A/N: Enjoy! Muse is still on vacation - so I had to write this chapter with zero inspiration. Please review - it gives the Muse a reason to come back.

WARNING: Some pretty bone-chilling descriptions.

She didn't know where she was for a split second, and then knew instantly with the force of a storm. She sat, cursing herself under her breath, and groped blindly for a familiar landmark. Her first few nights in a new room always disoriented her, and she didn't move until her wandering fingers brushed against her nightstand. Her compass thus fixed, she stood hesitantly and moved in what she thought was the direction of the curtain. Unfortunately, she went in the opposite direction and shifted herself into a hard block of sunlight. Instantly she stopped, transfixed. Even when her sight had been in her possession, she had always loved the feeling of the sun on her face. Now it was bittersweet - her senses were heightened due to her lack of sight, so the sun felt warmer than it actually was, but she couldn't see the glittering dust motes or see the large golden orb stretch long beams of light across the sky. She could feel the breeze through the open window, felt it stir her dark matted hair, but she couldn't see the silver side of the leaves as they flipped over in the stiff wind. She could smell the orchards, the scents of ripe apples tickling her nose, but she couldn't see the succulent red fruit striking out against the fading green leaves. She could feel the grain of the windowsill beneath her bruised fingertips, but she couldn't see what color it was, couldn't see if the pattern was honey-brown or deep-russet. She didn't cry over these things - they were memories, tangible and sharp, nostalgia nipping the back of her mind, but she no longer pined for sight. She made do with what she had, adapted quickly to the changes around her. At a hundred and six years of age, she was barely matured and had seen more than she cared to see. Now her lack of sight was almost a blessing. She couldn't see the ugly grimaces on her Master's faces, couldn't see them hit her until their palm connected with her cheek. She laid a hot palm against the cool glass and rested her forehead against the slick surface. The warm sun heated her face and she allowed it to, if only for a brief moment. Then she groped her way over to the curtain, pulling it open.

Legolas pushed himself up on an elbow, squinting as Amariel entered the room. His injured foot had been neatly and firmly bandaged, and it was propped up on a cushion. The extra quilts and pillows Elrond had given him had been a delicious luxury, and he had enjoyed a restful night's sleep. He looked at Amariel - she had deep smudges beneath her scarred eyes and her cheeks were pale. He yawned, stretching his shoulders, and moved to get up. Amariel stopped him with a quick word. "Don't," she warned. "He said not to move from bed today, remember?" she reminded him. Legolas sank back among the cushions.

"I'm not used to this," he admitted. "Why are they being so kind to us?"

"Because they pity us," Amariel said, feeling her way over to Legolas's bed and sitting down on the edge. He felt the mattress dip where she sat, and watched her play with the hem of her skirt. "They pity us because of our injuries." She sighed and felt the sunlight trickle over her shoulders and warm her back. "Perhaps they will allow me to work today. There has to be some ulterior motive, something they want. I intent to find out what it is, and when I do, I shall do it quickly and get whatever unpleasant task over with as soon as possible."

"I wish I could understand the language they speak," Legolas said, half-closing his eyes. "It sounds beautiful. Say something in that language. Go on. I heard you speaking it to him last night. You sounded like you were singing."

"I wasn't singing, Legolas," Amariel said. "I was telling him to set your foot. It needed healing, and...well.." She paused. How could she explain this? "I wanted to test him. To see if he would actually help us instead of hurt us."

"And you used me as your bait?" Legolas asked, stung.

"I wasn't about to use me!" Amariel snapped. "As you may have noticed, I can't see. I can't see his expressions - you can."

"He's handsome," Legolas said unexpectedly. This caught Amariel completely off guard.

"What?" she asked, bewildered. "What has that got to do with anything?"

"I thought you ought to know," Legolas said. "He's handsome. And tall. With dark hair and gray eyes. He has a funny way of looking at people." He described, trying to remember the details about the powerfully built, imposing Lord of Imaldris. "And he wears the finest clothes. He looked sad while he bandaged your wrists, like he was going to cry."

"Rubbish," Amariel sneered. "He doesn't sound like a man - elf - who cries."

"Amariel, what does his name mean?" Legolas asked. Amariel looked at him. That was two unexpected questions in as many seconds.

"Whose?" she asked. Legolas closed his eyes completely.

"You said once that my name means 'green leaves'. What does Elrond mean?" Legolas asked. "In Elvish, I mean."

"Star dome," Amariel answered. "As though it were stars in the sky. That's what Elrond means. But it doesn't matter."

"What does your name mean?" Legolas asked, his voice low and slightly hoarse. He sounded as though he were falling asleep. Amariel rubbed his leg through the blanket.

"It means 'earth'. It's a plain name. Go to sleep, hin nin," she whispered. "That means 'my child'."

Legolas didn't answer. He was fast asleep.

For a long moment, she just stayed at his bedside, wondering what he looked like. He was probably a handsome ellon - his mother had been the most beautiful elleth she had ever seen. Long, beautiful flaxen locks with soft green eyes that went warm and gentle whenever they looked at you. She remembered Legolas as a babe, a youngling less than twenty years old, sobbing and crying as his mother was jerked roughly from him. Amariel swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth. Leina. That had been his mother's name. She tried to keep the tears back, but she couldn't. Leina had been heavy with another child when they sold her, and to this day Amariel wondered where the child ended up, if it had survived. She didn't think so. Leina had been beautiful, prettier than any elleth Amariel had ever seen. Women - especially ellith - never lasted long. Their bodies were taxed to the extreme almost constantly, and it took a special kind of girl to survive it. Amariel had only been introduced to the horrors of that particular abuse before she had been blinded - the scar seemed to offset most men. Occasionally, to punish her, they would turn her over to a tavernkeeper to pay for a night, but more often than not the tavernkeeper would finish quickly and send her to sleep by the fire. Most didn't touch her at all, and insisted the men pay them in gold. Amariel rubbed the bridge of her nose. Somehow, after Leina's sale, Legolas had become attached to her. She began looking after him, taking care that she shared some of her food with the child and trying to keep him out of sight from the slavers. Through fate or by the will of the Valar, she had managed to keep him by her for many long years. At eighty two years old, Legolas should be running around wooing ellith and hunting, staying out late on patrols with senechals and generally causing a ruckus. But she doubted he would do that. At her age, she should be settling down and bonding, but what ellon would want a blind elleth with hundreds of scars, who was terrified of ellyn?

There was a soft knock at the door, disrupting Amariel's dark thoughts, and she turned towards the noise. A subtle creak alerted her to the door opening, and she tried to tell who it was. Without sight, it was impossible until whoever it was spoke. But Legolas sat up straight and shied away slightly, shifting his weight towards the wall. "My lord?" he asked in a raspy voice, haggard from sleep. Amariel got to her feet and backed up, not wanting to anger whoever it was who had stepped inside. To her surprise, she heard a low laugh.

"Shy little ones, aren't you?" came an unfamiliar voice. The tread was lighter than Elrond's, yet heavier than Nimrodel's, and his voice was rich and contained a low chuckle in it. "Don't worry, I'm not here to drag you out and put you to work. I came bearing breakfast." There was a pause, and Amariel felt the stranger's eyes on her. "Come, little one, I won't bite. Come eat. My name is Glorfindel - no doubt you were expecting one of the twins, the little demons. They're cleaning out the storerooms, by order of their Ada. Apparently Elladan thought it would be charming to organize a little surprise for Elrond in his study. But I'm rambling - come, I promise the food isn't poisoned." He sounded boisterous and friendly, and slightly careless. Amariel took a few hesitant steps towards the bed and sank to her knees, crossing her ankles and bowing her head. Glorfindel, or whatever his name was, laughed. "Reverence is appreciated, but unnecessary," he said, and took her hand, helping her to her feet. "Sit on the bed, and eat some of these eggs before I do."

A warm plate was put in her lap, and she smelled the sizzling scent of meat, eggs, and mushrooms. Gingerly she picked up her fork and dug into it, wondering if the food was always going to be this tasty. The meat - which she discovered to be a kind of boar sausage - was piping hot and very spicy, while the mushrooms were buttery smooth and deliciously meaty. The eggs were perfect, fluffy and salty, with a few crisp triangles of toasted bread to go with it. Everything was hot and savoury. "Thank you," she said uncertainly. "I don't know how to say how grateful I am." she said truthfully. She hadn't had food this good in decades.

"I didn't exactly wrestle the boar and pluck the eggs from the sky," Glorfindel said. "Stop being so appreciative - you'll swell my ego until Elrond comes along and pops it. Speaking of my friend, he wishes to see you later." he added, directed to Amariel. Her fork clattered against the rim of her plate.

"W-what about?" Amariel stammered, hands automatically folding across her lap, shoulders going tense. Glorfindel noticed this right off.

"Stop looking like you're going to a beheading," he said lightly. "He said to tell you he wishes to do something about your hair. He says its a fright - and I must add, it looks most unbecoming on you when you tuck it into your shirt like that." His tone was airy and jesting, and Amariel didn't know whether he was serious or not.

"It keeps it out of my eyes," Amariel said. Glorfindel raised an eyebrow - but of course she couldn't see that. She could, however, sense his skepticism. "It gets into whatever I'm working on if I don't tuck it back," she said. Talking this freely was addicting and terrifying at the same time. The ellon seemed delighted he had drawn her into a conversation.

"Well, when your hair is properly washed and cut, we can see about putting it back in a braid of some sort, or perhaps up by your neck. Most ellith wear their hair in a pile on their heads, but Lord Elrond and I both prefer our ellith with their hair down." he added with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows that Amariel couldn't see. Amariel smiled in spite of herself. The ellon sounded as though he was forty. He tapped her plate with his fork. "Now eat, before I eat it for you."

She took a bite, and Glorfindel turned to Legolas. "Erestor, a friend of mine, will be in later to help you study Elvish." he said. Legolas's glassy blue eyes flickered upwards once, hopefully.

"I can - I can speak it?" he said, sounding delighted, bewildered, and astonished all at once. Glorfindel laughed, a rich rumble that reverberated from his chest.

"Well, you ought to learn, seeing as you're the only elf I've met who can't speak his own language. Erestor is a patient teacher - you'll like him." Glorfindel said, and then turned to Amariel again, who had subsided to picking at her food. "Shall we go?"

"I hate stairs," Amariel mumbled to herself, under her breath, as she took the first one with extreme caution. She felt Glorfindel's warm laugh ripple down his chest.

"Then you'll just have to trust me, won't you?" he said. He took her hand with his, allowing her fingers to drape over his fist. "Relax. Follow the sound of my voice."

She took a moment to get her bearings, and then began descending the steps with a fluidity and confidence that belied her lack of sight. He watched her, her dress wrinkled from sleeping in it for two days, and shook his head. "We'll get you some new dresses," he promised, "and some new boots. Hopefully, when your wounds heal up, I'll be able to take you out riding. The weather is beautiful for a good, bracing ride."

"On horses?" she asked hesitantly, wondering if it were possible. She lived in constant fear of the beasts ever since she had been penned inside a barn with two wild colts for a single night. She had emerged, terrified and covered in bruises, unable to dodge out of the way of their frantic hoofbeats. Glorfindel arched an eyebrow.

"No, on gryphons, but we can start with dragons if you like," he said with a bite of good humor in his voice. "Yes, on horses, silly elleth. But for now, I'll content myself with making you look more like the pretty elleth you are and less like a street rat." She stopped stock still on the stairs, only three steps from the bottom. He looked up at her quizzically. "What?"

"Don't call me that," she said, her voice very low. "Call me anything you want, but not a rat. Please, my lord, not that." She ducked her head, tears brimming her eyes. She sniffed discreetly and scuffed at her eyes with her wrist. Glorfindel was at her side in a moment. He touched a finger to her cheek.

"Please, the fault is mine," he said softly. "I didn't realize you felt so strongly. I meant it in jest, nothing further. I promise that you will look nothing less than a princess when Elrond and I finish with you." He waited a moment, and then continued. "Your friend will have the same treatment once his foot heals up and he's able to walk. Right now, Lady Arwen - she's Elrond's daughter - is going through some of her old dresses to see if any will fit you."

Amariel followed him numbly, unable to believe she had spoken up like that. What was wrong with her? Usually, she would have bitten her tongue and taken whatever insult they had given her, but being called a rat - ugh! Those hairy, crawling, slithering, whiskered things made her blood go ice cold. She could still see the glowing yellow eyes and those curved white fangs, their ugly little wet snouts poking from crevices and their claws scraping across her lap as they dragged their bald tails behind them. She suppessed the wave of bile that rose up, unbidden, from the back of her throat. Cellars and dungeons had rats in abundance, and it was in these dark, dreary places that slaves were kept. She had seen rats chew on dead children before they had gone cold, saw their yellow eyes glittering triumphantly as they curled their snakelike tails around them and held chunks of meat in their paws. She shuddered. Glorfindel, noticing this but wisely electing not to say a word, butted open a door with the heel of his hands. "Arwen! Lady Arwen, are you decent?" he called out merrily.

The voice that responded was musical and light, rippling shade over a dappled brook. "Glorfindel, old friend, of course I'm decent. I'm not the type to run around in nothing but my nightgown - that would be the twins, and they're scrubbing out the kitchens if you wish to speak with them." This was followed by a tinkling laugh that sounded like bells - round and sweet, a confection of sound. "Oh, this must be the little elleth Ada has told me so much about," said the pretty voice, this time much closer. Amariel drew back a little, wondering whether or not to bow. Glorfindel, almost as if he'd read her mind, spoke up.

"Lady Arwen, our friend here has taken a liking to kneeling in front of people she believes to be her superiors. Do not be alarmed if she kisses your hand as well," Glorfindel said. Amariel flamed red and Arwen made a face at Glorfindel. He grinned and changed the subject. "Is your Ada here?"

"No, Ada is getting something for Erestor to bring to her friend," Arwen explained, silver eyes roaming over the dejected little elleth in front of her. She was young, a frightened little thing, with stick-thin bones and ruthlessly scarred eyes. The rest of her face was fair enough, Arwen mused, with a little dimple beneath her bottom lip and cheeks that would have been plump and round, save that she was so skinny. The clothes she was wearing was a simple skirt and bodice, but it looked so dreadfully large on her that it seemed as though she were swimming in material. Her blinded eyes were glued to the floor, and Arwen felt a surge of pity. "Glorfindel, bring her over here so we can do something about her hair," Arwen said, eyeing the dark, matted hair clinging to the younger elleth's nape. Obediently, Amariel allowed herself to be seated on a low chair, her head tilted back. "Glorfindel, could you fetch me some of those scented oils and those soaps over there on my bed?"

"Ah, I knew you would invite me into your bedroom one of these days, lady," Glorfindel said, swaggering out of the room with mock dignity. Arwen laughed, that sweet sound bubbling from her throat again. She bent over Amariel, kneeling at her shoulders, and Amariel felt Arwen's dark hair brush across her neck.

"Ellyn," Arwen said, in a confidential, elleth-to-elleth tone. "They think all ellith only wish to throw themselves at them." When Amariel remaned quiet, Arwen's gaze softened. "I don't know your name," she said. "What is it? I am called Arwen - I believe you've met my ada, Lord Elrond."

"Amariel," she said quietly. "My name is Amariel. I have met your ada - he is a very kind man."

Glorfindel came back with the oils and soaps, and Arwen got to her feet. "Glorfindel, would you wash her hair for me?" she asked. Glorfindel fell to the ground by Amariel's chair, clasping a hand dramatically to his brow.

"Ah, the ellyn must do all the work around here," he said, complaining in a laughing tone. He bent Amariel's head back further and immersed her scalp in the warm water. Arwen's voice sounded muffled, as though she were digging through clothing.

"If you'd rather go through my old dresses and see which ones are suitable," she added. "Then you're welcome to it." Glorfindel made a face.

"Washing hair is my speciality, milady," he said, and his whisper brushed against Amariel's temple. "Personally, she just doesn't wish to get her hands wet. Lady Arwen has a fear of water."

"I heard that!"

"Heard what?" Glorfindel asked innocently. Amariel barely heard their conversation - Glorfindel's long fingers rubbing soap into her hair was absolute heaven. The hot water in the bucket must be getting filthy, Amariel thought shamefacedly. She had tried to wash her hair, but it had been difficult by herself.

Arwen came back with a pile of dresses in her arms. "I'm not afraid of water," she said, pretending to be cross. "But I found some lovely dresses, Amariel. When Glorfindel finishes with your hair, we shall try them on. Does that sound all right?"

Amariel could barely get the words out of her throat. She didn't know why she was tearing up all of a sudden. "Yes, it sounds..." she groped for a suitable word. What word, she thought, could express her gratitude in one syllable? What word could she use?

"That sounds perfect."