Lastande smelled before she saw. Around her, sweet incense billowed with scents of pine and oak. Burning candles, smoking lightly, intermingled their honeyed smell with the incense. It was calming, relaxing, mystical. A wonderfully soft pillow cushioned her heavy head; her body felt consumed by a light blanket. Everything was magical. She felt as though she were floating through space and time – and she had no idea where she was. With that slightly unnerving thought, Lastande opened her eyes slightly, attempting to discern her location.

A slight gasp escaped her lips at the beauty of her surroundings. Although she could barely move her head and body, she could observe the ethereal splendor of the room. Everything was pure white – the floors were wide birch planks, the walls were gleaming and stretched high overhead, where they separated and branched to form the tendrils of forest trees. Through the branches, through the open ceiling, she could see the stars shining down in their radiant brilliance, so close she felt like she could grab them and wrap herself in their brightness. It was the most beautiful place Lastande had ever laid eyes upon, and she remained perfectly still, marveling at the overwhelming, otherworldly splendor of it all.

Beside her, she heard a door creak open. She moved quickly as her head darted to the side, attempting to prop her back up against the pillows. The sudden movement sent a shooting pain through her side, and Lastande gasped and grabbed her stomach. A figure in white darted to her side, grabbing her shoulders and easing her back into the cushioned bed. "Easy, princess," the voice said quietly. "You have incurred great damage from the Orc blade. More than you likely realized at the time of your injury." As she relaxed into the blankets, Lastande's pain subsided, and she looked up into the face of the speaker. An Elf maiden, her black hair falling over her shoulders and back, her blue eyes staring intently at her, met Lastande's gaze. She wore the white garb of the Woodland Healers. Lastande smiled through the dissipating pain.

"Thank you for healing me," she said softly, touching her fingers to her forehead and bowing slightly, as much as her wounds would allow.

The Elf's eyes widened slightly as she returned the gesture.

"There is no need for thanks, princess," she responded, "I consider it a great honor to heal the daughter of Gondor's righteous king." Lastande smiled and nodded, then gestured toward her stomach.

"Can you tell me what happened? I assumed it was merely a deep cut from the blade."

The Elf frowned and placed her hands over the wound, raising her eyebrows at Lastande. She nodded her approval, and the Elf slowly peeled back the blankets, an unfamiliar white tunic that graced Lastande's frame, and layers of bandages over the gash. Lastande let out a slight gasp as the bandages were removed, but nodded through the tears to allow the Healer to work.

The Elf gestured toward the wound.

"The Orc blade was coated with poison, but some substance that we here are unfamiliar with. We at first assumed it was something new, a finding of the Orcs or of their current master. But we were wrong. This is something very old, something dark and ancient." She frowned. "We have sent samples of the poison to Lord Elrond of Rivendell. If anyone knows what this substance is, it will be him."

Lastande's brow furrowed.

"Lord Elrond?" she asked, her voice slightly broken from the pain of having her healing wound exposed to the nighttime air. "Lord Elrond sailed into the West. He has not returned, has he?"

The Elf stood at her side, her eyes searching for an answer and her mouth slightly open. "I do not believe –"

"That you are the one to be informing Princess Lastande of Gondor of current political movements of the Elves," a deep voice rumbled from the open doorway.

The Healer stood abruptly and bowed deeply, then rose, but kept her eyes focused on the birch floor. "King Thranduil," she said quickly, "I was merely telling the princess about the wounds she has incurred. I had no intention of speaking with her any further of these things." Lastande noted that the Healer was shaking slightly, her fingers twisting behind her back as the King stalked over to her location. She decided to cut in.

"King Thranduil, it was my fault. I asked her to tell me about Lord Elrond. Do not blame her," Lastande finished, her eyes locked on the King, hoping to help the Healer out of this situation. A moment of silence passed, then Thranduil smiled coldly and turned to the Healer.

"A talented diplomat, this one. Leave us," he said, turning from the Elf as though she was not present. Lastande followed her movements from the room, locking eyes with the Healer before her final departure. She made a final gesture of thanks toward Lastande, and then left the room. Lastande looked toward the King, whose back was turned toward her. He filled a goblet from a side table, and then sauntered over to her bedside. With a flourish, he removed his outer cloak, still red from the night before, and settled himself beside her at the foot of the bed. They were alone.

"So. Princess," he said softly, putting extra emphasis on her title as he sipped from the golden goblet. "How do you fare?"

Lastande's eyes widened, her anger rising to the surface at the Elven King's mocking tone. She returned his shade blow for blow.

"Likely better than your Kingdom, my Lord. From the Orcs I've encountered and the return of Lord Elrond, it seems you find yourself less secure than you'd believe."

The King smirked at her reply. "Charming as ever, princess," he said, raising his eyebrows and draining the goblet. He dropped it to the floor, letting it clatter and roll away across the hard, wooden surfaces. Lastande flinched at the noise. Thranduil noticed. He smiled, and then rose from her bed, his silver robes sweeping the floor behind him.

"Do you know who you are, princess?" he asked softly. He kept his back facing her, his eyes staring up into the bursting stars overhead.

Lastande paused, then laughed harshly. "Is this a guessing game, my King?" Thranduil remained silent. She sighed and gave him a response.

"I am Lastande, daughter of Elessar Telcontar, formerly Aragorn, of the Line of Elendil. I am daughter of Arwen Undomiel, daughter of Elrond and Celebrian. I am Princess of Gondor." She finished her tirade, awaiting an answer from the Elven King. A slight breath, almost an imperceptible laugh, came from Thranduil's lips. He turned to face her, his eyes dancing with the starlight they had previously observed. Walking over to her bedside, he leaned in, his face nearly touching hers as she remained stoic in the face of his grandeur.

"I would not be so sure," he said quietly.