Author's Note: Sorry it's taken me longer than I had hoped to get this out there! I would tell you how busy I am, but I'm too busy to spare the time. But let me take a brief moment to remind readers of the fact that these stories are based off true events. This really did happen, and the outworking of it has forever changed my life. I invite you to enjoy and ask you to review.

. . .

Dedicated to my favorite person. This story is simply a gesture to display the truth that you already know and the promise that I have already made.

. . .

Things were coming to their climax as the semester wore on, being best described by stealing from the beginning of A Tale of Two Cities: it was the best of times, and yet it was the worst of times. But of course, this requires a bit more explanation, and first, as always, one must deal with the "worst of times."

The orcs were hard at work, perhaps doing things more subtly and yet more constantly than ever before. Sauron was getting anxious, not to mention frustrated by the apparent lack of success of his schemes, and so he ordered attacks as frequently as the Snagas could manage. He took the normal ants that had been released in Estel's apartment, mutated them to the size of the creatures from Indiana Jones and the Crystal Skull, and then re-released them. He made sure that the homework was overbearing. He sabotaged the lives of Thalion's peers and professors in as many ways as he could. He even assured that the writer lost as much sleep as possible. But she seemed distracted from all her troubles, not dwelling on them as much as she had done formerly. In fact, she seemed somehow to be happier than ever, almost as if this was the "best of times." And that was a problem.

"You worthless maggots!" the Dark Lord shouted at his minions after they returned to Barad-dûr without results once again. "What do you mean she never showed up?"

Snaga 3, who was at this point very concerned about his wellbeing, cleared his disgusting throat a few times before gathering the courage to speak. "She never arrived, my lord. We waited to ambush her all day, but she never came. We left at midnight, when the security began circling her apartment more frequently."

"But it's where she lives!" Sauron retorted, the temperature of the room rising slightly. "Where in Arda could she have been all day?"

"We do not know, my lord," Snaga 3 answered meekly. "It must have been a pressing need to keep her gone from her home for so long, especially with all the homework we've managed to give her."

The Dark Lord brooded over these things silently for a few moments, much to the intimidation of the orcs. Finally, he let out a sigh which hit the Snagas just as when one opens the door of an oven which contains the burnt remains of some mushroom and fish casserole.

"Follow her," Sauron commanded at last. "No more plotting in advance; you couldn't execute a conspiracy to save your lives—a fact which might cost you just that," he added darkly, causing the orcs to quiver in spite of themselves. "Bring supplies with you," Sauron continued, "and plague her in all settings in all ways. Find out what it is that is so important to her and then report back here. I am weary of this, and I do not like to be wearied."

All four Snagas nodded hurriedly and scampered out of the great throne room as quickly as their orc feet could carry them. This task from Sauron was easier said than done since the writer's main pretense for leaving her apartment was school, a place to which the orcs hated to venture. Besides, the writer's fearsome muses tended to hang out on campus to secretly listen to lectures, so it wasn't always the safest place to be wandering around if one is an agent of the Dark Lord. But Sauron was growing impatient—and he had never been known to be understanding in the first place—so the orcs were forced to be more bold and visit the campus in daylight hours.

And thus they began to realize what it was that was taking so much of Thalion's time and making her seemingly resilient to their plots. But the orcs were afraid to go to Sauron with anything less than certain, so they continued stalking the writer and ended up following her one night to a little area of shops near to her apartment.

"What is this place?" Snaga 1 asked his companions as they drove their stolen vehicle (something which they used to create unending conspiracies, though with the roads and drivers of Florida, they were hardly out of place) after the Estel's car. "The blasted writer doesn't like shopping; why would she come here?"

"What do you think we are here to learn, idiot?" Snaga 6.023*10^23 snarled as they stopped the vehicle and stealthily snuck around the parking lot to follow Thalion.

The sun had already gone down, and there was a nip of chill in the air (okay, not really, but in Florida you call anything below 75 chilly). The situation was quite odd based on the character sketch the orcs had come to know of their target throughout their year of bothering her. This was not sort of place she would normally visit, not in a hundred years. And yet she was here. But then the orcs noticed something quite horrifying, something which they were not sure how to process or even comprehend.

The writer wasn't alone.

Snaga 299,792,458m/s actually choked, the other orcs yelling at him to shut up and be quiet, but they were all in complete shock. Sure, they'd seen Thalion hanging out with people before (though they were never sure why anyone in their right mind would want to be in Estel's presence by their own will), but they had always assumed it was a sort of charity which was required. This was clearly not the case now.

Once the orcs recovered their wits (or a reasonable facsimile thereof), they scurried after Thalion as she walked down the dark sidewalk and past a variety of stores and shops before at last she and her companion reached a fountain and bench, where they sat down. There was a large plant directly behind the bench, so the Snagas navigated carefully into the brush to figure out what in Angband was going on.

Orcs do not get uncomfortable easily. Like, not at all. Nearly nothing in all the created order can make them queasy. But intense exposure to pure goodness does unsettled them considerably, and so it was that they were horrified by the scene they were forced to witness. Snaga 1 had to leave to empty the contents of his stomach (a concoction I dare not describe) halfway through the ordeal, and his three companions were feeling no better. Only fear of Sauron's wrath kept them from fleeing, and even that by only a tiny margin.

Estel was sitting with a young man, someone rather handsome and, from the snatches of conversation the orcs heard, very kind and smart. He had his right arm wrapped around Thalion's shoulder, and they spoke in soft voices to each other, eyes shining brightly as they gazed at the stars. They talked not of meaningless things, but of high and beautiful matters, diving into the depths of theology and doxology as naturally as breathing. Only a few minutes of witnessing this phenomenon made the orcs sure of their terrible predicament.

Estel was absolutely, irrevocably, and unconditionally in love.

The orcs did not speak to each other as they continued to observe the scene. This could be the death blow of the whole operation, and each one of them knew it. They also knew what this meant for their odds of survival, and it filled them with even greater hatred and fear. While they had possessed some faint notion of hanging around to follow the writer back to her apartment, they soon realized that she would be on the bench for hours, so at long last they left their post and returned to their vehicle, still stunned.

"They didn't even notice the mosquitos we had attacking them in droves," Snaga 3 murmured aloud as they took the exit from I-4 that led straight to Mordor. "How is that possible, theoretically or biologically?"

The other orcs didn't respond, but the next song to play on the radio was "That's the Power of Love" by Huey Lewis and the News (prompting Snaga 1 to smash the said radio with his fist repeatedly), and so the inquiry was in fact answered. The group continued in sober silence, dreading to learn what effects their new information would have once they brought it to their master.

Elsewhere, there was another moment of silence, but it was far from sober. There have been many attempts on the part of Estel to communicate exactly what the atmosphere was like during such moments, but all of her descriptions always fall short. The closest things she could conjure up were phrases like "blissfully happy," "utterly content," or "completely complete," but none of those could quite capture it. In spite of Thalion's failure to articulate the scene, may the audience rest assured that it was glorious.

Estel and her companion still sat on the bench, their rich conversation having ceased for a moment as the aforementioned silence hung lightly over them. The writer was no longer gazing at the sparkling heavens, but now she had her face pressed against the warm shoulder of the young man beside her, acutely aware of his arm—still draped behind her—pulling her close. This was her favorite place in the world. This was her favorite person in the world. She could drink in his presence forever and never tire.

"Estel," came the soft, gentle voice of Thalion's companion. The writer tilted her head back so that she could face the speaker, her mouth spread in a wide grin she could never erase while in his arms. His eyes shone, and a smile graced his own face. This sight alone was almost enough to make the writer cry, and she does not cry easily.

"Do you know what?" he continued, his voice still quiet and tender.

Thalion's grin grew slightly. "What?"

"I love you," he whispered to her. "So, so much. And that will never, ever change. Okay? Never."

Estel looked deeply into his eyes, and in them was the greatest concentration of genuineness she had ever seen in anyone. It was one of the first things she had noticed about him, one of the first things which drew her affection towards him. It was one of the things she loved about him.

"And I love you, too," she replied in the same soft voice. She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly. Tears really did prick her eyes as she clung to him, unable to comprehend just how it was that she had received this immeasurably good gift. She let out a long sigh, again resting her head on his shoulder. "I love you so much."

She did.

. . .

I would apologize for getting sappy on you guys except that I'm not sorry at all. :) So, will there be more conspiracies now that they have been rendered more or less obsolete? I am not sure, to be honest. Rest assured that more will come of this story, be it additional chapters or at the very least an epilogue. The muse is not dead. But my busy life is doing everything it can to kill this story (and all its siblings, too), so I regret to say that an update is unlikely to come soon. But I do not quit on things; my name is not "Steadfast" for nothing! In the meantime, please let me know what you thought. I really hope to be able to get back to reviewers and PMs soon. Thank you guys so much for reading!