A whole month had passed since the incident with Porto, the hobbit who had been falsely accused. He had been given the opportunity to recover within the castle walls for three days before returning to his humble shop. Tuilindil, burdened by the weight of her father's disappointment, had refrained from visiting him, choosing instead to wait for the storm to settle before resuming her clandestine adventures outside the castle.
But today, the anticipation had become too much to bear. The desire to see Porto, to show him the newly acquired roll of silken fabric she held tightly under her arm, had overwhelmed her caution. She knew her mother's cloak would keep her hidden, shielding her movements from prying eyes. She secured the cloak around her shoulders, and took a deep breath.
As she silently opened her bedroom door, Tuilindil's senses heightened. She glanced down the empty hallway, ensuring the coast was clear before stepping out. Pressing herself against the wall, she moved with utmost care, her elven agility allowing her to navigate the shadows undetected. Under her arm, she cradled the newest roll of silken fabric, its luxurious damask adorned with a mesmerizing polychrome shine. She couldn't wait to share it with Porto, to see the delight on his face as he marveled at its beauty.
Confident in the cloak, Tuilindil knew she would remain hidden from prying eyes. She felt the rush of adrenaline coursing through her veins, making her feel more alive than ever. Her fingertips found the subtle ridges in the smooth white stone walls, and she carefully ascended, scaling the heights with painstaking precision. She was just about to pull herself up and over the ledge when disaster struck.
Her foot slipped, and panic surged through her. Hanging perilously from the ledge, she clung to it with one hand while desperately holding onto the heavy fabric with the other. A small whimper escaped her lips as she frantically searched for another ridge to grasp onto, but her fingers found nothing but smooth stone. The ground loomed below, a dizzying forty feet drop that sent a shiver of vertigo through her.
Panic began to consume her as she glanced down, taking in the daunting sight of the ground below. Her own labored breaths echoed loudly in her ears, drowning out any coherent thoughts. Struggling to regain her composure, Tuilindil fought to keep her cool. She had faced challenges before, and she refused to let fear paralyze her.
Her arm ached from the strain as she attempted to pull herself up, only to end up in the same position she had started in, met with nothing but frustration. The thought of crying out for help crossed her mind briefly, but she quickly dismissed it. To be discovered in such a vulnerable state would result in severe consequences. She would be confined to her room indefinitely, never to venture beyond the castle walls again.
Her arm trembled, and she bit down on her lower lip, willing herself to hold on. Tears welled in her eyes, threatening to spill over. Fatigue and desperation took their toll as her raw fingers slipped, and her heart skipped a beat as gravity pulled her downward.
But in that critical moment, a hand reached out and grasped her wrist firmly. With a single powerful heave, she was lifted over the ledge, finding herself safely on solid ground. Gasping for breath, she clung to the roll of fabric, grateful to be alive and intact. Tuilindil lay on her back, staring up at the sky, her heart still racing from the adrenaline rush. The first light of sunrise painted the heavens, casting a gentle glow on the scene before her. The young elf remained motionless, overwhelmed by the awe-inspiring panorama.
Suddenly, a face framed by long silver hair entered her field of vision, blocking her view of the sky and snapping her out of her trance..
"Greetings, Tuilindil," the voice spoke, breaking the silence.
Startled to hear her name blurted out into the open, Tuilindil quickly sat up in alarm. Her hands instinctively went to her hood, ensuring that she was still shrouded in the concealment of her cloak.
"I am... How can you...?" she stammered, her voice trailing off in confusion. "I thought my cloak would keep-"
"Your identity hidden?" The man's smile was warm and knowing as he interrupted her, his grip firm as he took hold of her elbows and effortlessly pulled her to her feet. "Not when it concerns a member of your own kin, Pen neth."
"I am Tharndir, son of Gaeruilon of Ossiriand, your newly assigned personal guard," he introduced himself with a graceful bow.
"Oh!" Tuilindil exclaimed, rooted in place, her mind racing to comprehend the revelation. "G-Greetings."
Tuilindil's eyes widened as she took in the man's features, realizing the truth in his words. He was an Elf, like her. She couldn't help but feel awe and disbelief. She silently scolded herself for not recognizing the signs. How could she have missed such an obvious detail? His features bore the unmistakable mark of the Eldar.
He pursed his lips thoughtfully, his gaze scanning their surroundings. "From what I gather, you are attempting to bypass the guards by ascending to the upper levels, away from their watchful eyes."
Tuilindil fidgeted with discomfort, her unease growing. Was this strange elf about to ruin her carefully laid plans? The thought of spending another second cooped up in her room was unbearable.
Her eyes darted nervously as the elf examined her with perceptive hazel eyes, and suddenly, he burst into laughter. The sound made her jump, her heart racing with surprise and confusion.
A soft, warm knuckle nudged her chin, gently guiding her to meet his gaze. His eyes sparkled with a genuine kindness that softened her anxiety. "Do not look so dismal, Pen neth," he spoke, his voice soothing and reassuring. "I am a friend. Let me show you a safer path around the guards. Even I wouldn't dare scale the walls of the Citadel in Minas Anor."
Tuilindil couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope at his words. Perhaps this elf could be of assistance, after all. She observed his tall and imposing figure, noticing the unique style of his attire. Clad in leafy greens and earthy browns, he resembled the ancient green elves depicted in tapestries she had seen in the past. His posture exuded a sense of both strength and grace. Adorned with an intricately carved bow and a full quiver of arrows upon his back, and a curved dagger secured to his side, he was undoubtedly skilled in the ways of combat. His light silver hair cascaded down his shoulders, partially tied back to keep it from his face, a sight that held a touch of otherworldly beauty. She had only heard of elves with silver hair in stories, but now, she was witnessing it firsthand.
There was something undeniably peculiar about him, an air of mystery and ancient wisdom that piqued her curiosity. She couldn't shake the feeling that their meeting was fated, and that Tharndir held secrets and knowledge beyond her comprehension.
Tuilindil removed the heavy load of fabric from her arms, relieved to have it off her. She watched as Tharndir secured the bundle snugly to his back, his movements fluid. With a subtle motion, he beckoned for her to follow him, and curiosity got the better of her. Intrigued by this mysterious elf, she obediently trailed behind him.
She marveled at how swift and nimble Tharndir was. They maneuvered their way through the intricate architecture of the south-eastern tower, using the rooftop as their entry point. Sneaking through a narrow window, they found themselves inside the servants quarters. Since it was still early, the halls were deserted, with only a faint hum of activity drifting from the kitchen.
The enticing aroma of fresh dough and simmering vegetable soup wafted through the air, tantalizing her senses. Her stomach growled audibly, causing her cheeks to flush with embarrassment. Tharndir, ever perceptive, noticed her reaction and flashed a row of pearly white teeth in amusement. He moved with feline grace, swiftly crossing the room to the far counter, where he procured a freshly baked bun, slices of cheese, and a handful of grapes. Skillfully, he wrapped them all together in a cloth, creating a small bundle of nourishment. The elf approached her, offering the warm and aromatic gift.
"Something for the road," he said, his voice gentle yet filled with a hint of playfulness. "Come!"
Tuilindil couldn't help but return his smile, touched by his thoughtfulness. She carefully secured the package at her waist, grateful for the nourishment it would provide on their journey. Even though they had only just met, she was beginning to feel a sense of trust and camaraderie with this enigmatic silver-haired elf who claimed to be her personal guard.
Leaving the kitchen area, they descended a grand flight of steps. As they reached a particular door, Tharndir motioned for her to stop, his head tilting to the side in an attentive posture. He listened intently for any signs of approaching footsteps or voices. Tuilindil patiently stood by his side, awaiting his signal. In the lull of the moment, she took the opportunity to study the elf more closely.
His form was poised and still, like a statue carved from the finest stone, and his attire and silver hair lent him an otherworldly air. As she focused her gaze on the outline of his body, she noticed something peculiar in the darkness—a faint aura, like wisps of liquid-clear gold smoke, encircling him at the edges of her vision. She blinked, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.
How peculiar, she thought to herself. What could it possibly be?
Tuilindil extended her fingers, as if drawn by an irresistible force, and lightly brushed the ethereal aura surrounding Tharndir. In that instant, a wondrous sensation overcame her-a symphony of scents filled her nostrils, carrying the cool breeze and the earthy fragrance of a dense, lush forest. She could hear the sound of the rushing river, the chirping of birds and the delightful crunching of leaves and twigs beneath her booted feet. It was a paradise beyond imagination, where she could dance among towering ancient trees to the enchanting melody of a fiddle. In this realm, everything felt perfect, and she could converse with the wise trees and find solace upon the soft green grass.
But as quickly as the feeling had enveloped her, it was shattered by the touch of Tharndir's palms upon her shoulders. The abrupt transition from that beautiful realm to the dimly lit corridor jolted her senses, causing her to inhale sharply in surprise. Tharndir stood mere inches from her, his emerald eyes delving deep into hers, as if peering into the depths of her very soul.
A shiver ran down her spine, and she found herself captivated by the intensity of his gaze. For a fleeting moment, it felt as if time had stopped. Eventually, Tharndir withdrew his hands, offering her a small nod of reassurance.
"My apologies," Tuilindil mumbled, feeling a pang of guilt as if she had trespassed some unspoken boundary.
"There will be time for conversation, but not now. We must seize this opportunity," he replied, his voice calm and composed.
Realizing the urgency of their situation, she nodded in understanding. Together, they smoothly glided through the servant's doorway, taking advantage of the distracted guards who were engrossed in inspecting an incoming cart.
They descended the numerous levels of Minas Tirith until they reached the sprawling lower ground where the bustling merchant's plaza awaited. Tuilindil's stomach grumbled, and she eagerly shared the fresh bread, cheese, and grapes with Tharndir as they strolled side by side. The warmth of their companionship, combined with the satisfying feeling of a nourished belly, put her in a much brighter and more affable mood. She couldn't help but notice the curious gazes of men, women, and children fixated on Tharndir, their hushed exclamations pointing to his striking presence. It was a relief to be shielded by her cloak, allowing her to blend seamlessly into the crowd.
A light giggle escaped Tuilindil's lips, and she couldn't contain her amusement any longer. "I must admit, Tharndir, you truly are awe-inspiring. It's as if you've stepped right out of the pages of elven legends."
One of Tharndir's elegant eyebrows arched slightly, his watchful eyes scanning the passersby as they continued their walk. "I am honored by your words, Pen neth."
"You come from Ossiriand, do you not?" she inquired. "If I recall correctly, Lindon was once known as Ossiriand many years ago."
"Indeed, you are correct," he confirmed.
Her gaze turned distant, as if lost in thought, and her voice carried a dreamlike quality. "The river must be breathtaking from within the embrace of the trees."
Memories of rushing rivers and vibrant forests flooded her mind, enveloping her in a serene reverie. She remained silent, lost in her contemplations, unaware of Tharndir's attentive gaze fixed upon her.
Their journey led them to a small building teeming with customers coming and going. The tinkling of the bell above the door and the cheerful chatter and laughter of women permeated Tuilindil's ears, and she gazed around in amazement. The place had undergone a remarkable transformation since her last visit, and its lively atmosphere filled her with wonder and intrigue.
The once modest establishment now teemed with life, its entrance adorned with colorful banners fluttering in the breeze. The sign above the door, bearing the name Porto's Curiosities, gleamed under the warm sunlight.
As they entered through the door, Tuilindil's eyes widened as she took in the sight before her. The shop's interior was transformed into a bustling hub of activity, with customers browsing the array of wares displayed on wooden shelves. The air hummed with the murmur of voices, the air crackling with anticipation.
Tharndir surveyed the scene with a discerning eye.
"I had no idea Porto's shop had become so popular," Tuilindil remarked, her voice tinged with admiration. "Look at all these people! So many have come to partake in the auctions."
As she stood on the periphery, Tuilindil strained to catch a glimpse of the auction itself. A crowd had gathered around the central area, shielding Porto's prized wares from her view. The air was thick with the palpable excitement of those vying for a chance to possess these coveted items. Straining her neck, she attempted to catch a glimpse from her current position. Tuilindil found herself frustrated by her limited view.
"I wish I could see more clearly," Tuilindil whispered to Tharndir with longing.
Tharndir offered her a reassuring smile. "Let us find a vantage point that grants us a clearer view. Follow me."
Tuilindil nodded in understanding. He took hold of her wrist, pulling gently yet firmly. With a determined stride Tharndir led the way, expertly weaving through the crowd. Following closely behind, her eyes darted around in wonder. Their journey through the crowd was akin to navigating a forest, with the buzz of conversations serving as the rustling of leaves, and the constant movement mirroring the swaying of branches.
"Hey, you! Wait in line like everyone else!"
Amidst the flurry of activity, a tall, balding man caught sight of Tharndir cutting through the crowd. Anger contorting his features, he hurried toward them.
Sensing the danger, Tharndir quickly pulled Tuilindil aside, seeking to shield her from the brewing confrontation. Yet, the man inadvertently bumped into Tuilindil, his contact light but noticeable beneath the protective shroud of her cloak.
A surge of discomfort coursed through her as the contact sent a jolt through her body.
The man's anger coursed through her like liquid fire touching her nerves, flooding her senses and making her head spin. She found herself enveloped in the man's fury, his anger seeping into her consciousness - an unwelcome intruder into her mind.
Tharndir stepped forward protectively, his movements fluid and graceful. With a firm push, he sent the man sprawling and sputtering on the ground, his arrogance deflated in an instant. The room fell into a brief hush as startled gazes turned towards the scene.
Tuilindil stumbled, losing her balance.
In the chaos, her hood slipped from her head revealing her identity. Gasps of surprise rippled through the onlookers as they caught sight of her; their attention momentarily diverted from the frenzied bidding.
"The elven Princess of Gondor!" a plump woman exclaimed, her trembling finger pointing directly at Tuilindil.
A chorus of gasps and shouts erupted around them.
Overwhelmed by the sudden uproar, a rush of dizziness swept over Tuilindil as her world spun with disorienting speed. Her vision blurred, and the world seemed to shift and sway as she fought to maintain her balance. Her hands instinctively reached out for support, clutching at Tharndir.
Sensing her weakening state, the elf sprang into action. With ease, he slung Tuilindil over his shoulder, and with purposeful strides he made his way through the crowd towards the exit.
"The elven Princess of Gondor!"
Porto's heart skipped a beat as the words echoed through his shop. He strained to see what was unfolding amidst the commotion, but his vantage point behind the counter left him in the dark. Determined, he clambered onto his stool and perched himself atop the counter, desperately seeking a glimpse of the unfolding scene.
There, his eyes fell upon a sight that left him in awe. A towering warrior with features akin to those of an angel carried the limp form of a maiden, unmistakably the princess, out of his shop. As the pair vanished from sight, a wave of panic surged through the crowd, prompting many to chase after them.
"This shop is closed! Everyone OUT!" Porto bellowed, his voice resolute as he forcefully ushered the remaining few customers out of the door, swiftly locking each of the five sturdy locks in place.
Making his way to the back room with hurried steps, Porto cleared away the clutter that obstructed the path to the rickety back door. With cautious movements, he pushed it open, its rusted hinges creaking in protest. His eyes scanned the surroundings, alert for any signs of movement. Finding the coast clear, he observed the deserted back alley, save for the distant meowing of a stray cat.
Summoning his courage, Porto's voice trembled as he called out, "Hello, Mr. Elf? If you're here, I-I would like to let you know that it's now safe in my shop and everyone's gone. Y-You and the princess are both w-welcome."
Silence greeted his words, and he sighed, berating himself for his own foolishness. They were surely long gone, making their way back to the castle even as he stood there. Just as he was about to close the door, the tall elf he had glimpsed earlier emerged from the shadows, inserting his foot to prevent it from shutting.
"Asca, perian!" the elf whispered urgently, barging in and swiftly closing the door behind him.
"My apologies, Mr. Elf. My Sindarin is not that very good..."
The elf's features remained impassive as he gently laid the elven-princess on the modest bed within the hobbit's humble abode. Concern welled up inside Porto, his voice betraying his worry. "I-Is she alright? Is she hurt?"
The elf's hand grazed the princess's forehead as he closed his eyes and murmured words that eluded Porto's comprehension. Finally, the warrior turned his gaze towards the hobbit and spoke in the common tongue, Westron. "She is resting. She has had an eventful morning."
Feeling relief and guilt, Porto offered, "I apologize about the customers. Would you care for something to drink?"
"No, thank you," came the terse response.
Undeterred, Porto gestured towards a chair. "Here, let me get you a seat."
"I'd rather stand," the elf replied, his gaze piercing and resolute.
Porto recognized that unyielding stare. Nodding, he quietly exited the room, closing the door behind him.
Tuilindil found herself transported back to the enchanting forest, surrounded by the towering ancient trees and the soothing melody of the fiddle that played in harmony with the sound of the rushing stream. The ethereal paradise that unfolded before her eyes was a stark contrast to her life confined within the walls of Minas Tirith. The lure of freedom and exploration filled her with unbridled joy, knowing that this blissful reality could fade away at any moment. Driven by curiosity, she followed the enchanting sound, eager to uncover its source.
As she pushed aside vines and leaves to gain a clearer view, her eyes widened with awe. Before her stood a tall elf adorned in vibrant blues, skillfully playing the cheerful melody that had captivated her senses. Around him, four graceful elleth twirled in perfect unison, their movements mirroring the elegance of the forest itself. It was a scene of unparalleled beauty, leaving Tuilindil breathless and immobile, momentarily forgetting to even draw a breath.
The music reverberated through her very being, evoking a whirlwind of emotions. With each note, an irresistible urge to join the dance coursed through her veins. Just as she was about to yield to the enchantment, a presence materialized at her right side. Startled, she exclaimed, "Tharndir! What are you doing here?"
Tharndir's gaze remained transfixed upon the mesmerizing display unfolding before them, the graceful movements of the dancing elleth captivating his attention. His voice, tinged with a subtle undertone of longing, broke the silence as he finally spoke, "With all due respect, I should be the one asking you that question."
Confusion furrowed Tuilindil's brow as she tried to comprehend his words. "But Tharndir... isn't this my reverie?"
A wistful expression crossed his face as his emerald eyes remained locked on the captivating dance. "Not exactly, Pen neth. This is a very old memory. My own, in fact."
As his words hung in the air, the world around Tuilindil seemed to shift and morph, the lush forest that had enveloped her fading away to reveal only Tharndir standing before her. She felt a shiver run down her spine as she became keenly aware of the weight of his hand resting gently upon her shoulder.
"Come, you must wake," he urged, his voice resonating with a sense of urgency.
With a groggy yawn, Tuilindil stirred from her slumber, her hand instinctively reaching to rub the remnants of sleep from her eyes. It took her a few moments to regain her bearings, her gaze falling upon the familiar sight of Porto's knick-knacks scattered haphazardly across the shelves in the small room at the back of his shop.
Her memory flooded back, weighing heavily in the pit of her stomach. The embarrassing incident played out vividly in her mind, and she couldn't help but grimace at the recollection. The sensation of losing consciousness, the world spinning in a dizzying whirl, the buzzing in her ears, and the churning of her insides— it had been a harrowing experience, one she wished she could erase.
Tharndir's voice broke through her thoughts, filled with concern. "Forgive me, I should have foreseen this happening," he admitted, his voice gentle yet tinged with regret. He settled on the balls of his feet, bending his knees to meet her gaze.
Sitting up, Tuilindil couldn't ignore the lingering queasiness that plagued her. Her voice trembled slightly as she spoke, relaying her unsettling experience to Tharndir.
"Tharndir, when that man bumped into me... it was as if I… I absorbed his emotions, if only for a moment. It was like an explosion of sensations, a swirling cascade of rage that consumed me. I could almost hear his thoughts," she confessed, her voice tinged with fear.
She recalled a man from her past she had seen in the bustling marketplace. He inhabited a world of his own, perceiving things that existed solely within the confines of his mind. She had given him a name, Faegon, which meant 'poor-male' in the elven tongue. Though she felt a pang of guilt for bestowing such a name upon him, she had done so out of genuine concern for his well-being.
But one day, Faegon vanished without a trace. Tuilindil had inquired among the townsfolk, hoping to glean any information about his whereabouts, only to be met with disheartening news. They informed her that he had been whisked away, deemed insane. The weight of that revelation pressed upon her, triggering a deep-seated fear within her heart.
Was she, too, destined for a similar fate? Would they strip her from her home and exile her to a distant realm, forced into labor within the dark and treacherous mines of Moria?
A creeping sense of panic began to take hold of Tuilindil. Her voice trembled as she turned to Tharndir, seeking solace and reassurance amidst her rising fears.
"Oh, Tharndir... Am I... Am I going insane?" she managed to utter, her words muffled as her hands instinctively rose to cover her mouth.
Tharndir's laughter rang through the air, a melodic sound that warmed Tuilindil's heart. "No, Tuilindil. You are not insane. Far from it," he chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mirth. "Elbereth! I forget how innocent and young you are!"
Taking a seat beside her on the bed, Tharndir emmanated an air of calm and wisdom. The young elf turned to face him, her expression a mix of curiosity and apprehension.
"Have you heard of something called sanwe-latya?"
Tuilindil's brows furrowed, her mind wrestling with the unfamiliar Quenya words. Sanwe... Sanwe... it did not strike a chord within her memory. And Latya... that one was vaguely familiar, though its meaning eluded her grasp. Opening? Door? Door-handle? Something being opened? She sighed in frustration, feeling the weight of her ignorance.
"No, I'm afraid I haven't," she admitted, her voice tinged with disappointment.
Tharndir's expression turned serious, his gaze fixed upon her. "Sanwe-latya means thought-opening," he explained. "It is a gift possessed by few, a power to connect with the thoughts and emotions of others. It is a rare ability, and you, Tuilindil, possess this gift."
Surprise flickered across Tuilindil's features. The revelation brought a mix of uncertainty and wonder. "I... possess such a gift?" she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
Tharndir nodded, his eyes holding a gentle intensity. "Yes, Pen Neth. You have the capacity to delve into the minds and memories of others, to glimpse their thoughts and emotions. It is a power that must be nurtured and understood."
"Oh! No, I've never heard of it."
"Not many have. It's a way of communication," he continued, his voice hushed and reverent. "An ability of the Eldar that lets you open your mind to others and speak to them from your own mind."
Intrigued, Tuilindil leaned in closer, her face mere inches from his. Her eyes narrowed as she concentrated, her thoughts reaching out to him in an attempt to bridge the gap between their minds.
Tharndir's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He regarded her silently for a moment, his emerald eyes locked with hers.
"And?" Tuilindil pressed, her voice laced with anticipation.
Tharndir's lips curved into a gentle smile as he spoke, his voice carrying a note of patience. "Sanwe-latya doesn't exactly work in this manner. It is an ability you have to practice and develop over time," he explained, his words resonating with a gentle wisdom.
"I can send you a message, but you will not be able to reciprocate unless you hone that skill."
Tuilindil's spirit sank as she pondered the weighty implications of her newfound ability. "Well, so far this has been nothing but troublesome. No offense, Tharndir," she began, her words laden with a hint of reluctance. "I do appreciate your memories, for they are truly beautiful, but delving into the depths of someone else's intense anger is a harrowing experience. It stirs within me a storm of emotions that I am ill-prepared to confront."
"I believe, for now, it may be best to close the door on this 'thought-opening' and preserve the sanctity of my own emotions and memories."
Tharndir exhaled, his gaze gentle yet unwavering. "It will only get stronger in time, Tuilindil," he explained patiently. "And if left unattended, it may lead to unforeseen trouble. The best course of action is to teach you how to control it. You may not be able to remove it completely, but you can learn to manage it."
The young elf hung her head, her spirit visibly deflated. A thought struck her, as if an echo from the past.
Could Faegon, the man she had named "poor-male," have possessed a similar ability to hear other people's thoughts? Was he deemed insane and cast aside without being given a second chance to explain himself? The image of Faegon on his knees, desperately pleading with the guards not to leave him in the dark depths of the Mines of Moria flashed before her eyes, tugging at her heartstrings. She could almost hear his anguished cries, echoing through the cold stone corridors. Her heart broke at the thought. Poor, poor Faegon. She wished she could be there by his side, lending him her strength. Maybe he has a family that needs him. A wife and six children that are now begging for food on the streets. They were probably outside right now waiting for her, pleading for food and nourishment…
Unable to contain her anxiety, Tuilindil paced the room, her steps quick and restless. Her mind raced with worry and compassion for those she conjured in her thoughts. It was in this moment of turmoil that she failed to notice Tharndir's perceptive gaze fixed upon her.
Pen neth, why do you let your thoughts control you in this way? You are the master of your own thoughts and emotions. Remember that. Do not let them consume you.
Tharndir's voice broke through the chaos that swirled within her mind like a beam of sunlight slicing through the darkness.
The elleth nearly jumped out of her skin, startled by the sudden intrusion of Tharndir's voice in her head, like a beam of sunlight slicing through the darkness. It came and went, unnerving her to her core. She blinked, trying to gather herself as she turned her attention to the tall elf standing before her.
"If you let your thoughts run rampant, they have control over your emotions and place you in a state of fright and chaos," he continued, his voice stern."Please realize, you were about to look for a family of beggars through the streets, these people were fabricated from your mind. This behavior can and will place you in grave danger one day."
Tuilindil avoided Tharndir's eyes, feeling like an utter fool for her lack of control. Of course, he was right. Her mother and father had cautioned her countless times about the dangers of her wild imaginings, warning her that they could lead her astray. And now, her parents would surely worry even more when they learned of her strange ability from her wood-elf guardian.
The back of her eyes burned with unshed tears, a mix of embarrassment and disappointment welling up within her. But before the tears could spill, Tharndir's voice softened.
"Peace, Tuilindil," he said gently, his expression compassionate. "I shall not tell your parents... as long as you promise me that you will listen closely to my teachings. It is for your wellbeing, my dear. Understood?"
Tuilindil swallowed the lump in her throat and brushed her trembling hands against the folds of her long skirt, nodding in agreement. "Understood."
A hint of relief flickered across Tharndir's face, and his serious mood shifted as quickly as it had arrived. He jumped to his feet, a newfound joy illuminating his features. "Why don't you introduce me to your hobbit friend? He has been waiting very patiently to see you."
As he spoke, the door creaked open a crack, and a familiar hobbit face peered in, his curious eyes scanning the room. "Did someone call my name?"
sanwe-latya - Thought-opening (Q)
Faegon - Poor man (S)