you hummed in dismissal. "i would not discount those merrits in your calculations. it is only that our bed is meant to be shared."

"and this daybed?"

the humor in his voice finally urged you to rid yourself of the haze of a warm afternoon spent half asleep. "sweet lord," you opened your eyes with the intent to see the half smile you knew would be settled on his lips, "you must not— oh, what happened?" your unoccupied hand lifted to cradle his cheek and you shifted closer to inspect the fresh, angry split on his lower lip. you hadn't felt it when he kissed your fingers.

his smile did not fade. "it is nothing." the press of your lips was disapproving enough to make him laugh.

"do not tell me you forwent a helmet while sparring? was it grimmod? did he hit you? he has no lack of insolence, i knew that he might—"

"hush, hush." he quieted you with a gentle hand to the side of your face, his thumb resting on your lips. "it was nothing but a small accident. no one meant me any harm and there is no need to fuss."

your body waged a strange war in that moment; when your lips moved to express further admonition, as you were still not satisfied by his answer, all you found yourself able to do was press a kiss to the pad of his thumb. it was not quite a suprise, but the way with which you looked into his eyes—your gaze saying what your lips failed to—caused his heart considerably more trouble than the mark on his lip. you watched any thoughts about his small injury and your concern for it crumble and be replaced with something between worship and desire.

"wicked man," you frowned. "tell me how it came to be or i will refuse your company in our bed this night." he was not the sort of man to fight you on this matter.

"wicked…" he repeated, shaking his head. "i was mistaken for another man. i am not the only raven haired soldier in all of emyn arnen."

"no, but you are the only lord of emyn arnen, are you not? who, upon seeing the face of their lord could mistake him for another man? who would dare strike him?" you pressed.

"my darling, i was hit by a woman's tin of rouge. she saw me only from the back, and i turned at the most inopportune of moments. the poor woman was mortified beyond belief. i felt far more compassion for her than my own pain." indeed, he sounded regretful and entirely empathetic as he recalled her reaction of unmollified guilt at realizing she had hit gondor's second highest ranking man.

you could not help but laugh and it was him this time who adopted an air of admonishment.

"poor woman, indeed," you commiserated, once recovered from the humor of it all, "but a lucky one, too. you are nothing if not merciful, and i am certain you left her with nothing but admiration for you."

he nodded and cringed. "i did what i could to assuage her remorse, however needless it was. i am only sorry it was i and not the man whom had so provoked her ire! from what i gathered, he was deserving."

"goodness, well. i don't suppose you asked if she was interested in joining your company. she must have excellent aim and a strong arm to compliment it! perhaps she enjoys archery."

"alas," his eyes brightened at your jest, "i did not. though i'm certain you are right. she would make an excellent archer."

"does it pain you much?"

his face softened in the same manner as your voice. "no." a raise of your brow, then, "not much at all."

ARTEM is going over a recent case when he realizes it’s almost midnight. he’s usually one to pull an all-nighter but gnawing at the back of his mind is the argument he had with you today—you two haven’t spoken to each other since. after having decided to put off his work until tomorrow, he walks out of his home office to join you in bed but he finds you in the living room instead, your pillows and blanket already set up on the sofa. he can tell you’re aware of his presence from the way you’re deliberately not looking in his direction. still, he attempts to catch your attention with a soft call of your name. when you don’t reply, he carefully crosses the distance between the two of you. “we can’t fix this if you won’t talk to me,” he pleads. artem’s convinced his words have fallen on deaf ears until you finally speak, “i just don’t want to say the wrong thing again.” artem understands, thinking back to what started as a simple disagreement escalating into something it shouldn’t have and before you could stop it, you were both raising your voices at each other, saying things you didn’t mean. “i’m sorry about everything i said,” your voice sounds weak as it quivers and artem immediately wraps you in his embrace. “me too,” he tells you, “we can talk tomorrow. just come to bed.” when you nod into his chest, he presses a reassuring kiss at top of your head as he promises, “we’re alright.”

as MARIUS waits for you in bed, anxiety slowly eats away at him, the argument he had with you hours ago replaying in his mind. you should’ve walked in by now, he thinks, so he waits a few more minutes before getting on his feet and makes his way downstairs. he’s rehearsing his apology, muttering to himself to test the words on his tongue but it all flies out the window when he finds you asleep on the sofa. ridden with guilt, he decides to save his sorry’s for tomorrow when you’re both lucid for a proper conversation. marius is careful not to wake you up—gently slipping an arm beneath your head and looping the other under your knees to carry you to the bedroom. he’s tucking you in bed when you begin to stir awake. “sorry,” you hear him whisper, “didn’t mean to wake you up.” “what time is it?” you ask groggily, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “it’s late. go back to sleep.” he places a tender kiss on your forehead to lull you to your slumber before he shifts you on your side, his chest against your back as he slides an arm across your torso. “sweet dreams,” he mutters and you feel his breath on the nape of your neck. “marius?” “hm?” “i’m sorry about earlier…” “that’s my line, miss,” he quips, albeit sincerely. he gives your body a gentle squeeze as he pulls you flush against him. “i’m sorry, too,” he replies, “i never want you to go to sleep upset.”

You were studying in the library. The silence was supposed to help you calm your mind and study for the upcoming exams. Everything was great until a certain someone joined you table.

"Jiejie," Marius whined and leaned down, placing his head on the table.

You ignored him and focused on the words on the pages.

"Jiejie," he said again longer this time with a pout.

Don't look, don't look.

You knew what he was doing. Using that handsome face and charm that you knew would ruin you if you take one look, you you were done for.

"Marius, I will turn you into a frog if you keep distracting me."

"You tried that before and almost cried when you couldn't figure out how to turn me back if the Professor haven't seen you."

You snap your book shut.

"You wouldn't stop talking even as a frog!"

You looked and immediately regretted.

He was sprawled at your study space, purple eyes glinting with mischief as he looked up at you. His lips were curled into that devastating lazy smile that gotten him out of trouble more than you could count.

He knew what he was doing and you fell right in his trap.

"Do you want to know why I'm still talkative as a frog?" he asked, innocently.

"No," you answered suspiciously. "Why?"

"Because," he leaned closer to her, close enough that you can feel his breath mingle with yours. "I was waiting for you to kiss me and turn me back to normal."

Warmth spread to your cheeks and based on Marius' growing smirk, he's loving every second he has on teasing you.

"You could just say you wanted to kiss me," Marius murmured. "Makes it easier."

"That's not what I meant," you pout.

"Then what is?" He tilted his head and took your hands to his, interlacing both of your fingers. "You have been avoiding me, worrying too much of this exam and I'm concerned that you're pushing yourself too much."

His words was soft, so different from the teasing tone that you were used to.

You tried to pull your hand away but Marius held on, running circles at your palm.

"You're unbelievable," you muttered.

"Am I?" he hummed softly. "You skipped lunch, you've been here since morning and you haven't even smiled at me at least once."

"You're keeping track of me?"

"I keep track of those precious to me," He said with lightly, leaning closer to place a kiss on his cheek. "Come on, just a five minute break."

"I don't have time-"

"You do," he interrupted, his tone quiet and firm. "I can't have you collapsing during the exam. If it means I'll have to carry you then I'll do it even if someone else sees us or I'll get put in detention for causing a scene."

The corner of your lips quirked up. "You would cause a scene."

"I absolute would," he said shamelessly. "As long as I'm with you, of course I would."

You stared at him, he still looking up at you hopefully. Hands still holding yours comfortably like two puzzles pieces that match together.

"Just five minutes," you said, finally giving in.

"Good girl," Marius said affectionately, the nickname slipping out. And before you could even fully process what he said he was already tugging you up your chair. His wands out to magically put all your books back to your bag with ease.

"Did you just call me-"

He didn't give you another chance to say something when he leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss at the corner of his lips.

"M-Marius," you squeaked, feeling the heat rushed back to your cheeks.

"Hm?" he replied innocently, already guiding you at the exit like he hadn't just called you something you never expected from him and kissed you to distract you.

You narrowed your eyes. "You're doing it again."

"Which is?"

"You're distracting me again."

Marius von Hagen glanced back at you, a familiar dangerous smile returning to his lips.

"Good," he said with a soft smile, "I can't have the love of my life all stressed over an exam."

The night air was crisp and a welcome companion to your heated blood.

For several minutes following the slamming of your bedroom door, you did nothing but stare at it with unfocused eyes. Your blood was on fire, coursing through you like liquid wax and scalding the lining of your veins as it solidified. Eventually, when the wax had cooled, you only felt numb. And tired. So, so tired.

Confound you, Elrond. I hope when our paths cross next it will be brief.

When you found the energy to stop glaring at the poor wooden portal you found yourself wishing for another hot bath with the salts. But, alas, you could not find it within yourself to summon Rorick from what was most likely his meal period. Nor to make the bath yourself. So instead, you settled for stripping from the light green dress and into your nightclothes...

Only to find your travel bag neatly tucked away beneath a footstool next to the bed. A sense of unease crept down your spine as you looked to the floor and found that your discarded travel clothes had been looted and the spot where they had been, swept.

You groaned into the empty room, throwing your head back to stare at the ceiling.

While grateful that the servants had cleaned for you, you also found it within yourself to be unnerved by the treatment. While in the Greenwood, you were oft to tidy up after yourself. Sure, the servants did your laundry for you but it was on you to deliver the clothes that needed to be cleaned to them and to then put them away. They were not permitted to enter your quarters without your express permission. You preferred it that way. It had encouraged some independence from you and from Thranduil. You were not sure if Oropher followed the same precedents. Regardless of the small sense of encroachment, you pressed on and moved to the wardrobe to find your sleep clothes.

Folded and tucked into the corner of one of the drawers was a simple white, linen night shroud that you had worn for sleepwear while in the Greenwood. The fabric was light and breathable but warm enough to fend off the night's chill when it bit too hard. Plus, it was a good shorthand for an under-dress when you needed it. Instead of discarding the dress you had worn to dinner on the floor, you hung it back up and placed it inside the wardrobe, tucked away into a corner to be worn at a later date.

You shucked the gown on and loosed your hair, letting the strands fall how they may before moving to the dainty boudoir you had never found much use for when you were younger.

Placed atop the boudoir was a small jar of a cream of some sort that smelt of honey and fir. Tentatively, you poked the tip of your finger into the paste and found the texture to be agreeable. A flicker of recognition danced across the back of your mind; lotion. And an expensive one at that. No doubt, a gift from your father. Although you disdained at the lavishness of the gift, there was no denying the soothing balm it left behind on your travel dried hands. So, you were inclined to indulge and carefully scooped out a small dollop to spread over the dry and cracking skin of your knuckles. The cream, while soothing, managed to slip into the minutest of cracks and leave a vengeful sting that made you hiss in through your teeth. But you pressed on, massaging the emollient into your hands until they felt cool. Then, you worked the excess up the exposed skin of your arms.

It was as you moved to massage the salve around your elbows that there was a knock at the door. You paused immediately and moved towards it.

"Who is it?" You called through the felled Lindon tree wood.

“Your father.” Came the noticeably tired drawl from the king.

You glanced from the door to your lotioned hands and state of undress then back to the door. With an annoyed groan you rose from the boudoir and crossed to your wardrobe again. Wiping the excess of the balm off on your dress, you reached into the ajar door and pulled out a dark blue dressing gown that you quickly shrugged on over your night dress. 

“Come in.” You called at length as you finished tying a thin gold sash about your waist to keep the dressing gown closed. 

Your father entered sans his laurel crown with his hair flowing freely down his chest. He looked haggard and tired and very much not the image of a king in this moment. “Might I inquire,” he began with a tired sigh as he shut the door behind him, “precisely why Elrond tells me you will not be showing up to the ceremony tomorrow?” He regarded you with a tired disdain you recalled too well from your childhood.

“Ah,” the disfluency was short and clipped, “so he is good for something.” . 

“I beg your pardon?” Your father’s weary drawl grew sharp in an instant and you recoiled from the sting. 

“My apologies, atar,” you mumbled, casting your eyes to the display case that held your childhood collection of maps, “I meant no harm.” 

“If you had meant no harm,” he began, his voice not losing the bite it held although he settled into a seated position at the boudoir you had previously been using, “you would not have spoken without care.” There was a pregnant pause that you knew better than to fill. “Whatever your quarrel with my herald, do not let it spread to your duties to this kingdom.” 

Your eyes snapped to his face, indignation clear on yours. “I have no quarrel with Elrond, he has one with me, evidently.” 

“Regardless,” Gil Galad began, stepping on the end of your sentence, “I will not permit you to continue it.” You felt yourself deflate, as if you were a ship whose sails had suddenly lost the wind. With a huff through your nose, you sat on the edge of your bed. Your father's gaze was heavy as it rested on you. "You will meet me at the gates to the palace come noon, do not be late." Gil Galad started to rise and you straightened up in an instant.

"Elrond passed that part along as well?" You hedged, doing your best to keep your voice free of disdain lest you provoke his ire further.

"Yes," he answered simply, looking down at you, "Cirdan has agreed to meet with you as well."

You blinked, shocked that your father wasn't posing any argument to your spontaneous decision. Was there something you were missing? Was this some sort of trick? Would there be a horde of elves waiting for you at the docks? You raised an eyebrow at him and he seemed to understand.

"Anel, I am not going to force you to attend," he began, taking a step closer to you to settle a hand on your shoulder, "but I am expecting you to keep your word." He lifted his hand and turned towards the door. As he reached for the handle, you found it within yourself to question him.

"Atar," you eyed his back, not bothering to hide the skepticism in your voice, "why?" You rose from the bed and stepped to him.

Gil Galad looked down at you, turning his body away from the door to face you squarely. "You will be queen soon enough, your word will be law," he raised his free hand from his side to hold your shoulder, "and the law must be true for people far less fortunate than us will depend on it far more dearly."

A moment passed where you could do nothing but stare up at the dark-haired elf before you, a swirling storm of emotion forming in your chest.

His word is law. Your word is suggestion.

Elrond's biting words hissed from the back of your mind, fighting against those of the king before you.

Your father's eyes were strange as he looked down at you. He seemed in that moment to be happy but there was a deep sadness lurking in the depths of his eyes that made your heart hurt. Without warning, you reached forward and wrapped him in a hug. The elf seemed startled but only for a moment before he was returning the embrace, holding you to him. "I missed you, atar." You mumbled into his shoulder. He sighed.

"And I you, anel," he pulled back but kept his hands on your shoulders as he looked at you, "but you are here and together we will chart the path forward." With a final squeeze of your shoulders, your father pulled back to open the door and disappear into the hallway.

Before the door shut fully behind him, you saw a glimpse of a brown haired elf in a green cloak waiting for the king. You frowned suddenly before correcting your face. It probably wasn't Elrond, there was no need to curse the unknown elf outside.

Now left alone in your room, you wondered if it would be prudent to go to bed. After all, you were to meet with Cirdan now. But you felt restless and knew that sleep would not come for several hours.

So, you opted to search for quill and parchment. You began checking drawers within your room, only to find most painfully bare. It seemed as though your knickknacks had also been pilfered when your father decided your room was to be stripped and reorganized. But, luck smiled on you and you found a stack of parchment tinged yellow from age but nonetheless able to bear writing.

A quill was harder to find but one was located tucked into the corner of the top drawer of your boudoir. The quill, like the paper showed signs of age. The barbules were frayed and rend, cutting the feather an unnatural shape but the tip of the shaft was good. But, there was no ink. You had scoured every drawer and knew it unlikely that you had any ink left in your travel pack, you had used up a great deal drafting letters back to Thranduil and what was surely left would be scant at best. So, you would have to procure more.

Quickly, you slipped on some ankle boots but did not bother to tie them and made towards the door. You were expecting the hallway to be quiet as guards thinned for the night and the nobles moved their parleys to more secluded areas. So, you were confident enough to set out in nought but the robe around you and the dressing gown. But, just as you stepped outside you were stopped.

"Evening, miss." A male voice chirped from your right. A thrill ran down your spine, thoroughly startled by the voice, and you whirled around to spy two guards approaching your door. They were clad in the golden armor appropriate for the guards of the palace but adorning their shoulders were long white cloaks embroidered with golden leaves. The cloaks ended just at their ankles, before it could sweep the ground and rested on their hips were long swords. But, one's face was bare while the other wore a helmet. The other's helmet was nestled under their arm and belonged to the elf who had addressed you. "You off somewhere?"

"I beg your pardon?" You asked, straightening up only to find that the top of your head barely met the two guards' shoulders. These were potentially some of the tallest elves you had ever seen and you found yourself a little intimidated.

"Meaning no offense, miss." The guard spoke in a pleasant, masculine voice that lilted like a leaf adrift on the wind as he shifted his weight. "Your Lord Father assigned us to keep an eye on you is all, wouldn't want to disappoint the High King in our first hour." As he spoke, he shook his head from side to side to quickly move a strand of his chin length, auburn hair out of his eyes.

"I suppose not," you bristled slightly. Did your father not want you to move without surveillance? The thought rubbed you the wrong way.

"Forgive him, my lady." The second guard who had been curiously quiet till now finally spoke. Her voice was low and soothing, carrying the timbre of a babbling brook. "My brother jests but his wit is dull." She reached two gauntlet clad hands up to pluck her helmet from her head to reveal the same length auburn hair and a stern face. "Cersei and Connor, my lady, your personal guards."

"My wit is not dull, Cersei," Connor scoffed, "I dare say it's sharper than yours."

"You've yet to ever prove that, Connor." Cersei ribbed without looking away from you.

Your eyes flicked between the two elves, your brain scrambling to find the minutest differences between the two. For all intents and purposes, they were almost identical - identifiable only by voice and bearing. Aside from one other key difference. Cersei parted her hair to the right, while Connor parted his to the left. "My personal guards?" You questioned, relaxing your posture. "Are you two here to ensure I do not leave my quarters without my father's say so?"

"Begging your pardon, miss?" Connor looked at you a little aghast.

"Heavens, no, my lady - your Lord Father is no tyrant." Cersei assured.

"We're assigned to make sure no one tries anything with you." Connor beamed and you raised an eyebrow at him.

"Tries anything with me?" You asked.

"What my brother is trying to say," Cersei interjected, "is that we are here to ensure no one bothers you while you settle in, my lady," she stepped around you, taking up a guard position on one side of your door, "and to ensure that all your needs are met in the meantime."

"Truly?" You eyed the elleth guard as her brother took up his post on the opposite side of her. "So you will not stop me from leaving?"

"Of course not, miss," Connor chirped, "your comings and goings are your business and yours alone." There was something strange about these two elves. They didn't talk like anyone else from Lindon and their names were not elvish if you had to wager.

"Of course, if you would like company," Cersei began, "we are also available to join you as well."

"Is that so?" You hummed, stepping further into the hall to turn and eye the twins. They both looked calm enough but there was a clear energy about the two that you found intriguing. "You are different." You mumbled unintentionally.

"We get that a lot." They answered in near unison.

You couldn't help but give an undignified snort at the two guards and saw mirroring smiles break out on their faces. "What a relief," you eventually sighed, "for a moment I thought I had truly angered him and he was placing me under surveillance."

"You have annoyed him, miss, make no mistake about that." Connor beamed.

"But no more than is customary for a daughter to annoy her father, my lady." Cersei grinned at you and you found a storied history hidden in the expression.

"It seems you have tales to tell, Cersei." You eyed her and her wolfish grin. "Well, in any case. I was going to try and find some ink so I could draft a letter. Would the two of you care to accompany me to the library?"

"If it's drafting a letter you're after, you might have better luck finding good ink in the scriptorium." Connor chirped and you furrowed your brows.

"We have a scriptorium?"

"Oh yes, miss," he continued, "got added to the palace a few hundred years ago."

"You were most likely gone by then, my lady." Cersei amended. "Regardless, Connor's right. The ink in the library is poorer quality."

You clicked your tongue, not expecting an option before you. But while you doubted Thranduil would hold it against you to use poorer ink, you could not deny your intrigue. A real scriptorium? "Very well, Cersei, Connor, would you be so kind as to accompany me to the scriptorium?"

Connor seemed to buzz with anticipation while Cersei just nodded her head once. "Follow me, my lady." She indicated with the gesture of her left hand for you to do just that while her brother hesitated.

"Actually, miss, you may want another layer." He laid a hand on your shoulder. "It's a bit of a walk and the night's chill may nip at you."

With a nod, you assented and quickly darted into your room to grab your travel cloak. As you quickly shrugged the dark green garment on you kept an ear out for the two guards and found it odd to hear their voices painfully neutral suddenly, as if all the personality had been blown out of them as soon as you stepped into your room. You secured the garment with a wide leather belt about your waist and stepped up to the door to your room again. With a open palmed push, the door gave way to reveal the hallway and your guards once more. However, a new figure stood in the hallway that brought a sour expression to your face.

The noble from dinner. Inariel. He was still in his garb from earlier but you still could not find it in your heart to admire his color choice as he stood nearly sneering at the two guards. "-her father may permit you riff-raff to watch her but I-" he stopped suddenly when you emerged. "Ingaranel, good evening." His sneer slithered away, replaced by a thin grin that felt cold and customary. "I trust you are settling in?"

"Well enough,...Inariel? Was it?" You closed the door slowly behind you, not looking away from the older elf. "Did you need something, my lord?"

"Need something? Oh no, not I, ingaranel." He raised a hand to his chest, the other crossed behind his back, and lowered his head in a small bow. "I was merely checking in with your guards. I am ever so pleased to see them at their posts." He looked back up at you, not paying said guards any mind. You noticed that both of them had put their helmets on, obscuring their faces.

The corners of your mouth twitched down into a frown. "Well, thank you, Inariel. They have already proven to be exceptional at their jobs. Now, if you'll excuse us," You moved past him, "Cersei, Connor, I would like to go on an evening stroll - will you two join me?" You crossed your arms behind your back, standing up straight.

"Of course, ingaranel." They said in unison, straightening their postures and passing by Inariel with two solemn salutes. The older elf looked affronted.

"I bid you goodnight, my lord." You hummed noncommittally and began walking down the hall the way Cersei had indicated earlier. The two guards walked side by side, their steps perfectly in sync, as you led them around a bend. At length, you chanced a look back and when it was clear that Inariel had not bothered to follow the three of you, you slowed to a halt. "What was that about?" You asked in disbelief.

Connor wasted no time in ripping off his helmet. "Your Lord Father's treasurer, miss." He huffed, "Never took much of a liking to me and my sister."

"What did you do?" you queried as Cersei took point, her helmet still on her head.

"Nothing, my lady," she said, "he dislikes us for our parents."

"Oh..." the sound was small leaving your mouth and you felt Connor clap you on your shoulder.

"Don't worry too much, miss," he smiled out of the corner of his mouth.

"Our parents were elves with a fondness for men." Cersei's voice carried over her shoulder as she led the three of you through the dimly lit hallways. "They spent much of their time in their villages and even took a liking to the names they gave their children."

"Hence our's." Connor interjected.

"When they moved to Eregion, Connor and I elected to stay in Lindon to train as guards." She continued without missing a beat. "Inariel was never fond of us, said we weren't much elves and more akin to the orcs of Melkor."

"He's as sour as the night is dark." Connor chuckled but there was bitterness in the sound, as though he was trying to downplay the hurt he truly felt.

"Convinced a good few courtiers we weren't fit to bear the colors of your Lord Father. But Gil Galad never gave up on us, kept us in training." The elleth's voice was warm as she remembered the kindness of the king. "Until he announced nigh two months ago that you would be coming home to us."

"Gil Galad was quite a sight that day," Connor cut in once more, "All resplendent and misty-eyed, miss, paid us all a visit in the armory. He said he needed two volunteers to guard his daughter while she was home." Cersei suddenly opened a door outside, blasting you with cold air.

"Several guards were up for it but instead of just picking a few, he had us participate in these trials." Connor continued, "Things like jousting, cross-country running, and sword-play." He waved his hand in a circular motion. "Typical guard training things."

"He supervised us for three days," Cersei began again, "Following each of us around for a few hours." She led you down a set of stairs into the darkness of the kingdom. There was just enough light spilling from the palace to show the three of you the path. "When it came to Connor and I, he asked us questions about our parents, about what it was like to live in the human villages." It began to get darker and darker as you continued on. "But he was most curious about why we wanted to be guards."

"What'd you tell him?" You asked, keeping close on Cersei's heels. At length, you noticed that you had never tied your boots and bent down to secure them, "a moment."

"Truth be told, my lady," Cersei stopped and turned to your crouched form. "I told him what was in my heart - that I had never aspired to be a guard. I'd wanted to join Cirdan's shipwrights but ah," she clicked her tongue, "I never quite learned -how to stomach the sea."

A small pause followed her words, broken by her brother, "And I wanted to be an architect," Connor stepped up beside you as you rose to your full height, "but I haven't got the same eye for design that Celebrimbor seems to look for in apprentices."

"But you said," you began, pointing to Cersei, "that you stayed in Lindon to train as guards when your parents left. I thought that it was something you wanted?"

"It became something we wanted, miss," Connor said quietly, "when we realized that we didn't have the talents for what we originally wanted, we adapted into something more."

"We still serve the realm," Cersei spoke in a soft hum, "just not the ways we intended to."

"And that is why my father picked you to guard me?"

"If I'm honest, miss, we don't know why your father picked us." Connor mused as the three of you began walking again. "But he did announce we would be your guards immediately after talking to us so there must have been something to us he liked."

You hummed, drawing your lips into a thin line. But you kept your thoughts to yourself, half-formed as they were, while Cersei brought you to a heavy looking wooden door belonging to a small cottage-like building. A single brazier was lit outside, casting a warm glow over the darkened front steps and as you got closer, you saw Cersei reach into a small pouch on her hip and pull a few dried twigs from its depths. Without waiting a moment, she tossed the twigs into the brazier. They hissed and spat as they caught fire and smouldered away and when they grew quiet, Cersei pressed on the wooden door which opened with a low creak.

"The illuminators gather the ash from this brazier every morning," Connor explained as he passed you, entering the darkened cottage, "They use it to make ink."

"All the guards know to toss some twigs on to help build up the ash for them." Cersei called over her shoulder, her voice echoing strangely despite only being a few steps ahead of you.

"Fascinating," you muttered to yourself as you passed into the cottage yourself.

The cottage was already alight with the glow of a single candle that Cersei had lit when she entered. The light from the candle flickered and danced off of the golden armor both she and her brother wore, scattering the light even further. Desks upon desks sat in even rows all facing a large altar. Behind the altar hung a huge tapestry that draped down from the rafters to dangle just above the ground and it depicted the two trees of Valinor, their branches intertwining and scattering the white light into one thousand stars. It was beautiful and you found scanning around the room that there were several smaller tapestries depicting important moments in the history of the elves.

At length, your eyes were drawn back to the altar and the contents upon it.

It was an odd collection of tubes and decanters all long since stained by whatever had previously been in them. Several mortar and pestles were scattered around, still bearing the fragrances of the mashed up contents dried into the cracks of the stone. And beside these containers were discarded pieces of vellum with splotches of a thousand colors. "Incredible." You hummed, running a finger along one small square of a bright blue ink.

"Isn't it?" Connor asked from a far off corner, his own candle in hand now. "We've spent many hours in here."

"Really?" You asked, standing in front of the tapestry.

"The illuminators are quite lovely," Cersei hummed from one of the desks she leaned over, "if not a bit bored at times. They do not mind the company every so often." She held up a piece of vellum from the desk she had been leaning over. "Guldur's line weight has improved," she remarked to Connor who immediately moved to see what she was talking about. "You should be able to find some ink on that desk, my lady."

"Make no mistake, it's discard but it's of the finest quality." Connor called from where he was looking over Cersei's shoulder. "We use it to write to our parents all the time."

"Then why is it discard?" You asked, scanning around the altar you were next to for a small pot. It was hard to see in the dim light. "And why are there no lanterns in here?"

Perhaps sensing your struggle, Cersei and Connor both moved to your side, bringing the light closer. "It is discard only because it is not all the same color. They can't always use it for their illustrations." Cersei explained, reaching out with one hand to shuffle away some of the scratch and procure a small vial for you. "But it is the smoothest ink I have ever seen." She held it out to you and gestured to a small decanter partially filled with a void black ink. "And there are no lanterns because the illuminators do not trust unattended fire."

"They do all their work by candlelight, miss." Connor hummed, gesturing with his candle around the room. "It's not rare to find one of them in here late at night still stooped over their work."

"Normally it's Guldur," Connor's sister hummed quietly as you poured some of the ink into the vial.

"A friend of yours?" You asked, careful not to spill any of the dark ink.

"More or less," Connor made a so-so gesture with his hand, "He was in training with us but couldn't hold a sword to save his life. We tried to give him some tips but they never stuck. So, he gave up after a bit and joined the illuminators." You set the decanter down and instinctively wiped the lip of the bottle with your thumb which left a dark stain in the pad. "He's not half-bad, actually."

"Did you need any vellum or anything, my lady?" Cersei asked, moving away from you again.

"No, I'm alright, there was some in my room." You answered, glaring at the stain in your skin. "You two come in here all the time?"

"Yes," they answered at the same time, "I'm sure the illuminators wouldn't mind you stopping by when they're here." Connor finished.

"Guldur, especially." Cersei laughed, "He'd love to be one of the first to copy your likeness into a manuscript."

"I don't want my likeness in a manuscript." You huffed as you capped the vial.

"Well, too bad, miss," Connor chirped with a small laugh, "You're the daughter of Lindon, your face is going to be plastered all over every single manuscript coming out of the scriptorium for the next four hundred years."

You groaned low in your throat, knowing he was right. You'd be lucky to only get four hundred years.

"All done, my lady?" Cersei hummed beside you. At your nod, she stepped away, taking the lead to shuttle you out. When the three of you were at the exit, the twins snuffed their candles out and placed them on a single desk at the door.

The three of you stepped out into the darkness once more and Connor tossed some twigs of his own onto the brazier as you passed. Conversation was short as you made your way back to the palace, the vial of ink tucked safely away in your cloak. You kept your eyes up and ears open as you moved, unease eating at you for a queer reason. Cersei and Connor seemed not to share your discontent, walking with easy gaits and passive faces.

"You alright, miss?" Connor chirped as he fell in step beside you, "You look a bit queasy."

"I can't help but feel unwelcome, I'm afraid." You divulged, looking out onto the darkened palace. "This is by all accounts my home but it feels foreign. It's not the Lindon I left."

"You've been gone for seven hundred years, correct?" Connor asked, quirking his head to the side. "I'd be surprised if it felt familiar."

"Forgive me if this is an overstep, my lady," Cersei looked back over her shoulder, "but it could be you are anxious? I mean, you feel unsettled, so possibly you're reading into small things?"

"Possibly," you bit your lip and looked away from the elleth, "what do you think tomorrow will be like?"

Connor and Cersei shared a look that you pretended not to notice. "Quiet in the morning, surely the older elves will be up to pay their respects to Gil Galad and formally acknowledge you as the heir again." Connor began listing, his eyes looking far off. "The afternoon should start to pick up what with the market."

"The evening will be the most fun, surely some the younger elves will make it a cause for drinking and revelry." Cersei's voice held mischief and you found yourself pondering exactly what drunken revelry might look like in Lindon.

As Cersei ushered you back inside the halls of the palace, you worried your bottom lip between your teeth. "I don't imagine I will put in an appearance until noon." You said it wistfully, as if it wasn't a decision you'd made hours earlier. "I have business with Cirdan in the morning anyways."

"As we heard, miss," Connor smiled at you, "I hope you don't mind only one of us going with you - Cersei can't stand to go near the boats anymore."

"The very smell of the sea makes my stomach churn," the elleth added a bit sheepishly, "I will accompany you throughout the afternoon, however, while Connor rests."

"That seems agreeable," you hummed as the three of you rounded the corner, "it seems as if I will have to add to my guard so you two aren't overworked."

"I'd certainly appreciate it, miss," Connor laughed gaily, striding ahead of you when he spotted your door, "but there's no rush. Take your time to pick your guard."

Cersei and Connor settled into their positions in sync, on either side of your closed door. The latter of which reached out to hold said door for you. "Now off with you, miss, you have quite the day ahead of you."

You smiled ruefully at that and leaned against the door Connor held open for you. "I detest the truth of that." You sighed, looking between the two guards. "But true it is. Goodnight, Cersei, Connor," you nodded to each of them, "I look forward to speaking with both of you again." You started to close the door to your room before remembering one last thing. 'And thank you for your help tonight. I appreciate it more than you know."

Cersei chuffed but smiled nonetheless, "Don't mention it, my lady. Goodnight."

There was a small chorus of goodnights shared before you finally shut the door, leaving the twins in the hall. As you stripped back down to your nightwear you set the vial of ink on the boudoir and thought about what Thranduil would like to know. First, he'd want to know about the journey from the Green Wood - the dangers you'd encountered both the real and the exaggerated. Then he'd probably want to know about your arrival which you most likely wouldn't tell him about at all. While Thranduil knew of your disdain for your heirdom he didn't understand it. Whenever you brought it up he would always tilt his head and pout thoughtfully before trying to argue on why you shouldn't feel that way and that it was an honor to bear the weight of your people. While you appreciated his sentiment, you didn't feel much of it yourself. And decided you weren't quite in the mood to hear Thranduil's lecture with this letter.

You sat down to write, pulling the aged vellum and damaged quill from the depths of the boudoir. As you wrote you noted that the twins words were true. Even though the ink was discard, it was smooth and it's color even and beautifully dark. It contrasted with the yellow of the vellum so delightfully, reminding you of the pages of ancient scripts. At length you ran out of things to write about and elected to let the ink dry while you slept. You would send the letter in the morning.

After blowing out the candles around your room, you crawled into bed and settled in for your first night in Lindon.

Taglist:

"Welcome home, ingaranel nin." Elrond's voice seemed to cut through the welcomings of all the other lords and ladies seated at the table.

"Thank you, Herald Elrond." You met his eyes and offered a solemn bow of your head, a sinking feeling of guilt pooling in your stomach.

Gil Galad looked between the two of you, "You've met?"

"Earlier, atar." You answered, thankful for the excuse to pull your gaze away from the young herald's.

"The princess and I met on the outskirts of the gardens earlier today, my lord." Elrond piped up, filling in the gaps you didn't wish to.

"I see," Gil Galad eventually uttered, "Well, I'm glad to hear you are acquainted. Please," he moved back to his seat at the head of the table, "Seat yourself."

With a small nod to your father, you averted your eyes and swiftly scanned for a place to sit. Currently there was one unoccupied seat towards the other end of the table. Away from Elrond so you could avoid any awkward conversation.

Unfortunately, just as you made a move towards it, a courtier seated next to Elrond sprung to his feet. "Oh, please, ingaranel, take my seat. It's at least closer to your father." He waved his hands in a subservient dismissal and scurried over to the chair.

"Oh," you gaped at him for a moment, stunned by the bad luck, "thank you, my lord." But, to keep face, you made towards the seat beside Elrond without raising a fuss. Without making eye contact, you settled into the chair beside him. He pointedly avoided looking at you, eyes fixed on the table. To avoid looking at him yourself, you looked up at Cirdan whose eyes had become set as he glanced between you and Elrond. Your face warmed, recognizing the look. He was disappointed.

"So, anel, tell me - how was the Greenwood?" Gil Galad's warm voice saved you for a moment, allowing you the chance to focus elsewhere.

"Good, atar. I would say I learned much under King Oropher." You began, folding your hands on the table and leaning forward to see around Elrond. "They have started attempts training owls to hunt for them. It's quite fascinating."

"Really?" He hummed, reaching for a goblet of wine. "How are these attempts going?" he took a sip and a courtier on the other side of the table mimicked him.

"Slowly, if I am honest." A servant appeared from seemingly nowhere to pour you your own goblet. You startled at their appearance. "Owls are stubborn creatures by nature. And seem..." you pursed your lips in thought, "disinclined to domestication."

Gil Galad hummed and set his cup down. "I recall Oropher's obsession with owls, he seemed to believe he could turn them into messengers." A bell rang as he finished speaking and a small crowd of servants appeared from the direction of the kitchen. They laid out a small feast on the table in absolute silence before bowing and leaving. You watched them go, hands falling to your lap. "Of course, I can't blame him for wanting a better way to communicate across his kingdom." Gil Galad broke the silence, resuming his thought where he left off. Carefully he served himself a few cuts of what looked to be duck before passing the ornate plate of food to his right. Elrond took it from him with a small nod. "We have been perfecting this with falcons ourselves."

You watched out of the corner of your eye as Elrond served himself and began to pass the plate towards you. "Really?" you hummed, accepting the plate and repeating the same process before passing it off. "And how are those attempts going?"

You saw your father's lips quirk into a swift grin as he procured a roll and started the process of passing food all over again. "Rather well, actually. The falcons are fast learners as well as fast flyers." He took a small bite of what you had correctly determined to be duck. "I am able to announce a decree across the entire kingdom in just four days now."

"As opposed to twenty when I was last here." You joked lightly. Despite Oropher's slow progress, he was making progress. Soon, your father wouldn't be able to be so boastful.

"Thankfully, those days are behind us, anel." A silence descended on the table, making you shift uncomfortably.

When the atmosphere became too suffocating, you looked to Cirdan. "Oh, Cirdan, Prince Thranduil had a question for you."

Cirdan lifted his gaze from his plate, a quizzical look on his face. "Oh? And what might the young elf want to know?"

"He wanted to know the best schematics for a boat that might potentially have to cut through ice."

"Really now?" Cirdan hummed, washing down a bite of greens with what looked to be water. "Quite a specific thing to want to know about."

"He's thinking of establishing trade with a nearby human settlement. Esgaroth? I think? Regardless, they're settled on the other side of the lake bordering the Greenwood." You took a small bite of food yourself. "Problem is, the lake starts to freeze every winter. Never fully, but enough that the people of Esgaroth are hesitant to trade during winter."

"Makes sense," Cirdan hummed, "I'd imagine they've built their livelihoods on fishing. Wouldn't want to risk damaging their boats during the winter then." He paused, a hand to his chin. "I'd have to think about this, ingaranel. I imagine if you could find a way to reinforce the hull you'd be relatively safe-"

"Tell me, anel," Gil Galad's voice cut through Cirdan's quiet musings. "Oropher spoke of how close you and Thranduil have gotten, do you have something to tell me?"

It was like someone had slapped you. You turned your head to your father so fast, skin unbearably warm. "Father, please. There is nothing between me and the prince. I adore him but he is like a brother to me."

Gil Galad raised an eyebrow, his face perfectly placid to contrast your outburst. "Easy, daughter. I meant no offense. I am aware that Oropher hoped you would fall for his son. I am glad you did not."

"I'm sure you are," you muttered under your breath as you shoved a forkful of food into your mouth. Beside you, you heard Elrond let out a funny little breath that you might've described as a laugh.

"Still, are there any courtships I should know about?" Gil Galad pressed.

You looked up sharply,

"What? It is a reasonable question." He pushed back.

You sent Cirdan a dry look only to find the shipmaster laughing into his goblet. You kicked him under the table.

"No. There is no one."

"A pity." He hummed. "Are you looking to find someone?"

"Atar, this is hardly the place-"

"I'm just making conversation-"

"Will you drop it?"

Gasps echoed from the far end of the table and you turned to find the gathered courtiers looking offended on behalf of the king. But, instead of feeling ashamed, you felt the familiar spark of indignation ignite in your belly. Were you not allowed to argue with your father? He was your atar before he became king.

"Sire, if I may-" one of the courtiers began to speak and your attention quickly zeroed in on him. He was a noldorian, tall with a thin, pale face and slightly too-big grey eyes. He was dressed in a deep maroon that brought out the silver of his hair. But you couldn't find it in yourself to appreciate your fellow elf's aesthetic beauty. Not when he was most likely going to tell your father that you were out of line.

"Please, Inariel, I do not need your input." Gil Galad raised a single hand and the elf sunk into his seat. "My apologies, anel. I meant no offense." He lowered his hand to his cup and lifted it in a sort of cheers, "Truce?"

"Truce." You nodded and returned to your plate, your head bowed in a mix of shame and vindication. King or not, Gil Galad was your father and you would speak to him as such. You would not be made to feel ashamed for it....

"May I be excused, atar?" You set your fork down with a quiet clink and raised your head to meet the king's gaze. He nodded a quiet ascent. Placing your napkin on your lap, you pushed your chair back and rose from your seat.

"Do you need an escort, anel?" He asked, eyeing you evenly. You were about to say no but thought better of it since your father knew of your propensity to get lost more than anyone. "Very well. Elrond, since you two are acquainted, would you mind showing my daughter to her room?"

Elrond, who had been just about to take a bite of his meal paused and slowly lowered his fork. "Of course, my king." He rose from his seat and offered an arm to you, "my lady?"

You took it, movements stilted as you tried your best not to show how uncomfortable you were. His arm, in turn, was hooked at an unnaturally sharp angle - jutting out from his side like a protruding bone.

Without need for further fanfare, he escorted you out of the dining hall and down an adjoining hallway.

The halls were darkened, the wall mounted candles dimmed by translucent, cream colored vellum domes placed around them. The softened light was meant to make you feel relaxed but it did little to abate the tension plaguing you and your companion.

Elrond walked with his head held high, his face placid, and posture ridiculously straight - he looked very much the part of a herald. And the part of a stick in the mud.

Gone was the gentle smile and relaxed air from your brief meeting in the gardens. Eradicated and replaced by the dry, boring energy of the elf beside you.

You found yourself worrying your bottom lip, torn between feeling sure that you had every right not to disclose who you were and shame at the thought that you had lied to Elrond and possibly embarrassed him.

"El..." you trailed off, perhaps you should act your role considering he was. "Herald Elrond," you amended, "I am...sorry for my deception earlier." He said nothing but you saw his eyes drift to your face. "While I don't think I needed to inform you of my station, I am sorry if I offended you by not doing so. Truly, it was not my intention."

Elrond made a sound you would liken to a scoff. But he did not speak, not until he had come to a stop before an ornate door you recognized as yours. "Tell me, ingaranel, if that was not your intention then why continue on a path that would ensure it happens?"

Anger surged, the insult not lost on you. "Forgive me, Elrond, I did not wish to be treated like your ruler so I did not disclose myself as such."

"You have made me seem dishonest." Elrond wrenched his arm from yours, his voice biting and exact.

"My choice to surprise my father is not a reflection on you."

"Now he knows I knew you were here and did not tell him."

"So tell him I commanded you not to say anything."

"I do not answer to you, ingaranel, not in the same way I answer to the High King. His word is law, yours is suggestion." The half-elf snapped and you found yourself taken aback.

"I am offering you an explanation for him and you refuse to take it. My father and his retainers will not blame you for following my command. They are used to my ways, and it is on their heads for thinking I would deviate." You found yourself hissing at the herald before you.

"Your ways are not the ways of Lindon." Elrond's voice was clipped, almost dark.

"Precisely, what is that supposed to mean?" you tried to keep your voice level but could hear even for yourself the depth of your seething.

Elrond stood up a little straighter and leveled you with an icy stare unbecoming of his warm eyes. "I have heard of your escapades and lack of decorum and seen them demonstrated for myself. It is of little wonder to me now why Gil Galad sent you to the Greenwood."

Stunned into silence, you could do little but stare at Elrond as you processed what he had said and the seemingly uncharacteristic venom in his words.

You both stood staring at each other, neither speaking whether because you could not think of what to say or because a passing party of elleth's had begun whispering to each other after spying you and the herald.

At length, you had enough and opened the door to your room. You were intending to simply shut the door without another word to the herald but some small, petty part of you screamed a better idea. Before you fully shut the door, you poked your head out at the herald. "Since my word is suggestion, allow me to make one, Herald Elrond," you raised your eyes to his and held him with the iciest stare you could manage, "Mind your tongue. I have no quarrel with you so do not force me to have one." Elrond's lips twitched but you continued before he had the chance to say anything. "Tell Cirdan that I would like to meet with him on the morrow. I will be at the Gray Havens come dawn's light."

"The King's welcoming ceremony for you is supposed to start at dawn." He stated, not breaking your stare.

"A pity, I won't be attending until noon." You started to close the door until Elrond wedged his boot in the way.

"He will not be pleased." The Herald insisted, holding the door open.

The night had been going smoothly, a fact to which, Elrond was eternally grateful. He'd needed a victory and the fact that this small ball he had helped arrange for the court progressing pleasantly gave him a brief reprieve from the stress he'd been under.

Galadriel had been able to attend, a rarity given the times, and Elrond had spent the majority of the evening catching up with her between sips of wine and the lilt of song.

That was, until, he'd caught a glimpse of the princess.

He could feel his breath leave him - snatched from his lungs as if by the Wind itself. And the suddenness of this theft made him choke on his wine. He hastily coughed into his glass and tried to hide it as a clearing of his throat when Galadriel turned to look at him.

Elrond wanted to look, to check if Galadriel had in fact seen this sudden theft but he knew that if she had, it would be the only thing she talked about for the rest of the night. So maybe it was better he didn't look? Maybe it was better if he just kept his gaze where it was, on the ground and decidedly not where the princess was.

He hadn't known the princess was attending tonight. Sincerely, he figured that after the last month's upset, she'd be unwilling to walk amongst the court yet. He couldn't blame her, they hadn't listened to her and she had almost paid dearly for it.

But here she was, melting through the crowd on the arm of Cirdan. Her laurel crown curled around her brow, the tips of the pointed leaves catching the last golden rays of the sunset and scattering them amongst the golden thread woven into her gown in swirling star patterns. She glittered like a goddess of light. Elrond felt greedy to behold her. But was it not elven nature to love light above all else?

"Elrond?" Galadriel's voice held a quiet concern - the kind that told Elrond he'd been more distracted than he cared to admit. "Mellon, are you alright?"

At Galadriel's hovering touch to his arm, the herald found himself able to drag his eyes from the light of the princess. It helped that she had winked out of sight, newly flanked by her two guards.

It took the herald a few beats to find his tongue and ease the elleth's concern. But when he had, he wasn't sure she'd be willing to let his absence be. "Yes, y-es, I'm alright, Galadriel," Elrond swallowed, allowing his eyes to dart briefly to where he had last seen the princess before returning to the elf at his side, "forgive me, my mind was elsewhere."

"I noticed," her eyes turned clever, "I've never seen you so focused before."

Elrond couldn't find it within himself to find her teasing amusing. He very much wished he'd just looked away. "I am just happy she has come out of her room."

Galadriel snorted, bringing a hand to her mouth in a feeble attempt to hide her grin. "Oh, I'm sure you are. I imagine you haven't seen our ingaranel in a while."

The herald could feel his eye involuntarily twitch at the her jab. Why did she have to see through him? "Exactly what are you implying, mellon?"

Galadriel's grin had calmed but looked nonetheless scheming, "Nothing, Elrond, I happened to hear that she has only been accepting limited visitors in the last month. It is good to see her out again."

Elrond cursed internally, knowing this was a game he'd never be able to win. Galadriel knew what she'd seen and there was nothing to be done about it. "I was worried." He eventually surrendered, his gaze lingering on the throng of elves at the heart of the party.

Her smile grew self-satisfied but the scheming in her expression melted away into something soft. "It is good to see you like this."

"What, hopeless?" Elrond dryly scoffed, "She has forgiven me but I don't think I will ever win her favor."

Galadriel hummed and dipped her head slightly to the side. "You forgave her and you know for yourself how she's won yours." She pointed out as if it was the most obvious thing. Elrond felt his heart do a small flip, the treacherous hope he'd been holding back was trying to flare to life again. He feared his favor had always been hers. The same could not be said for her. He thought, anyways. But the way she'd clung to him...

No, she'd been afraid, it meant nothing. She'd have gone to her father if he'd been here.

"Why don't you dance with her?" The blonde elleth nudged his side, her cup raised towards where the princess's laurel was shining. "Surely, you're at least friends now. I'm sure she won't deny you a dance."

Maybe...the hope sparked once again but Elrond was too quick for it now. "She wouldn't have the chance to - her father's herald asks her to dance and she says 'no' in front of the king's entire court?" he shook his head and went to take another drink, "They'd eat her alive." But his cup was painfully empty.

Galadriel's cup, however, still contained some manner of pride and she happily took a sip. "She has made it quite clear she cares very little for the opinions' of the court."

"They'd eat me alive, as well," he countered, letting his cup fall to his side. His eyes scanned for a member of the serving staff to come fill it, "Elrond Half-Elven denied by the Ingaranel Gil-Amdir herself, I would never hear the end of it."

"More to the point," Galadriel spoke around the rim of her cup, her voice more hushed than before, "since when have you ever let the whispers of the court stand in your way, Herald Elrond Half-Elven?"

Elrond pressed his lips together as he mulled over her words. Galadriel really believed there was a chance? He knew her to be perceptive, more so than any other elf he'd met. If she saw the princess's potential affection, maybe, just maybe that meant there was a real chance. But, if she was wrong...

"Has Durin said anything?"

He had. And that was the worst of it.

He'd met the princess so briefly, had seen them together for a fraction of a minute. And he'd immediately asked Elrond if he was planning to marry her within the dwarf's lifetime; that that way he could skip the wedding and call everything square.

Elrond had waved it off as a playful jab at his shortcomings as a friend. But was it not that comment that woke Elrond up? That made him realize why the princess's trick had wounded him in the first place. His mother had spoken of the affections she held for his father once, how when she looked at him there would be no other? He'd waited for his chance to feel that for someone - only for the time he does to be shadowed by a lie. A harmless lie when he truly thought on it but that sourness had hardened his heart toward the princess so quickly he'd all but forgotten how he first felt.

If both of them believed...

"Ah," Galadriel clicked her tongue, "what did he say?"

Elrond looked to see a self-satisfied smirk on his friend's face.

"Nothing of importance," he mumbled. They couldn't both be wrong. Durin was his second brother and Galadriel the closest thing he had to a sister. If he introduced the ingaranel to his blood brother, he knew Elros would say much the same as the other two.

He had no reason not to at least try for her affections.

His eyes lifted to scan the crowd for the princess's laurel crown or Cirdan's white hair. He doubted she would stray far from Cirdan, she generally hated these gatherings. When he spotted her, he involuntarily sucked in a breath. Before handing his empty cup to Galadriel and making his way towards the princess.

Elrond cut through the crowd feeling as though he managed to run into every single person on his way to the princess and the shipwright. But she was out pacing him despite standing still. It felt as if the crowd was pressing in on Elrond, slowing him down to a snail's pace until it felt like he was swimming toward her.

And then, so suddenly he almost fell into the respectful circle that had formed around the princess.

But for as clumsy as he felt in doing so, Elrond was able to catch himself with a few steps. When he looked up from his feet, Elrond felt almost blown backwards by the vision in front of him.

He'd been wrong to call her a goddess of light earlier. No, she was far purer than that - she was the light itself. Glittering gold and silver all at once. And again he knew what it felt like to be greedy. He drank in her image as a man starved of water. She was the morning and evening star, his guide through the night skies.

And when his hand landed on her shoulder, he felt burned to the point of freezing.

She turned towards him immediately, shock evident on her face before she recognized who it was that had approached her so boldly. "Elrond," she greeted and Elrond felt his heart flutter at the smile that settled on her face. He much preferred that expression to the scowls and frowns he'd been subjected to, "I was wondering where you were."

Maybe Durin and Galadriel were truly right?

"Forgive me, ingaranel nin," Elrond removed his hand from her shoulder to hold it to his chest and bow his head. And hoped he was not foolish to think he saw faint hint of longing in the princess's face as his hand moved away, "I did not mean to hide from you," Elrond felt himself bite the inside of his cheek as his eyes flicked to Cirdan and around the gathered circle, this was so many people to witness what he wanted to ask. He let his eyes fall back to the princess's, "I was hoping that I might borrow a moment of your time?"

Tentatively, Elrond reached his arm out to her, crooked for her to take if she wished. Her eyes flicked from his to his arm and then back up to him and he dared to call the expression on her face bashful. With a soft nod, she bade farewell to Cirdan for the time being and hooked her hand around Elrond's arm. It was a little hard to ignore how his heart trilled at her willingness to accompany him. It was like when they first met.

Elrond didn't lead her far, just slightly off to the side so that they weren't in the middle of the partygoers. When he felt they were a safe enough distance away from the man throng Elrond came to a halt and carefully guided the princess to stand before him, taking her hand in his.

"Is something the matter?" She asked with a tilt of her head and the herald had to swallow back the butterflies blocking his voice. Up close, Elrond could see that the gown he was so captivated by was a soft cream color to compliment the gold of her laurel and it featured a light scarf which she draped around the front of her neck and over her back. But, Elrond's eyes were trained and he spotted the outline of wrappings about her neck that the scarf was trying to hide. He wished he'd have known the threat the princess was under.

He'd almost lost her. Not that she was his to lose. And therein lies the problem.

"Nothing's the matter, ingaranel nin," Elrond swallowed once more, mustering all the courage he could dare call upon, "I was hoping that I could trouble you for a dance?"

The princess's face betrayed her shock and fear was quick to tell Elrond he'd dare to reach so far above his station. But then, he watched as that same shy smile he was quickly coming to cherish spread over her lips. It took Elrond too much strength to return his eyes to hers. She looked delighted.

"It would be no trouble at all, Herald Elrond," she stepped closer to him, sliding her free hand up to rest on his upper arm.

Carefully, Elrond let his hand drift to her waist where it hovered between going for the forward move or rising to the expected resting place below her arm. He swore he could feel electricity tickling at his palm, urging him to her waist.

He made his decision, and decided that whatever the consequences be, he would make his intentions clear. His hand settled upon her waist and the princess jumped. Elrond moved his hand away, cursing himself internally for his stupid move. But the voice suddenly grew quiet when the princess responded by moving her hand up to his shoulder.

He couldn't believe it. The herald's grip tightened ever so slightly and he brought her hand still clasped in his to his lips where he whispered against her skin, "Thank you, ingaranel nin." Before pressing a feather-light kiss to her knuckles.

She responded in kind, by stepping closer to lay her head above his heart, "I was hoping you'd ask, my herald."

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