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CHAPTER TWO

Naomi hummed to herself softly, keeping a steady beat as she folded Lady Galadriel's fresh clothing. With nothing in particular to worry her, her mind inevitably turned to these strange new guests of Galadriel's. They had been here for so long, and still there was no word of who they were. Perhaps in another court, this would not have raised comment, but the Lady of the Light was renowned for being honest with her subjects. That she had not told them anything gave rise to suspicion and jealously, particularly towards Naomi. Everyone assumed that one who had been a maidservant for so long would be admitted in the Lady's confidence, but nothing could be farther from the truth.

The laundry finally done, Naomi carefully laid all of Galadriel's linens in the appropriate drawer before leaving the quarters altogether. She strolled slowly down the hallway, relishing her momentary freedom. She was so peaceful, and at ease, that she was hard pressed not to scream when a soft voice asked her, "Who are you?"

Turning to look the speaker in the face, and nearly prepared to attack, she was relieved to see only the beautiful elf she had bumped into. No doubt he had forgotten, five days later. "I am a maid, for Galadriel," she said softly. Suddenly remembering that she had no idea who he was, or what he was like (but remembering what men were like) she bowed her head and added a deferential, "my Lord."

He nodded in condescending acceptance of the title. "Very well. Then you will help me." It was no question. "Where are the Lady's quarters?"

Keeping her head bowed, but not so much as to seem foolish, she pointed in the direction she had come from. He nodded again, and started off in the route she had pointed him towards without so much as a thank-you. Rolling her eyes in disgust, she continued on her way.

Legolas smiled grimly as the sword came bearing down on his shield again. And again. And again. Finally, he stood, reached for a knife and charged. Lowering his voice to a whisper, he tickled the blade at his foe's neck. "So," he asked, in mock threatening tones, "had enough, Estel?"

The King of Gondor pushed him away, laughing and rolling his eyes. Legolas joined in, his body relaxing. As man and elf shook hands, the women who had gathered to watch collectively swooned. Aragorn rolled his eyes as Legolas abandoned his friend in favor of attention from his many fans. The king had settled his wooden practice sword into its slot and was starting to head back into the castle when Legolas's voice interrupted him. "Aragorn! Wait!"

Aragorn turned to face him, when he suddenly spotted a running figure just behind his friend. Holding his hands in front of his face, he obviously did not want to be recognized. But his long blonde hair, pointed ears and height…they only belonged to one person in Lothlorien. And that person, Legolas, was standing right in front of him. And had run right by him. Aragorn was normally a man who liked to think things out, but the time didn't seem to call for thinking. Ignoring everything his brain was shouting for him to do, he dashed past Legolas, after the running figure.

Legolas (the one Aragorn assumed was real—anything else would be too confusing) realized that the situation must be dire for his friend to act in such a reckless manner. In only a few moments, he had followed Estel, and had soon overtaken him. Not once pausing to look around him, he jumped the first person he saw; hopefully the one Estel was chasing. Legolas knew he was right when he dragged the person into the ground, obeyed the first rule of combat, looking into his enemy's face…. and saw his own.

Legolas fought in vain to control the impostor, but it was like battling with smoke. Every time Legolas tried to grab his head, force the charlatan to face him, the man would twist his body into impossible contortions, escaping yet again. Abruptly, Legolas understood that it wasn't just like fighting smoke; the man's body was literally disintegrating beneath him. With a sigh of disgust, he gave up and watched the man's body—his body—evaporate.

Aragorn arrived at his side, panting. Legolas indicated the area where he had jumped the man; the wood was burned and scored. Frowning, Aragorn knelt to examine the scars closer. His brow furrowing, he began to make out the words. "Dread beauty…shrink from pleasure?" His voice was uncertain, unintentionally forming a question.

Legolas had already begun to walk away, but the sound of his friends voice called him back. "What is it, Estel?"

His voice gaining confidence, Aragorn repeated himself. "Dread beauty, shrink from pleasure." He pointed to the scars on the floor, which were formed in an odd, twisting patter unlike anything Legolas had ever seen. "It's an ancient branch of Elvish."

Legolas frowned over his friend's shoulder, looking at the wood even though the gouges made no sense to him. Clapping a hand on his friend's shoulder, he forced a laugh. "Well, my friend, I'm sure neither one of us has any intention of dreading beauty or pleasure…" His voice was cut off as he suddenly heard a short, piercing shriek. "Did you hear that?"

Estel grimaced at him, clearly straining to hear. The sound was repeated, a little louder, as if the screamer had come closer. Aragorn nodded. "That time I heard it. Where was it coming from?" He scowled as Legolas gestured down a nearby corridor. "But that's where the servant's quarters are." Elf and man simultaneously began barreling down the passage.

As they ran, the screams increased in both volume and intensity. Time after time they came to an intersection in the halls, and had to rely on Legolas's hearing for which way to go. It was only when Aragorn himself could pinpoint the source of the sound when they knew they were surely getting close.

When they were convinced they were in the right hallway, they began to open each door, hoping to find the source of the sound. At this time of day, most of the servants' rooms were empty, but this one wasn't. Instead, it was occupied by a lone serving girl, unremarkable except for the fact that her mouth was open, her eyes screwed tight, and giving rise to the unearthly scream.

She was lying on the bed, and the stiffness of her body alone was cause for alarm. Though her face contorted and twisted, her pitifully slight figure remained as inflexible as the bed she lay on. Bending down over her, Legolas grabbed her shoulders, wincing slightly at the sharp bones that were digging into his hands, and began to shake her.

Naomi's eyes snapped open. Her throat felt parched and scratchy, as if she had been screaming for a particularly long time. But she had only settled down for a nap before lunch, why would she have been screaming? Finally looking up, she noticed the same Elf she had run into earlier, along with the grimy man who had been introduced to Galadriel with him. They were both managing to look at anything but her. Given the size of the room, it was quite a feat.

Finally, having had enough of silence, she cleared her throat. They both jumped and turned to face her. Keeping her voice soft so as not to irritate her throat, she asked, "What are you doing here?"

Whatever they had been expecting her to say, it certainly wasn't that. They frowned at her, and then the man licked his lips nervously and summoned up the will to speak. "You really don't know?" She nodded. The man turned to the Elf, as if to say, your turn. The Elf nodded to her, then spoke. His voice was soft, almost reverent, as if he were afraid she would break if he was too loud. Naomi found it extremely irritating. "We were in the practice yard—" At this point he and the man exchanged looks, and Naomi knew they were hiding something. "We were at the practice yard, and we heard screaming. I was able to trace the scream to the servants' quarters. Once we got to them, we began to look into every room we saw." He swallowed. "And when we opened your door…you were screaming."

Naomi stared at them disbelief. How could they expect her to believe that? If they were going to embarrass themselves by lying, they could at least concoct a better tale than what they had just told her. When she spoke again, her voice was like steel. "You thought it would be fun to tell me that?"

If they had looked uncomfortable before, it was nothing compared to how they looked now. The man opened his mouth to speak, but all he got out was a "Bunf" before the Elf overran him with a similarly unintelligible syllable. Naomi felt her anger building up and begin to explode, like rotting fruit.

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