I won't be able to update for two weeks following this chapter, as I will not have access to the internet while away! I will be writing the next chapter on paper...and hopefully I can retype it onto my computer when I get a chance. Finally, when we get internet again, I'll post for you guys to read!

(BTW, than you for the positive feedback. I figured you'd like the way this was written much better! . It's really encouraging!)

I'm taking some liberties with this chapter . I really liked writing some more of Nuriathiel's perspective. She is becoming rather fun to write. I'm also revealing a bit more of her heritage, flaws, and prideful nature. Some explanations are in here...a bit redundant for those who know the history of elves, but nice all the same to put in. Took a bit of liberty in saying that Thranduil identified with the Silvan folk, though he was actually of Sindarin descent. I was thinking that it would make more sense for him to 'acquire' admiration for another race of elves, and want to raise his son as one of them so as not to alienate his peoples from the family that ruled them.

Also, I added in a hint of Pride and Prejudice, for fans of that story. Just wondering who would catch the reference...hehehehehehehe...let me know if you see it!

Chapter 3

It was a safe position, just outside of attention. Perfect for those who wished to help, at a distance. That was how she wished to describe it. A rather good position for those who deserved it.

To be a part of a council was to be on the border between those who knew and those who did not. Nuriathiel understood this, accepted it as a common aspect of the position she had been blessed to have. To be in such a place of honor, closely associated with lords and kings, and no less to offer advise to those who many thought all knowing, she could not begin to describe.

She had been well aware of many things that the prince himself had voiced to her in the heated argument they had shared. But, she was also well aware that he preferred to appear as though he knew everyone better than they knew themselves. It had been an ill admired aspect of his personality which she had long ago resigned to herself that he would not change.

Despite this flaw, the prince had been well intentioned, offering his advise...though it had been neither needed nor welcomed. She may have been right in her reaction...may have...but outbursts like what she had done would not be tolerated by herself even less by others.

She could not face the prince again, knowing that she had been so insolent. Her anger had clouded her judgment, making a mockery of herself and the position she now held. It was something which most certainly needed to be rectified.

And the perfect time had come.

The king had ordered all of the council to sit with him and his son at his mealtime table. To refuse his invitation was to incur his anger and threaten the position she had worked for so many years to attain. To be replaced was no impossibility. The meal was a mixed blessing, both providing time to apologize to the prince and to humble herself. It was the latter that made it not so appealing...

Sitting at her own table, fingering the pages of the history she had been reading so intently, she found her mind fighting with itself. Her nature and her better judgment ironically holding their very own council, deciding the outcome of her actions.

In the end, better judgment won: please those in power and remain among them, it said. Cast aside pride and nature and instead build the wall of protectiveness, apologize for her earlier actions...and put it behind her. And hope that others would do the same.

He had confided in her once, so long ago when they had walked the ancient roads of greenwood together...that once lost, his good opinion was gone forever. She could still recall the soft glitter of the River Anduin peeking through the dense wood as she heard him speak. And when he had ended, she did not answer, only smiling at him. But, now she understood what he had been alluding to.

Had she lost this good opinion that the prince had spoken of?

She would find out soon enough.

"Councilor," she heard someone say at the door. Nuriathiel, hearing this, turned her gaze away from the book, looking instead in the direction of the one who had called her. It was Urial. "Come now, we are leaving." She nodded, turning back only momentarily to read one more line in her history. Closing it, she rose.

The time had come to humble herself.

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The council had gathered before the king had even arrived, preparing to seat themselves around a great table laden with foods, wines, sweets, and breads. The high backed seats had all been pulled out and prepared for them to sit, allowing time simply to choose where.

The council, all dressed in their traditional clothing, the Silvan colors of silver and green, chose their customary seats as Nuriathiel took her own beside her friend Urial. He was just then in a slight debate, she realized. She watched with a slightly cold expression as he spoke to the other elf, his blue eyes flashing as he made several points. It almost made her smile. Almost. Urial did not seem to notice her, however, his concentration locked upon the other elf as he spoke.

Turning away from him, she instead began to concentrate much more upon the careful scene that had been set to surround them. A scene which King Thranduil had always intended to be enjoyable and partial to the comforts of his people...his 'people', some would say.

It had not surprised her when she entered to see such finery laid out before them. After all, many times the Elven King had asked for the council to join him to share meals. And many a time she had seen the best set out for their own comfort. Whether from loneliness or pride, Nuriathiel could not discern the king's motives, no matter how much time given in his presence.

But, there was one thing very commonly known (and understood) about this enigmatic figure. That he, very like his son, lived as a member of her people. He ate among the council and identified with her Silvan heritage. But, in the veins of both father and son, flowed the blood of the of the Sindar. A noble ancestry, rare among the race of elves.

Perhaps to bridge the gap between their peoples, King Thranduil had chosen to identify with the elves of the wood. To rule a majority and be the minority would most certainly arouse much resentment. It had been for this obvious reason he had chosen six councilors of Sindarin descent, while seven of them were of Silvan lineage. She knew well, that her own Silvan lineage had been a great consideration for her position.

"Nuriathiel." she heard someone voice. A soft tap upon her shoulder she felt, and as she turned, she realized Urial had said her name. "Nuriathiel...they come. We must rise." She smiled as she heard her friend speak.

In fact both the king and son were arriving, there steps being heard as they walked quietly down the hall and towards their meal chamber. At least they had not arrived yet.

"That was rather quick." she answered somewhat with spite, after hearing their steps. "Usually we are made to wait for quite some time." Urial furrowed his eyebrows.

"The king, making us to wait? What in the world do you mean?" Urial asked in answer. "You don't seem quite yourself. Are you not well?" he ventured. Nuriathiel shook her head vigorously in denial.

"I am alright. Forget what I said." she answered simply. She could hear their steps growing louder. Urial ventured to speak once again. "Shhhhh." she continued. "Like what you have said, we must rise."
And it was not a moment to soon, for just as they entered, all of the council rose, each bowing in the direction of both king and son. She could see the prince's gaze searching her out, almost daring her to appear. And when he did find her, of all things he smiled. She could not tell whether it had been a smile of anger, spite, or even happiness. And she could do nothing but look back. It infuriated her beyond measure.

But, it had lasted but a moment. She hid her frustration well.

Eventually, king and son, in turn, slightly nodded their heads in the direction of the council. And Nuriathiel breathed deeply. To humble oneself before another would be a hard thing to do, she thought. But, it was he duty, and her requirement, following the 'scene'. She looked up. The prince had taken his seat opposite his father at the other end of the table (only several seats down from herself), and she turned to him and smiled.

She noticed as his eyes rose slightly in questioning. He seemed not to understand her meaning. After all, she had been angry.

Urial leaned in then to speak, careful to not look in the direction of the prince. "Prince Legolas seems to not be angry with you now." he said with a slight pause. "He was rather perturbed after you had allowed the creature to grip your clothing, even angrier when you did not release yourself. It seems that he has been having a difficult time of keeping it quiet."

"So I have heard." Nuriathiel answered, careful not to speak loudly. "The prince is not normally one for anger. Not normally..." The last words were spoken with hesitation.