Chapter Summary: Thick plottens…I mean…plot thickens!

Shout Outs:

DreadLadyFreya – Oh, their end shall be satisfying.

Mercury Gray – This coming from the blood-o-phob? I'm surprised at you, Merc!

Roisin Dubh – Glad you liked it. I hope I won't disappoint!

Silmarien was drinking a goblet of wine when Elemmire rushed into her sitting room and hastily closed the door. When she turned, Silmarien noted that her cheek was quite rosy and her eyes uncommonly bright.

"You seem very happy," Silmarien chuckled as Elemmire hugged herself absently. "Where have you been at, my rook?"

"Oh, Silmarien, he's the most wonderful man," she breathed, fairly dancing across the room to the couch her friend sat upon. "I've never had the honor of speaking with him so long. And when we parted ways, he kissed my hand so gentlemanly."

"Ah, so my ambassador has been swooning over the ivory king," Silmarien mused quietly. "And did he seem to enjoy your company?"

"Oh, I don't…I don't know. But I enjoyed his," Elemmire smiled dreamily. She snapped out of her trance when she saw the dark circles beneath her friend's eyes. "Silmarien, what is wrong? You look as though you'll faint!"

Rubbing the bridge of her nose, Silmarien sighed wearily. "I didn't sleep very well last night," she admitted sheepishly.

"Was it the thunderstorm? An evil dream?"

Tilting her head to the side, Silmarien's lips curled of their own accord into a bit of a sneer. "I suppose you could say it was an evil dream," she murmured.

"Come, tell me of this nightmare," Elemmire urged, sitting on the couch, taking Mari's hand.

"No!" Silmarien snapped. "That is…I…"

Pursing her lips, Silmarien calmed herself. "Elemmire, do you remember what the Queen said about Elves being dream walkers? How they could manipulate their sleep and meditation to meet another in a vision?"

Elemmire nodded slowly.

"I…Glorfindel decided to pay me little…visits for the last week and a half," Silmarien emphasized meaningfully.

Suddenly her eyes widened, and her lips made a perfect 'o' as she blushed. "I…I see," she whispered, looking away. "How…unkind."

"Yes," Silmarien sighed, drinking more wine. "Very unkind."

Faramir stood at a work table in Osgiliath, going over plans to rebuild the city and heal its war wounds. Making notes on the margins of each scroll, Faramir kept himself busy until a servant announced the presence of Lord Nahald. The elderly man entered and bowed.

"Please, Nahald, sit. I am not a man to whom you should bow," Faramir smiled, offering the noble a seat.

"The Prince of Ithilien is too kind to this old man," Nahald smiled, accepting the chair.

"To what do I owe this visit? I had thought your noble mind would be bent to other tasks in the rebuilding of this city."

"A matter which is of grave importance, I fear. I overheard my daughter Alfirin speaking to a colleague several days ago, and it made me wonder."

The old man paused while Faramir brought a goblet of wine to his hand. "I am ashamed to say that I have betrayed my daughter's trust, however I think that her deeds are beyond my discipline."

From the folds of his cloak, Nahald pulled out a small leather-bound book, holding it out for Faramir to take. "It is now known to me that your sister is an opponent of my Alfirin. How much of an enemy I never realized. There are such confessions in this book that grieve my heart, Faramir. But I turn it over to you so that vengeance long awaited shall be paid. I wash my hands of the matter."

Faramir furrowed his brow and nearly wept as he turned the pages of Alfirin's diary. "My lord," he whispered, fighting the tendency of his voice to crack. "Silmarien has lost her honor in this enmity. She…your daughter…brought about the public humiliation of my sister."

Nahald nodded. "Alfirin has shamed me as well, Faramir. I had not known the blackness of her heart, until my self-indulgence was so far gone that there was no control. I am to blame for her selfishness, Faramir. I beg forgiveness."

Wiping his eyes, Faramir breathed a heavy sigh. "Lord Nahald, it is not from me you should ask forgiveness. The wrong was not inflicted upon my own honor. But I give it freely. If I might, would you allow me to pass this diary to Silmarien? She has been searching for written evidence against Barahir's union with Alfirin, and use the right of intervention."

"By all means, and I wish her the best of fortune. Barahir is too mighty a man to be brought low by my daughter."

Rushing about to prepare for the ride to Osgiliath, Silmarien fairly buzzed with excitement. Faramir had just sent a messenger telling her that there was something important he needed to deliver to her hands personally, concerning the right of intervention. If it was what she hoped it was, Alfirin would soon be weeping at her victory.

Making her way to the stables where her horse was being prepared for her, Silmarien smoothed out her riding dress, hiding the leggings she wore underneath. It was a habit she had developed – wearing the gown for propriety, and yet for comfort she wore leggings. She couldn't stand the sidesaddles she was nearly forced to use, and had to improvise to pacify her father's stipulations, which still held, even at her age. There were just some things she couldn't escape.

"My lady," a voice called to her as she took the reigns from a servant. Turning, Silmarien saw a man of Harad approach her with a smile. Her heart sank. She had hoped not to have any company so that she could speak to her brother privately.

"Greetings, my lord," she smiled, hiding her displeasure.

"I am Tergon," he bowed. "I wondered if I might accompany you on your ride?"

"I am bound for Osgiliath, Lord Tergon," Silmrien replied. "I enjoy the excitement of a good race. I hope you do not mind riding quickly."

"No, I wouldn't mind at all," he replied with a grin that showed his teeth. "Not at all."

I know it's short, but I'm getting to some action. Please be patient and review!