The woman looked up as the door opened and admitted the one person she hated more than anyone. He wasn't happy either, she knew by the way he held his hand slightly clenched that he was boiling mad.

" How are we today?" He asked sitting next to her on the cot. She pulled away from him and did not answer. " I thought you'd like to know we made a bit of progress and it's all thanks to your rude little doctor friend." He reached out and stroked the hair that curled at the base of her neck.

She shuddered and jerked her head away " Don't touch me!"

He laughed and said " I always did have a bit of a fascination with your rather…unremarkable hair. I don't know if that isn't the reason I like it so well, it lacks all the gleaming silkiness of elves hair, and yet holds that changeable factor which makes it seem more than one color." He began smoothing it into a neat curtain, he was enjoying her discomfort enormously and wasn't about to stop.

" As I said before, your doctor gave me a little help, he has in his possession a certain folder inscribed with the crest of Fingon….I see that you know it. Just as I thought, it is yours, you're easier to read than a book, my dear."

Aeroniel had turned to face him a moment and asked " Do….do you have it?"

Sauron's face darkened and his hands tightened painfully on her hair. " No, some fool came and aided the doctor before I could get it. Not that it matters, I can easily find out what I need to know from your husband."

He began braiding her hair as he spoke his vile hands sliding in and out as he worked. Aeroniel shuddered again, and kept her face away from his, avoiding those odd eyes.

" He will never tell you anything," she said defiantly, but there was a tiny note of uncertainty that Sauron caught, like a struggling butterfly in those long, perfect hands. She jerked back to reality, as he laughed softly, a cultured, satisfied chuckle.

" You are all so predictable. So…sure at first. Sure as all of that fool Felagund's elves were. We only found out later who he really was, because of their ridiculous loyalty to their dear King. They all died for him, and then---he died also. Just as Fingon is dying. Slowly, but surely."

" What do you mean?" the word strangled from her throat, she could not stop them. Sauron ceased his incessant braiding for a few moments, leaning closer, so she could feel his warm breath on her neck, and smell it's mint freshness.

" We don't have him oh, no. But he is dying. Every moment of every day, he turns because he thought he heard your voice on the breeze, the soft feel of your hand on his. Every night he imagines you are in his arms, and he reaches out to touch your face….like this." He brushed the back of his hand against her cheek, and she recoiled, horrified at this familiar caress aped in such a sickening fashion. But now she had turned, and her eyes were held by his, and they glinted in a wolf-like fashion, as he leaned even closer.

" But then…you are not there. And our poor King is left only with a tormenting phantom, and of how he will answer his children's questions when they want to know where Mother is?"

Aeroniel gasped slightly, and slid completely off the cot, clumsy within the confines of her straight jacket. Sauron watched her weeping, satisfied for now. The rest would come later. All these captives did sooner or later, through mental or physical torture.

He stood up, and then looked down at one of his hands. A long strand of glistening hair was caught in one of his nails, and delicately he pulled it free. And then, almost as an afterthought, he slipped it into one of his pockets, a ghost of a smile playing over his handsome face.

Fingon had searched the faces in the crowd of elves, dwarves and men. The brown haired young woman wasn't among them. His father came forward and clasped his son in a tight embrace.

" I am glad to see you, my son."

" Ada! Greetings!"

" Come, I'll see that this joyous and smothering crowd doesn't kill you before you can even say hello to all your friends."

The two slowly made their way out of the crowd of well wishers, saying hello and exchanging words back and forth with one another. The elves all reached out to touch the hand or arm of their beloved ruler and his son. Little eflleths ran before them and spread petals on the path. Watching from distance Aeroniel saw the King and Prince in a new light, they were the hope and pride of the Nolder, great and noble like none she would ever see again.

Splendid in his armor of beaten gold and his white helmet, Fingon was every inch the praised and loved Valiant of all the ballads. She did not know this elf, he was no longer the handsome elf who cared for her. He was a noble and untouchable Prince, surrounded by his people. She had no place there, she was mortal and like Beren would only cause hurt where she loved.

With a last look at the prince and King she went back to her tent, and for the first time in years cried herself to sleep.

A page entered the royal pavilion and cleared away the remains of the meal as the King and his son shared their news from Dor-Lomin.

" The defense are at the strongest they will be until we can train more of the young elves to ride the horses. It really shouldn't be this way, they should already know how to bond with their steeds without training." said Fingon as he began stacking the tangerine peels his father had left on the tray.

" Remember my son that they were not all born to it. They are gifted in many other ways, some were not meant to have the way with animals that you and your guard possess. Most of them were not even born in Valinor so they learn in a different way." The King paused and considered his son a moment and a teasing light came into his silver blue eyes.

" I seem to remember a certain elf, very eager and willing to learn …oh about two thousand years ago that had himself thrown over thirty times on the first day of his riding lessons."

Fingon smiled at the memory " I remember being so sore the next day that I could barely move."

Fingolfin laughed and said " I was sure we wouldn't see you in the ring that day. But there you were, marching out to it in a some what stiff way!"

"And I was thrown only once after that, I had some pride, you know."

Fingolfin mused a moment and said " I do believe it had something to do with the fact that the whole family of Feanor was there, and Celegorm and Maedhros were betting that you would never learn the proper way to ride?"

" Yes, they were, and I knew that if I gave in I would never hear the end of it. As it turned out Celegorm didn't know how to ride very well himself, but that's another story."

The father and son, so like in manner and appearance sat in companionable silence for a time. The light of the lamps casting blue shadows over their black hair and winking off the gold that bound Fingon's braids. A song of twilight was being song softly over the camp and the light sound of laughter flittered back through the thin walls of the tent. Fingon sighed and leaned his head against the high backed chair his sat on.

" I am so tired, Ada"

" Do the dreams continue?"

" Yes, but they have changed and I cannot…" he trailed off unable to explain the problem to his father. Fingolfin frowned slightly, his son was gifted in seeing things in great depth, but with that came the pain and memory of those things as if he had lived them. In the aftermath of Maedhros's rescue, Fingon had nightmares of torture that he never endured. He had taken that burden from his friend knowing that to relive it would surely kill him. So he had suffered it alone and often in the years that followed he would walk the night in sleepless pain.

After a time he had learned to release the dreams and they would fade away to nothing. Passing away as the years rolled away in endless order, but not all dreams fade. Fingon was not allowed, it seemed, to release his own past memories and horrors he had witnessed and endured in life. They plagued him, and it was not unheard of that he would go without rest for months at a time.

Now the weariness of months seemed to show in his son's exhausted frame as it relaxed into the chair. As he looked at his son he thought how much like his mother there was in his face, the same dark hair and habit of twining gold in his braids. It was his wife all over again. Only she had not come, she had stayed behind to mourn the loss and in rebuke of their disobedience to the Valar.

And yet they had all come on, he had to. Feanor was his brother regardless of mother and he was bound to him in blood, and in love of brother for brother.

Fingon sighed again and Fingolfin saw that he was asleep, his mind at rest and his eyes clouded in slumber. The King rose and slowly left so not to disturb his son, he came out into the beautiful silver light of the moon. He breathed in the fresh scent of night flowers and the stars over head twinkled in radiance. Out of respect for those races that required sleep, the elves had retired to their tents early and only a few now strayed under the night sky.

Fingolfin nodded to those elves and strolled around the shimmering pools of Irvin and felt that is was good to be alive. He saw a lone figure kneeling by a pool and idly tossing pebbles into the water, the ripples white and silver. The face was hidden by the long red hair that fell to the elf's waist, but the attitude was one of contented peace. The Steward looking out over the water and idly dangling his long white fingers in the stream of water. A stirring in the calm water was enough for the King to know that the presence of Ulmo was there. All was indeed right with the world

The scene was one of organized confusion, dancers and musicians ran from one end of the clearing to the other trying to find the best lace to position themselves. Another party of elves was in the process of hanging streamers of silk and satin from tree to tree above the dance floor.

Lady Bethriel was in command and under her direction the area was rapidly transformed into the small piece of Valinor it would become. She was in her element, among her friends she almost seemed kind and happy toward those around her. Nessima asked her for her opinion on a green gown she held in her arms.

After fulfilling her request she sailed over to remove to little eflings from climbing one of the tent poles. After bestowing a gentle smack to their bottoms she shooed them away.

Across camp Aeroniel was being held under Alassë's hands.

" Ow! Please Alassë my hair isn't going to look very pleasing if you pull it out." said Aeroniel as she blinked soap out of her tearing eyes. Alassë didn't answer as she continued to massage the shampoo into Aeroniel's scalp.

Nessima entered the tent and looked at the two before laughing and saying " If you could only see yourself Ronnie, you would think you're going to meet Morgoth from your expression."

Perhaps you would too if your head was on fire from scrubbing."

" You'll thank me later when your hair is lying like sun upon a fields of gold." said Alassë happily.

Nessima rolled her aqua eyes to the ceiling and smoothing the dress out said " Lady Bethriel unwittingly helped make your gown more beautiful, she told me that gold would accent it better than silver and so it does." she sat and pulled her sewing basket to her and threading a needle.

Aeroniel asked " Did you find the masks? I think we left them behind and I…." Her words were cut off by a cascade of water poured upon her head by the dark haired maiden.

Handing a towel to Aeroniel, Alassë began collecting her varies combs and brushes. As the human girl wrapping her dripping self in the big towel she wrung the excess water out of her hair.

" I saw the Prince today and may I say that he was looking quite wonderful. I saw every elven maid making eyes at him. It's really quite silly if you ask me, most of them don't have a chance."

" No, of course not to you, but then you are preoccupied with a certain member of the prince's guard and have no thought of the prince himself." smirked Nessima as she sewed another golden bead into place.

"Oh I smell intrigue!" crowed Aeroniel.

Alassë blushed a pretty pink and bent her head over her combs. Aeroniel knelt beside her on the bed and coaxed " Tell us who the lucky elf is! Hmmmm?"

" I..I don't have any real incident to put my finger on. It's just a glance or look, little things you know. Nothing I can point to and say " Yes, I see he cares for me."

" So I don't want to say anything for fear of being wrong." she said. Nessima nodded in agreement.

" I think that's wise sister, but if the elf in question happens to be Darien I wouldn't worry about it. I've seen him mooning over you in much the same way you do about him."

Aeroniel giggled and asked if it was really Darien. " Our Darien? The one who is always following us around? And I thought it was all on my account! I shall wilt like a blighted flower now since he loves another." And Aeroniel sank to the floor dramatically, a puddle of wet hair and white towel. The woman all laughed and Nessima held out the finished dress. " Here Miss Wilted Flower, see if this becomes you or not."

Sighing mournfully Aeroniel hurried behind the scan and the rustle of material was heard. A contented sigh came a second later and she appeared saddening shy around the screen. A vision in pale green, the gown hugged close to her frame, the neckline reaching to just below her collar bones. There were no sleeves but the soft materiel draped in filmy folds on either side of her bare shoulders. It hugged her frame lightly and hung to just above her ankles leaving her feet and legs room to move as she danced.

The scattered over the dress and along the hem the little gold beads were coyly working their priceless magic. The eflleths didn't say anything for a time and Aeroniel asked hesitantly " Isn't it alright?"

Alassë gave a queer laugh and said " I should say, it's just perfect. But now I'll have to come up with another way to fashion your hair. Something living that is…I'll be right back."

She entered a moment later and said " I need your hands Aeroniel come on." they trooped out of the tent careful not to let anyone see them and they ran out through the trees. Breaking into a clearing they were confronted with a field of tightly closed poppies.

" There you need to make them open." directed Alassë. Kneeling among the plants Aeroniel stroked one her eyes closing slowly as she trailed her hands from the bottom of the tender stem to the top. As her finger tips reached the bud it unfolded into hr cupped hand. It spread it's yellow petals softly against her palm and she looked up and the field seemed to awake in a similar fashion.

Gathering the blossoms in her hand Alassë fashioned them into a crown of sorts, as Nessima made a small nosegay out of the flowers adding a fern or two.

" Now we have everything we need to finish."

Half hour later Aeroniel was standing in the field the crown on her head and the nosegay fastened to her wrist. Her hair was drying in the sun and feeling the heat working to make her sleep she lay back among the plants that bent to touch her. Sleep fell easily because in the excitement of the past days there didn't seem to be enough time for rest.

Sheltering her from the harsh sunlight the poppies folded over and made a canopy.

It was well because not long after an elf came traipsing through the field looking for solitude in the empty field. He wasn't looking for anyone, simply the quiet without fawning courtiers or maids. He wasn't sure what drew him here, but he reveled in the calmness of the late afternoon. He was walking towards a particularly green spot, when the poppies that grew there inexplicably curled around his foot, and he tripped forward, skidding along the ground in quite an un-princely fashion. He laughed slightly at himself, and sitting halfway up, spit out some grass that had found its way in his mouth.

Then, just as he was about to turn away, and forget this little incident, the poppies opened, revealing a young women sleeping there. He stopped, feeling very confused. This was the woman from his dreams, wearing the same green dress, the golden beads catching the light like tiny prisms, twinkling up at him.

But what fascinated him was her face, so clear and peaceful, that same, small smile tinged with sadness tugging at her mouth. He considered her carefully. If she had been smiling in the same way every eflleth had, carefree and happy, he might still have turned away, only to remember a very pretty girl surrounded by flowers on a beautiful afternoon.

But it was that sadness, that hint of sorrows hidden, that called to his own cares that he bore. And on a sudden, very foolish impulse, he leaned forward, and gently kissed her smile. He lingered a few moments, running one finger over a lock her soft, slightly damp hair.

" Prince Fingon!" Someone was calling his name, probably Lady Bethriel. Hastily he stood up, and before he left, glanced back, only to see the poppies close together, hiding her from curious eyes. And as if she had never been there, the poppies bowed and curtseyed to each other in the breeze.

Dear Reviewers…er…Readers

I have given you something to chew on for the next few weeks. Yes, weeks because I require reviews to continue. I have been laboring on this story to the point that I lose sleep. And expect for a few faithful souls, no one reviews. I have given you a kiss, and a creepy scene with Sauron whom we love to( wait I don't love him at all!) hate. So get busy and give me some feed back!

Love Always( for every one, but Sauron and Morgoth)

Jaffee Leeds