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*** Note I – A big thank you to those favoring, following and reviewing my fanfic; it really makes me happyyy~ =') You people are awesome, and I hope you enjoy this next chapter~! =D ***

*** Note II – Disclaimer: I obviously do not own the too-awesome-for-words Tolkien Universe. I own my ever-growing long list of OCs and my imagination~ :3 ***

*** Note III – Some #ShamelessOCBorrowing for this chapter: A certain C.J. dragon duo from Draconic Supremacy~ ;3 They'll have the same personalities and physical appearances as said other story, but they're simply gonna be those random side characters who may pop up in a few scenes. Nothing major~ ^-^ ***

*** Note IV – Just for clarification; the party scene at the end happens during the evening/night of the day after the happenings of the first two scenes~ ^-^ ***

*** Note V – Other than practice sex scenes for random things, I have never written any form of romance prior this story. So if anything seems a little off . . . Well, now you know – and please let me know exactly what seems awkward if something does feel "off" . . . (._. ) ***

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~ 010 – Tarantallegra ~

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"I believe when life gives you lemons, you should make lemonade . . . And try to find someone whose life has given them vodka, and have a party."

~ Ron White

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Lyriaaaaal.

Oh you stupid ring; get the fuck out of my head! Lyrial thought in anger that was tinted with distress. She and Aeluin sat in the dining hall, both halfway through their midday meals. They had been talking and cracking jokes; and for a moment, she had forgotten about the fiasco with the One Ring yesterday . . . Until now, that is.

Lyriaaaaal – why the horrible language?

Then please stop invading my mind . . . She mentally pleaded as she popped a couple of cherry tomatoes into her mouth. She chewed them rather slowly, savoring the juices and attempting to ignore the deep and sinister voice within the ring.

Her ears caught Aeluin's concerned voice: "Are you alright? Lyrial, you seem troubled. . ."

Lyriaaaaal. You know you won't be able to resist it for long. Why don't you just –?

"Stop it! Just go away!" Lyrial rose her voice – not as loud as a shout – and abruptly stood from her seat. A few nearby elves and men turned their heads towards her direction, but then resumed to their eating and conversations.

The action surprised Aeluin, and he stared at her with wide, puzzled eyes. He noted that her head was cast down; her lips trembled; and, the palms of her hands covered either of her ears. Standing from his seat, he made his way around the table; and when he came to her, he gently gripped her upper arms. "Lyri . . . ? Why are you like this all of a sudden?"

Lyriaaaaal. Just give in.

The elleth shook her head, unintentionally releasing a whimper. Her eyes were glued to his chest, unmoving and unblinking. "Not here."

The icy blue-eyed ellon guided her out of the dining hall; and as he did so, Lyrial's peripheral caught sight of Isildur. Ah, no wonder Sauron was able to "talk" her. . .

Lyriaaaaaal. You cannot hide foreveeeer.

Damn his taunts.

"Care to explain what that was about?"

Nibbling on her lower lip, Lyrial glanced into the sympathetic and calculating eyes of the Greenwood prince before her. Lowering her gaze down to the shiny white-grey floor, she rested her arms across her abdomen. Lyrial had a headache. Mentally talking to Sauron was actually quite exhausting for her. Her head no longer felt as though it was literally being sawed through; albeit, the fact that she still had one made her want to curl up in a tight ball and sleep underneath all of her blankets and covers. The hallway was quiet, and she could hear nothing but her own and the prince's noiseless breathing.

"Lirimaer, please talk to me. . ." Aeluin supplicated soothingly as four minutes of silence flew by. A few unruly strands of platinum blonde hair were in her face and the prince brushed them aside, tucking them behind her ear and resisting the urge to trace over the delicate point with his finger. Instead, he settled for slowly twirling a lock of her hair behind said ear. "It is not healthy to hold things in."

"I–I'm sorry," Lyrial finally spoke, her voice quiet within the vicinity. She sighed and gripped the soft, warm fabric of her white and forest green dress. The ellon's fiddling with her hair surprisingly did not faze her in the slightest. "What . . . What are your thoughts towards Sauron's destruction and the ring Isildur has in his possession?"

Bemused at the seemingly random question, Aeluin answered anyways. "Whereas I do believe that he is physically gone, I think that his spirit is still out there, somewhere. He is a deceptive Maia, after all, he has his ways. In regards to the One Ring, I do consider the 'fact' that Sauron's life force – or at least a part of it – is in that ring." He paused for a moment, one eyebrow raised. "What does that have to do with the situation at hand?"

"Because I wanted to have a sense of whether or not you would believe me when I say that I have been hearing Sauron's voice in my head!"

Aeluin's eyes faintly widened as worry for her began to grow. The fingers that were fiddling with her hair stopped. "And that was why you . . . ? Lyrial, did this just happen today?"

She shook her head twice, finally raising it and meeting his eyes with hers. "Once; yesterday." She spared him the details of her rather unsavory encounter with the High King of Gondor and Arnor. Though she did not cry, Lyrial's eyes were glassy – Sauron taunting her through her mind made her feel so very violated. What if he managed to look within her memories? Chances are he probably, kind of, did . . . And she would have to brace herself from some form of mental torture.

Aeluin's tone became a little more forceful as he folded his arms across his chest. "You should inform –"

"Lord Elrond?" Lyrial interrupted instantly as she leant against the wall with her arms crossed. "No, I do not wish to trouble him with –"

"Hearing voices is one thing; but having someone as diabolical as Sauron in your head is another situation entirely!"

She inaudibly sighed and placed the palm of her left hand to her temple, her fingers digging into her hair. Her headache grew, and all she wanted right now – despite it being in the early afternoon – was to sleep in her guest chambers. "I realize that . . . But I really don't think that would be necessary; I mean, I only hear his voice when Isildur's nearby, so all I have to do is not be around him."

After staring at her incredulously for ten seconds straight, Aeluin turned his head, huffed and rolled his eyes at her moderate stubbornness.

"Lulu?"

The prince stifled a laugh at the nickname she gave him. He turned towards her with an amused half smirk. "Yes, Lyri?"

Still clutching her head with her left hand, Lyrial procured a small, weak smile. "I need to rest and . . . Could you please direct me to the hall with our guest rooms? I'm afraid I am not familiar with this area in Imladris."

And so they ambled down the hallway, turned a corner and down another hallway . . . They passed a small group of three ellith (who did not hesitate in ogling the prince); and, in another hall, they walked by four sentinels in training clothes, who were making their way towards the indoor training arena. It was after a few more hallways and corner-turnings that the two were briefly interrupted. . .

"Ohhh, what a beautiful elf," came a voice that sounded as though it belonged to a playboy who liked what he saw.

"Don't you ever shut up, Coru?" a different voice that was bored and monotonous resonated.

Aeluin and Lyrial turned to the sources of the male voices; the latter coming face-to-face with a tall – about six-feet and five inches – and handsome elf who smiled at her charmingly, accompanied with an undertone of mischief. He looked like one of the Vanyar, especially with his beautifully golden hair; straight and waist-length. His bright yellow-golden eyes keenly bore into hers.

The Greenwood prince did not like the fact that flirting was about to ensure on the newcomer's part. Eyes darkening, Aeluin instantly pulled Lyrial back a bit by her arm and he wrapped his other arm protectively - and rather possessively - around her waist. "Don't push your luck, dragon."

Lyrial's eyes almost popped out of their sockets. The hell did he just say? 'Dragon?!'

The golden-haired elf-dragon feigned hurt as he pouted, though his eyes swam with sassy amusement. "Awww. Why so hostile, Your Highness? Surely – HEY!"

The elf-dragon's companion, a tall – about six-feet and two inches – and attractive mortal (well, actually a human-dragon), had just smacked said elf-dragon upside the head. After briefly smirking, the "human" fixated his light blue eyes unto the prince and the elleth. He had wavy chocolate brown hair that fell a little bit past his shoulders, a few tendrils framing his face. With his slightly tanned skin, one can easily perceive this human-dragon as mixture between a Gondorian and a Haradan. His following words were delivered in a respectful tone: "I apologize for my friend's random, straight-forward behaviour. The idiot shouldn't do that again." That last line earned him a glare from the elf-dragon.

Lyrial waved her hand and procured a tiny smile. "It's alright! But please excuse us – I wish to rest as I am not feeling too well."

The human-dragon smiled in return. "Of course. I wish you a swift recovery!"

"Thank you."

The prince and the ex-human turned to their original path; and as they did so, Aeluin sniggered as his peripheral caught the human-dragon dragging the elf-dragon away by his golden locks.

Continuing their walk down the hallway, Lyrial curiously asked, "You called the blonde one, a 'dragon?'"

Aeluin chuckled at her bewildered expression. "I met them before, and I know them to be dragons."

"So, do dragons have a secondary form, or something?"

"That is exactly what they have. When a dragon turns one hundred years of age, they are able to choose another form to blend into societies. Not all dragons choose their forms at that age; however, it is at one hundred that their bodies are developed enough to undergo such a change."

"That is fascinating," Lyrial breathed in awe.

"It is; though, 'tis dangerous as well . . . And I find it deceptive."

"Are those two . . . ?"

"No they are trustworthy. The golden-haired one is Corulagon, his elven name being Corulan; and the brown-haired one is Jura, his human name being Juran. Thousands of years ago, they were two of the first few dragons who managed to 'break free' from Morgoth's control. They have not been antagonistic to the Free Peoples since then. Even so, one should not be completely vulnerable around them –"

"– Because dragons are dragons. They are unpredictable; and one trigger, depending on what it is, can lead to some unfavorable circumstances." These words saddened Lyrial as she said them. She really loved dragons, but her words were simply a reality. Ah, well. . .

Aeluin smirked. "Exactly . . . Oh! We've arrived at the guest hall."

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Glorfindel and Thranéal rode through the snow atop their white stallions. It was a cold day that was half-warmed by the bright sun; an interesting contrast to the windy, blizzard-like morning of a few hours ago.

"Aaaaann . . . Ané!" Glorfindel called with a smile on his face. "Do you remember that time during your last visit? With the cream pie?"

The pale blonde-haired elleth shot her head fully in the ellon's direction, accompanied with a startled face. She halted her horse. For a moment, she mused to that little incident where Glorfindel aimed and threw a cream pie at Erestor for some inexplicable reason. She just happened to suddenly walk into the pie's path, not aware of what was going on as the pie squelched onto her. Her cheeks warmed. "Why would you bring that up now?! And to think I had forgotten. . ."

"I thank the snow for reminding me!" Glorfindel laughed. He brought Asfaloth closer to Eryn. "It was pretty hilarious!"

Dear Valar, please help this ellon . . . Thranéal glared at him, unimpressed. "You know what? I do not like you anymore!"

He pouted before smiling cheekily. "No, you love me."

Though he knew that she did not mean it at all, her words made him feel as though he was just stabbed with a sewing needle. He loved her, and such feelings ignited within him since an incident during the War of the Last Alliance: She had sustained an injury so fatal (it was on par with her dragon burn wound), that the fact that she lived bewildered most. The healers had performed the best that they could; however, it was Oropher's slightly more experienced elven magic – fueled by his fierce unconditional love for his only daughter – that prevented her fëa from greeting Lord Námo's halls with its' presence. The only concerning factor after that was that she was in comatose.

At the first chance he was able to – two months later – Glorfindel had paid her a visit in the healing tents. He sat on a short wooden stool by her makeshift cot; and he held her cold hand within his uninjured warm one. He was scared for her, and he had stared at her face with longing, glassy eyes. He talked to her gently, begging her to open her eyes and come back, to return to him. When the healers left, he allowed for his tears to cascade down his cheeks that were smudged with dirt and some dried blood. He rested his face against her chest, closer to the crook of her neck, and his body had shook as he wept silently. . .

"You are very bold today," the elleth's voice brought him out of his reverie.

His cheeky smile widened. "I'm always bold."

"Go away!"

"Never!"

Thranéal continued hiding her wave of emotions behind an unreadable glare. She did, indeed, love him in the romantic sense; and she thought about him often. Upon meeting him for the first time many years ago, Thranéal was intrigued by the golden-haired elf; and she valued their growing friendship (and his teachings, for he assisted her in becoming a top-notch swordself). It wasn't until she visited Imladris for some healing, one year after the War of the Last Alliance, that she realized her developing affection for him. And although she was not a shy person, she was, in a way, uneasy about expressing such feelings to him for fear he would not reciprocate.

"Le huitho," she muttered as she crossed her arms and adjusted herself so that she sat cross-legged on Eryn. She turned her face away from him.

Eyebrows shooting up in entertainment, the Balrog Slayer did not hesitate in holding back a sly smirk. Reaching over the very short distance between their horses, the backs of his index and middle fingers traced along her jawline. Thranéal lightly blushed as she could feel the warmth of his flesh despite his hands being covered by slick, black leather gloves.

Glorfindel turned her face towards his, and his hand was along the side of her face. His sly smirk morphed into an impish smile, and she could swear that his pupils were dilated. "That is a very tempting 'offer;' perhaps – SHIT!"

Thranéal shoved a handful of icy cold snow in the ellon's face, causing him to splutter and tumble off of Asfaloth. "I meant it figuratively, of course!" she yelled and her blush deepened.

Glorfindel rose to a cross-legged sitting position on top of the snow, and he stared at her in somewhat of a shock. After gazing at him in irritancy for ten seconds in silence, Thranéal doubled over in hard laughter. Glorfindel's facial expression turned to one of playfulness as he gathered snow into his hands, immediately hurling the condensed white ball of "fluff" at the chortling princess. The snowball smacked her against her left shoulder and, with a squeak-ish scream, she plopped onto the snow with her back flat against it.

Eryn and Asfaloth wandered away from the two elves, though they stayed within the vicinity. They had decided that they did not want to be involved in whatever frivolous behaviour their owners were doing.

The golden-haired warrior stood and sashayed over to the laying elleth, who stared at him with an unreadable expression. He gave her a smug smile. "Are we even now?"

Thranéal's sudden fake-evil smirk had Glorfindel faintly panicking on the inside. "Not yet!" She exclaimed as she brought her legs up and rolled over her right shoulder, which then led to a graceful backflip. Landing on her feet, she chucked a snowball at the ellon . . . Only to have it miss his head by a centimetre.

And so began their snowball fight for the next fifteen minutes.

As the time climbed to sixteen minutes, Thranéal had a rare ungraceful moment where she tripped over her own footing – due to dodging an incoming snowball. "Well fuck," she muttered and groaned in exasperation.

Glorfindel laughed as he jogged to her lounging form. "Are we even now?"

The princess smiled sweetly. "Not until I trip you."

"What –?"

Thranéal hooked and swiped one of her legs against his with such a sudden power, that the ellon fell. However, he ended up falling on top of her. His legs were on either side of hers and his forearms supported his upper body up as they were situated on either side of her head. Their cheeks were tinted with a light pink colour upon realising that their bodies were so close; and Glorfindel could feel her breasts against his taut chest every time she took a breath.

Their noses almost touched; and his deep sapphire eyes were glued into her exotic turquoise ones. He wanted to kiss her so very badly; and after his eyes trailed down to her lips, he abruptly rose off of her and stood to his feet. He offered her his hand. "I apologize for that," he laughed nervously as he pulled her to her feet.

"It's alright!" Thranéal hurriedly replied whilst waving the hand that was not being held by his larger one. "I am the one who's sorry; I tripped you. . ." She offered him a smile, one that he thought made her look simultaneously stunning and adorable. She tousled her wavy pale blonde locks to free it from a thin web of snow. And then she did the same with her turquoise and gold cloak.

He reluctantly released her hand; and for a moment, he turned from her and whistled. Asfaloth came trotting forward from the distance and Eryn followed suit. As the white elven horses neared, Glorfindel sighed. "Forgive me Thranéal; but if you do not feel the same way, I will let you slap me," he said as he took two strides to the vaguely puzzled elleth. He grabbed her upper arms, bent his head, and kissed her; the force of it being neither too forceful nor too light.

Slightly wide-eyed, Thranéal's stomach warmed and fluttered in mirth. She made to return the action, but he pulled back; however as he did so, she gripped the front of his midnight blue and silver tunic right under the collar. Simultaneously raising to the balls of her feet, she brought her lips to his.

Glorfindel lightly groaned and he deepened the kiss against her soft lips. He wrapped his arms securely along her slim waist and back as she wrapped hers around his neck.

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"Look at him just flirting with her so openly like that!"

"Aeluin, don't be jealous. Prince Valandil is simply dancing with Lyrial for the sake of having fun."

"Muinthel, I am not jealous! He is behaving far too familiar with her –"

"Oh, cease your dramatics. It's a party to celebrate the end of one year and the birth of the next!" Thranéal chastised and rolled her eyes, though she could not help but snicker a bit. The music that resonated through the halls was both calming and lively.

"Ah, gi suilon my future big brother-in-law!" Aeluin hollered in amusement as Glorfindel appeared by Thranéal's side.

The golden-haired ellon deadpanned at the prince before shaking his head and smiling a little. "For the tenth time in almost two days, young one, we are courting. . ."

The icy blue-eyed prince wiggled his eyebrows and sipped his wine that was the colour of dark red cherries. "For now, you mean." He remembered his sister telling him something along the lines of, "wanting to take things a little slowly." Yes, she and Glorfindel had a deep love for each other; but will such affection continue without a doubt when they are a couple like it did prior their just-starting courtship?

Aeluin drowned the remainder of his wine in a diva-like way that reminded Glorfindel of Thranduil. As the prince did so, Thranéal pulled the golden-haired warrior in the direction of the dance floor.

Hopping to his feet, the platinum blonde-haired prince strolled to the back of a random, lovely elleth with dark brown hair. Tapping her shoulder, he asked her for a dance, to which she promptly complied.

Lyrial loved dancing and Valandil was an amazing partner: His dancing style was not as graceful as an elf's, but it was humanly fluent and refreshing. Interacting with him, specifically, returned to her the sensation of the good in her past human life.

She danced around two hours straight. My, does time fly! She had partnered with various random Gondorians and Imladris elves; Aeluin and Valandil for a few times; Valandil's third oldest brother; Glorfindel, Erestor . . . And a short one with Lord Elrond before his wife whisked him away. The ex-human even had a dance with the elf-dragon and the human-dragon (though she purposefully stepped on the elf-dragon's feet when he tried to flirt with her). Lyrial's last dance, before she took to her original seat at a table to rest her feet, was with a young eighty-year-old ellon by the name of Lindir. He had beautiful, silky dark brown hair; and he was a shy elf, albeit, was confident in the things he focused his skills in.

Currently relaxing her legs and humming to the music, Lyrial was overall grateful that she had not heard Sauron's voice in her head, considering that Isildur was within the vicinity. She noticed a drinking contest occurring two tables away from her, and she could see . . . Aeluin being apart in that. She sniggered and rolled her eyes before she focused them on the dancers. Flexing her toes within her dark lavender slipper-like "flats," she felt arms wrap around her neck and shoulders. "Lyri, I missed you this evening! Let us dance!"

The young elleth giggled. "Ané, let me stand so that I can hug you first!"

Thranéal did so, causing Lyrial to leap up and hug her quite enthusiastically. They then sashayed over towards the dancers.

From the head table, Glorfindel stared at them with a face of hilarity and incredulousness. "Are they actually . . . ?"

"Yes they are. Why do you look so baffled?" spoke up an amused Lord Elrond.

Lyrial began a conga line. Even though the music being performed was not 'conga music,' she thought it had a certain vibe to it.

Thranéal was behind her with her hands latching onto Lyrial's shoulders. The two had somehow persuaded others to join them, greatly extending the line – most of these elves and men just happened to be in various stages of drunkenness, and some of them tripped against each other's feet.

Glorfindel had absolutely no idea how he ended up in the line, but he was indeed in it . . . And he managed to drag a reluctant Erestor in with him.

Elrond discretely face-palmed at this whole fiasco.

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Lirimaer – Lovely One - (Sindarin)

Le Huitho – Fuck You - (Sindarin)

Muinthel – Sister (Family) - (Sindarin)

Gi Suilon – I Greet You - (Sindarin)

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*** After Note I – Feel free to drop a review and let me know what you think~! :D ***

*** After Note II – Next chapter: Some more Lyrial growth; and shit happens, leading to a very stressed Thran-Thran . . . And a stressed Elrond . . . And a sorrowful, pressured Valandil~ Aaaaand there's a ninety to ninety-five percent chance that it shall be the final one in Rivendell before Lyrial, Thranéal and Aeluin head back to Greenwood~ =3 ***

*** After Note III – Just a quickie about Thranduil in this story: Overall, he is not an easy character to write about. What da fuq? Anyways, I'll admit that I was – and still kinda am – experimenting on his character . . . I mean, I'm pretty much weighing all the factors from the good and the bad portions of his past and present, and am trying to come up with something . . . Of course, future incidents will add to the cons of his personality (and the pros) – and he's technically still young-ish at this point in zee story. But really. Complicated characters. I really have no comment . . . I can write them if they're mine, but not really when they're somebody else's . . . (O.O) ***

*** After Note IV – Asfaloth (and other elven animals): I know that Asfaloth was in The Lord Of The Rings; and that the LOTR events happen approximately 2,998 years from now. To be honest, I don't care. Asfaloth (and Eryn, Taurhîr, etc.) are elven animals; and whereas they don't live forever, I tend to assume that elven animals can at least live a few hundred years to a few thousand years – depending on which animal~ ^-^ Also, I'm too lazy to concoct more names for more creatures – why slave over it when you can use the "Elven Animal Excuse"~? x) ***

*** After Note V – Any Marvel fans here~? Trailer to Avengers: Age of Ultron, anyone~? EXCITEMENT'S IN THE AIRRR ~ (Damn you, producers, for releasing it now despite it coming out next May . . . *whines and cries*) \(*=*)/ AND THOSE OTHER FUTURE MARVEL MOVIES; WAEYOOOO? (*x*) And lately I've been into Hellboy fanfics . . . Specifically ones that centre around Prince Nuada . . . *Swoons* #SexyElvesEverywhere ~ (= w =) ***

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