarien while she was in her comfortable prison. Denethor and his sons made good use of that privilege, and yet their speech was ungentle toward her.
"Silmarien, what obnoxious thoughts have made you throw away your dignity?" Boromir asked, pressing her for an answer to this riddle that befuddled him. Faramir too asked her many things, and she did not answer. Denethor sat in a corner, silent and grave.
"I swear on pain of death that blood is not mine!" Silmarien sobbed, wondering what she had done to deserve this.
"Then whose was it?" Boromir snapped, at the end of his patience. Silmarien uncharacteristically snapped back.
"You, who have lived with me so long! You who saw me grow up! Even my brothers doubt me, my innocence, and my truth. Am I alone the wielder of sanity?"
"Leave her be," Denethor said, stirring out of what seemed to be a light slumber. "I weep for her fate, but I do not doubt her testimony."
Boromir looked for a rebuttal, but Faramir glared at him.
"Brother, you and I need a chat. In my rooms, if you wouldn't mind."
The two stalked out, glaring daggers at each other. A door slammed down the corridor, and then a small explosion of yelling seemed to take place, dampened by the heavy doors.
"Take heart Silmarien," Denethor said, taking her hand. "I have written a letter for your sake to Glorfindel. Lord Elladan has just left the city bearing it. And our king took me aside after the guards escorted you away. Tomorrow is the full moon. When a man shears his hair on a full moon, it grows back twice as fast."
Silmarien had to laugh. "Father, that's an old wives tale," she sniffled. Denethor smiled.
"But it gives you hope, yes?" Silmarien nodded, quickly wiping away a tear.
"There now. Let justice run its course. One day, Alfirin's secrets will be found out and she shall pay double the price you pay now," Denethor vowed.
The next day, Silmarien sat upon the horse that was to take her to a platform in the fourth circle of the city. The small procession was somber and quiet. Citizens had heard of what had passed the day before, and gossip had been spread like a plague.
Hairpins loosely bound her hair as she guided her horse behind the guards. She dared not look upon the faces of the women. Their hard gaze was unforgiving. The young girls stared up at her in sorrowful betrayal. It was as if they plead with her, "Why? You were supposed to be good of heart. How could you do this to us?"
Faramir, Boromir and Rhoswen watched from a balcony at the palace. Boromir had been shouted into silence, and his angry gaze followed his sister's course. Faramir had wept all the tears he could for her and could weep no more. Rhoswen pursed her lips. They had not done this to her. Of course, she had not been an open enemy of Alfirin.
Ascending the platform, the King turned to the people as she was brought forward.
"People of Minas Tirith," he spoke so all could hear. "It grieves me that I must attend this matter so grave. But it has come to pass that Lady Silmarien has been accused of the loss of her innocence."
Silmarien noted with quiet thankfulness that Aragorn carefully selected his wording. She would be proved innocent one day, she knew he would see to it. The chief of the Guard of the Citadel had been given the displeasure of inflicting the punishment. Val, a friend of Silmarien's from childhood stood at her side, the shears in his hand.
"Forgive me, Silmarien," he whispered as the King spoke.
"You are as innocent in this matter as I," she returned quietly. "I do not hold you at fault."
"And so the penalty is that her hair be shorn like to a man's," Elessar was saying. "Let it be done."
Val reached up and pulled the hairpins out of her hair, pursing his lips so he wouldn't tear up as the soft black mass fell down her back, almost reaching her knees. Silmarien's gaze was upon the wooden planks of the floor as she took back the hairpins, holding tightly to them. Her head lifted quickly when she heard the metal clink of the shears, and she closed her eyes as Val gathered her hair in his hand. Slowly, like feathers dancing on the wind, her ebony locks fell to the ground.
After watching her humiliation in silence the crowd began to disperse. Silmarien was escorted back to the seventh level of the city. This time, those who thought her to be guilty reviled her, jeering as she passed by.
"Clever of her lover to run just in time to escape," one filthy man said loudly.
Silmarien was sent to her chambers again, this time without a guard. For the longest time, she stood before her mirror in silence, her hated reflection staring back at her.
"And so the ivory queen fell," she murmured, drawing a veil over her head to cover her short hair.
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