Nimrethil kicked her feet against the chair as she swirled her toast in the creamy dip on her plate.

"I am so awfully excited," she said. "I have never been to the kitchens before, except to fetch things for nana from the pantry."

Thranduil looked ruefully at his finger. "The ovens are hot."

"If only you had been more careful taking the bread out, you would not have burned yourself," Nimrethil told him. "When can we make pastries, Harune?"

"Pastries are not lunch, dear child," Harune replied.

Thranduil grinned but Nimrethil refused to be quenched. "But pastries can be lunch, Harune. We do not have to fill them with jam, you know. When nana's sisters send us pastries, we fill them with ham and cheese."

"Pastries are a delicate and long process," Harune said.

"I vote we make pastries for dinner and something else for lunch," Nimrethil said. She added kindly, "You can pick what we cook for lunch."

"I have to eat dinner with the King and Queen," Thranduil said sadly.

"Why?" Nimrethil demanded.

"They insist on spending time with me."

"Cancel!" Nimrethil declared.

"You saw how they treated me," Thranduil said. "There would be no end of fuss."

"Cold pastries are good too," Nimrethil said.

Harune collected the empty plates. "We will see what tomorrow brings, Nimrethil. You two go enjoy the sunshine."

As Harune walked away with the dishes, Thranduil glanced at Nimrethil. "Would you like a tour of the palace?"

Nimrethil jumped up. "Yes! But what if we run into the King and Queen again?"

"We will hide," Thranduil answered.

Nimrethil giggled. "You have all the answers, do you not?"

"I have to try," Thranduil said. He took her hand. "I know all the back routes."

Thranduil plunged into the servant's passages. Dim and narrow, only cracks of light marked where near-invisible doors led out into choice rooms. After listening to make sure they were empty, Thranduil paraded Nimrethil through a vast ballroom with golden candlesticks on the walls, snuck through private sitting chambers, and displayed the soft velvet cushions on royal beds.

Thranduil and Nimrethil passed the council chambers, where the low murmurs of the royal councils surrounded round tables. Heading toward the northern side of the palace, they approached the healing wing.

"We are probably waling right past my house now," Nimrethil remarked. "We tend the healers' garden to, you know. It is full of special plants."

"I have only peeked into the healing wing," Thranduil confessed. "It is so white, and the healers have sharp eyes and ears."

Even the sneaking servants' passages in the walls seemed hushed and brighter as Thranduil and Nimrethil followed them into the healing wing and listened to the quiet voices of the healers.

Thranduil stopped outside a door. "This leads right into the Head Healer's office."

"How do you know?" Nimrethil challenged.

"I spent hours exploring," Thranduil answered. "I like the servants' passages better then the halls, where I encounter the lords and ladies who all expect me to be someone I am not."

"It does not hurt to try to be nice," Nimrethil said gently.

A shout startled Thranduil and he flattened himself to the wall, dragging Nimrethil with him. No servants passed along the passage.

"Disgusting!" the shouting went on. "How did you ever get in?"

"I only want to learn!" a small voice protested. "One chance is all I beg for."

"We do not take on filthy orphans!"

"Ow!" howled the small voice.

Nimrethil cracked open the door. Thranduil peered under her shoulder. An elf he assumed was the Head Healer dragged a skinny boy toward the far door by his ear. When he twisted it, the boy cried.

"Hey!" Nimrethil shouted. "That is not nice!"

Before Thranduil could stop her, she exploded into the office and put her hands on her hips. "You call yourself a healer when you ought to be ashamed of yourself!"

The tall elf glared at her. "How dare you set foot in my space? I do not care whose brat you; I will see to it you get a hiding."

"I do not want to go back to the orphanage," the skinny boy begged.

Two elves burst into the room, their narrow red belts marking them as apprentices. The Head Healer thrust the orphan boy at them. "Get rid of this worm. Send someone else for her."

Nimrethil stamped her foot. "You are the last person I would want to touch me if I broke my arm."

She dashed back into the servants' passage, slamming the door on the Head Healer's astonished face, and grabbed Thranduil's arm. "Quick, run!"

"You cannot go around yelling at random elves," Thranduil panted. "You will cause no end of fuss."

Nimrethil looked away. "I do not like seeing people hurt. Especially not orphans. We visited one once for Lucil and, even though I was small, I remember it was dark and cold and all the babies were crying."

Thranduil's blue eyes widened. "I thought orphanages were good places."

Nimrethil flicked her purple hair over her shoulder. "Thranduil, not all fairy tales are true."

There is a lot of angst and fear and grief circulating in the world right now. I hope you are all staying safe and happy, creating some change perhaps, like Thranduil, or, at the very least, finding your silver linings! Thank you for taking time out of your busy day to read my words. As always, I love to hear your thoughts!

Next Chapter: Thranduil runs into Hyrondal again . . . with mixed results.